Muscle Beach

They say that Salmon swim upstream to return to their place of birth. This weekend, I that returned.  
   Sunday, my daughter wished me to stay over. Of course she loved it when her Dad, me, threw a dollar her way in exchange for a Wild Salmon dinner. The previous day, I said "Hello" to Larry King taking his usual stroll down Beverly Drive and attempted to used the updated Cities computers - they crashed. So I made the decision to go to Santa Monica Beach.
 Outside my daughter's Pico apartment, I picked up the Big Blue 7 bus. After I climbed aboard, I was greeted by a foreign country.The number 7 carried mainly Latino women in various stages of a sleeping pattern. Besides me, a lone white, sat well dressed gentleman going to church. The two carried bibles and wore ties. 
  Like I said, I climbed aboard, paid my senor fifty cents and turn around. Facing me were mainly Latinos, some half asleep or in deep sleep. I wondered if they were the only ones who got up early to work on our day of Sabbath. I joked with the bus driver but my audience did not understand. They did understood work and what dinero meant.
  The 7 lumbered down an empty Pico Blvd. And why not? It was the Sabbath. We swept past the Landmark, Norms, the new 99 Cent Store, crossed Sepulveda and sneaked under the new Exposition Metro-still under construction. . Soon, I thought, everyone would be competing for a ride that would take it to the beach. 
  I disembarked and took the long road back to the Santa Monica Pier. On the way I ran into an old brick structure that was the oldest edifice in Santa Monica. In the eighteen hundreds, it served as a meeting place and tavern. Next to it the Y.M.C. A was busy, and why not, it only charged $39 and change to share a room with seven others and guaranteed you a Continental breakfast. . 
  My stomach said "find a restaurant in a hurry," and I always please my stomach. . It was a typical beach day: clear and windy. those days that make one forget his woes. A eastern Santa Ana made all run for Kleenex or shelter, all except the pigeons looking for left-overs.
  Bubba Gumps Restaurant, on the Pier, would have to do. The usual north-west wind felt too chilly at nine to keep their doors open.   I took up a stool and ordered sausage, eggs, sour dough and lots of heaping coffee.  The easy-going waitress made me feel at home, just like the one in the preceding story.
   "Got a degree in film from San Diego University. Jobs are scare here. Sharing a room in Culver City. Pay only eight hundred dollars."
   The Asian young lady had lived in Chula Vista with her parents. I thanked her and enjoyed the music of a large party setting up on the pier. Down below the pier were the volleyball courts that I had courted fifteen years ago - during my second  nervous breakdown.  I will never forget how the beach made living possible again. Of course, banging a volleyball where it all began and sucking up the hot rays for over ten years did not hurt.  
   In the forties I recall Muscle Beach. It showcased Muscle Men doing all kinds of tricks. I do remember others like Jack La lane, Joe Gold and even our ex-governor working the weights later on . The platform in the forties showcased Mr. California and even Debbie Reynalds. Hundreds of sightseers with large umbrellas looked on. My Mom's was large with a wooded pole to hold it up. Underneath she set her punch bowl, with sandwiches of tuna and baloney. My brother Mel and I spent most of the time in the Santa Monica breakwater. My Dad Harry worked on Saturdays. 
  And speaking of sticks, I remember when I met the founder of Hot Dog on a Stick and how he began the business. He had told me that his Mom in Kansas used to make the hot dogs whipping up a special batter. He copied her and made the little store next to the lot and across from the volleyball courts adn and strand.  
  But that was yesterday, and today I wished to renew my acquaintances with old friends. On a bench I spoke to Armand. He corrected me when I said that Lick Pier was there. "It was further south. This here pier was where the Aragon Ballroom stood - where the Ferris-wheel and rides are today. 
  I left the pier and decided to visit the library. The Santa Monica Library has a museum open to the public during the week and I thought about  donating some of my old pictures given to me by Cheb Conway...On Ocean Front Blvd, I entered the Georgian Hotel. I could not believe that 1936 building got over $300 for a night's stay. Other hotel rates were the highest in the county. 
 There was the famous Third Street Mall with people from all over enjoying the now, hot weather due to a Santa Ana wind. I saw the King's Inn and other restaurants as well as a thrift shop on Fifth and Broadway...The libraries doors were still shut so this is a good time to return on the Big Blue 7 and get back with my daughter. 
 It's great riding on a $.50 bus ride that deposits me back to my daughter' apartment and a Wild Salmon dinner plate ready to eat. (More to come and unedited.). 
     

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

Last Sunday, the 20th of April, I found out why some Assistant Living Centers have "Ass" at the beginning of the their title. Like the movie starring Jack Nicholson, the patrons enter sane, and later become "cuckoo."   
   My three o'clock Sunday visit will explain why this one is run by a true Ass-Hole. The Pacific Spartan Apartment is in Midway City, between Huntington Beach and the City of Westminster. 
  He had been kicked out from the first one by Jeffery, the owner of the Golden Crest Assistant Living Center. Another patron knocked him down when he had left the elevator. He bruised his back and one eye had been blackened. I complained and Jeffery summoned the Police to take him to a Newport Beach Motel reserved for the insane.
  To this day, my brother Mel chides me for complaining. The managers spend to much time for their newer cars than regulating the driving inside their domain.
  
