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11/20/08 |
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Unlike my departure in 1934, this time I was prepared. I had a zipper bag with extra clothes, a razor, and four sandwiches that Mom prepared. Vito loaned me ten dollars, so I had twice the amount of cash as I had before. |
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My friend, Frank Nyerges, drove to Cleveland every Tuesday and Friday. His uncle Paul was a tailor and Frank had to take the clothes to the Mullaire Dry Cleaners on Carnegie Avenue. Selecting Tuesday, August 2nd, I asked Frank to pick me up. Leaving wasn't easy. As I got into Frank's car, Aunt Caroline and my Mom were crying along with my brothers and sisters. Frank went over the Hi-Level Bridge and dropped me off on the Westside. My hitchhiking rides took me through Indiana, Illinois, and to Iowa. I stopped at Iowa City to visit Oral Bartholow, my co-worker at Camp Cummoche. He was now working as a teller in a bank. We enjoyed the rehashing of our days spent at the "transient camp". After leaving Bartholow, I traveled west to Ames, and to Missouri Valley. While there, I found a C. C. C. camp where I managed to wash up, eat, and stay overnight. I then went across the Missouri River through Freemont and to Columbus. A young couple in a new Studebaker picked me up. We drove through Grand Island, North Platte and Julesburg. Crossing into Colorado, they brought me all the way to Greeley. It was a swift and long ride, about 450 miles in seven hours. Another 50-mile ride brought me south to Denver. Checking in at the Y.M.C.A. I shaved, showered, and washed my clothes. That evening I wrote my first letter home. It took me six days to get here. So far, I had spent only $4.25. From Denver I went south to Colorado Springs and to Raton, New Mexico where for a good while I got stranded. I slept on a hard bench in the railroad station. The next day I got rides to Santa Fe and to Albuquerque where I stopped to visit Angelo (Burly) Rich. He was my neighbor in Bedford when we lived on West Monroe St. Burly was married and was working as a painter. He and his wife, Mary invited me to stay overnight. The next morning, after breakfast, he took me to the outskirts of the city, dropping me off on Highway 66. That's where my luck changed. Only a few cars came by and there was no red light to stop or slow them down. After four or five hours Angelo returned. He wanted to see if I had been picked up. He invited me to stay another day with him but I declined. I assured him that I was okay and would get a ride soon. |
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Shortly after saying goodbye a second time, I got an 800-mile ride with two Texas cowboys all the way to Riverside, California. It was the longest ride ever in all my days of hitchhiking. We drove through Gallup and the Petrified Forest where we had a view of the Painted Desert. We went through Holbrook and Flagstaff, and then southward to Prescott and Wickenburg where we slept in an auto cabin camp. The next morning we drove through Blythe, Desert Center, and Indio. I'll never forget the feeling of joy and happiness as we came down the mountainside towards Riverside. It was a gorgeous scene. The clear blue sky was dotted with large white cumulus clouds. Leaving the desert area, with palm trees coming into view, it seemed like Paradise. As I entered into the Southern California basin I thought of the scene in Frank Capra's "Lost Horizon" when Ronald Coleman entered into Shangri-La. After eleven days on the road, I arrived in Burbank and went to see my friend, Bill Cook. We had met in Camp Cummoche in 1934. He was now married to Millie, his girl friend when we were at that "transient boys camp". Millie was eight months pregnant. They were living in a small cottage at 708 East Fifth St. I slept on the floor in their living room. Bill was able to get me three days work with a cement contractor. On the weekends I started to caddy at the Lakeside Golf Course across the street from Warner Brother's movie studio. The caddy fee was a dollar and fifty cents. I was considered an "extra caddy" and was limited to carrying a golf bag only on Saturdays and Sundays. After three weeks with Bill and Millie, I moved to Hollywood on the day after Labor Day. I rented a room at 5287 Fountain Ave. My rent was $2.50 per week. After caddying that weekend I had $6.00, but after paying my landlady, I was left with $3.50. Early Tuesday morning I went to the Los Angeles Public Library to read the Cleveland Plain Dealer and to scan the help wanted ads in the L. A. Times. A news item caught my eye. It was about USC, their School of Cinema, registration week, and the beginning of classes. With nothing better to do, I went to USC to check on the Cinema course, the cost to attend, and if it was possible to earn my way. What little glimmer of hope I had was dashed. Tuition was $300 per semester, and the Cinema classes were only available to upper division students. The Registrar, however, did give me some good advice. Since I had to do two years of undergraduate studies, it would be easier to earn my way at UCLA, which was a State University and a lot cheaper. "Where is UCLA?" I asked. He said to go west on Wilshire Blvd. for about 12 miles to Westwood. I knew hitchhiking those 12 miles would be a waste of time, but I had to go there to find out how much cheaper it might be. Arriving on the school campus, I was struck with the architecture, the buildings, and the beauty of the surroundings. I was already in love with the possibility of making it here. I would never forget this day. Tuesday Sept 6, 1938. Sitting on the front steps of the Library Building, I couldn't believe what I read in their catalogue. Tuition was free to California residents. But there were incidental fees: $27 per semester and an extra $2 for Gym and Library privileges. New students had to submit an application and pay a $3 filing fee. And