CHAPTER 5
Stateside


The day before we entered New York Harbor, the war with Japan ended. The day is known as V. J. Day .We entered the harbor to see flags, bunting, with large banners proclaiming good wishes for “a job well done”. My first meals in New York included steak, ice cream, real milk, and fresh eggs. We were informed that our 30-day furloughs would be extended for an additional 15 days. But I had no money and had borrowed $ 20. So I sold my Hanover Klunz camera for $ 100 to an officer and happily got on the train that would take me to California. I wore my only clothes, my khaki dress uniform and would stay that way during the furlough. When I got home, I found that Betty had saved $1,200 from my allotment checks, poker money I sent home, and her paycheck. Betty worked as a bookkeeper for Mr. Castle in his jewelry store on Brooklyn Avenue, 3 doors west of Soto Street. It was across the street from a restaurant I think I had visited in 1933 during a trip from Chicago, with my mother.

Betty lost a lot of weight from worrying about me. We enjoyed an almost traumatic reunion. Her Aunt Anne put us up for a couple of nights. We still joke about that good old Acme Beer. Later Pop gave me a 14 Kt. gold ring with a cameo cut ruby and a diamond chip. The cameo had a shape like knight and the ring had a lion’s head on one side and the lion’s tail on the other side of the knight. Thirty years later I gave it to my cousin Billy. But, that is part of another story.

Pop had given away all my clothes, and had none of my belongings. When I asked about my motorcycle he said that it was gone. When I asked Betty , she said she knew nothing about it. I figured, what the hell, it was half junk anyhow, and forgot about it for a while. Twenty years later I found out Pop had hit a truck while riding and she had disposed of the wreck. He was not hurt, just shaken up.

Early in the furlough I met up with Jack Yaskiel, who had been the best man Betty’s stepsister Sylvia “dug up” for my wedding. Jack had been a medic in the Wolverine Division, a foot infantry outfit that mopped up behind the armored divisions. My Dad had parted with his Packard. I wanted a car so Jack and I went shopping on Hollywood Boulevard. We found just what I wanted. It was beautiful, a clean, black, 1939 La Salle. I thought, “How much could it cost? My last car cost only $ 95.00.” The salesman quoted $3,000. Jackie became incensed and started for him as if to attack him. I had to pull Jackie away. My Dad and I went shopping and I bought a 1935 green five-window Chevrolet coupe. It looked good but had sloppy pistons and loose connecting rods. He said it would be OK as long as I accelerated slowly and drove no faster than 35 miles per hour.

Betty and I packed up and headed for Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico to start our second honeymoon. We had been married a year but I felt I had spent a lifetime in Europe. I wore my Combat Infantry Badge, Distinguished Unit Citation, European Theater Campaign Ribbon with 3 clusters, Good Conduct ribbon with cluster, and other assorted ribbons which were probably issued to just about one and all. At the border crossing in front of a shack, a guard informed me that the law required us to return that night. After an explanation of where I had been and what I planned the guard took pity on us. I think the uniform helped. The guard let me sign into and out of Mexico and warned me to stay off the streets at night. It was easy to assure him that this certainly was what I had in mind. Travel in Mexico initially confused me. It seemed that every few miles we passed a town named “Escuela”, but all we saw occasionally was a school. (OK, so it my first Mexican experience.)

We rented a room in Ensenada at Brown’s Motel near the beach. Among fond recollections were others; sand fleas. During our one shopping trip Betty bought a solid Mexican sterling silver cigarette case for me. It has a Mexican calendar on the front. We attempted to drive south from Ensenada but soon found ourselves on a two-rut road and soon came to a Mexican Army Camp. We got a mile past it and after seeing nothing but extended desolation returned to Brown’s Motel for the rest of the week.

Rent control in California and lack of construction during the war limited our choice of housing in Los Angeles. I found a nice motel in East Los Angeles. Billy Campbell found me through Betty’s mom. He had been returned to The Zone of the Interior” (Z.I. ed) a few months before V. J. Day. While riding a BMW motorcycle (with an opposed twin engine) he failed to see the back end of a U.S. Army Quartermaster truck. Most of him got home, minus part of a shoulder.

Billy Campbell brought a wife, Cora, with him. He proclaimed that if I was on a second honeymoon, he could have a honeymoon, too and we could do it together, so they moved into the same motel, after he had a persuasive talk with the motel manager. The rent was $3.50 a night. We felt we needed to earn some money. Betty’s stepfather, Arthur, found us each a job at the Angeles Furniture Company lumberyard where he was foreman. Jackie joined us there. It was hot and hard work, unloading boxcars full of hardwood and pine, and then stacking them to specifications. We survived the first two days, working with no shirts. On the second day, the owner, a little old man named Mr. Siskin introduced himself, as did we. In a friendly gesture, he complimented Jackie and pulled a hair from Jackie’s chest. We all quit that evening. Two days later Billy and I worked a day in a cold storage warehouse. It seemed like from the sublime to the ridiculous.

A couple of days later Billy introduced me to a promoter friend of his and we opted for a new line of work that required a little training. After a short sales indoctrination lecture we started. We drove to a neighborhood and walked from house to house, mostly in East Los Angeles. Our spiel would qualify the occupant, who had a service veteran in the family, to purchase a canvass tapestry. We displayed our sample: a foot square tapestry, with a golden fringe, and a sample image from a photograph. We sold the customer a tapestry upon which would be printed a photograph, provided by the customer, of the serviceman in the family. We collected a deposit of $3.00, which we kept as our commission. We turned the photos over to the promoter and within a few days the customer got the product. Within a week or so I found that in a morning I could earn enough to quit for the day. But, Betty had a job in a jewelry store. One Friday, I had saved up a fistful of receipts from a few days and decided to impress her. I walked into the store, waved the receipts, claimed they were from the mornings work and took her out to lunch. This impressed Mr. Kastle so much that he asked me to come to work for him and wrote a letter (in a vain attempt) to get me an early discharge from the Army.

Billy, Cora, Betty and I had good times together. We went to nightclubs, bowling on Sunset Boulevard. As was Billy’s custom he had a few arguments. Once on Sunset Boulevard a car clipped the front bumper of his car as he exited a parking space. Billy had turned in front of it. When he belligerently confronted the driver he demanded, and received, $ 20 payment for repairs, on the spot. At times, Billy’s attitude became contagious. One night while bowling on Olive Street in downtown Los Angeles the pin boy (pins were set manually in those days) took a break. We waited a few minutes and to manifest our impatience and displeasure rolled all the bowling balls we could find down our one lane. This irritated several of the pin boys who then rushed us. As we saw them coming, we suggested to Betty and Cora that they wait near the front door. The pin boys chickened out and Billy and I emerged unscathed, back-to-back, within minutes.
Betty and I rented horses from a stable at Griffith Park and went horseback riding. On one ride we were issued palominos. They went very slowly away from the stable at great urging. They needed no coaxing to get back, though. In this picture the bandages just above Betty’s ankles are on chafed spots from horse’s stirrups. Betty’s cousin Harvey married her stepsister Sylvia. They also went riding with us. We went swimming and body surfing, mostly at Belmont Beach. We went to Tijuana and the racetrack. We were evicted from the motel; the reason stated was there was a time limit. We stayed a little longer, anyhow, but the landlord lectured us and we were forced to leave.

Dad really enjoyed the ladies and joyfully described his conquests or theirs from his point of view. But he liked having a steady lady and found one in Sadie Kemp. Sadie lived near Wilshire Boulevard near the Miracle Mile. She and Aunt Besse seemed to relate. Sadie had a son and a daughter. Sadie’s daughter had a boy friend, a paratrooper. The son Jack, a flying officer who had several medals and almost died twice, first from wounds when his plane had been shot down and later from disease, but survived. The paratrooper got into the war too late to see any action and returned safely. This too became a cause for joy and a reason to celebrate. With Billy Campbell and Cora as guests for a victory and safe return party, Pop took us all to the posh Villanova Supper Club, in West L.A., on Ventura Boulevard. As we were served our soup course I noticed that I had no soupspoon. Glancing at Billy we conspired as if by telepathy. When the waiter came along the aisle between table toward us, Billy handed me his soupspoon; I sipped and returned the spoon to him. The waiter lost it. He threw up his hands and literally ran and got me a spoon. We, of course, were too polite to laugh (in his presence). Another night Pop treated us to Charley Foy’s Supper Club where we sat at a table near Phil Silvers. Phil later became famous TV’s Sergeant Bilko. The entertainment was forgettable but not Billy’s wife, Cora. We almost closed up the place, late that night. She excused herself and upon returning asked “What are those funny things on the wall?” Betty and Sadie went to look and came back laughing. Cora had used the Men’s room.

At the end of my furlough the Army ordered me to return to Fort Mac Arthur in San Pedro, California. Dad, Betty and I made the trip in the Chevrolet coupe. They put me in a train again and shipped me to an Army Base in Myrtle Beach, North Carolina and assigned to push papers.

Chow was regular, as were weekend passes. I learned to play ninepins. One weekend I hitch hiked as far as I could get in a day and night with available funds. That got me as far as Winston-Salem, on a Saturday night, almost sober and almost broke, as usual. I found the nearest Police Station and walked in. I proposed that I spend a night there. They let me sleep on a couch and use their facilities.

When I got back to camp a telegram waited for me. Betty’s mom was concerned about the car sitting in the street in front of the house because the rain might “damage” it. I really wanted to keep it but after a phone call to Betty figured “what the Hell, now I have a mother-in- law.” It was the beginning of a new life, and I wanted it to be peaceful.

