Country Gal/City Woman: "When 'Striking Out' is a Good Thing!"

As a slightly gullible and innocent wee lass growing up in the corn belt state of Iowa during the Depression Years, I heard often a phrase from adult lips that held stern admonishment and fervor of a quality that grabbed my adolescent attention span, mostly because the words foretold of a "forbidden fruit" existence that would, one day, certainly entice post-puberty persons, and that was...Nice people do NOT frequent pool halls, beer joints, gambling houses (plus something softly muttered about a house of 'ill-repute') and, lastly, bowling alleys!

And so it wasn't until I was a community-property owner in South Arcadia in 1950 that I took up one of the four (okay, five!) named above, bowling, and discovered that some of my best friends are bowlers! 61 years later (and I am still counting) bowling with some 80 Vegas-bound Seniors every Thursday at Action Lanes in El Monte, California, is a full-blown adventure the minute I hit the front door of this Alley.

Truly, at my current great age when aromas are less fragrant and Jill-be-Nimble fingers aren't, I am gleefully delighted when the key to my locker turns on the first try and the smell of freshly-brewed coffee permeates the designated area which has become my comfort zone for a few carefree hours.   Perfection would be served if "homestyle buttermilk donuts" frames replaced the traditional "beer" frames, but that ain't gonna happen anytime soon, now is it?

Seniors who have traveled every journeyed path prior to retirement congregate on a daily basis at bowling alleys across the nation; and there is no doubt that the dedicated bowler in my beloved Atlantic, Iowa suffers the same confliction as the bowler who obsesses on properly-knotted shoestrings on properly-powdered bowling shoes some two thousand miles away in my sunny Southern California "sanctuary." It is not the so-called "misery" that loves company as we have been led to believe for lo, these many years. It is the bowler who knows deep down that the next game could very well be the all-important 300 game and craves the presence of a League of Bowlers to witness this highest of achievements in bowling circles. This expectation is not to be underestimated...and when it does happen, there is a celebratory atmosphere worthy of any Scratch League performance.

Most days, the final scores of these Seniors who come for exercise, fellowship, creme brulee recipes, sympathy, constructive criticism and kudos, of which there are plenty to go around, reflect a less-than-smug attitude of "nothing to it!" Scoring 300 pins in "No Tap" Play can be child's play for some of the more experienced bowlers while neophytes are lauded and appreciated for their handsome and most welcomed handicaps. "It's the pin action" as the most modest of keglers will say after the applause and back-slapping have ceased.   It's this kind of modesty that wants you to either "adopt them" or "take them home to meet the kids!"

Senior bowling has enhanced the lives and health of these "young at heart" citizenry who ignore, for the most part, the aches and pains that are alleviated by an early-morning, full-body-rub-down with Aspercreme or Blue Emu.  (Magnetic wraps are good, too, but have been known to wipe out credit cards which could prove to be embarrassing when treating the gang at the nearest Krispy Kreme hangout.)

Treasured, along with the day's high game and year-end prize money, is the socializing that goes on amongst the Alley citizenry. Latest remedies, including the highly popular VicksVapoRub treatment for most every condition except labor (we're talking "birthing") pains and the newest, Castiva, made out of castor oil and other by-products purchased at better drugstores everywhere, are discretely discussed. Occasionally, tender friendships are developed that help to reduce the heartaches that come into the lives of these truly Golden Seniors, a prescription that the local pharmacist cannot fill, even with Medicare.

Still experiencing that deeply-ingrained sense of post-adolescent curiosity, I recently conducted a spontaneous survey pertaining to the "earning quarters" years of my fellow guys-and-dolls bowlers. Small talk is encouraged when bowling, of course, but "What did you do before you retired?" truly hooked the interest of some who eagerly responded. "Impressive, outstanding, you're kidding, and you didn't!"..all descriptive of various vocations held during those pre-Social Security years by some of my "new best friends." I knew not, until I asked, that two bowlers recently celebrated their 90th-plus birthdays and seem to be improving with age, which gives me great hope. One of these two is a former Big Band-type orchestra leader and a former member of the Los Angeles symphony orchestra in his salad days. (Only today, Joe lifted his experienced baton arm and I got the nicest hug you can ever imagine!)  Lorraine, the widow of "Pickles" Gerken, a major league baseball player out of Chicago who played against the likes of Babe Ruth and Joe DiMaggio, as center fielder for the Cleveland Indians and the Milwaukee Brewers in the early 1930's, still loves an occasional spin around the dance floor but will soon put her bowling shoes and ball into "retirement."

Even President Dwight Eisenhower did not know that his cousin, two times removed, personally installed the hand-sewn carpet in Ike's personal cabin space on Air Force One; and as Skip was telling me.."When one looked at the carpet at floor level, it appeared that the carpet 'actually swayed'". Still taking pride in his craftmanship, my bowling buddy spoke the names of Gene Kelly, Dorothy Dandridge, Anne Francis, Dolly Parton and "The Rifleman" (Chuck Conners) as former carpet clients and has promised unpublished stories of sometimes "contrary" celebrities as league season continues. Can hardly wait! This Patch Blog will "scoop" the National Enquirer, and you will have read it here first!

Smiles broadened as tidbits were shared around the anchored tables. Past achievements were met with "oohs" and "ahhhs"; like when the willowy grandmother told of her employment as a matron/guard at the famous Taycheedah, Wisconsin Women's State Prison from which the infamous "Bambi" escaped some years ago..but not on her watch! The Explorer was sent into orbit via JPL and the General Dynamics' Red Eye Project completed under the watchful eye of yet another of our "senior doll" playmates, a research engineer. The Industrial Arts school teacher and a former cosmetologist, each now an owner of a local restaurant, the secretary to a concert pianist, the L.A. Registrar of Voters, the used car dealer (honest as can be as a score keeper!) the World War II veterans, the gateman at Santa Anita Race Track, CEO's of our communities' financial institutions are but a few of the many who comprise competitive groups of three or four, determined to cross off any day's little annoyances, but not over the foul line on any of the 32 lanes at Action Lane.

Culled from those designing and installing carpets to exploring outer space, from those driving big rigs, Greyhounds and school buses to ex-PTA presidents typing church bulletins, from those milking cows to composing advertising to sell that milk, from those heading up port security to professional boxing, from those pioneering in the computer/geek category to medical technicians, from those shepherding actors and actresses during performances at the local community theaters to rounding up bowlers for the semi-annual jaunts to Las Vegas, from those in the news media to beer brewers, this most-senior population at Action Lanes has regenerated a zest and enthusiasm for this once-dwindling participatory sport.  Again, unforgettable guys and dolls!

The unparalleled joy of seeing a string of strikes on the animated electronic scoreboard lives on long after the dinner dishes are done, the garbage can lids resettled (and tied because of the recent bear-in-the-backyard explosion) and the porch lights turned off at the end of one fine day. That same unrelenting joy remains strong harboring the unspoken thought that the next time the 7-10 split pops up....well, anything's possible. As we are pointedly admonished to do so by that young whippersnapper, the late 60-ish Dennis Hopper in one of his last delightful  television commercials, this very experienced generation does take unbridled delight in pursuing our unrealized dreams in these years of retirement.

The possibility of picking up that improbable split is what gets us out of bed and to the Alley on time for a few practice balls...in the lyrical words of another "Golden Oldie"..."come rain or come shine!"   See you at the Bowling Alley!   And, donuts are always welcomed!