The remaining five couples on Dancing with the Stars faced two rounds of competition on Monday. First, the pairs performed mixed-up routines, blending uncommon styles with unusual themes. Then, they celebrated the 25th anniversary of Michael Jackson's hit album Bad with more traditional ballroom numbers.
Keep reading for all the details and scores ...
Melissa Rycroft & Tony Dovolani Last week's top scorers kicked off the night with a caveman hustle. "Fred and Wilma have never danced so well," Len Goodman said, while Bruno Tonioli said they lost footing during the turns. They scored a 27.5. But their red-hot Argentine tango to "Dirty Diana" was a perfect 30. "That was beyond anything I could have imagined for you," a thrilled Carrie Ann Inaba said. "I would be really disappointed if you're not here next week," Len added.
Shawn Johnson & Derek Hough Hough said he would rather put mustard on ice cream than combine their Knight Rider theme with the Bhangra style. But the judges ate up the routine – and awarded the pair a perfect 30. In round two, their Argentine tango sparked disagreement on the panel. Bruno and Len held up 10s but Carrie Ann knocked off a point. "Every line was perfect, but dance is sometimes more than just movement and I thought that you lacked the real passion of the Argentine tango," she said.
Apolo Ohno & Karina Smirnoff Their big top jazz routine was another sticking point for Carrie Ann and Bruno. She found the mime-themed dance "very disjointed," "out of sync" and "quite sloppy." He found it "edgy, surreal" and a "great mixture of jazz movement." They earned 27 points. But there was no arguing over their rumba to "Man in the Mirror," which earned a perfect 30. "It was like the sea," Len said. "There was wave after wave of effortless motion. There was a subtlety to it, there was a calmness. It captivated. It was fabulous."
Emmitt Smith & Cheryl Burke The goal of their espionage lindy hop was to be cartoonish. Though that was tough for the former Dallas Cowboy, the judges were pleased and awarded the pair 27 points. "It was like a Looney Tunes version of James Bond," Bruno said. "It was the most fun performance I've seen you do." Their tango to "Leave Me Alone" was more of a challenge, but Len still gave Smith credit: "You've coped marvelously well with two dances that didn't really suit you," he said.
Kelly Monaco & Val Chmerkovskiy Their surfer flamenco was super sexy – Val ended up in nothing but Speedo! – but the judges had issues with their technique, and handed out only 25.5 points. "It had a lot of aggression and a lot of fire. But the flamenco has very, very exact placement and it wasn't there," Bruno said. Carrie Ann called it "robotic." But they added 28.5 points with a romantic rumba to "I Just Can't Stop Loving You." "That was smoldering, driven by desire, consumed by lust," Bruno said. "The chemistry between you two is literally singeing."
Two couples are heading home Tuesday night, leaving just three to compete in next week's finale. Who deserves a chance at the mirror-ball trophy? Discuss in the comments below.
About 120 people packed a Pasadena City Hall meeting Monday night to cheer or jeer city plans to allow the Rose Bowl to host professional football games for up to five years if an NFL team moves to Los Angeles.
Residents of the tony neighborhoods near the iconic 90-year-old stadium say NFL games would unleash rowdy fans and cause traffic jams at the expense of homeowners and recreational users.
More than 25,000 vehicles would come to the Rose Bowl on game days, according to a city study, shutting down Brookside Park, the Rose Bowl Aquatics Center, Kidspace Museum and Brookside Golf Course on game days. UCLA also plays its home football games at the Rose Bowl.
Proponents say NFL-related revenue would bail the city-owned stadium out from more than $30 million in cost overruns for ongoing renovation work. Once budgeted at $152 million, the project's cost has climbed to nearly $195 million.
To begin talks with the NFL, the City Council must pass an ordinance to increase the number of large events at the Rose Bowl from a limit of 12 a year to as many as 25. City leaders were expected to vote on the measure late Monday night.
Betsy Nathane, who lives in the Linda Vista neighborhood next to the stadium, said before the meeting started that people from around the region would be put out if a team comes in.
"I use the arroyo nearly every day," she said. "To have [park facilities] closed off for 25 days a year is going to change a lot of people's lifestyles."
Nanyamka Redmond, who lives west of the Rose Bowl, said the economic boost is worth the hassle.
"Traffic and noise are secondary issues compared to jobs," she said. "I understand people east of the Rose Bowl have spent a pretty penny on their houses and want a certain quality of life, but it's not often any city has the opportunity to generate jobs in this capacity."
Earlier this month, consulting firm Barrett Sports Group estimated that the Rose Bowl could raise $5 million to $10 million annually from an NFL deal. The figure does not include revenue from sales and other taxes generated by local businesses.
City voters in 2005 rejected a plan to allow an NFL team to take up permanent residence at the Rose Bowl. No team has committed to Southern California, and the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum is another possible venue for any team awaiting an NFL stadium to be built in the area.
Councilman Victor Gordo said the city will make accommodations to reduce impacts on residents, but that Pasadena must position itself to negotiate with a team. The Rose Bowl, he said, "was given to us generations ago. It's gone from a park to being America's stadium, and in my mind also a tremendous economic engine for the city and the region."
Brian McCarthy, the NFL's vice president of corporate communications, said in an interview that the league will "monitor all developments in the Los Angeles area" but "has not had any recent conversations with Pasadena or L.A. Coliseum officials."
LONDON — It should be the moment of truth for the mainstream media. Literally. But it seems to have all the makings of a perfect storm, from London to Gaza to Jerusalem.
Just as a new world of tweets and blogs whips up a blizzard of unchecked and sometimes uncheckable information, the Internet itself has created the most severe economic challenge in decades to traditional news outlets, and to newspapers in particular.
