"Too cold to go outside. Good inside Ice skating weather. I walked to the towns roller rink in an upper state New York town. A dancing figure almost hit me. I turned and saw the figure of the man. Never in my life had I ever seen such a handsome brute. He could jump, twist and had all the moves of a great ballerina. . . I asked my girl friend his name and skated up to him.
"Hi Thomas, my name is Roberta and wish to skate with you."
"My name is Thomas and glad to meet you. Think that you can keep up with me?"
We kissed on the first date. He was gorgeous and just must have enjoyed my lips. He proposed after the second month. My Dad would have something to say about this. I introduced my big hunk-of-a-man to him.
"You know she is only eighteen and you are five years older. And on top of that, you are Irish!"
"Well my Dad also married when he got my Mom pregnant. I think he knew I too was expecting a baby so he relented. Soon I moved in with him. He had fifteen brothers and sisters so soon we found a little flat and started a family.
"Can you excuse me. I need to go to the rest room, thanks."
I return to the third floor library inside the Senior Complex and she continued to speak about her life. Of course I had no idea that she would just continue to talk but she knew I was fare game. The little one with penetrating eyes also had found a few books to keep her company this Sunday in Huntington beach.
"Thomas had learned carpentry from his sisters. At the age of seven, he learned the trade. We were a perfect mix and any nicks we fixed immediately in our forty seven year marriage. We had seven children, three of whom live in the area. I have 21 grand children."
"He did not wish to go to live in California but when I told Thomas I was leaving without him, he asked if he could come too. That gives you a glimpse of our relationship. He has been gone now for three years but what I really miss is his mother."
"Thomas' mother was firm and strong. Guess she would need to be married to an alcoholic. He was a trucker who carried boxes to buyers. She told me that she warned her girls never to live the kind of life she did. Never should she have had fifteen kids."
I had no relationship with my depressed Mom. She cooked and then lay down on a couch. we moved around a lot and I went door to door to sell subscriptions to his paper
It was time for my nap so I thanked her for our conversation and went my way. Outside cars were buzzing by since a world surfing contest as being held at Huntington Beach. For me I hated the smell of Barley-Corn or suds, but give me an interesting story and my mind flashes with excitement. Of course it no longer was a simple Sunday. In my mind I was the brute of a roller skater and she became my wife.
Most of the women in my complex are without husbands. Whether deceased or divorced, each will exclaim: "Once is enough!" Now I don't quite know what happened to their husbands, but in my Senior Apartments on Florida Street, so far I have come across one married couple - except for the Vietnamese. So far I have not seen any weighing more than one hundred pounds. They are tooth picks.
With the help of walkers, canes, or electric wheel chairs the Americans get around and wait for a shuttle bus to take them shopping or to the doctor.
The Vietnamese couples come out of a mold. They still hold hands and walk everywhere. They seldom own dogs but have one vice. They love to gamble. Just before eight o'clock they wait for the Hurrah's Casino bus to arrive. It takes them to Escondido.
Well got to go now. I need to get to the Huntington Beach Senior Center to play the piano and eat their turkey roast with gravy. See-ya.
Nuts and Bolts for today: We need to edit our lives every day to make them more exciting.
Monday, July 27, 2015
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Mr. Whisky/ Long Beach Blue Line
Over two hours to ride four buses out of Huntington Beach, but I finally found the Long Beach Blue Metro. Since the bus drivers gave me the wrong directions, I entered a Seventh Street gas station and found out that anyone of the #91 would take me to the Blue Metro.
I wished to visit my second daughter in West Los Angles and looked for a short cut using buses instead of the Metro-Link. The 91 bused me to the Long Beach Blue Line Station. A anxious lady jumped off the bus, and climbed the trains' platform. Upset she just missed the train. I followed her, tapped my bus card on the ticket machine and slipped a dollar into a slot. I rebooted my Metro card. I sat...or thought about sitting down on the train ramp, but a large dark deviled-eyed Santa Claus dared me to sit. He tried to read from a sunburnt paper died yellow. Three shopping carts held his house. Gray darts sprinkled his face. His black floppy fat feet covered his sandals.
I couldn't give him any change since I had just moved into an apartment but felt sorry for him. Across from us a young man stumbled along. His black legs meant he soon would be fodder for the meat trucks. I had seen too many gangrene-looking-bodies in San Diego. Soon the man would be picked up and emptied at Potter's Field.
The train came an I climbed aboard. An opera singer's voice boomed my way. . .I turned around and viewed a man drinking from a large paper bag. "Anyone want a taste of whiskey." , he hollered and then took another slug from his paper bag. A young blond tattoo came on board, totting a box of cheerios. Most of his teeth he left at the Seven Eleven. Another Whisky skipped on board and befriended the other bottler. He struck up a conversation with Mr. Whiskey.
"Chew hear the explosion other day. Thaz no accident. Wees had no power for a day. Can I share some whisky wit you."
"Na, but Iz not worried over electric crash, but our lack of drinking water. Not long from now, bottled water will cost of five dollas."
The train circled Lincoln Park and several cottages where tents and homeless had huddled. "A old hotel offered a bath with a room." Many one bed cottages graced the way of this lumbering train now .
The next stop was the Watt's Towers stop. A man with a box of chips came on board. He walked down the aisles asking for a quarter for each bag of candy or potato chips. I declined since my pocket book had a hole in it. A few Asians came on board and Latinos. Mr. Whiskey kept fumbling words.
"Trouble with dis country is these Mexicans. They steal our jobs and also looky-here inside my cap, see made in China. These Chinese are stealing our jobs also. Dam it I'll never pay taxes until we are taken care of.."
All awhile, the Orientals across from me and the Latinos said nothing - whether they understood Mr. Whisky or not. The train inched along till it passes the Watt's Towers, Compton, and Hoover. Most of these slab-and-plasters had seen better days. Many were one bed cottages with colorful drawings on the front edifice .At least now I was on the home stretch and could take the RP or Rapid Purple to my second daughter's house on Pico and Roxbury.
I must interrupt this blog to let you know it is pouring rain in Huntington Beach this Saturday. Looks like the April Showers came in July and not in May. Just love of the downpour and a Uke player in the Children area is making them aware of the UKE.
Back to the train. Now I could have gotten out at the Pico exit but five buses in one day were one too many for me. The train's last stop was Seventh Street. I bumped my card for seventy cents and got on the Purple Line for Western and Wilshire.
The Rapid Purple drove me to Pico and Elm Street. I walked the distance to my daughter's and had a wonderful time chewing the fat up the street at Coffee Bean. I bought her a chocolate drink but she told me that she could not accompany me back to Huntington Beach. I could have spent all day with her and her pet Oscar. By and by, Oscar received lots of attention from a three year old and guess what, the Yorkshire did not bite once.
This time I backtracked and took the Rapid Purple the other way to Western and the underground. I tapped my card again and entered the Metro-Link for Buena Park. I thought my problems were over, but had no idea what would follow.
Actually that was good news since the Buena Park Station was almost two bus hours to my abode in Huntington Beach. I got a long look at Knot's Berry Farm and eventually back to my home town at the beach.
There must be a better way to get to Los Angeles! Today the 21st of July I discovered the #1 Pacific Coast Bus drives you to Long Beach and stops on Seventh Street. Across the street is the Veteran's Administration and also the bus stop. Any of the 91..and so forth buses can take you to the Blue Line.
Read today, the 23rd in the L.A. Times a story written by Dan Weikel of the L.A. Times. Could it be that he read about Mr Whisky on the Blue Line and made a connection with the Rosa Parks station. For my followers the Times must have read my story on A 12. It does not take an idiot to understand how dangerous the Long Beach line is since no conductors monitor it.
I wished to visit my second daughter in West Los Angles and looked for a short cut using buses instead of the Metro-Link. The 91 bused me to the Long Beach Blue Line Station. A anxious lady jumped off the bus, and climbed the trains' platform. Upset she just missed the train. I followed her, tapped my bus card on the ticket machine and slipped a dollar into a slot. I rebooted my Metro card. I sat...or thought about sitting down on the train ramp, but a large dark deviled-eyed Santa Claus dared me to sit. He tried to read from a sunburnt paper died yellow. Three shopping carts held his house. Gray darts sprinkled his face. His black floppy fat feet covered his sandals.
I couldn't give him any change since I had just moved into an apartment but felt sorry for him. Across from us a young man stumbled along. His black legs meant he soon would be fodder for the meat trucks. I had seen too many gangrene-looking-bodies in San Diego. Soon the man would be picked up and emptied at Potter's Field.
