Chapter VI

My Best Friends

Perhaps, I tend to be somewhat reserved today because of this persistent feeling of being 'behind the curve' trying to Americanize myself. Whatever the reason, I haven't developed too many close friendships throughout my lifetime. However, from the period of my youth two very close friends stand out prominently; unfortunately, they both died too young as the result of World War II. Jerry Klosterman and Elmer Brust were my bosom buddies ever since 1935 in the Seventh Grade at Franklin Junior High School in Long Beach.

Jerry was the son of a German father and mother, who raised cotton on vast tracts of land that they owned in Mexico. During the school year, Jerry and his older brother Dick lived in Long Beach with a middle-aged couple who acted as their guardians. Although the boys were in actuality merely boarders, the couple treated them as if they were their own children. It was also a welcome windfall for this foster family; the money they received from the boys' parents helped to augment their rather meager Depression Era income.

Mr. and Mrs. Klosterman, the boys' parents, remained at their permanent residence in Mexico; however, the mother did visit the boys regularly. Jerry in particular looked forward to his mother's visits. He often told us that she lacked the will to deny him anything he wanted. He was extremely handsome at six-foot-two inches in height, sporting an athletic build and weighing just shy of 200 lbs. He could be very persuasive.

In early 1938 Jerry had written his mother asking her to buy him a new car on her visit planned for later that year. He had just obtained his driver's license. She wrote back that under no circumstances did he need or would he get a car. But, Jerry was a charmer that few could resist; certainly, his mother could not. By the time she was ready to return home after her visit, Jerry had successfully convinced her that he needed a car for transportation. She made him the proud owner of a new 1938 Ford convertible automobile.

During those Depression days it was quite rare for a high school student to be allowed to drive his or her parents' new car, much less own one. Those lucky enough to have a car for school transportation had to be content with used or older family automobiles. Up to the time I was 17 years old my own form of vehicular transportation was the one and only bicycle I had ever owned. It was one I assembled myself while I was in the Fifth Grade. After buying a used frame for five dollars, I scavenged the rest of the parts from the dump. Shortly before graduating from high school I rode it off a curb across the street from Poly High; the frame broke and I never repaired or replaced it.

It doesn't take too much of a stretch of the imagination to understand why a lot of the girls at Poly High had their eyes on Jerry Klosterman. This good-looking jock who was on the football team and rowed on the crew now drove around proudly and somewhat arrogantly in a sporty convertible, a new one at that. The fellows that knew Jerry didn't resent this feminine adulation for him; he was a guys' guy who was nearly as popular with them as with the opposite sex. Naturally, Elmer and I received quite a bit of residual benefit from Jerry's new acquisition, since we were his nearest and dearest associates.

His brother, Dick, was a couple of years older, a few inches taller and more on the lean and lanky side. Dick, unlike his more popular and fun-loving brother, was reserved, serious and not as personable or gregarious. He recognized and had to accept the fact that Jerry, not he, was his mother's favorite. Elmer and I had few opportunities to converse with Dick, so we were never sure whether he harbored any feelings of resentment or jealousy against Jerry.

In spite of Jerry's great popularity with the distaff side, he had only one true love and, unfortunately for him, she was someone beyond his ability to possess. Mary Jane Stimson was a beautiful and intelligent young lady whose mother was a Christian Science reader and quite well-to-do. Mother and daughter lived in very lovely home on the bluffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean, which was located in Long Beach on Ocean Blvd. about one-half a mile southeast of the Villa Riviera Apartment Hotel in a very exclusive and expensive residential area. Mrs. Stimson's plans for her daughter's future did not include a permanent liaison with Jerry Klosterman, his family's wealth and high social status in Mexico notwithstanding. Although Mary Jane did go out with Jerry quite frequently, he was painfully aware of the fact that the relationship could never develop beyond that of an affectionate and warm mutual friendship. It was truly sad to witness first-hand a fellow who had just about everything else in life going for him, denied fulfillment of his most cherished dream.

