Our folk’s new house was located in an area referred to as Lakewood, a little over one mile due east of Douglas Aircraft, which was located at the Long Beach Airport. Some parts of this area were within Long Beach’s city limits, while other parts were unincorporated. Although our mailing address was 3816 Sebren Avenue, Long Beach, California, our house was located in an unincorporated area of Lakewood. Our legal residence was in Los Angeles County, and it was some years before we were annexed into Long Beach. Our family putt down roots after this May 1944 move to the house on Sebren Avenue. This new house is where our folks abandoned their itinerant ways and settled down for the rest of their lives. It is where both Berta and I grew to young adulthood. While I spent almost nine years in several houses, schools and cities, this house on Sebren Avenue is where I consider “home” to be. Yes, I remember the previous places, but I believe the Sebren house is where I really grew up. It seems rather ironic to think that life did not begin until the age of nine. This view is probably an overstatement, because the first nine years laid the basis for who I am. Yet, the years spent in the Sebren environment contributed significantly to finalizing my persona.
After moving into the Sebren house, my world exploded in every imaginable way and in many ways unimaginable. My life took quantum leaps into experiences and relationships previously unknown or even dreamed about. Telling my story to this point has been easy, because activities and memories have been somewhat limited. Memories were limited due to the many moves and a still maturing memory bank. Originally, I intended to chronicle life from moving to Sebren Avenue through high school, but while collecting my thoughts for this time period, it became clear this task would be overwhelming and would complicate my Reflections for a number of reasons. Experiences all the way through high school were too many years to cover. Also, it was recognized that a memorable event might introduce a subject that would extend into my adult years, a topic which would deserve an essay unto itself. Based on these considerations this essay will cover those events from May 1944 to August 1947, in other words, finishing Third Grade on through Sixth Grade.
Then, rummaging through my Sebren Avenue experiences, I realized how the area surrounding our neighborhood impacted my growing up. In fact, to fully understand how the area influenced my experiences, it requires taking a journey back in time to the area that formed my world in the mid to late 1940s. As an aid to this understanding, a current satellite map of the area has been red lined so that the 1940s setting can be more easily visualized. Basically, these red lines define the boundary where time has changed what lies beyond.
Sebren Avenue Area, Mid-1940
The satellite map has a red pin locating our house; this pin is about in the middle of the map. The park area between our house and Carson Street was an open field. This field usually contained some sort of crop; I remember pulling and eating turnips. Those houses between the field and Harco Street (the major street south of our house) were constructed in 1942. This date is an assumption, because it was imprinted in the sidewalk in front of our house. Those houses south of Harco Street were built next but without garages. No garages were built due to construction material shortage or rationing, but a garage foundation was provided. When we moved into the Sebren house in May 1944 the areas beyond the red lines were open fields. These fields stretched all the way to the San Gabriel River, a little over one mile to the East. Woodruff Avenue was a narrow two-lane road, with the East side of the road lined with eucalyptus trees. This line of trees extended from Carson Street south to Conant Street. Eucalyptus trees were planted to serve as wind breaks and were common sights in Southern California. Just on the other side of these trees was a dirt road that extended from Harco Street about half way to Carson Street. This dirt road provided entrance to two or three ranches adjacent to the dirt road. Areas north or south of the red line were also open fields. For a number of years after 1944, the red box at the corner of Carson and Woodruff was an abandoned one-room schoolhouse. There was a bell tower, but the bell was long gone. After the war, housing developments popped up like weeds, and my wide open playground and adventure zone was gone. In my view, we lived on the edge of a frontier, with an unknown world for exploring just blocks from home.
Harco Street served as the main entrance to our development and was accessed by either Bellflower Boulevard or Woodruff Avenue. Our house at 3816 Sebren Avenue was located on the East side of the street, and was the third house from Harco Street.
House Location on Sebren Avenue
Our Sebren Avenue house consisted of a combined living/dining room, a kitchen, two bedrooms, a single bathroom and an attached two-car garage. Excluding the garage, the living area consisted of only 860 square feet! While this size is small by today’s standards, it did not seem that small while growing up. An early photo of the house shows Berta exiting the front porch. Our neighbor Bill Wells took this photo.
3816 Sebren Avenue, circa 1945
The living room window is to the right of the front door. The living room was a combination living room/dining room, but, in reality, it was just one large room that served as a living room only. The kitchen was located behind the living room. The front bedroom widow is to the left of the front door; this room was the larger of the two bedrooms. There was a hall from the front bedroom to the other bedroom at the rear of the house. The bathroom and a hall closet were located between the two bedrooms. Although the kitchen was small, it also served as our eating area. When we moved in, there was a washing machine and laundry sink located behind folding doors on one end of the kitchen. Needless to say, our eating area was rather cramped. Dad increased the eating area by removing the folding doors and moved the washing machine and sink to the garage. Dad’s project gave us a small alcove that increased our eating area. An original photo of our backyard shows how it looked when we moved in. The hedge separated the lawn from the “farm” area. In this area were three fruit trees and a Concord grape vine. Trees to the right and left of the photo are peach trees, which produced two different types of peaches. The middle tree gave us apricots. The grape vine is not visible and was located next to the rear fence. A dwarf lemon tree stands in middle of the yard. This tree was moved to the far left of the yard next to the fence, but just forward of the line of hedges. At some point we planted a garden between the apricot tree and the peach tree on the left, I do not remember when it was planted or how long it lasted. During World War II people were encouraged to plant a “Victory Garden” to help the war effort. So I suspect we planted it sometime during the war. The trees and garden area figure later in my story. Best I can recall is that the two wooden cutout figures came with the house. These figures were a girl and boy watering imaginary plants. At some point they disappeared. Note the outdoor clothes dryer—the clotheslines! Note a towel hanging on a clothesline next to the clothesline pole.
