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DEAR CHILDREN Head To Toe…And Everything In Between

den watching cartoons. I came in and asked you to turn
the TV off for a bit because I had something to tell you.

When I knew I had your full attention, I told you
I was leaving home. I didn’t know where I was going
but I had to leave.

You asked me why, and I told you that I prefer
to be with men rather than women and your Mom and
I decided it was best for me to leave.

Without blinking an eye, you said, “so you
mean you’re gay?” “Yes,” I said...fully expecting a
teenage tantrum but instead I got, “so what’s the big
deal?”

You may never know what that felt like to hear
you say that. If that’s not support, I don’t know what
is. No one knew what was happening to our family,
but somehow, we all saw it through.

You have been there for me through thick and
thin, good and bad, for better or worse, richer or
poorer.

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Oh wait…. I got carried away :)
Always there for each other, no matter what.
Always my baby girl.
Always my Katie.

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Carlos

When Carlos and I began dating in 1999, we
both knew several things going in: We were not kids,
I have health issues that might be difficult, and both of
us were coming out of long term relationships. But that
didn't stop us. We both knew that if you love strongly,
you will love again. We do love strong; we did love
again. How well I remember that first day we met and
the anticipation that came with that first day.

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Here we are all these years later, and on May 24,
we begin another year of love and help and support.
Things have changed over those years, naturally. My
health has deteriorated a bit, I've fallen and broken my
hip, I have back issues, and now hearing issues in both
ears. It bothers me that at times I think "this wasn't the
way it was supposed to be."

Then it dawns on me: Yes, it was. We take each
other day by day the best we can and deal with issues
the best we can. It may not always be the way we
planned, but this is the way it's supposed to be. This is
life. This is love. It's the price of admission.

Everyone has baggage. Some more than others,
but everyone does. I certainly came with enough
baggage to take a trip around the world and when
Carlos opened that baggage, he didn’t know what to
expect. But I know he found something that he liked
inside because he tells me every day. We never take

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each other for granted. We don’t fight or argue because
there is no reason to.

Every day I love this man more and more. Being
with him is like that first day we met so many years
ago.

I'm just forever grateful to have him in my life
as my partner, my best friend, my husband.

We're in it for the long haul...because we fit.

I love you, Pop.

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THE LITTL-IES

My grandchildren…and I have 5…are
beautiful. Inside and out. Watching them grow is an
absolute highlight of my life. I realize most
grandparents say the same thing about their
grandchildren, and rightfully so. Each one is precious
to our family.

Kristina Marie is our oldest. She was born
December 2, 1998 to Kate.

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Kristy (as only a few call her) is so pretty and so
intelligent. She doesn’t quite know what to make of
her life at this point; she’s only 21. She was working
at a fast-food restaurant until the pandemic hit, and she
was laid off. I’d love to see her go back to school and
pursue her talent in art. Some of her drawings are
unbelievably amazing. I hope she continues.

Yet another one of my “baby girls”, I love you
Kristy, with my total being. Thank you for your love
and support through tough times.

Julianna Elizabeth, born October 10, 2010, is
coming up on 10 years old this year. She’s a definite
“10” to us…she was bound to be a “10” in our family.
She was born 10-10-10 at 8:10 am, she was 19” long
(9+1=10) and she weight 6 lbs. 4 oz (6+4=10)

I call her Julie…Julie Bean…because right
before she was born and her parents named her
Julianna, they said they would call her Julie. So that’s
what stuck with me, and that’s what I call her, as do

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just a couple family members. Other than that, she is
Jules.

Julie has long, very curly hair, and some of the
pictures she takes are so so sweet. She loves to read
and reading beyond her years. I love this child.

The only boy in the clan, Troy Arthur. Troy was
born January 15, 2014, so next birthday he’ll be 7. I
cannot believe that.

Blond hair blue eyes, he takes after his mom,
Sonja. And some of the things he says and does bring
me to my knees with laughter. Just recently, he got a
flu shot, and he
tells us, “I thought I was gonna die!” From a 6-year-
old! Troy, just don’t become a diabetic. Then you’re
in for it. Troy is my “Troy-bear”. My dad used to call
me “bear” as a loving term of endearment. I carry that
on with Troy. My bear.

Brooke Inge, my Brookie, was born September
23, 2016, only 10 days past her great-grandmother’s

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passing. Such a sad time of our lives to lose Mom but
made up for it with Brooke coming into our lives.

