Author: crittersandcats

West 7th Street

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I was thinking about jobs. To be more specific, I was thinking about the availability of jobs for kids. When we were growing up, all kinds of jobs could be had. There were long term jobs and there were also jobs that lasted for a few hours. I remember sometimes having two or three jobs that would fill up the day and the evening.

As I thought about some of the different jobs I had as a young person, I realized that a number of them could be connected to the piece of real estate on West 7th Street occupied early on by the Augusta Skating Rink.

The Augusta Skating Rink was located on the north side of West Seventh Street about ½ block west of Walnut Street. It was an older, frame building, probably built in the early 1930’s but possibly before then. I suspect that it was one of those forms of recreation practiced during the Great Depression. There was very little money and my folks told me that when they were dating they had to look for free or cheap things to do. They went to the movies, went roller skating, and played miniature golf. Mom and Dad told me that Glen Lietzke (Ross Lietzke’s dad) owned a miniature golf course and they spent a lot of time there. Softball games were a free way to spend an evening and my Dad also pitched for one of the local teams.

The Augusta Skating Rink was owned and managed by a man named Ray Prigmore. My folks knew him well and I think he was actually a high school classmate of Dad’s. Ray lived across the street from the skating rink in a residential enclave containing several homes. The properties were laid out to form a large “U”. Ray’s house was the base of the ‘U”. His front door pointed north toward 7th Street and the back of his property adjoined the Frisco Railroad right-of-way on the south. The eastern leg of the “U” was formed by two small homes with their front doors pointing toward the west. The western leg of the “U” was formed by a duplex with front doors pointing to the east. The northernmost unit of the duplex was inhabited by the Moss family, their daughter, Cleta Moss, being a year ahead of me in school.

My first vague job connection to the skating rink property, is that when I was 13, I had a Wichita Beacon paper route. I delivered the Beacon to Ray Prigmore every afternoon. He was at the tail end of my route so frequently he would be waiting

on the porch for me. I think he wanted to read the news before going across the street for his evening’s work at the skating rink. He was a pleasant man and always asked how I was doing.

As I recall, the skating rink was open every night but Monday. There was a matinee every Saturday and Sunday afternoon. The matinee was the time and place for young kids to skate. I don’t believe I was allowed to skate at night until I was 16 or 17. The skaters at night were older and a little too rough for young kids to hang out with.

As we got a little older, say 12 or 13, and became better skaters, Ray would let us be “Floor Manager” on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. The Floor Manager was responsible for a couple of things. He wore a whistle around his neck and whenever a record finished playing he would blow the whistle and change the sign at the back of the rink. Most of the time, it said “All Skate” but periodically it would be changed to “Couples” or “Ladies Choice” or “Backwards” or one of the other selections. The Floor Manager’s other big responsibility was to watch for kids that were going too fast or were getting rowdy. Violators got the whistle and might be told to sit out a few rounds. (Now that I think about it, that whistle was used by a different kid each day and was never washed or sterilized. Yuk!) There wasn’t any money in the Floor Manager job. Seems like we may have skated for free that day and might have gotten a Coke.

Air conditioning wasn’t a common feature at that time so on warm nights all the windows of the rink were open. The music was loud so as to overcome the sounds of the roller skate wheels on the wooden floor. We lived a half block to the east, on Cliff Drive, and on summer nights with my bedroom windows open I fell asleep to the sounds of the music from the skating rink.

There is a large gap in my memory. It’s probably due to my having been abducted by Martians and then released at a later date. Or, like most teen-agers I most likely just had my head on backwards. I suddenly realized one day that the skating rink had been torn down and a new building was being erected in its place. Trenches for new footings had been dug and materials were stacked all over the place. One evening, my Dad, Al Thomas, said that he would be working on the new building and I could work for him if I wished.

There were two bricklayers or masons in town, my Dad, Al Thomas and Dolan Brandt. Dad liked working for homeowners, building fireplaces or adding a brick wainscoting or brick veneer to homes. Of course, he also laid concrete blocks, pumice blocks, or limestone. Most of the homes were still of lath and plaster construction rather than dry wall so Dad did plastering jobs as well. Dolan Brandt seemed to prefer doing commercial work so he put up a lot of shops and larger buildings. Dolan was nearly a relative of mine in that he was married to my cousin, Joyce Wilson.

