SIX DAYS TO SAN FRANCISCO (A true story)
Marshall Adame
October 06, 2008
You want to know the difference between an old dead guy and a young dead kid? None; There is no difference. I have been reminding myself of the answer to that question my entire life.
Looking back, I have always thought that my own life: I mean the fact that I am still alive, has been a miracle. I know there are suffering children everywhere on earth. I have seen the suffering children in Liberia Africa when I was there with the U.S. Embassy. Liberiaīs children lived in squalled and poverty stricken circumstances; living and dieing at the whim of the armed rouges who occupied every part of the country and who used Liberiaīs children as theirs to do with as they wished, and they did.
I have witnessed the suffering children in Egypt where I lived four years working as a civilian on a U.S. Military project. There a dictator, Hosny Mubarak, rules with an iron hand, almost totally ignoring the plight and suffering of his countryīs children, most of whom do not go to school, working instead in the fields where they will never learn to read, or write and where they are seemingly no more than property. The U.S. government provides Egypt with about 2.3 Billion dollars every year in aid, 97% of which goes to weapons. Yes, I know children suffer in this world.
I have also seen the terrible suffering of the children in Iraq where I lived and worked for over three years. The living hell we have created in Iraq is beyond explanation. Fear, hunger, religious persecution, death, chaos, destruction and mayhem have been the result of our presence in Iraq. I have seen a dead child in the arms of her mother who was beside herself with grief and disbelief that her own child had just been murdered. My own son was wounded there in 2006 and another son served two fifteen month tours there. They are my own children. All this while many of the Iraqi government officials profit heavily on the chaos we have conveniently provided. The house of cards we have built there most certainly, will bring greater suffering to the children if Iraq.
I saw the suffering children in Vietnam when I was there in 1970 as a young U.S. Marine. Iīve seen the suffering of children in Chile where, in 1985, I served in the U.S. Embassy, Santiago as the Detachment Commander of the Marine Security guards. There, the children of the Santiago slums of Pudahuel existed where the floors are made of dirt and where bread and rice are the primary staples for the millions of children living there. Yes, I know that children all over the world do suffer at the hands of adults. Me too; adults hurt me too, but the difference is that I lived and survived. I have tried not to allow what happened to me to drive the rest of my life, or to define who I am. Most of the suffering children I have seen in the world never had that chance. Iīm one of the lucky ones.
Before the trip to San Francisco took place I had spent some time in a Los Angeles reform school. Itīs like a blur from so long ago. I forget if I was eleven or twelve. I remember I was there for about two months. It was like a camp in the mountains. We didnīt have any choice there either. The "counselors" acted as though they owned us all. They did what ever they wanted to the boys in that camp. It was terrifying. When one has no choice, life is full of fear and even terror.
Itīs 2008. I am 56 years old and still married to the sixteen year old girl who stood at the alter with me when I was seventeen. I am a Vietnam veteran, a retired U.S. Marine, father of four and grandfather of twelve. After twenty-two years in the Marines I became an aviation logistics consultant to the Department of Defense and several Defense Contractors. I was a logistics lead in the 92-93 Kuwait rebuild after Saddam had been chased back into Iraq. I was the Kaman Aerospace logistics lead for four years in Egypt, Airport Director of Basrah international Airport Iraq in 2003. I became the V.P. of Aviation services for a U.S. Corporation in Baghdad, Iraq and later received a U.S. State Department Diplomatic Appointment in the U.S. Embassy in Baghdad in 2005 where I personally performed the first nine site surveys all over Iraq for the U.S. State Department Provincial Reconstruction Teams. I was also a U.S. Logistics Advisor to the Iraqi Minister of Interior. All told, I spent 37 months in Iraq, and I unsuccessfully ran as a Democratic candidate for the U.S. Congress from North Carolina. Today I am a Program Manager for a Defense Contractor working on a critical logistics project for the U.S. Army, overseeing a staff of over one hundred government contractors.
Although in my life, I have not cured a disease, invented something which would revolutionize modern man, or stopped hunger in the world, it is important to me that my decedents know I cared. I cared about the inequity I saw in the world and I did what I could, on a personal level, to bring dignity, respect and a sense of self worth to those less fortunate than I. I strived to improve mankindīs condition in this world and tried to be an example for compassion, understanding and tolerance. I say all of this because things may have turned out very different for me than what has unfolded in my life. Even today, I am eternally grateful and continuously remind my self how things might have turned out for me. My childhood was not exactly a Sunday morning stroll.
In the summer of 1965, my best friend Ronnie and I caught-up in the notion that we could jump on a moving train and ride it for a few minutes and jump off. Well we did it. I mean we jumped the moving train. The jumping off the moving train became a problem and we unwittingly began a trip which would take us from La Puente California all the way to San Francisco. I was twelve years old and Ronnie was eleven. Along the way we met a good number of adults. With the exception of two occasions wherein we were given a ride, all of the people who had offered to "help" us either took sexual liberties, or hurt us. One guy almost killed both of us.
I am not an authority on human nature, but I learned a great deal about the dark side of "good" people on our unintended Six days to San Francisco.
Ronnie and I both lived in very fractured and dysfunctional families.
My parents were divorced. My father, Johnny, worked in a fertilizer factory in the neighboring town of Pico Rivera where he lived with his girlfriend. My mom lived with her boyfriend in the neighboring town of Baldwin Park. My fourteen year old brother Johnny and I lived in what was known as a "crash pad" (Technically a vacant house), where various and numerous hoodlums , drug pushers, bikers and vagrant bad people came and went. Ronnie lived at home with his mom and dad. Ronnieīs parents were poor miserable people who spent their time trying to make a small shoe repair shop work. They allowed Ronnie to come and go as he pleased and never complained about my constant presence in their home. They would tell Ronnie not to hang around with me and then feed me supper in the evening if they saw me there. Ronnieīs older brother Raul pushed drugs and burglarized homes with my brother Johnny. Raul kept Ronnie in check through sheer terror and fear. He was ruthless and often beat both Ronnie and I just to maintain our stark fear of him. Our families are not really part of this story, but it was these very broken family circumstances which made our unplanned trip from La Puente to San Francisco and back possible. Looking back I think one of the saddest parts of this story is that when we finally did get back home; nobody had even noticed we were gone.
