Those first few years after we moved into the Sebren house were so filled with new adventures; everything could not be covered in the last essay. Therefore, before proceeding into the Junior High School years, Reflections will regress in time to relate other Sebren experiences that probably had some impact on my life’s story. While most of these experiences were outside my attendance at Douglas MacArthur Elementary, a couple of these stories occurred at school.
In effect, these two stories had lasting impacts that carried into adulthood. While in either the Fifth or Sixth Grade, I initiated a behavior that really was not smart. One day I was called to the Principal’s office with a couple of other boys. We were called to the office so that an eye exam could be administered. I do not remember if all classmates had to take the exam or just those that had difficulty reading the chalkboard. I do not believe reading the chalkboard was difficult but may have been marginally hard. Fear struck me as I watched the other boys read the eye chart. Whether I could read the chart I’m not sure; but my fear was that I would fail the exam and I would have to wear glasses. There was no way I wanted to wear glasses; glasses were a sign you had a deficiency. Yes, an illogical thought but that was my fear. So, I maneuvered closer to the chart and memorized the correct lines on the chart. Well, my memory was better than my eyesight, and I passed the test which meant no glasses. I continued this cheating on eye exams all the way through high school. I told no one about my eye exam cheating, so the goal of no glasses was achieved. In reality, I was near sighted with astigmatism. My eyesight deficiency may not have been too bad; because, eventually, baseball became my sport and my driver’s test was passed. There is a major lesson to be learned here. Unfortunately, this lesson was learned too late in life. You cannot be dishonest with yourself about anything that can be detrimental to your well being, especially for reasons of vanity. Like all poor decisions, the consequences must be accepted with the hope not to repeat such poor choices. The other school experience resulted in a positive outcome.
I discovered the school library while in either the Fifth or Sixth Grade. MacArthur’s library had a very limited selection of books; in fact, there was not a separate library facility. There was just a selection of books in the classroom. I call it a library, because you could check out a book and take it home to read. My first library selection was Smokey by Will James. Smokey was a wild horse caught and broken by a cowboy. It was a great book for me, because it was about a cowboy and his horse. I thought the book was so good that the next book I read was another Will James book, Thunderhead, also about a wild horse. Up to this time, comic books were my main fare for reading. Of course, there were US Marine Corps, Red Ryder, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Superman, Batman and many other Super Hero comic books. Beside these comic books, I had a subscription to Walt Disney’s comic book. This comic book came monthly and the stories of Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, et al, were eagerly anticipated. Then a notice of the subscription ending was received. I considered a 10-year subscription until I realized I would be 20 years old when the subscription expired. I decided 20 would be too old for reading comic books, especially one of cartoons. However, the horse/cowboy books by Will James resulted in a joy of reading that is still an important part of my life. To conclude this story, there were movies made from Smokey and Thunderhead. The movies were a disappointment since they were not true to the book. Another lesson learned; Hollywood movies are usually not true to the book. In addition to these stories at Douglas MacArthur Elementary, there are non-school experiences and adventures that spanned into the junior high school years.
Exploring and plying, in the area beyond Woodruff Avenue and the Eucalyptus trees along the road, consumed lots of my free time. Climbing these trees, playing at the empty one-room schoolhouse and the fields beyond provided lots of adventures. Vegetation in these fields varied depending on the time of year. Some of the vegetation grew to about four feet in height and, when green, provided plenty of space to build “forts”, or hideaways. Initially, my usual playmate was Paul Norcross but later it became Mickey Harris, Milo Kellogg and Bruce Llewellyn. These “hideouts” were sort of like a “clubhouse” where we played cowboys and Indians or fought imaginary enemies. When this vegetation died, the fields became wide open. It was during this time we had “clod” fights. When dried out, some of the tall vegetation left a long slender pole. When pulled from the ground the root system at the end enabled us to throw these as spears. So, rather than clod fights we had spear fights. Was our aim with clods and spears accurate? Yes, but no one received a serious injury; after all, you learned to dodge the missiles. While experiencing these adventures, I accidentally injured myself.
One day while playing at the one-room schoolhouse, I discovered the bottom of a broken coffee jar. Thinking that a round, mostly flat piece of glass would sail nicely, I decided to throw it. Well, there was one small jagged piece that really cut a deep gash in the tip of my fourth finger of my right hand. I just put my finger in my mouth and tried to stop the bleeding. Whenever I returned home we put a Band-Aid on it. There is a scar remaining to this day to remind me of this stupid act. The other injury occurred while climbing one of the Eucalyptus trees. We were attempting to make a natural tree house from branches and limbs, and I was using my Cub Scout pocket knife to peel back some bark. Well, the knife slipped and poked me in the eye. Luckily, the knife did not puncture either my eye or my eyelid. In fact, I am not sure if the knife hit my eye or the eyelid. I may have blinked when the knife slipped; I’m just not sure. Things were just very blurry for a few hours. These were the only injuries sustained throughout all my adventures, which means I may have been very lucky but very stupid. Despite these mishaps, adventures in this area provided hours of enjoyment, but there was one experience that was not fun at the time.
