Niece starting high school recalls early days at South High

My 14-year-old niece Brittany is starting high school in a couple of weeks and can hardly wait for things to begin. Like the rest of us, she'll find out that high school is a four-year roller coaster ride with plenty of emotional ups, downs, twists and turns. And I'd guess most of the life lessons she learns won't be in the classroom either.

High school is about fitting in. I'll admit to being a nervous freshman that first day walking through those gates to South High School in Torrance, Calif. It was about four times bigger than Seaside Elementary and there were hundreds of kids I'd never seen before. Some of them seniors, too. And when you're 14 years old, there's a wide chasm -- physically, mentally . . . and socially -- between you and someone who is 17 or 18.

But things turned out OK when I saw a group of Burnout Beach surfing buddies sitting on a brick wall near the outside lunch tables. I wasn't alone. And some of those guys were sophomores and juniors . . . "experienced" scholars no doubt.

Soon those first days morphed into a routine that varied little for the first couple of years. Get up, eat a bite of Mom's breakfast, grab the books, wait on the corner for Mark Patton or Steve Rink, and walk two miles up and down a couple of big hills to the campus of red brick buildings, trees and green sports fields.

School backpacks hadn't been invented yet, so we carried our books curled awkwardly under our arms. My schedule included PE, English, social studies, German, history, math, journalism and woodshop. Teachers of the latter two classes left a lasting impression on me. Mr. Rische for inspiring me to become a writer and Mr. Maley for confiscating a guy's cigarettes and cutting them up on the band saw.

High school is about socializing. At South, the best time for visiting was before class in the outdoor locker bays, the 20-minute snack  period or lunchtime. Mom usually packed a lunch of sandwich, apple/banana, chips and cookie (wrapped in wax paper) in a brown bag and I ate on the outdoor benches. Rarely did I venture into the cafeteria.

There was lots to see and do while dining al fresco in the mild southern California climate. Watching kids playing intramural basketball or volleyball, taking photos for a journalism assignment, and greeting buddies -- or girls as they strolled by in their dresses. Yes dresses . . . pants or shorts wouldn't be allowed for girls (except on Bermuda day) for years to come.

Dances, football games and other school events also drew kids together. Dances in the gym were pretty good with bands like The Challengers, but the Spartan football team was lackluster at best and only won a couple of games the entire four years I was there.

High school is about rejection . . . and opportunity. In high school, there's almost nothing worse than having a pretty girl say no when you ask her for a date, or even a dance. Of course, I was too shy to ask very often. But when I did and heard the word "yes," it was like hearing a Beethoven symphony.

So Brittany, let me tell you what an old guy named Charlie Parkening once told me. "Kid. You're at the end of your troubles . . .  the front end." Have fun and hang on. That roller coaster ride is about to begin.

L.A. detectives quell crime -- one novel at a time

                            

Hundreds of novels have been set in Los Angeles. My preferred genre is the hard-boiled detective mystery featuring tough-as-nails private cops such as Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe. Or Michael Connelly's street-smart veteran Los Angeles Police detective Harry Bosch.

Former LAPD detective-turned-author Joseph Wambaugh writes good fact-based fictional stories about the personal lives and on-the-job adventures (misadventures?) of Los Angeles detectives and beat cops. His The New Centurions (1971) and The Blue Knight (1972) became movie and television hits. The Choirboys (1975) depicts the raucous side of off-duty cops.

Wambaugh penned other fiction and non-fiction works over the years, recently returning to familiar City of Angels turf with a series about L.A. cops in Hollywood. Hollywood Station (2006) has likeable characters, is fast paced and full of anecdotes gleaned from working officers. The series includes Hollywood Crows (2008), Hollywood Moon (2009) and Hollywood Hills (2010).

Author James Ellroy examines the gritty underside of 1950s L.A.in four gripping police mysteries, The Black Dahlia, White Jazz, The Big Nowhere and my favorite, L.A. Confidential, also an excellent movie starring Russell Crowe, Kevin Spacey and Kim Basinger.

I enjoyed the movie Devil in a Blue Dress (Denzel Washington), based on the 1990 detective mystery of the same name by Walter Mosley. It's one of his Easy Rawlins books about a Black detective in Los Angeles during the 1940s, '50s and '60s. The series includes Black Betty (1995), A Little Yellow Dog (1996), Cinnamon Kiss (2005) and others.

These days, though, it's Michael Connelly's  detective mysteries that earn most wanted status for me. Connelly is a former Los Angeles Times crime reporter and his books are well researched and crisply written. He has a feeling for local geography and character development and gets police and court procedure right. I've read half of his 16 Bosch novels and the others await on my bookshelf. Bosch also appears in other Connelly works. Three books to get you riding along with Harry Bosch are Angels Flight, The Concrete Blonde and The Black Echo.

Other writers of "Angelino" detective/crime fiction include Ross Macdonald and his Lew Archer private detective series and James M. Cain of The Postman Always Rings Twice fame.

If it's good reading about some bad people you want, these books can be a place to begin.

Mom, John and Me -- a day with the L.A. Dodgers

John, Shirley (Mom ), and Ken Palke

            It was early summer 1958. With Dad off to work, Mom took brother John and me to the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum for a day of major league baseball with the newly arrived Dodgers. It was my first game and it kindled my long-standing love affair with our national pastime.

            The team had just moved west from Brooklyn, N.Y. and was playing in the Coliseum while construction of Dodger Stadium was under way in nearby Chavez Ravine.

            I applaud Mom for her grit and determination in just getting us to the big oval stadium in Exposition Park, about eight miles north of 110th and Vermont in southwest L.A. where we lived. I was just 9 and John 6, but she herded us onto the old yellow and green streetcar (see photo), dropped three tokens into the fare box and we were off, the wooden car creaking and groaning along the steel tracks.

            We arrived at the Coliseum early. It had been built in the early 1920s, hosted the Olympic Games in 1932 and was set up for USC and UCLA football games. When the Dodgers arrived, it was configured for baseball during the summer months (see photo).

            After stepping off the streetcar, we were greeted by the cacophony of vendors yelling "scorecards . . . . get your programs here!" The pre-game excitement mounted as several Dodgers in street clothes marched through our small crowd, disappearing into the players gate. Duke Snider, Gil Hodges, Carl Furillo, Pee Wee Reese, Jim Gilliam and others would soon be putting on their white flannel uniforms, trimmed in blue, with the red front number. These were famous players from New York, but now their blue Dodger caps carried the letters L.A. instead of B for Brooklyn.

            We climbed the Coliseum's steep stairs to our seats and watched the players warm up -- shagging flies in the outfield and taking turns in the batting cage. Drysdale, Koufax, Erskine and the other pitchers running wind sprints. Pretty soon the game began. I don't remember too much more, or even how we got home. It was a lot to take in for one day.

            I'm sure my love of the sport developed from that very first game. I played Little League and Pony League baseball and have attended hundreds of Dodgers, Angels and Mariners games since. Ironically, my son Kevin's Little League team was named the Dodgers.

            These days, Pam and I enjoy going to see the minor-league Salem-Keizer Volcanoes at a ballpark close to our house.