Memorial Day-Beverly Hills 2015

 
 Sunday's tour started at the Beverly Hills Farmer's Market, beside the Library parking lot. I sat at a round table and enjoyed the bluegrass music eating my one dollar onion bagel. It was a misty morning but the violin, two guitars, base, and later a chromatic harmonica drove lifted the haze.  I donated a few dollars to the jar of the Burning Heart Blue Grass ensemble 
     I spayed some sun tan lotion over the bald spot on my head and scurried to Santa Monica Blvd., a block north and savored the last bite of my four dollar tamale. My task today was to buy a cap at the renowned Thrift Shop in Beverly Hills.  
      The picture below demonstrates that Beverly Hills is not immune to the plight of the homeless. Below is a gentleman standing on Canon Drive counting his change. Rite Aid is in the background. 

     I took a few pictures of the Beverly Hills sign across from Beverly Drive and sat in back of large trees to wait for the bus. It came every fifteen minutes. The large trees gave my hot head time to deflame. 
    A large rest room was in back of me.  I paid my 35 cent senior fare .The Rapid Red 204 passed the City Hall, Annenberg Center, Mormon Temple and entered the city of Santa Monica.
     The #204 Rapid Red stopped on P.C.H. and I walked a few blocks to the Thrift Shop. On the way I noticed that Carlson's appliances had shut down. The salty arid beach air heightened my appetite for life. Excitement flowed everywhere. I treated myself to a nice slice of tomato and mushroom pizza and marveled a reader who sat at a table and read tea leaves. . I drank four cups of water from a large container and ordered a little roll of garlic bread.
    I purchased a hat and dark blue shirt for seven dollars at the Thrift Shop  on Santa Monica Blvd and crossed the street to Philz Coffee.A line stood out the door. A large group of Asians sat inside drinking their special coffee and doing homework. Aficionados of fine coffee lined up in front of the popular store. I asked one to find out why the store with a "Z" ending was so busy. 
   "Well Phil's first coffee shop was in San Francisco. Only Phil could make each blend to satisfy our tastes. Each patron knows what blends to order. We would drive miles for his coffee. All we need to do is tell them our name and our special brand is made."
  On the same side of the street,  the library would open. Like several years ago, the same homeless waited for the clock to strike one. My body felt limp so I hightailed it back to the #204 bus bench for my ride back to West Los Angeles I found out this bus goes clear to the Grand Central train station
The day before,  I  motored-in to enjoy my brother, my daughter with my two grandchildren and of course my number two daughter. Saturday early morning I drove first to the Midway City Assistant Living apartments. The units are off of Balsa and Pacific Avenue.
   Mel was only two happy to see me. His May 27th birthday was a-coming and a trip to Norms restaurant watered his mind. He looked relaxed that Saturday morning. It had been eight years ago when he went blind due to overeating and had needed assistance. He will become seventy five years of age.
   His only living eye watered as soon as he wolfed down the T-bone steak after eating a hardy salad and split pea soup. It seemed that his only eye needed nourishment to remove the left over puss. He had been getting shots into his pupil to stop the pupil from leaking.
   "Mel, I'll try to return on Monday for Memorial Day." I then drove to Belmont Shore. I had left eleven o'clock and now headed for noon. The barbecue was ablaze. Derick had bought two one pound round steaks for the both of us. He added two corn-on-the-cobs for me.
    Olivia, the four year old was proudly working her computer next to my daughter in the dining room. I marveled at the potted Big Boy tomato plants in pots. The fruit had flowered and it was a matter of time that big juicy tomato's would be mine. I heard a wailing inside the house.
    My 20 month year old Grand Daughter recognized me. She wished to sit across from me. She climbed on a patio chair and gave me a book to read. Well who could or would deny Allison. I had brought some fruit from Such Peachy in Encinitas. The baby munched on the fruit and wanted more. I could not get over her appetite for life.
   The gourmet barbecue round steak with mountains of seasoning was something to admire. It took me all of one hour to eat the rounder but each bite felt like a special bite. And guess what, the baby ate the corn the way grown-ups do, like a lawnmower. Allison did somersaults and danced before I left.
Monday I celebrated in Huntington Beach. The Sugar Shack's  tortilla breakfast with hash browns stoked my energy. Afterwards,  Mel and I sat on the bleachers to listen to the Huntington Beach Swing Band. Dignitaries and veterans sat on the concrete bleachers.
   Of course the day could not end until I took Mel to Double Burger on Beach Blvd. I kissed my brother good-by and wished him happy birthday. It is not every day that two brothers live so long that kissing becomes a habit.
   "When I return we will again go to the beach and you will wear the trunks I bought you."
   The drive home was easy since I left at twelve. Of course on a down note, I called my daughter and she needed more money. Oh well! Nothing is perfect.

