My season in Hollywood. My cousin Don lived on Cherokee Avenue in an apartment just off Hollywood Boulevard. He was a postal worker at the Hollywood branch of the Post Office. At that time, I was in high school. Some weekends I would take the bus from my home in East L A to theContinue reading “My star on the walk of fame?”
Category Archives: autobiographical
Come on into my studio.
How to record music. Back in the early 1980s and up in to the mid-1990s I owned and operated a recording studio. Recording all sort of virtuosos, song writers, small bands, big bands, country, Bluegrass, gospel, rock and you name it bands. I recorded harps and harpsichords. Choirs and even one woman laughing. I recordedContinue reading “Come on into my studio.”
It was like having cows in our front yard.
The dairy came to us. The chilled paper carton I picked up from the dairy case read 2% MILK. Homogenized Fortified with vitamin-D. All printed on a half-gallon paper carton with a plastic screw off pouring spout. As I held it in my left hand, I couldn’t help but remember Johnny the milkman. A neatlyContinue reading “It was like having cows in our front yard.”
Audio Post: Outside the motherland’s border.
An apple for the teacher for sure.
A poem By Charles A. Third grade. I found a nickel I reached deep into my jeans pocket. And I found a nickel at the bottom. It was a complete surprise. Mom had recently washed and ironed these faded blue dungarees So how it kept from following out and Into the wash tub was almostContinue reading “An apple for the teacher for sure.”
It was just Barberism.
From the time I could first remember, my dad cut my hair. From about two-years old and up to age 13 my Okie dad was my exclusive hair stylist. My dad would have me sit on a stack of Los Angeles telephone directories and Yellow pages all piled on a dining chair he sat outContinue reading “It was just Barberism.”
Things a fourteen-year old boy wouldn’t do.
Especially if your friends see you. You would never want to be seen with your mom unless your guy friends razz you about hanging with “Your Mother.” And you certainly wouldn’t want to be seen with your sister either. Especially if she is much younger. The boys would think you were her babysitter. Not aContinue reading “Things a fourteen-year old boy wouldn’t do.”
Come Saturday mornings.
Saturday was shopping day in East L. A. Shopping day for our Okie family. I can vividly remember pressing my six-year-old Okie nose and curious fingers up against the cold display glass. Glass in front of the butcher counter shielding cuts of meat away from others and including myself. Keeping cold in the display caseContinue reading “Come Saturday mornings.”
Chuck the Blogger Guy 