FORMATIVE YEARS: 1950 to 1953

Why are the years 1950 to 1953 now called the Formative Years?  How do these years differ from the High School Years?  High School Years chronicled primarily my experiences associated with attending school, while Formative Years tells of my experiences that occurred outside school.  These years were filled with so many experiences that including all in a single essay seemed overwhelming, and separating school and non-school experiences seemed a reasonable method to tell my story.  However these years’ experiences are separated and chronicled, they are definitely formative.  These years are formative because you develop interests, passions and relationships, as well as make decisions, that form the basis for your growth into adulthood.  Unlike the High School Years, it is difficult to pinpoint when a specific experience began, especially since most experiences continued throughout these years and some into my adult life.  Whenever possible a specific time frame will be identified and an attempt will be made to keep events in chronological order with absolutely no guarantee of accuracy.

Our Sebren Avenue neighborhood was very friendly and our folks, especially Mom, made several friends on the street. Some of these neighbors became a major part of our family’s life.  Understanding which neighbors became part of our family’s life requires a regression into time before 1950.  Two of the first neighborhood families, who were highlighted in the essay Growing Years: 1944 to 1947, were the Larsons and the Wells.  The Larsons, Paul and Oral, lived directly across the street from us.  The Larsons were the first family to have a television set, and our family was always welcome to watch the programs.  Our family provided lots of support when Paul was killed at work.  At first, Granddad mowed Oral’s lawns for years, and eventually this task became mine. Bill and Carol Wells lived on the corner of Sebren Avenue and Hanbury Street about seven houses from ours.  They were highlighted in the essay as part of the Cub Scouting story.  I remember visiting their house several times, and Carol would walk down and visit during the day with Mom.  Bill and Carol moved sometime around 1948 or 1949.  Within a year of their moving a new neighbor moved in next door and entered our family’s life.

I was in our front yard playing with my football, throwing it into the air, running to catch it.  At the time none of my friends were available, so I was playing catch with myself.  Best I can recall, Homer “Dick” and Pauline Cherry were moving in next door on this day, and Homer was walking to the house from his car.  He saw me tossing the football to myself and stopped to tell me to toss it to him.  We ended playing catch for a while before he had to continue with the moving process.  Homer made a lasting impression on me that day that was the start of a great friendship.  Homer and Pauline were from the Fort Worth, Texas area.  I do not recall how long they had been in California before moving next door to us.  Homer worked for the Nielsen Oil Pump Company in Huntington Beach.  Pauline was a Second Grade school teacher, also in Huntington Beach.  One intriguing fact about Pauline is that she did not have to change her last name when marrying Homer: her maiden name was Cherry!  To my knowledge their families were not related in any manner.  I do not believe a marriage occurs very often between people that share the same family name, and the families are not related.  I even found it unique that Mom and Pauline shared the same given name.  Although the cultural convention at the time was to refer to adults as Mr. or Mrs., Berta and I were permitted to address them by their first names.  Perhaps we could use their first names because Homer and Pauline had no children, which meant Berta and i were considered part of their family.  While Pauline called me by “Royal," in her Texas twang, Homer always called me “Bud”,also with a Texas drawl.  This photo is the only one that exists of Homer and Pauline.

Homer and Pauline Cherry

Out of curiosity, while writing this essay I did some research in Ancestry.com and discovered a surprise about Homer’s and Pauline’s names.  Homer was born Richard “Homer” Cherry and Pauline was born Minnie Pauline Cherry.  I never could understand why Homer was also called Dick, now I understand.  It would be interesting to know about the origin of “Homer” and why that seemed to be preferred to his given name.  I am sure Pauline decided to use her middle name instead of her given name of Minnie because that name was “too old fashioned.”  Despite this discovery, to me they remain Homer and Pauline.

While I say they had not children, in actuality they had an only child; Pepper was his name.  Pepper, short for Salt and Pepper, was an English Spaniel.  Pepper was a great dog, and I spent countless hours in the Cherry’s backyard playing with him.  I would climb the wire fence between our backyard and the Cherry’s backyard to play ball with him.  Pepper loved to play ball and would chase a tennis ball I had thrown, retrieve it, return it to me, drop it for me and wait for me to throw it again.  This routine would continue until one of us got tired, usually me, or I had to go home.  Pepper was a great ball hawk, he could scoop up the ball while running full speed and never break stride.  He would even jump up to two feet off the ground to catch the ball in mid-air.  In a way Pepper was my dog, or so it seemed, because we spent so much time playing ball.  When I went into our backyard and did not see him, all I had to do was call his name and he would come running from the far side of the Cherry’s house.  Then I would say, “Where’s your ball," or “Get your ball,” and he would hunt it down and we would begin our “ball game.”  Would you believe there are better photos of Pepper than of Homer and Pauline?  This photo of Pepper also shows the wire fence that separated our backyards.

Pepper

I do not remember precisely when, but I am sure it was while I was attending junior high, that Pauline’s younger brother, Guy Norris Cherry, came to live with them  Guy was in his early thirties when he moved in with Homer and Pauline.  Guy was attempting to “break into” the entertainment world, which included singing and the movies.  Guy was billing himself as “The World’s Largest Cowboy," due to his claim of weighing 642 pounds!  Guy must have always been a very large person, because I remember Pauline showing me a newspaper article stating he weighed 13 1/2 pounds at birth!

