This is the second of a two-part series by Tribune columnist Leon Emo on his 23-day stay in the hospital in December. He will resume his Wednesday and Friday “Musings” as soon as he is able.
The monthly travelogue from the-ever itinerant Maderan, Leon Emo.
Editor’s note: When he was able, I asked Tribune columnist Leon Emo to recount his nearly month-long experiences in the hospital. This is the first of a two-part series by Leon.
In my reminiscing about the 1960s, I have dwelled and probably bored you by meanderings into the canyons of my mind back in those smoke-filled days.
I missed the mules.
I remember starting out as a kid. We lived on the southeast corner of Dellavalle Avenue and Rush Street.
It is always a treat crossing the Golden Gate Bridge headed north. There is no toll traveling out of the City and the view of Alcatraz, Angel Island and sailboats below can be breathtaking.
School wouldn’t start until after Labor Day, or maybe when the harvest was in. I was too young to work for dad at his airport crop dusting business. The summer of 1959 seemed to be all fun, all day.