Jumping the train (A two mile trip)
It was summer. No school to think about. Ronnie and I were walking along the railroad tracks that ran along Valley Blvd. which ran in a North-South direction through our town, La Puente. We knew the train went to neighboring El Monte about two miles down the track. We didnīt know that it wouldnīt be stopping there that day. I mean, how much can an eleven year old be expected to know? Anyway, we used to go to the driving range, across the street from Willow Jr. High School, near the railroad tracks. The guy who worked at the driving range would give us three cents for every golf ball we could find in the fields that surrounded the driving range fence. We were looking for golf balls and were not finding many that day, so we sat on the train tracks to just wait for a few stray golf balls. We knew a train was coming. The tracks were vibrating. It signaled that a train was coming down the tracks. We got up and moved away from the tracks. We picked up a few rocks to throw at the bums we knew we would see riding the train, and it came. It consisted of a bunch of flat cars separated by the occasional boxcar. No bums this time to throw our rocks at. It was moving very slow. So slow, that we thought we could get on it and jump off right away without any problems. Anyway, the train was only going as far as El Monte right up the way, about two miles. At least that is what we thought. We had never jumped the train before. It would be a first for us. It looked easy. It must have been because before I knew it we were on the three step ladder into a boxcar. It felt real neat riding the train. No one was in the boxcar we jumped onto so we ran up and down inside like we owned the place. While we were doing that, we failed to notice the train gaining speed.
By the time we did noticed, it was too late. We could not get off the train. Jumping now looked like it would be fatal, so we just sat at the open door waiting for the train to stop in El Monte, about 5 minutes up the track. It didnīt stop there. It didnīt even slow down. So there we were, speeding down the tracks in the direction of The City of Los Angeles. We planned on jumping off the train as soon as it slowed down, where-ever that was.
I remember seeing the Old Sears store in East Los Angeles and then the Olympic boxing stadium as the train shot through Los Angeles. The train kept going north. I am not really sure how long we had been riding, but it was a pretty long time and I was hungry. Finally the train began to slow down. We were so relieved to feel the slowing motion of the box car. We were sitting with our legs hanging out of the car. Waiting, for what seemed like forever, for the Train to slow down just a little more. We did not know where we were, but we knew we had to jump off as soon as we could. We were just waiting for the right moment to get off that train.
The Bums
They appeared. I do not know where they came from, but without any warning Ronnie and I were both being lifted into the air by two men who had come into the box car without our noticing it. They carried us to the closed end of the box car and threw us on the floor. One asked if we had any money. Ronnie spoke up and said "no". The other man grabbed me by the throat and lifted me into the air. He told his friend that he was going to cut me up with his knife. I remember looking at Ronnie. He was crying. I started to cry too. The man put me down and pushed me to the open door. Ronnie was already there. They told us to jump off the train or die. Scared to jump, scared to stay. We jumped.
I will never recommend that anyone jump from a moving train, no matter how slow it may be moving. We landed in gravel. Lots of rocks. I think my fear of those two men overcame any fear of what could happen when I hit the ground after jumping. It hurt. Both of us were laying on the gravel crying, bleeding, lost, broke, scared, and worst of all, we were just kids. More bloody than actually hurt, we sat there crying a long time; Maybe half an hour. To this day I do not know where we were at that moment.
First Blood (Then a real bad decision)
There was a park across the street from where we jumped from the train. We went there to get some water. It was getting dark. We stayed in the park that night. The night was warm, the water plentiful and a there were a dozen trash cans filled with peopleīs discarded food from that days fun at the park. We had warmth, water and food. It was all we needed at the moment. We slept on a picnic table. The next morning we had to decide what to do next and where to go. The day was sunny and warm. We had eaten some food from the trash and cleaned ourselves in the park bathroom. We felt better and the fear of the previous day was gone. We walked toward the nearby highway. When we got to the road there was a sign, "San Francisco 360 miles". It was all so spontaneous, but we just decided to hitchhike to San Francisco. We were sure that there would be lots of people who would give a couple of "kids" a ride. We were right. Grownups liked kids.
Hitching a Ride
We decided to stand at the sign and put out our thumbs. If we could not get a ride, we still had the park to go back to. It was already showing signs of people setting up their picnics and we knew we could, at least, eat there. To our surprise, we were only hitchhiking for about ten minutes when a car pulled over and stopped. The door opened and a young man, a grownup, asked where we were going. Ronnie yelled "San Francisco!", and the guy said "get in". We did. There were three people in the station wagon. All men, all white, all clean and they all said hi. They seemed very friendly and asked us our names and where we came from. They asked why we were going to San Francisco and how we got all scrapped up on our knees and elbows. We told them about the bums on the train and how they made us jump. We also told them that we had run away from home. I am not exactly sure where we were, but I remember seeing the ocean to our left and mountains on our right. I remember thinking how pretty it all was. The driver asked if we were hungry and we said we were. He asked if we would like him to buy our lunch. We said yes and he pulled the car over into a shaded rest area. We were too young to be suspicious. The driver said he wanted to clean our bloodied elbows and knees using a first aid kit from his car. After that we could go eat. We were off the road and could not be seen by the passing cars on the nearby highway. One of the guys put the back seat down to create a flat surface in the back of the station wagon and told us to take off our cloths and lay in the back of the station wagon so they could clean our wounds. We did it and he promptly began cleaning our wounds. Everything seemed alright and then it didnīt. It got very worrisome. All of them were over us. I got scared and Ronnie was already beginning to panic. About the time we began screaming at the top of our lungs and they seemed to panic too and began to quickly back away. We grabbed our clothes. I remember the guy who had cleaned our wounds saying "Please donīt be afraid; We are not going to hurt you". He handed me a five dollar bill and told me to get something to eat. The car sped away. We had five bucks and band aids on our cuts. We walked up to the road and put out our thumbs.
The Old Folks
Although the three guys who had given us a ride did not actually hurt us, we were both relieved to get away from them. I think they might have hurt us given the time and circumstances. We were beginning to think that the bad guys we knew, back home at the crash pad, werenīt all that bad after all. The bikers and druggies who lived at the crash pad had never tried to molest me although, from time to time, I had been beaten to a pulp by a few of them.
A huge motor home pulled over to the side of the road and an old, grandfather type, man stepped out of the side door. "You boys need a ride"? "We need lunch and a ride" was Ronnieīs quick reply. The man was totally gray on his head and tall, real tall. He looked like he could be anybodyīs grandfather. Waving his arm in a "come here" gesture he said "letīs eat". We ran to the motor home and stepped into the side door. I remember it looked like a house inside. In fact I could not remember ever living in a house that nice. I donīt know why, but I was surprised to see the old woman standing at the sink opening a loaf of bread. They were nice people. We told them about our previous days travel and they listened like they really cared. In fact I am sure, even to this day, they did. We all ate together and the old woman got behind the wheel and we were off on the road again. They were a very happy sort of couple. We listened to all their stories and they told us about their grandchildren and other family members. It was getting dark again. The man told us that they would stop at the next rest stop for the night, but that we were welcome to stay with them and continue with them the next morning if we wanted to. We did.
