One Campus, One Book 2015-16

A lot of homeless folks resist help, a homeless man named William told me as he took down his tent on a sidewalk on Willoughby Avenue, just west of La Brea. Steinberg was the primary force behind the 2004 Mental Health Services Act that taxed the state's highest earners, with incomes of more than $1 million annually, for services that have aided thousands of Californians.

Sirens wailed and drug dealers ruled, and prostitutes escorted clients into their port-a-potty parlors a block from the police station. The victim reportedly was a convicted bank robber with mental health issues, and police claim he went for an officer's gun.

Lamp is a lifeline for people with chronic mental illness, and there was often a boisterous crowd on the patio in those days, along with screaming sirens from the firetrucks stationed at the corner. [...]the producer of "Sleepless in Seattle," "The Score," "Tin Cup" and "Lost Angels," the documentary that followed "The Soloist" (which was based on a book and series of Times columns I wrote) wanted more than that.

"L.A. County Jail." Because they can't attend a concert at Disney Hall, L.A. Philharmonic violinist Vijay Gupta told the inmates, it was his privilege to bring the music to them. Gupta was inspired by the Juilliard-trained musician, who was diagnosed with schizophrenia decades ago and ended up homeless on skid row, where he played music day and night to escape his troubles. [...]Gupta met L.A. County Superior Court Judge Rand Rubin, who gladly arranged for Gupta and his cohorts to go to jail.

Once a week or so, an escort leads me through locked doors to a dorm-like setting that is a temporary home to a few dozen men and women. When I wrote about him six months ago, he was in court for a conservatorship hearing, fighting a doctor's recommendation that he take anti-psychotic medication.

orced psychiatric commitments, and forced medication, are at the center of a decades-long legal, moral and medical debate over the civil liberties of people with mental disorders. When his condition worsened a month ago, Mr. Ayers was taken to a psychiatric hospital against his will, but without incident, by an L.A. County unit consisting of both mental health officials and police officers.

Reared in the San Fernando Valley, she served briefly as a nun, later worked in Santa Monica's homeless community, and then joined philanthropist Frank Rice in 1985 to establish Lamp for chronically homeless people with severe mental illness. Next stop was a MacArthur Park hotel, a temporary arrangement while Lowery began the hard work of lining up a psychiatric evaluation, applying for disability benefits and a housing voucher and calling everyone she'd ever worked with to see if there was an apartment out there, somewhere, even as resources were drying up because of federal sequestration.

People spoke with humor and humility of their continuing struggles to conquer mental illness, poverty and drug addiction. To this day, the best solution to crime, homelessness and mental illness on skid row -- permanent supportive housing -- is in critically short supply.

Hall introduced President Obama in 2010 at a White House celebration marking the 20th anniversary of the Americans With Disabilities Act, and I was there along with my friend, former Juilliard student and skid row resident Nathaniel Ayers. Torfeh, who has played with my friend Nathaniel in concert with the African American Chamber Music Society Orchestra, offered $8,500, but Mandell had already agreed to the deal with Hall.

The law calls for court-ordered, assisted outpatient treatment of someone who has refused voluntary services and has a history of hospitalizations, jailings, violence or threats

Every year around now, I get requests from people who want a recommendation on where to volunteer at a soup kitchen, emergency shelter or housing facility on Thanksgiving or Christmas. There you'll find details of a plan to end chronic and veteran homelessness by 2016, with information on how you can donate to the cause or volunteer at a number of human service agencies any time of year.

I would learn, by day's end, that last year Womack won a prestigious Mr. Holland's Opus Award for passing on a love of music to students. "Here's the winner of a Bill and Melinda Gates Millennium scholarship," he said proudly, introducing me to student Jennifer Arias, who plays tenor sax but plans to switch it out for a stethoscope at Scripps College, where she will be a pre-med student.

