Whereas Beverly Hills is somewhat snooty, Santa Monica is more like the cartoon character Snoopy. As many as one hundred countries are represented at the Third Street mall at any one time. and with a favorable westerly ocean breeze, I find it smart to sit and watch this parade walk on by.
After spending productive time in the Beverly Hills Library, the #704 Rapid bus drove me the rest of the way down Santa Monica Blvd and dropped us off on Fourth Street in Santa Monica. I needed to hydrate myself and took advantage of a little restaurant on Santa Monica and Third Street. I filled up my water bottle and decided that the meat balls bedded in rice was too appealing to pass up. Besides, my daughter's breakfast consisted of eggs and a banana - not enough for a growing boy reaching 76 years in August.
The corner Mediterranean restaurant served up a bowl of rice, meat balls, vegetables and plenty of spice. I drank from my water bottle and with the spicy food, felt good enough to do a belly dance. The cool restaurant offered windows to look at all the passers-by.
The tourists held cameras in one hand and their kids in the other. A mob congested inside a apple store checking out watches. Somehow, these people wished to find out how a watch could perform the same functions of a computer. I did enter the food court and found a closed play area for the kiddies.
The apparatus had been given by Mattel, the maker of toys. And believe it or not, Mrs. Barbara Handler had been my Mom Edith's maiden of honor. They were the ones who made a Barbie doll in their garage moons ago that mushroomed into a sensational toy company, namely Mattel Toys. And my Mom only married a plumber - oh well the damage had been done. Now if it hadn't been for my Dad Harry's sexy legs, she never would have gone out with him a second time.
Of course there were plenty of side shows besides Gap and other stores. A violinist played as did two guitar players. I needed something to cool me off so I purchased a cold mocha and watched the traffic.
Now thoroughly relaxed I took the Blue 7 on Broadway all the way back to my daughter's apartment. She surprised me with a Father's Day Card - and even more the next day when she checked out several books from the library.
Well tomorrow is Father's Day, but for me, I have already had it. You see, love is in the air in the House of George
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Friday, June 19, 2015
Father's Day Week at Huntington Beach
Fog had a strangle hold on San Diego and its satellite cities. The normal June swoon had locked in the pollutants. My asthma returned and my head ached, normal for June.
Another dreaded Santa Ana is scheduled to visit San Diego. The Five freeway is snarled again. More visitors are coming in to enjoy the Del Mar Fair - and later the thoroughbred racing season.
On Wednesday, I check my car's the anti-freeze and the oil. Then I gas up and am on my way to Huntington Beach to enjoy this Father's Day week. My nose is clogged and bronchitis is soon to overtake me. The rush-hour traffic is soon to accompany me, so I quit North County at one o'clock.
I can see the sky in San Clemente. At the Ortega off-ramp outside of San Juan Capistrano, I fill up and take a pee break. I feel a rush of free-flowing beach air and can breathe again. My mind opens up to the beauty of God's world.
The 5 freeway becomes the 405. To my right the Westminster Motel Six comes into view. The first clerk tells me they are booked up, even though it is just passed two. The office phone rings.
"Can you help this gentleman?" Another young Latina, this one with a smile replaces the first.
"Can I see our license? Thanks. My God, I can't believe you are a 75 years of age. Why do you look so good while others your age can barely walk."
"My great Grandfather was Moses. I am a Jew and my name is Gershom, son of Moses. I inherited young genes from my Dad Harry."
"We are not sold out. Do you wish a smoking room?" She gave me the senor key to room 210 overlooking the In 'N Out Burger and Westminster Blvd. I filled my ice bucket and took a nap before slipping downstairs for a six dollar number 1 at the burger stand.
"I took a pill and slept through the night. My head felt full in the morning but the air conditioning and the great westerly beech breeze was just what I needed. It felt good to breathe. At seven, I drove to a street mall to wash my clothes and mingle with the folks in Westminster."
While my clothes washed, I grabbed a tall chocolate and read a book about the Second Crusade. the air felt fresh and the beach air felt uplifting. Afterwards I visited Brother Mel at the Pacific Spartan Assistant Living Center in Midway City.
At their desk, an officer called him on the intercom He came down and sat beside me. He wished to go to the beach and afterwards, visit Norms for his usual of T-Bone with the trimmings of soup, salad, and vegetables. The food is skimpy where he lives and meat is never on the menu. Hot doggies are served up once a month.
I park in a green metered spot, two blocks from the Beach Blvd on Main Street. . I take him to the International House of Pancakes so he can remove his diaper. It slides down often. Later, he follows me to the highway and the bleachers. Mel is relaxed and has never looked so peaceful.
He has limited vision in one eye, since the other was cremated during lazier surgery by a Vietnamese doctor. He get shots for his only eye once a month. It is half foggy but he still can see the blue of the lifeguard stand.
