"What dog?"
He's doing the Jerk....
He's doing the Fly
Don't play him cheap 'cause you know he ain't shy
He's doing the Monkey, the Mashed Potatoes, Jump back
Jack, See you later
alligator." Lyric by James Brown
Things
sometimes change
Dennis and Ron 2002
1965
I was living
with my cousin Ron in Alhambra, Ca. I was having a great time working and
partying the night away.
The trouble was that one income was paying for the two
of us to party. I was staying broke, but having fun at night.
The routine was simple, on payday we would get our clothes
out of hock (laundry), save enough for a burrito a day.
At night we would go over to the local draft pallor (Tikki
Hut in Alhambra (Next door to the Orange Julius at that time)).
Nurse a twenty-five cent draft, until the party people
started buying rounds.
The uniform of the day was a colorful shirt, Bermuda
shorts, Mariachi sandals
and sun glasses.
We were cool.
California cool.
The clothes were lightly starched and cleaned. Normal
wear for LA.
We were listening to the Mamas and Papas on the radio
and blues in the night clubs.
We would go to the nightclubs on weekends. Some of the
kids around the neighborhood were
wearing beads, T shirts and letting their grow.
I thought it was another fad.
***
Neither Ron and I had a car or drivers license.
He knew how to drive but vagely memtioned with a smile
something about a senior homecoming football game and
all the lights in the city of Alhambra going out one
night when he should of been playing football.
***
When I had first met Ron after coming back to California
from Ky. I was staying at home in La Puente.
As soon as I got a job at F.T.F. I needed a place
to stay that was closer to work. My cousin Ron said I could stay with him.
He was living above a movie theater on Main St. in Alhambra. This location
was nostalgic because it was my old grade school stomping grounds near
Third St. and also it was within walking distance of F.T.F. His place was
just a single room overlooking Main St. just to the edge of the theater.
There were two beds in the room. We were to pay ten dollars each for the
room, that was it.
During this period of time I met Ron and Gene's Rugby
and Semi-pro football buddies. I met Jack Summers at this time. Jack was
a line backer type, a rugby mentality, let us knock the crap out of you,
type of guy. He turned me on to wide striped rugby shirts. There was also
a semi-pro quarterback that stayed with us for a few days, he was down
on his luck, he was tall and blond, looking every bit like a quarterback,
a tab hunter look alike. After most games (Rugby or football) we would
all go to Shakies for pizza and beer.
This rooming house was managed by a short chunky foreigner.
He hardly spoke any English, he
was always wanting me to pay for anyone who just walked
into the room with us. When ever I would walk into the building he'd say,
"jush two naa three, you pay". I would always say, " what? k pasa" and
walk into the room. I think Ron and I drove the guy mad. We always paid
our twenty, but he always wanted thirty.
Most of the time someone would crash there for the night,
we never knew who would be there, if anyone at all.
The photo of the theater in alhambra, Ca. Where my
cousin and I threw our
clothes out of the window to keep from losing them.
3 Windows at right of theater marquee.
When we decided to move out of this room, our landlord
said we could not go until we paid him his back rent. We said we did not
owe him anything. He said he would be waiting outside the door for his
money. Ron said that he would probably take our stuff if we ever walked
down stairs. My cousin Ron had an old plastic sun dial hanging on the wall.
He also had a plastic sword hanging next to the sun dial. This was our
art. When we opened the door to carry our stuff to the car, the man was
standing in the doorway saying " jush two naa three, you pay". We closed
the door, I looked for some other way to do this. We opened the window
and threw all our stuff out the window onto the sidewalk. When we were
done and the room was empty. I grabbed the sword and sun dial off the wall
and we opened the door and using the sun dial as a shield we fought our
way playfully out of the room and down the stairs, I held him off
while Ron loaded his brothers car.
