The Christmas Miracle

I didn't want to share this until I knew the ending, and as of today, I do. Three days before I left town for 'Xmas In CT' my car was stolen. Kind of a bummer, even though it was an old car and I never used it much -- in fact, since I started working from home, the only reason I drove it was to keep the battery charged. But it was my getaway car -- I liked knowing that if I needed/wanted to escape the confines of West Hollywood, I could. Run an errand, visit a friend -- it was always there for me. Except, the other day, when I went out for a quick trip to the barber shop...

It. Wasn't.

Weirdly, there was another car approximately the same year and model -- 20 year old Honda CRV -- parked in about the same spot on my street. I even walked up to it thinking it was mine, except it was the wrong color and the window was open and the motor was running. Seemed odd.

I searched up and down the block several times before facing the hard truth: somebody took my car! I called the West Hollywood Sheriff and a young deputy arrived to take my stolen vehicle report. He told me he had circled the block a few times, just to make sure I hadn't merely forgotten where I'd parked. He said that happens a lot. He, too, saw the other CRV and ran the plates. Apparently, it had been stolen the day before, about 20 miles away. 

"Some coincidence, huh?" he said.
I was doubtful. "That ain't no coincidence."

An older deputy arrived and told us that whoever stole the first car probably dumped it before stealing mine. Then, his partner comes along and picks up that one while mine gets driven over to the next 20-year-old CRV -- lather, rinse, repeat. Last year they were doing the same thing with Hyundais, this year CRVs.

Just my luck.

We finished filling out the report and I asked if there was any chance they would find my car. The young deputy shook his head. "Not really."

I flew to Connecticut a few days later and told everyone the story -- by this point I had accepted the situation. I really don't need the car, so no great loss, right? Why let it ruin the holidays?
But then, the next day, I got a call from a deputy at the Compton Sheriff's Station -- he said they'd found my car!

It was a bona fide, according-to-Hoyle Christmas Miracle!

Only...

The car had been towed to an impound lot in Compton and I needed to go claim it. In person. In Compton. And pay the towing fee, plus the storage costs -- forty bucks a day and mounting. By the time I got back to California it would be a hefty sum. Surely there was another way to retrieve my car. But what?

My brilliant nephew, age 10, suggested that I Google it.

Clever lad.

Turns out you can send an authorized 'agent' to pick up your car for you, with an original signed and notarized form. So, after some more Googling, a slew of phone calls, some cutting and pasting, a quick trip to the town library (free notary service!) and a last minute dash to FedEx, the form was on its way to my cousin in the San Fernando Valley -- a mere 40 miles from Compton.

But, this was, as you know, a holiday weekend. And both the Compton Sheriff's Station and the impound lot were operating on holiday hours. My cousin had a less-than-two-hour window this morning to make it all work: Uber to the Sheriff's Station to get the vehicle release form, another Uber to the impound lot to pick up the car then drive it back to his house. Everything started off well, and my cousin was doing me the biggest solid of all time. He got the release form with minimum hassle, then a short trip over to the impound lot -- he got there early, so he had to wait outside the gate for an hour. Alone. On a back alley in Compton. Finally, he got inside with all the proper paperwork, paid the fees and charges, and they released the car to him, no problemo.

But...

It wouldn't start.

I was crushed. Now what? Tow the car all the way out to the west valley? Seriously? I called the guy in the main office and he said they could try giving it a jump start. I said I thought that might be a good idea.

Fortunately, that solved the problem and within minutes my cousin was in my car on the freeway, heading for home.

Victory!

So, now my CRV is sitting safely in my cousin's driveway in the west valley, with no more storage charges. A triple Christmas miracle, at least. And I have my getaway car again!
Such a major relief.

I think I might just sell it.

What Are You Looking At?

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A post shared by Richard Eastman (@hollywood_dick) on Jul 31, 2020 at 4:20pm PDT

Close to Home

I've been hearing a lot of sirens lately. Or at least it seems that way. Whenever I hear a siren, I think, just don't be coming this way. I'm always relieved when I hear them pass by. Someone else's bad luck. But the other day I heard a siren that kept getting closer, and closer, and closer. It sounded like it stopped right outside my apartment building. I put on my mask and went outside to investigate.