I have been visiting Mel for about eight years at the Pacific Spartan Assistant Living Center. The #405 brings you there and it is off the Balsa exit. Across Balsa lies a  Vietnamese cemetery and across his street called Pacific is a auto repair shop. It converted to an Assistant living center later. 
  The smell from the Huntington Beach hits you as you walk to the patio area of the two story complex. In smokers corner several wheel chairs roll up a few drags. Marlboro Gold is the most popular. Coffee cups and ash trays make up this little corner. .
  To the side window I saw the outline of my brothers head. Unsettled commotion hit me from the T.V. room. Now this was no upgraded wheel chair residence. These had to be pushed, pulled or carried from room to room. 
   A few had dozed off. Many needed to have their diaper changed but with no hot water to flush the toilet, that was impossible.  to have their diapers changed as the stench hit me like a dirty diaper. at there was no water. In otherwords the toilets did not flush.
  Again, the stench from the patients sitting in wheel chairs needed desperately to have their diapers changed. A yellow tape lay across the only to downstairs bathrooms. Some didn't care as they were fast asleep, and others had lost their sense of smell.
  A couple months earlier, nobody could enter the living room. There had been another leak and the water and waist spread over the first floor. Another time, everyone had been sickened by some bug and everything needed to be fumigated.
  "Well, Mel, you look well...Do you wish I give you a twenty or some lunch at Norm's?"
  Norms was just up the street on Beach Blvd. street on Beach Blvd.
  "I wish Norm's since only chicken fingers will be served tonight." he responded and rose."
  "Let's wait a few minutes. I am tired." Mel sat and waited 
  "We've got no hot water and besides, many people have become sick with a stomach virus...I myself fell in the elevator but was sent home by the Huntington Hospital...There was nothing wrong with me.'
  Just then Josie, in charge, changed directions and cornered me. Eddie the owner had Sundays off, water or no water. The last time I had seen Josie was when she warned Eddie that I would soon take up a place for dinner. Of course I enjoy the company of others and not the food, but Eddie runs a tight ship and he is the only one who can button down the hash. 
  "Why don't they put in brand new plumbing. It is the fourth time this has happened. And why don't they get real plumbers, not the Mexicans off the street corner, " a inmate screamed.  
   "Doesn't Mel look good...We've had a problem with the water but it will be fixed tomorrow...Mel had been in the hospital for diabetes. Doesn't he look good."
  It appeared to me that Josie was covering up the shit today. Of course dirty diapers is a harbinger of diseases. I then took Mel to Norm's. As always, healthy food brought on a coughing spell. He loves T-Boned steaks. How are Benny and also Pat?
  Both went to the hospital. We have had stomach problems here recently. Also I just don't like it when Eddie picks up all of dead-beats from the hospitals and brings them here.

 Nuts and Bolts: Mel pays $1000 to share a room with another. Like others, he has his diapers changed and is showered and shaved each morning.

A Denny's Waitress/ Young Man

My retirement check always comes a day or two or three late. I try to have a one hundred dollar bill inside my wallet - just in case. It was the first of the month when I entered Denny's , in Encinitas. Dennis is opened 24 hours or it would have been out of business moons ago.
  Before I proceeded up the street to wash my white, I felt like a good breakfast at Denny's. The only green I had was a one hundred dollar bill.  It was going on seven when Bobby entered my life. She came over to me like she had known me my entire life. Shyness was a stranger to Bobby who probably was born talking.  
    "Do you wish to try our specials that include waffles with apple syrup, or the senior special that comes with my smile?"  And that is when I met Bobby, eye to eye. She looked at me as if I was a rat and she a snake. "What do you want young man. Can I start you off with coffee...What do you think of my hair?.."
  And then I knew what my life had been all of these wasted years. missing after puberty:  A young damsel with a personality and smile that would put others to shame. She swam around Denny's speaking to everyone as if she was the recreation director on a Princess Cruise.  "Can  I top off your coffee young man."
  Now other Denny's waitresses call me  "Pops", or "Sweetie" or "honey" but never "young man."  Bobby  was trim and had a flare  that told me  her husband was lucky to celebrate the Fourth of July every evening. My appetite heightened and my pancakes were easily digested.
   "Well we can't break one hundred It is too early." 
    "No problem. I will return with the six and change."
  
The  day two weeks ago will always be remembered. All I had was a hundred dollar bill at the beginning of April. She did not have change and told me to pay later. Of course in no-way could I pay my debt until my retirement check arrived.
  I returned to the scene of the crime a few days ago. I paid what I owed with a tip to the manager. He told me that Bobby worked on Tuesdays. Well today, the 21st was the day I returned, but did not see any Bobby. The dark haired smiling face had been replaced by a blond who had two balls of hair on top of her head.
  The new waitress turned around. No way! It isn't! Am I seeing things?  And there was the same Bobby face with its forever smile.  "Do you remember me?"
   "How can I forget you, young man. Sit anywhere, you deserve it. Do you wish to begin with coffee?'
    "How about some sliced apples to go with the pancakes." She provided me with two cups of syrup and spoke with the cook about her two cats.
   "Hey Bobby, how long have you been married to the lucky one?" She retorted, "Sixteen marvelous years. I live with five boys including my husband and two male cats."
   '"Here is a five and keep the change. Thanks for providing my lift for the day."
    'Looking forward to seeing you again, Young Man.

