Barbara Ann Day-Old Bakery

 It is not easy finding remnants of old buildings, buildings, structures of Los Angeles that I used to visit as a kid.  A case in point is the old Barbara Ann day-old bakery located just off the Pasadena Freeway.  I kept thinking that the bakery was located just off of Figueroa, but it was actually located on Pasadena Avenue at 3545 Pasadena Avenue.  It was such a familiar site for us since we passed the bakery any time we'd go into Downtown Los Angeles on our way to a Dodger game or to my dad's courthouse or the Police Academy.  

 

This site, AngelFire, lists businesses, restaurants, places that used to exist in Southern California, titled "Things Which Aren't Here Anymore."  Sad but great title.  

Hopscotch, 1980

The other night I watched this movie, Hopscotch, 1980, starring Walter Matthau, Glenda Jackson, Ned Beatty, and Sam Waterston, but there are other recognizable characters in the film, like Herbert Lom, .  I loved it.  It opens in Munich in the heart of Oktoberfest.  The plot  

I initially linked to Wikipedia's summary of the plot, but after a brief search, I found Roger Ebert's review (of Gene Siskel & Roger Ebert's fame, "At the Movies"), which I think is much better.  

They, on the other hand, want to kill him. They are the CIA. Matthau plays a veteran field operative who breaks up a Soviet operation in Munich but fails to arrest the head of the KGB when he has him in the palm of his hand. Matthau's called back to Washington, where a new man (Ned Beatty) has taken over control of the department. Beatty is a veteran of the CIA's clandestine "dirty tricks" operation, and the movie hints that he was the guy behind sending the poisoned cigars to Castro, among other dumb stunts.

Anyway, Beatty yanks Matthau out of the field and assigns him to the filing department. Matthau doesn't like that. He destroys his own files, walks out of the agency, flies to Austria, and deliberately leads the CIA to believe that he has decided to cooperate with the Soviets. Then he has a rendezvous with an old love (Glenda Jackson), holes up in her chateau, and starts writing his memoirs. They include detailed revelations about CIA activities, and he mails each chapter to the world's leading spy agencies.

Gary Arnold of the Washington Post doesn't do a terrible job either.  

But what I loved about the movie was the luxurious pacing, colors, music, and settings for all the different scenes, starting with the Oktoberfest scene in Munich.  It was absolutely luxurious by today's standards.  I mean it would be a great film for anyone who has never been to Munich's Oktoberfest to actually see what one looks like and the kinds of activities done there besides consuming beer.  I loved it.   

 

From Mirage (1965) to Nanny and the Professor (1970)

Following the movie, Father Was A Fullback, 1949, starring Fred McMurray and Maureen O’Hara, the 1965 movie, Mirage, came on.  I’d never seen it before.  And what struck me were the number of stars from that era, starting with Gregory Peck, Diane Baker, with music by Qunicy Jones, Michael Jackson’s old producer.  I was delighted to see Walter Matthau.  God, I loved watching him on the screen growing up co-starring with Jack Lemon.  And there was George Kennedy, playing a hitman, maybe the best role I’d ever seen him in.  He’s a big boy.  

The editing of the film was interesting, the flashbacks that made up Peck's fragmented memory collecting in an effort to piece together a whole picture.  It was quite good.  Scenes from 1960s New York was also interesting for it still showed much of the midcentury architecture that made so many of the large cities of the U.S. interesting.   

At the 59:45 mark, Peck and Baker, running from a murder scene, find a child home alone waving the two of them into her apartment to abscond from the police.  That child actress is Eileen Baral, who co-starred in the 1970s sitcom, The Nanny and the Professor, which I watched and liked quite well as a kid and a show that I have completely forgotten about since until tonight after seeing her in Mirage with Gregory Peck. 

Wikipedia explains that 

The series starred Juliet Mills as Nanny Phoebe Figalilly, Richard Long as Professor Harold Everett, and in season 3 Elsa Lanchester in the recurring role of Aunt Henrietta. Figalilly was housekeeper for Professor Everett and nanny to his three children: Hal, the intellectual tinkerer, played by David Doremus; Butch, the middle child, played by Trent Lehman; and Prudence, the youngest, played by Kim Richards.^[2]

What I remember the most from that series was the little girl's name, Prudence.  But it looks like Eileen Baral played only a minor recurring role and not as a regular on the show.  Her character's name was Francine Fowler.  

