Category: Los Angeles

Satisfaction

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Last year my high school Class of 1966 had its fiftieth reunion. It was fun seeing people who had dropped out of my life for so long. Since then I’ve tried to stay in touch with many of them via Facebook and the occasional lunches and such that our class leaders schedule. I’ve attended a few funerals as well where I have encountered the most faithful among us. Mostly those sad occasions have been for the parents of my school pals, but now and again we gather for one of our own. I have written blogs about many of those people in an effort to honor their memories and to thank them for the impact they had on my life. It’s particularly sad to see peers losing battles with disease. It is a reminder that all of us are headed in one direction, so we need to be certain that we are getting the most out of life while we have the opportunity.

Last week we received notification that yet another among us is now gone. Harry Butler did not attend our reunion which was rather in keeping with his general personality, but I often thought of him even though I never saw him again after our graduation day. Harry was in the same honors class in which I was. Since the school chose to send us from class to class as a group we were rather constant companions for four years, but I still didn’t know him as well as some of the others. Nonetheless I was fascinated with Harry because he was one of those individuals who insisted on marching to his own drumbeat. There was always something quite interesting about him. I always believed that he would have an exciting life.

It did not take long for all of us to realize that Harry was a gifted writer with an imagination and wit that was intriguing. As someone who longed to be a journalist or a story teller I watched Harry with great interest because I believed that I would learn much from him. It became sadly apparent to me that I would never be able to equal his talent. He had a way with words that set him apart from those of us who labored away at composing. He was an artist who painted stunning pictures with his sentences and paragraphs. He was able to make us all howl with uncontrollable laughter with his essays and newspaper articles. When he created much of the script for our annual Junior/Senior banquet one year the whole class saw how remarkable he truly was.

Harry went to St. Thomas University in Houston, Texas after graduation form high school and majored in English. I lost track of him except through friends who would encounter him from time to time. I learned that he eventually went to Los Angeles to try his hand at screenwriting. I heard rumors that he had actually done well out there and I often found myself scanning film and television credits to see if his name popped up. I really did expect to see him at an awards ceremony one day because I felt that he was that good at his craft. Of course I never saw such a thing but I never really forgot about him. When I traveled to that part of the country I found myself wondering where he lived and how he was doing. I tried to imagine whether or not he had worked with famous people and what scripts he may have created.

I learned from his obituary that he had been sick since January of this year. He had developed an infection of unknown origin that caused an embolism in his brain. This is how he died and it made me so very sad because he possessed a truly remarkable brain. I hoped and prayed that his final days and weeks had not been too painful and that he had been able to read the books that he always enjoyed and listen to the music that enchanted him.

Harry’s father had been a record distributor when we were in high school. Because of that Harry always seemed to have advance knowledge of what new music would be coming our way. He enjoyed regaling us with his insider information and I delighted in being privy to it.. Harry was a character in every sense of the word and his musical insights only added to an air of mystery that always seemed to surround him.

Harry was an exceptional debater, another talent of which I was a tiny bit jealous because Lord knows that I tried so very hard to master that skill. No matter how hard I worked at it I was unable to come close to being as exceptional as he was. Harry was quite simply one of those people who thought on his feet and was able to come up with just the right retorts at just the right moments. He and his debate partner and friend had quite a run as superstars. I often thought that he might become a lawyer but I suspect that such a career was just a bit too tame for him. Harry was out of the ordinary and we all seemed to sense that.

I learned that Harry spent his work life in Los Angeles but returned to Texas after he retired. He chose to settle in Galveston where he loved reading and listening to music. He brought a former ballerina with them and the two of them enjoyed a quiet life near the sea. Even in his final days Harry managed to seem a bit exotic and to have done things on his own terms.

It’s amazing how we never quite forget the people with whom we spend our teenage years. I regret that I never really got to know Harry just a bit better or to tell him how much I admired him. I suspect that I was too much in awe of his remarkable talent in areas in which I so wanted to succeed in my own right. It was as though I saw myself as little more than a hack whenever I compared my abilities with his. Eventually I found the confidence that I had lacked back then and realized that Harry and I had very different styles. I became content to have watched him from afar and to know that maybe just maybe he had found some magic out in Hollywood. At least I certainly hope that is true. I’d like to believe that he lived the kind of life of which he had dreamed so long ago.

Harry’s death signals the passing of another extraordinary member of our class. I feel confident that he is now resting in peace with the angels and cracking them up with his razor sharp sense of humor just as he shared his gift with us so long ago. I remember a time when he proclaimed that the Rolling Stones were the best rock group ever. I argued with him at the time and lost of course, but I always thought of him over the years as that group became my favorite as well. Upon hearing of his death I heard the strains of Satisfaction in my brain and thought of his grin and sarcastic humor that always made us laugh. Thank you, Harry, for some really good times.

