The three members of Mirrored Vision sit side by side on an old sofa at Lockout Music Studios in San Pedro when the band’s lead singer, Mitchel Wilson, notices the huge photo of Black Flag high on the wall above them. 

He asks the other two if they’ve ever heard that story about the time in 1981 when the student council at San Pedro High School booked the legendary Hermosa Beach band—fronted by its new lead singer, Henry Rollins—to play the school, without bothering to inform the administration what was coming.

“Yeah,” says Wilson, laughing, “the principal pulled that plug pretty quickly.”

Such stories are more than mere trivia for this trio: Wilson and his bandmates John Alanouf and Mateo Toro are fully aware of their place in the musical tradition of Los Angeles’ South Bay. Stories like that of a young Black Flag playing the home of the Pirates, says Wilson, “just make me proud of being from San Pedro. We have that lineage.” 

It’s a lineage that runs deep through the industrial landscape of this harbor town. Wilson arrived here at the age of 15, leaving both home and school in Redondo Beach in 1991 to move into a studio apartment at 10th and Meyler with a death rock band called Dark Enthrallment.

“Even then, I knew we were descended from the Minutemen and that whole early San Pedro punk scene,” he says. The town continues to influence his musical sensibilities: “Old ghosts all the way back—sailors and the port and pirates and satanic bunkers.”

For Toro, the drummer who came from Colombia via the San Fernando Valley, San Pedro felt like a journey back in time. “I was living in the Glendale area, and it all felt very plastic to me coming from Colombia, where everything’s very raw. Then I came down to San Pedro and found this skate park under the bridge of a highway, and I was like, ‘What the hell? That still exists?’”

Bassist Alanouf drives from Costa Mesa for rehearsals, a journey that’s as much psychological as it is physical. “You get shaken up a little bit. You almost die around the big rigs in your little car, and you get over the bridge and arrive at this old building.” That building, Lockout Studios, with its thin insulation where every DIY band bleeds through the walls, enhances the immersion. “I’m from a place where it’s all businesses and strip malls, and then I find myself here, in this punk rock place.”

San Pedro exists in geographical limbo, “almost like a Bermuda Triangle,” Alanouf says, as he turns toward Wilson and Toro, asking, “Does your mail even say San Pedro on it, or does it say Los Angeles? It’s not LA, it’s not Long Beach. It’s not anything like Orange County. It definitely is just Pedro.” Like other cities known for their musical culture—Nashville, New Orleans, Austin—“There’s music here, but it feels like it’s a dirtier harbor version.”

Mirrored Vision emerged from pandemic boredom in 2020 when a former bandmate approached Wilson about writing songs online. Wilson, a self-taught musician who hadn’t performed live in over a decade, agreed on one condition: “I’d only be interested if the songs are great, if we push and complete an album.” 

Alanouf, meanwhile, was using the COVID lockdowns to teach himself bass on a cheap pawnshop instrument, posting videos of his progress on social media. Wilson, noting that Alanouf was “fresh from a divorce,” suggested the band might help him get back into the social scene if those lockdowns ever ended. Despite initial reluctance about the commute from Costa Mesa, Alanouf was hooked once he heard the demos.

That first incarnation fizzled. Then Wilson started frequenting Distrito, a cafe in Downtown San Pedro, which Toro co-owns, where Wilson would hear the band’s debut album Unprecedented on the shop’s turntable.

“We had a throne available for a beat king like Mateo,” says Wilson. “I pushed him to audition, and he came in with a furious thunder, and there was instantly a connection between the three of us.”

The band’s new EP Vera Volantis—meaning “true will”—releases July 18, the day before their record release show at The Sardine. The six-song set represents their first truly collaborative effort. “It really is the first release because it’s the three of us and the real incarnation of the band,” says Wilson.

Their influences sprawl across the musical landscape. Toro, a self-described “’ 90s-punk kid,” points to Travis Barker and the Transplants, along with the Misfits and even Dave Matthews Band. Alanouf balances the raw aggression with ’80s New Wave—Joy Division, The Cure, and Sisters of Mercy. “I’m the least punk of the guys,” he says. “I like the attitude and energy of punk rock, but I don’t find myself listening to it a lot.” He’s always trying to find “some rhythmic thing that makes you want to dance instead of just punching your neighbor.” 

