Anthony’s Tricycle On A Poignant Christmas

By kiki

One Christmas season in the early sixties, we found our finances wanting. I was working at the paint shop of Century Motors, a VW dealership in Alhambra, Ca. The pay was just enough to get by week by week…

Christmas was just around the corner, and Connie and I were trying to figure out how to buy presents for the kids. Fernie, the oldest of the boys, wanted a new bike; Linda never asked for anything, so we knew whatever we got her, she would be happy. Baby Bobby was not yet in the caring stage. But Anthony, who had an old tricycle, wanted a new one.

We were able to buy Linda and Bobby a present. Then, Fernie, we bought him a new bike, a wannabe Schwinn Stingray. Next, we wanted to buy Anthony a new tricycle but ran out of funds. So I got Anthony's old tricycle and took it to work, where I took it apart and repainted it; I am trying to remember what color I painted it now. Next, I cleaned and painted the tires and pedals. When I was done, the tricycle looked new to me anyway….

On Christmas Eve, I took the tricycle out of the trunk of my car, where it had been for about three days, and after the kids had gone to sleep, I put it under our tiny Christmas tree….Christmas morning, the kids got up to see what Santa had left for them under the Christmas tree. Linda was happy with her present, and so was Fernie; Bobby was too young to even care. 

Anthony was a happy kid with his "new" tricycle, that is, until he rode it around the living room a couple of times; after the second time around the living room, he stopped and said, "this is my old bike." I could see tears in Connie's eyes as I tried to convince Anthony that it was a new tricycle; the little kid wasn't buying it, though…

We'd tried our best to make the early 1960s Christmases good ones for the kids, but this one turned out to be a cold and poignant Christmas, but at the same time, it was also unforgettable.

Wrestling in the late ‘40’s-early ‘50’s

By kiki

 In the late  1940s-early '50s, my buddies and I were closet wrestling fans during my preteen and early teen years. Why? Because we were boxing guys, everybody knew that only little old ladies and Charlie Ortega watched wrestling, and everybody knew that wrestling was fake. We didn't want the older Simons guys to know that we were being taken in by the fakery of la Lucha libre; we were supposed to be too cool for that. But, hey, our youth was no time to be sensible, right!?. 

While living in Simons, my buddies and I would ride our bikes up Maple Ave to Olympic Blvd and Park Ave., just south of Montebello City Park, where there was an appliance store. 

After closing hours, the store owners would leave a TV facing a big window; we would ride there, sit on the sidewalk, and watch Dick "Whoa Nellie" Lane call the wrestling matches from the Olympic Auditorium...Truly, Days of Innocence. Que no?!!

The Lou Thesz/Baron Michele Leone match in 1952 was such a big event that it got too big for the Olympic Auditorium and had to be moved outside to one of the ballparks; I don't remember which one, though.

Tale of Two Turkeys

A Thanksgiving story by my good friend Randy De La O

Years ago, sometime in the mid to late 1960's. My mother came home from grocery shopping. She had bought all the food needed for our Thanksgiving dinner which would be coming up in a few days. She mentioned to my father that she had bought a turkey, but it was too big for her to carry. It was paid for and they were holding it for her. It just needed to be picked up. My father agreed to go and off he went to pick up the turkey.

He pulled up into the Von's Market, in Pico Rivera, on the corner of Passons Blvd and Washington Blvd, went back to the meat section and told the guy that he was here to pick up the turkey that his wife had bought.

“No Problem, sir, let me get the list”. A few minutes later he came back and asked my father, “What's her name?” My father told him and he looks up and down the list and tells my father, “Her name is not on the list”. Well, my father says something to the effect of, “You better look again because it was bought and paid for”. The guy goes in the back and comes out and tells my dad “I'm sorry sir, there's nothing I can do”.

My father was not one to get discouraged so he kept at it. He insisted and the butcher resisted, and on and on it went. It was getting close to a fist fight. The manager became in involved and there was a lot of commotion. Finally, frustrated and at his wits end, the butcher goes into the back, returns with a large turkey, puts it in my dad's hands and says 'Take your G..damn turkey and go, I'm not arguing with you anymore!” My father didn't quite care for the guy's attitude but figure to himself, “I got the turkey”. Mission accomplished..

When he got home he tells my mother everything that had happened at the market. “Wow, I wonder what his problem was?” She said. “I told him you were coming to get the turkey!!” On and on they went until my father said that they weren't shopping at Von's any more. He was still pretty upset about everything.. “Von's!", my mother said, “What were you doing at Von's, I bought the turkey at Super A!”

My dad was so mad his veins were popping out. “But you said Von's! “No, I didn't, I said Super A!” That argument went unresolved to my father's dying day. Each one believed the other made a mistake that day. I can tell you this, after my father calmed down we laughed til it hurt!

My mother went by herself to Super A to pick up the turkey. She wasn't about to ask my father again. Turns out she was strong enough to carry it after all. That Christmas we had a very nice turkey dinner.

I hope you all have a nice Thanksgiving and remember, whatever goes wrong, I guarantee you, you'll laugh about it some day! Happy Thanksgiving!

Tiger: Simons Boxing Coach

By kiki

The Pico Palace was on Whittier Blvd (north side) just west of where the 605 Freeway is now, somewhere close to where the steakhouse is now. It was a dance hall, like Betty's Barn in Irwindale. Besides dances, the palace also held amateur boxing about once a month. In later years, the palace became a furniture store. At some point, it was razed down. I am not sure when that happened, though.

Circa 1948, some friends from the Simons Brickyard and I did some boxing under our coach, Tiger. Tiger was one of many guys from the post-WWII era with a boxing gym in his backyard. I don't believe I ever knew Tiger's real name. All I knew of Tiger was that he was my friend Frank Madrid's uncle.

Frank, better known as Yate or Cheespas (Sparks: because of his short, spiky hair), asked me and others if we wanted to learn how to box; he knew I loved boxing. He told us about Tiger and his gym; he said that Tiger would train us and that after a few weeks of training, he would take us to the Pico Palace in Pico and the Johnnie Flores's C.Y.O. Gym in downtown Los Angeles for some sparring. Of course, we all said that we would give it a try.