The circus is before us. Beach goers are surging or playing volleyball. School is out and everyone Homesteads part of the sandy beach. I descend to watch some two-man volleyball. Unlike San Diego, the beach air is unobstructed. There are no high buildings yet although to the south is what looked like the building of a shopping mall.
Mel left to walk to the restroom himself, something he couldn't do a year ago. He has much better control and has learned to deal with stress. Of course seeing my second grandchild has made a world of difference. "Thank Lauren for bringing Baby Allison. She teased me by faking a somersault and laughing at me. She knew she was putting one over on us.
We then drove to Norm's on Beach Blvd where he ordered the usual of chicken gumbo, steak, veggies and salad. A new man left while I hightailed to the ninety nine cent store. A Happy Mel made my fathers-day week and of course it is great to breath air again.
Another dreaded Santa Ana is scheduled to visit San Diego. The Five freeway is snarled again. More visitors are coming in to enjoy the Del Mar Fair - and later the thoroughbred racing season.
On Wednesday, I check my car's the anti-freeze and the oil. Then I gas up and am on my way to Huntington Beach to enjoy this Father's Day week. My nose is clogged and bronchitis is soon to overtake me. The rush-hour traffic is soon to accompany me, so I quit North County at one o'clock.
I can see the sky in San Clemente. At the Ortega off-ramp outside of San Juan Capistrano, I fill up and take a pee break. I feel a rush of free-flowing beach air and can breathe again. My mind opens up to the beauty of God's world.
The 5 freeway becomes the 405. To my right the Westminster Motel Six comes into view. The first clerk tells me they are booked up, even though it is just passed two. The office phone rings.
"Can you help this gentleman?" Another young Latina, this one with a smile replaces the first.
"Can I see our license? Thanks. My God, I can't believe you are a 75 years of age. Why do you look so good while others your age can barely walk."
"My great Grandfather was Moses. I am a Jew and my name is Gershom, son of Moses. I inherited young genes from my Dad Harry."
"We are not sold out. Do you wish a smoking room?" She gave me the senor key to room 210 overlooking the In 'N Out Burger and Westminster Blvd. I filled my ice bucket and took a nap before slipping downstairs for a six dollar number 1 at the burger stand.
"I took a pill and slept through the night. My head felt full in the morning but the air conditioning and the great westerly beech breeze was just what I needed. It felt good to breathe. At seven, I drove to a street mall to wash my clothes and mingle with the folks in Westminster."
While my clothes washed, I grabbed a tall chocolate and read a book about the Second Crusade. the air felt fresh and the beach air felt uplifting. Afterwards I visited Brother Mel at the Pacific Spartan Assistant Living Center in Midway City.
At their desk, an officer called him on the intercom He came down and sat beside me. He wished to go to the beach and afterwards, visit Norms for his usual of T-Bone with the trimmings of soup, salad, and vegetables. The food is skimpy where he lives and meat is never on the menu. Hot doggies are served up once a month.
I park in a green metered spot, two blocks from the Beach Blvd on Main Street. . I take him to the International House of Pancakes so he can remove his diaper. It slides down often. Later, he follows me to the highway and the bleachers. Mel is relaxed and has never looked so peaceful.
He has limited vision in one eye, since the other was cremated during lazier surgery by a Vietnamese doctor. He get shots for his only eye once a month. It is half foggy but he still can see the blue of the lifeguard stand.
The circus is before us. Beach goers are surging or playing volleyball. School is out and everyone Homesteads part of the sandy beach. I descend to watch some two-man volleyball. Unlike San Diego, the beach air is unobstructed. There are no high buildings yet although to the south is what looked like the building of a shopping mall.
Mel left to walk to the restroom himself, something he couldn't do a year ago. He has much better control and has learned to deal with stress. Of course seeing my second grandchild has made a world of difference. "Thank Lauren for bringing Baby Allison. She teased me by faking a somersault and laughing at me. She knew she was putting one over on us.
We then drove to Norm's on Beach Blvd where he ordered the usual of chicken gumbo, steak, veggies and salad. A new man left while I hightailed to the ninety nine cent store. A Happy Mel made my fathers-day week and of course it is great to breath air again.
Monday, June 15, 2015
Break Dancing in Santa Monica
After working in the Beverly Hills Library, I walked across the street and waited for the Rapid 704 Santa Monica bus. I can't remember having so much fun on a bus ride to Santa Monica. Santa Monica is a unique city that brings people of all tribes together to have fun, even if too old to ride the merry-go-round with me.
After saying "hello" to a new hotel Waldorf Astoria now being dug beside the Beverly Hilton, My fifty cents worth dropped me off on Fourth and Broadway. I had long before digested my hard boiled eggs and banana and my stomach ached for company.
I smelled meat and fresh at that. I turned the corner and stopped. No, it did not smell like a Big Mac or some other hamburger joint. It was a glass opened air restaurant with a smell that I could not say no to. Its name, the Steak n' Shake was plastered on every wall - even the one in the hallway to the bathrooms.
