God Bless What Used to Be America

 God Bless What Used to Be America

    It is a year on from when my great pal jumped into his space capsule and jetted away from the Amerika that would make Krypton look pretty good. He escaped, leaving us to face a future where we must watch all of what we hold dear evaporate in a tsunami of ignorance, cruelty, selfishness and proud stupidity. By any standard we are standing knee deep in shit and our legs are getting close to buckling. Yet, these posts are about the things that were handed down with love from good and gentle people who would have no place in this fearful, foolish pack of idiots called Americans. There was a time when we would actually tear up hearing "God Bless America" sung by Ray Charles and stand tall at the ballpark when a surprisingly good singer would battle through the National Anthem with old glory waving out in center field. We saw the phonies, the corporatre stooges, the money-grubbers, the false prophets,  the crooked politicians all through our time here but there was NPR, PBS, music, art, films, teachers, philosophers, and gentle mentors who showed us how to be human. I spent many a 4th of July with my South Gate dear hearts including sipping cold beers in the Knowlton's back yard while Van grilled, watching the humble fireworks show at the Park from the Whitney's front yard and as a grown man cringing on McNerney as illegal pyrotechnics swamped the meaning of the holiday.  However, even as my damaged nerves trembled I could hang on to Greg, Lissy, Ed and Kit Kat who made the best of a beastly situation. There were hamburgers out back, potato salad sitting in the fridge, tall tales and cold beers in the cooler. 2007 was the last time I could bear it in the Gate but we made it through https://cleatscrea.blogspot.com/2007/07/my-very-last-independence-day-in-gate.html   By the next year we got a little hope with an election that demonstrated we were not alone. I watched the dazzling show at La Crescenta and actually enjoyed what I had been conditioned to despise in my own hood. Let us forget the unpleasant-present and recall an old tale Greg loved to hear about regarding BC and the grand fireworks show on Annetta avenue. In 1958 South Gate was dotted with many stands selling "safe and sane" boxes of fireworks including our favorites "the piccolo pete" and "the screaming panther." There was a racist cardboard character called "Smokey Joe"  resembling black men smoking a cigar that just poured acrid smoke into the already terrible 1950's air. BC decided he wanted the entire family to attend the big fireworks show at the Coliseum despite our unhappiness with the decision. We beefed so much he stopped on the way home around 10 pm and picked up not just a box of Red Devil fireworks but a "Block Party" which was set up to entertain an entire block. We reached home and made the first of two bad decisions by setting up by the pool near an avocado tree next to our rumpus room. BC, with drink in hand lit a large cone very close to the box that fell over and ignited the entire contents of the ensemble almost instantaneously.  It was a spectacular bombardment that bordered on starting another fire in our back property but our block party was finished, finished within 5 short, terrifying minutes.