Today is the 26th of August, one day after Horst Cahn's 89th birthday. I returned to an old Post and changed the title because of an earlier senior moment.
Today will be another hot one in San Diego. No clouds in sky today as I trucked my way down India Street and made my right turn on D Street for Amtrak #567. I just love letting Amtrak do the driving. It is free with my $41 Compass pass.
Too bad some shit-poor politicians placed sky-scrappers by the bay. Not only did it cut off circulation, but kicked off the view from downtown -- it was almost as bad when earlier decisions replaced street cars with buses.
I packed a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast. Also, I bought a Wall Street Journal and carried a few pages of my football story to edit. At exactly 8:10 the doors of Amtrak #567 opened. I knew Rick was our conductor today. He always unlocks the sliding doors at that time.
I got on and took a deep breath. I needed to expel the fumes of the city and replace them with air. I removed my football story and began to edit it. Rick walked down the aisle to check tickets.
"Headed for Encinitas?"
Yes Rick. What day in October is your last?
"October the 30th, a Thursday, is my last day."
Well, what will you do on the 31st?...He paused while a two passengers turned their heads to listen.
"Golf. I will play golf. I have invited our president to be my caddy for a day -- that if he is not too busy."
Now amicable Rick turned and walked away. The well groomed smiling conductor will be missed. I got off at my Encinitas exit, rode to the senior center and wrote what you read this morning. what you are reading.
Now train in on a post written several months earlier. It was about another birthday.
I would be leaving the downtown 'Y' Yesterday I felt too good for an afternoon nap. I needed more information about the only living survivor of a labor camp inside Poland. Horst Cahn had mentioned that he worked as a baker and then chef inside a country club in Rochester, New York. I wished to find out the name of the club.
I took the trolley from the American Plaza to Market Street. A block or two later I found myself on the ninth floor. A few people were enjoying the view of the Harbor South. One could make out the Tijuana mountain range, North Island, and of course the Coronado Bridge. One was having lunch. Yet it was too hot to view the scenery. It felt like ninety degrees on top of the new San Diego Library.
I entered the Genealogy room and asked Derek for help. He directed me to a computer and Cahn name lit up the screen. I scrolled down and hit Rochester, New York. His date of birth, city, and name of spouse brought up a treasure trove of information
A copy of his Certificate of Information helped a great deal. The labor camp of Auschwitz was boldly printed as were date of birth, 25 Aug.1925. The prisoner's No. matched his left arm, #104909. His name was given as Horst Israel and last permanent address was Hindenburgstr.22 in the city of Essen.
He was imprisoned because he was "Jude-Sch" Sahutzhaft. He was treated in Hospital Monowitz from October 20th until the the 13th of November 1943. His father's name was David Cahn and mother's Hedwig Markus.They were arrested on the 27th of February 1943 and arrived at camp on the third of March.
The city directory proved he was a Baker and lived at 236 Brooklawn Drive #18 in 1959. And there it was! The name of the country club.
He had begun as a baker, and later "When the chef became ill, he took over as the chef of the Irondequoit Country Club. Other documents showed he had entered the Displaced Persons Refugee Camp in February 2nd, of 1951. From Munich he was given a travel document number 1-609984 and placed on the General W. G. Haan sailing for New York.
It took me a few minutes to begin his life inside Ancestry.com. More would unfold later. Yet to write a documentary, I needed to understand the State of Germany inside 1943. The same room has three microfilm machines. A librarian gave me October of 1943 and it appeared that Germany had already lost the war.
A Czech survivor told our military that Germany was building missiles that could fly over two hundred miles. The citizens no longer spoke of winning the war, as there cities inside the Ruhr basin were bombed night and day by liberator bombers.
Nuts and Bolts: Dietrich Bonnoeffer will be speaking as a Nazi dissident at the North Coast Calvary Chapel at 1330 Poinsettia Lane in Carlsbad. The event is August eight at seven p.m.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Mr. Sexy going away
I needed a change. Our National Kitchen was boiling, and Chef Obama was no where in sight. I just knew my parents, Edith and Harry would be at Del Mar studying the racing form for the summer meet. And Besides, San Diego had been run over by Comical looking folks.
I returned from the new downtown library and made a call to my daughter. She sounded perplexed. "Dad's there are drones flying over Roxbury Park, in Beverly Hills. I believe our president is politicking again. Why Isn't he aware that a wars are going on over the world.?"
"Dear, just enjoy yourself today. Stay inside since it is going to be another hot one. And be happy a guided missile is not coming into your backyard...as eventually it will."
I made two tuna sandwiches and got ready for my 12:30 appointment for the Coaster train to Solana Beach. For a minute or two I sat on the 'Y"s Stairs and enjoyed Comic-Com scenery. An older man walked by and stopped.
"I will try, but it is difficult. My wife died last week, but at least she is in a better place."
"That is where you are wrong sir. You are now walking in a better place, San Diego." I got a smile out of him and left for the 12:30 Coaster. At about 12:20 the Coaster train arrived at the Santa Fe Depot. An endless throng of Comic-Com personalities came off the long train. The conductor told me it was at least more than one thousand. people. They had been crushed like sardines.
I go on and looked forward with my time with Harry and Edith, my parents. We spent many a-summer vacationing in the forties at the Del Mar Hotel. We met Jimmy Durante, Betty Grable and lots of horses running on the beach. I played kiddie tennis with a girl named Penny. I was told that Buddy Clark was her father. (I found out she died in a car accident later that month. I believe he was a well known song writer.)
The first time I went with my Dad, I believe in the forties. He bet on a horse called On Trust and Vino Fino beat him out. As you can tell, the races must have made an impact on me at an early age. And today I will certainly make sure my grand daughters, Spring and Summer have a run at the track.
After a bus ride to the park, I removed my Diamond Card to enter the grandstand at half price, or three dollars. I carried my Ralph's shopping bag with sandwiches and also my Canon camera. I wished to capture the image of the track today. Today I would not bet a farthing. By the way, the Diamond card get you in free on Wednesday and also can be used as a debit card.
In the second race for six furlongs, I removed my camera. I wanted a picture of the horses entering the stretch. The number 11 left the gate too fast and I knew it would quit. But there it was ahead and going away by three lengths as my camera went off.
The Tote Board did show it was number 11 that won the race. I could not believe what it paid: $108 for two dollar bet. I looked over at the man next to me. He had a racing form in front of him. "Is there anything in that form that would make him a winner?" He, like other betters, was in a dour mood. The Hawaiian obliged me since sex never entered the mind of the wagerers.
"He won two races after the last which he lost by three lengths." He obviously was in a sour mood as almost everyone did not pick Mr. Sexy.
In the fifth race, I had a hunch on a new rider down from Los Alamitos. Patty the Hat told me about a jockey named Van Dyke. She had won several races betting him and even had taken a picture with him. I met her on Amtrak during the Los Alamitos meet.
Again, I did not bet, and besides the above jockey rode silks number 13. It's name was Lil Swiss Echo. Turning for home, the horse seemed to stop and then his leg folded up like a rule. The jockey fell and turned over like a rag doll, over and over.
There was a hush in the crowd. The horse tried to gallop, but on one leg. Curtains were placed around the horse where it was euthanized. A large van took him off the track. At least there no longer would be any starting gates for him. It was the fifth horse to go down in this early meet. Of course I felt sick. I felt sorry for its sire and mare.
I left after the sixth race and jumped on a bus that took me to the station. There, a Coaster train returned me back to San Diego. The five forty Coaster railed me back to San Diego. I felt great to have been at the great race place. (At the time of editing, eight horses have gone down. The turf course will be MRI'd to find out why.)
Nuts and Bolts: I came to Encinitas today on Amtrack. The conductor usually places a tag over our head so she knows when are stop arrives.
"Where you headed today, sir...Now no more of your wisecracks."
"HellifIknow," I replied.
"You must me joking, where are you going?"
The above was repeated several times. But it summarizes how I spend every day. I am life's daily stowaway, and never quite know where my kayak will take me.
I returned from the new downtown library and made a call to my daughter. She sounded perplexed. "Dad's there are drones flying over Roxbury Park, in Beverly Hills. I believe our president is politicking again. Why Isn't he aware that a wars are going on over the world.?"
"Dear, just enjoy yourself today. Stay inside since it is going to be another hot one. And be happy a guided missile is not coming into your backyard...as eventually it will."
I made two tuna sandwiches and got ready for my 12:30 appointment for the Coaster train to Solana Beach. For a minute or two I sat on the 'Y"s Stairs and enjoyed Comic-Com scenery. An older man walked by and stopped.
"I will try, but it is difficult. My wife died last week, but at least she is in a better place."
"That is where you are wrong sir. You are now walking in a better place, San Diego." I got a smile out of him and left for the 12:30 Coaster. At about 12:20 the Coaster train arrived at the Santa Fe Depot. An endless throng of Comic-Com personalities came off the long train. The conductor told me it was at least more than one thousand. people. They had been crushed like sardines.
I go on and looked forward with my time with Harry and Edith, my parents. We spent many a-summer vacationing in the forties at the Del Mar Hotel. We met Jimmy Durante, Betty Grable and lots of horses running on the beach. I played kiddie tennis with a girl named Penny. I was told that Buddy Clark was her father. (I found out she died in a car accident later that month. I believe he was a well known song writer.)
The first time I went with my Dad, I believe in the forties. He bet on a horse called On Trust and Vino Fino beat him out. As you can tell, the races must have made an impact on me at an early age. And today I will certainly make sure my grand daughters, Spring and Summer have a run at the track.
After a bus ride to the park, I removed my Diamond Card to enter the grandstand at half price, or three dollars. I carried my Ralph's shopping bag with sandwiches and also my Canon camera. I wished to capture the image of the track today. Today I would not bet a farthing. By the way, the Diamond card get you in free on Wednesday and also can be used as a debit card.
In the second race for six furlongs, I removed my camera. I wanted a picture of the horses entering the stretch. The number 11 left the gate too fast and I knew it would quit. But there it was ahead and going away by three lengths as my camera went off.
The Tote Board did show it was number 11 that won the race. I could not believe what it paid: $108 for two dollar bet. I looked over at the man next to me. He had a racing form in front of him. "Is there anything in that form that would make him a winner?" He, like other betters, was in a dour mood. The Hawaiian obliged me since sex never entered the mind of the wagerers.
"He won two races after the last which he lost by three lengths." He obviously was in a sour mood as almost everyone did not pick Mr. Sexy.
In the fifth race, I had a hunch on a new rider down from Los Alamitos. Patty the Hat told me about a jockey named Van Dyke. She had won several races betting him and even had taken a picture with him. I met her on Amtrak during the Los Alamitos meet.
Again, I did not bet, and besides the above jockey rode silks number 13. It's name was Lil Swiss Echo. Turning for home, the horse seemed to stop and then his leg folded up like a rule. The jockey fell and turned over like a rag doll, over and over.
There was a hush in the crowd. The horse tried to gallop, but on one leg. Curtains were placed around the horse where it was euthanized. A large van took him off the track. At least there no longer would be any starting gates for him. It was the fifth horse to go down in this early meet. Of course I felt sick. I felt sorry for its sire and mare.
I left after the sixth race and jumped on a bus that took me to the station. There, a Coaster train returned me back to San Diego. The five forty Coaster railed me back to San Diego. I felt great to have been at the great race place. (At the time of editing, eight horses have gone down. The turf course will be MRI'd to find out why.)
Nuts and Bolts: I came to Encinitas today on Amtrack. The conductor usually places a tag over our head so she knows when are stop arrives.
"Where you headed today, sir...Now no more of your wisecracks."
"HellifIknow," I replied.
"You must me joking, where are you going?"
The above was repeated several times. But it summarizes how I spend every day. I am life's daily stowaway, and never quite know where my kayak will take me.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
San Diego's Little Synagogue
I was low on funds as usual. Anytime my daughter is low, I give her my last dollar. Yet that is what a good Jewish father has to do. The old Jewish store front shares space with a Chinese laundry. No doubt the Jews became fond of Chinese food since they worked side by side. The little Jewish Church is on Third and Island, to the south of the Gas Lamp area.
