Only Living Survivor-Horst Cahn

It was a pleasant surprise today at the Encinitas' Senior Center. I entered my name for a meat loaf lunch at the Li'l Oak's Cafe. Lunches begin at eleven thirty. A small fruit salad and milk is served before we get the main entree
   And there was Horst, and as always, talking to anyone who would listen... and why not? He is the only living survivor of a synthetic rubber camp inside Auschwitz. The camp had held four thousand.  As Always, he looked happy and it appeared that he had lost a few pounds. 
    I knew he had been to a doctor and was happy that my friend returned in one piece and had shed a few pounds. 
   
  "So what is the verdict Horst?"
"Well I found out I am a blue blood. The doctor put some die inside me and found a couple of blockages. He told me to keep off milk and cheese. That is why so much weight is off of me....So what is it you wish to ask me?"
   What was it like inside the barracks?
    "We had 200 in our barracks. A out house was in the back. The Germans knew how many calories we needed to stay alive. They served us dried vegetables in soup during the day, and one slice of bread and more soup at night. Some occupants ate half the bread and stashed the rest inside their bed.
      "We slept in thin double beds. The Germans would remove our blankets when it snowed. The out house was in the back of the camp. They made sure we took a shower every day. The showers were in the side of the Barracks."
       "After our work detail, they counted us when we returned. We were always marching, and they always counted to make sure we all returned. Those who fell and died they removed to the incinerator. The Polish people complained about the smell."
   

The Del Mar Fair is Coming

The Del Mar Fair is coming next week. Don't drive a car there. Take a train, bus, boat or walk. Again, don't drive a car there. Old red double-decked British buses will take you over there, over there to the fair, over there. 
   "Over there, over there, take a bus, take a train over there..cause the Fair is coming, the Fair is coming, the Fair is coming over there...So beware, so beware, so beware...bring a hat to wear, water bottles to drink and..." (Song not finished...quiet yet.)
    The Coaster, or Amtrak trains will drop you off at Solana Beach on the west side rail. A climb or elevator will take you to the top level where a friendly bus will be waiting for you. I have taken the Breeze 101 bus to get there. They go every thirty minutes on the Pacific Coast Highway. 
    Updated information will be coming soon. 
    Balboa Park is celebrating its one hundred year anniversary. We need another three million to fix the outdated roof of the Botanical garden. My football player Schindler supervised its Lily Pond right in front. Schindler rehabbed injured soldiers in the heated pond in 1943 and after the war in 1945. On the Prado walk those my ancient age will find free coffee and donuts at the Senior Center. Walk east over the Cabrillo Bridge is my Rose Garden. My ashes will be spread, over there in the Julia Child's area. 
   Harbor Island will have a bear craft festival. Hundreds of sail boats will be showing off their shirts in a sail boat races. You can watch them from Seaport Village if too lazy to get to Harbor Island. The 922 or 923 buses can drop you off, over there. 
   A conference on Dyslexia will be held at the new San Diego Library's book store. As many as one in five have this affliction. I will be writing a book on how it has impacted my life. It will be out in one year.
  Look for people to stay over in Del Mar. The color chrome is in this year. I have been told that the Kentucky and Preakness winner, California Chrome is coming to Del Mar in July. I will be there, yes I will be there and hopefully he'll win the Belmont Stakes. 
  Remember a valid Compass pass is good on six Amtrak trains. A bar code will soon be included on it.  

t                                                         

The Weston Hotel Saved Me

"No problem sir. Should we get you a taxi?...Let me get some water for you."
   The above dialogue occurred at the Weston Hotel. My puffer or inhaler did not work. I did not know why. My body felt like a dead Oak tree infested with beetles. Somehow I took my dead weight down stairs at the 'Y', and walked into the Weston Hotel. I needed clean air. 
   The San Diego City Counsel denied me an air-conditioner twice. I had even brought in my filthy air filter to prove how dusty San Diego had become. With Dr. Gloria as President,each member told me to "go to hell" so to speak. 
   Outside, the sky had been darkened by the North County fire. Ash had flowed south due to a Santa Ana wind. The temperatures reached almost one hundred degrees. I had pleaded with Sir Thomas the 500 building manager and the city council for an air conditioner - of course without any response. 
    I thought my "puffer" had another 167 puffs but somehow it broke down. To compound my problem, an older variety went dead also. Yet it was Monday, and my energy had been depleted. My mind felt like soap at two in the morning. I knew Death crept under my Cockroach invested Y hotel again. 
   The trolleys would walk the early morning rails at four thirty. It felt great to have Martin, a security guard at the Weston's, take an interest in such an old man-made older with another tooth missing. The little bottle of water helped. He left and I decided to ask the night clerk for a taxi. He did. 
   Outside on D Street for Dead, I waited and waited. The taxi would take me to Old Town where my car Dolly was waiting for me. But the taxi's denied me. At about three I walked to the all-night Seven Eleven on C street. I bought a Bic for one dollar and twenty three cents. I would bluff my way from death's door. 
   I took a warm, too warm shower to forget my woes. I then returned to my cockroach infested room at the   'Y'. I took one of the two elevators up and took a long, too long shower. I returned to my room and listened to the T.V. Another fire was ranging in Texas and this time around. Alaska. 
   I awoke at four thirty. The trolleys now were talking. Yet I was too tired to rail it. I felt a westerly cool breeze from the Harbor.  I fell asleep and woke up at seven thirty. Now  I could drive my car to Kaiser and show them the little puffer that would not work.  

   The eight twenty Amtrak 567 took me to my car. I felt alive and Okay. I brought my inhaler inside the Carlsbad Kaiser Pharmacy. A Latina pharmacist did not quite understand me at first. She then told me the problem with my inhaler. 
   "Must be kept in cool place and washed every week. The dust probably did the damage." I told her none of this was mentioned in the tiny directions that came with this device. I left with an inhaler and a back up. I celebrated my new day with a single puff while waiting for my prescription to be filled."
   I spent my new life at the Carlsbad Library fine tuning my book. My first daughter told me she could book two rooms at Portland for me for Father's Day. My Day was today. 

  Nuts and Bolts for today: Well it is now March of 2015, all temperatures marks had been broken. Thank God I left one of the hundreds of San Diego in the Nick of Time.  

A Visit to Huntington Beach

Three beaches compete for the title of  the Surfing Capital of the U.S.A. They are Ocean, Huntington and Santa Cruz beaches. Today on Sunday, I am to travel to Huntington Beach for my brother Mel's birthday. It is his 74th-about two years younger than mine.  
   My Chevy Cavalier is my hero. This reliable car has saved my life countless time. The car is parked at the Encinitas commuter lot. Amtrak accept Coaster cars on six different times. It is free, cool, and quiet--compared to the Coaster trains. Amtrak has curtains for the sun, push back seats, and a foot rest.
   I have visited Mel for eight years in Huntington Beach. Brother Mel discovered it over forty years ago. It has a clean air westerly flow and deep sand -- good for umbrellas and volleyball. The waves break slow and long. Many years ago Black Gold was found -- so much that the beach goers had a time removing the oil from their feet. Hermosa Beach also was known for Black Tarry Gold.
  Beside the many restaurants, I enjoy sitting on the bleachers with Mel. He walks like a turtle and can barely see out of his good eye. The bad one died about eight years ago from a bungled lazar job by a Vietnamese doctor. The cities of Westminster, and Garden Grove are home to more Vietnamese than any other ethnic group.
  Huntington Beach arrives a few miles north from Laguna Beach and Costa Mesa. The John Wayne Airport services the area. John today rides planes and not horses.  and not a plane.  rides a horse and not a plane for those commuting there. Today, I need to make a pit stop in Jamboree. The off-ramp is in the city of Irvine. I am lost, at first, when I enter a large hotel to the south.
   A sea of Japanese are everywhere. They are quite thin and small. The air is a lot cleaner than it is in San Diego. I feel good, but need a bathroom bad. I enter the Soup Plantation across from the Marriot's Residence Inn. I sit but can't find the toilet seat-at first. I drop down further and find it.
   I feel relieved but now my stomach hungers for a tuna sandwich stored in my trunk. Again, the Residence Inn was a swarm of little Japanese. They had filled the Soup Plantation at nine thirty. The restaurant opens earlier on Sunday.
  On a bench next to me, two were comparing their shoes. One removed a golden laced shoe to show a sore on a toe. They treat their feet like God's. I finished my sandwich and got on the 5 again to Huntington Beach and  got off at Beach Blvd. I made a left on Bolsa and entered my brother's assistant living apartments.
  Mel no longer lived in his room. A Latina pointed to his new accommodations. It was in a wing and again with a new man. I saw him coming his hair. But it was a different Mel today. No grin greeted me today, only death.
   "George, I knew you might be coming. I feel mad they lied. Owner Ed told me they needed to clean my room and not locate me to another one. He lied, as usual. I  don't feel like the beach today, but a In-and-Out Burger might do."
   Mel had trouble locating a shirt. He is almost totally blind. I picked one out for him. He no longer smiled, but smelled like death, His diaper reminded me why he needed to be here. We took the elevator to the first sitting. The table set for four was missing two.
   "Ruth is totally senile. Both of them are in hospitals." A gal on a walker came by and summarized the lunch menu. Her dialogue excited a heavy set lady at the next table. She wore  large face and a torso that made May West's bosom look anemic. She had a laughing fit and her two watermelons went round and round like a circus clown.
   "Let's leave. I want to go to In-and-Out!
    Ok Mel, I said, we will go now. We walked  to the car and I waited for him to catch up. He needed to be close to follow me. We drove down Beach Blvd for several miles and found its golden triangle.
   "Can I have the double-double with fries and a coke." He asked the waitress. She gave us a number and we took a booth.  I hid my disgust and depression. A man starred at us. I felt like punching him out. Our number was called.
   He had no trouble clutching the burger. They butcher and package their meets the same day in Baldwin Park. Mel picked up the burger with both hands and chomped down on it. In no time it was gone. He smiled and asked to go the beach now
   Main Street is Huntington. The gals show off their new bikinis or Botox jobs. The Sugar Shack has an army of people waiting. There are endless volleyball contests going on along with surfers, fishermen and families. Excitement is in the air.
   I told him that now we could not get parking. Yet I knew that after the meal he might have an accident. I drove him home and gave him a twenty. Again he smiled. I returned to the Five freeway and glad that we both lived to celebrate his May 27th birthday.

