The Paint is Dry Now!

When our family moved from Pittsburgh to southern California my father set out to find a new job. As previously posted here, he left a position with the Transportation Department to join his parents and brothers in the Golden State!

With the help of his brother-in-law, Henry, he began working as a painter at Air Research in Los Angeles. Their facility at the time was adjacent to the Los Angeles Airport now known as LAX.



The Air Research company was just to the east of the airport in the photo above. One day, when dad arrived home and I asked him about his day he told me "oh, today I had to go up on the roof to paint some equipment up there. Too bad I didn't bring a tall ladder with me? I could have painted a stripe on the bottom of every airplane landing at the airport!" Of course he was smiling when he said that but since I was just a kid, I thought he was really cool! From that point on I was always looking for the planes with a stripe painted on the bottom!

It seems that he and I both had an interest in airplanes since we would take the "Sunday ride" from Long Beach to LAX, park the car and watch the plans take off and land. It was exciting for us ... not so sure how mom felt about it though!

A few years later, Air Research had a layoff and dad was once again unemployed. It was around the beginning of the holiday season and he got a job delivering packages for the Post Office. In order to carry more packages (and get more hours of work) he removed the back seat from his 1950 Chevy. It was similar to the photo below.



Shortly after new year, he was thrilled to have been hired full-time by the Post Office and began working as a clerk in the big facility in downtown Long Beach. During the time he worked here he often used his vacation to paint houses, apartments, and commercial buildings.

The first time he asked me to assist on a job I was about 15 years old. It was so exciting to load all the paint, brushes, rollers, drop cloths, and everything else into the car. Dad would then place a blanket on the roof of the Chevy and tie his ladders to it. Off we went to the big job ... an apartment building on Cherry Avenue in Signal Hill. He would tell me where to put the drop cloth and how to stir the paint. He did all the painting but I was so happy just hanging out with him.

Some time later he had a job in Rossmoor painting a house and this time he put the roller in my hand and instructed me in the proper technique to roll the paint on the stucco. What a great couple of days we spent finishing up that job. Just like any other job, we had lots of clean-up to do and dad would make sure I learned this important part of every job.

The last job I remember doing was our own house in Long Beach. He and I had built a patio cover and before we installed the roof on it he had me paint all the posts and beams. He left for work that day and I went to the back yard eager to get the job completed before he got home that evening. Mission accomplished!

Several years later, after graduating from high school, I began advertising in the neighborhood for painting jobs. My first job was for a Navy officer just down the street. He was getting ready to move to San Francisco and needed a few rooms painted. The family had already moved north so it was a piece of cake. After completing the three bedrooms I began working on the living room. Each day Captain Paul would check in on me and hear the sounds of rock music. Don't really think he liked it so on the day I started the living room I found a classical station on his radio and to this day remember the look on his face as he walked in to inspect my work! "Are you okay?" I remember him saying. I just smiled and told him the melodious music helped me to do a really good job on the living room because that would be the first room the potential buyers would see. Don't think he bought that story and when he left it was back to rock!

Whenever I've done any painting over the many years since dad passed away I always think about how special those few times were for a young boy!

The paint has long since dried dad but the memories will last forever!

A Time to Remember

Growing up in Long Beach provided many fond memories of going to parade's and other events downtown. Most enjoyable were the military parades which always included military bands, tanks, trucks, and lot of soldiers and sailors. As they passed by the people cheered for the troops and stood in recognition of the Stars and Strips! My father was a WWII veteran and I always looked forward to going to these events with him. Additionally, we attended the U.S. Air Force annual open house at what was then the Air Force Base at Long Beach Airport.

A couple of years ago I wrote this poem. It is time to add to my blog. Thanks dad for instilling a sense of pride and patriotism in me as a young man. I too served proudly in the U.S. Army and honor those I grew up with that gave the ultimate price to protect the freedom we, as Americans, love but sometimes take for granted!