In November 1945, soldiers in my “points class” were processed for discharge. I had 55 points, which included time in service, overseas service, combat, and marriage. During my exit interview when asked about complaints, I responded about my breastbone, which had been hurt in training at Camp Cooke. It hurt now and then and specially when I swung a baseball bat or when jolted during horseback riding. A sergeant growled that the Army would be satisfied to keep me at least another six months, in a hospital, while diagnosing my case. I hastily replied that was not necessary, I would live with it. After discharge I was advised to and did file for disability based on my hospitalization and was later awarded a temporary ten percent disability. I shipped via train, Pullman Class, to Norton Air Base in San Bernardino. That was the last time I took a train ride.

On November 17th, 1945 I received my “Ruptured Duck”, (U.S. Serviceman’s discharge pin) and pointed toward the front gate of Norton Air Base, near San Bernardino. I hitched a ride into San Bernardino and spent a night with my Dad, Uncle Sammy and his wife Gary. Next day I hitched a ride to Los Angeles. New clothes were scarce but on November 18th I bought a sport jacket, white shirt and necktie at Zellman’s Clothing Store and started a job in Mr. Kastle’s jewelry store at 2310 East Brooklyn Avenue in East Los Angeles. Within 2 weeks I found a suit and bought it. I took a streetcar to 1st Street in downtown Los Angeles and sold my uniform and the suitcase that contained it to a little old Japanese man, a used clothing dealer. I gave my boots to Arthur, saved my medals, ribbons, underwear and socks and started a new life.

My new civilian life began as a salesman at Kastle’s Jewelry Store in Los Angeles where Betty worked as a bookkeeper. Not long after I want to work at the store I met some very interesting characters. The barber across a street, Harry Leader also advised me to drink a glass of hot water every morning, and that I had a bald spot on the back of my head from wearing a helmet. He offered me a job as a bookie. The job paid twenty dollars today and “all I could eat” (Translation: Whatever I could beg, borrow or steal.) I declined the bookie job and Harry soon found a willing helper. The man he hired had served in combat in the Anti-tank Corps. He lived two doors west of the house where Betty and I lived with Bea and Art. It is not well known but the Anti-tank Corps should be part of history as one of the Army’s biggest mistakes. They were like tin cans as compared too the Kraut’s Tiger tanks. Almost every unit had very high casualties and the Army demobilized the few units that survived. The guy had nightmares and we often heard his screams during the night. One night within 3 years he had a heart attack and died.

At a corner drugstore at Brooklyn and Soto Streets I had a discussion with a dedicated Communist. The man, a pharmacist, informed me that the members of his party would work through the system as long as it was effective to do so. He said that as long as they could get the laws changed the way they wanted to them they would obey them. When that method failed they would do what they had to do to accomplish their aims. He acknowledged that it would take some time to get control of the children's minds the same way the Nazis did. The principal means would be through the school system. Further, the gentleman offered me a membership in the party. That did not interest me but I noted later that this method certainly worked in many other countries as the Russian bloc expanded its influence from 1945 to 1980. In this country, my opinion is that the education of many of our children is also effective in advancing that same cause and similar theories.

Betty and I enjoyed an austere but decent social life that included dinners with friends and went to a few parties and dances. One party we attended had a special guest star, Dagmar, known for her size 44D bust. Betty wore a tight fitted black dress with oriental style slit skirt. On the bosom was a flower. When she danced she moved sensuously. I doubt that anyone even noticed Dagmar that night.


We went out to the Hollywood Strip a few times and once danced one night at the Palladium to the music of Harry James, trumpeter.

In 1946 Betty and I entered into a contract for a new house to be built for less than $200 down, using the G.I, Bill of Rights as a financing mechanism. The 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, 1700 square foot house in Culver City, at $10,800 was a fair price and we planned on raising a family. Sixteen months later the house was not finished, because of delays caused by rising prices for materials and labor during the post-war housing boom. Betty and I began to commit parenthood and Betty got pregnant in October of 1946.

We realized we needed a temporary alternative and in December 1946 borrowed $1,000 and bought a new 18-foot trailer for $1,700. We parked it in an Inglewood, California trailer park. We had good times and my father came and visited often for our pinochle games and to keep Betty company. He also brought goodies like oranges and peanut brittle. Dad took her out for milkshakes. She gained 32 pounds during the pregnancy.

During a visit in San Bernardino, with Uncle Sam, Dad and Uncle Ruby, Sammy, a car showed a green Studebaker sedan to Uncle Ruby. Uncle Ruby did not buy it. I did. I drove that car 150,000 miles replaced the block twice and the upholstery once.

The winter of 1946 Billy and Cora Campbell visited. Billy convinced me to drive up to Vancouver, BC, Canada with them. He said, A the winter is just like here in Southern California”. I asked for and received two weeks of vacation time. Betty, fetus, and I piled into the Studebaker and started north. At San Luis Obispo Billy got too far in front of me to follow him. Instead of proceeding on Highway 101, I missed the sign for U.S. Highway 101 and started north on California Highway 1 as we exited San Louis Obispo. Highway 1 is still a two-lane road that skirts the ocean, in many places on very high cliffs. When we traversed it, one bridge consisting of two planks constituted one of our big thrills (spell that scared). More than 200 miles later we exited south of San Ardos onto 101 and there sat Billy and Cora waiting. He had reversed course looking for me and failing that went on ahead. During one pass by Fort Ord the California Highway Patrol took exception to his speed and cited him. The ticket joined his collection on a garage wall in Vancouver, BC. We had a breakfast in San Ardos. Betty had a serious case of pregnant and she threw up the crackers.

When we got to Oregon, having previously decided to visit the Oregon Caves, we drove to the road at the bottom of the mountain. A road sign and barrier onerously proclaimed “Road Closed; not passable due to Ice and Snow”. It took Campbell and me a few minutes to move it aside and we drove up to the Caves. Billy and Cora disappeared inside while Betty and I sat in the car. She wore a full-length silver fox fur that I had bought her when she told me she was pregnant. She also wore high-heeled shoes. Snow and ice covered the ground. I talked her into at least going into the cave entrance. She flopped just outside the cave and I almost panicked. We got back to the car and waited for Billy and Cora to emerge.

Our first morning in Billy and Cora’s apartment, Cora sat us at the breakfast table and asked if we wanted cereal or eggs. Betty and I looked at each other and decided unanimously that both would be fine. Billy noticed my engine noise and took the car to his shop. He had the engine completely overhauled with cylinders bored, and the bearings re- babbited. The labor “cost” me a bottle of whiskey for his mechanics and the new bearings cost him, and therefore me, the sum of $25. Canadian. Billy threw a party for 40 people at the Cave, a nightclub. In Canada one bought their bottles at a package store. We partied hard.

Then it started to snow and blow. The City of Vancouver began to run low on natural gas. Billy gave me snow chains and Betty and I started home with the chains in the trunk. As we entered Washington State, on I- 5, in the Snoqualmie Mountains Pass I counted 11 cars that had slid off the icy roads. I stopped at a gas station and paid $ 10 to have the chains put on. We got home without incident.

In May of 1947 I walked into the contractor’s office and threatened them with repercussions if my wife gave birth while we lived in a trailer. In June we moved in to our new house at 4323 Corinth Avenue in Culver City and on July 25, 1947 our son Michael, came into this world. Mr. Kastle raised my wages from $ 50 to $75 per week. Dad brought us a dog, Barrymore (he was a handsome dog whom we called Barry). Barry lay under Michael’s baby buggy when in the back yard and guarded him. We knew Barry’s previous owner, Johnny Oliver, an FBI agent with whom Betty, Dad and I went target shooting. Johnny, Dads neighbor in San Bernardino County, had been transferred.

When Mr. Kastle’s prewar employee/manager, Hy Allen, returned from the service, I had his job. We agreed to hold a contest. The best door- to- door salesman would keep his job and the other would leave. The score would be kept on the dollar volume of sales. For two weeks, we both sold house to house. I won. Hy left and opened a business on Olvera Street in downtown L.A.

Betty and I furnished the house in Culver City with a frig, stove, toaster, a box spring and mattress, and a card table. Betty’s Mom and Grandma Bertha contributed money with which we bought the stove and frig. Betty’s Mom gave us an old couch. (It later became a Good-Will reject.) We acquired plates and cutlery. Dad gave us some hand made bookcases and I kept his rifles in them. We ate on an old card table and had 4 old chairs. The hardwood floors remained bare. That was it. I used a closet to load my film roll into a developer tank and to develop prints.

The house made a perfect place to throw a party. One New Year’s Eve the house filled with guests. One of Betty’s cousins, a junk man who struck it rich, came in drunk. He scooped in his hand and fed himself potato salad with out benefit of a plate or cutlery. No one else ate potato salad that night. Betty’s step-dad, Art, Butch, decided he would call Pop who had gone to San Jose, California. I said OK trying to be a good, if not tipsy, host. We sat on the floor in the den. I dialed the phone at one side of the room. Art on the other side yelled “Hi Morrie, wait; I have to take off my shoes”. We waited, he got up to walk over but had to crawl, finally a precious dollar later he finally got to the phone. I drank so many drinks I lost count; the most in my life because if anyone put their drink down, I drank it rather than throw it out. So many people got so drunk, that I wound up driving several of them home the next day in my old Studebaker sedan. I do not remember to this day some of their names.

We made friends of a few neighbors. One of them, Ensminger joined Dad, Betty, and I at target shooting. Ensminger had taught shooting in the Army Air Corps and demonstrated great skill for us with a 45 cal. U. S. Army automatic. Dad brought an Ace Kit, a semi automatic 45-caliber pistol with a 22 caliber interchangeable barrel. He liked to change the .22 to a .45-barrel when no one was looking. When he did that to Betty one day it startled her. When Dad pulled that trick on my cousin Jerry on another day the pistol recoiled, hit him in the middle of the forehead and knocked him down.