3816 Sebren Avenue Backyard, Circa 1944
Almost immediately after moving in, Mom and Dad made friends with Paul and Oral Larson (Mr. & Mrs. Larson to me), our neighbors directly across the street from us. Paul was a construction worker and Oral was a secretary for Walker & Lee, the real estate developers of our housing tract. As my folks became better acquainted with the Larsons, an unbelievable occurrence was uncovered. Oral Larson was driving her car in North Long Beach when a horse fell on top of it, which is the scene Dad and I saw not too long before we moved. Wow, what a coincidence! Just shows it is a really small world. The Larsons became very good friends with Mom and Dad. In fact, I remember Dad spending lots of time over with Paul in his garage. Sometime around 1947, maybe 1948, they were the first in the neighborhood to buy a TV. They would invite us over to watch Texaco Star Theater with Milton Berle, or “Uncle Miltie" as he was also known. Sometime about 1949, Mr. Larson fell from a scaffold at his work and was killed. Shortly after Paul’s death, Oral’s mother, Mrs. Lena Harris, came to live with her. Oral had a married daughter, Barbara, who provided some support until she and her husband Matt (?) moved to Portland, Oregon. To help them, Granddad Graham, who moved in with us in 1945, mowed their lawns; eventually this job fell to me. Sadly, Oral contracted Multiple Sclerosis and eventually was bed ridden. I’ve been able to find only one photo of Oral, Barbara, Matt and Mrs. Harris.
Oral Larson, Son-in-Law Matt (?), Daughter Barbara, Lena Harris
However, before settling into our new house I had to finish the Third Grade. My new school was Douglas A. MacArthur Elementary, which was located over a mile from our house. Getting to school meant riding a school bus. The following map shows the location of Douglas MacArthur Elementary relative to our home, as well as the bus route.
Bus Route to Douglas MacArthur
The red lines indicate the boundary of existing housing. The areas to the right of these lines were open fields all the way to the San Gabriel River. Besides the abandoned one-room schoolhouse, another red box indicates a water pump structure for irrigating the surrounding fields. In essence, MacArthur’s location was situated in an area that was totally undeveloped; the only structure around the school was a stable that rented and boarded horses. This stable was adjacent to the school on its north side, but stable buildings were some distance from the school grounds. A current satellite map shows Douglas MacArthur Elementary as it exists today. When I attended in 1944 through 1947 there were only the two buildings marked with red dots and one bungalow also marked with a red dot. The red line provides the extent of the asphalt where our our lunch tables were located. The other red lines indicate basketball court
Douglas A. MacArthur Elementary School
locations. The streets mark the school boundaries today, but the roads marked with red dots were dirt at the time I attended the school. The park to the top of the map was the location of the stables with a barbed wire fence separating the school and the stable’s property. Besides the two asphalt areas the rest of the school was dirt or was covered with some sort of naturally occurring vegetation—today this vegetation would be called “weeds”.
There is also a tilted view of the school from Woodruff Avenue that shows the two original buildings that existed when I attended the school. Also visible are the basketball courts marked in the map view above.
Douglas A. MacArthur Elementary School, Elevated View
My four weeks in Third Grade at Douglas MacArthur were not too memorable, except for the first day. The first day was painful for me. I was seated at a table with some other classmates, how many or who I have no recollection. I remember feeling totally out of place, wishing I were somewhere else. While the teacher announced to the class that there was a new student in class, I attempted to hide by not looking up and kept staring at the tabletop. I shut out whatever the teacher was telling the class, and concentrated my gaze on an ordinary housefly that had landed on the table. As I stared at the fly, I remember saying to myself, “Someday I will find out how the fly is put together,” certainly not a very profound thought, but it allowed me to “be somewhere else.” How the rest of the day went, I do not know. What I do remember is that several new classmates asked me questions something like, “There are only four weeks left in the school year, how are they going to grade you?” and “Will they promote you to Fourth Grade?” I could only shrug my shoulders and indicate my grades would probably be forwarded from Clara Barton Elementary. Whatever process the school used, I was promoted to the Fourth Grade at the end of four weeks. I’m sure it was a great relief to me when these four weeks were completed, given its stressful beginning. Wow, now I could explore my surroundings during summer vacation...