The Rest Stop (Old folks do more than they are telling)
We pulled into a highway rest stop. The old lady parked the motor home and set a couple of chairs outside while the old man set up an outside grill for cooking. Ronnie and I played in the playground. She called us to come and eat. It seemed really nice. It was like we were a family, or something. Later that night, we were all back in the motor home and the old lady told us we should take a shower and then get ready for bed. It sounded good to me. The fact that she was standing right over me while I undressed did not bother me. She was a grandma! She turned on the shower and I got in. I was a little surprised when she grabbed the bar of soap and began to clean my body, but she was a grandma so what harm could it do? She did a very detailed job of cleaning me and she was careful with the scraps and cuts. When she was finished with me, it was Ronnieīs turn and he jumped in the shower. The old lady washed him as she had me. After showering us she directed us to the big bed in the back of the motor home where she tucked us in. I remember wondering where her and her husband were going to sleep, being that Ronnie and I were now in the only bed in the motor home. Then there she was. The old man too. Both naked as the day they were born and getting into bed with us. It did not take long to see where this was going. They were a very active couple. They were having a great time with Ronnie and I. I remember not being afraid. They did not hurt us or force us to do anything although we ended up doing everything one could imagine at the age of eleven. We all slept in that big bed in the back of the motor home that night. I remember feeling so safe next to them. The next morning we all got up and had breakfast from the grill outside he had set up the night before. I felt like this was better than home. No pressure, no survival. Just being a kid. The fact that we had sex with these people didnīt even seem to matter to me or Ronnie. It all seemed so easy and fun. After breakfast we were back on the road in the motor home. The fact that she was still naked as she was driving the motor home down the highway did not even seem important or even weird at the time.
Shooting the Gun
About thirty minutes into the drive the old man sat down next to me with a box in his hand. He asked me if I had ever shot a gun. I said no. He pulled a German Lugar pistol from the box. He then pushed it into my hand and said I was about to shoot my first gun. He led me to the back of the motor home as we were going down the highway and we sat on the big bed facing the big window at the very back of the room. He opened the curtain, slid open the back window, removed the screen and told me to "take a shot". He directed my attention to the passing signs that were shooting by us from behind and urged me to shoot at a sign. I remember lifting the gun and taking the shot. I hit the road sign! Then Ronnie took his turn. It was just a great moment for me. I thought this was the greatest guy in the world. Not far up the road, the old lady pulled the motor home off the road and stopped. The grandpa opened the door and told us that they were heading inland and we would have to get out. The old lady handed Ronnie a big bag of sandwiches she had made for us and the grandpa handed me a ten dollar bill. She hugged both of us just like she was our real grandma. They said goodbye, we got out of the motor home and they drove away. I remember seeing the ocean far away and below us. We were not afraid, but we were alone again. We looked out toward the ocean where the land met the water in the far distance. We could see what we thought was San Francisco. We got on the road and put out our thumbs. The two old people made us feel safe, but still, as with most people, they were more than able to "look the other way".
The Bad Man with a Can Opener
There are strange people who are not at all bad. There are bad people who are not at all strange. There are strange people who are very bad and unfortunately one was driving the next car we got into. I donīt remember what make and model the car was. I do remember it was new, it was fancy and this guy had to have a lot of money to be driving this car. To our young minds, rich meant safe. He asked where we were headed. We told him we were headed to San Francisco. He asked if we were runaways. We said we were. He waved us into the car, we got in, and he hit the gas. The man was older. Not as old as the couple in the motor home, but older than the guys in the station wagon. He said he had to make a short stop and would take us into San Francisco if we were willing to wait a few minutes. We said okay and in about 15 minutes he pulled onto a dirt road. He stopped, pulled out what looked like the biggest knife in the world and told us to remain perfectly still unless we wanted to die. He reached under his seat and brought out a large roll of tape. In a minute both Ronnie and I were bound with our hands behind us. I was sure at that moment my life was about to come to an end and I began to cry. I am not sure of the actual amount of time we were there, but it seemed like an hour or two. He did a lot of bad things to us; First me and then Ronnie. I remember Ronnie screaming and crying as he watched the man hurting me. The man kept telling Ronnie, "Youīre next".
I remember feeling the blood in my jeans. The pain was unimaginable. Like a powerful burning. Ronnie and I were both bleeding like that. When the man was finished he pulled out a large, very sharp can opener. The kind we used to open cans with before the advent of the pop-top can. I started crying out loud and he grabbed me by my taped hands and pulled me out of the car. I do not know if he did it on purpose, or if it was an accident from the way I fell out of the car, but either way I felt the can opener stab deeply into my side directly under my right armpit. I saw my blood pouring onto the ground. He pulled out a knife. I was sure he was about to kill me, but to my surprise, he cut the tape that he used to bind my hands.
Ronnie started yelling and the man pulled him out of the car too. He threw all our stuff out of his car on to the ground next to us. The car sped away and we were yelling for help. Crying my eyes out and hardy able to breath, I took the tape off of Ronnie. Later we stood there on the road crying and screaming to the passing cars. We were both covered in blood. I remember lots of cars driving passed us, slowing down just enough to take a good look at us. A van slowly passed us and then stopped. I remember the van backing up to the place where we were standing. They were looking at us threw the closed window of the passenger side of the van. I was sure they would leave when I heard the driverīs side door open and saw the man climb out and walk to our side. "Oh my God" was all he said.
The van doors on our side opened and an elderly woman got out. The man said something to his wife about all the blood. I was scared to death and my blood was still dripping onto the ground. The old man quickly brought a bag from his van and started to help me. I remember he told me that the bleeding had stopped and that it looked a lot worse than it actually was. They put us in their van and started driving. They offered to take us to our homes, thinking we lived in the immediate area. We told them we were runaways from Los Angeles and that we could not go home right now. I was surprised that they did not take us to the police. There was a reason they didnīt. We would later learn what that reason was. They asked us if we would like to come home with them. They had just helped us and we were more afraid of being alone than we were of these two old people. We both said yes.
A Night on the Farm
It was a farm; a real farm. There was a barn and everything. I heard cows and chickens in the near distance as we were getting out of the van and there was a real peacock standing right on the back porch we were walking in the direction of. I knew we were close to San Francisco, but this place seemed like it was way out in the middle of nowhere. The man opened the back door and turned on the lights inside and outside on the porch. When we walked in we were in the kitchen. Our cloths were covered in dirt and blood. The lady told us to get out of our cloths so she could wash them. She handed each of us a large T-shirt to wear while our cloths were being cleaned and dried. I remember she immediately began to prepare food for us and also started the bath water running in a room down the hallway from the kitchen. She told us we would have roast beef sandwiches just as soon as we got out of the bath she was running for us. She led us to the bathroom. We both took off our oversized t-shirts and got into the warm bath. Just as the elderly lady in the motor home had done, she began to wash us. We were in a great deal of pain and she was very careful in the way she cleaned us. When we got out of the bath, she dried us off and bandaged up my side. She put a salve or balm on the parts of our bodies that were still slightly bleeding. I remember her telling us that somebody needed to horse whip the person who did this to us. Her voice was calming and her words disarmed our fear. She told me that if I was still bleeding in a couple of hours she would have to take me to a hospital. Our knees and elbows were all scraped up and cut. My head had a gash in it where the bleeding had scabbed up just above my right ear. My side had a large stab wound which she had bandaged and my bottom was bleeding. Ronnieīs condition was similar to mine except he didnīt have the head or side wound. Oddly enough it didnīt really hurt that much once it was all cleaned and medicated. She asked if we liked the Beatles. Of course we said yes. She told us that the Beatles were going to be on TV and asked if we would like to see them. She led us to the living room where the television was. The room was full of plants. All lined up along the walls. I realized then why they didnīt take us to the police when they found us bleeding on the road. All the plants in this living room were marijuana plants. They were growing the stuff all over the inside of their house. Every room was filled with plants and lights; The Barn too.
