HUMAN KINDNESS
“Shake It Up Baby Now”
WILD WILDLIFE
COSMIC LIGHT
Researchers have discovered a subtle twist in the primeval light that formed shortly after the universe came into being. They hope it can reveal new secrets about the moments after the Big Bang.
This afterglow, called Cosmic Microwave Background, or CMB, was created out of hot ionized plasma some 13.7 billion years ago, when the universe was just 380,000 years old. A small fraction of this light is polarized (meaning the light waves vibrate in one plane).
Researchers had already detected this polarized light in one pattern, known as “electric” or E-mode polarization. But using the South Pole Telescope in Antarctica and the European Space Agency’s (ESA) Herschel space observatory, researchers for the first time detected polarized light from the CMB in the “magnetic” or B-mode.
speed of light, doubling in size 100 times or more in just a few tiny fractions of a second. (Einstein’s theory of special relativity holds that no information or matter can travel faster than light through space, but this rule does not apply to inflation, which was an expansion of space itself.)
The new detection should provide a sort of baseline that will aid future efforts to measure B-modes produced by gravitational waves, which in turn could reveal a great deal about how our universe grew in its earliest moments, researchers said.
“This measurement was made possible by a clever and unique combination of ground-based observations from the South Pole Telescope — which measured the light from the Big Bang — with space-based observations from Herschel, which is sensitive
to the galaxies that trace the dark matter which caused the gravitational lensing,” Herschel researcher Joaquin Vieira, of the California Institute of Technology and the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, explained in a statement.
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THIS OR THAT
Halloween Pets
TRIGGER MAN
Alan Graham
PTSD triggers may be all around you. Even though it may sometimes feel like PTSD symptomscome out-of-the-blue, PTSD symptoms rarely spontaneously occur. Instead, whether you are aware of it not, PTSD symptoms are often triggered or cued by something in our internal (anything that happens within your body, such as thoughts or feelings) or external (anything that happens outsideyour body, such as a stressful situation) environment.
Because certain thoughts, feelings, or situations can bring up uncomfortable PTSD symptoms, such as memories of a traumatic event or feelings of being on edge and anxious, one way of coping with these symptoms is by increasing your awareness of these triggers. You can prevent or lessen the impact of certain PTSD symptoms by identifying what specific types of thoughts, feelings, and situations trigger them, and then, take steps to limit the occurrence or impact of those triggers.
Kinds of Triggers
Triggers can fall into two categories: Internal Triggersand External Triggers. Internal triggers are things that you feel or experience inside your body. Internal triggers include thoughts or memories, emotions, and bodily sensations (for example, your heart racing). External triggers are situations, people, or places that you might encounter throughout your day (or things that happen outside your body). Listed below are some common internal and external triggers.
- Internal Triggers
- Anger
- Anxiety
- Sadness
- Memories
- Feeling lonely
- Feeling abandoned
- Frustration
- Feeling out of control
- Feeling vulnerable
- Racing heart beat
- Pain
- Muscle tension
- External Triggers
- An argument
- Seeing a news article that reminds you of your traumatic event
- Watching a movie or television show that reminds you of your traumatic event
- Seeing a car accident
- Certain smells
- The end of a relationship
- An anniversary
- Holidays
- A specific place
- Seeing someone who reminds you of a person connected to your traumatic event
Identifying Your Triggers
Try to think of when your PTSD symptoms usually come up. Ask yourself the following questions to identify your triggers: What types of situations are you in? What is happening around you? What kind of emotions are you feeling? What thoughts are you experiencing? What does your body feel like? Get out a sheet of paper and write down as many internal and external triggers as you can.
Coping with Triggers
Now, the best way of coping with triggers is to avoid them altogether. However, this is almost impossible to do. Why? Well, you cannot really avoid your thoughts, emotions, and bodily sensations. Much of these are out of our control. In regard to external triggers, we can take some steps to manage our environment (for example, not going to certain places that we know will trigger us), but we cannot control everything that happens to us.
Many persons in our society experience a traumatic shock sometime during their lives. Fires, hurricanes, tornadoes, bombings, murders, war, rape, child abuse, spousal abuse, car accidents, and many other terrifying occurrences can force their way into our lives. In fact, events such as this may occur to 70% or more of us. Trauma is believed to be significantly underestimated, and the true prevalence is probably even higher. While all of us would like to believe that we are going to escape the occurrence of terrible events in our lives, the chances are that any one individual will experience at least one major trauma.
Emotionally overwhelming events can send shock waves through every aspect of our lives. They can damage our psychological stability and take away our sense of well being. Uncontrollable, devastating experiences usually generate feelings of being unsafe, powerless, and vulnerable. They can cause a group of symptoms called Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) which is as powerful and difficult to cope with as any other psychological disorder.
A traumatic event may be a one time occurrence, such as a serious car accident, witnessing a murder, or being raped. Or it can be a series of repetitive events such as ongoing incest or combat. Trauma may be physical, psychological, or a combination of both.
Some people react more strongly to such events than others. Or two people may develop different types of psychological symptoms in reaction to trauma. This is because the impact of negative events is heavily influenced by the way in which it is perceived. For example, suppose that two different persons are involved in a car accident. Afterwards, one is frightened and has difficulty riding in automobiles because they are convinced that they are going to die. They have difficulty driving and are bothered by images of another car running into them head on. They may blame themselves for reacting slowly and not getting out of the way in the original accident. Another person may react differently. They may totally blame the other driver who hit them. Their reaction may be one of anger and retaliation through lawsuits. For them, the accident may prove that life is unfair and that others cannot be trusted. While they continue to be preoccupied bythewreck,theymayhavelessanxietyanddepression. Theymayinsteadfeelprimarilyangry.
Did You Know?
–In North America, 17,000,000 people experience traumatic events each year, and of those, 25% go on to develop PTSD.
–Forty percent of Americans have been exposed to a traumatic event before the age of 30, and of these one in four will develop PTSD.
–Current estimates are that 45% of women will be raped at some point in their lifetime. The lifetime rate of occurrence of PTSD in rape victims is 35%.
American Flag Protocol.
Rules for Display of the American Flag
Display Outdoors
Over the Middle of the Street
It should be suspended vertically with the union to the north in an east and west street or to the east in a north and south street.
Flown at Half-staff
Should be first hoisted to the peak for an instant and then lowered to the half-staff position. The flag should be again raised to the peak before it is lowered for the day. By “half-staff” is meant lowering the flag to one-half the distance between the top and bottom of the staff. Crepe streamers may be affixed to spear heads or flagstaffs in a parade only by order of the President of the United States.
Flown on the Same Halyard with Non-Nation Flags
The American Flag should always be at the peak. When the flags are flown from adjacent staffs, the flag of the United States should be hoisted first and lowered last. No such flag or pennant may be placed above the flag of the United States or to the right of the flag of the United States.
Suspended Over a Sidewalk
The flag may be suspended from a rope extending from a house to a pole at the edge of the sidewalk, the flag should be hoisted out, union first, from the building.
From a Staff Projecting Horizontally or at an Angle
The flag may be projected from the window sill, balcony, or front of a building, with the union of the flag placed at the peak of the staff unless the flag is at half-staff.
In a Parade with Other Flags
The flag, when carried in a procession with another flag, or flags, should be either on the marching right; that is, the flag’s own right, or, if there is a line of other flags, in front of the center of that line.
With Non-National Flags
The flag of the United States of America should be at the center and at the highest point of the group when a number of flags of States or localities or pennants of societies are grouped and displayed from staffs.
With Other National Flags
When flags of two or more nations are displayed, they are to be flown from separate staffs of the same height. The flags should be of approximately equal size. International usage forbids the display of the flag of one nation above that of another nation in time of peace.
With Another Flag Against a Wall from Crossed Staffs
Should be on the right, the flag’s own right which is the viewer’s left, and its staff should be in front of the staff of the other flag.
Display Indoors
From a Staff in a Church or Public Auditorium on a Podium
The flag of the United States of America should hold the position of superior prominence, in advance of the audience, and in the position of honor at the clergyman’s or speaker’s right as he faces the audience. Any other flag so displayed should be placed on the left of the clergyman or speaker (to the right of the audience).
From a Staff in a Church or Public Auditorium off the Podium
Custom and not the flag code hold that the flag of the United States of America should hold the position of superior prominence as part of the audience, in the position of honor at the audience’s right.
Used to Cover a Casket
It should be so placed that the union is at the head and over the left shoulder. The flag should not be lowered into the grave or allowed to touch the ground.
Other than being Flown from a Staff
The flag should be displayed flat, whether indoors or out. When displayed either horizontally or vertically against a wall, the union should be uppermost and to the flag’s own right, that is, to the observer’s left. When displayed in a window it should be displayed in the same way, that is with the union or blue field to the left of the observer in the street. When festoons, rosettes or drapings are desired, bunting of blue, white and red should be used, but never the flag.
Amphibamus
Prehistoric Amphibians – The Story of Amphibian Evolution
The Evolution of Amphibians, from Ancient to Modern Times
Here’s the strange thing about amphibian evolution: You wouldn’t know it from the small (and rapidly dwindling) population of frogs, toads and salamanders alive today, but for tens of millions of years spanning the late Carboniferous and early Permian periods amphibians were the dominant land animals on earth. Some of these ancient creatures achieved crocodile-like sizes (up to 15 feet long, which may not seem so big today but was positively huge 300 million years ago) and terrorized smaller animals as the “apex predators” of their swampy ecosystems. (See a gallery of prehistoric amphibian pictures.)
Before going further, it’s helpful to define what the word “amphibian” means. Amphibians differ from other vertebrates in three main ways: first, newborn hatchlings live underwater and breathe via gills, which then disappear as the juvenile undergoes a “metamorphosis” into its adult, air-breathing form (juveniles and adults can look very different, as in the case of baby tadpoles and full-grown frogs). Second, adult amphibians lay their eggs in water, which significantly limits their mobility when colonizing land. And third (and less strictly), the skin of modern amphibians tends to be “slimy” rather than reptile-scaly, which allows for the additional transport of oxygen for respiration.
The First Amphibians
As is often the case in evolutionary history, it’s impossible to pinpoint the exact moment when the first tetrapods (the four-legged fish that crawled out of the shallow seas 400 million years ago and swallowed gulps of air with primitive lungs) turned into the first true amphibians. In fact, until recently, it was fashionable to describe these tetrapods as amphibians, until it occurred to experts that most tetrapods didn’t share the full spectrum of amphibian characteristics. For example, three important genera of the early Carboniferous period–Eucritta, Crassigyrinus and Greererpeton–can be variously (and fairly) described as either tetrapods or amphibians, depending on which features are being considered.
It’s only in the late Carboniferous period, from about 310 to 300 million years ago, that we can comfortably refer to the first true amphibians. By this time, some genera had attained relatively monstrous sizes–a good example being Eogyrinus (“dawn tadpole”), a slender, crocodile-like creature that measured 15 feet from head to tail. (Interestingly, the skin of Eogyrinus was scaly rather than moist, evidence that the earliest amphibians needed to protect themselves from dehydration.) Another late Carboniferous/early Permian genus, Eryops, was much shorter than Eogyrinus but more sturdily built, with massive, tooth-studded jaws and strong legs.
At this point, it’s worth noting a rather frustrating fact about amphibian evolution: modern amphibians (which are technically known as “lissamphibians”) are only remotely related to these early monsters. Lissamphibians (which include frogs, toads, salamanders, newts and rare, earthworm-like amphibians called “caecilians”) are believed to have radiated from a common ancestor that lived in the middle Permian or early Triassic periods, and it’s unclear what relationship this common ancestor may have had to late Carboniferous amphibians like Eryops and Eogyrinus.
Lost Prehistoric Code
Lost Prehistoric Code Found in Mesopotamia
Scientists are using CT Scans and 3D modelling to peer inside sealed clay balls, often called “envelopes” by researchers. Only about 150 intact examples survive worldwide today and they contain, within them, tokens in a variety of geometric shapes. Their purpose was to record economic transactions but how exactly they did this, before writingwas invented, is unknown. The examples the team scanned were excavated from the site of Choga Mish, in western Iran, in the late 1960s and are now at the University of Chicago’s Oriental Institute. They date back about 5,500 years, roughly two centuries before the invention of writing. The exterior of each ball contains an “equatorial” seal running down the middle and, often, two polar seals running above and below.
And Did Those Feet In Ancient Times
By Alan Graham
JERUSALEM (from ‘Milton’)
And did those feet in ancient time” is a short poem by William Blake from the preface to his epic Milton a Poem, one of a collection of writings known as the Prophetic Books. The date of 1804 on the title page is probably when the plates were begun, but the poem was printed c. 1808.[1] Today it is best known as the anthem “Jerusalem”, with music written by Sir Hubert Parry in 1916.The poem was inspired by the apocryphal story that a young Jesus, accompanied by his uncle Joseph of Arimathea, a tin merchant, travelled to what is now England and visited Glastonburyduring the unknown years of Jesus.[2] The legend is linked to an idea in the Book of Revelation (3:12 and 21:2) describing a Second Coming, wherein Jesus establishes a new Jerusalem. The Christian Church in general, and the English Church in particular, has long used Jerusalem as a metaphor for Heaven, a place of universal love and peace.[3]
In the most common interpretation of the poem, Blake implies that a visit by Jesus would briefly create heaven in England, in contrast to the “dark Satanic Mills” of the Industrial Revolution. Blake’s poem asks four questions rather than asserting the historical truth of Christ’s visit. Thus the poem merely implies that there may, or may not, have been a divine visit, when there was briefly heaven in England.[4][5]
JESUS’ VISITS
Of Jesus’ visits to England, scattered evidence abounds. Here’s a short scenario from C.C. Dobson
“As a boy He was brought merely for a visit by Joseph of Arimathea on one of his voyages. Later as a young man He returned and settled at Glastonbury for the purpose of quiet study, prayer, and meditation. Here He erected for Himself a small house of mud and wattles. ” Dobson goes on to present historical evidence.
In a letter to Pope Gregory, St.Augustine states that there was a church “constructed by no human art, but divinely contructed (or by the hands of Christ Himself), for the salvation of His people.”
The historian, Gildas, says Jesus’ “Light and precepts” were “afforded…to this island during the …last year of the reign of Tiberius. Tiberius retired to Caprae in A.D. 27.
William of Malmesbury includes in his writings the contents of a letter given by King Ina to Glastonbury, 700 AD.”To the ancient church, situate in the place called Glastonbury (which Church the Great High Priest and Chiefest Minister formerly through His own ministry, and that of angels…..” This confirms Gildas’ statement that Jesus had a ministry at Glastonbury.
The historical records called the Domesday Surveys, also bear witness to Jesus’ presence in Glastonbury. These surveys state that Glastonbury contained 12 hides (160 acre parcels) of land that “have never paid tax.” This was because the King Arviragus gave these parcels to Joseph of Arimathea when he arrived in England in 37 AD.
TRADITIONS
Four of the many traditions of Jesus coming to England are discussed in Capt’s book.
Ancient carvings on the stone arch of Place Manor Church has an insignia of an anchor, a lamb and cross. The accompanying pictographs tell the story of Jesus and His uncle coming to Place for tin.
Another traditional story is that of Jesus teaching the miners of Cornwall how to smelt tin from ore.
Old Cornwall mining Ordinance maps show two interesting names. “Corpus Christi” (Body of Christ), and “Wheel of Jesus” (wheel is a Cornish name for mine). Also found in abundance in Cornwall’s mining area are “Tunic Crosses.” These crosses picture a Christian cross on one side and the image of a young lad dressed in a short tunic; obviously not a picture of a crucified or risen Christ.
This quote from Capt relates the Mendips mining area to Joseph and Jesus. “Traditions among the hill folk of Somerset relate that Joseph, after first seeking tin from the Scillies (islands) and Cornwall, came to the Mendips and was accompanied on several occassions by the boy Jesus. At the parish Church of Priddy, high on top of the Mendips, they have an old saying: ‘As sure as our Lord was at Priddy.’ And a carol sung be the children of Priddy begins: “Joseph was a tin merchant, a tin merchant, a tin merchant, and goes on to describe him arriving from the sea in a boat.”
Much has been written about the Lost Years of Jesus. Many accounts place him in India. One South American tradition sounds very much like Jesus visiting that continent. In fact, many say that the complete and speedy success of the Spanish invaders was due to this tradition; that the Visitor prophsied that He would return.
Consider. If Joseph had a fleet of ships, that gave Jesus access to worldwide travel. Do not doubt for even a second that world travel to ALL lands was possible. There is abundant evidence to prove the fact.
The traditions of Glastonbury and Cornwall form the following scenario:
Joseph of Arimathea was an uncle of the Virgin Mary, being a younger brother of her father. He gained his wealth as an importer in the tin trade, which existed between Cornwall and Phoenicia. On one of his voyages he took Our Lord with him when a boy. Our Lord either remained in Britain or returned later as a young man, and stayed in quiet retirement at Glastonbury. Here he erected for himself a small house of mud and wattle. Later Joseph of Arimathea, fleeing from Palestine, settled in the same place and erected a mud and wattle church there.
The contents of these several pages on the Cradle of Christianity will be found to over lap. That can’t be helped, as the whole topic takes in many areas of study which all relate importantly to each other. So the study of Jesus in Britain touches on the Royal family, the establishment of the Church, Paul’s visit to Britain, and even the founding of the Roman church.
Weird Isaac
Isaac Newton today is venerated as one of the greatest scientists who ever lived — the father of classical mechanics and co-creator of calculus. But in his day, Newton was known for many things, including some very bizarre behavior and a personality that might be considered quirky at best.
Consider these 10 fascinating facts about Newton:
Fact #1: Newton was a big-time sinner. At least he thought he was. At the tender age of 19, the future mathematician committed to paper a list of 48 sins of which he was guilty. Transgressions ranged from “peevishness” at his mother to “having uncleane thoughts words and actions and dreamese.” He also confessed to “eating an apple at Thy house,” though he gave no word as to whether it was THE apple (see #9 below).
Fact #2: He stuck a needle in his eye socket — on purpose. In Newton’s time little was known about the properties of light. In fact, people weren’t even sure whether the eye created light or collected it, James Gleick, author of a 2003 biography of Newton, told HuffPost Science in a telephone interview. Curious, Newton embarked on his own detailed study of optics — and he wasn’t above acting as his own guinea pig, probing his eye with a blunt needle known as a bodkin. As he wrote in his journal :I tooke a bodkine gh & put it betwixt my eye & [the] bone as neare to [the] backside of my eye as I could: & pressing my eye [with the] end of it (so as to make [the] curvature a, bcdef in my eye) there appeared severall white darke & coloured circles…
Fact #3: He had two nervous breakdowns. In 1678, after engaging in a dispute over aspects of his theory of optics, Newton is believed to have suffered a nervous breakdown. In 1693, he had another, after which he retired from scientific research. Newton blamed his second breakdown on lack of sleep, though historians mention other possible causes, including chemical poisoning from experiments (see #8 below) as well as the accumulated effects of chronic psychological depression.
Fact #4: He was born a preemie to poorly educated parents. Newton was born in the English county of Lincolnshire, the only son of a farmer, also named Isaac Newton, and his wife, Hannah Ayscough. Born three months premature, he was so small at birth that he could have fit inside a quart mug, his mother reportedly said. His father was illiterate, and his mother was barely able to read, Gleick told HuffPost Science. “He was able to go to university because his mother remarried and so there was some money,” Gleick said.
Fact #5: He waited tables. As a student at the University of Cambridge, Newton had to wait tables. He was a “sizar,” Gleick said, referring the term used to describe an undergraduate who received financial assistance in return for performing menial duties. In Newton’s case, that included being a waiter and taking care of other students’ rooms.
Fact #6: He was a lonely guy. Some have speculated that Newton suffered from a mental illness (perhaps bipolar disorder) or autism. That’s hard to know for sure, but one thing that is clear is that Newton was chronically lonely. “We can see this when he was a child and when he was an old man,” Gleick said. “He got into fights.”
Fact #7: He escaped the Great Plague. When a devastating outbreak of bubonic plague hit Cambridge in 1665, Newton and his classmates were sent home to ride out the epidemic. But the budding mathematician made good use of his time — by inventing calculus.
Fact #8: He practiced alchemy. Though rightly celebrated for his scientific genius, Newton also dabbled in alchemy — a pseudoscience whose aim is to turn lead and other base metals into gold.
Fact #9: He didn’t think up his theories after seeing an apple fall to the ground. “Most people think that Newton was hit on the head with an apple,” Gleick told HuffPost Science. “But it’s probably not true.” What likely was true, he said, is that Newton realized that the same invisible force that caused apples to fall to the ground also affected the movements of the moon.
Fact #10: He died a virgin. Newton never married and, though it’s impossible to verify, is widely believed never to have had sex.
ALL DEAD AT 27
The number of rockers who were taken from us too early in life — whether by accident, violence or misadventure — is obviously far too large. The fact that so many of the biggest and most influential talents in rock history died at the age of 27 is even more bizarre, and when you think about it, downright creepy.
Over the years, the stories behind the deaths of the members of this so called “27 club” have grown more and more inflated and outrageous, with everything from legal cover-ups to elaborate hoaxes and even deals with the devil trotted out to try and make some sense of these tragic losses and distinguishing fact from fiction regarding these sad Rockers Who Died at Age 27.
I ROBOT
WildCat is the successor to last year’s super-fast Cheetah — a robot that could run at 28.3 mph, a bit faster than Olympic sprinter Usain Bolt. Unlike Cheetah, WildCat can run without being tethered to a power source from an extension cord.
But there’s more! Boston Dynamics also debuted a clip this week of its humanoid robot ATLAS tip-toeing over a bed of rocks. It’s not as awesome/terrifying as the teatherless WildCat, but given how elusive bipedal balance is in robots, ATLAS’ agile walk across a stony surface is a pretty big deal.
As with all good robot advances, the revelations by Boston Dynamics have prompted robot apocalypse hysteria. Business Insider called WildCat “creepy,” while Gizmodo said of Atlas that “by sometime next summer it should be graduating college with all the tools it needs to start usurping humanity.” It probably doesn’t help that DARPA has commissioned some other seriously crazyprojects in the past.
But neither WildCat nor ATLAS are quite ready for the apocalypse yet. WildCat may be autonomous (until it runs out of gasoline), but it’s hardly subtle — its legs are ungainly; the motor loud. As for ATLAS, well, it’s tethered to a power cord — for now.
Ancient Swedish Discovery
Scene of 1,500-Year-Old Massacre in Sweden
Archaeologists have discovered skeletons lying in their death pose inside an island fort in Sweden. The researchers think these ancient people were victims of an ambush. Wilhelmson, an osteologist at Lund University said that the site of an ancient island fort in Sweden, archaeologists have uncovered the victims of a sudden massacre, whose bodies were frozen in time for centuries much like the victims of Pompeii.
Researchers think hundreds of people once lived in single-family stone houses within the walled settlement on Öland, a long narrow island off the southeast coast of Sweden in the Baltic Sea. But the fifth-century fort seems to have been left in ruins after an ambush, recent excavations suggest
“It’s more of a frozen moment than you normally see in archaeology,” Wilhelmson added. “It’s like Pompeii. Something terrible happened and everything just stopped.”
In an initial investigation at the site in 2010, researchers found jewelry boxes with finely-crafted gilded broaches and sets of beads, hinting at former occupation. Later, researchers found traces of a house within the fort. In the doorway, they uncovered two feet peeking out, Wilhelmson said.
The archaeologists eventually excavated the full skeleton, which had signs of blunt force trauma to the head and shoulder. So far the researchers say they have found five sets of human remains, all belonging to people who seem to have met a sudden death.
“I don’t think anyone dared to go near it for a very long time,” Helene Wilhelmson, an osteologist at Lund University said in a video. “It’s like Pompeii. Something terrible happened and everything just stopped.”
DOLLARORIGAMI
FLAGS
Flags were at half-staff at the state Capitol today in honor of a Coronado-based helicopter pilot killed in a crash in the Red Sea.
Navy Lt. Cmdr. Landon Jones, 35, of Lompoc, was killed Sept. 22 as he tried to land a MH-60S Knighthawk helicopter on the deck of the San Diego-based guided-missile destroyer USS William P. Lawrence.
Chief Warrant Officer Jonathon Gibson, 32, of Aurora, Ore., was also killed in the crash. Three other crew members survived, according to the Navy.
In a statement, Gov. Jerry Brown and his wife, Anne Gust Brown, expressed their deepest condolences on behalf of all Californians to the family and friends of Jones.
MUST LOVE KIDS
BRAVEHEART FAIL
Scots fought ‘in bright yellow shirts not Braveheart kilts’
Medieval Scottish soldiers fought wearing bright yellow war shirts dyed in horse urine rather than the tartan plaid depicted in the film Braveheart, according to new research.
Historian Fergus Cannan states that the Scots armies who fought in battles like Bannockburn, and Flodden Field would have looked very different to the way they have traditionally been depicted.
Instead of kilts, he said they wore saffron-coloured tunics called “leine croich” and used a range of ingredients to get the boldest possible colours.
“What the Scottish soldiers wore in the country’s greatest battles is an area that, up until now, has not been properly studied,” he said.
“A lot of historians quite rightly stated that the film Braveheart was not terribly accurate, but what they didn’t admit was that they didn’t have a clue what would be accurate.”
Shelter Dogs Heal War Vets
WAR VETS HEAL WITH THE HELP OF DOGS
Summary
1 in 4 war veterans will come home with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Over four million healthy, adoptable animals will be euthanized in shelters this year. Dogs provide healing and comfort to vets.
What is the issue, problem, or challenge?
A Pentagon study found that one in four veterans returning from Iraq and Afghanistan suffer from PTSD, depression or anxiety. Veterans are coming home with feelings of abandonment and having a difficult time adjusting to civilian life. This includes depression, substance abuse and in the worst cases, violence and suicide. Working with the dogs and training them to help others has proven to be very beneficial to veterans and shelter dogs. The dogs eventually are paired with people in need.
How will this project solve this problem?
Canines With a Cause brings shelter dogs and returned veterans together. Spending time with a dog can lessen stress. Vets benefit from the healing companionship of the dog and shelter dogs’ lives are saved by finding loving homes.
Potential Long Term Impact
Awareness will be brought to the plight of our vets suffering from PTSD as well as showing the benefits of training a shelter dog. Both the lives of vets and dogs will be saved in the long run as well as others who will utilize the service dog.
Funding Information
Total Funding Received to Date: $102,214
Remaining Goal to be Funded: $22,786
Total Funding Goal: $125,000
TURTLE TEARS
Amazonian Butterflies Drink Turtle Tears
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The sight of butterflies flocking onto the heads of yellow-spotted river turtles in the western Amazon rain forest is not uncommon, at least if one is able to sneak up on the skittish reptiles. But the reason why butterflies congregate onto the turtles may be stranger than you think: to drink their tears.
The butterflies are likely attracted to the turtles’ tears because the liquid drops contain salt, specifically sodium, an important mineral that is scant in the western Amazon, said Phil Torres, a scientist who does much of his research at the Tambopata Research Center in Peru and is associated with Rice University.
Unlike butterflies, turtles get plenty of sodium through their largely carnivorous diet. Meat contains significant levels of the salt, Torres told LiveScience. But herbivores sometimes struggle to get enough sodiumand other minerals, he added. “They end up needing this extra mineral source,” he said.
Drinking tears
Turtle tears are not the only source of such salts for butterflies; the insects also readily get the salt from animal urine, muddy river banks, puddles, sweaty clothes and sweating people, said Geoff Gallice, a graduate student of entomology at the Florida Museum of Natural History, who has witnessed butterflies flocking to turtle tears in the western Amazon rain forest.
This region is lower in sodium than many places on Earth, because it is more than 1,000 miles (1,600 kilometers) from the Atlantic Ocean, a prime source of salt, and is cut off from windblown mineral particles to the west by the Andes Mountains. Dust and minerals make their way into the Amazon from the east, sometimes all the way from north Africa. But much of this material is removed from the air by rain before it reaches the western Amazon, Torres said.
BABY ELEPHANT
A newborn calf reportedly cried for five hours, inconsolably, after being separated for a second time from his mother, who tried to kill him, twice.
Keepers at a wildlife park in eastern China, the Shendiaoshan Wild Animal Nature Reserve, in Rongcheng, Shandong province, removed the calf from his mother after she rejected him, stomping on him. Hopeful that the injury had been accidental, they treated the calf and returned him to his mother’s side. She turned on him again, so they again removed him. The calf wept under a blanket for five straight hours before keepers were able to console him.
“He couldn’t bear to be parted from his mother and it was his mother who was trying to kill him,” a keeper said, according to reports. All was not lost for the little calf, however. Named Zhuangzhuang, he has been adopted by the keeper who rescued him and they have formed a strong bond.
CATZ BATH
Origins Of Superstitions
“It’s bad luck to open an umbrella indoors.”
Though some historians tentatively trace this belief back to ancient Egyptian times, the superstitions that surrounded pharaohs’ sunshades were actually quite different and probably unrelated to the modern-day one about raingear. Most historians think the warning against unfurling umbrellas inside originated much more recently, in Victorian England.
In “Extraordinary Origins of Everyday Things” (Harper, 1989), the scientist and author Charles Panati wrote: “In eighteenth-century London, when metal-spoked waterproof umbrellas began to become acommon rainy-day sight, their stiff, clumsy spring mechanism made them veritable hazards to open indoors. A rigidly spoked umbrella, opening suddenly in a small room, could seriously injure an adult or a child, or shatter a frangible object. Even a minor accident could provoke unpleasant words or a minor quarrel, themselves strokes of bad luck in a family or among friends. Thus, the superstition arose as a deterrent to opening an umbrella indoors.”
The horseshoe is considered to be a good luck charm in a wide range of cultures. Belief in its magical powers traces back to the Greeks, who thought the element iron had the ability ward off evil. Not only were horseshoes wrought of iron, they also took the shape of the crescent moon in fourth century Greecefor the Greeks, a symbol of fertility and good fortune.
The belief in the talismanic powers of horseshoes passed from the Greeks to the Romans, and from them to the Christians. In the British Isles in the Middle Ages, when fear of witchcraft was rampant, people attached horseshoes open-end-up to the sides of their houses and doors. People thought witches feared horses, and would shy away from any reminders of them.
Fear of the number 13, known as “triskaidekaphobia,” has its origins in Norse mythology. In a well-known tale, 12 gods were invited to dine at Valhalla, a magnificent banquet hall in Asgard, the city of the gods. Loki, the god of strife and evil, crashed the party, raising the number of attendees to 13. The other gods tried to kick Loki out, and in the struggle that ensued, Balder, the favorite among them, was killed.
Scandinavian avoidance of 13-member dinner parties, and dislike of the number 13 itself, spread south to the rest of Europe. It was reinforced in the Christian era by the story of the Last Supper, at which Judas, the disciple who betrayed Jesus, was the thirteenth guest at the table.
Many people still shy away from the number.
GIANT VEGETABLES
THE FIRST ELECTRIC CARS
Did you know electric cars were made in Denver in 1904? Oliver Fritchle made them. He was born and raised in Ohio…moved to Denver then made his cars. At the time the majority of cars in the USA were electric…followed by steam engine cars. Gasoline engine cars were a distant third.
Oliver was a chemist and battery maker. He created the Fritchle Automobile & Battery Company in Denver and developed many incredible things besides the batteries that drove the cars 110 miles between charges.
The bottom line is Fritchle’s electric vehicles were every bit as good as the new modern vehicles (without GPS, sound systems and AC of course) in terms of distance they went on a single charge. The reason is the new modern electric vehicles all use his inventions. The truth is they use the innovations Fritchle created and used in his electric and hybrid cars more than a century ago with some upgrades of course. Cars today are much larger and have lots of electric gadgets.
The problem for Fritchle was a guy named Ford. Fritchle’s cars cost $2000. Ford started creating gasoline engine cars on a grand scale and sold them for $700. Plus they could go farther than electric cars…but not farther than Fritchle’s hybrid cars. Ford was mass producing cars and so the price was lower. And price always wins.
The new electric and hybrid cars are impressive but really not that much more compared to Fritchle’s cars. A brand new 100% electric Toyota SUV cost $53,000 and goes 112 miles between charges…that’s it. It’s great to drive around locally, but you can’t take a trip out of town. And Frichle’s cars went between 100 and 110 miles between charges. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
STEVIA
Stevia is perhaps unique among food ingredients because it’s most valued for what it doesn’t do. It doesn’t add calories. Unlike other sugar substitutes, stevia is derived from a plant.
The stevia plant is part of the Asteraceae family, related to the daisy and ragweed. Several stevia species called “candyleaf” are native to New Mexico, Arizona and Texas.
But the prized species, Stevia rebaudiana (Bertoni), grows in Paraguay and Brazil, where people have used leaves from the stevia bush to sweeten food for hundreds of years. In traditional medicine in these regions, stevia also served as a treatment for burns, colic, stomach problems and sometimes as a contraceptive.
Today, stevia is part of the sugar substitute market.
The U.S. Department of Agriculture estimates Americans added more sugar to their diet every year since the 1970s until 2000. When Americans dropped the added sugar, they turned to sugarlike extracts. The sugar substitute market was estimated to be worth $10.5 billion in 2012. And the market may be growing. Just 18 percent of U.S. adults used low- or no-calorie sweeteners in 2000. Now, 24 percent of adults and 12 percent of children use the sugar substitutes, according to a 2012 review in the American Journal of Clinical Nutrition.
The Smallest Nation On Earth
The Principality of Sealand has its own flag, a white diagonal stripe dividing fields of red and black. It has currency, postage stamps, a national anthem (“E Mare Libertas,” which is also its national motto, meaning “from the sea, freedom”), and even a soccer team. Never heard of Sealand? That’s not a surprise. It’s a concrete dot in the North Sea roughly the size of two tennis courts, and it’s never been recognized by any other nation on Earth. But that never bothered its eccentric founder, Paddy Roy Bates.
In 1967, Bates was a pirate radio broadcaster looking to operate a radio station untroubled by the then-strict regulation of the British airwaves. To that end, he occupied HM Fort Roughs, a Royal Navy fortification that had been built seven miles off the coast of Suffolk during World War II as a platform for anti-aircraft artillery. When maintenance workers approached the fort in 1968, the Bates family opened fire with a shotgun, beginning a fine tradition of Sealanders taking pot-shots at passersby.
A court found that because the fort lay outside Britain’s three-mile limit of territorial waters, Her Majesty’s government had no jurisdiction over the incident. This decision inspired Bates to declare his “nation” ‘s independence, rechristening Fort Roughs as the Principality of Sealand and crowning himself its first head of state, Prince Roy I.
The new nation faced its toughest international challenge in 1978, when a German lawyer named Alexander Achenbach stormed the marine platform, took Bates’s son Michael hostage, and declared himself Prime Minster of Sealand. The coup failed when Prince Roy led a daring helicopter raid to retake his country, but Achenbach’s group still considers itself the rightful leaders of Sealand, and runs a “government-in-exile” from Germany.
Sealand’s original government is also an absentee one nowadays. Prince Roy died last October, leaving the throne to his son Michael. But Prince Michael lives on the mainland, in Essex, so the Principality of Sealand currently has a population of one: a caretaker who lives on the platform. The nation’s main source of income continues to be the online sales of mugs, t-shirts, and even peerages — you and that special someone can become Count and Countess of Sealand for just $320! But in 2012, Sealand announced it was beginning a new tourism industry, for visitors dying to see one of the world’s weirdest micronations. Be warned, however: To come ashore at Sealand, you’ll have to be lifted out of your boat on a winch. After a long history of invasions, the fortress has no ladders.
LAVENDER FIELDS
PICTURES FROM OUR PAST
Charlie Chaplin in 1916 at the age of 27
I AM A CAT
Biblical-Era Town Discovered Along Sea of Galilee
A town dating back more than 2,000 years has been discovered on the northwest coast of the Sea of Galilee, in Israel’s Ginosar valley.
The ancient town may be Dalmanutha (also spelled Dalmanoutha), described in the Gospel of Mark as the place Jesus sailed to after miraculously feeding 4,000 people by multiplying a few fish and loaves of bread, said Ken Dark, of the University of Reading in the U.K., whose team discovered the town during a field survey.
The archaeologists also determined that a famous boat, dating to around 2,000 years ago, and uncovered in 1986, was found on the shoreline of the newly discovered town. The boat was reported on two decades ago but the discovery of the town provides new information on what lay close to it.
The evidence the team found suggests the town was prosperous in ancient times. “Vessel glass and amphora hint at wealth,” Dark wrote in an article published in the most recent edition of the journal Palestine Exploration Quarterly, while “weights and stone anchors, along with the access to beaches suitable for landing boats — and, of course, the first-century boat … all imply an involvement with fishing.” [Photos: 4,000-Year-Old Structure Hidden Under Sea of Galilee]
The architectural remains and pottery suggest that Jews and those following a polytheistic religion lived side by side in the community. In addition, the researchers found that the southern side of the newly discovered town lies only about 500 feet (150 meters) away from another ancient town known as Magdala.
CORONADO SUIT
Side Effects
By Alan Graham.
It is only in recent years that the major drug companies have been forced to list the harmful side effects from using medications. Almost everything that we consume has some sort of side effect, but when you read the warning label on cure all products I wonder why people still use them at all because the cost seems to outweigh any benefits.
Take for example the the Flu Remedy Tamiflu with it’s dozens of awful side effects, seems likely to cause serious damage than cure the ailment.
Take a look of what you may be in for as your search for relief, and perhaps you will think twice before you take any quick cure medications or even over the counter flu aids.
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- bloody nose or unexplained nosebleeds (occurs mainly in children)
- burning, dry, or itching eyes (mainly in children)
- cough
- dizziness
- ear disorder (occurs mainly in children)
- excessive tearing of the eyes (mainly in children)
- headache
- redness, pain, or swelling of the eye or eyelid (mainly in children)
- trouble with sleeping
- Abdominal or stomach pain
- wheezing
- Pale skin
- sneezing
- troubled breathing
- troubled breathing with exertion
- unusual bleeding or bruising
- Blistering, crusting, irritation, itching, or reddening of the skin
- blurred vision
- cracked, dry, or scaly skin
- dry mouth
- flushed, dry skin
- fruit-like breath odor
- increased hunger
- increased urination
- mood or mental changes
- skin rash that is encrusted, scaly, and oozing
- stomachache
- unexplained weight loss
Phlegm-producing cough
- Abdominal or stomach cramps or tenderness
- arm, back, or jaw pain
- bloating
- chest pain or discomfort
- chest tightness or heaviness
- diarrhea, watery and severe, which may also be bloody
- drooling
- facial swelling
- fast or irregular heartbeat
- fever
- hoarseness
- humerus fracture (broken forearm)
- increased thirst
- pain
- shortness of breath
- tender glands of the jaw and throat
- unusual tiredness or weakness
- unusual weight loss
- Blistering, peeling, or loosening of the skin
- chills
- convulsions (seizures)
- dark urine
- difficulty with swallowing
- fainting
- fast, slow, or irregular heartbeat
- general tiredness and weakness
- hives or welts
- itching
- itching, puffiness, or swelling of the eyelids or around the eyes, face, lips, or tongue
- joint or muscle pain
- light-colored stools
- loss of bladder control
- loss of consciousness
- muscle spasm or jerking of all extremities
- red skin
- red skin lesions, often with a purple center
- red, irritated eyes
- shortness of breath
- skin rash
- skin rash or itching over the entire body
- sore throat
- sores, ulcers, or white spots in the mouth or on the lips
- sudden loss of consciousness
- sweating
- swelling of the face or tongue
- upper right abdominal or stomach pain
- weakness
- yellow eyes and skin
- Phlegm-producing coughing
QUIET KIDS
When Kids Are Quiet, It Can Only Mean One Thing
HUMANS & ANIMALS
NO MORE CIGGIES
The Coronado City Council voted, 3-2, Tuesday to ban smoking in all public spaces in the city. Councilmen Al Ovrom Jr and Richard Bailey were the only no votes.
“The council has really moved to protect the health of residents and visitors in Coronado,” Lorenzo Hitley from the Community Against Substance Abuse said. “It’s a major public health achievement the council demonstrated real leadership.”
With the ban, Coronado joins three other cities, Solana Beach, Del Mar and El Cajon, in the county in banning smoking in public places.
“We’re very excited that Coronado has adopted a really smoke-free outdoor ordinance,” Debra Kelly from the American Lung Association said. “Right now they have a D-grade, by passing this they will leap to a B-grade or maybe an A-grade.”
Hitley had also asked that the council to include electronic cigarettes in the ban.
“Electronic cigarettes are burgeoning at an alarming pace in most of the liquor stores and many large supermarkets,” he said. “The use of those electronic cigarettes, unless it’s regulated, adds to the confusion whether or not the nonsmoking [ban] is in place.”
About 100 people were at the meeting and all the people who spoke were in favor of the ban. The adopted ordinance does allow an exception for some outdoors dining area where the majority area is on private property.
Linda Barbour from the American Cancer Association urged the council to rethink the policy and make all public areas non-smoking.
“We’re concerned with the exception provision for the outdoor dining section where the public and private exemption may create confusion among the member of the public and may make this provision hard to enforce,” she said.
Councilman Bailey disagreed.
“I generally in support of the ordinance with the big exception that I do not think we should be legislating a smoking ban on private properties,” he said. “I can’t imagine the situation where it would become an issue.”
Mayor Casey Tanaka also agreed with that assessment. He also is against adding electronic cigarettes to the ban.
“The whole public policy point of view is about second-hand smoke and electronic cigarettes don’t put out second-hand smoke,” he said. “We’re just bending it to bend it.”
Councilman Ovram, who voted no, said that the ordinance is an over reach by the city.
“I think it’s overkill,” he said. “The problem is around the business district and it seems to me that it’s should be restricted to the business district.
The ordinance also bans smoking on all outdoors public events, regardless of whether they’re on public or private properties. The law will come in to effect Jan. 1. Anyone caught violating the law will be subjected to a $100 fine.
Marilyn Monroe
As a child, Norma Jeane Baker (Marilyn Monroe) lived in an orphanage and had 11 sets of foster parents, after her mother Gladys was institutionalized.
She almost chose the screen name of Jean Adair before settling on Marilyn Monroe. Her agent Johnny Hyde reportedly convinced her to have two plastic surgeries: reshaping the cartilage at the tip of her nose and a chin implant.
Although she was typecast as a dumb blonde (a persona she hated), she was actually extremely intelligent. She had an IQ of 168.
Although she famously sang “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend,” in reality Monroe wasn’t into expensive jewelry. All the jewelry she owned was costume, expect for a diamond ring and a strand of pearls given to her by her second husband, Joe DiMaggio.
She was one of the first women to own her own production company, Marilyn Monroe Productions. The company released only one movie though, The Prince and the Showgirl (1957). She was an excellent cook!
Monroe helped change the course of Ella Fitzgerald’s career by personally calling the owner of the popular Hollywood nightclub, Mocambo, and helping her get booked. Initially the club would not book Ella because she was black.
According to Ella:
“I owe Marilyn Monroe a real debt…it was because of her that I played the Mocambo, a very popular nightclub in the ’50s. She personally called the owner of the Mocambo, and told him she wanted me booked immediately, and if he would do it, she would take a front table every night. She told him — and it was true, due to Marilyn’s superstar status — that the press would go wild. The owner said yes, and Marilyn was there, front table, every night. The press went overboard. After that, I never had to play a small jazz club again. She was an unusual woman — a little ahead of her times. And she didn’t know it.”
Monroe converted to Judaism after marrying playwright Arthur Miller.
During her marriage to Miller, Monroe tried to have a child (she desperately wanted to become a mother); unfortunately she suffered both an ectopic pregnancy and a miscarriage.
Miller wrote Monroe’s role in The Misfits as a Valentine’s Day gift to her. Although she hated the role, many critics consider it the best performance of her career.
After her breakup with Miller, Frank Sinatra gave Monroe a Maltese terrier to help her feel better. She named it Maf (short for Mafia Honey).
Miller’s 1964 play After the Fall is a thinly veiled portrayal of his marriage to Monroe.
The racy flesh-colored dress Monroe wore while singing the infamous “Happy Birthday Mr. President,” was covered with 2,500 rhinestones and was so tight that she had to be sewn into it.
Despite wide acclaim for her acting abilities, she was never nominated for an Academy Award. However, she did win a Golden Globe for her role as Sugar Kane in Some Like It Hot.
Monroe made Joe DiMaggio promise to leave flowers on her grave every week if she died before him. He kept his promise and had half-dozen red roses delivered three times a week to her crypt for 20 years.
She was buried in a pale apple green Pucci sheath dress.
At the height of her fame, Monroe wrote her autobiography My Story (with help from her friend screenwriter Ben Hecht). The book was not published until a decade after her death.
DOG SPEAK By Alan Graham
Even if dogs have been domesticated since approximately 33,000 years ago, their primal instincts remain active to this day. Some of these instincts include howling at the moon, pack dependency and even territory marking.
Research shows that Dogs are the only animals in the animal kingdom that can read the emotions on your face much like humans. In other words dogs can tell at a glance if we are happy, angry or sad just by looking at our faces.
It’s a common misconception that dogs are completely color blind and can only see in black and white. The truth however is that a dog can see colors, just not as vivid or rich as we can.
A recent study conducted at the Schillerhöhe Hospital in Germany concluded that dogs have the incredible ability to recognize the scent of certain organic compounds in the human body, which are linked to the presence of lung cancer. This scientific breakthrough proves that canine companions may be instrumental in early detection of an otherwise traditionally hard to detect disease.
A number of studies have indicated that dogs face health risks when exposed to the toxins in secondhand smoke which include respiratory problems, allergies and even nasal and lung cancer.
Limping from a dog can be due to a host of things from a thorn stuck in their paw to arthritis. However, in some occasions, limping can also be a sign of bone cancer. So take any sign of limping seriously and visit your vet as soon as possible. It turns out that a chemical in chocolate called theobromine is toxic and can seriously, even fatally affect your dog if it ingests between 100 and 150 milligrams per kilogram of body weight.
One study suggests that the longer and more pronounced a dog’s features are the longer he’ll be around. Conversely, dogs with flatter faces like bulldogs will have shorter lives.
Thunderstorms have particular sound frequencies that can hurt dogs’ ears. The fear that your dog shows at the start of a thunderstorm may actually be a reaction to pain. Unlike humans who sweat through theirs skin, dogs sweat through their paws. Check it out next time your dog seems to be hot.
Just as humans can be identified by their fingerprints, dogs can be identified by their nose prints because like human fingerprints a dogs nose print is unique to that dog.
Dogs have a powerful sense of smell. So powerful that it has been estimated to be one thousand times more sensitive than that of a human. Dogs are pack animals and view their human/owner as the leader. In the United States, around 1 million dogs are primary beneficiaries of their owner’s will. A frightened dog will put its tail between his legs because it cuts off the scent glands in its anal region which carry personal scents that identify the individual dogs. It’s almost as if the dog is hiding his Id card. Studies show that indeed dogs can express jealousy. Dogs have the same hormone, oxytocin, which has been shown to be involved in both expressions of love and jealousy in experiments involving humans.
50-250 words seem a lot for dogs to remember and respond to but studies show that their cognitive skills can be that sharp, in fact, as sharp as a 2 year old child. The smarter breeds can absorb as many as 250 words while the average mutts can understand around 150 words. Having the ability to reach speeds of up to 45 mph, the greyhound is the fastest dog in the world.
Ever wonder why your pup chases his tail? There’s actually a good reason to that seemingly pointless habit. The circular motion flattens tall grass in the wild and turns it into a cozy bed for them.
The Greyhound is the only dog named by name in the Bible. The reference is found in Proverbs 30:31. A greyhound; an he goat also; and a king, against whom there is no rising up.
Dogs, like humans, can get hiccups from eating or drinking too fast as they may swallow extra air. Sometimes feelings of anxiety, fear, stress and even excitement can also trigger hiccups for dogs.
Regardless of how it appears, your dog does not feel guilt. According to Barnard College researcher Alexandra Horowitz, the “guilty look” your dog gives you has more to do with your perception than his intention. Research shows that by petting a dog you help lower your blood pressure.
COME ON BABY RELIGHT MY FIRE By Alan Graham
When I was producing the rock opera in 1980, Hollywood nightclub owner, Bill Gazzarri, ran a month’s long radio advertising campaign announcing the search for singers to fill the role of Jim Morrison. In actual fact, we were looking for seven of them who would be cast as The Jim-Tations.
The campaign produced a god-awful and grotesque procession of wannabe amateur singers. Half of them could not even hold a note. One guy, in particular, thought that his audition would consist solely of his monosyllabic and agonizingly repetitious utterance of, “Indian, Indian, Indian…” He said that for over an hour. Then I had him yanked.
One of my favorite of the worst/best impersonators was Cro-Magnon. Everybody hated Cro-Magnon. It wasn’t that he was so bad. It was because he was so obsessed with Jim. He believed that he, and he alone, was the only one who should portray the dead rock star.
Cro, as he was nicknamed by the cast, for his uncanny resemblance to the caveman, was someone who had showed up for an audition like hundreds of other Jim Morrison lookalikes. He had the manners of a mule, smelled twice as bad, and try as he might, could only produce a sound equal to that of Quasimodo as he murdered his rendition of “Light My Fire”. He was not called back. This did not deter him from showing up at every single audition with all the resilience of a bounce-back toy. No matter how hard you smack it down, it pops right back up and straight into your face.
The producer had taken pity on Cro because as bad as he sounded and as much turmoil as he caused, he was so passionate and deadly serious on making sure Jim was portrayed correctly. In the end, he became like Shakespeare’s pesky and troublesome spirit, Ariel. He booed, jeered, and taunted the entire cast unless they gave it their all in every rehearsal. Cro’s presence actually kept The Jim-Tations on their toes, and ultimately, each one gave a great performance.
The cast was selected, seven Jim Morrison look-a-likes, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon, Jerry Lee lewis, a Marilyn Monroe and a host of ghosty characters.
Jimmie Hendrix, whose real name is Jimi Graham, (believe it or not) looked and sounded so much the the real Jimi that it was difficult to see or hear the difference, with one exception, the real Jimmy was left handed Jimi Graham is right handed. To this day more that thirty years later no one ever said a word.
Even after the cast was assembled and the rehearsals began in earnest, Cro would be there before anybody else. When people scowled at him or shooed him away, he was not insulted or deterred. Sometimes, he would become so troublesome that it was not uncommon to find him and three or four other Jim-Tations arguing or even wrestling in Gazzarri’s parking lot.
On opening night, Cro showed up in full regalia as a sort of homeless Lizard King. He spent the entire evening stalking the cast and badgering patrons by complaining that he was the real Jim Morrison.
When the musical had completed its run, he continued to show up at the nightclub trying to convince them to let him do a one-man show. Bill Gazzarri ejected him forcefully after telling him in no uncertain terms that he was sure that people would not come to the club to see a Stone-Age Jim Morrison. Cro was deeply offended, but finally got the message and wandered off into the wilderness like a comic/tragic clown.
In addition to the amateurs, a cast of famous and soon-to-be-famous professional actors were also vying for the role of a rock ‘n’ roll idol.
Among these were Sylvester Stallone, Gary Busey, Timothy Hutton, Tim McIntire, Wings Hauser, and John Travolta. All of whom were ill-suited for the role, but that did not stop them from submitting dreadful audition tapes that made my eyes water.
The Morrison’s even got caught up in the fever. Over dinner and cocktails, they were recruited by a fellow retired Navy officer, who was none other than the parents of a daughter married to the wild man rocker by the name of Frank Zappa. The group of parents were all in a state of bewilderment as to how their sons and daughters had become famous radicals after being raised so well.
As the evening ended, the “Zapped” family gave Clara some photographs of a young actor, who had just finished shooting his first movie, “Double Down”. It was a dismal gambler/gangster feature shot in Reno, Nevada on a below-the-poverty-level budget. They wanted to see if Anne and I would consider him for the role of Jim.
We met with the actor’s representative, a writer named Michael Blake. It was he who wrote and directed “Double Down”. He was unashamedly proud of his film. He was equally unashamed about promoting one of the actors from his film, who was killed off in the first scene. Blake would say, “This guy is going to be the number one box office attraction in the very near future. You just wait and see.”
I did wait and I did see. A few short years later, Michael Blake wrote a little movie called, “Dances with Wolves”. His prediction had become as real as Mount Rushmore and Kevin Costner became an overnight box office sensation.
Today Jimi Graham is still Rockin his heart out, and every day he plays, he rekindles those wonderful remembrances of “The Roar Of Crowd And The Smell Of Grease Paint”
Thanks a million Jimi
ALAN GRAHAM
BEATLES IMAGES YOU MAY HAVE NEVER SEEN
MIA & FRANK
In an exclusive interview with Vanity Fair for the magazine’s November issue, Mia Farrow suggests for the first time that there’s a possibility her son Ronan, 25, is Frank Sinatra’s boy, and not Woody Allen’s.
Ronan was thought to be Farrow and Allen’s only biological child, explains The Guardian.
In a preview for the issue, Vanity Fair teases:
Farrow discusses her relationship with Frank Sinatra, telling Orth that Sinatra was the great love of her life, and says, “We never really split up.” When asked point-blank if her biological son with Woody Allen, Ronan Farrow, may actually be the son of Frank Sinatra, Farrow answers, “Possibly.” No DNA tests have been done. When Orth asks Nancy Sinatra Jr. about Ronan’s being treated as if he were a member of her family, Sinatra answers in an e-mail, “He is a big part of us, and we are blessed to have him in our lives.” [Vanity Fair]
Though it’s been rumored to be the case for years, reports New York Post’s Page Six, this interview is the first time that Mia publicly admits the possibility. Farrow and Sinatra were married for all of two years, from 1966 to 1968, but continued to be involved afterwards, even as Farrow got together with Allen. Sinatra, who died in 1998, would have been 78 at the time of Ronan’s conception, adds The Guardian.
The Washington Post also finds a resemblance between Ol’ Blue Eyes and Ronan, a human rights lawyer who frequently accompanies his activist mother around the world in her endeavors as a UNICEF ambassador.
OLD GLORY HOUSE
In a superb act of defiance a man stands up to the withering forces of bureaucracy
LAVA
STOP THE TRAIN
c. 1903-09, courtesy Coons collection
Save Our Heritage Organization filed a Petition for Writ of Mandamus in San Diego Superior Court to challenge the unlawful actions of the Port of San Diego and its Commissioners in approving the Coronado Rail Line Lease project without first preparing an Environmental Impact Report (EIR). The Port approved the Lease as potential lessee of a portion of the Coronado Rail Line, a cultural, recreational, and regional transportation resource.
The proposed lease project allows paving up to and between the rails of the Rail Line, and has potentially significant adverse impacts on the use of the Rail Line for current and future recreational, cultural, and transportation uses. The Port improperly segmented its approval of the lease from the pending related Bayfront Redevelopment Project and other projects that are inconsistent with continuing use of the important Rail Line.
The case asks for a peremptory writ to issue in the first instance to require the Port to set aside its approval of the lease, and to reconsider approval only after completion and certification of an EIR that studies and mitigates pending related plans and considers feasible project alternatives that may preserve the Coronado Rail Line for beneficial uses.
Bruce Coons explained why the lawsuit is important: “This lease will deny the use of the entire Rail Line, both for the current historic tourism and potential future rail uses, and deserves full environmental review.”
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY
Congratulations to Us, Mr. and Mrs. Albert & Kimberley Graham celebrating our 25th Anniversary on September 24, 2013!!!!
Yeah, we made it! Love, Me to You
TRUE LOVE WAYS
R.I.P PINK
When Mary A. “Pink” Mullaney passed away on September 1st, she left behind 6 children and 17 grandchildren. “Pink” was so adored by her family that they wrote the most amazing obituary for her. Read it, it’ll put a smile on your face:
If you’re about to throw away an old pair of pantyhose, stop. Consider: Mary Agnes Mullaney (you probably knew her as “Pink”) who entered eternal life on Sunday, September 1, 2013. Her spirit is carried on by her six children, 17 grandchildren, three surviving siblings in New “Joisey”, and an extended family of relations and friends from every walk of life. We were blessed to learn many valuable lessons from Pink during her 85 years, among them: Never throw away old pantyhose. Use the old ones to tie gutters, child-proof cabinets, tie toilet flappers, or hang Christmas ornaments.
Also: If a possum takes up residence in your shed, grab a barbecue brush to coax him out. If he doesn’t leave, brush him for twenty minutes and let him stay.
Let a dog (or two or three) share your bed. Say the rosary while you walk them.
Go to church with a chicken sandwich in your purse. Cry at the consecration, every time. Give the chicken sandwich to your homeless friend after mass.
Go to a nursing home and kiss everyone. When you learn someone’s name, share their patron saint’s story, and their feast day, so they can celebrate. Invite new friends to Thanksgiving dinner. If they are from another country and you have trouble understanding them, learn to “listen with an accent.”
Never say mean things about anybody; they are “poor souls to pray for.”
Put picky-eating children in the box at the bottom of the laundry chute, tell them they are hungry lions in a cage, and feed them veggies through the slats.
Correspond with the imprisoned and have lunch with the cognitively challenged.
Do the Jumble every morning.
Keep the car keys under the front seat so they don’t get lost.
Make the car dance by lightly tapping the brakes to the beat of songs on the radio.
Offer rides to people carrying a big load or caught in the rain or summer heat. Believe the hitchhiker you pick up who says he is a landscaper and his name is “Peat Moss.”
Help anyone struggling to get their kids into a car or shopping cart or across a parking lot.
Give to every charity that asks. Choose to believe the best about what they do with your money, no matter what your children say they discovered online.
Allow the homeless to keep warm in your car while you are at Mass.
Take magazines you’ve already read to your doctors’ office for others to enjoy. Do not tear off the mailing label, “Because if someone wants to contact me, that would be nice.”
In her lifetime, Pink made contact time after time. Those who’ve taken her lessons to heart will continue to ensure that a cold drink will be left for the overheated garbage collector and mail carrier, every baby will be kissed, every nursing home resident will be visited, the hungry will have a sandwich, the guest will have a warm bed and soft nightlight, and the encroaching possum will know the soothing sensation of a barbecue brush upon its back.
Above all, Pink wrote — to everyone, about everything. You may read this and recall a letter from her that touched your heart, tickled your funny bone, or maybe made you say “huh?”
USS Thach (FFG-43) PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT
Ladies and Gentlemen,
On 1000 01 November 2013 at Pier One, Naval Station San Diego we will hold the Decommissioning Ceremony for USS THACH (FFG 43). All family and friends of current THACH sailors, former THACH sailors or other interested parties can request an invitation by sending an email to ffg43decom@gmail.com .
If you will be coming to the ceremony with a current THACH sailor there is no need for an invitation just let your sailor know that you will attending.
Please help us get the word out. We do not have a lot of contact information for former COs , XOs, Command Master Chiefs, crew members, etc… So if you do please reach out to them and let then know when the ceremony is going to be.
Please let me know if you have any questions.
All My Best,
CDR Hans Lynch
Commanding Officer
USS THACH (FFG 43)
ROCK – ROLL HISTORY
On Sept. 11, 1967, The Beatles started filming The ‘Magical Mystery Tour’. They set out on a bus with a group of people. That was the idea. There was no script, nor a very clear idea of exactly what was to be accomplished, not even a clear direction about where the bus was supposed to go. The ‘Magical Mystery Tour’ bus took off for the West Country in England stopping for the night in Teignmouth, Devon were hundreds of fans greeted The Beatles at their hotel.
For the people on the bus it was indeed a “mystery tour”.
CORONADO FENDER
The Coronado guitar is back, with greater sound, build and beauty than ever for the guitarist who appreciates a different Fender guitar with a special history. In the mid-to-late 1960s, the Coronado family was Fender’s first foray into the hollow-body electric guitar world. Now the Coronado name and style returns to Fender as an utterly cool new guitar in the Modern Player family, with stunning looks, tone and features.
The Fender Coronado guitar’s thin semi-hollow maple body has an alder center-block and bound top and back, with stylish bound f holes. Its “C”-shaped maple neck has a 9.5”-radius white-bound rosewood fingerboard with 21 medium jumbo frets and elegant white pearloid block inlays. Other distinctive features include dual Fideli’Tron™ humbucking pickups with three-way toggle switching, three-ply black pickguard, four skirted “amp”-style control knobs (volume and tone for each pickup) and an Adjusto-Matic™ bridge with floating “F” trapeze tailpiece. Available in gorgeous 3-Color Sunburst, Black, Candy Apple Red and Black Cherry Burst gloss finishes.
IT BEGAN WITH THE CORONADO IN 1966.
It continued with offset semi-hollow Starcaster 10 years later. When Fender dared to venture into the hollow-body market, the result was some of the company’s most rare and unusual instruments to date.
Elegant appointments, oversized headstocks and stylized f holes that challenged the Fender’s stronghold on the early ’70s solid-body market. Unique “wide-range” pickups that deviated from that recognizable Telecaster and Stratocaster tone. Throughout their short-lived existence, Coronado and Starcaster instruments became underground sensations and ironic musical weapons to players opting for a more unconventional Fender look, feel and tone.
2013 marks the pivotal comeback of Coronado and Starcaster guitars and basses, which Fender has revitalized for its versatile and affordable Modern Player series. With top-quality contemporary features, updated pickups and a vintage vibe that’s all their own, the Coronado and the Starcaster have been embraced by an entirely new contingent of players, from the stages of Lollapalooza to the grounds of Outside Lands.
JIM MORRISON’S ANCESTORS
By: Alan Graham.
By Alan Graham.
Historical research compiled by Judy Sacco.
During my marriage to Jim Morrison,s sister Anne, nobody in the family ever spoke about the genealogy of the Morrison family. The only two things I do remember is a half joking reference to being direct descendants of Robert The Bruce, and the other was once when Andy Morrison and I were discussing the family tree, he said. ” I think my ancestors were from the Outer Hebrides in the north of Scotland or somewhere like that”. That was the extent of his knowledge or interest in the subject.
Indeed he was right, the Morrison clan was established by Alexander Morrison of Lewis, North Scotland. He was born in 1750. He arrived in America on April 1, 1781 and settled in Hagerstown, Maryland.
Gargoyle at Lews Castle Scotland
Stephen Morrison, Civil War Soldier (Photo compliments of Sid Heidt)
William Morrison b. May 15, 1781 d. May 2, 1867
Allen Morrison (Not married)
Stephen Morrison was the maternal uncle of Arthur Kelty and William Morrison Cleeland, and the paternal uncle of Hosea, William J, and Thomas C. Morrison. He was the youngest son of William Morrison and Sarah Slemmons, whose father Robert Slemmons was a Revolutionary War soldier. Stephen was born 3 Apr 1826. He was most likely born in Connoquenessing Township, Butler County, PA, since his father William was listed in the township tax records during that time. Sometime before 1850, Stephen married Lydia Emerson. Stephen Morrison was an educator, and was elected School Superintendent by the school directors of Lawrence County, PA. He served that post from 1860-1866. His Civil War experience [1] was that of a Pvt. in Company E, 55th Regiment Militia. The 55th Regiment mustered in June 27 – July 11, 1863, and was discharged July 18 and August 26, 1863. The 55th had service in Pennsylvania during Lee’s Invasion.
Lawrence Journal, Newcastle , Pennsylvania , Saturday, March 9, 1867:
Died Suddenly
We regret to state that Mr. Stephen Morrison of Neshannock Township, late county Superintendent of Common Schools of this county died suddenly on Wednesday morning last. His father has been very poorly for some time, and on that morning Mr. Morrison received a message to go and see his father. He started, and while on the way, which was but a short distance, he ruptured a blood vessel—he was found before life was extinct, laying on the road, but he died in a few minutes after being taken up from the ground.
One of Stephen Morrison’s nephews, S. S. Boston (the son of his sister Maria and John Boston), was one of Stephen’s teachers at the Common School in Neshannock Township in Lawrence County, PA.
William Morrison Cleeland
The “Morrision Cleeland” in the photo is the William Cleeland / W. M. Cleeland who is listed on the National Parks Service Civil War Soldiers and Sailors System as being with Company G of the 155th Regiment, Pennsylvania Infantry, and who is also listed as William M. Cleeland with the 2nd Battalion, Veteran Reserve Corps. According to page 822 of the book “History of Pennsylvania Volunteers, 1861-5”, William Cleeland was mustered into service with the 155th regiment on August 22, 1862, served in Company G, transferred to the 2nd Battalion, Veteran Reserve Corps on July 1, 1863 and was discharged on June 24, 1865. The Veteran Reserve Corps was originally called the Invalid Corps.
| Birth: | 1886 | ||||||
| Death: | 1971 Clearwater Pinellas County Florida, USA |
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 Mr Morrison was the son of Robert Bruce Morrison and Susannah Reep. Husband of Caroline Hoover. Father of George Stephen Morrison. Paternal grandfather of James Douglas Morrison, poet and singer of the iconic rock band The Doors.
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Robert Bruce Morrison
| Birth: | Jul. 6, 1852 |
| Death: | Jun. 2, 1899 |
Family links: Spouse: Susannah Reep Morrison (1855 – 1947) Born 09/03/1855 (Niles, Trumbull County, Ohio)
Died 02/20/1947 (Largo, Pinellas County, Florida)
Married – Robert Bruce Morrison – 10/27/1874 (Mahoning County, Ohio)
 Jim aside his Great Great grandfather Stephen Morrison 1826 – 1865  |
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Arthur Kelty Cleeland Nephew of Stephen Morrison
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| Burial: Glendale National Cemetery Richmond Henrico County Virginia, USA  |
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| Kristopher Bowers | |
| kris.bowers1992@gmail.com | |
| Comment | hello my name is Kristopher Bowers, I am from Australia, I like to always read information and I am collector an I would like to say thank you very much for posting this web page on Jim Morrison 🙂 so here is something that I had found also if you woulf like contribute to this page! 🙂 Ancestry of Jim Morrison compiled by William Addams Reitwiesner The following material on the immediate ancestry of Jim Morrison should not be considered either exhaustive or authoritative, but rather as a first draft. Michael Meggison, Clay Marston, and Jennifer Jones contributed to this report. William Addams Reitwiesner wargs@wargs.com Ancestry of Jim Morrison 1 James Douglas (“Jim”) Morrison, b. Melbourne, Fla., 8 Dec. 1943, d. Paris IV 3 July 1971, bur. Cimetière du Père Lachaise, Paris PARENTS 2 George Stephen (“Steve”) Morrison, USN, b. Rome, Ga., 7 Jan. 1919, d. Coronado, San Diego Co., Cal., 17 Nov. 2008 m. Honolulu, Hawaiian Territory, … April 1942 3 Clara Virginia Clarke, b. Chicago, Ill., 27 Sept. 1919, d. Coronado, San Diego Co., Cal., 29 Dec. 2005 [SSDI 396-07-4574] GRANDPARENTS 4 Paul Raymund Morrison, laundromat owner, b. … , Ga., 28 April 1886, d. Highland Pines Nursing Home, Clearwater, Fla., 31 Dec. 1971 [SSDI 422-09-7886; Florida Death Certificate 71-077869] m. … 17 April 1913 5 Caroline Hoover, b. … , Ohio, 23 April 1891, d. Spring, Harris Co., Tex., 31 Aug. 1984 [SSDI 261-07-2299] 6 Dalton Frank Clarke, b. Marion Co., Kan., 25 Oct. 1887, d. Miramar, Fla., 9 Aug. 1969 [SSDI 390-07-0429; Florida Death Certificate 69-044929] m. Moundsville, W. Va., 16 Aug. 1909 7 Anna Robinson Stidger, b. Marshall Co., W. Va., … [ca. 1890], d. … [living 1930] GREAT-GRANDPARENTS 8 Robert Bruce Morrison, b. … 6 July 1852, d. … 2 June 1899 m. Mahoning Co., Ohio, 27 Oct. 1874 [IGI] 9 Suzannah Reep, b. Niles, Ohio, 3 Sept. 1855, d. Largo, Pinellas Co., Fla., 20 Feb. 1947 10 Benjamin Franklin Hoover, b. … 14 Feb. 1859, d. … 24 Aug. 1899 m. Wayne Co., Ohio, 22 July 1886 [IGI] 11 Claudia I … Crawford, b. … 13 May 1866, d. … Feb. 1943 12 Frank Clark, b. … , Pa., … June 1856, d. … m. Anderson Co., Kan., 26 Oct. 1882 [IGI] 13 Sophie E … Frank, b. … Nov. 1864, d. … 14 Leroy Stidger, b. … 1861, d. … 1936 m. 15 Etta B … Robinson, b. … May 1864, d. Moundsville, W. Va., 27 July 1894 GREAT-GREAT-GRANDPARENTS 16 Stephen Morrison, b. … , Pa., 4 March 1826, d. … 6 July 1867 m. … [ca. 1848] 17 Lydia Emery, b. Greenville, Pa., 22 Feb. 1830, d. … 28 March 1914 18 John Reep, b. New Lisbon, Ohio, 30 Nov. 1820, d. Vincennes, Ind., 21 Jan. 1908 m. Venengo Co., Pa., 24 Aug. 1843 19 Sarah Ann Beal, b. Centre Co., Pa., 6 Sept. 1823, d. Vincennes, Ind., 10 Sept. 1915 20 Isaac G … Hoover, b. Lancaster Co., Pa., 24 April 1832, d. Chester Co., Pa., 9 Feb. 1901 m. … [ca. 1833] 21 Lydia Ann Groff, b. Lancaster Co., Pa., 15 Sept. 1835, d. Lancaster Co., Pa., 5 Sept. 1887 22 Thomas Sylvester Crawford, b. … 19 Feb. 1838, d. … 1 Sept. 1882 m. Medina Co., Ohio, 25 Sept. 1865 [IGI] 23 Caroline Elder, b. … 3 Sept. 1838, d. … 22 May 1922 26 William Frank, b. … , N. Y., … [ca. 1830], d. … m. Geauga Co., Ohio, 1 Sept. 1859 [IGI] 27 Matilda Stiles, b. … , Ohio, … [ca. 1846], d. … 28 Samuel B … Stidger, physician, b. Springfield, Jefferson Co., Ohio, 1 Dec. 1830, d. Marshall Co., W. Va., 31 Dec. 1883 m. 29 Elizabeth M … , b. … [ca. 1833], d. … 1 Dec. 1872 GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GRANDPARENTS 34 William Emery, b. Mercer Co., Pa., 21 Aug. 1792, d. Mercer Co., Pa., 10 Feb. 1871 m. Butler Co., Pa., 23 April 1815 35 Lydia Harlan, b. Chester Co., Pa., 30 June 1792, d. Mercer Co., Pa., 6 Oct. 1868 36 Jacob Reep, b. Butler Co., Pa., 4 Jan. 1788 d. Niles, Ohio, 6 April 1850 m. 37 Sarah Courtright, b. … [ca. 1788], d. … [before 1850] 40 Benjamin Hoover, b. … 7 March 1795, d. Intercourse, Lancaster Co., Pa., 29 May 1854 m. … [ca. 1817] 41 Catharine Graybill, b. Lancaster Co., Pa., 7 June 1796, d. Lancaster Co., Pa., 25 March 1850 44 James Crawford, b. … 8 July 1808, d. … 7 June 1884 m. … 8 Sept. 1831 45 Amy Elder, b. … 8 Nov. 1813, d. … 5 April 1893 54 Daniel Stiles, b. … 14 Aug. 1799, d. … m. 55 Nancy Washburne, b. … , d. … 56 George Stidger, physician, b. Jefferson Co., Ohio, … 1807, d. Marshall Co., W. Va., … 1887 m. 57 Mary Ann Baker, b. … [ca. 1811], d. … 1864 GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GRANDPARENTS 68 John Emery, b. Hunterdon Co., N. J., 23 June 1769, d. … m. 69 Susannah Covert, b. … 27 Nov. 1772, d. … 70 Jonathan Harlan, b. … , d. … m. 71 … , b. … , d. … 80 Joseph Huber, b. … 18 June 1764, d. … 3 Oct. 1826 m. 81 Anna Myer, b. … 26 May 1768, d. … 7 June 1853 88 James Crawford, b. … 16 Feb. 1774, d. … 27 Nov. 1845 m. 89 Sally Black, b. … , d. … 108 Aaron Stiles, b. Brandon, Rutland Co., Vt., 4 July 1773, d. … 19 June 1843 m. Harpersfield, Delaware Co., N. Y., 3 Sept. 1798 109 Abigail Cahoon, b. … 30 March 1799, d. … 15 Oct. 1867 GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GRANDPARENTS 136 John Emery, b. … 1 Jan. 1742, d. … 13 May 1814 m. Hunterdon Co., N. J., 28 Nov. 1765 137 Mary Reed, b. … 22 Dec. 1743, d. … 1807 138 Luke Covert, b. … , d. … m. 139 Cornelia Van Zant, b. … , d. … 160 Martin Huber, b. … , d. … 21 April 1785 m. 161 Magdalena Musser, b. … , d. … 29 Sept. 1796 162 Vincent Myer, b. … 1721, d. … 1797 m. … 1750 163 Anna Huber, b. … 16 Aug. 1727, d. … 16 Sept. 1773 176 Josiah Crawford, b. … , d. … m. 1763 177 Margaret Morrison, b. … [ca. 1742], d. … 1795 216 John Stiles, b. Stratford, Conn., 21 Aug. 1738, d. … m. … 13 Aug. 1760 217 Betty Olds, b. Woodbury, Conn., 10 Nov. 1740, d. … 218 Reynolds Cahoon, b. … 1735, d. … m. Exeter, R. I., 12 Feb. 1769 219 Mary Rathbun, b. Exeter, R. I., 22 Nov. 1738, d. … GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GRANDPARENTS 272 Conrad Emery, b. … , d. Hunterdon Co., N. J., … [before 3 June 1757] m. 273 Margreth … , b. … , d. … 354 Guyon/Gavin Morrison, b. … , d. … m. 355 … , b. … , d. … 7/GREAT-GRANDPARENTS 8/GREAT-GRANDPARENTS 9/GREAT-GRANDPARENTS EXTRACTS from the U.S. FEDERAL DECENNIAL CENSUS 1930 Florida, Labra Co., Leesburg, ED 13, sheet 16A, line 34 Morrison Paul R H M W 44 M 25 GA PA PA Manager Laundry Caroline W F W 34 M 21 OH OH PA Isabel D F W 16 S GA GA OH Dorthy D F W 13 S GA GA OH Stephen S M W 11 S GA GA OH ——- 1930 New York, Kings Co., Brooklyn, ED 1278, sheet 18A, line 45 Clark Dalton H M W 42 M 21 KS PA KS Manager Hosiery Annie S W F W 39 M 19 WV WV KS Housewife Clare V D F W 10 S C KS WV School Dalton S S M W 20 M WA KS WV Salesman Hosiery Marjorie DiL F W 21 M D IL IL Housewife C = Chicago, Ill. D = Decatur, Ill. ——- 1920 Alabama, Morgan Co., Albany, ED 175, sheet 17B, line 63 Morrison Paul R H M W 36 M GA OH IN Brick Manufacturer Brick Yard Caroline W F W 28 M OH PA OH Isabel D F W 5 S GA GA OH Dorothy D F W 3 1/12 S GA GA OH Stephen S M W 1 3/12 S GA GA OH ——- 1920 Illinois, Cook Co., Chicago, ED 309, sheet 4A, line 12 Clark Dalton T H M W 32 M KS PA KS President Grocery Co Annie S W F W 29 M WV WV KS Dalton S S M W 9 S WA KS WV L Read S M W 7 S PA KS WV Jeannette E D F W S PA KS WV Eleanor S D F W 4 6/12 S PA KS WV Clara Virginia D F W 3/12 S IL KS WV (two boarders) ——- 1910 Washington, Pierce Co., Tacoma, ED 217, sheet 8A, line 20 Clarke Dalton T H M W 22 M1 0 KS KS KS Traveling Agent … Book Anna S W F W 19 M1 0 0 0 WV WV KS Stidger Nona P Sis F W 23 S CO WV KS ——- 1900 Pennsylvania, Washington Co., Washington, ED 173, sheet 5B, line 54 Clark Frank H W M Jun 1856 43 M 18 PA PA PA Carpenter Sophie E W W F Nov 1864 35 M 18 4 4 OH NY OH Verna M D W F Sep 1883 16 S KS PA OH In School Jennie M D W F Dec 1885 14 S KS PA OH In School Dalton T S W M Oct 1887 12 S KS PA OH In School Ned H S W M Jan 1891 9 S KS PA OH In School (one boarder) ——- 1900 West Virginia, Marshall Co., Moundsville, ED 78, sheet 2A, line 11 Stidger Leroy L H W M Oct 1861 38 M 16 WV WV WV Clerk Circuit Court Virginia H W W F Sep 1866 33 M 1 0 0 WV WV WV William L S W M Mar 1885 15 S WV WV IL Asst Clerk Circuit Court Nona P D W F Sep 1886 13 S KS WV IL Ivan R S W M Aug 1888 11 S KS WV IL Anne R D W F Aug 1890 9 S WV WV IL May L D W F Feb 1893 7 S WV WV IL ——- 1880 Kansas, Anderson Co., Greeley, ED 22, page 18, line 45, continued on page 19 Frank Wm W M 50 Wagon Maker NY NY NY Matilda W F 34 W Keeping House OH CT CT Sophia W F 16 D At Home OH NY OH Millie W F 15 D At Home OH NY OH Nannie W F 9 D KS NY NY Jennie W F 7 D KS NY NY Billy W M 2 S KS NY NY (four boarders) ——- 1880 West Virginia, Marshall Co., Cameron, ED 188, page 23, line 9 Stidger S B W M 49 Physician WV Elizabeth W F 32 W Keeping House PA PA PA Mary W F 24 D WV WV PA William W M 21 S Clerk Store WV WV PA Le Roy W M 18 S WV WV PA Irena W F 13 D WV WV PA No information was recorded in the “parents’ birthplace” columns in S B Stidger’s entry – |
| Birth: | May 15, 1781 Hagerstown Washington County Maryland, USA |
| Death: | May 2, 1867 New Castle Lawrence County Pennsylvania, USA |
William MORRISON was born May 15, 1781 at Hagerstown, Maryland, just six weeks after his parents came from Lewis (the Isle of Lewis), Scotland to the U.S. Resided in Butler County, Pennsylvania until 1853, then moved to Lawrence County Pennsylvania to the home where they resided for the rest of their lives. 3. WILLIAM2 MORRISON (ALEXANDER1) was born 15 May 1781 in Hagerstown, Maryland, and died 02 May 1867 in Lawrence County Pennsylvania. He married SARAH (also known as Sally) SLEMMONS 23 Jan 1803, daughter of ROBERT SLEMMONS and HANNAH DONNELLY. She was born 09 Aug 1783 in Ireland, and died 03 Feb 1868 in Neshannock Township, Lawrence County, Pennsylvania. |
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| Burial: Kings Chapel United Methodist New Castle Lawrence County Pennsylvania, USA |
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DETOX-WATER
STRAWBERRY FIELD GATES
A Beatles tour guide took matters into his own hands after the city’s famous Strawberry Field gates were painted yellow.
Joey Lyons, who runs the popular Hard Day’s Night taxi tours, seized the initiative by buying three pots of red paint – and restoring the replica gates to their former colour himself.
But the Salvation Army, which owns the site, was less than impressed with Joey’s solo effort, calling it “vandalism.”
Joey said he felt he had to do something after seeing how upset visitors were when they saw the iconic gates – made famous by the John Lennon-penned Beatles classic Strawberry Fields Forever – painted partially yellow, along with an adjacent wall.
Lennon was inspired to write the song by his childhood memories of the former Strawberry Field childrens’ home in Woolton.
oey said: “I acted on impulse after I was in a shop and saw three tins of pillar-box red paint for sale for just a quid each. I bought them and went straight up there and painted the gates the right colour.
“It took me over an hour and I was expecting to see the blue police lights flashing at any minute.
“Neighbours who were out walking their dogs were saying ‘good on you.’”
Joey, who has been running his taxi tours for the past five years, taking visitors from all over the world on a three-hour trip around the city’s Beatles landmarks.
He said “With the money that’s generated in the city by the Beatles, I didn’t think it was fair that nothing had been done to re-paint the gates for a week.
“I see the gates every day and customers were upset they had been defaced.”
He added: “I give taxi tours to Beatles fans who have travelled from all round the world, and one of the first things they ask me is whether we are going to Strawberry Fields.
“I felt it was unfair on those who came half-way around the world to see the entrance in that state.”
A spokesman for the Salvation Army said: “While we understand the motivation of the individual who painted the replica gates to Strawberry Field, we are very disappointed that they have been vandalised again. We will be restoring the replica gates, which were installed in 2011 to protect the original gates from damage, to their original condition as soon as possible. We will assist the police in any investigations they wish to conduct into these incidents.”
GONE APE!
ARTISTE CHIMP
http://www.livescience.com/39336-tongue-painting-chimp-wins-art-contest.html?cmpid=51462711386084
AMAZING ANIMAL TRAITS
http://www.care2.com/greenliving/30-amazing-animal-traits.html?page=2
Friedrich Nietzsche’s influence on Jim Morrison
Robby Krieger has been quoted as saying “Nietzsche killed Jim (Morrison).” Jim Morrison was interested in the life and philosophy of German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, for his high school graduation present he asked his parents for the complete works of Nietzsche, at UCLA film school one of his ideas for a student film was an incident from Nietzsche’s life when Nietzsche stopped a man from whipping his horse to death, (Nietzsche was soon institutionalized after that as being mad). Nietzsche’s The Birth of Tragedy reads like a blueprint for The Doors, and Morrison did occasionally reference Nietzsche in a warm up room before a concert in Saratoga Springs, New York. Morrison improvised an ode to Nietzsche, and in the song The Soft Parade included the line “we’ll whip the horse’s eyes and make them cry.”
Friederich Nietzsche was born October 15, 1844, he showed an early interest in music a and languages and was accepted at the prestigious Schulpforta school. Nietzsche soon learned Latin, Greek, Hebrew and French while also composing his own poems and musical compositions. It’s while at school that Nietzsche first discovered poetry and ideas that others thought eccentric, blasphemous and considered at the time to be “unbecoming.” It’s at this time Nietzsche may have discovered the music and writings of Richard Wagner. Nietzsche went to the University of Bonn as a theology student but soon suffered a crisis of faith and soon started studying philology (the study of Greek and Roman textual criticism). Nietzsche in later writings would proclaim “God is dead,” started writing and publishing essays arguing that historical research had discredited the central teachings of Christianity, as well as essays praising the philosopher Arthur Schopenhaer. Still somewhat the prodigy Nietzsche was named, at age 24, as a professor of classical philology at the University of Basel in Switzerland. Nietzsche still holds the distinction of being among the youngest tenured professors of Classical studies. Nietzsche also met and befriended Richard Wagner and his wife. Nietzsche also started publishing some of the works he would be remembered for including The Birth of Tragedy, which attempted to define the tragic roots of music in the ideas of the Apollonian versus the Dionysian. Human, All Too Human, a book of aphorisms tackling such diverse subjects as metaphysics, morality, religion and even gender studies. It was around this time Nietzsche’s health failed, it has usually thought syphilis was the culprit but Nietzsche had suffered ill health since childhood. Some theories also hypothesize that Nietzsche’s turning to philosophy incurred the disordering of his mental health, bi-polar disease has also been mentioned as a factor. Due to these disruptions of his physical and psychological health Nietzsche started traveling to other European cities seeking remedies and treatments for his various conditions. Despite his ill health Nietzsche continued to publish, The Gay Science, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, andBeyond Good and Evil date from this period. It was in Turin, Italy that incident of Nietzsche saving a horse pulling a cart from the wrath of his owner, after which he was arrested and he seemed to suffer a break with reality signing letters to friends ‘Dionysos.’ A friend, Franz Overbeck brought Nietzsche back to Switzerland where Nietzsche continued to write. As his health failed he came under the influence of those around him including an unscrupulous doctor, his mother, and finally his sister Elisabeth, who didn’t understand her brothers writings and after his death on August 25, 1900 used them to her own ends.
Nietzsche’s writings have been pointed to as being anti-Semitic and advocating German nationalism. But the facts of Friedrich Nietzsche’s life dispute this, he severed ties with a publisher because the publisher was anti-Semitic. The anti-Semitism is the work of his sister Elisabeth, who held those beliefs and after the death of Friedrich took it upon herself to compiled The Will to Power from her brothers unpublished notebooks and her misunderstanding of earlier outlines and the imposition of her own beliefs have lead to at least one Nietzsche scholar to classify The Will to Power as a forgery.
Nietzsche’s writing were neither big sellers or well received during his lifetime, it was later generations that discovered him. H.L. Mencken published English translations of his work Jack London discovered a philosophy in Nietzsche, as did Eugene O’Neill, the Nazi’s perverted Nietzsche for their own purposes (as they perverted just about everything else they needed to advance their ideology), and via the beats of the 1950’s, influenced Jim Morrison.
WOLVES
A howl pierces the calm night, its eerie majesty a signal that wolves are afoot. But what is the purpose of wolf howls, and what do they mean?
As might be guessed, wolves howl to establish contact with one another. Perhaps more interesting, researchers have now found that wolves howled more frequently to members of their pack with whom they spent more time. In other words, the strength of the relationship between wolves predicted how many times a wolf howled, said Friederike Range, a researcher and co-director of the Wolf Science Center at the University of Vienna in Austria.
Keeping in touch
In the study, detailed today (Aug. 22) in the journal Current Biology, the researchers removed one wolf at a time from a captive wolf pack kept inside a large enclosure at the Wolf Science Center. They then took each wolf for a 45-minute walk into the surrounding woods while measuring the howling rates of the animals left behind.
The howling rate, they found, was directly related to how much “quality time” the howler and the removed wolf spent together, as defined by positive interactions like playing and grooming. Howling rate was also related to each wolf’s status within the pack; the pack’s howling rates were higher when more-dominant animals left. That makes sense, given that dominant animals have significant control over the group’s activities; separated wolves could understandably want to establish contact to ensure the cohesion of the group, Range said.
But the link between howling and relationship strength remained even when the dominance factor was taken into account, Range said.
“We found that the amount of howling is dependent on the relationship the howler has with the animal out on a walk,” Range said.
Stress?
The researchers also measured levels of the stress hormone cortisol from saliva samples of each howling wolf. This allowed scientists to show that howling rate wasn’t strongly tied to stress levels. Some scientists think that animal vocalizations like howling may be a sort of automatic reaction to a stressful condition or emotional state — an idea that this study refutes, Range said. Or, at least, stress is not the primary driver of wolves’ howls, she added.
Little is known about what wolf howls mean or what information they contain, Range said. Future studies could investigate the meaning of wolf howls, she added. Wolves are difficult to study because they are not simple to raise, travel long distances and, for much of their history, have been considered as predators unworthy of research. But that attitude is changing, as more studies have shown that wolves are quiteintelligent and have strong family ties and complex social relationships.
This study confirms some researchers’ predictions, said Dave Mech, a wolf researcher at the U.S. Geological Survey who wasn’t involved in the study. “I wrote, in 1966, ‘One function of howling may be to aid in assembling,’ after I observed such howling in a pack of 15 split up by the hunt. After howling, the pack was then able to assemble again. Now, after half a century, [this study provides] experimental evidence supporting that interpretation.”
OVERGROWN
MICRO PHOTOS
SURREAL ART
Healing Honey
Doctors discover ‘super honey’ with amazing power to treat soldiers’ wounds and kill superbug inflections
The bio-engineered product Surgihoney was tested on babies, new mothers, cancer patients and the elderly for over a year in Hampshire hospitals.
Wounds and ulcers, including those infected with the superbug MRSA, healed within days, while the number of women who suffered infections after giving birth by caesarean section has halved.
It has also healed the wounds of soldiers returning from Afghanistan, and been used to treat acne and to protect the skin of cancer patients fitted with a catheter for chemotherapy.
Dr Matthew Dryden, consultant microbiologist at the Hampshire Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust, said: ‘It will revolutionise wound care around the world.’
Honey has been used for its healing powers for thousands of years, although doctors favour penicillin and antibiotics.
However, Surgihoney, which is stored in 10g sachets, can kill bacteria, parasites and fungal infections while also encouraging wounds to heal.
Dr Dryden said: ‘I have conducted numerous laboratory tests and compared it with honeys from around the world.
‘I found Surgihoney better for treating every type of bug. So for the past year I have been using it on patients and the results have been amazing.
‘There are plenty of products that can kill bacteria but they often don’t help heal tissue.
‘Honey is a fantastic natural medicine. The important extra is that it kills the bugs but doesn’t damage the tissue.’
Surgihoney is being developed by Ian Staples, a businessman who once owned the Halfords motor accessories chain.
He bought an organic farm in southern Chile, set up beehives then funded scientific researchers in Ireland to identify the unique health elements.
The honey has been licensed by the Medicines and Healthcare products Regulatory Authority in the UK but is not yet commercially available.
Magnificent Blossoms
The Snowball Viburnum, also known as the Guelder Rose or the Snowball Flower, produces tubular, star-shaped blooms that are less than an inch across in thick clusters. Native to Northern Asia, Europe and North Africa, the woody stems of the white flowers may reach up to 28 inches long. This is a gorgeous and unique addition to any garden not only because of the flower’s beautiful color but also because of it’s unique shape.
Poppy plants are commonly referred to as “poppies” and are flowering specimens from the Papaveraceae family. The blooms have four to six petals with a cluster of stamens in the center. Poppy flowers come in various colors, including red, yellow, pink and white, and some have markings on the petals or in the flower’s center. Flower petals remain crumpled during the bud stage, with the petals lying flat once the poppy is in full bloom.
Bluebells have many different subtypes ranging from the Spanish bluebell to the Scottish bluebell. The different variations of this flower make this beautiful flower, all the more beautiful because of the variety. In the United Kingdom, bluebells are protected by law, and homeowners in their surrounding area are not allowed to disturb them.
Angel Priest
There’s a logical explanation for the sudden, mysterious appearance at the site of a car accident in Missouri of a priest who prayed with the teenage victim of the wreck, comforting the youngster and the responders until it became possible to rescue her.
Despite the fact that the police had blocked the highway for three miles in each direction and weren’t letting anyone through and that none of the 80 pictures taken at the scene by the rescuers showed the priest in any of them, there’s an easy explanation for the priest’s presence that we’re all missing, right?
“The fire chief, Raymond Reed, had stepped back and came up to me and said he was concerned because he was out of options. His tools weren’t working and by that time, it was almost an hour and said I don’t know how we’re going to get her out,” Ralls County Sheriff’s Deputy Richard Adair told KHQA.
At this point, Fox4KC reports Lentz asked the rescuers to pray with her. Then the priest appeared – although the highway was blocked for two to three miles and emergency responders were not letting anyone past the roadblocks.
“He came and he asked to anoint the girl in the car,” Adair said. “My first thought was that it would possibly send the wrong message to Katie that maybe we had called a priest and thought she wasn’t going to make it. So I went back and talked to the priest and told him we were worried she would think we’d given up hope. He said, ‘I just want to anoint her’ and so we just let him come up to the scene.”
Witnesses said he anointed Lentz and her rescuers with oil, prayed with them and asked them to remain calm.
The Hannibal fire department then pulled up with fresh equipment and was able to free Lentz. After getting her in the Air Evac helicopter, rescue workers said the priest was nowhere to be found.
Fire Chief Reed said the department took 80 photos of the scene and the priest did not appear in any of them.
A witness who said she and her husband held Lentz’ hand after the accident tells KHQA she remembers the priest well.
“He was dark complected,” she said. “He had an accent, but I’m not sure what nationality. He was probably 5 feet 6 inches maybe. He was not heavy set, but he probably weighed close to 200 pounds. He had dark hair.”
The Diocese of Jefferson City says it has not located the priest involved and does not plan to search for him.
Yawning Dogs
Reason no. 4,763 that dogs are absolutely the best
Despite all the empirical evidence clearly illustrating dogs’ inarguable superiority over felines, man’s best friend is somehow still less popular than on the internet than cats. Which is odd, considering dogs are vastly more intelligent, more capable (there is a reason there aren’t “seeing-eye cats”), and unwavering in their loyalty.
New research from the University of Tokyo, in fact, points to physiological proof that man’s best friend is remarkably in tune with your emotional needs. More specifically, researchers found that when an animal’s owner yawns, a dog is inclined to yawn in response.Previous research suggests that yawning’s contagious nature is a tell-tale indicator of empathy and social aptitude; as anyone who has ever sat through a three-hour microeconomics lesson can tell you, it doesn’t take much for a chorus of yawns to ripple through a lecture hall. It is at least partly why, as Danielle Elliot atCBS News notes, “People with empathy disorders, such as autism, are often not prone to contagious yawning.”
For this study, researchers tested 25 different animals — ranging from pit bulls to poodles — and recorded their heart rates as they yawned in front of both their owners and strangers. They discovered that the animals were five times more likely to respond to their owners with a yawn compared to a person they weren’t familiar with. Furthermore, the consistency of the animals’ heart rates seemed to indicate that the yawns weren’t stress-related, either.
Results show that the emotional bond between people and their dogs is reciprocal,” Teresa Romero, an animal behavior researcher at the University of Tokyo, tells NBC News. “This attachment can shape the dog’s responses in a way similar to humans, that is, to be more sensitive to a familiar yawn than to a stranger.”
So: It isn’t too much of a stretch to say that your dog yawns when you yawn because it loves you. Which, again, is why they’re the best.
Flowers That Smell Like Candy
BUILDING CORONADO BRIDGE 1967-1969
A decades-old local urban legend claims the center span of the Coronado bridge was engineered to float in the event of collapse, allowing Naval ships to push the debris and clear the bay. The construction of the 1,880-foot-long center span as a hollow box of steel-reinforced concrete may have contributed to the development of the myth, but Caltrans and the bridge’s principal architect, Robert Mosher, maintain that the legend is false.
- Principal architect: Robert Mosher
- Opened on August 3, 1969
- In 1970, it won the Most Beautiful Bridge Award from American Institute of Steel Construction
- 3.4 kilometres (2.1 mi) long
- cost $50 million to build
- retrofitting cost $70–150 million
- 20,000 tons of steel (13,000 tons in structural steel and 7,000 in reinforcing steel)
- 94,000 cubic yards of concrete
- 900,000 cubic yards of dredged fill
- some caissons for the towers were drilled and blasted 100 feet into the bed of the San Diego Bay
- 4.67% grade from Coronado to San Diego
- side railings are concrete blocks only 34 inches high
Over 50 people worked to maintain the bridge and take tolls; tolls have since been discontinued.
The grade, 200 foot clearance at peak, and the 90-degree angle turn is to create clearance for an empty oil-fired aircraft carrier to pass beneath it – it is not sufficient for Nimitz-class nuclear aircraft carriers.
The bridge is the third largest orthogonal box in the country – the box is the center part of the bridge, between piers 18 and 21 over the main shipping channel.
Winter 2014 back cover
Back Cover Autumn Issue
STREETCAR NAMED CORONADO FRONT COVER
A STREETCAR NAMED CORONADO
Flashback to 1947 when a streetcar ran down the center of Orange avenue.
IT WAS FIFTY YEARS AGO TODAY
Fifty years ago music sensations the Beatles changed our world forever.
By: Lynne Harpst Koen
I was raised an only child in an ultra conservative household. I learned to appreciate all types of music from a very early age. My Dad was a professional musician, and Mom loved most types of music. On any given day our stereo would be blasting Perry Como, Sinatra, Andy Williams, All Things Classical, and on Saturdays, always Opera. It was the early 1960’s. There was one type of music never ever played in our household, and that was “Rock & Roll” I took classical piano lessons. I had no idea there was even such a thing as Rock music!
Then, in the summer of 1965, everything changed. I was sent to Honolulu to spend the summer with the family of my beloved babysitter, Pearl. Their family lived in Navy housing at Pearl Harbor. The atmosphere there was completely opposite from my tiny little life in Coronado. I was a very shy child, but I quickly became aware that this place was Camelot for kids! Pearl had two daughters. Her younger daughter Caroline was my age. Together, Caroline and I ran all over the place visiting families, hanging out at the beach, just being kids having fun. This new freedom was incredible! It was pretty close quarters there, so there wasn’t much privacy. Kids don’t care about things like that anyway. Everybody kept their windows open, and nobody locked their doors.
Every day, the older girls would be blasting their transistor radios. The music was wild. I loved walking down the streets hearing the fast, pounding drums and wild guitars. It was my very first taste of Rock! The music would echo off the buildings and I really couldn’t get enough. I started learning the names of some of the groups. There was one group in particular that all the girls were ultra crazy about-The Beatles! Whenever a Beatles song came on the radio, the already loud music would be turned up to the maximum limits. I learned the songs and sang along. I became a Beatles fan!
Then one day there was a huge commotion there in Navy housing. All the teenage girls were running around screaming hysterically, jumping up and down, hugging each other in excitement. The Beatles were coming to Honolulu! It really was a wild phenomenon, one that I’d never before seen or will ever see again. It was like these girls were possessed. The energy was so powerful! We little gals just watched from a safe distance, careful to keep out of the way. Fact of the matter is, The Beatles were not scheduled to come to Honolulu. You won’t find that last minute concert on any recorded docket. I think the spontaneity was definitely part of the whole frenzy. And a frenzy it was! It was the first time in my life I’d ever witnessed a “Crowd Mentality” I didn’t understand it then, but I certainly knew there was something extra special about this band. I could actually feel history in the making.
I feel so very blessed to have been at the right place at the right time. Whenever I think back to that incredible summer I still have instant recall of all that immense energy! Of course, once a Beatles fan, always a Beatles fan. They’re still my favorite band of all time. I feel like I had an extra special “initiation” to their music.
ADIEU SITARRA
Lady Green
Checking out at the store, the young cashier suggested to the older woman, that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren’t good for the environment.
The woman apologized and explained, “We didn’t have this green thing back in my earlier days.” The young clerk responded, “That’s our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment f or future generations.”
She was right — our generation didn’t have the green thing in its day.
Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were truly recycled. But we didn’t have the green thing back in our day.
Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags, that we reused for numerous things, most memorable besides household garbage bags, was the use of brown paper bags as book covers for our schoolbooks. This was to ensure that public property, (the books provided for our use by the school) was not defaced by our scribbling’s. Then we were able to personalize our books on the brown paper bags. But too bad we didn’t do the green thing back then.
We walked up stairs, because we didn’t have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn’t climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks. But she was right. We didn’t have the green thing in our day.
Back then, we washed the baby’s diapers because we didn’t have the throwaway kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts — wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that young lady is right; we didn’t have the green thing back in our day.
Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house — not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana.
In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn’t have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.
Back then, we didn’t fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn’t need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she’s right; we didn’t have the green thing back then.
We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But we didn’t have the green thing back then.
Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn’t need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 23,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest burger joint.
But isn’t it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn’t have the green thing back then?
Please forward this on to another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smart-ass young person.
In Loving Memory Of Karien Bennett
Karien passed away peacefully at home in Coronado on July 7, 2013 after a courageous battle against cancer. She was surrounded by family and loved ones.
Karien was a dynamic woman who had an adventure-filled life. Born in South Africa, Karien was an entrepreneur and educator from the time she was a teenager – running her own ballet school at only sixteen years of age.
Following college, Karien became a kindergarten teacher and worked with under-privileged student populations. After having her own children, Karien shifted into business, owning and running hotels.
In 1982, Karien established Club 16 – a nationwide South African club for young women where they could learn about themselves, ask questions about boys, attend workshops and more. In 1984, Club 16 organized the first Youth Parliament meetings to ever be held in South Africa – an opportunity for young women to raise their voices in politics. Their introductory meeting was held in the Pretoria Parliament Building and was televised across South Africa.
Karien immigrated to the United States in 1989. She and her children became active members of the Coronado schools and community. Karien worked in sales until launching IPSA (International Placements Services of America) – a firm specialized in college counseling services for international students. With her hard work and dedication, countless students lives have been completely changed by an opportunity to study and live in the United States.
Karien was also the founder of The Club 4 Me, an etiquette training program and club for young boys and girls. Karien was never happier than working next to the kids while teaching them how to be well behaved in her Little Miss Manners sessions.
Karien will be remembered with great love as a mother, wife and friend; for her boundless heart, her strength, her ability to care for others and make them feel at home; for her kindness and her loving touch; for her love of children; for her vitality and larger-than-life energy; for her acceptance of every challenge in life; for her beauty and for her grace.
She adored her three children, valued her friends, and loved beauty.
Karien is survived by her daughter Elloise Bennett (Amsterdam, The Netherlands); her daughter Lecinda Bennett (New York, NY); her son Austin Bennett (Coronado); and her husband, Bruce Bennett (Coronado.)
In lieu of flowers, the family asks that you consider making a donation to the Team Bennett Relay for Life team (more information at: http://main.acsevents.org/goto/teamkarienbennett) or support Karien’s passion for education by donating to Coronado Schools Foundation.
CSF donations can be mailed to CSF, 201 Sixth Street, Coronado, CA, 92118 with “Karien” noted on the memo line or submitted online by clicking here with “Karien” in the comments section.
TRUE FRIENDS
If only we paid more attention to animals. We would possibly learn how to love one another unconditionally.PURPLE DAZE
TWO FACED CATS
SUPER DOG DETECTIVE
An organization in Jasper is training dogs to help people suffering from severe diabetes control their blood sugar.
Trainers say the work these dogs do could be the difference between life and death for some diabetics.
“Drey’s Alert Dogs” are trained to paw at a diabetic person when they can smell that their blood sugar is below 80 or above 180.
Currently groups of children are participating in a volunteer program at Drey’s called “Kids for Diabetics” socializing the puppies.
Kenyatta Carter’s son has been a volunteer for the past couple of weeks and just yesterday one of the dogs made a startling discovery about her son.
“If we wouldn’t have been here I probably never would’ve known that he was a diabetic,” said Carter, “and the dogs alerted me that he was diabetic.”
There are Drey’s diabetic alert dogs helping people all over the US from California to Florida to Ohio.
VETERANS
About Stand Down
What is a Stand Down?
In times of war, exhausted combat units requiring time to rest and recover were removed from the battlefields to a place of relative security and safety. Today, Stand Down refers to a community-based intervention program designed to help the nation’s estimated 200,000 homeless veterans “combat” life on the streets.
or send us a check made payable to Veterans Village of San Diego, 4141 Pacific Highway San Diego, CA 92110.
VVSD organized the nation’s first Stand Down in 1988. Since then, the program has been widely replicated nationwide. Today, more than 200 Stand Downs take place across the country every year. “The program has become recognized as the most valuable outreach tool to help homeless veterans in the nation today,” according to the National Coalition for Homeless Veterans.
Stand Down’s philosophy is a hand up, not a hand out. The hand up is made possible each year by the dedication of thousands of volunteers and numerous sponsors.
The Declaration Of Arbroth and The Declaration Of Independence
The Scottish Influence On The declaration Of Independence
By Alan Graham
Speaking at the launch of Tartan Day in April 2008, George W Bush, then President of the United States, spoke of the great debt of honour that Americans held for those of Scottish descent who have “made enduring contributions to our Nation with their hard work, faith and values”.
He went on to acknowledge the role that the Scottish Declaration of Arbroath played in forming the American constitution citing the “Scots’ strong dedication to liberty”. and also their “tradition of freedom” that they brought with them to the New World.
Just how much influence Scots have had in forming the constitution of America is often debated. There are those who trace a direct line from the sentiments and wording of the 1320 Declaration of Arbroath, a letter to the Pope that made Scotland’s case for freedom from England and freedom for all the people of Scotland, all the way to the American Declaration of Independence, which was presented to Congress in 1776 and says that “all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”.
Speaking at the launch of Tartan Day in April 2008, George W Bush, then President of the United States, spoke of the great debt of honour that Americans held for those of Scottish descent who have “made enduring contributions to our Nation with their hard work, faith and values”.
He went on to acknowledge the role that the Scottish Declaration of Arbroath played in forming the American constitution citing the “Scots’ strong dedication to liberty”. and also their “tradition of freedom” that they brought with them to the New World.
Just how much influence Scots have had in forming the constitution of America is often debated. There are those who trace a direct line from the sentiments and wording of the 1320 Declaration of Arbroath, a letter to the Pope that made Scotland’s case for freedom from England and freedom for all the people of Scotland, all the way to the American Declaration of Independence, which was presented to Congress in 1776 and says that “all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”.
Undoubtedly those who drew up the American declaration were influenced by great thinkers from Aristotle onwards. But just a cursory look at the men involved in drafting and signing the declaration reveal a strong Scottish influence.
Of the 56 signatories of the declaration it is estimated that at the least a third were either Scots by birth or of Scottish descent. This number, by some people’s estimates, rises to three-quarters. Whilst it is probable that most of the signatories held non-American ancestry, it is clear that Scottish blood, education and ideas were strongly represented in the drawing up and signing of the document.
The committee set up to draft the declaration comprised five men: Benjamin Franklin, Roger Sherman, Robert Livingston, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson. Of these five, the drafting was entrusted mostly to Jefferson.
Jefferson was himself of Scottish descent, tracing his lineage back to King Robert I of Scotland. But if his claims to Scottish ancestry may be sketchy, his education amongst Scots is not.
Jefferson was himself very well-read, with many of the tracts and papers he had absorbed influencing the drafting of the declaration. His education was further broadened when he studied law at William and Mary, one of America’s oldest colleges. There he was taught by William Small, a Scottish Professor of mathematics and philosophy. Jefferson wrote later that Small was “as a father” to him and certainly shared with him the ideas of the Scottish Enlightenment as well as the Scottish ideals of freedom and equality.
However, Jefferson was not the only man of influence with a Scottish past involved in the declaration. James Wilson, from a farming family in Fife, was hugely influential in building America. He was one of only six to sign both the Declaration of Independence and the US Constitution.
He was a late arrival to the US, arriving there in 1765 aged 23. His background at the Universities of St Andrews, Edinburgh and Glasgow placed him right at the heart of the Scottish Enlightenment. He moved into law on reaching America and from there was drawn to the Revolution. His role as a founding father continued to his death when he was still an associate justice of the US Supreme Court.
His role in shaping America was so great that in 1906 his body was moved from North Carolina to Pennsylvania where it was re-interred close to Benjamin Franklin.
There were other Scots amongst the signatories whose influence is still felt today. And they were not the last. The history of America is peppered with folks with names like McKinlay, Blair, Buchanan, Monroe and McArthur: men whose forebears may have left their country many years previously, but had never forgotten what it meant to be a Scot.
“As long as but a hundred of us remain alive, never will we on any conditions be brought under English rule. It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours, that we are fighting, but for freedom – for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself”.
This is a translation of part of the Declaration of Arbroath, foremost among Scotland’s state papers and perhaps the most famous historical record held by the National Records of Scotland (NRS). The Declaration is a letter from the barons and whole community of the kingdom of Scotland to the pope in 1320, asking him to recognise Scotland’s independence and acknowledge Robert the Bruce as the country’s lawful king.
The Declaration was in Latin and was sealed by eight earls and about forty barons. Over the centuries various copies and translations have been made, including a recent microscopic edition.
Abandoned Cats Save a Village
![houtong-cats[2]](http://www.coronado-clarion.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/houtong-cats2.jpg)
When you arrive via train to the little Taiwanese village of Houtong, you will be greeted by a sign emblazoned with an odd bedfellows picture of a monkey, a miner, and a cat standing on a bridge. The village was originally called Hou Dong, which literally translates to “monkey cave,” in honor of a troupe of wild monkeys once inhabiting a nearby cave. The miner represents the once all-important coal mining industry that dominated the local economy until the 1970s. The cat represents the new saving-grace cat-based economy that has revitalized this small community after the decline of the coal industry. And the bridge is what connects Houtong by train to the rest of the world.
During its most prosperous decades, Houtong mines produced about 220,000 tons of coal, the biggest yield of coal in a single area in Taiwan. Such abundant coal resources beckoned people to migrate to Houtong, and at its peak, the community boasted 6,000 residents. But then demand for coal began to dwindle and the economy started to waver. As always the story, the young people left town to find opportunities elsewhere – and sadly many animals, especially cats, were left behind. By the 1990s only a few hundred older residents, along with an odd assortment of abandoned pets, were left in this remote little village.
When all appeared to be lost and with no hope for the future, life in Houtong took an unexpected turn. Taiwanese cat lover and photographer, Chien Pei-ling, decided it was the community’s responsibility to take care of the abandoned cats and organized a team of volunteers to provide for the village felines. Pei-ling created a blog, posted photos and videos of the cats online and asked for help from the outside world. The response was overwhelming (although not surprising as we all know now that the internet loves cats) and help came in not only for the cats, but in the end for the people of Houtong.
With the blog and the constant stream of cute cat photos from Houtong, people began taking the historic railway to the village and hanging out with the cats. More raves on more blogs, more great cat photos and soon Houtong became a mecca for cat lovers and photographers. Now, the funky old mining town centers around the 100 plus kitties that roam the streets as local heroes — not to mention the thousands of tourists that now come every weekend!
To capitalize on the constant throng of cat-loving visitors, the entrepreneurial villagers started baking and offering pineapple cakes in the shape of cats, as well as selling a creative array of cat-themed trinkets. Furthermore, the enthusiasm for all things kitty-cat resulted in a cat-themed footbridge (ears at one end, tail at the other) as well as cat road signs, whimsical cat murals and charming little wooden cat houses, where the felines can seek refuge in inclement weather. The footbridge also now has a royal cat walk for the cats to come and greet the trains which the cats now know come loaded with visitors bearing gifts of fish and rice.
Pei-ling is delighted with how one little community has been saved by being compassionate: “In the decline and fall of this remote village, we have built up a model of peaceful relationship between people and animals to show the bright side of human beings. We kindly treat these little animals with an attitude of respect for life. Our love for animals has turned the street cats into a tourist resource. This is a positive direction of a virtuous cycle, and will encourage more people to love cats and animals.”
I cannot help but reflect how this wonderful story from Houtong has been a win-win for everyone — the cats, the villagers, the tourists and Pei-ling, who later published a book of her Houtong cat photos and then won first prize at a photo competition held on the Japanese Island of Tashiro-jima, where cats are also treasured. I love the fact that a random act of kindness, combined with human ingenuity, has created happiness and joy for so many.
UNUSUAL THINGS
CRAZY LIVING ROCK
The fact that this sea creature looks exactly like a rock with guts is not even the weirdest thing about it. It’s also completely immobile like a rock — it eats by sucking in water and filtering out microorganisms — and its clear blood mysteriously secretes a rare mineral called vanadium. Also, it’s born male, becomes hermaphroditic at puberty, and reproduces by tossing clouds of sperm and eggs into the surrounding water and hoping they knock together. Nature, you are CRAZY.
Self-sexing vanadium-secreting intestine-rock thing is actually calledPyura chilensis (terser, though less descriptive), and it’s found off the coast of Chile and Peru. Locals eat it raw or in stews, and non-locals describe the taste as “bitter” and “soapy” with a “weird iodine flavor.” Sort of what you’d expect from a meat-rock, I guess? Maybe that’s the vanadium, a mineral also found in crude oil and tar sands — creatures like P. chilensis can have up to 10 million times more vanadium in their bodies than is found in the surrounding water, for no obvious reason.
