Does Anyone Speak English?

San Diego is a Tale of Two Cities. The other city does not understand English.
   Today I left the roaches, spiders and bed bugs behind and drove to North County. My first stop was a Kaiser-walk-in. I was out of my thyroid medication. I walked up to the receptionist who happened to be Asian, and probably brand new to this job.
   I had made love to five cock roaches so besides exhaustion, I could not breathe. A can of Radar Cockroach stood on my desk. But the cockroaches didn't give a dam. My bronchial asthma took sound beating. 
   Since the El Loco Hotel as one referred to the downtown "Y". 
   I" need to get a refill for my thyroid medication.
   "What kind you want?"
   I need a refill.She looked at my Kaiser card and spent too much time on the computer.
   "You time not up...you have more pills. Me ask pharmacist.

   Just then the young pharmacist left to speak to someone.
   Do you understand English?
   Another pharmacist chimed in.
   "You don't mean that?" She intimated that I had been rude, and rude I  meant to be. You see I could not breathe and didn't need any more stress.
   I left but returned to apologize. A tall young man then butt in.
   "You must have been the one...Why  I am a man and will honor any women..."
   Well I didn't need any confrontation with one forty years younger. I declined his invitation for a dual.

   The pharmacist guided me outside. She revealed to me that the "Union had hired Minos Peng. I didn't hire her, it was the manager that did-because the Union forced her."
t it was the manager who had hired her.
   I know with Obama Miss-Care all hospitals have cut back at least twenty percent. No longer do i get a call from my doctor and when i do, the speaker speaks Spanglish. They seldom understand a word say and often misinterpret my message."
  Well since my time is almost up at the Carlsbad computer, I will terminate my conversation by telling you that one phone caller told me my PSA count was 15-which meant I should have been dead by now.
   

   
  
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The Transit Deli

  I am currently at the downtown library. The first computer didn't work blogs, so I left to the one across from me.  A hoard of about one hundred homeless entered at nine thirty. I had eaten a small breakfast at the Deli next to the transit station an hour earlier. The Green Line Trolley had deposited me there. 
  One hour earlier, the Green Line Trolley dropped me off at the Imperial Transit station. It is where the three trolleys kiss one another. The Blue one takes the laborers, domestics and servers back across the border. Four buses also stop here. 
   Many homeless congregate and set up their sleeping bags against the fences of Park Avenue. It is in the East Village area. The other half of San Diego live close to the Imperial Transit station. It was eight o'clock and I had an hour before the new San Diego Library would open.  I entered the eatery and ordered the number one: two eggs, hash browns, and four pieces of toast for $5. 95.  
  The chef, who doubled as a cashier, whipped up my eggs and threw the mixture on the skillet. I sat down in a booth in back. Fifteen bottles of medicine sat in the booth across from me. A door to my right said, "This is not a toilet." Of course there were no toilets inside the modest eatery. My fragile kidneys would have to wait.
    A thin elongated face sat in front of the bottles. He was heavily whiskered and a weather beaten man, older than his age. His hands slowly picked up one bottle and he placed a pill inside his hidden mouth. 
  .Whiskers began placing the medicine bottles inside a small black nap sack. He finished his drink and slowly, ever so slowly,  stood up - but not his pants. He bent down to lift his  exterior his  depleted pants over his neglected butt. He held his pants up with one hand and slowly filed out. His defeated eyes told me it wouldn't be long when a pick-up ambulance would take him to the promised land. 
  Another man slithered in looking straight ahead. He ordered coffee and a coke - anything to wake him.up. cHe slowly ambled towards me and took up a perch in a berth in back of me. He grumbled something unintelligible and glared outside. 
  Yet another slithered in showing more flesh than fiber. Another man showing more flesh than fiber. One foot carried a shoe but the other had none. His chin covered his neck and he appeared to be sleep walking. 
  "Need a coffee. How ya dooin?" 
  He took a coin purse out and carefully counted the one dollar and sixty five cents. 
   
  By eight O'clock I had finished my anemic meal.  I began to ready myself for the walk to the library, a football field away to to the north, with Petco Field to my right. My error was it opened at nine thirty and not at nine.   
   I traded a drink for a toilet key at the Mission Restaurant on J Street. and returned to the library-that by now had opened.It was grey and the first hints of rain hit me.  
   Over one hundred homeless entered and lined up single file on  the escalator. My nose followed them. Many lived outside somewhere in the East Village area. In five minutes the second floor lobby of computers had been taken. I went to the third floor, where you find me now. 
   
   The man across from me is cracking his knuckles. In between his coughs he sneezes. The dirty air outside has been the villain. Now the two gentlemen next to me are hacking. A naval plane must have dropped some carbon inside their sleeping bag at night. At least the guy to my left is using his right arm to shield his cough from me. At least the weather man had forecast some rain. There would be no need for ambulances tonight. 
 I then proceeded to the California room to play with their digital computers. I knew most of my books would use pictures or information from them. 
   A jolly old man named Rick helped me learn about the new gadget. At least no homeys coughed in my face. The view from the ninth floor shows one half of San Diego. The room with a rare book collection would be opening soon, and it is nice and quiet - unlike the third and second floors. Why next time I will wear a mask when I work them. 
   I took the ride to the Tower of Pisa - ah I mean the ninth floor penthouse or the California Room. Rare books, genealogy, data base and my favorite,  the microfilm machine are housed there.
  I wished to put pictures from the old United Newspapers on my flash drive. Chris tutored me in that art. 
I've got to go now. Just had a wonderful lunch at the Mission cafe. A few Padre employees talked about next season and how the color white would blend into many of their shots. 
  Next time I will discard the transit Deli for the Mission restaurant. Too many transits make it too depressing. 
   
  
  

Black Death visits San Diego

  Fog sailed into San Diego like a Clipper ship holding too  many sails. At the downtown 'Y' sleep became difficult. Broadway sat below my cell at the downtown "Y". Buses, cars, trucks, and even overhead planes kissed my room with carbon, nitrogen, lead, pollen and ozone.  
  A heavy inversion layer did not allow the poisons to leave. The day workers who lived along the coast in La Jolla or Del Mar with center air did not need to worry. The other half did since they lived downtown and needed to face the music. 
  My Broadway Cell faced South towards Tijuana. Planes from Navy Field flew overhead at night throwing their Black Death into my window. I got up at eleven to use my inhaler and relieve myself into  an empty minutes maid container.  The winds played the tug-of-war bringing in the dirty Santa Ana's and filthy grime from across the border.
  Not to be outdone, Coronado sent more grime and pollen into my cell. Mexico has no smog control rules so their trucks and cars come into San Diego laughing all the way. The last of the rains came about one month ago, barely a drizzle. The fog held the pollutants in now without wind or rain. The good news is the San Diego's Balboa Park Centennial is next year.

   I remembered a week ago when the custodian of our YMCA building whipped the dust from an outside sign. On it was written, "The coolest hotel in town."  the sing outside advertising the Coolest Hotel in Town. Sir Thomas Cartwright, the manager, ignored the letter sent my Kaiser doctor. My doctor wrote that because of my chronic bronchial asthma, an air conditioner should be placed over my window.
   "You can buy your own, Mr Garrett," he told me after receiving the letter. I needed to take action so spent much of my time at Lindbergh Field or a near-by hotel. My room temperature during the day hovered around ninety degrees.

