Sharing Birthdays with Friends and Rekindle Old Friendships

By kiki

                                                  kiki & Connie

On December 13, 2023, Connie and I will celebrate our 69th wedding anniversary, and I will also celebrate my birthday (87 long years). - I won't be alone in celebrating a birthday or anniversary on the 13th, as I share my birthday (December 13, though different years) with 2 very dear friends and one cousin.

                                              Lucy Salais

Lucia Salais Gray, AKA Lucy Salais, is a dear friend I met in the early 1950s during the piscas (fruit picking) days. Lucy and I share a birthday (different years). Truthfully, Lucy and I had one date: in the late summer of 1954, I took Lucy to the drive-in in Hollister, CA. I don't remember the movies we watched, but I remember getting a ticket for loud pipes as we cruised Hollister's main drag, about 5 blocks long. And that might be generous. Lucy and I reconnected on Facebook but have not seen or spoken in person since 1954. - Happy Birthday, my dear friend!

                                       Joe and Linda Casella

Bob Smith, AKA Joe Casella, and I met on Facebook in Facebook's early years, and even though we have not yet met in person, we have become close friends, well, as close as you can become without meeting in person. Joe and I were both born on December 13, though a few years apart, but not many, as Joe is, like me, long in the tooth. Like Connie and I, Joe and his beautiful wife Linda also married on December 13, again a few years apart. - Happy Birthday, my Brother, and a Happy Anniversary to you and your beautiful Linda!

                                               Mario Adame

Mario Adame is my maternal cousin. Mario, too, was born on December 13, but more than a decade after me. Because of our age difference, Mario and I were never really close; he is closer to my Brother Mando (they are about 3 months apart in age). Besides being close in age, they also have another thing in common: they were cops (me? I was a wannabe hoodlum). The 3 of us are now retired from our chosen professions. (they don't bust people anymore, and I don't steal hubcaps anymore) Mario lived in Wrightwood, a hamlet in the Southern California mountains. I need to find out where he hangs his hat nowadays - Happy Birthday, Cuz!  

Thanks to Facebook and other social websites, we have made new friends and rekindled old friendships with friends not seen or heard of in decades.

Eerily Quiet

By kiki

Yesterday morning, it was around 4:00, or was it around 5:00? Either way, I was sitting out on the front porch before the sun came out talking to the cats that I feed every morning, and no, they don't back to me: it's a one-way conversation. As I was spouting out my bullshit to the cats, I noticed how eerily quiet the block was. It was deserted and void of any human activity: there was no one to be seen but the cats, not even Louie The Walker was walking (Louie likes to walk in the dark wee hours) the avenue. Then it dawns on me that that's how early Christmas mornings have been on the block for the past 30 or so years, eerily quiet, deserted, and void of any human activity. In those early Christmas mornings of yesteryear, you would see boys and girls riding their new scooters and bikes while trying not to run over the older boys and a tomboy, or two, throwing around their new footballs; the avenue was their football field. Every generation has their new toys, but I think the toys of yore were better for the kids.

The Old Champ

By kiki

Yesterday I received a phone call from an ex-world boxing champion; who will go unnamed here. The champ was calling me to ask if I knew people in the movie industry. The champ who had called me some years back with the same question won the WBC world lightweight title in Los Angeles back in the '70s; he wanted to know if I knew anyone in the movie industry that might be interested in buying his life story. I told the champ that at one time, I did know some Hollywood people but that they couldn't now help him because they were long dead. I didn't know how to tell my friend that it would be hard finding anyone in the movie industry to make a movie of his life story, being that he had three strikes against him: one, he is Mexican, though he had his greatest success in Southern California rings, two: his reign as a champion was very short, third, he was never a household name.

I named him the last three boxers who, in the previous 15 years or so, have had their life stories made into movies, and then I asked him, "what did those three fighters have in common?" After he had thought it over a few minutes, he answered me, "I see what you mean" I wished him well before we ended the call.    

