Inquisitive Quest

Gary, pen in hand and clipboard…

Gary reasoned.  It’s not an aroma,  a scent or smell,  it’s more than the odor that frequents public transportation. but if you add twenty-five high school football players who have had a prior workout,  it’s an experience.   Key System,  the city’s public transportation company, provided a means for students to ride to school by adding extra buses, and also provided charter buses for school activities.

A designated bus charter for a local Oakland Athletic League football game may have included as many as four transportation coaches,  one for the team, others for the pep club , cheerleaders, and those residual students desiring to attend.   Kick-off  time for all O A L games was between 4 and 4 thirty,  just enough time for a Castlemont students to journey across town for the away games, and like most school athletic activities, there were few parents in attendance.

Capuchino High School was positioned across the bay in San Bruno, and was a high school football team powerhouse.   The discipline school  was a member of the Mid-Peninsula League, which was composed of seven schools situated from San Francisco  to San Jose.  Capuchino was ranked the second best high school team in California, and The Castlemont Knights were scheduled to challenge the Mustangs  in an unusual night game across the bay in San Bruno.

Gary’s position as sports editor and staff photographer for the Yee Castle Crier, castlemont’s weekly newspaper, enabled him to take advantage of the football team’s out-of-town game transportation,  accompanying the Knights on their charter bus.  Mounting the Key System transport, clipboard in hand,  toting the schools ancient Graflex speed graphic, and a Kodak brownie flash 2 camera, this occasion would be a first in photographing the team during an actual out of town game in action.

The reporter have already made a decision, to turn down any request to run the down marker, or chart the teams stats as in the past.  As the bus embarked from the school he was noticeably aware of  something different about this excursion, a quietness, hushed tones prevailing aboard the bus.  This wasn’t the team he knew.   Also aboard were many junior varsity players to augment the twenty five member varsity team, and in attendance was J V  Coach, Tom  Tank  Tancredy.   Gary’s concern about the lack of enthusiasm was building when Coach Carter stood to address the team, and with a minimal number of words, the Players and Game Plan came to life.

Gary watched as the Knights in uniform accessed the field end zone, preceded  by the pep-rallying cheerleading pompom group,  cascading toward the visiting team side of the grid-iron in front of the small, but ardent  group of Castlemont supporters.  Suddenly a cacophonous sound, and the celebrated Capuchino Marching Band entered the field.   Gary reflecting, the only school marching band he had ever witnessed at Castlemont, was the r o t c band accompanying The Core on the drill field. Directly behind the band  followed an exceedingly number of cheerleaders,  leading the throws of the Mustang team,  but instead of rallying to their perspective bench,  they proceeded to circle the field, not  once, but twice to the accolade of their fans.  It wasn’t the action of the team that astonished the sports reporter,  it was the number of players.   Gary didn’t  count, but he estimated their number at more than forty.   He speculated,  that every big over sized male athlete in the school, must be a member of the football team.

The game began as the cool damp night air filtered in from the Bay.  Gary realized from the inception, this was no quotidian team.   The Mustang’s players physical weight was considerably more than members of the Knights and it was soon apparent, this game would be a callous contest.   The first casualty of the game wasn’t on the field,  it was on the sidelines.   Unfortunately Gary, in his role as a photographer,  wasn’t  fast enough in removing himself from a collision course with an oncoming locomotive named Herm Hutchinson.   Gary leaping aside at the last instant, avoiding direct contact,  but the speed graphic didn’t.  In his haste he left it deposited in the path of destruction.  He considered switching to the Flash 2,  to finish his photo project, but concluded that a clip board and the written word was Safer.

The beginning of the second half,  the Mustangs leading, found a new player in the game.  this performer could definitely influence the outcome.  When this uninvited competitor entered the field of play, those attending were oblivious to the competence it displayed.    A stillness prevailed as the faction moved into the pigskin arena,  a damp cold chill engendered the meteorological atmosphere.   This player,  a member of mother nature’s team,  would change the whole complexion of the contest.  The all-encompassing dense ground fog rolling in from the bay.   Its presence obscuring the playing field visibility would be a game changer.   Castlemont was  stopped at their end of the field,  a punt was in Order.

The ball rising in accession disappearing into the fog enshrouded vault,  only to reappear,  the Mustang recipient dropping the catch, and the Knights Gary Rodgers recovering the pigskin.   The crusading Knights scored, and on the ensuing kickoff,  the advocate obscuring mist once again enveloped the ball, and as before Capuchino fumbled, a hustling Gary Rodgers once again recovering,  the Crusaders Herman Hutchinson adding another six.  Gary was amiss-with the circumstances, and remained fervent that this atmospheric settlement would continue,  but to  no avail,  the enveloping fog began lifting to its normality in the heavens, and the advantage returned to the Capuchino Mustangs.

The San Bruno home team prevailed 35 to 19, but Gary concluding,  the Castlemont   score may have reflected a deprivation of points, but in reality the game was a win for all,  because both teams were Exemplars Of Character.

January 29, 1959 was Graduation Day, Gary not a person to dwell on lyrics enkindled the Four Freshman song,  but a reminisce of the opening line “there’s a time for joy and a time for tears”,  and it’s implication of appropriateness regarding tonight’s commencement exercise.  The Graduate having witnessed a display of emotions from classmate’s during a rehearsal for the graduation ceremony.   His immediate attention focused on the syllabus  for tonight’s event, Gary having just discovered he was the solitary entertainment listed on the program, providing you discounted all the scheduled speeches.

Graduation Program

No one perceived, neither family or friend about his inquiring to Mr. Martin, the newly appointed senior Class Counselor about being a on stage participant in the formal scheduled program. Reaching inside, searching for an intrinsic reason of why he desired to apply, questioning himself, could it be he wanted to discern a statement of his integrity making a final memorable revelation, or maybe another reason coming from deep within, a tribute to the person responsible for acknowledging this gifted attribute, his mom.

Mr. Martin seem to query Gary’s request, especially when inquiring to what piano piece he would perform,  the answer to the question didn’t resonate very well with the educator, an  “untitled composition” was the reply.  Not many persons outside of  Gary’s family were aware he could applaud the enduring cornucopia of pastoral intonation that  emitted from a standing musical entity known as the piano, and with this program appearance, his expertise would be unveiled.  Mr. Martin asking with a deserved petition for a demonstration of the students musical capability, the Teen accepting, gracing the keyboard in a second floor music room, the accession was accorded,  Mr. Martin acknowledging that Gary would perform.

