I do not remember exactly which day after the Riots I went to my parent’s clothing store inside Slauson Super Mall, but memories of that afternoon have stayed with me. I was 9, my sister, 6, and for once, both of us were quiet as our mother carefully navigated the Toyota 4Runner around the debris and shattered glass on the roadside. Sirens occasionally cut through the smoggy air, which made my anxious mother eager to return home.

My father had stayed at the store for a second night, guarding the building with neighboring Korean storeowners and security guards. They took shifts on the roof, scaring off rioters with warning shots. My mother wanted him to come home, but instead, we were dropping off a change of clothes and some food for another night.

We pulled into the lot and parked in front of the middle entrance. My sister and I climbed out and made our usual beeline for the restrooms inside. It was strangely quiet when I entered the building. My sister caught sight of her favorite security guard and veered off to meet him. I found the restroom and was on my way out when I met my father.

He looked tired, yet nervous, like he drank too much coffee trying to stay awake. His clothes were dingy from being on the roof all night. I told him we had clothes and food up front, and we walked back to the entrance.

I had my first real glimpse of the damage done when I gazed across the street where a shopping plaza once stood. Rioters had looted anything they could carry and destroyed what they could not. What little merchandise remained was strewn all over the street. The building looked as if a bomb had exploded inside. Everything was hazy gray. Smoke still billowed from the grocery store into the still air.

Before leaving, my father pointed to the fences surrounding Slauson Super Mall. He said the fences were the only reason why our business wasn’t like the plaza across the street. He made me promise to stay within the boundaries, not to run around outside like I always did.

My family was lucky. The fences kept most rioters away from Slauson Super Mall. A few shops in the rear had some merchandise looted, but on the whole, the building survived. Considering an estimated 2,500 Korean American businesses were destroyed, we were very fortunate.

But the atmosphere and feel in that area had changed.

More security guards guarded the parking lot and its entrances. I stopped roaming around the aisles all together and kept better watch of our merchandise. Soon, I started to help at the store by running the cash register.

I could see that the tensions between the primarily African American customers and the Korean business owners were now very real. Some customers made snide comments about Koreans, but I learned to keep my mouth shut and give them their change and receipt with a smile. According to my parents, confrontations only created a ruckus that kept other customers away. But keeping quiet did not change opinions. The silence seemed to confirm the belief that Koreans were cold, unsmiling people, out for every cent they could get from customers.