Laugh with a Sinner or Cry with His Saints. Robert Ford
but a new beginning. I am in third grade; my brother is in first grade. I had been in there for a while, and one day, my teacher, Mrs. Jackson, left the room crying. I found out later R. F. Kennedy was shot and killed. I remember feeling her pain because the memory of David Morgan still weighed heavily in my heart and still to this very day. Rosemead was located in the San Gabriel Valley, right below Pasadena, in front of the Mt. Wilson Range, right below Cal-tech and Jet Propulsion Laboratory.
Rosemead to me was heaven on earth, no more beatings by the black boys who hated whites. My mother’s father, before we moved to Rosemead before school started, would take me and my brother to Sears and Roebucks to shop for school clothes.
I remember walking up the steps; the automatic doors would open up, and the first smell you got was from the popcorn candy section fixed in the front door. And nothing but black people inside and for the longest time, as a little lad, I had thought black people smelled like hot buttered popcorn. Well, that’s it for Huntington Park “Farewell.” We lived in Marshall Street directly across Marshall Elementary. The principal’s name was Mildred B. Janson, who was a very nice lady. She passed away shortly after we moved there. So they renamed it Mildred B. Janson School; no more Marshall School.
1968
We did not have a lot of money back then, but my brother and I were too young to understand my mother was not working at the time, and we only had one car. We had upgraded from a rambler to a four-door Chevy ’65 Malibu. Anyway, we moved in the summertime. The Reeves still came over to visit. It was good times once again; Saturday nights and poker nights were back. I also started to sneak on my dad’s Olympia beer. I did not know at that time, but that’s when my addictive personality started. We will get into that later!
Anyway, it’s new times; things are good making new friends. Skateboards, roller rinks, barefoot all the time, walking up to the little ma and pa markets, buying a giant-sized pickle for ten cents. The butcher would wrap it in wax paper. We would buy a Muscle magazine for twenty-five cents and walk back home chomping on the giant pickles and dreaming of having big muscles like the bodybuilders in the magazine! We were renting; we never owned our own home.
Our landlords lived directly in back of us. Their names were Luey and Hazel Sears. They had two sons, Wayne and Earl, who were back then in and out all the time. They both graduated from Rosemead High School where I would one day graduate from. Viki Carr and Bob Mackie both went to Rosemead High, home of the Panthers. Vicki Carr was a wonderful singer. Bob Mackie would become a clothes designer for Cher and Hollywood’s elite.
Well, fall was creeping in and we were back in school. I am in the fourth grade now, meeting all kinds of new classmates—Casey Igler, Bobby Orona, Ed Knavs, and Bobby Bonds—a whole new world of kids I could relate to without getting beat up. One day, this blonde-haired boy, same size as me and same attitude, showed up at our school. One of the things those black boys taught me was how to shoot hoop or “basketball.” This new boy—his name was Darrin Longwell—had a brother two years younger, Kurt Longwell. He also had a sister Machell, first girl I fell in love with. We will get back to that later. It was at recess. I was better with a basketball on the black top than Darrin by far so he hated me for that.
Well, I hated him. He had moved up from San Diego or Oceanside, I don’t remember. I do not remember what changed, but it did. Darrin and I became inseparable, my best friend ever. My brother and Kurt had become pretty good friends too back then. No matter how the day went, Darrin and I did everything together. If there were fights at school, I had his back and he had mine.
It was fall time and football was in. Now remember were just in fourth grade, but I was born with a gift of having very quick hands; I had them all my life don’t ask me why, but I always would be the quarterback, and I was good. Darrin would be my wide receiver and always caught every pass I threw at him.