Sam the Taxi Man invited me to Sabbath services Friday night. I looked forward to a kosher meal. The small store front was packed. Comic-Com had brought believers inside the little store front. As always, I enjoyed the chants and songs of years ago.
At the end of his service, he gave one of his better presentations, no doubt to engage the new throng of visitors to his sanctuary. I will attempt to paraphrase the main themes. I sat in the back with Sam the Fisher Man and followed the Hebrew but did not understand the words. To bad I never got the Old Testament without English words on top. I will try to paraphrase his speech.
"This morning I felt scared. I saw a throng of people outside my holy store screaming for Israel to make Palestine an independent state. What they didn't understand was one Jewish death has an important meaning to us. Hamas and other fanatical groups have no remorse about killing. They wish to make a name for themselves by blowing up buildings, airplanes and anything. Some wish death so that they can have sex with a thousand virgins."
His speech was interrupted by the sound of Pedicabs and much of the throng of comical looking characters to our town. A burly, hairy, shirtless man entered towing his wife and child from behind. He reminded me of the comic strip Popeye the Sailor man's arch enemy, Bluto. I thought it rather repugnant for one to enter this holy sea dressed this way. I again tuned into the Rabbi's speech.
"When somebody is killed by accident, he must go to a far off place for a period of time to atone for his sins. Otherwise the dead man's relatives can kill him. We as Jews value life, but the terrorists value death."
I looked forward to the Kiddish after the evening service. But it was not to be. It was going on Ten O'clock, way past my bedtime. And besides, I was stuck on the corner, to make room for some forgettable faces. And besides, my appetite was quashed by the shirtless man. I did not wish any of his chesty hairs to mix with my salad.
Instead, I bolted out the door and stopped at Ralph's for their eight piece chicken on special for five and change and a bag of cherries. It would have to do for now, even though heart burn would greet me the next morning.
Well, if you are still with me, it is another hot and Monsoony Day in lovely San Diego. I survived the crush to enter the library and here I am doing what I do best, making music with words. Later I may take the #685 Coaster to Del Mar. It leaves at 12:27 and drops you off at Solana Beach. From there a elevator drops you off at the double-decked buses.
Of course I will not bet, or too much. A family member needed a few bucks so I have to nickle and dime it until the end of the month.
Nuts and Bolts from San Diego: I was told by Manager Bobby that the Y is going to be demolished. What a shame that Mayor Pro-Temp Gloria Okay-ed the deal-at least that was I was told. And the president of HUD never did help us find a suitable replacement. Second Floor Steve now lives outside on Hawthorne and the Pacific Highway....There is also the possibility that the new owners are going to flick it to another one...Bob Korn and HUD us non-existent today. Again the number one problem for San Diego is its lack of A/C's in most of the hotels. San Diego has the worst air quality of any city in the nation which means hat sirens run unabated during our hot spells in August through October.
Sam the Taxi Man invited me to Sabbath services Friday night. I looked forward to a kosher meal. The small store front was packed. Comic-Com had brought believers inside the little store front. As always, I enjoyed the chants and songs of years ago.
At the end of his service, he gave one of his better presentations, no doubt to engage the new throng of visitors to his sanctuary. I will attempt to paraphrase the main themes. I sat in the back with Sam the Fisher Man and followed the Hebrew but did not understand the words. To bad I never got the Old Testament without English words on top. I will try to paraphrase his speech.
"This morning I felt scared. I saw a throng of people outside my holy store screaming for Israel to make Palestine an independent state. What they didn't understand was one Jewish death has an important meaning to us. Hamas and other fanatical groups have no remorse about killing. They wish to make a name for themselves by blowing up buildings, airplanes and anything. Some wish death so that they can have sex with a thousand virgins."
His speech was interrupted by the sound of Pedicabs and much of the throng of comical looking characters to our town. A burly, hairy, shirtless man entered towing his wife and child from behind. He reminded me of the comic strip Popeye the Sailor man's arch enemy, Bluto. I thought it rather repugnant for one to enter this holy sea dressed this way. I again tuned into the Rabbi's speech.
"When somebody is killed by accident, he must go to a far off place for a period of time to atone for his sins. Otherwise the dead man's relatives can kill him. We as Jews value life, but the terrorists value death."
I looked forward to the Kiddish after the evening service. But it was not to be. It was going on Ten O'clock, way past my bedtime. And besides, I was stuck on the corner, to make room for some forgettable faces. And besides, my appetite was quashed by the shirtless man. I did not wish any of his chesty hairs to mix with my salad.
Instead, I bolted out the door and stopped at Ralph's for their eight piece chicken on special for five and change and a bag of cherries. It would have to do for now, even though heart burn would greet me the next morning.
Well, if you are still with me, it is another hot and Monsoony Day in lovely San Diego. I survived the crush to enter the library and here I am doing what I do best, making music with words. Later I may take the #685 Coaster to Del Mar. It leaves at 12:27 and drops you off at Solana Beach. From there a elevator drops you off at the double-decked buses.
Of course I will not bet, or too much. A family member needed a few bucks so I have to nickle and dime it until the end of the month.
Nuts and Bolts from San Diego: I was told by Manager Bobby that the Y is going to be demolished. What a shame that Mayor Pro-Temp Gloria Okay-ed the deal-at least that was I was told. And the president of HUD never did help us find a suitable replacement. Second Floor Steve now lives outside on Hawthorne and the Pacific Highway....There is also the possibility that the new owners are going to flick it to another one...Bob Korn and HUD us non-existent today. Again the number one problem for San Diego is its lack of A/C's in most of the hotels. San Diego has the worst air quality of any city in the nation which means hat sirens run unabated during our hot spells in August through October.
Monday, July 21, 2014
Old Town's Fig Tree
Without fig trees, I would have never survived childhood. I spent many-a-day inside our fig tree. The August fruit is my favorite. As a kid in the forties, I climbed it to keep the black birds away. I enjoyed the older wrinkled one the most, and plucked them just before the birds got to them.
Old town has a few fig trees but none more beautiful than the one in back of the cigar store. Most people visit Old Town for the music, old stores or museums. For me the town is all about trees. To find my spacious fig tree, begin at the white house when you enter the park. It is called the Wrightington House. Ripe purple Concord grapes hover over the patio archway. Grab a few bunches and also the mint growing in the corner. Take a seat and you'll see yellow pomegranate flowers and several olive trees to your west.
To the South is my fig tree. With figs going for five or six dollars a pound, I gorge myself silly on them at the beginning of August. But don't you tell anybody, since it is illegal. Of course I pay the price at night-but who gives a dam. Pick them before the Sparrows and Ravens get to them. Refrigerate the remainders when you get home, or better yet, make fig jam...
When I was a kid, I picked and placed figs into my little red wagon. In the forties on Holt Avenue, I sold figs for a penny each... Sometimes I got lucky and a client would wish to go inside to our only bathroom. In those days, one bathroom sufficed. I charged a nickle for the use of our bathroom. Sometimes I sold the figs off of my Monarch bike. I made a handlebar rack and slid figs inside. There is nothing like a newly ripened fig. My Mom made jam with the extras.
On Holt Avenue off of Airdrome, we also had an apricot and peach tree but they never produced babies. No matter what we did to the fig tree, it always smiled at us. Our street had lots of backyard trees. They served us swell after the 30's depression and World War 2.
Supermarkets did not exist in the forties. Instead, Berman's truck brought other types of fruit into our kitchen. We had the fish man, Helm's Bakery truck, and of course Adore Farms for our milk, butter and cheese.
But the Good Humor Ice Cream Truck was a fitting way to end my day. I can still hear jingle bells while it turned the corner to our street. The truck driver knew I wished a chocolate chip ice cream cup. And did I take my time sucking the cream. Of course I had virgin taste buds and all of my teeth then.
But I dare say the August Fig kept me happy and still alive even today.
Old town has a few fig trees but none more beautiful than the one in back of the cigar store. Most people visit Old Town for the music, old stores or museums. For me the town is all about trees. To find my spacious fig tree, begin at the white house when you enter the park. It is called the Wrightington House. Ripe purple Concord grapes hover over the patio archway. Grab a few bunches and also the mint growing in the corner. Take a seat and you'll see yellow pomegranate flowers and several olive trees to your west.
To the South is my fig tree. With figs going for five or six dollars a pound, I gorge myself silly on them at the beginning of August. But don't you tell anybody, since it is illegal. Of course I pay the price at night-but who gives a dam. Pick them before the Sparrows and Ravens get to them. Refrigerate the remainders when you get home, or better yet, make fig jam...
When I was a kid, I picked and placed figs into my little red wagon. In the forties on Holt Avenue, I sold figs for a penny each... Sometimes I got lucky and a client would wish to go inside to our only bathroom. In those days, one bathroom sufficed. I charged a nickle for the use of our bathroom. Sometimes I sold the figs off of my Monarch bike. I made a handlebar rack and slid figs inside. There is nothing like a newly ripened fig. My Mom made jam with the extras.
On Holt Avenue off of Airdrome, we also had an apricot and peach tree but they never produced babies. No matter what we did to the fig tree, it always smiled at us. Our street had lots of backyard trees. They served us swell after the 30's depression and World War 2.
Supermarkets did not exist in the forties. Instead, Berman's truck brought other types of fruit into our kitchen. We had the fish man, Helm's Bakery truck, and of course Adore Farms for our milk, butter and cheese.
But the Good Humor Ice Cream Truck was a fitting way to end my day. I can still hear jingle bells while it turned the corner to our street. The truck driver knew I wished a chocolate chip ice cream cup. And did I take my time sucking the cream. Of course I had virgin taste buds and all of my teeth then.
But I dare say the August Fig kept me happy and still alive even today.
A Del Mar Saturday
The third race. Yes it was the third race. I bet two on number 2 and three on number 11. Garcia rode number 2. I never use the form -- I bet on good riders. Last year I bet Stevens and came out even for the meet. In the stretch I saw my number 2 at odds of 13/1 come into the picture. The one I thought would win the race-at least It looked like the number one. Yet there was the number 2 catching the leader and at the finish, it looked like a dead heat.
"Who won, the 2 or the 11?" I screamed to a few kids who sat in back of me in Club House seats. Later I found out they were celebrating a birthday for one. My diamond card allowed me to purchase a club house ticket for five dollars.
"We think the number 2 just got up in time." I saw a rerun on large infield screen. I thought number 2 go it by a nose. Sure enough, the totalizator board flashed 2 above the 11? Apparently one of the number ones had been hidden. Both of my long shots finished one and two.
At 13 to one, my return was a shade over $28. Erased were my sins for the day including two Sub sandwiches. Earlier after I had parked my car in the commuter lot, I had purchased two veggie sandwiches at a block shopping center before my my bus ride to the track. I noticed a Peat's Coffee on the corner. I filled my thermos with water and walked across the street to climb on a free shuttle-bus.
The double-decked British bus ride is part of my Del Mar experience. Inside the eleven o'clock bus were a two older couples. Like always, I ease-dropped onto their conversations. A lady older than Father Time spoke to another couple, long past their prime too.
"My sister's hip replacement turned out great. It was a booming success. The only time she has a problems is when she goes to the airport." Just then a man with too much personality threw in his two bits
"My tip for the day is number 10 in the seventh race. It is a sure thing. I bet my life on this nag. But if it loses, don't look for me..." The crusty grey haired old man chirped in another winner. "I used to be friends with Bert Bacharach a long time ago. He told me the only reason he divorced Angie Dickinson was because he wished to be number 1."
Earlier I had watched from the Paddock Tavern. It had a good view of the trainers giving instructions to the riders. The ladies wore colorful outfits and walked like allowance horses. They posed as they walked until the riders up was sounded.
Most of the club house admissions were young, and with legs to match. High healed shoes and easy smiles were a grim reminder that I was an old fossil. Yet the track made me feel young once again. My biggest problem was water.
Parked next to the hot doggy and beer stand was a fountain-at least it looked like one. The gal ahead of me tried to fill her cup. It took several minutes Only drops flowed out, one drip at a time. I almost bought a small soda for four dollars but thought better of it.
I could not get onto the shuttle bus. Two officers were dragging an unwilling better off the bus. The better's pants slid down so one of the policeman needed to shore up his battery. The bus returned me to the commuter parking lot. From there I took the #5 Freeway to the Old Town lot and allowed the Green Line Trolley to take me the rest of the way.
