Rope-A-Doping at the B-Bag

                                                                    The B-Bag

By kiki

One hot Saturday night during the summer of 1959, my friend Coy and I stopped at the B-Bag, a burger and burrito stand on Whittier Blvd, after a night of nite-clubbing in Montebello, Ca. for a burrito and coffee. 

We parked my cherried-out '39 Chevy in front of the B-Bag. The man behind the counter asked for my order in Spanish, and I answered in kind. 

While I placed my order, an older man and a younger man came up behind me, I presume to order. However, as I placed my order, the older man tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I spoke Spanish; I simply answered, "yes." He then replied in a sarcastic tone of voice, "I don't" I turned around and said to him, "okay, maybe you don't, but I do." 

Having ordered, I turned around to walk to the tables on the parking lot side of the stand  - I turned around as I was walking to a table to see the younger man flying toward me; the dude was jumping me! We both went down and got up, throwing major chingasos, let me say here that in the summer of 1959, I was young, not yet 23 years old, and I was in great shape. I was training and boxing every day, so I was ready for a good fight. I was starting to get the better of the dude when the older dude jumped into the fray. Soon I was pinned against a car blocking and slipping chingasos from the two dudes. 

You might ask, 'and where was Coy?' well, Coy was standing with a small crowd that had gathered, sipping his coffee. I thought to myself, 'enough of this bullshit,' so I yelled at Coy, "Coy get one of this dude off me!" so what did Coy do? He walked up to the old dude, threw his coffee in his face, and then hit him with a short right-hand punch, the old dude went down hard, and as he hit the ground, Coy stepped hard on his neck. 

With the old dude off my back, the young guy and I kept throwing chingasos, and we fought from the parking lot to the alley behind the B-Bag. At one point in the dark alleyway, I grabbed the dude by his shirt and threw him down. In doing so, I tore his shirt to the point where the only thing remaining on him was the collar and front of his shirt. When he was down, I kicked him in the rib cage. I then walked out of the alley to see some cops talking to the people in the crowd; seeing the cops, I started walking nonchalantly toward the stand, the cops looked at me, and I guess I didn't look any worse for wear because they didn't say a word to me. Within a few minutes, the dude walked out of the alley with his torn shirt, the cops gave him one look, and inside the black and white, he went. 

And where was the old man while his son-in-law (later Coy told me they were father and son-in-law) was being driven to the poky? He was getting a neck massage from one of the bystanders …I did suffer a scrape on my right knee that later got infected and necessitated a visit to Doctor Feel Good's office for a shot and meds.

Whenever Coy and I get together with friends, he likes to tell them, "you guys think Muhammad Ali invented the "rope-a-dope" think again, he says to them as he points at me and says, "kiki did."