Jess and Hazel circa 1941
The following are excerpts from "The Old Dropout" column from the Arcata Union written by Max Gilroy on August 18, 1983.
I don’t go out much anymore. I don’t know why. But things happen when Carlos shows up. Somehow I can never say no to Carlos.
Saturday afternoon Peg and I are sitting in the living room. Peg is reading a book. Is Paris Burning? I am reading the Sunday Chronicle, which somehow arrives Saturday morning.
A car pulls up. Carlos and Elane. Carlos, the crippled Mexican-American I have mentioned before, lives in Sacramento. Elane lives in Berkeley.
“It’s Carlos!” I yell. Then I remember. Carlos is up for the 50th wedding anniversary of Hazel and Jesse Moon of Westhaven.
Carlos was struck down with polio at the age of 22. He lives with crutches and wheelchairs. He is in his 50s. I am 64. Carlos lives a far more lively life than I.
My front steps are a formidable obstacle to Carlos. Carlos thrives on obstacles.
Carlos has plans for my Sunday. The Unitarians at 10:30, then on to Westhaven for the Jesse and Hazel Shindig.
The next morning I don my store-bought clothes. Carlos and Elane and I drive to the Unitarians on the Old Arcata Road. A drizzly day. Carlos drives. Only one leg works, but that’s all you need in these new-fangled cars.
I greet many old friends at the Unitarians. There’s a crackling fire in the Franklin stove. We sit quietly and listen to a guest speaker, a young woman college teacher. Her field is parapsychology.
I do like the Unitarians. They are interested much less in the hereafter than in the here and now. With John Donne, they are involved with mankind.
Carlos and Elane and I drove to Westhaven. But first came a stop at the Co-op in Arcata. Wonderful places, co-ops. Carlos wanted to buy something for the anniversary.
While Carlos and Elane shopped at the Co-op, I walked over to a liquor store and purchased a large bottle of brandy. With Snuffy Smith, I wasn’t ahint the door when the brains was passed out.
I don’t go out much anymore. I don’t know why. But things happen when Carlos shows up. Somehow I can never say no to Carlos.
Saturday afternoon Peg and I are sitting in the living room. Peg is reading a book. Is Paris Burning? I am reading the Sunday Chronicle, which somehow arrives Saturday morning.
A car pulls up. Carlos and Elane. Carlos, the crippled Mexican-American I have mentioned before, lives in Sacramento. Elane lives in Berkeley.
“It’s Carlos!” I yell. Then I remember. Carlos is up for the 50th wedding anniversary of Hazel and Jesse Moon of Westhaven.
Carlos was struck down with polio at the age of 22. He lives with crutches and wheelchairs. He is in his 50s. I am 64. Carlos lives a far more lively life than I.
My front steps are a formidable obstacle to Carlos. Carlos thrives on obstacles.
Carlos has plans for my Sunday. The Unitarians at 10:30, then on to Westhaven for the Jesse and Hazel Shindig.
The next morning I don my store-bought clothes. Carlos and Elane and I drive to the Unitarians on the Old Arcata Road. A drizzly day. Carlos drives. Only one leg works, but that’s all you need in these new-fangled cars.
I greet many old friends at the Unitarians. There’s a crackling fire in the Franklin stove. We sit quietly and listen to a guest speaker, a young woman college teacher. Her field is parapsychology.
I do like the Unitarians. They are interested much less in the hereafter than in the here and now. With John Donne, they are involved with mankind.
Carlos and Elane and I drove to Westhaven. But first came a stop at the Co-op in Arcata. Wonderful places, co-ops. Carlos wanted to buy something for the anniversary.
While Carlos and Elane shopped at the Co-op, I walked over to a liquor store and purchased a large bottle of brandy. With Snuffy Smith, I wasn’t ahint the door when the brains was passed out.
Hazel and Jesse live across the street from a fire station. I don’t know if the fire station is still active. The anniversary celebration took place in the firehouse.
Carlos calls his scooter Amigo. We got it out of the trunk, assembled it, Carlos got in, and off we trundled to the firehouse.
The place was solid with people. Hazel and Jesse are a remarkable couple. They have a host of friends, and all of them were there.
