A Car for Mel

A bot tired, I exit the #29 and cross Garfield. I wonder if the corner eatery has put on a new urinal. We old timers never wish to be too far from a bathroom, particularly after drinking sodas. The car wash is busy. Each expensive model has one man smoothing out any water spots or anything else. A Lexus, Caddie, and brand new Chevy SUV is being given a once over.
    The owners pay thirty dollars for these expert cleaners. No spot goes unnoticed  The Huntington Car wash can't be missed. It is on the corner of Beach and Garfield. Like a barber shop, the customer may order a smooth, a decal, or just a rub. Every car smiles on the way out.
    The owners sit quietly, dong nothing but waiting. Signifying they are made of money, they have been giving their cars a shower for up-teen years now. In fact, the only thing that have saved their long marriage has been to distant themselves from their overbearing wives.
     I am glad not to be subservient to some brand new car. My time is valuable so  I continue straight on Garfield until I get to Florida Street and turn right. My nap sack feels a bit heavier now. Finally I get to 18811 Florida Street and open the door. I am going on my third year now, and perhaps if Mel had been given better care at the Pacific Spartan Assistant living, he never would have had to be sent here. Among other  ailments, Mel has had a inner ear cancer for more than two years. He is not only clean of cancer, but is content once again.  I hand two beets and one corn to the kitchen and do my best this added food won't get lost.
    "Oh hi Kelly, happy Thanksgiving to you You look great...lost of few pounds eh?...Did you remember to give Mel his spaghetti." Kelly is tall, trim, and a effervescent smile...so what if she is part cross-eyed. Nobody is perfect,yes?
     "Made it myself...three times for your brother...Nice to see you...By...Got to run.."
   
Mel is inside a hospice area, room 135 B. He has just been given a bath by his warm caring assistant maintenance nurse Mel sits up and greets me. In bed one is Jeffery, a nice chap of eighty five who enjoys listening in. He is large and immobile. His smile is infectious .
   "Did you see that game...Ram won 54-51." Mel looks trim and happy, and why not, after a long bath. Shit maybe I would love a long bath every other day. Never have I seen my brother Mel any happier in the last year or two.
   "Are you using the walker Mel?"
    "Yes, every day...And my sugar count is normal. 135... How is Linda?...You told me she has a car. Did she return to her job."
     "Not yet...The baby is getting all the attention "
    "What happened to all the furniture on our old house in Beverly Wood."
    "Well, Mel, gave everything including cars to our sister Polly. But dig get all the photos. Anyhow, those are only things but I got the memories
     "Do you wish any steaks Mel?"
      "No, but would love one of Derik's Turkey and hope we get a car." 
  I left Mel exhausted but happy he now is content and walking. After a quick meal at Panda Express and a stop at the dollar, and goodwill store, I made it to the beach stop on Main and Beach. I felt exhausted, yet after I climbed aboard the next stop energized me...and how!
   An Asian holding a seat walker climbed aboard with stuff in bags on the two seat walker. She looked trim and certainly Asian, but with higher cheek bones and large face. She did not look a day over thirty. She pulled the rip cord signalling her stop was next."
    "No, no make mistake. Not this stop the one..."
     "You mean the one on Edinger?"
     "Tank you, wish to buy a pizza...am hungy..."
      "Are you Vietnamese?"
      "No Buddha."
      "Bet you are no more than forty"
       "Sisty five...We Asians luk younger than you. We don't age
    The bus turned and I left the pretty one sorry i did not own a car or dentures yet...yet

                            A Car for Mel 
                   Sea Cliff Health Center
                   188811 Florida Street 
                   Huntington Beach, 92648 Cal (Bed 135 B) 
                   Make checks out to me, George Garrett in care of Mel, 
                    Happy Thanksgiving  
                     

                                       




     
   
   
"
 
 