Castlemont Pepsters

The final graduation rehearsal was in progress, Gary couldn’t help but notice a display of remorse by many of the girls.  He understood the emotional aspects of what was about to transpire,  attempting to discredit the actuality of the moment,  immersing his train of thought in the expectations of his piano debut.  Still the reality of this secure and auspicious environment, an educational bastion would soon be reduced to  a memory,  the  substance of what was about to take place filtering thru the facade of resolution.   He could appreciate those whose entire world revolved around the discourse found within ivy shrouded walls of Castlemont and would be at a loss when it was removed.

Gary was also cognizant of the guidance and concern exhibited by teachers during these bountiful years of school,  and the memoir would forever remain displayed in nostalgia.  With the completion of High School,  a continuance of a higher level of education would find no nurturing teacher, but knowledgeable benefactors interested in fulfilling their contract to explain the information of study.  The unforgiving world of commerce silently awaited the commonplace, accepting those without assaying  ambition.

Annette Mullen Class President

He was listed third on the program schedule to follow Class President Annette Mullins welcoming address. Gary having decided to enact a classical composition structured from variations of  Chopin and impressions from Rimsky Korsakov.   The perfection was in F sharp, with a step up to G and a fortissimo back to the sharp,  the coda depended on the savoir of the performers inner quintessence.   The auditorium was consumed,  the graduating senior having taken notice of his parents and sisters adorning the balcony.

The performer was not taken back by an audience,  his concern was the nine foot Steinway sitting in position,  awaiting to voice its proclamation to all,  the concernment wasn’t the physical attributes but the audio.  The senior having demonstrated his dexterity of keyboard finesse earlier during ceremonial rehearsal and was totally enthralled with the overwhelming volume that reverberated throughout the auditorium from the piano.  He rendered it would vibrate the foundation of the forum, adding an unsurpassed climax to his presentations.

The memories will remain forever

Seated with this waiting captive audience with a largo of emotion,  The youth advanced the diminuendo keyboard progression, his fingered touch insulating the enraptured audio sculpture.   Continuing, the crescendo escalating to a mezzo forte, his finger adroitness fleeting up the keyboard,  the composition heighten, the audience awed with the final resounding voluminous conclusion.  The auditorium coming to life with tonitruous applause.  Gary hesitating,  then rising,  pausing not to acknowledge recognition, but to experience the wondrous grander of Jordan Hall,  the resonance of his grand finale echoing an emotional farewell to Castlemont, sadly abolished, but will remain in the memories of its students forever.

To be abolished but never forgotten

“Forever lost, forever changed, we care, so we remember.”   Previously on Friday March 22nd, 1957 at 11:44 a m.  Gary having commenced his oral report in Miss Lamping’s third period American History class,  when an seismic aberration rattled the bay-area imposing a sempiternal judgement on Castlemont High School.  Seismologist finding  the epicenter location to be across the bay in Daly City, south of San Francisco, a moment magnitude of 5.7 and a maximum Mercalli Intensity of 7 (Very strong).  It was the strongest earthquake along the San Francisco peninsula since 1906.   The rumbling and results of the quake didn’t register with the Youth at the time,  but the announcement that followed would forever be inscribed.

Bay Area Faults

Gary’s Mother was a board member on the District PT A  and was in attendance during a presentation of an official  seismologist report concerning the earthquake and  the Oakland Public School buildings.  She approached the constituency with consternation about Castlemont High School and received an invitation to tour the educational building as the district PT A representative,  to be a witness to the structural damage.   Upon completion of the school assessment,  she was testimony to the results of the inspection and the Public Schools forthcoming announcement.

The existing Castlemont high school buildings would be demolished and replaced with better lateral resistant structure.   The teens mother relating that the school had suffered structural damage,  Gary not realizing or comprehending the extent until  word began to spread at school,  Castlemont was going to be replaced.  It was an unacceptable thought, an unspoken topic,  never again the subject of discussion among his classmates, concluding  it was unspeakable, his class living in the present and wouldn’t be subject to the annihilation of this beautiful structure

                                                                               .

Gary remembering an early school experiences as a first grader with the original Burckhalter building standing vacant and forlorn, awaiting removal.   Then later during his final year of  Junior High,  the announcement of another buildings destruction, the three-story Frick Junior High would be demolished after his departure.   Gary often wondered about the reasoning for removing these well serving institutions, was it in the name of safety or the ascension of a trafficking commerce and their political overtones.

Frick Junior High Oakland California

Questioning if there was a place for progress with a purpose in his youthful melancholy world, retrieving the memory of adventuress times on the Richmond- San Rafael  ferry,  it too being replaced by an accelerated passageway called a bridge.  No more can one board the bay vessel, able to experience the briskness of the breeze thru the Golden Gate, commanding its presence as it travels across the deck, or the enhancing smell of the bay,  its swelling movement demonstrating the power of the sea.

Replaced by a bridge

The Electric Train or publicly known as the Transbay Transit  becoming another appliance of the past,  never again to traverse the Bay Bridge,  a person able to sit in its confines,  the speciousness,  absorb the panoramic view, the clickety-clack rhythmic sound as its silent motors propel the carriages across the unimpeded  span of track,  replaced  by the cramped enclosed quarters of a bus, a victim of the traffic signal  with its continuous  stop and go in the congestion of traffic..

Replaced by a bus

The foundation being poured June 1928

The steel supports for the auditorium and towers

Castlemont under construction summer 1928

The second floor walls showing a presence.\

In 1920 after a study the Oakland Board of Education determine because of the expanding population the necessity for another high school in the southeast section of the Elmhurst District.  In 1927 they initially purchased 10.2 acres of land between 84th Ave and 88th ave west of Foothill Blvd.   Architects Chester Miller and Carl Warnecke submitting blueprints for a 15th century medieval castle of the elizabethan and gothic architectural design with cast cement, brick,  half -timber, slate, leaded glass and arches for approval, the foundation being poured in 1928.