   Today, Tuesday, I returned to take her picture, with her approval of course. She promised to have her 30's hair a dirty blond color on top. It was six thirty and I parked my car in the Days Inn and Dennis parking lot off the Encinitas Blvd.  Five Mexican already stood in the lot and waited to be picked up for a days-work. Shrubs and trees hid Denny's is and the Days Inn from the blvd. Anywhere there is a Denny's , you can be sure a Motel Six or other motel is close by. 
   "Hi dolling, sit anywhere...The usual coffee and water today eh?" She greeted me with the usual transparent smile. 
    "I'll take the scrambled eggs with the cakes this time-around." She greeted another table with "You look beautiful my friend. Can I start you off with coffee?" 
    I removed my Spirit of St. Louis book and began to read how 'Lindy' created his flying boat at the Ryan building. The first time I visited Lindbergh Field, the last wooden remains of the Ryan building was being torn down. 
    Bobby greeted more patrons with a "Hi lovely" and brought my breakfast with two sliced applies. "Sure I will take your picture Dolling." 
   The tall manager arrived at about seven. I had spoken to him yesterday and found out he drove all the way from Mission Villejo. I told him to take Metro-Link in the morning and have his car parked at the Oceanside Transit Center. 
   "Is is safe to park the car there? He asked. 
   "No problem, and you can save on gas and take your car the fifteen remaining miles to this eatery. Can you take a few pictures of me and Bobby?  

Finding Charles Lindbergh

I boarded the 4:40 Metro-Link from the Oceanside Transit Center. I needed to distance myself from San Diego and visit the downtown L.A. Library and my West L.A. daughter. I needed to nap and read another book, "We" again. It had been written by "Lucky" Lindy after his daring flight across the Atlantic Ocean in May of 1927.
  I carried my book, The Spirit of St. Louis, inside my nap-sack along with other stay-over items like underwear, toothbrush etc. Again, I wished to visit the downtown central library to find out more about Charles Lindbergh. It felt great to drink pure air and leave the driving to Metro-Link. I napped, read to wait for Mr. Sun to arrive.
  In other blogs, I mentioned that Lindbergh  had slept in the one dollar-a-night Army and Navy hotel off of Broadway to save money. "The Lone Eagle" had arrived in San Diego and got what he wished, a plane to be made to his specifications at Ryan Air, just bought by the new owner. He told "Lindy: he could build the plane in less than two months.
  Of course my interest in Lindbergh did not come about by accident.  His Spirit haunted me ever since I had been given room 204 in what is called today the 500 Building or Y.M.C.A.  I  heard strange noises ever since the day that Sir Thomas Cartwright allowed me to stay in the Section Eight second floor.
  A piece from another book mentioned he stayed in this hotel in either February or March of 1927. So of course when unhinged doors banged, floors creaked I thought it might have been Him. Instead it usually was a lonely spider or cock roach dancing over my skin. The filthy Broadway air with planes circling my building made me take the #992 downtown bus to Lindbergh Field.
  Four years ago, before the name was changed to the San Diego International Airport, I loved the scenery of the coastline and the little eateries inside. The shoreline must have been beautiful to Lindbergh and he even took off from North Island's, Rockwell Field.  Now I hope the above did not bore you, but I became a addict when it came to "Lucky" Lindbergh. The picture to the side is one of


Charles Nungesser  The  picture above was a French War ace during the First World War., Charles  Nungesser . The World War One ace had shot down  47 German planes and was decorated with the French Legend of Honor. Unlike Lindberg, he took a chance and took off with another from Paris. They were not going for the $25, 000 prize as "Lindy" was to be the first to fly from New York to Paris.

   The French were stunned that their ace pilot had been lost and never recovered  the plane. Yet the fact that another one took his place and the French and world had another hero to hang their hat one. Lindberg took no chances.

   As always, the train ride to Los Angeles gave me the opportunity to become Charles Lindberg. Two books checked out of the new San Diego library kept me company on the plane ride. Just like Lindies flight over the Pacific, my train began before the sunset and it was not until Fullerton that the signs of dawn interrupted my reading. My first stop would be the library before heading to West Los Angeles to marvel at my second daughter. My own life began in Los Angeles where Pico Blvd played  role in my daily living.

  Since it was early, I grabbed a bite of breakfast at Peat's Coffee across from the library and then walked to the underground food court off of Flower Street. The library opened at nine thirty and I asked for the March of 1927 editions of the N.Y. Times. The elevator took me down to the fourth floor to the microfilm area. I continued my journey to discover Lindbergh from the New York Times microfilms.
  In no way was it luck when the one engine plane made it over the Atlantic to Paris even though he distained carrying a radio.   one engine plane without a radio to Paris, France. The new Wright engine with free-higher-octane gasoline provided by Mobile Oil and Standard got him across the ocean in record time. The Spirit tagged along with a tail wind all the way from Newfoundland. Lindbergh had studied the weather reports and carried a rabbits foot for good luck. A new compass did not deviate from its desired course.

  Enough of Charles Lindbergh, I needed to get to my daughters apartment in West Los Angeles. As it was still early and not the rush hour, I jumped on the 720 Rapid, across the street from the library, and took it to Western Avenue. Up the street was the Rapid Blue stop. The every-thirty-minute bus came in a few minutes.
  I climbed aboard and tried to put the fifty cents into the machine. A gentleman in back me screamed, "hurry up."When I turned around I found it was the same man trying to illicit money from the ladies earlier. A bus trainer yanked me aboard before the other could further abuse me.
  The Rapid Blue made a left and and a right and we were on Pico Blvd. The bus stopped across from the Glatt Market and I walked up Pico to my daughter's apartment. Across from it stood-tall the Museum of Tolerance. (Not edited and more to come.)



