Last Friday I visited Connie Glickman at the Cedars Sinai Hospital. She had survived the knife wounds and was ready to get back to her Beverly Wood residence. I left after four o'clock -- too late for the Metro-link - but not for the Long Beach Blue Line.
It cost me thirty five cents to take the Purple Metro Line out of Western towards the Union Station. I threw the dice and opted to exit at the Seventh Street Station. Mistake. What seemed like a million people waited for the Long Beach Blue Line. An overhead screen said it would arrive in one minute.
An announcement was made.
"There is only one line working towards Long Beach. They other track is being worked on, so you will be delayed!" This was typical for the Long Beach line, since muggings, killings and bad tracks keep patrons railing at the bit.
Pushing and shoving ensued but I found a corner to stand on. At least I made it aboard. More people boarded at each long stop. The sun hit me on my bleached head and I tried to get into my bag for sun screen but could move my hands.
At each stop, bikes, boards, the homeless piled on with radios playing rap music. The handlebars hit me on my side but I didn't complain since the owner probably had been let out of prison early due to some Obama mandate.
And where were the conductors. Hell-if-I know? I have never seen a conductor on any of these cars, since it is too scary. At the Compton Station half of the boarders spilled out. A man stood up and I grabbed his seat, and of course thanked God for this interchange.
My stop was the Fifth Street Station where I was in luck. The 91 bus had just arrived off and I boarded for the nominal 60 cent fare. It took me to the Veterans Hospital on Seventh where I boarded a #60 bus on my way to Beach and Surf City.
I hopped on the 29 bus on my way back to civilization and a warm couch at the Five Points Senior Apartments.
I picked up a bit of good news from my mail box. The new 560 train out of Long Beach could now only take me to Beach, but all the way, yes all the way to the Amtrak and the Metro Link Station in Santa Ana. No longer do I have to depend on the 29 since the 560 runs frequently out of Long Beach.
And by and by, a good way to get to the Del Mar Fair or the beginning of the Del Mar Thoroughbred meet is by taking this bus to the Santa Ana Station...Only a fool drives to Del MAR. and it delivers you right at the Solano Beach Station where a big two story red bus delivers you to the track. July fifteenth id opening day .
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Friday, June 24, 2016
The Pico Bag Lady goes to Jail
Back in the day in the early forties, the families of the Goldberg's lived a block or two off of Holt Avenue. Every Friday night on the Sabboth, we walked toward Pico and enjoyed the kosher food that she prepared. On the Sabbath we walked to my Grandparents house two blocks up the street. Grampa Louis Jacob said the prayers in Hebrew, and afterwards, we feasted on fish, paddies, pickles and lots of Halla bread.
Mom didn't have a car so she used a stroller for me towards our street Pico Blvd. In the early forties during World War 2, she owned a ration card that allowed her to buy a certain amount of meat at Abe the Butcher and the grocery store.
The streets were quiet and safe. We were one happy community. We played ball in the streets and each home held hands to the other There was no need to lock our cars or bikes. Every back yard had a fruit trees and I will never forget when the Good Humor Truck signaled his arrival with chimes ringing Mary had a little Lamb. At for o'clock I jumped from our Spanish two bed's porch to procure a chocolate chip cup for a dime.
Mel and I sat at our table and grabbed the radishes and chopped liver my Mom provided at the top of he crisp salad. We listened on our Zenith radio to Amos and Andy, the Shadow, and the Lone Ranger.
Today seventy years later, Pico Blvd has undergone a face lift. For one thing, the prevalent language on the street is Hebrew, no longer English. A large magnificent Chabad building rules the street next to Bnai David where i had my Bar Mizva. Jewish restaurants are everywhere with tables and seats outside It is much like Paris now. Ralph's is the main supermarket and their Boar sandwiches are delectable.
The Big Blue Rapid bus now takes me to my birth place but the bus no longer speaks in English The Big Blue Rapid is filled with Mexican cleaners whose exit is the upscale areas of Westwood, Beverly Hills, Cheviot, Brentwood and other desirable areas. I am usually the only English speaking one on the buses except the driver and a few others.