In a speech last week to the Legislature, Steinberg said, the legislative analyst's office warned "we will have to keep low-level offenders in the community, we will have to eliminate parole, but we will have to do all of that without any resources for local public safety officials." When I think Los Angeles Area Chamber of Commerce, I think solid citizens in business suits griping about taxation and regulation between bites of Caesar salad at the Pacific Dining Car.

at some point after Gupta befriended my buddy Nathaniel Ayers, roughly three years ago, he said he wanted to give free concerts at mental health clinics. Busy lives often get in the way of good intentions, and I wondered whether a rising phenom like Gupta -- who joined the Phil in 2007 at the age of 19, and that's not a typo -- would find time for charity.

Mr. Ayers knew exactly what he wanted, and when I later asked why he got a white suit, white shoes, white bowtie and white derby, I already knew the answer. "Because it's the White House," Mr. Ayers said. [...] it was that on Monday, a warm and sunny day that followed a pounding storm, Mr. Ayers found himself in the diplomatic meeting room at the White House in a splendid vanilla-colored outfit, a nylon hair wrap under his derby, waiting to meet the first African American president of the United States.

a few weeks ago, it all seemed to be coming together. "For me, it's just having a belief and a faith in the healing power of music," Flea said, telling me he could identify with the way music gives Mr. Ayers sanctuary during tough times.

Mr. Ayers, who studied at Juilliard before his dreams came unraveled, once told me he practiced that piece while standing in the window of his New York City apartment, watching the falling snow. Just after 3 p.m, San Francisco Bay came into view, the landscape as surreal as ever, and Mr. Ayers was dazzled by the sight of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge.

Hyacinth King, a business school graduate, tells how schizophrenia left her homeless until Project HOME in Philadelphia gave her back her life, including a job as both an advocate and computer specialist, and a home with enough support services to help her thrive. Deborah DeSantis, chief executive of the Corp. for Supportive Housing, lists a number of cities that have reduced homeless populations and asks congressional staffers to go back to their bosses and tell them how it was done.

there's the extensive and efficient subway system, which of course makes L.A.'s look like it was designed for a city the size of Bakersfield. By the luck of the draw, I'm here at the peak of cherry blossom season, and the city is exploding with color, as if it were a sprawling cherry-vanilla confection.

Since I began writing about Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, a street musician I met almost four years ago in downtown Los Angeles, I've been asked to speak at mental health symposiums, skid row fundraisers, universities and high schools and all kinds of award banquets.

just look at how religion is playing out in the presidential campaign, with the running battle over which candidate is linked to the worst and most hypocritical human being who claims to speak for God. Hagee, you'll recall, referred to the Catholic Church as "the whore of Babylon" and said God whipped up Hurricane Katrina to punish New Orleans for sins that included "a homosexual parade."

At the wrap party, it was a sight to see both staffers and clients from Lamp Community, the mental health agency that is home to Mr. Ayers, hit the dance floor and join the fun, with movie producer Gary Foster working up a sweat as he tripped the light with his new friends.

Nearly three years into a friendship that began when I saw him in downtown Los Angeles, standing beside his loaded shopping cart and playing a violin with two missing strings, Mr. Ayers is living in a small downtown apartment, doing some janitorial work and still playing music every day for hours on end. Joseph Russo, a bass player and composer who lives in Connecticut, had come to town to watch the La Mirada Symphony Orchestra perform a triple flute concerto he wrote.

Ben Hong, assistant principal cellist with the Los Angeles Philharmonic and an admirer of Mr. [Nathaniel Anthony Ayers], brought along some strings and a biography of Franz Schubert. We set the gifts on the piano, along with a photo of Mr. Ayers alongside cellist Yo-Yo Ma, his former classmate at Juilliard. The photo was taken backstage at Disney Hall in October, just before Ma embraced Mr. Ayers and told him his love of music made them brothers.