The Weather Outside Is Frightful

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

A-Stormy-Atlantic.jpgThe weather outside if frightful. No, it’s not snowing. It’s too warm. This is the last day of November and I have yet to wear a sweater or a pair of boots. My grass is stilling growing and in need of a good mowing. I have hibiscus blooms and dozens of roses. While it is a lovely sight I am a creature of habit and it is simply not supposed to be this temperate at this time of year. I’m all in for some cold weather but it doesn’t seem to be anywhere on the horizon.

The stores in my city can barely give away coats. I won’t be surprised if someone is one day standing at the exits passing them out to anyone who wants to take them away. Sweaters are faring no better. The winter season will pass and I will never have removed my flip flops. Usually by now I have switched my winter things to a more prominent position in my closet but this year I have left those things hidden in the dark recesses. I wonder if I will need them at all.

I point all of this out because I can’t imagine how anyone still clings to the false premise that climate change is a myth. It stands to reason that we have a symbiotic relationship with nature. There are photos from space that show the destruction that we have wrought on our planet and our atmosphere. We have already reached a dangerous tipping point and yet there are far too many people who argue that we humans have nothing to do with the changes that are so apparent to those of us who have witnessed many seasons.

A recent article in my local newspaper pointed out that areas of the city are experiencing flooding problems for the first time in their history. An expert noted that when communities are being initially planned the builders generally take drainage into account and grade to insure that run off goes into the gutters. Of late individuals are tearing down older homes and erecting massive houses that disregard the way heavy rains will flow. The result has been devastating in some places. This of course is just one more way in which we humans sometimes ignore the negative effect of our decisions.

We have a world of problems and we have become accustomed to living in relative luxury compared to our ancestors. My children are members of the first generation to spend all of their lives in air conditioned homes. Back in the day we left our windows open in the summer and used fans to stir up a breeze. It was sometimes brutally hot but we learned how to live with it. There weren’t many electronics to run and most families owned a single car regardless of the size of the family. In other words we used far less energy than most people use today. We all too often believe that it would be impossible to live in conditions that were commonplace in the past.

I realize that it would be difficult to revert to the old ways and I don’t necessarily think that we should. What does need to happen is a nationwide investment in finding new and reliable ways of providing energy. When we put concerted effort into reaching the moon we were successful in a very short span of time. We should create the same level of excitement for dealing with climate change. In my day young people dreamed of working at NASA and being part of the space program. The best and the brightest wanted to be part of the action. If we were all to agree that solving the problems that so devastate our planet are just as important we might turn the tide.

My brother was one of those youngsters who walked around with an illustrated book written by Werner von Braun which described a station in space that would house humans. He told people when he was a tiny tot that he was going to work on building such things. He studied hard with the goal of one day achieving something exciting. He has now spent virtually his entire career designing the navigational systems for the International Space Station. What had once been only pictures in his mind became stunning reality.

I feel that it is incumbent upon all of our leaders to accept the facts that scientists around the globe have proven with compelling evidence. My own anecdotal comments about the weather may be false but the data and photographs lead to the same conclusions as mine. I worry when I travel to the western United States and see dangerously dry conditions so unlike what I witnessed in the same places when I was young.

Some people seem to think that climate change is a political football. An entire party appears to embrace the very dangerous idea that it is somehow a made up concept designed to funnel money to particular industries and take it from others. The game that they play is dangerous. It overlooks the possible future of our children and grandchildren. It is a gamble that I don’t wish to make.

A group of Native Americans are waging a battle at Standing Rock. They do not want a pipeline to be built near the Columbia River. They worry about its potential effect on the very water that the people in that area drink. Whether or not their concerns are real or foolish seems to matter little to me. They deserve to have a say over what happens to land that once belonged wholly to their ancestors and was taken away by people who somehow thought their claims were invalid. We have treated our native peoples with gross disregard for far too long. We have ignored their traditions and dishonored the animals and the environment. They have been right more often than not as we blithely altered the landscape. Now it is time to hear them out. Theirs is a voice that we should not ignore on both moral and objective grounds.

We are beginning to understand the error of our human ways but there are still those who have managed to convince themselves that we are entitled to the fruits of our planet without consequence. The time for such thinking should be long past. It is too dry in some places and too wet in others. The extremes that we see in weather should not be reproduced in our political landscape. I long for true leaders who will educate the public rather than pander for votes. Our fate depends whether or not we are able to finally take the necessary steps to save us all. 

The City of Angels and Demons

Published on by Sharron Burnett1 Comment

Los_Angeles_-_Echangeur_autoroute_110_105I have just completed a five thousand mile road trip with my husband and two of my grandchildren. It was a glorious adventure that will be forever imprinted on my memory. Together we saw and did wondrous things. This morning I am experiencing the letdown that so often comes with a return to normalcy. It has been three weeks since I was last inside the realm of reality. I managed to avoid the depressing news cycles and the speechifying propaganda of the Republican convention. I suspect that my journey would have exceeded perfection if it had been timed to ignore the Democrat convention as well. If there is one thing that I know for certain it is that a single speech does not define a political animal so I really don’t need to watch the cleverly rehearsed commentaries to decide how to vote in November.