The main entrance, 2 lions and  copper & brass 50lb mounted lights

To the southeast of the main entrance, the leaded glass door of the administration suite

To the north another entrance

On August 12th 1929 East Oakland High School opened at a cost of $670,000, but the name was short-lived, by a vote of the students and faculty in 1930 the name Castlemont was officially brought to prominence prior to being nationally designated the most beautiful school structure in the country.   The buildings main entrance accessed from Foothill Blvd down six steps to the reflection pool then ascend six steps to extended terrace and the four entry solid redwood doors.  The full length of Castlemonts grounds adjacent to Foothill having been magnificently landscaped.

View from above MacArthur Blvd.

Steps down from MacArthur Blvd to the entrance and reflection pool

Looking northwest the reflection Pool

A landscaping marvel

The southwest wing adjacent to the tower  provided separate slate roof offices for the vice principal with the principal’s office having a side entrance to an extended terrace, the second floor finished in Tudor half-timber.  To the northeast was the covered gate entrance to the rear of the property, lined with the shops.

The second floor Tudor half-timber

Covered entrance to the rear of the school

Shops on the northeast

The auditorium with balcony seated 1500, equipped with a theatre projection accessible stage, dressing room, lighting and a 9ft. concert grand piano.  The extremely spacious library housing books numbering in the thousands with beam ceiling and windows bordering the open air but enclosed south court, accessible through the full service cafeteria.

School auditorium “Jordan Hall

South auditorium corridor better known as Camelot Way

A treasure of knowledge – The library

In 1939 because of additional stringent earthquakes precautions the original gymnasium was replaced.  1941 found the same enacted requirements dictating the removal of the classic gothic slate and brick,  leaded glass shops and replaced with a commercially accepted substitutes.   In 1949  acquired additional property, installing a full service certified heated Pool, and with the criteria of competitive sports expanding, Castlemont, a member of the O.A.L.  (Oakland Athletic League)  acquired and dedicated new turf for its athletic field in November of 1950.  With the blossoming  increase in student population, a large connecting two story academic classroom facility was constructed on the southeast of the school that same year.

The replacement Gym

Castlemonts new turf

New Castlemont Pool

In January 1960 this remarkable Oakland landmark was taken from us.

Gary’s January nineteen fifty nine class would be the second from the last to graduate from Castlemont.  His tenth grade gym instructor Mr. Clarence Street was a member of the first nineteen twenty nine teaching staff, the student could only imagine how despondency he felt.

The inaugural 1929 teaching staff at Castlemont, the arrow pointing to Mr. Clarence Street.

Mr. Clarence Street – 1957

Standing before the lily laden reflection pond as he had that first day, heeding the view of the ivy covered walls and the  majestic ascending  tower,  Gary searched his emotions for an explanation or justification to destroy this emblem of man’s historical artistry and meaningful achievement.   If only the structure could speak for itself,  the words would be, ” surely another remedy could be found”.

Gary pondered,  was this the beginning of a new ideology,  that expediency is better than reflection,  contemporary more desirable than the celebrated.  The first two lines of the school song coming to mind… Hail, Hail Castlemont, Crusaders honor thee, long may thy classic walls and inspiration be.  Gary realized that these words would be forever and would never replace the Memories..

The memories will remain forever

Home

Castlemont High School

The teenager having graduated from high school this past  Thursday,  you would think elation would have prevailed, but it didn’t.  The first weekend found congratulatory accolades according an impression of accomplishment,  commanding his presence,  but an over shadowing consciousness began to emerge.  A sense of loss beginning to envelop him as he watched his sisters depart in the morning for their appointed educational task.  Depletion was provoking a feeling of emptiness in the pit of his stomach.   His morning no longer possessing a purpose,  the inception of a daily agenda, the engagement of projects,  all having vanished with his secession from school.

Gary’s Mom & Dad

Oregon State College

Forestry ?

Gary yet to make definitive volition about the future, his parental communications having never included a  consequential   conversation as to expectations after high school.   There was a mention of college,  seeking employment in the private sector and a possibility of the military,  but no serious conversation evolved.   He was alone in his thoughts of which direction to channel his efforts.   Higher education was the key, but to what door?   A dilemma was present,  financial ascendancy was essential,  an another obstacle to address.   Gary having received an answered to an inquiry to Oregon State College concerning forestry curricula,  his thoughts of abiding in the wilderness were those of younger adventurer experiencing new and abounding wonders.  Maturity adds a new epoch to a resume.

KROW Studio 464 19th st. Oakland

Red Blanchard

Gary’s interest in radio having since waned as had the broadcast programming of the past.   He recalled his visit to KRON Radio during a school Business Education Day, traveling to their upstairs studio on 19th St,  A opportunity to once again observe a live broadcast, the station not exactly what he expected, a series of small broadcasting rooms, not a large studio Pavilion like the KCBS studio in San Francisco he  experiences visiting the Red Blanchard Show.  His journalism interest was beginning to  peaked  after discerning its many aspects depended on the competency of editor,  a question of  pervasiveness.

Bud O’Toole

Gary’s cousin Bud’s Missile – A Nike – Ajax

Another protracted avocation was the military,  it provided educational options,  but the youth was unsure of the scope of opportunities.  The youth took notice of his Cousin Bud O’Toole,  assigned to a firing  battery with  a Nike-Ajax Missile unit near Los Angeles.   Gary’s affinity for science fiction and his association with Elves’,  Gnomes’  and Little Men’s Chowder and Marching Society,  induce him with an  extreme interest in space, rockets and adjoining germane subjects all enveloped by the military.  The final contingency would be to postpone a decision and seek employment,  entering the world of commerce, time being no longer an imminent factor, mid-term college enrollment was already finalized.

Dale Spady and his 5 Hp. Cushman

Down Shone Ave to Mountain Blvd.

Gary pondered, no longer would there be a discipline of authority to instruct the path of decisions, to council and deliver confidence, the world having become a stage and it was time to walk on and perform.   He heard the revives of an approaching motor scooter echoing from the street,  his friend Dale Spady dismounted from the two-wheeled transport and it was then Gary took notice, Dale had purchased a new 5 Hp Road King Cushman motor scooter.   Climbing aboard, Gary on the rear jump seat, the two rode down Shone Ave,  cruised along Mountain Blvd and it was during the ride that an adventuress notion  began to formulate.  It would encompassing the two of them, the 5 horsepower Cushman and a round trip ride that could  approach 1000 miles.