Mr. Ayers wore a rain poncho because of earlier showers and carried his trumpet, a backpack and, for no particular reason, a punching bag. His khaki hat bore an image of Che Guevara, and he'd written my name and "Donald Duck Concert Hall" on the cap, with white-framed shades propped over the bill. Mr. Ayers gabbed all the way to Lamp Village, eager as a 6-year-old on Christmas Day. He talked music with Hong and sports with me, his mood as bright as the sun that had followed the morning storm.

"But when I opened the door, it was [Nathaniel Anthony Ayers]." Ayers wowed teachers, as well. "A very musical performance and a most promising talent," one jury member wrote of Ayers' final exam audition at the end of the first year at Juilliard, giving him an A+. [Eugene Moye] would go on to great success as a soloist and orchestral performer in New York. Ma would become an icon. And Ayers? Even before he left Juilliard, his future was disintegrating. Classmates began to notice increasingly hostile and strange behavior from him, and some grew tired of his tirades about racist white America. [Joe Russo] thought it must be Ayers' way of dealing with the pressure, which he assumed was even greater for Nathaniel, as one of the only African American students at Juilliard.

I'm told that [Nathaniel Anthony Ayers] has been closely observing fellow clients at Lamp -- the skid row center he visits -- as they act up. He appears to be recognizing his own behavior in theirs, according to Stuart Robinson, one of the agency's directors, who said Nathaniel has been offering words of encouragement to his fellow travelers.

When I later spoke to Dr. Mark Ragins, a psychiatrist who has been one of my sounding boards for Nathaniel's developments over the last year, he said the latest news is all good. He said that sometimes when people come indoors after living on the streets, it can take the edge off and make them less resistant to help. That could be what's happening with Nathaniel. It's the kind of story, he noted, that validates the plan to spend Prop. 63 money on housing and outreach for people who are mentally ill.

[Nathaniel] got an L.A. Philharmonic T-shirt from Peter Snyder, a cellist in the orchestra, followed by a vigorous lesson focused on rhythm and pitch. He also got a package of clothes, toiletries and family photos from his sister, Jennifer, in Atlanta. Nathaniel dipped into the box and pulled out a Jazz Age black-and-white photo of a striking woman of about 40.

[Stuart Robinson] said Nathaniel is in the midst of a transition that's never easy for people who have been on the streets so long with mental illness. Robinson believes Nathaniel is trying to figure out whom he can trust, and he's carefully weighing the bargain involved in a world of rules and social contracts.

Mark Ragins, a psychiatrist at the Village in Long Beach, is one of the first people I talked to for guidance after meeting Nathaniel early this year.

he staffers at Lamp, the skid row agency that has been working with [Nathaniel Anthony Ayers] most of the year, helped me devise a plan in late October. A downtown apartment, complete with all the supportive services Nathaniel needs, had become available. At the same time, a member of the Los Angeles Philharmonic had graciously offered to give Nathaniel cello lessons. Now if we could just get Nathaniel to see that the apartment would be the perfect location.

One Monday last month, I picked up [Peter Snyder] at Disney and we drove down off the hill, through downtown and across to skid row, a six- minute trip across the universe. Nathaniel was waiting in the courtyard with his shopping cart, two violins and a cello. We moved into the apartment and I asked Nathaniel when he last had a lesson.

Next it was Nathaniel's turn to impress. Snyder asked if he could play [Bach], and Nathaniel showed his chops.

Casey Horan] and [Murray] work for Lamp, the skid row agency that's been trying to help Nathaniel Anthony Ayers. When I bumped into them last week, I had just written about seldom-used California legislation that allows involuntary treatment of people with serious mental illness. I had also said I was coming around to the conclusion that it might be the only way for Nathaniel to get help.

Sounds good. But I told him about being on skid row with Nathaniel and pointing out apartments, none of which interested Nathaniel. No thanks, he said. He wouldn't want to be cooped up. Out on the streets, he said, he's got his freedom.