When last I submitted a blog I was on my way to Los Angeles. We were driving through the Mojave Desert from Needles, California, a place so hot and devoid of personality that I had to wonder why anyone ever chose to live there. I noted that it was the home of Spike, one of Snoopy’s brothers, and had to chuckle that it must be a dog’s life in that dry and forlorn place.

By the afternoon we had reached our destination in the greater Los Angeles metropolitan area after wandering through a seemingly endless stretch of bone dry land that was nonetheless hauntingly beautiful. Many miles out of the city we caught up with the famous LA traffic that slowed our progress to a disturbing crawl. It felt as though we had somehow found our way into a beehive of uninterrupted activity.

Los Angeles is a behemoth of a city. It stretches in every direction with seven lane highways creating pathways from one part of town to another. Even with such gigantic road systems progress along the roads is slow and deliberate. There is no room for the timid. The landscape is a patchwork of ethnic and economic diversity from the plenty of Wilshire Boulevard to the want of East LA.

We stayed in a campground just past Magic Mountain that harkened to the California of the nineteen fifties. My grandchildren voted it the best of its kind with its two kidney shaped swimming pools and credit card operated laundromat. It lay in the shadow of Santa Clarita where we shopped for provisions and cooled our heels on a Saturday afternoon watching a movie. I remarked at the time that the entire area appeared to be a tender box just waiting for someone to carelessly toss a cigarette or match. I mentally planned an escape route if the place were to suddenly become an inferno. Luckily we did not experience any problems but only one week after our departure an enormous wildfire broke out nearby and it continues to rage to this very day. It seems that my instincts were right on target.

We did the usual touristy things in Los Angeles. We visited Hollywood and even joined a snake-like parade of cars in the drive to see the famous sign that sits on a hill overlooking the city. We saw the Walk of Fame and drove through Beverly Hills. We went to Rodeo Drive and up and down Sunset Boulevard. I suspect that some of the luster chipped away for my grandchildren who found the endless traffic and the multitude of homeless to be quite disturbing.

They were much happier at Universal City where they immersed themselves in the fantasies of moviedom. Under their direction we arose early and arrived at the theme park at 7:30 in the morning. We were able to enjoy the Harry Potter section without crowds and partake of the rides a number of times without much wait. The attraction was indeed as magical as the children had hoped and served to reinstate their interest in this incredible city.

We stayed until the park closed at ten that night. We felt an ecstatic kind of exhaustion that comes after an incomparable day. We had braved roller coaster rides and an hour standing in line to tour the studios. We jumped in fright at a velociraptor and were taken by surprise by a giant Egyptian. We walked through the Walking Dead exhibit with delight and I had to laugh that my grandchildren seemed to be the only youngsters daring enough to do so. All in all the park was well worth the long journey that brought us to this place.

We did not have as much time in Los Angeles as we had hoped. We found that getting from one area to another was far more time consuming than we had imagined it would be. I had hoped to visit the Huntington  Library on our final day but my crew was far too tired to make the trip. Instead we enjoyed the southern California sun at the swimming pool and took in a movie which seemed appropriate given our locale. Our journey to our next destination, San Diego, would take us across the entire north south expanse of the city and with wall to wall traffic that hardly moved we managed to see much more of this famous town.

Los Angeles is definitely a study in contrasts. North Hollywood where I lived for a short time when I was eight appears to have seen better days. Back then it was a middle class enclave with stucco structures much like the one where my family resided. We had a big yard with trees that shaded us from the sun. Our living room boasted a fireplace which was quite exotic to me. I recall riding a bus to school through hilly streets that held lovely structures that appeared to be the domains of the wealthy. Sixty years later the area has lost the luster that I remember from my childhood. It has a run down appearance as though it has been abandoned for greener pastures.

The LA freeways are in constant motion even at midnight. It seems as though the city never sleeps. In the more wealthy areas the streets are manicured and clean. In those where the economically disadvantaged reside there are mountains of trash littering the roads and bright and creative graffiti voicing the frustrations of those who experience want in a land of abundance. It is a vibrant place where one must keep moving just to stay in place. In many ways the city wore us out.

Even though my own home of Houston, Texas is the fourth largest area in the country it is a far cry from Los Angeles in terms of population and the problems that come with ministering to such an enormous number of residents. I found LA to be more than I want to handle at my age. I enjoyed the excitement for awhile but longed for a slower pace by the time that we departed.

Our three days in Los Angeles were wonderful nonetheless and I hope to one day return again. I have to admit that I found LA to be far less beautiful that the northern areas of the state. In spite of the luxurious estates of the rich and famous, Los Angeles still has a kind of gritty feel that evokes images more of the old west than opulent culture. It is a working man’s town where dreams seem likely to come true but often lead to bitter disappointment. It is a place filled with millions of stories that live themselves out while tourists imagine fantasies about what life must be like in this vast expanse. I have to commend anyone willing to try their luck in this city. It’s streets are both paved with gold and filled with dangerous detours but all in all it is a truly amazing place.