I did not know how to swim; in fact, there had been no opportunity to learn. Sometime after moving to the Sebren house, it was learned that the Long Beach YMCA had a program where local boys could swim free of charge. However this program was discovered, Dad and Mom thought it was a good way for me to learn how to swim. Once a week, a YMCA truck would be in the neighborhood to take boys to downtown Long Beach to swim. I’m sure one or some of my friends were going, so I decided to go also. I was told all that was need was a towel and bathing suits were not needed. My assumption was that trunks would be provided. That assumption was totally false; you swam in the nude. I was not prepared for this type of activity, and it was embarrassing for me. On top of no trunks there were not any swimming lessons; it was just a free-for-all playtime. Needless to say I did not go more than twice before backing out of going to the Y. I do not remember learning anything about swimming during my trips there.
As stated in the last essay, my best guess is that Granddad Graham came to live with us during the summer of 1945. Although the reasons that prompted this move are not known, at the time, Granddad was about 74 years old. On this basis, I suspect he had retired from his care-taking job at the Fairhaven Memorial Park, or perhaps he had been laid off. In either case, Granddad’s only source of income would have been from a Social Security pension. Since the Social Security program had only been in existence for about 10 years, any pension from this program more than likely would have been inadequate for him to live independently. In fact, in this time period it was common practice for elderly parents to live with their children during the latter stages of their lives. Hence, Granddad’s coming to live with us is not really a deep mystery.
Granddad’s presence in our home caused me a slight problem. For some reason, I had always addressed Granddad as Dad. I am sure this name convention for him began when I used to visit Granddad and Grandmother Graham in Santa Ana. I am not sure how I addressed Dad before Granddad moved in, but I began calling my father Daddy. It was many years before, actually well into adulthood, I began calling my father Dad. I suspect that Berta called them Granddad and Daddy. Granddad’s moving in also caused some real crowding.
When Granddad moved in with us, our small two-bedroom house became crowded with three adults and two kids. It was the most crowded at suppertime and in our sleeping arrangements. How the five of us fit around the dinner table I do not remember clearly. I believe Dad and I sat on one side while Granddad, and Mom sat on the other side. Berta remembers sitting on the end, except when I was not there. Initially, Berta probably sat in a highchair for a year or two before graduating to a regular chair. Berta and I have different memories of the sleeping arrangements. My recollection is that initially Granddad, Berta and I slept in the front bedroom, while our folks used the rear bedroom. Berta remembers that Granddad slept solo in the rear bedroom with Mom and Dad using the sleeper coach in the front room. Berta remembers thinking it was improper for Granddad to get a bedroom and our folks sleeping on a foldout bed. I think that Berta’s feeling of unfairness is an accurate depiction of our sleeping arrangements. I remember sometime while attending Junior High Granddad and I shared the rear bedroom until I moved out in 1955. At this time, Berta and our folks shared the front bedroom when Granddad and I moved to the back bedroom.
Granddad had two chairs, a rocking chair in the living room and one in the garage. The rocking chair was used in the evening or whenever he was in the house. Granddad spent most of his day outside either sitting in our garage or working in the yards. Sometime after having breakfast he would go out, lift the garage door and sit in his chair. This chair had wooden arms with a padded seat and back. From this spot in the garage, he would watch the various activities in the neighborhood. At lunchtime he would come into the house to eat lunch, then return to the garage until near suppertime. Granddad took care of our front and back yards, mowing and watering the lawns and keeping weeds out of the flowerbeds. While sitting in the garage he would listen to a radio, listening mostly to the news and baseball game broadcasts. There is one photo I took of him watering our backyard. Granddad preferred watering by hand as shown in the photo. There was a sprinkler system in the front yard, but he hated using it. Sprinkler overspray went on the sidewalks and driveway and he thought that was just a waste of water. So he watered by hand as shown in the photo.
Granddad Watering Backyard
There was a time I had a sailor hat and wore it all the time. Look at the photo, and you can see this hat in my shadow. Notice also that Granddad is wearing a tie. To the best of my recollection he wore a tie everyday. In fact, he wore long sleeved dress shirts and slacks. Most of the time he wore a suit coat, a vest and dress shoes. During cold weather, he included a wool sweater over the vest. He always wore a hat while outside, such as the one in the photo. Besides the photo of him watering, there are only a couple of others. One shows him sitting on a camping stool next to a lake. I’m not sure where this photo was taken, but you can see he is dressed as described. Granddad smoked a pipe and very cheap cigars. I say cheap, because they only cost five cents each. His cigar brand was Roi Tan, and I thought they smelled awful! This photo shows him with his pipe. The pipe smoke was very pleasant smelling, and I thought pipe smoking would be great. That thought was destroyed when I tried it years later. Hot smoke in your mouth was terrible!
Granddad Graham
The best photo of Granddad was taken when I was about 15 or 16 years old. He is sitting at a table with Berta and her friend Marcia Hall. I believe Berta was about eight or nine years old. This photo shows his face best because he is hatless.
