friend

Samuel Monroe Jr., known for ‘90s cult classic films “Menace II Society” and “Tales from the Hood,” is fighting for his life after doctors misdiagnosed a meningitis infection.

Monroe’s wife, Shawna Stewart, confirmed the news with Complex, telling the outlet that the star contracted meningitis 18 months ago while filming in Las Vegas.

“He went to several different hospitals, where his condition was repeatedly misdiagnosed and because of this negligence, the meningitis went untreated for eight months,” Stewart told the outlet.

She said that by the time doctors properly diagnosed the actor, the infection had already spread “not only to his spine but also to his brain.”

According to the Mayo Clinic, meningitis is an infection and swelling of the fluid and membranes around the brain and spinal cord. The inflammation from meningitis typically triggers symptoms such as headache, fever and a stiff neck. While viral infections are the most common cause in the United States, bacteria, parasites and fungi can also cause the condition.

The family launched a GoFundMe on Monday, sharing that the financial strain has been “immense” and that over the last nine months, Monroe has been in multiple hospitals and two rehabilitation centers. According to the fundraiser, the actor will require around-the-clock care if he regains consciousness and is removed from life support.

“As the whole family and friends do not want to think negative in the event that Samuel is taken home by God,” Tayonna Stewart wrote on the GoFundMe. “Any funds raise would be put towards a proper and respectful celebration of life for his family, friends and fans to attend.”

The actor’s mom, Joyce Patton, also shared the news on Facebook and asked for prayers for her son.

“Please pray for Samuel Monroe Jr. my son who is now on life support,” she wrote on Saturday. “God don’t make no mistakes but he is gracious and I am humbly asking for his mercy and grace for Sam. I love you son … to the moon and back 100 times.”

At present, the GoFundMe has raised 7% of its $50,000 goal, with “Big Boy’s Neighborhood” radio host Kurt Alexander contributing $1,000.

Monroe, who has gone by the stage name “Caffeine” and “Caffamilliano,” landed his first acting gig in 1993, opposite Patti LaBelle on the hit TV series “Out All Night.” The same year, he splashed onto the big screen, portraying Ilena’s cousin in “Menace II Society.”

He’s also acted in films “Tales from the Hood,” “Don’t Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood,” “What Goes Around Comes Around,” “Set It Off” and “The Players Club.”

Most recently, he acted in 2023 films “Packz” and “Payment Received.”

Ciara Miller and Maura Higgins will be among the stars competing for the Mirrorball Trophy.

“Summer House’s” Miller and “The Traitors” contestant Higgins — both publicly betrayed by men they trusted on their shows — are the first celebrities joining Season 35 of “Dancing With the Stars.” Disney announced the new season Wednesday during Hulu’s Get Real House event in Los Angeles.

Miller joins the cast less than a month after it was revealed that her “Summer House” castmate and ex-boyfriend, West Wilson, was dating her friend on the show, Amanda Batula. She teased her “DWTS” news with an Instagram video in which she wrote out her “Next Chapter 2026” to-do list, which included “prioritizing” herself, “taking risks” and “Dancing With the Stars.”

Higgins, who lost Season 4 of “The Traitors” in the finale after being blindsided by her friend and co-star Rob Rausch, rose to prominence on “Love Island” in 2019. Higgins shared her excitement in a video on Instagram, saying, “Please pray for me.”

“Get me on that dance floor. I want to win the trophy,” Higgins said. “I’ve manifested this.”

Higgins told reporters at the Get Real House event that Mark Ballas is her dream partner.

The announcement comes after a landmark season of “DWTS,” which saw a record-breaking number of fan votes. In November, The Times spoke with “DWTS” showrunner Conrad Green, who attributed the ratings spike to reviving “communal viewing experiences.”

“It’s been largely a question of keeping our existing audience and then finding a new audience of 18- to 30-year-olds. That’s partly fed by social media. It’s partly fed by a desire to have communal TV viewing experiences,” Green said. “That was something everyone had with ‘American Idol’ and ‘Dancing With the Stars’ 20 years ago, but TV doesn’t lend itself to that so much anymore.”

During the event, Disney also announced a new spinoff series, “Dancing With the Stars: The Next Pro.” “DWTS” Season 34 winner Robert Irwin will host the show. According to the synopsis, it “features 12 exceptional up-and-coming dancers who move into one house and compete in a grueling audition process, all vying for a coveted spot as a pro dancer on Season 35 of ‘Dancing with the Stars.’”

