Looking for Johnny

Foreword

This trout opener will live forever in the annals of our Eastern Sierra fishing. Great memories were made, memories that some of the younger guys will be telling their kids and grandkids for years to come...It had been many years since I had laughed so hard. I'd laughed so much that my sides were hurting really bad.

                                               The Tiger Bar

                                 

By kiki

A young man named Johnny (a pseudonym) was with us on our recent fishing trip. Johnny and his dad, Johnny SR. (again a pseudonym), were on their first fishing trip to the Eastern Sierras. Unfortunately, Johnny JR., who is 21 years old but could pass for 14, got lost on the first night in June Lake. 

After stopping at Tom's Place for burgers and drinks, we arrived at midday Friday at June lake during the beginning of a massive snowstorm. By late Friday afternoon, cars and cabins were blanked with beautiful white snow. The scene around the cabins, nestled under pine trees, looked like a Christmas card scene. Later that night, Johnny played in the snow with some kids from one of the cabins. Taylor, a young girl, who was around 11 or12 years old, asked Johnny his age; when Johnny told her he was 21 years old, she told him, "you should go to the Tiger Bar; our parents are there; tell them you know Taylor, and they'll buy you a beer." 

Johnny agreed to go to the Tiger Bar, up the street from the cabins, but he wondered how he would know who Taylor's parents were; since he had never met them, Taylor told Johnny she would take care of that. Taylor found a paper plate and wrote, "I am Johnny.

 I know Taylor" Taylor and her siblings then hung the paper plate "nametag" with some fishing line over Johnny's neck. The kids then pointed Johnny toward the Tiger Bar and sent him on his way. Johnny entered the bar, pointed to his name tag with the index fingers of both hands, and asked: "who knows Taylor?" A lady said, "I do; I am her mother" again, Johnny pointed to his name tag with the index fingers of both hands and said, "I am Johnny." 

After having a couple of beers with Johnny, Taylor's parents told Johnny they were going back to the cabins and asked him if he would go back with them "no, I am going to drink another beer," Johnny told the parents. Unfortunately, Johnny must have had more than "another beer" because he went missing after that.

Saturday morning before dawn found our guys getting ready to go out and hook the big one. But one guy was missing, yup, Johnny was missing. As the guys were looking for Johnny in the bedrooms, a letter was found at the cabin's door. Taylor's letter, written very eloquently, stated that Johnny had decided to stay at the bar when asked by her parents if he was ready to return to the cabins. The note had a "P.S." it read, "everybody knows his name because we put a nametag on him.

Not finding Johnny in any of the bedrooms sleeping it off, Johnny SR did what any parent would do when a kid goes missing; he called the local sheriff's office and reported Johnny missing. Soon we had a search and rescue team with dogs, a sheriff's posse on horseback. Of course, I am exaggerating here, but we did have a couple of deputies looking for Johnny. Johnny SR tried calling Junior on his cell phone a few times but to no avail. Finally, in what must have seemed to be a lifetime to Johnny SR, Junior answered his cell phone by asking his dad, "how is the fishing?" Senior couldn't believe what he was hearing. Junior asked how the fishing was when everybody else hoped he wouldn't be found frozen to death in a snowbank. 

"Where are you, Johnny Sr asked? Junior looked at his surroundings and replied: "in the cabin, still in bed" "He's in the cabin, he's still in bed," Senior told the deputies; hearing that, the deputies rushed into the cabins asking, "where is Johnny?" Somebody answered, "whatever it is, we didn't do it" After looking in all the rooms one deputy said, "he is not in here." 

