From a child in turmoil to a man at peace, this emotional memoir presents the often helter-skelter life of author Ralph G. Mendoza. From the sorrowful, to the hurtful, and the unfair to the pleasurable, humorous, and enjoyable,
Life on a Roller Coaster narrates Mendoza's sixty-five-year journey.
The account begins with his earliest memories growing up in an East Los Angeles ghetto, attending more than fifty schools between first grade and high school. For a time, his best friends were bookies and hoodlums. In Life on a Roller Coaster, Mendoza describes the many chapters in his life which include a stint in the United States Air Force, a long career with the Los Angeles Fire Department, and his experiences as a professional gambler in Las Vegas. He tells about the good and the bad-of his flight on Air Force One and meeting President Lyndon B. Johnson and Secretary of State Dean Rusk and of his seventeen-year marriage and subsequent divorce.
A riveting narrative, Life on a Roller Coaster recounts Mendoza's meager beginnings in squalor to his now tranquil existence in Nevada. It's a testament of one man's determination to turn his dreams into reality.
Life on a Roller Coaster
By Ralph G. MendozaiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2009 Fran Addeo, DC
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4401-6517-7 Contents
Dedication...............................................................vTable of Contents........................................................viiAcknowledgments..........................................................ixIntroduction.............................................................xiMy Obituary..............................................................xixChapter One Awakening to Life............................................1Chapter Two Learning about Life..........................................11Chapter Three Life in Yuma...............................................25Chapter Four I Live with My Brothers.....................................55Chapter Five The United States Air Force.................................81Chapter Six Married Life.................................................131Chapter Seven The Los Angeles County Fire Department.....................173Chapter Eight My "Wild-Child" Years......................................225Chapter Nine Life after Learning.........................................261Chapter Ten Life in Boulder City.........................................285Epilog...................................................................303
Chapter One
Awakening to Life
When you wake up each morning, thoughts aren't instantly clear to you, but are instead slowly becoming more apparent: like going from a misty fog into the sun's daylight. That's the way it was with my first recollections. With time my memories became focused; others were to become etched in my brain.
Almost all of my early memories are of life in Ramona Gardens which is located in East Los Angeles and which is considered a ghetto area. There were numerous buildings, each made of cement, which contained several units. Grandma Mendoza's unit was a two-story apartment, with two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs and a small kitchen and living room downstairs. Several of my paternal cousins and I would stay there at Grandma's home until our mothers returned from work. Of all my cousins I liked Jo Jo best; even as a child he was funny. Jo Jo once broke his leg while doing back flips off of a high wall; the next day he was practicing jumping with one leg and continue doing back flips. Jo Jo and I were together each day during the week and would often spend the weekends together.
What I remember most about Grandma Mendoza's unit was the bedroom where all we children slept. The room had a stench when you opened the door because there were only urine-soaked mattresses on the cement floor. To this day I cannot forget how that room reeked of urine.
That is also the place where I first remember experiencing fear. In an effort to stop me from wetting my bed, Mother would dress me in a diaper and threaten to make me sit on the steps at the unit's front door. I would cry and beg her not to put me outside because that's where all the Garden kids played. I was sure they would tell everyone at Murchison Street School that they had seen Ralphie in a diaper.
When Mother and I were alone in our own unit, I was in constant fear of her having an attack. You see, Mother was an epileptic who had constant seizures so I was forced to endure each experience with her. What most-often happened was that Mother would experience an aura which she knew would always lead to a seizure. We would quickly move the furniture out of the middle of the room and she would lie down on a blanket and pillow so she wouldn't hurt herself. But when her seizure started I would be horrified and start to cry. I would place my rolled-up belt into her mouth and watch her jerk and bounce around until her seizure was over, all the while I was yelling: "Mommy, Mommy and I'm sorry!" Even though I was only five or six years old, I felt so helpless and guilty: helpless because I could not do more and guilty because I always felt that something I had done was the cause of her seizures. Those are memories I wish I could forget but even after all these years I can't. Guilt was something I learned from my earliest memories; I would continue to feel guilty about everything. I even felt guilty when I had nothing to feel guilty about!
We never lived in one place very long because Mother could not handle pressure of any kind, so instead of dealing with the problem, we would move to another place. I was constantly changing schools; I even attended the same schools three or four times. I vividly remember the last time I enrolled at Harrison Street School. I was probably in the second or third grade at the time and no longer needed anyone to go with me when I enrolled. When I walked into the office, a kind lady who remembered me asked, "Ralphie ... how long will you be with us this time?" I guess I lasted there for a month or two before we once again moved.
As time passed, Mother and I continued to live a helter-skelter life; and, after living in several places and attending many schools in Watts, Compton, South Gate and South Los Angeles, we found a nice house on Second Street in East Los Angeles. Our house was situated behind a large, wooden house. Mother seemed to like our new home, so we stayed there for over two years. Our yard was fenced so Mother allowed me have a little puppy that must have been abandoned by its owner so I kept him and named him Dog.