                                                          Tiger

So with a pair of old Sears boxing gloves, a WWII army duffle bag full of rags hanging from an old tree, and a dirt floor boxing ring, we kids embarked on what we hoped was the start of a boxing career. Tiger, who had done some amateur fighting, started by teaching us balance and how to throw a jab. "Step in when you jab and turn your wrist on impact," he would tell us; we asked him why we needed to turn our fists on impact. "You can open a cut on your opponent's eyes by doing that," he would answer. For days, which seemed like weeks, all we did was a jab, jab, and more jabs until it seemed like my left arm would fall off. Cheespas was the more advanced; he had been training with Tiger for about a year when the rest of us joined Tiger's "stable," but he had had very little sparring at that point. Finally, after a few weeks, Tiger thought some of us were ready to enter the ring. The first was Gibby, who got to go a few rounds with Cheespas. After that, I got to spar with Gibby's brother Johnny, this time with gloves; I say that because Johnny and I had numerous fistfights in the past; just like in the fistfights, I got the best of Johnny in our sparring, I think I had his number. Some other boys were Chuy and Chano; there might have been one or two more; I just don't remember them. After about three months of training, Tiger told us we were going to the Pico Palace, a small arena/dance hall on Whittier Blvd. in Pico, the Palace as it was called, was used as a dance hall and also as a small pro and amateur boxing arena/gym…The boys from Pico and Jimtown, when they were not duking it out on the streets, would train together at the Palace.

I vividly remember our first time sparring at the Palace; because I got my ass kicked. I sparred with a kid from Jimtown who kept hitting me with his right hand every time the borrowed headgear I was using would slightly down my forehead and cover my eyes; it was my first time wearing a headgear. Unfortunately, Tiger had no headgear for us to use in our sparring sessions in Simons. The other boys, except for Chespas, didn't fare any better than I, but we all felt great, and we even had the faintest hint of a "we are fighters" swagger as we made our way to Tiger's 1930s jalopy...About two weeks later, Tiger told us we would go to the C.Y.O. Gym downtown L.A. For some sparring on the coming weekend. We had heard how good the C.Y.O. boys were, and sure enough, they were, as we got our asses kicked again. We returned to the Palace two weeks later for sparring; Tiger had picked up a couple of used headgear. Not feeling intimidated anymore by our surroundings of the Palace, we all did better and thought we were ready for a fight... "Not so fast," said Tiger, so for the next few months, we trained really hard at Tiger's home gym to be ready to kick some ass ourselves on our next venture out into the real world of boxing. We did so on our next outing to the Pico Palace. That night, it was not sparring sessions but real fights; I remember that Johnny, Chespas, Chuy, and I won; four out of seven wasn't bad for a young, inexperienced boxing team.

Just when we kids thought we were on our way to world titles, Tiger disappeared. Nobody but his nephew Cheespas knew what had happened to Tiger, and he wasn't squawking. Some kids all thought that Tiger was in jail, and why would we believe that? And why shouldn't we think that? Since most of the young men in Simons would be spending time in the county jail,I never did find out what had happened to Tiger, nor did I ever see him again, and without Tiger, none of the guys except me stayed with boxing...Around 1949, to keep my love affair with boxing alive, I started to train at the Teamsters Gym in downtown L.A...And so it was!!

Jeff Bumpus California Boxing Hall of Fame Speech

Jeff Bumpus: This was my original CBHOF speech as it was written before time constrictions made me shorten it. Hope you enjoy.......................It is safe to say that no person will ever be given this who appreciates it more than myself. And this is why: In 1993 my boxing career was over as the result of permanent damage to my left eye. I don't recall the effect on my daily personality as being one of self-pity. Instead of why me, my thought process was more like why not me? I led with my face so why not me? Long before this abrupt end I knew all too well the location and depth of my scars. But, as Thomas Harris' fictional serial killer Hannibal Lector put it "Be grateful for them! For, our scars carry the power to remind us that the past was real"

My only problem seemed to be a nagging sense of something being incomplete. I lacked that title winning moment to validate my career. Maybe when careers or relationships or sadly, even lives come to undesirable ends people naturally try to attach some sort of deeper meaning to those events. Such considerations put me in danger of becoming a philosopher without the toga( a nasty little mental image )
While in this analysis stage on a Saturday afternoon. My then four-year-old son and I were able to enjoy my new found free time watching one of his favorite movies on VHS at Home where popcorn isn't six dollars a box
During this animated feature, one of the characters, Wylie Burp, a law dog(literally a dog who was a sheriff) told his young charge," just remember that one man’s sunset is another man’s dawn. I don't know what's out there beyond those hills, but if you ride yonder, head up, eyes steady you just might find that you're the hero you've always been searching for"
I sat up in my chair and thought well there it is. The answer to my nagging philosophical query. Straight from a cartoon character, which would have been the first place I would have looked if I were thinking straight
You see The Hero’s I had always searched for are all around this room. You packed venues known as the Olympic, the Forum, the Sports Arena and in long past days, Hollywood Legion Stadium. You gave fans the bouts they clamored to see. Fans didn't wait 12 months much less 12 years for those fights. The pictures of those ring battles lined the pages of my treasured boxing magazines which detailed results, dates, and locations of these thrilling bouts. To a teenager in tiny Union Mi., you sounded like a faraway kingdom of modern day warriors.
I graduated from high school in 1980, found a boxing club and spent the coming years immersed in the gym. During this time I had 20 amateur fights in a very unspectacular amateur career before turning pro and running off 20 wins with 1 loss) Than in December of ‘85 I received the call every fighter dreams of. Matchmaker Johnny Bos was contacted by persons looking for an opponent for Julio Cesar Chavez in one of his first bouts at lightweight. Johnny decided to give the Devil a call.
All the stars were aligned. All my dreams were about to come true. I was going to be Rocky. Less than five years after being shown how to throw a jab, I am fighting the greatest fighter of my generation in the field of my dreams, the Olympic Auditorium. But we are talking about Julio Cesar Chavez. Not Percy or Yitzak. And if I couldn't get the decision, then I take great satisfaction in knowing that he probably remembers the crazy white boy who grinned at him and blew blood on his chest from that shattered nose I got at the end of round one.

