Date: Wed, 26 Feb 1997 16:57:49 -0500
From: Charlie Ford <cford@mindspring.com>
Subject: Santa Ana to Malibu (the long way)

Santa Ana to Pepperdine University

Santa Ana is a small metro community south and east of LA about 30 miles.
I left Wesley Price standing in front to of his trailer waving good-bye to
the only relative he had ever seen at his home since coming to California
in 1965.  He stood and watched until I turned right out of his drive and
onto Standard Avenue, the street the trailer park is on.

Wesley came west to California to work and find refuge from his ex wife,
who by all accounts was amean and sorry woman.  He says that she gave him
hell from beginning to end, and when he divorced her she wanted to gave him
more hell, the only thing he knew to do was go as far away from Georgia as
he could and California seemed to be much more comfy than Alaska.  But he
did consider the north country.

When Wesley came here he didnąt have much money, no place to live, and no
job to speak of.  He started picking fruit and vegetables in the San
Juaquin Valley and slowly built up enough of a stake to rent a place to
live.  Before that time he live in the bunkhouse with all of the other farm
laborers.  He eventually became a gardner for the middle class families
around Santa Anna and other parts of southern California.  He built it to a
booming business and retired when he turned 60.  Many of his clients still
call and check on him today.

Now a man of 69, and suffering from the rigors of old age, he has just as
many perceived ailments as he does real ailments.  Donąt get me wrong, his
heart attack was very real and the doctors left a couple of souvenirs for
him inside his chest cavity.  But still the fact remains that many folks of
his age seems to become rather overly aware of each crack, creak, or pain.
I was informed by the head nurse that łthey knew Wesley very well˛,
implying that they had seen him often over the past couple years.  She also
said that some of the illness, she suspected was due to the need for
attention.  I pondered this for a while and came to the conclusion that she
might have a point.  An old man alone, no one to live with, no one that
every now and then sits and watches the news with him, or just nods their
head in agreement while he makes a point in discussion.  Hell for that
matter, just someone who carries on common conversation.  Hey he is lonely,
that is obvious.

I did some reading on the issue and found that elderly folks that are
visited as little as weekly respond in a most positive way and even show
improvement immediately after the visitation of a volunteer or better yet
family member starts to happen.  I know their are several national service
programs that deal specifically with the elderly, and some are reportedly
doing this type mentoring, but personally I have never seen one in action,
not recently anyway.  I know there are several volunteer groups around and
about that work in these areas as well.

Wesley treated me like kinfolk when I was in his house. While he was in the
hospital he called each day and I called him each day.  I went and visited
him twice and each time I was greeted with a major large smile stretched
across his face.  He allowed me to use the phone for going on line and
such.  He smiled the entire time I was there.  He was just happy that
somebody came to see him.  I was happy to come and see him.  He is a good
man with much to offer.

I hated to leave, but the time came and I was on my way out of Santa Ana.
I will miss Wesley but I will not miss the smog, or the gunshots from the
apartments next door, or the smell of the city in the morning.  I will not
miss the ear-straining noise coming from the trailer sitting next to
Wesleyąs, the people seemed to shout every word they said and they talked
all the time.  Goodbye and good riddence to the bad things, I canąt take it
anymore.

I drove down Interstate 5 to Newport beach and headed north on Hwy. #1, The
Pacific Coast Hwy.  As soon as I hit PCH I was confronted with a strong
wind blowing in off the ocean.  It was steady and all I did was adjust my
steering to offset the pressure and propped and drove.  I had to switch
arms a few times but all faired well and I was beaten around on he road
like the wind did me in west Texas.  I eased along adoring the western
coastline.

The blue waters seem to fall of the edge of the earth about 125 miles out.
The waves roll in and ribbon themselves down the beige sand beaches.
Lifeguard stands, just like the ones on Baywatch line the beach waiting to
be rolled forward when the season begins.  The beach seems alone this time
of year.  Ocassionally one sees a beach chair or an umbrella occupied by
folks braving the chilly wind, but mostly one just sees sand.

