In the last blog I ended with a trip to a new restaurant in Huntington Beach, just off of Beach and the bus stop a block from Main and my apartments. I mentioned that it is important to remove all the clutter and bullshit from ones life and stick to the five percent.
The It's a Blast Pizza is on my five percent menu. Since my car had vanished from the Five Points Senior Center, I have learned to use my legs and buses to get to my destination. I have ridden over two hundred buses the last two months. It took thirteen buses to visit my ailing brother at the French Park Care Center in Santa Ana. It took its toll on my immune system. But thank God the build-your-own pizza smiled at me at my last bus stop.
Hell, I needed to build a new life anyhow. First my car, then wallet and other disasters fell my way but with the bad came the good. I began to peal away the dredges in my life and keep my waking hours simple but exciting.
It is going on four. I saunter inside the It's a Blast Pizza and young man wearing gloves asks for my order. It feels great to create my own dinner -- just life beginning a new life. Today everything looks divine while the pizza is spread with MarineraSp.
"Take a little bit of each...thanks. I just love artichokes and olives...that is enough and can you spread some raisins on it...That is enough."
"What size drink do you wish sir."
"A small Dr. Pepper please." he hands me a cup.
"That will be ten twenty five please." My pizza is shoveled inside an oven in front of me. My hunger goes up a notch. I take a round table and gaze at the Panda Express. The little bear is none too happy there is a new restaurant on the block. The line is twenty deep now. I refill my cup while my all-ready sliced pizza has arrived. Each piece I savor with joy. My taste buds have never been so happy to indulge.
I don't forget to give a ones-up to the Java and Trader Joes up the street. I get a couple of free cups of coffee at the Trader and their $169 eggs can't be beat for flavor, freshness, or price. And who can come close to beating their 19 cent bananas and flowers galore.
The Java has the best view of this Five Points Corner. But best of all, i can leave the moldy apartment for the upstairs piano. Instead of putting my foot on my car's accelerator, I can play Sinatra tunes to the many seniors who get heart throbs when they hear my music...Excuse me..yes Dr. Will play billiards with you in a minute.
Before I leave you, in no way do I finish the pizza. I save half for a late nights snack.
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
Just Had a Blast Pizza
I rolled into one blog some of the best events to fall in my lap the last few days. After all, don't we all need to rid ourselves of the 95 percent of the bull-crap that life has to offer and stick to the five percent.
Every time I enter the Grand Central Station, I play a few tunes on the piano, in front of the lobby of the station. It gives me a thrill to play some of my favorite tunes and hear the wild appliance when my fingers get too tired to continue. Then...
"Those headed for Chicago begin to line up now. This is the last call for Amtrak 346."
Of course that is not I. I am going towards Beverly Wood or West L.A. to meet my 96 year old friend Connie Glickman. I enter the underground and tap the turnstile of my Metro link card It opens and I rush down the stairs to the waiting Purple Line train. The card cost me $3.75 in Buena Park and is accepted when at your first bus or train. The last stop is the Wiltern Theater just off of Western. Across the street is Dennis but I will save the money and instead head straight to my bus.
. My rapid Blue is waiting for me on Wilshire. I relax and pay the senior price of 50 cents- no pennies please. The bus lumbers down Wilshire to Crenshaw and makes a right turn on its way to Pico Blvd. The driving range on Crenshaw reminds me on why the Koreans are so adept at gold. Why they eat, and sleep the sport. Why in Korea Town there is a driving range on every other street. One Korean told me that when he dies and is buried, he wants a two iron to accompany him.
As usual I am the only white man aboard as many are cleaners, laborers or those going to the beach. It is a hot day. I know that in May the Expo Blue Line will continue from Culver City and spill the riders off on Fourth and Colorado in Santa Monica -- and just in time for the summer. The homes in Santa Monica will continue to climb with more and more immigrants saving to afford one.
I marvel at all of the Jewish stores on Pico. I am to meet Connie Glickman at Nick's still owned and run I believe by Spielberg's Mom on La Cienega. Pico is now a sea of cars on the road and on the sidewalks mainly rabbi's or Jewish men walk and stop at the favorite restaurant.
Connie's daughter and Mom are already seated at Nick's. Connie distains any medication, even aspirin. She thrives on life and mainly laughter. Again she speaks about the time she met her Husband Murray at the Palomar Ballroom and heard Frank Sinatra sing to the accompanied by the Tommy Dorsey band.
