California Dreamin’

Part 1: Why Don’t We Sing This Song All Together

Ann-Margaret was dancing down the middle of Sepulveda Boulevard.

We were watching her from an overpass above. We were 17 and 19, and we had just walked out of Los Angeles International Airport in August of 1969 lugging old, battered suitcases banging against our thighs. The earlier part of the summer had been devoted to earning the expense of this first ever trip away from home on our own – a three-week odyssey up the coast of hippie California. Arnie had labored as a post office sorter, I as a desk clerk at the New York State Insurance Fund, where my mother was a senior underwriter. But there was no allowance in the budget for taxis, out of airports or to anywhere.  So we walked out. Suitcases in hand, twitching, exuberant noses to the air, we crossed over Sepulveda toward what was called Century Boulevard, and we looked down from the overpass. When we saw her: Ann-Margaret, Hollywood kitten, strutting down the street just outside LAX the very hour we arrived.

Hooray for Hollywood.

Of c…