Entering this mausoleum like structure was always gratifying, with its musty smell that imbued the ambiguous presences of antiquated publications. The building with its silence was mystic, concealing its greatest possessions between the folds of shrouded pages. The person engaged in employment could only direct, to acquire and instill content was the responsibility of the procurers. Some came for entertainment, some to be enlightened with wisdom and knowledge, others coming out of desperation, searching for an identity, a place or even a reason. Young Mike finding the library a never-ending resource of what life was about, and what it had to offer. Through books, he found that he could experience, the perceptions and consciousness as viewed through the mind, and eyes of those who substance and knowledge exceeded his endemic entity.
Mike discerned that to blame is not to accuse, accusations are fleeting, blame is substantive, he blamed his Mother for his addiction to the library. To him reading was never a school assignment, it was a cultivation. At an earlier age he attempted Animal Farm by George Orwell, but he wasn’t ready for its social meaning, and red the more understandable Walter Brookes, the Freddy Series. His mother handing him a book, The Oregon Trail by Francis Parkman. It was the beginning of a road that had no ending. . He later discovered a new adventure series, when his cousin Bud O’Toole introduced him to Robert Sidney Bowen, and the Dave Dawson world war 2 adventure series, leaving Mike several of the 1941 thru 1946 published books written explicitly for the school age reading disciples before his military departing for the Korean war.
Mike’s reading found a world of revelation, Kipling’s Jungle Book and many others, Toby Tyler, Tom Sawyer, Treasure Island, and then ‘eureka’, a literary treasure, science fiction. Robert A Heinlein’s Rocketship Galileo, The Red Planet, Craigie’s, The Voyage of Luna One, Isaac Asimov’s, Pebble in the Sky, The Stars Like Dust, and his continuing saga of Foundation, an endless inexhaustible world emerging. He knew it was the ascendancy from reading, not curiosity that instilled a desire to explore the realm of the unknown and search out the reaches of expectation.
Mike reasoned, television was subjective, radio was subjective, even movies were subjective, but a novel was emancipating.
Entering this mausoleum like structure was always gratifying with its musty smell that imbued the ambiguous presences of antiquated publications. The building with its silence was mystic, concealing its greatest possessions between the folds of shrouded pages. The person engaged in employment could only direct, to acquire and instill content was the responsibility of the procurers. Some came for entertainment, some to be enlightened with wisdom and knowledge, others coming out of desperation, searching for an identity, a place or even a reason. Young Mike finding the library a never-ending resource of what life was about and what it had to offer. Through books he found that he could experience the perceptions and consciousness as viewed through the mind and eyes of those who substance and knowledge exceeded his endemic entity.
The Stars Like Dust
Mike discerned that to blame is not to accuse, accusations are fleeting, blame is substantive, he blamed his Mother for his addiction to the library. To him reading was never a school assignment, it was a cultivation, his mother handing him a book, The Oregon Trail by Francis Parkman. It was the beginning of a road that had no ending. At an earlier age he attempted Animal Farm by George Orwell, but he wasn’t ready for its social meaning and read the more understandable Walter Brookes, the Freddy Series instead. He later discovered a new adventure series when his cousin Bud O’Toole introduced him to Robert Sidney Bowen and the Dave Dawson WWII war adventure series, leaving several of the 1941-1946 published books written explicitly for the school age reading disciples before departing for the Korean war. Mike’s reading found a world of revelation, Kipling’s Jungle Book and many others, Toby Tyler, Tom Sawyer, Treasure Island and then ‘eureka’ a literary treasure, science fiction. Robert A Heinlein’s Rocketship Galileo, The Red Planet, Craigie’s The Voyage of Luna One, Isaac Asimov Pebble in the Sky, The Stars Like Dust and his continuing saga of Foundation, an endless inexhaustible world emerging. He knew it was the ascendancy from reading not curiosity that instilled a desire for him to sleep outside and view the flash from a nuclear bomb lighting up the eastern horizon of the sky, even if only from the confines of his Oakland backyard.
Mike reasoned, television was subjective, radio was subjective, even movies were subjective, but a novel was emancipating.
. The neighborhood having expanded, the Bryant family having settled in at the new house on Shone Avenue. Ted Bryant a banker, Dorothy, the mother, Bev the eldest of the two children, and Donald Theodore Bryant, known as Don, a 1/2 year grade senior to Mike in School. Don’s Mother was a stern looking lady who wore glasses, the lad never picturing her as a Harriet Nelson as portrayed on television. Mike having somewhat limited contact with Don on school mornings, the two sometimes riding home together when Don took his bike. He was a little envious, because Don’s bicycle was a three speed english bike with hand brakes, sporting a small hard seat he thought looked very uncomfortable. The captious neighborhood news being, the house across the street from the Bryant’s that had been damaged by fire was ready to be occupied. The displaced family and their son, whom young Mike was acquainted, for some unknown reason didn’t return, the fire giving a reality message to the lad, that life threatening perils do exist, and before long, a new family moved in, Mike acquiring a new classmate.
. The Grindstaff family occupying the renovated fire damaged home, the daughter Linda enrolling in Mike’s class at Burckhalter. Mike, with two sister’s at home, felt comfortable around Linda and on occasion even walking to and from school with her, finding she was attentive to most of what he had to say. In the spring, Hi Flier Kites always had a big promotional at school, Mike enjoyed his kite flying episodes, especially when adding three or four five hundred foot rolls of string, sending his flyer soaring into the stratosphere or so it seemed to him. The Lad was taken by surprised when Linda accepted an invitation to join him at the open field at the top of 82nd Avenue, where one could experience the evening ocean breeze journeying thru the golden gate, coming alive, embracing the top of the hill, sending the kite with knotted tail soaring upward in the sky. Times like this furnished the young man with moments of reflection, not to be covetous, but willing to share with a girl his own age these credulous experiences.
