Tape title stories

 The Late Harvest ?     This is a tale from the 1970's and exposes some of my criminal history. My early years on my own were those of poverty and a hippy lifestyle that meant few luxuries and rare nights out at fine restaurants. The only time I experienced any kind of the good life was at the invitation and selection of BC. It was from my Dad that I learned of another side of life beyond the comfortable middle class scene of the Gate. In this case, the subject was wine and my education involving the fruit of the vine. At the end of the sixties my idea of fine wine was Gallo burgundy, CK Mondavi gallon jugs, Mateus Rose and Lancers wine that was distinguished by the crockery bottle. My father was starting to move from his bad martini habit to a more sophisticated quaffing of good wine. He and my Mom even visited some wineries and they kept their home in Long Beach at a temperature amenable to the wine they were buying and not the humans who lived or visited Terraine ave. ...

       Maybe it was the Irish in our blood but Greg and I spoke a common language that I hope will survive somewhat with these humble letters. Because I knew some phrases would tickle him I went out of my way to use them. One of my favorites that was used for at least thirty-seven years was calling Greg and Lissy "you kids." The older we got the more fun it was to use the expression and when I waited to be picked up for a blessed trip to Lawry's by a septugenarian couple I might make my inquiry "what time you  kids coming by?" While he did not laugh when I said the phrase I knew it tickled the old man to be called this antiquated term. We also loved to use some wording that would have been frowned on by common folk but to us it gave greater meaning and sometimes respect for the situation.  We liked to call women both gals and broads with no intention of demeaning our betters. If Greg really liked a woman he might refer to her as "a great gal." As menti...

   Big Game...Big Kick in the Balls      This is one of those tales that traces misguided good intentions by BC who set me up for a crash landing at the Coliseum. It was big game week in 1979 and I was buoyed by the fact I had been hired by LAPL to begin my library career that month. UCLA once again had a mediocre team but was showing some life by winning their last two games including a rout of Oregon up in Eugene. BC invited me to come down to the old venerable gridiron and watch the big game with the help of the UCLA ticket manager who provided me with a lost-seat location pass. The lost seat location pass was a scam that got you through the gate but did not provide you with an exact seat every time. To top off the deal BC gifted me a bright, baby-blue windbreaker with a bumper-sticker plastered on the back that said UCLA #1  What the fuck! I was always proud of my graduation from the school and was fanatical about the sports programs which at that time ...

 Lud...       Growing up in South Gate, boys took for granted the blue collar sweat that kept the city thriving and  Tweedy boulevard becoming the pumping heart of what was once an old dusty ranch. My Dad and John Sheehy were outside the norm in this city encircled by factories and the hard jobs handling steel ingots, building Chevrolets, putting truck tires through their stages or standing on a line putting hot water heaters together with numbed brains. I have gone on before about our neighbors. a plumber, a meek assembly line tin can maker, a bread truck driver and a beer soaked butcher named Jack. BC had his pals but these Anetta street guys were not in his social circle where you might find salesmen and civil servants. The richest men in South Gate were realtors and the two gents who operated funeral parlors. It amazes me to this day that in this white enclave the men behaved no differently than they would have if they had remained in Iowa, Missouri, Michiga...

    “Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.” ―  Maya Angelou   I guess I got my librarian gene from my Mom who held onto things that reminded her of softer times when there were no kids or a man in her life. There were a few strange traits I had as a kid that forshadowed my adult personality. I was a nester early on and tried to create my own apartment in the space behind our bathroom windows on Annetta street. I also loved to collect cards and marbles. I was mostly content to amuse myself and when my Mom said "Glen always played really well by himself" my brother said "he's still playing with himself Mom!" The 1950's were a time of collecting for kids, especially baseball cards but when 45 rpm records came out it was a kind of status to have a Dot label record. As kids, we loved to listen to an odd collection of records that had accumulated over the years and if it were raining or some other reaso...

  Hey Ted!      There are only fragments of the lives of Ben, Charline and pals in the 1930's but some of the tales remain in my now foggy noggin. It was easy to get John Sheehy to spill out the lore of LA back in their day but occasionally the combination of the two gents would yield the really great stories they never told us for reasons involving role modelling. Yet, some seeped through like the return trip from Indianapolis through Utah with Wilken Family whiskey aiding in the jorney or the tale of "Bloody Dick" Smith. Then, there was the tale of young Ben and John bonding during a supposedly 77 beer and a few tamales at Finley's on foot and farting between watering the landscape out in Florence. What we know is that the country was suffering the terrible depression with a third of the men in America out of work. It seemed like the end of the world as these youngsters set out on their own. Yet, they seemed to find adventure and fun alongside these dire circumstan...