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Observations of An Ex-Cop in La La Land |
PIER PEOPLE of MANHATTAN BEACH in Southern California |
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 View from the end of the Manhattan Beach pier |
You can get the juice
of humanity on the pier
By ANDY MURCIA
of TheColumnists.com
Always on Saturday and at least a couple of days during the week, I make sure I get my bike ride over to the Manhattan Beach Pier. It’s the place where anyone can come to invigorate his or her spirit. This place is so full of life I’ve become addicted to it.
They say good cops are trained observers of people, places and things. Being a retired Chicago cop that normally would qualify me to be either a bank guard or a gunman. Well, I would never wear the monkey suit in a bank, and I hate guns, so that leaves only “trained observer.” People-watching is so much of my life that my wife, Ann, often kids me by saying, “Lets get a peep at you, Tom!”
Getting to the Pier in
Manhattan Beach is the halfway point on my 12-mile bike ride.
It’s near where you can get a good cup of coffee, take a
rest and check your air pressures. Siting on this Pier will also
reduce your blood pressure, so just relax and take it all in.
People come to the Pier for many reasons. Sure, there’s
decent fishing in the Pacific Ocean at the end of the Pier, but
there are also the beach people, surfer dudes and dudettes, the
swimmers, pro and amateur volleyball players, and the bike riders.
There are some tourists who magically find the place in spite
of the poor marketing efforts by the Chamber of Commerce to get
the word out. But they know what they're doing. Keeping the real
big crowds away is one thing that makes this place such a delight.
If you come here often enough, you will get to know the “regulars”
and you can also spot the lovers who use this beautiful area
like a Hollywood background for acting out their “love story.”
There’s also an ex-Marine
running an exercise program he calls “Boot Camp.” He’s
a big Afro-American guy, at least 6’-4” and about 260
pounds. I nicknamed him “Entire Boot Camp” because
he’s the real deal and knows how to put the wussy guys and
girls through their paces. He has set up a very tough program
with a lot of energy spent on teaching them good life-saving
techniques. He stretches, sweats, and exhausts them until they
can hardly wait to collapse on the warm, sandy beach below. They
not only pay him for it, but they also thank him with a hug after
every class.
Lots of us bikers like to watch this class in hopes that the
thongs worn by the better looking females might slide off due
to their sweating, but that’s another story.
Feeling people taking part in “life” is one of the best kinds of shared energy any of us can get. It’s as strong as the mighty Pacific Ocean that relentlessly pounds the beach below this great pier. Before you get to thinking this old copper will start touting yoga moves and green tea next, I think there comes a time in our lives when we can’t forget to charge our own batteries. Life pounds us pretty good on a daily basis and for a lot of us, this is the place to get rejuvenated.
Seeing young people in love and inseparable, holding hands and constantly kissing, brings back wonderful memories of our own youth. Seeing older people do the same, tells me they either just got hitched or someone’s having a hot affair on the side. Either way, I like seeing them enjoy “my pier.”
The Pier also has it’s share of outrageous California people, too--from its only known resident, who illegally resides under the pier, to the “masked yelling man” who hollers for no reason at people passing by. He thinks as long as they can’t see his lips move due to his “terrorist” type mask, they won’t know he's hollering. It’s a very funny bit to watch him, as long as he’s not in your ear.
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resident," who lives under the pier at Manhattan Beach. |
I thought I’d start by writing about the pier’s only known resident. I’ll call him the “Beach Bum.” That's what he is and he looks exactly as a beach bum should look. He’s healthy, tanned and wears loud bathing trunks and tank top. He sleeps under the pier. I’ve observed and spoken with him numerous times and this is his daily life schedule. He rises early in the morning, grabs his small ditty bag from its hiding place in the rocks and heads for the public showers nearby. After he tends to his personal hygiene, he’s off to Starbucks, just up the hill. He always starts his panhandling here by petting the beloved, nervous dogs of the “thirtysomething” crowd. These are the guys who don’t mind paying several dollars for a cup of Java with a French name on it. Soon after petting and making conversation with his “mark” he moves in and gets the sucker to buy him an expensive cup, too.
The Beach Bum then leaves,
sipping his favorite brew, and heads to a nearby restaurant where
he bums some food. Now it’s back to “his” pier
where he sits in the sun on “his” bench with his feet
up. One day I imposed by wanting to sit next to him on “his”
bench. He had tried to shoo me off “his” bench by saying
someone had “spilled coffee on that end.” But when
I produced a napkin and wiped it, he gave up and moved his outstretched
legs.
After he reluctantly agreed to share “his” bench, I
engaged him in conversation. I quickly learned that he was, take
your pick; (a) a former drummer in the Rolling Stones band until
he and Mick had a falling out, or (b) a jazz musician who formerly
played all the jazz joints at Redondo Beach Pier, until his "skins"
were stolen. I told him I knew the Stones drummer, and he quickly
told me he had only “subbed” for their drummer on a
“one night stand.”
When I asked him if he still played drums, he said not since
his skins were stolen at Redondo Pier. I advised him “why
not get another set of drums and play there again?” He looked
at me and said, “Man, you got to be crazy!” I asked
him “why?” He said, “Do you think I would work
in that high crime area again?”
I said his point was well taken. At this time he figured me for
a chump and said; “Hey man, gimme a couple dollars for some
smokes!” As I got up to leave I said to him, “No man,
you’re right I must be crazy, as I have no money at all.”
Making my exit fast, I briskly walked my bike off the pier and
away from him and “his” bench. This Beach Bum was doing
pretty well. He lived at an oceanside address, had all the modern
facilities of running water, shower, toilets, AND drank the most
expensive coffee with all the junior executives. He was truly
a man who believed in Gods word, “Ask and you shall receive.”
The only problem was this time he asked an old cop from Chicago
who lives by the self-penned poem that I taught my son early
on. It goes like this whenever a panhandler tries to get me to
donate to his rap cause:
“What it is, what it is, what it is. What it be, what it
be, what it be. Say anything you wan, baby, but you ain’t
gettin no money from me!”
©2004 by Andy Murcia. The caricature of Andy Murcia is ©2003
by Jim Hummel. The photo of the pier is ©2004 by Andy Murcia.
The photo of the pier resident is ©2004 by Howard Levine.
All rights reserved.
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