Scientific American has more about P. chilensis, including its weird reproduction, which carries the charming euphemism of “selfing”:
P. chilensis can often be found in densely packed aggregations of thousands or small handfuls of just a few, or they can be found on their own — in which case they must reproduce asexually, as there is no way of them moving to find a mate. This means P. chilensis is hermaphroditic, with the gonads of both a male and a female that can release eggs and sperm simultaneously to meet as a fertile cloud in the surrounding water. If the sperm-egg collisions are successful, they will produce tiny tadpole-like offspring that will eventually settle onto a rock to grow into the adult form.
I don’t know about you, but I’m going to be looking more carefully at rocks in the future. Also possibly trees and dirt. Who knows what apparently inanimate objects might be filled with innards and holding perverse “selfing” orgies right in front of our noses? Thanks for keeping us on our toes, nature.
Red bananas, also known as Red Dacca bananas are a variety of banana with reddish-purple skin. They are smaller and plumper than the common Cavendish banana. When ripe, raw red bananas have a flesh that is cream to light pink in color.
The red-lipped batfish or Galapagos batfish (Ogcocephalus darwini) is a fish of unusual morphology found on the Galapagos Islands in depths of 30m or more. Red-lipped batfish are closely related to rosy-lipped batfish (Ogcocephalus porrectus), which are found nearCocos Island off the coast of Costa Rica. This fish is mainly known for its bright red lips.
Batfish are not good swimmers; they use their highly-adapted pectoral fins to “walk” on the ocean floor. When the batfish reaches maturity, its dorsal fin becomes a single spine-like projection (thought to function primarily as a lure for prey). Similar to the anglerfish, the Red-Lipped Batfish has a structure on its head known as illicium. This structure is employed for attracting prey.
THE BIRDS OF CORONADO
The American Robin (Turdus migratorius), also known as the Robin or Common Robin, is a migratory songbird of the thrush family. It is named after the European Robin[2] because of its reddish-orange breast, though the two species are not closely related, with the European robin belonging to the flycatcher family. The American Robin is widely distributed throughout North America, wintering south of Canada from Florida to central Mexico and along the Pacific Coast
The Western Bluebird is one of many migratory visitors to Strawberry Field.
Surfer Girls Beneath The Waves
Underwater photographer Sarah Lee uses a technique known as “duck diving” to capture these stunning photos of surfers in Hawaii. Surfers “duck dive” under the water to avoid incoming waves so they can get further out to sea.
VINEGAR CANCER TEST FOR WOMEN
After having proven in the study that vinegar-based tests helped reduce the number of deaths in Mumbai by 31%, doctors are now advocating its use among 2 crore women in Maharashtra.
City doctors are in talks with the state government to introduce the simple vinegar-based screening to check women for cervical cancer at early stages. Cervical cancer in Indian women is the topmost killer with an estimated 77,000 dying of it every year.
After having proven in the study that vinegar-based tests helped reduce the number of deaths in Mumbai by 31%, doctors are now advocating its use among 2 crore women in Maharashtra. “We are in talks with the state health department for testing women through this simple process for cervical cancer,” said Dr Indraneel Mitra, professor emeritus, Tata Memorial Hospital (TMH), Parel.
Twelve years ago, doctors at TMH started a study in the city to test the efficacy of screening women by swabbing 4% acetic acid (VIA) in her cervix and then observing her for cancerous or precancerous lesions. “We divided women into a screening and a control group of 75,000 women each. While the screening women were tested with vinegar-based swabs, the control group was counselled to approach TMH for treatment in case they experienced cervical cancer symptoms like heavy bleeding or white discharge,” said Dr Gauravi Mishra, project co-ordinator for the study, TMH.
Of 75,000 women in the screening group, 161 women were detected with cervical cancer through the VIA test. Of these, 67 died while the rest were salvaged due to early detection. On the other hand, of the group that was not tested early, 166 women were picked up with cervical cancer after they showed symptoms like heavy white discharge or torrential bleeding and were hospitalised. Of the 166 women, 98 died of cervical cancer.
“In the screening group, deaths were reduced by up to 31%. This is evidence enough for the state to comprehend that early intervention can significantly reduce cervical cancer deaths and has the potential to prevent up to 22,000 deaths across India,” said Dr Mitra.
Most of the distilled white vinegar ended up on the carpet along with whatever other contents had been in my stomach. My mom had heard from her friend that drinking vinegar “shots” would help clear out her intestinal track, and she figured I was as good a candidate as any to try it out. It worked a little too well. It wasn’t until years later that I realized my mom had missed an important piece of information — this body-cleansing, pH-balancing remedy works best using apple cider vinegar. Save the distilled white for cleaning chores.
Now, years after that unpalatable run-in with this super-versatile substance, I’ve come to love the dozens of uses for vinegar in all its forms. And it turns out, it’s not that difficult to make at home. From cutting through grease on my dirtiest skillets to adding a tangy bite to salad dressings, I keep finding more ways to use the stuff. Here are a few of my favorites:
1. Disinfectant: A natural antibacterial, vinegar makes a great base for any nontoxic cleaning solution. For an all-purpose disinfecting solution, dilute 1 part vinegar in 4 parts water and use anywhere germs are found, such as countertops, keyboards, shared phones, doorknobs and remote controls. Vinegar teams up with a little baking soda to re-incarnate into enough forms to clean your entire house.
2. Toilet Bowl Cleaner: Clean, disinfect and deodorize your toilet by pouring 1 cup of vinegar around the inside of the bowl. Let sit for an hour, use a brush to remove rings, then flush.
3. Drain Cleaner: To keep drains clog-free, pour 1/2 cup of baking soda down the drain, then follow with 1/2 cup of vinegar. Wait for foaming to subside, then follow with a gallon of boiling water. If necessary, remove hair and other debris with a wire. Repeat if drain is still slow. Got a persistent clog? Here are some more simple, chemical-free methods to clear out your drains.
4. Residue Remover: Forget the gummy, toxic Goo-Gone. Clean the glue residue that labels and stickers leave behind by wiping the sticky surface with a rag dipped in a vinegar-water solution.
5. Hair Rinse: Don’t worry: Your hair will not take on the pungent smell of vinegar. Shampoos and other hair products can leave behind residue, making hair lackluster. But there are more than simply aesthetic reasons to give up conventional shampoos (see Three Reasons to Live Shampoo Free). Remove buildup by diluting 2 tablespoons vinegar and 2 tablespoons lemon juice in 3 cups water and mixing well. After shampooing, pour rinse over hair before rinsing with water. The vinegar will close the cuticle and leave hair soft and shiny. An added bonus: It keeps dandruff at bay.
6. Stain Remover: Purge grass stains and blood spots by whipping up your own natural stain remover. Mix 1/2 cup white vinegar, 1/4 cup baking soda and 3 cups water in a spray bottle. Just spray on the stain and toss clothing into the laundry! While you’re at it, combine vinegar with a handful of other cheap ingredients for a natural laundry detergent.
7. Greens Reviver: Leafy greens looking wilted? Soak them in a bath of 2 cups cold water and 1/2 teaspoon vinegar to bring them back to life. Heck, at that point, you are not that far away from making a delicious vinegar-based salad dressing to accompany your lively greens.
8. Wart Killer: To remove unsightly warts, dip a cotton ball in vinegar, place over wart and secure with a bandage. Change the cotton ball daily. The acid in vinegar will eat away at the wart over time. (Be sure to keep the skin around the wart moisturized.) Here are a couple other natural health wart remedies with proven herbal compounds.
9. Breath Freshener: Eliminate bad breath by rinsing with 2 tablespoons vinegar and 1 tablespoon salt diluted in 1 cup water. This rinse is especially effective at removing onion and garlic odors.
10. Paintbrush Softener: Make stiff paintbrushes useful again by dipping hardened bristles in a bowl of vinegar for an hour or less. Rinse the bristles with warm water and soap, then let dry before using.
Buyer beware! As a final note, it needs to be clear that not all vinegar is created equal. While all vinegars require ethanol for production, some vinegars are made with synthetically produced ethanol made from petroleum. Check the label before you buy for words like “grain alcohol” or “neutral grain spirits” to ensure you’re buying a product made from natural food sources
Read more: http://www.care2.com/greenliving/versatile-uses-for-vinegar.html#ixzz2XFvNvqne
SAGE STALLONE MONUMENT
SAGE STALLONE MURAL
Echo Park, CA, on Sunday, May 5th at 11:00 am muralist Ruben Soto will be unveiling the mural of Sage Stallone who passed away in July of 2012 is the oldest son of Sasha Czack and actor Sylvester Stallone. The 20 feet long by 9 feet high mural of Sage Stallone will be across from his father Sylvester Stallone on Glendale Boulevard under Sunset Blvd overpass in the Echo Park community of Los Angeles, CA. The mural is a tribute to Sage by Ruben Soto who was a personal friend of the Stallone Family.
This special project will give everyone an opportunity to be part of the tribute to Sage Stallone. Mr. Soto is inviting everybody to be part of this giant spectacular mural and document the progress of this historical masterpiece. “This mural is the final face of the 9 faces from the “Eyes Mural” that has many faces of people that effected Mr. Soto’s life such as Sage & Sylvester Stallone, Dick Clark, Kent Twitchell, Mr. Soto, his daughter and others. This is an opportunity to get up close and personal to his face” states Mr. Soto.
Mr. Soto has been a huge fan of Sylvester Stallone who been an inspiration to him in his own life and artwork. Ruben was motivated from Stallone’s personal experience as filmmaker in Hollywood and has produced and directed his own story of growing up in Echo Park. “I want to pay a tribute to this very talented actor that we all love,” admits Ruben.
At age 49, he is living like there is no time for tomorrow. He’s a single father of a seventeen year old daughter, an electrician for the City of Los Angeles, a muralist, playwright, and he just finished a movie called “Willoughby” (www.willoughbythemovie.com).
CAT ISLAND
While many cities are working to curb feral cat populations through spay-and-neuter programs, there’s one place where cat numbers continue to grow and the locals encourage it.
Tashiro-jima is a small island in Miyagi Prefecture, Japan, that’s home to more catsthan people. Better known as “Cat Island,” it has about 100 permanent residents – most of whom are over 65 years of age – and hundreds and hundreds of cats.
Also see: ‘Rabbit Island’ attracts pet-loving tourists despite its dark past
During the 1800s, Tashiro-jima was popular with fisherman who would stay on the island overnight. The cats would follow them to the inns and beg for scraps, and over time, the fishermen developed a fondness for the cats and began interpreting their actions as predictions about weather and fish patterns.
They believed that feeding the cats would bring them wealth and fortune, a belief that continues today.
According to local stories, one day when a fisherman was collecting rocks to use for his nets, a stray stone fell and killed one of the cats. The fisherman buried the cat and created a shrine. Today, there are at least 10 cat shrines in Miyagi Prefecture.
There are also 51 cat-shaped monuments, as well as cat-shaped buildings – complete with “ears” on the roof – that dot the island.
Tashiro-jima is accessible by ferry, and many of the island’s cats are friendly and will approach visitors in search of scraps or head scratches. Dogs are prohibited from entering the island, according to a 2009 article in the Sankei News.
SHARE A CAUSE
The Coronado Clarion invites all charities and worthy causes to add websites/events link to this page.
Al Graham (Editor)
http://www.breastcancer.org
http://www.lls.org
http://www.leukemiafoundation.org
LIZARD JIM
We know that paleontologists liked The Beatles when paleontologists named Australopithecus afarensis “Lucy” because Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds was playing as they examined her bones at their dig site. Today, we’ve learned that paleontologists are into The Doors too when paleontologist Jason Head announced the name of a newly discovered lizard as Barbaturex morrosoni, after Jim Morrison’s lyric in the song Not to Touch the Earth, “I am the lizard king, I can do anything.”
A lizard the size of a German shepherd once roamed Myanmar, a new fossil analysis reveals.
The lizard, one of the largest ever known, has been dubbedBarbaturex morrisoni in honor of The Doors’ singer Jim Morrison, who once wrote a song that included the lyrics, “I am the lizard king/I can do anything.”
“This is a king lizard, and he was the lizard king, so it just fit,” saidJason Head, a paleontologist at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln who led the study and gave the ancient lizard its musically inspired moniker.
A lizard of unusual size
In modern times, most lizards are much smaller than the mammals that share their environment. The few exceptions, such as the gigantic and toothy Komodo dragon, live in places where there are few mammals around (Komodo dragons are found on isolated Indonesian islands, for example).
B. morrisoni lived in a different world. About 36 million to 40 million years ago, the lizard outweighed the mammals that shared its mangrove forest home in what is now Myanmar. It was a gentle giant, with teeth designed for shearing vegetation, not slicing flesh.
The lizard fossils were first collected during expeditions in the 1970s, but they sat unanalyzed in a museum collection for more than 30 years until Head and his colleagues decided to study them. [6 Strange Species Discovered in Museums]
The jaw of B. morrisoni sported a series of ridges that suggest the animal had some sort of throat décor such as a skin flap. The lizard might have looked something like the bearded dragons seen in pet stores today — except instead of growing to be a foot or so long (30 centimeters), the ancient lizard would have been about 6 feet (1.8 meters) from nose to tail, Head said. It would have weighed about 68 pounds (30 kilograms).
“This was a really huge plant-eating lizard, much bigger than anything alive today,” Head told LiveScience.
Komodo dragons can grow 10 feet long (3 meters), but they eat meat.
Warm world, big lizards
The lizard king discovery helps clear up a mystery about why lizards don’t grow as large today as they once did, Head and his colleagues found. No one knew whether large plant-eating lizards are scarce today because they simply can’t compete with mammals or because they’re limited by modern-day temperatures. Lizards are ectothermic, meaning they rely on environmental heat to keep their body temperature up.
The Eocene epoch, when B. morrisoni lived, was much warmer than today. Based on the size of the lizard and the metabolism it would need to get that large, Head and his colleagues estimate that global average temperatures were 4.5 degrees Fahrenheit (2.5 degrees Celsius) higher than today.
“This was a greenhouse world,” Head said. “There was no ice at the poles. There were higher concentrations of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere,” trapping heat.
In this hot environment, the lizard king outgrew the plant-eating mammals in its ecosystem as well
as many of the meat eaters, Head said. That growth ability suggests the presence of mammals is not keeping lizards down today; it’s likely lower global temperatures.
“When we had these very warm climates in the past, we had much different ecosystems, and reptiles could compete with mammals much more successfully,” Head said. Plants may have also flourished more readily in this steamy climate, providing more food for the herbivorous lizards.
The findings, reported today (June 4) in the journal Proceedings of the Royal Society B, reveal how ancient ecosystems can hold up a mirror to modern ones, Head said.
“Paleontology is really vital for understanding not only where we’ve come from, but where we are now, and where we’re going in the future,” he said.
Follow Stephanie Pappas on Twitter and Google+. Follow us @livescience, Facebook & Google+. Original article on LiveScience.com.
THANK YOU, SANDMAN
I have been lucky enough to call Coronado my home for all of my fifteen years. Part of being a Coronadan, I’ve come to realize, is understanding and appreciating the small idiosyncrasies and uniquities that make this town our own. Namely, I think that the Sandman adds a special vibe to Coronado with his artistic contributions that better Coronado in an authentic way.
My running routine generally takes me down the Boardwalk by the beach. In between the Hotel del Coronado and the Shores, there is a small, asphalt lot where beachgoers park their cars in a roundabout fashion.
As I approach this parking lot, I generally slow down partially to be watchful of cars, but also to look out for the Sandman’s new artwork, or even the Sandman himself , as he frequently uses this land as his canvas. This artwork ranges from political messages (he brushed “I still love Romney” in the sand the day after Obama won the election) to American flags, from smiling faces to simple words (“Love”) scripted in the sand-created cursive — I can’t even begin to wonder how the Sandman goes about sculpting sand so artistically in a two-dimensional way.
Though I’ve yet to engage in a conversation with him, Coronado’s Sandman, has this uncanny ability to uplift my spirits through his art in a nuanced way on days that are hectic or stressful or difficult. Because of developments in technology, social media, and overall reliance on electronics to live, the speed at which we live our lives drastically accelerated, and often we are so focused on Instagram pictures or Facebook statuses that we can’t look up (or down to the asphalt) to enjoy what is around us.
As a community, I think we need moments like this — moments just to slow down in a parking lot adorned with the sand art and appreciate how lucky we are to live in such a beautiful and unique place. Although I am aware of certain controversies that have surrounded the Sandman in the past years, I think he is an invaluable asset to our town. In personal experience, I haven’t seen anyone – Coronadan or tourist – view his art without a smile. He is, and will be for years to come, a Coronado legacy.
So thanks, Sandman, for brightening up my day when I run. Thanks so much for being a signature character to the Coronado culture.
Sincerely,
Harper Collinson
THE FINAL GOODBYE
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY TO ALL FROM THE CORONADO CLARION STAFF
CLEANSING DRINK
Years pass by and our kidneys are filtering the blood by removing salt, poison and any unwanted entering our body. With time, the salt accumulates and this needs to undergo cleaning treatments and how are we going to overcome this?
It is very easy, first take a bunch of parsley or Cilantro ( Coriander Leaves ) and wash it clean
Then cut it in small pieces and put it in a pot and pour clean water and boil it for ten minutes and let it cool down and then filter it and pour in a clean bottle and keep it inside refrigerator to cool.
Drink one glass daily and you will notice all salt and other accumulated poison coming out of your kidney by urination also you will be able to notice the difference which you never felt before.
Parsley (Cilantro) is known as best cleaning treatment for kidneys and it is natural!
HILARIOUS PAST INVENTIONS
Winter Edition 2013 cover
MAYDAY ISSUE FRONT
HOW A POLISH MECHANIC SAVED THE WORLD
ULTRA vs. ENIGMA
Of all the Allied weaponry and equipment, there was nothing more crucial than the top-secret British project called Ultra. Its mission was to intercept and decipher coded messages sent by the Germans. The catch was, the Germans were using the most challenging code ever developed, appropriately named Enigma.
THE NAZI ENIGMA
The Enigma was meant to be the Nazis’ ultimate weapon. It was a cypher machine, designed to produce the ultimate code. Inside it was a system of electrically connected revolving drums, on which letters of the alphabet were placed. When a letter was typed, it was assigned a random letter value. F. W. Winterbotham, one of the founders of Ultra, described the Enigma like this:
A typewriter fed the letters of the message into the machine, where they were so proliferated by the drums that it was estimated a team of top mathematicians might take a month or more to work out all the permutations necessary to find the right answer for a single cypher setting; the setting of the drums in relation to each other was the key which both the sender and receiver would no doubt keep closely guarded. (Winterbotham, 11)
With Enigma at their disposal, the German submarines were able to sink devastating amounts of Allied shipping between 1940 and 1942. Top secret plans were freely sent through Enigma. They were totally confident that the Enigma code could not be broken.
THE FORMATION OF ULTRA
After the Nazis created their invincible cypher machine, they proceeded to mass-produce them in 1938. A Polish mechanic carefully kept track of the parts of the Enigma he was making. From this, he was able to discover that the Nazis had been working on their cypher machine. He got word to the British through the Polish Secret Service, and the British managed to smuggle one out of Poland.
Marian Adam Rejewski [ˈmarjan reˈjefski] (
listen) (16 August 1905 – 13 February 1980) was a Polish mathematician and cryptologist who in 1932 solved the plugboard-equipped Enigma machine, the main cipher device used by Germany. The success of Rejewski and his colleagues Jerzy Różycki and Henryk Zygalski jump-started British reading of Enigma in World War II; the intelligence so gained, code-named “Ultra“, contributed, perhaps decisively, to the defeat of Nazi Germany.(Note 1)
While studying mathematics at Poznań University, Rejewski had attended a secret cryptology course conducted by the Polish General Staff‘s Biuro Szyfrów (Cipher Bureau), which he joined full-time in 1932. The Bureau had achieved little success reading Enigma and in late 1932 set Rejewski to work on the problem. After only a few weeks, he deduced the secret internal wiring of the Enigma. Rejewski and his two mathematician colleagues then developed an assortment of techniques for the regular decryption of Enigma messages. Rejewski’s contributions included devising the cryptologic “card catalog,” derived using his “cyclometer,” and the “cryptologic bomb.”
Five weeks before the German invasion of Poland in 1939, Rejewski and his colleagues presented their results on Enigma decryption to French andBritish intelligence representatives. Shortly after the outbreak of war, the Polish cryptologists were evacuated to France, where they continued their work in collaboration with the British and French. They were again compelled to evacuate after the fall of France in June 1940, but within months returned to work undercover in Vichy France. After the country was fully occupied by Germany in November 1942, Rejewski and fellow mathematicianHenryk Zygalski fled, via Spain, Portugal and Gibraltar, to Britain. There they worked at a Polish Army unit, solving low-level German ciphers. In 1946 Rejewski returned to his family in Poland and worked as an accountant, remaining silent about his cryptologic work until 1967.
From this, the British Secret Service were able to understand how Enigma worked, but were unable to break the code. They set up headquarters at Bletchley Park, along with dozens of expert mathematicians, cryptographers, and even chess champions. Teamed with the best computer technology at the time, these cryptographers were responsible for solving the Enigma. They would spend months analyzing the code, trying to unlock its secret. It was an incredible strain, and some of them suffered nervous breakdowns trying to solve it. But with millions of lives at stake, they knew they had no choice. They would either break the enigma code, or witness a German victory.
However, in 1940, what seemed like the impossible finally happened. A few practice messages sent by the Germans in Enigma code were intercepted and deciphered. Although the actual contents of the messages were totally useless, Enigma had been solved. From this point on, the British were able to decipher the German messages one after another. To distinguish themselves from other cypher teams, the British team called itself Ultra.
Ultra was one of the most carefully kept secrets of World War Two. Only the people actually working with it knew of its existence. If the Germans found out that Enigma had been deciphered, they would change the code. Solving it once had been nightmare enough. Ultra did not want to go through it again.
For two years, Ultra proved itself to be vital to the Allies time and time again. Without it, the Allies would never have been able to win the war. During the Battle of Britain, Ultra saved Air Marshal Dowding and the Royal Air Force from defeat at Goering’s hands. Ultra intercepted German submarine transmissions, which revealed their locations, enabling Ultra to warn Allied vessels. In that same way, Ultra uncovered plans for Operation Sea Lion, a German invasion of Britain. Ultra Intelligence informed General Auchinlek, commander of the Allied forces in North Africa, of General Rommel’s position. This allowed Auchinlek to fight Rommel and the Afrika Korps by hitting them where they were the weakest. Eventually, Auchinlek stopped Rommel before he was able to enter Egypt. Otherwise, the Germans would have had total control of the Mediterranean (Winterbotham, 25).
ULTRA AND THE BATTLE OF NORMANDY
By February 1944, Ultra had worked with several Allied commanders, including Generals Eisenhower, Montgomery, and Patton-who used Ultra intelligence to “bust open the enemy every chance he had (Winterbotham, 122-123). This cooperation was essential to carrying out the Normandy invasion successfully.
In March 1943, Ultra discovered Hitler’s plans for a secret weapon in the works called the V1 flying-bomb (what they found out about it, such as location of the test-sites and results, has not been revealed yet). By April 1944, Hitler was preparing launch sites on the French coast. Ultra intercepted Hitler’s orders about establishing a headquarters near Amiens to control the V1 operation. The headquarters was named the 155th Flak Regiment. Colonel Siegfried Freiherr von Watchel was in command. That meant that “Overlord,” the Normandy invasion, had to take place as soon as possible (Winterbotham, 119-121).
In May 1944, Ultra intercepted a message from Watchel to General Heinemann, commander of the LXVI Corps (and administrator of the V1 headquarters), saying that fifty sites on the French coast were ready. That meant the Allied attack could not take place any later than June. It was a smart move. On June 6th, D-Day, Watchel was ordered to launch an all-out offensive with the V1s on June 12 (Winterbotham, 121).
A dispute between Hitler and his top generals, during the spring of 1944, would end up providing the most important clue about the German defenses at Normandy. Rommel wanted his panzer divisions directly behind the beach defenses. Hitler, who trusted Rommel’s judgement, went with his recommendation. But another general, Heinz Guderian, felt that the panzers would be wasted on the beaches. Hitler began to grow uncertain and suggested that the two generals talk it out. Guderian was backed up by General Geyr von Schweppenberg, who commanded the panzer group in France. Rommel adamantly refused to give in. He sent a message to Hitler, reinforcing his plans to have the panzer division behind the Normandy beaches. He felt that the superior Allied air power would severely hamper the movement of the tanks (Winterbotham, 125-127).
This gave everything away to Ultra. Rommel’s message revealed the locations of the panzer division on the Normandy beaches. Although Ultra did not receive Hitler’s response, now they knew what to be on the lookout for. Schweppenberg gave even more away when he personally asked Hitler to keep a majority of the panzers near Paris. Hitler’s response (which was intercepted by Ultra this time) was to keep four divisions, the reserve forces, would remain where they were, as an assault force. This made Overlord easier for the Allies. If Hitler had moved these divisions to the beach, the Germans would have overwhelmed the Allies at Normandy (Winterbotham, 127-128).
Ultra set the stage for the Allied victory in Normandy. They had done their part. Now it was the soldiers’ turn.
Works Cited
Winterbotham, F.W. The Ultra Secret. Harper and Row: New York, 1974
CORONADO EMERGENCY MEDICAL TECHNICIANS
CORONADO EMERGENCY MEDICAL TECHNICIANS
If you should be unlucky enough to have a medical emergency, you must hope and pray that it happens when there are competent medical professionals at the nearest possible location.
Those of us who are fortunate to live in the City of Coronado are twice blessed. Firstly because help is at the door within a few minutes. Yes, I said a few minutes. But I should have said a very few minutes because our tiny island is only about ten blocks square, and you can hear the sirens go off almost as soon as you hang up.
Secondly, because the EMTs are highly trained, highly professional, and utterly compassionate.
Today my friend and I were editing the next edition of the Clarion when he turned to me and said, “I need a glass of water.” He looked a little green around the gills so I went to get the water. When I returned, his face looked like the color of putty. He had fallen against a cabinet and was in a state of seizure. Lately, he had just undergone heart surgery, and it looked like he was having another heart attack.
Within minutes, he was surrounded by a crew who knew what they were doing, and in short order he was being monitored as they attempted to ascertain the level of injuries. While my friend and I panicked in unison adding only more stress to the situation, the EMTs remained cool and collected.
My friend had already exhausted all of his savings and was still in debt from the previous heart attack and was reluctant to accrue any more debt, so he kept asking them to let him go see his own doctor. However, his condition was potentially life threatening because he had hit his head when he fell, and he is taking blood thinning medication. So it was like playing Russian roulette with his own life.
Fortunately for him, the the crew was able to convince both of us that he should be transported to the hospital. I called to check on him, and he is in stable condition, and he will be admitted for observations.
I would like to thank the Coronado Emergency Medical Team for their superb bedside manners and coolness under fire. Coronado residents are indeed lucky to have such dedicated and professional public servants.
God Bless America and God Bless the Coronado Fire Department.
A.R. Graham (Editor)
ROCK n ROLL DOG GANG AT FUNK PALACE
ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE
AMY WACK POET
Ex-Coronado resident and Coronado High School graduate, Amy Wack, daughter of Rita and Charles Wack, was born in Florida. Amy attended San Diego State University and spent her junior year at Oxford University, where she met her future husband, Kevin Brennan. She then earned a Master’s Degree in Fine Arts at Columbia University. A poet, she now resides in both Cardiff and London, England and has been Poetry Editor at Seren Publishing in Wales since 1992.
Her husband Kevin Brennan is a member of the House of Commons and plays in a “parliamentary rock band” called MP4, of which all the musicians are members of the British Parliament.
Over the years, Amy Wack Brennan has written and had published several poems and has edited many more which have won national awards. Her poem about Buddy Holly won first prize in a contest led by Sir Paul McCartney which earned her a sizable cash prize and lunch with McCartney.
Amy’s poem about Buddy Holly was chosen to be included in “A Poem For Buddy.”
FOREWARD
I’ve often thought that ‘Buddy’ was a good moniker for Charles Hardin Holley. Buddy, it conjures up the image of a pal, of a friend. Which is apt, because his music has always been a friend to me. His songs can buck you up when you’re feeling low or even better your mood when you’re feeling great.
When we started out making music in Liverpool, Buddy’s songs made a difference. He gave us confidence – he can do it, and he wears glasses, a particular inspiration to John, who up to then had been bumping into lampposts – and the guitar-based Buddy Holly sound certainly influenced The Beatles at the time and my melodies then and since.
Years ago, we inaugurated Buddy Holly Week as a doff of the cap to the memory of the great man and his great music. Over the years this has become the platform for many wonderful and wacky ways of marking that memory.
We’ve had competitions for singalikes and lookalikes, we’ve had a paint a Buddy painting and contests to write a song in his style. And now we’ve done poetry inspired by Buddy. Good golly, it’s Holly.
It’s all been a laugh and, as I say, it’s a little way or reminding us all of the guy’s great talent.
So congratulations to all those poets who were sufficiently inspired by the man to have their work selected here for this anthology and my thanks to all of the many others who have made the effort to send in their stanzas.
It makes a great read. Rave on!
Paul McCartney
INTRODUCTION
Buddy Holly and I had lots in common:
we were both born in towns beginning with ‘L’,
we both wore glasses, and…and that’s about it really.
However, in the late fifties as a member of Hull University’s wildest
(and short-lived) skiffle group, ‘Tinhorn Timmons and the Rattlesnakes’,
I would strum my sawn-off broomhandle and think,
‘if only I had grown up in Lubbock instead of Liverpool,
if only I played a Fender Strat instead of a tea-chest bass,
if only I could sing and write great songs,
if only that girl in the front row…’ etc. etc.
I wanted to live fast and die young, and I failed on both counts.
It was a pleasure then to help judge the ‘A Poem for Buddy’ competition
with Tim Rice (an old friend from ‘The Scaffold’ days, who despite
producing one of our albums, went on to fame and fortune) and Chris
Meade, Director of The Poetry Society.
Out of more than 450 entries, 50 were selected for this book and there
are three prizewinners. Our congratulations to:
First Prize: Amy Wack ‘The Crickets’
Second Prize: Mike Turner ‘Last Bus To Lubbock’
Third Prize: Grace Hughes ‘Radio—CHHL’
(joint winners) Anne Rouse ‘Expected Him In A Limousine’
Roger McGough
THE CRICKETS
Sonny’s front man tonight, his timing’s just right
and his spontaneous asides are rude, jovial and apt.
He still plucks a sturdy tune on that battered Fender Strat
(a vintage instrument, envy of all the Britpop kids),
though his beard’s more salt than pepper now
and for forty years he’s seen more road than home.
And Jerry still taps a mean beat on a snare drum,
you know, the intro to ‘Peggy Sue’? An oddball,
no doubt, he flails away, sticks flicking, Hawaiian shirt
like a surfing accident. And Joe B. still snaps
the fat strings on that double-bass. He twirls that girl
like a dancer and bobs his head to the rhythm.
And they still swing, those songs, three minutes
of magic, no junk, no fifteen minute drum solos,
no techno, no modern urban, existential angst.
Just boy meets girl, mostly. And how they evoke
their heyday, an innocent world that never was:
a pre-Vietnam, pre-Watergate, black & white world.
But no matter how many years they’ve played together,
there’s still a space centre stage taken by the ghost
of that skinny kid in a stiff suit and black horned-rims.
The Crickets have grown old while he stays forever 21
and on the Ed Sullivan Show, 1957, where he swings one hip
on a pivot, snaps his fingers in time to ‘That’ll Be The Day’.
Do they hate him sometimes – his nerd grin, that mad yodel,
his perfect, posthumous fame, at the umpteenth request
for one of those dazzling tunes? Maybe baby.
But they don’t show it tonight. Jerry pounds away,
Joe B. thrums and spins, Sonny laughs and gets the crowd
to sing along with ‘Rave on, rave on with me…”
Amy Wack
Amy had another poem published in another anthology called Newspaper Taxis
YELLOW SUBMARINE
From “Newspaper Taxis” available at: www.serenbook.com
In Memoriam
Laurie Wack 1961-1983
You laughed at the tall men dropping apples
on the heads of the hapless citizens of Pepperland,
turning them to statues. I found this cruel,
preferring the flowers that kept opening like fans
and the cartoon Fab Four adrift in the sea of green,
cracking bad puns in their miraculous submersible.
We both liked the little Nowhere Man with that
affinity of the small and shy for the small and shy.
But the manic Blue Meanies and their glove assassin
made you cover your eyes with your hands and weep.
While I, wide-eyed, gawped at the psychedelia,
uou, overwhelmed, eyes shut, soon fell asleep.
I remember the damp wisps of your blonde hair,
your face, flushed and tear-stained in the flickering dark.
Who guessed then that you would die so young?
I sometimes still feel as if you’ve abandoned me to sleep
while I’ve had to watch the whole outlandish spectacle
pass by without you. No wonder I’m always nudging
someone to say: “Wake up! You’re missing this!
You’re missing the story! You’re missing the music!”
Amy Wack
CORONADO NEWS DESK
For Fast Breaking Coronado, National & International News/Video
CORONADO CLARION BREAKING NEWS BUREAU
http://coronado.patch.com/news
Suspect: $1 Million Warrant for His Capture
http://coronado.patch.com/news
CORONADO (CBS 8) – The News 8 CrimeFighters are helping authorities look for a suspect who could be a danger to others and himself.
Charles Richard Thomas Mozdir, 31, is wanted by Coronado police as a suspect in a child molestation case. He failed to appear in court and a $1 million warrant has been issued for his arrest.
Mozdir has reportedly threatened his victim’s family, and to take his own life. He has a handgun registered to him and has been seen with a second handgun. He may be seen with a black Labrador named Lucky.
Mozdir is 6 feet, 2 inches tall, weighs 280 pounds, has brown hair and brown eyes.
If you have any information, call San Diego Crime Stoppers at (888) 580-TIPS. If you see this fugitive, call police.
Crime Stoppers is offering a reward for information that leads to an arrest.
BENNY THE CAT IS MISSING
http://www.coronado-clarion.com/category/clarion-rock/
Northridge Kidnapping Suspect
May Be in San Diego: LAPD
Tobias Summers may be hiding in San Diego per Los Angeles officials.
Paul McCartney got kicked out of his house so he is staying with me for a few days.
He is looking for a place to rent in Coronado, so, if anyone has a room to let contact the editor at The Coronado Clarion.
ALL THE WAY FROM ENGLAND
Doors Fan Chris Barth on a visit from England with Alan Graham author of I remember Jim Morrison and Before The Beatles Were Famous.
Take Flight Again In 2013… With Wings!
Re-release of Paul McCartney & Wings’ groundbreaking 1976 live album ‘Wings over America’ containing bonus material (May 27th)
DVD release of the live concert film ‘Rockshow’ documenting the band’s epic ‘Wings over the World’ tour across America (June 10th)
Theatrical release of ‘Rockshow’ and an exclusive VIP premiere screening – featuring an introduction by Paul – at BAFTA (May 15th)
ARE YOU TIRED OF LONG WAITS IN THE DOCTORS OFFICE?
Doctor Davis will visit you in the comfort of your own home.
Brain Made Transparent May Lead to Clearer Understanding
Scientists have developed a technique to make brains transparent, enabling them to see vast networks of neurons and structures for a big picture view of the organ that’s mostly studied in slices.
In a report published today in the journal Nature, researchers at Stanford University described the method that replaced fats in the brain of mice with a gel that made the organ transparent. The scientists were able to make images of the brain’s structures and see down to the cells and molecules, according to the paper.
Superior Missile
Sending a message about superior technology despite tight purse strings, the U.S. Navy this week unveiled a laser weapon that will go on a warship in the Arabian Sea next year.
The Navy said the laser can defend an American ship against incoming speed boats and aerial drones for $1 a shot, with unlimited “ammunition” from the ship’s power supply.
Seemingly a combination of Star Wars and Star Trek, the Navy’s solid-state laser beam is the diameter of a dime and can be set to “stun” or “kill.
120730-N-PO203-107 SAN DIEGO (July 30, 2012) The Laser Weapon System (LaWS) temporarily installed aboard the guided-missile destroyer USS Dewey (DDG 105) in San Diego, Calif., is a technology demonstrator built by the Naval Sea Systems Command from commercial fiber solid state lasers, utilizing combination methods developed at the Naval Research Laboratory. LaWS can be directed onto targets from the radar track obtained from a MK 15 Phalanx Close-In Weapon system or other targeting source. The Office of Naval Research’s Solid State Laser (SSL) portfolio includes LaWS development and upgrades providing a quick reaction capability for the fleet with an affordable SSL weapon prototype. This capability provides Navy ships a method for Sailors to easily defeat small boat threats and aerial targets without using bullets. (U.S. Navy photo by John F. Williams/Released)
At the low end, the high-energy beam will “dazzle” an aerial drone’s sensors, blinding it. At maximum power, the laser can send a drone down in flames, as the Navy showed in a video of tests performed off the San Diego coast last summer.
BLUE ANGELS
SAN DIEGO, Calif. – The Navy has cancelled the remaining 2013 performances of its Flight Demonstration Squadron, the Blue Angels. The squadron will continue to train to maintain flying proficiency until further notice at its home station in Pensacola, Fla.
Recognizing budget realities, current Defense policy states that outreach events can only be supported with local assets at no cost to the government.
This is one of many steps the Navy is taking to ensure resources are in place to support forces operating forward now and those training to relieve them.
The Navy believes there is value in demonstrating the professionalism and capabilities of our Navy and Marine Corps Naval Aviation team, thus inspiring future generations of Sailors and Marines. The Navy intends to continue aerial demonstrations in the future as the budget situation permits.
Coronado Brewer Sues Seattle Brewer Over Trademark Infringement
Seattle-based family brewer recently took issue with a Coronado beer that apparently plans to enter the Seattle and Washington market, but in doing so, The Emerald City business ended up with a lawsuit.
After Seattle-based Maritime Pacific Brewing Co. wrote in a Jan. 11 letter that Coronado Brewing Co., Inc. shouldn’t be marketing a beer called “Islander IPA” in the Seattle area and state of Washington, the Coronado brewer responded a week later by saying it had trademarks for the “Islander” term and a copy of the registration.
On Friday, Coronado Brewing Co. sued Maritime Pacific for trademark infringement.
THE SANDMAN HAS RETURNED
Albert Sandman Avilla has returned from El Paso Texas, just in time to be at the unveiling of his newly refurbished Sandman Statue.
Welcome Back Sandman
MISSING CAT
BENNY THE CAT IS MISSING..
LAST SEEN: THIRD & ORANGE AVE. CORONADO CA. 92118
REWARD CALL: 619-277-1552
METAL ANIMAL KINGDOM
Born in Durango, Mexico, Ricardo has lived in California for the last 25 years. He has has been creating his metal animal kingdom since the release of the movie Jurassic Park III.
His daughter’s enthusiam over dinosaurs sparked his interest in the creation of these prehistoric beasts. What started as a hobby quickly became a passion to transform metal into incredible lifelike creations. Since then, Ricardo has become a well-known sculptor/designer. One of his largest collections can be appreciated in the city of Borrego Springs, California, where thousands of people from around the world come to see what everyone is talking about. They find out it is much bigger and amazing than what they have heard.
Contact: ricardoabreceda@gmail.com
Ricardo A. Breceda 38000 Highway 79 South Temecula, CA 92592 Tel: (951) 236-5896
BEFORE THE BEATLES WERE FAMOUS
A NEW BOOK BY THE AUTHOR OF ‘I REMEMBER JIM MORRISON’
AFTERWORD BY NINA O’DELE
LIMITED EDITION AVAILABLE AT AMAZON, KINDLE, AND iTUNES
FOR SIGNED COPIES GO TO: WWW.BEFORETHEBEATLES.COM
LIMITED EDITION HARD COPIES
LIMITED EDITION HARD COPIES 1-200 $39.50.
TO ORDER: WWW.BEFORETHEBEATLES.COM
MEDI-CAT
I create music for dogs (and cats soon) that relieves anxiety issues. Canine sound therapy isn’t exactly seen as a mainstream behavior solution in the pet world. I have put my reputation as a concert pianist on the line because of my deep desire to help improve the lives of dogs and cats. So, you can imagine how intrigued I was when I read about Dr. Doug Kramer, BVMS, MRCVS in Dogster. He is putting his professional veterinary career at risk to help relieve the pain and suffering of pets. He can’t legally write a prescription for cannabis, but he can give recommendations. He provides professional consultations that include instructions in how to administer cannabis to pets. I recently had the pleasure of speaking to Dr. Kramer. “My goal is to provide palliative care and prevent accidental overdoses resulting from owners’ well-meaning attempts to relieve their pets’ pain and suffering,” he said.
Dr. Kramer saw firsthand how cannabis can benefit dogs through watching his Husky dog, Niki, when she was in the late stages of cancer. “After the first dose, she was up and about. Her appetite was restored and she was able to enjoy her last months because of a homemade tincture of cannabis I created for her. The pain appeared to be controlled and her quality of life increased dramatically.”
Dr. Kramer takes his veterinary oath very seriously: “Being admitted to the profession of veterinary medicine, I solemnly swear to use my scientific knowledge and skills for the benefit of society through the protection of animal health and welfare, the prevention and relief of animal suffering, the conservation of animal resources, the promotion of public health, and the advancement of medical knowledge.”
LUKE
Introducing Coronado Website Builder/Artist Luke Utenowski.
Luke does great work for a reasonable price.
Call him at 619-942-6938
THE BOARDING HOUSE BY CHARLES DICKENS
Mrs. Tibbs was, beyond all dispute, the most tidy, fidgety, thrifty little personage that ever inhaled the smoke of London; and the house of Mrs. Tibbs was, decidedly, the neatest in all Great Coram- street. The area and the area-steps, and the street-door and the street-door steps, and the brass handle, and the door-plate, and the knocker, and the fan-light, were all as clean and bright, as indefatigable white-washing, and hearth-stoning, and scrubbing and rubbing, could make them. The wonder was, that the brass door- plate, with the interesting inscription ‘MRS. TIBBS,’ had never caught fire from constant friction, so perseveringly was it polished. There were meat-safe-looking blinds in the parlour- windows, blue and gold curtains in the drawing-room, and spring- roller blinds, as Mrs. Tibbs was wont in the pride of her heart to boast, ‘all the way up.’ The bell-lamp in the passage looked as clear as a soap-bubble; you could see yourself in all the tables, and French-polish yourself on any one of the chairs. The banisters were bees-waxed; and the very stair-wires made your eyes wink, they were so glittering.
Mrs. Tibbs was somewhat short of stature, and Mr. Tibbs was by no means a large man. He had, moreover, very short legs, but, by way of indemnification, his face was peculiarly long. He was to his wife what the 0 is in 90–he was of some importance WITH her–he was nothing without her. Mrs. Tibbs was always talking. Mr. Tibbs rarely spoke; but, if it were at any time possible to put in a word, when he should have said nothing at all, he had that talent. Mrs. Tibbs detested long stories, and Mr. Tibbs had one, the conclusion of which had never been heard by his most intimate friends. It always began, ‘I recollect when I was in the volunteer corps, in eighteen hundred and six,’–but, as he spoke very slowly and softly, and his better half very quickly and loudly, he rarely got beyond the introductory sentence. He was a melancholy specimen of the story-teller. He was the wandering Jew of Joe Millerism.
Mr. Tibbs enjoyed a small independence from the pension-list–about 43l. 15s. 10d. a year. His father, mother, and five interesting scions from the same stock, drew a like sum from the revenue of a grateful country, though for what particular service was never known. But, as this said independence was not quite sufficient to furnish two people with ALL the luxuries of this life, it had occurred to the busy little spouse of Tibbs, that the best thing she could do with a legacy of 700l., would be to take and furnish a tolerable house–somewhere in that partially-explored tract of country which lies between the British Museum, and a remote village called Somers-town–for the reception of boarders. Great Coram- street was the spot pitched upon. The house had been furnished accordingly; two female servants and a boy engaged; and an advertisement inserted in the morning papers, informing the public that ‘Six individuals would meet with all the comforts of a cheerful musical home in a select private family, residing within ten minutes’ walk of’–everywhere. Answers out of number were received, with all sorts of initials; all the letters of the alphabet seemed to be seized with a sudden wish to go out boarding and lodging; voluminous was the correspondence between Mrs. Tibbs and the applicants; and most profound was the secrecy observed. ‘E.’ didn’t like this; ‘I.’ couldn’t think of putting up with that; ‘I. O. U.’ didn’t think the terms would suit him; and ‘G. R.’ had never slept in a French bed. The result, however, was, that three gentlemen became inmates of Mrs. Tibbs’s house, on terms which were ‘agreeable to all parties.’ In went the advertisement again, and a lady with her two daughters, proposed to increase–not their families, but Mrs. Tibbs’s.
‘Charming woman, that Mrs. Maplesone!’ said Mrs. Tibbs, as she and her spouse were sitting by the fire after breakfast; the gentlemen having gone out on their several avocations. ‘Charming woman, indeed!’ repeated little Mrs. Tibbs, more by way of soliloquy than anything else, for she never thought of consulting her husband. ‘And the two daughters are delightful. We must have some fish to- day; they’ll join us at dinner for the first time.’
Mr. Tibbs placed the poker at right angles with the fire shovel, and essayed to speak, but recollected he had nothing to say.
‘The young ladies,’ continued Mrs. T., ‘have kindly volunteered to bring their own piano.’
Tibbs thought of the volunteer story, but did not venture it.
A bright thought struck him –
‘It’s very likely–‘ said he.
‘Pray don’t lean your head against the paper,’ interrupted Mrs. Tibbs; ‘and don’t put your feet on the steel fender; that’s worse.’
Tibbs took his head from the paper, and his feet from the fender, and proceeded. ‘It’s very likely one of the young ladies may set her cap at young Mr. Simpson, and you know a marriage–‘
‘A what!’ shrieked Mrs. Tibbs. Tibbs modestly repeated his former suggestion.
‘I beg you won’t mention such a thing,’ said Mrs. T. ‘A marriage, indeed to rob me of my boarders–no, not for the world.’
Tibbs thought in his own mind that the event was by no means unlikely, but, as he never argued with his wife, he put a stop to the dialogue, by observing it was ‘time to go to business.’ He always went out at ten o’clock in the morning, and returned at five in the afternoon, with an exceedingly dirty face, and smelling mouldy. Nobody knew what he was, or where he went; but Mrs. Tibbs used to say with an air of great importance, that he was engaged in the City.
The Miss Maplesones and their accomplished parent arrived in the course of the afternoon in a hackney-coach, and accompanied by a most astonishing number of packages. Trunks, bonnet-boxes, muff- boxes and parasols, guitar-cases, and parcels of all imaginable shapes, done up in brown paper, and fastened with pins, filled the passage. Then, there was such a running up and down with the luggage, such scampering for warm water for the ladies to wash in, and such a bustle, and confusion, and heating of servants, and curling-irons, as had never been known in Great Coram-street before. Little Mrs. Tibbs was quite in her element, bustling about, talking incessantly, and distributing towels and soap, like a head nurse in a hospital. The house was not restored to its usual state of quiet repose, until the ladies were safely shut up in their respective bedrooms, engaged in the important occupation of dressing for dinner.
‘Are these gals ‘andsome?’ inquired Mr. Simpson of Mr. Septimus Hicks, another of the boarders, as they were amusing themselves in the drawing-room, before dinner, by lolling on sofas, and contemplating their pumps.
‘Don’t know,’ replied Mr. Septimus Hicks, who was a tallish, white- faced young man, with spectacles, and a black ribbon round his neck instead of a neckerchief–a most interesting person; a poetical walker of the hospitals, and a ‘very talented young man.’ He was fond of ‘lugging’ into conversation all sorts of quotations from Don Juan, without fettering himself by the propriety of their application; in which particular he was remarkably independent. The other, Mr. Simpson, was one of those young men, who are in society what walking gentlemen are on the stage, only infinitely worse skilled in his vocation than the most indifferent artist. He was as empty-headed as the great bell of St. Paul’s; always dressed according to the caricatures published in the monthly fashion; and spelt Character with a K.
‘I saw a devilish number of parcels in the passage when I came home,’ simpered Mr. Simpson.
‘Materials for the toilet, no doubt,’ rejoined the Don Juan reader.
– ‘Much linen, lace, and several pair
Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, complete;
With other articles of ladies fair,
To keep them beautiful, or leave them neat.’
‘Is that from Milton?’ inquired Mr. Simpson.
‘No–from Byron,’ returned Mr. Hicks, with a look of contempt. He was quite sure of his author, because he had never read any other. ‘Hush! Here come the gals,’ and they both commenced talking in a very loud key.
‘Mrs. Maplesone and the Miss Maplesones, Mr. Hicks. Mr. Hicks– Mrs. Maplesone and the Miss Maplesones,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, with a very red face, for she had been superintending the cooking operations below stairs, and looked like a wax doll on a sunny day. ‘Mr. Simpson, I beg your pardon–Mr. Simpson–Mrs. Maplesone and the Miss Maplesones’–and vice versa. The gentlemen immediately began to slide about with much politeness, and to look as if they wished their arms had been legs, so little did they know what to do with them. The ladies smiled, curtseyed, and glided into chairs, and dived for dropped pocket-handkerchiefs: the gentlemen leant against two of the curtain-pegs; Mrs. Tibbs went through an admirable bit of serious pantomime with a servant who had come up to ask some question about the fish-sauce; and then the two young ladies looked at each other; and everybody else appeared to discover something very attractive in the pattern of the fender.
‘Julia, my love,’ said Mrs. Maplesone to her youngest daughter, in a tone loud enough for the remainder of the company to hear– ‘Julia.’
‘Yes, Ma.’
‘Don’t stoop.’–This was said for the purpose of directing general attention to Miss Julia’s figure, which was undeniable. Everybody looked at her, accordingly, and there was another pause.
‘We had the most uncivil hackney-coachman to-day, you can imagine,’ said Mrs. Maplesone to Mrs. Tibbs, in a confidential tone.
‘Dear me!’ replied the hostess, with an air of great commiseration. She couldn’t say more, for the servant again appeared at the door, and commenced telegraphing most earnestly to her ‘Missis.’
‘I think hackney-coachmen generally ARE uncivil,’ said Mr. Hicks in his most insinuating tone.
‘Positively I think they are,’ replied Mrs. Maplesone, as if the idea had never struck her before.
‘And cabmen, too,’ said Mr. Simpson. This remark was a failure, for no one intimated, by word or sign, the slightest knowledge of the manners and customs of cabmen.
‘Robinson, what DO you want?’ said Mrs. Tibbs to the servant, who, by way of making her presence known to her mistress, had been giving sundry hems and sniffs outside the door during the preceding five minutes.
‘Please, ma’am, master wants his clean things,’ replied the servant, taken off her guard. The two young men turned their faces to the window, and ‘went off’ like a couple of bottles of ginger- beer; the ladies put their handkerchiefs to their mouths; and little Mrs. Tibbs bustled out of the room to give Tibbs his clean linen,–and the servant warning.
Mr. Calton, the remaining boarder, shortly afterwards made his appearance, and proved a surprising promoter of the conversation. Mr. Calton was a superannuated beau–an old boy. He used to say of himself that although his features were not regularly handsome, they were striking. They certainly were. It was impossible to look at his face without being reminded of a chubby street-door knocker, half-lion half-monkey; and the comparison might be extended to his whole character and conversation. He had stood still, while everything else had been moving. He never originated a conversation, or started an idea; but if any commonplace topic were broached, or, to pursue the comparison, if anybody LIFTED HIM UP, he would hammer away with surprising rapidity. He had the tic- douloureux occasionally, and then he might be said to be muffled, because he did not make quite as much noise as at other times, when he would go on prosing, rat-tat-tat the same thing over and over again. He had never been married; but he was still on the look-out for a wife with money. He had a life interest worth about 300l. a year–he was exceedingly vain, and inordinately selfish. He had acquired the reputation of being the very pink of politeness, and he walked round the park, and up Regent-street, every day.
This respectable personage had made up his mind to render himself exceedingly agreeable to Mrs. Maplesone–indeed, the desire of being as amiable as possible extended itself to the whole party; Mrs. Tibbs having considered it an admirable little bit of management to represent to the gentlemen that she had SOME reason to believe the ladies were fortunes, and to hint to the ladies, that all the gentlemen were ‘eligible.’ A little flirtation, she thought, might keep her house full, without leading to any other result.
Mrs. Maplesone was an enterprising widow of about fifty: shrewd, scheming, and good-looking. She was amiably anxious on behalf of her daughters; in proof whereof she used to remark, that she would have no objection to marry again, if it would benefit her dear girls–she could have no other motive. The ‘dear girls’ themselves were not at all insensible to the merits of ‘a good establishment.’ One of them was twenty-five; the other, three years younger. They had been at different watering-places, for four seasons; they had gambled at libraries, read books in balconies, sold at fancy fairs, danced at assemblies, talked sentiment–in short, they had done all that industrious girls could do–but, as yet, to no purpose.
‘What a magnificent dresser Mr. Simpson is!’ whispered Matilda Maplesone to her sister Julia.
‘Splendid!’ returned the youngest. The magnificent individual alluded to wore a maroon-coloured dress-coat, with a velvet collar and cuffs of the same tint–very like that which usually invests the form of the distinguished unknown who condescends to play the ‘swell’ in the pantomime at ‘Richardson’s Show.’
‘What whiskers!’ said Miss Julia.
‘Charming!’ responded her sister; ‘and what hair!’ His hair was like a wig, and distinguished by that insinuating wave which graces the shining locks of those chef-d’oeuvres of art surmounting the waxen images in Bartellot’s window in Regent-street; his whiskers meeting beneath his chin, seemed strings wherewith to tie it on, ere science had rendered them unnecessary by her patent invisible springs.
‘Dinner’s on the table, ma’am, if you please,’ said the boy, who now appeared for the first time, in a revived black coat of his master’s.
‘Oh! Mr. Calton, will you lead Mrs. Maplesone?–Thank you.’ Mr. Simpson offered his arm to Miss Julia; Mr. Septimus Hicks escorted the lovely Matilda; and the procession proceeded to the dining- room. Mr. Tibbs was introduced, and Mr. Tibbs bobbed up and down to the three ladies like a figure in a Dutch clock, with a powerful spring in the middle of his body, and then dived rapidly into his seat at the bottom of the table, delighted to screen himself behind a soup-tureen, which he could just see over, and that was all. The boarders were seated, a lady and gentleman alternately, like the layers of bread and meat in a plate of sandwiches; and then Mrs. Tibbs directed James to take off the covers. Salmon, lobster- sauce, giblet-soup, and the usual accompaniments were discovered: potatoes like petrifactions, and bits of toasted bread, the shape and size of blank dice.
‘Soup for Mrs. Maplesone, my dear,’ said the bustling Mrs. Tibbs. She always called her husband ‘my dear’ before company. Tibbs, who had been eating his bread, and calculating how long it would be before he should get any fish, helped the soup in a hurry, made a small island on the table-cloth, and put his glass upon it, to hide it from his wife.
‘Miss Julia, shall I assist you to some fish?’
‘If you please–very little–oh! plenty, thank you’ (a bit about the size of a walnut put upon the plate).
‘Julia is a VERY little eater,’ said Mrs. Maplesone to Mr. Calton.
The knocker gave a single rap. He was busy eating the fish with his eyes: so he only ejaculated, ‘Ah!’
‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Tibbs to her spouse after every one else had been helped, ‘what do YOU take?’ The inquiry was accompanied with a look intimating that he mustn’t say fish, because there was not much left. Tibbs thought the frown referred to the island on the table-cloth; he therefore coolly replied, ‘Why–I’ll take a little- -fish, I think.’
‘Did you say fish, my dear?’ (another frown).
‘Yes, dear,’ replied the villain, with an expression of acute hunger depicted in his countenance. The tears almost started to Mrs. Tibbs’s eyes, as she helped her ‘wretch of a husband,’ as she inwardly called him, to the last eatable bit of salmon on the dish.
‘James, take this to your master, and take away your master’s knife.’ This was deliberate revenge, as Tibbs never could eat fish without one. He was, however, constrained to chase small particles of salmon round and round his plate with a piece of bread and a fork, the number of successful attempts being about one in seventeen.
‘Take away, James,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, as Tibbs swallowed the fourth mouthful–and away went the plates like lightning.
‘I’ll take a bit of bread, James,’ said the poor ‘master of the house,’ more hungry than ever.
‘Never mind your master now, James,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, ‘see about the meat.’ This was conveyed in the tone in which ladies usually give admonitions to servants in company, that is to say, a low one; but which, like a stage whisper, from its peculiar emphasis, is most distinctly heard by everybody present.
A pause ensued, before the table was replenished–a sort of parenthesis in which Mr. Simpson, Mr. Calton, and Mr. Hicks, produced respectively a bottle of sauterne, bucellas, and sherry, and took wine with everybody–except Tibbs. No one ever thought of him.
Between the fish and an intimated sirloin, there was a prolonged interval.
Here was an opportunity for Mr. Hicks. He could not resist the singularly appropriate quotation –
‘But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goats’ flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton, And when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.’
‘Very ungentlemanly behaviour,’ thought little Mrs. Tibbs, ‘to talk in that way.’
‘Ah,’ said Mr. Calton, filling his glass. ‘Tom Moore is my poet.’
‘And mine,’ said Mrs. Maplesone.
‘And mine,’ said Miss Julia.
‘And mine,’ added Mr. Simpson.
‘Look at his compositions,’ resumed the knocker.
‘To be sure,’ said Simpson, with confidence.
‘Look at Don Juan,’ replied Mr. Septimus Hicks.
‘Julia’s letter,’ suggested Miss Matilda.
‘Can anything be grander than the Fire Worshippers?’ inquired Miss Julia.
‘To be sure,’ said Simpson.
‘Or Paradise and the Peri,’ said the old beau.
‘Yes; or Paradise and the Peer,’ repeated Simpson, who thought he was getting through it capitally.
‘It’s all very well,’ replied Mr. Septimus Hicks, who, as we have before hinted, never had read anything but Don Juan. ‘Where will you find anything finer than the description of the siege, at the commencement of the seventh canto?’
‘Talking of a siege,’ said Tibbs, with a mouthful of bread–‘when I was in the volunteer corps, in eighteen hundred and six, our commanding officer was Sir Charles Rampart; and one day, when we were exercising on the ground on which the London University now stands, he says, says he, Tibbs (calling me from the ranks), Tibbs- -‘
‘Tell your master, James,’ interrupted Mrs. Tibbs, in an awfully distinct tone, ‘tell your master if he WON’T carve those fowls, to send them to me.’ The discomfited volunteer instantly set to work, and carved the fowls almost as expeditiously as his wife operated on the haunch of mutton. Whether he ever finished the story is not known but, if he did, nobody heard it.
As the ice was now broken, and the new inmates more at home, every member of the company felt more at ease. Tibbs himself most certainly did, because he went to sleep immediately after dinner. Mr. Hicks and the ladies discoursed most eloquently about poetry, and the theatres, and Lord Chesterfield’s Letters; and Mr. Calton followed up what everybody said, with continuous double knocks. Mrs. Tibbs highly approved of every observation that fell from Mrs. Maplesone; and as Mr. Simpson sat with a smile upon his face and said ‘Yes,’ or ‘Certainly,’ at intervals of about four minutes each, he received full credit for understanding what was going forward. The gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room very shortly after they had left the dining-parlour. Mrs. Maplesone and Mr. Calton played cribbage, and the ‘young people’ amused themselves with music and conversation. The Miss Maplesones sang the most fascinating duets, and accompanied themselves on guitars, ornamented with bits of ethereal blue ribbon. Mr. Simpson put on a pink waistcoat, and said he was in raptures; and Mr. Hicks felt in the seventh heaven of poetry or the seventh canto of Don Juan–it was the same thing to him. Mrs. Tibbs was quite charmed with the newcomers; and Mr. Tibbs spent the evening in his usual way–he went to sleep, and woke up, and went to sleep again, and woke at supper-time.
* * * * *
We are not about to adopt the licence of novel-writers, and to let ‘years roll on;’ but we will take the liberty of requesting the reader to suppose that six months have elapsed, since the dinner we have described, and that Mrs. Tibbs’s boarders have, during that period, sang, and danced, and gone to theatres and exhibitions, together, as ladies and gentlemen, wherever they board, often do. And we will beg them, the period we have mentioned having elapsed, to imagine farther, that Mr. Septimus Hicks received, in his own bedroom (a front attic), at an early hour one morning, a note from Mr. Calton, requesting the favour of seeing him, as soon as convenient to himself, in his (Calton’s) dressing-room on the second-floor back.
‘Tell Mr. Calton I’ll come down directly,’ said Mr. Septimus to the boy. ‘Stop–is Mr. Calton unwell?’ inquired this excited walker of hospitals, as he put on a bed-furniture-looking dressing-gown.
‘Not as I knows on, sir,’ replied the boy. ‘ Please, sir, he looked rather rum, as it might be.’
‘Ah, that’s no proof of his being ill,’ returned Hicks, unconsciously. ‘Very well: I’ll be down directly.’ Downstairs ran the boy with the message, and down went the excited Hicks himself, almost as soon as the message was delivered. ‘Tap, tap.’ ‘Come in.’–Door opens, and discovers Mr. Calton sitting in an easy chair. Mutual shakes of the hand exchanged, and Mr. Septimus Hicks motioned to a seat. A short pause. Mr. Hicks coughed, and Mr. Calton took a pinch of snuff. It was one of those interviews where neither party knows what to say. Mr. Septimus Hicks broke silence.
‘I received a note–‘ he said, very tremulously, in a voice like a Punch with a cold.
‘Yes,’ returned the other, ‘you did.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Yes.’
Now, although this dialogue must have been satisfactory, both gentlemen felt there was something more important to be said; therefore they did as most men in such a situation would have done- -they looked at the table with a determined aspect. The conversation had been opened, however, and Mr. Calton had made up his mind to continue it with a regular double knock. He always spoke very pompously.
‘Hicks,’ said he, ‘I have sent for you, in consequence of certain arrangements which are pending in this house, connected with a marriage.’
‘With a marriage!’ gasped Hicks, compared with whose expression of countenance, Hamlet’s, when he sees his father’s ghost, is pleasing and composed.
‘With a marriage,’ returned the knocker. ‘I have sent for you to prove the great confidence I can repose in you.’
‘And will you betray me?’ eagerly inquired Hicks, who in his alarm had even forgotten to quote.
‘_I_ betray YOU! Won’t YOU betray ME?’
‘Never: no one shall know, to my dying day, that you had a hand in the business,’ responded the agitated Hicks, with an inflamed countenance, and his hair standing on end as if he were on the stool of an electrifying machine in full operation.
‘People must know that, some time or other–within a year, I imagine,’ said Mr. Calton, with an air of great self-complacency. ‘We MAY have a family.’
‘WE!–That won’t affect you, surely?’
‘The devil it won’t!’
‘No! how can it?’ said the bewildered Hicks. Calton was too much inwrapped in the contemplation of his happiness to see the equivoque between Hicks and himself; and threw himself back in his chair. ‘Oh, Matilda!’ sighed the antique beau, in a lack-a- daisical voice, and applying his right hand a little to the left of the fourth button of his waistcoat, counting from the bottom. ‘Oh, Matilda!’
‘What Matilda?’ inquired Hicks, starting up.
‘Matilda Maplesone,’ responded the other, doing the same.
‘I marry her to-morrow morning,’ said Hicks.
‘It’s false,’ rejoined his companion: ‘I marry her!’
‘You marry her?’
‘I marry her!’
‘You marry Matilda Maplesone?’
‘Matilda Maplesone.’
‘MISS Maplesone marry YOU?’
‘Miss Maplesone! No; Mrs. Maplesone.’
‘Good Heaven!’ said Hicks, falling into his chair: ‘You marry the mother, and I the daughter!’
‘Most extraordinary circumstance!’ replied Mr. Calton, ‘and rather inconvenient too; for the fact is, that owing to Matilda’s wishing to keep her intention secret from her daughters until the ceremony had taken place, she doesn’t like applying to any of her friends to give her away. I entertain an objection to making the affair known to my acquaintance just now; and the consequence is, that I sent to you to know whether you’d oblige me by acting as father.’
‘I should have been most happy, I assure you,’ said Hicks, in a tone of condolence; ‘but, you see, I shall be acting as bridegroom. One character is frequently a consequence of the other; but it is not usual to act in both at the same time. There’s Simpson–I have no doubt he’ll do it for you.’
‘I don’t like to ask him,’ replied Calton, ‘he’s such a donkey.’
Mr. Septimus Hicks looked up at the ceiling, and down at the floor; at last an idea struck him. ‘Let the man of the house, Tibbs, be the father,’ he suggested; and then he quoted, as peculiarly applicable to Tibbs and the pair –
‘Oh Powers of Heaven! what dark eyes meets she there? ”Tis–’tis her father’s–fixed upon the pair.’
‘The idea has struck me already,’ said Mr. Calton: ‘but, you see, Matilda, for what reason I know not, is very anxious that Mrs. Tibbs should know nothing about it, till it’s all over. It’s a natural delicacy, after all, you know.’
‘He’s the best-natured little man in existence, if you manage him properly,’ said Mr. Septimus Hicks. ‘Tell him not to mention it to his wife, and assure him she won’t mind it, and he’ll do it directly. My marriage is to be a secret one, on account of the mother and MY father; therefore he must be enjoined to secrecy.’
A small double knock, like a presumptuous single one, was that instant heard at the street-door. It was Tibbs; it could be no one else; for no one else occupied five minutes in rubbing his shoes. He had been out to pay the baker’s bill.
‘Mr. Tibbs,’ called Mr. Calton in a very bland tone, looking over the banisters.
‘Sir!’ replied he of the dirty face.
‘Will you have the kindness to step up-stairs for a moment?’
‘Certainly, sir,’ said Tibbs, delighted to be taken notice of. The bedroom-door was carefully closed, and Tibbs, having put his hat on the floor (as most timid men do), and been accommodated with a seat, looked as astounded as if he were suddenly summoned before the familiars of the Inquisition.
‘A rather unpleasant occurrence, Mr. Tibbs,’ said Calton, in a very portentous manner, ‘obliges me to consult you, and to beg you will not communicate what I am about to say, to your wife.’
Tibbs acquiesced, wondering in his own mind what the deuce the other could have done, and imagining that at least he must have broken the best decanters.
Mr. Calton resumed; ‘I am placed, Mr. Tibbs, in rather an unpleasant situation.’
Tibbs looked at Mr. Septimus Hicks, as if he thought Mr. H.’s being in the immediate vicinity of his fellow-boarder might constitute the unpleasantness of his situation; but as he did not exactly know what to say, he merely ejaculated the monosyllable ‘Lor!’
‘Now,’ continued the knocker, ‘let me beg you will exhibit no manifestations of surprise, which may be overheard by the domestics, when I tell you–command your feelings of astonishment– that two inmates of this house intend to be married to-morrow morning.’ And he drew back his chair, several feet, to perceive the effect of the unlooked-for announcement.
If Tibbs had rushed from the room, staggered down-stairs, and fainted in the passage–if he had instantaneously jumped out of the window into the mews behind the house, in an agony of surprise–his behaviour would have been much less inexplicable to Mr. Calton than it was, when he put his hands into his inexpressible-pockets, and said with a half-chuckle, ‘Just so.’
‘You are not surprised, Mr. Tibbs?’ inquired Mr. Calton.
‘Bless you, no, sir,’ returned Tibbs; ‘after all, its very natural. When two young people get together, you know–‘
‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Calton, with an indescribable air of self-satisfaction.
‘You don’t think it’s at all an out-of-the-way affair then?’ asked Mr. Septimus Hicks, who had watched the countenance of Tibbs in mute astonishment.
‘No, sir,’ replied Tibbs; ‘I was just the same at his age.’ He actually smiled when he said this.
‘How devilish well I must carry my years!’ thought the delighted old beau, knowing he was at least ten years older than Tibbs at that moment.
‘Well, then, to come to the point at once,’ he continued, ‘I have to ask you whether you will object to act as father on the occasion?’
‘Certainly not,’ replied Tibbs; still without evincing an atom of surprise.
‘You will not?’
‘Decidedly not,’ reiterated Tibbs, still as calm as a pot of porter with the head off.
Mr. Calton seized the hand of the petticoat-governed little man, and vowed eternal friendship from that hour. Hicks, who was all admiration and surprise, did the same.
‘Now, confess,’ asked Mr. Calton of Tibbs, as he picked up his hat, ‘were you not a little surprised?’
‘I b’lieve you!’ replied that illustrious person, holding up one hand; ‘I b’lieve you! When I first heard of it.’
‘So sudden,’ said Septimus Hicks.
‘So strange to ask ME, you know,’ said Tibbs.
‘So odd altogether!’ said the superannuated love-maker; and then all three laughed.
‘I say,’ said Tibbs, shutting the door which he had previously opened, and giving full vent to a hitherto corked-up giggle, ‘what bothers me is, what WILL his father say?’
Mr. Septimus Hicks looked at Mr. Calton.
‘Yes; but the best of it is,’ said the latter, giggling in his turn, ‘I haven’t got a father–he! he! he!’
‘You haven’t got a father. No; but HE has,’ said Tibbs.
‘WHO has?’ inquired Septimus Hicks.
‘Why, HIM.’
‘Him, who? Do you know my secret? Do you mean me?’
‘You! No; you know who I mean,’ returned Tibbs with a knowing wink.
‘For Heaven’s sake, whom do you mean?’ inquired Mr. Calton, who, like Septimus Hicks, was all but out of his senses at the strange confusion.
‘Why Mr. Simpson, of course,’ replied Tibbs; ‘who else could I mean?’
‘I see it all,’ said the Byron-quoter; ‘Simpson marries Julia Maplesone to-morrow morning!’
‘Undoubtedly,’ replied Tibbs, thoroughly satisfied, ‘of course he does.’
It would require the pencil of Hogarth to illustrate–our feeble pen is inadequate to describe–the expression which the countenances of Mr. Calton and Mr. Septimus Hicks respectively assumed, at this unexpected announcement. Equally impossible is it to describe, although perhaps it is easier for our lady readers to imagine, what arts the three ladies could have used, so completely to entangle their separate partners. Whatever they were, however, they were successful. The mother was perfectly aware of the intended marriage of both daughters; and the young ladies were equally acquainted with the intention of their estimable parent. They agreed, however, that it would have a much better appearance if each feigned ignorance of the other’s engagement; and it was equally desirable that all the marriages should take place on the same day, to prevent the discovery of one clandestine alliance, operating prejudicially on the others. Hence, the mystification of Mr. Calton and Mr. Septimus Hicks, and the pre-engagement of the unwary Tibbs.
On the following morning, Mr. Septimus Hicks was united to Miss Matilda Maplesone. Mr. Simpson also entered into a ‘holy alliance’ with Miss Julia; Tibbs acting as father, ‘his first appearance in that character.’ Mr. Calton, not being quite so eager as the two young men, was rather struck by the double discovery; and as he had found some difficulty in getting any one to give the lady away, it occurred to him that the best mode of obviating the inconvenience would be not to take her at all. The lady, however, ‘appealed,’ as her counsel said on the trial of the cause, Maplesone v. Calton, for a breach of promise, ‘with a broken heart, to the outraged laws of her country.’ She recovered damages to the amount of 1,000l. which the unfortunate knocker was compelled to pay. Mr. Septimus Hicks having walked the hospitals, took it into his head to walk off altogether. His injured wife is at present residing with her mother at Boulogne. Mr. Simpson, having the misfortune to lose his wife six weeks after marriage (by her eloping with an officer during his temporary sojourn in the Fleet Prison, in consequence of his inability to discharge her little mantua-maker’s bill), and being disinherited by his father, who died soon afterwards, was fortunate enough to obtain a permanent engagement at a fashionable haircutter’s; hairdressing being a science to which he had frequently directed his attention. In this situation he had necessarily many opportunities of making himself acquainted with the habits, and style of thinking, of the exclusive portion of the nobility of this kingdom. To this fortunate circumstance are we indebted for the production of those brilliant efforts of genius, his fashionable novels, which so long as good taste, unsullied by exaggeration, cant, and quackery, continues to exist, cannot fail to instruct and amuse the thinking portion of the community.
It only remains to add, that this complication of disorders completely deprived poor Mrs. Tibbs of all her inmates, except the one whom she could have best spared–her husband. That wretched little man returned home, on the day of the wedding, in a state of partial intoxication; and, under the influence of wine, excitement, and despair, actually dared to brave the anger of his wife. Since that ill-fated hour he has constantly taken his meals in the kitchen, to which apartment, it is understood, his witticisms will be in future confined: a turn-up bedstead having been conveyed there by Mrs. Tibbs’s order for his exclusive accommodation. It is possible that he will be enabled to finish, in that seclusion, his story of the volunteers.
The advertisement has again appeared in the morning papers. Results must be reserved for another chapter.
Chapter two will be published in the next edition.
RESCUE ME
The Coronado Clarion staff would like to honor all those kind souls who rescue pets.
Pet rescuers everywhere
Big or small
Short or tall
God Bless you
A. R. Graham
POETIC VISIONS OF CHRIST
Coronado resident Senator Jim Mills has written a wonderful new book entitled:
The Poetic Visions of Christ
James is, a writer, historian, and public servant, was a member of the California Legislature from 1960 to 1982. He served as President pro Tempore and Chairman of the Senate Rules Committee from 1971 to 1980. From 1980 to 1982, he was Chairman of the Board of Directors of Amtrak. Senator Mills received a B.A. degree in Social Studies and Education, and an M.A. degree in History from San Diego State College. He was a museum curator for the San Diego Historical Society and a contributing editor of San Diego Magazine before entering politics. Through his efforts to develop the San Diego Trolley, he is often credited as “the father of modern light rail in the United States;” after leaving the legislature, he chaired the Metropolitan Transit Development Board of San Diego and became an internationally-recognized consultant on public transportation. Mills is the author of several books, including The Gospel According to Pontius Pilate; Poems of Inspiration from the Masters; Memoirs of Pontius Pilate: A Novel; San Diego: Where California Began; Historical Landmarks of San Diego County; and A Disorderly House: The Brown-Unruh Years in Sacramento. He is the father of three and the grandfather of nine.
Much of the poetry in this book is the work of great poets who were also Christians; and much of it was written by great Christians who were also poets. Included in this collection are Blake, Browning, Donne, Longfellow, Lowell, Rossetti, Tennyson, and Wordsworth, as well as many lesser-known poets, illuminating the life of Christ from His birth through Resurrection.
This compilation of poetry is a gift to all who read it…. the choice of poems is magnificent as it traces the life of Christ through the eyes of the world’s great poets. The final chapter written by the author is a worthy essay in and of itself. I recommend reading it before savoring the poems that precede it! A wonderful gift from James Mills and a fabulous option as a gift to others.
THE LAMB
By William Blake
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the streams and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee.
He is called by thy name,
For He calls Himself a lamb.
He is meek and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!
BEATLES 50TH ANNIVERSARY
The Beatles changed the way the world is entertained, felt, and thought along with what is perceived of as normal so dramatically that 50 years after their founding, mention of their name still makes the headlines. On January 18, 2013, TruthDive reported, “Recording Session of The Beatles to be Recreated for 50th Anniversary.” There are plans to recreate the Beatles’ 12-hour historic recording session with a live broadcast on national radio.
On the 50th anniversary of this famous session of the Beatles, the event, which has the Welsh band Stereophonics, chart-topper Gabrielle Aplin, and Mick Hucknall as the performers, will be aired live on Radio 2 in England. The re-creation of this historic session will also be screened on BBC4 as part of a celebration of their debut album “Please Please Me.” Most of the first album of the Beatles was recorded at Abbey Road’s Studio 2 on February 11, 1963.
NewKerala.com has also covered this story about the Beatles. There is excitement in the air about the planned re-creation of the Beatles’ 12-hour historic recording session for broadcast live on national radio, and there are plans to substitute ‘Please Please Me’, which was recorded prior to this famous session, into the event for the purposes of the re-creation. It sounds really exciting to be able to be a part of this Beatles revival.
Signed Copies Of “Before The Beatles Were Famous” By Alan Graham
Available @ www.beforethebeatles.com
Telephone Orders: (619) 277-1552
A BRIDGE TOO FAR, AN EDITORIAL
“The state of California is out of money,” and the Coronado Bay Bridge is in dire need of repair.
We at the Clarion propose two options we believe will solve the problem:
1) Lay off some of the Caltrans executives with bloated salaries and pensions;
2) Close the bridge save for pedestrian traffic and bring back the ferry boats!
CORONADO CLARION ROCK&ROLL PET HALL OF FAME
TO ALL CORONADO PET OWNERS
If you have a dog who you would like to see entered into the
Coronado Clarion Rock-Roll Hall Of Fame
Please submit a photo of your pet/pets.
A winner will be announced on the Beatles 50th Anniversary celebration and a cash prize will be awarded for 1st 2nd and 3rd place.
SEND ENTRIES TO: www.lizardalive@yahoo.com
For Questions call: (619) 277-1552
THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED BY ALAN GRAHAM
The Beatles Festival at the Cavern Club in Liverpool has been cancelled.
In reaction, The Coronado Clarion will hold festival in Coronado.
Al Graham
Editor Coronado Clarion
Article From The Liverpool Echo:
The Mathew Street Festival is being axed and replaced with an international music event in Liverpool. The popular city centre event attracts more than 300,000 people each year over the August Bank Holiday weekend.
But Liverpool’s Mayor Joe Anderson said that a combination of high costs and a wish to “freshen up” the city’s music calendar meant that the festival could not continue as it had for the last 20 years. He said, “We have been looking at the best option for the festival since 2010. In previous years it has been criticized. Each year I would come in to find dozens of emails from families saying that they had been put off going in the future because they had witnessed people fighting or vomiting or even fouling the streets.
“Looking at the financial settlement from the government and also thinking about how to get the best value for money we wanted to find a way of carrying on all the best bits of the Mathew Street Festival. We want to keep the carnival atmosphere but we want to get away from that drunken culture. It was hugely disappointing last year to see the number of people – particularly young people – who were drinking too much at the festival. It was clear that we needed to do something new and protecting the free element was at the heart of that.” The new festival – to be called The Liverpool International Music Festival – will see four days of events including a concert from the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra in Sefton Park and Beatles-influenced outdoor stages on the Pier Head.
Mayor Anderson said, “The events that we put on will be free, and they will be suited to a more family-friendly audience. For us, it’s about taking the best of what we had at Mathew Street and building on that. It will still be Europe’s biggest annual free city centre music festival.”
HOWL
Are Dogs Howling Like Wolves?
The sound of howling dogs may remind us of wolves in the wild calling to one another.
In fact, this is the more popular explanation for why dogs howl at sirens. Wolves use howling as a method of communication and as a sort of primitive form of GPS to locate one another. Dogs, as descendants of wolves, may be expressing this instinctual behavior when prompted by the sound of a siren. As social pack animals, dogs may be interpreting a siren—or other high pitched sounds such as a flute, clarinet, or a particular TV theme song—as communication.
Animal behaviorists and researchers point out that howling can be heard by the keen ears of wolves—and dogs—from long distances, hence making it the preferred choice of communication.
Chalk it up to pack mentality: Some dog owners may have noticed their dog howling in response to a neighbor’s dog. This behavior can be compared to the basic “contagious” response most dogs have when they hear another dog barking. They begin to bark themselves especially if they sense fear, danger, or a threat.
Do Sirens Hurt Dogs’ Ears?
Just as with people, a dog’s hearing ability depends on its age as well as its breed. Dogs hear a higher frequency of sounds than a person, which is why ultrasonic signals such as those used in training whistles can be heard by dogs.
This has led some to wonder if the sound of sirens actually hurts a dog’s ears. When we hear a loud sound, we tend to cover our ears with our hands to block out the noise. Are dogs howling in response to ear-splitting noise?
Veterinarians do not believe this is always the case. According to Dr. Laura Hungerford, a veterinarian and research scientist, and faculty member at the University of Nebraska, a dog isn’t always howling at a sound because it hurts his ears.
“He may associate the sound with particular events or have learned that if he howls, the noise is ‘chased’ away.”
Pain results from sounds that are much louder than the threshold of hearing. “Dogs could feel pain from sounds that weren’t painfully loud to us. Very loud sounds can hurt the ears, and if a sound seems too loud to you, it is probably more so to your dog.”
We know that dogs can hear much better than we can, The average human hears noise on a range of 20 cycles per second to 20 rHZ, while a dog’s range of hearing is approximately 40 cycles per second to 60 rHZ.
Veterinary behaviorists point out that most dogs do not run and hide, tuck their tails, or react in such as way that would indicate they’re feeling pain due to the sound of sirens.
Why Don’t All Dogs React to Sirens?
While research hasn’t been conducted to determine the exact percentage of dogs who howl at sirens versus those that haven’t, it doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that dogs, like people, are simply different from one another.
Perhaps some dogs feel an intuitive need to connect with the source of the sirens believing that it is actually a pack of dogs communicating from afar. Other dogs might feel confident and secure where they are and opt to ignore the sound.
LEST WE FORGET
CUTEST PETS
VEG-ART
Before Reddit and DeviantART became the go-to havens for op art online, Italian painter Giuseppe Arcimboldo set the standard for hallucinatory portraits that left the mind reeling.
Arcimboldo was born in Milan in 1524, and began painting stained glass window designs before transitioning to portraits.
Although from far away they resemble the human face, the artist’s beautifully arranged compositions consist of fruits, vegetables, birds, books and other elaborately arranged objects. His unusual vision, exceptionally given the era of his creations, led many to believe Arcimboldo didn’t just have a fanciful mind, but was possibly mentally ill. “A fine line separates sheer imagination from uncontrolled hallucinations,” the New York Times expressed in a 2007 diagnosis of his works.
Check out his deliciously weird portraits in the slideshow below, and keep an eye out for his clever interpretations of the four seasons and the four elements. Lucky New Yorkers can spy Philip Haas’s Arcimboldo-inspired “Four Seasons” sculptures at theNew York Botanical Garden in the Bronx from May 18-October 27.
KIDS LETTERS TO GOD
DENNY DENT AT MORRISON THE ROCK OPERA 1982
When I commissioned Denny Dent to paint a mural of Jim Morrison on the billboard of Gazzarri’s night club back in 1982, he was an unknown starving artist. He had never painted in front of a crowd, and he was extremely nervous, so much so that he fainted after he left the stage.
His aspirations were to have a new set of teeth put in (he was toothless) and to go to Las Vegas and become a famous artist. He accomplished all of his goals, and his work now sells in the high-dollar range.
Denny passed away on March 29th, 2004. He was sixty five.
Alan Graham
http://jfrichmond.com/poete.html
The Doors played Gazzarri’s on the Sunset Strip numerous times in early 1967 according to Greg Shaw’s The Doors On The Road book. In 1982, that venue was the site of Morrison The Rock Opera put on by Alan and Anne Morrison Graham. This photo is the back wall of the Gazzarri’s parking lot advertising that event, which I recently shared in conjunction with a story about the artist Denny Dent, who painted that wall. In later years, the building was totally gutted and remodeled and re-opened first as Billboard Live and then as Key Club. The point of this story is that the rock venue that stands where Gazzarri’s once stood is closing its doors in March 2013
HERO’S GOODBYE
In March 1993, a series of 12 bombs went off across Mumbai.
The serial blasts left 257 dead and 713 injured. But in the aftermath, an unlikely hero emerged. According to Reuters, a golden labrador named Zanjeer worked with the bomb squad and saved thousands of lives by detecting “more than 3,329 kgs of the explosive RDX, 600 detonators, 249 hand grenades and 6,406 rounds of live ammunition.” He helped avert three more bombs in the days following the blasts.
On the 20th anniversary of the bomb blasts, an image of Zanjeer being honored by the city’s police has gone viral on Facebook.
The dog died of bone cancer in 2000, the Pune Mirror reported. He was eight years old. In the photo above, a senior police officer lays a wreath of flowers on Zanjeer as he was buried with full police honors at a widely-attended ceremony.
Mumbai’s police dog squad has been operational since December 1959, the Times of India reported. It began with just three Doberman Pinschers, who were used for tracking criminals.
A labor union leader and dog lover Dilip Mohite told Mid-Day that Zanjeer’s extraordinary detection skills deserved recognition.
“Policemen who die a martyr’s death get accolades, but canine members go unnoticed,” Mohite told the newspaper.
OBITUARY
In Loving Memory of Mary Lou Staight.
ELLIOTT ROSEWATER
Elliott Rosewater, the reclusive Mogul Publicist, has taken up residence in Coronado.
There are no known public images of the mysterious billionaire, and he likes to keep it that way. Semi-retired now, he has only a single client Author Alan Graham and his two books, I Remember Jim Morrison and Before The Beatles were Famous.
www.irememberjimmorrison.com
www.beforethebeatles.com
Clarion Summer Issue Back Cover
RESCUE CAT
COUNTRY DOCTOR
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DOCTOR DAVIS WILL VISIT YOU IN THE COMFORT OF YOUR OWN HOME.
For Superior Healthcare
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SACRIFICE
Lesleigh Coyer, 25, of Saginaw, Michigan, lies down in front of the grave of her brother, Ryan Coyer, who served with the U.S. Army in both Iraq and Afghanistan at Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia March 11, 2013. Coyer died of complications from an injury sustained in Afghanistan.
NO GREEN MEANIES
Mayday 2013 Back Cover
Premier Issue – July 4, 2010
The Thirteen Virtues
by Benjamin Franklin
Temperance: Eat not to dullness. Drink not to elevation.
Silence: Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself. Avoid trifling conversation.
Order: Let all your things have their places. Let each part of your business have its time.
Resolution: Resolve to perform what you ought. Perform without fail what you resolve.
Frugality: Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing.
Industry: Lose no time. Be always employed in something useful. Cut off all unnecessary actions.
Sincerity: Use no hurtful deceit. Think innocently and justly; if you speak, speak accordingly.
Justice: Wrong none by doing injuries or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
Moderation: Avoid extremes. Forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
Cleanliness: Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation.
Tranquility: Be not disturbed at trifles or at accidents common or unavoidable.
Chastity: Rarely use venery but for health and offspring — never to dullness, weakness, or the
injury of your own or another’s peace or reputation.
Humility: Imitate Jesus and Socrates.
Publisher and Editor Interview
Alan & Kimberley Graham
Publisher & Editor Interview
Al Graham, Editor of the Coronado Clarion:
“Of late, real journalism has been relegated or diminished by the need to bring in revenue, and as a consequence, advertising has become more important than news.
In the new paradigm, revenue rules; so news organizations are forced to eliminate the real costs needed to sustain a professional writer or investigative journalist.
The Coronado Clarion was established in an effort to bring back the prestige of an old time, hometown journal which features tales of old and new in our ‘Magical Kingdom By The Sea.’”
Kimberley Graham, Publisher of the Coronado Clarion:
“We wanted to give the residents of Coronado a forum to give unadulterated input into the content of our publication. It is a cross between a newspaper and a magazine so we refer to it as a ‘New-Zine.’
There will be a strict policy of zero advertising but we will do positive stories about the services and businesses which we feel offer bona fide contributions to our community. At the Clarion, we want to promote our citizens to support its local small town entrepreneurs and business enterprises. Further, we want to encourage Coronado residents to do their shopping locally in support of our shopkeepers and restaurateurs instead of their having to depend mostly on tourism revenues.
We will also tell our own stories of personal struggle and of our fond remembrance’ s of our youth, of friends who have passed, and of the old guard who still reside here.
We will be covering human interest stories as well as feature tales that are indigenous to the Coronado population.
On behalf of the editor, Al Graham, the entire Clarion staff, and I, together we look forward to proudly serving our community.”
Saint Teresa
By
Nina Odele
Saint Teresa of Avila, also called Saint Teresa of Jesus, baptized as Teresa Sanchez de Cepeda y Ahumada (March 28, 1515, at Gotarrendura (Avila), Old Castile, Spain – October 4, 1582, at Alba de Tormes, Salamanca, Spain) was a prominent Spanish mystic, Carmelite nun, and writer of the Counter Reformation, and theologian of contemplative life through mental prayer. She was a reformer of the Carmelite Order and is considered to be, along with John of the Cross, a founder of the Discalced Carmelites.
Forty years after her death, she was canonized, in 1622 by Pope Gregory XV, and in 1970 named a Doctor of the Church by Pope Paul VI. Her books, which include her autobiography, The Life of Teresa of Jesus, and her seminal work, El Castillo Interior (The Interior Castle), are integral part of the Spanish Renaissance literature as well as Christian mysticism and Christian meditation practices as she entails in her other important work Camino de Perfección (The Way of Perfection).
Had there been rock stars around in Spain in the 1500s, Saint Teresa of Avila would have been a major one.
She suffered greatly throughout her life. Her symbols were a heart, a cross, and a pen. She was a prolific writer, hence the pen, a fervent humanitarian, the heart, and one who suffered constant and agonizing physical pain, represented by the cross. She is also known as the patron saint of headache sufferers, a symbolization of outer turmoil causing inner pain.
“I will spend my heaven doing good upon earth.” She lived by these words even when she was suffering.
She wrote many books. She was spunky, indefatigable, and constantly at odds with those who considered her to be rebellious and dangerous. Teresa was a real activist as well. Many times, she’d have to sneak in and out of villages in the middle of the night, lest her presence cause a riot! One time, she and her fellow nuns were ordered to clean the floors of a nobleman on their hands and knees. Teresa refused on behalf of the sisters. The nobleman banished them out of their convent and they had to move on.
Recently a friend of mine was at a swap meet when she came upon an ancient Mexican guy who had a beat up wooden tray full of very old holy medals, crosses, and rosaries — some quite lovely. However, she was drawn to a beat-up, old medal on a blackened silver chain. The medal was so tarnished she couldn’t even tell what it said. But she had to have it! She took it home and polished it up. Lo and behold it turned out to be Saint Teresa!
Finding the beat-to-death medal at such a terminal is representative of faith and hope. For no matter how bashed in or beaten down, her little spirit is alive on this earth bringing solace to my friend and myself — not to mention the multitudes around the world who hold the same eternal love and respect for this powerhouse of love and endurance
Believing Catholics share an unseen bond of faith. To quote a famous song writer, “When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom. Let it be.” In the darkest of hours, emotionally moving prayers like: Our Father, Hail Mary, or the chanting Gregorian monks’ solemn but beautiful hymns bring solace to the suffering.
A poignant coda to our story is steeped in the joy of sharing something precious. My friend, who found the blackened medal, heard of a woman Abigail Ortega of El Cajon who has been in chronic pain since childhood. Knowing the power of faith and the power of the spirit of Saint Teresa, she gave the precious medallion to her. The ailing woman was overwhelmed by the generosity and the level of caring from a stranger. The awesome power of this tiny saint from 500 years ago is salubrious to all believers as displayed by this selfless and caring gesture.
Another source of relief was about to occur in Abigail’s life. It came via the benevolence of a Catholic priest by the name of Father Brian Hayes of Holy Trinity Church in El Cajon, California.
After hearing of Abigail’s plight, the priest went to visit her. Father Brian listened to her story of horrendous pain and her need for support and assistance. He was moved to take action immediately.
Holy Trinity Catholic Parish traces its roots to self sacrifice, hard work, and a firm faith. The church was first served by a pioneering Spanish priest, Father Anthony Urbach, who once a month road the three hours on horseback from San Diego to the parish. For forty years, he served a 4,255 square mile area with such devotion that when he died in 1907, his funeral drew the “greatest outpouring of people San Diego has ever seen.” Father Brian soldiers on with the same benevolence and compassion to this day.
KPXI Rebel Mobile Nuclear Radio
KPXI RADIO: It is pronounced Kay Pixie and it is a radio station like none on this earth.
It is mobile and it is rebellious. It is raw and it is real. It is the only nuclear-powered radio network in the entire galaxy. The network’s signal eminates from a secret loction somewhere in our “Magical Kingdom by the Sea”. Many interested parties have been trying to locate its transmitter, but as of this moment, they have been unsuccessful.
The announcer is Elliot Rosewater and his identity is unkown. The editor of the Coronado Clarion is sitting in for him this week, but he leaves behind a strict list of songs that must be played in his absence. He plays sixties classic rock, jazz, folk, and his favourite, of course, which is classical music: Beethoven, Bach, Stravinski, et al.
He talks about all things metaphysical, of poerty, art, and literature. He talks about the struggles of life and the magic of dreams fulfilled.
If you want to ask him a question or request a song, e-mail him at: editor@coronado-clarion.com, or call him at 619-277-1552.
The Highway Man
By Alan Graham
Witnesses of the Highway Man
Faster than a speeding bullet
More powerful than a locomotive
Able to leap small buildings at a single bound
Look down the road
It’s Highway Man
And his trusty sidekick, Sheila
He has a dog named Sheila and a set of wheels that sets the hearts beating of wanderlust devotees when it cruises by. He is well-equipped to assist motorists on the busy San Diego freeways.
His outfit is a cross between Indiana Jones and the Wichita lineman right down to the heavy-duty knee pads. He will give you gas, water, and a cheery smile. It is all free, no charge. He firmly believes and lives his philosophy every day. You will find him cruising back and forth across the Coronado Bridge or in the South Bay near the U.S.-Mexican border always on the look out for a broken-down vehicle and someone in need of his benevolent service.
He has had a few run-ins with people who took umbrage with his efforts, particularly when he admonishes an errant driver, loudly through a speaker mounted on the top of his “Hurdy Gurdy Emergency Vehicle”.
He loves to tell about the people he meets, and helps, and how he loves to see them smile when he tells them, “No charge.” He is a man on a mission to help other humans and his reward is a simple smile coupled with a thank you.
If you see him, stop him, and give him a small donation for gas because he uses all of his own money to finance his rescue operation. Make the Highway Man smile when you do a good deed for him and the people he helps.
The Highway Man has been giving free roadside service for people in need like changing a tire, providing gas for an empty tank, and pulling over when he sees someone in need to make sure there is safety until the appropriate remedies are at hand. He has been doing this since the 1960s and all he asks in return is that you pay the kindness forward. A very honorable man indeed as well as his trusty sidekick, Sheila. Hats off to you, Highway Man, you are a true hero.
Buddy
By A. R. Graham
Buddy does not like other dogs very much or people for that matter. He was a one-year-old cup of sadness when he was adopted from an animal shelter and was days away from going down for the big sleep. Buddy was no one’s buddy at all. He rejected all contact from canine or human; either did he seek it. He was in his own world and he was angry. So it was futile to try to coax him or pet him because he always seemed to be saying, “Get away, you, and the horse you came in on!”
His parents often walked by our house in the evenings and I would always try to make contact with the little fellow because even though he was taciturn, he seemed to be looking for something or someone like a tracker on the hunt for a fugitive.
One day “Frankie Dog” came into our lives. He was also a tea-cup-size Dorky with a sad little face and little beady black eyes. He looked like a figurine more than a dog. I was standing outside one night watching little Frankie playing on the lawn when Big Bad Buddy came by. He took one look at Frankie and just marched right up and starting investigating, but this time, he showed no signs of anger or aggression. He was even wagging what resembled a tail with much velocity.
Frankie liked Buddy immediately and wagged backed with Morse-code-like urgency. They bonded instantly and Buddy never missed a chance to return.
Each time they met it was a gleeful wag-fest and much information was transmitted in dog talk. It was a prolonged pulchritude.
When Frankie dog left us, our hearts were broken and we were riddled with inconsolable sadness. The little soul we adored so much was gone forever and just when we thought it could not have been so sad, Buddy came by and was very upset that Frankie was not there to greet him. For a second, the old anger in him stirred as if something precious to him was missing. A great weary and gloomy state fell upon us all. Both families were now grieving for Frankie and Buddy was very disturbed by the absence of his one and only friend.
Buddy still comes by every day looking for his best friend. The very first thing he does is search all around for the lost soul dog. He stands there as if talking to the spirit of his lost companion. His parents indulge him in that sweet little ritual because he seems to come away from it refreshed.
I saw Buddy today. He was taking his parents for a walk, and as usual, he was bouncing along as if on a quest or a campaign to locate something. His little body quivers and his sawed-off tail whirls like a propeller. He is happy to see me and I him. He checks me out; then seems to say, “Okay! We are done here. NEXT!!” and off he trots to the next clue.
Frankie Dog lives on even though he has left us, but you would have a hard time convincing Buddy that Frankie’s spirit is not still ever present.
Long Live Frankie Dog and Buddy Dog!
Citizen X
By Alan Graham
When Citizen X landed in Coronado, California amid the turbulent times of the late sixties, he stood out from the “maddening crowd” of the local population in a very big way.
He was a 30’s-something Arizonian real estate developer who had made his mark when he was a very young man. They called him, “The Kid Builder”. He was smart, gutsy, and even though he was still wet behind the ears, he was fearless amongst his larger and more shark like peers. His talent was and is, “the art of negotiating the deal.” He loves to run the numbers, and he can tell you in a hot minute whether or not the deal is real and if it could fly or fail.
At the time of Citizen X’s arrival, there was a civil war raging in the mostly retirement-age community between the young people and the old guard.
The city council meeting was packed to the roof with angry teenagers who were up in arms because the older folk wanted the treasured game of baseball to be curtailed. There was a most lovely acreage near the entrance of the NAS North Island that had been used by the avid fans of recreation, and in particular, the devotees of the all-American game of baseball. The old guard wanted the antics to cease even though it was just an innocent game.
Some of the more ardent members of the physically fit youth were rather adept at slamming a missal like projectile across the green and into someone’s back yard. This, along with the cheering and jeering from each team, jangled the nerves of the older folks.
A rather large piece of irony was present here due to the fact that on the base next to the green sat a landing strip. All day long, fighter jets would practice take-offs and landings. Monster cargo planes, AWACS, plus an assortment of old prop planes were active and noisy even into the night. So the noise factor was irrelevant and the kids shouted down that complaint with much booing. “All we want to do is play baseball,” exhorted the pissed-off kids in the tightly packed city council chambers.
Citizen X stepped up to the microphone to speak on behalf of the kids. His hair was long and he wore cool clothes. He did not look like his peers in the community who wore the traditional attire of suit or sports coat. He was out of place with older folks but very much in sync with the kids.
I watched from the back seats as he sauntered up to face the council members, some of whom were quite angry at the kids for being so boisterous in their sacred chambers. Citizen X took one look at the red-faced officials and said, “ I feel like an anchovy in a bed of sharks.” The stunned members laughed nervously but the kids squealed with delight. He went on in a serious tone chiding the council for being so restrictive to its youth. “I have four children and I want them to run free and play their games. So let’s give them a break.”
The crowd applauded, and after some deliberations, the city council relented. Forty years later, the green still stands and the locals employ and enjoy one of the very few opens spaces left in town.
X is now a senior citizen and he lives alone in a giant house on the beach. It looks like a British stately home, well kept, and surrounded with bowers of gorgeous flowers. He rides an old black bike to the local Starbucks every morning where he holds court with a cadre of his peers. He sits listening patiently to the group of mostly older men. Even though he always smiles from ear to ear, one can sense a certain sadness or an echo of loss in his soul and on his face.
Citizen X is an expert Chess player and is adept at the complex game of Backgammon; but as the old saying goes, “Lucky at chess, unlucky in love.” As if not allowing himself the private introspection needed for the peaceful resolutions one makes with oneself, he rejects this sort of pensive relief and perhaps it is again because of the fear he will show signs of weakness. He is a lonely man on an island, and within his own island, in our “Magical Kingdom by the Sea”.
Back in the Day
One morning, back in the early seventies, I saw a house for sale on Third and B Avenues. It was a little white structure that needed a little tender loving care. I found X jogging in the sand trying to lose some of his summer blubber from inactivity and self- indulgence. I waved to him and he jogged over to talk to me. I told him of the deal and how much profit we could make. He was in agreement. He would put up the money to buy the home for cash and I would make the purchase and be responsible for the remodel and resale. We would then split the profits 50-50 after the expenses for real estate fees and construction costs.
I went to make an offer to the owner, but on the way out of the door, I got a phone call from a local aggressive and unlikable real estate broker. He had heard of my interests in the property and was trying to worm his way into the deal. He would not be the last to attempt that parasitic maneuver.
I told the salesman that I was busy and perhaps we could talk tomorrow. I went directly to the listed owner’s address in Pacific Beach and was met with a “take it or leave it” stance. “I want 30,000 dollars in cash and that is the only deal I will accept, period.” I called X who felt that he could get the price lowered if he had a one-on-one with her. She was as intractable with him as she was with me. So I told X not to push for a couple of thousand dollars because there was enough profit for us even at that price.
X figured we could make thousands more using his experience and his knowledge. So we bought it for cash and the deal was done.
The very next evening, I was having dinner at the Chart House when the very same irritating real estate fellow approached me and said, “I am in touch with the owner and I think I can get that property for you at a great price.” I informed the determined agent that not only had I purchased said property yesterday, but I had in fact sold it this day for a handsome profit (twice as much as X thought we could get) thus avoiding the unnecessary and obsolete service he was offering. He gave me such a look of anger. It was as if I had cheated him out of a deal that rightfully belonged to him. When, in fact, the deal was made with such swiftness and stealth, it merely illuminated the vast chasm between the old paradigm, which he and his old-fashioned ways of doing business did business, and the very new one, which was us, the present, the future, and the essence of American entrepreneurship.
Meet Your Mayor
Casey Tanaka , Coronado Mayor
By Al Graham, Editor
Casey Tanaka is the youngest mayor Coronado has ever had. He is smart, articulate, and personable. He is also an educator and he brings that credential to the job of mayor which serves the community well.
His management style is based upon his belief that past history is profoundly relevant when it comes to NOT making the same fiscal mistakes. Mayor Tanaka is also an astute politician who employs sober and reasonable responses to hot-button political issues.
After asking him about his political future or aspirations, the Mayor replies, “I am more interested in the now than in the future and I think the people who elected me expect that.
When asked a question, any question, his response is immediate and fresh — not the same old tired politically correct buzz words. You will never find him struggling or reaching for a word. Mayor Tanaka is fluid and thoroughly knowledgeable about all fazes of city government.
Recently, I came upon a group of political campaign signs posted on an alley fence. The one that stood out the most to me was not a political sign at all. It was affixed permanently to the top of the fence and it read: “Tanaka Lane”.
Casey Tanaka is by no means a jaded politician, he is as passionate about his mayoral duties as he is about his career as an educator. He is a pleasant and thoughtful man who will, if he chooses to do so, go far as a politician. In the interim, he is focused on the City of Coronado, California. We are fortunate to have Casey Tanaka as our mayor.
Kings Fall Down, Too
By Alan Graham
He wanted to learn to surf in the Pacific Ocean at Coronado Beach. He, unlike ordinary people, cannot simply grab a board and walk into the pounding surf because he must be escorted wherever he goes. He is an expert pilot and an excellent horseman. He is a man, who is both fit and trim, and loves to engage in many different sports. That day, he had chosen to try his hand at surfing which requires that he be extremely fit so as to endure the pounding waves that were very substantial.
His escorts called the only local Coronado surf shop. It was run by longtime resident, Bob Duryea, who was an excellent surfer himself. They wanted to rent several surfboards for the day and requested that they be sent to NAS North Island along with an instructor.
I was in the store visiting when the call came in. When Bob hung up the phone, he said, “That was the security detail for the Prince of Wales and he wants to learn to surf.”
Commander Bob McNeary was in charge of the Prince’s security. The personal bodyguard was a bulky Royal marine from the Prince’s own regiment and was highly proficient in the martial arts. When Commander McNeary escorted the Prince and his bodyguard through a hole in the fence, which separated the base and the public beach, he was met by Bob, myself, and several other friends. Bob even brought along one of his daughters, Debbie.
We were all excited to meet the royal figure and to watch him take on the powerful California surf. Bob had selected six surf boards for the royal surfer. As they all donned their wetsuits, the Prince picked up one, and began walking toward the surf. Not so fast your highness! The Prince and his bodyguard would need some expert instruction before he entered the big breakers and had his ego bruised. For surely, the six-foot surf would smash them before they could even get outside the thundering waves that were slamming down hard onto the sand.
Duryea went ahead showing them how to roll under a breaking wave and then continued paddling out past the break line. The Limey visitors followed suit and were soon bobbing on their boards as they waited for the first wave to break. The Prince jumped the gun and tried to grab the first wave, but Bob stopped him, and then showed him how the wave dissipated too soon.
It was on soon after that, when a bruiser rose behind them. Bob yelled, “This is the one!” All three pulled their boards into position and were soon streaking off under a huge wave. Bob was pure art as he rode the wave all the way to the shore. The royals did not make it halfway, as both of them fell off, and were duly bashed down under the foam. They tried again and again, but to no avail, and were soon very, very, tired. With all the resilience of a tennis ball, they sallied forth only to have their efforts rejected by Mother Nature.
After an hour, they returned to the shore beaten and tired. As they tried to take off their wetsuits, they found it almost impossible to lift up their arms to unzip the tight-fitting rubber. The big bodyguard was rendered practically useless if he was needed to protect the Prince.
After a rather embarrassing struggle which only abated when the Prince helped the royal guard get unzipped. They were both completely out of breath. When we asked if we could take a photograph with them, they sort of groaned but posed graciously.
We had a cool series of shots of the future King of England as he surfed the golden sands of Coronado, California — one of the most beautiful places on earth. When the Prince was about to leave he posed with us all for snapshots, we recorded a piece of our and British history, a memory which still remains exquisitely indelible in the Hippocampus
We stood watching as the spent duo, now red-faced and duly fatigued, dressed and readied. Out of thin air and with great swiftness, a heavily armed squad of security personnel burst onto the scene. They were lead by a very serious looking man who was not military and certainly not an American. He spoke in a hushed tone with a British accent, “Your Majesty, might I have a word.” The Prince leaned forward to listen, and in the blink of an eye, was whisked away through the hole in the fence from where he came.
Princess Royal
We stood there looking at each other for a moment. We were stunned. It was as if he had been taken away by aliens. We were in shock. It was not until the next morning before we understood what had occurred to cause such a royal panic.
Minutes before the incident, and six thousand miles away in London, a mental patient had decided to fire six shots from a gun into the royal limousine carrying the sister of the Prince, Princess Anne.
The failed kidnapping attempt was made on March 20, 1974. To this day, it remains the closest any individual has come to kidnapping a member of the royal family. The incident occurred as Princess Anne and Mark Philips were returning to Buckingham Palace from an engagement. Their chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce was blocked in the road on Pall Mall by another car. A man, Ian Ball, jumped from the car and fired the six shots, wounding several people on the street. Anne’s private detective jumped across to shield the princess, and then returned fire, injuring the kidnapper, who at this point had tried to gain entry to the car. A nearby police officer gave chase and arrested Ian Ball. He would later be imprisoned in a mental hospital. In his pocket was a ransom note to the Queen for £3 million. The incident prompted higher security levels for the royal family.
The intruder was subdued and order was restored, but not before Buckingham Palace issued an alert to all security forces around the world for every single member of the Windsor family to be immediately secured and sequestered until further notice.
When the local paper, which was then called the Coronado Journal, covered the story, they published a photo of the Prince at the beach posing with us locals.
One Man and His Dog
By Alan Graham
He was blinded by shrapnel in Vietnam and now uses a seeing-eye dog for assistance to walk to the bus stop or the ferryboat which will take him across the bay to the city. He will take his place on the bench as a superior judge in the halls of justice on Broadway in downtown San Diego.
To watch him as he performs his duties is to not be aware that he is blind because he looks at the case file in front of him. When he speaks to the defendant or the attorneys, he looks directly at them. He is stern when dispensing justice, but he is lenient when it is warranted.
Using his own life as an example, he questions a defendant about his lack of compliance with his probation officer. He tells of his own youth and his companions. “We played football and baseball. We went swimming. If you do things like that, you will stay out of trouble.” He looks down at the files and then directly at the defendant. “I will grant probation to you on the following conditions…” What follows are certainly nothing short of “rules to follow to keep yourself out of jail.” Even the most “Artful Dodger” would never be able to weasel his way out of the maze of conditions set by the judge.
The files he uses are in brail. He looks as though he is reading them but he is simply running his fingers over them. Most people in the courtroom are unaware that he cannot see them at all because he does not act like a blind man.
This formidable gentleman decided to practice law when he became a civilian again. He enrolled with several other blind students. “It was more like an experiment,” he recalls. There was no apparatus in the school to facilitate the visually impaired. No brail law books, no tutorials — so everything had to be cobbled together in order for them to begin their education.
All of them proudly passed the bar, and some four decades later, Judge David M. Szumowski still proudly serves the community of San Diego, California.
I asked him about his dog and how they work together. I have often seen him walking to and from work. One morning, he walked past my house and there were some low hanging bushes that hit him in the face. He stopped dead in his tracks, backed up a few steps, and walked at the bushes again. He stopped just when he reached the overgrowth, then spoke sternly to the dog. “Here, here,” he said reaching up and grabbing the branch. He shook it briskly making the dog repeat the maneuver again. This time the dog halted before they reached the spot where the obstruction stood.
I told the judge that I had been standing there when the incident occurred congratulating him on his success with the animal. I trimmed the overhanging offensive palms and I keep my eye on their growth.
After my interview with the judge, and some months since the incident, I returned home to find the very same branches protruding menacingly once again. I will check them more often now. When I do see other obstructions, I tell the owners about the encroachments. The neighbors are all quite happy to comply.
In closing, I asked the judge if there was anything he wanted to say to the public about himself and his dog. He wanted to let people know that his dog is not a pet, but that it is a working dog. “So if you see me on the street, please do not approach me and try to pet my dog.” I have seen parents let children walk up to these loving animals unaware that the animal is decidedly a working dog, once again, certainly not a pet.
Recently, I interviewed a prosecuting attorney who uses a wheel chair. I asked if he had any difficulties with similar situations of access or obstructions in his daily life. Like the judge, he was upbeat and found few obstacles. He simply deals with life as we all do.
It is through these and similar examples that I am acutely aware of how the human spirit can be indefatigable in the face of adversity and how it can prevail with sheer force of will.
When Milkmen Smelled Exotically Like Vanilla Ice Cream and Cigarettes
By Suzi Lewis Pignataro
My name is Susan Maria Lewis de Pignataro. Some of you will remember me as Suzi Lewis, others as Nancy, Barbara and John’s sister or Nancy and Jack’s daughter. A few of you may even remember the year I was dubbed, “Suzi Breadmaker”. I was born in Coronado in 1955 and lived there, in the home my father built, until 1973, when I traded palm trees and white sandy beaches for redwoods and rolling hills that half the year remind me of my beloved New Zealand and the other half the tawny backs of my county’s mountain lions. I live in the town of Sonoma where I maintain a private practice in child and family therapy. For the past twenty-five years, I have been treating traumatized children through the application of therapeutic play. I have an Argentine husband, two sons ages sixteen and nineteen, and a fourteen-year-old Cocker Spaniel. My son Thack is an art student living in San Francisco. My son Hans is a junior in high school and is also an artist, as well as a very good cook. He may be a superior bread maker, but as the only vegan in the house I am master of the bean curd.
