The Making of a Warrior: From sissy to fearless, stand your ground
When J.O. Tobin received his ula lei (flower necklace) at Hollywood Park, after beating Seattle Slew; we lived in Ingle-Watts. That’s what I call Inglewood back in the 1970’s. I think Dad wanted to be closer to the racetrack I’m sure. When I was 10 years old, double “D” was what I would announce to myself and everyone else. “I am two numbers old! You guys are all still just 1 digit.” and laugh. I remember waiting for something miraculous to happen now that I was 10 years old, a grown up! I waited all year to get taller, grow chichi’s, and wear those green pumps in my mothers closet. But nothing happened, so I lost interest and went back to playing.
MIGRATING To AMERIKA
We grew up very sheltered from the influence of the outside world; people from Amerika. They are not like us. In the mid 1950’s my grandpa, came from Samoa, to help the first 50 families from the south pacific, to start a church in Los Angeles, California. It’s still there, along with a marque listing the founding families that worked blue collar jobs, raised families, and pooled their income to build a house of worship. The weekends are when our small community of Samoan’s would gather at a family home, or church, to talk stories or share news from family back home in the islands. Gatherings provided support and advice, on how to navigate this new country that looked shiny on top; but with an angry undertone of hardship and desperation that we could feel. A truly foreign type of suffering behind the smiles.
E’ESE - Different bloodline, different ethical/moral standards - Keep Away.
They discussed crime as a major concern, as all their children were getting picked on at school for being different. Samoan’s don’t whine about shit. We will follow the protocol to address a situation needing justice. If that is not handled by those that are in charge of “handling a misunderstanding’ we’ll take care of it island style - not a good thing. Back in the 1970’s you got your ass beat right there in public, for calling us names or touching us. It was a common thing in those days, that adjusted stupid behavior prevalent in L.A. today.
A foreign world nothing like Samoa; lined with coconut trees that stand like slim, sensual dancers crowded with a headdress. Where peace, singing, fiafia (making merry without alcohol) , story telling, dancing and worship as a people to the most high God: LeAtua, was/is a normal day, year, or millennium. My parents met in the U.S. and had six kids born in Los Angeles. They left paradise to migrate to a land that only works, with ‘play’ as a deferred reward should you make it to retirement age. This was not a deal in my fathers mind. But he had no choice. He had to come here. He handled a generational bully Samoan stylethat put a mark on him. Kind of like Michelle Corleone’s character in The Godfather, when he was smuggled back to the old country; to the island of Sicily to hide. But dad had to leave home to come here. His absolute love and longing for the rest of his life, was to go back home to live and die like all our ancestors.But he passed away here in the U.S., never making it back home, permanently.
LEAVING LOS ANGELES - Skin color doesn’t define Ignorance.
We lived in Inglewood for two years after leaving what I considered our ‘real’ home in L.A., where all our friends were. I had fights in school, always the same shit. Fucken big mouth, playground terrorizing asshole would start a fight. Imagine you are playing handball with a bunch of kids in line waiting to play the winner. “Next” a voice would queue that someone lost, and it was time for the next player to take out the queen of handball for the day at lunch time. The chorus to that great song by King Harvest, Dancing in the Moonlight was the rhythm and vibe on the playground: fun. Screaming kids running, playing tag or chase. School was almost over for the year, summer was coming. I didn’t have too many fights yet. That would come later the following year when we abruptly moved, while I was in the 6th grade to Inglewood, California.
PROPOSITION 13 - Two family income required to be a homeowner
I didn’t know then, that the signs everywhere for Proposition 13 would forever change the cost of housing permanently in the U.S. In order to afford a home, or apartment you needed two incomes to survive. My mother had to work, but she had no experience other than cross-over skills of care taking, dishwashing, or a maid in the hotels like her sisters, my Aunties. She was a hospital Orderly which required strong men & women to flip old convalescent patients. It was rare to have Chicano or Japanese patients at the hospitals in those days. She would tell us there are only black and white people at my job. Many of them were crazy old men and women bitter from the walk of life they chose. Somehow that led them to the bed prison that waited for their last exhale.
