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Francine Kiefer/The Christian Science Monitor
Ruben Ramirez Sr. (left) and his son Ruben Ramirez Jr. stand behind the counter at their family-owned business, Ruben’s Bakery and Mexican Food, Inc., in Compton, Calif., Jan. 5, 2024.
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January 8, 2024
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Compton, Calif.
In the early hours of Tuesday, Jan. 2, a raucous “street takeover” by vehicles and onlookers outside of a Compton, California, bakery devolved from racing stunts like doughnut-spinning into looting. One car slammed into the security grate of Ruben’s Bakery and Mexican Food, Inc., breaking through the entrance. A mob ransacked the place, stealing goods worth more than $70,000.
The bakery and meat store, founded 48 years ago by Ruben Ramirez Sr. as a taco stand, is a fixture in this community. The business survived the 1992 LA riots and the COVID-19 pandemic. Would an illegal street takeover – a disruptive and sometimes fatal phenomenon – do it in?
Why We Wrote This
A story focused on
Rioting, looting, and protests that turn violent often create challenges for a community. This city responded to one such test in a swift and positive way.
Family, friends, and employees pitched in to clean up and repair “a shambles,” as Ruben Ramirez Jr. describes it. The local council member’s office donated paint.
Against all expectations, the bakery reopened three days later as proof of the power of community, and a testament to recovery after tragedy.
Now regulars and strangers were lining up at the counter. Rosa Aldaz, emerging from the bakery with bread and champurrado, a chocolate drink, has a message for looters. “Stop and think,” she urges. “Would you want that for your family?”
Ruben Ramirez Jr. hoped 2024 would start with a bang for his struggling, family-owned bakery in Compton, just south of Los Angeles. But he wasn’t thinking of a destructive bang like this – or the unexpected generosity it would spark.
In the early morning hours of Tuesday, Jan. 2, a raucous “street takeover” by vehicles and onlookers at the intersection outside of the bakery devolved from racing stunts like doughnut-spinning into looting. A Kia Soul reversed forcefully into the security grate of Ruben’s Bakery and Mexican Food, Inc., breaching the entrance. A mob of about 100 people then trashed the place, and made off with cash, equipment, and food – an estimated loss of more than $70,000.
Three Kings Day, a Christian celebration, was coming up on Saturday. It’s a big business opportunity for a Mexican bakery, and the Ramirez family was looking forward to a boost from orders of roscas, the circular-shaped sweetbread for the occasion.
Why We Wrote This
A story focused on
Rioting, looting, and protests that turn violent often create challenges for a community. This city responded to one such test in a swift and positive way.
The bakery and meat store is a fixture in the community, founded 48 years ago by the senior Ramirez as a taco stand. The business had survived the LA riots of 1992, and the recent COVID-19 pandemic – though barely. Would an illegal street takeover – a disruptive and sometimes fatal phenomenon that plagues some California cities – do it in?
Against all expectations, the bakery reopened for business on Friday morning, just three days later, as proof of the power of community and a testament to rebirth and recovery after tragedy. “We didn’t think we would be ready,” said a grateful Mr. Ramirez, standing outside the honey-colored store that morning.
At 10:00 a.m., business looked brisk. Workers shaped rosca dough in the back room, handed breakfast burritos to eager customers for takeout, and rolled out stacked trays of bolillos, a short baguette. Family, friends, and employees had pitched in to clean up and repair “a shambles,” as Mr. Ramirez Jr. describes it. The local council member’s office donated paint. Now regulars and strangers were lining up at the counter, and TV news crews that showed up to chronicle the unfolding story of community unity were reporting from the store.
Francine Kiefer/The Christian Science Monitor
People gather at Ruben’s Bakery and Mexican Food, Inc., in Compton, Calif., Jan. 5, 2024, after restoration by friends and family.
When Mr. Ramirez Jr. arrived at the scene of broken glass and destruction in the wee hours of Tuesday, he felt deeply angry. Then sad. Now he is overcome by the tremendous outpouring of goodwill since news got out about the looting. A woman from Texas had even called on Friday morning to pray with him – something he’s been doing a lot. “I’m overwhelmed by the response,” he says, especially for his dad, Ruben Ramirez Sr. “The more that people call, the bigger the smile on his face.”
The desire to help was instant. A friend from high school, Luis Arandia, texted Mr. Ramirez Jr. and offered to set up a GoFundMe page. He didn’t know how to do it, but he knew someone in the strategy business, Ulisses Sanchez, who did. Before long, the page was up, and the media had been contacted. As of Monday, 1,700 people had contributed more than $85,000 – which was $10,000 over the original goal. “It took one phone call,” says Mr. Arandia, who tears up in the telling.
Several customers drove from a distance to support the bakery on its first day back in business. It took Jimmy Torres, who came with his mother and two daughters, 45 minutes to drive from his home in Long Beach. Like other customers that morning, he had learned about the looting on the news. The family left the bakery clutching their bags of bolillos and sugary churros. “Totally worth it,” says Mr. Torres. His mother adds that Latinos are “trying to help each other.”
Francine Kiefer/The Christian Science Monitor
Jimmy Torres (left), his mother Nancy Torres, and his daughters Madeleine and Lily drove 45 minutes from Long Beach to purchase baked goods and support Ruben’s Bakery and Mexican Food, Inc., in Compton, Calif., Jan. 5, 2024.
The bakery has deep roots in the low-income neighborhood of small single-family homes and garden apartments, many of them with security doors. Juanita Cervantes has been a customer for decades, and even though she moved a couple towns away seven years ago, she still comes two-to-three times a week for the bread and authentic food. The bakery is “very good for the community,” she says. “This is our place,” agrees another customer, Robert, who declined to give his last name.
Mr. Ramirez Jr. is grateful that law enforcement officers got there quickly Tuesday. However, vehicles were dispersing and looters were leaving by the time sheriff deputies arrived, and “they weren’t able to detain anyone or make any arrests,” says acting captain, Lt. Melissa Ramirez, at the Compton station of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. Still, “the community has been great” with calling in tips, she says. “We have received quite a few leads.”
Street takeovers, also called sideshows, occur in urban areas throughout the state, from Oakland to Bakersfield to San Diego. They’ve been a part of car culture, especially in Southern California, for years, but took off during the pandemic when wide boulevards were largely empty. They can involve anywhere from 100 to 300-plus vehicles, blocking intersections and streets and are organized over social media, says Lieutenant Ramirez. Crowds gather to watch revved-up vehicles burn rubber and hurtle around intersections.
Francine Kiefer/The Christian Science Monitor
Luis Arandia (left) and Ulisses Sanchez stand outside Ruben’s Bakery and Mexican Food, Inc., in Compton, Calif., Jan. 5, 2024. The two worked together to start a GoFundMe page for the ransacked bakery.
Citizens complain of the danger, noise, and tire-burn smell. More recently, takeovers have involved property damage and burglaries, says Lieutenant Ramirez.
The Compton area saw 114 street takeovers between April and the end of November last year, and law enforcement issued 400 citations, made 148 arrests, and impounded 109 vehicles, according to Lieutenant Ramirez. In 2002, two women were killed at a Compton street takeover. The LA County Sheriff’s Department is trying to regain control through a special task force with other law enforcement agencies, “bot dots” installed in an X-form at intersections, and $1,000 citations for onlookers.
Rosa Aldaz, emerging from the bakery with a bag of bread and champurrado, a beloved chocolate drink, knows street takeovers all too well. She works late at night, and has encountered several on her way home. She has a message for those who looted the bakery. “Stop and think,” she urges. “Would you want that for your family?”
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