| Letters and Diary Non-Fiction posted October 23, 2016 |
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Prose Potlatch Challenge-Home Sweet Home
Hi Naybuh!
by michaelcahill
"Hi, Naybah".
"Hi, Naybah".
Sounds like something out of the Midwest or even a bit north of there, yes? In such an exchange, you have the typical Alhambra conversation between folks passing each other on the street. Indeed, they may have been on their way to the "Hi Neighbor Parade", an annual Alhambra event of a magnitude you can easily imagine.
The fact is, Alhambra is in Southern California, right on the outskirts of Los Angeles, a suburb and part of Los Angeles County.
Why everyone greeted each other thusly, I never could figure out. Perhaps the desire to have a small-town feel became manifest in the adoption of a small-town speech pattern. The thing is, "Hi, Naybah" was the only example of speech indicating any kind of mid-western connection. Everything else spoken was pure So Cal speak, complete with slurred syllables, and orange pronounced as one syllable ALWAYS.
We considered it a small town, though when I was a youngster twenty-five thousand people was quite a few by some standards, I suppose. Still, Los Angeles had millions, so in comparison, Alhambra was small.
Us kids had free reign back in the day. I've found this to be universal and even worldwide. In the fifties and sixties, kids ran wild in the streets, unsupervised, unharmed and in no danger. Can you imagine, considering the way things are now? It's true.
In the summer months, when school was out, we'd awaken, have breakfast, and then pour out onto the streets, with no notice of where we were going, or what we were going to do, or who we were going to do it with. Hell, we didn't know ourselves. We might walk miles to who knows where. We often did. Truly, we did. Can you imagine if kids did such a thing today? Odds are, you'd never see them again.
Our folks saw us again. Every night, as the streetlights came on, our names would be called out into the darkness. One by one, we'd hear our names, and return home. No one went missing.
Main street had quite a few fancy department stores. We had J.C. Penny's, Woolworths, Buffam's and even Macy's for the more well to do. Across town we had a giant Sears and Roebuck facility. Dotted among these well-known establishments were all the local mom and pop shops. These were the business established with blood sweat and tears by our very own residents. There was Aero Luggage, Tom's Men's Wear, Susie's Deals, Max West's Sporting goods and Leibergs Department Store. Leibergs was our hometown version of Macy's. Mr. Leiberg was our local Macy, and his store was snooty and special. What a treat to receive a gift of any kind in a fancy Leiberg's box.
Inside every one of these mom and pop businesses was someone we knew by name, and buddies we went to school with working at their first job.
My favorite, as a musician, was Pedrini's Music. Mr. Pedrini was a bit stuffy, but he watched me grow up, and was cordial. I admit, it gave me a little thrill when he'd say, "Well. hello, Michael. Good to see you again". Pretty formal, but I was special, see? His daughter, Vicki, was to die for, and every young man in Alhambra was more than willing to do so.
Every Christmas, Main Street had garish lights strung across the street, and life size Santa's on every street corner. Not a single one was ever vandalized. I think back on that fact in awe. It didn't even occur to us to draw a mustache on one of them. I was a handful as a kid. I can't believe it never crossed my mind to include a Santa in some nefarious prank. I'm not so sure that I could resist NOW as a fully mature grown up.
I guess the word occurring to me the most when I look back on those days is "naive". Mercy, we were naive. I was naive. I remember the shock I felt at the Watts Riot in 1963. Yes, I was shocked at the obvious, the violence and needless destruction and unbridled anger. But what truly shocked me was my own ignorance. I lived in an almost entirely white community, maybe fifteen minutes away from this powder keg, without a clue it even existed. My family referred to black people as "coloreds". I knew this was ignorant, but didn't pay much mind to it.
It makes me stop and wonder what that term, "coloreds", really meant to them. Was it just what they were brought up with, as I surmised? Or was it deeper than that. Was it a manifestation of racism, minus the vitriol that comes with confrontation? I never had a satisfactory answer. My black friends were treated well, although I could sense a mild tension. Were they too timid to reveal what was in their hearts, deferring to my dominance in the family ... I don't know, and I suppose it will always bother me.
Well, I must say, it certainly was better than it is now. It makes me feel old to say so. But I can't find any intelligent argument to extoll the virtues of my hometown as it exists today in comparison. All the mom and pop shops are gone. In their places, a Walmart selling utter crap, and there's no other option. Buy the crap, or buy nothing. It isn't safe to walk down the street. Every door is locked at night, or when the house is left--even to go around the block. Every car is locked. Kids don't play on the streets without adults watching them like hawks. Danger lurks in every corner. The possibility of going to school and getting shot ... exists.
Yep, I do wish I was on my way to the Hi Neighbor Parade sometimes. I'd pass a total stranger on the street and say, "Hi, Naybuh", and they'd say the same to me. I guess that's kind of corny.