Today I've returned to California for the first time since that day just two months shy of 30 years ago and I'm humbled beyond words, beyond gestures, beyond expressions. My thanks to everyone associated with the California BHOF. Most notably Frank Baltazar Sr and Don Fraser for even remembering my name much less making me a part of those personal heroes that I'd always searched for and their Hall of Fame. The friendships I make will bring me back to this place as often as I am able to, but, as law dog and cartoon philosopher, Wiley Burp said, I don't know what's out there beyond those hills. And who knows? I might walk out in front of a garbage truck and my return would be highly questionable.
I'm not a person who talks much about religion but just work with me if you would. Even if you're a non-believer, let just say for the sake of argument that there is a heaven. Now, Valhalla is the massive hall of Norse mythology reserved for those who've died in battle but in recent years it has become a more general term as a martial hall, a fighters hall for those who have passed on. So, say you end up in Heaven, no matter how unlikely your spouse says that is at this juncture, and you now want to find a Valhalla-like hall hosting your boxing friends who have passed before you. If you hate to stop and ask for directions as much as I do, allow me to save you the aggravation. You will easily find Valhalla for boxers if you begin your search on the West Coast of Heaven. Find the southwest edge. Seek out the spotlights in the valley that guide you to the corner of 18Th and Grand. It’s pretty simple, you see? The great ones always met there. I'd like to thank Phil Rice for his help not only with my book but on this trip. Fighters as a species have trouble making good friends during their career. But then after the lights fade either we get wiser or better people find us. The latter seems to be the case with Phil. Thank you, Phil. My mother, Rozanne, Who showed me, not told me, how to pursue a dream when, as the divorced mother of three with two still at home refinanced the only home she had ever known to fund her dream of being an RN. And if you have had a heart attack in Northern Indiana in the last 35 years you might be glad she did. My son Michael who is no longer four, although I dearly wish that he was. Mike eased his dad into retirement. Our children are our second chance at the wonders of life as we see it through their innocent eyes and are reminded of the time when we saw the same. And in 1993, if there was one thing mikes dad needed it was a new set of eyes. And to all my new friends in the California Boxing Hall of Fame: if we've met let’s talk again if we haven't met, I can’t wait to meet you. Thank you all so very much!!!

A Glass of Wine

By kiki

Why do wine drinkers make such a big deal of drinking a glass of wine? - One time, many summers ago, we, my brother Mando and friends, were on a weeklong motorcycle trip, and one night on that trip, we found ourselves getting wasted at Fat City, a bar in Old Sacramento. While we were getting wasted, a dude sat on an empty stool beside me. As he was seated, he asked the bartender for a glass of some kind of wine, but he told the bartender, "let me see the glass before you pour the wine" The bartender brought a wine glass to the dude, and the dude proceeded to check the glass against a light. Then, shaking his head, he told the bartender, "no good, there is a small water spot on the glass; get me another one" the bartender did so, and the wine drinker went through the same ritual with the second glass; this time, he okayed the glass. 

After the bartender had poured the red wine and after he had smelled the wine, the dude lifted up the glass of wine against the same light he did the empty glasses; then swirled and smelled, and smelled and swirled the wine, and all the time this dude is acting like a pompous ass I was thinking to myself 'dude, drink that freaking wine.'

 

Being close to being four sheets to the wind, I said aloud what I was thinking: I said, "dude, drink that freaking wine!!" The pompous ass looked at me. He said," well, in all my days, I have never" he never finished his sentence because he walked out, leaving his wine on the bar; I looked at the wine and said, "can't let this wine go to waste."

Rest in Peace: Della Gomez

By kiki

"The circle of Life' we're born, we live and we die...And somewhere in between we make memories, touch people’s lives and hope that in the end we are remembered in a good way" – kiki

Our dear friend, our comadre, Della Gomez completed her circle of life yesterday (11-2-15). Della went to join our Lord with her family around her and she is now rejoicing with her loved ones who were waiting for her with open arms. Her daughter Yolanda and son Richard known affectionately as Baby and Gordo, are now back in her arms.

Della in completing her circle of life lived, touch many people live’s, made some great memories and is remembered fondly by those whom lives she touched.

Happy memories of Della

Della and I first cross path in 1952 - While walking south on Lexington Rd. from Pico to the Montebello Gardens to catch the bus I would walk by her as she waited for the school bus (El Rancho High School) in those cold 1952 fall mornings at the corner of Lexington Rd. (now Paramount Blvd) and Beverly Blvd. – Della would smile at me and I would smile back, but never a word was spoken between us, we were both shy, I guess...In December of the same year I bought a car and was now driving to Montebello High School, thus, I didn’t get to see much of Della after that….In 1953 having lived a short time in Pico (moved in, 1952) I started to make friends with some of the Pico guys, one of them was Richard Gomez AKA Goma. I soon found out that Richard’s girlfriend was Della. Time went by really fast, as time has a habit of doing so when you are young and having fun and soon we were in 1954. Having met Connie in April of that year and devoting all my attention to her, I didn’t get to see much of Richard and Della for some time. Connie and I married in December of ’54 and Della and Richard married around the same time, I don’t remember who married first, though. Somewhere in time we started getting together as married couples. We went nite clubbing together, and we visit each other’s homes as the kids started to arrive. Connie and I were asked to baptize their daughter Debbie, which we were more than happy to do so - we were now comadre’s and compadre’s. But in later years with the task of raising kids we kinda drifted apart and we haven't seen much of each other in some years now, I am sure that's a regret we all have. 

My most fond memory of Della was the night she and Connie got smashed on a new wine that was the craze of the young crowd, I am sure the older crowd was also indulging in said wine. Della and Richard had come over on a Friday night to our place to have a few beers, well, the girls were in no mood for beer, they said they wanted something else, so Richard said to me “let go to the liquor store” on the way to the store Richard mention this new wine everybody was drinking “Thunderbird” so we bought a bottle like the one on the picture. The girls didn’t waste any time in doing the bottle in, “we want another bottle” they said, so Richard and I went back to the store and bought them another bottle of Thunderbird. They wiped that one out too in record time. The next day they were sicker than a dog, at least Connie was because she utter those famous words “never again will I drink”

To our compa Richard, our goddaughter Debbie and siblings, Yvonne and Danny, Connie and I sent you our deepest sympathy…Love you all...