The train came an I climbed aboard. An opera singer's voice boomed my way. . .I turned around and viewed a man drinking from a large paper bag. "Anyone want a taste of whiskey." , he hollered and then took another slug from his paper bag. A young blond tattoo came on board, totting a box of cheerios. Most of his teeth he left at the Seven Eleven. Another Whisky skipped on board and befriended the other bottler. He struck up a conversation with Mr. Whiskey.
"Chew hear the explosion other day. Thaz no accident. Wees had no power for a day. Can I share some whisky wit you."
"Na, but Iz not worried over electric crash, but our lack of drinking water. Not long from now, bottled water will cost of five dollas."
The train circled Lincoln Park and several cottages where tents and homeless had huddled. "A old hotel offered a bath with a room." Many one bed cottages graced the way of this lumbering train now .
The next stop was the Watt's Towers stop. A man with a box of chips came on board. He walked down the aisles asking for a quarter for each bag of candy or potato chips. I declined since my pocket book had a hole in it. A few Asians came on board and Latinos. Mr. Whiskey kept fumbling words.
"Trouble with dis country is these Mexicans. They steal our jobs and also looky-here inside my cap, see made in China. These Chinese are stealing our jobs also. Dam it I'll never pay taxes until we are taken care of.."
All awhile, the Orientals across from me and the Latinos said nothing - whether they understood Mr. Whisky or not. The train inched along till it passes the Watt's Towers, Compton, and Hoover. Most of these slab-and-plasters had seen better days. Many were one bed cottages with colorful drawings on the front edifice .At least now I was on the home stretch and could take the RP or Rapid Purple to my second daughter's house on Pico and Roxbury.
I must interrupt this blog to let you know it is pouring rain in Huntington Beach this Saturday. Looks like the April Showers came in July and not in May. Just love of the downpour and a Uke player in the Children area is making them aware of the UKE.
Back to the train. Now I could have gotten out at the Pico exit but five buses in one day were one too many for me. The train's last stop was Seventh Street. I bumped my card for seventy cents and got on the Purple Line for Western and Wilshire.
The Rapid Purple drove me to Pico and Elm Street. I walked the distance to my daughter's and had a wonderful time chewing the fat up the street at Coffee Bean. I bought her a chocolate drink but she told me that she could not accompany me back to Huntington Beach. I could have spent all day with her and her pet Oscar. By and by, Oscar received lots of attention from a three year old and guess what, the Yorkshire did not bite once.
This time I backtracked and took the Rapid Purple the other way to Western and the underground. I tapped my card again and entered the Metro-Link for Buena Park. I thought my problems were over, but had no idea what would follow.
Actually that was good news since the Buena Park Station was almost two bus hours to my abode in Huntington Beach. I got a long look at Knot's Berry Farm and eventually back to my home town at the beach.
There must be a better way to get to Los Angeles! Today the 21st of July I discovered the #1 Pacific Coast Bus drives you to Long Beach and stops on Seventh Street. Across the street is the Veteran's Administration and also the bus stop. Any of the 91..and so forth buses can take you to the Blue Line.
Read today, the 23rd in the L.A. Times a story written by Dan Weikel of the L.A. Times. Could it be that he read about Mr Whisky on the Blue Line and made a connection with the Rosa Parks station. For my followers the Times must have read my story on A 12. It does not take an idiot to understand how dangerous the Long Beach line is since no conductors monitor it.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Harrah's Casino
So, you wish to go to San Diego without driving -- and for free. Hold on to your pants while I set the scene, and you might bring grandma to listen-in today.
A few days ago, like I told you, I did my wash. My oldest daughter just hates the smell of dirt so I complied. My legs did a jig since they had to live with dirty tattered underwear too long. To my left several tenants waited outside for a bus. Since as of late I have been inquisitive, I opened the door and asked a lady standing by the door. I thought a bus would pick them up for shopping or a ride to the hospital.
"We are catching the bus to Harrah's. The ride is free and we get a five dollar chip when the bus arrives in Escondido."
Hilda mentioned the word "free" that got my attention. You see I have been trying to find a way to get to San Diego without driving. Now I found the way. I can take the Sprint train to Oceanside and then the Breeze bus or Coaster or, or the rapid bus to downtown San Diego. What a lift it would be to be free of gas emissions for a day.
Well this morning, I saw the same group waiting for the bus. I had a long chat with Harriet. She sat on a bench in front of the apartment doors.
"Waiting for the bus, eh? Going to the Casino's ant ye."
"Sure am. Got a Royal Flush on the video slots a few days ago. Won myself $2,500. They even gave me a comp room upstairs. Barney and I had a lovely time at the entertainment spot. We listened to the player piano and a few Indians doing a war dance. You know a Indian Tribe owns the place don't you."
"What time does the bus return you here to our apartments?"
"We don't live here. We drive here from Santa Ana just for the free ride. The twenty mile trip is worth it. The driver gives each one five dollars and also members get a monthly calendar. Every month the provide a free gift.
I found out another bus takes passengers to the Valley Casino. It picks them up on the other side of Florida Street. Another young lass walked toward us, and with her pug nose resembled my ex-gal Gloria. And of course I told her so. She quipped.
First time going by myself. My husband died six years ago today. In no way do I wish to get married again - once is enough. I just love the video slot machines and dinning at this entertainment spot. are you coming with us George?
Seven ladies boarded the large fifty seat bus. Two couples of Vietnamese descent also boarded. Of course I knew at once these gals were displacing their love-ones with one arm bandits and then- some.
The next day I met Edwin outside at seven forty five. He too waited for Harrah* Entertainment bus. Would you believe that Edwin, yes Edwin divulged his life to me in the fifteen minutes it took his transportation to arrive. So as not to bore you, I will play back his words.
"Came from Oregon. Been married for 62 years and my kids wanted me to be closer to me. I might get in trouble. Met the love of my life Elsa a couple weeks after World War 2 was over. I was in Code Breaking so never got into the war. Quite good in math and worked as an accountant for 33 years."
"A band needed a tuba player for a band one evening. The leader told me to just follow the trombone player for the temp and I did. Met a swell looking gal afterwards who needed a ride home to Bedford Oregon. Well, I met the family and the afterwards enjoyed every bit of our 62 year ride together."
"Well Edwin, how long have you been riding this bus to Harrah's? Why do you like to gamble so much?"
"I just love to play poker and am a little ahead after six years. In fact, I swipe my club card to get a free dinner to boot."
The bus came and Edwin was helped aboard by others. Above the bumper was written, operated by the Rinkcon Indians, part of the Lucino Tribe.
A few days ago, like I told you, I did my wash. My oldest daughter just hates the smell of dirt so I complied. My legs did a jig since they had to live with dirty tattered underwear too long. To my left several tenants waited outside for a bus. Since as of late I have been inquisitive, I opened the door and asked a lady standing by the door. I thought a bus would pick them up for shopping or a ride to the hospital.
"We are catching the bus to Harrah's. The ride is free and we get a five dollar chip when the bus arrives in Escondido."
Hilda mentioned the word "free" that got my attention. You see I have been trying to find a way to get to San Diego without driving. Now I found the way. I can take the Sprint train to Oceanside and then the Breeze bus or Coaster or, or the rapid bus to downtown San Diego. What a lift it would be to be free of gas emissions for a day.
Well this morning, I saw the same group waiting for the bus. I had a long chat with Harriet. She sat on a bench in front of the apartment doors.
"Waiting for the bus, eh? Going to the Casino's ant ye."
"Sure am. Got a Royal Flush on the video slots a few days ago. Won myself $2,500. They even gave me a comp room upstairs. Barney and I had a lovely time at the entertainment spot. We listened to the player piano and a few Indians doing a war dance. You know a Indian Tribe owns the place don't you."
"What time does the bus return you here to our apartments?"
"We don't live here. We drive here from Santa Ana just for the free ride. The twenty mile trip is worth it. The driver gives each one five dollars and also members get a monthly calendar. Every month the provide a free gift.
I found out another bus takes passengers to the Valley Casino. It picks them up on the other side of Florida Street. Another young lass walked toward us, and with her pug nose resembled my ex-gal Gloria. And of course I told her so. She quipped.
First time going by myself. My husband died six years ago today. In no way do I wish to get married again - once is enough. I just love the video slot machines and dinning at this entertainment spot. are you coming with us George?
Seven ladies boarded the large fifty seat bus. Two couples of Vietnamese descent also boarded. Of course I knew at once these gals were displacing their love-ones with one arm bandits and then- some.
The next day I met Edwin outside at seven forty five. He too waited for Harrah* Entertainment bus. Would you believe that Edwin, yes Edwin divulged his life to me in the fifteen minutes it took his transportation to arrive. So as not to bore you, I will play back his words.