I recently talked to my cousin Ron on the phone, laughing
with tears in our eyes, reminiscing
about the escape from the room and the bachelor
pad we shared for two weeks and other old
times. He said, "You know I had to go to jail because
of the dog". I looked at the phone, puzzled,
trying to remember the dog. I said, "What dog?" Hell
those were fun times, I stayed broke.
****
White sox don�t make it.
White sox don�t make it. Ron and I heard this, so we
started wearing white sox with
everything we wore. We were neat and clean, but we didn�t
care for the fashion industry
telling us that white sox don�t go with black slacks.
I think that the world did the same
thing that we did, they started wearing white sox with
everything. I still wear white sox
with everything, to Laurel�s dismay.
****
Bond, James Bond!
Ron and I would sometimes go to the Mann's Grauman's
Chinese Theater and see whatever was playing.
Mostly Bond, James Bond!
Going to the show with Ron is not what I wanted to talk
about.
What I wanted to say was:
Ron had his children for the weekend so we decided
to take the children to the show. The stuff that Ron and I usually saw
was not fit for children. So we looked in the paper for something suitable
for children. What we found was a show playing at this theater we knew
nothing about. We circled the address, figured out how to get to where
the show was, I do not know whether we bowered someone's car or took a
bus to this theater. When we got to the theater we paid our tickets, entered,
got some cokes, candy and popcorn. We settled down in our seats to watch
a Walt Disney movie. We had no clue about what we were about to see. When
the lights dimmed the rumble of soft voices were stilled. Musicians started
tuning up the instruments. We sat and watched knowing that Walt was going
to treat us to a cartoon. What we saw was Fantasia. I never have been so
spellbound in all my life. Totally entertained we were. Amazed at the sheer
beauty of what we were seeing. Emotionally uplifting, we were all children,
lifted up to another level of awareness. We were carried by Walt on a musical
tour of notes and dancing beasts, waving the colors with music, colorful
frescos dancing off the walls, pirouettes of purple hippos, lightning flying
down upon splendor of color. For two hours we sat spellbound, when it was
over nobody in the theater wanted to leave, we sat wanting Walt to give
us more.
Walt Disney is a man, a being of good humor, with of
mind of colorful rainbows to give.
Walt Disney studios is another matter?
This movie Fantasia was made in his prime, if you want
splendor, see it.
****
My cousin talked me into moving into a singles (bachelors)
apartment building with pool, patio, girls and barbeque grills. Three of
us were going to help pay the rent. We moved in, I think I paid the rent.
After about two weeks of living in this bachelor apartment. I am sitting
watching T.V. and my cousin says to me. His friend is bringing over some
marijuana over tomorrow night. My image at that moment is of a drug addict.
In my mind this is out of the question. This upsets me quite a bit. Mentally
I was not prepared for this. I never opened my mouth to say no, I just
listened and thought. Hey ! I was thinking of leaving. I always wanted
to be a bracero. In one night I am making plans to become a bracero. Not
a drug addict. The more I thought about it, the more upset I became. I
never told anyone. I packed my seabag. The next morning while he went out
to find a job. I headed for downtown LA. I rode the bus, because I did
not have a car. I went to the
agricultural department of farm labor. I knew I could
find out there, where I could go and get a job. I walked into the building
with my seabag over my shoulder and walked over to the counter. There were
no waiting lines. The place reminded me of a bus depot. I asked the man
behind the green desk, where I could go to find a job. He pointed to a
old grey bus and said it would be leaving soon, going to a lemon grove
up in Goleta, Cal. I asked if I could go, he handed me a form and said
to fill it out and hop on the bus. I filled out the form and got on the
bus. The bus was filled with mostly older men. They looked haggard
and worn. The bus left about five minutes later. It took a route similar
to what a greyhound bus would take. It headed strait for the freeway. We
traveled north, I guess Galeta was up north. The bus got off the freeway
near Santa Barbara. We traveled side roads well known to the driver, unknown
to me. We finally pulled into a gated compound ajacent to an airfield there
in town. The bus parked, we were told to go into a holding area where
we would receive our instructions as to what was expected of us. We were
told that we would have a dormitory to sleep in. Food three times
a day. It sounded great to me. They said that they had a store for needed
supplies, the man pointed in the direction of the store, we all looked.