 Nuts and bolts for today: Pat's son sells lots of cars in Pennsylvania. I sat with her and Mel at their dining table. She spoke about her conversation.
   "You know son, selling cars and baseball have lots in common."
   "How is that Mom?"
    "In baseball you can't win unless you have a closer.  

 

Santa Monica-The Best American City

 It is not by choice or accident I end up at the finest city in America--Santa Monica. Just stay with me to find out about this wonderful city - where Muscle Beach began, and beach volleyball started. 
    I left the beach volleyball courts and walked to the pier's walkway to Colorado. I felt like a McDonald's Deluxe Breakfast. The chilly breeze unclogged my nose. It felt invigorating to be here again. And who could forget the candy apples, snow cones, cotton candy and the rides on the merry-go-round. 
   "I will take the Deluxe breakfast please."
    "Do you wish sugar? One or two? What about ketchup?"
     I gave the Latina cashier a bit over six including coffee. The McDonald's meal came with pancakes, sausage, scrambled eggs, muffins and jam and of course my coffee. It was going on nine and my stomach was going on empty.  
     A dejected lady walked inside and asked two Swedish tourist for change. The ignored her but I could not. My religions being likes to share my wealth with the homeless - since  I was one once upon a time. 
     I took out a dollar and and pointed towards her. Instead of walking my way, she scowled and hurried out. 
     I took my leisurely time to eat the gourmet meal. I opened the jelly and poured it on my muffins. They tasted so crisp and tender to my joules. The pancakes I saved for last. My stomach rolled over with joy. God's messenger began to speak. 
    "George, time to get up and go for a walk. You've been good lately. Take a walk and then go to the Beverly Hills library." 
    I walked towards Second Street and made a left turn. I entered the old Hotel Carmel. A door man greeted me and I asked the desk for their rates. Rates begin at $184 and go up to $284  for a weekend Suite. Fifteen people congregated outside the Apple store. The early mist had lifted and a clear day presented itself 
   I had thought about going into the Santa Monica Library but remembered God's instructions. The clear fresh breeze tickled my imagination. I sat and waited for the #704 Santa Monica Rapid bus. I sat in the shade in front of the British Cafe. 
    And then it happened. I paid the 50 cents and began to speak to a lady taking a survey. She told me her name was Patricia. I found out she was my age less five and from Jamaica. 
     "What do you think of our city bus service. Do you like these rapid buses. We began them a few years ago." 
     "Why just yesterday I took the Pico Rapid Purple to my daughter's apartment. I think that they are great. I used to live in South Beverlywood." 
     "You joking. I lived on Bedford not far from you. Remember Orback's and May Company?"
      "Yes those were the good-old days. Beverly Hills was a bunch of Mom and Pop stores in the fifties. Why a rabbit could waltz across Wilshire."
       "George, do you remember the Baldwin Hills dam overflowing?" 
        "I lived on August street then. I heard the helicopters overhead. My buddy Steve dragged a lady caught in the spill out of a ditch in front of Thrifty...Patricia, remember when Thrifty's remained opened for 24 hours and you could get an ice cream cone for a nickle..."
        Well as you can see, one of the benefits to riding a bus is meeting people like Patricia. There had been a tragic accident today on Santa Monica so the bus took its time to get to the library. I will never forget her parting words. 
        "We can be honest now, since we have nothing to hide - at our age." 

      
   

'Amby' Schindler's 98th Birthday

Yes Ladies and gentleman. The Greatest Trojan of them All is still alive. His voice mail now sings poetry. A slice of the chapter called the Red Helmet is written below. In the 1936 Trojan game on the farm in Stanford, Li'l  "Amby" is upset at first, but at the end earns a brand new Gruen watch - as the San Francisco Chronicle Player of the  Bay.
    ...Amby sleeps-away in the top berth of the Pullman car, He needed to claim a letter before claiming the bottom berth. He had his fill of two helpings of beefsteak with potatoes heaped in butter. The Southern Pacific coasted along, but then it happened. He couldn't find his little helmet inside the equipment car. Only the other quarterback, Davy Davis, owned a smaller noggin.   
   "Son of a bitch...Who has stolen my helmet? Somebody is going to get my bare knuckles in their face."
    Why his helmet could not be found. Before game time that Saturday, his assistant coach, Sam Barry called the Stanford equipment if they had small helmet. With luck, a Stanford player had a head the same size as Li'l "Amby."...