  Yet there was something wrong with it. It was Memorial Day and I remembered Uncle Henry who was awarded a bronze star for crawling and carrying a fellow soldier in the battle of Guadalcanal. I will never forget how balled he looked after the war. There was also both Barney's and Irving on my Mom's side.
   How our great country has changed from 1945. Now we are looked down upon. Many that enter our services do so for other reasons. Our great traditions and life style is dead.  At least Mel and I can remember when our transistor radios were the cell phones of yesteryear and ten cents meant a chocolate chip cup from the Good Humor Ice Cream Truck.
  
 .

San Diego Library Revisited

   After church, I waited two hours before taking the Trolley to Park Blvd and the wonderful new creation in San Diego. A cattle stampede began just when the library doors opened at one o'clock on Sunday.  
   The inversion layer kept the toxins inside. Most everyone carried a drink. A sea of homeless blacks and whites pushed to be the first one inside the cool San Diego Library. The stench almost made me fall over. Many had folded up their tents on Park Blvd and entered their other home, the San Diego Library.  
   Some were thin, rail thin. Some shoes carried  no laces, others had no sole. Long ago their head pleaded for a haircut.. I few black brothers carried a white gal on a leach-so to speak. Most black males have a white girl friends. Some have told me their Mom's screamed too much.  
   They flooded the 150 computers. All were taken within a few minutes. I scrambled to the eighth floor and got the last one in the nick of time. I punched in my pin number and it was mine. But my mind was nowhere to be found.
  It had not been just hot. But fiery hot. With bad air, even shade trees needed shade from the heat. There had been an inversion layer so the cooler temperatures did not throw me. I knew Sunday I would be locked into another day of limited air.
   Two days ago, some of the homeless had removed their shirts. The smell of stench permeated the libraries elevators, and other area. And it was only May. I had never herd so many sirens. I wondered where the dead meat would be buried.  But I had survived seven days inside the unventilated Y.M.C.A with Cock Roaches. The other day, I tried to avoid looking at a tall kid wearing only his blue underwear. It was an underwear day.
 
  Two days earlier on Friday,  I ordered a burrito for breakfast at Lolita's on Tenth Avenue, a block from the ball park. There is a bus stop across the street. A bushy hair man lay on the bus stop iron bench. One hand held a cigarette and the other a coffee. One leg kicked the other's sandal off. It scratched and scratched-to no avail.  It was hard to make out a face. The white bushy covering hid him from the world. Then he got up and spoke to an imaginary person. He came inside and asked for a drink.
  While this happened, a few gals were jogging, and one was taking two dogs for a walk. I wondered if it was too hot for a hot dog. But it was still early, too early to effect a burn. A Green truck stopped to tend to some flowers in front of me.
    Many of the library irregulars come every day. They used their forefinger to hit the keyboard. Some have taken no shower in ages. Some mutter to themselves. They have no hint of how bad they smell. It is dead sweat, and they are used to it.
   Today I am lucky. The other five computers harbor no smell. I can concentrate and am happy to be wearing a baseball cap. The glare from the sun makes the monitor hard to see. I need to negotiate a change in my monitor.
   Another tour group from some grammar school have come in. They shout and stare at us. I am used to this. The boys who build the library wish to show-case their trophy. But it is not a real library. It is a another amusement ride for San Diego.
   The California room does have an internet connected to research for our ancestors. I was told it was there for nobody to use. The supervisor was scared I would use it for my blog. Well, he is a block head for all its worth.
   But as my daughter has often told me. "Where there is bad their is also good." The library does have one toilet on every floor. Yet that is where the homeless shave, and wash. Who wishes to take a dunk inside the same washroom. I often return home after the library and need to take a shower. My clothes smell of cigarettes and vermin.

  Yet I enjoy their auditorium concerts and also the game of chess on Friday's at three. And, of course there is air conditioning and a great view of San Diego.

This and That from San Diego

I rode the Coaster train to San Diego four years ago. The old library had three microfilms on the second floor. A sports editor used that head for his daily writing. I believe it gave him a chance to beat around the bush--So to speak. And so it is with me. In the last few days, I have taken what life has provided.

I overspent the week of the freakish hot weather. To avoid dehydration, I spent over one hundred dollars attending movies i and eating out. I would have to burn my 40 dollar flight on Spirit the night of the 21st. I had booked a red eye for Portland on Spirit Airlines. But if I could not go, at least I possibly get others to do my footwork. 

  I arrived at San Diego's Lindbergh Field at about five 'clock. I had taken the airport bus after buying a few goodies at the Seven Eleven. I could sit at the gate and pass my blogger card to those traveling to Portland. A machine gave me my boarding pass.for my seven o'clock flight. Of course I had no carry-on bag. 

  The only hitch became security. They put me under an arch and a contraption circled ,e. Then they took my bulging wallet and screed it. Yet I did not react--not the new George. I passed through a maze of gate numbers. Unlike the first floor, there were many restaurants and bars. In fact, even the water coolers worked. 

  I had finished my salad and sandwich and took up a seat in the section for Portland  A rather large lady sat across from me. She had a round freckled face head.  She held a large California Pizza inside a carton. She tried to fold her legs, but without any success. She then grabbed a pants leg with her left hand and dragged the leg over the right one. She sucked each finger with every bite. I never saw anyone eat with so much gusto. 

 A neatly dressed man sat across from me. Why everything he word was perfect. His white hair was cropped just right. He sat demurely with a slight grin on his face. The freckled faced one kept throwing slices of California into her mouth. I heard an announcement over the overhead speakers. 

  "We need volunteers to give up their Portland flight for a hotel and round trip on another." The man across from me confirmed what I had heard. For a moment, I forgot myself and jumped up like I had won a big jack pot. I went to the gate and a representative told me Spirit was oversold by four tickets. He removed my boarding pass and told me to return at six thirty. The possibility of staying in a first class hotel instead of my 'Y" cell intrigued me. I would lavish myself with cold air and a fluffy pillow for the first time in quite a while.  

  I began to chat with David, a Chaplin in the Mission Valley area. Rather than relating my boring chatter, I will reveal what David told me. 

   " I served in the Navy as a Chaplin, I had been stationed in Iraq for a couple of years and seen the war at first hand. On my return to San Diego, I went to a different church and saw how readily they accepted me. They sung, danced and a great time. They also showed me now I would get to heaven."You see George, a few years later, I contacted leukemia. I had to go many treatments of radiation but now it is under control "

   I told David of my similar experience in Old Town and how a Reverend had wet my appetite for religion. He told me his kids were over sixty and his wife wished to have him continue working with those with post war injuries. Over the speaker It became boarding time and it told volunteers to go up front again. 

  Well, it seems that six did not show up. Of course the flight no longer needed me. But the prize I received was finding out that I wished to be put up in a hotel the rest of my life. Also meeting David excited me. I am in heaven when I meet interesting people.  

