Thursday, September 25, 2014

Wicked Sense of Humor

By kiki

Wicked Sense of Humor

Back in the ’90s, the company Connie worked for relocated to Tijuana, and she was offered a job transfer; I had just retired, so she accepted the transfer, so we moved to San Diego to start a new chapter in our life story. One early morning after Connie had left for work, I rode my Harley to a nearby gas station convenience store to buy the Los Angeles Times. Working the counter was a young girl, in her early 20’s I would say. Behind her on a counter were the condoms. I asked her for a pack of Trojan Condoms, and as she turned around to get them, I said, “extra-large, please” she made a fast turn-around and looked like she was going to faint, so I right away said, “I am just kidding, I don’t want condoms, especially extra-large.”

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Lena - Joe and Johnnie

By kiki

The late Los Angeles boxing trainer, Johnnie “Mr. Golden Gloves” Flores, once told me a story about how he met the beautiful actress/singer Lena Horn. 

Johnnie’s story: soon after WWII ended, Johnnie was in a fancy restaurant in New York City with WWII buddy, longtime heavyweight champ Joe Louis. And according to Johnnie, both he and Louis were broke. So they were sitting there trying to figure out how to pay for dinner when Lena Horn and a friend walked in. Louis stood up and invited Horn and her friend to his and Johnnie’s table, and as he was doing so, he told Johnnie to order anything he wanted.

They all had a fancy dinner with fancy umbrella drinks. After dinner, Louis asked the waiter for the check, which he got; he then proceeded to check it out real good, making sure they were not over-charge; after making sure they were not, he handed the check over to Lena Horn, telling her “take care of this and don’t forget to tip well.”

Simons, California

Simons: to the outsider, was no more than a shantytown slum. But to the inhabitants, especially us kids when we lived there, it was heaven. - kiki                 

                                            My home town

        An excerpt from ‘The Brick People’ by Alejandro Morales

“Mr. Simons made it happen. Everything is his. The store, pool hall, post office, movie show, bachelor’s cabins, Vail School, the library, the church, the water tower, the electricity, the clinic, the trains, the machines, the lots. The houses, unpainted and battered by the weather, the walls of scrap lumber, barely standing together, all the same; two, maybe three bedrooms, a kitchen and small living room, no bath, no toilet. Some had been there for thirty, forty years, but they’re clean on the inside and the outside, pretty garden, lots of plants. It’s not too bad, it’s not too good. It was planned by Mr. Simons and the City.


Simons was built at just the correct distance from Montebello to discourage the Mexicans from going into town. It was logical to have a separate school, church, and other conveniences. The Simons Mexicans were to live, work, play, worship, and trade apart, at a safe distance from Montebello. When Simons was established it was never proposed that the company town be a part of Montebello, or for that matter any city. It was understood that the Mexicans were to remind apart in every way”

Monday, September 1, 2014

A Slice of History--Montebello Life Magazine

A Slice of History--Montebello Life Magazine
By Alejandro Morales 

From his birth until 15 years of age, Frank Baltazar lived in a company town, where a corporation provided its employees onsite housing, an elementary school, grocery store, church, post office, baseball team, movie-theater, private sheriff and even an orchestra.

The sprawling town—whose peak population has been estimated at 3,000 in the late 1920s—didn’t produce steel in Pennsylvania, coal in West Virginia or cars in Michigan.

It manufactured bricks in an area that now encompasses south Montebello and parts of the City of Commerce.

For the first half of the 20th century, Simons Brickyard produced up to 600,000 clay bricks daily, making the claim to be the world’s most productive brickyard.

“I didn’t have any worries,” said Baltazar, now 75 and living in La Puente. “Was I happy living there? Was it fun living there? Yes, it was. I never heard anyone complain about the company.”

In 1905, Walter Simons bought clay-rich property near what is now South Vail Avenue and the Santa Ana Freeway for his expanding brickyard empire. Business skyrocketed after the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and fire, as the crippled city needed millions of bricks for rebuilding. Simons shipped 3,800 tons of product to San Francisco that year.

To meet the demand for labor, the company recruited Mexican immigrants, advertising that life at the brickyard was more stable than what was happening during their homeland’s revolution.

Simons eventually employed about 600 workers, most of them Latinos. The company set up housing for their workers, with single men living communally and families in two- or four-bedroom homes. Rents started at $1 per month.

Baltazar remembers that in the 1940s he paid his family’s month rent of $4 at the company office at the corner of Sycamore Street and South Vail Avenue.

He describes life in the company town as protected from the outside world, including the kind of bigotry that afflicted the nation at the time.

“There was a lot of racism back then, but we didn’t feel it as kids,” said Baltazar, who writes online about his childhood at Simons (simonsbrickyard.blogspot.com). “From kindergarten to my 6th grade graduation, the student body [at the company school] was 100% Latino. I didn’t see another skin color until I went to junior high.”

Baltazar also has fond memories of the summers at Simons, when he helped his father transport the bricks by mule-pulled carts and also delivered home-cooked breakfasts to the factory in a wagon he made. (The workday started at 4 a.m., with a “lunch” break at 7 a.m.)

The company reported an employee turnover rate of just 2 percent a month, leading some to marvel: If there ever was an industrial Utopia it is Simons.

But the Depression and World War II slowed the brickyard’s production, and in 1952, the widespread use of concrete in new construction led to the closing of Simons.

Simons family gave $6,000 to each of the 19 remaining families to help them move out of the company town.

“We were one of the last families to leave the brickyard,” Baltazar said.


To find out more about Simons Brickyard and the company town, check out the Montebello Historical Society’s recently published “Return to Simons,” a 52-page commemorative book available for $34.95. For more information visit www.montebellohistoricalsociety.org.

Carmen Basilio vs Tony DeMarco

                               Tony DeMarco vs. Carmen Basilio 

By kiki

On a Friday night during the summer of 1955, Connie and I dropped payments at Kurley's and Birks, ate a burger at Pop's 'Monke-Uddle' on Kern Ave in East Lost Angeles, and then took a stroll down Whittier Blvd. to do some window shopping. 

We came upon a small crowd of people that were screaming and hollering in front of an appliance store; we walked up to the crowd to see what it was all about, well, the crowd was screaming and hollering because they were witnessing on a black and white TV through the window of the appliance store one of the greatest action fights of the 20th Century. Basilio won by a 12th round KO.

                                Tony DeMarco vs. Carmen Basilio 

Jo Jo Torres vs Stan Ward

By kiki


In spring of 1973, the Southern California Coaches and Managers Association and I took a Los Angeles amateur boxing team to the state Capital, Sacramento, for a box-off against their local champs. Our heavyweight was a part-time amateur boxer, Jo Jo Torres, whom's life ambition was to be a playboy. But for the Torres vs. Ward fight, it was, for the most part, a forgettable trip in which we lost 7 out of 10 fights. When JoJo found out he was fighting Ward, who was known to be the best amateur heavyweight in California, if not the best in the country, I could see it in his eyes that he would've rather be dancing some salsa at the Zenda Ballroom in L.A. then in a boxing ring in Sacramento. 

                                                   The fight

In the first round, Jo Jo went down from what seemed like a grazing right hand. Down on one knee, he kept looking at the canvas as the referee counted. I could see that he wasn’t going to get up, even though he could have. As the ref was about to count nine, I jumped in the ring and stopped the fight to help him save face. As soon as I jumped in the ring, Jo Jo jumped up and asked me: “why did you stop the fight? I was going to get up”  “of course you were,” I said. As we were flying back home, he kept telling anyone on the plane that would listen, “I was going to get up” Of course he was!