Apparently Guy had received some success in Texas as a cowboy entertainer and decided to move to California and attempt to expand his entertainment career.  The following publicity photo shows him when he worked as a disc jockey on an area radio station.  He may have worked at more than one station, because I remember him on KGER in Long Beach.

Guy Norris Cherry, AKA Texas Tiny

There were many trips to Hollywood to further his career.  Usually he drove himself on these trips.  Once in a while Guy would invite Homer, Dad or me to accompany him on these trips.  One of these trips was memorable, because what Guy did on the drive home.  We were on Lakewood Boulevard somewhere north of Bellflower.  Homer was driving, Guy was in the front passenger seat with the wind rolled down and Dad and I were sitting in the back seat.  At this time there were still fields being farmed in this area.  Off to our right there was a farmer plowing his field.  The plow was drawn by a two horse team.  The farmer was sitting on the plow apparently asleep, or dozing, because his chin rested on his chest.  Guy saw the farmer and yelled, “Whoa!”  The horses stopped and roused the farmer out of his slumber, looking around in confusion to see why the horses stopped.  We all laughed at the horses’ halting and the farmer’s reaction.

For me, the highlight of these trips to Hollywood was after I received my driver’s license.  One day he asked me to drive his car to take him to a meeting.  Wow!  I was really excited he asked me for a couple of reasons.  First, Guy trusted me enough to let me drive his car.  Second, his car was a Cadillac convertible, like the one shown in this photo.   Can you imagine the thrill of a young 16 year old driving a Cadillac, which was THE luxury car of this era.  Talk about being in Seventh Heaven or being On Cloud Nine!

Cadillac, Circa 1950

Guy was a real character, but one with a heart of gold.  He had a great sense of humor and in a way still a mischievous kid.  Guy and I became very good friends and had lots of fun teasing each other.  One of our favorite antics was to have hose fights.  He would sit on a small porch at the rear of the Cherry’s house to water the grass.  I would take our backyard hose and begin squirting him.  He would turn his hose on me, and the battle was joined.  He usually received the worst soaking because of being seated, while I could move around.  Sometimes Homer would sneak behind Guy and shut the water off to his hose.  There were also times I was playing catch with Dad when Guy would squirt me first and then I had to defend myself, so playing catch had to wait until later.  One time Guy drove his Cadillac into the Cherry’s driveway with five or six balloons attached to his car antenna and sat in the car listening to the radio.  After watching him for a bit, I retrieved by BB rifle, shot and burst a balloon.  Because he was listening to the radio the sound of the BB rifle was masked.  Guy looked up and was puzzled why the balloon burst.  When I shot another balloon, he became suspicious but did not understand what was happening.  Putting my rifle away I walked up and asked, “Are your balloons popping?”  At this point he knew I was the cause of the balloons bursting.  After telling him what I did, we had a good laugh.

Playing with Pepper, hose fights with Guy and driving Guy’s Cadillac were only some of my experiences with the Cherrys.  Dad, Granddad and I would go to the Cherry’s about once a week to watch wrestling or ice hockey on TV.  It was sort of a “boys” night out.  Then there was a stretch of time when Homer and Guy would come over to reciprocate for the TV outing.  When they came to our house we did not watch TV, we played poker.  We did not have poker chips, so we used wooden matches.  I learned the basics of poker and a few of the poker variations such as Spit in the Ocean, Stud Poker and Seven Toed Pete.  I felt honored to be included in these adult games with Dad, Homer and Guy.  Looking back, these get-togethers were an important part of growing up.

Pauline’s and Guy’s father, Jack, used to visit during the summer.  Jack was a little over three years younger than Granddad.  They used to sit in our garage during the day and solve all the world’s problems.  Granddad would smoke his pipe and Jack would chew tobacco while having their problem solving sessions.  Jack carried an old coffee can with some dirt in the bottom and spit tobacco juice into this can.  Watching Jack spit into the can certainly was a turn-off in wanting to chew tobacco while playing baseball (a very common choice for professional baseball players at this time).  I used to spend some time listening to their conversations and learned some of their views of the world.  I cannot say for sure those views have stuck with me.  While Jack was visiting he joined are TV and poker games.  Besides learning to play poker, Granddad and Jack taught me to play checkers and dominoes.  Granddad was the expert on checkers and was knowledgeable on dominoes, while Jack was the expert on dominoes.  Unfortunately, Jack passed away while visiting in 1954.  There is one photo of Jack Cherry sitting in the Cherry’s living room.  His spit can is not visible.

Zalmon “Jack” Cherry 

There is a second part to the Pepper story.  My American Legion Manager, Mr. Bouley, had some show class Coker Spaniels.  For some mysterious reason, which we never understood, Mr. Bouley gave us one of his female spaniels.  I do not believe my folks were thrilled about the gift but did not turn down the offer.  Mr. and Mrs. Bouley had become good friends of my folks and perhaps they felt it would be rude to refuse the offer.  Needless to say, the dog came into heat and Pepper impregnated her, I guess through he fence.  She had about five or six pups, but only two of them survived.  While the mother was solid black, the surviving pups were black and a reddish color.  Once the pups were weaned the mother and the black pup were given away, and we kept the reddish pup.  We raised this pup until he was about three or four months old.  We began to play ball with the pup and Pepper would watch through the fence wanting to join the fun.  Pepper was getting on in years and we decided to give the pup to Homer and Pauline, especially since the pup was Pepper’s offspring.  The pup was given the name Sandy.  Pepper was introduced to Sandy when we brought Pepper into our backyard to play ball.  Pepper was very tolerant of the pup as can be seen in the photo.