Dog and I would play in our yard after school and on the weekends; I was really enjoying life there. Mother seemed to enjoy it too; so she would often bake a chocolate cake with fudge frosting: it was so good when it was hot! I think I was beginning to feel secure for the first time in our little home on Second Street.
That's the way it remained until several things happened to alter our lives again. The first was when Mother met and became friends with a man named Ray. He was nice enough and took a special interest in me. After we had become friends, Ray asked Mother if he could take me to a drive-in movie. Drive-In movies were very popular at the time because you could pile the entire family into the car and bring your own food and drinks. After Ray had taken me to the movies several times, he began sitting me on his lap. That led to him placing my hand on his private parts. He never got violent but would always want me to do things I knew were sinful. When I refused to concede to his wishes he asked me not to tell my mother, so I agreed. Eventually I told Mother because, deep-down inside I felt what we were doing was an unforgivable sin. Mother immediately severed her friendship with Ray and told him never to return to our house again or she would report him to the police.
The second thing that happened was when Mother started dating a man named Roy. To look at Roy would scare anyone to death because he was covered with tattoos - even on his face! Roy had been in and out of jail for most of his life and had five or six children. But there was something very likeable about Roy. He idolized Mother and always called her La Reina because he thought of her as if she were a queen. Roy was the most-gentle man I had ever been around; which, up until that time, included my father. Although he smoked far-too much and was constantly drinking beer or wine, he still remained very gentle with both Mother and me. Mother and Roy would often drink and smoke the night away; but still we were happy. Roy was in and out of our lives almost as many times as he was in and out of jail during the time I knew him, but no matter what Mother would do to insult Roy, he would eventually return. Sometimes a year would go by, but one day, there would be Roy. How he found us after we moved is still a mystery to me. I suspect Mother would call Roy's mother and leave our new address and phone number; so I think that's how he would find us.
The last thing that happened when we lived on Second Street, and as it turned out, the first life-altering experience of my life, was when Mother asked me if I would like to go to a military school. She explained that it was expensive, so if I agreed, I would have to remain there for one year. At first I was frightened because I had never been away from Mother before, but after she explained that I would be living there as well as going to school there, and especially after she told me about the great, indoor-swimming pool which the children were allowed to swim in year around, I began to start to like the idea. But when I looked at her and said, "But, Mommy that means I won't see you for a year," Mother immediately sat me on her lap and replied, "No, no, no Ralphie, I'll come and visit you every weekend, and you can come home for Thanksgiving and Christmas vacation. Now that didn't seem so bad to me, and of course, there was that swimming pool!
So that summer we went on the streetcar to downtown Los Angeles and went to Desmond's. Desmond's is a specialty store that sold everything I'd need to attend St. Catherine's Military Academy. Mother took me to visit St. Catherine's about two weeks before classes were scheduled to begin and I instantly loved the academy! They had a dormitory for the young and another for the older boys and had a large bathroom that had several showers; everything was spotless! We were even invited to stay for supper. Wow! What great food we had; I even had two glasses of milk and a dessert. But the best part of our visit was when Sister showed us the swimming pool. I had never seen anything so large. It was hugh, with two diving boards and a rope separating the shallow from the deep end. That was all I thought of: I never wanted to go anywhere as much as I wanted to go to St. Catherine's.
The first night I attended St. Catherine's I wet the bed. The sister who was in charge spanked me and said I should have told her so she could have placed a mattress protector on my bed. Later she held me close and said, "I'll forgive you this time, but tonight I want you to go to the bathroom just before you go to bed ... and be sure to put on clean pajamas!" Pajamas? I couldn't believe it: I had three pair! So that night, after changing into clean pajamas, I pulled back the blanket to discover that Sister had not only put a mattress protector on my mattress, but had even changed the sheets. I don't think Sister knew that I had rarely slept between sheets before; so I didn't say a word. I believe that the second night I slept at St. Catherine's was the last night I ever wet the bed again. Sister had been so loving after spanking me that I was beginning to feel a sense of security just being there.
Our school was very strict: no nonsense was allowed. When Sister spoke, we listened and we learned. Any funny business was always followed by her ruler! I hated that damned ruler and, if I close my eye, I can still see her ruler coming down and smacking me on my knuckles. After a while, I learned: don't piss off Sister! Saturdays were visiting days, so I would get excited because I knew Mother would arrive just after lunch and stay until just before supper. Sometimes she would check me out of the academy, at the front office, and we would have supper together. She would always take me, dressed in my uniform, to a quaint malt shop where I'd always order a cheeseburger, fries and strawberry malt.
