Grandma's egg business

My step-grandmother (Rhoda Porter) lived on Midvale Avenue in the rural Palms area of Los Angeles and she ran an egg business.  Every month she would have my step-father load us all into the car (1957 Ford Fairlane) and drive the family way out to Bloomington to visit our Smith cousins.  The road was long as the freeways were yet to be built east to San Bernardino.  We would travel to downtown on the surface streets and when finally to East Los Angeles we would find Valley Blvd. and follow it almost all the way to San Bernardino.  Driving past miles of vineyards, (now the city of Ontario), past signs promoting the new city of VinaVista that would be built soon (never happened), past the slag piles of the Kaiser Steel plant and Colton Cement mine, finally arriving in Bloomington to spend a hot day watching old man Smith who was always busy watching the jalopy races on the dirt track of Ascot Park (google it). Interestingly, Ascot Park Speedway was located between Long Beach and West Los Angeles near where our journey would begin.  The Smiths were very British and hailed from Alberta, Canada.  I recall their home being situated among some very tall eucalyptus trees surrounded by a lot of sandy dirt and as was mentioned, it was always hot there.  We would walk along their street for what seemed like miles surrounded by orange, lemon and grapefruit groves. My mother would tell us that they planted all the eucalyptus trees that lined the street with the thought of extracting the oil from the leaves, only to discover they had planted the wrong type of eucalyptus.  Never the less, the trees provided great wind breaks for all the citrus groves that would populate all of Southern California.  On the way back late each afternoon we would stop at the chicken ranches (now the city of Walnut and Cal Poly Pomona) to pick up tons of eggs that my grandmother would then sell to all of her neighbors friends and relatives. She supplemented her social security  with the egg money and actually saved enough money from such to buy property and finance a trip that cost $1000 (a lot of money back then) to her native England.  As her plane departed from the Airport, we all sat on our cars at the end of the runway to bid her goodbye.  We were close enough that we could see her and she could see us and wave at us from the sleek new 707 jet.  Funny lady, she would have a beer with her soft boiled eggs for breakfast.  She passed away suddenly in the early 1960’s while only in her 70’s.  It would never be the same afterwards in that the family would break apart on many fronts.   

1957 Ford Fairlane 500

As a young child I recall trips up and down the coast with my parents in their brand spanking new 1957 Ford Fairlane 500 Coupe. The sleek tail fin on the right side of the car provided a great arm and head rest out of my rolled down window to view the world. As the A.M. radio blared, “Hot Ziggidy Dog Ziggidy,” I could view the world. Very few freeways had been built and we rarely traveled inland as the Pacific Coast Highway was our main drag. For some reason our world stopped where the road turned inland just beyond the sand dunes where the new highway cut behind the big rock near Pt Magu and extended down the coast to San Diego where the ocean suddenly stopped and dried up (bottom of San Diego Bay) and the road turned inland again. It would be many years later after my step father had left the family that I would have the opportunity to travel inland, beyond the San Fernando Valley. The church father and sons outing was that opportunity. The newly completed San Diego Freeway north was the route we followed until it ended at the two lane road San Fernando Road at the north end of the valley and the to the Sierra Highway and out to the camp sites on a ranch in the foothills of the Santa Clara River Valley (Later Santa Clarita). Today that same site is now a park and ride lot at the end of Newhall Avenue and the Highway #14 freeway. In order to acquire more food supplies we needed to drive 5 miles farther up the road to a store on the corner of Soledad Canyon and Sierra Highway. Nothing else was there accept the store… Now the same corner (Solemint Jct) is the site is occupied by many stores and strip malls. Eventually church and boy scout trips would proceed farther north to Lake Hughes, and then the High Sierras. The Antelope Valley Freeway was completed by then, starting at Solemint Jct. and proceeding all the way to Palmdale before it again ended at Sierra Highway and proceeded north as a two lane road all the way to the Sierras. That was a long two lane road across the desert proceeding through small towns Ricardo, Littlelake (no longer existing), Lone Pine, Independence, Big Pine, & Bishop, Tom’s Place. Camping on Rock Creek in the Sierras was such a treat. Hiking around a serene long lake and up the valley to prominent point and sitting on a snow pack just to observe the view of the John Muir Wilderness. Some of my most memorable moments resulted from that trip. While traveling back we passed by Lancaster and I looked around and had a warm premonition feeling this would be a great place to live. Upon arrival home that night my mother let me know that she had met a man at the singles activity that was from Lancaster and she had a date with him the next week. As fate would have it they met in July and were married in October and we moved my senior year of high school to Lancaster. I thought I had died and gone to heaven with all the open space.. I could ride my bike miles out on the desert and see no one. One never know what paths life’s travels will take them…Growing up in the city I never knew the pleasures of country living but I have made sure that my children have had the experience and opportunities to enjoy both to make their own decisions.