The Big Blue dropped me off on Edris, a little known street kitty-corner to Beverly Blvd and Pico across from Factors Deli. With a passion for Mediterranean cuisine, the Persian Jews have staked out this grocery store...For me though, I enjoy their fresh produce section. Today I chose several ripe white peaches.
Coffee Bean is straight ahead, up two hilly blocks. I am to meet my friend Glickman this morning. The 96 year old had been a friend to my family, and a surrogate mom to Mel, my younger brother. She lived up the street on Bagley.
It is nine thirty and I am early. I pay for a mocha and pull up a chair next to the street. Still no Connie. The skull caps flow in along with Black SUV's looking for their fix for the day...In the background I hear noises and the growl of a dog...looks like a police dog.
Forty officers enter the Bean and I hear the wailing of a mad lady. It is the tall and slender Frieda Frankenstein. The carry the shrieking lady dressed in black to a squad car. Her long black hair no longer covers the face of a dog. She is a lot uglier than a mongrel and I hear her screaming, "Hey kiddos, don't harm the baggage. The van leaves and I inquire why they arrested her.
"She bludgeoned a lady up the street using a carving knife. I believe she is still alive. Her name is Connie Glickman."
I chocked on my mocha and told the officer that "the detective at the West L.A. police department told her to leave her house. Of course to where? Officer Stringer told her that her bag-lady live in needed to do something that would provide evidence for them."
"We transported her to the Brotman Hospital in Culver City."
"Earlier she complained that this bag lady seemed so, so nice and cheerful but after she moved in turned into a Hyde. She stole from the refrigerator and spiked her food. She even stole her mail.."
"And do you mean that Officer Stringer could not do anything?"
"No, when I had taken several buses to visit the precinct on Butler, I found the officer deep into his cell phone munching on a Milky Way. With many hone calls, he never even drove to see what was going on in Connie's home."
"Just got a call from the hospital. Connie is out of danger and you can visit her later in the afternoon..."
I was tickled to death that the Pico Bag Lady was finally in jail. To relax, waited for another Blue to take me to the shoreline in Santa Monica. I had played lots of volleyball to rid my anger towards my fist wife. The slow westerlies off the ocean cleaned up my sinuses. I took a white peach out of my bag and inhaled it...in fact I ate four more.
Before the Santa Monica Beach, I got off at veteran's and walked to Norm's. I felt like a slam-bang breakfast. See you next time.
Mom didn't have a car so she used a stroller for me towards our street Pico Blvd. In the early forties during World War 2, she owned a ration card that allowed her to buy a certain amount of meat at Abe the Butcher and the grocery store.
The streets were quiet and safe. We were one happy community. We played ball in the streets and each home held hands to the other There was no need to lock our cars or bikes. Every back yard had a fruit trees and I will never forget when the Good Humor Truck signaled his arrival with chimes ringing Mary had a little Lamb. At for o'clock I jumped from our Spanish two bed's porch to procure a chocolate chip cup for a dime.
Mel and I sat at our table and grabbed the radishes and chopped liver my Mom provided at the top of he crisp salad. We listened on our Zenith radio to Amos and Andy, the Shadow, and the Lone Ranger.
Today seventy years later, Pico Blvd has undergone a face lift. For one thing, the prevalent language on the street is Hebrew, no longer English. A large magnificent Chabad building rules the street next to Bnai David where i had my Bar Mizva. Jewish restaurants are everywhere with tables and seats outside It is much like Paris now. Ralph's is the main supermarket and their Boar sandwiches are delectable.
The Big Blue Rapid bus now takes me to my birth place but the bus no longer speaks in English The Big Blue Rapid is filled with Mexican cleaners whose exit is the upscale areas of Westwood, Beverly Hills, Cheviot, Brentwood and other desirable areas. I am usually the only English speaking one on the buses except the driver and a few others.
The Big Blue dropped me off on Edris, a little known street kitty-corner to Beverly Blvd and Pico across from Factors Deli. With a passion for Mediterranean cuisine, the Persian Jews have staked out this grocery store...For me though, I enjoy their fresh produce section. Today I chose several ripe white peaches.
Coffee Bean is straight ahead, up two hilly blocks. I am to meet my friend Glickman this morning. The 96 year old had been a friend to my family, and a surrogate mom to Mel, my younger brother. She lived up the street on Bagley.
