Memorial Day and Labor Day Weekends of Past years

By kiki

                       

                                

                                               Our motorhome

This coming Labor Day weekend brings back memories of those fishing and camping trips we used to take on the Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends to the Eastern Sierras in our pickup camper and later in our motorhomes.

                      

                              James with his catch: a brown trout

It all started in the late ’60s when we made our first trip to the Sierras in a 1958 Chevy pickup. After that first trip, we bought a 1966 ¾ ton Chevy pickup with an eight-foot cab-over camper.  After about three years of driving the ’66 pickup, we bought our first motorhome in the early ’70s. Drove that motorhome for some four years. In 1976, we bought our last motorhome, a twenty-four-foot 1975 Four Star Dodge motorhome. At that point, we started planning our getaways for the Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends. We would save vacation days to use on those weekends. We would leave for the Sierras on the Thursday before the holiday and return home on the Wednesday after the holiday….Now those holiday weekends are just a distant memory...Connie hasn’t been camping since 2005; I go once a year; on the opening day of the trout fishing season.

           Connie kicking it in one of the campgrounds we would visit.

                        Connie and I camping in the Eastern Sierras

Just The Facts Ma’am, Just The Facts

By kiki

Back in the early '50s in Los Angeles County, not sure if it was the same in all of California; when a teenager under 18 years old received a traffic ticket, he/she didn't have to go to traffic court and pay a fine. Instead, they had to go to a California Highway Patrol office with a parent and have the riot act read to both. Before I turned 18 in 1954, I was a frequent visitor to the California Highway Patrol office on Vermont St. off the 101 (Hollywood Freeway).

When the TV cop show 'Dragnet' was popular, I had to make a guest appearance at the CHP office. I was a minor, so I had my pissed-off mom with me; yes, she wasn't too happy with me "you get too many tickets," she would say to me as we drove the Los Angeles freeways in my 1938 Chevy…We were called into an office where a young cop was sitting behind a desk; no sooner had we sat down in front of his desk when he went into his Joe Friday impersonation "just the facts, ma'am, just the facts," my mom looked at me, I looked at my mom. We both had to bite our tongues to keep from laughing. After reading us the riot act, the wannabe Joe Friday suspended my driver's license for 30 days; he did give me a permit to drive back home…Sweet memories of innocence are hard to beat!!

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The Delgado Cow vs The Train

By kiki

In the Simons Brickyard, most people had chickens, roosters, pigs, rabbits, goats, and cows. Some of the animals were slaughtered for food. Pigs who were killed were soon made into tamales and chicharróns. A stolen goat made great birria on a Saturday afternoon when the men were drinking, and it didn't matter which goat was stolen. Some chickens were saved from having their neck twisted because they could lay eggs. Others were not so lucky as they were made into chicken soup or chicken mole. Finally, the cows were saved from being slaughtered because people needed milk to drink.

The people who lived in El Hoyo (the hole) would take their cows, goats, and other animals to a meadow on a hill by the railroad tracks. You could often see ten or more cows and goats grazing in the tall grass in that beautiful meadow. In late spring-early summer, the grass would rise about 3 feet tall, tall enough for some serious action by the teenagers (know what I mean?) who were supposed to be watching the livestock.

One late 1940s summer day, one of the Delgado girls, I don't remember which one of the girls it was, but it might have been Esther, who had walked the Delgado family's only cow up the hill to pasture. Soon after reaching the meadow, the Delgado girl met her boyfriend Chuy, and within minutes they were romping in the tall grass. 

With nobody to keep an eye on her, the cow made her way to the railroad tracks. I guess she wanted to see how the cows on the other side of the tracks lived, or maybe it was looking for a bull, who knows, but, as the cow was standing on the railroad tracks, a Santa Fe Streamliner passenger train came roaring down the tracks, I still remember that it was heading east. The cow didn't move, and the train didn't stop. A stampede of people was on soon as word got down to the inhabitants of El Hoyo that the Delgado cow had been killed by a train. People by the dozen were running toward the dead cow; some had knives in both hands, sharpening them against each other as they ran to get their steak for that night's dinner…We missed out!

Too Fatigued to Dance

By kiki

I have been feeling really fatigued for the last couple of weeks, completely drained of energy to do anything. My doctors and I know the cause of it, and it’s one of those “damn if you do, and damn if you don’t” things. The doctors can give me something to pick me up, but in doing so, they would be feeding my cancer, so it looks like this will be my life till the end….I write this not to make you feel sorry or worry about me, but as a quick preamble to another Connie story.

Last night, our son James and his wife Veronika invited us out to dinner to celebrate our daughter Linda’s birthday. I told them that they could join Linda and her husband Ray for dinner but that I was just too darn tired to go out. So they did, and Connie told me that they had a great dinner this morning, and I am glad they did!

