Rain drops kept falling on my head, but I didn't mind. No umbrellas for me-what the hell, I needed a cold shower anyway.
I stopped off at the corner Seven Eleven for my two bananas to go with my toasted fig jam earlier and took-up my corner table at Starbucks. I put down my Dickens book and bought a tall coffee. My air filter never felt so good. With the five o'clock rain I felt alive-for the first time in quite a while.
Outside a large blanket walked back and forth. I recognized the lady under her wet blanket. The other day the angular six footer played cards inside this coffee shop. She carried a cane and flashy scarf. She also carried several bags for her possessions.
Two T.S.A. workers sat in front of me. They played with their smart phones and cradled their coffee. Like most of the transit safety workers, the spend more time examining their cell phones, than making sure San Diego is safe.
"We no got pay enough", I overheard the heavy T.S.A lady remark. She didn't look happy. The black blob barely extricate herself from her seat. She slipped in two more sweeteners and sat down again. I got up to get to my early Coaster train. T.S.A. workers sip or eat when not scanning their cell phones. It is seldom that I see them guarding our city.
Like my Dickens book, it was a dark and bleak day by the Harbor, yet my lungs didn't mind it one bit. The clean air made my mind work like a new-born-babe. Now inside the commuter Coaster train, I sat in the mezzanine or middle section of the train. A heavy set man sat in the next booth. His ears wore several silver rings and his waist owned too many pockets of fat. Another Coaster client sat across from him.
"How ya doin, missy?"
"I don't know how I made it from La Mesa. Had to drive sixty to catch this train."
Again the heavy weight is front of me sang to her about of all things, cats.
"My wife's parents had to move. We've got other cat now, which make two. This cat does not let me alone."
Well with all that jabbering, I decided to move below deck. I need to read in a quiet atmosphere. I asked the conductor about the new weekend schedule. My mind split time with my Dickens book. I wished to see how long each toilet break took. A blond walked in. It took her ten minutes to leave to the approval of another gentleman. (A bright outside orange light beam when it is occupied.)
I asked the conductor about the Amtrak's weekend schedule. A trains notice told us Amtrak would not be running the rails over the next two weekends.
"We just heard the news. Since it is raining, Amtrak has decided to wait until next week to work on the rails" I certainly hoped he was correct. I like the take the train to San Juan Capistrano to see my two grandchildren. It takes up too much time to get through San Clemente.
The train spilled me out at the Encinitas commuter station. No, no umbrellas for me while I walked to my car.
t
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Table 5, the Miracle Table
My life has struck gold at the Encinitas Senior Center. At table five for their lunches sits Abe. He listens to all of us. The miracle is that this 84 year old matriculated at Hollenbeck Jr. High School in the 40's - the same East Los Angeles School where I began my teaching. (The school is located in East Los Angeles.)
Big deal ah? Well what I didn't know then was one of his three sons played his high school football under Bud Langley. Now you ask who in the hell was Bud Langley? He played his football at U.S.C. in the fabled coach, Howard Jones.
The U.S.C. Spartan team had entrained to San Diego to play the local Marine team at Navy Field in 1936. Nine members of the Trojan varsity had been demoted to the scrub team because the Frosh had been loaded the season before and now made up the Trojan Second team. They were led by the San Diego Caver, Ambrose Parks Schindler.
A picture of Langley was illustrated kicking the pigskin in the United Tribunes October 36 issue. He was supposed to get into the fray but at the last moment, Howard Jones decided to beef up his week kicking team.
"Riverside Bud" the nickname the Trojan pinned on him became a stalwart in many games, but most of all will be remembered for his interception of a Notra Dame pass. He ran it back 100 yards for a U.S.C. touchdown. The game ended up a tie since their big bad tackle went down and his replacement let the doors open for the boys from South Bend to score the tying touchdown.
I had told his son, a retiring fireman, o get me in touch with Langley's son. He did. My e mail sent by Langley's son, who lives in the L.A area told me he would come down and provide commentary and pictures about his Dad.
Schindler would never have given me his story if I did not include others from the Great Trojan Team of the late 30's. Again, Schindler is still kicking at 96 and is waiting for my book.
For the late comers to my Blog, table 5 consists of Lady Barbara, Gregorio, Abe, Ron, Horst, and our lover, Thomas. Lady Barbara is related to Kathrine Parr, the late wife of Henry the Eight. Gregorio led and played for a band for Joseph Stalin. Horst is the only one still alive from an Auschwitz death camp. Horst Cahn's Cardiff Deli made dishes his Mom made a hundred years ago. Ron biked to every state in the Union and is an ardent Christian. Thomas was sent by Mussolini here in the late thirties to go to U.C. L. A. Thomas became a professor and later an accountant.
Big deal ah? Well what I didn't know then was one of his three sons played his high school football under Bud Langley. Now you ask who in the hell was Bud Langley? He played his football at U.S.C. in the fabled coach, Howard Jones.
The U.S.C. Spartan team had entrained to San Diego to play the local Marine team at Navy Field in 1936. Nine members of the Trojan varsity had been demoted to the scrub team because the Frosh had been loaded the season before and now made up the Trojan Second team. They were led by the San Diego Caver, Ambrose Parks Schindler.
A picture of Langley was illustrated kicking the pigskin in the United Tribunes October 36 issue. He was supposed to get into the fray but at the last moment, Howard Jones decided to beef up his week kicking team.
"Riverside Bud" the nickname the Trojan pinned on him became a stalwart in many games, but most of all will be remembered for his interception of a Notra Dame pass. He ran it back 100 yards for a U.S.C. touchdown. The game ended up a tie since their big bad tackle went down and his replacement let the doors open for the boys from South Bend to score the tying touchdown.
I had told his son, a retiring fireman, o get me in touch with Langley's son. He did. My e mail sent by Langley's son, who lives in the L.A area told me he would come down and provide commentary and pictures about his Dad.
Schindler would never have given me his story if I did not include others from the Great Trojan Team of the late 30's. Again, Schindler is still kicking at 96 and is waiting for my book.
For the late comers to my Blog, table 5 consists of Lady Barbara, Gregorio, Abe, Ron, Horst, and our lover, Thomas. Lady Barbara is related to Kathrine Parr, the late wife of Henry the Eight. Gregorio led and played for a band for Joseph Stalin. Horst is the only one still alive from an Auschwitz death camp. Horst Cahn's Cardiff Deli made dishes his Mom made a hundred years ago. Ron biked to every state in the Union and is an ardent Christian. Thomas was sent by Mussolini here in the late thirties to go to U.C. L. A. Thomas became a professor and later an accountant.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
More with Lady Barbara
"My Mom got me piano lessons when I turned eight years old. I told my piano teacher it would be my last piano lesson, but did not tell her about some family problems My Dad watched me while I took my last piano lesson."
"Now Barbara, since I will never see you again, I wish you to continue to play and today will run through chords so you can still play-even if it is not Chopin or Bach."
She taught me all the major and minor chords and like you George was fond of the key of "F." Like all families, we had a piano in our living room and every week end after church, my family with all of my relatives would come over. I would play for them on my piano. My Mother's family was large and my Uncle Mc Dowell became famous in Europe and received the first American award for his mastery of his instrument."
Well Barbara, I will certainly look up your family tree at the California room of the San Diego Library. I am interested to find out the name of the church that held the tombs of your ancestors.
"And George, remember we allowed the Jews in Rhode Island to build the first Jewish synagogue...I don't know if I will be back for awhile. My back hurts so and my lift will discontinue its route."
Don't worry Barbara, I will pick you up from time to time. Can you bring pictures of some of your family members.
At each Encinita's Senior Center lunch, she played while I hummed, just to make sure she did not forget the melody. She has such an ear for music that more lessons could have made this damsel into a Carnegie Hall musician .
At today' lunch she spoke about the Japanese couple that had been removed and sent to a desert camp.
"Their four sons joined the army. My Mom drove to the desert every Saturday to take them food. She did that for about one year until they were sent to another state. They lost their Highland Park home but not their vegetable stall at the Grand Central Station. After the war, they thanked us and moved to another location."
"My first school was Hillcrest Grammar School. I went to Nightingale Junior High. At Junior High, the Mexican kids belonged to various gangs. I wished to go to their homes but they forbade me - it was too risky. The boys would often fight after school.
"The girls wore the same color socks the entire year - it denoted the gang they belonged to. One Mexican girl had a beautiful voice and I played the piano for her. I could play in whatever key they wanted."
"I remember when our third son was born. Our first kids I had at home. Our third son almost was born in my husband Jay's Chevy. He raced down Torrance Blvd to get to the hospital. We heard a siren but my thoughts were about my black coat now was sprinkled with red blood."
"The motorcycle cop told my husband to pull over. He pointed to me and the pregnancy about to happen. The cop shook his head and called ahead. He put on his siren and escorted us to the Torrance hospital. They placed me on a gurney."
"A sheep farmer friend of our died in La Harbra. He gave us several head of sheep and a lone ram. The sheep gave us no trouble but the ram was something else. Bechtel sent some worker s over to our house to make a pen for that ram."
Like most times, Lady Barbara barely started her lunch. Her food was sharing a live conversation with the others at Table 5.t
"Now Barbara, since I will never see you again, I wish you to continue to play and today will run through chords so you can still play-even if it is not Chopin or Bach."
She taught me all the major and minor chords and like you George was fond of the key of "F." Like all families, we had a piano in our living room and every week end after church, my family with all of my relatives would come over. I would play for them on my piano. My Mother's family was large and my Uncle Mc Dowell became famous in Europe and received the first American award for his mastery of his instrument."
Well Barbara, I will certainly look up your family tree at the California room of the San Diego Library. I am interested to find out the name of the church that held the tombs of your ancestors.
"And George, remember we allowed the Jews in Rhode Island to build the first Jewish synagogue...I don't know if I will be back for awhile. My back hurts so and my lift will discontinue its route."
Don't worry Barbara, I will pick you up from time to time. Can you bring pictures of some of your family members.
At each Encinita's Senior Center lunch, she played while I hummed, just to make sure she did not forget the melody. She has such an ear for music that more lessons could have made this damsel into a Carnegie Hall musician .
At today' lunch she spoke about the Japanese couple that had been removed and sent to a desert camp.
"Their four sons joined the army. My Mom drove to the desert every Saturday to take them food. She did that for about one year until they were sent to another state. They lost their Highland Park home but not their vegetable stall at the Grand Central Station. After the war, they thanked us and moved to another location."
"My first school was Hillcrest Grammar School. I went to Nightingale Junior High. At Junior High, the Mexican kids belonged to various gangs. I wished to go to their homes but they forbade me - it was too risky. The boys would often fight after school.
"The girls wore the same color socks the entire year - it denoted the gang they belonged to. One Mexican girl had a beautiful voice and I played the piano for her. I could play in whatever key they wanted."
"I remember when our third son was born. Our first kids I had at home. Our third son almost was born in my husband Jay's Chevy. He raced down Torrance Blvd to get to the hospital. We heard a siren but my thoughts were about my black coat now was sprinkled with red blood."
"The motorcycle cop told my husband to pull over. He pointed to me and the pregnancy about to happen. The cop shook his head and called ahead. He put on his siren and escorted us to the Torrance hospital. They placed me on a gurney."
"A sheep farmer friend of our died in La Harbra. He gave us several head of sheep and a lone ram. The sheep gave us no trouble but the ram was something else. Bechtel sent some worker s over to our house to make a pen for that ram."
Like most times, Lady Barbara barely started her lunch. Her food was sharing a live conversation with the others at Table 5.t
A San Diego Gentleman
The 922 bus arrived at Terminal Two's second stop. I climbed aboard - feeling better after a draft of clean air from the Lindbergh's field. It arrived at a bit after nine. The man in front of me stalled the traffic behind me.
"Need to go downtown. How much?"
"It is seven for a all day Compass pass - including the Compass card." I tapped my own card and asked Mr. Bus Driver a question.