     Davy Davis re-injured his torn ligaments and torn collar bones. He had been injured in the previous game east against Illinois. The Indian manager painted the new oval a bright red and it was plain that the paint had barely dried when Jones sent him into the fray. 
     "Jones spoke to me before I entered the fray. 'When you get close to their goal, run down the line of scrimmage. Throw a pass in the flat  if there is no hole in their line.' I entered the Trojan huddle with drips of paint streaming down my face. My players smiled and gave me a look of admiration. They always worked up a little lather when I called the signals.  Of course my teammates let out a hearty laugh but it subsided when I showed my fist.."  His buddy later on and the Daily News scribe described the touchdown for his fraternity buddy. Lee Bastajian describes the touchdown.
    "Amby swung into action with his knees driving high as he knocked off big chunks of yardage to establish a first down on the Stanford one. He then threw a touchdown to Ray Wehba in the flat. Ray Wehba was the only one who knew the trick play. 
    "Monday after the game, somebody hollered down from our Student Union. 'Amby, get your ass up hear!' It was Bill Hunter, our Athletic Director. I thought I would be punished for fooling around earlier."
     "I have something for you. What do you think of this Gruen watch. I had been awarded the Bay Player that weekend by the San Francisco Chronicle."
   Of course he never owned one but yearned for the one advertised in Collier's magazine for "50"
  A special note: He had been born on May 21st of 1917 at the Mercy Hospital on Washington Street in San Diego.  On his birthday, his idol, Charles Lindbergh set down the Spirit of St. Louis on Paris France. Ryan Company had built the plane in San Diego. Schindler watched him practice take-offs.  

 You can reach me at the Motel Six in San Diego. Ask for George Garrett. 760- 434 7135. I usually sleep in suites 229 or 231.
    
   
     

Balboa Park Dance

Anybody who tells you they can fall in love only once is nuts. I believe before you leave this earth you should do it - at least 15 times.
   About two weeks ago, I sauntered into the Balboa Club Ballroom for their every-other Thursday dance. Now for me in my later years, I don't focus on boobs, legs or whatever's. For me give me a gentle face and a good, sound mind. Now let get on with the one o'clock dance.
   The Billy Harper Band had just begun a Tango, the Bluish one. A petite gal sat in the front with two friends of mine, all in their middle eighties. But for me age is only a number. I could tell by her voice that she must have been from France.
   "This is second time here. I love to dance, but boy friend has Parkinson's and can't get out of bed. I love the way you dance." What is your name? "My name is Louise, but slow down, I can't keep up with you." "Where do you live?"
   "I live in La Jolla...came from Marin County. My husband of 30 years flew for United.  where husband flew for United. He died eight years ago and this is the first time I have come out to dance. For thirty years, we danced every week. I still miss him."  Can you tell me more about yourself?
   Now Louise had a face like an angel but was scared to show it on the dance floor.  She could dance and sang each song. I did a few twirls and a promenade when the music stopped and the moderator told us to get into a circle. left for the circle while I sat down.
    Well at that moment, I thought that I fell in love for the tenth time in my life. Later she spoke about her life on the dance floor. We danced several more. It seemed he wished to divulge all to me.
    "George, I will tell you. I was born in 1936 and not 39. My parents were poor then and I went to live with my Aunt in a little town in Venice. My Uncle served in the military and was killed in Libya. At nine I went back to live with my parents. I missed my Uncle a lot, we were closer than close."
     "All over our town was destroyed and shelter and food was hard to come by. Since my Dad was a an expert with metals, he got a job in Arizona. I went to college but never received my degree in Arts. I was heavy into men and engaged three times. I got cold feet. My first marriage ended in divorce but the second was great."
      "In our thirty years, we went dancing every weekend. His cancer was a big surprise since he had given up smoking at thirty. By the way, I told me friend that I would go dancing from now on. I like you a lot but care deeply about my friend."
      Now I met another gal who also told her Chinese husband that she wished to dance from now on-particularly because she had retired from her computer position. She was tall and learned the steps the first time.
And then the rains came. Everyone looked outside to watch the April Showers that Came in May. I said good-by to Louise, a gal I could easily fall in love with and headed out the door. I took Hotel Circle to the Motel Six, and was I in luck. 
  It was only $59 and change and I got room #428, with a view of the filled up San Diego River below .Now two straight days of dancing made my legs feel like rubber. I felt like a King with two queen size bed waiting for a Queen. I hop[ed that Louise would become my number 5.
  It was a heavy rain but I didn't mind. The rain drops felt good falling on my head.  

