Though this is a true story of events... this is more of a time capsule for those who grew up in and around Venice - Circa 1970
Tommy, Jeffery and I had our heads sticking out of the hole on the top of Tony's '59 Ranchero. Like the happiest dogs you ever saw, we turned toward the air blowing in our faces and tried to capture it in our mouths and nostrils. Just like brothers we fought the whole way from Harding ave to Palms Blvd.
Jeffery stuck his head inside the cab and asked Tony if he ever planned to finish the sunroof project he began years before.
"Blech" Tony said, as though fixing the hole he had cut out of the top of the car was furthest thing from his mind and dismissed him with a wave.
"Thirty six cents a gallon" I shouted to Tommy and Jeffery pointing to the prices at the Mohawk Gas station. "That's highway robbery" I said repeating what my dad must have said at least a thousand times. I got a blank stare from both of them―they were only 11 so what did they care. I would be driving in the next couple of years so it mattered to me.
While pushing, shoving, and yelling each other all the way down Lincoln Boulevard we heard a terrifying scream above the riot we were making. Like a retracting periscope, Jeffery stuck his head down again and warned Tony of the awful sound we heard while still a block away―passing Allan's Aquarium.
Tony freaked and punched it. He sped so fast around the corner at Palms that the two outside wheels almost lifted off the warm asphalt as the three of us screamed in exhilaration pretending to be the sirens on top of a rescue vehicle.
This Saturday we had been recruited to paint the investment property at 1041 Palms that Tony had bought from Mr. Blaser for the tidy sum of $12,500 several years ago which was almost equal to his annual salary...AND THIS WAS EAST of Lincoln practically in the ghetto.
Even before screeching to a halt in front of small wooden shack that sat at the back of a very deep lot, Tony finally tuned into the harrowing cries of help that the three of us had already heard two blocks away.
"DISENGAGE ME! DISENGAGE ME! DISENGAGE ME!" Bellowed the poor fellow who was being dragged down the length of the long lot. Tony had left his friend, "El Heffe" (or something like that), with the task of rototilling the front yard and a giant machine.
It appears that El Heffe managed to get the magnificent red-machine fired up and operating which Tony thought would never happen. That alone was a miracle in itself. The machine came to life and El Heffe grabbed the handle and the beast began dragging him up and down the length of the property. It never crossed his mind to let go of the handle grips that engaged the drive gears. As the blades dung into the hard soil and forced itself forward it dragged poor Heffe behind on his belly screaming as if being tortured by a evil machine that would not let go of him.
"Someone help the boy" pleaded the little old lady next door.
"LET GO OF THE MACHINE" Tony yelled as he ran after the pair.
This thought never occurred to him. "DISENGAGE ME!" El Heffe screamed at a decibel higher than the roar of Apollo 11 taking off at Cape Kennedy. We stood with the growing number of spectators who had gathered on the sidewalks and laughed as Tony chased the helpless body being dragged around like a helpless rag doll.
"LET GO! LET GO!"
The three of cried with laughter―even the old man next door thought it was funny. This was good stuff―who needs TV?
Tony jumped on the Heffe's back and pinned him to the ground that ripped the death grip he had on the handle bars.
The machine came to an abrupt stop―idling passively as if the devil had been exercised out of it.
Other than being dirty, scratched up, exhausted, sweaty, and thirsty―Heffe was FREE! When he saw the assembled crowds he had no shame at all. Standing to his feet, he dusted himself off with an air of triumph as if he expected accolades for taming the wild beast and for successfully rototilling half the lawn all by himself.
Tony turned his attention to the three of us and pointed to the five gallon buckets of bright yellow paint that he had stacked next to the porch.
With very little instruction he told us paint the house and took off.
Heffe also left in the Karmann Ghia, returning to the Harding house for a well deserved nap.
Not wanted to alarm him, we waited for Tony to turn the corner until jumping up and down at the shear joy of the opportunity that lay before us.
Three stupid kids and a lot of yellow paint. Thinking about what that big, red machine did to El Heffe just imagine how much damage a bucket of possessed evil paint could do in the hands of some nit-wit best friends and no adult supervision.
Yabba dabba doo!... BEST DAY EVER to be continued.
I mean, Tony should have known better...right?
"Blech" Tony said, as though fixing the hole he had cut out of the top of the car was furthest thing from his mind and dismissed him with a wave.
