L.A, Grand Central Station

 My stay in West Los Angeles over, the lucky Seven Blue Bus travels east on Pico to the Western Purple Line Station. There I take a long escalator down to the underground and the ticket machines.     Since it was rush hour, I tapped my card and placed a dollar into the second machine, since the first did not work. It was rush hour so the bill of fare would be 75 cents. My dollar was returned so i used the second machine. The second machine provided change for my dollar.  I tapped my card and removed a quarter from the bottom. I tapped my card again on what the turnstile. It opened and I made my way down steps for the train and my ride to the Union Station.  to the Purple Line on Western. 
   The Union train arrived and I took up a seat. Two homeless men were fast asleep.  It felt great not to hear their  rap music, foul language and feel like a pickle inside a jar. The Purple Line arrived at the L.A Grand Central Station. 
   A long stairway and escalator brought me to the main hallway. 
The  left tunnel fourteen and slowly Eac Across from me  top.  I paid thee dollars and seventy five cents for a ticket on the 7:55 Metro-Link train headed for Oceanside, with stops along the way including mine at Buena Park. It felt good to remove myself from the humiliating ride on the Blue Line Long Beach train. 
  
I sat in the waiting area of the Grand Central Station and saw on a large screen that my scheduled ride was on time. I almost bought a L.A. Times newspaper but thought better of it. I had some reading materials in my bag and besides, I am a people watcher.
   A hearty meal and good sleep fostered a vivid imagination. To my right a row over sat a old lady who chewed some candy the way a horse chews oats. Without teeth, she needed to swirl and grind the tid bits of food over and over again. After each swallow, foam would usher from her mouth and her toung would lash back and forth  She spoke rubbish with another lady who sat in the next aisle The words heard most often were godly words. No this wasn't the grand old opra, rather a loud hornest nest.  .
    "Amtrak to Oceanside is now loading on platform nine." While the speaker notified the passengers, the large monitor highlighted the ride and then removed the rides that had been alreadg singnale

Schindler to be 101 on 21st.

An Oat meal breakfast every morning suits me fine. It is seven thirty and all is well. Took a while to remove from my diet. Why as long as I could remember, Farmer John's bacon had greeted me for breakfast each morning.  Since buying fresh white fish at a neighborhood market, my memory seems sharper. Heard from the grapevine that the freshest fish are sold at the  ABC market on Magnolia.  
    'Lil' Amby Schindler turns 101 years old Saturday. While I spoon feed my mouth, I reexamine pages from one of  fifteen yellow journals. I wish to become Schindler, but not on the football field. I wish my Schindler stories to hit every school and library now that can write. It could also be made into a play or musical. The phone rings, probably my Access drive to take me to the Surf City Senior Center.   
      I have pressed my pants, washed two dirty dishes and closed the trash bag. The phone rings again. 
    "I'll be right down..." I hear no response at first...and then.
    "This is Ruby from the Sea Cliff Health Care Center."
     Ruby is the nurse at Station Four, the hospice area. I call it the end of the line. 
     "Ah Ah" I can't respond at first since I am beat from my trip to West Los Angeles."
     "Need to tell you that Mel had his teeth taken out yesterday." 
     "Good news. Thanks for calling and have a good day." 
     "Ah one more thing, the tests came back positive. Mel is now in isolation."
     "How long?" My mind goes blank for a few seconds. I feel crushed! 
     "About seven days." 
      "Got food for him, beets and corn. Can I see him?"
      Ruby's voice sounds too controlled as if  she had been told what to say.
       "Highly contagious. If you have open sores you should not." 
        A Dr. Rayhan told me that they had removed the cancer from his head...more bull shit.  I told Ruby that I wanted his doctor changed from Joseph Nassir to another doctor. He had been the primary doctor here at Sea Cliff and also billed Mel at the Spartan Pacific Assistance Living Center in Westminster. 
        He is the same doctor that had never seen Mel, according to my brother but had billed him. Depressed with mixed feelings I knew that I could not visit him now since I don't wish my grandchildren to get sick. go into his room since I have open sores due to skin cancer treatments.
 A few minutes later, the phone rang again. This time is was my Access taxi. After I recovered from the shock of the news that Mel has brain cancer, a trip to the senior center was what I needed to jump start my day. I paid the drive four dollars and told him to keep the change. 
       Now inside the Center, a class of at least thirty Uke players were playing like a symphony orchestra.  Inside the piano area, about fifty seniors are singing songs accompanied by a great conductor and piano player. It reminded me of Mitch Miller in the old days. 
      Jane said hello and wished me to meet her family. Sat down with my good friends, a good food and laughter, as always, brightened my day. As Annie said, the "Sun will come out..."
     Later that day, I brought beets and corn for brother Mel and took three buses back to my apartment. I don't mind waiting for a bus since I have a book or just look at the some girls practicing volleyball on the beach. 

