A Sunday in Surf City

My San Diego Chabad rabbi a couple of years ago gave the Manchester Hyatt congregation good advice after a day of fasting, during the Day of Atonement: "Make each day as if it were the last day of your life." Ever since I have tried to remove the bullshit in my life and made my life more pleasant and meaningful, of course living according to the laws of Moses and the Ten Commandments.

Sunday morning my day began at Whole Foods in Surf City. It provided clean air,  and a place to read and enjoy the everyday frolic of shoppers filling their baskets to fill them for the week.  For me all I had was a Dollar Tree baloney sandwich and a decaf honey coffee. It felt great to remove myself from my hot moldy apartment on Main.
   I brought a book about the Flying Tigers and like these mammoths, I had a great desire to fill my mind with the excitement of these heroes during World War 2. Of course watching a football game or two didn't hurt. A stop a Starbucks and a free lucky newspaper juiced my day. At two o'clock, I felt top of the day and took a bus to my brother's assistant living facility in Midway City. The 29 A bus dropped me off on Balsa and Beach, a few blocks from my brother's eight year residence.
 I paid my usual five dollars for the first seating at four thirty and grabbed a seat and then...
   "George did you bring me tacos?"
    "Not today Dotty, but during the week I will go to Jack in the Box for them...What is the name of the picture today?"
    "Showboat."
     Everyone watched the T.V. of this Kern and Hammerstein production. Mel, as usual was upstairs, probably listening to the Dodger game on the radio. Dotty brought me an orange from the snack-bar until four o'clock signaled the first seating  Mel had already seated himself as did Mary. I sat across from Mary. A puss coated Mel's left eye and he seemed listless and leaned to one side. 
     A brisket, mashed potatoes, and asparagus were our choices for today. Mel couldn't open is eyes and puss ran out of his left one. Totally blind. I ignored his state and cut his food. I glided his hand to fresh piece and he placed it inside his gullet. He chewed and chewed without swallowing it. Then the endless coughing ensued.
     "Mel cover your mouth, I said cover your mouth!"
     "We don't wish to eat germs along with the meat!" Mary chimed in.
      He gagged on the meat but could not swallow it. His plate had not been touched. Dotty gave me  her chicken finger plate. She loathes American food but loves tacos from Jack in the Box. The Filipina lady from Manila detests American food but loves Mexican.
      Mel could not leave the table. In fact he couldn't move. Overjoyed that the illness happened while I had visited him, I told the manager not to move him and to call emergency. She did not look overjoyed and wished to try to feed him and carry him to is room. Finally she dialed 911 again.
       A fireman entered the room. I recognized Mr. Kelly from the Orange County Fire Department. Kelly looked astounded when I told him it was my brother Mel. His vital signs were within normal and I felt glad to ride in an ambulance.  
Huntington Memorial's ER room was full so Mel remained in the gurney. I signed a few forms and felt glad that I had gotten Him Medical since it is better to have two rather than one.
    "He hasn't eaten the way he should for about a month...He is depressed about his vision. He is aware that he is blind."
     "Is he paranoid.?"
      "No there is nothing wrong with him but his eyes and the snake pit he is in. Three ambulances already shuffled inmates back and forth!"
      A Persian doctor entered and he apologized for his hard-to-pronounce Persian name. I provided him with  much needed information about Mel, kissed Mel good-by and out the door I flew to catch the next bus to Main.  
The Huntington I knew would service him well. Again, I felt overjoyed to ride in an ambulance.
      
      