Wilson’s vinyl collection runs deepest—5,000 records, if not more. His influences include The Chameleons, Gang of Four, David Bowie, and jazz pianist Bill Evans. “He plays a somber piano that could bring me to tears,” says Wilson. “His wife committed suicide, there was heroin addiction—it’s as punk rock as any punk rock story.”

What sets Mirrored Vision apart from rock ‘n’ roll’s time-honored recklessness is their professionalism. “We hope that’s an asset because, in music, there’s a lot of erratic behavior, a lot of unprofessionalism,” Wilson says. “We honor the music by not pissing all over it. We don’t get lit before we rehearse.”

Wilson’s attitude might have seemed outlandish to the original punk movement, but perhaps this evolution was inevitable. When an art form achieves sufficient cultural authority—complete with academic courses and museum exhibitions—its practitioners begin to treat it as a craft requiring professional standards rather than a weapon against them.

At recording sessions, established musicians are often surprised at the band’s efficiency. “They’re like, ‘you guys are doing that, in like, one take?’” says Wilson. “Well, that’s because we put in the work.”

Their approach mirrors their day jobs. Just down the street from Toro’s Distrito is Wilson’s Subterranean salon, while Alanouf is a self-employed hairstylist in Costa Mesa. “We all have day jobs and families and life,” Wilson says. “But I feel the music is really what we were born to do, so when it comes to Mirrored Vision, we’re serious about it.”

This controlled approach appears in their sound. “We want to bring chaos, but we also keep it tamed down a little bit,” says Toro. “You can hear it in the music.”

This mindset also reflects the realities of contemporary artistic ambition. Unlike the original San Pedro punks, who could survive on part-time work when rent was cheap, today’s musicians require steady day jobs to maintain the very studios and venues where they pursue their art. The members’ businesses are not obstacles to their creativity—they are the economic foundation that enables creativity.

That entrepreneurial mindset extends to how the trio approaches the band—and the music itself. “I just love the start-up energy,” says Alanouf. “Whether it’s a business or a band, I love bringing things together and into existence, and I love that we’re committed to doing that together and moving this music forward.” spt

Check out Mirrored Vision’s music at mirroredvision.com and catch them live at The Sardine on Saturday, July 19. Tickets at thesardinepedro.com.

 

Today’s teens are growing up in a world unlike anything previous generations have faced. 

Constant digital stimulation, social media pressures, and shrinking face-to-face interaction are the new normal. The isolation worsened during the COVID-19 pandemic, which forced schools to close, friendships to move online, and milestone moments to be missed. Even as the world reopened, the effects linger. 

According to a study highlighted by writer and analyst Ed Elson in December 2024, “We now spend 70% less time with our friends than we did a decade ago.” (Source: Scott Galloway, “People Are the New Brands,” 2024)

Technology has connected the world—and, ironically, isolated much of its youth. 

But at San Pedro High School, a group of track and field athletes is writing a very different story. Despite the modern challenges pulling young people apart, seniors Evan Hadeishi, Jack Butterfield, Christopher Frelix, and Robbie Rivas have pulled together—on and off the track. Their unity carried them to a historic season, breaking two longstanding school records: the Distance Medley Relay (DMR) and the 4x1600m relay at the prestigious Arcadia Invitational. 

In a time when social isolation is skyrocketing—when “12% of Americans say they have zero close friends, up from 3% in 1990” and “half the country says they’re struggling with loneliness,” according to Elson—the Pirates’ story feels even more extraordinary. Their success wasn’t just a personal victory but a collective one. 

“A lot of times you end up with maybe two or three good guys at best—having that fourth or fifth good guy, that’s what really builds a good team,” says Butterfield. “We haven’t had a team that can run consistently and fast; that’s what separates us.”

