Thirty

June 11, 1974

Jim had to make a stop at work before he could begin his route and drive me to Disneyland. He said it would take a half an hour, tops.  I chatted with Katie over coffee awaiting his return. After some general, “good morning, how did you sleep” schmoozing, Katie sighed. 

“Sorry about last night.” She said “Jeannine can be a bit much.”  

“She was all right.” I lied.  

“No she wasn’t.  She really wasn’t.”  Big inhale.   “Sometimes Jeannine can be, well, embarrassing. I don’t know how we came out of the same spot.”  

“Well, you are different.”

“Thanks. I hope so.”

I made a face, shrugged, and turned my palms up. “It was no big deal,” I said. Katie tilted her head to the left and raised her eyebrows, “C’mon. She was acting like an ass. I don’t know what’s going on with her.  And with Bob. Something is off there.  That stupid tape. So silly.”

The kids were around and every bit as caffeinated as they had been the night before.  They wanted to show me their toys. After I saw what seemed like the entire inventory, I was asked to observe tumbling routines.  I responded with “Wows” at appropriate intervals. They were cute kids, but I could see how they could tire you out. Katie looked exhausted and it wasn’t even 9 in the morning.

Abruptly, the side door opened and Jim plodded in. He did not look happy.  

“I quit.” He said.

Katie was wide eyed. “You quit?”  Her look was a composite of shock, and what now, we’re broke. “What happened, Jimmy.”

Seems as if when Jim got to whatever passed for headquarters, he’d been reprimanded for something or another.  Jim did not take the criticism well.  His boss told him he would be fined. Jim quit.

“No more job,” he said with what he tried to complement with a smile—but it looked like a grimace. The former happy go-lucky truck driver collapsed into a chair and sat there with nobody saying much of anything for a while.  His son came over and said, “Watch this.” And did a somersault.  Jim again forced a smile.

“Hey buddy” he said, “You think you can take your act on the road and make us a living.” 

“Okay Daddy.”

Jim turned to look at me. “Sorry, can’t take you to Disneyland now.” 

Katie, not knowing how to address the situation with Jim and, I imagine, not wanting me around said she would take me next door and talk to Bob. The brother-in-law worked around Disneyland and maybe he could drive me there.  I wasn’t very anxious to run into Jeannine but the possibility that Bob might give me a lift was a relief.  

It worked out. Bob was indeed driving towards Disneyland and could take me.  I said my goodbyes to the sad Jim, gave Katie a platonic hug, and waved at the children.  They came running to the door wanting to know if I was coming back that night.  Katie answered for me.  And then I was out the door, getting into Bob’s Chevy Impala.

Bob turned out to be decent company.  Not much of a talker at the outset. I offered to pay for gas and he just waved me off.  He asked some questions about my trip.  Where did I start from? How long have I been on the road? But he was just making talk not much interested in the answers. After a pause he started up again.

“That whole thing with Jeannine last night. I don’t know what gets into her.  She knows, she knows nothing like that happened.”

“Never mind. It didn’t bother me.”

“It bothered me.” He said, then wheezed, “Jeannine” as if to say, “what’s with her” and “how did I wind up with her” in a couple of syllables.  He went on to comment that Jim’s kids were just too wild and friendly and maybe Katie and Jim should curtail their exuberance some. “Ah, what do I know.” he said. “We don’t have no kids.”

It was a longer ride to Disneyland than I thought.  I again offered to pay Bob for the gas when we arrived, but he again waved a hand in my direction. “I was going this way anyway.” And then he exited from my life.  

I remember thinking then that this hitch-hiking journey--this life in fact--was like a play.  I had the lead in my play. Bob had the lead in his play. In my play Bob exited from my life. In his play, I exited from his. And then on to the next scene.  No idea of course about what happened in his drama.  If I had to guess, he and Jeannine divorced within a couple of years, Katie and Jeannine still live next door but they barely talk.  Jim and Bob occasionally go out for a beer. Jim confides during one beer meet that he picked up a young girl hiker on the road and now is in big trouble. Bob tries to console but really spends the hour thinking about how Jim manages to get laid all the time. Who knows what actually happened? Bob’s play is only showing in his theatre.  Maybe he doesn’t even take the time to follow the plot line.

