Home of the Brave

Bellflower U.S.A. used to be one of them sweet little towns where folks said please and thank you and hardly ever honked their horns or made obscene gestures out their car windows the way we do up north in L.A.

You could admire a woman’s behind in Bellflower without being accused of sexual harassment and say “Have a nice day” to a stranger without being tested for drug addiction.

They had sock hops at the high school gym and prayed right in the middle of town at a theater that once showed dirty movies but was turned into a house of worship, praise the Lord.

I used to say to the missus that when the time came to retire I wanted to open a little hardware store in Bellflower and live in one of them green stucco houses with plastic ducks on the lawn.

I’d join the other boys for eggs and chili at the Hungry Tummy, maybe have a Bud at the ‘Til 2 Club and buy my eats at the corner store with that 15-foot high doughnut on the roof.

But I’m not so sure anymore. They’ve discovered animosity in Bellflower. Not everyone can pronounce it, and a few of the folks ain’t even sure what it means, but they know it’s something that causes a heap of unhappiness.

It all began a year ago when the City Council enacted the toughest nonsmoking ordinance in Southern California. It prohibited smoking in restaurants and most buildings with public access.

What everyone is calling the Adamant Non-Smokers loved the ordinance, but the decent normal people hated it and declared war. No wimp who can’t suck in a little smoke without dying is gonna tell ‘em what to do in Bellflower.

Forget that a place no one had ever heard of was being celebrated across the land by Adamant Non-Smokers as the little town that could.

To those who opposed the ordinance, it was like the damned fools had trampled on the flag or defamed Elvis Presley.

Smoking was an American Right, they thundered, and a man ought to be able to light up wherever the hell he pleased.

Restaurant owners were in tears in front of their pizza parlors and burger emporiums. The ordinance, they cried, was killing them.

Folks who couldn’t take a bite and take a puff at the same table were crossing the border to eat in places like Norwalk and Downey.

Soon, they promised, Bellflower would be a city of no restaurants, and if the restaurants went, the stores would go and then the people.

It would become a ghost town like Tombstone or Long Beach, with hot winds blowing through vacant buildings and rattlesnakes curled in the empty corners of the Hosanna Christian Fellowship.

Fortunately for the American Way, a City Council election was coming up and the Pro-Smokers vowed to elect someone who would give ‘em back their rights.

It was one hell of an election.

Little children marched for the Adamant Non-Smokers with signs that said “Save Our Lungs” and strong men marched for the Militant Smokers with signs that said “Save Our Rights.”

Charges and countercharges were fired in volleys across Bellflower Boulevard, election posters were ripped off walls, schools were accused of favoritism and an-i-mos-ity ruled the day.

When the smoke had cleared, thank God, the American Way had won.

Those who opposed the ordinance put their people on the council and threw the Adamant Non-Smokers the hell out. In two weeks, the ordinance was repealed.

Beginning today, you can smoke just about wherever you damned well please, except maybe in the house of God.

“We tried to compromise,” Ruth Gilson said the other day at Ricci’s Italian restaurant and deli. “We offered to create nonsmoking zones, but the Adamant Non-Smokers would have none of it.” She shrugged. “So they lost.”

A pleasant, motherly woman, she led the fight for Smokers Rights and was elected to the council with the greatest number of votes.

Losing by 19 votes was elementary school teacher Randy Bomgaars, a balding, pink-faced man, who kept pointing out that secondary smoke kills about 50,000 people a year. But high-falutin’ statistics don’t fool nobody in Bellflower.

Bomgaars, who considers himself a health and safety candidate (he helped rid the town of boomboxes and shut down an illegal snow-cone operation) vows to run again . . . and to propose the Dreaded Ordinance once more.

Bellflower lost its innocence in that election. Oh, they still have the sock hop in the high school gym and they still pray at the old porn movie house, but now a lot of folks know what animosity means, and they like it.

Goodby, Bellflower. I may have to open that little hardware store in Cudahy.