Brookie has, what appears to me anyway, a very
strong personality…a “don’t mess with me”
personality. She favors Scott with the face and hair;
dark brown and full.

I love how Brooke lights up when she sees us.
That is what heaven is made of.

Our youngest, Margot Alexis, was born
December 18, 2018/ We call her Maggie, shortened to
“Pie” for Magpie”. I don’t know how long she’ll keep
that name. I can’t imagine someone asking her her
name and she says “Pie”.

Scott tells me that Sonja was holding her not
long ago, and Maggie wanted to get down and Sonja
wouldn’t let her. She looked at Scott and said,
“Dad….HELP.”

Maggie is a doll.

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AND WHEN I CAN’T
Somebody will.

In August 1996, after I had been married 27
years, I left home. I left my wife, my children, the
home she and I made together and were in the process
of raising our children. Our oldest, Scott, was 18. Our
daughter, Katie, was 16. She would turn 17 in
December. I had absolutely no idea how I would break
it to them that their dad was leaving, and it looked like
for good.

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I came out. Well, not really. I was pulled out.
Scott was so angry with me…so very very
angry…that he wouldn’t speak to me for weeks. This
pulled an otherwise close relationship apart and it was
something I didn’t know how to handle. The air was
very cold between us, and that’s not how it had been
for 18 years. I was crushed to think that something I
did hurt my child so deeply that being in the same
house with each other was a mental battleground. He
would be in the den watching television, and I would
come in, in the hopes we could talk. But every time I
came into the room, he would get up and leave. He
would usually go to his room and close the door. It
gave me the feeling of being alone in a world that not
only didn’t understand, but seemingly didn’t want to
understand. It made me feel like I was in a house where
I didn’t fit and didn’t belong.
Weeks went by without an exchange of words
between us. I was devastated, but I can’t begin to
imagine how it made him feel. He was silent, he was

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distant. I’m sure he felt betrayed by his own father and
didn’t know how to handle it. Perhaps even now I
don’t think he knew what to do back then and he just
did the best and easiest thing he could do at the
moment, and that was to pretend that it didn’t happen
and didn’t exist.

Scott and I always had a close relationship. We
were both the men of the house, but when we played
with each other, we were the boys of the house. We
had a fun time together; always did. We were not just
“father and son”, but we were “dad and boy”. From the
moment he was born, I always had the pride in him
that dads typically have with their sons. I was part of
that nurturing team that helped raise him. We camped
together, I was his Boy Scout leader, we made crafts
together…why, one day in his school when he was
quite young, he was being called up in an assembly for
some kind of award, and his shirt was dirty. I had just
come from work to see the presentation, and he told
me that they wouldn’t allow him on stage because of

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his shirt. I took my own shirt off, to reveal a t-shirt,
and literally gave him the shirt off my back. The collar
was too big, the shirt tails too long, and what was a
short sleeve shirt on me was a long sleeve shirt on him.
But I wouldn’t let him be excluded from that
presentation, and he was beyond excited that he could
be presented with the award. He looked like the
shrunken man, but he had a clean shirt on.

But that was years before. But that’s the kind of
relationship he and I always had, so it was very
difficult for us both for him to try and come to terms
with my being gay. I decided after three weeks of the
silent treatment, to force him to talk. As I came into
the den, fully prepared to fight, he started to get up, as
he usually did when I walked in.

“Sit down.” I said. “No, I don’t want to talk to
you.”

“I said sit down. You’ll do what I tell you
because I am your father and as long as you live in my
house, you’ll do as I tell you.” That took a lot of balls

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on my part because it just wasn’t the way I used to
handle things, nor was it what he expected from me.

He sat back down.
My demeanor changed from anger and upset to
calm and composed. “Scott, I need to tell you a few
things. First off, if you are thinking something like this
will happen to you, you’d have known by now. You’re
not gay. But I am. It’s something I didn’t choose, nor
can I help it. But that’s the way things are. I hope you
will find it in your heart to accept me and to realize
that I will never ever stop loving you. You are my son,
you are my flesh and blood, and I love you with every
part of my being. I never want to stop talking to you,
nor you to me. We can’t do that.”
I’m sure more was said because we began
having a relationship again, and we do to this day.
Katie, on the other hand, was very nonchalant
about this entire thing. I remember going into the den
on a Saturday morning when she was watching
television. I said to her, “Katie, please turn the

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television off for a moment because I need to talk to
you.” She did, and her attention was drawn to me for
a moment. “Your mother and I are going to separate
because she found out that I like guys.” “So you’re
gay?” “Yes, I am.” “So what’s the big deal?” That’s
my “baby girl” (something I’ve called her since the
day she was born). Being gay never bothered her that
I recall. If it did or does, I didn’t know.