Nuts and Bolts from San Diego: Forget about parking. Take any one of four trains to the Solana Beach station. Two Coaster tickets are accepted on two Amtrak trains. From there, elevator will take you to a bridge. Go across to the double-decker buses. Get a free Diamond Pass and you can save on admittance.
"Who won, the 2 or the 11?" I screamed to a few kids who sat in back of me in Club House seats. Later I found out they were celebrating a birthday for one. My diamond card allowed me to purchase a club house ticket for five dollars.
"We think the number 2 just got up in time." I saw a rerun on large infield screen. I thought number 2 go it by a nose. Sure enough, the totalizator board flashed 2 above the 11? Apparently one of the number ones had been hidden. Both of my long shots finished one and two.
At 13 to one, my return was a shade over $28. Erased were my sins for the day including two Sub sandwiches. Earlier after I had parked my car in the commuter lot, I had purchased two veggie sandwiches at a block shopping center before my my bus ride to the track. I noticed a Peat's Coffee on the corner. I filled my thermos with water and walked across the street to climb on a free shuttle-bus.
The double-decked British bus ride is part of my Del Mar experience. Inside the eleven o'clock bus were a two older couples. Like always, I ease-dropped onto their conversations. A lady older than Father Time spoke to another couple, long past their prime too.
"My sister's hip replacement turned out great. It was a booming success. The only time she has a problems is when she goes to the airport." Just then a man with too much personality threw in his two bits
"My tip for the day is number 10 in the seventh race. It is a sure thing. I bet my life on this nag. But if it loses, don't look for me..." The crusty grey haired old man chirped in another winner. "I used to be friends with Bert Bacharach a long time ago. He told me the only reason he divorced Angie Dickinson was because he wished to be number 1."
Earlier I had watched from the Paddock Tavern. It had a good view of the trainers giving instructions to the riders. The ladies wore colorful outfits and walked like allowance horses. They posed as they walked until the riders up was sounded.
Most of the club house admissions were young, and with legs to match. High healed shoes and easy smiles were a grim reminder that I was an old fossil. Yet the track made me feel young once again. My biggest problem was water.
Parked next to the hot doggy and beer stand was a fountain-at least it looked like one. The gal ahead of me tried to fill her cup. It took several minutes Only drops flowed out, one drip at a time. I almost bought a small soda for four dollars but thought better of it.
I could not get onto the shuttle bus. Two officers were dragging an unwilling better off the bus. The better's pants slid down so one of the policeman needed to shore up his battery. The bus returned me to the commuter parking lot. From there I took the #5 Freeway to the Old Town lot and allowed the Green Line Trolley to take me the rest of the way.
Nuts and Bolts from San Diego: Forget about parking. Take any one of four trains to the Solana Beach station. Two Coaster tickets are accepted on two Amtrak trains. From there, elevator will take you to a bridge. Go across to the double-decker buses. Get a free Diamond Pass and you can save on admittance.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Dancing San Diego with George
Even before spring came along, my brother-in-law played Chopin or Mozart music inside their humble Belmont Shores abode. Still a fetus, Olivia got the message. Yes music massages our souls.
Now my ex-girl friend only dated me cause I could play the piano. Otherwise I bored her. Dementia began to take over her life, but the sound of my piano stalled the Big A. Yet I have gone one step further, I mix music with dancing and that makes all the difference.
Wednesday, I parked my car in back of Napa Auto parts. I had gone there a week ago to buy a motor for my driver-side window. In the rear, I heard music and remembered the dancing club met there every Wednesday between one and three o'clock. Like always, I fell in love with a lovely blue-eyed, grey-haired blond. Yes blond.
My mind can take the oldies back in time, and make a teenager out of them. That is what a great imagination will do for you. Case in point was Lily, a bird from Surrey, England. I fell in love as soon as I felt her warm arm on my chest. But let the story unfold just about the way it happened at the Encinitas' Business Park.
The music box played Blue Tango. I had already paid my three dollars and made my way to the side. She was yapping with another one. A crowd of about seventy had arrived. It was the first time I asked this demure damsel to dance. Something about her face told me she would be simply divine.
"Don't squeeze my hand. Just take at easy with me," I warned her while my eyes danced over her inviting eyes. "Where you from?"
"I was born in London but have lived here in St. Marcos for over twenty years. Thank you for your patience." Lily felt good under my arm while I showed her a new move. The Balboa Park dancing lessons on the weekends are paying dividends.
"Let's go to the other room for a drink.. Are you married?"
"Been divorced for seventeen years...But I do have a boy friend."
We continued to dance and the way she eyed me over, I knew my lunch box now included Lilly from Surrey England. But I was not in a hurry.
"Can I drive you.?" She responded that her girl friend would drive her home. "But I will be coming to the Encinitas Senior Center on Friday.
Yesterday, the sound of music again returned to my life. And By-God did I ever need music. I had just been fitted with an upper plate for my mouth, and it felt good to smile again without revealing the Sahara desert to everyone. Across from me on the five twenty Coaster was OB Mary. She surfs and lives in Ocean Beach and commutes to Palomar College every-other-day.
"How are things going Maria?" She lifted her charming long legs towards me. She wore cut-offs and an eager smile for one so young but not untamed.
"I have been busy. I am working on a paper that shows the link between music and the mind."
The train stopped in Solana Beach and over a hundred returned from the Del Mar Track. I took pictures of their long wide brimmed hats. I had never seen so many long beautiful stems in my life. From my side pocket I removed my camera for a few pictures. The pictures will be placed in the blog later on.
"George, got a great restaurant for you. It is on Newton and Cable Street. You will just love Noodles." She got off and I continued to the old Santa Fe Station.
Nuts and Bolts for today. There are two late Coaster trains tonight. First post begins at four o'clock. So by the seventh race, Del Mar have a view of the stars in the sky. Again, don't drive. Buses, or trains will return you to your parked car elsewhere.
Now my ex-girl friend only dated me cause I could play the piano. Otherwise I bored her. Dementia began to take over her life, but the sound of my piano stalled the Big A. Yet I have gone one step further, I mix music with dancing and that makes all the difference.
Wednesday, I parked my car in back of Napa Auto parts. I had gone there a week ago to buy a motor for my driver-side window. In the rear, I heard music and remembered the dancing club met there every Wednesday between one and three o'clock. Like always, I fell in love with a lovely blue-eyed, grey-haired blond. Yes blond.
My mind can take the oldies back in time, and make a teenager out of them. That is what a great imagination will do for you. Case in point was Lily, a bird from Surrey, England. I fell in love as soon as I felt her warm arm on my chest. But let the story unfold just about the way it happened at the Encinitas' Business Park.
The music box played Blue Tango. I had already paid my three dollars and made my way to the side. She was yapping with another one. A crowd of about seventy had arrived. It was the first time I asked this demure damsel to dance. Something about her face told me she would be simply divine.
"Don't squeeze my hand. Just take at easy with me," I warned her while my eyes danced over her inviting eyes. "Where you from?"
"I was born in London but have lived here in St. Marcos for over twenty years. Thank you for your patience." Lily felt good under my arm while I showed her a new move. The Balboa Park dancing lessons on the weekends are paying dividends.
"Let's go to the other room for a drink.. Are you married?"
"Been divorced for seventeen years...But I do have a boy friend."
We continued to dance and the way she eyed me over, I knew my lunch box now included Lilly from Surrey England. But I was not in a hurry.
"Can I drive you.?" She responded that her girl friend would drive her home. "But I will be coming to the Encinitas Senior Center on Friday.
Yesterday, the sound of music again returned to my life. And By-God did I ever need music. I had just been fitted with an upper plate for my mouth, and it felt good to smile again without revealing the Sahara desert to everyone. Across from me on the five twenty Coaster was OB Mary. She surfs and lives in Ocean Beach and commutes to Palomar College every-other-day.
"How are things going Maria?" She lifted her charming long legs towards me. She wore cut-offs and an eager smile for one so young but not untamed.
"I have been busy. I am working on a paper that shows the link between music and the mind."
The train stopped in Solana Beach and over a hundred returned from the Del Mar Track. I took pictures of their long wide brimmed hats. I had never seen so many long beautiful stems in my life. From my side pocket I removed my camera for a few pictures. The pictures will be placed in the blog later on.
"George, got a great restaurant for you. It is on Newton and Cable Street. You will just love Noodles." She got off and I continued to the old Santa Fe Station.
Nuts and Bolts for today. There are two late Coaster trains tonight. First post begins at four o'clock. So by the seventh race, Del Mar have a view of the stars in the sky. Again, don't drive. Buses, or trains will return you to your parked car elsewhere.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
The Diamond Club
Sorry to have made an error last week. Comic-Com will start next week, not this. Guess I am far from perfect. Yet it was no mistake, I mean my move to San Diego. My kind of town is sexier than any Victoria Secret surprise.
It was another beautiful day in San Diego, where skate boards, bikes, scooters, pedicabs, taxis, trolleys, trains, buses and shuttles make Broadway a day to behold. A ornamented carriage winds around the downtown area with real live horses on weekend days.
Ever since I have given up eating a big breakfast, I have been feel'in my oats. At soon-to-be seventy five, I don't feel ancient. I might even run in the first race at Del Mar this Thursday. The track sent my a mailer to remind me that each Wednesday, hot dogs, and beer are half-price. Of course with my Diamond card, I can watch Wednesday races for free. Also sent was a five dollar voucher for a Saturday race. And since I don't drink I will bring a water thermos tucked inside my back pack. My side pocket will have a camera for all the large Easter bonnets on Thursday. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Of course San Diego needs Del Mar more than the reverse. In no way would San Diego have become so popular without a Bing Crosby and horses. In the forties, anytime Harry told us we were going to the Del Mar Hotel, the expression San Diego had no meaning to us. It, then, was a little town next to the border.
Don't forget Friday night racing begins at four o'clock. This week, there are two late Coaster trains to return you to your commuter parking lot or destination. Next week, the six Amtrak trains will become Coaster's again. Sound confusing, well it is.
Now returning to today. On my way to the #567 Amtrak on my way to Encinitas just left of the tracks, I stopped to stare at the Harbor. This is my living room -- and it is free of charge. A view of Shelter Island and our airport came into view. The sky was half blue. I always sit and stare while sitting on the steal bench. I heard noise in back of me.
A rail crew worked on the trolley tracks. One jolly old soul wore a white hat. Since Cruising George is also curious at times, I motioned for the white hat to come over. He eased his way over while a red flag waved and signaled for an Orange Line to pass.
"Sorry to disturb you. But are you working on the switches today?"
"We are trying to level the track. A jack is lifting the rails and our generator is vibrating to level it. There is a low spot on the rail."
"Interesting. My name of George, what is yours?" Without any prompting, he replied he was the rail supervisor and his name was Jose Galvan. I thanked him and heard the chimes to board the #567 Amtrak for all points north, including all stops inside the coastal area.
I have never felt so tuned into my world. Everything looked rosy and gay to me. I began to read my New Yorker magazine and swept up each article like a vacuum cleaner. My eyes and mind never had it so good. I moved the blinds to hide the sunny glare and removed my tuna sandwich from the overhead compartment.
I made a dam nice sandwich including chopped onions and celery. The tidbits oozed down my throat. The mix of good food and writing made my day begin with a bang. I interrupted the meal to watch the ponies at Del Mar ready themselves for the meet.
A conductor told us we could not use that or any other Amtrak train without a ticket, at least for the first week of the track. Tomorrow would be hat day. Long stems and large hats would be the subjects of today. The gals would look radiant tomorrow.
Got to go now. there is a noon dance up the street. I am in the Encinitas Commuter room.
It was another beautiful day in San Diego, where skate boards, bikes, scooters, pedicabs, taxis, trolleys, trains, buses and shuttles make Broadway a day to behold. A ornamented carriage winds around the downtown area with real live horses on weekend days.