A Conning Lady named Margo

By kiki

Margo? I remember Margo, you remember that luggage store downstairs from the Main Street Gym that Cesar Perez used to own?: Well, Margo went to work for Cesar, and after a while, Cesar fell in love with her and started making love to her, after getting in Margo's chonies a few times she talked him into signing the store over to her, and once he did she kicked him out and she kept the store to herself, Cesar then opened the Olympic Gym at an old hotel on Hope St. behind the Olympic Auditorium, and then someone stole the gym from him.. I remember that he almost cried every time he would tell me the Margo story...And after all this, he would still tell me "you're not a businessman (I was at the time a small business owner) me? I am and have always being a good businessman" I would pat Cesar on the back and tell him "of course you are" 

Busted With My Hand in the Halloween Candy Jar

By kiki

Last night as Connie and I were sitting up in bed watching the tube I reached over to my nightstand and got a small bag of M&M candies, and as I was opening the bag of sweets Connie asked me “are you stealing the Halloween candies?” and without losing a beat she said, “you oughtta be ashamed stealing from the little goblins!” I replied to her “steal? No babe, I found this bag of M&M” (I did steal one bag of M&M, okay, I stole three bags) – She said “found them? Look me in the eyes and tell me that” She knows when I am lying because I always crack a smile when I am doing so. So I looked at her and before I could open my mouth to lie to her I smiled “you’re smiling, you stole the candies!” she kinda yelled at me. With that, she started to get off the bed “where are you going?” I asked, “to hide the candies” she answered. Damn! I should have stolen more than three bags!! 

Daydreams of Ghosts that Roam the Olympic Auditorium

Daydreams of Ghosts that Roam the Olympic Auditorium

By kiki

Sometimes I daydream of the boxers, trainers, managers, referees, judges, announcers, and promoters that have left us (most of the fighters I watched fight live or on TV). 

I wanted to list some of the fighters who fought and those who played different roles on fight nite at the Los Angeles' Grand Dame of boxing, The Olympic Auditorium. 

The list is made up from memory; I apologize if I have left some out. Some fighters on this list were top rank fighters who fought for world titles and became champions, some who fought for titles but never became champs, and some, because of the politics in boxing, who never got a title shot. And some on the list never got out of the prelims but fought their hearts out as their dreams of fighting at the famed arena became a reality….In my dreams, I see the ghosts of these fighters sitting around the section unofficially reserved for the boxing community as they josh with each other. I also see ghosts and their ghost ladies shadowboxing down the aisles as they reach their ringside seats.

The list:

Louie Jauregui, Johnnie Flores, Jake Horn, Lou Bernal, Fabela Chavez, Bernard and Maxie Docusen, Lauro Salas, Rudy Jordan, Rudy Garcia, Gil Cadilli, Cisco Andrade, Dave Contreras, Carlos and Al Chavez, Keeny Teran, Ray Luna, Baby Casanova, Enrique Bolanos, Art "Golden Boy" Aragon, Raton Macias, Ricardo "Pajarito" Moreno, Battling Torres, Mando Ramos, Indian (Ernie) Red Lopez, Genero Hernandez, Fidel LaBarba, Jackie Fields, Joe Salas, Jimmy McLarnin, Gig Rooney, George Hansford, Henry Armstrong, Turkey Thompson, Fitzie Fitzpatrick, Chalky Wright, Cal and Aileen Eaton, George Parnassus, Vic "Kid" Ponce, Floyd Patterson, Manuel Ortiz, Babe McCoy, Clarence Henry, Irish Bob Murphy, Jimmy Lennon, Howie Steindler, Don Jordan, Ramon and Jesse Fuentes, Jose Luis and Armando Cotero, Billy Peacock, Duke Holloway, Canto and Joe Robleto, Kid Gavilan, Irvin Berman, Raul Rojas, Frankie Crawford, Jackie McCoy, Jake Shugrue, Norm Lockwood, Harry Kabakoff, Ralph Gambina, Eddie Futch, Frankie and Juan Luis Campos, Dan Tobey, Willie Bean, Chuck Bodak, John Cabrera, Don and Lorraine Chargin, Rudy Cruz, Lou Filippo, Ruth Fraser, Jimmy Harryman, Dynamite Jackson, Georgie Latka, Jimmy McDaniels, Archie Moore, L.C. Morgan, Sammy Sanders, Benny Conyers, Freddie Merino, Petey Servin, Al Silvani, Bill Slayton, Allen Syers, John Thomas, Dick Young, Charlie Powell, Davey Gallardo, Javier "Baby Face" Gutierrez, Kid Rayo, Tony and Bob Fuentes, Jim Jeffries, Bert Lewis, Bobby Pacho, Johnny Forbes, Eddie Chavez, Oscar Reyes, Pappy Zazker, Manuel Dros, Dr. Al Stolper, Jackie Leonard, George Parnassus, Sparky Rudolph, Paddy Quaid, Johnny and Nick Villaflor, Joe Kelly, Baby Moe Mario, Rudy Rosenberg, Harry Gordon. Irish Jimmy Quinn, Bob Bremwood, Cecil Schoonmaker, Earl Bebee, Johnny Ortega, Tote Martinez, Mario Trigo, Sid Flaherty, Chu Chu Jimenez, Phil "Wildcat" Kim, Young Jack Johnson, Tony Moreno, Baby Ike, Jimmy Carter, Willie Ketchum, Jimmy Roche, Johnny Gonsalves, Ernie Serfas, Henry Blouin, Hoyt Porter, Jimmy Bivins, Jerry Moore, and Ike Chestnut….I remember many more people, but I am unsure whether they are ghosts or are still with us.

X-Ray Eyes

By kiki

Last week I went to see my eye doctor. As I walked into the office, the girl working at the front desk asked me, "what are you doing here? your appointment is not until tomorrow" she then said, "but that's okay, the doctor can see you today" Within a few minutes, the doctor called me in and sat me down to check my eyes out, and as he was doing so I told him "doc, you sold me a bill of goods" he retorted "what're you talking about? "you told me that with the new lens you were putting in my eye I was going to have an X-ray eye and that I was going to be able to see all the ladies naked, even if they were dress in leather, so what happened to my x-ray eye?" He laughed and said, "man, you're one crazy dude, and if that was possible I would have two x-ray eyes"...After he was done checking my eyes he walked me back to the honey behind the desk, and he said to her "don't listen to this dude because he is crazy" the honey replied, "I like crazy dudes"...A nice fun way to start the day!!... Btw my eyes are doing great!