Surf City Senior Center

The Center has been my salvation lately. With my State Teacher's check but by by $142 each month-and to continue for the next two years until their book keeping error has been exonerated.
    The Huntington Beach Senior Center has kept me afloat during Obama Times when the middle class has joined up with the poor. Those without mean can obtain a  half-a-belly full of food at the new center in the rear of the Talbert Library on Golden West Blvd. 
    But its not the bingo, movies, chess, or fitness room that makes me return day-in-and-day-out. Its the people -- just like me,that are the star attraction. Just take today for example. 
    "Let me move over, so you can sit by your wife...I see that you wear a U.S.C. sweatshirt..did you go there" 
     "My name is Bob and that is my wife Sally ...I was on the water polo team at U.S.C. in the sixties. A friend in Connecticut got me a scholarship to U.S.C. where I majored in education. I was on the swimming and water polo team where I lettered and got my administrator credential." 
      His wife Sally smiled at him   while a chicken crab salad were served.  She was better than average height and owned a radiant smile while looking at her tallish handsome-brute of a husband. Others at the table were Mildred and Andrew. 
    We sit in the lunch room that sits thirty tables and over one hundred people for feeding. Our table is in the back -- way in the back so my words can't infect the digestion of others. Not to mince, words I wished to keep the conversation bouncing,  like a volleyball.  
    "Married Sally after my divorce in '88. She was twenty years younger." 
    "He did not ask me...He told me that I must marry him! I'm from Pittsburgh. My Grandpa worked in a mine for years but never came down with black lung disease. He enjoyed his vegetable garden and I used the raspberries he grew for my cream of wheat cereal. I was closest to my cousins and my Dad was a wheel dealer who made deals to keep us afloat." 
    "Let me talk Sally. I became an administrator in a school in the Buena Park area. We had many a dinner with Mr. Knotts of berry fame  and his wife. He was simple and meek and happy...After my divorce, I lived inside a trailer and during the L.A, Olympics, Buss allowed me to park it by the Sports Arena. He bought it from Cook, the previous owner of the Redskins." 
     By this time, Tony's son showed up and he too helped us dig up stories from the past... Why just the other day, a Colonel spoke about 220 missions flying in the Vietnam War and we re-opted to three times during the war. His wife spoke about how her father had written the license plate of Bonnie and Clyde that helped the police capture the duo. 
     Every-buddy has a story. Each thinks, like me, that ours is the best. And each comes to enjoy the mirth and family atmosphere that their home does not provide. I left the center with my buddy Billy. I met the lass at a bus stop a week earlier. We took a short cut through a hiking trail below. Since fall was sure to show its leafs sooner than later, we enjoyed our bout on the cement bench. She marveled and how great I looked. 
    Well I save up my pennies just to have a haircut from Mr. Hoeng. Every time I get my retirement check, I bus it to his shop barber shop on the north east corner of Golden West and Warner for my cut of the month. The other day I asked him why he chose to cut hair. 
      "Back inside San Diego, I played football and one day a tackle asked me to  trim his hair. Ever since that day, I have wanted to cut hair. I  get a cut from the other barbers and what I trim  I put away in savings."
      "Well Billy, my gal Gloria told me moon-ago that she judges a man by their head and shoes. Ever since that day, my head and feet have become a priority for me...She was and is the love of my life."

Today the 15th of September, Beth sat at our back table. As usual, I probed her with my scalpel -- I mean my mouth. She returned to the back table and knew that anything-goes at this back table.  
   Beth looked to be spinster with charm and a Wonder Bread body. She wore a Green Bay Packer sweat shirt which revealed a well endowed upper body.
   "So, you from Wisconsin. Probably graduated there."
    "Yes married my first husband there and began teaching school. But after my hit-and-run divorce, I moved to Marin County in the Bay area...Since my ex flew planes, I jumped at the chance of working for the "Flying Tiger Airlines" when one of my friends spoke about the San Francisco Airline."  
     "Wasn't General Chennault the one who bombed Tokyo at the beginning of World War 2, and didn't he fly off of an Aircraft carrier?"  
     "Yes, that's the one. We flew out of San Francisco during the Vietnam War with stops in Alaska, and the Philippines before landing inside Saigon."
      "I carried the supplies on board the ship but was unaware that some of the recruits would return in body bags."
       During our discussion, the breaded fish, soup and shopped fruit was served. Bertie, can you pass the salt. Thanks. Bertie had just joined the table with the Swede and the gal from Brazil.
        "Did you have other jobs Beth?"
         "Yes I continued with my teaching career. I taught ceramics and graphics on computers...But the job I loved was working for a traveling college. The college kids visited  different European countries, and thank God they needed an English translator. 
          "But of all of the countries, I enjoyed the one called the Pearl of Europe by tourists. All Czechs who visit Budapest return with the same response. 'Budapest isn't even close to the beauty of Prague.' "
       
         
     
   
     
   
 
 

A Free Ride to San Clemente.

