BOW #19: Remembrance
San Diego, California
March 1, 1974
11:45 a.m. Pacific Standard Tim
Hands still held, Mitchell helped Marsha to her feet.
Walking outside — through the wide, deck-chair covered, white painted veranda…
Walking a number of yards, then stopping and looking back. “Remember the movie, ‘Some Like it hot’?”
Stopping also. Looking where Mitchell looked. “Sure, how could I forget, ‘Some like it Hot’? We saw it in Peoria and it’s still just about the funniest movie I’d ever seen.”
“Remember when the band, along with Marilyn Monroe, got to the hotel they were supposed to perform at?”
“Yeah, where ‘Joe E. Brown’ tried to ‘make out’ with ‘Tony Curtis’? Sure!”
“Well that’s where the whole band entered the hotel…” nodding his head towards the wide, white painted veranda “...kind of startling all of the old people that were sitting on rocking chairs rocking… The whole movie was shot here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah! Other than ‘Al Capon’s’ ‘Valentine Day Massacre’ in that garage in Chicago, and the train ride to Californian, the entire movie was shot right here.”
“You think, maybe— even for one night we could afford to stay here someday?”
“God, Marcie...” lifting her hand to his lips, kissing it “...I sure would hope so.”
Pulling his deck shoes off, wearing no socks, “Come on, honey...” rolling the cuffs of his white Levies “...let’s take a walk.”
In calf length, lilac colored ‘peddle pushers’ with a matching top, Marsha kicked her sandals off.
“Our first walk in the ‘Pacific’, Mitchie. I still can’t believe that we’re ‘really’ going to…” motioning to the sky “...live here.”
Hand in hand, holding their shoes in the other, Marsha and Mitchell strolled across the length of the Del Coronado Hotel’s concrete game deck onto the expanse of still cool, near white sand to the d arker sand at water’s edge and into into ankle depth water.
The slight salt scented breeze blowing warm water shore-ward, the softly granulated sand caressing between their toes and the soles of their feet,.
“Mitchie, this water feels fantastic!”
Overwhelmed with the enchanting beauty of this place and the beauty of this time and of the beauty of the woman at his side. “Marcie...” bringing his body before her, facing her “...I love you… “
Molding into his arms. “I love you, too, Mitchie.”
The magic of this moment triggering a sensation.
A sensation of soft sand and a gentle breeze floating on blue- sky sunlit-air and gently rippling water and...
‘déjà vu ‘
...The sense of being within this time and in this place at a time before….
August 3, 1949
Union Pier, Michigan
With the orange, five-man war surplus, rubber and canvas raft perched atop their heads, looking much like a four-legged caterpillar, the boys made their way across the ‘Old Highway’, turned right and...
“Ow!” Stepping on unseen rocks, stones… “Ouch!” and occasional bottle caps, the four legged caterpillar went forty yards to the path leading down to the beach.
“Owh!” Fighting gravity…
“Jeeze!”Hanging onto the quarter-inch line that ran around the circumference of the war surplus raft...
“Oh!” As sharp-leafed weeds cut at their toes and legs…
“Shit!”
“Aie!” Running across the scorching sand as the wind tugged at the top-heavy, inflatable raft.
“Ahh!”
“Ahh!” Splashing into the cool lapping water, the raft, with its two metal oars held snugly under the compartmental, middle air-filled seat, was lifted off their heads in unison and flipped, landing right side up in the water of Lake Michigan.
****
It was 10:45 a.m., and the start of the third day of the anxiously awaited Lipensky/Parminter vacation.
His nose red and peeling, wearing a blue, boxer-style bathing suit, Norman’s shoulders and back were burnt from the two previous days of continuous, unaccustomed sunshine on his light-complected skin.
Mitchell wore a yellow, brief-type bathing suit that showed in deep contrast to his already well-tanned body.
The boys had spent the first two days on the raft they’d bought with $17.50 each, coming from their Bar Mitzvah money that finally, with the help of their fathers, they were able to wheedle out of their tight-fisted mothers.
Sitting canoe style— one boy on either side of the raft with their outboard legs dangling in the warm water, they’d explored, paddling to the south, staying in water no deeper than needed to clear the oars so they might better find what they were so hungrily searching for…
What else? Girls!
Paddling till they’d spotted what looked like unaccompanied girls of their approximate age, they rowed ashore, pulled the raft onto the beach and, nonchalantly—so they thought—ambled toward their female prey, who were unaware—so they thought—of their approach.