Does it enable you go on the trolleys too? He nodded and I took my seat just missing the foot of a homeless one. Like most homeless, he used his monthly eighteen dollar pass to pass the night until the San Diego Library opened its doors the next day - probably one from East Village.
A sea of Japanese invaded the bus at the second terminal. Each carried their silver suitcases aboard and sat in the upper half of the bus, with me. I pointed my finger to the luggage rack above without any success.
I sun bleached gentleman caught my eye; he sat in the back corner. It was more than a tan this man carried over his shoulders. It looked as if he had lived in Palm Sprigs all his life. His darted to the passengers and I dare say must have felt embarrassed. '
The next time I looked his way he removed a chrome shaving blade and slid it down the right side just below his sideburns. On closer inspection, he wore a weather beaten black blazer with frayed black pants to match.
The bus now swung around the airport and the sights of the coast beamed their lights towards me. There was the Hyatt and the Embassy, and the American Plaza buildings up ahead. The gentlemen wiggled out at the Hawthorne stop. The Japanese got the message and finally placed their silver suitcases on the front luggage rack.
I tired to sway my thoughts away from the gentleman. I wondered if he had been an executive who had fallen on hard time. I knew he danced outside with the stars. He must have been in his early sixties but looked all of ninety - that is until left the bus.
My stop was the American Plaza Station. Along with me, the Asian invaders also got off but looked in a fog to know where to go. The huddled on Kettner Blvd/and Broadway: They remained huddled there when I walked up the steps of my hotel.
My telephones light lit up my room. No longer did I feel lonely - it must be my daughter. She complained about a tooth that needed some excavation work done and told me about her new suitor. She had been battling T.M.J. with catastrophic tooth problems.
"Dad, I told my boy friend to take a hike - just like you told me. He had told me what shoes to wear and how to wear them...No Persian doctor can be with me until he accepts me for me."
Like I told you daughter a long time ago. Each of us has our own higher power-and those who wish to meddle can go an fiddle somewhere else. Thank you for your valentine's card and continue to study for your driver's license.
Love to you and to all of you who cruise San Diego with me.
"Need to go downtown. How much?"
"It is seven for a all day Compass pass - including the Compass card." I tapped my own card and asked Mr. Bus Driver a question.
Does it enable you go on the trolleys too? He nodded and I took my seat just missing the foot of a homeless one. Like most homeless, he used his monthly eighteen dollar pass to pass the night until the San Diego Library opened its doors the next day - probably one from East Village.
A sea of Japanese invaded the bus at the second terminal. Each carried their silver suitcases aboard and sat in the upper half of the bus, with me. I pointed my finger to the luggage rack above without any success.
I sun bleached gentleman caught my eye; he sat in the back corner. It was more than a tan this man carried over his shoulders. It looked as if he had lived in Palm Sprigs all his life. His darted to the passengers and I dare say must have felt embarrassed. '
The next time I looked his way he removed a chrome shaving blade and slid it down the right side just below his sideburns. On closer inspection, he wore a weather beaten black blazer with frayed black pants to match.
The bus now swung around the airport and the sights of the coast beamed their lights towards me. There was the Hyatt and the Embassy, and the American Plaza buildings up ahead. The gentlemen wiggled out at the Hawthorne stop. The Japanese got the message and finally placed their silver suitcases on the front luggage rack.
I tired to sway my thoughts away from the gentleman. I wondered if he had been an executive who had fallen on hard time. I knew he danced outside with the stars. He must have been in his early sixties but looked all of ninety - that is until left the bus.
My stop was the American Plaza Station. Along with me, the Asian invaders also got off but looked in a fog to know where to go. The huddled on Kettner Blvd/and Broadway: They remained huddled there when I walked up the steps of my hotel.
My telephones light lit up my room. No longer did I feel lonely - it must be my daughter. She complained about a tooth that needed some excavation work done and told me about her new suitor. She had been battling T.M.J. with catastrophic tooth problems.
"Dad, I told my boy friend to take a hike - just like you told me. He had told me what shoes to wear and how to wear them...No Persian doctor can be with me until he accepts me for me."
Like I told you daughter a long time ago. Each of us has our own higher power-and those who wish to meddle can go an fiddle somewhere else. Thank you for your valentine's card and continue to study for your driver's license.
Love to you and to all of you who cruise San Diego with me.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
A Legend in his own time - Ambrose Schindler
Ambrose Parks Schindler was a legend in his own time - first at San Diego High School and afterwards for the Trojans of U.S.C. At 96, he is the only living Trojan from the late Howard Jones teams-at least as far as I know.
Schindler had been selected as the Rose Bowl player of the game against Tennessee in 1940 and later, the College All Star Player of the Game against Green Bay in that August affair.
It was March the sixteenth. of 2007. I began interviewing the Trojans star less than one year earlier. This was a special day for me. No longer did he wish me to just call him Mr. Schindler.
From now on, "Amby" and not Ambrose would be his name. (He hated the name his Mom stuck on him, Ambrose.)
I had rented an Enterprise Saturn for the drive to his hilly home in Torrance, just above Pacific Coast Highway. Punctual as always, he was ready for me for the ten o'clock interview. His grey warm up pants were loose fitting, and he wanted me to tightened the string so they wouldn't fall off. Both us needed to use the back toilet - since we were on water pills for high blood pressure. After we got settled, our interview began in his den.
"George, it is OK for you to use your tape recorder. But don't divulge any of the information I told you about the one who got in trouble. The player had lots of information written about him, but they were all lies."
"Don't worry Amby, nothing about him or even you will be mentioned if it disgraced the memory of your great teams." I then brought up the name of Braven Dyer, of the Los Angeles Times. The mention of Dyer, a sports writer who traveled with the team.
"I will never forget the Ohio State game of 1937. It was hotter than hell. Ralph Stanley played end for us. Our regular kicker, Phil Gaspar, acted goofy. He had been cold cocked earlier in the game. Gaspar had missed the first extra point, and Stanley came into the huddle at the end of the game with the score tied at twelve to twelve."
"'ll kick the son-of-a-bitch!' Stanley screamed in our huddle. I knew he had practiced only three field goals the entire week. I agonized at what to do. I left it up to him. I placed the ball down and heard the roar of the crowd."
"He kicked the son-of-a-bitch over the cross bars at peristyle end of the Coliseum. He kicked it 60 yards beyond the crossbars to give us the victory.
I found, Schindler like myself, had moments when we had a tendency to exaggerate. But the ball did go over the crossbar. He mentioned other teammates. The positions may have been wrong but who was I, to interrupt the Trojan legend.
"Bob Winslow played tackle and was our fearless leader. Joe Shell, who I grew up with in San Diego, and Phil Gaspar were the leaders of our team. Gaspar came from Modesto Junior College. In those days, you did not lose any year of eligibility when coming to U.S.C. His father was himself, a great college player and died during the season after watching his son play when returning to Modesto. His uncle was also a builder and built some of the buildings at U.S.C.
Schindler may have gotten the names of Krueger and Gaspar mixed up. He then spoke about more of his U.S.C. family. "Gaspar was an outstanding shot putter and discuss thrower. Ray George was our right tackle and came from a girly school called Komanoch High School."
"The year we tied U.C.L.A. Jones had created a special defense to stop Jackie Robinson. Winslow was to shadow Robinson weather he had the ball or not and knock the crap out of him. Jackie could not penetrate our picket defense that a crafty Jones drew up. Winslow knocked the crap out of Robinson. On the sidelines I heard him Jackie holler, 'What in the hell ya doin?..Can't ya see I don't have the ball!'"
"Each man had his position. When Jackie thought he saw a hole, we swallowed him up. Both Jackie and Kenny Washington lost yardage at the end of the game. U.C.l.A. would have won the game if their best player, Washington had handled the ball on all four downs at the end of the game. I can still hear the hard hits Winslow gave to Robinson. Jackie was clobbered."
My Sony tape recorder stopped after thirty minutes, but their was no interrupting Amby. Once he got started their was no stopping him. I knew better. He also threw in the name of Sangster, and said "he got the intelligence award for two years. I got mine my senior year."
"While in the Navy, I was sent to Stockton and to College of the Pacific in 1943 to train the troops. I was in charge of 50 dentists and doctors. My job was to get them fit and trim in case they were called up to the front lines. I had them doing push-ups and running twenty miles every day."
"Some days the fog would roll in and my Navy personnel would try and trick me by loafing or sitting down rather than running. Sometimes after a work out, I needed to find the missing men in the fog. I picked them up in a truck."
The above exchange with Schindler occurred in 2007. At the time, I had no idea ferreting out the events and splicing them in chronicle order would be so difficult two tackle, but I did. I am currently looking for a publisher and if you know of one, please contact the Captain Hays at the Veterans Memorial Church in San Diego or Mr. Zackery at the U.S.C. library. My first book signing will be in Balboa Park.
Schindler had been selected as the Rose Bowl player of the game against Tennessee in 1940 and later, the College All Star Player of the Game against Green Bay in that August affair.
 |
| A quarterback at U.S.C. |
It was March the sixteenth. of 2007. I began interviewing the Trojans star less than one year earlier. This was a special day for me. No longer did he wish me to just call him Mr. Schindler.
From now on, "Amby" and not Ambrose would be his name. (He hated the name his Mom stuck on him, Ambrose.)
I had rented an Enterprise Saturn for the drive to his hilly home in Torrance, just above Pacific Coast Highway. Punctual as always, he was ready for me for the ten o'clock interview. His grey warm up pants were loose fitting, and he wanted me to tightened the string so they wouldn't fall off. Both us needed to use the back toilet - since we were on water pills for high blood pressure. After we got settled, our interview began in his den.
"George, it is OK for you to use your tape recorder. But don't divulge any of the information I told you about the one who got in trouble. The player had lots of information written about him, but they were all lies."
"Don't worry Amby, nothing about him or even you will be mentioned if it disgraced the memory of your great teams." I then brought up the name of Braven Dyer, of the Los Angeles Times. The mention of Dyer, a sports writer who traveled with the team.
"I will never forget the Ohio State game of 1937. It was hotter than hell. Ralph Stanley played end for us. Our regular kicker, Phil Gaspar, acted goofy. He had been cold cocked earlier in the game. Gaspar had missed the first extra point, and Stanley came into the huddle at the end of the game with the score tied at twelve to twelve."
"'ll kick the son-of-a-bitch!' Stanley screamed in our huddle. I knew he had practiced only three field goals the entire week. I agonized at what to do. I left it up to him. I placed the ball down and heard the roar of the crowd."
"He kicked the son-of-a-bitch over the cross bars at peristyle end of the Coliseum. He kicked it 60 yards beyond the crossbars to give us the victory.
I found, Schindler like myself, had moments when we had a tendency to exaggerate. But the ball did go over the crossbar. He mentioned other teammates. The positions may have been wrong but who was I, to interrupt the Trojan legend.
"Bob Winslow played tackle and was our fearless leader. Joe Shell, who I grew up with in San Diego, and Phil Gaspar were the leaders of our team. Gaspar came from Modesto Junior College. In those days, you did not lose any year of eligibility when coming to U.S.C. His father was himself, a great college player and died during the season after watching his son play when returning to Modesto. His uncle was also a builder and built some of the buildings at U.S.C.
Schindler may have gotten the names of Krueger and Gaspar mixed up. He then spoke about more of his U.S.C. family. "Gaspar was an outstanding shot putter and discuss thrower. Ray George was our right tackle and came from a girly school called Komanoch High School."
"The year we tied U.C.L.A. Jones had created a special defense to stop Jackie Robinson. Winslow was to shadow Robinson weather he had the ball or not and knock the crap out of him. Jackie could not penetrate our picket defense that a crafty Jones drew up. Winslow knocked the crap out of Robinson. On the sidelines I heard him Jackie holler, 'What in the hell ya doin?..Can't ya see I don't have the ball!'"
