It wasn’t the place to be if you had a warrant out for your arrest. Thousands of cops from all over North America were in Oakland to attend the funeral service for four slain Oakland police officers. I saw cops from Boston, Minneapolis, Nevada and even the Canadian Mounties. It was a remarkable turnout for the four killed officers.
By the time I arrived at the Oracle Arena, the parking lots were about a third full and a line of police cars continued to stream in. A line of blue uniforms snaked from the parking lot the entrance of the arena. A sign above the door read “Forever Heroes.” The entire Oakland police force was in attendance, hundreds of them lined the back steps of the arena as the awaited the arrival of their fallen comrades. One by one, police escorted hearses carrying flag draped caskets passed under a giant American flag that hung from two Oakland fire department aerial trucks. In unison, police officers saluted as the casket was removed from the hearse and taken into the arena. 
Fifteen minutes prior to the 11am start of the service, a long line of officers and general public were still waiting to get in. The line would soon have to be diverted to the neighboring McAfee coliseum since the arena had reached capacity. Thousands would watch the service on the jumbotron in the stadium where the Oakland A’s play. In all, over 20,000 people had come out to pay their respects.
Shortly after the service started, I went to file photos before continuing to cover what was expected to be a three hour event. After filing, I made my way over to the Coliseum to photograph the people watching the live feed. Right before I got the entrance I ran into a friend from the LA Times and she told me that she had been kicked out along with the rest of the press. She said that at the time of her ejection, she wasn’t even taking pictures. Apparently, someone in the Coliseum security team had decided to kick out all the press for no apparent reason. This was kind of bad news since there would certainly be some nice images from there.
I ran into Victor Blue and we were chatting with a TV crew for NBC. The TV was frustrated and left. Victor and I stuck around and chatted and out of nowhere a cop from Modesto came up to us and said we could go in now. This was great. Inside, about 5,000 people sat in the shade and stared at the big screens in right and left field. Everyone sat silent, some cried.
At the conclusion of the service I went to try and find a vantage point to shoot the procession of hearses and police vehicles. I had envisioned four hearses in a row with hundreds of police motorcycles making their way down the freeway. I found a nice overpass and waited for them to roll down the highway. As I waited, I watched a never ending flow of police cars mixed in with the traffic. Everyone seemed to be going the speed limit as the cop cars outnumbered the civilian cars 5 to 1. After a half hour of waiting, the freeway cleared and the first wave of motorcycles crested horizon. Unfortunately, the hearses weren’t all together so it was four mini processions followed by hundreds of police motorcycles and cars. In all of the police funerals that I have covered, I have never seen a turnout of this size. It was a site to see.
The last time this happened in California was in 1970, the year that I was born. Four California Highway Patrol officers were gunned down in a four and half minute gun battle during a traffic stop. Almost 40 years later, four more police officers lost their lives in similar fashion, this time in Oakland.
I had heard on the radio late Saturday afternoon that four O.P.D. officers had been shot in a traffic stop gone bad. I remember thinking that it was an unusually high number and maybe in fact the report was in error. After looking online I found a story to confirm that number and was now saying that all four officers had died. After a conversation with my editor, I made my way to the scene – 5 hours after the first shots had been fired.
After the sun went down, I headed over to the hospital where the officers had been taken. I had seen from earlier in the evening where family members and police officers grieved outside of the emergency room, but now it was quite. A few officers lingered along with members of the local clergy. A steady rain fell as I sat in my car watching as the men chatting when they formed a circle, held hands and prayed. It was a nice moment.
The O.P.D. held a press conference later in the evening to outline the events of the day. The mayor and top police brass fought back emotion as they described the shooting. Interim police Chief Howard Jordan paused a few times as he answered questions, doing his best to maintain his composure.
Confusion continued on Sunday when local media reported that the fourth officer had died but had actually only been declared brain dead. News of the fourth death prompted people to send in donations and drop off flowers at the police headquarters. By 3 in the afternoon, dozens of bouquets flanked the side entrance. Makeshift memorials also came to life at the scene of the shootings. A man set up flags in honor of the slain officers. Another woman and her daughter arranged candles and a poem near the doorway of the apartment where two of the officers and the suspect were killed as a crime scene unit continued to collect evidence.
A public vigil brought out hundreds of people just three days after the killings. People from all walks of life attended the early evening event. Many were brought to tears as city leaders led prayers and remembered the fallen officers. The makeshift memorials were now four times bigger than the day before and people continued to bring flowers.
Just down the street from where the vigil was being held, a smaller memorial had been erected in memory of Lovelle Mixon, the man who shot and killed the four officers. Mixon, a convicted felon and fugitive parolee, was also a suspect of interest in an unsolved murder case and his DNA had matched sperm samples from twelve year-old rape victim. He was also a suspect in several other rape cases, including one that involved an elderly woman. In handwritten messages alongside photos of Mixon, people praised him for killing the officers. He was viewed as a martyr. 
Knowing the history of this man, it was one of the most disturbing things I have ever seen.
