The Old Mission Home

We entered the Mission Home Training Center for our two week stay prior to departing for our assignments. The mission home, made up of an old hotel near the corner of North Temple and State Street, was located across from Temple Square. My five room mates and I all shared a corner room overlooking State Street with a clear view of Apple Annie as she walked up and down the street in front of us taunting the missionaries as they came to and fro. I must admit some of us took to taunting her back and throwing apples at her from the windows on the second floor.

All six of us where departing for the same mission including Don. Don like myself was the youngest sibling in his family. We had fallen out of contact for a few years but upon both of our mission calls, discovered we were both being called to the same mission on the same day. Darn that Sister Kinnelly who predicted we would serve together.

Don was not quite as organized as the rest of us and never bothered to make his bed up. We took to helping him (sort of) by making his bed one day. We really short sheeted him, when he walked in on us and quested, “what are you guys doing?” I had the duty to inform him his bed was closest to the door and always looked bad so we, as his brethren, were helping him. After closing the day that eve and with the lights out, it took him a while to figure it out why he couldn’t quite fit in his bed and just stood there looking befuddled…. Until we all bust out laughing.

After the two weeks of training in the basement of the Old Hotel Utah, (now Joseph Smith Building) we returned to our Host family (Davidson’s of Millcreek) the evening prior to our departure for the mission field. The evening, with weather changing and while jogging along the street with Don, I stepped into an undulation, tripped and landed on my chin, splitting it open. Wow, with blood all over my clean white shirt they rushed me back to the Mission Home, in a vehicle with a snow plow attached to the front, where the Mission President (an MD as well as my girlfriend’s Uncle) stitched me up. I was destined to arrive the next evening in Vancouver with a huge bandage on my chin.

Much has changed in the 40+ years since those days. Salt Lake has continued to grow outwards. The distant suburbs are now close in and once country fields are filled with new homes. Salt Lake would host the world with the Olympics in 2002 and Downtown would grow upward with many new high rise buildings. The store on the corner and the Old Mission Home, as well as the Desert Gym up the hill are all gone, making way for the Church Conference Center. The Mission Home, now called the MTC is located in Provo. My chin healed up. Don and I returned home married and raised our families. My mission home companion, Elder McFarland passed way the next year a victim of an auto accident and I would later meet his nephew as he served in my home ward providing information and pictures to his family. Life doesn’t stand still and things change as life rolls on. Make sure you write these memories down so they can live on for generations to come.

Puyehue, Andes, Chile, Travel

When I was 9 years old, I recall having a foreign exchange student join our class who was from the far off country of Chile. I recall the teacher coming into our class and telling us that he and his family had fled the country when their entire city (Valdivia) had been destroyed by an earthquake (9.5 – largest earthquake ever recorded) that caused tidal waves that reached far across the pacific to Hilo and Waipio, Hawaii. I remembered learning not only about the destruction not only from the quake but also of the seven volcano’s surrounding the area that were rumbling and erupting. When Jake Mom and I traveled to Chile at the completion of Jakes mission we had the opportunity to see Valdevia (rebuilt) the surrounding farmland turned to marshlands after sinking 10’. We also traveled inland to observe the beautiful Andes mountains consisting of many sleeping volcanoes. Yesterday, Volcan Puyehue erupted again for the first time since 1960 spreading ash and rock as far as 100 miles to the east in Argentina. Soon the winter snow of the area will cover the ash and rock and all will be washed away in the Spring melt. Note the attached picture of the peaceful looking mountain that came to life. As you walk about in your lives, take the time to look around, smell the roses, take pictures and witness history as it takes place.




As always,

Dad

Lofthill Drive

Lofthill Drive 1958 1959

When I was eight years old and as the city of Los Angeles expanded outward, my family left the city for the suburbs, settling in La Mirada, California. My dad would drive the old Santa Ana Freeway through traffic to downtown drop off my mother and then off to UCLA where he worked, and then back again at the end of the day.

Prior to moving, they looked at many of the new homes in the area ranging in price from $10 to $18,000, settling on the Cape Cod model half way up a hill at the price of $15,000. Having just moved from and apartment into this brand new home, I thought it was so large yet by today’s standards it was not.

My elementary school (Eastwood) was under construction just up the hill and as young men we would walk up the hill to the school site and slide down the un-landscaped hill on sheets of cardboard or plywood. The year was 1958 and we said that we were inventing a new sport we called skurfing. Many years later as my children grew, I learned of a new winter sport called snow boarding, which encompassed the same ideas and techniques as skurfing.