My parents were crazy jealous of each other. My mom is a social butterfly that loves attention like a child. Hard wiring from the DNA and expressed in her real name, not the ‘American’ name: Alice. The correct translation of mama’s name is: “Jubilee of the Youth” The mascot for the Youth younger generation, ranging in ages between teens through your twenties. Mom was also a feisty rebel, refusing to learn the normal traditional lessons of history, speech, mannerism, cooking, cleaning. Our version of Emily Post mannerism included self-control of the mouth, and facial expressions without annoyance. Basically etiquette school is required on my Mom's side of the family. Her older sister, had a very gentle, quiet spirit, that was the opposite of mom. Culver City is where full secular music, laughter, and our babysitter older cousins lived. Aunty Alofa (love) and Uncle Misa’s home was the meeting place on my Mother’s side of the family.
ROYALTY - Ancient Manu’a, Atua, and A’ana Districts
Mom and her sisters were known island wide as both gorgeous and dangerous when crossed. The daughters of the Chief of Police in Manu’a. Dad was always worried when mom went to work, fearing something terrible would happen to her, and no one would do anything about it. Very common in those days. So after he got off of work from Douglas Aircraft in Long Beach, he would come home, sleep two hours and go pick-up mom from work in Culver City. A man that was so concerned about his creamy complected, high cheekbone beauty from the ancient side of Samoa, The Manu’a District. From one of the three sister islands known by white people as the ‘isles of enchantment’ a grouping of islands NOT for Outsiders; E Sa! Forbidden - stay out! The outsiders that have been recently raping our islands since 2020 covid shutdown; need to get the fuck off of our land. Enchanted means haunted - people that are not people - that you can see with your own eyes, in the day time.All e’ese outsiders, that defile our islands, without fa’aaloalo (respect) are sent home with unseen ‘friends’ right back to home sweet generational nightmare. Warning, The Brady Bunch, the episode about taking something from Hawaii. Remember that? Look it up. My siblings are in the same birth order. The difference is - we are the original Polynesians, that are connected to the Land that was given by LeAtua to us. No one else. Keep your fucken land and leave ours alone! The Manu’a District is Ground Zero - The birthplace of KNOWLEDGE AND KINGSHIP TITLES, Received from above centuries before the bronze age. Here is the beginning of Samoa. There were three kings. Leifi is from the opposite islands to Manu’a, from the island of Upolu in the ancient district of Atua & A’ana. Next to Upolu is the true ancient mother island of all the Polynesian islands: Savaii. These are all ancient lands. Sacred, please stay the fuck off. The Atua District from ancient times, is where LEIFI comes from. My siblings and I are the direct descendants of The Kings of Samoa. My mother is also Royalty…but we never knew growing up. However, I always had a suspicion as to why the six of us were held in high regard and we were always watched by good and hater Samoan’s too. I found out the full story after Dad passed. Then my Mom confirmed, and it left me empty and sad, that they came here. But then I would not have this opportunity to tell you a fascinating story of Samoa, before we got there. Going back to the Akkadians & Hittite Kingdoms, of Sumer & Ur. The Tower of Babylon, passing along the Philippines, Axum, (modern day Djibouti, Africa) and the west coast of India. In fact, I traced it back to the first Man - Adam (atom) same thing guys. Here’s my call sign: C2aO3 Polynesians carry the recessive Adam genome, that few today have. So stop trying to lowkey accidently on purpose destroy us bitch! Most people don’t understand what it means, which is fine with me. But if you can interpret it? Let me know. So far no one I’ve met understands haplo-groups, and the meaning of both alpha numeric labels. I know what it means…waiting for someone else to get this, so we can nerd talk 😂!
HAWAIIAN NURSE - mom’s nickname at work
One of the patients was an old white lady that would wait for my mom to come to work. She didn’t like anyone else touching her because she told my mom they were mean.
“Hi girls!” mom would announce upon arrival to work. All her coworkers were black women that migrated a generation before from southern states of Alabama and Georgia.
“Alice! Wu girl come on in girl? Your friend in bed fourteen has been calling for you and won’t shut up. Chail go see about that white lady. My God, make her quiet or they're gonna tranquilize her to shut up.”
“Okay let me see” walking down the corridor in a white skirt uniform, hair piled with curls on the top of her head with a red hibiscus flower in her ear. She would always pinch flowers on a walk and put it behind an ear. This was part of her normal accessories, red lipstick, and a ring on her finger from a powerful man.