Pepper and Sandy

After Sandy joined Pepper in the Cherry’s backyard, I would go over and play ball with both of them.  At first, Pepper was the primary ball fetcher, and in a sense, he was showing Sandy how to play the game.  Eventually, Sandy became quicker and more agile than Pepper and became the primary ball fetcher.  I totally enjoyed playing with Pepper and Sandy and continued to play with Sandy after the passing of Pepper.  When Homer and Pauline went to Texas to visit, I fed the dogs and cleaned up their messes.  In a way, I considered Pepper and Sandy to be mine, because I spent so much time playing with and taking care of them.

Sometime, while I was either a Junior or Senior at Wilson, Guy met Goldie and fell in love and ask her to marry him.  Goldie had a young son from a previous marriage, and Homer and Pauline were concerned that it was not a good choice for Guy.  Perhaps she was a gold digger.  During the courtship I met Goldie several times.  After meeting her and talking with her and Guy, I formed an opinion that Goldie was a good person and that she was not a gold digger.  I was not wise beyond my years, I just liked her as a person.  I certainly could not tell a gold digger even if she told me she was one.  In any event, I told Homer and Pauline that in my opinion Goldie was okay and was a good person.  Pauline said she trusted my assessment of Goldie and she felt it was okay for Guy and Goldie to be married.  To have my opinion respected meant a great deal to me.  With or without Homer’s and Pauline’s permission, Guy and Goldie were married.

It is my belief they were married at the Long Beach City Hall. They had a wedding reception at the Cherry’s house.  I found a photo of Goldie cutting the wedding cake, with Guy all dressed up in a suit. 

Goldie and Guy Cherry

Friends and neighbors were invited to the reception, and Roberta and Marcia Hall were in charge of the guest book.  A photo of Roberta and Marcia was in Growing Years:  1945 to 1950.  Granddad Graham is also in the photo.  In addition, there is a photo of my folks and other neighbors.  This photo is included because it shows the Cassidys, the neighbors that lived on the other side of our house.  I do not know the other couple in the photo but believe they lived across the street from the Cherrys.

Dad, Mom, Unknowns, Mildred, Dean, Caroline, Eddie 

Mildred and Dean Cassidy moved in next door to us shortly after Homer and Pauline moved in.  Berta was excited because Caroline was another girl to play with, even though she was about three years younger.  Eddie was about one to two years old when they moved in.  Dean and Mildred were heavily involved in church activities at a Baptist Church that was near Wilson High School.  Berta went with Caroline to Sunday School for a while, and I went with them to a High School group a few times.  Mildred worked at a nearby children's store, and eventually, Mom worked part time there also while I was in high school.

There was one more neighborhood family that figured in the life of our family.  The husband’s name was Emil.  The family name is buried deep in my memory, and I have lost the key to open the file.  Nor do I remember Emil’s wife’s name or his son’s name or his daughter’s name.  Emil’s family lived on Ocana Avenue, two blocks directly east of our house.  I believe Dad met Emil in some shop class that both were taking sometime between 1946 and 1948.  Emil owned a pattern shop in the Lakewood area.  His shop produced metal castings of all sorts.  Dad and Emil shared an interest in all types of car races.  As a consequence of this interest, we began going to car races at Carrell Speedway in Gardena.  Most of the time it was Emil, his son, Dad and me that went to the races.  However, there were times when everyone in both families went to the races.  Although attending these car races began prior to 1950, it will become obvious why this activity was an important activity in my life.

We saw races with several type race cars.  My recollection is that the first races we saw were with cars called Midgets.  Midgets were small cars that looked like a reduced scale Indianapolis race car, with a four cylinder Offenhauser engine.  Dad and I even saw Midget races at the Los Angeles Memorial Colosseum  Most of the races we saw at the Carrell Speedway were with Hot Rods.  Hot Rods were essentially a 1930s Ford type roadster with a modified stock engine.  On a couple of special occasions we saw 3/4 Indy Sprint Cars race.  A 3/4 Indy Sprint Car was a scaled down Indianapolis racer, which size wise was between a Midget and the Indianapolis 500 Race Car.  This 3/4 Indy Sprint Car was also powered by a four cylinder Offenhauser engine but with more horsepower than the Midget engine.  I was really excited when we went to our first 3/4 Indy Sprint Car race, because Rex Mays was going to be one of the drivers.  Rex Mays was one of the top Indy race drivers at the time.  Rex Mays was mentioned in the essay My Parents Before 1935, when Dad and Rex became friends.  My hope was that Dad would take me to the pits after the races to meet Rex.  To my disappointment we did not go to meet him, but I held out hope that next time we would go the pits afterwards.  Even so, at this race I was able to see the great driving skills of Rex Mays as he sprinted between two other racers while negotiating the South curve where we always sat.  However, before we could see another race with him competing, he was killed in a race at the Del Mar Fairgrounds.  We were returning from a Sunday drive and Granddad met us as we pulled into the driveway.  Granddad announced Rex Mays had been killed that afternoon.  My heart sank, I felt very sad, because his death meant I would never be able to meet Dad’s old friend.  I believe this was the first time I had experienced sadness at someone’s death even though I did not personally know him.