“DWTS” pro and three-time Mirrorball champion Ballas will host the show alongside his mother, former ballroom dancer Shirley Ballas. The series will premiere July 13 on ABC.

With more than 60 song credits, Armenta’s songwriting prowess can be heard across some of the most popular música mexicana albums to date, whether by Fuerza Regida, Tito Double P, Peso Pluma or Dareyes de la Sierra.

“I consider myself a tailor,” said Armenta, 25. “[I’ll create] a sound that will be good with your vocal timbre, with your tones, with the vocal intention you need.”

The singer-songwriter wrote Fuerza Regida’s gritty hit “Marlboro Rojo” in 45 minutes, ensuring that the song’s aggressive, battle-ready lyrics also captured a romantic spirit. (“The devil’s bullets and I only think of your eyes,” sang Jesús Ortiz Paz, a.k.a. JOP.) And he wrote “Dos Días” for Tito Double P and Peso Pluma one early morning after a wild night out with friends; you can hear the emotional hangover in the way the vocalists’ rugged voices flail in desperation.

“The most important thing is always to convey something where people can immerse themselves in a feeling,” said Armenta, whose full name is Miguel Armenta.

He dialed into our interview from a tour bus departing from Austin, Texas, en route to the next concert venue on the Dinastía Tour by Peso Pluma, Tito Double P and friends. Armenta was instrumental in writing and producing Tito Double P’s 2024 debut “Incómodo,” a 21-track project that helped distinguish the Mexican corrido singer from his already famous cousin, Peso Pluma.

“I feel that it’s a project that has solidified the responsibility we have as composers and as artists, [it’s] an album full of hits,” said Armenta, who later wrote tracks on Tito Double P and Peso Pluma’s joint 2025 LP “Dinastía.”

Since the beginning of March, Armenta has joined the pair of cousins on stage for their acoustic- and brass-powered song “London,” a track on the deluxe edition of “Dinastía” that indulges in fantasies of living like kings. The song was cut from Armenta’s own 2025 debut, “Portate Bien,” a blend of corridos tumbados with melodic touches of reggaeton and pop.

“I had just bought my own house and I wrote [‘London’] feeling like king of the world in my own studio,” Armenta said. “I thought that song was dead, but I got a call from Double P [Records] asking if I was interested in releasing it with them.”

Armenta’s entry into the música mexicana realm was not as calculated as his lyricism; at least not at first. Coming from a family full of industrial engineers, the Sinaloa-born, Tijuana-raised composer initially set his sights on a degree in biomedical engineering. “I liked the idea of being able to use technology to create advancements that benefit humanity,” he explained.

His passion for music, however, lingered persistently in the background. Starting from when he was 11 years old, Armenta would write lyrics in journals and strum along to the guitar his brother bought him. “He didn’t like that I used his guitar, so he bought me one,” he recalled.

He also gravitated toward independent YouTube artists who uploaded their raw compositions online. By age 18, he would compose one of his first R&B songs, titled “Dame” — though the tenderly sung track wouldn’t be published until two years later.

“It was the first song that I bet on as an artist, and I spent the very little money that I had on it,” Armenta said. “A literal sacrifice. I knew that the song had something, but I didn’t know what until later.”

In about 2020, Armenta helped compose some songs for Angel Ureta, a friend who signed with Street Mob Records, founded by Fuerza Regida’s JOP. Armenta eventually developed a working partnership with the indie label, which continued sign popular música mexicana acts like Calle 24, Chino Pacas and Clave Especial.

One of Armenta’s earliest hits with Fuerza Regida came in late 2022 as “Bebe Dame.” The band recorded the song alongside Grupo Frontera, who earlier that year had reached TikTok popularity for the cumbia nortena spin on “No Se Va,” a 2018 pop song by the Colombian band Morat.

Armenta proposed the adoption of his own track from the vault, “Dame,” which by that point had fewer than 1,000 views online. With some lyrical tweaking by Edgar Barrera — a 29-time Latin Grammy-winning songwriter, who Armenta later befriended — the revamped version, “Bebe Dame,” became an immediate sensation.

It helped score Fuerza Regida their first career entry into the Billboard Hot 100 at the start of 2023, later peaking at No. 25. By 2024, Fuerza Regida became one of the biggest streaming Latin acts in the U.S., alongside Junior H, Peso Pluma and Bad Bunny.

