Posts Tagged ‘Roxbury Park’

Talent Show, Summer of ’64

Sunday, July 8th, 2012

I wish I could tell you exactly how many yards it was for me to get to Roxbury Park to give you the visual.    A hop.   Not even a skip and a jump.  I walked two houses up, crossed Olympic and I was there.

That is where I spent my summers.  Basically, doing absolutely nothing.  Kind of like a Seinfeld episode.  No sunblock.  No checking in with my mother.  I didn’t excel at anything in Roxbury Park.  Not at caroms.  Not the monkey bars.  And certainly not the rings.

At the rings, I watched other kids adept at swinging quickly back and forth from one to the next.  I stood high up one day, grabbed ahold and leapt off, but unable to catch the next ring, which seemed to move further and further away, I landed back where I started.  I spent long days trying to push myself further until I did finally grab onto that second one, which was such a victory.   Then I kept swinging back and forth, trying to gain the momentum I would need to get to the next, but failed and dropped to the ground.  Again I tried, over and over, all summer until I was finally able to go back and forth, leaving the other kids waiting in line, drumming their fingers.  And like a monkey, I would copy what the other ring junkies would do just before taking over the set for their performance.  They would dig their hands into the sand and rub some of it between their palms for better friction.  Or use chalk.   It never seemed to work for me, but I did it to look cool, like them.  Inevitably all us monkeys ended up with blisters. (more…)

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Reviews | 21 Comments »

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…)

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | 21 Comments »

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…)

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Reviews | 16 Comments »