Mitchell was far the better looking of the two, but still shy found it hard to get a conversation started with an unknown girl. Norman, on the other hand, was clever and glib and more easily able to break the ice.
Going south the first two days, the boys had gone ashore nineteen times and the girls had been either too young, too old, or not pretty enough and besides the scene changed constantly and just because their ‘dream boats’ weren’t there on the outgoing trip did not mean they wouldn’t be on the beach when they rowed back in a few hours—so why tie yourself down with anything less than what you really want? Which was, what else, but a long-legged, big-busted ‘Miss Jewish America of 1949’…
Or a somewhat reasonable facsimile.
On this day, their third in Union Pier, they planned to explore north, towards the unknown.
Taking his glasses off, Norman put them into one of the provision pockets stitched onto the raft and snapped the pocket shut. Thinking he looked better without glasses during these expeditions— although a strain on his eyes— he preferred not wearing them just in case he should meet a girl he’d like to impress.
In daylight, without glasses Norman’s eyes were a striking light gray, and in just the two days he’d been in the sun, the sun had bleached his hair from dark blonde to a kind of streaky platinum.
Pulling the raft out of the water, the boys swam for a few minutes to cool off then dragged the raft back into the water and jumped aboard.
Straddling the tubular, semi-hard rubberized canvas, Norman sat on the starboard side and Mitchell port. Their outboard legs dangled in the water while their inboard legs, stretching forward, rested on the raft.
In the direction they traveled, at that time of day the sun was behind them, shining pleasantly on their backs.
Paddling leisurely, the boys enjoyed the heat of the sun and the gentle bobbing motion of the raft on the water.
Mitchell felt the heat on his back and the right side of his face. He looked at the dark-brown skin of his thigh, still glistening with water, and at his stomach, darker where the wet flesh creased horizontally along either side of his navel, and at his upper arms. As the oar dipped in the water and was drawn back his biceps swelled and contracted with each pull and release.
The water was a dusky, greenish-blue. The sand at water’s edge dark-brown, and higher, away from the lapping water, a light, golden-beige. The shrubbery on the embankment was brilliant green. The sky, radiant blue and the clouds as white and feathery as tufts of pure white cotton.
The oar in his hands cut through the water as though moving by its own volition.
Breathing through his nostrils, Mitchell Lipensky sensed the aroma of sand of water, and the green growth.
The gentle onshore breeze skimmed warm water from the surface of the lake bringing it inshore… to him.
Mesmerized by the all-enveloping beauty. The totality of what he felt, saw and sensed seemed too beautiful to be real and Mitchell felt as though he were living in a surrealistic dream.
Parting his lips, breathing through his mouth, he drew the sun-warmed, sea-cooled air deeply into his lungs.
He felt the hot sun and the tepid water.
He saw the sky, clouds, sand and shrubbery.
He sensed the sweet odors of life about him and felt…?
What?
Closing his eyes, the motion of the raft tranquilized him.
The tepid water caressed him..
The soft air kissed him...
And…
Mitchell Lipensky had no way of knowing, but that very minute—that very moment—was ‘the pinnacle’ and at no time in his life would he feel what he felt as strongly as at that exact time…
He knew nothing of death. Those he loved were all alive.
He knew nothing of the pain of lost love.
He knew not of debt.
The war was a memory.
His country… America was a peace.
He’d made no mistakes… No mistakes of consequence.
His parents were together. His family intact.
There was nothing he needed—really needed—that he didn’t have.
The roads to his life were fully open.
Mitchell Lipensky looked about the beautiful world that encompassed him and felt the wonder of his strength.
The wonder of his youth.
Mitchell pulled the oar through the water and felt the miracle that, possibly, might be felt only by the very young, or the very innocent.
‘Peace’.
****
Though not a part of Mitchell's sense of f ‘déjà vu, if his actual memory had stretched to that very evening
August 3, 1949
The Palladium
Union Pier, Michigan
The fifth steel ball rolled through the spring barrier, hit a rubber guard, bounced off, hit another guard, rolled into a hole, was ejected and rolled striking the left flipper where Mitchell pushed the button, moving the flipper, hitting the ball, sending it careening across the board where it was hit by the flipper on the right, rolled into another hole and was pushed out to continue its journey down the angled plane as numbers flashed and changed with lightning speed on the gaudy glass display—12,300, 12,500, 12,700—and rolled into the corral alongside its four gleaming quadruplets.
“Norm...” looking around “...see anything interesting?”