We were the matchup, Montana and Rice. It was great, but kids come and go. One day, this skinny white boy Bobby Bond showed up, best athlete I ever met. Darrin and I were both jealous. This kid could do everything. He became a good friend of mine and Darrin in time. There was this kid, Darreyl, who showed up on the scene. He was every bit the quarterback I was, so as Bobby Bonds in the competition all the way. But what none of us boys knew at that time was that the girls had been watching us dumbass’—and we finally caught on. But my eye was ahead of those dumb shits. My sights were zeroed in on Darrin’s sister, Machell!
I am going to jump way ahead of this story and get right to it. I was knee-deep in love with my best friend’s sister. She did not know it. Every time I would be invited over for dinner, the funny thing was, I would catch her looking at me, too! I always knew there was this mutual attraction.
Anyway, it always seemed like when you were in the same room with her, she seemed to make you feel like you mattered. She never ignored you. She had this golden blonde hair that looked like the wind whipping through a golden field of a wheat. Her eyes were like a bluish gray storm in the ocean. You could drown in if you stared long enough.
Machell and I always remained close even to this very day. We will get back to that later! Anyway, all us boys started to be aware of our surroundings with girls watching us. There was one in particular, Patricia Travanti, a beautiful Italian girl. She and I seemed to hit it off and after school, she would come back to the school with her little brother, and we would walk around play on the swing sets and just talk. I was really starting to get into this girl thing. There was another girl I liked. Her name was Sylvia Balinger, but it always seemed like sports trumped everything.
Well, we hit fifth grade. This new kid Darryl showed up every bit of the quarterback as I was. He had a real good arm. One evening, after school, we were having a little neighborhood football game, and something snapped in my lower back. I was done for the year; I had knocked a vertebrae out of place. Patricia started having eyes for Darryl, and this girl Martha never failed to remind me of it. And one day, Bobby Bonds and I wrote this dirty letter about Patricia, compared to some standards, it was a mild letter.
You know, everything would have been okay if not for that bitch Martha. She was a loud black girl. I never liked her, not very many of us did, but I got a back injury, and it seem like after that, I could not throw or shoot a basketball as well. Bobby Bonds was a natural. He could do it all field—bat, quarterback, run—just a great athlete. We would eventually get into some serious trouble. We will get into that later.
It seemed like the same group was around all the time—Casey Igler, Norma Ochoa, Casey’s sister, Jeff Knight, Bobby Orona, Randy Baker, Bobby Bonds, Darrin Longwall, Kelly Hall, Robet Alverez, Ed, Frank Dimico, George Tricas, Sylvia Ballinger, Bryce Hartly, and Bob Helmit, who was born with only one hand; the nicest kid ever.
1970
I think it was 1970 or ’71. It was without doubt the best Christmas ever. Nights were cold. We were out on a Christmas vacation for two weeks. Christmas morning, my brothers and I woke up to Schwinn Apple Krates. Mine was sparkling red with a white metal flake seat, springer front end, shifter or top rail. Every kid in the neighborhood was jealous of us, pretty much hated us. My father took out a loan to buy them. Today, Christmas to my brother and I has always been special. I was spending a lot of time at the Longwells later on. Betty, Darrin’s mother, would refer to me as her other kid. My eyes were fixed in on their sister Machell. She was four months older than me. She had beautiful blonde flowing hair. She had crystal bluish gray eyes and still does to this day. She smiled like Natalie Wood, and when she was in the room with you, she always made you feel like you mattered, never ignored you. I gained a great deal of respect for her. We will get back to that later.
Fourth and fifth grades rolled along pretty clearly. But we were starting to hear about marijuana, crosstop whites, black beauties, green Christmas “trees speed,” pink hearts, and there always seemed to be a good amount of alcohol around everyone. During the holidays, Betty would always bake some kind of cookie sweets. She was just a damn good cook in any way. She and Rod, her husband, ran a broasted chicken store back then, and they always brought extra home. Nobody went hungry. It was, to me, just a great place to be. There was a family of kids up the street we used to play with; I believe they were the Patersons, Doug and Daryl. They had other brothers and sisters, but too many to count. They seemed to be a poor