Honorable Mention – Resolution at White Point
A local and a lifeguard have a good laugh
by Joe Gitelson
During my 30-plus years as an Los Angeles County Lifeguard I worked at White Point/Royal Palms in San Pedro many times. The only problem I ever really had was when localism would rear its ugly head. Putting a tiny pebble in a visiting surfer’s tire stem to cause a slow flat tire was one example.
About a year before I retired in 2012, at 64, I picked up an extra shift at White Point. Around noon, a pickup truck pulled into the handicapped parking space just below the tower. A guy in his mid to late 30s got out of the truck with a joint in his mouth and an open beer in his hand. He dropped his tailgate, and let his large black Labrador retriever run free. He did not have a handicap plate.
I walked out onto the deck of the tower and said to the guy, “Excuse me, but not only can’t you park in that spot, dogs aren’t allowed unleashed, marijuana is not legal, and you have an open container. Call your dog, put out the joint, dump the beer and move your truck, please?”
He looked up at me and asked,” Are you new here?”
I looked down at him, pointed to my face and replied, “Do I look new?”
We both cracked up. He got his dog, put out the joint, dumped the beer and moved his truck. We laughed about that day again, many times.
Honorable Mention – No need to go home again
Inglewood is gone, but the foundation remains
by Dave Siemienski
I recently found myself passing an Inglewood-sign on the 405 Freeway. That is where I grew up. My mind instinctively mused to an old “Twilight Zone” episode called “Walking Distance,” written by Rod Serling and starring Gig Young. It was about a world-weary advertising executive who leaves his car at a gas station (when you could do that sort of thing) and sets off on foot for his home town, which is just down the road. He strangely finds things there are almost exactly the same as when he was a child, and he quickly senses that he has somehow gone back in time. When he finds his old home, he confronts his parents in an attempt to explain he actually is their son now grown up. They think he’s a crazy person.
The unfolding episode shows how Young’s character, Martin Sloan, trying to recapture his youth, and he even attempts to communicate with himself as a boy. When his father eventually believes the impossible, that this Sloan man is his son from the future, Martin asks him why he can’t fit back into his past life here? His father pointedly replies, “I guess because we only get one chance.”
Now that Inglewood was within “walking distance,” I decided to get off at the Florence/Manchester off-ramp. This is precisely the spot where my Uncle Leo used to live. His home was torn down for the freeway back in the 1950s. This represented progress then, but where the hell did those families go? I genuinely miss those visits to my Uncle’s house.
Lo and behold, there was the “Big Donut” (now another name). Times change. At least the donut was still there. I continued my slow journey into the past by driving south on Aviation until I reached Century. Carolina Lanes should be right here on the corner. This was where I bowled my first 200 game. Forget it, now sleazy strip-joints and fast food occupy the ground where wonderful bowling lanes gave me so much fun with my friends. The Inglewood Bowl and Jola Bowl are also ancient history.
My next turn was down Century towards the Hollywood Park Race Track. That parking lot is where my dad first took me to practice driving a car. Please tell me I’m dreaming. The racetrack is gone. Sofi Stadium? What is that? The American Taj Mahal? They’re playing NFL football where Pops first let me take the wheel? That was where Willie Shoemaker pulled up on Swaps at the quarter-pole, and cost my Uncle Leo a lot of money. How could they take away that beautiful landmark and so many of my cherished memories?
The Clippers are moving in across the street on Century? You have gotta be kidding! Does that mean the Raiders might come back to Inglewood?
The Inglewood Golf Course is long gone, and now it’s mostly concerts at the old Forum. Saw the Rolling Stones there in 1972. That ancient sports building is sitting right where the 9th Green used to be in 1950. Grass has turned to concrete and asphalt. It was like somebody took a big eraser to the chalkboard pix of my childhood. All that was left is dusty chalk and smudged images.
I got back into my car, and tried to picture myself in one of the vintage autos from “American Grafitti.” I blasted the radio. The rock’n roll still played, but the pictures were gone. John Milner is still the fastest hot rod in the Centinela Valley, isn’t he?
I turned the wheel west. I knew Sears was just down the street on Manchester at Hillcrest. I wanted to checkout their sporting goods department where I bought my first Converse basketball shoes. Where is the iconic Sears building? Where’s the parking lot? Was it leveled by an earthquake? Hold on a minute! What’s going on here? I knew that the old Dr. Tanton office would be gone across the street, but I never dreamed Sears would disappear.
Oh well, maybe I would head downtown and see what’s playing at the Fox Theater or the United Artists. On no! The Fox is boarded up. No UA either. Has the “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” come true? Have aliens taken over Inglewood? I saw “The Hustler” at the Fox in 1961, but now Market Street looks like a bad movie set. Where is Mike & Bob’s Records? Do they still sell 45s? I bought my first Beatles album there.
Maybe I should seek some peace and quiet at the Inglewood Public Library. It should be just around the corner. I turned down Queen Street, but couldn’t understand why it strangely dead-ended at La Brea. That’s not right. Where is that beautiful building that took up a whole block? The impressive structure I remember had an elegant stairway out front leading to the front doors. The rich old wood of the lobby and book shelves smelt like a museum. It was a cathedral for books, and my senses were all geared up and ready for time travel. Alas, this cherished landmark has also disappeared. The whole city block is now the Inglewood City Hall. If those people only knew what books I enjoyed and how that intellectual piece of lost history inspired a lifetime of reading and writing.
As I pulled away from the curb looking for something of the past I could hang onto, I noted that at least Inglewood High School was still there. Scarpalino’s Pizza is gone, the DMV has moved, and most everything else looks like a foreign country.
I was getting desperate to find something historical that I could cling to. I came up with one thing that I thought would help me envision the “good old days” of my former hometown.
I drove off melancholy but optimistic about seeing Centinela Park again, at the corner of Florence and Centinela. It was 55 beautiful acres of grass, trees, picnic areas, playgrounds, small playhouse, big pool, tennis courts, and ball diamonds. Huge parts of my youth were spent there playing ball, watching fireworks, hiking the Indian trails, and playing fast-pitch softball there later as an adult. It was just down the street from where I grew up on Hazel Street. It should be just up ahead.
“Edward Vincent Jr. Park?” Who the hell is he? Why did they have to change the name? The most iconic name of all Inglewood parks! I suppose this was seen as progress.
My emersion in nostalgia must fail to appreciate evolving civilizations. My family settled in the City of Inglewood from Connecticut in 1950.
Since I was now just a few blocks from where I grew up, at 329 E Hazel Street, I knew where my final destination was going to be that day. I drove slowly up my old street, and approached the address with cautious anticipation. I was looking for the two pronounced banks of ivy and elm trees that distinctively marked the front of our property.
When the addresses indicated I had gone a little too far, I was shocked. I stopped and backed up a few houses. Where was 329? It is now a huge apartment building! This cannot be! Something is dreadfully wrong here. Where is my basketball court and the wiffleball field? What did they do with the apricot and peach trees?
I thought back to the Twilight Zone closing narration by Rod Serling from “Walking Distance.” In his most sentimental of tones, Rod said, “Martin Sloan, age 36, vice-president in charge of media. Successful in most things, but not in the one effort that all men try at some time in their lives—trying to go home again….”
As those words rattled through my mind, that line from Martin’s dad still echoed in my ears: “maybe…we only get one chance.” It turns out one was enough for me. Even though most everything has changed now, I would not change anything about how or where I grew up.
Those experiences and images of my youth are the bricks that formed the foundation of my maturity, a wonderful career, and a joyful life with family and friends.
I no longer feel a need to go home, again. “Home is where the heart is.” Mine now has moved on.
