Tape title stories

  Hitc h’s profile      One of Greg's heroes was the great film director Alfred Hitchcock. Not only did he admire his classic films but he revelled in telling tales about Hitch's ungentlemanly behavior toward some starlets under his direction. We both watched many of the not that good TV series and were familiar with the profile and droll opening. None of that is germaine to the phrase above since it is rather new and stems from an evening in the very cozy front parlor at Bone. After everyone else had turned in Greg and I would repair to that room and he would light a fire in the old fireplace. It could get chilly in New Hampshire on some evenings so the warmth of the fire and glasses of red wine would relax both men thoroughly. We normally talked, laughed, told stories inappropriate for other company and even watched a baseball game or two. On this eveing we were sitting in our chairs in front of the fire and spinning yarns from our large chest of shared tales. I se...

  Hello Wayne      With a great assist to cousin Kent I explain a catch-all saying that was used in all manner of greetings around Greg. That being "Hello Wayne" which was never pronounced dramatically or with force but only in a relaxed and familiar way. It comes from one of the legendary road trips the two lads took across our America in the 1970's and involved a mechanic in one of the flyover states who saved the bacon of these entrepid vagabonds. Driving and smoking and joking the fellas saw their gauge registering an overheat and desperately found a garage somewhere in the flatlands of the midwest with a mechanic on duty. The good old boy was skilled and easy-going as he made repairs effortlessly that would get the boys back on the road and gathering stories once more. During his work under the hood, a local feller sauntered up and the un-named mechanic casually greeted him with "hello wayne." Maybe it was the cannabis or the euphoria of getting a needed re...

  Henville at the Pool Hall     Let us go back to the days of old South Gate when we cruised Tweedy, shopped at Ashtons and bought our cigs at Sav-On drugstore. Once upon a time the politics of the city were dominated by real estate agents who prospered selling little houses on either side of the grand thoroughfare known as Tweedy boulevard. That stretch of markets and shops was the business center of this suburb of LA that began at the end of the 20's and hit full-stride after World War II. There were names you knew because they sold land in the Azalea City. Milo Dellman, Leland Weaver, Don Sawyer, and Joe Henville were among the thriving property agents when we were kids. They were the captains of commerce in a town surrounded by big factories whose owners probably never set foot in the Gate. However, realtors did and went to Rotary or joined the Elks or Eagles or Lions or Kiwanas. They sponsored teams in the SGJAA and drove chariots made of Detroit steel on that Tweedy...

  Hello!  I’m the prune man      This one is drawn from Sheehy folklore as it unfolded on McNerney avenue during Greg's childhood. A unique part of the neighborhood was this sad but dogged man who would arrive in an old Packard and approach the front door at 10431 with a small paper bag in his hand. He had a Boston Blackie mustache, wore a wide brimmed fedora and was always dressed in a suit the way they were worn in the 1940's. The kind of ensemble that found its way onto the racks of Value Village just a few years later.  His hair was brilliantined and his voice was high and rather delicate. He would knock on the door and when little latchkey Greg would answer the gentleman would announce himself as "hello! I'm the prune man!" I have no clue where Grace or John ever met this character but he sold dried prunes door to door and delivered same to loyal customers. Now, today this would be a fool's errand but in the 1950's with diets comprised of meats, chees...

  Harvey and the snake      This is one of the series of CD mixes made for Roy Ziesing who was adapting to macular degeneration. I made a number of collections, mostly singing and classic American songbook materials for the patriarch of Bear Cove. Roy got up early and took definitive photos of camp including daybreak over Squam capturing the wonderful quiet of the great house before the humans disturbed the peace. The only sounds would be the cry of a loon or the scraping of pug toenails. All  of these CDs took their titles from events or family members visiting that place of magic in New Hampshire. A warm quality of Bone was always the company of doggies and even an occasional cat. The dogs were almost all pugs who are the characters of the canine world. One of the stars of the Pug presence was a fiesty boy named  Harvey whose human was sister Grace. Harvey was an explorer and as much time was spent down by the dock at lakeside he toddled around the shorel...

  Got any stuff on you?     A line from Tony Baker in the classic camp film "High School Confidential" that was much quoted among the fellas throughout the 70's and forward. The film was supposed to be a cautionary tale about drug use as Baker played by Russ Tamblyn went undercover at the local high school to ferret out the destroyers of youth. The 1958 movie has it all with the big drug dealer (Mister A), the drug pusher (Bix) and the hapless drug fiend (Joan) all brought to life with some of the corniest dialogue imagineable. Jerry Lee Lewis provided the title tune and Mamie Van Doren heated up the screen with platinum blonde va-voom. We young hip guys thought we knew all about the "drug scene" as we were avid pot smokers and ate up every word of the script. Baker was a young undercover cop, pretending to be a kid looking for thrills and this sentence was one of his come ons in between shaving on his way to school in his muscle car convertable and saving youth...