1950's God Bless America

In the 1950’s when I began kindergarten at El Rincon Elementary, we all began by singing God bless America. The pledge of Allegiance to the flag with its new stanza “Under God,” was recited and then started our day of learning and play. Sometime around that time, I told the kids in the class that Lincoln was no longer the president and when ask who was? I told them, “I don’t know but he is some old guy without any hair.” (Eisenhower). As I walked home from the Pulio’s house (babysitter) in the dark I looked to the sky to see if I would be able to spot “Sputnik” as it rotated the earth with its beeping signal. Such was my life in that era. My family were Democrats, my mother a Republican. My father drove a black Ford Fairlane 500 and we spent most weekends living out of that car as he fished up and down the California coastline. Our family friends, Cherry Ross (Grand-daughter of Chief John Ross of the Cherokee nation), Wyoming Pete Cody (100 year old cowboy who rode with Reno Benteen into the Big Horn post Custer’s last stand) and his sidekick Jesse James, Jr. accompanied the family on these outings. I would sneak listening late into the night, stories of the old west and the bygone eras. I handled William Bonney’s (Billy the Kid) rifle at an early age and learned that I was born 100 years to the day after he was born. I was little Billy the Kid. As school years progressed we would begin each day singing, the National Anthem, America the Beautiful. Something has been lost today by children not enjoying music and patriotism practiced each day.

Birth Father

I am not sure what caused my mother to marry my birth father (William Joseph Byers) however in February of 1950 they eloped to Elkton Maryland and were married by a judge. Elkton was the place where young couples went to get married in a hurry as no marriage license was required. A little over nine months later I was born after my mother's journey from Newark, New Jersey to Hollywood, California. Mother was a telephone operator in Newark and would often take vacations in small resort by the name of Virginia Beach, Virginia. While visiting with family friends, the Spencer’s, in Virginia near the end of World War II she met and dated my father who was stationed near by at Dam Neck Naval Base their romance bloomed over the next few years as she often visited the Spencer’s during this time. As my father was mustering out of the navy they decided to the time was right to move her small family to California where he had served for a short while in the Navy. Prior to my birth, mom transferred to the phone office in downtown Los Angeles and they began their across country journey and along with my only sister they arrived and settled in at 121 ½ S. Rampart Blvd. My older brother Jack had stayed behind in New Jersey with his father’s family as he didn’t want to interrupt his schooling and friends. For many years afterwards I am sure he felt abandoned by my mother and I am sure his father’s family promoted that thought. As Thanksgiving approached, my mother worked her operator shift on the 22nd of November and prepared for the day off holiday the next day. I arrived unexpectedly shortly after 2:30 am the next morning ahead of the taxi and the doctor in the tile bathroom. Many my mothers co-workers didn’t realize that she was even pregnant. I was given the name of William Joseph Byers II and I guess I ruined the holiday that year. Not too long afterwards my father abandoned my mother and left for parts unknown. He would occasionally call and touch bases from Ohio or New Jersey however communications were not frequent. In 1953, my grandmother traveled west via airplane to visit mother and brought with her an article from the local newspaper reporting the death of my father. A death certificate would later reveal he died from a broken neck after diving from a pier off the New Jersey coast. Interestingly he was an excellent swimmer and diver. The death certificate also revealed another interesting fact, another wife’s name on the certificate. He was a modern day polygamist. Information about my father was sketchy at least. He had married once prior to my mother and had father’s two children. That marriage had ended in divorce. His father John had married his mother, Nellie Giesinger and adopted her two children one being my father. Only recently has new genealogical information been unearthed that revealed that he has not born in Ohio but in neighboring Erie, Pennsylvania. Nellie’s family was from Alabama and Texas. I was destined to be born a fine southern gentleman, by my father screwed it up by moving to California. I am grateful for my father for giving me birth and I honor him for that; however I cannot imagine what caused him to abandon his family. For years I envisioned him in naval intelligence and continuing on assignment post World War II and which he was unable to reveal these facts to my mother. This eventually contributed to his death.

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.

40th anniversary

Other than a few trips across the Mexican border for fishing and scout trips, I had never really left the sovereign territory of the United States. My friend and companion Don Roberts whom I had grown up with, was able to catch the more direct flight even though he had mis-placed his ticket. The rest of us had to take the milk run by leaving first and arriving last. Stopping 1st in what appeared to be a frozen waist land called Boise, we flew on to Portland, Seattle, and finally about dusk we landed just off the coast at a place called Lulu Island and we were finally there (well almost finally there). The van ride was short to downtown where pictures were taken in a professional photo studio. (Lucky for me, as I had crashed and burned the night prior and had a bandage and stitches in my chin- they were able to cover it up well). Finally up the hill to Shawnessey Heights and the mission home and our long journey was over. Or should I say the journey had begun.
40 years ago today I arrived in Vancouver, British Columbia to begin my mission. Many roads would be traveled in the next two years. It is hard to explain the sheer beauty one had to endure, to labor in such magnificent surroundings. The memories etched in ones mind of wonderful people and experiences that stay with one forever.
Two years later, my last day in Vancouver at the bus station I would I observe the Canadian Olympic team as they were departing for the Sapporo, Japan Olympics. Upon arriving home in California I was able to watch some of the Olympic participants I had met just a few days prior. Today I sit before the television and observed the Opening ceremony for the Vancouver Olympics. A lot has happened over these many years, including participating in the Salt Lake Olympics. I found myself wanting to be their again as the caldron was lit and take part of the spirit of the event. Unfortunately we will have to enjoy the view from our comfortable homes.