I think Calvin Applegate was the General Contractor for the new building. I never can remember if it was Calvin or Oscar as I didn’t know either of them very well. Anyhow, the new building was to be made of concrete blocks and Applegate hired Dolan to do the work. Dolan then hired my Dad and that’s how I got involved. The official title for my position was “Block layer’s Helper” or simply “Helper”. My job was to mix the mud (mortar) and get it to the mortar board that each block layer worked from. Also, it was my job to get the concrete blocks to the work area and place them so they would be within reach of the mason. Remember, this was in the days before fork lifts, pallets, or trucks with lift gates. A flatbed truck would show up from Safford’s Lumber Yard loaded with concrete blocks and 70 lb. bags of mortar cement. The truck driver would get up on the truck bed and place the blocks or cement close to the edge where I could reach them. You can only carry 2 concrete blocks at a time so it would take a while to offload the truck and get the blocks stacked. Later, as needed, I would carry the blocks to the area the men were working. The ground was uneven, full of holes and piles of dirt and it was faster and more efficient to carry the blocks 2 at a time than to use a wheel barrow. I don’t know how many concrete blocks are in that building, but my fingerprints are on every one of them.

Seems like the next time I opened my eyes, the sign in front of that new building said “Lehr’s Restaurant”. I don’t really know the story of Charles and Thelma Lehr. It seems that they had been living in another town and when I was a little kid, had moved back to Augusta. They opened a restaurant in the Brown building at the corner of 5th and State. People always spoke well of the Lehrs and their restaurant. My folks seemed to know them well, like perhaps they had grown up together.

More time passed and it was the week after Christmas in 1956. Late in the evening, I was sitting in a booth at Lehr’s and drinking coffee with Glen Chalmers, John Luding, and I think the 4th guy was Jack Dornbusch. Glen had been roughnecking in Kansas and Oklahoma and I had been roughnecking up in eastern Colorado. We both decided it was time to get a little smarter and were planning to attend Butler County Junior College in El Dorado. As we discussed this, Jack Taylor came over and leaned against the booth and talked with us. Jack was the manager and chef at Lehr’s and he frequently was out on the floor visiting with his patrons. Jack mentioned that the guy who swept and mopped and cleaned up the place was leaving the next week to attend college in another city and asked if we knew anyone who might be interested in the job. I said that since I would be going to school I was really in need of a night job. We talked about it for a few minutes and made a deal right there.

So, I was the clean-up man, the janitor, the custodian or whatever you want to call it. I started at 9:00 PM and worked the back rooms until the restaurant closed at 10:00 PM. Then, I went up front and stacked the chairs on the tables and swept and mopped the floor. By the time I finished, the kitchen help had put everything away and cleaned the steam tables and I could clean up back there. Jack Taylor had high standards regarding cleanliness so my work was cut out for me.

I enjoyed my job at Lehr’s. The work had to be done well but it wasn’t hard. All the people that worked there were pleasant and fun to be around. After I had been there about a month, Jack approached me one night and asked if I would like to learn to be a “fry cook”. It sounded good to me so the next day I started working the evening shift in front of the grill. Jack worked right there with me and taught me how to blanche French fries, cook a steak to “rare” or “medium–well”, and how to plate-up a dinner. One of the most memorable lessons took place when some people ordered a salmon dinner. Jack took me down to the walk-in freezer in the basement. He went to one of the shelves and picked up a salmon that was about 3 foot long, even with the head cut off, and frozen stiff as a board. He placed it on the butcher block in the center of the freezer. Next, he picked up a butcher’s saw that looked like a giant hack saw and sawed off a couple of salmon steaks about 1″ thick.

After a few weeks of school and work, Chalmers and I had developed a routine that was working pretty well for us. We both got out of our last class at 2:00 PM and headed for downtown El Dorado and the Blue Goose Tavern. We would set up shop in one of the booths and order a pitcher of beer. For the next hour we would do our homework and suck up that pitcher of beer. Good as it sounds, we both seemed to be getting a little antsy about the situation. After more than two years working in the adult world it was hard to be comfortable in the juvenile atmosphere of the Junior College. One afternoon, I stopped at the courthouse and asked the lady at the Draft Board what my status was. She said I would be called up soon if I didn’t get a deferment of some kind. That was enough for me. I sold my car and joined the Navy.

Dave Thomas
May 15, 2017

 

7-11 Or Maybe A Million

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After supper, one evening, our son, Russ, who was 16 at the time, decided to walk to our neighborhood 7-11 store, a block away, and look at the motor magazines. He knew that his friend, Russ Turley, was on duty that night and would let him browse as long as he liked.

Russ got to the store and started scanning the magazines. He enjoyed all of them that had to do with cars and engines…Motor Trend, Road and Track, Hot Rod, and the rest. Meanwhile, Turley is busy straightening up the counter displays and getting ready for the business of the evening.