At Kastle’s Jewelry as Sales Manager, I hired and managed a crew of house-to-house salesmen who kept me in touch with the street. I became aware of a predominant Latino clientele that favored good merchandise and developed good credit. Aware that I had the G. I. Bill for education, I signed up for night classes at Berlitz School of Languages to learn Spanish. This enhanced my sales and collections but opened another vista for me.

I realized I could learn and after four months made a major decision. Television was coming on the market. I opined that it would be a big seller but Mr. Kastle wanted to stick with jewelry and silverware. He mentioned his pending retirement and a nephew who would take over the store. He had already installed a nephew who could not sell and let him go. I realized I had no future in that store or in the retail business, as I did not even enjoy the work. In 1948 I quit my full time job at Kastle Jewelry Company, worked part time, and went back to college full time, financed mostly by the G.I, Bill of Rights at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles.

I initially tried to enroll as a Mechanical Engineering Major but that school had no room for me and my application could not be processed. I discussed this with a neighbor who had a degree in Civil Engineering (CE) and he advised me to enroll as a CE and switch to Mechanical the next year. I enrolled and soon surmised the following: 1. Ex-airmen were way ahead of me; 2. Their job market waned in the post war years and 3. I had a greater aptitude for and would like Civil Engineering. I did not switch. Most classes were held in old barracks. Grades were issued on a curve. To maintain our Bill of Rights entitlement all grades had to exceed average. The dropout and flunk out rate was high each semester. I studied hard and made a few friends. One of them, Billy G. Stiles and I stayed friends until he died. We often had a nickel to spend for a cup of coffee and time to share and chat. Morton Newman became a friend but it that waned over time. Another, Jorge Sibauste, a Panamanian, came to U.S.C. at the age of 17 and spoke no English but within 3 years earned all “A”s. We remained friends until he remarried in the 1970s. Billy, Mort, and George warrant many paragraphs of memories about them.

I needed additional income so I worked part time. My part time jobs included the jewelry store but Mr. Kastle fired me for not working the Christmas holiday because Professor Brinker required a surveying field trip. I then sold step ladders at the Rose Parade in Pasadena, painted a garage for Betty’s folk and went back to work for Mr. Kastle, strictly on commission. I made collections and sold jewelry house to house. We lived from hand to mouth. We were so poor I could not pay attention. Many of our “friends” igged us. We were so poor we couldn’t even pay attention but we didn’t notice. We had a quest and stubbornly pursued it. At one time my mother-in-law told Betty I should quit school and go to work “like a real man”.

Betty’s Canadian cousin, Dena, decided she would grace our house by her presence and moved in. I came home from work and Betty had put out crackers and cheese as a hors de oeuvre. We deemed that a luxury. After Hello the next thing I heard was A If you were at our house you would be served 57 different pastries”. One day, a door-to-door salesman walked to the front door and as Betty opened the door, started his spiel with “Hi, here is a free wastebasket”. She grabbed it, thanked him, and slammed the door. When I got home and she told me about it, I cracked up. The next day, a door-to-door salesman walked to the front door and Dena opened the door, opened his spiel with “Hi, here is a free wastebasket”. Dena grabbed it and slammed the door. We then owned two wastebaskets.

I arranged for Dena to date Mort Newman .He reported a “very good time” (my words not his), thanks, and goodbye. He would not take her home to Mother. I could not give up and she dated Jack Yaskiel, the best man at my wedding. Jack had become a successful pharmacist. He married her and never forgave me.

Bea and her hubby Art owned a house with a remodeled garage in which resided an old darky who was her friend and tenant. Bea moved her out. My Dad came with my cousin, Eddy Nosanov, whom I paid to help and completely rebuilt the interior and exterior appearance. They installed 3 new windows, kitchen cabinets, and removed and replaced lathe and moldy plaster with gypsum wallboard. They transformed it into a 4 room, 20 feet by 20 feet, 400 square feet dollhouse. We then moved in. One entered the kitchen, went straight to a bedroom, turned left to a second bedroom and then to the bathroom. It had only one exterior door. We paid $ 25 per month rent to Bea and Art.

I found other part time work and in 1949-50 drafted plans for a man whose clients relocated houses from the paths of proposed freeways. Part time work and a full time program at U.S.C. tired me and sometimes clouded my judgment. One day coming home from school I cut in front of a Shell Oil Co. tanker truck. At the next traffic light he evidenced displeasure and I responded with A Go f--k yourself.” He followed me the last few blocks and into the alley next to the house where Betty, Michael and I lived. As I emerged from the car he did so from his truck and walked over to me. The guy stood 6 feet 4 inches tall and weighed over 250. Without a word he punched me. I took off my glasses, laid them on my car and hit him twice and the fight was on. I did a good job of ducking and to get inside, took jabs that did not faze me, but took roundhouse swings on my right shoulder. Each of these knocked me down. He knocked me down three times. He tried to kick me after I went down. Betty held Michael, in her arms and watched. My Dad came out, on the run handed his glasses to Betty. He jumped up and hit the truck driver on the jaw. Right behind Dad came Arthur, opened up a pocketknife. The trucker yelled, “He’s got a knife” and ran down the alley. We chased him around the block and when we got back to the truck I wanted to continue. He had embarrassed but had not hurt me. He did not want to fight anymore. Butch wanted to kill him. The next day my face although unmarked was very sore, my right shoulder, and ego, was bruised. My shoulder turned black and blue. Although I had two loaded pistols in the house, it did not occur to me to shoot the guy.
Arthur Dad

I wanted to keep the house in Culver City and rent it. Bea pressured Betty to sell it and we did for about $ 10,800. We broke even. I did not want to argue.

In the summer of 1950 I applied for a summer job with the U. S. Bureau of Reclamation. I took a test and was hired to work in Sacramento, California. I met the only other hiree for the job, Mamoru (Mo) Kanda, also a U S C student. We bested more than 90 other applicants. Betty and baby Michael joined me in Sacramento. We rented a motel shack with no air conditioning. After a few nights I came home early found them both in the tub so I moved them out. That night we found a room in a boarding house but were evicted during an ugly scene in the middle of the night by tenants with a prior claim. We spent the rest of the night on the floor in the landlady’s hallway. We headed for San Jose the next day and found refuge for Betty and Michael at the house of Aunt Besse, for the summer. Aunt Besse and Uncle Harry Slonaker were gracious and protective. I joined them on weekends. One weekend Betty became pregnant. We returned to the cottage for the fall semester and had to re plan our housing layout and I literally drew up a plan so we would have a place for a crib. Mikey as a tot often sat on the kitchen floor next to Betty and repeatedly assemble and take apart a 4-piece drip coffee pot. Mikey enjoyed Barry.

Betty’s obstetrician, Dr. Danny Woods informed us that his fee would be $ 500. When I told him I would borrow the money from my Endowment Insurance Policy he said, “No, you can pay me after you graduate, there is still some sentiment attached to having babies”.

During those years at U S C we had no idea that we were poor. Pop would visit us and always seemed to have found a “bargain on something” like a bag of oranges or peanut brittle. He was a major part of what little social life we had. Betty joined the Dames Club and got us involved in some social functions. She learned and taught me to play bridge. Goren had just become the new bridge guru. We switched from Friday night poker and craps games to bridge and made some new social contacts. These included Walter and Deena Babchuck.

Betty gave birth to Susan Jean on May 4, 1951. (Aunt Besse said we should her Jose’ >cause that where we conceived her.) Eight days later, Betty and I attended the Senior Prom. I received a degree in Civil Engineering in June 1951. My first paychecks went to pay Dr. Danny Woods for Susan’s birth.

In 1951 I worked a summer at the Arcadia Office of the U.S. Department of the Interior Soils Laboratory. In the fall I found employment at the City of Los Angeles Department of Bridges and Structures.

We moved to an apartment in a one-story house on Winter Street in East Los Angeles. When we moved into the house no pets were allowed. Dad worked on a ranch and Barry developed a potentially fatal taste. He savored live chickens, when he caught them. The rancher said Barry had to leave. Dad liked his job on the ranch, which included installing and maintaining irrigation systems. Dad returned Barry to us. I had no choice but to ask the landlady, Mary Sunshine, to discuss the situation. We met in her living room; Barry lay on the floor and somehow through his soulful eyes communicated his need. Mary allowed us to keep him. One day I returned home from the office to hear the following from Betty. “ Mikey went out play and returned in tears. A neighbor boy punched him. Betty told him, ‘You go out there and hit him back!’ Soon Mikey returned with tears in his eyes. The kid hit him back”.

Dad and I went hunting with Barry who had good instincts but had not been trained as a hunting dog. On one trip we visited a ranch where the people, the Sharps, near Perris, California. The man had made concrete blocks, built a house with them, drilled his own well and with his wife, built a decent life. Their house abutted the Smith Ranch were Dad worked. During a successful rabbit hunt there I picked up an ancient .22 caliber pump gun as a rabbit appeared in a clearing. I fired six times and missed it each time. The rabbit appeared petrified, not knowing which way to turn as bullets whistled past him. Barry broke the rope to which I had tied him. As he ran to the rabbit I stopped firing. Barry ran up to the rabbit and face to face with it appeared to be warning it as the rabbit turned and escaped. Barry did not chase it. Mr. Sharp and Dad laughed at my “poor” marksmanship until they tried to hit something with that old .22. To apologize, Dad bought me a new Sears Roebuck semi automatic .22, which I have as of this writing.

I went to work for the City of Los Angeles, Bridge and Structures Division. I started as a draftsman in Los Angeles City Hall. To earn extra money I taught Mechanics of Materials at East Los Angeles, Junior College for one semester.