   This morning the twenty ninth of January, I told Bobby at the desk to "spray my room for Cock Roaches, spiders and bed bugs. I also thought there might be elevated levels of asbestos. Nobody ever inspects the 'Y' or other hotels. The counsel people are too busy taking care of their constituents in their own communities.
   Today I would take Ambrak # 567 to Encinitas. I went inside the corner Starbucks. There was a long line of winded folks waiting for their energy drink. I read a book about World War 2 while waiting for the line to recede.
    Outside the 820 bus to Escondido picked up a few passengers followed by the 992 airport bus. The dense fog made it hard to see the bus. Inside, Jake milked his coffee cup to get his one dollar and seventy five cents worth.
    Like most homeless, he is as thin as a Jewish refugee, with high cheek bones since Jake has no teethe and a triangular thin face. He moves to the half and half and sugar at Starbucks. The fills his cup with half and half and several packages of sugar. 
    Jake then goes to the bathroom. His purchase has given him combination to the bathroom. Yet today, Bertha Washington again has hogged the toilets. She usually spends an hour grooming herself leaving wads of toilet paper.  Bertha sits in a cheep wheel chair using her arms to move it. She sleeps at one of three bus stops. The art of sleeping upright is a piece of cake for her. 

  I then look at my watch. The #567 Amtrak leaves at eight twenty four. My nose is running like a freight train without breaks. I grab a large supply of napkins and leave. The conductor spots me and gives me an Encinitas ticket. A good looking blond sits ahead of me in the disabled section. I sit and my nose opens up. I forgot what clean air feels like. 
  I am thinking about moving to Santa Fe or even Portland. 
   

Lady Barbara's Secrets

  Now everyone has heard of Victoria's Secrets, but who has heard of Barbara's? The first is exciting but the second is more enlightening.  Again at Table 5, Lady Barbara steals the show. Why six months ago she told me her wish to go to heaven. Today Heaven has to wait since she is having one hell of a time on earth. Today at the Oak Cafe sits Horst, Ron, Marcia, and me. Missing is Greg and Abe. Abe has been in the hospital. 
   'I can play the piano today. My jaw still hurts from where my tooth was pulled. I must eat from the right side of my mouth today.' Marcia, the psychologist, announces she will be leaving for Santa Fe next week.
   How much is Amtrak charging you?
   "One hundred dollars and it will be the Fullerton train out of San Diego. I hope to be there for most of the year." The bowl of diced apricots are served to each. Barbara now remembers another secret from her past. With each secret removed, she is more and more relaxed at our Miracle Table 5." Then Lady Barbara's chimes in.
   "I just remember after my husband died my daughter gave me such a time. I had moved to Ramona to be with my son and found out my daughter was stealing money from me. When I confronted her she removed a knife and threatened me." 
   "I called the police and she ran away down some hills. When I told the policeman her name, he sighed and told me they had been watching my daughter. They wished to find out where the drugs were coming from."
   "After they found her I was told to send Janice to a rehab center in  Indiana. She would not get on a American Airlines plane but the taxi driver volunteered to drive her all the way to Indiana. If forget the name of the  institution they sent her to. but she climbed out of there for a few days."
   "She returned in a few months. I had moved to San Juan Capistrano from Romona. I lived off the ocean. She had a few relapses but now is just fine and happily married."

   "George, do you like the blouse I am wearing? I always bought three styles with one style too small for most people. That was when I lived in Julian. I lived there for ten years. 

   Today the 29th of January, Lady Barbara looked relaxed. Both Horst and Cahn were missing, so it was Thomas, Marcia, Lady Barbara and myself. 
   "Well George, I did not go in to my dentist yesterday. My pain is going away. I never knew a pulled tooth had roots so long...I remembered when Jay, my husband began having headaches. He would not go to the doctor but had coughing pills ordered at the drug store....That was in October."
   "His coughing became worse until it was too late. He died and my nine year old daughter took it real hard. I think her bout with drugs was caused by his death."
    "After San Juan Capistrano, I moved to Ramona. My husband and I often went to Ramona for Bechtel vacations. We went there on several occasions so it was easy for me to wish to live there again.  I bought a large two acre house on the hill. My son moved in with me and I began raising dogs."
    "My son soon moved in with me. We both attended a Baptist church but first went to our favorite restaurant on the main street. One Morning, we entered and all the seats had been taken...I asked two gentlemen if we could join them since there were two seats."
    "He began speaking with my son. His last name was Agee and he got along well with him. We both raised dogs so I moved in with him. He had a repair shop. Soon we got hitched. He did not tell me he had suffered two heart attacks. He died in the hospital."
    "I opened up my dress shop called Barbara's on the Hill. Many of my customers came from San Diego. They owned homes in Julian also. I always bought four of a kind and kept one for me. I did a thriving business there."
    All of a sudden Thomas got into the act. "Strangers in the night..." No this charming Italian could not compete with Sinatra ,but he certainly changed our appetite. I changed a lunch seat for the piano variety and began to play it. 
   Now Barbara became infected. And what is life without a song. She also played the same song my way. We laughed and she continued to play. 
   I walked her outside to wait for her van. What a shame I met her too late in life - but at least we are no longer strangers in the night but a couple in love - it is never too late.  
     
     

   

The Corner Seven Eleven

   "Oh where oh where has the winter gone, oh where oh where can she be?"
"Well look up North young man, and you shall see, the rains now clip Canada before driving Eastward to the Atlantic Coast!" 
  Now the song A Foggy Day in San Diego might never be a hit song, but the deadly fog will strike the unsuspected in San Diego with colds and shortness in breath. 
  My bronchial asthma was bad. Too much weekend for me and now I needed to pay the price. The lack of air had clogged my mind and I left a book on the 992 to the airport the night before. 
  I had taken up a seat at Terminal One. A couple from Dallas waited impatiently for their driver to arrive. The grandmother and her daughter spoke about the trip in from Dallas. 
  "Why I am still cold. Yesterday was fifty but today no  more than twenty. I can't remove the icicles from my body!"
  "Don't worry Mom, Jake will arrive soon. He is finishing work at Kearney Mesa."
   Normally I try to keep my mouth shut. I told them about the buses and shuttles that could have deposited them in a closer spot to be picked up. 
   "Why don't you take the shuttle to a San Diego Hotel. It would make it easier on Jake."
   The daughter gave me a stare. An hour later, I saw their driver arrive in a compact Ford.

   The next morning, I left the downtown 'Y' at seven o'clock. Some jerk in the cell next to mine wished me a good day with an "Old Man" at the end. Thank God some blacks still show some respect for me. 
   I opened the back door and almost ran into Mr. Cartwright the manager. "Why gud monin Mr. ah ah ah." After almost three years he still forgets my name. He probably has Mr A like one of my girl friends. (Alzheimer's)
   Cartwright was the one who brought me into the Hall of Horrors or the second floor. I must have looked disabled then. Most of the residents have received vouchers to remove them from the street by HUD.  
   After crossing the dumpster and pissers corner, I saw wheelchair Dan. His two feet stuck out their toes looking for spare change. He had lost twenty pounds from a year ago. I wondered what Obama care was doing for Dan. 
   Again, the same black and whites  cling to the Seven Eleven like a gold mine. Anytime they say the word 'sir' mean they wish spare change. 
   I got a small orange juice with two bananas and a dozen eggs for six and change and returned to my cell. At smokers' corner,  Jake lit one up as well as our manager - probably a Marlboro or Camel. 
   After making hard boiled eggs from the kitchen, I placed my food inside my nap sack and out the door I went The Tijuana Blue Trolley had just arrived at the American Plaza.    A hoard of domestics and laborers exited for the Santa Fe Station for another train. 
   The corner Seven/Eleven hands out drugs to everyone, including those with a EBT cards. By drugs I mean candy, soft drinks, hot dogs, pizzas, coffee, quick picks and lotto, and all the packages of sugar and salt you can steal. 
   It seems to me there is a Seven/ Eleven on every corner. Why even across from the new San Diego library one sprung up with a prominent display in the front. It was an add for those electric cigarets. Not to be forgotten, two Starbucks are just down the steet. 
   Both stores feast on hot polluted days. People have a yen for a quick pick me up. Too bad they can't get it from life.

