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03/10/10 |
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In September, my Camp Cummoche buddy, Bill Siegert looked me up. He had been in the Three C's for three years. I took him to Lakeside, introduced him to the caddy master and for a couple of weekends we were able to caddy together. |
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After Registration Day at UCLA, I met Bill at the Los Angeles Public Library. He had decided to return to New Jersey. He had been away from home for six years. We sat on the grass, exchanging thoughts, hopes, and fears. Before parting, he handed me a twenty-dollar bill, saying that I could use it for books and things. It was a grateful surprise. The very next day, I spent ten dollars on used textbooks. On the first morning of classes, bright and early, I hitched several rides to the coffee shop. After eating breakfast, I was on time for my 8 o'clock French Class, which met daily. Physics followed at 9: 00 AM. (Mon Wed Fri). At the same hour (Tues Thurs) I had an hour and a half of English History. At 12:00 noon I worked my two hours in the cafeteria. At 2:00 PM I had my English class (Mon Wed Fri) where I was glad to see that Dr. Swedenberg would be my Instructor. At 3:00 PM I had a couple hours in the Library to begin my homework assignments. With no lunch, I was anxious to return to the coffee shop for my evening meal. After eating and before darkness set in, I would walk up to Sunset Blvd. and hitch rides to my room in Hollywood. During this first week as a student, I received some unsettling news from home. My younger brother, Rudolph, after a quarrel, left home and was hitchhiking westward. On September 15th he wrote the following in a penciled note: "Family, please don't come after me. I have a ride to Chicago, therefore, you couldn't get me. I aim to do good. My reason is to find a job and keep out of trouble here. I may go to see Hugo. This is my own idea and no one else knows about it. Goodbye. Your trouble maker, Rudy." My brother, only seventeen, was doing what I had done at 21. Our family was upset. I felt guilty about it since Rudy was walking in my footsteps. On September 23, I received a telegram from Vito -"Rudy arrived home safely today". Later, I learned that he reached Sayre, Oklahoma where two men picked him up, took his $6.80, and with a gun gave him a glancing blow on the head. Turning around, Rudy went back home. I was relieved that this sad episode ended so quickly. My first month at college was a disaster. Physics was over my head. On my Instructor's advice I dropped it, taking College Algebra instead. The other two classes, English and History of England, were more interesting, but I was falling behind in the reading assignments. |
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Even the Algebra class was beyond my comprehension. Missing the first two weeks, while sitting in the Physics class, certainly didn't help. Feeling alone and somewhat out of place, I was floundering. I had no idea of the amount of study time that was necessary for each subject. I decided to drop French to escape the "F" grade. Since that would put me below the 12-unit minimum for a day student, I had to get an approval from my Dean. I explained that I was working for all my expenses and had to hitchhike back and forth from my room in Hollywood, and on weekends to the golf course in Burbank. He approved my request. A week or so later I returned to the same Dean to drop my Algebra class. Staring at me with amazement, he said, "If you take 6 units each semester, it will take ten years for you to graduate." I told him I needed this first semester to get adjusted. And I would take more units in the next semester. My request was approved. There were a few bright spots during this period of adjustment – moments that gave me hope. After working a week or so in the cafeteria, the head waitress, "Pat" brought the Manager to see me as I carried a tub of dishes to the dish washing area. Thinking I did something wrong, I was floored when he shook my hand and congratulated me for being the best ever student Bus Boy. All the waitresses and "Pat" had been singing my praises for the way I worked the whole floor area. The other bus boys would hang out in the rest room smoking while waiting for the waitresses to fill up the tubs. With my bent for innovation, I took empty tubs to the tables and cleared them in seconds, saving the waitresses from making several trips of carrying dirty dishes to the tubs. Shaking the Manager's hand was a happy moment. The Bus Boy job was the foundation for me to succeed and stay at UCLA. Another good turn for me was signing up for a Gym locker that cost only a dollar. Now I was able to shower and shave at the gym. I did not have to enroll in a Gym Class. Since I was over 24 yrs of age, I was exempt from Gym and ROTC (military training). For once, being too old was a plus. Also, I was entitled to a UCLA sweatshirt and athletic socks that could be exchanged at any time for ones newly laundered. The gray sweatshirt, with large, red, UCLA letters proved to be my sine qua non for hitchhiking and caddying. I wore it daily to and from school. My rides came quicker. At the golf course the caddy master, now calling me "U-cla", gave me a "bag" sooner. He even gave me "two loops" on some Sundays. To be recognized as a student was a major plus. I began to feel more at ease now that I was only carrying "six units". I also felt more secure in my work at the coffee shop and at the golf course. There was more time for homework and to catch up on letter writing. In a long letter to Frank, Mickey, and Red, I wrote a glowing paragraph, telling them of my new-found happiness on campus. After several inspiring conversations with certain students, I had so much enthusiasm that I didn't know how to express myself. I ended by writing: "I'm positive that I'm embarking on the finest phase of my life." A lucky break came on October the 9th when I got a room near the campus. I moved to 651 South Siena Way, a private mansion on a hillside, just above the Bel Air golf course, which ran