   
  

Muscle Beach Early Days a

It all began in Muscle Beach in the early twenties. Beach volleyball, weight lifting, and of course hot-dog a stick made it a memorable place to stick your umbrella in the sand and view the greatest weightlifters in the land. 
   In fact my life began a mile south at the Ocean Park Pier where my Mom Edith met my Dad on a blind on a blind date. She marveled at my Dad's muscular legs while roller skating. A year later I came along in August of  1939.  
  We joined a Jewish club by the beach. It had an indoor pool.  that  My Mom enjoyed the beach, so much so, that later in life, she kept the dermatologist busy. 
   Today I am sitting with Bob Rich who had moved to Santa Monica from New York in the late forties. It is grey day and the volleyball courts are busy. To my left is the Hot Dog on a Stick and in front of me are the sandy volleyball courts. 
   "So Bob, what was Muscle Beach like in the early days?"
    "I met the guys who began two man volleyball in the 20's. I knew everyone of them. I arrived here in the fifties. Even Joe who began the Hot Dog on a Stick played volleyball with us. Bobby Barber's swimsuit store was over there. Most of what he sold didn't last too long - it was cheaply made."
     "Where was the location of the platform where the weightlifters worked out.?" 
     "It was next to the hot dog stand. In fact in the thirties, there was a fast food place until Hot Dog on a Stick took over.  We had three stages. Two for adagio and one strictly for weight lifting. People came from all over to watch these events. Cotton candy, snow cones, pop corn and candy apples were served up all of the time."
      "I did not care much for Sanders since he showed off too much. But he had raw talent. The parking lot was up to the benches then. One day, He drove up in a large car and hit to black sitting on a bench. He was unaware he hit them. One of them, now laying on the floor, cussed him out real good trowing out every #@*&% that he could." 
       "Sanders got up unaware that he had bumbled into the bench. The two men took one look of his muscles and ran." 
I heard that Moe Most was run out of here in the sixties. Wasn't he the supervisor of the recreation facilities.?"
        "We had a lot of teenagers come to Muscle Beach. The gals looked in the twenties but in fact were in their teens. We all took advantage of it then - and it was no big deal. They looked for fun and they certainly got it. They were prostitutes. 
        Teachers came down with their kids and fooled around. When a mother complained, the police came and picked u[ several of the weight lifters. Moe Most resigned but one of them Schwartz had his lawyer tell him to plead guilty. He did and was sent to a mental hospital where he contacted Cancer. He died within a few days after getting out. I think that Muscle Beach would have been better if the police had not interfered. 
       "Did you know Eddie La Baron, the wrestler? He was my favorite on black and white T.V." 
    "As a matter of fact, his younger wife is still alive and lives in Santa Monica. We see her every once-in-a-while.  
    It was now going on one o'clock. I had lost my cap and my head felt like burnt toast. He told me to get in touch with Steve Ford who had written a book about the old Muscle Beach.  beach. Soon Expo Metro will be finished and millions will flock to old Muscle Beach. 
   Muscle Beach pictures will soon be a part of this collection of stories. The book on Old Muscle Beach will be completed when Expo line is. 
        
   

The Meto-Link's Ticket Machine

I read about what happened to the Amtrak train back East - and it did not surprise me. I have been riding the Metro-Link for over one year now, and it has been an adventure on every frolicking ride.
  On my May Blog, the southbound train from Union Station  kicked us off at San Juan Capistrano. Now that was the day I almost joined the Marines at Pendleton.
   Many of us, like me, were shocked the train would kick us off due to maintenance work on forward tracks and needed to get off at Carls Junior and take the 535 bus to Oceanside.  But there have been other bloopers on this commuter train to Los Angeles.
  Oftentimes, bathroom doors do not open, engines break down , other trains take precedence, or there is not conductor supervising the passengers or asking for tickets-particularly out of Oceanside's 3:20 to Los Angeles. A few homeless board without anyone checking their tickets.
  By far the greatest bloopers are the ticket machines. Oftentimes one of the two machines do not work. Now one machine might be enough but when patrons rely on only one, they can become distraught when, well...excuse the interruption...
  "Where are you going? I repeat this a few times and find out the traveler's destination is Irvine. "Now hit the letter "I" for your destination and continue."
   Now this can get ugly when a Chinese, Mexican, or one with dementia, tries to elicit a ticket from the pugnacious machine. This ritual ends when the patron slides his credit card into the slot. Oftentimes, the lone machine is stubborn-like a month ago.
  A Chinese gal going to Chinatown to celebrate Year of the Sheep could not get her plastic card to work. Now with a line of thirty in a hurry to buy their ticket, it was imperative for the machine to spit out a ticket - no such luck. I tried to help.
  "Miss, are you married?...No, well let me explain. Don't just shove the plastic inside and drag it out. You need to have the touch of one who has  been married. "Just slide it in and pull it out gingerly...Yes like that!
  Miss Wong gave me a kiss while she ran to track number two to board. The others also ran as the train was soon t depart. Henry, the sweet conductor waved to them.
   "I know there have been issues with our machines. The ride today is on us."
 But like my daughter has said many times, with the bad comes the good. For an old-timer like me it is only seven and change to board - an  I have never been bored on any train. I can study the people, look at the red and orange bluffs of San Clemente or marvel at how the orange trees have now shown life after a steady rain. And who can resist getting off at San Juan. The petting zoo is worth the train ride by itself.
  I can read, change seats, use a toilet, and above all, drink pure air. You see the train's cars do not have any bad ozone or particles I call it my breathing tube.
  Well now the train is entering Union Station. I view the Gold Line Metro heading the opposite direction to Pasadena. I get off and tap the ticket on a turnstile to go below to the underground Purple Metro. On weekdays, a transfer to the Purple Rapid Bus  send me to West Los Angeles where my daughter Lindsay has prepared a dinner for me. ..Tomorrow I will go to Santa Monica to play beach-two-man and indulge afterwards to a hotdog on a stick and pink lemonade.