  Today I had scheduled a meeting with a printer in the Bankers area of San Diego. My meeting with him was set for ten o'clock. I had time to eat a hardy breakfast at the Mercy Scrip's Hospital. And was i in for a treat. For five dollars, I had two pieces of toast, scrambled eggs, hot spinach and three pieces of lean beacon. 

 I scrambled the eggs into the spinach and was I in for a surprise The taste was terrific Unfortunately both the hospital library and the print shop were closed due to Memorial Day. But the memory of the Spinach and eggs will become a trendy treat for me from now on.  

San Diego Council Meeting.

San Diego's City Hall is only about four blocks from me. . I had hoped to speak about my upcoming book, and make the 21st of May 'Amby Schindler Day'. But again, it was a closed meeting--and you know what that means.
  I had already gone through the check point and an officer told me to "go to the second floor to find out when the next open meeting would be scheduled." I took the elevator to the second floor and a nice gentleman tried to show me how the meeting was open or shut. Yet he did provide me with a phone number since the Council's web site was confusing.
  Another officer told me to go to the tenth floor and speak with an assistant to Gloria's office. I wished to find out why we had been given a 60 day termination letter at the old Y.M.C.A. and a week later an apology by the new  Egyptian owners. " Here is the phone number to find out the next council meeting." It was (619) 533-4000. I had been told that Gloria okayed the deal that brought the desert to the beach. (Cairo to San Diego.)
  In that period, many had suffered. One gal just sat next to the second floor window.  I thought she might wish to jump. Others seemed quite out of their minds. And the notice came just as we were to suffer the worst wave of hot air in a century.
   On the tenth floor an assistant to Gloria's office came and sat down. I told her my story about endless sleepless nights, and why we were not afforded an air conditioner or voucher to another building. She took notes and when I mentioned that Gloria had signed the paper giving the new owners the permission to buy the old hotel, her eyes lit up, the same way a mother does when her new born baby pops out.  
  The previous day, I had sent a registered letter to the new landlords about my need for an A/C. I knew they would not allow it, but I also knew I could try to close this hotel for cruelty to animals. Would you believe that the wooden vent above the doors were closed.
   I  thought it was the 21st today. I had scheduled a red-eyed flight to Portland, Oregon at seven o'clock. I would get a boarding pass but not fly. The money budgeted for the flight went to keep my cool during a Black Death Week  in San Diego. I had bought the 40 dollar ticket a week earlier. 
 I bought a four dollar salad carton and chips at the Seven Eleven and waited for the 922 airport bus to the airport. One whiskered man sat in the front drooling over the gal to his left. He wore multicolored socks. Like many, he rode the buses and trains all day to pass time. I got off at Terminal Two. I passed out my card to a few people in Terminal Two. One spoke to me. "Well I don't live there, but my sister does. I will hand her your card. She has a travel agency business."
  

The Pied Piper of San Diego.

I sat down in the back to listen to more of Father Ecker.stories. He began his Catholic teachings at North Island many years ago, about the same time Babe Ruth hit sixty homeruns. He may have looked older than Father Time, but his stories stir his congregation and stop the clock. Today, at 10:30 it would be no different. I sat in the back after indulging in a five dollar pancake breakfast inside   the Rectory.  
   He wore a long white robe. His voice was audible to everyone. His eyes darted everywhere. He did not give a practiced speech. It was strictly impromptu. He had a gift. His mind was on the pulse of his congregation. "Sorry I am late. There was a running event on the Coronado Bridge. I almost had to leave my car and enter the event to get here. 
   He stopped idle talk and let his eyes do the speaking. He looked around as if searching for a gold nugget. "Are there any kids younger than nine here..." He again looked around. Time stopped. Finally, a little dark haired kid dared to walk to the front and face Father Ecker. 
."What is your name?...What is your name?
     "Bi..ll..y"
      "Where are you from Billy? Are you from Cleveland? Boston?... Oh, Chula Vista! ....Do you play baseball? Will you hold this candle for Jesus and follow me. He bent down and gave Billy a lighted candle. 
   Now I have seen lots of things in my life. But this event topped the rest. Here was Old Man Ecker strolling around the pews and stopping now and then to pick up another child. Billy held a large candle. The line crept along until it became three little boys. Then the snake hit pay dirt. . 
    In the row in front of me sat five little urchins, ranging in age from four to nine. A large tattooed Dad pushed them along with Father Ecker. Now there were nine in this procession. The large congregation sat motionless. Nothing stirred except the big candle's light. 
   The flicker of the candle passed by everyone. Babies stopped crying. Now more and more Jesus followers also moved, but not with legs, but with their minds. He turned and spoke to each one.
   "What sport do you like the most?...Oh, basketball." Of course the shortest in the group had raised his hand. The candle was given to each child. I have never seen a congregation so attentive.
   The next morning I drove to the Harbor Sheraton for pure air and coffee. Their Starbucks line was way out the door. The heat even baked these conventioneers. Then it came to me. I remembered   my Mother Edith reading about the Pied Piper of Hamelin. I forgot what the children's story was about until I checked out a book from the Carlsbad Library, where I am now.  In the above story, the Pied Piper of Hamelin rid the town of their rats, but was not paid. He then took their kids away from them. 
   We certainly need a Pied Piper in Washington D.C. today. He would throw most of those law makers into the Potomac River. Remember what our president promised. "You can keep your same doctor." Well, we need another flute player to remove the lies from the White House.  

   "

I am Still Alive!

Except for a few cock roaches, I slept better-than ever-last night. The room has no ventilation, not healthy for anyone. San Diego is home to many brick buildings that hold in the cold or hot air. It takes a few days before they can release it. 
   Think of a clambake. The hot coals or pieces of wood may stay hot for a day or two. So even though the temperature has dropped, the building still rocks with heat. Over the door is an air vent. It is closed. My only outside window's air flow is impeded by the circular court yard. 
   In no way could I have survived without HIM. He makes my decisions, usually in the Y's shower. Pure air is what I need to become a great writer. In now way could I have stayed alive without changing my life style. Now I need to make more changes. 
   I threw away my blood pressure pills. I know they cause my water well to drop. I needed to keep myself hydrated during this heat blast from the North. I usually bedded down after ten o'clock and opened my door using a basket to keep it opened. It helped a lot. 
  The new owners tried to bluff us into moving. Counsel member Gloria gave them the OK to buy the El Loco Hotel. Yet the new Egyptian owners wanted us out to make for higher rent. Only one of two elevators are working and they have removed the vacuums. 
  There are mostly disabled living on the second floor, and most of their rent is paid by HUD. It was the real estate president of HUD who seemed shocked when I told him my plight. The next day, A Mr. Nasar or something life that, sent us an apology in writing. 

   I have availed myself with several publishers in San Diego. When I select the printer, it will take two days to kick out the first book. I have removed the preface and other part of the beginning. The story will unveil my own changes in the Schindler story. 
   The outside ozone must be bad because the library is a beehive of the homeless and lost. The Landmark Theater in La Jolla saved my life during the last few days. It was the first time I saw a movie in two years. The last time was when I had a date with myself and saw a picture about Lincoln. 
   I found the Lunchbox a great movie. I saw made in India film twice. (More to come)
   

La Jolla Village

Never did  I dream of taking in a movie in La Jolla. My mind had felt numb for a few days. No doubt the blistering San Ana heat had a lot to do with it. The air quality was deadly. Ozone had a chance to multiply and constrict my air ways. 
   The day before, I drove to the La Jolla Village of shops and eateries. Sam the Taxi-Man had driven me to Ralph's there for a King Salmon kosher meal a month earlier.  A rabbi had blessed the food and we unraveled the fish and sauces it to death before devouring it. I had noticed a movie theater then. 
   Now with nine fires gusting overhead, I knew pure air would be my salvation. I drove south to the La Jolla Village off-ramp and took a right. Ahead of me were cars making another left. I followed them into the shopping center. I saw the Landmark theater to my left, and parked in a disable spot in front of the Chase Bank. It was in the late nineties and I strode the the Landmark theater. A gal told me to see the movie about about the artist. Pure oxygen and an avant-garde movie removed the vestiges of dirty air from my air filter. 
   Thursday late afternoon, I felt embalmed inside my YMCA cell. The temperature must have been in the low nineties. The brick walls, like hot coals, impacted my breathing. I took action and took the number 35 OB to smell and listen to the beach sounds. I had a great fish and chips dinner at Shades restaurant.(Ocean Beach)
   I slept an hour or two at a time. I prayed the Santa Clause would provide the westerly fog the San Diego Harbor is known for. I also felt pissed the new Egyptian owners had not installed A/C's inside our death chambers. Hell, a staff member told me they were supposed to upgrade the hotel and not downgrade their long term guests with a mistaken termination notice. 