I paid about eight for the sandwich and fries and took a seat with my mechanical vibrator with the seven on it. The joint at just after two was mobbed. A long line had formed after I ordered. I waited at my table and enjoyed the scene outside on the Third Street promenade.
Just then an old man, older than time. slithered inside looking for a place for his cane. He must have been pushing 100. I could not get his attention and couldn't hear but i motioned to my lonely table. I am sure that the smell of steak that had just been grounded caught his palate.
I tried to engage him in a conversation, but he resisted. He enjoyed the Third Street scene. My hamburger now served, I tried to pick it up and the bottom bun collapsed with the weight of the meat and onions. I asked a waitress for a knife and fork but didn't mind and I took my good time to cut and languish with each bite.
Later I bought some four dollar shorts from the large thrift shop on the corner of Sixth and Santa Monica. The #7 Blue returned me to Ocean Blvd. Food trucks covered the curbs with an assortment of waffles n'cream, burritos, and large hot doggies. And these owners were gathering the money as fast at the food could be made.
Off towards the pier I a large crowed had assembled. Break dancing routines were done to a packed house of tourists. Of course the hat was passed around after each performance. I meandered to the volleyball courts where I found out an event had been sponsored earlier for Bobby Barber. Some of the greats spoke about him and there was plenty of food to go around. There will be a volleyball game celebration later.
I plastered myself with sun screen for the second time. It was that hot and took the number 7 Blue back to my daughter's abode. Again, there was something about the Santa Monica air that made me aware if how toxic the air is in San Diego.
After saying "hello" to a new hotel Waldorf Astoria now being dug beside the Beverly Hilton, My fifty cents worth dropped me off on Fourth and Broadway. I had long before digested my hard boiled eggs and banana and my stomach ached for company.
I smelled meat and fresh at that. I turned the corner and stopped. No, it did not smell like a Big Mac or some other hamburger joint. It was a glass opened air restaurant with a smell that I could not say no to. Its name, the Steak n' Shake was plastered on every wall - even the one in the hallway to the bathrooms.
I paid about eight for the sandwich and fries and took a seat with my mechanical vibrator with the seven on it. The joint at just after two was mobbed. A long line had formed after I ordered. I waited at my table and enjoyed the scene outside on the Third Street promenade.
Just then an old man, older than time. slithered inside looking for a place for his cane. He must have been pushing 100. I could not get his attention and couldn't hear but i motioned to my lonely table. I am sure that the smell of steak that had just been grounded caught his palate.
I tried to engage him in a conversation, but he resisted. He enjoyed the Third Street scene. My hamburger now served, I tried to pick it up and the bottom bun collapsed with the weight of the meat and onions. I asked a waitress for a knife and fork but didn't mind and I took my good time to cut and languish with each bite.
Later I bought some four dollar shorts from the large thrift shop on the corner of Sixth and Santa Monica. The #7 Blue returned me to Ocean Blvd. Food trucks covered the curbs with an assortment of waffles n'cream, burritos, and large hot doggies. And these owners were gathering the money as fast at the food could be made.
Off towards the pier I a large crowed had assembled. Break dancing routines were done to a packed house of tourists. Of course the hat was passed around after each performance. I meandered to the volleyball courts where I found out an event had been sponsored earlier for Bobby Barber. Some of the greats spoke about him and there was plenty of food to go around. There will be a volleyball game celebration later.
I plastered myself with sun screen for the second time. It was that hot and took the number 7 Blue back to my daughter's abode. Again, there was something about the Santa Monica air that made me aware if how toxic the air is in San Diego.
Saturday, June 13, 2015
Up-and-Coming events in San Diego.
The Del Mar Fair and soon the races will impact North County. And of course Comic-Com will be back soon. But for me it is the Jazz Festival at the Town and Country in November.
San Diego and its satellite cities have been fogged in. A deadly haze grips the area. What folks don't know is that San Diego is part of Mexico and its semi-tropical weather. The lung association listed the five causes of death for San Diego and its surrounding areas. Alzheimer disease is ranked number three with asthma number five.
As one whose Mom caused stress and later asthma, I understand what ails San Diego. It is the highest ozone in the country brought about by too many cars for such a small city. But don't gripe, at least you can avail yourselves to a ice blended or double shot ice coffee at Starbucks.
I seldom drive these days. I prefer to train or bus it everywhere. Again, North County was fogged in all day. I needed a respite to the lid over my breathing tube. I left the Alex and the Franchise Tax Board at twelve o'clock. I needed to remove the levy from my state taxes and I did for ninety days. I like to deal in person rather than over the phone for obvious reasons. Now with the levy breached, I can open a bank account and get a cell phone. The Franchise Tax Board is on Metropolitan Drive in the Fashion Valley area of San Diego.
I had stayed at the Motel Six that evening in a plush two bed room over looking the San Diego River. To save money, I skipped breakfast that morning. Los Angeles beckoned and later I would take the Metro-Link for the Grand Central Station there.