And, as costs are cut by downsizing, so, too, are the skills and resources to distill the welter of rumor and rant into something approaching fact.
At the British Broadcasting Corp., embroiled in a sexual abuse scandal, a flawed investigation into misconduct by a British politician ended in recrimination and lawsuits last week after unverified and false accusations had filtered from the flagship “Newsnight” current affairs program into the Twittersphere.
The BBC settled out of court for £185,000, or about $295,000, with the former Conservative Party treasurer Alistair McAlpine, who had been implicated but not identified by name in a segment that inspired several high-profile aficionados of Twitter to pass on the falsehood to tens of thousands of followers. Now, like the old media so often derided by practitioners of the new, they face the threat of lawsuits.
“I helped to stoke an atmosphere of febrile innuendo around an innocent man,” one of them, the columnist and writer George Monbiot, said on his Web site , “and I am desperately sorry for the harm I have done him.”
All this is happening as many in Britain say they fear that the Leveson Inquiry into the practices of British newspapers will lead to statutory regulation not only of the tabloids under scrutiny in the phone-hacking scandal but also of the British national press in general, further restricting the ability to speak truth — that word again — to power.
That is what makes the storm so perfect.
Some of these considerations emerged as the bloody events unfolded in Gaza, chronicled in pages like those of the International Herald Tribune, by courageous journalists risking their lives to report from the scene of rocket attacks in southern Israel and airstrikes in Gaza itself.
But alongside the real war, a separate cyberbattle played out on Twitter, where the Israel Defense Forces and the military wing of the militant Hamas groups sought to mold the narrative, bypassing traditional journalism. Early Monday, the I.D.F. had attracted almost 180,000 followers to @idfspokesperson while the militant @AlqassamBrigade had garnered nearly 32,000.
Clearly, the Twitter messages offer a remarkable insight into rival worlds, reflecting the region’s ability to spawn many versions: a “surgical targeting” for the I.D.F. turned into the “horrifying result” of an Israeli airstrike for those supporting the Hamas view.
Surely, too, the messages contributed to the greater knowledge, adding to the available wealth of sources from television footage, newspapers, wire services or radio broadcasts on the ground.
But what if the 140-character missives are plain wrong, as in the case of Lord McAlpine? What if technology opens this somber universe to impostors, bogus tweeters hiding behind false identities? What if the supposed dissemination of truth is merely a front for the manipulation of opinion — the alchemy sought by propagandists for centuries? Cyberspace generally shuns policing, so who will make the judgment calls about what, for want of a better term, constitutes good taste and decency?
War reporting has always produced partisan accounts alongside the striving for objectivity. But, with both sides turning social media Web sites into weapons in their long-running struggle, some were left feeling queasy.
“There is something grotesque and disturbing about two parties with a long history of conflict live-narrating the launching of bombs that kill civilians and destroy communities,” Jessica Roy, a reporter for Betabeat , a technology blog operated by The New York Observer. “There is no empowerment or revolution here: just a dark, sinking feeling as we watch the bloodshed unfold in real time.”
(That sentiment surfaced at a weekend dinner party in North London, where a guest displayed a smartphone’s ability to display I.D.F. feeds of the cockpit view of airstrikes in Gaza, offering the assembly of three-course generals the perfect dessert storm.)
From one perspective, the uncertainties surrounding the role of the Web in war reporting should be an opportunity for renewal rather than a threat to traditional journalism, allowing the so-called mainstream media to reclaim their onetime mantle as interpreters of events.
But that only works if traditional journalism is able to straighten out the facts that cyberspace warps. And that costs money.
“Nobody who works for a newspaper can afford to be complacent,” the columnist Ian Jack wrote in The Guardian, discussing the impact of personnel reductions.
“In this fracturing and fragmenting of old workplaces, more than comradeship is being lost,” he said. “Error is on the loose.”
Despite his recent split from Selena Gomez, Justin Bieber still had a date for the 40th American Music Awards on Sunday: his mother, Pattie Mallette.
Malette – who recently penned Nowhere But Up: The Story of Justin Bieber's Mom – looked thrilled to pose for photographs with her son.
When Bieber won the first award of the night, for favorite pop/rock male artist, his proud mother, 38, beamed.
"I want to say this is for all the haters who thought I was just here for one or two years. I feel like I'm going to be here for a very long time," the singer said as he accepted the award.
The award was a highlight during a rocky week for Bieber, who on Friday reunited with Gomez, 20, for dinner at a Japanese restaurant in Los Angeles. But just five minutes after entering the restaurant, the couple emerged with Gomez looking visibly "mad," says a source.
Later that night, Bieber Tweeted "Things aren't always easy. there is a lot of pressure. im figuring it all out. im trying. but i care, i notice, i still hear u. #Beliebers."
LONDON (AP) — Europe's top drug regulator has recommended approval for the first vaccine against meningitis B, made by Novartis AG.
There are five types of bacterial meningitis. While vaccines exist to protect against the other four, none has previously been licensed for type B meningitis. In Europe, type B is the most common, causing 3,000 to 5,000 cases every year.
Meningitis mainly affects infants and children. It kills about 8 percent of patients and leaves others with lifelong consequences such as brain damage.
In a statement on Friday, Andrin Oswald of Novartis said he is "proud of the major advance" the company has made in developing its vaccine Bexsero. It is aimed at children over two months of age, and Novartis is hoping countries will include the shot among the routine ones for childhood diseases such as measles.
Novartis said the immunization has had side effects such as fever and redness at the injection site.
Recommendations from the European Medicines Agency are usually adopted by the European Commission. Novartis also is seeking to test the vaccine in the U.S.