While there are no specific memories of what I did this first summer, I began to meet other kids in our neighborhood. During the four weeks at MacArthur, during this summer and during the first few weeks in Mrs. Cooper’s Fourth Grade class, my world of friends expanded beyond anything experienced to date. My new friends included Mickey Harris, Karen Hall, Milo Kellogg, Bruce Llewellyn, Carla Fisher, Bobby Klasen, Beverly Peterson, Paul Norcross, Norma Jean Butterfield, Jim Winars, Vance Rathman, Mike Smith, Patty Ann Rathman, Jacqueline Steele, Carol Browne, Delos “Del” Nadeau, Cathy Caster, Robert Fields, Alvin Fair, “Duke”, and probably a half dozen or more who’s names have faded from my memory.
You might say, “Wow! Did you met all these kids in your first three or four months?” Remembering when I met each one listed has faded into history. Almost everyone was either in the immediate neighborhood, from my short time in the Third Grade class or from my Fourth Grade class. As an example, Mickey Harris lived directly behind us, Karen Hall lived two doors up the street, Milo Kellogg lived around the corner on Harco Street and Bruce Llewellyn lived across the street from Mickey Harris. Several of the others lived within five or six blocks of our house. Plus, everyone was either in the Third or Fourth Grade at Douglas MacArthur Elementary School when I started the Fourth Grade. Classes at MacArthur were stable with few classmate changes occurring all the way through Sixth Grade. As a result, some of them became best friends, some were good friends, some were casual friends, and there was some interaction with all of them—either at play or school or just encountering them around the different neighborhoods in our area.
When I turned nine years old the summer of 1944, my life had changed dramatically in so many ways and in such a very short time. Prior to this move, my life seemed to be one of isolation, certainly lacking memories of anyone except family. From this time on there were kids my own age to call as friends and several to share school activities and other adventures. I believe the impact on me as a person, was dramatic! In a sense, life blossomed like a sunflower for me. It was certainly a very meaningful time in my life. The world was full of wonders, and I was discovering them in so many ways, both at home and at school. Even with my newfound world of friends and other adventures, there were some events during my year in Fourth Grade that did not involve new found friends.
In 1944 I received my last spanking. Why did I get this spanking? For most of the time, Berta and I did not have many conflicts, and we did not have many disputes. However, there were times Berta would become upset with me. It could have been I teased her, or she was unhappy with me for some other reason. Whatever the reason, her method of letting me know about her displeasure was to bite me. It was irritating, but to the best of my memory I did not ever retaliate until the day she bit me once too often. I returned the bite on her forearm and drew blood. Mom scolded me and told me, “Wait till your Dad gets home!” I knew the spanking was coming and resigned myself to it. Dad heard the story, and without a word, went to the hall closet and retrieved a foot long, plastic shoehorn. Yes, it hurt, and I knew it was deserved. I do not remember crying but probably did. However, from my viewpoint it was worth it—Berta quit biting. I’ve never told her about this episode, so I suspect it comes as a surprise to her.
Also, during my ninth year I had my first surgery. Best I can remember, there were lots of sore throats over the previous few years. Perhaps it was strep throat that seemed to plague me. In any event, it was decided my tonsils had to be removed. I’m sure it was a doctor’s recommendation, but this procedure was also a very common practice during this period of time. My folks returned me to the city of Orange to have Dr. Paul E. Rumph, the doctor that delivered me, remove my tonsils. Dr. Rumph’s office was on North Glassell Street in the second block north of the Orange Circle. I believe his office is now the dentistry office at about 260 North Glassell Street. My folks parked behind the building and we went into the operating room in the back part of his office. After I was on the table, Dr. Rumph told me to count backward from 100. I do not believe my count went beyond 95 and I was gone. There is a faint memory of waking up, but getting home is a complete fog. What I do remember was being out of school for a week and being in bed most of the time. My throat was sore, and the only thing I ate was watermelon and ice cream. I certainly played it for all it was worth, but it all ended in a week. Then it was back to school.
Most nine year-old boys hate going to school or do what they can to avoid it. I do not believe that was my feeling about it, because to me school was fun. There were probably two basic reasons for not finding school boring. First, I did not have difficulties from an academic standpoint. Second, the outdoor activities were what I really enjoyed because of the competition of games played with all the other kids. Mathematics, actually arithmetic, was never a problem, and I was always in the top reading group. In my case, learning was not boring, but learning new information was sort of a stimulus to exploring different subjects. At MacArthur, cursive writing was started in the Third Grade, while at Clara Barton, we only printed. So, I was behind in learning cursive writing when I started in Mrs. Cooper’s Fourth Grade class. Fortunately, we had cursive writing sessions once or twice a week, which was a real help for me. Although I did not like these session, they were a big help because I developed a very good hand-writing style. Deep down I enjoyed learning new and different things, but it took second place to the outdoor activities.