Marcia Hall, Berta and Granddad Graham
I have fond memories of Granddad Graham. There were two or three things about Granddad that impressed me. He was the only person I knew who was born in the 19th Century (1871). For some reason, this fact fascinated me. Perhaps this fascination was because it meant he grew up during the “Wild West” era, which provided a connection to the heyday of the cowboy. His birthday was September 14, which was exactly one month after mine. Granddad was left-handed which was fascinating to me. Especially when he told me, as a young school boy, how his teacher would hit his hand with a ruler to discourage him using his left hand to write. It did not discourage his left-handedness. It seems that at one time left-handedness was considered to be touched by the devil, implying the left-handed person was sinister or evil. Thus, it was common to discourage left-handed kids from using their left hand.
One of the most memorable adventures Granddad and I shared was when we went to the Long Beach Pike. The Long Beach Pike was an amusement zone located along the beach in downtown Long Beach. The Pike had several independent arcades, food stands, gift shops, a variety of rides and a public swimming pool called The Plunge. There was a balcony in The Plunge for visitors where Granddad and I would watch the swimmers. The smell of chlorine was usually overwhelming, and it was always very humid. There was even a fountain in the middle of the pool.
Long Beach Pike, The Plunge
Plunge Fountain
Granddad and I would walk to Bellflower Boulevard and catch a bus to downtown Long Beach. This ride was when the bus would take us through the US Arm Air Force Base at the Long Beach Airport. After arriving in downtown Long Beach, we would usually spend several hours at The Pike while I rode different rides and played games in the Penny Arcades. Although these arcades were called Penny Arcades, some of the games required nickels to play. Most of these games were electro-mechanical since computer games were decades in the future. Games I liked the best were baseball, shooting and pinball machines. Granddad would sit and watch while I rode the rides, especially Bumper Cars, or played the games in the arcades.
The Pike was most noted for the Cyclone Racer (1930–1968), a large wooden dual-track roller coaster, built out on pilings over the water. We did not ride the Cyclone Racer because Granddad would not ride it, and I could not without an accompanying adult. I did ride it in the years to come and it was quite thrilling. On my first ride I remember experiencing terrific g-forces on the turns. It was probably a good thing Granddad did not ride the Cyclone because I’m not sure his heart could take these g-forces. An aerial photo shows the Cyclone Racer and how it extended over the water.
Cyclone Racer Roller Coaster
Besides visiting The Pike on our excursions to downtown Long Beach there were a couple of other places we visited. One place near The Pike was a spot called The Spit and Argue Club. This place was an open-air stage with seats for spectators. People would stand on the stage and give passionate speeches. These speeches were either political or religious in nature. The next speaker would “argue” with the previous speaker’s view point. Granddad liked to listen to the arguments, but the topics were beyond my comprehension. Granddad may have explained some of it to me, but I do not remember us discussing the arguments. The second place we visited was Lincoln Park next to the Long Beach Public Library. The park had several croquet courts, and Granddad liked to watch the games. Most of the players were retired men in their 60s and 70s. There were a few women players, but most were men. The courts were rolled sand, and the wickets were very narrow. The mallets used were short handled, so the player had to bend over to strike the ball. The mallets had a rubber and hard striking surfaces. Granddad enjoyed watching the games; but, to me, it was on the boring side. Sort of like watching paint dry!
Dad began work at the Terminal Island Naval Air Station, San Pedro, in September 1941. This air base was established in 1927 and became an important base during World War II. An aerial photo shows the air station in 1947. There is also a photo of several Chance Vought Corsairs and Grumman Hellcats at the air station.
Terminal Island Naval Air Station. Looking Southwest
Corsairs and Hellcats at Terminal Naval Air Station, Circa 1945
After the war, the Navy began consolidating air stations; and, with the coming of jet aircraft the Terminal Island Air Station became too small for this type aircraft. In August 1947, the Navy closed air operations at Terminal Island. Air operations were transferred to the Naval Air Station in Los Alamitos, California. Dad was now out of a job, and he had to obtain a transfer. I seem to recall that Dad was unsure he could obtain a transfer to Los Alamitos. Luckily, Dad obtained the transfer to the Los Alamitos Naval Air Station. This transfer resulted in his becoming an Engineering Draftsman and Technician. Dad would work at this air station until he retired in 1971.
Just after Dad changed where he worked, I changed schools. I had been promoted to Seventh Grade and started attending Lakewood Junior High School. The school has since changed its name and is now called Bancroft Middle School. When I attended from September 1947 through June 1950, Lakewood Junior High was Seventh through Ninth Grades. Bancroft Middle School now includes Sixth through Eighth Grades. Although Lakewood Junior High was a little over one mile from home, I did not ride a school bus any longer. Now I rode my bike to school. The next map shows one of the typical routes used to ride to school. Any of the streets north of Carson Street could be used, which depended on any number of factors.
Route from Home to Lakewood Junior High School
The route shown through the park was just a dirt road that passed behind the Girl Scout Ranch House on Bellflower Boulevard. The park was just an open field. However, the real route ridden was usually different. There was a power substation where Marber Avenue and Parkcrest Street merged. There was a dirt path between the power statin and the last house on Marber Avenue. This dirt path continued along Bellflower Boulevard to Carson Street and the route continued as shown on the map.