Lindbergh Field , San Diego Part 2

I have always been fond of Urinals.
    The story I enjoyed writing the most was about a urinal inside of  inside Lindbergh Field, now called San Diego International Airport . 
   As an asthmatic all of my life, pure air and clean urinals have been a must for me. The 992 bus comes every fifteen minutes and stops on the corner of Kettner, next to Starbucks and across the street from Bank of Mex-America. Those who cross the border, illegally or not, have chosen this bank since it is slice of America and the tellers speak only Spanish. 
   I sit in my birds eye seat at Starbucks. Outside are shopping carts, bikes, and trash bags filled with cans and bottles. The Blue Line Trolley has just arrived and several passengers from Mexico enter. Many have permits to work as waiters, cooks, baggage handlers, and domestics. 
   At the bus stop everyone rises as the bus has just arrived. I my mocha, hitch on my knapsack and run to the stop. I tap my $42 compass card and find a seat.  The bus continues on Broadway till Harbor and makes a right turn. To the South pier is moored the Midway Aircraft Carrier and the famous fish restaurant. 
   I just love buses The Harbor lights are the most beautiful at the crack of dawn. We pass a cruise ship dock, Anthony's Fish Grotto, and the steamship Berkeley and the old galleon, the Star of India, built in Bristol, England over one hundred years ago. After leaving the head quarters of the Coast Guard, the bus stops at Terminal One and then Two. 
   "Gracias, Buenos Dias. " 
   The bus driver nods as the Airport employees descend. After I get off at Terminal Two, I take the escalator to the second floor. The fresh pure air makes my legs sings with excitement. I order the usual breakfast at Le Salsa and buy a ninety cent senior coffee at Mac Donald's. 
    

The Pittsburgh Eleven

"Who me?" 
 "Yes!" What is your Dad's Hebrew name?
  "A...a...a...Hershel." 
   Unsteadily I approached the Torah. The Rabbi smiled and shook my hand. To my left stood the rabbi. He smiled and shook my hand. The little man with whiskers, wearing the colors of the orthodox black began with my help to open the holy book. I took a string from my prayer shawl and touched the silver pointer of  the Rabbi Aron Berkowitz. Her reads several paragraphs as I try to follow. Then I read the morning prayer from a sheet in front of me.
    It is Saturday the third of November. I feel chipper today since I dropped off a cashiers check to the office of my apartment. Chabad of Huntington Beach is off of Warner, a block east of Bolsa Chica. I had taken up my seat at about ten o'clock. There area about eleven worshipers in attendance. 
    Afterwards, a take a deep breath it is over, but not quite. The Gabbi looks my way. 
     "Who would you like to pray for, Ben Hershel?"
      "You" I react without thinking.? 
       "No not you!" Something turns me to the congregation. The words fumble out of my mouth. A tear empties on my shirt. 
     I pray that the friends. sons, daughters of the Pittsburgh Eleven. I pray that soon the anger with its resentments will Make our nation stronger.  
      I thought about my own daughters and how I would feel.  My oldest daughter never fails to tell me that she is always shocked as to whatever comes out of my mouth, and usually has to blush. But this time I must have hit a chord, the right one. This congregation understands a little English so the Gabbi needed to translate for me. Rabbi Aron was at his best today as he spoke about the burial of Sarah. It was one of his best talks.
    "Sarah lived to be 127 years old and her husband traveled to Hebron to make a deal with the its king, Ephiron. Abraham wished to part with a money in exchange for land next to Hebron. 
     "No, you and your family are one of us. Just take it. I don't wish your money." 
      Abraham was a man of few words. He paused and then demanded that he should make some payment. Abe was no stupid. He knew it would not be a contract without  a sum of money. The King thought for a few moments and then asked for 400 pieces of gold. Abraham without so much as a pause gave him the 400 pieces. 
      "You see that Abe had an eye for the truth whereas the King dwelt with things and property. Abe, several years later joined his wife." 

Several people spoke to me during the kiddish. Of course what comes from the heart is more real that a contrived speech. 


Nuts and Bots for Today:  Stand tall and never give up any ground.  

