Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, June 13, 1993 TAG: 9306140112
SECTION: NATIONAL/INTERNATIONAL PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Los Angeles Times
DATELINE: LOS ANGELES LENGTH: Medium
Since the release of the movie "American Me," his harsh tale of Chicano prison gangs, Olmos had been shaken by rumblings that the Mexican Mafia wanted him killed. Seeking an insider's assessment of the danger, he bought breakfast last November for Ramon "Mundo" Mendoza, a convicted assassin who has been living under government protection after testifying against the organization.
Over steaming bowls of "menudo" and "pozole", Mendoza explained that the movie had insulted his ex-comrades' sense of honor, depicting one of their most revered leaders as being sodomized in jail, impotent with a woman and knifed by his own gang brothers - sacrilege to a secret society that equates disrespect with death.
"Don't underestimate these people," Mendoza warned Olmos. "If they're obsessed with getting to you, there's nothing you can do to stop it."
Today, more than a year after the movie's premiere, its legacy continues to haunt a man who hoped to scare youngsters straight with the most dreadful images of gang culture.
Although the movie lost money at the box office and received mostly tepid reviews, it has triggered a wave of unexpected aftershocks, drawing Olmos into a drama echoing the treachery he portrayed on screen.
Shortly after the movie opened in March 1992, two of Olmos' consultants were slain execution-style, though it is uncertain whether anger over the film was a motive. Olmos, troubled by rumors and threatening letters, told police earlier this year he feared the prison gang had a contract on his life. He has tried to obtain a permit for a concealed weapon.
"Eddie," said one close friend, "is living with this 24 hours a day."
Because the Mexican Mafia is a clandestine operation whose members do not even acknowledge its existence, there is no way to confirm firsthand whether such suspicions are justified. But at least one sign of the gang's displeasure with Olmos has entered the public record. The Mafia's reputed godfather has filed a lawsuit, contending a character was based on his life without permission.
The perception of danger is so pervasive that the mere mention of the Mexican Mafia - known on the streets as "La EME," Spanish for the letter M - has left many people reluctant to talk. Olmos, who continues to make frequent public appearances, will say only that the movie's positive aspects outweigh any negative fallout.
Interviews with others involved in the making of "American Me," as well as law enforcement officials and sources knowledgeable about the Chicano underworld, tell of a collision between art and life. Hollywood, forever fascinated with gangsterism, took on a merciless prison gang that does not enjoy the limelight.
"It may be just a movie, but not to the Mexican Mafia's way of thinking," said Lt. Leo Duarte, who monitors gang activity at the state prison in Chino, Calif., where several scenes were filmed. "This is their world, their environment. If they think you did something disrespectful, even if they're wrong, there's going to be repercussions."
Any film about the Mexican Mafia might have sparked the wrath of its estimated 800 to 1,000 members and sympathizers. The EME, founded in the late 1950s by a group of East Los Angeles gang members, is fundamentally a criminal enterprise, prison officials note, whose leaders would prefer to conduct their business - drug smuggling, gambling, prostitution, extortion - in the shadows.
"American Me" tore down the mythology of some of California's hardest-core inmates, most of them convicted killers. Respect, in their world, means survival. Poetic license is not appreciated, especially when wielded by a man with a $16 million movie budget and a home in the suburbs.
The world Olmos depicted on celluloid soon took a very real turn. Two of his consultants were gunned down within two months of the film's premiere.
Whatever the motive for the killings, those who track the Mexican Mafia's movements believe the timing was more than coincidental. They have little doubt the killings were carried out with the knowledge that Olmos would feel the shock waves.
"It was a message. Period," said Duarte, the Chino prison official, who has a photo on his office wall of him and Olmos taken during a break in the filming.
Olmos had no trouble interpreting the message. In November, shortly after a correctional official helped arrange his meeting with Mendoza, Olmos applied to the Los Angeles Police Commission for a permit to carry a concealed weapon.
"He believes a contract has been placed on him," Homicide Detective Adalberto Luper said. "Unfortunately, we have nothing to substantiate the fact. It doesn't mean it's less real or any less likely to happen, but the EME is not a very easy organization to penetrate."
by CNB