Freddy lived by the railroad tracks behind his mother's saloon on East Center street. We began our long friendship when I was twelve, and we were in the seventh grade. Freddy could get any old plug of a horse to act nervous and excited, to prance, and dance. He rode horses bare back. He forced the horses to rear up while he clutched the mane with one hand to keep from falling off. He loved to make his old horse run next to the railroad tracks racing freight trains.
Freddy had recently moved from Fullerton and hadn't had time to make new friends. His older brother had gone off to World War II leaving Freddy home alone to take care of their strong-willed, pretty mother who ran the saloon. Freddy was a year older than I, but we were in the same grade and both small for our age. Slender, he had a white freckled face, red hair, steely blue eyes, and an adventurous attitude. He was a fast runner, athletic, brave, and intelligent. His older brother had taught him to street fight, and his mother encouraged Freddy when he kicked out drunks from her saloon. Bar patrons got a kick out of watching the scrappy boy protect his mother's interests.
Since we both weighed about ninety pounds, I had no fear of the tough little boy. I figured we would have to fight sooner or later just to see who would win. But I hoped we wouldn't.
A year later Freddy, several mischievous boys and I walked around Anaheim late at night. All the stores were closed. Someone suggested we visit a poorly lit car lot where we climbed into a car and listened to music on the radio. Later a police car pulled up and stopped in front of the car lot. Everyone ran away except me. I did not run because I was afraid the cops might shoot me. The police took me to the police station and made me sit in a caged room until my mom came to get me. I refused to squeal on Freddy and the others, but I felt like a wimp for not running.
Freddy and I had eighth grade gym class late in the afternoon. Richard Backas was about the smallest kid in school even smaller than us, but he was brave. One day everyone had showered and gone except the three of us. Freddy picked a fight with Richard. It didn't take long for Freddy to win the fight, and I was ashamed of Freddy's behavior. In the middle of the fight he stepped up on a bench and tried to kick Richard in the head.
Later that same year Freddy picked a fight with a Mexican boy in our class who was a Pachuco, about our size, and he was known to be brave. But the Pachuco with duck-tailed long black hair and black pegged slacks did not want to fight Freddy. After a while Freddy hit the boy with his fists. The Pachuco looked frightened as he hauled off and kicked Freddy hard in the shin with his heavy double soled leather shoe. The pain was apparently so sudden and severe that Freddy stopped fighting and never bothered the boy again.
During our first year of high-school Freddy was tail back and captain of the C football team. The team was for young lightweight students. I was a second string left guard on the line. During a game with Fullerton our team was losing. After winning a touchdown Fullerton lined up for the kick off, and Freddy was positioned deep to receive the ball. I was lined up closer to the kicker, and the ball bounced off my chest and was recovered by the other team. Freddy walked over to me and said, "You should have let the ball go by and let me take it." He was right but he hurt my feelings. The following year we won the championship without Freddy. He had quit school to work for his mom and never finished high school.
I had stopped hanging around with Freddy but became friends with a very tough friend of his named Flippy. Flippy loved to fight. He also liked to get sexy with the girls. Flippy lived a block away from me. He was handsome, six feet tall and slender with baby blue eyes and curly blond hair. I watched him flirt with girls who flirted right back with him. He looked a lot older than me. He used to get me in trouble with the metal shop teacher by provoking me into uttering a string of profanities. He laughed and teased me, but I didn't mind. I felt comfortable with him as if I were his younger brother.
Flippy was proud of his oldest brother who was apparently a very tough young man. He would tell me how his brother pushed opponents off balance before knocking them to the ground. For some reason Flippy decided to give me street fighting lessons. Flippy said he wanted me to learn how to beat up Freddy who was too little for him to fight. So every once in a while Flippy would slap me around and try to make me into a better street fighter.
By then Freddy was very strong and muscular. He already thought of himself as a man and was willing to fight anybody no matter how big they were. I lost all interest in wanting to fight him, but when asked about it by a great big fat guy named Tiny, I bragged that I would not be afraid to fight.