I’ve traveled tens of thousands of miles – covering twelve countries and many of the States – and have accumulated hundreds of yarns to tell. But some of the most important journeys and their stories come from my earliest years as a child running free in Coronado, with its doors and side gates opened invitingly to the precocious little chatterbox I used to be. It was there that I developed the social barometer and geographic compass that I later put to good use navigating the globe and its different cultures. It was the freedom from fear – the trust in the world as a decent and safe place filled with friendly and helpful people – that enabled me to be so bold in my adventures, both as a child and as an adult.
It is inconceivable to many of the children in my private practice that once upon a time a child could run wild without the threat of someone harming them – including their own frightened and overprotective parents. I tell them stories of my youth, and it is as if I am reciting from a work of fiction about a paradise lost. Even the absence of video games, iPods and computers fails to dampen their longing for a childhood like mine.
It wasn’t all ideal. Losing my oldest sister, Nancy, when I was six and she was fourteen was devastating. Like a piece of psychic shrapnel, her passing embedded itself deep within the body of my soul, a constant painful reminder that I survived while another died. I felt her presence everywhere – from my bedroom, which once had been hers, to Graham Memorial Presbyterian Church, where I sang in the children’s choir as the bells tolled in her memory. But children are resilient and wounds scar over, allowing for their victims to carry on; and though I lost some of my bouncy chattiness and gained fears of ghosts and God’s “mysterious ways”, the very essence of my home town sustained and nurtured me through the next twelve years.
Someone once asked me, “What did you learn growing up in Coronado?” I replied, “Milkmen smell exotically like vanilla ice cream and cigarettes. Shells with critters still living inside of them will stink up your mom’s bathroom. Never try to outrun a neighbor’s dog chasing you downhill. Town drunks are not to be feared but rather helped onto a park bench. Fighter jets rattle windows but never break them. If you have chubby thighs, wash off the sand before walking home from the beach. June bugs are scarier than water bugs. It’s comforting to have popular parents, but it can also be a pain in the butt. The constant clang of metal against a sailboat’s mast will lull you to sleep, while the constant pong of a tennis ball will keep you up. Waves are your friend – really. All kids are created equal – full stop. You will desperately long for the scent of tar on pylons years after the ferries have disappeared. Home is a beautiful garden isle floating on water; fully contained; safe; easy to explore, and hard to lose your place in.”
Senator
By Alan Graham
Every day without fail, the “Senator” goes for a long walk, “a good stretch of the legs.” He is quiet and unassuming, that is, until you begin a conversation with him. He is writing a new novel called “Memoirs of Pontius Pilate”– an intriguing title to someone like myself who studies the life and times of all biblical characters.
As a Catholic, I was educated by my mentors and teachers, the Jesuit priests, who described Pontius Pilate, the Prefect of the Roman province of Judea, as a weak man who was fearful of his Roman superiors and of the angry population. Pilate did not want to condemn Jesus to death. He did so reluctantly and to mitigate his underhandedness he stood in view for all to see and hear and pronounced the now-holy phrase, “Lavabo,” and washed his hands of all responsibility.
However, when I interviewed the Senator for an article to be placed in the Clarion, he had a different take altogether describing Pilate as the ultimate politician, shrewd, and not at all acquiescent. He went on to say that his book tells of a very different “Son of God’ than the one I was taught about. “You will learn more about Jesus Christ than you have ever known before,” he said with much authority. So, it is with much anticipation that I await the release of “Memoirs of Pontius Pilate” by Jim Mills.
He has been called the “father” of the Port of San Diego and that’s a title that former Senator Jim Mills is proud of. Mills is the last surviving member of the bi-partisan political team who helped found the Port District.
The Port of San Diego is a public agency, created by the state legislature in 1963 to manage San Diego harbor and the surrounding tidelands. The agency has operated without tax dollars since 1970 and has been responsible for $1.5 billion in public improvements in its five member cities – Chula Vista, Coronado, Imperial Beach, National City, and San Diego.
He is also vigorously cause-oriented and the Mills Act is named for the Senator who sponsored the legislation over 20 years ago. Before he became a well-respected politician, he was a noted historian, author, and preservationist.
In California, the Mills Act is legislation that lets owners of historically designated buildings reduce their property taxes in exchange for restoring and maintaining those buildings. Each city must adopt the Mills Act. Owners sign a ten-year, endlessly renewable legal contract with their city (or in some places, their county) stating what the responsibilities are.
The Senator goes mostly unnoticed by other pedestrians as he strolls along. I have never seen him engage in a conversation publicly. I saw him as a pensive man, not one prone to chit chat or waste words. He passed by a few days ago as my wife and I were talking to a lady from Mexico. I stopped him to let him know that I had made a cd of our interview and I went to get a copy. When I returned, he was fully engaged in a conversation with the woman and was speaking fluent Spanish to boot. The ultimate paradox was on display as the quiet man was now quite vocal.
The Two-Pound Coin
By John Foskett
Norma Veronica Malins was diagnosed with breast cancer in her early sixties. Terrified by the thoughts that she would not live very long, she set out on a quest to save enough money to go visit her brother and his family in California. She bought a giant money tin can with a coin slot in the top which could only be opened with a can opener. Things were going slowly for she had very little to save from her meager pension.
She saw an ad in the local paper:
“Five Hundred Pounds Cash! To anyone who can last 10 rounds with the ‘Notorious Kemo Rage’.”
Norma entered the contest which was held at the Liverpool Stadium.
Norma fought hard. She went ten rounds with the dirty fighting prize fighter, Kemo Rage, who is renowned for hitting below the belt. He decreed that he would finish her in the fourth round by holding up his glove whilst inciting the crowd to chant, ‘ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!’ Then pointing to his bloodied opponent yelled, ‘Out the Door in Number Four!’”
By the end of the sixth, the tired woman was almost beaten, but mercifully the referee stepped in to break them apart. She sat on her stool while Kemo pranced around the stage exhorting the crowd to boo and mock his tired opponent. As she sat there beaten and afraid, she thought that this would be her last round, and further, that she would never get out of that arena of death.
Norma fought the entire fight alone — no seconds, no stool, no water, not even a towel to mop her brow.
Kemo Rage had handlers who fanned him to keep him cool. He had lots of ringside supporters and plenty of nice, cool, clear water.
All victims of cancer know this scene very well, and even though, this writer uses a boxing metaphor in an attempt to even come close to imagining the real agony they all suffer, the story is best told by them, not us.
Notes from a diary kept by Norma Veronica Malins:
“September 28th Finally pain free, no more surgery, infection free, and I feel positive about chemo. Can’t wait to see my grandchildren, Leon and Lolo.Sept. 29t h Reflex at the Royal Hospital today.Sept. 30th Off to London town, longing to see the grandkids.
October 1st My daughter, Sharon is in HER 8th day of chemo, but she looks fantastic.
Oct. 2nd Lovely day today. I still can’t believe Sharon looks so good.
Oct. 3rd Another lovely day.
Oct. 4th Even better today.
Oct. 5th A crazy day with the family.
Oct. 6th Back home, a terrible trip.
Oct. 7th Reflexology today.
Oct. 8th Trying to be positive about Chemo.
Oct. 9th First Chemo. Terribly scared.
Oct. 10th Crippling insomnia.
Oct. 11th Insomnia but no sickness.
Oct. 12th Bowel pains and insomnia.
Oct. 13th. Saw doctor today. I look good and feel fantastic.
Oct. 14th Reflexology. ( foot massage)
Oct. 15th Went to see my friend, Molly, and her husband, Christo.
They prepared a lovely meal.
Oct 16th Me with the District Nurse, sweet lady, I feel blessed.
Oct. 17th “Pump Up the Volume” my little grim humor joke for the temporary implant that had to be filled with refilled fluid periodically during Chemo.
Oct. 18th Spent the day with my favorite grandniece Amber. I am feeling OK.
Oct. 19th Lazy day , sore throat is doing my head in.
Oct. 20th Went to the Linda McCartney Center for reflexology treatment, absolutely brilliant.
Oct. 21st The freezer broke down. I did not get stressed out about it and I went out to look at wigs.
Oct. 22rd Throat still bloody sore bet feel good.
Oct. 23 My hair starting to fall, soonest gone, sooner to return.
Oct 27th. Just found out that my daughter and her family are coming to visit me. I am over the moon.
Oct 28th Got spoiled rotten today, had a lovely meal at the royal Albert Dock in Liverpool.
Oct 29th The second dreaded Chemo, at least my daughter will be there with me.
Oct 31st My daughter came to visit, but was not able to bring herself to be with me for the treatment. She has been through it herself and did not want to see it again. It broke my heart and I cried all day. I did not speak to her for three weeks.
November 1st Amber is here today and I am still tearful.
Nov. 2nd I am so broken hearted. Thank God for Michelle, Phil, and Simon.
Nov. 3rd Counseling at the Sunflower Center, heavy stuff.
Nov. 4th Head strong, met Glynnis, counselor, Maria.
Nov. 5th Riverside, 10 a.m., cancelled, head massage.
Nov. 6th District Nurse, Sunflower Center, came home early, not too well.
Nov. 7th “Pump Up the Volume”—don’t feel up to it, but I will go to choir at Sunflower’s.
Nov. 8th Denize is coming, D & G, woke up at 3 a.m., insomnia awful.
Nov. 10th Ann Mockford, 10 a.m., Sunflower’s.
Nov. 11th Ria, 12-15, very important!
Nov. 12th Ladies’ Night at Sunflower’s – I can’t wait! Facial, 2:00.
Nov. 17th Feet reflexology.
Nov. 18th Pay Day!
Nov. 19th Dentist ring up.
Nov. 20th Chemo Day – Here we go again. I’m going alone.”
Kemo Rage has now punched himself out. Even though Norma is beaten up, she has a determined look on her face. Kemo tries his best to strike her again but cannot lift his arms. The crowd boos him relentlessly and cheers wildly as Norma stands up and slowly raises her arms in triumph.
The prize was paid to number in British two-pound coins. She counted each one carefully in front of the crowd, but mostly for the benefit of Kemo Rage, who was now incapacitated and powerless.
Norma bought a ticket on the first flight out and was soon basking in the warm glow of her family in the “Magical Kingdom by the Sea”.
All too soon she returned to Liverpool. A great bittersweet blanket has fallen on us all. We miss her so very much.
Angel de los Dientes
By Alan Graham
A visit to the dentist strikes fear into my heart. The very thought of the needle alone makes me wince. I will try to get out of it altogether if possible. A few months ago, I was enjoying a piece of hard candy when my front tooth, which had been capped 40-something years earlier by Dr. Vetter, flew out of my mouth. I picked it up and saw that it had snapped off part of the remaining root and was badly decayed as well. I had a very important business meeting to attend in an hour. So I had to find a dentist within close proximity without delay.
I chose a local and rather expensive cosmetic dentist. She fitted me in between another appointment. Within a few minutes, I was walking out the door tooth firmly cemented in place. I would be able to attend the meeting and my broken tooth would not be a distraction. This was not to be. The moment I opened my mouth to speak, my tooth almost fell out again. I caught it, and fortunately, no one saw my embarrassed and toothless smile.
The dentist visit cost me $150 and I looked like I had never ever paid a visit to a dentist office in my life. I called their office and gave them the what for. I rushed back where they applied the very same inept procedure. The moment I stepped out the door, the same tooth fell out again. They apologized for their poor work once again. The next morning, I received a refund check with a note that read:
Dear Sir:
We are sending a refund check to you for your last visit to our offices. We do not feel that we can help you any further.
Thank you,
Susan Phelps, DDS
I certainly concur with their assessment of not being able to help me any further. I would even go one better, they offered inferior work at an exorbitant rate and that they never helped me at all in the first place.
I called my regular dentist who instructed me to come into the office immediately. I did so carrying with me the rotten root.
I call her “Angel de los Dientes” (“Angel of the Teeth”) because she is extremely great at her work. She is so gentle that I do not even feel that long, scary-looking syringe she inserts to numb my teeth with lydocaine. The Angel works so fast and with such precision that it is a pleasure to watch her operate.
Believe me, you are very lucky if you can find a dentist so highly qualified and so utterly dedicated to her craft. I am indeed a very lucky man and so is anyone else who discovers her.
There are other dentists as highly qualified as my Angel de los Dientes. You can find them all at a small practice called Easy Dental. Their office is located at 245 25th Street, San Diego. Their telephone number is (619) 236-9831. Call them to schedule an appointment, and as I have said, if you are very, very lucky, you may be able meet the Angel de los Dientes there. By the by, if you tell them that the folks at the Coronado Clarion newspaper have sent you, you will receive a special discount on top of their already affordable prices.
Jim Morrison Exposed?
By David LeVine
True Story of Infamous Miami Concert: Jim Morrison Miami Concert and Trial 1969-70
It was 1969, and I was a twenty-year-old photographer interested in doing special effects; the market of choice for the times was rock. Doing rock photography meant you could be as expressive and creative as the musicians themselves. There was only one problem – all of the “action” was in L.A. and New York; and I was stuck in Miami.
At the Doors’ concert I was ushered right in. I remember I was at the foot of the stage, the lighting was terrible (another thing that has changed). Being a lover of available lighting, I almost never use a flash; I feel the shots are always more real that way. The Doors started to play and boy were they bad, off-tune and all. The band started to get rowdy and the crowd soon followed, charging the stage, and almost crushing me. Mayhem ensued and that concert went down in rock history. I remember thinking that if I had paid $7.50 for a ticket I would have been really pissed off.
In an effort to perfect my craft, I attended every rock concert that I could con my way into. If you showed up at the stage door with several cameras around your neck it was a given that you were a professional and the door was opened, no questions asked. Of course, this was before they banned the audience from photographing the concert.
When I developed the film — I always souped my own stuff — it was extremely underexposed. The light had been very low and I had only used an ASA 400 film. I had to use chemical intensifier on the negatives to bring out the detail; I hadn’t yet perfected my push-processing technique of attaining ASA 16,000. The shots looked great – I had one of Morrison with his hand in his pants, but my favorite was the one of him with the lamb.
Later, when I learned that Morrison had been arrested and was charged with “indecent exposure” and “lewd and lascivious conduct”, I decided to call the Miami Herald newspaper in hopes of selling some of the photos. They weren’t interested.
Several months later, I received a phone call from Jim Morrison’s lawyer in L.A. By way of the Herald, he had learned of my photos and was interested in them. He bought six in all. I can still remember the excitement I felt at selling those photos. They brought in a whopping $65, not much even then, but I bought my first LunaPro lightmeter with the money. And as any hardcore photographer knows, that is a big deal. Business being completed, he then asked me what I had seen that night at the concert and if I would be interested in testifying in court. I readily agreed. In my eyes, the only thing he was guilty of was a “bad” concert.
As the trial date approached, I formed a plan of action. I would show Jim Morrison my portfolio, and of course, he would hire me, I hoped. Remember, I was desperate to get some “rock photography” work and even more desperate to get out of Miami. So, a little fantasy went a long way. I showed up at the courthouse, portfolio-in-hand, marched into the courtroom, and sat down. The trial was already in progress and the last prosecution witness was on the stand.
He was saying that he saw everything, i.e., how Morrison had exposed himself. He had been up in the lighting/projection booth at the Coconut Grove Auditorium about 300 feet from the stage with a 35mm SLR camera and a l35mm lens. I remember thinking that he couldn’t have seen much at that distance and with such a short telephoto lens. He was then asked if he had a picture of Morrison exposing himself and he didn’t. His excuse was that he didn’t want to get in to trouble for taking an “obscene” photo. Just about then, Morrison’s attorney turned around and saw me sitting in the gallery. He started waving his arms and saying, “No, no, no.” Apparently, I was not supposed to be in the courtroom until I was called to testify (thus my testimony would not be swayed by having heard others). The lawyer informed the judge of my mistake and I was asked to wait outside the courtroom. Shortly after this, the proceedings recessed for lunch.
I went to lunch with thirteen people including Morrison and his entourage. We discussed my reaction to the last witness. I recounted how he couldn’t have seen much from his vantage point and with the camera and lens he claimed to have. He had also presented his proof sheets from the concert at the trial and I remarked that the size Morrison appeared on the proof sheet was the way the witness saw him through his viewfinder. I was asked if I would testify to these facts in court. I agreed and it was settled that I would be the first defense witness when court resumed.
Before we went back into the court room, I got the opportunity to show Morrison my portfolio and he signed two prints I had made of him at the concert. I placed them back in my portfolio’s side pocket. The trial then resumed.
When I was called to the stand, I took my portfolio with me. The defense attorney went first. I was asked if I was shooting pictures at the concert and if I had any of the pictures with me. They wanted to see the pictures I had with me. These were my personal prints which had been signed earlier by Jim Morrison. I had to answer, “Yes,” but I broke out in a sweat as they took them from me. The prints were then entered as “Exhibits E and F”. They were then tagged by the clerk with the tags stapled to the prints. Morrison’s attorney then produced the six prints I had sold him earlier. I saw my opening and took it. I told the attorney that the photos I had just given him were also in the set he had just produced and that the photos now in the court’s possession were my personal photos and could I have them back. They returned my photos signed and tagged by the court. I hasten to think what those prints would be worth today to a collector but unfortunately they were stolen along with other of my personal effects sometime later. Getting back to the trial, I was being asked about the testimony of the last photographer and I repeated what I had related during lunch. My testimony was completed with the statement that though Morrison had been out of control, he had not exposed himself.
It was now time for the cross-examination. My expertise was questioned regarding the other photographer’s equipment and subject-view ability. I was asked if I considered myself an expert on the subject. I paused, and said, “I was.” “Did I hear him say ‘Fuck’?” I was asked. “I don’t remember,” I said, “He might have.” Picture this. I’m sitting on the witness stand with the judge above me on my left, the jury on my right, and Morrison straight ahead. “Did you see him make any masturbatory-t ype motions?” I was asked. “That depends.” I said. “To YOU,” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “Well, what exactly did he do?” “He sort of went like this.” I said while motioning my hand as “subtly” as possible. “I OBJECT!” said Morrison’s attorney. “A hand motion cannot be shown in the record.” I was asked again and repeated the motion. The objection was repeated. “Enough of this,” the judge said, “young man, stand up.” “Now, repeat the motion and stop your hand at the lowest point.”
Do you believe this? A poor 20-year-old kid standing in front of all these people, looking right at Morrison, and having to repeat the same motion he was arrested for. At the same time, they are using the same language he “might have”. Well, I guess it’s okay as long as it is not in front of the “children”; anyway, I regress. I repeated the motion stopping my hand at the lowest point (holding my hand loosely open). The judge said, “Let it be shown in the record that his hand is opposite his belt buckle. Now, stop your hand at the highest point.” Way up opposite my face looking right at Morrison… “Good show,” Morrison told me later.
The next day I returned just to follow the action. Since I had testified already, it was okay to sit in. Recess came. This time, I had my camera with me for some shots. You weren’t allowed to shoot pictures in a courtroom, I knew that. “What about taking pictures in the courtroom, during recess?” I asked. Morrison’s attorney said, as I saw the artist doing the sketches talking to Morrison, “Go ahead.” After the attorney responded, I started to shoot. A moment later, I was tapped on the shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?” asked the bailiff. “He said it was okay,” I responded. “Well, it’s not. You’re going to see the judge!” The bailiff sat me in the jury booth. I said, “Don’t embarrass me in front of all these people. I don’t want to be sitting here in the jury box when court begins. I WANT TO SEE THE JUDGE, NOW!” “I’ll be right back!” he said as he disappeared towards the judge’s chambers. I could have left then, but decided against “escaping”. After all, I had done nothing wrong — I asked first. The bailiff returned and brought me before the judge in his chambers. “What are you going to do with these pictures?” he asked. “They are for personal purposes,” I said. “I had better not see them anyplace!” he stated, being very judgelike. “Yes, sir,” I said.
So, that’s how I got these shots. It’s been 26 years since the “blessed event” and this is my first exhibit of the photographs. I stopped showing them years ago. Well, pretty exciting stuff, huh? I eventually got away from Miami to L.A. in 1972, when I ran away with a movie star. Now that was exciting. But that’s another story.
“My Daily Photograph” is David LeVine’s expression and showcase of his favorite, unique, and continuing photographs. He features events of the particular day in history as well as noted birthdays of the day alongside a wonderful pick pic for the day. You can subscribe to this quality service at: www.mydailyphotograph.com
David LeVine is the “official rock/art/life photographer” for the Coronado Clarion. He brings to us the most awesome skills of photographic genius as well as supreme computer web engineering. We are thrilled to have him on board and will be featuring an article/interview on his career and life in the next Clarion.
To order I Remember by Alan Graham: www.irememberjimmorrison.com
Cover art by stupendous rock photographer, David LeVine.
The Victory Gardens
By Alan Graham
Coronado’s Own Victory Garden
In 1969, a local Coronado benefactor Frances Harpst decided to knock down some valuable commercial property on Orange Avenue and to put in an old-fashioned community garden – a victory garden of sorts. It sat next door to the old San Diego Glass and Paint store which is now the Coronado Hardware store.
As part of the Second World War effort, the government rationed foods like sugar, butter, milk, cheese, eggs, coffee, meat, and canned goods. Labor and transportation shortages made it hard to harvest and move fruits and vegetables to market. So, the government turned to its citizens and encouraged them to plant “Victory Gardens.” They wanted individuals to provide their own fruits and vegetables.
Nearly 20 million Americans answered the call. They planted gardens in backyards, empty lots, and even city rooftops. Neighbors pooled their resources, planted different kinds of foods, and formed cooperatives.
Farm families, of course, had been planting gardens and preserving produce for generations. Now, their urban cousins got into the act — all in the name of patriotism. 
Fran’s Folly
By Fran Harpst
There are many cute and curious tales in Coronado’s history and it is with much delight and fond remembrances that we embark on the journey into the past. Come along with me on this wonderful and nostalgic sojourn down along “Memory Lane”. — Al Graham, Editor
“Pile of junk hardly a bargain – A declaration of ‘unconditional surrender’ has been signed by a defeated taxpayer – and now the City of Coronado owns a boat. Not much of a boat, but a boat.
Informed that his boat had broken loose from its mooring in Glorietta Bay and was impounded by the city, the owner threw up his hands and cried ‘uncle’.
He sent to the city the boat’s certificate of number and certificate of ownership – all signed – with a letter hinting that he was being crushed and ‘swindled’ by the preponderance machinery of government.
He concluded, ‘…I hope not to hear another damned single word about that pile of junk…the City of Coronado should bill Mr. Kelly (former owner) for the impoundment and all other fees due, rather than wish that pile of junk upon some other unfortunate, for it is hardly a bargain at any price!’
So now Coronado has a boat and officials don’t know exactly what to do about it. In fact, they’re having trouble matching the registered numbers with those on the boat impounded.
The boat, a homemade iron-sided tub of about 30 feet – a ‘stinkpotter’ as yachtsmen call power boats was anchored for years at a city mooring in Glorietta Bay.
This spring it broke loose and went ashore on the rocks but tides carried it in and out and it drifted aimlessly about the area for several weeks, a general menace to other boats.
Attempts were made by the police to have either the former owner, a John D. Kelly, or the present owner, Alarik Walton, take care of the scow. But nothing happened and it was impounded at Coronado Marine Ways…” — Coronado Journal, Thursday, March 30, 1961 –
“Coronado Rose Adopted at $380 – The ‘Coronado Rose’ has found an owner. Mrs. Fran Harpst of 930 Bay Circle adopted the boat for $380. Her bid was the highest of ten offers received by the city, John Halvorsen, assistant to the city manager, said.
Mrs. Harpst has moved the 34-foot, iron-hulled cabin cruiser from its Coronado Marine Ways next door to Rask Boat Building Company.
‘I’m very glad to get rid of it,’ said Foster Bryant, Marine Ways owner who held the boat in storage for the city.”
“Mrs. Harpst was one of the few who turned out for a public auction of the boat, but she did not bid. They city had put a $300 minimum on the sale to pay for impound and storage costs.
The highest offer made at the auction was $50, turned down by the city. Halvorsen later called persons he thought may be interested and asked for bids.”— Coronado Journal, Thursday, May 4, 1961–
Doves’ Landing
UDATE.
My dear friend Loren died last night peacefully in his bed surrounded by his loving family.
He battled bravely for ten years without a word of complaint and always with a sense of humor.
The angriest word I ever heard him ever utter was, MERCY!
Al Graham
Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
-Hamlet, Act V
My friend, Loren, is ailing right now and has few pleasures these days. His wife, Mary, is at his side 24/7 caring for his every need. Always on the hunt to find something to cheer him up, she came up with an idea she thought might do the trick. She had her son, Michael, build a large plywood platform beneath the window where Loren sits to watch the day go by. They placed colorful wind chimes, a bird feeder, and a water bottle on the platform.
Soon there were birds descending on it as if it was a new airport runway. One day, a couple of doves came to visit. They ate and drank along with the robins, sparrows, cardinals, and even little humming birds all chattering happily like it was a bird social. The doves must have called, e-mailed, or written to every single dove in San Diego County because in a matter of days, doves began moving in for good. Today they have even established a queue or a waiting line on some power lines above the house. They sit waiting patiently for their turn. There are far too many of them to land all at once. So they are orderly and organized.
One day, I got a frantic call from Mary asking me to come there immediately. I ran outside carrying my trusty Flip camera. When I got to the door, Mary blurted out, “Look behind you!” I whirled around to see a very young Golden Eagle perched menacingly in a tall palm tree. His eyes were wild and he looked poised to strike, possibly at me. I turned on my camera and slowly raised it until his beautiful wild eyes came into view. He stood quite still. He seemed to settle down and was more curious than threatening.
He watched the doves, sparrows, and even young blackbirds as they engaged in a feast of seeds and fresh water. I felt sure that soon he would swoop down and snatch up one of the birds but he just kept watching the joyful activity.
The birds played on as if there was no threat at all and soon the eagle flew away. We all marveled at the outcome and thought that our presence may have saved the lives of a bird or two. Yesterday I received another frantic call from Mary. The eagle was there again in the very same tree. He was there simply to observe that blissful pageant.
I never got there in time to see the eagle again, but Mary told me that he was much bigger now and more beautiful than ever.
So the bird platform sits there. It is an unenclosed aviary inhabited by an army of feathered vertebrates. Loren watches and smiles with glee as the magnificent procession prolongs.
A few years back when Loren was suffering many seizures, his shunt would malfunction causing him all kinds of problems. He would have hideous hallucinations that shook him up. One night, his wife asked me to come up because he was in a panic. He imagined that a giant eagle had flown in through his window, which was closed, and that it was hiding behind a chest of drawers. I convinced him that it had gone but he now saw it at the window again. I said I would go outside and chase it away. I did and then yelled to him that it was now gone. He thanked me and I went home.
The next morning, Loren realized that the intruding eagle was not real and that I had just played along with him at the time in an effort to calm him. He told Mary that I was a really good friend and then he belly laughed all day about it.
Keeping the Faith
By Lynne Harpst Koen
When our lives are on track, all is right in our personal universe. Good health, gatherings with friends and family, the unconditional love of our pets, et cetera. Good times! However, everyone gets derailed from time to time. It’s part of life. We must learn to “man-up” — often hard to do under our own steam. Sometimes we tend to panic and go straight to God for help — praying constantly for things to get better. A priest once told me God answers ALL prayers, only perhaps not in the exact way we’d like Him to. I didn’t really understand his meaning then, but now that I’ve done quite a lot of living, I get it now, loud and clear!
Personally, I’ve always felt a bit selfish praying for myself. I have so many blessings already! I pray for strength for everyone and everything (animals) that may be in need. The power of prayer is limitless! Most importantly, I offer up prayers of THANKS each and every day. No joke. God needs his prospers too! I give Him a shout out whenever I can — very much a constant in my world. When life gives me challenges, I find comfort in staying grounded — looking to the simple things rather than getting overwhelmed. Things we tend to take for granted. I go to ground zero. Just being alive is a biggie! Living in my own hometown, the love of my wonderful husband, tending my little garden, watching the sunset, and so on, very humbling. It really helps put things in perspective, folks. The trick to prayer is consistency. The rest will follow along naturally, rest assured.
The worst thing possible is to succumb to life’s low points and start feeling sorry for ourselves. God never gives us more than we can handle. We must trust in our faith! He WILL give us the strength to make it through even the darkest times, but only if we truly let Him into our hearts as Lord & Savior. It’s not as easy as it sounds to keep that faith sometimes. I’ve had more than one crisis of faith, but with His help & our trust in Him, things always seem to work themselves out eventually. Most people have a “higher power” they look to. Whoever it may be, it’s all good! Being Catholic, the Holy Trinity is my home team in the big ballgame that is life as we know it. For those who are lost without a higher power, well, I pray for them too!
Miracles are abundant on a daily basis. We simply need to choose to be open to them. No matter how steep our hills or how low our valleys, there are always those who have it much worse than we do. Just watch the evening news — guaranteed to cure what ails us. OKAY, maybe not cure us completely, but it does help us feel better about your own problems! Whatever you believe in, plan to make it work for you, not just when you’re in need, but always and forever. Feel the positive energy surround you! It’s all about how we live our DASH.
Lynne Harpst Koen
11/15/1957–
FAMOUS NAVAL QUOTES
“DAMN THE TORPEDOES FULL SPEED AHEAD!” – Admiral David G. Farragut/The Civil War (Posted by L.H.K.)
“DON’T GIVE UP THE SHIP!” – Captain James Lawrence/The Naval War of 1812 (Posted by L.H.K.)
“PRAISE THE LORD AND PASS THE AMMUNITION” – Lieutenant Howell M. Forgy/Pearl Harbor (Posted by L.H.K.)
“WE HAVE MET THE ENEMY AND THEY ARE OURS…” – Oliver Hazare Perry/The Naval War of 1812 (Posted by K.A.G.)
“I HAVE NOT YET BEGUN TO FIGHT!” – Captain John Paul Jones/The Revolutionary War (Posted by K.A.G.)
“THE NAVY HAS NO PLACE FOR GOOD LOSERS! THE NAVY NEEDS TOUGH SONS OF BITCHES WHO CAN GO OUT THERE AND WIN!” – Admiral Jonas H. Ingram/ 1926 (Posted by K.A.G.)
SOLITUDE MOUNTAIN
By A. R. Graham
Mount Soledad sits high above the Pacific Ocean with a breathtaking 360-degree view of San Diego. A concrete cross measuring 29-feet tall and 14-foot wide was installed in 1954 as a war memorial.
As I walk around the towering concrete monolith, an air of solemn reverence is present. Five minuets earlier, an army of media had assembled to broadcast a live report about the most recent ruling from the San Francisco Supreme Court; and once again, it has been deemed, “illegal to display a religious symbol on public land.” In 2001, a non-profit 501c corporation, Mount Soledad Memorial Association, added a memorial wall, where thousands of black granite plaques have been installed in memory of the fallen.
It is now no longer a lone cross since the wall was added. This brought a more human side to the equation. Before it was a memorial of the countless and faceless souls who died in battle. Now, the plaques tell of great heroes who sacrificed their lives for the nation. A gentle wind is blowing, and the morning sun illuminates the giant white cross. As if reciprocating in kind, it reflects billions of fragmented sun rays onto the wall below. As I descend the steps with the warm sun at my back, I am almost overcome with a great sadness at such loss. The flag’s giant shadow caresses the wall. The faces on the plaques reflect back at me telling me where, when, and how they all died. I am sure that there will always be an effort to remove the cross; but at the same time, I feel that it will always be there beaconing high on “Solitude Mountain”.
The original wooden cross on Mount Soledad was erected in 1913 by private citizens living in La Jolla and Pacific Beach, but was stolen in 1923. Later that year, it was affixed back in the ground in Mount Soledad Natural Park only to be burned down by the San Diego chapter of the Ku Klux Klan.
The second cross was erected in 1934 by a private group of Protestant Christians from La Jolla and Pacific Beach. This sturdier, stucco-over-wood frame cross was blown down by blustery winds in 1952.
Beginning in 1989, the cross had been involved in a continuous litigation regarding its legal status. According to the interpretation of the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution and the “No Preference” clause of the California Constitution by the opponents of the cross, it is illegal to display a religious symbol, such as a Christian cross, on public land, as it demonstrates preference to a specific religion and thus violates the separation of church and state. Judges have sided with plaintiffs on multiple occasions and ruled that the cross is illegal and had to be removed or sold to the highest bidder. Defenders of the cross explored several options for preserving the cross. The land under the cross was eventually transferred to the federal government. Critics of the cross allege that, even if the transfer itself is legal, it does not solve the fundamental problem of the argument that the cross is not legal on any government-owned property.
The American Civil Liberties Union proposed ways to resolve the situation such as the cross may be dismantled or the cross may be sold to a third party and physically transferred off the public land. An Episcopal church, located within a few hundred feet from the present location of the cross, has agreed to place it on its property. Another option is the government may hold an auction and sell the parcel of the land with the cross to the highest bidder.
Defenders of the cross saw all these options as unacceptable and were determined to find a way to leave the cross intact in its present location. A cross has been on the site since 1913. Architect Donald Campbell designed the present Latin cross in recessed concrete with a twelve-foot arm spread in 1954. In 1998, after the sale by the city of the cross and the land it stands on to the nonprofit Mount Soledad Memorial Association, the cross was transformed into being the centerpiece of a newly erected Korean Memorial.
Original Dedication Ceremony on April 18, 1954
Besides all of its controversy, the cross and its site provides a rich part of San Diego history. Having been first used as a Memorial Park in 1914, it went onto be used by the Lindbergh’s for glider flights in the 1920s. It was part of the military’s early-warning defense system in WWII. The 29-foot cross was dedicated on April 29, 1954 to honor Korean War veterans; and has been long used by planes and ships for navigation. It was transferred to the federal government on August 14, 2006 as the National Veterans Memorial.
Mount Soledad also holds the last home lived in by Dr. Seuss. His widow, Audrey Geisel, still resides atop Mount Soledad in a lavish home that includes “The Cat in the Hat” and an observation tower that is referred to as the “Seuss House” by the locals.
There is also an urban legend that in the 1930s, a group of little people who earned money in Hollywood by appearing in movies such as The Wizard of Oz, came to San Diego where they built miniature houses on Mount Soledad. The legend gained support due to the fact that several houses were built on steep slopes overlooking the Pacific and, as you drove or walked by, it was easy to believe, due to optical illusions, created as you looked down at the houses from the road that the doors and other features were smaller than normal. If you actually walked up to the houses, it was easy to see that they were normal sized. Most of the supposed, “Munchkin Houses” have been remodeled and the effect is no longer present. “We’re off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz…”
Current status of the cross: At the beginning of our new year, 2011, a federal appeals court ruled that a veterans’ memorial featuring the 43-foot cross on Mount Soledad is unconstitutional. “The use of such is distinctively Christian symbol to honor all veterans sends a strong message of endorsement and exclusion,” wrote Judge M. Margaret McKeown for the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals. “It suggests that the government is so connected to a particular religion.” The decision that the La Jolla, California memorial violates the Establishment Clause reverses a lower court ruling does not determine what will happen to the cross. “This does not mean that the memorial could not be modified to pass constitutional muster, nor does it mean that no cross can be part of this,” McKeown concluded. This case has wound through the courts for two decades. Its future is still beknownst.

The Memorial Today
The memorial and cross are presided over by the Mt. Soledad Memorial Association, a nonprofit California 501(c)3 corporation, who purchased the land in 1992. Their mission statement is: To enhance and preserve the Mt. Soledad Veterans Memorial honoring veterans who have served our country and to educate the general public about service to our country and the sacrifice that veterans make to preserve the freedoms we enjoy as Americans. In August 2006, the Memorial was officially transferred to the Department of Defense and is now managed and operated by Commander, Navy Region Southwest located in San Diego, California.
The walls that have been constructed ultimately hold 3,200 black granite plaques which can be purchased by donors and engraved with the names and photos of war veterans. Currently, more than 2,700 are in place. Each plaque tells the story of a veteran’s military service or that of a group’s military service. It includes members of all military services: the U.S. Army, Navy, Marine Corps., Air Force, Coast Guard, and also the Merchant Marines who served during World War II. A large American flag flies over the Memorial. The brick pavers honor veterans and supporters as well. The Mt. Soledad Veterans Memorial is open to the public and docents are available as well as volunteer opportunities exist.
Where Thousands Gather to Honor Our Veterans
DEFINING MOMENTS: UPON MY BLOOD
By Suzi Pignataro
He’s been watching me for about forty minutes from behind a creased and dog-eared trade copy of Don Quixote. I guess a hippie chick stirring a pot of wax over an open fire on the beach might be more captivating than a self-deluded Spaniard – especially if you’re a young dude who’s obviously a long way from home and most likely chasing after an impossible dream or two of his own. Midwestern farm boy of German extraction is my guess, judging by the Wrangler jeans, faded flannel shirt, close-cropped blond curls and naturally tanned skin. He’s long and lean with surprisingly delicate hands. Hmm…Maybe not a farm boy after all, maybe just some small-town kid hitch-hiking through California. His Converse sneakers look new, as does the Padres cap: probably threw away his cowboy boots and hat at the border.
“Ooww!!!!”
With the boy trotting next to me – flustered and chanting, “CRAP-crap, CRAP-crap” to the rhythm of his footsteps – I run down to the shore, flapping my blistering hands and crying out, “AhGhee! AhGhee!” like a wounded bird. We squat at the water’s edge where I bury my hands in the cold wet sand.
The boy scrubs his face with his shirt sleeve. “I am so sorry. I should have known I’d startle you.”
He’s not from the Midwest: not with that voice, and not with quoting Shakespeare. The game is still in play in my head. I need him to keep talking.
“No sweat,” I reply. The salt stings my skin; I feel the wax tightening as it cools. “So, why Don Quixote?”
His hands flutter toward the water. Long straight fingers lightly tap the surface. He laughs. It’s almost a girl’s giggle, and one at his expense. When he looks up at me, I see his eyes clearly for the first time. They’re the color of a Greek Island cove flecked with gold coin.
“It’s comforting to find a dreamer crazier than myself, I guess,” he confesses.
Hmm…Educated, articulate, wry humor, and no discernable accent. Grew up in various parts of the country, maybe even the world.
“You’re a Navy brat,” I declare triumphantly.
The boy rocks back on his feet, which, like mine, are soaked. He hugs his knees and frowns at me. “How do you know?”
“And not just any Navy brat,” I continue, ignoring him. “One with a high ranking dad – maybe even some mucky-muck in Europe, hence the Spanish novel and Macbeth – and you’ve had some private school education.”
He eyeballs me, taking in the long expanse of patchwork velvet and lace, the black army boots, the braids framing my face, and beaded earrings dangling from my ears. He wants to be amused, annoyed or curious. He settles for curious. “I take it you are not a Navy brat.”
“Well, I’m definitely a brat,” I reply evasively. I begin to peel off the solid wax from my hands. Underneath, the skin is puckered and red.
The boy furrows his eyebrows. “You need to have that looked at.”
I wave a blotchy hand. “Nah. It’s okay.”
“No,” he persists. “You don’t want it to get septic.”
Hmm…Make that Navy surgeon of high ranking. Possibly head of a Navy hospital in…where would it be…Gibraltar? Marseilles? Where do we have Navy hospitals in Europe? Are we in Europe?
“Your dad a doctor?” I ask.
The boy shakes his head impatiently, but a smile begs to break out on that handsome face. “You lose.”
Two fighter jets roar over our heads, their wheels dropping in preparation for landing at North Island. I look up to watch, but the boy ducks his head. He seems unnerved by the planes and their bone-jarring shriek. He takes me by the elbow. “Let’s go back to your cauldron, witch.”
After tucking Don Quixote into his knapsack, the boy joins me at the fire where I demonstrate how to make sand candles. He gets a little misty-eyed when I tell him they’re a parting gift for my mother: a reminder of her daughter away at school. He confides that he didn’t leave his mother anything to remember him by when he left home.
“And where is home?” I prod, as I pour sunset colors into a mold in the sand.
The boy shrugs into himself as another jet screeches overhead. I wait patiently for its blast to pass, then observe, “You may be Navy, but you’re not naval air.”
The boy chuckles nervously. “How can you live with that?”
I return the pot to the fire and throw in more paraffin. “I can’t. Where I’m moving to has no military bases; just rolling hills and redwoods.” I look him in the eye. “So, where are you from?”
The boy watches the wax melt. “I’m taking some time off before I go to Columbia.”
“University?”
“That’s right.”
The boy didn’t answer my question, did he? Twice now, he’s evaded it. I turn and face him, digging my fists into my waist.
“Are you going to tell me where you’re from, or are you going to continue to drive me crazy?” I demand.
The boy laughs, but there’s respect in his voice when he says, “You’re something else, you know that?” He takes the spoon from me and stirs the wax. “It’s like you said: I’m a Navy brat. I’ve lived in lots of places. And for your information – because you’re dying to know – I don’t like tons of metal and weaponry flying right over my head, and my dad is not a doctor.” He extends his free hand. “I’m Jay*.”
“And I’m Suzi,” I reply. I offer my own hand. He accepts it, carefully avoiding the burns.
“Nice to meet you, Suzi.”
“Likewise, Jay.”
Jay drives a blue and white VW bus, which he insists upon using to transport me and my candle paraphernalia back home. The bus bears Virginia plates. A Navy duffle bag inscribed with the name, “J. R. Hess”, lies on the floor in the back, along with the accoutrement necessary for camping. Some sort of Native American crystal-and-bead mumbo-jumbo hangs from the rear view mirror by a circular webbing of rawhide strips. Questions percolate. This guy’s pay dirt.
“So, where did you live in Virginia?”
Jay turns the engine and signals to leave the curb. “The usual Navy brat places,” he replies absently while checking his side mirror.
“Why the Navy bag with your name on it? Are you full German?”
Jay collects his patience and directs it into his white-knuckled fists. They relax. “It’s my dad’s. We share the same name. And, no, I’m not full German. My mom’s family is Dutch and English.”
“Oh.” I flick my finger at the crystal-and-bead hanging. “And what’s with the Indian whatchamacall–”
Jay slams on his brakes as three sailors dressed in whites run right in front of us. I grunt on impact with the dashboard; my fingers grab the hanging for purchase and wrench it – along with the mirror – from the windshield. Jay yells and gesticulates. The sailors flip us off and call us “dirty hippy freaks” with jaw-dropping originality. Jay and I look at each other, then at the amputated mirror, and laugh.
“I’ve heard worse,” I say, settling back into my seat, the mirror and hanging sitting in my lap as we finally make our way down Ocean Boulevard toward the Del. “They really hassle the local girls. I mean it can get pretty scary.” I point at the Navy ships anchored just past Point Loma, the helicopters practicing maneuvers out over the waves. “This war. It’s not just being waged over in Nam. It’s being carried out here, in my own home town, between the swabbies and us.” I turn to Jay. He’s watching me with an intensity that makes me feel exposed. I look away.
He clears his throat. “Have the sailors hassled you personally?”
I grimace. “I’ll answer you if you answer me.”
“Answer you what?”
“Why do you have your dad’s duffle bag, and what are you doing in Coronado?”
We drive along the beach in silence.
I am but a tiny thread in the timeless spinning of my family’s yarn, and we are but a minor yarn in the ever-expanding fabric of the human race. Yet, without me – and those threads that came before me and will come after me – the fabric would bear a miniscule hole. Too many of those holes and the fabric would fray, unravel and fall apart into a grimy heap of unimportant tissue on a blue planet. The fabric needs my thread, my parent’s thread, my children’s thread.
All my life, I’ve wondered about my family’s contribution to the history of humankind and who I carry in my blood: Germans, but what type: Teutonic? Franconian? Angle? Saxon? Or, like Jay, Hessian? Celts, but what tribe: Strathclyde? Gael? Pict? Were we Welsh farmers always, or did we also mine coal? And when did my Scots ancestors transplant to Northern Ireland? And why?
By the time I meet Jay, my thirst for such knowledge has reached beyond my own kin. I now seek it from everyone. So, I ask questions. Sometimes, people invite me to climb their family’s tree with them, introducing me to each and every limb; other times, they push me out and I land on my ass.
I want to know the who, what, when, where, why, and how of this person called “Jay”, and who he carries in his blood.
“Jolly! Your name is Jolly?! That’s what the J stands for? What does the R stand for? Friggin’ Roger?!”
“You’ll have to excuse my daughter. She’s not exactly the queen of tact.”
We’re standing in my kitchen with my mother, who beams at Jay as if Monty Hall’s personally delivered him from behind door number three. Jay looks like he’s just licked a banana slug, and I’m fantasizing about shoving chicken guts down my mother’s polyester pants suit. All in all, it’s a weird moment.
Jay walked through my kitchen door and right into the sticky web that’s my parents’ Everything-Navy world. As soon as I introduced him to my mother – standing at the counter frosting a cake while singing along with Andy Williams on the radio – he was caught and wrapped like a prize fly. Recognition lit up my mother’s blue eyes, as she exclaimed, “Not little Jolly Hess!” Jay blushed and shuffled his feet, and gave up any hope of flight.
“No. I mean, yes. I mean, no and yes,” Jay stammers in reply to my ill-mannered question. “It’s Jerald Roger. I couldn’t — ”
“He couldn’t say his name — ‘Jerry’– as a little boy,” my mother interrupts with gusto, pointing at him with a spoonful of gloppy Ganache. “He called himself Jolly, and it stuck.”
I’m counting the seconds before the Ganache slides off the spoon and onto her fastidiously polished white sneakers.
“And just precisely how do you know this?” I ask; but I’ve already guessed the answer, and it’s pissing me off.
“Because your father and I know Jolly’s parents – Admiral and Mrs. Hess – and met Jolly at their home in Honolulu.” My mother waves the spoon and fails to notice that chocolate goo now decorates her blond head. There is a god after all. “You were eight,” she says to Jay, then turns to me. “And you were seven. Remember that time your father and I went away for a second honeymoon and left you kids with your grandmother?”
Jay doesn’t recollect meeting my parents and he apologetically admits as much to my mother. She forgives him with a laugh and a smile, and invites him not only to dinner but to sleep in my sister’s old bedroom rather than suffer another brisk night in the bus. Jay accepts, but I can see it on his face that he’d rather not be corralled by family friends.
As for me, I’m about to burst an aorta. I’m eighteen years old, and as far as my parents know, I’ve never had a boyfriend or even a date. This is because they warned me that only jocks or Navy officers’ sons – preferably one and the same – would be accepted into their good graces. With my attraction to liberal males with long hair and peace signs, I’ve had to keep my love interests a secret. The only reason my mother is fawning over Jay is because he’s NAVY. I’m pretty sure she’ll be planning our engagement party over dessert.
I abruptly excuse Jay from my mother’s clutches and lead him to the farthest corner of the back yard, where I hide the candles in the firewood bin. I turn to him, wringing my hands.
“I am so sorry about this,” I cry. “I had no idea she knew you. You don’t have to stay.”
Jay stares at our lemon tree as if it’s the Burning Bush; but there are no heavenly words of wisdom coming forth from its yellow fruit. Not even a “Hey, life’s a bitch, pal,” from the ghostly remains of our pets buried beneath its branches.
“If it’s all the same to you,” he replies after a moment, “a home-cooked meal and warm bed sound awfully good right now.”
I bury my face in my hands.
Dinner is a culinary success and a social disaster. My parents hold their own naval court from their respective places at the bow and stern of the table, while Jay squirms in his seat like a foreign dignitary keeping one anxious eye on the gangplank. My dad subjects him to a ruthless interrogation; my mom plays “good cop”. I quietly eat my beans and potatoes, praying for a swift and painless death.
“Columbia,” my dad repeats, making a face. “Why would you want to go there? It’s for bastard Commie intellectuals.”
And he’s off!
Jay coughs behind his fist, stealing a glance in my direction. I shrug back. I can’t help him. Once out the gate, there’s no holding back my father. Jay will just have to deal with it.
“I didn’t know that, sir. I’ll reconsider my options,” he remarks diplomatically. Not a bad liar; he just might survive this.
My dad lays his own fist on the table. Not a good sign. “Why aren’t you attending the Naval Academy like your dad?” he challenges, tight-throated. “If you’ve got the grades to get accepted into that hotbed of Bolshevik potheads, you’re smart enough to be a naval officer and serve your country. Don’t be an idiot.”
“Anyone for cake?” interjects my mother with false cheer. She’s worried my father is ruining her only chance at becoming true Navy aristocracy.
I stand up, grab my plate and silverware and look Jay in the eye.
“Later, Mom. We have a date.”
We sit at the shore admiring the last purple-hued breath of sunset. Everything Navy has disappeared for the time being; Coronado is once again a quiet town of locals and tourists, floating on an emerald lily pad.
We escaped my parents by car. Gunnar choked into life like a grumpy old man and reluctantly carried us to the Del. From there we walked along the water’s edge until our legs gave out, laid down an old quilt I keep stashed in Gunnar’s trunk, and fell wearily on our butts.
I’ve apologized for my father’s rudeness so many times, I’m sick of the words. I move on to a happier subject.
“I want to live on a farm, with lots of animals and a huge veggie garden,” I say. “I can’t think beyond that.”
Jay nods. “I can see it. I hope you get everything you want. I really do.”
“Thanks. And what about you?”
Jay sifts sand through his hands while carefully considering his response. He’s taking so long I grow impatient.
“What’s that impossible dream you think is so crazy?” I prod.
Without looking up, Jay replies, “Suzi, there’s something I need to tell you. I should have told you right off.”
I feel all tingly, and not in a good way. “Sure.”
Jay turns to me. He lays his hands in his lap and composes himself with a deep breath. “The bus belongs to my oldest and best friend who’s ship is coming into North Island from Nam in a couple of days. I drove it out from Virginia Beach for him.”
I laugh from relief. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it? I mean he’s coming home, right? And you got to go on a road trip before going off to college.” Then it dawns on me. “Oh, shit. I’ve been talking trash about sailors, and your best friend is –”
Jay holds up a hand and I shut up.
“He’s shipping in and I’m shipping out.”
“WHAT?!”
The clock on my nightstand says it’s 5 A.M. I stare at it and decide it’s old-fashioned – and not in a cool way. I pick it up and chuck it toward my trashcan. It clears the sides and lands on a pile of papers with a thud.
I’ve been lying awake all night carrying on a battle that leaves me spent but wired. I’ve thrown mental grenades at everyone – my parents, Jay’s parents, Jay – only to wail over their broken bodies. I’m pissed off and sad and scared. I want this fucking war to be over. Despite my pacifist leanings, I want Jay to go to Columbia to study journalism and reach his dream of becoming a war correspondent, just as he’d stated to me on the beach, the night before.
“But why put yourself through this first?” I’d yelled at him. “What’s being a sailor going to do for you that will come to any good?”
“It will give me the perspective of the men at the bottom of the ladder, rather than the one I’ve always lived with: that of the men at the top,” he explained, his voice steady and patient. “And it will help me find out if I can really handle being around war.”
“You’re just doing it for your father!” I accused. “You’re placating him!”
“Not at all,” Jay responded evenly. “If that were the case, I’d be at Annapolis right now.”
But he’s not at Annapolis, or Columbia. He’s down the hall in one of my sister’s twin beds. In a little while he’ll wake up to the travel alarm he set before turning in. He’ll enter my bathroom, use my toilet, sink and shower; dry off with the towels my mother laid out for him. Then he’ll dress in his whites, which are carefully folded in that cursed duffle bag, scrounge up some food, and leave.
“Will you eat breakfast with me and say good-bye?” he’d asked me last night, in the kitchen, as we ate the slices of cake left out for us by my mother.
I wanted to throw my plate at him. Take my fork and stab him in the arm.
“Of course,” I replied with a reassuring smile. I’m not a bad liar, either.
At dawn I give up on sleep and pad out of my room and into the den, where I’m shocked by the image of my father feeding doves in the back yard. The tenderness with which he talks to the birds and their unconditional trust in him leads me to believe I’m witnessing a daily ritual about which I knew nothing. That, and the way my father shivers against the morning cold brings tears to my eyes. Did I ever know this man? Was he ever this gentle and open with me?
I slide back the patio door, and he turns toward me so casually it’s as if he’s been waiting for me. He continues to scatter birdseed as he asks, “Did you get any sleep, honey?”
I’m unnerved by the consideration in his voice. “Um…well…you know…not really.”
He nods his head in understanding, and I hold back more tears and the urge to run to him for comfort. I can’t remember the last time he held me. Then it hits me. “Wait a minute. You know?”
“I called his dad after you two left last night,” answers my father. “I wanted him to know we had Jolly — I mean, Jay — under our care and” — my father chuckles — “to try to knock some sense into Jerry about his son going to that Commie school in New York. I have to say, I was surprised by the boy’s plan.” He looks me in the eye. “I gather so were you.”
We move back into the house and to the warmth of the den. How often do I sit with my father and talk to him in any real sort of way? Never. We’re like two porcupines unwilling to sacrifice personal comfort for a hug.
“Daddy,” I begin, shy and unsure, “is he going to be okay?”
“Honey, no one can answer that. I’ve been through two wars and was lucky never to be in harm’s way. I was in command of a destroyer in Korea. They’re big and well armed.”
Of course, it wouldn’t be an aircraft carrier. I don’t like tons of metal and weaponry flying right over my head.
“He’ll be a hell of a lot safer than most, I can tell you that,” my father concludes.
“I think he’s crazy,” I gripe.
“Well, you shouldn’t, Suzi. He’s brave, and he’s right. He does need to know how it feels to be in a war, if he’s going to write about it. I wish all these left-wing journalists had half as much courage and forthrightness as Jay has.”
I leave my father to his morning coffee. As I approach the back of the house, expletives explode from inside my bathroom. I knock on the door.
“Oh — sorry,” comes Jay’s sheepish reply. “I didn’t know anyone could hear me.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
Jay opens the door. He’s in white boxers and a T-shirt. He’s cut his thumb while changing razor blades; his blood — and the blood of every ancestor that’s come before him — runs down his raised arm.
“What?” he asks. From the way he says that one word I know he’s been up all night, too. His fear is like a wild animal frantically clawing its way out from inside his skin, desperate to escape his madness.
“I want you to tell me your family history.” I eye the razor on the counter; the open wound. “And I want us to be blood brother and sister.”
Jay takes my hand.
~ ~ ~
* All identifying information regarding “Jay” and his family has been changed.
Tom Duryea
By Kimberley Graham
Tom Duryea was born into a very special Coronado family or shall I say a definite Coronado institution. The Duryea family came to our magical kingdom by the sea in the 1960s. They started the first surfboard shop on the island, called “Du-ray’s”, of course. It became “the hangout” for generations of young surfers from all over the county and state. It was also one of the first “smoothie” bars way ahead of its time. Tommy was the only boy amongst three energetic and industrious sisters and mother, Chris. His father, Bob, was an accomplished and renowned surfer as well as board maker. All the great surfers of the time hung out at Du-Ray’s. Everyone affiliated with the exciting sport of surfing knew this family. So, for Tommy to take to water his entire life is no surprise.
Tom is now 45 years old and carries out the family tradition with professional paddleboarding. Born in Santa Barbara, the Duryea’s moved to Coronado when he was just a young toddler. He has lived on the island ever since and is definitely a product of his environment. He has been surfing since he was four years old. These days, Tom is paddling more and surfing less “– for one it is a great form of exercise. The fact that you’re propelling yourself through the water solely by using your arms is a great feeling. The camaraderie’s unlike surfing. We welcome people. The more the merrier.” If you know anything about the surfing kingdom, the right to a wave can be quite competitive especially in overcrowded surf break locations.
For those of you who are not familiar with this exciting sport, paddleboarding is a surface water sport in which the participant is propelled by a swimming motion on a long surfboard close to the shore. Paddleboarding began in the 1920s when a resident of New York, Tom Blake, witnessed a small boy drowning about 50 feet from the shore line. Thinking quickly, he yanked some bark off a nearby oak tree and used it as a flotation device to save the boy. As this was going on, a young entrepreneur witnessed the event and decided to market the “Red” paddleboard. This is the same board used today in lifeguard tournaments on the Jersey shore.
In 1944, while restoring historic Hawaiian boards, Blake built a replica of the “olo” surfboard ridden by ancient Hawaiian “ali’i” (kings). This became the first modern paddleboard. Two years later, using the same board, Blake won the first mainland surf contest which integrated both surfing and paddling. Blake would go on to break every established paddling record available and can be thought of as the “father” of the enduring sport. His original paddleboard design remains relevant to this day.
Paddleboarding experienced a renaissance in the early ‘80s after a Los Angeles lifeguard, Rabbi Norm Shifren’s “Waterman Race” (22 miles from Point Dume to Malibu) inspired surf journalist, Craig Lockwood, to begin production on a high quality stock paddleboard known as the “Waterman”. Shortly after, surfboard shaper, Joe Bark and Mike Eaton (of San Diego) began production and soon became two of the largest U.S. paddleboard makers. The idea caught on big in Hawaii as well as the mainland and paddleboarding has been consistently gaining momentum and popularity.
Today, there are five very notable events for competitive paddleboarding which include: Molokai to Oahu Paddleboard Race, the Catalina Classic, Henessey’s International Paddleboard Championship, and the Hamilton Island Cup (Australia). Some of the notable paddleboarders are Jamie Mitchell, Kyle Daniels, Michael O’Shaughnessy, Pierce Brosnan (James Bond himself), and of course, our local Tom Duryea.
Enter our Coronado champion paddleboarder: Tom rides a stock board which measures 12 feet in length. He is sponsored by and rides a Joe Bark custom board he helped to design. Duryea continues his family’s legacy by working for Custom Surf in San Diego. When not busy designing, building, and selling boards, he spends his time preparing himself for the races. He recently won the Catalina Classic 32-mile race from the island of Catalina back to the Manhattan Beach pier in the stock board division. The ocean conditions off Catalina were rugged and it was 32 miles of paddling across choppy, cold water. He finished the race in 6 hours 14 minutes winning his division for the fourth time. This is something that has never been done before. When asked about the best part of the race, Duryea said, “The finish – It makes all that paddling worth it the minute you touch the sand.” The rich history of this classic makes his win that much sweeter. Tom went on to say, “This race is the benchmark from what all other paddleboard races are measured by.”
In 2006, he won the Molokai to Oahu race in the stock division in just 6 hours 59 minutes. This is a 32-mile race as well from the island of Molokai to Oahu, Hawaii.
Duryea will be competing in the Hennessey’s World Championship race on September 25. There will be the best paddlers from Australia, Hawaii, New Zealand, and the United States competing. It is a ten-mile course from Mission Bay to Pacific Beach. Tom hopes to do well in this championship race but knows it will be a tough competition. To prepare himself for the race, our own champion paddles 12 to 15 miles on Saturdays plus pulls 5-milers during the week.
The Duryea family and we at the Coronado Clarion are very proud of this fine sportsman. So, mark the date and come down to support our champion Coronadan paddleboarder, Tom Duryea! Good luck, Tom!
Custom Surf
Owner: Mike Smith
5151 Santa Fe Street, Ste. A
Pacific Beach, CA 92109
(858) 270-1147
http://paddleboard.com
(Joe Buck paddleboards)
MANDY ‘N’ RANDY — NOT SO HAPPILY EVER AFTER
By Kimberley Graham
Several years ago, when our children were very young, there was an adorable, friendly couple who lived a few doors down from us: Mandy ‘n’ Randy. Mandy was a civil engineer and Randy in flight command with the Navy. We lived happily near each other for years. They had a precious Pomeranian and an apartment full of Winnie the Pooh memorabilia. Randy used to frequently come out and watch the kids play engaging them with their toys and childhood innocence. They were the only ones we ever trusted to watch our kids in an emergency.
Randy went onto begin training with the UDT teams. One momentous 4th of July, unbeknownst to any of us, Randy began drinking very early in the morning as do most of us who live on Orange on the Fourth. Also unbeknownst to us was that he had been thrown out of the UDT due to mental issues receiving no psychiatric care or follow-up. As we all sat outside enjoying the parade, his ex-team members came by on a float jeering and teasing him on. Right over the edge, Randy went (and had done so, we later found out with his wife, on many occasions).
He began marching around in the median with an American flag he had commandeered while shouting and acting a huge-bit nuts. Then he went home and smashed out all his windows while throwing a Bouie knife into the wall. It turns out Randy had been sleeping with an arsenal under his pillow and bed for years becoming increasingly paranoid at the same time.
Mandy ran down to get my husband’s help who approached our distraught friend very slowly. He found Randy passed out on the floor. After a long talk, Randy agreed to drink coffee, sober up, and quit terrorizing his Mandy and doggie. Well, when he got down to Central Liquor with his wife to get that coffee, he changed his mind and wanted to get some more booze. The store refused to sell him any more liquor. Another hysterical march down the median with his American flag and deflated patriotism ensued.
Once again, Mandy ran hysterically down to find my husband, Al. This time, Randy had gotten into his storage in the communal courtyard and was unpacking a chest of weapons and ammunition. After this discovery, Al stealthily returned home to secure the kids, Mandy, the neighbors, and to call 911. I was at work while all this was occurring. The Coronado police battalion arrived to find him sitting in an armchair in front of the back door aiming a gun to any passers-by. SWAT team was called in and the area was cordoned off. The stolen American flag was poised next to our friend, who we always thought was “dear sweet harmless Randy”. While my kids hugged and tried to comfort their beloved “Mandy” friend, a single shot was fired and Randy took his life. All the neighbors were hiding and it took a long time for the exorcism of this event to occur. Broken out windows, yellow police tape everywhere, and a devastated widow, doggie, all the neighbors, my kids, and us were left behind in the human’s ashes of a very disturbed young soldier.
When Randy was discharged abruptly from the UDT training program due to questionable mental disabilities and psychological disorders, he never received any counseling from the Navy or follow-up even though his superiors knew he was a very unstable and dangerous young man to himself and to others. We hope this sort of treatment has been corrected for similar service people who are clearly “at risk” putting the community at large in peril.
May Randy rest in peace?
OLD IRONSIDES — Little Known Tidbit of Naval History
Submitted by Ray Fletcher
“Good Ole Days”
The USS Constitution (Old Ironsides), as a combat vessel, carried 48,600 gallons of fresh water for her crew of 475 officers and men. This was sufficient to last six months of sustained operations at sea. She carried no evaporators (i.e. fresh water distillers).
However, let it be noted that according to her ship’s log, “On July 27, 1798, the USS Constitution sailed from Boston with a full complement of 475 officers and men, 48,600 gallons of fresh water, 7,400 cannon shot, 11,600 pounds of black powder, and 79,400 gallons of rum. Her mission: “To destroy and harass English shipping.”
Making Jamaica on 6 October, she took on 826 pounds of flour and 68,300 gallons of rum. Then she headed for the Azores, arriving there 12 November. She provisioned with 550 pounds of beef and 64,300 gallons of Portuguese wineOn 18 November, she set sail for England. In the ensuing days, she defeated five British men-of-war and captured and scuttled 12 English merchant ships, salvaging only the rum aboard each. By 26 January, her powder and shot were exhausted. Nevertheless, although unarmed she made a night raid up the Firth of Clyde in Scotland. Her landing party captured a whisky distillery and transferred 40,000 gallons of single malt Scotch aboard by dawn. Then she headed home. The USS Constitution arrived in Boston on 20 February 1799 with no cannon shot, no food, no powder, no rum, no wine, no whisky, and 38,600 gallons of water. GO NAVY!
ANCHORS ASTRAY?
By Nina Odele
I’m proud to be a Coronado resident. I love my Crown City and have been fortunate enough to live here most of my life. When I was a young girl in the 1960s, Coronado was all about the Navy. As it should be! Many of my childhood friends’ dads were Navy. Our family had lots of Navy friends. Orange Avenue was always full of men in uniform. Of course, back then, I wasn’t aware of exactly what the Navy actually does. We were civilian.
I have great memories of going to the pool and the movies on Base with my Navy kid pals. It was a simple time then and even civilians could get on Base fairly easily. My best friend worked in the commissary. I loved going there as a teen. Great deals on the mascara I loved but wasn’t (technically) allowed to wear yet!
During the Viet Nam War, every TV news show was chocked full of war footage: Pure carnage — Every day — Crazy stuff — Guys half blown up — Grief stricken young widows back home in the States — Children suddenly fatherless. Sadly, I simply took it in stride as “normal.” I had no real concept of who was getting blown up by whom or why. I was too young. That was grown up stuff and I was busy being a kid.
When I was in high school (GO ISLANDERS!) The young enlisted men used to hoot and holler at us local gals everywhere we went. Sometimes we’d get them to buy us beer with promises of meeting them down at the beach to party. This practice was called “tapping”. Of course, we’d get the beer, put it in our back packs, then haul on our bikes over to a friend’s house whose parents were out of town, and laugh our butts off at what suckers those Navy guys were to believe us! Alright, I’m not proud of it, but it was what it was.
When I learned details about Viet Nam and the horrible injustices our Navy personnel endured when they came home to the States, I was incredibly shocked and humbled. The fact that our great Country treated these brave people who had fought for our freedom abroad like monsters upon their return was beyond all reason. Those Veterans got the shaft from the very place they were protecting. It was ugly. I still remember those news shows and how horrible the carnage was. It haunts me to this day.
I cannot fathom how the men who saw it all first hand could cope once they were back home. A great many couldn’t cope. They went crazy or committed suicide. There was also a huge divorce rate among Navy families after the war. Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome was epidemic due to the fact that even our own Government turned their backs on the Veterans who were so desperately in need of monetary and psychological help.
After every other war, our returning veterans were treated like kings. I remember feeling so heartbroken for the Viet Nam era guys. And ashamed at the powers that be for allowing such blatant neglect. Where was “Big Brother” during all this injustice? I had already gained a great deal of respect for the Navy by that time. This Twilight Zone type homecoming amplified that respect ten-fold.
Last week, I read something in the local newspaper that instantly made me quite ill. It was an article about how several Coronado residents were complaining about the “noise” from the Navy base. Not jets, not ‘copters — the FLAG raising and lowering ceremonies! I couldn’t believe my eyes. Each morning at 0750, two separate locations on Base play “Reveille” with bugles. At 0800, they raise the American Flag(s) and play the Star Spangled Banner. Each evening at dusk, the same locations lower our Flag(s) and play “Taps.” These ceremonies have always brought out the Patriot in me. They also make me feel well protected and extremely thankful for my freedom. We live somewhere in the middle of the two locations described above. The bugles sound at the same time every day. You can set your watch by them! I love standing outside hearing them in “stereo.” The fact that “several Coronado residents” are bothered enough by the bugles to complain is one thing. These residents are most likely transplants with no respect for Navy tradition or their own freedom for that matter!
The Flag ceremonies are not a new addition to Coronado. They are tradition and have been exactly the same as long as I’ve lived here (50 years). The thing that bothers me the most is that our esteemed Mayor actually took these complaints seriously enough to bring the subject up at City Hall. Shame on you Mr. Mayor. Are you really going to tell the Navy to “keep it down” due to a few rich idiots who have nothing better to do than complain? I think not. In a perfect world, these whiners would be told to move (preferably out of the USA) if they don’t like it. Sadly, this world is far from perfect. I suggest these “citizens” take a crash course in Naval history (emphasis on the Viet Nam era “homecoming”). Another suggestion would be for these sour few to be taken on Base and be forced to clean all the latrines with their personal toothbrushes!
The good news is that 99.9 percent of Coronado residents do have a very healthy respect for the Navy. Even though our “Big Admirals”, who used to be everywhere are now giving way to a new generation, we honor ALL Navy personnel — past or present, living or dead. Those who choose not to honor them should not be Coronado residents. We don’t want them here anyway! Ironically, the Navy fights for our freedom. And people can live anywhere they please. It’s because of the Navy (and all branches of Military) that whiners are free to whine. Like I said before, it’s not a perfect world.
THE SOUND OF SILENT
By Al Graham
I have not heard a word from my friend Silent since he was deployed in August. He is in a hostile land defending his country, and in particular, the lives of those in combat. He has fought many a fray; he fought and he won. He is called when our troops are plagued by enemy sniper fire. He is the antidote and/or the cure.
It is hot as hell in a dusty, Afghan village. An enemy “Super Sniper” proudly wears a gruesome merit badge signifying “Top Dog” status awarded for dissembling the lives of young Americans by the score. Today another young Marine will be felled from far off by a remorseless assassin.
Silent has been tasked to “terminate with extreme prejudice”, and he will do just that. The hunt is on; and if past record is lived out, Silent will bring down his quarry in bulk. Silent is also “Top Dog” in his field. Even now after eight deployments and many close calls, he excels. Not long ago, he lost his left hand in a training accident; and to all, it looked like the end of his career. Silent had other ideas. Even before he had fully healed, he was back with a determined vengeance.
It takes two hands to do Silent’s highly specialized job. He does it with one hand and one hook — a device he fashioned for himself from leather and steel. At nine a.m., Silent is half buried in the ground. He has been there for two days waiting and watching. He tells of an unseen and foreboding presence – a just before presence of every encounter. Hairs on the back of his neck bristle and all becomes deathly silent. In that awesome stillness lies a tension that could smash steel, but it is encased in serene assuredness; and Silent is about to drop the curtain bringing an end to this deathly minuet.
Reunion: For the Love of Cockers, Not Joe
By Suzi Lewis Pignataro, Kimberley Dill Graham, Lynne Harpst Koen as well as “Chester”, “Roscoe”, “Tobey”, “Lilly”, and “Sandy”
Suzi Lewis Pignataro’s Cockers:
I started working with traumatized children while at an internship in grad school, 25 years ago. I love my work; it’s a labor of love. There’s more fun and joy in it than one would think. Kids are amazing in their ability to recover. They only need someone to keep them safe while doing it. That’s part of my job. Another big part is helping them get back to themselves as playful, spontaneous, imaginative and funny people. I get to be all those things with them in the playroom, as well as motherly.
Chester
Our first Cocker Spaniel was a party-colored male we named Chester. We found him through a breeder. None of her clients wanted him; he was too big and had too few points to show. We couldn’t have cared less; we wanted a family dog. Chester was a mad man. He was a loving little guy, but he was also crazy. For example, he developed a habit of licking furniture. He would start at one end of the couch – his favorite – and lick all the way to the other end, then turn around and lick his way back to his original spot. He used to jump up on the dining room table to steal food. If he were caught in the act, he would spit out the morsel and flop on his side, feigning sleep with raspy dog snores. He was healthy until age six-and-a-half, when he suddenly developed a rare autoimmune disorder that was showing up in male Cockers: his liver identified its own cells as an enemy and literally attacked itself, killing Chester in three weeks’ time. It was devastating. We donated his liver to research at UC-Davis, where the school of veterinary medicine was attempting to identify the etiology of the disease in the hope of finding an eventual cure.
When Chester was five, we adopted Roscoe. He was six. He had been forfeited by his human who had become homeless. Roscoe was rescued by Pets Lifeline in Sonoma. I happened to be volunteering for them when he came in. One look, and I knew he was ours to love. Chester was not as enthusiastic about Roscoe as we humans were. He pushed him into our pool a couple of times before the two of them came to some sort of understanding. Roscoe is 14 now. He has plates in his back knees, is going deaf, has arthritis and has the Cocker Spaniel ear issues – but he’s outside right now barking his head off at the pool guy, and he wakes us up every morning howling like a wolf. He has years to go.
When Chester died, I went into a mourning that I knew could only be healed by adopting another Cocker. My husband Daniel and I drove to Berkeley where a rescued Cocker was being fostered. That was how we adopted Tobey. Tobey had been found on the streets of Berkeley starving and injured. He weighed only 18 pounds when he was rescued. By the time we met him, he was up to 23 – still small for a Cocker. Once we got him home, we found out the rest about Tobey.
Tobey
As a stray, Tobey must have survived on trash and textbooks abandoned by UC- Berkeley students. He ate any garbage, piece of paper or book he could sink his teeth into. I still have the children’s books whose spines he chewed. I have them in my office where the children frequently request that I read, “One of Tobey’s books”. For the first few years, if we tried to take away the thing he was not supposed to be eating he would attack us. I was bitten twice by him. We quickly developed a hostage-negotiation relationship, where Tobey kept the object in his mouth until we offered him something more delectable. He learned that other items could be used in this manner: pencils, silverware, clothing, iPods, etc. He also had an aversion to rain, most likely the result of being homeless during the winter. It rains up to 40 inches a season here. If the air so much as smelled of rain, Tobey refused to go outside. Consequently, we had to put towels in certain areas of the house where he did his business. We grew to dread winters. Carpets and the legs of tables were ruined.
Because of the book noshing, we had to Tobey-proof all of our bookcases and bedrooms. We put a baby gate in every doorway, restricting Tobey’s access to all things munchable. I have to say, our kids were exceptionally patient about all of this, as were their friends. After Tobey passed away and the gates were retired to the garage, we still “stepped over” them. It took us weeks to stop doing that.
In the five years we had him, Tobey cost us $13,000 in vet bills. He was treated for hypothyroidism, epilepsy, mange, chronic ear infections (leading to him having his ear canals removed), total blindness, a rare disease called Pemphigus (an autoimmune disease found mostly in the tropics, in which the proteins that keep the skin knitted together break down – the skin literally breaks apart) which almost killed him, cysts that burst, and hepatitis – the disease that caused his death. He was a huge challenge, but he was our baby. It took him three years to recover from whatever horrors he experienced before being rescued. For those three years, we never knew whether Tobey would lick us or bite us. But with unconditional love, we helped him heal. He might have been a medical disaster, but he turned out to be the most loving dog I have ever known. In the last two years of his life, all he wanted was to be with us. All he wanted was to have a cuddle with his mommy and daddy. That’s how he left this world – having a cuddle.
Daniel and I have entertained the thought of trying another breed, one with fewer health issues. The truth is, we go ga-ga every time we see a Cocker. I think it would be easy for me to adopt another breed – I have had other dogs – but Daniel’s first dog was Chester. He’s only known Cockers, and Argentines are nothing if not sentimental and loyal.
Roscoe
Back to Roscoe, our 14-year-old Cocker:
Roscoe has two personalities: That of a dignified but grumpy old curmudgeon, and that of a highly sensitive and creative being. Mostly, we live with the curmudgeon. Seldom does Roscoe seek or accept affection, and often he voices his complaint about our attempts at babying him. But, on the rare occasion, he will surprise and delight us with such fancies as “bone art”, or playing soccer with the kids, or falling head over heels in love with our neighbor’s Suffolk ewe who, unfortunately, does not return his affection.
I provide therapy for young children who have been traumatized. I never considered that Roscoe could be of any help in my “playroom”. I imagined him voicing his complaints about the children’s loudness, their messiness or their attempts at giving and receiving affection. He proved me wrong. One day last winter, Roscoe’s weekly visit to my office’s acupuncturist overlapped with my first session with a severely abused and neglected six-year-old boy. The boy huddled in a corner of my room absently playing with my dollhouse, refusing to engage with me. A scratch at the door brought in Roscoe. I worried how he would react to the boy, and how the boy would react to him. At first, Roscoe did not see the boy in the corner and walked toward his favorite spot in my room near the couch; but he picked up the boy’s scent, and turned toward the corner where the boy sat with his back to us.
“Uh-oh,” I thought, imagining Roscoe growling at the child. As I moved to intervene, Roscoe did the incredible. He trotted over to the boy, a worried look furrowing his brow, and sat down next to him. Without a word or a turn of his head, the boy put his arm around Roscoe and leaned against him with a sigh. Roscoe turned his head toward me, his eyes speaking of the sadness he felt coming from the boy. Then he turned to lick the boy’s cheek, which was tear-stained.
That was Roscoe’s first session as the boy’s therapy dog. Every week, Roscoe waited in my reception area for him to arrive and escorted him to my playroom. Every week, he and the boy sat by the dollhouse. Roscoe positioned himself to protect the boy from unseen danger. Gradually, the boy began to create scenes in the dollhouse from his horrific past, with Roscoe and I as his witnesses.
Roscoe has since gained a reputation for being a dog capable of “sniffing out” a child’s deepest feelings, a gift he has put to good use with a dozen children.
Enter Kimberley Graham and Lilly Belle:
Frankie, my cancer recovery dog, was gifted to me on Mother’s day after a week-long hospitalization from a bad reaction to the first round of chemotherapy in my fight against breast cancer. He was a “dorkie”, a cross between a Dachshund and a Yorkshire terrier. He fit in one’s palm, he was so tiny. Frankie, named after my husband’s favorite brother, went on to become the joy of my life, while I battled a yearlong struggle with two surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation treatments. He snuggled under the covers with me at night and followed me everywhere by day. We even showered together. He was my constant entertainment and the only one who could seem to bring me joy. Two days, before this Mother’s Day, Frankie went missing. After a month-long campaign and an oath to my healing companion that we would always search for him, we found out he was hit by a car two blocks from our home.
During that month of June, I was so distraught. I could not be dissuaded from the constant campaign of searching for “Frankie Dog”. On Mother’s Day, two days after he went missing, my family and friends again gifted me with a puppy. She was a half-a-foot long blonde “miniature” cocker spaniel purchased from a popular puppy shop in Mission Valley where they sell puppies to the innocents for over a thousand dollars. Because of my story of losing Frankie and the breast cancer survival, the store owner, gave my family a bargain. We named her “Lil’ Something”. Well, a bargain, she wasn’t. Lil’ Something was not a miniature cocker spaniel. She was a diseased puppy mill dog infested with spaghetti-sized worms among other infestations, a respiratory infection, and a definite aggression-disorder. She would immediately growl at me when I touched her and aggressively try to bite my face. She was not a Frankie dog. I was so sad from losing “my baby” that I could not bring myself to bond with this puppy especially with her deposits all over my carpets that well-intended family members and guests would trot all over the house. I was a-cleaning constantly as well as having to afford large veterinarian bills. Plus she made sounds and had mannerisms that would make me feel Frankie’s ghost.
After a series of veterinarian appointments, medication treatments, and improvements in her diet, Lil’ Something started to grow and grow and grow. She needed a new name. My daughter, Ariel, said she wanted to call her “Lilly”, and Lilly she became.
Weeks passed and I began to notice my new puppy as well as the two kittens well-intentioned friends also gifted me to make me feel better. My home had become a play fest for baby animals. Who could not notice? I began to pay attention to all these little varmits. Benny, Esperanza, and Lilly – the crazy, shedding, pooping, always playing babies. They started to creep up into my psyche and started my healing process.
Enter Lynne Harpst Koen:
Lynne Harpst and I, Kimberley Dill, grew up alongside each other, but never were really acquainted. My husband, Al Graham, had known her well while she was growing up as he worked closely with her mother, Fran, on several projects. We were recently introduced through him as we shared not only a deep affection for my husband, but a love of our hometown, Coronado. After a suggestion that we have a girls’ day in which we walk our dogs on Lilly’s first dog walk, we got together.
Lynne has two rescued adoption dogs – Rockit and Boo. They are small dogs and have known their own issues as well. Lynne with her husband, George Koen, have salvaged these mistreated and sick dogs into healthy, happy family members.
Lilly and I arrived a bit nervous at the doorstep of the Koen’s home trepidly wondering how we would do on our first day out as a mommy and a puppy duo. We were still not even sure of ourselves. The door opens and Lilly on her first day on a leash enters. Rockit and Boo excitedly approach. Lilly starts to scream. I have never heard any dog make that sound. She then proceeds to pee all over the tile floor. I picked Lilly up to comfort her and she then pee-d all over me. While I was trying to recover from this puppy insanity, Rockit lifted his leg and pee-d all over the wall in the foyer. Good start – all of us – on our first visit – in an effort to get to know one another.
Well, Lynne, the trooper that she is, grabbed Lilly from me wrapped her in a towel, asked her housekeeper to clean up, and escorted me outside for refreshments. She pronounced that today is “Lilly’s Coming Out Day” and she was now officially “Auntie Lynne”. She went on to say that her only granddaughter is named “Lilly” and the family nicknamed her “Lilly Belle”. Now, my Lilly is officially Lilly Belle as well. Auntie Lynne made me promise that she could treat us to a day at Wags-N-Tails with special girlie-dog puppy gifts to make both Lilly and I feel bonded. And that is just what she did – pink baby blanket saying, “I Love My Mommy”, a special puppy dog bed, healthy puppy treats, bright pink harnass and leash, and lovely toys just for Lilly Belle. Up until this time, she was playing with Frankie’s playthings, which would break my heart every time I heard them squeak.
Lilly and I went home officially bonded and we came out as an official puppy and mommy. Lilly is now still growing. She’s commanded my attention and demanded my love. I now officially love her and I thank Frankie for being my angel – for giving me someone to help replace his loss. He has official wings and watches over and provides stewardship trying to teach Lilly to be nicer to her mommy, who still nips and growls, but in her own way adores me.
"Lilly's Coming Out Day"
Sandy was her mother’s dog when Lynne came into the world. She was a beautiful blonde cocker spaniel. Lilly reminds Lynne and her brother very much of their beloved Sandy. In a poignant e-mail and later a card, Lynne designated Sandy as Lilly’s Guardian Angel. Sandy and Lynne also gifted me a statue of a little girl angel holding a small dog. The plaque reads, “Always in Our Hearts”. I, Suzie, Lynne, Sandy, Rockit, Boo, Frankie, Chester, Roscoe, Tobey, and Lilly are always in ours.
Sandy, Lilly's Gaurdian Angel
Enter Suzi and her cockers:
Suzi Lewis and I, Kimberley Dill-Graham, were best friends growing up. We lived two blocks from one another – I, on Glorietta Boulevard and she, at the foot of the Tenth Street hill at Pomona. We had many all-night sleepovers where we wrote love letters to The Beatles. We shared many a wonderful childhood memory that only friends of our sort could share. How about having a slumber party for my birthday on the night JFK was assassinated just for starters? How about purchasing your very first album, which wasn’t The Beatles, it was by the Rolling Stones? My favorite song was the obscure, “Just Walkin’ the Dog”. How about sharing when you had first signs of puberty? How about sharing when your first kiss was? How about just sharing your dreams? And I’ll meet you at the Village Theater, what are you wearing? We are bonded in these memories. We are taken back.
Suzi and I lost touch decades ago – just as we embarked upon growing up and growing away from our beloved island, Coronado. After thirty-something years, Suzi asked to be “friends” on Facebook. I was thrilled and responded immediately. What brought us back together and officially bonded us were our shared feelings for the cocker spaniels, not Joe’s. We have renewed our childhood friendship. She is now an official contributing editor for the Coronado Clarion as her muse allows. We welcome her and her stories as well as those of Auntie Lynne’s.
Big hugs to all of us doggie lovers and friends.
NOTE: In honor of Frankie’s memory, we, at the Coronado Clarion with our special donors, are establishing “Frankie’s Friendly Little Dog Park” at the Ferry Landing. It will officially open this winter, 2010 with a kickoff festival of rock n’ roll entertainment, a little dog costume competition, raffle prizes, and a Second Chance Dog Rescue adoption of little dogs as well as food and drink.
Come join us and celebrate Frankie’s memory, Lilly’s future, and the pleasure of little dogs running free safely with others.
Speaker’s Corner
For over 150 years, every Sunday morning in London’s Hyde Park, thousands of people gather at Speaker’s Corner to discuss and debate politics and life issues. It is a marvelous event where anyone, citizens and tourists alike, can stand up on a stage or a soapbox and speak or yell their opinions as loud as they want to. The crowd is feisty, enthusiastic, well-informed, and much ready to engage.
We at the Clarion would like to offer a similar forum to all citizens of Coronado in print and on our website. We urge our readers to submit letters and opinions to the Speaker’s Corner: editor@coronado-clarion.com
Al Graham
Editor
Dear Speaker’s Corner:
A few weeks ago, in a spirit of utter frustration, and after weeks and weeks of reading Mr. Kelly’s weekly column, invariably full of extremist rhetoric, I wrote a letter to the editor of the Coronado Eagle/Journal. In the letter, I cited my belief in the right to free speech, and asked him, in the cause of fairness, to print my letter. Of course, my letter made it to the wastebasket file. As I have heard, so have the letters of many others.
My goal was to suggest that Mr. Kelly be more careful in his fact checking, if any, and to point out that often his passionate assertions are twisted to support his extremist ideology. For example, he ranted against the confirmation of Elena Kagan. Ms. Kagan is a woman who is utterly qualified to be a Supreme Court justice by most reasonable accounts. She is praised at length and not at all like the rude, attack-dog language of Senator Jeff Sessions during the hearings. Sessions, by the way, had also attacked Sonya Sotomayor much in the same fashion, another qualified and admirable woman. “Alas!” They both were confirmed.
In my rejected letter, I pointed out that Jeff Sessions was nominated to the Supreme Court a few Republican-eras back and was SOUNDLY REJECTED by both the Judicial Committee and the Senate. His attacks on these selections are clearly related to that profound disappointment.
But when KELLY maligned the British health care system, I had to speak out. My daughter, lives in Wales, lived in London, and has been a long-time resident of the U.K. I was there when she bore her daughter and was amazed at the quality of the system in regards to childbirth. It was a thoughtful and professional event. A nurse actually visits the home of the prospective mother before her time, and then after the birth on her return home. The nurse comes by again for another follow-up and to ask if there are any questions or if help of any sort is needed.
Later, when Amy needed an emergency heart valve operation, I was there a few days after her surgery. She was very complimentary about the surgical excellence and the attention that she received. Before I left California, I was actually able to speak to a nurse on her hospital floor by telephone. The nurse spoke with me at length regarding her condition.
When Mr. Kelly called the American health care system the “best in the world”, I was compelled to quote two charts I had recently seen in Time magazine as well as the New York Times – hardly fly-by-night publications – who cited U.S. health care as 17th in the world with U.S. neonatal care, based on mortalities, as 27th. Kelly then proceeded to knock “Obamacare” as a joke. I then wondered if we would soon see him promoting a picture of our president with a Hitler moustache, and/or sipping tea with that party group along with the Mad Hatter.
Recently, Kelly praised the proposition policy of our state as the “will of the people”, when most “thinkers”, particularly those with a sense of law, wish duly elected legislators would serve to put forth the will of the people as our system demands — not the persons with an attitude or an ax to grind, who thrust clipboards at us asking for signatures in front of Wal-Mart or Target, in support of some emotionally based idea.
In closing, I simply have to cite a cartoon from the New Yorker showing a father and his son sitting on the floor and looking under the boy’s bed with a flashlight. The father’s comment, “See, son, no socialists!”
Sincerely,
Rita Wack
I Got Your Inheritance Right Here
By Vincent Garnell
When my mother died, she left a substantial inheritance to be shared between myself and my three brothers.
The day we all gathered for the reading of the will was the single most awful day of my life and my brothers that were once very close to me had now become my enemies.
My older brother wanted me to agree with them that our big family house should be sold and my other siblings agreed. I wanted to keep the old home which was full of wonderful memories of our childhood but they felt nothing for it and its history. To them, it was just an old building, and they wanted the money to buy new cars and condos in Hawaii.
I was so angry that they did not care about our family history. I was so disappointed that they were not interested in preserving what was once so important to us all and was now cast aside. My older brother claimed that he was due most of the inheritance because he had greater needs than the rest of us. He had four children and his wife was a social climber and wanted a prestigious modern house to live in.
The will was read and my older brother beamed when my mother’s wishes were read stating that he be the final word on all matters of finance and property. He decided that he would sell the house and keep most of the profits.
When my father died a year earlier, my brother promised my mother that he would never sell the old house and that it would always remain in the family no matter what. She left him in control of the entire estate believing that he would be true blue just like dad was throughout his life.
Mother had suffered the rigors of dementia before she died and my brother did not come to see her at all because he claimed it was too disturbing to his wife. She could not tolerate the mood swings: happy, sad, angry. It was all so loathsome to her, and my brother backed her to the hilt.
My mother would always ask for him: Where was he?” Why did he not come to her when she needed him? I tried to get him to come to see her without his wife, but she was intractable. She would not be coming to visit mom and she would not allow him to do so either.
Mom eventually rationalized his absence. One morning, she suddenly announced that she wanted to go visit his grave site. Before she died, and in her delusional state, she started telling everyone that her son had been killed in a car accident as he was on his way to visit her.
“When I die I will be buried right next to my loving son and we will be in heaven together very soon.” She would whisper these words over and over to herself.
We did not have the heart to tell her that he was forbidden to visit. So we just went along with her sweet fantasy. We never tried to have her change the will because that would have broken her heart to know he was still alive but would not come to see her in the living years.
Suddenly, there were four lawyers representing four different factions. My other two brothers did not like the idea that the older one was taking the lion’s share of the estate for himself. They had “needs”, and like him, they were out for themselves first.
Loud and angry diatribes were hurled back and forth between them as I stood on the sidelines watching in disgust. My once loving brothers had now turned on each other over the root of all evil. The sin of greed stood tall and all of the evil that comes with it was now swirling around us all like some terrible leakage of raw sewage.
Suddenly, I am devoid of family as surely as if they have all left for another country far away. Even though I am alone, I am fine with it. They had become greedy rivals and fought viciously for “my share” leaving only the echo of the loving family I once had. It was gone forever. I did not care because to see them fighting like lions and tearing each other to pieces was like being in an everlasting nightmare.
The loving memories I once had are now as dead as dead flowers. As I stand by my mother’s grave, the autumn leaves fly by in a strong wind. I watch them as they dance across the graves and disappear out of sight. They are gone never to return again.
Nina’s Story
By Nina Odele.
Nina
I was born in 1957. It was in the days when good little children were seen and not heard. “Mother” would dress me up to greet her company for five minutes, then banish me to my room for the rest of the night. I thought that was perfectly normal until I got a bit older and realized that was the exception rather than the rule. It really wasn’t all Mother’s fault, though, as “Grandmother” raised her the same way — sort of. Actually, Mother was raised by nannies in Hollywood. Mother went to school with the likes of Shirley Temple and Judy Garland.
But I digress. Grandmother was from “Old School Atlanta”. She was a very proper “Southern Lady”. Grandmother’s family had a long-established history in the South. In her younger years, Grandmother was one of Mark Twain’s “Angel Fish”. Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) also spoke at Grandmother’s graduation ceremony from prep school. I have that photo hanging in the hallway. My grandfather was an
author who later became a screenwriter. The “Family” relocated from Atlanta to Hollywood when “talkies” (movies with sound) were invented.Mother passed away on April 7th of this year. We had a turbulent relationship, but we were fine at the end. The last thing she ever said to me was, “You’re a good kid.” That was the closest thing to “I Love
grandmother
You” I ever heard from her so that was just fine with me. Better than fine. All my life, whenever I told her “I Love You,” her patterned response was always, “I know.” She just wasn’t equipped to say the “L” word.
As a child growing up in Coronado, I was forced into culture at a very young age. I knew which fork to use before I even had teeth! I’m kidding, of course, but you get the point. I took a plethora of lessons: ballet, piano, cotillion, tennis, guitar, even organ (because we just happened to have one in our house.)
I was also subjected to numerous operas as a child. I was raised in an extremely strict Catholic household. When I was around 12 years old, Mother started joining all sorts of organizations. She was on the Coronado Hospital Board, USD Board, and countless other Catholic committees, too numerous to name. Mother was gone quite a lot which is when I started to rebel: typical teen antics, 70’s-style. I never did anything that anyone else wasn’t doing at the time, only I was the one who always seemed to get caught. It never failed. I was the worst liar ever. Still am, which in hindsight, I’m very happy about.
After high school, I was sent up to San Francisco for college. I’d never been north of Los Angeles. It was scary, yet very exciting. I was pre-med. I could easily handle the course load, but I had a boyfriend in San Diego who I missed terribly.
I dropped out of school after two semesters. I was promptly disowned. I somehow managed to fib my way into a job as a PBX (switch board) operator at Copley Newspapers in La Jolla. It was a good job and I liked it there but I was only 18. After about a year, I felt stuck in a rut so I went back to school. I majored in theater arts and that’s where I met my first husband.
I had absolutely no intention of getting married, but I got pregnant. So this Catholic girl had a shotgun wedding. My first daughter was born in November of 1978. I was 20 — two weeks short of 21. The marriage was a wash. It lasted two agonizing years.
I was a single mom for five years when I met my second husband. That romance was swift and very intense. We married in March of 1983 and my second daughter was born in November of 1984. Hubby No.Two was unfaithful, among other things, and we divorced in 1986. I found myself a single mom again, which was much better than being miserable. I went back to school, again, and decided to become an EMT (Emergency Medical Technician). Upon course completion, I got a job right away. Only problem was it was a graveyard shift and I had two kids. It was too much stress, so I quit. To this day, I’m glad I have all that field knowledge, as I’ve been first responder on many emergencies throughout the years. It’s very nice to know how to save a life.
The years passed by, and in 1991, I decided to move my “Girls” out to the country. We bought a small ranch in Ramona. Shortly thereafter, I joined the Sheriff’s Department. Life was good. We had horses, dogs, and even goats. Then I met my third daughter’s dad, and life took yet another turn. I got pregnant after three months of dating. I was 35 years old. I wanted my baby, but I didn’t want another marriage. I got one anyway.
My Mother the Model, Fran Harpst
That marriage lasted six years, three of which we were separated. Then Mother got very sick; so I moved back to Coronado with my youngest daughter. The older girls were already established in Ramona.
One time, I was visiting my older sister in northern California. She had mentioned to me on previous occasions that a male friend of hers had an interest in me. I usually said, “Oh, that’s nice,” and changed the subject. However, this time, I said, “Okay. Give me his number.” I’d met him several times at family gatherings over the years; only we were both
married at the time. Now we were both divorced. I had his phone number for weeks until I finally got the courage up to call him.
When we finally connected, it was like Christmas, Easter, and the 4th of July all wrapped into one. With my track record, I was hesitant, but the “real” love bug had bitten us hard. There was no denying he was “the one”. Our first date was August 11, 2006. We were married on August 11th, 2008.
Together we live a charmed life. We are blessed with five grandchildren and two more on the way — one from his side, the other from mine. Life is good, yet it’s been a wild ride to get to where we are today. We are constantly thankful for our many blessings.
Lil’ Pumkins
By Nina Odele
When I was a little girl, I thought all grandparents had to be at least 100 years old. Maybe there was some sort of rule that they be old and wrinkled up? Of course, that was from a child’s perspective. Now, at 53 years old, I have four wonderful grandchildren with another on his way any day now!
I must confess that at first I wasn’t too sure about my new role as “Nana”. It was similar to becoming a Mom for the first time — that little bit of nervousness combined with anticipation and excitement –Am I worthy? — that sort of thing. However, just like when my own children were born, “Nana-hood” came quite naturally for me. Now I can’t even imagine not having these four wonderful kids as a part of my life. They are walking, talking, “Blessings from Heaven!”
The circle of life is so amazing. Mother passed away four months ago in April 2010. Dad passed several years ago. When Mother passed it suddenly dawned upon me that now I’m officially an “orphan”. Sounds a bit silly at my age, but it really does take some getting used to. There are still times when I want to pick up the phone and call my parents, but then reality sets in. I heave a huge sigh then turn to the positive. I can “talk” to my parents anytime I want to now! They just don’t answer back, which is not necessarily such a bad deal in Mother’s case. We locked horns all my life, but I honestly do miss her with all my heart.
Mother loved gardening. It was her life’s passion. Gardening brought her the joy that nothing else could. The last thing Mother ever planted with her own bare hands was a small crop of pumpkins. She adored the fall season. It was her absolute very favorite time of the year. For whatever reason, this year’s pumpkin crop came to fruition at the beginning of August. Go figure! The crop bore five lovely pumpkins. Interestingly enough, the exact right amount for each of Mother’s great grandchildren to have one, even the new little one, as yet unborn. I washed the pumpkins and brought them to the house.
Last weekend, all the grandkids were here for a visit. I let them each choose their very own pumpkin to take home. I also explained that Great Grandma grew those pumpkins just for them. My grandkids are all very young still, so I’m not sure if they caught the meaning of just how extremely special those particular pumpkins are. In any case, it warmed my heart beyond belief to see them cruising around with their brand new pumpkins. There’s no doubt in my mind that Mother was smiling down at all of us from Heaven that day. I thought about the whole circle of life thing. For our family, on that particular day, that circle had a color. It was orange.
Second Chance Dog Rescue
By Kimberley Graham
Recently, the Coronado Clarion staff had the great pleasure of meeting Sandra Simpson, president of the Second Chance Dog Rescue organization. Sandra is very hard-working, conscientious, and remarkably selfless as she forwards the cause of this amazing charity. She is a testament to humanity and what can be accomplished through perseverance coupled with a huge heart. Together with the other selfless “rescue team” members, volunteers, and co-founders, Second Chance Dog Rescue is proof of what noteworthy and astonishing feats can be achieved.
What is Second Chance Dog Rescue? Second Chance Dog Rescue is one of San Diego’s largest and most successful non-profit 501c3 organizations dedicated to saving homeless dogs. The staff of volunteers rescue, rehabilitate, and re-home dogs from local shelters, owner-surrendered dogs, and dogs from Baja California, Mexico. Once Second Chance receives a dog, their volunteer veterinarian staff provides medical care, including spaying and neutering along with any necessary rehabilitation. The organization have saved over 1,600 dogs since they started rescue in November, 2008.
Sandra Simpson came to the United States from England in her late twenties, and rose to become one of San Diego’s top real estate agents/brokers. Fifteen years ago, she was asked to sponsor a rescue dog at a shelter in Baja, Mexico. Meeting the dog in person touched her heart so much, her life was changed forever. Sandra devoted her time, money, and countless hours to helping the homeless dogs at the Baja shelter. After a decade of volunteering with them, she decided to broaden her passion to include saving dogs and ending the misery of puppy mills in the United States as well as continuing her work in Mexico.
In the fall of 2008, along with co-founders: Jason Cordoba, Maria Blake, and Sarah Ferrara, Second Chance Dog Rescue was formed. The founders recognized the urgent need in our community. “We pride ourselves on being a rescue group that is flexible and non-breed specific. We also have the ability to rescue senior dogs as well as those with health or medical issues.”
Second Chance Dog Rescue has accomplished a true miracle. After successfully rescuing over 1,600 dogs from euthanasia in just two short years, Second Chance has placed these animals in loving, safe, forever homes. How has this all been possible? Through the utilization of a team of very dedicated volunteers who bring a wealth of experience regarding canine behaviors, keen business sense, use of modern technology networking, and a philosophy of keeping the welfare of the dogs its first priority. With the support of so many, Second Chance hopes to set a fine example while maintaining the highest standards of excellence in the dog rescue community.
This non-profit is operated solely by volunteerism with no central kennel or shelter location. All of their dogs are in private homes, so “if it weren’t for our wonderful foster families, we wouldn’t be able to do what we do.” Being a foster with Second Chance is a rewarding experience as you are helping to save another dog’s life! “We can only rescue the amount of dogs that we have fosters for so we are always looking for new fosters. We provide you with all the supplies and needed vet care – you provide the dog with love, companionship, and guidance” until they are successfully adopted or you adopt the dog yourself.
“Just as we work to find the right foster dog for you, Second Chance also 
works hard on finding the right forever home for our rescues.”
Sandra has personally asked the Coronado Clarion to reach out and encourage the community of Coronado to consider joining their fostering program. Because our dog-loving citizenry, she feels we could provide wonderful opportunities for many of these unfortunate canines to prosper and have a “happy ending” life. The more foster families on board, the more animals can be saved. One visit to any animal shelter will, unfortunately, reveal the great need to be filled for our fellow creatures.
Sandra has two rescue dogs of her own: Dulce and Benjie. In truth, Sandra can be summed up in one word, and that word is, “lifesaver”. We, at the Coronado Clarion, are partnering our resources with Second Chance in spreading the word as well as supporting their invaluable work to the canine community.
Lenahan’s Story:
I was kicked to the curb on the city street
I was no longer a puppy — she didn’t think I was “neat”
I soon found myself on my own four feet
I thought I found shelter next to a bar
The shiny lights made me think the car was far
Next thing I knew I was in a cop car
I now have a temporary pin in my leg
It hurts to walk and I hate to beg
But I need surgery soon or I will have a wooden peg
Lenahan was found one night by a loving police officer. His little leg was broken in two. He was crying next to a dumpster in a parking lot on the wrong side of town. The officer took him to an emergency hospital where they put a temporary pin in his leg and cast.
We got a quote on a surgery for $3,500 to get him fixed up. He also needs his baby teeth removed. He is 1 years old and is a Chihuahua/Italian Greyhound mix. Lenahan has no microchip, tag, or collar.
“If you could donate a few dollars towards his surgery, it would be greatly appreciated. We will keep you updated on his surgery and when he gets a new home. We are at $1,420 as of Tuesday, September 14, 2010.”
Second Chance Dog Rescue
2435 C Street, Ste. 5
San Diego, CA 92102
(619) 231-6960
Tax ID # 26-3642128
On a lighter note, Second Chance Dog Rescue is hosting its first fundraiser, the “Spooktacular” Creeps for Critters event, to be held on October 30, 2010. The proceeds from this fundraiser will benefit our medical fund. The Spooktacular will be held at the San Diego Country Club from 6:00 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. Tickets are $100 and include dinner and a cocktail. Guests must be 21 or over. Please join us the staff of the Coronado Clarion and the wonderful dog-loving Second Chance community for lots of fun and celebration in honor of our doggies. Come in cocktail attire or costumes. The event is sponsored by Eastlake Village Vet Clinic.
Reserve your tickets at:
(619) 721-3647 (or)
Email: critters@secondchancedogrescue.org
Second Chance is still in need of sponsors for the silent auction and program costs. Silent Auction items and donations must be delivered to SCDR Headquarters by October 16, 2010. All gifts are tax deductible to the full extent of the law. Second Chance Dog Rescue hopes that you will join us in saving dogs by contributing to our worthy cause.
Please contact:
Maria Blake, SILENT AUCTION Coordinator
SCDR’s Creeps for Critters Charity Event
(619) 252-7081 (Cell)
(619) 239-0895 (Office)
Email: maria@secondchancedogrescue.org
Blue House/Electric Car
By Al Graham
The blue house looks as if it was once used as a set for an episode of the Twilight Zone. In reality, it really has stopped as if frozen in time, and in a wonderful time, when things were simple and people were happy.
Mike makes the coolest belly boards. He also crafts unique jewelry, fantastic wood carvings, and he even custom makes his own bicycles.
Back in the day, Mike built an electric car. It was an air-cooled, VW beetle. The batteries gave it enough charge to drive to Imperial Beach and back only. But, by god, the man was way beyond the times because today, battery-driven cars are ubiquitous on Coronado city streets
This old house is painted sea blue and has a vegetable garden in front. There was once a big brick barbecue pit in the back lovingly built by Mike’s dad; and even though it started to crumble, Mike saved all the bricks and uses them here and there around the house.
Mike’s wife Pamela is an artist and a champion hat decorator. She lovingly shows off the brightly colored one she won first prize for at the Hotel Del Coronado.
If Mike and Pamela were birds, they would be love birds just like the ones they keep in the front room, who incidentally have been given enough space in the living room for a thousand birds to gather.
The house is a living monument to peace and happiness and it sits like a 1960’s hippie house amidst a sea of new construction of not-so-fine houses. Unlike their beautiful, cheerful beach cottage, these houses are built using every square inch of land leaving very little lawn or a place to grow things.
The old days are long gone but Mike and Pamela are loving custodians of a house full of tender memories. Take a sweet walk down memory lane to a time when people were nice to each other. A time when we built things with our own hands and the world seemed far less complex.
Memory Lane
By Al Graham
Do you recall
We sang all the while
Your afternoons they were golden
Everything had a reason.
Memory lane
No ones in pain
Time has stopped turning
Roses fragrance last forever.
Someone just called
They’re so far away
And the rain comes crying down
Bringing the dreams back to life again.
Memory lane
Is calling again
Sail there when the snow flies
All your dreams are around you.
Memory Lane…Memory Lane… Memory lane
Take Me Out to the Ball Game
The Nicolas Avery Brown Foundation
Hi! My name is Nicolas Avery Brown and I am a smart, precocious nine-year-old. I was born with a disability called Myotubular Myopathy. It means that I have low-toned muscles. I am wheelchair bound and I get sick really easy. I’ve been in the hospital over 30 times in the past seven years for respiratory issues. I have spent most holidays in the hospital, especially in the winter. I don’t mind so much because the hospital has room service and the nurses are really nice. My mom calls the hospital our “home away from home” and we make the best of it whenever we are there.
I don’t get to go to school anymore which makes me sad because I don’t get to hang out with my friends and take French class and go to chess club, but I get sick and have to go in the hospital because I catch sickness from other kids. My mom is home schooling me right now and I am a straight-A student. I love to play video games and board games and watch Dragon Ball Z. People ask me if I want to walk. I don’t know how to answer that question because I don’t know what it feels like to walk. I have a manual wheelchair that I use at home and a power wheelchair when I go out. I can go really fast in my power wheelchair and I like to race people. I hope to be able to play Power Soccer on a team if I stay well.
My mom is a single mom, which means that my dad doesn’t live with us. She works hard to take care of me and to pay the bills. I have everything I need but sometimes I don’t get to do or have some of the things I would like because my mom can’t afford it. We meet a lot of other kids like me. It is hard to take care of a special needs child, especially when they are in the hospital, and to work at the same time. My mom and I decided to start this foundation so that we could help other kids like me and families like us.
A lot of stuff isn’t covered by insurance and it would be nice to help pay for another kid’s prescriptions so they can stay well and feel good. I wish that every kid in a wheelchair could ride horses and go to camp. I wish that all moms and dads could have a babysitter for their kids so they can do something fun. I wish that people have somewhere nice to stay while their kid is at the hospital. I wish that everyone has good food and someone to talk to and hug when they are sad. I hope that The Nicolas Avery Brown Foundation can do that and more.
THE NICOLAS AVERY BROWN FOUNDATION
1523 First Street, R111
Coronado, CA 92118
619-518-9565
www.thenicolasaveryfoundation.info
Thanks to the generosity shown by John and Ann Widay, and their daughter, Catherine, for graciously donating luxury box Padres’ seats to Nicholas Avery Brown: Take Me Out to the Ball Game!!!
Empathy
By Nina Odele
I recently inherited a Merriam Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary published in 1959, when I was two years old. This dictionary is very beautiful, leather-bound, and still in great condition. It was my Mother’s.
We writers are an odd bunch. Sometimes a word just sticks in our heads and the only way to stop the madness is to write about it. Today, for me, that word is “empathy.” I quite literally woke up this morning with that word screaming in my brain! When I was about twelve years old, Mother and I had one of our serious talks. I sat down in her library, my palms sweaty, wondering what I was in trouble for this time! As it turned out, Mother actually wanted to praise me for something. She also wanted to warn me about something as well.
Getting right to the point, Mother said there are two types of people in this world — those with empathy and those without. Then she asked me if I knew what empathy meant. I said, “No, I did not.” She said empathy is having the God-given knack to put your self into someone else’s shoes, and therefore, gaining a caring understanding of their various predicaments. She told me I had empathy for others, whereas she did not. I was confused. Was empathy a bad thing? Mother said, “No, it’s a very good thing unless you let it take you too far.” She went on to explain that some people will try to play the “empathy card” in order to change empathy into sympathy. Mother then asked me if I understood what she was trying to tell me. I nodded yes, but I was still a bit confused. As with most things in life, this was one of those things we must experience first hand in order to fully grasp the meaning of it.
That little conversation always stuck with me, and much later on, I learned the difference between empathy and sympathy — by trial and error, mostly by error in the beginning. I’ve unwillingly been drawn into several people’s problematic lives over the years. Although the scary thing is when other people’s problems take precedence over your own. It’s a vortex that is seemingly impossible to escape, sort of like trying to run away from the boogie man in a nightmare. Your feet want to move but somehow they stay firmly planted in place. I inadvertently sympathized when I should have empathized.
As a result, here is what I have learned: Be there for others, but don’t do their work FOR them. This may establish a pattern of dependence that can drag on indefinitely. Be caring, yet firm. Let people know that they must help themselves in order to grow mentally, emotionally, and financially. Remind people that no matter how bad things may seem, there are always others who have it much worse than they do. Be a good friend, a shoulder to cry on, et cetera. But don’t be a fly in the web that is someone else’s dysfunction. It will drain your soul — guaranteed.
Now, back to Merriam Webster’s New 
Collegiate Dictionary: This morning, when I went to look up empathy, a tiny gift card dropped out of that exact page! On the front was a silly little Christmas elf. It said “I’m Not Santa, But…” Then the inside said “Merry Christmas Anyway!” No signature. I chuckled to myself that the dictionary was pre-book marked to the precise page I wanted. Thanks Mother!
Empathy — “Imaginative projection of one’s own consciousness into another being.”
Lest We Forget/Salute
By A. R. Graham.
I stood by the bay near Il Fornaio restaurant on a lovely September morning watching the morning sun rise above our Magical Kingdom by the Sea.
The baritone singer could be heard from 200 yards away: “Back in 1893, the CPO he said to me…” As the singing drew nearer to me, I also heard a large group of other male voices echoing the sing-song lyrics: “Back in 1893, the CPO he said to me…” They jogged into view with the song now booming loudly across the bay. It was a group of soon-to-be Navy chiefs led by two very athletic officers. As they jogged by, they all paid their respects to the civilians who walked past them. “Good morning, Sir. Good morning, Ma’am.”
As the group passed by, it was evident that they were thoroughly tired from the arduous exercising. Very soon there after, I thought that they had stopped for a well-deserved rest. This was not the case at all. For when I decided to take a closer look, I saw the men standing rigid as they were called to attention by the tough-looking officer.
“Left face,” the squad moved in perfect unison, and with just a slight pause, the officer spoke again, “and salute.” Again, the squad in unison with a snap of the wrist followed by a crisp salute, they obeyed.
Out on the bay, it was calm. The buildings on the skyline were gleaming in the morning sun. It was a magnificent day. Now, I understood why they were saluting and why it was not just more practice. Off to the left, a U.S. warship sailed slowly into view. The vessel passed slowly by and the squad stood there like proud sentinels saluting until it sailed by. The officer barked again, “Right face. Move out!” The squad was on the move again and the singing resumed. The ship disappeared into a slight morning mist as the perspiring chief petty officers jogged away.
I called out to the lead officer to ask him to explain why they had stopped their work-out. He graciously took the time and said, “That vessel out there proudly displays our flag, and when we see it pass by we salute it. In fact, we salute the flag each time we see it.”
So through this wonderful patriotic ritual displayed for all of us to enjoy, we can be very proud that we are part of the sacred observance.
Quotes Of The Month
“The minute you settle for less than you deserve, you get even less than you settled for.” — Maureen Dowd
(Posted by A.G.)
“It’s said that the best storytellers see things through a camera lens.” — Coronado Magazine
(Posted by L.H.K.)
“Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.” — Author Unknown
“If you smile when no one else is around, you really mean it.” — Eleanor Roosevelt
“The difference between genius & stupidity is that genius has its limits” — Albert Einstein
“Life is like a ten-speed bike. Most of us have gears we never use.” — Charles Schultz
“All you need is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie dust.” — Peter Pan
“Genius is the ability to put into effect what is on your mind.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald
(Posted by D.L.)
“When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson
(Posted by L.B.)
Recipes — What’s Cookin’?
The Clarion Signature Cocktail
Mixed Daily by the Publisher of the Coronado Clarion
for its Thirsty Staff or Not
Three fingers Bacardi white rum
White sugar
Lime
Ice cubes
Fresh Mint
Splash pomegranate juice
Four fingers tonic water
Place white sugar in a bowl. Slice a lime & rub the outside of a tall tumbler glass. Sugarcoat the rim with the sugar. Throw lime in glass with plenty of ice cubes. Fill glass with rum, three to four fingers. Fill tumbler almost to the top with the tonic water. Top with a splash of the pomegranate juice & lots of fresh mint leaves. Drink & enjoy.
Tanaka’s Ponzu Marinade
By Rocky Tanaka
A marinade for chicken or beef, especially great on rib eye steaks. Guaranteed to melt in your mouth. Rocky Tanaka was a chef at Peohe’s for many years. He has since moved onto become a professional electrician leaving us all to his entertaining culinary delights at family get togethers.
Chicken or beef, marinade for 24 to 48 hours and then grill away. Once again, this is especially yummy on rib eye steaks.
½ cup soy sauce
¼ cup key lime juice
2 Serrano chiles, chopped finely
2 tbs. fresh grated ginger
2 tbs. minced garlic
¼ cup fresh chopped cilantro
The Sandman Celebrates the Arrival of his Life-Size Poster
Sandman and his Life-size Poster, life-size sandstone statue/monument to come
Ishy, Moshy, and God
By George Koen
I’m a’going salmon fishing with my friend up north. I left about 4:30 in the morning from San Diego. My plane landed in Los Angeles about an hour and a half later. After a short layover, we headed to Arcata – actually, it was McKinleyville Airport in Northern California.
We got up there and it was fogged in. We couldn’t land at the airport. They told us that we were going to the next airport. That was in Redding, California. So we flew there and landed. When we got off the plane, they told us that the only way we could get back to the Arcata area was to rent a car and drive. No one was happy about that. There were about 40 of us. I decided that I would rent a car if I could get some other people to help drive and pay for the gas.
The first guy next to me was a rabbi, probably around 28 years old. His name was Ishy and his partner, who was another rabbi, was named Moshy. They said they would drive, and I looked around to see if anybody else needed a ride because we had room for one more. A Catholic school teacher said he would go and pay for the gas. So, now we had a full car. I found out it was $435 to rent the car for one way and we weren’t coming back, so I had to do it.
When we got in the car, Ishy tells me that he was an ex-race car and motorcycle driver and that he likes to go fast. Well, let me tell you, that was an understatement. We took off! Ishy drove like a bat out of hell the whole time. He would run stop signs unless we were in a town, then he would behave. Bringing meaning to multi-tasking, Ishy and Mushy were texting and making phone calls the whole way while Ishy was driving at huge speeds. It was quite a thrill, just kidding. It was three hours through winding mountain roads all the way.
As we were on the road for a bit, I asked Ishy why he became a rabbi. He told me that one day he was riding on his motorcycle doing wheelies down the road. He had an accident and he went through a window of a bus killing the bus driver – not on purpose, but just being stupid. He had an epiphany and found religion, but it didn’t slow him down a bit.
During the few hours drive, I talked to all of them about religion and asked them all several questions. Nobody could answer any of my questions or they wouldn’t. I told them I talk to God everyday and I ask him to reveal himself to me, but he never has. So, I keep asking God to reveal himself on a daily basis — I tell him, even if it takes me to be in an accident and being resuscitated so I know God’s out there waiting, I’ll do it. I told my race car holy companions that today could be just that day especially with your driving, Ishy.
I tried talking to all of them the whole time. They were all kind of ignoring me except for the Catholic school teacher. He was somewhat talking to me. He told me what he did. He had a bunch of Asian students from China that he was teaching in Eureka at the Catholic school there.
This was a-fishin’ trip that I will never forget thanks to Ishy. I almost got to meet God. Ishy drove like a mental patient even after he killed someone. I thought that was strange, but he loves to race. He was racing the whole time. We were going way over the speed limit, probably 65 easily on these mountain roads, twisty mountain roads, with a river right down below it and a cliff. We passed any and all traffic. If it was in front of us, we passed it. It was about 100 feet down to the river, at least, and we would have been dead if we went over. Thank goodness, it was a nice day until we hit the coast. That was to our advantage. The roads weren’t slick. That was also good.
Not one of these religious men was praying out loud; so, I wasn’t really afraid. We were all hanging in there. No one was freaked. But we were going really fast. We did have some of the “gods” represented; and fortunately, we all got back in one piece. I just trusted Ishy and put my faith in him.
When we did make it to Arcata safely, Ishy and Moshy ditched me at a gas station. I didn’t even know Ishy and Moshy were leaving. They said, “So long. Our partners are meeting us here.” So, I said, “Okay.” Me and the Catholic teacher — I think his name was Kent – I could be wrong on that. We drove to the airport where his friends met him. We all called in advance to have our people meet us. My buddy, Jerry, met me when we pulled up. So we put the car back and took off to his house.
Afterwards, I told my friends what happened and they all laughed hysterically. If anything was going to happen, it would happen so I wasn’t afraid. I left it all in Ishy’s hands.
The next morning, Jerry and I went fishing on the Klamath River for two days in a row. It’s about 55 miles north of Arcata. We caught five salmon on the first day — one was 24 pounds — I think we have some pictures here that you can see. That was the biggest. It was a male and that was the biggest fish I’ve ever caught. Then we caught several in the 14-16 pounds and some a little bit smaller than that.
When we returned from our trip, Jerry’s wife, Melody, my sister-in-law, cooked the fish. She wrapped it in foil with salt, pepper, and butter which was served with vegetables all cooked on the barbecue. It was delicious!
Unfortunately, I didn’t bring any salmon home because I had to fly back and who knew where I would end up flying back to. But we managed to smoke some, and I guess it was good, because I don’t have any with me. We had some fresh for one night and cut it up into steaks. We probably had 40 steaks of salmon. We filleted a little bit of it and smoked ten pounds of it. Eventually, we’ll get some because my friends are coming down in about two weeks, and they said they would bring me some smoked salmon.
Well, that is the story of my trip through the mountains with Ishy, Moshy, and God; and I’m sticking to it.
Diamond MoJo
By Alan Graham
“Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies and everyone goes, cause everyone knows, it’s “Brother Love’s Show”. It might as well have been the Brother Love himself because David Sherry’s performance at Spreckels Park in Coronado, California was stunning.
Sherry does NOT impersonate Neil Diamond. He simply pays great tribute to a great entertainer. Most tribute bands or clone acts fall far short in their attempts to imitate the original artist and I have never seen anyone who could.
David Sherry kicks the door down in this regard because he is more than a mere entertainer. He is absolutely immersed in his presentation of Diamond’s work, and to most of the audience, it WAS Neil Diamond on stage, not David Sherry. The real David Sherry has literally bottled the essence of the music and the spirit. Then he dispenses it to his audience as surely as healing medicine.
Jim Morrison of The Doors took his audience on a “Trip” into an unknown realm of scary demons and monsters. David Sherry takes his audience on a fantastic sojourn into a land of peace, joy and true patriotism. Jim Morrison’s fans came back from their trip and they were forever changed. Sherry took his audience back in time to a sweet and powerful remembrance of another time and they came back with shopping bags filled to the brim with glee.
David Sherry’s website is at www.davidjsherryproductions.com
David’s next performance is at the Moonlight Amphitheater in Vista, California on October 2nd.
Lecinda Bennett — Woman Warrior
- The Bennett Family
“Karien Bennett is a Neighbor of Mine”
By Lynne Harpst Koen
Karien Bennett is a neighbor of mine. When we lived at 721 “J”, she was the ONLY neighbor who was ever nice to me! She would always smile and wave. I don’t know her personally, but I always felt a certain unexplainable connection to her. I’d get such a warm feeling in my heart as I watched her walk her little boy to school in the mornings.
Today, God showed me our connection. Loud and clear! I wept as I read the Coronado story of Karien’s daughter, Lecinda, who has a cancerous brain tumor. Clearly, I had to help my neighbors. I met with Karein and Lecinda this morning. Lovely ladies, both! Lecinda is a young, vital, and gorgeous young lady. Her grace shone through the minute I met her. She has an incredible magnetic energy! Her attitude towards her plight is as positive as one can possibly be under the circumstances.
The Bennett’s really need our help. Lecinda is facing major surgery and already her insurance coverage is running thin. Any donation is more than welcome. There’s no such thing as “too little.” I know times are tight, so if you’re unable to donate money, please donate prayers! The power of prayer is immense, and also tax-deductible (by God). Let’s all get on board as a community to help Karien and Lecinda through this darkest of times. They need a miracle. It’s all possible with love and faith!
For updates on how Lecinda is doing and for a place where you can post a comment or memory of a good time with Lecinda for her and others to read, please visit: www.caringbridge.org/visit/lecindabennett
Please note that there is a donation link on this site, but this is not a donation for Lecinda. It is for the use of Caring Bridge. In order to directly make donations to Lecinda Bennett, a Pay Pal account has been set up. The Pay Pal account is under this e-mail address: care4lecinda@gmail.com
Any other direct correspondence (donations, cards, letters, etc.) can be sent to:
Lecinda Bennett
754 “J” Avenue
Coronado, CA 92118
Lecinda
“Lecinda’s Story”
By Elloise Bennett
Those of you who know Lecinda would be quick to describe her as a selfless, giving, and loving woman. She is the type of person who will surprise you with a bouquet of flowers on a special occasion, bring you chicken soup when you are sick, and give you directions when you are lost. She is admired for her upbeat, vibrant personality, and the kindness she shares with everyone in her life. She loves life…and is not afraid to live her dreams. Now Lecinda faces her own challenge.
Lecinda fell ill after a seizure on July 15th of this year and was diagnosed with an “egg-sized” brain tumor in her left temporal lobe called a glioma.
Unforeseen obstacles may face us in life, yet we can certainly learn how to handle them with grace and courage, as evidenced by Lecinda’s example, and response to this challenge. She even had the hospital staff talking about her upbeat attitude and humorous strength. And her smile, her laughter, and her joy for life are as strong as ever.
Like others that have been struck by the current economy, Lecinda has not had full coverage health insurance since she left her job at Ralph Lauren. Although we are waiting to figure out what the future will hold, the costs have already been overwhelming.
Publisher’s Note: So far Coronado and the San Diego Brain Tumor Foundation through a series of donations and fundraisers have gone above and beyond in assistance for Lecinda and her medical care needs. The continued support of our community will be greatly appreciated as the Bennett family struggle to ensure Lecinda’s recovery.
Annual Brain Tumor Walk
“Lecinda Bennett – Woman Warrior”
By Kimberley Graham
Who is Lecinda Bennett? Last week, my husband and I had the great pleasure of spending some time with this vibrant, energized, one-of-a-kind, animated young woman and her mother baring the same traits. To say Lecinda Bennett is a dynamo is not an exaggeration. With her vivid storytelling and sharing of her plight, we became instantaneously bonded to her, her family, and their causes. In the brief hour we spent with these remarkable women, we shared tears as well as lots of laughter. To meet Lecinda, her mother, and the rest of her sweet family was a soul-sticking experience. One, in which, anyone who crosses their paths will be moved by.
To watch our wonderful interview with Lecinda, please visit: www.coronado-clarion.com
The Bennett Gals
“A Little Bit About Me”
By Lecinda Bennet
I’ve lived in different continents and different towns – and all of it was about building communities.
Born in 1980 in South Africa, I grew up in the last phases of Apartheid and had the chance to witness the beginnings of major change in my place of birth. South Africa is a beautiful place, and a great place to originate from – because despite the hiccups in its history, it’s a place that is about roots and family.
When I was nine, my family immigrated to America – actually, to be specific, we immigrated to Coronado… a great place to land as an immigrant. My mom, my step-dad, my sister, and I had to learn how to connect in a new world, in a new culture, and with a new language.
I started working when I was a student at Coronado High School. I worked at Salon David Perez in University Towne Center for 8.5 years as a general manager, and learned that I love the style industry as much as I love business. My exposure in this world helped fuel the dream that I would love to live in New York City.
But New York City needs more than work experience. So I went back to school after a few gap years, and earned a B.S. in paralegal studies. Armed with my diploma, I set out to the Big Apple in December, 2006.
Being an immigrant is intense, being new to New York City is insane! But you learn the ropes, get to meet people, and develop connections. I was lucky enough to land a job at Polo Ralph Lauren Corporate headquarters – and learned all about life in the big city, and in the interim made some amazing friends.
Life in the big city included watching the financial world implode in 2008 – and with it my own life, as I was one of the thousands of folks laid off with the turn of the tide. But bills have to be paid, and costs didn’t drop. Survival skills to the rescue! My people skills, my energy, and connections had helped me to turn around an extremely part-time usher position into a position as the artists’ assistant at the Jazz Center of Lincoln Center and to become a part-time executive assistant for Stewards of Change, a consulting group that focuses on health and human services.
As the artists’ assistant, I’ve had the amazing experiences of standing in hallways watching people like Tony Bennett shake off pre-show stage jitters, watch Liza Minnelli own a room, and I would bake cupcakes for the stagehands who work harder than most people could believe. I worked with Sting so much, he knew me by name. He is absolutely dreamy in real life. I love the energy, the rhythm, the people, and the jazz of the city. It was one of the biggest parts that helped make NYC home.
As the executive assistant for Stewards of Change, I have the opportunity to help local, state, and federal governments find ways to be more inter-operable and to help people, foster children, and those in need find an easier way to work with the system.
Unfortunately, when I was diagnosed with my glioma, I had to give up my challenging and rewarding life in the Big Apple to spend my days with doctors and having tests performed. I was promised that my positions with the Jazz Center of Lincoln Center and Stewards of Change will always be held for me and will be resumed after my recovery and my return to New York City.
Positivity
“Lecinda’s Caring Bridge Journal”
By Elloise and Lecinda Bennett
Wednesday, August 4, 2010: Lecinda was officially diagnosed with a brain tumor only a couple weeks ago after suffering a seizure in her sleep. She’s been with us in San Diego since just after her seizure so we as a family can be there for her and help her make sense of all this — versus via thousands of miles. She had a biopsy today – which sounds like not such a big deal for any of you out there who have had a biopsy on a lymph node or such, but this was brain surgery. She had to have markers placed on shaved spots on her head, was taken into an OR for a couple hours, had a hole drilled into her scull, and a needle prodded into her brain to extract some tissue.
Of course, she woke up to a groggy world, and immediately said, “I think I have a headache.” Needless to say — even the ICU staff love her!
The biopsy results should be back in a few days. It will help us determine what type of cancer it is and what the course of treatment options are.
She’s one hell of a trooper. She made me laugh so hard! We were chatting somewhere between pain med dosages, and she says, “Sorry, Weza, I tried. I’ve been looking to see if I can find you a doctor as a husband, but I don’t have my contacts in.” Pure Lecinda statement — thinking of others even when she’s strapped in a bed in the ICU!
P.S. She’s never been sick ONE day in her whole life that led to ER or hospital time. As always, Lecinda never does things half way!!!
–Eloise–
Tuesday, September 7, 2010: Thank you is just a 9-letter word (yes I counted the spaces), but it means soooo much more than that. I know I spoke about this the other day, but each day I am shown the kindness, generosity, heartfelt amazingness of families, friends, and people around the world!
As you all know, I’m patiently (well, as patiently as I am able to) waiting for my surgery date. This afternoon I was blessed to be given my surgery date! September 28th here I come!!!
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of your support throughout this!
— Lecinda–
Monday, September 20, 2010: Ever think about how meaningful something as simple as a hug is? Well on Saturday I was just feeling weird, the positively positive was there but I just felt that I needed something extra. So I called one of my best friends and told him I was on my way over because I wanted a hug. (He gives the best hugs!) I was only at his shop for a few minutes, but that hug just helped me find my center again and let my positivity come back through.
Hence the Positively Positive! That’s how we have to look at things right? So far it is definitely working for me! Positivity is one of the best medicines I could have asked for! It makes me realize that there is and will be a tomorrow! While I have been more tired the last week, I have been trying my best to let that positivity overtake the tiredness.
In three days, I leave to go to San Francisco to start two days of Pre-Op and then the surgery! Oh my, but the sooner I start the pre-op, the sooner I get to come back to Coronado! Definite upside I’d say! I’m also finding the amazing positives in this experience from start to midpoint (as I know I’m not at the end of this battle yet). I have reconnected with friends that I might not have seen in years, realized who was truly a fair-weather friend, and who was always by my side no matter what! It has truly been an interesting journey!
Thank you for taking the time to care, share, and pray for me on this weird journey. It is your comments, thoughts, and positive energy that is helping me remember my own positive energy.
Much Love,
Lecinda
Friday, September 24, 2010: Hello from San Francisco! After a slightly delayed start yesterday, flight to San Fran from San Diego was delayed, my sister and I finally made it up here. I’m off to start my first day of Pre-Op. Luckily I don’t have to spend the nights at the hospital during this phase at least.
I’ll do an update on how amazing the community of Coronado and the county of San Diego has been after the pre-op, as there are so many people to thank.
Thanks for all your support, prayers, love, and generally everything you guys do for me.
Hugs,
Lecinda
Saturday, September 25, 2010: It’s incredible the technology that the medical industry have integrated into their world. Lecinda spent yesterday doing a variety of neurological tests in something called an MSI, where they measured response times, response origins, brainwave activity, and more while she’s strapped into some sort of headgear machine. Charts with all kinds of graphs and flickering lights, and video screens with pulsating colored globes inside the shape of a brain — kinda took me back to the days when I had harbored ideas of being a doctor. If I’d known I could be a computer nerd and doctor all in one I would have maybe chosen a different path!
We also did a pre-op appointment for blood tests and information gathering and with folks in anesthesia so Lecinda would have a clear idea of what “awake” will really mean in the middle of her surgery.
Now it’s a beautiful San Francisco day – one of those days where you can actually see the whole San Francisco Bay without any fog! The goal this weekend is for Lecinda to rest, to laugh, and to do the most important thing in preparation for the surgery — become mentally and emotionally ready.
Monday morning will be enough time to get back to waiting rooms and slick tiled floors.
–Elloise–
Tuesday, September 28, 2010: It’s 10:45 m West Coast time. Lecinda has been in the OR for just over 3 hours, but they have only been operating for about 2 hours. She may not be done for another 6 to 8 hours.
I think they need to sell sedatives for the families waiting in the waiting room. It FEELS like every minute has 340 seconds in it and it sucks. I will do a post as soon as I know how it went.
–Elloise–
Tuesday, September 28, 2010: Lecinda is in the ICU tonight, resting comfortably, after almost 8 hours of surgery. But best of all, that rest is tumor free! They were able to remove the ENTIRE tumor. That does not mean she’s cancer free, but rather that the tumor is gone. We need to have tests done on the tumor itself to determine exactly the next steps. BUT, the fact that they were able to remove all of it greatly reduces the need for chemo, etc. She did very well in the awake parts of the surgery as well — of course. When she first woke it was a little scary. She was clearly not making sense. Each word was understandable, but not how she was putting them together. It was a little freaky – Okay — a lot. But within half an hour, she was settling down some and her “brain” was evening out to being a little more “normal” Lecinda, which included her telling me to not speak for her! She is still showing signs of what they call “word search” and there may be some other hiccups but she’s been able to tell time, repeat phrases, and tell me to update her Facebook. I sat with her, fed her some broth and tea, and watched her sleep. It’s pretty silly how we take deep breaths for granted. The next few days will be important as they watch to confirm the results as well as watch the swelling in her brain. Swelling is standard; in fact, they said I could set my clock on it. For the next 48 hours, her brain will swell and then it will begin to subside. In that time, she could experience dementia and symptoms similar to what we associate with Alzheimer’s — all temporary and due to the swelling. I’ll just standby to see what happens.
Thank you to all who have sent messages of encouragement and love all day long. The 100-degree plus waiting room (San Francisco is having a heat wave and of course the waiting room has no air conditioning since…well, it’s San Francisco, why would you need it!) was a little easier to bear with those messages coming in!
–Elloise–
Pre-Op
Publisher’s Note: We had a brief visit with Karien this afternoon. Lecinda made it through a very long surgery with few complications. The medical team were able to remove the tumor. Lecinda will suffer some physical disorientation during her recovery from this very intense surgery. Our positive warrior has begun the battle against what she refers to as her “egg”. The egg is now gone and she can start the healing treatment process. We are sure in our hearts that she will be the victor. We send her our prayers. I know along with her close family and friends, our community will pull together and continue to support her through this experience.
Of course…the fact that the Walgreens where I filled her HUGE list of prescriptions was held up at gun point MOMENTS after I walked out tonight…added adventure to the day. Life makes you laugh…
–Elloise–
Do You Remember?
| BOB’S DRIVE IN CHAR BURGER (FIRST CHAIN PLACE IN OUR TOWN) ORANGE JULIUS LA AVENIDA MEXICAN VILLAGE BASKIN ROBBINS/31 FLAVORS CIRCUS DRIVE-IN SUBMARINE SANDWICHES THE MANHATTAN ROOM FREE BROTHERS MARKET |
Non-edible cool places included:THE DEPARTMENT STORE THE AVENUE 5 & DIME VILLAGE THEATER JAKE’S MENS SHOP THE BAYBERRY TREE CORA MART THE IMPORT HUT ORIENTAL ARTS KIPPY’S MJ BROWN (still there, but just limping) |
Art Cuts
Bow Ties and Haircuts
You can get a haircut, listen to Beatles music, and view the art hanging on the walls all around you. There is no idle chit chat in this men’s hair salon. It is more like a Sixties happening with all the charm and happiness of that awesome era. I sat listening to Yellow Submarine and as the pedestrians passed by the front window, they seem to be smiling as well. The crew, Beth, Manny, and Travis are cool and professional. It truly is a pleasure to hang out there as our residents in the Magical Kingdom by the Sea parade by. Get your hair cut and be transported back to the wonderful Sixties. There’s no extra charge for this experience when you visit Bow Ties and Haircuts on Tenth and Orange Avenues. Peace, man.
Bow Ties and Haircuts
1106 Tenth Street
(619) 435-2094
FLIGHT SURGEON LIEUTENANT DONALD M. DILL
By Kimberley (Dill) Graham
On November 18, 1955, I was delivered into the arms of a stellar beauty queen and a dashing young medical student in the fair city of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. During the day, my mother and I performed typical 1950s housewife chores and primped, in eager anticipation of our knight in shining armor’s return. We were a beautiful young family, full of promise and hope.
Jan and Don Dill had been teenage sweethearts and were now youthful adults setting out on their quest for the All-American Dream. Deeply in love and blessed with enormous passion, the “perfect ones” were an idyllic couple. They quickly completed our family with the addition of my two fine-looking brothers.
My parents grew up together in Ohio. They came from similar backgrounds; their parents were restaurateurs of German and French descent. It was a wholesome beginning, with my father a star football player and my mother a cheerleader, homecoming prom queen and beauty pageant winner. Janet Reller and Donald Dill were the envy of their small hometown, and were the most likely to succeed in life and in the fulfillment of The Dream.
After graduating at the top of his class at Jefferson Memorial Medical School, my father interned at the hospital of the same name. My mother was his stunningly gorgeous stay-at-home wife and mother of his three adorable children. My parents managed on very little money, driven by the assurance of a brighter future.
In order to further his career as well as fulfill his duty to God and Country, my father joined the Navy in an officer program where he served as a Lieutenant Flight Surgeon. We were whisked away to Pensacola, Florida, where my father received his military training. After completing a tour of duty in South America, he was commissioned to the Naval Air Station on North Island, across the bay from San Diego, California. We arrived in 1960, settling into the officers’ quarters directly across from the airstrip. It was a good life, with the guarantee of it only getting better.
North Island shared a rock-bed peninsula with the bright and sunny beach town of Coronado – the “The Crown City” or, “Emerald Isle”. It got its name from when it was separated from the town by a channel of water dubbed “The Spanish Bight”. When the Navy took over the island, it filled in the channel, turning North Island and Coronado into one land mass.
As kids, my brothers and I lived in a fantasyland of constant adventure as we explored every nook and cranny of North Island. We ran wild with no cares. We played in the “enchanted forest” behind our home (a small grove of eucalyptus trees that separated us from the rest of the world). We climbed trees and fences. We swam in the Officers’ Club pool every day and frequented the base’s private beach, where we built sand castles and wiggled our little toes in the warm comforting sand while eating hot greasy French Fries smothered in ketchup. Each morning we awoke to the rumbling engines of jet fighters readying for military maneuvers. It was a child’s paradise, rivaling any created by the likes of Robert Louis Stevenson or Daniel Defoe.
On Sundays, we went to church where my mother assisted in the Sunday school. We always dressed to the nines, with my mother adorned in harmonizing hats or bonnets decorated with an array of flowers, bows and ribbons matching her superb coiffure. As with all of the talented housewives of her generation, Janet found immense pleasure in creating her own hats, dresses and suits. She took great pride in dressing us in matching outfits for all to admire, her handsome Lieutenant husband/Prince Valiant gracing her side.
After our obligatory morning at church, we attended the double feature at the base’s theater. Every movie show began with a black and white news communiqué warning us of the Communists who, we were informed, were coming to get us. We lived in fright of this threat. It was very real to us, and I remember being terrified that my father would be called away to war. That fear is still vivid in my memory.
Another crystal-clear memory of living on North Island is of President Dwight D. Eisenhower passing by our home, waving to us from inside a convertible absent of Secret Servicemen. Life was easy then. People were not afraid for their president’s safety. John F. Kennedy and the tragedy of losing our president was still years away.
In 196o, after three years of base living, the Dill family continued its pursuit of the All-American Dream. Having successfully served his naval commission, my father was once more a civilian. Dr. James Mushovic asked him to join his small family practice in Coronado. The office was located in a very small building on the corner of Eighth Street and Orange Avenue, and was the type of practice where doctors delivered babies and made house calls. My father readily agreed to join medical forces with “Doctor Jim”.
As there was no medical insurance in those days, people paid what they could; yet, my father never had to worry about affording repairs or paying for groceries. Dr. Mushovic and Dr. Dill knew all of their patients on a first-name basis, and knew the names of all their family members, having delivered most of them.
My parents soon began their search for our first home. They found it in a lovely Spanish style abode at 1132 Glorietta Boulevard. It was a two-story house – a mansion by our standards – with a large back yard, a lanai, and a maid’s quarters over the garage. Directly across from the home lay the Coronado Municipal Golf Course, beyond which one enjoyed breathtaking views of the exquisite Glorietta Bay and Pacific Ocean. There were no Coronado Shores then; you really did see the ocean from our top floor, the only obstacle being the “Castle” standing guard over the town’s pristine beaches. The Castle, of course, was the magically enchanting Hotel Del Coronado. In that year, my parents purchased this sprawling property for the hefty sum of $13,500.
With our time on North Island come to an end, we moved into our spacious home on Glorietta Boulevard – the best street in town, in many of the locals’ opinion – and onto a new fantasy life for the Dill family, with the promise of bigger dreams coming true. The adventures were about to begin – and surely they did. As a young child and remembering back, this is the way I saw my life.
In progress…
THE REMARKABLE BROWNIE CAMERA
In loving memory of my father, Max LeVine, a Pearl Harbor Survivor.
These Pearl Harbor photos were taken from a sailor who was on the USS Quapaw ATF-110. They were found in an old Brownie camera in a foot locker and just recently taken to be developed. What quality from 1941!
Isn’t it amazing how a film could last so long in a camera without disintegrating! Taken over 68 years, these photos are fantastic! Some of you would have to go to a museum to see what a Brownie camera looked like. Here is a simple picture of what we are talking about:
Pearl Harbor
On Sunday, December 7th, 1941, the Japanese launched a surprise attack against the U.S. Forces stationed at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii . By planning this attack on a Sunday, the Japanese commander, Admiral Nagumo, hoped to catch the entire fleet in port. As luck would have it, the aircraft carriers and one of the battleships were not in port. The USS Enterprise was returning from Wake Island, where it had just delivered some aircraft. The USS Lexington was ferrying aircraft to Midway, and the USS Saratoga and the USS Colorado were undergoing repairs in the United States.
In spite of the latest intelligence reports about the missing aircraft carriers his most important targets, Admiral Nagumo decided to continue the attack with his force of six carriers and 423 aircraft. At a range of 230 miles north of Oahu, he launched the first wave of a two-wave attack. Beginning at 0600 hours his first wave consisted of 183 fighters and torpedo bombers which struck at the fleet in Pearl Harbor and the air fields in Hickam, Kaneohe and Ewa. The second strike, launched at 0715 hours, consisted of 167 aircraft, which again struck at the same targets.
At 0753 hours, the first wave consisting of 40 Nakajima B5N2 ‘Kate’ torpedo bombers, 51 Aichi D3A1 ‘Val’ dive bombers, 50 high altitude bombers and 43 Zeros struck airfields and Pearl Harbor. Within the next hour, the second wave arrived and continued the attack. When it was over, the U.S. losses were:
Casualties – 2,403 KIA; 1, 178 WIA; Battleships Total Loss — USS Arizona, USS Oklahoma; USS Utah; 3 others were sunk, raised, & repaired; 3 suffered light damage; Cruisers – 1, heavily damaged; 4 lightly damaged – all repaired; Minelayer, Seaplane Tender, Repair Ship, Harbor Tug – 2 sunk, raised, & repaired; 2 severely damaged, repaired; Aircraft – 188 destroyed.
WOMEN IN UNIFORM
Nina Odele
Women have had a continuous and growing presence in the U.S. Navy throughout the 20th and into the 21st century. Women worked as nurses for the Navy as early as the American Civil War. The United States Navy Nurse Corps was officially established in 1908. Whenever international or domestic events dictated the need, the Navy expanded its opportunities for women to serve.
The first large-scale employment of women as naval personnel took place to meet the severe clerical shortages of the World War I era. The Naval Reserve Act of 1916 had conspicuously omitted mention of gender as a condition for service, leading to formal permission to begin enlisting women in mid-March 1917, shortly before the United States entered the “Great War.” Nearly six hundred Yeomen (Females) were on duty by the end of April 1917, a number that had grown to over eleven thousand in December 1918, shortly after the Armistice.
The Yeomen (F), or “Yeomanettes” as they were popularly known, primarily served in secretarial and clerical positions, though some were translators, draftsmen, fingerprint experts, ship camouflage designers, and recruiting agents. The great majority were assigned duties at naval installations in the continental United States, frequently near their homes, processing the great volume of paperwork generated by the war effort.
Yeomen (F), all of whom held enlisted ranks, continued in service during the first months of the post-war naval reductions. Their numbers declined steadily, reaching just under four thousand by the end of July 1919, when they were all released from active duty. Yeomen (F) were continued on inactive reserve status, receiving modest retainer pay, until the end of their four-year enlistments, at which point all women except Navy nurses disappeared from the uniformed Navy until 1942.
Many honorably discharged Yeomen (F) were appointed to civil service positions in the same Navy yards and stations where they had served in wartime. Entitled to veterans’ preference for government employment, they provided a strong female presence in the Navy’s civilian staff through the decades after World War I.
We could begin anywhere with the history of women in the military forces, and especially in the naval forces. So, let’s just start with the WAVES: The U.S. Navy created a division which consisted entirely of women in the World War II era. WAVES is an acronym for “Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service”. With the word “emergency” included, it implied that women were only accepted to this all-men league in unusual circumstances of war and that at the end of such war, the women would not be allowed to continue in naval careers.
After a twenty-three year absence, women returned to general Navy service in August 1942, when Milfred McAfee was sworn in as a Naval Reserve Lieutenant Commander, the first female commissioned officer in U.S. naval history. Lt. Commander McAfee was also the first Director of the WAVES. This legendary female was also President of Wellesley College. This occurred two months after the WAAC (Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps) was established and Eleanor Roosevelt convinced Congress to authorize a women’s component of the Navy – the WAVES.
Lt. Commander McAfee
In the decades since the last of the Yeomen left active duty, only a relatively small corps of Navy nurses represented their gender in the naval service and they had never had formal officer status. Now, the Navy was preparing to accept not just a large number of enlisted women, as it had done during World War I, but female Commissioned Officers to supervise them. It was a development of lasting significance.
An important distinction between WAAC and the WAVES was the fact that the WAAC was an “auxiliary” organization serving with the Army, not in it. From the very beginning, the WAVES were an official part of the Navy, and its members held the same rank and ratings as male personnel. They also received the same pay and were subject to military discipline. The WAAC became the Women’s Army Corps (WAC) in July, 1943, giving its members military status to that of the WAVES.
WAVES could not serve aboard combat ships or aircraft. Initially, these women were restricted to duty in the continental United States. Late in WWII, WAVES were authorized to serve in certain overseas U.S. possessions, and a number were sent to Hawaii. The war ended before any could be sent to other locations.
Within their first years, the WAVES were 27,000 strong – mostly assuming clerical work. The WAVES did not accept any African-American women until late 1944, at which point they trained one black woman for every 36 white women enlisted. In 1948, with the passage of the Women’s Armed Services Integration Act, women gained permanent status in the armed services. Although, the WAVES officially ceased to exist at this point, the acronym continued to exist until well into the 1970s.
The first six enlisted women to be sworn into the regular Navy on July 7, 1948 were Kay Langdon, Wilma Marchal, Edna Young, Frances Devaney, Doris Robertson, and Ruth Flora. On October 15, 1948, the first eight women to be commissioned in the regular Navy were Joy Bright Hancock, Winifred Quick Collins, Ann King, Frances Willoughby, Ellen Ford, Doris Cranmore, Doris Defenderfer, and Betty Rae Tennant. They took their oath as officers.
The WAVES kept the homefront affairs of the U.S. Navy going while the men were assigned to ships serving around the globe. While the official song of the U.S. Navy men was “Anchors Aweigh”, the WAVES’ official song was sung in counterpoint to the men:
WAVES of the Navy,
There’s a ship sailing down the bay.
And she won’t slip into port again
Until that Victory Day.
Carry on for that gallant ship
And for every hero brave
Who will find ashore, his man-sized chore
Was done by a Navy WAVE…
Post WWII
Women in the Naval Reserve were recalled along with their male counterparts for duty during the Korean War. Nurses served aboard the hospital ship, USS Sanctuary in the Vietnam War era. Only nine non-nurse women were authorized to serve in country during this period; however, no enlisted Navy women were authorized.
Major changes occurred for Navy women in the 1970s. The first female naval officer was appointed to flag rank in 1972, Captain Alene B. Duerk. She was followed in 1976 by RADM Fran McKee as the first female unrestricted line officer appointed to this rank. During this time, women began to enter the surface warfare and aviation fields. They also gained access to officer accession programs previously only open to men. Women started to screen for command opportunities ashore.
In 1973, the Secretary of the Navy announced the authorization of naval aviation training for women. The next year, the Navy became the first service to graduate a woman pilot, Lt. Barbara Allen Rainey. In 1976, the United States Naval Academy along with other military academies first accepted women and commissioned its first female graduates in 1980. That same year, women also began attending Aviation Officer Candidate School. In 1979, the Surface Warfare Community opened to women with the first female obtaining her SWO qualification. We also saw the Naval Flight Officer program opened to women this year & Lt. Lynn Spruill became the first woman naval aviator to obtain carrier qualifications.
Three decades into the future, the Department of the Navy authorized a policy change allowing women to begin serving onboard Navy submarines. The new policy and plan is set in motion with the integration of female officers to begin early in 2012.
Today, there are over 52,000 women serving on active duty in an array of traditional and non-traditional ratings or careers in the U.S. Navy. Like their male counterparts, female enlisted sailors are expected to adhere to regulations, specific to appearance: grooming, health and physical fitness. However, some differences exist in relation to pregnancy and parenting provisions.
In the Navy, women are eligible to serve in all ratings except as a SEAL or Special Warfare Combatant-craft Crewmen. The current policy set by Congress and the Secretary of Defense excludes women from direct combat billets in the military.
NOTED NAVAL NURSES IN U.S. HISTORY
Nursing, in the sense of bedside attendance of the sick and injured, has existed in the Navy from the first. Performed by enlisted crew members, the function was increasingly formalized during the 19th Century as part of the duties of the emerging hospital corpsman rates.
Even in the early 1800s, there was a recommendation that women be employed as Navy nurses. Nothing much came of this until the American Civil War, when Catholic Sisters of the Holy Cross served in Navy facilities and on board the pioneer hospital ship USS Red Rover. This was part of a great endeavor by women during the conflict, an undertaking which led to the post-war establishment of nursing as a real profession requiring formal training – a profession both open to and dominated by women. The U.S. Navy officially established the Navy Nurse Corps in 1908.
In 1862, Sisters of the Holy Cross served aboard USS Red Rover, the Navy’s first hospital ship, joining a crew of 12 officers, 35 enlisted, and others supporting medical care. Red Rover remained the only hospital ship in the Navy until the Spanish-American War.
Loretta Perfectus Walsh (1896-1925), became the first American active-duty Navy woman and the first woman to serve in any of the United States armed forces other than as a nurse. Walsh enlisted in the U.S. Naval Reserve on March 17, 1917. She subsequently became the first woman Navy petty officer when she was sworn in as Chief Yeoman on March 21, 1917.
Captain Ruth Alice Erickson was the Director of the Navy Nurse Corps from 1962-1966. As a lieutenant in the corps, she witnessed the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. She served as chief nurse at three major naval hospitals before becoming director.
Retired Rear Admiral Frances Teresa Shea-Buckley was the Director of the Navy Nurse Corps from1979-1983. Shea joined the corps in 1951 and stayed in the Reserves when she left active duty in 1954. She earned a masters degree in nursing service administration. After returning to active duty in 1960 with a stint in Vietnam, she became the director in 1979 and became the commanding officer of Naval Health Sciences Education and Training Command as well as deputy commander of Personnel Management, Naval Medical Command.
Retired Rear Admiral Mary Joan Nielubowicz was the Director of the Navy Nurse Corps from 1983-1987. She was promoted to Commodore, in which this rank was changed to Rear Admiral in 1985. The following year the members of the Association of Military Surgeons of the United States established the Mary J. Nielubowicz Essay Award in recognition of her outstanding support and encouragement of active and reserve nurses. Retired Rear Admiral Mary Fields Hall was the Director of the Navy Nurse Corps from 1987 to 1991. She was the first military U.S. military nurse to command a hospital. She became the commanding officer at Naval Hospital, Guantanamo Bay, Cuba in 1983, and later, commanded Naval Hospital, Long Beach, California.
Rear Admiral Joan Marie Engel held the position as the 18th Director of the Navy Nurse Corps from 1994-1998. She concurrently served as deputy commander of personnel management in the Health Sciences, Education and Training Command, and later as assistant chief for Education, Training and Personnel. Engel earned the Legion of Merit, the Meritorious Service Medal, the Navy Commandant Medal, and the National Defense Medal with bronze star in her distinguished naval career.
MODERN WOMEN’S MILESTONES IN NAVAL HISTORY
1990, Rear Admiral Marsha J. Evans, USN was the first woman to command a Naval Station. She assumed command of Naval Station, Treasure Island San Francisco. 
In the same year, Lieutenant Commander Darlene Iskra, USN was the first Navy woman to command a ship, the USS Opportune. 
In 1993, Congress repealed the Combat Exclusion Law allowing women to serve on combatant ships.
In 1996, Carol Mutter became the first female three-star officer in the military. Patricia Tracey became the second a few months later.
In 1998, Lillian Fishburne became the first black female promoted to flag rank.
Also in 1998, Commander Maureen A. Farren became the first woman to command a combatant ship when she took command of USS Mount Vernon, an amphibious dock landing ship.
In 2001, Captain Vernice Armour, USMC earned her wings. The Department of Defense acknowledged her as the first female African American combat pilot in the military during Operation Iraqi Freedom. She completed two tours in the Persian Gulf. After leaving the Marine Corps, she became an international motivation speaker.
In 2006, Angela Salina was the first Hispanic woman Brigadier General in the Marine Corps.
Zenaida Colon, a native of Puerto Rico and the Navy’s only female Master Chief Aviation Support Equipment Technician joined the USS Bataan crew also in 2008.
On January 9, 2009, Secretary of the Navy Ray Maybus announced that women would be assigned to Ohio Class submarines. The first women are expected to report to subs this year.
WOMEN AS ADMIRALS
Rear Admiral Cynthia A. Coogan
Rear Admiral Cynthia Coogan is currently assigned as the Assistant Commander for Intelligence and Criminal Investigations. It is her responsibility to direct, coordinate, and oversee intelligence operations and activities that support all Coast Guard mission objectives, the National Strategy for Homeland Security, and National Security objectives. Throughout her career, she has received the following awards: two Legion of Merits, the Meritorious Service Medal with the Operational Distinguishing Device (five awards), 9/11 Medal, Coast Guard Commendation Medal (two awards), and the Coast Guard Achievement Medal (five awards).
Rear Admiral Grace Murray Hopper, USN
“A Legend in Her Own Time”, Rear Admiral Grace Murray Hopper dedicated her life to the Navy. As a pioneer computer programmer and co-inventor of COBOL (Common Business Oriented Language), she was known as the “Grand Lady of Software”, “Amazing Grace”, and “Grandma COBOL”. Grace’s life consisted of one success after another including significant contributions to the computer age and the Navy.
After graduating from Vassar in 1928 with a BA in Mathematics at the age of 22, she went on to Yale University where she earned a MA in Mathematics as well as Physics; only to continue her education by earning her PhD in 1934 from the same edified university. Hopper began teaching mathematics at Vassar in 1931 where her first year’s salary was $800.
When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor bringing on World War II, Grace wanted to serve her country by joining the military. The obstacles would have deterred a lesser person. She was 34, which was considered too old for enlistment, and the government had declared her occupation as a mathematics professor as crucial. Navy officials told her she could best serve the war effort by remaining a civilian. Undaunted, she managed to get special permission and a leave of absence from her teaching position at Vassar. She also wrangled a waiver on the weight requirement. Weighing in at 105, she was sixteen pounds underweight for her height of five feet six inches. Grace persevered and was sworn into the U.S. Navy Reserve in December 1943. For 43 years, she proudly served the Navy she loved so dearly.
Upon being sworn in, Hopper was commissioned a LTJG and ordered to the Bureau of Ordnance Computation Project at Harvard University. There she became the first programmer on the Navy’s Mark I computer, the mechanical miracle of its day. Hopper’s love of gadgets caused her to immediately fall for the biggest gadget she’d ever seen, the fifty-one foot long, 8 foot high, 8 foot wide, glass-encased mound of bulky relays, switches and vacuum tubes called the Mark I. This miracle of modern science could store 72 words and perform three additions every second.
In 1946, Hopper was released from active duty and joined the Harvard Faculty at the Computation Laboratory where her work continued on the Mark II and Mark III computers for the Navy. In 1949, she joined the Eckert-Mauchly Computer Corporation in Philadelphia, later called Sperry Rand, where she designed the first commercial large-scale electronic computer called the UNIVAC I. Grace’s love affair with the Mark I ended when the UNIVAC I (Universal Automatic Computer) won her affections. This computer system operated a thousand times faster than Mark I did.
She changed the lives of everyone in the computer industry by developing the Bomarc system, later called COBOL. COBOL made it possible for computers to respond to words rather than numbers. Hopper often jokingly explained, “It really came about because I couldn’t balance my checkbook.” She’s also credited with coining the term “bug” when she traced an error in the Mark II to a moth trapped in a relay. The bug was carefully removed and taped to a daily log book. Since then, whenever a computer has a problem, it’s referred to as a bug.
Hopper retired from the Naval Reserve with the rank of Commander at the end of 1966. She was recalled to active duty in August of 1967 for what was supposed to be a six-month assignment at the request of Norman Ream, then Special Assistant to the Secretary of the Navy for Automatic Data Processing. After the six months were up, her orders were changed to say her services would be needed indefinitely. She was promoted to Captain in 1973 by Admiral Elmo Zumwalt, Jr., Chief of Naval Operations. And in 1977, she was appointed special advisor to Commander, Naval Data Automation Command (NAVDAC), where she stayed until she retired.

In 1983, a bill was introduced by Rep. Philip Crane (D-Ill.) who said, “It is time the Navy recognized the outstanding contributions made by this officer recalled from retirement over a decade and a half ago and promote her to the rank of Commodore.” Rep. Crane became interested in Hopper after seeing her March 1983 “60 Minutes” interview. He’d never met Hopper, but after speaking with several people, was convinced she was due the added status of being a flag officer. The bill was approved by the House, and at the age of 76, she was promoted to Commodore by special Presidential appointment. Her rank was elevated to rear admiral in November 1985, making her one of few women admirals in the history of the United States Navy. She retired at the age of 80. It was at her retirement that she was presented the highest award given by the Department of Defense – the Defense Distinguished Service Medal – one of innumerable awards she received from both the Navy and industry.
Other awards include the Navy Meritorious Service Medal, the Legion of Merit and the National Medal of Technology, awarded last September by President George Bush. She also received the first computer sciences “man of the year” award from the Data Processing Management Association (DPMA) in 1969. Other achievements include retiring from the Navy as a Rear Admiral and the oldest serving officer at that time, and being the first woman to be awarded a PhD in Mathematics from Yale University.
Retirement didn’t slow Grace Hopper down. Shortly thereafter, she became a Senior Consultant to Digital Equipment Corporation where she was active until about 18 months before her death. She functioned in much the same capacity she did when she was in the Navy, traveling on lecture tours around the country, speaking at engineering forums, colleges, universities and computer seminars passing on the message that managers shouldn’t be afraid of change. She always placed very high importance on America’s youth. Hopper often said, “working with the youth is the most important job I’ve done. It’s also the most rewarding.” This seems perfectly natural since she spent all her adult life teaching others.
One dream Hopper didn’t fulfill was living to the age of 94. She wanted to be here December 31, 1999 for the New Year’s Eve to end all New Year’s Eve parties. She also wanted to be able to look back at the early days of the computer and say to all the doubters, “See? We told you the computer could do all that!”
Her insight into the future will stay with us even though she’s gone. Rear Admiral Grace Murray Hopper was laid to rest with full military honors in Arlington National Cemetery in the first month of 1992.
Rear Admiral Nora W. Tyson
Tennessee is where Rear Admiral Tyson graduated from Vanderbilt University in 1979 with a bachelor’s degree in English. She then went on to attend Officer Candidate School in Newport, R.I., receiving her commission in the U.S. Navy in December of that same year. Tyson reported for flight training in Pensacola, Florida where she earned her flight wings as a naval flight officer in 1983.
Amongst her duties was command of the amphibious assault ship USS BATAAN leading the Navy’s contributions to disaster relief on the U.S. Gulf Coast in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Rear Admiral Tyson was also deployed twice to the Persian Gulf in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. Tyson earned a Master of Arts in National Security and Strategic Affairs from the U.S. Naval War College in 1995.
Ashore, she served as Airborne Communications Officer Course instructor and officer in charge at Naval Air Maintenance Training Detachment 1079, NAS Patuxent River, Md. She has also completed tours on the Joint Staff as a political-military planner in the Asia-Pacific Division of the Strategic Plans and Policy Directorate; as executive assistant for the assistant to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff; as director of staff for commander, Naval Forces Europe/commander 6th Fleet, and as executive assistant for the chief of naval operations. Her most recent assignment was as commander, Logistics Group, Western Pacific/commander, Task Force 73.
FELIX THE CAT — CAMP TROUBLE
By A. R. Graham
The wealthy guests of John D. Spreckels’ once went riding across North Island hunting jackrabbits. The land was then separated from Coronado by the ‘Spanish Bight’, a shallow channel that ran from the Pacific Ocean to the bay. Used in the late 19th century for horseback riding and hunting by guests of the Hotel del Coronado, it was nothing more than an uninhabited sand flat. Many famous figures have left their prints on this tiny piece of land and sand.
A division of the U.S. Cavalry once exercised their horses along its golden shores. An English prince ran off with the wife of the base’s first commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Earl W. Spencer, Jr. His wife was Wallis Warfield, a prominent socialite who was to remarry twice, and finally, become Wallis Warfield Spencer Simpson Windsor, better known as the Duchess of Windsor, for whom King Edward VIII gave up his throne in 1936.
The list of American military pilots trained at North Island reads like the Who’s Who of aviation. However, America was not the only country interested in aviation early in the twentieth century. Six years before, the Naval Air Station was commissioned, Glenn Curtiss trained the first group of Japanese aviators at his flying school on North Island. Among them was a Lieutenant Yamada, later the head of the Imperial Japanese Navy’s Naval Aviation arm in World War II. North Island was commissioned as the Naval Air Station in 1917 and called Naval Air Station San Diego until 1955. On August 15, 1963, the station was granted official recognition as the “Birthplace of Naval Aviation” by resolution of the House Armed Services Committee.
The Navy’s first aviator, Lieutenant Theodore Ellyson, and many of his colleagues were trained at North Island starting as early as 1911. This was just eight years after Orville and Wilbur Wright flew the first manned aircraft at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina.
In 1886, North Coronado Island and South Coronado were purchased by a developer to become a residential resort. South Coronado, which is not an island but the terminus of a peninsula known as the Silver Strand, became the city of Coronado. Fortunately for the Navy, North Coronado was never developed. Instead, Glenn Curtiss opened a flying school and held a lease to the property until the beginning of World War I. In 1917, Congress appropriated the land and two airfields were commissioned on its sandy flats. The Navy started with a tent city known as “Camp Trouble”. As its name suggests, things did not always go well in the early days. The Navy shared North Island with the Army Signal Corps’ Rockwell Field until 1937, when the Army left, and the Navy expanded its operations to cover the whole of North Island. In 1914, then-unknown aircraft builder, Glenn Martin, took off and demonstrated his pusher aircraft over the island with a flight that included the first parachute jump in the San Diego area. The jump was made by a ninety-pound civilian woman named Tiny Broadwick. Other aviation milestones originating at North Island included the first seaplane flight in 1911, the first mid-air refueling, and the first non-stop transcontinental flight, both in 1923.
One of history’s most famous aviation feats was the flight of Charles A. Lindbergh from New York to Paris in May 1927. That flight originated at Rockwell Field on North Island on May 10, 1927, when Lindbergh began the first leg of his journey.
Forefathers of today’s “Blue Angels”, the three-plane “Sea Hawks” from VF-6B, the “Felix the Cat” squadron, were thrilling audiences with flight demonstrations as early as 1928. They demonstrated the training skills of Navy fighter and bomber pilots, and on many occasions, flew their aircraft in formation with the wings tethered together.
During World War II, North Island was the major continental U.S. base supporting the operating forces in the Pacific. Those forces included over a dozen aircraft carriers, the Coast Guard, Army, Marines, and Seabees. The city of Coronado became home to most of the aircraft factory workers and dependents of the mammoth base which was operating around the clock. Major USO entertainment shows and bond drives were held weekly at the Ships Service Auditorium, which was later replaced by the 2,100-seat Lowry Theater.
Famous people stationed here or on ships home ported here during the war years included Douglas Fairbanks Jr. and Guy Madison, future television cowboy star of the 1950s and 1960s as Wild Bill Hickok, who was at that time, Seaman Bob Mosely, a lifeguard at the NAS crews pool. Stars like the Marx Brothers and Bob Hope appeared regularly at USO shows at the auditorium. Two films of a bygone era were also filmed here including Hell Divers with Clark Gable in 1931 and Hellcats of the Navy with Ronald and Nancy Reagan in 1957.
In 1944, the Army Corps of Engineers filled in the Spanish Bight to allow for more construction. North Island today is an island in name only.
Today, the Naval Air Station at North Island is part of the largest aerospace-industrial complex in the Navy. It includes Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, Outlying Field Imperial Beach, and Naval Air Landing Facility, San Clemente Island. The complex totals 5,000 acres stretching from the entrance to San Diego Bay to the Mexican border. North Island itself is host to 23 squadrons and 75 additional tenant commands and activities, one of which, the Naval Aviation Depot, is the largest aerospace employer in San Diego.
REMEMBERING: ADMIRAL GEORGE STEPHEN MORRISON
Admiral George Stephen Morrison
George Stephen Morrison was a Rear Admiral and naval aviator in the United States Navy. Morrison was commander of the U. S. naval forces in the Gulf of Tonkin during the Gulf of Tonkin Incident of August 1964. He was the father of Jim Morrison, the lead singer of the legendary rock band, The Doors.
Morrison was born in Rome, Georgia to Caroline and Paul Morrison. He was raised in Leesburg, Florida. Morrison entered the U.S. Naval Academy in 1938. He graduated in 1941, was commissioned an ensign in the U.S. Navy, and was sent to Hawaii. Assigned to the minelayer Pruitt (DM-22) at Pearl Harbor, he witnessed the Japanese attack on December 7, 1941.
In 1943, he studied flight training at NAS Pensacola, Florida, graduating in spring 1944. Morrison flew missions in the Pacific Theater for the duration of World War II.
After the war, he was an instructor for secret nuclear-weapons projects in Albuquerque. During the Korean War, he was assigned to the joint operations center in Seoul, earning a Bronze Star for his part in combat operations against North Korea and Chinese forces.
In 1963, Morrison took command of the Essex-class aircraft carrier Bon Homme Richard (CV-31), flagship of a 3rd Fleet Carrier Division (today’s Carrier Strike Group) in the Pacific and based at Naval Air Station, Alameda, California. Morrison was in command of the Carrier Division during the controversial Gulf of Tonkin Incident in 1964, which resulted in a dramatic escalation of the Vietnam War. In 1966, he was promoted to Rear Admiral; at age 46. In 1972, he was appointed Commander of U.S. Naval Forces in the Marianas. As such, he was in charge of relief efforts for Vietnamese refugees sent to Guam after the 1975 fall of Saigon.
Admiral Morrison was the keynote speaker at the decommissioning ceremony for Bon Homme Richard, his first ship as an admiral, on July 3, 1971 in Washington, D.C., the same day his son, Jim Morrison, died in Paris, France at age 27.
Morrison retired in 1975.
Morrison met and married Clara Clarke in Hawaii in 1942. Their son, James Douglas, was born in 1943 in Melbourne, Florida. A daughter, Anne Robin, was born in 1947 in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and a son, Andrew Lee Morrison, was born in 1948 in Los Altos, California.
In retirement, the Morrison’s lived in Coronado and Chula Vista, California. Clara Clarke Morrison, 89, died after a long illness in Coronado on December 29, 2005. Rear Admiral Morrison died in Coronado on November 17, 2008. His private memorial service was held on November 24 at Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery in San Diego. His ashes were scattered at sea near the same spot off Point Loma, where his wife’s ashes had been scattered nearly three years earlier. Admiral George Stephen Morrison left behind the legacy of an outstanding military career as well as his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.
Excerpts from “I Remember” by A. R. Graham
A Silver Medallion
Admiral Morrison was Commander-in-Chief of Carrier Division 9 stationed at Sasebo, Japan. He had a fleet of carriers and was doing some serious ass-kicking during the Vietnam War. One of the carriers used was the mighty battleship, the New Jersey, which had 16-inch guns and once unleashed a salvo which sank half of a small island. The Admiral received a glowing citation which was written on fine parchment accompanied by a silver medallion as big as your face. He read it to us out loud at a family gathering. His countenance radiated deep pride and pleasure.
The Athlete
Admiral George Stephen Morrison was so small as a child that he was given shots to spur his growth to little or no success. He stands 5’8” and his sisters and parents were also petite. Anne is 5’7”, Andy is about 5’11”, and Jim was 5’10”. Jim appeared taller because he wore boots that elevated his height by several inches. Jim was not big-chested and neither was his father, who was perfectly toned, but never large nor muscular.
The Admiral used to tell us stories of his years as a cadet at the U. S. Naval Academy. He always inserted the Morrison touch of humor into all. This was one of his favorites:
Because of his stature, he had difficulty keeping up with his long-legged shipmates, who ran him ragged. Running was the order of the day. The cadets ran everywhere.
When the dinner bell rang, Steve, as part of a fire crew that consisted of a cart, ladder, and fire bell propelled by six galloping cadets, took up the rear. By the time they reached the dinner table, the fire crew was lobster-hot in addition to the sauna-like Maryland heat. “Wow! My feet never touched the ground a lot of the time!” When the Admiral told this story, he did it with so much animation that it left us in stitches with his theatrics.
The Admiral is, among other things, a superb athlete. We played doubles table tennis regularly. The Admiral was laser precise, NASCAR-quick, and impossible to beat.
He was also one of the rare ones that excelled on the rings. He can be seen in action from photographs in the 1943 graduation book of the U. S. Naval Academy at Annapolis. Steve has remained in perfect shape all of his life. So much so that over fifty years later, he could easily wear the uniform he graduated in to naval academy reunions – and it fit him perfectly.
In the early 1970’s, the Admiral came to visit Anne and I. While we were in the backyard playing with the kids on a set of regulation parallel bars, he gave us a few pointers. He walked languidly to the bars, grabbed them, and went into a perfect kip – a stunning piece of aerial choreography. It was like watching Nureyev as he landed like a leaf. For a split second, he maintained perfect posture as if he was in a competition and the judges were watching.
The Admiral and the UFO
Back in the day, we were sitting around talking about UFOs, Area 51, and all the other lunatic alien legends. We were laughing about the accounts of people claiming they had been abducted by aliens who then proceeded to fiddle or tamper with them. The Admiral suddenly pronounced, “I chased a UFO once.” We sat in rapt silence waiting for the punch line. His story went like this:
Steve and his fighter squadron were patrolling the skies during the Korean conflict when they saw a silver object at three o’clock moving at a high rate of speed. Steve radioed for permission to pursue the unidentified flying object. He and a few other members gave chase for ten minutes. When they finally got near enough to see more clearly, the object started shimmering in the bright morning sunlight. It appeared to be picking up speed while simultaneously sending an urgent transmission.
The young aviators were fixing to blow this sucker out of the shy, when Lt. Commander Morrison, who had arrived on the scene first, discovered that the UFO was an escaped shiny metallic weather balloon.
The Admiral Wore Desert Boots
When Captain Morrison became Admiral Morrison, he received orders for duty at the Navy building in London, England. Clara leased a huge apartment on Bayswater Road just a few miles from the American Embassy. Anne was attending an extension of the University of Gainesville on an Air Force base outside of the city and Andy attended an extension of the American high school system.
The Admiral would take a brisk morning walk to work every day. In 1966, England’s fashion scene was wild. The mini-skirt was barely a skirt at all and most young people looked like peacocks with colors so dazzling one needed furnace goggles just to walk down the street.
The Morrison’s dressed conservatively, indeed. Americans were so shocked and amused to see a nation of popinjays with funny accents that it was a laugh-riot to them.
One day, Andy challenged his father to be more with it and dress in some modern clothes. That evening, when the Admiral came home from work, he told Andy that he had a surprise for him. He left the room and returned ten minutes later wearing Andy’s buttoned down, collegiate-striped shirt, bell-bottomed Levi’s, and a pair of tan desert boots. This was the standard dress for most American high school kids at that time. The clothes fit the Admiral perfectly.
The Admiral always looked young for his age. Even then, at the age of fifty, he sometimes looked like a young man. He wore the clothes the rest of the night. When friends came over to visit, nobody said a word, neither the Morrison’s nor the guests. Clara almost burst her lungs trying not to laugh.
The Admiral Goes Back to School
When the Admiral retired from the Navy, he was only in his fifties. So, he considered a second career as a university mathematics instructor. He began taking refresher courses at San Diego State University.
There is a fine distinction in the Navy when it comes to rank. When a commander retires from the service, he is awarded a final promotion in the form of the rank of admiral. As you can imagine, there are a great number of admirals who are so in name only. Admiral George Stephen Morrison was not one of those. Instead, he rose through the ranks at lightning speed due to hard work and dedication. He was also one of the youngest admirals in the entire history of the United States Navy.
The Admiral’s math professor was a retired naval commander himself and a strict no-nonsense teacher. However, using the previous equation, that would in actuality, make the math professor a lieutenant commander, the lesser rank. The professor, who applied this military manner in his dealings with all the students, was unaware that he had a retired bona fide admiral in his class.
“Class begins at 0800 hours and I require strict punctuality.” The stern officer/teacher had issued this edict to the entire class on the very first day. It had been made the order of the day.
Not too long after that, the Admiral forgot his reading glasses. So, he went home to retrieve them, making him late for class. This, in turn, caused the professor to sneer, “Well, Mr. Morrison, what did they say to you when you arrived late for work at your job?”
The Admiral responded with superb biting humor, never missing a beat, “They used to say, ‘Good morning, Admiral.’”
The silence was deafening and it prevailed for what seemed like an hour as the professor’s face underwent many contorted shapes. The Admiral sat in his chair with all the confidence of a trial lawyer who had just dealt a smug prosecutor a lethal and unexpected legal ass whipping.
The professor/lieutenant commander was blinking faster than “I Dream of Jeannie” as he tried to snap himself back to some semblance of the control he believed he once had. The Admiral sat in bemused silence and so did the rest of the class.
The chastened professor/officer saluted the Admiral every morning after that, especially when he was late.
Electronic Warfare
The Admiral was a specialist in electronic warfare. One of his projects was to put the first ever Navy spy satellite into orbit around the earth. He kept a replica of the hand-sized metal sphere which had five “My Favorite Martian” antennae protruding from its center. “Back then, that’s all we could throw up there”, the Admiral would say, “and there are still things about the project I am not allowed to discuss.” He was true blue when it came to the rules. “Suffer the consequences if you violate the rules.” He was not a lenient man nor was he harsh in his application of discipline with his children and the men under his command.
Yet there was another side to him. While the family was driving across the country on one of their many trips connected to tours of duty, the Admiral said, “The rules were made to be broken intelligently.” I believe there is a part of him that understood that many people cannot function in a gray society or strict environment. In that belief system, you must challenge the boundaries, but not head on. In other words, “You must do what you want without appearing to have broken the rules.” In essence, “Don’t get caught. If you do get caught, you should not receive special treatment and must be punished under the full penalty of the law.”
Celebration of the Piano
The Morrison kids grew up singing around the piano. Over the years, Clara Morrison recorded get-togethers and kept them “in a well by the side of the road”.
Oftentimes, when we gathered at the ivories, Captain McDairmott, the Morrison’s longtime friend and the Admiral’s shipmate, would record our sessions. Some went back to the days when the Morrison kids were quite young. I have a recording of Jim singing, “You Get a Line and I’ll Get a Pole”, when he was ten years old.
During one of our songfests, the Captain asked the Admiral to say something into the microphone for a test. He deferred to me. I, in turn, asked him to repeat something he had said earlier in his lecture about nuclear energy.
“E to the high of pi (or high pi) plus one equals zero”, which he explained was the entire basis of mathematics. In mathematical language, this means, God.
The Admiral Arrested
Admiral Morrison loved to go to Las Vegas to play cards. Two or three times a year, he and Clara would check into one of the big resort hotels for a week of relaxation and gambling. Clara had terrorized every slot machine in Vegas for many years and invariably won.
The Admiral had a formula that he unflinchingly adhered to. It was a mathematical equation known only to him. This method never failed in the big picture — for even though he lost a few hands, he always came away from the table a winner. The only flaw in the Admiral’s near-flawless enterprise was the amount of money he wagered. It was always the same, no matter what. The Admiral was a measured man, who would never indulge in excess to any degree, and so it was with gambling. His bet never exceeded two dollars, ever.
On one of the Morrison’s gambling junkets, the Admiral was having a good old time as he won every round. Each time the dealer issued him a winning hand, all eyes focused in his direction as he placed a new bet – the very same sum of two dollars – over and over again. To degenerate gamblers, this cautiously guarded playing style is a shameful practice and they are appalled by such a punk wager. He might just as well have been playing Monopoly or Parcheesi because to a real gambler, “This guy is a jinx.” His normally steady and sober gaming method elsewhere would be a virtue. However, here in this gamblers’ den of iniquity, it was decidedly unethical, or at the very least, in poor taste.
The word gamble conjures up many reckless synonyms such as action, bet, chance, punt, raffle, risk, spec, stab, toss up, uncertainty, venture, and wager. To the Admiral, it was simply the original derivative of the word gamble which is game. That is what he was doing – playing a game whilst everyone else around him was gambling. His game never changed and he always walked away from the tables either winning or not losing.
One night, the Admiral was up to his usual – that is to say – most unusual display of devil-may-care attitude toward the sacred rules of gambling. He had won nine hands in a row, but kept laying down the same paltry sum of two dollars. The dealer was becoming irritated while the rest of the table wished silently that he would make a larger bet, but he did not.
Finally, a very muscular and very drunk, hardcore gambler at the far side of the table started to laugh out loud every time the high roller won a hand or placed a new bet. In the end, the whole table joined in. Even though they were merely laughing at the drunk’s laughter, which was something between a cackle and a gagging sound, it was getting to the Admiral. Now his smile was beginning to fade. Each time he put down his two-dollar bet, the drunk would loudly sing, Hey, Big Spender, followed by that hideous cackle.
As the dealer laid down the next winning card and before the drunk could issue his next ridiculing remark, the Admiral flew off his chair faster than a light being switched on or off and was in the drunk’s face, “Do you want to do something about it or are you all talk?”
The drunk was flabbergasted and speechless. The Admiral returned to his chair and continued where he left off. He bet the very same two dollars and, by God, he won again. The table was silent and so was the drunk.
Clara related this incident to the rest of the family amid howls of laughter at the prospect of Jim Morrison’s straight-laced father in a near brawl with a drunk in Las Vegas and what a sensational headline that would have made:
“JIM MORRISON’S DAD ARRESTED FOR BEATING OF GAMBLER IN LAS VEGAS”
Andy questioned his father, “What the hell were you thinking, old man, picking a fight with a guy who could crush your head with one hand?” The Admiral answered with pronounced confidence, “I think I could have taken him.”
In his day as a young aviator, he had flown through certain death on many occasions and wreaked serious carnage on the enemy during three separate wars. Yet in civilian life and as a family man, he was the epitome of nonviolence. He never physically disciplined his children or uttered an angry word in their presence. So, it was quite out of character for him to deploy this primitive aspect of his inner self in public.
“You can’t judge a book by its cover.”
Stardust Memories
It has been two weeks of visiting relatives, sons, daughter, brother-in-law, sister-in-law, grandchildren, and to top it off, Andy Morrison came by for a visit. He told the following story:
“Dad and I were driving to San Diego to pick up some supplies. I had just bought a new Willie Nelson CD and he was anxious to play it. But I didn’t know if Dad would like the music. On this album, Willie is doing the oldies from the Forties and one of the tracks is ‘Stardust’. Well, Dad listened to it intently and when the song was over, he popped the CD out of the deck and put it in his pocket. After a several seconds, he pulled it out of his pocket and asked, ‘Where’s the case?’ When we found it, he put the CD back in the case and returned it to his pocket. I said, ‘Dad, what are you doing?’ He replied, “I’m gonna take it home for your mother to listen to.’”
Father and son both laughed loud and long (the Morrison Anthem) at the Admiral’s sentimentality towards Nelson’s rendition of the ballad. Andy dropped his dad off and rode off to the beach to watch the setting sun.
“Sometimes I wonder why I spend
The lonely night
dreaming of a song
The melody haunts my reverie
And I am once again with you
When our love was new
And each kiss an inspiration
But that was long ago
And now my constellation
Is in the stardust of a song…”
–Hoagy Carmichael / Mitchell Parish
NOTE: The Morrison’s retirement home located at 135 “H” Avenue will be featured in the Coronado Historical Association’s Wings of Gold salute to the naval aviators dubbed the “Home Front” Project beginning in February. Each home of these noted naval aviators will have a sign with a number corresponding to a brochure with a map and a brief bio of each aviator placed in the front yard. Brochures and maps are available through the Coronado Historical Association: (619) 435-7242, www.coronadohistory.org
HOME TO THE ADMIRALS
By:Nina Odel AKA Lynne Harpst
In the middle of the 300 block of Eighth Street stands a classical Spanish villa. Typical of many of the beautiful homes built in this style in Coronado in the 1930s, the residence is a treasure of our island. It not only captures our town’s past and present but also secures our future.
Stepping through a bold purple door – the current owner’s favorite color – the foyer affords entry into three main sections of the house: a large and inviting living room with a wood-burning fireplace, a formal dining room, and the second floor via a central sweeping staircase. Whether you choose to ascend the stairs or ride the built-in elevator, what awaits you is a master wing, complete with a spacious master bedroom suite and a large viewing deck. An adjacent wing comprises a large bedroom, sun porch, and office. The red tile roof, mature landscaping, with lush foliage and vibrant flowers, and tiled walkways enhance the beauty of this property. For seventy-five years, the owners of 330 Eighth Street have entertained prominent Coronado guests in the large patio. A generous-size cottage, complete with its own kitchen, provides accommodations for longer-term company. It is certainly a home in which to relax and enjoy the best of Island life.
330 Eighth Street was constructed in 1936 for Admiral Jonas H. Ingram. Born in 1888 in Jefferson Clark County, Indiana, Admiral Ingram was an officer in the United States Navy during both World War I and World War II.
A graduate of the United States Naval Academy, Ingram was the head football coach from 1914 to 1917, going on to become the Director of Athletics from 1926 to 1930. During the Mexican Revolution, he received the Medal of Honor for his actions in the 1914 Battle of Veracruz. Upon graduation from Annapolis, he served aboard the battleship New York, which operated with the British Grand Fleet during World War I. During World War II, he was Commander-in-Chief of the United States Atlantic Fleet, and was personally responsible for the safety of the convoy of American troops to Europe. In his highly illustrious naval career, he also earned the Navy Cross, three Distinguished Service Medals and the Purple Heart.
After being detached from duty as Commander-in-Chief in 1946, Admiral Ingram retired to his home at 330 Eighth Street. Ending forty years of military service, it was now time for him to enjoy retirement, and what better place to do so than the Emerald Isle! But the Admiral was not an idle retiree. He immediately accepted the position of Commissioner of the All-America Football Conference. Upon his resignation in 1949, he went on to serve as vice president for the Reynolds Metal Company as well as the superintendent of summer schools for Culver Academies. In 1952, he suffered a series of heart attacks, passing away on September 10, 1952.
Admiral Jonas H. Ingram was interred in Section 30 of the Arlington National Cemetery. His wife, Jean Fletcher Ingram, who passed two years later, was buried with him.
This was not the end of housing prestigious officers for 330 Eighth Street. Sometime after the passing of Admiral and Mrs. Ingram, Admiral “Jimmy” Thach purchased the residence; and with many a fine social gathering of his peers, he continued the grand home’s naval legacy.
John Smith Thach was born in Pine Bluff, Arkansas on April 19, 1905. Like Admiral Ingram, he also graduated from the United States Naval Academy. He spent two years serving on battleships before training as a naval aviator in 1929Earning his wings in 1930, Thach quickly built a reputation as one of the most skilled aviators in the Navy. As a member of Fighting One – known as the “High Hats” for the tuxedo-style hat they adopted as their logo – Thach and his squadron performed stunt work for Clark Gable’s 1931 movie, “Hell Divers”. During this period, Thach also set endurance records with experimental aircraft. For the next ten years, he served as a test pilot and instructor, establishing a reputation as an expert in aerial gunnery.
In the early 1940s, Lieutenant Commander Thach took command of Fighting Squadron Three, also known as “Felix the Cat”. It was while serving this unit that he and wingman Edward J. “Butch” O’Hare developed the “Thach Weave”, a combat flight formation that could counter enemy fighters of superior performance.
The maneuver had its first disciplined test at the Battle of the Coral Sea in 1942. Using the “Weave”, Thach’s VF-3 downed nineteen out of the twenty Japanese fighters attacking the carrier Lexington. The widespread employment of the maneuver at the Battle of Midway, by planes flying from the Yorktown, showed similar positive results for the U.S. Navy, establishing the legend of the “Thach Weave”.
With his tactical skill deemed too valuable to risk at sea, Thach was transferred to Jacksonville, Florida to teach combat tactics and create training films that became the standard for a generation of naval aviators. It was then that he developed the “big blue blanket” system to provide an adequate defense against Kamikaze suicide attacks.
At the close of World War II, Commander Thach returned to the Pacific as the operations officer to Vice Admiral John McCain’s carrier task force, and was present at the formal Japanese surrender on September 2, 1945.
Thach was promoted to Rear Admiral in 1955. He was placed in command of an antisubmarine development unit, “Task Group Alpha”, with the Valley Forge serving as his flagship. He subsequently appeared on the cover of “Time” magazine for his contributions to anti-submarine warfare, a primary focus in the ongoing Cold War. In recognition of his outstanding performance and achievements, the Navy created the Admiral Thach Award, given to the best antisubmarine warfare squadron.
Thach was promoted to Vice Admiral in 1960 and served as the Deputy Chief of Naval Operations for Air in the Pentagon, where he presided over the development of the A-7 Corsair II among other naval aviation programs. During his stint as Commander-in-Chief of U.S. Naval Forces in Europe, he received his fourth star. He was now a full Admiral. Among Admiral Thach’s notable awards were the Navy Cross with Gold Star and the Navy Distinguished Service Medal with Gold Star. Also of note is that he and his brother James were among only a handful of naval officers to serve as full admirals while on active duty.
Retiring from the Navy in May 1967, Admiral Thach settled in for some much needed and well-deserved “R ‘n’ R” at his family home. John Smith Thach died in Coronado on April 15, 1981, a few days shy of his 76th birthday. He was buried at Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery in San Diego. The guided missile frigate USS Thach was commissioned in his honor in 1984.
John and Madalynn Thach had four children. The family lived in the Eighth Street home for over thirty years. Heirs of Admiral Thach passed ownership of the residence to civilians in 1988. The Elliott family resided there for 14 years. In March of 2010, retired music producer George Koen and famed heiress Lynne Harpst Koen purchased the prestigious property. “Funk Palace”, as the Koen’s have fondly nicknamed it, hosts Beatles banners, Rock ‘n’ Roll trivia and the memorabilia of Ms. Harpst Koen’s incomparable family – a founding family of Coronado whose benefaction to the town is immeasurable.
On February 4, 2011, the Coronado Historical Association will open an exhibit marking the 100th anniversary of U.S. naval aviation. Entitled “Wings of Gold: Coronado and Naval Aviation”, it will emphasize the role of Coronado in that remarkable history: Coronado is often referred to as the birthplace of naval aviation. The exhibit will be housed in the Coronado Museum of History and Art, with a special members’ preview on February 3. “Wings of Gold” will include photographs, documents and objects from the museum’s archives.
There will also be a self-guided “Salute to Naval Aviators” tour beginning February 4. The home of Admirals Ingram and Thach, located at 330 Eighth Street, will be one of the featured spots on the “Home of a Naval Aviator” tour, as well as the homes of Admiral Morrison and many other notable naval officers.
Maps and brochures are available from the Coronado Museum of History and Art located at 1100 Orange Avenue, Coronado, California. Hours: Mon.-Sat., 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.; Sun., 10-5 p.m. For more information, call (619) 435-7242 or log onto www.coronadohistory.org
RECIPES
General Mess Manual and Cookbook, U.S. Navy. [First US Navy cookbook issued in 1902.]
Traditional Navy Recipes
Do you miss some of the traditional fare from the mess decks aboard ship? Here are recipes for a number of Navy dishes from 1958. Now, invite a lot of old shipmates or get out your scratchpad and calculator — these recipes are geared toward 100 portions.
Baking Powder Biscuits
Creamed Sliced Dried Beef
Navy Bean Soup
Baking Powder Biscuits
| YIELD: 300 Biscuits or 100 Portions, each portion 3 biscuits (1 ounce each) | ||||
INGREDIENTS |
WEIGHTS |
MEASURES |
PORTIONS |
METHOD |
| Flour, sifted Baking powder Salt |
15 lbs. 15 oz. 3 oz. |
15 qt. 2 1/2 cups 6 tbsp. |
— | 1. Sift dry ingredients into bowl of mixing machine. |
| Shortening | 3 3/4 lb. | 7 1/2 cups | — | 2. Add shortening to flour mixture and blend until consistency of cornmeal (low speed, approximately 3 minutes). |
| Milk | 5 or 6 qt. | — | 3. Add milk and mix until dough is formed (low speed, approximately 1 minute). 4. Place portion of dough onto lightly floured surface, knead until dough is smooth. 5. Shape into a ball and roll to a uniform thickness of 1/2 inch. |
|
VARIATIONS:
- BUTTERSCOTCH BISCUITS: Roll dough into a rectangular sheet 1/3 inch thick. Spread with melted butter and brown sugar. Roll dough as for jelly roll. Cut into slices 3/4-inch thick.
- CHEESE BISCUITS: Add 2 lbs. (2 qt.) of dry grated cheese to dough. Brush biscuits with milk and sprinkle with grated cheese.
- CINNAMON BISCUITS: Proceed as for butterscotch biscuits. Spread with melted butter, granulated sugar and cinnamon.
- COBBLER: Place prepared fruit in pan. Cover with biscuit dough 3/8-inch thick; dock, and brush with melted shortening.
- ORANGE BISCUITS: Make a small indentation and place 1/2 teaspoon orange marmalade on each biscuit.
- WHOLE WHEAT BISCUIT: Substitute 7 lbs. of whole wheat flour for 7 lbs. of white flour.
Creamed Sliced Dried Beef
| YIELD: 6 1/4 Gallons or 100 portions, each portion: 1 cup | ||||
INGREDIENTS |
WEIGHTS |
MEASURES |
PORTIONS |
METHOD |
| Butter or shortening Flour, sifted Pepper |
2 lb. 2 1/2 lb. |
1 qt. 2 1/2 qt. 1 tbsp. |
— | 1. Melt shortening add flour, and blend. Add pepper. Cook 5 minutes. |
| Milk, hot | 4 3/4 gal. | — | 2. Add hot milk slowly, stirring to prevent lumping. | |
| Beef, dried, sliced Shortening |
7 lbs. 1 lb. |
1 3/4 gal. 1 pt. |
— | 3. Separate beef into slices. Cook in hot shortening until edges curl. 4. Add to white sauce. Blend. |
NOTE:
1. If beef is too salty, omit cooking in hot shortening (step 3), soak beef in hot water 15 minutes and drain before adding to white sauce.
2. If desired, freshly sliced dried beef may be added to white sauce without cooking in hot fat.
3. Serve with toast, baked potato, steamed rice, noodles, spaghetti, or cornbread.
Navy Bean Soup
| YIELD: 6 1/4 Gallons or 100 portions, each portion: 1 cup | ||||
INGREDIENTS |
WEIGHTS |
MEASURES |
PORTIONS |
METHOD |
| Beans, white, dry | 6 lbs. | 3 1/2 qt. | — | 1. Pick over and wash beans. |
| Ham stock Ham bones |
7 gal. 8 bones |
— | 2. Add ham stock and ham bones. Heat to boiling point; cover and simmer 2-3 hours or until beans are tender. If necessary, add hot water. 3. Remove ham bones. |
|
| Carrots, shredded Onions, finely chopped Pepper |
1 lb. 2 lbs. |
2 3/4 cups 4 1/2 cups 2 tsp. |
— | 4. Add carrots, onions, and pepper. Simmer for 30 minutes. |
| Flour, hard wheat, sifted Water, cold |
1/2 lb. | 2 cups 3/4 qt. |
— | 5. Blend flour and water to a smooth paste. Stir into soup, and cook 10 minutes longer. |
NOTE:
1. If beans are old, soak 3 to 4 hours prior to cooking.
2. Add salt and additional pepper if desired.
VARIATION:
Old Fashioned Navy Bean Soup: Add one No. 10 can of tomatoes in Step 4.
NAVAL TRIVIA
The Navy Hymn
Eternal Father, Strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bid’st the mighty Ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
O hear us when we cry to thee,
for those in peril on the sea.
O Christ! Whose voice the waters heard
And hushed their raging at Thy word,
Who walked’st on the foaming deep,
and calm amidst its rage didst sleep;
Oh hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea!
Most Holy spirit! Who didst brood
Upon the chaos dark and rude,
And bid its angry tumult cease,
And give, for wild confusion, peace;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea!
O Trinity of love and power!
Our brethren shield in danger’s hour;
From rock and tempest, fire and foe,
Protect them wheresoe’er they go;
Thus evermore shall rise to Thee,
Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.
Origins of the U.S. Navy Flag
The Department of the Navy Seal, created in 1957, was to serve as the main feature of the official United States Navy flag, adopted two years later. The flag did not pass through an evolutionary development as was the case with the Navy seal.
Ships of the earliest period in the Nation’s naval history wore a variety of flags, including the striped Grand Union, and those bearing a pine tree or rattlesnake. However, these various banners may be considered steps in the genesis of the national ensign, the “Stars and Stripes,” rather than forebears of a specific flag for the Navy.
Toward the end of the nineteenth century the Infantry Battalion flag (above left) was introduced for use by naval landing forces. This was a blue flag with a white diamond shaped device in the center and a blue foul anchor superimposed on the diamond. For more than sixty years, the Infantry Battalion flag served as the unofficial Navy flag in drill formations and parades and at other ceremonies. An official Navy flag, truly representative of the Navy’s operating forces at sea, was authorized by Presidential order 24 April 1959:
The flag for the United States Navy is 4 feet 4 inches hoist by 5 feet 6 inches fly, of dark blue material, with yellow fringe, 2 1/2 inches wide. In the center of the flag is a device 3 feet 1 inch overall consisting of the inner pictorial position of the seal of the Department of the Navy (with the exception that a continuation of the sea has been substituted for the land area), in its proper colors within a circular yellow rope edging, all 2 feet 6 inches in diameter above a yellow scroll inscribed “United States Navy,” in dark blue letters.
Unlike the national ensign, commission pennant, union jack, and admiral’s broad pennant which fly from gaff, mast, or staff on board naval vessels, the flag of the United States Navy is reserved for display purposes and is carried by an honor guard on ceremonial occasions.
Presidents Who Served in the U.S. Navy
John F. Kennedy (1961-63); Lyndon B. Johnson (1963-69); Richard M. Nixon (1969-74); Gerald R. Ford (1974-77); Jimmy Carter (1977-81); George Bush (1989-93)
USS Coronado (PF-38)
The USS Coronado (PF-38), a Tacoma-class frigate, was the first ship of the United States Navy named for Coronado, California. She was launched June 17, 1943 by the Consolidated Steel Corporation under a Maritime Commission contract. It was sponsored by Mrs. J. R. Crutchfield. Lieutenant Commander N. W. Sprow, USCG, was in command. Originally the PF-38 was a gunboat, but was later redesignated as a patrol frigate.
Coronado sailed from San Diego on February 8, 1944 for convoy escort duty to Australia en route to New Guinea. After escorting troop and cargo transports to Manus and support the landings there, she returned to the western part of New Guinea taking part in the landings there. Later that year, she sailed from Humboldt Bay to join in the Leyte operation. In 1945, after an overhaul back in the States, she sailed for Alaska where she took on four Soviet officers and 45 men aboard for training. Coronado was decommissioned in July of that year and transferred to Russia under land lease. Returned to the U.S. at Yokosuka in 1949, she was placed in reserve there until 1953 when she was transferred on loan to Japan under the Mutual Assistance Program. Coronado served in the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force (Sugi) until decommissioned on March 31, 1969. At that time, she was returned to U.S. custody in 1971. Currently, her fate is unknown.
During her commission, Coronado received four battle stars for her World War II service: the Bismarck Archipelago operation, the Hollandia operation, the Western New Guinea operation, and the Leyte Gulf operation.
SOLDIERS’ HOMECOMING
AVIATOR PROVIDES GOLDEN RULE
By Kimberley Graham
This year, 2011, marks the “Centennial Anniversary of Naval Aviation” for those who wear the golden wings of Naval, Marine, and Coast Guard aviators. We have a very special citizen living among our ranks here on the Emerald Isle who qualifies amongst those proud aviators. His name is Captain Len Kaine. Captain Kaine is a retired U.S. Navy fighter pilot and president of the Golden Rule Society (GRS). After retiring from the Navy, Captain Kaine established the nonprofit corporation to support our troops, veterans and their families, with a primary focus of assisting the children of our nation as well as 15 other countries around the world. Over its 39-year history, the GRS has accomplished its goals through a variety of fundraising programs and activities. The philosophy of the Golden Rule Society is, “To better the lives of others is your life’s greatest reward.” This is not only the society’s philosophy, but Captain Kaine’s as well.
Captain Len Kaine’s exuberance, innovation, and hard work have not gone unnoticed. Locally, a proclamation was presented to Captain Kaine by Mayor Casey Tanaka, designating the first week of October 2010 as Golden Rule Society week in Coronado. Mayor Tanaka also nominated the organization for the “2010 San Diego Veterans Allegiance Award” recognizing the nonpaid volunteers who support our troops and veterans. In a separate nomination from Vice Admiral Edward H. Martin, Kaine was nominated as the “2010-2011 San Diego County Veteran of the Year” for his 38 years of volunteer service to those who defend our freedoms. Captain Kaine and GRS received this award alongside eight others, which were presented to he and his organization at a local luncheon by members of Congress, Susan Davis and Bob Filner, for “outstanding and invaluable community service”.
On a nation and worldwide level, Captain Kaine was presented with the “2005 President’s Lifetime Achievement Award, Gold Medal and Citation” for his charity work. Senator John McCain pinned on the Award at the 50th year reunion of Carrier Naval Aviators. In 2003, the benevolent Captain Kaine was nominated for the Novel Peace Prize. He received both a place on the National Role of Honor in Washington, D.C. and a Letter of Commendation from the Under Secretary of Defense (Director of Youth Activities) in 2002. These are but just a few of he and the Golden Rule Society’s many accolades.
Once again in the words of Captain Kaine and the Golden Rule Society, “To better the lives of others is your life’s greatest reward.”The Golden Rule Society is led and managed by non-paid volunteers and 100% of the net funds raised by the organization go to help children and non-profit beneficiaries. More than a million lives have been touched and improved by the very generous outreach programs offered by the GRS.“We truly welcome every child, young adult and grown-up who has access to the Internet into our educational, motivational, inspirational, and character building program, with special affinity for children of Military Service Members, Firefighters, and Law Enforcement Personnel, and all who Protect and Serve.”
For more information on the Golden Rule Society and how you may volunteer or contribute to this honorable organization visit: http://www.goldenrulesociety.org
THE EPIDEMIC OF DISCONNECTION
Recently, noted journalists Bob Woodward and Tom Brokaw alongside the First Lady, Michelle Obama, joined the Oprah Winfrey Show to acknowledge the “epidemic of disconnection” we have as citizens of our great country for the over 5,800 soldiers who have lost their lives in the Iraqi-Afghanistan wars as well as the millions of soldiers, officers, and their families who currently serve this effort on our behalf. It is time as we honor our warrior heroes to also honor those who struggle in the present. Many soldiers who are fortunate to survive their deployments only return to be deployed yet once again. The soldiers miss the birth of their children and the milestones of these children we all cherish so much. Their spouses and family miss them terribly and worry about them constantly. Do we?
Who are the Gold Star families? Who are the Blue Star families? Gold Star families have lost a loved one in the wars. Blue Star families have a loved one currently serving in the wars. This article is an appeal to us as community citizens to reach out to these special families. Not only to offer our gratitude, but our assistance. What can we do for you, as a family, to show our gratitude? Adopt a Family. We, at the Coronado Clarion, would like to hear and share your stories. We will serve you and provide awareness. As a military town, this should be foremost and fundamental in our consciousness. Coronado owes a huge debt to its military. Here are some organizations you may participate with and find assistance for your very special families and friends:
Special Edition in Honor of the U.S. Military
WINGS OF GOLD
“Wings of Gold: Coronado and Naval Aviation Museum Exhibit Marks 100th Anniversary”
In early 1911, the United States Navy asked pioneer aviator Glenn Curtiss to train one its officers to fly. Curtiss chose a sandy, scrub-covered island in San Diego Bay as the location and Coronado became the birthplace of Naval Aviation. On February 4, 2011, the Coronado Historical Association (CHA) will participate in a national celebration of the Centennial of Naval Aviation with the unveiling of a themed museum exhibit entitled, Wings of Gold: Coronado and Naval Aviation.
Wings of Gold will be on display in one of the main galleries of the Coronado Museum of History and Art and will feature rare photographs and documents such as an early pilot license signed by Orville Wright. An original 1920s pilot uniform and a national insignia that flew on aircraft from 1919-1940 are examples of some of the items on view. A multi-media component utilizing oral history interviews highlighting the history of U.S. Naval Air Station (NAS)–North Island, will be included in the exhibit. A series of lectures, a film festival and a community-wide commemorative home signage program with map of residences lived in by over a 100 naval aviators will complement the exhibit during its six-month run.
Coronado Historical Association Naval Aviator Yard Sign Initiative: Look for signs in front of houses where Naval Aviators past and present have lived as you drive around Coronado or come by the association for a map.
The Coronado Museum of History & Art is located at 1100 Orange Avenue, Coronado. Suggested donation: $4 Hours: Mon.-Sat., 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.; Sun., 10-5 p.m. For more info, call (619) 435-7242 or log onto: www.coronadohistory.org
“Coronado Library Centennial Exhibit: Jan-Dec 2011”
The Coronado Public Library will be commemorating the Centennial of Naval Aviation throughout 2011 with a special exhibition highlighting the progress of naval aviation from its beginning in 1911 to its role in the modern world. The hundred year story of U.S. Naval Aviation will be told in six chronological bi-monthly exhibits. The exhibits will showcase scale models of naval aircraft, historical photographs, uniforms, original paintings, flight gear, pilot log books, and other memorabilia. Of note will be a small-scale diorama of North Island and how it changed over the decades.
For more information about the exhibition or scheduled events call 619-522-7390 or visit www.coronado.lib.ca.us. The Coronado Library is located at 640 Orange Avenue, Coronado, Ca. Open Monday-Thursday 10-9, Friday-Saturday 10-6 and Sunday 1-5. All programs and events at the Coronado Library are free to the public.
ARLINGTON WEST
The first Sunday of November 2003, a group of local activists erected 340 wooden crosses on the beach immediately west of Stearns Wharf in the beautiful seaside community of Santa Barbara, California. The wooden crosses marked the deaths of U.S. servicemen and servicewomen in Iraq.
Outraged that the Bush administration had barred U.S. media from photographing returning coffins containing the war dead from Iraq, founder Stephen Sherrill, along with a small group of local activists, erected the first installation of what has become widely known as the Arlington West memorial. “I didn’t feel that the American people were mindful of the terrible price we were paying – and were about to pay – for the invasion and occupation of Iraq,” says Sherrill. “The statistics in the newspapers were just tiny little numbers, too easy to breeze over.”
Since the first installation of the crosses in 2003, the number of American soldiers killed in Iraq has grown beyond 4,300. Every Sunday morning, members of Veterans for Peace and volunteers from the community, place crosses in the sand in remembrance of those whose lives have been sacrificed in Iraq. Hundreds of observers from across the nation and around the world visit Arlington West every week. To date, there have been approximately twenty duplications of the original Arlington West all across America, including their weekly “sister memorial” in Santa Monica, California.
In the intervening years since the memorial started, Veterans for Peace members and volunteers have effectively transformed what began as an angry anti-war protest into a genuine memorial — somber, chilling, and irresistibly moving. The memorial has been deliberately de-politicized in an effort to make Arlington West a non-threatening experience for everyone, regardless of their political affiliation. Gone are the placards denouncing George W. Bush that were there in the beginning. In their place are flowers, flags, and the names of the dead attached to the crosses and posted on makeshift bulletin boards.
The immense temporary cemetery was named after Arlington National Cemetery, in Arlington, Virginia, a burial ground for soldiers killed in active duty. It takes two dozen volunteers about three hours to erect the display of over 3,000 crosses. Planted in straight, tight rows covering over an acre of beach, it makes a stunning visual statement. In the background, the sound of “Taps” can be heard playing nonstop from a nearby recorder. At sunset, the music ends and the crosses are taken down, packed up, and stored away until the coming week.
Each cross has a name, rank, age, place of death, and how the death occurred. It is remarkable how many ages marked are 19. The phrase heard over and over, spoken by the viewers, “This really makes you think.”
Adjacent to one of the most heavily traveled intersections in Santa Barbara, Stearns Wharf has always been a favorite place for tourists to stroll. But now, it has also become a place where friends and relatives of the deceased can pay their last respects.
Unfortunately, as of August 2010, the temporary cemetery has entered into a controversial change. The cross display will no longer be erected every Sunday standing for U.S. casualties in Iraq. Instead, the 3,000-plus crosses will be swapped out for 1,236 “new” plastic markers, each one representing the death of a U.S. military member serving in Afghanistan. Since the start of 2010, there has been a “troubling uptick” in casualties in this war — nearly 250 since May versus 45 fatalities in Iraq. The other major motivating factor behind the redesign is logistics. Already a fairly involved process, this removes some of the heavy labor needed for the weekly project. Many of the wooden crosses will still remain on the site, but not necessarily erected each week. According to a spokesperson for the founding organization, VFP, “We will absolutely continue to put up crosses if people come specifically to visit them…We have no intention of abandoning the visitors who come to Arlington West.”
Although the memorial has always suggested debate due to its controversial origination, nonetheless, it serves our fallen well. Arlington West is a definite “must visit” to remember our brave and honorable American military citizenry.
I REMEMBER
By A. R. Graham
To order I Remember by Alan Graham: www.irememberjimmorrison.com
Cover art by stupendous rock photographer, David LeVine.
Proceeds from sale of the book go to: Kimberley Graham Cancer Recovery Fund
VETERANS MUSEUM
By Al Graham
There are many war memorials in San Diego, but there are many more that have been forgotten, yet they still exist. Up until last year, there was no war museum in the county. So, when Captain Will Hays USN retired, heard that an old church had become available in Balboa Park – a new one was built recently at Balboa Naval Hospital; and the old one looked like it might be demolished, he went about making this abandoned church into a not-so-abandoned historical domain. Now San Diego can proudly boast that it finally has a Veterans Museum to honor the proud history of our long enduring military and its heroes.
The Veterans Museum and Memorial Center occupies the former chapel of the Naval Hospital on Inspiration Point in San Diego’s Balboa Park. The original hospital buildings have been familiar and nostalgic landmarks to countless naval personnel and San Diegans alike since the early 1920s; although the chapel itself was not built until the World War II period. Today the museum houses a unique collection of artifacts, memorabilia, and papers as well as a library holding more than one thousand volumes. Dedicated to veterans of all conflicts, the museum’s exhibits feature World War I, World War II, Pearl Harbor, the Korean and Vietnam Conflicts, Desert Storm, Women in the Military, and paintings by local artists of military subjects.
Do not miss a living history tour by our docents who have been there! See the first American flag to fall in the Philippines. Enjoy the museum’s unique collections of memorabilia and artwork dating from the Civil War to the present. This is the place to see and hear history. The Veterans Museum and Memorial Center is one of the very few places you will find that covers all branches of the service and is indeed a home for all veterans groups.
Museum Hours: The museum is open Tuesday through Sunday from 10:00 A.M. to 4:00 P.M. Admission Prices: $5 for General Adult; $4 for Veterans & Seniors (65+); $2 for Students with Valid I.D. Free Admission for: Museum Members, Active Duty Military & their Dependents, & Children 12 & under.
Veterans Memorial Museum
2115 Park Boulevard
San Diego, Ca 92101
Phone / 619.239.2300
info@veteranmuseum.org
STAR PARK
By A. R. Graham
At the gas station on Orange Avenue in Coronado, California hangs a lonely and badly tattered black and white flag. It bears an image of an American soldier, head bowed with a Vietnamese prison guard tower in the background. The mournful letters POW*MIA are chilling to the eyes even now many years after the conflict. The flag is soaking wet from a heavy rain as a driving wind whips it into an angry frenzy.
Old Glory is hanging next to the disheveled banner. She is also buffeted by the high winds, but she is intact and vibrant as the violent gusts of air streak across her. The stars are dancing almost as if twinkling in nightlights.
Most young people today have no idea what the POW*MIA flag stands for. To see it neglected and forgotten is a dismal tribute to those who will never return. The fate of the missing is still highly disputed, and amidst this confusion, the truth may never be known.
In Coronado, there is a very special place of tribute in honor of ALL of the souls who died for our nation. One block from the Pacific Ocean lays a serene circular park. A massive pine canopy filled with tuneful birdcalls hangs above; and as the dawn breaks, the sun gently brushes the face of Old Glory and the rest of the flags hanging next to her: the Army, the Navy, the Air Force, the Marines, the Coast Guard, and at the very end, flying briskly in a warm Santa Ana wind is the MIA flag. Rivulets of wind ripple across its face as the soldier’s black silhouette seems to be speaking urgently, “Forget Me Not.” “Forget Me Not.”
Or perhaps that is just this writer’s imagination.
JENKINS, HARRY TARLETON JR.
SYNOPSIS: CDR Harry T. Jenkins, Jr. was a pilot assigned to Attack Air Wing 16 onboard the USS Oriskany. Jenkins was a respected seventeen-year aviation veteran. Jenkins had grown up in Washington, D.C., and graduated from high school in 1945. In 1948, he earned his wings and reached the pinnacle of operational success, command of a carrier-based squadron, the Saints of Attack Squadron 163, on December 30, 1964. He flew many combat missions from the Oriskany.
One such mission was flown September 9, 1965. A major strike had been scheduled against the Thanh Hoa (“Dragon Jaw”) bridge, and the weather was so critical there was a question whether to launch. Finally, the decision was to launch. Halfway through, weather reconnaissance reported the weather in the target area was zero, and the CAG, Commander James B. Stockdale, had no choice but to send the aircraft on secondary targets. Stockdale and his wingman, CDR Wynn Foster, circled the Gulf of Tonkin while CDR Harry Jenkins took his strike element to look for a SAM site at their secondary target — had anything been found, Wynn and Stockdale were to join Jenkins’ group.
After fifteen minutes or so, Jenkins’ group came up empty. The group made the decision to hit a secondary target, a railroad facility near the city of Thanh Hoa. It was here that CDR Stockdale’s aircraft was hit by flak.
Stockdale ejected, landing in a village and was captured. The villagers brutally beat Stockdale as they took him captive, all within sight of the aircraft above. Stockdale was held captive for seven and a half years, and he was to see Jenkins again before he was released. CDR Wynn Foster would eventually assume Jenkins’ position as squadron commander of VA-163.
Jenkins carried a Bible with him on the ship, letting it fall open somewhere to read. One night, the passage said something about, “He shall fall into his enemies.” Jenkins wondered at the time if that was a premonition. He also dreamed about becoming a prisoner. He was worried about losing his men and agonized over planning, of finding the best way to a target. He confided to another fellow officer that he was tired, not only physically, but emotionally as well.
On one particular mission Jenkins had narrowly escaped death when an anti-aircraft shell hit his aircraft, blowing off the canopy and destroying the instrument panel. Jenkins guided the crippled aircraft safely back to the Oriskany. When he landed on the deck of the Oriskany, he discovered that shrapnel had penetrated his G-suit, but hadn’t reached the inner lining. These sorts of missions sapped the strength of the best of pilots.
On November 12, 1965, Jenkins launched in his A4E Skyhawk fighter aircraft on his 133rd combat mission on a reconnaissance mission over North Vietnam. He was two weeks short of leaving Vietnam for home. Then on November 13, 1965, Jenkins and his wingman launched in their A4E aircraft on Jenkins’ 133rd combat mission. The target area was Dong Hoi, a quiet area where nothing much happened because of reports that the river southwest of the city was passing traffic. The two pilots went around the river but determined it was not navigable. On their return, they decided to crater a road junction in case traffic was going through there at night. They planned to slow down the traffic then return at night and check traffic again.
On the way to the junction, about ten miles from the coast, they passed a clump of trees where it appeared that a lot of traffic had driven, possibly a truck park. The wingman orbited while Jenkins went down to investigate. He flew very low, ten to twelve feet off the ground, and at fairly slow speed, looking under the trees. Nothing was around, and the area was quiet.
Pulling off and heading toward the coast, Jenkins heard a gun start firing. He looked back and could see two streams of tracers from a 37-millimeter enemy anti-aircraft gun, a twin mount, nearly dead astern from him. He quickly pulled back on the stick of his Skyhawk and sought the safety of cloud cover overhead. But the aircraft had been hit dead astern, in “the hell hole” just aft and under the seat where the control junctions, electrical buses are. The controls of the aircraft were immediately disconnected. The stick wouldn’t function, and all electrical gear was down.
A second explosion followed. Jenkins continued to climb and headed toward water, still some six to eight miles away. The aircraft started rolling very rapidly and began to drop. So Jenkins was forced to eject below 2,500 feet.
The wingman circled above. Below, the Vietnamese were all around howling and yelling. Jenkins landed on a rise approximately 12 miles south of Dong Hoi, North Vietnam. The rise was covered with short brush and no place to hide. He had no time to assemble his emergency radio and ran up the hill and slid under the brush. His ejection and progress were intermittently monitored by his wingman as low clouds allowed. The Vietnamese approached him, swinging a sickle on a stick, and slashing through the brush. Another came right to his feet, poking with a stick. Jenkins gave himself up.
In Jenkins’ words, “…if that had been one of my earlier missions, there is no way that gunner would have gotten me. I’d just seen so much flak and had been hit several times. I was just tired, I guess, and not thinking.”
Meanwhile, Jenkins’ wingman had been joined by nine other aircraft within five minutes of the initial bailout. A1s circled overhead looking for Jenkins. The Vietnamese were all armed and began shooting at the A1s, evidently for Jenkins’ benefit, as with each shot came a glance towards Jenkins. Search and rescue aircraft reported observing over 100 troops and other personnel in Jenkins’ vicinity. They remained on station looking for Jenkins for about two hours, but the Vietnamese successfully hid him from view.
A Radio Hanoi broadcast on November 14th indicated that an American pilot was shot down and captured on November 13th in the Dong Hoi District.
Jenkins was moved toward Hanoi, traveling at night. During the trip, Jenkins was amazed by the large numbers of trucks that moved through the night in North Vietnam. While he had seen only a few trucks from the air at night and never in daylight as a pilot, he was astounded to see the tremendous numbers of trucks moving under low light, guiding by reflective painted stripes or plastic strips on the road about every thirty feet.
Jenkins arrived at the Hoa Loa Prison in Hanoi in the early morning hours of November 23rd. He was taken first to the “Meathook Room” for interrogation; then later to a cell where his ankles were manacled and locked together by a long steel bar topped by a heavy piece of lumber. His wrists were tied behind him, upper arms laced tightly together from elbows to shoulders.
Jenkins was the fifty-fifthAmerican POW and the first senior officer to be tortured upon arrival in Hanoi. For two years and one month, from late 1967 through most of 1969, CDR Jenkins, the third-ranking senior naval officer in a North Vietnamese prison camp, was put into leg irons at five o’clock each evening and stayed in irons until seven the next morning. As special punishment for communicating with another prisoner on one occasion, Jenkins spend 85 consecutive days in irons.
In early 1969, Jenkins became ill and was in great pain at a camp known as Alcatraz, located some ten blocks from the Hanoi Hilton. He was receiving no medical care, and fellow prisoners, led by Jenkins’ former wing commander, Jim Stockdale, put the pressure on. What ensued might be called a “prison riot”. The effort did bring a doctor to Jenkins’ cell; although the doctor did nothing to ease his pain. The next morning, Stockdale organized a 48-hour fast to demand medical attention for Jenkins. The next evening, each prisoner was interrogated and on the morning of January 27th, Stockdale was taken away to another prison center.
While the Vietnamese clearly had the upper hand on controlling their American captors, the POWs found many ways to “slip one over” on the Vietnamese. One day, Jenkins discovered a loose wire in an extension cord and secretly shorted the wire, so that when guards turned the lights on that evening, three or four fuses were blown before the lights could be made to work. Jenkins carried the fun from camp to camp. In one camp, the lights were all in a series. Jenkins bared the wire in his room and alternately shorted and restored the lights so that the camp was totally dark or completely lit at his whim. He also broke some wires in a radio speaker causing all the speakers in the camp to go out. He manipulated the wires in a radio, and, using the POW tap code, sent messages around the camp by turning the Vietnamese music on and off in code.
During the years Jenkins was a prisoner of war, he was taken across the infamous Thanh Hoa bridge. A girder that he had hit on a strike mission prior to his capture was, to his great satisfaction, still wide open.
CDR Jenkins was held as a prisoner of war until he was released in Operation Homecoming in 1973. He had been held for over seven years. He was among 591 lucky American prisoners who came home at the end of the war.
Since the war ended, nearly 10,000 reports relating to Americans missing, prisoner, or unaccounted for in Southeast Asia have been received by the U.S. government. Many authorities who have examined this largely classified information are convinced that hundreds of Americans are still held captive today. These reports are the source of serious distress to many returned American prisoners. They had a code that no one could honorably return unless all of the prisoners returned. Not only that code of honor, but the honor of our country, is at stake as long as even one man remains unjustly held. It is time we brought our men home.
Harry Tarleton Jenkins, Jr., was promoted to the rank of Captain during the years he was a prisoner of war. He lived in Coronado, California, and worked for a defense contractor. Captain Harry Jenkins died in the crash of a homemade aircraft 2, August, 1995.
“I was C.O. of VA-163 flying the A4E when shot down 13 November 1965 nea Dong Hoi, North Vietnam. During my stay in North Vietnam, I spent four years in solitary confinement. During this time I did much reflection on my life and my faith. While I hope never to repeat the experience, I feel I gained a certain insight into things I might never have obtained otherwise. Since I’ve returned I’ve been asked many times “was the war right, was it worthwhile?” There is no doubt in my mind we were right in fighting. I don’t think we had to fight to preserve America but it was necessary in order to preserve American honor.
A free people were threatened with the yoke of Communism being imposed by force, I fought to prevent that and I feel that fight was successful. Our belief in freedom of choice for all required that we help the South Vietnamese or any other nation that needs our help.
We owe our independence to foreign help, mainly French, and our honor dictates that we stand ready to offer help to others when they need it to remain free. Many men invested their whole lifetime to this cause. I invested only seven years. Though I hope never to have to, I’m ready to invest more if it is required.
I wish everyone could understand the gratitude I feel for their thoughts and prayers during those long years and I’d like to ask everyone to continue their prayers until all those not yet home have been properly accounted for.”
PRESIDENTS AND RESIDENTS
By Nina Odele
Coronado was such a magical place to grow up. Of course, as little kids we didn’t know that back in the 60s a nd 70s. We thought all kids everywhere had a whole Island Paradise to play in. Things were mostly on the quiet side here in our, then, sleepy little town.
Except for when one of the presidents of the United States came to visit. Then there was stirring and buzzing on every square inch of our happy childhood playground! Orange Avenue and 4th Street were cordoned off to normal traffic many hours before the heralded appearance of the very impressive shiny black Presidential motorcades. I could almost feel the collective blood pressure of all my fellow residents rising in anticipation. People would line the streets waving American flags and larger flags were proudly waving in the median strip all the way down Orange Avenue to the Hotel Del. It was very much a parade-like atmosphere each and every time.
The Presidents I can remember rolling into our Crown City were: Nixon, Reagan, Ford, Carter, and Bush Sr.
They all came by car as they had already been to various speaking engagements in and around San Diego. Coronado was and is a popular relaxing retreat for our Country’s Presidents. They spent as much time as they could unwinding here. I remember when it wouldn’t be unusual to see Jimmy Carter jogging on the beach! After 9/11 everything changed. It was no longer safe for the motorcades to parade down Orange Avenue. Even in our VERY military town. Terrorists ruined that tradition forever.
By the time Bush Jr. was in office, the safest way in was to fly straight to Naval Air Station North Island via Air Force One. I lived right on Sunset Park. One day I saw police cars driving onto, and lining up in the park — Not something you see every day. Also, San Diego Police Mounted Patrol parked their horse trailers right in front of my house. My humble corner was their official staging area. As an ex-Mounted Officer (San Diego County Sheriff) myself, this was extremely exciting! I grabbed my camera and went to go visit with them as they readied to form a barrier along the beach when the President flew in.
By this time, there were people gathering all along Ocean Boulevard. Homeland Security was everywhere as well. Everyone was finally in place. I took to my perch on the upstairs balcony with my little 35mm camera at the ready, hoping to snap a photo of AF1 as she flew in. I had no idea how close I’d be, but I was prepared nonetheless.
Suddenly, there she was, in all her glory! — Flying RIGHT over Sunset Park. I began clicking away with my camera. I couldn’t believe how close I was. The jet itself was very impressive. I remember thinking how quiet it was compared to the others that flew into North Island every day. The whole thing lasted maybe 30 seconds, but I will never forget the experience! It was pretty cool watching the motorcades in those earlier days, but nothing like almost being able to reach out and touch the belly of AF1.
Here are a few of the photos I captured from that awesome day:
HISTORY OF AIR FORCE ONE
Air Force One is the designation of any airplane that serves the President of the United States government. The same planesare used by the vice-president but are called Air Force Two when he is aboard. The presidential fleet consists of two customized Boeing 747-200B aircraft (military designation VC-25A) called SAM 28000 and 29000.
The name Air Force One was established after an incident in 1953, when Eastern Airlines flight 8610 crossed paths with the president’s plane, then called Air Force 8610, although the Air Force One name was not made official until 1962.
The first aircraft configured for presidential use was a C-87A (Liberator Express) called Guess Where II, but concerns about the C-87 safety record relegated it to use by senior members of the White House staff, including First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt on her goodwill tour of Latin America.
In its place, a Douglas C-54 Skymaster (VC-54C) was configured for the president and nicknamed Sacred Cow. It has a sleeping area, radio telephone, and an elevator to raise President Franklin Roosevelt into his wheelchair (but FDR used the plane only once). This airplane is now housed at the National Museum of the United States Air Force.
In 1947, President Truman replaced the Sacred Cow with a Douglas DC-6 Liftmaster (VC-118) named Independence after his hometown. Its nose was painted to look like a bald eagle. Its aft fuselage was converted into a stateroom. And the main cabin could seat 24 passengers or could be made up into 12 sleeper berths. This airplane is now housed at the National Museum of the United States Air Force as well.
In addition to the Independence, Eisenhower used two Lockheed C-121 Super Constellations (VC-121E) called Columbine II and Columbine III and two small Aero Commanders.
In 1958, Eisenhower added three additional aircraft into the executive branch service. These were Boeing 707 (VC-137) aircraft designated SAM 970, 971, and 972. These were the first presidential jet aircraft.
