Clayton and Ellen Kershaw, the real (nice) deal ... Korean American filmmaker Andrew Ahn uses Sundance film to come out to folks ... Ted Soqui's Occupy LA photos ... Downey woman tells harrowing Costa Concordia story ...
Dodger Clayton Kershaw and wife Ellen help African orphans; new book "Arise" tells their story
UPDATE 10/9/2013: This seems a pretty good time to bring back a story from 2012 that reminds us that not only is Clayton Kershaw a preternatural pitcher, but he seems to be a hell of a guy with his priorities straight. -- John Rabe
This guy is only 23?
At a news conference at Dodger Stadium this morning, somebody asked why Clayton Kershaw has made repeated trips to Africa with his wife Ellen, to help orphans there.
The Cy Young Award winner replied, in full earnest, ‘Ellen always asked me, “What do you want your legacy to be when you’re done playing baseball?”’ There are always going to be people better than you, he said, who will break your records, “So you want to be remembered for doing something other than baseball.”
The two work through the Dallas-based non-profit Arise Africa, and are building housing for orphans. The details are in their new book “Arise: Live Out Your Faith and Dreams on Whatever Field You Find Yourself.”
Ellen Kershaw , 24, has been going to Zambia since she was 18. She felt drawn to, she says, in the 8th grade, after seeing a tv show. But she didn’t think she could do any good. “There’s plenty of people who spend their entire lives trying to change that country, and what could I do as an 18-year old?! But finally, it almost caused me more anxiety not going than actually getting on a plane and going over there.”
It took her husband a little longer. But he’s made two trips with her now, the first right after their marriage -- they were high school sweethearts – and it’s changed him for the good. “Going to Zambia last year I think was a huge leap of faith for him, and it stretched him in more ways than I’ve ever seen.”
Speaking of stretching, Ellen says the kids hang off the 6-3 pitcher “like he’s a jungle gym.” They know nothing about baseball, the Dodgers, or the Cy Young. “If I played soccer,” he joked, “that would be a different story.”
It might seem counter-intuitive, in a sport like baseball where concentration and total devotion are key, but Clayon and Ellen both say their Africa project, and Kershaw’s challenge, in which he donated $100 for every batter he struck out, made him a better pitcher, because the goal was bigger than baseball.
The two speak easily about serving their God, but they don’t present as evangelical. He was raised Methodist, she Presbyterian. Not the rivival tent types. This seems to be more about what they say it is: giving back, doing what they can. As Ellen says, “To whom much is given, much is expected.”
If we want a power couple running the Dodgers, somebody ought to give the Dodgers to these two.
Watch the Kershaws talk about Africa in this YouTube video:
Sundance-bound Andrew Ahn comes out to Korean-American parents in his film, 'Dol'
There are tons of movies about gays and lesbians coming out to their families, but few filmmakers create films as a way to come out to their parents ... until now. Andrew Ahn, a first-generation Korean-American, was born and raised in Los Angeles and got his MFA in film directing from CalArts. His short-film "Dol" debuts at Sundance this weekend, and is also being highlighted online by Yahoo. Ahn spoke with KPCC's John Rabe, and said his grand strategy kind of backfired.
Dol, is a traditional Korean ritual for a baby's first birthday celebration, where the baby is set among various objects like a pencil, paintbrush or bowl of rice. The first object the baby grabs symbolizes his or her future; if he or she picks the pencil, they'll be a scholar, pick a paintbrush? Become an artist. What does this have to do with coming out as a gay man?
"I don't know what item would represent being gay," Ahn joked. He did know he wanted to document a personal moment in the film.
"I saw footage from my own first birthday on an old beta tape," he recalled. "As a gay Korean man, this ritual just seemed really pertinent to where I am in my adulthood, thinking about family -- thinking about the future."
Ahn wanted to use the film to come out to his parents because he couldn't bring himself to broach the topic directly. He filmed his actual parents, aunts and uncles because he knew they'd want to watch. That way, Ahn could force himself to come out. But things didn't go as planned.
"After the credits rolled they said 'Oh, is that it?'" he said. "I just started crying because I built up the moment so much, and I knew that they were in denial, that I could have taken the DVD, gone back to my room and they wouldn't have said a thing."
According to Ahn, homosexuality is a complex issue in immigrant Korean culture. While there are lots of progressive images supporting homosexuality in the media, there's a conservative Christian community that's equally as strong, and bridging the gap causes problems. Ahn had no idea how his parents would react. "I was scared. I packed a bag, just in case," he said.
Ahn said that despite his worries, it went fine. But the budding filmmaker said his parents are still naive. "They think that it's a phase. My father said something that I think really sums it all up. He said: 'We're not going to force you to change, but we want you to be open minded.'"
Still, he's proud that they were so open to discussion. Ahn has come to realize that he made the film not just for his family, but also for himself. And now, he's said he's made it for the everybody.
"Because of Sundance and because of press, I'm coming out to the world. And so I forced myself off another ledge, and I have to say it's very liberating," he said.
