Charles C. Cordova's Blog

The Mean Streets of Monterey Park

Greg came into JJ's this morning trembling and pale, looking upset. The rest of us noticed. Wallace asked him what was wrong, for clearly something was, and after a little coaxing we finally winkled it out of him.

"I start to cross the street on my way over here," Greg told us, "so I look to my right. Y'know? I see this car coming toward me, but it's way far away, so I step off the curb. And when I do, I hear these brakes squealing. So I turn and see this car almost hit me from the left. Naturally, I got back on the curb muy pronto."

He paused, looking at each of us for sympathy, but when no one spoke he went on.

"So I step off again and look to my left. But you remember that car that was way far away? Well, now it's nearly on top of me. So quick like a bunny I jump back again. Now I'm thinking the hell with this, I'll just walk on this side until I reach the signal on the corner. When it turns green, I look both ways before crossing." He tapped a finger to the side of his head.

"So you got across okay?" I asked.

"Hell, no," Greg said. "That's when I almost got killed. As I'm walking I spot Frank's black Lexus there, waiting for me to cross. So I figure I'll blow him a kiss, just to make him smile. Y'know? Trouble is, it wasn't Frank's car! It was some other guy, and he didn't appreciate me blowing him a kiss in broad daylight."

"Took umbrage, did he?" I asked.

"Don't know what he took, but he sure got ticked off. I had to run across that street to keep from getting run over. Damned near didn't make it."

The rest of us nod knowingly.

. . .These are the mean streets of Monterey Park, after all.

I've Still Got It!

We were gathered inside JJ's Donut Shop this morning, the weather being cold and overcast, when a lovely young woman with dark hair, bright lipstick and a nice figure got out of her car and walked in. Then she did something unusual. --Unusual for us, at least. She smiled at us.

Most young women pretend we don't exist. After all, we're not young studs, we're geezers.

But when she smiled, each man there felt certain that she had smiled at him and no one else. This, even though all of us are either in our sixties, seventies or eighties. We likely would have gotten into a fistfight over who she had smiled at, but she turned around with donut and coffee in hand and smiled at us again.

"Hello," she said brightly, and each of us had the same thought: "She said hello to me! I've still got it." This belief was confirmed when, rather than walk out to her car, she came toward us and sat down. Right between Ryan and me.

"My name's Simone," she announced, and gave us a winning smile.

"I'm Ryan." "I'm Wallace." I'm Benny." . . .ad nauseum, the men responded. She shook each man's hand.

"Well, gentlemen," Simone said, "I'm here to ask if any of you would like to support my son's baseball team by purchasing a few raffle tickets. Only two dollars each." Then she took a deep breath.

Without hesitating, we all reached for our wallets.

Within ten minutes, Simone had sold all her tickets. She counted her money, smiled at us graciously, and then walked to her car and left -- probably never to be seen again.

But no matter. Each of us, regardless of age, had the same thought: "Yup, I've still got it."

Honk, Honk

Yesterday, seven of us geezers breakfasted at Jack's Whittier Restaurant, located on Whittier Boulevard in -- you guessed it -- Whittier, California.

The food was good, but it's what happened after we left that I want to write about.

While Ryan drove us back to JJ's Donut Shop, people sped past and honked -- twice. I smiled and wave at them, but couldn't figure out why people kept honking.

The mystery was explained when we reached JJ's. We found a large sign taped to the back of Ryan's truck that said, "Honk twice if we look gay."

Frank's wide grin told us he'd been the instigator of this nefarious bit of skullduggery, and Ryan decided to wreak his revenge, with my help.

After Frank walked into JJ's, Ryan and I pulled the sign off the truck and pasted it onto the back of Officer Cleusseau's squad car.

Officer Cleusseau, I must point out, is a fine, outstanding veteran of the City of Monterey Park's police force. He likes to stop by for the occasional donut and a little conversation, and he was there that morning when we returned from breakfast.

After talking to us a while, he walked out to his car. When he found the "Honk twice" sign he marched back into JJ's. Holding the sign in one hand, he glared at us and said, "All right, Frank, what's the big idea?" He was not smiling.

Ryan and I hurriedly left JJ's when we saw Officer Cleusseau reach for his tazer. Although Frank probably did not get tazed, we didn't hang around long enough to find out.

. . .Oh, and did I mention that Ryan added Frank's signature to the sign?

A New Seafood Restaurant

It's not easy being an old geezer. Not easy at all.

This morning, Lorenzo -- in his sixties and gradually losing his hearing -- came into JJ's Donut Shop for his daily cup of coffee. Then he came over to the table Frank, Wallace and I were sharing.