Lakewood Junior High has changed considerably since my attendance from September 1947 to June 1950. A satellite photo shows the school’s layout with the buildings labeled in red that were present when I attended the school. During my attendance there was no grass playground. Asphalt basketball courts covered only one half that shown now; all the rest was open fields with natural vegetation (weeds) present or just plain dirt.
Lakewood Junior High (Bancroft Middle School)
In fact, the Gym was not built until the summer of 1946, which meant there was no dressing for Physical Education (PE) until I was in the Ninth Grade. Until then all our PE periods were played in our street clothes. Playing in gym clothes and taking showers were brand new experiences. There was only one baseball diamond, and it was located where the cars are parked across from the classrooms and it was just a dirt diamond. The building between the cafeteria and the street was where we parked our bikes. A covered lunch area was located between the cafeteria and the baseball diamond. An elevated view of the school provides a different perspective, with the buildings that existed in 1947 through 1950 are marked by a red line.
Lakewood Junior High, Elevated View
Across Charlemagne Avenue was Pan American Park. This park was not developed as shown today. There was only one baseball diamond located near Centralia Street. There was a basketball court near the diamond and an activities building just beyond the court. Best I can remember is that the grass area stopped there and the rest of the property was dirt or weeds. A festival, Pan American Days, was celebrated each year. The festival was to recognize all the countries in the Western Hemisphere. This festival day included activities involving all grades from the Junior High.
Starting Seventh Grade at Lakewood Junior High was a huge shock to my system. I was totally unprepared for the changes in school routines. It was a new experience to have a different teacher for each class, each class was in a different room, you had only seven minutes to reach your next class and each class had a different set of kids. The Lakewood Junior High student body consisted of kids from not only Doulas MacArthur Elementary but also from Thomas Edison Elementary. It seemed that there were more kids from Edison than MacArthur so that kids I knew were lost in the mixing of students from the two schools. Then of course, there were the Eighth and Ninth Graders that were totally unknown. Seventh Graders were no longer the oldest at the school, and we had to suffer the dreaded Junior High Initiation.
According to rumors, or myths, the first week of school Eighth and Ninth Graders would subject Seventh Graders to unspeakable acts of terror. On the first day of school my friend, Paul Norcross and I walked to school together. Paul and I were not in any of the same classes but met after school to walk home. We did not take our bikes because the air could be let out of the tires. Well, some older boys caught us, and they painted our faces and arms with lipstick. We were quite the sight when we got home. Mom had to scrub quite a while to remove all the lipstick. Fortunately, we were not subjected to any additional hazing this first week of school. In the long run, the experience was not as traumatic as the horror stories we heard and fretted about.
A recent photo of the school’s main entrance looks just the same as when I went there. There is also a photo of my Seventh Grade Home Room class taken at this entrance.
Lakewood Junior High Main Entrance
Seventh Grade Home Room Class, Circa 1947
This Lakewood Junior High photo is the only one that has survived the ravages of time. Several of the kids are recognized, but only a few names are remembered. For now, I will let you guess where I am in the photo. Some kids I remember: in the back row on the left end is Harold Green, the third boy from the left in the back rom is Bruce Llewellyn, the girl on the far right in the second row is Jacqueline Steele, the second boy in the front row on the right is Bill Tickle and the first girl from the right in the front row is Anna Marie Alberghetti. I recognize the boy with dark shirt and light pants standing next to Anna Marie, but do not remember his name. Why do I remember these kids? Bruce Llewellyn was a friend that live one street over from me. Jacqueline Steele lived two streets from me, plus both Bruce and Jacqueline were in my class at MacArthur. Bill Tickle went to MacArthur. and his last name was memorable. I did not know Harold Green until Seventh Grade, but he had a bump at the top of one of his ears. When I ask him about it, he indicated a barber had nipped his ear with electric clippers, and it spurted blood like crazy. Anna Marie Alberghetti was cute, but we were in different social circles. She was very popular. Okay, have you found me in the lineup? Hint: I am in the first row. Did that hint help? How about the guy standing next to Bill Tickle? Yes, I am the third one from the right.
Clothing fads for the boys were Levi jeans and Bomber jackets, similar to those worn by flight crews in World War II. Bomber jackets were dark leather with a fur collar that was turned up to look cool. I told Mom it was absolutely necessary that I get Levi’s. Well, she bought me a pair of Lee jeans, which was an embarrassment. I was probably in the Eight Grade before I obtained Levis’, they were more expensive than other jean brands. I am sure you all are aware that genuine Levi jeans have a red tag on the right rear pocket. Well, these tags were a trophy to other boys. If your red tag edges were not totally stitched to the jeans they are ripped off. Fortunately, my tags did not become a trophy. I also wanted a Bomber jacket, but once again Mom failed my desires. Mom bought me a suede jacket when I was in the Eighth Grade. I avoided wearing this jacket whenever possible. However, Alvin Fair, the big man on campus, saw the suede jacket and really liked it. So, we traded jackets while at school. He wore my suede jacket and I got to wear his Bomber jacket. This trade worked for both of us.