Even before Rex Mays was killed, Dad and I would listen to the Indianapolis 500 Race on the radio every Memorial Day.  This race on radio was called The Greatest Spectacle in Racing.  Since Rex Mays was killed late in 1949, we had begun listening to the race as early as 1946.  Listening to this race became an annual event with Dad and me, even when the race became available on TV.  I still watch the race every Memorial Day because in some strange way, it connects me to Dad.  Yes, I have missed a few Indy 500s, but wherever I am on Memorial Day, listening to, or watching,  the race with Dad is always with me.

Rodeos were another event that Dad and I went to see.  I suspect that due to Dad’s time as a cowboy, he had a good understanding of the talent required to participate in the different events. I recently discovered a very old photo of Dad when he worked as a cowboy in Pagosa Springs, Colorado.

Dad, Robert Otto Price, Circa 1926

We attended rodeos in several Los Angeles County towns.  I remember going to the Los Angeles Memorial Colosseum.  Unfortunately, the Colosseum is so large that all the cowboys and rodeo stock appeared to be very small.  At some point in time Guy Cherry bought some rodeo stock, horses, bulls and cattle.  We went to some of the rodeos that used his stock for their rodeo.  I have no recollection of where these rodeos were held, but we were able to roam around where the stock were kept.  It provided a different perspective on a rodeo’s operation.  As the county began to develop, our attendance fell off because there were fewer places to hold them.  However, living in Jackson, Wyoming, rodeos are common and I have gone to several in the last nine years.  In fact, every major town in Wyoming has a rodeo arena.  After all, Wyoming is sometimes referred to as the Cowboy State.  Rodeo is even a high school sport in Wyoming.

For me Christmas has always been a special time.  Selecting the tree, decorating it, wondering what “Santa” was going to leave under the tree made the season exciting.  By the 1950s I knew all about Santa but had to maintain the fiction until Berta learned of the myth also.  We most always went to Sears and Roebuck in downtown Long Beach to select our Christmas tree.  Selecting the tree was important to get a good looking tree that was well shaped.  My memories of our trees is that they were “perfect” in all aspects; our trees were well shaped with lots of branches, making the tree bushy.  I was really surprised upon finding the following photo of one of our Christmas trees.  Now it seems like a Charlie Brown tree!  Rats!  I am going to keep to my memories that our trees were indeed perfect.   

Christmas Tree, Circa 1952

During the 1950s my job was to string the tree with our Christmas lights.  Two of the lights were special for me.  One was a Santa Claus figure and the other was a Bunch of Grapes.  Santa Claus was primarily red with white for the trim on his suit.  The grapes were purple.  To keep from burning out these two lights, we did not leave the lights operating for long stretches of time.  Although it is not visible, I also used my electric train to make a scene underneath the tree.  I used a small mirror to simulate a frozen lake, and there was a building (I think) and some small plastic figures.  The train did not operate but was just part of the scene.  Oh, I used cotton to complete a winter scene.  One Christmas I was watching Mom wrapping presents for Uncle Walter and his family.  I noted we were giving Cousin Carol a collection of 52 Games.  I believe the present is leaning against the wall on the far right of the photo above.  A couple of days later my presents were placed under the tree.  One of my presents looked suspiciously like the one Mom had wrapped for Carol.  When no one was around, I used a yard stick to measure Carol’s and my presents.  Both presents were exactly the same size.  I reasoned that my present was also a collection of 52 Games.  On Christmas morning when I unwrapped this present there was not surprise, it was the 52 Games!  I was highly disappointed about this present.

My disappointment was not based on the present itself, but my disappointment stemmed from the fact that I was not surprised.  From this time until the present, I do not want to know what the gift is until I open it.  I really like to be surprised by the gift.  For me the surprise of what someone has given me is also an important part of the gift.  Not knowing what someone is giving as a gift is why I will respond with, “I do not know” when asked what I want for Christmas or a birthday present.

Our Hoffman TV can be seen in the Christmas photo.  There were no color television sets when we bought our Hoffman; black and white TV was all that was available.  Dad was concerned about eye strain and fatigue from the standard black and white sets.  After diligent research on the subject, Dad decided the Hoffman sets the best solution by using a yellow tinted TV screen.  To understand the Hoffman tint effect on the TV picture, consider watching a black and white TV, or movie, wearing yellow sunglasses.  Basically, the contrast between dark and light objects still exists but with a color shift.  For example, we watched the Lone Ranger and his horse Silver was not white but yellowish.  Your brain is a wonderful organ, because Silver was white due to your imagination.