The deadly fog began to lift as soon as I parked at the Oceanside Transit Center. I have parked there safely without tickets last year. I paid my seven seventy five for my one-way-senior and took up a seat at the bench. I ate my mango and peaches from the Harvest Market and enjoyed the view.
As usual, car number one's toilet closet was closed so I took up residence in car number two, the quiet car. It allows for quiet reading. I removed my sketch book about San Diego and marveled at how my writing has improved - not bad for one who couldn't read in grammar schools.
The sky winked its sun as soon as San Clemente cam into view. The pure air opened my mind and my replenished body came alive. God's majestic scenery was unrivaled - and even reality t.v took a back seat to this beach view.
Miles and miles of cars trudge there way to San Diego on the dreaded number 5 parkway. Those idiots don't they understand that weekends are the worst of times to drive in. Like me, They should have trained in. A good looking kid jumped into the seat across from me. His black weeds looked like grooming would not help. He seemed agitated.
"All I have is seven dollars left. My wallet held my bus pass, driver's license and my over one hundred dollars. I don't know how I will get back. After I had left La Mesa I noticed my wallet gone...Don't holler Mom..Calm down...Can you send me money to my aunt?"
Well the chap next to me must have phoned everyone except our President Obama. But of me it added some color to my ride on the Metro. He should have known better than to leave his wallet in his back pack. Hell, my wallet rides with me wherever I go.
The train pulled into Anaheim and Henry, the conductor told those leaving for the baseball game to have a good time. Soon I was in Union Station. Of course I headed for the antiquated bathrooms. As usual a line of gals waited impatiently while I strode in and took care of nature. I then walked to the Red Line tunnel and after tapping my ticket, got on the Purple Line for Western and Wilshire.
A rush of beach air knocked off my cap. A rush of energy overtook me. I celebrated my return to Los Angeles by purchasing two tamales from a corner vendor. The Rapid Purple bus picked me up and in no time I was in the hands of my number two daughter.
It felt great to be back where my life began, in August of 1939.
San Diego and its satellite cities have been fogged in. A deadly haze grips the area. What folks don't know is that San Diego is part of Mexico and its semi-tropical weather. The lung association listed the five causes of death for San Diego and its surrounding areas. Alzheimer disease is ranked number three with asthma number five.
As one whose Mom caused stress and later asthma, I understand what ails San Diego. It is the highest ozone in the country brought about by too many cars for such a small city. But don't gripe, at least you can avail yourselves to a ice blended or double shot ice coffee at Starbucks.
I seldom drive these days. I prefer to train or bus it everywhere. Again, North County was fogged in all day. I needed a respite to the lid over my breathing tube. I left the Alex and the Franchise Tax Board at twelve o'clock. I needed to remove the levy from my state taxes and I did for ninety days. I like to deal in person rather than over the phone for obvious reasons. Now with the levy breached, I can open a bank account and get a cell phone. The Franchise Tax Board is on Metropolitan Drive in the Fashion Valley area of San Diego.
I had stayed at the Motel Six that evening in a plush two bed room over looking the San Diego River. To save money, I skipped breakfast that morning. Los Angeles beckoned and later I would take the Metro-Link for the Grand Central Station there.
The deadly fog began to lift as soon as I parked at the Oceanside Transit Center. I have parked there safely without tickets last year. I paid my seven seventy five for my one-way-senior and took up a seat at the bench. I ate my mango and peaches from the Harvest Market and enjoyed the view.
As usual, car number one's toilet closet was closed so I took up residence in car number two, the quiet car. It allows for quiet reading. I removed my sketch book about San Diego and marveled at how my writing has improved - not bad for one who couldn't read in grammar schools.
The sky winked its sun as soon as San Clemente cam into view. The pure air opened my mind and my replenished body came alive. God's majestic scenery was unrivaled - and even reality t.v took a back seat to this beach view.
Miles and miles of cars trudge there way to San Diego on the dreaded number 5 parkway. Those idiots don't they understand that weekends are the worst of times to drive in. Like me, They should have trained in. A good looking kid jumped into the seat across from me. His black weeds looked like grooming would not help. He seemed agitated.
"All I have is seven dollars left. My wallet held my bus pass, driver's license and my over one hundred dollars. I don't know how I will get back. After I had left La Mesa I noticed my wallet gone...Don't holler Mom..Calm down...Can you send me money to my aunt?"
Well the chap next to me must have phoned everyone except our President Obama. But of me it added some color to my ride on the Metro. He should have known better than to leave his wallet in his back pack. Hell, my wallet rides with me wherever I go.
The train pulled into Anaheim and Henry, the conductor told those leaving for the baseball game to have a good time. Soon I was in Union Station. Of course I headed for the antiquated bathrooms. As usual a line of gals waited impatiently while I strode in and took care of nature. I then walked to the Red Line tunnel and after tapping my ticket, got on the Purple Line for Western and Wilshire.