During the Kennedy administration, SAM 26000, a Boeing 707 (VC-137) went into presidential service. Influential industrial designer, Raymond Loewy, designed the new livery (the exterior color scheme) and the interiors. President Johnson took the oath of office on board SAM 26000, and the airplane continued to serve presidents up to Bill Clinton until 1998. It was replaced as the primary executive aircraft in 1972 by SAM 27000, another VC-137, which served until 2001. This airplane is now housed at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum.
In 1990, the two Boeing 747 (VC-25A) aircraft used today were delivered (having been ordered by Ronald Reagan). The same livery was used, but the interiors were selected by Mrs. Reagan.
A new Air Force One is scheduled to go into service in 2017. The likely candidates are a Boeing 747-8 and a Boeing 787.
THE PATRIOT GUARD RIDERS
At first glance they look like a gang of renegade bikers with patches and rocker bars adorning their bikes and leather vests as they gather in a Coronado grocery store parking lot. There are no two individuals alike, each bike, vest, and the various other allegoric symbols speak of very diverse gathering of souls with a unifying bond and with a single solemn objective.
Most of them are Vietnam vets, but their are also simply patriots both male and female. The leader calls the group to attention and they gather around him. He explains the mission to newcomers in the group, and in this case it is to escort a young Seal Team member’s coffin to Rosecrans National Cemetery in San Diego.
He hands out dog tags to each member. Each time they assemble, new members get their “first mission” tags, but most are getting another one of many. Instructions on how to process in unison along the highways are then given followed by precise directions.
Frenchie, a biker/pastor/patriot, is called upon to give the blessing. It is simple but powerful — the words delivered in such reverence — big men are moved almost to tears.
A single but most powerful word is the basis for such dedication. It is never spoken in casual tones by these Patriots because it is most cherished, revered, and never ever used lightly.
Every action by the Guard speaks of “RESPECT” for the memory of the fallen and their grieving loved ones.
The waves of emotion ripple through the crowds gathered along the roadside to watch this awesome, yet bittersweet convoy. The first into view are the rippling stars and stripes affixed to the back of the bikes followed by the sound of powerful Harley Davidson motorcycles like a division of Sherman tanks as they thunder by.
Even more moving is to watch the dark green military buses carrying the fallen soldier and his family as they pass next. Even after they have passed, some men are still saluting as they disappear across the Coronado Bay Bridge.
The Patriot Guard Riders (PGR) is a motorcycle club whose members attend the funerals of U.S. Armed Forces members, firefighters, and police at the invitation of the deceased’s family. Patriot Guard Riders’ representatives state that they are not a chartered motorcycle club, but a group of patriotic individuals with an unwavering respect for those who risk their lives for America’s freedom and security.
The group was formed in 2005 to shelter and protect the deceased’s family from protesters such as the Westboro Baptist Church, who claim that the deaths of American troops in Iraq and Afghanistan are divine retribution for American tolerance of homosexuality. PGR members position themselves to physically shield the mourners from the presence of the Westboro protesters by blocking the protesters from view with their motorcade or by having members hold American flags. The group also drowns out the protesters’ chants by singing patriotic songs or by revving their motorcycle engines.
Although initially founded by motorcyclists, the organization is open to anyone regardless of political affiliation, veteran status, or whether they ride or not. The only prerequisite is “a deep respect for those who serve our country: military, firefighters, or law enforcement”. The Patriot Guard was established in Mulvane, Kansas at the American Legion Post 136 in 2005.
The group’s mission quickly expanded to include the funerals of law enforcement officers, fire department personnel, all first responders, and any active duty member or veteran of the U.S. Armed Forces from all previous wars and conflicts, and it is now largely focused on recognizing and honoring the sacrifices of fallen service members as well as their families and loved ones. As of March 2011, PGR reported over 220,000 members. In addition to their attendance at funerals, the group also greets troops returning from overseas at welcome home celebrations, deployment ceremonies, and perform volunteer work for veteran’s organizations such as Veterans Homes. The group also assists families in financial difficulties with travel and housing arrangements. They also visit military hospitals to encourage and honor wounded service members of the United States Armed Forces.
Flag of Freedom by George Koen
WALTER WILLIAM HARPST, JR.
By Lynne Harpst Koen
My dear sweet Dad, 
Walter William Harpst, Jr., was born on October 8, 1916 in Columbus, Ohio. Walter (Wally) discovered his talent for music when he was still a boy. Wally’s remarkable talent would take him all over the globe and he was a career musician for over 65 years. Wally played the guitar, ukulele, and stand-up bass (then known as big bass violin). He also sang like a bird. While playing with one of the “Big Bands” in New York City in the early 1940’s, Wally got a new “calling”, and into the Army he went. Wally and his Army Band entertained different branches of the Service during WWII including the Navy, Marines, and Air Force. Wally’s Band was “Special Services” intended to boost the soldiers’ morale. Wally served mostly in the Pacific (Okinawa) and had more than his fair share of close calls over seas. Wally had many “war stories” but one of the oddest ones was when the war was allegedly over. One day, Wally and the troops heard a loud, thundering noise. Suddenly, as they all watched, over 600 Japanese soldiers came pouring out of caves surrounding the base camp. They surrendered peacefully.
After the Army, Wally returned to playing music on the West Coast, mostly in the L.A. and Palm Springs areas. He met and preformed for many big stars of that era including Bob Hope, Dinah Shore, Lorn Green, Jerry Lewis, Desi and Lucy, and many more. Wally also toured for MCA and did a stint as a master of ceremonies for a radio show for a short while as well. While performing a gig at the Hotel Del Coronado in 1955, Wally met a Hollywood model named Frances Goodrich. Frances (Fran) was summering at the Del. The two fell in love and were married. I was born on November 15, 1957.
JUMP START
Original Members: JB (nado-native): vocals, percussion; Dave Shoudy: lead guitar, vocals; Al Cosgrove: bass, vocals; Dave Maggiora: guitars, vocals; Gregg Miller: drums, vocals; Later Members: Alex Agundez: guitars, vocals; Alan Neff: drums; Steve Patrick: rhythm guitar, vocals; Becky Russell: drums;
The JumpStart Band ROCKS!! 
Jumpstart introduces “Steve Patrick” on rhythm Guitar and vocals. Steve is a very well known 5th grade teacher in Coronado and lives on Palm with his wife Libby, who was Dave Shoudy’s son’s kindergarten teacher back in the mid-90s. Steve replaced Alex Agundez, who sings lead vocals and plays lead guitar with his own group, Slight Return.
Steve Patrick at his first gig with JumpStart
Dave Shoudy comments, “It was in front of my face all the while as I’ve known Steve for ages. However, it never dawned on me until I walked down Orange Avenue on Open House Night, 2009. Across the street and upstairs from the Village Theater, I heard a band and thought ‘oh well, not my party’ and walked on. About an hour later, I ran into Steve and his gang in front of Danny’s. It was his band that was doing that gig. We went to the Brigantine and celebrated the start of the new Holiday Season after that.” A month later, Steve performed his first Jumpstart gig at the Hotel Del Coronado for the Coronado Realtor’s Association.
Most recent member of JumpStart: Becky Russell
When Becky was nine years old, her big brother brought home a pair of drum sticks from school. She took those sticks from his room into her room and began banging on the furniture. He later said, “Keep them, they’re yours.” And that was the start of it. Soon after, Becky’s mom bought the toy snare, then the junior drum kit.For a short time, Becky was with “The Stiletto’s” entertaining crowds in San Diego’s Gas Lamp, Coronado’s Island Sports & Spirits, and McP’s. She was soon to do similar with “Big Rig Deluxe” for years. Later, joined with Coronado grad Dave Paseman’s band, “Hoosier Daddy” playing private parties and having a whole lot of fun. Often, Becky would set with “The Robin Hinkel Band” performing all over So Cal. Robin’s shows used a variety of musical talent, always changing.
After relocating to Nashville in sixth grade, she joined up with the school band. The first day at the chair challenge, she tied for first chair. All jealousy broke loose as the last chair boy began to heckle. Becky beat him up. Becky was very fond of the Junior High Band situation. Many of the kids’ parents were musicians as well. Her stepfather, Kenneth Hunt, was a songwriter in Nashville. And, today, her younger stepsister, Amanda Hunt-Taylor, is a songwriter as well.
Soon it was time to move again. This time to Dallas –Dallas, Georgia. A new town and a new school, but by this time she was diversified performing in the marching band, the concert band, and for school dances, and a jazz band. Becky was also in the “Spirit of Atlanta Drum and Bugle Corps”. In the middle of her sophomore year, she moved to Coronado. It was like going from the sticks to paradise. She played in the concert band in Coronado, then decided to keep her drumming at home. She switched interests and it was all about cross-country running.
In June 1980, Becky, a CHS grad, jumped back into the music scene. This time a garage band, “New Toys” and performed local casual scenes. Years later, she would join “Solstice” who performed in San Diego night clubs. Other bands followed: “Bonneville 7” — a psycho-billy band with two billy brats and Pip Hancock and Johnny Bowler from well known UK group called “Guana Batz”.
Becky is currently performing shows with fellow 1980 CHS grad, Dave Shoudy, and the group, “JumpStart”. The group “JumpStart” also consists of Coronado native JB Cosgrove (vocals), husband Al (bass), and Coronado teacher, Steve Patrick (guitar), entertaining most all of Coronado.
SPECIAL NOTE: JumpStart will be playing live along with Luv Nutz at the After the Coronado 4th of July Parade Party from 12:00-4:00 p.m., Monday, July 4, at the VFW Post 2422, located at 557 Orange Avenue. Stop by for some fun music, snacks & celebration! Happy 4th!
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WALTER J. MEYER, SUBMARINER
In the movie, The Hunt for Red October, a complex and highly dangerous surfacing maneuver is performed. In real life, Walter J. Meyer actually lived this awesome adventure, and he remembers with deep affection, his days in the U.S. Navy.
Not every submarine and crew gets to go on this “ride”. It’s only done for special events. The officers and crew must be highly trained and ready for anything to happen. The challenge is not to get the boat to go up! That can be done with speed, angle of the planes, and some air in the forward ballast tanks.
Before the start of the upward trek, the boat will actually vibrate as it strains to start the ascent. Once started, it can’t be stopped and does not last long. But when you think of how many tons of steel, machinery, and people that are involved flying through the water towards the surface, it is exciting and impressive.
The real tricky part is for the crews to “catch” the boat after it lands back in the water. As you can see it does make for some impressive photos.
It all began in July of 1969 when Walter J. Meyer was a USS Recruit at NTC San Diego boot camp, San Diego — America’s finest city. After various schools, Walter was assigned to his first ship the USS Prairie AD-15. Upon completion of his first WESTPAC, which included typhoons, he knew that surface ships were NOT for him.
So off to Hawaii and his first submarine, USS Swordfish SSN-579. Afterwards, Meyer was off to Guam and his second submarine, USS Pintado SSN-672. Upon completion of this tour, Walter went back to San Diego for shore duty at FLEASWTRACENPAC.
After a brief attempt at returning to civilian life and a Naval Reserve unit in St. Joseph, Missouri, Walter J. Meyer returned to San Diego for instructor duty at FLEASWTRACENPAC. In his words, “I must have been having too much fun in the sun as my next set of orders was to Precomunit USS Honolulu SSN-718 at the shipyard in Newport News, Virginia.” To maintain skills he went TAD to the USS Buffalo SSN-715 for her trip from Norfolk, Virginia to Honolulu, Hawaii via the Panama Canal.
After commissioning the USS Honolulu, Meyer was ordered to the USS Baton Rouge SSN-689, and off on his first “MED” run followed by instructor duty at SUBTRAFAC Norfolk, Virginia. His last tour was the USS Emory S. Land AS-39 as a ship’s superintendent for submarine repairs.
Walter J. Meyer retired from the Navy in February 1997 with the rate of STSCS/ss, meaning Sonar Technician Submarines Senior Chief. This distinguished military career man now resides in Thompson, North Dakota with his wife, Cher, and their four beloved Dachshunds.
U.S. SEAL TEAM CORONADO CALIFORNIA
THE CORONADO BOATHOUSE
“THE BEST EATS IN TOWN”
The Coronado Boathouse 1887 is my family’s favorite dining experience. At one point, when it was operated as the Coronado Chart House it was a favorite hangout for all of us “locals” who grew up here to socialize at and enjoy one another’s company. Many a memory and many a relationship found its birth upstairs in its always crowded “standing room” only cocktail lounge. The Boathouse is once again becoming a favorite hangout with the addition of live music on Thursday evenings featuring local artists. We attended one of those evenings not too long ago, and it was packed to the brim with many of the old faces we hadn’t seen for so long. It was a who’s who of the old Coronado guard.
Built in 1887 as a boat house, The Coronado Boathouse actually predates the Hotel Del Coronado and was designed by the same architects, the Reid brothers. The Boathouse resembled a mini-Del and still does. It was recognized as a Coronado historical landmark in 1973, and still maintains the nautical heritage of a time gone by with antique décor splashed with a tribute to the popular local sport of surfing as well as boating.
It is now a magnificent waterfront eatery with spectacular views of the Coronado Bay, Hotel Del Coronado, the Coronado Yacht Club, and the golf course. It is the best place on our island to enjoy a sunset accompanied by superb service and culinary fare.
Marty Jensen, owner and general manager, is also one of our homegrown locals. He takes great pride in his restaurant and is always on hand to personally greet all the clientele with special hugs for the “guard”. His selection of staff is of the utmost professionalism. Many of whom have worked for The Boathouse since its time as a Chart House. There is a friendliness and attentiveness to not only detail and great service, but to making certain that every point in the dining experience is thoroughly enjoyed. The atmosphere of the establishment could best be described as an intimate, casual, fine dining experience while at the same time being family friendly.
Besides a full menu of gourmet steaks and seafood, The Boathouse offers Happy Hour in the upstairs lounge with its panoramic views from 5:00-6:30 p.m., Sunday through Friday. Beginning May 28, The Boathouse will also be serving lunch on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays from 11:30-2:30 p.m. and Sunday Brunch as well.
“I get asked constantly why we don’t serve lunch,” said Marty Jensen, owner of the Coronado Boathouse. “We’re in a beautiful historic building, right on the water, and we appreciate that people just seem to want more opportunity to come down and enjoy The Boathouse experience.”
For more information on The Coronado Boathouse 1887 or to make dining reservations, call (619) 435-0155 or visit www.coronadoboathouse.com
CHEROKEE LODGE
The Cherokee Lodge is a cozy bed and breakfast inn featuring vintage comfort for vacation and business travelers. Located one block from downtown Coronado, it provides guests with many options for dining and shopping. Plus it is only four blocks from the sandy shores of Coronado Beach and the historic Hotel Del Coronado. The rates are very reasonable and this celebrated comfortable inn provides all the modern conveniences.
In 1896, three houses of unknown vintage were barged across San Diego Bay to Coronado Island and joined together with additional structures for the purpose of operating a public lodging house. This establishment began operation as the Cherokee Lodge and has 12 bedrooms plus common areas. The lodge derives its name from Cherokee Roses bordering the property at the beginning of the 20th century. Today the gardens are filled to abundance with a variety of gorgeous greenery with the Cherokee Rose bushes dominating and showing off their luscious fragrances and superb beauty.
The Cherokee Lodge with its welcoming garden setting in a quiet residential neighborhood would be a great weekend getaway or a wonderful place to entertain family and friends visiting and looking for some Island charm. The Lodge is located at 964 “D” Avenue; so swing by and take a tour or just go to smell the roses!
Visit the Cherokee Lodge website: www.cherokeelodge.com
MY DAD, THE SKIPPER
BY ALEENE SEXTON QUEEN
Coronado became home to the Walter and Katie Sexton family almost one hundred years ago. My grandfather was a circuit rider Methodist minister, living in Dalles, Oregon, but traveled south with his brother to find relief from a lung condition. He found it when they came to Coronado, not San Diego, but Coronado. He knew he had found a place to raise his family and returned to Dalles to bring my grandmother and their four children here to Coronado. They boarded the steamship Roanoke and arrived in San Diego in January 1913. Grandpa held a few jobs, but he loved attending to St. Paul’s Methodist Church. He ministered there and has been honored with a room in his name “The Sexton Room”. They rented one of the old tent houses on the block of 5th and G until Grandma decided to put a down payment on the house at 717 E Avenue. There she would bring expectant mothers in and care for both for ten days after the baby was delivered. It was a house filled with children and love and military for Sunday dinner, many visiting on their return from the war to thank Grandma and Grandpa for their prayers and hospitality. They lived there the rest of their lives, into their 90s. The house still stands today and holds many memories for me and the years we lived there.
My Daddy, Laural, known as Skippy, Skip, and the Skipper, was two years old when they arrived. The town folks gave Laural the “Skippy” name from a cartoon of a “street-smart kid” in the funny papers at the time and it stayed with him the rest of his life. Laural didn’t like wearing shoes and left them in the crook of the tree in front of their house as he left for school. Grandpa Sexton did odd jobs at the school so he’d find out Daddy was barefoot and give him a reprimand, but the next day would find his shoes in the crook of the tree again. Skippy was one of the early surfers during his young years in Coronado, surfing on his paipo board. Our home now boasts a large poster made by his grandsons, Kevin and Jef, dedicated to their beloved Bapa. He worked many jobs at an early age to contribute to family finances. It was the 1920s, and another child had come into the family – my aunt, Lucille Sexton Bandel, age 94, a life-long supporter of St. Paul’s Methodist Church at Seventh and D. Skippy had a paper route, then worked as a soda jerk at Bill Smith’s Malt Shop on the island. He operated the first malt machine to come to Coronado and received it as a gift from Bill Smith when the malt shop closed. I still have that malt machine.
Skip’s graduation gift from Coronado High School in 1929 from the family was a trip to Washington D.C. He and his older brother, Charlie, who had graduated from college, were driving East when the car broke down in Salt Lake City, Utah. They went to get a sandwich at a place near the car repair garage and, in the wink of an eye, my Daddy fell in love with the waitress! Yes, I do believe in love at first sight because that chance meeting ended in 45 years of the happiest marriage ever! Daddy went on to D.C. and worked in a cigar store in or near the Senate building. I have many signatures he received from Washington dignitaries — he was well-liked for his happy personality and easy smile. After one year, Skipper returned to Coronado and wrote to ask my mother, Billie, to come and meet his family. She did come, accompanied by her mother, and Skip and Billie were married two years later. I made my appearance in April, 1934. They suffered the loss of several children so I was the only child and got lots of love! I never heard angry words spoken in our home — I do remember Daddy going for a walk every now and then! Hmmm, ever the peaceful man!
Daddy, Momma and I were a trio — we’d put on our roller skates and skate to the movie house, leaving our skates in the lobby, and they’d be there when we came out! We’d go for a “toot” around the island after dinner to watch the sun go down, with me riding on Daddy’s bicycle handlebars. He’d show us a house he was working on and tell us about the families living there. Many families were Navy and would have to leave things behind so I was the recipient of many nice toys — a beautiful doll house with lights, Story Book dolls and once, a little black Cocker Spaniel puppy we named Cinders. Skip was an Air Raid Warden for our block at 4th and E Avenue during WW2. He would walk our block just after dark to make sure no lights were shining from the windows of the houses. Gas masks were issued to island families and I remember Daddy gently instructing us how to put them on, though I’m grateful we never had to use them!
Daddy loved to go fishing and made me my own fishing pole out of wood doweling and an empty spool of thread that he’d fill with fishing line. I did catch a few fish at Lake Cuyamaca with those home-made poles. We all remember his chuckle as he told a funny story (he had many) and his deep laughter when he heard one. We all miss his deep baritone as he sang, “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” all during the holidays.
I always treasured the trust my Dad gave me. He gifted me with a silver charm of Jiminy Cricket when I was 14 and said, “Always let your conscience be your guide.” I wore that charm for many years and have been guided by his words many times in my life. Thanks Daddy and Jiminy!
Skip loved his Coronado home and only left for a few years during WW2 to work in a defense plant in Los Angeles. Our family returned home to Coronado after the war and he returned to painting houses. Daddy figured he painted most of the houses on the island in his lifetime and had much pride in his work. The people he worked for weren’t just customers, they were friends. If someone didn’t have the money to pay for his work then he’d barter for health care, groceries, car repair, etc. But Daddy wouldn’t go into debt to buy a car or a home — he always paid cash. So he never owned a home but treated every rental like it was his own. I started school when we lived at 412 E Avenue (the house was offered to Daddy for twelve hundred dollars in 1942 – imagine that!) and it brings many memories when I pass by now. We also lived at 536 ½ C Avenue during my high school years (CHS 1952) until Daddy’s death in July 1976. That home gave way to a modern building a few years ago.
A heart condition retired the Skipper and not being one to sit and watch TV, he had received a “start” for Shepherd’s bread from a real sheepherder, a relative of my Mother’s in Utah, and had kept it “alive” for years. He made loaves of bread from that start in coffee cans (a popular thing in the 70s), and while the bread was still warm, would deliver loaves to friends. Kimmie Dill says she remembers that bread — and my Daddy!
Skip’s grandsons, Kevin and Jef, were born here in Coronado, in 1955 and 1957, and loved spending time with their “Bapa”. He taught them to fish, both on the ocean and the bay, took them on helicopter rides over the ocean, and taught them his magic tricks. The best “magic trick” of all was his disappearing act on the walk home with the boys after playing in Spreckles Park — later he would just tell them he “fell in a hole!” Now the boys know the “hole” was right behind the VFW Hall and they laugh! The Skipper is still remembered by family and friends for his laughter, love of life, and his gentle spirit.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: Because of the creation of the article, “The 1022 Crew”, I became reacquainted with Aleene Sexton Queen, “Queenie”. Through the same method of communication that the 1022 Crew found each other on Facebook, it was communicated to me that Aleene was Skip Sexton’s daughter. At once, memories flooded from my childhood of the handsome and cheerful “Skipper” not only doing repairs and paint jobs at our family home, 1132 Glorietta Boulevard, but also of how great that warm, freshly baked, delicious Shepherd’s bread was. When Skipper made a delivery of his flavorful variety loaves (wheat, sourdough, white, etc.), the whole Dill family’s mouths would start watering. Boy, was it yummy! His daughter, Queenie has it right, Skipper was more than an employee of sorts, he was also one of this family’s best friends and his memory lives on in all of us. Thanks Skipper!
BREAKING OUT
By Suzi Lewis Pignataro
In 1975, my mother Nancy took time away from the Coronado Republican Navy Guard to visit me, her hippie daughter, at my communal household in Sonoma County. She left my anxious and whining father with the assurance that she would return with her conservative values intact and unmolested. He in turn promised not to kill my little brother while she was gone.
My eight housemates and I prepared for her arrival by removing all illegal paraphernalia from plain sight and doing what we could to appear respectable. Long hair – men and women’s – was washed and carefully braided; body hair was trimmed or shaved; clothes were washed and ironed; and prophylactics were secreted away into dresser drawers. Partners de-coupled their bedrooms, switching heterosexual roommates for ones of the same sex. The possibility of any of my housemates being gay would never have crossed my mother’s mind.
Of course, none of this was necessary. It became apparent to us all that Nancy had escaped the confines and dictates of her world in search of a bohemian adventure. By the second day, hair was freed from skull-ripping bondage; bongs and Birkenstocks came out of closets – as did sexual partners – and birth control found its way back onto nightstands.
Nancy loved it.
“If I were just twenty years younger…” she sighed, admiring one of my bare-chested housemates flexing his yoga-fit muscles as she tapped her foot to The Grateful Dead.
She cooked us lavish vegetarian meals, fattened us with her killer cakes, and laughed at our stories until tears streamed down her tanned cheeks. Her blue eyes twinkled with mischief, and I wondered when they had last done that. She flirted and debated and watched foreign films out at the Russian River with us – and defiantly “forgot” to check in with her husband.
“F–k it.”
I didn’t even know she knew that word.
“If your father hadn’t come along and made an honest woman out of me, I think I would have landed in Paris in the company of artists and writers,” she confided while sitting on my balcony sipping a Sonoma Valley Chardonnay. “What do you think about oral sex?”
The day before Nancy was to return home, she confessed that the week had been one of the best in her life. “You kids have the right idea,” she remarked. She sighed then smiled. “I want to do something for you. I want to leave your home sparkling,” she said with a mixture of resignation and pride. Ever the Patron Saint of Diplomatic Janitors, Nancy scrubbed, polished and vacuumed our home into respectability without a single judgmental shake of her head or cluck of her tongue. Mats of hair resembling dead rats were pulled from bathroom drains; goat turds were fastidiously swept, dropping by dropping, into a dustpan and dispatched to the vegetable garden. Every inch of the house was treated to Ajax, Pledge, Lysol or Spic’n’Span. She ground down to nubbins Brillo pads and sponges, and worked her way through three mops.
Banished from the house for the day, we took Oso the dog, Rufus the cat and Lick the goat out into a field for a family picnic and baseball game. Lick repeatedly tried to eat the baseball. Rufus hunted field mice. Oso ran off into the nearby woods with his girlfriend Bo, the neighbors’ Beagle. Joints were smoked; beers were drunk. Someone dropped a tab of acid. At 7:00 that evening, Nancy called us in.
“Wow!” exclaimed one of the guys, staring into his glass bong. “I can see my reflection!”
“Well, I’m glad you’re pleased,” replied Nancy with a modest smile, “but a vase pretty and unique as that one should have flowers in it.”
“Boy, Mrs. Lewis, you even cleaned my diaphragm case!” enthused the tab-dropper, dissolving into giggles.
“Just make sure it isn’t the only thing that’s clean when you use it, honey,” Nancy replied sotto voce.
I walked away from the group of appreciative folk surrounding my mother and felt my feet glide over floors so clean I knew we could eat off them. I ran my fingers over mirrored surfaces of mahogany that had been in my family for generations. I moved from room to room, breathing in the familiar scent of Olde English furniture polish. Nostalgia stung my eyes.
Entering the dining room, I let out a shriek.
Oso and Bo lay exhausted beneath the dinner table. Between them they had placed the day’s quarry from the woods.
“Well, there they are,” said Nancy coming up behind me. “Looks like they had fun today.”
I turned to my mother. She caught the look of horror on my face and returned it with one of curiosity. “What is it?”
I pointed to what lay between the snoring dogs. “I’m so sorry, Mom! They’ve ruined your beautiful floor!”
Nancy walked over to the table and crouched down. She reached for the object. “Why do you say that? It’s just a – ”
“No!” I lunged at her. “Don’t touch – !”
“ – stick, for heaven’s sake, Suzi.” She stood up holding it out for me to see. I backed away.
“Mom, it’s not a stick.”
She looked at the object more closely, a slight frown creasing her face. “Yes, it is.”
“Mom!” I yelled. “Sticks don’t have hooves!”
Nancy studied what was now obviously a deer leg in her hand. Slowly, she crouched down and returned it to its place between Oso and Bo. With uncharacteristic affection, she smoothed her hand down Oso’s wooly Cockapoo coat.
“We all have our own particular passions,” she whispered. “Let sleeping dogs have theirs.”
She got up and walked passed me.
“F–k the floor.”
GOODBYE CRUEL WORLD
By Alan Graham
“In the dime stores and bus stations
people talk over situations
read books and repeat quotations
draw conclusions on the wall…”
Love Minus Zero No Limit–Bob Dylan
Coronado’s own Five & Dime store, Coromart, has been closed for many years. Not just the business itself, but the entire concept of the Five & Dime store has fallen by the wayside in most American towns. There are a myriad of knock-offs or 99-cent outlets and the big chain stores like Walmart offer many of the same affordable goods. The 7-Eleven stores bridge that gap in a small way and every liquor store now carries the same.
But a dime back then went a lot farther than 99 cents does today. There are very few items that you can by for one dollar, but back then you could get four pieces of candy for one penny and there were many other items for that price. My brother in-law, Andy, would be so happy that he could buy a six pack of BUCKHORN beer for a whole 99 cents.
There was not a single centimeter of wall space inside Coromart with its twenty-foot ceiling. It was packed to the rafters with gift items and sundries for any and every occasion.
The concept of the variety store originated with the five and ten, nickel and dime, five and dime, or dime store, a store where everything cost either five or ten cents. The originator of the concept may be Woolworth’s, which began in 1878 in Watertown, New York. Other five and tens that existed in the USA included W.T. Grant, J.J. Newberry’s, McCrory’s, Kresge, McLellan’s, and Ben Franklin stores. These stores originally featured merchandise priced at only five cents or ten cents, although later in the twentieth century the price range of merchandise expanded. Inflation eventually dictated that the stores were no longer able to sell any items for five or ten cents, and were then referred to as “variety stores” or more commonly dollar stores. Remember Coro-Days!
GOODBYE CRUEL WORLD
THE ORANGE AVENUE GARDEN CLUB
Once upon a time in 1974, there was a property for sale on Orange Avenue (main street Coronado). In the old days, Orange Avenue was lined with orange trees (hence the name) in the median strip all the way from the Bay to the Beach. They didn’t fare too well though, so they were replaced with pine trees. Great choice. Still really cool all lit up at Christmas time! The property for sale was on “bay side” between 1st & 2nd Streets. This particular block is noted mostly for its rowdy bar scene, but the available parcel happened to have an ancient beauty salon on it. The chances of getting hold of a piece of Orange Avenue in the 70s was very slim.
Enter local philanthropist and quirky do-gooder Fran Harpst! Fran was and is very well known in Coronado for her involvement with various local charities, boards, and committees. She was one of those “larger than life” types. Fran’s intensity frightened some people, but actually the rules were simple: Do not cross her. Period. Yet Fran also had a softer side. She loved to garden. Not just trimming rose bushes, but really digging deep into the soil, planting, and growing the most marvelous organic veggies long before it was cool to do so. Fran kept her fingernails cropped short so she wouldn’t have dirt under them at her various meetings. She hated gardening gloves. She said they were for sissies. They also hampered the feel of the earth on her hands. To her, getting dirty was half the fun!
Fran and daughter Lynne lived in a modest ranch style home by the Golf Course. Gardening space was very limited there though because their yard was pretty small. Perfect for growing her lovely award-winning flowers and a few veggies, but not much else. Upon hearing of the Orange Avenue property for sale, Fran jumped at the chance to purchase. Fran had a plan! This is how the “Orange Avenue Garden Club” came to be.
The very afternoon escrow closed, Fran gathered a merry band of helpers onto the property. Included were: 16-year-old daughter Lynne, her pal Jeannie Ackerman, Alan Graham, Anne Graham (Jim Morrison’s sister), and Don Edge. Tentative plans for the new garden were discussed at length. Nobody had ever put a large working garden right smack on Orange Avenue before until Fran came along. Some folks thought she was crazy, but that only added fuel to her magically eccentric fire.
The old beauty shop had to go. First at bat were Lynne and Jeannie. They were outfitted with coveralls, safety helmets, goggles, and large mallets. Their job was to bust out all the old windows. They did the job with much gusto and enthusiasm! Next up were the Big Boys (Alan, Don, and some other local guys) They finished off the beauty salon, leveled the land, turned the soil, installed irrigation, and got everything ready for planting.
The “Orange Avenue Garden Club” lot was very long and narrow. Preparations took some time, and the Guys worked tirelessly taking pride in their job(s). Finally, it was time to plant! Fran had it all mapped out. No surprise that she really did her homework. She also brought in her dear old friend, Gurson Kantor, a professional horticulturist. Everyone helped with planting. It was very much a fun, party-like atmosphere. Fran would spring for sandwiches and beverages. “People work better when they’re fed properly,” she would say.
Alan Graham, (extraordinarily talented wood craftsman) constructed a lovely sign that said “The Garden”. He presented the sign to Fran and she displayed it proudly there at “The Garden” for all to see. From that day on it was just simply “The Garden”. People would walk by and stare in amazement at “The Garden” amongst the bars. It was all so lusciously Bohemian!
Fran and her merry band of helpers grew squash, zucchini, carrots, bell peppers, tomatoes, and just about every sort of veggie that will grow in Coronado! Her pride and joy were the pumpkins though. Oh, how she loved growing pumpkins. Fran’s favorite time of year was Halloween. Her favorite color was orange. Fran loved to wear her orange “flight suit” as others might wear overalls. It was just her thing. “The Garden” served many people well over several years. All its offspring were shared generously with the community. Those were Camelot times!
Nothing lasts forever though. It had come to Fran’s attention that the City of Coronado was badly in need of a new Veterinary Hospital. Fran’s love for animals ranked even above and beyond her love for gardening, so the solution was really a no brainer. Fran not only donated “The Garden” property for the new Vet, but she also went one better and funded the entire building as well! Everyone involved with “The Garden” was sad to see it go, but they were also very happy about Fran’s decision to build the Vet there. Little did they know, Fran had already purchased a new property, “The Garden II” near her home on Bay Circle.
“The Garden II” was smaller than the original, but still quite adequate for Fran’s purposes. She enlisted a smaller band of helpers for that garden. Fran proudly tended “The Garden II” for many years. She’d be seen faithfully working and weeding on her hands and knees every Tuesday and Saturday up until several weeks before her death on April 7, 2010.
Even after her death, “The Garden II” continues to live on. It is still lovingly preserved by the “The Garden II” crew, minus one. Though she’s no longer physically tending her beloved “Garden”, Fran’s spirit is alive and well in everything that grows there. She’s keeping close watch from her new “vantage point” in the sky.
Lovingly submitted by Lynne Harpst Koen
Bottom Row: Alan Graham, Some Local Guy, Anne Morrison Graham, Fran Harpst, Gurson Kantor; Top Row: Don Edge, Jeannie Ackerman, Lynne Harpst
THE RIGHT WORDS
By Suzi Lewis Pignataro
When I was a little tyke, Art Linkletter hosted an afternoon family TV show. Everybody’s favorite segment was “Kids Say the Darndest Things,” during which Mr. Linkletter marched a gaggle of freshly scrubbed, petticoated, and bow-tied youngsters into his studio, sat them in a line of chairs and asked them questions which they answered frankly and unabashedly, much to the amusement of the television audience.
My mother and I watched “Kids Say the Darndest Things” together – she taking a break from her housewifely chores, sitting prettily behind me on the turquoise Naugahyde sofa, a dust cloth or dishtowel resting in her lap, and I sitting cross-legged on the den floor in my Popeye sailor hat, a corncob pipe clenched between sturdy baby teeth and “EYEPOP” scrawled on my right forearm in my four-year-old dyslexic hand. I didn’t watch the show for entertainment purposes, or, like my mother, for the sad but reassuring proof that other women’s little girls actually dressed and behaved like one. I studied those shiny, compliant children for clues to normalcy; and finding them in the Breck-shampooed and barretted locks of golden curls, the dimple-on-cue smiles, the polished patent-leather Mary Jane’s and the scab- and dirt-free knees, I decided it was something I’d subject myself to if it got me nationwide coverage.
One day, I stood up in the middle of the show, and with sugar-sticky fists digging into my pudgy waist and my corncob pipe bobbing up and down to the rhythm of my words, I growled at my mother: “Oi! Olive Oyl!”
My mother craned her neck in an attempt to see the screen. I listed slightly, blocking her view. She scowled.
“Really, Suzi. I want to hear what that sweet little girl has to say. She looks just like Shirley Temple, doesn’t she?” Her meaningful look wasn’t lost on me.
“I’m not Suzi, I’m Popeye!” I protested, raising my voice. “Olive Oyl! I wanna be on TV!” I jerked my thumb in the direction of the Philco. “I wanna be on ‘The Art Lick-a-letter Show’!”
My mother smoothed her full-skirted dress then carefully folded her dishtowel. She wouldn’t look me in the eye.
“Well, I don’t think that will ever happen,” she replied with quiet but brutal disappointment.
“Why the damn-hell not?” I shouted. Stomping my way to the front door, I barked over my shoulder, “I’m going to Whimpy’s. When Brutus comes home, tell him I wanna be on the damn-it-to-hell TV!”
My mother and father fought over whose fault it was that their youngest daughter behaved like a maniacal cartoon sailor with Tourette’s. I don’t know who won that argument, but the final verdict, declared every week of my childhood, was: “You’ll get yours someday, Suzi Lewis. Just you wait.”
Well, I did – and I did.
Thirty-one years later, I was ten hours into labor with my first child and tasting blood in my throat. I’d been pushing for almost four hours, nonstop, with no drugs to take the edge off the pain or to relieve those present on the maternity ward from the vile words screeching through my vocal chords. No one was spared, not even the Marcus Welby-esque Dr. Berry and his tireless and efficient assistant, Nurse Glenda, whose sunny words of encouragement only managed to produce in me the kind of violence usually reserved for puppy killers.
“I’ve never heard such filth,” she whispered to the doctor, shaking her head while glaring at me over the tops of my knees. “What does that even mean, what she just said? Can you even imagine it? A donkey doing that to a parrot?”
“No wonder the kid doesn’t want to come out,” muttered Dr. Berry from behind his mask as he stared disapprovingly at my stretched but uncooperative nether regions. “He must be terrified.”
As it turned out, the doctor was wrong. Thack wasn’t hiding in the birth canal those four hours, afraid of meeting his sewer-mouthed mother; he was comfortably tucked in between the folds of my warm and pulsating flesh, fastidiously taking notes.
Thack’s dad Mads and I had always been careful. Except for my notorious trawling in Satan’s rectum in the birthing room, we had swept the gutters of our mouths and rid them of all foul words and colorful metaphors. I had treated my child – in utero and out – to my alto warblings of Julie Andrews, Burl Ives and that rock star of the preschool crowd, Raffi. And while Bach and Mozart didn’t find their way into our CD player, I don’t think anyone could have argued against U2 and R.E.M.
They might as well have been Lil Wayne and Ozzy Osborne.
Thack was three and one-half years old when he offered his own version of his brother’s birth to an exceedingly handsome man standing in front of us at the checkout counter.
“Hi, I’m Thack,” he announced to the man, his clear blue eyes sparkling beneath a heavy fringe of white-blond hair.
“Well, hello, Thack,” replied the man, looking down with open interest at my angelic Nordic son. Thack jerked his thumb in Hansie’s direction. “That’s my baby brother.”
Hansie nearly gave himself whiplash wrenching his neck from where he sat at the front of the shopping cart. Anything Thack did was tantamount to witnessing Jesus give sight to the blind with his fingers while turning water into wine with his toes. To Hansie, Thack was Messiah and Houdini in one magnificent, big brother package.
Thack jerked his thumb toward me. “And that’s our mom.”
The man smiled at me and said, “Hi, Mom.” I considered hiding my post-baby weight behind the candy stand but the irony was just too brutal. I opened my mouth to say hi back, but Thack was already moving on, tugging at the man’s sleeve.
“So, anyways,” he continued, “my mom pooped me out of her bottom, but that one,” – again, the thumb-jerk toward Hansie – “she had to be cut open like a big ol’ pig to get him out.”
Suddenly my fat ass was nothing compared to my son’s big mouth. I frantically reached for Thack, as if hoping to find a STOP button. He swatted away my hands. As for the man, he made busy work of rearranging the bread, eggs and orange juice he’d placed on the counter, refusing to look at us. Thack pushed on.
“And she had this big cut on her tummy, like this” – he held his hands up about a foot apart – “down where it’s hairy, but it wasn’t hairy cuz it got shaved, and there were staples, and she couldn’t even fart in case her guts spilled out all over the damn floor.”
“Uh, that’s too bad, pal,” the man said with unconvincing sympathy and stepped out of the line, abandoning his groceries. I wondered how he would explain it to his wife and what she would say in reply – “What do you mean, you barely escaped with your life? And, no, I will not get my tubes tied!” – but thought it better for my mental health if I just let it go.
Later that night, after I’d put the boys to bed, I made Mads a late dinner and told him of the earlier events at the grocery store. He laughed so hard the piece of pork chop he’d been chewing shot out of his nose and landed in his wine glass with a – “Woople!” – as if pleasantly surprised by its sudden and unexpected trajectory. I felt betrayed by both pigs.
The next day, I tried to explain to Thack about “right words” and “wrong words” and failed spectacularly.
“Honey, can you please take your Spiderman underwear off your head when I’m talking to you?”
“No.”
“Well, okay. So, Spiderman, what are some right words you can say to the bad guys?”
“Where the damn-hell’s my boots?”
“No; even bad guys deserve the right words. You would say, ‘Please, Mister Bad Guy, do you know where my boots are?’”
“Why? Are you missing your freakin’ boots too?”
Like Stan the plumber, who periodically rescued everyone from Barney to Batman from our kids’ toilet, I summoned my patience and good humor in helping me get through the ordeal of extracting the right words from my son’s mouth. It became something akin to a religious ritual, practiced five times daily, with Thack’s wrong words being the call to get down on my knees once more and pray to all that was holy for him to be one of those children on Art Linkletter’s show rather than the kind of child I had been: the wrong-words kind.
My heart swelled with pride when, at age four and one-half Thack announced he wanted to bake Santa Claus some cookies for his long trip over the rooftops of the world, but stopped beating in my chest when just a few weeks later he called a restaurant patron “dickhead” for complimenting him on the new Robin costume he had insisted upon wearing, despite it not being Halloween. A week after that, he blasted a boy at his preschool for accidentally hitting him during a play. “Son of a bitch!” was recorded on every video camera running in the room but mine. Call it what you will – fate, miracle or missed opportunity – it was my luck – good or bad; I’m not sure – that my camera’s battery died one second before my son shouted those words.
It was time to ask for help.
At Thack’s pre-kindergarten exam, I informed his pediatrician – a highly credentialed man with a corny sense of humor that either greatly charmed or deeply annoyed – that Thack had trouble with “potty mouth” and “mean talk.” “He probably gets it from other kids, you know,” I lied. I had yet to share with anyone my theory of Vaginal Audio Transmission – or VAT.
The doctor made a goofy face at Thack and said in a sing-song voice, “Oopsies! Is someone being a bad boy?” Thack burst into tears. “I’m gonna kill you and feed your private parts to Godzilla, you fucker,” he cried, then stormed out of the examination room.
Clutching his breast, the doctor turned on me. “Just what kind of a mother are you!” he charged.
“And what kind of an asshole are you?” I shot back before running after my child.
I changed doctors and continued my right words/wrong words tutorials with renewed fervor.
That summer, we moved into town to be closer to the public school Thack would be attending in the fall. One morning a crew of coarse-whiskered, Camels-smoking, orange-vested men with grit under their nails and asphalt in their boot heels drove trucks, backhoes and steamrollers into our cul-de-sac. They stopped right in front of our home, immediately becoming the biggest attraction since Mads had brought home a bright red Honda VFR and let the kids stagger around in his AFM-certified helmet like drunken Martians.
Thack’s hero at the time was a guy on PBS called Mike. Mike wore a hard hat – though he more resembled a Midwestern Ag teacher than a road worker – and taught kids everything they ever wanted to know about road-work vehicles but how to hot-wire one on a Saturday night. Every afternoon, wearing his Fisher-Price hard hat and surrounded by his yellow toy earth movers and dump trucks, Thack sat in front of the TV to watch Mike climb into the cabs of vehicles seemingly made for giants. Thack never said a wrong word in front of or about Mike. He slept with an autographed photo of the man hanging over his bed. If Thack was Hansie’s Messiah, Mike was his – and mine. I gave thanks to him every day.
The men repaving our street adored Thack and soon became my family’s heroes. Outfitted in his yellow hard hat and red rain boots, Thack greeted them each morning with a hardy, “Hey Mikes!” “Hey Thack!” they shouted back, waving with one hand while holding a thermos cup filled with black coffee in the other. Thack took up his post at our picket fence, one foot crossed behind the other, his slender arms hanging between the wooden slats. He stayed like that for hours, sometimes instructing, sometimes asking questions, but always ecstatic.
“Oi! Mom!”
I turned from the kitchen sink where Hansie and I were putting his teddy bear through the rigors of a bath.
“What is it, Thack?”
“Don’t call me that. I’m one of the Mikes now.” He swaggered up to me.
“Sorry. What is it, Mike?”
Thack jerked his thumb in the direction of the open front door. I could hear the rhythmic hum and chunk of the equipment tearing up the pavement outside. “Me and the other Mikes are hungry. Fetch us some grub.”
My soapy fists automatically dug into my waist.
“Well, can’t you and the other Mikes wait until I’m done here?” I jerked my own thumb in the opposite direction where Hansie stood on a chair by the sink, stroking his teddy bear’s tummy with a garlic press.
Thack’s fists flew to his waist. “Well, damn-it-to-hell, Mom! Us men are starving out there!” He stomped over to the refrigerator and threw open the door. “Jesus!”
“That’s ‘Cheeze-its’, buster!” I yelled. “Remember? Right words! Rights words! Fucking hell!”
“Sucking bell!” Hansie growled at his teddy bear. He tried to decapitate it with a rubber spatula.
Thack closed the refrigerator door. “Mom,” he said anxiously, putting his hand on my arm. “Don’t say the wrong words in front of my baby brother.”
Dropping to the kitchen floor, I covered my face with my hands and moaned.
I was plunged through a memory wormhole that dumped me into 1960, with my mother clutching Johnny to her chest, her left hand pressed against his right ear. “Suzi! Don’t say those words in front of your baby brother!” And me, fists digging into my pudgy waist, yelling back, “I’m not Suzi, I’m Popeye! And I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam!” before stomping out of the house and slamming the door behind me.
A year later, we sat with the kids’ paternal grandparents at the Oakland Fairyland lunch grounds. Mads had gone off to buy Thack and Hansie their favorite crap food. Sonja joked around with the kids while Lars smiled to himself, blissfully tuned out. He’d turned off his hearing aides the moment we walked through the park gates.
Thack had recently passed kindergarten with flying colors. “There’s something very special about your son,” his teacher had stated as we sat together watching him play with his classmates on the last day of school. “He’s so thoughtful with the underdogs, and yet also very tuned into the geniuses. He identifies with them both.” She looked me in the eye with a frankness that scared me. “I think we are going to discover some things about Thack next year when he is expected to perform real academics.”
“What do you mean?” I asked defensively.
She selected her next words carefully. “I think what we have here is a brilliant and highly imaginative child, with a naturally sweet and insightful disposition. We all adore him – he’s a hoot; an original – but he processes the world differently than other kids, and when he’s having a hard time with – ”
“I know!” I cried. “He’s always had trouble with his mouth!”
The teacher squinted at me. “His mouth?”
“You know. The wrong words. Bad words.”
The teacher shook her head. “I don’t hear anything inappropriate from Thack here. What I find is that the stimuli of the classroom cause him to lose focus and get a bit disruptive – but never, ever does he utter an unkind or bad word.” She offered a reassuring smile. “Thack is a beautiful boy, Suzi. But I believe sensory integration issues will become increasingly problematic, as will problems with focus. We’ll keep on top of it – don’t you worry – and will make the necessary evaluations. Meanwhile, watch his stress level. I think what you are trying to tell me is that Thack loses it sometimes, probably when he’s feeling anxious, threatened or frustrated. Like I said: He’s really bright, and when he gets together with the other bright kids in my class, I tell you, the sparks fly. But there’s a reason why he is so quick to defend the underdogs, and I think it’s because he feels as much kinship with them as he feels with the smart kids – more so when challenged by the world’s demands.” She shook her head. “It must be really difficult to feel incapable of delivering what others expect of you.”
“I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam, so fuck off.”
The teacher chuckled. “I guess you could say that.”
I rubbed my hands through my hair, hard. “No, that is what I said, over and over again, to my mom and dad – well, not the ‘fuck off’ bit – but it was never enough.”
The teacher looked me in the eye again. “Is it going to be enough for you? With Thack?”
Now Mads approached our bench carrying a box loaded with corn dogs, fries and packets of Catsup. I smiled at him; he smiled back with a slight roll of his eyes. Something about the direction in which his eyes moved caused me to look behind him. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.
A family of three followed in his wake: two pleasant looking parents in their mid-forties and their son, who looked to be around Thack’s age. The son suffered from what must have been a horribly disfiguring birth defect. He lacked nose and ear cartilage, and his eyes were set far apart and sloped at an impossible angle. The boy’s mouth was a perfect O. The father carried their own boxes of fast food while the mother walked with the boy holding his hand. Nothing in the parents’ demeanor betrayed their own suffering. They appeared for all the world to be perfectly happy folks out with their perfectly normal child. I admired them beyond belief.
Thack sat with Lars – across from Sonja, Hansie and me – with his back to his dad and the approaching family. Sonja spotted her son, then noticed the people behind him. She covered my hand with her own, for a highly charged, split-second panicking squeeze, then, raised it in greeting.
“There’s your dad!” she called out brightly. “Finally! We have hungry pioneers at this table! Bring on the grub!”
As Mads set down his box, the other family took over the table next to ours. Again, Sonja covered my hand. “Breathe,” she whispered.
Corn dogs were passed around and water bottles were produced from my backpack. I focused on doling out the fries and squirting globs of Catsup onto paper napkins. Sonja chatted away at the kids while I silently prayed that Thack would not look over at the other table.
Years before, Thack had been abusive toward a man in our neighborhood who was severely mentally retarded and disfigured. The man and his caregiver used to walk past our house to and from a local fruit stand. Thack would yell at him from the upstairs window – for the man to go away, stay home, die – out of fear of the unknown. I managed to help Thack overcome his fear by stopping the man and his caregiver one day and introducing myself. From the window, Thack watched the man hug me. He saw the caregiver and I chat and laugh like normal people. Then we waved good-bye and I returned to Thack, unharmed and smiling. After that, he left the man alone.
But how would Thack react to a child his own age with such severe disabilities? I had no idea, and I didn’t want to find out.
Thack picked up his corn dog and stared at it. “I know what this is!” he announced.
“WHAT DID HE SAY?” Lars asked.
“HE SAID, HE KNOWS WHAT IT IS!” Sonja shouted. “TURN ON YOUR HEARING AIDES!”
Lars waved away the suggestion as if it were a disagreeable odor.
Thack stood up at the end of our table, his back to the other family.
“I said, I know what this is!” he shouted, holding up the corn dog for all to see.
I glanced at the other table. The father gave me a look that said, “Yeah, we have one too. What can you do?” I was pretty sure they didn’t have one too, and I sure as hell didn’t know what I was going to do with mine.
Thack positioned the corn dog suggestively over his pants zipper. “It’s a weenie!”
Mads choked on his corn dog.
“WHAT DID HE SAY?” Lars asked Sonja.
Sonja shook her head. “NOT WORTH REPEATING!”
I reached for the corn dog. “Uh, Thack, that’s not – ” Thack turned to face the other table. “ – oh God.”
“Hey!” Thack called out to the other boy. “Wanna see my weenie?”
I gave the parents my most remorseful look: Please, oh please, forgive us our sins. They sat utterly still, their eyes flitting between my son and theirs. From their perspective, this must have now seemed a very very bad day at Fairyland.
“Thack!” Mads barked, standing up to tower over his son. Thack ignored him.
“You have one, too!” Thack enthused to the boy.
“WHAT’S GOING ON?” shouted Lars. He looked over at Thack and saw the pornographic corn dog, which Thack was now wagging back and forth. “Oh Jesus,” Lars muttered, covering his eyes.
The boy stared at Thack’s face then at Thack’s corn dog and finally at his own corn dog nestled in its bed of fries. Deliberately avoiding his parents’ clenched-jawed panic, he stood up from his bench, grabbed his corn dog and wagged it in front of his pants zipper.
We adults let out a collective gasp as we were subjected to the two boys standing in front of each other wagging their corn dogs with obscene pleasure.
Then the boy threw back his head and let out a wolf-like howl. Thack threw back his head and joined him. And everyone over the age of six dissolved into nervous hysteria.
Thack and the other boy took off. Hansie hopped down from his seat next to mine and trotted after them. With his corn dog twirling above his head, Thack shouted over his shoulder to the other boys: “Let’s run like hell and let our weenies fly!”
Lars leaned toward me. “WHAT’D HE SAY NOW!” he demanded, his fingers fumbling at his hearing aides.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and attempted to control my laughter. “THE RIGHT WORDS, LARS,” I shouted joyfully. “HE SAID THE DAMN-IT-TO-HELL RIGHT WORDS!”
My Memories of “1022 Park Place”
By Aleene Sexton Queen “Queenie”
My aunt and uncle, Ruth and Frank Martin, owned 1022 Park Place from the mid-30s until the mid-50s. My dad, Skip Sexton, worked for Uncle Frank and his shop was in the garage behind the house. My mom, Billie, cooked and served lunch to the paint crew. So it was a second home to me as a little girl. My Auntie Ruth was a seamstress for the wealthy ladies in town and had her sewing machines in the second floor room with many windows in the front of the house. She always cut a pattern carefully to make a little velvet dress for me. I loved watching her sew and looking out those windows and I thought I could see “forever”. She had ceramics classes downstairs in the den in the late 40s about the time Uncle Frank opened Martin’s Home Furnishings. He decorated the furniture store with many beautiful ceramic pieces made by my aunt.
Their daughter, Peggy, was an entertainer with the USO during WW2 and flew in rickety planes to far off places like France and Africa. She returned to the U.S. after the war ended and married the manager of some of the Big Bands. Many of them visited 1022 when they entertained in San Diego. My favorite was Woody Herman because he invited us to visit his home in Hollywood Hills, and there, I really could see ‘forever.’ Woody would ask my dad to sing the old tunes and l loved to hear his rich baritone voice. I felt so proud.
One night my aunt heard a baby crying and there were no babies in the house at the time; she went to investigate and found a confused Dusty with a newborn baby. Dusty didn’t know she was pregnant! Am sorry to say I never saw the baby nor did I see Dusty again so I don’t know if the baby lived or not. It wasn’t talked about in those days, but I remember the story well…hmmm …
Maureen and I found each other while commenting on the picture of 1022 on Facebook’s Coronado Kids. I recognized her maiden name because our moms played cards together in the 40s and 50s, and her mom came to my first baby’s shower! We started sharing memories. Then Helen also commented on the house as she’s also a former owner. In addition, our mothers were best of friends for many years after Helen’s mom, Mallie Nichols, came to Coronado in 1937. They also worked together at the Coronado Pharmacy for years. I also worked for Mallie at the old and new Coronado Pharmacy’s soda fountain in the early 50s. Maureen, Helen, and I continue to share many memories about 1022 Park Place and this wonderful little town we were so fortunate to grow up in — Coronado!
Art continues on at 1022 Park Place, as the present owners, Don and Kay Hubbard are very gifted as well as good folks. Don is a published author and a marine artist of Gyotaku. Kay is a water-color artist and has a shop in Spanish Village. They have invited the three of us to revisit 1022 Park Place and we all met for lunch at the Brigantine in December when Mo visited for Christmas in Coronado. They invited my granddaughter to visit their home to see their art when she visited us in January because Tiara was studying Don’s marine art while in college in Edinburgh, Scotland. It really is a small world; especially if you’re from Coronado!
Ten Twenty-Two Park Place — a home that holds memories for all of us.
Don Hubbard is the author of Neptune’s Table “Cooking the Seafood Exotics” and “Gitmo: The Missile Crisis” a Kindle e-book available at amazon.com.
GYOTAKU (The Japanese Art of Fish Painting)
Don Hubbard, Marine Artist, P.O. Box 180550, Coronado, CA 92118
Tel: 619/435-3555, e-mail: dhubbard1@san.rr.com
www.coronadoartassn.com
Kay Frances Hubbard, Gallery/Studio 2
Spanish Village Art Center
Balboa Park
San Diego, CA 92101
Tel: 619/237-5008
email: Kayhubbard@san.rr.com
My Story of “1022 Park Place”: A Baby Crying
By Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
Shortly after we sold the house to the Hubbard Family in March 1975 and moved to 1704 Visalia Row, we went to an auction at Buckingham Galleries. Seated in front of my mother and I were the Hudsons who had sold us 1022 Park Place in the early 1970s. After a while, Mr. Hudson turned to us and asked if we had ever heard a baby crying in the house? My mother, Mallie Nichols almost jumped out of her seat! She said, “Yes.” Shortly after we moved in with our five kids, including our youngest son Kelley Murphy, born in May 1972, and who was about seventeen months old at the time, we went out for the evening and my mother stayed to watch the kids. When we came home, she was more than a little upset, as she had been combing the three-story house looking for the baby that she kept hearing crying. She had first thought it was our little one, but when she went into his bedroom and looked in the crib, he was sound asleep. The Hudson family had had the same experience, hearing the baby cry and searching for the baby everywhere in the house…
FORMATION of the “1022 CREW”
By MaureenRutherford Nieland “Mo”
It all started with 1022 Park Place, Coronado, California. This is where my grandparents, Alfred and Mary EllenVingoe, came from England in the 1920s to settle in Coronado. As my mom’s siblings matured, they spread themselves out through Coronado and San Francisco to make their own homes.
I was born at the Coronado Hospital in 1946. Dr. Booth delivered me there and said at the time that “I was going to be a showgirl in Vegas.” Little did he know, I spent 37 years there in the gaming business, and DID dance VERY often at all the clubs there.
All these years later through Facebook, Aleene Sexton Queen and Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson found we had more in common then being raised in Coronado. It was “1022 Park Place”, where Aleene’s aunt and uncle lived for quite a few years in the 1930s; then many years later, Helen and her family owned the house, who then sold it to Donald Hubbard, the present-day owner.
I had been by “1022 Park Place” many times to look and stare and wonder what it was like to live inside that beautiful home back in the 20s. Finally, one day while HOME for the 4th of July Class Reunion last year (2010), I was taking a picture of the house with my best girlfriend, Carolann, and Don Hubbard came out and jokingly said, “We charge for pictures you know.”
That’s when after all these years of wondering what it looked like inside, Don invited Carolann and I in for a tour of the house. (What a kind and wonderful man he is. He and his daughter are both authors of wonderful stories.)
This meeting brought Aleene, Helen, and I into full circle. They are both just a tad older then me and wouldn’t have noticed me as a kid running rampant in Coronado. Aleene and I had a closer bond then we thought. My mom and her and other great friends use to play cards together — one of the friends being the fire chief at the time, Ted Kohl and his wife Edna. Now that we are all older, the age gap has closed between us and we have MANY fond memories to share.
Don Hubbard affectionately gave us the nickname “The 1022 Crew” We are the “1022” Crew!!!
THIS OLD HOUSE – 116TH ANNIVERSARY 2011 (A Short History of “1022 Park Place”)
By Commander Don Hubbard, USN (Retired)
This old house was built in 1894 for Mr. Benjamin L. Muir. Muir was born in Memphis, Missouri in 1859 and came to San Diego in 1886. This was the year of the great auction sale of Coronado lots. He entered the real estate business and sold much property here in Coronado. In May of 1887, he married Lizzie Barber, which was the first wedding in Coronado. The ceremony was performed at the Hotel Del Coronado by the Reverend E. S. Chase, pastor of the First Methodist Church of San Diego. Some 150 guests attended, so it must have been some bash.
1022 was built as a beach house seven years after the Muir’s were married, only being occupied by the newlyweds during the summer. For the rest of the year, the home was rented out.
The house itself is a genuine Victorian structure (Queen Anne Style). Features like the eyebrow window, the oval window on the second floor, the changing shingle pattern, and the broad cedar floor planks attest to this. The original exterior color was a medium chocolate brown, which is now painted white. Many of the brass fittings that are still in the home are from England. It was alleged to me by Captain Hudson, who did the modernization of the house in 1973 that the original wiring was done by Thomas Edison when he was in town wiring the Hotel Del Coronado.
There was no garbage pick-up in the early days of this city, so residents buried their trash in the backyard. I have come across a number of these burial locations and found interesting pieces of broken china, a small intact perfume bottle, and an array of meat bones as well as sea shells. Digging exploratory trenches can become an interesting hobby.
For a comprehensive picture history of Coronado dating back to the period of earliest exploration to the present time, “Images of America: Coronado” by Leslie Hubbard Crawford (our daughter), Acadia Publications is available at Bay Books, 1029 Orange Avenue. Leslie also has a website devoted to Coronado: www.WelcometoCoronado.com
“THE 1022 CREW”
DR. MUSHOVIC & NAVAL LIFE
By Polly Coleman
I remember being ten and holding my baby brother while Dr. Mushovic gave him his first shots, and my Mother and I both getting a shot in the buttock and it hurt! We went to him instead of base doctors as it was so much better. We lived at 641 Coronado Avenue. My parents bought the house before Dad spent four years in ‘Nam. Went to Crown, junior high, then 9th and 10th grades in Coronado. Then we were off to D.C., as he did a tour at ComCruDesPac Pentagon duty. Yuck!! Good times, but bad times too. D.C .was not good for a Cally girl in the early 70s. Went to SuperFly premiere at Constitution Hall and got mugged. And I wasn’t a racist! The bad times…I loved D.C., but only in the earlier tours. Coronado was the best. You know my boyfriend was Jim Longino Jr., who was the son of Admiral Longino of NAS North Island at the time. They lived in the Commandant quarters and they were so beautiful, all white, out on the bay. We both went East at the same time. His parents moved to a Georgetown brownstone and he was off to a college in Colorado Springs. Then he died in a skiing accident. Don’t think I ever got over that. Such is Navy life that we didn’t ever seem to talk about. We just said our goodbyes so many times…Too many times. This is so theraputic LOL xxoo Polly
“DIMITRI”
BY JUDY (JENNE) MILLER
Dr. James Mushovic was so much more to me than our family doctor; over the many years I knew him, he was my friend. He saw me through my childhood, my teenage years, and as a young wife and mother. He gave me the benefit of his wisdom and his profound understanding of people. His advice was something that got me through some trying times in my life. He helped me feel good about myself and taught me how to be strong during the tough times. He saw me through a serious illness and saved my life. If it were not for “Dimitri”, I would not be around to write this.
He brought my three beautiful children into this world: Randi in 1965, Matthew in 1968, and Heather in 1971. In the middle of labor, he would get everyone in the room to smile – even me – when he told me I was strong enough and young enough to climb off that table after delivering each of my kids and walk back to my room. It got to be a running joke with us: he would tell the nurses to watch out for me because I could walk to the hospital while in labor, have those babies so fast they had to keep a close eye on me, and then just get up and walk back to my bed. By the time Heather was born, he let us go home when she was only 12-hours old. Always helpful, he said it would save us money. He encouraged me through a divorce and helped patch up the kids as they were growing up. Mumps, chicken pox, stitches, and his sage advice – priceless!
A very special memory for all of us was when he played Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. I mean how cool is it to see your doctor walk into your home saying, “HO HO HO”, and passing out gifts to the kids! They were so awestruck at having Santa come to their house with special gifts with their names on them. A busy physician taking time to do this for the kids: how could it get any better than that on Christmas Eve?
There are so many stories and memories about Doc Mushovic. Suffice it to say, he was a terrific doctor, a kind heart, a defender of those he cared for, and a truly remarkable man. It was a sad day when we lost him, but he is remembered with great fondness. They don’t make them like that anymore!
PUBLISHER’S NOTE:
Dr. James Mushovic, Sr., was a beloved father and grandfather, and physician to thousands of families in Coronado. He was a longtime family practitioner as well as an obstetrician, bringing hosts of “stork” deliveries into the arms of awaiting parents. “Dr. Dwim”, as my kids fondly called him, delivered my firstborn daughter, Ariel Florence Graham in 1988, and a year later assisted my father, Dr. Donald M. Dill in delivering my son, Austin Everett Malins Graham. Ariel was Dr. Dwim’s swan song baby in his long career of obstetrics. She was the last baby he would bring into the world, which made her very special to him indeed. Until his retirement, he kept a photo of him holding her, along with a tribute, as well as a photo of my son, for every patient to see and honor at the office weigh station. My husband, Al Graham, who had three kids by his first marriage to Anne Morrison, hailed this singular, wizardly doctor with the special nickname of “Merlin Mushovic” as he was the magician that brought Dylan, Tristin, and Sefton Graham into the world as well. Not only did Dr. Mushovic bring so many lovely lives onto this planet, he also ferried in many medical careers onto our island, fashioning family practices as a mirror of the tradition he began: “hands on” medicine, a dying art in this day and age. My father, Dr. Donald M. Dill, was one of those whose career began under his tutelage.
A few years before “Dmitri” (as he loved to be called) passed away, my daughter and I ran into him. Ariel, now fully grown, was asked if he could whisper in her ear. When she leaned forward for his special message, he whispered, “Please, don’t forget me.” Ariel and our family, as with so many others, never ever will.
Dr. Mushovic started the tradition of being Santa Claus on Christmas Eve as far back as 1965, for that was when he hand-delivered my very first training bra. I almost died of embarrassment and will never forget that memory. Another of my favorite memories was in Dr. Dwim’s later years after his retirement. I used to run into him in Albertson’s late in the evening. He would be pushing around a grocery cart stacked to the brim with every sweet snack available on the shelves. After a brief chat, he would always ask me if I knew where the Oreos were, or one of his favorite ice creams. My last memory of our beloved friend was his extraordinary sweet tooth.
James Mushovic, Sr., was born on July 3, 1925. He passed from our graces on August 25, 2009 at the ripe age of 84. He was born in Greenfield, Massachusetts, the youngest son of James and Christine Mushovic, both from Belorussia in Tsarist Russia. After attending Tufts University in Massachusetts, he continued on to Tufts Medical School in Boston. Before attending medical school, he served with the United States Navy during World War II. Once he finished medical school, he served the U. S. Navy again as a flight surgeon. He kick started his ob-gyn practice while delivering babies at NAS North Island. In 1953, he settled in Coronado and started his practice on Orange Avenue in 1956, in what is now the Brigantine. Throughout his extensive career delivering half of Coronado and caring for multiple generations of families, he found the time to serve on the Coronado School Board and be an active member of the Rotary Club. Dr. Mushovic played a key role in establishing the Coronado Hospital, as it now exists. In addition to being a surrogate father and grandfather to so many of our citizens, Dr. Mushovic was father to ten children and grandfather to many grandchildren.
– Kimberley Ann (Dill) Graham
MY ART
BY JUDE (JENNE) MILLER
I used to draw and paint a lot when I was a teenager and young mother. Many of my pastels, watercolors, and drawings covered the walls in my kids’ rooms, along with my handmade rugs, curtains, and stuffed toys. But in the turmoil that became my life after a divorce – caring for three small children, working, and going to school – my art suffered and simply stopped. It was as if my creativity buried itself. It did not resurface until many years later during another life change: being a single person again and moving back to Palm Springs to start over. My art became my refuge, my antidepressant, and it soothed all the things that hurt me. My art means a great deal to me. I have given pieces away in the past and done some personal things for my girlfriends and family, but I have never sold anything. I honestly cannot bear to part with them because of what they represent to me at a time when I was in need. Creativity is a balm for the soul. Usually, the only time anyone sees these pieces is if they walk into my living room. It was interesting to post some of them and see the reaction. Most gratifying!!
The ones that are being displayed are done with India ink and the tiniest little pen you have ever seen. You cannot put the pen down for any length of time as it clogs, and then you have some cleaning to do to get started again. Once I get started on an idea, I generally work for hours and hours until I have the sense that it is complete. They are not planned beforehand; they are created in the moment. One exception is the “sea creatures” piece that my daughter, Randi, asked me to do for a friend’s wedding present. It was an ocean-themed wedding and she wanted something special that reflected that. It was hard to actually compose something because, for the most part, I go by the seat of my pants. Once I have an outline started, the insides sort of flesh themselves out on their own and I try to hide as many things in the body as I can to make it more interesting. Each piece tells me when it is finished!
SPECIAL NOTE:
Jude Eileen (Jenne) Miller is a graduate of Coronado High School Class of 1964. She has three adult children, all delivered by Dr. James “Dmitri” Mushovic. Randi Miller Garcia, Jude’s firstborn, and her husband, Rene, are parents to Kara Garcia (22) and Joe Garcia (21). Kara’s daughter Avery is Jude’s first great granddaughter and the baby of the family. Jude’s second born, Matthew Miller, and his wife Crystal are parents to Joshua McLeod Miller (10). Heather Miller Carter is Jude’s youngest and she has three grown children, Matthew Navarro (22), Roxanne Carter (20), and Jennifer Carter (18). Jude’s family means the world to her, and she has much to be proud of.
Jude worked in the hotel/hospitality industry for over 30 years, starting at the Hotel Del Coronado in 1980. Seeking advancement in the sales department, she asked for and got a position with Larry Lawrence’s small resort The Racquet Club of Palm Springs. She relocated to Palm Springs in 1985 and stayed until 1992, when she moved to the Midwest and got a terrific job at the Mark of the Quad Cities, a state-of-the-art 12,000 seat arena that rocked the QC with top bands and artists (lots of free rock and roll for Jude). It also played host to the Ice Capades, Ringling Brothers Circus, arena football, and ice hockey. John Deere exhibited their newest farm equipment there, which made for an interesting experience for a beach girl to come face to face with a 12-row combine.
Moving back to the desert in 1994, Jude bought a home and got back to work in the local resorts. It has been her physical home ever since. “I say that because home is Coronado. My closest friends are still my Coronado friends.The beach is where my heart is and my folks are up on Fort Rosecrans always looking down on that beach I grew up on.”
A CORONADO GIRL: “There’s No Place Like Home”
By JUDE (JENNE) MILLER
On September 23, 1946, I became the third little girl to be born to Frank L. and Dorothy F. Jenne. That same year, my father was commissioned LT.JG. My dad literally left the farm to join the Navy in 1932. He started as a Seaman and retired as a Commander in 1963, after 31 years of service to his country.
Dad was stationed in Norfolk during one of his cruises. Looking for some R & R, he and his buddies went to a USO to dance with the local girls.There he saw one that stole his heart – my mother! The story they told my sisters and I so many times was that they were both dancing with other people to the song “I’m in the Mood for Love”, when they saw one another over the shoulders of their partners and fell in love!! Dad was 22 and Mom was 16. They were married within months of meeting and remained together for the rest of their lives. A true love story! Whenever their song came on the radio or the television, no matter what was going on in our house, Dad would go get Mom and they would dance while we sat and watched. To this day, it is one of my happiest memories.
My sisters, Peggy and Rita, and I were born at the Norfolk Naval Hospital. The family remained in Norfolk, close to my grandparents, when Dad went to the Pacific for WWII. I was born about nine months after he came back from his duty in the Pacific (a true baby boomer). We lived in Virginia, Ohio, New Mexico, Hawaii, Guam, and of course, Coronado. I first saw Coronado as Mom, Dad, and I drove up the Strand. The sun was setting and I saw the Del. I was so excited I thought it was a fairy castle! I was in 2nd grade. My folks were visiting Jackie and Mac McCall, the caretakers of The Boat House. They actually lived in what we all came to know and love as the Chart House. After that night, Mom and Dad said they had found their home. We stayed in Coronado from 1953 to1958, went to Guam for two years and returned in 1960, never to leave. We were finally home!
Dad could not stray far from water and ships. After retirement, he signed on as the manager of the Coronado Yacht Club, a position he enjoyed for many happy years. Mom and Dad were not just avid golfers but fanatical golfers. Both were active in the Coronado Municipal Course and Sea and Air on North Island. Mom was president a couple of terms and took her responsibilities with joy. On a happy and sad note, she passed away the night of a tournament day in which she was the WINNER! Talk about going out in a blaze of glory. To quote her, “You drive for show and you putt for dough.” A champion to the end! They now rest together in Fort Rosecrans, peacefully watching the ships enter and leave their beloved harbor. Many a sunset I could see them from our beach.
I graduated from CHS in 1964. My children, Randi, Matthew, and Heather were delivered into this world in the Coronado Hospital by Dr. James Mushovic, a friend, revered physician, and a great guy all the way around. No matter where I go, my heart is always in Coronado. There is no place like home.
GAIL GRIFFITH BEHRNS
Gail Griffith Behrns is a 1974 graduate of Coronado High School. She earned her B.A. in English from Point Loma Nazarene University and her M.A. in American Literature from San Diego State University. She taught English at our very own Coronado High School for 12 years.
She is married to Wade Behrns, also of the CHS class of 1974. They are the proud parents of three sons: Riley, Seth, and Davis. Dr. Donald Dill, the Magical Medicine Man, delivered all three of the boys, and is Godfather to Gail’s firstborn, Riley. Riley is a senior in high school this year, Seth is in seventh grade, and Davis is in sixth grade.
In 2005, the Behrns family relocated to Kernersville, North Carolina. Together, Gail and Wade opened two businesses: Shakespeare and Company Bookshop/Coffeehouse and Not Just Teapots, a kitchen gadget shop featuring Wade’s one-of-a-kind cutting boards. The shops are located in historic downtown Kernersville.
Besides raising her three sons and running two businesses, Gail teaches writing part-time at Guilford Technical Community College in Greensboro, North Carolina. She spends her sparse free moments designing aprons and tea cozies for one of their shops. You can check out Wade’s handcrafted wares at: Notjustcuttingboards.com
MAGICAL MEDICINE MAN
By Gail Griffith Behrns
It’s 1973. Passing the corner of 10th and Orange is the familiar white Ex Calibur with the bright red leather interior. The driver, wearing his familiar Irish driving cap, waves as he passes me.
Today he no longer drives an Ex Calibur but Dr. Donald Dill is probably one of Coronado’s most famous and beloved citizens, the Magical Medicine Man.
Dr. Dill began his family practice in 1960 joining Dr. Jim Mushovic in a small office in what today is part of the lobby of the El Cordova Hotel. Today on the wall in his office on C Avenue is a three-dimensional portrayal of him, complete with top hat magically performing medicine as depicted by his artist wife, Christine Gordon.While he never actually performed real magic as he made you better, he just made it feel that way. In addition to hospital rounds and office visits, Dr. Dill made house calls.
In February of 1988 he made one of those house calls to my parents’ home to explain to my sisters and me why my dad’s pancreatic cancer diagnosis was terminal. Despite my outward anger and frustration that little could be done for him and that he had little time left in this world, Dr. Dill remained calm and caring, nearly apologetic as he took the time to answer all of our questions and frustration.
Three years pass. It is September, 1992. My son, Riley is two weeks old and we are in the Jungle Room waiting for Dr. Dill to give Riley his two-week check-up. A copy of Love You Forever lay on the top of a stack of children’s books. As I read the story inside the cover I fight tears. My then-husband has decided that parenthood is not on his list of things in life he wants at that time and we are alone. Dr. Dill opens the door and cheerfully picks up my son, telling me what a beautiful boy he is and how we will be all right.Two months later he agrees to stand as Riley’s Godfather.
Against amazing odds, I remarry in 1996. Some twenty months later our son, Seth is born.Two weeks before his due date I think it is time. Dr. Dill, with his wry sense of humor laughs,”You think you are having a baby today!” The nurse and I look at the monitor and it seems something is happening.Three hours later Seth is born.When our youngest, Davis is born in 1999 two weeks before his due date, Dr. Dill is ready.
2005 — We move across the country to a small town-Kernersville, North Carolina and once again Riley is in the doctor’s office. Again I find myself fighting tears but this time it is because I realize that we have left the big city for the small town but have left the small-town doctor behind in the big city. Absent is the white coat with the red heart pin and the warm smile, the talk in the office after the checkup.The new doctor’s coat, while white in color, lacks the small red heart over the pocket and colorful dapper tie that we had been accustomed to over years.
We still live in Kernersville and have found an affable pediatrician. But he doesn’t wear a dapper tie and a heart over his coat pocket. And he never makes house calls.
In his fifty years of family practice Dr. Dill has delivered thousands of children. If he didn’t deliver you, he probably delivered your neighbor or their grandchildren. Dr. Dill still practices in his office on C Avenue and still makes hospital rounds. No matter how packed his appointment schedule, you always get a talk in his office after your checkup and a hug as you leave. If one day Dr. Dill chooses to retire, it will be the end of an era.The era of The Magical Medicine Man.
MY HEROINE: ARIEL FLORENCE GRAHAM
By Kimberley (Dill) Graham
On January 12, 1988, a sea change occurred in my onerous life. It came in the form of a golden orb, an angelic manifestation, an innocence incarnate, whose emergence was that of our newborn daughter, Ariel Florence Graham. After several hours of hugely stressful contractions and much screaming out on my part for more pain medication, Dr. Mushovic decided to perform a C-Section to get this little precious creature out of me. After several sonograms, Dr. Mushovic was convinced that I was having a “boy” because, after all, he could see a “tallywacker”. When a heavily sedated mother finally did give birth to a perfectly healthy baby girl, with no 
tallywacker, the nurses asked me what was her name. I said “Austin” as I had no idea that Ariel was to be delivered. When I woke up in my hospital room nursing my little angel, I was surrounded by gifts of baby blue. Our giftors had to run out and exchange gifts to pink. (NOTE: A year later, I gave birth to my son, Austin, who was predicted to be a girl by Dr. Mushovic, with no tallywacker. Once again, the giftors had to exchange the pink for the blue.)
Alan Graham, my husband chose the name Ariel after the mischievous little spirit in Shakespeare’s the Tempest. Ariel means “Lion of the Lord”. As Ariel grew into her age of 12 months plus, her favorite song to dance to was “Sail Away” by Enya. The year of her birth, Ariel, the Little Mermaid was released but was not of consequence in her naming.
In the hospital room, I lay with Ariel suckling at my teat, experiencing my first true “bliss” in life. If anyone were to speak to me, my only response was that I have born an angel. My life would never ever be the same again. Selfless became the only adjective of my pursuit in life now. The meanings I had heard so many times of having the power to lift a car to protect someone became intensively real. I now stood among the ranks of millions of women throughout the world and throughout time who know the true meaning of “motherhood” – and, shall I say, “sisterhood”.
We were so thrilled to have our Ariel that we would wake her, the sleeping baby, just to be with her and look at her and thrill to be in her presence. Her life defined my husband and I as a couple, with a purpose besides the pursuit of ourselves. She also united a broken family — mine, the Dills, as well as my husband’s — and his growing-up children. She was the first baby in many a decade who would unite sad souls. A baby brings the best out in all of us.
As the months went by, Ariel earned a nickname, “Nee Nee Pie”, as she was always screeching out these syllables. Nee Nee Pie loved anything paper. So she also became “Nee Nee Paper”. By nine months old, this blond little jitterbug began to walk. Always adorned with a ribbon in her hair, she became the mascot for many a folk – stranger and family alike. No one could get over how pretty she was and how dainty and petite this baby was on both feet exploring the world.
As parents, we reveled in every movement and utterance that came from our precious girl. She was so adored by family and friends that she was adorned with the most precious ensembles of adorable outfits anyone could wish to dress their babes in: always with a petticoat and matching shoes, ribbons and bows as well as her own “fur” coat. Her relatives in England sent her jewelry, special hand-crocheted sweaters and blankets, bonnets, and unique gowns. Contrary to who I thought my baby would look like, brunette with big brown eyes just like me, I had a blonde baby with bright blue eyes.
Every time I looked at her, I fell in love.
As every parent knows that “love” never dwindles and my instinct to provide and protect grew stronger with each day. Fortunately, Ariel never challenged that love and those skills of protection, even through her teen years, as we as parents didn’t give her or her brother much reason to.
We homeschooled the kids and grew them up in basically a “one-room schoolhouse”. They were left to make their own choices after a bit of prodding and coaching, and the choices they made and still make have always been simple and honest to them. We exposed Ariel, and her brother Austin, to a marvelous array of sides to life that all their friends envied. Many a buddy wanted to go to the Graham’s Home School and loved to sleep on our floor in our tiny abode just to be in our home. As a result, the Graham siblings and their buddies have grown into well-rounded, responsible, happy adults because the word “yes” was more often used than “no” and where words of praise such as “good” were used more often than “bad”. For the Graham family, life was and is not too complicated and when it is, we get straight to the solution and implement it. We are not a family of whiners. We are a family of doers.
In 2006, based on compositions the Graham kids submitted and ultimately based on Ariel’s “Why My Mom is the Best”, I was selected as one of San Diego’s “50 Best Moms”, and honored accordingly. How does a child thank you? Of course, through their thoughts, emotions, and actions — I was definitely thanked. Ariel has always shown me her gratitude and devotion. When I would arrive home after having homeschooled the kids by day and working two jobs by night, I would be greeted by a spread inspired by Katie Brown. A presentation would await my arrival of candles, vases of handpicked flowers, a beautifully displayed placemat with serviette, and a meal all prepared to make sure I had a great ending to my day. So, who cared that the meal was often a peanut butter, bologna, potato chip, pickle relish, and jelly sandwich micro-waved to perfection. Ariel would anxiously watch as I ate my scrumptious sammy and I thanked her all the while for her thoughtfulness and generosity. Every night, I fell into a lovely slumber in a family bed all squished up with Yeller, our dog, the two kids’ cats (Orange Cat and Black Cat), my hubbie, and the kids, “Boy Kid” & “Girl Kid”, not to mention various favorite stuffed animals, beanie babies, and GI Joe’s.
In the latter half of the previous decade when my mother was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, it was seven-year-old, Ariel, who accompanied me to her home to care for her and provide Janet Reller Dill with her last months of life and comfort. Together, we cared for her and loved her and just sat with her while she had her last moments of life. She dwindled away 
in front of us and was very rarely awake.While she slumbered fitfully away on the couch, we slept on the floor right next to her making sure she was cared for. Sometimes she would crawl down off the couch and lay between us, her girls, for some solace and connection. My mother was not an outwardly emotional person and this meant a lot for her to reach out to us.We had a terminal “sisterhood”. Ariel and I surrounded her constantly. As a young child, Ariel had the wisdom to understand that her suffering, bone-thin, once glamorous, and elegant grandma needed her. Bravely and lovingly, she held the torch never questioning whether or not this was the right thing to do with her days. Ariel hugged and assisted my dying mother to the end while bringing a bit of joy to each moment of a dying person, not just because it was her grandmother, but because she was a human in huge agony that needed her.
Fast forward: When Ariel was 19 years old, much to my astonishment, she announced that she wanted to move out of our “one-room schoolhouse”. The statement was prefaced by tears streaming down her face and a bulging swollen heart, as she did not want to hurt me. Like her robust, stalwart grandmother and me, Ariel had arrived at that place of departure. She looked at me for approval and all she saw was my fear. My days of persevering protectiveness were finally coming to a close. After hours and days of coaching by my husband, who had sent three off from the nest already, I reluctantly let her go. We let our butterfly fly and fly she has.The best constant is that unlike the marvelous allure of a butterfly, she is a human who is still unfolding and always making us so proud.
Ariel has been soaring in the blue skies above us for years now without our constant chaperone ship. From that momentous day when she left, she has never landed back except for a hug and some comfort in the storms of life. Of course, our girl is always welcome home, yet she has managed to do the rest of her growing up with great resolution. Like her parents, our girl takes great pride in her independence.
You may ask why is Ariel my heroine. Not only is she my heroine, she is my best friend. Why? For many, many reasons. She has been there for me like no other person ever has. For anyone that knows me, this is a huge responsibility for anyone, let alone such a young soul, yet she has been there for me through everything, thick or thin. I, therefore, take this time and these pages to officially honor my girl.
In 2008, after a series of health issues, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. With a full schedule of her own – work and personal – my “Nee Nee Pie” promised to take care of me, as I had to my mother, that she was completely committed to me and my battle – as well as to my survival – through this experience. She promised that whatever it took, she would be there for me, and there she was, for every moment. Beginning with my hilarity and denial of the dire consequences I was facing, she attended every procedure from diagnostic biopsies to the two surgeries I would then face. From there, we went through a year of chemotherapy and radiation sessions. Ariel was with me through everything. The men in our family didn’t have the “stomach” — or maybe I should say the “strength” — for it. She watched her mother lose her hair, go crazy, become irrational, and extremely “bitchy” as well as just plain “nuts”. She kept looking to me to be me, and I wasn’t. She became me as I had been for her. She became my mother as I didn’t have one anymore. She was my true north, my rock. She, my “Nee Nee Pie,” got me through months of true insanity, for her and for myself. Ariel made sure I ate. Ariel made sure I slept. Ariel made sure I got to all my appointments. Ariel made sure I felt needed. Ariel made sure my home was clean. Ariel made everything happen.
I have recovered from the breast cancer and have recovered very slowly from the recurrent “chemo brain”. I am still being coached by my young daughter. She is so waiting for her “real” mother to return. Slowly, she is, thanks to my heroine and my best friend. We speak everyday, in person or on the telephone. Every conversation, no matter how brief, ends with the words, “I love you.”
FRANCES NUNNALLY
February 27, 1891 – March 29, 1981
In his autobiographical dictation of April 17, 1908, Clemens described Frances Nunnally: “…school girl, of Atlanta, Georgia, whom I call Francesca for short. I have already told what pleasant times we had together every day in London, last summer, returning calls. She was 16 then, a dear sweet grave little body, and very welcome in those English homes…”
On June 8, 1907, Clemens sailed to England aboard the S. S. Minneapolis to accept an honorary degree from Oxford University. On board the Minneapolis were Frances Nunnally and her mother who were embarking on a tour of Europe. Nunnally was the daughter of James Hilliard Nunnally and his wife Cora Winship Nunnally of Atlanta, Georgia. James H. Nunnally was a prominent candy manufacturer whose initial business established in 1884 had grown to include factories and retail stores in Atlanta, Washington, D.C., and Miami, Florida. Nunnally was also a director of several Atlanta financial institutions. Frances Nunnally and her mother, along with Clemens and his party, lodged at Brown’s Hotel in London and young Frances accompanied him around London to visit various dignitaries. Clemens nicknamed her Francesca, and she soon became a faithful correspondent and loyal angel-fish.
When Clemens was photographed in his Oxford robes,
Frances Nunnally stood beside him.
It was a picture he later kept on his bedroom dressing table.
Clemens left England to return to the United States on July 13, 1907, and Frances Nunnally and her mother Cora continued on their European tour. When the two returned to the United States in September 1907, they accepted Clemens’s invitation to visit him at his home in Tuxedo Park, New York.
“…You remember Frances Nunnally? I had Xmas letters from her & her mother day before yesterday, from their home in Georgia. They visited me in Tuxedo in September. Frances (whom I call Francesca for short), was very good to me in London, & drove with me two hours every afternoon, returning calls. Her school is near Baltimore; I am going down there by & by…”–excerpt from letter to Dorothy Quick, July 1907.
Letter from Clemens to Frances Nunnally — January 15, 1908: “Where are you, dear? At school? I suppose so, but you haven’t told me. What I am anxious to know is, can’t you steal a day or two & run up & see us? Miss Lyon & I will go down & board your train at Philadelphia & escort you up. Or, we will go all the way to Baltimore, if you prefer. And gladly. Can you come, dear? And will you? If it isn’t possible to come now, will you name a date & come later? Don’t say no, dear, say yes. With love SLC”.
Frances Nunnally returned to St. Timothy’s School at Catonsville, Maryland near Baltimore that fall. Nunnally and Clemens maintained contact through their correspondence, and in February 1908, Clemens mailed her an angel-fish pin. On March 14, 1908, Clemens wrote her from Bermuda: “Francesca, dear, I am taking the liberty of appointing you to membership in my “Aquarium” (Club).”
Letter from Clemens to Frances Nunnally — June 6, 1908: “You are a very dear & sweet Francesca to answer so promptly, & you so heavy-laden with work, you poor little chap! But soon you’ll be at sea, and that will be fine & restful. I wish I could go with you. I go away Monday the 8th, but shall plan to return Thursday fore-noon so as to be on deck & listening to your telephone message that afternoon. You & your parents must spare us a little of your time at our feed-trough, either at dinner that evening or at luncheon or dinner next day. I am going to count on that, dear heart. With love SLC”.
As evidenced in the above-mentioned letter, Clemens made arrangements to visit with the Nunnally family while they were in New York en route on another summer tour of Europe. After their visit, Clemens wrote the following letter to Frances on June 20, 2008: “You dear little fish, I suppose you are sitting in England today. I had a cable from Clara 4 days ago, announcing a successful recital. I hope you & your mother will see her, but I don’t know her address – except J. P. Morgan & Co., bankers. I have seen the house at last, & have been in it two days, now. You & your mother will like it when you step into it about the 20th of next September – to stay as long as you can. It is altogether satisfactory & requires no change. Half of my fishes are framed & are decorating the wall of the billiard room, on the ground floor, which is the Official Headquarters of the Aquarium, & the other half will be there presently. Your Atlanta picture & the London picture of the two of us are there. I am so sorry I took the New York house for another year. If I hadn’t done that, I would never go back to New York again. Here there is nothing in sight between the horizons but woods & hills; & the stillness & serenity bring peace to the soul. Good-bye dear. With kind regards to your mother, & love to you – SLC – (P.S.) Two fishes will arrive at mid-afternoon – to stay a week, I hope – Dorothy Harvey & Louise Paine; also Dorothy’s governess.”
Angel-fish Card Game
When they returned from Europe in September 1908, Frances Nunnally and her mother Cora visited with Clemens at his home in Redding, Connecticut. Frances Nunnally’s name appears in the Stormfield guestbook for September 27 – 29, 1908. After she had again returned to her school at Catonsville, Clemens sent Frances a copy of Lucy Maud Montgomery’s book Anne of Green Gables in October 1908.
On June 9, 1909, Clemens delivered his final public speech at Nunnally’s graduation from St. Timothy’s and posed afterward for photographs with the graduates. The two continued to correspond through 1909.
On November 14, 1912, Frances Nunnally married John Charles Wheatley in Atlanta. The 1920 census lists Frances and John Wheatley residing with her parents and a contingent of servants on Peachtree Road in Atlanta. Wheatley was employed as a bond broker. By 1925, their marriage had ended in divorce. Frances Nunnally moved to Hollywood, California, where she married John Fish Goodrich on April 11, 1925. Goodrich, a graduate of Cornell University, worked in Hollywood as a screenwriter. The couple had one daughter born in 1926, also named Frances (who would later be known as Fran Harpst of Coronado).
Goodrich died in March 1936. Frances’s father, James H. Nunnally, died two years later in May 1938. At the time of his death, James H. Nunnally’s estate was valued at over $7,600,000. Much of his wealth had been accumulated when he and Ernest Woodruff (who was married to Cora Winship, Nunnally’s first cousin) had helped finance a buyout of the Coca-Cola company in 1919. James H. Nunnally served on the board of directors for Coca-Cola for a number of years prior to his death. Frances Nunnally Goodrich and her daughter remained financially independent due to the family’s accumulated wealth.
Advertisement for Nunnally’s candy circa 1920, the company owned by Frances Nunnally’s father
On December 11, 1965, Frances Goodrich and George Winzer, an Australian immigrant, filed a marriage license in Los Angeles, California. George Winzer was seven years older than Frances. She had formerly introduced Winzer to her family doctor as her chauffeur. George Winzer died in November 1973.
Frances Nunnally Winzer died in March 1981 in La Jolla, California, survived by her daughter Frances Goodrich Harpst. During her final years, she had given away fortunes in Coca-Cola stock to Scripps Memorial Hospital in La Jolla, California. She also provided building funds for the University of California at San Diego, Coronado Hospital in Coronado, California, and provided financial support to other institutions in Southern California.
Correspondence between Nunnally and Clemens was published by John Cooley in Mark Twain’s Aquarium: The Samuel Clemens Angelfish Correspondence, 1905-1910.
CONCLUSION
Samuel Clemens enjoyed the company of women of all ages. Many of his “angel-fish” were accompanied by their mothers or governesses when they visited him–providing additional female companionship. His correspondence with them and the entertaining of them in his homes and abroad provided him a release from loneliness that often surrounded him after members of his own family had died or embarked on separate careers. Clemens was an author with a compulsion to write and many of his young correspondents provided him with an outlet for his playful expressions, thoughts, and phrasings that would have otherwise been repressed and lost — expressions that now remain insights into the creative mind of his genius.
Special Note: Frances Nunnally was mother to Fran Harpst and grandmother to Lynne Harpst Koen. Frances’ granddaughter has gone on to carry out the family heritage of benevolence to all things animal and a generous benefactor to many organizations who serve those in need.
Article based on special feature by, Barbara Schmidt on “Mark Twain Quotes” available at www.marktwainquotes.com
WALTER WILLIAM HARPST, JR.
By Lynne Harpst Koen
My dear sweet Dad,
Walter William Harpst, Jr., was born on October 8, 1916 in Columbus, Ohio. Walter (Wally) discovered his talent for music when he was still a boy. Wally’s remarkable talent would take him all over the globe and he was a career musician for over 65 years. Wally played the guitar, ukulele, and stand-up bass (then known as big bass violin). He also sang like a bird. While playing with one of the “Big Bands” in New York City in the early 1940s, Wally got a new “calling”, and into the Army he went. Wally and his Army Band entertained different branches of the Service during WWII including the Navy, Marines, and Air Force. Wally’s Band was “Special Services” intended to boost the soldiers’ morale. Wally served mostly in the Pacific (Okinawa) and had more than his fair share of close calls over seas. Wally had many “war stories” but one of the oddest ones was when the war was allegedly over. One day, Wally and the troops heard a loud, thundering noise. Suddenly, as they all watched, over 600 Japanese soldiers came pouring out of caves surrounding the base camp. They surrendered peacefully.
After the Army, Wally returned to playing music on the West Coast, mostly in the L.A. and Palm Springs areas. He met and preformed for many big stars of that era including Bob Hope, Dinah Shore, Lorn Green, Jerry Lewis, Desi and Lucy, and many more. Wally also toured for MCA and did a stint as a master of ceremonies for a radio show for a short while as well. While performing a gig at the Hotel Del Coronado in 1955, Wally met a Hollywood model named Frances Goodrich. Frances (Fran) was summering at the Del. The two fell in love and were married. I was born on November 15, 1957.
MARK TWAIN’S ANGEL – FISH ROSTER and other young women of interest
“I thought this was a home. It was a superstition. What is a home without a child?”
In 1907, at the age of seventy-two, lonely and widowed, Samuel Clemens began “collecting” surrogate granddaughters — young girls between the ages of ten and sixteen. Some of the girls were those he met aboard ships that carried him back and forth to England or on his travels to the island of Bermuda. Clemens maintained correspondences with the girls — most were from prominent and wealthy families who traveled in the same social circles with Clemens. They and their parents often visited him in his homes in New York.
In 1906, Clemens had purchased 248 acres in Redding, Connecticut, and with proceeds obtained from publishing portions of his autobiography in the North American Review between September 1906 through December 1907, he began construction of a large two-story country home. He originally intended to call the home “Autobiography House”. The idea later occurred to him to dedicate the home to his surrogate granddaughters. In 1908, Clemens had begun calling his surrogate granddaughters “angel-fish” after the brilliant species of fish he saw on a visit to Bermuda. He nicknamed his group of girls the “Aquarium Club” and presented members with angel-fish pins. At least one such pin survives and is currently owned by the Mark Twain Library in Redding, Connecticut.
In an autobiographical dictation of 12 February 1908, Clemens explained his attachment to his collection of girls: “I suppose we are all collectors. As for me, I collect pets: young girls — girls from ten to sixteen years old; girls who are pretty and sweet and naive and innocent — dear young creatures to whom life is a perfect joy and to whom it has brought no wounds, no bitterness, and few tears.”
On 17 April 1908 he elaborated: “After my wife’s death, June 5, 1904, I experienced a long period of unrest and loneliness. Clara and Jean were busy with their studies and their labors and I was washing about on a forlorn sea of banquets and speechmaking in high and holy causes…I had reached the grandpapa stage of life; and what I lacked and what I needed was grandchildren.”
Isabel Lyon, Clemens’s secretary, often helped chaperone the young women and facilitated their visits. After accompanying Clemens to Bermuda in April 1908, she recorded in her journal: “He has his aquarium of little girls and they are all angel-fish, while he wears a flying fish scarf pin, though he says he is a shad. Off he goes with a flash when he sees a new pair of slim little legs appear and if the little girl wears butterfly bows of ribbon on the back of her head then his delirium is complete.”
In his autobiographical dictation for 17 April 1908, Clemens listed the names of his angel-fish: Dorothy Butes, Frances Nunnally, Dorothy Quick, Margaret Blackmer, Hellen Martin, Jean Spurr, Loraine Allen, Helen Allen, and Dorothy Sturgis.
“All the ten school girls in the above list are my angel-fishes, and constitute my Club, whose name is “The Aquarium”…The Bermudian angel-fish, with its splendid blue decorations, is easily the most beautiful fish that swims…The club’s badge is the angel-fish’s splendors reproduced in enamels and mounted for service as a lapel pin — at least that is where the girls wear it. I get these little pins in Bermuda; they are made in Norway.”
Regarding his plans for the new home he was building in Redding, Connecticut, Clemens dictated: “The billiard room will have the legend ‘The Aquarium’ over its door…I have good photographs of all my fishes, and these will be framed and hung around the walls. There is an angel-fish bedroom — double-bedded — and I will expect to have a fish and her mother in it as often as Providence will permit.”
By the time Clemens moved into the Redding, Connecticut home on June 18, 1908, he had decided to call the house “Innocence at Home” in honor of his young female acquaintances that he wished to host in an unending series of visits. By the summer of 1908, Clemens had drafted a sort of official constitution, rules and regulations for his “Aquarium”. And he added the names of Dorothy Harvey, Louise Paine, and Marjorie Breckenridge to the list. Also added to the list was the name Margaret Illington, a young woman in her late twenties and wife of Dan Frohman who was thirty years older than Illington. Dan Frohman was listed as “Legal Staff” for the group.
In September 1908, Clemens’s daughter Clara returned from a European singing tour. An angel-fish piece of jewelry from Clara’s estate indicates Clemens had also included his own daughter in the list of young women who received this special ornament.
Angel-fish jewelry from the Clara Clemens estate — currently in the Kevin Mac Donnell collection
Angelfish pin given to Dorothy Sturgis signifying membership in Twain’s “Aquarium” Club
However, Clara was evidently not impressed with her father’s “club” for young girls. Shortly after her return home, the name of the Redding home was changed to “Stormfield”. Biographer John Cooley has observed that soon after Clara Clemens returned, the household stopped saving letters received from the “angel-fish.” Clara Clemens objected to her father’s relationship, however innocent, with teenage girls.
The Clemens home in Redding, Connecticut was known as “Innocence at Home” in honor of the angel-fish. It was later renamed “Stormfield”.
SPECIAL TRIBUTES EDITION
BILLY THOMPSON
A Man in His Own Right
Billy, having grown up as an army brat, has lived all over the U.S including our Coronado, where he played in local bands. He started playing music in his late teens and developed his early musical stylings through his San Diego-based bands such as, Johnnie Cook, The Fingers (with Joey Harris), and The Mighty Penguins. The crafting of his blues work was heavily influenced by his touring and time spent with Larry “Arkansas” Davis, who stated, “Bill, you’re writin’ the blues of the future.” Vintage Blues magazine has said of Billy, “He sings with no boundaries and literally picks his a–s off.”
Billy’s major influences include the likes of Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, Jeff Beck, Duane Allman, Buddy Guy, Albert King, BB King, and many more. He has performed live with: Little Milton, Albert King, Art Neville, Earl King, Larry “Arkansas” Davis, Elvin Bishop, Chuck Berry, Sir Harry Bowens, Billy Branch, Leslie Uggams, Ivan Neville, Daryl Johnson, and Gary Puckett. He has opened for: BB King, Buddy Guy, Bobby “Blue” Bland, Boz Skaggs, The Neville Brothers, Dickey Betts, Joe Cocker, Sonny Landreth, Robert Cray, Taj Mahal, John Hammond, Jr., Bobby Womack, Robben Ford, Junior Walker and the Allstars, Lee Roy Parnell, The Dirty Dozen Brass Band, Albert Lee, Joe Louis Walker, War, Jimmie Vaughan and Gallactic – Is that just to name a few?
Theater performances include: 2009-European tour as featured guitarist with Queen Esther Marrow and the Harlem Gospel Singers; 2004 – Guitarist / Songwriter / Musical Supervisor for the Keith Glover play entitled, “The Rose of Corazon”; 2002 – Lead guitarist for Tony Award winning playwright Keith Glover’s critically acclaimed, “Bluesical”; “Thunder Knocking On The Door” featuring original music by Keb Mo and Anderson Edwards; 2001 – Lead guitarist for the Broadway musical, “It Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues” directed by Randal Mylar (Love Janis) and musical direction: Dan Wheatman. Discography — Original Albums: Coat of many Colors – The Mighty Penguins 1994; Tangerine Sky – Billy Thompson 1998; Area 51 – Billy Thompson 2005; Remixed and Remastered- Billy Thompson – 2009; & A Better Man – Billy Thompson- Papa Lee Records 2011.
The fifth CD “A Better Man” was produced by Grammy Award winning producer Tony Braunagel. Braunagel, currently drummer forThe Robert Cray Band, enlisted a strong lineup of former band mates and friends to play on the CD. Braunagel, who played drums on the project, describes Billy as “a funky mofo with a soulful vocal style and songs that draw you in.”
Musicians on the CD include some of the industry’s most experienced including members of Little Feat, Taj Mahal, Bonnie Raitt, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Joe Cocker, and the Phantom Blues Band. In addition to Thompson on guitar and vocals and Braunagel on drums, Johnny Lee Schell adds guitar and sings background vocals and is joined by bassists Hutch Hutchinson and Kenny Gradney, keyboard player Mike Finnigan, percussionist Lenny Castro, trumpeter Darrell Leonard, and saxophonist Joe Sublett from the Texicali Horns. The lineup is rounded out by San Diego standout Michael Leroy Peed on piano and clavinet as well as background vocalist Niki Morrissette.
“A Better Man” official release date was 1/ 11/ 2011and is receiving airplay nationally and in Europe. Currently, available on www.CDBaby.com and for digital download at www.billythompsonmusic.com.
Billy Thompson — A Better Man
“Pardon the cliché, but Billy Thompson is a force of nature. Funky gospel infused Memphis-style soul oozes from his very being. His husky soulful voice wrapped up in a blues-hipster delivery is hard to resist, especially when it’s propped up by a grooving band of A-list musicians such as Mike Finnigan, Kenny Gradney, Hutch Hutchinson, Johnny Lee Schell, Lenny Castro, The Texacali Horns and producer-drummer Tony Braunagel. The blues part of the equation is delivered by Billy’s slithering electric slide work, that at times is so locked in with his voice that it’s coming from one place. Finnigan’s organ provides a groove-filled cushion for Billy’s workouts to float atop. The percussion one-two punch of Braunagel and Castro beef-up the attack. The music possesses such freshness that it comes off as always being there. Nothing sounds forced. Billy’s slide moves the tunes along effortlessly.
I’m hard pressed to pick a favorite here, as brilliant touches abound at every turn. The lyrics in this batch of originals are of the reflective, positive and spiritual type. After a listen, you feel as if you’ve been to a funky-soul church. The revival feel of the opener “Are You Ready” is a gospel-drenched affair, which quickly displays the power of the snaky slide work. It sounds churchy, but it’s a profession of love to a woman. This song slips right into the cool-groove jazzy-boogie shuffle of “A Better Man” that benefits from Finnigan’s jazzy organ. Thompson also shows he is no slouch at playing regular guitar on this tune and others. A herky-jerky rhythm brew of slide and percussion make “Noreen” fit like a glove. “Just like a ballgame and a hotdog” is one of the many analogies used to describe the muse of “Met My Match”, which puts the punchy Texacali Horns to good use. The slide-master once again comes to the rescue as it skips along in the brisk “Downside Up”. The band is just as adept at a more relaxed pace, as witnessed on the R&B-gospel inflected love song “Born Again” and the soulful “Oneness”. A harsher tone is applied to his slide playing on the ominous “Bleed” which speaks to the world’s dire state. The haunting background vocal of Niki Morrissette completes the atmosphere. The device of playing what he sings is used here, owing a debt to the old school country-blues masters. “As If” has the feel of a cool day chillin’ in the park. “Up In The Morning” the only real blues song wraps things up with acoustic slide and harmonica propelling this easy country blues.
Music as uplifting, life reassuring and seamless as this is a gift that deserves to be enjoyed by the masses. It sounds as fresh at each additional listening as it does the first time around. Musical or lyrical gems continue to jump out at you. If this music experience doesn’t move your feet and soul, seek help NOW!” Reviewer Greg “Bluesdog” Szalony hails from the New Jersey Delta. He is the proprietor of Bluesdog’s Doghouse at http://bluesdog61.multiply.com.
“Billy Thompson’s music bristles with the infectious, syncopated sounds of New Orleans, the electricity of great rock ‘n’ roll, the punchy verve of Memphis soul and the heartfelt power of blues, funk and jazz.”
–George Varga, music critic San Diego Union-Tribune
Billy moved from the Wind ‘n’ Sea area of La Jolla to Berkeley Springs, West Virginia, 1.5 hours out of D.C., and says, “So, I’m in WV…haha…I never would’ve thought that I’d move here in a million years, but I’m quite happy, actually!”
“For someone so seemingly headed to hell in a hand cart, I was lucky enough to pull things together! Case in point…and I don’t know how I rated this gift, but my son, Michael, now 24, and a Washington and Lee University graduate, was President of La Jolla High School (2004) as well as President of all San Diego City Schools. www.wlu.edu/x27151.xml
In a large part, thanks to his mother, Rebecca, her family and a handful of other friends, I found many a positive influence, and though seemingly taking much of the credit for Michael’s success, such is not the case! I’m just saying, I am thankful for how things have turned out! I consider myself lucky to have played a part in making a positive contribution to this, ever changing, wild and crazy, world!
I was quite the opposite at his age, as many would remember! — deepest apologies to all I may have offended in my dysfunctional youth, sincerely! I was quite the opposite at his age, as many would remember! — deepest apologies to all I may have offended in my dysfunctional youth, sincerely!
Though, fairly recently divorced, the woman I’m with now is a college professor and co-wrote five of the songs on the new album, A Better Man.
Growth and change came knockin’ on my door, but once again! Life is good.
Best wishes to all.” –BT–
Billy will be back in San Diego performing at Humphrey’s BackStage on August 18, 2011 and very possibly opening for his friend Keb Mo at Humphrey’s Open Air Concerts on August 11. Do yourselves a favor and check our Coronado musician friend out. Guaranteed enjoyment!
Check out more of Billy Thompson on Facebook or at: http://www.reverbnation.com/billythompson
THE CORONADO CACTUS CAPER
Excerpt from I REMEMBER
By A. R. Graham
There is a little known story about Anne and Andy Morrison administering dinosaur-size doses of peyote to an entire community in 1969. Andy Morrison and a few ne’er-do-well, ex-prep school, dirty, scruffy, hippie-types decided that they would go on a road trip otherwise known as, “The Search for the Holy Peyote”.
Equipped with a crude treasure map given to them by an equally mad hippie, they drove/sailed off to a remote part of the southwestern desert in search of the medicinal compound.
The posse drove all the way through Texas. After two days of searching in the relentless sun, the half-deranged “Donner Party” finally stumbled into a remote region of fields infested with the wild cacti – big, fat, ugly, dirty, strychnine-filled tubers. The motley crew crammed themselves and as much of their pay dirt as they could back into the “Holy Peyote Mobile”. They sped back to Coronado, California to unload their coveted treasure so they, in turn, could get loaded.
Andy and the pirates returned a week later with two sea bags crammed full of those foul-smelling psyche-delicacies cactus. We weren’t sure who smelled worse the mescaline buttons or the posse.
Andy laid out the booty on his sister’s back lawn to dry in the sun.
The word soon got out in the community about how the most powerful cactus in the world had hit town. Everybody came by the house to take a look.
One of the more impatient members of these peyote pirates could not wait for the organic acid to dry. He took a huge bite of the gruesome, unripe, bitter-tasting button, swallowed it, and promptly threw up. The rough and tough buccaneers followed suit, but had a hard time swallowing the impossible-to-eat hallucinogenic cacti.
Anne came to the rescue. She made chocolate peyote shakes, which did little to improve the taste and smell. The frothy concoctions tasted like embalming fluid and Ajax combined.
Andy urged everyone to hold their noses and just chug it down. We all tried it at the same time. Much gagging, vomiting, and gasping took place in the next half hour. It was the most foul-tasting concoction on earth and next to impossible to ingest. This did not deter Andy and his gang. Eventually, the pirates managed to get enough poison into their systems that they ignited into Fourth of July fireworks. It was a sight to behold.
Soon the word got out that the Grahams were celebrating their own Independence Day. What seemed like the entire youth in the town of Coronado came by to try Anne’s medicinal compound, which was most efficacious in every case.
The cacti-fest raged on continually for a week. You could walk around our little hamlet at any time in the day or night and find our local hippie population staring at each other or at inanimate objects as if they were studying some great piece of art or sculpture. Some went on trips and never returned. Unfortunately, the Donner Party was too high to go searching for these celestial souls.
Anne claims to this day that she never sampled any of her own potions, but I know she did because of the perpetual smile plastered on her face for four days.
Jim Morrison was not the only one in the family who consumed large amounts of mind-altering substances.
To purchase your print edition, go to IRememberJimMorrison.com, or visit Amazon.com
NAVY SEAL DOGS
Submitted by Kathy Campbell
When U.S. President Barack Obama went to Fort Campbell, Kentucky recently for a highly publicized, but very private meeting with the commando team that killed Osama bin Laden, only one of the 81 members of the super-secret SEAL DevGru unit was identified by name: Cairo, the war dog.
Cairo, like most canine members of the elite U.S. Navy SEALS, is a Belgian Malinois. The Malinois breed is similar to German Shepherds but smaller and more compact with an adult male weighing in the 30-kilo range. German Shepherds are still used as war dogs by the American military, but the lighter, stubbier Malinois is considered better for the tandem parachute jumping and rappelling operations often undertaken by SEAL teams. Labrador Retrievers are also favored by various military organizations around the world.
Like their human counterparts, the dog SEALs are highly trained, highly skilled, highly motivated special ops experts, able to perform extraordinary military missions by SEa, Air, and Land (thus the acronym). The dogs carry out a wide range of specialized duties for the military teams to which they are attached: With a sense of smell 40 times greater than a human’s, the dogs are trained to detect and identify both explosive material and hostile or hiding humans. The dogs are twice as fast as a fit human, so anyone trying to escape is not likely to outrun Cairo or his buddies.
Equipped with video cameras, the dogs also enter certain danger zones first allowing their handlers to see what’s ahead before humans follow. As mentioned before, SEAL dogs are even trained parachutists, jumping either in tandem with their handlers or solo, if the jump is into water. Last year canine parachute instructor, Mike Forsythe, and his dog, Cara, set the world record for highest man-dog parachute deployment, jumping from more than 30,100 feet up — the altitude transoceanic passenger jets fly. Both Forsythe and Cara were wearing oxygen masks and skin protectors for the jump.
The dogs are faithful, fearless and ferocious, incredibly frightening, and efficient attackers as well. It has been reported repeatedly that the teeth of SEAL war dogs are replaced with titanium implants that are stronger, sharper, and “scare-your-pants-off” intimidating, but a U.S. Military spokesman has denied that charge.
When the SEAL DevGru team (usually known by its old designation, Team 6) hit bin Laden’s Pakistan compound on May 2, Cairo ‘s feet would have been four of the first on the ground. And like the human SEALs, Cairo was wearing super-strong, flexible body armor and outfitted with high-tech equipment that included “doggles” — specially designed and fitted dog goggles with night-vision and infrared capability that would even allow Cairo to see human heat forms through concrete walls.