TIGERS RESCUED DETROIT, 1968

 

Not always easy to give time up for a documentary, but I liked this one, mostly just to see footage of Denny McLain pitching.  The documentary was referenced in this article.  In 1968, he went 31-6 and was the only pitcher since 1934 [a reference to Dizzy Dean of the Cardinals] to win 30 games in a season.  As stellar a season 1968 was for McLain, he lost 2 games in the '68 World Series to none other than Bob Gibson, 22-9 that year with a cool ERA of 1.12.  Talk about dominance.  Whenever I read that Gibson and the Cardinals were coming to LA to play the Dodgers, it didn't matter which pitcher Alston put up against him--Drysdale or Sutton or Osteen--Gibson's dominance never failed to cause me dread.  It's not like I ever saw televised games of the Tigers; it was more that I tracked McLain and the Tigers in the LA Times and the Herald Examiner.  At school, the magazine we seized in the library and shelled out $.75 for at liquor stores was Sports Illustrated.  On Denver road trips, I often paired SI with Mad Magazine for the 1,000-mile journey.  Loved Sports Illustrated; used to do their crossword puzzles.  Anyway, in 1968, McLain was this adolescent's hero.  

Didn't hurt to hear in the documentary some of my other favorite names growing up either, guys like Mickey Lolich, Norm Cash, and Al Kaline along with Willie Horton, whose slugging percentage ranked second in the American League behind Frank Howard's.  Where McLain went 31-6 that year, Lolich, no slouch himself, went 17-9 with a 3.19 ERA.  

I recall Dick McAuliffe too, who "tied a Major League record by going the entire 1968 season without grounding into a double play."  Anyway, thought you might enjoy the documentary.  

Audrey & Garrett on Willow Drive, Glendale, CA

 

This is certainly not the best picture I have, or maybe any member of the family has, of Audrey and Garrett's beautiful Spanish style Moorish home at 1726 Willow Drive in Glendale.  Gary passed in September 1985 at age 82; a year later, Audrey passed in April 1986 at age 78.  Their home was sold a year later in 1987.  I'd left UPS in 1986 and returned to school, starting at PCC.  It is funny about life.  Once you're out of a town or out of a circle of people, people forget about you.  But once you're in a new town, plant yourself into a new circle of folks, people want to start up with you, even start a life with you.  It is interesting. 

I wanted to write something about Audrey and Gary and their gorgeous home in Glendale, and how each was a gracious host to my dad, mom, and siblings.  

So many things to love about Audrey & Gary's home on Willow.  One, there was a basketball hoop with backboard nailed to a telephone pole at the north end of her street, and Tom, Joe, and I would regularly go down to it and shoot hoops.  Another was Audrey's basement.  It was the only basement I knew until one year while in Denver we visited our Aunt Geraldine on Dahlia Street.  She had a basement.  But Audrey & Gary's was the first one that I'd known.  Or maybe not.  The Solana Beach beach house also had a basement with a shower where we'd shower each time we walked home from the beach and sand.  Besides the basement and the end-of-street hoop, we also played in the park behind Audrey's home, called Glorietta Tennis Park. 

I can't recall what Audrey's favorite drink was, but I believe that Gary's drink was gin and tonic.  But one indelible memory at Audrey's gorgeous home was that how she prepared a halibut dinner for everybody.  I will never forget the heavenly smell of baked halibut.  Halibut was my mom's favorite fish, and I found out why.  It was delicious.  With the tartar sauce, it was pure refinement at a young age.  

This was inspired by a post that my brother, Joe, put up on Facebook.  A question came up about our cousin, Dorothy, who was a beauty queen.  Here is a picture of her from 1936: 

One surprising response came from Larry Cusack, a cousin of ours.  He wrote 

Dorthey Mulligan was my Mother. John, Audrey, Bill, (Patricia's dad) Jim and Joe were her siblings. Margret and John Mulligan were her parents. She was the Queen of the Santa Fe Railroad float in the Rose Parade sometime during the middle 30's. All four of the brothers served in WWII. Bill got stuck in the Aleutians. John served on an oil tanker in the So. Pacific. Joe saw combat in the Philippines. While stationed in Kansas, Jim was hit by a bus coming out of a bar. He spent the duration of the war in traction and rehab. My Grand Mother said he was the only one she didn't have to worry about. She knew where he was and that he was being taken care of. 