In my play the next scene was Disneyland.  I became a kid for a day. Went to a bunch of rides. Spent some time in Fantasyland.  Chatted with Goofy for a stretch.  Had my picture taken with Minnie and Mickey.  Had lunch in a cafeteria with a seven dwarfs’ theme. They had a menu item called the Jumbo Dwarf burger.  The lobotomized waitress did not get it when I commented that this name was a contradiction.  “Ha ha” she said but had no idea to what I was referring. What could the training be like for a job in Disneyland. I passed on the Jumbo Dwarf burger and had the daily special: Fairest Sandwich of Them All.  Tasted pretty much like tuna fish.

***

During the night of my Buffalo going away party--the night when Becca fumed because I intended to employ a laundry bag instead of a backpack--the party host, Steve, made a couple of suggestions. Steve was taken by my wanderlust and, I sensed, a bit jealous of my freedom to embark on this expedition.  He was a medical student and was in what appeared to be, and I think was, a healthy marriage.  But he longed for a life that was more unconventional.  My plans for hitch hiking across the country sounded exciting.   

His first suggestion was to use his backpack instead of my laundry bag. The backpack was pristine. He’d bought it for camping and hiking and he never camped or hiked so he thought that if he couldn’t hitch cross country with me, at least the backpack could. Before I could ask if he was sure, Becca accepted the offer.  The second suggestion was to call his very cool cousin who lived in Los Angeles. This cousin Mike and his wife Sherri were, according to Steve, old bohemians and they would love to put me up and take me around when I got to LA.  

“Are you sure?”  I said.  “I’m a complete stranger to them”

“It will be fine. Absolutely fine.  Mike and Sherri are, he said again, old bohemians. “They’re cool. I’ll call them for you and set it up.”

“I don’t want you to go out of your way, Steve.”

“Happy to do it. Haven’t spoken to Mike in a while anyway.  He’ll be terrific. You’ll love him. He’ll show you around.”

“Well, that would be wonderful if it can happen. But” I repeated. “I’m a complete stranger.” 

The fact was, that I barely knew Steve. He was an acquaintance more than a friend. His wife knew Becca well and we had gone out a few times. I didn’t want to be imposing on this cousin of his.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

Before Becca and I left the party and started bickering in the parking lot, Steve scrawled the name and address of his cousin in Los Angeles. “Put this in your wallet” he said.

***

Outside of Disneyland there were a slew of busses that could take visitors here or there. Some were chartered for particular groups, but others were available to anyone headed to various destinations.  I decided to treat myself to a non-hitch-hiking excursion and bought a ticket to a downtown bus station.  I planned to call Steve’s cousin when I got to LA and that is just what I did.  It was a two-hour bus ride from Disneyland so it was early evening when I arrived at the terminal. I found a phone booth and made the call. 

Sherri answered the phone. I explained who I was and while she did not sound unfriendly, her response fell well short of “Welcome! Steve told us all about you.” I wasn’t even sure if she   was certain who I was and what this was about.  Her hesitancy put me off balance, “hey look”, I said. “maybe Steve forgot to contact you. That is fine. I can find some other place to stay.”

“No”, she said, again friendly but reserved. “Mike, my husband, did say something about his cousin contacting him.  Come on over. We’d love to meet you.”  

Sherri did not really sound like she’d love to meet me, but she gave me their address and general directions about how to get to their home by bus.  

“Okay” I said, but felt a bit like a goof.  What I really felt like doing was strangling Steve, but I decided to head on out to La Brea where they lived. Maybe Sherri would talk to Mike and that old bohemian would give her the complete scoop. 

I learned that the public transportation system in Los Angeles, Rapid Transit, is misnamed.  The call to Sherri came from a booth on 5th and Hill in downtown LA.  From there it was supposed to be only about 40 minutes to get to Sherri’s and Mike’s La Brea’s bus stop.  It took over two hours.

It was getting dark when I walked out of the station toward where I was to pick up the bus.  Within moments, I could tell that this was not the safest neighborhood in the world. I looked at a map subsequently and saw this section was called, not inappropriately, Skid Row.  Lots of broken glass, shouting, and stumbling winos.  A fellow came out of what looked like a church and handed me a sandwich in a plastic wrap.  I must have looked like I fit in. 