Pacific Standard Time at the Chinese American Museum celebrates four Chinese-American architects
They designed buildings we know and love (Pann's, the Choy Residence) and sometimes hate (LAX), and now -- as part of the regionwide celebration Pacific Standard Time -- the Chinese American Museum has opened Breaking Ground, a new exhibit celebrating the work of four Chinese-American architects. They designed buildings for Chinatown and beyondand they also helped Chinese-Americans move out of Chinatown into a frequently hostile world. Off-Ramp host John Rabe talks with co-curator Steven Wong about the work of Helen Liu Fong, Gilbert Leong, Gin Wong, and Eugene Choy.
Just Occupy: Santa Monica gallery brings Occupy LA to the art world
Even if the Occupy movement dies off, it'll live forever in the millions of photos that documented it. Some of the best, including one that ended up as the source for a Time Magazine cover, are now on display at the Robert Berman Gallery in Santa Monica. Off-Ramp producer Kevin Ferguson attended the exhibit's opening reception.
Gallery owner Robert Berman said the inspiration for the pop-up exhibit started when he was collaborating with friend and artist Christopher Felver on Felver’s Ordered Worlds series. At the same time, Berman gallery employee Sarah Mason, was occupying the steps of L.A.’s city hall every night.
“One night she came back and told me she was chosen for the ‘Person of the Year’ Time Magazine cover,” Berman said. “… the fact that Shepard Fairey had chosen that [photo] randomly, it made this whole show come together.”
The photographer behind the cover photo is Ted Soqui, whose Occupy LA artwork is on display at the exhibit. Soqui admitted that he was surprised by the movement’s longevity in Los Angeles.
“I thought it was just a protest, then I noticed the tents went down,” he said. “I drove there on the third day, began photographing and I was hooked.”
As for his shooting technique, Soqui said he tries to keep it subtle.
“I’m not trying to be a clever photographer,” he continued. “I just wanted to capture an honest moment.
The exhibit is on display through January 28 and also features work from John Harvey and Shepard Fairey.
Helping the homeless any way he can
It's about 7:30 on a cold Monday morning in West Adams. After taking his dog, a shih-tzu named Smoothie out for a walk, Troy Isaac is out the door and off to work.
"We're going downtown Los Angeles," he said. "Cause I need to go on Broadway to see a person--I don't like calling them clients--but he's a friend, Eddie Jones, he's homeless. And he usually takes care of a jewelry store. He sleeps in front of the jewelry story on Broadway and the jewelry people give him like two to three dollars to sleep in front of them every night."
Today might be the day Jones moves off the streets into a place of his own, and Troy could not be more excited. Troy calls himself a field advocate — armed with a backpack, a pack of cigarettes and a credit card paid for by a prominent Mid-Wilshire philanthropist, he walks Los Angeles seeking out and helping people who might otherwise go ignored: a woman passed out against a wall, a man screaming to himself, a couple sleeping under a tarp.
Literally, anyone: a trip down two city blocks can take a 45 minutes if he runs into enough people. He hands out his number constantly, and he never ignores a call.
He's imposing: six foot five inches tall--often wearing a black trench coat, combat boots and a mohawk... And on any given day, Troy could be anywhere: the Sunset Strip, Skid Row, Crenshaw, the Miracle Mile, or like on this morning--Downtown's jewelry district.
He's just getting off the bus at Seventh and Olive when Troy notices a woman nearby. She's covered in blankets, resting with her head on her knees. When Troy approaches her, she gives her name only as Smith. After a little coaxing, Smith admits she's hungry, and she'll take anything to eat. "Some coffee with it?" Smith adds.
"Sure," says Troy.
Troy says he does this because he loves people. "And I don't think I would be happy if I didn't help."
He walks into a 7 Eleven across the street, buys a sandwich and a coffee and brings it back. In the course of this 10 minute interaction Smith's demeanor has gone from suspicious and guarded to pretty warm, thanking Troy and laughing as he leaves.
Troy does this kind of thing all the time: whenever he encounters a homeless person he'll strike up a conversation, offer them a cigarette, say he or she looks really nice, then ask how he can help. Troy says his inspiration to do all this comes from an unlikely source. "It's thanks to Oprah that I've made myself who I am today," he says.
"And there are times that I channel myself ever since I’ve been out---there are times that I sound like Oprah, when I’m giving things away."
He says one of the most important parts in all this is to avoid expectations. "I meet people where they're at," he says.
"So if they just want a sing a song, we just sing a song. If they just want to hang out and talk about something only they can understand, I'm fine with it."
After asking around for a while, Isaacs finds his friend Eddie Jones, he's just off Broadway. Jones runs a shoe shining business by day. Troy approaches Jones' shoe shine cart, cheerily greeting him. "I would like to see if SRO down the street has a bed," says Troy. "If they have a bed, would you like to go there today?"
"A bed in a shelter?" Jones asks.
"No," says Troy. "A bed by yourself, in your own room!"
Jones delights at the possibility. Troy gets on the phone and starts calling around. Jones says he's been on the street since he lost his job shining shoes at the Bonaventure Hotel. Housing someone like Jones is difficult work: he says he avoids most shelters after a few bad experiences there. And because his shoe shining business is based downtown, he wants to stay local. Troy has been trying to find a place for Jones for some time.