"Everyone looked forward to hearing Frankie sing, but my eyes were on the guy working behind the bar. I ordered a Vodka Tonic."
"How old are you?"
"Guess I will have a Shirley Temple."
"I walked right up to the smallish man with the cutest dam eyes I have ever seen."
"My name if Connie, what is yours?"
"Mine is Jerry. How about a dance when I get off."
"Well in my life I have never felt such a strong and firm body. His eyes dazzled me. 'Are you Jewish?'"
I did not own a phone and he needed his friend to drive us around. When I confessed to my Mom that I had a date with a Jewish boy, she almost pissed in her pants. We married a year later and honeymooned at the St. Catherine Hotel in Catalina.
"He made it big in plastics and bought and sold machinery in the City of Commerce...."
We spent two hours at Nick's but I needed time to visit my daughter and of course her dog. The same Rapid Blue returned me to Western where I purchased a one dollar an seventy five one way ticket. This time I took a chance and got off on Seventh to switch to the Blue or Long Beach Line.
Most of the passengers are black headed for stops before Long Beach. Sellers get off and on selling candy, water or you name it. One man feigned blindness and poked around with his angular cane for "some spare change." Many board with bikes as there main means of transportation. I rather enjoy the color but not the dirty rap music piped in throughout the train.
Now after taking three more buses after the train landed me on Fifth Street I eventually landed on Elis and Beach inside Huntington Beach. Tired, but not too tired to have a blast, I decided to go to the new restaurant on the street mall, Blast Pizza. Windows circle the large eatery and I ordered after waiting a bit in a long line.
My excitement was to build my own pizza including cheese. I asked for a sprinkle of each item until the pizza looked like the tower in Rome. My mouth watered when the placed the palate inside brick oven. I must have refilled my cup with Dr. Pepper five times. Each pre-slice gave me the blast I needed to return home. So big it was, I needed a carton to remove the remains for another day.
The next morning I was jolted by another blast. On the line Irene told me that Mel would be returning home to the Pacific Spartan that day. Now I never thought he ever could return, not in that state but happy he made it alive from the French Park Care Center inside of Santa Ana
.
Every time I enter the Grand Central Station, I play a few tunes on the piano, in front of the lobby of the station. It gives me a thrill to play some of my favorite tunes and hear the wild appliance when my fingers get too tired to continue. Then...
"Those headed for Chicago begin to line up now. This is the last call for Amtrak 346."
Of course that is not I. I am going towards Beverly Wood or West L.A. to meet my 96 year old friend Connie Glickman. I enter the underground and tap the turnstile of my Metro link card It opens and I rush down the stairs to the waiting Purple Line train. The card cost me $3.75 in Buena Park and is accepted when at your first bus or train. The last stop is the Wiltern Theater just off of Western. Across the street is Dennis but I will save the money and instead head straight to my bus.
. My rapid Blue is waiting for me on Wilshire. I relax and pay the senior price of 50 cents- no pennies please. The bus lumbers down Wilshire to Crenshaw and makes a right turn on its way to Pico Blvd. The driving range on Crenshaw reminds me on why the Koreans are so adept at gold. Why they eat, and sleep the sport. Why in Korea Town there is a driving range on every other street. One Korean told me that when he dies and is buried, he wants a two iron to accompany him.
As usual I am the only white man aboard as many are cleaners, laborers or those going to the beach. It is a hot day. I know that in May the Expo Blue Line will continue from Culver City and spill the riders off on Fourth and Colorado in Santa Monica -- and just in time for the summer. The homes in Santa Monica will continue to climb with more and more immigrants saving to afford one.
I marvel at all of the Jewish stores on Pico. I am to meet Connie Glickman at Nick's still owned and run I believe by Spielberg's Mom on La Cienega. Pico is now a sea of cars on the road and on the sidewalks mainly rabbi's or Jewish men walk and stop at the favorite restaurant.
Connie's daughter and Mom are already seated at Nick's. Connie distains any medication, even aspirin. She thrives on life and mainly laughter. Again she speaks about the time she met her Husband Murray at the Palomar Ballroom and heard Frank Sinatra sing to the accompanied by the Tommy Dorsey band.