On the menu at the Miguel Contreras Learning Complex cafeteria on a recent Friday was petite beef patties on whole wheat buns, a cup of roasted potato wedges, an apple and a carton of 1% milk.
Together, the carefully portioned and paired foods amounted to about 730 calories — safely below a recently implemented 850-calorie cap for high school lunches.
But walk out of the cafeteria, through the circle of giggling cheerleaders and the huddle of boys eyeing them, to the long line of students snaking around a corner and you'll find another option: the student store.
With a few crumpled bills and a smile at the woman running it, a sophomore makes off with an alternative lunch: a bag of cheese balls; a bottle of pineapple, peach and mango juice; three packages of brown sugar Pop-Tarts; and a strawberry ice cream bar. The items equated to 1,200 calories.
Unlike the Los Angeles Unified School District's cafeterias, which are managed by its food services department, the more than 160 student stores on middle and high school campuses have a bit more autonomy.
For students, the stores provide an alternative to the cafeteria food one sophomore described as "meh" and a junior called "crazy healthy." For the schools, the stores provide a much-needed cash supplement for their slashed budgets. Proceeds pay for such things as athletic uniforms, school dances and graduation decorations.
At Miguel Contreras, Marisol Morataya is the snack bar czar.
The 20-year-old started working at the student store her junior year and was hired to stay on as an office assistant after graduating.
"Gimme two fishies," a boy said.
Morataya laughed as she handed him two bags of Goldfish crackers with her left hand and his change with her right. "Next," she said.
A dark-eyed boy barked his order — a school beanie and a bottle of water — over the music blaring out of his earphones. Morataya took a $50 bill from him and squinted her eyes at it. "Yup, he's real."
When things get busy, Luke Shen mans the store's second window.
On a recent Friday, the school's financial manager ran his left hand through his hair as he tallied snack sales on a calculator. So far this year the school has made about $7,300 a month on drink and snack sales, he said, but there's still never enough money to go around.
Shen also patrols the school's vending machines. The companies that stock them usually stick to district-approved items, he said, but not always. Last year, for example, he spotted Flamin' Hot Cheetos behind the glass and had them removed.
"They want the business," Shen said. "But we say, 'If it's not on the list, it's not going to happen.' "
Despite a 7-year-old district policy requiring that snacks meet nutritional standards, the stores end up selling snacks that are "kind of hit-and-miss," said David Binkle, the district's interim director of food services.
"People don't know the rules," Binkle said. "Some student stores go to Costco and buy whatever the kids will eat."
Faced with an onslaught of complaints from students about the new healthful food options last year, L.A. Unified scaled them back a bit. Instead of quinoa, for example, burgers are back — albeit without the cheese.
So far the changes seem to be paying off, Binkle said, noting that more students are eating in cafeterias this year than last. The nation's second-largest district serves about 650,000 meals a day.
But for Amilcar Martinez, the cafeteria's changes aren't enough.
"The cafeteria food is meh," the sophomore said as he shoved his hand into the 50-cent bag of Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal from the student store.
Campus stores aren't the only way around the nutrition requirements. Crafty students sell prohibited items while others get food from off-campus fast food joints.
On a recent day at Roosevelt High School, for example, a baseball player hawked Flamin' Hot Cheetos for a buck a bag and a group of juniors had a friend's mom bring them food from off campus — a pile of tortilla chips drenched with liquid cheese, sour cream and a heaping serving of carne asada.
The district, meanwhile, is attempting to market its food options as best it can. A few weeks ago, for example, officials invited a group of elementary school students and their parents to a meal — served on china — with former White House chef Walter Scheib. If they can convince young students that healthful options are cool, the district reasons, perhaps the message will catch.
Before asking the group to pledge to curb junk food and eat more healthfully, Scheib acknowledged how hard it can be.
"It's like stopping smoking," he said. "It's an ugly and brutal process."
Two children look through the rubble of their house after an airstrike in Beit Lahiya, Gaza, on Sunday.
GAZA CITY — Israel pressed its assault on the Gaza Strip for a fifth straight day on Sunday, deploying warplanes and naval vessels to pummel the coastal enclave and striking at two media offices here as Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu warned of a possible “significant” expansion in the onslaught.
His words came as militants in Gaza aimed at least one rocket at the Israeli heartland in Tel Aviv, one day after after Israeli forces broadened the attack beyond military targets, bombing centers of government infrastructure including the four-story headquarters of the Hamas prime minister.
“We are exacting a heavy price from Hamas and the terrorist organizations and the Israel Defense Forces are prepared for a significant expansion of the operation,” Mr. Netanyahu told his cabinet at its routine Sunday meeting, referring directly to the call-up of thousands of reservists that, coupled with a massing of armor on the Gaza border, many analysts have interpreted as preparations for a possible invasion.
“I appreciate the rapid and impressive mobilization of the reservists who have come from all over the country and turned out for the mission at hand,” he said. “Reservist and conscript soldiers are ready for any order they might receive.”
Mr. Netanyahu’s remarks were reported shortly after a battery of Israel’s “Iron Dome” defense shield, hastily deployed near the city on Saturday in response to the threat of longer-range rockets, intercepted at least one projectile aimed at Tel Aviv on Sunday, Israeli officials said. The episode was the latest of several salvoes that have illustrated Hamas’s ability to extend the range of its rocket attacks.
The crash of explosions pierced the Gaza City quiet several times throughout the early morning, with one attack injuring several journalists at a communications building, witnesses said. A rocket fired from Gaza ploughed through the roof of an apartment building in the southern Israeli city of Ashkelon but there were no immediate reports of casualties there.
The onslaught continued despite talks in Cairo that Egyptian President Mohamed Morsi said Saturday night he thought could soon result in a ceasefire. Prime Minister Netanyahu said he would consider a comprehensive ceasefire if the launches from Gaza stop.