"Came from Oregon. Been married for 62 years and my kids wanted me to be closer to me. I might get in trouble. Met the love of my life Elsa a couple weeks after World War 2 was over. I was in Code Breaking so never got into the war. Quite good in math and worked as an accountant for 33 years."
"A band needed a tuba player for a band one evening. The leader told me to just follow the trombone player for the temp and I did. Met a swell looking gal afterwards who needed a ride home to Bedford Oregon. Well, I met the family and the afterwards enjoyed every bit of our 62 year ride together."
"Well Edwin, how long have you been riding this bus to Harrah's? Why do you like to gamble so much?"
"I just love to play poker and am a little ahead after six years. In fact, I swipe my club card to get a free dinner to boot."
The bus came and Edwin was helped aboard by others. Above the bumper was written, operated by the Rinkcon Indians, part of the Lucino Tribe.
Monday, July 13, 2015
Third Street Mall
I have heard many say how their lives are so richer because they don't have kids. As far as I am concerned, that is bull shit! I can't remember having so much fun with daughter number two than Sunday. A day we traveled to Beverly Hill's Farmer's Market and afterwards, the Third Street Mall. So come along with us as we begin at the Farmer's Market in Beverly Hills.
"Dad I thought we were going to the Third Street Mall in Santa Monica."
"Dear you heard me say Beverly Hills Farmer's Market."
We parked in the library parking lot and walked a few steps to the market. I was a sunny perfect day. My daughter seemed a bit flat but still her mood was elevated -- after all she was with me, her Dad. Earlier at her Rat Trap apartment on Pico, her refrigerator frowned. It was bare and needed nourishment. So we walked and my daughter looked.
"Dad could you buy me a few small potatoes and those Persian cucumbers? My daughter never looked so happy. Of course who couldn't resist buying a few overpriced items at this famous market. Everyone bought, even though the avocados sold for four dollars each and everything was so overpriced.
Who cared, this was Beverly Hills and the one hundred dollar bills came out and Ben Franklin did not even blush. Everyone was bold in showing off their colors. We listened to some 50's music and sat at a round table. Then it happened. A crackling sound. A man at the next table had broken his plastic chair. He placed it aside and removed another one.
I sat back and laughed. "Guess you need to lose some weight!" I just could not resist. A few minutes later, my chair collapsed. And do you think I felt embarrassed. Hell know. I put on an act with my legs up in the air and holding my head.
After a visit to Fed Ex on Elm, we returned to the Rat Trap apartments on Pico Blvd. For fifteen years the owner has upped the rent 3 percent each year -- the son-of-a bitch. Why upstairs it gets to be one hundred and twenty degrees in the summer.
I went to the Glad Market down the street to fill part of her refrigerator. When I returned she made a lunch for me out-of-this-world. And my daughter had seconds and thirds. I then drove her to the Third Street Mall.
Now I don't quite know what Coney Island is like, but people were walking over each other. Tourists from every nation in the world were sampling foods or looking at the high end of fashion from Arizona Street to the Mall on Colorado.
A dog puppet was singing and playing a guitar and further down, a two young Chinese kids were playing rock and roll. And all of this for free.
"Dad take my picture. No turn the camera around. She was in heaven, I mean my daughter. Now if anyone tells me they are happy they did not have kids, let them know what they missed. Even my oldest one co-singed a rent contract for me.
"
"Dad I thought we were going to the Third Street Mall in Santa Monica."
"Dear you heard me say Beverly Hills Farmer's Market."
We parked in the library parking lot and walked a few steps to the market. I was a sunny perfect day. My daughter seemed a bit flat but still her mood was elevated -- after all she was with me, her Dad. Earlier at her Rat Trap apartment on Pico, her refrigerator frowned. It was bare and needed nourishment. So we walked and my daughter looked.
"Dad could you buy me a few small potatoes and those Persian cucumbers? My daughter never looked so happy. Of course who couldn't resist buying a few overpriced items at this famous market. Everyone bought, even though the avocados sold for four dollars each and everything was so overpriced.
Who cared, this was Beverly Hills and the one hundred dollar bills came out and Ben Franklin did not even blush. Everyone was bold in showing off their colors. We listened to some 50's music and sat at a round table. Then it happened. A crackling sound. A man at the next table had broken his plastic chair. He placed it aside and removed another one.
I sat back and laughed. "Guess you need to lose some weight!" I just could not resist. A few minutes later, my chair collapsed. And do you think I felt embarrassed. Hell know. I put on an act with my legs up in the air and holding my head.
After a visit to Fed Ex on Elm, we returned to the Rat Trap apartments on Pico Blvd. For fifteen years the owner has upped the rent 3 percent each year -- the son-of-a bitch. Why upstairs it gets to be one hundred and twenty degrees in the summer.
I went to the Glad Market down the street to fill part of her refrigerator. When I returned she made a lunch for me out-of-this-world. And my daughter had seconds and thirds. I then drove her to the Third Street Mall.
Now I don't quite know what Coney Island is like, but people were walking over each other. Tourists from every nation in the world were sampling foods or looking at the high end of fashion from Arizona Street to the Mall on Colorado.
A dog puppet was singing and playing a guitar and further down, a two young Chinese kids were playing rock and roll. And all of this for free.
"Dad take my picture. No turn the camera around. She was in heaven, I mean my daughter. Now if anyone tells me they are happy they did not have kids, let them know what they missed. Even my oldest one co-singed a rent contract for me.
"
Saturday, July 11, 2015
A San Diego Legend, the Ambrose Schindler Story
And there it was! The small box contains items lost a long time ago. Flash drives of Schindler speaking and also pictures of my family.
The opened box contained my original documents of my two years of interviews of the Greatest Trojan of them all. "'Lil' Amby' the Forgotten Trojan was the title. 6-25-07.My boxes had been in storage in Carlsbad for the past five years. Of course these interviews will take on a different perspective now that I have become a better writer than the earlier one. . And now I live in Surf City, where a cleaner air blows the cobwebs from my mind.
Amby introduced me to Carl Benson after I entered his ranch style home. A tall blond Swede looking gentlemen strangled my hand with his massive one, and left. An unsmiling Schindler confessed that his guard has a stomach ailment and lived not far from his home. (Two years later, I interviewed the retired Torrance school principal at his home above P.C.H.)
"Now there are only five of us still alive from our 38 team. And now I can't even get my dearest friend Don Shell on the phone. My closest buddy and ex-judge now lives in Bakersfield, and it is now hard to understand him on the phone. Bob Robertson, our end, lives in Santa Cruz along the coast. But I just can't, cant get over the death of my surfing buddy, Bill Fisk."
His watery eyes displayed his grief. The 38 Trojans became his family. This time the hole was not in the line, but in his heart and it showed. I had never seen anybody so deeply taken by death. He proceeded to the kitchen phone which also was dead. Something had gone wrong with his phone line ever since his voice mail had been activated. He wished to inform the Trojan office of the death of Alhambra's Bill Fisk, the player that manhandled him when his San Diego Cavers played an away game at the school just east of downtown Los Angeles.
On this early morning a few minutes after ten, we sit in his den. My large map of downtown San Diego changes his mood from sadness to excitement. He points out Wilson Jr. High School, Balboa Park, the San Diego's Golf course, and the Golden Hills Municipal playground. not far from his house on Fern Street.
"There George is the seal pond in Balboa Park where I worked after the war. And over here is where I peddled my bike on my paper route I got up at four thirty each morning to get, wrap and deliver those papers. Mom never needed to get my out of bed. After my paper route, I would eat some oat meal, eggs, and bacon."
"There is where I took the street car to San Diego High School. Never did I have time to study because after football practice, I had my chores to do around the house. My geometry teacher called me to his desk and wished to know why I wasn't 'doing better than a D when it should have been a B.'"
"That was when my friend Pepe' tutored me in geometry. I wouldn't eventually have received a B in the class if he hadn't tutored me. His brother would drive us to the La Jolla Golf Link's before dawn. We knew where to retrieve the lost golf balls. After climbing the fence, we knew which rough had collected the most. balls. We would go to the club house and attempt to sell them. On several occasions we sold them to the same golfer who had sprayed their balls into the rough."
"I never would have made my grade a 'B' without his help. I never knew what happened to my buddy. He even taught me some of the Mexican language. And George, I would say 'Gracias to his relatives if still alive."
At this juncture in the den he needed a toilet break. My Sony tape recorder had stopped, but now the thrill of listening to his stories. (And it is only fitting to allow you too, to take a break and enjoy the weekend.)
