Only Living Survivor-Horst Cahn

It was a pleasant surprise today at the Encinitas' Senior Center. I entered my name for a meat loaf lunch at the Li'l Oak's Cafe. Lunches begin at eleven thirty. A small fruit salad and milk is served before we get the main entree
   And there was Horst, and as always, talking to anyone who would listen... and why not? He is the only living survivor of a synthetic rubber camp inside Auschwitz. The camp had held four thousand.  As Always, he looked happy and it appeared that he had lost a few pounds. 
    I knew he had been to a doctor and was happy that my friend returned in one piece and had shed a few pounds. 
   
  "So what is the verdict Horst?"
"Well I found out I am a blue blood. The doctor put some die inside me and found a couple of blockages. He told me to keep off milk and cheese. That is why so much weight is off of me....So what is it you wish to ask me?"
   What was it like inside the barracks?
    "We had 200 in our barracks. A out house was in the back. The Germans knew how many calories we needed to stay alive. They served us dried vegetables in soup during the day, and one slice of bread and more soup at night. Some occupants ate half the bread and stashed the rest inside their bed.
      "We slept in thin double beds. The Germans would remove our blankets when it snowed. The out house was in the back of the camp. They made sure we took a shower every day. The showers were in the side of the Barracks."
       "After our work detail, they counted us when we returned. We were always marching, and they always counted to make sure we all returned. Those who fell and died they removed to the incinerator. The Polish people complained about the smell."
   

The Del Mar Fair is Coming

The Del Mar Fair is coming next week. Don't drive a car there. Take a train, bus, boat or walk. Again, don't drive a car there. Old red double-decked British buses will take you over there, over there to the fair, over there. 
   "Over there, over there, take a bus, take a train over there..cause the Fair is coming, the Fair is coming, the Fair is coming over there...So beware, so beware, so beware...bring a hat to wear, water bottles to drink and..." (Song not finished...quiet yet.)
    The Coaster, or Amtrak trains will drop you off at Solana Beach on the west side rail. A climb or elevator will take you to the top level where a friendly bus will be waiting for you. I have taken the Breeze 101 bus to get there. They go every thirty minutes on the Pacific Coast Highway. 
    Updated information will be coming soon. 
    Balboa Park is celebrating its one hundred year anniversary. We need another three million to fix the outdated roof of the Botanical garden. My football player Schindler supervised its Lily Pond right in front. Schindler rehabbed injured soldiers in the heated pond in 1943 and after the war in 1945. On the Prado walk those my ancient age will find free coffee and donuts at the Senior Center. Walk east over the Cabrillo Bridge is my Rose Garden. My ashes will be spread, over there in the Julia Child's area. 
   Harbor Island will have a bear craft festival. Hundreds of sail boats will be showing off their shirts in a sail boat races. You can watch them from Seaport Village if too lazy to get to Harbor Island. The 922 or 923 buses can drop you off, over there. 
   A conference on Dyslexia will be held at the new San Diego Library's book store. As many as one in five have this affliction. I will be writing a book on how it has impacted my life. It will be out in one year.
  Look for people to stay over in Del Mar. The color chrome is in this year. I have been told that the Kentucky and Preakness winner, California Chrome is coming to Del Mar in July. I will be there, yes I will be there and hopefully he'll win the Belmont Stakes. 
  Remember a valid Compass pass is good on six Amtrak trains. A bar code will soon be included on it.  

