"Growin' Up" (with apologies to Bruce Springsteen) 1964-1973-

As fate would have it, my cousin Joe got it a bad motorcycle accident. Joe drove his motorcycle often. He drove it to my parent's house the afternoon my father was slipping away. He helped me turn my dad over in his hospice bed as my mom (Tessie) served him (Louie) his last meal. My dad only took a few bites for our benefit; he rolled his eyes. Joe Pacilio got on his bike later and headed for the San Gabriel hills. My dad passed away in his sleep that night.

Not to confuse the reader, but my Uncle Joey-no relation to Joe, my cousin, climbed up the steps of the mobile home (that my dad always reminded my mom, "was mobile, Tessie. If it rains, the whole thing is on jacks and it floats down the street!") Anyway, Uncle Joey looked at me the morning of my dad's passing and said, "Louie, that son-of-a-bitch, that's the way to go...if ya gotta go."

Fast forward 6 years. So when my cousin Joe was recovering from his crash with a couple broken legs (keeping the story less graphic), I knew I had to see him. That meant a trip back to my old stomping grounds, perhaps better remembered as the grounds where I was stomped on. After all, I am the classic version of "Leo the Late Bloomer."

So off I went in my truck heading from San Diego to LA, where my parents settled back in 1964 after leaving New Jersey and Brooklyn. This meant I had to drive up the interstate 5, up, up and eventually up passing Azusa Blvd: its motto was A- Z in the USA; who could possible forget that?

Then I realized, if I got off the freeway and traveled down Azusa, I had to run into my old elementary school of 1964. Saint Martha's Catholic School was old even then; each grade was one room. I wondered what it looked like, had it closed down, or had it been completely renovated? As I drove down Azusa, I did not recognize a thing.  And then out of the morass of tacky strip malls-- there it was.

I felt like I was in a time warp. Nothing, I mean NOTHING had changed. The same small rooms that probably were built in the 1950's. The same playground in which I remember playing kick ball and having to FREEZE the moment the freeze bell sounded. I climbed the steps to the upper grades and walked to the door marked 8th GRADE. It was open. I peered in. Okay, at least the desks were new-ish, but not a smart board to be found or a computer on any desk. Nope. For all I knew Mother Invincion, our teacher in '68, could be still standing there ready to tape my mouth shut because I was talking to Debbie or Cathy or JoAnn or Helen or Katie--names that are not in vogue in today's modern classroom. I took pictures. You'll see more of them on my FB page.

I then realized that I knew my way to the high school, if I just kept driving down Azusa Blvd. I had not been there since I graduated in June of 1973 at the curly-haired age of 17. Naturally, I didn't need GPS. This was my past I was trailblazing. So...I got lost. I stopped at a Starbucks amid so many strip malls. Was I gonna quit. No way. I had come this far. I did what any red blooded man would never do--I asked for directions.
I consulted the one person who has given my life direction--I called my wife. Quickly she jumped on the computer and realized I was within blocks.

I drove up into the neighborhood of homes in the town of El Monte, passed homes that were easily built in the 50's which surrounded my Alma mater, and again there it was. EXACTLY THE SAME. The only difference was the sign--just like at Saint Martha's the classrooms were identical. The grass fields that the seniors chased us around for initiation, the parking lot that only the seniors (or really cool kids) could park, the football stands that I sat in for yearbook pictures...all frozen in time. I wondered if they still had the girls' side of the school and the boys' side that was divided by a yellow line? I couldn't find out because the gates were locked.

 I asked an older man across the street how to catch the freeway to get up to my cousin in San Gabriel. After a few lefts and rights, he looked at me and asked why I was taking a picture of this school building. I said, "I went to school here in '69--it was a big deal then to go here. Pat Haden and John McKay played football here." He nodded but it didn't register. I went on my way.

I arrived to see my cousin at his house that he dubbed "Club Pacilio'--he had the neon sign to prove it. He was looking great for a guy in the hospital for over a week. And we reminisced about our dads who were brothers. I promised him I would be back to see him, and we would toast our dads with our wives next time.

But I would never go past my schools again. I guess it's true that some things change, but some remain the same. And some are better off remembered as they were in my days of innocence.

Some of the Saint Martha's Gang at our 40th Bishop Amat reunion. Me?
I'm the guy in the back row among all the girls I talked to.
 It was a great affair. Thanks, Debbie.