   Friday was my day. I would survive the worst air catastrophe in the history of San Diego. It would only be in the late eighties. I had used my puffer five times already. My mind felt like a stroke would be next. I saw too many wheel chairs and walkers in the theater. I did not wish to turn into a walker. Again I drank a liter of Sparklet's and asked the theater ticket gal for her recommendations, at the same La Jolla theater.
   "I wish a movie without violence and sex."
   "I have got the one just for you sir. This movie has been hear for two months and instead of dying more an more people wish to see it." 
    "What is the name of it?"
    "The lunch pail. It is about two people who fall in love over food. You have another thirty minutes before it begins at theater four."
   I plucked the eight thirty down and thanked her. My stomach no longer felt nauseous. I had grabbed a rice chicken bowl next to the theater. It did not include the drink or chop sticks. A father and his three small Chinese kids sat next to me. He had removed the remainders of their bowls into his. He ate like it was his last Chinese meal. Ahead, another Asian spoke about buying an A/C for his San Diego College dorm. 
   I entered the theater and removed my shoes. My feet needed air. The theater doors were closed. My lungs sang for the first time in one week. It was an Indian movie with subtitles. Time stopped. I have never- in my life-ever seen a film concerned with every detail. I could only guess the Indians take their food seriously. 
   The two main protagonists held my attention throughout. I won't spoil it for you but the movie changed my life. Now I would never let the love of my life leave me. I would run, run and run until I caught up with Gloria-I said it.   
     
    Saturday morning my prayers were answered. The fog, at last, came back from a one week's vacation. I felt relaxed to have had my first night of almost sleep. I had forgotten what sleep was like at the El Loco Hotel downtown. 
    I took the trolley to my car parked at the Old Town commuter parking lot. I drove to the Harbor Sheraton to buy a coffee and read a complimentary U.T. There was a nice westerly wind that caressed my lungs. I bought a paper since there were none on Saturday. My mind came to life. I picked up a forgotten Wall Street and worked it for ten minutes: The Indians have elected a new minister ousting a Gandhi family; Mel Patton, the fastest runner in the forties died; and Kaiser prescription workers mere thinking of calling it quits on Monday.   
   It is great to be a feel alive! 
 (Check April's 24th of last year for the La Jolla Cove.)
  
   
  
   

San Diego is Burning-Part 2

The air quality today-for the first time-registered unhealthy for today. But since I have owned asthma since the age of five, for me it could be a death sentence. In spite of many requests, there is still no AC in my YMCA cell. The back pages of the Union Tribune gave the dead air a 106 rating at North Island and a 67 for downtown. The main offender was ozone.
   Two weeks ago, I threw away my blood pressure pills. They cause dehydration. Instead of a too-busy Kaiser, I became my own doctor. The air in Encinitas yesterday felt heavy. The hot scorched land filled the sky with embers.
   I felt listless after a morning at the Encinitas Senior Center. Out of the blue it came to me. Why not see a movie in the La Jolla Village. I left Li'l Oak Cafe and strode to my car. I placed a glove over my right hand to hold the steering wheel. I felt good its tank was one quarter full.
   I got off the 5 on La Jolla Village Drive. After a few minutes I found the location of the theater. I parked my car in front of Chase bank, in a disabled zone. I walked across the lot to the theater. But the theater's box office was closed. I peered inside to find the time the movies would begin. It was then 12:30 so I remembered Ralph's and its air conditioning. Still it was hot, very hot!
   It was just the tonic for my pulmonary system. An inside eating area had been set up. Wrought iron surrounded the cage with more black iron tables. One gal worked a computer and at another a lady read several newspapers. In the back on the sixth table sat another lady eating a burrito. I wondered if they were there like me-to cushion the heat.
   Now at the front table I relaxed--that is until a large hairy monster came my way. He sat across from me without asking. A small yamalka sat on the top of his white hair. His big head sat on top of a huge belly. He began talking to me, and did not care if I listened or not.
   'I am from Boston. My family was in the slot machine a gum ball business. They bought the business in 1977. My Dad died at 55 so I took my Mom to San Diego. We live in the college area where I take care of my Mom....There are a lot of Jews from South Africa who moved here. It was not safe for them to stay there as roving bands of white bullied and took their money..."
   While I listened to Barney Silvers, a man returned with a nap sack hitched to his back. His tennis shoes soles opened and closed their mouths. The shoes were hungry for more shoe leather. "Forgot my glasses. you seen them," he asked a skinny lady ravishing a Sunday ice cream cup. She ignored him and continued to feast on the chocolate. Ignored, slowly he left her. She continued to swim with her Sunday's joy.
  'You will have to excuse me. I need to buy a kosher fish." I walked to the deli section and ordered before my hair turned more silver.
  "Give me a half pound of the white fish and a small amount of Cole Slaw." I gave him eight bucks, removed a napkin and fork and left for the patio table. Silver's was still there picking away at a Cornish hen. I unwrapped my fish and asked the silver one to refrain from talk-but in a nice way.
   'I enjoy your chatter but wish to be alone with my fish." Silver got the message and left. It was now one thirty and time to go to the theater. Outside it was sizzling hot, but the time well spent at Ralph's put more walk in my tired legs.

  Now was my big break. I paid for my $8.30 senior ticket inside. I asked a tall thin young lady for her advise. "I need a movie without sex and violence."  She replied that she "had the one for me, but it began at two forty." I told her I could wait. "The movie is about a dead artist. The nannies still pictures were shown everywhere after here death.
  Inside the main lobby, I took a cup and filled it with their water I drank two cups and read some of my blogs. After thirty minutes, I walked to the theater. Inside, it felt cold, too cold...but I loved it. The movie was about somebody named Meir or something like that. The speaker bought her boxes at an auction and uncovered hundreds of pictures, letters and more information about her...
  I loved the movie but I had the desire to sleep. I found my car and after asking a few people where the 5 freeway was located, I drove back to Old Town and parked my car. I still felt pissed on the way the new Egyptian owners had treated us. It owner, a Mr Mistake apologized for sending us a 60 day termination  letter. 
  What Mr. Mistake, the new owners,  does not know is I was named after my Great Grandfather who was named after the son of Moses or Gershom. I will send seven more plagues after Mr. Mistake if he does not rekindle my room with an air conditioner.  I will explain more about the Y's fiasco later. 
 I have not slept soundly for one week, and as you can plainly see can still write a bit. Late afternoon I needed another pick me up. OB or Ocean Beach would be my new destination. I needed to fill my head with the smell of salt water and some fish food. 
 I would take the 7:10 Coaster train out of the station and bus my way to OB. Inside the train, I saw Seattle Jim. He had a large nap sack on his back. I hollered out for him to join me. We sat together while the trains conductor warned us it was about to leave the station. 
  Excuse the interruption, but the kind librarian warned a patron not to talk so loud on his cell phone. New rules were posted of more strict rules...finally!  I am on an eight floor computer Outside the air is darker than usual. the winds have made deadly air blow here downtown. 
  I came from Oceanside this morning. I could see the flames and  smoke. My eyes smarted the entire day. The meal was just what my mind needed, something to divert my mind from the heat of the day.
  I got to bed about twelve. The temperature in the room was now below the eight degree mark. I left the door open so I might be drafted into the army and assigned to an air conditioned office.

 

San Diego is Burning.

It was seven fifteen. The Coaster train had dropped me off. It was another freak scorcher. It would be another day in the nineties. I survived the downtown 'Y' one more day. In the last two months, we've had three Santa Ana south west winds.  
   Like most old hotels in San Diego, they are not equipped with A/C units. My room, like thousands of others, runs over ninety degrees during the summer months. San Diego is  bipolar. The yellow ties run away and hide to coastal communities while the others drink their toxic air.
   I entered the Encinitas' Senior Center at eight o'clock. Again there was no wind. It felt good to be in a A/C room. The breakfast special at Coco's was just what I needed to begin my day--eggs, sausages, pancakes and ice cold water. But most of all, it had nice cold air. . I needed to get some papers from the trunk of my car while another siren went by.  
   Outside a blast of hot air hit me. My baseball cap flew off my head on its way to Wriggly Field in Chicago. A few plumes of smoke came from the north, and not the west. Shit, shit, another fire storm. 
   Somebody from the T.V room mentioned the Palomar Airport. Now Palomar Road is a main Carlsbad artery. I use it to eat at the Tip Top restaurant and to view the Rose show. I heard,, by now, thirty homes were down and up to 20,000 residents had packed and left. 
   "What a shame," I thought, "that the city council allowed development inside a forest of trees. I knew that the 5 freeway would be closed today-too many fire trucks. 
   It is quite ere to watch a ball of smoke come my way. But above El Camino Real, there are just too many developments competing with nature. I had hoped to soup at the Tip Top restaurant. The good news is that I can take my car to the commuter station and take the train in. 
   Tonight I will pray for an ocean breeze, but this event is no longer a normal occurs as much as other years. Now the westerly winds play a tug of war with those blast-famous easterlies. 
   Like most I left the Senior Center and fled to the commuter station again. In know way would I try to drive today. The freeways were murky at best. The Coaster train returned me to my hot house cell at the 'Y'. 
  I ate a snack and saw fog in the distance. But this fog had a yellow tint to it. Yes, the freak fire storm spread its ashes all the way to downtown San Diego. 