It is nine thirty and I am early. I pay for a mocha and pull up a chair next to the street. Still no Connie. The skull caps flow in along with Black SUV's looking for their fix for the day...In the background I hear noises and the growl of a dog...looks like a police dog.
Forty officers enter the Bean and I hear the wailing of a mad lady. It is the tall and slender Frieda Frankenstein. The carry the shrieking lady dressed in black to a squad car. Her long black hair no longer covers the face of a dog. She is a lot uglier than a mongrel and I hear her screaming, "Hey kiddos, don't harm the baggage. The van leaves and I inquire why they arrested her.
"She bludgeoned a lady up the street using a carving knife. I believe she is still alive. Her name is Connie Glickman."
I chocked on my mocha and told the officer that "the detective at the West L.A. police department told her to leave her house. Of course to where? Officer Stringer told her that her bag-lady live in needed to do something that would provide evidence for them."
"We transported her to the Brotman Hospital in Culver City."
"Earlier she complained that this bag lady seemed so, so nice and cheerful but after she moved in turned into a Hyde. She stole from the refrigerator and spiked her food. She even stole her mail.."
"And do you mean that Officer Stringer could not do anything?"
"No, when I had taken several buses to visit the precinct on Butler, I found the officer deep into his cell phone munching on a Milky Way. With many hone calls, he never even drove to see what was going on in Connie's home."
"Just got a call from the hospital. Connie is out of danger and you can visit her later in the afternoon..."
I was tickled to death that the Pico Bag Lady was finally in jail. To relax, waited for another Blue to take me to the shoreline in Santa Monica. I had played lots of volleyball to rid my anger towards my fist wife. The slow westerlies off the ocean cleaned up my sinuses. I took a white peach out of my bag and inhaled it...in fact I ate four more.
Before the Santa Monica Beach, I got off at veteran's and walked to Norm's. I felt like a slam-bang breakfast. See you next time.
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Surf City's In 'N Out graduation.
Principal Ruth Davis read the results of the fifth grade class from a grammar school inside the Fountain Valley area of Orange County. The grammar school kids had been given three choices: Universal Studios, Disneyland, or the In 'N Out on Beech.
Tired after a long stay in Los Angeles at the Ceders hospital, I needed a fix so I took the 29 Beach Bus to the Talbert station and walked across the street to get my battery energized. To my chagrin, a long line of kids warned me to take a different action.
Where the cars go, is where I went for my In 'N Out burger, but the manager told me to come inside and he would give me a number. I felt back in school as I watched these kids run over each other for the famous burger. Now inside, the cool air made my lungs sing and removed the tar from my bronchial tubes. A teacher allowed me to break in line.
"I'll have the Double Double, hold the cheese but add lots of onions and pickles...and oh yes can you give me a cup."
"Is that a-l-l sir?...Your number is 77."
I wrestled for a disabled table and kicked a kid from it. After all, I will soon be 77. I have never seen so many happy faces in the lot. and I felt like dancing. I spoke to a friendly gal and gave her my blog. She told me they needed to buy their own burgers, but they all graduated form the fifth grade grade.
"I once taught in East L.A. and began the greatest reading program of all time. Why the Hollenbeck Jr. High School's achievement scores climbed from 3 percent to 23 in one year. It was my action committee that did it."
"I also ate lunch with Jaime Escalante just before his Calculus kids passed state test. Did you ever here of Jaime."
"Sure did. And we saw the picture Stand and Deliver."
"His classes soon mushroomed to over 200 and the P.E. department had been so jealous of him they stole his Volkswagen...By the way, do you have any tests for dyslexia?"
"No we don't but when a kid has problems with reading we ask the parents to take them to a doctor...and what are you doing her today?"
My car was stolen from the Five Points Senior Center and an officer told me that the owners had a malfunctioning camera in the parking lot...I see my Talbert bus has arrived and will give you my Schindler book after it is published.
"My kids would love to meet an author so don't forget us."
Without knowing it, I had finished my three dollar meal and filled my cup with more Doctor Pepper. The 176 bus was waiting across the street for me and parked in front of Starbucks. The driver was on a break stoking a smoke a scanning his e-mails.