t                                                         

The Weston Hotel Saved Me

"No problem sir. Should we get you a taxi?...Let me get some water for you."
   The above dialogue occurred at the Weston Hotel. My puffer or inhaler did not work. I did not know why. My body felt like a dead Oak tree infested with beetles. Somehow I took my dead weight down stairs at the 'Y', and walked into the Weston Hotel. I needed clean air. 
   The San Diego City Counsel denied me an air-conditioner twice. I had even brought in my filthy air filter to prove how dusty San Diego had become. With Dr. Gloria as President,each member told me to "go to hell" so to speak. 
   Outside, the sky had been darkened by the North County fire. Ash had flowed south due to a Santa Ana wind. The temperatures reached almost one hundred degrees. I had pleaded with Sir Thomas the 500 building manager and the city council for an air conditioner - of course without any response. 
    I thought my "puffer" had another 167 puffs but somehow it broke down. To compound my problem, an older variety went dead also. Yet it was Monday, and my energy had been depleted. My mind felt like soap at two in the morning. I knew Death crept under my Cockroach invested Y hotel again. 
   The trolleys would walk the early morning rails at four thirty. It felt great to have Martin, a security guard at the Weston's, take an interest in such an old man-made older with another tooth missing. The little bottle of water helped. He left and I decided to ask the night clerk for a taxi. He did. 
   Outside on D Street for Dead, I waited and waited. The taxi would take me to Old Town where my car Dolly was waiting for me. But the taxi's denied me. At about three I walked to the all-night Seven Eleven on C street. I bought a Bic for one dollar and twenty three cents. I would bluff my way from death's door. 
   I took a warm, too warm shower to forget my woes. I then returned to my cockroach infested room at the   'Y'. I took one of the two elevators up and took a long, too long shower. I returned to my room and listened to the T.V. Another fire was ranging in Texas and this time around. Alaska. 
   I awoke at four thirty. The trolleys now were talking. Yet I was too tired to rail it. I felt a westerly cool breeze from the Harbor.  I fell asleep and woke up at seven thirty. Now  I could drive my car to Kaiser and show them the little puffer that would not work.  

   The eight twenty Amtrak 567 took me to my car. I felt alive and Okay. I brought my inhaler inside the Carlsbad Kaiser Pharmacy. A Latina pharmacist did not quite understand me at first. She then told me the problem with my inhaler. 
   "Must be kept in cool place and washed every week. The dust probably did the damage." I told her none of this was mentioned in the tiny directions that came with this device. I left with an inhaler and a back up. I celebrated my new day with a single puff while waiting for my prescription to be filled."
   I spent my new life at the Carlsbad Library fine tuning my book. My first daughter told me she could book two rooms at Portland for me for Father's Day. My Day was today. 

  Nuts and Bolts for today: Well it is now March of 2015, all temperatures marks had been broken. Thank God I left one of the hundreds of San Diego in the Nick of Time.  