My birthday month proved the most difficult-- what with only a budget of $100 to last until the end of August. But family matters and the fact that my retirement check had been cut about one and a half hundred made me almost buckle to my knees...
   While having a taco lunch with my friends at the Huntington Beach Senior Center, I told them I could travel to Oceanside without spending one penny. I needed to pick up my retirement check inside the Carlsbad Post Office. My rent check and other payments were duly due. 
   
Eight dollars, yes eight dollars separated me from those who bank at the Albertson's recyle center to exchange tin for food-money.  My state check waiting for me at a Carlsbad post office.  
    Back inside my Elis apartment, I heated up a baked potato and beans and threw them fully cooked inside my nap sack. I needed to pick up and get to Carlsbad where my state check awaited inside my P.O. Box. The 29 bus crossed Main Street and stopped at the bus stop. 
    Mainly Latinos took up most of the seats, some asleep, or just gazing outside. I slid my monthly pass inside a slot and took up a seat in the rear of the bus. The bus arrived at P.C.H. at about six o'clock and I got off along with three other Mexicans. 
     "Can you tell me where the #1 bus stop is?" 
      "Over there sir, where the Mexicans have stopped.", the sweat driver confessed.
     Several homeless blankets slept beside the concrete benches. The smell of tobacco and urine was prevalent, but I am immune to these smells by now. I felt happy to have worn my sweater, bought for me by my ex-girl friend Gloria. I felt the approach of Mr. Fall. 
       It felt strange to be the only white on the bus as all wore buns or black pony tails, that is except for the sleeping lady wrapped in a blanket and hood. Her left foot dangled in the aisle  In the back a few began to chatter and laugh. I have never witnessed so many happy faces going to work. Whether a maid, servant, cook, or laborer, each made the best of it and a few began to sing. 
   
We traveled south through Balboa, and at Newport Beach, took a side trip to a transit station where about fifteen climbed aboard. A little white lady, at least one hundred and twenty years old climbed, or tried to climb aboard. The driver pressed his lift button and she scrambled to a disabled seat. 
    My eyes opened wider as circled the harbor and finally got to Laguna Beach, larger than I ever thought it was. The rays from the suns shadow alerted me it was still morning. Just listening to the steady beat of Spanish as the harbor and vintage shops made this ride thrilling. 
   Nary any were depressed. They all looked forward to work and the bus stepped forward to Aliso Creek  and other smaller drinks of water. The bus left Laguna and crept on to Dana Point. It was now almost eight o'clock and I knew that my stop inside San Clemente was coming up. 
    It freeway-ed on he Five for a minute and invaded a  San Juan \Capistrano community for a mile or two before descending to San Clemente, a city built next to the ocean with a rusty hill of  houses, like inside a  stadium, enjoying the views below of blue water against a morning blue  sky. 
    " Can you tell me where the station is?" (More to come, unedited.)
     

Move-In-Day at U.S.C.