. The new house entrance behind Linda’s Shone Avenue residence was on Sterling Drive, and from first observation seemed to be occupied by another Ozzie and Harriet type family. A family of four taking up residence, the boy in the family, a year older than Mike, his full name, Henry Albert Ball junior the third, and seemingly it was a very impressive title, but to all that got to know him, he was just Hank. The word was, his father was the Plant Manager at the family owned Ball Cannery, his mom Marie a homemaker, and there was little sister Jeannie. Like Mike, Hank was a sports enthusiast, and it was evident that possess the physical credentials to support it.
. The two boys shared common ground, both listened to the radio broadcast of the Oakland Oaks baseball team in the evening hours, the two collecting Topps Baseball Cards. On several occasions Mike would be asked to stay for lunch, his mom opening a can of Franco American spaghetti, something that was cost preventive at home. He also enjoyed spending the night, both enjoying sports board games such as Parker Brothers Baseball, Photo Electric Football, and even going to the extent of forming teams and keeping stats on player in their Cadaco All Star Baseball game. When shooting baskets under the hoop on the patio slab behind Hank’s house, like most young basketball player wannabe’s when playing, they would assume the names of their hero’s, Hank would be Bill Russell, and Mike would KC Jones, both All-American basketball players at the University of San Francisco. Mike finally discovering someone close by, and his own age to share an interest, it was a world of sports for the two.
. The two boys entertaining an idea about going to afternoon ball game at the Oaks Park, home of the Pacific Coast League Oakland Oaks, but when mentioning their idea to their parents, the first response was no, but the two emerge persuasive. Mike found it rather elementary for the boys to take the Oak Knoll bus to MacArthur, take the MacArthur bus to San Pablo Avenue, walk the four blocks to the ballpark. Mike finally convincing his parents, and apparently Hank having done the same, the two youngsters were on their way to a Oakland Oaks game at the ballpark in Emeryville.
. Thirteen year old Hank and 12 year Mike arriving at the Oaks Park before game time, once finding their seats and buying a program, they directed their attention not to the before game warm up on the field, but to the happenings under the stadium, the two discovering the labyrinth of corridors beneath the structure, finding the players field entrance way. With program and pencil in hand, the two waiting patiently for the players to exit from the dressing room to the dugout. It wasn’t long before players appeared, the boys waving their programs at the team member, the minor league players appeared exuberance at being asked to sign, as were the boys doing the asking. Hank and Mike relishing more in getting the autographs of the players, than witnessing the game. This a beginning of many neoteric shared adventures by the two boys, Mike having found a sports like minded friend.
. Mike was no more, he was left behind the excitation of his middle name at Burckhalter Elementary School, it was forthwith Gary who was enrolled at Frick Junior High. Crestfallen was what described it, , not quite a disappointment, just something a little less. These were Gary’s thoughts as he arrived at what would be his new academic home for the next three years. He reasoned the circumstance that caused a sense of disillusionment to surface was his midterm graduation which propelled you directly into a new environment, no summer vacation or pause before entering junior high.
. The building was three stories high, the upper floors echoing hallways accessed by three stairwells, the center stairs for going up and the two end ones for descending, with administrative offices occupying a center hub downstairs on the Foothill Blvd side of the building. The facility also sustained a full service cafeteria, auditorium, orchestra room, mechanical drawing, wood, sheet metal and forge vocational shops. A large partitioned gymnasium area separating the boys from the girls for intramural indoor sports and a small array of portable classroom buildings. The educational structure with its manicured lawn setback a distance from the Foothill Blvd thoroughfare, with the 64th Ave side of the school displaying the shops and gym also with black top, large tennis practice backboard and an array of basketball backboards with hoops. The remainder of the voluminous two city square block domain consisted of baseball backstops and dirt flag football playing areas. Gary estimating the Low-7 class size at close to 150 students, with the rest of the student body class’s much the same, making the total enrollment at Frick plus or minus nine hundred students.
. He wasn’t alone that first morning, his friends Don already a June 7th grader, and Hank in the low 8th, directing him to the posted home room assignment lists before going their separate ways. Gary soon discovering he was in Mrs. Bigelow’s home room class in one of the portable buildings. Most of the faces surrounding him were no longer the familiar ones that he saw every school day for the last six years at Burckhalter. A new experience, a locker assignment, a home for the books and since the Boys didn’t dress for gym, just the girls, a place for the needed gym class tennis shoes. His subjects consisted of English, Social Studies, Art, Mechanical Drawing woodshop, Arithmetic and P E, each in a different classroom and a different teacher for each subject. One of the first things Gary experienced was how fast the school day would elapse in comparison to sitting in one elementary classroom with one teacher for a lingering day.
His school day at home starting no different from the past, awakened to the voice of his mother’s normal morning epitaph, “if you want any breakfast you better get a move on”. That’s where similarities parted, no longer was walking to school an option, or even mounting his bike, considering the hills and the distance. Frick Junior High was thirty five blocks or 3 1/2 miles by bus route, making bus transportation a necessity. Key System, Oakland’s public bus transportation service scheduled additional bus’s before and after school for city-wide student transportation. In the Mornings, Gary would meet Don and Hank, the three walking to the Greenly Drive coach stop by the Water Works, catching the 7 45 bus, able to arrive at school with time to spare. On many occasions he would leave earlier, his dad dropping him off on the way to work, enabling him to check out a ball from the early arrival of Physical ED instructor Mister Tabor.
. The school day starting every morning in home room with the Pledge of Allegiance, the remainder of the twenty-minute attendance and student information gathering used at the student’s discretion normally for last-minute homework additions. The curriculum for seventh grade students was predetermined with no electives. Besides Mrs. Bigelow’s home room, Gary started his day with Mr. Tabor’s physical education class, Mr. Alves social studies, Mr. Noyes Mechanical Drawing, Miss. Jory’s English, Mr. Templeman’s art class and Mr. Dostones arithmetic. The school bell system something new to the junior high arrivals, elementary schools having limited use for the bells, the sounding two bells five minutes apart at the start of school, then proclaiming the beginning and ending of the lunch period and a singular bell at the finish of the day and of course the continuous bell for a fire drill. The Junior High bell system similar, a two bell system announcing the beginning and end of each classroom period, the students having five minutes between classes to get to their lockers before the sounding of the next bell.