A Foggy Day in Ocean City

   Thursday I needed a change of pace. And besides, my car Dolly needed a brand new air filter. The dirt and grime from cars made it difficult for her to work with the oil filter. The air filter is like our lungs, bronchial tubes, the box needs to be changed every so often.    Since I would be going to Ocean Beach today,  I dropped my car off at Express Auto's garage, on Midway Drive and caught the #35 bus for Ocean Beach. The bus dropped me off on Newton, a few blocks from the pier.  
  The beach is known for its hippies, and and the way it looked in the twenties. The tourists have not found it yet, so it has a natural home flavor to me. I call it my organic city - away from the contrived touristy traps of other beaches.  
  It was cold and foggy but like the seagulls, I didn't mind. I walked up Newton and made a left towards the mile long pier.  A lone fisherman loomed ahead. My backpack felt soft on the way to the Wow Cafe. It was early so I took up a perch at the end of the pier - since the cafe opened a bit later.  
   There was little sea breeze to go with too much early fog. . A China man followed me. He led a wheeled basket that carried a bucket with two small fishing poles fixed to it.  He looked to be in his eighties and as light as a feather. He pulled the cart to the end of the longest pier in California and made a right turn. A few seagulls perched on the pier's railings waiting for his spoils.  spoils. Two walkers were doing their rounds to keep fit. 

   He took the fishing poles out of  wheeled cart  and then dropped tidbits of sardines or mackerel overboard - one piece at a time. Not-a-bite struck but he didn't care. And why not? He was fishing off he pier in Ocean Beach, the surf-city-south. Yes he didn't care on bit. The fog lifted and a smirk came over his face. 
   I sat against a board to ward off the northwest cold breeze.  boards at the end of the pier. A gal took my picture just as the fog began to lift. The Wow Cafe's doors were now open. A worker was taking the umbrellas outside. I needed to get warm to I ordered a defroster - a hot chocolate. This time I will allow it. But in the future no coffee drinking on the bus."
  After my hot chocolate, I walked back on the pier. Breakers were thundering on the rocks ahead and a two heroic surfers were having a it. The sets must have been bigger yesterday. Yet there still were a few good breakers. 
  I turned up Cable Street again and waited for my #235 Ocean Beach bus. The ride back to my car was uneventful..."What was that?" A loud mouth man sat up front. He called me "handsome" and a gal a "hot sexy dame." Richard reminded him. 
  "Don't speak or I will have to ask you to leave." He wore a flower on his cap and told everyone he was on something called 'Oxycontin' He spoke loud and clear and was harmless. I just kept my mouth shut and tried to ignore him. I thought about asking my Doctor for the same drug.
  I made one last stop at the organic market on Sunset Cliff and Voltaire. Inside a large market farmers sold their organic vegetables and fruits. I don't buy it unless it states organic. I picked up my car at the Express Auto shop and left for the Balboa Park Seniors dance. 
  
  
  The day had begun in the early morning hours at the auto shop. I ran to catch the #235 going to OB or Ocean Beach. I climbed aboard with my complimentary coffee.  "Sorry Mr. Bus Driver. Will never happen again...Are all of these domestics going to work?"  Richard, I found out his name later, nodded. 
   Not-a-one new what the term domestics meant, or almost none. A lone Mexican in the back had a laughing fit. At least fifteen female Latinos sat on the bus. Not a sole talked, their eyes marched ahead to their destination.  Some would work at a Ramada and others at cafes or homes. 
   The bus swung around to the left and entered Point Loma West Blvd. Only a few were left on the bus. We passed a marina and then a tennis camp. Old bungalows smiled at me as the bus trudged on to Ocean Beach. I told the driver I would soon be packing and driving my car to Portland Oregon. 
   "You are nuts to drive all the way to Portland, Oregon. Why for about  two hundred, you can rent a car from Advance  Car Rental. They buy their cars from Hertz so they have low millage. I have found this car company attentive to my needs."
   "Where are they located.?
   "They are on Kettner in Little Italy close to Enterprise. My Dad and I used them for our vacation to Portland. The car broke down in Merced and in a few minutes, they had it towed and fixed. They gave us two free days for our inconvenience." By then the bus Pt. Loma West turned to cable and it dropped me off on Newton. (Not edited yet.)
    

I had a Dream - Lady Barbara

  Martin Luther King is having a birthday and his I have a dream speech will be seen and heard over television again. Yet he is not the only one who dreams.  Why Lady Barbara told me about a whopper. 
   Again I sit at table five. Lady Barbara has finished playing the piano - of course with my help. I hum the songs so she can remember the melody. The piano at the Encinitas' Senior Center has given her a new lease on life. After our lunch she remembers a dream she had when only eight years old.
  "My Uncle Jim and his wife took me on a trip to Colorado. My Dad had been born in the city of Pueblo. On the way I had a dream. In the dream I saw a two seat car with my Dad driving it. They were leaving Colorado. I had no idea what the dream meant."
  "I told  my Aunt about it. 'I know what the dream is all about. We need to drive into Denver, Colorado where you will get the answer to the dream and find out about your Dad. In Denver, my Aunt saw two gentleman sitting in front of a Dime store.
  "My Aunt Helen jumped out of the car and ran to the two men she saw. My Uncle Jim screamed for her to return to the car, but my Aunt was ornery. My  Aunt asked them about the name of  Hanson. One gentleman told my Aunt to ask the retired postman. She met with the postman. 
   "It seems to me my son had a friend by the name of Hanson. Give me your Dad's name and I will inquire if he still is friends with him."
   "About four weeks elapsed. Finally we got a telegraph from my real Grandfather but I can't remember the name. In the telegraph he wrote that he 'had three sons. One was kidnapped from a our Denver home. Your Dad, in the dream, was going to the funeral of your cousin."My Dad was glad to find out his Dad was still alive and we met his family in Santa Barbara. 
   At that point Lady Barbara began laughing. I remember in Pueblo I needed to go bad. I asked the town elders for directions to the bathroom. They laughed at this ten year old. One pointed to a shed. The smell overwhelmed me. I had no idea what a out house  was then. She then spoke about her Mom Agnes.
    My Mom taught at Nightingale Junior High School. She never allowed me to leave the kitchen table without me finishing my dinner. We had a depression going on, and my Mom knew how to make hamburgers from our vegetable garden and  she knew what ingredients to place inside. My brother and I looked forward to the ice man. We would suck the slices of ice that fell of the big chunks.

  Ron borrowed my newspaper. He is the knight in shining armor who watches over Lady Barbara. He has traveled to most of our states in a bike. He is the only one who shovels the lunch in record time.  He wished to know the temperature today. A few minutes later he shouted, "Chicago is going to be ten degrees colder than Fairbanks, Alaska. Now Lady Barbara chimed in.
  "My Dog Caleb is aware of our drought. My German Sheppard has been killing bees lately. The bees are looking for flowers but with no rain, they are dying. My dog makes sure nobody comes close to our house - including bees."
  Lady Barbara's lift was about to arrive.  I sat her down and saw a bunch of preschoolers. Like the Pide Piper, I led them into the lunch room and played a few ditties for them.
  "If you are good, I will read to you a short story I am writing about a car named Dolly." The story will illustrate how a car is very much any growing child." 