Disgusted with my boring stay in Huntington Beach and my awful hay fever, I decided to b-t it to Howard Jones Field to watch the Trojans workout. Oh yes, b-t means bus and train it. Since I have written a chapter on Howard Jones, the greatest U.S.C. coach from 1925 until 1941 until his untimely death due to cigarettes, I decided to visit the campus.
  The homeless staked out each blvd to ask for handouts from the parked cars at each intersection. The  rest staked out a place on the bus. I got off in Westminster and took the 560 bus to arrive at the Long Beach Metro station after the 91 shuttle deposited me there.
   I bumped my tap card thirty cents and bummed a ride on the Blue Line, headed for Los Angeles. I knew I must have been in Long Beach since many of the idle riders rode bikes and a lady outside the windows showed off her right breast that leaned out her worn out bra. She was screaming a few obscenities while each patron played their rap music. One threw a cigarette lighter at me and I forgave this misfit.
   I switched to the EXPO line downtown and headed for U.S.C. I wished to see their workouts at Jones Field. I had downed a peanut butter sandwich sandwiched in with a warm Idaho potato. Of course I had to meet my budget.
 Hot, yes hotter than hell it was when I dismounted the EXPO line. Everywhere I looked were students and their parents. Before I walked across the U.S.C. campus to visit my mentor Mr Zachary I had a few moments to enter their student store. It resembled the old May Co on the day after Christmas.
    "Are you a new student? The young thin kid was filling out papers and sat down next to me.
     "It is move-in-day at U.S.C. and my room is over there."
     "Are you from  India?"
      "Yes, how can you tell?"
      "I smell curry on your breath and also you are so tan and quiet."  
Inside the store, the happy faced parents bought shirts, pants, and even fans for their little urchins.Each face beamed with smiles as they must have felt proud to have taken their sons and daughters to the promised land and good old U.S.C.
   I gave a kiss to Russ Sanders, a statue at U.S.C. and hightailed it to Jones Field. I had not taken in a practice in years. My floppy hat fell off somewhere so I tried at best to shied my head on another roasting day at U.S.C. Oh yes, Russ Sanders played his football at U.S. C and his picture can be seen inside the San Diego High library in the alumni section. An by and by, Gregory Peck also played his J.V. football there.
Without my hat, my head felt like a hot boiling egg as i made it to the field whose name sake, Howard Jones' football teams had put the Trojans on the same page as Notre Dame. Footballs were flying everywhere. I could not get over how high the trajectory of each kick was. Why the two kickers sent them high, and long. A man dressed in U.S.C colors and watched with glee the practice interested me.
    "Sir, is this the varsity?"
     "Yes it surely is. See number seven, that is my son. He is a wide receiver. His number is seven."
     A pass was thrown his way from a coach and he clasped it in his hands the way a set of pliers would.
      "What High did he go to?"
      "Went to Bishop Almaney in Pasadena...What you got there in your hands?"
   It is about Amby Schindler, a greatest of them all under Howard Jones in the thirties. By the way, name is George, what is your?"
       "Name is Mr. Mitchell, and that is my son, Steve. He is a two year letter varsity letter man.

Hot, hungry and thirsty, I said my good-by's to Mitchell and went to the EXPO line back to West Los Angeles. The line passed off to the 501 and Pico line where I then went to my daughter's apartmetn to watch her dog for the day
     
   
   

Bank on Wal-Mart

My favorite street lies on Talbert, a major street that connects Huntington Beach with Tustin. To get there, I take the OTA  29 to get to that special corner. And no, it is not just because that is the land of the In N Out Burger. No doubt this yellow arrows secret is that the beef is not refrigerated but the cows are killed no more than fifty miles from the store and brought to the eatery in the early morning.
  The Good Shepard Catholic church runs the width of Talbert, and leads to the Wal-Mart. Sundays find ,many Vietnamese family members at the sight of a love one, with their picture on the stone slab. They converse with the departed and even play music. The older grave stones have names like Smith or Davis inscribed where as the newer ones have Tran or some other Vietnamese name. I cross the street to Wal Mart  and enter the air conditioned store.
  "Hi Jimmy, thanks again for showing me how to use your debit card.
   "We have added a new feature here. We now can send your utility bill electronically. No longer will you need to mail a letter."
       Even though my statement had my account number, their machine could not allow me pay my past-due Verizon bill. Jimmy, the manager in the Huntington Beach store  told me that certain states bought Verizon and it included California.
       In fact, when I am late to pay my account, instead of a mail reminder, an automated messages instructs me to use my credit card for payment.  Verizon is known for double billing and makes billions each year as the unwary or senior citizens are unaware that their bill includes expenses already billed.
Wal-Mart came to my rescue years ago when the Franchise Tax man began to remove my retirement check from my B of A account. I have had the State mail me my check and have taken it to Wal-Mart that charges a few cents to cash it.
  And the good news is that this establishment lies a few yards from the corner N-In-Out burger where I order a "double double, hold the onions and add lots of \pickles and onions. The A/C there is allows my lungs a chance to breathe fresh air.
   Unfortunately, a Christine Jones now has swiped ten percent of my retirement check for taxes not paid due to my hardship situation - so I have problems making ends meet this month. I made the error of providing her with too much information for the last two months.
   So those of you unhappy with your bank, take a chance on Wal-Mart and have a breakfast on me.
 
