Day after day, He gave me the means to feed and protect those who sought safety where I stood. Black Rose still lives.
My wife informed me that the homeless community where she lived had a lack of respect for elders and women along Riverwalk. I took it upon myself to make a difference, and helped to show that community how to respect their surroundings and protect the vulnerable. I called myself Black Rose. For seven days, I roamed every freeway in Riverside, through river bottoms and parks, passing out cold drinks and snacks, spreading her message. I explained the urgent need for safety and respect, searching for those who hurt women and elders. The rest, I’ll let Fred explain—especially when it comes to code enforcement in Riverside, particularly near the Museum of Art, RMA, and Mission Inn, where tourists gather. Fred knows the community I brought together at the museum, offering refuge to women terrorized by the streets but with nowhere to go. I became a product of these elements, drawing strength from the circumstances. My jiu-jitsu stayed sheathed, as God’s way called me to serve instead. Day after day, He gave me the means to feed and protect those who sought safety where I stood. Black Rose still lives.
