Baja Bernie - 2-9-2007 at 07:59 PM
Before we get into this story I need to remind the reader that my charge when I agreed to write this book about La Salina was that I was to attempt
to paint a picture of the pioneros who made the campo what it was and what it would become.
Jack was the prime mover in not only getting the camp started but he worked very hard to keep it sheltered from outsiders. For years it was not even
shown on most maps and we all loved it that way.
Jack
It had been a long time since Jack Speer had been a young man when he stumbled into La Salina back in 1963. Jack had been involved in developing
entire new cities in the Los Angeles area after World War II. He knew the value of land and he certainly knew that La Salina would be a wonderful
development in the future. He was on his last down hill run when he founded La Salina. This was his last hurrah.
The only structure in the place was an old adobe home that overlooked the white beach and the blue Pacific. After Jack made his ‘deal’ for the land,
from the ocean to the ‘old’ dirt road to Ensenada, with the Arrellanes Family the modern history of the camp was launched. The old adobe evolved into
Rancho Bensons Bar and then into a place we all know as the “Cantina.”
When I began to catalog what others and I knew of Jack, I was surprised to find that none of us really ‘knew’ him. A lot of us knew a lot of things
about him but none of us knew the man.
We would all watch in amazement, as Jack would make his entrance into his domain, the Cantina. He would shuffle in ‘ala’ Jackie Gleason, his arms
flapping like a duck, his head and neck making like a “Do-Do” bird. He would suddenly stop, smile, and then go wide-eyed, letting the rest of his
face go completely blank. He would swivel his head around, like a nervous crane, and peer around the bar. Leaning forward at the waist, he would
comb his hair back with his hand, laugh, turn and walk away—that was his entrance routine and it would never change unless he came in sober. It
seldom ever changed.
The Mexican flower ladies loved Jack—he always bought ‘all’ of their roses and gave them to the women in the bar. One day Roma, his wonderful wife,
was heard to comment that he never brought flowers for her. He had to be a real hard man with whom to live.
The Mexicans all loved Jack and he was always showing that he cared for them in return. If a family needed money for medicine or someone was getting
married or someone died Jack was always there to help. He treated David Medina, the President of the Corporation and Manager of the Cantina, like a
son. This was to cause numerous problems after Jacks death.
He owned a Restaurant and Bar in Downey California and that was the best place to find him if you decided you wanted to buy a lot. Only Jack would
name a restaurant the ‘Slaughter House.’
Once while visiting with Lu Ann he started talking about the Real Estate Brokers test he took shortly after graduating from college. Lu Ann, who is
an R.E. Broker herself, was amazed when Jack confided that he had never studied for the test until he started cramming three (3) days before the exam
and that he continued to pop ‘uppers’ or speed to see him through. He said he collapsed after the test, which he passed, and had to be taken via
ambulance to a local hospital. He was chuckling like mad as he told this crazy story on himself.
Some of you may have heard that Jack never served in World War II. That was because he was one of the original $1.00 a year whiz kids who kept our
war effort on track. You had to be a very, very smart cookie to perform in that rarified environment.
In the beginning I’m sure that Jack enjoyed his ‘scotch’, but by the time most of us became exposed to him his enjoyment had moved onto a basic need.
It got to the point that he began to “talk in tongues.” This really scared many of the women in camp. Fortunately, there was only one guy who could
understand him when he began to talk in “code” and that was Russ Hopkins. Both Jack and Russ were card-carrying members of the Mensa Society and that
I’m told certified both of them as genuine geniuses.
It was nutty! It didn’t matter how drunk Jack got, the next morning he could recite chapter and verse what had been discussed the previous night. He
might not know what had happened but he always knew who said what.
Russ was an amazing guy in his own right. He was 6'7" and weighed about 265 lbs. He had been a tackle for the Champion UCLA football team in 19__
something. He blew out a knee and that closed out a pro career and relegated him to the role of a bartender for the rest of his life. When in the
clutches of demon rum Russ could and would recite Shakespeare from beginning to end with only a pause every now and again for little liquid
refreshment.
Joe Patterson, of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department, tells the story of he, his ‘mother’, Roma and Jack drinking on the patio in front of the
Cantina when Jack complimented his mother on the beautiful, pleated, blouse she was wearing. She returned the compliment and admired the Hawaiian
shirt Jack had on. As the afternoon wore on and they became a little more intoxicated, Jack offered to trade his shirt for Joe’s mothers blouse. Joe
said he was amazed when his mother and Jack took their respective tops off and traded right in front of God and everybody. Jack acted extremely
pleased with the trade and pranced around the patio showing off his blouse. When Joe and his mother got ready to leave she asked Jack for her blouse
back, he refused saying, “A deal is a deal.” She went home with the Hawaiian shirt.
Few of you knew that after a night of working the people in the Cantina that Jack stumbled down Avenida Lorenzo and fell into a septic tank hole. He
became impaled upon the ‘rebar’ that reached skyward from the unfinished hole. The steel punctured one lung and other less meaningful places on his
body. It was after sunrise the next morning before anyone heard him moaning at the bottom of the pit. Jack’s health moved down hill after this
incident. During his waning days he took on more and more of the actions of the legendary Howard Hughes—it was uncanny! He stopped visiting with
friends, and was constantly holding a tissue to his nose. He even started letting his finger and toenails grow long and curving. He became an almost
total recluse toward the end of his life.
After Jack’s death his ashes were scattered in the ocean directly front of the Cantina. Over 200 of his Mexican friends attended the services.
A short time later his dog, “Lucky,” died and was buried overlooking the spot where Jack’s ashes were scattered. Wander out in front of the Cantina
and you will see the head stone for “Lucky.” Jack is just out there in the Pacific.
Were it not for Jack we would not be enjoying this “Little Bit of Paradise.”
Thank you, Jack!
DENNIS - 2-9-2007 at 08:28 PM
Bernie ---
What a sad ending. One would think that a glorious life would warrant a glorious death but, obviously not always the case.
Thanks again, Bernie.
FARASHA - 2-10-2007 at 11:11 AM
And - Thank you Bernie!
Mexitron - 2-10-2007 at 04:23 PM
Thanks Bernie...another great story!