There were only four teachers that I recall. My first semester in Seventh Grade I was assigned to an Art Class with the plan that the second semester it would be a Music Class. Art was definitely not my thing, so when Miss Frey came to the Art Class asking for volunteers to sing in the Boys Glee Club, I raised my hand. By singing in the Boys Glee Club, it replaced the Art and Music Classes. Miss Frey listened to my voice and decided I was an Alto singer. The Glee Club sang in a couple of school Assemblies in the Auditorium. Our big performance was to sing at the Pan American Days Festival in Pan American Park. Mrs. Birch taught the Eighth Grade American History class. I did not start American History in her class but was transferred after about two weeks into the first semester. Mom told me I was transferred at the request of the Principal and Mrs. Birch. Mom said they believed my presence in the class would set a good example for some of rowdy boys in the class. Never could figure that one out. My presence in the class would have no effect on the behavior of others. The boys PE teacher was Coach Sherman. Coach was a really great man and was a favorite of all the kids. At lunch he would borrow a bike from some student to ride home for lunch. Mrs. Solder was the Algebra teacher when I was in the Ninth Grade. During my three years at Lakewood Junior High there are only four other men teachers besides Coach Sherman, but I remember none of their names. They taught Wood Shop, Metal Shop, Science and Ninth Grade Social Studies. Both shop classes were a disaster for me. I was always two to three projects behind everyone else. I was either a perfectionist or afraid to make mistakes. Probably it was a combination of both. I suppose it could have been a lack of confidence that made it difficult to take risks. Projects that were finished included a napkin holder, a knickknack shelf, a salad bowl and a matchbox holder. The shop classes were the only classes that I did not enjoy. I probably learned more about using tools and making things by watching and helping Dad in his many projects.
While in the Eighth Grade my musical instrument career began and ended. Granddad Graham had an old violin that, I believe, had been in either the Graham or Clifford family. The violin was in total disrepair when Dad decided to restore it. The violin was made by one of the Hopf violinmakers. Before beginning the restoration, Dad had the violin evaluated to make sure it was not highly prized. Dad was told it was somewhat ordinary and more or less “common”. So, Dad painstakingly restored the violin and refurbishing the bow. Dad re-varnished the sound box, added new horsehair to the bow, added a new bridge and restrung the violin. The violin is shown in its case, minus the strings. The bridge can be seen located next to the chin rest.
Hopf Violin
Since there was now a useable musical instrument my folks decided I should learn to play it. Needless to say I was a reluctant dragon on this plan. Somehow it was discovered there was a violin teacher that would visit school to instruct a class. I was enrolled in the violin class that wold meet once or twice a week. There were two major reasons for not wanting to take up the violin, especially this violin. One reason was my real interests were in playing sports. The other reason was the violin case looked like a casket. A photo of the case illustrates why I did not want to carry it to school. Had the handle been on the side it would not have looked so much like a casket. Milo and I even joked that you could be considered carry a tommy gun inside. From my perspective, you definitely did not want to be caught dead carrying this case.
Hopf Violin Case
Our first few lessons involved learning to read music, familiarization with the violin and how to achieve a certain note. Notice the red stars on the fingerboard, these stars were placed by the teacher and represented specific places to press the strings to achieve a specific note. After these introductory lessons, we were assigned a simple tune to practice. I practiced the lesson every day for a week. Since the music contained less than ten notes I memorized the notes and could play the tune without looking at the music. As could be expected at the next lesson, the teacher called on me to play the tune. I thought, “Playing it would be a snap!” After finishing the piece the teacher said, “Now play the music and look at the notes!” What a blow to one’s ego. This incidence was my last violin lesson! As it turns out my only musical talent is singing in the shower. I learned recently that Berta started violin lessons and also quit after a few lessons. Berta has the violin now.
Since the Lakewood Junior High student body consisted of kids from Edison and MacArthur Elementary Schools, it was somewhat natural for me to continue friendships with those I knew at MacArthur. Paul Norcross was my first friend at MacArthur when I started the Fourth Grade. Paul was small in height and when we had to line up according to height, he was the first in line, while I was right behind him. Paul impressed me with knowledge of many topics. I considered Paul very smart, but perhaps I was gullible. However, I learned many things from Paul. Most of the other boys considered him as a “know it all”, and he did not have many friends. The Norcross family was from the Boston area, and Paul had an older brother and sister, both in their 20s. Paul did not play marbles and he did not like sports of any form. Eventually, his lack of interest in sports affected our doing things together. We did spend considerable time together playing in the previously mentioned open fields beyond Woodruff Avenue. We did have one common interest in pigeons and riding bikes, especially to Lakewood Junior High. A photo of Paul and me shows us getting ready to ride to school.
Royal and Paul Norcross
It was Paul and I who were initiated our first day of the Seventh Grade. We remained friends through high school, but our friendship diminished after Seventh Grade, primarily due to being in different classes and my participation in sports.