Now where on earth would anyone get that kind of incredible niche of high-tech doggie gear? From Winnipeg of all places: Jim and Glori Slater’s Manitoba high-tech, mom-and-pop business, K9 Storm Inc., which has a deserved, worldwide reputation for designing and manufacturing probably the best body armor available for police and military dogs. Working dogs in 15 countries around the world are currently protected by their K9 Storm body armor.
Jim Slater was a canine handler on the Winnipeg Police Force when he crafted a Kevlar protective jacket for his own dog, Olaf, in the mid-1990s. Soon, Slater was making body armor for other cop dogs, then the Canadian military, and soon the world. The standard K9 Storm vest also has a load-bearing harness system that makes it ideal for tandem rappelling and parachuting.
And then there are the special high-tech add-ons that made the K9 Storm especially appealing to the U.S. Navy SEALs, who bought four of K9 Storm Inc.’s top-end Intruder canine tactical assault suits last year for $86,000. You can be sure Cairo was wearing one of those four suits when he jumped into bin Laden’s lair.
Just as the Navy SEALS and other elite special forces are the sharp point of the American military machine, so too are their dogs at the top of a canine military hierarchy. In all, the U.S. military currently has about 2,800 active-duty dogs deployed around the world with roughly 600 now in Iraq and Afghanistan.
At the end of the Vietnam War, the U.S. combat dogs were designated as surplus military equipment and left behind when American forces pulled out. The U.S. now treats its war dogs as full members of the military. Thank goodness for these unsung military heroes. We salute you Cairo and your canine buddies!
CORONADO HOME HARVEST
“Sharing What We Have”
Coronado Homegrown Fruit, Vegetable, and Flower Exchange
Bring your garden’s bounty and take home a wonderful assortment from Coronado’s finest gardens. No garden? Team up with a friend or neighbor. See a tree in town laden with fragrant unpicked fruit, ask if you can harvest the crop, and bring the owner a bag of fresh vegetables in return. If you have no access or no harvest, be creative and bring a homemade item. Just prepackage it and if it is food, include ingredients for those with allergies. Sorting volunteers welcome. Open to all. Free membership.
In the old days, it was a cup of sugar you’d borrow from your neighbor. Now it’s homegrown citrus, celery, and sweet potatoes — freshly picked and bursting with natural flavor. You can join at: CoronadoHomeHarvest.com.
The CHH meets monthly at the Coronado Public Library and is a produce exchange that began last year as an idea between three friends and longtime Coronado residents: Wendy McGuire, Marla English, and Sharon Sherman. Open to the public, it’s a place where you can bring your extra produce and swap it out for a variety of locally grown fruits, vegetables, herbs, and flowers.
“Everybody comes, not with a specific vision, but just to gather together and trade information,” Sherman said. “People are asking each other questions. People want to get their hands back in the dirt. They want to learn how to cook again.”
The rules are simple: Bring whatever you can spare from your garden or kitchen and leave with a bag full of fresh goodies. Prospective attendees are asked to send an e-mail to CHH at: info@CoronadoHomeHarvest.org to get a sense of what things will already be there and an idea for what you can contribute.
The drop-off time for the exchange is between 9 to 10 a.m., and a tag is given to anyone who brings a homegrown offering. It takes a couple of hours to sort and divvy up the loot. So plan on grabbing a cup o’ joe or window shop along Orange Avenue until 11 a.m. when you can swing back by and grab a bag that’s chock full of produce.
“You get something from everybody,” said veteran gardener Barbara Murphy. “One woman went to India and she brought back nutmeg — it doesn’t grow here. And so we had a little container of fresh nutmeg.” That woman was McGuire, who is also the owner of Ganosh Gourmet, a local food delivery service, and a self-proclaimed “enthusiastic novice gardener.”
Every exchange includes a guest speaker and presentation at 11 a.m. in the Winn Room at the library. Previous presentations have included talks about edible landscaping, vermin-composting, and how to achieve a tasty diet that’s free from corn syrup.
“A lot of people learn things and change their eating habits,” McGuire said. “The programs kind of suggest themselves. I don’t think we’re going to run out of ideas any time soon.”
So if you’re interested in taking that next step toward sustainability (and who isn’t nowadays?), stop by this month’s harvest exchange and meet some like-minded people. At the very least, you’ll get some ideas on how to cook all the fresh produce you just received.
“Our vision was for people to get together, and that’s worked out perfectly,” English said. “Sometimes it’s great, sometimes it’s a little light, but it’s whatever it is. People just getting together and starting a conversation about all this stuff is worth it.”
If you would like to participate, see the participation guidelines at: www.CoronadoHomeHarvest.com
Next Dates:
October 29: Sue Steven on Herbs. Sue is one of our own members who became interested in herbs and took off with the topic and ran. She will have lots to tell us, lots to teach us, and lots to share.
November 19: Wendy Maguire Cooks Again! Our co-founder will share recipes & samples of great fall dishes from the garden
December 17: A new tradition, our Coronado Home Harvest Holiday Exchange: Jams & Jellies, Baked Goods, Needlecrafts, Candy, & Art
Visit the following sites for some fun Coronado Home Harvest happenings:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c_SmOD1v0ws&feature=share
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTz3TmlSxTo&feature=share
YKYGUICWhen…YOU KNOW YOU GREW UP IN CORONADO WHEN
Excerpts from the Facebook blog exclusively for those of us who grew up in Coronado:
YKYGUICWhen…
Does anybody remember the reverend (I think it was Reverend Brown) of the Episcopal Church, when he dyed his hair blonde and bought a corvette? This was probably back in the 50s? He was the talk of the town. That was my church growing up — still a beautiful church. – Maureen Rutherford Nieland
That’s a hoot! We could have used him over at Graham Memorial. Carson was like a raven. – Suzi Lewis
Oh, I remember him driving that car around town, LOL! – Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
Remember when the Carnival used to come to North Island before it was down in the Navy Projects area? — Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
Yes! I was there with my family. I was about four or five, and a sailor had just won a baby chick. He handed it to me and disappeared. We took it home and put it in one of my sister’s bird cages. Soon after that, we realized it wasn’t a chick at all but a duckling. We called it Donald and eventually released it at the golf course. – Suzi Lewis
Wasn’t there some sort of hobby shop in the early 70s around 10th & A? – Donald Kirk
Was the Beachcomber as well. Then a real estate place, and then my favorite place of employment Special Models Hobby Shop. – Scott Honour
Is there anyone old enough in this group to remember “Edwards Coffee Shop” right next to the Village Theatre. 50-cent “Teen Specials” (hamburger, fries, and a coke.) Then when you were done, you would write your boyfriend’s name (or the boy you WISH was yours) in ketchup out of a squeeze container??!! – Maureen Rutherford Nieland
I don’t think I ever knew there was a restaurant next to the Village. Interesting. – Candee Courtney
YKYGUICWhen…You ate penny candy from the Avenue “Dime Store”, you chased the ice cream truck down the streets on roller skates, the tennis lessons with Alex Gordon, ballet and tap at Norma Quigley’s dance studio, shopping for 45s at Perkin’s Bookworm, walking into the Bayberry Tree just to smell the candles, getting my first training bra at the Coronado Department Store, stealing lip gloss from Coramart, skateboarding down 7th Street hill with no protection, Brownie troop meetings at the Methodist Church, piano lessons with Mrs. Sales at Graham Memorial, playing pool at Orange Julius, and best of all, riding my bike with no hands because it was cool… — Lynne Harpst Koen
AND…Getting arrested by “Jar Heads” in a jeep for surfing Outlet (before leashes!) & before the fence was taken down, then being taken to NASNI Security Office, dripping wet in a sandy wetsuit with my surfboard! The Security Officer of the Day, yelled at the 2 MPs for getting his office all wet and sandy! I still had to do 20 hours of Community Service. – Doug Blackington
I remember. Weren’t we on our way to paddle to the point? The officer was so pissed at the MPs and made them drive us back to the North Island gate and drop us off. We were laughing at the jarheads the whole way! – James Montalbano
Ha! I, too, was one of those who was “arrested” by the jarheads at outlet. Wasn’t wearing a leash that day and lost my board. They were waiting for me on the beach. When I got in, I managed to get my board and started running for the fence. – John McLeod
Lol, almost a 3 Stooges episode. — Carrie Woodruff
I’m sure the Marines were doing as ordered. Odds are too was the OD was a squid who didn’t understand that concept. — Steven Linde.
One guy was right on my heels. I used it as a club and swung around and decked him, at which point I was gang tackled by the rest of them. Everyone out in the water and on the other side of the fence were yelling and hooting. Mom knew the Commanding Officer of the base. So down at the “station”, after a few phone calls, I was released to the “custody” of my mom. Ha. Never had to do community service.
Skinny dipped at sunset at the same place in ’72 and was NOT arrested. Gee, I wonder why the MP’s didn’t leave their jeep with the binoculars. – Suzi Lewis
How many of you were small enough to go look for caves in the rocks between G St. and North Beach? I remember one that went pretty far, and had the nickname of being “Tom Sawyer’s Cave!” – Doug Blackington
I do! I do!! – Michelle Martin
Spent many an hour caving! – Markley Gordon
I loved going in those caves! – Leslie Hubbard Crawford
Were we in those caves together Leslie? Thought I’d start a rumor. – Markley Gordon
I loved those caves too–Diane Dempster and I spent a lot of time exploring. – Liz Shropshire
I was way too scared to go in. I was warned about rats. – Suzi Lewis
Me an Mike Erickson explored a few. They all smelled like urine. – Scott Honour
We caught some kids in there once… they were smoking CAT NIP! Ha Ha Ha – Brant Althaus
We used to find all kinds of stuff in there–we imagined people living in them. — Liz Shropshire
Doug, I think we explored a few at the same time! – Jim Williams
Does anyone remember the caves/tunnels down at the bay on the bridge side? After the housing was torn down we used to go down there and there were some really long tunnels down by the water. – Coronado Past
I SO remember the August swells! That was awesome, and me being so short I KNOW they were bigger for me than anybody else! LOL Did anybody play tag with the S-3 shadows like we did! Or run out to the waves and then come out of the water and fall on the hot sand and gather as much of it as you could just to get warm again? I can’t believe our parents would just say “go to the beach and have fun” by ourselves! – Katherine Olson
I was just thinking of August swells & body surfing! – Marguerite Ballantine
Richie was talking about the 6-man rafts Dean used to bring to the beach and we’d all ride it until we almost drowned! Fun and crazy only when you were young!!! – Wendy Pullin
YKYGUICWhen…One of your best pals was DC! – Judy Ann Lear
Stinky Coronado Cays!! – Denise Adams Shirley
Ha ha you’re right. I forgot that the Cays were once a dump. – James Wilson
And when the Cays were first built and people were moving in everyone out there had a major rat problem. Imagine. — Cindy MacKenzie Nobles-Barstow
They burned rubber tires at that dump. I remember the dump and its smell really well. – Suzi Lewis
It was also a pig farm, before it was a dump. – Gary Cavner
It was understood that you had to attend summer school. – Elizabeth Betsy Johnson Richie
I just told my kids yesterday that back when I was small, summer school was all about having something fun to do during the summer. I remember taking a sewing class, where I met Pam Murphy for the first time and a cooking class the next summer. – Wendy Pullin
Mrs. Shaler’s guitar class — the Monster Mash was always a hit! – Sarah Daw
My 1st summer school in Coronado, they called roll & the teacher said “Peachy Putnam,” and Timmy Hacker yelled out at the top of his lungs … “Peaaaaaaaachy Putnam” what kind of name is dat!” I sunk LOWwww in my seat. We were best of friends for years to come … “The Palace” – Marguerite Ballantine
When you live in a town where there are 2 Peachy’s! — Marguerite Ballantine
I always had to go to Summer school. To my Mother’s dismay that allowed me to go half day junior & senior year. Ha Ha – Lisa D. Krause
Me2 .. summer school was our babysitter. Whether we wanted or needed to go — we were going! — Marguerite Ballantine
Summer school classes WERE amazingly fun. Sewing, knitting, crocheting, needle point, cooking, typing, music, art, crafts, etc. Skills that have been very useful throughout my life. There’s something to be said about acquiring those types of skills at a very young age like riding a bike. — Elizabeth Betsy Johnson Richie
I took art in summer school — think it was Mr. Leflang? Everyone wanted to go to summer school. – Debbie Delaney
Guitar class, song called Tom Duley. – Nancy Trepagnier
Yep, guitar class & Tom Duley with Mrs. Satterlee, I think. Summer school saved my butt. I had just enough credits to graduate thanks to summer school. Literally by one point…But I did it! and learned Tom Duley to boot. – Coronado America Hauntings
Summer school in Nado was the bomb. Had to go after 6:30 swim team practice! Drama, oceanography, cooking class. There was no other school system that provided such a fun reason to go to school during the summer vacation. Then we got PROP 13 and it all ended! – Katherine Olson
Mr. Leflang, he was a cool teacher. – Maureen Rutherford Nieland
Summer School so you could graduate from High School in 3 years! — Karri Johnson Mealy
Summer school was the only way I could graduate. Also coming to Coronado my sophomore year got me out of having to take biolagy to graduate… did i miss spell all of that… Haha I probably should not have gradustaed. Haha – Becky Russell
I had to take Biology and they tried to get me to dissect a frog, no way Jose! Not fun! – Jeannette English-Jeffery
Summer school was so fun–especially Guitar Class–I still have my guitar books and use some of the songs there to teach guitar to the kids in my program in Kosovo, Uganda, and N. Ireland! – Liz Shropshire
My brother took a class every summer where they shot up rockets at the end of the summer. — Liz Shropshire
Learned to ride a 6-foot unicycle in summer school. Rode it in the 4th of July parade dressed as Uncle Sam. – Markley Gordon
YKNGUICWhen…You know about Pete Thomas (RIP) and he taught you how to play ball at the gym on Saturday mornings – John Mcclimon
Men’s volleyball at CHS was a club, not yet a legitimate sport. – James Montalbano
I always wanted to play and you guys wouldn’t let me!!…I had to play football instead…lol – Marnelle Tokio
You played Coronado Pop Warner football. – Tim Hinsvark
Getting Marty Jensen for PE and riding our bikes all over town for class! – Marla D. English
You had to peel oranges for Mr. Collum in math class and he gave you one slice for peeling it. – Kristopher J. Nicolls
In 6th grade, Mr. Viggers was out for half the year, and our sub was Mrs. Lewis, and we didn’t even get report cards due to someone took all our records for the 2nd half of the year, and we made it to 7th grade anyway. – Bobby Chapman
You remember the great “Mr T” RIP – Tim Hinsvark
Old band uniforms from the 60s. Bob Demmon replaced them starting in 69? – Dean Atkinson
When PE was going to the beach, jogging, and surfing for two periods, and riding our bikes around the island.Wearing our shorts, flip flops, and bikini tops to school as our normal dress code!!! Wow what a great time it was… – Sherry Theresa Hennessey
This is the best Coach Green photo. We used to see each other at garage sales in Coronado. He was kinda bored with retirement and brought old kitchen knives and turned them into letter openers. I still have the one he gave me — one of my favorite teachers. Always gave me extra crap to keep me in line. His daughter Gay was a wonderful soul. – Dean Atkinson
When the whole town showed up at your 1970 all star game, and the ball went between your legs all the way to the fence, and you were so flustered you returned the ball over the backstop, and the only guy clapping for you was Marky? – Timothy Bainbridge Coon
Y’all know Marky passed away a few weeks ago… — Steven Linde
I remember when we use to have to do “Bomb Drills” & duck under our desks in a building that should have been condemned years ago. Before microwaves, we had hot potatoes in tin foil being sold at the football games at Cutler Field. The women baked them at home and brought them in boxes. YUMMY!! I lived at 711 5th street across from Cutler Field. (The house is no longer there.) I use to crawl under the fence to get in and mess around in Cutler Field when it was locked up. Fun times!! – Maureen RutherfordNieland
My brothers & I grew up across from the Golf Course, & it was definitely our playground at night. Many a time we were shot at with bee bee guns by the golf course security as the sand traps were exactly that for us, “playgrounds”, where we would play make-believe Combat episodes among other games. The Dill kids were always up to something fun & always getting in trouble — the good kind. – Kimberley Graham (Dill)
You kept a count of how many orange floppy road dividers you could kick up by running over them on the bridge! – Julia Frampton Simms
And climbed the bridge just because it was there. – Timothy Bainbridge Coon
Aligning your car’s wheels onto the railroad tracks at the N.A.S. First St. gate so you could ride the rails all the way through town and down the Strand without having to steer seemed like a good idea. – Robert Pickford
You were sent out of Pat Bennett’s room to “warm the marble bench.” – Linda Kullmann
Rolling empty beer bottles down the aisle at the Village Theater during surf movies. – James Montalbano
Did someone throw a knife at the screen once during a surf movie and rip it or was that an urban legend? – Paul Fournier
Back in the 60’s it was tootsie roll pops…people would throw them and see which one would “stick.” – Denise Adams Shirley
It was the golf ball that ripped the screen after it had knocked my daughter MaryHelen unconscious! She was taken by ambulance to the Coronado Hospital. I am sure she remembers who threw it! – Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
YKYGUICWhen…Ghost Riding our bikes down Pomona Park Hill to see who could (miss) the cars. Chatting with Dick Van Dyke at the Night and Day Café. BB Gun wars in the sand pits on the golf course. Fishing off the small pier between the Yacht Club and the Chart House in the 60s and early 70s. Retrieving golf balls for John Ruedi so he could sell them in the Clubhouse. Working at Martin’s Furniture Store and Village Hardware for Dick Evans. Top of FormGetting mussels off the docks for Marco (Marco’s Pizza) for some awesome meal he was prepping for. – Eddie Wolfgang Zeller
Marco’s pizza was a family favorite of ours. Even as a little kid, I loved Marco’s antipasti salad — still crave it today. – Alicia Knight
No one mentioned the Game Room behind Wendy’s. – Eddie Wolfgang Zeller
I totally forgot about that game room!! Centipede and Asteroids for sure! – Melissa Wilson
Dorrie Lammers delivered amber-glassed Dairy Mart Milk right into your refrigerator, calling out, “Milkman!” Sue and Paul Shaler were the coolest folks on the block with their Joan Baez and Bob Dylan records and a Picasso print over the living room couch. Gran Shultz had a Montessori nursery school in her garage. Mommy took you and your sisters on the ferry to Marsten’s Department Store on Horton Plaza, where a uniformed man ran the elevator and you watched beautiful models swirl around the lunch room in the most gorgeous clothes, as you ate peppermint ice cream. – Suzi Lewis
Was he before or after Mr. Wakefield delivering Dairy Mart Milk? Loved him and his family on Flora Avenue. – Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
He was before Mr. Wakefield. – Suzi Lewis
The milkman always entered through the back door, and he went straight to the refrigerator and put the dairy products in it. We never gave a thought to him coming right on in. – Candee Courtney
You could also just leave him a note to leave extra things like eggs or extra milk. — Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
I miss those days VERY MUCH!!! – Maureen Rutherford Nieland
Does anyone remember when Safeway was where the Chase Bank now sits, and Gunnar the Swedish butcher would give boiled sweets to the kids. – Suzi Lewis
Do you mean where Union Bank now sits? Free Bros. Market was where Chase now sits on 10th. — Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
My recollection was that Safeway was there before Free Bros. I’m talking about the late 50’s-early 60’s? One of my earliest recollections is of falling out of the cart at age two and ending up with stitches in my head. That was 1957. I remember at age four swiping the Niccos by the cash register and having to go back inside so my mom could pay for them. – Suzi Lewis
When I was first married I shopped at Safeway and it was right next to the Village Theater where Union Bank is now. — Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
Suzi is right in that before it was Free Bros. on 10th and Orange, it was a Safeway. Later
Safeway moved to 8th and Orange, then to its current location at 867 Orange. I think Coronado Past had a pic of the building sporting the Safeway name! – Marla D. English
Mom used to have us all sit in the car while she went to “pick up just a few items” from Safeway. An hour and a half later, she would come out with a whole bunch of baggers pushing 10 carts to the car. Maybe a little exaggerated but not by much. – Markley Gordon
I remember taking a permission note to buy my mother’s cigarettes. I think I was 6 or 7 years old. – Michelle Ferrell Glasman
You could get 10 cent hot dogs from Free Brothers Market and watch dolphins chase the ferries across the bay! – Tommy Harris
25 cents got your into the movies, a popcorn and drink. Hershey’s kisses were 2 for a penny at The Avenue also known as The Dime Store. – Jaquie Hoopengardner
S&M Sandwich Shop – I just got a kick every time I answered the phone while working there – S&M, can I help you?! – Mary Price Boyd
Captain Jack’s? – Susie Griffith-Smith
And then, of course, the Day & Night Market – Do you remember when they all delivered? – Kimberley Graham (Dill)
You knew your entire town like the back of your hand by age six. Your daddy took you body surfing at Central Beach at age three. You could walk into any house on your block and be welcomed as part of the family by age four. Your doctor made house calls AND played Santa Claus at the Rotary Christmas parties. You could get as drunk or stoned as you wanted and stay out into the wee hours, knowing you would be safe. The Ghetto wasn’t one, just a great place to party. As an adult, you are considered the cool parents because we understand what teens get up to and make your home a safe and nonjudgmental place for your kids’ friends. – Suzi Lewis
Well said. – Brian Kirk
Fantastic post. Suzi, are you a CHS graduate? – Lynda Terry
Yes, I was born at Coronado Hospital in 1955; went to CES, the junior high and the high school, graduating a semester early from the 1973 class. My dad is Jack Lewis of Jack Lewis Realty, now retired and 91 years old. He still lives in the home he built the year I was born. – Suzi Lewis
Yes, the Ghetto was a great place to party, what a memory you have. – Joanne Bodnar
I had a boyfriend living there…I think. – Suzi Lewis
You know you grew up in Coronado when…You went to court in Coronado for dog off leash. – Laura Linde Porter
How about cougar off leash? Remember the Coronado Cougar tied up to parking meters outside Baskin Robbins or being dragged down the beach (at what is now Dog Beach) for a swim or how about the rally to “Save the Coronado Cougar” & bumper stickers, etc. – Kimberley Graham (Dill)
YKYGUICWhen…If you grew up skating at the Corriere’s Roller Rink on the 100 block of “C” Avenue! – Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
Anyone remember the yummy burger with pimiento cheese at the Coronado Pharmacy lunch counter or the greasy fries from Circus Drive-In or the scrumptious pizza from the Manhattan Room – now, I’m a-really gettin’ hungry – especially when I remember going in the back door of Anderson’s bakery in the middle of the night with my girlfriends and gobbling down fresh doughnuts dripping with hot greasy glaze straight out of the fryer! Now, that’s some cookin’ – Kimberley Graham (Dill)
You took hula lessons from Mrs. Ward, who also was our crossing guard at 6th and Alameda. Turns out she was from a very prominent Hawaiian family. – Wendy Sanger McGuire
Who remembers the racquetball court behind Coramart? They only had one! – Nancy Cox Castro
Generations partying, dancing, and eating at The Mexican Village. I remember going dancing with my parents there. And back to food, there was nothing like the Mexican Village house romaine salad or the Village burrito. – Kimberley (Graham) Dill
And how about when President Nixon came to town and you rode your bike down to Orange to see the first traffic light in town. You remember Tent City Cafe and that big-ass submarine game in the Del arcade – David Sanger
You went to the Rosarito Beach Hotel and practically everyone was from Coronado! – Susan Gill
Char Burger! & Officer Stolpe! You would drive down the alley to see how many of the 5 cop cars were out…to figure your odds for the night! Hung out at Avenue Liquor picking on the swabs….and then became one. – Jeffrey Donn Hansen Sr.
Anyone remember Father Hubble? We would go Christmas caroling, and he would give me and my sisters a 6 pack of beer! I think I was about 11! Lol – Susie Griffith-Smith
I remember fishing out on the base to catch barracuda and lobsters and crabs! – David Farmer
The ducks on Pendleton Road were my Uncle Al Frosio’s ducks! – Sandy Chapman Divine
Tae Kwon Do in the park and at the Armory with master David Chaanine – James Montalbano
Many great years with Master Chaanine, still visit him in C.V. every so often. – Eddie Wolfgang Zeller
YNYGUICWhen…Coronado Surfer Girls never die –They just go to the Green Room! (Green Room is another term for the “tube”) – Lynne Harpst Koen
Do you remember the gentlemen in the Active 20/30 Club? I am thinking the big guy is Pete Rohrbough? I went to school with his sister Caroline. I think I recognize Ron Vernetti. They were all active in the 20/30 Club in those years! – Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
I think that is Steve Wakefield with the glasses and mustache in the middle. – Buzz Adams
Is the 20/30 Club still active? Wonder about that bike. Growing up in Coronado, I remember seeing the bike in the annual parade.” – Doug Ewen
YKYGUICWhen…Your dad thought it would be a good photo op to have you wave goodbye to the very last Coronado ferry. He was right. – Tim Hinsvark
Our Generation! I think we really lucked out and had a particularly rare time due to the Navy which I think was really a key factor in all of this. It kept the prices down and the economy pumping. We didn’t have the bridge (and when we did – it still wasn’t the disaster it is now) or anything on the Strand except for Navy housing. It was an unusual time in the world and we, as a result, had unusually wonderful childhoods. For all of you who didn’t – I’m sorry – but since it was in Coronado – somehow it was just better by being here. – Mary Lou Staight
I remember all the friends whose parents were transferred to the island became best friends with all of us just in time to get transferred off the island and never be seen again. That was the hardest part of living in Coronado — always losing your best friends to the Navy. – Coronado America Hauntings
PRINT CANDY DESIGN
By Rachel Battleson
Creating things has always been what makes me happy. In childhood it was my way to escape boredom; in adulthood it’s my way to escape monotony. I believe that something handmade or custom designed just holds an extra special bit of attention from its receiver. It adds the personal touch that reflects meaning and investment from its giver.
As kids, my sister and I drew incessantly. We didn’t play purchased board games or puzzles in the car; we drew our own. I had my first exercise in page layout at my Grandmother’s when I used to find notebook paper and Sears catalog pictures to construct “newspapers” illustration and all. Our family knew the go-to gift for me was an art set. Doodling is what I remember more from grade school than any science lab or book report. I was always the strongest student in my art classes; the art teacher was the only one who could hold my attention.
In college, I tried several majors — Psychology, Sociology, Communications, etc. By my junior year, when all my classmates were honing in and focusing on their chosen majors, I was still on the fence. I was creating plenty of art, though, in my involvement in sorority life. I hand painted anything and everything I could find that I felt would be better suited with my letters and mascot on it. I had never thought seriously enough about a career in my hobby, however, to consider IT to be a major option until I decided to think hard about one day graduating. I didn’t invest too much in the idea that one’s major was necessarily their career path, so I just thought to myself: What makes me happy? What would I ENJOY doing for the next two years in order to get out of here?
My first classes were simple consisting of classes such as basic 2D design and painting. My friends and I joked that I was taking the easy way out. THEN second semester came. It was quickly apparent that the School of Art was the most work-intensive department in school! My “easy” two years would quickly expand to 3 ½ years. Class didn’t end at the end of the period; the art building was open 24/7 and was never empty. I found I LOVED it and genuinely cared so much about all of my assignments. I didn’t feel as though I was doing work because I was told to, but because I was given the direction and opportunity to.
When I finished my last exam, I hopped in the U-Haul and moved back to Coronado, California, where my family was originally from and my heart never left. For work, I applied at multiple design agencies with no luck. The old “can’t get a job without experience/can’t get experience without a job” theory rang true. Fortunately, the “it’s all in who you know” theory did. A fellow art alum from Longwood offered me a job working at Hewlett Packard leading to a short career in office design. I was able to do some volunteer design work there and met a few people who gave me the chance to do some side work. While on my first maternity leave, I started my freelance graphic design business, “Print Candy Design.”
In March of this year, I made Print Candy Design a full time venture. My business is built around the idea of creating printed eye-candy. I offer services such as company branding and re-branding, corporate identity packages, printed marketing materials and collateral, website and web advertisement design, trade show booth design, and custom correspondence.
Motivated by the joy I received from illustrating my Grandmother’s children’s book, Always Emily, and the great love I have for using my toddlers as an excuse for non-stop art projects, I am also pursuing painting. I am currently accepting commissions to hand paint wooden letters to adorn a child’s room or nursery, customized to match their décor. I will soon be opening an online store devoted to selling these and other handmade nursery decor and personal correspondence sets, all completely customized.
I could not be happier about where I am and the freedom I have to pursue my abilities from such a beautiful spot in the world. I look forward to where Print Candy Design takes me and to working with those that share my love and passion for a personal touch on their message!
For information on design services for your business or handmade gifts, my email is Rachel@PrintCandyDesign.com. My portfolio can be viewed at: www.printcandydesign.com. If you’re a Facebooker, you can find me at: www.facebook.com/PrintCandyDesign!
Print Candy | tasty design
Rachel Battleson, Creative Director
rachel@printcandydesign.com
Facebook | Twitter | LinkedIn
916.759.5688
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: I had the privilege of a memorable visit with this creative, inspired, and aspiring young design artist. Rachel Battleson is a dedicated mother of two young sons, whom she affectionately calls her “twins” as they are so much alike, are inseparable, and get along so well. She free lances full time while creating her experience as a single mother into an art form as well.
Currently, she has been decorating her younger sister’s nursery for their firstborn, London, with customized lettering and decor. Regina and Rachel could be said to be like “twins” themselves as they were also so close as children with the shared passion of creating art. As young adults, they entered contests together in which their pieces were selected for awards in the 2004 National Arts Competition in Virginia. At present, the two sisters live next door to one another in cozy beach bungalows. Both the Battleson sisters managed to find their ways back to their hometown of Coronado where they join their mother, Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson.
While attending college back east, Rachel served on a creative design team who created the new logo for their team, the Longwood University Lancers.
Rachel’s grandmother, Mariella Mumaw Battleson, has written and published two books. Rachel completely illustrated, Always Emily, and it is available through Amazon.com.
BESTIDA “BESSIE” CHAIYO DILL — A PICTORIAL ESSAY
Photos by Al Graham (“Crazy Uncle Al”)
Born to proud parents, Jeffrey and Tip Dill on October 27, 2008, Baby Bessie makes everyone in our family’s world complete. As a newborn, she had shown like a bright star and an angel orb. We all knew she was a very special little one.
Jeff and Tip met on a beach in Thailand around Easter in the year 2000. Amidst their beautiful and exotic surroundings, it was love at first sight.
When Jeff returned from his vacation, he and his future bride-to-be would exchange constant phone calls and e-mails. Tip would leave her homeland and family for the city of San Diego to join Jeff that same year. The next year, the Dills wed in Lake Tahoe. After six years of wedded bliss, Jeff and Tip bore “Best Girl” Bessie (Bestida Chaiyo Dill).
Bessie completes the Dill family and has enriched not only her adoring parents’ lives, but also the lives of her families both here and in Thailand. Bessie’s American grandparents are Dr. Donald and Mrs. Christine Dill. She is niece to both Mark and Trisha Dill as well as to Kimberley and Al Graham. Her maternal grandparents are Hom and Bualai Chaiyo. Unfortunately, while Bestida and Tip were visiting her family last year, Tip’s mother, Bualai, passed away just as her paternal grandmother had several years ago, Janet Dill. May they both rest in peace. We just wish they were both here to enjoy their special granddaughter.
We all just get such a kick out of this special little girl! Bessie is forever gleeful. To be around this sweet, playful child is blissful and generates the feelings of joy that only a happy, youngster can bring to our hearts.
WHAT A BEACH OF A DAY
A Day at the Beach with the VanBrunt Family: SeAnna & Kaydence
GHOSTIE GIRL
By Suzi Lewis Pignataro
When I was twenty-four, my boyfriend Eamon and I visited the Pacific Northwest. Our final destination before flying home to the Bay Area was the magnificent Mount Rainier in Washington, where we held reservations at the historic Paradise Inn.
Mount Rainier became the fifth national park in 1899, by order of President William McKinley. Construction of the Paradise Inn was completed in the summer of 1917. Massive amounts of hand-hewn logs and rock went into its open beams, Douglas fir floors, and towering stone hearths. The German finishing carpenter Hans Fraenke built most of the knotty-pine furniture including the upright piano and fourteen-foot grandfather clock housed in the Great Hall. This expansive lobby with its 1,500-pound tables opened up to a mezzanine illuminated by lamps whose hand-painted shades depicted local wildflowers.
Standing on the slopes of a volcano for the past sixty-two years, the Paradise Inn has received families and heads of state from all over the globe. Eamon and I unfolded our stiff and travel-weary bodies out of our Leprechaun-size rental car and fell into its lap of rustic luxury.
We checked into our small but well-appointed room. As with all quaint lodgings, Eamon found the bed ill-prepared for receiving his 6’4” frame. He yawned like a hippo, stretching until his knuckles grazed the ceiling, and declined my invitation to a pre-dinner hike, opting instead for a nap on one of the large sofas in the lobby. We returned to the Great Hall, where I gave the big lug of an Irishman a fond kiss and set out for the wide-open spaces.
I did not get far.
I love the outdoors. Nothing uplifts my spirits and transports me out of the space-time rat race like being in mountains with their meadows, trees, lakes, and rivers. But when two grizzled men with thirty-pound backpacks and mud-caked Timberland boots tore past me in a panic, yelling, “Run!” at the top of their lungs, I did a one-eighty and high-tailed after them, shouting, “Wait for me!” I followed in their wake for a good two miles before they jogged downhill to an awaiting VW bus and I veered uphill toward civilization. The cloying scent of Lysol never smelled so good as when I burst, panting and shivering, through the inn’s front doors. Not until I collapsed on my bed, gasping for breath, did I realize I had no idea from what danger I had just narrowly escaped.
Dinner was first entertaining then irritating as a tipsy Eamon attempted to engage in conversation with a jovial, beer-sucking Bavarian whose wife, also feeling no pain, tittered and belched – and tittered and belched – ad nauseam. Eventually, the men gave up on words and settled for guffaws, punches to the arm, and beard tugging – while lifting one eyebrow – in that pre-verbal, prehistoric language that leaves women wondering just what the hell their men are all about. What these two cavemen seemed to be on about was getting very, very drunk.
When I could no longer suffer the giggles, grunts, and gastric eruptions of my inebriated companions, I pled exhaustion and said good night. Well into his cups, Eamon asked his new buddy – in a mixture of English, hand signals, and Pidgin-German that reminded me of Sergeant Schultz in Hogan’s Heroes – if he wanted a nightcap. “Ja! Ja!” the man enthused. I shook hands with the wife, who tittered and belched in return, and made my way up the stairs.
I was floating between wake and sleep, where my mind channel-surfed through film clips reminiscent of David Lynch and Federico Fellini, when I heard Eamon come in. There was barely enough room around the double bed and armoire for him to navigate. He resembled nothing so much as a circus bear in a curly black wig, taking off its costume at the end of a long day under the Big Tent. Even his languid belly scratches and deep sighs were ursine. In my altered state, I thought he slapped me on the cheek with a freshly-caught trout, but it was just a very human and sloppy Jack Daniels’ kiss. He cursed in Irish as he maneuvered his naked mass into a bed made for the more diminutive folk of a bygone era. Giving up and over to sleep, he finally quieted down, his calves and feet sticking out of the white quilts like birch logs beneath a snow bank.
“Thop thickiling my feet.”
The words hovered somewhere above the right side of my head. Turning in their direction, I found myself in bed with a hare-lipped ape. That explained the lisp.
“I’m not tickling your feet,” I replied to the ape.
“Yeth, you are,” the ape charged, affronted.
“I am nowhere near your big ol’ feet.”
The ape scratched his head.
“Then, who ith?”
I was becoming annoyed, and I wondered where Eamon had gone to in the middle of the night, leaving me alone with this recalcitrant anthropoid.
“How should I know?” I shot back. “Why don’t you – Hey! Stop tickling my feet!”
“I’m not!”
I was fully awake now. Eamon lay beside me, poking me in the side.
“If we aren’t tickling each other’s feet, babe,” he asked, “then who is?”
Propping myself up on one elbow, I peered over the heap of quilts to find a small girl standing by the bottom of the bed.
“She is,” I informed Eamon. Eamon raised his head, looked at the child, and shrieked.
“Who the fuck is that?” he hissed from beneath the covers.
Rather than state the obvious, I decided to study our intruder. She seemed to be around five years of age, and judging by her dress, had lived at the time when the inn welcomed its first visitors. Her pinafore was of starched linen; the gingham dress underneath was frilly and freshly laundered. A large ribbon held back long, dark curls; its bow perched over her right brow. She smiled at me in the way of all mischievous children – with her large dark eyes slanting like a cat’s and twin dimples bracketing her upturned mouth. Laughter played silently upon her lips. She was sepia-toned and not quite solid.
Just as I was about to say hello to her, there came from outside the room the thump-thump of something heavy bumping along the corridor. The girl looked toward the door, startled, as if she knew she was being naughty and feared being caught; but, also, like a child who had been waiting for her mommy or daddy to arrive and was excited at the prospect of an imminent reunion.
The sound drew closer. I imagined an old-fashioned trunk, its lock loose and clanging, being dragged toward the stairs. Eamon peeked out from his hiding place. “What now?” he whined. The girl turned toward the sound in the corridor, and flew through wall. Eamon let out a scream and hit the floor.
I looked at my watch in the early morning light. It was now 6:30. I had spent the past three hours in the company of a hysterically repentant giant of the lapsed-Catholic variety. It was a feature presentation of “The Exorcist Meets Gulliver’s Travels in Ghost Land,” with “Saint Michael’s Prayer Against Evil Spirits” as the opening short.
Eamon sat next to me on the bed, his attention focused on the lightening sky outside the casement window. I resisted the urge to inquire if he thought the vampires were back in their coffins; if it was once again safe to venture outside. Instead, I asked, “So, do we stay or do we go?” Eamon lunged for his suitcase.
The receptionist batted her purple-shadowed eyelids and licked her peppermint pink lips. “Oh, you’re leaving us already? We have your room reserved for one more night.” She looked down at the guest register and tapped our name with a fuschia fingernail. “It’s right here: Mr. and Mrs. Joey Ramone, two nights.” She frowned at Eamon. “Is something wrong, Mr. Ramone?”
Eamon leaned over the counter. “Tell me sometin’ darlin’,” he replied in his thickest brogue. “Has anyone else, ot’er t’an me and t’e missus here, had t’eir feet molested by t’e wee ghostie girl while lyin’ all cozy in one o’ yer stunted beds?”
Our bags thumped and bumped as we dragged them through the Great Hall. Behind us, the receptionist could be heard yelling into the phone: “No, Mr. Holstaad. I can’t fulfill my summer contract, and that’s that. I – I – Why didn’t you tell me this place was haunted?!”
Somewhere in the walls the little girl laughed.
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF THE SANDMAN
By Al Graham
The Sandman is a self-taught artist. His canvas is the city sidewalks of Coronado. Using sand and dirt, he creates colossal images which he calls “dust formations” — a giant panda, pig, clown, dog, cat, elephant, or other animals. However, if you ask him to do something specific like a horse, he will tell you that he cannot. “The Angel tells me what to do. I have nothing to do with it.” On the other hand, if you ask him to create a get-well message for an ailing friend or a happy birthday greeting, he will show up at their house and in a few minutes will leave behind a precise formation of a heart and/or flowers along with an uplifting word.
You will find his work all over the town. If he comes upon a pile of rocks, he will soon transform them into a “rock snake” or a “stone bird.” No patch of unused land or a dirt lot is immune to his art.
He is often at odds with some city officials and maintenance workers, and in particular, the city street sweeper who often obliterates his work such as a twenty-foot-long dinosaur adorning the streets and gutters. Sandman takes this very personally. After his work has been erased, he offers a few choice comments and casts aspersions upon all of those responsible. In his mind, he has a short list of “Haters” but vows to continue, come hell or high water.
Soon he is back at it with a vengeance — a forty-foot galactic mural of stars and planets is revealed by the morning sunrise. The Sandman has worked feverishly all night long in the cul-de-sac between the Coronado Shores condominiums and the Hotel Del. By morn, the glorious sunrise floods over his creation like some epic motion picture in a vast open air theater.
Today I went to see what he had created during the night. The sun had not yet risen, so I used the headlights of my car to light the way. This time he had left the single largest mural I have ever seen, and its precision was impressive. It was a monster-size teapot, encased by an even larger flower, and a single, ten-foot number three, the significance known only to the Sandman and his Angels.
The Sandman speaks with absolute certitude. “The Angel taught me how to create my art; and when I broke my right arm, he showed me how to do it with my other one, and now I do it better with my left arm.”
He talks to the Angels constantly, and sometimes he will tell you the conversation as he works: “Hey! I was making a giant cake, but the Angel said, ‘No! Paint a giant pumpkin head instead.’” He laughs gleefully at the thought and then returns to work with a renewed vigor.
The street sweeper appears. Sandman is alerted without even seeing him. He hears the brusque sound of the machine’s brushes. “That guy has a brush made of steel wire, and he is always ruining my art with it.” He turns his attention to the “Evil Machine.”
The operator revs his engine and begins his sweep. The Sandman focuses his eyes on the driver as the brushes scour the gutters for trash. The steel brush spins at high speed creating a grating, high-pitched whine. Sandman tenses and seems ready to fight, or worse. “If he touches my art, I will have the Angel stop him!” The truck inches closer, and Sandman is motionless save for a pair of flashing eyes, which are issuing an urgent warning to the driver. The tension is as thick as molasses as the two engage in a mental wrestling match. At the very last second, the driver swerves away, leaving the Sandman’s work intact.
As the sweeper disappears, Sandman stands victorious. “I told the Angel to stop him and he did!” He giggles maniacally before returning his attention to his art.
THE GREATEST PUPPY I EVER KNEW!
By Suellis Kelley
This is a story about the greatest puppy I ever knew! One day I went to the country and saw the cutest puppy I had ever seen, and it was so young, lost, and thin. The way it was trembling, I knew it must have been abandoned. So, I picked him up and brought him home.
The next morning, I took him to the veterinarian in my neighborhood. While balancing the puppy and the clipboard in my lap, I filled in the paperwork; and then patiently waited for our turn. When the doctor called us in for our appointment, I held the little puppy in my arms and cradled him closely to my chest as I walked him in. After entering the room, I automatically placed him on the examining table.
The veterinarian looked at the puppy, then chuckled, stood back, looked me up and down, and asked, “Where did you find this WOLF?, and what do you propose we do with it?”
“WOLF! Nah, you must be mistaken. I was in the country hiking, and this little pupply was standing hidden under some plants and crying; so I brought him home. He had no business being out there all alone.”
The veterinarian chuckled once again, shook his head, and moved back to the wolf-puppy to begin his examination. After a minute or two, he looked me straight in the eyes and stated, “Ma’am, wolves are in the dog family, and what you have here is half-wolf/half collie.”
I realized that he was serious and laughed. “Well, he is a city dog now! Can I keep him at our house?”
The doctor thought for a moment and said, “Because he is only about four weeks old, and because he is a half breed, you could probably train him. He laughed and suggested strongly that I bring the puppy back to see him regularly so we could monitor his development, keep his immunizations up to date, and do all the other things that puppies typically require to grow strong and develop healthy bodies. The doctor’s orders were easy to follow because that is what folks usually do, and it was convenient as well since his office was less than a block away, and he was already caring for our other pets.
After the examination, I brought him back to the waiting room, named him Zach, gave him a hug, and signed the paperwork. I then took him to his new home where he now belonged. Within a few months he grew into his paws, and learned how to sit, stay, and fetch a ball. As he got older, we learned that he could do something else as well. When he became happy his tail would wag, and he would sit as close as he possible could beside the person that he wanted attention from. After that, he would look into their eyes, show his teeth, and literally smile. Zach became a favorite of everyone in the neighborhood; and fortunately, when be became full grown, he was only a medium-sized dog that weighed around 65 pounds.
The veterinarian had informed us that wolves are smart; and from my experience, I can attest that they are. Zach quickly learned everything and anything we taught him. Of course, he could do all the regular things: walk beside us, roll over, and lay down on command. However, he could do unique things as well. Once when we were carrying in groceries from the store, he opened the door to assist us and that became his regular practice. He also decided to carry a water bucket from room to room as we mopped the floors; and he helped us do other chores. When Zach made the usual doggie mistakes, he was easy to forgive, just as it was easy to adore him.
People who knew him often commented about his behavior and kind disposition. So one day I asked the doctor if all wolves were similar to Zach. The doctor said because he was half collie that he inherited a gentle nature; and because he was half wolf, he was smart and clever and had a natural instinct to please and interact with his family; which was us. Apparently from Zach’s perception, we were the leaders of his pack; and from our viewpoint, there was nothing wrong with that! — As he often brought fun and joy into our lives while he frequently thought of different ways to assist us, protect us, and interact with us.
One day, a person decided to enter the backdoor of my home. Hearing the noise I went to see, and looking out of the kitchen window, I saw from the corner of my eye that a man was standing in the patio. In this moment, my imagination got the best of me, and as I started running toward the front of the house to get to the door, I heard the crash of breaking glass. I began running faster, and suddenly I heard whooping and yelling coming from the patio area. “Get this dog off me! I swear to God, he is wagging his tail, but he is staring in my eyes, and I can see his teeth! Susie!!!”
Of course, I recognized the voice. It was my best friend’s husband, and as I headed back to the kitchen, I asked, “Why in the world did you break my window?”
“I didn’t,” he howled. I then saw that Zach was sitting as close as he could on top of Leroy’s chest, wagging his tail, and smiling. I started laughing, told Zach to move; which he happily did, and then asked Leroy how he ended up on the floor.
As he stood up and straightened his clothes, he explained, “When the dog came through the window, I slipped — and then, he suddenly was sitting on top of me and wagging his tail while showing his teeth!”
I laughed again and explained that Zach just wanted some attention and was smiling because he was happy — then I realized that despite in his exuberance, Zach had made a doggie mistake — that my wolf would always protect me.
THOSE DOG GONE DAYS!!!
An illustrated tribute to the dogs that have left us and the lovely critters that filled our hearts back up with love.
The Harpst-Koen Family: Sandy, Boo, Rockit, & Boomer
ABOUT DOGS AND PEOPLE
Submitted By Raymond Fisher
One reason a dog can be such comfort when you’re feeling blue is that he doesn’t try to find out why. – Author Unknown
The average dog is a nicer person than the average person. – Andy Rooney
Everything I Need to Know I Learned from My Dog: When loved ones come home run to greet them. Never pass the opportunity to go for a joyride. Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy. – Author Unknown
If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you; that is the principal difference between dog and man. – Mark Twain
There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face. – Ben Williams
Properly trained, a Man can be Dog’s best friend. – Corey Ford
If your dog is fat, you are not getting enough exercise. — Author Unknown
My Goal in life is to be as good a person as my dog already thinks I am. — Author Unknown
Dogs love their friends and bite their enemies, quite unlike people, who are incapable of pure love and always have to mix love and hate. – Sigmund Freud
Dogs are not our whole life but they make our lives whole. – Roger Caras
The reason a dog has so many friends is that he wags his tail instead of his tongue. — Author Unknown
If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went. – Will Rogers
HEWICK
By Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
This is the story of how family history and genealogy took me from my hometown of Coronado back east where my maternal ancestors came on the second supply ship to Jamestown, Virginia. I became interested in genealogy and family roots in August 1967 after reading an article in Readers Digest about tracing your roots. Both of my parents grew up without much family history knowledge at all since my father had been adopted at the age of 12 days, and my mother’s mother had died during the Spanish flu epidemic of 1918 when she had just turned two years old.
Since 1967, I have worked on and off on my pedigree charts and through the years have amassed huge amounts of information on both sides of my family.
I joined the National Society of the Daughters of the American Revolution under my ancestor, William Dishman, Sr. of Virginia in 1970; and I was the last Regent of the local Oliver Wetherbee Chapter of the NSDAR in Coronado. I became a member of the Crown Colony Chapter of the National Society of Colonial Dames XVII Century in August of 1989 under Colonel Richard Dudley of Virginia; and became a member of the Americans of Royal Descent in May 1990.
So far to date, I have found well over 1,000 direct ancestors in my direct line and have participated in several DNA projects, of which I am a huge advocate. It was due to my interest in genealogy and history that in 1989 when my two youngest girls, Rachel and Regina, were small that I purchased “Hewick” the home built by their ancestor the Honorable Christopher Robinson, Esq. of England and Virginia. Hewick was built in 1678 in Middlesex County, Virginia. This is the 66-acre plantation that Rachel and Regina were raised on back east. We were living history everyday in that home which I restored. The amazing thing was my ancestors also lived in Middlesex County, Virginia in the same time period. It is unbelievable how many people still living in this small county on the Rappahannock River are descendants of the original settlers.
The Robinsons were a prominent family in England; and after the death of the father, John, they began to go their separate ways. Christopher, as a young attorney, left for the Colony of Virginia in 1666. His younger brother, John Robinson, remained in England and later became the Bishop of London. As such, he was the head of the Anglican Church in both England and America.
Bishop of London, John Robinson
John Robinson (7 November 1650 – 11 April 1723) was an English diplomat and prelate. John was born at Cleasby, North Yorkshire near Darlington, a son of John Robinson, who died in 1651. (Special Note: John Robinson was my daughters’ Rachel and Regina’s, ninth great grandfather. ) Educated at Brasenose College in Oxford, he became a fellow of Oriel College; and in 1680, he became chaplain to the British embassy to Stockholm, Sweden where he remained for nearly thirty years. During the absence of the minister, Philip Warwick, Robinson acted as resident and envoy extraordinaire. Thus, he was in Sweden during a very interesting and important period in which he performed diplomatic duties at a time when the affairs of Northern Europe were attracting an unusual amount of attention.
Among his adventures not the least noteworthy was his journey to Narva with Charles XII in 1700. In 1709, Robinson returned to England and was appointed Dean of Windsor and Wolverhampton. In 1710, he was elected Bishop of Bristol; and among other ecclesiastical positions he held was that of Dean of the Chapel Royal. In August 1711, he became Lord Privy Seal. This being says Lord Stanhope, “The last time that a bishop has been called upon to fill a political office.” Echoing his Scandinavian connections, the motto on his coat of arms is written in runic characters.
In 1712, the bishop represented Great Britain at the important Congress of Utrecht; and as first plenipotentiary, he signed the Treaty of Utrecht in April 1713, which ended the War of the Spanish Succession. Just after his return to England, John Robinson was chosen as Bishop of London in succession to Henry Compton. John Robinson, D.D., Bishop of London was at the bedside holding the hand of Queen Anne when she died in 1713.
“Hewick,” Home to the Robinson Family of Virginia was one of the most significant manors in Virginia. It was constructed in 1678 by Christopher Robinson (1645-1692/3). He served the colony in the House of Burgesses from 1685-1692 and was a member of the Governor’s Council in 1691, which is equivalent to elevation to the House of Lords in England. Christopher served as Secretary of State to the colony from 1691-1692 and was a member of the Board of Trustees at the founding of the College of William and Mary in 1693. He also served as senior vestryman and warden of Christ Church Parish, Middlesex County. One of the best known residents of the colony, his home was the gathering place for many of the important families of Virginia who helped shape the colony into the state it eventually became. Christopher was appointed Councilor and Secretary of Foreign Plantations by King William III of England in 1692. As such, he would have been the head of the colony, but unfortunately he died before taking this office.
Christopher Robinson’s son, also John Robinson, became acting governor on the departure of Sir William Gooch for England on June 20, 1749. His grandfather was John Robinson of Cleasby, Yorkshire, England, who married Elizabeth Potter, daughter of Christopher Potter of Cleasby. His uncle was Dr. John Robinson, Bishop of Bristol and London. His father was Christopher John Robinson, who married Judith, daughter of Colonel Christopher Wormeley.
Robinson was born in 1683 in Middlesex County, Virginia, at “Hewick,” his father’s residence on the Rappahannock River. He occupied many important positions in the colony. He was a member of the House of Burgesses and became president of the Council in 1720. He married Katherine, daughter of Robert Beverley, author of the first written history of Virginia, and their son John was speaker of the House of Burgesses and treasurer of the colony. The John Robinson estate scandal was a major financial scandal in Colonial Virginia. After the 1766 death of John Robinson, the prestigious Virginia legislator who served as both Speaker of the House of Burgesses and colonial treasurer, Robinson’s protégé, Edmund Pendleton, was shocked to discover that Robinson’s estate had debts of fifty thousand pounds. Pendleton then placed a notice in the Virginia Gazette that all people in debt to Robinson should “make immediate payment.” Although he died a pauper, it was later learned that he had saved the estates of many of the most important land owners in Virginia.
Records from the colonial treasury revealed that Robinson had been using the paper money he was supposed to destroy (in his role as treasurer) and lending it to others or using it to pay his personal debts. In December 1766, a staggering report came to the House of Burgesses indicating that Robinson’s estate owed the colony over one hundred thousand pounds. After the “Robinson affair”, the roles of speaker and treasurer were separated.
I have pictures of when I purchased Hewick, when it was in a sad state, and pictures of it now in 2011. In 1933, the WPA came to Hewick to include it in the H.A.B.S. survey #540. It is included in the Historic American Buildings Survey, built in 1678.
The College of William and Mary conducted an archaeological dig at Hewick for a number of years. They found thousands of items in the dig of which I have a nice display .The others are housed at the college in Williamsburg. This collection includes correspondence, research journals, travel journals, publications, slides, artifacts, and other material pertaining to Dr. Theodore R. Reinhart’s research and teaching career in the Department of Anthropology at the College of William and Mary and his participation in the Council of Virginia Archaeologists and the Department of Historical Resources. In 1921, Mary Pollard Clarke published an article entitled, “Christopher Robinson, One of the First Trustees of William and Mary College, His Home: Hewick on the Rappahannock” in “The William and Mary Quarterly, Volume One – Series Two” (beginning on page 134).
HEWICK in 1989 (When I bought and insured it while still living in Coronado)
HEWICK Today
Hewick was sold out of the Robinson family is 2005, but I am still contacted from interested descendants and people from all over the world who have an interest in it. I published the Robinson Family Journal for many years, and eleven of the past issues are indexed on the Internet. (Vol. 1, No. #1 began in November 1991, ROBINSON FAMILY JOURNAL Index Vol. 6, No.1 ISSN #1077-5358 January 1997 Issue #11 was the last issue.) I host the Robinson Family Mailing List on Rootsweb. I am the Administrator of the following lists as well: Higginbotham, Lumbley (Lumley), and Uxley (Huxley). I am very interested in the use of DNA for family genealogy research.
“Why waste your time and money looking up your family tree? Just go into politics and your opponents will do it for you!” – Mark Twain
The Robinson Cookbook I published in 1991
Hewick, Home of the Robinsons since 1678 is on Facebook. The following links are also available for more information on Hewick and our genealogy:
http://www.genealogy.com/genealogy/users/b/a/t/Helen-N-Battleson/index.html
In Loving Memory of A Dog Named Boo
THE MYSTERIOUS MORPHMEN OF CORONADO
SANDMAN GET HIS OWN LIFE-SIZED SANDMAN STATUE
By Al Graham
The Sandman is blissfully happy with very few things – a little Bugler tobacco, an iced cold beer, a candy bar, his prize collection of broken toys (which he has repaired and are on display as if museum pieces in every inch of his abode). For the last two years, the Sandman has shared with the Coronado Clarion staff, his deep longing to have a statue of himself erected somewhere in Coronado. So our staff decided to do the next-best thing. We purchased a mannequin, coated it with glue, and then affixed golden sand from head to toe. Afterwards, we asked the Sandman to bring us one of his uniforms including shoes and his signature nautical cap, which was no problem as he has at least a dozen hanging in his closet. The next day, when the Sandman returned, he was met with his twin in statue form. He stood admiring it for the longest time.
We loaded the two Sandmen into our vehicle and set off for a photo shoot all over town. Sandman was “King for a Day!”
THE GRUNION ARE RUNNING!!!
By, Al Graham
In the summer of 1969, we moved into a cute, three-bedroom cottage, one block from the silver sands of Coronado Beach. “Mayberry RFD”, “Ozzie and Harriet”, “Leave it to Beaver”, and just a dash of “Wizard of Oz” – pick any one or all of them together, for Coronado, was that real life community with its living residents the same as the characters in these shows, right down to Barney Fife. Safe and quiet — doors remained unlocked and front door keys were rare. It was a twenty-block square piece of heaven. At night, luminous cartoon like breakers thundered onto the shoreline.
Anne and I took our son, Dylan, down to the beach one evening. It was eight p.m. Many other families had already gathered at the foot of the breaking tide. All the parents had flashlights. The children carried beach buckets in spades. I had never been to the beach at night. When Anne said we were all going to watch the running, I thought it was a local custom, something like an evening flashlight run. Everyone else knew what to expect, except me, of course. Children were jumping up and down as parents stood behind them shining their flashlights into the water. People were not running at all nor did they plan to do so. I looked very, very silly when I ran up and down the sand holding my light like a marathon runner. Dylan loved it, but other parents just looked at Anne as if she had a visiting retarded relative.
Anne yelled out, “Here they come! Look, Dylan!! There!! There!!” She was now running to meet the tide. Everyone else followed and began scooping. I looked into Dylan’s bucket. It was full of teeny, little silver fish swirling around furiously. All the rest of the families were scooping up buckets of these squirming fish and waving around their flashlights in this truly bizarre “flashlight fishing”.
Even though I had progressed a lot since Anne began educating me, I had still not yet achieved meta-cognizance. So, when she had called out to me, I heard only parts of her statement. Actually, it was only the one word, “running” that stood out. However, being a highly intelligent creature with the IQ of an eighth grader, by the next year when the ritual came around again, this time, I heard and fully comprehended the entire sentence. “Papa, come on! We’re going down to the beach to watch the grunion running!”
Team Lilly
Fall Issue 2011
Spring 2012 Issue
JANIS UNDERSTOOD !
By Lynne Koen
Janis Lyn Joplin was born to loving parents Seth and Dorothy Joplin in Port Arthur,Texas on January 19, 1943. Janis had a happy family life, yet she was very shy when it came to relating to others outside the home. She never seemed to quite fit in with the other girls at school. Janis wasn’t pretty enough to be one of the “popular girls”. She was awkward and different. At Thomas Jefferson High School in Port Arthur, Janis tried fitting in by joining various clubs on campus. As a result, she joined Future Teachers of America Art Club and the Math Club. Janis thought she’d finally become popular and likable, but her superior intellect far outshone that of her fellow students further alienating Janis from her biggest desires to belong, to be liked, and maybe even to be loved.
In those early days, Janis took out her sadness and frustration out in her art. She was always drawing or painting. Janis also loved music only not the type of music her classmates enjoyed. Janis went for the Blues. She loved the black singers’ songs about hard work, loss, and pain. As she got more and more into the Blues Sound, Janis’ appearance began to change radically. She teased her frizzy hair up high and wore all dark clothing. Janis was being led to the “Beat Scene”.
She found friendship with five smart, intellectual-type boys at school. Though highly intellectual, these boys were also major non-conformists. They marched to a different beat, and Janis fit right in. Janis finally had some confidence, and she started speaking up in class about equality for blacks and civil rights in general. Boys at school would follow her around throwing pennies at her and shouting “nigger lover”, but Janis didn’t care. She had her tightly knit group now. Janis and the boys would travel all over — hanging out in coffee houses and going to concerts. They drank heavily and even dabbled in drugs (mostly speed). One day they were returning home to Port Arthur and Janis was singing along with the car radio. One of the boys remarked, “Damn, you can SING!” Janis giggled and said, “Yeah, I guess I can!”
Janis graduated from high school in June 1960. In the fall, she attended a technical college and learned “keypunch” an early cousin to computer programming. Janis’ mother, Dorothy, knew Janis wanted a life outside Port Arthur, outside Texas, and thought Janis could get a good job just about anywhere with her technical skills.
Janis went to live in Los Angeles under the watchful eyes of her mother’s two sisters. She got a job as a keypunch operator for the telephone company in L.A. Soon the 9-5 grind got tedious for Janis who longed to live the total Beat life on her own even if it meant struggling to make ends meet.
One day while traveling on the bus, Janis struck up a conversation with a fellow traveler. She learned this man lived in Venice Beach. On a lark, Janis passed her stop and went with him to Venice. There Janis found the artistic freedom she craved. Creativity and expression of freedom not to mention drugs and alcohol were seen as portals to heightened experience and deeper understanding of life. In Venice, Janis found a ramshackle place she could afford on her own, and there she settled in happily singing and playing guitar at local coffee houses. This lasted only a short while though as Janis felt stifled in L.A. She’d heard of a larger Beat community in San Francisco’s North Beach area. So she went up there to check out the scene. There she befriended a fellow artist who was a doorman at the Fox and Hound Coffee House.
The first time Janis showed up to sing there she wore a WWII bomber jacket, Levis, and a blue work shirt. She had a cigar dangling from her mouth. Janis went from not fitting in to standing OUT in a big way!
Janis wasn’t making enough money to support herself so she went back to Port Arthur in December, 1961. She shocked everyone with her clothing style — newfound “California Swagger” and aggressive ways. In retrospect, this was Janis’ way of covering for the fact that she didn’t make it on her own in California and also to mask her massive insecurities.
Restless, Janis soon discovered that she couldn’t stay home for long so she followed a few friends to Austin and the University of Texas in the summer of 1962. There she was voted “ugliest man on campus”. Janis treated this as a joke, but in a letter home to her parents, she asked how people could be so cruel. Austin had a very strong music scene — mostly country, bluegrass, and folk. Janis joined a band and became very popular in Austin.
Janis bragged to friends about her many sexual escapades in California, but truth be told, this was much exaggerated as part of the whole Janis’ character she was trying so hard to convey. One night while Janis performed at an Austin club, a music promoter from San Francisco approached her and talked her into trying the San Francisco scene once again. She was promised an enthusiastic audience as the scene there evolved into a pre-hippie mode. Back in San Francisco, Janis became hugely popular as promised.
Musicians didn’t make much money, but they were allowed to “pass the hat” at the end of each performance. Janis’ hat always filled to the brim each and every night. A fan offered Janis a free place to live — a basement apartment Janis shared with a friend, fellow artist, and kindred spirit, Linda Gottfried. It was at this point that Janis began drinking heavily. She considered drunkenness as an aid to personal spontaneity and total freedom. She also began taking a large amount of speed because it was cheap and seemed to counter balance the alcohol effects. Janis was functioning but never sober.
By 1965, Janis was in love with a speed freak named Peter de Blanc. Shortly after they became engaged, Peter was hospitalized for speed-induced psychosis. This was enough to scare Janis straight for the time being. Once released from the hospital, Peter helped Janis buy a bus ticket back to Port Arthur promising to join her there shortly. Janis went home and began planning her wedding. She gave up the radical look and seemed to embrace the traditional lifestyle she’d rejected for so long. She even enrolled in a “poise” class in summer school. Janis also began seeing a therapist to whom she admitted trying various drugs while in California.
In addition to the constant use of alcohol and speed, she also experimented with Quaaludes and Demerol to help come down off the speed. During this time, as Janis waited for de Blanc, she didn’t even take a drink. Peter de Blanc wrote to Janis and even visited Port Arthur once. It gradually became clear that de Blanc was seeing other women. So Janis called the marriage off and began seeing other men.
In the summer of 1966, Janice was asked to sing for a San Francisco band called “Big Brother and the Holding Company”. Janis had been sober for 12 months and was confident she now could withstand the California drug culture. The San Francisco scene had changed markedly while Janis was away. The Beats had paved the way for the new Bohemians, the hipsters now known as “hippies”. Free Love was all the rage along with mass quantities of drugs and alcohol. Janis was known to enjoy the sexual company of both men and women. She was comfortable with her bi-sexuality and communal living. LSD or Acid was fairly new on the scene and was still legal until possession became a misdemeanor in October 1966. In the music scene, folk and blues had given way to psychedelic rock.
Big Brother and the Holding Company were known for their “freak rock” music. Loud and raunchy, Janis fit right in. It was a perfect fit for all, and six days later, Janis was in the band. At this point, Janis was simply one of the guys not yet touted as a star.
The band along with their extended families all moved to a large hunting lodge in Lagunitas, north of San Francisco in Marin County. There the band could rehearse any time they wanted without bothering anybody else except maybe the Grateful Dead who had a lodge down the road. They were unlikely to mind!
Those were very happy times for Janis. She began seeing Joe McDonald of Country Joe and the Fish. Janis took Joe to her apartment in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood — the Mecca of hip in those days. There, Joe saw a softer side to Janis. Her apartment was warm and welcoming filled with Victorian “fru fru”, velvet couches, and ornate antiques. From there, Janis and Joe would call local radio stations and request their bands’ songs be played. Then they’d sit back and listen, basking in their newfound fame.
However, with fame came pressure from fans for Janis to get wilder and louder on stage. She started doing drugs again — this time heroin, always mixing with alcohol, her favorite being Southern Comfort. With this combination Janis felt she was invincible — whatever inhibitions she once had no longer existed. Janis fed off her fans’ feeding frenzy. They wanted to see her get crazy on stage– the wilder the better. Janis gave them what they wanted and then some.
Big Brother and the Holding Company were known primarily for their concerts and not their record albums. It was the visual of Janis doing her thing that attracted the fans. By 1967, thousands of young people were pouring into San Francisco. The vibes of peace, love, and harmony were alluring to young folks in an uncertain world. The highlight of the year was the “Summer of Love” which officially began in June with Big Brother and the Holding Company among the acts at the Monterey Pop Festival. As she skipped onto the stage, Janis looked like any other hippie chick: Peasant top, blue jeans, long frizzy hair framing her face. But when she started singing, she blew everyone away with her voice that concurrently purred and wailed sending shivers through the crowd.
Cass Elliot of the Mamas and the Papas sat in the front row. After hearing Janis sing “Down On Me”, Cass sat stunned mouthing one word over and over again: “WOW!” With this performance, Janis Lyn Joplin became a mega star. For Janis, Monterey was a harbinger of fame and fortune changing the history of women in Rock and Roll forever. When the festival was over, Janis partied with members of the Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead, and Jimi Hendrix. Everybody was drinking whiskey, smoking pot, and dropping acid — Hendrix more than anyone.
As her band’s fame grew to epic proportions so did their checkbooks. Janis began a life of outlandish opulence and luxury. She drove a psychedelic Porsche around San Francisco where fans and friends would always leave notes under the windshield wipers wherever the car was parked. Janis wore the finest “threads”: silk, satin, feather boas, beads, and bangles.
While touring with the band, Janis would hang out in the streets and park with fans. She also began partying with members of the Hells’Angels — a motorcycle gang that often provided “security” for concerts. While music was her life force, audience’ adulation fed Janis’ restless spirit. Peter Albin was leader of Big Brother and the Holding Company and also the band’s spokesperson. Janis started vying for that role which caused discord among the band members. Suddenly, the band took a back burner to the sensational chick singer, Janis Joplin. Interviewers and media were only interested in talking to Janis not to the band as a whole.
Riding high on the band’s strong reviews, manager Albert Grossman scheduled a U.S. tour that began in February of 1968. Right before the tour began, he changed billing. From now on the band was to be known as Big Brother and the Holding Company featuring Janis Joplin. Janis was the big draw and everybody knew it. Later that year, while in the studio working on the album, “Cheap Thrills”, the whole ethic of the band began to unravel. Trying to wedge their experimental sound into a tight album format was failing. As Janis was dead-on every take, the increasingly unhappy band members kept making mistakes. Out on the road, the world had turned ugly. The ideals and values of the “Summer of Love” were badly shaken as the war in Viet Nam raged on, and the civil rights movement reached a fevered pitch, but the band played on. Now known as Janis Joplin and Big Brother and the Holding Company, the whole band was so unhappy at this point that they all started shooting heroin just so they could stand to be on stage together.
Janis had outgrown Big Brother. Janis was torn as she’d been with the same band for so long and became famous with this group. Sadly, Janis knew she had to move on. Rolling Stone magazine described Big Brother as “messy and a general musical disgrace”. The album, “Cheap Thrills”, was certified gold before it was even sold on the market. The pre-order sales were off the charts. Unfortunately, it was already too late as Janis announced she was leaving the band in the summer of 1968.
Janis formed a new band called the Kozmic Blues. With only 3 weeks to prepare for their debut, the group didn’t have enough practice or time to get to know each other. They failed to work well as a group. This pushed Janice even deeper into drugs and alcohol. She became very depressed, and she missed the camaraderie she had with her bandmates in Big Brother. In the year that Janis toured with Kozmic Blues, the band received cool welcomes at U.S. concert venues. The reviews were a bit kinder in Europe, but not much. It was obvious that Janis was unhappy, and the band was mechanical in backing her up. During this time, Janis was constantly high. She became cocky and rude, completely out of control in public on a regular basis. With her outrageous rock-star antics, it was hard to believe that Janis was actually a very intelligent, well-read person. However, those in the know-knew. Janis actually had her own production company, Strong Arm Music. She’d performed over a hundred live concerts in three years and had the forethought to create a corporation, “Fantality” to merchandise fan memorabilia.
Then came Woodstock. The days of August 15-17, 1969 would go down in history as the biggest musical extravaganza ever. Janis was right there, seemingly happy for the first time in a long while amidst a slew of fellow rock stars such as Jimi Hendrix and Joe Cocker. Kozmic Blues toured heavily throughout the rest of the year. Janis pushed herself harder and harder begging her fans to get up and dance with her. As she poured her soul out to the crowd, they rewarded her with the adulation she so badly needed. By the end of 1969, it was a year marked by profound highs and devastating lows.
Janis knew she needed a break. She found it in a new home in the mountain community of Larkspur, California where she moved in December of 1969. Janis decorated her new home much in the same fashion as her Haight-Ashbury apartment — Victorian knick knacks, velvet furnishings, lots of stained glass, and Oriental rugs. Kozmic Blues disbanded at the beginning of 1970.
Worn out, Janis began to plan her first real vacation with a friend. They decided to go to the Carnival in Rio. Janis kicked heroin cold turkey and fell in love with a man named David Neihaus. Her plan was to return home with Neihaus, but he was detained due to a lapsed visa. Janis let her upset become an excuse to use heroin again, and when Neihaus showed up two days later, Janis was high and planning another tour. The couple agreed they each wanted different things from life so they parted ways.
Janis connected with singer and movie star, Kris Kristofferson, at a party one night which became a three-week, drinking-drugging binge. Janis had formed a new band called “Full Tilt Boogie”. This band had a stripped-down, sound design to showcase Janis vocals. Janis continued to see Kristofferson, who even moved in with her for a brief period of time. One night, he sang her a song he’d written called, “Me and Bobby McGee”. Janis included the song on the playlist for her new album, “Pearl”. Though their romance fizzled, Kristofferson had unknowingly given Janis what would become her most famous song. Janis loved the idea of being in love, but her drive to perform and insatiable need to connect with her fans far outweighed any one personal love affair.
In June 1970, Janis appeared on the Dick Cavett Show with Full Tilt Boogie. Janis announced on the show that she was going back to Port Arthur for her ten-year high school reunion. Janis’ career was at an all-time high though her alcohol and drug abuse was starting to show. Her face became muddled and puffy. She’d gained weight, which she tried to cover up with ever more flamboyant costumes.
In September of 1970, Janis and Full Tilt Boogie began studio rehearsals for the new album, “Pearl”, named after African-American singer and actress, Pearl Bailey. In what was to become one of her last interviews, Janis was asked why she worked so hard. She replied: “It sure as hell isn’t for the money.” She went on to say: “At first it was to get love from the audience, but now it’s to be able to go as far as I can go — to reach my full potential.” Sadly, Janis had her demons. They lurked right out of sight waiting in the wings to pounce.
Janis had been rehearsing a song called, “Buried Alive in the Blues”. She planned to record it the next morning. Tired, drunk, and alone in her room on the night of October 3rd at the Landmark Hotel, Janis shot her last dose of heroin. Right after, she went to the lobby and bought a pack of cigarettes, went back to her room, and sat down on the bed. A few minutes later, shortly before two in the morning, Janis slumped over, wedging herself between the bed and the nightstand. When she failed to show up for rehearsal that morning, John Byrne Cooke drove to the Landmark and found Janis dead of an accidental overdose of heroin mixed with alcohol. Janis Joplin was 27 years old. Her obituary in Time Magazine reported: “She died on the lowest and saddest of notes.”
A stage play “Love, Janis” (based on the book of the same name) written by Janis’ sister Laura Joplin, features some of Janis’ iconic performances and also excerpts from some of the letters she wrote home to her family over the years. It’s a revealing look at the different sides of Janis Joplin. The wild-eyed rock star versus the sweet, loving sister and daughter. Janis was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on January 12, 1995.
ALL THINGS BRIGHT & BRITISH: THE FAB FOUR
THE FAB FOUR
(Excerpt from upcoming The London Dialogues, by Alan Graham)
I worked at Jackson’s Tailor Shop in Liverpool, England. It was nineteen sixty-two, and I was seventeen years old. Lunch time was the most exciting part of my day. My lunch was always the same and never lost its wonderful taste — an ice cold coke in the old-fashioned glass bottle and a hot dog with onions. I would make a short walk to a narrow back street in the busy fruit market area. Most of the buildings were storage warehouses save for a single pub. One of these warehouses had been converted into a cramped basement nightclub.
Monday through Friday were dedicated to matinee performances by up-and-coming rock ‘n’ roll groups who played American rhythm and blues as well as rock ‘n’ roll music from the likes of Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley, Fats Domino, Roy Orbison, Sam Cooke, Joe Tex, and a fabulous never ending host of other greats. Included in these would-be rockers were Gerry and the Pacemakers, the Searchers, Cilla Black, and Rory Storm and the Hurricanes — all of whom would become part of the great new “Mersey Beat”. As my lunch hour ended, I had heard “Sweet Little Sixteen”, “Long Tall Sally”, “Tallahassee Lassie”, “Three Cool Cats”, “Rip It Up”, and many more.
Among all of these rockers in the making, one group stood out showing much promise. Clothed in black leather jackets, Levis, high-heeled boots with silly haircuts, these lads were cool, cheeky, and gave it their all. Very soon, this group, my favorite, would become famous, seemingly overnight. They transformed the City of Liverpool, Rock ‘N’ Roll, and the Liverpudlians themselves.
The Beatles would leave Liverpool and head for “The Smoke” (London – the Big City). I never saw them perform live again, but marvel at their meteoric rise. They were now singing their own compositions. Suddenly, the old music was left behind in the dust as a new paradigm shifted.
We all sang the new material with home-grown pride. Their first hit was “Love Me Do” followed by “Please, Please Me”. What followed was nothing less than an avalanche of creative energy not seen since the 1920’s renaissance in Paris.
When the Beatles left the City of Liverpool, my lunch time was not the same. Even though the new music raged on, for me something was missing. So, I too left following my “Fab Four” to the Smoke. I took the midnight mail train out of the Liverpool Central Station, the cheapest fare you could find. It was a six-hour journey as the train stopped to deliver mail at each city down the line.
At six a.m., I stood outside of Euston Station surveying my new surroundings and wondering where the Beatles might be. I took a tube train to Marble Arch. I picked the biggest hotel I could find and went in to ask for a job. There weren’t any, but a sweet old lady in the personnel office gave me a lead to a construction site in a beautiful rural town on the outskirts of the city. The work was grueling, yet the pay was three times more than I ever would have gotten in Liverpool.
One morning, I was digging a ditch for a gas main when two Rolls Royce Silver Clouds passed by. The fellow working with me said, “You know who that was, don’t you?” I said, “No, who?” “That was the Beatles. They live just across the street at St. George’s Hills.” St. George’s Hills was a luxurious gated community where only the very wealthy resided. It now included the world-famous Beatles. Of all the places I would land for work, it would be right where my beloved Beatles dwelled. Although, I never saw them in the flesh or did those Silver Clouds ever pass by again, it was a quiet thrill that I had followed them unknowingly to precisely where they lived.
When that job ended, it was onto the next which would be a stint working in the Helena Rubenstein Cosmetics factory. After that, I worked in a factory that produced fiber glass materials such as mannequins and retail displays. I then went to work with British Railways as a night porter. Eventually, I landed in Earl’s Court aka Bed-Sit-Land, a bustling, upscale West London borough populated by mostly single, young people. The 1860’s era terraced housing was now converted into single rooms and two-bedroom flats – hence, Bed-Sit-Land, short for bed sitter flats. Bed-Sit-Land was also a cosmopolitan tourist hub that attracted students from all across the globe.
“Michelle, ma belle, these are words that go together well, ma Michelle…” My favorite group was now world famous and their songs dominated the air waves. It was wall-to-wall Beatles music in addition to fabulous groups like the Rolling Stones, the Who, and Pink Floyd. My favorite perfume at the time, was girls. I liked them very much, and they liked me just as much. I had two girlfriends from Sweden, one from New Zealand, one from France, one from Germany, and several from Earl’s Court who just happened to be from England. The number would eventually grow to ten. I now worked as a fry cook at the local Wimpy Bar, the equivalent of the American burger joint named for the hamburger-gulping character from the Popeye cartoons.
Since the Beatles’ phenomenon, England had shed its dreary bounds. It was now awash with an explosion of music, art, and fashion – outrageous fashion, bizarre art, and super cool music. I was in paradise and I was as free as a bird. At the drop of a hat, I would hitch-hike to France, Spain, Italy, Germany, Norway, or anywhere else that took my fancy.
One summer evening, I stood in front of Earl’s Court Station watching/studying people, another one of my favorite pastimes. A strikingly beautiful girl with long brown hair and blue eyes came out of the station. She looked at me and kept on walking. I followed her asking if I could walk with her. She said, “Well, I’m going home.” So, I volunteered to escort her. “Where do you live?” I asked. “In Vasagatan” “I have never heard of Vasagartan. Is it around here?” “No,” she said, “it is in Stockholm. I am from Sweden.” She stopped and laughed at my surprise. “This could be a very long walk”, I thought to myself.
Tanya explained that she had been working in London for the summer and was about to leave hitch-hiking her way back home. That very evening, she was taking the midnight ferry from Dover to France. I volunteered to escort her all the way to Sweden. It was now she who was surprised, “You would? You would?” I would and I did.
I went directly home, packed a few things in a knapsack, and off we went. We had a wonderful adventure crossing Europe through France, Belgium, Germany, Denmark, and all the way home to Vasser Garten (Water Gardens) in Stockholm.
I stayed with her for a couple of weeks. Although she was lovely and fun to be with, Sweden was dull and so were the people. I was used to gregarious, outgoing, friendly people. The Swedes were decidedly reticent and emotionless. The night before I left, I sat in a small club, where a local guitarist played Beatles’ music, if you can believe that. He was struggling with the lyrics as he translated, “Yellow Submarine”. When it came to the part, “We all live in a yellow submarine”, the musician was having difficulty finding the word for “submarine”. Submarine as a single word is nonexistent in Swedish. He simply replaced it with “under vasser buss” (underwater bus). No matter where I went, the Beatles had been there ahead of me and had left their magic mark.
Back in London, Earl’s Court was as groovy as ever. Hordes of tourists and students came flooding into the community to see and hear the English music scene. The Liverpool accent was now a major asset. Excited American girls would sit and listen to my every word trying to mimic me as they giggled with delight. “Please come and meet my friends” was a common request. As surely as a celebrity “without portfolio”, I was the next best thing to a Beatle. “Talk like John Lennon. Talk like Paul McCartney. Can you sound like Ringo?” I spoke as I usually do in a thick Liverpool brogue, but to my audience it was as magical as hearing an English rock star. I was the only Liverpudlian (scouser) in town which set me apart from everybody else. I was a very singular fellow indeed. I was untethered to anyone or anything. I was floating in the land of milk and honey surrounded by beautiful girlfriends.
Rock ‘N’ Roll ruled the world. A massive upheaval in a once-stuffy society had now blossomed into a wild, hippie culture. Young people were very close and friendly, sharing and caring for each other in a near fantasy world. The new music kept on coming, so did the college kids. I was at a magical crossroads and each new face presented a fresh, new adventure.
American kids were friendly, generous, and intelligent. They were bringing their culture to ours. We shared each other’s customs like gleeful children. A decade earlier, it was the Americans who ruled the roost. Elvis was king of the world and English musicians mimicked American rock ‘n’ roll.
Now, the Beatles were king. They had simply taken Rock ‘N’ Roll and transformed it into a sort of early punk rock, just four kids and their instruments. The original was ladened with brass backup – sax, trombone, trumpet, and big bass drums — but now, anyone who could play guitar or a set of drums could form a band. Very soon, there were hundreds of new groups as the Mersey Beat and the English Sound set off to conquer the world.
ALL THINGS BRIGHT & BRITISH
by Alan Graham
It was nine a.m., and the little town of La Mesa was awakened by the sound of John Lennon’s voice belting out “She Loves You Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!” He was not alone: Paul, George, and Ringo were singing along with him.
The Fab Four had not aged in all these years and looked like they were ready to appear on the Ed Sullivan Show as they chatted with customers outside of “All Things Bright and Beautiful”, a little British shop.
A news crew was setting up for an interview. So the lads went inside and stood before the cameras. They were innocent, cheeky, cute, and contagiously funny as they answered questions.
A reporter asked “How do you find America?” John Lennon answered, “Turn left at Greenland.”
I suppose I should also say that although it really was not the Beatles, it might as well have been. It was a tribute band called “Britain’s Finest”. Not only did all of them look very much like the lads themselves, which was good enough for me, they sang just like them, and they actually captured the true essence of the original band.
All in black right down to the Beatles’ boots, they tapped their pointed toes to the beat as they stood singing, “Falling, yes, I am falling, and she keeps calling me back again”. I have seen many look-a-like acts over the years, and in each case, there was always something missing. The voices were good but did not look the part or looked good but sounded awful. Britain’s Finest rules. They have it all: the look. the sound, the mannerisms, and the very spirit of those four lads from Liverpool.
CONTACT INFO: (858) 598-7311 www.BeatlesTributeBand.net
BUGLES ACROSS AMERICA
VOLUNTEERS PLAY BUGLES AT MILITARY CEREMONIES FOR VETS
Michael W. Timson teaches trumpet and music theory to both kids and adults. He has played the trumpet since the age of ten and studied classical trumpet with a retired extra member of the San Diego Symphony Orchestra. Michael has studied jazz with a Denver jazz trumpet player/educator/international recording artist as well. He is the assistant director of California Bugles Across America.
In November 2003 with encouragement from his graphic artist wife, Sandy, he started his own UCH/UCHSC employee-based jazz ensemble called Fitz 5to9, which continues to play without him every Thursday evenings at the Anschutz Outpatient Pavilion lobby in Colorado for patients and visitors. Fitz 5to9 produced two demo CDs in 2004 and 2006. On October 22, 2006 the band played live for the Denver Morning Show on CBS4.
In 2010, Michael has started the development Michael has started the development of a new employee-based ensemble called San Diego 5to9 Jazz. Having played twice for the Scripps Information Services quarterly meetings, he currently is looking forward towards leading the new group into the local music and health care fundraising community. He is also volunteers his time at local San Diego music stores to continue his love for private teaching on evenings and weekends.
Contact Info: Office: 858.678.7764; Home & Studio: 760.294.8809; Weekend Music Studio: 858.863.3370
THE OZ FEST BOOK CAPER
OZZY OSBOURNE SIGNS AUTOGRAPHS IN SAN DIEGO
MISUNDERSTOOD
FOR OVER ONE HUNDRED YEARS AMERICANS KNEW PIT BULLS FOR WHAT THEY DID BEST: BABYSITTING
By Y.W. Grossman
Astoundingly, for most of our history America’s nickname for Pit Bulls was “The Nanny Dog”. For generations, if you had children and wanted to keep them safe you wanted a Pit Bull, the dog that was the most reliable of any breed with children or adults.
The Nanny Dog is now vilified by a media that always wants a demon dog breed to frighten people and LHASA-APSO BITES MAN just doesn’t sell papers. Before Pit Bulls, it was Rottweilers. Before Rottweilers, it was Dobermans, and before them German Shepherds. Each breed in its order were deemed too vicious and unpredictable to be around people. Each time people wanted laws to ban them. It is breathtakingly ironic that the spotlight has turned on the breed once the symbol of our country and our national babysitter.
In temperance tests (the equivalent of how many times your kid can poke your dog in the eye before it bites him) of all breeds, the most tolerant was the Golden Retriever. The second most tolerant was the Pit Bull.
Pit Bulls’ jaws do not lock. They do not have the most powerful bite among dogs; Rottweilers have that honor. They are not naturally human aggressive. In fact, Pit Bull puppies prefer human company to their mother’s two weeks before all other dogs, and they feel as much pain as any other breed (accidentally step on one’s toe and you’ll see).
The most tolerant, patient, gentle breed of dogs is now embarrassingly portrayed as the most dangerous. It would be funny if the new reputation did not mean 6,000 are put to death every day, by far the highest number of any other breed euthanized. That’s a lot of babysitters.
IT’S ALL ABOUT DOGS, DOGS, DOGS
♥ A Dog’s Prayer
Now I lay me down to sleep. The king-size bed is soft and deep. I sleep right in the center groove. My human being can hardly move! I’ve trapped her legs. She’s tucked in tight. And here is where I pass the night. No one disturbs me or dares intrude till morning comes and “I want food!” I sneak up slowly to begin my nibbles on my human’s chin. She wakes up quickly. I have sharp teeth. I’m a puppy, don’t you see? For the morning’s here and it’s time to play. I always seem to get my way. So thank you Lord for giving me this human person that I see. The one who hugs and holds me tight and shares her bed with me at night! Author Unknown
WE LOVE YOU ZORRO!
WE LOVE YOU ZORRO!
We have to say goodbye to a very special family member, ZORRO! Here’s to you special boy who gave so much love to your parents & made joy look so easy. We will miss you, Zorro! Big human hugs! Say hello to all of our favorite doggies!
Michelle ‘n’ Raymond Fisher with a very special Zorro!
KEEP THE FAITH QUOTES
GENEAOLOGY
BY HELEN NICHOLS MURPHY BATTLESON
DNA has become a huge research resource for proving one’s lineage especially in proving blood lines. I have been a genealogist since August 1967, and I began my search on my family tree because my father had been adopted out of his family during WWI at the age of 12 days. I wanted to prove who his parents were, and I had some knowledge.
I knew my grandparents lived in Tucson, Arizona and had for many years. I tried to contact them with no success, but I did learn that my grandfather William Joseph White (LeBlanc) had passed away less than a year earlier on Sept 14th, 1966. Luckily for me, I found I had a great uncle who was a bishop in the Mormon Church, and he was more than willing to share information with me as my biological grandmother in Tucson would not answer my letters. She and my grandfather had eloped in Alamosa, Colorado just prior to his being called away to WWI.
He was a part of the PFC 59th Infantry 4th Division in World War I (the 59th Infantry, organized in 1917 by transfer of men from the 4th Infantry, saw hard fighting as a part of the 4th Division in Champaign in the Aisne-Marne engagement in Lorraine at St. Mihiel and at the Meuse-Argonne. In the Aisne-Marne offensive the regiment did gallant service against the Chateau-de-Diable north of the Vesle River). He was an American of French-Canadian descent and spoke fluent French and was being sent to the front lines. After he left, her father learned of the marriage and had it annulled. Then they found out she was expecting a child.
My grandmother was friends with one of the Nichols’ girls who told their mother about the unwanted baby boy. The family adopted my father as their fourth child (and I might say favorite child!) When my grandfather came home after one year, he and my grandmother Leah May Hebble were married again on 3 Dec 1919. He then went out to the Nichols’ farm and demanded his firstborn son back, and my grandfather R. P. Nichols drove him off the property with a shotgun.
The adoption had not yet been finalized. It took place in court in Alamosa, Colorado on 15th December 1919. They were heartbroken to have lost their firstborn, and they went on to have another beautiful baby boy, who unfortunately died of baby food poisoning in 1921 at the age of 5 months, 25 days; they then had a daughter in 1924 and another son in 1933.
The daughter who was my biological aunt, of course, actually wrote me a letter sometime in the late 1960s threatening to sue me for stating that her parents were the parents of my father. After her death, in Tucson in 1997, her only child, my cousin found among her important papers, my father’s original birth certificate with her parents names on it. Actually when my Dad went into the Army during WWII from Coronado, the Department of Commerce had to issue him a birth certificate with his birth name, William Hebble White and his date of birth 16 Sept 1918 even though his name was legally Richard Virgil Nichols. I cannot imagine that nowadays a baby could be adopted out with the court records saying “abandoned at birth” when the father was unaware of the birth and overseas at war.
Things have changed a bit in the past 92 years. My father never met his parents, siblings or nephew. His mother actually outlived him by three years when she passed away in 1979. I submitted my brother Nick’s Y-DNA in 2008, and he connects to seven LeBlanc’s with 67 markers, all from the same ancestor Daniel LeBlanc of France and Canada
Take some time to look over your own family tree and consider what you are looking for from a test. Do you want to prove or disprove a family legend? Family Tree DNA has the largest DNA database in the world for genetic genealogy. As of April 02, 2011, the Family Tree DNA database has 329,073 records.
Some facts about inferred DNA: Y-chromosome DNA only gets transmitted along the direct paternal line (from father to son). The parts of the chromosome that are tested for genealogy usually do not change from one generation to the next. If they do change, it is usually only by one count on just one of the markers. Therefore it is possible to infer the test results from someone who has taken a DNA test to all of that person’s paternal line relations for several generations back. 90 percent of genealogists choose Family Tree DNA – with the largest DNA database. As of January 21, 2012, we have a total of 357,160 records!
My very favorite DNA is a story about an Englishman who finds out he is a Yank! This happened 63 years ago during WWII. A retired Englishman learns his father was an American soldier from Louisville, Kentucky. After a lifetime, a Briton is shocked to learn he’s a Yank!
By Byron Crawford • bcrawford@courier-journal.com • May 25, 2008:
A romantic tragedy of World War II linked across an ocean by a single strand of DNA is still unfolding in Kentucky this week. On his deathbed a few years ago, the man Peter Vickery had always believed his father disclosed that Peter was not his son — Peter’s real biological father was an American soldier. “I felt a bit numb,” said Vickery, now 63, a retired truck driver who lives in Birmingham, England.
His 88-year-old mother, who is a patient in a nursing home in England with her mind weakened by a stroke, would later admit to Vickery’s younger sisters that, yes, she’d had a brief fling with an American soldier in February 1944 while her husband was serving with British forces in North Africa. She had given birth to Peter, the GI’s son, in October 1944. She could no longer remember the soldier’s last name only that his first name was Robert, and he was over 6 feet tall and in his early 30s. She had never heard from him again after their passionate, fleeting affair in London. “They had met as part of a foursome, but I don’t know with whom, and they had gone out dancing,” said Vickery. “I heard that from my sisters. I found it embarrassing to talk with my mother about it.” His mother’s heartbroken parents had sent her away from their home in Cardiff to live with an older stepsister in Birmingham after learning that she was pregnant. For a while after her husband returned from the war, she had pretended that Peter was her sister’s baby, but the truth finally surfaced. Although she and her husband remained married for many years, and even had three other children, they divorced later in life. “I was kind of glad, really, when I found out that he wasn’t my father because we hadn’t gotten along that well most of my life,” said Vickery.
In January 2008, Vickery sent a DNA sample to the web site: Ancestry.com, hoping that he might miraculously find some link to his real father. About the same time, Rick McCubbin, of Bardstown, Kentucky — an avid genealogist who is the U.S. Marshal for the Western District of Kentucky — entered his DNA sample on the same site hoping to locate McCubbin relatives in Scotland. When notified about their matching DNA a few weeks later, Vickery and McCubbin began exchanging e-mails.
Vickery shared his story with McCubbin and provided his mother’s information about a soldier named Robert, who had passed through England in February 1944. “Ten minutes later, I get another e-mail back from Rick,” said Vickery. “I nearly fell out of my chair.” McCubbin wrote that his great uncle Robert, who was well over 6 feet, had been in England in early 1944 when he was 32. He had been among the U.S. 29th Infantry Division troops who stormed Omaha Beach on D-Day. He survived the landing but died in battle several weeks later. He was never married. Could Rick McCubbin’s great-uncle have been Peter Vickery’s father? Despite the DNA and matching descriptions, McCubbin, who had been a Louisville police officer before he was named U.S. Marshal , continued to look for evidence carefully cross-checking the dates on military records and letters.
He sent Vickery the last picture his family had made of Robert Elvis McCubbin dressed in his Army uniform about 1943, and Vickery showed it to his mother. “Yes,” she was sure the soldier in the picture was Peter’s father. “Her face lit up,” Vickery said. “She asked if I would leave the picture with her. She touched my face and said, “He was a lovely man.” Peter Vickery, who is married but has no children, arrived in Kentucky on Tuesday to meet “an extra family” he never knew existed. “I really couldn’t afford to come, but when I found out he (Robert) had two sisters alive, I thought I’d better get over here and meet some of these people,” he said. As fate would have it, Rick McCubbin, the family historian, has kept all of his great-uncle’s personal effects all these years — the flag from his coffin, his Purple Heart medal, the letters he wrote home, and his wallet containing $1 and some phone numbers, which had been found with his body on the battlefield. Late last week, McCubbin, Vickery, McCubbin’s son, Aaron, Rick’s brother, Mike, and their father, Ron, visited the old family graveyard in Hart County and the home on East Kentucky Street in Louisville where Vickery’s father lived before the war.
Tomorrow, Rick McCubbin, Vickery and other members of the family will visit the burial site of Robert Elvis McCubbin in Louisville’s Evergreen Cemetery, where for the first time in 63 lost Memorial Days, Peter Vickery will finally place a flag on his father’s grave. “That’s probably going to get to me,” said Vickery. “When your life suddenly changes direction at this time in your life, it’s kind of difficult. I’ve been an Englishman for a long time now, and now I’m newly American.” Note: What amazed me about this story was the photo that accompanied it, Vickery, the Englishman, and the McCubbin men looked like brothers, the genes were so strong!
A Success Story Submitted by Jim Miller
My father was born Carl Rhoads Jr. in Texas and never met or even knew his father’s name until he was an adult. His mother was in another relationship when he was an infant and called my father James Miller after that man. Her history with men wasn’t very good and my father never had a father in his life. Unfortunately he passed away in 2007, never even certain whether Carl Rhoads who may have been his father really was based on his mother’s lifestyle. After my dad passed, I read a story in AARP and then saw a TV story about DNA testing and decided this would be the way to give my dad a history even if a little too late to do him any good. I turned up an exact genetic match at 37 markers 0 distance to another Rhoads. He had a family tree with only one Carl Rhoads in the tree born in Oklahoma but raised in Texas where my father was born. More research resulted in a great family tree which included a large number of famous relatives. My father never had much of a family, and I know he always regretted not having any roots. I started my search to honor my dad and have a feeling he rests a little more at peace now that he has roots.
I am amazed myself at the capabilities in DNA matching, and just last fall Family Tree DNA in Houston, Texas provided conclusive proof through their Family Finder test that two NFL players are half-siblings. Until just a few months ago, Xavier Omon, of the San Francisco 49ers & Ogemdi Nwagbuoof the San Diego Chargers, did not even have a clue that the other existed. In early August at the request of ESPN, the Family Tree DNA lab preformed the test and the result was unequivocal definitely half-siblings. This story can be found on the ESPN website under a “Brother’s Tale”.
A brothers’ tale for Omon & Nwagbuo: They plan to meet for the first time Thursday when the 49ers play at San Diego In a few days, the NFL will make its final purge, casting away pieces that don’t fit. Xavier Omon, a fourth-string running back for the San Francisco 49ers, might be on one of those lists, and it won’t be a stunning revelation for a man who has been cut three times. In life, like in football, Omon has struggled to fit in. He was one of just three African-American kids at Beatrice High School in southeastern Nebraska, and freshman year, he says he was called the N-word. “Honestly,” he said, “I beat the hell out of the kid. It never happened again. His father called once, when Xavier was in fourth or fifth grade, and promised to visit. Omon says he never heard from him again. So for nearly 26 years, Xavier Omon felt as if he had half of a life. Then a message came that changed everything. Afraid at first.. It started, of all places, on Facebook. Delorise Omon, Xavier’s mom, was catching up with an old acquaintance on the computer last winter. The man informed her that Chris Nwagbuo, Xavier’s biological father, had died in 2004, and that one of his sons — a half-brother of Xavier’s that he’d never met — just happened to play football, too. For the San Diego Chargers.
“It was crazy,” Xavier Omon said. “It’s like a movie.” Ogemdi Nwagbuo and Xavier Omon found out in December that they are half-brothers. It should have jolted him from his chair, prompted him to rush to his smartphone to check the Chargers’ roster. But Omon hesitated. He was scared. If he took that step, there was no turning back. He’d have to call Ogemdi Nwagbuo, but what if he rejected him? Or didn’t believe him? After pacing for 20 minutes, Omon decided he had nothing to lose. He clicked on the website and found the face and name. Ogemdi Nwagbuo, defensive end, 6-foot-4, 312 pounds. Born in 1985 just like Omon. He then needed roughly five friends to persuade him to make the call. Omon says receiver-turned-reality-TV star Terrell Owens was one of those supporters who helped him muster up the courage to hit the send button. And thus began a nine-month relationship via texts, Skype and late-night phone conversations. Ogemdi Nwagbuo and Xavier Omon found out how much they were alike, how their first love was basketball, not football, how their paths to the NFL were unconventionally jagged, how both of them are waiting out this final cut, though Nwagbuo is seemingly a lock to spend his fourth straight season with the Chargers.
Genetic Genealogy allows us to trace the path of our ancestors and find out who they were, where they lived, and how they have migrated throughout the world. Find the race of your ancestors by discovering your haplogroup. Were they European, and if so, which haplogroup did they belong to? Do you have a Native American Ancestry? What about African ancestry? Do you belong to the famous Jewish Cohanim line? Were you related to Niall of the Nine Hostages? Find out these interesting facts and many more. A surname project allows people from all over the world with the same or similar surname to use DNA markers to determine the roots of their surname and reunite family groups. By comparing your haploytype to other males, you can begin piecing together the puzzle of your global family network.
Because your haploytpe is passed down to you from your ancient forefathers, all males who share the same lineage as you, even if it is very distant, will have the same haplotype as yourself. Using this powerful information, you can determine whether a family line with your same surname shares a common ancestor with you (same family line as yourself) and which family groups originated from a different line. It is always important to try to have the oldest male members of your family line tested as soon as possible to capture important information before it becomes too late. DNA testing has become a very powerful tool for individuals to discover their past and is becoming one of the fastest growing hobbies in North America and Europe. Individuals around the world now have this hobby at their fingertips. A mother passes on her mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA) to both her daughters and sons. Only daughters have the ability to pass it on to the next generation though. This means that both men and women can take the mtDNA test. You will then match both men and women.
I hope that I have inspired you to look into your family genealogy and the advances made the last few years through Y-DNA for males and mtDNA for females. Who knows you may discover your ties to royalty and legendary figures here! Many famous figures of the past, including royalty, have had their DNA analyzed, and now you can see how you are related to these figures.
Don’t know where to start? Want to join a lineage society such as the Colonial Dames or Daughters of the American Revolution and you need help with your society application, than I may be able to help you! Every genealogy project is unique, and my objective is to assist people pursue genealogical research. While no genealogical researcher can guarantee results, your best hope for finding the traces of your ancestors’ footprints may rest with an experienced researcher. If you want to contact me for further information, please feel free to do as by email: hewick1@yahoo.com or 619-694-9415.
ADOPT A PET
YKYGUICWhen…
YKYGUICWHEN…
YOU KNOW YOU GREW UP IN CORONADO WHEN…
Is a Facebook Group devoted to members sharing their fond Coronado memories of growing up here. Different members begin threads and watch out, Coronadoans from many generations living both here in Coronado still or having relocated join together to exchange remembrances of days gone by. The following are two favorite subjects of all of ours: Food & Stars!
YKYGUICWhen…
Denise Adams Shirley began this thread: OK I’ve got one…What was your favorite place to eat on the island when we were growing up and old enough to go out and choose for ourselves?
Left to Right: Denise Adams Shirley ’69, Pamela Murphy Moreno ’72, Elizabeth Betsy Johnson Richie ’71, Nikki Delaurentis ’71, & Wendy Berry Pullin ’71
AND THE TOP 10 RESTAURANTS IN OUR MEMORIES WERE:
MEXICAN VILLAGE
MARCO’S
NIGHT & DAY CAFÉ
CHARBURGER
CHU DYNASTY
ANDERSON’S BAKERY
KRISHNA MULVANEY’S
BOB’S DRIVE-IN
THE BRIGANTINE
CORONADO PHARMACY
HONORABLE MENTIONS GO TO:
MANHATTAN ROOM
NORTHWOODS INN
PAPA TOM’S
JALISCO’S
S&M SUBS
DINO’S
CLAYTON’S
ORANGE JULIUS
LOS PANCHOS
CAPTAIN JACK’S
STRETCH’S
CHOWDER HOUSE
CHEZ LOMA
GOODIE’S (CORONADO WINE & CHEESE)
CIRCUS DRIVE-IN
WENDY’S
MIGUEL’S
YUMMY SAMIS
BASKIN ROBBINS 31 FLAVORS
LYDIA’S
MI CASITA
BULA’S
AMPHIBIOUS BASE
STARDUST DONUTS
DANNY’S
PIZZA GALORE
THE BISTRO
VIVA’S
PIZZA GARDEN
And our comments were: You Know You Grew Up in Coronado When…
Wendy Sanger McGuire — Unreal! I got this in the mail from someone in Lakeside yesterday. I told him how we all felt about the Mexican Village and that if he sent it, I would donate it to the library archives, and he sent it so we all could enjoy!
Lynne Harpst Koen –With family – Mex Pac & Marco’s. On our own: Bob’s Drive In, Papa Tom’s, CharBurger, Orange Julius, Greasy’s!
Denise Adams Shirley – HMMMM…Maybe Mexican Village was the BEST!
Michael Kelly – Stretch’s & such a nice guy! Karaoke King when Mex-Pac started doing it in the 80s!
Donna Huchthausen Davis – Old Mexican Village & Stretch’s…
Nancy Trepagnier – The Old Mexican Village
Kimberley Graham – The Village Burrito was to die for, shredded beef or chicken with gobs of melted cheese & their yummy signature sauce. Start with a crisp quesadilla adorned with green chiles & the best dressing on the Mexican Village romaine salad ever. And not to be completely stuffed, you had to end with the homemade classic dessert, Mexican flan. I truly miss the Mexican Village!
Nancy Cox Castro – Mexican Village…the way it used to be – always a fave!
Andy Niemyer – As a kid, it was a “big deal” to go out: La Avenida, Mexican Village, and Dino’s were all places in town my parents took us. I remember taking dates to Marco’s, the Brigantine, and the Chart House. After I moved back to Coronado with the Navy in ’73, I was a regular at Papa Tom’s – Biggest burgers ever! Of all the natural changes that have happened in my home town over the years, the Mexican Village is the one I will miss the most.
Scott Young – Marco’s, to this day, I still crave their pizza!
Mike Jarvis – Marco’s had the best after surfing scarf food in the world!
Katie M. Farnsworth – Favorite place was Marco’s! Yum!!
Suzi Lewis — My family’s favorite dining establishments were: Marco’s, the Manhattan Room, and the Mexican Village. During my short visits to see my dad and mom or step-mom, I’ve been taken to Miguel’s, Costa Azul, Bistro D’ Asia, and the Island Café. Al and Kimmie took us to Il Fornaio.
Kimberley A. Graham – Almost every Friday night whilst growing up, we ordered two large pizzas from Marco’s (one extra cheese & one with everything – no anchovies)! So delicious! It was our special treat. They had the best homemade sausage. When I moved back to Coronado to raise my kids, we also made Marco’s a ritual. We would walk in & the Palumbo sisters would just start cooking for us. I miss Marco’s so much & so do my kids!
Martha Torkington – Marco’s!!!
Kimberley Graham — Does anybody remember the little hamburger shack next to the car wash by Perkin’s Bookworm? It wasn’t Circus Drive-In, who had the best greasiest fries. Or does anyone remember the pizza at the Manhattan Room? And then there was Trout Almondine at Dino’s. That would be with your parents. And I will forever miss Marco’s & Chu Dynasty. One of the Palumbo sisters has opened an Italian restaurant in IB called Café di Roma. I am excited to try it.
Wendy Sandy McGuire — Frances Palumbo advertises her catering in the Eagle and the new restaurant in IB is Cafe di Roma. Ganosh Gourmet carries their sauces, foccacia bread, and turkey sausage for those too tired to go down the Strand, but we also eat there every chance we get! All the sisters are working there, and it is awesome.
Denise Adams Shirley – OOOOOOHHH Marco’s…AND Jalisco’s! Yummers!!!
Tim Hinsvark — Chart House all-u-can eat ribs night, Brig, Mulvaney’s salad bar, Capt Jack’s was ok, Marco’s, Mexican Village, that deli where Leroy’s is now, Jalisco’s Cafe in IB.
Lynne Harpst Koen – Remember the little submarine sandwich place?? YUMMY Samis! Kathy Williams Campbell and I used to pig out on them in the median right there on Orange. Then we’d go to Baskin Robbins 31 Flavors for dessert. Ah! Those were the days, my friends!!
Kimberley Graham — How about the garlic bread spread at Northwoods Inn?
Michael Kelly — Coronado Pharmacy Fountain Patty Melts…the best!
Kimberley Graham – On my own, for me, it was always Clayton’s for the roast beef sandwich with cheesecake for dessert & Coronado Pharmacy lunch counter for the pimento cheeseburger.
Helen Nichols Murphy — Coronado Pharmacy fountain! Of course, my Mom was the Manager & the Best Cook in town! No one could make a Hamburger like my mom “Mallie”!
Aleene Queene — You’re so right, Helen! Best hamburgers, cheeseburgers, and many soups!! Mallie was the best!
Barbara Gatzert –Mulvaney’s…So much fun with friends. I’ve got good memories of the drug store counter and their malts.
Bill Meyer — Sorry girls, but I beg to differ. The Coronado Pharmacy fountain had nothing on the Night and Day Cafe. And my mom was the best cook the Night and Day Cafe ever saw. The fresh hash browns were to die for.
Denise Adams Shirley — Gotta go with Bill on this one…I’m sure your Mom was an awesome cook, Helen…it’s just the Hash Browns that got ME!! lol
Kim Harris — I liked Papa Tom’s burgers and Clearman’s Little Northwoods Inn had a great, huge chili burger, free if you could eat two, and peanut shells on the floor.
Charles Crehore – Remember CharBurger French fries? Yum!!
Denise Adams Shirley – I know Charlie, they were the only burgers that tasted char-broiled…NOT like Burger King, huh?
Brenda Jo Robyn – CharBurger drive-thru on my bike!
Maggie McDonough — Anybody remember ‘Mi Casita’? In the block that doesn’t exist anymore…I remember a munchies buzz there…laughing hysterically with an unforgettable best friend, Alice Stocker,and almost getting kicked out…I’m smiling now from that memory…
Charles Crehore — We used to make food sculptures and turn water glasses upside down at Clayton’s and they would just laugh.
Mark Washabaugh — Mulvaney’s for prime rib. Marco’s for pizza. Cruising to IB to eat at Oscar’s, and of course, McDonald’s.
Old color photo postcard from c.1950, shows interior view of La Avenida Cafe with the 1938 El Dia del Mercado mural by Ramos Martinez
Lory Frank Farrior – How inviting! What is there now?
Michael Kelly — Some three-story monstrosity with multiple restaurants and shops. The murals were purchased by a Japanese company in the early 90s and stored for years until the new Coronado Library got a hold of them and displayed them. They did a GREAT job! How many “Jack Salads” did I toss there? All of us that worked there lived off Jack Salad! nom nom ~ Still know the recipe….neener neener neener! I loved working there so much!!!
Teddi Setterlund – La Avenida!
Helen Nichols Murphy – My mom worked there for years and loved it! The Jack Salads were the best!
Denise Adams Shirley — La Avenida was the BEST!
And now for the famous recipe for Jack’s Salad! Thanks, Michael
Michael Kelly – 1 egg first, then juice from one lemon, beat thoroughly in bowl, 2 caps of Worcestershire sauce. The secret is to add garlic to your oil days in advance to infuse the oil. I think it was a 1 cup ladle we used. Then we sent the Romano cheese through an old meat grinder, so it came out round, thick, and coarse (NOT PARMESAN) about a cup. The croutons were homemade along with the garlic oil. Salt and fresh COARSE ground pepper to taste. The Romaine must be thoroughly washed and dried or the oil will not stick. No anchovy paste was ever added. They served it with chicken or cold jumbo shrimp too. I do it by “eye”, so I will make a batch and “measure”.
Elizabeth Betsy Johnson Richie — La Avenida for many things…primarily Jack’s salad, and Mexican Village for Mexican Pizza (and their salad ROCKED too). Before I was old enough to go out on my own…La Avenida for hot chocolate and fresh cinnamon rolls after mass on Sunday with my Dad.
Barbara Gatzert – Oh, the best hot chocolate…Memories of my Dad taking me, I believe the name of the restaurant was La Avenida…Oh I had to get up so early at 6 LOL…I love you Dad…
Kimberley Graham — I remember going as young girls to Anderson’s Bakery & eating donuts hot out of the fryer in the darkness of the night. It was the yummiest of the yummiest. I also remember putting down a half dozen glazed donuts on Saturday mornings as a ritual. At that time, no one thought it was bad for you. It was just yummy.
Suzi Lewis – I still think they were the best doughnuts in the world. Remember the holes?
Maureen Rutherford Nieland — I have always said that it was Anderson’s Bakery that kept me from getting my stomach pumped. There were a few kids that had to go to the hospital to get their stomachs pumped after eating lunch at a drive through (or drive up) that used to be next door to the “Night and Day” Cafe. I was the only one that went to Anderson’s for my usual Lime sherbet cone dipped in chocolate sprinkles…I think the lime sherbet did it…That was my favorite there…
Michael Kelly — I was the one up at 5:00 in the morning “injecting” the Jelly- Filled Donuts (as a kid I ALWAYS wondered how they did that), dipping them in chocolate and nuts, putting them in those gold trays, and displaying them before the door’s opened. I was the “Donut Dresser”. Lol! I think my FAV donut was Bud’s Buttermilk Bars! Nothing compares to this day!
Aleene Queene — Yes, Michael, Bud’s Buttermilk Bars!! None anywhere compare!!
Michael Kelly — They were dark and crispy on the outside but super soft on the inside and must of weighed a pound a piece…They were amazing!
Denise Adams Shirley – I can just smell it…mmmmm!
Helen Nichols Murphy — I miss Anderson’s Bakery! Wish it was still here along with Marco’s & Coromart, LOL!
Chuck McIntyre — Helen…I too missed it on a trip back home. I walked in and looked through all the cases and nothing seemed to be very appealing. The “Anderson’s charm” was gone for good for me. Anderson’s pastries were so yummy. To this day, their Bear Claws are still the benchmark by which I judge all others by. I almost forgot I had a job there for a few years. Bud and Clare were great to work for.