Another frequent site along this coast is that of VW busses and bugs.  All
year models, color schemes, drivers, and those driven hum their way along
in a daily rush to get somewhere on time.  Me I had no phone, no rent, no
money, and no where in particular to be, so I got to take a gander at each
and every one I saw.  There were some so pretty it looked as if they had
just been driven from the showroom floor.  Little did they know that beauty
doesnąt just edify itself in a nice paintjob, the Mothership was around and
on this day she was the queen of Newport beach.  Except of course for
sharing that honor with Jack Stafford of Costa Mesa, but I think he was at
work.  Sorry Jack, I would take your place if I could, and I know you would
take mine if you could.

I eased along until I got to the LA downtown.  You see #1 or PCH turns into
metro after about 20 miles.  It loads up with traffic and becomes nothing
more than an urban frustration.  I got off and tried to find my self a
little two lane that would take me through some neighborhoods, but there
are none that are safe in this stretch of LA.  I pulled into a precinct
house of the LAPD and stomped inside asking łWhere the hell am I?˛.  they
all got an immediate kick out of my accent and my question and proceeded to
offer me info with great joy.  I was given instructions to get on the
highway as quickly as I could.  Not that there was an emergency, but simply
because they said they didnąt want to be pulling the body of a bullet
riddled southern tourist, searching for the beginning of wind, from a
gutter somewhere in south central LA.  I took their advice and followed the
directions to the letter.  Hey I also watched Reggy get his kicks in the
face.  I like my face, it ainąt the prettiest, but it is mine!

Somehow I ended up in Burbank.  Safer but not very exciting.  The only
nothing I really know about it is that Johnny Carson used to refer to it in
his famous monologues.  He did not hold it in very high regard and I could
see why.  It was flat and boring.  I saw on the map that there was a park
not so many miles away, and I could reach it pretty quick by hitting
Mulholland Drive.  I remember this stretch of road from some of the old
Adam 12 episodes so why not.  This is where folks race their rice rockets
as I recall.  From a BaBa Walters news show I remember that they did some
surveillance of the road and found that the curves attracted speed freaks.
They were trying to put the cops on alert I think.  Sort of like the
foodlion sneak surveillance.

I climbed the ridge and found Mulholland.  It is an exciting stretch of
road.  It weaves its way atop a ridge that leads to mansions on hillsides.
Some sitting on stilts 50 foot tall.  No backyard, just shear face drop
off.  For those of you that remember the movie ł10˛, Dudley Moore rolled
down one of these in an effort to telescope a couple doing the wild thang
across the canyon.

I pulled up to an overlook to take some pictures for the record.  I looked
over in the mini van next to me and saw a man sitting on the passenger
side.  All of s sudden another head appeared and apparently the young woman
in the car was looking for something in the passenger side floorboard.  Or
maybe she was trying to pull some gum out of the carpet on that side,
because she seemed to be bobbing.  No way it could have been sex, this was
mid day for Christ sake!.  But it is also California...........nay! letąs
think of the good.

I cranked and just couldnąt resist yelling to them łplease...continue˛,
before I pulled away from my spot.  They both help up there thumbs in
thanks and offered me big smiles as I drove a way.  Well actually the woman
smiled and the man gave me a big hearty wave.  Not sure what his other hand
was doing.

I drove to Topanga park only to find there was no camping allowed.  I drove
out of the Topanga Canyon to Venice to try and find a parking place for the
night, no luck.  I headed north on #1 which had become beach again.  I
drove to Malibu and found a parking lot at one of the beaches.  Leo Carillo
State Park is cheap and comfy.  I crashed there for the night.

All in all it was a good day.  The Mothership ran like the queen she is,
and my head was filled with adventure.  In the morning I would not have to
wake to Smell A, interstate noise, and loud talking.  I could sleep in if I
wanted.  I called my best friend Mary Anne and lay down while the full moon
rose higher above the bus, illuminating the canyon that held 140,000
rabbits whose only competition for food was the 300,000 squirrels.  Life
was good on Thursday.  Tomorrow I go to Pepperdine University and meet
another listy named Dave Robinson.


"79" Transporter, dressed for the road
The Mothership

 The"Turning 40 Nostalgic VW Service Tour, and
Search for the Beginning of Wind".

www.armory.com/~y21cvb/charlie/charlie.html

"Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set"