A Beverly Hills Side Show

I spilled out of the Metro Purple and climbed the stairs to the outside. The Purple Rapid 7 would pick me up on the other side of Western Avenue. It was now six o'clock and my goal was to visit my daughter in West Los Angeles.
  I felt lucky today. The Metro-Link out of Oceanside had an engine malfunction and needed to be checked before continuing its journey on to Los Angeles' Grand Central Station. The train pulled into the City of Orange. The conductor's voice came over the speaker.
  "We have a problem with the engine. It will be inspected shortly."
  Now one of the reasons I take the above commuter train is for pure air. Besides not checking the ticket holders, these dimwits should have checked the engine before hand. I felt pissed that a few homeless psychos had gone on the train without paying.
  "We need to shut off our air conditioning and we will now continue the journey. Next stop is Anaheim." The damaged engine made it to the station. I taped my ticket and the Metro carried me to Western and Wilshire.
    But the above was history. I made it! The Rapid Purple Bus would be here shortly. The Santa Monica afternoon breeze was just what the doctor ordered. The wind energized me. A few people waited for the bus. It parked in front of an old, old man, me. I pushed two quarters inside the slot and took up a seat.
    I just love these bus rides to West Los Angeles, since I can recall seeing Johnny Mathis at the Wiltern many years ago.  The bus makes a left on Crenshaw and proceeded to Pico. I still can't believe that a golf range is has not taken the place of three or four houses. The Koreans have stamped their clubs on many downtown streets.
   I get off a few blocks after Robertson at Edris and  buy some barbecued chicken for dinner at the Glatt Market. It serves thousands of devout Persian Jews. I split it with my daughters boy friend and enjoy their company.
   The next day I wish to go to Beverly Hills. The @14 bus takes me to Canon where I walk a block to Nate and Al's for their lox, onion and eggs combination. Outside there is   Coffee Bean, Urban Bagels, Sharkey's and a few other stores.
   "Can I have pickles to go with the coffee...Thanks."
   I munch on the pickle slices one at a time. The fresh coffee percolates my mind. I feel excited to be alive. I take my time to groom the lox, onions and scrambled eggs. I drip of few drops of Heinz on the meal and chew each bite ten times. It is great to be alive.
   Then it happened. I hear a kid cry. My serenity has been uprooted. A young gal is escorted to a booth next to mine with her jerky crying kid. I move my plates and book to a table far back. The noise has stopped my mood-at least for a minute or two.
  I pay the bill and take the coffee two doors down to Starbucks. Their floor show will begin soon. Enormous black makes vie for parking spaces. One good looking gal parks and walks to Starbucks. Her tight fitting slick jersey gives me the eye.
  This cute one comes to her car and a ticket cop tells her she should drop a few coins in next time. "I will not give you a ticket if you put a few coins inside the meter. The ticket cop also wishes to see the floor show. A man mutters that these Beverly Hills people don't need to pay taxes, as the meters cough up the bills
  All the men are well groomed and they have a Beverly Hills walk to their stride. Other city men can not duplicate their walk. It is stiff walk, and without looking down or left or right, they open the Starbucks door and wait in line, with patience that goes far.
  Well the library doors open in a few minutes. And there they are, the same crowd that has been coming forever. There is Tory Pines Magpie, her long dregs covering her body. There is Nifty Mike, whose legs can't remain in one place. And there is talkative Phil, who speaks to everyone in ears-way.
  Got to go now, my computer hour is up.

