Smoking Grandma's Cigarettes

By kiki

This kid reminded me of myself when I was 7 years old: My slightly older cousin Robert, who used to live with my paternal grandparents, Grandpa Francisco and Grandma Lupe in Simons, would steal Grandma Lupe's cigarettes, I believe they were Lucky Strike's, but not sure though. An older cousin, Chuy, would join Robert and me in the cow corral, and we would puff away. - I quit smoking at about 10 years old, only to start again at 17 years. I quit smoking cigarettes over 25 years ago, though I smoke cigarettes on our annual opening day weekend fishing trips. So maybe I didn't quit after all. Nothing like cheating on yourself, que no? Lol. - I used to enjoy a good cigar after a good meal

The Granite Monster

By kiki

There is something magical and almost untouchable about the glimmer and grime of the Olympic Auditorium. These intangibles made the romance boxers, and their fans had with the fame arena seem so surreal. - Hearts were often broken at the Granite Monster's Palace, but that didn't stop the boxers, and their fans from falling prey to the Monster at 18th and Grand, Ave. - There are arenas. There are arenas, but there is only one Granite Monster, 'The Beautiful Olympic Auditorium.'

Blocked Calls

By Kiki

My cell phone started barking late yesterday afternoon, so I picked it up to see "Blocked" on the caller I.D. I usually do not answer blocked calls, but for health reasons (old age ailments), I've been spending most of my time in bed, and I could use some amusement to pick me up from my dum-dums; I decided to answer the call. I picked up the horn and responded with a"hello," then a raspy and creaky voice that sounded well polished from too many Bourbon and Cokes and unfiltered Pall Mall's said: "I would like to speak with Frank Baltazar. Is he there?" I said to the creaky voice, "well, that depends on who's calling" The creaky voice creaked. "I think I am speaking with Kiki," I told the creaky voice that he was speaking with Kiki, and I asked, "and who am I speaking with?" The creaky voice then told me his name (real name omitted). I remembered him, but I knew him as "Babe." 

The last time I saw Babe was around the mid-'60s when he did some photo work for me; he is an old acquaintance from Pico who married a girl from Simons. After establishing that I was Kiki and that he was Babe, I had an interesting conversation with many "huh's?" in it because Babe, at 87, and I, at 80, are both hard of hearing due to old age. 

Between "huh's," we reminisce about the pet crow he used to have and the Cushman scooter that, as a teenager, he used to ride and about all the time he spent at my uncle John's house. 

We traded stories about our days in Pico, stories that have changed significantly with time - Babe then told me that he has read most of my stories on my blog (he said he loved my 'Juana the Loca' story)  and wanted to know if I was writing a book. I told him no that I had no plans of doing so. I explained to him that I am not a writer per se and only write as a hobby, "so no book," I again said. - I asked Babe how he came around to get my phone number, and he answered with a classic "I made a few calls"  We ended our half-hour conversation with a "huh?' and plans to get together for lunch soon. Isn't life wonderful?!

80 or 81

By kiki 

Yesterday afternoon while walking out to the mailbox, I found myself walking on unsteady legs. I thought while I reached in and grabbed the mail (bills) 'man, it's a bitch getting old' Looking for a wall to grab onto, but finding none, I instead grabbed the mailbox for support and to steady myself before I started the trek back indoors. Once indoors, I told Connie, who was sitting in her easy chair, "sweetie, I am having a hard time walking; my legs wobble when I walk" With a smile on her sweet face, she said, "well, babe (yes, she called me babe) that's because you are 81 years old" 81! that grabbed my attention real quick, "hold it there woman!" I heatedly protested, "I am 80; I still have a month to go before I hit 81!" "80 or 81, we can all agree that you are old, so what we are arguing here is just how old you are, but instead of arguing, we should think about what to do about it, get you a cane? No, you already have a few of those; how about a walker?" I responded to her with what I thought was a better idea, "how about an electric scooter?" "hell no!" she almost felled out of her chair when I said 'electric scooter' "the way you drive you'll run the dogs and me over. Hence, an electric scooter is out of the question, so go for the walker" Connie is a hard woman to do business with, so I said to her, "Okay, I'll think about the walker. Still, sweetie, I would never run the dogs over" At that, she opened her eyes real wide and asked, "how 'bout me, would you run me over?" And without answering her, I grabbed the wall and wobbled my way to our bedroom. Damn, there goes my custom low riding electric scooter!

Played Like A Fiddle

By kiki

In 1980, my brother Mando, his then-wife Terri, Connie, and I were on a motorcycle road trip, and one late afternoon, we pulled into a camping ground in Old Monterey Bay (California's Central Coast). And after setting up camp, we took the wives on a romantic stroll around the campground, and as we were strolling the campgrounds, we came upon some Gypsies setting up camp. We first noticed their big fancy Cadillac and brand new Chevy pickup truck. It was all good, but we couldn't take our eyes off the truck because there was a massive TV in the bed; it was one of the most prominent color TVs of the time. 

As Mando and I stared at the TV, a Gypsy Cat that was watching the TV while sitting on a chair inside the bed of the truck pointed to a Gypsy kid trying to set up a big tent and said to us, "Hey, boss, you know how to set up that tent?" "Sure," Mando and I responded. So we started helping the Gypsy kid, but soon the Gypsy kid was gone; he was also up on the pickup bed watching TV with his Gypsy brother. As Mando and I continued to set up the tent, the Gypsy Cat would now and then yell at us, "Hey, boss, you need a hammer?" That Gypsy Cat played us like a fiddle Lol!!. As Mando and I (the wives were long gone) walked back to our camp, we kept asking, "Hey, boss, how did that just happen?" Good memories (even if we were played like a fiddle) from times past 

Armando Cotero vs. Sal Flores

By Kiki

I am sure that most of us as boxing aficionados have a fight that we have watched, whether it was years ago, or yesterday that will forever be one of, if not the one fight that you will always say, "that's one of the best fights I've ever seen" - In my 70 years of watching fights I have a few fights that I can say that about. The Basilio/DeMarco fights and the Corrales/Castillo fights, et al. come to mind. But none stick in my mind like the two blood and guts wars Armando Cotero and Sal Flores fought at the Olympic Auditorium back in the early fifties. (watched the first one on TV, the second one live) Flores won both fights by stoppage, but that is not important as both men fought their hearts out as if a world title was at stake. The two journeymen fighters who will never be remembered as great fighters will nonetheless be remembered for fighting two of the greatest action fights ever fought at the Olympic Auditorium.

I was a teenager when Armando and Sal fought those memorable fights, 'memorable? You asked. I have never heard of these two guys; you say,' Well, yes, and that is the beauty of watching fighters fight on all levels for 70 years.

Armando Cotero from Los Angeles via Mexico left us a few days ago at age 88/89. May he rest in peace - Sal Flores, a local boy from La Habra: I have no idea what became of him.

Many thanks to Armando and Sal for their thrills to a young teenage kid who will never forget them.

Taking A Fall

By kiki 

While walking into the house from the patio with a basket full of clean laundry (I do the laundry), I tripped over my camping suitcase. My camping suitcase, which I had yet to completely empty, was on the floor, and as I walked by it, it moved and tripped me (I guess it was pissed off because I was just treating it like an old suitcase). Needless to say, I went down like I had been shot by a 357 pistol ( as I was going down, my dad's face flashed in front of me. He died after a fall). As I Landed on my right side, I bounced off the hardwood floor couple of times. It took me a few minutes to get up - This morning, I woke up with every bone in my body hurting and a few loose screws in my head. A question: will smoking a joint ease the pain and tighten back the screws in my head?