 
   "
 

Tent City San Diego

 It is Sunday. The library will open at one o'clock today. I get on the Orange Line Trolley at the American Plaza station. At Civic Center, a few homeless leave their tents to share their wows with one another. A few homeless jump on the train.
  A toothless young gal and her pimp fight over a beer. The train is their office. Another homeless get aboard and stares at me. He would like to steal my clothes. I get off on Park and  Market Street. I need to walk another block and a half to get to the library that opens Sundays at one o'clock. To the South is the Coronado Bridge and the Tijuana mountains. It is another clear day brought on by the Santa Ana winds.
  My wind pipe is clogged with all the dust and pollen. Am I in Palm Springs-West? . I use my puffer once or twice and glance to my left. Several tents are parked  once next to another. Homeless live in these makeshift homes. A few more tents and sleeping bags I see in the Petco Parking lot.
  The library is about to open. Several homeless line up to get the first crack at the bathrooms. One, carrying too many bags, is told to leave the library. A security guard escorts him away. I enter and take the escalator to the third floor.
  A Mexican mother and her three kids are on three computers. They are making too much noise but I am too tired to fight it. I work mine for about one hour and decide to take a break. I take the elevator to the night floor to its penthouse or the ninth floor.

   I find a picnic table and remove a tuna sandwich and a bag of potato chips. A  guide escorts a few tourists to show San Diego's view from the library's head. It is so clear I can touch Mexico. I can still taste the spicy Mexican food from the Lolita's restaurant a few block west. The guide is speaking.
   "That is the Coronado Bridge over there and the St. Marcos mountains to the east...Yes, I will take your pictures, but don't stand too close to the little rail...The building in back of us houses rare books and also is our genealogy area. We have data bases and more books inside there. Over there is some antique art. That room is closed today..."
   I finish my sandwich and grab a few cutie tangerines to wash the fish down. I drink from a fountain and enter the genealogy room. I only care about the digital microfilm machine. I need to use it for information and also print pictures off of it on to my thumb drive. A gentleman with a Santa Claus smile and torso to match escorts me through the machine.
  "Now click on the 'cropping menu', good. Use your mouse to draw a rectangle around what you wish to copy...Now drop down the file menu to "export"..."
  I thanked the jolly man and decided  to return to my humble abode on Broadway. Back on Park Blvd now i walked north. A black with is white bitch screamed at each other. I saw a vacant sign in front of the Park apartments. (More to come)

 

Sunset at Little Italy

   It was another Red Flag day in San Diego Bay. My nose had run unabated for two days now. But still alive battling chronic Asthma, I got a reprieve and went to the Harbor Area of the City. After an ice cream and glad to know the winds now came out of the West, I drove and left my car at the Old Town commuter station. From there I took the Green Trolley and got off at the Italy and court building station.
Now  the now northerly winds did not clog my nose, I took the Green Line Trolley to the Italy station.
   Now I had the chance to witness the beautiful orange and red colors of Little Italy. The sun had begun to set over the Harbor while I trudged up the street to a camera store on India Street. The white table cloths told me lots of regulars and tourists would be making their tables busy yet dirty.
   I sat down at a front table of Phillipa's restaurant. To my right, I saw a Southwest blue make its final decent .It hovered over two buildings. The cooler air gave my bronchial tubes relief for the first time in awhile. It was June in January as many wore shorts today. The hot sun radiated several colors that flicked off of San Diego Bay.
   Across from me sat an old gingerbread looking house. The multicolored wooden structure asked me to take a picture of it later. I was reminded to get a camera. I entered the store and asked a lady for help to purchase the gadget. The store closed at five thirty so I had another forty minutes.
  "Go over there and three gentlemen in the camera department can assist you."
   A tall smart looking young man approached me.
   "May I help you?"
    I am looking for a film camera?
   "We don't sell film cameras!"
    What do you mean you don't sell film cameras?"
    Well after a few minutes my lens cleared.
    Forgive me, in my day we called them film cameras. What I need is a digital camera, not too expensive. Paul, he told his name later, removed a Nikon and showed me how the  $85 camera worked. I bought a few attachments like batteries and a plug for the internet.
    I paid $123 for everything and decided to try it out. The little myopic house across the street beckoned me. I asked a young lady sitting at a table to do the honors with Mr Blue Eyes, me, sitting on the structures wooden rails.
    "Get your ass off of me. Don't you know I am an icon on this street! Now go ahead and take your pictures."
    After a few shots were taken, I strode with my camera, remembering to turn it off and sat by a patio that honored the Italian World War Two dead. During World War Two, many Italian fishing boats left the harbor for the Pacific to aid our naval contingent in the Pacific. Many did not return and there is are monuments t these brave me all over the Harbor. Then I saw a familiar face.
   "Hey Ron, what are you doing here?" He was walking north and turned around.and sat next to me.
   'Need to buy a few things at the art store up the street.
   Did you here somebody died at the Y yesterday. His name was Richard Sharp. There was a poster asking for money for his burial in our kitchen.
   "You don't mean the tall good-looking black dude. My he was so young. But we have a death or two every-so-often there."
   I'll bet the foul air and cockroaches have something to do with it.
    "Hell, the real problem is the fowl drinking water there. I became ill after I had moved in so made myself by the bottled kind. Besides bad water, I worried about the asbestos inside the rooms. You can bet the owners haven't checked on these things."
    "I use a special spray for the roaches. And it reminds me that Bill looked in on me last night. He worries about me and other guests. Many are disabled or on Section Eight. Heroin is the drug of choice in our hotel.
   After Bill left, I must have sat by a restaurant for several more minutes. The light on bay wind and effervescent colors made it quite a Little India afternoon. A young couple sat next to me savoring their wine and pizza. I became jealous but could not afford the two right now.
   
   You don't need a camera to enjoy Little Italy. Your memory chip will keep it forever. I wondered why the street had been named Italy instead of Italy. (edited with pictures later.)
 
 
 
 

"You mean for the Jew Boy?"

