ON THE SCENE AS OAKLAND PROTESTS TURNED TO RIOTS

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Riots. Demonstrations. Protests. Civil unrest.

My reaction was trepidation and nervousness when assigned to photograph Oakland's reaction to the involuntary manslaughter verdict on Johannes Mehserle, a former BART police officer convicted in the shooting death of Oscar Grant at the Fruitvale BART station on New Year's Day 2009.

I've covered several riots (demonstrations) including the 1989 Overtown riot in Miami, The Rodney King riots in Los Angeles and the North Redwood Summer in 1990, which was filled with days of civil disobedience. I even got a big whiff of pepper spray in Roseland during a few Cinco de Mayo celebrations gone awry.

On Thursday afternoon, reporter Julie Johnson and I set out for Oakland. I parked two blocks from 14th and Broadway, the eventual flash point of violence. In five minutes, I was photographing riot-gear-clad police officers. Downtown was deserted. It was the same way during the Rodney King riots.

There is something about a crowd in the daytime. The atmosphere, although tinged with stress, was almost laid back. A band was playing upbeat music, two men matched wits while playing chess on Broadway, there was even a three-way game of football catch going on. The scene was surreal.

I know better though. It's calm frenetic energy. I've experienced this eeriness many times; it's a beast that lurks in every large, amped crowd.

I made myself as visible as I could with law enforcement with lots of eye contact. The media was pretty much free to go behind and in front of the police lines that were in place. It was remarkable access.

As much as a crowd can be passive in the daytime, nightfall is a much different feeling. The hair stands up on one's neck. The tension of the Oakland crowd was palpable. Little skirmishes broke out between the crowd and police. The crowd became more bold as riot police started to clear Broadway, steadily marching forward with batons out. In an instant there was one arrest. Then another.

Parts of the crowd started to run. I heard the whoosh of a 40-ounce bottle of beer flying over my head, landing inches from a line of police. Then rocks. Where did the rocks come from? Then more bottles. Signs were thrown. More arrests. More bottles.

Shattering of windows. Looting of Foot Locker. The events were rapid-fire. Fluid. Rioters threatening photographers.

Fellow photographers Jeff Chiu of the Associated Press; Karl Mondon of the Contra Costa Times; John Mabanglo of European Press Agency, and freelancer Peter DaSilva and I all stuck together. There was power in numbers. We had each other's back. More bottles, more windows. People running, sprinting in every direction. A fire was lit in a trash can fed by boxes from the looted shoe store.

The police marched north on Broadway in greater numbers, clearing violence from the pavement. There was anger on the Oakland streets. Undeniable unabashed anger. Broadway was a dangerous, frightening place for 30 minutes Thursday night.

Visual vignettes come back to me. A woman barely 5-foot-2, standing in front of Foot Locker keeping looters at bay, yelling "Stop!" at the top of her lungs.

A man with a beard pushing people away from a burning trash bin. "Hey! This is my town! Stop burning it!"

A police officer telling an arrested man he was sorry, "but I'm just doing my job" in a conciliatory tone.

A man apologizing to an officer for getting in the way.

I saw fear on both sides, anguish and, at times, mutual respect.

Just like that, the deadline for the newspaper loomed. Five quick minutes and I was back in my car sending photos to the newsroom. It was peaceful. In 45 minutes, I was on the road back to Sonoma County in what seemed a continent away from the day's news. Whew.