Remembering the  "good times" at age six
Part 2
by Paul Kusuda
 Last month, I wrote about figuring out why my mother always ordered "hot beef sandwich and coke" at a
much later stage. Actually, I also later realized what courage she had to take her children shopping when
she had such a limited command of English. What would she have done if she had run into some kind of
emergency situation? My downtown adventures with my younger sister, in hindsight, were on the foolish
side. Probably, my parents were not aware of the potential hazards that we somehow avoided. But we
remember the fun things and somehow forget some of the not-so-fun things. Some of us were lucky; we
escaped getting into any real difficulties.
  Since my parents were owner-operators of a small, upstairs hotel, they were very busy. The roomers
were single working men, a few single working women, and maybe a married couple or two. Every time a
transient roomer moved out, whether it was an overnight or a week's stay, my parents had a lot of extra
things they had to do.
  Often, the roomer brought bedbugs or fleas with them -- and they left some behind. Sometimes, they
brought cockroaches with them, probably without knowing they were in their suitcases or boxes of
belongings. Usually, it was my father's job to get rid of the critters. My mother's job was to launder all of
the bedding and towels. My father's job was to inspect the mattresses, pillows and bed springs for fleas
and bedbugs. I sometimes watched him in true fascination. I don't remember how he got rid of the fleas,
but I do remember the bedbugs. Those in the mattresses and pillows were plucked out by hand and
squashed. It was tedious work. I never helped because my father knew I wouldn't be able to do the job;
he was right.
  It was fascinating how he got rid of bedbugs in the bedsprings. He used a small hand-held blow torch
that had an adjustable flame. I don't know what kind of fuel was used, but it was in a can a little taller than
a beer can. The screw-on top had a curved tube with a flanged tip that he lit with a gadget he squeezed to
get a spark to light the end. It's used to light acetylene torches. There must have been a control so he
could adjust the flame. At any rate, he would burn out the bedbugs from the springs and the metal strips
that formed the mattress support. The bugs would pop when the flames hit them. I watched and watched,
all the time smelling the terrible odor that resulted.
  I got to know the single people who talked to me about their work. It wasn't much fun talking with the
women because their work didn't sound like much fun -- being a waitress, working in a beauty shop,
being a store clerk, etc. The one exception was a lady who spoke with some kind of an accent, possibly
Swedish or Norwegian, who used my mother's kitchen from time to time to make fudge or bake cookies
or cakes for her friends. The oddity that caught my attention was that she liked to eat a couple of
tablespoons of cake batter before she put her cake in the oven. Sometimes, she let me sample it; I
thought it wasn't too tasty, but it wasn't too bad either. The best part was when she gave me cookies while
they were still warm. The left-over cake frosting was good, too.
  With the men, it was different. I remember one who showed me his hard hat that had a carbide lamp
attached. He even showed me how the carbide would burn and cast a very bright, white light. He worked
in Los Angeles' sewer system. Another man worked in Hollywood. He wasn't an actor; he was a "grip" --
someone who moved heavy equipment and carried sound stage and amplifiers from place to place. His
ambition was to become "Best Boy." That was the title of the leader or foreman of all of the grips.
  One of the most interesting men was a pigeon fancier. After he came back from work, he went to the
hotel roof to take care of his flock. The flat roof of the hotel was easily accessible via a special set of stairs
that led to a door which opened out to the roof. Usually, it was kept locked, but I guess my father gave him
a key. At any rate, occasionally the man let me go up with him to the roof to watch him take care of his
pigeons. He said some were messenger pigeons and showed me how he could put a small cylinder on
a pigeon's leg. The cylinder had a rolled-up piece of thin paper on which a message was written. After he
tossed a pigeon up in the air, it would fly away and not come back. The man showed me a special cage
that had a swinging door that allowed the bird entry when it returned.
  So, I had enlightening and educational experiences with adults. They didn't show any racial prejudices;
they didn't talk down on me even though I was a little kid. So, I learned at an early age that racial prejudice
was not overtly expressed by many people. Also, I learned that adults liked to talk about their work with
others. Although they didn't have a lot of money, they were proud of what they did to earn their living. I
found out that if a person did not look for prejudicial action, many times what appeared to be racial bias
turned out to be rudeness (applicable to anyone) and lack of consideration (also applicable to anyone). I
learned that if I looked for racially discriminative activity against myself, I might find it even though it wasn't
there or intended. My mission, then, became one of sensitizing others about what is now called "cultural
competence."