I love this photo of Audrey and Dorothy, 1932:  

From immediate family members on November 4, 2020, I solicited their affectionate memories of Audrey and Gary's place on Willow.  Dan replied that very afternoon:

A few of my memories are:  The huge trees in the front and back yard that provided so much shade.  The one in front was the Christmas pine like the ones on Christmas tree lane in Altadena.  The one in the backyard was an avocado, I believe.  The old garage.

Watching baseball games, because that is what Gary liked to watch.  The layout of the "spanish style" house.  The steps on their back porch, which was how we usually entered their house.  Saying "hi" to Joe, whenever he was around.  Gathering with the Mulligan families - David, Patti, Larry and his 1st wife Judy, Danny and his Amber (? not sure), Dorothy and Clyde, Bill and Margaret.  Listening to Dad, Audrey and Gary (aka Gae Gae) chatter on about nothing of interest to us kids.  Dad and Audrey really seem to be best friends of all his cousins.  She was the easiest to engage in good conversation.  That is about all I can remember for now.  Dan 

Dan nailed a lot of the great memories of Audrey & Gary's home and their house.  One memory I will never forget, in part because Mom put such a positive stamp on it, was when Audrey placed a score of Van de Kamp's halibut fillets in the oven and it infused her entire home with home goodness.  The idea of fish and tartar sauce, maybe chips, was one memory seared in my mind indelibly.  To this day, the associated comfort of her home was punctuated by the slow-cooked fragrance of baked fish without the unpleasant aroma.  

Mary replied shortly thereafter:

Yes, I do.  I was just thinking about them the other day. . . .  Thanks, this is a real treasure.  Mary. 

But it was by phone that Mary shared the details of her years at Audrey's.  

I recall the koi pond in the northeast corner of Audrey's backyard.  Audrey bought me 3 multi-colored, polka dot dresses when I was 12. Oh, and she bought me shiny black dress shoes. She poured on the blessings.  You know I had to go to church then.

One thing, among many things, that I liked about Gary was that he watched TV frequently in his den, where he kept TV trays to eat on while watching a ball game or a fight.  

In his den, he had a painting of wild horses running in a storm.  I don't know the name of the print or who painted it, which has made finding it online difficult.  The painting gave me such comfort.  

Gary had a recliner in the den in the southwest corner of that room.  He let me sit in it, while he sat on the love seat on the right side of the room.  I will never forget watching the Final Four of the NCAA Tournament game with Louisville's Jim Price, the highest-scoring guard on the team, where they played and lost to UCLA, 96-77.  I loved Louisville because of Jim Price.  Denny Crum, their head coach, had a good name, too, back then.  I'd forgotten that Wes Unseld, former Baltimore Bullets player, played his college ball at Louisville.  

The other thing that I loved about Audrey's place was the Formica bar top that folded down from the wall with small inlaid shelves.  On those shelves, she had tiny porcelain animal figurines, like turtledoves, playful cats with long, curling tails, and so forth.  Always nice to see someone add beauty wherever.  And who can forget her exclusive alcove with desk?  Wonderful.  

Griffin and Phoenix, 1976

There was a 1976 movie that I saw probably that same year on television that had a huge impact on me.  