On one hand, it is a good thing to get the word out about the struggles of the people that are living out along the American River. But, unfortunately, the attention that the tent city is getting is also raising some red flags with the local government. I found out today that the mayor of Sacramento has decided to put an end to the encampment and plans to kick everyone out in the coming weeks, stripping these people of what little sense of normalcy that they have. It will be interesting to see what happens and where people end up going. The rumor is that the city will give homeless campers a two-day voucher for a local motel. Beyond that, who knows.
I spent most of Tuesday with the campers. I touched base with some of the people that I had met the previous week. I was surprised that almost all of them remembered my name. I think they were also surprised that I remembered their names. I ran into Tammy and Keith Day when I arrived, the couple that had warmed up to me last week after seeming to want have nothing to do with me. It was good to see them. They told me that I should have been there the night before since Tammy had made a huge dinner for them and their immediate neighbors. They are good about sharing what they have with others. I also learned that it was Keith’s birthday. He is 44.
Like before, I spent most of my day walking around and just hanging out with people. I ran into Ben and Renee and they invited me into their tent. I must have hung out with them for close to two hours while they cleaned up and rearranged their “home” and boiled water to wash dishes. They are finally catching up on their cleaning after the heavy rains of last week flooded their camp. The ground in front of their tent is still soft and damp but nothing like the wet mud that it was last week.
By the time I left the camp I had been there for over ten hours. I stayed until I couldn’t see anymore and most people had retired to their tents. Most people get up before dawn to hit the streets to collect cans for recycling. I understand it is quite competitive. A few campfires burned, with some people huddling around them, but for the most part the city was calling it a night.
A man named Jeff joined us on the tour, he had been at the camp for over 4 years, homeless close to 15 years. He said that when he first set up camp along the levee that there were only a few people. Now, there are hundreds peppered along the banks of the American River. I would later take a photo of Jeff standing by a row of tents. The day after I filed that photo I received an email from a woman that had seen the photo and said that she thought it was her long lost uncle. Her family hadn’t heard from him in years and thought that he had died. She told me that Jeff was originally from Colorado, and that is what Jeff had told me the previous day. His last name is unique enough that it is certain that he is the person that they are looking for.
Over the course of the two days I spent at the camp I met some amazing people. Most of them had been homeless for quite some time, others were new to being homeless. My days mostly involved talking with people and walking around. Some people wanted nothing to do with me, which was fine. I can’t blame them. Others were more than willing to share their entire life story – and then some. The community was very tight knit. People really looked out for each other, especially the elderly. Almost every person I met said the same thing, “we’re just trying to survive.”
One couple, Keith and Tammy Day, had recently moved into the camp after losing the home that they were living in. I approached them as they were starting to cook their evening meal over a small campfire fueled by a pallet that Keith had broken apart with a rock. I told them that I was interested in hearing their story. They were less than happy to see me.
Tammy sort of laid into me about privacy and how they really didn’t want anything to do with me. Keith voiced the same opinion and said he definitely didn’t want any pictures taken of him. I told them that I fully understood and was starting to walk away. Then something interesting happened. Tammy kept the conversation going, and she spoke for while. She vented her frustrations as she fried potatoes in an old pan. I chatted with Tammy and keith for 10 or 15 minutes, we had a good conversation. Tammy brought up my cameras and asked where the photos go that I shoot. After I explained to her what I do, she paused for a while and then out of the blue she said “if you want to take a couple pictures, you can. Just not a lot.”
A man named VJ came by early in the afternoon letting people know that he would be back to pass out some supplies. VJ, a former corporate executive, had started his own non-profit charity outfit and had been coming to the tent city to give people things like tents and clothing. A mob crowded his truck as dulled out boots, sleeping bags and bags of clothes. While he was handing out things I noticed that he had a small webcam on his shoulder. I asked him about this and he told me that he did live webcasts so people that had donated supplies could watch the tent city residents receiving the handouts.
VJ would tell people to give him a list of things that they needed so he could bring them things that wouldn’t go to waste. I asked VJ about his organization and he said that he just wanted to help people. He organization is not faith based and doesn’t appear to be pushing anything on the people he gives to. After further discussion, VJ explained that he himself had fallen on hard times since losing a well paying job a few years back. His home is in foreclosure and he felt it important to see eye to eye with the people that he may one day join on the streets. I am still amazed by this man’s story.
I stayed at the tent city until I couldn’t see anymore. There is no electricity out in the wasteland, only a few tents can be seen with a flicker of a candle. It was dark – pitch black. Some people had built fire rings near their camps but none were being used tonight. The only light came from a nearby Diamond Almond plant and the Sacramento skyline.
Most people would go to bed once the sun went down so they could get up before first light to go out and collect recycling. It is one of the few ways they make money to buy food. When I returned the next morning at 6:30 am, most were already out and about.
It is kind of an interesting story about how these candles came to be. A local realtor was struggling to make ends meet and decided to enroll in a graphic design class. After learning a few tricks he came up with the candle design. Since December, the “Just For Fun” store in San Francisco has sold over 1,000 of the candles at $12.95 a pop. There is also a two foot tall option that retails for $395. They have yet to sell one of those.
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