Got to go now and inside the library to see if finally the microfilm machine works at the Talbert Library.
Tired after a long stay in Los Angeles at the Ceders hospital, I needed a fix so I took the 29 Beach Bus to the Talbert station and walked across the street to get my battery energized. To my chagrin, a long line of kids warned me to take a different action.
Where the cars go, is where I went for my In 'N Out burger, but the manager told me to come inside and he would give me a number. I felt back in school as I watched these kids run over each other for the famous burger. Now inside, the cool air made my lungs sing and removed the tar from my bronchial tubes. A teacher allowed me to break in line.
"I'll have the Double Double, hold the cheese but add lots of onions and pickles...and oh yes can you give me a cup."
"Is that a-l-l sir?...Your number is 77."
I wrestled for a disabled table and kicked a kid from it. After all, I will soon be 77. I have never seen so many happy faces in the lot. and I felt like dancing. I spoke to a friendly gal and gave her my blog. She told me they needed to buy their own burgers, but they all graduated form the fifth grade grade.
"I once taught in East L.A. and began the greatest reading program of all time. Why the Hollenbeck Jr. High School's achievement scores climbed from 3 percent to 23 in one year. It was my action committee that did it."
"I also ate lunch with Jaime Escalante just before his Calculus kids passed state test. Did you ever here of Jaime."
"Sure did. And we saw the picture Stand and Deliver."
"His classes soon mushroomed to over 200 and the P.E. department had been so jealous of him they stole his Volkswagen...By the way, do you have any tests for dyslexia?"
"No we don't but when a kid has problems with reading we ask the parents to take them to a doctor...and what are you doing her today?"
My car was stolen from the Five Points Senior Center and an officer told me that the owners had a malfunctioning camera in the parking lot...I see my Talbert bus has arrived and will give you my Schindler book after it is published.
"My kids would love to meet an author so don't forget us."
Without knowing it, I had finished my three dollar meal and filled my cup with more Doctor Pepper. The 176 bus was waiting across the street for me and parked in front of Starbucks. The driver was on a break stoking a smoke a scanning his e-mails.
Got to go now and inside the library to see if finally the microfilm machine works at the Talbert Library.
Thursday, June 16, 2016
The Expo Line is Here
The Heat Wave in San Diego still rivets inside my mind. It occurred in 2011 when a transistor up north blew out. Luckily for me, I huddled at the Lindbergh Airport where a generator kept me singing with nice cool air. Cars couldn't move, and it took my 992 bus over two hours to return me to the Y.M.C.A.
Ushering in for summer is another blast from Santa Ana. Temperatures will soar with a Red Alert scheduled for Monday. Like a year ago in Huntington Beach, Sirens did not stop their wailing while trucks towed ambulances to pick up the sick or dead.
Saturday Night Live, my last blog, explained how the Five Points Senior Center had no emergency plan for the black out that lasted for 24 hours. A few old denizens never returned, and one had had breathing problems. Yes, there were no generators to work the elevators. The owners, as usual, did not give a dam!
But on a brighter note, I took a chance and climbed aboard an EXPO Line to my Blue Line Metro. I had needed to file papers for Connie Glickman. Connie had rented a room to Bessie Frankenstein who seemed stable at first, but after she obtained the keys, all hell broke loose. In Connie's own words, Bessie, always dressed in black with her long black hair covering her horse-appearing face, began to do strange things.
"George, she dropped detergent inside my Gatorade, placed public hairs all over my bed, threw salt everywhere, and what riled me the most, she took three hours baths -- at four in the morning. When I had tried to get inside the bathroom, she kicked and pushed me to the floor."
"When the police came after my call, Bessie screamed that I had pushed her down. And could you believe that they told me that I would need to go to jail also for assault -- and I am 96 years of age."
The last straw was when Bessie broke inside my mail box. She had broken my mail box lock and important knew things about me that only could have been obtained by reading my mail"
So that is why I ended up at the West Los Angeles Police Department. Mr. Butts, a detective who listened to the case in-between eating packages of mounds candy, listened but to no avail. He kept looking at his cell phone that is until I spoke about the theft of my mail.