Grand Fathers' Day 2015

Some folks call it Mother's Day. But as far as I was concerned, it was Grandfather's Day. My daughter came down with my two grandchildren. Olivia is almost five and Allison is 20 months.  
   The setting is Roxbury Park in Beverly Hills. It is ten o'clock. Brand new apparatus have replaced the old. The new teeter-totter has a wheel that moves opposite ladders. There is a round bucket that reminds me of the tea-cups at Disneyland. 
   My parents used to push their grandchildren on the swings and slides over twenty years ago. My Dad Harry took delight when he saw Jay play soccer every weekend. His son-in-law paid for lessons. My Dad Harry lived and died every time Jay got the ball. 
   Well I don't remember laughing so loud. The little one, got on the tea-cup ride and turned the wheel. The cup turned round and around for a few seconds. All I saw was her large head thrown on the spongy carpet. And somehow, I felt the presence of my own Dad. 
   I knew she would howl a yell that could be heard clear to Brentwood. But she didn't! Instead she bounced up laughing all the way. And believe it or not, she got back up on the tea-cup ride again. In my youthful age of 75 years, I have never seen two babies having so much fun. 
   My younger daughter was with me. I could see by her face that she enjoyed meeting her two nieces who have grown so big in height and brains. Olivia did not wish me to push her on the swings. She wished to do it herself. I could see she wanted to be independent. 
   While one daughter preached life to the other,  I asked the little one to get me a flower. She understood me and lopped off one. 
   "Now bring it to me. Give it to my left hand." Well she understood, and how at twenty months.  
    Now Olivia wished to get into the act. She went to the corner of the flower bed and yanked the entire flower--including roots and gave it to me. Both now wished to pick the flower bed clean. 
   Well it was time to go. The little one needed her bed-time but no such luck. Today her bed stood outside inside a flower garden. 
   My two daughters and grand daughters made it a great Grand Father's Day. My youngest daughter celebrated her 32nd birthday on the tenth also. What a joy to have four gorgeous fillies in a beautiful park in Beverly Hills. 
   I just hope my two parents Edith and Harry were watching from above. If so, today could be called Great Grandfather's Day. 
My day Saturday would not have been complete without a trip on the Blue bus to Santa Monica and Muscle Beach. I played two-man volleyball there from 1989-2010. The Westerly breeze was just what I needed to open up my nasal passages. 

Los Angles Purple Bus.

Normally one pays a touring bus, like Starline, over thirty dollars to see Los Angeles and its sisters like  like Beverly Hills, Santa Monica or Hollywood. Not I! Just come-along with me.
  The sound of crows fighting over a tasty mouse is my alarm clock. I disdain wearing a watch since I always lose it.  Quietly, I take leave of my daughters back bedroom West Los Angeles apartment.  It is Friday and the downtown Los Angeles Library beacons.
   The Rapid Purple 7 bus in my destination. It bus stop is next to Factors Deli and across from the Glatt Market on Beverlywil Street.  I was in luck. The bus came a few minutes after I sat down. And what a view for my senior fifty cent fare. The Rapid Purple 7 makes only a few, but important stops. It is the commuter bus.
  So far I have not seen one bus driver other than an an African American. They are usually women, like this one, and very polite to me. Gone were the Ralph's and Five and Dime store on La Cienega and in its place were two banks, Chase and Bank of America. The bus continued its march east on Pico.
  The Rapid made few stops, and I saw a gated community with large two story Victorian homes. A large older man boarded the bus at La Brea.   I asked a large older man the name of the gated community.
   "Ah..Ah..It is coming..Ah..Sorry but I can't remember the name." He smiled but looked dejected that he could not remember the name.
   "No problem..ah what is your name?...I forget a lot now too.. But I am a lot older than you."
    Of course I am only trying to be nice. I ask him his name. I was trying to be nice and let him know that forgetfulness is a common problem with age. ..and, What did you say your name was?
    "My name is Lee and  I was born in 1952."
     "My God I am 13 years older than you. Is the name of the gated community  Arlington Heights?
     "That is correct. How did you know?"
      "The name of the gated community in on the street sign."
    The bus now turned left on Crenshaw Blvd. On the corner stood two prehistoric two story Victorian homes. Along side were two duplexes  covered with mud or cement. The bus was almost upon Wilshire. I saw a huge netting.   Lee told me that the Koreans love Golf more than God. and a few homes were turned into a driving range. Now I knew why the Korean ladies win so many golf tournaments.
  Lee shuck my hand and got off at the corner. The Rapid Purple 7 lue made a left on Western and stopped. I got off and crossed the street. The downtown library opened at nine thirty today, and since my stomach ached for nutrition, I walked across the street to the corner In back of Denny's was the a Korean Radio Station and alongside on Oxford Avenue was another golf driving range.
  I entered the Denny's restaurant on the corner.
   I looked at the menu and something different hit my eye. It pictured the normal eggs and bacon with hash but something else excited me. There was French toast topped with sliced bananas and Pecans. Next to it was a small glass with maple syrup.
  "Can you drum up something that looks this good on a plate?" I asked the prompt and graceful waitress.
  "No problem. You'll enjoy our new item." She filled my coffee cup and I waited. Would Denny's serve up what I saw in the pictured menu?"
   In my five years of going to Denny's I have never tasted any breakfast that spoke to me. Well this one did! meal did!
   "Eat me and I'll break your heart with tenderness."
   After a ,meal fit for a king, I then took the underground Metro Purple to the downtown Library. I got off on Seventh and walked two blocks for its nine-thirty opening.

