Johnny

     Johnny

     It is really cool to look around and see everyone dressed comfortably in blue and maize just exactly the way Johnny would have wanted it to be on his day. You may have called him John or Uncle John or Johnny or J-Boy or even “toes” but he was not a guy you would miss at a gathering like this or anytime he had a chance to give his opinions. Johnny was a jester, a prankster and a practical joker from a young age. How many people here had him put bunny ears up behind them in a group photo? Yeah, me too. He was also a good husband, son, brother, uncle and extremely proud father and grandfather.

      I met him in 1955 when Ike was president and candy bars were three for a dime down at Sav-On Drugs on Tweedy boulevard, just a short walk from our Annetta street home. The first day I crossed Duane way and headed south on our street to 9604 I met up with my St. Helen’s school pal Paul and this brother he warned me about named Johnny. We played a bit and concluded my visit with him throwing a tennis ball at me and calling me a fucker. I didn’t even know what that meant and I doubt he did either. It was a sort of friendly gesture for Johnny. Anyway, the Knowlton's household was my second home in the neighborhood (like they needed MORE kids!) and Johnny was always a force to reckon with and compete with in every thing we did. He had gumption and despite the fact we were all skinny, shrimpy late bloomers he seemed to believe he was king of the jungle. He was fiercely competitive in the sports that comprised our young lives and he did not back down in anything from caroms to ping pong to wee-gee ball to tackle football out by the tennis courts. He also would cheat if he had a chance.  He was an undersized outfielder as a kid but insisted on playing for the VFW team where many of the players stood a foot taller than he was but he made himself a good player. He was fast afoot and was good enough at football to play anywhere but was late in getting the beef to play in high school at Pius where he was the most vociferous and pugnacious fan in the stands. He was terrible at basketball but would leave bruises all over you if he guarded you and would even try like hell at pitching horseshoes because there were pits over at the Park where we kind of lived as kids. He was there when we created a twenty foot bonfire of bales of newspapers quite by accident by the picnic tables, he was involved in setting back construction of a swimming pool because we threw hundreds or dirt clods into a freshly painted excavation, he was there when we rode our bikes to the LA river despite our Mom’s iron-clad rule about never going near the river.  When we went out on beggar’s night before Halloween Johnny worked it so hard he filled a duffle bag with candy and when I accompanied him on the Sunday morning paper route he tricked me into collecting the twenty cents from the dreaded Saunders, a customer with a drooling mouth and moist hands.  We went to the Pike in Long Beach and POP and Disneyland where we would be out of money and E through C tickets by noon (unless Mike Pellitier was around). When we got to camp out in the back yard he managed to get us to stick our heads through the mesh window right after he watered it from inside. Truthfully, we had the kind of childhood that is the stuff of American dreams and the friends we made around Annetta and Hildreth streets never really faded away, we are connected for life and inevitable death.  

     When we grew to be men we played softball together and Johnny was a leadoff hitter with great success, slapping southpaw hits through the left side and pulling grounders into right field. I only mention sports because he was vain about his athleticism and frustrated in our high school years that his body just didn’t reach manhood fast enough.  It was a common problem for all of us that our diet of Helm’s donuts, snow-cones and potato chips did not help.  Johnny was, as my Mom used to say ornery and you could not let your guard down for an instant when he was around. But despite his devilish grin there was always a twinkle in his eye. He was smart and quick witted so his tongue was sharp along with his elbows in basketball. As teenagers and young men we only got worse and even after he served in the Army he maintained that mischievous streak that extended from banging pots and pans under the windows or Buzzard Bob next door on New Year’s Eve to ill-advised trips to TJ to wild nights at the Oar House in Venice followed by gastric disaster meals at Ernie’s Jr. at 2 am. He wrestled with the same demons we all faced and drank and smoked way too much until one day he just walked away from the beer he loved and then the Marlboros that didn’t do any of us any good. All of this is much harder than it looks but Johnny made it through without whining and he was the better man for it. As a matter of fact he was one of the few guys I ever knew who quit drinking and then got a beer belly. Whenever I would see Johnny or exchange words with him on Facebook or emails we were just the same 12 year olds we were when we pretended to be hearing impaired to get free barbecue beef and sodas at the deaf and dumb picnic in the park in 1957. It was his idea, I swear.

       I rarely saw my old friend after he moved out to Wildomar but whenever I did I felt at home, just like I did in the smoke-filled front room of the Knowlton’s home on Annetta Avenue. We never tired of telling the same stories over and over again. Memories of when he won 9 of 10 games on the football card, then hosted a steak and Lowenbrau party for all of us. Memories of selling programs at football games at the Coliseum and actually riding the streetcar from the Loop in Huntington Park. Memories of doing the gator on the suds-soaked floor at Hog’s hoedown. Sweet memories too of the great pup Shandar who was at his side for years and years.  We sort of shared the same South Gate DNA and that has been a great thing to have after 60 plus years. Growing up and growing old with the Knowlton's has always been a blessing. The last time I saw Johnny here was not at a funeral but at his wedding. It was, without a doubt, the first day of the best eleven years of his life. Like everyone here, I am going to miss watching my back in photos and reading his provocative posts on Facebook because Johnny was about fun and frivolity which are in short supply in this life. He had a lot of fun and got his money’s worth in his time here which is what we are all after in the end. Here’s hoping the afterlife does have pinochle and Michigan games and old friends who appreciate a joker like Johnny.