Flight of the Commanche Flight of the Bird of Paridise

My first trip on and airplane came at the age of 16, after driving across the US my adopted big brother, Ted Lyon, and I flew back from Oklahoma City to Los Angeles. I can remember listening to the stereo headphones playing the theme from the, Magnificent Seven,” as we landed for a short stop in Dallas and remembered the feeling for freedom and power to see so much in such a short time. Later that same year when my family flew north to San Jose to spend Thanksgiving with Aunt Anna I was already a seasoned flyer and always took the window seat to navigate the flight

When I was 18years old, while preparing for my mission, I flew a plane from Searchlight Nevada to Pine Mt. Utah. I worked for a construction company building The Lancaster II, III ward building and when the head electrician on the project (who lived in Salt Lake City, and commuted to and from Lancaster weekly) asked if we anyone would like to fly up with him for General Conference, I jumped at the opportunity. The next morning along with two other priests in my ward quorum (Arlo Blatter, Paul Cheney)we left in his Commanche Piper Cub four seater. An hour later we took a pit stop at Searchlight we continued north. Bro X (don’t remember his name) as the pilot, turned to me and told me he was tired and for me to fly the plane in the direction of the two mountain peaks in the distance while he caught a nap. Having never flown a plane before he gave me a few quick instructions told me it would be OK and nodded off. An hour later he awoke to find that we were directly between the two peaks and he re-established his control of the plane. Simple directions, and I few for over an hour in the small plane. We continued unscathed and enjoyed Conference that weekend. I would have the opportunity many more times that fall to fly with Bro. X and experience flying. I have since taken many an opportunity to find freedom in flying above the world and observing much the normal person can never imagine.

Recently Mom and I along with Jesse and Cammie had the opportunity to travel to Kauai and while there we visited the Kiliuea light house. A small historic facility only 80 foot tall and 31 ½ feet around with a kerosene light refractor on top that could be seen 100 miles out to sea. Historic with re: the Flight of the Bird of paradise which took off from Oakland California 6-28-1927. Charles Lindberg stated this more so that his own historic flight would be the greatest feat for aeronautics flying of the time, further than anyone, including himself, over open water to a select destination. Flying at a correct heading towards Honolulu they managed to miss Honolulu and the Hawaiian Islands by over 90 miles. Running short of fuel the co-pilot noted a flash of light to the south repeating at a regular interval. Turning south and flying 90 miles they discovered the lighthouse at Kiliuea, Kauai, and then turned east across a distance to land back at Honolulu.

Christmas

A Christmas to remember
After 37 years of family Christmas’ experiences, this year was a little different with just the two of us being here at home. It was OK, and as you all have your own lives and families to consider, we heard from all of you through out the day with much to reflect on in our lives.
Rememberance from my past:
1960 Church groups collect toys, dolls, and hula hoops and then deliver them to our neighborhood (Hazelton Avenue). I guess we were considered an under-privileged community. Dinner at grandmother or Aunt Pat’s house would include the men leaving to raid the local Christmas tree Lot, (everything was free after midnight) so off they would go and bring back trees and wreaths that we would burn in the fireplace for a nice Christmas smell.
1970 – Mission, Ketchikan Alaska - What was supposed to be a White Christmas changed suddenly when it rained and melted the snow away. College students from all over, arrived home to spend the holidays with family. Being a small branch they gathered and provided memories and correspondence that still lives through today.
1971 – Mission, Salmon Arm, British Columbia, Plenty of the white stuff this year and cold -40. Drove to Kamloops on Christmas eve, eve, (Dec 23) to avoid morning travel in bad weather for district meeting. Arriving late for church late, (evening Sacrament Meeting) we snuck in the back door and grabbed the two closed available seats in the small chapel… just happened to be the Choir area however. When the choir stood, so did we, and though they covered for us well, it was probably the worst rendition I have ever heard of, “Oh Holy Night.” Spent Christmas eve with Part member family. Lots of fun tubing in the bitter cold. Next morning was Christmas and when we drove to the Indian reservation, we were the only Santa to many of the children.
Hope you have a Merry Christmas and please remember to make memories for your families.
Dad

The Airport

WHEN DAVID DROVE ME TO THE AIRPORT IN DENVER MONDAY MORNING IT WAS 22 DEGREES WITH A CRYSTAL CLEAR SKY. THE AIRPORT (STAPLETON) USED TO BE CLOSE TO DOWNTOWN BUT IN THE 90’S D.I.A. WAS BUILT ABOUT 20 MILES EAST OF TOWN. IN THE CLEAR MORNING AIR YOU COULD SEE 10-15 MILES OUT ON THE PLAINS ALL THE WAY TO THE NEW AIRFIELD WITH THE ONE MAJOR HIGHWAY ARTERY LIT WITH THE RED TAIL LIGHTS OF THE PEOPLE ON THE WAY TO GOING SOMEWHERE ELSE.