Wallace was telling Frank and me about his collection of classic cars. He mentioned a local auto repair shop, and that was when Lorenzo joined us. Pulling up a chair, he asked, "Is that where we're going for lunch?"

"What?" Wallace said, confused. "Where?"

"That restaurant you just mentioned."

"What restaurant? I wasn't talking about no restaurant."

Lorenzo glanced skeptically at Wallace. "Sure you were. I just heard you say something about a seafood restaurant."

"Okay," said Wallace with equal skepticism. "What restaurant?"

"Tuna Mashers."

With Frank and I doing our best not to laugh, Wallace explained, "I was talking about that auto shop down the street, Tuneup Masters."

. . . As I said, it's not easy being a geezer.

Coffee at JJ's - The Book

The book is called Coffee at JJ's. It's a humorous look at a dozen older men who meet every morning for coffee at a donut shop called JJ's in Monterey Park, California.

Sounds simple enough, right?

Well, it is. I am the book's author. For one year I took notes -- with the men's permission, of course -- about what they did and the subjects they discussed. Most of the book is funny, but there is the occasional serious moment (as when one man informs us that his wife has cancer and it is terminal).

But essentially, Coffee at JJ's is a funny book, dealing with the subjects that old men tend to talk about when no women are around. I'll leave that to your imagination. Or better yet, I'll let you read the book to find out.

This thing is, I'm not placing my book in bookstores; only online at Amazon.com or BN.com.

Coffee at JJ's - Ch. 4: Lottery Fraud, Part 5

THE CALIFORNIA LOTTERY is held each Friday evening, so one Saturday morning in September while Wallace, Frank, Ryan and I sit outside JJ's, we watch as a white stretch limousine pulls to the curb right in front of us. It is much too long to make the turn into the parking lot, so Wallace immediately starts shouting excitedly.

"That's our limo! That's our limo!" he screams. "Greg said he'd show up in a limo if we ever hit it big. We've won. We've hit the lottery! We've won!"

I catch Wallace's enthusiasm. "I bet Greg's inside. Watch him step out with a bottle of champagne."

"I wonder how much we won," Wallace says, thinking out loud.

"Naw," Ryan says. "If we had hit the lottery, Greg would be in Mexico by now, having a margarita and laughing at us."

"Your faith in humanity," I tell Ryan, "is touching."

Frank studies the limo. "Here comes the driver. Let's ask him." A short man in a chauffeur's black uniform, including the classic cap, black tie and white shirt, strides toward us.

"Tell us Greg hired you," Wallace says, unable to keep the anticipation out of his voice. "Tell us we won last night's lottery and you're here to pick us up."

But the driver shakes his head. "Sorry, guys. I'm just here for some coffee."

"Really?"

The man shrugs.

Wallace, visibly disappointed, says, "Damn. Damn, damn, damn. I thought for sure...."

He is gloomy for another minute or so, but soon cheers up. "There'll be other lotteries," he says philosophically. "Sooner or later, we'll catch the big one."

"Uh-huh," says Frank in a dead, unenthusiastic voice. "Right."

Coffee at JJ's - Ch. 4: Lottery Fraud, Part 4

VICTOR MAKES ONE of his semi-rare appearances one morning and says hi to everyone as usual before walking into JJ's. We say hi in return. Like me, Victor is still a working man. Unlike me, he owns his own business. Every couple of weeks or so he stops in to buy a boxful of donuts for his employees.

When he comes out with the usual pink box of as-sorted donuts, we expect him to walk straight to his car and drive away. Instead, he sets the box on one of our tables and leaves it there.

"You guys go ahead and enjoy," he says.

We all look at one another. Some of the guys grab a donut and say thanks, others grab a donut and don't say thanks. Two of the guys, Wallace and Greg, don't move at all. They're diabetic. Victor waves goodbye to us and drives off.

A minute or so later, Backup Benny comes by. As he walks toward us, we point to the box on the table, half a dozen donuts still inside it. Greg tells him, "Victor just left those for us. They're free."

Backup Benny says, "Really? How much are they?"

"A buck each," Greg answers with a straight face.

Backup Benny nods. "Oh, okay." He selects one and eats it, but doesn't pay for it.

Wallace looks inside the box. He gets an idea. "Why don't we sell these donuts back to Nancy?"

Everyone agrees this will be a good way to raise a little extra cash, but then Greg complicates things by thinking, always a dangerous thing. He asks, "What'll we do with the money?"