Mom got whistled at often with old patients and provided a new lexicon of profanity neither she nor any of us understood. Lashing out in rage and yelling at a stranger was foreign to us. Only crazy people did that. We had no point of reference to handle this kind of shit. So she learned to ignore all of it and keep her heart guarded from bad people.
“Hawaiian nurse! Hawaiian nurse, where are you?”
“Okay, okay Mrs. so-and-so, I’m here, what do you need? Why you making all this noise? They going to bring the needle pe a e le mapu ie lo nutu.”
“What did you say Hawaiian nurse? Did you say something in Hawaiian? Do you have children? What are their names?” Ignoring the question, Alice went to work calling for a few coworkers to move the patient to switch out the bedding, long overdue. “Yes I have children, they are sleeping, you should sleep too.”
My mother would pray for her, and other lonely patients. She had other beds to attend to five days a week, flipping up to twenty people daily or more - depending on if someone died earlier that morning. Patients waiting for death, that reeked of urine, fecal matter or open bed sores from limited motion. Patients weighed on average between 45 - 130kgs in deadweight. This voluptuous curvy, perfectly shaped full mouth young islander, from a line of royalty was flipping strangers in a strange land. Minimum wage was $2.50/hour, 40-hours a week, working graveyard so she could be home with us after school until we went to sleep. She would go to work at 10:00 pm until the following morning, get home within 40 minutes to help six kids get ready for school. If she worked the swing shift she had to wash these people too.
Her English, like my dad's, was severely broken. Like Hawaiian folk when you piss them off. LOL. It’s funny - but not funny. Reminds me of a sign in one of the National Geographics Collection I have that dates back to 1965 my birth year. A photo of a Hawaiian couple standing in front of their families land with a sign that read: “WE NOT GOING GO!”
YOU GET 1 PASS - When the bullies cross a line
One night when mom just punched in for a graveyard shift in Santa Monica, one of the patients bitter, and mean to everyone started shit. He was also a big white man that still had strength in his mouth and arms, but unable to get out of bed. Alice tried to calm him down as he flung more colorful words of profanity her way that she ignored. While cleaning up the mess that the barking dog man had created; he threw something at her. His dirty bedpan was on the floor along with anything that was within his reach. Mom turned around to leave the room to get help, the old guy threw a full picture of water that hit her in the neck and upper back. She stood in a puddle of water, and was shocked as the anger was summoned, and shouted, “You mulla-faka you!” The heat from within rose from chest to face painting her cheeks bright pink, as she stormed out to tell her supervisor. The bosses of the convalescent - were well aware of Mr. Leifi the quiet guy that waits in his car 15 minutes early to pick-up his wife after work. Mom was hot and angry!
“See what that heffa do to me? Call my husband!” Alice ordered her supervisor to call dad. The boss was scared, tried to calm my mother down, to think of a smart peaceful way to explain what happened, to my father. She finished with, “Go on home for the day Alice. We’ll pay you the full day because it wasn’t your fault, why you had to leave early. Let me speak to your husband when he gets here.” When he got the phone call, he was there in half the normal drive time from west Los Angeles, to Culver City.
“Hello Mr. Leifi. We are very sorry for what happened. You know some of the patients are crazy and…sir we are very sorry.”
Dad controlled his anger calmly asking, “Where is he?”
“Sir, Mr. Leifi, that old man, he's crazy. I’m sure the Lord will take him soon…but please, we cannot have you back there with our patients. Please take your wife home and we’ll see Alice tomorrow. Thank you sir” extended her arm towards the exit.
“I didn’t bring my wife to work to be hit by strangers. Okay we go.” After a long pause he said to my mom’s boss, “Take care - no happen again. Or you gonna make the Big Happen! I will kill that man and anybody else that touches my wife. You understand?”
“Yes sir, we do understand your meaning. Thank you for not looking for revenge. Good night sir drive safely,” Body language from dad communicated to mom, let’s go home. Tell me what happened in the car. That was the first and last time my mom got messed with at work; she had dad.