In the midst of this discussion, the bus pulled up to Portals, a mental health rehabilitation and housing agency that has been rescuing lives for 50 years. Murray, who used to work there before she moved over to Lamp on skid row, went and got two caseworkers, and they talked about bringing in lots of Nathaniels over the years.

CRAMPED QUARTERS: TJ sits inside the portable toilet on skid row where she sleeps, changes clothes and entertains.; PHOTOGRAPHER: Francine Orr Los Angeles Times; MAYORAL VISIT: [Antonio Villaraigosa], left, meets Lucille Reid, 36, and Charles Muldrew, 59, on a recent trip to skid row.; PHOTOGRAPHER: Francine Orr Los Angeles Times; GETTING THROUGH THE NIGHT: One man injects himself while another sleeps in a wheelchair near 7th and San Julian Place. Dealers can be seen night or day talking business; fights on skid row are not infrequent.; PHOTOGRAPHER: Francine Orr Los Angeles Times; CAMPED OUT: People take refuge in the Midnight Mission's entrance near 6th and San Julian streets. The overflow area contains heaters, lights and bathrooms.; PHOTOGRAPHER: Francine Orr Los Angeles Times; STREET LIFE: William Jefferson, 55, tries to dry out his blankets on 5th Street after being caught in the rain.

It was almost as if he were a student again, joshing with a classmate. Was [Nathaniel Anthony Ayers] being sly, fishing for an invitation to have a go at Crane's cello? If so, it worked. And when [Adam Crane] offered, Nathaniel didn't hesitate. He sat in Crane's office tuning up, the PR man marveling at the sharpness of Nathaniel's ear.

A cellist named Peter Snyder came over to say hello to Nathaniel, whom he had read about. Nathaniel mentioned a resemblance to Hungarian-born cellist Janos Starker and marveled at Snyder's 33- year career with the orchestra. Snyder returned the compliment, mentioning Nathaniel's own record of survival on the streets.

Marvin Southard] meets regularly with researchers at USC, UCLA and other schools to stay abreast of the latest mental health developments from around the world, in part so that he can take full advantage of the nearly $200 million a year that will eventually flow into the county from Proposition 63. It was Southard who referred me to a UCLA psychiatrist named Tyrone Cannon, whose specialties are the genetics and neuroscience of mental illness. His research is aimed at predicting serious brain disorders so they can be treated before they're full-blown.

Downtown Los Angeles' skid row is a spectacle that practically defies description. Police and paramedics can barely keep up with the nightly violence and medical emergencies, and the fire station is not just the busiest in Los Angeles but last year was the busiest in the entire nation, according to Fire Capt. Bill Wells.

As I've said before, I often worry about the safety of the schizophrenic musician I've been writing about this year, especially after spending a night on skid row with Nathaniel Anthony Ayers. Menacing glances follow you everywhere at night, and the man in critical condition after Tuesday's assault was attacked very near one of Nathaniel's haunts.

Patricia Lopez, the director, sees great promise in [Nathaniel Anthony Ayers]'s visits for meals and a shower. It takes some clients years to get that comfortable. Nathaniel insists on earning his keep by mopping and sweeping the floors, although he isn't always a model citizen.

"I'm very struck with Nathaniel," he said, partly because they're both African American and artistic. [Anthony Hamilton] just went to the Basquiat exhibit at MOCA. The artist's colorful, eccentric street art reminded him of Nathaniel's pavement scrawling and of the way Nathaniel adorns his shopping cart with palm fronds, hubcaps and other trinkets.

Like other parents of schizophrenics, Mr. Lovoy torments himself wondering if he could have prevented [Dennis]' illness. He can't help but recall that because he had an invalid wife, a job he couldn't afford to quit and three sons, he wasn't able to give Dennis the attention that might have nurtured him. Mr. Lovoy was up at 4 every morning to prepare for work, relying on friends and family to help in his absence.