These outdoor activities were possible during three class breaks every day. There was a 10-minute morning recess, a 30-minute lunch period that included a 10-minute recess and a 30-minute afternoon break that include a 20-minute physical education session and a 10-minute recess. During the lunch break you ate as fast as possible to maximize your playtime. The afternoon break during Fourth and Fifth Grades was totally unstructured and amounted to a 30-minute recess. This unstructured period changed in Sixth Grade and will be explained later. On rainy days we lost our outdoor time. Rainy day sessions resulted in eating lunch in our classroom and loss of the 20-minute afternoon session, while the morning and afternoon recess time was lost or shortened. Rainy day sessions meant school was out at about 2:20 PM instead of the usual 3:10 PM.
So, what was so exciting about my outdoor activities that were so attractive? Basically we could do whatever our heart desired since there was little, or no, playground supervision. Essentially we were on our own and not under any teacher instruction. We played tag, kickball, hide and go seek, softball, football, dodgeball and in the Sixth Grade we began playing basketball. While these games were usually coed, there were games in which only boys or girls played. Boys played “Marbles”, and, for girls it was either “Jacks” or “Hopscotch”. You may ask how could you play hide and go seek on a school playground? Remember most of the playground was either dirt or covered with vegetation, primarily wild oats. These wild oats grew to a height of about three feet, which made hiding quite easy. Being fleet of foot was essential the way we played this game to avoid becoming “It”. Our brand of football was tackle and no one had any sort of protective gear. Amazingly, no one was injured beyond, scrapes and bruises. Which game to be played was decide on the spur of the moment and teams selected on the spot. I was usually the last chosen for any given team, but probably because I was among the smallest. During these playground games I learned that my participation in “sports” related activities was my way of gaining social acceptance. The nature of the playground being so wide open with so little adult supervision really allowed me the freedom to participate in ways that were beneficial to my growth. As such, attending MacArthur for three years definitely had a positive impact on my life. While you may recognize most, if not all, of the activities listed above, I feel certain “Marbles” is a mystery since marble games have faded into history.
There were two different marble games we played; one was called “Chase” and the other had no name that I remember, but I will call it “Pots”. Pots was the more popular game and consisted of up to about five or six players. A circle about three feet in diameter was drawn in the dirt, and each player would place a given number of marbles in the center of the circle to form a “Pot” of marbles. Each player would lag a marble toward a line about five feet away to determine the order of play. The object of the game was to knock Pot marbles out of the ring; those you knocked out were yours to keep. Hence, you could win or lose more marbles than you placed in the Pot before the game started. A player began his turn by shooting his “shooter” marble somewhere from outside the circle drawn in the dirt. A “shooter” marble was usually an agate larger than most marbles in the pot. Shooting a marble was simply holding a marble with your index finger against your thumbnail and propelling the marble with a flick of your thumb. If you hit a Pot marble and knocked it out of the circle it was yours. If your “shooter” remains within the circle, your turn continues until your “shooter” bounced outside the circle. When that happens the next player begins his turn. There was a special talent involved to knock a marble out and have your “shooter” stay within the circle or “stick” as we used to say. This talent involved putting the correct spin on your “shooter” to have it stick when you hit another marble. This spin is like the spin on a cue ball when shooting pool. My talent was in the ability to shoot a marble hard, but my spin capability was not as good. As a consequence, I was usually a loser in most Pots games. I did better at the Chase marble game.
Chase was a one on one game with no boundaries involved. The first player would shoot his marble, then the second player would chase with his marble. When one player struck the other player’s marble, the game was over. If the shooter hit the other marble you won that marble. This game involved strategy as to when to attempt to strike the other player’s marble. If you decided it was time and you missed, your marble would be close to the other player’s marble, which gave him an easy shot, and you usually lost. I did a little bit better at this game by winning more than I lost. Even so, you only won one marble at a time. Besides the strictly boys’ game of Marbles I tried the girls’ game of Jacks. It was a game requiring eye/hand coordination, which was within my capabilities. However, there was no risk if you missed picking up the correct jacks before the ball hit the ground a second time. The only risk was failure and embarrassment. All these playground activities were enjoyed throughout my attendance at Douglas MacArthur, but did change each year depending on what game would be more popular. However, there were a couple of incidents that produced some excitement.
An all white mule escaped from a corral, or barn, at the stables that were adjacent to the school. The mule ran wild on our playground, and we had to scramble to safety of the school buildings. The mule chased some kids but did not catch them. This mule escaped from the stables two years in a row; I think it was when I was in Fifth and Sixth Grades. Only one boy came close to being injured. This boy was sort of a dare devil and he climbed a pole on the playground just before the mule reached him. Then the mule kicked the pole and Duke almost fell off the pole. By that time a couple of cowboys arrived from the stable, roped the mule and lead it back to the stable.
Besides this excitement there was one other event of note while I was in the Fourth Grade. As it turned out this event was historical and also very memorable. On April 12, 1945, sometime just after lunch, the principal’s secretary entered our room and spoke quietly with our teacher, Mrs. Cooper. Then the secretary announced that President Franklin Delano Roosevelt had died. This news was a shock to me and to everyone in our class. I understood a war was raging, and the President was important to the conduct of the war. I remember thinking as the secretary left our room, “What is the country to do now that the President has died?” I remember being troubled that we had no President or so I thought. When I learned that Vice President Harry S. Truman was the new President I do not remember. It could have been that Mrs. Cooper explained the situation, or maybe I learned about him that night at home from Mom or Dad. Looking back on this incident, it is amazing how little a nine year old knows about the world. You know a war is being fought, but what it really means is not truly comprehended. My view of the war was only what I knew from movies, newsreels and my Marine Corps comic books. Living about a mile from Douglas Aircraft and the Long Beach Airport also provided a window into the war.
