I revisit Fruitvale on Friday afternoon around 3:30 p.m., right before the Labor Day holiday weekend. High schoolers are just getting out of their last class of the day and congregating in small groups around the bus stops on Foothill Boulevard, laughing and jostling each other playfully as they await their or their friends' buses.
I approach a group of two young Hispanic girls with an older woman at the corner of Foothill and 35th Avenue. I assume that the older woman is their mother. I had been working earlier and my camera, a large, professional-looking DLSR, is slung over my shoulder, dangling at waist level.
I ask the girls about transportation in the neighborhood, looking for a story idea for my reporting class.
"Are you a photographer?" one of the young girls asks.
I tell her that I am but not in the context of this story. "Why?" I ask her.
"Because I like havin my pitcher taken", she replies, laughing.
I apologize, and bring the conversation back to transportation just as their bus, a modern Van Hool driving route number 40, pulls up. They pile on and they're gone. I ask their names just as they're boarding, asking them to spell their names into my phone, held at arm's length, recording all.
I speak to some more high school students and find my story, then speed off on my scooter to the AC Transit depot at Seminary and San Leandro Boulevard before they close for the day. By now it's 4:30, and I imagine administrative personnel are itching to call it a week and go relax.
An hour later I head home. All my potential interview subjects are home now, and AC transit is closed until Monday.
On Monday I call the office of Vision Hispana, the only paper serving the Fruitvale neighborhood with any specificity. The phone rings in a long, unmodulated tone, as if I've called a foreign number. I wonder if this local number forwards to a central line somewhere, where spanish language papers are printed from a template, throwing in a few local articles to appeal to the region they're being given away in. After all, the paper is free, and supported by ads. A woman answers on the third ring, and identifies herself as Elena. A quick glance at the 'contact us' section of the paper shows that she is the editor. I identify myself and ask her whether there are any neighborhood groups in the neighborhood. She seems confused, and tells me that I've called a newspaper. After a quick clarification she tells me to email her, which I immediately do. As of this posting, I have not received a reply.