Happy Birthday at the Li'l Oak Cafe

. It is no secret I travel on Amtrak on these hot mornings. After 74 years,  I know when my mind needs clean air to think. It was only in the eighties today, along with a blast of Santa Ana wind blowing my way...But that was on Monday. Today is like yesterday's Tuesday, in the nineties. 
  I made it to the Encinitas' Senior Center in the nick of time. We were to have beef tips, rice, and a spinach salad for lunch. I entered and noticed a clean white cap. The hat covered his big ears and nose.  Horst reminded me of my own facial features.
  "George, I want to tell you something. The only one who tells me to open my mouth wide is my dentist. The rest of the time my friends beg me to shut it." Horst is running back and forth grabbing any long hair with dimples in the right places.
   Horst I wish to know more about your home town of Essen. After the war, the town of Essen no longer had any houses. There were street signs only. The walls of our renowned synagogue remained. An organization wished to raze it, but because it became an historical monument, it remained.
   "My parents and I went to the Friday and Saturday Sabbath. Our home was strictly kosher. Mom was a fine cook. She wished to give me piano lessons, but I enjoyed sports too much. I enjoyed all sports but in particular boxing, and soccer."
   " I remember that my Dad's father Marcus had an oil and gas business. His two sons were David and Ruben. Their god father was ruler Fredrick William. Dad was from Cologne and Mom from Coblins. My grandfather originally came from Russia to Germany. In my Hebrew school, I studied math, French, German and English. My Aunts name was Elsa, and my uncles was Meyer. There last name was Levenson. We often rode the trains to visit them in Holland."
   "George I need to go now to the get my heart checked. They are going to put dye inside my arteries to see if their is a leak in the stint."

    It was another blast of hot Santa Ana Air. I needed a good AC today. The senior center offers me that along with two tuned pianos and plenty of laughter. This Friday will be Fiesta time here. It upset me that two friends can no longer come due to the Big A.  
   I worked in the commuter room and played the piano until it was time for lunch.
   "Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you..." The Li'l Oak Cafe celebrated birthdays yesterday. Even Lady Barbara showed up late. But now she wore a back patch. Yet she made it as we celebrated May birthdays with ice cream sundaes.
   The Cafe was filled with sweet-tooth seniors. On the menu were stuffed peppers, rice, and vegetables. I gave Lady Barbara my late birthday card. Her 85th was on the 28th of April. She had lost a few pounds from her gridiron frame. But her infectious smile remained. Table 5 now became a twosome as more wished to join the miracle table. (Two tables instead of one.)
  "At the table were Ellen, her daughter from Boston, Craig, Ron, Abe, Thomas, and Barbara. Barbara had saved up a week of words. We tabled our words and let her have hers. "My son took me to the doctor for my ailing back. He x-ray it. I could not believe the twists and turns of my spinal cord.
 The doctor suggested a patch to be worn on my back for the pain. At first I tried a number one, but finally settled for a number six. My pain had been that bad."
  At that point Judy ran off the names for those with May birthdays. I told Lady to play her favorite songs on the piano. She had told me that a friend had brought a DVD of her great uncle's great songs, including For an Irish Rose.
  My little lady played. The world is not the same if Lady does not play. Her smile makes everyone at Table Five smile. I also played a few numbers with a bit more energy. My Lady was back with us.

  As I leave you today. Pray for San Diego. San Diego is ablaze. Few of the hotels have air conditioning-but so what-we don't count.

Black Death in San Diego

Black Death torches San Diego again. The north east blast furnace has placed fire engines on alert.Their trucks are parked outside. Fire truck sirens can be heard in the distance. The wails of fire trucks can be heard everywhere. 
   I began my day at the corner of Broadway and Kettner Blvd. Starbucks sat on the corner. The unseasonably gale force winds have made commuters hostage to  mocha, cold ones, and cappuccinos. I bought a cinnamon role and sat at a corner table.
   I  asked myself the question, why so many line up at Starbucks. Then it dawned on me. Their air conditioners are a tonic for the tired and hot. Their windows have a great view of the street scene. The shop has a bevy of drinks loaded with caffeine. A Starbucks is located on every fourth or fifth street-usually on a corner spot. It is a godsend for the homeless. They are first to arrive in the morning hours. A drink entitled them to use the toilet. You can't miss them. Just look at a typical one.
   He has a back pack on the opposite seat. His eyes look nowhere. His suck-in cheeks hide a mouth without furniture. His burnt dried skin screams for cream. He hold up one side of his pants while he walks. His shoes drag on the floor. He walks in slow motion. He goes back and forth returning with more cups of half and half of sugar. Yet he owns a computer and even a cell phone. He sits on the end corner.
   I walk from Starbucks to the train station. The #567 waits for me on track number 2. Its doors open eight o'clock for my # 567 ride to Encinitas. It is nice to breathe clean air. I know the ozone will build up gradually during the hottest week...ever in San Diego. I may look like a fool but am not one. I 
know  the motels have cool air conditioned rooms, but going and coming can present other problems-like eighty bucks a night. 
   I make it to Encinitas. I can see my car but its eyes are swollen. Black grime and dust cover its windows. The May winds have saturated the city with Black Death, invisible ozone.  I drive up Encinitas Blvd to the senior center. I know the central air will clean my ducks Unlike ducks who use water, clean air allows my bronchial tubes to work. 
   It is supposed to be in the nineties this week. How can anyone survive without an air conditioner? I run to the commuter room, and log on to number one. Ron is on number three. He speaks. 
   "It is a blast furnace outside. It is going to be that way all week. Now with Obama Care, there no longer will be enough doctors to handle this emergency...But next week it looks like rain."
   I tell him I am going to the lunch of pepper rolls. It is birthday day at the Little Oak's Cafe. There are more people at our table 5. Horst is having a procedure that puts a damper on the party but Lady  Barbara shows up-finally. She is lovely to look at but no longer can be by herself. I present this 85 year old with a birthday card. 
   "I so wish the lord to take me." Not yet Barbara, not as long as your fingers can play happy birthday. Judy calls those who have May birthdays. Barbara goes to the piano and plays a few songs. I play 'Happy Birthday.' 
   I have, in my 75 years, never seen so many windy blasts the last month or so. Mix-in the dirt and heat and it produces Black Death. (Not finished.) 
   

The Rose King/ on Amtrak

"I'm just rolling along...on the #567...and in heaven today...today in heaven am I...It's a Santa Ana Day, but no need to mind...The cushioned Amtrak is simply divine..." 
   
   San Diego was having another Red Flag week. Yet I slept like a King in my 'Y' cell. My nose stopped up at night but I woke up alive. I fled to the 922 bus. I needed pure oxygen to survive. As soon as I entered the Number 1 terminal, I sneezed several times. Guess I need pure air in order to sneeze.
   I entered the #567 out of the Santa Fe Station. My nose spoke. "It is all clear ahead." It was great to be breathing again. The porter came up to me.
  "Let me see your ticket." I turned to the new conductor. He stood small, rather than tall, had perfect white teeth. He looked the way all conductors should look: immaculate and clean shaven. The name of Steve was printed on his badge.
   "Well Steve, welcome aboard. I sure wish I had your teeth. My Mom never made me brush mine. How in the hell did you ever get so perfectly aligned white teeth?"
    "My Mom insisted I brush my teeth every morning and evening."
     "Bet your from the Midwest."
     "No. We came to Bloomington first, and then to Leucinger, in the Los Angeles area."
      "You're kidding me. My football quarterback practiced there during the day...I will call you from now on, Mr Perfect." Steve woke up the two passengers behind me. One I know worked as a domestic in Carlsbad. (The 567 stops in the main beach cities.)  
 