The Long Beach Airport served as a base for the US Army Air Corps. It was common to see warplanes flying into the airport at any time of the day. Seeing these planes peeked my interest in flying and identifying each plane type. In some cases, I could recognize a specific plane type just by the sound of its engine. At night you could hear machine guns firing. It was believed the machine guns were being fired to synchronize the firing with the propellers. While I really doubt this story, it was real to all the kids at the time. Spring Street ran along the South side of the airport and was closed to public use. However, a Long Beach City Bus was allowed to use this closed street. So, riding the bus to downtown Long Beach was a treat since you were able to ride through forbidden territory. As it turned out, you did not see too much other than a few planes parked along the airport’s fence. Douglas Aircraft buildings were protected by anti-aircraft batteries mounted on the roofs. To aid in camouflaging the buildings these batteries were located in fake houses. I doubt these fake houses would really fool an enemy bomber. As you can see, World War II was a dominating factor in our lives, even when I joined the Cub Scouts.
I joined the Cub Scouts shortly after turning nine years old in August 1944. There were a couple reasons for joining the Cubs. First, since Mickey Harris, Milo Kellogg and Bruce Llewellyn were Cubs, so joining seemed natural. Mom and Dad had become friends with Bill and Carol Wells, who lived up Sebren. Bill Wells was the Cub Master of Pack 106, so maybe their friendship introduced me to Cub Scouting. Mr. Wells talked Dad into being the Assistant Cub Master and Mom became a Den Mother. To help the war effort our Pack contributed by conducting a paper drive. Mom’s Den 2 collected newspapers for recycling; results of our Den’s effort are shown in the photo.
Den 2 Paper Drive
Cub Master Bill Wells worked at Douglas Aircraft as an aircraft engineer and arranged for a Cub Scout outing to the Army Air Force Base at Long Beach Airport. A photo shows us among the planes with our Air Corps guide. I recognize only four of the boys and three of the adults. Those boys and adults not remembered are shown as DNR. Front Row Cubs (L-R): Robert Fields, DNR, DNR, Bobby Klassen, Royal, DNR. Second Row Cubs (L-R): DNR, DNR, DNR, Mickey Harris, Bruce Llewellyn. Adults in Back Row (L-R): Bill Wells, Carol Wells, DNR, DNR, Mom. In the Middle Row are Boy Scout Den Chiefs; I have no recollection of their names. Besides the paper drive and visit to the airport, the other major Cub Scout event was the Soap Box Derby, the first one was held in 1945 before the war ended.
Cub Scouts At US Army Air Force Base, Long Beach Airport
Cub Master Bill Wells and Dad conceived of holding a Soap Box Derby for the Cubs of Pack 106. Their idea was to have the Cubs pick a partner to build a race car to race against other teams. Since our area was totally flat with no hills, each race car required two racers per car, with one boy driving and the other pushing the race car. Cars would race two at a time to the half way mark, turn around, change driver/pusher, race back to the start/finish line, and their elapsed time was recorded. Our first Soap Box Derby was held before World War II ended in May 1945. The Derby was quite a community event held on the Lakewood Diagonal located near the Northwest corner of Carson Street and Bellflower Boulevard. Lakewood Diagonal was a small commercial street with a grocery store, a Thrifty Drugstore and various stores located between these two major stores. One of the stores helped promote the Derby by permitting a window display to advertise the event. A photo of the store window shows a Derby car and the winners’ trophies. It should be noted that Dad made the trophies.
Soap Box Derby Display
For my first Soap Box Derby my partner was Bruce Llewellyn. Bruce, Dad and I built the racer. However, I believe Dad was the chief designer, while Bruce and I did whatever we were instructed to do. Bruce and I were rather passive on how the car was constructed. Dad’s design used sheet aluminum for the front of the car. I do not remember how we steered. My sole contribution was insisting on an exhaust pipe to indicate an engine. In the photo you can see our car near the far end of the lineup.
Cub Scout Soap Box Derby, May 1945
Where Bruce and I finished this first year I do not remember. Actually, I do not think we were even close. We certainly were not in the top five finishers. We probably thought that next year would be better.
For 1946, I teamed up with Milo Kellogg. Once again, Dad was the chief designer although Milo and I had some input into the design. Unfortunately, our design resulted in a larger race car than the one from the previous year. To be honest, it was too big and too heavy to allow us to be competitive. The photo shows the Soap Box Derby lineup for 1946, where you can see there are more cars this year that in 1945. The fifth car from the right is Bruce Llewellyn and Mickey Harris, while Milo and I are in the sixth car from the right. You can see our racer is fairly large compared to other cars. Not only was there a lot of sheet aluminum, the base was Masonite which added to the weight. The car next to our car was Bobby Klassen and the boy with the sailor hat. While I do not remember his name, his hair was flaming red. As you might expect, Milo and I finished out of the money. Maybe the next year would be better. Losing did not bother me, but two good friends moved away which caused some sadness. Bobby Klassen’s family moved back to Oklahoma, while Mickey Harris moved to Bellflower. I did maintain some contact with Mickey, but this friendship faded eventually due to distance.
