Sabbatical Trip 4 Los Angeles By Rev. Peter K. Ackerman. Marie and I flew into Los Angeles in early August. This was the final travel leg of my

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1 1 Sabbatical Trip 4 Los Angeles By Rev. Peter K. Ackerman Marie and I flew into Los Angeles in early August. This was the final travel leg of my sabbatical, and the one that I was least looking forward to. Besides visiting my mother and seeing my best friends, what else could there be to do in Los Angeles? Yet we enjoyed lots of happy surprises, and this trip was when I really began to miss my St. Christopher s community. Before embarking on that trip, I almost cancelled half of it. I did not want to go. I had read stories, and in a one-night jaunt back in 2007 I saw how run-down everything had become. Author Tom Wolfe is often credited with the phrase, You can t go home again, and I embraced that sentiment as I reluctantly traveled home. What I specifically came out to do visit my mother and my friends was front-loaded into the first half of our one-week trip. Upon landing and obtaining our rental car, we headed out from LAX and onto the 405 freeway, where I expected us to slowly roll through a bumper-tobumper smog-laden slog out to the San Fernando Valley, where I had spent the first 42 years of my life. Instead we had before us a beautiful August late morning and expectable traffic. The sun shone in a different way than in Virginia, and the familiarity of the California sunshine touched me first. On the way, Marie and I began reminiscing, as we remembered streets, places we worked, and so on. Heading over into the Valley, we drove past the Sunset Blvd. exit where I remember sitting in my dad s car, long ago, and watching a limousine with Alfred Hitchcock in the rear drive past us heading in the opposite direction. It is interesting what memories remain with us and how a simple return to the place can shake them forth into our consciousness.

2 2 Knowing that our travel plans for that day were to check into our hotel in the later afternoon, we took our time heading to Universal City and stopped by various locations from our past: the last apartment we lived in, one of the schools our children attended, and of course the restaurant, now closed, at the corner of Van Nuys and Ventura Boulevards where I first laid eyes on Marie as I was waiting to clock in to my shift. At that time, well over thirty years ago, Joanie, whom I had taken out a few nights before, was making small talk with me as we waited to clock in for our shifts. I then looked and saw a new hostess seating some customers and Cupid s arrow hit. All I could say to Joanie was, Who is that? and she identified the woman who would become my partner in life Marie. Our first meal back in Los Angeles was our favorite fast food, not available on the East Coast Jack in the Box. We used the drive-through and were surprised at how friendly the person at the takeout window was, the first of many interactions which reminded us how outgoing southern Californians are. After dining in our car on our shared junk food meal, we headed to our hotel and checked in. Later that evening, we met up with my mother and stepfather, who had come up from Palm Desert to stay in the area so we could visit one another for a couple of days. The dining experiences on this trip will not interest many, because most of these involved going to unremarkable favorites we have not visited in years. Dinner with my parents was an example of such a choice: Bob s Big Boy in Toluca Lake/Burbank, CA. This particular Bob s is one of the few left open, and has the requisite stature of the title character in front of the restaurant. We took our obligatory picture, one of many that we Ackermans have including some of our children in the same location. It is a joke in my family that Bob was my daughter Amy s first boyfriend. Memories came even while dining there that evening. I recalled the time after a high school football game, when I was a yell leader, that my pals and I retired to the

3 3 restaurant and while sitting at a window seat suddenly saw neighborhood fixture Bob Hope, along with his friend orchestra leader Les Brown, taking an evening stroll. Mr. Hope was not the only comedian one might come across in Toluca Lake. Jonathan Winters was another fixture. He would walk the streets just to talk to and entertain people. Speaking of comedy - the next morning was a comedy of errors. My parents, Marie, and I decided to eat breakfast out. My mother does not usually stay in the area, and Marie and I have essentially been away for fourteen years. We drove to and fro, looking for our first choice, our second choice, our third only to find all those eateries of a decade or so ago no longer there! We settled on another place in Toluca Lake and had a very delicious meal. That next morning, Marie and I knew we were no longer in NoVA/DC. Show biz is slow/shut down in early August, so there was hardly anyone in the hotel lobby or at our breakfast place, though it was 8:30 a.m. on a weekday morning. We are definitely not in D.C.! Marie frequently remarked. Possibly one of my favorite trip destinations occurred that day. Do you love trains? I do, and Travel Town is the place to go for trains in SoCal. There they have old retired trains sitting out for people to look at. In my day we used to be able to climb on them! Now access is mostly limited to looking. I relived what my parents did with me, and Marie and I did with our children: we rode the miniature train, the track of which is laid around the park. For a mere fifty cents each we all once again enjoyed the ride of my youth, and in Marie s and my case of our early parenthood. It is truly the little things that can bring great joy! I won t detail every step, but we spent the next few days with or without my parents, going to places and eating. At one location, Carney s a restaurant in an old train car (I told you I liked