The movie is called Griffin and Phoenix, and it is a love story between two strangers, who both have cancer and only about a year to live.  It is a tear-jerker, for sure.  The acting is excellent with Peter Falk and Jill Clayburgh, an actress whom I liked a lot in the 70s, a star whose gentle articulate style could command any scene.  It's a romantic comedy, but, boy, aren't there some heartbreaking scenes of the two breaking up, fighting, and reconvening.  It's exhausting and desperate.  She has leukemia, and Griffin has an inoperable form of melanoma.  They both smoked, so the movie sends that message but not flamboyantly.  When each of them finds out that the other has cancer, they're both resigned to die instead of finding out more about cancer treatments.  So the context of their love is forged by each one's pending death.  To pack as much thrill in his shortened life as possible, Griffin spontaneously plans daring events to get more life into his hours.  They sneak into a movie theater and get caught, but run out before the management can reprimand them.  Then while at an amusement park, Phoenix, or Sarah, sees Griffin from afar, hand writes a notes in all capital letters, and gets the note to Griffin via a couple of young blonde school boys.  Griffin opens the note to see the words, "DID YOU SNEAK IN HERE TOO?"  Sarah is besides herself with the combined grief.  Her condition worsens and she is hospitalized and succumbs to her illness.  The next scene is of Griffin visiting her grave site.  On her gravestone is written in all capital letters, a personal note to Griffin, "P.S. HI, GRIFFIN.  THOUGHT YOU'D PROBABLY DROP BY," revealing what each meant to the other in their short-lived relationship.  Griffin meanders back to his parked car, a Chevrolet Biscayne, on the boulevard that frames the cemetery to find that it has a flat.  Slightly exacerbated, he lumbers to the trunk to extract the tire iron, jack, and spare, when he suffers another bout of crippling pain.  And this bout, at this time crushes his spirit.  He recovers and begins to smash the windows on his own car with the jack and pounded several dents into the hood of his car.  Unquenched, he looks up to see the cars parked in front of him and begins to make a violent statement by smashing the windows of those cars too.  We get it.  He's grieving for himself and for Sarah in a seemingly heartless, self-centered world.   Both are 34 years old, so they have age on their sides.  Though they're in a relationship and even live together at one point, they each have their own pain that neither sees.  We see it.  He finally gets the kite up by exceeding previously limitations from the pain set free a bit by his love for Sarah.  I mention this film, in part, due to the ending scene where Griffin smashes car windows parked along the curb of a busy street.  The ending is of a cigar-smoking handyman in white overalls painting over romantic graffiti on a very tall water tower, where Griffin had painted a heart with an arrow through it with the words, "GRIFFIN LOVES PHOENIX," inside the heart.  The cutesy ending seemed to concede death to love, conflicting with the drama of their battle for love and life.

Clayburgh was married to David Rabe, an American playwright and screenwriter responsible for John Grisham's 1993 movie, The Firm, starring Tom Cruise, Gene Hackman, and Jeanne Tripplehorn.  So Rabe was no small-player in the arts.  Good for him; good for her.  

I shouldn't be too surprised by Peter Falk appearing in films with morose themes.  Along with Gena Rowland, he co-starred in the 1974 film, A Woman Under the Influence, directed by John Cassavetes, one of my all-time favorite actors.  

Mom Loved Geraniums

Mom loved geraniums.  She had planted a row of them in a ground-level planter on the eastside of the backyard on Elda. They are perennials, low-maintenance, durable, and beautiful.  I wasn't much of a fan of these plants.  I didn't like the velvety leaves, made so by the fine cilia on them.  In my young mind, the flower seemed a bit lackluster.  Mom may have liked them because they were (and are) popular in Denver.

Western Musical Motifs Up On the Plains

I do love the songs played on Denver's public radio station, 88.1. This song, "The Ludlows" from The Legends of the Fall is beautiful.  Though the song is beautiful I must admit I did not like the movie despite its very competent cast. I found the episode where the brother sleeps with his brother's wife horrible.  But the soundtrack to the movie was good as is evidenced here by this song.

Going to a Garden Party

I heard this song on the radio this morning, and two to three great memories waxed over my mind as I was driving to work.  One had to do with a UPS clerk, Jerry, at the Olympic hub in Los Angeles who worked graveyard.  And every morning as I strolled in at 7am from 1983 to 1986, he'd be playing a cassette of songs by Rick Nelson.  I can't tell you how many times I'd heard "Going to a Garden Party," 1972, playing on his boombox as I walked on the sorting belt, past the sorting cages, to my truck.  He loved Rick Nelson.  