"Now that is a Federal offence. Bessie can go to jail. And by and by, I have resubmitted you case for a verdict."
I thanked Detective Butts and left for the number one bus. It was a little after four and the bus took me to Sepulveda blvd. -- and that is where I took a chance. A Red bus pulled up and I inquired about its destination
"We are a Metro bus and I will take your to the brand new EXP line. He accepted my transfer and after paying $.35 in a machine, since I am a senior. Thirty five cents is not too shabby. I climbed some steps and entered one of the cars. It was clogged with other travelers but I didn't mind. Everyone was having a blast.
The Expo Line begins at the Seventh Street Station and is on the same platform as the Long Beach Blue Line train. All needed to do was to tap my card and enter the Blue Line.
The Train stopped at the Palms station, Jefferson and a few others It made two stops across from U.S.C. and a bit later, I found out that I could get onto a Blue Line headed for Long Beach. and take three buses back to Huntington Beach.
I took another chance but it didn't pan out as well as the first one. The number one bus driver told me that his bus and the Metro-link out of Oceanside do connect. Now I can return from Oceanside and take the long scenic beach route through San Clemente, Dana Point, Laguna beach, Newport and other vacation spots. And I can ride all day for my $1.50 fare.
The bad news was that my #29 bus was late and I arrived home a bit over nine thirty.
.
Ushering in for summer is another blast from Santa Ana. Temperatures will soar with a Red Alert scheduled for Monday. Like a year ago in Huntington Beach, Sirens did not stop their wailing while trucks towed ambulances to pick up the sick or dead.
Saturday Night Live, my last blog, explained how the Five Points Senior Center had no emergency plan for the black out that lasted for 24 hours. A few old denizens never returned, and one had had breathing problems. Yes, there were no generators to work the elevators. The owners, as usual, did not give a dam!
But on a brighter note, I took a chance and climbed aboard an EXPO Line to my Blue Line Metro. I had needed to file papers for Connie Glickman. Connie had rented a room to Bessie Frankenstein who seemed stable at first, but after she obtained the keys, all hell broke loose. In Connie's own words, Bessie, always dressed in black with her long black hair covering her horse-appearing face, began to do strange things.
"George, she dropped detergent inside my Gatorade, placed public hairs all over my bed, threw salt everywhere, and what riled me the most, she took three hours baths -- at four in the morning. When I had tried to get inside the bathroom, she kicked and pushed me to the floor."
"When the police came after my call, Bessie screamed that I had pushed her down. And could you believe that they told me that I would need to go to jail also for assault -- and I am 96 years of age."
The last straw was when Bessie broke inside my mail box. She had broken my mail box lock and important knew things about me that only could have been obtained by reading my mail"
So that is why I ended up at the West Los Angeles Police Department. Mr. Butts, a detective who listened to the case in-between eating packages of mounds candy, listened but to no avail. He kept looking at his cell phone that is until I spoke about the theft of my mail.
"Now that is a Federal offence. Bessie can go to jail. And by and by, I have resubmitted you case for a verdict."
I thanked Detective Butts and left for the number one bus. It was a little after four and the bus took me to Sepulveda blvd. -- and that is where I took a chance. A Red bus pulled up and I inquired about its destination
"We are a Metro bus and I will take your to the brand new EXP line. He accepted my transfer and after paying $.35 in a machine, since I am a senior. Thirty five cents is not too shabby. I climbed some steps and entered one of the cars. It was clogged with other travelers but I didn't mind. Everyone was having a blast.
The Expo Line begins at the Seventh Street Station and is on the same platform as the Long Beach Blue Line train. All needed to do was to tap my card and enter the Blue Line.
The Train stopped at the Palms station, Jefferson and a few others It made two stops across from U.S.C. and a bit later, I found out that I could get onto a Blue Line headed for Long Beach. and take three buses back to Huntington Beach.
I took another chance but it didn't pan out as well as the first one. The number one bus driver told me that his bus and the Metro-link out of Oceanside do connect. Now I can return from Oceanside and take the long scenic beach route through San Clemente, Dana Point, Laguna beach, Newport and other vacation spots. And I can ride all day for my $1.50 fare.
The bad news was that my #29 bus was late and I arrived home a bit over nine thirty.
.