The opened box contained my original documents of my two years of interviews of the Greatest Trojan of them all. "'Lil' Amby' the Forgotten Trojan was the title. 6-25-07.My boxes had been in storage in Carlsbad for the past five years. Of course these interviews will take on a different perspective now that I have become a better writer than the earlier one. . And now I live in Surf City, where a cleaner air blows the cobwebs from my mind.
Amby introduced me to Carl Benson after I entered his ranch style home. A tall blond Swede looking gentlemen strangled my hand with his massive one, and left. An unsmiling Schindler confessed that his guard has a stomach ailment and lived not far from his home. (Two years later, I interviewed the retired Torrance school principal at his home above P.C.H.)
"Now there are only five of us still alive from our 38 team. And now I can't even get my dearest friend Don Shell on the phone. My closest buddy and ex-judge now lives in Bakersfield, and it is now hard to understand him on the phone. Bob Robertson, our end, lives in Santa Cruz along the coast. But I just can't, cant get over the death of my surfing buddy, Bill Fisk."
His watery eyes displayed his grief. The 38 Trojans became his family. This time the hole was not in the line, but in his heart and it showed. I had never seen anybody so deeply taken by death. He proceeded to the kitchen phone which also was dead. Something had gone wrong with his phone line ever since his voice mail had been activated. He wished to inform the Trojan office of the death of Alhambra's Bill Fisk, the player that manhandled him when his San Diego Cavers played an away game at the school just east of downtown Los Angeles.
On this early morning a few minutes after ten, we sit in his den. My large map of downtown San Diego changes his mood from sadness to excitement. He points out Wilson Jr. High School, Balboa Park, the San Diego's Golf course, and the Golden Hills Municipal playground. not far from his house on Fern Street.
"There George is the seal pond in Balboa Park where I worked after the war. And over here is where I peddled my bike on my paper route I got up at four thirty each morning to get, wrap and deliver those papers. Mom never needed to get my out of bed. After my paper route, I would eat some oat meal, eggs, and bacon."
"There is where I took the street car to San Diego High School. Never did I have time to study because after football practice, I had my chores to do around the house. My geometry teacher called me to his desk and wished to know why I wasn't 'doing better than a D when it should have been a B.'"
"That was when my friend Pepe' tutored me in geometry. I wouldn't eventually have received a B in the class if he hadn't tutored me. His brother would drive us to the La Jolla Golf Link's before dawn. We knew where to retrieve the lost golf balls. After climbing the fence, we knew which rough had collected the most. balls. We would go to the club house and attempt to sell them. On several occasions we sold them to the same golfer who had sprayed their balls into the rough."
"I never would have made my grade a 'B' without his help. I never knew what happened to my buddy. He even taught me some of the Mexican language. And George, I would say 'Gracias to his relatives if still alive."
At this juncture in the den he needed a toilet break. My Sony tape recorder had stopped, but now the thrill of listening to his stories. (And it is only fitting to allow you too, to take a break and enjoy the weekend.)
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Verizon - What is Wrong witn America Today
"Yes, twenty seven dollars out the door and from now on only $20 a month unlimited calls in the U.S.A." Not only am I rooted in Huntington Beach in a fancy apartment, but now a phone number will put branches on my new apartment.
The young baby faced one did his best to get his commission. I named him Dip Stick since I can never trust my engine-oil-one. It registers a different take each time I plunge it inside the oil tube. This is a true story. It mirrors what is wrong with out country today. Businesses are not transparent. Each is out to make a buck at your expense. The milking of the consumer happens every day to you or me.
The true drama occurred to me one hour ago. So I won't jeopardize their jobs by revealing their names or location. But I will bring this up with their higher ups. This event happened one hour ago in a Orange County Service Station.
It takes Dip Stick too long to hash out the contract to me. He tells me my new phone number and that I have "fourteen days to return the equipment if not satisfied to receive my money back."
"Can you demonstrate how to hook up these parts? "Dippy" demonstrates to my satisfaction where to place the batteries and plugs. I ask him to return my driver's license, and he informs me that he has. I took out my wallet and pointed to where my license should have been.
He returns from his desk with my license. Another looks over with bewilderment. He hands me the contract and the only thing underlined in yellow was my monthly fee. Tired from a bad case of chronic bronchitis, I place the contract inside my back pocket.
The next morning, I read the directions and assemble the equipment the way it states. A few blue lights flicker on an off. I now read the three page contract since I have fourteen days to return the gadget. Dip Stick is busy but Mr. Nicely shows another gadget like mine with a blue light.
Sure enough, back at my apartment a few blocks from their store a blue light is on -- after I remove some tape. Sure enough, a blue light appears. I look over the contract. The only item shaded in yellow is the monthly fee. The monthly fee of $20 was the only item shaded yellow. only item shaded yellowed was the monthly fee. I also wished to make sure I had a fourteen day grace period if I decided to change to another service.
I returned to the Verizon store and Dip Stick was servicing a charming couple. Mr. Nicely wasn't busy. I walked up to this big black teddy bear and asked a few probing questions. Mr. Tong and Mr. Wong looked on, above it all. One probably was the manager.
"You will need to pay a connection fee of $40 non-refundable and due at the beginning of the month. Only the $20 figure was shaded yellow." Mr. Nicely shaded yellow the forty dollar activation fee when He thought I wasn't looking. I also found out there was a re-packaging fee for replacing it, about $150 for any item lost and a few other hidden costs. Another fee was $200 if the product was returned early. Note that no contract stipulated these hidden costs. It was by word of mouth only.
"Why did you do that? Are you hiding the evidence. I want the service manager for the area's phone number. He wrote his name down and gave me it."
Now I wished to buy a phone but at Walmart the service rep was too busy. I bought some eatables and left. Through it all, it was nice to be back in my own back yard and watch a spider spin a web outside on my patio garden.
Nuts and Bolts for today: verify everything before your purchase it and take your time. Maybe return another day. Your phone bill can take a big bite out of your budget. The real crooks are the CEO's of these franchises. Just look at college loans today.
What is wrong with America today is a lack of transparency. The quick fix is in for the quick buck or even the sure vote.
The young baby faced one did his best to get his commission. I named him Dip Stick since I can never trust my engine-oil-one. It registers a different take each time I plunge it inside the oil tube. This is a true story. It mirrors what is wrong with out country today. Businesses are not transparent. Each is out to make a buck at your expense. The milking of the consumer happens every day to you or me.
The true drama occurred to me one hour ago. So I won't jeopardize their jobs by revealing their names or location. But I will bring this up with their higher ups. This event happened one hour ago in a Orange County Service Station.
It takes Dip Stick too long to hash out the contract to me. He tells me my new phone number and that I have "fourteen days to return the equipment if not satisfied to receive my money back."
"Can you demonstrate how to hook up these parts? "Dippy" demonstrates to my satisfaction where to place the batteries and plugs. I ask him to return my driver's license, and he informs me that he has. I took out my wallet and pointed to where my license should have been.
He returns from his desk with my license. Another looks over with bewilderment. He hands me the contract and the only thing underlined in yellow was my monthly fee. Tired from a bad case of chronic bronchitis, I place the contract inside my back pocket.
The next morning, I read the directions and assemble the equipment the way it states. A few blue lights flicker on an off. I now read the three page contract since I have fourteen days to return the gadget. Dip Stick is busy but Mr. Nicely shows another gadget like mine with a blue light.
Sure enough, back at my apartment a few blocks from their store a blue light is on -- after I remove some tape. Sure enough, a blue light appears. I look over the contract. The only item shaded in yellow is the monthly fee. The monthly fee of $20 was the only item shaded yellow. only item shaded yellowed was the monthly fee. I also wished to make sure I had a fourteen day grace period if I decided to change to another service.
I returned to the Verizon store and Dip Stick was servicing a charming couple. Mr. Nicely wasn't busy. I walked up to this big black teddy bear and asked a few probing questions. Mr. Tong and Mr. Wong looked on, above it all. One probably was the manager.
"You will need to pay a connection fee of $40 non-refundable and due at the beginning of the month. Only the $20 figure was shaded yellow." Mr. Nicely shaded yellow the forty dollar activation fee when He thought I wasn't looking. I also found out there was a re-packaging fee for replacing it, about $150 for any item lost and a few other hidden costs. Another fee was $200 if the product was returned early. Note that no contract stipulated these hidden costs. It was by word of mouth only.
"Why did you do that? Are you hiding the evidence. I want the service manager for the area's phone number. He wrote his name down and gave me it."
Now I wished to buy a phone but at Walmart the service rep was too busy. I bought some eatables and left. Through it all, it was nice to be back in my own back yard and watch a spider spin a web outside on my patio garden.
Nuts and Bolts for today: verify everything before your purchase it and take your time. Maybe return another day. Your phone bill can take a big bite out of your budget. The real crooks are the CEO's of these franchises. Just look at college loans today.
