Category Archives: Short Stories

It’s Good To Be Dead

Hard to believe it’s been over three years since all those murders went down. Even harder to believe that Vanderhof basically walked, but he did. As he had said, that’s why they have attorneys, my friend—in his case, a stable of them, high priced, ruthless and feasting on technicalities. Once those boys blew a hole in the handling of the DNA, the case fell apart and the judge had no choice but to let Vanderhof off, at least when it came to Connie McPherson’s death. Read More +

Americans in Mexican Prisons

In the months immediately preceding our incarceration in a Mexican prison for bush, my buddy Win and I had successfully smuggled a few hundred pounds of it across the border into Arizona without a hitch. The trip down into Mexico was supposed to be a time out. We boarded a train down to Mazatlán, caught a ride home with three young Americans and got busted by the Mexican feds on our way back. Go figure. At the time, the American Feds were working hand in Read More +

A Bit of Sea and Sand Cupped in Your Hands

It was a Saturday morning, two days after Christmas when Tara called to see if I wanted to drive down to Laguna Beach with her. I said sure. There was nothing to stop me. My mother was at the mall with my sister. My father was off working in his plumbing business and I was just hanging around the house feeling lost. Tara said something about visiting these two older guys she knew and rang off. Nothing else in the way of a plan had Read More +

The Close Of The Renaissance

  In the winter of that year, I fell into a whirlwind romance with this Irish-Italian gal named Gina. With her long black hair and dark eyes, she would have struck you as being Italian, long before the Irish ever came to mind. With her temper, she could have been either one. I can’t say it was love at first sight. The night we met in a bar, she came off as being somewhat frumpy to me —a bit overweight and dressed like she was Read More +

The Pied Piper of Robin Glen

Robin Glen was not really the name of the town where I grew up, but as names go, it fits well enough. Orange groves carpeted the valleys. Avocado trees brushed the russet-colored hills. Snow-capped mountains glistened on the far horizon. In the days of my youth, Robin Glen was very much like one of those postcards they made about Southern California back in the fifties. The town was so far off the beaten path, the eucalyptus lined back roads simply wandered up into the hills Read More +

The Last Day in Milan

It was a backstreet flat only the young and the down and out could have loved. There was a single bed in one corner, a sink with no cabinet in the other one, old wooden floors thick with varnish and a dresser between the entry and closet doors. The toilet was down the hall. A single window looked out over some tenements in back. The sounds of the Milano streets echoed up night and day and never left you alone. You accessed the flat by Read More +

l’amour

Excerpt from my novel in progress….Lover Boy Omaha Beach It is morning, and I am seated on the balcony outside, gazing past the rolling white sand dunes to where lines of surf break down the coast for miles and miles. On the shore nearby, sanderlings scurry hurriedly along, their movements wonderfully synchronized and ballet like. Pitter patter, pitter patter. Stop to probe and eat, then scurry off on their little feet again. We are wonderfully magnificent at times in our self-will, but it seems to Read More +

Weekend Revolutionary

It was June, 1967 and word had gone out that LBJ was coming to LA, only the counterculture movement in LA had no political credentials. There had been protests in Berkeley, New York, Washington, all over the country, but nothing to speak of in LA. We had the rock music scene on Sunset Strip. The movies. Good dope. Otherwise, the area was known for mowing down orange groves and turning them into tract houses. A liberal enclave it was not, but well before the Prez Read More +

Going North

During spring break that year, my brother Denny drove down from UCSC to visit the family. He was off to vacation with his wife in Hawaii. Her father was a shipping magnate out of Honolulu and the family owned a big spread up on the North Shore. Denny planned to fly there and meet with his wife, fly back and drive up to Santa Cruz in two weeks. My mother was taking my brother up to the airport in the morning. Denny had driven down Read More +

The Stuff of Dreams

Robin Glen was a backwoods kind of place for those few, fleeting years. Educators were drawn there, executive types, blue collar folks and engineers, a disparate cast of eclectic characters who had found their way to that bucolic end of the world. Probably they shared one common denominator, a memory of pastoral surroundings as a child, or a longing for such origins—like an old farmhouse you came to driving down a country road—and were collectively drawn to Robin Glen as a way to hold onto Read More +