Betty bought me my first fishing pole in 1951. Uncle Jack “gave me” a 12-foot long wooden motor boat with a 12-inch draft and a 3 HP Evinrude motor; complete with a one wheel wooden trailer. I had a gallon of brown paint and I painted the boat and trailer brown.

In March 1952, two of the engineers with whom I worked and played softball, Dad and I went to San Felipe, Baja California to go fishing. The two, Don Mauser and Erv Spindel went in one vehicle. Dad and I went in Dad’s pickup truck. Dad built an insulated double wall aluminum cooler. We filled it with dry ice and took it with us. Dad built a pipe rack and atop it we my boat. On the trip there, I fretted about gasoline but we found a Union Oil station each time the gas gauge showed the need. I got razzed about that and suffered some credibility. We got to the beach, set up our camps and bedded down for the night. Dad and I in the truck bed and Don and Irv on the sand where we could all see each other. Other campers also did the same. As we prepared, I noticed tide line detritus higher up than the tide line. I tried to warn them but Irv, a hydraulics specialist scoffed at the idea. At midnight, I awoke to hear people scrambling up from the incoming water. Don and Irv had not wakened and I watched to see when they would, but Dad woke up and yelled. They barely escaped the rising water.

Don’s new boat, at 18 feet long and 40 HP motor, had no trouble going far out to catch fish. Our boat did not compare; we went out but not as far. Although 2 and 3-foot wind waves dwarfed our boat, Dad was happy as a clam at high tide. Not me. He loved boating and camping although he hated fish and did not try to catch any. Each night for three nights, he tore down that little engine, cleaned it and got it ready for the next day. We all went home without fish. We caught some small fish but no totuava. They were not biting. Dad and I bought enough shrimp and dry ice from a local fisherman to fill the cooler.

In 1952 Betty and I bought a 1200 square foot-bedroom house on a corner lot at 9543 Wampler Street in Pico, Rivera. My father provided the down payment, by barter. He donated his equity in a house in San Bernardino. The sellers accepted it. We cut a deal on the realtor’s commission because the transaction was a trade. Not to demean his generosity but Dad was not happy with the San Bernardino house and I wasn’t thrilled with it either. He had made a septic tank from two 55-gallon drums and some pipes and added a leach field. The septic tank plugged up every few months and the smell, when he took off the cover, was so bad he could not stand it. He called me and I drove out each time and shoveled it out. The last time I had to do it was the same afternoon I had finished an 8-hour long State test to become an Engineer in Training. (I cooled it in six hours.)

To save money I commuted to work in a ride pool. I met a few lifelong friends and others. We also made the acquaintance of Betty’s father, Hy and his second family, which includes Johanna, Betty’s half sister. Hy, a tough, rough and tumble character born in Russia claimed to be an anti communist smuggler during the Russian Revolution. He abandoned his wife, Bea and Betty when Betty was but a child. He served a prison term at Joliet, Illinois then built a successful turkey business; buying shipping, and selling. Hy was personable, wanted to get together with his daughter Betty, and had some good stories to tell. He also played a good game of chess, which he learned in Russia and in prison. I never did beat him.

When Mikey and I played softball I pitched and Mikey swung the bat. Barry would stand next to me and get the ball when Mikey hit it. When Mikey missed, Barry would retrieve the ball and return it to me.

Mikey played with a bully named Piscatelli but coped. But Mikey got fed up with another bully, Johnny Davis, and beat him back with flailing fists as the kid went home crying to his mommy

Cousin Bruce lived in nearby Southgate and visited often. We enjoyed barbecues and ping-pong games in the patio on which I had labored on weekends. Dad visited and offered his expert advice during my labors. We often visited Betty’s folks in East L.A. and after they moved to Monterey Park, They adored their grandchildren. We went out occasionally. Our baby sitter included Sherry Streit who on one trip went with us to San Jose to visit Aunt Besse and Uncle Harry. We had an active family life that included Betty’s relatives. Our social life included one Maxine Wallace and some of our old friends. One Halloween we threw a masquerade party. Two people came as TV sets (but they were not plugged in) . The boxes covered their faces. Punchy Edelstein came as a bandit. The party got lubricated and so did he. Punchy ran across the street yelling, “This is a stickup”. Mrs. Davis was no fool. She called the law. Soon our doorbell rang and Betty, dressed as Wee Willie Winky, was summoned to the door. A Deputy Sheriff said, “ Little girl, is your father home.”

She found me and I went to the door, dressed as a pirate with a dagger “sticking through my head”. The sheriff looked at me and asked, “Aren’t you Mike Nosanov? “ When I so affirmed he said “ You’re lucky you gave me a B in your class at East Los Angeles Junior College”. This sheriff later got his degree and engineering license and became Assistant County Engineer of Los Angeles County. He and I had a few laughs over the years on that.

Another incident involving the law embarrassed me. As I exited the front door of the house one morning, I heard a loud noise in the garage. I went to the garage door and tried to open it. The door resisted and I assumed it was someone in there. I went to the front door of the house and told Betty to call the sheriff and watch the garage back door. I got my 38-caliber Smith and Wesson revolver and stationed myself at the front door. Two sheriff’s squad cars rolled up, silently, one on Wampler Street and the other on the side street of our corner house. I quietly explained the situation, brandished my weapon and instructed the sheriffs to force the door open while I covered the intruder. They opened the door to find an empty garage with a broken door spring. We were all relieved but I later realized that it wasn’t my job to charge into the garage with a gun.

I mentioned Maxine Wallace because of the following. When we bought the Wampler Street house, we disposed of waste paper and garbage in a back yard incinerator. When we moved in we had a lot of cartons to burn. Maxine’s rear fence and ours were common. The incinerators and the laundry lines were near the fence. Maxine put out her laundry. Betty lit the incinerator and the Wallaces took exception. When I got home from work I was summoned. Into the back yard I went and there stood Mr. Wallace, a self proclaimed veteran of the U.S. Office of Strategic Services (OSS) about ten feet from his fence, yelling “his head off”. He would not listen to what I was trying to say so I challenged him. He did not approach (advance). Two days later his wife apologized and further, informed me that he had been committed to the Veterans Administration Hospital due to a nervous breakdown. To my knowledge, in several years, he did not return to a normal life.

One day in November as I returned from work, I noticed children looking over our fence. I saw a turkey strutting and gobbling and surmised what happened. I entered the house, got my hugs and kisses and the turkey banged on the kitchen door.
I put Plan A into order and asked, “What’s that”.
“Oh, Dad (Hy), brought us our Thanksgiving turkey. You are going to kill it and clean it.”
“Oh, OK”
I went into the bedroom, took out my .38 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver, got six shells and walked into the kitchen, calmly loading the pistol. Almost immediately I heard “What are you doing?”
Betty heard, “I am going to kill that turkey.”
After more discussion, during which I pointed out “shooting was how I killed things” Betty called her dad. He had to drive over that evening from his big beautiful house in Beverly Hills, slaughter that thing, pluck it, and clean it. And, he never brought me another (bleeping) turkey again.

Hy had a new Cadillac and tried to teach Betty to drive. One day as we turned a corner at Mott Street and Brooklyn Avenue a man stepped into the street to start across. He looked older than the original sin having survived on G-d knows what. I could see Betty had no inclination to stop and yelled, “Stop”. She hit the brakes and Hy, his wife, and I landed on the floor. After we got unshook, she said, “ Well, he wasn’t watching where he was going”. That ended her personalized driving lessons. Betty got her driving lessons later at an Adult Education Class. She also started taking art and painting classes at the same school. Hy, an incorrigible gambler, later lost all he owned. He returned to a life of crime. His second wife left him. He got sick, lost a leg, and died ignominiously of diabetes. First, they buried his leg in a cemetery and then the rest of him.

I took Civil Service examinations at City Hall and progressed in ratings. I passed two State Examinations and became a Registered Civil Engineer. In 1955 I moved to the Department of Building and Safety and then to the Department of Public Works.

Betty gave birth to Vicki in 1955, at Montebello Community Hospital. I started doing outside work. One day as I arrived home from work, Betty spoke to a washing machine repairman. The phone rang as I entered the kitchen. Betty, holding Vicki in her arms, answered it. A co-worker, Johnny Lemons had referred a potential client to me.
Pierre Levin, “ Will you engineer a car wash rack?”
Me, “Sure.”
Pierre, “How much?”
“Hang on a minute.” To the repair man, “How much to fix the washing machine?”
“Ninety dollars.” We did not have $90.
I turned to the phone and said “Mr. Levin, I will do it for $90.”
I engineered my first car wash rack.

We survived financially from payday to pay day. One weekend after it stopped running, I tore down the engine of the Studebaker and replaced the head gasket, internal distributor parts, points and plugs. When I finally wore it out, accompanied by Mike and Barry, I drove it to three dealers in Whittier to sell it. One offered me $ 150 and handed me a check. I said I would sign the pink at his bank where we would cash the check. When we got to the bank, the dealer had to go into the back room. He finally emerged with the cash. Mike, Barry and I walked until we were pooped and actually boarded a bus that took us close to home. Try getting on a bus with a dog today.

I bought a 1949 Ford coupe. I transferred from the Bridge and Structures Division to the Division of Building and Safety. I learned what I wanted there and passed a test to advance from Assistant to Associate Civil Engineer within the City of L.A. I passed an 8-hour examination and in 1955 became a Registered Professional Engineer in the State of California. I bought a 1949 Ford coupe. In my new position at City Hall I drove several hundred miles a week supervising storm drain channel maintenance crews. The job paid for mileage and I bought my first new car, a 1956 Ford Station Wagon.