Gary was impressed Frick having an open campus, students able to leave the school grounds during the lunch period. The school providing a full service, balanced meal cafeteria, a book of ten tickets costing two dollars and 50 cents or three fifty. the higher priced tickets included a bountiful dee sert. Across the street from the school on Foothill Boulevard were two student drawing establishments. The Doggie Diner, a single counter small establishment providing a variety of hot dogs, chips and soft drinks, Gary surmising, the school was the primary reason for the business location. Across from the School on Foothill at 64th. ,was a Foster Freeze, a dispenser of soft ice cream and fountain accoutrements’. Gary, when not frequenting the cafeteria, finding a chilidog from the diner and a root beer float from Fosters a fulfilling treat for a seventh grader. The new seventh grader becoming comfortable with his new surroundings, a new experience, new name, new school, new teachers, new curriculum, new friends, and the beginning of a new journey on the road of life.
. Always one in the pursuit of discovery, rather than be discovered, Gary was being summoned to Frick Junior High’s, Mrs. Hazel Jory’s counseling office, Mrs. Jory was also Gary’s english teacher as well as the Low-7th grade Counselor. He instinctively concluded that something must be forthcoming about his having difficulty with the grammar structure in english class . Never to be judgmental, but known to render an observation, the seventh grader wondered what he had done to warrant a bidding from this austere iconic looking monument of discipline. She bore a remarkable resemblance to Nelda Rehfuss another epitome of chastisement he endured in the 5th grade at Burckhalter Elementary. Braving the unknown he stood at her doorway expecting a discipline expression and a commanding oratory, but instead he received a smile and an invitation to be seated.
. Once seated the interview began, Mrs. Jory explaining the reason for his presence was his academic future, that this was an initial interview for students concerning their course of scholastic endeavor. Students could select from three alternative studies, vocational, business or college preparatory. The Counselor explaining that this assessment was preliminary in determining the student’s future course of study. The farthest thought from the seventh graders mind was choosing class subject, especially knowing electives would not be a prerogative until the eighth grade, but having already come to a decision that college was his objective. He was aware as a college prep major, that before graduating from high school he would have to attain at least two years of a foreign language, chemistry, physic and subsequently four years of higher math, starting with Algebra thru Calculus. He did bring it to Mrs. Jory Attention that he was interested in taking a half semester of each of the vocational shops as an elective in the 8th and 9th grade. With the interview concluding his train of thought returned to what was really on his mind that day, something he had planned to do when school let out
. After school Hank and Don almost always walked up Foothill Blvd to Seminary Ave. to board the bus for the journey home. Gary sometimes joining them, but finding the first bus was always crowded and on many occasion you would have to stand with no empty seats, which was inconvenient with an arm full of books. Some days he preferred to amble along the path behind the school above a storm drainage canal running diagonally between Brann St. and 62nd Ave and 60th and Camden, then wait for the second bus at the Camden stop on Seminary Ave but on this day his normal routine would differ.
. Leaving the school grounds, taking his time he crossed 62nd and Brann St. to the path above drainage canal but this time stopping at the open storm drain canals source, a large cement entrance opening going under Camden St. Climbing down the embankment, the canal having a small amount of flowing water, the opening edifice showing signs at one time of being gated. This was not just a large storm sewer pipe but more like a tunnel and from the chalked markings on the entrance walls he deciphered that many others had entered into this chasm of darkness. He stared into the black void, judging that there must be a turn in the darken tunnel otherwise daylight would be visible at the other end. Making a decision to access the passage, assuring himself that this wasn’t much different from his entering the darkened sulphur mines on Leona Creek.
. Entering, touching the walls, maintaining a bearing, knowing as long as you can see a lighted opening even if it’s located behind you, gives one a sense of reckoning. It was decision time after progressing deeper into the catechism, giving thought to reversing his direction when the aperture made a subtle turn and he could see the glow of daylight now in front of him. Continuing towards the light, finally stepping out into the bright daylight his destination accomplished, gazing about searching for some familiar landmark. It wasn’t very difficult to find a benchmark, he was across the street from the entrance gate to Mills College on MacArthur Blvd.
Later upon further investigations discovering the weathered drainage canal originated at lake Alviso, known as Green Lake, located on the college campus and whose water source was no other than another exploratory that he had experienced, Leona Creek
“Sounds good” Gary replying, Hank having just asked Gary if he wanted to join him and Don Bryant in signing-up for Police League summer baseball. The three having played a lot of sandlot baseball in the past. The sandlot field was on Sterling Drive not far from where it intersects at the top of the hill with Crest. The field was on a vacant plateau area on the downhill slope between Sterling and Greenly Dr. and large enough for the game and with an added attraction, rusting away was an old model T ford, a relic of the past that provided the boys with a vision of someday of building and having a hot rod. The vacant field needed work, the three boys would bring their push lawnmowers from home and attempt to mow the infield tall grass as best they could. On many occasion they manage to get enough player to enjoy a game of hardball. There was one major problem, when a player failed to keep their eye on the ball hit to the outfield, it would disappear in the unmowed section of tall grass and the game would come to a stop so everyone could look for the ball.
The boys signing up for summer Police League baseball, co-sponsored by the Oakland Recreation Commission and the Oakland Police Department and were given the date to be at Arroyo Viejo field for an organization meeting and team assignments. The three discovering their team was sponsored by the Mills Merchants, a group of merchants located in the Mills College area. It was Gary’s first association with a sponsored team and all players received a dark blue T-shirt with their sponsors name, Mills Merchants across the front. Games and practices were scheduled weekday mornings and afternoons, supervised by the Oakland Recreation Department. The sporting event was strictly a student participation activity held weekdays in the morning or early afternoons, Parents and the parental team manager almost never in attendance. An Umpire for the game was supposed to be furnished by the Oakland Recreational Staff, but on many occasions wouldn’t show up. Gary was the team utility player, playing three different positions, relief pitcher, third base, and right field, unlike Hank who was in the starting lineup at 1st base, he didn’t always start. On occasion when the umpire was a no-show, Gary volunteered to take the position behind the pitcher and umpire. It wasn’t a job he relished, especially when he had to make a call against his own team, but the gratifying element was that he received the game ball in exchange for his umpiring role.