Elmer Brust's family also came from German stock. His grandparents had migrated to Canada and settled in Saskatchewan Province. His father owned about 1500 acres of land on which he raised wheat. Elmer's parents were solid farmers who lived and spoke plainly and simply. They were devout Catholics who were possessed of the assurance that God had control of their destinies and would watch over them. Of their six or seven children, Elmer was by far the youngest; he was truly the baby of the family. Most of his older siblings were married with children of their own. In order to enjoy the comfort of a warmer climate during the very cold Canadian months, the Brusts bought a modest, but fine Craftsman-style home on Olive Avenue north of 5th Street in Long Beach. Every year the family moved back to the farm during Elmer's school vacation in the summer. Some of Elmer's older brothers tended the farm throughout the balance of the year. I only recall meeting one of them and his name eludes me.

Elmer was stocky, well-built and a couple of inches less than six feet tall. Raised as a working hand on the farm, Elmer had developed into a strong teenager whom only the very stupid would dare to cross. Not exactly handsome, he was, nevertheless quite pleasant-looking with clean-cut features. He was on the football team and he rowed on the crew with Jerry and me.

The three of us ran in sort of a pack along with Mary Jane Stimson, Renee Andrews, Dorothy Lou Collins and frequently others such as Verne Henderson, Don Gregory and Bob Shepard. On September 2, 1942 with World War II in full swing, my two closest friends were far from Long Beach. So, Verne acted as my best man at my marriage to Bobbie Bogart. Dorothy Lou and Verne were wed in 1945, residing most of their married lives in Anaheim, California. After Verne died a few years ago Dorothy Lou moved to Balboa Island.  She has recently moved into a retirement community in Long Beach, California where she lives today.

Elmer and Renee married shortly after he entered the service. He became an Army Air Corps bomber pilot. On a top-secret mission over Italy to bomb the Monte Cassino Abbey his B-26 bomber was shot down on the return to a base in Sardinia, presumably over water because the plane was never recovered. Jerry returned to Mexico to take charge of his father's ranch shortly after World War II began officially for the United States in 1941. He died there of typhoid fever in 1949.

Mexico had declared war on Germany and proclaimed that it would confiscate all property belonging to German citizens. Mexico had quite a contingent of German immigrants living in a colonial-like environment, most of whom had kept their German citizenship. They were formerly from the upper echelon of German society and consisted in large part of the better-educated, including professionals such as doctors and engineers. Many became property owners accumulating rather large landholdings which were now threatened with confiscation.

Jerry's father was a German national who stood to lose everything for which he had worked so hard for so many years. In order to protect his holdings he signed them all over into Jerry's name. His number two son was born in Mexico when the nationality law of Mexico was under the concept of jus soli, the principle that the country of nationality of a child is determined by its country of birth. Thus, he was Mexican citizen with all rights attached thereto. Jerry's older brother, Dick, was also born in Mexico; however, the concept of jus sanguinis was the nationality principle of the country at that time. It states that the country or nationality of a child is determined by the of country or nationality of the parents. Therefore, Dick was a German citizen like his father.

Like Elmer, who returned to Canada in the summer during the school vacation period, Jerry always returned to Mexico to his parents' cotton ranch. With both of them away, I had to develop an entirely different lifestyle with a another set of friends at the beach. However, as is so often true of summer friendships, my beach friends were temporary with very little carryover from one year to the next.

During the school year Jerry, Elmer and I, like most teenage boys, were constant companions searching for new things to do and see. Often on week-ends, with the Los Angeles, Long Beach and San Pedro Harbors so near - within walking or biking distance as long as you were young with nothing but time on your hands and lots of pent-up energy - we would explore the docks. I never was able to distinguish one harbor from the other - they comprised one grand area within which to spend the day and do nothing but roam and investigate.

If no one stopped us, we would board some of the freighters. Sometimes friendly crew members would give us a tour of the ship. The engine rooms were particularly interesting. Other times we would find a dinghy tied, but not locked, with oars in it. The three of us would 'borrow' it and paddle the harbors around and between the moored ships. As it grew dark, we always returned the row boat intact and left it just as we had found it. These mini-journeys were fascinating for three young boys eager to learn about and experience as much about the unsheltered world as possible.

