Tape title stories

  John can't make the cut in his wingtips       One of the obligatory activities for kids who watched football on the rather new TV's of the 1950's and 60's was the release of pent-up energy at halftime or game's end. The same  could be said about boys who were home with babysitters or grandmas who were not as severe in obedience to house rules. The scene at McNerney was no different and many times I was out front with Jack and Greg throwing a well-worn pigskin or pretending to be Jon Arnett or Billy Kilmer calling out signals to our teams. We also liked to talk a good game but none of us actually wanted to feel the pain of true football. So this tale is one that Greg loved to have me tell so he could laugh heartily at one image we kept alive over 60 years. It was a nice California Sunday with a sedentary couple of hours behind us as we charged into the front lawn of McNerney to pretend a little NFL football. This was never done silently and we always announced ...

 I'll fix it to your approval       Just another mundane experience that Greg turned into a life lesson on racism in Los Angeles. He was heading up the fairly new Santa Monica freeway in his Datsun when suddenly traffic slowed quickly and a big Cadillac banged into him from behind. They managed to reach the shoulder where Greg met the slightly inebriated Larry Brent, an older black man who was apologetic but not wanting police involvement. Greg was always an open-minded man and he listened to what Larry said as he assured Greg he could fix the damage without getting an insurance company involved. It was at that time that Larry Brent said in a beseeching tone "I do a little bodywork on the side...I'll fix it to your approval!"  However, by the time the cars were off the freeway lanes a highway patrolman was on the scene and took charge of the situation before Greg could answer the gentleman. The cop immediatelay blamed the man of color and brusquely ordered him ...

 Paramount is not Ireland or Greg evades the snare Most of us remember Greg as a man who vehemently opposed Catholicism and referred to their dogma as a fairy tale. Yet, his Dad was a devout Papist who went to mass, followed the path of Mary and believed in the existence of such faith-stretching stuff as the virgin birth, limbo, hellfire and the purity of the clergy. A true Catholic believes that a priest is a representative of God on earth and as such should be obeyed and respected. Like most of us who were steeped in Catholic lore the foundations of that teaching began to unravel as we became more educated. For some it was earlier and often coincided with a choice between the sacred species or a Winchel's donut. Those who are straying are first known as lukewarm Catholics and Greg began to find his faith waning around the time his teen hormones began to heat the blood and raise the libido. By his senior year at Pius X he was driving a car and ditching mass to hang out with pals o...

  Over My Shoulder...       Sometimes Greg loved parts of his life that were polar opposites to his own personal beliefs. A perfect example was the delightful habit of listening to the complete horses ass named  Paul Harvey on radio. While the guy was an egg's egg he had a style and delivery that were part of being an American. The show on our KABC was called "news and comment" that was aired at noon without fail. It was a tradition that when possible we would tune in to hear "hello fellow Americans...this is Paul Harvey...Stand By for News" in his stilted but unique voice. Harvey was a knee-jerk conservative who loved Ronald Reagan and other Republican icons like Bing Crosby or Johh Wayne. Later in the afternoons he would perform "the rest of the story" that was somewhat interesting albeit totally skewed in favor of American exceptionalism. Plain folks across the nation ate up the Paul Harvey broadcasts and if it was corny and full of worn out cliches...

  An Unfortunate Incident at Give em' Hell Harry      This was a story Greg told that would always get me convulsed with laughter because I loved the principals and the  telling of it was hilarious. It involved a rare visit to the theater with Greg, his father and Mother to see James Whitmore perform in the excellent one-man show "Give Em' Hell Harry" at the Ahmanson Theater. It was 1975 and the sophisticated college grad was ready to dress up and attend live theater at one of his favorite places in the world. The entire Music Center was just red meat for Greg and he felt completely at home in the Ahmanson, the Taper, or the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion where he might attend a concert by himself just to expand his cultural horizons. In this case, he was a dutiful son with his Mom and Dad who revered Harry Truman and were excited to see the show that had drawn raves from LA Times critic Dan Sullivan.  The title comes from an incident that took place during the ...