2015 California Boxing Hall of Fame

By kiki

A few words about the 2015 California Boxing Hall of Fame luncheon: The event ran a lot smoother this year than it has had in past years. For the most part, the inductees stuck to the few minutes allotted to make their speeches; one or two went on too long. I noticed CBHOF President Don Fraser tugging on the suit coat of one of the inductees, but to no avail, as the inductee kept going on and on…We that log on to social media sites have made many new friends and I dare say, some enemies too. Some of those friends we will never get to meet in person (I don't care to meet the enemies), but having said that, I had the pleasure of meeting some Facebook friends face-to-face for the first time at this year's CBHOF event. Four that I met at the event for the first time were two beautiful ladies, Becky Cotero Moreno and Yolanda Valdez-Esparaza, inductee Jeff Bumpus, and the infamous Saul Saucedo. The day before the event, I had the great pleasure of meeting, along with his son Paul, Phil Rice. Phil and Paul made the trek west for Jeff Bumpus's induction. Phil and I had had an internet friendship for several years, but we had never met face to face. We had talked at times about him coming out to the Left Coast for some real home-cooked Mexican food; this weekend it all came to fruition, but, unfortunately, his time on the coast was too short for him to taste Connie's home-cooked chili Verde. How I would have loved to have seen Phil eat chili Verde Mexican style, with just tortillas and no fork, that would have been quite a sight…It was also nice seeing some old friends, too many mention…

Last but not least: One thing that I was really disappointed at was seeing the name of Advertising Director Ray Maynez name been omitted from the staff credits on the official program; it was probably an oversight on the printer side, but that's no excuse, and for that, I think the CBHOF owns Ray an apology and been part of the CBHOF I offer Ray our sincere apology. I understand that Ray will not be with us next year, so I want to wish him the best of luck in whatever future endeavors he participates in….I hope to see you all at next year's event.

Frankie and the Las Vegas Golden Gloves

By kiki

Paul Caruso, seen here with Art "Golden Boy" Aragon, once did some fixin' for us.

Having gone to Golden Gloves National in 1975 with the L.A. team, Frankie could not fight in the 1976 L.A tourney because of a broken ankle. We had figured that by the time Las Vegas held their tournament (Vegas had their tourney a few weeks after L.A.'s), Frankie's ankle would be healed, and he could fight there. So I called Bill Miller, L.V. tournament director, and told him I was taking Frankie to fight on the L.V tourney; he told me not to bother, that Frankie would not be allowed to fight because he had fought on the Olympic Auditorium's pro/am-cards against AAU rules. A few days later, I was in Aileen Eaton's office. I told her what Miller had said, she told me, "go see my attorney Paul Caruso, and he'll fix it for you with one phone call; tell him I sent you" Frankie and I went to see Caruso in his Beverly Hills office, when we were ushered into his office I said to him, "Aileen Eaton said to talk to you and that you could fix our problem with one phone call" He smiled and said "Aileen gives me too much credit" I then explain our situation to him "Las Vegas, huh?" he mutter, more to himself than us. He picked up the phone and dialed a number, and after a conversation that lasted less than three minutes, he hung up and told Frankie, "it's fixed; you're fighting in the Vegas Golden Gloves. I think the dude was connected!!

Frankie lost his first fight in the Vegas tourney. But that's not important; what does matter is that we got there.

Little Beaver’s ex-Old lady

By kiki

Beware XXX Language

In the early 1980’s we were in an Arizona boxing training camp getting some fighters ready for their upcoming bouts. Hanging around the camp like a barfly was a Native American lady, who I learned was an ex-woman wrestler and the ex-wife of midget wrestler Little Beaver. The lady was known to turn a trick now and then….I was having a drink with her at the camp’s bar. I asked her about Little Beaver, who I had watched wrestle on TV back in the early ’50s; she laughed out loud and said, “he was a fag”

One time a fighter who had just fought the main event in Tucson (he lost by a decision but came out with a clean face) was hanging out at the hotel’s bar having drinks, and the fighter, after a few drinks, made a deal with the lady, $20.00 for a sexual favor. They soon disappeared into the darkness. Some minutes later, they came back into the bar, arguing as they walked in. Somebody asked the lady what was wrong “the sonofabitch don’t wanna pay me for my “work”!” she answered. Somebody told the fighter in Spanish, “paque a la señora para su servicio” (pay the lady for her service). The fighter replied in broken English, “no, she no give me good service, she bites my dickie” At that, the lady cooked up her left arm and, pointing with her right index finger to her bulging bicep, asked the fighter, “see this?” the fighter moved in close to get a good look at her bicep. As he did so, the lady whipped a textbook left hook, and the fighter was out cold before he hit the bar’s floor. The boxer with a clean face after ten tough rounds against a top ten fighter was knocked unconscious over a sexual favor.

Gun Violence

By kiki

We've just had another tragic mass shooting, this time at an Oregon State community college (10-1-2015). These shootings at theaters, schools, churches etc. are becoming so routine that we have become numb to them, they have become the everyday norm. Some on the right argue that that’s the price we must be willing to pay to be able to keep our guns. Really?? I say, BULLSHIT!!. Are the lives of 20+ innocent kids at Sandy Hook worth less than gun rights? I say no!! But having said that I don’t propose disarming law abiding citizens, what I do propose is that we close all the loopholes on gun show and private gun sales.  Have every gun buyer go through a mental health evaluation, especially the anti-government conspiracy theorist, we must find a way to keep guns away from the haters and the mentally ill. That along with common sense NATIONAL gun control laws will go a long way in keeping us safer as we go through our daily lives.

 I also think that handguns and rifles should be registered to its owners, but the paranoid Right cries the same old song of death that they do after every mass shooting “no way, that’s the first step of the government taking our guns away” Again I say BULLSHIT!! And for the good of the masses the paranoid should get mental help. But don’t hold your breath because nothing will be done as long as our politicians are in the back pocket of the National Rifle Association (NRA) The NRA that used to be a great organization for hunters, et al. has become nothing more than a political hack for the crazy right. The NRA now has the blood of the innocent on its hands.

Some of us, not all, will again grief for the dead and shed a tear or two for the ones that lost loved ones, but within a few weeks this massacre will be forgotten, that is until the next one happens, and believe me, they will keep happening as long as nothing is done to control the flow of guns that are so easy to get. 

The circle of Life

By kiki

We're born, we live and we die...Somewhere in between we make memories, touch people’s lives and hope that in the end we are remembered in a good way.

Window Shopping in The Rain

By kiki

Woke up this morning to the beautiful sound of raindrops. We in Southern California don't get to see much rain, not in the recent past. The last 5 years have been arid, so we celebrate when it rains. 

We listen to beautiful music, and the women will make some albondigas or cocido with homemade tortillas. And while grandma is making tortillas, grandpa will be sitting by the fireplace sipping on a brandy while telling lies to the grandkids about how he rode with Poncho Villa.

Young lovers with raindrops falling on them will go window shopping on Whittier Blvd or maybe go downtown to peek into the store's windows on Broadway Street. Afterward's, perhaps they'll stop at Clifton's Cafeteria at 7th and Broadway for a late dinner.