A cultural phenomena swept the United Sates beginning in June 1947 when a private pilot reported seeing flying discs, or saucers, while flying his plane near Mount Rainier in Washington.  According to the pilot, these saucers accomplished high speed maneuvers not achievable by aircraft of that era.  The pilot’s sighting sparked world wide sighting, both day and night, of Flying Saucers performing unbelievable maneuvers.  One common theory for these sightings was that the Earth was being surveilled by visitors from outer space, in other words space aliens.  This belief was augmented by a report that an alien spacecraft had crashed near Roswell, New Mexico, and the crash was being covered up by the Air Force personnel at the nearby Roswell Air Force Base.  Another common theory was that the Air Force was developing an advanced aircraft or perhaps, a spacecraft.  These incidents and continued “sightings” became a major topic of discussion in our family.  Dad and I discussed the subject often and totally believed the alien spacecraft idea.  Our belief that flying saucers were from alien worlds continued for years.  When hunting or camping, we were always on the alert to observe a flying saucer or one that had landed.  I remember when we used the Angeles Crest Highway on our way to Palmdale to see Uncle Walter and his family, I was always looking for a spacecraft.  While I do not remember if Dad ever rejected flying saucers as myth, in time I reasoned that extraterrestrial spaceships did not exist.  It was simple, when a jet aircraft exceed the speed of sound, there was a sonic boom.  Flying saucer sightings were never associated with sonic booms despite the observed extreme maneuvering speed.  Hence, I decided the sightings were some type of optical illusion.  The Roswell incident was more difficult to understand, primarily because the Air Force’s claim that the object was not a spacecraft but a weather balloon.  A weather balloon appeared to be an inept military cover-up, at least until recently.

After World War II the United States had no way to detect whether the Soviet Union was developing an atomic bomb.  During this time frame, intelligence gathering in the Soviet Union was extremely difficult and the US was seeking a means for detecting atomic explosions.  It was believed that if atomic bomb was detonated the sound of the explosion could be detected at great distances in the ionosphere, it was believed the ionosphere would act as an acoustic duct.  So, audio receivers and microphones were place in balloons that could reach the ionosphere.  Thus, the crashed weather balloon story was released to lead the Soviets astray.

A couple of weeks after being promoted to high school in June 1950, Communist North Korea invaded South Korea.  As the Korean People’s Army (KPA) advanced rapidly south, President Harry Truman committed US Armed Forces to fight with the South Korean Army.  When the US Army troops arrived in Pusan, South Korea I believed it would not be long before our troops would defeat the North Koreans and the war would be short lived.  I was totally wrong because it was all our troops could do to hold what became known as the Pusan Perimeter.  In my limited knowledge of US history, we had never lost a war, so I knew we would prevail in Korea, especially since we had just defeated Nazi Germany five years earlier.  I believed we were invincible.  When the US Army did not breakout of the perimeter, I was shocked.  The tide of the war was changed dramatically in September when General Douglas MacArthur planned and conducted an amphibious landing at Inchon on the South Korea’s west coast near Seoul, South Korea’s capital.  By October 1950 the KPA had been pushed nearly to the border of Communist China.  At this point, Communist China troops entered the war by the tens of thousands and the US troops were pushed back to near the 38th Parallel, the original border between North and South Korea.  The Korean War developed into a stalemate with neither army able to advance beyond the 38th Parallel.  As I entered my Senior year at Wilson, the possibility of being eligible for Selective Service (AKA The Draft) the summer after graduation when I would turn 18.  I had seen trucks of soldiers being transported to the Long Beach Harbor for shipping over to Korea and thought, “Man, they sure look young, just like me.”  Fortunately, Dwight Eisenhower was sworn in as President in January 1953.  By the end of the year an armistice had been agreed upon, and hostilities were ended.  My concern of being drafted was still present when I started classes at Long Beach City College.  Selective Service would follow me for five years when the “call” to serve was received, but that is another story for later.

During my high school years, primarily during the summer, Milo and I went to the beach on a regular basis.  Depending on the beach we had decided to visit, we hitchhiked, rode a bus or a combination of these two means for reaching the beach.  When we decided to go to a beach on the ocean we usually wen to either Seal Beach or Huntington Beach.  We selected these beaches because there was no offshore breakwater, as in Long Beach, which meant the waves are larger.  However, these two beaches were seven and 15 miles from home, and it did require hitchhiking to reach them.  We did not do much actual swimming at these beaches but essentially body surfaced the best we could.  While Milo was a good swimmer, I was a weak swimmer and did not venture far out into the ocean.  I had no confidence in my swimming ability and being able to touch bottom was essential.  There were times that the pull of the receding waves was so strong I was concerned about being swept into deeper water.  Due to time limitations on going to the ocean, Milo and I spent most of our beach visits at the Colorado Lagoon.

The Colorado Lagoon is part of an inland body of seawater that stretches from the Pacific Ocean.  This body of seawater has three major and separate recreation areas.  Alamitos Bay is at the entrance to the ocean, which consisted of beaches and small marina.  Next is the Marine Stadium area used for boat races.  Colorado Lagoon is at the upper end of this seawater connection to the ocean.  In reality, these bodies of water were a natural wetlands area, with its outlet located next to where the San Gabriel River empties into the ocean.  As Long Beach grew in size, this wetlands area was developed into the three separate bodies of water for recreational purposes.  The lagoon is located about one mile southwest of Woodrow Wilson High School, which made it about five miles from home.  Milo and I would ride a public bus to a location on Seventh Street to the east of the high school, and walk the final distance to the lagoon.  This walk took us through the Recreation Park nine hole golf course.  A map showing the Colorado Lagoon in relation to Woodrow Wilson High School and the golf course is shown in the following map.