Anything bought at the store would be taken from our wages. I was not worried,
because I had my savings pass book in my bag. The best bank in America
was my bank. The man went on to say that required equipment to pick lemons
were?
He showed us:
1. Leather gloves that went halfway up your arms.
They were to protect you from the long thorns in the lemon trees.
2. Stainless steel cutting shears, for nipping
the stem properly. So not to damage the next years crop.
Room and board would be taken from our wages.
Beans and Tortillas. The food was good. I am a beans
and tortillas type guy.
We would be paid once a day.
Well you guessed it. Everyone was in debt to the company
store, before they ever got started.
I remember that story from our history class in
high school. Faces from the John Stienbeck's novels are everywhere.
We were led to our rooms, I think eight to a room, the
room was very large, it was fine.
The bath was a community bath, similar to a high school
gym shower. Overall not bad.
What was bad were the winos that were around. These people
were without hope.
If you had wanted to, you could have made it your lifes
task to save one wino.
Something like taking a hippie to lunch.
There were holes in the fences where the winos would
sneek out to buy a bottle of wine.
The owners didn't want drunks picking fruit. They wanted
sober men picking lemons, hence the fence.
They took us by truck out to the orchards. We would be
paid by boxes picked.
It was extremely difficult to pick lemons because of
the inch long thorns.
These trees were already picked of most of the their
fruit, we were there to do the finale picking.
I found out after two days of hard work, that there was
no money in lemons for Dennis.
In our room there was an Arab man about thirty years
old.
We became friendly and talked of better things to do.
He mentioned that the apple season would soon be here
and there was much better money in apples.
About the forth day, we decided that we had enough of
lemons and the labor camp.
We decided to leave the winos, the thieves and the poverty
behind.
Before we run up the road on another adventure, let's
speak of Galeta the town and of Santa Barbara.
Galeta sits next to the ocean on the coast. There was
an old airport across the road from the labor camp.
I never saw any planes there. There was an odd blimp
or plane there, an experimental something or other, it was strange.
While I was there they had a car race at the airport,
MGs, Austin Healys, and a lot of other small engine autos.
They had straw bales of hay at the turns. We watched
part of the race and moved on into town.
We visited The University of California Santa Barbara
Campus on the oceanside with its boardwalks of concrete.
We would go into this folk bar nightly, where people
would sit on a stool and play their own folk songs.
We would sit and drink coffee.
These were the times of folk music moving closer
to rock and roll, everyone was understanding Woodie Guthrie.
We visited Santa Barbara with its Golden Beauty. It was
beautiful there.
I was on a lower level there.
I was the "poor picker" picking their fruit.
I was resentful of the lemon growers' wealth.
They took advantage of the poormans weakness.
I understood the "Golden Haired Beauties" riding around
in their MGs with the tennis rackets and tab hunters in the back seat.
I did not like them. I later met the "Golden Haired Beauties"
at Morningstar.
They didn't seem to like it either.
The poor labor was in my mind at the time in Goleta,
the wealth in Santa Barbara.
Something was not right.
I now understand the poor mans plights. Can you blame
the landowner for making a living?
I wanted to ride a white horse in a grape field. I picked
lemons with winos.
I understand the coal minor and his company store.
Anyway we decided to leave the lemons behind, this Arab
man and I.
I said where are the apples.
He says that everyone told him that the Yakima Valley
in Washington State is the best place to go.
Sept. 1966
"When do we start?" I said. I had never been north of
San Francisco. He said "We will go different ways and see who gets their
first." I cannot remember which road I took the coastal road or the freeway.
I think I took the freeway. I caught rides whenever I could. When I finally
got to Yakima, I headed for the farm employment office in town. I walked
into the building to find that every seat, every space was occupied. My
My! I asked one of the men standing where do I go to pick apples. He smiled
and said apples won't be ready for a least two weeks. I said what are all
these people doing here? "Jus waiting" he said.
