The Good & the Hard Times in Los Angeles

By Jordan Farar

Join the exhilarating adventure of Los Angeles in the 1970s as you
enter an era where fast muscle cars, bright neon lights, and that
urban street style ruled
Steve was having the worst day of his life. He lost his job; he lost his family; and he
found himself in the worst part of the city where he almost lost his life. As he
wanders through neighborhoods filled with street walkers, tweakers, gangs and
the homeless, lives from those very streets begin to intermingle with his own.
Chris and his crew confront him. Richie rescues him. Angelica learns to love him.
In the pulse of the city, other lives change. Chris wants to change, to start to give
back to a community that has always been his home. In spite of a negative home
and life in a hard-core school, Juan learns the true meaning of responsibility and
family and allowing ones talents to shine. There are heroes here too. Juan and
Steve, from very different worlds, both save lives. Chris uses his street smarts to
mentor a troubled youth. As the lives of gang members and victims, heroes and
everyday people play out in a neighborhood of poverty and pride, the reader
begins to understand the complexity of intertwining lives and the victory in
personal bests, positive change and the ability to accept and forgive.
The Good & the Hard Times in LOS ANGELES is a true marriage of novel writi ng and
fi lm making. The text provides a hard-hitti ng, lean-and-mean look at the less
glamorous streets of LOS ANGELES that manage to produce some of the fi nest
people. The stories of Chris as he develops a sense of social responsibility, of
Juan, as he matures into a hard-working, talented arti st and family provider and
of Steve, who discovers that the worst day of his life has brought him the most
happiness he has ever known. Their stories are vibrantly told in gripping chapters
where street dancing, gang confrontati ons, and graffiti competitions spring from
the pages.
Scribendi Canada
The Good & The Hard Times in LOS ANGELES, is a fast-paced, interesting
look at the lives of very special people and how they connect. It is a
good glimpse into the people and the situations that made the 70s in LA a
special time in a special place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465348401

Jordan Farar

JORDAN FARAR the author of “The Good & The Hard Times In L.A.” Was born in Los Angeles in 1970. Since the age of five Jordan Farar has been creatively writing stories, music lyrics, and poems. He is multifaceted in his craft. Jordan Farar has worked and collaborated with an eclectic assembly of writers.

Book preview

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The era is the 1970s, it is downtown Broadway in Los Angeles with people everywhere. There in the middle of the street, the first person you see is this happy-go-lucky hobo ever smiling away, he’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of cans in the other, staggering, cars honking, people in fast pace, more of a crowd than ever.

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Steve, a Caucasian male in his mid-thirties, wearing outdated eye-glasses, a button-up shirt and tie, polyester slacks, and worn, brown suede shoes, was sitting at his desk job, writing on a form.

He was just about to leave for home, when his supervisor called out, Hey, Steve.

He eyed his supervisor, the impersonal executive manager, who was dressed in a formal suit and tie with shiny, black, polished shoes.

With a cold and snooty attitude, the supervisor said, Steve, the boss would like to have a word with you now.

Steve thought, Hmm . . . Am I in some kind of trouble, or is this about a promotion the boss is going to give me? He pondered for a moment with a worried look on his face, before replying.

That’s strange. Mr. Dancher usually calls me into his office to talk to me after I’ve turned in an order. Did he say what it’s about?

No, he didn’t.

Are you sure he wants to talk to me right now?

The manager replied sarcastically, No, tomorrow, adding a cold smile.

Steve said, indicating the sheaf of papers on his desk, I’m just trying to fill out this last order I made.

Well, he said he wants to speak with you at once. That can wait.

Yeah, sure, let me just put these papers away and I’ll be right there. Steve began sorting through the papers and labeling them in a yellow envelope folder.

The supervisor protested, Steve! He wants to see you right now!

Okay—all right. Steve quickly got up from his chair and shoved all of his papers into his desk drawer, cramming them in to fit what little space the drawer had. He then followed his supervisor through the hallway to his boss’s office.

As they were walking, they could see hordes of young salesmen in dress clothes on the phones, generating new appointments with customers for the company. They were making what you call ‘cold calls’ or newly-generated leads, and also ‘warm-calls’ or re-hash leads to previous clients that they had already talked to.