Katy Tahja — Their Christmas goodies were awesome…Kathy Alban
Michael Kelly — Wow….this hit me hard. Bud was the nicest, kindest man I have ever met. He was in the bakery almost daily and was renowned for his Pfeffernüsse cookies at Christmas and Buttermilk Bar recipe. I have NEVER tasted anything in comparison to date. There is a picture of Cheryle in my album here. Darn it…here come the waterworks…
Andy Niemyer — I never had “mass-produced” bread until I moved away from Coronado for college. We always got sliced bread from Anderson’s. Gosh I miss that stuff. Ever so often, as a “treat” we’d get some of the pastries, too.
Michael Kelly — That bread slicing machine at Andersons first scared the crap outta me. “Would you like your bread sliced thin or regular?”
Lala Chappell — ”And would you like it with or without fingers?”
Michael Kelly — Lala….You had to step on a gas pedal thingy and feed the bread from behind the blades, then push it as close as you could with your hands. CRAZEE! I think that machine had to have been acquired by Bud! It was old…
Paul Fournier — I’ll always remember the coffee cups on the pegs on the wall and the smell of everything baking right when you walked in. I walk into bakeries and think,”not as good as Anderson’s.”
Michael Kelly — Paul…That was the “Coronado Coffee Club”! You either brought in your favorite coffee cup from home and placed it on a peg OR Anderson’s would sell you a plain white coffee cup and paint your name on it. There was a little sink in the corner toward the cake display. After your morning coffee, you would rinse out your cup, and place it back on your peg. Great memory!
Mike Atencio — Absolutely. They always smelled good too. I would stop and enjoy the smells on Saturday mornings just waiting for them to open the place up. I didn’t mind waiting outside before they opened or in line inside. It was worth it.
Tina Shoys — That was the BEST bakery! I’d forgotten about it.
YKYGUICWHEN…
Lynne Harpst Koen began this thread: How about – “WHAT FAMOUS PEOPLE DID YOU SEE/MEET?” Growing up here in Coronado?
Lory Frank Farrior — Susan Dey from the Partridge Family. Literally bumped into her at the Del. Saw George C. Scott at a private showing for the Greek Tycoon. Cathy Coleman was with me. First night I got tipsy.
Janet Brooks Greene — I ran into Dick Van Dyke…literally…running in the front door of Coro-Mart! All I remember is saying “sorry” then looking WAY up into his face…It was a WOW moment for this kid!!
Brenda Beth Allison — When I worked at the Hotel del, I heard stories about Orville, and they were not very flattering. They called him a “prude”.
Ted Nulty — He would rub two quarters in my face if I got there after 4:30 and say “If you would have gotten here sooner this could have been yours!” I got out of X-country practice and started my shift at 4:00. Had to dash to the Shores to try and make it on time during rush hour. I had ladies tip me $2-$5 dollars for a delivery and they would say “Thank you”. Orville never did. Won’t buy his Pop-corn to this day.
Joe Hewitt — Yeah I meet Orville outside of La Perla one day on the side lawn area. I guess he was doing a commercial or something, and he lost the tiny foam piece that goes over a lapel microphone he was wearing. It fell in the grass!! He asked me to help them look for it, and after about an hour of searching for it, we couldn’t find it…I asked him didn’t he have extras and he said yes! But he didn’t want to waste 15 cents!! Hahaha! That was when I realized the man was pretty tight with the cash! LOL
Carrie Woodruff — Got to interview Orville for journalism class and met John Travolta in Pizza Galore and got to walk with him up Orange Avenue! Such a nice guy.
Ted Nulty — Orville was an ASS!!! Hated that man with a passion. He was so rude to me and the other kids that worked at Coronado Pharmacy as delivery drivers!!
Laurie Hunt Puglia — I guess I got him on one of his good days. He was very nice to me and gave me a jar of his popcorn. I love his popcorn especially the Homestyle…I am going to go pop some now.
Carrie Woodruff — Just goes to show you, treat people as you want to be remembered when you’re gone.
Robin Summitt Hunt — He was rude. He came to my teller window at BofA…glad it was a quick transaction.
Marnie Constance — He came into KFC often when I worked there, and we all hated him. He was so rude!
Michael Kelly — Orville lived in La Perla with his female “partner” Pat. I had met both he and Pat when he was still alive and have been in their home. Pat gave me a KPBS tape on “The Mansion” on Ocean Blvd that I still have.
Paul Berry — My dad held me on his shoulders to see Marilyn Monroe when she was filming “Some Like It Hot” at the Hotel Del.
Rob Squires — Peter O’Toole, David Janssen, and Orville Redenbacher.
Jeffrey Donn Hansen Sr. — I interviewed Eric Estrada at the Del for Mrs. Wright’s Journalism class. He was there to crown the queen of the ball.
Mark Washabaugh — I stood next to Steve Martin at the Del’s tennis shop and didn’t even know it.
Maureen Rutherford Nieland — Watched “Some Like it Hot” being made and got Jack Lemmon’s autograph — lost it years ago. Loved watching them all. Of course, Marilyn Monroe & Jerry Lewis got a rap for being pretty rude on their visits to Coronado. Johnny Downs, of course. I met many more working in Vegas for 38 years. Oh yes, almost forgot one of my favorites in Coronado, was seeing Roy Rogers and Dale Evans and Trigger in the 4th of July Parade long before the bridge came in. They had to come all the way around the strand or by the ferry. I can’t remember which way they came, but guarantee it wasn’t easy. Trigger had all the heavy silver they put on him too.
Wendy Pullin – Not a one.
Wendy Sanger McGuire — Remember when Fred MacMurray was here to film “The Chadwick Family” and the Islander Marching band made a bundle of money from appearing in the final scene?
Mary Lou Staight — This is what I remember about the movie, The Chadwicks:
1) Fred MacMurray and the rest of the cast were all familiar ’60s – 70s TV faces, not to mention Disney (nod to the Village Theater). I went through each actor’s list of work, and most of them were in family-oriented sitcoms at this point. In other words, we knew who they were because they came into our living rooms regularly.
2) If the TV Movie got good ratings, it might have been turned into a regular series. Obviously, it wasn’t. I am giggling because in my opinion – it stunk.
There are four reviews on the site (I am a regular on Imdb). The reviewers were all about twelve years old when they saw the show, and they all LOVED it…and cried. The bar for twelve-year-old movie critics isn’t very high. It was an uninteresting, boring drama. Hollywood had not yet entered the world of “Dallas” and “Dynasty”, so they hadn’t particularly got it right.
3)Filming in Coronado! And, the day WE got to be in a movie! The band and drill team were in their marching uniforms. The drill team stood for hours in front of my house. I lived in that white house next to the Sacred Heart playground. 7th and C was a very important corner for standing and waiting for your queue. I guess Fred MacMurray was nice and signed autographs. He had to play bagpipes and walk in front (or back???) of a small plane. The town was throwing him some kind of parade in his honor??? This all had to do with someone dying in his family, and he was somehow a hero. I can’t find or remember the actual story. I do remember a scene of the inside of a hospital and everyone was crying. It started out as this happy family and then the whole movie was about all of the terrible things that were happening to them. It was just depressing. The two things I remember most: The entire band/drill team scene was during the ending credits – WHAT! The town people were the “parade watchers” — something Coronado people were BORN to play!!! And, they were barely shown. Now, here’s the sin of ALL sins. Before the parade scene, Fred MacMurray’s cab is driving across the bridge away from Coronado. He decides right there and then, he CAN’T leave his beloved Coronado! Right in the middle of the bridge (the very top) he tells the driver to “TURN AROUND”…ON THE BRIDGE!!! YOU CAN’T DO THAT!!! Now, if you don’t understand how this could happen — you are officially “New”! Of course all of us who know better – it was when those little plastic separator posts were in use. I can’t even imagine that now.
Scott Young — Met and got her autograph – Pamela Anderson about 8 years ago on the U.S. Ronald Reagan while it was ported at North Island. I’ll never forget, she gave me some words of wisdom to live by, she said, “my eyes are up here.”
Kimberley Graham — Partied with Robin Williams once. He was crazy & frantic like he is on talk shows. Followed me into the girls’ restroom. I had to tell him to skedaddle.
Suzi Lewis — He was best buds with one of my former housemates here. They went to high school together, and their families played tennis together. She said he was like that even before the coke. Drove people crazy.
Teddi Setterlund — Beau & Jeff Bridges, Mohammed Ali. I worked in the sales office at the Del, and my dad was Del security, & I was lucky enough to meet and see many. A couple of the men were so handsome I was struck dumb. HAHAHAHA. Not to brag but I worked the hat check stand the night President Nixon met with the President of Mexico. There were a lot of hot shots there. John Wayne turned me down for an autograph & I tried on Nancy Reagan’s chinchilla coat. Great fun that nite.
Denise Adams Shirley — I am SO dissappointed in John Wayne…I bet Nancy Reagan was really a nice person!
Suzi Lewis — No one, but my grandmom got me Lloyd Bridges’ autograph, and at the time, I wanted to be on Sea Hunt.
Kimberley Graham — Met Lloyd Bridges as well. He was a very nice man. I wanted to be a sea huntress too. Especially, playing with the dolphins!
Mary Pruter — I waited on Bonnie Franklin from One Day at a Time at Mulvaney’s. Also one of the main actors from Knots Landing!
Marci Rose — My grandmother played bridge with Jim Morrison’s parents! I saw Steven Tyler at Viva Nova. And of course Scout Wieland from Stone Temple Pilots lived in Coronado for years.
Kimberley Graham – When I worked at Le Meridien here in Coronado, we had many, many stars stay there. Just to name a few that I waited on & got to know included Ed Harris, Amy Madigan, Valerie Bertinelli, Dan Akroyd, Wolf Blitzer & the CNN crew, Martin Sheen, Billy Joel, Larry King, etc. But by far, my favorite evening was when I was working in La Provence, the cocktail lounge. It was midnight & the only people in the lounge were Peter, the bartender, & I. The next thing we know is Steven Tyler & the entire band, Aerosmith, descended upon us with a few groupies after their concert. We entertained them & them us until 4 in the morning. I heard many an interesting story that evening. A definite never-forget time.
Robin Summitt Hunt — Orville Redenbacher, Dick Van Dyke, Robby Benson, George Gobel, darn-my mind just went blank–had lunch with the gentleman that played Marcus Welby M.D. — also quite a few more…made life interesting.
Denise Adams Shirley – Robert Young.
Robin Summitt Hunt — Thank you…that was driving me nuts. Thanks Denise.
Sarah Daw — Dick Van Dyke and The Who, Jimmy Carter.
Mark Washabaugh — Orville Redenbacher, Dick Van Dyke, Diane Carroll (she played a nurse named Julia), Steve Linde…
Steven Linde – Mark, thanks for the shout out! Lol…
Suzi Lewis — Someone mentioned Robin Williams. He owns property up here in Sonoma, and I used to run into him at Fiesta Market. We have other celebs who own property up here, but either I never see them or am so blind I wouldn’t recognize them from the meter man/woman.
Armand DeCesare Jr. – I worked the front desk and later as a doorman at the Meridien. I personally checked in Robin Williams, George Thorogood, the B52s, General Colin Powell (although he never came to the lobby), Lou Reed, Van Halen, Paul Weller, Lars Ulrich, and countless others. I worked there from 1991-1998. Oh, VADM Stockdale came in for lunch about once a month. Very nice man.
Kerry Prochaska — I was working at Central Drug Store at the time, and I remember Peter O’Toole coming in to buy something or pick up a prescription.
Kimberley Graham — Jay Ruedi’s mother married an actor named Jim Hess who was in the Stuntman.
Mike Gaffrey — My sister was an extra in The Stuntman and had a couple close ups. We watched them film at the Del as well as the Children’s Pool in La Jolla.
Kimberley Graham – The Hotel Del Coronado used to host celebrity tennis tournaments. As kids, we used to run around and meet all kinds of stars. I don’t remember who I was with: But we met Lloyd Bridges, Kurt Douglas, Kim Novak, Jerry Lewis, etc. at the Del. My parents used to play tennis with Charlton Heston & the father from The Addam’s Family, John Gomez. When I lived in Leucadia, I had my grand prize of partying with George Harrison, but also met people at celebrity tennis tournaments at La Costa down the street from my house like Lucille Ball, Johnny Carson, Michael Landon (“I Love Milk”), Clint Eastwood, all of the Monkees, Shaft (John Shaft), etc. Life has been big & fun thanks to my roots in Coronado!
Robin Summitt Hunt — There was a film with Robby Benson (a lot of the girls at the front desk were fighting over who would get to check him in…also one with Susan Sarandon….us pbx operators sometimes answered ‘delmonico lodge’…That’s what they named the Del for their movie…also Ghost Story with Sebastian Cabot. I’ll have to check with Nancy, she was at the del longer than I was.
Gerald Washabaugh — Steve Martin, Sean Penn, Madonna, who were registered as Annodam at the Del, yelled at me for asking for an autograph for my niece, who was four at the time. Penn was cool and gave one. I interviewed the stars of Hart to Hart and Simon and Simon for school newspaper. Too many to name since I worked at the Del, most were cool some were plain asses. I was so happy when the Del kicked Madonna out and said she could never stay there again. Got in trouble trying to meet President Carter. The list could go on. I just remember one thing about stars that keeps me from getting star struck. They really are the same as us. Oh, was supposed to interview the Who, but when I showed up, I cannot remember her name, came walking out of Roger Daltry’s room half dressed and hair messed up. He said sorry and sent me on my way. He was too tired to do the interview.
Joey Harris – Elvira! I saw her arriving to pick up her child at Camp Marsten when I was about ten! I had a serious “schwing” moment!
DOCTORS TO YOUR DOOR
DOCTORS TO YOUR DOOR
MEET DOCTOR DAVIS
YOU’VE COME A LONG WAY, BABY
Although still not equal with men, Women have made great strides when it comes to equal rights.
The television series Mad Men depicts the 1950s society as utterly Misogynist, women were nothing short of chattel, powerless and completely dependent on me.
The First Humans: Neanderthals had zero regard for women, it is told not by examining fossils per say, but by the lack of regard for the female during the burial process. In ancient graves we find that a ritual of reverence was performed when members lay flowers and garlands on the body before covering it. The only relics discovered in this way were of males. no females were ever found in this way, in fact only limbs were found strewn about depicting mentality that women were of little status. But throughout history, women have excelled, have equalled, and some have bested men in many ways.
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Women Warriors Dona Catalina Erauso of San Sebastian left a nunnery in 1596 and travelled to Peru where she became a soldier of fortune. She used sword, knife, and pistol, and fought in battles and in duels. She died around 1650. Madame de Saint-Baslemont de Neuville actively defended her manor in 1634 during the 30 Years War. A commemorative portrait of her was painted 1638-1640 Madame de Saint-Belmont disguised herself as a man and fought a duel against a cavalry officer after he ignored a letter she had sent complaining of his discourtesy. Mary Frith (died in 1659 or 1663 ?) – also known as Moll Cutpurse – was a highwayman in England Kathleen, Lady Ferrers, the ‘Wicked Lady of Markyate Cell’ was another highwayman. During the English Civil War Queen Henrietta Maria was actively involved in King Charles’ campaigns and marched at the head of one of his armies. Blanche, Lady Arundel (maiden name Somerset) held Wardour Castle against Parliamentary troops during a six day seige in the English Civil War in1643. During this seige maidservants carried bullets and powder up to the men at their defensive posts. Lady Brilliana Harley (maiden name Conway) refused to hand over her home, Brampton Castle, to Royalist troops during the English Civil War and held it during a seven week seige in 1643. Lady Mary Bankes defended Corfe Castle during a six week seige in the English Civil War in1643. Lady Mary and her daughters joined other women of the castle and soldiers in dropping stones and hot embers on the beseigers to prevent them scaling the castle walls. Two aristocratic French women, who were sisters, fought a duel near Bordeaux in 1650. The elder sister was killed. The chronicler who recorded the incident didn’t mention their names in order to spare the family further grief. (source: “The Duel” – Robert Baldick – Spring Books – 0 600 32837 6) Mrs Purefoy of Caldecot Manor and her household held off Prince Rupert and his troops for several hours with only twelve muskets during the English Civil War. Women reloaded the guns during the fighting. Mistress Elizabeth Leigh of Rushall Hall also defended her home against Prince Rupert in 1643 during the English Civil War “with the help of her men and maids”. In August 1643 a mob of women occupied the Palace Yard to protest at Parliament rejecting a peace treaty during the English Civil War. They threw stones and troopers retaliated against them with swords and pistols. In April 1664 the women of Lyme carried powder and bullets as well as other provisions into the thick of the fighting when the town was beseiged by Royalists during the English Civil War. King Charles issued a proclamation banning women who were with the armies during the English Civil War from wearing men’s clothing. The Scots Army which marched on Newcastle in 1644 during the English Civil War is reported to have included “women who stood with blue caps among the men” as regular soldiers. In 1644 Lady Charlotte Derby (maiden name de la Tremoille) held Lathom House against Parliamentarian forces during a twelve week seige. In 1645 a Royalist corporal captured near Nottingham during the English Civil War was found to be a woman. Alyona, a former nun, led a troop of Russian rebels 1670 Lady Ann Cummingham led a cavalry troop of men and women in the Battle of Berwick on June 5, 1639 “Anne Marie Louise d’Orleans (1627-1693) was the daughter duc Gaston d’Orleans and his first wife Marie de Bourbon. Is known in a history as mademoiselle de Montpensier or Great Mademoiselle. She was the grand daughter of the king Henri IV the Great, niece of the king Louis XIII and first cousine of the king Louis XIY. She participated on the party dissatisfied in times the Fronde and even has ordered to shoot from guns on Paris (for this participation she has deserved her nickname). One time the plans of her marriage with the king were under construction. Eventually she has entered in the morganatic marriage 1670 with Antoine-Nompar de Caumont (1632-1723), later duc de Lauzun. “ Christian ‘Kit’ Cavanagh (or Davies), better known as “Mother Ross” was one of several women who served as dragoons in the British Army. She fought during the 1690’s at first disguised as a man and later openly as a woman. Anne Chamberlyne dressed in men’s clothing and fought in a six hour battle against the French on board her brother’s ship in June 1690. She died in childbirth in1691. A ballad written in 1690 by seaman John Curtin describes a woman who was discovered disguised as a man in the crew of the 72 gun vessel “Edgar”. A gentlewoman petitioned the Queen for payment for serving on the ship St Andrew dressed in men’s clothing and taking part in a battle against the French in the summer of 1691. Mlle La Maupin, an actress who died in 1707, issued more than one challenge to duel, and was pardonned by King Louis XIV after killing several men in one evening at a ball.
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ROCKIN’ CHILDREN OF ROCK STARS: THE BEATLES
Zak Starkey (born 13 September 1965) is an English rock drummer. He is the son of the Beatles drummer Ringo Starr and Starr’s first wife, Maureen Starkey Tigrett. He is also well known for his unofficial membership in the English rock band, The Who, with whom he has performed and recorded since 1996. He is the third drummer to have appeared with English rock band Oasis as well. Starkey has worked with other musicians and bands such as: Johnny Marr, Paul Weller, The Icicle Works, The Waterboys, ASAP, and The Lightning Seeds.
At age eight, Starkey became interested in music. At age ten, he began teaching himself to play the drums. His father gave him only one lesson but afterward discouraged his son’s growing interest hoping instead not to see him in the same business as his father. Although Starr has praised his son’s abilities he is said to have stated that he had always regarded Starkey as a future lawyer or doctor. The Who’s drummer, Keith Moon, was one of Ringo Starr’s closest friends and Starkey’s godfather, and although they “never sat together at a drum kit”, Moon discussed drumming with Starkey and gave Starkey his first professional drum kit which later sold at Sotheby’s for 12,000 pounds. By the age of twelve, Starkey was already performing in pubs and was later a member of a garage band called the Next.
In the 1990s, Starkey who was now an accomplished drummer, joined two members of the Who, Roger Daltrey and John Entwistle on a tour entitled: Daltrey Sings Townshend. This tour developed from a two-night performance at Carnegie Hall to celebrate Daltrey’s fiftieth birthday. In 1996 Starkey then left his band Face to work with The Who on their Quadrophenia tour. He received good reviews in this role and was praised by the music press for a strong drumming presence without trying to emulate the band’s previous drummer, Keith Moon. Both Townshend and Daltrey stated that they felt Starkey was the best match for the band since the death of Keith Moon.
Starkey was not available to record “Endless Wire” (2006) with The Who as he was on the road with Oasis at the time. He was available for the subsequent tour in support of the album however, The Who Tour 2006-2007. Pete Townshend’s official web site declared that Starkey was invited to become a full member of The Who after this tour stating that “Some of you may have noticed in one of my recent diary postings that I welcomed Zak into the Who as a permanent member. This is something he doesn’t feel he needs or wants. Let’s just say that the door is always open to this amazing musician and whenever we can, we will always try to make it possible for Zak to work with the Who in the future.” Starkey declined the invitation from Townshend, however.
On 7 February 2010, Starkey appeared with The Who during the half time show of Super Bowl XLIV. On 30 March 2010, Starkey played withThe Who during their performance of Quadraphenia at the Royal Albert Hall in aid of the Teenage Cancer Trust. Starkey performed “With A Little Help From My Friends” and “Give Peace a Chance” with his father and numerous guest stars (Yoko Ono, Nils Lofgren, Little Steven, Jeff Lynne) on 7 July 2010, at Ringo Starr’s 70th birthday party held at Radio City Music Hall. He also made several guest appearances for the Red Hot Chili Peppers. On 12 August 2012, he played with The Who at the finale of the closing ceremony for the 2012 London Summer Olympic Games.
John Charles Julian Lennon (born 8 April 1963) is a British musician, songwriter, actor, and photographer. He is the son of the late John Lennon and Lennon’s first wife, Cynthia Powell. Beatles’ manager, Brian Epstein, was his godfather. He has a younger half-brother, Sean Lennon. Lennon was named after his paternal grandmother, Julia.
Julian Lennon was born in Liverpool. Initially, the fact that John Lennon was married and had a child was concealed from the public in keeping with the conventional wisdom of the era that female teenage fans would not be as enamored of married male pop stars.
When he was five, Lennon’s parents divorced following his father’s infidelity with Yoko Ono. Paul McCartney wrote “Hey Jude” to console him over the divorce. Originally called “Hey Jules”, McCartney changed the name because he thought “Jude” was an easier name to sing. Lennon had almost no contact with his father after the divorce until the early 1970s, when at the instigation of his father’s then girlfriend, May Pang, Julian began to see his father more regularly. John bought his son a Gibson Les Paul guitar and a drum machine for Christmas in 1973 and encouraged his interest in music by showing him some chords. He made his musical debut at age 11 on his father’s album “Walls and Bridges” playing drums on “Ya-Ya” and later saying, “Dad, had I known you were going to put it on the album, I would’ve played much better!”
Following his father’s murder, Lennon voiced anger and resentment toward him, saying, “I’ve never really wanted to know the truth about how dad was with me. There was some very negative stuff talked about me…Paul and I used to hang about quite a bit more than Dad and I did. We had a great friendship going, and there seems to be far more pictures of me and Paul playing together at that age than there are pictures of me and my dad.
He was not included in John Lennon’s will, and was annoyed that he had to buy mementos of his father at auctions. A settlement was eventually reached wherein Julian was given “a large but undisclosed sum”. By 2009 Lennon’s feelings toward his father had mellowed. Recalling his renewed relationship with his father in the mid-1970s, he said, “Dad and I got on a great deal better then. We had a lot of fun, laughed a lot, and had a great time in general when he was with May Pang. My memories of that time with Dad and May are very clear — they were the happiest time I can remember with them.” Lennon has been quoted as having a “cordial” relationship with Ono while getting along very well with her son, his half-brother, Sean, even spending time together on Sean’s tour in 2007.
In commemoration of John Lennon’s 70th Birthday and as a statement for peace, 9 October 2010 saw Julian, alongside his mother Cynthia, unveil the John Lennon Peace Monument in his home town, Liverpool, England.
Julian directly inspired three Beatles songs: “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”, “Hey Jude”, and “Good Night”. He is also devoted to philanthropic endeavors, most notably his own White Feather Foundation and the Whaledreamers Organization, both of which promote the co-existence of all species and the health and well-being of the Earth. He remains good friends with his father’s band mate, Paul McCartney. Julian Lennon’s sixth studio album “Everything Changes” was released on 3 October 2011.
Sean Lennon, the only child to the late John Lennon and his wife, Yoko Ono, was born in New York City on October 9, 1975, his father’s 35th birthday. Julian Lennon is his half-brother and Kyoko Chan Cox is his half-sister. After Sean’s birth, John became a house husband, doting on his young son until his murder in 1980. Sean attended kindergarten in Tokyo and was also educated at the exclusive private boarding school Institut Le Rosey in Rolle, Switzerland and earlier at New York’s private Ethical Culture Fieldston School and Dalton School. He later attended Columbia University, though for only three semesters before dropping out to focus on his music career.
His parents did not force him into the life of a musician. They intentionally hid their musical lives from their son. His debut into the music world came at the age of five, reciting a story on his mother’s 1981 album, “Season of Glass”. From childhood into his teen years, Sean continued to collaborate with his mother, contributing vocals and receiving production credit on her solo albums: “It’s Alright (I See Rainbows)”, “Starpeace”, and “Onobox”.
At 16, Sean co-wrote the song “All I Ever Wanted” with Lenny Kravitz for his 1991 album “Mama Said”. By 1995 Sean had formed the band IMA (with Sam Koppelman andTimo Ellis) to play alongside his mother on her album “Rising”. Sean also made appearances in film, featured in the cast of Michael Jackson’s 1988 “Moonwalker”, and portraying a teenager experiencing visions of various M.C. Escher paintings in Sony’s 1990 promotional short-film “Infinite Escher”.
James Louis McCartney (born 12 September 1977) is a British musician and songwriter living in London. He is the only son of songwriter and former Beatle Paul McCartney and the late Linda McCartney. He spent the first two-and-a-half years of his life on the road while his parents toured with their band Wings. After the band broke up in 1980, the McCartney family settled in Rye, East Sussex, England where he attended the local state secondary school. He has stated his earliest inspiration to learn guitar was Michael J. Fox in Back to the Future. As a result, he began playing music when his father gave him a Fender Stratocaster at age nine. The guitar had previously been owned by Carl Perkins.
In 1989 McCartney with his older sisters Mary and Stella again joined Paul and Linda on a world tour. He continued his education with a tutor while on the road. In 1993, at age 16, while surfing with friends, he was swept out to sea. Coast Guard was called, and his family rushed to the site, but he emerged safe on his own forty minutes later.
On 17 April 1998, in Tucson, Arizona, James along with his father and sisters was at his mother’s side when she died from breast cancer, which had been diagnosed in 1995. Later that year, McCartney graduated from Bexhill College near his home in East Sussex, where he pursued studies in A Level Art and sculpture.
James has contributed to a number of solo albums by his parents including “Flaming Pie”, “Driving Rain”, and “Wide Prairie”. His first solo EP “Available Light” was released in September 2010 to positive reviews. A second EP “Close at Hand” was released shortly after. The solo album The Complete EP Collection was released in November 2011.
Dhani Harrison (born 1 August 1978) is an English musician and the son of the Beatles lead guitarist George Harrison and Olivia Harrison. Harrison debuted as a professional musician when completing his father’s final album “Brainwashed” after George Harrison’s death in November 2001. Harrison formed his own band, thenewno2, in 2006.
Harrison’s first name is pronounced similarly to the name Danny but with an aspirated ‘d’. He is named after the 6th and 7th notes of the Indian music scale, ‘dha’ and ‘ni’. ‘Dhani’ is also a raga in north Indian classical music.
Harrison grew up with his parents in Henley-on-Thames in Friar Park, South Oxfordshire, England, the estate on which his father had lived since 1970. One of Harrison’s earliest memories, from the age of six, is receiving a drumming lesson from his father’s friend and bandmate, “Uncle” Ringo Starr. He recalled that before the lesson, he had been an avid drummer. However, when Starr began to play, the loud noise frightened him so much that he ran out of the room screaming and never used his drum kit again.
Like his father, Dhani Harrison showed a keen interest in Formula One auto racing. He accompanied George to Grand Prix races around the world.
Harrison attended Badgemore Primary school in Henley-on-Thames, then Dolphin School, a Montessori method school. He later attended Shiplake College where he showed a keen interest in rowing. Harrison is an alumnus of Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island, where he studied physics and industrial design. After graduating from Brown in 2001, Harrison pursued a career as an aerodynamicist; however, he decided to follow in his father’s footsteps as a professional musician.
In 2009, it was announced that Harrison was collaborating in the development of “The Beatles: Rock Band” music video game for the Xbox 360, PlayStation 3, and Wii gaming platforms. Dhani Harrison was instrumental in the creation of the game and urged McCartney and Starr to participate. When asked about the game production Dhani stated, “I took the project to Apple and sort of convinced everybody to have a presentation. My job description is being enthusiastic. We’ve been working on it for the past two years. This is the first one that is going to be totally, historically accurate. It’s been a real headache, but it’s been the most enjoyable work I’ve done in my life.”
Harrison told the Chicago Tribune in an interview that he is “working on ‘Rock Band 3’ and making the controllers more real so people can actually learn how to play music while playing the game”.
CORONADO CLARION SUMMER EDITION
CORONADO CLARION VIDEO ROUNDUP
FINGERS REUNION 2012
HAIKU, POETRY, & OTHER THOUGHTS
Readers are invited to submit their own materials of any style not just this form.
Jack Kerouac
American Haiku (Copyright 1959)
“The American Haiku is not exactly the Japanese
Haiku. The Japanese Haiku is strictly disciplined
to seventeen syllables but since the language
structure is different I don’t think American
Haikus (short three-line poems intended to be
completely packed with Void of Whole) should worry
about syllables because American speech is
something again…bursting to pop.
Above all, a Haiku must be very simple and free
of all poetic trickery and make a little picture
and yet be as airy and graceful as a Vivaldi
Pastorella.”
Jack Kerouac
Early morning yellow flowers,
thinking about
the drunkards of Mexico.
No telegram today
only more leaves
fell.
Nightfall,
boy smashing dandelions
with a stick.
Holding up my
purring cat to the moon
I sighed.
Drunk as a hoot owl,
writing letters
by thunderstorm.
Empty baseball field
a robin
hops along the bench.
All day long
wearing a hat
that wasn’t on my head.
Crossing the football field
coming home from work –
the lonely businessman.
After the shower
among the drenched roses
the bird thrashing in the bath.
Snap your finger
stop the world –
rain falls harder.
Nightfall,
too dark to read the page
too cold.
Following each other
my cats stop
when it thunders.
Wash hung out
by moonlight
Friday night in May.
The bottoms of my shoes
are clean
from walking in the rain.
Glow worm
sleeping on this flower –
Four Haiku
by Matsuo Basho
Spring:
A hill without a name
Veiled in morning mist.
The beginning of autumn:
Sea and emerald paddy
Both the same green.
The winds of autumn
Blow: yet still green
The chestnut husks.
A flash of lightning:
Into the gloom
Goes the heron’s
GLADIATORS ALL
In 2012 we still have giant arena’s, spectacular violence, corrupt politicians, and all the decadence of the Roman Empire.
Our idols are ultra violent cage fighters without weapons but none the less lethal.
They are football, hockey and baseball champions, but they are also our Rock Stars and Movie Giants.
Our entertainers are also Gladiators who also take blows and bear scars after each performance.
Not all Roman Gladiators died in the arena and some were well rewarded riches and even freedom if they pleased the crowd.
In his last years, Elvis looked like an tired old worn out warrior doing battle under hot vegas lights, and like a Gladiator he was doing it not for the love of the performance, but for the money.
Johnny Cash Waylon Jennings, Merle Haggard all wrote and sang about their own wars won and lost, with the battle scars of war chiseled deeply on their faces.
Jim Morrison once called the Doors “Erotic Politicians” and he knew full well that he was entertaining the crowds in a modern Roman game of death.
“The cleavage of men into actor and spectators is the central fact of our time. We are obsessed with heroes who live for us and whom we punish. If all the radios and televisions were deprived of their sources of power, all books and …. One is spectacle. Like the Phantasmagoria, its goal is the creation of a total …” (Jim Morrison).
WHERE HAVE ALL THE PHONE BOOTHS GONE?
THE END OF AN ERA
The remaining few phone booths in Coronado signals the end of an era, a technology, and a bygone way of life. We no longer have any need to save nickels, dimes, and quarters or ask for change for the phone.
In Manhattan all phone booths have been removed and replaced with “information centers.”
CLARION PRESS Excerpts From 0-60
The Clarion Press, A division of The Coronado Clarion is proud to announce the publication of a new book ” Zero to Sixty In Five Minutes” By Tom Everhart.
In this chronicle about the life and times of a Rock-N-Roll D J, Tom has preserved a piece of street level history which would have been forgotten.
If you would like to publish your own book, please contact Clarion Press at (619) 277 1552
RECIPES REMEMBERED
JANET RELLER DILL’S HORS D’OEUVRES
By Kimberley Dill Graham
Since my mom passed a decade or so ago, one of the special qualities I wish she had not taken to her grave were her recipes. As all people do, we think we will have time. I’ll get her to write that recipe down or she did, and you have since misplaced it forever only to burn into your memory and your tastebuds with an urge to try to remember all those secret ingredients that were so simple yet so critical to the final scrumptious end.
My mom, Janet Reller Dill, was an entrepreneur at heart. Raised by parents of direct French and German descent, she had that innate talent to invent and create from the basics of gourmet, traditional cooking. Her parents, Freidrich and Evelyn Reller were also hotel and restaurant owners the entire time of her growing up. She spent many a day after school helping out at their family eateries and dining counters.
At home, off the cuff was the name of the game – if you did not have a specific ingredient, like Betty Crocker, you found a good enough substitute to fill in, especially when you were raised and doing culinary feats during World War II.
These substitutes led to a distinctive style of cooking that took the average American housewife/chefette to invent a new style to a Bernaise sauce or Sauerbraten or Chicken Pot Pie. And from my mother, I learned this unique style of interpretation of the classical recipes to create many a dish, I am not certain that I could recreate if asked to as I learned to cook from Mom – off the cuff. I still try to make her basic dishes for my brothers, who like me, miss “Mom’s cooking”.
When I asked Mom, how do you make this? She would say a little bit of this and a little bit of that and just taste. So to have asked for that recipe to be written down or taught would be something like the crude yet yummy recipes that follow: Warning: Up to your own interpretation and experimentation.
***Testimonial: What I will say is that every time I have ever concocted any of these “hors d’oeuvres” whether at a cocktail party , 4th of July celebration, or family get together, they have met with huge raves followed by the query, “How do you make this? I must get the recipe!” Thanks Mom! And could you please visit me in a dream and let me know some of the secret ingredients to your best ever “Pot Roast Stew”?
***Special Note: My mom was in the category of the New Age Donna Reed’s and Beaver’s mother, June Cleaver. Like Mary Tyler Moore on the Dick Van Dyke Show and the women who would follow, convenience foods and microwaves began slowly creeping into America’s kitchens making life easier and less challenging for the moms and wives — what has now become second nature to us women, men, and children: 10-minute rice, frozen vegetables, instant mashed potatoes, frozen TV dinners (now entrees), Costco, prepared snacks, juice in a box, cake mixes and instant frostings, frozen pies, self-cleaning and self-defrosting appliances, frozen pizza, and on and on ad nauseam. This was a fantastic trip down the ‘60s kitchen adding huge possibilities and freedom to women who found cooking boring and not the purpose of their life. These pioneers of modern conveniences also found a new enlightenment in preparing culinary expeditions along this line and were re-enthused to play in their kitchens especially with all the new conveniences: garbage compactors, garbage disposals, dishwashers, ice cube dispensers, microwaves, electric skillets, Tupperware, food processors, etc. – what had once been such manual endeavors now only involved cleaning them and figuring out where to store it all.
RECIPES:
CRAB DIP (COLD)
Package of imitation crabmeat (fresh no longer works)
Package of cream cheese
Homemade Chili Sauce*
Crackers
Spread softened cream cheese on plate. Flake crabmeat evenly over top. Dollop chili sauce generously over crab.
Serve with crackers.
*Homemade Chili Sauce is in a rounded jar found in the specialty section of all grocery stores alongside ketchup and barbecue sauces. It is made by Ventura Foods out of Brea, California. It is the must ingredient.
CRAB DIP (HOT)
2 packages of cream cheese
Green onions, chopped
Butter
2 cans of canned crab, drained
Lemon juice
Melt butter and cream cheese in double boiler (or in small pan added to larger pan with water on the bottom). Melt add other ingredients to taste. Serve with crackers &/or toasted points.
Note: Also great as a stuffer for baked chicken breasts.
CHILE DIP
Can of Hormel chili without beans or two
Salsa
Shredded cheddar
Green onions
Heat chili, top with cheddar, garnish with green onion. Serve in a warmer dish (sterno) with Fritos or tortilla chips. Salsa on the side.
SUNFLOWER SEEDS WITH SOY
Package of cream cheese
Salted sunflower seeds, without shells
Soy sauce
Spread cream cheese on plate. Sprinkle with sunflower seeds. Drizzle with soy sauce. Serve with crackers.
TABLESIDE TRAVELS
By Suzi Lewis Pignataro
My mother Nancy was a frustrated Bohemian who lived out her fantasies of escape through cooking. As one of the benefactors of her rich inner life and innate talent for concocting all things edible, I grew up dining on feasts normally found in far-away lands. This “tableside traveling” was more than fine with me: savoring other countries’ gastronomical offerings without having to leave the modern conveniences of my parents’ home suited my sensitive disposition.
We had specific dishware and place settings for each cuisine we sampled. Depending upon my mother’s instructions, I knew exactly where we would be supping that evening: chopsticks and lacquered rice bowls meant Japan, large spoons and wine glasses meant Italy, the silver tea set and Franciscan Ware meant England, and Lotus cups with tiny copper spice shakers meant India – my favorite.
I don’t know how my mother came up with her recipe for Curry, but I’m pretty sure it involved some benign form of witchery. She tended to ignore cookbooks, opting for what she called “intuitive cooking”. I know this method and apply it to most of my own efforts in the kitchen, but not without trial and error – and my kids shoveling the latest experiment down the garbage disposal while my back is turned. I didn’t throw away my own mother’s meals. None of us did, including the hundreds of guests who over the years attended my parents’ dinner parties.
Yet, I never once saw her so much as break out in a sweat over one of her creations. I would have known if she had been spending time torturing over a recipe; the evidence would have been in her eyes that hid nothing. No, she truly knew her ingredients and trusted her “intuition” – which, I suspect, was really her high IQ working in concourse with her keen senses of sight, sound, taste, feel, and smell.
When I left for college and set up my first home, my mother offered to help me play hostess: “I’ll just write down some of your favorite dishes to cook for your friends,” she stated in her weekly letter. “Far out!” I enthused back. Two days later she called. “I’m having a little problem with the recipes,” she confessed. “I’ve never had to think about how I actually prepare a meal.” “Well,” I replied, “just do the best you can. And, please, give me your recipe for Chicken Curry.” There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, then my mother said, “I’ll try,” in a very unconvincing tone.
I give you NANCY LEWIS’S CHICKEN CURRY:
Servings: Three college girls, two college boys, or one defensive linebacker.
Prep Time: Figure on 45 minutes, but don’t let anyone distract you, especially the linebacker.
Ingredients:
1) The Chicken:
Two boneless, skinless chicken breasts
2 tbsp butter
Salt and pepper, to taste
2) The Curry Sauce
5 tbsp butter
4 tbsp white flour
2 cups half and half (substitute one cup for milk if you are on a diet and one cup for cream if you’re living it up)
½ cup dry white wine (and a glass for the cook!)
1 tsp salt
¼ tsp white pepper
1 tsp powdered ginger
1 tsp cumin
As much curry powder as you like – mild, medium or hot – but start with 1 tsp.
3) The Condiments
Ground peanuts
Slightly toasted shredded coconut (use a 325 degree oven and baking sheet to toast, stirring frequently)
Raisins
Major Grey’s Chutney – the best!
4) The Rice
1 cup white rice
2 cups water
½ tsp salt
Preparation:
Place water in a pot; add salt; boil. Add rice. Bring to boil, stir, reduce heat and simmer for 20 minutes.
Cube the chicken breasts and sauté in butter. Salt and pepper to taste. Cook thoroughly, but do not overcook. It should take about 12 minutes on medium heat. Set aside.
Blend the milk products with the white wine.
In another pot, melt the 5 tbsp of butter, slowly, over medium heat. Once the butter is melted, add the salt, flour, white pepper, ginger, cumin and curry powder. Blend thoroughly. If too dry, add a bit more butter.
Using a whisk, add a small amount of the wet ingredients to the butter and dry ingredients mixture – very, very slowly – all the while whisking to make a paste. Gradually add the rest of the wet ingredients, whisking constantly to create a smooth sauce.
Add the chicken cubes. Stir with a large spoon. Taste. Adjust spices as needed.
Still on medium heat, stir the sauce constantly until it thickens. If the sauce is too thick, add milk.
Serve the Curry on a bed of rice with the condiments served in separate bowls. It’s very nice with a Chenin Blanc, but if your guest is the linebacker, save your money and give him a Coors.
MY MOM, BILLIE SEXTON’S CABBAGE ROLLS and OTHER FAVES
By Aleene Sexton Queen “Queenie”
Ingredients:
1 large head Cabbage
1 pound Ground Beef
1 Egg
1 small Brown Onion
1/2 cup Uncooked Rice
1/2 tsp Ground Cumin
Cumin Seeds (if you have some)
2 medium cans Diced Tomatoes
1 can Tomato Sauce
2 Lemons
Directions:
Core Cabbage and place in large cooking pot with 2 or so inches of water
Cover and bring to a boil and steam Cabbage long enough to soften leaves
Leave Cabbage in pot while you …
-Chop onion
-Drain liquid from Diced Tomatoes and mix Tomato Sauce with liquid and reserve
-Mix together Hamburger, drained Diced Tomatoes, chopped Onion, uncooked Rice, beaten Egg, and Ground Cumin
-Remove Cabbage leaves from cooking pot and place on plate or flat surface and put
2 (or so) Tbsp of meat mixture onto firm end of Cabbage leaf… Roll once, fold in sides
Roll again, enclosing meat mixture in Cabbage leaf. You’ll use less meat mixture as the leaves get smaller
-When all leaves are rolled … Cover bottom of cooking pot with small amount of reserved Tomato Liquid and layer Cabbage rolls. Top all with smaller Cabbage leaves and cover with balance of Tomato Liquid. Sprinkle V* teaspoon Cumin Seeds (if you have them) or l/2 teaspoon Ground Cumin over top before covering pot.
Bring to gentle boil then lower heat and cook 45-50 minutes. Keep heat low enough to not burn bottom layer of Cabbage Rolls!
Let cool for 10 minutes before placing on serving plate.
Serve cooked Cabbage Rolls with Lemon Wedges.
Boiled Potatoes make a great companion.
Good idea to make a slit in top of Cabbage Roll and squeeze Lemon to flavor inside. Top Potatoes with liquid from Cabbage Rolls and Sour Cream. YUM!
BILLIE’S PISTACHIO SALAD
Ingredients:
1 small container creamy Cottage Cheese
2 small cans Mandarin Oranges (drained)
1 medium can Crushed Pineapple (use juice)
2 small pkgs Pistachio Pudding Mix
1 small container Cool Whip
*you can add chopped walnuts, coconut, etc. if desired
Put ingredients together in a bowl, mix with mixer to blend.
Refrigerate until ready to serve.
Mom served on top of lettuce leaves
MOM’S FAVORITE SNOWBALL RECIPE FOR CHRISTMAS
Ingredients:
1 cup butter
6 rounded Tbsp Powdered Sugar
2 cups Pastry Flour (measure before sifting)
1 cup walnuts or pecans – chopped well
1 Tsp Vanilla
Pinch of Salt
Directions:
Cream butter, add Sugar, Flour, Salt, Vanilla, and chopped nuts
Make balls (about 1 to 2 inches) and put on cookie sheet
Bake at 350 degrees for 12 minutes
While still warm, roll balls in powdered sugar. Cool and pack in airtight container. Improve with Age!!
SPECIAL NOTES ON MOM:
My son, Kev, reminded me that his Nana taught him to make fried eggs without having to turn the egg and breaking the yolk. Here’s how: put raw egg(s) in cup or small bowl and pour into prepared frying pan, add one tablespoon water in pan next to egg(s) and cover until desired doneness. Works every time!
My Mom, Billie Sexton, could make a meal for a houseful of people with just a few ingredients! Her Bridge Club requested her Cabbage Rolls often, and her brothers and their buddies came to our house for dinner every Sunday they could during WW2. My Mom’s Spaghetti sauce was desired by ladies’ past their due date. In fact, two of my grandkids were born within 12 hours after enjoying Nana’s spaghetti dinner (Momma’s secret ingredient was chili powder!). Imagine the food challenges during WW2 when many ingredients were rationed? Momma made a Ketchup sandwich sound like a feast with Sugar sandwiches for dessert as she put fresh-picked flowers on the table and told the stories of growing up in a Utah Pioneer family and how she met my Daddy who was traveling from Coronado to Washington D.C. to work for a year and stopped to have a sandwich at Keeley’s in Salt Lake City. She was his waitress and they just ‘clicked’. Billie and Skip corresponded during that year and married a few years later here in Coronado where they spent the rest of their happy lives and they never stopped ‘clicking!’.
P.S. Will look for Mom’s Spaghetti Sauce recipe to share!
MALLIE CARTER NICHOLS HOME COOKING
By Helen Nichols Murphy (Battleson)
My Mom was a wonderful cook. Since her mother died when she had just turned two years old in the Spanish Flu epidemic in 1918, she was raised by her grandmother, Mallie Kelley Carter, who had been born in 1853. My Mom grew up in Texas and cooked by taste. She never followed a recipe. They were all in her head; and now that she is gone, my sister Joan and I do not have anything written down. I did get her to verbally give me some of her recipes when I published my Hewick Cookbook in the early 1990s.
The Coronado Pharmacy Lunch Counter circa 1950
My Mom cooked for a living her entire life. First for both the pharmacy lunch counters in Coronado that Maxine and Lyman Latham owned — one was at 1122 Orange Avenue and the other at 918 Orange Avenue. She cooked the main meal of the day and walked them back and forth between the two pharmacies. She made wonderful meals daily such as Spaghetti, Meatloaf, Pot Roast, Salmon Patties, Chicken & Dumplings, Open-faced Pot Roast Sandwiches with Mashed Potatoes & Gravy, Chili, Fried Chicken, French Dip Sandwiches, and Fabulous Homemade Soups, the Best Hamburgers in town — something new each day. She and my Dad worked for the Latham’s from the time she and my Dad came to Coronado in 1937 until the new Coronado Hospital was built and opened in the 1960s. Then she was hired in the Dietary Department and worked there another twenty years until she retired in the early 1980s. There were doctors in town who would poke their head in through the door to ask if Mallie was there cooking, and if so they would come in to eat, and if not they went on their way! Many times they would ask what she was cooking and put in their reservations so she would have a meal reserved for them.
When she was at the drugstore, there were so many movie stars in those days coming to stay at the Hotel Del Coronado, and they would head to the pharmacy lunch counter to get my Mom’s home cooking! I still run into people who have never forgotten her cooking! She was a real Coronado treasure with a kind heart! There were kids growing up in Coronado whom I have now learned who ate only because my Mom fed them and never said a word to anyone. After my Mom’s neighbor, Mrs. Todd, who lived next door to her at 8th & J died, I learned from her son that my Mom had fixed a meal and took it to her every night! I am sure if there is a hot stove in Heaven she is standing there cooking her heart away!
Here are some of my Favorite Recipes of Mom’s Home Cooking:
MALLIE’S COUNTRY FRIED CHICKEN
1 frying chicken, cut up
1 c. whole wheat flour
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. garlic powder
1 tsp. onion powder
1 tsp. dried parsley
1/2 tsp. paprika
1 c. half and half cream or evaporated milk
Cooking oil (Crisco)
–Mix dry ingredients together. Wash and dry chicken pieces. Roll them in flour mixture and refrigerate for 10 to 15 minutes. Did quickly into cream, then back into flour mixture for a crispy crust.
–Brown in hot oil, then lower heat, and cook until tender. Remove lid from iron skillet and cook briefly to re-crisp chicken. Serve at once.
MALLIE’S APPLE PIE
3 c. apples, cut up, peeled and cored
2/3 cup sugar (more if apples are tart)
2 Tbsp. flour
1/4 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
Dash of salt
Cream
3 Tbsp. butter
–Layer apples in the crust (recipe below) with sugar, spices, flour, and butter. Drizzle with a bit of cream. Cover with top crust, crimping edges. Cut slits in top to let steam escape. Bake at 375 degrees for 40 to 45 minutes until top is golden.
MALLIE’S PIE CRUST
2 1/4 c. flour
1 tsp. salt
3/4 c. shortening plus 1 Tbsp. (Crisco)
–Mix flour and salt with 1/2 cup of shortening. Blend with pastry blender. Add the remaining 1/4 cup plus 1 Tbsp. shortening and blend again. Add 4 to 5 Tbsp. of cold water and mix with fork. Roll out and put into pie tin.
MALLIE’S DINNER ROLLS (12 Rolls)
1/4 c. milk
2 Tbsp. butter or oil
1/4 c. water
2 Tbsp. sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 pkg. of 1 Tbsp. yeast
1 egg, slightly beaten
2 1/4 c. flour (about)
–Heat milk, water, and butter. Place in large bowl of mixer. Stir in yeast and let dissolve. Add sugar and salt. Add 1 cup flour and heat 2 minutes. Add egg and 1/2 cup flour. Beat 2 more minutes. Stir in enough of the remaining flour to make a soft dough. Turn out onto lightly floured board, knead until smooth and elastic, about 5 minutes. Place in buttered bowl, turning to butter top. Cover with a towel, place in a warm place, free from draft, until double in bulk, about 30 minutes.
–Punch down, turn out onto a lightly floured board, cut into 1/2 equal size pieces. Shape into rolls, turning each roll so top is buttered. Let rise 15 to 20 minutes. Bake in 375 degree oven (if glass is used, 350 degrees) 12 to 15 minutes. Butter top of rolls, if desired.
MALLIE’S SPOON BREAD
1 tsp. salt
2 c. milk
1 c. cornmeal
2 1/2 tsp. baking powder
2 eggs, separated
–Add salt to milk and gradually stir in cornmeal. Cook in top of double boiler until thick. Cool to lukewarm, add baking powder to beaten egg yolks and combine with cornmeal mush. Mix well. Beat egg whites until stiff and fold in. Bake in well-greased square pan at 375 degrees for about 35 minutes. Serve with a spoon.
MALLIE’S CINNAMON COFFEE CAKE
1 Tbsp. butter or shortening (Crisco)
1 c. sugar
1 c. milk
1 egg
2 c. flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
Brown sugar mixed with Cinnamon
Pecans
–Cream butter and sugar, then add sifted flour, baking powder, and salt. Add egg and beat well together. Pour in flat cookie pan and sprinkle with brown sugar and cinnamon. Dot with large lumps of butter and pecans. Cook in moderate oven, about 35 minutes.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: Should you like to share any of your favorite family recipes, we would be more than glad to publish them. Contact us at: www.coronadoclarion@yahoo.com or by telephone at: (619) 435-1038
SAGE MOONBLOOD STALLONE
Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
– Hamlet, Act V
William Shakespeare 1564-1616
Death makes angels of us all
and gives us wings
where we had shoulders
smooth as raven’s
claws.
– An American Prayer
Jim Morrison 1943-1971
SAGE MOONBLOOD STALLONE
By Alan Graham
At 36 years of age, Sage Moonblood Stallone, the oldest son of Sylvester Stallone, was found dead in his Hollywood apartment. A housekeeper found the body of actor-director Stallone, according to his lawyer, George Braunstein.
Born May 5, 1976, in Los Angeles, Sage Moonblood Stallone was the first son of Sylvester Stallone and actress Sasha Czack. He began his acting career in Rocky V, the 1990 installment of the Rocky movie franchise. As a 14-year-old, he played Rocky Balboa Jr., son of his father’s Rocky Balboa character.
Young Stallone appeared again with his father in the 1996 film, Daylight, and had roles in nine other movies and short films. His most recent appearance was in a 2011 television documentary on the Rocky films.
In addition to acting, Stallone was co-founder with film editor Bob Murawski of Grindhouse Releasing, which specializes in the theatrical and video release of restored B movies from the 1970s and ’80s. The company’s catalog includes An American Hippie in Israel, I Drink Your Blood, and Cannibal Holocaust. Its latest release was 2010′s, Gone with the Pope.
—– Forwarded Message —–
From: “MichaelWhite ”
To: Al Graham
Sent: Friday, July 13, 2012 7:08 PM
Subject: Hey AL
Al,
I just got in and turned on the computer to see Sage Stallone is dead. I immediately thought of you, I know you two were close.
Sorry man.
Two years earlier I found Sage posting on Facebook and I made contact with him.
April 16, 2010
Al Graham
Hi Sage,
Do you remember me?
I was your bodyguard and soccer coach when you were four years old and you lived on Amalfi Drive in Pacific Palisades. We used to eat breakfast every morning at Mort’s Deli.
Check out my website at: www.irememberjimmorrison.com.
Al Graham
****
April 16, 2010
Sage Stallone
Oh my god! ALAN GRAHAM (forget about the soccer). Remember how you would ask me to grab the deli microphone and sing Morrison (who you made me a fan at such a young age)? We got in BIG trouble when I screamed WAITING FOR THE SUN!!!…etc.
Oh man! I always wondered about you. Possibly my only friend at the time. I remember the farm-like place you took me, and there’s only hazy recollections of great times and nice people. We need a phone call.
April 16, 2010
Al Graham
Call me anytime 24/7
****
April 16, 2010
Al Graham
Wiltz & Waltz
Hi Sage,
Last week I was talking to my oldest son Dylan about you and how we drove all over LA blasting The Doors in that Maserati from Rocky III. I used to tell you a story about “The Continuing Adventures of Wiltz & Waltz”. For you, they were real live characters who drove in and out of people’s driveways singing “In and out those darkie bluebells” as they grabbed flowers and hanging plants. You used to yell, “There is Waltz on the back of that truck let’s follow them”
It is very cool to hear from you again, in fact I was in Mort’s Deli a couple of years ago and the owner, Mort’s wife (Mort died) said you came in with some friends and you looked so grown up and handsome.
My oldest son Dylan lives in LA and I am often there, so please call me on my cell anytime 24/7.
Al
****
April 18, 2010
Al Graham
Hi Sage,
My son Dylan asked me to tell some stories about you so that he can share them with his children; so I made this video. Let me know if you remember going to the junkyards with me. Al
****
April 18, 2010
Sage is writing:
Going to the junkyards or stopping by the beach with Alan was so much more valuable to me than finding a carburetor on a 71′ Dodge Swinger or looking for a perfectly tanned body in Malibu at sunset…it was my secret life. My real life, in the mansion with loud voices and security monitors beeping all day was a lonely one. Screwing about with Alan, I collected hubcaps on the highway at 75 MPH where he practically came out of it looking like a pancake smothered with strawberry jam. I loved cars, and hubcaps were the closest thing to having one.
In 1969, Dodge introduced the Dart Swinger 340, a two-door hardtop coupe that included a Hurst four-speed, vinyl upholstery, Rally suspension, bumble bee stripes, unique colors, and wide 14-inch wheels and tires.
Back at the old boring Rolling Hills mansion, my friend Alan and I had a typically great idea to build a hubcap mansion of our own (the hills of green were 10 times the size of home, so why not? It was like the friggin’ Sound Of Music in the hills of Amalfi).
When we started, there was already a miniature playhouse, well outgrown. Alan added a window or two along with some spiffy interior/exterior ideas that widened the shack by 3time.
This obscurity became known to me as “Hubcap Palace” covered from wall-to-wall with some of the coolest antique caps from autos spanning 50 years. In fact, I spent so much time sitting in the wooden seat (as if driving a car round the world),
Family friends started donating some of the earliest hubcaps known to exist.
Talk about great logos and original hand-pounded craftsmanship. Although, when neighbor Vin Scully, a local baseball announcer and somehow mortal enemy neighbor of my Dad’s commented on a cap centered with a big V-8, it wouldn’t stop reminding him of the first car he bought.
Anyways, Scully’s kids happened to appreciate what they now called “the piece of art” which now graced an empty, over-sized lawn. This project prompted young Cathy Scully to ask Dad if we could place a long time abandon VW Bug alongside as if really driving.
Oh yes… I could just imagine Cathy climbing over the property line to fantasize about our drive to Spain or Greece. BUT, either way it was never going to matter… her bug, my hubcap wonderland was plowed down to dirt like an old drive-in movie theater by the time we got home from school the next evening. Ok, my credit to Stallone… he did leave a dented cap on my bed upstairs, but I didn’t bother looking at the grounds out my window until a red moon appeared before moving. -Peace & Love, Sage
****
April 19, 2010
Al Graham
Very cool prose, Sage.
The compound was more like a high security embassy with around-the-clock guards. I came to pick you up one morning, and as I entered the compound, Rocky was standing by the front gate giving an off-duty L.A. cop a bunch of shit as he was leaving. A powerful Santa Ana wind was in full affect. Because the house was not finished yet, the wind howled and whined through all the way to the rest of the rooms, down hallways, and even up the stairs. This was very disturbing to your father and it kept him up all night. At about five a.m., he walked into the kitchen and the cop had his shoes and socks off, feet up on the chair. All of the bullets were sitting in an ashtray and the idiot was cleaning his service revolver. Stallone gave him a ration of shit. “What if someone comes over that wall and you are sitting there with your feet up and an empty gun?” The cop did not respond but gave a sneer. So as he was leaving a little while later, he was given another bollocking and told not to come back ever again.
You came running out of the house, up and ready to go. Your dad came over to talk to me and he was carrying a copy of, No One Here Gets Out Alive. He was almost finished. He was a voracious reader/writer and he literally consumed everything.
I asked what he thought of the book and he said, “I am thinking of portraying this guy, Jim Morrison. The book is badly written, but it is a fascinating story.”
Sasha and he were blown away when they heard you singing Doors tunes because you had an awesome propensity to retain and you knew all the lyrics.
Stallone was even more blown away when I told him that Jim was my brother-in-law.
I would like to send you a copy of my book, I Remember, so please send me a mailbox number.
More later…
****
May 4, 2010
Al Graham
Happy Birthday, Sage!
“Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel.”
PREFACE
In the early 1980s, while shopping the development of the story of my late brother-in-law, Jim Morrison, lead singer of The Doors, I found myself in a situation wherein I became the personal tutor, confidante, and bodyguard to Sage Stallone. Sage and I developed a relationship comparable to mine with my own children. He thrived from receiving the undivided attention much denied him in his heavily preoccupied home of “The Rocky” era. My own upbringing in war-torn Liverpool had taught me the importance of improvisational play, and together Sage and I made games and fun out of the elements that surrounded us: To dive in the pool, or make a mud pool? To buy a new Maserati, or go to a junkyard and collect artifacts – tire rims and bumpers – with which to create art and music? Going to Mort’s in Pacific Palisades for breakky and singing Doors’ tunes to the applause of his fellow patrons, Sage was in a heaven not purchased by his father’s fame but by a wealth only to be found in the freedom of one’s imagination. Sage and Al traversed across the universe together, exploring.
SYLVESTER STALLONE
By Alan Graham
(Excerpt from upcoming autobiography)
In 1980, Alan Graham had a lunatic construction crew that worked on many celebrity projects – among them, Richard Widmark, Jack Lemmon, and the megastar, Sylvester “Rocky Balboa” Stallone.
Graham’s men were a tough, hard-working, hard-partying bunch that descended on a job like marauding pirates. Amongst these ne’er do wells were Andrew Lee Morrison – a wandering carpenter, welder, and all around yarn spinner – and Alan Finlayson, one of Graham’s childhood friends who had recently emigrated from England. He and Andy Morrison were the terrible twins and provided much silliness and recklessness to the work environment.
The Stallone mansion sat above Malibu at the top of Amalfi Drive, a choice location with a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean below. Graham had been contracted to build an addition to the already sprawling Tudor-style home.
Stallone’s family was living in part of the house during the remodeling. A massive gate guarding the compound groaned under the steady flow of contractors, construction workers, and rich and famous friends, passing through like rush-hour traffic on the 405. Recently, the actor had been involved in a major dispute with his co-producers over profits, and death threats had been made. A double cordon of security lent the property an atmosphere of a siege, as friend and foe alike were highly scrutinized.
The first layer of security was rather weak because the personnel were made up of amateurs – wannabe gangster actors, personal trainers, and a few look-a-like Chippendale male dancers – all vying for the chance to get a part in the next Rocky movie.
The second layer was, to any security professional worth his salt, even more terrifying:
Stallone had hired off-duty L.A.P.D. patrol officers as night guards who were stationed in every room and hallway in the house. It seemed that after interactions with Stallone, the word was out that he was a “major dick” to work for, so only the most incompetent of L.A.’s finest showed up; and when they did, they were lazy, dumb, and downright reckless.
The visitors included Stallone’s mother and father, his younger brother Frankie, Mister T, from the upcoming Rocky II and the rest of the cast, high-priced entertainment lawyers, and agents equipped with armfuls of scripts and movie treatments for the superstar to read and, hopefully, finance or produce.
The compound was a beehive of activity. Sawing and banging echoed throughout the surrounding, normally serene, hillsides.
“Oh my God!” A woman’s alarmed voice rang out. “Sage! Come back, Sage! Oh my God!”
Stallone’s son Sage was four years old and beyond the control of the army of adults enlisted by his parents to watch over him. He was hyperactive, to be sure, but like any little boy, he just wanted to run free and be wild. This was not possible considering the current threat to his family from disgruntled business associates, and so the child was held captive in a veritable high-security prison.
A tiny figure darted across the front lawn at full gallop followed by a screeching nanny. In turn, she was followed by Stallone, his wife Sasha, and several house servants. The boy laughed gleefully as he deftly eluded his pursuers – in and out of thick bushes, under cars and trucks, behind the dog kennels, and every other nook and cranny hard to reach. He ran dangerously close to power cables on the ground and the whole compound let out a collective gasp.
Graham caught the youngster as he tried to dart up the stairs to the half-finished addition. Wound tighter than a clock spring, the boy struggled to break free. His little coal-black eyes flashed like emergency lights with a desperate and urgent message: Help me escape!
Graham returned Sage to the custody of his nanny, struggling like a roped mustang and screaming at the top of his lungs, “I wanna play outside! I wanna play outside!” “It’s too dangerous and you can get badly hurt,” the nanny explained, but the child kicked and gnashed his baby teeth at the exhausted woman.
Normality returned to the compound, but not thirty seconds later the very same hue and cry went up again. Sage was loose, and like the Roadrunner, he escaped capture.
All forces marshaled against the boy were rendered useless. He disappeared behind a huge potted plant on the front porch as once more the entire compound joined the search. Sage stayed hidden as a demented mob called for him. Graham watched with amusement as the little rebel giggled each time a distraught adult ran by.
Grabbing a handful of nails, Graham began pounding them into a thick beam positioned on several sawhorses. With each blow, he exclaimed, “Yeeappp! Zadonk! Yakkamoogie! Ba-Ba-Ba-Boom!” He now had Sage’s attention. Holding out the hammer, he beckoned for the boy to join him. The little fellow beamed with delight, and he emerged from his refuge. The next time the search party came by, they were stopped abruptly by the sight of Sage holding a big hammer with two hands and screaming at the top of his lungs, “Yikka Woopie –Baddamm!” Graham carefully guided his hands over the child’s, and together they drove in the six-inch nails. Stallone and his wife were the last to arrive and were aghast to see their baby boy swinging a hammer wildly and grunting in some primeval language.
Sasha photographed the nailing demonstration while everyone else sat around watching. Sage yelled ecstatically, “Hey Dad, Mom, look at me!” His audience laughed at the tiny construction worker who, in turn, squealed with joy each time he received a great cry and applause.
The next morning, when Graham’s crew arrived, Stallone stood at the front gate waiting. When Graham walked in Stallone called him aside. But before he could say a word, Sage came bursting out the front door, and grabbing Graham around the knees, he yelled, “Kabooooom!” The boy attempted to drag him over to the woodpile. “Come on, Alan! Come On!”
At Stallone’s request, Graham’s job would now be divided. He left his foreman in charge of construction and was now part-time bodyguard, tutor, and playmate to Sylvester Stallone’s firstborn son.
ROCKY BALBOA STALLONE/JIM MORRISON
June 9, 1981: 7:15 a.m. – Alan Graham parked his car outside the heavily guarded compound. Stallone was already pacing the grounds, checking on security guards, maids, houseboys, and construction workers. Perfectly suntanned, and naked except for a pair of red silk boxer shorts, he yelled at a painter: “I told you I wanted white paint, not dark! White reflects the sun! Dark absorbs and makes the room hotter!”
“Well, I’ll paint it over,” said the painter.
“So, I gotta pay twice,” complained Stallone. “That’s theft – outright theft.” He walked away in disgust.
The massive electric gate swung inward, and Stallone looked up to see Graham passing through.
“Morning, Al.”
“Good morning, Sly. How are you feeling?”
“Ahh! These people think I am made of money. I’ll be glad when this house is finished.”
They walked together. Two workers were unrolling a 30×60-foot canvas of Rocky II by the noted painter, Leroy Neiman. It was gaudy, and the workers looked nervously toward its approaching subject. But Stallone nodded his approval of the likeness with deep satisfaction.
“I’m gonna hang it on the wall,” Stallone remarked to Graham. “Whatta ya think?”
One of the workers dropped his end of the canvas. Stallone tensed up, and three other workers ran to the mortified worker’s aid. Five people now buoyed the massive image with trepidation, each convinced it was his head that would be rolling.
“It’s a great portrait!” groveled one of the workers.
His comrades echoed: “Yes! Oh, yes! It’s magnificent!”
Beheadings postponed for the time being, Stallone continued his walk with Graham, passing a ten-foot bronze statue of Rocky I, which resembled a Cecil B. DeMille movie prop. Stallone stopped to admire it anyway.
It was a beautiful June morning. Stallone and Graham sat down on the patio and a maid brought coffee and Danish. They talked back and forth about Sage.
Graham’s day began at eight a.m., when the five-year-old boy jumped for joy at the sight of him because it meant Fun! Fun! Fun!
The child was high-strung and extremely intelligent. Intense and insatiable – a force to be reckoned with – he could wear people down with the strength of thirty kindergarteners. Graham had worked with hyperactivity in the past, but this case was extreme. Unusual methods were called for.
Graham dug a huge hole in the middle of the back lawn. Sage gleefully filled it with water, and together they made the best mud hole in the world. The maid had the foolishness to pass by as it was being finished and was thrown in. Sasha joined in the fun, bringing a camera and Seth, Sage’s two-year-old brother. Everyone was muddied and photographed. The interior decorator offered to hold the camera and, much to his horror, was also muddied, to the puzzlement of Stallone, who stood some distance away watching the whole episode.
Graham grabbed a plastic bucket, a rope, and a screwdriver. Punching twenty holes into the bottom and sides, he tied the garden hose inside the bucket. Hoisting the contraption over the branches of one of the massive pine trees, he and Sage turned the water on full blast, and everyone had a wild group shower.
Sage had numerous showers, followed by great mud fights, and more showers.
Stallone was even more bemused by the goings-on in his yard. He left the patio, returning in twenty minutes dressed and ready for the office. As he stood by his limousine, Graham and Sage, now washed clean, waved good-bye. Stallone smiled.
“Bye, Dad! Bye, Dad!” Sage yelled.
“What’ve you got planned today, Al?” asked Stallone.
Graham laid out the day’s events: breakfast at Mort’s, a walk in the beautiful hills surrounding the compound, a visit with the secret service agent guarding Ronald Reagan’s old Pacific Palisades home (whom they had met on a previous walk), a run on the beach, a trip to the junkyard in Santa Monica (where Sage would engage in his passion for collecting hubcaps), a movie in Westwood, lunch, a nap, and in the afternoon, more mud.
Stallone seemed reluctantly satisfied, and as he stepped into his limo, Graham read the title of a paperback Stallone was carrying: No One Here Gets Out Alive, the unauthorized biography of Jim Morrison’s life.
“What do you think of that book?” Graham asked.
Stallone stopped. “Fascinating. Badly written, but a fascinating character. Did you read it?”
Graham had read it, cover to cover. He nodded.
“Morrison reminds me of Edgar Allan Poe,” said Stallone. “I’ve always wanted to do a movie about Poe. Morrison seems like that same tragic poet.”
“Are you gonna do a film about Morrison?” asked Graham.
“Someone sent me a treatment last week, so I got the book to read. I think it would be a smash movie.”
“Bye, Dad!!!” Sage was screaming from the mud pit. “Come on, Alan!! Come on!!!”
The limo whisked Stallone away. Graham stood looking after him. He thought to himself, One giant fucking adventure coming up, Al!!
June 11, 1981: 8:05 a.m. – Graham sat in the luxury Maserati sedan that had been used in the recently finished Rocky III and that was now Graham’s personal company car. The interior was of the finest soft leather, the dashboard resembled a 747 cockpit, and it boasted twelve powerful cylinders under the hood, capable of warp speeds. Graham pushed a tape into the cassette deck, punched up the awesome equalizer, and drove the sleek midnight blue sedan up to the front of the house.
“Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel…” Morrison sang.
Sasha was ecstatic, listening to Sage sing along with The Doors as she helped her son into the car.
“Come on, baby, light my fire…” Her son’s little lungs almost burst with enthusiasm.
Stallone pulled Graham to the side and voiced his pleasure in the changes he observed in Sage. The techniques Graham used on hyperactive kids in the past were now working very well on this violent and destructive child.
“He loves this music,” said Stallone, smiling at his son. “I’m glad you brought it because I can listen to it as well.”
Stallone held the Morrison biography as they spoke. Graham could see he had almost finished the thick paperback.
“I’d like to play this guy, but I hear the rights are not available – some problem with the family.”
“Well, the book was unauthorized and no one inside the family was happy,” Graham said authoritatively.
Stallone looked up with interest.
“His father’s naval portrait took up a whole page in the book. That’s quite a paradox,” commented Stallone; “the Admiral and the rock idol.”
“Yeah, he was very upset when the book was published last year. Jerry Hopkins, the writer, tried in vain to get anyone inside the family to contribute, but the Admiral wouldn’t have it. Like some unwritten rule, it was never even discussed – sort of like it didn’t happen.”
Stallone looked at Graham, surprised.
“I didn’t read that in the book.”
“It wasn’t in the book,” said Graham.
“Oh, yeah. Where did you read that? I gotta get all the info I can on this character. Can you get me the article?”
“I didn’t read it in a newspaper. I lived it. Jim was my brother-in-law.”
“Try to set the night on fire…” Sage ended the song simultaneously with Jim’s voice. The compound applauded. Sage was still rocking without the music. Time to go to breakfast. Corralling his charge, he buckled him up in the car.
Graham checked his gun, his glasses, and the rearview mirror. In it, Stallone’s face beamed like he had just found uranium.
June 21, 1981: 7 a.m. — The longest day of the year, a Santa Ana wind had been raging all night long and was still in effect. As Graham blew threw the main gate, Stallone was 100 feet away, chewing out one of the hired off-duty patrolmen.
“I don’t want to wake up in the night and find you with your shoes off, feet up, cleaning your gun when you’re supposed to be protecting my family!!!” Stallone’s face was vicious. The officer left with a scowl.
Stallone approached Graham, shaking his head. “That’s the fifth one this month. L.A. cops are scary, man. I’m not hiring them any more.”
The wind had howled all night long. The unfinished construction contributed to the eerie banshee moaning as it screamed through the unfinished windows and walls.
“I hate this wind, man. I’ve been up since two a.m.”
“Yeah. Thank God, it’ll be over today,” said Graham.
“Is that what the forecast calls for?” Relief shone on Stallone’s face, and for a moment he resembled nothing more than a kid let out of his room.
The two men entered the kitchen, and Stallone poured coffee for Graham. The Santa Ana stopped suddenly. The massive pines in the yard fell silent. Stallone’s eyes were calm and boy-like. Jim Morrison’s face gazed at the pair from his biography resting on the table. Motioning to the book, Stallone said, “I’ve just finished it.”
They talked for two hours about the biography. Graham explained why the Morrison’s were disgusted by the portrayal of their son. Stallone listened to Graham’s every word and in the process swallowed the bait, the hook, the line, the pole, and half of Graham’s arm. It was textbook: Was the dog wagging his tail, or was the tail wagging the dog?
Graham had his own axe to grind. Ray Manzarek, The Doors’ organist, was running all over town trying to hustle the bio of Jim to anyone who would buy it. Because of the lack of cooperation from the family, no major studio would touch it, but Travolta had come into the picture, and it started to look like a deal might be brewing. Graham hated the book; even though a lot of it was accurate, it was dark and evil, showing only half of the man. It would be a tragic movie. If that weren’t bad enough, Travolta wanted to portray this one-dimensional Jim Morrison. Until this moment, Graham had been powerless to move against Manzarek and Travolta, which had been his burning desire since publication of the book in 1980.
“Do you think you could get the Admiral to cooperate if I put a deal together?” Stallone now asked.
Graham laughed inside. Twist my arm a little, he thought.
“You’ve seen my movies,” pursued Stallone. “I could promise respect and integrity.”
Stallone had Graham’s shoulder down his throat.
“I hear Travolta is trying to put a deal together with Warner Brothers,” Graham baited.
Hate welled up in Stallone’s eyes.
“Can’t you see me portraying Morrison?” he challenged.
“Jim was intense and powerful like you,” Graham gagged on his own words.
Stallone beamed.
Time to reel this baby in, Alan. Graham’s adrenalin raced. Deep in the brain, a Fourth of July explosion sent him into ecstasy.
“I’ll talk to my father-in-law.”
Stallone walked Graham to the Maserati, where they found Sage bashing the dashboard, trying to get the music to come on.
As Graham and the child drove off, Stallone called out, now the one doing the baiting: “Don’t forget to tell the Admiral about the integrity thing!”
Integrity thing – how eloquent! Graham laughed in his head.
That night, Graham discussed the day with his wife, Anne. Ten years earlier, they had heard the news on the radio of Jim’s death in a Paris bathtub. Anne had cried for days. No one had ever contacted them to let them know what had happened to her big brother. Jim’s girlfriend, Pamela, had been with him when he died and had lied to the Paris officials, telling them that Jim had no known relatives, effectively covering up his death. Three years later, in Los Angeles, Pamela was found dead of a heroin overdose, taking the secrets of Jim’s death with her to the grave.
It was still a very sensitive subject, but it was also Graham’s chance to fight back, and perhaps stop the Travolta/Warner Brothers production. Together, he and Anne could tell a better story about Jim.
“Who is going to portray Jim?” Anne asked.
With suppressed hilarity, Graham said, “Stallone wants to play him.”
Anne laughed loudly. She was very bright and extremely well educated, and she couldn’t help herself when she thought of Rocky doing Jim. They agreed to approach the Admiral anyway. Graham called him.
“Hello, Admiral. This is your son-in-law.”
“Well, hello, Alan. How are you, son? How’s the family? How’s your job with Sylvester Stallone?”
The Admiral was an expert on many things. He was one of the most well-read men in the world and a math genius. He was one of the youngest admirals in the history of the U. S. Navy, and with thirty years experience in dealing with thousands of men, he had developed a shrewd insight to human behavior. He was affable and friendly on the outside, but rigid and narrow on the inside.
Graham posed the question. The Admiral fell silent. Graham didn’t speak. A twenty-second awkward moment suspended itself between the men. This was the first time in ten years that anyone in the family had dared speak on the subject of Jim, and Graham felt as if he was just bringing his father-in-law the news of his son’s death.
Kill the messenger, thought Graham.
“Well, I can’t see what the story is,” the Admiral observed.
Graham patiently explained the Warner/Travolta/biography triangle.
The Admiral responded, “Well, I haven’t read the book, but I’m told it’s bad and wouldn’t make a good film anyway.”
Tell that to Hollywood, thought Graham; then, to the Admiral, “That’s Anna’s and my motivation to get involved and tell the true story.”
“Well, I don’t see how I could sign my name to a project that you may lose control of later and then end up with a bad movie.”
“A project using the biography is gonna be a pretty bad one, anyhow,” said Graham.
“Yes, but it won’t have my name on it,” the Admiral responded confidently. “I’d like to help you, son, but I don’t trust Hollywood people.”
“Would you mind if I went ahead with a fictional version?” offered Graham.
“Well, as I say, I can’t see a story. You have the right to try, but I don’t see people going to see it.”
Is everybody in? Is everybody in? Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin. The entertainment for this evening is not new, you’ve seen this entertainment through and through you have seen your birth, your life, your death….you may recall all the rest. Did you have a good world when you died? -enough to base a movie on??”
The next morning, as he drove the Pacific Coast Highway, Graham analyzed the Admiral’s comments: “I can’t see any story here… what’s the subject… is it interesting enough for a film…”
Strange comments, considering that the smash Vietnam movie Apocalypse Now used The End for its title song and The Doors’ music was now selling faster than when Jim was alive.
Yes, Graham thought, people will go see it, by the millions, just like they are buying the music all over again. It is extremely strange how the Admiral can’t see that when it’s right in front of his eyes.
The coffers of the Morrison estate were swelling. The cash registers were ringing all over the world and still the Admiral asked, “Who’ll go see the movie?”
Graham squinted at the ocean. He scratched on a notepad, The Work Ethic.
Stallone was waiting for Graham. They went upstairs to the study. Stallone closed the door. Graham explained the Admiral’s position and told him of the fictional option. Stallone listened intently, and when Graham had finished, he said, “Can you come up with a script?”
Graham smiled as he pulled his shoulder, arm, pole, line, bait, hook, and sinker from Stallone’s mouth.
Stallone turned on a tape of Morrison’s song, End of the Night, saying, “I’ll be right back.” As he headed for the bathroom, Graham noticed a long white clay pipe on the table and a bag of hybrid Hawaiian grass. Stallone returned, sat down, lit the pipe, and offered it to Graham. They smoked. That small-boy look flashed on Stallone’s face.
Looking for approval, Graham thought, but for what?
My God, the grass was potent. Graham drifted with the music. Then, out of nowhere, Stallone started to sing: “Realms of bliss, realms of light, some are born to sweet delight…”
Graham froze. Dear God! Dear God! Rocky Balboa was singing along with Morrison – singing lyrics Morrison had stolen from William Blake’s Auguries of Innocence – like Quasimodo would have!
“What d’ya think?” Stallone asked as he showed Graham the back of his head. Stallone had woven into his hair a long, 1960’s-style hairpiece.
Graham’s lungs nearly exploded, trying not to laugh.
Stallone sang along with Jim. He had learned the lyrics and was now pummeling them.
“Can you do Light My Fire?” Graham heard himself say.
Jim Morrison spoke to Graham from the grave: “What the fuck are you doing, Alan?”
“Stopping Travolta and Manzarek!” Graham responded.
“Not with him!!!” Morrison shouted.
“Calm down.” Graham whispered, “You’ll wake up the dead.”
Stallone was now moving around the room. A slight deformity in his left leg, arm, and jaw were ever more apparent and pronounced, Graham noticed, with grass-high perception. Stallone’s eyes rolled in ecstasy as he intermittently moved between personas. In the blink of an eye Rocky Balboa was present. Just as fast Sylvester Stallone appeared, then King Richard II – deformities and all. Rocky Fucking Balboa and Sylvester Stallone were now butchering The Doors’ music as surely as Rocky Balboa bashed in the ribs of that carcass before the big fight with Apollo Creed. The song ended, and not a nanosecond too soon.
“What d’ya think?” Stallone asked with childlike expectation.
Graham heard Jim breathing at the end of a long, dark tunnel.
“I was in a trance,” Graham admitted.
Morrison spoke from a long way off as he was leaving: “He thinks you mean his performance put you in a trance, Alan!” Jim’s voice had that Something bad is going to come from this warning tone.
Sage burst into the room. “Come on, Alan!!”
As they played in the mud hole, Stallone’s limo left the compound. Morrison’s voice echoed from inside. Stallone was singing along: “Oh, show me the way to the next whiskey bar…”
Graham laughed out loud – a great, free, happy laugh! Then “Mud Wars III” began.
All that day and night Graham wrote the synopsis in his head. He and Anne sat at the typewriter. In their fictional story, Stallone was a high-priced L.A. private eye hired by Anne to find out what happened to her dead rock idol brother who was found dead under mysterious circumstances. Romance blossomed between the rock star’s sister and the private eye. Together, they uncovered secrets of F.B.I. surveillance, espionage plots, spies, hit men, et cetera, et cetera.
As they finished the script, Graham felt Morrison’s presence, but the ghost didn’t speak. He went out to the back porch and sat looking at the night sky. Morrison was there – just breathing, not saying anything. Graham wondered if the ghost haunted Manzarek, too.
Stallone loved the script. His house was packed with celebs invited to watch the rough cut of Rocky III. Graham was introduced to some of Hollywood’s top ass-kissers and assholes.
“Oh, I think Stallone would portray Morrison superbly! After all, he’s the only one who could bring the dignity thing into play,” said a size-10-sphincter lawyer. A small amount of cocaine rocks were still stuck in his nose hairs. Morrison belched loudly. Graham tasted dead flowers. Stallone handed out glasses of wine in $150 crystal goblets (a bit of info gleaned from the sphincter-10). They entered the recently finished viewing salon that featured an elegant bar and plush pool table. Sasha was about to sink the 8 ball when Stallone “accidentally on purpose” bumped into her. She got to take it over again, but missed. Stallone smiled the smile of a small, insecure person. Graham did not miss this.
The rights to The Doors’ music were now owned by three different, and hopelessly polarized, groups: the three remaining Doors, the Admiral and his wife, and the dead girlfriend’s parents. The biography No One Here Gets Out Alive had shredded Pamela’s reputation beyond repair, not to mention what it did to Jim’s. Her parents wouldn’t cooperate and the Admiral wouldn’t play.
Nevertheless, a deal was still being considered, headed by Ray Manzarek. In the ensuing weeks, Graham learned that the Admiral could override everyone if he would just step forth and take control of the estate, which was being badly mismanaged.
Graham called the Admiral again, this time to assure him that he could maintain control of the script. Once again, he refused.
Graham wondered why his father-in-law was blocking the deal. Perhaps he knew something no one else did. Graham’s first movie deal of his life had happened accidentally. Within weeks he had a major star, a major studio, and all the money in the world at the ready, and it was all riding on the stroke of a pen. He listened for Jim. He listened for a long time. No ghost. No sound. Nothing.
The deal wouldn’t fly without the music and portrayal rights. All the major hitters wanted the whole package or nothing. Stallone was bitterly disappointed. In the next month, Brian De Palma started to put a deal together using Travolta in a fictional caricature of Morrison called Fire. Every major and minor male star in Hollywood came out in the media claiming to be the only one who could portray Jim. Stars like Timothy Hutton, Richard Gere, John Cougar Mellencamp, Kevin Costner, Harry Hamlin, as well as many not-so-famous actors like Stallone’s own little brother Frankie, was vying for the role of the century.
The Morrison deal was all over town. Every high-priced and two-bit promoter and producer was trying to net it first. Graham watched the events closely wondering the whole time who opened the fucking floodgates. Morrison laughed and laughed from down in the dark tunnel. It was the mocking, daring laugh he had used in life. Graham jumped down into the tunnel. He heard Jim’s footsteps running away.
“I’m coming!” Graham shouted, adjusting his deerstalker and yanking the leash of the straining bloodhound. “I’m coming, Mr. Lizard King!”
The night after the Oscars of 1981, Graham sat at a table in Mort’s Deli with all the newspapers he could find. The L.A. Times reported that Jim Morrison’s brother-in-law was coming out to tell the true story of Morrison and was threatening to sue all other parties attempting to make a fictional version.
Graham received many nasty and threatening calls from people who had been trying to put a deal together, some for more than a year. Then Entertainment Tonight ran a story stating that the family of Jim Morrison was looking for a co-producer to work with Graham. The phones really started to ring. Graham was a producer, by God!
The Admiral was on the phone to Graham. Everyone who ever knew him or knew someone who knew him had called him to find out if he was going to star in the movie – Admiral’s uniform and all. Graham had visions of Jim and his dad performing Anchors Away on stage.
Jim was listening from down in the tunnel as the Admiral said, “This is exactly why I didn’t want to get involved.” He was livid.
Jim’s laugh echoed in the background. The Admiral heard it, too.
The summer vanished. Sage, now five years old, went to school. Stallone wanted Graham to stay on and work with the kid part time, but the Morrison project would consume him for the next ten years. Sisyphus would now find serious competition in Graham.
DNA AND MEET YOUR COUSIN, THE FIRST LADY
By Helen Nichols Murphy (Battleson)
THOMAS JEFFERSON – SALLY HEMMINGS
In 1998, what is probably the most famous case of DNA-analysis was resolved with a Y-chromosome test: “Did Thomas Jefferson have children with his slave Sally Hemmings?” The DNA of five descendants of Thomas Jefferson’s paternal uncle, Field Jefferson, were analyzed, in order to investigate the Y-chromosome profile of the family. Direct male descendants of Sally Hemmings’ son served as the comparison. John Weeks Jefferson, the only living descendant of Eston Hemmings, confirmed with his Y-chromosome that both families belonged to the same male line.
Y-DNA is only for men. This test will uncover your father line and the long journeys made by your ancestors out of the deep past partly because they keep their surnames, and until the age of mass transport were unlikely to move far from their places of birth. Men can discover a tremendous ancestral hinterland by taking a YDNA test. Two central questions can be answered — Where do we all come from, and who are we? So if you’ve been longing to find out who your ancestors were and how they lived, there’s never been a better time to start looking. Your view of your ethnic heritage may be challenged. Are you ready for that?
Even in the deep past when many fewer people inhabited our planet, it appears that mtDNA markers traced great journeys moving vast distances over thousands of years. Your mtDNA marker may well have originated on the other side of the world. Women often left their places of birth to find marriage partners, and significant numbers seem to have been traded, either formally or informally, as slaves.
How is it possible to retrace the steps of our ancestors by analyzing the DNA of living people? Inheritance is the key. Each of us inherits around six billion letters of DNA from our parents, three billion from each. These are made up from four biochemicals: adenine, cytosine, guanine, and thymine. Our genes are read by scientists like very long strings of letters which are sequences of A, C, G, and T.
There are two special sorts of DNA that are particularly useful for information on our history. Our fathers pass on Y-chromosome DNA to their sons while mothers pass on mitochondrial DNA, or mtDNA to their sons and to their daughters. But mtDNA dies with men and it survives only in the female line. When people are tested — that means men carry two stories inside them — a Y-chromosome lineage and their mtDNA lineage. Women have only one — a mtDNA story.
Inside all of us is a hidden history: the story of an immense journey told by our DNA. Deoxyribonucleic acid is the biochemical molecule at the heart of the reproduction of all life, plants as well as animals. And since the discovery of its structure in 1953, scientists have pieced together the epic narrative of how human beings populated our planet. Your origins, your ancestors, the people who made you will emerge from the shadows as our research reaches back into the darkness of the deep past – your past. There are stories only DNA can tell. And sometimes these can be startling, changing perceptions of our own identity, making connections we never dreamed of.
Once your marker has been identified, the scientists and historians will tell its story — your story, the story of your fatherline. They will discover where the marker first arose and how old it is and where it spread to. Some YDNA markers are very ancient, others came into being in recorded history, all can be tracked accurately and explained.
From a simple saliva sample, our scientists can trace your ancestry over many thousands of years; and through new and developing technology, we can answer a fundamental question – where do we come from?
Only women can pass on mitochondrial DNA, and a motherline can carry the story of an extraordinary, epic journey across millennia, across continents. Men inherit mtDNA from their mothers, but it dies with them.
Each of us has inherited mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA) along with the mutations that have accumulated in our individual family lines. Geneticists can test for these accumulated mutations. Individual test results are called a haplotype or mitotype. People with the same cluster of mutations belong to the same haplogroup and are descended from the same female line. There are 36 known mitochondrial haplogroups worldwide with more being discovered as research advances.
Almost all Europeans belong to one of only seven haplogroups. This means that most Europeans are descended in the female line from one of seven different women. These women have been called the “Seven Daughters of Eve” although they could have lived at widely different periods in history. Their descendants came to Europe at different times and spread throughout the continent. Of course, because we each have so many ancestors, not just our ancestors in the female line, all Europeans descend from each of these seven women many times over.
SEVEN DAUGHTERS OF EVE
According to Oxford Ancestors, the haplogroups most common in Europe include: Helena, Jasmine, Katrine, Tara, Ursula, Velda, and Xenia. Helena is by far the largest and most successful of the seven native clans with 41 percent of Europeans belonging to one of its many branches. It began 20,000 years ago (~1,000 generations) with the birth of Helena somewhere in the valleys of the Dordogne and the Vezere in south-central France. The clan is widespread throughout all parts of Europe but reaches its highest frequency among the Basque people of northern Spain and southern France.
Remains that are said to be those of St. Luke the Evangelist show that he was a member of this clan. He was born in Syria and died in Thebes about 150 CE. Another famous member was Marie Antoinette. Her earliest known maternal ancestor was Bertha von Pfullendorf who died in 1198. Marie Antoinette’s DNA was tested as part of a project to validate the remains of her son, Louis VII.
The remains of the Russian royal family show that they also belonged to this clan. When the Russian royal family was murdered in 1918, their bodies were hastily disposed. In 1991, nine bodies were recovered from a shallow grave near Ekaterinburg, Russia. Experts obtained mtDNA samples from female-line relatives of Empress Alexandra including Prince Philip. The samples matched the mtDNA extracted from the bones proving that the bodies were the remains of the Romanovs. Further tests showed that Anna Anderson, a woman who claimed to be the Grand Duchess Anastasia, was in fact a Polish actress.
Jasmine is the second largest of the seven European clans after Helena and is the only one to have its origins outside Europe. Jasmine and her descendants, who now make up 12 percent of Europeans, were among the first farmers and brought the agricultural revolution to Europe from the Middle East around 8,500 years ago (~425 generations).
Katrine is a medium-sized clan with 10 percent of Europeans among its membership. Katrine herself lived 15,000 years ago (~750 generations) in the wooded plains of northeast Italy, now flooded by the Adriatic, and among the southern foothills of the Alps. Her descendants are still there in numbers but have also spread throughout central and northern Europe. “The Ice Man” also known as “Otzi” was a member of this clan. He lived about 3350 BCE – 3300 BCE. His remains were discovered in 1991 in a glacier in the Italian Alps.
Tara includes slightly fewer than 10 percent of modern Europeans. Its many branches are widely distributed throughout southern and western Europe with particularly high concentrations in Ireland and the west of Britain. Tara herself lived 17,000 years ago (~850 generations) in the northwest of Italy among the hills of Tuscany and along the estuary of the river Arno. Nicholas II, last Emperor of Russia, was a member of this clan as was Jesse James.
Ursula is the oldest of the seven European clans. It was founded about 45,000 years ago (~2,250 generations) by the first modern humans (Homo sapiens) as they established themselves in Europe. Dr. Brian Sykes, Oxford University, believes Ursula was born in a shallow cave cut into the cliffs of what is now Mount Parnassus close to what became Delphi. Her female-line descendants are common among both white Europeans and black Africans. She lived at a time before the emergence of the so-called “races”. Today about 11 percent of modern Europeans are the direct maternal descendants of Ursula. The clan is particularly well represented in western Britain and Scandinavia. “Cheddar Man”, whose remains were discovered in a cave in England, was a member of the Ursula Clan. He died about 9,000 years ago (~450 generations).
Velda is the smallest of the seven European clans containing only about 4 percent of native Europeans. Velda lived 17,000 years ago (~850 generations) in the limestone hills of Cantabria in northwest Spain. Her descendants are found nowadays mainly in western and northern Europe. They are surprisingly frequent among the Skolt Sámi (Lapps) (50 percent) of Scandinavia and the Basques (12 percent) of Spain.
Xenia is the second oldest of the seven European clans. It was founded 25 thousand years ago (~1,250 generations) by the second wave of modern humans, who established themselves in Europe just prior to the coldest part of the last Ice Age. Today around 7 percent of native Europeans are in the clan of Xenia. About one percent of Native Americans are also in the clan of Xenia. An Anglo-Saxon skeleton from the 11th century was discovered at Norwich Castle in England and shown to be a member of this clan. My own haplo-group is H – actually H-3 in the Helena group. MtDNA Haplogroup H3 – H3 is the second most common branch of H. Like H1, it is found mainly in Western Europe.
MARIE ANTOINETTE
DNA was extracted from a lock of Marie Antoinette’s hair that was snipped from her head as a child. Her DNA matched a sample taken from a heart believed to be from her son, King Louis XVII. Marie Antoinette’s farthest known maternal line ancestor: Bertha von Putelendorf, d 1190.
THE ROMANOVS – THE LAST RUSSIAN ROYAL FAMILY
In July 1991, nine bodies were exhumed from a shallow grave just outside Ekaterinburg, Russia. Circumstantial evidence, along with mitochondrial DNA sequencing and matches, gave strong evidence to the remains being those of the Romanovs, the last Russian Royals who were executed on July 18, 1918. Tsarina Alexandra, the three children buried with her and Prince Philip’s mitochondrial DNA were an exact match on 740 tested nucleotides.
DNA STORIES: Excerpts from Ancestry.com
WAY MORE THAN A BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENT
More than a century later, DNA uncovers a bout of indiscretion and calls into question a researcher’s own identity – After researching his family history for a quarter of a century, Myrl Lemburg of Virginia Beach, Virginia, got the shock of his life when he took a DNA test. He had collected information on about 10,000 members of the Lemburg family tracing their roots back to Holstein, Germany. Somewhere around the year 1700, the paper trail dried up. He had identified three Lemburg families from the same area, but he couldn’t connect them.
Hoping to link the three groups, Lemburg convinced two distant cousins to participate in a Y-DNA test.The results showed that his test partners shared a common ancestor within 12 to 16 generations. The surprise? Myrl Lemburg didn’t match either of his “cousins”.
Baffled, he asked a first cousin on his Lemburg line to take a Y-DNA test. This time the results matched proving that Lemburg and his cousin are closely related.
So what do these results mean? Somewhere on Lemburg’s paternal line there was a male ancestor who wasn’t biologically a Lemburg. As close as Lemburg can figure, his great- or great-great-grandmother had an affair and bore a son who was raised with the Lemburg name — his mother’s married name.
“Somewhere along the line, the ‘milkman’ got involved,” says Lemburg. “The poor lady probably thought that her secret died with her, and here I am digging up the dirt a hundred years later.” Of course, an adoption could also account for the genetic discrepancies in Lemburg’s family tree.
“There are three generations between my grandmother and the ancestor where the line matches the other two groups,” Lemburg says. He has yet to find a test partner who could help him discover the true origins of his paternal line. For family secrets like this, DNA is probably the only way to get a glimpse at the truth.
“Now I will publish a genealogy book that has all the Lemburg people I can gather,” says Lemburg, “but I have no idea who my forefathers are beyond two generations!”
THE PROOF IS IN THE PACKAGE
It started with a census record feeding into one researcher’s theory: that Great-grandpa wasn’t really blood kin. A paternal DNA test turned that theory into fact.
The 1900 census first aroused Barbara Forsey’s suspicions. In it she found her 22-year-old maternal grandfather, Stanislaus (Stanley) Brady, living with parents Francis and Barbara Brady and five younger siblings. But the census stated that the parents had been married only 17 years and that Barbara had given birth to five children, not six. It seemed that Barbara Brady wasn’t Stanley’s biological mother.
Forsey, a resident of Chatsworth, California, guessed that Stanley was Francis Brady’s son from a previous marriage. But she became skeptical when she could find no evidence to support that assumption. She knew Stanley had been born in Philadelphia in 1878, but he appeared to have no birth or baptismal certificate.
On a hunch, Forsey tried searching for Stanislaus under the surname Sylvester — Barbara Brady’s maiden name.”Bingo! I found him on the 1880 census with Barbara and her sister Matilda,” says Forsey. “They were both single.” If Barbara wasn’t Stanley’s birth mother, then perhaps Matilda was.
But Forsey’s relatives found it hard to believe that Stanley wasn’t born a Brady. “The family needed proof that he was not a Brady,” Forsey says.
So she turned to science to confirm her theory. First she reached out to a male cousin who could serve as a genetic proxy for Stanley Brady. Next she tracked down a grandson of one of Stanley’s brothers. She persuaded both men to take DNA tests.Their Y-DNA didn’t match proving that Stanley Brady was not Francis Brady’s biological son.
Forsey hopes that one day she will be able to identify Stanley’s birth father. “I would love to find his biological family,” she says. As DNA databases grow in size, finding a match for Grandpa Stanley’s genetic signature becomes an ever more attainable goal.
MEET YOUR COUSIN, THE FIRST LADY:
A Family Story, Long Hidden!
Joan Tribble of Rex, Georgia held tightly to her cane as she ventured into the overgrown cemetery where her people were buried. There lay the pioneers who once populated north Georgia’s rugged frontier, where striving white men planted corn and cotton, fought for the Confederacy, and owned slaves. rry George, a member of the Shields family, has struggled with the discovery that Michelle Obama is a descendant of a slave owned by the Shields.
Joan Tribble at the grave of her great-great-grandfather, Henry W. Shields, a Georgia slave owner who is also an ancestor of Michelle Obama
The settlers interred here were mostly forgotten over the decades as their progeny scattered across the South embracing unassuming lives. But one line of her family took another path heading north on a tumultuous, winding journey that ultimately led to the White House. The white men and women buried here are the forebears of Mrs. Tribble, a retired bookkeeper who delights in her two grandchildren and her Sunday church mornings. They are also ancestors of Michelle Obama, the First Lady.
The discovery of this unexpected family tie between the nation’s most prominent black woman and a white, silver-haired grandmother from the Atlanta suburbs underscores the entangled histories and racial intermingling that continue to bind countless American families more than 140 years after the Civil War.
The link was established through more than two years of research into Mrs. Obama’s roots which included DNA tests of white and black relatives. Like many African-Americans, Mrs. Obama was aware that she had white ancestry but knew little more. Now for the first time, the white forebears who have remained hidden in the First Lady’s family tree can be identified, and her blood ties are not only to the dead. She has an entire constellation of white distant cousins who live in Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama, Texas, and beyond who in turn are only now learning of their kinship to her. Those relatives include professionals, blue-collar workers, a retired construction worker, an accountant, a dietitian, and an insurance claims adjuster among others who never imagined they had black relatives. Most had no idea that their ancestors owned slaves.
Many of them like Mrs. Tribble, 69, are still grappling with their wrenching connection to the White House. “You really don’t like to face this kind of thing,” said Mrs. Tribble, whose ancestors owned the First Lady’s great-great-great-grandmother. Some of Mrs. Tribble’s relatives have declined to discuss the matter beyond the closed doors of their homes fearful that they might be vilified as racists or forced to publicly atone for their forebears. Mrs. Tribble has decided to openly accept her history and her new extended family. “I can’t really change anything,” said Mrs. Tribble, who would like to meet Mrs. Obama one day. “But I can be open-minded to people and accept them and hope they’ll accept me.”
COMPLICATED HISTORIES
The bloodlines of Mrs. Obama and Mrs. Tribble extend back to a 200-acre farm that was not far from here. One of their common ancestors was Henry Wells Shields, Mrs. Tribble’s great-great-grandfather. He was a farmer and a family man who grew cotton, Indian corn, and sweet potatoes. He owned Mrs. Obama’s maternal great-great-great-grandmother, Melvinia Shields, who was about eight years old when she arrived on his farm sometime around 1852.
The DNA tests and research indicate that one of his sons, Charles Marion Shields, is the likely father of Melvinia’s son Dolphus, who was born around 1860. Dolphus T. Shields was the First Lady’s maternal great-great-grandfather. His identity and that of his mother, Melvinia, were first reported in an article in The New York Times in 2009, which also indicated that he must have had a white father. Melvinia was a teenager, perhaps around 15, when she gave birth to her biracial son. Charles was about 20.
Dolphus T. Shields, the son of a slave, was Michelle Obama’s great-great-grandfather.
Such forbidden liaisons across the racial divide inevitably bring to mind the story of Thomas Jefferson and his slave Sally Hemings. Mrs. Obama’s ancestors, however, lived in a world far removed from the elegance of Jefferson’s Monticello, his 5,000-acre mountain estate with 200 slaves. They were much more typical of the ordinary people who became entangled in America’s entrenched system of servitude.
The slaveowner was Henry Wells Shields, who inherited Melvinia when his father-in-law died in 1852. DNA testing and research indicate that he and his wife, Christian Patterson Shields, are the First Lady’s great-great-great-great grandparents. Henry Wells Shields is the man with the white beard. His wife, Christian Patterson Shields, sits to his right. Charles Marion Shields is the third man standing from the right.
NO EASY LIFE
In Clayton County, Georgia, where the Shields family lived, only about a third of the heads of household owned human property, and masters typically labored alongside their slaves. Charles was a man of modest means — he would ultimately become a teacher — whose parents were only a generation or so removed from illiteracy.
Melvinia was not a privileged house slave like Sally. She was illiterate and no stranger to laboring in the fields. She had more biracial children after the Civil War giving some of the white Shields hope that her relationship with Charles was consensual.
“To me, it’s an obvious love story that was hard for the South to accept back then,” said Aliene Shields, a descendant who lives in South Carolina.
People who knew Melvinia said she never discussed what happened between them whether she was raped or treated with affection, whether she loved and was loved in return. Somewhere along the way, she decided to keep the truth about her son’s heritage to herself.
Ruth Wheeler Applin, who knew Melvinia and Dolphus, suspected that Melvinia had been raped by her master. But Mrs. Applin, who married Melvinia’s grandson and lived with her for several years in the 1930s, never asked that sensitive question. Melvinia died in 1938.
“You know,” Mrs. Applin said in an interview in 2010, “she might not have wanted nobody to know.” Mrs. Applin died this year at 92.
For many members of that first generation to emerge from bondage, the experience of slavery was so shameful and painful that they rarely spoke of it. This willful forgetting pervaded several branches of the First Lady’s family tree, passed along like an inheritance from one generation to the next.
Mrs. Obama declined to comment on the findings about her roots as did her mother and brother. But over and over, the black members of her extended family said their parents, grandparents, and other relatives did not discuss slavery or the origins of the family’s white ancestry. Nor was the topic much discussed within Mrs. Obama’s immediate family. She and her brother, Craig Robinson, watched the mini-series “Roots” about Alex Haley’s family’s experiences in slavery. During summers, the family would visit relatives who lived in a South Carolina town dotted with old rice plantations. But they never discussed how those plantations might be connected to their personal history.
Nomenee Robinson, Mrs. Obama’s paternal uncle, said he found himself stymied whenever he tried to delve into the past. His line of the family also has white ancestry, relatives say. “All of these elderly people in my family, they would say, ‘Boy, I don’t know anything about slavery time,’ ” he said. “and I kept thinking, ‘You mean your mother or grandmother didn’t tell you anything about it?’ What I think is that they blocked it out.”
Contemporary America emerged from that multiracial stew, a nation peopled by the heirs of that agonizing time who struggled and strived with precious little knowledge of their own origins. By 1890, census takers counted 1.1 million Americans of mixed ancestry.
All four of Mrs. Obama’s grandparents had multiracial forebears. There were Irish immigrants who nurtured their dreams in a new land and free African-Americans who savored liberty long before the Civil War. Some were classified as mulatto by the census while others claimed Cherokee ancestry.
There were even tantalizing hints of a link to a Jewish family with ties to the Charleston, South Carolina synagogue that became the birthplace of the American Jewish Reform Movement in the 19th century.
Mrs. Obama’s ancestors ultimately moved north with some arriving in Illinois as early as the 1860s. Others settled in Maryland, Michigan, and Ohio.
Dolphus’ daughter, Pearl Lewis, moved to Cleveland. Pearl’s granddaughter, Jewell Barclay, still remembers Dolphus, a stern, fair-skinned man with narrow lips and an aquiline nose. There were whispers in the family that he was half white.
“Slave time, you know how the white men used to fool with them black women. That’s what I heard,” Mrs. Barclay said.
Mrs. Barclay said she would like to meet white members of her family. Mrs. Tribble and Sherry George, a great-granddaughter of Charles Marion Shields, said they would also like to meet their black extended family.
Sherry George, a member of the Shields family, has struggled with the discovery that Michelle Obama is a descendant of a slave owned by the Shields.
Others remain reluctant. “I don’t think there’s going to be a Kumbaya moment here,” said one of Charles Shields’s great-grandchildren, who spoke on the condition of anonymity fearful that the ancestral ties to slavery might besmirch the family name.
DNA TESTING
The discovery comes as an increasing number of Americans, black and white, confront their own family histories taking advantage of widespread access to DNA testing and online genealogical records. Jennifer L. Hochschild, a professor of African and African-American studies at Harvard who has studied the impact of DNA testing on racial identity, said this was uncharted territory.
“This is a whole new social arena,” Professor Hochschild said. “We don’t have an etiquette for this. We don’t have social norms.” “More or less every white person knows that slave owners raped slaves,” she continued. “But my great-grandfather? People don’t know what they feel. They don’t know what they’re supposed to feel. I think it’s really hard.”
Mrs. George, a hospital respiratory therapy manager, struggled to describe her reaction to the revelations. Her grandfather, McClellan Charles Shields, and Dolphus Shields were half brothers. They both lived in Birmingham where Mrs. George grew up.
“I’m appalled at slavery,” said Mrs. George, 61. “I don’t know how that could have even gone on in a Christian nation. I know that times were different then. But the idea that one of our ancestors raped a slave…”
She trailed off for a moment, considering the awful possibility.
“I would like to know the answer, but I would not like to know that my great-grandfather was a rapist,” she said. “I would like to know in my brain that they were nice to her and her children. It would be easier to live with that.”
Mrs. Tribble, who began researching her roots before Mrs. Obama became the First Lady, said she was shocked to learn that her ancestors owned slaves.
“My family, well, they were just your most basic people who never had a lot,” Mrs. Tribble said. “I never imagined that they owned slaves.”
Her mother, Lottie Bell Shields, was an orphan who picked cotton as a girl and was passed from relative to relative in a family that could ill afford an extra mouth to feed. She never got past the seventh grade.
Yet even before she took the DNA test, Mrs. Tribble had a strong feeling that her family and the First Lady’s family were related. She still remembers the moment when she laid eyes on an old black-and-white photograph of Dolphus Shields. She was sitting at her kitchen table in her house in the Atlanta suburbs when she saw him staring out of the pages of The New York Times: this stern, bespectacled African-American man who happened to share her mother’s last name.
Mrs. Tribble never had any doubts about her family’s ethnic background. Yet when she stared at the photograph that day, she said she felt something entirely unexpected: a strong stirring of recognition.
“I just thought, ‘Well, he looks like somebody who could be in my family,’ ” she said.
This article is adapted from “American Tapestry: The Story of the Black, White and Multiracial Ancestors of Michelle Obama” by Rachel L. Swarns, to be published by Amistad, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
SPECIAL NOTE:
I would love for you to Like what my multi-talented daughter, Rachel has done to my facebook page on Hewick, please go there and Like it, OK? Rachel has used her graphic arts degree and her expertise from her own company “Print Candy” (rachel@printcandydesign.com) to re-design it for me! I am thrilled & would love to have your input! Helen
Helen Nichols Murphy (Battleson), Coronado, CA hewick1@yahoo.com 619-694-9415 Robinson Rootsweb : facebook.com/HewickPlantation
(Helen’s daughter, Rachel Battleson, is the creative artist behind the cover of this issue of The Coronado Clarion as well as The Fingers poster featured on the Back Cover.)
TREASURES FROM THE HEART
By Alan and Kimberley Graham
The Old Curiosity Shop can be found at 13–14 Portsmouth Street, Westminster, London, near the London School of Economics. The building dates back to the sixteenth century. Constructed from the wood of old ships, it once functioned as a dairy on the estate given by King Charles II to one of his many mistresses. In Victorian times, it received its current name, as it was thought to be the inspiration for Charles Dickens’ description of the antique shop in his novel of the same title. There is also an establishment in Broadstairs called The Old Curiosity Shop, where Dickens rented a home.
Today, Coronado has its own “old curiosity shop” – Treasures From The Heart.
It too is enchanting and filled to the brim with many curious and delightful gifts.
Jeanne Jordan and her son Joshua purchased Treasures From The Heart in 2007 from its original proprietors. They chose to keep the name, yet gave it a complete facelift. Conveniently located between The Brigantine and Miguel’s Cocina, as well as across the street from the Hotel Del Coronado, Treasures serves as ambassador to tourists and locals alike.
“Enchanting and filled to the brim” is no exaggeration. In every nook and cranny there is some fun souvenir special to the island experience, as well as collections of hand-carved Mahogany sculptures of planes, trains, and automobiles, Christmas tree ornaments and the latest in Island apparel, such as Aloha shirts for the men and handcrafted handbags for the ladies, not to mention the cutest kids’ clothes ever. There are signature flip-flops called Switch Flops (my favorites), tea sets, books, handmade jewelry from around the world, wind socks, wall hangings, paintings, a wonderful Beanie Babies collection, kids’ toys and craft sets, holiday specialties, sunglasses, visors, bonnets and hats, and even cozy wintertime slippers (a very hot item). There is literally something for everyone in this charming boutique. It is the perfect one-stop gift shop.
In 2005, Jeanne retired from a 19-year career as a schoolteacher. Instead of taking some well-earned R&R, she decided to go into business with Joshua and they bought Treasures From The Heart. Since then, they have not taken a day off: besides working seven days a week in the shop, they travel six times a year to trade shows, perusing one-of-a-kind goods for their unique inventory.
Upon graduating from high school in 1974, Jeanne moved to California from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania to attend college. She met and married her wonderful husband, Doug Jordan, who is a pastor at Lighthouse Baptist Church in Lemon Grove. They have six married children and sixteen grandchildren.
Growing up, Jeanne worked at her family’s store, Rhoads Pharmacy and Gift Shop (rhoadspharmacy.com), where her father and mother are pharmacists. Dave and Jeanne Lutz have owned the establishment for over 38 years. Located in Hummelstown, Pennsylvania, it is the largest gift shop on the east coast. Jeanne’s parents were great mentors in the gift business, teaching her how to carefully select the many distinctive curios for her own shop.
The Switch-Flop: If for no other reason, you must visit Treasures From The Heart to start your switch-flop collection. I swear by them and have six pairs. Basically, a Switch-Flop can be either a flip-flop or a sandal, with Velcro or ornamental buttons that can be interchanged with switches. It is so much fun! It is like having several pairs of shoes in one. You can create a shoe to match every outfit. So get yourself to Treasures From The Heart and start your Switch-Flop addiction. They are priceless yet affordable!