I arrived at the bus stop and waited and waited for the Rapid Transit. I usually figure I can handle myself but it was dicey near the stop what with the wobbling drunks asking for change, periodic shouting, and occasional sounds of breaking glass.  I felt at risk standing by myself.  After twenty minutes, another man joined me at the stop. This seemed fortunate. This guy was put together. Big fellow, probably 6’ 4” or 6’ 5”, attaché case, three-piece suit.  I figured nobody was going to mess with this guy. And I am sticking with him. He took two steps to the left; I went to the left. Two steps to the right and like a dancer in a chorus line I followed him.  After about five minutes of synchronized pacing, the big fellow looked to his left and right and then down at me.  

“I don’t know about you mister, but I’m scared. I’m getting the hell out of here.” 

And then the big guy, my savior, dashed up the block. 

“Just great” I thought. If this moose is scared what am I doing here.  I raced after the guy. While we were running to the next stop on the line, the big guy kept wheezing “Terrible area. Two dudes were murdered here last week.” 

Wonderful. The moose is panicky. We arrived panting at the next stop on the line in a less depressed area and waited for the bus together. The rapid transit eventually arrived. We boarded. The moose was only going a couple of stops but kept shaking his head, wiping sweat from his brow, saying things like “Whoa that was a close call.”  He got off at his stop and departed my play forever.

I checked the map on the bus and I saw that I still had a good half hour to ride to get to La Brea.   An older man got on the bus with a Dodgers cap.  We talk. He is an ex New Yorker who enjoys the weather in Los Angeles, but confides sotto-voce that LA is just a big hick town.  From some references he makes I think he is a member of the tribe and when I mention I am as well, he becomes chattier. He tells me he was a big Dodger fan in Brooklyn and now follows the Dodgers religiously. Then he confides with a smile, that he brings his own food to the games so he can keep kosher while at the park.  I tell him I went to the game the previous night when the Dodgers lost in extra innings. He waves his hand in disgust and then proceeds to break down the contest in detail and identify several instances when Walter Alston, the manager, “flubbed it.”  Eventually, my pal, the kosher Dodger fan gets off, and I continue on my way to La Brea.

I depart at a La Brea stop and follow the directions Sherri gave me on the phone. I arrive at the old bohemians’ apartment.   This has been a long shlep, and I am eager to say hello to this cool cousin Steve told me about and just kick back. I am more than a bit taken aback by what occurs.

Mike answers the door, but only a crack. He’s kept the chain on the door.  I see a half smiling Sherri in the background holding an infant.  Mike said hello and then informed me that he will take me to a nearby motel.

I am stunned, move on to annoyed, reaching angry in less than a minute 

“A motel?”

“This is our type of hospitality.”

This sounded like baloney to me.  It sounded like he was not too keen about putting up a stranger.  That made sense to me, and it was precisely what I thought might be the case before Steve assured me that his cousin was Joe Cool and would love hanging out.

I don’t like handouts, and never did. I wouldn’t have come all the way to La Brea if I thought it would be an inconvenience.  Mike wanted nothing to do with me, but to seem like he was being a sport he would put me up in a motel.  

I told him I would pay for it, sounding and being miffed. He said, he already had.  He walked me to the place no more than a block away from where he lived. He spoke to the attendant who’d apparently had a conversation with Mike previously. We went into the room and Mike started telling me all the swell things I could do in LA, but I was not listening.  He left and I was fuming.

I call Steve.  I want to tell him how it worked out with the old bohemians.  Steve says, “Well, you know they have a kid now.” 

“Well, why didn’t you tell me that or at least not urge me to contact them. I felt like an intruder.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal.  You have a place to stay.”

“That’s not the point, Steve”  

“How’s the back pack holding up” he said.

“Just great.”  I said. Then soon after we hung up.

Steve is out of my play. Another act in this drama. Today the characters included Bob, Jim, Katie, two tumbling tots, Goofy, Mickey and Minnie, a vapid waitress who could not understand why Jumbo and Dwarf do not quite go together, several winos, the missionary with the not fairest in the land sandwich, a frightened linebacker, the kosher Dodger fan, two old bohemians, and Steve.  All exiting right and left. I’m still on stage. 

Onward.