Yesterday morning, I woke up with lots of piss and vinegar. I had slept well in my car and needed to air out my mind. The Metro-Link would just be divine. Three were leaving the Oceanside Transit Station at about half past four, five and six.
Before I embarked, I needed to beef me up for the trip. From the rest stop, I went south on the 5 until the yellow Dennis sign signaled me to enter Coast Highway. I couldn't miss its yellow sign. I turned off on Coast Highway and turned around. The famous coffee shop sat next to a Mobile Station. The young attendant served me up the breakfast special and even made a fresh brewed coffee for me.
"Mam, is this the end of the Coast Highway before the name changes to the Pacific Coast Highway?"
"That is correct. and if you go take that street further, you will hit our Harbor area. Can I top off your cup."
"No, but tell me how to get to the Oceanside Transit Station from here."
"Continue on the Coast Highway, but go south. Eventually, it becomes Oceanside Blvd."
I found the Transit Station and went to the ticket machine. Parking was free in this lot and in the other you could park for three days.
I pressed a few buttons and slipped my ten dollar bill inside its mouth. Two and a half dollars dripped down the machine along with my $7.50 one way ticket to Los Angeles. That is the senior rate. I needed to get to U.S.C. to get permission to use their trademark.
With luck, I just made it for the 5:40 train and took a seat by the window. I wished to see the morning sun wake up and make the valley look like a multicolored ice cream cone. I interrupted my view to continue reading my book about Winston Sidney Churchill, the grandson of the cigar smoking grandfather.
Today many people never heard of this great man. He was the only one who forewarned the English Parliament of the threat of Germany. He stood up while others went to sleep and allowed Hitler to inhale almost every European country.Without him, we would be speaking German today.
"Next stop Anaheim. Make sure to make these stops brief and don't forget anything. Thank you for riding Metro-Link. The conductor repeated these words in San Clemente, San Juan Capistrano, Tustin, Orange and so forth.
I arrived at Union Station at about eight o'clock and proceeded to take two Dash mini buses to U.S.C. I didn't mind the heat since it was still early. I made it to the U.S.C. library and walked up the steps. To my surprise, Claude Zachery's door was open. I did not enter but knocked. He is the head of the U.S.C. Archives.
"Well if it isn't George Garrett. You look great. I have something for you."
He gave me a folder that I had left two years ago and he probed more about my football story.
"Schindler is not surely still living, is he?"
"Not only living but he is the last of his class who remains. I know because I paid him a visit and was thrown out by his son."
Well not to bore the reader, I allowed him to insert my flash drive of the football story. His eyes lit up and excitement prevailed. He JPG's three other pictures of Schindler onto my thumb drive. His eyes told me I was a successful writer.
"Got to get it published while he is alive. I am going to the book store and their Heritage Museum."
Wow, to see his excitement. He knew now that I had Seabiscuit in my rear view mirror. His buddy's picture is due out in December and I will preview my book soon. Read the book Unbroken and you'll find out his buddy was Luis Zamperini
I spent the remainder of the day inside the Los Angeles Library to copy pictures from the Daily News, a favorite paper of my family. It became too hot later, so hot I needed to go inside the underground on Flower to ward off the heat. I returned on the same train tired, but satisfied my book was finished and now ready to be published.
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