What is wrong with America today is a lack of transparency. The quick fix is in for the quick buck or even the sure vote.
Surf City - Talbert Street
Talbert Street is where I seem to end up each day. It is off Beach Blvd and a long block from Main Street, where I live. Just a second please. The 29A bus pulls up on the corner of "T" for Talbert at eight thirty.
The 29A bus takes riders to the Metro-Link station in Buena Park. I am told it takes twenty five minutes. Like my number two daughter told me years ago, "Anyone over fifty is too old to drive" -- and she is correct.
Since the Del Mar racing season begins next week, I need to know the schedules. The Link takes one all the way to Oceanside and a bus ride or the Coaster deposits one at the Great Race Place to Solana Beach.
I am at the Coffee Bean at the corner of T and B Street - "B" meaning Beach. Diagonally across from my street window are the In-'n-Out, the big W for hotdogs, Walmart, Yes Video, and the Shepard's Cemetery. In the corner of the gravesite, Old Glory is raised.
The large Vietnamese population applauds their life in our country. Many flew away before the Vietcong could get their hands on them. They are indebted to us. It is great to drink coffee and wait for the raising of Old Glory. She has seen better days I am sure.
I am reading a book about Lindbergh and his stay in San Diego. Remember he lived in my hotel between February and May of 1927. The man haunts me today ever since I made my afternoon home at Lindbergh Field.
It amazed me how thorough he studied for the greatest flight of mankind. Why he even drove to San Pedro to get aeronautical maps of the Atlantic Ocean. In my dreams I can still see him take off from Rockwell Field on North Island for the first leg of the trip to St. Louis.
Just then, I saw a smiling face cross the street and head my way. Of course Burnt Toast needed grub money. My new haircut from Ron's Barber Shop may have captivated her eyes. The face opens the door and asks me the usual. I can't be distracted, I am in a honeymoon faze now. It is the end of my first week of having a roof over my head.
The thin lady with legs that need alignment goes across the street. The large heavy set man removes a note from his billfold and hands it to her. He is well dressed and has done what I didn't do. He enters and orders a Mocha drink. So far, fifty have entered this corner coffee shop. Starbucks is no dummy. He know where to go to capture whales.
A few minutes later, she sits at a table in front of me. She drenches a hot dog with mayo and mustard , and licks her forefinger. She washes it down with a Slurp Drink purchased at the 7/11 two stores over. She smiles and takes her frame around the corner Another gentleman awards her with the same prize. The movement of her lips tells me she is congratulating herself
I continue to read but now the time is close to nine. I need to get to the library and then go to the Rodgers Senior Center to get my grub for the day and dally on their grand piano. The Sun is out and it is a beautiful day.
The 29A bus takes riders to the Metro-Link station in Buena Park. I am told it takes twenty five minutes. Like my number two daughter told me years ago, "Anyone over fifty is too old to drive" -- and she is correct.
Since the Del Mar racing season begins next week, I need to know the schedules. The Link takes one all the way to Oceanside and a bus ride or the Coaster deposits one at the Great Race Place to Solana Beach.
I am at the Coffee Bean at the corner of T and B Street - "B" meaning Beach. Diagonally across from my street window are the In-'n-Out, the big W for hotdogs, Walmart, Yes Video, and the Shepard's Cemetery. In the corner of the gravesite, Old Glory is raised.
The large Vietnamese population applauds their life in our country. Many flew away before the Vietcong could get their hands on them. They are indebted to us. It is great to drink coffee and wait for the raising of Old Glory. She has seen better days I am sure.
I am reading a book about Lindbergh and his stay in San Diego. Remember he lived in my hotel between February and May of 1927. The man haunts me today ever since I made my afternoon home at Lindbergh Field.
It amazed me how thorough he studied for the greatest flight of mankind. Why he even drove to San Pedro to get aeronautical maps of the Atlantic Ocean. In my dreams I can still see him take off from Rockwell Field on North Island for the first leg of the trip to St. Louis.
Just then, I saw a smiling face cross the street and head my way. Of course Burnt Toast needed grub money. My new haircut from Ron's Barber Shop may have captivated her eyes. The face opens the door and asks me the usual. I can't be distracted, I am in a honeymoon faze now. It is the end of my first week of having a roof over my head.
The thin lady with legs that need alignment goes across the street. The large heavy set man removes a note from his billfold and hands it to her. He is well dressed and has done what I didn't do. He enters and orders a Mocha drink. So far, fifty have entered this corner coffee shop. Starbucks is no dummy. He know where to go to capture whales.
A few minutes later, she sits at a table in front of me. She drenches a hot dog with mayo and mustard , and licks her forefinger. She washes it down with a Slurp Drink purchased at the 7/11 two stores over. She smiles and takes her frame around the corner Another gentleman awards her with the same prize. The movement of her lips tells me she is congratulating herself
I continue to read but now the time is close to nine. I need to get to the library and then go to the Rodgers Senior Center to get my grub for the day and dally on their grand piano. The Sun is out and it is a beautiful day.
Tuesday, July 7, 2015
The Surf City Fair
A Mist, a heavy one, swept into Surf City this morning. A deep sleeps told me the chest cold had disappeared. It felt great to breath without the help from my spay-gun. I felt almost normal again. me my cold had ebbed to another playing field. It feels great waking up all alone inside a lovely apartment. No longer do I need to clean out my locker by 12:00. Instead of opening my trunk for clothes, I can reach them from my my walk-in closet.
The Chinese combo from the Panda Express on Main Street did the trick. I needed to return to the Library. You wouldn't believe this, but it has microfilms from the New York Times as far back as 1875.
I ran my wipers and bought a few eatables from the across-the-street's Trader Joe's. One denizen even held an umbrella while I finished my variety of dried raisins and salami. I grabbed a microfilm of December of 1936 and dove into the New York Times. I swept into 1936, December that is to embellish my football story.
"Chiang had been thrown in prison for not declaring war on Japan and not siding with the Communists...Pope Pius had suffered a heart attack in Rome...Gas was 17 cents a gallon...Lou Gehrig was declared the most valuable player in the American Baseball league - he had been my idol. T.C.U and the great Sammy Baugh upset the undefeated Santa Clara team 9-0 in San Francisco. Baugh would go on to star for the Washington Redskins, a team that a few days later decided to move from Boston to our Capital."
"A National League football draft was held at the Hotel Lincoln. Gil Kuhn, a Trojan and Francis Goddard a Washington Husky went to the Brooklyn Dodgers. James Braddock, the heavyweight champ had signed to Max Schmeling the following year. Max would fight the Brown Bomber, Joe Louis and defeat him in their first fight. fight the Black Bomber, Joe Louis after he dismantled Jimmy."
"The ex King Edward the Sixth traveled to Austria with his mate Simpson. He found that love was more important than living up to expectations of kingship. His stuttering brother took the helm. His Mom grieved over this decision that shook the Windsor Palace."
I have more to add to this but I must take a time out for my senior citizen nap. I will return in about two hours to finish this segment of the 1936's. I am still mad that I lost at bingo yesterday but happy that I feel so well today.
Just maybe I will take another Panda Combo, think the spicy food did the trick. After my meal and some rest, I felt like a vacation -- and it was only two miles away! At two o'clock the Surf City wind Gods blew the mist to kingdom. com.
In fact it became so clear I could touch Catalina Island. But I was in for another type of a flare. Surf City had their surf-fair, with circus acts on every street off of Main. Why even a little petting zoo was set up. After a 3-5 p.m. half priced iced-mocha at Coffee Bean, I wobbled to the ocean. Well I couldn't quite touch the Island but saw clusters of surfers tackling the waves. (Every day from 3-5 it is happy hour at Surf Cities Coffee Bean.)
I sit under the bleachers to remove myself from Mr. Sun. Mother Hubbard with ten kids sits on a large blanket, barking orders for her family.
"Who wants a half of a turkey sandwich?...I have berries also. just waiting. Her kids were lucky, there was a Mother who made sure her troop was well fed. Then it became my turn.
"Sir, would you like a half of a turkey sandwich?" At first I am sure if she meant me, but since I felt lonely, I turn. Her larger than-life smile meant me! Now who could deny this lovely lady.
"Don't mind if I do, and thanks a lot." Juan, can you give this gentlemen this sandwich? Juan, did you hear me?" The sandwich half tastes wonderful. She continues to jabber
"How about some water?..Do you need mustered?" I, again thanked her but answered in the negative. Her husband returned from a swim and stood over her.
"Juanita, you must move the blanket. The sun will kill you!" He repeated these warnings several times before she did move the blanket, just in back of me.