 

Tuesday's City Counsel Meeting

As expected, nothing had changed since the last time I visited the San Diego  City Counsel. The public speakers not on the agenda had to wait, and wait until the audience had left. The meeting had begun at ten o'clock. The secretary spoke to me about the ground rules before he copied my flash drive onto into his magical computer. His name, also ,was George. His mind showed wit, and lots of it, since some of the Board Members were din-wits.
   "George, let me look under pictures. There Schindler is, helmet and all...Here is your thumb drive. What are you here for?
"I wish to make May 21st, 'Amby' Schindler Day." I answered.
   "You need to place the subject on the docket first..It means you must contact a counsel member  to do it."
    "I am also looking for a publisher for the book."
   Now I sat in the back. The audience filled up and after a few motions had been passed. Those on the dock-it had there turn. A San Diego Post and members of the U.S.O.  were honored. Photos-opts were  taken and afterwards, everyone filed out.The Counsel members yawned and poo-pooed the thought of having to sit through the public speakers.
    The one speaker who I met two years ago pleaded with the silent board. I will try to paraphrase what he said. He was allowed two minutes, like all of us. The Counsel Web-Site was down so I knew no longer would we be public speakers. Unlike two years ago, there were only seven, if you include me. . Two counsel members had their pictures taken along with members of these posts. The gentleman who spoke was the same one who had spoken about two years ago when I asked for an air-conditioner in my Y.M.C.A. Building.
    "None of you on the board seem to worry about the water shortage facing this city. To hell with building a Charger Stadium. To hell with the N.F.L. We are speaking about our lives. What would you do if we turned off your water. It is asinine to put up more buildings."

    In the back of my mind I thought about the dust bowl back South in the early part of the nineties. I hadn't rained in years and the folks in Oklahoma came west to find a new place to live. Those who make it to California were diverted to Bakersfield. I wondered if the San Diegans would soon be leaving their homes and going west towards Portland or Seattle.
    The Black speaker, before me, again spoke about the need to help the homeless, like he did two years earlier. It looked like he had pitched his tent at these twelfth floor meeting each Tuesday. George motioned for me to take a seat in front. It was my turn to speak. Now a picture of Schindler with his helmet was on their large T.V.
   "What you see was the greatest football player to come out of San Diego High School. He also played for U.S.C. and was the Rose Bowl player of the game in 1940 and also the Chicago All Star player in August of that same year...He is still alive and his birthday is May 21st. He will be 98 years old."
   The Tuesday meeting ended early. And why not? It was not a meeting. They didn't care about football or Schindler. Each had eyes that couldn't see, ears that didn't listen, a mind that couldn't thing. In other words, it was another Alice in Wonderland Meeting.

 Nuts and bolts for today:  Another Red Flag Alert in on tab for today. Stay-in-side or go to hotel or mall. The dust storm will hit later tonight. No, I said no exercise between ten and six today.
 

A revisit to San Clemente

No bus comes on Sunday -- well it does, but at a different times and not as often. Sunday morning at seven, I connected with the Metro #14 but missed my #720 Red Rapid connection to Western and the Purple line.
  The Metro Purple Line has major stops along the line to the Union Station. the #720 takes you to the old Wiltern Theater and the underground. My Metro-Link train left at eight fifty back to San Diego.The elevator took me to the train and in a few minutes I was buying a Metro-Link ticket.  A gentleman tried to earn his money by intimidation and scamming. The lady, in front of the line, could no longer take his abuse.
  "Will you please leave me alone. You have been following me the last few minutes." She begged with terror in her voice."
  Now I became irritated. She now fumbled with the machines before obtaining her Sunday ticket. But the loafer would not stop his tirade. I felt like knocking the shit out of him, but knew my Rebbe would not allow it. With a deep guttural voice he kept at it.
  "Give me some money you white bitch. It's Sunday. Be nice to me."
  Well now, I gave this Obama voter a stare that must have unlocked his mind. He walked over to the other machine and again began his harangue -range for money. Harried a bit, it took a minute for my hands to calm down and hit the correct combination. In a split second, another one stood next to the machine. He knew a disturbed patron would leave a few dollar coins inside the machine.
  "May I help you son. Why do you stand by the machine?"
  "I need the money!"
  "Haven't you called our President yet, he is loaded."
The 8:50 would leave in five minutes. It gave me enough time to buy a Winchell Pretzel and get to the 8 B tunnel. I didn't know then if I had enough energy to get off a San Clemente. My March 30th blog spoke about how gorgeous the beach city looked from above on the train.
  About a hundred Asians came off the train with me. It was hot a muggy. I ate a quick breakfast at a eatery across the street and next door to a tourist shop. I was on El Camino Real, the first California Street. 
  There were hotels in back of me and several Spanish ones across the street to the south. Since the city was built on a large hill -- you could see the ocean from anywhere. the Pacific shores from anywhere. 
  At Pier front was the Fisherman's restaurant, now at ten thirty crowded. On the beachfront was a large hamburger stand with fries, hot doggies, salads and you-name-its. Mobile toilets were to the south of the old one now being modernized,
  On my March First blog, I wrote that the surfing was great. Like the day in March, the sets of waves danced in one-at-a-time. The boarders were further to the south.
  On the bus stop a lady told me why the beach seemed so pristine "We have an old counsel chamber that refuses to budge. Unlike San Diego, it wishes to remain the way it was and not become a circus like it is in San Diego.    
   

