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A profile of a different kind of writer now, Evangeline Ordaz teaches constitutional law and rehabs historic buildings. But when she's not doing those things, she writes for a racy soap opera about Latino teens in East Los Angeles. "East Los High" was a big summer success for the TV-on-demand website Hulu. NPR's Mandalit Del Barco reports that much of the credit for keeping the show real goes to its multitalented main writer.
MANDALIT DEL BARCO, BYLINE: Evangeline Ordaz was born and bred in East LA, East Los, as it's known, and you can still hear the neighborhood cadence in her voice.
EVANGELINE ORDAZ: You know, I grew up saying things like, oh, we're going to go down her house. Al lay instead of el lay. We elongate our vowels like crazy. So it's like, Brendaaa, com'ere. It sounds like a whine to everybody else, but to us, it's just the way you talk.
BARCO: Though she's tried to lose the intonation and lingo, Ordaz used it to great effect for the dialogue she wrote for "East Los High."
(SOUNDBITE FROM SERIES "EAST LOS HIGH")
BARCO: From the cheap press-on nails to the Spanglish word for skank - skonka - Ordaz nails the East Los references. She borrowed them from some of the local teens she mentors at a youth development center called Legacy LA. Nineteen-year-old Rebecca Hernandez and her friends schooled Ordaz in the latest street slang.
REBECCA HERNANDEZ: We would say, like, instead of liar, we'll call somebody a Chuey. It's like an old project story. This guy would lie a lot, and his name was Chuey. So they started calling everybody who lied a Chuey.
BARCO: Ordaz managed to put the whole neighborhood around the Ramona Gardens housing project into "East Los High." She convinced the producers to shoot the high school scenes at Legacy LA and to hire hundreds of locals as extras. Ordaz also brought in local street vendors to feed the cast and crew. Legacy LA executive director Maria Lou Calanche says it was not the usual Hollywood production.
MARIA LOU CALANCHE: It wasn't just like most filming happens, where you just kind of use the space and don't care about the people that live there. So, Evangeline was our advocate. She made sure that the crew was really sensitive to the needs of the youth. And I was like, that never happens. And I think it's changing how Hollywood sees doing work in a community.
BARCO: There's a lot of people who thank Ordaz for representing East LA, but she says it's all them.
ORDAZ: Everday people are always good storytellers if you just listen. I'm just stealing, I'm just stealing the stories and I'm putting them on paper and taking credit.
BARCO: Ordaz grew up like many of them, with Mexican immigrant parents. Her mom worked in factories, her dad was an aircraft mechanic, and in high school, she helped out by cleaning houses. She was the first in her family to go to college and became a lawyer with a social justice mission.
ORDAZ: Yeah, I got out, but you know, there's plenty of people still there who need help, and having a law background and being an attorney, it's a really good tool.
BARCO: In the 1990s, Ordaz was a legal aid attorney. At night, she performed at poetry slams with a collective called "Â¿Y Que Mas?"
ORDAZ: We had, like, a following. There were people who would follow us. And so, I really started to realize, like, there's this need, like, in our community to, like, really lift up our community through words.
BARCO: Ordaz morphed from attorney to playwright. She wrote about her hippie-Mexicana family, about struggles along the U.S. Mexico border, even a comedy about a drag queen who gets married for a green card. A few years ago, Ordaz helped script the short-lived CBS police drama and she's now working on a theater piece about changing demographics in Los Angeles.
In the Boyle Heights neighborhood, Ordaz checks in on the old Boyle Hotel, recently rehabbed by the East LA Community Corporation, or ELAC, which she founded with her old poetry writing friends. It's next to a plaza where freelance mariachi musicians wait for work. ELAC transformed the dilapidated, historic hotel into affordable apartments and a space for the musicians to rehearse. Ordaz says the place was so bad that ELAC had to clear out layers of dead pigeons and chase off drug dealers.
ORDAZ: I had come from suing slumlords, and really, in essence, when ELAC bought this building, they became a slumlord. So, you know, as soon as we bought the building, we started right away to try to fix things as best we could for the people who were living here.
BARCO: Ordaz channels her legal background to teach a constitutional law class at a local university. But when she's not writing, she still finds time to hang out with some of her favorite local teens.
ORDAZ: Ella sing (unintelligible). Sing what's really close to the heart.
UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN #4: Okay. How does it go?
BARCO: Cruising through the streets with her 19-year-old friends, singing and joking, Evangeline Ordaz is like their cool big sister. So you're like, still an East LA homegirl.
ORDAZ: I guess.
UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN #4: Always, always. Para siempre.
ORDAZ: Por siempre, right, (unintelligible)?
BARCO: Por siempre and por vida, she says, East Los forever. Mandalit Del Barco, NPR News.
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