Long Beach and the harbor area during the 1930's were safer places for children and grown-ups alike than they are now. This despite the fact that the unemployment rate was very high and that one encountered a lot of idle men during the day seeking and willing to take any kind of job. Perhaps we were just foolhardy young boys, but we took our adventures wherever they led unafraid. However, we were wary of areas heavily populated by Mexicans. Pachuco gangs armed with knives were known to pick fights with 'gringos,' particularly if they outnumbered them. Where the races were more evenly distributed the problem diminished considerably. Most bad incidents occurred at night, however, and ours were largely daytime trips.

A number of blacks lived in not the best housing in the northwestern section of Long Beach near the oil refineries. Most blacks, however, were to be found in the Compton-Lynwood and South Los Angeles vicinity. I don't recall being fearful about wandering those areas during the day. Nighttime was something else. Nevertheless, I can recall the three of us along with some other Poly High guys driving to a strictly black nightclub in the refinery area at night. Their music and dance styles were fascinating to listen to and watch. We weren't afraid, but at the same time we were quite careful not to create any irritation or incite trouble in any way. Discretion was always the better part of valor. We were tolerated as long as we spent a little money on something to drink.

We did our youthful share of imbibing the hard sauce, but concentrated chiefly on beer. With prohibition finally dead and gone, the fascination young people had for drinking had waned considerably. I can remember the first time we bought a bottle of gin and drove around while we drank it. To me it tasted like perfume and I became violently ill. That cured me of drinking gin; I can't tolerate it to this day.

Another type of place we visited was the saloon-type country-western joint. Most of them were to be found in the Palmdale-Lancaster area. There the floor was covered with sawdust and the music and booze flowed fairly heavily. We had to be more cautious in these places, because these red-neck rough-n-ready country boys and truck drivers that frequented them could get pretty boisterous after they had hoisted a few and they loved to pick fights. Other similar joints located in San Bernadino (San Berdu) had the added attraction of sporting ladies of the night. "D" Street had the worst reputation. I can't recall, that as brave as we were, that we did any more than talk about that area and drive through it, but never actually stopping for a visit.

When Long Beach Poly played one of the San Diego football teams, a number of us would ride down to see the game which was held during the day. Nighttime football for high schools existed only rarely in those days. That meant that we could explore Tiajuana, Mexico at night after the game. There was one bar that had the same reputation as "D" Street in San Berdu. It was called El Molino Rojo, The Red Mill. The front of this joint was fairly typical of the cantinas found throughout Mexico. But the back was another story.

There were women one to a stall soliciting any and all brave enough and with sufficient dinero. I can remember that a number of us chipped in to pay for one of our group who volunteered to take part in a 'social engagement' with one of these charmers on the proviso that we could all watch. At the last minute he chickened out and we lost our front money. I ran into him at our 50th high school reunion and we relived that episode and had a big belly laugh over it. He swore that he was never serious about following through with his part of the bargain.

One of our favorite nighttime haunts was a pool hall below street level located on Locust Avenue just north of Ocean Blvd. A lot of businesses found in that area tended to be somewhat on the seamy side. The three of us would buy King Edward rum-soaked cigars at two-for-a-nickel and spend our time playing snooker. The cigars were somewhat crooked with waves in them, not straight like most cigars; this was probably due to the rum. Snooker was imported from Great Britain; it involves a larger table with mostly all-red and some numbered balls and very small pockets. The game requires a higher degree of skill than ordinary pocket billiards. The three of us felt we were a cut above the ordinary pool player. A snooker table was usually available when all the regular pool tables were in use with a waiting list. I don't remember the fee for playing, but it must have been all of 25 cents a game.

Many times we would just wander around the down-town area or down to the Pike. On one such excursion, I remember that we were walking on one side of the street when we noticed an older woman walking on the other side with a Chihuahua dog on a leash. She was rather large and the sight of her with such a tiny dog on a leash struck us as being very funny. One of us, I don't remember who, pointed to the dog and said, "Look at the rat; that woman has a rat on a leash!" It was said loud enough for her to hear. The poor woman was furious and wagged her finger at us at same time giving us a colorful piece of her mind. We called the dog a rat a few more times and moved on laughing. We could still hear the dog's owner berating us from quite a distance. When I think about it now, I realize how insensitive and cruel we were. But, boys will be boys.