The Little Soldier

A little boy stood along the route
He waved his hand to all the troops

He dreamed of one day being in their place
Marching to the drummer’s pace

As he held onto his father’s hand
He dreamed of being in far away lands

He read of battles in history books
And felt the pain in soldier’s looks

Some of them didn’t make the trip home
To loved ones left standing now all alone

The little boy never felt the fear
Of protecting those that were so dear

A young man now he joined the force
Remembering those who’d paid the price

In the heat of battle his comrades fell
The young man fought on braver still

He heard the blast and felt the shock
One last look before it went black

His father answered the door today
Two soldiers greet him with this to say

Your son has paid the ultimate price
He’s given his life in sacrifice

For freedom and love of country too
“We’re sorry, sir this flag is for you”

The little boy squeezes his father’s hand
A tear is shed for those who protect our land

Today let’s look towards the sky
Remembering all soldiers who served and died

To protect our freedom and our home
From evil forces wherever they roam

High Flying Skater

My third grade year in school was very memorable for a variety of reasons. About the third week of school my dad bought me a brand new Schwinn bike. You can real all about that experience in my April 2010 post.

When not riding my snazzy Schwinn, I would join the kids in the neighborhood on my skates. In those days, the skates were made of metal with leather straps and clamps on the front. You used a "skate key" to tighten the clamps once you put your shoe into the skate. Most of us were very adept at putting our skates on and getting up to speed.



We lived on Radnor Avenue and there were about sixteen houses on our side of the street. The next street to the east was Albury which had a similar number of homes. At the north end of the block was Los Arcos with Stearns Street on the south. Each day we'd race around the block as fast as possible. We didn't have any digital timers or anything but I seems like after six or seven laps we'd take a break and get something to drink. This went on all the time during the spring and summer.

For some reason, our laps were always done in a counter clockwise manner. So we'd fly south on Radnor, make a left on Stearns, Albury, Los Arcos, and then a final left back on to Radnor. On each lap we'd pick up the speed and attempt different strategies on the go to put distance between one another.

One day, the neighborhood was amazingly quiet as we began our race around the block. On my second lap, approaching the left turn at Los Arcos, I noticed that someone had placed a toy rifle in the middle of the sidewalk. Instantly, I increased my effort and speed to enable a clean jump over this obstacle! When I lifted off I felt too much upper body weight moving forward. Without panic, I attempted to pull back to insure a safe landing. When the front wheels of my skates hit the ground first the momentum carried me forward and before I could gain my balance I was down. I hit the ground hard on my right wrist and felt it throbbing as soon as I stood up. Undaunted, I continued skating for a couple more laps but my speed was down and the pain was beginning to really bother me.

After taking my skates off, I went in and told my mom what happened. It seems to me we waited for my dad to get home from work before going to the ER. They took several x-ray's of my wrist and determined the bone was cracked but not completely broken so they wrapped it and put me in a sling.



Now this was my right wrist and I am right-handed. This is the hand I did all the math and other work with at school. Did this injury mean that I would no longer have to do school work? A kid can only hope that was the case. Wait a minute, my teacher told me "you'll just have to learn to do your work with your left hand!" She wasn't kidding ... dang, Miss Felo how can a kid do that? For the next six weeks I did all my writing, drawing, and other school work left-handed! It wasn't pretty but she gave me good grades for making an attempt!

The story doesn't end there. About three weeks into my recovery I was walking from our garage down the driveway with two friends. I was in the middle as we proceeded down the driveway holding one of my model airplanes. All of the sudden, I felt a sharp pain on the top of my head. Instinctively, I felt my head with my left hand to see what it was and when I brought my hand down it was covered with blood!! All three of us ran to the front porch with me screaming for help. My mother came out and rescued me. Off to the ER again and wouldn't you know it the same doctor and nurse were there. So they shaved all around the spot of the injury and three stitches later I was back in the car on my way home with a big piece of white gauze stuck to my head. When we got home, there was dad with the hose and a bucket of soapy water cleaning my blood off the front porch! Later that evening we learned that little Janie next door had picked up a fairly large rock and tossed it over the fence with all her might!

On Monday, I went back to school with my arm in a sling and the white patch on my head. That really gave the kids something to laugh about! I vaguely remember Miss Felo teaching a history lesson about the American Revolution and seeing a picture of the fife and drum corps with the soldiers all bandaged up!!