“We were coming off a pretty poor performance in the DMR,” recalls Hadeishi about the Arcadia Invitational. He saw the 4x1600m as a chance to regroup, trust each other, and get back on track. 

For Hadeishi, the greatest challenge wasn’t physical—it was mental. Running the anchor leg without a pacer, he relied solely on the energy from the sidelines and the ticking of the clock. 

Butterfield, a senior mid-distance standout, explains that being the third leg—typically reserved for the team’s fastest runners—comes with enormous responsibility. “You don’t have a watch,” he says. “You’re relying on instincts and math to keep your pace.” 

Running third means being at a critical point in the relay where momentum needs to be protected or regained. “During those larger relays like the 4×1600 and the DMR, the pack stretches out so much that it almost becomes a time trial,” Butterfield explains. “You’re running against the clock, and it’s tough because you have to subtract your own time as you go.” 

Rivas, who joined track relatively late in his high school career, admits to doubts before the big race. “Honestly, I didn’t think we had it that day,” he says. “The day prior, we didn’t have the greatest performance. We really came back, slept on it, and it felt amazing.” 

For Rivas, the experience was about more than running—it was about trust and belonging. “We lean on each other a lot,” he says. “We stick together on race days, during warmups, and even after school.” 

Representing San Pedro High carries special meaning for Rivas, whose siblings also attended the school. “It’s an honor,” he says. “Adding to the school’s reputation means a lot to me.”

Frelix, who once dreamed of a soccer career before following his father’s footsteps into track, said the biggest hurdle wasn’t physical—it was emotional. “I had to overcome my own fears of failing again and letting my team, my coach, everyone down,” he says. “But bonding with my teammates helped me push through it.” 

This group’s authentic friendship stands out in an era where much of teen interaction is filtered through screens and curated feeds. They laugh together, train together, and even maintain quirky pre-race rituals—including a team trip to the bathroom before every race. “It’s just part of our thing,” Rivas says, grinning. 

Their bond didn’t happen by accident. It was nurtured under the guidance of Head Coach Jeff Atkinson, a former Olympian who has dedicated his post-elite career to inspiring young athletes. 

“Standing on the Olympic starting line is exactly like standing on the starting line at a dual meet,” Atkinson explains. “It’s thrilling. That same energy and adrenaline never goes away.” 

Atkinson’s coaching philosophy centers around consistency. “Consistency over time is the key to everything,” he says. “That’s the art of it—I use a lot of data, science, and experience.” 

He pulls from books, clinics, and conversations with other coaches but ultimately believes every athlete is an experiment of one. “Forty miles a week might work for one kid, while another might need eighty,” he explains. Tracking workouts, sleep, nutrition, and even class schedules helps him monitor progress. “You watch their body language, compare it to past performances, and aim to stay slightly undercooked,” he says. “One percent overcooked, and it’s over. Ten percent undercooked, and you’re ready to run your fastest race.” 

When Atkinson first met this group as freshmen, they were promising but not prodigies. None had broken five minutes in the mile. But what they had was heart—and each other. Through summers of hard training, setbacks, and relentless mileage building (from 40 miles a week as freshmen to 70 miles a week as seniors), they transformed themselves—and the school’s track history. 

“They’re like a mini symphony,” says Atkinson. “A variety of different shapes and sizes—they just blend with each other—a chamber orchestra making beautiful music.” 

Their achievements extend far beyond the track. Each athlete has been accepted into major universities—UC Berkeley, UCLA, Long Beach State—not solely because of athletic talent, but because of resilience, academics, and drive. Atkinson sees them as the kind of young people you want leading the next generation. 

The success hasn’t stopped with the relays. In individual events, junior Jazmin Watts is rewriting the record books with new marks in the 150m and 300m, both 30” and 27” hurdles. Senior Abraham Radisic has raised the bar in sprints and hurdles on the boys’ side, breaking school records in the 400m, 300m, and 60m hurdles. 

This record-breaking season represents more than fast times—it represents a generation fighting to reclaim its sense of community after years of disruption, including the pandemic’s devastating isolation. In many ways, their victories feel like a page-turning—a signal that even after COVID-19’s disconnection, in-person bonds, teamwork, and real friendships can still prevail. 

