The page you are looking for might have been removed, had its name changed, or is temporarily unavailable.YOU ARE HERE: LAT HomeCollectionsDrugs LaRon Armstead is a former college athlete, 6 feet 5 inches tall, 23 years old and physically imposing. Yet, standing outside Holmes Elementary in South Los Angeles, he is actually shivering — and not from the cold. He has returned to his old neighborhood for the first time in 10 years because an acquaintance has asked to see his childhood haunts. But he can't help himself. His body is physically reacting. "It's scary," he says, voice trembling. "It reminds me of who I was and who I was on track to be." Armstead, the sixth of 13 children, was raised in the Pueblo Del Rio housing project, a place he says was shrouded by hopelessness, where drugs were sold at all hours and gunshots were part of the normal cacophony of life. His mother, father and oldest brother were affiliated with gangs. A buddy of his had brought drugs to this school. When he was 9.

A little earlier, while being driven down 53rd Street, Armstead is so uncomfortable that he insists the car's windows be rolled all the way up. He sees the food stand where he bought tacos at midnight. He sees the park where he and his friends went to fight in the middle of the night. "We had no curfew," he says. "The later you stayed out, the better it was. You could see people selling drugs. You could see all the things you wanted to do." Armstead recently went to visit his oldest brother, who is in prison, for the first time in about 10 years. He was told that four of his former friends, boys he hung out with in grade school and junior high, are also incarcerated. "I feel guilty," Armstead says, "that I made it out and others won't live anywhere else." How did he do it? It started with a listing on a bulletin board. :: A few months ago, in a ballroom at the historic Millennium Biltmore Hotel, civic leaders and local business titans gathered with a few Hollywood personalities for the Salvation Army's annual holiday fundraiser.

All had dined on turkey and pumpkin pie. Now it was time to listen to the night's keynote speaker, a young man who, as he strode purposefully toward the podium to the sound of polite applause, few in the room recognized. Over the next 12 minutes, LaRon Armstead told his life's story in a way they would never forget, starting with his background as a middle school drug dealer. "While other kids were going to Disneyland, camping trips, having fun, me and my friend were dealing," he said. mk bags price in jeddahAs a seventh-grader, selling marijuana had put hundreds of dollars in his pocket, and Armstead spoke about his reputation as a gangbanger and fighter — and of his turning point: the day a friend spotted a notice promoting a three-on-three basketball tournament and signed Armstead up to be part of the team. shugon backpack

He was not a natural athlete. He recalls his team scoring one basket the entire tournament. But it didn't matter. He had fun and found encouragement from a couple of the men who were organizers of the event. Over time, they helped him completely change his path. Within a year, a new Salvation Army community center was Armstead's second home. He played basketball in the gymnasium and was given chores. The people there fed him, counseled him and mentored him. habs backpackOther family members stayed with the gang — the Pueblo Bishop Bloods — but LaRon managed to leave. u105 backpack"After school, I went a different way," he says. thule 25l laptop backpack"Growing up in it, they couldn't say anything to me. burton twc backpack

I was doing something good for me." His grades soared and his dreams blossomed. He recalls that when he graduated from middle school, "I didn't know how big an accomplishment it was until I saw my mother cry." However, there were still plenty of challenges to overcome. When he was a sophomore at Fremont High, his family was evicted from their residence and moved into a small home owned by his grandparents. There were 15 people sleeping in two bedrooms. swissgear scansmart laptop backpack grayFood was scarce, the showers were cold, and at times there was no electricity. He used his backpack as a pillow and slept on the floor — but he was never tempted to go back to gang life. Not even for the money. "That's not a life anyone with any sense would want to go back to," he says. He concluded by telling his rapt audience: "I do not expect a handout. I will continue to work for what I need to accomplish and see the possibilities in every obstacle."