Will never forget the pall from the news of him dying in a plane crash in 1985. I didn't know that he was born in New Jersey.  Didn't realize that the plane he was flying in was his, a Douglas DC-3.  Wikipedia explains that

The plane crash-landed outside of De Kalb, Texas, northeast of Dallas, in a cow pasture less than two miles from a landing strip at approximately 5:14 p.m. CST on December 31, 1985, hitting trees on its way down. Seven of the nine occupants were killed: Nelson and his companion, Helen Blair, 27; bass guitarist Patrick Woodward, 35; drummer Rick Intveld, 22; keyboardist Andy Chapin, 34; guitarist Bobby Neal, 38; and road manager/soundman Donald Clark Russell, 35. Pilots Ken Ferguson and Brad Rank escaped through cockpit windows, although Ferguson was severely burned.

Given how he grew up on television with "The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet Show," he, his image, and his music were all quite loved by the late 1970s and early '80s despite the new wave music, hard rock, and psychedelic rock that dominated the radio in those days.  

The other memory that intruded upon me was one of my favorite memories of the LA County Fair in Pomona.  A concert series was always part of the Fair's venue during the month of September, and Rick Nelson and his Stone Canyon Band performed there in 1974. Though we didn't drive with them to the Fair, Chuck and Sally, Alicia and Coco were also going and the plan was that we'd meet up with them, hang out a bit. Well, I learned that Sally wanted to see Rick Nelson.  I also thought it would be cool to see Ozzie and Harriett's youngest son, movie and music star in a local concert, so I went to the concert.  I didn't see Sally Pullman there but I could definitely imagine her being in a front-row adoring one of her '60s music idols. It was a nice memory for me to know that she loved Rick Nelson.  Chuck may have gone in to watch the concert, but something tells me that he was elsewhere on the fairgrounds, biding his time for the concert to end and for the thoroughbreds and jockeys in bright, pennant-colored jerseys to line up at the gate for the first race.  So much excitement tagged with the racetrack in Pomona.

Years later as I was attending UC Irvine, my girlfriend at the time knew a Thai woman who was a domestic for Harriet Nelson who lived in Laguna Beach. 

Southern California, 1939

Mull of Kintyre

Some songs are better heard than seen.

I don't know that I've been a fan of the Beatles, but certainly, they've produced some well-known and well-liked songs.  But while I was working today, I heard this 1977 song by Paul McCartney & Wings, titled "Mull of Kintyre."  I'd never heard it before.  In fact, I thought the lyrics to the song were "Harlequin Tide."  That makes no sense or maybe it does since I really couldn't make out the lyrics anyway.  But I loved the melody, particularly the insertion of the bagpipes.  According to SongFacts, the song is about McCartney's farm in Scotland that he bought in 1966 and retreated there for a time after the breakup of the Beatles.  

Paul McCartney wrote this with Denny Laine, his bandmate in Wings.  The song is a tribute to the Kintyre Peninsula in Scotland where Paul and his wife, Linda, had a farm.  The Mull is the area at the tip of the peninsula, known for its beautiful scenery and tranquil atmosphere.  After a difficult breakup with the Beatles, McCartney went there to avoid a nervous breakdown.

PANGE LINGUA GLORIOSI: SING, MY TONGUE, THE SAVIOR'S GLORY

Then there was this. 

Wikipedia gets us started:

"Pange lingua gloriosi corporis mysterium" (Ecclesiastical Latin: [ˈpandʒe ˈliŋɡwa ɡloriˈosi ˈkorporis miˈsteri.um]) is a Medieval Latin hymn written by Saint Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) for the Feast of Corpus Christi. It is also sung on Maundy Thursday during the procession from the church to the place where the Blessed Sacrament is kept until Good Friday. The last two stanzas (called, separately, Tantum ergo) are sung at Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. The hymn expresses the doctrine that the bread and wine are changed into the body and blood of Christ during the celebration of the Eucharist.

It is often sung in English as the hymn "Of the Glorious Body Telling" to the same tune as the Latin.

The opening words recall another famous Latin sequence from which this hymn is derived: Pange lingua gloriosi proelium certaminis by Venantius Fortunatus.

I am keeping the font size of the text below small so that you can read the English translation side by side with the Latin. 

There are many English translations, of varying rhyme scheme and metre. The following has the Latin text with a doxology in the first column, and an English translation by Edward Caswall in the second.[1] The third column is a more literal rendering.

