April 18

In my last year of high school (1956), I worked part time for Bank of America, delivering deposit information to the Federal Reserve Bank. At lunch time, my friend and I would eat lunch at Clifton’s Cafeteria. Almost everyone there was old, in our minds, really old. The conversations we overheard we thought were hilarious: talk of being old, hospital stays, friends dying, falling, wheelchairs., aches and pains. We smirked and giggled. I can’t recall now why we thought all this pain and suffering was funny.

Today, I read in the Los Angeles Times, that the proprietor of Los Angeles’ legendary Clifton’s has given up on reopening the shuttered venue.

A wave of nostalgia swept over me.

It was no longer funny what we heard there seventy years ago.

And now Cliftons’ itself has died.