  A young receptionist greeted me at the old remodeled Horton Hotel on Island and Fourth Street. It was Saturday, another Sabbath day for me. But this day was different, it was the day before Father's Day. The old hotel had pictures on the wall of the previous owners, or the ones who profited from it. At one time, the hotel showered their guests with good food and a place to rest, while outside, their horses were stabled and fed.
   Two hours earlier, I had showered, shaved, and bolted out the door of the downtown YMCA. I didn't wish to miss bible study at the little store front Jewish House of Worship.  The plans made, I showered, shaved and bolted out of the YMCA at about eight thirty. I did not wish to miss Shlomo's Bible study class.    A week filled with Ballroom dance gave my legs and an extra bounce. The morning was overcast, but there were signs of another sunny day in San Diego. My legs crossed over a few streets until I arrived at Island and Third. A  message on the store front synagogue directed me to the next street and the Horton Hotel. Jeffery's Bar Mitzvah was today, and not next week.
   Can you direct me to the where Jeffery's Bar Mitzvah would be held.?
    "You mean for the Jew Boy? It is through that door." The clerk's badge had Emma written on it.
    Thank you Emma for these directions.
  My god has told me not to react to one so dumb or prejudice. Many people think her way, but are coy enough to hide it. Many tell me "their best friend is Jewish". Hashem or my God's program is to maximize my joy each day. In no way would I allow Emma's 'idol' words toss my my salad to floor me. I would simply table her remarks for awhile. Hell, this was my first Bar Mitzva in over fifty years.
 Sabbath is here in San Diego. My daughter, and her husband are traveling from Long Beach to San Diego to celebrate Fathers' Day with me. It is the seventeenth, the day before Fathers' Day - but what the hell - who will know the difference. Olivia is my first Grandchild. 
   This weekend is special. I need to pray and thank Him for the direction he has given me. Now I walk in His shoes. We are to meet at twelve and I will forgo the noon lunch to join them. It has always felt good to pray and allow the old time Jewish rhythms entertain my soul and bring me closer to Him.
   A large reception room graced the ceremony inside the Regent room. In the front stood an Ark with the Torah inside From a back table I removed a Yarmulke and prayer shawl. Some small trees separated the men from the women - that is the tradition of the Orthodox Jews.
   My heart filled with the trumpets of joy when I saw Cantor Shlomo belt out songs from the prayer book. This occasion brought out the best in this Libyan  hero the Israel wars against the Arabs. He reminded me of Enrico Caruso or Frank Sinatra. Smiles filled the faces of Jeffery's proud family. Jeffery's Dad kissed everyone in kissing distance.
  But why wasn't my Bar Mitzvah like this one? Why...Why...Why? My mind travels to another time. Over sixty years ago it was my turn on the pulpit. My Rabbi pointed to the words and I marshaled them out. Yet I could not breath or smile then. I gasped for air and my legs shook. Thirteen year old Jeffery turns into me. In front of me I see the silhouettes of my  Dad Harry and my Mom Edith. My Grandma Rachel has brought her sister all the way from Montreal to see this event.
   I see thirteen year old George, scared to death. My mind returns to the present. Jeffery is confident and happy. A chill envelopes me. My drip tears. Embarrassed, I hide under my prayer shawl. My nose runs unabated removing the poisons of the past. But the Hebrew chants of long ago rivet inside my soul. Yesterday's tragedy is replaced by today's serenity. Something hits me. Can it be my Mom's broom?
   My Mom swiped at me again. I turned around to see some idiot with a stroller I scream "s..t" to this intruder. I apologize and continue to sway, back and forth. The dam stroller hits me again with no "I'm sorry's".
  I would be a proud Jew the entire day. My concentration tested, I retreat to the rear and return the religious garments. Now I wish to stay for the reception. My stomach years for good food. Employees are setting up tables of the best Jewish food God's worshipers can buy. My tongue can taste the food. I wish to telephone my daughter to come later.

  In the lobby Emma is still there. I am in a tranquil mood and have forgotten the bad beginning.
   Emma, can I use your phone?
   "Is it Local?"
    It is an emergency!
   Emma still does not budge, but this proud Jew does not badger her. I decide to make it a day and leave the food for another day. My food today would be Olivia and her parents. We would go to Balboa Park
They picked me up and it was Olivia who had quite a day with Balboa Park's Lily Pond. She tried to enter the pool and grab the yellow wish but her Dad would have nothing of it.

 It was,  an remains,  the greatest Father's Day any father could ever have.

 
   I must inform the reader these stories don't come out of the air. After a Huevos Ranchero breakfast at  Perry's in Old Town, I had driven to the Harbor Sheraton Hotel. The old story popped of a clip board discarded a over a year ago.  A story written two Fathers' Day ago lit up my eyes  at the Sheraton Harbor hotel on Saturday. I had already eaten  after. 

 

A Wow of a Fish trip

 I ran out of stories about San Diego so went to my archives inside my  Carlsbad storage bin. I thought some of my followers might like a fish story. It came from a story I wrote in 2011, about one month after I moved into the El Loco Hotel on Broadway. (The Old YMCA, built in 1924)
 "I caught over thirty fish in one and a half weeks.  You should have seen the Maui Maui, at least seven feet long, and the Blue and Yellow Fin Tuna!" 
  I turned around to find out where that booming voice came from, only after I put down my McDonald's coffee-if you could call the water coffee. I waited for this heavy set man to finish his cell phone call.The second floor of the terminal then offered inexpensive eateries in a lunch court. Then, I had an unobstructed view to the San Diego sky line-but no more.
   "Where did you catch the fish?"  He turned around eager to tell me his adventure.
   "I spent $1,700  on the Polaris which sailed out of the Point Loma Landing, down the Baja Coast, and on to Cedros Island. For every Yellow Tail, or Yellow Fin, another escaped my hook. After we brought the fish up, an employee would spike his head disabling his thinking and cut off its gills to remove its blood."
    The gentleman from Colorado mentioned he was a forensic lawyer in heavy demand. "The judges knew when I needed a vacation so made sure my testimony would not conflict with future dates in court."
    "After the catch, the fish were salted and some given to the ship hands. They did a great job making the best sushi I had ever eaten. When we returned the fish were taken to a plant and then sent to my home in Denver. It meant fish for most of the year."
    His eyes widened and in no way could I get Captain Ahab  to shut up. I let Mike do the talking since he had me on his hook and could not release the bait.
   'We gave the cooks some of the Tuna. With it they prepared Yellow Tail Jerky. They soaked the fish in Olive Oil and then lemon. It tasted great! Our fish was stored below deck with an separate compartment for each of us. The fish were first dipped in salt water to keep them fresh. He called it the way of preparing fish "chachuma" or the way they prepared the sushi."
   My mouth watered and my stomach growled for fish. He mentioned the name of Aleos Rock where he went fishing one one of three trips each year.
   "They guy next to me pulled up the biggest catch. He landed a twelve foot Thresher shark. Several trucks waited for us at the Point Loma Landing. The trucks picked up the fish and took our catch to a plant in San Diego. There the meat was cut and packed for shipment back to Colorado Springs.
   In the course of our conversation, Mike told me as a forensic psychologist he was highly respected by lawyers and judges. "They make sure my three fishing trips a year don't conflict with their court cases or my hunting trips. I have been at it for over thirty years."
   "My wife of thirty years would rather stay home and watch soaps on T.V. The one trip we took to Africa she remained in the five star hotel and wined and dined. Also, I hunt for deer and bear. I use a 20 gauge shot gun and my daughters enjoy the real meat without the hormones."
   Just before leaving on his Delta flight, I asked him why he enjoyed hunting so much
  "I enjoy leaving my high stress job for a natural one. The wild beckon me.  My best friend Jake takes a mule and climbs ten miles to his cabin. He sits and writes a book every summer"
   After we parted, I left for a nap, then a train ride to Carlsbad where I wrote the fish story. I caught me a whopper of a fish story without throwing in my line-and it didn't cost me a dime. 

   Now it is 1914,  and I spend one day a week at Ocean Beach. I'd rather be there than anywhere. The fisherman are all happy-no matter how many lines they have in the water. Even though my asthma keeps me from fishing, I dream about it. Besides, I have made friends with the Pelicans, Storks and enjoy a cup of hot chocolate at the Wow cafe. 

    "I

Old Town's best guitar player

   About one year ago, I felt like taking a gun to my head-not really, but almost. Gloria, the love of my life, told me 'If  you were the last Jew in the world, I would not marry you.' It was then I thought about converting to Catholicism.
   I have spent the last four month going to Old Town's Catholic church in San Diego. I drenched myself in the Laws of God. A Reverend Eckert made a strong believer in humility and forgiveness. Yet I needed a little more to remove the last vestiges of disapproval,
   I spent Sunday's at Old Town's Catholic Immaculate Conception Church. I felt much better but needed desert to soften the blows of rejection. In the late afternoons I followed the Chinese tourists from Alhambra in the San Gabriel Valley to the ice cream store. My depression turned to elation. I rodered two scoops of Rainbow Ice Cream and a wave of music from across the way sounded like it was born in heaven.
   I felt so good I ordered two scoops of rainbow ice cream and let Augustine Sanchez
 saturate my soul with his guitar music. I felt mesmerized by how his fingers touched my heart and made it strong again.