THE FLIGHT TAKING OFF ON TIME AT 7AM WAS PHENOMINAL. EVEREYONE SHOULD IN THEIR LIVES WATCH THE SUN COME UP OVER THE ROCKIES. THE GRAND CANYON WAS TRULY GRAND AS WE RACED THE SUN TO CALIFORNIA. SOMEWHERE SOUTH OF LAS VEGAS WE STARTED OUR APPROACH TO LAX AND SOON WE WERE ON THE GROUND. AS WE LANDED I NOTED THE SPANISH STYLE BUILDING TO THE RIGHT THAT ONCE STOOD AS THE WELCOME MAT FOR ALL ARRIVING PASSENGERS TO LOS ANGELES. YES THE OLD TERMINAL STILL STANDS AT THE END OF AIRPORT BLVD NEAR WESTCHESTER. HOWEVER NOW IT IS A TERMINAL FOR PACKAGES LEAVING TO TRAVEL THE WORLD. THE TERMINAL BUILDING LOOKS A LOT LIKE OTHER TERMINALS STILL BEING USED AT BURBANK AND LONG BEACH TODAY,….ONLY SMALLER.

I REMEMBER WHEN MY FAMILY, IN 1954, WENT OUT ACROSS THE OPEN FIELDS TO THE LITTLE AIRPORT, MEETING MY ARRIVING GRAND PARENTS. WE SEARCHED FOR WHAT SEEMED LIKE HOURS UNTIL WE FINALLY FOUND THEM NEAR THE ONLY BAGGAGE CLAIM AREA WHICH WAS OUT DOORS. THE ONE MILE SQUARE AIRPORT, BORDERED BY CENTURY, SEPULVEDA, IMPERIAL, AND AVIATION BLVDS. TWO RUNWAYS WERE ALLTHAT SERVED THE LANDING AIRCRAFT.

NO FREEWAYS EXISTED AT THAT TIME OUTSIDE OF THE CENTRAL CITY. CENTURY BLVD. WAS THE MAIN ARTERY TO GET TO THE AIRPORT FROM THE HARBOR FREEWAY WHICH STRETCHED 8 MILES SOUTH OF DOWN TOWN (THAT’S THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THE TEHACHAPI HOUSE AND TOWN). NOT TOO LONG AFTER THAT, CONSTRUCTION BEGAN ON WHAT WOULD BE THE SEPULVEDA TUNNEL THAT WOULD ALLOW THE AIRPORT TO SPREAD AND STRETCH THE 3 & 1/2 MILES FURTHER WEST TO THE BEACH. ADDITIONAL INDUSTRIAL AREA NORTH OF CENTURY EXPANDED THE AIRPORT TO THE RUNWAYS WHERE TODAY PLANES LAND OVERHEAD OF WHAT IS NOW IN-N-OUT. HALF OF THE COMMUNITY OF WESTCHESTER AND ALL OF VISTA PLAYA DEL REY WERE WIPED OFF THE MAP TO MAKE WAY FOR THE EXPANSION.

AS CHILDREN WE WOULD RIDE OUR BIKES FROM CULVER CITY UP THE SEPULVEDA HILL PAST THE LOYOLA THEATER TO THE NEW AIRPORT. WE RODE OUR BIKES ON THE ROADS, IN THE PARKING LOTS AND INTO AND AROUND THE TERMINALS AND RUNWAYS. NO FENCES WERE REQUIRED BECAUSE ONLY SOME CRAZY PERSON WOULD THINK OF GETTING IN THE WAY OF THE PLANES THAT WOULD BE TAKING OFF AND LANDING. ON THE WAY BACK FROM OUR ADVENTURES WE WOULD STOP OFF AT WHAT WOULD BE DESCRIBED TODAY AS AN OPEN AIR SWAP MEET. AIRPORT VILLAGE SERVED ETHNIC FOOD OF ALL NATIONALITIES BUT SOON EVEN THE VILLAGE WOULD BE GONE, GOBBLED UP IN THE PATH OF THE SAN DIEGO FREEWAY.

SOON AFTER THE OPENING OF THE NEW AIRPORT, THE LOCAL SCHOOL CHILDREN, (MYSELF INCLUDED) WERE INVITED TO TOUR THE FACILITY. WE ALL WALKED THE TUNNELS THAT RAN UNDER THE RUNWAYS BETWEEN THE STREETS AND TERMINALS. THE PRICE TAG WE WERE TOLD WAS A WOPPING 16 MILLION DOLLARS (NO LOCAL TAX MONEY) TO BUILD THE PLACE. ALL THIS MONEY CAME FROM THE $1 CHARGED EACH PASSENGER’S TICKET TO USE THE PLACE.