We turned on the TV and the Beatles came on. The man came into the room and sat with us. He told us his name was Virgil. He sat down next to me and lit up a joint as though it were a regular cigarette. He asked me if I had ever smoked grass. I said I had seen my brother and his friends smoking grass. (Actually, I smoked grass when I was nine years old). He handed the joint to me. I handed it to Ronnie who took a hit and handed it to the lady. She told us her name was Rita, stood up, undressed and sat down again. Virgil stood up, took off his cloths and sat down. He told us not to worry about being naked because he and Rita were naturists (nudist) and being naked at home was the way they lived. Actually, it didnīt bother me a bit and Ronnie didnīt seem to care either. After what we had already experienced it all seemed so unimportant now. We all watched the Beatles together.
I felt safe with Virgil and Rita. They were just a couple of older hippies. I liked hippies. The ones I had known were friendly and mostly harmless people who just wanted to live and let live. I remember we all went to bed late and all slept in the same bed. In the morning, Rita fixed us all a big breakfast and asked if we wanted to stay another night with them. They offered to show us the farm and give us a break from the road for a day. We were happy to accept. I was having a great time on the farm that day. The fact that we were all naked the whole day, inside the house and while we were outside on the farm, didnīt distract from the fun we all had that day. No sex.
That second night, we talked a lot and became friends. They were an older couple, but we talked to them just like they were our age. I remember thinking how nice it would have been to have parents like these two people. We all slept in the same bed as the night before. Virgil and Rita did not hurt us, but there was contact of a sexual nature that second night in bed. I still liked them though. They helped us when we needed help. They did, wrongly, take their share of our childhood from us, but I never held it against
them. To this day, my memories and thoughts of them are good. They may well have saved our lives. The next morning Virgil drove us all the way into San Francisco and left us in a place he called Castro. The place was full of hippies and flower children. It was neat; until night came.
The Two Guys
The sign said "mission". Virgil said we would be able to get food and even spend the night there if they believed we had no where else to go. Night was falling. To an eleven year old and twelve year old alone in a big city, "night" means something scary. We went into the mission. Inside the air was musty and the place was dirty. There were two guys at the counter and they were quick to greet us. We told them we were hungry and that we had no where to sleep. They told us that we could stay at the mission overnight and even get our cloths cleaned. We felt safe. The mission had a cafeteria. The two guys stayed with us while we ate.
As we were eating, the two guys were talking a lot to each other and it became very obvious to Ronnie and I that the two guys were more of a "couple" than just two friends. We had been exposed to a variety of people before that, so these guys were not something we had not seen before. We also knew what would probably be coming later in the night should we stay the night. We decided to leave after we ate. That was much easier said than done. After we ate we told the two guys that we wanted to leave. They suggested that we first cleanup and change cloths. They offered us new jeans and shirts. Then they took us up to an apartment inside the mission. To make a long story short, they locked us in the apartment, tied us to their beds and took turns hurting both of us. They also filmed the whole thing with a home movie camera. After they were done they told us how sorry they were about the whole thing. They released us the next morning. We both had new jeans and new shirts. Not much of a deal. We had not been beaten or tortured
by the two guys. No foreign objects, or can opener had been thrust into either one of us, and we had not been drugged. We felt fortunate just being alive and back on the street.
The SR
We wondered around the city for awhile remaining in what I now know to be the Castro area of San Francisco. We were clean, the day was warm, the streets were crowded with people, and we still had some money in our pockets. We felt good. Ronnie wanted a hamburger. We saw a hamburger place and went in. We sat at the counter. The guy who took our order was really nice. We ordered two hamburgers. He brought us two hamburgers, French fries and grape drinks. We told him that we only ordered hamburgers. He told us that he wanted us to have the French fries and soda for free. That was cool with us. I know we should have been suspicious, but we werenīt. The guy told us his name was Rollin. He talked to us and we told him about our trip. He asked us if we wanted to stay at his house for the night. He seemed liked a good guy and we said yes. We just sort of hung around the area until Rollin got off work. Rollin came out of the Hamburger place and we all started walking. He said he always stopped at a place where he met with friends before he went home. He was sure we would like his friends too. He asked if we had ever been to a SR. Neither of us had. In fact, we didnīt even know what an SR was. We went. We met Rollinīs friends and a lot of people he did not know.
The music was loud, and the whole place was dark and damp. There were small rooms everywhere. What happened there during the next hour or two was really bad for two kids our age. What we witnessed there was really, really bad. I have never told anyone what happened there that day. I am not sure anyone would believe me. After about one hour inside the place, we were able to get close enough to the door to hurry our way out without Rollin taking notice. He had become much occupied with his friends. We did not go home with Rollin. We slept in a place called Golden Park; I think that was the name anyway. There was a group of hippies there in the park. They were friendly and we just sort of stayed close to them all night. They offered us sleeping bags. We slept well in that park. The hippie group told us how to get back to the road that would take us back to Los Angeles. They gave us money and food. We headed the way they showed us to go.
The Meanest Looking Guy in the World
We were trying to get home. All we knew really was that if we followed the coast in the opposite direction we had arrived in, we would eventually arrive in an area we could recognize, like Long Beach, or Huntington Beach. From there we would know our way home to La Puente. We put out our thumbs. It was a 1955 Chevy. Red, souped up, magg wheels and music blaring. It stopped. The driver waved at us. We ran to the passenger side of the two door car. He was a giant. Shoulder length hair, huge hairy arms, tattoos and a beard. His clothes were leather and his eyes were large and seemingly on fire. He asked where we were going. We told him we were on our way home to Los Angeles. "Get in" he said. We did. He turned off the music. He asked us where our parents were. We told him we had run away from home in Los Angeles and that we were now returning. I will never forget what he said next. He said " God sent me to take you back to your home". We were about five hundred miles from home. He took us home. He took us all the way to our La Puente home. He dropped us off at the corner of Sunset and Temple in La Puente. I remember him telling us all about God for the entire five hundred mile trip. He bought our food, paid for our hotel room, which he did not stay in, and treated us as though we were very important to his trip. I have often wondered if he was just the nicest adult in the world, or a real angel sent to get us home.
Ronnie later died a tragic death, as did my brother Johnny and my little brother Danny who was not mentioned in this story.