The attack on the office of the Hamas prime minister, Ismail Haniya, one of several on government installations, came a day after he hosted his Egyptian counterpart in that very building on Friday, a sign of Hamas’s new legitimacy in a radically redrawn Arab world.
That stature was underscored Saturday by a visit to Gaza from the Tunisian foreign minister and the rapid convergence in Cairo of two Hamas allies, the prime minister of Turkey and the crown prince of Qatar, for talks with the Egyptian president and the chairman of Hamas on a possible cease-fire.
But Mark Regev, a spokesman for Mr. Netanyahu, denied reports that a truce was imminent.
It was unclear whether the deal under discussion in Cairo would solely suspend the fighting or include other issues. Hamas — which won elections in Gaza in 2006 and took full control in 2007 but is considered a terrorist organization by Israel and the United States — wants to turn its Rafah crossing with Egypt into a free-trade zone and seeks Israel’s withdrawal from the 1,000-foot buffer it patrols on Gaza’s northern and eastern borders.
For his part, Mr. Netanyahu spoke with the leaders of Britain, Germany, Italy, Greece, Poland, Portugal, Bulgaria and the Czech Republic, according to a statement from his office. On Sunday, he said he appreciated the “understanding they are displaying for Israel’s right to defend itself.”
As the fighting entered its fifth day, the conflict showed no sign of abating.
Palestinian news agencies reported that two children were killed in a predawn strike on Sunday in Beit Lahiya in northern Gaza. The Israeli military said it had “targeted dozens of underground launchers” overnight and also hit what it called a Hamas training base and command center. The Israeli Navy “targeted terror sites on the northern Gaza shore line,” the statement said, in repeated rounds of multiple missiles that could be easily heard.
Among the buildings Israel hit overnight were two containing the offices of local media outlets. A statement from the Israeli Defense Forces initially described one of its targets as “a communications facility used by Hamas to carry out terror activity against the state of Israel.” Within minutes, the I.D.F. recalled that statement and replaced it with one referring to “a communications antenna.”
Jodi Rudoren reported from Gaza City, Isabel Kershner from Jerusalem and Alan Cowell from London. Reporting was contributed by Fares Akram and Tyler Hicks from the Gaza Strip, Carol Sutherland and Iritz Pazner Garshowitz from Jerusalem, and David D. Kirkpatrick and Mayy El Sheikh from Cairo.
Janet Mayer/Splash News Online; Don Arnold/Wireimage
Taylor Swift appears to be taking her love life in a new direction.
The "Never Ever Getting Back Together" singer is seemingly taking her lyrics to heart as she moves on from recent ex, Conor Kennedy, and enjoys the company of One Direction hottie Harry Styles.
"I had to literally do a double-take," an onlooker tells PEOPLE of finding Styles, 18, with Swift, 22, on the set of The X Factor Thursday morning.
Styles was on hand to watch Swift rehearse the debut of "State of Grace," which she performed later that night on the Fox reality show.
"He was smiling at her while she rehearsed. When she was done he jumped up on stage, picked her up, put her over his shoulder and carried her off stage," the onlooker says. "The whole crew was really surprised."
The young singers were also spotted by X Factor host Mario Lopez, who says he was slapped on the back by Styles during Swift's rehearsal.
"I said, 'What are you doing here,' " Lopez said on his 104.3 MY FM radio show Friday. "And he sort of [pointed] toward Taylor."
Lopez went on to say he later saw the two "hand-in-hand."
A telling sign of the budding relationship may have been a look Styles shared with his bandmate Niall Horan a week earlier after Horan told PEOPLE his favorite song of 2012 was Swift's "Never Ever Getting Back Together."
When asked if he would ever date Swift, Horan gave a small laugh, looked at Styles and answered with a succinct, "no."
LONDON (AP) — Europe's top drug regulator has recommended approval for the first vaccine against meningitis B, made by Novartis AG.
There are five types of bacterial meningitis. While vaccines exist to protect against the other four, none has previously been licensed for type B meningitis. In Europe, type B is the most common, causing 3,000 to 5,000 cases every year.
Meningitis mainly affects infants and children. It kills about 8 percent of patients and leaves others with lifelong consequences such as brain damage.
In a statement on Friday, Andrin Oswald of Novartis said he is "proud of the major advance" the company has made in developing its vaccine Bexsero. It is aimed at children over two months of age, and Novartis is hoping countries will include the shot among the routine ones for childhood diseases such as measles.
Novartis said the immunization has had side effects such as fever and redness at the injection site.
Recommendations from the European Medicines Agency are usually adopted by the European Commission. Novartis also is seeking to test the vaccine in the U.S.
After the nightmares started, Davien Graham avoided his bicycle.
In his dreams, he pedaled his silver BMX bike through his neighborhood, heard gunfire and died.
If I stay off my bike, I'll be safe, he thought.
He placed it in a backyard shed, where it sat for months. But Jan. 12, 2008, dawned so spectacular that Davien decided to risk it.
He ate Cap'n Crunch Berries cereal, grabbed the bike and rode a half-mile west to Calvary Grace, a Southern Baptist church that was his haven.
Davien lived with an unemployed aunt and uncle, a former Crip, and five other kids in a cramped four-bedroom house in Monrovia, about 20 miles east of Los Angeles.
Yet as a 16-year-old junior at Monrovia High School, Davien earned A's and B's, played JV football and volunteered with the video club. He cleaned the church on Saturdays for minimum wage.
If I live right, God will protect me.
That afternoon, sweaty from cleaning, Davien reached for his wallet to buy a snack — only to realize he had forgotten it at home.