Ever since I have given up eating a big breakfast, I have been feel'in my oats. At soon-to-be seventy five, I don't feel ancient. I might even run in the first race at Del Mar this Thursday. The track sent my a mailer to remind me that each Wednesday, hot dogs, and beer are half-price. Of course with my Diamond card, I can watch Wednesday races for free. Also sent was a five dollar voucher for a Saturday race. And since I don't drink I will bring a water thermos tucked inside my back pack. My side pocket will have a camera for all the large Easter bonnets on Thursday. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Of course San Diego needs Del Mar more than the reverse. In no way would San Diego have become so popular without a Bing Crosby and horses. In the forties, anytime Harry told us we were going to the Del Mar Hotel, the expression San Diego had no meaning to us. It, then, was a little town next to the border.
Don't forget Friday night racing begins at four o'clock. This week, there are two late Coaster trains to return you to your commuter parking lot or destination. Next week, the six Amtrak trains will become Coaster's again. Sound confusing, well it is.
Now returning to today. On my way to the #567 Amtrak on my way to Encinitas just left of the tracks, I stopped to stare at the Harbor. This is my living room -- and it is free of charge. A view of Shelter Island and our airport came into view. The sky was half blue. I always sit and stare while sitting on the steal bench. I heard noise in back of me.
A rail crew worked on the trolley tracks. One jolly old soul wore a white hat. Since Cruising George is also curious at times, I motioned for the white hat to come over. He eased his way over while a red flag waved and signaled for an Orange Line to pass.
"Sorry to disturb you. But are you working on the switches today?"
"We are trying to level the track. A jack is lifting the rails and our generator is vibrating to level it. There is a low spot on the rail."
"Interesting. My name of George, what is yours?" Without any prompting, he replied he was the rail supervisor and his name was Jose Galvan. I thanked him and heard the chimes to board the #567 Amtrak for all points north, including all stops inside the coastal area.
I have never felt so tuned into my world. Everything looked rosy and gay to me. I began to read my New Yorker magazine and swept up each article like a vacuum cleaner. My eyes and mind never had it so good. I moved the blinds to hide the sunny glare and removed my tuna sandwich from the overhead compartment.
I made a dam nice sandwich including chopped onions and celery. The tidbits oozed down my throat. The mix of good food and writing made my day begin with a bang. I interrupted the meal to watch the ponies at Del Mar ready themselves for the meet.
A conductor told us we could not use that or any other Amtrak train without a ticket, at least for the first week of the track. Tomorrow would be hat day. Long stems and large hats would be the subjects of today. The gals would look radiant tomorrow.
Got to go now. there is a noon dance up the street. I am in the Encinitas Commuter room.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
San Diego on a Shoe String.
Four years ago, I moved into the San Diego area. I managed to clip and paste a new way of life for me, on a skimpy retirement check. Four years later, I have learned to be happier on less. In my last post, I described how I saved money by going to a reliable mechanic.
Cars can, and are a headache to drive. There is no doubt about that. I made a big mistake two weeks ago. I drove on a Sunday in San Diego. I did not know the stop and go traffic would tweak my air conditioner. But like my daughter has told me a thousand times, with the good comes the bad.
Whereas a Chevy dealer wished to charge over a thousand dollars to fix my A/C condenser, I took a chance. And what is life without taking a chance now and then. It was the Mobile Station in Encinitas, just east of the 5 Freeway underpass. Now my car Dolly had new hoses and belts, and would you believe my wallet still had money left over. It cost me a bit over $400.
Yet without a doubt, the $41.25 cent Compass Card has kept my laces in my shoes. My shoes have become my driver. I can go on the Coaster, Trolleys, all buses at any time. All I need to do is bump the card on a gadget. There are also, six Amtrak trains that are included in the compass card. Nothing can be finer than to take the liner in the morning. Two leave from Santa Fe Station at about half past eight and ten.
Yes the #567 Amtrak gives me the lift I sorely need during the day. Yes, I have worn out several pairs of shoes, but my blood pressure is normal now. And he ride you ask? Amtrak #567 provides ample seating for those 62 or disabled like me. I can spread my left, slide a curtain to hide the sun, and even brush my teeth in its bath.
Food is no longer expensive. I joined Costco two years ago and feasted on Kirkland Albacore Tuna. The package is only $14 for eight, I said eight large cans. Oh yes, it cost about $50 to join. I buy a salad and other stuff at Ralph's. Nobody can beat their variety of lettuce heads for ninety nine cents. I buy my vegetables at Ralph's but never their produce.
Every-so-often, when my funds are low, I eat lunch at the Encinitas Senior Center. It is not much but with little money, I made my 62 years of age donation at a later time. Whole Foods on C Street has a nice buffet for a few bucks, but the best value for the least is the Tip Top Restaurant in Carlsbad.
Four years ago, the Motel Six across the street directed me there. Go only when hungry for the freshest beef in the land. I told a friend once that "They kill the cows in the back and feed the meat to the ones in the front."
Many come for the Tip Top's all-you-can-eat breakfast. The Big John is a little more than seven dollars but you can order more seconds of their lean bacon, sausages or other meats. Many retirees bring their grandmothers black purse and allow extras to flow inside before going home.
Yet I have saved the best for last. Vince's Grand Market in the rear of the Tip Top offers the best home-grown fruit and vegetables in the land. Hundreds enter to lunch on the best buffet this side of the Number Five Freeway.
There is nary a fat one in the bunch as they munch on fresh strawberries, avocados, and a bevy of fruits, meats and vegetables. And get this, it is all for only $5.95 a pound. Let me repeat, $5.95 for a pound.
Got go now. I need to get to my trunk and unload my tuna sandwich and cherries for a late breakfast. That is right. I have given up breakfast now and then so my belly can afford The Big Bad John Breakfast.
Cars can, and are a headache to drive. There is no doubt about that. I made a big mistake two weeks ago. I drove on a Sunday in San Diego. I did not know the stop and go traffic would tweak my air conditioner. But like my daughter has told me a thousand times, with the good comes the bad.
Whereas a Chevy dealer wished to charge over a thousand dollars to fix my A/C condenser, I took a chance. And what is life without taking a chance now and then. It was the Mobile Station in Encinitas, just east of the 5 Freeway underpass. Now my car Dolly had new hoses and belts, and would you believe my wallet still had money left over. It cost me a bit over $400.
Yet without a doubt, the $41.25 cent Compass Card has kept my laces in my shoes. My shoes have become my driver. I can go on the Coaster, Trolleys, all buses at any time. All I need to do is bump the card on a gadget. There are also, six Amtrak trains that are included in the compass card. Nothing can be finer than to take the liner in the morning. Two leave from Santa Fe Station at about half past eight and ten.
Yes the #567 Amtrak gives me the lift I sorely need during the day. Yes, I have worn out several pairs of shoes, but my blood pressure is normal now. And he ride you ask? Amtrak #567 provides ample seating for those 62 or disabled like me. I can spread my left, slide a curtain to hide the sun, and even brush my teeth in its bath.
Food is no longer expensive. I joined Costco two years ago and feasted on Kirkland Albacore Tuna. The package is only $14 for eight, I said eight large cans. Oh yes, it cost about $50 to join. I buy a salad and other stuff at Ralph's. Nobody can beat their variety of lettuce heads for ninety nine cents. I buy my vegetables at Ralph's but never their produce.
Every-so-often, when my funds are low, I eat lunch at the Encinitas Senior Center. It is not much but with little money, I made my 62 years of age donation at a later time. Whole Foods on C Street has a nice buffet for a few bucks, but the best value for the least is the Tip Top Restaurant in Carlsbad.
Four years ago, the Motel Six across the street directed me there. Go only when hungry for the freshest beef in the land. I told a friend once that "They kill the cows in the back and feed the meat to the ones in the front."
Many come for the Tip Top's all-you-can-eat breakfast. The Big John is a little more than seven dollars but you can order more seconds of their lean bacon, sausages or other meats. Many retirees bring their grandmothers black purse and allow extras to flow inside before going home.
Yet I have saved the best for last. Vince's Grand Market in the rear of the Tip Top offers the best home-grown fruit and vegetables in the land. Hundreds enter to lunch on the best buffet this side of the Number Five Freeway.
There is nary a fat one in the bunch as they munch on fresh strawberries, avocados, and a bevy of fruits, meats and vegetables. And get this, it is all for only $5.95 a pound. Let me repeat, $5.95 for a pound.
Got go now. I need to get to my trunk and unload my tuna sandwich and cherries for a late breakfast. That is right. I have given up breakfast now and then so my belly can afford The Big Bad John Breakfast.
Monday, July 14, 2014
The Last Days of the Y.M.C.A
I moved in over three years ago. Sir Thomas Cartwright placed me into the second floor -- for Section Eight and and those with all types of social disorders. Yet Sir Thomas gave me a roof over my head. No longer did I need to play the check-in-and-out games. No more Motel 6's or Quality Inn's for me. It was less than eight hundred a month, about one third of my retirement check.
I still owed the Quality Inn of Carlsbad two hundred dollars. After Sir Thomas took four hundred for my security deposit, it left me with about three hundred dollars for the rest of the month. The small room felt more like a walk-in-closet.
It was in May of 2011, and like I said, it felt good to have a roof over my head and a shower and kitchen down the hall. I felt mad that Bobby Medina had lost my reservation and I needed to fill out a new form and later call the State to fax a paper showing my retirement allowance. So lets turn back the clock to three years ago, or thereabouts to get a first hand view.
Doors banged, the guy next door spoke aloud to somebody not there. Loud music down the hall shook my room. The sound of buses and ambulances blasted outside. Dust flew in from my only window. It was quite stuffy without an A/C but it did have a small T.V. and phone. A custodian brought me a desk light.
Sir Thomas promised that with my lease, I would get new towels, have my room cleaned Mondays, and also it would be "peaceful since it was across from the courtyard, and not the street."
I had no idea that my bed mates would be arriving from Mexico. Some were Heroin addicts, others had diseases in remission like Pneumonia, T.B. and Whopping cough among other diseases.
It appeared that San Diego had an exchange program with Mexico. The Green Cards would first go to one of our hospitals, treated and then HUD would give them a voucher to come to my building.
Yet that was not the least of my problems. My biggest headache were the bed bugs. Why they feasted on me. I woke up every night with endless scratching. And it was infectious. Soon my entire body itched. Even a trip to the bathrooms did not help with a hot shower. Blood appeared on my wounds and soon covered my bed.
I learned to sleep with my clothes on. And that proved to be difficult. Summer months produced room temperatures in the eighties with no ventilation. Since the wooden vented doors had been locked shut, It felt like there was no air inside the room.
Yet I brought on the cockroaches. I never kept room clean. I was a mess, all of me from my toenails to my hair on my chin. Any food left out became fodder for these varmints. They bugs crawled over me at night. Some attacked my food inside the small refrigerator. Once I made the error of eating one whole until I heard a scream.
That was when I met up with Freddie the Roach. We became good friends, so good in fact, he requested his family to stay away from my room for awhile. Yet loud music down the hall steeled my serenity at night.
A large black dude wearing Cameroon letters on a tee shirt had it out for me. The first time I met him he told me to "To Go f...k Myself." From then on until the time he was thrown out, my blood pressure had no control anymore. He would lumber down to the second floor hall wearing nothing but a towel draped around his belly. I nick-named him Jelly Belly. Sir Thomas moved this loud vulgar voice twice, the last time a few doors down from me. Why his voice sounded like an elephant in heat. He was always ironing and playing that darned music at night.
Yet that summer month was something else. I had made Lindbergh Field my home. My Compass Pass took me everywhere for only $41. We had a dreadfully not summer. The airport buss or 992 took me to the airport. My air filter needed pure oxygen to live. Yet on this day, no car ran downtown. With the California heat wave came a problem with electricity. The grids shut down all through parts of California.
I was stuck at the airport. Their generator kept me alive with clean air. The downtown bus was two hours late but eventually I returned to the darkened 'Y'. I used my hands to fumble my way down the hallway. I made it into my room, alive barely. Somehow I made it through the long hot summer. I wondered why San Diego did not have A/C's inside all hotels, what with global warming and all.
About that time, the El Loco Hotel began having endless fire alarms-for one week. I soon learned to ignore the alarms. Nobody knew who set them off. The 'Y' paid for a security guard then. After one week the culprit was called. The management had locked his door but the police soon came to take him away.
Most of the second floor housed mainly blacks and a few whites then. The above black attacked my next-door-neighbor with a pen. Sir Thomas, the landlord ignored most of the problems. A case to point out his agendas can be made after one of my throbbing molars had been extracted. I was drinking salt water and afterwards, threw the remaining water into one of his prized miniature potted palms in the front.