Both boys happened to glance out the front window at the same time and were curious at what they saw. Three young men were coming from the intersection and were headed straight for them. The guys looked out of place, like they didn’t belong there. The three men entered the store and immediately fanned out. The first guy stays near the cash register, the second guy goes all the way to the back and stops beside the milk case, and the third guy goes to the last aisle and takes a spot about half way down.

Russ is pretty savvy and immediately figures out what is going on. He starts edging toward the door. Just as his hand touches the push bar, he gets a chill as Bad Guy Number One presses the business end of a revolver to his forehead. “Back up”, he says to Russ. Russ moves back to where he was standing and waits to see what will happen next. The bad guy is starting to get nervous and fidgets a little and then tells Russ Turley to empty the cash register. The intensity of the moment had increased to to the point that Turley was fumbling around and couldn’t get the register open. By now, the bad guy is freaking out and starts yelling. Turley keeps stabbing at the keys with his fingers and finally gets the cash drawer open. The bad guy is both surprised and disgusted when Turley pulled out what little cash there was and handed it over. “Where’s the rest of it?” I just started my shift and it’s been kind of slow tonight”, says Turley. The would-be robber absorbs this news and orders the boys to empty their pockets. This exercise just yields a few cents and makes the atmosphere even more tense.

Finally realizing that this caper is a lost cause, Bad Guy Number One starts waving the gun around and herds the boys toward the back of the store. There is an office back there with an entrance just behind the beer cooler. He pushes the

boys into the office, orders them to sit down on the floor and says they had better not move until they count to one hundred. Turley just nods, but our Russ says “I’ll count to one million!”

The robbers left and Russ Turley called the police and called his boss. When the cops arrived, they interviewed the boys to get descriptions and any other meaningful information the guys could come up with. Fortunately, in his perusal of the magazine rack, Russ also looked at the hunting and fishing and gun magazines. This made it possible for him to identify the pistol as a Colt revolver rather than a Smith and Wesson.

The police came back around the next day. They had caught the three guys and said they were responsible for a number of robberies in small towns around the county. They concentrated on convenience stores that were located close to freeways so they could get away quick. Russ was asked to look at some photos and and help identify the bad guys. One quick look was all it took for Russ to tell the police he couldn’t help them. For one thing, he didn’t have an opportunity to stare at them. Next, one guy had a curly beard, one had a scraggly beard, and one had a full blown Afro. The photos the police had with them were of three clean shaven guys with fresh haircuts. The cops said it was okay because they had enough evidence to put them away.

Dave, Pat, and Russ Thomas
May 2, 2017

 

Breaking It In

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I seem to have reached the age where everything reminds you of something. We were watching TV last night and a car commercial came on that showed a family accepting delivery of a new car. That’s a big event in the life of any family and certainly evokes happiness in all those involved. Unfortunately, I once witnessed the delivery of a new car that started out as a happy occasion but then turned to worms before once again becoming a happy time.

It was the fall of 1952 and I was a Junior in high school. I was lucky in that I was taking part in an occupational training program that allowed me to get out of school every day at 2:00 PM and go to work. I was working at Howard Motors, our local Chevrolet/Buick dealer. I was doing a little bit of everything…washing and waxing cars, lubricating them, undercoating, sweeping the shop, cleaning the restrooms, and waxing and buffing the showroom floor.

One day, a man named Harold came in and talked to one of the new-car salesmen. I knew Harold and knew that he was a successful farmer who lived a few miles south of town. You could drive past his place and everything always looked fresh and new. The house and barn always seemed to be newly painted, the yard was mowed, and the fences were tight and in good repair. What’s more, he was a very nice man.

Harold spent an hour or so with the new-car salesman, talking and then taking a test drive in a demonstrator. Then, they got the Used Car Manager to appraise his trade-in. I don’t remember what kind of car it was but do recall that it was several years old but looked well cared for. They made a deal that afternoon and Harold got in his trade-in and drove off.

A few days later Harold and his family came in to take delivery of their new car. They had purchased a new 1952 4-door Chevrolet sedan with automatic transmission. Chevrolet didn’t offer a V8 until 1955 so this was an in-line 6 cylinder engine. As I recall, the car was white with a gray top.

I finished cleaning the windows of the new car and was transferring tools and other items from one trunk to the other. Again, I was impressed with what a nice family they were. The parents were well dressed and the two kids looked like they had on their Sunday best and they were well mannered.