 This morning Connie asked me about tonight. We have a wedding reception/dance to attend tonight, and Connie was asking me if I was going to be able to go; I replied to her that it was too early to know, but if I couldn’t go that there was no reason why she couldn’t go herself. With a beautiful twinkle in her eyes, she asked me, “I want to go, I want to dance, can I dance?” “Yes, of course, you can dance, but not too close,” I replied to her question “now, who would want to dance too close with this old lady?” she asked “babe, there are lots of blind guys out there” as those words came out my mouth I knew I had said the wrong thing. With the beautiful twinkle in her eyes gone, she said, “you think only blind men would want to dance close to me?! You’ll see tonight!” Go to the dance or not. I know where I’ll be sleeping tonight!!

Pencils for the Blind

 Another sweet memory from Los Angeles's Golden Age of boxing.

                                              

By kiki

Back in the 1950s and well into the '60s, a middle-aged black man used to sit cross-legged, Indian style, outside the main entrance of the Olympic Auditorium on fite nites. He would sit there wearing dark glasses with a white cane with a red tip nearby. His hat turned upside down would sit on the sidewalk full of pencils. As they walked into the arena, the fans would drop coins and paper money into his hat. But, of course, very few would take a pencil. Anything to help the blind, right?.... One fite night, while milling among the crowd in front of the arena, I spotted local boxing manager Ralph Gambina walking across the street, so did our blind friend, because he jumped up and yelled, "hey Ralph Gambina" He caught himself, but it was too late; because many of the fans had seen what he had done. Soon he was gone, only to be back sitting in the same spot with his white cane,  hat, and pencils a few weeks later.

What's that old adage? "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me."

Hugging Lampposts

By kiki

I went out for a haircut this morning, and the barbershop was still closed when I arrived, so I sat in the car and read the paper while I waited for it to open. After reading the gossip pages, I got out of the car to stretch my legs as I continued to wait for the barbers to arrive. As the minutes were ticking, I started getting restless, so I leaned on a pole with a handicap parking sign. For a minute, as I leaned against the sign pole, I saw myself back in the long-ago past, hugging a lamppost while slightly intoxicated. I used to have this thing about trying to keep lampposts from falling down...I got my haircut, walked out, and saw that the handicap sign was still standing...I often wonder if the lampposts I kept from falling down still light up….Sweet memories!! Connie reminded me that the Jimtown car club was named "The Lamplighters" I don't have any dear memories of the Lamplighters as they would run me out of Jimtown when I would visit some of their homegirls. I still remember the dirty looks I would get from the club members as I would pass by Blackie's, a hamburger stand the club used as their clubhouse. But I survived the dirty looks to marry a Jimtown girl; Connie was that girl...

7-11 Pizza and Hot Wings

By kiki

One day I couldn't decide what to have for lunch because I was tired of the same old stuff, so I said to myself, "self, how about some pizza and hot wings from 7-11?" I thought about that, but I was having a hard time with it because I am not a pizza lover and I also know that 7-11's food may not be the best, but, hell, I do love hot wing, and the store is within walking distance, 3/10 of a mile, that's if I wanted to walk, which I didn't, so I said "why not?" so I drove to the 7-11. As I was on the counter waiting for the girl to get the pizza and wings, a smart-ass dude asked me, "dude, don't you have a wife to fix you lunch so you won't have to eat that stuff that isn't good for you?" I looked at the dude and told him, "Dude, I did have a wife, but she left me for a younger dude!" He laughed and said, "you are lucky; mine left me for another dame" Damn! I don't know who was bullshitting who!!

I don't know why the dude would think your wife leaving you for a younger dude would make you a lucky guy.

Tony Baltazar: Pócho vs the Mexican National

By kiki

Back in the day when a Pócho (Mexican-American) was fighting a Mexican National at the Olympic Auditorium, you had to be ready for the unexpected - I remember back in 1980 when my son Tony Baltazar was making his 13^th pro start against an old cagey veteran by the name of Chuy Rodriguez, Rodriguez, a Mexican national, was making his 43^rd pro start. After the bell sounded to end the 4^th round Rodriguez hit Tony, Tony hit him back, causing a nasty cut over Rodriguez’s right eye. The referee called Dr. Bernhart Schwartz up into the ring to examine the cut, the good doctor did so and he told the referee that Rodriguez couldn’t continue the fight. When the referee signal that the fight was over, all hell broke loose. The Mexican nationals started throwing cups full of cold beer and maybe even some hot piss into the ring. I told Tony, as he started to jump out of the ring, to yell "Viva Mexico" But it was clear that that wasn't going to work; so we jumped out of the ring before the 'No Decision' was announced, and with cops around us, we made it by the skin of our teeth to our dressing room. We stay in the catacombs until way after the last fight was over. We were saved to fight another day!