Journey marked on 1959 CA road map

  The idea for this journey all stemmed from Gary’s desire to visit his career minded military cousin Bud O’Toole in Conoga Park, not far from Los Angeles and  question him about his missile related army assignment.  Gary briefly laying out his plan to Dale, they would start south on the Nimitz Freeway to #101 and San Jose, then take #17 over the Santa Cruz mountains to scenic highway #1 along the ocean until it converges back with #101 at San Luis Obispo and from there on to Conoga Park, about a three-day sight-seeing journey.  Gary adding from his cousin’s house they could  tour  the fashionable star-studded homes area , the Hollywood Hills and other attractions in Los Angeles before returning home.   The two concluded,  it could be accomplished,  a three day, two night venture,  spending their nights camped adjacent to the blue pacific on the beach and once arriving from their escapade south they could  lodge with Gary’s cousin Bud and  family at Canoga Park, leaving the path and time for the return open.

A coming expectation

Gary informing his parents of their intended excursion as did Dale,  the parents of the two prospective traveler first displaying non-belief that the two would even attempt this endeavor.  Once accepting the premise that they might really go forward with this foolhardy venture, they asked the inevitable question why.  The recent high school graduate having anticipated the parental question remembering a quote from author Andre’ Gide  “man cannot explore the oceans unless he loses sight of the shore”,  the journey south would demonstrate a new-found sense of independence, but they had to be realistic giving a  more plausible reason, that of seeing the scenic California coast and Gary wanting to visit his Cousin.   They thought it best to begin as soon as possible before their parents could persuade them otherwise, the two having much to do in preparation, some detailed planning but more important the acquisition of their needs for the trip.  Gary concluding, optimism before volition makes for reason.

Preparation was cardinal, the two recent high school graduates about to invoke on a possible thousand mile round trip on a single 5 hp.  Cushman Road King motor scooter and to stipulate a journey of this magnitude Gary Willson and Dale Spady would be diligent in selecting provision.   Passage to an army surplus depository established some unique procurement’s not on their agenda.   Gary regarded it as pragmatic, it might appear extrinsic, but a  flight helmet liner was in order.  It was olive drab in color, nylon cloth like material, tight-fitting and to accompany this world war II relic, both boys acquiring amber tinted goggles.  The googles being a necessity, shielding their eyes from the insect domain of the open road,  Gary feeling especially venerable as he would be sitting on two sleeping bags, raised up  behind Dale on the rear jump seat.  Also on order was a saddle bag with several compartments to accommodate changes of clothing and rations for meals if necessary.  A discussion concerning the extent of travel that could be accomplished in a day was soon dismissed as impractical.  This journey would be to experience vibrancy and freedom from the constrictions of responsibility including mileage goals.  Gary placing a well received telephone call to his  Cousin Bud residing in Canoga Park northeast of Los Angeles, arrangements being made for the two to stay with him and his family.

WWII  liner and goggles a necessity

The Cushman Road King was saddled and ready as were the two adventurers as the earlier morning fog shrouded atmosphere encasing the bay-area.  Gary and Dale mounting their oracle of transportation venturing to the Nimitz Freeway entrance on 98th Ave.   The entrance sign notification was significant  “entrance for vehicles less than 5 hp. Not Permitted”.   Heading south on the freeway, the scooter traversing along at 40 mph when Dale began slowing to a halt at the side of the road.  Gary question him if there was a problem, his reason was a resounding  “I’m cold”.   Gary understood, realizing that they both hadn’t considered the wind chill and failed to dress appropriately.  The jackets were non insulated windbreakers and likewise the leather gloves they both adorned were also non insulated, but more for show.   Gary could ascertain from Dale’s voice that he was hesitant to continue, especially at that speed on the freeway,  Gary rationalizing,  it was the damp fog that was the culprit.   Once again they continued their journey stopping once more before reaching the junction of the Bayshore Freeway and the San Jose City limits.  On West San Carlos St, they found a twenty-four hour bowling alley deciding to stop and kill some time and discuss the situation and regenerate some discernible heat.   Relaxing and warming the adventure was still somewhat questionable but a decision was delivered from above as they walked out of the of the bowling alley, discovering a bright sunlit morning.

Highway #17 over the Santa Cruz Mountains

The truckers were amiable, Gary acknowledging their patience, the Cushman with two dauntless adventurist aboard was in the slow lane, lugging up highway #17 over the Santa Cruz Mountains, having fallen in line with the tractor and trailer burden laden eighteen wheelers.   Second gear and 20 mph was the most speed attainable by the  loaded scooter, but once cresting the grade, it was fifty plus going downhill.  Santa Cruz, the boardwalk and the beach was tempting,  but their limited finances of $75 between them, the wind-blown duo foregoing temptation deciding to continue, soon finding themselves on Highway 1, the coast highway, eager for a Monterey lunch.

The marina at Monterey

The entrance to 17 Mile Drive

Pebble Beach Club House

The marina at Monterey spiked Gary’s interest,  the slips filled with sailing crafts of every imaginable size.   The seagoing vessels nestled side by side,  dancing every so slow with the gentle rise and fall of the ocean basin.  The invigorating fragrance captured by the shoreward breeze was  beckoning its invitation, luring those susceptible to its enticements.   Something about the sea made pause,  but this was nor the time, its voice acknowledged,  finding Gary returning from thought joining Dale the two once more posted on the motorized transport.   The sign read, 17 mile Drive and Gary immediately reflected, Pebble Beach, the Cadillac of all golf courses.   He noticed that Dale’s interest hadn’t peak,  but Dale wasn’t a duffer, with a little insistence Dale relented turning towards this legendary course.  Gary was disappointed,  the course as seen from the road was like most links, uninspiring until you teed off and traversed the course did one absorb the scenic wonders that most non-players are unaware of, experiencing the manicure foliage, the waterfalls,  fish laden ponds, and all the scenic wonders embedded in a  golf course.   Gary like many found the game not always about competing and placement of a ball,  but the substance of a fresh breeze, the quiet sculptured solitude and the aura of enlightened  serenity.  It was noticeably apparently the golf course was out-of-bounds but the haven of  wonders on the rest of  17 mile drive  were more than enriching, and with the afternoon  waning it was  back to the highway 1,  Carmel a very short distance beckoning.