I left home in mid-August 1996. I had nowhere
to go. I had given thought to going to my mother’s in
Sherman Oaks but surely, she would want to know
what happened. Why did I leave? Was I ever going
back? I was too embarrassed to tell her why.

I became a “couch guest” for the next 3-4 weeks
with people I had met on the internet chat rooms. I felt
the lowest of lows. I would take up residence for a few
days at a time and when I felt that I was like that 3 day
old fish that starts to smell and become unwelcomed,
I’d find another place to bunk down. Sometimes I slept
in my car not knowing where my next couch or meal

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would be. I felt destitute. I didn’t work anymore
because of some health issues that put me on
permanent disability, so I didn’t even have a job to go
to. I was 49 years old and never felt so alone and lonely
in my life. I felt unliked, I felt unattractive, I felt
unloved.

Those weeks were the longest and loneliest of
my life. Finally, I decided to face facts and tell my
mother that I needed a place to stay. A place to move.
A home. Certainly, she welcomed me into her house.
She was living alone, having been recently widowed a
few months before. I never told her the reason why I
left, and it remained my secret for over a year before I
decided to come clean with her. That was on my 51st
birthday, January 22, 1998.

I remember being very distraught and going to
move into my mother's house. After leaving home
really not having a place to call home is when I moved
into my mothers and I remember sleeping on the couch
instead of the bedroom that she allowed me to have.

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The bedroom was something I just could not get used

to and I was feeling very alone, very depressed, and

very sorry for myself.

Those were very lonely times indeed. Three
very lonely years I spent. It wasn’t until May 1999,
that I began to feel like all was not lost. Prior to that,
three Christmases were spent alone in my bedroom,
with Mom in the den. She had no one. I had no one.
All we really had was each other...and social
guidelines dictate that you don’t date your mother. I
spent every waking moment in front of the computer,
trying to make friends, trying to be liked.

In early May 1999, I seemed to click with
someone in a local chat room. He had commented on
my website that was filled with photographs I had
taken. He was very complimentary of my work. My
first thought was, “who are you and why are you
saying these nice things?” I was very leery of this
because it was only a chat room. I had no idea who he
was, and he really had no idea who I was. We

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continued our “getting to know you” dance for a
couple weeks only online.

As the weeks went by, I looked for reasons to
continue to look for him in the chat room. I had no
phone number, I had no address, I really had no idea
who he was other than his name. I didn’t know his
situation and he didn’t know mine but we enjoyed
seeing each other in the chat room and I smiled when
I saw him in there and hoped that he felt the same when
he saw me in the room.

Soon after, we exchanged telephone
numbers…I had no idea where this was going but
somehow, I felt a burning hunger to meet this man. We
had never spoken on the phone, only in a chat room
and then only very casually. I was new to the “gay
thing” and new to meeting someone; after all, I had
been married nearly 30 years and the only new people
I had met were friends my wife and I met through other
acquaintances. Now I was out on my own, doing

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something way out of my comfort zone and having no
idea what to expect.

I called him. What a pleasant-sounding man;
well educated, articulate, intelligent. After talking a
while, I did the unspeakable: I accepted his invitation
to come to his home in the Hollywood Hills on
Monday, May 24. I was babysitting my new
grandchild so I would not be able to stay long, but after
asking my mother to sit with Kristina for a couple
hours, I took a hard gulp and decided to go.

I arrived at his house around noon. His warmth
over the phone was only exceeded by his warmth when
he opened the door and invited me in. When I came in,
we embraced in the hallway. It was an amazing feeling
because we both had loved before, and I think we were
both needing what we both gave each other.

We talked for a couple hours, got to know each
other a little, and I silently thought, “wow…”

There is a stereotypical gay man in everyone’s
mind. All gay men are no older than 40, are tall, hunky,

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and muscular. I was none of those. Carlos was none of
those. In fact, I felt so old that I could fart dust. It made
me wonder if we were both really gay or not. We were
not what you would say looked like gay men. He had
very little hair, a small man, but a smile that would
bring the roof down. You could never pick him out as
gay in a crowd. Never.

I left his house around 2 because I had
committed to watching Kristy and it was time to get
back home to relieve the temporary babysitter,
Kristy’s great grandmother.