 Get her out of here!      In this time of travail in the year of our lord 2025 let us remember the young woman who chose to stand up to a bad Republican President and speak her truth. This was a story that Greg loved to relive and imitate the howls of indignation that followd a bold act of resistance. The occasion was a strange celebration of the Readers Digest's 50th anniversary in the East Room of Richard Nixon white house. The date was January 28, 1972 and the promoted entertainment was the very conservative and very square Ray Coniff singers who were to put on their true Apple-Pie American kind of songfest. Hidden in the tame chorus was a bold saboteur named Carole Feraci. Ms. Feraci was an experienced backup singer who had worked with people like the Smothers brothers, Johnny Mathis and even Frank Sinatra. She managed to get herself into the group in time for this penetration of the Republican stronghold that was continuing a Vietnam War that was killing thousa...

 Take me to your bed Nana!      Once again the inspiration here is from a forgotten PBS mini-series that originally ran in 1968 but was replayed as we watched in the early 1970's. The book was written in 1880 but set in 1867 by the great Emile Zola and it caused quite a stir since the protagonist was a lady of of loose morals. It was a condemnation of the hypocracy of the aristocratic elites of Paris that was revelling in their World's Fair and a period of unimpeded hedonism. Nana is a poor girl, born in the slums and has only her very good looks to help her survive. She is a failed  actress but turns to selling her company by becoming a sought after courtesan desired by many weak men overcome by lust for this beautiful female object. She is every man's nightmare since she is a complete goldigger who teases and tortures these foolish suitors while spending their fortunes without really caring about their feelings. While Nana is like a nineteenth century Kardashi...

  That Red-headed one...       This is a quote by cousin Kevin that Greg loved to repeat as he waxed poetic about the charms of a forgotten yet beloved Los Angeles restaurant. The wonderful place was called Dolores at Wilshire boulevard near La Cienega and it was one of the last car-hop restaurants around LA. Opened in 1946 this was one of a franchise with another over on  Sunset. Greg often extolled the truly great Jumbo-Jim Double decker hamburgers they served at Delores with a magic Z relish ingredient that made each "hamburger sandwich" unique and utterly delicious. They ground their own beef and made that burger their signature dish, although they had a pretty damn good menu. The chicken giblets were never ordered but they were supposed to be beautiful.  Greg loved the Delores hamburger so much he managed to get the truth out of one of the waiters who let him know they added onion juice to the dressing that went on these masterpieces of the hamburger ...

 When Greg Hit That Note        Some days these are harder to do than others. Since I spent a long dream with my old friend  last night it behooves me to write about a good memory instead of the cannonball I have inside my chest. Enough of that. Because his sister chose to listen to show-tunes instead of Elvis Presley, Greg developed a deep love of the genius of  Rogers and Hammerstein. He listened to the soundtracks, even the shows that never really got off the ground like Pipe Dream or Allegro . When it came to Dick and Oscar he had every note and nuance memorized, especially " Oklahoma, Carousel, South Pacific, the King and I and Flower Drum Song. That is not to say he did not adore the Sound of Music but the show was so overwhelmingly popular he preferred the stuff put on the Broadway stage before he was born. When you really study the music and lyrics of the shows you will come to understand that the songs were not for the faint-hearted singers ...

 Ketchie's: the Master at work      This isn't a saying but an experience that can never be recreated except in fond memory. Greg and many others in the Gate crowd were connosieurs of the old-fashioned fast-food stands that sprung up all over So Cal after WW II. The places often featured only eight stools around a grill where a single cook made up some of the greatest lunch wonders of all time. Out on the West side there were two that UCLA people in the know would frequent whenever possible. There were some larger WLA greats enjoyed frequently like Tito's Tacos, Stan's Donuts and Hot Dogs, Johnnie's Pastrami, Pinocchio in Sa Mo, Patrick's Roadhouse on PCH,  the Apple Pan and LaMonica's Pizza.  These were loved but not one-man stands. Like hallowed spots where you arrived hoping for an empty stool at the counter with your mouth watering. There were two that we visited many times and each had an aura unlike any other out in West LA. Way back when my brother ...