Few events wreak more havoc, or are more destructive to the general welfare of the community, than thinking. No good can come of it, and the process is generally discouraged. But the question has been asked, and must be answered. Frowns appear on several brows. Confusion looms.

Jake suggests we buy more lottery tickets. "Just don't tell Victor about it," he adds.

"No, man," Greg says. "That wouldn't be right. I mean, fair's fair. If we use Victor's money to buy a winning lottery ticket, he should get a share of whatever we win."

—This is what I mean about no good coming from thinking. One man's brain gets put in gear, then another one does it, then another, and pretty soon the contagion spreads like wheat grass at a Jamba Juice convention. Soon the whole congregation has started cogitating. Anarchy ensues.

"Yeah," Ryan says as the thinking virus continues to spread. "But what if we win $200 million?"

This stops everyone for a moment, until Backup Benny says, "How about if we give Victor a box of donuts? —You know. To show our appreciation."

Several arguments are put forth. One camp—the right wing nut job crowd—favors giving Victor the whole amount, since it was his money that paid for the winning ticket. But this clearly is an insane proposal and is quickly shouted down. Another group—the radical left contingent—believes we should give Victor one share; while a third faction—the atheistic nihilists—think we shouldn't tell him anything at all.

"And what about our wives?" Wallace asks. "What do we tell them?"

"Don't tell them nothing," says Greg.

"Yeah," Ryan adds. "It'll be better for all of us if we keep them in the dark. First thing they'll want to do is spend the money on useless things like mortgage payments and electricity bills. Or hairdos, or...."

"...Or going to the Middle East for vacation," Benny says, shuddering.

"Yeah, if you're married, don't tell your wife nothing," Backup Benny says.

"Okay, agreed," Greg says firmly. "But what about Victor?"

After much heated discussion, the general consensus is that when we win the $200 million lottery, the first thing we'll do is give Victor two boxes of donuts.

...Fair's fair.

Coffee at JJ's - Ch. 4: Lottery Fraud, Part 3

ONE SATURDAY Greg comes riding toward us on his bicycle, smiling and obviously anxious to tell us something important.

   "Good news," he says as he dismounts. "Lemme get a cup of coffee and I'll tell you how much we won."

   But no one is willing to wait. We jump up as a group and follow him into JJ's, a pack of wolves following the alpha male. "Tell us," Jake demands. "How much did we win?"

   "Yeah," Wallace adds. "How much?"

   "Hang on. Let me get my coffee."

   We stand there impatiently as Nancy, the lovely, diminutive woman who owns JJ's, pours a cup for Greg. We watch in surprise as she adds a small packet of Splenda to his coffee. Nancy is a pretty woman, married and in her thirties, from Thailand. She and her husband took over the operation of JJ's in March of this year, a month or so before I joined the group. Nancy stirs Greg's coffee as we watch impatiently.

   "Come on, man," Benny urges Greg. "Tell us. How much?"

   The suspense is almost palpable. Greg takes a sip from his cup and announces, "Nine dollars."

   "Each?" I ask.

   He shakes his head. "All together. It works out to forty-five cents for each of us."

   "Hey," Lorenzo says. "We're rich! Drinks on the house! For everyone!"

   Greg's eyes take on a pained expression. "You don't need to be sarcastic."

   "Sarcastic?" Lorenzo says, putting a hand to his heart. "Moi?"

   We go back to our tables outside, where the sarcasm escalates exponentially. Wallace says, "I know what I'm gonna do with my share. I'm gonna hire a financial planner. Have him put my share in stocks and bonds. All forty-five cents of it."

   "Not me," I tell him. "I'm going to buy my own country."

   "I'm buyin' a new house," Benny says. "—No. Two new houses. One for me and one for my wife. Hers'll be in New York. —Or maybe Australia."

   Frank, always a generous, kind-hearted man, declares, "I'm leaving my share to charity in my will. I'll just live off the interest."

   And that is the last time Greg tries to tell us we've won such a paltry amount.

   "Buncha ingrates," he mutters gloomily, the pained look never leaving his eyes.

   Wallace tells him, "Just be glad forty-five cents can't buy a good hit-man."