THE OPEN FIELDS FROM DOWNTOWN TO THE AIRPORT WERE ALL SOON FILLED WITH HOMES AND FREEWAYS LINKED EVERYONE CLOSER TOGETHER. PERHAPS THIS IS WHAT WILL HAPPEN WITH ALL THE OPEN PLAINS BETWEEN DENVER AND D.I.A.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS HISTORY.

DAD

The Drive Inn

WHEN I WAS ABOUT FOUR YEARS OLD, I CAN REMEMBER RIDING IN MY SOON TO BE BROTHER-IN-LAW’S CAR IN A RUMBLE SEAT WHERE THE TRUNK WAS SUPPOSED TO BE. IN ONE OF HIS OTHER CARS I WOULD RIDE UP ON THE REAR WINDOW LEDGE, BACKWHEN THEY USED TO HAVE PLENTY OF ROOM IN THE FONT AND BACK OF MOST CARS. AND THEY WERE ALL MADE IN THE UNITED STATES. NO ONE WANTED ANY OF THOSE IMPORTS…. TOO CHEAP AND THEY WOULD FALL APART.

I CAN REMEMBER DRAG RACING ON SAN FERNANDO ROAD WITH MY SISTER AND BROTHER-IN-LAW AND PULLING IN FOR A MALT AT THE VAN DE KAMP DRIVE IN. MOST PEOPLE REMEMBER MEL’S DRIVE IN IN HOLLYWOOD, BUT I CAN STILL REMEMBER A WHOLE BUNCH OF OTHER EATERIES THAT FEATURED DRIVE-INS WITH CAR HOPS ON ROLLER SKATES. ONE OF MY CLOSE ASSOCIATES AND PATIENTS AT WORK, DID A MOVIE ROLL IN AMERICAN GRAFFITI AS WELL AS A STINT ON HAPPY DAYS WHERE SHE WAS A CAR HOP ON SKATES. THAT’S THE WAY IT REALLY WAS, TURN YOUR HEADLIGHT ON WHILE PARKED AND YOU’LD GET SERICE RIGHT TO YOUR CAR. A&W ROOT BEER STANDS, BOB’S BIG BOY WITH THREE LOCATIONS IN PASADENA , GLENDALE AND BURBANK, VERY POPULAR WITH THE YOUNGER SET. DOLORE’S DRIVE IN ON WILSHIRE IN BEVERLY HILLS AND SCOTTS DRIVE INN, IN PICO ROBERSON WHERE STILL THERE BY THE TIME I MADE IT TO HIGH SCHOOL.

DRIVE IN MOVIES… DON’T EVEN ASK ABOUT MY GETTING ARRESTED FOR SNEAKING IN THE BACK GATE OF THE STUDIO DRIVE IN CULVER CITY. SOMETHING HAS NOW HAPPENED TO THEM AND THEY HAVE ALL GONE AWAY. THEY SEEM TO HAVE GONE THE WAY OF THE PUSH BUTTON TRANSMISSION ON MY FATHERS OLD PACKARD (WHICH I DROVE WHILE ATTENDING COLLEGE) AND THE HELMS BAKERY TRUCKS TOOTING ALONG THEIR DAILY ROUTES. (ASK MOM ABOUT THE DONUT TRAY)

NOTHING COULD BE FINER THAT A COLD ROOT BEER IN A FROSTY MUG ON A HOT SUMMER NIGHT. THE $.05 COST FOR SUCH A MUG WAS SO RESTRICTIVE. BEFORE AIR CONDITIONING THAT THE ONLY THING WE COULD DO TO COMBAT THE SUMMR HUMIDITY.

AHH YES, I MORN THE LOSS OF THE GOOD OLE DAYS IN LOS ANGELES.

D

THE GREAT AVOCADO WAR

AFTER LUNCHING ON A GREAT AVOCADO SALAD IN SACRAMENTO THIS PAST WEEK WITH MY WORKERS COMP ASSOCIATES, THEY URGED ME TO TELLTHE STORY OF THE GREAT AVOCADO WAR.

