Miracle on Fifth Street
Richard Fulton’s coffee and sympathy changed Leimert Park
After the city and county proclamations and the kind words, Fulton and a friend made it to the mike, where she read the comments he had penned; due to the advancing cancer in his throat and face, he can no longer speak intelligibly. He stood leaning slightly forward, his brown face framed by graying dreadlocks, dressed in customary loose plaid shirt and pants, listening to the last encomium — his own — with particular wonder. It was brief, more prescriptive than sentimental. "In my life, I have had good times and bad," the friend read, "and they have all been necessary." This time there was standing applause, a chorus of furious clapping that swelled to the pitch and rhythm of a rainstorm loosing all it had gathered — ecstasy, appreciation, sorrow. Fulton wrapped his arms around the friend and buried his face into her shoulder, and it was our turn for tears.�
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