"Everyone looked forward to hearing Frankie sing, but my eyes were on the guy working behind the bar. I ordered a Vodka Tonic."
"How old are you?"
"Guess I will have a Shirley Temple."
"I walked right up to the smallish man with the cutest dam eyes I have ever seen."
"My name if Connie, what is yours?"
"Mine is Jerry. How about a dance when I get off."
"Well in my life I have never felt such a strong and firm body. His eyes dazzled me. 'Are you Jewish?'"
I did not own a phone and he needed his friend to drive us around. When I confessed to my Mom that I had a date with a Jewish boy, she almost pissed in her pants. We married a year later and honeymooned at the St. Catherine Hotel in Catalina.
"He made it big in plastics and bought and sold machinery in the City of Commerce...."
We spent two hours at Nick's but I needed time to visit my daughter and of course her dog. The same Rapid Blue returned me to Western where I purchased a one dollar an seventy five one way ticket. This time I took a chance and got off on Seventh to switch to the Blue or Long Beach Line.
Most of the passengers are black headed for stops before Long Beach. Sellers get off and on selling candy, water or you name it. One man feigned blindness and poked around with his angular cane for "some spare change." Many board with bikes as there main means of transportation. I rather enjoy the color but not the dirty rap music piped in throughout the train.
Now after taking three more buses after the train landed me on Fifth Street I eventually landed on Elis and Beach inside Huntington Beach. Tired, but not too tired to have a blast, I decided to go to the new restaurant on the street mall, Blast Pizza. Windows circle the large eatery and I ordered after waiting a bit in a long line.
My excitement was to build my own pizza including cheese. I asked for a sprinkle of each item until the pizza looked like the tower in Rome. My mouth watered when the placed the palate inside brick oven. I must have refilled my cup with Dr. Pepper five times. Each pre-slice gave me the blast I needed to return home. So big it was, I needed a carton to remove the remains for another day.
The next morning I was jolted by another blast. On the line Irene told me that Mel would be returning home to the Pacific Spartan that day. Now I never thought he ever could return, not in that state but happy he made it alive from the French Park Care Center inside of Santa Ana
.
Friday, April 22, 2016
A Mighty Roar Shook the Coliseum
Like Milk turning to cream, The Trojan recruits from the 1935 Hobbs Adams had whipped the Frosh team into the best curds-and-way money could buy. Howard Jones inherited the best band of football players money could buy for the 1936 season
So good in fact, these new kids on the block knocked most of the seniors to the spartan team or bench. The Golden Boy from San Diego became their king as these sophomores gave Jones another team to compete with the first string. And so the Second Trojan Dynasty began their four years term of marvelous play.
With his broken foot and sprained ankle healed, The San Diego Golden Boy, Ambrose Parks Schindler, could live up to his billing as the greatest football player to come out of San Diego. His first game against an Oregon team made the Coliseum crowed a bit noisier that Saturday at the Coliseum.
The crowd rushed through the turnstiles after finding a place to park their cars off of Exposition Before these fans climbed the tall stairs to find their seats, they took care of their hunger with a trip to the concessions outside the round stadium.
They entertained their stomachs with peanuts, cracker jacks, hot doggies with mustard and onions, and of course suds to wash it down. Their appetites filled, they read their programs to find the names of these recruits for the Jones team of upstarts. These sophomores reminded the alumni of other great players from earlier U.S.C. Trojan dynasties.
Just above tunnel eight, Harry waved to a coke vendor. My Dad had left his plumbing store on on Central Avenue to witness his favorite team, the Trojans. His one dollar ticket was the best buy in the land. He waved to the coke vendor. Schindler had been given a great write up by the local papers and my Dad felt curious to find out if the stories were true.
'Sir, can you pass me down two cokes...Thanks." My Dad Harry would become a Schindler idol that day in September while he removed some relish from his face. The pangs from the depression yeas melted away with the excitement on the Gridiron.
With relish, the Trojans would feast on the two Oregon teams the beginning of the season. And what is a season without rally girls, the Trojan band, and the pregame warm ups. Thee Trojans wore crimson and gold as they ran through tunnel 46 and took up their seats.
On the 36 team, their center and captain Gil Kuhn played for sixty minutes and became the glue for the 1936 team. So good, the rugby player was drafted second that year by the professional football league. but that day belonged to the long legged nicknamed "Spider" from San Diego. Schindler's long legs were too long for his body but helped his toes leap frog over tacklers. He looked six feet tall but actually was a shade over five feet eight.