"Each man had his position. When Jackie thought he saw a hole, we swallowed him up. Both Jackie and Kenny Washington lost yardage at the end of the game. U.C.l.A. would have won the game if their best player, Washington had handled the ball on all four downs at the end of the game. I can still hear the hard hits Winslow gave to Robinson. Jackie was clobbered."
My Sony tape recorder stopped after thirty minutes, but their was no interrupting Amby. Once he got started their was no stopping him. I knew better. He also threw in the name of Sangster, and said "he got the intelligence award for two years. I got mine my senior year."
"While in the Navy, I was sent to Stockton and to College of the Pacific in 1943 to train the troops. I was in charge of 50 dentists and doctors. My job was to get them fit and trim in case they were called up to the front lines. I had them doing push-ups and running twenty miles every day."
"Some days the fog would roll in and my Navy personnel would try and trick me by loafing or sitting down rather than running. Sometimes after a work out, I needed to find the missing men in the fog. I picked them up in a truck."
The above exchange with Schindler occurred in 2007. At the time, I had no idea ferreting out the events and splicing them in chronicle order would be so difficult two tackle, but I did. I am currently looking for a publisher and if you know of one, please contact the Captain Hays at the Veterans Memorial Church in San Diego or Mr. Zackery at the U.S.C. library. My first book signing will be in Balboa Park.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Meet Mr. Nobody
Is that you Mr. Nobody? I didn't recognize you. You have lost a lot of weight! What is going on?
I first met James almost three years ago inside the YMCA restroom. Many homeless flooded into the "Y"'s bathroom in the mornings to do their toilet. They clutch a free coffee on their way out. I had left the second stall and was washing my hands. I heard some loud-out-of-tune Baptist music from the bigger stall. The smiling one emerged.
Good morning. How are things going and what is your name.
With the same unconditional smile , he sang out the word, "Mr. Nobody".
Why I say my good man. You must have a Christian name...Come on now.
'Well you can call me James." Now the opening line occurred a night ago after I had returned with my nightly meal over looking the Harbor. (I shun restaurants in favor of a Ralph's chicken breast and onion rings - along with dried figs and some fruit.)
"Iz that you George. Seen ya dancin the other night. You's a good writer you know."
So what has happened. You have lost a ton of weight.
"Iz given up the drink. My folks in Memphis prayed for me to stop. No more does I drink beer and wine together. Instead I wish to 'F...' as many gals I can."
So you have given up booze for women now. Take my advice. Learn to love yourself first and have a relationship with Him first.
"Well I only half believe in God. Dose women are only good for one thing."
Do you still live on C Street in back of the Seven Eleven?
"No i gotta good place now. It is in Balboa Park. I still work a little bit. Yous still look good. Can't believe your age."
We parted. I screamed "Mr. Nobody" out loud. It felt great to see my friend doing so well. Mr Nobody is featured in my sketches of San Diego. It will be released before the Balboa Park Centennial in 2015.
I
I first met James almost three years ago inside the YMCA restroom. Many homeless flooded into the "Y"'s bathroom in the mornings to do their toilet. They clutch a free coffee on their way out. I had left the second stall and was washing my hands. I heard some loud-out-of-tune Baptist music from the bigger stall. The smiling one emerged.
Good morning. How are things going and what is your name.
With the same unconditional smile , he sang out the word, "Mr. Nobody".
Why I say my good man. You must have a Christian name...Come on now.
'Well you can call me James." Now the opening line occurred a night ago after I had returned with my nightly meal over looking the Harbor. (I shun restaurants in favor of a Ralph's chicken breast and onion rings - along with dried figs and some fruit.)
"Iz that you George. Seen ya dancin the other night. You's a good writer you know."
So what has happened. You have lost a ton of weight.
"Iz given up the drink. My folks in Memphis prayed for me to stop. No more does I drink beer and wine together. Instead I wish to 'F...' as many gals I can."
So you have given up booze for women now. Take my advice. Learn to love yourself first and have a relationship with Him first.
"Well I only half believe in God. Dose women are only good for one thing."
Do you still live on C Street in back of the Seven Eleven?
"No i gotta good place now. It is in Balboa Park. I still work a little bit. Yous still look good. Can't believe your age."
We parted. I screamed "Mr. Nobody" out loud. It felt great to see my friend doing so well. Mr Nobody is featured in my sketches of San Diego. It will be released before the Balboa Park Centennial in 2015.
I
Friday, February 21, 2014
On-Line-Dating - Phew!
My God! The loud one is coming toward me. What does she want with me? The big boobed tall blond gal takes up a chair and faces me.
"There is something about you I like. She touched one leg - it felt good. Why do you sit in the back of the ballroom? You are too good looking for the rest of us?
I had heard the blonds voice an hour earlier. She stood holding a cell phone in front of the Lions Club ballroom and overheard her conversation. "I told you we are through. After six months of this, I need a life. Never call me again."
It was break time and eight o'clock. I was at the old Lucky Star Ballroom on University Avenue. The fourteen piece Moonlight Sonata Orchestra had just finished playing their first set of the big bands greatest hits. That is when Natasha came over to excite my tired body. I already had danced several times with Ruth. She had left her "couch potato at home since he falls asleep at seven."
"I wish to know more about you, Mr. Blue Eyes. What is that about you that makes me with you and all men after a few drinks?"
I am a writer.and like to sit in the back to take it all in. Besides, most of these so-called ladies look like old Edsel Fords ready for the junk heap. Why do you need to drink?
"I have been married four times and had six others propose marriage. They bore me unless I am liquored up. You excite me."
Let's dance
"I don't know how." I led her to the dance floor for a slow one. She threw her cheek up against mine and kissed me on my neck. Her's and mine were now one. I led her back to my table, perspiring more from excitement than the dancing.
"I am always excited, but need a drink to swallow up the men...Now don't leave. I will be back."
A mambo now was played. Too excited now, I left for Ruth. She wore an average looking black dress and wore no perfume. Her face seemed tired and plain until I held her in my arms. Her angelic smile caught me off-guard. She had moves a cobra would have been jealous of. I tired to follow, but gave up. I wanted to get into those hips of hers.
"What do you do? Are you retired." She told me she made things out of clay and gave lessons at her studio from La Mesa. She also had two daughters the age of mine. She gave me her address and I led her to her seat.
I finished my bottle of Damsel water and decided to make my way home the same way I had come. I like to touch, see and talk before I date - no on line dating for this 74 year old buck I drove a few blocks east on University Avenue and made my left on Collage. I zigzagged a few curves and made my turn on the 8 on ramp going west.
It took me only ten minutes to park my car Dolly at the Old Town commuter station and get on Mr. Blue back to downtown San Diego. A man at the Amtrak depot looked worried.
"I wish to get to Oceanside. How can I do that?"
Well you are too late for the nine o'clock Amtrak. It already left. But there is an Amtrak bus that leaves the station a little after ten.
He thanked me and later I saw him again on Kettner. I gave him my blog and crossed across the street for my hotel, the "Y'.
For two hours I just couldn't sleep. I thought about my two new women in my life and headed for a long cold shower at eleven o'clock. No, there is no on-line-dating for me. I deal with the real world, not the electronic one.
To my blog followers, everything that happened is true, but the names and their descriptions had changed to avoid legal action. I have a photographic memory - not bad for one heading to 75. The band will play again next Thursday It is called the Moonlight Sonata.
"There is something about you I like. She touched one leg - it felt good. Why do you sit in the back of the ballroom? You are too good looking for the rest of us?
I had heard the blonds voice an hour earlier. She stood holding a cell phone in front of the Lions Club ballroom and overheard her conversation. "I told you we are through. After six months of this, I need a life. Never call me again."
It was break time and eight o'clock. I was at the old Lucky Star Ballroom on University Avenue. The fourteen piece Moonlight Sonata Orchestra had just finished playing their first set of the big bands greatest hits. That is when Natasha came over to excite my tired body. I already had danced several times with Ruth. She had left her "couch potato at home since he falls asleep at seven."
"I wish to know more about you, Mr. Blue Eyes. What is that about you that makes me with you and all men after a few drinks?"
I am a writer.and like to sit in the back to take it all in. Besides, most of these so-called ladies look like old Edsel Fords ready for the junk heap. Why do you need to drink?
"I have been married four times and had six others propose marriage. They bore me unless I am liquored up. You excite me."
Let's dance
"I don't know how." I led her to the dance floor for a slow one. She threw her cheek up against mine and kissed me on my neck. Her's and mine were now one. I led her back to my table, perspiring more from excitement than the dancing.
"I am always excited, but need a drink to swallow up the men...Now don't leave. I will be back."
A mambo now was played. Too excited now, I left for Ruth. She wore an average looking black dress and wore no perfume. Her face seemed tired and plain until I held her in my arms. Her angelic smile caught me off-guard. She had moves a cobra would have been jealous of. I tired to follow, but gave up. I wanted to get into those hips of hers.
"What do you do? Are you retired." She told me she made things out of clay and gave lessons at her studio from La Mesa. She also had two daughters the age of mine. She gave me her address and I led her to her seat.
I finished my bottle of Damsel water and decided to make my way home the same way I had come. I like to touch, see and talk before I date - no on line dating for this 74 year old buck I drove a few blocks east on University Avenue and made my left on Collage. I zigzagged a few curves and made my turn on the 8 on ramp going west.
It took me only ten minutes to park my car Dolly at the Old Town commuter station and get on Mr. Blue back to downtown San Diego. A man at the Amtrak depot looked worried.
"I wish to get to Oceanside. How can I do that?"
Well you are too late for the nine o'clock Amtrak. It already left. But there is an Amtrak bus that leaves the station a little after ten.
He thanked me and later I saw him again on Kettner. I gave him my blog and crossed across the street for my hotel, the "Y'.
For two hours I just couldn't sleep. I thought about my two new women in my life and headed for a long cold shower at eleven o'clock. No, there is no on-line-dating for me. I deal with the real world, not the electronic one.
To my blog followers, everything that happened is true, but the names and their descriptions had changed to avoid legal action. I have a photographic memory - not bad for one heading to 75. The band will play again next Thursday It is called the Moonlight Sonata.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
The Lucky Star Ballroom Has Reopened
Tonight, tonight, I will shake my legs at the Lucky Star Ballroom on 55th and University Avenue. Thursday night dancing will resumes tonight - and if the one hundred or more show up again, the rest of the year. I will leave the Old Town Commuter lot at about six and take the 8 Freeway all the way to College-and go south on College until University Avenue. It is about a fifteen minute drive.
The Only on Thursday fourteen piece band is easily worth the price of admission, ten dollars. During the summer months they stage a concert at Balboa Park. They will play the music of Harry James. Benny Goodman. and the Tommy Dorsey.
From six until seven the Moonlight Sonata orchestra practices. But at seven, they begin with the Moonlight Sonata. Two years ago I saw a gorgeous gal who reminded me of my Argentine girl friend many moons ago. She wore a see-through embroidered blouse and her sexy moves on the dance floor floored me. Unfortunately , I gripped her hand too hard and broke it. She never forgave me.
At about nine o'clock I leave and backtrack to the 8 freeway. The late Mr. Blue returns me to the Santa Fe Station and I walk the two blocks to my YMCA cell relaxed - and too tired to think.
Also at seven o'clock on Fridays and Sundays, Balboa Park teaches various dances. Sometimes I watch and learn. The lessons are only five dollars, but for joiners, they are twenty a month. You take a left to get there from Presidents Way off Park Blvd.
I try to park my car at the Old Town Commuter station at night. Overhead is the 5 freeway. It enables me to mingle with others and give me legs a chance to air out.
The Only on Thursday fourteen piece band is easily worth the price of admission, ten dollars. During the summer months they stage a concert at Balboa Park. They will play the music of Harry James. Benny Goodman. and the Tommy Dorsey.