   An elderly couple got aboard at Old Town. His wife seemed lost. "Is this business class." She kept repeating herself. It was then I stepped aboard and answered her question. "This is Coach classless." un-business class. You need to go to the front car." Perplexed now-she responded-but we are going backward. "No Mam, this car will return forward after it arrives in Los Angeles These are two headed trains."
   The Lewis's sat across from me. "Are you from San Diego?"
   "We are visiting my son Walter. He lives in La Jolla. We also attended a Rose Convention at the Town and Country Hotel." We are from St. Louis. I am known throughout the world as a lover of Roses."
   "What did you do in St. Louis?"
    " I was a professor of Biology. What I enjoy most about St. Louis' Washington University is its diversity...and it is connected to the most beautiful botanical garden in the world...My passion is Roses. Last year I was voted the Rose King of 2013. The Garden rivals the one for the Queen of England."
    "What does your son do?"
     "Walter took drama classes in collage and lived in England. He was a member of the Shakespearean Group that staged plays throughout England. The cold climate did not agree with him. He moved back a few years ago."
     "By the way, our new bridge was dedicated the Stan Musial Bridge a few years ago. It is beautiful."
   At the Sorrento Valley stop, Walter gave me his card and told me he would send a copy of another book he had written. (On the internet, it described his passion was treating diseases with plant medicines. He was also a Research Ethnobotanist.) 

   I got off at Encinitas and said good-by to Mr. Perfect. I did not look forward to another blast of heat from the Clipper weather front. I had been told an El Nino would soon follow this winter. 
   
 

Happy Mother's Day-Edith

I could hardly wait to get to Los Angeles to see daughter number two. I will name her Jennifer-the name of my Polish grandmother. Besides her 31st birthday, it was also Mother's Day. It still upset me that daughter number two, who I will name Miriam, in honor of my aunt, would not allow Jennifer the privilege of seeing the two babies.
    I felt still perturbed that somebody use the distasteful word, Resettlement on top of the eviction notice. I again took the 567 Amtrak to Encinitas. My weather beaten car waited there for me. I kept thinking about what Miriam has told me.
   "Dad, it is time for a change. You need an apartment and a new life." I felt excited to leave the old 'Y' in downtown San Diego, but a new move for a soon-to-be seventy five year old was scary. Yet  I knew my own apartment would give the chance to invite a girl friend over. My second daughter was right after all.
   The Amtrak train stopped in  Encinitas and I got off. A little old Mexican lady also got off.  She and her two bags of luggage appeared lost. The little old wrinkled one came up to me. "Qunado Le train a San Diego va llegar." I smiled and showed her the platform schedule. "Muchas gracias."
   I filled my tank with gas and bi-passed the Metro-Link Station in Oceanside. It was going on nine thirty. The half sleeping pill made the drive to Los Angeles a slam-dunk. I took one pit stop in Huntington Beach and it dawned on me. My radar fixed on Huntington Beach. Besides, my blind brother Mel lives in an Assistant Living place there.
   The beach air made my lungs sing, and my sinuses smile. Yes, I would make my new home in Huntington Beach. I could play volleyball and help my brother Mel. I ate one of the two tuna sandwiches I had packed and returned to the freeway.
   I scuffled a bit getting into the city. Even though there were more lanes, the freeway builders could not widen the off-ramp streets. Pico Blvd. While driving on the Santa Monica Freeway, I thought about my Mother Edith.
  
   Edith died too young at  eighty one.   But in no way could I have found my identity today if it weren't for Edie. Never did I call her Mom, since she broke too many brooms over my head. But when I needed her, she never failed. I just hope my mom is listening to me in heaven
   I remember the milk fights with brother Mel. I was two years younger than me. I can still hear my Mom scream. "Go outside to fight, but don't you dare dirty my carpet" or "Put on a clean pair of underwear and also clean socks" or "Finish your liver before you leave the table...Remember I brought you into this world and I can kick you out."
   The event I remember my Mom the most for was my fight with Jeffery King on Holt Avenue. The entire Jewish neighborhood watched the fight. Jeffery  was  bashing my head on the sidewalk cement. My Mom heard the ruckus and watched it on the porch. 
    I heard my Mother's scream, "Knock the shit out of him Georgie!" I got up off the pavement and  flipped the bully over on his back. I jumped on him and swung a battery of blows to his head.  Sheldon and Allen managed to pull me off.
   Now going on four years of age. Mom delighted in providing me with a dime. A dime meant everything to me at four o'clock. That was when I heard the music, Mary Had a Little Lamb coming from the Good Humor truck. Max always knew what I wanted, a chocolate chip ice cream cup.  "Here is another dime Max, I just beat up Jeffery." "Keep it Georgie. this one is on the truck"
   But most of all, she got me glasses when I could not see. Edith took my to the orthodontist to fix my teeth. She even paid $20 for a psychologist when I had the first of many breakdowns. Edith always called, during good and bad. But the best day-by far-was Sunday. Nobody could beat better batters on our waffle iron. The smell of bacon and syrup was all I needed to skip out of bed.
   Hey, if Harry is with you in heaven, tell him I eat great fruits all the time. I just bought six for .39 cents each at the Ranch Market in back of the Tip Top Restaurant. Make sure to wish Sally, Bella and the other mothers a Happy Mother's Day.  

  Well I arrived at my daughter's apartment. It took her awhile to wake up. Her service dog, Oscar did not bark this time. She is familiar with my smell. She was celebrating her 31st birthday on Mothers Day. I bought her, also, a Mother's Day card since she has been a doting mother for her dog. She bought it four years ago. We walked up to Coffee Bean on Wilshire.
   "Dad, what do you want?" Just get me water. I was finished with my tuna sandwich. She told me that many restaurants had already paid back the two million that the basketball owner Sterling  had already paid. She then spoke about his son.
   "Scott shot my buddy at Beverly High School. Now he walks with a cane. By the way, Cheviot Hills was abuzz two nights ago. We heard drones all night." It was probably Obama's flying circus He spends more time campaigning than attending to business inside the oval office. (Not finished.)
  

  

 
 

Balboa Park Dance.

Too much energy, that is right. I felt excited but nervous about moving from the YMCA in San Diego. I also felt excited that possibly my blog had a lot to do with bringing Horst back in the classroom. He loves sharing his experiences with students. His story is shaping up in a book bout his life. Never did I ever fathom writing about his life or Lady Barbara's. His book title will be, "I want to tell you something." 
   Just about every-other Thursday the Seniors put on a dance at the Balboa Bay Club. It is off of President's Way. The dances go from one to three thirty. All the regulars were there. After I took pleasure in playing the Steinway piano at the entrance. I paid the three dollars and walked inside.
   I noticed Lipstick off on the side. She feels nice to snuggle with on the dance floor. I walked up to her and pointed, not wishing to show off my missing-tooth mouth. She jumped and we were on the floor. The four piece band played a Tango.
    "I forgot how smooth you dance, George." Mom gave me dance lessons at Robertson Park when I was thirteen, and that is how I met my wife. "How did it happen?" Well I met her at Casey's Bar inside the town of Westwood. I had brought me Uke with me and serenaded the ladies. I went to her table of five women. I asked the first four for a dance. They refused. Number 5 jumped up and screamed, 'Yes'. From then on, I just hate the number 5.
    Well Lipstick, what is it you do? The bleached blond with heavy red lipstick answered. "I walk my dog and go dancing a lot. I don't care for bridge or any of those old-lady games. My doctor wants me to dance as much as possible...I have seven grand kids but seldom see them. I am too busy dancing."
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a lovely blond try to sneak a chocolate cake. She was tallish with nice curves in the right places. I continued to dance with Lipstick. The Fox Trot and Tango lessons had paid dividends. Many ladies looked my way now. Yes, I felt like a gentleman on the dance floor.
    I really did see to much that got my attention, except the cake in the rear. At the break, we were served lemonade, cheese, and grapes. Oh, yes, Lipstick left the table.so looked for another. Again, my Balboa Park my new dancing legs and piano hands provided me with loads of confidence. 
   "Now it is time for a circle dance. Boys, line up here, and girls there." Now usually I don't go for these dances. I just don't wish to be stepped on by a big-footed gal. Yet I enjoyed making the ladies happy. One large freckled lady wished to speak.
   "I just don't know why there is always more women than men." Well, dear the answer is clear. You ladies have put the men in their grave by your  endless chatter. My last girl friend, Shelly, made me miserable. All she did was talk and complain. "Now don't put that down in your blog," she insisted. 
    It was now three o'clock. Now remember the blond who tried to steal the cake before the break. Well she looked a lot better to me now. That always happened when my male hormones were awaken. It perhaps was the grapes.
    I waited for the right moment. I saw this gorgeous filly walk to her table. She picked up her handbag and began to leave. Here is my chance. I stealthily walked up to her and gave her a gentle shoulder tap. The filly turned around.
    "I was about to leave. My ride to San Marcus is waiting...but...my you have gorgeous blue eyes." You can thank my Mom, Edith...What about a last dance..."Well, a quick one." I took the light blue eyes damsel for a last dance.
     My you have pretty eyes. What is your name? "My name is Agnes and I used to be a professional dancer. Was that you who played the piano earlier?" Yes I is was. And you too have gorgeous blue eyes. 
     I returned Agnes to her table and gave her my e mail. Usually I bat about one out of three. But lately with all my missing teeth, I am soon forgotten. Yet, I will be getting an appliance and the dentist in Oceanside. Dam I should have brushed my teeth! 