A Visit to Huntington Beach

Three beaches compete for the title of  the Surfing Capital of the U.S.A. They are Ocean, Huntington and Santa Cruz beaches. Today on Sunday, I am to travel to Huntington Beach for my brother Mel's birthday. It is his 74th-about two years younger than mine.  
   My Chevy Cavalier is my hero. This reliable car has saved my life countless time. The car is parked at the Encinitas commuter lot. Amtrak accept Coaster cars on six different times. It is free, cool, and quiet--compared to the Coaster trains. Amtrak has curtains for the sun, push back seats, and a foot rest.
   I have visited Mel for eight years in Huntington Beach. Brother Mel discovered it over forty years ago. It has a clean air westerly flow and deep sand -- good for umbrellas and volleyball. The waves break slow and long. Many years ago Black Gold was found -- so much that the beach goers had a time removing the oil from their feet. Hermosa Beach also was known for Black Tarry Gold.
  Beside the many restaurants, I enjoy sitting on the bleachers with Mel. He walks like a turtle and can barely see out of his good eye. The bad one died about eight years ago from a bungled lazar job by a Vietnamese doctor. The cities of Westminster, and Garden Grove are home to more Vietnamese than any other ethnic group.
  Huntington Beach arrives a few miles north from Laguna Beach and Costa Mesa. The John Wayne Airport services the area. John today rides planes and not horses.  and not a plane.  rides a horse and not a plane for those commuting there. Today, I need to make a pit stop in Jamboree. The off-ramp is in the city of Irvine. I am lost, at first, when I enter a large hotel to the south.
   A sea of Japanese are everywhere. They are quite thin and small. The air is a lot cleaner than it is in San Diego. I feel good, but need a bathroom bad. I enter the Soup Plantation across from the Marriot's Residence Inn. I sit but can't find the toilet seat-at first. I drop down further and find it.
   I feel relieved but now my stomach hungers for a tuna sandwich stored in my trunk. Again, the Residence Inn was a swarm of little Japanese. They had filled the Soup Plantation at nine thirty. The restaurant opens earlier on Sunday.
  On a bench next to me, two were comparing their shoes. One removed a golden laced shoe to show a sore on a toe. They treat their feet like God's. I finished my sandwich and got on the 5 again to Huntington Beach and  got off at Beach Blvd. I made a left on Bolsa and entered my brother's assistant living apartments.
  Mel no longer lived in his room. A Latina pointed to his new accommodations. It was in a wing and again with a new man. I saw him coming his hair. But it was a different Mel today. No grin greeted me today, only death.
   "George, I knew you might be coming. I feel mad they lied. Owner Ed told me they needed to clean my room and not locate me to another one. He lied, as usual. I  don't feel like the beach today, but a In-and-Out Burger might do."
   Mel had trouble locating a shirt. He is almost totally blind. I picked one out for him. He no longer smiled, but smelled like death, His diaper reminded me why he needed to be here. We took the elevator to the first sitting. The table set for four was missing two.
   "Ruth is totally senile. Both of them are in hospitals." A gal on a walker came by and summarized the lunch menu. Her dialogue excited a heavy set lady at the next table. She wore  large face and a torso that made May West's bosom look anemic. She had a laughing fit and her two watermelons went round and round like a circus clown.
   "Let's leave. I want to go to In-and-Out!
    Ok Mel, I said, we will go now. We walked  to the car and I waited for him to catch up. He needed to be close to follow me. We drove down Beach Blvd for several miles and found its golden triangle.
   "Can I have the double-double with fries and a coke." He asked the waitress. She gave us a number and we took a booth.  I hid my disgust and depression. A man starred at us. I felt like punching him out. Our number was called.
   He had no trouble clutching the burger. They butcher and package their meets the same day in Baldwin Park. Mel picked up the burger with both hands and chomped down on it. In no time it was gone. He smiled and asked to go the beach now
   Main Street is Huntington. The gals show off their new bikinis or Botox jobs. The Sugar Shack has an army of people waiting. There are endless volleyball contests going on along with surfers, fishermen and families. Excitement is in the air.
   I told him that now we could not get parking. Yet I knew that after the meal he might have an accident. I drove him home and gave him a twenty. Again he smiled. I returned to the Five freeway and glad that we both lived to celebrate his May 27th birthday.

  Yet there was something wrong with it. It was Memorial Day and I remembered Uncle Henry who was awarded a bronze star for crawling and carrying a fellow soldier in the battle of Guadalcanal. I will never forget how balled he looked after the war. There was also both Barney's and Irving on my Mom's side.
   How our great country has changed from 1945. Now we are looked down upon. Many that enter our services do so for other reasons. Our great traditions and life style is dead.  At least Mel and I can remember when our transistor radios were the cell phones of yesteryear and ten cents meant a chocolate chip cup from the Good Humor Ice Cream Truck.
  
 .

San Diego Library Revisited

   After church, I waited two hours before taking the Trolley to Park Blvd and the wonderful new creation in San Diego. A cattle stampede began just when the library doors opened at one o'clock on Sunday.  
   The inversion layer kept the toxins inside. Most everyone carried a drink. A sea of homeless blacks and whites pushed to be the first one inside the cool San Diego Library. The stench almost made me fall over. Many had folded up their tents on Park Blvd and entered their other home, the San Diego Library.  
   Some were thin, rail thin. Some shoes carried  no laces, others had no sole. Long ago their head pleaded for a haircut.. I few black brothers carried a white gal on a leach-so to speak. Most black males have a white girl friends. Some have told me their Mom's screamed too much.  
   They flooded the 150 computers. All were taken within a few minutes. I scrambled to the eighth floor and got the last one in the nick of time. I punched in my pin number and it was mine. But my mind was nowhere to be found.
  It had not been just hot. But fiery hot. With bad air, even shade trees needed shade from the heat. There had been an inversion layer so the cooler temperatures did not throw me. I knew Sunday I would be locked into another day of limited air.
   Two days ago, some of the homeless had removed their shirts. The smell of stench permeated the libraries elevators, and other area. And it was only May. I had never herd so many sirens. I wondered where the dead meat would be buried.  But I had survived seven days inside the unventilated Y.M.C.A with Cock Roaches. The other day, I tried to avoid looking at a tall kid wearing only his blue underwear. It was an underwear day.
 