From six until seven the Moonlight Sonata orchestra practices. But at seven, they begin with the Moonlight Sonata. Two years ago I saw a gorgeous gal who reminded me of my Argentine girl friend many moons ago. She wore a see-through embroidered blouse and her sexy moves on the dance floor floored me. Unfortunately , I gripped her hand too hard and broke it. She never forgave me.
At about nine o'clock I leave and backtrack to the 8 freeway. The late Mr. Blue returns me to the Santa Fe Station and I walk the two blocks to my YMCA cell relaxed - and too tired to think.
Also at seven o'clock on Fridays and Sundays, Balboa Park teaches various dances. Sometimes I watch and learn. The lessons are only five dollars, but for joiners, they are twenty a month. You take a left to get there from Presidents Way off Park Blvd.
I try to park my car at the Old Town Commuter station at night. Overhead is the 5 freeway. It enables me to mingle with others and give me legs a chance to air out.
Facebook- What's Up Dock!
I am sitting reading my complimentary USA at Starbucks inside the Harbor Sheraton Hotel. The headlines read, "Why Facebook Went So Big on Whats App".
Still woozy from a tooth extraction, I could not believe Facebook needed even more - what with those living in Tent City San Diego screaming for a dime or two. Many Park their tents and sleeping bags against the fences on Park Blvd. It is close to their daytime home, the library.
Yes, Heir Zuckerberg plucked down 16 billion for the company. Why isn't enough enough!! What effect what 16 billion have on our homelessness situation in San Diego. At least I can write about our uneven playing field where the rich get richer and the poor line up for free donuts in Petco Park.
It is eight o'clock. I leave my seat, holding my coffee and go to the restrooms. The fat man ahead of me opens and closes the door in my face. He seems in a hurry. I walk and stand next to him in urinal two. I begin to speak to him.
"Did you hear about the Facebook acquisition. They paid billions for a company in Europe."
"I have not picked up the paper yet. I did hear their stock had gone down." With my free hand I removed my blog card from my back pocket.
"Here take my card and read my blog about Facebook today."
"Ah..Ah.." He finally removed his free hand to receive my card. The jolly old man - my age washed and looked at my card.
I had a date with the new San Diego Library. It opens at nine thirty on Wednesdays. I walked over to my parked car in the Harbor Marina parking lot. The two mile drive down Harbor to the Pacific Highway took me a few minutes. While I waited for Mr. Green Line Trolley to take me to the Imperial station, a distraught man who sat next to me asked me a question.
"Will my Compass card get my on the Coaster. I need to get to Riverside."
"Is that the eighteen dollar one. It is good only on the buses and trolleys. You need to purchase a disabled ticket from the machine over there."
He returned and thanked me. I told him to buy the Metro-Link ticket in Oceanside to get him to Riverside. "It is ten dollars all day. The Coaster will be here in thirty minutes. In another hour, you can even take the Amtrak 10;40 all the way - and maybe to Riverside with the same ticket."
Mr Green came and I climbed aboard. The New York Times kept me company until the trolley kicked me out at the Imperial station. From there, I walked across to the library. A large number of the latest number of modern cars had parked at Petco Park. It almost looked as if the Padres season had already begun.
I found out later that there was invitation only event on the ninth floor - for San Diego educators. I tried to crash it without much success.
I must confess it feels good to write without pain. There was noise on the fifth floor. A touring group of students came to interrupt my thoughts. Across from me a gentlemen burped and passes some gas. They allow eating in the library. The students on the field trip turned my computer off.
Still woozy from a tooth extraction, I could not believe Facebook needed even more - what with those living in Tent City San Diego screaming for a dime or two. Many Park their tents and sleeping bags against the fences on Park Blvd. It is close to their daytime home, the library.
Yes, Heir Zuckerberg plucked down 16 billion for the company. Why isn't enough enough!! What effect what 16 billion have on our homelessness situation in San Diego. At least I can write about our uneven playing field where the rich get richer and the poor line up for free donuts in Petco Park.
It is eight o'clock. I leave my seat, holding my coffee and go to the restrooms. The fat man ahead of me opens and closes the door in my face. He seems in a hurry. I walk and stand next to him in urinal two. I begin to speak to him.
"Did you hear about the Facebook acquisition. They paid billions for a company in Europe."
"I have not picked up the paper yet. I did hear their stock had gone down." With my free hand I removed my blog card from my back pocket.
"Here take my card and read my blog about Facebook today."
"Ah..Ah.." He finally removed his free hand to receive my card. The jolly old man - my age washed and looked at my card.
I had a date with the new San Diego Library. It opens at nine thirty on Wednesdays. I walked over to my parked car in the Harbor Marina parking lot. The two mile drive down Harbor to the Pacific Highway took me a few minutes. While I waited for Mr. Green Line Trolley to take me to the Imperial station, a distraught man who sat next to me asked me a question.
"Will my Compass card get my on the Coaster. I need to get to Riverside."
"Is that the eighteen dollar one. It is good only on the buses and trolleys. You need to purchase a disabled ticket from the machine over there."
He returned and thanked me. I told him to buy the Metro-Link ticket in Oceanside to get him to Riverside. "It is ten dollars all day. The Coaster will be here in thirty minutes. In another hour, you can even take the Amtrak 10;40 all the way - and maybe to Riverside with the same ticket."
Mr Green came and I climbed aboard. The New York Times kept me company until the trolley kicked me out at the Imperial station. From there, I walked across to the library. A large number of the latest number of modern cars had parked at Petco Park. It almost looked as if the Padres season had already begun.
I found out later that there was invitation only event on the ninth floor - for San Diego educators. I tried to crash it without much success.
I must confess it feels good to write without pain. There was noise on the fifth floor. A touring group of students came to interrupt my thoughts. Across from me a gentlemen burped and passes some gas. They allow eating in the library. The students on the field trip turned my computer off.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
The folks who ride Amtrak
It is five thirty at the corner Starbucks on Kettner and Broadway. I read my NY Time and look out the window. I hold my hot chocolate in my left hand. The 922 Airport bus arrives. The light says green but the bus doesn't budge
To my right the Blue Line Trolley arrives. A rope of twenty or more Mexicans go to the waiting bus. Most of them work at the airport. They walk fast not to miss it. I recognize Sally. She is about four feet seven and she holds blond hair above her head.
"Buenas Diaz, Sally. Como esta usted?"
I follow them to the empty bus that refills its cup. I nudge a heavy one to make room for me. Two talk in a hurry with one word overlapping another There are smiles on their faces. Three are looking at their smart phones. I place my New York Times inside my Ralph's shopping bag and make sure my books still ride the bag. One fell out a month ago and I needed to pay a fine at the Coronado library.
My breathing is better after I had left the dingy and dirty Y hotel. At least I get a free shower and all the cockroaches I can eat. Most of us pile out at terminal ones second stop. I advance to a court yard of high end stores. I enjoy watching the small vans carry the Southwestern planes to the runway before take off.
Next to the Emerald Cafe is another homeless. His shoes are neatly stacked under a chair. He is under a Indian blanket. His only movements are for the steady itching. Another homeless one watching the planes. She walks towards me. I just know she wishes to interrupt my solitude. She does.
"It is a shame he sleeps on the floor. Why do they..."
Mam, if you don't mind, I am relaxed and wish to stay that...
"Go Fuck yourself."
Ditto.
The middle aged lady sits behind me now. I move my belongings next to the one who uses the floor for his mattress. He slowly rises. He is about thirty. He places his tennis shoes on and away he leaves for the rest rooms. He is a recent homeless one since his face does not sun burned.
My lungs feel better now and it is about seven o'clock. The 922 picks me up and I get off at my stop across from the "Y". I feel much better. I call my daughter on my prepaid card. I wish her a happy birthday.
Back at the 500 Hotel, I ready myself to depart my Amtrak #567. I am at the Amtrak station at 8:10. An announcer comes on for boarding
"This is the 567 boarding for Los Angeles, ..."
Conductor Rick hands me a ticket. My asthma pill has allowed me to breathe. Two Chinese gals smile at me. Both are tall and one has a rotund face. I make a few faces eating my tuna sandwich. I cut into my sandwich with my jaw since most of my choppers had left me.
Another Chinese lady came aboard with another white man - we are quickly becoming an endangered specie. The hands of the lady makes an arc. I do the same. She smiles at me and we continue with our hand games until her boyfriend returns.
Another taller Chinese younger lady asks me a question. Since few speak English again I use my hand language, and point to the sign above me. She wishes to know where to sit.
"Young go up, and old sit here." I am in the bottom disabled area with a large bathroom. My right arms jesters up so she climbs the stairs where the young thrive.
Yes I enjoy this train. The Coaster is noisy. Some are drunk. Others act drunk. Amtrak is quiet and wise. It has been around for a long time. My stop is coming up now. I must get off and take my car to the Encinitas Senior Center. "Good-by and keep on railing."
To my right the Blue Line Trolley arrives. A rope of twenty or more Mexicans go to the waiting bus. Most of them work at the airport. They walk fast not to miss it. I recognize Sally. She is about four feet seven and she holds blond hair above her head.
"Buenas Diaz, Sally. Como esta usted?"
I follow them to the empty bus that refills its cup. I nudge a heavy one to make room for me. Two talk in a hurry with one word overlapping another There are smiles on their faces. Three are looking at their smart phones. I place my New York Times inside my Ralph's shopping bag and make sure my books still ride the bag. One fell out a month ago and I needed to pay a fine at the Coronado library.
My breathing is better after I had left the dingy and dirty Y hotel. At least I get a free shower and all the cockroaches I can eat. Most of us pile out at terminal ones second stop. I advance to a court yard of high end stores. I enjoy watching the small vans carry the Southwestern planes to the runway before take off.
Next to the Emerald Cafe is another homeless. His shoes are neatly stacked under a chair. He is under a Indian blanket. His only movements are for the steady itching. Another homeless one watching the planes. She walks towards me. I just know she wishes to interrupt my solitude. She does.
"It is a shame he sleeps on the floor. Why do they..."
Mam, if you don't mind, I am relaxed and wish to stay that...
"Go Fuck yourself."
Ditto.
The middle aged lady sits behind me now. I move my belongings next to the one who uses the floor for his mattress. He slowly rises. He is about thirty. He places his tennis shoes on and away he leaves for the rest rooms. He is a recent homeless one since his face does not sun burned.
My lungs feel better now and it is about seven o'clock. The 922 picks me up and I get off at my stop across from the "Y". I feel much better. I call my daughter on my prepaid card. I wish her a happy birthday.
Back at the 500 Hotel, I ready myself to depart my Amtrak #567. I am at the Amtrak station at 8:10. An announcer comes on for boarding
"This is the 567 boarding for Los Angeles, ..."
Conductor Rick hands me a ticket. My asthma pill has allowed me to breathe. Two Chinese gals smile at me. Both are tall and one has a rotund face. I make a few faces eating my tuna sandwich. I cut into my sandwich with my jaw since most of my choppers had left me.
Another Chinese lady came aboard with another white man - we are quickly becoming an endangered specie. The hands of the lady makes an arc. I do the same. She smiles at me and we continue with our hand games until her boyfriend returns.
Another taller Chinese younger lady asks me a question. Since few speak English again I use my hand language, and point to the sign above me. She wishes to know where to sit.
"Young go up, and old sit here." I am in the bottom disabled area with a large bathroom. My right arms jesters up so she climbs the stairs where the young thrive.
Yes I enjoy this train. The Coaster is noisy. Some are drunk. Others act drunk. Amtrak is quiet and wise. It has been around for a long time. My stop is coming up now. I must get off and take my car to the Encinitas Senior Center. "Good-by and keep on railing."
Sunday, February 16, 2014
It Begins at Early Mass
Sundays, sweet Sundays begin at an earl Mass in Old Town. The Catholic Conception church is located across from the tourist trolley station No I am not Catholic and was circumcised by a Jewish Rabbi. Yet my delivery doctor's name was Rooney at the old Vincent Hospital in downtown Los Angeles. Since you are ask I weight eight pound and four ounces and was born under the sign of the Lion in 1939.