She had an allergy towards sun. It was five o'clock and I felt like returning to my disabled car. I had parked on Second Street. I drove down Main and made a right on Florida. My vacation cost two dollars, the price of a drink, but the lift it gave me was worth it.
Yet my day was not over. At nine o'clock unable to breath, I took off for the In-and-Out up the street on Main. The Number One Combo was just what the doctor ordered. I woke up at four and decided to drive to Carlsbad -- I needed a hair cut, remove stuff from a bin, and go dancing at the Nuts and Bolts Ballroom in Encinitas.
The Chinese combo from the Panda Express on Main Street did the trick. I needed to return to the Library. You wouldn't believe this, but it has microfilms from the New York Times as far back as 1875.
I ran my wipers and bought a few eatables from the across-the-street's Trader Joe's. One denizen even held an umbrella while I finished my variety of dried raisins and salami. I grabbed a microfilm of December of 1936 and dove into the New York Times. I swept into 1936, December that is to embellish my football story.
"Chiang had been thrown in prison for not declaring war on Japan and not siding with the Communists...Pope Pius had suffered a heart attack in Rome...Gas was 17 cents a gallon...Lou Gehrig was declared the most valuable player in the American Baseball league - he had been my idol. T.C.U and the great Sammy Baugh upset the undefeated Santa Clara team 9-0 in San Francisco. Baugh would go on to star for the Washington Redskins, a team that a few days later decided to move from Boston to our Capital."
"A National League football draft was held at the Hotel Lincoln. Gil Kuhn, a Trojan and Francis Goddard a Washington Husky went to the Brooklyn Dodgers. James Braddock, the heavyweight champ had signed to Max Schmeling the following year. Max would fight the Brown Bomber, Joe Louis and defeat him in their first fight. fight the Black Bomber, Joe Louis after he dismantled Jimmy."
"The ex King Edward the Sixth traveled to Austria with his mate Simpson. He found that love was more important than living up to expectations of kingship. His stuttering brother took the helm. His Mom grieved over this decision that shook the Windsor Palace."
I have more to add to this but I must take a time out for my senior citizen nap. I will return in about two hours to finish this segment of the 1936's. I am still mad that I lost at bingo yesterday but happy that I feel so well today.
Just maybe I will take another Panda Combo, think the spicy food did the trick. After my meal and some rest, I felt like a vacation -- and it was only two miles away! At two o'clock the Surf City wind Gods blew the mist to kingdom. com.
In fact it became so clear I could touch Catalina Island. But I was in for another type of a flare. Surf City had their surf-fair, with circus acts on every street off of Main. Why even a little petting zoo was set up. After a 3-5 p.m. half priced iced-mocha at Coffee Bean, I wobbled to the ocean. Well I couldn't quite touch the Island but saw clusters of surfers tackling the waves. (Every day from 3-5 it is happy hour at Surf Cities Coffee Bean.)
I sit under the bleachers to remove myself from Mr. Sun. Mother Hubbard with ten kids sits on a large blanket, barking orders for her family.
"Who wants a half of a turkey sandwich?...I have berries also. just waiting. Her kids were lucky, there was a Mother who made sure her troop was well fed. Then it became my turn.
"Sir, would you like a half of a turkey sandwich?" At first I am sure if she meant me, but since I felt lonely, I turn. Her larger than-life smile meant me! Now who could deny this lovely lady.
"Don't mind if I do, and thanks a lot." Juan, can you give this gentlemen this sandwich? Juan, did you hear me?" The sandwich half tastes wonderful. She continues to jabber
"How about some water?..Do you need mustered?" I, again thanked her but answered in the negative. Her husband returned from a swim and stood over her.
"Juanita, you must move the blanket. The sun will kill you!" He repeated these warnings several times before she did move the blanket, just in back of me.
She had an allergy towards sun. It was five o'clock and I felt like returning to my disabled car. I had parked on Second Street. I drove down Main and made a right on Florida. My vacation cost two dollars, the price of a drink, but the lift it gave me was worth it.
Yet my day was not over. At nine o'clock unable to breath, I took off for the In-and-Out up the street on Main. The Number One Combo was just what the doctor ordered. I woke up at four and decided to drive to Carlsbad -- I needed a hair cut, remove stuff from a bin, and go dancing at the Nuts and Bolts Ballroom in Encinitas.
Monday, July 6, 2015
Surf City's Senor Center
"Don't mind if I do Jack, thanks a lot."
Jack, his American name, has just given me his Salisbury steak - like most Vietnamese, he is a vegetarian. My first plate of steak, string beans, sliced peaches, soup and milk is finished. A well-balanced meal it is. I stack his slice on top of my second meal. Need to budget this month.
"George, will you stay for our bingo game?"
"Why not? Haven't played since the age of nine. Can I grab some coffee for you Jack?"
I walk to the coffee urn and Rita smiles and blurts out, "Haven't heard piano playing like that in quite a-while. Do you play professionally?"
I told her "No, but enjoy playing by ear. Let me know what songs you wish me to play next time. Several more friendly Vietnamese sit down. Some came after the Vietnam war to America and made a good choice in Westminster or Huntington Beach.
Across the hall I pick up four bingo cards for one dollar. I hate bingo, but enjoy the atmosphere. The head lady calls out number 50. Hilda raises her hand and claims a five dollar voucher for Trader Joe's. I play a few games with the four for a dollar cards. At about one o'clock, I bug out stating an earlier appointment. I am bored!
I return to my pad by way of Main Street and enjoy an air conditioning sleep. The Huntington Beach winds have chased the clouds to Anaheim. The clean salty air feels divine. One hour later I slice off part of the steak and take a cup of string beans My body has been racked by a bronchial infection and food, clean air, and rest are my medications.
It is quiet and cold, just the way I want it. My daughter came through with her security deposit and the fact she co-signed for me. I feel sorry for those without daughters. I can hardly wait for my two darling grand children to visit me. In the future, I wish to teach them the piano.
The other night, I visited the Bella shopping center and saw a picture about the beach boys and their leader Wilson. Now the songs that I keep hearing will have the chance to metastasize. The only place that is noisy is the library. These folks think they are shopping at Target. Yet I am so relaxed that it does not bother me. You see, I had a delightful sleep on the couch. The air-mattress was not needed.
No longer will I have to look for a Motel Six, where the Texas owners can change the rates day by day. I now have the control. And it is great sorting out all of the stories I have written the past several years. Two more returns to my Carlsbad storage shack will provide a place for me to organize my stuff.
Got to go now. Need to buy a plastic trash holder and some more paper towels Slowly the place is beginning to take shape.
To update this post, the Senior Center has given me nourishment for many days. No, you don't get a lot, but enough to satisfy your stomach.
I enjoy playing their piano and without music too. The singing group called Happy to Know You asked me to come to a social in Costa Mesa. I went to the piano and played that song from The Sound of Music.
Now I am writing songs for my football story.
'
Jack, his American name, has just given me his Salisbury steak - like most Vietnamese, he is a vegetarian. My first plate of steak, string beans, sliced peaches, soup and milk is finished. A well-balanced meal it is. I stack his slice on top of my second meal. Need to budget this month.
"George, will you stay for our bingo game?"
"Why not? Haven't played since the age of nine. Can I grab some coffee for you Jack?"
I walk to the coffee urn and Rita smiles and blurts out, "Haven't heard piano playing like that in quite a-while. Do you play professionally?"
I told her "No, but enjoy playing by ear. Let me know what songs you wish me to play next time. Several more friendly Vietnamese sit down. Some came after the Vietnam war to America and made a good choice in Westminster or Huntington Beach.
Across the hall I pick up four bingo cards for one dollar. I hate bingo, but enjoy the atmosphere. The head lady calls out number 50. Hilda raises her hand and claims a five dollar voucher for Trader Joe's. I play a few games with the four for a dollar cards. At about one o'clock, I bug out stating an earlier appointment. I am bored!
I return to my pad by way of Main Street and enjoy an air conditioning sleep. The Huntington Beach winds have chased the clouds to Anaheim. The clean salty air feels divine. One hour later I slice off part of the steak and take a cup of string beans My body has been racked by a bronchial infection and food, clean air, and rest are my medications.
It is quiet and cold, just the way I want it. My daughter came through with her security deposit and the fact she co-signed for me. I feel sorry for those without daughters. I can hardly wait for my two darling grand children to visit me. In the future, I wish to teach them the piano.
The other night, I visited the Bella shopping center and saw a picture about the beach boys and their leader Wilson. Now the songs that I keep hearing will have the chance to metastasize. The only place that is noisy is the library. These folks think they are shopping at Target. Yet I am so relaxed that it does not bother me. You see, I had a delightful sleep on the couch. The air-mattress was not needed.