alongside Sunset Blvd. I received room and breakfast in exchange for work. I'm sure I got this job through my persistence and personal persuasion with the young lady at the school's employment office. Mr. and Mrs. Castera, the homeowners, had a five year-old son, and they employed a butler and a maid. I was to work about two to three hours each afternoon, watering the flowers, plants, and shrubbery. Also, each morning, I was to back the car out of the garage and wash the windows with a chamois. When I told Paul, the butler, that I couldn't drive, I figured that I was about to lose the job. He hesitated a second, then he said that he would drive the car out for me. In exchange for doing these chores, I was given a spacious room above the garage. This all seemed too good to be true. Paul and his wife, Frieda, were from Germany. Now, I could walk to school. Taking a shortcut through the golf course, I had a ten-minute walk to my Gym locker. Saturday and Sunday were "off days", so I still caddied on the weekend in Burbank. Since I didn't need the breakfast at the coffee shop any more, I received 40 cents in lieu of that meal. Each Friday I got a check for two dollars. This was a major development. I now had the luxury of not caddying on a Saturday, taking a day off to catch up on my homework and letter writing. Also, when the "rainy season" arrives I'd be in better shape to absorb the "extra days off". After a month or so at UCLA, I learned that if one is persistent, it was possible to break almost all the rules and red tape, Step by step, I was getting what I wanted. As a student, however, I was doing poorly in both classes. I reviewed Thornton Wilder's novel, A Woman of Andros, a beautiful poetic story. I thought I had written well, but my English professor thought otherwise and gave me a "D" plus. There were too many errors in punctuation and grammar. I could chalk them up to the seven lost years. My history professor's lectures were boring. In a monotonous tone he droned on and on. I can still see him, leaning against the wall, propping one leg behind. Lecturing for an hour and a half, emotionlessly and without the slightest bit of animation, except when he shifted legs. Even so, the History of England textbook was wonderful reading. After writing a couple long letters to my three buddies, Frank, Mickey, and "Red", they replied with encouragement and financial support. Frank enclosed eight dollars; Mickey and Red each sent four dollars. Although thankful, I felt embarrassed. From home, I had also received ten dollars for my birthday (October 6th.) Suddenly I felt rich. I opened up a $25.00 bank account at the Westwood Branch of the Bank of America. Millie Cook delivered her baby girl on Saturday, October 15th. The following Saturday, after caddying, I went to see them. I gave Millie a box of candy. For her baby Nancy, I opened up a two-dollar bank account. They later told me that of all the presents that they had received, the bank account idea was the most original and best gift. Caddying on the weekends, with no breakfast, I looked forward to the hole where the golfers sprung for drinks. I always chose the cold can of tomato juice, which tided me over till the evening meal. After caddying I got rides on Barham Blvd over the Cahuenga Pass to Simon's Cafeteria on Hollywood Blvd. Invariably, I had hamburger steak with mashed potatoes, gravy, butter, two slices of bread, and coffee. All for 17 cents -- it was a bargain. From Simon's, I would walk to the bowling lanes on Vine Street. It was a new facility with 22 lanes, 15 pool tables, and air conditioning. Loitering there, I enjoyed the atmosphere, reading the Bowlers Journal, watching the bowlers, and peeking into the adjoining bar. The CBS and NBC radio facilities were across the street from that bar. Radio and movie stars frequently came to the bar to brace up for their performance. Once I saw Charles Boyer at the bar. A bowling tournament was to be held on Thanksgiving Day. I decided to enter even though the $7.50 entry fee was extravagant. To get the first place prize of $100 I would have to shoot the highest five-game total. It was a long-shot gamble, but I was ready for a change of pace. I wrote to my brother, Vito, to send me my bowling ball, collect, via Railway Express. He replied that Frankie ("Chi Chi") Grill had my ball and would bring it to me. He and his wife were driving out here to prepare for the Santa Anita horse race meeting. He arrived two days before Thanksgiving. To get some practice, I bowled in the pot games on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I came very close but failed to win a jackpot. I also failed in the bowling Tournament, averaging only 189 for the five games. The following Wednesday was a different story., In the first game, at a dollar per man, there was a ten-dollar jackpot. I shot a 215 game, but another bowler nosed me out. In the second game, with only seven bowlers, the "kitty" was raised to two dollars each. In the first six frames, I had three blows (misses), but then my ball found the pocket for six consecutive strikes. This time I barely nosed out the other guy. Collecting $14.00, this was the break that I needed. With only five bowlers, we then bowled one more two-dollar game. In this third and final game, I was over 200 by the eighth frame, so the men quit. Collecting another ten dollars, my total winnings came to $19.00. It was 1:30 AM as I began to hitchhike to Bel-Air. At that moment I was the happiest man in Hollywood. With the mid-term grades coming out in the next few weeks, I had to buckle down and focus on the homework. I had to do research and write a 2500-word term paper in about three weeks. It was very hard for me to start that assignment. I wrote on "The Birth of the Motion Picture." Handing it in ten days late brought me a 20 % penalty in my grade. When the mid-term grades came out I was given a "D" in English and a "D" in History. At UCLA, students had to maintain a "C" average to remain in school. My days as a college freshman were now in jeopardy. At my age, I couldn't afford to be flunked out. The handwriting was on the wall. Hugo P. Cipriani |