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Huntington Beach Blackout
This is Saturday Night Live in Surf City, California. I returned from the Buena Park station and Metro-Link with my retirement check in hand. Earlier I had picked it up at my P.O.Box in Carlsbad before heading to the Oceanside Transit Terminal to catch my one o'clock on track two. I
The Oceanside Terminal is where buses and trains fight it out for space. The Amtrak, Coaster, Sprinter and assorted buses including Greyhound make their home at this station. Of course it is also home to many Marines and the homeless, who stake out Burger King with me. I hurried out of the eatery to make my rail date on track number two.
As usual, the crapper's toilet door was stuck and water leaked onto the floor of car number two. I made no big deal about the flood under my shoes since I had taught them to swim a year before. Inside my nap knap sack about England during the blitz in England. While reading, I heard the girl across from me crying but paid no attention. I had my check and felt good about paying my last month's rent on my lease at the Five Points Senior Center.
A thud fell beside my feet. "Can I deposit my luggage beside you... Thanks a lot." That was when the crying lady popped up.
"Miss, remember me. I ran after you and gave your cell phone to you which had dropped."
The gal that had cried carried on a conversation with both of us. She was young, about forty and had been reading a book. Bruise marks covered her face.
"I finally did it. He kicked me and hit me on my face. I will never see him again...I had left our Oceanside apartment that we shared with another couple and demanded that he give me forty dollars so I could return to Norwalk. My mom lives there..." I continued to read while the two o chatted about their Fullerton grammar school days and the common teachers they had.
I spilled out at Buena Park but found the station empty and without any buses. I found a shady spot next to a large bush that shielded the sun. . I felt scared since there was a heat wave and tried to keep cool inside a shady spot. The right bus finally came but when I tried to find out if it was indeed the 29 A bus driver concurred but told me the driver was late and could not find the street, but to enter and get cool. After a one hour and twenty minute ride on Beach Blvd I walked to my apartment and looked forward to a long hot bath with soup. And afterwards, grill my Trader Joe's steak
Main and Florida resembled the Fourth of July. Fire trucks, and the police with lots of flashing lights told me that something was amiss. Yellow tape crossed my path everywhere so I had to enter my apartment from Main. The hallway to my first floor apartment was dark. Inside my apartment I did not hear the usual music from my U.S.C. station, 91.5. I knew then there had been a black-out.
I discovered that a transmitter had been knocked down causing a fire and power outage. Please excuse this interruption since I had been interrupted in the little old library off of Main.
A librarian had just asked the lady in back of me to remove her dog. it appeared that he did not see it was a service dog. "I can't hear and use it for my ears." Richard left and say nothing.
The black out was supposed to last for six to twelve ho...Excuse the interruption but Richard asked the lady to place her Terrier on a lap top chair. Hey Richard, does the Yorkie need a library card to sit there...only kidding. I though it just might be a great dog story.
Several old spinsters huddled outside and told me that Mark, the owner, promised food later on tht evening. of course he never arrived while The owner of the building told the hungry he would prided food later in the evening -- of course he didn't. At that point I heard lots of commotion. Cars were removing their mothers and grandmothers as fast as they could. Unlike the other senior center, this building did not have a power generator so that the elevators did not work. Thank God the temperatures receded to only seventy at night from the eighty degree one.
I flash-backed to last summers heat spell when this building had as many as four fire trucks and their ambulances come on one day. Many of these citizens have pulmonary problems and one used an oxygen tank. What would have happened then?
At that point, the fireman came down the staircase with a man who had tripped since there were no emergency lights in the pitch-black apartments. The man was alive but would have died to find out his bill from the fire department would be over $1,500.
It was only eight o'clock and without Mozart or Chopin, I needed to make the best of it. A half mile down the street was the In-'N Out.
I walked down Main and hung a left on Beach. I could just taste the burger with onions and pickles inside my mouth...My legs felt tired but not my stomach. I stayed in line for awhile and my turn arrived. A neat groomed smile greeted me in perfect English. Unlike other eateries, this one speak in King's English.
"I'll have the double-double but hold the cheese. And also, place extra onions and pickles on the bun."
"Would you like lettuce and tomato?"