A Visit to the U.S.C Campus

Like I told you in earlier blogs, I saw the Internal Revenue about two weeks ago in San Diego. My three hours wait felt worth it. I lost a lot of baggage I had been carrying around for years...of course  I had some good reasons not to pay, and don't we all. (Their offices are on Front and E Streets off of Broadway.) 
  In order to begin saving my small retirement check, I knew I had no choice but to live out of my car a night or two. Thursday evening was one of those nights. I left the rest stop at about three in the morning. 
    Dennis' welcomed this tired traveler at about three Friday morning. I felt powerful to have slept a few winks earlier at the rest stop -- and avoided the weekend fee of $72 a night at the Motel Six. As a matter of fact, the fresh ocean breeze at the rest stop unclogs my nasal passages.
    The first stop going south is the entrance to Oceanside. Two gas stations and the reliable Dennis welcomed me. And I did not feel tired, but did feel hungry. I ordered the Dennis Senior Grand Slam which is a hyperbole for Slim Pickings: a little sausage, half a bacon, and one egg....I used their restroom to wash and shave. The hostess filled a paper going-away-cup for me and out the door an onto the beginning of Oceanside drive.
    The early Metro-Link train would leave at 4:40 and I arrived with my car about three thirty. I purchased a one-way ticket from the machine for seven fifty and returned to my car. I placed  my General Douglas MacArthur  inside my nap-sack and a few toiletries that included my thyroid pills.
    I climbed aboard at about four thirty and enjoyed the feeling of the night. I cat-napped when I heard the lurching of the train. A lone lady passenger sat in front of me. The World War Two General kept me company as I tried to learn the names of Islands in the South Pacific. I became General MacArthur during the train ride. A bevy of passengers got on between Irvine and  Bellflower stations n fact, each compartment on the six car train was packed with sleepy commuter travelers.
   We arrived at Union Station just before six thirty. I knew the library opened at ten so I had three hours to waist. Instead, I thought about visiting the U.S.C. campus early in the morning. The B Dash deposited me at the Flower and Fifth Station. About six commuter trains stopped there in the early morning but who wishes to live in Saugus or West Covina?

For a quarter, the F Dash dropped me off at the Figueroa U.S.C. Campus. I walked towards the book store and stopped to enjoy the water fountain in front of a white Trojan Horse. A Security guard took a few pictures and I ambled further to the Heritage Museum. That is where the Athletic Offices are located.
To my amazement, I saw a T.V. truck and lights to the side of the Museum. About four tried to work the lenses to get the correct picture. At about eight o'clock a good looking blond sat down and spoke like a sportscaster. She reminded me of my first wife, always chatting about something...The camera men still tried to get the correct color combination for the interview 
   If the Athletic Office  was twelve o'clock, the interview was a nine o'clock with the sun peeking through at six o'clock. Each time the sun moved, their dials and dots needed to be adjusted -- just like life. I passed out my card and knew they would trash it. 
   Was that him?...Was I seeing things? A bright yellow headed man came out of twelve o'clock with a thin one. The thin one had spoken to the interviewee earlier. I knew it had to be the Trojan coach. The thin man told me he would ask him for an interview later. I didn't get one. On their return, I gave the thin man two chapters of my Schindler Story and walked towards the Doheny Library 
   In front of Tommy Trojan a tour guide expounded the pluses of  signing up for good-old U.S.C. to a bunch of high school students and their parents...I met with Claude Zachery inside his cubicle. He works in Archivist Special collections. He told me to return to the book store as a publisher is on the third floor. She was not in but i did get the number for Tiffany Quon. 
   U.S.C. is a city within a city. I felt rich with excitement until I saw workers digging up Wilshire Blvd just outside downtown library.  I asked  an inspector what the digging was all about. 
   "We are doing the electrical work first before the Gold Line comes to downtown...The main streets had workers digging all the way to La Brea. It appeared the Purple Line would impinge on Beverly Hills where I am writing this piece of prose today. 
   The good news is that I saved seventy dollars by not staying at a motel. 


   
 
 
 
 

How to get to Petco Park

It is batter up time in San Diego once again. Hotels are filled with fans eager to take-in batter's practice at the ball park. Some are wondering why the Padres had traded-away Gonzalez a few years ago since he hit five home runs against them. But don't make the mistake like other and try to drive to the Old Ball Game. Let me show you. San Diego has a great transportation system. You can get to today's game by taking the Green Line Trolley, the 11 or 901 bus to the ballpark. You can park it at any of the commuter lots off the train stations on your way. 
   Fans that arrive early can visit Seaport Village first. The Village has a number of vintage shops and eateries. I like to mingle with the Asian who love to take pictures of the Sailor kissing a Nurse at the celebrating the end of World War 2 in September of  1945. A statue of  Bob Hope joking with the troops is next to the Harbor. The Fish Restaurant to the south has a birds' eye view of the beautiful Harbor. But please don't feed the seagulls or you'll get kicked out of the eatery. 
  The Midway ship is to the South and the restaurant to the left. Since the game begins at a few ticks after three o'clock against the Giants, you might wish to visit the Midway ship for a few bucks.The flat top is one of  the most memorable sights in the San Diego Harbor. 
For those from North County, You might wish to begin at the flower fields of Carlsbad. You can see the flowers for miles. Eat a hardy breakfast first at the Tip-Top and order the Big John Special. Wash it down with fresh farmer's produce at Vince's Grand Market next door. After eleven, the market has a wonderful salad bar. Across Palomar Road are the Flower Fields. A large American Flag painted with Red, White and Blue Roses introduces you to the park. There are all types of shops and eateries. 
   The Coaster train stops at about eleven in Carlsbad and Encinitas. So park it and let the conductor take you the rest of the way to Old Town. You can hitch on the Green Line Trolley there. 
   Go Padres!