"Hi, Naybah".
"Hi, Naybah".
Sounds like something out of the Midwest or even a bit north of there, yes? In such an exchange, you have the typical Alhambra conversation between folks passing each other on the street. Indeed, they may have been on their way to the "Hi Neighbor Parade", an annual Alhambra event of a magnitude you can easily imagine.
The fact is, Alhambra is in Southern California, right on the outskirts of Los Angeles, a suburb and part of Los Angeles County.
Why everyone greeted each other thusly, I never could figure out. Perhaps the desire to have a small-town feel became manifest in the adoption of a small-town speech pattern. The thing is, "Hi, Naybah" was the only example of speech indicating any kind of mid-western connection. Everything else spoken was pure So Cal speak, complete with slurred syllables, and orange pronounced as one syllable ALWAYS.
We considered it a small town, though when I was a youngster twenty-five thousand people was quite a few by some standards, I suppose. Still, Los Angeles had millions, so in comparison, Alhambra was small.
Us kids had free reign back in the day. I've found this to be universal and even worldwide. In the fifties and sixties, kids ran wild in the streets, unsupervised, unharmed and in no danger. Can you imagine, considering the way things are now? It's true.
In the summer months, when school was out, we'd awaken, have breakfast, and then pour out onto the streets, with no notice of where we were going, or what we were going to do, or who we were going to do it with. Hell, we didn't know ourselves. We might walk miles to who knows where. We often did. Truly, we did. Can you imagine if kids did such a thing today? Odds are, you'd never see them again.
Our folks saw us again. Every night, as the streetlights came on, our names would be called out into the darkness. One by one, we'd hear our names, and return home. No one went missing.
Main street had quite a few fancy department stores. We had J.C. Penny's, Woolworths, Buffam's and even Macy's for the more well to do. Across town we had a giant Sears and Roebuck facility. Dotted among these well-known establishments were all the local mom and pop shops. These were the business established with blood sweat and tears by our very own residents. There was Aero Luggage, Tom's Men's Wear, Susie's Deals, Max West's Sporting goods and Leibergs Department Store. Leibergs was our hometown version of Macy's. Mr. Leiberg was our local Macy, and his store was snooty and special. What a treat to receive a gift of any kind in a fancy Leiberg's box.
Inside every one of these mom and pop businesses was someone we knew by name, and buddies we went to school with working at their first job.
My favorite, as a musician, was Pedrini's Music. Mr. Pedrini was a bit stuffy, but he watched me grow up, and was cordial. I admit, it gave me a little thrill when he'd say, "Well. hello, Michael. Good to see you again". Pretty formal, but I was special, see? His daughter, Vicki, was to die for, and every young man in Alhambra was more than willing to do so.
Every Christmas, Main Street had garish lights strung across the street, and life size Santa's on every street corner. Not a single one was ever vandalized. I think back on that fact in awe. It didn't even occur to us to draw a mustache on one of them. I was a handful as a kid. I can't believe it never crossed my mind to include a Santa in some nefarious prank. I'm not so sure that I could resist NOW as a fully mature grown up.
I guess the word occurring to me the most when I look back on those days is "naive". Mercy, we were naive. I was naive. I remember the shock I felt at the Watts Riot in 1963. Yes, I was shocked at the obvious, the violence and needless destruction and unbridled anger. But what truly shocked me was my own ignorance. I lived in an almost entirely white community, maybe fifteen minutes away from this powder keg, without a clue it even existed. My family referred to black people as "coloreds". I knew this was ignorant, but didn't pay much mind to it.
It makes me stop and wonder what that term, "coloreds", really meant to them. Was it just what they were brought up with, as I surmised? Or was it deeper than that. Was it a manifestation of racism, minus the vitriol that comes with confrontation? I never had a satisfactory answer. My black friends were treated well, although I could sense a mild tension. Were they too timid to reveal what was in their hearts, deferring to my dominance in the family ... I don't know, and I suppose it will always bother me.
Well, I must say, it certainly was better than it is now. It makes me feel old to say so. But I can't find any intelligent argument to extoll the virtues of my hometown as it exists today in comparison. All the mom and pop shops are gone. In their places, a Walmart selling utter crap, and there's no other option. Buy the crap, or buy nothing. It isn't safe to walk down the street. Every door is locked at night, or when the house is left--even to go around the block. Every car is locked. Kids don't play on the streets without adults watching them like hawks. Danger lurks in every corner. The possibility of going to school and getting shot ... exists.
Yep, I do wish I was on my way to the Hi Neighbor Parade sometimes. I'd pass a total stranger on the street and say, "Hi, Naybuh", and they'd say the same to me. I guess that's kind of corny.
 Recognized |
Today's topic is: Home Sweet Home. :))
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