CHAPTER 5
Stateside


The day before we entered New York Harbor, the war with Japan ended. The day is known as V. J. Day .We entered the harbor to see flags, bunting, with large banners proclaiming good wishes for “a job well done”. My first meals in New York included steak, ice cream, real milk, and fresh eggs. We were informed that our 30-day furloughs would be extended for an additional 15 days. But I had no money and had borrowed $ 20. So I sold my Hanover Klunz camera for $ 100 to an officer and happily got on the train that would take me to California. I wore my only clothes, my khaki dress uniform and would stay that way during the furlough. When I got home, I found that Betty had saved $1,200 from my allotment checks, poker money I sent home, and her paycheck. Betty worked as a bookkeeper for Mr. Castle in his jewelry store on Brooklyn Avenue, 3 doors west of Soto Street. It was across the street from a restaurant I think I had visited in 1933 during a trip from Chicago, with my mother.

Betty lost a lot of weight from worrying about me. We enjoyed an almost traumatic reunion. Her Aunt Anne put us up for a couple of nights. We still joke about that good old Acme Beer. Later Pop gave me a 14 Kt. gold ring with a cameo cut ruby and a diamond chip. The cameo had a shape like knight and the ring had a lion’s head on one side and the lion’s tail on the other side of the knight. Thirty years later I gave it to my cousin Billy. But, that is part of another story.

Pop had given away all my clothes, and had none of my belongings. When I asked about my motorcycle he said that it was gone. When I asked Betty , she said she knew nothing about it. I figured, what the hell, it was half junk anyhow, and forgot about it for a while. Twenty years later I found out Pop had hit a truck while riding and she had disposed of the wreck. He was not hurt, just shaken up.

Early in the furlough I met up with Jack Yaskiel, who had been the best man Betty’s stepsister Sylvia “dug up” for my wedding. Jack had been a medic in the Wolverine Division, a foot infantry outfit that mopped up behind the armored divisions. My Dad had parted with his Packard. I wanted a car so Jack and I went shopping on Hollywood Boulevard. We found just what I wanted. It was beautiful, a clean, black, 1939 La Salle. I thought, “How much could it cost? My last car cost only $ 95.00.” The salesman quoted $3,000. Jackie became incensed and started for him as if to attack him. I had to pull Jackie away. My Dad and I went shopping and I bought a 1935 green five-window Chevrolet coupe. It looked good but had sloppy pistons and loose connecting rods. He said it would be OK as long as I accelerated slowly and drove no faster than 35 miles per hour.

Betty and I packed up and headed for Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico to start our second honeymoon. We had been married a year but I felt I had spent a lifetime in Europe. I wore my Combat Infantry Badge, Distinguished Unit Citation, European Theater Campaign Ribbon with 3 clusters, Good Conduct ribbon with cluster, and other assorted ribbons which were probably issued to just about one and all. At the border crossing in front of a shack, a guard informed me that the law required us to return that night. After an explanation of where I had been and what I planned the guard took pity on us. I think the uniform helped. The guard let me sign into and out of Mexico and warned me to stay off the streets at night. It was easy to assure him that this certainly was what I had in mind. Travel in Mexico initially confused me. It seemed that every few miles we passed a town named “Escuela”, but all we saw occasionally was a school. (OK, so it my first Mexican experience.)

We rented a room in Ensenada at Brown’s Motel near the beach. Among fond recollections were others; sand fleas. During our one shopping trip Betty bought a solid Mexican sterling silver cigarette case for me. It has a Mexican calendar on the front. We attempted to drive south from Ensenada but soon found ourselves on a two-rut road and soon came to a Mexican Army Camp. We got a mile past it and after seeing nothing but extended desolation returned to Brown’s Motel for the rest of the week.

Rent control in California and lack of construction during the war limited our choice of housing in Los Angeles. I found a nice motel in East Los Angeles. Billy Campbell found me through Betty’s mom. He had been returned to The Zone of the Interior” (Z.I. ed) a few months before V. J. Day. While riding a BMW motorcycle (with an opposed twin engine) he failed to see the back end of a U.S. Army Quartermaster truck. Most of him got home, minus part of a shoulder.

Billy Campbell brought a wife, Cora, with him. He proclaimed that if I was on a second honeymoon, he could have a honeymoon, too and we could do it together, so they moved into the same motel, after he had a persuasive talk with the motel manager. The rent was $3.50 a night. We felt we needed to earn some money. Betty’s stepfather, Arthur, found us each a job at the Angeles Furniture Company lumberyard where he was foreman. Jackie joined us there. It was hot and hard work, unloading boxcars full of hardwood and pine, and then stacking them to specifications. We survived the first two days, working with no shirts. On the second day, the owner, a little old man named Mr. Siskin introduced himself, as did we. In a friendly gesture, he complimented Jackie and pulled a hair from Jackie’s chest. We all quit that evening. Two days later Billy and I worked a day in a cold storage warehouse. It seemed like from the sublime to the ridiculous.

A couple of days later Billy introduced me to a promoter friend of his and we opted for a new line of work that required a little training. After a short sales indoctrination lecture we started. We drove to a neighborhood and walked from house to house, mostly in East Los Angeles. Our spiel would qualify the occupant, who had a service veteran in the family, to purchase a canvass tapestry. We displayed our sample: a foot square tapestry, with a golden fringe, and a sample image from a photograph. We sold the customer a tapestry upon which would be printed a photograph, provided by the customer, of the serviceman in the family. We collected a deposit of $3.00, which we kept as our commission. We turned the photos over to the promoter and within a few days the customer got the product. Within a week or so I found that in a morning I could earn enough to quit for the day. But, Betty had a job in a jewelry store. One Friday, I had saved up a fistful of receipts from a few days and decided to impress her. I walked into the store, waved the receipts, claimed they were from the mornings work and took her out to lunch. This impressed Mr. Kastle so much that he asked me to come to work for him and wrote a letter (in a vain attempt) to get me an early discharge from the Army.

Billy, Cora, Betty and I had good times together. We went to nightclubs, bowling on Sunset Boulevard. As was Billy’s custom he had a few arguments. Once on Sunset Boulevard a car clipped the front bumper of his car as he exited a parking space. Billy had turned in front of it. When he belligerently confronted the driver he demanded, and received, $ 20 payment for repairs, on the spot. At times, Billy’s attitude became contagious. One night while bowling on Olive Street in downtown Los Angeles the pin boy (pins were set manually in those days) took a break. We waited a few minutes and to manifest our impatience and displeasure rolled all the bowling balls we could find down our one lane. This irritated several of the pin boys who then rushed us. As we saw them coming, we suggested to Betty and Cora that they wait near the front door. The pin boys chickened out and Billy and I emerged unscathed, back-to-back, within minutes.
Betty and I rented horses from a stable at Griffith Park and went horseback riding. On one ride we were issued palominos. They went very slowly away from the stable at great urging. They needed no coaxing to get back, though. In this picture the bandages just above Betty’s ankles are on chafed spots from horse’s stirrups. Betty’s cousin Harvey married her stepsister Sylvia. They also went riding with us. We went swimming and body surfing, mostly at Belmont Beach. We went to Tijuana and the racetrack. We were evicted from the motel; the reason stated was there was a time limit. We stayed a little longer, anyhow, but the landlord lectured us and we were forced to leave.

Dad really enjoyed the ladies and joyfully described his conquests or theirs from his point of view. But he liked having a steady lady and found one in Sadie Kemp. Sadie lived near Wilshire Boulevard near the Miracle Mile. She and Aunt Besse seemed to relate. Sadie had a son and a daughter. Sadie’s daughter had a boy friend, a paratrooper. The son Jack, a flying officer who had several medals and almost died twice, first from wounds when his plane had been shot down and later from disease, but survived. The paratrooper got into the war too late to see any action and returned safely. This too became a cause for joy and a reason to celebrate. With Billy Campbell and Cora as guests for a victory and safe return party, Pop took us all to the posh Villanova Supper Club, in West L.A., on Ventura Boulevard. As we were served our soup course I noticed that I had no soupspoon. Glancing at Billy we conspired as if by telepathy. When the waiter came along the aisle between table toward us, Billy handed me his soupspoon; I sipped and returned the spoon to him. The waiter lost it. He threw up his hands and literally ran and got me a spoon. We, of course, were too polite to laugh (in his presence). Another night Pop treated us to Charley Foy’s Supper Club where we sat at a table near Phil Silvers. Phil later became famous TV’s Sergeant Bilko. The entertainment was forgettable but not Billy’s wife, Cora. We almost closed up the place, late that night. She excused herself and upon returning asked “What are those funny things on the wall?” Betty and Sadie went to look and came back laughing. Cora had used the Men’s room.

At the end of my furlough the Army ordered me to return to Fort Mac Arthur in San Pedro, California. Dad, Betty and I made the trip in the Chevrolet coupe. They put me in a train again and shipped me to an Army Base in Myrtle Beach, North Carolina and assigned to push papers.

Chow was regular, as were weekend passes. I learned to play ninepins. One weekend I hitch hiked as far as I could get in a day and night with available funds. That got me as far as Winston-Salem, on a Saturday night, almost sober and almost broke, as usual. I found the nearest Police Station and walked in. I proposed that I spend a night there. They let me sleep on a couch and use their facilities.

When I got back to camp a telegram waited for me. Betty’s mom was concerned about the car sitting in the street in front of the house because the rain might “damage” it. I really wanted to keep it but after a phone call to Betty figured “what the Hell, now I have a mother-in- law.” It was the beginning of a new life, and I wanted it to be peaceful.