I didn’t want to appear needy; nor did he. We
didn’t talk for a few days but when we did, the
conversations made us feel like schoolgirls on the
phone, yakking until we had run out of words and
things to say. The more we talked, the more we wanted
to.

The first year of our getting to know each other
was exciting. We saw each other frequently and by the

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end of the year, we had become “boyfriends.” That’s
hard for me to say…but that’s the way it was.

Carlos and I had been seeing each other for
nearly 2 years by the end of 2000, and for once in my
life, I believe I found peace and happiness. That is not
to say I wasn't happily married…but I was, for once,
comfortable and content with myself, and I think that
is every human’s right; to be happy with themselves
for who they are as a person. We traveled frequently,
as he had earned MANY miles on his Delta Sky Miles,
so it didn’t cost us anything to go places every now
and again and to get away for an extended weekend.
He traveled for his work as an educator / consultant for
a software firm, dealing with schools and children.
When he had the opportunity to get away for pleasure,
it was a welcomed change. January of 2000 found us
in Fort Lauderdale for my birthday, just relaxing in the
warm winter Florida sun, and seeing things I had not
seen before. It’s always nice to get to see “how the
other half lives…….”

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We traveled a lot that year, going places I had
never been to, and in a new relationship I had never
had.

I remember one day telling him, “What happens
if this doesn’t work out? What do we do? At that point,
we’d probably been seeing each other around a year or
so. We made this pact that “we fit” and that we’re in it
“for the long haul.”

He was made aware early in our relationship
about my health issues and my long history of
diabetes. That didn’t seem to deter him. “We’ll get
through things together” he would say.

As our years together grew, so did our love for
one another. Our love, our trust, our caring…all part
of it. When it became law in 2013, and after nearly 15
years together, we married on July 24, 2013.

Our companionship and relationship continued
to flourish as it does today. We are now going into our
21st year together and after all this time together, we
started into looking into living together. It meant

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selling the house, but it also meant being with each
other to continue our lives as husbands and best
friends.

As my health started to decline a few years
back, not only because of the diabetes, but with other
health issues, we have become reliant on each other,
no matter the circumstances, no matter the cost. In
2009 after complications from cataract surgery, he was
my eyes when I couldn’t see.

In 2015 I suffered a permanent hearing
impairment, its etiology unknown. The frustration of
not being able to hear again or sing again or hear my
own voice as I once knew it, was to say the least,
traumatic physically and emotionally. Movies are out.
Music is out. Recording is out. Television is closed
captioned. A purchase of new hearing aids is a help but
not a cure. Hearing aids do not restore normal hearing.
They do what they’re designed to do: magnify sounds.
I also bought a television transmitter that Bluetooth’s
to the aids so I can hear television, albeit poorly. I

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hesitate in taking or making telephone calls unless he
is here. But he is my ears when I can’t hear.

In 2014 I fell and fractured my hip that needed
replacing. The fall also critically and permanently
damaged my back. The many surgeries since have left
me in a walker that has devastated me. He is my crutch
when I can’t walk.

He is my strength when I am weak. He is my
eyes when I can’t see. He is my voice when I can’t
speak. He sees the best there is in me. He lifts me up
when I can’t reach…he believes in me, and I am
everything I am because he loves me.

Now I know you’re thinking, “wait…I know
those words…” Yes, you do. From “Because You
Loved Me” by Celine Dion. But I think it’s so
appropriate to include here.

Why is a story about my coming out and then
meeting Carlos in a book about my health?

Because Carlos has saved my mind. He has kept
my head focused on what’s important in life. He’s kept

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me mentally stable. He’s kept me from doing harm to
myself. He has saved my life. Carlos is my “yes” man.
When others say “no”, he says “yes.”

There are things in my aging life that I can no
longer do.

And when I can’t, he does.
To my angel on earth, my loving husband, my
partner, my best friend . . .
I love you.

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When you think of the billions of years since the
creation of Earth, and the billions of years left before
its demise, think about the proportion of time we have
spent here living our lives. Proportionately it’s a split
second. A finger snap. A blink of an eye. A fraction of
a breath. That’s not very long, and when you consider
all we have accomplished during that split second of
life, we don’t really have the luxury of time to be sick.
We must make the most of the time we spend living.
Even with illnesses and other issues.

When all this is over, I want to have inspired
people. I want people to say, “Because of him I didn't
give up.” I want to have been an influence and
inspiration to others. I hope I have. I think I’ve left my
mark.