   
 
 

San Diego's Spirit of St. Louis

By now you know I never know where my legs will take me. I can plan it, but God changes my way every-day. And I walk the earth in God's Time, not mine. I never thought much of Charley Lindbergh until I interviewed "Amby" Schindler. Still alive, I can still here him say how his Mom wished to have the plane say "The Spirit of San Diego." 
   In the spring of 2011, I was given a place to stay off of Broadway, once called D Street in downtown San Diego. In 1924, the International Harvester  made way for the Army and Navy building, later called the Y.M.C.A.
   Sir Thomas Cartwright thought I must have been disabled. I guess I looked that way then in 2011. I had no idea my room 204  was haunted with spirits. A book about the flyer spoke how he had to watch meager budget. He spent one dollar a night to stay in my hotel in 1927. My cost was a little under eight hundred dollars a month.
  I found out room 204 was not haunted with ghosts. Instead, tiny bed bugs sucked my blood dry every night and I awoke with bloody sheets and endless scratching. My opened wounds now were y wounds open to the cock-roaches and spiders who sat down beside me every morning.
  Unhinged doors slammed at night. Inside the next cell, an elephant blew his horns. Endless screaming filled the halls. The guy next to me was threatened with a knife. Fire alarms went off for one week as a rapper was sent off to jail.
  I took refuge at Lindbergh Field off Harbor Blvd. To survive, I ate, read, and wrote sitting  close to a replica of his ship, The Spirit of St. Louis. The second floor of Terminal One had a panoramic views of the coast. I could welcome the morning sun and say hello to the Hyatt, Embassy, or Bankers corner.
  Earlier in the summer of 2010, I saw the last remnants of Ryan Corporation being torn down. I thought to myself it may have been saved as a historical monument. I could see Schindler, the U.S.C.football player watching the Spirit being built. He had told me his Mom drove him there.
  I began to read  books about this famous flyer. Other companies wanted more money than he could afford to build the plane until he returned to San Diego and found a lonely meager plant called Ryan. They agreed to build his plane for a little over $10,000, that included a Wright engine from New York.
  My previous blog described how much the French  blog mentioned that the French mourned the life of two flyers who ignored the weather reports from Paris, France. Their "White Bird" couldn't be found. One had been a living legend who had won the Legend of Honor....The longer they went missing, the more the New York Times wrote about this"Lone Eagle", or Charles Lindbergh. The New York Times showed a picture of Lindbergh as he landed the "Spirit" onto New York soil.
  Early on, this long shot became more of a sure-thing. Four parachute jumps out of crashing planes and doing dare-devil routines for circuses to make ends meet p[roved that his experience made him an even favorite to win the Ortiega prize of $25,000.  He knew how not to fly in turbulent cold weather inside  pockets of fog.
  New York fell in love with the handsome one engine gun-slinger who carried a rabbits foot for good luck inside the cock-pit of his one engine Folker plane. San Diego had a bounty on rabbits at the time so each rabbit killed meant cash.
   When the weather reports showed the fog lifting, he barely made it over a telephone line on a muddy field. He carried more than one hundred more gallons of gasoline.
On May 20th, Lindbergh left New York at 7:52 A.M..."Hundreds Gasp as Unconquerable Youth by Sheer Wizardry Lifts Machine Carrying 5,200 Pound Load, With failures a Few Yards off." Russell Owen also wrote the best description of that memorable take off.
   "A sluggish, grey monoplane lurched it way down Roosevelt Field yesterday morning, slowly gathering momentum.  Inside a tall youngster, eyes glued to an instrument boardor darting ahead for swift glances of the runway, his face drawn with the intensity of purpose."
   "Death lay but a few seconds ahead of him if is skill failed or courage faltered. For moments, as the plane rose from the ground, dropped down, staggered again into the air and fell, he gambled for his life which had already killed for lives."
   On that same day, two others made headlines. Harry Sinclair and Secretary Fall were under indictment for not willing to testify. I remember it had something to do with Teapot Dome in ninth grade social studies class. Sinclair was sentenced to three months in jail.  Also, on page one was the other flight of the Ballanca that  needed more time to take off.
 Well now well tired,  I needed  to return to the Grand Central Station and ride the rails back to Oceanside. My ten dollar Metro-Link fare was just the ticket. I had planned to ride the two o'clock train and get off at San Clemente before climbing back aboard on the next one, but not this day. I felt pooped.

 Here is a picture of my in front of the Aerospace Museum off of President's Way inside Balboa Park.  I go there when I early for the every-other-Thursday dances at the Bay Club. There is a large plane library on the second floor.
  I suggest grabbing a bite at the Hall of Champions cafe. I recommend the chili bowl or the tuna sandwich. Amby Schindler's Chicago All Star Jersey is inside a glass case.
   President's Way is off of Park Blvd. The Prado Restaurant north has a great happy hour that begins at four o'clock.

The Spirit of St. Louis

On my last post,  I wrote about a picture that played at the Regent Theater inside the Westside Pavilion Mall. But I remember in the 40's, when the same spot was called the Westwood Drive-In   theater. . .You needed to clip on a speaker and insert it inside the car. A room for refreshments was outside, next to the ever-so-large screen.  
   The Pico of the 40's played a prominent role in our lives. Every morning she walked to Pico with me inside the stroller. She needed to buy fresh groceries for the day. In the early forties, all we owned was an ice box.  Mom always needed another broom, just for George-that is me. Also at the grocery store, she bought our staples like sugar, rice, and flower...
  Abe the butcher lived in  back of us on Sherborne. She used a ration card to buy meats from his Pico Blvd Store. She must have loved liver since every Tuesday it served up with onions. I dreaded Tuesdays till I got older and new how to grill it. Even the football player Schindler loved liver. Yuck!
  
