Archive for February, 2011

Where the Boys Are

Saturday, February 26th, 2011

from left, me, Bettsie, me with Diana, right, me thinking about Sol

What a motley group of misfits we were. Putzing around, morning till night, each new day a Groundhog Day repeat of the one before. There was Sol, my soul mate, though he didn’t know it. Skinny kid, a year older than me; a little boy who wouldn’t reach puberty till late, like me. Tons of freckles, also like me. A bit of a trouble maker (me? not so much). There was Doug, way into puberty, hairy and all, and at a young age. Man-like, deep voice, with a bark bigger than his bite. Other kids feared him. Danny, very scary, very hairy, already a bit of a perv at 11 or 12. Dave and Bill were older, or seemed so much older that I didn’t really know why they were hanging around with us. And they sure didn’t seem like they were from Beverly Hills — but I’m not sure any of us did. Many of us were from the “the slums of Beverly Hills,” where our parents moved us for a better education. Some education: playing poker in Roxbury Park.

Most of us were free floaters; lost kids. Kids with parents who didn’t know or didn’t care where their children were. And if they cared, they thought we were at the Teen Center and under some sort of supervision. That could not be farther from the truth. There was gambling, sex and eventually drugs. Again, not me. Not me… yet.

It was an alpha male group and we girls were mainly considered a nuisance. The boys played cards all day, placing big, Vegas-style bets in public. This was a serious pastime and girls were not really allowed. We would foist ourselves on them, standing behind one or another and praying for our guy to win. That’s when we would momentarily be noticed and the boy might say, “Stay there Fredde, you’re good luck for me today.” Ah, the power of that. I was needed and important. I was 12 years old. Stolen moments in the Boys Club.

my brother Alan in hat, Sol looking at camera, Doug to right

My best friend Susie had a pool table so I spent hours practicing my game. Then, I would show up at the Teen Center and strut my new shots. In order to play with the boys, you needed the skill and I was beginning to hold my own. This is also where I became fiercely competitive and not bad at all at ping-pong. The boys were sometimes brutal on Diana, a devoted friend since age 5. She wasn’t quite as skillful at dodging their abuse as I was. And she taunted them more than I did. We were both teased mercilessly for being flat-chested.

Susie was the eternal tomboy, who didn’t quite “get” my fascination with the boys. She had some great toys in her house. Besides the pool table, there were also slot machines. Her dad was friends with all the famous race car drivers because he made parts for their cars. I used these masculine toys as bait to get the gang over to Susie’s house. That was always a real accomplishment, one that went totally unnoticed by Susie, who often feigned disinterest. And to be truthful, the boys weren’t there for me either. They came just to play with the toys. But, the excitement of it all made me dream of more boy-filled nights. (more…)

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Real & Imaginary Friends

Monday, February 14th, 2011

when I met Cindy Lou

We lived in a depressing apartment on Olympic Boulevard; a recent divorce put us there. I hated every second of it and longed to be back in “the house.” Soon, the house became a long-ago memory. I might walk by the backyard while playing in the alley and knew it was “technically” ours, but eventually I stopped looking in and convinced myself I no longer pined for it.

One day, a little girl, a year younger than me, moved into the apartment directly across from ours. Not even three steps away was the front door of the girl who became my new best friend. Her name was Cindy Lou Carlson. Not Jewish. Not Jewish was always a comfortable fit for me because I was half-and-half, as we used to say. I knocked on the door and offered up my friendship … and some Oreos.

depressing Olympic apt. my window, Cindy's window where bike is


To date, my most important friendships had been with imaginary friends — an elephant named Carfia, and Sherry, a “good, nice” red-headed mother. (My real mother was a redhead too.) They lived in trees near Roxbury Park, which unfortunately placed them across the huge, though not-so-busy in those days, Olympic Boulevard. There were a few times at age three — and younger — that my mother couldn’t find me, because I was across that big road talking to my friends in the tree. Once, I was spotted by a neighbor and when my mother retrieved me, she slapped some sense into me (a real hard slap, very scary). She insisted my friends were imaginary and didn’t live in that tree. I knew better. But I moved them into a safer spot, my bathtub. I loved them, but Cindy Lou was real, and Cindy Lou looked up to me and followed everything I did. And Cindy could accompany me to Roxbury Park where I would tell her in a forest of bushes and trees that we were being held hostage by savage Indians. My new best friend “saw” all that I could see in my imagination. This was a win-win relationship. Follow the leader (me) was the game we eternally played. (more…)

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Love Letter to Augie on her 25’th Birthday

Friday, February 4th, 2011

my stunning daughter, Augie


Dear Augie,
It was 25 years ago today that we, all my best friends and I, stood around you at the hospital fighting over just the right name. There was Cordelia or Cornelia, but I had thrown them out of the mix long ago. Theodora, Willemina and variations of Willy remained. But now, it was down to the big ones. Would you be called Phillipa, my favorite British name? Or possibly Paloma? Spanish origin, but maybe too affected. Truly, I was leaning towards Augustine, not Augustina, didn’t want the A at the end. Just the simple Augustine and for short, I knew I would call you Augie. I grew up loving my name and my nickname so much, that I wanted the same for you. For a brief moment, I even entertained the idea of just naming you Fredrica! It makes me happy to know how much you do love your name.

Carrying you around became a huge draw, much better than a puppy; it was like I was carrying baby Jesus. People would come from across stores and streets just to look at you. And of course, you at them. Staring at people became a pastime. You became a great studier of people. As a kid, when movies or stage plays were going on, you would often rush to the front of the first row, turn around and stare back at the audience watching the performance. Your magnetic personality kept building and now often, when you walk into a room, you light it up with your presence. People often ask, “Who is she? Is she famous?”

Augie, eternally smiling and laughing

I should probably mention here how beautiful you are. I can honestly say, I’ve never seen anyone quite as beautiful as you. Truly. I’m not being hyperbolic when I say you are the most exquisite person. You have all (and then much more) of my mother’s drop-dead looks, mixed with my father’s magnetic personality. What a combination! The most important aspect of your beauty, however, is the inner one. Augie, you have zero malice. You don’t even have negative thoughts towards those who might have hurt you. Not a vindictive or mean bone in your body. I’m so impressed with your generosity of spirit. (more…)

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