SHOWTIME - From Simba to Mufasa
It was the most terrifying two years when I was in the sixth grade, as my older brother was now in High School. Meaning I was responsible for my siblings while at school. It was predominately black with a few ranchero Mexicans and a handful of us who were going through culture shock. These kids were truly E’ESE: different bloodlines - different ethics. They were also aggressive without cause…nothing like the black kids from our old school Baldwin Hills Elementary. I fought practically every week with bullies that f*cked with my siblings, that would get hit and slapped in the face! That’s a NO GO with Samoans. My youngest sister was a common target because she was very fair like mom with a pretty face. The neighbors upstairs used to call her, ‘hey pretty girl come play with us’’ as they couldn’t pronounce her name. She wasn’t a fighter, just a normal kid that wanted to play marbles or jump rope with other civilized children before school started.
Most of the bullies towered a full head over my younger siblings including me. It was easier last year when our older brother was at the same school. He had to fight bullies all the time before school, at lunch, and after school. He got bullied by teachers and students alike as he was a wild full of life child and clever, until Inglewood. The introduction to Cholos and lowrider Chicano gangsters saw him play football and wanted him to join their gang. My brother made the varsity team as a Freshman. He was the King of the elementary school for slaying a number of bully dragons. They all got their asses handed to them every time.
We didn’t grow up in the ghetto, and were well mannered like all Polynesian kids. I don’t know what the fuck was wrong with people back then, angry adults with a mean vibe that could be felt citywide. Stevie Wonder’s Sir Duke just came out on the radio. Grease with John Travolta and Olivia would follow soon after making every young school girl want to grow up and dress just like a whore: the new role model of sexy! But I hated her outfit, because to me she was a sell out. I preferred her regular outfit with Pinky Tuscadero’s leather jacket instead. But we didn’t have any money, so Double-Dutch jump rope was the only thing of value I learned in school. The rest of the work was too easy for me, so naturally I’d search for something new to learn or play.
My beautiful cousin Christina, and other cousin brothers Eddie and Johnny, moved to Inglewood too. We were so happy, so relieved to see our people: friendly, happy cracking jokes while walking to school. It wasn’t just the kids that were mean in Inglewood. The adults were shamefully evil as well. Total strangers on the street walking would hit us! On the way to school or the corner market that was 8 blocks away. We had to run home after school most of the time to avoid the sadistic older siblings from Jr. High. They would be waiting for their younger bully family still in elementary school. Other hyena’s would identify us in a crowd and point, “there they go! Get them!’ But this wasn’t funny at all.
If you don’t understand what this looks and feels like, allow me: Imagine you are surrounded by hyenas that want to kill you, just for the fun of it. I was surrounded by a two layered circle, right in front of the school. I spoke in our tongue, to a sibling, “find a grown-up quick run!” I remember while in the center of the circle jumping up to wave at a few cars passing by for help. But they just smiled, slowed down and parked, to encourage the beating, because we were not black, and new from a rich school, so they told us.
“How would we know? We don’t know grown up stuff!” Screamed in my head but not spoken. All reasoning had escaped the mental faculties of the bullies out for blood. So I kept it to myself.
THE BULLY CRUSHER - Remember Peter Maivia when in danger, use a wrestling move.
It was supposed to be a 1 on 1 fight. A boy from Jr. High fighting a girl in the 6th grade. I was winning and it angered the crowd that waved in and out close to the center where we fought. Cheater ugly monsters in the circle, would reach for my long hair, butting into the fight. This was my second fight in row after beating up his dumb flunked out bully sister from the day before. She slapped my youngest sister in the face leaving a handprint behind, making her cry. We did not grow up that way. All this trouble without cause, was completely foreign to us. That bitch got her ass kicked that day, although she was about 8 inches taller, wider, with clubs for arms. I knew if she landed a real blow it would hurt me badly, so I danced. I sent her home after the fight to show her parents the purple blue eyeshadow and busted fat lip for talking shit and hitting my sister, 3 grades younger! Idiot. She went and got her brother from Jr. High the next day. I was fighting ugly nappy headed pit bull now who was shorter, closer to my height. While fighting, I was surrounded by a mob of thirsty for evil laughs, stupid kids. Pitbull was losing and then he pulled a ‘bitch move’ and kicked me in my privates. I stopped, blinded with white stars in my eyes, as a sharp pain I never knew before paralyzed me for a moment. He backed up relieved I stopped punching him, and then the hot tears flooded my eyes as the heat rose within me. I wiped my tears quickly and looked at him, and he was fully aware of boy fight rules! If you’re being kidnapped, or in great danger only - then kick between the legs! Rule 2: don’t fight girls unless they're your sister! But this hyena from Monroe Jr. High, a hooligan in the making, broke the fight rules like a chicken sissy hitting below the belt. We locked eyes, and he got scared because now I was angry and he was going to die. Previously it was just another fight, don’t take it too far or you’ll really hurt him. He tried to escape, breaking the wall of kids that surrounded us, but I caught him and thought of a wrestler's move from T.V. After slapping his face a few times; I put him in a headlock. In wrestling sometimes the person in the headlock would be rushed towards the ropes and thrown out of the ring.