"Cryin-out-Loud...You goin kill my plants...I will throw you out...!" I told Sir Thomas it was just water and he never apologized. He was always sweeping his hands over the stairway wooden railings. Dust or dirt made the man insane as did drinking coffee from the lobby.
When I first arrived, I was considered a guest and had coffee, maid, and other privileges. I learned that he allowed the homeless to enter and indulge after the seven o'clock coffee was made. Soon, he discovered that some of the tenants filled up their thermoses with coffee.
"George, you had enough coffee. No more", or "You are no longer a guest, no more coffee or apples." One year later, the owners removed our security guard, once-a-week housecleaning among other things. Yet with the bad comes the good. Music always blared in the night.
Today, the new Egyptian owners have given me sixty days to vacate the building. They even turned off the hot water for a spell until I told one of the owners off. In a letter, he wrote about demolishing the landmark.
A staff member told me that somebody named Gloria gave the Egyptian's the go-ahead. The first thing they did was wax the halls, stairs and everything everyday. Then the paint came along. A man named Luis worked night and day to get the new hotel in shape. New, brand new beds, and sheets would now adorn every room and also new hallway rugs. In a letter to everyone, he the new owner Mansour, wrote he would "demolish" the hotel and make it like a franchise looking one.
Yet what would become of the young who could only afford the YMCA. Even a younger Charles Lindbergh paid only a dollar a night to live there. The one dollar is now fifty today but tomorrow who knows? It is anyone's guess but mine is more HUD's will die on the street and the young ones will need to go elsewhere, but where???
Comic-Com brought a deluge of fans into San Diego. The rooms went as high as $300 a night. Most of the rooms now had bunk beds. The new owners had upgraded the rooms without upgrading the hotels. In illegal termination noticed removed most of us -- as they gave a few dollars for resettlement.
There is still no air conditioning and only one elevator works. Today it is $65 to share a bunk bed in the myopic rooms. The polluted off-Broadway air has no place to circulate as towering buildings have removed the wind drifts off of the Harbor.
I still owed the Quality Inn of Carlsbad two hundred dollars. After Sir Thomas took four hundred for my security deposit, it left me with about three hundred dollars for the rest of the month. The small room felt more like a walk-in-closet.
It was in May of 2011, and like I said, it felt good to have a roof over my head and a shower and kitchen down the hall. I felt mad that Bobby Medina had lost my reservation and I needed to fill out a new form and later call the State to fax a paper showing my retirement allowance. So lets turn back the clock to three years ago, or thereabouts to get a first hand view.
Doors banged, the guy next door spoke aloud to somebody not there. Loud music down the hall shook my room. The sound of buses and ambulances blasted outside. Dust flew in from my only window. It was quite stuffy without an A/C but it did have a small T.V. and phone. A custodian brought me a desk light.
 |
| Y.M.C.A Broadway |
I had no idea that my bed mates would be arriving from Mexico. Some were Heroin addicts, others had diseases in remission like Pneumonia, T.B. and Whopping cough among other diseases.
It appeared that San Diego had an exchange program with Mexico. The Green Cards would first go to one of our hospitals, treated and then HUD would give them a voucher to come to my building.
Yet that was not the least of my problems. My biggest headache were the bed bugs. Why they feasted on me. I woke up every night with endless scratching. And it was infectious. Soon my entire body itched. Even a trip to the bathrooms did not help with a hot shower. Blood appeared on my wounds and soon covered my bed.
I learned to sleep with my clothes on. And that proved to be difficult. Summer months produced room temperatures in the eighties with no ventilation. Since the wooden vented doors had been locked shut, It felt like there was no air inside the room.
Yet I brought on the cockroaches. I never kept room clean. I was a mess, all of me from my toenails to my hair on my chin. Any food left out became fodder for these varmints. They bugs crawled over me at night. Some attacked my food inside the small refrigerator. Once I made the error of eating one whole until I heard a scream.
That was when I met up with Freddie the Roach. We became good friends, so good in fact, he requested his family to stay away from my room for awhile. Yet loud music down the hall steeled my serenity at night.
A large black dude wearing Cameroon letters on a tee shirt had it out for me. The first time I met him he told me to "To Go f...k Myself." From then on until the time he was thrown out, my blood pressure had no control anymore. He would lumber down to the second floor hall wearing nothing but a towel draped around his belly. I nick-named him Jelly Belly. Sir Thomas moved this loud vulgar voice twice, the last time a few doors down from me. Why his voice sounded like an elephant in heat. He was always ironing and playing that darned music at night.
Yet that summer month was something else. I had made Lindbergh Field my home. My Compass Pass took me everywhere for only $41. We had a dreadfully not summer. The airport buss or 992 took me to the airport. My air filter needed pure oxygen to live. Yet on this day, no car ran downtown. With the California heat wave came a problem with electricity. The grids shut down all through parts of California.
I was stuck at the airport. Their generator kept me alive with clean air. The downtown bus was two hours late but eventually I returned to the darkened 'Y'. I used my hands to fumble my way down the hallway. I made it into my room, alive barely. Somehow I made it through the long hot summer. I wondered why San Diego did not have A/C's inside all hotels, what with global warming and all.
About that time, the El Loco Hotel began having endless fire alarms-for one week. I soon learned to ignore the alarms. Nobody knew who set them off. The 'Y' paid for a security guard then. After one week the culprit was called. The management had locked his door but the police soon came to take him away.
Most of the second floor housed mainly blacks and a few whites then. The above black attacked my next-door-neighbor with a pen. Sir Thomas, the landlord ignored most of the problems. A case to point out his agendas can be made after one of my throbbing molars had been extracted. I was drinking salt water and afterwards, threw the remaining water into one of his prized miniature potted palms in the front.
 |
| Dead Man walking |
When I first arrived, I was considered a guest and had coffee, maid, and other privileges. I learned that he allowed the homeless to enter and indulge after the seven o'clock coffee was made. Soon, he discovered that some of the tenants filled up their thermoses with coffee.
"George, you had enough coffee. No more", or "You are no longer a guest, no more coffee or apples." One year later, the owners removed our security guard, once-a-week housecleaning among other things. Yet with the bad comes the good. Music always blared in the night.
Today, the new Egyptian owners have given me sixty days to vacate the building. They even turned off the hot water for a spell until I told one of the owners off. In a letter, he wrote about demolishing the landmark.
A staff member told me that somebody named Gloria gave the Egyptian's the go-ahead. The first thing they did was wax the halls, stairs and everything everyday. Then the paint came along. A man named Luis worked night and day to get the new hotel in shape. New, brand new beds, and sheets would now adorn every room and also new hallway rugs. In a letter to everyone, he the new owner Mansour, wrote he would "demolish" the hotel and make it like a franchise looking one.
Yet what would become of the young who could only afford the YMCA. Even a younger Charles Lindbergh paid only a dollar a night to live there. The one dollar is now fifty today but tomorrow who knows? It is anyone's guess but mine is more HUD's will die on the street and the young ones will need to go elsewhere, but where???
Comic-Com brought a deluge of fans into San Diego. The rooms went as high as $300 a night. Most of the rooms now had bunk beds. The new owners had upgraded the rooms without upgrading the hotels. In illegal termination noticed removed most of us -- as they gave a few dollars for resettlement.
There is still no air conditioning and only one elevator works. Today it is $65 to share a bunk bed in the myopic rooms. The polluted off-Broadway air has no place to circulate as towering buildings have removed the wind drifts off of the Harbor.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
The Lady in Red- Balboa Park Dance
Thursday began bleak. My auto air conditioner broke down. A consultant from a Chevy dealership estimated it would cost me one thousand dollars to replace the condenser and a few hundred to replace my hoses. Wednesday morning, I drove my car to the highly recommended MobileAutoCareCenter, located just south of Saxony and Encinitas Boulevard. (310 Encinitas Blvd.)
They quoted me four hundred and one dollar to fix the drivers-side window and change the hoses and fans up-front. I took a chance and left my car there. The next day, my car dolly had a brand new lung to help with its right-sided-one. And not only that, but the new hoses and belts made Dolly purr like a kittcn. Now I could ride it to downtown San Diego for the Thursday, Balboa Bay Club dance.
Newcomers to my blog should know music plays a major role in my life. Without a song, my day would never end.
My Mom Edith knew my lisp would make it impossible for her George to meet the Ladies. of course she caused it. I was a nail biter since the time she broke the first broom over my head. So at twelve years old, she drove me to a little recreational park in West Los Angeles for a series of dancing lessons. To further impress the ladies, she arranged a piano teacher to provide thirty minute lessons every week.
The teacher visited my house and gave me a thirty minute lesson for five dollars. One year later, she did what all fine Jewish mothers do, she arranged for a piano teacher to visit my house. I was bored with classical music but my piano hands and two large ears alerted me that I could play by ear.
My first and last wife I met at Casey's Bar in the heart of the U.C.L.A. Village. My last two girl friends I met at the Alpine Village Ballroom in Torrance California. And that leads me to the Balboa Park where every other Thursday, there is live music and a bevy of old gals to prance with.
And that brings me to the mechanic at the Mobile Station. They fixed a window and changed a few hoses and straps and my little engine ran just like knew. Like my car Dolly, there was a new hop in my step as we turned left on President's Way in Balboa Park. It was going on twelve o'clock. I opened Dolly's trunk and removed my brand new dancing shoes. Of course the pair came with a price, blisters on my feet.
I walked into the large lobby and as usual, the ticket tackers begged me to play a few ditties on the old piano.After I played "Don't Cry for me Argentina" a few times, and a host of others, I felt like going in and seeing what feast would be waiting inside. But first I had to wait for a lady in red. The jabber mouth took forever to buy the ticket. I paid and took residence in the rear of the ballroom. The instructor was giving Western Swing lessons. (Argentina is in the World Cup finals in soccer. Germany will make them cry on Sunday.)
That is when all hell broke loose, but I will allow the true story to unfold the way it happened so as not to bore you. The volunteer host, Steve, walked up to me. Of course I needed time to get my bearings after my car had had major surgery.
"George, wonder if you can do me a favor...A gal just entered and needs somebody to show her around. Can you help this lost soul?" Now of course I felt too, just too tired, but who could refuse my friend Steve.
"No problem, Steve, which one is it?" He walked over to that same jabber mouthed-one. She was hunched over so her face was covered.
"No problem Steve, I will take over." I led her to the circle where Janice taught the Western Swing. I felt too nervous to look at her, yet my hands told me a surprise waited under the red dress. During the lesson, all she did was laugh, so much so, I couldn't concentrate on the lesson at hand.
The red dress had lots of rhythm, unlike my last girl friend who danced with two left feet and an arthritic back-to boot. Yet I still could not find her face. It was covered with glasses. But under those glasses I viewed a wonderful piece of artwork, with potential to end up in the Louvre of Paris. I survived the dance lesson and asked the red dress if she would like to join me at my table in back.
"Why I would love to." The red dress wiggled to my back table, but she did not sit down. On a small paper was the name Barbara. I reserved the seat in case I got lucky. In other words, Barbara could be any name or dame. She looked bewildered
" Who is Barbara?"
"You have just become Barbara."
"No...my name is Sue!"
"Well I have just changed it to Barbara Sue."
Just then Little Charley walked over to the back table. He had been a friend since my days in Carlsbad. No more than five feet, he was quick with a quip. But it was my day today, since my windows worked for the first time in ages.
"Susie, meet Barbara." Now Charlie became Barbara. Charlie no longer had any quick jokes. "Barbara is my girl friend." Of course we all cracked up. I told Sue that Barbara usually wore a wig.
Well Sue and I got along famously. Even though not a dancing scholar yet, she graced the ballroom with her Texas smile. All she needed was a yellow rose to cap it off. Her body and mine became partners in time. My moves became hers in no time. We danced every dance, even though my asthma would kick up dust later.
"Why are you always fussing with your hands?" I grabbed her left and began to stroke it. She blushed and told me that she had a hang-nail. She blushed red.
"How about going with me after the dance for the Happy Hour at Prado's?"