When he finished, there was a long standing ovation. :: Emailed a copy of Armstead's speech, Don Larson marvels at its eloquence. Larson was a program director at the community center when Armstead first showed up. He recalls that the young man couldn't put two sentences together on a piece of paper. But he knew Armstead was smart. He had to be to survive the way he was on the street. "I explained to him that if he was smart enough to hang out with the adults, he was smart enough to get good grades," Larson says during a phone interview from San Francisco, where he now resides. "He flipped on the switch in school and in basketball." Seizure Led to FloJo's DeathHis 104 scores make his caseRestaurant review: South Beverly GrillBrutal Murder by Teen-Age Girls Adds to Britons' ShockComaneci Confirms Suicide Attempt, Magazine SaysI didn’t set out to be in front of the camera. My goal in high school was to get into film school, where I would hopefully start my career as a producer and writer—behind the camera.

Modeling was the last thing on my mind; I felt awkward and uncomfortable in my own skin most of the time. My freshman year, a classmate approached me and told me I looked like I could be a model. I’m not sure how she could see past my awkwardness, but she got the wheels turning, and for the first time, modeling was a potential option in my mind. Two years later, I was finally convinced to give it a try. I signed with an agent who eventually began booking me local gigs.  My agent doubted that my “look” could result in a career in photographs and told me I should stick to runway because I wasn’t photogenic enough. My modeling “career” consisted of doing catalog work and local ads for Macy’s in the Sunday edition of the Los Angeles Times. Meanwhile, I applied to several universities and film schools around the Los Angeles area and was accepted to them all, from UCLA to USC.  I chose to attend Loyola Marymount; I was beyond excited! A few weeks later, a French modeling agent came to town scouting for talent for the upcoming Paris fashion week.

She reviewed the modeling agency’s comp wall (which was covered with photos of models represented by the agency) and pulled one card down. I was two weeks away from starting college. If I went to Paris, I would have to defer my admission and possibly lose my chance to become a part of a coveted film program. If I stayed in L.A., I might miss out on the chance of a lifetime. In the end, my mother, who is one of my closest friends and mentors said, “It’s your decision and your life. You’ve graduated from high school and are old enough to make this decision for yourself.” Even though I was only 17 at the time, I felt much older as I weighed the pros and cons of such a life-changing decision. At the suggestion of my mother, I went to Loyola Marymount to discuss my options with the admissions office. When they heard about the opportunity I had been given, it was agreed that I could come back in one year to start the program; if I took the time to learn French, they would even give me college credit.

I went back to my mom to share the good news. She was supportive of my decision and had more advice to share. She told me: “You studied for the SATs and ACT, you wrote a kick ass college essay and got into every school you applied to.  Now, use that same determination to gain knowledge of the modeling industry. Go figure out what you need to know to give yourself the competitive advantage and make this amazing opportunity a success.” So I went to the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising library in downtown Los Angeles. I asked the librarian for every French fashion magazine she could dig up. Once she realized my goal, over the course of 2 weeks, she sat me down and showed me the right way to look at the photos to determine the aesthetic of each designer. She also dug up tapes from every major designer that had presented their lines in Paris the previous year. She taught me to focus not just on the style of the clothing, but also the ways each designer differentiated through the use of hair and makeup.

As I watched, I noticed the same models appearing over and over again; each had a signature walk (though they didn’t call it that back then). Others were on their tippy toes, like princesses. Determined to figure out my own way of doing things, I designed my walk alongside the world’s most helpful librarian, right there in the middle of the FIDM library. Two weeks later, I found myself pounding the pavement in Paris meeting designer after designer; clothes stuffed in my school backpack and makeup in my pocket. Before each go-see (these are auditions that models go on), I would change things up: For Chanel, it was flat-ironed hair and smoky eyes. For Yves Saint Laurent, it was hair slicked back in a bun and bright red lipstick. I walked into each go-see and bam! I had the gig. I booked 25 shows that season as a no-name; the first and last time that has ever happened. My career as a supermodel was suddenly on its way… I’ve learned many valuable lessons on my journey that have carried me through the rough times but here is the most important: There will always be people who doubt you.