The fighting continued as we tried to walk home. There was a brick wall about 3 feet high to someone's raised lawn; a landscaping design common in Inglewood. I rushed his head right into the brick wall. The crowd paused in shock for a moment, because nappy didn’t want to fight anymore. He called it quits. So the mob descended on me. My siblings were screaming my name also surrounded in a sea of angry black kids, that mirrored the verse, ‘feet that are swift to shed blood’
DIVINE INTERVENTION - A lion, hyenas, and a white lady with a silver car
This was the heart of Inglewood, meaning no white people for miles unless you worked at the schools. Right when they started to pull at my clothes, they were trying to rip my shirt off as I curled into a ball facing the ground. Frenzied ugly shouting got louder, and someone kicked me in the head, while curled up to handle the blows. There were about 30 kids from elementary and Jr. High that participated. Then out of nowhere a voice of a woman yelling “Stop it! Stop it now move, stop it!” I felt a welcoming cool skinny hand scoop me up by the waist. She tucked me under her arm as we ran to her car in the street with the motor running, and the driver door still open.
The mofo hyenas were still punching me in the side, yelling but I could hear my name from my youngest sister and two brothers behind us. They were also fighting now, other hater boys because I won the fight. I called to them above the noise, to come quick and it was just like a stupid movie when a star is rushing to a car. Same out-of-control animals! And for what? Because we were not the same race as everyone else. This seemed to be an unspoken agreement with the locals, to beat up the outsiders when frustrated at self. I didn’t know any bad words at 11 so I shouted in Samoan, Aikakae! Vivi idiot get away! We all got into a white ladies car that rescued the five of us. I knew it was bad, because she was visibly shaking while asking for directions to our home. I’ve always remembered the way she looked at us. She was sad but couldn’t do anything about it. We all had to fight, because they didn’t honor the rules of, “Leave the winner alone if they won fair and square.”
Being a sore loser for Polynesians especially Samoa is poor sportsmanship, not attractive to us at all. A mark against that person's character: don’t trust, loto leaga = a thinker of private jealousy: exposed. Bad form is called out publicly when someone is out of bounds with comment or action, in retaliation for losing. For some reason I felt that I failed because my siblings got hurt too. But they were scared, including the stranger that drove us home. I don’t remember a conversation between the lady that rescued us and our parents. What I do remember was getting my ass whooped for getting into a strangers car with my younger siblings. I was responsible for making correct decisions for the welfare and safety of all siblings younger while at school. This is Fa’a Samoa tradition. Period.
THE RULES - Aua ete… (Don’t ever)…I protested the whipping stating it was the only option out. My siblings echoing the same thing as witnesses to the ordeal but it fell on deaf ears. I got whipped with the leather belt pretty bad. His reasoning I could not understand then. But I do now: “Better to have bruises from a powerful war with kids at school, then all 5 of you gone lost in this country to bad people.”
He was sweating after whipping me and for being really angry with me, while I steamed with rage in defiance because to me it was wrong. I should not have gotten whipped and could not understand the betrayal. But then, he broke and I was too young to comprehend his anger that prompted the tears. The thought of losing his kids in a strange land that he did not want to live in was too much, that day for him. There are only a handful of memories of my dad crying. That was one of them. I don’t think he told mom how we got home. She would have had a heart attack at the thought, just like him if 5 of her 6 babies never came back after school. It would have killed them both. Kidnapping was real, while Ted Bundy was having a heyday with local murders in the surrounding neighborhoods. We never saw that lady in the silver car again. She didn’t work at our school.
