Packed off to Balboa on account of strike

ROBERT GARDNER

Old age is a pain in more ways than one, but there are a few

advantages.

One is that nobody chides me for being lazy. If I feel like lying

on the couch all afternoon, nobody stomps in and yells, “Gardner! Get

your lazy butt off that couch!” Instead, they tiptoe around and

murmur, “Better let him rest. He’s not as young as he used to be.”

This is particularly useful for chores. I got the habit as a

short-order cook at the Green Dragon of cleaning up as I go along, so

the kitchen is usually pretty clean, but if I get lazy and don’t do

the dishes for a day or two, nobody drags me in there and hands me

some soap and a sponge. Dear doddering old Dad gets the dishes done

for him.

Not one to miss an opportunity, I have rid myself of a number of

boring jobs this way, one being grocery shopping. As a result, I

don’t have to decide whether to cross the picket line. However,

during the only strike I’ve ever been involved in, my father did, and

it changed our lives.

After a number of careers, including lumberjack, cowboy and

bare-knuckle fighter, my father moved us to Green River, Wyo., where

he went to work for the Union Pacific and became head of the local

union. The union decided to go on strike, and my father thought the

union was wrong and continued working. He was immediately reviled as

a traitor and worse. I was shunned by the other kids, and my dog was

killed, slit up the middle and left to die slowly.

Then a rock was thrown through the window of our house with a

death threat attached. My parents took the threat seriously, and at 8

years old, I was put on a train by myself to go live with my sister

in Balboa. For me, the strike had a good result, introducing me to

what would become my home town. Although I would spend periods of my

life elsewhere, I never really left Balboa after that early arrival.

As for my father, I’m sure I’ve told you how he strapped on his

old six-gun and walked up and down the main street of Green River

daring anyone to challenge him. Nobody did, but after the strike was

over, there was so much bitterness toward him that the Union Pacific

transferred him to Los Angeles. As a result of the transfer, he lost

all his seniority. He had to start over at the bottom and was

eventually laid off. He stood up for what he believed, and he paid a

steep price for doing so.

That was the only strike I experienced personally. Attorneys don’t

go out on strike -- although there are probably a lot of people who

think it would be a good thing if they did -- and judges don’t

either, although we would make a striking picture, walking the line

in our robes.

Since I don’t go to the grocery store, I haven’t really concerned

myself with the positions of both sides. However, I imagine it would

be difficult to cross a line manned by people such as Tom Bandel, who

has worked at Albertsons for as long as I can remember.

I’ve known Tommy since he was a kid at Little Corona. He was one

of numerous Bandels who came to the beach over the years. Since there

were 17 in the Bandel family, it seemed like each summer a new one

would show up, eager to prove he was just as good a bodysurfer as his

predecessors.

It’s a choice I don’t have to make, and I’m very happy about it,

just as I’m very happy to have a full pantry with no effort on my

part.

There are a couple of other things I’m lining up. Laundry? Ooh,

I’m feeling pretty old.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge.

His column runs Tuesdays.