A rush of beach air knocked off my cap. A rush of energy overtook me. I celebrated my return to Los Angeles by purchasing two tamales from a corner vendor. The Rapid Purple bus picked me up and in no time I was in the hands of my number two daughter.
It felt great to be back where my life began, in August of 1939.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Keno's, the best eatery in town
I met Gentleman Jim on a Tuesday. The pool room serves two families. Those who shoot billiards and one who scores on the piano when the pool room is emptied. I sat down in this Encinitas Senior Center and had a chance to speak with Jim.
"Well, Jim, how is your blood pressure today?"
"The beach seems to agree with me. I went there yesterday and took in some sun. My pressure is only 160 over eighty today."
"What do you say we take in a spaghetti lunch at Keno's later." He agreed and continued to play pool while I singed the computer key board.
I better describe Jim since you would never miss him in a crowd. He is missing all of his front teeth but two. He owns one on top and one on the bottom. He mashes his food with the few molars in the back. His unshaven face and uneven hair makes you think he is another homeless one, but indeed he is not.
His large spotted knapsack had needed a dermatologist for years. He is always with his guarded Knapsack since it is home to a two thousand dollar lab top. It is that old but is wedded to Gentleman Jim till the end of time. The Coaster conductors ignore him-he looks so pitiful. But not I, no not I. He reminds me of the real me. I too am a non-conformist believing to walk God's walk through nature and not with smart phones and reality T.V.
I drove him and is backpack to Keno's where many go for a brew or two or three and cheap but quality meals that kiss ones stomach with love. It sits off of highway 101 and no doubt will be stamped a Historical monument when the owner goes to the whiskey shop in heaven. Today we share a $2.95 large spaghetti plate with garlic bread. He orders a sandwich with fries also. Like me, he is unique and anything but boring.
The Alvarado Hospital charged me one hundred thousand dollars for one week of care. I could have left in three days but my doctor went on a fishing trip with my money. I will probably need to sell on of my trucks to pay the bill and fend-off the IRA.
"But Jim, I must hand it to our President. Obama has killed over three hundred thousand Arabs by pulling out of Iraq. I can still hear this great president threatening the Syrian one by saying, "Here is the line, step over it or else!"
"I have not met one marine inside Camp Pendleton that adores this man, particularly after the Benghazi affair."
'Of course there was no Isis until after Obama became our head of state. He had done more to help Israel than any other president."
The spaghetti meal comes and I make toast out of my half. Jim must have been hungry as his garlic bread sweeps clean his plate.
'Well lets go to the beach. The sun and some exercise will keep your blood pressure down and also digest your food. Later I took him to the Encinitas train station so he could return to Oceanside where he shares a bedroom with another.
I was still beaming with happiness that i had saved eight dollars until my State check would arrive...and it did the next day.
"Well, Jim, how is your blood pressure today?"
"The beach seems to agree with me. I went there yesterday and took in some sun. My pressure is only 160 over eighty today."
"What do you say we take in a spaghetti lunch at Keno's later." He agreed and continued to play pool while I singed the computer key board.
I better describe Jim since you would never miss him in a crowd. He is missing all of his front teeth but two. He owns one on top and one on the bottom. He mashes his food with the few molars in the back. His unshaven face and uneven hair makes you think he is another homeless one, but indeed he is not.
His large spotted knapsack had needed a dermatologist for years. He is always with his guarded Knapsack since it is home to a two thousand dollar lab top. It is that old but is wedded to Gentleman Jim till the end of time. The Coaster conductors ignore him-he looks so pitiful. But not I, no not I. He reminds me of the real me. I too am a non-conformist believing to walk God's walk through nature and not with smart phones and reality T.V.
I drove him and is backpack to Keno's where many go for a brew or two or three and cheap but quality meals that kiss ones stomach with love. It sits off of highway 101 and no doubt will be stamped a Historical monument when the owner goes to the whiskey shop in heaven. Today we share a $2.95 large spaghetti plate with garlic bread. He orders a sandwich with fries also. Like me, he is unique and anything but boring.
The Alvarado Hospital charged me one hundred thousand dollars for one week of care. I could have left in three days but my doctor went on a fishing trip with my money. I will probably need to sell on of my trucks to pay the bill and fend-off the IRA.
"But Jim, I must hand it to our President. Obama has killed over three hundred thousand Arabs by pulling out of Iraq. I can still hear this great president threatening the Syrian one by saying, "Here is the line, step over it or else!"
"I have not met one marine inside Camp Pendleton that adores this man, particularly after the Benghazi affair."
'Of course there was no Isis until after Obama became our head of state. He had done more to help Israel than any other president."
The spaghetti meal comes and I make toast out of my half. Jim must have been hungry as his garlic bread sweeps clean his plate.
'Well lets go to the beach. The sun and some exercise will keep your blood pressure down and also digest your food. Later I took him to the Encinitas train station so he could return to Oceanside where he shares a bedroom with another.