My first visit to the principal’s office occurred at Eastwood when I instilled fear in the hearts of my fellow students by spreading rumors of the dreaded Mr. Takamoto being a left over Japanese spy from war time days. In actuality, Mr. Takamoto was a handicapped gentleman who suffered greatly as an internee during the war. I can recall the signs advertising the new developments, “Vets, $1 moves you in.” Our mailman was another victim of the recent war in that he only had one arm. I was amazed that he was able to sort the mail in his bag with just a stump for an arm. Being so close the end of WW II we were in the midst of a huge baby boom with children in every home on the block. All of us children had a fathers who had served. They shared their stories away from our ears late in the evenings as they passed time drinking beer and playing cards.

Just down the hill was the Orange County line and the city ended with open fields and hills from there to Buena Park 5 miles away. The view was spectacular and every evening we would sit on our porch and watch the fireworks from Disneyland a few more miles down the Santa Ana freeway to the south.

The long block was often filled with the kids on the block having fun. The most fun being, wagon training. We would pull our wagons (everyone had one) to the top of the hill, tie them all together and start a run down the hill much to the horror of our parents. As a car would back out a drive way, we would turn into the hill and tumble from our wagons making horrible yells accompanied by laughter.

Times turned hard and my dad lost his job in 1959 and forced our move from the two story house back to a small apartment in Culver City. It seemed that it was so hard on my family that we snuck away in the middle of the night and just let the bank take our house back. Recently as I attended the memorial service for my nephew Chris. After 50 years, I had the opportunity to go back to the old neighborhood. The house is still there. The hill is just a small rise, our skurfing run is now heavily landscaped and the open fields are all gone. The neighborhood has grown up and a new generation of children now inhabits the hood. I wager however that they don’t have the fun that we had, way back then.

berdugo

I was recently asked about growing up, the youngest surviving sibling in my family and suddenly remembered something my sister had told me about being so lonely at home with out a sibling closer than the 12 years separating my sister and myself (years would pass before Bob joined the family and gave me an additional sibling closer to my age) that I invented an invisible imaginary friend. Living in Eaglerock at the time, our most common road taken to shop in Glendale was Verdugo Road. My friend was named Berdugo after the street. My mother related my comical antics to a friend with whom she worked, and viola a song was penned about me and the friend. Thank goodness it never made it to the recording studio.


I’m a little boy who’s only four but wise as I can be,
For I know that mom wont spank me for the things that she don’t see,
For in my mind, I am inclined to have a friend,
his name is Berdugo and he takes all the blame.

I wrapped the goldfish in a towel for they looked wet to me,
Toothpaste Indians on the wall with a big chief like me,
Mom tears her hair and nearly swears for what have I to say,
I said Berdugo done it and he takes all the blame.

I’m a little boy who’s only four but wise as I can be,
For I know that mom wont spank me for the things that she don’t see,
For in my mind, I am inclined to have a friend,
his name is Berdugo and he takes all the blame.

I put glue in daddy shoe so it wouldn’t stretch,
Daddy told my mommy that he’ld like to break my neck,
For this crime I had to pay, though Berdugo was to blame,
So I got the licken and Berdugo took the blame

For I’m a little boy who’s only four but wise as I can be,
I know that mom wont spank me for the things that she don’t see,
In my mind, I am inclined to have a friend,
his name is Berdugo.... and he takes all the blame.

I am sure there were more verses but at nearly 56 years later, I cant recall them.

Hope you enjoy a laugh from this.

Bon Voyage

My name is schkowteechk and was given to me by Emeelia Okigawa, a Tlingit shaman, the earth mother of few. A glaaka not, though biologically incorrect. As I served my mission, it was unfortunate that my biological parents were over 1000 miles away as this occurred and unable to observe. The name referring to the overseer of a boat or the one in front leading and guiding the way.

Since this occurred, almost 40 years ago, in the small Alaskan hamlet of Petersburg, I reflect back as to how appropriate the name has become. I am, as most are aware, the most miserable follower and usually move to the forward of any pack. Co-incidentally my patriarchal blessing states that I am, to be, a most miserable follower and will always step into a leadership roll. “Thou shalt always be a leader, and let me state more, other titles of leadership wilt thou have, in thy day and age in the world.” The world,… really?

Perhaps this has been to my detriment as I am very competitive in most situations and become easily offended if unable to take the lead. This has occurred in family, church and community and can probably be well documented.

