“Los Angeles is like a beauty parlor at the end of the universe.” Emily Mortimer
“I love Los Angeles. I love Hollywood. They’re beautiful. Everybody’s plastic, but I love plastic. I want to be plastic.” Andy Warhol
“People change. Things change. Times change. Even memories change ...” Me
In the summer of 1961, my father decided to take our family on a cross-country trip to Los Angeles, destination: Disneyland.
We were coming from Brooklyn, NY, both physically and mentally, so we were more like the Griswolds on steroids. My dad was a cigar-smoking ex-Marine and although he had love in his heart he approached all situations and projects like he was storming the beach at Iwo Jima all over again. So, my mom and I, and my two younger sisters, were somewhat skeptical about embarking on this mission with ‘Sergeant Kushma’.
Reluctant, you might say.
But California dreamin’ and the prospect of fun in sunny Los Angeles with the wonder of Disneyland were calling us away from Brooklyn where all the leaves were brown and the sky was gray ...so to speak.
So, and not to belabor another pop-culture metaphor, we loaded up the car and moved-out, toward Beverly ...Hills that is ...swimmin‘ pools ...movie stars ...
Actually, my dad had a Marine buddy, Terry, living in the Los Angeles Anaheim area and working at a start-up electronics company that was developing advanced flight training simulators for Navy pilots. There was a potential for a job there for my dad ...but I’ll tell you more about that later.
For now, we were the Griswolds (on steroids) on vacation heading west from Flatbush Avenue for the Sunset Strip in our two-door, powder blue, ’59 Ford Galaxy ...heading to a different galaxy far far away.
When we got to New Jersey my mother was already tired of sitting, my sisters had to use the restroom, I was hungry, and my dad’s cigar was making us all sick. It was raining and all the windows were rolled up. The cigar smoke was so thick inside the car that my dad could hardly see to drive. Other motorists on the New Jersey Turnpike must have though our car was on fire. The final straw was when my dad made his move to spit out the window. He forgot the window was up. As we all watched in disgust and horror as the oozing-brown, slimy goober went slithering down the window on the inside of the car I realized that my dad was one of the few people I knew who could laugh and swear at the same time.
...and we were still just in New Jersey. Thank God for Howard Johnson.
We hit a tremendous thunder storm in Joplin, Missouri. My mother, Irma, kept warning us in Czechoslovakian, her native language, “Velka Boure!”, Big Storm! ...she wanted my dad to stop and turn back. It was really scary, and It was the only time any of us ever heard my mom speak Czech. The clouds were black and the wind was blowing. I was thinking tornado. My dad just laughed chewing on his now unlit cigar, and we soldiered on.
White Sands, New Mexico was nice.
We did stop, however, in Tombstone, Arizona, where my sister was seemingly kidnapped by a local Mexican gentleman and his burro. As it turned out, she was not kidnapped at all. My dad needed a beer, and stopped at a local cantina. We noticed the old guy and his burro standing around outside. Amusing local color to us. We took a picture. We all went in for cokes, beer and souvenirs, and to use the restrooms, and lost track of one another. Then, kind of like in ‘Home Alone‘ ...”Where’s Lisa!?” We looked all over inside the cantina ..outside ...we were beginning to panic when here comes the old Mexican gentleman leading his burro down the dirt street with Lisa aboard all smiles. The burro was even smiling. My mother was apoplectic. My dad was out twenty bucks for the photo and the burro ride.
Next stop was Ajo, Arizona. Dad had a relative who was working at the copper mine there. Ajo is a small town close to the Mexican border located near the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It’s a U.S. National Park and the cactus looked like giant organ pipes ...hence the name. Ajo was the smallest town I had ever been in, much smaller than Tombstone, and it had an A&W drive-in, the first drive-in I had ever experienced. The local kids laughed at my Brooklyn accent. I marveled at their pickup trucks and gun racks.
On to California next and a quick stop at an “authentic western cowboy town” where my dad had a photo taken shaking hands with an “authentic Indian Chief”. The Chief’s ‘agent’ had my dad pose with an “authentic Indian Chief Headdress”. It’s the classic politically incorrect photo. The only thing missing is dad’s authentic Brooklyn cigar ...and another twenty bucks.
Los Angeles was great. Disneyland was wonderful ...spinning teacups, pirate ships, Mickey, Goofey, Snow White and Tinker Bell. Oddly, not much different than Brooklyn in it’s own way. We bought jam and jelly variety gift packs at Knott’s Berry Farm ...they had rides there too but Disney had the edge on fun.
But what I noticed most about Southern California was the slower pace of life. It was really nice. Calm and carefree. It felt comfortable. It’s where the Beach Boys lived. Different from the frantic pace of New York City and Brooklyn. LA’s blue sky, the smell in the air, flowers, the heat, the palm trees, the Hollywood hills and canyons ...the ocean surf and beach communities ...even the freeways, all seemed wonderfully different to me.
I could live here.
I don’t remember the trip back. My dad met with his Marine buddy, Terry, who ended up moving to New York where they both worked for the electronics company that developed the famous Link “Blue Box” flight simulator trainers for Navy pilots, now working on more advanced technology training simulators.
I was sad to leave California. I really liked it there. I’ve been back many times over the years and although it has changed dramatically regarding the pace of life, the smog, overcrowded freeways, crime, the fires, etc., it’s still an exciting place to me and I always enjoy going there. LA is no longer the slow & easy, carefree place of 1961 swaying and whining Beach Boys surfing tunes, it’s more like the frantic yet exciting beat of 2019 tunes of groups like Sugarcult.
Times have changed, but It’s always a thrill for me to fly in to the heat of Los Angeles. Hop aboard this next flight and experience an exciting twilight landing at today’s LAX ...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OpA3ORYlgGs
John Kushma is a communication consultant and lives in Logan, Utah
https://www.linkedin.com/in/john-george-kushma-379a5762
Some past articles and op-eds
