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Diary of Lois Elaine Jelin: Entry Six

Editorial Note:

Featured above, for your viewing pleasure, is the original theatrical trailer for the film “Halls of Montezuma” starring none other than Jack Palace and Robert Wagner.

Entry Six

Monday, January 6                                                 Weather marked as Clear.

Dear Diary,

Gave Ilene her morning feeding. Came home about 4:00 pm. Took a shower & got dressed. Hal & I went to show saw “Halls of Montazuma” [sic] was a good picture. Got home 10:50 p.m. So I went next door & baby-sat. (Bubie stayed there till I came)

Diary of Lois Elaine Jelin: Entry Five

Entry Five

Sunday, Fri. January 5                                          Weather marked as Clear.

Dear Diary,

We had co-ed dancing today 5th period. I danced with Joe & Andy. After school I went to Uncle Ruby’s to baby-sit with Ilene. It took 2 hrs 5 min to get there. Hal called 3 times while I was there (at night). Fed her & put her to bed. Slept over.

Diary of Lois Elaine Jelin: The Beginning

On a recent spontaneous roadtrip up the California coastline, I took a turn inland after stopping to rest where the Russian River runs into the Pacific. Taking scenic Highway 116, it wasn’t long before I found a town that time had forgotten: Duncans Mills. Situated halfway between Jenner and Guerneville, this non sequitur of a former railroad depot town has been gentrified into the perfectly bourgeois roadside respite for all those upper middle class San Franciscans on their way to Napa after roughing it at the Tomales Bay Oyster Company. Come here in June and you’ll find the Russian River Rodeo, well advertised by one of the shop owners who wore a sequined camouflage hat sporting its logo. In July, you’ll find Civil War Days. On New Years Eve, however, you’ll only find the little cluster of shops that have reinvigorated Gold Rush era storefronts.

In one of these very shops, I purchased a black, leather bound E. Broox Randall & Sons, Inc. day planner, most likely given complimentarily by Viola Morton whose name is embossed in gold in the lower right hand corner of the front cover. Although issued in 1941, the planner was appropriated as the 1951 diary of Lois Elaine Jelin. Having just moved from 3337 City Terrace Drive, Los Angeles 63, California [Click HERE to see the Google Street View of the house today] to 5323 Allott Ave., Van Nuys, California, State 41950 [Click HERE to see the Google Street View of the house today], young Lois recorded her thoughts each day in this little keeper of secrets, updating the day to one proper for the adjusted year and also recording the weather in a tiny chart provided in the upper right corner of each page as either Clear, Cloudy, Rain, or Snow. For the rest of the year, dear readers, you will step into the world of a Southern California teenager in 1951 as I update this site with the corresponding entry from Lois. Since it’s January 3rd, I’ll be playing catch-up in this post by including the first three entires. However, from this day forward the saga of this fourteen year old will be related one day at a time. Just as Lois lived it.

Entry One

Wednesday Mon., January 1                                             Weather marked as Clear.

Dear Diary,

We [Unc Lou, Aunt Clara, Mom, Dad, Babie Butch] all went out for Breakfast & then Unc Lou went back to Washington. Watched the Rose bowl game & Parade. It was good. Listened to the Texas & Tennessee game it was wonderful. Got my monthly visit today and she caused a lot of pain. Hal called.

Entry Two

Thursday, January 2                                                         Weather marked as Clear.

Dear Diary,

The first day of school this year was wonderful. All of the kids look good. Theres [sic] not much to say except that Robert looks very well. (So does Manuel). Sold our house & it went into Escrow today. We ate dinner at Frank’s tonight to celebrate. Harriet came over to watch T.V.

Entry Three

Friday Wend., January 3                                                    Weather marked as Clear.

Dear Diary,

Stayed home from school today, didn’t feel to [sic] good. Jean called said that the “A9’s” got their small pictures. I wonder how mine came out!

Joe Walsh, “Analog Man”

We are truly all related by substitution; interacting in the internet void. Save for the few moments each day when I dust the mantle, water the plants, and lift the needle onto that every ready long playing vinyl.

analogue or sometimes ( US ) analog (ˈænəˌlɒɡ)

— n
1. a. a physical object or quantity, such as a pointer on a dial or a voltage, used to measure or represent another quantity
b. ( as modifier ): analogue watch ; analogue recording
2. something analogous to something else
3. biology an analogous part or organ
4. chem
a. an organic chemical compound related to another by substitution of hydrogen atoms with alkyl groups: toluene is an analogue of benzene
b. an organic compound that is similar in structure to another organic compound: thiols are sulphur analogues of alcohols
5. informal digital native Compare digital immigrant a person who is afraid of using new technological devices

Dark Dark Dark, “Daydreaming”

We are consumed by a treasure hunt of unparalleled proportions on an island that has no name. This is the search for meaning, the journey towards a definition. This is life. The little things, the tragic things.

The sticker on the corner of a medicine cabinet mirror, left there by the daughter of a previous occupant and now a part of your morning narrative. The glasses worn by a woman of Italian heritage, removed from the bridge of her nose by death and sold for a pittance from her garage, now worn proudly by a young man more than half her age to that indie show headlined by that band (you know, the one with the lithe bearded gent at the helm) in a small basement around the corner from a former firehouse. The piano, a wedding present to that bride who secretly despised her groom, now spreading the gospel of tolerance and devotion to hundreds of bodies placed piously in their pews.

These are lives overlapping. The past marking the present as it gets passed by for the future. Nothing without meaning, even if the words have not been said and understood. Every anomaly not really out of place, but merely misunderstood. Layers are interwoven atop foundations poured by people framed in frozen photographs hidden in a drawer. Or maybe, if they’re lucky, gathering dust near the edge of a nightstand. Still remembered, still present.

This is history. Not an archaic subject caked in dust and mummified by dates to be memorized, unanalyzed. History is the story of people chasing dreams, or of dreams chasing people; of stickers, glasses, and pianos; of ephemera, sights and sounds.

History is meaningful. History is you and me, and all the other things I see. History Is.