Pange, lingua, gloriósi

Córporis mystérium,

Sanguinísque pretiósi,

Quem in mundi prétium

Fructus ventris generósi

Rex effúdit géntium.

Nobis datus, nobis natus

Ex intácta Vírgine,

Et in mundo conversátus,

Sparso verbi sémine,

Sui moras incolátus

Miro clausit órdine.

In suprémæ nocte coenæ

Recúmbens cum frátribus

Observáta lege plene

Cibis in legálibus,

Cibum turbæ duodénæ

Se dat suis mánibus.

Verbum caro, panem verum

Verbo carnem éfficit:

Fitque sanguis Christi merum,

Et si sensus déficit,

Ad firmándum cor sincérum

Sola fides súfficit.

Tantum ergo sacraméntum

Venerémur cérnui:

Et antíquum documéntum

Novo cedat rítui:

Præstet fides suppleméntum

Sénsuum deféctui.

Genitóri, Genitóque

Laus et jubilátio,

Salus, honor, virtus quoque

Sit et benedíctio:

Procedénti ab utróque

Compar sit laudátio.

Amen. Alleluja.

Sing, my tongue, the Saviour's glory,

Of His Flesh, the mystery sing;

Of the Blood, all price exceeding,

Shed by our Immortal King,

Destined, for the world's redemption,

From a noble Womb to spring.

Of a pure and spotless Virgin

Born for us on earth below,

He, as Man, with man conversing,

Stayed, the seeds of truth to sow;

Then He closed in solemn order

Wondrously His Life of woe.

On the night of that Last Supper,

Seated with His chosen band,

He, the Paschal Victim eating,

First fulfils the Law's command;

Then as Food to all his brethren

Gives Himself with His own Hand.

Word-made-Flesh, the bread of nature

By His Word to Flesh He turns;

Wine into His Blood He changes:

What though sense no change discerns.

Only be the heart in earnest,

Faith her lesson quickly learns.

Down in adoration falling,

Lo, the sacred Host we hail,

Lo, o'er ancient forms departing

Newer rites of grace prevail:

Faith for all defects supplying,

When the feeble senses fail.

To the Everlasting Father

And the Son who comes on high

With the Holy Ghost proceeding

Forth from each eternally,

Be salvation, honor, blessing,

Might and endless majesty.

Amen. Alleluia.

PSALM 53 SUNG IN ARAMAIC BY GEORGIAN MONK

Psalm 53 sung in Aramaic by Georgian monk and assistant for Pope Francis. This is stunning.  Some recordings of this have over 3 million views or audits.  This was performed back in 2016, but I offer it up here for Easter 2020 during this abominable COVID-19, government lockdown.  Slate explains that 

The [holy] performance in this video features the choir of the Georgian Orthodox Church, and took place in the Church of St. Simon the Tanner in Tbilisi, Georgia, when Pope Francis visited Sept. 30. While there, he offered a plea for peace for the persecuted and the victims of war—in Syria, Iraq, and elsewhere.

The choir was made up of people from Syrian and Iraqi families and was led by their Friar Seraphim. It’s the well-known Psalm 53, “Our Father,” but sung in Aramaic. 

Here is Psalm 53.  Biblical verses, if nothing else, have the power to humble man.  I don't like it.  LOL.

53 The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God. Corrupt are they, and have done abominable iniquity: there is none that doeth good.  

² God looked down from heaven upon the children of men, to see if there were any that did understand, that did seek God.

³ Every one of them is gone back: they are altogether become filthy; there is none that doeth good, no, not one.

⁴ Have the workers of iniquity no knowledge? who eat up my people as they eat bread: they have not called upon God.

⁵ There were they in great fear, where no fear was: for God hath scattered the bones of him that encampeth against thee: thou hast put them to shame, because God hath despised them.

⁶ Oh that the salvation of Israel were come out of Zion! When God bringeth back the captivity of his people, Jacob shall rejoice, and Israel shall be glad.