WHEN MY MOTHER MOVED FROM THE EAST COAST TO CALIFORNIA IN 1950 (SHORTLY BEFORE MY BIRTH) SHE ENCOUNTERED A GREAT MANY THINGS AS WELL AS FOODS SHE HAD NEVER EXPERIENCED BEFORE. OF COURSE THERE WERE ALWAYS ORANGES, WHICH WERE A REAL DELECACY FOR SOME ONE OUT EAST BUT THERE WAS SOMETHING NEW THT SHE HAD NEVER EXPERIENCED CALLED AN A V A C A D O! WOW. AFTER HEARING ALL ABOUT THEM FROM THE GIRLS AT THE OFFICE, SHE WENT TO THE MARKET AFTER WORK AND PICKED OUT THE BIGGEST AND GREENEST ONE SHE COULD FIND. UPON ARRIVING HOME SHE WONDERED HOW ONE WOULD EAT ONE…. SHE POUNDED ON IT AND IT WAS A HARD AS A ROCK SO SHE FIGURED IF SHE COOKED IT LIKE A POTATO OR CARROT IT WOULD SOFTEN IT UP, THUS INTO THE POT IT WENT. AFTER AN HOUR OR SO OF BOILING AND TESTING IT, IT WAS A LITTLE SOFTER SO SHE CUT IT OPEN. THOUGH A LITTLE ON THE TOUGH SIDE IT WAS OK AS LONG AS YOU HAD A KNIFE AND FORK TO EAT IT. INTERESTING TASTE. THE NEXT DAY SHE TOLD THE GIRLS AT THE OFFICE AND AFTER THE LAUGHTER DIED DOWN, SHE LEARNED THAT YOU HAVE TO LOOK FOR THE RIPE ONES THAT GIVE JUST A LITTLE WHEN PRESSURE WAS APPLIED. EVER SINCE THAT DAY WE HAVE ENJOYED AVACODOS IN OUR DIET.

SOME 10 YEARS LATER AS THE FAMILY NOW RESIDED ON HAZELTON AVENUE IN CULVER CITY, UP AGAINST THE BALDWIN HILLS, MYSELF ALONG WITH A FEW FRIENDS DECEIDED ON A WARM SUMMER DAY THAT WE WOULD CLIMB THE HILLS TO SEE WHAT WAS UP THERE. LOOKING MUCH LIKE HUCK FINN AND TOM SAWYER WE TOOK OUT TO FOLLOW A WELL ESTABLISHED TRAIL THOUGH A NUMBER OF BACK YARDS. A HOUR OR SO LATER WE REACH THE TOP AND ENJOYED THE BEST VIEW IN THE CITY. YOU COULD SEE ALL THE WAY TO THE HOLLYWOOD SIGN, UN OBSTRUCTED BY ANY HIGH RISE BUILDINGS OR BAD AIR. JUST PAST THE CREST STOOD A HUGE CONVENT RETREAT, WHERE-IN THE NUNS HAD PLANTED AN AVACADO ORCHARD. INTERESTINGLY THEY NEVER PICKED ANY OF THE FRUIT. THE ORCHARD WAS THERE FOR WATERSHED AND SOIL CONSERVATION.

BEING THE INDUSTRIOUS YOUNG MEN THAT WE WERE AT THAT RIPE AGE, WE DISCOVERED THAT, 1. THEY WOULD MAKE GREAT WEAPONS. (NOTHING LIKE BEING HIT BY A RIPE AVACADO) BUT EVEN BETTER 2. THE HARD ONES HURT WHEN THEY HIT YOU. BEING THAT MORMON BISHOP REDD, LIVED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HILL WITH HIS EIGHT DAUGHTERS, AND DOCTOR GARRETT LIVED AT THE TOP OF THE HILL, WITH HIS FIVE DAUGHTERS A WELL WORN TRAIL EXHISTED BETWEEN THE TWO HOMES. A WAR PLAN WAS HATCHED IN OUR HEADS TO WAIT IN THE TREES AND PUMMEL THE GIRLS AS THEY WALKED BETWEEN THE TWO RESIDENCES. AS CONTRIVED, THE PLAN WORKED WELL AS THE GIRLS SCATTERED AND RAN IN ALL DIRECTIONS SCREEMING. BOY WERE WE MEAN. FOR A LONG TIME AFTER THIS WAR ENDED, WHEN OUR MOTHERS DISCOVERED HOW WE WAISTED THIS FRUIT, THE GIRLS TOOK A CAUTIOUS RUN TO AVOID ANY INCOMING BOMBS ON THE TRAIL. IMMAGE THE REDD GIRLS HORROR WHEN THEY SAW ME IN CHURCH A FEW YEARS LATER. MY GUESS WAS THEY UTTER SHOCK. COULD ANYTHING GOOD COME OUT OF HAZELTON AVENUE?

HOPE YOU ENJOYED.

DAD

MEMORY LANE

THIS PAST WEEKEND I TOOK A SIDE TRIP ON THE WAY TO GRANDMA’S HOUSE BY WAY OF MONTECITO HEIGHTS IN EAST LOS ANGELES. I STOPPED BY A PLACE CALLED MOMS TAMALES ON PASADENA STREET THAT I SAW WHILE WATCHING DINERS DIVES AND DRIVE IN ON THE FOOD NETWORK. THAT MAKES AT LEAST FOUR PLACES I HAVE FOLLOWED GUY IN HIS SEARCH FOR GREAT FOOD AND MY FOOD WAS JUST THAT, GREAT. I ORDERED A HALF DOZEN TAMALES TO GO AND TWO FOR MY SELF THAT I SAT AND ATE ON THEIR OPEN AIR PATIO. AS I OBSERVED THE NEIGHBORHOOD I STARTED TO FEEL LIKE, “ I HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE.”