Bud, the salesman was busy giving last minute instructions on the importance of breaking in the engine correctly. At that particular time in automotive history, alloys and the machining process weren’t as good as they are today. After driving 100 miles, the oil pan and motor oil might contain some minute metal shavings that had been dislodged as the engine wore in. To combat this problem, the engines came from the factory filled with a “break-in” oil. It was said to be imperative that you change this oil after 100 miles of driving so that no errant metal shavings could damage the engine. New owners were also exhorted to drive carefully and at reduced speeds in order to give the piston rings an opportunity to seat properly and function as they should. These instructions for breaking in the engine were given in detail in the Owner’s Manual and were an important part of the salesman’s delivery spiel. Bud finished his instructions, ending with a final warning to take it slow and easy. Harold and the family waved and drove off. Another happy customer hitting the road.

Normal work continued and after a while I saw the Service Manager, Kenneth Markley, get in the wrecker and drive off. Kenny was back in less than an hour and pulled into the shop with Harold’s new ’52 Chevy hanging on the hook behind him. The car didn’t appear to be damaged as if in a wreck so we were curious to find out what had happened. We crowded around Kenny as he started telling the bad news. Harold and his family barely got back to the farm before the Power Glide transmission gave up completely. Driving carefully and not wanting to overtax that new engine, Harold had put the car in “Low” and driven 20 mph all the way home. By the time they got there, smoke was coming from under the car and it smelled as if the whole thing was burning up. Harold called the shop, told Bud what had happened, and probably felt like an idiot.

After hearing the story, the guys in the shop thought it was a dumb thing to have done. However, as they talked, they realized that none of them had felt real sure of themselves the first time they drove an automatic. The sales manager finally decided they may have been a bi overzealous in their warnings about driving too fast and harming the engine. He determined that the shop should pay for a new transmission.

The replacement transmission was ordered from Chevrolet and arrived in a couple of days. The Shop Foreman, Kenny Dickinson, jumped on the project and in a couple of hours had the car back in “new car” condition. Bud, the salesman, and the Sales Manager delivered the car to Harold’s home. They spent some time talking with Harold about the Power Glide transmission and the other new features of the car. Harold and his family appreciated the efforts of the Sales Department and the company and returned to feeling good about their new car.

2 Cream-Tops and 2 Red

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I don’t think I have ever told you but one summer I was a milkman or, more correctly, a junior milkman. I was 11 and would be 12 in August so that makes it 1948. Boy, that sounds like a long time ago. This was in Augusta, Kansas, a small town of about 5,000 people. I think there were only 2 men delivering milk in town at that time. Charlie Fennell was the milkman for Meadow Gold milk and he is the one I worked for. I guess I had known Charlie all my life and he was almost a relative. I first knew him as Jane Guest’s boyfriend. During WWII, the Guests lived two doors south of us. The Mom, Martha “Mattie” (Wright) Guest was the sister of my great-aunt, Rachel (Wright) Peebler. During the war, Jane would always tell us when she got letters from Charlie. Of course, the ending of the war was a great relief for Jane and she and Charlie got married soon after he returned home.

The other milkman in town was Clare Patterson. Clare was a nice-looking man, probably in his forties at the time, and had a black patch over one eye. I don’t think I ever knew how he lost that eye but that patch made him look like an adventurous soul. Clare ran Patterson Dairy and as I recall, did all the delivering himself. As a side note, Clare had a sister named Lovey Patterson who married one of the Boucher men. I didn’t know her but always thought that “Lovey” was a neat name for a girl.

Charlie and Jane lived in the last block of Clark Street, on the south side of the street. Behind their home, Charlie had his milk house that could be entered from the alley. The milk house was a small, one room building. I can’t remember if it was an old Model T garage that had been converted, an old smoke-house that had been converted, or if it had been built specifically to be a milk house. At any rate, it was well insulated and had an air conditioner to keep it cold. The big truck from the Meadow Gold plant would come down the alley on a regular schedule and off-load Charlie’s stock.

As I recall, we started making deliveries at 6:00 AM. I enjoyed the morning walk to Charlie’s house. The sun was up but it was still cool and the air was fresh and sweet. It smelled especially good if I passed a yard that had just been mowed the day before.

Getting down to business, we delivered all the products that Meadow Gold offered. I don’t remember them all, but there was regular milk, homogenized milk, chocolate milk, buttermilk, cream, whipping cream, ice cream, and butter. Milk came in glass bottles back then. There were no waxed cartons or plastic jugs like we have now. The milk was in quart bottles and the cream came in pints. The bottles were sealed with a cardboard disc that had a pull-tab attached to it. I think the lettering on the cap or disc was a different color for the different products. A white cap was for regular milk which was also known as “cream-top”. In regular milk, the cream separated from the milk and rose to the top of the bottle so the top 2 or 3 inches of the neck was cream. A red cap was for homogenized milk. The milk and cream had been mixed or blended and the cream remained in suspension making the product a lot richer and more pleasing than plain old skim milk.