One day I went in the pool hall to shoot a game of snooker. I was about fifteen. Tiny must have said something to Freddy because Freddy tried to pick a fight with me. But I refused to fight saying, "We have been friends too long, Freddy. I know your family and you know mine. You can call me a sonofabitch if you want to, but I don't want to fight you. I'm not mad at you, and I haven't done anything to get you sore. So, let's just stay friends."
Freddy let me off the hook. I'm sure I made the right decision. The following years both Flippy and Freddy had a lot of fights, and they raced cars on deserted dark roads on the outskirts of Anaheim. They played car tag running their cars through the grave yard at midnight trying to bump into each other playing car tag. Freddy was arrested several times for hitting people. He said he always got off at the jury trials by finding a lady juror to make eyes at so she would vote on his side.
Freddy used his mom's saloon to run a pyramid game that everyone in town fell for including me. I guess Freddy and others made a lot of money, but I lost my five bucks.
Freddy opened his own bar downtown. Sometimes Freddy went out in the alley behind the bar to fight someone. He really enjoyed fighting and was so good at it that he was seldom damaged. When he was twenty one, he weighed about one hundred eighty and stood five ten. He could lick men twice his weight. He was popular with the ladies but did not want a steady girl. Once he told me, "I wish we had whore houses. I have to waste my time taking them out to dinner and everything. I'd just rather pay up front and get it over with." I did not like what he said. It made me feel sad for him.
When I was twenty one I dated a beautiful California Indian girl many times. She had milky white skin, freckles, and long black hair. She told me that Freddy also had dates with her, but I never saw them together. She had been a beauty queen in Orange County. She said he always treated her like a lady and was nice to her. I was surprised to hear how nice he was to her.
I was twenty-two when I hitch hiked home from a San Diego Navy base. I stopped in Freddy's bar to have a drink and ordered a Singapore sling. While drinking it, I remarked to Freddy that I had paid less in Honolulu for the same drink. Freddy brought me two more Singapore slings free and made me drink them. He said he would drive me home if I needed a ride. I was drunk after the three mixed drinks and too ashamed to ask for a ride. I walked home and was sick the whole weekend before returning to the base in San Diego. Freddy had taught me a lesson. I stopped questioning his prices.
Once when having a free beer at Freddy's bar I asked him if he still enjoyed fighting. I said, "Aren't you afraid of getting hurt? It must take a lot of guts to keep fighting like you do."
He said, "No way. I do it for fun. Besides, I see you going skin diving all the time. You swim out there with the sharks. That takes more guts than street fighting does." I could not agree, but had learned not to argue with him. I had a lot of respect for Freddy.
After three years in the Navy, one night I went night clubbing with two buddies. We caught two young Marines trying to steal from our car in the parking lot. During the fight I got a bloody nose and bled all over my white shirt. Afterwards I felt proud of myself for having been in a battle even though I lost the fight. We drove to Freddy's bar where I could hardly wait to show my bloody nose to Freddy and tell him all about the adventure. But he was not impressed.
Years later someone told me what happened to my old combat coach, Flippy, who believed you couldn't change fate. He had been getting in a lot of fights, driving fast, and living fast. One night he got in a car wreck that paralyzed half his face. It gave him a droopy eye lid and a mouth that sloped down on one side. People said he lost interest in living. Not long after that he ran his speeding car into the side of a fast moving train and died instantly.
Several years later I heard that Freddy was married. He had a neighbor who was a big man. They got in an argument, and Freddy climbed over the fence into the man's yard. During the fight Freddy bit off the guy's ear. Freddy went to jail for that fight.
Once I went to a movie with Freddy at the Fox Theater in Anaheim. It was a love story, so he walked out in the middle of the picture. I couldn't understand why anyone would walk out in the middle of a movie they had paid good money to see.
A few years later I heard that Freddy was dead. He was riding a horse in the mountains on a steep trail. The horse reared over backwards, fell and crushed him. Both my scrappy buddies ended their lives as they lived them. Violently.