Wednesday, November 9, 2011

AWESTRUCK/DUMBFOUNDED

Awestruck, as defined by Webster's 11 New College Dictionary: a. an emotion of mixed reverence, dread, and wonder. b. Fearful veneration or respect. Dumbfounded, as defined by the above mentioned Dictionary:to confound with amazement or astonishment. I use the two words interchangeably because I'm not quite sure which of the two definitions fit into my experience of being awestruck or dumbfounded. Maybe, you my readers, can recall being awestruck or dumbfounded by something or someone; possibly, you have had a moment when you left someone dumbfounded or awestruck?

I can recall at least three times where I've left people awestruck/dumbfounded. And a time where one group left an opposing group awestruck/dumbfounded. I'll deal with this one last.

(1)

I trusted this friend with ($400.00 (not that much). But I was quite inebriated,
in a bad part of town, and night didn't have to compete with the lack of working street
lights. M (since I wanted to go home instead of spending the night on his couch, convinced me to leave my money with him and pick it up the next day. I arrived home without incident, did not fall down, but did manage to hold up a few walls.

M usually didn't get up until noon so I waited until one to head to his place. As I knocked on his door, the manager informed me that M had left town. Without a hint of alarm, I exclaimed, "Yeah, he said he was leaving, but I thought it was next week, did he say where he was going?" The manager said, "San Diego."

I had no intention of going to San Diego and search M out. My logic told me that he would be sneaking back to LA to see one or two of the women he was sweet on and that I our paths would cross; he'd have some convincing story to relate or a portion of my money. Otherwise,it wasn't that serious of a matter. Life goes on until its end. All things happen for a reason - cause and effect. I pushed the incident from my mind, only to peripherally think about it when encountering one of M's girl friends (also friends of mine). About eight months had passed since M had absconded with my money and, by design, I decided to take that trip via Greyhound to San Diego, armed with the knowledge that M's pay day had happened or was on the horizon.

San Diego didn't offer much culturally, but I had fun the two days, bar-hopping. As I was entering the Greyhound station to return to LA, I heard someone yelling out my name: "Hey, Dr. Mongo!" To my surprise, it was M. And before I could return the greeting, he said, "I'm on my way to LA, to visit J and give you some money." And, again, before I could respond he pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit and handed it to me. Scribbled on the envelope was PROPERTY OF DR. MONGO. He demanded, "Open it."
I counted eight one hundred dollar bills. In retrospect I think I was somewhat awestruck/ dumbfounded or both? Our trip to LA was memorable.

(2)

A year or two later with a little disposable cash on hand, I bought my two-way ticket to Las Vegas. It wasn't about winning or losing. It was about having fun on the slot machine at my favorite club - El Cortez. And visiting with friends.

But, of course, before leaving LA, I had to buy a few drinks, enabling me to sleep until my arrival in Vegas. As I approached the departure and arrival area, I took note of the four kids playing cards, passing the time away until their bus arrived. I forget what they were playing, but I posed them a question: "Would you guys like to see a card trick you'll never see repeated." In my inebriation, it was a challenge; to their curiosity it was welcomed. I begged them to continue whatever game they were playing, but they, all four concurring, insisted I do the trick. Of the four, I asked, "have you ever seen me before or do you know me?" After getting their no answers, I asked, "Whose cards are these?" The blond guy (I'd guess in his late teens or early twenty)said they belonged to him and volunteered that the plastic deck belonged to his father. Then with a touch of mystery, I said, I want you all to shuffle the deck and pass it on to the next person to shuffle until you've all scuffled the deck twice." I turned my back to them as they carried out the instructions. "Okay," said one of the two girls,"It's done!" I faced them, and the blond guy held the deck in his left hand. I said, "Pick a card from anywhere in the deck and without looking at it put it in your pocket." The guy complied. "And that card in your pocket, I said, is the Ace of Spades."

The guy took the card from his pocket and displayed it to the others before showing it to me. Sure enough, it was the Ace of Spades. The four kids were amazed. So was I, but I didn't allow my expression to show surprise.

( 3)

The cold storm gripping the Midwest found me fleeing from Ohio, destination - sunny California. Greyhound was the least expensive way to travel, and it was a rough and tough ride travelling through Indiana and Illinois because weather conditions were as bad as what I called myself escaping from. Due to the snow storm in Indiana, the bus was delayed four hours until the highway became passable. The same held true in Illinois.
After arriving in Los Angeles, I hooked up with my brother, Moise who allowed me to unpack and closet three suits, two khaki coats, one suede and a leather coat I wouldn't be needing due to such great weather. I would be wearing my dashikis and caftans, combat boots, and carrying my favorite staff. At the time my brother was lived in the epicenter of Skid Row. The chain of hotels and restaurants in the area were owned and run by Koreans. The DPSS (Department of Pulic Social Services) issued vouchers to the owners to provide housing for homeless or indigent individuals. In order to supplement income on a daily basis, owners charged visitors one or two dollars to visit a resident - no in and out. So most rooms were used as shooting galaries and other illegal activities; one could pay the one or two dollars and stay in the hotel for days.

The renter would leave and do everything needed to be done: buy drugs, food, weapons, etc. The police were allowed to enter the premises at will, to bust crack dealers, prostitutes, parole violators and/or suspected or wanted criminals.
Directly across the street from the Harold Hotel was the original, HardRock Cafe.
After my first days rest from the cramped bus ride, I decided to search out night life of Skid Row.

I donned a lightweight caftan, my polished combat boots, and of course, I had my staff. As I walked along Main street between 5th and 6th, Someone yelled out"Hey Moses."Knowing the reference was directed at me, I replied, "My name's not Moses." In five seconds or less I was surrounded by four police, demanding my name, identification and questioning 'the stick' I was carrying. I complied, emphasing that the 'stick' was a staff. One officer insisted I show California ID instead of my American passport, failing to understand the import of an American passport. After ten to twelve minutes they allowed me to continue on with my business, one officer saying, "Take care Dr. Mongo."

The people paying the dollar to visit my brother were hustlers, chess hustlers, out to hone their skills, looking for a good game and, possibly a sucker, from which to win a few dollars. My brother didn't associate with anyone in the Harold so he remained something of an enigma to the other residence.

To be contiued in my upcoming book. Within every story is another story!!!






No comments:

Post a Comment