Sure, [Dolores Lovoy] will be around when Mr. Lovoy is gone, and so will Dennis' brothers. But nobody is able to relate to Dennis the way Mr. Lovoy does. He still tries to motivate Dennis by telling him that if he can drive and live on his own and carry on a conversation, he ought to be able to make himself more self-sufficient.

Alexis Rivera, owner of Little Pedro's Blue Bongo in downtown Los Angeles, was riding his bike to work one night when he saw Nathaniel Anthony Ayers playing violin near the mouth of the 2nd Street tunnel. Rivera stopped and listened for more than an hour before approaching Nathaniel with a proposition.

It took about 15 minutes for Rivera to persuade Nathaniel to serve as an opening act on Tuesday nights, from 7 to 9, for rhythm and blues singer Mickey Champion. Rivera told Nathaniel if he got there early, he could have dinner for free.

On that first Tuesday, Nathaniel ran so late, Rivera wondered if he'd forgotten. When he finally arrived, Nathaniel seemed very nervous and took so long tuning his violin he never started. Shannon Murray of Lamp, the skid row mental health services agency that has been reaching out to Nathaniel, used her usual perfect touch in consoling and encouraging Nathaniel.

I'm beginning to give up hope on [Nathaniel Anthony Ayers] when, around 9 o'clock, I see the familiar orange shopping cart approach from a block away. Everything he owns after half a century on this Earth is in that basket. The violin he bought in Cleveland is in there, along with the violin and cello donated to him by a reader from the Inland Empire.

Two dead palm fronds rise from the front of his basket, Jesus entering Jerusalem. At the rear, two sticks form an X. They are slid into the slots of a Ford hubcap, and Nathaniel has painted "Beethoven" on one and "Brahms" on the other.

A rat the size of a meatloaf has arrived on the scene, darting up out of the storm drain and heading toward us in search of food. Nathaniel taps the [Beethoven] stick and the beast retreats.

I have some good news," said Shannon Murray, a Lamp director. "[Nathaniel Anthony Ayers] is in the courtyard, playing his cello." His impromptu concert was still in full swing when I arrived. Nathaniel, diagnosed with schizophrenia 30 years go, looked a little more ill-at-ease than usual, but he was OK with the compromise for the moment. The onetime phenom, who grew up in Cleveland and went to New York's famed Juilliard School on a scholarship, had an audience of a dozen homeless and mentally ill clients, about half of whom were paying attention.

Patricia Lopez, another [Lamp] director, said she wished I had caught an earlier conversation between Nathaniel and Carol, an elderly resident of the shelter. Carol, diagnosed 40 years ago with schizophrenia, had approached Nathaniel to say she had read all about him in The Times.

[Nathaniel Anthony Ayers] said he was uncomfortable about accepting instruments he couldn't pay for. I told him the donors didn't want anything but the pleasure of knowing they'd helped out a fellow musician, and Nathaniel gradually warmed to the idea.

I too looked forward to seeing Nathaniel move up a notch from the banged-up violin he's been toting around for several years. But I realized there was a risk involved. Nathaniel lives on the streets, and new instruments could be targets for muggers.

The folks at Lamp Community, a downtown service agency for mentally ill homeless people, agreed to keep the new cello and violin locked up for Nathaniel each night. The hope was that with daily visits, Nathaniel would get comfortable enough to shower, have an occasional hot meal and get some help.

[Nathaniel Anthony Ayers] told me a bass player named Homer Mensch was one of his mentors at Juilliard. Mensch, 91, is still teaching, and he immediately recalled Nathaniel.

"He had the talent, that was for sure," said Mensch, who remembered that Nathaniel had suddenly disappeared, never to return. I told him Nathaniel's illness had begun while he was at Juilliard and he was now a homeless violinist in downtown L.A.

Nathaniel had the potential to play with any of the major orchestras in the United States, [Harry Barnoff] said. He tried to help Nathaniel through his most difficult times, offering him work around his house and taking Nathaniel's calls from mental hospitals and the streets.