   Earlier in the day, I sit in front of the cigar store, and enjoy watching people light and puff up their brand. To my left is an old weighing scale. Few ever spend a quarter to weigh themselves. They simply are embarrassed to discover the truth. Many are fat or obese.
   "Sir I am having a problem. Is the machine broken."
    Here is another quarter. Try it again.
    He lifted his body on the scale. Nothing registered again.
    What had been your weight?
   "About three hundred pounds."
    That is the problem. The scale only holds up to 250 pounds.
   "Thank you very much. Can you join me in an ice cream?"
    No, not right now.
     At that point a couple in love walked over to the wooden Indian in front of the patio. I could tell they loved each other. They held hands and even talked to each other.
     "Jesus, can you take my picture."
     With her hands wrapped around the Indian, she kissed him. Now the dead Indian would have none of it. He woke up and blew a wad of cigar smoke into her face. After she fainted, they left. I removed myself from the ice cream store and ambled to the candy stores. I felt like a quarter pound of their best homemade chocolate.

Don't J Walk in San Diego

 "Sir! Stop over there!" 
  I took a chance. I didn't wish to wait today. I looked both ways until clear of cars. I began to walk across when somebody screamed.
  My heart raced a bit, but not too much. A handsome motorcycle stopped beside the curb that led to the Santa Fe Station. He left his bike and spoke to me about J walking. .
   "It is the leading cause of death. Over ninety percent of accidental deaths come from J walking."
   "You are right officer...Glen Thomson." (I got his name off his shirt." .
    He began to open up his ticket booklet. How much is the ticket?"
   "It is one hundred and ninety two dollars." My heart dropped a beat.
   "So far officer, I have had the greatest New Year possible. I apologize for my judgement. It wont't happen again...and I will warn others in my Blog.
   "Well, see that you promise not to do it again. I will write up it up as a warning." He gave me a copy of the citation and got onto his bike.
  "Happy New Year. Mr. Thompson
   I felt glad it didn't happen in Carlsbad. The police there are not so forgiving.
  I entered the  Santa Fe Station to wait for the 567. It makes all of the Coaster stops. I got in line and waited for the call over the speaker. "Will all of you going to ..."
  On the first level I found a seat. It felt good to have saved over one hundred dollars. Over the trains speaker I heard, "This is not the #769. This choochoo  is the t is the 567. Also, only those with disabilities can sit on the lower level. Conductor Ricky now checked each for tickets. The two across from me were Latinos. One was rubbing her fingers. They spoke only Spanish.
   "Where are you going?" She responded, "Solano Beach." The older one told the conductor she was going to Encinitas. He got to me.
   "Thank you for saying "ChuChu." It lightened up my day. How long have you been with Amtrak?"
   "In ten months, I retire. This is my fortieth year."
    I asked a few more questions and not to bore you, I lumped his answers together.
   "The job pays the bills. I have three kids and seven grand ones. I live in Santee. I worked the Northwest area most of the time.'

    Two of the domestics got off with me in Encinitas. One looked lost. The darker hair with too much eye shadow was not aware the bus stop was a block away. She chose to walk up the hills just before the five.
 I got into my car-well not quite. I saw my World War One book perched still on my windshield where I had left it. My I have had a good day.
   I did not know it, but a black and white followed my disabled plates up to the right turn that I normally make, but waited today. (Not edited)
   I
 
R
 
t
 
    . 

Al, The Fighting Marine-part 2

   With the eight thirty Mass over at nine thirty, I walked over to the Rectory beside the Catholic Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town, San Diego. Tall Al, for Alvin,  stood in front of me and waited to grab two donuts and then coffee. He looked to be in his early nineties. (Found out later, 92)
     After the service, the church served up donuts, orange juice and coffee.   I tapped Al Weaver on the shoulder. "Nice to see you again." He replied, "The same" and we sat at Table 1 on the north-front of the Rectory Hall.  This tall man with hands to match sat next to me. Well, not really... I moved over. For the next one hour he spoke about his life-made more enjoyable by the two donuts.

   "I woke up in a Guam hospital. My back felt like smashed pretzels. A Japanese mortar attack had killed our team in Okinawa while we worked a tractor shovel to level a field. We had wished to make a field where planes could take off and bomb the main island of Japan. We had been getting ready to attack Japan.  An image that stood in front of me looked familiar...Was it Jane, my flame in grade school?  The smoke lifted. It was Jane!
  'Might your name be Jane?" She took a double look at me.
   "You just can't be Al, can you?"
   The cob webs evaporated while we exchanged greetings and she bandages. Then another miracle happened. My brother Mike hugged me. He was one of my three brothers who had enlisted after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. I didn't quite know how he found me!
    After a few months, I was lifted on a plane headed for  Hawaii. The plane's captain sprang the good news.  "The war is over. The Japanese have just surrendered!"
     The plane landed. I was well enough to find out two of my vertebra had been damaged. For sure I would become a paraplegic. Yet after a few months I walked out of the hospital with full mobility and no pain. And would you believe my Pastor was there all the way from Blanca, Colorado.
      I returned to San Diego and left the Marines. From there in 1945, I left on a bus with two sailors. We sat on a bench in the rear of the bus. Santa Fe was our destination. In front of me sat a gal. Her head looked up the entire trip. She sat next to an old lady, about 45 years old.
   The bus made a  stop. She left holding her purse. I walked up to the old lady who sat next to her. A man had left aisle seat next to us. The lady moved to the empty seat. The gal returned from the laboratory and gave me a look that I will remember till I die. I must have looked like a gift sent from heaven.
   We spoke the rest of the trip. I told her when she got to Denver to look me up. I game me her phone number. I then proceeded to my Mom's house. I was tinkering on a car when my Mom screamed. "Come quick, Allen, there is a lady on the phone!"
    At that point in the Rectory of the Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town. A lady interrupted us. I seems that a kid from some high school needed us to sample some cookies and cakes. It must have been a baking class. Al sampled a cookie while I enjoyed the story about the love off his life.
   "George, as soon as I lay eyes on her, I knew she was the one. Anytime we were together,  I became a child playing with a new toy. Where were we?"
   You were at home in Denver after the war. You had told Ilene to call you when she arrived in Denver. .
   "Oh yes, It was Ilene on the phone. She was in Denver. Wearing dungarees and a sweat shirt, I picked her up at a Denver Hotel. With her permission, I drove home and showered and changed my attire. My Mom and her kicked it off just swell. We married thirty one days later."
   Now Al, hold up. Get back to your house in Denver.
   "Well we saw each other for four straight evenings. My Dad played the organ with much more zip and punch. My parents were excited."
   Al, when did you first kiss? 
   "On the fourth date. And did she kiss me back! Now she lived in Ocean Beach, next to San Diego. I visited her there for a few weeks and we decided to get into my car and go to Denver again.
   "When I got to highway 40 I needed to make a decision. I trembled with anxiety. I decided we should go to Rodesto New Mexico. I only had enough money for one motel. I then asked her if she would marry me.
We went to a JP for the ceremony.
   "Don't you have witnesses? Don't worry." Two old folks in their fifties stood in. I will never forget our first night in the motel. All my inexperience and trepidation disappeared. The shoe fit!
   "I was out of money so I got a job fixing cars. A few days later, a bus arrived with a four year old. To my chagrin, it was her son. Her Mom had put him on a bus all the way from Ocean City. It bothered me she had been married, but what bothered me more was why her Mom put her on the bus."
    "Your know George, she has been dead for more than fifteen years now. I still sometimes see her next to me in bed. I am still made about falling asleep just before she died in our living room. She had been ill for ten years but did not wish to remain in the Scripp's Hospital."
   "We had two sons. One died in Mexico from a burglary and the other died from a stroke. But George I keep moving along, just moving along.