By the end of the sixth grade, most bullies and boys that liked to taunt girls, stopped fucking with us. Finally a reprieve from gladiator matches was an earnest welcome. But that was short lived.
EDUCATION - Self taught, and public school too.
If I wasn’t in a fight at school, I was learning the medical terms to help my mom get a nursing LVN license. She was physically tired from the demanding job of flipping people and bathing them. My father was still angry at what happened to mom so they decided she should go to nursing school after work. The material was too difficult to understand. So my father asked me at eleven, ‘Can you help mama with her homework?’ I helped everyone with their homework if they needed it. “Sure, bring her books.” It was all foreign to me with big words in Latin and Greek. An anatomy textbook with the basics including all the correct medical terms of body parts, internal and external, with diagrams. I spent about a year reading the dictionary, cross referencing the medical book to learn all the words and comprehend the meaning. Then I would interpret the material for mama to comprehend. Afterwards I would test her. Lol. I told her she had to learn it if she wanted to stop washing old people. When we finally moved out of Inglewood to Long Beach, my mother graduated and got her license. She was an LV Nurse with me as her tutor. If a parent doesn’t put learning barriers based on age, a child can learn anything. At eleven years old, I had a head full of LVN knowledge of how to be a nurse, when I graduated elementary school. It gave me a good feeling of satisfaction helping mama get out of that ugly job that exhausted her. She didn’t have to do that anymore, now that she had an LVN license. Three years later I would do the same for my father to get his Welding license. I was in the 8th grade. And still getting into fights with bullies at school.
THE BOAT PEOPLE - Arrival of Cambodian migrants, to Long Beach.
Fighting bullies would continue clear through the 11th grade for me with the arrival of Cambodians immigrants referred to as: The Boat People.
Two bullies on the bus coming home from high school decided it was fun to harass the new immigrants that were all over the news during the early 1980’s. Clearly the Cambodian girls new to the country were terrified, now that they were the victims of endless name calling, and shoving in high school. My sister wanted to stop the bully while we were on the bus. I told her in Samoan, ‘Don’t butt in unless they get hit.’ She agreed. Then it happened, as the fight broke out on the bus, that emptied into the street. The bus driver yelled to get out, and open the side door.
Bullies got off on causing pain. Making people cry and hurting them for no reason. So they were sent home holding their teeth in their hands, with temporary new purple & blue eyeshadow. My Irish twin sister and I were the ‘regulators’ if you messed with the immigrants in front of us. Or if you were a bully? An unexpected visit to either the hospital or the dentist would be their fate. “Choose which one you prefer? “Black eyes, broken bones, or no teeth?” Was my smartass question by now like ordering something in a drive through: “Let me get 1 busted lip, along with dislocated knuckles, oh and can you throw in two black eyes with a side of wounded pride? Oh and please put a lid on it so nothing gets out. I was talking shit so please keep it quiet.” LOL I would always give them 1 chance to apologize before teaching a permanent lesson: “How dare you touch us! Don’t you know who we are? Fuckhead.” That fight turned into a Race Riot at Long Beach Poly High. It began with 2 black bullies on a city bus. That taunted 2 Cambodian girls coming home from school; who got their asses kicked by 2 Samoan sisters. They didn’t know our ethnicity as there wasn’t a large community of Polynesians in LB at the time. The riot ended after two days, and that big girl made sure she told her friends, “That one, the shorter sister, don’t mess with her. Look what she did to me?’
“Who her? Please, I can take her out.” A cocky bully would say.
“Yep that one. It’s all fake. She is nice, and quiet but she hits and fights like a man, and doesn't like ghetto talk. Seems to set her on edge. She doesn't fight like a girl. Stay away from her.” By the 11th grade, no one messed with us. The Cambodians protected the next wave of immigrants of Laotians that arrived in Long Beach during the 1990s. I lost 1 fight in about 40 or so, to a boy who knew how to box. That was the last time. Some people have frowned upon my fighting as not being proper for a girl. Who cares what someone else says? Guys would say as I walked by with my sister,, “Watch out for those two. They are cute, but they’ll mess you up. They also have big brothers and cousins. Should leave them alone.” Words of wisdom for sure. Confidence rises when fear is no longer a delay to action. Thank you for reading. Respectfully.
Terry Leifi-Silverstein
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