That’s why I’ve written this book. That’s why
I’ve probed my memory to share with the reader. I
want people who read this book to realize all is not
lost. You’re OK, I’m OK. Together, we’re OK.

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I don't know if there is a reincarnation or not.
But if there is, when it’s my time to go, I want to come
back as me.

“I have been young; a fresh-faced sprout, with agile
legs, a muscled arm and smile to charm the world I
went through in a rush to get a little older, sooner.

“Catching my reflection while passing past a looking
glass not long ago I discovered I was older, even old.
There was no sudden melancholy or regret, and yet
some sadness in the wonder that it happened while I
wasn’t watching; no pause to proudly ply the autumn
into winter process.

- Rod McKuen

This project has taken me many years to

complete. I undoubtedly have left things out, but when

you think about it, how would you know?

I’ve tried to be complete. I’ve tried to have you
learn about me from the inside out, to know who I am.
In the process, I have learned about myself, from my
side out.

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So, these are the people who have saved my life,
mentally, physically, emotionally, and psycho-
logically. It may be odd to put these people in a chapter
about my health, but these are the ones who have kept
me on the straight and narrow all my life. These are
the people who have kept me focused on who I am and
why I wake up in the morning.

I couldn’t have done it without them.

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It’s Off To Work I Go

The first job I can really remember, and remember
doing, was a paper route when I was probably around

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12 years old. We lived at the Penfield house in
Woodland Hills, and I can remember folding copies
(less than 20) the "Los Angeles Mirror News" which
later became the "Los Angeles Times-Mirror" and
later and finally became the "Los Angeles Times" as it
is known today.

My paper route of about 18-20 papers daily was
something I really hated. I hated the idea of folding
those papers, stuffing them in the canvas bag that hung
across my bicycle handle (and those were the days
before 10 speeds - at least I didn't have one), and on
rainy days, stuffing them in plastic polyurethane bags
to they wouldn't get wet when I tossed them on the
lawns of my customers. I hated getting stiffed when it
came time for my customers to pay, because half of
them would say, "gee, can I pay you next week'?" or,
"can I pay you next month?" Like, this isn't Wimpy
and his hamburgers, and I sure as hell ain't no May
Company that you can charge your damn papers on

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one month and pay the next. I had many customers
who didn't pay their paper bills, and there wasn't
anything I could do about it.

Occasionally I had to fill in for others who for one
reason or another couldn't do their route that day, and
while it meant more money for me, it also meant more
work. I had to remember all my customers' addresses,
which ones wanted the paper "porched" (thrown on the
porch instead of the driveway, the lazy schmucks!),
and special favors I had to do for others. God, I hated
that paper route, and by now I have spent far too much
time on the subject.

My first real job was when I was about 15 1/2 at
the Orange Julius stand on Ventura Blvd. I worked for
a man named Gordon Sill, and it was where Uncle
Allen got his first job, as I recall. I actually got my job
because of him; Gordon liked Allen and didn't like me.
That's okay, though, because I didn't like him either.

You children have probably heard me tell the story

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of squirting someone in the face with ketchup, and it
was when I worked at the Orange Julius that it
happened. You see, some smart-ass guy, older than I
at the time, wanted to use our restroom, which,
according to Gordon Sill, was off limits to customers.
I told this guy that I couldn't let him use the restroom,
and he told me that if I didn't let him use it, he would
"pop me one" across the chops. I told him I still
couldn't let him use it, so he reached across the
condiment tray where I was standing and smacked me
across the face! I couldn't believe that he really did
that. I can close my eyes this very day and picture it all
over, and it's been about 30 years since that happened.
I picked up the closest thing, which was this plastic
ketchup squeeze bottle, and emptied it on his face and
shirt. He told me that he would be back later that night
to finish me off. Well, imagine howl felt: This guy said
he would smack me, which he did, and there was no
doubt in my mind that he would be back to take care

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of me.
I called my dad and my cousin, Spike (yes, I had a

cousin named Spike) who was a policeman at the time,
and they both came over that night as I closed up and
stood bodyguard for someone who never bothered to
come back. I think this was my first experience with a
true to life asshole.

It was at this Orange Julius that I met Dick Van
Dyke, who stopped by one Saturday afternoon on his
way home from a tennis game. He ordered a drink, and
being flustered at serving a "star", I didn't have the lid
on the Orange Julius blender very well, and when I
turned it on, the lid flew off and sprayed O. J. all over
his shirt and shorts. He shrugged it off in typical Van
Dyke style, and graciously accepted my apology, but
as long as I live, I will not soon forget that
embarrassing incident.