After returning to his house, he caught his reflection in the front window. He was 6 feet 2 and wiry. His skinny chest was beginning to broaden. He was trying to add weight to his 160-pound frame in time for varsity football tryouts.
He showered, told his aunt he would be right back and again jumped on his bike, size-14 Nike Jordans churning, heading for a convenience store near the church.
At the store, he bought Arizona fruit punch and lime chili Lay's potato chips. He recognized a kindergarten-age Latino boy and bought him Twinkies.
Davien pedaled down the empty sidewalk along Peck Road. He could hear kids playing basketball nearby. As he neared the church, a car passed, going in the opposite direction. He barely noticed.
He heard car tires crunching on asphalt behind him. He glanced back, expecting a friend.
An X marks the spot where Davien Graham was shot. (Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department)
Instead he heard: "Hey, fool."
The gun was gray. It had a slide. Davien recognized that much from watching the Military Channel.
Behind the barrel, he saw forearms braced to fire and the face of a Latino man, a former classmate.
The gunman shouted, "Dirt Rock!," cursing a local black gang, the Duroc Crips.
Davien's mind raced: Don't panic. Watch the barrel. Duck.
Suddenly, he was falling. Then he was on the ground, looking up at the church steeple and the cross.
He heard more shots, but stopped feeling them. A chill crept up his legs.
Davien watched the sedan disappear down the street. He saw the boy he had bought the Twinkies for and other children spilling out of a nearby apartment building.
He was having trouble breathing. He felt sleepy.
He tried to raise his eyelids to see if the shooter was returning. He knew gangsters don't like to leave witnesses.
Davien was raised not to snitch.
He grew up south of the Foothill Freeway and Monrovia's quaint downtown, in a frayed, unincorporated area neighbors call No Man's Land.
The oldest of six children, he learned as a small boy not to feel safe anywhere. He played under the towering pines and sweet gum trees of Pamela Park, where gangbangers stashed guns in bathrooms and addicts left crack pipes in sandboxes.
Davien in an undated school photo. (Courtesy of Davien Graham)
He witnessed his first drive-by when he was 4 years old. He came to recognize the sound, "like a loud drum, a thunderclap."
He grew leery of sedans with tinted windows, "drive-by cars," and gangsters who sprinted past his house and across "the wash," a drainage canal, with police in pursuit.
For Davien's safety, a relative had walked him to school — until he, too, was shot and his body dumped in the wash.
Davien had one goal in mind: to make it to his 21st birthday.
Drug dealers, bookies and hustlers called to him from the streets: "Hey, Day Day! You just like your dad."
The comparison made him cringe. Davien's father, Steven Graham, or Steve-O, was a Crip who pleaded guilty to cocaine possession weeks after Davien was born. Steve-O would spend several years in prison.
Afterward, on days Steve-O got high or drank too much, he would put on his sunglasses and take Davien out to the yard for lessons in manhood, often bringing a shotgun.
Davien's mother, Sharri McGhee, also struggled with drugs.
Even so, when times were good, Davien felt as though he belonged to a normal family. His mother would check them into an Embassy Suites hotel so they could swim in the pool. It felt like Disneyland.
Then he woke up one morning and all his videos and the TV and VCR were gone, and he saw his dad walking home because he had sold the car, too.
The best way to become a man is to look at those around me, and do the opposite.
By the time he started school, Davien had learned not to depend on adults for protection. He saw kids whisked away from their parents by the state, or sent to juvenile hall. He promised his younger brothers he would take care of them.
One day he found his pregnant mother lying on the back patio, convulsing. At the hospital, she delivered a premature baby girl with drugs in her system.
The state intervened. At age 9, Davien, two brothers and the baby were sent to live nearby with his aunt and uncle, Joni and Terry Alford, and their two children. Davien thought they acted more like big kids than parents.
The best way to become a man is to look at those around me, and do the opposite.
On Jan. 30, 2007, as Davien and his uncle walked in the neighborhood, they spotted a group of Latino men approaching, heads shaved gangbanger-style, arms covered in tattoos.
Suddenly, everyone was shouting in English and Spanish. Someone fired a gun.
His uncle stumbled off, shot in the calf.
Davien ran, hiding under a low brick garden wall. He could hear the strangers searching for him, their breath close. He wondered where his uncle had gone.
After they left, he bolted home, arriving to see paramedics lift his uncle into an ambulance. Sheriff's deputies followed.
His uncle answered some of their questions. But he never identified the shooter. He wasn't a snitch.
Deputies questioned Davien too. He knew he was supposed to tell the truth, as a Christian. But helping deputies would put his family at risk.
He didn't describe the suspects. No one was arrested.
Davien soon began having the nightmares about getting shot on the silver BMX his uncle had given him.
As Davien lay bleeding on the grass, he played dead.
Through droopy eyelids, he watched cars brake for a stop sign across the street, then zoom off. He recognized one driver, a neighbor who looked away.
She must think I'm a gangster.
A red Ford Explorer slowed, windows rolled down. Davien took a chance.
"Ma'am, I need help, I've been shot!" he yelled.
The car stopped and a white lady with long red hair and glasses jumped out. She grabbed Davien's hand and called 911.
A bullet recovered by a surgeon from Davien’s body was later introduced into evidence. (Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department)
It was 4:57 p.m.
"There is a young African American gentleman who has been shot," the woman told dispatch. "There's a lot of children out here as well, if you can kind of hurry."
Davien groped for the cellphone in his pocket just as it started to vibrate.
It was his aunt. She and his uncle had been out on the front stoop and thought they heard gunfire.
"They shot me," Davien said. He hung up so his aunt could call 911.
