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.

Woody Strode

By kiki

Woody Strode

How many of you remember Woody Strode, a football player, wrestler, and actor? Woody married Hawaiian Princess Luukialuana, better known to her friends as Luana. Luana, an actress in her own right, was a player, and she loved to party at Bradley's Nite Club on Whittier Blvd in East Los Angeles. Back in the late '50s and early '60s, Bradley's was a favorite haunt for the young crowd to dance the night away, and Luana, much to the chagrined of Woody, was always there dancing with the young cats. So Woody walked into Bradley's more than once and forcefully dragged Luana home. We all hated to see her go because she was lots of fun as she held court, telling us stories about her young days as a Hawaiian princess. Most of us hanging at Bradley's could only dream of going to Hawaii, but here we were conversing with a Hawaiian Princess.

                   Woody Strode and Hawaiian Princess Luukialuana

Fear of the Unknown

                                                       Connie 

By kiki

I'm scared: afraid of the unknown, and afraid of the uncharted waters my wife Connie and I find ourselves in. Connie and I, up until now, have had a pretty good healthy life, that's not to say we haven't suffered major illness, we have, but we have survived them, its just that we have been healthy enough so that we might have taken each day for granted; but having said that, we now find our lives in turmoil due to cancer. Yes, cancer and other ills have visited the family before now: our daughter Linda and I are longtime cancer survivors. We have also lost a child and some grandkids. Connie and I do have some of what I refer to as "old folks ills" Those are ills that are expected to hit you as you reach a certain age. But now Connie has been diagnosed with cancer of the uterus. After "spotting" for about ten days Connie went to see her primary doctor, who in turn referred her to a gynecologist. The gynecologist did a biopsy, and after learning that the results were positive for cancer of the uterus he told Connie that she was going to need surgery and he referred her to an oncologist/surgeon that specializes in female cancers: She has yet to see the oncologist/surgeon so we still don't know when the surgery will be scheduled - In the wee morning hours of this past Saturday, I had to take her to the ER due to very heavy bleeding. After about four hours the ER doctor, after consulting by phone with her gynecologist told her that she was stable enough to return home. - In what stage is her cancer? We still don't know - Almost as bad as the cancer is the loops and hoops the HMO's make you jump through in order to see a referred specialist.

Updates

2-12-19: Connie saw the surgeon today and her surgery will be scheduled as soon as the doctor gets approval from the HMO. We were told it could take up to two weeks for the HMO to get off the dime. 

2-26-19: Connie is scheduled for surgery on the 11 of March.

                                                             Us   

Pan Dulce and a Root Beer

By kiki

During my Montebello Junior High school years (1950-'52), my Pops had a charge account at Nacho's Date Street store (Camilo Delgado, AKA Nacho, step-dad to my friend Raul Martinez, also owned the local pool hall); he paid it off every two weeks, (Simons' workers got paid every two weeks) One Saturday morning he walked up the hill from El Hoyo Simons to pay Nacho. When he got home, I could see something was wrong because he was mad. 'time for me to hide,' I thought. But there was no hiding from Pops 'kiki; I want to talk to you," he said. "yes?" I meekly answered because I knew what was coming. "I just paid Nacho off, and my bill was a lot higher than what it should have been, and when I questioned Nacho about his bookkeeping, he told me that it was you running up the bill and not him because you stop there every day after school to have a pan dulce and a Root Beer, is that true?" Damn, I was busted with my hand in the cookie jar. "Yes, pop, what Nacho told you is true, but can I explain why I did that?" "Please do, if you can," he replied. "well, Pops, its this way, you see, every day I have to walk to and forth from school, and that's because I got thrown off the school bus for shooting spitballs at the driver, and so, every day I'm tired, thirsty and hungry from walking the 4 miles or so from the school, and stopping at Nacho's for a pan dulce and Root Beer seemed like a good way to take care of my hunger and thirst pains, but I won't do it again," And I never did, but pan dulce and Root Beers always brings memories of Pops