My two best friends were Bruce Llewellyn and Milo Kellogg. The three of us were very similar in what we liked to do, which was having fun. Bruce and I were the oldest and in the same grade. Milo was a year younger and a grade behind us. There are a couple of photos of the three of us while we were in about the Seventh or Eighth Grade. As you can tell in these photos, we were “horsing” around, and Bruce was the silliest. One of our favorite activities was “camping” in our backyards. We either had a tent or made one out of sheets, blankets and a beach umbrella. We ate chips, drank Cokes and fought mosquitos. These campouts allowed us to be totally silly and have a good time. One campout night we even showed Charlie Chapman and Laurel and Hardy movies. Bruce supplied the projector; we used a sheet for the screen. A memorable night!
Milo, Bruce and Royal
Royal, Milo and Bruce
Bruce and I began playing American Legion baseball while in junior high. Bruce started while in the Eighth Grade, and I started in the Ninth Grade. Baseball deserves an essay unto itself and will be a future topic. Milo was not a baseball player. The trio split up when sometime in the Eighth or Ninth Grade Bruce ended up in the Boys Republic, a juvenile detention center. We never really knew what happened, but it was assumed there was some problem with law enforcement.
My first, and only, brush with the law occurred when I was in the Ninth Grade. My family went to the movies one Friday night at the local theatre. After the movie was over, we were walking to our car. I discovered a couple pieces of chalk in my jacket pocket and decided to get rid of them. With an underhand throwing motion, I threw the chalk away. We had not traveled more than 1/4 mile when Dad was pulled over by a police car. Dad figured he had missed a stop sign or something. When the policeman came to Dad’s open window and shined a flashlight in my face. The two policemen claimed they saw me pickup rocks and throw them at parked cars. Panicked, I said I did not throw any rocks. It could be I dropped a piece of chalk and picked it up, I don’t remember. The question was asked again, and I said I did not throw any rocks. Then thinking I should clarify what I was doing I said, “I was swinging my arm”. This comment was the wrong thing to say and the policeman said, “I thought you claimed not to be throwing rocks?” At this point Dad saved my bacon. Dad told them I had indicated not throwing anything and swinging my arm was an explanation of what I was doing. Dad’s statement seemed to satisfy the police and they told us to proceed. Then Dad told me to never change your story with the police because that only leads to problems. I was really scared and never admitted to Dad, Mom or Berta to throwing the chalk. A real lesson learned!
Shortly after I my 12th birthday, I continued scouting by joining the Boy Scouts. The Troop I joined was not as organized as Dad’s Cub Scout Pack. The Scout Master was totally unorganized and did not really provide any leadership. Our Troop met once a month at the Girl Scout Ranch House. We had no projects that ww worked on either individually or as a Troop. The major activity at most all Troop Meetings was “Blackout Football”. The ranch house had one large room that was about 20 feet by 40 feet. All furniture was moved against the walls and those present were divided into two teams. One team was given a football and the lights turned off. The object was to score a touchdown at the other end of the room. Randomly the lights were turned on and everyone had to freeze in place. While the light was on, the location of the ball was noted, then the lights were shut off agin, at which point mayhem resumed. The game was essentially wrestling in the dark. Dad was unhappy with what was happening and I asked him to start another troop. When attendance at my Troop declined, the Scout Master retired, and then Dad started another Troop when I was in the Eighth Grade. However, interest in Scouting declined in our neighborhood and Dad could not maintain Troop activities. There were just too many other outside activities that competed for everyone’s attention. In my case, it was baseball, a paper route, firearms, hunting and pigeons.
As you can tell, during Junior High my activities outside school grew considerably. The topics of baseball, hunting and firearms deserve an essay of their own because these activities carried into my life during High School and into adulthood. Paper routes and pigeons were part of my growing up and continued into my time in High School. Although I had a paper route previously, my new route was more challenging than my first one. It was more demanding because it was a morning route and there were more customers.
While I do not recall how the route was acquired, I believe it started in Eighth or Ninth Grade. I suspect an acquaintance recommend me to the Route Manger. The paper was the Long Beach Independent, at the time Long Beach’s second most popular newspaper. When I started, delivery was only Monday through Saturday. The route consisted of about 100 customers that covered the area from Bellflower Boulevard in the east to Lakewood Boulevard on the west, Carson Street on the south to Centralia Avenue on the north. The Long Beach Independent was a morning paper, which meant getting up before the crack of dawn. Normal routine was waking by 4:30 AM, getting dressed and riding my bike to the shopping center at Bellflower Boulevard and Carson Street to get the papers. I usually arrived at a women’s dress shop before the papers arrived, but sometimes they were all ready there. When I first started the route there were a couple of other paper carriers getting there papers also. I believe this early morning routine established me as “an early morning person”, which carried on into my adult life. Actually, early morning is a very peaceful time of day, and a sunrise is tough to beat.
The first step was to fold all the papers. The newspaper was folded into a compact flat square shape, which I can no longer remember how it was done. However, on Thursday the paper was too thick to fold in this manner, so the paper was folded into fourths and a rubber band was used to hold its shape. If it was raining or had rained overnight, wax paper was supplied to cover the paper during folding to prevent it becoming wet. Using wax paper when folding the paper took more time, so I had to arrive a little earlier to start the process. Did I deliver papers in the rain on my bike? Well, mostly yes, but I do remember one time Mom drove our car to help me deliver papers in the rain. I’m sure it may have happened more than once, but there are no specific memories other than this once. In fact, when Mom took me, I had to show her how to fold the papers with the wax paper. Her folding also certainly made this chore much easier. After the folding was finished, the papers were stuffed into my paper bags.