. The team wasn’t very good and after the second game Don’s interest began to waned, finally deciding to quit. Gary wasn’t too surprised as Don wasn’t into sports like Hank and with Don’s departure it gave him an opportunity to borrow Don’s baseball glove as it was an expensive Rawlings a far better glove that his. Outfitted with his #33 Whitey Lockman Louisville Slugger bat and Don’s professional glove, Hank and Gary would bicycle the streets of Oakland to one of their three league playing parks, Arroyo, Elmhurst or Brookdale.
. When returning from the late morning games at Arroyo or Brookdale the boys would stop at Pop’s Diner, across the street from the giant Chevrolet Plant complexes on 73rd and Foothill Blvd. It was a small lunch counter and fountain for the plant employees, no tables, just a counter with backless stools. Hot Dogs .20, Hamburgers .25, Bottle Coke .10 cents and a small diminutive gray-haired man behind the counter, known to all as Pop. The trek up 73rd Ave. grade and then the steep and tiring dirt path that let you avoid following the roads long switchback and at times Gary developed leg pains for the effort, but well worth the time saved.
With the advent of television, radio still had a captive younger audience especially with personalities like Red Blanchard who broadcast five night a week at 9:30 p.m. on 740 a.m. radio dial. It was a live audience KCBS program from their studios in the Palace Hotel in San Francisco. The opening dialog, “What Is It ??? , Bully, Bully, Bully”, the password was Zorch, and Red never-failing to mention his so-called 1916 Jaguar Pickup, this was the Red Blanchard Show. Gary was aware that live radio was waning and soon would be an event of the past with television becoming the predominant home entertainment, but Red was the number one nighttime radio personality in San Francisco and both He and Hank were devoted fans. It was unbelievable when Gary heard the news he couldn’t believe it. Never had a word been mentioned, not the slightest suggestion, the name of the program having never surface. The Mills Merchant baseball team was going to San Francisco for a live broadcast of the Red Blanchard Show.
The adrenaline was pumping as they entered the KCBS Studio, Gary looking about, taking in the memorable moment, the broadcast studio being a large room with rows of seating for about one hundred. The baseball team was seated in the front row before a raised stage holding an array of musical instruments including a piano and organ. There were several people positioned behind microphones and directly in front of Gary sitting at a table, center stage, was a man with red hair. In front of him loomed a large microphone with a KCBS placard on it and on either side were whistles, horns, noise makers and other sundry items. The show began with his famous, “WHAT IS IT???” sequence and then his theme song, “The Organ Grinder Swing”, some character impersonations, followed by an episode of Tombstone Borgardus with sound effects blasting the studio. Then the unexpected, Red with a hand-held microphone, coming off the stage, starting down the row of Mills Merchants team player, asking each their names and positions.
A reverie come true, never in his wildest dreams could Gary imagine an opportunity like this. The thirty minute live broadcast over. It was an iconic moment for Gary, a true radio fan meeting a true radio personality.
It was 2 years ago that his parents had put Gary aboard a Greyhound Bus at the San Pablo station, to spend some time with his Uncle Sam and Aunt Bernice in Etna, but this time he would be staying with his cousin Jerry Facey, her husband Fess and their three children, Sammy, Deane, and Trudy. The Scenicruiser departing the San Pablo Station at 10 P.M., traveling thru the darken morning hours, arriving at day-break in Yreka to be met by his Aunt Della Eastlick.
On his arrival, a somewhat still sleepy 12 year old finding the morning passing slowly at his aunts, patiently expecting the arrival of his cousins. A car halting in front of the house, and to his astonishment it wasn’t Jerry and Fess, but his Aunt Bernice providing the journey over Yreka Mountain to Scott Valley and Etna.
The Facey’s house on Diggles Street was separated from his Uncle Sam and Aunt Bernice’s’ by a now vacant Cortez family house, and his cousins three quarter acre pasture. Gary curious to the whereabouts of Patricia Cortez, and her little brother whom he had made friends with two years earlier. Once settled in with the family, Gary getting acquainted with his younger second cousins, doing some reading, and playing his cousin slightly out of tune upright piano. In some aspects it was becoming prosaic, having yet to tap his inventiveness, Their Etna acreage was not without other occupants, the Facey’s possessed a Holstein cow named Boss, a well fed hog housed at the end of the pasture and a number of rabbits and chickens. Gary was accorded an opportunity to milk the cow, and nurture the animal menagerie, his cousin Fess giving the opportunity of choice. After experiencing both chores, the youth deciding not to participate in the milking activity, but would adhere to the feeding.
Festus Nimrod Facey was a Mountain of a Man, not only in size, but possessing an aura of sparkling amiability that radiated from his Persona, his disposition was always like Sunshine on a cloudy day. He could sense that Gary wasn’t too happy with this visit, the youth being several years older than his second cousins, and presented him with an alternative offer. Fess asking if he would like to accompany him to work with the Scott Valley County road crew, the youth quickly accepting this opportunity to experience a new venture. The last time he had accompanied Fess on a work related mission was during his stay with his Aunt Bernice and Uncle Sam, the night of the formidable fire that destroyed Etna’s only sawmill.
The County Barn was the name given the large building where the local county crew stored the road maintenance equipment. The Etna crew maintained a bulldozer, two road-graders, a dump truck, and a water tanker with sprayer, to service the mostly gravel and dirt roads that frequented the area. Fess was the primary operator of the water tanker, acquainted with all the water supply locations from the numerous Tributaries flowing out of the mountainous terrain into the Scott River. Among the tankers equipment, Gary discovered an item used during the idle time while the pump extracted water from the local stream, a fishing pole. Accompanying Fess on the water tanker, the youth getting very proficient at starting the gasoline pump motor and attaching the filling hose that extended into the water source. On one occasions when the road-grader driver called in sick, Fess operated the grader with young Gary aboard, demonstrating how to run the grader with its many levers for raising, lowering, changing angles and the pitch of the blade, letting the Youngster have a turn at the controls. Accompanying Fess on the water tanker, the youth getting very proficient at starting the gasoline pump motor and attaching the filling hose that extended into the water source. On one occasions when the road-grader driver called in sick, Fess operated the grader with young Gary aboard, demonstrating how to run the grader with its many levers for raising, lowering, changing angles and the pitch of the blade, letting the youngster have a turn at the controls.