 The tale of Harry McMillan...true or false                                                             sash weights     Sometimes we youngsters would take a story and run with it using our own imaginations. We loved to hear John Sheehy tell stories of his youth before he begged Grace Kenmir to make an honest man of him. We hung on every word as he told us about considering taking up his further education at Cumnock College or how Ben Creason stole an entire truck full of coca colas and drove out to a sweltering Indianapolis where they sold the sodas a buck a pop to the rubes who were swarming the old brickyared for the Indy 500. In this case he spoke of a rambunctious young swell who liked to drink too much and seek attention by attempting dare-devil stunts. The boozing and risk-taking caught up with Harry McMillan one nig...

 Son-of-a-bitch was vapor-locked at both ends      It was a fairly common problem in  the old leaded gas automobiles of our youth when the dreaded vapor lock would bring a muscle car to a halt.  Vapor lock  occurs when fuel in a gasoline-powered engine turns to vapor before reaching the carburetor or fuel injectors .  This can cause the engine to stall or run roughly. In the 1960's   most cars were carbureted, but it's not the carburetor that causes vapor lock, it's the arrangement of an engine-mounted mechanical fuel pump that uses siphon vacuum to draw fuel through a thin, long tube from the tank in the rear. In the older model Detroit steel autos this was a problem along with other forgotten bugaboos like flooding the engine and needing a choke. It was a common warning from driving teachers to kids learning to drive when they were starting the old rust-buckets of "you're going to flood it!" Anyway, this is not really about cars but about ...

  ...something with witch hazel...     Like most men, particularly men who drink there is a design flaw I used to call a defective rear-main-seal. There is tell-tale leakage as any spouse knows who does laundry and the dreaded pruritus ani aka itchy-butthole. The problem can be maddening and I speak from long years of experience on the matter. Scientists, mainly male scientists have for centuries searched for a remedy that might work to stem the onslaught of maddening itchiness that cannot be scratched in polite company. Greg and I  used to laugh heartily at the Preparation H commercial with the man shouting in frustration "THIS ITCHING IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!" I would assume when Adam left eden and ate his first mouthful of solid food he was met with an itch in the lower quadrant. Drinking and smoking exacerbate this problem and since both myself and my good buddy Greg did both we suffered and searched for a remedy that would give us relief. At times we despaired in cr...

 It was the Pabst       It may not have been a wise choice looking at the big picture but I was part of the introduction of alcoholic beverages to Greg. The lad was starting to sprout his prized sideburns and looked up to we older guys who somehow linked beer drinking to adulthood. The first bad mistake was to take up smoking which reduced our life spans by a decade but beer was part of the rites of manhood in South Gate and Greg's role models lead him astray on this path. It was an uneventful Saturday night around the Azalea city and Jack, Billy Hogan and I had been able to get our hands on a good quantity of brewskies. We had different methods to get beer that ranged from Jack just walking into Brad's little store at down on Bullis road and putting a sixer on the counter to driving out to WLA where my brother would contribute to the dellinquency of minors happily or in desperation drive over to Watts and park outside the Rocket Liquor store and try to find a drunk...

 Did Singer Slip...      This one combines a couple of things that Greg really loved. One is the absurdity of pulp newspaper headlines and the other is anything connected to Rogers and Hammerstein. Of all the men who handled the demanding scores of Dick Rogers, Greg had one he held above the others. Above Alfred Drake and John Raitt, both excellent on a Broadway stage and the orginal leads in Oklahoma and Carrousel. His main man was Gordon MacRae who was Billy Bigelow and Curly in the fine film versions of Dick and Oscar's masterpieces. MacRae had a successful career under the footlights and even took the lead in the rare Tea for Two that only Greg knew by heart. Not only was Gordon a powerful baritone but he was extremely handsome and made the ladies swoon when he made personal apprearances. In the mid 1950's he even had a TV show that never did justice to the man's true talent which was putting warmth into a sentimental song. MacRae battled booze also and went thro...