No longer will I have to look for a Motel Six, where the Texas owners can change the rates day by day. I now have the control. And it is great sorting out all of the stories I have written the past several years. Two more returns to my Carlsbad storage shack will provide a place for me to organize my stuff.
Got to go now. Need to buy a plastic trash holder and some more paper towels Slowly the place is beginning to take shape.
To update this post, the Senior Center has given me nourishment for many days. No, you don't get a lot, but enough to satisfy your stomach.
I enjoy playing their piano and without music too. The singing group called Happy to Know You asked me to come to a social in Costa Mesa. I went to the piano and played that song from The Sound of Music.
Now I am writing songs for my football story.
'
Thursday, July 2, 2015
San Diego Motels
I emptied out of the 5 onto Carlsbad Village Drive. Now I could bed down and do some computer work. Lucky I was since the 5 freeway north at San Clemente was blogged down due to an accident. Cars were backed up clear to Camp Pendelton.
I looked for the Motel Six rates for today and was shocked. To the side the normal full parking lot was empty. Only a few cars remained. I knew something was up - and sure enough the man at the desk told me the 99 dollars was not a bluff but a sure thing. Now I figured something in the seventies at least. Then I could afford to go to Keno's for the $2.99 spaghetti or Just Peachy for fruit.
The Indian at the desk told me they had called management and asked to decrease the price. Hell, last week it was $63 and now this, one hundred dollars. At least I could still have my usual ten minute shower - the hell with rationing water. I wish to get my one hundred and fifteen cents moneys worth.
One year ago with Comic Com, the Y.M.C.A. charged $300 for one little cubicle, The new owners had promised to keep the rates humane but once they got the keys to the grand hotel, it was "Fly me to the Moon." Hopefully what goes around comes around and these Motel Six Texas bigwigs will get theirs.
Yes, you never know what a motel will charge. It is day-to-day so book in advance and get a confirmation number along with a name. But the Ass-holes at Motel Six in Texas don't sit alone with their tomahawks. Yes, it is follow the leader. But don't dismay, there is always the rest stop outside of Oceanside that is free.
Never drive into San Diego - that is if you can get there. I would by-pass the Motel Six and others and leave my car in Oceanside's Transit Station. It is free and get a motel somewhere else. The motel owners care only about the share holders. and not the middle class that has to
I looked for the Motel Six rates for today and was shocked. To the side the normal full parking lot was empty. Only a few cars remained. I knew something was up - and sure enough the man at the desk told me the 99 dollars was not a bluff but a sure thing. Now I figured something in the seventies at least. Then I could afford to go to Keno's for the $2.99 spaghetti or Just Peachy for fruit.
The Indian at the desk told me they had called management and asked to decrease the price. Hell, last week it was $63 and now this, one hundred dollars. At least I could still have my usual ten minute shower - the hell with rationing water. I wish to get my one hundred and fifteen cents moneys worth.
One year ago with Comic Com, the Y.M.C.A. charged $300 for one little cubicle, The new owners had promised to keep the rates humane but once they got the keys to the grand hotel, it was "Fly me to the Moon." Hopefully what goes around comes around and these Motel Six Texas bigwigs will get theirs.
Yes, you never know what a motel will charge. It is day-to-day so book in advance and get a confirmation number along with a name. But the Ass-holes at Motel Six in Texas don't sit alone with their tomahawks. Yes, it is follow the leader. But don't dismay, there is always the rest stop outside of Oceanside that is free.
Never drive into San Diego - that is if you can get there. I would by-pass the Motel Six and others and leave my car in Oceanside's Transit Station. It is free and get a motel somewhere else. The motel owners care only about the share holders. and not the middle class that has to
The Huntington Beach Senior Center
To save money, I motored to the Rodger's Senior Center in Huntington Beach. The center provides a free lunch with donations gladly accepted Another day and I will open the door to a new life, this one with a apartment home off of Florida Avenue. My own daughter plucked down a seven hundred dollar deposit on the Senior Citizen complex. Move in is set for tomorrow, and have been deliberating how to spend my last few dollars.
My check comes to a post office in Carlsbad. So the first of every month the money flows. By the end of the month, dikes are needed to save the few dollars. So of course a free meal at the Senior Center is my first dike to save money later.
Seventeenth Street winds around the high school and spills into the ocean. Orange Street is two blocks from the ocean. towards the ocean. About two streets from the Pacific I make a right on Orange. It looks like an Historic relic. Old pieces of wood must have been thrown together to make a center out of it. The City Fathers must have been greedy sons-of-bitches to spend so frugally on their seniors.
I was told not to use the computer room but invited to the recreation room for lunch and music. It was built when cars ran on electricity. I need to sign up before eleven to reserve a lunch - donations accepted as usual.
Most of the folks are older than me - but not too much. An old man is playing the grand piano. He has his sheet music on the stand and is slow to hit the right notes. He needs sheet music whereas I play be ear. Mom told me I had huge ears and my piano teacher agreed. But with an ear for music and large hands, I was a natural Liberace.
The large bungalow type of structure had its fans running. With all of its oil wells, Surf City can not afford air - conditioning for its older residents. Can you imagine that? These folks are living in the Dark ages.
I enter before eleven and sign in for a lunch. A little embarrassed that I can't donate a larger sum than one dollar, I hide the bill until it is safely tucked inside the till box. I sign my name and the little lady hands me a chip - that makes me a member of the lunch club today.
Many of the ladies use walkers but the rest don't need them as they are the talkers. The old dames outnumber the men only two to one. Obesity does not ride here. The older one gets, the more they forget to eat and drink- and besides, this is surf city where any old timer can ride the waves and rid themselves of needless fat.
The thin old man continues to labor on the Grand Piano. Yet he is happy. After a few minutes, he gives the piano a rest. I ask permission to play. No need to look at the keys, I watch the folks - or at least those without hearing aids react to songs from South Pacific and Camelot. I am in heaven. A silver hair walks up to me and stares . I stop playing.
"You play divinely. How do you do it without looking at the music or key board?"
"Why that is easy. Tchaikovsky didn't need to see or hear also. My fingers do the playing. Each finger knows when to allow the others to play. The man older than time encroaches on our conversation. He places a three sheet song on the piano. I don't have reading glasses so after a few bars I play it by ear.
I watch the reaction to the small audience. Many are smiling and eating the donates, prior to the main 11:30 meal. I take up my seat or try to when a volunteer server corrals me. She wears an effervescent smile.
"I hope you return. Your music has made my day."
I sit down and begin a useless chap with one who has Alzheimer's disease. He is from Scandinavia but has never heard of Charles Lindbergh or other famous people. Of course we all have the above disease but music makes it tolerable. He wishes to know how long it took to play that well.
"Well Charles, I didn't take lessons too long. I began to look at girls at the time when thirteen rolled around. May I ask how long you have lived here?"
"I came here in 1961 and started my own machine shop. I had lots of contracts from aircraft companies. We had as many as forty employees working around the clock with good contracts..."
Edith the server then interrupted us. She provided a small cup of beef stew and lots of lima beans and a little portion of salad. She returned a few minutes later and gave me a second tray. I filled myself up knowing that I could save my money for gas later in the week.
I went to the bathroom to comb my hair. After all, my grey-blond hair might be worth something some day. Outside I walked to my car. Edith followed me and gave me her phone number and a peck on the cheek. I felt tired and returned to the Motel Six.
In another day I would be playing a new tune - since now I will have a home of my own.
My check comes to a post office in Carlsbad. So the first of every month the money flows. By the end of the month, dikes are needed to save the few dollars. So of course a free meal at the Senior Center is my first dike to save money later.
Seventeenth Street winds around the high school and spills into the ocean. Orange Street is two blocks from the ocean. towards the ocean. About two streets from the Pacific I make a right on Orange. It looks like an Historic relic. Old pieces of wood must have been thrown together to make a center out of it. The City Fathers must have been greedy sons-of-bitches to spend so frugally on their seniors.
I was told not to use the computer room but invited to the recreation room for lunch and music. It was built when cars ran on electricity. I need to sign up before eleven to reserve a lunch - donations accepted as usual.
Most of the folks are older than me - but not too much. An old man is playing the grand piano. He has his sheet music on the stand and is slow to hit the right notes. He needs sheet music whereas I play be ear. Mom told me I had huge ears and my piano teacher agreed. But with an ear for music and large hands, I was a natural Liberace.
The large bungalow type of structure had its fans running. With all of its oil wells, Surf City can not afford air - conditioning for its older residents. Can you imagine that? These folks are living in the Dark ages.