It was a stormy Saturday afternoon when Fess received a phone call requesting that he take the county pickup and check a road for washout water damage because of the thunderstorm. Fess asking if Gary wanted to join him, the two proceeding across the valley in a steady downpour while the storm continued to heighten, raising to a crowning peak. The vehicle being buffeted with high winds, and a blinding driven Torrent of rain such as the young man had never seen. Fess stopping the pickup, waiting as the lightning blazed and streaked across the sky, the echoing thunder shaking the pickup, and the earth seeming to roll in sequence with the sound. The roar reaching a crescendo, golf ball size hail stones pelted the surroundings, Stripping the foliage from the shrubs and bushes and Gary taking notice, dispersed among the hail stones were other smaller animate objects. Gary couldn’t believe his eyes, the small objects descending from the vaults of heaven and covering the ground were frogs. Hundreds of small frogs, recognizable as tree frogs plummeting earth bound. All he could think of was, “no one will ever believe us!”. The weather beginning to subside enough for the two to travel on. Continuing back to Etna, Fess notified the other members of the county crew about Impending road and culvert washouts, but giving no mention of frogs.
Fishing on weekends was a given, the rainbow and eastern brook trout were bountiful with a limit of 14, but Gary discovering, for some reason when it came to fish limits, the residence of Scott Valley couldn’t count. Gary having only fished for trout once before and not very successful at either bait or fly casting, but was anticipating the challenge. Fess was an avid bear hunter and deer harvester, his work related Travels of the mountainous county roads enabled him in securing signs of possible bear locations, and enabling his quota during Deer Season, ensuring that those who accompanied him did the same.
When it came to fishing, Gary preferred bait over fly casting, using the plentiful grasshoppers captured in the field behind the Facey house, but favored the most trout enticing bait, the hellgrammites, a small crustacean covered larva of the dobson fly, found adhered to the rocks on the shoreline of the small streams. With Fess as in instructor, it wasn’t long before the young man felt confident with the rod and reel, and more important was the confidence in how to read the water cascades and pools, learning to recognize where the fish foraged. Fess’s outdoor tutorage continued, The city youth introduced to another water homage challenge, this time amphibian, frog gigging, the two traveling a short distance out-of-town one evening to where a rural road bridge crossed a small stream. Standing at the railing, Gary could see the stream having formed an eddy, about the length of the small bridge in circumference, and was host to a population of bullfrogs, their head visible above the water, beginning their nighttime communication ritual. Fess handing the youth a fishing pole with a Three-Pronged Hook attached to the line, Directing him to lower it just below the water level, then bring it up behind the unsuspecting idle frog, gigging It. Gary didn’t count the number of frogs taken, but it was more than enough for The Facey family to enjoy a meal of frog legs.
It was always said: ” If you make plenty of noise you will never see wildlife in the woods.” Gary was fishing, making his way over the rocks on Etna Creek, Fess having crossed to the other side It was over the sound of the rushing water he heard a chilling sound. He froze. It was what he had been told to do, but then again, his Instinct said get away from the sound. The problem was, With the roar of the rushing water he couldn’t determine the direction of the alarming source. He knew what the intonation was, it was the sound of a rattle snake, a scary moment, especially when heard but not seen. Which way to go, his mind racing, the decision had to be made quickly, Into the river, towards the woods, or continue upstream, The decision was made, back the way he had come, the warning no longer auditable, but a reminder of the exploit remained.
Just the name, Tangle Blue, sounded like adventure to 12 year old Gary , and what was more intriguing , Fess, and his brother Albert drove up in a military style 4 wheel-drive jeep. The question was how to fit three adults, four kids, and the camping equipment into a jeep?, Where There’s a Will, There’s Away.
The expedition traveled south on Highway 3,… crossing the east fork of the Scott River 16 miles south of Callahan, turning west on what appeared to be a firebreak or logging road paralleling Tangle Blue Creek, the makeshift road ending shy of the lake. The uphill forest enshrouded incline presenting a problem, the weight distribution in the back of the jeep causing the front wheels to barely make contact with the ground. Albert solved the problem by sitting on the hood, his added weight up front was just what was needed.
Arriving, setting up camp at the small Lake nestled below a 6900 foot peak, with patches of snow still remaining, undisturbed by the Sun. The weekend finding Fess and Albert having success fishing, Gary yet to master the challenge, never having lake fished before, somewhat dismayed to stand and reel-in a bobber, his youthful impatience’s beginning to show. Deciding to explore, including the shoreline for a creek exiting the lake, discovering a small stream but with very little water Flow. Any disappointment was short lived with the beckoning of the nearby peak and the overwhelming presence of the wondrous surroundings painting an unforgettable picture.
The blonde haired girl’s name was Bobbi Brown, she was Gary’s age. She resided one block away on Center St. in a two-story house with her mother, younger sister and father, who was the editor and publisher of Etna’s weekly newspaper. The two met after a movie in Etna’s small theatre one evening, Gary introducing himself, walking Bobbi and her sister home after the movie, He enjoyed being with her and before leaving asked if he could see her again. This was the beginning of the two spending time together. Gary experiencing a feeling of comfort he had never experienced before. Fess soon recognized that Gary was spending his evening with Bobbi and kidded him about not wanting to go with him in the mornings, which in many respects was true.
Gary finally deciding to Spend the remaining vacation days with Bobbi and her little sister, the three gathering fishing equipment, hiking up Etna Creek, fishing, or venturing into the wooded mountain area with a sack lunch. The evenings together were transcendent, the clear warm nights provided a wonderful view of the heavens, Gary with his youthful knowledge of astronomy naming the constellations, planets, and those stars he knew, pointing out the Pleiades, better known as the Seven Sisters, one of the more recognizable groups decorating the heavens. His conversations with Bobbi was not one of Boasting, but making idle talk of his ventures and of life’s Impressions. This new incongruous experience and emotion began to play heavy on him, emitting a secret desire to remain in Etna, not only because of Bobbi, but because of the ambiance of Scott Valley, a Shangri La exponent, a youthful image from Lost Horizons, a haven from reality unto itself.
