
I met two gang intervention specialists last week who work in Harbor City, Harbor Gateway and East Side Torrance in South LA. They are both former gang members and both fathers.
Leroy Martinez is now 52; he was an active gang member until eight years ago. He said he decided to get out because he was “physically and mentally tired of the gangs and the drugs.†He had used drugs for 38 years and “came from five generations of alcoholism, drug use and gang banging.†He said he was thrown out of the house at age 13 and has been living on the streets since—except for his years behind bars, of course. Leroy still has all of his tattoos, covering his arms and riding up to his neck. He said he hasn’t had them removed because they’re a part of him, each one a memory.
Leroy still has a gang injunction against him—technically, he is not allowed to associate with gang members in the very area in which he acts as a gang intervention counselor for LA Bridges II. He said he could get the injunction removed, but it would cost thousands of dollars in legal fees.
Leroy’s step-son was also involved in gangs; he died when he was 22. Leroy said there was a drive-by shooting, and his step-son lay down on the ground uninjured. But then the shooter jumped out of the car and shot at the kid again, this time killing him. Leroy now helps take care of his step-son’s child, an 8-year-old boy.
The other gang counselor, Levi Wade, told me about his son too. He hasn’t seen him in 13 years. He said his son, who was 17 at the time, was in the backseat during a drive-by. He said his son didn’t fire the gun, but he admitted to being in the car and got 15 years in prison for gang affiliation. Levi said it was his son’s first offense. He was able to visit him in prison once, but he has been denied visitation ever since because of his own past. Levi too was an active gang member, in and out of prison.
Now the two men—one Latino, one African American—work together to get kids out of gangs. They refer to each other as “my partner,†and say their bond is as close as family. They work together all day and night, rarely getting a day off and often being called in the middle of the night to respond to the scene of a shooting. They show up and first try to control the rumors. Communication is key, both men said. A lot of problems result from misunderstandings. They talk to as many people as they can, figure out who did what and why, and then they mediate the situation.
They don’t carry weapons or wear bulletproof vests, and they never get paid overtime. They say they make less money than the janitors or secretaries. They wouldn’t tell me how much they make because they said it is shameful. Nonetheless, they kept telling me they love their work and wouldn’t change it for anything.
When they’re not out on the streets, they’re in the classroom, telling kids why they should study and get a degree. They size the kids up and tell them they don’t have what it takes to be a gang member. They tell them they’re not going to survive being a gangster—they’re not strong enough. One time they put a kid in the front of the room, bent him over a desk and told him that’s what will happen to him in prison. The kid changed his behavior, they said.
What happens when they find a kid who they think is tough enough to survive as a gangster? Levi tells him: “I ain’t wasting my time with your punk ass. You better talk to my partner.”
Leroy says he’ll help anybody. “I got a conscience,” he laughs.
They’ve been working together for six years and say their tactics work. They provide the kids the support and attention—as well as food, clothing and legal advice—that they need.
And they think that their personal stories, their past encounters with the law time and again, help them reach today’s young gangsters.