   

San Diego Diary Part 2

I somehow survived my first night at the "Y" in downtown San Diego. It felt great to have a roof over my head and lucky that General Cartwright thought that I was another Section Eight. I needed to come up with $1,200 including the four hundred dollar security deposit. It was August of 1911.
   Since our small cells did not include a toilet, I used a Minute Maid  orange juice container at night for my bladder.  Of course at times  I had accidents that made the industrial carpet damp in the morning. I did have a small fridge in the corner next to a desk with a telephone. I felt lucky.
    Some of my retirement check went to a family member so that the $200 owed to the Encinitas Quality Inn needed to be paid, which I did. Again it felt great to have a roof over my head and a manager who greeted me with a smile and fresh cologne each morning. I just loved General Cartwright.
     "Mr. Garrett, you can get fresh towels each day and help yourself to the fresh coffee we prepare each morning. And we clean your room each week. Let me know if you need anything."
      His real smile and his smell gave a luster to my day. To this day, i wonder what type of cologne he wore. He waltzed into the lobby wearing a well pressed suit. Why I might have thought that he shopped at Macy's. His shoes sparkled as if they were polished by some master shoeshine maker 
      Still with cobwebs in my head ever since I lived inside my little Chevy, It took a while to give up the stars for a real, yes a real roof, and no more sleeping in my car. I had just over one hundred dollars left that first month in August, but it would have to do. I remembered Anthony's Fish on the Harbor. My ex-girl friend introduced me to the famous fish house when she still enjoyed my company.

By far the joint I learned to love most of all was Starbucks, about a block west down Broadway. After a shower and shave, I left room 204 on the second floor and began to descend the..
   ."Hi Mr. Cartwright, nice to see you." He was scrubbing  the rails of the staircase. . In fact much later on, I learned that he had a need for cleanliness. Everything needed to be polished. I walked across the Southern Pacific rails and continued on Broadway till I  got to Harbor where I turned right. After a cruise line pier Anthony's loomed up.
      "Can I have some English chowder."
       ""Do you want anything else?...Your number is 21, thank you."
     Sea Gulls ;pulled up a chair next to me.  The smell of the clams and little breads must have signaled it was dinner time for them. I noticed a drink machine across the way so to save money, i asked a server for an empty cup.
      With the sun from eleven o'clock hitting me in the head, I felt juiced up. Yes, alive for the first time in months, I thanked God for this little fling with the cup of chowder It was great to have been joined by these gorgeous birds of God. I threw little pieces of fries there way. A few were so adept to catching them on the fly they could have played center field for the Dodgers.
      I must have stayed there for hours, in fact I lost track of time. A little later, a few homeless ones entered the bathroom. As San Diego had no public restrooms, I felt gratified that they had a place to wash and clean their clothes. Inside the Harbor were a few fishing boats and a coast guard cutter. Later I found out that the Coast Guard Headquarters was about a half  down.
     At about noon, I walked across Harbor and made my way to the then  Holiday Inn. I grabbed a mint and a free U.S. Today paper from the lobby and lounged on a sofa. Yes, I certainly felt alive myf first day in San Diego.