His uncle soon pulled up in the family's white SUV. He cradled Davien's body.
"I can't move my legs!" Davien cried, loud enough for the 911 operator to hear.
His uncle grabbed the church's water hose and held it to Davien's lips. Davien stared up at Calvary Grace.
I don't want to die.
He felt himself passing out, eyes rolling back into his head. He gripped the grass beneath him. His uncle was shouting his nickname.
"Day Day, come on!"
Paramedics arrived and loaded Davien into an ambulance. Just then his aunt rushed up. She was an imposing figure, heavyset, with tattoos and a deep voice. Los Angeles County sheriff's deputies stopped her.
Had Davien belonged to a gang, they asked?
His aunt pointed to the church. Go ask somebody in there, she said as she climbed into the ambulance. Church folks would set them straight, she figured.
A block away at the convenience store, a witness called 911. She told the operator she saw three or four people flee in a black Nissan.
“I heard the pop, pop, pop… I didn’t want them to see I saw them.”
—Witness
"I heard the pop, pop, pop. I turned, I didn't want to look at the vehicle, I didn't want them to see I saw them."
"Did you actually see them do it?" the operator said.
"Yes, I did."
"Are you going to talk to deputies?"
She paused.
"I'm a little concerned," she said, her voice quavering. "I'm a little bit worried, too, for my safety and for my kids…"
By the time detectives interviewed her, the woman insisted she had not seen the shooter.
That left Davien as the only witness.
Davien awoke in intensive care. He didn't know what day it was. He couldn't tell if the sun was rising or setting.
A thick zipper of a scar sealed his chest. A tube jutted from his stomach, another from his arm. A ventilator covered his mouth, making a Darth Vader sound. He had trouble staying awake.
Below his waist, he felt nothing.
Doctors told him he was at Huntington Hospital in Pasadena, listed under a fake name as a precaution. He had been shot twice, in the left flank and right buttock. One bullet lodged in his ribs, another splintered.
Surgeons had labored for five hours to patch his left lung, remove his left kidney and his spleen. They could do nothing to repair his L1 vertebra. His legs were paralyzed.
A nurse brought pad and pen. Davien wanted to tell his family about the shooting. He had recognized the shooter, but he was too scared to write down a name.
Instead, he scribbled: "I forgive them."
Days later, Sheriff's Det. Scott Schulze showed up at Davien's bedside with a series of mug shots.
Davien spotted the shooter immediately. Jimmy Santana had taken gym classes with him in middle school and later joined a Latino gang, Monrovia Nuevo Varrio, or MNV.
The detective asked Davien if the shooter was among the photos.
Davien feared what could happen if he snitched. He also believed as a Christian that it was wrong to lie.
He circled Santana's photo. Beside it he wrote: "It's him."
He was scared. And not just for himself.
Davien's younger brothers looked a lot like him.
Seventeen days after the shooting, on Jan. 29, 2008, deputies arrested Santana at his mother's house in Duarte. He would stay in jail until a preliminary hearing to determine if he should stand trial.
Investigators believed Davien was the victim of a 17-month war between black and Latino gangs, dating to a night when Latino gang members went gunning for Vincent Minor, a black Duroc Crip associate.
About 10 p.m. on Aug. 9, 2006, suspected members of Duarte Eastside, a Latino gang, arrived at Minor's ranch house.
The gang sprayed the house with bullets from a 9mm handgun. One pierced a converted garage, killing Minor's father, 54-year-old Michael Minor, who volunteered as a youth football coach.
Payback came within hours.
Three outraged Duroc Crips spied a Duarte Eastside gang member, Marcus Maturino, sipping a beer outside a house on Shrode Avenue, less than a mile from the first shooting.
The Crips fired with a .45 and a TEC-9 handgun. They missed.
Standing nearby was Nicole Kaster, an aspiring gym teacher. A bullet struck her in the face, killing her. She was 22.
Tit-for-tat retaliation followed — with 71 gang-related shootings by the end of 2007. Investigators struggled to make arrests. Witnesses disappeared, changed their stories or clammed up.
In June 2007, members of Monrovia Nuevo Varrio strode up to a black crowd at a park and opened fire, wounding one person.
Police arrested Santana and charged him with four counts of assault with a semiautomatic firearm. Later, a judge dismissed that case against him for lack of evidence.
Santana, 18, lived at home with his mother and older brother, a gang associate. Santana had been nicknamed Lil Tuffy by the gang and inducted into a clique called the Pee Wee Locos. On a bedroom wall, he had tacked an ode: "Enemies run from me, they're all cowards, because I'm the shot caller with lots of power."
On Dec. 12, a month before Davien was shot, two black men shot and killed 24-year-old Hector Acosta as he rode his motorcycle on Millbrae Avenue in Duarte. Acosta wasn't a gang member.
Everyone knew what would come next: MNV would retaliate. This time, they would send a gangster who knew how to hit a target and could be trusted not to talk if he got caught.
Davien was in the hospital for eight weeks, undergoing multiple surgeries. He tried to puzzle out why God let him get shot.
His faith wavered. He began to doubt the wisdom of testifying against Santana.
On March 14, 2008, two months after the shooting, Davien was discharged. He returned to his aunt and uncle's house in a wheelchair.
He was a wisp of his former self, 70 pounds lighter. Bones in his toes were brittle; doctors warned that if he ran into something in the chair, they could shatter.
In the weeks after he was shot, Davien was treated at Huntington Hospital in Pasadena, where he underwent physical therapy as he adjusted to life in a wheelchair. (Barbara Davidson/Los Angeles Times)
Surgeons had removed the bullet from his ribs, but they could do nothing about the fragments near his spine. Hot fingers of pain yanked him awake at night, tugging the breath out of him.