A town of quaint village shops

Beach at Carmel

Carmel was picturesque, it reminded the youth of an alpine village bundled amongst a tree laden enclosure.   What astonished Gary was the ambulation down the main street,  seizing on the quaintness, up a gentle slope, then suddenly reaching a crest, before you as if on a Cinerama theatre screen appears an expanse of sparkling white sand and beyond the crisp tops of breaking water ebbing onto the beach.   Gary having frequented the beach at San Francisco and walked along its sandy mire, but never having experience the pristine  polish of Carmel’s consort.   The evening was approaching  finding the teens once more on the two lane path of highway 1, but a new companion joining their  company,  the ever-present Pacific  keeping watch over their progress.

South of Carmel

The first nights nocturnal view

Captivating Scene

On the left side ,  just ahead,  a turnout area that rose on a gentle slope.   Gary speculating,  it having been used as a scenic rest,  one could gaze across and below at a small white sand cove with a protrusion of  wave encrusted rocks  silhouetted against  the glowing sunset ebbing in the west.   It was time to lodge for the night.  Disembarking the Cushman, the two removed their sleeping expertise and making  station for the night.   An open pit was present,  some previous spectator having succumbed to building a warming fire,  the invitation accepted.   The  evening drew nigh, with the sound of cresting seas breaking and rushing to meet the accepting strands of firma,  a nocturnal repose was greeted, a welcomed rest.

Sunrise overlooking the Pacific isn’t as prodigious as a sunset, Gary’s astute observation  amidst this extended journey,  he and Dale having spent their first night on their venture camping on the side of scenic Highway #1 .  Gary was entertaining thoughts of breakfast and a rummaging thru their provisional supplies,  withdrawing a small box of Maypo,  maple flavored oatmeal  and with a little water added,  a morning snack was entertained.

The Wayfarers of Highway #1

 The two youths being uncertain about the availability and the location of the next roadside service convenience, but fuel was never a concern,  the Cushman having a mileage range of more than two hundred miles.   The weather was in cooperation, a clear morning sky for motoring south,  the waters of the Pacific ever pristine,  providing a scenic wonder view from their open air jitney.   A hesitation, a cigarette stop, dismounting gazing with admiration of the preternatural outcroppings, carved by the incessant sculpturing from the continual sea.   Man’s mark was encountered, the bridges stretching over the exiting ambulating  water flow from the mountain crest in search of destiny,  returning home to the sea.   Traveling on,  a wandering vacancy prevailed, the adventurers meeting few travelers to share in the  beholding of the spectacular array, Gary concluding ,  February was not the month for tourist.

San Simeon, penned Hearst Castle

The library conference hall, a missed opportunity

The indoor/outdoor pool, no longer part of life, forever an exhibit

The access road sign read San Simeon but underneath in bold print was “Closed for repairs”.  Gary having read the history of this iconic historic landmark. William Randolph Hearst having spent a good portion of his life fulfilling a dream penned by the press as Hearst Castle. With his death in 1951 he left this magnificent estate consisting 56 bedrooms, 61 bathrooms, 19 sitting rooms, 127 acres of gardens, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, tennis courts, a movie theater, an airfield, and the world’s largest private zoo.  Gary realizing another missed opportunity, disappointed but not discouraged,  there would be other expositions yet to be realized.

Morro Bay Rock as seen from Highway 1

The Channel Islands

Continuation was perpetual and solidarity,  the constant disquieting from the scooter’s muffler it’s droning ever-present.  The diurnal course progressed and eventually  signs of inhabitants, a small community advancing into view,  a picturesque town with  a famous monument jutting from the sea,  Morro Bay.  Gary, having explored the realm of abalone fishing, finding this location noted as the abalone capital of the west,  renown for capacious harvesting.  The natural inlet, the standing Morro Rock a monumental pavilion,  establishing  shelter for the many small fishing crafts that lay nestled at anchor.  He noticed when approaching this diminutive  community a rock spewed coastline but just out of sight fared the Channel Islands of Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa and San Miguel staunch providers for the mollusk fishing industry.  Departing the somnolent community, the aura of graphic surroundings would fade and the well-traveled mechanized world would once again present itself in the form of  highway #101 with San Luis Obispo,  a thirty minute destination.

The sun was devaluing in the west,  its brilliancy  diminishing to a fragmented amber and attentiveness was put on the agenda,  a station for tonight becoming foremost.   A stop for fuel at a commercial location found the two  accosting the pacific.  Across the highway,  an expanse of beach protected from view  by a raised sand dunes stretching for as far as the eye could see.  Reaching the dunes knoll,  casting a gaze towards the sea,  a sanitary restroom station building stood and beyond,  a scattering of stationary cooking grills.   The beach was deemed desolate, the fog beginning to filter in, nor a person present.   The two determined that this bleak area was famous Pismo Beach, its emptiness was similar to San Francisco during the winter months,  especially in the evening hour when the beach is embraced by the incoming fog.   The travelers approved and the appointment was made,  they would repose on the beach with the dunes blocking the view from the highway and solitude could be observed.

A gathering of driftwood and a warm fire benefited as the two surveyed their accomplishment thus far.   The adventure having materialized and Gary finding the aura difficult to believe, to experience  sitting before a contingency of glowing embers,  the sound of the breakers discerning their way to the  beach and to embrace an inconceivable journey with no benefaction except to be present.   Bundling in his mummy sleeping bag,  burrowed on the beach sand of the Pacific, the rhythmic sound and slight of the ocean spray providing a concluding audience for a mellowing  rest.

Gary and Dale Spady

The view from Pismo Beach was redundant, especially in early morning fog, the view from sea level in no way matches the panoramic composition experienced from the hillside escarpment when venturing on Highway #1.   After packaging their repose bedding and utilizing the full equipped sanitary station to cleanse the curtains of sleep, Dale and Gary again mounting the Cushman,  hasten for a conveniences depot to partake of a cup of  hot coffee and some solid dietary substance.   The two not being familiar with Southern California, their map presiding on the table of the diner, they conspired a course of travel.   Passing through San Luis Obispo, the two adjudging it best to remain on the conservative wandering two lane highway #1,  the busier direct #101 could  be accosted later where the two highways junction north of  Santa Barbara.