"A mighty roar shook the Coliseum as the sophomores came to bat. They boys trotted out with vim and vigor and vitality and wasted no time in striking. Quick as a flash, Schindler hit right tackle, tore it apart and made eight yards. Again he hit the same spot, and eight more yards."
This yarn stolen from Casey at the Bat, Sid Ziff used for his column in the Herald and Examiner for his football edition of the Oregon game. His description proved prophetic for these new kids on the block. On that summer day when autumn leaves turn yellow and fall, and new buds later replace the old, The Second Trojan Dynasty began with the San Diego Golden Boy, Ambrose Parks Schindler at the helm at Quarterback.
Oh yes, on the drive he did score a touchdown, but a Trojan was caught offside so it was called back. A chronic charley horse kept him out of this game and the next until his leg healed and he played a great game against the Indians of Stanford up north.
Schindler turned 99 years of age on the 21st of April, not too bad for one who had banged his way into Trojan Lore. It has been my pleasure to write his story and about his teammates. He probably will out live me but not before his story is published. .
So good in fact, these new kids on the block knocked most of the seniors to the spartan team or bench. The Golden Boy from San Diego became their king as these sophomores gave Jones another team to compete with the first string. And so the Second Trojan Dynasty began their four years term of marvelous play.
With his broken foot and sprained ankle healed, The San Diego Golden Boy, Ambrose Parks Schindler, could live up to his billing as the greatest football player to come out of San Diego. His first game against an Oregon team made the Coliseum crowed a bit noisier that Saturday at the Coliseum.
The crowd rushed through the turnstiles after finding a place to park their cars off of Exposition Before these fans climbed the tall stairs to find their seats, they took care of their hunger with a trip to the concessions outside the round stadium.
They entertained their stomachs with peanuts, cracker jacks, hot doggies with mustard and onions, and of course suds to wash it down. Their appetites filled, they read their programs to find the names of these recruits for the Jones team of upstarts. These sophomores reminded the alumni of other great players from earlier U.S.C. Trojan dynasties.
Just above tunnel eight, Harry waved to a coke vendor. My Dad had left his plumbing store on on Central Avenue to witness his favorite team, the Trojans. His one dollar ticket was the best buy in the land. He waved to the coke vendor. Schindler had been given a great write up by the local papers and my Dad felt curious to find out if the stories were true.
'Sir, can you pass me down two cokes...Thanks." My Dad Harry would become a Schindler idol that day in September while he removed some relish from his face. The pangs from the depression yeas melted away with the excitement on the Gridiron.
With relish, the Trojans would feast on the two Oregon teams the beginning of the season. And what is a season without rally girls, the Trojan band, and the pregame warm ups. Thee Trojans wore crimson and gold as they ran through tunnel 46 and took up their seats.
On the 36 team, their center and captain Gil Kuhn played for sixty minutes and became the glue for the 1936 team. So good, the rugby player was drafted second that year by the professional football league. but that day belonged to the long legged nicknamed "Spider" from San Diego. Schindler's long legs were too long for his body but helped his toes leap frog over tacklers. He looked six feet tall but actually was a shade over five feet eight.
"A mighty roar shook the Coliseum as the sophomores came to bat. They boys trotted out with vim and vigor and vitality and wasted no time in striking. Quick as a flash, Schindler hit right tackle, tore it apart and made eight yards. Again he hit the same spot, and eight more yards."
This yarn stolen from Casey at the Bat, Sid Ziff used for his column in the Herald and Examiner for his football edition of the Oregon game. His description proved prophetic for these new kids on the block. On that summer day when autumn leaves turn yellow and fall, and new buds later replace the old, The Second Trojan Dynasty began with the San Diego Golden Boy, Ambrose Parks Schindler at the helm at Quarterback.
Oh yes, on the drive he did score a touchdown, but a Trojan was caught offside so it was called back. A chronic charley horse kept him out of this game and the next until his leg healed and he played a great game against the Indians of Stanford up north.
Schindler turned 99 years of age on the 21st of April, not too bad for one who had banged his way into Trojan Lore. It has been my pleasure to write his story and about his teammates. He probably will out live me but not before his story is published. .