Saturday night was always movie night so all the boys would gather in the rec room. We always had great movies on Saturday night which were repeated on Sunday night. Sundays were, of course, church days. We had our own church on the grounds and were required to attend Mass every Sunday. After Mass, there was Catechism for the young, so we could prepare for our First Holy Communion and Confirmation classes for the older boys. After that we could play in the rec room or anywhere on the campus; always safely supervised. It was Heaven!
When it was time to celebrate our First Holy Communion all us kids were excited and would rehearse the prayers we had to recite. For me, it was special because my father and his second wife, Nellie, had agreed to join Mother and me in the ceremony and remain for the celebration supper which followed. Also invited that day were my sister Belinda and her sister Margo (from Nellie's previous marriage) and my Aunt Emma. I knew then, but I am even-more aware now, of the sacrifice Mother had to make to send me to St. Catherine's. She had spoken on the phone with Dad, but, from the start, he was against the idea and refused to assist Mother financially. Looking back, I find it ironic that he took such pride in his son that day, especially when he saw me in my dress uniform.
Father had definite opinions about things and he felt that the seventeen dollars and fifty cents the court had ordered him to pay every-other week was enough. Although, to his credit, he never missed a payment and continued to pay until my seventeenth birthday, which was the day I enlisted in the United States Air Force.
My year at St. Catherine's went by all-too quickly. I don't think I was ever so happy as I was during the year I spent there. I thrived and had become a good student. More importantly, I was starting to have some confidence in myself and, although I would always remain the class clown, I didn't feel the need to show off so people would notice me.
When a child transfers from one school to another as often as I had, he loses continuity. I would sometimes find that I was weeks behind the other children and didn't know anything about what they were studying; other times I was weeks ahead and became bored very easily. But the year spent at St. Catherine's was different: from the first day of classes until the school-year ended, there was a definite continuity.
I can't say anything bad about the year I spent at St. Catherine's other than to say that they sometimes ruled a bit-too harshly and relied on guilt as a tool for controlling the children. When something went wrong or I did something bad, Sister would always stress, "You'll never get to Heaven acting that way!" I had brought enough insecurity and guilt with me, so I didn't need someone in authority telling me I would never get to Heaven if I didn't obey!
Now, of course, I look back and laugh about it. I know of no other place I could have gone to that would have such a lasting impact on my future. St. Catherine's was aptly named because only a saint would have thought about providing an environment in which children could thrive, learn and grow as human beings.
Chapter Two
Learning about Life
When I left St. Catherine's and returned to Second Street I was very sad at first. I guess it was a natural response, after all, I had experienced things I never dreamed existed, and now I was back on familiar ground. Dog had run away, so that made me feel even worse; although I searched for him, too much time had gone by, so eventually I resigned myself to Dog being lost. What cheered me up most while I was passing away that summer was my Aunt Helen. Helen (as I called her) was the youngest of Mother's three sisters. Helen lived with us for about a month so she took care of me while Mother was at work. It wasn't necessary for anyone to take care of me because I could easily care for myself while Mother was at work; but having Helen with us was a lot of fun, especially for me. She taught me to swing dance and dance salsa style, which I would go on to dance for many years. So just about every day we were together, Helen would turn on our record player and we'd practice dancing hour after hour.
Helen had mastered the art of popping gum, so in her nonchalant style, which she would display for the rest of her life, she would constantly pop her gum and pretended to look bored, while we practiced. One day, before Mother arrived from work, Helen was washing dishes as I snuck up behind her, pulled on her apron strings and ran away. She seemed preoccupied in thought, so she shouted, "Stop that ... I'm busy!" I must have repeated that three or four times, when, as I was running, I suddenly felt something hit me on the head; immediately I fell to the floor and blacked out for a minute or two. When I awoke, there lying beside me was the cast-iron frying pan Helen had thrown at me; fortunately, it only glanced off of one side of my head. Helen was crying and asking if I was hurt. I said I was sorry and would not do that again, and assured her that I was okay. Helen was very loving, so I immediately forgave her; so when she asked me not to tell her sister, I agreed. Helen was just too kind to me to allow this little incident to disrupt their relationship. After Helen left I was very lonely for her. For that month we spent together I had really grown fond of her and was to experience many-more enjoyable times with her before she died of alcoholism many years later. The one thing I was sorry for was that Helen never taught me to pop gum as wonderfully as she could.
After Helen left, but before I returned to Rowan Avenue School, I experienced two things which were to forever remain in my memory. The first is the week my Aunt Emma and Uncle Chuck took me, along with my cousins Sandy, Joanie and Billy, to Pismo Beach. The second was the two weeks I spent living with my Aunt Mercy and Uncle John while Mother was on vacation.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Life on a Roller Coasterby Ralph G. Mendoza Copyright © 2009 by Fran Addeo, DC. Excerpted by permission.
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