In 2024, Armenta and Barrera reunited again in secret to hash out what would be Grupo Frontera and Fuerza Regida’s joint EP, “Mala Mía” — “without either group knowing,” Armenta said. Their viral corrido-cumbia single, titled “Me Jalo,” secured Fuerza Regida’s first Latin Grammy nomination, and Grupo Frontera’s fourth, under the category of regional song at the 26th Annual Latin Grammy Awards.

“Edgar and I focus a lot on how to evolve sounds,” Armenta said. “We are in the process of recognizing [the value of] música mexicana, that we can’t let this die.”

Between 2024 and 2026, 12 of Armenta’s songs have been recognized by the BMI Latin Awards — which honors songwriters, composers and publishers — including Fuerza Regida and Grupo Frontera’s joint collaborations “Bebe Dame” and “Me Jalo,” as well as Fuerza Regida’s “TQM,” “Nel” and “Por Esos Ojos.” Tito Double P’s “Dos Dias” and “Escapate” (feat. Chino Pacas) also received accolades.

For now, the songwriter shows no signs of stopping his lyrical magic, though he figures he might part ways with the music world 10 years from now — but not before winning a couple of Grammy Awards, he said, or even starting his own publishing label for songwriters and composers. (“My mom says I’m going to get gray hairs,” he added.)

“I think that life put me here to have fun,” Armenta said. “I had another destiny, but life accommodated itself to place me in this valuable situation.”

Cameron Collins was sick of Joe Biden.

The owner of concert promoter Brew Ha Ha Productions describes himself as a libertarian-leaning conservative who built his career in San Juan Capistrano. He’d kept his personal politics out of his popular SoCal events, like the ska fest OC Super Show and the nationally touring Punk in the Park fest, a staple for bands like Bad Religion and Pennywise.

On May 30, 2024, Collins felt dismayed that Biden had pursued reelection. In a fit of anger, he donated $225 to Donald Trump’s campaign.

“It was just an impulsive thing,” Collins said in an interview. “Biden had said he was going to run again. I was like, nope. He’d said he wasn’t. It was more about that than anything. I don’t post anything political or talk about anything politically. I’ve never donated to anything like that before.”

That donation proved fateful. After a small punk label discovered and decried Collins’ donation, the scene turned on him. Influential bands pulled out of his festivals or said they wouldn’t return.

On Feb. 27, Collins canceled every Punk in the Park date for 2026.

“The current climate surrounding the events has created challenges that make it impossible for us to move forward,” the organizers wrote on Instagram.

It’s no surprise that an underground music scene would loathe a Trump-donating promoter. Amid the Iran war, raids by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, and the Epstein files, many Americans want Trump supporters gone from their lives, some viewing any form of support for him as an attack on their and others’ safety and dignity.

Yet until this donation, Collins was a respected promoter whose events sustained hundreds of acts, including progressive bands. Some artists who relied on Collins’ festivals — even if they hate his politics — said the backlash will hurt their livelihoods too.

“It was the worst money I ever spent,” Collins said. “It was not worth this.”

On a March afternoon after canceling his tours, Collins spoke to The Times on a Zoom from his home in Texas. He wore a thick gray beard and the chunky glasses of an aging rocker. His home office was plastered in concert posters from his decades of shows, which include Punk in Drublic (a long-running collaboration with his friends in the left-leaning band NOFX), Silverado Showdown in Orange County and SoCal rock radio station KLOS’ Sabroso Festival.

He expressed bewilderment over the fan revolt that turned him from a scene mogul who gave to pediatric cancer research charities to a villain with a gutted festival business.

“I feel like my reputation with every artist I ever worked with was that they would say, ‘The guy’s got integrity. He treats everyone right. He fights for this scene,’ ” Collins said. “I’m wondering what is happening right now that this has become so polarizing.”

Asked what Trump policies he supported, Collins sighed and said, “A vote for a candidate is not an endorsement of everything they stand for. I am very antiwar. There were promises that Trump made — no more foreign wars, supporting Ukraine by ending that war, lowering prices on gas and on groceries. Dinner table topics.”

Those goals are significantly at odds with the president’s track record. Did Trump deliver on Collins’ donation?

“The way that this whole fiasco has gone down — no one would have voted for that,” he said.

Punk has long struggled with a reactionary streak. British bands in the ‘70s wore swastika armbands for shock value. The Sex Pistols’ Johnny Rotten and the Ramones’ Johnny Ramone turned rightward, and Orange County’s hardcore scene has had neo-Nazi extremists. Gen X punk fans who consider themselves anti-establishment might see online leftists as imposing on their ability to have consequence-free political speech.