Charlie had a route book that served as a road map for the day. It had a page for every customer and gave all the necessary information about them including the days they wanted delivery and what their standard order was. As we drove down the street, Charlie would turn the page as we got to each house and sing out their order…”2 cream-top and 2 red” he might say. Or, it might be “1 red and 1 butter’. Whatever the call, I’d get the items and run for the front porch. Whatever empty bottles they had would be setting beside the front door and I would grab those empties and leave today’s order. As I learned the job we got a routine going and the route got a little smoother and a little faster. Charlie’s way of going was so quiet and steady it was easy to work for him.

Elderly people and crippled people were treated as such. Charlie personally took care of them.. Due to prior agreement he would let himself in and head for the kitchen. As he placed the fresh dairy products in the refrigerator and picked up the empties off the cabinet, he was chatting with the people, looking them over, and asking if they needed anything. Quite often, Charlie invited me to go in with him and say hello. I didn’t realize it at the time but I was learning lessons in respect and being mindful of the needs of others.

It was a good summer and I learned a lot about working and being a decent person. After the summer was over I went back t school and Charlie kept doing what he was doing. He was a regular guy with the work ethic and values of the time. Working for him was worth a lot more than the spending money I earned.

Dave Thomas
February 24, 2017

 

 

 

Entrepreneurship

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We got a notice in the mail that the El Cajon City Planning Commission would soon hold a meeting to determine if they should allow a 7-11 Convenience Store on property adjacent to our neighborhood. This was in the mid-to-late 1960’s and we were living in a development known as Olive Hills Estates. The houses were nice, modern homes but certainly not “estates.

We considered the notice and talked about it and came up with two objections. We had noticed that in neighborhoods with 7-11’s or mom and pop grocery stores there was a lot of trash scattered up the block. It was all candy bar wrapper, soda cups, and aluminum soda cans that kids cast off as they wandered up the street.

The second problem would be the traffic consideration. The driveway for the 7-11 would be accessed from Greenfield Drive, a busy street.

Pat and I went to the hearing and both spoke our piece. Our eloquence was for nothing, as the Planning Commission voted to allow the granting of the permits to build the store. We got the impression that they were more interested in the tax revenues than they were in our efforts to keep our yard clean.

Time passed and a strip mall was built, anchored by the 7-11. It wasn’t really that bad. The neighborhood kids were good about not stringing trash up and down the block. The 7-11 was operated by a man named Bertolucci. I don’t know if he was the franchisee or a paid manager. He was probably in his late 40’s or early 50’s and was one of those red-haired Italians with a ruddy complexion. He always had a smile and was liked by all ages. The kids called him “Mr. Bert” and I think he knew every kid in the neighborhood by name.

Back in those days, the neighborhoods of the city were pretty safe. Even though our kids were young, we allowed them to make the one block trek to the store. We had to approve each trip but they were allowed to enjoy a Slurpee now and then.

One Saturday morning, Pat and I were going someplace with the kids and stopped at 7-Eleven to pick up some snacks. Mr. Bert greeted us and then asked if he could speak to Pat and I privately. He ushered us to a corner and then started telling us about soda pop bottles and how they were returned for a refund of the bottle deposit. He said that the empty bottles were stored out in back of the building until the distributors picked them up and returned them to the bottling plant. He said that our daughter, Terri, then 6 or 7 years old, would stop in the alley and pick up as many bottles as she could carry and then go around to the front door and go in and collect the deposit money for them. Then, she would use her earnings to buy a Slurpee. Bertolucci said he knew what she was doing and didn’t mind because she was a nice kid. However, the gratuities started to get out of hand. Terri was bringing a little friend with her. Then, it seemed that she was bringing the whole neighborhood with her. That’s when Mr. Bert had to put a stop to the great bottle refund enterprise and why he was talking with us. He wanted to make sure that Terri understood that what she was doing was wrong.

Later, Pat and I were alone with Terri and told her that Mr. Bert had mentioned that she was buying a lot of Slurpees and we wondered where she was getting the money. She said she had found this neat place out in the alley where there were stacks of bottles. She said she would gather enough bottles to buy a Slurpee and then go to the store and sell them. She was just as happy as if she had found buried treasure. We had to burst her bubble and tell her that those bottles in the alley already belonged to the store and that Mr. Bert was buying his own bottles from her. We went on to explain that Mr. Bert knew what she was doing but let her get away with it. Terri was mortified. She was the type of kid that always wanted to do everything right and hated to think she had made a mistake. He next time she went to the store she told Bertolucci she was sorry and we all went back to the status quo…peace in the valley.