A Chappaquiddick Day in Surf City

Hi Barbara, what's going on?...What is that in your hand?
Just bought from Barnes and Noble..Was lost at Southwest
Mean college on Vermont in Los Angeles"
Yes, lost yesterday and my roommate June needed to come and get me.
    She wore a smile over her round face. At 86 years old, she has held on, well barley fine figure. She had been a Yankee fan all of her life and was born in the Bronx. Dad was a conductor for a railroad there until a heart attack downed him at the young age of fifty two. Her visits to the Surf City Senior Center had been sporadic. We sat in the piano room of the Senior Center in Huntington Beach.
     Show me where L.A. is on this map?
     Here it is Barbara. Just a kiss from Huntington Beach.
     Are they that close?
      Not really, like about fifty miles.
      A policeman helped me. I didn't no where I was. He looked at his computer and found my name under missing persons. He called my roommate who drove down from the Harbor. She screamed at me for getting lost and took me home. A flatbed truck came later bringing my car.
      I pointed to the map but it did not do the geography well. The cities of Surf and L.A. were too close.
      Hey Barbara. It is only one o'clock. What ya say we take in a movie?
      Good idea. Hear that Chappaquiddick just released.
      Bet playing at Bella Terra, the Century Theaters. Hey My treat but your gas and we share popcorn.
      With a little help, well actually a lot, she coerced her new Lexus down Golden State to Edinger to the outdoor famous shopping center. I got out and helped her park, not far from the Century Theaters. After a little wait for the line to move, it became our turn.
       Two for Chappaquiddick...Senior price.
      "Be fifteen please...So you have anything smaller...No problem.
       The cashier turned a seating computer towards me. Barbara stood in back of me.
       You pick the seats. My first date with Barbara so I need a quiet romantic area.

Those in back of us began to laugh, at first softly and then like a symphonic orchestra. Inside she bought two bags of popcorn and we chatted until the 2:15 show began. I lost my ticket so twice we were kicked out of our seats. The movie was great but it appears and placed me into a great mood.
    Afterwards, I left her and took my two buses to get back to Magnolia, but first buying fish and four pounds of juicy large oranges for ninety nine cents.
                                 It was a Chappaquiddick Day       
           
     

     
     
   
   
   

Pasach in Huntington Beach

Access drove me to CVS, across the street from Chabad. After treating my self to three pancakes at McDonald's, I crossed Warner Avenue and tried to enter the synagogue. With the door locked. I sat down in the back and began to read the Register, a local crap sheet of current events. Startled by a loud noise, I looked up and saw small bearded gentleman covered in black. It was my Rabbi. I was now nine thirty.
   "Gary, no bible study today. This is the day of Pesach."
    Well now, I left the sport's pages and lumbered into the sanctuary. A few were already reading from the Sidder, or bible. I removed a Tallis and placed it over my shoulder. It felt good to be back in he saddle of religion, and now I have learned to remain on the horse. A smallish man who wore a East European cap addressed me.
     "George, we missed you...Ah are you OK?"
      "Yea, a few issues have been resolved...Thanks for asking."
     The synagogue began to fill up. Even my brother Mel's primary doctor arrived and kept looking my way, but led my horse on one road today without any detours. At about eleven thirty Rabbi Yiska Berkowitz turned to his followers and spoke. I will try to paraphrase his sermon.
      "Over three thousand years ago, Moses left Egypt and led his people across a mean desert to land of Israel. Not an easy task as he needed to cross the Jordan river and mounds and mounds of desert with snakes, and spiders at every turn.
      Our forefathers, including your parents, grandparents had a tough time keeping our tradition and tales alive until today. Those who had died at Auschwitz, remained Jews until the end, just for you. A very few escaped and worked hard so that you could enjoy the fruits of freedom...."
       A lady interrupted the speech, She screamed loud and clear that "You forgot to mention...the name of." She ran to the other room and the rabbi continued.
       'We now need the priests to come up to the Bimba.  Two men walked up and covered their figure wit a tallis. Those who still had parents left and the rest of us stood and recited prayers for the dead, but not quite dead, as my Dad Harry and My Mom came down to praise my devotion to the religion of their parents.
       My Grandparents on my Dad's side were Jacob and Rachel. on my Mom's side stood Isador and Jenny. Enriched by the knowledge they came down from heaven to be with me, I felt great. Just as I was about to leave and catch the number 76 bus, Max, from Budapest turned around and quipped,  . "Got to tell you that I still can't speak about the holocaust...Just hurts too much.
        Outside I left with my friend Sir Godfried. He is an angel I had met while living in San Diego. :Like always, we both had a great time while navigating the buses to my apartment. (Not edited.)

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April Fools Day-And How!