Cub Scout Soap Box Derby, May 1946
For the the 1947 Soap Box Derby I dumped Dad as the chief race car designer. Exactly why this happened is rather fuzzy. I believe Dad, my partner and myself started the process of building a racer. I do not remember who initially was to be my partner although it was probably either Milo or Bruce. For some reason I told Dad that I was going to change teams and help Vance Rathman build his car and race with him. I believe Dad’s feelings were hurt, but he never said a word. Perhaps I knew big heavy race cars could not win, maybe Vance ask me to help him, perhaps Milo decided to team with Bruce, or maybe it was Patty Ann Rathman (Vance’s sister). Patty and I were in Mr. Heinze’s Sixth Grade class, while Vance was in Mrs. Stauffer’s Fifth Grade class. Patty said her “favorite” boy in her class was me, so maybe she encouraged him to ask me to be his partner. Patty Ann was okay, but Carol Browne was a new girl in class that caught my eye. However, playing baseball, football and basketball were more important to me, not girls. In any event, Vance and I built the race car with little help from Vance’s Dad. We named our racer Super Suds, a popular laundry soap of the time. Why we picked this name is another fact that has faded into history. Once we finished the car, Vance and I practiced the turning around and changing places. We knew this was a critical maneuver that could reduce our elapsed time. Our practice paid off for us because we won First Place. Not only did we win, Bruce and Milo won
Second Place. I think everyone involved was a winner. My best friends received trophies, while Dad could be proud of his son. There are even color photos of the First and Second Place winners.
1947 Soap Box Derby, First Place
1947 Soap Box Derby, Second Place
I really enjoyed my three years in the Cub Scouts. Besides the camaraderie with other boys my age, both Dad and Mom were involved also. I was very fortunate that they were involved in Cub Scouts because it provided a closer bond with them, plus there was the prestige I felt due to their involvement. Dad became the Cub Master when Bill Wells quit. There is a photo of Dad in his Cub Master shirt.
Cub master Robert O. Price, Circa 1946
Dad became the Cub Master in either 1946 pr 1947. Actually, he was a natural because of his outdoors experiences and his ability to make scouting interesting. Mom served as a Den Mother all three years I was in the Cubs, and we had the best Den in the Pack. There is a photo of Mom, Berta and me in my Cub Scout shirt.
Beta, Royal, Mom, Circa 1946
I was 11 years old when this photo was taken, because the Wolf, Bear and Lion badges are visible. My Cub Scout ring is visible on my finger. Berta would have been about three or four depending when the photo was taken. Looking closer, I appear to be unhappy at the time. There is a rather sour look on my face. During the Cub Scout years there were other events and activities that had an impact on growing up.
While attending Douglas MacArthur there were two World War II historical events that occurred. First, on June 6, 1944, D-Day, the combined armies of the US, Great Britain and Canada invaded occupied France at Normandy. Second, Germany surrendered on May 8, 1945, ending the European war. Surprisingly, these events do not register with me, primarily because the Pacific war with Japan seemed to be the more important war. Why was the Pacific war more important? Well, I was enamored with the US Marines; we lived on the Pacific Coast and the war movies were almost entirely about this war. My Marine Corps comics, that I read and reread, highlighted all the island landings, thus I was totally familiar with the war’s progress. Since we lived on the West Coast, the Pacific war just seemed closer and more important. Beside the movies mentioned in the last essay, the other Japan war movies I saw were 30 Seconds Over Tokyo, The Fighting Seabees and Guadalcanal Diary. The only remembered movie about war with Germany was Sahara with Humphrey Bogart. During the spring of 1945 the US captured the Japanese held islands of Iwo Jima and Okinawa. In fact, Okinawa was captured just before my year in Mrs. Cooper’s Fourth Grade was concluding and I was promoted to the Fifth Grade. As summer vacation started the Japan war was still underway, but ended before starting in Mrs. Stauffer’s Fifth Grade Class.
The summer of 1945 was certainly very memorable for me. Granddad Graham came to live with us, receiving my first bicycle, the dropping of the atomic bombs and the end of World War II. I am guessing Granddad Graham began to live with us this summer, because I remember staying with him for about a week in Santa Ana. At this time he lived in a converted stone garage and I was alone during the day while he went to work at the cemetery. I remember a Cub Scout project I was worked on to give to him. Hence, my best guess is that I was nine years old. Plus, I remember Granddad and Dad bought my first bicycle during this summer while Granddad was living with us. I do not exactly remember how long it took to learn to ride it, but I learned how fairly quickly. After all, most of my friends had bikes and knew how to ride, so the pressure was on to learn. Then in early August the newspaper headlines read, “ATOMIC BOMB DROPPED ON JAPAN”. Our first reaction was, “What is an atomic bomb?” Best I can determine, this headline occurred on August 8, 1945. Then on my tenth birthday, August 14, 1945, Milo Kellogg and I were in our living room playing with a Gilbert Chemistry set, when we heard lots of car horns honking. Mom came into the living room, and we asked, “What is happening?” Mom turned on the radio and we heard the announcement that Japan had surrendered. Wow, the war was over! What a birthday present! Now the war was over, it was back to school.