I was still beaming with happiness that i had saved eight dollars until my State check would arrive...and it did the next day.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
The Old Town Immaculate Conception Church
"Let's go to Keno's, I am almost out of money and we can share a two ninety-nine spaghetti."
"Well I am hungry but need to finish this last pool game." Jim answered.
I am speaking with "Gentleman" Jim. I first met this Portland back-packer on the Coaster train about one year ago. He owns two big rigs with another. They transport goods across the United States which leaves them with a modest income. An early wise investment in Microsoft allowed Jim to quit his machinist job and back-pack south to San Diego due to the constant rain in Portland.
On Sunday morning on my way to the Immaculate Conception Church, I saw him and his back pack on the eight forty Coaster out of Oceanside. The train was headed south to the Santa Fe Station. His large filthy back pack stood in the aisle. It looked as if it had been in a war against Isis. His blood pressure monitor sat on the table.
"I owe the Alvarado Hospital one hundred thousand dollars." He bellowed.
"Why did you go there in the first place."
"I felt dizzy and knew a stroke would be mine. My potassium was way down. The hospital next to San Diego State, took my blood pressure. It registered 280/140. They admitted me upstairs to ICU. And there I remained since my doctor was on a fishing trip."
"Where you headed now?"
"I'm getting off at Old Town and then take the Green Line to Park View. Ikea offers a one dollar breakfast there every day. It consists of eggs, sausage and potatoes."
We both got off at Old Town. He took the Green Line Trolley and I trolled the garden at Old Town and viewed the quite-alive grape arbor and the large fig tree. I knew in another month I would pick a few clusters of my favorite Concord Grape and fifteen days later fill my Palate with delicious figs.
I was in luck. Father Ecker would be delivering the sermon today. He always had a quip to go with the theme of the day, and this day the Trilogy was the topic. He was dressed in a white robe with a black belt. As always, he entered through the front door and smiles at everyone within a few pews from him.
I felt relaxed.,too relaxed as God sat next to me. In fact my Dad Harry and My Mom needed to make space for him. I stood up and rolled to the fountain that carried the blood of Jesus. I dipped my hand in the holly water and sprinkled some drops on my head - and made the cross over my chest.
My God! What was that me? I could not believe what I did, but Father Ecker knows what chords to hit to make music. His humility has hit the right chord with me. Father Ecker proceeded into one of his patented jokes. This one was about a boy named Jimmy.
"One day in church, a Bishop asked Jimmy to describe the Trilogy. Now since Jimmy stuttered, the Bishop quipped, "Now Jimmy, I could not understand one word you said!" But Jimmy refused to be upgrade by the kind Bishop and castled him.
"My Kind Bishop. You may have had trouble understanding me, but the Trilogy is still a mystery to me."
Father Ecker spoke about Motherhood and the importance of providing unconditional love to her infants. Of course I began to think about my own daughter who struggled to make end meet every month.
During the times of Jesus, his Mom Mary did not need to take him to day-care, rent a house, or pay work, and be a wife and provider. Those were the days when Motherhood must have been a lot easier. But don't get me wrong. Mother Mary did have a man in her life. The carpenters name was Joseph and in between laying bricks, Joseph plunged into fatherhood. The produced five kids.
"Well I am hungry but need to finish this last pool game." Jim answered.
I am speaking with "Gentleman" Jim. I first met this Portland back-packer on the Coaster train about one year ago. He owns two big rigs with another. They transport goods across the United States which leaves them with a modest income. An early wise investment in Microsoft allowed Jim to quit his machinist job and back-pack south to San Diego due to the constant rain in Portland.
On Sunday morning on my way to the Immaculate Conception Church, I saw him and his back pack on the eight forty Coaster out of Oceanside. The train was headed south to the Santa Fe Station. His large filthy back pack stood in the aisle. It looked as if it had been in a war against Isis. His blood pressure monitor sat on the table.
"I owe the Alvarado Hospital one hundred thousand dollars." He bellowed.
"Why did you go there in the first place."
"I felt dizzy and knew a stroke would be mine. My potassium was way down. The hospital next to San Diego State, took my blood pressure. It registered 280/140. They admitted me upstairs to ICU. And there I remained since my doctor was on a fishing trip."
"Where you headed now?"
"I'm getting off at Old Town and then take the Green Line to Park View. Ikea offers a one dollar breakfast there every day. It consists of eggs, sausage and potatoes."
We both got off at Old Town. He took the Green Line Trolley and I trolled the garden at Old Town and viewed the quite-alive grape arbor and the large fig tree. I knew in another month I would pick a few clusters of my favorite Concord Grape and fifteen days later fill my Palate with delicious figs.
I was in luck. Father Ecker would be delivering the sermon today. He always had a quip to go with the theme of the day, and this day the Trilogy was the topic. He was dressed in a white robe with a black belt. As always, he entered through the front door and smiles at everyone within a few pews from him.