The rains bring joy, and it makes a house a home again!!

Boxing: The Way It Was And The Way It Is

By kiki

The last few times I went to a boxing show, I felt like something was missing. Why didn’t it feel the like the old days? What was missing? I looked around, and I didn’t see anybody smoking cigars. Instead, some were smoking weed. The fighters and fans in attendants were not dressed to the nines in suit and ties. Most of the women were not dressed in short dresses and high heels, and the ones dressed to the nines were not waltzing up and down the aisles to wolf whistles.

 The gamblers section was missing. And the fighter that fought those nights? Some could fight, but most couldn't, but putting that aside. Most came in the ring looking more like wrestlers than boxers. Some with masks on, some wearing what looked like tennis shoes.. And like that great Righteous Brothers song: “You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'” I’ve lost the love I had for the boxing game, okay, maybe not all the love, as I still watch a few fights on TV, but enough that it keeps me from attending boxing shows anymore. I yearn for those smoke-filled arenas.

Little Lake Hotel/Bar

By kiki

In the 1960s, 70s, and '80s, on our multiple yearly treks up Highway 395, we had a "must-stop" place. It was the bar at the Little Lake Hotel. It was where we would stop to down a few cold ones and sometimes meet with others, making the trek with us on the famed highway to God's Country, "The High Sierra."

One time, we stopped at the Little Lake Hotel/Bar to meet other guys on the camping trip with us, shoot some pool, and drink a few cold ones. Little Lake Hotel/Bar, in the middle of the Mojave Desert, was where you could meet all kinds of desert rats living out their dreams of one more gold strike. But unfortunately, the hotel has since burned down. So the bar, usually a busy one, was empty that warm 1960s summer night, and as we walked in, Ernie, one of the guys with us, noticed an old piano in a corner and asked the barmaid if he could play a few bars.

"Go ahead; it hasn't been played in years," the barmaid replied

Now, Ernie can play a mean Boogie Woogie, and after clearing off a few cobwebs, he played a few bars of "Buick 59" those few bars soon had people coming out of the woodwork, all desert rats of both genders. 

After Ernie had played some tunes and downed some cold ones, we decided to get back on the road, but the desert rats had other ideas; they wanted Ernie to continue hitting the ivories. 

Ernie was happy to oblige as long as they kept piling up the beers on top of the piano, which we would grab as soon as they were set up.

Before we knew it, the 2:00AM closing time was upon us, but with locked doors, we'd continued to party into the wee hours of the morning. We finally returned to the campers just as the sun was rising over the horizon. Needless to say, we slept till early afternoon before we got back on the highway…That camping trip was unforgettable and memorable in our travels up that famed highway, "395."

Are You a Worrier?

By kiki

I once got some free advice from an old friend and co-worker. As a very young man, I used to worry about everything going on in my life. One day during our lunch hour, my old (he was about 20 years older than me) friend said to me, "I see you are worrying again" I told him that "yes, I'd have a problem" Without asking what the problem was he said, "can the problem be fixed?" I answered that it could be taken care of, "Okay, so stop worrying about it"….He then said, "look, there are; two sides to a problem, whether it's about love, money, legal, or whatever, one, the problem can be fixed, and two, there is nothing you can do about it. Now, if the situation can be improved, why worry about it? Just fix it. And if it can't be fixed, why worry about it? Because worrying about it will not fix it; it will make you older before your time…

I took my old friend's advice to heart, and now I don't worry about a freaking thing, and it drives my wife Connie off the wall "you don't care about anything!" she yelled at me the other day. I tried telling her that I did care but that worrying would not solve anything and that it would only make her older "older!? how much older can we get!?" she asked. I told her that I was looking to get much older. She looked at me as if I was some kind of nut, and as she turned

to walk away, I thought I heard her mutter, "men!"

Outhouses

By kiki

The shacks in the Simons Brickyard didn't have any indoor plumbing. Thus they all had outhouses. The people did have big backyards, and the outhouses sat on the furthest corner of the yard; they had to keep the smell away from the houses, lol!! The outhouses were simply constructed, with no double walls, just single wood panels. Outside, 2x4 were nailed horizontally to use as handles to pick up the outhouse whenever it had to be moved to a new hole.

What got me to write about outhouses was that I watched a movie where people had outhouses. It brought back memories of what we kid's used to do when an older person, like somebody's grandma or grandpa, would walk into the outhouses with yesterday's newspaper, no rolls of toilet paper back then. With so much time on our hands during the out-of-school summer months, 

we kids were always looking for something to amuse ourselves with, so sometimes we would hang out at somebody's house, and we would wait for that moment when an elderly person would limp into the outhouses. We would give them enough time to settle in comfortably; after a few minutes, we would sneak up to the outhouses and grab the handles, and rock the outhouse back and forth; sometimes, if there were enough of us kids, we would pick the outhouse off of the ground a few inches. When the grandma or grandpa would start yelling "cabrones," we would run like hell; by the time the old folks had their chonies back up, we were long gone…Notice that we just picked on old people? The reason for that was that they would never catch us if they were to chase us, whereas a younger person would catch us and beat the crap out of us!... The summer months were full of fun in that brickyard!!

Al & Bea’s Chicharrón Burrito vs Vargas’s

By kiki

I paid a visit to the vampire at Norris Cancer Center early this morning, and after the vamp pulled its fangs out of my arm, I needed to look for a place to chow down. As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I remember that somebody on Facebook had mentioned Al & Bea's on First St. in Boyle Heights, and since I was in the Heights, I decided to look for the place. I drove south on Soto St. to First St. I then made a right on First. I went a few blocks west past St. Louis St. As I drove under a freeway, Beto, one of my imaginary friends who was riding with me, said, "orale boss, you've just passed Al & Bea's," so I made a u'rie right in the middle of the block, "you're going to get a ticket" said Beto. Once we had passed back under the freeway, I pulled over and parked to see if I could spot the food joint. As I looked east and west, I noticed that I was parked right across the street from the Hollenbeck Youth Center, the same place that produced some outstanding amateur boxers (my son Tony fought there). As I was looking at the center, I noticed Al & Bea's was next door on the east end of the center. I got off my truck and slammed the door on Beto "hey, I wanna eat too," cried Beto. I then jaywalked across First St. I found Al & Bea's to be a small place with a few outside tables but no indoor seating that I could see. I checked the menu on the wall, and I found what I was looking for, a "chicharrón burrito" It was good, but not great; I'll give the Vargas's chicharrón burrito a slight edge:. (Vargas' is in Pico Rivera)…After eating, Beto and I headed east on First St. towards East Los Angeles. As we drove east, I tried talking to Beto, but he wouldn't talk to me; I think he was pissed at me for not letting him get off the truck to eat. As we were driving east on First St., I realized how much I miss the Eastside. Even though I was not raised as an Eastsider, I did run the streets of East Los as a young teen, plus Connie, the kids, and I lived at different times in different parts of ELA...I got back home to find Chata, the British Bulldog pissed at me, shit, first Beto, now Chata! By the way, Beto is still sitting in the truck; he said he wouldn't get off until I apologized; I tried telling him that I was afraid he would get run over because people can't see him. I let him sweat a while in the hot truck, then he was happy to get off.

