When I got out of jail… errr… I mean, the Navy nine years ago I moved back to Long Beach. Six months prior, I had returned from my wanderings overseas and moved into a condo with my girlfriend at the time, Kim. We lived together for just six months, that was all I could stand.
Kim was your classic type ‘A’ personality. She was angry, perpetually stressed out, competitive and aggressive. Anyone who knows me can see what’s coming. I am definitely not a type ‘A’. I am an easygoing, carefree, I’ll-do-it-later kind of guy. We fought daily. She had tried in vain for two years to change me, and I just wouldn’t budge. That year at Thanksgiving she pushed me down on the bed, jumped on top of me, and wrapped her hands around my neck. She said that I wasn’t listening to her. OK, that’s it. Finally I had taken enough abuse and moved out.
After a brief stay on Andy’s couch I got my own place. It was a nice little studio apartment on 4th Street, two doors down from O’Connell’s pub. There was a little cafe next door that was only open for breakfast and lunch. Across the street was a video rental place and a little coffee shop. I was 4 blocks from the beach. It was the first time I had lived by myself.
To say the studio was small would be an understatement. There was barely enough room for my bed and a desk in the main room. The kitchen was super small and very old. If I had to guess I’d say the building was at least 80 years old. There were built-ins everywhere–drawers and cabinets, a Murphy bed and the like. This place was old, but baby it had style. On the other end of the apartment was the closet. You had to walk through the closet to get to the bathroom, how cool is that? My shower consisted of an old bathtub with little legs on all four corners that stood apart from the floor. There was a large circular ring thing that went around the edges about 7 feet off the ground for the shower curtain. When you took a shower the plastic curtain invariably got stuck to your skin. It was great.
I had an old transistor radio about the size of your palm that I bought for $1 at the Salvation Army. I put that in the window sill. Sometimes I’d each my lunch on the steps out back and listen to the music through my window. In the back yard there was a little grassy area and a clothes line, where I used to hang my wetsuits in the sun to dry after a surf session. Sometimes I’d go out back and lay in the grass, staring up at the sky, soaking up the sun. I’d think about how great it was to be alive, and to be free. I could smell the salty sea breeze from just a few blocks away. During the Long Beach Grand Prix I could hear the roar of the engines and the squeal of their tires.
My neighbors were pretty cool. There was a fox downstairs that I tried in vain to hit on every chance I got. What was her name? The month after I moved in my buddy Dan moved in downstairs. Dan was one of the guys from my ship. We usually hung out in all the foreign countries we landed in. We used to walk around Japan and ask for ridiculous things from shopkeepers, knowing they couldn’t understand us. We once stopped in a tea shop and asked the owner if he could send his daughters out to dance on our table. He just smiled and laughed along with us. A few months after Dan moved in, a friend from my fraternity moved in next door. Eric was a nice enough guy. I don’t think he could appreciate my sense of humor though. We never really hung out.
Dan and I used to sit on our front door stoop late at night and talk. I’d make herbal tea and bring it downstairs for us both. We’d watch the bike people make their rounds, carefully inspecting every car to see if it was unlocked and fishing in garbage cans for who knows what. Dan didn’t drink alcohol, so we never partied. He was a recovering alcoholic that tried very hard not to lecture me about my drinking. We were good friends. I miss him.
The bar on the corner, O’Connell’s was your typical Irish dive bar. There was sawdust on the floors and old beat-up barstools. The booths were no better, the vinyl seats were full of cigarette holes and splashed with silver duct tape in a lame attempt to hold them together. There were 3 pool tables in surprisingly good condition. One game cost 50 cents. The best thing about the bar was the jukebox. It was filled with music from all the old crooners. Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Dean Martin, and Louis Prima. This was by far my favorite hangout in Long Beach. I’d go down there with my cordless phone (in those days nobody had cell phones) and sit at the bar like I was the King. I could have some cheap draft beers, listen to some good tunes, play some cheap pool–it was great.
The cafe next door was run by a pair of gay guys. Gays don’t bother me at all. They can tell right away that I’m not gay, and they leave me alone. I used to go over there on Sunday mornings for breakfast. Eventually they offered me a job waiting tables. I did that for about a month, but wasn’t making as much money as I was at Moose McGillycuddy’s over at the marina so I quit. I could look out my side window and look down into their back patio area. When I was working there my girlfriend at the time, Michele, the best girlfriend I ever had, would stand in the window and wave at me. I really loved that girl. I just couldn’t give her what she wanted. It hurt when she left.
I have great memories of Long Beach. I really do miss the place. If I get this railroad job the chances are pretty good I’ll be moving back. I can’t wait.