"Thirty six cents a gallon" I shouted to Tommy and Jeffery pointing to the prices at the Mohawk Gas station. "That's highway robbery" I said repeating what my dad must have said at least a thousand times. I got a blank stare from both of them―they were only 11 so what did they care. I would be driving in the next couple of years so it mattered to me.
While pushing, shoving, and yelling each other all the way down Lincoln Boulevard we heard a terrifying scream above the riot we were making. Like a retracting periscope, Jeffery stuck his head down again and warned Tony of the awful sound we heard while still a block away―passing Allan's Aquarium.
Tony freaked and punched it. He sped so fast around the corner at Palms that the two outside wheels almost lifted off the warm asphalt as the three of us screamed in exhilaration pretending to be the sirens on top of a rescue vehicle.
This Saturday we had been recruited to paint the investment property at 1041 Palms that Tony had bought from Mr. Blaser for the tidy sum of $12,500 several years ago which was almost equal to his annual salary...AND THIS WAS EAST of Lincoln practically in the ghetto. Even before screeching to a halt in front of small wooden shack that sat at the back of a very deep lot, Tony finally tuned into the harrowing cries of help that the three of us had already heard two blocks away.
"DISENGAGE ME! DISENGAGE ME! DISENGAGE ME!" Bellowed the poor fellow who was being dragged down the length of the long lot. Tony had left his friend, "El Heffe" (or something like that), with the task of rototilling the front yard and a giant machine.
It appears that El Heffe managed to get the magnificent red-machine fired up and operating which Tony thought would never happen. That alone was a miracle in itself. The machine came to life and El Heffe grabbed the handle and the beast began dragging him up and down the length of the property. It never crossed his mind to let go of the handle grips that engaged the drive gears. As the blades dung into the hard soil and forced itself forward it dragged poor Heffe behind on his belly screaming as if being tortured by a evil machine that would not let go of him.
"Someone help the boy" pleaded the little old lady next door.
"LET GO OF THE MACHINE" Tony yelled as he ran after the pair.
This thought never occurred to him. "DISENGAGE ME!" El Heffe screamed at a decibel higher than the roar of Apollo 11 taking off at Cape Kennedy. We stood with the growing number of spectators who had gathered on the sidewalks and laughed as Tony chased the helpless body being dragged around like a helpless rag doll.
"LET GO! LET GO!"
The three of cried with laughter―even the old man next door thought it was funny. This was good stuff―who needs TV?
Tony jumped on the Heffe's back and pinned him to the ground that ripped the death grip he had on the handle bars.
The machine came to an abrupt stop―idling passively as if the devil had been exercised out of it.
Other than being dirty, scratched up, exhausted, sweaty, and thirsty―Heffe was FREE! When he saw the assembled crowds he had no shame at all. Standing to his feet, he dusted himself off with an air of triumph as if he expected accolades for taming the wild beast and for successfully rototilling half the lawn all by himself.
Tony turned his attention to the three of us and pointed to the five gallon buckets of bright yellow paint that he had stacked next to the porch.
With very little instruction he told us paint the house and took off.
Heffe also left in the Karmann Ghia, returning to the Harding house for a well deserved nap.
Not wanted to alarm him, we waited for Tony to turn the corner until jumping up and down at the shear joy of the opportunity that lay before us.
Three stupid kids and a lot of yellow paint. Thinking about what that big, red machine did to El Heffe just imagine how much damage a bucket of possessed evil paint could do in the hands of some nit-wit best friends and no adult supervision.
Yabba dabba doo!... BEST DAY EVER to be continued.
I mean, Tony should have known better...right?
I'm loving the 2 stories I've read thus far. It's funny how you referred to the house on Palms. My aunt, uncle and cousins lived on Palms, the west side of Lincoln, and to this day my cousin who still lives there, calls it "the house on Palms" You may know the Becerra's too. (Jamie, Armando RIP, Paul & John)
ReplyDelete'DTBN I sure if anyone in your extended family ever made it to palms on the east of Lincoln they might be familiar with my brother's house. he eventually moved a house onto the front. the hose was too big so he had to take a chain saw and cut out a chunk and put it back together. Then he also raised the house so it became a 2 story - the house was a real Frankenstein now its worth a billion dollars (ok almost $2 million) because it is in Venice! my family still have 6 houses in Venice - I wish I still has mine - if I did I could retire... thanks for your words of encouragement markie d
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