"You betcha and give me a cup...and by the way, you have a knock-off smile."
She blushed and dropped the cup. She repeated the order. That will be $3.25 and your number is 81. I found an empty seat in the rear of the restaurant. My body felt regenerated due to the clean air AC. I said hello to some Asians and drank the squirt from my cup. Of course I had paid only for water.
My number was called and the sandwich was so big, my hands could not corral it. I hurried to begin the treat since the black-out caused too much stress. I dropped down the wrapping and began my munch on the stuck out pickles and finally the meat.
I felt do good after this refreshing meal I walked back to my apartment. Even though I could not listen to my favorite musicians on my little Wal Mart radio, a well filled stomach allowed me to slumber till morning.
The Oceanside Terminal is where buses and trains fight it out for space. The Amtrak, Coaster, Sprinter and assorted buses including Greyhound make their home at this station. Of course it is also home to many Marines and the homeless, who stake out Burger King with me. I hurried out of the eatery to make my rail date on track number two.
As usual, the crapper's toilet door was stuck and water leaked onto the floor of car number two. I made no big deal about the flood under my shoes since I had taught them to swim a year before. Inside my nap knap sack about England during the blitz in England. While reading, I heard the girl across from me crying but paid no attention. I had my check and felt good about paying my last month's rent on my lease at the Five Points Senior Center.
A thud fell beside my feet. "Can I deposit my luggage beside you... Thanks a lot." That was when the crying lady popped up.
"Miss, remember me. I ran after you and gave your cell phone to you which had dropped."
The gal that had cried carried on a conversation with both of us. She was young, about forty and had been reading a book. Bruise marks covered her face.
"I finally did it. He kicked me and hit me on my face. I will never see him again...I had left our Oceanside apartment that we shared with another couple and demanded that he give me forty dollars so I could return to Norwalk. My mom lives there..." I continued to read while the two o chatted about their Fullerton grammar school days and the common teachers they had.
I spilled out at Buena Park but found the station empty and without any buses. I found a shady spot next to a large bush that shielded the sun. . I felt scared since there was a heat wave and tried to keep cool inside a shady spot. The right bus finally came but when I tried to find out if it was indeed the 29 A bus driver concurred but told me the driver was late and could not find the street, but to enter and get cool. After a one hour and twenty minute ride on Beach Blvd I walked to my apartment and looked forward to a long hot bath with soup. And afterwards, grill my Trader Joe's steak
Main and Florida resembled the Fourth of July. Fire trucks, and the police with lots of flashing lights told me that something was amiss. Yellow tape crossed my path everywhere so I had to enter my apartment from Main. The hallway to my first floor apartment was dark. Inside my apartment I did not hear the usual music from my U.S.C. station, 91.5. I knew then there had been a black-out.
I discovered that a transmitter had been knocked down causing a fire and power outage. Please excuse this interruption since I had been interrupted in the little old library off of Main.
A librarian had just asked the lady in back of me to remove her dog. it appeared that he did not see it was a service dog. "I can't hear and use it for my ears." Richard left and say nothing.
The black out was supposed to last for six to twelve ho...Excuse the interruption but Richard asked the lady to place her Terrier on a lap top chair. Hey Richard, does the Yorkie need a library card to sit there...only kidding. I though it just might be a great dog story.
Several old spinsters huddled outside and told me that Mark, the owner, promised food later on tht evening. of course he never arrived while The owner of the building told the hungry he would prided food later in the evening -- of course he didn't. At that point I heard lots of commotion. Cars were removing their mothers and grandmothers as fast as they could. Unlike the other senior center, this building did not have a power generator so that the elevators did not work. Thank God the temperatures receded to only seventy at night from the eighty degree one.
I flash-backed to last summers heat spell when this building had as many as four fire trucks and their ambulances come on one day. Many of these citizens have pulmonary problems and one used an oxygen tank. What would have happened then?
At that point, the fireman came down the staircase with a man who had tripped since there were no emergency lights in the pitch-black apartments. The man was alive but would have died to find out his bill from the fire department would be over $1,500.
It was only eight o'clock and without Mozart or Chopin, I needed to make the best of it. A half mile down the street was the In-'N Out.