The Wayfarers of Highway #1

Conoga Park Exit

Gary position on the rear jump seat provided him with a panoramic view while traversing on scenic highway #1 but the view on the traffic laden #101 was more of a concern that an enjoyment, especially at 40 mph.   Continuing what  Gary’s dead-reckoning reflected as going south,  but actually were headed east out of Ventura.  After some thought he realized because of the coastal shape of California,  if you were to transit due north from Los Angeles to the Oregon border you would cross the border not in Oregon but 75 miles inside Nevada.   Passing through a town with familiar sounding name, Thousand Oaks, less than hour til they ascending their destination, Canoga Park.

Bud O’Toole

Gary’s cousin Bud’s Missile – A Nike – Ajax

Arriving in Canoga Park, Gary having been given direction by his cousin before leaving Oakland,  the two travelers having no difficulty finding the O’Toole residence.  Cousin Bud, wife Gayle,  youngsters Alan and Patrick all smiles, Gary suspecting they were somewhat surprised the two made it on a Cushman Scooter.  It was good to see his cousin, Gary’s childhood memories of Bud were those of admiration, he was the one when visiting on more than one occasion provided him with a new cap pistols, taking the time to spend with him.  Later when Gary’s interest spiked about war stories he provided his collection of the Dave Dawson series by Bowen, his cousin someone he always looked up to.   Bud having joined the National Guard upon high school graduation would bring the youth old flight instruction manuals and a supply of K and C rations,  an example of a soldier’s battlefield  provisions.  When war broke out in Korea he was a member of the initial military units call to duty,  entrusted Gary with his treasured collection of classical music records.  Continuing his military service he was posted as part of UARADCOM,  an acronym for United States Army Air Defense Command,  deployed at a supposedly undisclosed location,  but known to the community as LA-88, Oat Mountain,  in the Santa Susana Range six miles from  Canoga Park and  assigned to a Nike-Ajax Firing Battery.  Canoga Park being a close-knit community with most of the resident  incorporated in furtive government projects.   Gary’s  raising to a higher echelon of interest with many questions for his cousin to  answers.

The Rocketdyne complex in the Santa Susana Range

Rocketdyne static test stations

Rocketdyne static testing of rocket engines

It started with a sound, then a  rumble,  the house beginning to vibrate,  Gary immediately concluding it was an  earthquake,  but the rumbling  endured,  not for seconds but minutes, the sound was directional from an outside distance source.   He glanced up catching a ‘know it all’  grin on his cousin’s face as he beckoned for Gary  and Dale to step to the window.   A condensed orange-red glow was reflecting on the bare mountain backdrop of the Santa Susana range to the west.   The question in Gary’s mind was  Where and What?  His cousin answering, it was Rocketdyne,  Pratt and Whitney’s/North American Aviation,  having 18 static test stands at their jet and rocket engine developing testing  facility,  established  five miles from Canoga Park.  His cousin reflecting it was an ongoing program of the Redstone, Thor and Atlas missile engines along with other classified static tests including a nuclear program  all entertained at the 2558 acre complex.   Gary dramatically impressed with what was taking place, a desire to explore this new-found discovery, but a realization, in all probability it would be for not.

The morning bringing forth the planned tour of the Hollywood Hills and acclaimed residences.  Gary finding a new sitting position  on the back of the Cushman,  previously perched upon two bundled sleeping bags during the interminable three-day voyage, the perch enabling him  to see over Dale’s head,  but now with the sleeping bags removed he was slung low in the saddle,  having to survey the road around the body of the motorized operator.   It was a sightseeing day, but Gary knew that this occasion would not provide the scenic wonders of the majestic overture performed by the coastline and the sea.  Dale was more rhapsodize in this venture to Hollywood and Beverly Hills than Gary and it became apparent that Dale’s promulgation was over extended and the exhibited billing was aggrandized. Beverly Hills was mainly an interest for those mired in luxury and the presences of such, Gary bore little interest the luxurious accumulations of the rich and famous.   The journey beginning but the evoking venture was short-lived,  the scooter suddenly in regression,  the motor revving  as if the transmission was in neutral,  the Cushman slowing coming to halt.  The two disembarking, Gary not being a two-wheel motorist enthusiast immediately reflecting the worst.  Dale remaining calm,  manifesting  confidence with little concern, immediately knowing what the problem was, the drive chains master link had come off.  Gary was relieved, Dale having included amongst his possessions,  drive chain master links, the scooter operator having experienced this equation before, not with the new Road King,  but with his first older Cushman, his resourcefulness having provisional foresight.

Master link

The incident finding both of the traveler somewhat disquieted,  never while on the journey had the concern of scooter problems been consigned and now this minor event  causing a  distraction in their planning, the touring journey no longer a priority.  The itinerary time schedule was for a three-day stay,  but when the newly installed link also departed leaving the chain in-operable for a second time,  a decision was accorded to limit the mileage and bid a farewell a day early.   The two boys thanking their host, griping for the journey north,  Gary with some thought concluding , the journey south having revealed one important entity,  it was called resolve.

Traffic Laden Highway 101 – Known as the Coast Highway

The Wayfarers of Highway #1

The return journey from Canoga Park to the Bay Area on the 5 hp. Cushman was prosaic.   Dale and Gary’s stamina for consummation of the return trip was waning,  once again acquainting the Highway,  the conciseness of the onrushing air and the ever-changing boutique emitting from the passing landscape.   Gary could appreciate the affinity for nature’s surrounding shared by those two-wheel travelers who glide the by-ways in their high-powered cycles, but still questioned whether they might be taking license for self-aggrandizement.   The Cushman occupants having changed their timeline, the three-day excursion from Oakland to Canoga Park on scenic  Highway #1  was abridged,  the northern journey home would be accomplished in two days utilizing the well-traveled highway #101.

A farewell to a scenic friend

An afternoon start Gary once again perched on the two sleeping bags behind and above Dale, the two focusing on accomplishing the 175 miles to San Luis Obispo.  The adventurers becoming  dismayed, the enthusiasm that encased them at the start of this venture having subsided, the return journey home becoming somewhat anticlimactic.  North of Santa Barbara the highway passing within 100 yards of the breaker swelled ocean, Gary acknowledging a farewell to this scenic friend.   Dusk was approaching as they passed through San Luis Obispo, a community of 20,000,  exiting the city limits soon discovering a turn-out area  overlooking the highway.  The two travelers adhering to their no driving after dark rule and with the evening sun beginning to descend below the horizon  a decision was made to adjourn to this provisional  station.   Unlike the melodious concerts of their nocturnal bivouacs on Highway #1,  the lullaby song of the cascading waves of the blue pacific, the only evening sound was that of the  trafficking fanfare on #101.   Gary acknowledging the four lane made for a faster more direct route home but it was but a destination, but philosophically the real goal for this journey having yet to be determined.