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
Huntington Beach -- a Bipolar City
Regret I have been too ill to write, but I live in the dirtiest city in California-Huntington Beach. Too inflict more pain, my apartment, the Beach Nut, provides no security and management does not treat the pervasive mold inside each apartment. Now even the library is locked up as the Mom and Pop owners don't even wish to pay for security. The bad air has made me run to Los Angles just to breath clean air. It lies off of Main across from Trader Joe's. Ya see, Surf City does not have the Santa Monica westerlies that remove the dust and dander from the city. The grime make it grim for those with asthma or other lung problems. Firetrucks and ambulances make Florida Street their home. I have scene four come to the Beach Nuts in a matter of five hours.
Besides having the worst air quality, Surf City has a problem with identity theft and decent transportation. It takes over two hours to drive to L.A. and over an hour to get to the Metro Station. Some tell me that the city is run by the tire companies like Firestone or Goodyear.
Granted its beaches are beautiful and the surf is not quite as good as OB or Ocean Beach in San Diego but not bad at that. And it is great to listen to music or watch the volleyball games, but at what price. Every other is an alcoholic or addicted to food.
Every-so-often, I need to visit my brother's surrogate Mom, who is 95 years young and does not even take aspirin. She lives in a view-of-L.A. home overlooking the city in the Beverly Wood area of West L.A. Why about two years ago, she performed at the Comedy Club in West Hollywood and left them in stitches, laughing so hard that they screamed for an encore.
All-day it took just to get a prescription refill. My doctor left without filling it and they told me to return the next day. The Kaiser In-N-Out Clinic is across the street from its cousin the In-n-Out Burger off of Beach Blvd. and Wal Mart's. It is a waist of time to call the pharmacy and the doctors seem to be on a vacation when you need yours. But I finally received my antibiotics at four o'clock and somehow made it home.
Connie wanted me to drive her to Santa Monica to pay a traffic ticket and also give me another chapter of a book I am writing about her life. Her Dad died when this Canadian immigrant's Dad tried to sell furs coats in Los Angeles. She was only twelve. Since her principal thought she possessed kissing lips he sent her toe Kresses Drug Store to work selling penny candies at a quarter an hour. It helped her Mom who took in a second job cleaning homes in the upscale area of Central avenue.
Five thirty on Monday Morn and I am waiting for the 29 A Metro Huntington Beach bus. Since the bus drivers change like the weather each day, I have learned to ask if they are going to the Metro since I don't wish to be stranded in Anaheim. I always make sure to ask the current bus driver if they go to the train station.
The bus arrives, I drop my two quarters down a slot and slide my dollar in a slip. The driver hands me the all-day Octa pass and I walk to the back of the bus to sleep or read. It is pitch black at five thirty. I fall asleep when I feel something touch my leg. A young homeless gal with her pants half off is sharing her leg with me.
Well now no longer was I in a deep sleep. This young urchin did not stop touching me with her leg, but by and by it didn't feel that bad. And she had a cute face even though the booze turned me off a bit, but not all the way.
"Mam, if you don't mind, keep your hands to yourself. I am old enough to be your Dad."
"I like handsome old man dressed in black. Take me to a motel and I'll show you a good time."
"Miss, don't touch me there, it hasn't been used in a long long time. Besides, I have two grand kids to think about...ouch, not so hard!"
Just then the screeching sound of the bus signaled a wheel chair would soon be boarding. The bus driver turned a key and a small platform fell outside the bus. A legless man wheeled himself aboard and the busy bus driver locked him in and returned to the front of the bus. Five more miserable people came on board, mainly women with hairs that went where the wind blew.
One must have put in about twenty coins while another mashed her dollar bill so it could not penetrate the slot. The bus driver unwrinkled the bill and slid it inside. But I had a gal that would not let my legs alone to rid myself of. I made a mistake of using too much Musk cologne, and pressed slacks.
"My stop is next. Can you give me a few dollars."
"Detach your hands from me and I will."
The now pant-less lady drank the rest of her coke bottle and dragged herself off the bus. I dare say that all of the men smiled as now her pants fell to the floor revealing a tattooed exterior. Her must have been pimp stood outside and pulled her pants up.
The 29 A bus arrived at the Metro Station about seven thirty. Again, most of those waiting for the train to L.A. appeared Asian. Cars drove up to allow for their hubbies to wait for the train. A few Vietnamese lifted their legs or did other exercises. The know how to eat and exercise, not wasting any moment to boredom.