Track and field’s influence crosses over into other sports, elevating the entire athletic culture at San Pedro High. “As a result, I’ve had incredible support,” says Atkinson. “From our athletic director, Mr. Rogosic, to our principal, Mr. Aubele, and [assistant] principal, Mr. Allen—they’re fantastic.”

With construction nearing completion, they’re trying to rebuild, resurface the stadium, lay new turf for football, soccer, and track, and line the field with new banners—all in time for the 2028 Olympics. 

“This stadium should be the crown jewel of LA city schools, the crown jewel of Southern California,” Atkinson adds. “Because if you sit in those stands and look out over the harbor and realize the world’s commerce comes through our town—that’s a powerful thing. And we want our kids to feel that.” 

Technology often separates people more than it connects them, but these athletes have proven otherwise. They’ve shown that real success still comes from showing up, pushing each other to be better, and finding strength in the struggle. While they benefit from modern tools and training science, what truly sets them apart isn’t gadgets—it’s heart. 

In a world where teens are often painted as disconnected and distracted, the San Pedro Pirates offer a different story. They didn’t just break records; they broke away from the loneliness that defines too much of their generation. 

Through grit, connection, and collective effort, they’ve given us more than fast times—they’ve given us hope that today’s youth, even in a digitally distracted world, are still capable of extraordinary greatness. spt

CORRECTION: In the print edition of this article in the June 2025 issue of San Pedro Today, the article misquoted Jeff Atkinson. The correct quote is: “From our athletic director, Mr. Rogosic, to our principal, Mr. Aubele, and [assistant] principal, Mr. Allen—they’re fantastic.” We apologize for the error and thank Mr. Atkinson for his understanding. The quote has been corrected in the online edition.

When Anthony Pirozzi began recording his father’s stories back in 2001, he never imagined it would lead to a book more than 20 years in the making.

What started as a simple attempt to preserve family memories evolved into something much more—a deeply personal memoir that celebrates heritage, explores the bonds between generations, and encourages others to document the stories that shape their lives.

“I knew that my dad was my last connection back to the old country,” recalls Pirozzi. “I started asking him more questions, and I thought, ‘I’m going to record them and just write them for my family.’”

Armed with a single cassette tape and three typed stories—one titled War, another Apricots and Figs (which would become the memoir’s title), and one more titled The Skiff—Pirozzi shared the initial version with his siblings as a Christmas gift in 2003. But something was missing.

“I hadn’t been to Italy with my dad yet,” he explains. “When he was describing people and places, I didn’t know them. I kept bugging him to go back.”

That wish came true in 2005. Pirozzi convinced his father, Tony, to travel with him to Ischia, their ancestral home. “You always tell me, ‘Don’t forget where you come from,’ but I need to know where I come from,” he told his dad. His father finally agreed—on the condition they plan the trip around two soccer games. 

Pirozzi would later chronicle the trip in the September 2005 issue of the original San Pedro Magazine, appearing on the cover with his dad.

That trip became the emotional core of the memoir. “I was walking through all of the stories live. We’d stop, and he’d say, ‘Anthony, this is where the apricots and figs story was,’” remembers Pirozzi. “Once I stood in full view of the castle for the first time… it was very emotional. I felt like I was home.”

As the writing process unfolded, Pirozzi realized the story wasn’t just about his father. It was about him, too.

“I had stories, but there was no dialogue. Just, ‘Me and my dad went here, we went there,’” he admits. “Then my writing coach asked, ‘What about your story?’ I said, ‘This is about my dad.’ And he said, ‘Well, that’s a good memoir for your family, but who’s going to care?’ That’s when I knew I had to include my own voice.”

The final book alternates between his father’s memories and his own, drawing connections between the two. “I saw a lot of similarities in the way I grew up [in San Pedro]. I didn’t really understand how much we had in common until I started writing,” he shares.