 

An-almost Death at the Five Star Senior Apartments

February was the worst month of my life...as it almost cost me mine. The theft of my car made me learn to tie or at least try to tie my shoes -- at last! Also I met the best buddy anyone could have until he almost died a few doors down from me. 

Robert Dent's fourth floor apartment cooled off in the late afternoon as ocean breezes danced over his Michigan University mementos. His daughter and then-wife heard me play the piano and invited me to meet Dr. Dent. I dare say I played a dam good piano then and even better now.
    "We love your music and believe you have the right tonic my Dad needs. His own dad played the piano and we would love it if you came down to our room, 420 to meet him," so said Diana. 
     It felt good to be drafted by two good looking girls, and not having a car now, who could not accept their invitation. I knocked on the door and was greeted by the older one, I guess his wife. He was busy inside the bedroom looking for clothes to wear over his tight fitting underwear. 
      "George...your hair is a mess. Sit down and allow me to give you a cut." His wife, a hair stylist, cut and trimmed my hair, and I knew that her hands were magic. She gave me a mirror and I couldn't believe how good I looked, of course with my mouth shut."
       I will never forget his warm greeting and Santa Claus smile -- too bad that all Santa's don't have his smile. A bottle of vodka was on the kitchen table along with miniature Milky Way bars.   A Michigan blanket covered a sofa chair, along with a year book and various frames that extolled his virtues as a first rate dentist with a   degree at Michigan University.
       "You too look like two birds of a feather," or something like that while the flew the coop and I was stuck with Dr. Dent. He was a bit tipsy but I promised to take him to Mario's across the street for some Mexican food.
      We ordered the $9.00 special with tacos and enchiladas. He spoke about how he had been planted there by his wife. He dressed with the bright colors of a pro golfer and his hair was a neatly groomed grey. His beard was trimmed and could not stop talking.
      He had lived in Malibu in a house by the old Getty building by the palisades area. He had been a dentist at the veterans building and also a professor at U.S.C.'s dental school. It appeared that Robert Dent and his wife had split up.
     We walked across Main in the direction of Mario's in the Five Points Center. He asked to pay the bill but his credit card was not good, so I paid for the Meal that included a Martini. From that first night until recently, he became my best friend. We played billiards, ate, and enjoyed becoming my soul mate. 
     Dent's Dad was a pool shark inside his home town in Pennsylvania. In fact he made "More money playing billiards than as a supervisor for the phone company -- and get this, he never allowed me to win any game at billiards. 
    But as a kid, nobody had a finer mother. She helped him with his his homework and punished him only once for using foul language. His Dad played a mean piano -- like me so it was fate we met over a piano at the Five Points Senior Apartments. 
    To make ends meet, he caddied and got so good at it, that a golfer awarded him a scholarship to Michigan University. His Mom also wrote his graduation address at commencement -- so good in fact his Dad for the first time gave applauded him and asked him how he learned to speak well. 
    Oh yes, he married his high school girl sweetheart 
   He was third in the Universities dental school and again gave the commencement  address. After graduation he worked in a dental office before heading to New Mexico as an army officer. He was an outstanding dentist there and took more classes.  
    It was his Santa Claus smile and blue eyes that drew me to him at first. He didn't like the idea that I refused to drink with him but Vodka and I love life the way God created it. 
   His fourth floor apartment had a huge T.V. where he watched detective series' most of the time and used Vodka and juice to eat. The room held many awards and mementos with a Michigan logo and of course a set of gold clubs. 
    "George I am so sorry I can't offer you anything to drink...What do you say that we run across the street to Java and have a tuna." Across Main Street was the JAVA COFFEE SHOP. Nary any lady was safe within arms reach as he would quip, "My you have gorgeous legs or give them his East Coast whistle." 
  And then the bad news hit me while playing the piano on the fourth floor. His daughter told me that the apartment threw him out for noise even though his bouts with blackouts and other issues became less and less...Through an altercation with his daughter he came a millimeter from death by a knife and I have not seem or have heard of him since. 
    He taught me to commend the ladies for their attire or simply good looks. He would walk up to any lady and compliment her on the spot -- something I have learned to do.