Dave and Pat Thomas
February 23, 2017

 

The Coronado Ferry and the Bridge: Part 3

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Part 3 is made up of notes, newspaper clippings from the San Diego Union and Evening Tribune and miscellaneous pictures I’ve collected over the years. Some of the clippings date back to 1961.

 

Land speculation and development was going wild in Coronado in the 1880’s. There was talk of grand hotels and resorts being built and the place was sounding like a potential gold mine. Two forward-looking men realized that getting workers and materials and later hotel guests across San Diego Bay quickly would be a great boon for the building and tourist industries. Riding in a buggy the length of the bay, around the south end, and then up the Silver Strand to Coronado seemed to take forever. It was only 5/8 of a mile across the bay and the solution found, was the formation of a ferry company. I have attached a clipping (San Diego Union, August 9, 1961) that tells the story of the first 75 years and gives details about those first days.

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The first day of service for the Coronado Ferry Co. was April 15, 1886 and the last crossing was made August 3, 1969. That’s over 83 years of service and pleasure provided day in and day out. Unfortunately, this picturesque mode of travel reached the end of its era. The last day of service occurred on the opening day of the beautiful San Diego-Coronado Bridge. Crossing the bridge is a beautiful and unique experience in its own right. The bridge is 200 feet high because at the time it was built, the Navy insisted that the center span be tall enough to clear their tallest ships, diesel-propelled aircraft carriers. That condition was met, though the bridge isn’t high enough to clear the nuclear carriers. The height requirement had a lot to do with the long and curving lines of the final configuration. Also, there is a story that says the bridge had to be over a mile long to get federal funding so the curvature was added to give additional length.

The first day of service for the Coronado Ferry Co. was April 15, 1886 and the last crossing was made August 3, 1969. That’s over 83 years of service and pleasure provided day in and day out. Unfortunately, this picturesque mode of travel reached the end of its era. The last day of service occurred on the opening day of the beautiful San Diego-Coronado Bridge. Crossing the bridge is a beautiful and unique experience in its own right. The bridge is 200 feet high because at the time it was built, the Navy insisted that the center span be tall enough to clear their tallest ships, diesel-propelled aircraft carriers. That condition was met, though the bridge isn’t high enough to clear the nuclear carriers. The height requirement had a lot to do with the long and curving lines of the final configuration. Also, there is a story that says the bridge had to be over a mile long to get federal funding so the curvature was added to give additional length.

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A lot of people are terrified when going over the bridge because, at the center, it is 200 feet tall. You can look out over the waterfront and the city and it’s a lot like being on the side of a mountain and looking into a vast canyon. A few years ago, Pat’s aunt and uncle had come from Wichita to visit us. On Saturday, Pat had to work so I decided to show them the beautiful bridge, San Diego Bay, the city of Coronado, and the Hotel Del Coronado. As we came off the approach and started up the bridge, these flat-landers from Kansas immediately started yelling. By the time we reached the center span, the highest point, they were really freaking out. The best I could come up with was that we were half way and would soon be on the ground. We lived through that experience did our sight-seeing. They had calmed down enough that they let me drive them back across the bridge rather than driving all the way down the Silver Strand and around. They actually enjoyed the view on the way back.
  san-diego-coronado-bridge

san-diego-coronado

 

 

The Coronado Ferry and the Bridge: Part 2

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One day, Pat had been doing her regular chores and chasing the boys, who weren’t quite 3 years old, and trying to keep them in line and she was exhausted. She read the boys a story and put them down for a nap. Satisfied that the boys would be “out” for a while, she fastened the security chain to the front door, laid down, and promptly fell asleep.

Sometime later she was awakened by someone ringing the door bell. As she walked to the door, she realized that a chair had been pulled up to the door and that the security chain was undone. Pat experienced a feeling of panic as she got to the door, not knowing if she would open it to the Police or someone else with bad news. She threw open the door and saw a lady she recognized holding the hands of our two boys. She remembered that the lady lived 2 blocks away, across a busy street, and that the bus stop was in front of her home. The woman had seen Pat and our two boys at the bus stop before and was quite concerned to see the boys there by themselves. She asked them where there mother was and where they were going. They told her that their Mom was asleep and they were going to ride on the ferry and see the boats. Fortunately, the boys knew where they lived so the lady grabbed them each by the hand and walked them home. As Pat and the lady talked they quizzed the boys and discovered the rest of the caper. When getting on the bus in the past, they had seen their mother drop coins into the fare collection box so before leaving the house they had found her purse and grabbed all the change she had and put it in their pockets. That’s pretty good thinking for a couple of outlaws who couldn’t count or make change. Pat thanked the Good Samaritan and after that lady left, gave the boys a good chewing out and grounded them.