Charles Laughton

By Kiki

Quasimodo

On the TCM channel, Connie and I watched the 1957 movie 'Witness For The Prosecution' starring Tyrone Power and Charles Laughton et al.. And we both said simultaneously, "remember the night Laughton was sitting behind us at the fights" Man! Talk about an old married couple thinking alike!!. 

Circa 1957, Connie and I were at the Hollywood Legion Stadium for the Pajarito Moreno/Tommy Bain fight. We were about 7-8 rows from the ringside for the new Mexican sensation KO artist Pajarito Moreno's Los Angeles debut. Sitting behind me was "Quasimodo" Charles Laughton had gained fame playing Quasimodo in the 1939 movie 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame.' 

As the first fight was about to start, Quasimodo tapped me on my shoulder and asked me, "Who do you got" I answered him, "The guy in the black corner" "a dollar; I'll take the guy in the white corner" I am not a gambler. Still, I wasn't about to lose a chance to bet with Quasimodo. So we waged the small bet. 

For the rest of the fights, we waged a dollar a fight, He bet the white corner, and I bet the black corner. I don't remember who came out a dollar or two ahead... I love to reminisce about the old days.

Charlie’s Retirement

By kiki

After many years on the job, my good friend Charlie decided he had had enough of the rat race, so he decided to retire before he got too old. Now I don’t wanna wish him a lousy retirement because, after so many years of back-breaking labor, he deserves some happiness in his golden years. But I’m afraid that Retirement may not work out well for him. So here is what I see happening to Charlie as he gets older and bored: he’ll turn into an old coot and hang out at the local general store with his fly open. And he’ll become known for goosing old ladies at Walmart. And in the end, he’ll become the town’s character.

Happy Retirement, ole buddy!!

1950’s Los Angeles Newspapers

By kiki

Sitting in bed this morning reading the Los Angeles Times, my mind raced back to my days as a newspaper-selling kid in the late '40's-early '50s. I used to sell three now-defunct evening newspapers: the Daily Mirror, the Daily News, and the Evening Herald-Express (morning papers were the Los Angeles Examiner and Los Angeles Times) at the corner of Washington Blvd and Maple Ave in Montebello, about a mile north of the Simons Brickyard. I had to fight the Simons bullies for the best corner a few times. The corners were on a first-come-first-served basis. A few times after securing the best corner by arriving early, one of the bullies would try to run me off. We would have a scuffle and get my butt kicked, but I would keep the corner by not backing off.

The best corner for the evening newspapers was the eastbound corner of the intersection. The evening eastbound traffic was heavy and the commuters making their way home to the many suburbs sprouting up all over the Southern California landscape were great tippers.

The papers at that time sold for 7 cents a copy, and we kids would get 2 cents per paper sold. But we made more money on tips. In all, we made enough money to go to the picture show where we would hold hands with any girl that wanted to…Nowadays, where you can read all the newspapers on the web, I still need the feel of the paper in my hands to read a whole article. I've tried reading newspapers online, and it's not the same as this old newspaper kid; that's why I still subscribe to the only major newspaper in LA., the Los Angeles Times. 

Buying A Bottle of Bud Light For Lunch

By kiki

When lunchtime came around, I decided to have a green chili burrito, so I called Burger Depot here in La Puente and ordered one. “It’ll be ready in five minutes,” I was told by the honey on the other end of the line. The Burger Depot burger stand is about half a mile from my house. I jumped on my truck, and I decided to have a beer with the burrito on the way there. So I made a beeline to the nearest juice store, liquor store to you AA members. After parking, I walked in and made my way to the store's back, where the beer fridges were. I grabbed a bottle of Bud Light out of a six-pack (I hate canned beer). As soon as I placed the beer on the counter, the dude working behind said counter, a Korean, told me, “No, can buy one, buy six-pack only.” I told him that I didn’t want a six-pack and that I was in no hurry to get drunk. I then asked him why I couldn’t just buy the one bottle that I wanted “Because nobody buys six-pack with five beers.” I then told him that he could just put another beer in the six-pack; I said, “But if you don’t wanna sell me the one bottle of Bud Light, I’ll just go down the street to another juice store, that Mexican dude will sell me the beer I want. His eyes opened real wide, well as wide as he could open them, and he said, “What juice store? That Messican dude is bad man, don’t go there, I sell you beer. After telling him what a juice store was, I walked out with a 12 OZ bottle of Bud Light…I don’t even know if there is a Mexican owned juice store down the street, but I guess there must be one because the Korean told me, “that Messican dude is bad man”

Hiroyuki Ebihara vs Efren "El Alacán" Torres

                                        Efren "El Alacán" Torres

By kiki

In 1964 I went to the Olympic Auditorium to see the Efren "El Alacán" Torres vs. Hiroyuki Ebihara fight. It was a great and very close fight in which Ebihara was given the nod by a split decision. No sooner had the decision been announced by golden-voiced Jimmy Lennon Sr. when all hell broke loose, the fans started to riot. They began by ripping the seats off the floor and starting fires, then the chingosos (fistfights) started. I tried to stay clear of the action, but it was hard as just about everybody was throwing chingosos. As I was trying to keep out of the way, one guy asked me who I thought won the fight; he then punched me in the face when I told him that I thought Ebihara had won. The dude then ran like a deer after landing that sucker punch. I would never catch that guy, so I punched the nearest guy throwing chingosos, then ran like a deer!!

They fought again in 1965 at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. Ebihara won by TKO in seven rounds. That same night Jerry Quarry made his pro debut.

                                                     Hiroyuki Ebihara

Louis or Ali?

