Herman's House

Last summer walking through my hometown I was accosted by a group of wealthy housewives wearing Ugg boots and overly priced bedazzled jeans. They were holding signs that read “Honk If You Like Puppies”. A woman wearing a shirt that read “Malibu Locals Only” shoved a flyer at me that had pictures of a one-eyed Shih Tzu, a dog that was deformed as a result of inbreeding, and the name of our local pet store with an X through it. They were outraged to find out that Pet Headquarters was buying their dogs from puppy mills. A woman clutching a white Chihuahua wearing a Juicy jacket that matched hers came up and asked me to make a donation to help stop Pet Headquarters. I have lived in Malibu my entire life and I was saddened to realize that this was the first protest or even real community gathering I had ever seen take place. There were less people at the city council meeting to try and stop the LNG (liquid natural gas) terminal that they were trying to install off of our coast that would have destroyed the entire eco-system.
After that day I forgot about the whole ordeal until my dad called me a few months later to let me know that Pet Headquarters had been shut down. These women had raised enough money to buy out the owner. The store now strictly sells gourmet cookies for dogs and pet clothing. I couldn’t believe they had succeeded. With a few flyers with pictures of abused dogs and “Honk If You Love Puppies” signs these women were able to raise enough money to buy out a prime piece of real state in Malibu. If they could do it for the one-eyed Shih Tzu’s of the world I figured I could do it, or at least try, for other people around the world who really are in need of help.
This experience reminded me of why I feel the need to make documentary films. Even if their efforts were only to save inbred dogs at least they were working for a cause. I have always loved documentaries because they made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile. But the more I watched them the more hopeless the world seemed. None of these films ever offered any answers or even hope. Some gave an address to where one could send a donation, but putting money in an envelope and sending it off to some country halfway around the world never seemed like much of a solution. I always found myself thinking if only more people knew about this maybe something could be done.
It wasn’t until I received the news that my friend Bob was killed in the Iraq war that I realized that maybe knowledge wasn’t enough inspire people to take action. Who doesn’t know about the Iraq war and still not much was being done to stop it. It wasn’t until I went to a USC student art show that I even found out he had died. When I walked into the gallery there was a large area on the floor covered in thousands of “Hello My Name Is” stickers on popsicle sticks sprouting from the floor like little flowers. There was a little explanation on the wall that explained that these were the names of soldiers who had died in Iraq. As I started to walk away from the installation I noticed a name I recognized. Robert Ayers. There it was amongst the rows of thousands of names. Robert Ayers. He was faceless and he was dead and I hadn’t even known. Suddenly every single one of those names meant something to me. They all had faces and they were significant.
A little while later I was asked to shoot a documentary on an art project that sprung up from the aftermath of hurricane Katrina. The project was called Prospect 1. There was a picture on their website of a woman wearing a shirt that said “I am Herman Wallace”. This image was so powerful to me and I did not know why. I did not know who he was but his name meant something to me. Suddenly I remembered Bob’s name on the “Hello My Name Is” sticker. That image had been permanently burned into my brain. I knew then that I might have the opportunity to help save someone. I needed to find out who he was. It turned out not to be who he was but rather what he did that meant the most to me. It was the house that Herman built.
Herman Wallace isn’t an architect, but a former black panther. He isn’t even an artist, but a prisoner at the Angola Louisiana state penitentiary serving his life sentence. He has spent the past thirty- six years of his life in solitary confinement for robbery. His cell is nine feel by six feet and he is forced to spend at least twenty-three hours of the day within his cell. He is a part of the Angola 3 who were all put into solitary confinement for staging hunger strikes and sit ins to end the violence, rape, and segregation still going on within the prison walls. Upon hearing about his story a woman named Jackie Summel began writing Herman. After seven years of letters back and forth she asked him the question that started it all. “What kind of house does a man who has spent the past thirty-six years in a six foot by nine foot cell dream of? ”.