Steve was a re-hasher, making resets. He passed a room that was filled with many office workers just like him, on the phone, doing paper work and various different tasks. All of the workers had their own space, a cubicle or partitioned wall dividers. It was a very clean environment with white semi-gloss-painted walls, bright florescent lights beaming down from the ceiling, and city maps and calendars piled everywhere.

The only sounds you could hear were phones dialing and ringing. Ring, ring. Typewriters clacking away, chk, chk, chk. Workers talking on the phone, co workers reading and flipping through papers, and an abundance of coffee aroma in the air.

A phone room marketer was wrapping up an appointment he had just made. Okay, Mrs. Smith, we’ll see you at 5 o’clock tomorrow. Okay, have a great day! Steve and the manager walked to the end of the hallway to the boss’s closed office door. The manager knocked hard on the solid redwood door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Who is it? asked the boss, uptight and stern.

The manager said with a sad grimace and in a dull monotone. It’s Steve and I.

The boss called out loudly, Well, come on in.

Here he is Mr. Dancher, just like you asked, the supervisor said fawningly.

The boss said dismissively, Okay, you’ve done your job, you can go back to what you were doing, Spencer.

Yes sir, he replied, taking his time in leaving, as if he wanted to hear what would come next.

Steve was left standing there in the middle of the boss’s office, wondering what he wanted to talk to him about.

The boss sat behind his desk, dressed in an expensive, shiny, grey silk suit. He was ignoring Steve, as if he had something more important to do. He was writing something down on his high-end mahogany desk, as if in some kind of serious train of thought.

Steve stood, patiently waiting, looking around the room. He saw one-of-a-kind, original and signed oil paintings on the walls backed by fancy wallpaper, expensive ceiling fan and light fixtures, and a nice window view of the city to go along with them.

Just then the phone rang, ring, ring, ring. The boss answered with his best game face, adopting a serious tone. All right, then tell him we’ll make the deal and do the job for $10,000. Okay, goodbye.

Slamming the phone down on the ringer, with an unhappy expression in his eyes, the boss looked up and said, Please have a seat, Steve.

Steve sank down into a luxurious, overstuffed chair and tried to make himself feel comfortable, nervously tapping one toe on the hardwood floor.

The boss said, Hello, Steve, turning his attention to him.

Hello, sir.

I’ve reviewed your file, and it says you’ve been with us for a couple years now. He flipped through Steve’s employee file. Look Steve… I don’t know how to put this. You’re a great guy, a really, really, nice person. And I don’t know how to say this… well—here it goes. At this time, the company is making financial cutbacks, and your name happened to be selected. I regretfully inform you that we are letting you go. We have totaled up all your hours, and your check will be issued to you before you leave today. We’ll give you a good reference. Here is your termination letter. Goodbye.

Steve, dazed, was thinking to himself, is there something wrong with my performance? They’re not letting anybody else go today. He stood up shakily, looked at the letter and quietly walked out of the boss’s office. He walked down the hall to his desk, grabbed his briefcase and continued walking towards the exit. As he was walking, a few co-workers that he barely knew said to him, Hi, Steve and Hey, how’s it going, Steve?, not knowing that he had just been let go, just making small talk on their way to lunch.

Oh—just splendid, Steve replied with a straight though unhappy face and continued walking through the glass double doors, pushing them open. He walked out of the building, carrying his brief case, and found his car, a wood-paneled family station wagon. He opened the car door, throwing his brief case into the back seat, and sat silently in the driver’s seat for a few moments.

He was sitting there, not making a noise, with the termination letter in one hand. He looked at it, then gazed ahead out the front windshield, shaking his head from side to side. With an anguished look on his face, he began to slam his open palm on the dash board, yelling, Damn, damn, damn, damn! nearly breaking his hand. He then paused, took a deep breath and calmly put the key into the ignition and started the engine.

Pulling out of the parking lot, Steve shifted the car into drive, cruising over the speed bumps as if they weren’t even there. He exited off the parking lot and turned onto the main street, trying to beat the rush-hour traffic with its stop-and-go cars piling up on the highway as they usually did.

He was as tired as ever. The one thing he had on his mind was just getting home to see his family in the San Fernando Valley. The sun was still out. There were somewhat clear skies, aside from the typical smog that was in the air, giving it that gray, glimmering haze. There were billboards, banners, business signs, and stoplights everywhere, along with the occasional line up of palm trees, which he passed without notice.