  Obesity did not exist then. It couldn't. We enjoyed the simple life then. My Mom Edith's  day never ended. She either cooked, washed dishes or hung clothes on the line. Why once a week she even mowed the front lawn. Once day the lower severed the better part of my left thumb. She rolled the stroller down Pico with one hand and held my bleeding fingered hand  with the other.  
  After the bakery she pushed me on the stroller back to our two bedroom one bath Spanish stucco home on Holt Avenue off of Airdrome. The remainder of the shopping was left to the trucks that brought produce, fish, and milk to our little piece of apple pie.
    Mr. Berman brought his truck down our street once a week. I found out there was other fruit besides figs and locquats. I can still taste the fresh peaches, plums and most of all, pomegranates. At least half of our foods came from his truck or the fig tree in the backyard.
But I am sure this bores you to death.
  
After the Saturday early evening movie, I went to the Westwood and Pico Bus stop. The movie Woman in Gold reminded me of my time growing up in West Los Angeles...It was powerful.  Three buses stopped a few feet from that corner: The Culver City Green , Blue 7 and Rapid Blue 7. A lady asked me if the Rapid 7 stopped there.
   "I need to take the Rapid Seven to get to the Purple Line Trolley. I need to get to the city of Fontana. 
  "Look over there. The sign says it does...But may I inquire if the Rapid Seven does bus you to the Purple Line?"
   "It sure does."
   "Well that it going to save me time. Now I can take the Purple train and switch to the Pico Rapid Seven to go down Pico."   I did know that the Rapid does not make every stop on Pico. The other Blue took me to my stop, Roxbury and I returned to the Rat Trap. I did not wish to disturb her so I went straight to bed.
    Early the next morning, I left early and took the #14 Metro bus to Wilshire. The Rapid Red bus took me all-the-way to Western. That is where I was going to pick up the underground Purple Line. Instead I had a great breakfast at Denny's and saw how this part of Los Angeles turned to Korean Town. 
    Why there was a gigantic driving range a few streets over with a large four block net covering it for errant golf balls. I felt so good that I decided to go to the downtown library. I needed to find out more about the Spirit of St. Louis. The libraries new machines allow you to copy pictures from the newspapers onto your flash drive. 
The Rapid took me to the downtown Los Angeles  Library. The downstairs fourth floor housed housed old newspapers on microfilm such as the New York Times and the Chicago Tribune. Of course I loved to find out about the flyer since he made a big impact on Schindler's life. 
    I asked for the May of 1927 to discover more about Lindbergh. I knew several fliers had already been killed trying to get the Orteiga prize of $25,000, for the first flyer to cross the Atlantic from New York and arrive in Paris.  When I had moved to San Diego, I found out he actually slept in the Y.M.C.A for one dollar. He also slept at the Grant Hotel for two. 

  
 This is a picture of Charles and his mother Elizabeth a few days before he would take off from New York to be the first to fly the Atlantic and get to Paris. 
  The French were still looking for the two who had set off for New  York. One had been an ace pilot who had shot down 45 German planes during the First World War. The sorrow of the French would soon be displaced by "Lucky" Lindy. 
  Unlike the French pilots, he knew he needed better weather before take off. Also, his metallic plane had enough gas and oil to make it if only he stayed awake. Already he had survived four incidents when he parachuted to safely delivering air mail.  The New York papers barely mentioned his name until a famous French fliers became lost and presumed dead. But what aroused me was how Schindler mentioned his name every time we entered Redondo Beach.
   I found out he did matriculate for awhile at the school as he and his Mom took a Pacific tour of California. I believe he was fourteen at the time.
   The underground Purple Line took me to the Grand Central Station. My Metro-Link train would leave at exactly two o'clock. 
   

