Homeless in LA circa 1976

I was homeless in October and November of 76 out in Santa Monica. I hitchhiked there to look for a job. Back then Cali was the place to be. After all, that’s where the Eagles came from. But I quickly discovered that in L.A. you would not be hired unless you had a permanent apartment. And then I discovered that you could not afford a permanent apartment unless you’d been hired.

Catch 22 in real time. 

The nicest place I ever stayed was out there - a mansion in Brentwood. Well, I didn't actually stay in the mansion, but rather in a ravine a stone’s throw from the mansion. It was a nice ravine.

I discovered that I did not like the other homeless/really broke-ass people. Their desperation and need had them acting tough and mean and heartless. Maybe I should have felt sorry for them but I didn't, and for the most part I still don't. Progress is found in helping one another, in working as a team to a goal to benefit the body of us. There was none of that. 

Being homeless was not all dark though. There was some light and some hope.

 

Norm's was a chain of four restaurants in the Santa Monica area. They were 24 hour places. Sleeping on the beach at night was tough - the full belly of the soup kitchen meal wore off by 10 pm. It was hard to sleep when you’re hungry. And though it was southern Cali the nights got a bit too cool for a guy with just a jean jacket for warmth. 

I walked the night streets to keep warm and to waste time till I was so exhausted that I had not choice but to fall asleep.

So one night I stumbled across a Norm's and walked in just to enjoy the warmth. Unwashed and likely smelling bad (I hadn't yet discovered the unlocked rooming house with the nice, warm shower just adjacent to the beach) I plopped down at the counter.

 

The waitress was Midwest cute. She looked to be from Nebraska or maybe Ohio near the Amish areas. Though lean, her face was sort of round. And those pigtails and freckles were cute as hell. 

 "You want a cup of coffee?" "Sorry, I got no money. I just came in to get warm." A minute or two goes by and a cup of coffee, all nice and steamy and hot, appears.

"What do you want to eat?" Again I tell her I have no money. She disappears and a couple minutes later reappears with eggs up, bacon, hash browns and white toast. TBH I hit on her. I was 19 and that's what 19 year old guys do. She laughed at me. I was a touch embarrassed but not mad. Never hate the nice person who brings you coffee and brekky. Be grateful, goddammit.

 This went on and on for another three weeks. They were kind to me and to help repay that I was courteous and talked whatever amusing shit I could to help them while away their time. I came to Norm's a little early one night, showing up near the end of second shift instead of the beginning of third.

 

Sitting at the counter I stopped a different waitress, one I had seen in passing before, who maybe knew me by sight. "I'm cold" I told her. "Can you let me sleep in your car in the lot? I won't do anything to it. I just really need to get out of that wind and catch some sleep." She bit her lip and thought for a moment. "It's already after 10", she said, “and I only work till midnight. You won't get much sleep." "That's ok, I'll take what I can get... If that's ok with you." 

 She thought for another moment or two and said "Meet me out back in five." Giving it a couple minutes I walked out back and saw her near a compact car, a Toyota, something without much room leg room. She unlocked the passenger door and told me to get in. She slammed it behind me. I fell asleep almost immediately. When she woke me less than two hours later I was groggy and grateful. Opening the door I gave her a tired smile - "Thanks a lot. That really helped." "Get back in and close the door. I'm taking you home." That was unexpected, but I got back in and closed the door. 

  I remember nothing about the ride or going into her place - was it a house or an apartment? - except it was fair sized, too big for a single waitress's L.A. tip purse. She urged me to be careful and quiet in the dark. People were sleeping and we shouldn't wake them. She lead me to a couch I could barely see. I kicked off my boots and collapsed on it. She threw a light blanket over me and said good night. I fell back asleep immediately after.

Bacon sizzled. That sound along with some light conversation pulled me out of sleep. I opened my eyes and saw something new to me. I have since seen eggs flipped in the pan a thousand times, but I saw it then for the very first time and was totally delighted. I sat and pulled on my boots. The egg flipper called to me "You want some coffee? You take cream or sugar?" With that I headed to the kitchen. 

The young waitress sat at a rectangular old school kitchen table, as did an older woman (grandma, it turned out). Grandpa was still flipping eggs. They were a nice family, far nicer than the one I came from and maybe a bit better than I deserved. But this morning they were my angels.

"Our grandson, Becky's brother, hitchhikes to San Francisco all the time. We worry for him. But people have been nice, so we try and pass it on," grandpa explained. We ate a splendid breakfast and chatted over coffee. Again, they were better than I deserved. 

Becky gave me a ride back to the beach. The family sent me off with a full belly, a garbage bag full of clothes and advice for finding a job. I was blessed. 1976 was a time long before cell phones and affordable long distance calling options. Desperate to to get back home, I called my mom – an expensive venture from a pay phone - to beg her to send me a birthday present of $20. That would be enough to feed me on the trek back home. She agreed and I gave her the address of the hot dog stand on the beach. “Mail it c/o Jack Knight, the stand’s proprietor,” I instructed.

It arrived about five days later. I pocketed it and decided to put L.A. in the rear view mirror come the next morning. Before leaving I had to say my goodbyes. I walked to Norm's that night to see my waitress, Miss Pigtails. I told her it was time for me to go. I was tired of the beach, of sleeping rough, of the strange screams I sometimes heard in the middle of the night. 

"I'm here say thanks for all you've done for me. I really appreciated it.” As I spoke, she teared up. She was pretty and kind. I liked her. Had things been a bit different – had I been employed like a normal person I might have stayed and given it a shot. It’s a beautiful thought, but I would have only mucked it up like so many other relationships around that time. Sad but true, often the near misses are better than the connections.

I wish her and Becky well. I hope they stayed kind and that the world was not too rough on them. Their small kindnesses were infectious and I like to think they helped make the world just a little better.