As I was about to turn and go find some room to rent
for the night a young farmer in his forties walks up onto a platform
above the crowd and says.
"I need three men to pick hops?"
No one in the crowd answers.
He repeats his plea and waits five or ten seconds.
Time passes.
No one in the crowd answers.
He repeats his plea and waits five or ten seconds.
One man says "OK".
Now I need two more, no answer. "Two more!"
Another man raises his hand.
"I've got two, one more man?"
Twenty seconds passed before I raise my hand, why not,
I need work.
What the hell are hops?
Nobody wanted to pick hops.
He motions for use to hop into the back of his pickup
for the ride to his farm. I grab my seabag, put it into the truck and then
I climb in. The three of us adjusted ourselves in the back of his truck.
"You'll learn" he replies after asking us if we know anything about picking
hops. We drove about ten miles before we got to his farm. He drives by
his house toward the some small buildings in the distance. We end up in
front of three small one room cabins. He shows us were each of us will
stay. I share a cabin with a man my age, a little heavier than I. We say
our hellos... he was already there. The farmer says that come sun-up we'll
be in the field, so be ready to go early.
We were all ready to go come sun up. Women, men and families
were headed toward the fields.
Where these other familes came from I do not know?
A few of us jumped into his truck, some people had their
own cars. The group followed the farmer to the fields of hops. What I noticed
first was that the hops were suspended on wires. The wire were held up
by poles in the ground, everything looked like a giant grape arbor. The
picture of it would look like this. The farm tractor pulling a combine
between two wire rows, fifteen feet in the air. Each row is on each
side of the combine. If you were to put a cherry picker cage on each side
of the combine, up high, that is what it would look like. And that is what
the farmer did. The hops would grow up a string attached to the wire above.
When the hop plant got to the top it would grow outward and fall back to
earth. The plants would look like ice cream cones. The hops were indeed
a vine that climbed to the sky and fell back to earth.
My job
as was explained to me, was to have a pair of leather gloves, machete,
long sleeve shirt and then climb up the edge of the combine to the cage
above. In the cage I stood waist high above the hops. Once there I
would reach into the hop vine and grab hold and pull. I would use the machete
in a slicing motion along the wire seperating the hops from the wire. Below
me women with large hats would cut the lower end of the hop plant at the
ground. The hop plant now free, I would swing it into the combine where
the hop would be separated from vine and string. The farmer would move
tractor and combine in a steady pace, stopping only to refuel and/or eat
lunch. We would work until dark, never stopping. After about three weeks
non-stop I was exhausted. I had four different partners in the other cage.
They all said that they were not paid enough for that kind of work. When
we finally had finished picking all his hops, he told us all to come over
to the house where he said he would pay us. As he paid me and shook my
hand he said, "stick around a bit, I'd like to talk to you after everyone
leaves". When everyone was gone he said get in the truck. We drove around
to another farm of his across the road. He stopped in an apple orchard,
we got out. He then said," How would you like to pick these". I looked
at the trees, which were not very tall, they were loaded with fruit the
size of grapefruit. I said "yes". He then preceded to tell me how to pick
them. Grab the apple firmly, careful not to bruise the fruit with your
thumb or fingers. Do not drop any fruit at all, lay all fruit down gently,
but work fast. He gave me a bag to wear. I would fill the bag, then
go over to a four foot by four foot by three box. The large box was on
skids and attached to a small tractor. I would get five dollars for every
huge box I filled. With such large apples in did not take to many apples
to fill a box. As I would fill a box the farmer would come over and inspect
the box for culls. I worked in the orchard alone. These apples were premium,
nothing but the best. I made plenty of money out there on that farm. The
time came when I had picked all his trees. I had finished up the apples
on this farm. The farmer thanked me for helping him out. He paid me, I
packed my seabag and he took me to town. We said our goodbyes and he left.