There is something about church bells and organ music that puts me in a trance. The #567 Amtrak deposits me at the Old Town station."Have a good day George. I wish to go to church with you someday." That is my sweet conductor. She knows I reserve a place for God on Sunday's.
I go under the five freeway bridge onto the ground of Old Town. The old church built on the holy grounds of the first church has a sentry before it. An mighty Oak is entwined with a Eucalyptus tree. The church is filled again but I find a space in the back.
It has got to be the hymns that have been sung for centuries. In any case, I feel close to God. My body sways like a cobra when the organist plays a tune....The only hitch is I can't understand the Father today. Like most South Pacific Islanders, he makes a "d" sound for every "th" and short "i" sound for every "e'. He labors through the sermon. (I will train his tongue this year.)
No longer does it amaze me that Christianity has survived over two thousand years. Every sinner is allotted many chances for redemption - unlike my religion.We do it once a year while they can do it every day. at teh end everyone eats a thin crusty cookie that is supposed to be from His body.
"You are all invited next door for donuts and coffee. It will give the out of town people a chance to meet with us...The gift shop is open on President's day and we have a Wednesday Mass for our dearly departed one."
I enjoy breaking two donuts with my friends at table one. I will change their names today. Benny speaks about Ted William today. "I lived a few houses down from Ted's house. A large crowd of people always gathered at his place.
"I knew his Mom quite well. She was church going and a Salvation Army worker. He supported his drinking and poker playing brother. George, in the fifties, San Diego had lots of poker parlors."
Are you sure Benny?
"Yes my Dad used to attend all of them."
At that point, Benny took my coffee cup for a refill.
he.
Alex spoke then about the Mayor's election in San Diego. "I'm glad that the Democrat didn't get in. Thank God Obama support took votes away from him. One senator wishes to sue Obama."
You mean have a state referendum? Not a bad idea. That Obama care is turning into a catastrophic law. Young kids are just ignoring it.
Then it was time for me to go to Encinitas. My toothless mouth had stopped its bleeding. I took another Amtrak train north. Miss Conductor recognize me. "I see you are back Mr. Trouble. No don't show me your pass. Goin to Encinitas.again." This conductor sings out every stop. I enjoy having a musical train
There is something about church bells and organ music that puts me in a trance. The #567 Amtrak deposits me at the Old Town station."Have a good day George. I wish to go to church with you someday." That is my sweet conductor. She knows I reserve a place for God on Sunday's.
I go under the five freeway bridge onto the ground of Old Town. The old church built on the holy grounds of the first church has a sentry before it. An mighty Oak is entwined with a Eucalyptus tree. The church is filled again but I find a space in the back.
It has got to be the hymns that have been sung for centuries. In any case, I feel close to God. My body sways like a cobra when the organist plays a tune....The only hitch is I can't understand the Father today. Like most South Pacific Islanders, he makes a "d" sound for every "th" and short "i" sound for every "e'. He labors through the sermon. (I will train his tongue this year.)
No longer does it amaze me that Christianity has survived over two thousand years. Every sinner is allotted many chances for redemption - unlike my religion.We do it once a year while they can do it every day. at teh end everyone eats a thin crusty cookie that is supposed to be from His body.
"You are all invited next door for donuts and coffee. It will give the out of town people a chance to meet with us...The gift shop is open on President's day and we have a Wednesday Mass for our dearly departed one."
I enjoy breaking two donuts with my friends at table one. I will change their names today. Benny speaks about Ted William today. "I lived a few houses down from Ted's house. A large crowd of people always gathered at his place.
"I knew his Mom quite well. She was church going and a Salvation Army worker. He supported his drinking and poker playing brother. George, in the fifties, San Diego had lots of poker parlors."
Are you sure Benny?
"Yes my Dad used to attend all of them."
At that point, Benny took my coffee cup for a refill.
he.
Alex spoke then about the Mayor's election in San Diego. "I'm glad that the Democrat didn't get in. Thank God Obama support took votes away from him. One senator wishes to sue Obama."
You mean have a state referendum? Not a bad idea. That Obama care is turning into a catastrophic law. Young kids are just ignoring it.
Then it was time for me to go to Encinitas. My toothless mouth had stopped its bleeding. I took another Amtrak train north. Miss Conductor recognize me. "I see you are back Mr. Trouble. No don't show me your pass. Goin to Encinitas.again." This conductor sings out every stop. I enjoy having a musical train
My Compass Card Saved My Life
I sometimes don't heed my own advice. Never drive to San Diego. Yesterday late afternoon I played Russian roulette with the five freeway.
I had left San Diego that morning. Even after I had number 19 tooth extracted, not rain, hail or sleet could keep me away from my two grand children, Allison and Olivia. One is gaining on five months and the other desires her Mom to baby her again. Already sibling rivalry has begun.
It was four thirty Saturday afternoon. I let out out a huge yawn in the backyard Belmont Shores home.
"Grampa tired Daddy."
I heeded Olivia's words and made my adieus. i planted a kiss on Baby's head and told Olivia I love her - after a big hug. Meanwhile the exhausted Mother, my daughter, slept. I had taken some bacterial medication and wished to run home to San Diego.
My car Dolly skipped along the 5 freeway going south from Long Beach. I felt encouraged that the new air filter gave her more bounce after a fill up.I made it to Leisure World with no trouble. I would surely make it to the seven nineteen Amtrak in Encinitas. (Amtrak allows compass ticket holders ot passes to ride many of their Surfliners to and from San Diego-at no charge.
My mind was on cruise control just before San Juan Capistrano It felt like threading a needle all the way to Oceanside. But I still felt relaxed. A visit to my gorgeous grand kids saw to that. Dolly would speed up to twenty only to put her feet down suddenly. It was stop and go. Her shoes took a beating, but the car never overheated - even after 180,000 miles. (My car Dolly will turn into a children's book.)
Somehow I made it all the way to Oceanside. I should have known better and parked my car at the San Juan commuter train station...I could have taken Amtrak and paid for only the slice to Oceanside. Oh well I didn't. To my surprise, the winding trail opened up - a bit at Carlsbad. My eyes began to shut.
At exactly seven five, Dolly made it to the Encinitas station. With fifteen minutes to spare, I headed for the rest room on D street and began reading a book - something I can't do when driving Dolly. My stomach no longer ached for food. Now it wished for sleep. I heard the sound of the train's high pitched whistle and left my concrete bench to a few skateboarders.
Now happily inside, I placed my black beanie over my head for a few winks. I dropped the seat down adn made it all the way to the Santa Fe Station. I took a pill and dropped down into a deep slumber. In my dream I lost my black car.
In about one and a half years, over one million tourists will climb into San Diego. Those with a smart head, will take the train, bus, skateboard, scooter or fly in. They, like me, will use their legs and lose weight during their stay here.
Dolly costs me thirty five dollars a month for insurance. I am able to read and enjoy the San Diego scene without the headaches driving brings. and above all, don't drive after Valentine's Day preceding President's. .
I had left San Diego that morning. Even after I had number 19 tooth extracted, not rain, hail or sleet could keep me away from my two grand children, Allison and Olivia. One is gaining on five months and the other desires her Mom to baby her again. Already sibling rivalry has begun.
It was four thirty Saturday afternoon. I let out out a huge yawn in the backyard Belmont Shores home.
"Grampa tired Daddy."
I heeded Olivia's words and made my adieus. i planted a kiss on Baby's head and told Olivia I love her - after a big hug. Meanwhile the exhausted Mother, my daughter, slept. I had taken some bacterial medication and wished to run home to San Diego.
My car Dolly skipped along the 5 freeway going south from Long Beach. I felt encouraged that the new air filter gave her more bounce after a fill up.I made it to Leisure World with no trouble. I would surely make it to the seven nineteen Amtrak in Encinitas. (Amtrak allows compass ticket holders ot passes to ride many of their Surfliners to and from San Diego-at no charge.
My mind was on cruise control just before San Juan Capistrano It felt like threading a needle all the way to Oceanside. But I still felt relaxed. A visit to my gorgeous grand kids saw to that. Dolly would speed up to twenty only to put her feet down suddenly. It was stop and go. Her shoes took a beating, but the car never overheated - even after 180,000 miles. (My car Dolly will turn into a children's book.)
Somehow I made it all the way to Oceanside. I should have known better and parked my car at the San Juan commuter train station...I could have taken Amtrak and paid for only the slice to Oceanside. Oh well I didn't. To my surprise, the winding trail opened up - a bit at Carlsbad. My eyes began to shut.
At exactly seven five, Dolly made it to the Encinitas station. With fifteen minutes to spare, I headed for the rest room on D street and began reading a book - something I can't do when driving Dolly. My stomach no longer ached for food. Now it wished for sleep. I heard the sound of the train's high pitched whistle and left my concrete bench to a few skateboarders.
Now happily inside, I placed my black beanie over my head for a few winks. I dropped the seat down adn made it all the way to the Santa Fe Station. I took a pill and dropped down into a deep slumber. In my dream I lost my black car.
In about one and a half years, over one million tourists will climb into San Diego. Those with a smart head, will take the train, bus, skateboard, scooter or fly in. They, like me, will use their legs and lose weight during their stay here.
Dolly costs me thirty five dollars a month for insurance. I am able to read and enjoy the San Diego scene without the headaches driving brings. and above all, don't drive after Valentine's Day preceding President's. .
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
I met Jay on a Blind Date.
Stop the presses. Lady Barbara had four, not three husbands. Good food and laughter at the Oak Cafe removed more deep secrets that she had been forgotten long ago.
Again we are sequestered at the Oak Cafe for lunch in Encinitas. It is about eleven and its meat loaf today. Greg, Tony, Barbara, Ron and I sit and patiently wait for food - good enough for a king, and of course . Lady Barbara, who sits and waits at table 5. She arrives earlier, a little after ten, and allows her knight-in-shiny armor to wait on her. I mean Ron.she stiff suffers from the removal of a tooth last week.
"I so wish the Lord to take me." She is not in a good mood and even the tasty meat loaf won't do today. "I think of Jay to this day. It is a shame the lord took him so young at 47. Yet he gave me seven kids who begot sixteen grand-kids and three greater-ones.."
For me Lady Barbara provides unconditional love that my ex never could. It removes the ugly taste of a romance gone sour.Sally had been the love of my life. I had been a surrogate partner for her a few years ago. But the memory still haunts me. Lady Barbara's stories are my appetizer before our main meal-today it is meat loaf. And they allow me to forget the other.
.
I must remind the newcomers to my blog that My Lady Barbara is a descendant of John the Surgeon Greene - who was linked to Katherine Parr, the sixth wife of King Henry the Eighth. Like many old veterans like me, once she begins to speak, there is no stopping her.
"I had a wonderful time last night. Natasha took Greg and me to see a ballet in San Diego. It was a bit too long but worth every penny. It cost $20 to see it."
Gregorio sits next to Lady Barbara. His hair is combed and he is dressed with matching colors. He smiles at the Lady next to him. They are sweet hearts this Valentine's week. Many years ago in Russia, Greg's band played for Joseph Stalin, a Russian dictator. Besides a band leader, he doubled as a clarinetist. His rotund face always has a perpetual smile that reveals the cutest dimples on his cheeks.
"I just remembered why I loved dogs so much. In Highland Park in the thirties, I often wished to visit the Shepard that worked the sheep on a hill. Our home was next to the Santa Fe Railroad. I so much wanted my Mom to allow me to visit the man with the dog. My Mom finally allowed me to visit the man on my eight birthday." (Highland Park is located in the Northwest corner of L.A.)
"The quiet man never said a word to me but watched his head of sheep. That must of been when I discovered my love for dogs. His dog knew exactly what moves to make to keep the herd in line.