"May I forget what ought to be forgotten; and recall, unfailing, all that ought to be recalled, each kindly thing, forgetting what might sting"
Mary Carolyn Davies (1892-1941)
Looking back, I have always thought that my own life: I mean the fact that I am still alive, has been a miracle. I know there are suffering children everywhere on earth. I have seen the suffering children in Liberia Africa when I was there with the U.S. Embassy. Liberiaīs children lived in squalled and poverty stricken circumstances; living and dieing at the whim of the armed rouges who occupied every part of the country and who used Liberiaīs children as theirs to do with as they wished, and they did.
I have witnessed the suffering children in Egypt where I lived four years working as a civilian on a U.S. Military project. There a dictator, Hosny Mubarak, rules with an iron hand, almost totally ignoring the plight and suffering of his countryīs children, most of whom do not go to school, working instead in the fields where they will never learn to read, or write and where they are seemingly no more than property. The U.S. government provides Egypt with about 2.3 Billion dollars every year in aid, 97% of which goes to weapons. Yes, I know children suffer in this world.
I have also seen the terrible suffering of the children in Iraq where I lived and worked for over three years. The living hell we have created in Iraq is beyond explanation. Fear, hunger, religious persecution, death, chaos, destruction and mayhem have been the result of our presence in Iraq. I have seen a dead child in the arms of her mother who was beside herself with grief and disbelief that her own child had just been murdered. My own son was wounded there in 2006 and another son served two fifteen month tours there. They are my own children. All this while many of the Iraqi government officials profit heavily on the chaos we have conveniently provided. The house of cards we have built there most certainly, will bring greater suffering to the children if Iraq.
I saw the suffering children in Vietnam when I was there in 1970 as a young U.S. Marine. Iīve seen the suffering of children in Chile where, in 1985, I served in the U.S. Embassy, Santiago as the Detachment Commander of the Marine Security guards. There, the children of the Santiago slums of Pudahuel existed where the floors are made of dirt and where bread and rice are the primary staples for the millions of children living there. Yes, I know that children all over the world do suffer at the hands of adults. Me too; adults hurt me too, but the difference is that I lived and survived. I have tried not to allow what happened to me to drive the rest of my life, or to define who I am. Most of the suffering children I have seen in the world never had that chance. Iīm one of the lucky ones.
Before the trip to San Francisco took place I had spent some time in a Los Angeles reform school. Itīs like a blur from so long ago. I forget if I was eleven or twelve. I remember I was there for about two months. It was like a camp in the mountains. We didnīt have any choice there either. The "counselors" acted as though they owned us all. They did what ever they wanted to the boys in that camp. It was terrifying. When one has no choice, life is full of fear and even terror.
Itīs 2008. I am 56 years old and still married to the sixteen year old girl who stood at the alter with me when I was seventeen. I am a Vietnam veteran, a retired U.S. Marine, father of four and grandfather of twelve. After twenty-two years in the Marines I became an aviation logistics consultant to the Department of Defense and several Defense Contractors. I was a logistics lead in the 92-93 Kuwait rebuild after Saddam had been chased back into Iraq. I was the Kaman Aerospace logistics lead for four years in Egypt, Airport Director of Basrah international Airport Iraq in 2003. I became the V.P. of Aviation services for a U.S. Corporation in Baghdad, Iraq and later received a U.S. State Department Diplomatic Appointment in the U.S. Embassy in Baghdad in 2005 where I personally performed the first nine site surveys all over Iraq for the U.S. State Department Provincial Reconstruction Teams. I was also a U.S. Logistics Advisor to the Iraqi Minister of Interior. All told, I spent 37 months in Iraq, and I unsuccessfully ran as a Democratic candidate for the U.S. Congress from North Carolina. Today I am a Program Manager for a Defense Contractor working on a critical logistics project for the U.S. Army, overseeing a staff of over one hundred government contractors.
Although in my life, I have not cured a disease, invented something which would revolutionize modern man, or stopped hunger in the world, it is important to me that my decedents know I cared. I cared about the inequity I saw in the world and I did what I could, on a personal level, to bring dignity, respect and a sense of self worth to those less fortunate than I. I strived to improve mankindīs condition in this world and tried to be an example for compassion, understanding and tolerance. I say all of this because things may have turned out very different for me than what has unfolded in my life. Even today, I am eternally grateful and continuously remind my self how things might have turned out for me. My childhood was not exactly a Sunday morning stroll.
In the summer of 1965, my best friend Ronnie and I caught-up in the notion that we could jump on a moving train and ride it for a few minutes and jump off. Well we did it. I mean we jumped the moving train. The jumping off the moving train became a problem and we unwittingly began a trip which would take us from La Puente California all the way to San Francisco. I was twelve years old and Ronnie was eleven. Along the way we met a good number of adults. With the exception of two occasions wherein we were given a ride, all of the people who had offered to "help" us either took sexual liberties, or hurt us. One guy almost killed both of us.
I am not an authority on human nature, but I learned a great deal about the dark side of "good" people on our unintended Six days to San Francisco.
Ronnie and I both lived in very fractured and dysfunctional families.
My parents were divorced. My father, Johnny, worked in a fertilizer factory in the neighboring town of Pico Rivera where he lived with his girlfriend. My mom lived with her boyfriend in the neighboring town of Baldwin Park. My fourteen year old brother Johnny and I lived in what was known as a "crash pad" (Technically a vacant house), where various and numerous hoodlums , drug pushers, bikers and vagrant bad people came and went. Ronnie lived at home with his mom and dad. Ronnieīs parents were poor miserable people who spent their time trying to make a small shoe repair shop work. They allowed Ronnie to come and go as he pleased and never complained about my constant presence in their home. They would tell Ronnie not to hang around with me and then feed me supper in the evening if they saw me there. Ronnieīs older brother Raul pushed drugs and burglarized homes with my brother Johnny. Raul kept Ronnie in check through sheer terror and fear. He was ruthless and often beat both Ronnie and I just to maintain our stark fear of him. Our families are not really part of this story, but it was these very broken family circumstances which made our unplanned trip from La Puente to San Francisco and back possible. Looking back I think one of the saddest parts of this story is that when we finally did get back home; nobody had even noticed we were gone.
Jumping the train (A two mile trip)
It was summer. No school to think about. Ronnie and I were walking along the railroad tracks that ran along Valley Blvd. which ran in a North-South direction through our town, La Puente. We knew the train went to neighboring El Monte about two miles down the track. We didnīt know that it wouldnīt be stopping there that day. I mean, how much can an eleven year old be expected to know? Anyway, we used to go to the driving range, across the street from Willow Jr. High School, near the railroad tracks. The guy who worked at the driving range would give us three cents for every golf ball we could find in the fields that surrounded the driving range fence. We were looking for golf balls and were not finding many that day, so we sat on the train tracks to just wait for a few stray golf balls. We knew a train was coming. The tracks were vibrating. It signaled that a train was coming down the tracks. We got up and moved away from the tracks. We picked up a few rocks to throw at the bums we knew we would see riding the train, and it came. It consisted of a bunch of flat cars separated by the occasional boxcar. No bums this time to throw our rocks at. It was moving very slow. So slow, that we thought we could get on it and jump off right away without any problems. Anyway, the train was only going as far as El Monte right up the way, about two miles. At least that is what we thought. We had never jumped the train before. It would be a first for us. It looked easy. It must have been because before I knew it we were on the three step ladder into a boxcar. It felt real neat riding the train. No one was in the boxcar we jumped onto so we ran up and down inside like we owned the place. While we were doing that, we failed to notice the train gaining speed.
