Day 12, 2013
Hollywood locks on the entry of a now closed up tunnel under Hollywood Boulevard across from the entrance to Barnsdall Art Park are a mystery. Today was a blustery day in Hollywood with those big old clouds that I've tried to capture in the ongoing thought rambling through here.
I met a woman from Ireland at the gallery today who said that this weather was like shirt sleeve weather compared to the damp cold of Limerick. She's in town for an intensive week of an acting workshop and to explore California for the first time. We found a common bond not only in Limerick (where the Sheehans come from) but also a tradition founded in The Lord of the Rings.
The visitors at the LAMAG today were an eclectic bunch. A lovely gallery owner, Tobey Moss, was visiting with her husband with a group from or was it sponsored by... the Skirball. It's such a pleasure to meet artists and others who seem to truly appreciate what LOST (in L.A.) is about.
Another bonus is the view from Olive Hill when we've had a spate of rain and there are residual clouds being pushed all over the sky. Sunset with Century City or is it Park LaBrea in the distance? is just spectacular as a middle aged guy coaxes his Jack Russell Terrier to fetch a pint sized Frisbee.
Day 11, January 6, 2013
Falling behind in this quest, I've opted to recoil into the past. This is the big rink.
Warrack
Norcross and his family operated Warnoco Roller Rink. They also ran
the swimming pool that seemed so large so long ago in between Dad's Old
Fashion Root Beer and the rink.
The Norcross family home, now a preserved historic site stands on the corner of Second Street and Fourteenth Avenue in the northerly part of Greeley, Colorado.
Mr. Norcross was a business man, but he was also a fine judge of talent and character. The Warnoco Roller Rink was a gathering place for Greeley kids, I one of them, who had a season pass and a locker where I kept my skates. Patty Slater, Brent Parks, The Cowan kids, Nancy Lundgren, Donna Green, Denny Lundberg, Jerry Monical and his sister Harless (whom I was nuts about, though she was an older woman!) and a hundred others came every Friday night during the school year to socialize and skate in both the big new rink and in the smaller space where Mr. Norcross started his skating empire in 1935. I thought that he'd built the pool as well as the first rink, but just learned that he purchased it and gave it a combination of his first and last names.
There were rules to follow and a structure to the evening. In the Men's Bathroom, there was a sign on the paper towel dispenser. In big block letters it warned: RUB! DON'T BLOT!! For years I would be sure to rub my hands dry and probably criticized kids who were blotters.
In one corner of the room where we laced up our skates, the juke box played hits of the times. I remember putting nickels into it, or coaxing others to play Les Paul and Mary Ford's "Tiger Rag" over and over again. One night I was absent mindedly playing with a combination lock on a locker next to the juke box. All of a sudden, the lock came open in my hand. Why do these little memories stick with us? What happened next? I have no idea.
As a fairly agile skater, I was fast for my age. The best part of the Friday sessions being the races in the middle of the evening, as the snow fell outside and parents had a few hours to themselves with their kids safely in the care of Mr. and Mrs. Norcross. The races!
We were divided up by age and as a ten year old I had gained a reputation for my speed. I was proud of myself and when I won a race, I'd immediately take the ticket that was the prize and head for the Refreshment Stand. The counter guy would see me coming and hand me a Grapette as I rolled up. I didn't even have to ask.
After while the older guys who supervised the races made me give the other kids a head start, but by the second turn, I'd have caught them and almost always whizzed across the finish line grabbing my prize as I did.
There were more adult types who were also part of the skating crowd, Baldy and Hank. They became a little like surrogate dads who coached racing and were stable older guys who sometimes helped with crowd control and the races. When the big guys raced, Hank had a way of starting by literally sprinting on his toe stops for several steps before actually putting his wheels on the floor.
The rink is dark now. Jay Norcross, Warrack's son, opened another rink on the west side of Greeley. I visited once. You could feel the spirit of skaters, but it was not the same.
And, Jay did not remember me.