  Two days earlier on Friday,  I ordered a burrito for breakfast at Lolita's on Tenth Avenue, a block from the ball park. There is a bus stop across the street. A bushy hair man lay on the bus stop iron bench. One hand held a cigarette and the other a coffee. One leg kicked the other's sandal off. It scratched and scratched-to no avail.  It was hard to make out a face. The white bushy covering hid him from the world. Then he got up and spoke to an imaginary person. He came inside and asked for a drink.
  While this happened, a few gals were jogging, and one was taking two dogs for a walk. I wondered if it was too hot for a hot dog. But it was still early, too early to effect a burn. A Green truck stopped to tend to some flowers in front of me.
    Many of the library irregulars come every day. They used their forefinger to hit the keyboard. Some have taken no shower in ages. Some mutter to themselves. They have no hint of how bad they smell. It is dead sweat, and they are used to it.
   Today I am lucky. The other five computers harbor no smell. I can concentrate and am happy to be wearing a baseball cap. The glare from the sun makes the monitor hard to see. I need to negotiate a change in my monitor.
   Another tour group from some grammar school have come in. They shout and stare at us. I am used to this. The boys who build the library wish to show-case their trophy. But it is not a real library. It is a another amusement ride for San Diego.
   The California room does have an internet connected to research for our ancestors. I was told it was there for nobody to use. The supervisor was scared I would use it for my blog. Well, he is a block head for all its worth.
   But as my daughter has often told me. "Where there is bad their is also good." The library does have one toilet on every floor. Yet that is where the homeless shave, and wash. Who wishes to take a dunk inside the same washroom. I often return home after the library and need to take a shower. My clothes smell of cigarettes and vermin.

  Yet I enjoy their auditorium concerts and also the game of chess on Friday's at three. And, of course there is air conditioning and a great view of San Diego.

This and That from San Diego

I rode the Coaster train to San Diego four years ago. The old library had three microfilms on the second floor. A sports editor used that head for his daily writing. I believe it gave him a chance to beat around the bush--So to speak. And so it is with me. In the last few days, I have taken what life has provided.

I overspent the week of the freakish hot weather. To avoid dehydration, I spent over one hundred dollars attending movies i and eating out. I would have to burn my 40 dollar flight on Spirit the night of the 21st. I had booked a red eye for Portland on Spirit Airlines. But if I could not go, at least I possibly get others to do my footwork. 

  I arrived at San Diego's Lindbergh Field at about five 'clock. I had taken the airport bus after buying a few goodies at the Seven Eleven. I could sit at the gate and pass my blogger card to those traveling to Portland. A machine gave me my boarding pass.for my seven o'clock flight. Of course I had no carry-on bag. 

  The only hitch became security. They put me under an arch and a contraption circled ,e. Then they took my bulging wallet and screed it. Yet I did not react--not the new George. I passed through a maze of gate numbers. Unlike the first floor, there were many restaurants and bars. In fact, even the water coolers worked. 

  I had finished my salad and sandwich and took up a seat in the section for Portland  A rather large lady sat across from me. She had a round freckled face head.  She held a large California Pizza inside a carton. She tried to fold her legs, but without any success. She then grabbed a pants leg with her left hand and dragged the leg over the right one. She sucked each finger with every bite. I never saw anyone eat with so much gusto. 

 A neatly dressed man sat across from me. Why everything he word was perfect. His white hair was cropped just right. He sat demurely with a slight grin on his face. The freckled faced one kept throwing slices of California into her mouth. I heard an announcement over the overhead speakers. 