Yet the vitality of today’s punk scene is driven by young, racially and sexuality-diverse fans who believe they are in grave danger from Trump’s policies.

Last year, Brandon Lewis, the founder of the Columbus, Ohio-based label Punkerton Records, was poking around on the donor database Open Secrets. He was curious how his scene was donating, and he’d attended Brew Ha Ha events like the Ohio punk festival Camp Anarchy. He checked where Collins put his money and was appalled that it went to Trump.

“We refuse to support, defend, or stay silent about someone who gave money to a man actively destroying everything we care about, deporting our friends and families, erasing the existence of our trans community, stripping away civil liberties, civil rights, and workers’ rights, while dismantling the Constitution itself,” Lewis wrote from Punkerton’s Instagram.

“I’m a combat veteran, and this administration is just pushing everything I believe in about freedom out the window,” Lewis told The Times. “When I would listen to Trump’s rhetoric about ICE — I’ve got friends who are undocumented. Supporting that in a financial way, supporting someone saying my trans friends don’t exist, and to do so coming from a music scene that to me is accepting and kind and certainly not ripping families apart, I couldn’t in good conscience let that go.”

Other bands in the scene, like Dillinger Four, found more donations — around $100 or $200 each — from Collins going to the Trump-supporting political action committees WinRed and Never Surrender and the Trump National Committee. Collins’ support ran deeper than a one-off gesture.

Left-leaning fans demanded that bands drop off Collins’ festival bills.

Dropkick Murphys, a rough-and-ready enemy of Trumpism in punk, had played Collins’ past events. When word of his donations spread, the band came out swinging.

“Punk Rock and Donald Trump just don’t belong together,” they wrote in an Instagram post . “So, upon finding out that Brew Ha Ha promotions donated to the Trump campaign, we will not be playing any more Punk in the Park shows.”

Some acts, like old-guard punks the Adicts and ska group the Aquabats, canceled sets at Collins’ events. Other bands, like Dead Kennedys, said they opposed his beliefs but fulfilled their contracts.

“Dead Kennedys have always stood firmly against authoritarianism, racism, and fascism. That has not changed,” the group wroteon social media. “After these scheduled appearances, we will not be participating in future Punk In the Park events.”

Collins said he understood why bands jumped ship. “There was so much pressure building,” he said. “The bands are a business. You have to say, at what level is the pay worth the headache?”

Yet he insisted that “anyone that pulled off did not pull out because they were standing for something, but were being pummeled to the ground by everyone that said they’d better do it or else. I don’t want those bands to go through that.”

Many fans say that Collins is seeing the predictable consequences of supporting a politician the scene despises.

Others struggled with what to do in response. Monique Powell, the singer for the Orange County ska band Save Ferris, describes herself as a “queer anarchist anti-Netanyahu Jewish child of a North African immigrant,” and far from a Trump sympathizer. Yet Save Ferris played Collins’ OC Super Show event in spite of the protests and bands pulling out.

She said that, while she opposes MAGA, she “wasn’t willing to disappoint fans and put hundreds of people out of work just because someone had a view I didn’t agree with.”

She said Collins “has been an important part of creating and nurturing this scene. He gave a lot of people work. From onstage, I see all the vendors, the stage crew, all providing jobs for people of all backgrounds. He’s given a place for fans to come together, even if they don’t all believe the same stuff.”

Save Ferris was a breakout act in the ‘90s and is now a working-class band on the ska and punk festival circuit. “I see the midsized, hometown venues that the bands of my ilk play — they’re being bought out or dying,” Powell said. “I’m not about to start getting out pitchforks for someone who did something that’s nothing compared to the effects of larger companies.”

Take, for example, Beverly Hills-based concert giant Live Nation, which was in the news last week after a federal jury in New York ruled against it in an antitrust case. Live Nation’s chief executive, Michael Rapino, has donated to Democrats Kamala Harris, Sens. Jacky Rosen of Nevada, Lisa Blunt Rochester of Delaware and Adam Schiff of California, and the music biz-friendly Texas Republican John Cornyn. Live Nation’s PAC has given to Republican Sens. Marsha Blackburn of Tennessee and Ohio Rep. Jim Jordan, alongside several Democrats. Billionaire Philip Anschutz, whose namesake firm AEG is the parent company of Coachella promoter Goldenvoice, has donated millions to Republican politicians, PACs and party organizations for decades — exponentially more than Collins ever did.