AFTER LUNCH I DROVE UP PASADENA TOWARDS FIGUEROA AND THEN I FIGURED OUT WHY IT LOOKED FAMILIAR. OFF TO THE LEFT WAS A NEW METRO TRAIN STATION WITH THE TRACKS ON THE OTHER SIDE. ACROSS THE TRACKS WERE SEVERAL OLD HOMES AND VIOLA! I REMEMBERED TERESA STREET LOCATED THERE.

WHEN I WAS TWO YEARS OLD WE LIVED ON TERESA STREET AN WHAT I THOUGHT WAS A HUGE STREET WAS JUST A SHORT ONE BLOCK LITTLE ALLEY. I REMEMBER WALKING WITH MY SISTER UP TO FIGUEROA ALL THE TIME AND WE WOULD TAKE THE TROLLEY CARS DOWNTOWN TO WHERE MOM WORKED. THE TROLLY CARS WENT EVERYWHERE IN THE CITY AND THEY WERE SO FUN TO TAKE. I BELIVE THE CAR FARE WAS ABOUT TEN CENTS, AND OF CORSE I WAS FREE. TROLLEYS RAN ALL OVER THE CITY AND WENT EVERYWHERE FROM THE BEACH TO THE MOUNTAINS. MOST ROUTES TRAVELED DOWN THE MIDDLE OF VERY BUSY THROUGHFARES TO KEEP THE TROLLYS AWAY FROM THE CARS THAT WERE TAKING OVER THE CITY. ON VENICE BLVD. A HUGE OVER CROSSING BRIDGE COVERED THE INTERSECTION AT LA CIENEGA WITH A TRAIN STATION BUILT ON TOP. MANY YEARS LATER AS A TEEN AGER I LIVED WITHIN A HALF BLOCK OF WHAT USED TO BE THE TRAIN STATION. DOWNTOWN TUNNELS MADE THEIR WAY UNDER BUNKER HILL WHERE HUGE VICTORIAN MANSIONS DOTTED THE VIEW. THE ANGELES FLIGHT RAIROAD RAN UP AND DOWN BUNKER HILL TO TAKE THE RESIDENTS TO THEIR HOMES. THE FAIR WAS AGAIN TEN CENTS. BUNKER HILL IS NOW LONG GONE. IT WAS RAZED TO MAKE WAY FOR SOMETHING CALLE URBAN RENEWAL.

AS I APPROACHED THE AGE OF EIGHT OR NINE YEARS OLD, I REMEMBER THEM PULLING UP THE TROLLY TRACKS FOR A NEW AND IMPROVED TRANSIT SYSTEM WHERE THEY USED GASOLINE AND DIESEL DRIVEN TROLLEYS CALLED BUSES. I THINK MANY PEOPLE REALIZED THAT THE END OF AN ERA WAS CLOSE. SOON ALL THE TROLLEYS AND RED CAR TRAINS WERE GONE AND ALL THAT WAS LEFT WAS BROWN SCARED DIRT AND WEED STREWN MEDIANS THROUGH OUT THE CITY. SOON EVEN THEY WERE GONE REPLACED BY ADDITIONAL TRAFFIC LANES FOR CARS AND BUSES. I SADLY REMEMBER THE OVERCROSSING AT VENICE BEING TORN DOWN TO MAKE WAY FOR A FUTURE FREEWAY OVER PASS (BTW THE SAME OVERPASS THAT FELL DOWN IN THE 1994 NORTHRIDGE QUAKE).

TERESA STREET SEEMED LIKE THE LARGEST STREET IN THE WORLD TO THIS TWO YEAR OLD. THE PENTICOSTAL CHURCH LOCATED DOWN THE STREET WERE WE WOULD SNEEK AT NIGHT TO LISTEN TO THE HOLY ROLLERS AS THEY WERE REFERRED TOO YELL AND RANT IN THE NAME OF RELIGION, WOULD GIVE WAY TO THE NEW TRANSIT STATION OF TODAY. THE BIG STEAM LOCOMOTIVES THAT CHUGGED DOWN THROUGH THE CANYON AND ACROSS FIGUEROA WOULD BE REPLACED BY THE DIESEL SANTA FE SUPER CHIEF PASSENGER TRAINS AND LATER BY THE LIGHT RAIL THAT NOW RUNS TO PASADENA.

MANY THINGS HAVE CHANGED IN THE 57YEARS SINCE, BUT THERE AGAIN, HAVE THEY? THE ORANGE LINE LIGHT RAIL FOLLOWS THE LINE OF THE TROLLEYS THAT WE USED TO RIDE AND PERHAPS SOME DAY, THE LIGHT RAIL WILL TAKE PASSENGERS TO ALL THE PLACES I TRAVELED AS A YOUNG BOY.