The arrival of the family car was expected, Gary’s father, mother and two sisters having journeyed from Oakland to retrieve their family member, he was saddened that his Scott Valley Visit had drawn to a close. It was homeward bound, back to school, He and Bobbi having exchanged address’s, with a promise to correspond. A farewell Bidding to his cousins, and the enriching experience, forever cherishing the memory of this past summer month.
In the past Gary Willson never realized the gravity of financial insolvency, money being something you spend when you possess it, and abstain when you don’t, a very simple rule to follow. Stacking bottles at Koplos Market when the opportune was a means of securing unexpected financial returns, but the job was on a, “as needed basis. A more profitable past resource for gains was a lawn mowing and grass trimming endeavor that flourished for several months until a month-long vacation to Etna provided an abdication. Gary was open to suggestion for economic opportunity and as fortune would have it, they materialized.
His friends, Hank Ball and Don Bryant, after moving up to Junior High secured employment with the Oakland Tribune delivering the daily paper. Gary also entertained this train of thought upon entering Junior High. Before applying with the Tribune he accompanied Don on his paper route in preparation to substitute for him during a brief vacation, and to discover the responsibilities of the undertaking. He considered the responsibility and commitment and also the benefits of employment versus those of being unemployed, the bottom line was financial substance.
Gary’s Mother was upset, in order to secure a position with the Tribune as a carrier, you must be bonded, and for some reason their bank would not provide a bond, but this setback didn’t stop the boy’s Mother, there was more than one bank in town. With the bond secured, Gary became an independent newspaper dealer with the Oakland Tribune, and in reality he was a delivery subcontractor, who was billed each month for the papers received. It was the carrier’s responsibility to go door to door collecting the monthly amount due from each customer and submit his payment to the tribune by the 10th of every month. It wasn’t unusual for the 12-year-old to go out and collect 70 to 80 dollars in one evening.
The Tribune provided a delivery location and a district manager to supervise and distribute the paper bundles to the carriers. They also saw to the monthly incentive programs for maintaining complaint free service and increasing subscription circulation. The papers were delivered by truck six days a week at 4:00 p.m. in the afternoon and Sunday mornings at 5:30 a.m. to an old converted garage on the corner of Field St. and Sterling Drive a short distance from Crest Ave.. The old building was better known as The Paper Shack. Each bundle of papers came with a route number on it, Gary’s route being LW-37, the LW designating the area district. Most routes consisted of 40 to 50 customers, which was about all that newspaper delivery bags could hold. Most deliveries were made by walking or bicycle, Sunday was the exception, carts had to be used to deliver the papers because of the comics and advertising inserts that increased the Sunday Edition size.
The Shack was lined with counters for folding newspapers and an ancient desk for District Manager Scotty, whose responsibilities included checking route numbers on arriving bundles for correct quantity, and maintaining a large wall route assignment board with all his carriers listed. This visual perspective was an incentive score board, each carrier starting with the same number of points, but change was possible, losing points for receiving complaints, gaining points for new Tribune subscriptions. A monthly trip, event, or sporting goods necessities would be offered for acquiring a postulated number of points. Points could be obtained securing new local customers or by joining Scotty in his company provided car to canvas other areas of the city for subscribers. Trips included the Santa Cruz Boardwalk by train, the California State Fair, Rocky Marciano Training Camp at Calistoga Springs, Playland at the Beach in San Francisco, and many others, all meals and transportation provided. Gary could hardly wait to commence.
Gary’s route was 3 1/2 blocks long and normally consisted of 43 customers, starting at Keller Avenue for one block, then the 2 1/2 blocks of Winthrope Street which terminated at a wheat field and pasture acreage on the south. The enterprise netted a little more than thirty dollars profit per month, but it provided capital that he wouldn’t otherwise have. The biggest benefit was a lesson in responsibility, he alone was responsible to deliver the newspapers, do the collecting and procure a money order and transact the payment. He was obligated every day with no exception, to be on time and provide his customers with personal service, whether it’s throwing a paper on a porch, placing it behind a screen door, or depositing it in a newspaper tube or mail box. He questioned himself about enduring the long-term undertaking and whether he could be resolute in staying the course, but being a judiciously tenacious person, it was confirmed, he could, and would.
Sunday mornings Gary would set his alarm for 5:30 a.m. which would get him to The Paper Shack by 6, do the inserts, fold papers and start down the hill with his homemade pull-cart, entering his route on Keller and finishing at the end Winthrope. On some Sunday mornings, especially rainy ones, he would attempt to convince his Dad to take him on his route. The 36 Oldsmobile was superlative for delivering papers, it had full length wide running boards for standing and his Dad on many occasion would respond affirmative and a motorized fast delivery was assured.
Being first frequently has it benefits, and some Sunday mornings Gary would arrive at The Paper Shack location early before all others. He would walk to Crest Ave and from the hill-top, gaze and bear witness to the artistry of the panoramic view of the city escalating and stretching below him. The yellow glow of lights adorning the bay bridge and a similar aspect shimmering from the distant Golden Gate structure. The silhouette of San Francisco showered in aphotic shadows of a predawn day. The landscaped topography with the soft luminous effulgence, the glow of streetlights marking the crisscrossing roadways, a silent composition prevailing in the sleeping city. Ever so slowing like the purple hue of a dawning morning sky, ever so gently wakening , it began, first as a whisper quietly making itself known. Then a disclosure expressing a sound of movement. A gaining of momentum starting to build, becoming louder and louder, then echoing its boisterous presence. Then blatantly bursting forth, giving notice of its might – the roar of the city, an awakening.