There's not much to tell about such a boring job as
working in a hamburger stand, but it was my first job,

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and added to my growth.
With that job under my belt for about a year, I

applied and accepted a job at (you'll love this one) The
Big Donut Drive-In in Reseda. Right next door was the
Big Taco Drive-In, owned and operated by the same
guys named Casey and Don. I do NOT know why I
remember their names, but again, if I close my eyes, I
can see them. Casey was okay; old - like his 30's or so
(remember, I was only 16) but Don was the prick. Mr.
Know-it-all if there ever was one.

I worked at the Big Donut for a couple years
actually, and kind of liked it. The hours, though.
sucked the big one: One morning I had to open at
4:00AM, the next day I had to close at 2:00 A.M. This
went on for a while and provided me enough money to
help support my car, that 1955 Buick Special that my
mom and dad gave to me for my 16th birthday.

Nothing spectacular happened at that job (how
could it??!) I do remember once while at the Big Taco

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DEAR CHILDREN It’s Off To Work I Go

(we had to trade off from donut to taco and back) some
Mexican lady wanted some "pieces". I asked her,
"pieces of WHAT? She says, "joo no… pieces" Again,
I didn't know what she wanted pieces of, so I said that
I didn't know what she was talking about. She says,
"pieces. With cheese, pepperoni. sauce...PIECES!"
The woman wanted PIZZAS!

My restaurant/fast food places didn't last too long.
About this time of my life was when I met Marla and
Jim (you remember them from the "Music" section)
and Marla's father, Norm, knew this guy named Ken
Griffith who worked at the May Company and when I
was 18, I took a job as a bill collector in downtown
Los Angeles. (That’s where I met Mom)

I worked at the May Company for about 3 years in
the sleaziest part of town you could imagine. The area
now is really run down, as bad as I thought it was then.

That job was really routine, and I can't even begin
to think of anything memorable to write about. The

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truth is, I worked in the collection department for a
little while, was transferred to the New Accounts
department, and after a short period of time, received
a promotion (and a nickel an hour raise) to New
Account’s Director. I believe I was 18…

After I quit, I went to work for the Diners Club, a
prestigious credit card company in Century City,
working in the authorization department late at night.
Vendors would call in for an authorization for our card
holders who were in a store purchasing things, and it
was up to my judgment whether I would okay their
purchases. (This was long before the days of electronic
authorizations like they have today.) I worked there
for less than a year because I had a diabetic problem
one morning after I came home from work: I had an
insulin reaction in the middle of my sleep while I was
at Rosemary's house, and when she tried to wake me
to take care of the reaction, I fell off the bed and hit
my head on the bed frame and got a concussion. I was

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taken to the hospital (see "Health" chapter) where I
stayed for 3 days.

I went back to the May Company, where I worked
until about July 1969, when I was 22, and then got
married the following month. Mom stopped working
there before I did and went to work for Mobil Oil
Company. When we got married in August 1969, we
bought into a donut shop in the Wilshire Center of Los
Angeles. This was a grueling job, one that I never
expected to be so difficult, but I was trying to make a
go of it. It never really materialized and after 6 months
I had to throw in the towel. But oh, those days of 10
cent cups of coffee and 7 cent donuts. We used to have
our usual customers though and knew what they
wanted as they walked in the door. We had one elderly
lady I remember, who always wanted a cup of coffee
and a plain donut. That was 16 cents. She always took
the donut back to her seat and then licked the donut
and covered it with sugar.

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She didn’t want to pay the extra penny for a sugar
donut. I swear.

It is now February 1970, and I have now accepted
a position at credit and collections clerk at the 3M
Company in Culver City. I don't remember how I got
the job, but I did spend a few years there; First in
Culver City, then North Hollywood, and finally
Compton. I worked the order desk taking orders for
copy paper and machines.

I worked at 3M for about 6 years and met some
wonderful friends. When the Culver City office
closed, I was transferred to the North Hollywood
branch, and eventually to Compton where I worked
until I quit to accept a position in Hollywood at G2
Graphic Service.

G2 was probably the first-place you guys may
remember me working. This was a small family owned
business that produced graphics for album covers.
John and Ruth Beard owned the company, and seemed

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really nice, but while Ruth put the knife in your back,
John twisted it.