A curious Black & White

The rising sun and the echoing sound of 18 wheeler welcoming the travelers to resume their journey,  the two finding fuel for themselves and the Cushman 10 mile up the road at Santa Margarita.  With better than 250 miles remaining,  the steady droning of the muffler, the continuous buffeting of the wind and passing vehicle was remedied by a stop, a  stretching of the legs and a cigarette.  During a break in their travels stopping at the side of the highway before entering Salinas,  an authority from the state in  a black and white stopped to inquire about their purpose, asking if they needed any assistance, Gary briefly explaining about their return to Oakland.  The officer bidding them to be mindful of the traffic and wishing them a safe journey.

Gary and Dale Spady

Dales residence on Lenard Drive in Castro Valley

The enterprising masters of the highway were but blocks from entering the gates of recognition announcing their return at Dale’s residence,  an inner feeling  beaming with accomplishment,  a return of the triumphal conquerors.   The two travelers, somewhat wind thrashed from the journey,  their goggles and  flight helmet liner exhibiting decorations from the inhabitants of the  road  were about to address the conclusion of their journey,  when once again  the Cushman slowed to a stop.   The drive chain having repeated its fallacy, a loss of the master link, chain separation  and with that, the triumphal return resulted in a hands-on approach,  the two having to enduring the disenchantment of pushing the scooter the final two blocks.

In search of a compass

Downtown Oakland

Reality could be burdensome, Gary remained indecisive about his future, heavy with indecision and his logic which he relied upon was of no consequence.   The trek to the south with Dale was a temporary reprieve, the moirai remained, a determination and direction was needed.   The youth grasp that without a compass,  inactivity gained nothing and he found himself traversing the employment market of the large retail outlets in metropolitan downtown Oakland,  placating himself,  seeking employment whatever the vocation.  Deliberations and alternatives in his mind were still elusive, the youth seemed at a loss when an unexpected compass of fate intervene.

Gary and his mom

House call – Master Sargeant Casserly

His mother was elated, a close friend from her school days in Yreka whom she hadn’t seen in years having moved to the bay-area and was visiting.  Gary having never heard his mother mentioning  Alice Larson Casserly,  but then again his mother was never one to disclosed very many of her childhood remembrances, Gary suspecting that it had something to do with his father’s reaction.   It was when Alice made her second visit that fate made its appearance.  Gary always a student of logic, determined that Karma, Fate,  Kismet, even luck required an equating hypothesis if to be acknowledged or accepted.  Accompanying Alice on this visit was her husband Jeff, regarded as Master Sergeant Jefferson A Casserly, United States Army.

 Sergeant Casserly was newly assigned  recruiter at the Induction and Recruiting Center in the Federal Building downtown, not surprising the sergeant immediately displayed an interest in the youth.  An Introduction found the two in a discussion of the many educational and career opportunities available in the army.  Gary’s logic began to equate a hypothesis of the events that had just transpired during the past two weeks.  His cousin’s army missile association,  the Rocketdyne experience and now his mother’s friend Alice’s husband, an army recruiter, could this be fate, luck or in reality the components of an equation leading to a hypothesis.

Sergeant Jeff Casserly having made a return visit,  the husband of Gary’s Mothers good friend growing up in Yreka, Alice Larson, the couple having visited once before.   Entering the Willson’s residence this time in his dress uniform, carrying a loose-leaf binder the size of an encyclopedia.   The army recruiting sergeant making a special house call to visit the recent Castlemont high school graduate about the opportunities of  an Army enlistment.  Gary perceiving the stripes adorning the sergeant’s uniform,  three up and three down as the rank of Master Sergeant.

His only firsthand military knowledge, besides from his recent visit to his cousin Bud O’Toole in Canoga Park, was from his dad, having served in the second world war and on occasion would recapitulate humorous accounts from his deployment on Saipan, Korea and Okinawa,  but always refraining from conveying the execrable events that he had witness.  Gary’s noticing the uniform stripes on Sargent Casserly’s sleeves,  his curiosity getting the best of him, finally asking the sergeant about them.  Not hesitating he replied:  the slanted service stripes were referred to as hash marks.  The ones on the left sleeve were for years of service, each stripe representing three years, the horizontal bars on the right sleeve, represented 6 months of overseas combat service.

Gary found the  Sergeant’s presentation was somewhat reminiscent of a school counselor’s,  attesting the m o s,  Military Occupational Specialty descriptions from the large manual,  explaining there were the prerequisite in acquiring a specialty .   The first was determined by the scores attained on the  AFQT,  Armed Forces Qualification Test, including a battery of test equivalent to the SAT,  Scholastic Aptitude Test for college entrance.  The second condition was that of occupational necessity and school availability.   Gary was interested in a occupational specialty similar but not the same as his cousin Buds with missiles. The potential recruit found it challenging to make a decision,  mainly because of a lack of in-depth information.

The Sergeant having a up-to-date printout of m o s availability,  but discovering the scope of description in most part was limited to a few paragraphs of generalities.   Sergeant Casserly couldn’t detail the course of study but did ascertain that most army school were eight or sixteen weeks,  the missile electronic school Gary was interested in was 33 weeks in duration,  with an addendum nuclear warhead school.  Gary was somewhat taken aback, with eight weeks of basic training, and over 33 weeks of specialty school,  it would be well over  9 months before he would be scheduled for a duty station.  Sergeant Casserly pointing out,  military class instruction was much different from the academic world of college, besides being paid, you’re in the army and subject to military discipline.

The question was no longer pending, the youth being asked if he was ready to make the most important decision thus far in his life.  Gary unsure of what the future would bring if he remained at home,  recognizing that if he enlisted he wouldn’t have to cope with making many decisions.  He agreed on enlistment,  because of his age, not having attained his 18th birthday his parents were required to sign an underage  waiver, the youth could be scheduled to report for a physical and qualification testing, but not to be sworn-in  before his 18th birthday.  Gary affirming is decision to enlist.