. The morning bus ride to Frick Junior High was crowded and hurried and didn’t coincide with Gary’s conception of a placid morning journey and the start of his school day. He rode his bike the 35 blocks one morning only to confirm that the downhill ride to Frick was satisfactory, but the return home, having to walk the bike up 73rd avenue and with his paper route delivery, made it too time consuming. Giving discontinuing his morning bus ride more thought, the solution became obvious, it would entail some adjustment to his morning routine, but also would involve a person who dwelled in an autonomous world, set in his ways and not easily moved to change. In essence his solution was conceivable, the only question was asking his dad if he could drop him off at Frick on his way to work. It was done, the question asked, the answer given, tomorrow morning would introduce a new morning presence.
. The young man’s new arrival time at school was 7:20 a.m., Gary discovering the administration office was open, also finding Mr. Tabor, a P E instructor opening the gym early. He soon found arriving at school early has its advantages, he could seat himself in the office and finish uncompleted homework assignments, or faring to the gym, requisitioning a ball to shoot baskets, also soon discovering a former Burckhalter Elementary classmate, Paul Pierre also arrived early, seating himself in the office, the two often comparing homework assignment results. This new arrival arrangement bringing Gary to rethink his morning assessment of Junior High..
. The Tribune paper route pretty much limited any after school activity, Gary striving to complete his delivery by 5:00 or 5:30 at the latest. Each month the Tribune offered incentives for acquiring new subscriptions, those carriers who succeeded in acquiring new subscribers were awarded points toward prizes and often excursions to exciting destinations. Gary succeeding to visit to the museum of natural history and aquarium at San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park, Playland at the Beach, Travis Air Force Base, and many other locations traveling by charter bus with other city carriers. On one occasion the three friends, Hank, Don and Gary and several other buses filled with Tribune carriers having qualified for a trip to the California State Fair in Sacramento. The three having a memorable moment on the Ferris-wheel ride when caught targeting the people below with their Pea Shooters, the concessionaire taking them to task and sternly warning them he would have them expelled if they continued, the Pea Shooters remaining in their pockets for the remainder of the fair.
. One summer month Scotty the district manager posted an unbelievable trip, but it also requiring a much higher number of points, meaning new subscriptions. The excursion was to go by train to the Boardwalk On the Beach at Santa Cruz. The trip included tickets to all the concessions and an off shore ride on the inboard motor powered speed boat, sack lunch meal and snacks on the train. An all-out effort to qualify was enacted, with door to door solicitation. Scotty supplying transportation for a group of the boys to other Oakland neighborhoods in the evening hours. Gary found the concerned effort paying dividends, qualifying for the trip, but soon discovering that with the good news was the bad news. The good news being he qualified, but the bad news, he was the only one from the LW district to achieve a trip. His dad dropping him off on a Saturday morning at the Southern Pacific substation at 73rd and San Leandro Blvd. He could tell by the old engine type locomotive and the number of cars that in all likelihood this wasn’t a normal scheduled train. This was his first time on a regular train, having made many trips on the Electric A train across the Bay Bridge, but was looking forward to the ride itself and a new experience. From his window, he immediately discovered that the passing view revealed a community slighted trash area adjacent to the tracks, but once entering the terrain of the Santa Cruz mountains the scene changed.
. Gary was surprised that the train actually stopped on Beach Street adjacent to the Boardwalk, he and the other Tribune carriers disembarking. The solitary youth, not knowing anyone else deciding to go it alone, spending a somewhat doldrums day, the rides not quite as exciting when by oneself. Having brought his swim trunks, he had a rude awakening when diving into the boardwalk pool, it was salt water, deciding if he wanted to swim in salt water he had the whole pacific ocean before him. Another disappointment was the speed boat ride, advertised as a once in a lifetime thrill ride. Boarding from the pier, the ride paralleled the boardwalk, darting close to the outlying breakers, but maintaining a distance from the beach. The smell of gasoline and oil from the automotive type motor permeated the boat, Gary deciding the only thrill was the spray when the pilot gave it full throttle when making made turn. The late afternoon train ride back to Oakland was hot, for some reason either the air conditioning was turned off, or maybe the aged Pullman cars didn’t have it, Gary deciding even alone the trip it provided another accomplishment.
. Some of the steep hills surrounding the neighborhood like 82nd and 73rd Ave. were such that you had to walked your bicycle up. Shone Ave., the steep street that coursed up the hill by Gary’s and Don Bryant’s house was steep, most riders found it unattainable, walking their bike, but like all young people to prove a point Gary managed to pedal his way up using the side to side, switch-back method. When Life
. Magazine published a story about 50,000 people attending the soap box derby in Akron Ohio, it fueled an idea in the young man’s head. Searching his yard finding 2×4’s, and a 1×12 board, and having only two wheels for the rear, he mounted two of his sisters Nancy’s roller skates on the front 2 by 4 with a steering rope. then mounting a box in front and a seat with a back, that was well braced to support him Don and Hank followed with their own downhill transporter, but with far less inventiveness. Their coaster was basic and simple, consisting of a board , front and rear 2×4’s for mounting the wheels. He couldn’t match their speed, but they couldn’t achieve his antics. When navigating a turn, the skates would slide sideways sending the coaster into a sliding turn, providing a much more convivial ride. . The engagement with the coaster was short-lived,
. Gary being satisfied with the accomplishment. He reasoned: somethings in life can appear equate and mundane, but if you behold a search, the find may prevail, as a promontory achievement.
The bus ride home from Frick Junior High was over, Gary walking with Linda Grindstaff from the bus stop, the seventh graders making comments about school and the fads of dress appearance. Gary having never given serious thought to dress or countenance, but Linda opened a closed-door. She was good natured in her comments, pointing out the differences in classmates.
She was correct, his friends, Don Bryant and Hank Ball sported flat tops, and there were other differences that he recognized, both having expensive brands of clothes. Even at Burckhalter elementary, Don and Hank always dressed better than many of the others, Gary accrediting their up-scale clothes to an accepted fact, their family income, Don’s father a banker, and Hanks Dad, the general manager of Ball Cannery.