But remember Barbara, your Greene family had the largest herd of sheep in North Cumberland England in the 13th century. Tell me more about your Mom.Barbara
"My Mom bestowed lots of love towards me. Our lives really began when she rid herself of her husband. No longer did I have to live in fear...She was the first to make us vegetable burgers. We could not afford meat, but it did not stop us from feeding those who jumped the Santa Fe train during the great depression. train. They needed toget off before it entered the Grand Union Station. They would have been arrested by the police at the station. The other neighbors did not like it, but my mom still opened her door for handouts to strangers. What little food we gave to them.{ (The Great Depression then, was in the 30's.)
I know you met Jay on a blind date. Your Aunt Helen's cousin called you. Her engineer husband needed to come up for a dancing partner for a new employee at Bechtel.
"Yes George, I remember it well. I was so infuriated. Why I never ever needed a blind date...but when he showed up at our door my anger turned to excitement. I had never seen such a handsome man in my life...To this very day I miss him. The other husbands could never supplant my darling Jay."
"Mr Bechtel had just promoted him to put up a power station in Saudi Arabia. George Schultz, who sat on the Board of Directors at Bechtel, wished to move him far away. His wife, a Mott, ,hated my guts. I was going to place two of my youngest in a boarding school. I did not wish to go but I would have followed my Jay anywhere...that is when he came down with a brain tumor."
Let's get back to the dinner table. What time did Jay return from work?
"Promptly at five thirty and not a minute later. We sat down together for the usual, stew. I had a big kettle that I threw everything into it. He enjoyed eating with us. He always took work home with him. After his death, my daughter took it hard...She began to deal with drugs."
"A man in the accounting offices of Bechtel wished to marry me. After we married, he returned drunk one night and told me he got hitched "in order to get the controller's job at the company. I divorced him one month later. I gave him a couple of thousand dollars to sign the divorce documents."
So I guess you had four husbands.
"You must be correct. I wished to kill myself after my husbands death. A dream I had was sitting inside a car going nowhere. I jumped out. I heard a voice. 'Barbara, get up...life goes on...listen to me!"
"From then on, I obeyed HIM and now have sixteen grandchildren and three great ones."
In my will, I have given money on gift cards to all of my children and a tidy sum for Calib - my dog so he could be taken care of the proper way."
At the end of the lunch , she left the Oak's cafe arm and arm with smiling Russian Greg. Their lift for home waited outside for them. My own depression lifted and I began to play the Grand Oak's piano and my favorite, You were only foolin...while I was falling in love.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
The Election for San Diego Mayor
San Diego would soon select a new mayor in a tight run-off election. At least it seemed nick-and tuck until Obama threw his support to Alvarez. Alvarez is the local Logan Heights resident. He is marshaling the support of many Latinos. Now those on the sidelines would get out and vote for the other. Many Democrats now turned away from tradition and became Republican after our renowned President's announcement. Now it looks like Folklore is in-like-fin. Yet I wonder if Sir Folk-lore put Obama up for this at the last moment.
These were my thoughts sitting on the Santa Fe's Amtrak 567 train takes me to Old Town on early Saturday morning. the early morning. The smell of the early morning dew and smell of the pepper trees sprang my dead body to life. I became overjoyed that we had one quarter of an inch of rain. I had forgotten the feeling of breathing clean oxygen.
The fruit trees slept in the cold winter air-that is excpet the Loquat ones. Their brown fruit would soon ripen into a a bright yellow. Since my childhood, the Loquat and Fig had kept me alive with their nutrious sweetness.
The church organ music took me into a different world at the Immaculate Conception Church. The parish was packed, as usual, with no seat available. I had made one bad slip two weeks earlier and had paid the price. Dear me, I so much wanted to send a valentine card to somebody. Father Arnold's message about salt did not help. I will try to paraphrase what he told the congregation.
"It is not enough to worship God. We must act on it. Just like salt makes food taste better, we need to share our love of God with others. We must act with kindness and love towards others."
After this service, I donated ten dollars for blueberry pancake, scrambled eggs, diced potatoes, coffee and orange juice. My three good friends sat at the corner table. Al, the fighting Marine told me he forgot my draft of his life in a coat pocket. One member of this cast was upset.
He would, like thousands of others, cast his vote for Alvarez's opponent. To be sure, any fool who wishes to lose an election should get our President to back him.
An Old Samaritan, like myself, chimed in, "Those who live north of the eight freeway will vote Republican and those on the other side for the Democrat. It all depends on how many on the south side decided to physically get up and vote."
"
The rest of my Sunday could not have been choreographed any better. I played some volleyball at Moonlight Bay and later had enough energy to take dancing lessons at Balboa Park. Moonlight Bay lies in a hidden cove at the end of Encinitas Boulevard. Four years ago, a haggard and tired body drove into this North County San Diego Town looking for a place to rest.
To my south was a botanical garden and a hidden tennis court. I had suffered through a love affair with the other telling me "You are Ugly and boring." Besides all of this, my life had been impacted by two sick teeth.
My appetite ripened with a game or two of volleyball. A restaurant up the street offered meat loaf and potatoes for three and change. In fact, that late afternoon, I returned for their $2.95 spaghetti meal later.
Besides the clad in black wet suit surfers, many families came to enjoy the beach then as the fog lifted. It was a family beach with kids hauling boogie boards, umbrellas, and Mom's carrying their youngest tike. That evening I took dancing lessons at the Balboa Bay Ballroom. I stayed at the Motel Six on A street just west of Park Blvd.
These were my thoughts sitting on the Santa Fe's Amtrak 567 train takes me to Old Town on early Saturday morning. the early morning. The smell of the early morning dew and smell of the pepper trees sprang my dead body to life. I became overjoyed that we had one quarter of an inch of rain. I had forgotten the feeling of breathing clean oxygen.
The fruit trees slept in the cold winter air-that is excpet the Loquat ones. Their brown fruit would soon ripen into a a bright yellow. Since my childhood, the Loquat and Fig had kept me alive with their nutrious sweetness.
The church organ music took me into a different world at the Immaculate Conception Church. The parish was packed, as usual, with no seat available. I had made one bad slip two weeks earlier and had paid the price. Dear me, I so much wanted to send a valentine card to somebody. Father Arnold's message about salt did not help. I will try to paraphrase what he told the congregation.
"It is not enough to worship God. We must act on it. Just like salt makes food taste better, we need to share our love of God with others. We must act with kindness and love towards others."
After this service, I donated ten dollars for blueberry pancake, scrambled eggs, diced potatoes, coffee and orange juice. My three good friends sat at the corner table. Al, the fighting Marine told me he forgot my draft of his life in a coat pocket. One member of this cast was upset.
He would, like thousands of others, cast his vote for Alvarez's opponent. To be sure, any fool who wishes to lose an election should get our President to back him.
An Old Samaritan, like myself, chimed in, "Those who live north of the eight freeway will vote Republican and those on the other side for the Democrat. It all depends on how many on the south side decided to physically get up and vote."
"
The rest of my Sunday could not have been choreographed any better. I played some volleyball at Moonlight Bay and later had enough energy to take dancing lessons at Balboa Park. Moonlight Bay lies in a hidden cove at the end of Encinitas Boulevard. Four years ago, a haggard and tired body drove into this North County San Diego Town looking for a place to rest.
To my south was a botanical garden and a hidden tennis court. I had suffered through a love affair with the other telling me "You are Ugly and boring." Besides all of this, my life had been impacted by two sick teeth.
My appetite ripened with a game or two of volleyball. A restaurant up the street offered meat loaf and potatoes for three and change. In fact, that late afternoon, I returned for their $2.95 spaghetti meal later.
Besides the clad in black wet suit surfers, many families came to enjoy the beach then as the fog lifted. It was a family beach with kids hauling boogie boards, umbrellas, and Mom's carrying their youngest tike. That evening I took dancing lessons at the Balboa Bay Ballroom. I stayed at the Motel Six on A street just west of Park Blvd.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Valentine Day Dancing
The Lucky Star is back in business-at least through February and just in time for Valentine's Day. The fourteen piece Moon Light Sonata orchestra plays the big band sounds of the thirties and forties. Dinner is also offered on these Thursday evenings on 54th Street and University.
On warm evenings, you can take the #7 bus from downtown San Diego and the bus drops you off in the front. Or get on the #8 Freeway and get off on State College. A few nifty turns to the right will also get you there. It is only ten dollars.
Balboa Park Seniors will bring Valentines Day in with a swing. The Balboa Bay Club charges only three dollars that includes free dips and coffee Usually I am inside the lobby playing a few ditties like In the Good Old Summer Tine and others. This Thursday, I will play a medley of Beatles' favorites including Yesterday, Michelle, and a Hard Days Night. The live music begins at one o'clock and ends at three thirty. After the dance, you can take your love to the Prado for early bird eats and drinks. The organ bells will announce the time
The Balboa Club offers dancing lessons for five dollars every Friday and Sunday evenings. There are beginning, intermediate or advanced lessons. The instructors are patient with you. Each month a different dance is featured.Over one hundred show up on these week end nights.
The Town and Country Hotel offers dancing every Friday or Saturday, unless there is a big event-so call before attending.
Over two hundred showed up at Balboa Park's Bay Club for dancing lessons on Sunday. Membership is twenty dollars a year. It entitles one to two lessons on Friday and Sundays. Tonight they taught the waltz the first thirty minutes and the Tango for their second.
It is a slam dunk for me to get there since I park my car at the Old Town Commuter Lot overnight-for free. The Green Line Trolley get me to my car and I take the Five to downtown and get off on Tenth Avenue. I make three left turns, first on A Street, then Park Blvd and finally President's Way. The lessons begin at about seven o'clock and last till eight thirty. There is free dancing afterwards. The fee for one night is five dollars.
The Stardust, off of El Cajon offers lessons every night. on El Cajon Blvd offers lessons every night. The Champion Ballroom on Fifth Street offers dancing every Saturday Evening. The Town and Country Hotel has a quartet every Friday and Saturday evening.
On warm evenings, you can take the #7 bus from downtown San Diego and the bus drops you off in the front. Or get on the #8 Freeway and get off on State College. A few nifty turns to the right will also get you there. It is only ten dollars.
Balboa Park Seniors will bring Valentines Day in with a swing. The Balboa Bay Club charges only three dollars that includes free dips and coffee Usually I am inside the lobby playing a few ditties like In the Good Old Summer Tine and others. This Thursday, I will play a medley of Beatles' favorites including Yesterday, Michelle, and a Hard Days Night. The live music begins at one o'clock and ends at three thirty. After the dance, you can take your love to the Prado for early bird eats and drinks. The organ bells will announce the time
The Balboa Club offers dancing lessons for five dollars every Friday and Sunday evenings. There are beginning, intermediate or advanced lessons. The instructors are patient with you. Each month a different dance is featured.Over one hundred show up on these week end nights.
The Town and Country Hotel offers dancing every Friday or Saturday, unless there is a big event-so call before attending.
Over two hundred showed up at Balboa Park's Bay Club for dancing lessons on Sunday. Membership is twenty dollars a year. It entitles one to two lessons on Friday and Sundays. Tonight they taught the waltz the first thirty minutes and the Tango for their second.
It is a slam dunk for me to get there since I park my car at the Old Town Commuter Lot overnight-for free. The Green Line Trolley get me to my car and I take the Five to downtown and get off on Tenth Avenue. I make three left turns, first on A Street, then Park Blvd and finally President's Way. The lessons begin at about seven o'clock and last till eight thirty. There is free dancing afterwards. The fee for one night is five dollars.
The Stardust, off of El Cajon offers lessons every night. on El Cajon Blvd offers lessons every night. The Champion Ballroom on Fifth Street offers dancing every Saturday Evening. The Town and Country Hotel has a quartet every Friday and Saturday evening.