Santa Monica's Hot Dog on a Stick

It is a foggy day in Santa Monica Beach. The birds are rolling everywhere. The scooters have taken over the strand. I sit next to the famous Hot Dog on a Stick. In front of the bench are the volleyball courts, and to the south is the Fire Station. It is going on Ten o'clock. The saxophone player is setting up while I removed myself from reality. Karen has taken Li'l Nell for a stroll. At two years old, she needs a nap or else hell will break loose
   I am one of the few left who had played volleyball into the eighties and nineties. can';t remember having such a time as my buddies, Bobby Barber, "Spider", "Bud' and others. A dollar and change was all I needed for a lemon drink then. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Karen and spot the eyes of my grand daughter Nell. Nell runs away from the Stroller and straws a sip out of my small cup. It is her first drinking lemonade but I can assure you it won't be her last.
   The sax player has a good audience who show their pleasure by placing a bill into the box. He is professional. Nell begins to dance, with a wiggle there and a foot there. Music charms her the same way it does a cobra to the sound of a flute. She dances with her Micky doll and as always, many gaze at the rhythm of the twenty-month-year-old.
     She spots the sand and as quick as one can blink an eye throws her body into it. She watches some volleyball with four on each team. She loves to play ball. She spots me I sit on the old wooden bleachers. She follows. A few harmless homeless share the wood with me but who cares I hear a loud voice that scares a few pigeons from the remains of a hot dog.
      "Get her away from the trash...She'll bet germs."
       I don't react but do grab Nell and retreat her to the sand. She is up again and this time to a large cement fish on a small incline park. It is dangerous as she might just fall. Her cries are muffled by the sight of the Merry-Go-Round.   Nell is petrified of the real life looking wooden horses. I pay three dollars for tickets, two for adults and one for children
        Karen decides to place Nell on a a horse that is glued to the ground. Nell sits on her lap as the horses go round and around, round and around to music. Nell, this time doesn't cry as a standing does not move. It is the movement that scares Nell.
        Nell lives in her own world and tries to do everything an adult can do. No longer a baby, she fears the fire trucks, the backfires of cycles, but still takes chances. We stroll over to the Third Street Mall. Each entertainer has an hour to perform. The good entertainers can make out a daily living as the sax player.
        Entranced by the sound of drums. She stops to play a few percussion instruments. A new store is opening and she sees some pails and stickers as a promotion. She plays there for a few minutes before both Karen and I decide to leave.
         The number seven takes us home and as you can guess it. She falls fast asleep all the way home as the wheels on the bus go round and round as it puffs away from each station. She is still fast asleep as we stroll up Bagley to her Mom's home.


Nuts and Bolts for Today: Success comes before work only in the dictionary

Seventh Street Starbucks

Starbucks off Seventh Street begins my day to downtown Los Angeles. From where route Sixty Six ends at the Santa Monica Pier I now arrived at the other end on Seventh Street.
   After a trip from West Los Angeles to Western on the Rapid Blue bus, I paid for a ride on the underground Blue Line Train for Downtown Los Angeles, by loading the card for my seventy cent trip to Seventh Street.
    As usual a heavy stench told me that a homeless one slept across two seats. Countless home in on the Long Beach Blue line without buying any ticket Never are there any police on board for a good reason...they might be killed dong their job.
    "Next stop Vermont Station." My stop on Seventh was next.
     "This stop is Seventh Street. You may transfer to the Exp line or Long Beach line at this station."
    Now on Seventh, I walked west towards Figueroa towards the brand new skyscraper the Korea towers. The bikes in the racks slept as nobody in their right mind will ride a bike downtown. What a waste of money.I sat inside Starbucks savoring each sip of my green tea.
    Just too bad I looked eighty today. Wish my body could be young again like my mind. Nobody paid attention to this old one. Why I had even cut my hair...Wonder how much these men pay for their leather shoes.
    The one rest room was out of order  Of course unlike Santa Monica, Los Angeles can't afford any public restrooms. I took my tea outside and sat by the table. The Santa Ana winds had subsided and it was clear with a just a little chill in the air. I felt invigorated
     It is great to watch the hustle and bustle of these workers Across from me and the Bank of America it read nine o'clock. My stomach spoke. "George, time to get to the 85 store bakery for some delicious treats." I took care of my bladder problem in a inconspicuous way and walked up Seventh two blocks to Hope Street. Another two blocks and not far from where Hope stops at the Central Library I smelled my quarry.
    Inside the glass menagerie was large assortment of muffins, cakes and rolls. Each baked goods was enclosed inside a clean bright glass unit. I took my tongs and selected two chocolate croissants. I had no idea how much the Asians love these treats. I paid a few dollars for my treats and took up a seat in that fronted on Hope Street. Outside a truck pulled up hooked to a wagon that pulled an aluminum stoves.   I took my time with these cakes. I did not need to bite into them...And anyway, I don't have teeth. Each sweet morsel evaporated inside my mouth. I have never tasted anything so tasty.
   I am lucky to be alive to appreciate life like no other.What a shame my eighty year old mind can't share it with a thirty year old body.



Nuts a bolts for today. Your bank account may be empty, but your mind might be richer than anything held in any bank.
   
