It felt great to breath again. I wished to visit my God child inside of West Los Angeles. The levels of pollen and mold have never been so high, so I have had to wear a surgical mask inside of Huntington Beach.
As soon as the 29 Metro Link bus arrived in Anaheim, my lungs sang for the first time in days. Of course in felt good to have a wallet no loner starved for cash. The bus arrived at the Buena Park train station at about eight o'clock, and as usual mostly Asians waited for Los Angeles Union Station train to take them to their job.
The Asian ladies were doing a finishing up act on their faces, whereas others were examining smart phones or their lab tops All wore colored coordinated clothing. The Asian men, not to be ignored, also wore suits or clothes that dignified their positions at work.
The conductor did not check my $3.75 cent senior ticket as the train left Norwalk and crept into Union Station. In a hurry to get to their connecting bus or train, many stood by the door before the train entered the station.
My breathing was back to one hundred percent again. A quick walk towards the main entrance took me to the underground and the Purple Line train, of course after I tapped my Metro ticket on the turn-style and took the escalator down to my train.
The Purple Line train made about eight stops, the busiest was at the Seventh Street Station where many left for the Expo or Blue Line trains, or simply their place of work. My stop was the end of the line on Western. Here I did not ride the escalator but ran up three flights of steps to surface street
I made a quick left and saw the same man sitting with a slice of cardboard begging for money. In back of him I saw my Purple Seven bus. I crossed Western and slid fifty cents into a coin machine and took up a seat in the front.
A few others got on as it now left and approached Crenshaw where it made a left turn and went toward Pico Blvd. Most of the patrons spoke Spanish, but what I loved the most was a little baby across from me while its mother counted change to put into the buses change box.
Again, a sea of Latinos sat on the bus, and I wondered if I was still inside of Los Angeles. Many were domestics going to clean homes in West L.A, Beverly Hills or other rich areas of Los Angles. My stop was Edris, in front of the Glatt Market. That is the Pico market where I have often bought fruit at a bargain price. Ripe oranges were three pounds for a dollar but I favored the large ripe plums. At $1.99 a pound, it was a best buy for me.
I now was inside of Little Jerusalem where miles of stores serve observant Jews: shops that glittering gift shops, kosher pizza ones, burgers. Pico had become a bustling street of observant Jews from the one I remembered in the forties.
Why in the forties, my Dad drove us down Holt Avenue to Kentucky Boys restaurant about where La Cienega and Pico is today A jukebox sat on the corner of the restaurant and with little connecting machines on the counter. Dad would provide Indian head nickels to us and we hit buttons to see what record we wished to hear counter as my brother Mel and I stuck nickels inside the music makers.
While I watched the jutebox pick up a record and place it on a round disk, the french fries were placed in front of us, along with a gigantic burger with all of the trimmings. For a young kid, trying to get ketchup out of the bottle was not easy.
My Dad Harry spanked the bottle of Hunts Ketchup and tomato sauce squirted out onto my larger than life fries. Why they were ten times the size of the In-and out fries of today. I spread lots of salt on them and made a feast of them until my Dad Harry warned me not to forget the burger. Those burgers were four times the size of my little hands. When one song had ended, we placed another nickle inside the little box. Like magic, the arm inside the juke box selected the correct 45 record to place into a round table.
I first heard music on my Grandpa's Victrola. You needed to crank it up for it to play. I must have broken every Caruso record. i still remember the songs from the Juke Box. like Maria Elena, Don't Fence me in, and five minutes more.
"George, here is a napkin, wipe your mush...You've got ketchup on your brand new shirt..Good boy."
"Daddy, will you take us to play miniature golf?"
"Yes after I hit a few golf balls at the driving range."
Sorry for the interruption I was to meet Connie Glickman at the Label Table across the street from the Glatt Market. I walked across Beverly Blvd and turned left. A man older than time apparently drove the wrong way and hit a parked car while he tried to park. He could barely get out of his car. Another street down was the Label Table.
"George, take a seat in the back and watch my grandchild. I need to get something from my car."
"Esther was now one year old. And I was the one at her birth She was named after the Queen of Persha that saved the Jews from oblivion."
"Connie returned, picking up her large round hat to give me a kiss. Her husband Lew made it big in plastics and he had died several years ago. Connie is only ninety five years of age."
"I performed at the Comedy Club last night and received a standing ovation."
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