Senior again called Junior, "Junior, we looked in both cabins, and you are not in either cabin" Junior checked his surroundings and told Senior, "well, I am in a cabin, let me go outside and see which cabin I am in" 

Once outside, Junior checked the cabin for an address, finding one he gave to his dad. Senior gave the address to a deputy "he's at Emily's," (a pseudonym) said the deputy, "who's Emily," asked Senior. "Emily is a well-known "party lady" in the loop," replied the deputy. After Senior brought Junior back, we asked him how he wound up in Emily's bed and was the bed comfortable? he said he didn't remember how he crawled into Emily's bed, and yes, the bed was comfortable. - Johnny Jr., now treated like a rock star at the Tiger Bar, has a reputation with the Tiger's patrons as a "bit of a lad," as the Brits like to put it.

                                            The Tiger Bar

Happy Birthday, Babe

                                   

                                             

April 22 is Connie's birthday, and no, I am not telling her age, not that she would mind if I did; at least, I don't think she would, but better to be safe than sorry. Que no?!… This month marks the 69th anniversary of our meeting for the first time…We met during the spring of '54, and after dating that spring and into the summer and fall months, we married on a cold winter day in December of the same year. Yes, we were kids when we got married and had to work hard to make our marriage work; okay, "Connie worked really hard!" But after a long, challenging, and sometimes smooth journey, we find now that we are in the twilight of our life's journey, the so-call "Golden years," if you must, to be the best of times in our marriage. And what did we do to make it the "best of times?" we've learned to stay out of each other's way...Lol! On a more serious note, the truth is that Connie, who can be salty, sensuous, and sweet simultaneously, and I, in the intervening years, learned the art of compromise. We know that neither can have it all our way, so we try to find common ground in whatever endeavors we partake in as we continue our Golden Years Journey.

Connie is a very private person who doesn't do social media; she too doesn't like it that I write about her and post said writings on Facebook and on my blog "Why are you putting my life story out there for everybody to see and read?" I tell her that I only write about the funny things that she does and says, like when she calls me a pendejo when I do something stupid or dumb; or when she does things, such as the time that she made me a hamburger but forgot to put the burger patty in the hamburger. It was hilarious how she rushed out of the kitchen holding a spatula with a patty and yelling, "kiki, wait! I forgot to put the burger in your burger!" She funny? Hell, yes, she is!! But she will still tell me, "I'm not funny!" But the lady is funny without trying to be funny! And, so I write!... Connie has also been the rock that has kept the family foundation from crumbling.

But the above being said, I've been married to her for nearly 69 years, and there is still much about her I'll never fathom, simply because she is a woman.

  

           

Connie, you are a light that will shine forever, and even though you will most likely not see or read this, I wanna wish you a great day on this special day...Happy Birthday, Babe

kiki

Mexican American Boxing in Los Angeles

Had lunch with Gene Aguilera, author of “Mexican-American Boxing in Los Angeles”… It is a great book that covers the Los Angeles Chicano boxing community from the early days of Aurelio Herrera and Joe Rivers to the latter days of Oscar De La Hoyo and Chicanito Hernandez, and in between there is Baby Arizmendi, Manuel Ortiz, Enrique Bolanos, Art Aragon, Carlos, and Al Chavez, Keeny Teran, Gil Cadilli, Mando Muniz, the Montes brothers, Frankie and Tony Baltazar, and many more that made boxing come alive in the City of Angels in those golden years when the Chicano boxer was a star….I highly recommend this great book.

Camping and Trout-Fishing the Eastern Sierras: How a Family Tradition was born

By kiki

                  

One late spring day in the mid-'60's, my late cousin Tonito AKA Tony Adame, and his family came to visit us. As we sat in the backyard downing a few cold ones, he asked me what plans did we have for the coming 4^th of July holiday weekend, "none," I told him.

"How about going to Independence Creek in the Eastern Sierra, and doing some trout fishing and camping?" Tonito asked me

I had never done any trout fishing or any kind of fishing for that matter, and being a big city guy, I had never heard of the Eastern Sierra, much less Independence Creek. And the last time I had camp was as a teenager when I used to go rabbit hunting in the Lake Elsinore (Alberhill) area with our late uncle, John Adame, around 1950-'51, a long time ago for sure. So I told Tonito that I had never done any fishing and didn't think I would like it, and besides that, I didn't have any fishing or camping gear.