God, give me just five minutes without it.
Davien was scheduled to testify at Santana's preliminary hearing four days after being released from the hospital.
He couldn't decide what to do. He worried that every approaching car might bring another drive-by. In a wheelchair, it would be hard to flee.
Relatives offered little help. Some were scared of being attacked; others were bent on revenge. Few trusted the police.
Davien returned to church looking for answers. On Palm Sunday, two days before Santana's hearing, he entered the sanctuary with his aunt and uncle.
He tried to listen to the sermon but he couldn't concentrate. His spine was throbbing again.
His uncle wheeled him out to the church parking lot.
You need to face your fear, his uncle said.
He started pushing Davien toward the front of the church, the site of the shooting.
His aunt joined them, followed by the pastor's wife.
They crept forward. When they reached the sidewalk, their pace turned glacial.
"OK to go further?" his uncle asked.
Davien’s uncle, Terry Alford, wheels him back to the scene of the shooting, urging him to confront his fears. (Barbara Davidson/Los Angeles Times)
Davien reluctantly nodded.
His aunt sobbed. The pastor's wife held her.
Staring down that barren road, walled off by backyard fences, Davien saw himself back on the grass, bleeding.
He knew three people who had been gunned down in the Monrovia area since he was shot: a 16-year-old girl killed next to the church, a 19-year-old former Duarte High School football player and a 64-year-old man. None was a gang member.
If Santana could shoot me here, he thought, he could shoot anyone anywhere.
Davien couldn't stand. But he could stand up.
"OK," he told his uncle. "I'm straight."
PART 2
Making peace
Making peace
A whirring mechanical lift raised Davien Graham’s wheelchair to the witness stand in Department Four on the third floor of the Los Angeles County courthouse in Alhambra.
Pain burned at the base of Davien’s spine. Then his eyes met Jimmy Santana’s for the first time since the shooting.
He thought Santana seemed much smaller sitting at the defense table than he with the gun in his hand. In his baggy blue jail uniform, he looked like a child, Davien thought.
Two months earlier, on Jan. 12, 2008, Davien had been gunned down as he rode his bike in front of his church, an innocent victim of a gang war that had raged in Monrovia for two years.
He recognized Santana as the shooter who fired from the car. They had gone to school together. Raised by a father and then an uncle who both were Crips, Davien learned that victims and witnesses don’t snitch—they don’t identify their attackers.
But he had shunned gang life for a Christian life, and he believed that Christians don’t lie. So when asked by detectives, he had circled Santana’s photo in a lineup of mug shots.
Now he was being asked to set aside fears of retaliation and testify in open court.
Staring at Santana, Davien said the first thing he remembered saying after the shooting was, “I forgive the person who did this to me.”
Santana stared back, appearing unmoved.
Sitting in his wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down, Davien could see Santana’s mother in the gallery, a small woman with a strained face. A group of young people lounged behind her.
Maybe they were in the car with Jimmy that day.
The prosecutor asked a question, addressing Davien as John Doe, a well-meaning effort to protect his identity. It didn’t matter. Everyone in the room knew Davien.
“Do you see the man who shot you here in court today?”
“On the right side of the courtroom, and he’s wearing a blue uniform,” Davien said.
That was all the judge needed to hear. He ordered Santana to stand trial. Davien was free to go.
But he didn’t feel free.
They must think I’m a gangster and was shot as payback.
Sheriff’s investigators said he wasn’t at risk, and his family didn’t need protection. But he didn’t trust the sheriff’s department. The sheriff had sent a task force to Monrovia to stop the gang violence. They dropped warnings at gangsters’ homes.
His uncle got one. So did Davien.
That upset him. Unlike his uncle, Davien had never joined a gang.
They must think I’m a gangster and was shot as payback.
As Davien left court, the judge ordered two deputies to escort Davien to the parking lot, just in case.
Davien knew his biggest hurdle lay ahead, testifying at Santana’s trial.
As the case dragged on, Davien felt like he was doing time, waiting. He began to believe that his aunt and uncle, Joni and Terry Alford, resented him hanging around, especially when he bumped into their furniture or peed in his shabby wheelchair.
They didn’t seem to fear for his safety. Sometimes when they ran errands, they would leave him alone in the car, feeling trapped and exposed.
Davien wanted to put the trial behind him. He wanted out of Monrovia. He decided his way out was to finish high school and go to college.
It took months for Davien to regain strength. He returned to Monrovia High for his senior year. (Barbara Davidson / Los Angeles Times)
In September, he returned to Monrovia High and, back among his friends, he thrived. He almost forgot about the trial. Then one day some guys drove by his house, shouting threats. It wasn’t clear if the message was meant for Davien or for his uncle.
Sometime later, Davien was called to the principal’s office. Sheriff’s deputies were waiting. They told him a message intercepted at the county jail, written in gang code, appeared to say he had been targeted.
We’re taking you home to grab some things, deputies said. You can stay in school, but not with your family. You’re being relocated.
Back at the house, his aunt watched him pack. Deputies could not say where he was going, or for how long.
“It’s messed up,” Davien said, trembling. “Not only did he take my legs away from me, now he’s trying to take my whole life.”
Deputies took Davien to stay with a teacher who the officers knew.
Davien felt safer. But he still worried, especially about his brothers at home. One of them had started working at Calvary Grace, the church where Davien had been shot.
Over the next three years, as the sheriff’s task force tamped down the gang war, Davien’s case passed to a new public defender, a new prosecutor and six different judges.
Davien graduated from high school and moved far from Monrovia to attend a four-year college. He learned to get around in his wheelchair, and had more surgeries than he could remember to deal with the bullet fragments left inside his body.