There were two cop cars and a paramedic truck parked in front of the building next door. Someone was lying on the patch of ground between the sidewalk and the curb. Two paramedics were administering CPR. An ambulance arrived and two more paramedics wheeled a gurney over to the sidewalk.

Several people were gathered in front of my building. Everyone had a mask, but some had them pulled down below their chins. Nobody was observing the six-foot rule. Especially not the cops. I overheard a young woman say she'd found a man slumped over in his car and called 911. She was instructed to pull him out of the car and perform CPR until the paramedics arrived. I looked back toward the man on the ground. Then at the car parked beside him.

I turned back to the young woman, "Was it the blue car?"
She nodded. "Oh shit," I said. "I know him."

The blue car belonged to our building manager, Gordon, a man I've known since the day I moved in, nearly two decades ago. I knew him about as well as you know anyone else who lives in your building -- we'd stop to chat occasionally as we passed each other on the way in or out. I remember when he got the new car, the blue one. He'd had his old one about as long as I've had mine, which is way too long, and was pretty happy with the upgrade. Gordon lived alone and I never saw him with family or friends. I knew he had a cat because he'd built a wire-enclosed walkway on the outside of his third floor windows so the cat could walk outside from one window to another. I thought that was pretty cool.

I saw the paramedics preparing to inject Gordon with epinephrine in hopes of stimulating his heart. I knew this because of my research for a TV script I'd written. I'd never actually seen it done before. They gave him the injection, but it didn't seem to help. By now they had rigged up an automatic compression machine that was pumping his heart for him and causing his body to spasm with each compression. His skin was pale and his entire body was limp. I couldn't see his face.

The police asked me to identify him so I moved closer, but they made me stop. I told them who the blue car belonged to and that he was the manager of my building. They asked me how old he was but I had no idea. I guessed mid-fifties.

The paramedics were clearing the immediate area and attaching electrodes to Gordon for defibrillation. Everyone stood back. I could see his face now. It was him, but ashen and lifeless. One of the paramedics said, "Clear." Gordon's body jolted from the shock of the defibrillator. The paramedics waited for a moment, checking his vitals, then tried again. "Clear." Another jolt. More waiting. More checking. Nothing.

The people on the sidewalk shared random thoughts, "I just saw him the other day." "I didn't know he was sick."

The four paramedics transferred Gordon onto the gurney. The CPR machine was back in place. They wheeled him over to the ambulance and loaded him inside. I saw his face again as they went past. I knew it was probably the last time I would see him.

I spoke to the young woman who had tried to revive Gordon. We traded numbers so I could keep her apprised of his condition. Her name was Brianna. She said she felt invested.

The police gave me Gordon's keys to hold onto. My hallmate volunteered to go up and look in on the cat. Those of us remaining on the sidewalk said awkward goodbyes. Eventually the police cars drove away and we all went inside.

I called the Sheriff's station and got the name of the hospital. When I called the hospital, I was told Gordon was 'under evaluation.' I didn't know what that meant, but I wanted it to mean there was still hope. I waited an hour and called again. This time I was told he'd been discharged.
I was confused, "Discharged? You mean they sent him home?"
"Discharged from the ER."
"What does that mean?"
I was transferred to the ER, where I was told that Gordon was no longer a patient.
"So he didn't make it?" I asked.
"We can't give out any information."

Later that night I got a text from my landlord. Gordon had died. I waited until the next morning to pass on the sad news to Brianna. She told me she was devastated. I told her that the fact that she cared enough to do something meant a lot. She seemed comforted by that. I hope so.

I don't know, and will never know, why Gordon died. But I don't think it was a random coincidence. When an otherwise healthy man drops dead in the middle of a pandemic, there has to be a connection. I'm sure he tried to stay safe like we all do, but masks and gloves are not magic talismans. It's one thing to hear politicians talk about 'acceptable percentages' and another thing altogether to watch a friend dying on the sidewalk right in front of you.

Sometimes we don't take things seriously until they hit close to home. There are a lot of people who seem to be in denial of what's happening in the world today. I hope it doesn't take a tragedy for them to wake up to reality. But I'm afraid it probably will.