He realized that there were those who appraised a person by appearance or attire, but Gary was more into assessing people by their character, their interest and the way they acted. The youth was aware of the struggle his family endured to provide the necessities for him and his sisters, and for the most part felt comfortable in his appearance. He was discovering that junior high was far different from elementary school, where you spent six years with the same classmates, in the same room all day. Your classmates were more like brother and sisters, accepting each other, and for some reason, they always looked the same no matter how they dressed. With some thought, it was a truism, like family, Linda was always Linda, and Hank was always Hank, regardless of what they were wearing.
Gary realized that a midterm class didn’t have a new craze or fad to contend with, unlike the Fall Semester class entering junior high after summer vacation. There was no school break for the start of the spring semester, the grade change for the midterm class seemed like a continuation of the school year. The introduction of style and fad was a new issue thrust upon the new seventh grader. The latest clothing fad at school was Levi’s, and because of family finances, and their higher cost, Gary would settling for a generic brand pair of jeans, but with his new found Tribune paper route income offering to supplement the added cost, it wasn’t long before he was finally able to acquire his one and only pair of Levi’s. It was a well-known fact that Levi’s wearers would go weeks without washing them, even to the point of hiding their jeans from their weekly wash. It was commonly believed they would shrink, fade , and lose their distinctly dark appearance if coming in contact with water, Gary attempting to participate in this long standing practice but to no avail, no thanks to an alert Mother.
School dress codes were strict and adhered to, especially the precept concerning T shirts. The rule being rigorously enforced, the school code providing that T-shirts could only be worn under a button shirt or pullover sweater. The students abdicating the rule the minute they were off the school grounds, it was off with the button shirt, and behold, Levi’s and T shirts prevailed.
T
his well ordained tradition coming to an abrupt end when the enviable happened, summer vacation, and the fall semester finding a new clothing sensation having been marketed. Ivy League Denims were in, the new clothing sensation taking the school by storm, pastel colors, button down collar shirts, and denim pants with a decorative belt in the back. It was a welcome change to some, but others remaining faithful to Levi Strauss. It didn’t stop with pants and shirts, a new adage was adopted, wingtip shoes, and with them, came the reverbing sound of horseshoe taps echoing in the school corridors.
Besides the advent of wingtips, the junior high boys sported a new version of necktie, it was called tennis shoes. In junior high the boys didn’t dress for gym except for shoes, it was soon realized that the best way to carry your tennis shoes from your school locker to gym class, was with laces tied together and the shoes slung around your neck, not surprising, the inventiveness of the student body was limitless. The only apparel that for a time seemed to remain the same was the denim jacket, and soon it would be altered. It was officially known as a Varsity Letterman Jacket, but it was better known on the school grounds as a forty niner jacket, named for the San Francisco NFL team. It was a wool jacket with leather arms, and unfortunately price prohibitive for Gary until a pseudo brand was finally manufactured. The school environment was transforming, shirt, pants, shoes, jacket, hair style, a teenage mechanism was in development.
Gary reasoned, status was never endowed, only acquired, and junior high awakened him to a new social perspective. A question remained, did he want to be ushered into this rapidly filling communal, only time would tell
. The days of spur-of-the-moment activities were gone, no more rounding up the tag-along gang and heading for the hills. Gary missed those days, but he having developed a camaraderie with older friends and being the youngest was meaningful, as he had to prove his capacity for adjudication. Acquainting Hank and Don to his realm of the Sulphur Mines, the likes of Devils Punchbowl, and his hiking ventures was easy, finding their earnestness passing. The assumption being made, their preoccupation was curiosity, not a yearning for exploration, or fulfilling a beckoning imagination within that he retained. Gary was ready, having proposed a new outing, which entailed residing overnight on a camping expedition to Redwood Regional Park, a secluded park nestled atop the hills overlooking Oakland, the only drawback was that would require permission of their parents.
. Having no doubt of his parents’ permission, he presented his intent to Don and Hank hoping that their power of parental persuasion was strong enough, and to his astonishment their parents concurred. The preparation was deliberate, a mental list was made, sleeping bag, water, cooking utensils and substance provisions including toilet paper. Gary was familiar with the camping needs from his prior trips with his cousin during his summers in Etna. Hank and Don having never shared information about a camping experiences with Gary, so he accorded his knowledge concerning what should be taken and all was made ready. The time was decided upon, completion of their weekend newspaper routes, they would backpack sleeping bags and provisions, mount their bikes and depart for their uphill destination.
. The three-mile northwest ride on Mountain Blvd was insipid to Gary, having traveled this artery many times before to the Sulphur Mines. He did wonder about Hank and Don, as they were not known to venture in this foothill domain. Reaching the junction of Redwood Road, they proceeded up the two mile of winding asphalt byway, having to walk their bikes part of the time on this uphill journey. Once reaching the summit, crossing Skyline Blvd, the group continued on the now descending Redwood Road, soon discovering one of the portal entry’s to Redwood Park.
. The three youths entering, seeking a camping area to spend the night. They continued on the marked pathways and trails searching for a remote area, wanting an isolated camp site, but not one on public display. The boys finding a suitable secluded area that looked to have been used for a camping purpose in the past from the presence of a small rock pit. Sleeping bags spread, the flames from the small campfire casting shadows on the Redwoods reaching upwards to embrace the sky as darkness entered nature’s domain. Gary aspired to view the lustrous stars of a clear night sky, but their celestial radiance hidden by the towering redwoods. silence abounded, broken only by the sounds of the night, the rustling of nature, a refraining voice, then solitude.
. Breakfast by campfire was at hand, Gary was alone in bringing camping cooking utensil, and wasn’t surprised that he was the only coffee drinker, coffee was considered an adult beverage by some, but allowable in his household. Breaking camp, the group held a discussion before descending on their long steep downhill journey, having heard stories of bicyclist losing their brakes going down the two mile grade of Redwood Road and a disastrous ending. A decision was made to stop halfway down the curving grade and check the brakes for overheating.
. Redwood Road wasn’t as steep as the familiar 82nd or 73rd Avenue, and the journey down Redwood Road was uneventful, the three acquainting the wayward Mountain Blvd, the overnight experience was impressionable to the young teenagers. The boys realizing it was the first time they were allowed to spend a night without accessible adult supervision. Gary reasoned, Parental trust, is an acclivous goal.
Inquisitive Quest 