Friday, February 7, 2014
The filtered San Diego Library
No it is not a view from the Hyatt or the Sheraton Hotel. It is from the Penthouse floor of the new San Diego library's ninth floor. Today I brown-bagged it with a tuna sandwich, two tangerines, and several walnuts. I saw the Tijuana mountains, the Imperial Transit station and even a Padre hitting a home run.
Visitors from everywhere marveled at this work of art. A few kids from its charter school sat down and ate their lunch with me. To my right was the Sherman Heights and Logan Hills areas. The prior week I ate at Lolita, just around the corner and the Mission restaurant. This week I needed to save up for a tooth extraction and to make copies of my book, in hopes it would be published.
Yet the main reason I go there is for the California room. Most of the patrons file into this room to research their ancestry. For me, why just give me a microfilm machine and its accompanied digital computer.It feels like driving a car through the thirties.
My biggest qualm with the library is there seems to be no dress or conduct code. Why in my day in the 40's you would be thrown out if you misbehaved. Some of the floors are noisier than the others. There is always a parade of people socializing on different floors.
It just does not feel like a real library. Yet there are up-to-date internet computers willing and able to serve you. You must ignore the noise. It feels like a Farmer's market, but instead of vegetables, you have books.
The fourth floor offers me the opportunity to browse and read some of my favorite stories. My favorite when teaching English were Wilma Cather, Bret Hart and of course Mark Twain. I read after reserving a computer.
You are given two hours, but not necessarily at the same time. Your library card number and password logs you on. I have had to move several times as the folks next to me were either too loud or coughing too much.
Several employees told me the library opened too soon, but dead lines are dead lines. My major qualm is an obdurate librarian in the California room told me in a stern voice not to use the microfiche internet. I told her "no" and that is when she returned with her hired gun, the manager of the California room.
"I will no longer use the internet if you give me a paper saying it is the rule."
He returned with the paper. Not only that, but from week to week how long you could stay on the new digital computer changed. None on the staff knew much about this computer. Now for one itching to embellish and corroborate his stories about football in the thirties, it would save time to work the internet while operating the newspaper film. DA DA.
To make matters worse, When you print something from the computer to the printing machine, it does not come out clear. The California General told me it was impossible to e mail his boss, the director. He interrupted my viewing about the 1936 Roosevelt win against Landon.
"In no way can you write to the director. We have too many filters to screen you out!"
I thought about Roosevelt's New Deal and our new Obama health care. It is too bad Obama used too many filters. Just maybe his health plan might have worked.
Visitors from everywhere marveled at this work of art. A few kids from its charter school sat down and ate their lunch with me. To my right was the Sherman Heights and Logan Hills areas. The prior week I ate at Lolita, just around the corner and the Mission restaurant. This week I needed to save up for a tooth extraction and to make copies of my book, in hopes it would be published.
Yet the main reason I go there is for the California room. Most of the patrons file into this room to research their ancestry. For me, why just give me a microfilm machine and its accompanied digital computer.It feels like driving a car through the thirties.
My biggest qualm with the library is there seems to be no dress or conduct code. Why in my day in the 40's you would be thrown out if you misbehaved. Some of the floors are noisier than the others. There is always a parade of people socializing on different floors.
It just does not feel like a real library. Yet there are up-to-date internet computers willing and able to serve you. You must ignore the noise. It feels like a Farmer's market, but instead of vegetables, you have books.
The fourth floor offers me the opportunity to browse and read some of my favorite stories. My favorite when teaching English were Wilma Cather, Bret Hart and of course Mark Twain. I read after reserving a computer.
You are given two hours, but not necessarily at the same time. Your library card number and password logs you on. I have had to move several times as the folks next to me were either too loud or coughing too much.
Several employees told me the library opened too soon, but dead lines are dead lines. My major qualm is an obdurate librarian in the California room told me in a stern voice not to use the microfiche internet. I told her "no" and that is when she returned with her hired gun, the manager of the California room.
"I will no longer use the internet if you give me a paper saying it is the rule."
He returned with the paper. Not only that, but from week to week how long you could stay on the new digital computer changed. None on the staff knew much about this computer. Now for one itching to embellish and corroborate his stories about football in the thirties, it would save time to work the internet while operating the newspaper film. DA DA.
To make matters worse, When you print something from the computer to the printing machine, it does not come out clear. The California General told me it was impossible to e mail his boss, the director. He interrupted my viewing about the 1936 Roosevelt win against Landon.
"In no way can you write to the director. We have too many filters to screen you out!"
I thought about Roosevelt's New Deal and our new Obama health care. It is too bad Obama used too many filters. Just maybe his health plan might have worked.
A Ride on the Trolley
The greatest show on earth is not the Zoo, Midway or Gas lamp. The best show can be had for a buck or two on the trolley. The cast of characters change with from morning to dark. My favorite time to ride is at high noon.
Mainly out of work blacks or whites ride it with nothing better to do. They have been provided with a compass pass, not doubt to get them off the street. Many carry bikes, skate boards, or babies in their arms.
Few are clean shaven. One had whiskers down to his shoulder. Others show off their multicolored underwear, A few pimps jump aboard with their blond haired doll. One regular couple brought their disabled terrier aboard. The terrier's back legs were strapped around two stroller wheels. It looked ungainly at best.
Next stop is Washington Street. A large mechanized wheel chair came aboard wiping out a few riders who ran to the other side of the train. This man was heavily whiskered wearing tattered pants and battered shoes. He looked around with a scowl while another drank from a beer can.
I enjoy watching the tourists. Four from Italy held their mouths to contain their laughter. Another crazy lady threw out barbs leading with "F" and "B" words. Her hair went in every which way. She looked for anyone to listen to her troubles.
For me give me the Coaster train when fans jump aboard in Oceanside, Carlsbad and other stops along the Southern route. The Padre fans come aboard ready for action. Each carries a bag or cooler. Their soft voices turn into barkers at a circus. They mingle the whiskey with the brew. One gal, a year ago, took up her sweat shirt on a dare. All drinking stopped. Toilets are usually stopped up since many which a toilet break at the same time.About one year ago, several routers got off at the Del Mar Race track. A TSA worker gave each a ticket for carrying an open bottle outside the train.
Earlier Sunday morning the Green Line Trolley stops every thirty minutes. Most of the patrons are asleep having crossed the border. Most are domestics. They are fast asleep until the train comes to Old Town Station. Instinctively, the wake up and bolt out the door. They go to one of eight buses that take them to their cleaning, or other job.
Spanish is their sole language. One dollar of work turns to three when they return on the train. From their the Blue Line Trolley takes them back to the border where they spend their money. Tennis shoes, baseball hats with a black pony tail in back is their uniform. In the morning they are fast asleep, but on the way home they celebrate.
After had taken the #88 bus out of Old Town. The bus circles about twenty hotels in the Mission Valley corridor. I wanted to find out about the early bird special at some of the hotels. Charlies, inside the Town and Country, only offered drinks at a discount. The Town is by far, the largest hotel in that circle. To its north is the Mission Valley Transit station. A wooden bridge climbs over the harnessed San Diego River into the hotel.
Instead of taking the #88 bus to Old Town, I decided to take the Green line Trolley since it spills out at the Santa Fe Station. I climbed several steps for my bench to wait for it. The toothless gentleman was licking each piece of hot dog droppings. Across the rails, an old white beard was picking pieces from his carton. One stop was the one for the Moreno Valley. I heard what sounded like an elephant board.
A five foot piece of black luggage came aboard. A young lady pushed it while she held onto to two plastics bags of cans. No double she would be going to recycling station to turn her plastic for bread. She stood in the aisle out of breath and coughed every few minutes. She availed herself to an empty seat and continued to cough. She seemed strong with a stiff upper lift. She coughed again.
Many who live under the stars cough now. It is a matter of time for meat wagons to pick up their remains. I got off at the Santa Fe Station. When I turned around there she was, standing with her house of belongings. She sat on a bench and waited.
A feeling of joy came over me. I had a roof over my head and my throat didn't tickle. I did not need to sleep under the stars, beg for my food or worry about the bitter cold or rain I also wondered about our new health care and how it helped the homeless.
Until the day I die, the thought of that five foot piece of luggage will haunt me. I wondered how long she had to live before the meat wagon would pick her up. She would never have the joy of marriage or see her grandchildren. Instead, her remains would be thrown in a heap with others in an unmarked grave.
Mainly out of work blacks or whites ride it with nothing better to do. They have been provided with a compass pass, not doubt to get them off the street. Many carry bikes, skate boards, or babies in their arms.
Few are clean shaven. One had whiskers down to his shoulder. Others show off their multicolored underwear, A few pimps jump aboard with their blond haired doll. One regular couple brought their disabled terrier aboard. The terrier's back legs were strapped around two stroller wheels. It looked ungainly at best.
Next stop is Washington Street. A large mechanized wheel chair came aboard wiping out a few riders who ran to the other side of the train. This man was heavily whiskered wearing tattered pants and battered shoes. He looked around with a scowl while another drank from a beer can.
I enjoy watching the tourists. Four from Italy held their mouths to contain their laughter. Another crazy lady threw out barbs leading with "F" and "B" words. Her hair went in every which way. She looked for anyone to listen to her troubles.
For me give me the Coaster train when fans jump aboard in Oceanside, Carlsbad and other stops along the Southern route. The Padre fans come aboard ready for action. Each carries a bag or cooler. Their soft voices turn into barkers at a circus. They mingle the whiskey with the brew. One gal, a year ago, took up her sweat shirt on a dare. All drinking stopped. Toilets are usually stopped up since many which a toilet break at the same time.About one year ago, several routers got off at the Del Mar Race track. A TSA worker gave each a ticket for carrying an open bottle outside the train.
Earlier Sunday morning the Green Line Trolley stops every thirty minutes. Most of the patrons are asleep having crossed the border. Most are domestics. They are fast asleep until the train comes to Old Town Station. Instinctively, the wake up and bolt out the door. They go to one of eight buses that take them to their cleaning, or other job.
Spanish is their sole language. One dollar of work turns to three when they return on the train. From their the Blue Line Trolley takes them back to the border where they spend their money. Tennis shoes, baseball hats with a black pony tail in back is their uniform. In the morning they are fast asleep, but on the way home they celebrate.
After had taken the #88 bus out of Old Town. The bus circles about twenty hotels in the Mission Valley corridor. I wanted to find out about the early bird special at some of the hotels. Charlies, inside the Town and Country, only offered drinks at a discount. The Town is by far, the largest hotel in that circle. To its north is the Mission Valley Transit station. A wooden bridge climbs over the harnessed San Diego River into the hotel.
Instead of taking the #88 bus to Old Town, I decided to take the Green line Trolley since it spills out at the Santa Fe Station. I climbed several steps for my bench to wait for it. The toothless gentleman was licking each piece of hot dog droppings. Across the rails, an old white beard was picking pieces from his carton. One stop was the one for the Moreno Valley. I heard what sounded like an elephant board.
A five foot piece of black luggage came aboard. A young lady pushed it while she held onto to two plastics bags of cans. No double she would be going to recycling station to turn her plastic for bread. She stood in the aisle out of breath and coughed every few minutes. She availed herself to an empty seat and continued to cough. She seemed strong with a stiff upper lift. She coughed again.
Many who live under the stars cough now. It is a matter of time for meat wagons to pick up their remains. I got off at the Santa Fe Station. When I turned around there she was, standing with her house of belongings. She sat on a bench and waited.
A feeling of joy came over me. I had a roof over my head and my throat didn't tickle. I did not need to sleep under the stars, beg for my food or worry about the bitter cold or rain I also wondered about our new health care and how it helped the homeless.
Until the day I die, the thought of that five foot piece of luggage will haunt me. I wondered how long she had to live before the meat wagon would pick her up. She would never have the joy of marriage or see her grandchildren. Instead, her remains would be thrown in a heap with others in an unmarked grave.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
A Perry's Breakfast
"Do you wish some coffee, sweetie-pie?"
