They had every kind of trophy you could imagine at House of Trophies in Boyle Heights. Soccer, basketball, baseball, football, even fishing. They had trophies 6 inches tall and 6 feet tall, plaques and desk ornaments too, for retiring cops and transit workers and for great teachers.
But nothing for musicians.
I told a clerk I needed a trophy with something a little different on it, like maybe a string player. It was an unusual request, I could tell, but he went to his computer and came back with a printed image of a conductor and a musical symbol.
“We could do something like this," he said.
I decided to put my faith in House of Trophies and began making plans for the awards ceremony. The plan was to honor a friend I'm constantly asked about by readers and also to recognize two of my buddy's pals.
Since I began writing about Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, a street musician I met almost four years ago in downtown Los Angeles, I've been asked to speak at mental health symposiums, skid row fundraisers, universities and high schools and all kinds of award banquets.
I usually walk away with a plaque and a bad case of guilt. All those groups really should be honoring Mr. Ayers, not me. He's the one who's had to muster the courage to face each day. He's the one who has given a face to the anonymous thousands in the same fight. And he's the one whose story, I hope, is helping de-stigmatize mental illness.
I usually pass along the awards I get to Mr. Ayers, but I thought he should have his very own, which is how I ended up at House of Trophies.
Mr. Ayers had been telling me for months that he wanted to celebrate Beethoven's birthday on Dec. 16. I don't know a lot of people who walk around with Beethoven's date of birth in their heads, but nothing about Mr. Ayers is typical. Ever since he stumbled upon the Beethoven statue in Pershing Square several years ago, he has conducted himself as if Ludwig were god of the universe and everything beyond.
Mr. Ayers had told me he'd like to perform at Beethoven's birthday party with some of his friends from the Los Angeles Philharmonic. But as the date approached, he feared he wouldn't be sharp enough to play with the pros. He said if he really worked at it, he'd be in good shape by Beethoven's birthday next year. But he wondered if we could still have a party.
Among the few dozen guests were violinist Robert Gupta, pianist Joanne Pearce Martin and cellist Ben Hong, all friends of Mr. Ayers and all members of the L.A. Phil.
Also attending was Adam Crane, the former L.A. Phil publicist who made Mr. Ayers welcome at Disney Hall concerts and became one of his closest friends. Mr. Ayers has had a tough adjustment since Crane moved on to the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, occasionally strolling up to Disney Hall to see if Crane has decided to come back. Crane was coming to town anyway in December and adjusted his schedule to get here in time for Mr. Ayers' Beethoven party.
As the party approached, I began worrying that the man of the hour might not attend. Mr. Ayers has had a painful chronic stomach problem for which he was refusing treatment, no matter how bad the agony. Doctors and meds, he says, are not for him. Not yet, anyway, because he recalls too vividly the days of restraints, shock therapy and Thorazine. He is still tough to be around at times and a challenge for the staff at Lamp Community, which handles hard-core, chronic cases of mental illness.
(After this column was written on Friday, Mr. Ayers' stomach pain became so intense that he agreed to go to the hospital. At press time, doctors were still working on a diagnosis but seemed convinced he would be OK. In the emergency room, lying next to him in bed, was his violin.)
