Mr. T's

Image from la.eater.com
What in God’s name have they done to Mr. T’s?  
Can’t they yuppie up Highland Park with at least
some discretion?  Where am I supposed to go 
now when I want to be depressed or
Charles Bukowski; Image from salon.com
score cocaine?
  When there’s a long-standing black hole of a dive that would make Bukowski’s skin crawl, it should be left the hell alone.  There can be no yin and yang if you truncate one end of the spectrum.  It’s important to know what clinical depraved indifference looks like. 


My first time in the place was during the 1950s when I went there with my dad to bowl.  Fifty years later
I went again with my son Michael and was
glad to see they had gotten rid of the  bowling
and rededicated the place to proper alcohol and
substance abuse.

Mr. T's interior; Image from justared.com
Following Michael into the place my first thought was that they weren’t open.  It took twenty minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness even though it was after midnight.  When I finally could see, I thought we were in somebody’s garage.  We found something to sit on and eventually somebody asked what we wanted.  I said, “I want a beer, a shower, and then I want to leave.”

If it is important to have another place to bowl (which I find highly unlikely), at least they didn’t do it up in bright plastic and twirling laser beams.  Bowling has tanked so badly they now resort to disco lighting, much like churches now resort to guitars and tambourines.  Any entrepreneur 
whose place of business is referred to as 
an “alley” must realize they’re in for an uphill 
struggle. 

Charles Laughton; image from artfuse.org
When I was a kid bowling alleys were all pretty creepy including the people who worked as pinsetters and looked like Charles Laughton in the 1939 release of The Hunchback of Notre Dame.  The first time I saw an upscale bowling alley was on a double date in San Diego many years ago.  It was a huge layout with sixty lanes; thirty facing north and thirty facing south.  There was a median between the two sets of lanes where you rented shoes and picked out a ball.

The four of us took our shoes and balls and sat down at a lane in the center of the North facing set of lanes. To our immediate left was a bowler who had arrived at about the same time.  He had brought with him a collection of balls, shoes, gloves and towels and looked as though he was really into it.  It was probably a bowling league night as the place was packed with groups of people on almost every lane.

I had gone bowling with my date once before.  She was very athletic and although she had only bowled a few times she was a natural.  There weren’t a lot of balls to choose from in the racks but she took  one that although not quite right for her, she was going to give a practice toss to see if she could use it.  She picked up the ball and walked to her starting place at the head of the lane.  She stood in place preparing her approach when the lights in the building were suddenly lowered halfway.
 
Image from renewhempstead.com
Everyone on every lane came to a stop and then a voice came over the public address system, “Good evening ladies and gentlemen.  Welcome to Grossmont Lanes and excuse the interruption.  We would like to call your attention to lane seventeen where Tom Rolfing will be practicing tonight.  Tom is a long-time competitor on the Professional Bowling Association Tour and was recently inducted into the Professional Bowler’s Hall of Fame.”

We were on lane sixteen.  Tom was the guy next to us who showed up with all the paraphernalia.  During the public address announcement he got up out of his seat, selected a ball and walked up to take his starting position eight feet to the left of my date.  They stood out for all to see as everyone in the place turned to catch a glimpse of the nationally recognized professional bowler.  Added to this were the lights above lane seventeen which had been turned up full blast to spotlight the pro.

My date took no notice.  She was an athlete both in physical skills and mental concentration.  She was ready to knock down some pins and from looking at her it was clear that she was completely oblivious to what was going on around her.  While some two hundred people waited to see Tom throw his ball, my date went first. 

She started her approach with a fluid burst of three quick steps while raising the ball up high on her backswing, swept her arm down and forward just as her last step ended at the foul line.  What had not been quite right about the ball for her was the size of the holes – they were a little tight.  My date’s body flew forward with arm and ball extended, eventually coming to a stop fifteen feet down the lane.  It was a perfectly graceful headfirst slide that would be hard to match by anyone.

The crowd exploded like a thunder clap.  Tom the pro, stood in place for a second then dropped his head, tucked his ball under one arm and returned to his seat.  My date remained face down on the lane in a prone position with one arm extended and ball attached, shaking with giggles.  This is when any sensitive, conscientious person would have raced out to her side to help.  Even better would have been to perform a running headfirst slide down the adjacent lane to direct attention away from her and possibly encourage dozens of other bowlers to perform headfirst slides of their own.

Unfortunately I never made it out of the area where we were seated because I was virtually paralyzed with laughter.  Something for which (1) my wife has never forgiven me; and (2), will bury me deep in shit if she ever finds out I posted this.