"Three hundred brown-eyed children of the sun have come to drive the money-changers out of the richest temple in Los Angeles. It is a dark moonless night and ice-cold wind meets us at the doorstep. We carry little white candles as weapons. In pairs on the sidewalk, we trickle and bump and sing with the candles in our hands, like a bunch of cockroaches gone crazy." Chap. 1, p. 11

"I ask him if he's heard of the Chicano Militants. He laughs and tells me they are just a bunch of young punk communists who don't know their ass from a hold in the ground. 'They blame all their troubles on everybody but themselves.'" Chap. 2, p. 27

"'I know LA is a graveyard for organizers. You, personally, Brown Buffalo, a Chicano lawyer, have got to help those kids. Nobody else is going to do it. The Militants are doing a...