By the time we did noticed, it was too late. We could not get off the train. Jumping now looked like it would be fatal, so we just sat at the open door waiting for the train to stop in El Monte, about 5 minutes up the track. It didnīt stop there. It didnīt even slow down. So there we were, speeding down the tracks in the direction of The City of Los Angeles. We planned on jumping off the train as soon as it slowed down, where-ever that was.
I remember seeing the Old Sears store in East Los Angeles and then the Olympic boxing stadium as the train shot through Los Angeles. The train kept going north. I am not really sure how long we had been riding, but it was a pretty long time and I was hungry. Finally the train began to slow down. We were so relieved to feel the slowing motion of the box car. We were sitting with our legs hanging out of the car. Waiting, for what seemed like forever, for the Train to slow down just a little more. We did not know where we were, but we knew we had to jump off as soon as we could. We were just waiting for the right moment to get off that train.
The Bums
They appeared. I do not know where they came from, but without any warning Ronnie and I were both being lifted into the air by two men who had come into the box car without our noticing it. They carried us to the closed end of the box car and threw us on the floor. One asked if we had any money. Ronnie spoke up and said "no". The other man grabbed me by the throat and lifted me into the air. He told his friend that he was going to cut me up with his knife. I remember looking at Ronnie. He was crying. I started to cry too. The man put me down and pushed me to the open door. Ronnie was already there. They told us to jump off the train or die. Scared to jump, scared to stay. We jumped.
I will never recommend that anyone jump from a moving train, no matter how slow it may be moving. We landed in gravel. Lots of rocks. I think my fear of those two men overcame any fear of what could happen when I hit the ground after jumping. It hurt. Both of us were laying on the gravel crying, bleeding, lost, broke, scared, and worst of all, we were just kids. More bloody than actually hurt, we sat there crying a long time; Maybe half an hour. To this day I do not know where we were at that moment.
First Blood (Then a real bad decision)
There was a park across the street from where we jumped from the train. We went there to get some water. It was getting dark. We stayed in the park that night. The night was warm, the water plentiful and a there were a dozen trash cans filled with peopleīs discarded food from that days fun at the park. We had warmth, water and food. It was all we needed at the moment. We slept on a picnic table. The next morning we had to decide what to do next and where to go. The day was sunny and warm. We had eaten some food from the trash and cleaned ourselves in the park bathroom. We felt better and the fear of the previous day was gone. We walked toward the nearby highway. When we got to the road there was a sign, "San Francisco 360 miles". It was all so spontaneous, but we just decided to hitchhike to San Francisco. We were sure that there would be lots of people who would give a couple of "kids" a ride. We were right. Grownups liked kids.
Hitching a Ride
We decided to stand at the sign and put out our thumbs. If we could not get a ride, we still had the park to go back to. It was already showing signs of people setting up their picnics and we knew we could, at least, eat there. To our surprise, we were only hitchhiking for about ten minutes when a car pulled over and stopped. The door opened and a young man, a grownup, asked where we were going. Ronnie yelled "San Francisco!", and the guy said "get in". We did. There were three people in the station wagon. All men, all white, all clean and they all said hi. They seemed very friendly and asked us our names and where we came from. They asked why we were going to San Francisco and how we got all scrapped up on our knees and elbows. We told them about the bums on the train and how they made us jump. We also told them that we had run away from home. I am not exactly sure where we were, but I remember seeing the ocean to our left and mountains on our right. I remember thinking how pretty it all was. The driver asked if we were hungry and we said we were. He asked if we would like him to buy our lunch. We said yes and he pulled the car over into a shaded rest area. We were too young to be suspicious. The driver said he wanted to clean our bloodied elbows and knees using a first aid kit from his car. After that we could go eat. We were off the road and could not be seen by the passing cars on the nearby highway. One of the guys put the back seat down to create a flat surface in the back of the station wagon and told us to take off our cloths and lay in the back of the station wagon so they could clean our wounds. We did it and he promptly began cleaning our wounds. Everything seemed alright and then it didnīt. It got very worrisome. All of them were over us. I got scared and Ronnie was already beginning to panic. About the time we began screaming at the top of our lungs and they seemed to panic too and began to quickly back away. We grabbed our clothes. I remember the guy who had cleaned our wounds saying "Please donīt be afraid; We are not going to hurt you". He handed me a five dollar bill and told me to get something to eat. The car sped away. We had five bucks and band aids on our cuts. We walked up to the road and put out our thumbs.
The Old Folks
Although the three guys who had given us a ride did not actually hurt us, we were both relieved to get away from them. I think they might have hurt us given the time and circumstances. We were beginning to think that the bad guys we knew, back home at the crash pad, werenīt all that bad after all. The bikers and druggies who lived at the crash pad had never tried to molest me although, from time to time, I had been beaten to a pulp by a few of them.
A huge motor home pulled over to the side of the road and an old, grandfather type, man stepped out of the side door. "You boys need a ride"? "We need lunch and a ride" was Ronnieīs quick reply. The man was totally gray on his head and tall, real tall. He looked like he could be anybodyīs grandfather. Waving his arm in a "come here" gesture he said "letīs eat". We ran to the motor home and stepped into the side door. I remember it looked like a house inside. In fact I could not remember ever living in a house that nice. I donīt know why, but I was surprised to see the old woman standing at the sink opening a loaf of bread. They were nice people. We told them about our previous days travel and they listened like they really cared. In fact I am sure, even to this day, they did. We all ate together and the old woman got behind the wheel and we were off on the road again. They were a very happy sort of couple. We listened to all their stories and they told us about their grandchildren and other family members. It was getting dark again. The man told us that they would stop at the next rest stop for the night, but that we were welcome to stay with them and continue with them the next morning if we wanted to. We did.