Carlos made a grand entrance. The battery was weak. I pushed Amigo into the throng, shouting, “Way for Carlos! Way for Carlos!”
There was a huge cake. There were bowls of mixed nuts, there were crackers and dips and sushi and sandwiches. There was a bowl of punch with slices of orange and lemon floating on the top.
I found many friends there. Oran, who killed a man and did time in prison. Maury, who is building an airplane in his garage. Link, who has acted in my plays. We made frequent trips to the trunk of the car of Carlos, there to pour a little more life into the punch.
There was music and singing, and speeches extolling the virtues of Hazel and Jesse. And there was no need for exaggeration. A wonderful couple.
Jess and Hazel attended school together in Indianapolis. Jesse came West in July of 1932. He worked on his grandmother’s dairy farm near Castle Rock, Washington. It took Jesse seven months to save the train fare, $97.50, for Hazel to come join him on the farm.
Hazel made the trip alone. She was frightened on the train. She wouldn’t walk between the cars. She never once visited the dining car. For three nights and two days she subsisted on the hamper of grub she brought along for the trip.
Jesse and Hazel drove to Longview in the grandmother’s 1923 Dodge. They were married in front of a fireplace in a minister’s house. The minister’s wife and daughter served as witnesses.
After the marriage they drove back to the farm and milked the cows. There was no honeymoon. Jesse took Hazel along on his milk delivery route, and introduced her as his mail order bride.
Carlos and Elane and I drove back to Eureka. They dropped me off, we said goodbye, and off they drove into the twilight, headed for Berkeley and Sacramento. Peg and I felt so lucky to be snug at home.
To back up a bit, the high point of the day was when we first arrived at Jesse’s house. Carlos wanted to smoke a joint and I wanted to smoke, period.
There were no ashtrays about. We asked Jesse if we could light up. Jesse was in an expansive mood. “Sure. Why not?” And then Carlos and I howled with laughter when Jesse said (and this is a man celebrating his 50th wedding anniversary), “No, better not. My mother is coming.”
Carlos calls his scooter Amigo. We got it out of the trunk, assembled it, Carlos got in, and off we trundled to the firehouse.
The place was solid with people. Hazel and Jesse are a remarkable couple. They have a host of friends, and all of them were there.
Carlos made a grand entrance. The battery was weak. I pushed Amigo into the throng, shouting, “Way for Carlos! Way for Carlos!”
There was a huge cake. There were bowls of mixed nuts, there were crackers and dips and sushi and sandwiches. There was a bowl of punch with slices of orange and lemon floating on the top.
I found many friends there. Oran, who killed a man and did time in prison. Maury, who is building an airplane in his garage. Link, who has acted in my plays. We made frequent trips to the trunk of the car of Carlos, there to pour a little more life into the punch.
There was music and singing, and speeches extolling the virtues of Hazel and Jesse. And there was no need for exaggeration. A wonderful couple.
Jess and Hazel attended school together in Indianapolis. Jesse came West in July of 1932. He worked on his grandmother’s dairy farm near Castle Rock, Washington. It took Jesse seven months to save the train fare, $97.50, for Hazel to come join him on the farm.
Hazel made the trip alone. She was frightened on the train. She wouldn’t walk between the cars. She never once visited the dining car. For three nights and two days she subsisted on the hamper of grub she brought along for the trip.
Jesse and Hazel drove to Longview in the grandmother’s 1923 Dodge. They were married in front of a fireplace in a minister’s house. The minister’s wife and daughter served as witnesses.
After the marriage they drove back to the farm and milked the cows. There was no honeymoon. Jesse took Hazel along on his milk delivery route, and introduced her as his mail order bride.
Carlos and Elane and I drove back to Eureka. They dropped me off, we said goodbye, and off they drove into the twilight, headed for Berkeley and Sacramento. Peg and I felt so lucky to be snug at home.
To back up a bit, the high point of the day was when we first arrived at Jesse’s house. Carlos wanted to smoke a joint and I wanted to smoke, period.
There were no ashtrays about. We asked Jesse if we could light up. Jesse was in an expansive mood. “Sure. Why not?” And then Carlos and I howled with laughter when Jesse said (and this is a man celebrating his 50th wedding anniversary), “No, better not. My mother is coming.”
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