In September 1945, I started the Fifth Grade in Mrs. Stauffer’s class. While nothing stands out as a real memorable event, I remember some specific topics we studied. One history topic was the Pilgrims and how they lived. We even constructed a “log cabin” out of wood slats and construction paper painted to look like logs. Every week we would have singing sessions in which we learned songs of early America. We learned Swanee River, My Old Kentucky Home, Dixie, Clementine, Frog Went Courtin,' Battle Hymn of the Republic, America, America the Beautiful and, of course, the Star Spangled Banner. Then we learned songs that you cannot sing at school today. These songs were: Faith of Our Fathers, Silent Night, O’ Come All Ye Faithful, It Came Upon A Midnight Clear and all the classic Christmas carols. It might be this year that in Math, I learned how to calculate the square root of a number. To this day, I do not have to use a calculator to take the square root of a number. I thought Mrs. Stauffer was a good teacher and enjoyed being in her class. There was some apprehension about being promoted to the Sixth Grade because this year’s Sixth Grade teacher was leaving and a new one had not been assigned when school let out for the summer. As it turned out, the new teacher would become my favorite of all time, at least through high school.
The new Sixth Grade teacher became my favorite for two basic reasons. First, the new teacher was a man, Mr. Heinze. He was the first male teacher I had, and, for me, there was an instant connection. Second, Mr. Heinze had been a US Marine and had fought on Guadalcanal. These were the best credentials anyone could have, at least from my view point. I believe a male teacher in elementary school is a great asset for young boys. What the girls’ thought of Mr. Heinze I do not know, but I believe he was good looking, so maybe that was in his favor. Besides being a good teacher in the classroom, he participated in playground activities. Mr. Heinze changed our 30-minute afternoon activity session completely. Previously, Mrs. Cooper and Mrs. Stauffer did not organize any activity during these 30 minutes, thus, it was 30 minutes doing whatever you desired. Mr. Heinze changed this playtime by having organized coed games for our class. Only the first 20 minutes were devoted to this coed activity, the last 10 minutes was free time again. This organized coed time was only three or four times a week. These changes he made were accepted by most the class. During times when there was not any coed game, Mr. Heinze taught the boys the basics of basketball. For me, Mr. Heinze was like an extension of Dad at school. While in Junior High I visited Mr. Heinze at his house one summer. He was that important to me. Mr. Heinze taught in the Long Beach School District and eventually became the Principal of Lakewood High School.
When the war was over, Dad and I began doing more things together, in addition to the Cub Scout activities. Although Dad and I went to the movies during the war, these outings were more or less random events. Not sure when it started, but, every Friday night Dad and I would go to the movies. The movie theatre was in the city of Bellflower, abut four miles north of home. Our movie fare changed from war movies to cowboy movies. We saw movies with Sunset Carson, Wild Bill Elliot, Red Ryder and Little Beaver, Lash LaRue, Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and other cowboy heroes. These movies were all B-Westerns, cowboy movies in which the star cowboy was the “good” guy wearing a white hat, while the “bad” guys wore black hats. Of course, the white hats always ended the black hats’ evil deeds. There were running gun battles where six guns were able to fire continuously without reloading. There was always a fistfight scene where the hero always bested the outlaw. I did not like fistfights; because they were boring, I wanted a shoot-out. Since Dad had worked as a real cowboy, I asked lots of questions about guns and horses. During one movie, when the white hats were rushing to cut the black hats off at the pass, there was a loud thudding noise you could hear above the hoof beats. Wondering what this noise was I asked Dad, “What is that thudding noise?” His answer was, “It is water in the horse’s stomach.” Only a real cowboy would know that answer. Cowboy movies began my interest in firearms, or more commonly referred to as guns.
My first gun, or more accurately guns, were cap pistols. Most cap pistols were a replica of revolvers seen in the cowboy movies. However, these cap guns used a roll of paper containing 50 caps, which meant you had to reload after 50 shots—very unrealistic. At some point, I had a cap pistol that used a circular piece of cap paper with only six caps. Now this cap pistol was realistic. We would have running battles with our cap guns yelling, “Got ya!”, but no one fell. Then, there was that moment of ecstasy when I was given a Red Ryder BB Rifle! This 1000 shot rifle was a thing of beauty to a boy of 10 or 11. I was taught and learned the proper use of firearms with this Red Ryder BB Rifle. In addition to the movies, cap pistols and BB rifle, there were radio programs about cowboy heroes, which furthered my cowboy interes.
