-It’s 1957, and I never had any reason to be in North Long Beach, except my little league baseball team went there to see a movie. When we exited the movie theatre we were standing around. Ted, who was our catcher, was looking at the coming attractions billboard when two older kids came along. One of them kicked Ted in his butt. When Ted turned around, the kid hit him in the mouth. Ted started bleeding. The two just walked off. Our team gathered around Ted. I was so shocked all I could do was stand there. That was the second time in my life I had experienced such brutal behavior. It was the summer before seventh grade. I knew why that older kid felt like kicking and hitting Ted. Ted wore a new colorful shirt, bright yellow pants, and brand new tan shoes. I knew that’s why he did it, and I hated it.
-The next time I visited that part of town was when I was the head varsity cheerleader. We had a football game at the high school which was close to that movie theatre. It is now 1961. My girlfriend, my close friend and I were walking out to my car after the game, when a group of hoods passed us as we started getting into the car. One of the gang members stuck out his hand to shack hands with my buddy, Dennis. The guy then hit him in the mouth, and Dennis fell to the ground, bleeding. I gave the keys to my girlfriend and told her to get into the car. I then went around to help Dennis to his feet. The same guy stuck out his hand to me. I was still carrying my megaphone and put it up as a shield and refused to extend my hand. At this point, I wasn’t so much scared as I was completely focused on getting the three of us out of the situation. He backed off and the group walked away. Dennis got into the car, composed himself, then lost it in a fit of anger and started yelling obscenities at the hoods. It was a chilly, Friday evening and I was having trouble starting my 1952 Chevrolet. They crawled all over the car, banging on it, hitting the windshield with their fists. The motor finally turned over, and we slowly started moving down the street. I remember passing the theatre a few blocks from where the other encounter took place.
That’s twice I’ve been in this neighborhood and twice blood has been drawn. These were the places that were nailed to my brain to stay away from.
-In 1965, I think I had met my wife to be. We had met twice before. At a weekend retreat in Lake Arrowhead, we had met a third time and spent most of that together. I loved everything about her. Her soft voice, her hair, the way she walked, her gentle eyes … . Anyway, we exchanged phone numbers, and that week I called and invited her to dinner that coming Friday. On the way to her home, I got lost and found myself right between the two places where I had been a part of the two above violent confrontations. When I rehearsed the directions one more time, I realized I was right where I was supposed to be. I turned right and went about a block and there it was, 336 Harding Street, North Long Beach.
A place I most didn’t want to be, turned out to be the place I most wanted to be. A coincidence, most definitely. Meaningful, without a doubt.