This was a somewhat interesting job, though, as it
let me exercise some of my creativity. After all, we
dealt with record album covers for some of the biggest
names in the industry, and it was primarily a
photographic job. I was pretty much the office
manager, taking calls, dispatching our drivers out to
Capitol Records, United Artists, etc., to prepare their
artists’ works for album covers.

While I was working for G2, I met but one of those
artists: John Denver. My boss came in and said, “Your
idol is up front if you’d like to go meet him.” I said,
“who? Who is my idol?” and when he told me John
Denver, I put the phones on hold and stopped my work
to go up and say hello. Nicest man you’d ever want to
meet. I was working on the type setting for his album
“Spirit” and when he found that out, he thanks me for
making it look so good. That was a thrill, I must say.

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DEAR CHILDREN It’s Off To Work I Go

Rest easy, John. It was an honor to be but a small
part of your career.

Oddly enough, Spirit is not one of my favorite JD
albums; I think that goes to Aerie.

The hours at G2 were not compatible with my
diabetes and were very long. ... about 10-12 hours a
day, and white that may have been okay for some, it
wasn't for me. In March 1979, 1 gave notice and
accepted a job as Customer Service Representative at
Pacific Bell, then known as Pacific Telephone.

I worked in Los Angeles for a few years, then
transferred to North Hollywood, and eventually to
Woodland Hills where I worked until I was fired. Not
laid off; not furloughed, FIRED. If I got anything at all
out of Pacific Bell, other than the stability of working
somewhere for so long, it was the friends I made.

Bruce Crane is another wonderful friend I made
while at Pacific Bell, and he and I have had some great
times and stories we share back and forth. He, too, was

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diabetic, so we had a lot in common and trade horror
stories back and forth every now and then.

I worked at Pacific Telephone for 10 ½ years
before they fired me for an alleged theft of $1.50, and
without going into sordid details, let’s just say as
traumatic as it was, I’m glad it's over.

Oh, all right. You twisted those sordid details out
of me. In mid-September, 1989 when my dad was so
sick with cancer, I had asked for an additional hour
with my lunch so I could go to the hospital to visit him
on his birthday but I was denied that hour. I could
have been defiant and taken it anyway but somehow,
the phone company had this hook in you and you just
didn’t do something you were specifically told not to.

During October, I was asked to join my supervisor
and another in the conference room. I had NO idea
what this was about, but something suggested to me to
ask if I needed a union rep with me. “You might want
to do that”, Cleo Anderson said.

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I asked my friend Bruce Crane to join me since he
was a union rep. Gayle and Cleo told me what this was,
that it was disciplinary and started to lay out the
“charges” against me.

It seems I authorized a “personalized telephone
number” to be assigned to a customer that carried a
monthly charge of $1.50. I tried to explain why I felt
it was not a chargeable expense, but my explanations
fell on deaf ears. They called it “theft of service.” I was
told I was being suspended until further notice and I
was escorted out of the building to the parking lot,
where Cleo reminded me, “while you are on
suspension, you are not authorized to be on company
property.” I assured her I have absolutely no intentions
of setting foot (or tire) on the property.

For $1.50.
Meanwhile, my father, who had been suffering
from pancreatic and stomach cancer, passed away on
October 14, 1989. Right during the middle of my

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unpaid suspension. At least I was able to spend some
good quality of time with him since I wasn’t working.

I was called to return to the office on November 7,
1989, to discuss their “findings” of their investigation.
They decided that the $1.50 was considered theft, and
of course, that, like in any business or company, is
grounds for immediate dismissal.

What you must understand is that on that fateful
day in my life when on November 7, 1989, when
Pacific Bell decided I was scum, my life changed
drastically.

When I left, I was escorted to the property
boundary on Ventura Blvd., and walked the half block
to where I had parked my car, got in and sat at the
wheel dumb founded and absolutely numb, to say
nothing of exhausted mentally from what I had been
put through the previous six weeks. My first thought
was that I so desperately needed my father right then
and there, and the fact that I couldn’t have him angered

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me beyond imagination.
I drove to my mother's office where I had to put on

a damn good front in front of the other employees, but
she took me into the lunchroom to find out how things
went. "I got fired." was all I could say and began to
cry; not only for the loss of my job, but for the personal
loss I had suffered not 2 weeks before.

I was without work, without a father, virtually
without a reason to live. I don't know how some people
manage to work through crises like these, but I guess
perseverance pays off, and here I am, still alive,
writing my memoirs down for all the world to read.

