One of my passions is sitting down with my 8-year-old grandson and namesake and telling stories about “the way things were in the Dark Ages.”
It’s revealing to discover that many of the younger generation see the world as strictly late-20th century. Whereas we products of the Dark Ages can recall having lived under some 13 presidents, Bush, Clinton and Reagan are the presidential names that come most readily to mind for teens.
It is true that young people today have storehouses of information–acquired through reading, school, television, the internet and personal experience. However, the fact that they’ve been around less than two decades makes it difficult for them to realize how things really were.
Is there a teen on the planet who remembers life before the cell phone? Has anyone ridden in a car that lacked air conditioning, cruise control, power windows, steering and brakes? When I was a kid, even radios and heaters were optional equipment in most autos.
I was reviewing biblical questions for Arthur’s Sunday School assignment and read him some of the passages. But to make things relevant, I updated the modes of transportation. Instead of camels and donkeys, I inserted Southwest Airlines and SUVs. My grandson went along for awhile until his “wwaaiitt a minute, Pompa, they didn’t have planes in those days.” Ha, gotcha, son! There was historical precedent for my biblical tinkering. During the production of “The Ten Commandments,” crews has to stop the cameras three times to allow jets to pass overhead.
Arthur then asked, “Were there dates when you were young?”
This answer took some explanation. The tortilla curtain that used to separate East Las Vegas (the City) from West Las Vegas (the Town), conjures up memories. In previous columns I’ve alluded to the territoriality of my friends and neighbors from my Railroad Barrio. The warnings about crossing the bridge often were not too subtle.
So when a school closing on the west side resulted in an influx of Old Town students at Immaculate Conception School, suddenly we were outnumbered. Except for a few periods of unrest, I thought the opportunity to meet new kids was great. Great, that is, except for the freshman from west who must have been 20 and terrified many of us. Even those of us who walked home for lunch started bringing lunch money, in case that elder statesman demanded it.
My first date, I explained to Arthur, was with a classmate, a west-sider named Margaret. A date in those days required the boy to pick up the girl, pay her way into the movies, buy her popcorn and drive her home. I accomplished three out of four.
Cops used to be all over town. We pondered a variation of the ancient philosophical question: If a boy speeds in Las Vegas and there’s no cop to see him, did he really speed?
It still amazes me that my parents allowed me to borrow the family car, a used Pontiac with extra features like turn signals.
Of course, none of us had insurance, and with no license yet, I would have been an easy target. The cops would simply need to spot a scared, skinny kid trembling behind the wheel.
The agreement was to meet Margaret at what is now Plaza Drugs. I parked near Highlands, walked across the Bridge, met and walked back with Margaret. I had heard tales of people known only by nickname and who, we were told, “are waiting to attack you the minute you step across the bridge.” So why did I walk, by myself, all the way into Old Town? The fear of being arrested outweighed any fear of a face-to-face confrontation.
We walked to the car and, avoiding main drags, I drove all the way to Jackson Street, where we then hiked to the Serf. All the time I was driving I feared the fuzz would eye-ball me and arrange to secure me a pad at the Crossbar Hotel.
At the conclusion of this first-date re-telling, my grandson was incredulous, wondering what in the world there was to fear about driving across the bridge. Strange, but some of the warnings die hard. On a recent visit to West Las Vegas Schools, I met an employee, John Lucero, who said he could identify with much that I’d written about how “never the twain shall meet” regarding East and West.
I remembered my classmate who years later said she cried for hours when she discovered her teenage daughter was dating a boy from west.
Now, of course, east and west are virtually interchangeable. And a big surprise–omething that never occurred me to during several decades of life in Las Vegas–was the point of view of some of the west-siders. Lucero, who mans the visitor check-in station at West, said his parents gave him similar warnings about crossing to the east side.
Strange, but for too long, it never occurred to us east-siders that we ourselves may have posed a threat to those west of the Gallinas.