Canvas paper bags were supplied, and I had two such bags. Each bag had two large pockets for papers with a hole in the section between the two pockets. There were three different ways to carry the bags: on your shoulders with one pocket on your chest the other on your back, the bags could be placed also on a rack over the rear wheel or the bags could be hung from the handlebars. I usually placed one bag on my bike rack and the other hung from the handlebars. Hanging the bags on the handlebars was my favorite, because the papers were readily available, but this position was the most risky for controlling the bike. The least favorite way to carry the bags was over my shoulders, because this position made throwing the paper more difficult.
The first couple of weeks delivering papers was the most challenging. I was given a list of customers with the addresses. The route manager did not provide any guidance about organizing the route. So, I took the customer list and rode the route in daylight before delivering any papers. Then I decided how to ride the route for efficiency. For the first couple of weeks, I carried the customer list with me until everything was memorized. Rules were few: deliver all papers by 7 AM, do not miss a customer, paper had to be easy to find and do not break anything. Basically, do not upset the customers. There was the dreaded pink Customer Complaint slip the morning following a customer complaining about no paper or some other delivery problem. Fortunately, I received very few of these slips.
Actually, I enjoyed delivering the papers. My goal was to put every paper on the customer’s porch without breaking any milk bottles or throwing it into the bushes. After a couple of months throwing the paper, I was able to meet my goals about 90% of the time. I developed a throwing technique that allowed me to hit the porch with regularity. When folded into the square shape the paper was easy to throw and could be thrown accurately. I would throw the paper in a vertical position and it would rotate horizontally and sail like a Frisbee. I even learned to compensate for my forward motion, so that I did not have to slow down or stoop when throwing at the porch. I hated Thursdays for a couple of reasons. First, the bags were harder to pack and, second, the paper was more difficult to throw. It was heavier and there was no sailing capability. I really hated Thursdays!
This route had the potential of earning about $20 each month, provided I could collect from every customer. It was nearly impossible to collect from every customer. It took about a week to visit every customer to collect the bill. Weekends were especially hard on collections, because it was everyone’s free time. Apartment customers were the hardest to find at home. Apartment dwellers seemed to be gone all the time. I was lucky if I could catch them once every two months, then they would complain about paying for two months delivery. Guess it was my fault they were not home the two or three times I tried the previous month.
Eventually, I added another route of abut 50 customers, which increased my route to 150 addresses. This additional route meant I had to re-organize the route I took to deliver all the papers. Then when one of the other paper boys quit, I asked the route manager if I could do this route also. He agreed and my delivery total increased to 200 papers. Adding these 50 extra papers required I return to the shopping center and reload my paper bags. By the time I finished delivery of all papers, I did not get home much before 7:000 AM. now it was a rush to eat breakfast and get ready to head for school. Collecting was the hardest, and I usually earned about $35 to $40 a month with the 200 customers. It took over two weeks to complete my collecting, at least what I could collect. Normally, I would collect between 6:30 PM and 8:45 PM. Collecting was the hardest part of the job and probably the most dreaded. I was a junior in high school before I quit delivering papers. Being a paperboy certainly kept me busy, especially when collection time came around. Going to school, the paper route delivery/collection and playing American Legion baseball consumed much of my time, but I also had a full time job raising pigeons.
How and why pigeons entered my life, I have no idea. In the far deep recesses of my memory cells is a faint, hazy recollection that a next-door neighbor, Guy Norris Cherry, gave me the first two pigeons. Our next door neighbors were Homer “Dick” Cherry, Pauline Cherry and Guy. Guy was Pauline’s brother; Homer and Pauline were husband and wife, and both had the same family name, but were not related by family. The Cherrys were great people and I will share more about them in a later essay. Now, the pigeon story can be unfolded. Guy gave me a mated pair (mated means a male and female) of pigeons that were a very unique breed called Tumblers. This breed of Tumblers would fly along normally, then all of a sudden do a series of back-flips, lose some altitude, then resume flying, tumble again and so on. The number of back-flips by any individual pigeon varied. Some would do two or there flips, while another would do as many as 10 or more. If you think this breed is weird, there was a Parlor Tumbler. Basically, the Parlor Tumbler did not fly but did back flips on the floor. Their nervous system was really screwed up.
This first pair of Tumblers were kept in a cage mounted on a fence pole on our property line with the Cherrys. Actually, the fence pole was an extension that place the cage bottom a good six feet off the ground. A photo of this first pigeon cage is shown with three pigeons. I suspect the photo was taken after I began to acquire more pigeons. I believe this cage was included with the pigeons, because I do not remember Dad building it or helping him build it.