I enter before eleven and sign in for a lunch. A little embarrassed that I can't donate a larger sum than one dollar, I hide the bill until it is safely tucked inside the till box. I sign my name and the little lady hands me a chip - that makes me a member of the lunch club today.
Many of the ladies use walkers but the rest don't need them as they are the talkers. The old dames outnumber the men only two to one. Obesity does not ride here. The older one gets, the more they forget to eat and drink- and besides, this is surf city where any old timer can ride the waves and rid themselves of needless fat.
The thin old man continues to labor on the Grand Piano. Yet he is happy. After a few minutes, he gives the piano a rest. I ask permission to play. No need to look at the keys, I watch the folks - or at least those without hearing aids react to songs from South Pacific and Camelot. I am in heaven. A silver hair walks up to me and stares . I stop playing.
"You play divinely. How do you do it without looking at the music or key board?"
"Why that is easy. Tchaikovsky didn't need to see or hear also. My fingers do the playing. Each finger knows when to allow the others to play. The man older than time encroaches on our conversation. He places a three sheet song on the piano. I don't have reading glasses so after a few bars I play it by ear.
I watch the reaction to the small audience. Many are smiling and eating the donates, prior to the main 11:30 meal. I take up my seat or try to when a volunteer server corrals me. She wears an effervescent smile.
"I hope you return. Your music has made my day."
I sit down and begin a useless chap with one who has Alzheimer's disease. He is from Scandinavia but has never heard of Charles Lindbergh or other famous people. Of course we all have the above disease but music makes it tolerable. He wishes to know how long it took to play that well.
"Well Charles, I didn't take lessons too long. I began to look at girls at the time when thirteen rolled around. May I ask how long you have lived here?"
"I came here in 1961 and started my own machine shop. I had lots of contracts from aircraft companies. We had as many as forty employees working around the clock with good contracts..."
Edith the server then interrupted us. She provided a small cup of beef stew and lots of lima beans and a little portion of salad. She returned a few minutes later and gave me a second tray. I filled myself up knowing that I could save my money for gas later in the week.
I went to the bathroom to comb my hair. After all, my grey-blond hair might be worth something some day. Outside I walked to my car. Edith followed me and gave me her phone number and a peck on the cheek. I felt tired and returned to the Motel Six.
In another day I would be playing a new tune - since now I will have a home of my own.
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
A Second Life in Huntington Beach
About one year ago, I lived in no-man's land. The 500 Broadway building was sold to a company located in Camp Pendleton. The San Diego City Counsel allowed the new company to buy the old Y.M.C. A and make it a five star hotel.
My income was too high to qualify for HUD and too low to enter a new apartment. The San Diego City Counsel under Todd Gloria did not give a dam for us. I received no help but did get almost two thousand for the move. Some left and became homeless. A few have probably died.
It took me awhile and many checking in and outs at the Motel Six. I became a fixture there and never knew when one of their cronies would up the rent. Last weekend, it rose to $130 for Friday or Saturday evening. But I had already settled on making Huntington Beach my new home - since it was closer to family and unlike San Diego's constant mist, I began to breath again.
The good thing about the motel was the showers. I could take as many showers as I wanted. I wondered why the showers did not have any regulator since we are in a heat wave. And with better air, my mind woke up after a long sleep. I NOW could remember names that had left me. Unlike other cities, Alzheimer's is the third leading cause of death in San Diego. Without air, the mind can't function.
Huntington Beach unharnesses beach air that cools off those who live in the city. The Monsoonal season had come a month early so everything is sticky. I saw a doctor not far from Talbert Street. Ten days of taking bullets twice a day may remove the bacterial infection I have carried for over three weeks. It was large with concrete seats every few feet or so.
My body does not work without a clean air filter. Hell, there is nothing wrong with my engine or lungs and if I keep my bronchial tubes clean, the air will filter down to my the rest of my body. Today I am walking. Talbert Street is home to two Kaiser facilities, the Elks Lodge and the library and dog park next to it.
By the way, everyone should have at least one daughter. Her good credit got me into the Five Points Senior Apartments. It's a bit pricey, but it is cool during the day and has a nice air conditioner. I am closer to my family now and it feels great!
My move in today and only two miles from the beach. I do hope my kids treat me to a breakfast at the Sugar Shack, a main cog on Main Street U.S.A. There is something about the ocean air that makes this outdoor patio make me feel like King for a Day.
A week ago, I treated myself to one of there breakfasts and met Ryan, their manager. I complimented him on the breakfast just eaten. The tasty Pork Chops, eggs, hash browns, and sour-do bread and coffee seconds energized my sleepy body. Ryan complimented me on my blog and asked me how he could find it. Also, Body Glove was sponsoring a surfing contest so I walked towards the pier and sat under it to hide from the brutal sun.
Catalina Island could be touched on Sunday. My sick body still had time to pass my volleyball around to Lauren and her two kids who live north of the pier. She is the owner of Evergreen Reality on Main Street.
"George, since you are from San Diego, can you suggest a good and clean hotel next to the Convention Center. I am going to a Real Estate convention. The subject is how the stock market influences home prices."
"May I ask how you got interested in Real Estate?" She looked at me with her eager eyes but her finger rejected me. The lovely beach ball was married but who cared. I needed company today and Lauren fit the bill today.
"I received a P.H.D and masters degree up north. My husband was out of work so we needed money to raise our three kids. I became a Real Estate Broker and set off for Huntington Beach. I have done quite well here and we even own a Big Bear Cabin."
Lauren shared her sliced cantelope and provided me with water. She wished her kids would read more and leave the smart phones at home. Her little feet hurt from the hot sand. I thanked her for the food and told her I would find a San Diego hotel for her.
. .
My income was too high to qualify for HUD and too low to enter a new apartment. The San Diego City Counsel under Todd Gloria did not give a dam for us. I received no help but did get almost two thousand for the move. Some left and became homeless. A few have probably died.
It took me awhile and many checking in and outs at the Motel Six. I became a fixture there and never knew when one of their cronies would up the rent. Last weekend, it rose to $130 for Friday or Saturday evening. But I had already settled on making Huntington Beach my new home - since it was closer to family and unlike San Diego's constant mist, I began to breath again.
The good thing about the motel was the showers. I could take as many showers as I wanted. I wondered why the showers did not have any regulator since we are in a heat wave. And with better air, my mind woke up after a long sleep. I NOW could remember names that had left me. Unlike other cities, Alzheimer's is the third leading cause of death in San Diego. Without air, the mind can't function.
Huntington Beach unharnesses beach air that cools off those who live in the city. The Monsoonal season had come a month early so everything is sticky. I saw a doctor not far from Talbert Street. Ten days of taking bullets twice a day may remove the bacterial infection I have carried for over three weeks. It was large with concrete seats every few feet or so.
My body does not work without a clean air filter. Hell, there is nothing wrong with my engine or lungs and if I keep my bronchial tubes clean, the air will filter down to my the rest of my body. Today I am walking. Talbert Street is home to two Kaiser facilities, the Elks Lodge and the library and dog park next to it.
By the way, everyone should have at least one daughter. Her good credit got me into the Five Points Senior Apartments. It's a bit pricey, but it is cool during the day and has a nice air conditioner. I am closer to my family now and it feels great!
My move in today and only two miles from the beach. I do hope my kids treat me to a breakfast at the Sugar Shack, a main cog on Main Street U.S.A. There is something about the ocean air that makes this outdoor patio make me feel like King for a Day.
A week ago, I treated myself to one of there breakfasts and met Ryan, their manager. I complimented him on the breakfast just eaten. The tasty Pork Chops, eggs, hash browns, and sour-do bread and coffee seconds energized my sleepy body. Ryan complimented me on my blog and asked me how he could find it. Also, Body Glove was sponsoring a surfing contest so I walked towards the pier and sat under it to hide from the brutal sun.
Catalina Island could be touched on Sunday. My sick body still had time to pass my volleyball around to Lauren and her two kids who live north of the pier. She is the owner of Evergreen Reality on Main Street.
"George, since you are from San Diego, can you suggest a good and clean hotel next to the Convention Center. I am going to a Real Estate convention. The subject is how the stock market influences home prices."
"May I ask how you got interested in Real Estate?" She looked at me with her eager eyes but her finger rejected me. The lovely beach ball was married but who cared. I needed company today and Lauren fit the bill today.
"I received a P.H.D and masters degree up north. My husband was out of work so we needed money to raise our three kids. I became a Real Estate Broker and set off for Huntington Beach. I have done quite well here and we even own a Big Bear Cabin."
Lauren shared her sliced cantelope and provided me with water. She wished her kids would read more and leave the smart phones at home. Her little feet hurt from the hot sand. I thanked her for the food and told her I would find a San Diego hotel for her.
. .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)