The given day for his physical and qualification testing have arrived, Gary maneuvering his families recently purchased 56 Dodge Belvedere into the parking area of the Federal Building at 15th and Broadway,  the location of the Armed Forces Induction Center.   Entering the building, the young high school graduate experiencing a feeling of solitude, alone on his own, advancing one step at a time in a new unexplored world.   Directions finding him ushered into a room waiting to be called with others for a brief physical, no resemblance to the stripped down wait in line examinations portrayed in the movies.

Once completed, Gary relieved when certified as physically qualified, having a concern that his hundred thirteen pound weight may have prohibited his enlistment.  The testing area was a large room, the military instructor serving notice that the  battery of timed test would take several hours,  and would pose questions concerning vocational skills as well as academic ones.   Gary just out of high school having taken final exams discovering no difficulty, especially with the math problems having traveled a 4 year journey on the road of algebra thru calculus.  A possible life changing day fulfilled, the youth returning home, relieved that it was over, a  sense of confidence residing.

Sergeant Casserly making his final visit, Gary’s test scores having exceeded all requirements, including qualification for o c s, Officer Candidate School.  He was enrolled in a corporal missile electronic material maintenance course,  the Army to notify him by mail the date to report for formal induction, the swearing-in ceremony, and transportation to Fort Ord to begin 8 weeks of basic training.    An uncomfortable feeling began to emerge, the youth questioning, could it be the expediency of commitment to a military enlistment.   patience was fleeting as the days passed  waiting for his Call To Service date,  the questions lingered, were these feelings a residual of haste.

The daily 13 steps up to the mail box on Greenly Drive giving the youth a new conscious meaning to the past,  a new aura of his surroundings,  the memories of home, his family,  its moments of elation, and the caliber of school days friendships, this world would soon depart.   Gary reflecting that something was astray, questioning if his decision, was this closing of a chapter in his life? or just maybe, the beginning page of a new one.

A welcome sign

The Call to Service correspondence having finally arrived informing Gary to report to the Army Induction Center at 10 A.M.on Monday, April 20th,  the youth beginning to wonder if the summons would every materialize.  The families acknowledgement seemed arrested, but he attributed this to his false display of insignificance to the coming event,  belaying the uneasy feeling in the pit of stomach and his true thoughts of the upcoming milestone.  The day of atonement, the youth packing a  shaving kit and other personal sundry items in an athletic gym bag,  a brief goodbye to mom with a mention of returning on his first weekend leave.

The drive to the induction center was without a lot of conversation, but this was pretty much a norm when he and his dad traveled together.  “Take care of yourself son” were his dad’s final words, entering the induction center the reality of leaving home beginning to set in.  He remembered when  growing up hearing his dad characterize army life with a saying  “hurry up and wait”,  Gary having received his report notification three weeks ago and now after his 10:00 a.m. morning arrival was told the swearing-in ceremony would take place sometime later that afternoon.

The augmented group,  estimated at twenty recently sworn-in recruits finishing their first military meal courtesy of a local cafeteria, it was late afternoon before mounting an army bus for deposit at Fort Ord,  a two-hour journey.   A uniformed corporal having just  reenlisted sitting in the front seat was charged with a large manila folder containing the groups administrative orders.   The bus turned onto the Nimitz,  Gary gazing across at the East Oakland Hills their view slowly withdrawing  out of sight and for the first time he felt a loss.   Having just acquired a feeling of independence, able to make major decisions thru observations and judgement,  a self-assurance suffused to ascendancy and now thru a bus window he watched as the anchor and foundation of his past departed before his moist eyes,  the hills would be nor, it was the ebbing of a youthful altruistic environment called home.

No harassing drill instructors,  not even a raised voice when disembarking the bus in evoking darken hour,  filing out to the reception area the future soldiers assembling in a formation as their names were convened.  The row-call completed, a NCO sergeant giving a blaring welcome, the makeshift formation of twenty recruits advanced inside a two-story billet lined with beds and mattresses.   Bedding having appropriated  to each berth and a cadre demonstration of the correct distilling of an army bunk,  including hospital corners which most had never heard of or seen before and a ceremonial bouncing of a quarter on the tightly secured  top blanket.

  Gary concluding,  with the recruits still in civilian clothes,  the late hour and a sense of perplexity may have explained the missing movie scripted scenario, the sergeant with the  stereotype army provocation.  The atmosphere was rather quiescent, a stillness prevailed, like the lull before the storm, the sergeant returning reading names and times from a prepared duty roster before posting it.   The wooden barracks required a fire guard at night, after lights out two individuals would stand a one hour watch,  arousing the next two continuing until  reveille.

The army became true to form in the morning,  the group being  wakened by a  two boisterous sergeants,  shouting instruction concerning physical appearance and the cleanliness of the billet.  Falling-in outside, a roll call was conducted, the recruits escorted to the silent scope of the mess hall, the spoken word was prohibited, the group experience their first military meal in silence.  Gary somewhat taken aback from the variety and abundance of food being served,  having grown up with adequate meals and a school cafeteria, but not on this order.  The morning discovering a journey to secure the fleecing of what little hair he already had and a march to a large warehouse looking structure discovering it was the clothing distribution center.  The new recruit discovering some personal unknowns, his actual clothing  sizes, a 29 inch waist, 29 inch inseam and size 8W boots and shoes.  It was a new experience,  in civilian life having never  acquired this volume of clothing that the army issued, filling a duffel almost to the point of being too heavy for him to carry.

The temporary wooden barracks home was designated Reception , other than acquainting the new recruits with inoculations,  a hair stylist and the art of spit-shine,  it was a holding area for interim new personnel until the numbers were sufficient for transfer orders to form a training battalion.   Gary discovering the reception holding area also to be a labor pool for established units to draw from, especially in realm of KP  (kitchen patrol), immediately  discovering it with an acquaintance.

The transition from civilian  to military life was instantaneous with no acclimation allotments, the recruits finding decisions,  opinions and preferences were no longer applicable and task were never completed the right or wrong way, but the army way.  Gary did possess avidity to experience the regiment of military order and on his fourth day in the reception area found his and the other in the barracks name posted to stand ready for transportation to a Training Battalion,  their home for the next eight weeks