After a while he finally made it home. He pulled his 1970s boat on wheels into the driveway, got out with his briefcase, and proceeded to walk into the world and place he called home.

Steve was somewhat engaged to a lady with five of her own kids, and he was pretty much ‘on the hook’ for them. He opened the front door, greeting his instant mixed family with, "Hey, everybody, Daddy’s home."

A little Hispanic boy ran up to him and reached out to hug him, yelling, "Daddy, with a happy cheerful smile. Steve reached into his pocket and handed out candy to all his kids. A little girl said, Daddy," while trying to give Steve a hug, at the same time reaching out to get the candy before it was all gone. While his youngest daughter reached for her candy, her older sister jokingly was holding her back by the arm.

One of the older sons, wearing a flannel shirt, said cockily, Hey, Pops, do you have the candy?, a real tough look on his face. Steve, somewhat intimidated by him, reached into his other pocket and grabbed a candy bar for the oldest one, as if this were part of a routine. The boy quickly snatched it right out of his hands with a very serious attitude. All the other kids were in a happy frenzy.

Steve’s girlfriend, who was washing dishes, looked frustrated and tired, leaning into the sink. You could hear the sound of running water, and plates and glasses clinging. Rosie spat into the sink, and with a strong Hispanic accent said over her shoulder, This man is nothing compared to your real dad; your true biological father had a lot more going for himself. Cheap man, one of the biggest dreamers I’ve ever met!, with disgust on her face.

Her kids clamored on, "Daddy, yeah, yay!"

Steve’s girlfriend, looking upset, snapped, Here, take your stupid ring back! angrily tossing the ring at him. "I’ve had it. I’m done with you. It’s over! It’s been five years, and you still haven’t proven yourself able to support this family!

‘No te necesito mas,’ Steve responded with a sincere look in his eyes. Rosie, I have tried to make this family happy."

Rosie said, Tried—huh… That’s just it. We’ve tried and tried again to have a family, but you and I have gone our different ways a long time ago. I’ve already made up my mind, and I’m not giving you any more chances.

We can get through this; we can work this out.

Rosie replied, We can work this out? Yeah—yeah…

I want a family, Steve persisted. We can work this out, I know we can.

Work what out? Work it out, huh! If I had a dollar for every time you said ‘Work it out,’ this family would be very wealthy right about now.

Steve saw that Rosie and the kids’ luggage was already packed. With great concern and foreboding, Steve asked, Rosie where are you going?

Where am I going? As far from here as possible.

What about the children? Where are they all going to stay?

Why do you ask? So they can stay here, and sink with you? I will never allow that to happen, not in a million years. They are all going to stay with me at my mother’s house.

With a sense of shock, Steve watched as his girlfriend, luggage already packed, loaded her family van and said, Let’s go, kids, we’re all going to be late. Grandma is waiting for us.

One of the youngest daughters said, Aw, Mama, do we have to? I want to stay here, frowning.

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Rosie said, Mama knows best. Come on, get your stuff now.

The youngest son who had earlier greeted Steve at the door for candy said, nearly crying, I don’t want to go, Mom.

"Do what Mama tells you to do. Vena qui, let’s go, vamonos."

The two youngest kids said, Oh—alright. Okay. The rest of the kids respected their mother’s decision, and went along willingly. All of them grabbed their luggage, carried it to the van, and jumped in. With the sound of the van doors shutting, the engine started, and they all sped off.

Steve was sitting on the couch, all hunched over, with a very puzzled look in his eyes, staring down at the carpet. He just sat there for a while in silence, in a state of shock.

A short while later, Steve snapped his fingers and thought: I’ve got it . . . He sprang up off the couch and ran to Rosie’s dresser drawer where she kept her address book. Steve opened it and grabbed the book. He flipped through it while talking out loud to himself.

You’re going to stay at your mother’s house huh? We’ll see about that. I’ve got to save this family and keep it together.

Steve saw the page with Rosie’s mother’s address and phone number. He tore the paper out of the book, with a loud, ripping sound, and put it into his pocket. He then left the house, got right back into the family station wagon, took the directions out of his pocket and placed them on the dashboard, and started