My wallet screamed at me. Why didn't you look. You need another dollar to ride the Metro. I walked to the benches and begged for another dollar.
"Need another dollar to ride."The Vietnamese gave me a funny look. I would take a chance and enter without a ticket. A young gal approached me and to my good fortune she spoke in English.
"Here sir is two dollars...It is my pleasure."
It was fortunate since Henry, my favorite conductor, checked our tickets with is gadget. After the train pulled into Norwalk, I looked through the window and looked at the San Gabriel mountains. Hunt and Fedco trucks lined in large yards while a train carrying cars of coal passed by. Soon walls of graffiti graced the scenery as the train curved around.
There was the projects of Pico Garden Apartments where I had dinner in 1964 with a member of the Pancho Villas army.. A kid invited me to the projects. Rabbits ran free everywhere. I remembered another time when I took five kids to a Dodger baseball game. A mob of busy travelers disembarked.
"You are the cutest gal I have seen in quite awhile."
Across from me sat a cute little young lady dressed in a short yellow spring dress. She sat with her legs cross on the seat revealing an appetizing figure ,of course much to young for me. She had concentrated on her Apple computer all the way. Her big eyes darted this way and that. Excitement ruled her eyes.
Inside the Metro station now, I did my toilet at the old antiquated broken down restroom and turned to play the piano in the waiting area, but not today. Rodgers had beaten me to the punch. He was dressed to a tea and playing jazz the way it was meant to be played. The multicolored piano player was dressed in wild colors with a sash over his shoulder. His fingers danced over the keys like they came with the piano.
"How long did you take lessons?"
"Took for a few months private. Join me at the Good Shepard Church this weekend."
I then taped my Metro ticket and took the the stairs the subway stairs to the waiting the Purple Line train. It would take me to Western and Wilshire where the Rapid Blue would take me down Pico. But my stomach felt hungry. Across the street stood Denny's.
"I'll take the Slam Bang...Thank you. For those still reading, come back another time since my pancakes,eggs, and bacon might get cold.
Besides having the worst air quality, Surf City has a problem with identity theft and decent transportation. It takes over two hours to drive to L.A. and over an hour to get to the Metro Station. Some tell me that the city is run by the tire companies like Firestone or Goodyear.
Granted its beaches are beautiful and the surf is not quite as good as OB or Ocean Beach in San Diego but not bad at that. And it is great to listen to music or watch the volleyball games, but at what price. Every other is an alcoholic or addicted to food.
Every-so-often, I need to visit my brother's surrogate Mom, who is 95 years young and does not even take aspirin. She lives in a view-of-L.A. home overlooking the city in the Beverly Wood area of West L.A. Why about two years ago, she performed at the Comedy Club in West Hollywood and left them in stitches, laughing so hard that they screamed for an encore.
All-day it took just to get a prescription refill. My doctor left without filling it and they told me to return the next day. The Kaiser In-N-Out Clinic is across the street from its cousin the In-n-Out Burger off of Beach Blvd. and Wal Mart's. It is a waist of time to call the pharmacy and the doctors seem to be on a vacation when you need yours. But I finally received my antibiotics at four o'clock and somehow made it home.
Connie wanted me to drive her to Santa Monica to pay a traffic ticket and also give me another chapter of a book I am writing about her life. Her Dad died when this Canadian immigrant's Dad tried to sell furs coats in Los Angeles. She was only twelve. Since her principal thought she possessed kissing lips he sent her toe Kresses Drug Store to work selling penny candies at a quarter an hour. It helped her Mom who took in a second job cleaning homes in the upscale area of Central avenue.
Five thirty on Monday Morn and I am waiting for the 29 A Metro Huntington Beach bus. Since the bus drivers change like the weather each day, I have learned to ask if they are going to the Metro since I don't wish to be stranded in Anaheim. I always make sure to ask the current bus driver if they go to the train station.
The bus arrives, I drop my two quarters down a slot and slide my dollar in a slip. The driver hands me the all-day Octa pass and I walk to the back of the bus to sleep or read. It is pitch black at five thirty. I fall asleep when I feel something touch my leg. A young homeless gal with her pants half off is sharing her leg with me.