Of course, the most famous radio program was The Lone Ranger. Actually, I was listening to this radio program for several years before going with Dad to see the cowboy movies. The Lone Ranger was easily my favorite cowboy hero of the old west. Besides, the program’s music (William Tell Overture) was soul stirring and helped transport you into the days of the wild west. There were a couple of other cowboy radio programs that were also on a “must listen to” list: Red Ryder and Tennessee Jed. I’m sure you know about Red Ryder but have never heard of Tennessee Jed. There were Red Ryder comic books and eventually movies. Tennessee Jed was only a radio program, and to my recollection. TJ was a marksman of some note, certainly nothing memorable, except the program name. Besides these radio programs, there were several others that caught the ear of our family.
Radio, actually AM radio, was the only home entertainment available until about 1949 to 1950, when we bought a TV set. The mentioned radio programs were one-half hour in duration that were complete episodes. I also listened to 15 minute programs that were serials that ran daily, Monday through Friday. The most memorable were: Captain Midnight, Sky King, Tom Mix, Superman and Jack Armstrong: The All American Boy. These programs were on the air at about the time we were having dinner, so my family had to suffer through these episodes. During the day, Mom listened to some of the soaps like: Stella Dallas and One Life to Live. Granddad listened to boxing matches called Prize Fights. Dad listened to the Richfield Report, which was a recap of the day’s news at 10 PM. During the winter the news was followed by the Frost Report. The Frost Report provided citrus growers overnight temperature and recommended when the smudge pots had to be fired up. Smudge pots were oil-burning heaters set throughout a citrus grove to keep the fruit from freezing. On mornings following smudge post use, the air was full of black soot. Blow your nose, you would find a black residue on your handkerchief. There were many other radio programs the family listened to during this time period. The family continued to listen to some of these radio programs even after we had a TV set.
Some observations are in order about the importance of going to cowboy movies with Dad. Our weekly outing to see cowboy movies was very special for me. Seeing these movies gave us something in common to talk about, not to mention the individual time spent together being special. During these times I learned some of the stories about Dad’s childhood. Today, when looking back on this time, it is my belief that Dad wanted to be the father he did not have in his childhood. Until we moved to the Sebren house, Dad and I had little time together, except for some war movies. After we moved there, my time with Dad increased significantly. Attending these cowboy movies was the beginning of what became a warm, loving Father-Son relationship that endured throughout. Perhaps you can tell, but maybe not, these cowboy movies and radio programs filled my childhood days. Willie Nelson recorded a song that speaks to the affect these stories of cowboys had on me. The song title is My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys. These lyrics sum up my feelings during this time of my childhood.
I grew up a-dreamin’ of bein’ a cowboy
And Lovin’ the cowboy ways
Pursuin’ the life of my high-ridin’ heroes
I burned up my childhood days
.
.
.
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My heroes have always been cowboys
And they still are, it seems
Sadly, in search of, but one step in back of
Themselves and their slow-movin’ dreams
These cowboy thoughts did not end as I grew older. This story will become obvious as the future essays will reveal. It was during this cowboy dreamin’ time that the modern world hit me, and I took my first jobs and earned money of my own. Earning my own money was important, because my folks did not provide any allowance.
My first job was selling Collier’s weekly magazine on a door-to-door basis. How this job came about I do not remember. Mom made a red shoulder bag to carry the magazines. Best I can recall, this job lasted only about six months before Collier’s terminated this door-to-door sales. In 1957 Collier’s stopped publishing the magazine, so stopping these home sales was the first step in ending its publication. When Collier’s stopped selling door-to-door, a new magazine named Fortnight was offered. This magazine lasted only a couple of months, hence my first job ended. Interestingly, I learned a fortnight was two weeks. Following the Collier’s job I started my first newspaper route by delivering the Los Angeles Daily News. There were 40 to 50 subscribers, all located in our housing development. This paper route required afternoon delivery with no Sunday paper. Since the paper had to be delivered after school, my afternoon play time was severely limited. Thus, the paper route lasted only about six to eight monte. Plus, with only about 50 papers maximum the money earned was minimal and really not worth the time spent folding papers, delivery and collecting from customers once a month. The paper route manager would give me a bill each mont for the papers delivered to me. It was my responsibility to collect the monthly cost from the customers to pay the bill. This bill was less than what each customer paid on a monthly basis, thus the difference was what I could earn for a month’s effort. If all customers paid, my monthly pay was about $10. If I could not collect from customers I made less that the $10, because the bill had to be paid first. As a result, you learned financial responsibility and persistence needed to collect from all your customers. All in all, these were very valuable lessons.
I will conclude this essay with a classic photo taken by my folks without my knowledge. I have no idea when the photo was taken, nor is there any recollection what I had been doing. There are at least two possibilities for what happened. First, I wanted to sneak out to see whether Santa Claus had visited. Second, my folks had some company after I had gone to bed, and I was curious who was visiting. Whatever the reason, I was so sleepy I did not get completely back into bed. Another possibility was I had been sleep walking. In any case it is a classic photo.
Slumbering Royal, Circa 1945