Fantasy Fights

By kiki

I wrote this on a Facebook boxing group I belong to. The members are constantly setting up fantasy fights between fighters from different eras, which I think is wrong.

Comparing fighters from the '40's-'50's to later-era fighters is not fair because in later years, fighters, and people, in general, grew so much bigger. So when we are talking about fantasy fights, I like to go with the "very thing been equal" concept. I know you will tell me, "but that's not reality," and I'll tell you, "of course, it's not reality; it is, after all, about fantasy fights" There is no reality when you're fantasizing!!!

But that being said, I think the better question when comparing fighters from different eras is to ask, "who was the better fighter, who had the greatest repertoire of punches, who had the biggest artillery, who had the biggest heart, who could take a punch better"…In the case of Louis and Ali there is no question who had a better repertoire and heavier artillery, Louis did… Louis could fight on the inside and outside, Ali could not, Louis had a great left hook and right hand, Ali did have a great right hand. Still, not much of a left hook, Louis could work the body, Ali could not, Louis could knock an opponent out with a jab, Ali could not; Ali's jab was a flicking jab at best, sometimes thrown with an open glove. Chin? Both of them got dropped by some not-so-great fighters…Heart? Both had the heart of a Lion!!!... Therefore, I submit that Louis was the better fighter of the two.

Flirting and Brawling

By kiki

One late night back around 1960, Connie was dozing off as we drove down Whittier Blvd in East Los Angeles. Right before I had to turn north on Ford Ave to make our way home, a car with two young guys and their girls pulled alongside our car. Riding in the back seat of the car was one young dude and his girl. Like Connie, he, too, was dozing off. As we drove side by side, the girl looked at me and smiled; I looked back at her and smiled back; as we were smiling back and forth, the dude woke up and seen his girl flirting with me, but instead of getting pissed at her he rolled the window down and started cursing me out, I cursed him back. He yelled at me to pull over; I yelled back at him to tell the driver to pull over on the next side street, they did, and so did I. As we got out of the car, they went to the trunk and pulled some tire irons out, “oh shit” I thought. But luck was with me because coming down the side street was a car that I recognized as a friend’s car, my friend with 3 other guys pulled over and asked me what was going on, as they were getting out of the car, I told them I needed some help. They said okay…I then told my friend to just keep an eye on the driver “don’t let him butt in,” I said. “He won’t,” my friend and his buddies replied. At that, I grabbed the cursing dude by the shirt and slammed him against a building, and went to work on him. I hit him downstairs and upstairs. First, with body shots to both sides, and when he tried to cover his sides, I went upstairs with left hooks and right crosses, and in between with some jabs and uppercuts. I didn’t give him a chance to throw one punch at me; after what seemed like forever, my friend grabbed me and told me that that was enough and that the cops were on their way. The dude went down on his knees as my friend pulled me away. As I walked away to my car, I saw his friends picking him off the ground. With the adrenaline still pumping, I got in my car and drove home. Connie, who never got out of the car, didn’t talk to me till the next day when she asked me, “are you all right?” other than bruised hands, I told her I was okay.

Here, Have a Toke

By kiki

On the road

Back in the early 1980’s my brother Mando (a Los Angeles County Deputy Sheriff, he is now retired), his then-wife Terry and Connie, and I was on a week-long motorcycle trip with some friends, Al and Irene Garcia and Pres and Cecilia Sanchez. We left home early on a Saturday morning and rode north through the Mojave desert on Highway 395. After stopping for breakfast and lunch along the way, we arrived at Tom’s Place, a must-stop when you are in that part of the state. After a drink or two, we made our way down the road to our first overnight stop, McGee Creek Campgrounds. After securing a campsite and putting up our tents, we walked across the road to the McGee Creek Lodge for dinner and drinks. After dinner and some drinks at the lodge's bar, we bought some beers to take back to our campsite. Back at the campground, we lit a campfire to sit around and tell lies as we drank beer; the more we drank, the bigger the lies got, but we soon ran out of lies to tell, so Mando decided to play some music on his motorcycle cassette player, Soon, like most drunks do, we started dancing. Soon dirt was flying low around our heels as we dance to some slow music; the dirt really started flying knee-high as we boogied to some fast tunes. After dancing and running out of beer, we walked to, some might have crawled, our respective tents. About 20 minutes after we hit the tents, some lights were being shined at our tents, it was the cops, some camper we think called the cops to report some crazy drunk Mexicans doing the Mexican dirt dance. That’s was okay, we had lots of fun that first night of our trip. The following morning I made some coffee on the campfire. After having coffee and putting the coffee pot and cups away, we doused the fire out and hit the road on our way to Susanville in Lassen County. After a few stops here and there, we arrived in Susanville in the early afternoon. After walking around the small town, we decided to head west on State Route 36. After riding the mountain road for a bit, we arrived in Chester, Plumas County, home of beautiful Almanor Lake. 

Irene Garcia and Connie

We secured a campsite on the lake next to an occupied site. Tents and camping equipment were set up in our neighbor’s campsite, but there was nobody around. We spent some of the afternoon fishing and strolling around, and having dinner in the small hamlet of Chester. As the afternoon was coming to an end, we lit up a campfire. And as we were sitting around the campfire drinking beer (you’ve to drink beer when you are on a week-long motorcycle trip), two young guys drove up to the site next to us. We notice that they cooked their dinner on a Coleman Stove. After eating, they sat around a campfire talking and smoking, so, just to be neighborly, we made our way over to their campsite. They welcome us to a beer and a smoke. We accepted their beers, but we wondered what they were smoking because they kept passing their smoke back and forth, but, of course, we knew they were smoking weed! Guy #1 passed his smoke to guy #2, who, after toking, asked Al if he wanted a toke; Al answered him, “no, that’s okay” “how about you?” guy #2 then asked Mando, Mando too refused the toke. “Do you guys have your own mota? Guy #1 asked Mando, “no, but I have this,” Mando replied as he flashed his badge. At that guy # 2 who was still holding the joint, told his buddy, “here this is yours” Guy #1, stretching both arms out, said to guy #2 “it’s yours now” We started laughing as Mando told them to toke up, that he didn’t care because we were on vacation…We were drunk when we got back to our campsite, and we found that the ladies were already in the tents. Al tried to crawl into his tent, but Irene told him he was sleeping outside, he did, on the campground table…The next day with a slight hangover, we hit the beautiful Feather River Canyon road to Old Sacramento, where we spend a couple of nights. We spend three more nights on the road before we arrived back home.

The beautiful Feather River Canyon