Muhammad Ali and I Go Down!

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO….!"

I screamed loud enough to be heard by the neighbors―loud enough to be heard by the Lennons on the corner!  

said Joey

asked Kippy

"What's wrong with you" dad asked examining the front page of the LA Times staring down at the horrific results of the FIGHT OF THE CENTURY. 

Without having to turn to the sports page it was right there in the headlines. Ali had lost!                                                                                                                                                   "It can't be" I said. "Impossible."                                                                                                                                                       My dad was surprised, but not shocked like me.  

They wondered...  Hide your wife. Hide your kids.                                                                                                                          

   Hamper                                                                   Electrocution                                                 Veloci-Raptor 

"But we had a contract...he promised to knock Frazier out in 6 rounds"

Dad furled his brow and stared incredulously at me. "Vad är fel med dig?" he said in Swedish. 

  

Dad didn't get it. "This can't be!" 

He set his paper down and raised a brow as if waiting for my answer. 

"You don't get it." I said. And he didn't. "That might as well be me in there." 

               Another blank stare.

"What chance do I have now of becoming anything more than moldy bread."

I got this look like I should have been committed to the insane asylum at Camarillo.

Obviously he didn't know what Muhammad Ali said about moldy bread and penicillin.

"We had a contract," I said waiving my arms. "He promised me that I was destined not to be moldy bread"

My poor father had no idea what I was talking about. "Come here and let me look at your tongue," he said.

I did and then realized that he was looking into my eyes. I knew what he was doing. He was scared. He thought that maybe I had discovered the Mexican Tomato plants in the backyard and had started puffing on the "Mary Jane." He was afraid I had turned to the dark side... 

"Dad...No! Tony Alva...whatever..."  He was more confused than ever. 

Ali's victory was my victory. This fight meant that I could become someone and now I have no chance. I felt like everyone kept lying to me. First it was Phyllis Diller now it's Ali. Adults and their promises and their Prophecies just can't be trusted.  

The Blasers next door heard the scream.                                                                                                        "What's the screaming," said Tommy in alarm pulling on his grandpa's shirt.  
                                                                                         

 "It went the full fifteen," my dad said.

 It was me. I had been knocked down.











"Unanimous decision." He continued.


 I felt sucker punched. "ughhhh!" Not by Frazier, but by Ali.










  thought one of the neighbors

"Ali...Ali...Ali...Ali...how could you do this to me?" I said walking away talking to my dog, Poochie.

Poochie was minding her own business, enjoying the warmth of the sun―trying to stay out of it.                                                                                            
I was rejected by Andrea and the world had just shifted off its axis. Bent I'm telling you.

I turned around and my Dad's eyes were still trailing me. He watched for a little bit and said something else in Swedish, "Galen!" 

It's been less than a month and the city was still recovering from the big Sylmar earth quake that hit back in February.

Frank Nargie the mailman who lived across the street said he was outside when it hit and saw our big old house rock back and forth. He said he thought it was going to fall over. Two of the boy on the third floor got knocked out of their beds and another rattlesnake got loose. I remember feeling like I was on a ship being tossed back and forth by a storm. 

It was tragic. Fourteen people were killed. Two Hospitals collapsed. Governor Reagan declares a State of Emergency and appealed to President Nixon for Federal aid. 

                                                                               

"Earthquake―Smearthquake" I felt like I had been rocked from my foundation and in a personal state of emergency. Who do I appeal to?  I tried God and that didn't seem to work.

Who could I trust?

I swan and improved on my times in the Butterfly. But I still sucked. In my first race I was so terrible that a guy with a broken arm and plastic bag over his cast beat me.

                                                                                                                                         

I finished my first swim season at Saint Monicas, but  really didn't care a whole lot  about competing. It was pretty simple―I had given up on the notion that I could discover what true love was about and settled on finding friendship and fitting in. 

Distance and distrust was best.   

I wanted to fit―belong―find my place, not win gold medals. Kurt the "big Saint Monica's scoring champion" was up at Humboldt University and becoming more of a hippie. I could never be like him―why try! Ali lost. Adults are not to be trusted. I realized that life was easier as a robot and decided to withdraw into my own world where it was a little safer.  

More aftershocks...then the "Hensheys Incident of 1971" in Santa Monica!

  and off to Dachau ...but why?  

Hensheys picture credit: Facebook post by Michael Hayasi "You know you're from Santa Monica If" group May 2016