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11/20/08 |
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After leaving Camp Cummoche I moved to a Catholic Boy's Club where I earned room and board. It was near downtown at 316 N. Union St. My hope was to stay there until I found work in the city. |
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I went to the Warner's Hollywood theater to see about a job as an usher. After I submitted my application, the manager invited me to watch the current movie, "Black Fury", starring Paul Muni. It took me back to Griffith Park, the night I got Muni's autograph. When I checked out of camp I accepted my rail ticket to Bedford, even though I wasn't going home. I intended to sell it. I had written Vito that I was going to seek employment on the outside and try to make it on my own. I didn't realize, however, that the Travelers Aid Society had written to my mother: "Your son, Hugo Cipriani, is to arrive in Bedford Wednesday morning, May 29th, 1935 at 7:47 A.M. Will it be possible for you to be at the train to meet him and to let us know of his safe arrival?" My mother went to the train station; she was disappointed by my non- arrival. On Saturday, June 8th, I started to caddy on weekends at the Lakeside Golf Course across from Warner Brothers Studio. I got lucky when the golfer, Richard Arlen, made a hole-in-one, his first. He rewarded me with a five spot. On Sunday I caddied for Victor Jory. I got to work on the labor crews of several studios. All one needed to do was have a hammer and show up at the labor gate and wait for the change of "shifts". A foreman would come out to select 5 or 6 men from a mob of 60 or 70. To be picked you had to do something to get the foreman's attention, like raising your voice or your hammer. The pay was $3.60 for a 6-hour shift. One day I was picked at RKO Pathe Studios. I helped to tear down a set in "The Last Days Of Pompei", staring Preston Foster. I worked from 2:00 to 8:00 PM and was paid $3.60. At the Metro Goldwyn Mayer Studio I worked a night shift from 8:00 P.M. to 2:00 A.M. and a shortened four-hour shift the following night on the movie set in "The Broadway Melody of 1935", starring Robert Taylor. I enjoyed watching the dancers rehearsing their routines on this gorgeous set. I had to hitchhike 15 miles to get to the studios in Culver City, and about 12 miles to caddy at the golf course. It became discouraging when I worked only one day at the studios in a whole week. And at the golf course, some days, I wasn't able to get a bag. So when an offer came my way to enroll in a C.C.C. camp for $30 a month in Monrovia, I accepted. Mr. Binder, a staff officer at the C.C.C. camp, was formerly at Camp Cummoche. He told me they had an opening in the office and that he had recommended me for the clerk's job. My goal was to stay in camp three months to save $90 dollars. |
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I had a fairly good idea of what it would be like in the three C's. Earlier, in June, I visited Barthowlow in San Diego and stayed overnight in his C.C.C. camp. In September, he departed for his home in Iowa. He probably got "homesick". I didn't realize then that I would be following in his footsteps. On Sept 30th, I wrote to Vito that it was my last day in camp and I was moving to a new address in Burbank. I hoped to work once again at the studios. But the studios were in a slack mode. During the whole month I worked only one day. It was a Tarzan picture. I began to lose heart and now I knew what it was like to be "homesick". I wasn't able to think of anything but returning home to Ma and Pa, to Vito, Frances, Rudy, Elma, Lila, Norman, and Victor. I wrote to Vito that I would be home in November. I had a feeling that I would never be out here again, so I decided to hitchhike to Seattle. I departed on October 22nd. I took $12.00 for this 12-day trip: four days up, four in Seattle, and four days back to Burbank. It was a pleasant journey. I stayed at a YMCA in Seattle for 40 cents a day. I renewed an acquaintance with a girl that I had met in the eighth grade. She was the first girl I had ever really noticed. When she did not appear in our ninth grade, I learned that her family had moved to Seattle. Two years later, we started to correspond. She had become a student at the University of Washington and was glad to see me. I met her family, and had dinner with them. I was surprised, however, to see her smoking, and swearing repeatedly during our conversation. I was naive if I expected to see my 8th grade classmate. Still, it was a shock A week before the Seattle trip, I looked up a friend, Tommy Carillon. In Bedford, we participated in league bowling, sometimes as partners. So I was anxious to see him. I found him at work in a garage owned by his brother, Adolph. We had a swell time talking about Bedford. He didn't know I was in California and couldn't get over it. We had dinner together and then went to a movie. I told Tommy of my desire to return home. He told me that I wouldn't be able to stand Bedford after a month or so and would return to California. He wasn't the first person to say that to me. Other friends told me the same thing. After "tasting" California for any length of time, you could never be satisfied living back East again. That might be so, but I knew I wanted to go back. I was "homesick". For the ten days it would take me to reach Bedford, I would need ten dollars. My first mistake was to leave with only $6.75. It took a year to accumulate $75.00 in my savings account, and I wasn't about to touch it. I took the Southern route through Phoenix, Albuquerque, and to Dallas, Texas. The rides came quickly. Making good time, I was already halfway home. I felt comfortable since I still had $3.45. I stopped in Dallas to spend some time with Frankie Grill. We were neighbors in Bedford and grew up together. His nickname was "Chi-chi" and he became Bedford's famous jockey. He was riding at the Arlington Downs Race Track, midway between Dallas and Fort Worth.
