I created this post to explain the background of the picture button below of my dad, myself, and my brothers. The picture is a reminder of the Old Plaza Church where the picture was taken. But as I began to think about the plaza, memories of my dad's days in the Marines coming up on leave from San Diego shrouded the event of the picture. That picture button, as I explain below, was taken in a caravan-shaped photographer's booth that was used mostly for tourists visiting the Old Plaza Church, Olvera Street across the street, and maybe Philippe's. My dad used to step off the train there at the depot and walk up to the Old Plaza Church.
There he would say a prayer of thanksgiving that he had made it home to all that was important to him--his sweet wife, Sally, his baby daughter, Charlen, and his mother and father who were living in San Gabriel. I would like to share a personal story that my dad told me, but it is of such a personal nature that I feel embarrassed to make it public. Suffice it to say that he loved his parents and his wife and his baby girl. My dad's stories about stopping at the Plaza Church gave me a picture into what his life as a young man was like before producing a full house of eight children. His independent life to me sounded wonderful, whether it was his mornings selling newspapers on the corner or attending 5am mass somewhere or listening to a Knute Rockne Notre Dame game on his handheld transistor. His excitement over Notre Dame was beyond my reach. He tread the same earth as the Notre Dame legends. He was their contemporary. Their names seared in his ear through the transistor and through his Catholic imagination they were saints in the making with golden domes. Growing up I loved Notre Dame because he did. But he didn't love them, he worshiped Notre Dame. Being neither priest nor college graduate, Notre Dame was his fraternity. And with a transistor radio held to his ear, he was their most prayer-filled patron. If they lost, when they lost, our weekend turned to hours of quiet mourning and somber reflection. Soul-searching Sunday was only a few rituals short of a requiem. My dad's heart would either thaw or jump at the anxiety when he'd check next week's schedule and see Notre Dame matched against Purdue or Michigan State. If it were an underdog, like Navy, my dad's heart would be revived conditionally, for he knew that any victory would be an inconsolable one.
I so much enjoyed his stories of what life was like for him as a kid. I saw what life was like for him as an adult, as a parent, as a father of eight. I wanted to know what life was like for him as a teen or a young man. Most of his life as a young man was spent caring for his parents or working his art, his cartoons. Here is Echo Park Lake.
During the 70s when my dad was still working as a clerk on the 2nd floor of the Superior Court at First and Hill, he would go out to lunch with his friend Marilyn and one or two other clerks. He would often have lunch at one of his favorite places to eat, Barragan's Restaurant on Sunset Boulevard in Echo Park. On several occasions, I would drive down to meet him for lunch and would drive him and Marilyn to the restaurant. One of his favorite dishes was a cheese enchilada, rice, and beans, and a beer, likely as not it was a Coors.
One other place that Dad loved to take me, Tom, and Joe was to Olvera Street. Sometimes we'd end up there on Sundays, picking up some burritos, corn tortillas, the best rainbow-colored snow cones found anywhere, and Dad's favorite--the dulce de leche caramel. Dad was in heaven.
Dad used to get Dodgers tickets from attorneys at work. We went to Dodgers Stadium a lot. Monday through Saturday the games were at night. So for a weekday game that meant that dad would work a full day, drive home in traffic, gather us in the car, then drive back downtown to Dodgers Stadium. The game wouldn't start until 7 and we might be in downtown by 5pm. On one occasion he got us down to the Old Plaza across the street from Olvera Street early. We might even grab a bite to eat at Olvera before going back to the Old Plaza for a picture. One time we stopped and had our picture taken in a kind of wooden wagon, similar to the one used by Professor Marvel in the Wizard of Oz. In it we took a group photo (see it below) of me, Tom, Joe, and Dad. That was our dad--always doing something different, creating fun moments all the time.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vardo_(Romani_wagon)
Professor Marvel in The Wizard of Oz was played by Frank Morgan, who was also the Wizard of Oz and the doorman to the great house of Oz.
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I am guessing that this is 1971. That's me, Dad, Joe, and Tom. It was summer time. Look at our t-shirts. Tom was the only one who thought it was important enough to wear a print shirt with a collar to the Dodger game.
