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.
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