Back row: Poncho and Tony. Front row: Max and KiKi. Rabbit hunting, circa 1950

"You can always go to K-Mart; they have everything you need to go fishing and camping," Tonito was setting me up for the hook. 

Then, the boys who were beginning to have an interest in our conversation started to chime in; Fernie, who was about 9 years old, and Anthony, about 6 (Bobby was too young to know what was going on), started saying, "yeah, dad, let's go fishing, we wanna go camping." So, after downing a few more tall ones, which helped convince me, I agreed to go fishing "okay, we'll go with you," I told Tonito. But I needed to go to K-Mart first. 

A week later, Tonito returned, and we went to the local K-Mart store; I told him to tell me what to buy. The first thing he told me to buy was a fishing license; that done, we started to fill a shopping cart with camping and fishing gear; I still remember the "Snoopy" fishing poles I bought for Fernie and Anthony, the bill for Coleman stove, lantern, ice chest, fishing poles, license (for me only) fuel, bait, Couple of bedrolls, etc., came to about $110.00 if memory serves. Try buying all that now for less than 5 Fanklin's, no way!!

Next, I had to get my 1958 Chevy pickup in good running order. Easy! An oil change and a new set of Champion Spark Plugs, and it was ready to roll. Fernie asked me if he could invite some of his friends from the avenue; I told him "sure" Couple of friends that Fernie invited that, over 50 years ago, I can remember, were the late Roy Hill and Joey Morin.

The 4^th that year fell on a Monday, and we agreed to leave on the Friday before the holiday to make sure, Tonito said, that we were able to get a campsite, as they were on a first-come, first-serve basis. So my wife Connie and I were able to get off work that Friday without a problem.

The Friday before the 4^th sneaked up on us fast. I woke up that morning eager to get on the road; I, who didn't want to go in the first place, was now more anxious and more excited than the kids about going fishing and camping. So, after brewing some coffee, I woke the boys up, and while Connie and I, with our daughter Linda's help, loaded up the pickup, I had them go after their friends who were going with us. Tonito, with his wife and kids, arrived a bit after 7:00 AM ready to roll; he asked for a cup of coffee and getting it said, "let's roll" I told Tonito that I would follow him as I had no idea how to get to Independence "just follow me" he said.

With the pickup bed loaded with camping gear and the boys (people could ride in the back of pickups back then), Linda was riding in the cab with Connie and me; we drove the I-10 to the I-5 north, in the San Fernando Valley, we took state Highway 14 to Mojave. After making a pit-stop in Mojave, we continue driving northeast on the 14. Fifty miles or so later, we hit Highway 395. As we were driving north on the two-lane highway, I wondered, 'what am I doing out here in No Man's Land?' because we were surrounded by nothing but a dry desert. But as we kept driving, the landscape began to change; we started seeing green trees and grass. Soon we arrived in Lone Pine, a beautiful small town that sits on the Eastern Sierras' foothills. After stopping in Lone Pine to gas up and to buy a couple of camping tents at a local sporting goods store, we drove another 15 miles north to the tiny town of Independence. Independence is so small that it has no stop signs on its main thoroughfare (Highway 395). However, it does have one flashing yellow light on its "main intersection," which is where we turned left to drive 7 miles up a steep grade to the Upper and Lower Grays Meadow campgrounds; we camped in the Lower campground if memory serves. 

Once we set up our camping site, Tonito asked me to follow him to the creek with a fishing pole in hand. I looked at the roaring creek and told Tonito, "there's no fish in there; the water is coming down too fast for any fish to survive" Tonito replied, "you think so? Watch this" he then dropped his line in the water. He had a fish, a rainbow trout in less than a New York minute; I was hooked! And so were the boys.