In November 1945, soldiers in my “points class” were processed for discharge. I had 55 points, which included time in service, overseas service, combat, and marriage. During my exit interview when asked about complaints, I responded about my breastbone, which had been hurt in training at Camp Cooke. It hurt now and then and specially when I swung a baseball bat or when jolted during horseback riding. A sergeant growled that the Army would be satisfied to keep me at least another six months, in a hospital, while diagnosing my case. I hastily replied that was not necessary, I would live with it. After discharge I was advised to and did file for disability based on my hospitalization and was later awarded a temporary ten percent disability. I shipped via train, Pullman Class, to Norton Air Base in San Bernardino. That was the last time I took a train ride.

On November 17th, 1945 I received my “Ruptured Duck”, (U.S. Serviceman’s discharge pin) and pointed toward the front gate of Norton Air Base, near San Bernardino. I hitched a ride into San Bernardino and spent a night with my Dad, Uncle Sammy and his wife Gary. Next day I hitched a ride to Los Angeles. New clothes were scarce but on November 18th I bought a sport jacket, white shirt and necktie at Zellman’s Clothing Store and started a job in Mr. Kastle’s jewelry store at 2310 East Brooklyn Avenue in East Los Angeles. Within 2 weeks I found a suit and bought it. I took a streetcar to 1st Street in downtown Los Angeles and sold my uniform and the suitcase that contained it to a little old Japanese man, a used clothing dealer. I gave my boots to Arthur, saved my medals, ribbons, underwear and socks and started a new life.

My new civilian life began as a salesman at Kastle’s Jewelry Store in Los Angeles where Betty worked as a bookkeeper. Not long after I want to work at the store I met some very interesting characters. The barber across a street, Harry Leader also advised me to drink a glass of hot water every morning, and that I had a bald spot on the back of my head from wearing a helmet. He offered me a job as a bookie. The job paid twenty dollars today and “all I could eat” (Translation: Whatever I could beg, borrow or steal.) I declined the bookie job and Harry soon found a willing helper. The man he hired had served in combat in the Anti-tank Corps. He lived two doors west of the house where Betty and I lived with Bea and Art. It is not well known but the Anti-tank Corps should be part of history as one of the Army’s biggest mistakes. They were like tin cans as compared too the Kraut’s Tiger tanks. Almost every unit had very high casualties and the Army demobilized the few units that survived. The guy had nightmares and we often heard his screams during the night. One night within 3 years he had a heart attack and died.

At a corner drugstore at Brooklyn and Soto Streets I had a discussion with a dedicated Communist. The man, a pharmacist, informed me that the members of his party would work through the system as long as it was effective to do so. He said that as long as they could get the laws changed the way they wanted to them they would obey them. When that method failed they would do what they had to do to accomplish their aims. He acknowledged that it would take some time to get control of the children's minds the same way the Nazis did. The principal means would be through the school system. Further, the gentleman offered me a membership in the party. That did not interest me but I noted later that this method certainly worked in many other countries as the Russian bloc expanded its influence from 1945 to 1980. In this country, my opinion is that the education of many of our children is also effective in advancing that same cause and similar theories.

Betty and I enjoyed an austere but decent social life that included dinners with friends and went to a few parties and dances. One party we attended had a special guest star, Dagmar, known for her size 44D bust. Betty wore a tight fitted black dress with oriental style slit skirt. On the bosom was a flower. When she danced she moved sensuously. I doubt that anyone even noticed Dagmar that night.


We went out to the Hollywood Strip a few times and once danced one night at the Palladium to the music of Harry James, trumpeter.

In 1946 Betty and I entered into a contract for a new house to be built for less than $200 down, using the G.I, Bill of Rights as a financing mechanism. The 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, 1700 square foot house in Culver City, at $10,800 was a fair price and we planned on raising a family. Sixteen months later the house was not finished, because of delays caused by rising prices for materials and labor during the post-war housing boom. Betty and I began to commit parenthood and Betty got pregnant in October of 1946.

We realized we needed a temporary alternative and in December 1946 borrowed $1,000 and bought a new 18-foot trailer for $1,700. We parked it in an Inglewood, California trailer park. We had good times and my father came and visited often for our pinochle games and to keep Betty company. He also brought goodies like oranges and peanut brittle. Dad took her out for milkshakes. She gained 32 pounds during the pregnancy.

During a visit in San Bernardino, with Uncle Sam, Dad and Uncle Ruby, Sammy, a car showed a green Studebaker sedan to Uncle Ruby. Uncle Ruby did not buy it. I did. I drove that car 150,000 miles replaced the block twice and the upholstery once.

The winter of 1946 Billy and Cora Campbell visited. Billy convinced me to drive up to Vancouver, BC, Canada with them. He said, A the winter is just like here in Southern California”. I asked for and received two weeks of vacation time. Betty, fetus, and I piled into the Studebaker and started north. At San Luis Obispo Billy got too far in front of me to follow him. Instead of proceeding on Highway 101, I missed the sign for U.S. Highway 101 and started north on California Highway 1 as we exited San Louis Obispo. Highway 1 is still a two-lane road that skirts the ocean, in many places on very high cliffs. When we traversed it, one bridge consisting of two planks constituted one of our big thrills (spell that scared). More than 200 miles later we exited south of San Ardos onto 101 and there sat Billy and Cora waiting. He had reversed course looking for me and failing that went on ahead. During one pass by Fort Ord the California Highway Patrol took exception to his speed and cited him. The ticket joined his collection on a garage wall in Vancouver, BC. We had a breakfast in San Ardos. Betty had a serious case of pregnant and she threw up the crackers.

When we got to Oregon, having previously decided to visit the Oregon Caves, we drove to the road at the bottom of the mountain. A road sign and barrier onerously proclaimed “Road Closed; not passable due to Ice and Snow”. It took Campbell and me a few minutes to move it aside and we drove up to the Caves. Billy and Cora disappeared inside while Betty and I sat in the car. She wore a full-length silver fox fur that I had bought her when she told me she was pregnant. She also wore high-heeled shoes. Snow and ice covered the ground. I talked her into at least going into the cave entrance. She flopped just outside the cave and I almost panicked. We got back to the car and waited for Billy and Cora to emerge.

Our first morning in Billy and Cora’s apartment, Cora sat us at the breakfast table and asked if we wanted cereal or eggs. Betty and I looked at each other and decided unanimously that both would be fine. Billy noticed my engine noise and took the car to his shop. He had the engine completely overhauled with cylinders bored, and the bearings re- babbited. The labor “cost” me a bottle of whiskey for his mechanics and the new bearings cost him, and therefore me, the sum of $25. Canadian. Billy threw a party for 40 people at the Cave, a nightclub. In Canada one bought their bottles at a package store. We partied hard.

Then it started to snow and blow. The City of Vancouver began to run low on natural gas. Billy gave me snow chains and Betty and I started home with the chains in the trunk. As we entered Washington State, on I- 5, in the Snoqualmie Mountains Pass I counted 11 cars that had slid off the icy roads. I stopped at a gas station and paid $ 10 to have the chains put on. We got home without incident.

In May of 1947 I walked into the contractor’s office and threatened them with repercussions if my wife gave birth while we lived in a trailer. In June we moved in to our new house at 4323 Corinth Avenue in Culver City and on July 25, 1947 our son Michael, came into this world. Mr. Kastle raised my wages from $ 50 to $75 per week. Dad brought us a dog, Barrymore (he was a handsome dog whom we called Barry). Barry lay under Michael’s baby buggy when in the back yard and guarded him. We knew Barry’s previous owner, Johnny Oliver, an FBI agent with whom Betty, Dad and I went target shooting. Johnny, Dads neighbor in San Bernardino County, had been transferred.

When Mr. Kastle’s prewar employee/manager, Hy Allen, returned from the service, I had his job. We agreed to hold a contest. The best door- to- door salesman would keep his job and the other would leave. The score would be kept on the dollar volume of sales. For two weeks, we both sold house to house. I won. Hy left and opened a business on Olvera Street in downtown L.A.

Betty and I furnished the house in Culver City with a frig, stove, toaster, a box spring and mattress, and a card table. Betty’s Mom and Grandma Bertha contributed money with which we bought the stove and frig. Betty’s Mom gave us an old couch. (It later became a Good-Will reject.) We acquired plates and cutlery. Dad gave us some hand made bookcases and I kept his rifles in them. We ate on an old card table and had 4 old chairs. The hardwood floors remained bare. That was it. I used a closet to load my film roll into a developer tank and to develop prints.

The house made a perfect place to throw a party. One New Year’s Eve the house filled with guests. One of Betty’s cousins, a junk man who struck it rich, came in drunk. He scooped in his hand and fed himself potato salad with out benefit of a plate or cutlery. No one else ate potato salad that night. Betty’s step-dad, Art, Butch, decided he would call Pop who had gone to San Jose, California. I said OK trying to be a good, if not tipsy, host. We sat on the floor in the den. I dialed the phone at one side of the room. Art on the other side yelled “Hi Morrie, wait; I have to take off my shoes”. We waited, he got up to walk over but had to crawl, finally a precious dollar later he finally got to the phone. I drank so many drinks I lost count; the most in my life because if anyone put their drink down, I drank it rather than throw it out. So many people got so drunk, that I wound up driving several of them home the next day in my old Studebaker sedan. I do not remember to this day some of their names.

We made friends of a few neighbors. One of them, Ensminger joined Dad, Betty, and I at target shooting. Ensminger had taught shooting in the Army Air Corps and demonstrated great skill for us with a 45 cal. U. S. Army automatic. Dad brought an Ace Kit, a semi automatic 45-caliber pistol with a 22 caliber interchangeable barrel. He liked to change the .22 to a .45-barrel when no one was looking. When he did that to Betty one day it startled her. When Dad pulled that trick on my cousin Jerry on another day the pistol recoiled, hit him in the middle of the forehead and knocked him down.