After getting myself together in a few days, I
decided to go to Dr. Kull, my orthopedic surgeon who
had been working on me with my hip, my shoulder,
and a few other ailments. I explained the situation to
him, and since I didn't qualify for unemployment, he
put me on disability for my hip and stress; the stress
adding to the hip ailment.

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In time, I got my résumé together and started
sending them out. I sent them to employment agencies,
ads in the paper, and even sent them out cold to
hospitals, car dealers, anything I could think of. In all,
I sent out 101 resumes, and got a reply to one. That
was from an employment agency in Burbank who
wanted to know, of all other things, why I left Pacific
Bell after so many years. I told the woman that there
was some personal conflict, in that I had asked for 6
months off as leave of absence since my father was so
ill, and they could not, rather, would not grant it to me,
so I quit. She asked if there was any animosity left
behind, and I told her there was plenty. I wonder still,
if she really believed me. She wanted me to take a
typing test, which I would not do, because I was
applying for a position of Customer Service
management, and my refusal to take the test ended the
interview.

Mom, at this time, was quite depressed, naturally,

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and word got around her office at Mark Allan Travel
about my being fired, and several months later, one of
her bosses, Ken Bruce, got the attitude that.... “We
have to help Mike…” so, he brought me on as a
messenger every now and then, paying me $75 a day
under the table. Messenger. Shit, what a lousy come
down, but what a prize Ken was to be so sensitive to
our problem. Occasionally I would work inside in the
finance department, helping where I could, until
eventually, the person who was working in the
department gave his notice to quit, and in mid-
February, 1990, I was offered the full time position in
the finance department where I still work today.

I am trying desperately, and have my foot half in
the door, of being promoted to Director of
Administration, which is a fancy title for Office
Manager, and have proven myself the last couple years
that I am the man to
handle the job.

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DEAR CHILDREN It’s Off To Work I Go

I guess the story of jobs kind of ends here.
Eventually, I suppose, I will add to this as my positions
change.

March 1994: Okay, so it changed. About a year
ago at Mark Allan Travel, Ken, who had changed his
personality drastically, decided to move me to
Operations in the office, being responsible for Quality
Control. This was a very confusing position, and one
that I did not like nor did well. And it showed.
Without much training, eventually I was put on
probation and finally in September, when the heat was
really up, Ken downgraded my position to "ticket
packager" and a reduction in salary of nearly $15,000
per year. . .OR I could take a severance package of 15
weeks and leave the company. So, on September 8, I
left the company…with my 15 weeks’ severance in
my hot little hands.

I was without work until mid-December, when I
began employment at the Upjohn Company at the

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order desk taking orders for pharmaceutical products.
The job was ok, but never became permanent as
promised, so I left on January 28, 1994, and have been
looking ever since.

Next?! Well, come July 1994, I applied for and
accepted a position with a company called “ResCom”
which was a telephone division, a private telephone
company, of General Electric. I was hired as a
customer service representative, and within 3 months
promoted to Senior, and then to Collection Manager.
What a boring job that was. I left on November 1,
1995, on a medical disability, and haven't worked
since.

Do I miss working? Sometimes yes, sometimes
no.

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DEAR CHILDREN Those Hot Rods

Those Hot Rods

This may be an unusual topic to include in this
letter to you but the other night, Mom and I figured
out how many cars we have had since we were old
enough to drive: 19 since 1963; 13 of which were
mine. I tend to go through cars like underwear: Every
few years or so.

The first car I ever owned, if you want to call it
mine, was the 1955 Buick Special that Grandma and
Grandpa bought new, in 1955. When they first bought
it, it was white and fire-engine red. It was a beauty. It
was an absolute gas hog, as big cars tend to be. It was

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DEAR CHILDREN Those Hot Rods

a four-door sedan, and the only extras on it were radio
and heater. In those days, radios and heaters were not
standard equipment as they later became. There was
no air conditioning, no power windows, no power
steering or power brakes, just your basic car with those
2 options. The radio was nothing more than an AM
radio with one speaker in the dashboard. Stereo had
not been invented yet, so any music or news of any
kind was really welcomed in the car.

The Buick was, thinking back, somewhat ugly,
with a rear end that was large, and a trunk that was
very spacious, (there’s a joke there, but I’m not going
to use it.) The front end was very massive with two
bullet type things sticking out of the front bumper.
Looked a lot like Beulah Lowry’s boobs. (in person
explanation needed here). I guess it was stylish then,
but to look at one today, if you can find one, you would
laugh. The sides of the front fenders had three "holes"
that were supposed to look like vent holes but were

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