But Chi-chi got sick and couldn't ride the day I arrived. The next day, after saying goodbye to him, I made my second mistake. Instead of resuming my hitchhiking, I went to the racetrack. Mr. Wallin was Chi-chi's boss. He was trainer and owner of Seventh Heaven, a two-year-old running that afternoon. He invited me to see the race, so I did. Mr. Wallin and Chi-chi both said the horse would win. The temptation to bet overcame my common sense. I bought a two-dollar win ticket, but the horse lost. I was dumbfounded by my stupidity and the turn of events. My inclination to gamble heightened as I studied the racing form. In the next race I bet my last dollar on a horse that was 6 to 1 on the tote board. First, however, I had to collar someone to split a two-dollar win ticket. I found an old gentleman, but he wanted to bet the horse to "place". I convinced him that we should bet to win. Wouldn't you know it? The horse lost in a photo finish! I was devastated. Now, I was down to 45 cents. While still at the track, I bought two hot dogs at ten cents apiece. By evening I had hitchhiked to Greenville, only 60 miles north of Dallas. It was a cold night, very late, and no cars coming my way. Finding a flophouse, I spent my last quarter for a bed. I reached a lonely spot in Arkansas where an "Oakie" family picked me up. It began to rain. At the end of my ride it was still raining steadily. They drove me to their home and invited me to supper. We had a meat dish with coffee. When I asked for some cream, they said they had none. I then asked for some sugar, but again, they had none. I was embarrassed and felt ashamed. It suddendly seemed ungrateful and stupid to have asked for something that was not on the table. Still, it was a satisfying supper. After thanking them for the meal and asking what it was, I learned we ate "possum". When the rain stopped, they drove me back to the highway. I wasn't comfortable now that I was broke. Hitchhiking without a dime was unsettling. It made me more anxious to hurry home; that led to my third mistake. As I continued to make little headway in Arkansas, I felt stranded. That's why I decided to jump on a freight train. It was moving too fast, but I ran with it and jumped up, hurting my right leg. Climbing to the top of the boxcar I saw a brakeman in the distance walking toward me with a red lantern. Noticing a reefer trapdoor that was open, I lowered myself into the empty icebox container. But when I closed the heavy trapdoor, it came down hard, smashing my left hand. I fell to the bottom of the steel box. Opening my zipper bag, I took out a small bottle of Iodine and poured it over my bleeding left fingers. It was pitch dark; I couldn't see what I was doing. I hollered and screamed for that brakeman to open the trap door. I banged against the steel walls. No one could hear me. The freight train was going faster now and making a lot of noise. After resting a bit I began to ponder on how to get out of this black hole. It was about 8 feet in depth, and I was only 5 feet 6 inches tall. I had to find a way to raise myself up to the trap door. By inserting my belt into the air holes, I made a step on which I was able to raise the trap door. . . but by only an inch. I gave up, and then fell asleep as the train hummed along. When I awoke, all was quiet. The train was not moving. I had no idea how long I had slept, or when or where the train had stopped. I started to panic once more. My screaming, shouting, and banging on the steel wall was all in vain. I had come to the end of the line in a freight yard. I felt doomed. After an hour or so, all of sudden, the trapdoor lid was opened. I couldn't believe it. Screaming for help, a railroad employee got me out. The man said I was very lucky that the sun was out and that it was getting too warm. He was opening the trapdoors to circulate air for the farm produce. This was the most harrowing experience of my life. I found myself in a small city in Missouri. My left hand, covered with Iodine, looked like a mess. I got it cleaned up and bandaged at the city dispensary. I got a ride with a truck driver all the way to St. Louis. He gave me a dime so I could take a streetcar from St. Louis, with a free transfer through East St. Louis, which is in Illinois. He explained that it was a long way going through these two cities and the streetcar would save time. I did not take his advice. I was too hungry. I used his dime for a hamburger. When I got to Indianapolis I wanted to eat again. I tried to "bum" a dime from passerbys. I was astounded when a man stopped and handed me a dollar bill. I had a good meal, and then paid 50 cents for a nice sleeping room. I knew I could make it home the following day. The following morning, after a ten-cent breakfast, I made it to Columbus, Ohio, and then north towards Cleveland. As I neared Bedford I was getting a bit hungry. I picked two apples off a tree, in Medina. That was enough to tide me over. I arrived in Bedford about 2 o'clock in the afternoon on November 18th. I walked up to 16 Franklin St. to the kitchen door and into my mother's arms. After 14 long months, this was the most glorious moment. Hugo P. Cipriani |