The long weekend went by really fast, and after sleeping under the stars in the pickup bed and doing some great fishing, it was time to head home. Heading home, we hit a heatwave; it had to be about 110 degrees as we drove through the Mojave Desert. I told the boys riding in back to cover up so that they wouldn't get burned; little Roy wouldn't listen and rode shirtless; needless to say, by the time we got home, Roy, a white boy, looked like a red lobster!

Back to work on Tuesday, I called the paint store I did business with and asked to speak with Junior; Junior was a young man who for the last year or so had been wanting to buy my pickup; I asked him if he still wanted to buy the pickup, he said, "yes" I told him to bring me $400.00, and it is yours. That afternoon Junior showed up with his father-in-law and gave me the 4 bills; I gave him the keys and told him I would bring him the pink the following day…I called Connie and told her to pick me up because I needed a ride home "what happened to your truck?" she asked, "sold it," I said…Connie picked me up, and as we were rolling down Citrus Ave. in Covina, I spotted a Chevy pickup with a camper on it in a dealer's lot "pull into that lot," I yelled at Connie, she'd after she told me not to yell at her. The truck was a 1965 ¾ ton with an 8-foot over-cab camper. The low mileage one-year-old truck and camper the salesman said was going for $1,999.00. After test driving it a couple of blocks, I told the salesman, "I'll take it; here are 4 bills for a down payment; when can I pick it up?" I asked that because if you remember, back in those years, credit checks were done over the phone, and it would take days to get anything on credit "step into the office and fill out some papers, and you can drive it home as soon as you're done" I was told "wow" I got to drive it home on the same day we bought it!

As soon as we got home, I told Connie, "we're going back to Independence in two weeks" I called my later brother-in-law, Willie, and invited him and my sister Annie and their kids to go with us. Two weeks later, on a Friday evening, we were on the road to Independence. I remember getting a flat tire on the way up. After that trip, we, with Willie, Annie, and the kids, made another couple of Independence trips that year. In the next few years, we made family trips, some guys-only trips in the pickup/camper, and later in a couple of motorhomes that we bought, to the Independence area and further north. Around the same year, we started a family tradition: to go to the Eastern Sierra for the opening weekend of the trout fishing season. Although we now go to the June Lake Loop for the opening weekend, where we rent some cabins, things change when you get old. James, who wasn't yet born in those early years of fishing and camping, and Bobby, reserve the cabins every year.

Tonito

Tonito never did go with us again. I need to thank Tonito, who passed away relatively young, for introducing the boys and me to the Eastern Sierra and trout fishing. Thank you, Cuz, you don't know what you started.

                                                 Convict Lake 

Fast forward to 2020: For me, a family tradition that started in the mid-1960s because of age and health issues has ended. I've recognized that aging closes the window of physical strength (and perhaps mental acui . Memories of those times; I will always cherish: Those memories create sadness and gratitude for the times I've had. 

I now view every season as one more clip from the ribbon of time that I wished I had left to be with my boys. For me now, my one hope is to one day know that all of my sons and my two adopted sons, Camper Mike and Pinche Mijo, AKA Rico, are together up in the Eastern Sierra wetting a 4-pound test line in one of the many pristine lakes or creeks that are in abundance in the Sierra. - I don't know if I deserved it, but I would like them all to drink a beer in my honor. And so, with teary eyes and a heavy heart, this old fisherman bid farewell to God's Country, the Eastern Sierra, and to all of my boys, I say, "have a great day of fishing, and I love you all."

                                          Independence Creek

P.S.

On the first trip that Willie, Annie, and their kids made with us to Independence, my boys and some of their friends with us were going wild in the campground, and some camper complained to the forest ranger about them. The ranger walked up to me and started to tell me about the boys; I stopped him in mid-sentence and said to him that they were not my kids; I pointed to Willie and said: "those kids are his" he walked up to Willie and read him the riot act. Poor Willie, whose kids were too young to get into any mischief, couldn't get a word in edgeways.