TEENAGE OLYMPIC VISIONS

I was enjoying the views of our old Duarte backyard [here and here] and recalled the love and joy of growing up in the Walgenbach family.  Looking at the photos above, I am reminded of the multiplied and epic hours of play in that backyard with everything from swimming in a doughboy pool to playing football or pickle with Tom and Joe to me stringing a rope between the Elm Tree and the peach tree to see how high I could jump. I so badly wanted to be a qualifying high-jumper in track. The big name in those days was Dwight Stones.  Years later, between 2008-2013, I used to play basketball at Cameron Park in West Covina with his cousin, Chris, who had terrific speed and leaping ability in his own right as he shot those 20-foot baseline jumpers with 75% accuracy.  

Sports were a big deal to me growing up, mainly because my dad made sports an integral part of growing up.  When the family would go to Lacy Park in San Marino, it wasn't just to picnic, but a football scrimmage would form or 2-on-2 over-the-line would emerge.  And since my dad was an avid Notre Dame Football fan, it was impossible to escape the competitive rivalries of the Irish or the coaching legacies or the Heisman Trophy winners.  Whether it was watching Notre Dame on a Saturday morning play their rival Purdue or Michigan or Michigan State, it was always like watching some epic battle.  Sunday mornings were an extended part of the Saturday ritual that would start out at Santa Teresita's St. Joseph's Chapel at 5:45am, then to Bob's Big Boy on Foothill in Monrovia where I'd study Joe Theisman's stats and later Joe Montana's percentages from the Herald Examiner, compare the passing and rushing yards of each team, and check the quarters and imagine the tensions of the game.  Outside of this obsession with Notre Dame Football, my dad instilled a love for the Los Angeles Dodgers much earlier than the one for Notre Dame.  The Dodgers of the glory years, 1959-1965, were formative for me.  On my handheld transistor radio, I used to listen to the storied voice of Vin Scully call the play-by-play from the Twin Cities, Minneapolis and St. Paul, or from Baltimore, cities that because they belonged in the American League were almost the equivalent of Confederate states.  The black and white diamonds that I'd seen on television colored what I'd imagined what Baltimore looked like.

So it was no surprise that I would take part in the Presidential Physical Fitness Test of 1969 when I was 12 and in the 7th grade.  I remember doing sit-ups on the lawn just north of the Northview Jr. High gym, on the perimeter of "the big field." The numbers of the Test were an important goal to me.  It was akin to earning a Varsity or JV Letter in track, cross country, or basketball.  Without a doubt, the biggest sports influence on me growing up was my brother, Chuck, who ran Cross Country in his senior year of high school and then earned a starting position of wide receiver for the Citrus Owls football where his speed, pass reception percentage, and play-making out-foxed every opponent, often multiple opponents. His speed used to burn the defensive backs and safety to their envy.  I recall that the best I did in high school was earning a JV Letter in Cross Country. But it was in the 9th-grade year that my coach and teammates honored me, not so much for my speed, but for my heart, tenacity, and perseverance.  I earned a trophy for the Most-Improved.  And why not? My initial race times were so bad, close to 20 minutes, that there was nowhere for me to go but up. The end-of-the-year awards banquet was held at the elegant, smorgasbord of Griswold's in Claremont. I will never forget the night that Dad drove me out to Griswold's in Claremont to attend the Cross Country Awards ceremony.  I felt so honored by the trophy and ribboned medal, the recognition from my teammates, an honor made all the more meaningful by my dad's presence at my side. He waited patiently for the awards to be dished out and to hear my name called.  Once I received the trophy and the medal with ribbon, Dad says to me, "Let's go," and we did.  I could not have been happier.  

In addition to those sports in the backyard, we played croquet, badminton, volleyball, and boxed with Tom and Joe. Sally bought me a catcher's mitt one year and I loved thinking I was Tom Haller of the Dodgers. Dad bought me a pitchback from Sears. He loved sports, and I guess I knew which topics could appeal to his generosity. I miss that house. I miss those 60s and 70s when I grew up and lived with my older brothers and sisters and Mom and Dad.

There were some great Olympic moments back in the 1972 Munich Olympics, the shootings aside, one was Dave Wottle's Gold Medal 800-Meter run.  Race announcer, the famed Jim McKay, called it the "Wottle Kick," but Dave's sprints in the stretch earned him other names, like "The Head Waiter" and "Wottle the Throttle."  