It’s fair for to wonder why music fans who hold the line on supporting a Trump donor like Collins might attend those other shows. Lewis said he struggles with that contradiction too but said it hurt worse coming from a punk promoter.

“Donating to Trump is antithesis of what punk means. Hating people for their sexuality or skin color is not punk in the least bit. People clearly expected better from a punk rock festival,” he said.

“I think Live Nation should be broken in half,” Lewis added. “But it’s no knock on someone who wants to see Social Distortion at a Live Nation venue; they need escape as well. I’m just not going to pretend Live Nation is a beacon for good things.”

Those punk communities are pushing back beyond Collins’ events. The SoCal gothic-cumbia DJ collective Los Goths pulled out of the Orange County festival Los Darks after learning its organizers, Peachtree Entertainment, produced the MAGA-champion Kid Rock’s controversial Rock the Country festival. The Los Angeles crust-punk event C.Y. Fest was scrapped after its organizer, Ignacio “Nacho Corrupted” Rodriguera was accused of sexual misconduct (he called the claims “false allegations and misinformation,” but stepped back from the festival).

Collins’ company produces events outside the punk scene, focused on craft beer and other music genres. He recently revamped his upcoming Me Gusta festival into Sublime Fest after the rap group Cypress Hill pulled out. (Last year, Sublime played at the Trump National Doral golf course for the Saudi-backed LIV Golf tour.)

Collins is not sure how he’ll find his way back into the punk scene or if the fans will want him there again.

“I still go out into the audience because I just want to see, is it real? Do people hate me?” he said. “We have bands up there like the Casualties, who are flying [anti-ICE] flags. People are like, ‘You’re a fascist,’ but I’m paying a band to go on my stage to say whatever they want, and then signing a check and going, ‘Thanks for doing it.’ ”

In America‘s current political climate, left-leaning punk fans may not have patience for Trump sympathizers. Having heterodox beliefs is one thing; financially supporting the president is another. Collins is a free market guy, and the punk market has spoken.

Yet huge companies that donate to Trump and his allies are consolidating the industry. It’s harder for progressive punks who want the scene to reflect their values.

“I feel like we created a sustainable, realistic scene that can keep going for years, and bands can earn the money that they need to anchor those tours,” Collins said. His donation caused this avoidable backlash, but “if you take away festivals that are their anchors, like we have been for so many of these artists over the years, how do they tour? This is what the bands are telling me, that ‘we’re the ones getting killed here.’ ”

Clavicular, the manosphere influencer leading the “looksmaxxing” movement, was rushed to the hospital Tuesday after a suspected overdose in a Miami nightclub.

The controversial internet celebrity, born Braden Eric Peters, was live streaming to his hundreds of thousands of followers from a Miami hot spot Tuesday night when the party took a dark turn. Live stream footage showed Peters hanging with friends outside of the club when he took a swig from a tiny bottle and said he was going to be “done for,” and “that was giga,” meaning that whatever he had taken was a large dose.

Inside the club, with cameras still rolling, Peters found a place to sit down with his friends and started to say “Oh my God” repeatedly and rubbing his eyes. A friend sitting next to him, influencer Androgenic, asked “How f— are you?” and then repeatedly offered him an “addy,” which is short for Adderall, a prescription stimulant used to treat ADHD that’s often sold as a party drug. Peters started to mumble, sway and close his eyes as the camera panned away.

TMZ obtained the audio from a 911 call alerting emergency services to the possible overdose of a 20-year-old man. Additional videos, taken by bystanders, have since made their way online showing Peters being carried out of the nightclub.

A source close to Peters told the Times that he was hospitalized for the overdose and checked himself out Wednesday morning.

“Just got home, that was brutal,” Peters wrote early Wednesday on X. The influencer, who has said he has autism, also posted a selfie with dried blood on his face. “All of the substances are just a cope trying to feel neurotypical while being in public, but obviously that isn’t a real solution. The worst part of tonight was my face descending from the life support mask.”

On his Kick channel Wednesday, Peters live streamed as he played online slots and said that “it could have been worse” and he wouldn’t “do that s— anymore.”

He also said that in the hospital, doctors asked what he planned to do after he was discharged. “Then I was like, ‘Dude, I got the club grand opening,’” he said, adding that doctors advised him to get rest and shouldn’t attend. “I was like, dude, gotta be on the grind.”