Nodding his head to the right. “Yeah...” Norman said “...there’s a couple that look pretty good.”
Mitchell looked over his shoulder at two girls playing the ‘Captain Kidd’ pin ball machine. “Yeah, they do! We wanna meet ’em?”
“I think it’s about time we met ‘someone’! Come on.”
Walking towards the girls with Mitchell following a step behind.
Not wanting to interfere with their game, standing a foot or two from the machine. “Hi!” Norman said.
“Hi!” The girl waiting her turn to play smiled.
The girl was about five-five, had short, frizzy, reddish hair and a brace of freckles that ran across her nose onto her red, sunburned cheeks. She had a cute, elfin face and was wearing a white, short-sleeved man’s shirt, blue jeans cut off at the knees, and sandals.
Dong! Dong! Dong!...Racking up points—33,500, 38,000, 42,000—the steel ball sat in the hole for what seemed a very long time before it was poked out. The game display showed seven games.
“Hey, you’re pretty good at this!”
Glancing at Mitchell, the girl smiled, then returned her concentration to the rolling silver ball.
“Shhh...” bringing her hand conspiratorially to the side of her mouth, the first girl whispered “...It’s broken, and we’ve been here for an hour and a half.”
“All for a nickel?”
“Yeah...” she laughed “...all for a nickel.”
“I’m Norm, and this is Mitch.”
“Hi, Norm, Mitch.” Looking from Norman to Mitchell and back to Norman. “I’m Shelly and this is…”
The fifth ball rolled into the pen. The machine went dark a moment, then lit up again and the number in the game display changed from seven to ten.
Turning from the pinball machine, she looked at Mitchell.
The girl was tall and thin. She had a sharp widow’s peak and short, tightly curled black hair. Darkly tanned, her complexion was perfectly smooth. Her eyes were dark brown and, having a slightly long nose, reminding Mitchell of a picture he’d seen of a Sabra, a native-born Israeli, her face Semantically beautiful. With the exception of bobby socks and penny loafers, she wore a matching outfit to Shelly’s.
“…’Marsha’...” Shelly said “...Marcie, this is Norm and Mitch.”
San Diego, California
March 1, 1974
11:15 a.m. Pacific Standard Tim
Overcome with the deeply felt sense of déjà vu…
As on that long forgotten day in August of 1949..
‘Mesmerised by the all-enveloping beauty. The totality of what he felt, saw and sensed seemed too beautiful to be real and Mitchell felt as though he were living in a surrealistic dream’.
“Marcie, baby, when we pull away from the curb in Schaumburg I want all of the bad stuff from the past left at the curb with the garbage. We’ve a new life here and I think it’s going to be beautiful, and all I want to do is to love you and make you and the kids happy.”
Body to body. Marsha’s forearms resting upon Mitchell’s shoulders. Green eyes looking into brown eyes. Mouths inches one from the other.,,
“Me, too, Mitchie. I just want to love you and for us to be happy.”
Embracing in the warm, calf deep lapping water and sea-scented air of Coronado Island, the husband and wife kissed.
The husband and wife kissed not with passion, but with the gentle warmth of deep felt emotion.
Hand in hand, silently strolling the shoreline.
“What time’s it getting?”
Hating to leave the peaceful solitude.
“Yeah…” glancing at his watch, “…if we want to get into Mexico, look around and grab something to eat and get back in time for Sophie’s call, now’s probably a good time to head back.”
Backtracking…
Following Jason’s written directions, the Buick convertible backtracked...
Off Coronado Island onto the ‘Coronado Bay Bridge’ to ‘California 75’ into San Diego, onto ‘U.S. 5/ San Diego Freeway’ which — traveling through the cities of ‘National City’ and ‘Chula Vista’ — about twenty miles later leads to ‘San Ysidro’ which is the community located in the southernmost portion of ‘San Diego County’, and the ‘U.S. San Ysidro’ border crossing into Mexico.
As suggested by Jason, Mitchell parked the Buick in the chain-link enclosed parking lot on the American side of the border.
After fumbling about the dashboard for a few seconds, finding the button to raise the top, they checked to be sure each had their wallets with their driver’s licenses. Then, locking the car, they began to walk.
The approximate thirty foot high, half block long bridge passing from ‘America’ into ‘Mexico’ crossed above a wide, dry gully.
Situated within the gully, for as far as the eye could see in either direction were…
Standing. Looking. It took a few seconds to fully comprehend…
“My God, Mitchie, are those what I think they are?”
Next BOW#20: Mexico