Having twin boys messes up your understanding of mathematics. You grew up thinking that 1+1=2 so it would follow that 1 boy plus another boy equals 2 boys but that’s not the way it works. This is why they invented the word “synergism”. One imaginative boy added to another imaginative boy equals 5 times more trouble than you can cope with.

As the time got closer for Pat to deliver, I had to make up my mind on driving the long way around or taking the ferry to Coronado. I decided to drive the long way because there were fewer stoplights and less traffic. Taking the ferry would have meant taking Highway 94 which frequently was jammed up and then going through all the stoplights downtown and hoping there was no delay at the ferry landing.

When the time came, we drove the long way around and everything worked out well when we got to the hospital. Pat had a few tough hours of labor but delivered a healthy baby girl that we named “Terri”.

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Doug and Russ and their new sister, Terri

 

 

 

The Coronado Ferry and the Bridge: Part 1

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My original intent was just to tell you about the Coronado Ferry but after thinking about it and discussing it with Pat the story grew a little. Back in the late 1950’s and 60’s San Diego Bay was a busy place. There was a fair amount of merchant shipping doing business at the 10th Ave. Terminal. The Navy had a lot of ship traffic at the 32nd Street Pier. National Steel and Shipbuilding was building and overhauling ships so there was a lot of traffic around their docks. There were usually 2 to 4 seaplane squadrons stationed at NAS North Island and they made take-offs and landings in the bay at all hours of the day and night. There were also Navy fighter squadrons stationed at North Island and they were visible from many spots around the bay.

The Navy had an Overhaul and Repair Facility at North Island taking care of aircraft that had returned from Westpac deployments via aircraft carriers. The carriers and other ships were docked at the North Island piers and sometimes there were other Navy ships at anchor in the bay. Convair was developing the Sea Dart, a jet-powered seaplane that could be seen taxiing in the bay. The tuna fleet was still operating out of San Diego. The fishing grounds within reach of this port were being “fished out” but the fleet was still pretty large. Toward the west end of the bay at the sub base there was traffic consisting of both diesel subs and the new nuclear boats. The ferry boats were on regular schedules and were plowing back and forth all day long. There were motor launches known as “nickel snatchers” that picked up passengers, mostly sailors, at the foot of Broadway and delivered them to the ships at anchor or over to North Island. Take all of this traffic and throw in the tour boats and private sail boats and you can imagine the apparent chaos all day long.

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The picture below will give you some indication of the variety of traffic on the bay. The airplane in the upper left hand corner is a P5M-2 seaplane such as I flew in and it is coming in for a landing. The planes flew up the bay (north) and when over the ferry landing made a slight turn to port to follow the curvature of the bay. As they crossed over the ferry slips, the pilot keyed his mike and announced “Ferry slips” and the Air Controller in the tower would take a final look at the sea lane for traffic and acknowledge with “Cleared to land.”

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Being from Kansas, Pat and I weren’t used to large bodies of water or waterborne transportation so riding the ferry was a unique and wonderful experience for us. The bay crossing only took a few minutes but there was enough time to jump out of your car and go lean on the rail or go to the top deck and have a seat and enjoy the ride. I believe there were a total of 5 ferry boats. Our favorite was the Crown City because there was no roof over the cars. The other boats had large superstructures that covered the cars on the deck and made you feel like you were in a garage.

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I was stationed at North Island, in Coronado, and we lived in Coronado for 2 years. In 1960, we bought a home in San Diego and that’s where my life as a commuter began. I found that even though it was farther to go south and around the bay and up the Silver Strand, it was faster than going through downtown San Diego and catching the ferry. Also, there was the money consideration. I was still in the Navy and riding the ferry would have cost me 90 cents a day but gasoline for driving the long way around was only 27.9 or 29.9 cents a gallon (I can’t remember exactly).

I was discharged from the Navy in March of 1961 and got a job with an electronics firm on Kearney Mesa which meant that I still had a long commute. We soon found out that Pat was pregnant and that made it tough because our doctor, Jim Turpin, was in Coronado and besides his practice being there, he was also associated with the Coronado Hospital. Our boys, Russ and Doug were born in the Coronado Hospital and we thought it would be a nice thing to have the new baby there as well.