   But my day was not over. I decided to make it a real day by treating myself to a Pizza Bella, in Old Town. Their antipasto is worth the cost of gas. Yet their everything-pizza puts you in orbit.

   
  
 
 

More with Horst Cahn

Horst Cahn was upset. He handed me a slice of the U.T. for me to read. It appeared a Senator from Tennessee compared our health plan to the Holocaust. I told him the Senator probably meant 'catastrophe' instead of Holocaust  but that did not calm Cahn down. Nothing could today. He wished to vex his anger using me as a sounding board. (Webster's dictionary defines Holocaust as the complete destruction of people.) 
   "Look here George. Look at what the kids from the Oceanside school sent me. Some have written letters to my home...Looks as if I will be going to many schools now."
    He then retrieved a clipping from the United Tribune. "Look at my tattoos. All that senator needs to do is go to Auschwitz, then he will understand the true meaning of Holocaust. Auchwitz was the only camp that tattooed its prisoners."     
   "Roosevelt did not provide visas for my family to immigrate to the United States. They stopped all immigration...My sister moved to a Polish town and bore a baby...When the Germans invaded Poland, one soldier threw my sisters baby against the wall. When she tried to get it, he stuck her with a bayonet."
   Again we sit at Table 5, the Miracle table in the Little Oak's Cafe in Encinitas. Horst Cahn, Thomas and Gregorio are there, besides good old me, or most of me-that is. I lost another tooth to time again, but at least there  is no more pain. 
    Lady Barbara is home, nursing a chronic back problem. She had curvature of the spine when a child without any correction. Abe is still in the hospital. We are having Chicken Bearnasise with wild rice, Asparagus and a Spinach salad. I made a tuna sandwich instead. 
    "Your daughter did not call, George. I will be in the hospital next week for a heart exam. Like I told you, my heart was never the same after Auschwitz. I have already had two splints placed in my heart. My doctor wishes to put dye into me to find out the problem."
     The strawberry short cake was served up. I cut the strawberries for Gregorio and began to eat my tuna sandwich. A helper asked Gregorio to have two more permits ready for his van to pick him up. Gregorio is our Mad Russian who conducted an orchestra while Joe Stalin listened. He could easily be mistaken for Santa Claus. (Stalin ruled Russia during and after the war.)  
    He smiles while I cut his food. His walker is to his side. He removes his dentures from a plastic container and begin to eat. He enjoys good food, but is excited by my conversation with Horst, the only living survivor of a Bunda camp in Auschwitz. I refill the coffees for Thomas and Gregorio and sit down to hear more Cahnisims. Horst today has my complete attention. I have clipped and pasted what he said today. I know you are bored with food but eat up every mouthful he has to say. 

   "Horst, how did you get to the United States after the Russians liberated you."
   "My wife Elizabeth and I stayed in Bremenhafen, Germany. I worked as a Chef and we bore our two sons there. There names were Eric and Dan. The American Council gave us permits to enter the United States. The W. Haan, a military ship, took us to Ellis Island. Many carried papermache suit cases  to carry their clothes. Their possessions fell to the floor."
    What year did you sail for the United States? 
    "It was 1939 we came here with my parents. I decided on Rochester, New York to live. I worked in a Country Club there as a baker. I had worked back in Germany as a baker. After the sick baker returned to work, my boss hired me as the chef." (He meant 1948.)
    "Both of my kids went to a Jewish school there. We stayed about five years in Rochester before I decided to fly to California. At first we took an apartment in La Jolla, and then decided on perhaps Oceanside. I wished to open my own Delicatessen."
    "Do you know what Delicatessen means, George?"  Hell if I know. "Well 'essen' means food and 'delic' means delicious."
     Why didn't you begin the business in La Jolla? (Horst answers by using the hard 'J' sound rather than the Spanish one.)
    "The people were too snobbish. And besides, one daughter began college in Northern California. I thought about Oceanside and decided on Cardiff. It was called Cahn's Delicatessen, and located on Buckingham Street."
     His mind now wandered to Big John. He wished to begin another deli in Cardiff. His deli is called the Tip Top, and is well known in Carlsbad. 
    "I told big John to begin one in Carlsbad. Why should we compete with each other. I also warned him not to put so much salt in his food. He has huge hands and a hand-full meant to much. He took my advice." (I believe that Big John may also have come from Essen,Germany. I eat there all the time.) 
    "My restaurant sat only 60 people. It began to flourish when I added another ingredient for my cheese cake. Everyone from miles around telephoned their orders.  I made enough to send all my kids to college on that cheese cake." 
     Horst finished his salad plate. He wore a white cap and a nice sports combination below it. ( call the Encinitas Senior Center for lunch or if you wish to speak with my buddy, Horst Cahn.   
     
   

Return Trip to San Juan Capistrano

Yesterday I was all set to take the Amtrak 567 to the Carlsbad's Sunday Beach Street Fair. It is the once-a-year's beach city's big event. Exhibitors would  blanket the downtown area selling everything you could imagine. It closed in on eight o'clock and I had to get ready for Amtrak's 567 train to Carlsbad. No car for me, I love to read and view the sea. Besides, I love to listen to music and watch men trying to assault Mount Everest. (rock climbing)
   I prepared to leave when my phone rang. It was my first daughter.
   "Dad, I am taking the kids to the petting zoo. Do you wish to meet us there? I will be coming alone."
   '"Of course, I can always attend the fair next year, but seeing my two grandkids is my World's Fair for a Day. Of course I think the world of them.
    "Meet us at the petting zoo"
   Like last time, I bought an Amtrak ticket for twelve and change. I exchanged my blog card for Gail's ticket and climbed aboard at eight ten. The 567 leaves at eight o'clock and makes all Coaster stops along the way. That perk is the trip cost me only from Oceanside to San Juan Capistrano.
   White Death sat across from me two seats down. She had to be climbing one hundred. I have never seen such white hair in my life, except for Snow White. Her ever-worn face clutched a paper. Her eyes closed yet she still clutched her paper. Kiss marks covered her hands and boney long fingers. Miss Whiteman only needed to chew on See's candy to bring back the good old forties. I imagined her sewing on an original White sewing machine. Still as death she sat.  .
   Sorry for this spur-of-the-moment description, but my train treat on Amtrak is not just reading and looking at the always changing scenic view, but watching people older than time.
   The 567 chugged into the old Capistrano station. I walked south and felt the cool air. "Why didn't I wear a jacket, you fool," I told myself. I turned right next to a museum and walked few feet and turned a corner to buy a ticket.
   My first daughter saw me. She pointed to the cashier to let me in She had paid  for me.
   'Hurry Dad, I can't allow Spring to stay inside too long." She carried Spring, all head and eyes. Her blue eyes rivet on me every time the seven month year old sees me. Inside the petting ring sat Spring, my first born grand daughter. She was handling a guinea pig.
   'Take it easy...not too hard. You are killing it...That's better...Give it more lettuce" Our attention was focused on the three year old. Summer Time just kept sucking her bottle and looking where her round hairless head too her. My daughter had her strapped to herself inside an apron. She could have been a kangaroo baby.
   A few kids were petting rabbits and donating vegetables their Mom's had bought. There was horse back riding, and also a train ride. A large party was going on further down.
  Now Spring wished to go on the train. "George, wave, wave...that's better." 