   
 

Another Metro-Link blooper

I was kicked off the Metro-Link train at San Juan Capistrano. I had paid my $7.75 one-way fee but on boarding, it was announced that the train would not go further than San Juan Capistrano. We had bought tickets to the city but the train...well instead of telling you, allow the story to unwind by itself. Some of us ended up on a tour of the Camp Pendleton on the #395 Breeze train. 
    My camera's audio did not work but you can plainly see what happened when the train kicked us off at the San Juan Station. The first picture shows disgruntled passengers trying to find out how to get to Oceanside. The Second is a girl who also was upset. 

   Inside the #395 Breeze bus sat Juanita and her mother Mrs. Gomez. Also there was Dotty with her son Nate, Blanch, and Emily. The bus had retrieved us from Carl's Junior at six thirty. We had embarked on the Union Station Metro-Link at 2:00 unaware that our fate would be in the hands of the dumb-clucks who run the train. A local bus out of San Clemente had taken us a round-a-bout way to Carl's Big Boy, a few yards from Camp Pendleton.  Our destination was the south book-end of San Diego, Oceanside.

  "Remember me. We got on with you in Oceanside on Friday afternoon. Nobody warned us that the the tracks would be worked on after San Juan Capistrano. . Did you see all of that commotion of people. It looked as if many were not aware that the tracks were being fixed."
   Dotty shared her experience with seven others on the #935 bus. The bus swings and winds its way through the Marine camp and enters the entrance. A Marine boards and checks our identities. He is nice and allows two to slide through the gates.
  "Well, I was not informed that the train  was not headed for Oceanside. I could have taken Monday's train just the same...The conductor announced that this train's last stop was San Juan Capistrano due to weekend work on the train, yet in know-way could I buy another ticket on Greyhound at Union Station.  the bus to L.A. might have already been filled. ..
  " I had showed conductor Flores my train ticket, but he was not interested. He gave me some cock-and-bull story that he had been unaware of the work further down the rails. 'I handle the train and in no way am interested in the passengers' he told me."
  "But I have a medical problem." He gingerly left to another car never to be seen again."

    "Who did you visit in Los Angeles?" Dotty inquired.
   "I visited my daughter in Los Angeles, and then enjoyed the beaches in Santa Monica. My bus dropped me off on Fourth Street instead of Ocean. A five K was planned for the Avenue, and  I had no idea where the #7 would be to pick me up. Yet I enjoyed the race and saw the Exposition Metro had proceeded all the way to Fourth Street. Now folks all over the city could visit the home of volleyball and muscle men-like me."
   At that point Juanita interjected a few words. "I was born in Chinatown and this is my Mexican mother. We were not on the Metro but somehow got lost in the noisy crowd wishing a ride to Oceanside."
   I found out that she had a crises with identity theft and was homeless. Her Mom had fallen asleep - that is all but her hands that shook. I found out more about Juanita. All-awhile the bus chugged along the back roads of the large marine base. ash and burnt trees along with way. A military police checked our identity and allowed us to proceed.
   "My Mom and I are tired. We spent the last four nights sleeping on park benches. My relief check and her check is all we have for the month. But since this is he first of May we have enough for another stay at a motel...Do you know of any?"
    "My car is parked at the Oceanside Transit Center and I can drive both of you to the motel." I informed her. The bus now traveled up and down lush green hills. Tanks, armored trucks, and other equipment were revealed along the way. There was a gas station, dental office and brand new building along the way. Dorthy now had a turn to speak.
    "I work at the VA and understand how these young kids are so-brainwashed by their superiors to get them in killing-shape. Why my high school boy friend went through a big change when he joined up. I could see it in his glassy eyes and broke up with him...Our hospital was very busy as of late, until the kids were told not to go across he border...I had to call too many Mom's that there son had been  in a bad accident and might not pull-through."
   The #395 bus spilled out of Camp Pendleton and on to the street parallel to Mission Blvd. I told Juanita to watch for the Motel Six as it was her best shot for a bed. The bus driver overheard us and stopped the bus a few yards from the Motel Six. Somebody in the rear told them to grab their luggage and head for the motel.
    For me it felt good to have friends to commiserate with on this bad-turn-of events. I had saved sixty dollars for the fresh sheets. I had not looked at T.V. for several days. The Texas shooting reminded me that T.V. had been the source of all of our problems.