I led her up the trail to the Balboa Park's Prado restaurant. It was just five after four. We were too excited to order, but began by sharing a red wine. She indulged a bit and both of us confessed.
"You know Susie, you turn me on." Instantly she agreed.
"I know we have had a chemical reaction."
We then ordered the popcorn shrimp and garnished beans. Humus and crackers were provided. We needed to ask our mouths to eat, since love took priority.
"Well George, my daughter came to San Diego to be with her Navy Seal husband. I am staying with her but during the weekend, my other daughter will be coming to San Diego to take a real estate class with me."
I paid the bill. The two hours flew by and I returned her to her car parked at the Air Space Museum. Of course I felt myself in a space craft called love-at-first-sight.
"I would like your phone number." She opened her trunk after she apologized for a few speckles of dust. I felt embarrassed, since dust covered my car. I went to kiss her on her cheek. She grabbed me and gave me a Texas How-Do-You-welcome on my mouth. Her tongue danced like a wild Texas stallion. (This love story is not over, just yet.)
Nuts and Bolts from San Diego. Comic-Com and the Del Mar racing begins next week. Bring cameras but park you car elsewhere. These are the biggies for the month. Make a date at the Town and Country to enjoy the music of over 100 old-time jazz bands in November. Don't forget the Miramar Air Show also.
Gals who wish to dance with big blue eyes, me, can come to the Encinitas Senior Center on Friday afternoon. Between 2 and 4 the Billy Harper Band will play. A nice half-time buffet is available for the five dollar fee.
They quoted me four hundred and one dollar to fix the drivers-side window and change the hoses and fans up-front. I took a chance and left my car there. The next day, my car dolly had a brand new lung to help with its right-sided-one. And not only that, but the new hoses and belts made Dolly purr like a kittcn. Now I could ride it to downtown San Diego for the Thursday, Balboa Bay Club dance.
Newcomers to my blog should know music plays a major role in my life. Without a song, my day would never end.
My Mom Edith knew my lisp would make it impossible for her George to meet the Ladies. of course she caused it. I was a nail biter since the time she broke the first broom over my head. So at twelve years old, she drove me to a little recreational park in West Los Angeles for a series of dancing lessons. To further impress the ladies, she arranged a piano teacher to provide thirty minute lessons every week.
The teacher visited my house and gave me a thirty minute lesson for five dollars. One year later, she did what all fine Jewish mothers do, she arranged for a piano teacher to visit my house. I was bored with classical music but my piano hands and two large ears alerted me that I could play by ear.
My first and last wife I met at Casey's Bar in the heart of the U.C.L.A. Village. My last two girl friends I met at the Alpine Village Ballroom in Torrance California. And that leads me to the Balboa Park where every other Thursday, there is live music and a bevy of old gals to prance with.
And that brings me to the mechanic at the Mobile Station. They fixed a window and changed a few hoses and straps and my little engine ran just like knew. Like my car Dolly, there was a new hop in my step as we turned left on President's Way in Balboa Park. It was going on twelve o'clock. I opened Dolly's trunk and removed my brand new dancing shoes. Of course the pair came with a price, blisters on my feet.
I walked into the large lobby and as usual, the ticket tackers begged me to play a few ditties on the old piano.After I played "Don't Cry for me Argentina" a few times, and a host of others, I felt like going in and seeing what feast would be waiting inside. But first I had to wait for a lady in red. The jabber mouth took forever to buy the ticket. I paid and took residence in the rear of the ballroom. The instructor was giving Western Swing lessons. (Argentina is in the World Cup finals in soccer. Germany will make them cry on Sunday.)
That is when all hell broke loose, but I will allow the true story to unfold the way it happened so as not to bore you. The volunteer host, Steve, walked up to me. Of course I needed time to get my bearings after my car had had major surgery.
"George, wonder if you can do me a favor...A gal just entered and needs somebody to show her around. Can you help this lost soul?" Now of course I felt too, just too tired, but who could refuse my friend Steve.
"No problem, Steve, which one is it?" He walked over to that same jabber mouthed-one. She was hunched over so her face was covered.
"No problem Steve, I will take over." I led her to the circle where Janice taught the Western Swing. I felt too nervous to look at her, yet my hands told me a surprise waited under the red dress. During the lesson, all she did was laugh, so much so, I couldn't concentrate on the lesson at hand.
The red dress had lots of rhythm, unlike my last girl friend who danced with two left feet and an arthritic back-to boot. Yet I still could not find her face. It was covered with glasses. But under those glasses I viewed a wonderful piece of artwork, with potential to end up in the Louvre of Paris. I survived the dance lesson and asked the red dress if she would like to join me at my table in back.
"Why I would love to." The red dress wiggled to my back table, but she did not sit down. On a small paper was the name Barbara. I reserved the seat in case I got lucky. In other words, Barbara could be any name or dame. She looked bewildered
" Who is Barbara?"
"You have just become Barbara."
"No...my name is Sue!"
"Well I have just changed it to Barbara Sue."
Just then Little Charley walked over to the back table. He had been a friend since my days in Carlsbad. No more than five feet, he was quick with a quip. But it was my day today, since my windows worked for the first time in ages.
"Susie, meet Barbara." Now Charlie became Barbara. Charlie no longer had any quick jokes. "Barbara is my girl friend." Of course we all cracked up. I told Sue that Barbara usually wore a wig.
Well Sue and I got along famously. Even though not a dancing scholar yet, she graced the ballroom with her Texas smile. All she needed was a yellow rose to cap it off. Her body and mine became partners in time. My moves became hers in no time. We danced every dance, even though my asthma would kick up dust later.
"Why are you always fussing with your hands?" I grabbed her left and began to stroke it. She blushed and told me that she had a hang-nail. She blushed red.
"How about going with me after the dance for the Happy Hour at Prado's?"
I led her up the trail to the Balboa Park's Prado restaurant. It was just five after four. We were too excited to order, but began by sharing a red wine. She indulged a bit and both of us confessed.
"You know Susie, you turn me on." Instantly she agreed.
"I know we have had a chemical reaction."
We then ordered the popcorn shrimp and garnished beans. Humus and crackers were provided. We needed to ask our mouths to eat, since love took priority.
"Well George, my daughter came to San Diego to be with her Navy Seal husband. I am staying with her but during the weekend, my other daughter will be coming to San Diego to take a real estate class with me."
I paid the bill. The two hours flew by and I returned her to her car parked at the Air Space Museum. Of course I felt myself in a space craft called love-at-first-sight.
"I would like your phone number." She opened her trunk after she apologized for a few speckles of dust. I felt embarrassed, since dust covered my car. I went to kiss her on her cheek. She grabbed me and gave me a Texas How-Do-You-welcome on my mouth. Her tongue danced like a wild Texas stallion. (This love story is not over, just yet.)
Nuts and Bolts from San Diego. Comic-Com and the Del Mar racing begins next week. Bring cameras but park you car elsewhere. These are the biggies for the month. Make a date at the Town and Country to enjoy the music of over 100 old-time jazz bands in November. Don't forget the Miramar Air Show also.
Gals who wish to dance with big blue eyes, me, can come to the Encinitas Senior Center on Friday afternoon. Between 2 and 4 the Billy Harper Band will play. A nice half-time buffet is available for the five dollar fee.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Del Mar Race Track Appetizer
The Del Mar racing season begins next Thursday. Amtrak is not allowing Coaster ticket holders to steal a ride on its rails for opening week, only. With Comic-Com and the Del Mar Season, San Diego will be packed. Parking will be at a premium, even in North County.
Yet the thoroughbred season began last week when I met Pat the Hat on the #567 headed north. She was headed to Los Alamitos to bet the ponies. She had told me she once owned part of a horse and would take the #50 bus to the track.
Well here am I again in car 4 of the #567 going to Encinitas. Pat the Hat sits across from me. It is eight twenty. Now most gals bore the hell out of me, but gal that loves horses sleeps in my bed of oats.so as not to bore you, when I speak, there will be no quotes.
How did you get started in horses?
"Well I got my start in Canada. I am from Ontario and the Woodbine coarse was close by us. I used to watch the triple crown races on T.V. One year while in London, I went to Ascot for a big race. That hooked me. A matter of fact, I met my husband at a track across the bay from Buffalo. It was the Erie Race Track and he was the agent for one of the leading jockeys. We had a great marriage because we had two things in common, and the first was horses...you can guess the second."
By the way Pat, my name is George. Did you know any famous jockeys?
"I dated Ron Turcotte a few times. He rode Secretariat in the Kentucky Derby. He was injured and so began his life in a wheel chair. Two others I saw at Del Mar sat together in a wheel chair. They were Johnny Longden and Bill Shoemaker. They both had thinned down except for their bellies."
What is that you are eating?
"I bought the burrito and banana inside the Santa Fe Station. It helps with my digestion of the racing form. Do you wish a piece of it?"
I did not ask her age since for me age is only a number with a few wrinkles.
Nuts and Bolts: Don't even think about driving to the track! Instead park it at any one of the many commuter stations and take the 101 breeze Bus, or Coaster train to the track. After the first week, the Coaster ticket get you a ride on six Amtrak trains....From Los Angeles Grand Central Station, take Amtrak. It is less than $30 for seniors. The early birds can hitch a ride on the Metro-Link to Oceanside. Too tired to get there. Off-track betting is available in Ocean Eleven Casino. (Not edited...got to go dancing..)
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Monday, July 7, 2014
Broadway, San Diego
Each time I sit on the steps of the downtown 'Y', Picasso paints a another picture. One Sunday morning-awhile back outside my window, I heard thunderous rock-and-roll music. It was the Rock-and-Roll San Diego Marathon Race.
This picture was taken to the right of the 'Y's steps. It depicts part of what I call Banker's Corner. Three banks sit overhead lording it over us. San Diego calls it American Plaza.
it is also the beginning of the The Blue and Green Line Trolleys. The Blue Line is well tested and brings thousands from Tijuana to San Diego every day.
The 992 airport bus is to the very left of the picture. It runs every 15 minutes during the day. I take it to go to Lindbergh Field when there is a Red Flag Alert. Few of the many San Diego hotels are air-conditioned.
I call San Diego the City of Trees. Palm and Rubber trees grace D Street, an earlier name for Broadway. I learned never to cross any street unless I make a few hail Mary's. What is great about the 'Y' is it is next to the Harbor, and with it the usual 10 to 15 mile-an-hour western breeze. Would you believe that San Diego used to be perfect for those allergy sufferers. Now pollen and other ingredients make San Diego one of the allergy capitals of the U.S.A. That is the price San Diego paid for greatness.
Last Saturday night I had the chance to view the city at her best. Everywhere excitement filled the air. It was about seven o'clock, and the sun began to slip into the western sky. A bevy of fans began to flow back from Petco Park and the ballgame against San Francisco. A young gentleman wearing a large country had came by. I wished to know if the Padres five game win streak became number six.
"Did the Padres win the game?" He came towards me and waited for me to finish my ice cream.
"San Francisco was about to lose but your reliever Street gave up a home run. We won the game in extra innings."
'I saw your shortstop take a base hit away by making a diving stop and in one motion throw the hitter out."Unfortunately, 'Oceanside' Ben drove to San Diego. I warned him next time to take the Coaster downtown and travel on the Green Line to the Park. "It will save on time, gas, and of course stress."
The crack of dawn provides a different type of view. Five times out of ten the Harbor Fog begins to back up into the water. The first to come to work are the sandals and tennis shows. Nary any carry a smile, but they hold on to their Starbucks morning coffee. It appears that they are going to the gallows. Too bad they need to work every day rather than three or four.
After eight o'clock the yellow ties make their way down the street. Many work at the court house or are the city lawyers. Now the high heals come into play. I even noticed a few suede shoes...Well got to go now, I am going for lunch at the Old Oak Cafe in Encinitas.
(I am sorry to say the Historic YMCA will be no more. Big Money swayed Councilman Gloria to sell this thoroughbred to an Egyptian group. Today, the ninth of July, the few remaining old timers received a resettlement letter. We had 60 days to turn in our keys and possibly our lives. Council President Gloria gave the go-ahead for the new owners to "demolish' it and create another "franchise" Hotel. No more will the young be able to spend a few 'bob' for a stay in this great hotel.)