   Now it was time for lunch. We gathered everything up and strolled towards Rubies. My daughter told me it had a  friendly bathroom for the kids. 
   Spring Time could or would not sit still. We ordered the usual, a turkey burger and the real one for me. I got a coloring paper with crayolas and began to shade in the characters. She also colored and preferred the fries to the hot-dog-on-a-stick. (I  ate it later.) 
   We then went to the park, in back of the train station. There was a slide, swings and also a horse saddle. I became a kid again. My train back to San Diego would leave at 1:43 I kissed my daughter the two grand ones good-by. 
   I took a last look at the historical Victorian houses planted adjacent to the rail road tracks. It resembled a Garden of Eden with old but well kept up houses wishing me a good trip. The sun was hot, but it felt just right. 
   "Choo, choo,choo" Well that is my train, see you next time on the Blue Eyed Special 
 

Last Days of the Y.M.C.A

  It is May Eleventh. I just knew it would be a hot blazer this week. My steering-wheel would not allow me to touch it. Back safely at the 'Y', a courtyard party was going on. Several kids were playing inside the offices of Sir Tomas Cartwright, our esteemed manager.  
  I found out that he had been fired by the new owners, Egyptians. I could only surmise that they had come here in fear of their safety back in Cairo. I also wondered if they would treat Christians or Jews the same way they did in Egypt.
  But I also wondered why the toilets now longer were kept up, and no longer was there a vacuum. My did they wish us out? Too bad the letter of eviction did not have a date. Of course it was all about greed and money.(Actually it was a termination notice.)
 I woke up at at about five o'clock. No longer did hear my next door neighbor scream. The cell to my right no longer played rap music. A few good men left for the few bucks these middle easterners threw at them. . 
  The downtown 'Y' had given our walking papers on May Day or the First. The eviction noticed went something like this. "To our valued guests, you are hereby given a 60 day notice to leave. We will provide the equivalent to two months rent three days before you vacate your room. Good Luck and Good By. At the top were the words, Relcoation Assistance Notice. (Guess the manager needed to relocate the 'o' and 'a'. 
   The notice was signed by Alvin Mansour, President of Oram Properties. He assured us of safe and affordable housing. Few of these tenants could understand the legalese. Yet they treated the passengers like those in steerage class. 
   Of course my mind wandered to Horst Cahn, and my Polish Ancestry. Adolf Hitler and his Nazi party gave the Jews a similar sendoff, only they were sent to gas chambers instead of learning a new trade.  
  Yet I had two months to leave. I took a long hot shower, shaved with my Bic and organized my room. The last days of the 'Y' would be my celebration with the past. I wondered what room did Charles Lindbergh had stayed  in for one dollar. Just maybe I slept in his bed.
   Lindbergh had flown the 'Spirit' to France for the first Trans Atlantic trip across the ocean. 1927 to receive a big prize and a large parade on his return. He was the first to fly non-stop over the Atlantic. He had trained his plane off of Dutch Island in San Diego. 
  
   I made my hot boiled eggs in the kitchen. For the first time, there were towels by the sink and no cock roaches to join me for breakfast. The second floor T.V. no longer screamed religious programs or rap music. It was silent. 
  I paid my $800 rent, vacuumed, wrapped my back pack over me and out the front door I skipped. A homeless kid walked along with me screaming a lot-of-non-sense into my right ear. He walked to my inside. I came to India Avenue and saw the same gal, much older than her years. She wore wrinkles and a effervescent smile. Her hand reached out. 
  "Sir, could you spare some change", she begged. ""Not today" I replied. The one who had walked to me had stopped to pick up a cigarette butt. A few drops of rain hit me in the face. On my head I wore the same Chicago White Socks hat. I had found it at the Town and Country during the November Jazz Feast. I bumped my Compass Pass and entered the Coaster. The commuter train slept on track number three. My car was waiting at the Encinitas Train Station. 
   While on the train, my mind wondered back to the old historic hotel. Now it would be torn apart and remade into a W, Weston, or Winsome Hotel. The new hotel would feature air conditioners and also update their rates to two or perhaps three hundred a night. 
   The thousands who befriend San Diego will no longer afford the exorbitant fees to stay by the Harbor. For me, I was going to move anyway. The summer room temperature in my room hovers around ninety during the day. 
   It is time for me to just move along. Someday when I am rich I will return to my favorite hotel, the YMCA. I think I will now sing the song with the above title. 
   
    
    

The Y.M.C.A. is Closing Its Doors

I have heard from a Y.M.C.A. staff member here that it will close in two months. "Miss Gloria gave the new owners the stamp of approval to buy it, and rehab it." Gloria replaced Mayor Feltmore until a new mayor could be elected. He sits in the City Counsel meetings held on Monday's and Tuesday's.
   I have lived in this historical monument on Broadway for three years.  Before it became a Army and Navy building in 1924, it was owned by International Harvester. The 500 West Building probably will be gutted with central air, at long last, but don't hold your breath. Others have promised to enhance the edifice, but didn't.
   I have survived a number of spider bites, Cock Roaches eating my left overs, and me when there was none. Bed Bugs shared my bed causing me to scratch and finally wear pajamas. The Cock Roaches live inside the walls have lookouts and sentries ready to lead the charge to a anything  that smells of food.
  Three years ago in May, I moved in to the Hotel Loco. My next door neighbor, a writer. coined the term. Sir Thomas Cartwright ruled with a sensitive thumb. I remember the day, three years ago, when I moved into my little cell on the second floor. There was a small refrigerator, eleven inch T.V. and a small bed in front of a window that looked outside into the courtyard.
 "We can't find your application. HUD needs proof of your monthly income." Exhausted, I ran back to my car parked on G Street and India Avenue. I found my last check's stub and gave it to him. He made a phone call and I saw my room."
  "Mr. Garrett, You can have as many towels as you wish. Also, we offer coffee and apples in the morning. Your room will be cleaned every week." So much for promises.
   My first day there I went to the 'Y's kitchen to make scrambled eggs. A heavy set black man with a Caribbean was cutting up a large garlic roll. I sat down and said the food looked good. From then on it was war with 'Jelly Belly'. "Go f...k yourself! He wore a towel draped over his engine after showering. We always bumped into one another until last year when he threatened my life.
  HUD sent us patrons from across the border. They were rehabs and in remission from T.B. Whopping Cough or from Drugs. Many inmates slept during the day and walked the halls at night. Few could sleep during the hot days.
   Why two years ago, San Diego registered 102 degrees. I slept at Lindbergh Field that week. Sir Thomas refused to ask the owners to place a air conditioner above my head. Since five, I has suffered with  asthma  and bronchitis, but he did not care. Even a letter from my doctor did little good. I new when my rooms temperature hit over 85 at night, to go to a hotel or the airport.
   You see, concrete holds heat, unlike adobe. With hot weather, its takes the building a few days to release the heat. Also, San Diego is make up of many skyscrapers. Yes, the are beautiful like the Wesson or the Hyatt, but these big blocks block the Harbor breezes, quite unlike Oceanside or Carlsbad. These monsters not only hold the heat in, but also the ozone, pollen and particles.
   Two days ago, we got our walking papers. For the three with wheel chairs, I hope they can find anther hotel with an air conditioner. For me I will survive on my retirement. My next headquarters will have an air conditioner or at least, be by the sea with an unencumbered breeze.
    Before I forget it, Charles Lindbergh, remember the Spirit of St. Louis, for a few months. It cost him a dollar a night then until he moved to the Grant for two Washington's.

A Perfect Storm

The story about the Perfect Storm has been updated. Firestorms hit San Diego this week. Thousands have bee sent home packing their bags. To my south is the Big Bernardo fire, and to my north is the fire storm in Carlsbad. (Today is the 14th of May.)
   I fell asleep in the 'Y' for one hour. At about six, the phone rang. It took me a minute to regain my senses. It was my daughter.  "Dad, how are you coping with your asthma. I am worried. The newscast said it hit a record in San Diego. Does the hotel have my number? And do you still wish to have an ash funeral?

   Listen. I am still alive. What is that noise in the background. Put Allison on. "She is trying to stand. Here Allison speak to Grand Pa. 'Grapa'. So how is school? "Everything is great and I adore my two babies. When is the fifth. I get paid and then we can drive down there and see you."  Now don't forget to bring my volleyball. Love George 

    After the call, I gave what she said a long thought. In no way could I die now. I needed to see my two blue eyed babies. But I can't stay here in this hot tomb...At least not for now. I decided to take the nine o'lock Amtrak out of the Santa Fe Station. I would cleanse my lungs and provide a break in the day. I did it. My Compass card was good for that train. In fact,  many use voided Compass cards since Amtrak does not have a gadget to check their validity. They get a free ride.  

  It did the trick. I felt like a new man when I returned with Dolly, my trusted car. I parked in the Commuter Station and took the Green Line Trolley back to Santa Fe. I think my mind needed an aversion to the Black Death that hovered over San Diego. 

This morning, I felt fine. The  weather man spoke of records and breezy conditions again. To celebrate another day in the life of Cruisin' George, I drove to the Harbor Sheraton Hotel and took in its free air. I read their complimentary  paper, the U.T. and thought about eating breakfast there. 
   It is unforgivable that our City Council did not decree that seniors should have the right to air conditioning-after all-we deserve it. I have survived three years in a filthy place in order to cut corners for my family. 
  The scoffed and made fun of me when I gave my speech about the dank air at the Y.M.C.A. (Now it will be updated, and luckily for me, I survived. None of city council men will get my vote-on the contrary-I will support anybody on the clean air ticket