GARGOZO MANUSCRIPT

The bull’s head spun upward and to the right as Benitez expertly buried the sword downward past the head and between the shoulder blades of the charging animal. With the bull dead at his feet, Benitez began to slowly make his way out of the bull ring . This had been his fourth and last bull of the afternoon. He had displayed courage and style and the kill s had come quickly with great precision . During the final kill , one of the bull’s horns had managed to neatly scoop out Benitez’ left eyeball which now rested , fully intact, on his cheek where it hung by an optical nerve. He s howed no reaction to the condition of his eye or the crowd that stood and cheered . As he neared the exit he reached up with one hand, plucked the eyeball off of his cheek, and tossed it into the bleachers as though it were a mere piece of garbage . Benitez no longer fights bulls but when he is seen walking through town, mothers grab their children by the arm, point to Benitez and s

In 1966 I was one of three college-aged males in the USA who had not yet seen Steve McQueen in The Cincinnati Kid .  The other two were Munson and De Pento.  We all considered ourselves movie buffs and were surprised to discover that none of us had seen the movie despite the fact that it had been released the previous year.  We checked out the Los Angeles times to see if it was still playing anywhere.  We found that it was playing at one of the independent theaters listed in fine print toward the back of the entertainment section. The listing read as follows:  OPTIC THEATER, 3 features, 50 cents admission, open all night.  Now playing - The Cincinnati Kid , Fort Courageous and Die, Monster, Die! None of us had ever seen or heard of the Optic Theater but three movies for fifty cents was too good to pass up so we jumped in the car and headed downtown.  The Optic was located in the heart of Los Angeles at 533 South Main Street.  It opened in 1911 and was once part of the Gor

Termite Snyder was our neighborhood celebrity during the 1950s.  His race cars sat in the corner lot next to his home where Figueroa Street crosses Yosemite Drive.  The cars were juiced-up jalopies and late-model stock cars that along with his house were all painted a two-tone white and shit brown.  For anybody pulling up to a stop at Fig and Yosemite, the collection of color-coordinated cars and house made for a real head turner.  Termite Snyder was a hard charger on the track and once accomplished the unprecedented feat of winning all three races on the program two weekends in a row with the final race being thirty laps.    There were three active dirt tracks operating in those days within Los Angeles County.  Events featured stock cars and midget racers and were promoted by J. C. Agajanian.  In addition to traditional racing formats, figure-eight races and destruction derbies were offered.  Silver Dollar Day was held at the Gilmore track where admission was only

Yesterday I was fast forwarding through a tape of all the stupid things I've ever done.  The tape can play at anytime but most often does when I am driving.  The tape is the creation of my own brain which has spliced together a massive compendium of regretful moments that can run for hours if I let it.  It is loaded with seventy years of my mistakes, embarrassing moments, deceitful behavior and incredible stupidity.  The format is a montage of scenes presented in full color that come at me in rapid fire succession and never fail to produce a visceral reaction on my part.  If Ingrid is with me in the car she will see me clench my fist, wince, flinch or groan for no apparent reason.  She used to ask what was happening but has long since become accustomed to my tape-viewing behavior. Certainly I attended the tape's premier but I do not remember how old I was when it ran for the first time.  I do recall taking notice that the tape included purely innocent faux p