Well now no longer was I in a deep sleep. This young urchin did not stop touching me with her leg, but by and by it didn't feel that bad. And she had a cute face even though the booze turned me off a bit, but not all the way.
"Mam, if you don't mind, keep your hands to yourself. I am old enough to be your Dad."
"I like handsome old man dressed in black. Take me to a motel and I'll show you a good time."
"Miss, don't touch me there, it hasn't been used in a long long time. Besides, I have two grand kids to think about...ouch, not so hard!"
Just then the screeching sound of the bus signaled a wheel chair would soon be boarding. The bus driver turned a key and a small platform fell outside the bus. A legless man wheeled himself aboard and the busy bus driver locked him in and returned to the front of the bus. Five more miserable people came on board, mainly women with hairs that went where the wind blew.
One must have put in about twenty coins while another mashed her dollar bill so it could not penetrate the slot. The bus driver unwrinkled the bill and slid it inside. But I had a gal that would not let my legs alone to rid myself of. I made a mistake of using too much Musk cologne, and pressed slacks.
"My stop is next. Can you give me a few dollars."
"Detach your hands from me and I will."
The now pant-less lady drank the rest of her coke bottle and dragged herself off the bus. I dare say that all of the men smiled as now her pants fell to the floor revealing a tattooed exterior. Her must have been pimp stood outside and pulled her pants up.
The 29 A bus arrived at the Metro Station about seven thirty. Again, most of those waiting for the train to L.A. appeared Asian. Cars drove up to allow for their hubbies to wait for the train. A few Vietnamese lifted their legs or did other exercises. The know how to eat and exercise, not wasting any moment to boredom.
My wallet screamed at me. Why didn't you look. You need another dollar to ride the Metro. I walked to the benches and begged for another dollar.
"Need another dollar to ride."The Vietnamese gave me a funny look. I would take a chance and enter without a ticket. A young gal approached me and to my good fortune she spoke in English.
"Here sir is two dollars...It is my pleasure."
It was fortunate since Henry, my favorite conductor, checked our tickets with is gadget. After the train pulled into Norwalk, I looked through the window and looked at the San Gabriel mountains. Hunt and Fedco trucks lined in large yards while a train carrying cars of coal passed by. Soon walls of graffiti graced the scenery as the train curved around.
There was the projects of Pico Garden Apartments where I had dinner in 1964 with a member of the Pancho Villas army.. A kid invited me to the projects. Rabbits ran free everywhere. I remembered another time when I took five kids to a Dodger baseball game. A mob of busy travelers disembarked.
"You are the cutest gal I have seen in quite awhile."
Across from me sat a cute little young lady dressed in a short yellow spring dress. She sat with her legs cross on the seat revealing an appetizing figure ,of course much to young for me. She had concentrated on her Apple computer all the way. Her big eyes darted this way and that. Excitement ruled her eyes.
Inside the Metro station now, I did my toilet at the old antiquated broken down restroom and turned to play the piano in the waiting area, but not today. Rodgers had beaten me to the punch. He was dressed to a tea and playing jazz the way it was meant to be played. The multicolored piano player was dressed in wild colors with a sash over his shoulder. His fingers danced over the keys like they came with the piano.
"How long did you take lessons?"
"Took for a few months private. Join me at the Good Shepard Church this weekend."
I then taped my Metro ticket and took the the stairs the subway stairs to the waiting the Purple Line train. It would take me to Western and Wilshire where the Rapid Blue would take me down Pico. But my stomach felt hungry. Across the street stood Denny's.
"I'll take the Slam Bang...Thank you. For those still reading, come back another time since my pancakes,eggs, and bacon might get cold.
Friday, April 8, 2016
Thursday, April 7, 2016
The Life and Times of Ambrose Schinidler
It is not often that a son can interview and write a book about his Dad's favorite sports figure, but I did. I lied when I told Schindler in 2006 that I was a sport's writer...Almost ten years later I now have the chance to write the greatest biography of all time.
Since his 99th birthday is the 21st of April, I will be promoting this San Diego boy's story up until the time of his birthday. Hope that you enjoy the flavor of the story the same way I did in in writing the story about the Greatest Trojan of All Time.