Colorado Lagoon Near Woodrow Wilson High School

Colorado Lagoon has undergone significant cleanup and development in the last four years.  The lagoon had to be dredged and cleaned to make it useable again.  My memory is probably faulty, but I do not remember the water extending to the North up to Sixth Street; then again, that was over 60 years ago.  The only beach that existed was on the South side of the lagoon along Appian Way.  There was one concrete pier extending about 75 feet from the beach.  Swimming in the lagoon was much easier for me because there were no waves or current to contend with, plus the shore extended out about 50 feet before I could not touch the bottom.  Even at the lagoon I did not like to swim beyond where I could touch the bottom.  I just had no confidence in my swimming ability and there was a fear of entering water over my head.  A fear that exists to this day.  Telling about my weak swimming ability reminds me of a high school experience I forgot to mention.

There Wilson gym had two swimming pools located side by side.  One pool was shallow at three to four feet deep, with the other pool having depths up to 12 feet for diving.  I believe during my Junior year our PE class was using the swimming pools.  We were free to do whatever our hearts desired during the period.  There was group of us that played tackle football in the shallow pool.  Although that was fun, we tired of that and everyone started swimming and diving in the deeper pool.  Then one day the PE teacher, Mr. Patterson, had everyone swim the length of the shallow pool, about 75 feet.  He timed us during this swim.  I swam the entire distance and was feeling good about swimming the entire way without stopping.  Then Mr. Patterson told me my time was too slow and to be safe I could no longer swim in the deeper pool.  What a blow, I was shattered!  My confidence in swimming plummeted because not only was I slow, I could not enter the deeper pool.  Best I can remember my restriction ended, or I cheated, because I remember later that semester diving off both diving boards.  Actually, I did not dive off the high board, but just jumped feet first.  I did not want to chance a “belly flop” from 12 feet.  Swimming never became a “must do” activity, actually I actively tried to avoid it.  This attitude, I am sure, has been the result of having a total lack of confidence in my swimming capability, and some inner undefined fear that has been suppressed for unknown reasons.

For most of this time period, Milo and I were constant companions.  It seemed like we did almost everything together, especially during the summers.  Besides going to the beach, Milo accompanied me when I collected for my paper route, and I rode with him on his paper route.  We went to the movies together and camped out overnight in either his backyard or mine.  Milo’s Dad had a power lawn mover that Milo used to mow lawns in the neighborhood.  His Dad built a trailer for the mower that attached to his bike.  One day I rode Milo’s bike pulling the trailer and lawn mower to see how difficult it would be.  The trailer was solid wood and with the mover in the trailer, riding was extremely difficult.  After that attempt, I rode my own bike when I went with him.  Milo and I landed an unusual job one summer that did not involve mowing yards.

I do not remember how we came across this job; I rather suspect it was due to some contact through our parents.  During this time frame there was a major home building in the area south of our house.  One of the housing developments near Spring Street had about three or four model homes that were open for inspection.  These model homes were unfurnished with only heavy paper rolls to cover the hardwood floors.  Our job was to clean these models once or twice a week.  We used dust mops and brooms to sweep and clean the floors after prospective customers had walked through the models.  I do not remember what we were paid, but it kept us out of the pool halls.  Our job began to diminish as the model homes were sold and ended when they were all sold.  It was an easy job and did not take long to complete.

One of our favorite summer pastimes was to make our own ice cream.  My folks had an ice cream freezer, and Milo and I would make a gallon of ice cream about once a week.  After we bought the ingredients, Mom would help us prepare the ice cream mixture.  Then Milo and I would take turns turning the crank on the freezer while the other would add ice, salt and keep the drain hole open.  Once the crank was too hard to keep turning we would make pigs of ourselves and devour the entire gallon of ice cream.  I think this project was one of our favorite things to do.  Why we did not turn into rolly polly cherubs I have no idea.  Perhaps we were closer to being devils than cherubs.

During World War II I heard music over the radio that was popular at the time.  A few of the popular tunes were: Praise The Lord and Pass The Ammunition, Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy and, Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate The Positive and Don’t Sit Under The Apple Tree (With Anyone Else But Me).  There were others I heard, but basically music listening was accidental and not purposeful.  I suspect Mom had the radio on during the day and I heard these songs and others.  Since western movies were the major emphasis for my movie going, many of these movies featured singing cowboys like Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Jimmy Wakely to name a few.  I used to hate the singing part of these movies because I wanted action, preferably bringing the bad guys to justice.  During the late 1940s and early 1950s, my preference was for western music.  I called it cowboy music, but was commonly called hillbilly music.  I am fairly certain this music preference was due to my interest in all things cowboy.  Sometime during Junior High School I began to listen to music on the radio.  At this point my music preferences included both cowboy and pop music.  Popular music at this time was primarily a ballad sung by a single artist, such as Patti Page or Nat “King” Cole.  Which music genre I listened to depended somewhat on my mood at the time.  One of my favorite radio programs was hosted by Dick Haynes on KLAC in the mornings.  His program was called, Haynes At the Reins, with his favorite question being, “Uh,    What Time Is It?”  He played pop music and told corny jokes; I mean real corny jokes.  One of these jokes went something like this, “What do you call a sleeping bull?   A Bulldozer!”  Guy “Texas Tiny” Cherry was also had a major influence on my preference for cowboy music.  I remember during High School listening to his radio program and calling into the station to request songs.  During my Senior year while dating Beverly Wilhite my listening preference became primarily pop music, but cowboy music remained a close second.  About this time Rock and Roll began to become more popular and was on its way to replacing the pop music I enjoyed.  Originally, I did not care for some aspects of R&R.  I did not like the choreographing by groups.  My thoughts were along the lines, “Shut up and sing!”, I just did not care for the animations.  Rock and Roll became more likable when I noticed that acceptable tunes were performed by a single artist playing a guitar.  It occurred to me that the original of a portion of R&R was a combination of pop and country music.  By the time I graduated from Wilson and entered college, my favorite music was western, pop and some Rock and Roll.  These music preferences carried on into adulthood.  Eventually, I would add Classical music as another favorite.