   Lets back up a bit. When you settled in San Diego, where did you work?
   I first worked for a Studebaker Company. It was on India Street close to Washington. The dealership closed their doors in 1962. I then got a job with a Automatic Transmissions. We opened up three other stores and were the biggest in San Diego.
   I worked there for sixteen years but told my boss I wished to quit. He gave me his shop in National City. I worked there for ten years before I retired.
     This story was related to me after another Sunday at the Catholic Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town San Diego.in its Rectory. The first Father Serra church was built on almost this exact spot. Over 400 patrons sat with me again where I nurture my soul with the power of  His word. (Alvin died a year later, he same day his wife died.) 
 
 
    

Horst Cahn "I want to tell you something."

  "I called up Washington D.C. and wished to know if anyone else from my camp in Auschwitz had survived. They told me I was the only one still alive."
   It was probably your sense of humor that kept you alive. "I want to tell you something, George...When the war ended, the Russians told me to remove the German uniforms. I kept my uniform on stating that "My God has told me not to steal."
   At that point in our Oak Tree Cafe lunch, Judy ran up to me and asked if I "still wished a meal." I donated a few dollars and sat at a private table and listened in. Barbara now had a chance to speak. She now calls Gregorio "Greg". They have gone on four chaperoned dates so far. And Love is in the Air.  Wouldn't it be something if Greg became Lady Barbara's husband number four? 
   "George, You know I played a grand piano in a mansion. We drank and I danced by myself, You know Greg directed the Stalingrad Symphony. And Joe Stalin watched. Hope you can meet my son at Moonlight Beach."( It is my favorite beach and has a great view from round parking lot on a hill."
   "Sorry, I need to check with my post office to see if Governor Brown had sent my check."
   Table 5 has transformed miserable lonely creatures waiting, to those who wish to live forever-laughing and enjoying food with those who care. Excuse the interruption.
   "I want  to tell you something....We had no idea in 1943 what was happening inside the labor camps. The Germans took us to the train station and made us enter a box car. There was standing room only. The bucket I placed next to the door. When the Germans opened it, they were splashed with our toilet."
   "We had to hide our bread. We were fed three times a day. You took a chance when you left something in your barracks.

    My fingers told me it was time to play. I recalled a Chopin tune from a CD. I played it and not badly I may add. Lady Barbara walked to the piano. She revels in our piano playing. I then played, Some Enchanted Evening. We returned to the table
   Lady Barbara would not stop talking and looking at the beaming smile of "Greg" her knew boy friend. I had sat with her earlier and wanted more information about the untimely death of Jay, the love of her life and father of seven.
  "The funeral was held at Forrest Lawn. We could not write about it since the church would have been overflowing. All of Bechtel and power company employees from Arizona and Nevada came to his funeral. It was all one big blur to me.I could no longer sleep in our bed. I kept looking for Jay. He was my life!! Finally, I left to live in Romona for a few years. I returned to a house close to the beach.
  "Later I moved to Julia and opened a dress shop. I had some of the richest clientele. I went to the L.A. Mart to buy the dresses. I lived there for ten years and the shop did well. I am now wearing clothes that never sold."

   To keep with the flow, more talk with Table 5 continued on Monday, the Sxth of January. Horst, like usual appeared like a golf professional today. His colors were light, mainly white with a bright striped shirt and hat to match. Again he strode to all tables to spread his yarns around.
    "Do you know the Germans called us by our first name, either Israel or Sarah. My name was Israel Horst Cahn. Ghengis is my cousin so just watch it."
     When the Russians arrived in your camp, did they provide food?
    "No. Actually, I was placed in a room with others to ill to walk. When I got better, we had nothing to eat but a lady made us baked potatoes and placed them in a bag for us. We saw a truck the Germans left in hast. We discovered cans with meat and vegetables. It still took a while for me to regain my 150 pound weight."
    'I hid the potato sack since it was a sin to just throw food away. The Red Cross sent me a letter confirming that I remained in sick bay after liberated."
    A friend in the computer lab wrote that after President Truman, our leaders have removed the desert from our country. Truman retired to his home and paid for everything, unlike today when our leaders spend spend and spend lavishly while we go hungry. I mentioned this to Lady Barbara.
    "When I walked the precincts for the Republican Party, I did not trust Nixon one bit. I walked them with the wife of the founder of Big Boy. They didn't trust me to walk alone."
      "The Mott family controls everything George.  They sold their land to the United Nations and call all of the shots today. You will never read or hear anything about them. George Schultz married one of the Motts, that is why  I know this."
     By that time, the taxis and lifts came for everyone. 
  
  

   "
  

  

A Visit to My Dentist

   He stuck a needle in twice, and with the needle inside the gum massaged it. Hurry up and get that dam needle out!  Dr. Melendez ran to another dental booth next to mine.  I continued to read my book about War in the Pacific. The Japanese had picked up survivors from a destroyer and clubbed and sliced their heads off.
   I heard a drill in the next room. My heart raced and skipped a beat. I heard it go thump, thump,  thump. . Dr. Melendez  entered and muttered something about a complication. Could he get to the root of the problem. He dug in with his pitchfork-at least it felt like one. My right leg kicked. Was it a Sting Ray that bit me? Then I heard him say, "The tooth is now out."
   
   My New Years resolution was not to get in my  way. My first goals was to make my take care of the few remaining teeth left. Next would be a crown and then bridge. I wished to look like a somebody, and not a dead beat. Besides, my Mom Edith always told me,"Look at her teeth before you marry her!"
    Today I needed to drive to Oceanside to visit with Bright Now! Dental. I left the Encinitas Senior Center at about one thirty. My appointment was set for two thirty. I took the Five to the Escondido freeway and got off at College. There I swung a left and drove about three miles to the Oceanside office.
  
   In no way did I feel like celebrating. I felt dead to the world. A bone graft was placed inside my mouth. With the bleeding stopped, I paid my $150 deductible and thanked Dr. Melendez.
   My next stop was the Carlsbad Library off of the Five freeway. I needed to do computer work before going to the Tip Top for some Lentle soup. My mouth did not bother me. It felt great to say good-by to number 32.
   I parked my car at the Encinitas Station to wait for the 5:20 afternoon Coaster from Oceanside. It was late. When it did arrive, Conductor Mr. Smarts  told us about the delay. "Some kid ran after his dog. No longer does he need to worry about his pet."

An Untimely Death .