While Paula Glickman sold penny candy at a drug store in downtown San Diego during the depression years of the thirties, Amby Schindler helped his Dad gather manure at the many cattle farms in the San Diego valley. Amby drank as much milk as his stomach could hold. He and his Dad sold the fertilizer to the many Japanese nurseries in the San Diego Valley. His Dad also fashioned a drum over his truck to hold water that he sold for the trainers during the racing season across the border in Tijuana.
While Paula read books and received all A's at Freemont High in Los Angeles, Amby developed into one of the greatest athletes to come out of San Diego. The municipal park had a track meet and Schindler won almost every event while he attended Wilson High in San Diego. After school, he would become a gym rat at a municipal park and could do more pull ups than anyone. He belonged to a baseball league and played four innings while the older kids played nine.
"I didn't own a pair of baseball shoes and had to borrow a pair from another player. I played catcher of our team and almost lost my mask when it fell out of the car. I caught for Ted Williams the pitcher and flagged balls that he could not reach. Nobody was faster than me"
"While at the municipal playground, I knew when to run home for dinner. My Mom knew how to prepare the roast beef Dad had bought at the market. My Dad always bought the best cut of meat since he had been a Minnesota cattle farmer when a youngster."
"To tell the time when at the park, I would place a rock on the sand and it would cast a shadow. I knew within five minutes the time. Mom always chose the best cut of meat for me. I was her favorite."
As I mentioned before, Amby always had chores to do around the house. His mom always sent him to buy candy or bread for her. Later he had a paper route to help out during the depression. The return of the train from across the border was the signal for him to get up and retrieve the San Diego Union from the corner. After the paper route his Mom had prepared his meal of oat meal, and bacon and eggs. The street cars took him to school.
His paper route over the goat hills of San Diego molded his legs into a chiseled piece of muscle. He played all sports in San Diego but the gymnastics was special. He enjoyed working the parallel bars, rings or performing gymnastic routines on the floor...
Since car was stolen about two months ago, I have been saving up to buy another. Donations can be made to George Garrett at the Five Points Senior Apartments, 18561 Florida Street. Huntington Beach CA 92648.
Since his 99th birthday is the 21st of April, I will be promoting this San Diego boy's story up until the time of his birthday. Hope that you enjoy the flavor of the story the same way I did in in writing the story about the Greatest Trojan of All Time.
While Paula Glickman sold penny candy at a drug store in downtown San Diego during the depression years of the thirties, Amby Schindler helped his Dad gather manure at the many cattle farms in the San Diego valley. Amby drank as much milk as his stomach could hold. He and his Dad sold the fertilizer to the many Japanese nurseries in the San Diego Valley. His Dad also fashioned a drum over his truck to hold water that he sold for the trainers during the racing season across the border in Tijuana.
While Paula read books and received all A's at Freemont High in Los Angeles, Amby developed into one of the greatest athletes to come out of San Diego. The municipal park had a track meet and Schindler won almost every event while he attended Wilson High in San Diego. After school, he would become a gym rat at a municipal park and could do more pull ups than anyone. He belonged to a baseball league and played four innings while the older kids played nine.
"I didn't own a pair of baseball shoes and had to borrow a pair from another player. I played catcher of our team and almost lost my mask when it fell out of the car. I caught for Ted Williams the pitcher and flagged balls that he could not reach. Nobody was faster than me"
"While at the municipal playground, I knew when to run home for dinner. My Mom knew how to prepare the roast beef Dad had bought at the market. My Dad always bought the best cut of meat since he had been a Minnesota cattle farmer when a youngster."
"To tell the time when at the park, I would place a rock on the sand and it would cast a shadow. I knew within five minutes the time. Mom always chose the best cut of meat for me. I was her favorite."
As I mentioned before, Amby always had chores to do around the house. His mom always sent him to buy candy or bread for her. Later he had a paper route to help out during the depression. The return of the train from across the border was the signal for him to get up and retrieve the San Diego Union from the corner. After the paper route his Mom had prepared his meal of oat meal, and bacon and eggs. The street cars took him to school.
His paper route over the goat hills of San Diego molded his legs into a chiseled piece of muscle. He played all sports in San Diego but the gymnastics was special. He enjoyed working the parallel bars, rings or performing gymnastic routines on the floor...
Since car was stolen about two months ago, I have been saving up to buy another. Donations can be made to George Garrett at the Five Points Senior Apartments, 18561 Florida Street. Huntington Beach CA 92648.
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