Lloyd and Gladys Purdy with a California Twirl

 Lloyd and Gladys Purdy with a California Twirl

     I can't say enough good things about the superb South Gate Parks and Recreation department that employed me in my late teens. The programs they created and maintained were an example of the right way to run municipal services. Early on, the one hundred acre park and all the activities therein were the pride of the Southeast and all of the kids in the city participated in one way or another. One of the special spots for recreation was the WPA built auditorium that was at the far end of Hollydale Park where I would be assigned to oversee the Square Dances on Saturday nights. The dances were beloved by the local yokels and they were hosted by the Gladys Purdy and her husband, the accomplished caller Lloyd Leroy Purdy. It is all too appropriate that Lloyd literally died with the Square Dance Microphone in his hand, mid-call one Saturday night in 1974  well after my role in the frolics there. I believe it was Coach Bill Gathings who had to call an EMT to give Lloyd the last alamande left. The gents and especially the gals dressed up in Western attire and had a darn good time in the old hall. A true square dance gentleman would always keep a fresh towel on his belt since you would never offer a lady a sweaty grip. My job was to show up at 6 pm to open the door and come back before 10 to close up shop. Once inside all Lloyd had to do was plug in the amp and  spread out some chairs for fatigued dosy doers. Gladys carried in a paper bag with cookies and some soda pops as refreshments. So, this job was a very good one that paid well for a teen when minimum wage was $1.25 and probably involved close supervision. In the SG Park and Rec tasks you were almost always on your own and just reported any problems. Problems were rare and fun was abundant. However, on one particular Saturday in the Summer I attended a wedding reception for Pat Bradshaw at a terrific bar and lounge called Ed's Cafe where the bartenders were serving under-age punks like me without a charge. Having a shot at an open bar was like the best possible scene for we wannabee drunks. I was soaking up gin and tonics since I did not actually like beer or wine or hard-stuff not doctored up to taste like soda pop. Not surprisingly I got ambushed by my own naivete and was knee-walking drunk by 4 pm. When the bartender made his last call dumb-asses like me and Johnny Knowlton ordered two more drinks so we could keep over-indulging until we should never have been allowed to knee-walk out the front door. It was  around 5:30 when it hit me that I was supposed to open the doors at Hollydale at 6 and I was in Vernon where the reception was completed except for the drunken shouting. I did get in my VW and somehow drove over to Hollydale where there was a small crowd of gussied up folks waiting to be let into the hall. I had my official key ring for the park and stumbled up to the door where I tried to get a key in the lock despite not  being able to see straight. Finally, Gladys grabbed the key ring, selected the correct key and opened the door. Once more, I must say God Bless Helen Green, my boss who kept me on the payroll despite Gladys calling her Monday morning and telling her "Glen showed up reeking of alcohol and we sent him home." I assured Helen that it was Gladys who was inebriated, not me and she believed me. So when I lift a glass in the near future I will hold it up in memory of Lloyd and Gladys and Helen Green, the most patient boss-lady ever.