I walked down Main and hung a left on Beach. I could just taste the burger with onions and pickles inside my mouth...My legs felt tired but not my stomach. I stayed in line for awhile and my turn arrived. A neat groomed smile greeted me in perfect English. Unlike other eateries, this one speak in King's English.
"I'll have the double-double but hold the cheese. And also, place extra onions and pickles on the bun."
"Would you like lettuce and tomato?"
"You betcha and give me a cup...and by the way, you have a knock-off smile."
She blushed and dropped the cup. She repeated the order. That will be $3.25 and your number is 81. I found an empty seat in the rear of the restaurant. My body felt regenerated due to the clean air AC. I said hello to some Asians and drank the squirt from my cup. Of course I had paid only for water.
My number was called and the sandwich was so big, my hands could not corral it. I hurried to begin the treat since the black-out caused too much stress. I dropped down the wrapping and began my munch on the stuck out pickles and finally the meat.
I felt do good after this refreshing meal I walked back to my apartment. Even though I could not listen to my favorite musicians on my little Wal Mart radio, a well filled stomach allowed me to slumber till morning.
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
A Day at the Beverly Hills Library
The main Huntington Beach Library does not come close to others that I have occupied. Why the last I tried, the microfilm machine had been on the blink for three months -- thanks to the ineptness of its director. Their Dell computers should have been tossed years ago and upgraded.
So I've been riding the Metro-Link twice every week into L.A. and have traversed to West L.A. and finally the Beverly Hills Library. The Rapid Blue has taken me all the way to West L.A where I transfer to the #14 city bus.
Today the last day in May I had the bus drop me off on Canon and Little Santa Monica. I had not had breakfast or my daily cup of coffee. Ever since I had switched to Trader Joe's Fish with its frozen vegetables, my memory has enlarged -- of course busing all over Orange County has made me fit as a fiddle. (My car had been stolen in February at the Five Points Senior Apartments.)
Nate and Al's, my favorite deli waited for me for its matzo ball soup. And my favorite waitress awaits me with plenty of warmth and a host of pickles to go with the just-made Jewish rye. I carried my bag pack across Canon and lumbered up towards Beverly. I passed the Chamber of Commerce Building, and skirted a left at the Bank of America-going through remodeling.
I could smell the iconic restaurant up ahead and could just taste those two balls with noodles. a smiling greeter escorted me to a corner table.My waitress saw me and was ready. She set a host of pickles and two fresh rye slices at my small table.
Before I took a bite I reflected on the joy of my Memorable Barbecue in Long Beach. Not only Lauren surprise me be being named the Teacher of the Year for the City of Lomita, but it was the first time I had an actually conversed with my older five year old.
After we had played a dice game earlier and this time, this slim five year old who goes by Olivia with blue eyes that could knock you out, sat next to me for a meal fit for George the Third of England. I dug into my tasty-on-sell steak when she asked me this darn question.
"Grapa, aw you goin to marry agin.?"
"When you grow up, I will marry you."
"I can't grapa, since you don't have any teeth."
Lauren had already completed her meal and mine had just begun. It is hard to eat a steak without teeth, but i mashed and mashed till the meat was finished. "Pass me the chicken. That succulent steak increased my appetite Olivia gave me the chicken leg and all-awhile Baby Allison was hanging out with a long hot dog.
The waitress served me the matzo ball soup, but it ignored it. I opened several packages of jam and with butter, liberally spread it over the crunchy rye. I jawed one piece of rye until it was gone. I then poked my spoon into one of the matzo balls with a noodle or two.
Well all I can tell you is that the second half of the meal was better than the first. I finished of the last of the six pickles and left Maggie a two dollar tip. The bill came to $7.50 and the good news was that my belly was satisfied.
I reversed my steps and walked across Little Santa Monica. The library was up ahead with its up graded computers. My Schindler story needed to be edited a bit more, but i now was in contact with Kindle and received needed help from the librarians. It was great sitting inside the well-air-conditioned library. Unlike Surf City, it is quiet and well managed with beefed up security.
I began to get my Schindler story ready for publication. But what overshadowed the story still remained my conversation with my artistic daughter, Olivia. It feels great to be approaching 77 years of age with a memory that is sharper due to a new computer for my mind.
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