 

   On the last day of the year, I, again, sat with Horst Cahn and Lady Barbara. Barbara again spoke some about her husband Jay, who unexpectedly, died at the pinnacle of his career at Bechtel Power corporation. Since our conversation at table 5 is constantly interrupted, I thought it wise to splice her life together on chronological time-of course without any interruption.
  "I had seven kids, and luckily, my sixth was finally a girl. I am sure God gave me lots of boys to make me more tolerant of men, since my relationships with my Dad wasn't good. It worked.'
   "I had no trouble delivering the seven kids, but the last took the longest. I breast fed all of them till I became dry. With seven kids to cloth and feed, I didn't get much rest. One day my baby was in the bathonette while I slept. The baby cried and I spied Billy spreading nail polish all over the babies face."
   ""Jay always kept dinner with us, no matter what. He was on his way up and we received a phone call from Steven Bechtel. He sent us on a private jet to the Los Palos Power Station in Arizona. He needed to get to know his new vice president."
   "Besides dinner, he took us on a tour of the power plant. His wife was a bit on the heavy side but she trooped her way to the top. I was scared to death. I liked Steve since he was always pleasant. We went to dinner several times"
   "With the new position, Bechtel mailed us family stock soon after. (They bought them back after his death, but sent a tidy some as a replacement.
   By that time, Horst returned to the table. "Why do I have two pies?"
   "To make sure you keep your mouth shut." was my retort.
   The rice with a slice of chicken and two vegetables was served up. I had already finished my myopic salad dish with two fork fulls. Barbara now became more animated. She changed subject now to her Uncle Charles.
   Uncle Charles would place me inside his wheel barrel and lug me to the big chicken coup. Each chicken produced an egg a day. He gathered the eggs while I shuddered that I might fall the special latter he had built. My Uncle inherited the farm but kept up with his postal route.
   Once some chicken were brought to his farm. They did not wish hens so when one grew up, my Aunt strangled it and placed the remains in a bag for us to drive home.
 
    At that point, we she begins to eat and finishes her story about her husband Jay. "About the time he began to think about taking over a new energy station in Saudi Arabia, he began having coughing spells. He would not go to the doctor. I told his doctor to call him at work. I called his secretary.
    'You will be receiving a call from Jay's doctor. The doctor wishes to see him at lunch time-or I am sure he would not go."
   "I am relieved you called. We at the office are worried about him."
   A few hours later, his doctor called.
  "Barbara, we had to admit your husband. Can you come to the hospital."
   I found out he had cancer. I  call Mr. Bechtel. George, this is a copy of a letter my husband wrote in the hospital.

                                               My Dear Bechtel Friends:

              What I want to say is bursting in my heart and this is the fastest way I know to share it with all
              of  you. It would seem to the casual observer that my fortunes went from the "heights" to the
             "depths" in a  matter of a few days. Don't you believe it!!!
               The illness I have is extremely serious but that is just another problem we will solve with God's 
                help.    The important thing is I want to get across is why Jay McEntee is still "among the peaks"--- I am                                  blessed to with a spirtual relationship with my Lord and Savior which keeps me from getting 
                "hung up" when death is a real prospect.
  ..             .I am blessed with a family who believe as I do, and who all strengthen each other during times of crises. .
                  blessed with so many friends who are praying for me - - the power of those prayers, I know, will "move  mountains.      untains. 
   ..            .I am blessed with an employer who, when the chips are down, really shows its concern for people.
                   So, as you  can see, we are still in there pitching and there are lots of innings left.
                 So many of you have sent cards or called many times. I would like to express the heartfelt thanks of Barbara and                      myself for your thoughtfulness and concern.
                                                        My warmest regards, Jay (Not yet edited.) o
  
 

San Diego, a Tale of Two Cities.

   It was the day after Christmas, and nothing stirred except a rat and the bodily remains of a human still breathing. . The north end of the YMCA lobby smelled like dead fish. A man in the last stages of rigor-mortise lay on the floor too weak to rise. The combination of dead sweat and urine punctured my nasal passages.  A half sock displayed various shades of black decay on his foot.
    I can still see his eyes pleading with me for a dollar or two. So sickening was the smell, a thousand baths could have never removed the smell of dead skin. Like all real homeless, he was lean, unshaven, still had two teeth still ready to serve him - that is when he could eat a real meal.
    The two bicycle brothers had homesteaded the dumpster on the corner of the Y parking lot. One removed the cans and bottles to the other who pancaked them for their black trash bag. Their two bikes held their worldly possessions. A kid's stroller was fastened to one. I first noticed the D Boys a year ago from the second floor of the Y.
 
  I walked around the corner to Starbucks' Coffee Shop. I needed to edit a few pages of my football story. I was early for the 567 Amtrak out of the Santa Fe Station. The train offered me cool, clean air - and not the fowl stuff in my YMCA cell.  something  Besides, I needed cold clean air, something amiss at the downtown "Y".
    While I took up a seat by the window, I saw a man with Otis on his uniform. For me it meant he fixed elevators.  I begged to speak to him--since  one of our two elevators has been in sick bay most of the year. On the disabled lift, a posted sign read, "Temporarily out of service. Sorry for the inconvenience." The sign has been up for more than a month so I wished to ask the him about old elevators. Besides, the four wheel chairs in the six story edifice most assuredly would have a darn time coming down in a fire drill.
    "It can cost as much as one hundred thousand dollars to fix it. Wooden railing elevators are difficult to work on, and my company dislikes working on the older lifts because of insurance. Too many people have died on fixed elevators with wooden sidings."
     "Well, I feel sorry for the four wheel chairs in the building. They may never get out. And God forbid that the only remaining lift also read, "Temporarily out out of service." (The rat I caught inside our kitchen. He scurried out the window when he saw me.)

   My wallet felt disgusted with me. "Why George can't you save a few dollars. Now we need to pray Governor Brown has not lost your retirement check."  Brown throws all teachers' checks into bulk mail to save money and fore us to deposit our funds inside a bank. They he can post a levy and withdraw funds from your account - as he did me.
     I entered the Seven Eleven on the corner of India and C Street. The line inside bought the usual. On ordered a Marlboro Gold with a hot dog. Another a one dollar lotto ticket with an energy drink, and on who purchased two soft drinks and some candy. I bought my two bananas for one dollar and left. The outside trash can displayed left over eateries of the Seven Eleven. Candy wrappers, coffee cups, and an assortment of left over pizza paper plates covered the can.
    "Sir can ya spare a dime?"
    Not today, but on pay day. Have a good one.
    The Tijuana Blue entered the American Plaza. A dozen domestics spilled out. A few ran to catch the Green Trolley that ran east to Old Town and  onward to Qualcom Stadium and Santee.
    The #567 Amtrak out of the San Diego Santa Fe station provided my lift for the day. My bout with the hotel's invasion of cockroaches and bed bugs now forgotten, for now.  My legs no longer itched. I removed my Dickens book and began reading the last chapter of "The Curiosity Shop."
     The clean air provided me with my first sneeze of day. In no way can that occur inside my hotel, Clean air no longer lives in San Diego - only black death. Fumes from overhead Navy planes, the endless chain of Broadway cars filter inside my room and thus into my lungs. But who cares. Our pot hole leaders don't.
   My lungs sang in rhythm with the beat of choo choo #567. The conductor was checking tickets. My Compass pass allows me to go on eight Amtrak trains as far as OS or Oceanside.
   "Goin to Encinitas Mr. Garrett?"
   "Happy New Year Mitch." He never needs to check my compass card since I am a Icon on the 567.
   I detrained at Encinitas and walked over the rails to my car Dolly. She has seen too many miles but his happier now that I restrict her to a few miles a day.
 . A  young Chinese lady ran to me.  ran up to me. I know she had missed the #567 since either she had been late or the doors abruptly closed. She was with her son.
   "Don't you cry. You can catch the one that should arrive at eleven. They probably will allow you to use that ticket. If you wish, you can catch the next Amtrak out of Solana Beach-about three miles north of her." She seemed relieved.  I then walked to my car and took Encinitas Blvd to the Senior Center.
   Yet I could not remove the stench from my nose and felt sorry for the one lying in the Cockroach Hotel.