The snow was falling heavy in the Wrangell Narrows as the captain negotiated the narrow crack between the two islands to bring the ship of many, safely to port with only the guiding light of continual beacons to follow and turn. The singular lighthouse beacon of uninhabited San Salvador Island marking the spot that Columbus stumbled upon what he thought was India, actually discovering the Americas. Angels gate at Los Angeles Harbor that separates the protected from the open sea and Santa Catalina only a few miles, but a different world away.

I have found that some of my most memorable experiences have occurred co-incidentally, as schkowteechk the overseer of a boat. Today as we depart, and sail down the Missippi, your mother will know where to find me as we leave New Orleans for the Yucatan and ports further south. My mind will reflect back to the insight of Emeelia Okigawa, the earth mother of few. A glaaka not, though biologically incorrect.

BonVoyage

My name is schkowteechk and was given to me by Emeelia Okigawa, a Tlingit shaman, the earth mother of few. A glaaka not, though biologically incorrect. As I served my mission, it was unfortunate that my biological parents were over 1000 miles away as this occurred and unable to observe. The name referring to the overseer of a boat or the one in front leading and guiding the way.

Since this occurred, almost 40 years ago, in the small Alaskan hamlet of Petersburg, I reflect back as to how appropriate the name has become. I am, as most are aware, the most miserable follower and usually move to the forward of any pack. Co-incidentally my patriarchal blessing states that I am, to be, a most miserable follower and will always step into a leadership roll. “Thou shalt always be a leader, and let me state more, other titles of leadership wilt thou have, in thy day and age in the world.” The world,… really?

Perhaps this has been to my detriment as I am very competitive in most situations and become easily offended if unable to take the lead. This has occurred in family, church and community and can probably be well documented.

The snow was falling heavy in the Wrangell Narrows as the captain negotiated the narrow crack between the two islands to bring the ship of many, safely to port with only the guiding light of continual beacons to follow and turn. The singular lighthouse beacon of uninhabited San Salvador Island marking the spot that Columbus stumbled upon what he thought was India, actually discovering the Americas. Angels gate at Los Angeles Harbor that separates the protected from the open sea and Santa Catalina only a few miles, but a different world away.

I have found that some of my most memorable experiences have occurred co-incidentally, as schkowteechk the overseer of a boat. Today as we depart, and sail down the Missippi, your mother will know where to find me as we leave New Orleans for the Yucatan and ports further south. My mind will reflect back to the insight of Emeelia Okigawa, the earth mother of few. A glaaka not, though biologically incorrect.

K F W B, Color Radio, Channel 98. Eu E eu ah ah ting tang walla walla bing bang, and oh yeah the One eyed one horned flying purple people eater… number one on the big hit parade. “Standing on the corner watching all the girls go by,” on the one band AM radio of my dads Black and gold 1957 Ford Fairlane… a HOT car with tail fins. It was the late fifties and early sixties, and I was growing up in Los Angeles. Pope Pius from Rome and Jimmy Swaggart from New Orleans were on the television preaching religion along with the Grand Ole Opry. It wasn’t Lincoln or Washington but some old guy named Ike who didn’t have hair, was the president. My aunt and uncle were democrats and they were supporting some guy running for president who was from Massachusetts and named Kennedy ( no chance of winning-Nixon the VP would win the race). Marilyn Monroe and Jack Lemmon in, “The Seven Year Itch.” Hot stuff. Unfortunately that was adult stuff and I was just a kid.
I remember the night air on the Westside smelling sweet with the scent of night blooming jasmine, Sand dunes and salt flats on the way to the beach. It was only 6 blocks from my aunts house on Maxcella to Lincoln Blvd and the sand dunes where just across the road. (two lanes back then) cross the road and a vast playground for myself and cousins to play war and hide in the dunes and grass. When the rains came and flooded Venice and parts of Mar Vista, they just ran hoses down the streets and pump the water into the dunes and what was then wetlands.
Marina Del Rey (high priced real estate) now occupies this area now and the Pacific Coast Highway that actually ran along the beach back then became Highway 1 and was moved inland to Lincoln Blvd which was then widened. Later the Richard Nixon Freeway (SR90-Marina Freeway)would be built and link all this area to the newly built San Diego Freeway (I-405). These freeways as well as the Santa Monica (I-10) would soon be built. Dirt roads would be replaced with pavement and trees that had been planted would grow tall.