  "We need volunteers to give up their Portland flight for a hotel and round trip on another." The man across from me confirmed what I had heard. For a moment, I forgot myself and jumped up like I had won a big jack pot. I went to the gate and a representative told me Spirit was oversold by four tickets. He removed my boarding pass and told me to return at six thirty. The possibility of staying in a first class hotel instead of my 'Y" cell intrigued me. I would lavish myself with cold air and a fluffy pillow for the first time in quite a while.  

  I began to chat with David, a Chaplin in the Mission Valley area. Rather than relating my boring chatter, I will reveal what David told me. 

   " I served in the Navy as a Chaplin, I had been stationed in Iraq for a couple of years and seen the war at first hand. On my return to San Diego, I went to a different church and saw how readily they accepted me. They sung, danced and a great time. They also showed me now I would get to heaven."You see George, a few years later, I contacted leukemia. I had to go many treatments of radiation but now it is under control "

   I told David of my similar experience in Old Town and how a Reverend had wet my appetite for religion. He told me his kids were over sixty and his wife wished to have him continue working with those with post war injuries. Over the speaker It became boarding time and it told volunteers to go up front again. 

  Well, it seems that six did not show up. Of course the flight no longer needed me. But the prize I received was finding out that I wished to be put up in a hotel the rest of my life. Also meeting David excited me. I am in heaven when I meet interesting people.  

  Today I had scheduled a meeting with a printer in the Bankers area of San Diego. My meeting with him was set for ten o'clock. I had time to eat a hardy breakfast at the Mercy Scrip's Hospital. And was i in for a treat. For five dollars, I had two pieces of toast, scrambled eggs, hot spinach and three pieces of lean beacon. 

 I scrambled the eggs into the spinach and was I in for a surprise The taste was terrific Unfortunately both the hospital library and the print shop were closed due to Memorial Day. But the memory of the Spinach and eggs will become a trendy treat for me from now on.  

San Diego Council Meeting.

San Diego's City Hall is only about four blocks from me. . I had hoped to speak about my upcoming book, and make the 21st of May 'Amby Schindler Day'. But again, it was a closed meeting--and you know what that means.
  I had already gone through the check point and an officer told me to "go to the second floor to find out when the next open meeting would be scheduled." I took the elevator to the second floor and a nice gentleman tried to show me how the meeting was open or shut. Yet he did provide me with a phone number since the Council's web site was confusing.
  Another officer told me to go to the tenth floor and speak with an assistant to Gloria's office. I wished to find out why we had been given a 60 day termination letter at the old Y.M.C.A. and a week later an apology by the new  Egyptian owners. " Here is the phone number to find out the next council meeting." It was (619) 533-4000. I had been told that Gloria okayed the deal that brought the desert to the beach. (Cairo to San Diego.)
  In that period, many had suffered. One gal just sat next to the second floor window.  I thought she might wish to jump. Others seemed quite out of their minds. And the notice came just as we were to suffer the worst wave of hot air in a century.
   On the tenth floor an assistant to Gloria's office came and sat down. I told her my story about endless sleepless nights, and why we were not afforded an air conditioner or voucher to another building. She took notes and when I mentioned that Gloria had signed the paper giving the new owners the permission to buy the old hotel, her eyes lit up, the same way a mother does when her new born baby pops out.  
  The previous day, I had sent a registered letter to the new landlords about my need for an A/C. I knew they would not allow it, but I also knew I could try to close this hotel for cruelty to animals. Would you believe that the wooden vent above the doors were closed.
   I  thought it was the 21st today. I had scheduled a red-eyed flight to Portland, Oregon at seven o'clock. I would get a boarding pass but not fly. The money budgeted for the flight went to keep my cool during a Black Death Week  in San Diego. I had bought the 40 dollar ticket a week earlier. 
 I bought a four dollar salad carton and chips at the Seven Eleven and waited for the 922 airport bus to the airport. One whiskered man sat in the front drooling over the gal to his left. He wore multicolored socks. Like many, he rode the buses and trains all day to pass time. I got off at Terminal Two. I passed out my card to a few people in Terminal Two. One spoke to me. "Well I don't live there, but my sister does. I will hand her your card. She has a travel agency business."