At Kastle’s Jewelry as Sales Manager, I hired and managed a crew of house-to-house salesmen who kept me in touch with the street. I became aware of a predominant Latino clientele that favored good merchandise and developed good credit. Aware that I had the G. I. Bill for education, I signed up for night classes at Berlitz School of Languages to learn Spanish. This enhanced my sales and collections but opened another vista for me.

I realized I could learn and after four months made a major decision. Television was coming on the market. I opined that it would be a big seller but Mr. Kastle wanted to stick with jewelry and silverware. He mentioned his pending retirement and a nephew who would take over the store. He had already installed a nephew who could not sell and let him go. I realized I had no future in that store or in the retail business, as I did not even enjoy the work. In 1948 I quit my full time job at Kastle Jewelry Company, worked part time, and went back to college full time, financed mostly by the G.I, Bill of Rights at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles.

I initially tried to enroll as a Mechanical Engineering Major but that school had no room for me and my application could not be processed. I discussed this with a neighbor who had a degree in Civil Engineering (CE) and he advised me to enroll as a CE and switch to Mechanical the next year. I enrolled and soon surmised the following: 1. Ex-airmen were way ahead of me; 2. Their job market waned in the post war years and 3. I had a greater aptitude for and would like Civil Engineering. I did not switch. Most classes were held in old barracks. Grades were issued on a curve. To maintain our Bill of Rights entitlement all grades had to exceed average. The dropout and flunk out rate was high each semester. I studied hard and made a few friends. One of them, Billy G. Stiles and I stayed friends until he died. We often had a nickel to spend for a cup of coffee and time to share and chat. Morton Newman became a friend but it that waned over time. Another, Jorge Sibauste, a Panamanian, came to U.S.C. at the age of 17 and spoke no English but within 3 years earned all “A”s. We remained friends until he remarried in the 1970s. Billy, Mort, and George warrant many paragraphs of memories about them.

I needed additional income so I worked part time. My part time jobs included the jewelry store but Mr. Kastle fired me for not working the Christmas holiday because Professor Brinker required a surveying field trip. I then sold step ladders at the Rose Parade in Pasadena, painted a garage for Betty’s folk and went back to work for Mr. Kastle, strictly on commission. I made collections and sold jewelry house to house. We lived from hand to mouth. We were so poor I could not pay attention. Many of our “friends” igged us. We were so poor we couldn’t even pay attention but we didn’t notice. We had a quest and stubbornly pursued it. At one time my mother-in-law told Betty I should quit school and go to work “like a real man”.

Betty’s Canadian cousin, Dena, decided she would grace our house by her presence and moved in. I came home from work and Betty had put out crackers and cheese as a hors de oeuvre. We deemed that a luxury. After Hello the next thing I heard was A If you were at our house you would be served 57 different pastries”. One day, a door-to-door salesman walked to the front door and as Betty opened the door, started his spiel with “Hi, here is a free wastebasket”. She grabbed it, thanked him, and slammed the door. When I got home and she told me about it, I cracked up. The next day, a door-to-door salesman walked to the front door and Dena opened the door, opened his spiel with “Hi, here is a free wastebasket”. Dena grabbed it and slammed the door. We then owned two wastebaskets.

I arranged for Dena to date Mort Newman .He reported a “very good time” (my words not his), thanks, and goodbye. He would not take her home to Mother. I could not give up and she dated Jack Yaskiel, the best man at my wedding. Jack had become a successful pharmacist. He married her and never forgave me.

Bea and her hubby Art owned a house with a remodeled garage in which resided an old darky who was her friend and tenant. Bea moved her out. My Dad came with my cousin, Eddy Nosanov, whom I paid to help and completely rebuilt the interior and exterior appearance. They installed 3 new windows, kitchen cabinets, and removed and replaced lathe and moldy plaster with gypsum wallboard. They transformed it into a 4 room, 20 feet by 20 feet, 400 square feet dollhouse. We then moved in. One entered the kitchen, went straight to a bedroom, turned left to a second bedroom and then to the bathroom. It had only one exterior door. We paid $ 25 per month rent to Bea and Art.

I found other part time work and in 1949-50 drafted plans for a man whose clients relocated houses from the paths of proposed freeways. Part time work and a full time program at U.S.C. tired me and sometimes clouded my judgment. One day coming home from school I cut in front of a Shell Oil Co. tanker truck. At the next traffic light he evidenced displeasure and I responded with A Go f--k yourself.” He followed me the last few blocks and into the alley next to the house where Betty, Michael and I lived. As I emerged from the car he did so from his truck and walked over to me. The guy stood 6 feet 4 inches tall and weighed over 250. Without a word he punched me. I took off my glasses, laid them on my car and hit him twice and the fight was on. I did a good job of ducking and to get inside, took jabs that did not faze me, but took roundhouse swings on my right shoulder. Each of these knocked me down. He knocked me down three times. He tried to kick me after I went down. Betty held Michael, in her arms and watched. My Dad came out, on the run handed his glasses to Betty. He jumped up and hit the truck driver on the jaw. Right behind Dad came Arthur, opened up a pocketknife. The trucker yelled, “He’s got a knife” and ran down the alley. We chased him around the block and when we got back to the truck I wanted to continue. He had embarrassed but had not hurt me. He did not want to fight anymore. Butch wanted to kill him. The next day my face although unmarked was very sore, my right shoulder, and ego, was bruised. My shoulder turned black and blue. Although I had two loaded pistols in the house, it did not occur to me to shoot the guy.
Arthur Dad

I wanted to keep the house in Culver City and rent it. Bea pressured Betty to sell it and we did for about $ 10,800. We broke even. I did not want to argue.

In the summer of 1950 I applied for a summer job with the U. S. Bureau of Reclamation. I took a test and was hired to work in Sacramento, California. I met the only other hiree for the job, Mamoru (Mo) Kanda, also a U S C student. We bested more than 90 other applicants. Betty and baby Michael joined me in Sacramento. We rented a motel shack with no air conditioning. After a few nights I came home early found them both in the tub so I moved them out. That night we found a room in a boarding house but were evicted during an ugly scene in the middle of the night by tenants with a prior claim. We spent the rest of the night on the floor in the landlady’s hallway. We headed for San Jose the next day and found refuge for Betty and Michael at the house of Aunt Besse, for the summer. Aunt Besse and Uncle Harry Slonaker were gracious and protective. I joined them on weekends. One weekend Betty became pregnant. We returned to the cottage for the fall semester and had to re plan our housing layout and I literally drew up a plan so we would have a place for a crib. Mikey as a tot often sat on the kitchen floor next to Betty and repeatedly assemble and take apart a 4-piece drip coffee pot. Mikey enjoyed Barry.

Betty’s obstetrician, Dr. Danny Woods informed us that his fee would be $ 500. When I told him I would borrow the money from my Endowment Insurance Policy he said, “No, you can pay me after you graduate, there is still some sentiment attached to having babies”.

During those years at U S C we had no idea that we were poor. Pop would visit us and always seemed to have found a “bargain on something” like a bag of oranges or peanut brittle. He was a major part of what little social life we had. Betty joined the Dames Club and got us involved in some social functions. She learned and taught me to play bridge. Goren had just become the new bridge guru. We switched from Friday night poker and craps games to bridge and made some new social contacts. These included Walter and Deena Babchuck.

Betty gave birth to Susan Jean on May 4, 1951. (Aunt Besse said we should her Jose’ >cause that where we conceived her.) Eight days later, Betty and I attended the Senior Prom. I received a degree in Civil Engineering in June 1951. My first paychecks went to pay Dr. Danny Woods for Susan’s birth.

In 1951 I worked a summer at the Arcadia Office of the U.S. Department of the Interior Soils Laboratory. In the fall I found employment at the City of Los Angeles Department of Bridges and Structures.

We moved to an apartment in a one-story house on Winter Street in East Los Angeles. When we moved into the house no pets were allowed. Dad worked on a ranch and Barry developed a potentially fatal taste. He savored live chickens, when he caught them. The rancher said Barry had to leave. Dad liked his job on the ranch, which included installing and maintaining irrigation systems. Dad returned Barry to us. I had no choice but to ask the landlady, Mary Sunshine, to discuss the situation. We met in her living room; Barry lay on the floor and somehow through his soulful eyes communicated his need. Mary allowed us to keep him. One day I returned home from the office to hear the following from Betty. “ Mikey went out play and returned in tears. A neighbor boy punched him. Betty told him, ‘You go out there and hit him back!’ Soon Mikey returned with tears in his eyes. The kid hit him back”.

Dad and I went hunting with Barry who had good instincts but had not been trained as a hunting dog. On one trip we visited a ranch where the people, the Sharps, near Perris, California. The man had made concrete blocks, built a house with them, drilled his own well and with his wife, built a decent life. Their house abutted the Smith Ranch were Dad worked. During a successful rabbit hunt there I picked up an ancient .22 caliber pump gun as a rabbit appeared in a clearing. I fired six times and missed it each time. The rabbit appeared petrified, not knowing which way to turn as bullets whistled past him. Barry broke the rope to which I had tied him. As he ran to the rabbit I stopped firing. Barry ran up to the rabbit and face to face with it appeared to be warning it as the rabbit turned and escaped. Barry did not chase it. Mr. Sharp and Dad laughed at my “poor” marksmanship until they tried to hit something with that old .22. To apologize, Dad bought me a new Sears Roebuck semi automatic .22, which I have as of this writing.

I went to work for the City of Los Angeles, Bridge and Structures Division. I started as a draftsman in Los Angeles City Hall. To earn extra money I taught Mechanics of Materials at East Los Angeles, Junior College for one semester.