  Leave the god damn thing here     This one comes from the playbook of the Bobcat uttered by his Dad who like Solomon was making a wise judgement. While he may have been called Blub or Blubbo it was a term of endearment for Jim Brian. The old man was a railroad veteran who made his son's pals most welcome on Clarkson street over in Maywood. Blub also had a distinctive voice that may have gained a rasp while working the train yards close to the family home. Originally, Jim was from Colesburg Kentucky and was no stranger to hard work. He brought his two boys up to never shirk honest labor and his word was final in the home. I believe there was a bit of a tug o' war between Bob and Isabel over a pair of binoculars involving an argument between protective Mom and willful son. Blub passed judgement and boomed "Bobby...leave the god damn thing here!" If you used the phrase you had to do it in the gruff tenor of the man himself which we did to delight and amuse our old budd...

  You can get the hell off my lot      This was a sad, embarassing and unusual occurrence that took place at BC's office on the day of a big, stressful Ram football game.  His office at the time was in a large victorian house right off the corner of Figueroa and Santa Barbara (later renamed Martin Luther King blvd.) He also had space for maybe 20 cars in front of the office and 4 or 5 in the back. It was during the time when he hired me to work in the office after I had been fired from my job at UCLA (another story) and was down on my luck. Greg loved the office and visited me during slack times just to look around at the interesting stuff inside. There was a group of us who went to Ram games at the time including Jack, Greg, Paul Knowlton, Billy Hogan and others. We sat in the storied section C in temporary bleachers in the peristyle end of the coliseum. These guys would come early and hang out in the office den for an hour or so before traffic got bad while sh...

  Garvey writes      This is part of a lecture on the fascinating Marcus Garvey that was part of a PBS show about black history. Marcus Garvey was born in Jamaica but found himself in America in the teens of the 20th century trying to start an organization called the Universal Negro Improvement Association. Garvey had been invited by George Washington Carver to study the Tuskegee Institute to educate young blacks in the Carribean, Africa and the Americas. Greg loved the idea of the flamboyant Garvey not settling for crumbs from the white man but instead proclaiming the greatness of African heritage, repeating black is beautiful and wearing elaborate military costumes as he rode around Harlem in the back of a touring car. He was a rivetting speaker and accomplished writer. He was known as the Black Moses in his community and also began a back to Africa movement. It may have been Philosopher Cornel West in his striking speaking voice who said "now Garvey writes" to mak...

  Garlic reeking mother fucker      We return to the Disney Concert Hall for one of my low points in  dating history. Dear Freya was trying to help me recover from heartbreak and set me up with a perfectly nice but totally inappropriate young lady. We had an intro date that was OK but seeeing that her passion was tango dancing I had my doubts. However, Greg invited me to bring her to a concert at the great hall and it seemed perfect. That afternoon I met Katya and her then BF Bobby at the Bucket where I picked up the tab on lunch. The Bucket has a long and colorful past but one of their specialties was a potent garlic mustard sauce that went well on their fried potatoes known as crispy critters. This secret powerful sauce was developed by the infamous and brilliant Julio. (That is a whole other story.)  I was nervous but could not resist slathering up some critters in the sauce while the young folks ate burgers. There was some talk about dinner before the c...

  Firebirds vs. Smashers      This was an odd  hobby we had in the late 1960's that showed great creativity. It involved just  one on one whiffle ball games in the front yard of McNerney. The bat was a whiffle bat flattened from use and scores were astronomical since outs were only recorded by strikeout or the odd pop up or grounder caught by the opposite pitcher. Most hits were homers flying over the hedge between the Sheehy's and William's property. I was 20 years old so this was not kids playing together. However, what made the games so much fun was the fantasy we put into the rosters of the teams. Greg was the Smashers and I was the Firebirds who were comprised at first of names taken from old Dodger yearbooks under "stars of the future." The players almost never became stars and were just hopefuls who never made the big leagues or were up for a cup of coffee. We knew nothing about them except their photos so we made up stories about each guy and then i...

  Empty suit        This one is as simple as the man it was used to demean. "Empty suit" describes a man who has little in brainpower but a prominent position in society.  This mostly included guys who were wealthy or entitled with little reason for being in places they did not earn. The chief of the empty suits was Greg's hated president George W. Bush who at the time was considered the dumbest chief executive of all time. This has changed as has the title of emptiest of suits has changed. "W" was Greg's whipping boy for 8 years and he railed against the supply-side economic policies the phony Christian right espoused along with what our Sheehy referred to as the "Tinkle down theory" of economics. That false narrative started by another hated empty suit named Ron Reagan involved a linguistic double switch where the poor got screwed but were told the tax breaks given to the rich would trickle down to them. It never trickled but the wealthy did stan...