   
     

Teh Santa Monica Stand

The bench sits between the Hot Dog and a Stick  and Deans Bar and Grill  In front of me to the south of the pier are the volleyball courts that gave me a new life over twenty years ago.  From the northwest the Malibu winds kick in to remove the dirt and grime from the exhausts of automobiles while  the last of the fog pushes west.
   It is ten o'clock and quiet at the old Muscle Beach. A guitar player assembles speakers and removes his guitar. He has played jazz there for many years. A few scooters skate buy. Slowly these birdies are removing bikes and skateboards from the strand. In the forties, trams ran back and forth from Venice to Santa Monica Beach.
   The cold fog has lifted and so too my spirits. Just like in 1989, the sun, volleyball and laughter ushered in a new life. I walk towards the pier and sit on the old wooden bleachers. I remove my jacket and shirt and allow the rays to massage my body. Courting six on each side, two games are going on. After several minutes I descend and return to the bench.
    "Is that you George?" from the bench I hear a familiar friendly noise. I barely make out the image as my left eye is overdo for cataract surgery.Slowly and image appears.
    "Arnold, so nice to see you."
     "Missed you George. Not too many of us still around.
     "Visiting a friend in West Los Angles. I am the Godfather of Connie's grandchild Nell. How has your health bin "
      "Just got over a sever ear problem  Now taking medication for it. Makes me dried but no longer suffer. Wife has her ailments too. Lost my oldest brother a few months ago. Died at ninety seven taking care of his wife...You know George, as we live longer, we now take pills to do what our body sued to do."
       At 83, Arnold looks younger than ever. Its great to reflect on the good times I had at the pier for many years before I moved to San Diego. His brother was a regular here and died of a brain tumor about sixteen years ago. The electrical genius is a transplant from New Jersey who fell in love with Santa Monica as far back to the fifties. Since I have albums of Santa Monica that go back to the forties, I ask him about these beaches.
      "Well George, when I was here in the fifties, they dredged the area in front of you and built break water to keep the sand in place...Over there was the old Chase Hotel. It stood in front of the platform where muscle beach got its name...Jack La Lane, Marilyn Monroe, Jane Russel, and Mansfield used gravitate here to the beach."
       "How well did you know Bobby Barber?...Didn't  he begin volleyball here in the forties."
        "Hell no. I spoke to people from another generation and volleyball had been going on for a long time..We had no problems here as promiscuity and muscle building went hand in hand...We had a shack and for a few cents, one could have a ball. No such thing as the Me Too here. The wrestlers has a great time here."
         "Got to go now, and see you again real soon. Lookin to moving here."
      I began to walk north, and go to the bridge that connects the Palisades with the strand when...
          "Is...that...really you George..."
          Bill was covered from head to toe with fabric. Wearing a wide brim hat, he stops his bike and homes in on me.  He worked as a life guard here after semi pro football. He was tall, lean, and muscular.
           "You look just great Bill. How the wife?...have a picture of her?"
           "No, George...crime is rampant in Santa Monica. Don't carry a wallet or keys anymore...Just had a knee replacement and do for shoulder surgery."
            "Will never forget your serves. The sky balls were impossible to judge when the ball came down." Instead of a booming serve just over the net, he overhanded it up into the sky where the wind took over and made it hard to corral."
            "Some of the players play in front of Ocean Beach or Mother's."
        By now I felt a little dizzy as i needed a shade. I said my good-by and gave him my card.
            "Tell my buddies to call me at this number?"
      At eleven the day had just begun  I walked my way over the bridge and found my way to the third street mall. Many thought it might rain again so not too many people on the Third Street Promenade.
Next to the theater was an Italian eatery. I ordered spaghetti and meatballs. She gave me a number and a cup.
       I drank three cups of water and took up my seat. My food came and I can't think when I enjoyed a meat ball so much. A singer sang some Jewish songs and I felt in bliss. (More to come..)

   Nuts and bolts today:  The Surf City Air Show begins Friday. It is worth showing up. Parking is limited. Can take the number one or 29 bus to get close and walk the rest of the way.