A visit to West Los Angeles

Every week or so, San Diego bores me to death. I need a change of scenery. Why on Tuesday afternoon, I meandered to the Oceanside Transit Center to take the commuter Metro-Link on to Los Angeles' Union Station. 
   A very old Japanese came my way. He wore sun glasses and had a bag that carried a transistor radio. He had trouble with his sight an and wished to know how to get to the train going towards Los Angeles. . 
   The three twenty train will leave in ten minutes. The thin man with sun  glasses and a long stick in his right hand limps along. He is barely alive. He carries a small transistor radio that plays Japanese love songs. His chop stick legs makes ambling along difficult. I lead him under the tunnel to the #622. I make sure he has his ticket as I have bought my senior citizen special for seven and change.
   An obviously disabled lady boards. She thinks the rides are for five dollars to  San Diego. She will pay the price later. The train ride infuses my lungs with pure air. My mind works better when it breathes. Menachem Begin will accompany me on the train today. With clean air, books come alive  and I wish to explore this Jewish savior who helped to kicked  the Nazi British out of Israel- on the eve of Passover. 
    But it is my number two daughter I wish to visit. The Jewish tradition tells us we must nurture our seeds until we get to the fiftieth gate to heaven. My second seed has needed more light and nourishment than my first. Yet now it is the other way around. I visit her for food. She recharges my battery when life needs a good squirt of energy. 
    After a trip on the Los Angeles Purple Line Metro and two bus rides I enter her apartment across from the Museum of Tolerance. Her Rat trap apartment lives on Pico and Roxbury. She does not expect me but no problem, My bed is ready, that is after her buddy takes me to Norms for a late dinner. A fresh breeze breeze feels great and heightens my appetite for life. 
    The eatery between Westwood and Sepulveda is packed. I take a stool next to the cash register. The manager is scolding a Latina for making an error - of course it is not her fault since she probably never learned any English. 
     "I'll have the Chef Salad." It is only nine and change whereas the steak costs double. 
      "What kind of dressing do you wish?" 
      "Oil and vinegar." 
    I begin to speak with the man next to me. He is my age less fifteen. I find out he is part Mexican  and French. He is eating an Italian dish of Ravioli and is half finished. 
    "I am from San Diego. What do you do?" He seemed a bit out of place as most of the people don't look together - what I mean is their clothes don't match. 
     "I work at Twentieth Century. I am a producer. I always take my girl friend to La Jolla. I live in Malibu...how about you?" 
     "I live in my car Dolly when my pockets are thin with change...It is not all that bad...I save sixty dollars every-other night..I used to play volleyball down the road a-piece."
      "Did you play volleyball with Max? He died a three years ago."
      His voice carried as if he was auditioning for a movie. He seemed proud to have made it big, but zi wonder really. Why brag if you made it big. Hell, he probably lives in a igloo every day. For me the igloos have melted and no-two-days are the same. 
My big break came the next day. After a day in Beverly Hills where I bough five dollars worth of fresh chopped liver, half a rye and a pickle to boot. Of course it had to be wall facing Factor's Deli. In twenty minutes he claimed over ten dollars and change. My Blue Bus came and I returned to the Rat Trap Apartments off of Pico. 
    I felt like going to a movie so I asked my daughter who recommended A Women in Gold. She was eating from a box of Cheerios. "It's about a lady who lost her families art work during the war. I like the actress." 
    After a nap, I took the Blue #7 down Pico to the Westwood Shopping Mall. Eighty percent of the bus patrons were Latino. Many were cleaners returning home to Culver City or other stops in West Los Angeles 
    I ate some Thai food in the Food Court, red my Begin book, and left for the movie. The movie's lead actress gave a stunning performance. Somehow, the makeup men did a great job in transforming a young gal into an old matron. 
    What I did not know was this matron lived up the street from us in Beverly Wood. And I remembered an article about how she had tried to have the art work returned to her. Bernadine, her Aunt, was the piece she wished to have the most. 
 But get this. Simply because the Austrian's had published a book to be sold in the United States, it made her country the new venue. I thought about Horst Cahn and his work for Bayer Aspirin. I could not see shy he couldn't sue the company for lost wages while he worked in their company. (More to come. Not edited) 
      .  
    
    Nate N' Al's.  I though about taking in a movie. Nobody had to tell me it was Passover. A Ryder truck had stopped in front of the Glatt Market. It has served the Persian Jews for decades. Boxes of horse radish, Gefilta Fish and other Jewish staples were packed on the floor. The store was mobbed.  A beggar sat against the wall and took in ten dollars in twenty minutes. 
   Happy Passover. 

A Perfect Storm, San Diego

It is six  o'clock in downtown Encinitas. It is the fifth straight day of soaring heat. It is one hundred and twenty degrees. The 30,000 citizens fight over space at Moonlight Beach. The Freakish Santa Ana winds whip their speeds to fifty miles an hour.
   The North County fires have blackened everything from Oceanside to Carlsbad and are sending embers up San Diego  way. The sounds of fire trucks and ambulances are everywhere. Encinitas Blvd is no longer a street. It is a parking lot. All of a sudden the street lights are down. The California grid overloaded. The State can't borrow any juice from other districts.
At seven o'clock, the #5 freeway is jammed. Cars are backed up to San Diego. No electricity means gas  pumps don't work. Planes can't take off or land at Lindbergh Field. It takes the 992  airport bus bus three hours to go one mile-like three years ago when San Diego had another power surge outage. People are streaming into the city on foot. The Trolleys no longer run.
  The small fire out of Carlsbad has now spread west as fifty mile winds blow the ash  San Diego Way  Simultaneously, Monsoons from Mexico have hit the area.  The dust and ash make seeing impossible. The firetrucks no longer can pick up the homeless from the Commercial Street. Bodies are lined up everywhere. 
   Life is at a standstill. Black Death hovers over San Diego and North County. Millions of rat come from under the streets. These critters eat the flesh and return to the underground to feed their litters.   They take their food back to their dens under the street. Everywhere are dead birds and on the beaches, seals have beached and died. No sign of life is on the beaches 
   At about seven O'clock, buildings totter. A nine magnitude earthquake has hit San Diego and can be felt as far as Mexico City. The earthquake is centered about one hundred miles off of the coast in the ocean.  A small tidal wave begins its march east towards the coast. Ocean, and Pacific Beach are in its path. 
   There is nowhere to run since every home is down. Now the 10,000 San Diego homeless become over one million. A few pedicabs and bikes attempt to make their way east. Nothing can be seen as the ash from the fires and the Monsoonal condition make breathing impossible. 
   The is a hush in the wind as the 50 foot tidal surges hit the coast and put out the ash. Waves roll into Broadway taking down the large banks and the 500 building. Ex-Mayor Gloria can be seen paddling a kayak with Felt-More doing the same. A wave hits their Kayak and send them spilling to the Midway ship. 
   Yet Curious,  George is alive and well. When the San Diego City Counsel did not allow air-conditioners inside the YMCA for his Asthmatic condition he knew his God Hashem would take down the city. George had built an underground shelter for his friends with enough oxygen to last several months. Just like in the bible and the story of Noah's Ark, He knew that his God would begin a new city without gas-guzzling cars, and readied himself long ago. 
   Excuse the interruption, a lady next to me on the Beverly Hills computers is shaking the tables. She wears a mask over her nose and mouth, but forgot the one for her face. The fat lady now hits the keyboard with her middle finger. She is another crazy one, like me, who rents  keyboards.