I took a hike on Garfield Blvd to Mel's Nursing home. A few fruit trees smiled and spoke. The Loquat said, "Take me". Limbs of trees hung over cement wall as I trucked towards the Sea Cliff Health Center. A bountiful fig looked inviting but it said, "Not yet, come back in July." I crossed Beach and made a right turn on Florida Street. Something was up. An older couple helped their two wheel chair parents into their car. 
    "Happy Father's Day." 
     He smiled as if he knew that on April fools day, anything goes. Even on the news, I heard that a one hundred year custom had gone by the wayside. The pubs in Ireland now opened on Good Friday. t And why not, with the current administration, they may not be around for another year. 
     Before I ambled to Mel's room, 135 B, I dropped off a large beet and two corns to supplant his Easter eggs. A weak earlier, I had dropped off two New York Steads bought on special at Vons market on Magnolia and Atlantic. He still suffered with severe pain after the two operations on his cancerous right ear. At least Dr. David Rayhan said the surgery got the last of the cancerous blog out of his ear. 
    Mel had lived with this infection for over two years. After Mel had been discharged from the Huntington Memorial Hospital, a Dr. Gray warned me that Otitis Media could cause lumps, pains and further problems if not immediately treated  I had supplemented his meager diet each evening and no doubt the food and visits kept him alive although with the heavy Narcotics, a few times he told me that "He was through." 
  Bed one was empty, but in bed two my brother Mel was ready to rock. I couldn't believe my eyes and ears when he hollered, "George, take me for a walk!" 'Tired, Mel, wait a minute....Here is your walker."Mel followed with a healthy gallop. We left station four and headed for the lobby.
   'Use your right hand to hold up the eye lid...see me now?"
   "Yes, my legs are getting stronger now...thanks for the New York steads, exactly what I needed to remove the rust from my body." 
   "Can I get you a coke?"
    "Yes....And by the way, a dentist came and told me they were going to pull my teeth.  
The fog lifted from my head and a calm came over me. It looked like he just might, yes, might get out of this warehouse some day. Just maybe his expiration date had been crossed out. 
    "Can go now George...thanks and don't need you..." 
On the bus stop sat a homeless young man. Beer cans sat by his side as he offered me some suds. Told the too-thin one that I drank only tea. He left and the Blue Bus arrived. At the Waterfront Hilton  had a smoothie to celebrate the day. 
 

 

A bad rap for the Green Line Train.

No longer would I like to take a hike to El Camino Jr. College. I had an appointment with the Athletic Director and needed lots of help to find his headquarters in an art building. I thought that just maybe the college would be interested in my football story about Ambrose Schindler, as he  confessed to me that almost all of his 50 years of accredited teaching had been at the school.
    A driver dropped me off at the college, that looked more like a strip mall of small buildings, shacks, and outhouses. Nestled at the footstep of Crenshaw Boulevard between Redondo and Manhattan Blvd. It could have easy been mistaken for a Federal Housing Project.
    My taxi dropped me off and after asking many for help, one knew where Art 101 was located. I bought a regrettable sandwich at a hash house and eventually found the place. I asked where the director was and that I had an appointment. Blond hair connected with a large funny-fake smile did her best to speak to me. After all, I am nearing eighty and nobody today treats old people with respect anymore.
    "What is your name?"
    "Name George, hear to see Mr. Preston."
    "Emergency...can you call and make an appointment another day?
     "No Miss Nightingale...Took too long to find this place and will not try again."
     "I need to connect with the Alumni Association?"
    A PE teacher told me that they don't give a dam about the Alumni Association and had no numbers to pacify me. I handed a flyer and took a hike to McDonalds. The Crenshaw bus had a stop there. Exhausted but happy to have crossed off this so-called college, I got on. I knew up ahead the Green Line had a station there.
    Under the 105 freeway I found the Green Line Train. The off-rush hour fare was .35 cents, within my budget. The machine validated my Tap card and I climbed up stairs, but upset that my train had left the station. The train began in Redondo Beach.
     A shopping area sat below me and an old L.A. Airport looked quite forsaken. My Dad had driven us to the Hawthorne Airport in the forties. It had been the first time I had ever seen a plane. I was the only white waiting for the train, but soon about twenty more joined me. A few brought bikes, but most only showed off their Haines underwear and fowl language. In these situations, I mind my own business and try to look like an innocent dumb white man. No peace officer in his right mind would ever get on board, that if there had not been a murder.
     The Rosa Parks Blue Line Station was ahead of me. I somehow made it and transferred to the Blue Line , of course after I tapped my card. The car that I entered going south towards Long Beach played loud music. The music must have been delightful since these cars danced up and down the line.
     "Cokes, Water only a collar. Chargers five dollars only...Give me a break...Thanks sir" The sellers reminded me of the candy ushers who sold sweets out of their cartoon of goodies at the old Stadium Theater on Pico.. A bit noisy for me, I walked to a different car....What a mistake? Across from me a man held an invisible phone. Loud and clear, he kept screaming with the same topic.
    "You SOB, I talk to you only because you the Mommy of my kid. Don't care shit about you. Shut up...And you too Mommy, you bore me but you too can go to hell."
     The topic didn't change and a couple in front of me looked happy to have made it to their stop, Willow Street Station, but not me. I prayed that he would take his Shakespeare and stay on the train when my stop, Fifth Street approached...But no such luck. He followed me to my bus stop but did stop when the #91 bus driver gave him that, that look that only a bus driver can.
      Oh yes, Ambrose Parks Schindler will be 101 years old on April 21st. No doubt he is waiting for my book to be published.