We drove through Herman’s neighborhood in our light blue Chevy Malibu rental car. The eyes of men lining the street sitting in weathered lawn chairs outside their water damaged homes followed our car as we passed by. I wouldn’t exactly say they were happy to see us. The street was littered with used diapers and glass from broken windows and windshields. We pulled over in front of Jackie’s house and hesitantly got out of the car. There was a sign stuck near the center of an empty lot across the street. Probably where a house used to stand before the hurricane hit. The sign said in big red letters: Crime Committed Here. Then scribbled in black marker it went on to describe the murder that had taken place on that very square of land. There were some younger boys passing a football around further back in the field. I guess they were used to the signs that littered their neighborhood.
Jackie came out the front door and a young girl named Crystal pushed past us and asked Jackie if she could borrow one of her yoga mats so she could teach her friend. Jackie smiled and told her to go take as many as she wanted. Jackie had been teaching all of the children yoga. Crystal grabbed some mats and about five of the young girls ran off to go practice. She told us that these were all of her kids. We began the interview in her front yard. Her project was one of many in Prospect 1. Her project was the house that Herman built.
Through many letters and visits over the past few years Jackie had finally completed a small replica of Herman’s dream house. She told us that Herman was hesitant to do it at first because he knew he would never be able to see it. He could barely even picture it. He has spent the last thirty-six years in a room without even a window. I guess it had started as some sort of game or even a means of escape for Herman. Something to help him keep his sanity. I would guess that at the projects conception she had no way of knowing how many people Herman’s house had the ability to save.
We began to ask her questions about how the project began and why? Just simple boring interview questions, but as the kids ran in and out of the frame tugging on her “I am Herman Wallace” shirt, doing cartwheels, and showing off for the camera it all became very obvious. One of the little boys, Malika, tugging on her shirt chanted “wacky Jackie, wacky Jackie”. We asked him why he called her that and he just giggled and ran away. About five minutes later he returned with some books to show us. He explained that Jackie got them for him for Christmas and that he never liked to read before now. Some other boys that were across the street playing football in a dirt field came over to see what all the commotion was. One of them gave her a “What up” and walked in front of the camera. Jackie told him to “go put a shirt on because we weren’t trying to make kiddie porn”. He laughed and walked into her house to get some water. She was respected and adored by everyone in the neighborhood.
Even if Herman would never be able to see his house, with a little help from the community these children would. I panned across little pieces of Herman’s dream that were being built on the street where he grew up. In Jackie’s backyard there was a community garden for the children of the neighborhood. Some of the little kids pulled me over to a sign out front where all of their handprints were. Watching them point out each of their individual handprints for the camera was the highlight of the day. These kids were so grateful and excited about this little piece of land they could now claim as their own. This had not been possible before Jackie because Hurricane Katrina had washed the lead paint off of the houses and into the grass where the children played. Some of the children had already developed brain damage from exposure to the toxic soil. After three years the government has still done nothing to fix problems like these, especially in the poor neighborhoods. I can’t imagine the look on Herman’s face when Jackie was able to show him pictures of his dream becoming a reality.
Herman’s dream house is now in the process of being constructed. He asked that it be donated as a community center to help keep kids off drugs and give them a safe place to stay. It just goes to show that no matter how small your contribution anyone is capable of inspiring change. Starting an action creates a chain of reactions so even if I am only capable of making a short documentary film maybe someone will realize that change is possible no matter how small or seemingly pointless. This all began because someone heard of inmate 76759 living in solitary confinement and decided to write him in order to make him feel like a human being again. What started out as a silly game that helped him to escape his life in a dungeon will now be able to help hundreds of kids escape from theirs and even stay out of jail.
If people are tangibly confronted with the reality that there are places in the world where a child can become brain damaged, or even die just from playing in their back yard maybe something can be done about these places. For me, it was seeing Bob’s name among thousands in that student art exhibit made me realize how many young lives have been wasted. Maybe if someone sees this documentary that I participated in creating they will realize even the smallest of ideas can bring great change. Whether it be helping mistreated puppies or saving an entire neighborhood it is taking action that inspires action. My action is making documentaries.