First Pigeon Cage and Residents
When did I receive these first pigeons? Did I acquire more pigeons? How many pigeons did I keep? How long did I keep pigeons? I believe the first pigeons were given to me during 1947 while in the Sixth Grade. Then again, it could have been in the Fifth Grade or perhaps the Seventh Grade; I am just not positive. After a time, I remember purchasing some more Tumblers; how many I am not sure, nor if they were mated pairs. Regardless, the above cage was too small for more than about four pigeons, so Dad and I built a large pigeon coop. This new coop was located between the Apricot and Peach trees (see area behind Granddad watering backyard above). The coop was about 10 feet square and about six feet in height. I stacked wooden boxes for “nests” and provided pine needles to build the nests. There was a roof over these boxes and a wooden siding back to the coop. There was a single door to enter the coop for feeding, watering and poop cleaning (YUK!). I had a large five-gallon bucket where the pigeon feed was stored. A photo taken in this coop shows some of the “flock”.
A Few Tumbler Pigeons
Keeping and raising pigeons was a real learning experience. I would sit on the feed bucket and just watch the pigeons. Watching pigeons hour after hour I learned their behavior and cycle of life. Once a pair mate, it is for life; they will not mate with another. Oh, the males try every female in the coop, but the male struts in vain. Once a pair mate, the female lays two eggs in about three weeks. Once they mate, the pair begins building a nest for the eggs. Both mates sit on the eggs in shifts. In about 30 days the eggs hatch, and there are now two new mouths to feed. In about another 30 days these squabs leave the nest and chase their mother around squawking to still be fed. Then the life cycle starts over. This life cycle continued, quite rapidly, it seemed, and before I knew it there were between 70 and 80 pigeons. So, I took the only practical approach that was obvious. I divided the coop in half with a ground to ceiling frame covered with chicken wire. Then I put males in one side and the females on the other. Now no one was happy, but I reduced the birth rate. At some point, I relented and let the mates reunited. In no time at all there were about 100 pigeons. Best I can recall I gave some away, sold some and eventually mothballed the pigeon coop. It was some time during the high school years, the pigeon factory days came to and end.
The years 1945 through 1950 brought some major changes to my life. Junior High totally changing the education process, because now there were five to seven different teachers to respond to, all with different expectations. There were no recesses or Rainy Day Sessions. Each class was in a different room, and there was only seven minutes to change rooms. The “right” clothes and shoes had to be worn and worn in the correct style of the day. Then the big shock occurred in the Ninth Grade when the Gym was finished, and we had to dress in gym clothes for PE and the coup de grace—showering with other boys! I did okay in school, but was definitely not an honor student. In fact, there was an incident during the Eighth Grade when I received a “Not Performing “ notice. This notice was to be signed by either Dad or Mom. I was scared to death about asking them to sign the form. I tried to forge Mom’s signature, but was not successful. At the last minute, I gave it to Mom and she signed it. There was no way I wanted Dad sign it or even know about it. I believe Mom never told Dad about it, because he never mentioned it to me. Needless to say, I sweated bullets over this incidence. Regardless, I made it through Junior High School and was promoted to the Tenth Grade. Now I had to decide which high school, since we lived in an area that permitted selection from any one of Long Beach’s three public high schools: Woodrow Wilson, Long Beach Polytechnic or David Starr Jordan. There was also Saint Anthony’s High School for those desiring a religious school or top-notch football teams. Wilson was the closest to home on the East side of Long Beach, Poly was in downtown Long Beach and Jordan was in North Long Beach. I knew from the Seventh Grade on I would choose Wilson. Primary reason was that a Second Cousin had attended Wilson in the 1930s. The importance of this fact will be told in a later essay.
Another major change that occurred during these years was the shifting and changing of friendships. Besides Bruce, Milo and Paul, two of my new friends were Jim Womack and Jack Coolidge. Basically, we shared PE classes, as well as some math and history classes. I remember visiting their homes a few times. However, Jim chose Poly for High School, and I lost touch with him at that point. Jack also chose Wilson, and we continued our friendship through the Tenth Grade when his folks moved to Virginia. Losing good friends like Jim and Jack, plus he friends I lost due to families moving while at MacArthur, made me realize that friends may not be forever. A rather profound thought for a 14 year old. Losing these friends was saddening, temporally left a hole in my life and required learning to adapt to other relationships. Perhaps these lost friendships had an impact on how close I get to folks. Then it could be I was experiencing, and learning, that nothing in life is constant.
Activities outside of school changed dramatically. In fact, school seemed to be something that was required, while the outside activities were the focus of life. I suppose for pre-teen years into the early teen years, that outlook is common. There just is no thought about “what you want to do when you grow up” during these years. There was a new sense of freedom that my bike provided. I could go anywhere in a five mile radius from home without any difficulty. Plus, the bike provided me the means to take on the paper routes. Becoming a paperboy provided spending money, but the route also taught me responsibility. Oh, did I mention learning to get up early in the morning. Of course, my pigeon raising also taught me responsibility. Going to movies with friends to Saturday matinees without parents was a very new activity and experience.
The most significant change occurred in the Ninth Grade when I was selected to play for an American Legion baseball team. Bruce had been elected when he was in the Eighth Grade, plus another friend Delos “Del” Nadeau was also on the team. Baseball now became the major focus of my life outside of school. There will be a separate essay, because this selection was only the beginning.