 
 

Beverly Hills and Nate and Al's

Now I know why the weather men call it a Red Flag Alert. Red covered my car this week. The slight Santa Ana with record temperatures to boot made breathing difficult. Every day I needed to wipe off the dust and pollen from my car.
   The San Diego's news reported that San Diego air had improved with one hitch. The Ozone was graded an F. My earlier blog stressed the importance of pure air. Dirty air meant our immune systems would take a direct hit. Of course diseases like brain tumors and Alzheimer's disease begin with bad air - even a moron knows this. But on Friday I put everything behind me and set out for Los Angeles on the Metro-Link. The winds now came from on shore. I could breathe without using my inhaler.
   I parked my car at the Oceanside Commuter Terminal and extracted what I needed for the trip. I was looking forward to my stay with my number two daughter. She would be celebrating her 32nd birthday on May tenth. I grabbed a pizza at Dominoes and climbed aboard. Yet something was not quite right on the three twenty five headed for Los Angeles. 
   The doors for the first four cars opened and the others stayed closed. No big deal eh? Now we would be stuck like sardines. At least I carried my friend on board, Simon Wiesenthal - a book about his life in a concentration camp.  A utterly haggard and ill-mannered one sat across from me and gave me the eye. I felt sorry for this misplaced person but I needed to read in peace. A grandmother also sat behind me with her two grandchildren. I took up another residence on the train.
  Just like Horst Cahn, Simon survived partly because of he had skills that the Nazi's needed. Cahn had told the Germans that he was good with electricity. He sold light bulbs for food to the Poles living outside the walls of Auschwitz.
  But back to my train ride to Union Station and Los Angeles. Besides reading, I am a people watcher. The lady in front of me constantly drank from a coffee thermos. Of course when nature called, the car's toilet was not working - quite normal for this train. A few complained that the train was late. Isn't it always?
   What interested me was the chap who boarded in Mission Viejo. The Asian was the only one studying from a book. I asked him if it was Trigonometry.
   "No it is chemistry." He continued on his travel. But it was the manner in which he studied that interested me. He looked at the page and then shut his eyes. This kept repeating itself. Now I knew why the Asians got good grades. They not only read, but took mental pictures of the graphs and text in front of them. Yes their brains acted like computers. Their minds could save and retrieve information as needed.  That put them above the others.
  Henry, the conductor, called Anaheim, Buena Park. He looked hungover and the fact he did not check our tickets told me he was going through the motions The grandmother with the two kids was cracking her knuckles and brushing her hair. Her Grandchildren were asleep.
  But it was the men's toilets that made me laugh. At six o'clock a line formed outside the bathroom. Can you imagine six urinals still for our over populated city. Some guy in line screamed, "Can't you guy hurry up, I will miss my train! I felt like a horse inside a stall without walls. Embarrassed was how I felt. Yet I still made sure my Henry was dry, before extricating myself from this relic toilet ready for the glue factory.
  I tapped my ticket and soon was on the Purple Line Metro to Western and Wilshire.  I was the only white aboard. Now Outside, the Rapid Blue Pico bus made a few turns and I ended up on Pico Blvd, across the street from the Museum of Tolerance. The typical on shore breeze felt good after suffering the monsoonal weather in San Diego.
  This morning, I treated myself to another Nate and Al's breakfast. "You can't sit there. That is where the gang sits...Sit over there in booth number three." Big Bertha moved me to the booth. 
   'Can I have coffee, pickles, and pancakes please." It was going on seven ten and the eatery was filling up. In back of me somebody boasted about her "seven million dollar Bel Air home."Another spoke about her Hawaiian vacation. Everyone it seems needed to flagellate themselves and each other.  Yes Nate and Al's had turned into a Fraternity.
  I walked two doors down to Starbucks, and finished my coffee. Was I at a run-way fashion show at Bullocks. But it was there shoes that turned me on. Laces and jewelry laced their pumps and high rises. Every color matched the color of their shoes. 
  At about nine o'clock I needed to visit the library and write down what you are reading today. A visit to Nate and Al's for chopped liver and seeded rye ended my day. The Canon #14 took me home. The next day I felt like getting fresh air in Santa Monica Beach. I had no way to know that the Metro-Link would throw me off in San Juan Capistrano and I would visit the Oceanside Marine Base.