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"