![]() ![]() There are some beautiful empty lots in industrial South San Francisco, little plots of nothing but twelve -foot-high licorice weeds. Grass for picnics, then pure white sand like in those old hotel ashtrays. No one has ever been able to get near it.Ĭarpenteria was a favorite beach in the late 1940s. Speaking of which, in San Francisco, if you stand on Broadway between Kearney and Montgomery and look north up on the hill you’ll see a beautiful Moorish building in pastel lavender. It’s near San Luis Obispo but it’s impossible to reach. I wonder if Point Sal is still the greatest undiscovered beach in the U.S. But now that would be nowhere, right? The French are too earnest. I’d like to go where real sprezzatura takes place. In 1942, Charley Gohagen and I started a fire in the empty lot kitty-corner to the building. The back is still for drying laundry, lots of wires and clothespins. I stood by the stele where I once stood in my leggings. I took Nick and Jerry with me for protection. I don’t remember anything about the opposing teams.Īfter a pause of 63 years, I returned to Far Rockaway to see my old building on the corner of Mott and Frisco Ave. Other studio people were there too, I guess. Bill played third base on the team, Sinatra second, Van Johnson was the shortstop, Slapsie Maxie Rosenbloom first base. All the male stars shopped there, including Sinatra. He wore bespoke shoes and quality (worsted) fabric. My uncle, Bill Mann, managed the upmarket British haberdashery, Hunt & Winterbottom, in Beverly Hills. It’s true that I was the batboy for Frank Sinatra’s softball team, summer 1947, at the Roxbury Country Club. Kind of like one of those reversible jackets. from 1 st to 2 nd Ave., lined with 16 honey locust trees, I get two deja vus: in sunlight the first half of the block becomes a sandy street leading to the beach in Jesolo near Venice on overcast days, the same stretch is a cobblestone alley down to the gloomy Rhein at Wiesbaden. W alking west on the north side of 10 th St.
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