4 4 trains!) I recognized the lady behind the counter, and surprise of all, she did me! Hello! she exclaimed. Welcome back! I have not seen you in a long while! Wow, did I really eat there that often? Another special experience involved one of my favorite radio shows. Martini in the Morning is an online subscription radio program that an author friend of mine introduced me to years ago, some time after I began serving as rector at St. Christopher s. The station plays standards (Frank, Dino, Harry Connick, Jr., etc.). The hosts of the station are Brad Martini Chambers and his sidekick Mother Miriam. Through the chat room that the station used to have, I would listen in on days off and speak to the team, sharing my many stories. I told them about the artist whom my mother dated seriously when she was young (Jack Jones), and of the young woman whom I took on her first car date, Claudia, whose dad wrote many standards including the often recorded Cry Me a River first made famous by Julie London (with whose daughter, Kelly, I went to school). Brad had asked me to come in when I was in town, and we did an on-air interview. That was fun, and I also got to meet singer and band leader Dave Damiani as well as comedian, radio host, and now also a singer of standards Joe Piscopo, both of whom were appearing on air that same day. Just think, this means that I opened for Joe Piscopo! Brad has always identified me on air by the nickname Peter the Priest, and did so during the interview with these other people. At the conclusion, as he was leaving, Mr. Piscopo took my hand and asked, Are you really a priest? I told him I was, he said Cool...thanks, man. Somewhat unexpectedly, this was a moment that made me particularly miss St. Christopher s. I am a priest, but a priest is not a solo act. A priest is a priest with the people, and

5 5 his comment reminded me that I had not been with my people in a long while. I felt a twinge of excitement in my belly with the thought of returning in one month. Speaking of my vocation, that weekend I visited the two congregations that I belonged to in my California life. Regarding the first, All Saints Beverly Hills, I already recounted some of my memories in my sermon on September 30, 2018 (which can be heard via our Saint Christopher s Springfield VA Facebook page). Marie and I walked the exterior, and later the interior after we met the sexton loading in supplies for Sunday and he gave us the grand tour. I stood at the baptismal font where so many members of my family were baptized, including me, and I reflected on doing the same for one of the Pa children at St. Christopher s exactly 50 years later. Another St. Christopher s connection, this time experienced from Beverly Hills, CA! Marie and I also got to stand in the place where we were wed 31 years ago. It was special to say the least. The other church, one where I went from parishioner to working on staff as Youth Leader and Parish Administrator, was Saint Michael s. It was nice visiting, but my connection to the place has faded over the years since we left in There were many people who I did not know, and being that it was summer there were only some who I knew. In addition, the focus of the congregation that day was the send-off of their associate rector, who was moving to another call. Since she was appropriately being celebrated, Marie and I made a token appearance at their coffee hour and left. It was clear the church where I belong is located in Springfield, VA. How about those Dodgers? Marie and I were able to take in a game while in town, another treat. We parked in our favorite spot and admired our stadium as we hiked across the parking lot. We had to laugh about the weather. The reports that day were warning people about the heat, in the 80 s and 90 s. Yes, it was technically hot, but with no humidity, so Marie and I were basking in the sun. After we returned to Virginia, I actually turned down some free Nationals

6 6 tickets, because after experiencing a no-humidity summer baseball game, I could not subject myself to a DC summer game again, at least not this year! Other adventures for Marie and me included dinner with two of my four brothers, along with a nephew and my parents, at a favorite Mexican restaurant of our family s. Thanks to a generous discount offered by our hotel, Marie and I also went to Universal Studios for a day, where we really enjoyed Harry Potter World; a ride turned us upside down, and I returned later to obtain my keys from lost and found. We made the requisite memorial pilgrimages, first to the cemetery where my dad and my grandmother are buried, and second to Hollywood Blvd. where I took a new picture at my dad s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. While in the area, we went to my kind of museum, and my favorite of all time The Hollywood Wax Museum. Dinner with various friends from our Southern California past (mine from high school, Marie s from our early days together) rounded out our trip, except for one more location; The Santa Monica Beach and Pier where we continued our not so fine, but extremely delicious dining. This time we consumed corn dogs at a beach staple Hot Dog on a Stick. The trip was absolutely wonderful, and came with more surprises than I expected. I felt home. It was wonderful being able to drive and take short cuts without needing a GPS. But like others I know who live away from where they grew up, I found that home is wonderful to visit because you feel the connection, but it is always good to return to where you live. As we returned from this trip, I began counting the days until I would return to St. Christopher s. This is home in the current chapter of my story, and where I belong. My next installment will be the fifth and final one about my sabbatical, detailing how I prepared for re-entry into my vocation.