Betty bought me my first fishing pole in 1951. Uncle Jack “gave me” a 12-foot long wooden motor boat with a 12-inch draft and a 3 HP Evinrude motor; complete with a one wheel wooden trailer. I had a gallon of brown paint and I painted the boat and trailer brown.

In March 1952, two of the engineers with whom I worked and played softball, Dad and I went to San Felipe, Baja California to go fishing. The two, Don Mauser and Erv Spindel went in one vehicle. Dad and I went in Dad’s pickup truck. Dad built an insulated double wall aluminum cooler. We filled it with dry ice and took it with us. Dad built a pipe rack and atop it we my boat. On the trip there, I fretted about gasoline but we found a Union Oil station each time the gas gauge showed the need. I got razzed about that and suffered some credibility. We got to the beach, set up our camps and bedded down for the night. Dad and I in the truck bed and Don and Irv on the sand where we could all see each other. Other campers also did the same. As we prepared, I noticed tide line detritus higher up than the tide line. I tried to warn them but Irv, a hydraulics specialist scoffed at the idea. At midnight, I awoke to hear people scrambling up from the incoming water. Don and Irv had not wakened and I watched to see when they would, but Dad woke up and yelled. They barely escaped the rising water.

Don’s new boat, at 18 feet long and 40 HP motor, had no trouble going far out to catch fish. Our boat did not compare; we went out but not as far. Although 2 and 3-foot wind waves dwarfed our boat, Dad was happy as a clam at high tide. Not me. He loved boating and camping although he hated fish and did not try to catch any. Each night for three nights, he tore down that little engine, cleaned it and got it ready for the next day. We all went home without fish. We caught some small fish but no totuava. They were not biting. Dad and I bought enough shrimp and dry ice from a local fisherman to fill the cooler.

In 1952 Betty and I bought a 1200 square foot-bedroom house on a corner lot at 9543 Wampler Street in Pico, Rivera. My father provided the down payment, by barter. He donated his equity in a house in San Bernardino. The sellers accepted it. We cut a deal on the realtor’s commission because the transaction was a trade. Not to demean his generosity but Dad was not happy with the San Bernardino house and I wasn’t thrilled with it either. He had made a septic tank from two 55-gallon drums and some pipes and added a leach field. The septic tank plugged up every few months and the smell, when he took off the cover, was so bad he could not stand it. He called me and I drove out each time and shoveled it out. The last time I had to do it was the same afternoon I had finished an 8-hour long State test to become an Engineer in Training. (I cooled it in six hours.)

To save money I commuted to work in a ride pool. I met a few lifelong friends and others. We also made the acquaintance of Betty’s father, Hy and his second family, which includes Johanna, Betty’s half sister. Hy, a tough, rough and tumble character born in Russia claimed to be an anti communist smuggler during the Russian Revolution. He abandoned his wife, Bea and Betty when Betty was but a child. He served a prison term at Joliet, Illinois then built a successful turkey business; buying shipping, and selling. Hy was personable, wanted to get together with his daughter Betty, and had some good stories to tell. He also played a good game of chess, which he learned in Russia and in prison. I never did beat him.

When Mikey and I played softball I pitched and Mikey swung the bat. Barry would stand next to me and get the ball when Mikey hit it. When Mikey missed, Barry would retrieve the ball and return it to me.

Mikey played with a bully named Piscatelli but coped. But Mikey got fed up with another bully, Johnny Davis, and beat him back with flailing fists as the kid went home crying to his mommy

Cousin Bruce lived in nearby Southgate and visited often. We enjoyed barbecues and ping-pong games in the patio on which I had labored on weekends. Dad visited and offered his expert advice during my labors. We often visited Betty’s folks in East L.A. and after they moved to Monterey Park, They adored their grandchildren. We went out occasionally. Our baby sitter included Sherry Streit who on one trip went with us to San Jose to visit Aunt Besse and Uncle Harry. We had an active family life that included Betty’s relatives. Our social life included one Maxine Wallace and some of our old friends. One Halloween we threw a masquerade party. Two people came as TV sets (but they were not plugged in) . The boxes covered their faces. Punchy Edelstein came as a bandit. The party got lubricated and so did he. Punchy ran across the street yelling, “This is a stickup”. Mrs. Davis was no fool. She called the law. Soon our doorbell rang and Betty, dressed as Wee Willie Winky, was summoned to the door. A Deputy Sheriff said, “ Little girl, is your father home.”

She found me and I went to the door, dressed as a pirate with a dagger “sticking through my head”. The sheriff looked at me and asked, “Aren’t you Mike Nosanov? “ When I so affirmed he said “ You’re lucky you gave me a B in your class at East Los Angeles Junior College”. This sheriff later got his degree and engineering license and became Assistant County Engineer of Los Angeles County. He and I had a few laughs over the years on that.

Another incident involving the law embarrassed me. As I exited the front door of the house one morning, I heard a loud noise in the garage. I went to the garage door and tried to open it. The door resisted and I assumed it was someone in there. I went to the front door of the house and told Betty to call the sheriff and watch the garage back door. I got my 38-caliber Smith and Wesson revolver and stationed myself at the front door. Two sheriff’s squad cars rolled up, silently, one on Wampler Street and the other on the side street of our corner house. I quietly explained the situation, brandished my weapon and instructed the sheriffs to force the door open while I covered the intruder. They opened the door to find an empty garage with a broken door spring. We were all relieved but I later realized that it wasn’t my job to charge into the garage with a gun.

I mentioned Maxine Wallace because of the following. When we bought the Wampler Street house, we disposed of waste paper and garbage in a back yard incinerator. When we moved in we had a lot of cartons to burn. Maxine’s rear fence and ours were common. The incinerators and the laundry lines were near the fence. Maxine put out her laundry. Betty lit the incinerator and the Wallaces took exception. When I got home from work I was summoned. Into the back yard I went and there stood Mr. Wallace, a self proclaimed veteran of the U.S. Office of Strategic Services (OSS) about ten feet from his fence, yelling “his head off”. He would not listen to what I was trying to say so I challenged him. He did not approach (advance). Two days later his wife apologized and further, informed me that he had been committed to the Veterans Administration Hospital due to a nervous breakdown. To my knowledge, in several years, he did not return to a normal life.

One day in November as I returned from work, I noticed children looking over our fence. I saw a turkey strutting and gobbling and surmised what happened. I entered the house, got my hugs and kisses and the turkey banged on the kitchen door.
I put Plan A into order and asked, “What’s that”.
“Oh, Dad (Hy), brought us our Thanksgiving turkey. You are going to kill it and clean it.”
“Oh, OK”
I went into the bedroom, took out my .38 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver, got six shells and walked into the kitchen, calmly loading the pistol. Almost immediately I heard “What are you doing?”
Betty heard, “I am going to kill that turkey.”
After more discussion, during which I pointed out “shooting was how I killed things” Betty called her dad. He had to drive over that evening from his big beautiful house in Beverly Hills, slaughter that thing, pluck it, and clean it. And, he never brought me another (bleeping) turkey again.

Hy had a new Cadillac and tried to teach Betty to drive. One day as we turned a corner at Mott Street and Brooklyn Avenue a man stepped into the street to start across. He looked older than the original sin having survived on G-d knows what. I could see Betty had no inclination to stop and yelled, “Stop”. She hit the brakes and Hy, his wife, and I landed on the floor. After we got unshook, she said, “ Well, he wasn’t watching where he was going”. That ended her personalized driving lessons. Betty got her driving lessons later at an Adult Education Class. She also started taking art and painting classes at the same school. Hy, an incorrigible gambler, later lost all he owned. He returned to a life of crime. His second wife left him. He got sick, lost a leg, and died ignominiously of diabetes. First, they buried his leg in a cemetery and then the rest of him.

I took Civil Service examinations at City Hall and progressed in ratings. I passed two State Examinations and became a Registered Civil Engineer. In 1955 I moved to the Department of Building and Safety and then to the Department of Public Works.

Betty gave birth to Vicki in 1955, at Montebello Community Hospital. I started doing outside work. One day as I arrived home from work, Betty spoke to a washing machine repairman. The phone rang as I entered the kitchen. Betty, holding Vicki in her arms, answered it. A co-worker, Johnny Lemons had referred a potential client to me.
Pierre Levin, “ Will you engineer a car wash rack?”
Me, “Sure.”
Pierre, “How much?”
“Hang on a minute.” To the repair man, “How much to fix the washing machine?”
“Ninety dollars.” We did not have $90.
I turned to the phone and said “Mr. Levin, I will do it for $90.”
I engineered my first car wash rack.

We survived financially from payday to pay day. One weekend after it stopped running, I tore down the engine of the Studebaker and replaced the head gasket, internal distributor parts, points and plugs. When I finally wore it out, accompanied by Mike and Barry, I drove it to three dealers in Whittier to sell it. One offered me $ 150 and handed me a check. I said I would sign the pink at his bank where we would cash the check. When we got to the bank, the dealer had to go into the back room. He finally emerged with the cash. Mike, Barry and I walked until we were pooped and actually boarded a bus that took us close to home. Try getting on a bus with a dog today.

I bought a 1949 Ford coupe. I transferred from the Bridge and Structures Division to the Division of Building and Safety. I learned what I wanted there and passed a test to advance from Assistant to Associate Civil Engineer within the City of L.A. I passed an 8-hour examination and in 1955 became a Registered Professional Engineer in the State of California. I bought a 1949 Ford coupe. In my new position at City Hall I drove several hundred miles a week supervising storm drain channel maintenance crews. The job paid for mileage and I bought my first new car, a 1956 Ford Station Wagon.