The 1972 Olympic Games were filled with record-breaking and very memorable highlights.  Wikipedia provides a decent summary of a few of them.  One was of the unforgettable Mark Spitz.  Will never forget his dominance in each race, his speed, his power, his will, and the fact that he won 7 gold medals while setting world records in many of the events.  What I did not know is that he finished last in a butterfly event at Mexico City in 1968.  Talk about your vindication.

Mark Spitz set a world record when he won 7 gold medals (while on the way to setting a new world record for each of his seven gold medals) in a single Olympics, bringing his lifetime total to nine (he had won two golds in Mexico City's Games four years earlier). Being Jewish, Spitz was asked to leave Munich before the closing ceremonies for his own protection, after fears arose that he would be an additional target of those responsible for the Munich massacre. Spitz's record stood until 2008, when it was beaten by Michael Phelps who won eight gold medals in the pool. 

A high-school classmate, Rick Stevens, was a swimmer during high school, and he told me once on our way to a cross country event that he was only a second or two off of Mark Spitz's record for one type of race.  

Then there was the darling, Olga Korbut. 

Olga Korbut, a Soviet gymnast, became a media star after winning a gold medal in the team competition event, failing to win in the individual all-around after a fall (she was beaten by teammate Lyudmilla Turischeva), and finally winning two gold medals in the Balance Beam and the floor exercise events.  

Prefontaine was such a running idol in those days, a heroic figure for so many young American runners and athletes.  In this 1972 Olympic 5,000 meter race (3.10685596 miles), he finishes 4th but what a race he ran.  And perhaps the race that I looked for more than any other was the marathon, where Frank Shorter, born in West Germany, ended up winning it.  And I'll never forget the imposter that ran onto the course pretending to be the leader for a few seconds of faded glory. 

This documentary on Steve Prefontaine is excellent.  Be sure to watch the bonus video given by his roommate, Pat Tyson, who is now a running coach at Gonzaga.

And perhaps the race that I looked for more than any other was the marathon, where Frank Shorter, born in West Germany, ended up winning it.  And I'll never forget the imposter that ran onto the course pretending to be the leader for a few seconds of faded glory. 

 

Wikipedia reminds us,

American Frank Shorter, who was born in Munich, became the first from his country in 64 years to win the Olympic marathon. As Shorter was nearing the stadium, German student Norbert Sudhaus entered the stadium wearing a track uniform, joined the race and ran the last kilometre; thinking he was the winner, the crowd began cheering him before officials realized the hoax and security escorted Sudhaus off the track. Arriving seconds later, Shorter was understandably perplexed to see someone ahead of him and to hear the boos and catcalls meant for Sudhaus. This was the third time in Olympic history that an American had won the marathon (after Thomas Hicks 1904 and Johnny Hayes 1908) — and in none of those three instances did the winner enter the stadium first.   

Roger Bannister, an Englishman, was the first to run the mile in under 4 minutes.  He accomplished this on May 6, 1954, in 3:59.4 seconds.  Don Bowden was the first American to run the mile in under 4 minutes on June 1, 1957, he clocked a 3:58:7 mile, setting a new American record.  Jim Ryun was the second American to set a one-mile record on July 17, 1966, at 3:51.3,  He did it at age 19, the youngest to ever set a world record in running.  He beat his own record of 3:51:03 on June 23, 1967, at 3:51:01, a record that stood for 8 years.  

But unmatched is the current world record-holder, Hichame El Guerrouj, who clocked a mile at 3:43:13 July 7, 1999.  His record has stood for over 20 years. 

My other favorite runner of the period was Bill Rodgers from Boston.  Wikipedia reminds us that

Rodgers is best known for his 4 victories in both the Boston Marathons, including three straight 1978-1980 and the New York City Marathon between 1976 and 1980.  I remember him for these Boston Marathons.  Though Wikipedia calls him an Olympian, yes, he did compete in the Olympic Trials both in Montreal in 1976 and in Los Angeles in 1984.  But he completed only one Olympic Marathon in 1976, the Montreal Olympics, where he came in 40th place.  I guess did not qualify for the LA Marathon.  

I remember watching this race on television.  I must say that after learning what Bill Rodgers did with Frank Shorter in the 1975 Virginia Marathon, crossing the finish line holding hands in a tie, was a bit disturbing.  So his politics make me nauseous.