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| Rock-and-Roll Marathon |
it is also the beginning of the The Blue and Green Line Trolleys. The Blue Line is well tested and brings thousands from Tijuana to San Diego every day.
The 992 airport bus is to the very left of the picture. It runs every 15 minutes during the day. I take it to go to Lindbergh Field when there is a Red Flag Alert. Few of the many San Diego hotels are air-conditioned.
I call San Diego the City of Trees. Palm and Rubber trees grace D Street, an earlier name for Broadway. I learned never to cross any street unless I make a few hail Mary's. What is great about the 'Y' is it is next to the Harbor, and with it the usual 10 to 15 mile-an-hour western breeze. Would you believe that San Diego used to be perfect for those allergy sufferers. Now pollen and other ingredients make San Diego one of the allergy capitals of the U.S.A. That is the price San Diego paid for greatness.
Last Saturday night I had the chance to view the city at her best. Everywhere excitement filled the air. It was about seven o'clock, and the sun began to slip into the western sky. A bevy of fans began to flow back from Petco Park and the ballgame against San Francisco. A young gentleman wearing a large country had came by. I wished to know if the Padres five game win streak became number six.
"Did the Padres win the game?" He came towards me and waited for me to finish my ice cream.
"San Francisco was about to lose but your reliever Street gave up a home run. We won the game in extra innings."
'I saw your shortstop take a base hit away by making a diving stop and in one motion throw the hitter out."Unfortunately, 'Oceanside' Ben drove to San Diego. I warned him next time to take the Coaster downtown and travel on the Green Line to the Park. "It will save on time, gas, and of course stress."
The crack of dawn provides a different type of view. Five times out of ten the Harbor Fog begins to back up into the water. The first to come to work are the sandals and tennis shows. Nary any carry a smile, but they hold on to their Starbucks morning coffee. It appears that they are going to the gallows. Too bad they need to work every day rather than three or four.
After eight o'clock the yellow ties make their way down the street. Many work at the court house or are the city lawyers. Now the high heals come into play. I even noticed a few suede shoes...Well got to go now, I am going for lunch at the Old Oak Cafe in Encinitas.
(I am sorry to say the Historic YMCA will be no more. Big Money swayed Councilman Gloria to sell this thoroughbred to an Egyptian group. Today, the ninth of July, the few remaining old timers received a resettlement letter. We had 60 days to turn in our keys and possibly our lives. Council President Gloria gave the go-ahead for the new owners to "demolish' it and create another "franchise" Hotel. No more will the young be able to spend a few 'bob' for a stay in this great hotel.)
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Luis Zamperini -- A Trojan Track Star
Anytime I took 'Amby' Schindler to Old Torrance for a delightful Mexican dinner, he mentioned his pals, Pete, and Luis Zamperini. They both ran for Dean Cromwell, their esteemed coach. Luis ran the mile in the spring of 1936, and he was regarded as one of the United States fastest milers.
"In a dual high school track in Los Angeles, Luis represented Torrance High in a dual meet. My brother was on the Roosevelt High School Track team. Long after the dual meet, my brother mentioned that Luis outdistanced the other milers soon after the race began. (As told to me by Abe Elorriaga during lunch at the Li'l Oak Cafe, in Encinitas.)
All were on Dean Cromwell's Track Team that scored more Olympic Game medals than all but four countries. 'Amby' Schindler did not go as his 6 foot 4 inch high jump fell a bit short. His other buddy won the event. Schindler had been injured during the fall of 1935 in a football game against Santa Ana Jr. College. He needed to forgo the one hundred yard hurdles, his specialty.
Schindler bought a house after the war on the bluffs of Torrance, Below him stood the Zamperini house. They Each time we dined at Dino's Cafe, he spoke about Luis. Old Torrance sits on railroad tracks. Today, the brick buildings serve as apartments and the Moose Lodge is in back of the restaurant.
"Torrance corner street vendors sold lots of fruit and vegetables, including corn. Every time we large corn stalks, we bought some. We love corn. Of course Torrance had its fill of black corn, or oil. Derricks pumped the black gold everywhere in Torrance."
"Luis used the rail road tracks from Torrance to Redondo Beach and back each day. The Moose or the Lion's Lodge asked us to give speeches A few times we spoke to the Moose or Lion's Lodge in Old Town Torrance. He was, like me, always in prime condition. We often broke bread together."
Zamperini was supposed to be the Grand Marshall in the 2015 Rose Parade, and a vacancy is waiting for a new Trojan Legend. Let me throw Ambrose Parks Schindler into the parade. The Schindler story took me seven years to finish -- since I was not a writer. Oh yes. A film with Angelina Joli as director will soon appear at your neighborhood theater.
Like 'Zamp' he was also born in 1917, in May of that year. Along the way, Schindler met Red Grange, Jessie Owens. and other greats. Ambrose was the hero of the 1940 Rose Bowl Game and also the Collegiate Player of the game in the 1940 Chicago All Star Game.
Am now in the market for a publisher. Anyone can reach me at chicagoallstar@gmail.com
"In a dual high school track in Los Angeles, Luis represented Torrance High in a dual meet. My brother was on the Roosevelt High School Track team. Long after the dual meet, my brother mentioned that Luis outdistanced the other milers soon after the race began. (As told to me by Abe Elorriaga during lunch at the Li'l Oak Cafe, in Encinitas.)
All were on Dean Cromwell's Track Team that scored more Olympic Game medals than all but four countries. 'Amby' Schindler did not go as his 6 foot 4 inch high jump fell a bit short. His other buddy won the event. Schindler had been injured during the fall of 1935 in a football game against Santa Ana Jr. College. He needed to forgo the one hundred yard hurdles, his specialty.
Schindler bought a house after the war on the bluffs of Torrance, Below him stood the Zamperini house. They Each time we dined at Dino's Cafe, he spoke about Luis. Old Torrance sits on railroad tracks. Today, the brick buildings serve as apartments and the Moose Lodge is in back of the restaurant.
"Torrance corner street vendors sold lots of fruit and vegetables, including corn. Every time we large corn stalks, we bought some. We love corn. Of course Torrance had its fill of black corn, or oil. Derricks pumped the black gold everywhere in Torrance."
"Luis used the rail road tracks from Torrance to Redondo Beach and back each day. The Moose or the Lion's Lodge asked us to give speeches A few times we spoke to the Moose or Lion's Lodge in Old Town Torrance. He was, like me, always in prime condition. We often broke bread together."
 |
| Chicago All Star Game-Hall of Champions |
Zamperini was supposed to be the Grand Marshall in the 2015 Rose Parade, and a vacancy is waiting for a new Trojan Legend. Let me throw Ambrose Parks Schindler into the parade. The Schindler story took me seven years to finish -- since I was not a writer. Oh yes. A film with Angelina Joli as director will soon appear at your neighborhood theater.
Like 'Zamp' he was also born in 1917, in May of that year. Along the way, Schindler met Red Grange, Jessie Owens. and other greats. Ambrose was the hero of the 1940 Rose Bowl Game and also the Collegiate Player of the game in the 1940 Chicago All Star Game.
Am now in the market for a publisher. Anyone can reach me at chicagoallstar@gmail.com
Ring the Bells-Sunday Sermon
I was thrilled to death to ride the Amtrak this morning. My downtown 'Y' hotel did not have hot water again and without A/C, I needed an infusion of cool clean air. The # 567 is usually quiet, but not so today. Since every Saturday night in San Diego seems like a holiday, I needed to stretch my legs and read a book in solitude.
Unlike the Coaster train, each seat comes with a button that reclines the seat, and a foot stand. It feels like getting a hair cut. There was one problem today. I heard a radio blaring in the disabled seat up ahead. The old lady wore a blue and white polka-doted skirt. She appeared to listen to a transistor radio show.
"Mam, kindly do my the favor of toning your radio down. And don't you have any earplugs?" There was a long pause and I repeated myself using a higher key.
"Sorry sir, I will take the sound to my ear. My ear-things don't work."
"May I ask what program you have on?"
"It is Ben Stein. He comes on at eight o'clock and gives race-goers tips. I am on my way to Anaheim."
"You mean you are going to the races?"
"Yes, they have thoroughbred racing now at Los Alamitos. I have a pass since I own the tail of a horse no longer running."
I wished the little-old-lady luck and returned to my book about World War 2 by Winston Churchill. I have read over two hundred pages of this great book.
Earlier on the train , I thought about my great time at the eight thirty mass in Old Town. Father Eckar was at his best and told the filled congregation a little about himself.
"My ancestors are from Austria and Ireland, two generations removed, but I think part of me was born in the City of Sarcasm. That was what I had told one parish subject the other day."
Father Ecker's Sunday sermons, as always, inspired me and his subjects. Today was no exception, as I always leave the church with a new idea my mind refuses to release. Today he spoke about the bells-the handle ones. It is a story for all ages and seasons.
"I told Joey to ring the bells for me. I had a choir many years ago. One Mass, Joey, who was in the choir, did not appear, yet his Dad did. Joey came late and his Dad whispered to Joey, 'Ring the bells'. And Joey replied in a loud voice, "Ring the Bells!" Well the congregation laughed so loud I had to wait to complete my sermon another Sunday.
Today half of the congregation of over 200 were from out-of-town. He spoke about the meaning of the Fourth of July. He threw out names like Ben Franklin, Thomas Pain, Steve Foster and others and at the end, we all sang America the Beautiful. My Sundays are always blessed by the Pipe Piper of Old Town, Father Ecker.
My solitude was interrupted by two mouthpieces -- you know the type that can't read but make up with it with chatter One tattooed old man spoke about his operations and the old dimwitted lady could not get enough of his chatter. Of course it interrupted me so much I left my book on the train.
I am now at the Carlsbad Library where I am blogging you with my Sunday in San Diego.
Unlike the Coaster train, each seat comes with a button that reclines the seat, and a foot stand. It feels like getting a hair cut. There was one problem today. I heard a radio blaring in the disabled seat up ahead. The old lady wore a blue and white polka-doted skirt. She appeared to listen to a transistor radio show.
"Mam, kindly do my the favor of toning your radio down. And don't you have any earplugs?" There was a long pause and I repeated myself using a higher key.
"Sorry sir, I will take the sound to my ear. My ear-things don't work."
"May I ask what program you have on?"
"It is Ben Stein. He comes on at eight o'clock and gives race-goers tips. I am on my way to Anaheim."
"You mean you are going to the races?"
"Yes, they have thoroughbred racing now at Los Alamitos. I have a pass since I own the tail of a horse no longer running."
I wished the little-old-lady luck and returned to my book about World War 2 by Winston Churchill. I have read over two hundred pages of this great book.
Earlier on the train , I thought about my great time at the eight thirty mass in Old Town. Father Eckar was at his best and told the filled congregation a little about himself.
"My ancestors are from Austria and Ireland, two generations removed, but I think part of me was born in the City of Sarcasm. That was what I had told one parish subject the other day."
Father Ecker's Sunday sermons, as always, inspired me and his subjects. Today was no exception, as I always leave the church with a new idea my mind refuses to release. Today he spoke about the bells-the handle ones. It is a story for all ages and seasons.
"I told Joey to ring the bells for me. I had a choir many years ago. One Mass, Joey, who was in the choir, did not appear, yet his Dad did. Joey came late and his Dad whispered to Joey, 'Ring the bells'. And Joey replied in a loud voice, "Ring the Bells!" Well the congregation laughed so loud I had to wait to complete my sermon another Sunday.
Today half of the congregation of over 200 were from out-of-town. He spoke about the meaning of the Fourth of July. He threw out names like Ben Franklin, Thomas Pain, Steve Foster and others and at the end, we all sang America the Beautiful. My Sundays are always blessed by the Pipe Piper of Old Town, Father Ecker.
My solitude was interrupted by two mouthpieces -- you know the type that can't read but make up with it with chatter One tattooed old man spoke about his operations and the old dimwitted lady could not get enough of his chatter. Of course it interrupted me so much I left my book on the train.
I am now at the Carlsbad Library where I am blogging you with my Sunday in San Diego.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
A Visit to My dentist
Like many kids who grew up in the forties, we had no idea we would live so long. Why in my day, anybody over forty was old. Diabetes and a bad heart do to Rheumatic fever took two of my aunts, Janice at 36 and Sally at forty two. My Aunt Bella died in her mid-fifties do to a new disease, stomach cancer.