The Rest Stop (Old folks do more than they are telling)
We pulled into a highway rest stop. The old lady parked the motor home and set a couple of chairs outside while the old man set up an outside grill for cooking. Ronnie and I played in the playground. She called us to come and eat. It seemed really nice. It was like we were a family, or something. Later that night, we were all back in the motor home and the old lady told us we should take a shower and then get ready for bed. It sounded good to me. The fact that she was standing right over me while I undressed did not bother me. She was a grandma! She turned on the shower and I got in. I was a little surprised when she grabbed the bar of soap and began to clean my body, but she was a grandma so what harm could it do? She did a very detailed job of cleaning me and she was careful with the scraps and cuts. When she was finished with me, it was Ronnieīs turn and he jumped in the shower. The old lady washed him as she had me. After showering us she directed us to the big bed in the back of the motor home where she tucked us in. I remember wondering where her and her husband were going to sleep, being that Ronnie and I were now in the only bed in the motor home. Then there she was. The old man too. Both naked as the day they were born and getting into bed with us. It did not take long to see where this was going. They were a very active couple. They were having a great time with Ronnie and I. I remember not being afraid. They did not hurt us or force us to do anything although we ended up doing everything one could imagine at the age of eleven. We all slept in that big bed in the back of the motor home that night. I remember feeling so safe next to them. The next morning we all got up and had breakfast from the grill outside he had set up the night before. I felt like this was better than home. No pressure, no survival. Just being a kid. The fact that we had sex with these people didnīt even seem to matter to me or Ronnie. It all seemed so easy and fun. After breakfast we were back on the road in the motor home. The fact that she was still naked as she was driving the motor home down the highway did not even seem important or even weird at the time.
Shooting the Gun
About thirty minutes into the drive the old man sat down next to me with a box in his hand. He asked me if I had ever shot a gun. I said no. He pulled a German Lugar pistol from the box. He then pushed it into my hand and said I was about to shoot my first gun. He led me to the back of the motor home as we were going down the highway and we sat on the big bed facing the big window at the very back of the room. He opened the curtain, slid open the back window, removed the screen and told me to "take a shot". He directed my attention to the passing signs that were shooting by us from behind and urged me to shoot at a sign. I remember lifting the gun and taking the shot. I hit the road sign! Then Ronnie took his turn. It was just a great moment for me. I thought this was the greatest guy in the world. Not far up the road, the old lady pulled the motor home off the road and stopped. The grandpa opened the door and told us that they were heading inland and we would have to get out. The old lady handed Ronnie a big bag of sandwiches she had made for us and the grandpa handed me a ten dollar bill. She hugged both of us just like she was our real grandma. They said goodbye, we got out of the motor home and they drove away. I remember seeing the ocean far away and below us. We were not afraid, but we were alone again. We looked out toward the ocean where the land met the water in the far distance. We could see what we thought was San Francisco. We got on the road and put out our thumbs. The two old people made us feel safe, but still, as with most people, they were more than able to "look the other way".
The Bad Man with a Can Opener
There are strange people who are not at all bad. There are bad people who are not at all strange. There are strange people who are very bad and unfortunately one was driving the next car we got into. I donīt remember what make and model the car was. I do remember it was new, it was fancy and this guy had to have a lot of money to be driving this car. To our young minds, rich meant safe. He asked where we were headed. We told him we were headed to San Francisco. He asked if we were runaways. We said we were. He waved us into the car, we got in, and he hit the gas. The man was older. Not as old as the couple in the motor home, but older than the guys in the station wagon. He said he had to make a short stop and would take us into San Francisco if we were willing to wait a few minutes. We said okay and in about 15 minutes he pulled onto a dirt road. He stopped, pulled out what looked like the biggest knife in the world and told us to remain perfectly still unless we wanted to die. He reached under his seat and brought out a large roll of tape. In a minute both Ronnie and I were bound with our hands behind us. I was sure at that moment my life was about to come to an end and I began to cry. I am not sure of the actual amount of time we were there, but it seemed like an hour or two. He did a lot of bad things to us; First me and then Ronnie. I remember Ronnie screaming and crying as he watched the man hurting me. The man kept telling Ronnie, "Youīre next".
I remember feeling the blood in my jeans. The pain was unimaginable. Like a powerful burning. Ronnie and I were both bleeding like that. When the man was finished he pulled out a large, very sharp can opener. The kind we used to open cans with before the advent of the pop-top can. I started crying out loud and he grabbed me by my taped hands and pulled me out of the car. I do not know if he did it on purpose, or if it was an accident from the way I fell out of the car, but either way I felt the can opener stab deeply into my side directly under my right armpit. I saw my blood pouring onto the ground. He pulled out a knife. I was sure he was about to kill me, but to my surprise, he cut the tape that he used to bind my hands.
Ronnie started yelling and the man pulled him out of the car too. He threw all our stuff out of his car on to the ground next to us. The car sped away and we were yelling for help. Crying my eyes out and hardy able to breath, I took the tape off of Ronnie. Later we stood there on the road crying and screaming to the passing cars. We were both covered in blood. I remember lots of cars driving passed us, slowing down just enough to take a good look at us. A van slowly passed us and then stopped. I remember the van backing up to the place where we were standing. They were looking at us threw the closed window of the passenger side of the van. I was sure they would leave when I heard the driverīs side door open and saw the man climb out and walk to our side. "Oh my God" was all he said.
The van doors on our side opened and an elderly woman got out. The man said something to his wife about all the blood. I was scared to death and my blood was still dripping onto the ground. The old man quickly brought a bag from his van and started to help me. I remember he told me that the bleeding had stopped and that it looked a lot worse than it actually was. They put us in their van and started driving. They offered to take us to our homes, thinking we lived in the immediate area. We told them we were runaways from Los Angeles and that we could not go home right now. I was surprised that they did not take us to the police. There was a reason they didnīt. We would later learn what that reason was. They asked us if we would like to come home with them. They had just helped us and we were more afraid of being alone than we were of these two old people. We both said yes.
A Night on the Farm
It was a farm; a real farm. There was a barn and everything. I heard cows and chickens in the near distance as we were getting out of the van and there was a real peacock standing right on the back porch we were walking in the direction of. I knew we were close to San Francisco, but this place seemed like it was way out in the middle of nowhere. The man opened the back door and turned on the lights inside and outside on the porch. When we walked in we were in the kitchen. Our cloths were covered in dirt and blood. The lady told us to get out of our cloths so she could wash them. She handed each of us a large T-shirt to wear while our cloths were being cleaned and dried. I remember she immediately began to prepare food for us and also started the bath water running in a room down the hallway from the kitchen. She told us we would have roast beef sandwiches just as soon as we got out of the bath she was running for us. She led us to the bathroom. We both took off our oversized t-shirts and got into the warm bath. Just as the elderly lady in the motor home had done, she began to wash us. We were in a great deal of pain and she was very careful in the way she cleaned us. When we got out of the bath, she dried us off and bandaged up my side. She put a salve or balm on the parts of our bodies that were still slightly bleeding. I remember her telling us that somebody needed to horse whip the person who did this to us. Her voice was calming and her words disarmed our fear. She told me that if I was still bleeding in a couple of hours she would have to take me to a hospital. Our knees and elbows were all scraped up and cut. My head had a gash in it where the bleeding had scabbed up just above my right ear. My side had a large stab wound which she had bandaged and my bottom was bleeding. Ronnieīs condition was similar to mine except he didnīt have the head or side wound. Oddly enough it didnīt really hurt that much once it was all cleaned and medicated. She asked if we liked the Beatles. Of course we said yes. She told us that the Beatles were going to be on TV and asked if we would like to see them. She led us to the living room where the television was. The room was full of plants. All lined up along the walls. I realized then why they didnīt take us to the police when they found us bleeding on the road. All the plants in this living room were marijuana plants. They were growing the stuff all over the inside of their house. Every room was filled with plants and lights; The Barn too.
