Carefree in California
Three Siblings Make the Most of Long Beach Life.
MY EARLY CHILDHOOD WAS SPENT with my brother Ed, who at 11 was three years older than me, and our sister Peg, 6. Our mother was very busy with our new baby sister, Edith, so in the late 1930s not much attention was paid to three Long Beach kids wandering the streets.
The Pike was one of our favorite hangouts. There were amusement rides, of course, but we liked the indoor pool called the Plunge. It had a balcony, and on occasion our father would walk the circumference shouting instructions on how to execute the perfect dive: “Point your toes more” or “jump higher before you begin.”
There was a fountain in the center of the Plunge where you could sit back as the water came down like a curtain around you.
We had to earn our money for our escapades. My enterprising brother took his shoeshine kit to Lincoln Park, where many adults would agree to a shine—or it could be that they took pity on us. Little Peggy was Ed’s trump card—who could resist a curly-haired blond girl willing to buff shoes?
When weary of swimming, we went to the arcade, where Ed loved to play pinball, always ignoring the “do not tilt” warnings. Sometimes we’d walk on the beach with a sand sifter and dredge up enough money to go to the movies.
Saturday matinees were 11 cents at the Lee Theatre on Fourth Street. Inside, they’d let us reach into a giant box for a free candy bar.
At home, we played marbles and watched Ed do yo-yo tricks: “walk the dog,” “around the world” and “rock the cradle.”
He taught us songs he learned at the Y camp, “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt” and “My name is Yon Yonson, I come from Visconsin.”
Those days were very special because of the closeness we shared. I remember how Ed protected us. For my ninth birthday, he gave me a treat: He let me hop fences with him and his buddies to, of all things, raid fruit trees.
Mostly we giggled and laughed, oblivious to the cares of the world. We had freedom as long as we were at the table at
6 every night for dinner.