R.I.P. Don Fraser

By kiki

                                                                  Don Fraser

The boxing community mourns the passing of another one of its legendary icons: Don Fraser. Don, who was the founder, and president of the California Boxing Hall of Fame was the last one of a group of boxing icons who wrote Los Angeles' storied boxing history, especially during the sport's golden age. The old guard has now passed the torch to a younger generation. - Don ran the CBHOF for many years, and I worked with him as chairman of the selection committee for about half of those years. - Don, early in his career worked as a boxing writer, publicist, and later became a promoter. He worked for the Olympic Auditorium from the late 1950s through the mid-1960s before leaving to work for George Parnassus’ rival Forum Boxing. Later he promoted many fights at the Marriott Hotel in Irvine, CA. Don's crowning achievement happened on September 10, 1973: the promotion of the second Muhammad Ali vs. Ken Norton bout at the Inglewood Forum. - Rest In Peace, my friend.

Frank Baltazar & Don Fraser

The Urge To Do What Old Folks Do In The wee Hours

By kiki

I was lying in our crib around midnight, or was it in the wee hours of the morning? Whatever time it was, I had suddenly gotten the urge to do what old folks do in those darkest hours, so I grabbed the side of the mattress to pick myself up to a sitting position. I was doing okay picking myself up, that is until I started sliding off the bed. I tried to stop my slide, but I couldn't, so I said to myself, "enjoy the ride" The ride seemed like it was in slow motion because it seemed like it was taking forever for me to hit the floor but hit the floor I did. I tried getting up, but I couldn't because the golden years wouldn't let me. 

I needed help, but who could I yell out to? Connie? She was asleep, though she'd whistle in between snores when I crash-landed. James? His room is on the other side of the house, too far to yell. Fernie? His room is next to ours, but I don't know because his mind sometimes is in a different universe. That left Chata, the old English bulldog, but I didn't dare ask her for help because she growled ( she sleeps in our room) when I hit the floor. But, anyway, knowing her, I'm sure she would have just called me pendejo. It took me a while, but I did get up on my own, and though the landing was soft, I'm aching this morning.   

Flashing Red Lights

By kiki

Seeing these pictures of this stolen Montebello Police car brought back Simons Brickyard memories. - One moonless summer night during the late 1940s, we kids from El Hoyo were hanging around 'la lumbrita' (small fire) when a Chota's (police) car with red flashing lights came roaring out of the profound darkness that was the brickyard once the sun went down. Us kids didn't know what to make out of the Chota's car because the Chota never ever went into El Hoyo at night; hell, they hardly went in during the daytime. So we really didn't need them as Simons was, despite its notorious reputation, a safe barrio. 

Of course, there were drunken brawls among men, and some time among women too, but no cuetes (guns) or fileros (knives) were used, or needed: the men fought like men, with their fist, and the women fought like women, pulling their hair and poking their eyes. And some mischievous kids gave the brickyard's private Chota a hard time; they'd so by burning the brickyard's paletas (pallets) and people's fences, not to mention stealing a rooster.

With its flashing red lights and going as fast as it could, the chota's car came bouncing on the dirt road ruts, ruts deep enough to loosen tooth fillings, towards the la lumbrita, and as the flashing red lights got nearer, we could hear yelling and laughter coming from the chota's car. The car made a couple of fast 180 turns, spraying dirt as it did so before it stopped in front of us, frozen in our shoes, kids. Four barrio guys said they were chota's jumped out of a stolen Los Angeles County Sheriff's car. The new chota's were quick to get back in the wind. We heard a few days later that the wanna-be Chotas were in the graybar hotel.  

The toilet Seat

By kiki

Back in the late '70s, my cousin Big Henry Baltazar and I, with our ladies, of course, were on a Sunday motorcycle ride around the Corona/Lake Elsinore area, and from there, we took a two-lane road to Perris in Riverside County. But before we got to Perris, we came upon a small hamlet, one without no name. There we stopped at a gas station similar to the one in the photo. Once Henry and I were done topping off the Harley's, we looked for the men's room. 

We asked the attendant, a little old man who looked to be a refugee from Los Angeles' skid row, where the bathroom was; with a toothless grin, he motioned with his head and said "around the corner" Around the corner, we found only a door that was hanging on by just one of its three hinges. There was no sign on it to indicate that it was the men's room, but we went in anyway. We found, in what served as both a supply room and men's and ladies' bathroom, a toilet bucket with a tire split in half as the seat. The tire/seat was a white wall from Sears.