THANKS FOR WALKING WITH ME DOWN MEMORY LANE. (AKA TERESA STREET). AS ALWAYS,

DAD

I AM WHO I AM AND YOU ARE WHO YOU ARE

I am today who I am because of the acts of many. I was raised by a single mother and three fathers who were a part of my life only for short periods. None of you can relate as you were raised by a mother and father. Though times were tough and many times moneys were not available for frivolous activities. You are today who you are because of the way we raised you. For the most part, you have all become decent, honorable citizens that participate in the lives of your own families and they will benefit from your efforts. Hopefully you have been a good example.

My birth father knew of my birth but didn’t bother to see me until I was about a year and half old. According to records on his death certificate he was married to another woman other than my mother. He led a double life with and had an additional family on the east coast. I can assume that he moved our small family to California shortly before my birth to hide us from his other family. I was born at home, two months ahead of the due date in Hollywood (121 ½ Rampart Blvd.- ½ block away from the 1st Tommy’s Burger stand) otherwise I would have been born in Dam Neck, Virginia. I can only remember meeting him once in my life. He died of a broken neck after diving into shallow water when I was 2 years old, with another woman signing his death certificate as his wife.

My second father came into our lives when I was five. A postal worker he envisioned himself as a movie star. He had appeared in the our gang comedies as the character Jacky (the boy with the crooked hat) as a child. His father, a camera man for MGM Studios when they had hand crank cameras, placed him in movies when he noted a vacancy that needed to be filled. Living only two blocks from the studios, he was a good close resource. His parents were English he was born in Calgary, Alberta, Canada while his father was on location filming a movie. Divorce ended the marriage after 8 years when he could not accept their new found religion and alcohol took over his life.

My third father (Pop) was the savior of my mothers life and sanity. They married late in life and finally found the true love of which both sought for a long time. Each had baggage from prior marriages but both gained the companionship for which they needed. They were not the perfect couple but for better or worse, they are now, together, paving the way for the rest of us in the hear-after.

Recently I learned that perhaps, I was not the best father because I failed to be one who could listen, or one, whom my children could confide in. I caught the blame for that one child’s experimentations in life. I guess I thought by keeping a close tab on my children, being a tough authoritarian, and not letting you have a lot of freedoms that others may have had, didn’t work to make you into model citizens. I guess I failed because you all turned out so bad.

Well, so much for the trip down memory lane. Until next week.

Dad

another memory lane

When I was five years old and living on Armadale Avenue in Eagle Rock my mother left for a few days and came home with a step father. His name was Gilbert Hugh Porter and he worked for the post office at UCLA. We moved soon there after all the way to West Los Angles. My mother gave birth to a younger brother about a year later however he died soon after birth leaving me the youngest surviving of my siblings. The area was largely rural or a least in the stage of being built up. Lots of open fields and farms stretched towards the Pacific only four miles west. My step father didn’t like to be tied down to staying home in our apartment so most weekends and available holidays were spent at the beach, fishing. Our week end travels took us up and down the coast of California, where I had the experience of seeing much of California prior to the growth that would populate every corner of the Golden State.

This weekend I had the opportunity of re-tracing some of my earlier steps as a young adolescent. Prior to Freeways being built that take us everywhere, two lane country roads ran from one end of the state to the other. Needless to say it took forever to get anywhere without expressways. Several wrong turns or detours off the freeway this weekend brought back the memories of the long drives of long ago. The city, if you could call it that, stopped at Santa Ana and the highway ran along the railroad tracks to San Diego. San Juan Capistrano was a small town across the tracks. 25 miles down the road. San Clemente had a few homes around the historic train station. One gasoline station and that was it. In San Diego I thought the Ocean ended because it all turned to mud. Actually I was looking at the southern end of San Diego Bay. The area south became Mexico but as far as I was concerned Mexico was on another planet.

Mom and I walked across the border this time and walked along the roadway shopping where most of the Americans waited in their cars to get back into the USA. We rode the trolleys to the border as well as ride to Old Town San Diego. This is the spot where the Mormon Battalion laid claim for the United States to the territory of California. Some of the buildings though modernized were built then and have lasted till now. A morning journey to the A gold rush town of Julian was special and on the drive back we ended up taking the PCH to slow the journey down. It was nice to travel what was a two lane road from San Clemente to Long Beach. What is now built up most of the way now, was just a few small towns separated by long distances. Near Seal Beach, which is still somewhat open space on the military base, I can recall mountains of larger round metal objects with spikes coming out of them. They were all stacked very carefully in a very orderly manner. I asked what they were back then and my parents said their were mines. I couldn’t quite grasp what they had to do with mines (?Gold Mines) until as I grew older I realized they were explosive mines left over from World War II just 10 years prior. There were literally millions of these mines stored for years afterwards in this area.

Well enough of a trip down memory lane. Hope you enjoyed the trip.

Dad