  Dreadful Shostakovich      There is a story in these two words and it illuminates the unspoken kindness Greg always showed me throughout our long friendship. When we became men, that is after our fathers died and we were allowed at the helm of adulthood he always looked out for me. Without ever saying a word he picked me up when I was less than flourishing financially. In short, Greg always made more money than me and was also part of a dual income family with some deserved family help. By the world's standards I was and am priveleged beyond what I deserve. We both celebrated how lucky we were but Greg aspired for a little more in life including, travel, vacations, visits to the theater and some fine dining. Lissy had a big part in this enjoyment they all most certainly deserved.  He often invited me as his guest to any number of football games, dinners, Bear Cove fun and wonderful casual Friday concerts at the Disney Hall. We would have a relaxed meal at a ni...

  Don’t call me Roynal      You normally would tread lightly around the Ziesing family patriarch known occasionally as "Roy" as in Fauntleroy. Since his given name  was Robert this was an affectionate moniker placed on him by his children who were expert in the giving of nicknames. Few families can claim the skill of the Ziesings when it comes to the art of the sobriquet. There is Freep and Fromml and Minnie, Mitt Mitt, Immortimus, Prune, Mister H, and so on. This lexicographical practice is not allowed to stagnate and other names are tried out and tossed aside depending on how they are received. Apparantly, the group was half-heartedly watching an Eagles game where a young man named Roynal was playing in the defensive backfield. One of the wiseacre siblings suggested their father might take on the moniker of Roynal but the man of the house heard this and let loose a strong Naw!!! to put an end to such foolishness. It was not brought up again.     ...

  D a d ’ s p i e     Dad's pie was a special dinner created by chef Greg in his kitchen on Francis. He would buy a bag of pizza dough at Trader Joe's and pound it into shape on his pizza stone, then dress it with plentiful sauce  topped by generous piles of mozarella.  and any manner of delicious toppings including sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms and Italian herbs.  He really had a knack for baking his pie perfectly and proudly proclaimed the delightful creation "Dad's pie." Overall, Greg was a skilled man in the culinary field but stuck mostly with carbs, meats, cheese and sauces. Vegetables were kind of an annoyance and once we had a rather spirited argument when I suggested a vegetable to accompany spaghetti. Spaghetti sauce as passed on by the great Grace Sheehy was made with canned mushrooms and a touch of nutmeg in the mixture. That spaghetti sauce was as good as any in America but Greg would be wildly experimental to even add a salad as a side dish o...

  Greg cut down on your stride     This was said from one great friend to another great friend. It was in the later period of when the Strange Heads first battled on the slow-pitch softball diamonds of South Gate park. In the very beginning Timo, Billy and I saw games at the park and thought we could field a team of old pals who once played in the SGJAA. These were the first seasons of slow pitch that was replacing the old mush-ball leagues from the early 70's.  The team was not formidible since we were beginners but after a few seasons we started to get the hang of the game and became competitive. At first we were C&H Auto, then the sad-sack Base Sages. We just grabbed guys without any idea of winning games but just having fun. These brave warriors included  Ed Carroll, Tom Fashing, Kevin and Mike Knowlton, Bobcat, my brother Stephen, Big E, Billy, Timo, and myself. By the time the Strange Heads were created out of the scraps of the early squads we began re...

  Come on in Gary     This humorous event lived on way past the 1969 words of my girlfriend's father who greeted me inaccurately but enthusiastically at my initial visit to court his daughter. I met Nancy at a party at Billy Hogan's pad that Summer and was smitten immediately. She was working at Two Guy's department store with Stephanie Knowlton who brought her to the fete on Bowman avenue. I thought I was pretty cool as I had just returned from a trip to Europe and was attending UCLA during the tumultous times back Summer of Love adjacent. I was able to get up enough courage to ask out the sweet faced Miss Brian and drove over to North Downey to pick her up for our first night on the town. Her Dad Robert Brian (no relation to Bobcat Brian) was a friendly and gregarious man with no pretentions and a fondness for cold beer. Nancy had recently jettisoned another BF and was giving me a shot. She let her Pop know this guy named Glen would be coming around 6 pm. Nancy was gett...