I felt relaxed.,too relaxed as God sat next to me. In fact my Dad Harry and My Mom needed to make space for him. I stood up and rolled to the fountain that carried the blood of Jesus. I dipped my hand in the holly water and sprinkled some drops on my head - and made the cross over my chest.
My God! What was that me? I could not believe what I did, but Father Ecker knows what chords to hit to make music. His humility has hit the right chord with me. Father Ecker proceeded into one of his patented jokes. This one was about a boy named Jimmy.
"One day in church, a Bishop asked Jimmy to describe the Trilogy. Now since Jimmy stuttered, the Bishop quipped, "Now Jimmy, I could not understand one word you said!" But Jimmy refused to be upgrade by the kind Bishop and castled him.
"My Kind Bishop. You may have had trouble understanding me, but the Trilogy is still a mystery to me."
Father Ecker spoke about Motherhood and the importance of providing unconditional love to her infants. Of course I began to think about my own daughter who struggled to make end meet every month.
During the times of Jesus, his Mom Mary did not need to take him to day-care, rent a house, or pay work, and be a wife and provider. Those were the days when Motherhood must have been a lot easier. But don't get me wrong. Mother Mary did have a man in her life. The carpenters name was Joseph and in between laying bricks, Joseph plunged into fatherhood. The produced five kids.
Monday, June 1, 2015
Death of a Muscle Beach Legend
A Muscle Beach Legend moved to another volleyball court-this one in heaven. I first met Bobby Barber at Muscle Beach in 1989. The volleyball courts were located between the Santa Monica Pier and the life guard station.
I had taken the 7 Blue Bus to Santa Monica Beach and met a thin tall man with a beaming smile. He looked like an advertisement for volleyball outerwear. Several years earlier, my colleague from Garfield High School recommended the game to remove me from the urn of depression. Dick Selby, also a javelin record holder at U.C.L.A., became my sponsor.
Bobby Barber took me into his wings. The well-groomed SAG worker was dressed in impeccable and colorful volleyball attire. The thin man could have been running for governor. You knew it was Bobby by his effervescent smile.
"Well George, looks like you need volleyball shorts and a bag to hold them in. Try these one and take my bag." Yes, Bobby Barber would give you the shirt off of his back if you needed it. I wrote an article about him in a local newspaper several years ago and will attempt to summarize it-of course with embellishments for the 98 year-old-legend of Beach Volleyball... Whenever I see a long thin onion I see Bobby Barber. You see he told me...well let me let him tell you his story.
"I grew up downtown and went to Manual Arts High School during the depression. My Mom was from France and we had a bakery. Dad played professionally for a Vernon baseball team - it was off of Glendale Blvd. I often biked to the beach and picked all the wild onions I could eat in the wide open spaces that separated downtown with West Los Angeles. I began to play with those who began two-man volleyball in Santa Monica.
The life guard station and the pier's bleachers kept the winds at bay. The deep sand was a great setting for volleyball. Sometimes Wilt Chamberlain stopped by to play. He played basketball you know.
Then the Navy came a-calling when war broke out. After the war, I joined up with the Los Angeles Fire Department, but the windward beaches came a-calling. Along the way I met up with a Jane Russel look-alike. We married and after I had retired, I opened up a bathing suit shop at the foot of the Merry-Go-Round.
His movie star looking wife always packed a peanut butter sandwich for him. Yet he always shared half of it with me. Sharing was his life, and what a life without sharing. She also bore him four kids, three of whom played Triple A on the circuit.
I must interrupt this Muscle Beach Legend. He told me that in-between bathing suit sells, and working for SAG. He initiated Randy Stoklos in the art of volleyball playing and Misty May. Both are legends in their own right. He played in many volleyball tournaments and at one time beat some of the greats.He must have had a thousand bathing suits. He always tried to give them away.
At the time, we played with others who had now passed on or are holding serve today at the same beach. Bud Grit, "Spider" Dick, "Sheb" Conway and a host of others made it a social gathering. Nick the Greek set up six man games in the early nineties. When Nick positioned you, you didn't dare move.
A few times we went to the four dollar dinner at the Santa Monica Hospital. He watched each penny. For him like others, they still lived in a time when a buck was a buck. We visited Sheb Conway in the hospital before he passed away.
His best volleyball shot was his stinky dink. He would act if making a set, but at the last second, send an angular dink just over the net. Nobody could outset Bobby Barber. But never laugh or beat him in a two man game. He held grudges. He was a bad loser so he picked and chose his mates keeping away from volleyball beginners. He played into his mid-eighties. I hope a statue of Bobby will be made before the Santa Monica Expo Metro Line is completed by next April
One day Bobby played against me. It felt like a five minute rally. Big Dan was my partner and we flew through the air to return some balls. Every-so-often I took a gander and old man Bobby, huffing and puffing. The longer the rally, the more assured we would win the point.