Mom, Dad and Granddad used adult products that I was not allowed to use.  Of course, a curious teenager wondered why, which meant their use had to be attempted.  Mom and Granddad drank coffee, which to me had a great aroma.  When I asked about trying coffee, Mom said, “It will stunt your growth," and I was unable to try coffee.  Whenever I finally stole a taste, it was very bitter, and the aroma attraction was insufficient to encourage my desire to drink coffee.  I noticed Dad did not drink coffee and asked him why he did not join Mom and Granddad.  Dad told me coffee had a very bad affect on his digestive system and bowels.  It was not until I began working after college that coffee drinking became a regular indulgence.  All I can say is that maybe not drinking coffee as a teenager may have stunted my growth, and kept me from growing to my ideal height of six feet or more.

As mentioned earlier, Granddad smoked a pipe and cigars.  His cigars stunk to high heaven and there was no desire to smoke cigars.  However, the aroma from his pipe smoking was intriguing, just like coffee.  In this case, there was no opportunity to attempt pipe smoking.  I discovered several years later that while the aroma was pleasing the hot smoke in your mouth discouraged this habit for all time.

Dad smoked cigarettes on a regular basis and smoked approximately one pack per day.  He usually used prepared cigarettes but, at times rolled his own using Bull Durham.  I suspected he began smoking while working as a cowboy because in my view rolling your own was common for cowboys.  Not sure how I arrived at this assumption, because this was well before the Marlboro Man.  Mom smoked cigarettes also, but, on a more limited basis.  I rarely saw her with a cigarette.  Sometime during Junior High School, I stole a couple of cigarettes from one the packs laying around the house.  I decided to try cigarette smoking for all the wrong reasons.  I suppose the thrill of doing something forbidden could be considered a reason.  Then there was the standard teenage reason that justifies everything, “Everyone is doing it.” Finally, Bruce and Milo were trying it, and who wants to be left out?  Yes, I succumbed to peer pressure.  Cigarettes wee not as bad as pipe smoking, but not too exciting either.  Just like Bill Clinton, “I did not inhale,” although I attempted it.  Attempts to smoke were very sporadic and never became a regular routine.  I do not know the length of time involved in this behavior.  All I remember is my decoding to stop.

Sometime after beginning at Wilson, I made a conscious decision not to continue the attempts to smoke.  I was playing baseball and playing sports was important for me.  I decided smoking would be a detriment to my athletic skills, and I did not want to jeopardize my goal of playing professional baseball.  My reasoning was very naive, because I eventually discovered tobacco use was common among baseball players and most professional athletes.  Regardless that my reasoning did not hold water, my decision not to smoke has carried on throughout my life, and I have never regretted it.  I honestly believe this decision has been one of the best of my life.

Alcohol beverages in our house essentially did not exist.  Dad and Mom did drink these beverages, but not while Berta and I were present.  There is a very faint recollection of a whiskey bottle in one of the seldom used cupboards.  I remember only one time when our family was visiting Emil’s family that our folks were drinking alcohol.  By not seeing my folks drink, I did not have any desire even to try drinking.  It was not until the late 1980s that I began drinking wine.  I had tried beer, wine and whiskey earlier, but I just did not like taste of any alcoholic beverage.  The last few years my consumption of beer or wine has been reduced to about one drink every six months, and I do just fine with this frequency.  I believe that my folks not drinking but infrequently, and not in my presence has been a major factor in my lack of enthusiasm for using alcohol.

Once World War II ended, camping and hunting became major activities that carried into my high school years and beyond.  Also about this time Dad began taking the family camping every summer.  First, we camped in the San Bernardino Mountains near Big Bear.  While attending Junior High School we switched our camping trips to the Eastern side of the High Sierras, primarily to fish.  We continued these fishing trips all during high school and perhaps into my college days.  In 1946 Dad bought a rifle for deer hunting, and went on my first deer hunt that year with Dad.  After this hunting trip Dad began teaching me the use of firearms and hunting techniques.  Our hunting trips carried on throughout high school and beyond.  Stories related to our camping and hunting trips are extensive and important to my life’s story.  To relate these stories properly, separate essays will be devoted to both camping and hunting.  Certainly my baseball experiences also necessitate a separate essay.