I went over to the post office and asked the clerk for any general delivery
mail sent to a Tom. He looked and handed me a postcard, it was from
the Arab man. He gave me an address of where he was at. I went over
to the bus depot and found a map of town and the area. I located the orchard
and found him in a cabin similar to the one I had at the other farm. I
said "man these are tall trees. Nothing compared to the young short trees
I had worked". I asked if this was the only orchard he worked, he said
yes. A man could not make any money here, because you would have to climb
up fifteen feet up, pick a few apples, climb back down and do it again,
always moving the ladder. He says stay and see how it works out. I said
ok. I stayed one full day, but on that day I met a young short Eskimo girl,
Smokie, she had a round face, black page boy hair, round body, not to round.
She said that she was going to Seattle tomorrow, would I like to keep her
company. I said sure there is no money to be made here. We traveled by
greyhound to Seattle. When we got to Seattle she said I'll see you later
and left. I looked in the phone book in the bus depot for an employment
office. Found it close to the bus depot. I walk over and into the building.
I waited in line for about five minutes, walk over to a desk, where a man
motioned me to sit down. He looked at the form I had filled out. He also
asked what kind of work I wanted? I said that I just got into town and
that I would do anything. He looked into his Rolodex and pulled a card
out. He filled out another card and handed it to me. He said that was it
and good luck. I thanked him and left the office and building. I though
to myself that was easy. If I had been really needing a job at that time
I probably would not have gotten a job. I had money in the bank and a paycheck
from picking apples. I went over to the office building that he sent me
to and reported to a man in the basement of the building. The job that
I was to do was to scrub the hallways in the office buildings at night
starting at eleven P.M. That was fine with me, anything to get started
in town. Don't forget I have just gotten into town only four hours ago
and was to start work that night. He said to come back tonight and we would
go over everything in detail. My next priority was to find a place to stay.
I looked about town and found a room at a small hotel in town. The rent
was about ten or more dollars a week for a room, that is all I needed.
Going to work that night, some funny but strange things were found out.
As I walked over to the Smith Tower as the building where I was to work
was called. As I entered the building through the front glass doors, I
noticed to the side, a small pub, I walked in looked around, a cocktail
lounge is what I saw, not a pub. There were men and women sitting at the
bar. A young bartender was working behind the bar. He was dressed in the
working uniform of a bartender, long sleeve white shirt with garters on
the arms and black slacks. I looked in and walked out. I headed for the
steps to the basement. I passed several women coming up the steps as I
walked down. When I finally reached the basement I heard music. As I approached
the area that I was in that afternoon I noticed two doors wide open strait
ahead of me. Apparently they had been closed that afternoon. What I saw
was another bar. More activity than the lounge upstairs, the bar was crammed
full. I looked in and to my surprise, Smokie (the little Eskimo girl I
was on the bus with) was sitting with a group of girls at a table close
to the door. A song was playing on a music box. Knowing that I had to go
to work in about fifteen minutes, I walked over and said hello, she said
something about how did you find me? I told her about the job I was going
to. We made small talk and she introduced me to some of her friends. As
it turned out later this was a ladies gay bar. I learned what I had to
do for this job from my employer. I stayed the winter there in Seattle.
I worked in the Smith Tower building as a night watch man with cleaning
duties. I hung around the girls in the gay bar. These were the first people
I had met in Seattle. Before work each night. I would head to this bar
to dance with the girls. I met some nice people there and a few of the
dikes said to my friend Smokie "take him somewhere else". Most let me dance
with them, but that was all, I had fun dancing.. They were committed to
their lifestyles.
"I'm
Your Puppet" was playing on the juke box.
***
Deep in the sixties "When a Man Loves a Woman" by Percy
Sledge is playing on the jukebox.
I am sitting at the bar in Seattle.
That sound moves deep into my mind.
Links
Morningstar/Wheeler
Folk Online
Organic
Life Styles
Hippies
and Digger
Links