my contribution to Books By Authors or why did they publish this?

I arrived in Long Beach, a very callow youth of 11 with no clue…about anything. What I found out was that guys of my age, who grew up together in Naples, on the Shore, the Heights, Downtown or any of the neighborhoods that Long Beach wrought were in the in-crowd. Leaving me little elbow room for social progress.

Maybe that’s why my parents sent me to a ballroom dancing class at a studio on Redondo at Seventh St. My most cogent memory was of one of the male dancers walking through a glass door, not dance steps.

My mouth got me in the most trouble. My first day at Jefferson Jr. High School was tense. Over the summer, a student accidentally shot and killed another, and some were waiting for the shooter. He never showed. I had a few friends on the block, Ricky & Ronnie, Nick and John, rich in kids my age. Then we moved. I was used to that, having been born in Berkeley, moving to Missoula, MT, Arcadia, Long Beach.

Junior high was a blur: juvie cops in the shower room waiting to bust John (no last name), seeing Tony (no last name) smoking weed and seriously bloody fights. Wilson High was car clubs, fraternities and one black student, an exchange student from Africa. I got my first job as a page at the Carnegie Library. Assigned to shelve kids books at the McArthur branch, I went to a City College football game instead, was snitched on, fired at the start of a page career path.

Much has happened in the intervening 40 plus years. Even so, pages still get crap assignments and I’m convinced a select few still go to football games on weekend nights. We’re part of that path.