There was one activity that Dad and I did that lasted only while at Wilson.  In January 1951 the United States Department of Energy began nuclear bomb testing at the Nevada Test Site (NTS).  NTS was located about 66 miles northwest of Las Vegas.  Since the tests were to be conducted before sunrise, Dad was curious whether we could see the detonation flash when the bomb was dropped.  It was somewhat doubtful the bomb flash could be seen at our house, because NTS was about 300 to 400 miles away.   Best I can remember we were up about 4:30 AM to watch for the flash.  We stood in the kitchen watching out the windows to the Northeast.  Wonder of wonders, we saw the flash.  Most of the bombs tested at the NTS had the equivalent explosive power equal to One Kiloton (1 KT) of TNT, compared to the 16 KT bomb dropped on Hiroshima.  Based on the distance to the blast site, being able to see the resulting detonation flash clearly illustrated the power of the explosion.  It lasted only a few milliseconds, but in a sense we witnessed history.  We continued our early morning vigilance for some time.  There were a couple of times we were disappointed because of a thick local fog that obscured the flash.  Altogether we saw about five or six nuclear flashes.

In the High School Years essay, I discussed folding the papers before starting delivery, and how to fold a paper had escaped me.  So, using the Jackson Hole Daily the folding process was worked out.  A photo shows the test newspaper before and after folding. 

Newspaper Before and After Folding

Besides retiring my memory on folding newspapers, I recently discovered a couple of photos that relate to my graduating from Woodrow Wilson High School.  One photo is of me wearing my graduation suit.

Graduation Suit

The next photo shows me wearing the graduation cap and gown.  Both photos were taken in our backyard, although the background is different in each.  It was surprising to find that these photos were in color.  Based on my facial expressions, I do not seem to be too happy about posing for either one.

Graduation Cap and Gown

The Growing Years, High School Years and Formative Years essays certainly have not covered everything experienced during these years.  Some of those experiences, related to Baseball, Hunting, Camping and Firearms, to name a few, will be told in separate essays due to their length.  It also should be mentioned, there is another basic reason for not relating everything experienced in any given time frame.  That reason is simply there are big holes in my memory. To me it is a mystery why a certain experience can be retrieved from memory and another cannot.  Then there are times when an experience comes to mind after an essay is posted.  When this previously reluctant memory springs forth, it raises interesting questions about its importance and, if necessary, how to weave it into a later essay.

Although some experiences with Mom and Dad have been mentioned, some important ones have gone unmentioned.  While reviewing and writing about my childhood memories, it became obvious that I was very fortunate to be blessed with a wonderful Mom and Dad, who loved me unconditionally.  We were not a rich family, yet we never wanted, while they provided a loving environment in which to grow up.  Their love for me was never mentioned, but it was expressed in unspoken support in so many ways.  Their support was both individual and collective; Dad taught by including me in his interests and activities, Mom taught about feelings and was my confidant and both participated in my various activities.  They also allowed me to explore on my own, yet I knew the limits of that freedom.  While the limits were not carved in stone, I was well aware what were the limits.  I knew what would displease them and most of the time attempted to respect their trust.  I was not a rebel, although the envelope was tested from time to time.  Usually this testing was done in hopes they would not discover my indiscretion or experimentation.

Most of Dad’s interests became mine, because he took the time to teach the skills necessary to enjoy them.  It is impossible to catalog everything he taught me whether by doing, instruction or observation.  His skills for fixing or building anything were phenomenal.  His knowledge of various subjects seemed unlimited, and his interests in all things scientific were unbounded.  Just watching him work on some project, I learned that anything broken can be fixed or built.  Then there were the intangible skills taught on how to think and reason.  He taught me how to approach word problems in algebra.  He also instructed how to shake hands; when shaking hands give a firm grip and not a limp noodle.

Dad was the unquestioned head of the family, but in a sense Mom was the foreman or ramrod.  Mom had to handle the day to day activities while Dad was at work.  Mom was the one that made sure you left for school on time and was there when you came home from school.  She was the arbiter of my disputes with Berta, as well as the overseer of proper conduct.  When Mom will call me Royal Burton, I was in trouble.  Mom taught proper table manners and proper etiquette for social gatherings.  Mom also taught me two valuable lessons about patience and feeling sorry for oneself.  Once while in Cub Scouts I was making a billfold.  I was lacing the billfold edges and the lacing kept getting twisted.  I had a temper tantrum of sorts and threw the billfold down declaring I could not do it.  In no uncertain terms, Mom said, “Slow down and take your time and you can do it.”  Her advice was correct and it was a lesson in patience.  One summer day I was feeling sorry for myself, because I could not find anything to do and was sitting in the back porch grumbling to myself.  Mom came out and ask what was wrong.  I made the mistake of lamenting about my sorry situation.  I lit her fuse!  Mom chewed me up one side and down the other, telling me to snap out of it and quit moping around because there is plenty to do and feeling sorry for yourself is not one of them.  Once again, her advice was correct.  Hopefully, I have heeded her advice since these incidences.

While growing up you never realize the influence and impact your parents have upon who you become.  A good friend of mine captures this thought more concisely with, “An acorn never falls far from the oak tree.”  Recalling and writing about my childhood memories has revealed to me how important Mom and Dad were to my growth as a person.  These revelations are experienced with either a lump in the throat or moist eyes.  Realizing this truth has occurred too late in life, when they are no longer present.  Without a doubt, Mom and Dad were very influential in my life.  I only wish to had been wise enough to tell them, while it was possible, how much they were appreciated and loved.