  Bull pine       Once more a simple holiday event that lingered for over half a century. Christmas was always a big deal for the Creasons and BC  was a little over the top in decorating. South Gate was one of the most enthusiastic cities in putting on displays with streets Annetta, Kaufman, Hunt and Bryson leading the way for lights and outdoor decor. BC, having worked in Automobile sales for years remembered the good feeling of the showroom during the holidays. Instead of getting the good old douglas fir or noble fir with ornaments and decorations collected over the years he insisted in buying a white flocked Bull Pine with only red balls with red ribbons tied at the top. The gaudy thing was illuminated by a rotating spotlight that made it change colors from pink to green to blue to yellow. The choice made our front room look like a showroom but had very little warmth or holiday cheer. The idea was a complete flop with the family but when the old man made an e...

  The body human     This one is attributed to the quick witted cousin  Kevin "Kent" Smith who said it after a legendary Turkey Day Tussle . Like the Kennedys the Sheehy clan played a touch football game before the grand Thanksgiving feast at Altadena when the boys were young and bonny. At this point in time, probably 1977 we were grown-ass men so playing football was not impossible but somewhat difficult. At the same time there was a highly popular show on KCET studying human anatomy that was watched by all of the gents who played on that day. As the substance use abusing stalwarts left the field of battle at its conclusion there were bodily sounds coming from the participants. A belch, a wheeze, maybe a poot and finally a phlegmy cough and spit from those lads whose lungs were challenged by marijuana resins. Hearing these emissions Kevin feigned the voice of the great Public Television narrator Alexander Scourby and spoke to Greg those words "the Body Human!" ...

  Black dickie      A Xmas joke failure was the black dickie  that became a symbol for unwanted gifts. As Greg's godfather my Dad usually gave him a quality gift the ranged from a pendleton shirt to a london fog windbreaker. As the years went by and fashion became  all important for young Greg the choices narrowed and BC would ask me what might be appropriate. At the time there were two distinct looks around So Cal. The first was a mixture of Ivy league and early surfer stuff. This included madras shirts, A-1 taper pants, pendletons, saddle shoes and windbreakers. Unlike brother Jack, Greg was never hot on surfing but liked the traditional quality of Silverwoods men's store with dress shirts by Arrow etc. The other side of the dressing scene was hair boy stuff that was kind of inspired by Elvis. This included hairspray stiffened pompadours, straight legged slacks with pockets in the front called racers, knit shirts and the very bold dickeys that were like a...

  Bingo at Bald     There were two traditions I had the pleasure of sharing when I was a guest at the magical Bear Cove camp in New Hampshire. The Ziesings had a membership in the local country club called Bald Peak Colony Club that despite the bucolic surroundings was fairly snooty yet a perfect contrast to camp life. It was and probably is one of the whitest places in America. Greg liked to boast it was one of the few places where he could kick anybody in the dining room's ass due to the jejeune blood of these Colony Club sorties. On Thursday evenings the entire family would drive up to to "Bald" as they called it for cocktails and dinner. It was delightful to have everyone dressed up a little sitting in the dining room, a little tipsy from the first round of drinks. There are many stories and a few tape titles from Bald but this one is about a connected tradition that was observed when the kids were younger.  The excitement built through dinner and afterwards some...

  Be the ball      For a while in the 2000's our good pals met up at Riviera  Country Club for spectating the greatest golfers on the PGA tour. The event used to be the LA Open, then the Nissan Open, now the Genesis Open. Greg marveled at the skill of the professionals and the stupidity of the drunk-ass fans who seemed to think the event was about them foolishly commenting from the gallery like braying jackasses.  Watching golf on TV is not high on my list of exciting sports but seeing these pros in person certainly is entertaining and frustrating regarding the golf fan-boys and golf-sluts guzzling beer and cocktails trying to outdo eachother. At first, we met up with Dr. Ed Carroll on the old Veterans Hospital grounds and took a bus the very, very slow slog in bumper to bumper traffic over to Pacific Palisades. Our group included great people like my brother, my nephew Paul, Greg, Billy Hogan, and a few other friends who may have sipped a beer or two but a...

  Athletic Club Flower shop      This phrase is actually the telephone greeting at Greg's uncle Johnny Tassano's flower shop at 808 W. 8th street near Flower street in downtown L.A. Greg loved the place and culled many a story and line from his experiences at a place he worked and visited fondly. Even when he wasn't employed he drove around with cousin Kent (Kevin Smith) and they had a ball observing the absurdities of modern living in the Southland. The phone was answered by different employees and each had a unique turn of "Athletic Club...flowershopppp" There was owner John Tassano, right-hand man Ronald P. Lord, "Speed," a delivery man, and Carmen who cut flowers and told odd anecdotes such as the origin of pizza. I believe Greg and Kevin could go on for weeks about the people they met on their deliveries as they set forth across the city of the angels to spread floral joy. This might include places to eat, fascinating neighborhoods, cemeteries, lone...