I couldn't wait until school was over, usually at three o'clock. Seldom did I pay any attention to the teacher. My eyes focused on the clock and I prayed the big hand would hit the twelve, sooner than later.
My Monarch bike took me up the street to the Day Light Market. Twenty five cents got me a hot pastrami on rye, a coke. But up the Beverly Wood Hills stood my favorite Mom and Pop store. The one room wooden store beckoned, each and every day.
Mother Edith always gave me an extra nickle for candy. I needed to munch on something to remove the ugly taste of school. I could not read in grade school-you see. My left eye was dead-that is until high school. Of course my Mom never forced me to brush my teeth, yet she did take me to my six month check-up with Doctor Isgur. (Till this day, I can still smell his breath.)
Wax-lips were my favorite. Oh how I loved to munch on the wax until my teeth squeezed out every last bit of juice. Why it was even better than Double Bubble or Bazooka Gum. even better than Double Bubble or Bazooka Bubble Gum. Sometimes I would purchase a package of Top's baseball cards. Several slices of gum hid inside the cardboard baseball cards. I must have looked like a chipmunk walking my bike up the hill from Robertson.
And that brings us to today. After losing most of my teeth, as well as my bank account, I needed something to fill two gaps next to my four front teeth. The four needed reinforcements. Besides, too many interesting gals had bid-me-good-by when I opened my mouth. Mom always told me to marry one with sound teeth. Of course mine made no sound anymore.
I am now in Oceanside. My $250-copay appliance is inside a strip of aluminum. Smile Better is off of College and Oceanside Boulevard. Dr. Mudd enters the room. He had been involved with street maintenance until he got a grant to go to dental school. He was the only dentist to work on my daughter. No Los Angles dentist would work on her artistic mouth.
An earlier job in street maintenance made him handy with a dental drill and pick. He had excavated and extracted several of my inflamed teeth the last two years. I did not wish to die like many do today on the streets of San Diego. Dr. Mudd did not fool around, what with two other victims in two adjoined rooms waiting for his pick and shovel
"Dr. Mudd, the appliance looks great inside my mouth, but it took a beating last night. I needed to pull it out or have a heart attack. It is too cumbersome to wear but a little adjustment might be the right ticket. Look here. Perhaps you can cut this out and only use the front part of the appliance.No longer can people make out what I am talking about.
"I see no reason why I can't make it so you can eat and speak again. I will cut and make it as you wish, something to wear without tearing into your gums."
"Thank's lot Dr. Mudd. And thanks again for keeping my daughter alive." (Not edited.)
I couldn't wait until school was over, usually at three o'clock. Seldom did I pay any attention to the teacher. My eyes focused on the clock and I prayed the big hand would hit the twelve, sooner than later.
My Monarch bike took me up the street to the Day Light Market. Twenty five cents got me a hot pastrami on rye, a coke. But up the Beverly Wood Hills stood my favorite Mom and Pop store. The one room wooden store beckoned, each and every day.
Mother Edith always gave me an extra nickle for candy. I needed to munch on something to remove the ugly taste of school. I could not read in grade school-you see. My left eye was dead-that is until high school. Of course my Mom never forced me to brush my teeth, yet she did take me to my six month check-up with Doctor Isgur. (Till this day, I can still smell his breath.)
Wax-lips were my favorite. Oh how I loved to munch on the wax until my teeth squeezed out every last bit of juice. Why it was even better than Double Bubble or Bazooka Gum. even better than Double Bubble or Bazooka Bubble Gum. Sometimes I would purchase a package of Top's baseball cards. Several slices of gum hid inside the cardboard baseball cards. I must have looked like a chipmunk walking my bike up the hill from Robertson.
And that brings us to today. After losing most of my teeth, as well as my bank account, I needed something to fill two gaps next to my four front teeth. The four needed reinforcements. Besides, too many interesting gals had bid-me-good-by when I opened my mouth. Mom always told me to marry one with sound teeth. Of course mine made no sound anymore.
I am now in Oceanside. My $250-copay appliance is inside a strip of aluminum. Smile Better is off of College and Oceanside Boulevard. Dr. Mudd enters the room. He had been involved with street maintenance until he got a grant to go to dental school. He was the only dentist to work on my daughter. No Los Angles dentist would work on her artistic mouth.
An earlier job in street maintenance made him handy with a dental drill and pick. He had excavated and extracted several of my inflamed teeth the last two years. I did not wish to die like many do today on the streets of San Diego. Dr. Mudd did not fool around, what with two other victims in two adjoined rooms waiting for his pick and shovel
"Dr. Mudd, the appliance looks great inside my mouth, but it took a beating last night. I needed to pull it out or have a heart attack. It is too cumbersome to wear but a little adjustment might be the right ticket. Look here. Perhaps you can cut this out and only use the front part of the appliance.No longer can people make out what I am talking about.
"I see no reason why I can't make it so you can eat and speak again. I will cut and make it as you wish, something to wear without tearing into your gums."
"Thank's lot Dr. Mudd. And thanks again for keeping my daughter alive." (Not edited.)
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
The San Diego Library Revisited
The library, in my day, was a place to read in solitude. The new one in San Diego has a long way to go before it is a real library.
A flood of over two hundred homeless enter in the morning. The unshaven hoard heads to the escalators. Most wish to hone-in on a computer. Many cough, sneeze and spread disease on the keyboards or those on neighboring computers.
It is as if their alarm clocked minds know when it will open. They trudge up the stairs to commandeer their computer or sofa chair with a few of San Diego. Floors two through nine offer bathrooms. The problem is there is only one urinal and one toilet on each floor-except the ninth.
Oftentimes a street person has disrobed. Now they can shave and clean themselves with hot water. one toilet-a-day is all they need since they maybe get one church meal-a-day. At least one half of all computers are manned by either the homeless or those, soon-to-become.
It is sometimes impossible to think inside the new library. An endless stream of students circle each floor as if it is another day in the park.
In my Day, a library was where you could read a book in silence. Too many come inside and use this building as another home. I AM SURE THOSE THAT BUILT IT HAD THE HOMELESS IN MIND.
On the other hand, their is a great assortment of music and art books. In fact, each floor specializes in different types of books. On the fourth and fifth floors are short story and some of our great novelists. The California room is on the ninth along with rare books and paintings. One can research their family tree or find out more about San Diego. There is a great view on the ninth floor and also views from most of the other ones.
There are study rooms and lots of activities each day. The library even offers a class in swing dancing this month. But for me, give me that old time library where we read and checked out several books. I enjoy checking out arrangements of various musical albums. Why a few days ago, I checked out Showboat, music by Hammerstein and Kern.
I use the Encinitas Senior Center's piano to play these catchy numbers. I just don't understand the music of the day.
Both the #11 and #901 buses drop you at the doorstep to the library. For me, the Trolleys are an adventure. It can be darn right dangerous.
A flood of over two hundred homeless enter in the morning. The unshaven hoard heads to the escalators. Most wish to hone-in on a computer. Many cough, sneeze and spread disease on the keyboards or those on neighboring computers.
It is as if their alarm clocked minds know when it will open. They trudge up the stairs to commandeer their computer or sofa chair with a few of San Diego. Floors two through nine offer bathrooms. The problem is there is only one urinal and one toilet on each floor-except the ninth.
Oftentimes a street person has disrobed. Now they can shave and clean themselves with hot water. one toilet-a-day is all they need since they maybe get one church meal-a-day. At least one half of all computers are manned by either the homeless or those, soon-to-become.
It is sometimes impossible to think inside the new library. An endless stream of students circle each floor as if it is another day in the park.
In my Day, a library was where you could read a book in silence. Too many come inside and use this building as another home. I AM SURE THOSE THAT BUILT IT HAD THE HOMELESS IN MIND.
On the other hand, their is a great assortment of music and art books. In fact, each floor specializes in different types of books. On the fourth and fifth floors are short story and some of our great novelists. The California room is on the ninth along with rare books and paintings. One can research their family tree or find out more about San Diego. There is a great view on the ninth floor and also views from most of the other ones.
There are study rooms and lots of activities each day. The library even offers a class in swing dancing this month. But for me, give me that old time library where we read and checked out several books. I enjoy checking out arrangements of various musical albums. Why a few days ago, I checked out Showboat, music by Hammerstein and Kern.
I use the Encinitas Senior Center's piano to play these catchy numbers. I just don't understand the music of the day.
Both the #11 and #901 buses drop you at the doorstep to the library. For me, the Trolleys are an adventure. It can be darn right dangerous.
Four of July at Moonlight State Beach
A sea of boogie boards, surf boards, kayaks, volleyballs, tents, volleyballs, footballs and all-sorts-of balls arrived early to Moonlight State Beach.
You would have thought July fourth came early -- and you would be right on. Barbecues worked on hot dogs, burgers, corn cobs, and other types of meats. Over the several barbecue pits the smell of fire called everyone for the celebration of the Fourth of July. Everywhere mothers carried babies for their first look at the surf. In-tow eagerly walked there other children ready to put their toes in the surf.
Every nationality arrived. Beach chairs surrounded the barbecues. One group of Latinos went into the ocean fully clothed. Two weeks early two were pulled out-a bit too late. A few played soccer while others hit the volleyball courts.
Small kids played on swings and slides, or other rides. New fathers and mothers enjoyed watching these new additions to their family.
I have been enjoying this Encinitas Beach now for four years-and no wonder. It is a lovely cove surrounded by mountains of flowers and several species of birds. A lovely Botanical garden is in back with a pool of tadpoles and a tennis court. Since I feel like a pizza, come with me to the new food shack across from the barbecue pits.
"Can I order a pizza, chips and a coke." I gave the clerk six dollars and walked over to the brand new bathrooms. The older ones were cesspools of dirty water and foul odors. You were lucky if your toilet was not stopped up or had toilet paper. I often thought there should have been a sign reading: enter at your own risk.
I picked up my order and looked over the beach. The barbecue pits were going full blast. More beach fans walked down a path from the parking lot above. Unless arriving early, you'll never get a spot and have to park at the Encinitas commuter station up above. But Mr. Blue eyes had enough rays. I felt hungry.
I retreaded my steps up the hilly-walk-way to my car. Fish and Chips would be my treat at Keno's, one of the less expensive iconic eateries in Leucadia. On my way on Highway 101, I saw that the Old Palomar Theater featured the Indian film, The Lunch Box. It would be my second time to see this wonderful film. It was about the food of love.
You would have thought July fourth came early -- and you would be right on. Barbecues worked on hot dogs, burgers, corn cobs, and other types of meats. Over the several barbecue pits the smell of fire called everyone for the celebration of the Fourth of July. Everywhere mothers carried babies for their first look at the surf. In-tow eagerly walked there other children ready to put their toes in the surf.
Every nationality arrived. Beach chairs surrounded the barbecues. One group of Latinos went into the ocean fully clothed. Two weeks early two were pulled out-a bit too late. A few played soccer while others hit the volleyball courts.
Small kids played on swings and slides, or other rides. New fathers and mothers enjoyed watching these new additions to their family.
I have been enjoying this Encinitas Beach now for four years-and no wonder. It is a lovely cove surrounded by mountains of flowers and several species of birds. A lovely Botanical garden is in back with a pool of tadpoles and a tennis court. Since I feel like a pizza, come with me to the new food shack across from the barbecue pits.
"Can I order a pizza, chips and a coke." I gave the clerk six dollars and walked over to the brand new bathrooms. The older ones were cesspools of dirty water and foul odors. You were lucky if your toilet was not stopped up or had toilet paper. I often thought there should have been a sign reading: enter at your own risk.
I picked up my order and looked over the beach. The barbecue pits were going full blast. More beach fans walked down a path from the parking lot above. Unless arriving early, you'll never get a spot and have to park at the Encinitas commuter station up above. But Mr. Blue eyes had enough rays. I felt hungry.
I retreaded my steps up the hilly-walk-way to my car. Fish and Chips would be my treat at Keno's, one of the less expensive iconic eateries in Leucadia. On my way on Highway 101, I saw that the Old Palomar Theater featured the Indian film, The Lunch Box. It would be my second time to see this wonderful film. It was about the food of love.
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