We turned on the TV and the Beatles came on. The man came into the room and sat with us. He told us his name was Virgil. He sat down next to me and lit up a joint as though it were a regular cigarette. He asked me if I had ever smoked grass. I said I had seen my brother and his friends smoking grass. (Actually, I smoked grass when I was nine years old). He handed the joint to me. I handed it to Ronnie who took a hit and handed it to the lady. She told us her name was Rita, stood up, undressed and sat down again. Virgil stood up, took off his cloths and sat down. He told us not to worry about being naked because he and Rita were naturists (nudist) and being naked at home was the way they lived. Actually, it didnīt bother me a bit and Ronnie didnīt seem to care either. After what we had already experienced it all seemed so unimportant now. We all watched the Beatles together.
I felt safe with Virgil and Rita. They were just a couple of older hippies. I liked hippies. The ones I had known were friendly and mostly harmless people who just wanted to live and let live. I remember we all went to bed late and all slept in the same bed. In the morning, Rita fixed us all a big breakfast and asked if we wanted to stay another night with them. They offered to show us the farm and give us a break from the road for a day. We were happy to accept. I was having a great time on the farm that day. The fact that we were all naked the whole day, inside the house and while we were outside on the farm, didnīt distract from the fun we all had that day. No sex.
That second night, we talked a lot and became friends. They were an older couple, but we talked to them just like they were our age. I remember thinking how nice it would have been to have parents like these two people. We all slept in the same bed as the night before. Virgil and Rita did not hurt us, but there was contact of a sexual nature that second night in bed. I still liked them though. They helped us when we needed help. They did, wrongly, take their share of our childhood from us, but I never held it against
them. To this day, my memories and thoughts of them are good. They may well have saved our lives. The next morning Virgil drove us all the way into San Francisco and left us in a place he called Castro. The place was full of hippies and flower children. It was neat; until night came.
The Two Guys
The sign said "mission". Virgil said we would be able to get food and even spend the night there if they believed we had no where else to go. Night was falling. To an eleven year old and twelve year old alone in a big city, "night" means something scary. We went into the mission. Inside the air was musty and the place was dirty. There were two guys at the counter and they were quick to greet us. We told them we were hungry and that we had no where to sleep. They told us that we could stay at the mission overnight and even get our cloths cleaned. We felt safe. The mission had a cafeteria. The two guys stayed with us while we ate.
As we were eating, the two guys were talking a lot to each other and it became very obvious to Ronnie and I that the two guys were more of a "couple" than just two friends. We had been exposed to a variety of people before that, so these guys were not something we had not seen before. We also knew what would probably be coming later in the night should we stay the night. We decided to leave after we ate. That was much easier said than done. After we ate we told the two guys that we wanted to leave. They suggested that we first cleanup and change cloths. They offered us new jeans and shirts. Then they took us up to an apartment inside the mission. To make a long story short, they locked us in the apartment, tied us to their beds and took turns hurting both of us. They also filmed the whole thing with a home movie camera. After they were done they told us how sorry they were about the whole thing. They released us the next morning. We both had new jeans and new shirts. Not much of a deal. We had not been beaten or tortured
by the two guys. No foreign objects, or can opener had been thrust into either one of us, and we had not been drugged. We felt fortunate just being alive and back on the street.
The SR
We wondered around the city for awhile remaining in what I now know to be the Castro area of San Francisco. We were clean, the day was warm, the streets were crowded with people, and we still had some money in our pockets. We felt good. Ronnie wanted a hamburger. We saw a hamburger place and went in. We sat at the counter. The guy who took our order was really nice. We ordered two hamburgers. He brought us two hamburgers, French fries and grape drinks. We told him that we only ordered hamburgers. He told us that he wanted us to have the French fries and soda for free. That was cool with us. I know we should have been suspicious, but we werenīt. The guy told us his name was Rollin. He talked to us and we told him about our trip. He asked us if we wanted to stay at his house for the night. He seemed liked a good guy and we said yes. We just sort of hung around the area until Rollin got off work. Rollin came out of the Hamburger place and we all started walking. He said he always stopped at a place where he met with friends before he went home. He was sure we would like his friends too. He asked if we had ever been to a SR. Neither of us had. In fact, we didnīt even know what an SR was. We went. We met Rollinīs friends and a lot of people he did not know.
The music was loud, and the whole place was dark and damp. There were small rooms everywhere. What happened there during the next hour or two was really bad for two kids our age. What we witnessed there was really, really bad. I have never told anyone what happened there that day. I am not sure anyone would believe me. After about one hour inside the place, we were able to get close enough to the door to hurry our way out without Rollin taking notice. He had become much occupied with his friends. We did not go home with Rollin. We slept in a place called Golden Park; I think that was the name anyway. There was a group of hippies there in the park. They were friendly and we just sort of stayed close to them all night. They offered us sleeping bags. We slept well in that park. The hippie group told us how to get back to the road that would take us back to Los Angeles. They gave us money and food. We headed the way they showed us to go.
The Meanest Looking Guy in the World
We were trying to get home. All we knew really was that if we followed the coast in the opposite direction we had arrived in, we would eventually arrive in an area we could recognize, like Long Beach, or Huntington Beach. From there we would know our way home to La Puente. We put out our thumbs. It was a 1955 Chevy. Red, souped up, magg wheels and music blaring. It stopped. The driver waved at us. We ran to the passenger side of the two door car. He was a giant. Shoulder length hair, huge hairy arms, tattoos and a beard. His clothes were leather and his eyes were large and seemingly on fire. He asked where we were going. We told him we were on our way home to Los Angeles. "Get in" he said. We did. He turned off the music. He asked us where our parents were. We told him we had run away from home in Los Angeles and that we were now returning. I will never forget what he said next. He said " God sent me to take you back to your home". We were about five hundred miles from home. He took us home. He took us all the way to our La Puente home. He dropped us off at the corner of Sunset and Temple in La Puente. I remember him telling us all about God for the entire five hundred mile trip. He bought our food, paid for our hotel room, which he did not stay in, and treated us as though we were very important to his trip. I have often wondered if he was just the nicest adult in the world, or a real angel sent to get us home.
Ronnie later died a tragic death, as did my brother Johnny and my little brother Danny who was not mentioned in this story.
"May I forget what ought to be forgotten; and recall, unfailing, all that ought to be recalled, each kindly thing, forgetting what might sting"
Mary Carolyn Davies (1892-1941)