  Sunday night at Fashion Square       This was an extremely enjoyable tradition Greg and I had during 1971 and 1972  of easing into the new week by driving out to the new, spectacular multi-plex theaters at Fashion square in La Habra. Since I had lived in the area, I felt comfortable and the crowds were very small on a Sunday night. It was an ideal place to relax and concentrate on the great films of the early 1970's. The theaters were small, maybe 300 to 400 seats and the films shown were mostly American but the offerings were excellent. On the drive we would of  course smoke a fat joint and pull into the parking lot very close to curtain righteously stoned.  Being wise young sophisticates we rejected the corporate-capitalist Bullocks ownership and referred to the place as "Fascist Square" as we handed them our two bucks to get in their theater. We saw among others "The Last Picture Show," "The French Connection," "McCabe and Mrs. Miller,"...

  Hey buddy got a pill       This is another of the microcosms of life that Greg remembered and repeated for no other reason than to show his regard for a black sheep of the family. Thomas Aloyisius Sheehy was the second born of  Patrick and Kate Sheehy who lived on Croesus Street in Florence where they had settled after leaving Illinois. It went Lawrence, Al, Rose, John and Janet who sometimes worked in the Sheehy Dairy at 2124 E. 83rd street very near the residence at 8123 Croesus. When little Al was a kid on the farm he was kicked in the face by a cow and the accident left him disfigured and without an eye. Despite his high intelligence Al was always behind the 8-ball due to his appearance. By the time he was an adult he worked a series of factory and machinist jobs. In 1930 he was a wharehouseman, Lawrence a bank teller and Rose a stenographer. Al was a hard-living character who never reached the legitimacy of the rest of the family and stayed around the old...

  I'll find an easy way While this was used in my eulogy at the remembrance for this truly great friend I repeat it with a couple of flourishes. Greg was a very complicated guy who was outwardly quiet conservative and non-confrontational. You would say he was a good boy in his youth, never breaking any laws, never bullying anyone, never really causing his parents any trouble. Yet, at his core the man was a kind of rebel who did swim upstream on occasion and a risk-taker that was antithetical to his family life. He scoffed at religion, he questioned  authority and he sampled drugs across the spectrum. He had a good heart but was far from sentimental. He was generous, kind, capable but not a sap. He also would talk some major shit if the situation warranted that attitude. As we have discussed many times the guy had a big temper but never put a dent in any wall, car hood or skull in his life. While he threatened to curb-stomp or drive a fireplace poker up somebody's butt he actua...

  Check out the Grecian formula overload      The Sheehy family is blessed with brains and fine wit which is amazing for a group that rose up  from poor Irish beginnings and was nurtured on a dairy farm in a place called Florence on the outskirts of LA. One of the very first of the second generation of said Sheehys to get a college education and take up a profession was Patrick Evan Sheehy, the son of Lawrence, cousin of Greg and brother of Michael, Richard and Louise. They are all some of my favorite people in my life. As has been stated before Greg and I admired Evan as he was known and Greg even worked, learned and suffered for him when he was studying his trade of architecture. Before all that you could tell when Evan was at any Sheehy gathering because there would be laughter around the guy and his earthy takes on life were rich with sarcastic humor. The man had charisma to burn but his demons tormented him into an early demise. Before the substances took o...

  These two boys Percy and Brownie   A mutual favorite and just one of several quotes from the ancient but revered Doctor Fred Ross spoken at the funeral of Grace Sheehy's mother Cora Kenmir at Rose Hills cemetery in 1970. The Kenmir women seemed to have had the gene for longevity as Mrs. Kenmir made it to 92 but it was a somber occasion nevertheless. I can't remember all of the pall bearers but Jack and I were the young corners on the casket wearing the white gloves and sporting the boutonniere. We were to lay Cora down next to her Edward who had been waiting for fifteen years in the ground for his wife.  As we completed our transport to the gravesite and mourners were milling about a voice was heard saying "quiet everybody Dr. Ross wants to speak!" Then a very old but rather charistmatic gentleman cleared his throat and the crowd awaited his words. He began with Psalm 23, the Psalm or David that begins with "the lord is my sheperd, I shall not want" that w...