That includes a shared passion for sports—particularly soccer. “I was all about baseball as a kid,” says Pirozzi, a 1983 San Pedro High School graduate. “I used to tell my dad, ‘Baseball’s better than soccer.’ And he would look at me and say, ‘What do you know?’” 

But soccer eventually became a shared passion—especially in 1982, when Italy won the World Cup and his father led a massive street celebration in San Pedro.

“The morning of the World Cup final, before the start of the game, Dad announced on his Sunday radio program, ‘When Italy beats Germany, we’re going to celebrate in San Pedro.’ He didn’t say ‘if.’ He said, ‘when.’ Two thousand people showed up to celebrate!”

His dad’s love of the game ran deep. “When he got here in 1956, there was no soccer,” Pirozzi explains. “So, he wrote a letter to RAI, the Italian radio network in Rome, to figure out how to get scores.” That one letter led to him receiving the scores via shortwave radio, broadcasting them each Sunday from radio station KTYM—and eventually, community-wide soccer game viewings.

“He was pioneering this stuff,” recalls Pirozzi. “He’d record the games via his newly purchased satellite dish, then show them at his TV shop—Tony’s TV on Gaffey. That shop was central to so much.”

It was in that very shop, surrounded by televisions in for repair, that Pirozzi’s own career path quietly took root.

“I had no plan for college,” he recalls. “So, I thought, ‘Let me take some electronics classes at Harbor College. Maybe I can help Dad at the shop.’” That decision led him to Cal Poly Pomona, a LMU master’s degree, and a 30-year engineering career in satellite communications at Hughes Space & Communications/Boeing in El Segundo. “I always say, I can put a satellite in space, but I could never fix a television.”

Pirozzi’s father passed away on August 13, 2020. Finishing the book became both a tribute and a healing process. 

“Writing helped me mourn my dad,” says Pirozzi. “There were times I didn’t have the answers, but they would come to me, and I’d think, ‘Alright, Dad, thanks.’”

Seeing the finished product was an emotional moment. “When I opened the proof copy, I didn’t plan on getting emotional, but I did,” he admits. “It was real now. It existed. It felt like I had honored my father the way I wanted to.”

But beyond honoring his dad, Pirozzi hopes the book encourages others to preserve the stories in their own families.

“Don’t assume you’ll have time,” he warns. “Sit down with your parents or grandparents. Record them and ask them one question. Just one. And they’ll just go.”

“You don’t have to write a book. But get the stories. Take notes. You’ll be surprised at what you learn.”

His memoir is filled with those kinds of stories—his parents’ courtship (“Dad didn’t propose. My mom just told him the wedding date!”), the journey of coming to America, growing up in San Pedro, and a deep appreciation for the quiet, meaningful moments.

“For me, I don’t think about all the great things my dad did,” he says. “I think about watching soccer with him, then eating pasta at halftime with him and mom. It’s the little things people remember. Not accomplishments, but how you made them feel.”

It’s those small things—family dinners, shared traditions, familiar routines—that form the heart of Pirozzi’s memoir. And now that the book is complete, he sees it not just as a tribute to his father, but a reflection of the community that helped shape them both.

“I wanted it to be more than just about us, but rather an experience for the reader to see themselves in these stories,” he says. “It doesn’t matter where you’re from—Mexico, Italy, Croatia, anywhere. I tried to show that this immigrant father-son story is everyone’s story.” 

Family, of course, remains at the center of it all. Pirozzi credits his wife, Carolyn, for supporting him every step of the way. Together, they raised three sons—Antonio, Vincent, and Luca—who, he says, helped him reflect on what it means to pass down stories, values, and traditions.

And while the book focuses heavily on his father, he also makes space to honor his mother, Cookie, whose steady presence helped shape the family’s journey. 

“My mom taught me to stand up for what I believe in and to do what’s right, and Dad instilled in me passion for my Italian heritage, soccer, and community. I have been truly blessed,” he says.

With heartfelt storytelling, generational wisdom, and a whole lot of love, Anthony Pirozzi’s memoir is a powerful reminder that the most important stories are often the ones closest to home. spt

Apricots & Figs: An Immigrant Father-Son Story is available at Amazon.com.