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A booklet published by Home Federal Savings

Being new on the job, I couldn’t take time off to drive Pat to the doctor for her pre-natal visits. She figured out that she could ride the bus to downtown San Diego, transfer to the Coronado bus and get off right in front of the doctor’s office on Orange Ave. She would take the boys with her rather than trying to find and pay a babysitter. I guess the bus ride wasn’t bad and the best part was that the bus could go on the ferry! Pat and the boys loved that! To be on a boat and crossing the San Diego Bay with all the other boats and ships was pretty heady stuff.

 

 

San Diego Chargers: Still Here

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talking-football

“Me and Fouts…talkin’ football.”

Grandson, Jeff, and San Diego Chargers Quarterback, Dan Fouts.
Our son, Russ, took the picture.

I see on the evening news that disappointed San Diego Charger fans are having trouble dealing with the fact that the Chargers are moving to Los Angeles. They are whining and crying and burning their Charger memorabilia and are most certain that the end of the world has come. Well, folks, everything has an expiration date. The triple-crown winner retires, the aircraft carrier is de-commissioned, or maybe a favorite movie actress dies. Everything expires.

Let’s stand up and look this right in the eye. Over this past 56 years, or your part of it, you have stored up some wonderful memories. For the rest of your life you will have that treasure trove to draw on. Thanks to Air Coryell and some interesting and talented quarterbacks, you will remember the excitement. I’m talking about Jack Kemp, John Hadl, Dan Fouts, Drew Brees, Doug Flutie, and Philip Rivers. We even had the great Johnny Unitas toward the end of his career. And, not a quarterback but the scourge of quarterbacks, there was defensive end, Deacon Jones. The Deacon was exciting to watch as he beat opposing linemen and he always had something to say.

We saw some other exciting players, too, like Speedy Duncan, Chuck Muncie, and L.T. How about Lance Alworth? I got to meet him once. My son and grandson got to meet Dan Fouts. We will definitely remember those times.

You may have gone to Jack Murphy/Qualcom Stadium to attend your first Pro-Football game. Or, you may recall watching the games with good friends or relatives who are no longer with us. You will remember these times together.

In the coming years there will be many times and many circumstances that will spark your memory and cause you to pull up a giggle or a cherished remembrance. That’s the stuff that keeps us warm.

Dave Thomas
January 13, 2017

 

Prairie State Bank Robbery

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We were recalling things from the time the kids were small and Pat reminded me of this story.

We had gone back to visit with friends and relatives in our home towns of Augusta and El Dorado, Kansas. In Augusta, we were staying with my great uncle and aunt, Dave and Rachel Peebler. Our twin boys, Russ and Doug, were probably between 2 ½ and 3 years old. That would put us in 1961. Aunt Rachel and Uncle Dave were always gracious hosts and fun to visit. Aunt Rachel was all excited about having an outing with just the boys and her so she could take them to town and show them off to her friends.

Aunt Rachel got all gussied up, jewelry included. The boys were all excited and Pat got them slicked up and they piled into Aunt Rachel’s car and she took off with them. She decided she would stop at the Prairie State Bank first and pulled into a parking place out front. I don’t know who she expected to see but I imagine that Roy Haines was still the bank’s president  and Noah Morris and Dixie Wisner and the other long-time employees were still there. I don’t know what happened to tip her off but as Rachel and the boys got to the door, she realized that the bank was being robbed. She whirled around and since she was holding hands with both boys, almost jerked them off their feet. She took off directly across the street and rushed through the front door of Larson’s shoe store. Russ Larson was an old friend and she yelled at him and told what was happening. He shooed them to the back of the store and then called the police. They waited for some time before leaving the store and making the rounds of Rachel’s friends. When they got home, all three were still wide-eyed and excited. They were all talking so fast it was hard to understand what had happened. We finally got the boys settled down and Aunt Rachel told the story with the boys chiming in with their comments as she talked.

I tried to authenticate this story by searching the Internet. I even found an abbreviated history of the Augusta Department of Public Safety but nothing mentioned this incident. After Pat and I discussed the story, we were talking with Doug on the phone and asked him if he remembered going to town with Aunt Rachel and seeing a bank robbery. He jumped right in by saying “Yes, and she rushed us across the street to the shoe store.” Doug will be 57 next month and remembers something that made a big impression on him when he was 3.

We just talked to Russ a few minutes ago. He remembers something happening but says that Aunt Rachel down-played it and he doesn’t know what it was. However, he says he does remember meeting a lot of people that day.

Dave Thomas
October 25, 2015