today, September 6th, was the last day to file an application. It was now or never. My thoughts went back to my graduation in 1931. I had completed three years of Latin and made the Honors Society. But that was seven years ago. What chance would I have to enter UCLA and work my way through college? Should I give up my last $3 for the application fee? To do so would leave me with 50 cents for the rest of the week. I could not caddy until the weekend and I had to pay $2.50 for my room on Monday. This was the end of the line. Having arrived at this fork in the road, which path should I take? My mind went back to the Thomas Club, where in a few minutes, I gave up $120. But now this was the University of California. I just had to take this gamble. In that frame of mind I turned in my application with my last $3. Submitting my application was merely the first step. In reading the registration circular these hurdles loomed ahead: (a) Sept. 13, 14, 15, - New students meet advisors by appointment. Leaving the Administration building, I encountered a student. As he approached, I stopped walking. I asked if he could give me some advice on how students work their way through college. He told me that last year at Berkeley, he worked in the cafeteria as a "bus boy" and that he planned to work in the cafeteria here. After he pointed out the cafeteria building to me, I thanked him and headed straight to it. I told the Manager that I was a student and asked him if I could work for my meals. He said registration day was the busiest day of the year and that he could use me for 4 hours from 8:00 AM to 12:00 noon. He said I would earn a credit of 4 meals but that he could not promise me anything more until his older workers returned. I assured him that I would be ready to work the 4 hours on Saturday, registration day. This was my first break. At least I could look forward to four square meals. A fleeting thought came to mind. If I got the "bus boy" job but failed to enroll, maybe I could pretend to be a student and stay on campus. In a happier frame of mind, I started hitching rides on Sunset Blvd. towards Hollywood. It was late and I was hungry. I spent my last 50 cents, buying a small loaf of bread, some baloney, and a couple of bananas. I ate first, and then got a ride to my new room on Fountain Ave. That evening I sent an airmail letter to Mr. Miller, principal of Bedford High School. I asked him to send my essential scholastic records to the Office of Admissions at UCLA. The following day I wrote to my brother, Vito, to tell him about my application to UCLA and the letter to Mr. Miller. I told him that Bill Cook would verify my California residency, since I quit Otis Steel in July 1937. I asked him for $30 cash for the first semester, and if he didn't have that much, to try to borrow $5 from my buddies. In the letter, I wrote: I've already applied for a job for room and board at the UCLA Bureau of Employment. In case I'm not eligible for college or for other reasons that I don't finally enroll, I will return the $30. I'm enclosing the registration circular for your information. I was looking forward and depending on a NYA (National Youth Administration) job to put me through the school; but yesterday I found out that I'm not eligible because of my age. Since next month I'll be 25, I'm over the 24½-age limit. The next two days I went to the golf course in Burbank, hoping for a chance to caddy. Both days the caddy master said "no soap", even though I told him that I was very hungry and needed to go out on a "loop". Both days, late in the afternoon, I walked through the golf course to a peach tree. On Thursday the peaches tasted good, but I lost my taste for them on Friday. I had reached my lowest point. Leaving the golf course. I went to see if there was any mail for me at Bill Cook's home. I did have 3 letters-- one from Frank Nyerges, one from Mickey Massaro, and one from my brother, Vito. Bill and Millie were in the midst of their dinner. They asked me to sit down and eat. I mumbled something about it's getting late and I had to get going. It was already dark and I had to hitch a ride to Hollywood to my room. Thanking them. I left. It may be hard to believe that a starving person would decline an invitation to eat with his friends -- but that's exactly what I did. Famished and angry, down and out, I was too embarrassed to be social. That particular moment with Bill and Millie is seared forever in my memory. Walking in the dark towards San Fernando Road. I quickly opened all 3 letters hoping to find a dollar in one of them. Happily, I found $2. At a cafe on San Fernando Road, I sat down to a hamburger steak dinner -- my first meal in three days. While in the cafe I read all 3 letters, but none mentioned the enclosure of $2. Surely, my brother would have mentioned it. This put me in a dilemma. Do I thank Frank or Mickey? Earlier in 1935, when I was in Camp Cummoche, I received mail from my buddy, "Red" Pallotta. He enclosed a dollar in one letter and two dollars in another. So, to solve my dilemma, I wrote a long letter to Frank, Mickey, and "Red" thanking them for their sympathy and support. Finding the two dollars while walking in the dark probably saved my sanity. After reading those letters, I went to my room in Hollywood. I caddied on the weekend, earning enough to pay for my room for another week. The Registration circular listed 3 days (Tues - Wed - Thurs) for new students to meet with their advisors. I had no advisors; none were assigned to me and I had not yet received any notice of admission. On Wednesday, I returned to the school campus for "Subject A". I had to compose a 250-word essay on any subject. Here was another hurdle, and for a while I was stumped. My passion was politics, so I started to write about F.D.R. and the New Deal. I finished the essay, but was not confident that I had done well. Saturday, Sept. 17th was Registration Day at UCLA. I was ready for the next hurdle. Hugo P. Cipriani |