This time I shot the ball over Bobby's head for a winner. Why you should have seen his face of dejection. I held my laughter as long as possible, but just could not hold it. I must have laughed for a minute or two. Bobby began to walk off the court but I apologized and allowed him to win the game. Yes, he was a poor loser.
Bobby was always interviewed on T.V. He knew what to say and was dressed to kill. In between volleyball, he would get old man parts as a SAG member.
Why back in the day who could not stop laughing -- particularly when playing with "Spider", Ron and Bud Grit. Spider must have approached his eighties but still could hit the ball, that is if he received a perfect set.
Another one who couldn't move was Ron. Wait a minute, there he goes to the telephone. He was always looking for loose change and broken beach chairs. He would fix them and then sell them. You talk about pitching pennies, that was Ron.
After my football story is published I will begin a blog on Muscle Beach and there will be a few pictures of the volleyball courts.
I had taken the 7 Blue Bus to Santa Monica Beach and met a thin tall man with a beaming smile. He looked like an advertisement for volleyball outerwear. Several years earlier, my colleague from Garfield High School recommended the game to remove me from the urn of depression. Dick Selby, also a javelin record holder at U.C.L.A., became my sponsor.
Bobby Barber took me into his wings. The well-groomed SAG worker was dressed in impeccable and colorful volleyball attire. The thin man could have been running for governor. You knew it was Bobby by his effervescent smile.
"Well George, looks like you need volleyball shorts and a bag to hold them in. Try these one and take my bag." Yes, Bobby Barber would give you the shirt off of his back if you needed it. I wrote an article about him in a local newspaper several years ago and will attempt to summarize it-of course with embellishments for the 98 year-old-legend of Beach Volleyball... Whenever I see a long thin onion I see Bobby Barber. You see he told me...well let me let him tell you his story.
"I grew up downtown and went to Manual Arts High School during the depression. My Mom was from France and we had a bakery. Dad played professionally for a Vernon baseball team - it was off of Glendale Blvd. I often biked to the beach and picked all the wild onions I could eat in the wide open spaces that separated downtown with West Los Angeles. I began to play with those who began two-man volleyball in Santa Monica.
The life guard station and the pier's bleachers kept the winds at bay. The deep sand was a great setting for volleyball. Sometimes Wilt Chamberlain stopped by to play. He played basketball you know.
Then the Navy came a-calling when war broke out. After the war, I joined up with the Los Angeles Fire Department, but the windward beaches came a-calling. Along the way I met up with a Jane Russel look-alike. We married and after I had retired, I opened up a bathing suit shop at the foot of the Merry-Go-Round.
His movie star looking wife always packed a peanut butter sandwich for him. Yet he always shared half of it with me. Sharing was his life, and what a life without sharing. She also bore him four kids, three of whom played Triple A on the circuit.
I must interrupt this Muscle Beach Legend. He told me that in-between bathing suit sells, and working for SAG. He initiated Randy Stoklos in the art of volleyball playing and Misty May. Both are legends in their own right. He played in many volleyball tournaments and at one time beat some of the greats.He must have had a thousand bathing suits. He always tried to give them away.
At the time, we played with others who had now passed on or are holding serve today at the same beach. Bud Grit, "Spider" Dick, "Sheb" Conway and a host of others made it a social gathering. Nick the Greek set up six man games in the early nineties. When Nick positioned you, you didn't dare move.
A few times we went to the four dollar dinner at the Santa Monica Hospital. He watched each penny. For him like others, they still lived in a time when a buck was a buck. We visited Sheb Conway in the hospital before he passed away.
His best volleyball shot was his stinky dink. He would act if making a set, but at the last second, send an angular dink just over the net. Nobody could outset Bobby Barber. But never laugh or beat him in a two man game. He held grudges. He was a bad loser so he picked and chose his mates keeping away from volleyball beginners. He played into his mid-eighties. I hope a statue of Bobby will be made before the Santa Monica Expo Metro Line is completed by next April
One day Bobby played against me. It felt like a five minute rally. Big Dan was my partner and we flew through the air to return some balls. Every-so-often I took a gander and old man Bobby, huffing and puffing. The longer the rally, the more assured we would win the point.
This time I shot the ball over Bobby's head for a winner. Why you should have seen his face of dejection. I held my laughter as long as possible, but just could not hold it. I must have laughed for a minute or two. Bobby began to walk off the court but I apologized and allowed him to win the game. Yes, he was a poor loser.
Bobby was always interviewed on T.V. He knew what to say and was dressed to kill. In between volleyball, he would get old man parts as a SAG member.
Why back in the day who could not stop laughing -- particularly when playing with "Spider", Ron and Bud Grit. Spider must have approached his eighties but still could hit the ball, that is if he received a perfect set.
Another one who couldn't move was Ron. Wait a minute, there he goes to the telephone. He was always looking for loose change and broken beach chairs. He would fix them and then sell them. You talk about pitching pennies, that was Ron.
After my football story is published I will begin a blog on Muscle Beach and there will be a few pictures of the volleyball courts.
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