Hanging up the phone, it's apparent that today is Jones' day. There's no bed space for Jones, but Troy promises to follow up every day. "I appreciate you doing this," says Jones.
"You know that I've been trying!" Troy replies.
And with that, Troy moves on--he has a meeting on Skid Row. He talks with everyone he sees on the way. He’s been doing that for three years, helping everyone he can find. And there’s no sign he’s slowing down.
How did homeless advocate Troy Isaac become who he is today?
Troy Erik Isaac is a homeless advocate who travels all over Los Angeles by foot helping any person he meets—he almost never ignores a phone call. But maybe even more compelling is his long, sometimes troubled history.
Troy Isaac was born in Houston. He grew up in an unstable home and moved to Burbank when he was 12. Not long after, he had his first run in with the law:
“I did not have a gun, I had my hand under my shirt,” said Isaac, describing an attempted stick-up robbery he committed.
“I went to like a parking lot and I wanted the lady to give me her money," said Isaac. "And she says 'I don’t have money, but I have makeup.' And I says 'I don’t care, give me that!'"
He said the woman called the police, and he was arrested not long after. He was given a few months inside Juvenile Hall, but it was the first offense of many, and started Isaac down a long, difficult road in the prison system. For Isaac, it meant being repeatedly raped.
“When you walk in effeminate, and [inmates] see a piece of meat," he said. "They demand oral copulation from you in showers, or they gang up on you in a mop closet—you know… you have to learn how to defend yourself. At a young age. I would cut up my wrists, I would say that I was suicidal, just to be moved out of those threatening situations.”
For the better part of his young adult life, he’d find himself in and out of detention centers, prisons, jails. In total, he spent 24 years behind bars: he was raped by inmates, and says he was beaten by guards. He did time for vandalism, shoplifting, assault. His last offense, Isaac was caught impersonating Ru Paul.
"I went around town, limousines, hotels, best food, best outfits, all on Ru Paul’s name," said Troy. "And we had a public trial, and Ru Paul showed up, and Ru Paul wanted me to get 15 years. The judge gave me eight. And eight years was enough time to get my life together to figure out who I was, and the rest is history. “
The trauma he went through in prison eventually put him in touch with more people on the outside. He started mailing back and forth with a group called Just Detention International—or JDI—one of the few organizations devoted to stopping prison rape. Lovisa Stanow, the organization’s executive director, remembers when she first encountered Isaac:
“I have really, at a more personal level, been so gratified just seeing Troy evolve in a way, from the first time he unannounced came by the office and introduced himself. And we realized that this is, in fact, Troy, who we had corresponded with for years, while he was incarcerated. He had now been released and he basically showed up at JDI’s offices, saying, “Now I’d like to help you. What can I do?”
Isaac is now a member of the organization’s survivor council, and he’s travelled to Washington DC to speak with members of Congress on the topic. Here he is in a video for the organization:
As of today, it’s been 11 years since he’s been arrested—that’s a record for him. And now, as a field advocate for the homeless, he works closely with LAPD. His work with JDI gave him a place to go when he got out of prison. But possibly more than anything he credits his new direction to one person.
“I’ve always been a fan of Oprah. Because she was my mother in prison," said Isaac. "I would watch her everyday, if I got a TV. And she’s so inspirational and she got me into journal writing. And there are things that she said that did NOT work out for me. Like pilates, yoga, it did not work out for me, but I tried them. And there are times that I channel myself ever since I’ve been out---there are times that I sound like Oprah, when I’m giving things away.”
And unlike Oprah, he can’t give away new cars, but thanks to the support of a Mid-Wilshire philanthropist, he can give meals, cigarettes and even a home to people in need.
Eat LA: RIP Angeli Caffe & Drago Santa Monica, but hello Cafe Livre
Eat:LA's Colleen Bates talks with Evan Kleiman and Jonathan Gold about the death of groundbreaking LA restaurant Angeli Caffe. Colleen and Jonathan also consider the closing of the Drago flagship and Pasadena's Michelin-starred Trez Venizie. Plus, Off-Ramp host John Rabe goes to Culver City to check out Farid Zadi's new bistro, Cafe Livre.
Pacific Standard Time: Conceptual art at OCMA
Conceptual art is as much, or more, about the process of experiencing (making, looking at, thinking about, documenting) art as the art object itself. And SoCal, not weighed down by the strictures and structures of the art establishment, was a hotbed of conceptual art. It's the focus of the Orange County Museum of Art's Pacific Standard Time entry, State of Mind: New California Art Circa 1970. Off-Ramp host John Rabe talked with artist Al Ruppersberg, a surprise guest, and OCMA's co-curator, Karen Moss. (The exhibit closes January 22d, so go see it now!)
Anime's 40-year old teenager: Yuri Lowenthal
Off-Ramp animation expert Charles Solomon talks with the voice behind the animated characters any ten-year boy knows: Yuri Lowenthal. Lowenthal's believability and flexibility has led to leads in the anime series "Gurren Lagann," "Naruto Shippuden," and "Ben 10."
We've posted the short and long versions of their conversations.