Coffee at JJ's - Ch. 4: Lottery Fraud, Part 2

   "—Anyway," Ryan says, interrupting. "If we win any big amount, like a few million dollars, we'll split it 60-40. Sixty percent for me, and the rest of you can divide the other forty percent among yourselves."
   Greg thinks this over for a moment before saying, "That don't sound fair."
   "Okay," Ryan says. "How about if I pay the taxes for everybody? Is that better?"
   "Much better."
   Backup Benny, another of JJ's regulars who has been following this conversation closely, says, "Hey, wait a minute. Hold on. If Ryan gets sixty percent, and the rest of us split forty percent, who gets the other ten percent?"
"YOU OWE ME A BUCK," Greg tells me one morning. He has a pen in one hand and his notebook at the ready.
   "But I paid you last week," I argue. "And we didn't win anything. So just apply last week's dollar to this week's lottery."
   Greg shakes his head. "It don't work like that, Chuck."
   "You mean I have to give you another dollar every week?" I feel a great injustice is being done.
   Greg nods. "Yup."
   "Even if we don't win?"
   Greg shrugs. "Yup."
   "Do I get a share of the winnings if I don't pay?"
   "Nope."
   "Well, that sure sucks," I tell him as I hand him a dollar. He takes it and puts a check mark by my name.
   Observing all this, Jake says, "Hey, Chuck, do you know a four-letter word that costs you money every time you see it?"
   "No."
   "Greg."
   Toshi, whose wife occasionally sends us a batch of her homemade muffins, has just watched me give Greg a dollar. He says, "Hey, Chuck, when you gonna pay Greg your dollar?"
   "When your wife makes us some more muffins."
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY Lorenzo comes by and Wallace hands him a ten dollar bill. "Give Greg a call," Wallace tells him. "Ask him how much I owe for the lottery."
   Occasionally one of the guys will fall behind in his payments. So Lorenzo pulls out his cell phone, makes the call and then turns to Wallace. "Greg says he can't talk right now."
   Wallace waves this off. "Just ask him how much I owe for the lottery." Lorenzo speaks into the phone again, and then turns to Wallace, "He says he really can't talk. He'll see you tomorrow."
   The next day Greg comes in and explains to Wallace as the rest of us listen: "I'm in the doctor's office, bent over. He's got his finger poking around where the sun don't shine, and Lorenzo's asking me how much you owe? Y'know, it's kinda hard to talk with another guy's finger up your butt."
   "Not if you like that sort of thing," Benny says.
   Greg answers, "Yeah, well, I don't."
   "That ain't what you tell me when we're alone."
   Greg ignores him.
Read Part 3 of Chapter 4 Tomorrow 

Coffee at JJ's - Ch. 4: Lottery Fraud, Part 1

4   If he doesn't have his notebook, he won't accept anyone's payment. We feel it's that kind of unwavering honesty that's keeping us from winning the lottery.
   "Bribe somebody!" we yell at him. "Steal!"
   "Yeah, kill if you have to!"
   But he refuses to cheat despite our most vehement exhortations. We suspect that he lacks the larceny gene with which normal people are born.
   Since there are generally between fifteen and twenty guys in the pool, that is how many "quick pick" tickets Greg buys each week. We try to give him our dollar before Friday but don't always succeed, which leads to at least one unsettling experience for Greg.
   He tells us, "I was driving somewhere—not here—just after sunset and someone seemed to be following me. In the dark, I couldn't tell who it was. So I made some sharp turns, figuring I'd lose the guy. But nothing worked. Left turns, U‑turns, three right turns in a row—the other car kept up with me. Speed up, slow down; I couldn't shake him."
   "So what'd you do?" Frank asks.
   "Well, I finally gave up. I pulled to the curb and stopped. The guy got out of his car and came running up to me. Turned out it was Gilbert. 'Sure glad you finally stopped,' he told me. 'I got my dollar for this week's lottery. Here.' He handed me a buck, and took off. I just sat there shaking for a while."
   Gilbert, I learn, only shows up once every few weeks at JJ's. Not what you would call a regular. But he likes to contribute to the lottery, so Greg accepts his dollar with good grace.
GREG HAS A PHONE NUMBER in his wallet for almost all the guys, and promises to call each of us in the middle of the night if we ever hit the lottery for any serious money. Those of us who are married make him promise to hang up if our wives answer. No sense in upsetting the poor dears with monetary details.
   Lorenzo, one of the regulars, has about a month's worth of beard growing around the edges of his face and upper lip. He brings out a small comb, which he brushes against his face. As he does he tells Greg, "Don't wake me up unless my share is at least a million bucks."
   "Hell," Wallace says, "Wake me up even if all I win is a buck."
   "If you win a what?" Benny, another regular asks as he leans in eagerly and pretends he hasn't heard.
   "A buck," Wallace says with exaggerated clarity. "A buck. Get your mind out of the gutter."
   "Why?" Benny replies calmly. "I like it there."
   "Maybe I should report you to your parole officer."
   "For what?"
   "For still wearing leisure suits."

Read Part 2 of Chapter 4 Tomorrow