I felt like giving her the waitress the back of my hand. Ever since my hair turned grey, most waitresses call me "Sweetie" or "Honey-Bun". I nodded my approval at Perry's Cafe on the corner of Pacific Highway and Rosecrans - in the Old Town area of San Diego.
I had driven my car from the commuter parking lot a block to the corner restaurant. My hands felt like icicles and even my head beanie didn't do much good. The owner had been seasoned at the old Sambos restaurant in Palm Springs. It was the most popular restaurant on the main drag when one entered this famous city.
The charm and hospitality of this restaurant reminded me of the Palm Springs eatery. I had spent many Indian summer mornings eating waffles or french toast, before setting out to look for a an old adobe bungalow in this star-born town. People used to flock to Palm Springs in the old days, but time has given way to Hawaii or Florida.
"I am sorry this waitress is so loud." She is an early morning riser and has a bit too much energy when her shift begins. This one spoke like me, as if listening to Mozart on the piano.
'I'll take the special, waffles, scrambled and beacon."
Six grey hairs in the next table were reminiscing. Their laughter was contagious. The women in the next table was mouth reading the menu. At another, two children behaved like adults, just the way their parents behaved.
By nine o'clock I had cleaned my plate without effort. I must have been hungry. I ordered a coffee-to-go and spent a few minutes to make sure the lid hugged the lip of the cup. I left a two dollar tip and paid my fare at the register. I paid my bill and forgot my coffee.
My morning had just begun. My body warm and my lungs awaken, I drove to the Harbor and the Sheraton Hotel. The Pacific Highway takes you to the high rise across from the airport. I parked free at the Deli parking lot - between the twin hotels and walked the one half mile to the hotel.
Inside offered me a chance to digest my breakfast and also read a free US newspaper. Two headlines grabbed my attention. Cancer was on the rise with the lung variety the chief culprit. Also people were beginning to down loud their jobs for to gain a subsidy with the new health plan.
The rest of today, the Fifth of January was spent at San Diego's pent house on the ninth floor. I worked the digital computer with a microfilm of the thirties. I needed knowledge of the thirties to get my mind ready for San Diego's Balboa Centennial and also more about Ambrose Schindler, my football story. .
A must for any tourist is to eat a bag lunch on the ninth floor patio with a view of the Coronado Bridge with Tijuana hills in the back ground.
Got to go now and get ready for the Elks dance tonight in El Cajon
I felt like giving her the waitress the back of my hand. Ever since my hair turned grey, most waitresses call me "Sweetie" or "Honey-Bun". I nodded my approval at Perry's Cafe on the corner of Pacific Highway and Rosecrans - in the Old Town area of San Diego.
I had driven my car from the commuter parking lot a block to the corner restaurant. My hands felt like icicles and even my head beanie didn't do much good. The owner had been seasoned at the old Sambos restaurant in Palm Springs. It was the most popular restaurant on the main drag when one entered this famous city.
The charm and hospitality of this restaurant reminded me of the Palm Springs eatery. I had spent many Indian summer mornings eating waffles or french toast, before setting out to look for a an old adobe bungalow in this star-born town. People used to flock to Palm Springs in the old days, but time has given way to Hawaii or Florida.
"I am sorry this waitress is so loud." She is an early morning riser and has a bit too much energy when her shift begins. This one spoke like me, as if listening to Mozart on the piano.
'I'll take the special, waffles, scrambled and beacon."
Six grey hairs in the next table were reminiscing. Their laughter was contagious. The women in the next table was mouth reading the menu. At another, two children behaved like adults, just the way their parents behaved.
By nine o'clock I had cleaned my plate without effort. I must have been hungry. I ordered a coffee-to-go and spent a few minutes to make sure the lid hugged the lip of the cup. I left a two dollar tip and paid my fare at the register. I paid my bill and forgot my coffee.
My morning had just begun. My body warm and my lungs awaken, I drove to the Harbor and the Sheraton Hotel. The Pacific Highway takes you to the high rise across from the airport. I parked free at the Deli parking lot - between the twin hotels and walked the one half mile to the hotel.
Inside offered me a chance to digest my breakfast and also read a free US newspaper. Two headlines grabbed my attention. Cancer was on the rise with the lung variety the chief culprit. Also people were beginning to down loud their jobs for to gain a subsidy with the new health plan.
The rest of today, the Fifth of January was spent at San Diego's pent house on the ninth floor. I worked the digital computer with a microfilm of the thirties. I needed knowledge of the thirties to get my mind ready for San Diego's Balboa Centennial and also more about Ambrose Schindler, my football story. .
A must for any tourist is to eat a bag lunch on the ninth floor patio with a view of the Coronado Bridge with Tijuana hills in the back ground.
Got to go now and get ready for the Elks dance tonight in El Cajon
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Horst Cahn - Table 5
This writer has been going to Table 5 now for about six months. We break bread, eat, and speak about yesterday's left overs. I sometimes ease drop and get my own nourishment, memorable stories of yesteryear.
With his pink cap and matching pants, Cahn stode into Encinitas Oak Cafe looking like a million dollars. He said 'Hello" to everyone. His stories, and those of Lady Barbara will be lost unless written down. You never know what eatables will come out of his mouth.
"My Hebrew name is Arie Ben David which means Son-of-Lion. I want to tell you something.
My friend Max had trouble getting the women. I asked him about it."
He told me a story about a dog. "My dog always tried to catch a certain truck, but had trouble. When he caught up with the truck one lucky day, he did not know what to do with it...And so it is with women.
No matter what the occasion, Horst always trumps the other stories always with a "I want to tell you something." He may be the only one still alive from Auschwitz Camp Buna.
"We began with about 4000 at the camp. The Germans used me to fix things like light bulbs. Instead of fixing all the bulbs I sold them to unsuspecting Germans. No matter what, I could always make something out of nothing."
"I sent a letter to the Washington Holocaust Museum. Their return letter stated to their knowledge, I was the only one still alive."
Horst eats primarily salad and watches his weight. He loves good restaurants and good music. He dresses like he would be going to the turf clubs at Del Mar. Nobody believes he is 88 years young. He is not own one shy cell in his body and is proud he wears his badge on his arm.
"One lady in a car told me the Holocaust never happened. I wanted to hit her but didn't. I give speeches to different schools now and then."
Now Cahn is bored and moves to another table to bother the ladies. He is always on the go, no matter where he is.
About five years ago, San Diego's paper the UT gave him a front page spread, and I do mean spread. But for me the real story lies at Table 5 in the Encinitas Cafe.
With his pink cap and matching pants, Cahn stode into Encinitas Oak Cafe looking like a million dollars. He said 'Hello" to everyone. His stories, and those of Lady Barbara will be lost unless written down. You never know what eatables will come out of his mouth.
"My Hebrew name is Arie Ben David which means Son-of-Lion. I want to tell you something.
My friend Max had trouble getting the women. I asked him about it."
He told me a story about a dog. "My dog always tried to catch a certain truck, but had trouble. When he caught up with the truck one lucky day, he did not know what to do with it...And so it is with women.
No matter what the occasion, Horst always trumps the other stories always with a "I want to tell you something." He may be the only one still alive from Auschwitz Camp Buna.
"We began with about 4000 at the camp. The Germans used me to fix things like light bulbs. Instead of fixing all the bulbs I sold them to unsuspecting Germans. No matter what, I could always make something out of nothing."
"I sent a letter to the Washington Holocaust Museum. Their return letter stated to their knowledge, I was the only one still alive."
Horst eats primarily salad and watches his weight. He loves good restaurants and good music. He dresses like he would be going to the turf clubs at Del Mar. Nobody believes he is 88 years young. He is not own one shy cell in his body and is proud he wears his badge on his arm.
"One lady in a car told me the Holocaust never happened. I wanted to hit her but didn't. I give speeches to different schools now and then."
Now Cahn is bored and moves to another table to bother the ladies. He is always on the go, no matter where he is.
About five years ago, San Diego's paper the UT gave him a front page spread, and I do mean spread. But for me the real story lies at Table 5 in the Encinitas Cafe.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
A Ferris Wheel for San Diego
"You must move on this fast. The Port Authority gave me the go-ahead. I've contact the people to bring the amusement here, and it will be located next to the Convention Centers, Hilton Hotel. We can give you the whaling concession."
I heard the conversation while reading Bleak House by Charles Dickens at the the Sheraton Hotel wondering why it took me long to get involved in his story when I overheard the above conversation. The other gentleman now spoke, not to be overshadowed by the first.
"The man who had the concession is not renewing his lease. I can show the tourists the whales at sea now."
"We should have no problem getting the permits. The attraction will be next to the Convention Center extension."
I turned around, and saw them walk out the rear door of the hotel. There were two couples walking towards the midway Marina parking lot.
Like the Ferris wheel, my mind was spinning around and around. I have never felt so much excitement in all of my life. Earlier, I had played a few songs on the Encinitas grand piano. A lady with a wheel chair interrupted my performance.
"How long did you take lessons...I love your playing." Reluctantly I stopped and thanked her.
I took piano lessons for six months, and I love to share my enjoyments with others.
'"Now you play music I can enjoy. The rap music of today makes noise."
I played Don't Cry for me Argentina, Memories and a few Sinatra hits.A few gals clapped when I walked to table 5.
Abe was missing, apparently still in the hospital. I sat next to Lady Barbara who was getting over a tooth extraction. I mentioned the name of George Schultz, who once was on the Board of Directors of Bechtel Corporation.
"That man hated me. I think it was him who wished to send my husband Jay to Saudi Arabia. And his wife, from the family of Motts hated me. At all of our gatherings at Romona, she never said one word to me."
What do you think of our president?"
"He is a communist and controlled by the Mott family."
Another lady lashed out at us for speaking politics. told us no to talk politics, and I complied.
After the Sheraton episode, it was time for me to go the Immaculate Conception church and its Rectory. After I parked my car in the Old Town commuter lot, I walked towards the church. I welcomed a healthy appetite and found my eight dollar ticket for the Philippine meal.
I ate with Al Weaver who told me there would be some changes in his biography.
.
I heard the conversation while reading Bleak House by Charles Dickens at the the Sheraton Hotel wondering why it took me long to get involved in his story when I overheard the above conversation. The other gentleman now spoke, not to be overshadowed by the first.
"The man who had the concession is not renewing his lease. I can show the tourists the whales at sea now."
"We should have no problem getting the permits. The attraction will be next to the Convention Center extension."
I turned around, and saw them walk out the rear door of the hotel. There were two couples walking towards the midway Marina parking lot.
Like the Ferris wheel, my mind was spinning around and around. I have never felt so much excitement in all of my life. Earlier, I had played a few songs on the Encinitas grand piano. A lady with a wheel chair interrupted my performance.
"How long did you take lessons...I love your playing." Reluctantly I stopped and thanked her.
I took piano lessons for six months, and I love to share my enjoyments with others.
'"Now you play music I can enjoy. The rap music of today makes noise."
I played Don't Cry for me Argentina, Memories and a few Sinatra hits.A few gals clapped when I walked to table 5.
Abe was missing, apparently still in the hospital. I sat next to Lady Barbara who was getting over a tooth extraction. I mentioned the name of George Schultz, who once was on the Board of Directors of Bechtel Corporation.
"That man hated me. I think it was him who wished to send my husband Jay to Saudi Arabia. And his wife, from the family of Motts hated me. At all of our gatherings at Romona, she never said one word to me."
What do you think of our president?"
"He is a communist and controlled by the Mott family."
Another lady lashed out at us for speaking politics. told us no to talk politics, and I complied.
After the Sheraton episode, it was time for me to go the Immaculate Conception church and its Rectory. After I parked my car in the Old Town commuter lot, I walked towards the church. I welcomed a healthy appetite and found my eight dollar ticket for the Philippine meal.
I ate with Al Weaver who told me there would be some changes in his biography.
.
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