The influencer, who rose to fame helming the “looksmaxxing” movement — a subculture hyperfocused on taking extreme measures to perfect one’s physical appearance — has been candid about using drugs, from steroids, peptides and testosterone to methamphetamine and Adderall. He has also said he chisels his face by smashing his bones with a hammer.

Androgenic, the influencer videotaped asking Peters if he needed “an addy” as Peters swayed and lost motor function control, has also been vocal about his own drug use. He recently posted on X that he was on “Walter White’s batch” when someone snatched his wig off his head and ran away. (Walter White is a fictional chemist and crystal meth manufacturer from the show “Breaking Bad.”)

A source close to Peters told The Times that Androgenic was escorted away from the hospital where Peters was being treated for the overdose Tuesday night.

Androgenic has not responded to The Times’ request for comment.

Tuesday’s suspected overdose is the latest in a series of incidents involving the manosphere personality. Last month, Peters was arrested in Florida on suspicion of misdemeanor battery. The Osceola County Sheriff’s Office alleged Peters instigated a fight between his girlfriend, Violet Lentz, 24, and a 19-year-old influencer in February at a short-term rental in Kissimmee, Fla.

The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission launched a separate investigation into another of Peters’ videos involving an alligator in the Everglades.

In that video, the influencer appears to come across what is seemingly the carcass of an alligator floating in the water and shoots it repeatedly. Peters has not been charged with any crime in that incident.

According to Peters’ Kick live stream, the influencer is headed back out Wednesday night to celebrate Miami’s Bacara Club streaming launch party.

Anyone who has jumped out of a plane with a parachute deserves respect, but to do it 36 times, that’s worthy of a salute.

Saul Pacheco, who turns 88 in November, is sitting in a lawn chair at the Arcadia Invitational with his friends, the starters dressed in red suits who fire pistols to begin races.

That’s when he mentions how he was in the 82nd Airborne Division and jumping out of planes in the 1960s after graduating from Wilmington Banning High and UCLA.

“I was a jump master who became in charge of the parachute troopers,” he said.

Then he talks about becoming a teacher and wanting to return to his alma mater, Banning, which had no openings, so he ends up at rival Carson and coaching the offensive line for Hall of Fame coach Gene Vollnogle for more than two decades. Vollnogle was football coach from 1963 to 1990, winning eight City titles.

Pacheco also became a track starter in 1977. He was already well trained to fire a pistol. It was learning all the rules required in track and field that needed to be mastered.

He apparently did just that, because he’s been at it for 49 years and plans to retire as a track starter this spring. For 25 years, he was a starter for the Arcadia Invitational. Then he became the meet referee to settle any disputes. The respect he has earned can be seen in the way other starters appreciate him for helping them learn the ropes.

He’ll be inducted into the Carson Hall of Fame this fall for his contributions as a coach and athletic director.

His story is pretty amazing. He was one of 13 children. His parents apparently wanted enough siblings to form a football team. His father was a carpenter helping build minesweepers at Terminal Island for the Navy. His mother stayed home and took care of everyone. The first seven kids born were boys. He was No. 5. Imagine the competition for food at dinner time.

“Everbody came in to eat at different times,” Pacheco said. “My mother did a great job having stuff ready.”

But what about 13 children together for Thanksgiving?

“We had a lot of laughs. We all got along.”

Five of the brothers are still alive, including a 90-year-old. All three sisters are alive. One of his brothers, Henry, was football coach at San Pedro for 12 years. Henry was drafted and ended up in the Vietnam War, where environmental issues might have led to the illness, lymphocytic leukemia, that took his life in 1991.

Two of his brothers worked for the LAPD. Two other brothers became firefighters. He has a grandson who’s a deputy sheriff in Riverside.

Pacheco has worked five state track championships and numerous City Section championships.

Like an umpire in football who calls a holding penalty, the only time anyone notices a starter in track is when there’s a false start.

“If there’s a false start, someone complains,” he said.

So why spend 49 years as a track starter?

“The fun part is watching all the athletes compete and being around all the other officials,” he said. “The officials are tremendous and dedicated trying to do a good job.”

All this came out by just happening to stop by and say hello to the starters who are always pleasant and enjoy talking. Unless you ask a question, you’ll never find out about someone’s background.

So why wasn’t Pacheco wearing a red suit like the rest of his friends at Arcadia?

“I brought it just in case,” he said. “I was an alternate.”

Pacheco is always prepared, whether jumping out of planes or teaching life lessons to football players.

If anyone deserves a salute, it’s Saul Pacheco.