One day last fall, as he was preparing for mid-terms, Davien arrived at his apartment to find a sheriff’s detective and deputies waiting. The trial was starting Jan. 26, 2012. They handed him a subpoena, and it didn’t sit well.
He had agreed to testify. Why were they acting like they had to force him, surprising him at his apartment with his friends?
He called the new prosecutor on his case. He didn’t trust her, so he recorded the call. He asked why she hadn’t come to see him herself and why she sent deputies when she knew he had agreed to show up.
He hung up feeling like he was heading to court without anyone on his side.
Davien could feel jurors’ eyes crawling over his face. He stared ahead, focusing on the prosecutor, just as Schulze had recommended.
Davien, by then 20, shifted in his wheelchair on the stand, looking down at the gallery. He recognized Santana’s mother. She and another son testified that Santana was home with them at the time of the shooting. It was their word against Davien’s. No other witnesses were willing to testify.
Los Angeles County Sheriff's Det. Scott Schulze, whom Davien had come to trust, escorts him into court as he prepares to testify. (Barbara Davidson/Los Angeles Times)
No one from Davien’s family was there. He didn’t tell them about the trial because he didn’t want to put them at risk if gang members showed up.
He tried to clear his throat, his mouth was dry. In a court system handling more than 1800 attempted murder cases at the time, he felt lost.
He hoped the jurors could read him, the way parents read a child. Jurors needed to see that he was no gangster. He just happened to be young and black and in the wrong place.
Surely the lone black juror, a woman staring at him from the front row, would understand.
Santana, 23, sat 15 feet away, slouching into a baggy dress shirt.
The prosecutor asked him to demonstrate how his attacker pointed the gun.
Davien extended his willowy arms, clasping his hands in the shape of a pistol. He winced. His back ached every time he bent his 6-foot 4-inch frame to the microphone.
“Where was it being pointed?” the prosecutor asked.
“At my face.”
He could feel sweat spreading under his arms, wilting the new button-down shirt bought at Target for the trial.
“Did you see anyone in the car?” she asked.
“I saw a driver and a passenger,” Davien said, without looking at Santana.
“Did you know who said ‘Hey fool’?”
“The passenger,” he said.
“Did you get a look at the passenger?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Now Davien glanced at Santana. The accused was biting his shadow of a mustache.
“Did you see his face?” the prosecutor asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Can you look around the court and see if the person is here?”
Davien did not hesitate.
Los Angeles County Superior Court Judge Candace J. Beason looks at Jimmy Santana as Davien points at him and explains that Santana shot him. (Barbara Davidson/Los Angeles Times)
“Yes, ma’am,” Davien said, “He is sitting next to his lawyer in a collared shirt.”
“How confident were you that he was the person?”
“One hundred percent.”
Not long afterward, Santana’s public defender stood. Davien had once imagined himself looking just like that lawyer: a black man standing tall in an elegant suit.
What was the name of your uncle’s former gang, the lawyer asked.
Davien frowned. “I don’t recall.”
“You don’t recall what gang?”
The prosecutor objected. The judge overruled her. Davien had to answer the question.
“He was a Crip,” Davien said.
Jurors shifted in their seats. Davien feared they were souring on him. They didn’t know how hard he had tried to live right.
They think I got shot for a reason.
At 3:50 p.m. on Feb. 2, after six hours of deliberation, a buzzer sounded signaling a verdict.
The bailiff brought Santana into the courtroom. His mother bowed her head and grasped the hand of her other son, praying in a whisper of Spanish, “Let it be just.”
Four more bailiffs slipped into the courtroom for security.
As the clerk read the verdict, Santana shook his head.
Jimmy Santana reacts to the jury's verdict: guilty on all counts. (Barbara Davidson / Los Angeles Times)
Guilty on all counts, including willful, deliberate and premeditated attempted murder.
Santana sobbed, curling into himself. He was soon joined by his weeping mother.
Jurors filed out, eyes darting, avoiding the Santanas and searching for the polite young man in the wheelchair who they would later say they believed from the moment he took the stand.
But Davien had gone back to school.
He would later send a statement for the prosecutor to be read to Santana at his sentencing in June.
The shooting broke him, Davien wrote. But he managed to recover and start a new life.
“I hope that you can become a better person during this whole experience,” he wrote to Santana. “Life does not end here for you. You can still do good to the world.”
Santana and his family declined to be interviewed for this article. He was sentenced to 40 years to life.
The next month, on March 17, 2012, Davien was surrounded by a crowd at his apartment. It was his birthday. He had fulfilled his childhood dream: survive to age 21.
Davien belted out a rap song he had composed.
“What do you see when you look in the mirror? Does it fade away or all get clearer?”
Davien’s father, Steven Graham, or Steve-O, was in the crowd. Steve-O had straightened out. Davien made peace with him and his mother—but as friends, not as parents. He had been his own parent for a long time.
He had accepted life in a wheelchair.
School can take me places that walking can’t.
He had fulfilled his childhood dream: Survive to age 21.
Davien, finishing his third year of college, plans to graduate with a degree in video production.
He has a five-year plan, which includes self-producing two rap albums from his mix tapes: “Musical Chair” and “Ramps and Elevators.”
He also plans a clothing line featuring a stylized handicapped logo, an after-school program for at-risk youth and a screenplay titled, “Where there’s wheels, there’s a way.”
At the party, his girlfriend presented a marble sheet decorated with his planned album cover: a photo of Davien in his wheelchair.
“It’s not every day a young man turns 21,” his father said. “You’re grown for the rest of your life—don’t turn back.”
He handed Davien a flute of pink champagne. Davien sipped slowly. Leaning forward to blow out his candles, he made a wish.