Treasures From The Heart is located at:
1349 Orange Avenue
(Across from the Hotel Del Coronado)|
Coronado, California 92118
(619) 437-1825
Treasures From The Heart is open seven days a week (Monday through Saturday 10:00 a.m. – 9:00 p.m.; Sundays 10:00 a.m. – 5:00 pm.). Stop in for your own pair of Switch-Flops and a gift for that special friend or family member. It is ideal for all those last-minute presents as well as carefully planned treasures!!! Plus, the service does not get any more friendly or accommodating. Jeanne and Joshua Jordan are the best in the business!!!
HOMEGROWN INNOVATION: THE TORKA DRY BAG
Magnus “Erik” Karlsson graduated from Coronado High School in 2007, he then attended LMU where he graduated in 2011. At 23 years old, Erik is experiencing life as a CEO of his very own company, Torka Dry Bags with its headquarters right here in his home town of Coronado. Besides running his own company, Erik serves 40 hours a week as one of Cornado’s Finest: A Lifeguard.
After graduating from college, Erik went to Costa Rica to enjoy his lifelong love of all things water and especially his passion for surfing. One day, he was hit by a sudden downpour there ruining his telephone and drenching everything else. Thus sprung his idea for a “sling style” drybag.
Magnus “Erik” Karlsson, CEO The Torka Dry Bag
The drybag is not a new idea but the Torka dry bag employs a special design created by Erik in the form of a sling-style backpack. Ideal not only for surfers but also for all water sports women and men: kayakers, sailors, hikers, rafters, paddlers, skiers, and scuba divers, etc. Few have ever been introduced to dry bags. Surfers all know about them and camping river rafters. The ones that know the importance of keeping your things completely dry: it is an essential.
Stylish, it can be used as a tote for all your fundamentals for a day on the water or near the water (lunch, cold drinks, dry clothes, cell phones, wallets, car keys, etc.) Many will love its convenient size. This summer the junior sailors at the local yacht clubs love to keep their belongings dry in their Torka dry bags as the boats always have water in the bottom of them.
WHAT IS A TORKA DRY BAG?
In Torka terms, our dry bags are messenger bags that have a sling that rest over your shoulder while the bag itself hangs on your back. The bag is made out of PVC material. PVC is short for a type of plastic rubbery material. This keeps the bag from soaking up water. All of the seams on the bag are heat-sealed. This makes it so no water gets in and no water gets out. There is also a small zipper pocket located on the outside of the bag for easy access to the necessities. Now, this might confuse some people, but the bag unlike the outside pocket does not close using a zipper at the top of the bag. This style of dry bag pays homage to an older way of closing and securing the bag, yet we believe it is still the most effective. The Torka bag is longer at the top. The sides can be pinched and rolled tightly downward. Using the buckles at the top, after rolling it down three times, the buckles are turned toward each other and in a secure fashion are then clipped together to fasten the bag shut. This is how old sailors and travelers closed their sacks. This is how it was done for many years, and this is why Torka wants to continue the tradition. The Torka bag represents a lifestyle of the old ways with new technology that gives it a sleek design that is both functional and reliable to whomever chooses to use one.
Special Note: Also available are Torka t-shirts, hats, and jackets. You see kids all over town in Torka shirts!
VISIT: www.torkadrybags.com for more information and easy ordering
(OR)
Contact : TORKA DRY BAGS (Ask for King Magnus)
Phone: (619) 961-5321
MON – FRI 8 AM – 8 PM PT; SAT 9AM – 6 PM PT
Email: torka@torkadrybags.com
“It’s not just a bag it’s a lifestyle. Join the movement. Stay dry with Torka.” – Erik Karlsson, Founder & CEO
BASIL, MECHANIC EXTRAORDINAIRE
He is an “Old School” mechanic, and he runs the Union 76 gas station at 9th and Orange in Coronado.
He deals with his customers as if they were part of his family, and he does quality work at a very decent price. His name is Basil, and he prides himself on running a family business, employing his sons and his son-in-law, who also provide superior service and good manners. After all, this crew is Old School and the very best that comes with all things good.
CORONADO 76
9th & Orange Avenue
Coronado, CA
(619) 435-0076
LETS PLAY CORONADO TRIVIA — FAMOUS PEOPLE!!!
Compiled by SanDiegoTrivia.net for the Hotel del Coronado
What California governor and 40th President of the United States was a frequent guest at the Hotel del Coronado during the late 1900s?
W.H. Bentley was a Coronado businessman who was known for breeding what type of bird native to Africa?
Name the famous United States Marine Corps General that served as the mayor of Coronado from 1928-1930?
What was the preferred method of mail delivery in the early 1900s by Postmaster William Chadwick?
Known for his trademark bowtie and thick rim glasses, what famous popcorn businessman was a resident of Coronado for twenty years?
What bicycle store owner in Coronado organized the first Coronado Cycle Club in the early 1900s?
What famous actor and film director lived in a 1925 Tudor home on Coronado in the late 1920s?
What famous folk music group was the first started in the late 1950s by Coronado resident Nick Reynolds?
What popular children’s book published in 1900 was written by American author and Coronado resident L. Frank Baum?
ANSWERS:
Ronald Reagan – The Reagan’s enjoyed vacationing at the hotel. Reagan attended a state dinner as well as hosted talks with the Mexican President-Elect. The hotel’s “Governor Suite” is named in his honor.
Ostrich – Bentley owned the Coronado ostrich farm that was equipped with incubators during the early 1900s. The farm had 39 animals and only bred superior birds.
General Joseph H. Pendleton – Pendleton was responsible for pioneering Marine Corps activities in the San Diego area as well as on the North Shore on Coronado. After his 46 years of military service, Pendleton settled in Coronado and served as the mayor for two years
Horse and Cart – Chadwick’s “chariot” became well known because the horse was so familiar with the route she could have made it blindfolded. In 1919, he bought a motorcycle and tried to deliver mail for six months but gave up and ended up just walking the route.
Orville Redenbacher – Redenbacher was known for appearing in dozens of commercials for his famous popcorn. He retired in Coronado in the 1970s. In 1995 at the age of 88, he suffered a heart attack and drowned in his Jacuzzi.
W.E. Holland – The club equipped a race track on the grounds south of Tent City and organized the “Greatest Bicycle Parade in Southern California” on May 6, 1922. Holland’s store is still located on Orange Avenue today.
Charlie Chaplin – Chaplin was a British film comedian, director, producer, writer, and composer whose work in the motion picture industry consisted of 81 films made between 1914 and 1967.
The Kingston Trio – Nick Reynolds and Bob Shane first met while attending college. The two friends start to hang out, drink, and chase women together which ultimately led them to playing music at parties. Reynolds died in 2008 at the age of 75 but the band still performs today.
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz – The book was the best-selling children’s book for two years after it was first published. Baum went on to write 13 more novels based on the places and people of the Land of Oz.
CATS AND DOGS AND TIGERS !?! … OH, MY!!!
SeAnna VanBrunt, Tiger Technician Extraordinaire
What a special treat for these veterinary technicians – not your usual everyday animal patient – Who would have thought these gals would be kissing and caressing a tiger today?
Well, that is exactly what happened when Natasha, resident tiger of Lions Tigers and Bears, a wildlife sanctuary located in Alpine, California booked her appointment. She came in for a “tigerectomy”. Natasha had cysts on her ovaries and was here to have a literal ovarian hysterectomy. In good hands at Veterinary Surgical Specialty Group in Kearny Mesa, Natasha survived her procedure and recovered with flying colors. Thanks at least partly to the “kit gloves” she received from her caring veterinary technicians, SeAnna VanBrunt and Katie Hassell.
Katie Hassell, Tiger Technician Extraordinaire
These lucky professionals are both from Coronado. SeAnna VanBrunt is the Referral Coordinator for the VCA North Coast Animal Hospital and has lived in Coronado with her daughter, Kadence, for several years. She hails from Salt Lake City, and after visiting our lovely emerald isle, packed up her life and settled here. Katie Hassell is the daughter of long-time resident, Kathy Campbell and is a veterinary technician at Veterinary Surgical Specialty Group. Together they prepared and assisted Natasha, the Tiger, on this her very special day.
TALK TO THE PAW!
NATASHA’S STORY
Natasha is a Bengal Tiger. She was born on September 5, 1997 and weighs 350 pounds. She became a full-time resident at Lions Tigers & Bears* in Alpine in September 2002. She was brought to LTB with Raja, her mate. “We thought there was a possibility that she was pregnant. With the stress of the move and her deplorable previous living conditions, we were worried about her health. She soon began showing small belly bulges, and started to look and feel much better. At the height of her pregnancy, she looked like she had a bowling ball on each side of her belly! On November 8, 2002, Natasha gave birth to two beautiful girl cubs, named Tabu and Sitarra (AKA “the Girls”). Natasha was a perfect mom to these two girls and they have all flourished. Natasha now spends her days lounging in and on her den, splashing in her pool (she loves splashing her caretakers when they walk by), and playing with her toys. She is also very vocal when it comes to food. We have yet to find anything that Natasha won’t eat – she loves all foods.
Raised with Raja in a small enclosure in Texas, without affection, without any hope. if she had not had her mate, Raja, she may not have survived.
RAJA’S STORY
Raja, Natasha’s mate is also a Bengal Tiger. He was born on September 5, 1996 and weighs 550 pounds. Raja and Natasha both came to Lions Tigers & Bears from Texas in September 2002. Their previous owner had kept both of these full-grown Bengal Tigers in a 6′ x 12′ cage with no shade or shelter. They had spent their entire lives in that small enclosure stepping over each other just to turn around.
Raja’s owner was unwilling to give the cats up to the authorities nor was he willing to provide adequate protection for these beautiful cats. After much coaxing, he was finally persuaded to give Raja and Natasha to Lions Tigers & Bears. The authorities gave Lions Tigers & Bears one month to get the cats moved. In less than one month, LTB was able to raise two-thirds of the money necessary to build a suitable enclosure, construct a new home for Raja and Natasha, obtain all the necessary permits, and transport both cats from Texas to Southern California.
Since acclimating to his new surroundings, Raja has made himself at home. Raja was neutered on March 28, 2003 so that he can continue living with Natasha. He loves playing in his pool, splashing and batting his ball around. Raja is affectionate, sociable, and loves to be the center of attention.
Raja and Natasha now have the opportunity to run and play in our exercise area, Tiger Trails. Raja loves to play in the cool grass with Natasha and splash around in the pool. Raja’s favorite food is turkey.
*THE STORY OF LIONS TIGERS & BEARS
Lions Tigers & Bears is a federally and state licensed non-profit 501(c)(3) rescue facility dedicated to providing a safe haven for unwanted and abused exotic cats. We are one of only twelve Big Cat Sanctuaries in the U.S. We are a NO KILL, NO BREED, NO SELL rescue and educational facility that allows cats in our care the opportunity to live out their lives with dignity in a caring and safe environment. Our goal is to provide a safe haven to rescued cats and to educate the public about the growing population of abandoned and unwanted exotic animals and where they come from.
Our primary concerns are for the health and comfort of our cats and the safety of those who share these precious natural resources. We will protect and provide these animals with a lifetime home realizing that environment, exercise, and personal attention are key to their well being. Every attempt will be made to provide healthy diets, medical care, immunizations, and whatever else is necessary for the physical and psychological welfare of each animal in our care.
In addition to our current family of cats, others in need of medical aid and rest are welcome to this facility, limited only by the extent to which we are able to provide adequate help, shelter, and safety. Our principal obligation is to our rescued cats, but we are concerned with the welfare of all captive big cats.
Sadly, in many areas of the United States, there are countless unwanted, abused, and abandoned big cats in captivity. In fact, the number of animals bred and born in captivity is greater than that in the wild. In most cases, cats born in captivity must endure horrific neglect and abuse due to the immense responsibility in their upkeep. In many states big cats, most commonly lions, tigers, cougars, and bobcats are acquired by roadside zoos and then eventually become surplus animals, are retired from entertainment, are purchased as pets when young, or are sold and bred for profit.
There are far too many stories of abuses suffered by captive cats. The most common is neglect and for this there should be no excuse. A large cat, be it bobcat, serval, leopard, lion, or tiger cannot be a pet. Many people do not realize that in many states a baby lion or tiger can be bought just as you would buy a pet dog or cat. What starts out as a novelty — that cute, little 10-pound cub — soon turns into a 500-pound wild animal that is expensive to manage and dangerous to have in your home.
How many tigers live this sort of terrible life? We believe there are about 10,000 exotic cats living in captivity in this country, bought and sold through this exotic animal trade – and remember, only about 5,000 are left in the wild! There are more tigers in backyards across this country than in all the zoos together. The exotic animal trade is a 17-billion-dollar-a-year industry, second only to drugs and weapons. These exploited Big Cats are crassly used for silly entertainment, and when they don’t sell tickets or make money anymore, they are dumped and desperately need places to live. Then the exploiters buy another young cat and the same sad cycle begins again. It’s so heartbreaking. LTB receives calls every week from people who need to find a home for exotic cats because they can no longer afford them or no longer want to care for them. Owners of these cats soon find out that zoos and sanctuaries, already filled to capacity, have no room for them. These throw-away Big Cats can live 20 years or more. Don’t they deserve a secure and happy lifetime home?
When our founder, Bobbi Brink is asked why she started LTB she often replies, “After witnessing the heart-breaking phenomenon known as the ‘exotic animal trade’ and seeing the victims of this business, I was compelled to do what I could to help these animals. I have spent many sleepless nights picturing the tortured lives these cats end up living. The disgusting places where these marvelous animals are kept – sometimes in places you would least expect, in miserable holding cells with no sunlight or windows, living in cages so small they barely have room to stand up or turn around. Many live in basements, never seeing sunlight or smelling fresh air. I have seen 10 or more cats crowded together in a small enclosure, where they restlessly pace in filth and fight each other for scraps of food — Some starve to death. A full grown exotic cat costs about $15.00 a day to feed ($450.00 a month-just for food!)”
Lions Tigers & Bears strives to:
Rescue a limited number of cats that have been abused, confiscated, or are in danger of being destroyed for lack of a suitable home and provide them with a permanent home.
Provide comfortable shelter, nutrition, health needs, and caring attention to the cats currently in our care.
Maintain a clean habitat for the animals using the highest safety standards.
Participate with others to help promote legislation to ensure captive cats receive responsible life-time homes, prevent the breeding of captive big cats without special purpose, and reduce the abuse that so many endure.
Arouse community interest and awareness. Educate the public about the plight of all cats both captive and wild by providing information about how we can help them survive.
Besides Tigers, These are Our Animals:
To animals born in captivity, and fated to be ignored and abused, we dedicate this organization.”
Bobbi Brink, Founder
LIONS:
Bakari
African Lion – Male – Born: 3/16/2007 – Weight: 500 lbs.
Bakari came to us with his two sisters, Suri and Jillian, at the age of four weeks. We were contacted by the only big cat sanctuary in Louisiana. Due to overcrowding in their facility they were unable to keep the cubs. Lions Tigers & Bears stepped in and accepted all three lion cubs.
Bakari is definitely the “boy” of the litter. He is really laid back and lets his two sisters do all the work. He is definitely bigger than the “girls” when it comes to size. He is also much darker, and you can almost start to make out what will someday become the distinctive markings of a male lion.
Bakari was named by two of our wonderful supporters at Lions Tigers & Bears: Janice and Gary Freiberg. They bid to name him at the “Wild in the Country” fundraising event in June of 2007. After doing much research on African names, they narrowed it down to a list of five and finally chose Bakari. Bakari is an African expression which translates to “one with great promise”.
Jillian
African Lion – Female – Born: 3/16/2007 – Weight: 357 lbs.
Jillian came to us with her sister Suri and brother Bakari at the age of four weeks. Like her sister and brother, Jillian has received daily training which included verbal commands. These commands help LTB staff to provide care.
Jillian was named at our Wild in the Country event when the highest bidder Robert Cox named the cub, Jillian, after his wife El Cajon City Councilwoman, Jillian Hanson-Cox. The name means “youthful” and “bright light” which he says depicts the personality of the cub and his wife alike.
AND
Our Suri
African Lion – Female – Born: 3/16/2007 – Weight: 350 lbs.
Suri came to us with her sister Jillian and brother Bakari at the age of four weeks. Suri is a little smaller than Jillian and Bakari but is growing daily and might even catch up soon. She is the sweetest of the three and is very playful and loving.
Like her brother and sister, Suri was named at the Wild in the Country when Yvette Davis won the rights in an auction. What is unique in this instance, however, is that Yvette is one of our long-time volunteers and has been helping care for Suri since she was a cub. She just fell in love with Suri and wanted to contribute more than just her time.
MOUNTAIN LIONS:
Conrad
Mountain Lion (also known as a “cougar,” “panther,” or “puma”) – Weight: 138 pounds.
Conrad was a young male caught in late 2006 (and tagged “502″) by California Fish & Game while roaming near an elementary school in Redlands. LTB adopted him so that he would not be euthanized. Because we had no enclosure for him at the time, he had to live in quarantine for several months while we constructed his habitat.
After a vigorous health examination, Conrad was finally moved to his new home. At first, he tended to spend most of his time inside his “cave” venturing outside only at night as mountain lions are naturally timid. But with the patient encouragement of his care-givers who spent hours each day talking and reading to him, he soon began to leave his cave to explore his new enclosure. Soon he was sleeping in his hammock, enjoying the huge logs which he claws to keep his nails trim, playing with his rubber ball, and relaxed in his waterfall pool. However, he’s still rather shy and emerges mostly at night and early in the morning.
Conrad adapted so well to his new home that we decided to teach him some important commands to help us better care for him. The first command he learned was to “go up” which means to stand on his hind legs and stretch his body up against the fence. This allows his care-givers to see the underside of his body to safely check for any problems without having to tranquilize him.
One of our long-term goals at LTB is to construct a “Conservation Station” to serve as a home for rescued Southern California wildlife such as mountain lions, foxes, owls, and others. This area will house animals that have been injured or caught because they might pose a threat to humans, and for whatever reason, cannot be returned to the wild.
This new facility will also include an Education Center providing programs to inform and instruct the public – and especially children – about animal conservation and living in harmony with our native species. As a very intelligent mountain lion, Conrad will be a superb ambassador for these programs once the Conservation Station is complete.
TIGERS:
YOU HAVE ALREADY MET NATASHA AND RAJA, NOW PRESENTING THEIR OFFSPRING “THE GIRLS”:
Sitarra
Bengal Tiger – Born: 11/8/2002 – Weight: 300 lbs.
After rescuing Raja and Natasha, we discovered that Natasha was pregnant. Sitarra and her sister, Tabu, were born here at LTB November 8, 2002. Sitarra (which means “Star of India”) weighed just 2 lbs., 12 oz. at birth. She is incredibly intelligent and just like her sister, Tabu, has mastered commands such as sit, lay, stay, and come. These commands help us everyday to be able to work safely around these animals, and if we need to treat them, we have a safer way to achieve this goal.
Sitarra loves playing with her sister and is fascinated by people. She is usually the first to greet anyone who approaches their enclosure. She is more independent than Tabu but still loves her sister. You can usually find them cuddled up together sleeping or romping and playing. Sitarra and Tabu spend hours watching the farm animals at LTB. Sitarra is lighter in color, like her father Raja, and lazier than her sister.
Tabu
Bengal Tiger – Born: 11/8/2002 – Weight: 300 lbs.
Tabu and Sitarra were conceived in Texas and born here at LTB in 2002. Tabu weighed 2 lbs., 7oz. at birth. Both girls live together in a habitat that includes a den, pool, toys, and room to rough house with each other. They love to play in their pool and show off for anyone paying attention. Tabu has shown great intelligence and has mastered the sit, lay, stay, up, and come commands. We do not train the cats to do tricks but rather to do certain commands so that we can safely work around and treat them if needed. We call Tabu our ‘circus cat’. If you watch her playing in her enclosure, she is always balancing on the edge of the pool. When resting, her paws are always hanging over the den or pool.
Since Tabu was a baby, she sleeps on top of Sitarra, even if it is just her paw resting on top of Sitarra. Tabu takes great comfort in having sister Sitarra around. Tabu was in need of a large area to run and play with her sister. In October 2008, thanks to our generous donors we were able to complete our Tiger Trails, a large habitat dedicated to letting our big cats run and play. This grass- covered habitat includes wooden platforms for jumping and shade from the sun and a large waterfall and pool for cooling off on a hot summer day. Sitarra and Tabu have enjoyed many days playing with each other in Tiger Trails.
OUR BEARS:
Liberty
Black Bear – Female – Born: July 4, 2009 – Weight: 96 lbs.
Liberty was brought to Lions Tigers & Bears on July 4, 2010 by Fish and Game Field Agent Kevin Brennan. Liberty was living in the Angeles National Forest and had to be removed because she had learned how to get food from the campers. Each year, yearling bears, like Liberty, leave their moms in search of food and their own territory. Many of these bears wander into camp grounds where their chances of survival are doomed. “A fed bear is a dead bear,” says Fish & Game Agent Brennan urging the public to use restraint, “Enjoy seeing the bears, take pictures, but please don’t interact with them or feed them.”
Once dependent on humans for food, these bears continue to frequent the campgrounds and become a danger to campers. At this point, Fish and Game is called in, and since most bears are not able to be re-located, they are euthanized. Each year 6 to 12 bears are euthanized due to human contact; but thankfully, Liberty’s story will turn out differently.
*Thanks to numerous donations and efforts, Liberty will soon have a lifetime home at Lions Tigers & Bears. She is already making herself at home in her temporary habitat. Liberty is an omnivore which means she eats meat, fruit, and vegetables. Her favorite foods are salmon, avocado, eggs, and anything sweet. Liberty loves to lounge around in her hammock and takes a dip in her pool to cool off.
*The “Black Bear Habitat” is now complete and Liberty is joined by Blossom and Delilah as well as The Three Little Bears.
BOBCATS
Bob, Gizmo, RJ, and Mia
Bob
Bobcat – Male – Born: 2/20/1996 – Weight: 40 lbs.
Prior to being rescued by Lions, Tigers & Bears, Bob had been kept in a rabbit hutch for many years after being caught in the wild. He had bald bloody spots, was anemic, covered in fleas, unable to stand and all four of his canine (“fang”) teeth were broken off.
Fortunately, he has made a full recovery at LTB. He runs and jumps and plays and will always run down to greet you for food. Bob lives in the same enclosure as his fellow Bobcat Gizmo and their pal, Tuffy the Serval.
Gizmo
Bobcat – Male – Born: 5/20/99 – Weight: 38 lbs.
Gizmo is probably the smartest cat at LTB, and he knows it! He likes to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and especially loves trying to outsmart the volunteers. He came to us from Texas at the age of six weeks and has been “the boss” ever since. Gizmo has adjusted well to his new large enclosure. He is most active in early mornings and enjoys playing ball, lounging in the hammocks, and annoying his roommate, Tuffy the Serval. Gizmo’s favorite food is rabbit.
RJ
Bobcat – Male – Born: 3/8/2008 – Weight: 22 lbs.
A professional truck driver spotted RJ in the road while driving near the Los Angeles County town of Acton. The bobcat appeared near death and he brought it home thinking it was a domestic kitten. Once it was realized that the kitten was actually a bobcat, authorities were called, and a volunteer from the Wetlands and Wildlife Care Center in Huntington Beach picked up the bobcat who then turned it over to Fund for Animals – an organization that rehabilitates and releases animals back to the wild. They determined that the cat had too much human contact and would not be safe if released and decided that the best future for this cat would be a lifetime home at Lions Tigers & Bears.
LTB caretakers are a bit skeptical of the trucker story in that RJ was very used to people and his physical characteristics did not resemble those of a local bobcat. The thought is that RJ was the result of needless breeding, a huge problem in the US. Nonetheless, he is fortunate to be at LTB — and lucky for this little guy, one of our very generous donors – Jillian Hanson-Cox – stepped up with a contribution which allowed us to keep RJ and give him a lifetime home. As an anniversary gift to her husband Robert Joseph Cox, Jillian named the new cat “R.J.”
Mia
Bobcat – Female
Recently Bobbi received a call from a man in Wyoming who needed to relinquish his pet bobcat, Mia, due to his ill health. He had no contingency plan for Mia and was unable to provide for her lif- time care and her transportation to Lions Tigers & Bears. Bobbi flew to Wyoming and rented a vehicle to transport Mia back to Alpine where she will lives her life being well cared for.
Mia’s owner kept her in his house as a pet and had to adjust his lifestyle to accept not being able to go on vacation, shredded curtains, scratched and clawed furniture, and scent marking in the entire house. This is a perfect example of why exotics do not make good personal pets. Mia will now have to make the adjustment to her outside habitat. We have great hope for her as we have already seen her jumping around, stalking birds, and watching Gizmo, Tuffy, and RJ who are soon to be her new friends.
The previous owner mentioned to Bobbi that even as much as he loved Mia, he felt that Wyoming really needs to stop issuing permits allowing these wild animals as pets. This is an issue that Lions Tigers & Bears has been working towards, and we will continue to push for legislation that prohibits the private ownership of wild animals.
SERVAL:
Tuffy
Serval – Male – Born: 4/12/98 – Weight: 40 lbs.
Unlike most of our cats, Tuffy came from a good home where he was well cared for. Unfortunately, Tuffy’s owner passed away and he was taken to a facility in Texas. Due to the abundant number of cats already at this particular facility, LTB felt we could provide him with a much better home. A new enclosure was constructed here complete with large trees, lots of grass, boulders, a simulated creek bed, a small pool, dens, and lounging hammocks.
Tuffy and Gizmo the Bobcat were both introduced into their new enclosure at the same time and soon became friends. They love playing together although Gizmo is usually the instigator! Tuffy is very vocal when it comes to food and like Gizmo, rabbit is his favorite food.
LEOPARDS:
Conga
Leopard – Born: 5/1/2004 – Weight: 80 lbs.
Conga had a rough start in life. She was a captive-bred pet that was abandoned by her previous owner at the age of five weeks. Fortunately, thanks to the support of our members, LTB was able to adopt her. Conga was moved into her new enclosure at the end of July, 2005 where she loves playing with her ball and climbing on numerous large rocks and logs. She has her own pool and waterfall and several hammocks to lounge in. Conga is clever, seemingly fearless, and has limitless energy. She loves to “perform” for any audience pulling off amazingly acrobatic moves with incredible grace.
Conga loves to have her caretakers squirt her with the hose on warm days. Looking into her gorgeous green eyes, you can see the sparkle of mischief, and her grin lets you know she is happy and appreciative of her lifetime home at LTB. Her favorite foods are beef bones and chicken.
HELP US HELP THE ANIMALS:
Lions Tigers & Bears is a grassroots, mostly volunteer organization, and we rely on the donations of members and local supporters for our annual budget – most of which goes to the animals. Animal care, administrative functions, and fundraising are done mostly by a dedicated group of over 100 volunteers. And we need your help !
There are many way you can assist Lions Tigers & Bears provide a high level of care for our rescued cats and other animals:
Bobbi Brink, Founder of LTB
YOU CAN:
Donate Online
Donate Through the S.D. Foundation
Purchase a Commemorative Brick
Donate a “Wish List” Item
Stay Overnight at White Oak’s Private Suite
Setup an Educational / Group Visit
Purchase LTB Merchandise
Donate a Vehicle
Become a Volunteer
YOU CAN ALSO:
Adopt a rescued animal
Set up a monthly donation through your bank
Sponsor a portion of an event
Apply for our Capital One credit card
Have your next party at Lions, Tigers, & Bears
Register your Ralph’s and Albertson’s card
Just call the office (619-659-8078), and we will tell you how.
And don’t forget to TELL YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT US!
Remember, we are a 501(C)(3) nonprofit corporation, so your donations are tax-deductible.
LIONS TIGERS & BEARS SOCIAL CALENDAR 2012:
Instructions – All visits* are by appointment only and are included in all annual memberships for your membership year. Call (619) 659-8078 or email us at members@lionstigersandbears.org to make a reservation. Membership is required to visit us. Visitors and additional guests may take advantage of our Member-For-A-Day option. Call us for details at (619) 659-8078 for visiting hours.
September 21 – Wild Nights Camp Over
October 26 – Spooky Camp
November 17 – Thanksgiving Feast for the Big Cats & Bears
December 8 – Christmas Party
*Special events are included in some, but not all, annual memberships.
call (619) 659-8078 for more information.
Help Us Celebrate LTB Birthdays:
February 15 – Conrad (Mountain Lion)
February 20 – Bob (Bobcat)
March 8 – RJ (Bobcat)
March 16 – Bakari, Jillian, & Suri (African Lions)
April 12 – Tuffy (Serval)
May 1 – Conga (Leopard)
May 22 – Gizmo (Bobcat)
July 4 – Liberty (Black Bear)
September 5 – Raja & Natasha (Bengal Tigers)
November 8 – Sitarra & Tabu (Bengal Tigers)
*Many times when Lions Tigers & Bears rescues an animal, we receive very little information on their age, date of birth, etc. So we celebrate their birthday as the day that they arrived to Lions Tigers & Bears.
CONTACT INFORMATION:
Lions Tigers & Bears Big Cat and Exotic Animal Rescue
Telephone: 619.659.8078
Fax: 619.659.8841
Mailing Address:
24402 Martin Way
Alpine, CA 91901
LOST AND FOUND
By A.R. Graham (Excerpt from upcoming autobiography, The London Dialogues)
Admiral Morrison was summoned back to the United States to begin a new assignment at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. Andy returned to his homeland with his mother and father, but Anne chose to stay behind much to the disappointment and distress of her parents. Their eldest son had disappeared without a word, Andy had tried to run away to find him, and now their typically sensible daughter was throwing caution to the wind to be with me. Except for a vacation in Europe the summer before, Anne had never been any significant distance away from home. It was time. She was growing up.
After the Morrisons left, our days went on as usual. Anne never seemed to miss her family. Life was good. We were very happy.
Anne had become my soul mate and my tutor. Barely able to read and confounded by even the simplest of math problems, I was defensive and hard to reach. My primary school teachers often admonished me for daydreaming rather than focusing on my studies. While everyone else was engaged in the math lesson, I would hop on a magic carpet and escape to my favorite and only school interest: story time. I loved Robinson Crusoe, Moby Dick, The Wind in the Willows, Sweet William, and all of the other wonderful adventure stories told by my lovely sweet teacher as we sat around a blazing coal fire. Anne was her reincarnation and rekindled in me that long-past blissful state I had occupied as a child.
Anne read out loud to me with great enthusiasm. We did not watch television much. Instead, I would listen for hours to her vibrant voice create images and action out of words. Sometimes she read me to sleep like a child. Through her gentleness and patience, I began to read and construct sentences on my own without sounding like a Neanderthal.
Prior to moving to London, Anne had lived in Gainesville, Florida, where she was a student at UFG (University of Florida, Gainesville). When she moved to England, she maintained her study level by attending classes at an extension of the university located on a military base north of London. We would ride the tube at night into the English countryside. Anne would sign me in as a guest, but it was more the equivalent of “Take Your Child to School Day”.
I would sit next to Anne and listen to an American professor speak in a language that was my own save for a few opposing slang terms such as “knock you up”. This was an old English phrase – “Please knock me up in the morning” – derived from a service to the poorer working class that could not afford such an important item as an alarm clock. Instead, a man would walk the streets with a long pole and arrive at your home at a prescribed time at which point he would knock loudly on your bedroom window until you responded with,“I’m up!” Hence, knocking you up. To an American, asking that a perfect stranger come to your home in the morning and knock you up would be an awfully misplaced and embarrassing request.
For example, if an English girl, saying goodnight to an American G.I. was to ask him, “Would you knock me up in the morning”, the poor guy would be floored by the lass’s invitation to an intimate dalliance resulting in dire consequences. His first instinct would be to say to himself, “Boy, did I get lucky or what?” — soon followed by the perhaps not-so-fortunate prospect of fatherhood nine months later. Even though he may be disappointed after learning the true meaning of the young woman’s request, he would supplement his loss with a rollicking good laugh at his own naiveté and the wildly comical double entendre.
Returning to London one night after class, it dawned on me that I was moving away from my rolling-stone lifestyle. I was most certainly gathering moss – lots and lots of moss. Instead of being a hunter-gatherer leader, I was now being led. And I was beginning to like it, very much.
Each summer, a new crop of American students came to experience the British music scene. American performers like Bob Dylan and The Byrds were very popular, but British music was dominant now. The television series The Monkees was the most interesting export American could offer, but it was still decidedly light.
We loved to gather with our friends to sit in a room lit only by brightly colored candles listening to all of the exciting new acts: The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Pink Floyd, The Moody Blues, The Animals, etc.
One evening I came home from work to find Anne surrounded by our companions. They were listening to some brand new tunes. Anne sat on the floor clutching an album cover as if it were a sacred object. Everyone in the room turned and stared at me. They knew something that I did not, and they were not forthcoming. It was like some weird game of Charades without clues – indeed, not a single one. There were, however, conspiratorial signals, restrained glee, and twinkling eyes daring me to guess what it was. It appeared to be an invitation to participate in a cruel television game show of Guess What I’ve Got in My Pocket. Having no telepathic skills, I became flustered and was about to blurt out, “Well, at least give me a f–g hint” when Anne turned to me.
Her face was illuminated by the many candles, and I could now make out the tears flooding from her eyes falling in torrents down her cheeks. I realized they indicated not sadness but joy. I had never seen anyone cry so hard except at a funeral. Still no one in the room revealed the secret not even Anne. Perhaps she had found the new music so overwhelming it moved her to a highly emotional and ecstatic state. I slowly sat down and listened.
The song combined poetry, theater, and classical with modern music. It was funky 1920s jazz, hard-core rhythm ‘n’ blues, and old fashioned rock ‘n’ roll with a dash of Greek theatre. Unlike anything I had ever heard before, at the same time it felt like an amalgamation of all music, old and new.
The singer, a cool baritone, was recounting an epic sea voyage across forbidden waters where sea monsters leapt up from the ocean floor as the ships tried to navigate the perilous depths. He sounded much like Orson Welles or Richard Burton reading lines from a Shakespearean drama accompanied by a chorus of shrieking, torturous, ghostly sounds issued by unseen phantoms.
(In 1980, Jim Morrison was nominated for a Grammy for “Best Speaking Voice” along with none other than Richard Burton — Burton Won.)
Each song was utterly different from the last. Anne’s tears seemed to fall faster with each new note. There was no doubt about it: the music was profound and moving. The singer was now reporting on some tragic loss of a loved one. Then, a mournful dirge swelled around it all.
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and Moonlight Sonata could affect me deeply but certainly not to the point of tears. I had never been so overpowered by a composition that I would cry like a fountain. Anne’s behavior puzzled me. I had never seen her so absorbed by or dramatic about anything since our acid trip. She cried until I thought her eyes would fall out. In the song that was now playing, a killer wearing a mask from an ancient gallery carried out the mass murder of his own family. I began to understand why she was crying so hard but was still perplexed by the sweet smile visible even through her Niagara Falls visage.
Our grinning friends shed no more light on the riddle. They just sat there like a pack of hyenas, their eyes twinkling devilishly at me as if they were waiting for my campfire to go out so they could attack and devour me. I thought I was having an acid flashback and started to freak out a bit but then the longest song I have ever
heard in my life came to an abrupt end. And not a moment too soon for I was about to break out into a couple of verses, myself of They’re Coming to Take Me Away, the popular song by Napoleon XIV:
“They are coming to take me away, Ha-ha
They are coming to take me away, Ho-ho
Hee-hee-haa-haa
To the funny farm
Where life is beautiful all the time
And I will be happy to see those
Nice young men in their clean white coats and
They are coming to take me away, ha-ha!”
Everyone stared directly at me as if I was supposed to make a statement or acknowledge something or someone. Anne kept on crying. The candles kept on flickering. The hyenas kept on grinning,flashing their beady eyes. Just when I thought my head would explode, one of the hyenas hissed slyly, “What do you think of this music?” I responded with hitch-pitched panic, “Wonderful! Weird! Cool! Fantastic! Out of sight! Mind blowing! Take your pick!”
Anne sobbed out loud in response to my praise of the group whose album cover she kept crushed against her chest. She must have dropped a bunch of acid with these other crazies, I concluded, and they were in some strange, cult-like state that only one tripping on excessive amounts of LSD would even try to comprehend.
Another one of the lunatics asked, “Do you know who the singer is?” I looked at Anne whose eyes widened with anticipation as she waited for my answer. I had no idea who the sullen and mournful crooner was. He sounded like a young Elvis or even a Sinatra singing a torch song of lost love. The music itself was peerless and I said as much.
Anne fell back onto some cushions sobbing even louder. I could stand it no longer. As I stood up to tend to her, a third mental case yelled out, “It’s her long-lost brother, Jim! It’s her brother! He’s the lead singer in a group called The Doors! It’s Jim Morrison, lead singer of The Doors!”
I picked Anne up from the floor. She was now laughing and crying with great big gleeful tears. Everyone joined her. I was welded to the floor. Although I was now in on the secret and the mystery had been revealed, I still felt as if I was on another planet. It took quite a while for it to finally sink in how very special this day was for my beloved. Jim had disappeared in 1965 after graduating from UCLA. His father had been very disappointed with his choice of career direction. Jim wanted to be a filmmaker. In his parents’ world, this was nothing short of reckless gambling in a dangerous game of Russian roulette – a socio-economic suicide.
Jim was highly intelligent. He could easily have excelled in the corporate business world but absolutely rejected its trappings, its restrictions, and its rewards. The Admiral’s response to his son’s aspirations was so negative that it sent the young graduate into self-imposed exile. Never again would he return – or even call – home.
Earlier that day, Anne had received a package from her mother in the United States. Among other items was a 12”x12” brown paper parcel. Inside were the first and second Doors’ albums. The first one showed a photograph of the band with Jim in the front. His resemblance to his sister was both stunning and chilling.
Later, Anne held the front cover next to her face. The candles flickered wildly across both images. Anne’s happy tears fell again. I just stood there unable to speak. I was overwhelmed by her joy at having found her long-lost brother.
ROCK ‘N’ ROLLING DEEJAY HAS SEEN IT ALL
By Linda Moody, The Advocate
Even though Tom Everhart considers himself a local yokel, he is officially an author. His book “0-60 in Five Minutes” with the subtitle of “My Stroll through Rock-n-Roll Music” has been published and available thanks to the assistance of Alan Graham, brother-in-law to the late Jim Morrison of The Doors and author of “I Remember Jim Morrison”. It is published by Graham’s company, Clarion Press out of Coronado, California, a division of The Coronado Clarion.
Even though the two men have never met, they became acquainted after Everhart contacted Graham about his newest book on Morrison at Amazon.com. “He asked me how I got his book because he took it off the Amazon website,” Everhart recalled. “So I have the first copy of the book. He wanted me to read it and wanted to know what I thought of it. I read it the first day. I told him it was the best book on Morrison. I know because I have 24 of them.”
Subsequently, Everhart asked Graham about looking at his own writings, which he had been doing for years. “A lot of people told me to write my story,” Everhart said. “Graham was hot on this. He said no deejay ever wrote a book. I wrote my stuff on legal paper, and my second cousin typed it out and put it on disk to send to Alan.”
Everhart remembers everything he has done and kept notes of those events. “I never went to Woodstock which was two years after I saw The Doors in Monterey,” he said. “I didn’t know it would be a part of history. Alan’s promoting my book on You Tube in California. I already sold 19 books, and he thinks it will go over big out there.” He added, “I didn’t expect this to go this fast. I happened to be a lot of places at the right time.”
Morrison was part of Everhart’s favorite group, The Doors, and he had met him on December 10, 1966 in Monterey, California at the fairgrounds during the time Everhart was on permanent profile with the military. “I was in the military for only nine months and three months on permanent profile,” said Everhart, whose favorite artist is Elvis Presley. “I was having hearing issues, but I didn’t know it.”
The book, according to Graham, chronicles Everhart’s life as a disc jockey. In recent years, Everhart lost his son, Donny, in a car accident and then suffered a heart attack.
Having had worked for Tri-Village Schools when he retired after 20 years, Everhart was helping move file cabinets from Palestine to the New Madison building. “I looked in it and found my file; and the principal, Paul Limbert, said I aspired to be a disc jockey,” Everhart said. “That was in 1956 or 1957. He never told me he did that.”
His love for Rock-n-Roll began in 1954 as soon as he got his first record player. “I always went to Richmond to the Special Record Shop,” he said. “In 1968, it was like someone dropped a bomb in Richmond. There was an explosion.” It took out many businesses including the record shop he patronized. That’s when he began getting his records from Jerry Dulin in Greenville, who was a disc jockey at the White Shrine, where Everhart competed in a Jitterbug contest. “I could also do the Stroll,” he said.
Everhart, whose favorite song is Bill Haley and the Comets’ “Rock Around the Clock”, said even though his is using more technical equipment, he prefers the vinyl. “They’re bringing it back,” he said. “I like to hear the pop and crackles. Then I know it’s in original form.”
Everhart turned 68 on March 29. A graduate of Westmont High School, he worked for Mercury Records and Hill’s Roses in Richmond, at American Agg in Phillipsburg, and at Sheller-Globe in Union City for 16 years before he went to work for Tri-Village schools. The son of the late Orville and Beulah (Onkst) Everhart, he is married to the former Becky Smith, whom he married on March 16, 1968. “I met her when I got home from the service,” he said. “She was celebrating her birthday at Jim Hile’s house and we got together.” The couple had two sons, Lee, 44, named after Tom’s best friend and Donny, who was 33 at the time of his death on February 20, 2005. There are three grandchildren: Tommy, Sammy, and D.J.
Everhart belongs to the Greenville Moose and the Elks, Veterans of Foreign Wars, American Legion, and Eagles Lodge all in Union City, Indiana. When he’s not listening to music, he mows 33 acres of grass, which he has done for two years now.
A comment best friend, Max Lawrence of Union City, made about Everhart appears on the back of the book. It reads, “The ramblings of a genuine hippie. I only wish I knew what he can’t remember.”
Everhart plans to have the books available at businesses in Greenville and at Hastings in Richmond.
Those interested can e-mail him at:
or through The Coronado Clarion at: www.coronado-clarion.com
The Clarion Press, A division of The Coronado Clarion is proud to announce the publication of a new book ” Zero to Sixty In Five Minutes” By Tom Everhart.
In this chronicle about the life and times of a Rock-N-Roll D J, Tom has preserved a piece of street level history which would have been forgotten.
If you would like to publish your own book, please contact :
Clarion Press at (619) 277 1552; (619) 435-1038
COMEUPPANCE
By Suzi Lewis Pignataro
I’m gently palpating Chilean avocados in Whole Foods when I receive the text: “Mom. There’s a dead rat in the pool. WTF.”
“Rat!” I exclaim.
The woman standing next to me fingering Israeli tomatoes yelps and flings her body against the display stand. Mashing a pulpy orb in her fist she cries, “Where?”
“Not here!” I yell. “In my pool!” And as proof, I hold out my cell phone and point to my son’s text. It doesn’t matter; clutching her heart, she staggers through the greengrocer section like a hunted animal, red tomato guts staining her left breast.
I shouldn’t be surprised by my son’s message. Eight years ago, the city annexed acreage adjacent to my small neighborhood, and the tidal wave of construction that followed left at our doorstep the flotsam and jetsam of rodents displaced by $800,000 homes. My cocker spaniel, Roscoe, picked up the first scent of the refugees. He tore at the walls, scratched at the heating vents, and tried to squeeze between the washer and dryer in the garage. I hadn’t yet learned of the rodents’ mass exodus from the fields. I attributed my dog’s antics to the neighbors’ retriever being in heat. It wasn’t until the rats made a bold move that I realized their presence. Having grown up on an island (Coronado, California) invaded by their Norwegian cousins, I knew exactly what the late-night skittering and scratching in my bedroom walls signified: a mama and papa rat were moving in, building a nest, and making babies. And if Roscoe smelled them in the heating vents and garage as well, there was more than one family of squatters. This called for action.
Led by Roscoe’s nose, Sieg, the Swedish rat catcher, followed the rodents’ trails and laid eight traps over and under our home. Within a few days, he’d caught an equal number of the largest rats I’d ever seen, even fatter than my brother John’s pet rat Elvoid, who defied even R.J. Crumb’s perverted imagination. We celebrated the catch by treating Roscoe to a filet mignon and mashed potato dinner.
I arrive home from Whole Foods to find my son flanked by two bikini-clad, navel-pierced girls on the den couch. They wave their hands in greeting, delicate fronds floating through the warm Indian summer air. My son, his arms crossed over his chest and hands tucked under his armpits, grunts. Clearly, the rat has spoiled his plans. Taking in the lack of clothing on his guests, I’m not sure if I should feel sorry or thankful about that.
The heavy taffeta curtains have been conspicuously drawn against the offending sight in the back yard. I can’t blame them; a dead rat under any circumstance strains one’s sensibilities. I draw back the fabric, open the sliding glass door, and venture outside.
It’s floating face down in the deep end, near the row of volcanic rocks laid down by the original owner of our home. I walk over to them now, and sitting on the largest one, I study the body more closely.
An adult female – no well-endowed male this one – she measures approximately one foot, from head to tail. She’s black and noticeably emaciated. Her delicate feet dangle below the surface of the water, suggesting that she’d been swimming and then… what? Grown tired of the effort and given up? Considering her undernourished state, she might have lacked the strength to save herself. Her mouth hangs open, not with a scream but a whimper. Something about the expression on her face tells the story of her last moments before swallowing the water that took her life. Despair? Regret? Worry?
“What happened to you?” I ask her. “How did you end up like this?”
“Mom! Seriously? You’re talking to a dead rat?”
My son’s voice startles me and I nearly fall into the water. Shaken by the thought of landing on a drowning victim, I leap off the rock and walk away.
“Aren’t you going to take it out?” he shouts after me.
“No,” I reply. “I’ll let the pool guy do it.”
“But, he was here just yesterday!”
“Don’t worry,” I call out as I enter the house, “the week will go by quickly.”
Ten days after the extermination of the eight rats, I came home to something fetid in my bedroom. I thought it was the toilet in the master bath. Holding my breath, I opened the lid, peered inside – and let out a gust of relief. The bowl was full of clean water. Nevertheless, I grimaced as I depressed the handle, expecting feces to gurgle up from beyond the drain like some creature rising from a murky lagoon. But, no, the water swirled down, disappeared briefly then bubbled back up, all with punctual, pristine efficiency.
When the odor failed to dissipate, I called for Roscoe, whom my husband had dubbed, “The Nose That Smells All Things Unmentionable.” When he didn’t come, I went searching for him and found him in the side yard engaged in terrorizing a vole. His front legs had disappeared into a hole he’d dug. His muzzle was covered in clumps of moist dirt and flecked with grass.
“Roscoe!”
He looked up at me, not with guilt but with a deep resentment that made me take a step back. I’d interrupted him and he didn’t appreciate it. “Come on,” I coaxed, patting my thigh, “let’s get you cleaned up. Your hunting skills are required elsewhere.”
After giving him a quick bath in the kids’ tub, I placed Roscoe on the floor and picked up the dirtied towels to put in the washer. He followed me out to the garage, and as I loaded up the machine, he stuck his muzzle in every nook and cranny. When he got to the furnace, he growled and began scratching at its wooden platform in earnest. I crouched down to his level and smelled it, too: the same fetid odor I’d caught a whiff of in my bedroom.
“Right,” I said, feeling slightly nauseated. “Let’s get this over with.” We headed into the house.
Upon reaching my bedroom, Roscoe went nuts. I had to hold him back by the collar to keep him from breaking into my husband’s closet. I sat down beside him, our bodies tense and still. Together, we stared at the louvered doors, one of us anxious to have them opened, the other anxious to keep them shut.
I was sure there was a dead rat stuffed into one of my husband’s rain shoes he’d crammed in the back of his closet at the beginning of summer. We must have missed this one and the one whose scent Roscoe had picked up in the garage. Obviously, they were dead and decomposing.
There was no way I was going to be the one to open those closet doors. I grabbed Roscoe and carried him out of the room. He voiced his objection. I ignored it in favor of my own opinion on the matter.
“Let’s call Sieg.”
She calls to me. Day and night, as if by an invisible force, I find myself being drawn to her, a dark, cold, hard magnet in the pool; a negative attracting my positive. The oil in her coat joins the water in creating rainbows too pretty to be dancing upon a corpse. In the insomniac hours of the night, she disappears into the shadows of my neighbor’s redwood trees; yet still, she pulls me in and I stand at the kitchen window with strained eyes. My mind seeks her out, restless and disturbed. “Who are you,” I ask, “and why did you have to die in my pool?”
For three days, she floats, still and silent, unmoving even when the late afternoon wind tickles the surface of the wat
Then, she’s gone.
“Oh, no,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Not that.”
Sieg pulled off his cap, scratched the thatch of graying blond hair on his perfectly round head then tugged the cap back in place, nice and snug. We stood in front of my husband’s closet. Roscoe sat by the tall Swede’s leg, his face taut with anticipation. He was in for a big disappointment
“There’s nothing we can do,” replied Sieg. “Well, nothing that makes sense. I mean, you could get a contractor in here and open up the wall, but – ” He finished his sentence with a shrug. “It only takes about three weeks for the whole process, and you’re already into it by almost two. Might as well save your money and wait it through.”
Three weeks. That’s how long it would take the orphaned baby rats, stranded inside the closet wall and behind the furnace platform, to starve to death and decay into benign sacks of dried tissue and bone. This reality assaulted me, and not just through my nose. Sure, I had the right to protect my home and family from disease-carrying “vermin,” but to sentence baby anythings to days of abandonment, fear, and starvation ran against every fiber of my being.
Sieg saw the remorse on my face. He gave my shoulder a sympathetic pat, while giving the same to Roscoe’s head, and left.
We were imprisoned in a mass grave. The sense-around stench of death repulsed us; our bodies instinctively sought to repel it, but the circumstances lent no means of escape. Winter was coming and the nights grew frigid. The forced-air heating system blew the decomposing scent into every room. We were bathed in rot. I couldn’t sleep, knowing that just yards away babies had met their death because I had taken their mother’s life. My vocation was all about saving children, no matter what the nature of their parents. Wiping out entire families ran counter to everything I stood for. My son thought I was overly sentimental, and just a little bit crazy, equating rats with humans, but my husband understood. He, too, found the infant rats’ fate upsetting. We lay awake at night, holding hands and silently sharing the blame.
As Sieg predicted, after three weeks fresh air once again circulated through our home. With all of the outside vents and crawl spaces now fortified by heavy mesh and wood, we no longer shared our house with uninvited guests. Soon, we forgot all about the deaths, and the stone of guilt lodged in the back of my throat slowly dissolved into minute granules of absolution I could easily swallow and shit out.
It’s the need to be free once more of all culpability that drives me to the delusion that the rat in my pool has been resurrected. Some deity has chosen her to carry out its grand design to bring the end to the human race through the destruction of our Babylon – board by board, wire by wire. Raised from the dead, she will walk among her kind, collecting disciples, establishing congregations and recruiting soldiers to do her bidding in a holy war against the infidels determined to exterminate them.
“Here she is,” shouts the pool guy, pointing to the bottom of the deep end. “She’s just sunk is all.” He dips a long-poled net into the water and I turn away. I can’t watch. I’m so disappointed.
Five days later, decay wafts into the garage, hitting me like a kick to the womb. I jump off the treadmill and run into the house, holding my breath and forgetting to turn off the machine. For the rest of the day it hums blithely to itself, diligently counting miles covered and calories burned, until my husband comes home and unplugs it.
Her face haunts me. Despair, regret: now I know what her last thoughts were. They were about her offspring waiting for her return that night in their nest behind the furnace. Her emaciation I know well: nursing does that to a mother’s body as the babies suck the calories out of her. Most likely, she was just trying to nourish herself when, weak and exhausted, she slipped off one of the lava rocks and fell into the pool. The water level was summertime low, the tiles a slick impediment to finding purchase. She didn’t have a chance.
I avoid the garage as I would a death camp. Laundry piles up in hampers. Floors accumulate dirt and dust bunnies as mops and brooms hang neglected on the garage wall. My car sits parked at the curb, exposed to the elements and bird droppings. Roscoe scratches at the garage door with indefatigable will, and I pull him away by the collar. We go through this mutual exercise in frustration at least five times a day, until my son announces that the garage no longer stinks.
Some weeks later, I’m sitting at my computer in the den when my son calls out from his adjacent bedroom. “Mom! Come in here!” “What it is?” I ask. “Just come in here!” he shouts back. I open his bedroom door and peer in. He’s standing on his bed.
“There’s a rat in my room,” he says, pointing to the space behind his bookcase.
I slam the door shut and keep my hand firmly on the handle. When my son pulls on it from the other side, I resist with the strength of Hercules.
“Mom! What the…? ”
Roscoe sits on his haunches at my bedroom door. He’s incensed that Sieg is laying traps at the back of the house while I confine him to the front. He turns to me, white-eyed and curled-lipped, begrudging me. I lie on my bed pretending to read, but, really, I’m holding my own court, with me in the dock and a judge and jury of rats ready to hang me. A gallery of rodents, all teeth and nails and whipping tails, squeal and squeak at me, the traitor.
When I’d finally let my son out of his room, he’d accused me of child endangerment and quickly shifted some clothes and bedding into the den so as not to spend the night with something capable of scampering over his unconscious body. A moment later, he screamed from the den, “There’s another one!” As I tore through the house to barricade myself in my bathroom, he called out, “No! It’s the same one!” This didn’t improve my state of panic; nor did his addendum, “It might be a mouse!”
“Okay! I’m finished here!”
I drag myself off my bed and join Sieg by the front door. The Swede attempts to mollify Roscoe with a chin scratch and words of encouragement. “Don’t worry, buddy. If I catch it, I’ll let you have a good sniff.” Oh great.
To me, he says, “It’s most likely not a mouse but a young rat who got into the house and now can’t get out. He’ll either go for the peanut butter in one of the traps and die, or find his way back outside and live.” As he heads for his truck, he shouts over his shoulder, “I bet it was his mother in the pool!”
I consider self-flagellation.
We avoid checking the traps. My son walks around his room with his eyes averted. I do the same in the den, which is also my office. We pretend. We close our eyes, ears and noses to the possibility of murder inside our home.
A week goes by and we haven’t seen, heard or smelled anything to either suggest a rat living with us or a corpse lying squashed in one of Sieg’s instruments of torture. I tell my husband and son that I’m going to take a look. They ignore me in their respective chairs, hunched over computer keyboards, plugged in and tuned out.
With false bravado I peer behind the bookcase, file boxes, chair and plastic bags full of clay in the den and my son’s room. No rat. I call Sieg.
“That’s good news!” he enthuses. “The little guy escaped!” I want to ask Sieg how can he do his job when he’s secretly rooting for the other team, but I decide to spare him the same moral challenge I’ve been grappling with. “Go ahead and collect the traps and I’ll come by later in the week and pick them up,” he continues. “And tell Roscoe better luck next time,” he adds with a chuckle.
I give my family the “All clear!” and walk back into the den to retrieve the first trap.
“AHHHH!!! HOLY HELL!!!” I’ve trapped my own thumb.
The doctor assures me that nothing is broken. I’ll lose the blackened and crushed thumbnail, but a shiny new one will grow in its place. For now, I use it as a reminder – no, not to be careful when picking up a set trap, but never to lay one again. It’s the most poignant comeuppance of my life.
Another reminder sits on a stack of hot-pink post-its on my desk. My son makes a face each time he sees it and asks me when I’m going to throw it away. I tell him perhaps when my nail falls off. With something akin to maternal pride, I say that it’s a message not to be forgotten from a child with heap-loads of chutzpah.
He says it’s just a friggin’ rat turd.
OUR BESTEST FRIENDS WE LOST THIS SUMMER
LILY BELL, HER FINAL ESCAPE
By Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson
Lily came into our lives in November 2002 when she flew across the highway in front of our friend’s truck as we pulled out of our driveway at “Hewick Plantation” in Urbanna, Middlesex County, Virginia. We checked her tags and called the owner to tell them that we had their little Jack Russell dog. When he came to retrieve her, he told us that his wife was expecting and that they also had a black lab and with Lily running off so often they were looking for a new home for her. I immediately told them that my daughter Regina would love to have her! They gave her to us along with her kennel, her blankets, her toys, her toothbrush and toothpaste, everything that belonged to her, LOL!
Since we had a sixty-six acre plantation outside of town, and Lily was supposed to be an indoor dog, she had a way of escaping and heading for town. It was only 1.08 miles away to the Urbanna Market where she would be running around the store parking lot, and eventually I would get a call from someone asking if I was missing a little white dog with a brown face.
Lily had a wonderful life at “Hewick” with our family amid our black lab, Sammy, his daughter Trixie, our cat Sumatran, our geese, chickens, goats, and horses. When the time came after the girls had left for colleges in Virginia and Hawaii, I hired a transport service to take the horses, dogs, and cat out to California while I flew back home. I decided to live near my mom, Mallie Nichols, in the little town of Penryn near Sacramento.
All of the animals adjusted well to the new house. However right after we moved in, I discovered “Lily” missing. I looked everywhere for her. She was nowhere to be found! After a couple of hours, I received a call from a lady who asked if I owned a little white dog? I said, “Yes”, and she said, “Well, I have her now. We picked her up on Highway 80.” We lived in Penryn off Highway 80 and Lily was now in Ophir. She was now 3.62 miles from home, and I immediately hopped in the car to go pick her up! She would go anywhere with anyone.
We moved back to Coronado in April 2008 to the Coronado Cays, but it was not long until my “escape artist” was on the run again, but luckily by then she had two micro-chips in her, tags and a city license; so she was always returned home to me after a few phone calls.
After I moved back up to Coronado into the Coronado Bay Club, Lily only escaped one time, and alas she ended up in the “Doggie Jail” in the Paws Facility on 2nd Street on July 7th, 2011. By the time I got there to see if they had her, they were in the midst of washing a very muddy and dirty little white doggie!
Lily was a little Jack Russell who had a very interesting life! She went to live temporarily with my oldest daughter in early 2010 and somehow managed to again escape. When I learned she was on the loose somewhere in Salt Lake City, I called the Petsmart in Roseville, California where she had her two different micro-chips inserted. When I had them try and trace the numbers and my ownership they found her under another person’s name and address!
The Banfield Hospital vice president called me personally to ask my name, where I lived, and where did I think Lily was at??? I told her as far as I knew, Utah. She told me that Lily had been found, thought to have been abandoned, and her micro-chip had been updated by the new owner with their name and address. I told her that Lily was mine, and I wanted her back as soon as possible. She put me in touch with the lady who had her and after contacting her, I made arrangements for my daughter Rachel with her two little boys, Grant and Colt, to drive with me to Salt Lake City to pick her up! When we drove up to the house and Lily saw us, she almost jumped over the six- foot fence. I think the time she was lost and abandoned in Utah, took its toll on her!
In January 2012, I took her to her vet here in Coronado where they found she had a tumor under her right shoulder. She was put on an antibiotic and a special diet, but the cancer was spreading; and although she kept her spirit right to the end, she finally reached a point on March 30th, where she was in pain and she was suffering and having difficulty walking. We were told by the doctor to let her go when she was suffering and in too much pain. I truly believe and can cope with her death because I believe that their souls and spirits live on and that I will be reunited one day with her.
Lily Bell with her best friend Franky
It is the nature of dogs to live much shorter lives than ours—just eight years on average. So in a way we were lucky to have had her loyalty, love, and devotion for ten years. Lily had turned ten years old on March 21st!
REMEMBERING ROSCOE
Thursday, August 2, 2012 posted at 8:33 p.m. by Suzi
Roscoe passed away this evening at 6:00. Dani, Hans, and I were with him. He went quickly and peacefully. He really was ready to let go.
**********
I’m sobbing. I will so miss the Roscoe & his spirit & what he meant to you & your family & all those kids he gave of his benevolence to them. Roscoe was such a special soul & you & your family were to him. Give your boys & yourself huge Lilly Belle hugs & cocker hugs from all of us. Love, the Kimmie & Family xoxo We miss him so.
***********
His is the next story I will write.
Kimmie, his body was so ravaged. The night before, he stood on my bed and
looked into my eyes, and I swear he was telling me he was done. I knew
then and there that the next day would be his last, and that it would be a
vet-assisted suicide and that he would be relieved. It didn’t make it any
easier at the moment of his passing, but it makes it easier now.
The hardest part was calling my boys and telling them.
Hans rushed to the vets’ from work to hold his dog’s paws as he was put to sleep. Thack was walking down Market Street in San Francisco to meet up with his old Sonoma pal and fellow city transplant, Patrick Sean Gibson, when I called him. He asked me to hold my cell phone up to Roscoe’s ear; and even though he knew Roscoe was stone deaf, he spoke loving words to him as the doctor injected him with the fatal dose of anesthetic. Later, he and Patrick went to an Irish pub where everyone in the establishment drank a Guinness for our dog. Later that night, Hans and his best friend Becca hiked up to the cross on the hill behind town and drank a bottle of 20-year-old champagne and told stories about Roscoe. Becca’s first dog was a blond cocker, so she understood.
For now, the dog bowls, shampoo, ear rinse, cans of food, leash, beds, and
rain gear are stowed away. The food expires in a year. That should be plenty of time.
Love, Suzi
NO SMALL MEASURE
By Suzi Lewis Pignataro
Yesterday, I gave an eleven-year-old client four tablespoons of my dog’s ashes. Handing him a cylindrical wooden urn, I reassured him that it might have seemed like too small a bit of the cocker spaniel who had become his best friend, but that it was the most important part. “It’s his heart, Charlie, and you, of all people, deserve to have it.” That quarter cup of dust and bone was no small measure of the love my dog felt for this child.
Roscoe had already proved himself a valuable asset to my work with abused children when, back in May of 2011, Charlie walked into my reception area resembling more a mummy than the energetic ten-year-old who loved monster trucks, motorcycles, and racecars. My first thought was that he’d taken a tumble on his electric scooter. But the pain in his sky blue eyes told another story. His mom Jenny stood behind him, her hands positioned on his shoulders as if ready to catch his head should it begin to roll off his neck. Clearly, her son had been seriously injured.
Without a word, I steered them into my playroom and sat them on the couch.
“Okay, what happened,” I demanded.
From behind the layers of gauze and adhesive tape wrapped around his skull and face, Charlie cleared his throat. “I was mauled by my great-grandmother’s dog.”
“Ogden?” I shouted in disbelief.
“Yes,” replied Charlie, his voice shaky, “and they killed him for it.” He folded his slim body into Jenny’s lap, and they both wept.
The attack came on Mother’s Day when Charlie accompanied Jenny and her mother to the family matriarch’s homestead in the Mendocino hills. Five years before, Charlie’s great-grandmother had found a Rottweiler puppy abandoned on a country road. For Charlie and Ogden, it was love at first sight. They had been steadfast pals ever since, always eager to romp around on the great-grandmother’s property. This day was no different, and after hours of playing fetch, charging through creek beds, and wrestling on the front porch, it was time for Charlie and Jenny to head back home. As Charlie hugged the massive dog one last time, something wholly unexpected happened. Ogden grabbed Charlie’s head with his jaws, sinking his teeth into cartilage and flesh. Stunned, Charlie made no sound. When Ogden momentarily loosened his grip, Charlie pulled away and ran screaming for help. But Ogden chased him down, fell on him and tore at the other side of his face. It took the three women, kicking and hollering, to get the dog off the mangled boy.
A Ukiah plastic surgeon left his wife’s Mother’s Day dinner to put Charlie’s face and right ear back together as best he could. Meanwhile, Animal Control had been called, and Ogden was now under observation at the pound. A week later, he was euthanized and his body destroyed.
Charlie sobbed, “I killed him. I killed him.”
During the next month, Charlie worked hard to accept that he had done nothing wrong; that his beloved Ogden had made a tragic mistake for which both had paid dearly. When the bandages came off, it was hard not to break down in front of the child who had once had the face of an angel. “The scars are purple and deep, but the doctor says they’ll fade over time,” Charlie reported with characteristic optimism.
With no body – not even ashes – to grieve over or bury, we settled for a letter to Ogden. Charlie poured his heart out, his tears leaving black smudges on the paper as he sat hunched over my playroom table. That Sunday, Jenny drove him up to his great-grandmother’s where he and his family held a memorial service. Charlie burned the letter over a grave filled with the Rottweiler’s favorite toys, bedding and food bowl, letting his words fly up to doggie heaven: a smoke signal of love and absolution.
The following Thursday, Charlie was attacked again – this time by his grandfather’s terrier. The physical injuries were minor, but the emotional ones were catastrophic.
Charlie refused to leave the house except to see me. Neighborhood kids ran through sprinklers, Charlie’s brother and sister laughed as they played in the backyard. At first they would call for him, but after a while they gave up. Charlie had nightmares, bloody scenes of his face being eaten off by a pack of wolves, or of Ogden’s body, riddled with police bullets, being thrown into a garbage heap, and set on fire. He slept with his mom, wet the bed, and couldn’t hold down a meal. His play in therapy was chaotic and violent and spoke to his fear of this unpredictable world where even the most loyal dogs – the very two who had grown up with him and had always made him feel safe – could turn on him, scarring him inside and out.
The new school year was just weeks away, and Charlie was no closer to being cured of his PTSD. Jenny and I were afraid that he would refuse to go back to class. One day, I called her up and said that I had a bold, and possibly crazy, idea. “I have this 15-year-old cocker spaniel. He’s deaf and arthritic and has a gimpy heart, and half the time he acts as if he couldn’t care less about us. But there’s something about being in my playroom with a child who’s been emotionally hurt. It’s as if some primordial instinct to protect the youngsters in the pack gets triggered, and whatever it is, it helps.”
“At this point, I’ll try anything,” cried Jenny.
We ran it by Charlie. He pressed his tiny frame into the back of my couch and stared at me as if I’d just suggested tying him to a tree up in the hills and leaving him for the mountain lions. But then he got up, walked over to me, and looked long and hard into my eyes. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Suzi, if you think it will help, bring him.”
Charlie hugged the urn to his chest. On the table lay his constant companion, the memory book I’d given him the day I told him Roscoe had passed away. I’d lied to him, saying that he’d died in his sleep rather than admitting that my dog had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer just weeks after introducing the two of them. In a way I wish I had been straight with Charlie because it was a miracle that Roscoe had survived ten months. The vet had given him only three. It was as if the dog knew he had to stay alive until Charlie was completely healed, and through sheer will prevented the tumor in his right lung from killing him before his job was done. Standing over his ravaged body as the vet prepared to put him down, watching his ribcage heave as he struggled for breath, my first thought wasn’t of my own loss but that of Charlie’s and how much I didn’t want to bring him this news.
“We have to have a memorial for him in Charlie Town,” the boy whispered. Moving to the sand tray, we began.
ROSCOE’S MEMORIAL AT MY PLAYROOM
Charlie created it; all of “Charlie Town” attended and spoke. Some of Roscoe’s ashesare in the wooden cyclinder. They are my gift to Charlie.
When Charlie met Roscoe for the first time, I thought that he would keel over in a dead faint. Out of all the people in our waiting room, Roscoe made a beeline for the boy, sniffed his pant leg, and sat on his feet. Facing out, the dog scanned the room with quiet vigilance.
Jenny gawked. “What’s he doing?” she whispered
“Protecting the pup,” I replied, feeling pretty impressed myself; then to Roscoe: “Come on, Rossie, let’s go.” Roscoe turned his head toward Charlie and furrowed his eyebrows. “It’s okay,” I said, “we’re taking him with us.” Reluctantly, the spaniel stood, releasing the boy from his pinned position. Charlie was feeling his own reluctance, but he allowed me to walk him down the hall to my playroom, his hand clutching mine. Roscoe stuck to Charlie’s left flank like sticky tape, the expression on his face so serious I could have crie
It took a while before Roscoe felt it was okay to leave Charlie’s feet. Sitting together on the couch with Charlie immobilized by the dog squatting on his sneakers, we looked through every book on my shelves featuring a canine – and I have quite a few. Roscoe never left his post, his eyes focused on the door, ready to charge at any threat that might burst through. During their third meeting, Charlie reached down and rubbed his guardian’s soft blond head while I read to him. When Charlie stopped, Roscoe bumped his hand with his nose, and the boy laughed. Roscoe studied the child for a moment then climbed up on the couch and with a sigh of relief fell asleep between us. I will always wonder if Roscoe knew all along that the danger was not on the other side of my door, but, rather, inside Charlie.
Gradually, Charlie developed a more natural and relaxed relationship with Roscoe graduating from sharing space on the couch to sharing snacks and naps on the floor. The day Charlie placed a treat inside Roscoe’s mouth without flinching, we shouted for joy and danced around the playroom like lunatics. The old dog gave us a white-eyed look of disapproval, but we didn’t care. By the seventh week, Charlie could hardly contain his excitement at seeing the spaniel trot into the reception area to escort him down the long hallway to my room. He began referring to Roscoe as “my dog”, and to prove it he incorporated him into his longstanding fantasy world, “Charlie Town.”
From then on, after snack time, Charlie and I would go to the sand tray, and with Roscoe lying on the floor between us we would build the town and play out the latest segment of Charlie and Roscoe’s mythical adventurous life together. His fear of dogs overcome, I returned Charlie’s therapy to those issues that had originally brought him into treatment. Roscoe helped him with these as well, simply by providing the boy with unconditional love and a warm, furry body to hold onto in trying times.
The residents of Charlie Town gathered in a circle around the urn. “Roscoe” sat atop the cylinder, looking out over the tray’s landscape crowded with houses, trees, and racecars. Charlie’s and my “alternates” stood at the front of the group of mourners. Charlie turned to me. “Would Suzi like to begin?” he asked.
I don’t know how I found my voice beneath the clot of grief. “We are here to pay our respects to the greatest dog that ever lived. But we are also here to recognize the special relationship he had with our founder, Charlie, without whose need and love for this dog none of us would have ever known what a generous and noble heart Roscoe possessed. For it was not until Roscoe met Charlie that he came into his true self: that of a protector, savior, healer, and best friend. I think, perhaps, that the whole purpose of adopting Roscoe all those years ago was to come to that moment when he walked into my waiting room and sat on the feet of the boy who, above all others – ”
My words stopped, and all there was in the world was Charlie and I – our arms around each other, our tears falling into the sand.
NOTE: A client’s right to confidentiality is sacrosanct. The true identities of “Charlie”, “Jenny”, and “Ogden” have been protected, and the locations of the matriarch’s homestead and the plastic surgeon have been changed.
BYE BYE BELOVED ROSCOE
YOU DID YOUR JOB WELL
WILD CHILD RUNNING WILD IN THE PARK
WILD CHILD RUNNING WILD
Concerts in the Park, Sunday, June 10, 2012
By Alan Graham
In 1982, I produced a live musical in Hollywood called “Morrison: The Rock Opera”. The musical was centered around the seven ghost clones of the late singer, my brother-in-law, Jim Morrison of The Doors. In the lead, I cast a twenty-two year old garage mechanic, David Brock. Brock went on to start his own band called Wild Child; and some thirty years later, he is still playing the Doors music at concerts all over the globe.
Rock-n-Roll is here to stay.
CELEBRATING THE BIG “68”!!!
Kimberley & Al Graham
Albert Robert Graham celebrated his 68th birthday on June 9, 2012 with his family and friends making a weekend of it. To top off the celebrations, we dined at Mistral, the fine-dining restaurant at Loew’s Coronado Bay Resort. Hosted by our son and daughter, Ariel and Austin Graham, we were treated to the best of cuisine d’arte all graciously served by none other than my son, Austin, who was our waiter extraordinaire!
Chef Patrick Ponsaty, who was recently named Maitre Cuisinier de France (Master Chef of France), personally prepared our savory Mediterranean faire. Master Chef Patrick joins an elite group of chefs honored by this appointment, a title that is one of the most envied in the culinary world. As a fifth-generation French chef, Mistral’s Chef de Cuisine, has the recognition of many awards over his 30-year career.
So as you can imagine when Chef Patrick rolled out the red carpet of culinary excellence just for our celebration, we were ecstatically thrilled – our palates dazzled by the cuisine d’faire. Course after course were presented to us each personally selected from the Master Chef’s favorites in a showcase of culinary delight. We sampled almost everything on the menu paired with the finest aperitifs, libations, and wines culminating our experience in the most delectable selection of desserts from the patisserie d’Mistral.
Amongst our samplings included these starters: Dungeness Crab Salad with Tomato Water, Avocado and Herb Salad ; Tuna Tartar with Sea Weed, Citrus and Avocado Mosaic; Wild Mushroom Ravioli with Port Wine Sauce; Followed by these select Entrees: Brandt Beef Tenderloin Hickory Wood with Chestnut, Cardamom and Poivrade Sauce; Squid Ink Risotto with Calamari Steak and Pimiento; Sea Bass Geranium with Meyer Lemon Ricotta Cannelloni and Pearl Onions; Slow-Cooked Kurobuta Pork Loin Stuffed with Sweetbreads; Grilled Colorado Lamb Chop with Eggplant Caviar; and our collective Sweet Tooth was more than satisfied by desserts such as: Strawberry Consomme Lime-Geranium Ice Cream; Tahitian Vanilla and Rose Crème Brulee; Bisou au Chocolat (A French Kiss from Chef Patrick); and Rose Velvet with White Chocolate Mousse and Saffron Raspberry Sorbet.
Ingredients Par Excellence for a Wonderful Celebration, wouldn’t you say? Thank you Chef Patrick for making Al’s Birthday so wonderfully memorable!
Plan your special celebration at:
Mistral Restaurant on Coronado Bay
Loews Coronado Bay Resort
4000 Coronado Bay Road
Coronado, CA 92118
(619) 424-4000
(AND REMEMBER TO ASK FOR AUSTIN GRAHAM, MISTRAL’S WAITER EXTRAORDINAIRE!!)
FINGERS REUNITE
FINGERS REUNITE AT ALL STAR REUNION WITH
WEST COAST IRONWORKS JULY 3, 2012
FINGERS
Original Members:
Bill Thompson: guitar, vocals
Joey Harris: lead guitar, vocals
Paul Kamanski: guitar, vocals
Paul “Vic” Vicena: bass
Chris Sams: drums
“When I was young, I always thought that if I could just write a song that would get on the radio, all the good stuff would just happen,” says founding Fingers guitarist Paul Kamanski, probably best known perhaps for writing hits for the Beat Farmers, a San Diego cow-punk band of national stature. Fingers also included Billy Thompson and future Beat Farmer Joey Harris (with whom Kamanski also played in the Electric Sons).
“A lot of good stuff happened, and a lot of bad stuff, too, which is really interesting about the whole trip. But it really started out with the dream of if I could write some lyrics, and if I pay attention to detail and I’m not afraid, if I write and I get over the fear of saying exactly what I feel and take the criticism. I started writing songs, and the next thing I knew I had one called ‘Bigger Stones’ that the Beat Farmers picked up.”
Not that the music biz has always been a goldmine. Says Kamanski, “I made a little bit. There were royalties for a while. When you get your first check for $700 you go, ‘What? For writing music? Are you serious?’ Then one day you get a bigger check and you go, ‘Oh, my, I could actually make some money.’ But you watch it go up and down. The weirdest thing about the business is that when you go into it, you’re hyper and scared to death and excited about getting signed but what you don’t know is how you’re gonna get screwed. You know you’re gonna get screwed, you just don’t know how.”
The Fingers played L.A. and San Diego from 1979 through 1981, during southern California’s punk rock years. According to Joey Harris, “The Fingers stood out from other bands of the time, with three lead singer/ songwriter guitarists. More pop than punk, the Fingers tunes showcased melodic songwriting and three-part harmonies, but the band’s secret weapon was now legendary guitar master, Billy Thompson, spraying the stages of So.Cal. with a barrage of fully automatic guitar blasts.”
As of 2012, Kamanski still makes music, most notably with ongoing side project Comanche Moon and with the Rock Trio, alongside Joey Harris and Caren Campbell. The Fingers reunited July 3, 2012, to play the Coronado High School All-Class Reunion party, with a lineup that included Billy Thompson, Paul Kamanski, Vic Vecina, Joey Harris, and Danny Campbell on drums.
THE CORONADO CLARION PRESENTS: ALL THINGS SURFIN’
In keeping with the legendary Surf Dog Max with his Surf Pop Dave Chalmers:
And with fondest memories of Jimmy Reilly, whom we honor every year with his very own surf contest, the “JIMMY REILLY MEMORIAL LONGBOARD CLASSIC”, which celebrates its 25th year in 2012:
WE PRESENT: SURFIN’ HAS GONE TO THE DOGS!!!
Summer Edition 2012 – Back Cover
Summer Edition 2012
CORONADO’S ROCK ‘N’ ROLL – THE PAST, THE PRESENT & THE FUTURE
CORONADO’S ROCK ‘N’ ROLL – THE PAST:
A Look Back at the Great Bands, Musicians, and Times of Coronado Island
As Compiled by Dean Atkinson:
“One of the great things about Coronado, California was the music scene during the 50s, 60s, 70s, and on. Great musicians developed through the Coronado school music programs, through private lessons, or learning to play by ear and jamming with friends.
Some really great talents developed at an early age. We were all aspiring to grow our talents, develop our skills, and experiment with new sounds that we heard on the radio, or someone found in the record bin at Perkins Book Worm. There was nothing better then getting a new record and
working on how to play it, or catching one of the other bands in Coronado at a party or function that already had figured it out, and was playing it.
There was at times a bit of competitiveness between players and bands, but it was more a sense of community of musicians, learning, growing, playing, and having fun. Camaraderie was built between the bands as bands were formed and evolved over time. Many friendships from these bands have been lifelong relationships.” – Dean Atkinson
Special Rock ‘N’ Roll Edition
CUBIC FEET (1966)
Original Members:
Robert Mansueto: lead guitar, vocals John Chambers: keyboards, vocals Dean Atkinson: drums, vocals Richie Heinz: bass guitar, vocals
The Cubic Feet stayed together for five months. Dean dropped out after a car accident in Nov ’66 that left him in a cast for six months. Richie, Robert, and John renamed the Band ‘The Towne Cryers’ and added Eric MacKnight on drums and Danny Orlino on guitar. After Eric left, Charlie Wilhoit joined. The Town Criers would merge with the Bachs, (Art Battson, Gary Maltby) to form the West Coast Iron Works. Charlie went to the Family Jewels with Dave Young and David Matsouwaka.
BACHS & NULL SET- (1960s)
Original Members: Bruce Christensen: rhythm guitar, vocals
Doug Christensen: lead guitar, vocals
Gerry Rahill: bass, vocals
Art Battson: drums, vocals
From Art Battson: “The first group I helped form was ‘The Null Set’ with Bruce and Doug Christensen in 1965. Dad had just brought home a set of Pearl drums from Japan in June of 1965, so I spent the summer banging on them pretending I was Ringo. In the fall of ’65, Bruce was doing some bitchen air guitar work in Mr. Burgess’s English class, so we got to talking. Then we got to playing (an instrumental version of “We Can Work It Out”) and finally to singing (“Surfer Bird” – assuming you can call that singing). We were so bad that I was actually the lead singer for what seemed like years (it was actually months, but the neighbors still swear it was years). Bruce Christensen was a great rhythm guitarist and Doug managed a good lead guitar. Bruce was also excellent on backup harmonies. Gary Maltby joined us in late 1965 or early 1966. Gerry Rahill later joined us on bass although I’m not sure we ever played in the same key together. (Gerry re-emerged as part of the Pre-Fab Four for our 40th Reunion Tour down Orange Avenue in 2006.) I have some video of the Bachs if you are interested. The Bachs were literally the new packaging container for the Null Set. Back in those days we had to continually change our name to get another gig.
By the time of summer of 1966, Bruce and Doug left the band and were replaced with Robert Mansueto and Richie Heinz. That’s when we became the West Coast Iron Works. By this time, I was delegated to singing Ringo songs and told to come up with a name for the group while they plotted to have me learn some Pete Best tunes. (OK. I made that last part up.) Actually, I was the one who found the name West Coast Iron Works in the GTE White Pages. This was no small task since I started with A’s and worked down to the end of the alphabet. Had I not been so patient we might have been called Art’s Auto Supply. (I toyed with the idea of changing Gary’s name and calling ourselves Rusty and the Iron Works, but it never worked out.) The West Coast Iron Works just seemed perfect for the time and place.” (Art and Gary were original members of the West Coast Iron Works.)
THE CENTAURS
Original Members: Cliff Lenz: keyboards, lead guitar
Rick Thomas: lead guitar
Doug Johnson: bass
Pat Coleman: drums
“The Centaurs” by Cliff Lenz: Funny how a love affair with rock and roll and a seven year odyssey of performing, recording, road trips, and opening for some of the biggest names in rock can begin with just a casual meeting between two high school kids. In the fall of 1962, a classmate and friend of mine at Coronado High, Doug Johnson, said there was a new student named Rick Thomas who played electric guitar and that we should meet. I had a Les Paul Jr. and a breadbox size amp and thought that two guys could sound a lot more like the Ventures than just one guy. So I called Rick and we got together at Doug’s house with our guitars for a jam session. Miracle of miracles, we could actually play something together that didn’t sound half bad, the Venture’s tune “The McCoy”, E, A, and B7th and lots of open string melody notes, but what the hell it was a start and it was a thrill. I’m sure that it’s a thrill for all young musicians who, never having played with someone else, experience for the first time what collaborative music making can be.
We started practicing on a weekly basis putting a repertoire together. Pat Coleman became our first drummer and we enlisted Doug Johnson to play bass. Having no prior musical experience, it was a little too much for Doug and he politely resigned from the band after a few weeks. Not long thereafter the (now) trio was asked about playing for an after-football game dance. Assistant Principal, Mr. Oliver, wanted to make an announcement over the school PA that a band would be performing but we didn’t have a name. He actually suggested we call ourselves Rick and the Shaws or Cliff and the Dwellers!We had been thinking about possible names. At the time, the Air Force had rolled out its new ballistic missile, the Atlas Centaur – That’s It! Call ourselves the Centaurs and every time they fire one of those babies off, we get free publicity. It was decision time in the principal’s office, and so the group was officially launched with Mr. Oliver’s announcement that the “Centaurs” would be playing that night. I think we had maybe fifteen tunes and played everyone of them three times, but we made it through the gig without a single tomato flying toward the stage. Another thrill and we were hooked.
The new venture would include the frequent addition and deletion of personnel. (This is not necessarily in chronological order).We added a girl singer, Clair Carlson, and saxophonist, Randy Chilton. Kenny Brown became our new drummer with the prettiest pearl Ludwig drum set in San Diego. Drew Gallahar (a guitarist and trumpet player in the CHS stage band) joined us on bass. I got a Fender Strat and Bandmaster amp. Not to be outdone, Rick got a Fender Jaguar and Showman 15 amp and a Fender reverb unit! We got the gig as the house band at what would become the legendary Downwind Club – the Junior Officer’s Club on North Island where we played for six years barely keeping our heads above the oceans of beer served every Sunday. A wonderful saxophonist from La Jolla, Bill Lamden, replaced Chilton. For a time, Janie Seiner was our vocalist. There were dances, concerts, and car shows all over San Diego, and we even played for a change-of-command party at North Island with more captains and admirals than you could count. A major thrill was recording a couple of surf tunes in the United Artists Studio in Hollywood, a session that was produced by Joe Saracino, who had been the producer of the Ventures. We also played on the Sunset Strip in the summer of ’66 in the same club where the Doors became famous.
Rick left the group late in ’66 and was replaced by Danny Orlino. The rest of us were now at San Diego State and Danny was still at CHS. He was a truly gifted player. Bob Demmon, longtime CHS band director and rock guitarist with the famous surf group, the Astronauts, once told me that Danny was maybe the finest guitarist he had ever known personally. I now doubled on guitar and organ. I think we were the first rock group in San Diego to use a cut down Hammond. The keyboards were in one box and the guts in another for portability. I also invested in a Leslie speaker, which really enhanced our sound.
From ’62 to ’67, the music had morphed from Pop to Surf to R&B to Psychedelic. We now had a new chick singer, Linda Morrison (she lived in San Diego), a great talent who became a real driving force with her powerful vocals. Not bad to look at either. She later became Miss San Diego. Steve Kilajanski took over on sax for awhile. We also now had an agency booking engagements for us, Allied Artists of San Diego, and we joined the musicians’ union. Kenny Brown became our manager giving way to several new drummers, all excellent players – Kenny Pernicano, Rick Cutler, the late Paul Bleifuss (formerly with the great S.D. band, the Impalas), Carl Spiron (who played with one of San Diego’s all time great groups, Sandi and the Accents/Classics), and later Terry Thomas.
With great reluctance in 1969, I left my last band (Bright Morning) and my long-time guitar buddy Danny Orlino to head north to go to graduate school at the University of Washington. Danny left San Diego and has been a famous guitarist and singer in Guam for many years. Kenny Brown converted his band manager skills and keen business sense into a successful real estate and property management career in the Los Angeles area. Bill Lamden became a dentist. Drew Gallahar still has his hands all over guitars but now he makes them. He’s a guitar builder at the Blue Guitar in Mission Valley. I had a 20-year career as a television producer and the host of “Seattle Today” on the NBC affiliate in Seattle, but I was also composing and performing music at the same time. Along the way I received an Emmy for composing the theme music for the Phil Donahue Show. I have returned to music as a guitar and piano teacher in the Seattle area. Sadly, Rick Thomas died of cancer in 2004 after a career as an electrical systems maintenance engineer. I visited him in Chico, CA a few months before he passed away. We got out the guitars and played and reminisced. A few months after he died, his parents sent me his guitar, which I will always treasure. It’s an uncommon Fender model called the Coronado.
Thanks to all those of you who listened and danced to our music over the years. It was a great party! (Cliff Lenz, co-founder/leader- the Centaurs)
“The Centaurs” by Ken Brown: The Centaurs rock ‘n’ roll band from Coronado during the 60s meant something special because “The Centaurs” were part of the 60s Rock ‘n’ Roll Revolution. I can remember an article in the Coronado Islander, our high school paper, which pictured the Centaurs success on par with the Beatles. They were riding high and so were we. When you are young, talented, and restless, the imagination becomes your reality. We were on top of the world, our world, and it was great fun for all who participated. We went from playing at Sea World to the Downwind Club to All Night High School Parties to our own Dance concerts. A highlight was the Centaurs opening for ‘The Doors’ at Balboa Stadium. The participants had their own special role for they too were part of the 60s Rock ‘n’ Roll Revolution.
I can safely say that I would not trade a moment of this musical bonanza for any other. We were living life at a fast pace with all the trimmings. Local people knew we were the Centaurs. We carried it wherever we went. We were young talented musicians (all in the local musicians’ union) who had set a new stage and pace for rock and roll. We had the 62 + 64 Chevy 327 Impalas, the Delorean, the Lotus ,and Hemi engines, and a bunch of other hot cars of the time. The Centaurs were sexy with strapping lads and foxy singers. If you were not in the ‘mood’ before our event inevitably you left in the ‘mood’. And that’s my point.
During our 25th Centaur Reunion at the Coronado Women’s Club, we had an array of people, some family, others were supporters with their special memories of what “The Centaurs” did for them. We brought the new 60s sound to Coronado and all its surroundings. We opened the musical doors for our generation. We may have never competed with the Beatles, but we sure promoted their music, along with the Rolling Stones, and a whole lot more Legendary Rock Bands of our time. Can’t have much more fun than that because “We lived the Dream”. (Ken Brown, Drummer and Business Manager of “The Centaurs” and “Framework” from Coronado)
After publishing we received this great comment from Cliff Lenz, original member of The Centaurs:
Thanks for putting the Centaurs in the Rock ‘n’ Roll issue of the Coronado Clarion. (And first up no less!) A side note to the article I thought you’d be interested in- my father was a navy officer- graduated in the same class as Admiral Stephen Morrison from the Naval Academy (class of ’41). They were life long friends and ended up retiring together in Coronado. When I found out that he was the father of Jim….I was excited about the opportunity to ask him about his superstar son. However, my mother warned me to never bring the subject up with his parents as he was persona non grata within the family. The picture of the Admiral in the Academy ’41 Yearbook looks like Jim with a flat-top!
Another sidebar- We opened for the Doors in the old Balboa Stadium in July ’68. Amazing concert- 25,000 stoned/screaming fans. Years later Oliver Stone comes out with “The Doors” with Val Kilmer as Jim Morrison. My stock went up with my two sons when I told them that their dad’s band opened for a Doors concert in San Diego. A few years later my son, at the University of Oregon, told me that he was walking to class with a girl friend and the movie came up in the conversation.
Trying to impress her he reported that his dad had a band that opened for the Doors at a big stadium concert. She said: “Cool, My dad was actually in the Doors!” Turns out she (believe her first name was Kelly) was the daughter of drummer John Densmore!
As they say- small world.
Thanks again for the inclusion of my old band in your magazine- I dearly miss those days……… Coronado and the music of the ’60’s.
Regards,
Cliff Lenz
WEST COAST IRON WORKS – (1960s)
Original Members: Gary Maltby: lead vocals
Robert Mansueto: lead guitar
Gary Carter: guitar
Rich Heinz: bass
Art Battson: drums
Later Members: John Chambers: keyboards
Charlie Wilhoit: drums
Dave Vaughan: drums
“THE SIXTIES
WE WERE THERE
AND WE REMEMBER…”
— THE WEST COAST IRONWORKS
As any generation will attest, music plays an integral part in the make-up of their youth. In the early 1960s, when the British invasion swept our shores, a new era of rock ‘n’ roll emerged. With the birth of this new music, a group of five young men from Coronado, California got together to form a rock ‘n’ roll band. It was June 1967, three weeks before graduation, when Gary Carter was sitting in his car listening to the radio. Grooving to the tunes, he heard a tap at his window. Standing there was his good friend, Gary Maltby. Gary asked him if he would like to be in a rock ‘n’ roll band. Carter thought for a moment, had visions of fame, women chasing him, and the opportunity to play music; and without hesitation, Carter said, “I’m in.” The first practice was held at Artie Battson’s (class of ‘66) parents’ garage. The band at that time consisted of Richie Heinz (class of ‘69), Gary Carter (class of ’67), Gary Maltby (class of ‘69) and for a short time Dugan Richardson, who was replaced later by Bob Mansueto (class of ‘70).
Practicing every day after school, the group began brainstorming on a name. With less than inspirational ideas i.e., Gary and the Playboys, Artie Battson picked up the phonebook. Thumbing through the yellow pages, he stumbled across a business called the West Coast Ironworks and with only X, Y, and Z left the Xylophonics wouldn’t do and neither would the Yellow Zebras. With heavy rock metal becoming popular i.e., Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, and Steppenwolf, why not the West Coast Ironworks? The band now had a name, members, and songs; and they were eager to play. Over the months, the band members changed when Artie Battson had to return to college at UCSB. Fortunately, for the West Coast Ironworks they found a drummer to replace Artie named Charlie Wilhoit (class of ‘68). During this time, they acquired a keyboard player named John Chambers (class of ‘68 from Chula Vista) since the band John was playing in, the Rubber Band, split up.
The West Coast Ironworks entered the Battle of the Bands contest and won
The band went through another change with a drummer when Charlie got married. Dave Vaughan (class of ‘67) became the third drummer for the West Coast Ironworks. The band was very popular during this time playing for many school dances and private functions. In 1967, the West Coast Ironworks organized and played in the first annual “Be There” concert, which was held at the old city dump in Coronado. This area was formerly Rancho Carrillo, the pig farm. Now this area is the Coronado Cays. Teens from all over San Diego crammed into their cars for a night of dancing and drinking. The final and fourth annual “Be There” was in the summer of 1970. Organized by Carter, it was held at the old reservation, which is right next to the Amphib Base, and now the sight of the park and boat landing. Unfortunately, the West Coast Ironworks did not play at this event.
When I interviewed the West Coast Ironworks, I asked them, “What funny things happened when you were together?” Heinz, recalled the time the group played for a nudist colony, a.k.a. American Sunbathers Association. They were greeted at the venue by a group of overweight, dark-tanned, naked adults, and were directed to the staging area. By the time the band was ending their last set, the nudists announced that it was time for the band to take off their clothes and swim. Gary Maltby quickly announced that there would be one more song,”We Gotta Get Out of These Clothes, I Mean Place”; and when the song was done, the band were down to their boxers except for Heinz who wore a pair of briefs with a lovingly hand-stitched peace symbol, by Cindy Grant, on them. Vaughan recalls the time the West Coast Ironworks, for the second time, entered the Battle of the Bands contest. We wanted to do something different and go against the flow. The band members all switched instruments and won the contest for the “Best Song”. This led to an appearance on a local television show. Dressed in their colorful Nehru shirts, they lip-synced their song on live television.
The West Coast Ironworks had dreams of playing music forever.They all agreed that they would get together once a year for the annual All Class Reunion that is held every year on the 4th of July in Coronado.They have gone their different ways and some live in different states, but the one common bond that brought them together, music, has never escaped them.
What have they been up to? Drummers: Artie Battson, retired as Director of Instructional Technology at UCSB, and is currently working on classroom design for the UC as well as producing online media for the Veritas Forum www.Veritas.org. In 1978, he joined a group called Reverie.This band split up when three of the members went to join Mike Love (formerly of the Beach Boys) to form the band Endless Summer. In 1985, Artie played with a band called the Staff Infection until they split up in 2005.Charlie Wilhoit, his whereabouts are unknown. Dave Vaughan lives in Boise, Idaho and works in commercial real estate. He is in a rock ‘n’ roll band called the Fabulous Chancellors. When in town, he will play with the West Coast Ironworks. Guitarists: Gary Carter is the Dean of Arts and Humanities at Chabot College in Hayward, California. With his many arts-related disciplines, he oversees the Department of Music, where he is often asked by his students to jam with various college ensembles. He also is known to settle ongoing questions about 1960’s rock ‘n’ roll trivia. He continues to play with the West Coast Ironworks. Bob Mansueto is a San Diego dentist. He continues to play jazz and sits in with the West Coast Ironworks from time to time. Richie Heinz lives in Ocean Beach, California. He
Richie Heinz lives in Ocean Beach, California. He is a piano technician/tuner along with playing in a Celtic band www.highlandway.us. He continues to play with the West Coast Ironworks. Keyboards: John Chambers lives in San Diego and has been playing rock ‘n’ roll all his life. After college, he did the urban cowboy thing and played country music. But 12 years ago, he became hooked to the accordion sound. It was only natural for him to pick up the squeeze box again as that was the first instrument he played when he was eight years old. He has formed the Bayou Brothers and they play all over town. He also continues to play with the West Coast Ironworks. Lead Singer: Gary Maltby lives in San Clemente and works for Lexus, Inc. He keeps his vocals tuned by being a regular at the Karaoke scene and occasionally sings with bands in the area. He still sings with the West Coast Ironworks.
SPECIAL NOTE: Hope you can catch the original Iron Works at the All Class Reunion on July 3rd when we do a tribute to Sgt. Pepper and on the 4th of July when the Class of ’66 parades down Orange Avenue on the “America Rocks” float with the “Pre-Fab Four” doing American Pie and a medley of Buddy Holly/Richie Valens/Big Bopper tunes. Although there’s no guarantee that we’ll hit all the notes all the time, a splendid time is guaranteed for all. – Art Battson
July 3, 2011 from 8pm to 11:30pm – Coronado Golf Course Clubhouse for graduates of Coronado High School and their friends, must be 21 years old to attend. Proceeds help support the Coronado Schools Foundation. Cost: $10 at the door
CHECK OUT WEST COAST IRONWORKS PLUS FRIENDS IN PAST ALL STAR REUNIONS:
http://web.mac.com/artbattson/iweb/music/allclass2009.html
http://web.mac.com/artbattson/iweb/music/video2010/2010-reunion/Welcome.html
THE COACHMEN
Original Members: Steve Oder: guitar
Chuck Newby: guitar
Jim Smith: vocals
Dean Atkinson: drums
Later Members: Jim Moran: rhythm guitar, vocals
Tom Moran: bass guitar, vocals
Robert Mansueto: lead guitar, vocals
The Coachmen Story
Like most of the bands that came out of Coronado, the Coachmen began as a group of guys jamming in someone’s garage just for the fun of it. The composition of the jam session players was always very fluid. But, of course, that was the whole idea – we each learned from one another whether it was a complete song or just a cool new riff, drum sequence, or chord pattern. The important thing was to have fun making rock ‘n’ roll music together!
But back to the Coachmen story. Steve Oder begins by recalling,“Chuck Newby and I were passing notes back and forth in a class one day in the late spring of 1966 and ended up writing a song together. So we thought it would be a good idea to start a band. I remember coming up with the name for the band in a conversation with Chuck, because like everybody, we wanted something British-sounding.That version of the Coachmen with Dean Atkinson on drums and Jim Smith on vocals did a gig at the VFW hall soon thereafter. I didn’t stay in the band long because I had a crappy electric guitar and no amplifier of my own. I did have a really good acoustic and was perfectly happy playing acoustic stuff already.”
Thinking back on those days, Chuck Newby continues, “I remember that in those days it seemed that just about everyone was into playing either rock ‘n’ roll or folk music, so jamming at someone’s house was a common occurrence. I remember playing my 1965 Harmony, a fairly good Stratocaster knock-off, through an assortment of Fender amplifiers – including a Bandmaster, Showman, and Bassman as well as others, I’m sure – until I was able to buy my own Super Reverb. Now that was a very sweet amplifier! Although the memories are faded, like Steve and Dean, I also remember playing at all of the usual places around the island that spring and summer including several pool parties, the VFW, the Women’s Club, and the Mexican Village. I recall quite vividly how Dean was always hustling gigs for us. And the price was always right – in many cases, just free beer between sets!”
Dean Atkinson adds, “I remember that it was Steve and Chuck’s idea to organize a new band named the Coachmen. They were the original guitar players with various bass players including Chuck Tesh and others filling in whenever we had a gig. (I had just left the Rogues.) I was the original drummer for the Coachmen and, as I recall, Jim Smith on vocals joined right after Steve Oder left. Jim Smith stayed only a short time and was replaced by Jim Moran on guitar and vocals and his younger brother, Tom, as one of our bass players. Tom left the band to join the London Beats in the early summer of ’66. So Chuck and I were the only members to stay ‘til the final gig at the Women’s Club dance in August of ‘66.”
Dean continues, “After one gig at the VFW, Steve quit because in his own words, his electric guitar was a piece of crap and because there were too many guitar players, and nobody on bass.The Coachmen, in various forms, played at EM clubs around San Diego for six months before calling it quits in August of ’66. Their final gig was the first half of a Women’s Club dance that they had booked in May.
Since Tom Moran had already left the band for the London Beats and Robert and I had just started the Cubic Feet with Richie Heinz and John Chambers, the remaining members of the Coachmen decided that they wanted to go out with a bang. So Jim, Robert, Chuck, and I, along with Richie on bass and John playing his ‘new’ Vox organ, played the first two hours of the Women’s Club dance – it was more like an organized jam session – then turned the stage over to the Cubic Feet who played out the rest of the night. There isn’t much more to tell except to say that that is the true story of the Coachmen – a great group of Coronado guys who had a lot of fun playing rock ‘n’ roll music for their friends and anyone else who wanted to rock out to the music of the late ’60s.”
BREWDOGS – (1987-1995)
Original Members: Dave Shoudy: guitar, vocals
Alex Agundez: guitar, vocals
Lane Carter: bass, vocals
Randy Seol: drums
Later Members: Chris Butterworth, drums, vocals
“Man Mountain” Mike Mangette: bass
Kevin Milner: bass
In 1986, new band ideas were planned by Dave Shoudy and Lane Carter. A phone call was made to old Tryax member, Alex Agundez, requesting his presence in the new group.The final member, Randy Seol (original member of the Strawberry Alarm Clock), was a weekly Reader find. Starting out slow, later, the Brewdogs turned up to 10 gigs per month.The Brewdogs gig’d heavily on the pub scene along with some of the larger venues: the Bacchanal, the Hop, Chillers, Sand Bar, the Grant Hotel. Brewdogs also performed at many benefits and special events: Special Olympics, Multiple Sclerosis Society, multiple weddings, and holiday parties. Coronado gigs included the Island Saloon, Mexican Village, McPs, and Hotel Del Coronado.
ETCETERA ROCK REVIVAL
Original Members: George Sanger: guitar
Paul Ephrom: bass
Ron Michelson: keyboards
David Sanger: drums
CORONADO GROWN – David Sanger
by Alessandra Selgi-Harrigan
When he was 11 years old, David Sanger was in a band called Etcetera Rock Revival. By the time he was 13, the band went on tour for two months across the U.S. Etcetera Rock Revival’s other members included his older brother George, who was 16, and two 17-year-olds.They traveled in a van, performed at friends’ houses, stayed with family, friends, or campgrounds along the way. The music hasn’t stopped for Sanger. Since 1986, he has played the drums for Asleep at the Wheel, a band that has won nine Grammy Awards.
Like his three siblings, Sanger chose his instrument in fourth grade, and still remembers the name of his drum instructor, Bruce Sharp.The Coronado-based Etcetera Rock Revival performed at pep rallies and high school dances.”We would’ve liked to play more but we weren’t playing popular music. We were playing oldies when people didn’t want to hear oldies,” he said. Sanger also played in the Coronado High School marching band and was recruited when he was in seventh grade. “Back in those days, the high school band was so small they recruited three from my junior class to fill up the ranks,” he recalled. At 14 years old, he left Coronado to attend a private school in Los Angeles and stayed there until he graduated from Occidental College with a degree in history. Throughout his high school and college years, he kept playing in a band with his brother George, who also lived in Los Angeles.
Playing the drums was something that came easy for Sanger. “I didn’t have to work on it very much. It was fun to do all the time,” he said. But Sanger didn’t think making a career out of playing music was a possibility. As a child, he remembers knowing only one person in Coronado that was a musician for a living and his job title was listed next to his name in the phonebook. “Now, kids literally grow up around professional musicians. It was an alien planet for me. I couldn’t imagine … I couldn’t think I could go and do it,” he said.
In 1984, Sanger, now 45, moved to Austin, Texas, considered the live music capital of the world, and started playing with W.C. Clark band. Two years later, he was the drummer for Asleep at the Wheel.
Asleep at the Wheel plays big band music from the ‘30s and ‘50s using the fiddle, steel guitar, and western instruments, and is known for reviving the genre. “It’s western swing. It’s cowboys playing jazz,” he said. The band has performed in Europe, Brazil, Japan, and still tours regularly in the U.S. The bread and butter of Asleep at the Wheel is reinterpreting older music. Last November, the band released four new records. Recently the band wrote a musical play on Bob Wills, who was the inspiration for the band, called, “A Ride with Bob”. Apart from working as a musician, Sanger owns Texas Music Roundup, a record and music distribution company.
The early Coronado influences have stayed with Sanger through the years. People like Joey Harris, Bruce Sharp, Rick Lee, and high school band director, Bob Demmon. played a role in shaping his musical career. “They were guys older than me that played music. These guys had a huge influence on me,” he said. Demmon was the first person that recorded Sanger’s music.
What did his parents, who were both physicians, think about his music career? Sanger recalls the moment when his dad thought it might be okay after all. It was when he was talking to a nurse and he told her his son was in a band called Asleep at the Wheel and she exclaimed, “I love that band!”
For more information on the band, visit: www.asleepatthewheel.com
Asleep at the Wheel, David Sanger on drums
David Sanger now
THE NOBLES
Original Members: Nanson (Chops): drums (first band); Dave Kruger: baritone sax (first band); Gary Hawthorne: organ, guitar; Gary Cobbs: tenor sax; Pat Romero: alto Sax; Dale: guitar; Lee Barnes: guitar; J.W. Langham: bass; Buddy Brown: trumpet; Mike Fay: trumpet; Rene Martinez: trumpet; Leonard Snowden: vocals; Dave Johnson: vocals; Dorothy Williams: vocals; Little Eddie Gross: vocals;
Nanson “Chops” Hwa writes: “In junior and senior high, I was one of the founding members of a band called the “Nobles”. We started with two guitars and drums playing music at junior and senior high school dances (Ventures and Duane Eddie). With changes in popular music, we began playing other forms of rock, r&b, jazz, and old-time favorites. The Nobles quickly became one of the best bands in San Diego during the Sixties. In 1965, the Annual Auto Show held a Battle of the Bands at the Community Concourse in downtown San Diego. Seventy bands throughout San Diego and Imperial Counties participated. The Nobles took 1st place playing songs by the Supremes, and James Brown, and Ray Charles. Prizes consisted of cash awards, a trophy, and a sense of joy.”
TRYAX (1981)
Original Members: Dave Shoudy: guitar, vocals
Alex Agundez: guitar, vocals
Bo West: bass, vocals
Marty Scott: drums
After CHS, the college era begins, and Dave Shoudy spots musical opportunities beyond Coronado’s surrounding moat. Free SD Reader ads come in handy for the starving student musician; and Shoudy joins Tryax. Tryax performed covers and originals at all kinds of parties, the Poway Mine Company, weddings, and other special events. And even won 1st in North County’s Battle of the Bands. Although the group never performed locally in Coronado, a four-cut-recording was distributed widely among Islanders (Brian Mealy says he still has his). Recorded at Circle Sound it was a first timer for all. It was also Shoudy’s first round as a paid performer.
LONDON BEATS
Original Members: Danny Orlino
Bill Lyons: guitar
Joey Simpson: lead vocals
Tuck Lyons: guitar
Tom Moran: bass
Later Members: Nick Garrett: lead guitar
Charlie Cates: lead guitar
Bobby Pickford: drums
The London Beats formed in February, 1966, about three years after Coronado and the rest of the U.S. were rocked by the British Invasion. Inspired by the Beatles, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Herman’s Hermits, Them, and especially the Rolling Stones, the members of the band collectively decided to emulate the look as well as the sound. Upon seeing a photo of the band in a news clipping from an article in the Coronado Journal, the late Nick Reynolds of the Kingston Trio once contended that they didn’t look scruffy enough, a kind of confirmation that the London Beats had achieved the deliberately “packaged” look of British pop acts of the time.
The music was something else. Because the founding band members sought to emulate Rolling Stones’ aggressive, R&B driven sound, the London Beats weren’t as slick as they looked, opting instead for an imposing lead vocalist and the vibrant sound of not one or two but three guitars plus bass and drums. The band began when Joey Simpson, Bill and Tuck Lyons, and Tom Moran got together with Danny Orlino and Howie Clark.
Shortly after the formation, Bob Pickford replaced Howie on drums and Danny Orlino left to be replaced by Nick Garrett as lead guitar. The band achieved moderate success in playing the usual high school dances, pool parties, and car shows around Southern California. Nick Garrett was later replaced by Charlie Cates on lead guitar.
During the summer of 1967, Jay Traylor replaced Charlie Cates and Glen Stock replaced Bill Lyons and the name changed to the Louisiana Fish and Poultry. By the summer of 1968, college and the draft had become a preoccupation and the members went their own directions.
Bill Lyons became a building contractor in Coronado. Joey Simpson went on to become a painting contractor and astrologer. Jay Traylor continued playing and attended Berkley College of Music (only to later pursue a successful career in real estate). Bob Pickford continued playing and is now a college professor. Tom Moran went on to college and medical school before settling in Coronado as an MD. Charlie Cates left for the Navy and returned to San Diego for a medical career. Glen Stock finished college at UCSD and then took a job with the government, only to pass away at an early age. Tuck Lyons finished SDSU and took a job in law enforcement.
LOUISIANA FISH & POULTRY
Original Members: Jay Traylor: guitar
Glen Stock: guitar
Tip Tisdale: bass
Bob Pickford: drums
TEXAS CHAINSAW BAND
Original Members: Dan Hervey: vocals, guitar
Ed Olmos: vocals, guitar
Dave Paseman: vocals, bass, sax
Bob Pickford: drums
From Ed Olmos: “Texas Chainsaw Band was a rockabilly cover band that played often at the Island Saloon (years before it was renovated), McPs, and hosted amateur nights at Krishna Mulvaney’s. We only played locally so we could get sh**faced drunk and not have to worry about getting home!”
I DON’T KNOW
Original Members: Jim Hobbs: vocals
Bob Wilson: guitar
Doug Robinson: bass
Will Beecham (Beauchamp): drums
Bobby Pickford: drums
“Will Beauchamp’s contribution included the band name: I Don’t Know. The band gigged poolside for a few weeks at the Hotel Del and played its farewell performance at Bruce Johnson’s infamous summer of ’71 pool party. Then we pooled our money, bought an old school bus, and moved to Northern California, a great story, too good not to tell (later)”–Bob Pickford
CORONADO’S ROCK ‘N’ ROLL – THE PRESENT:
Joey Harris began his musical career in the late 70s playing lead guitar for proto-Americana songwriter John Stewart. In 1983, MCA records released Joey Harris and the Speedsters, which showcased Harris’ skill as songwriter, vocalist, and guitar virtuoso. In January 1985, Joey joined the Beat Farmers, perpetually touring the United States and Canada, and visiting England, Germany, and the Scandinavian countries. Harris wrote, sang, and played on five Beat Farmer LPs released by Curb/MCA, and indie label, Sector 2. Joey also toured and recorded with Country Dick Montana, Dave Alvin, and Mojo Nixon as a member of their Las Vegas-style review band, the Pleasure Barons, releasing a live CD on Hightone Records in 1993. Harris was on hand when Montana recorded another project featuring Mojo, Rosie Flores, Katy Moffett, John Doe, Candye Kane, Dave Gonzales, and Dave Alvin titled the “Devil Lied to Me” posthumously released by Bar/None in 1996. Country Dick Montana died onstage at the Longbranch Saloon in Whistler, British Columbia, November 11th, 1995. The Beat Farmers soon disbanded and Joey toured with his own band, worked with songwriter Paul Kamanski, (author of several Beat Farmer tunes), and Mojo Nixon. Harris joined forces with Beat Farmer Jerry Raney and his band Powerthud and released a CD in 2002 called “Wide”. In June 2009, a new CD titled “Joey Harris and the Mentals” was released by San Diego-based, Double Barrel Records. The CD, with ten tracks written by Harris, features Joey on vocals and guitar, backed by San Diego musicians, Mighty Joe Longa, Jeff and Joel Kmak, and Josh Mader. Recorded and produced by Mississippi Mudshark, Scottie Mad Dog Blinn, the new CD is the first solo project for Harris since 1983’s “Joey Harris and the Speedsters”.
FINGERS – (1978-1980)
Original Members: Joey Harris: lead guitar, vocals
Paul Kamanski: guitar, vocals
Bill Thompson: guitar, vocals
Paul “Vic” Vicena: bass
Chris Sams: drums
ELECTRIC SONS – (1984-1985)
Original Members: Joey Harris: guitar, vocals
Paul Kamanski: guitar, vocals
Paul “Vic” Vicena: bass
Frank “Hoop” Hailey: drums
Dave Fobes: Sax
JOEY HARRIS & THE SPEEDSTERS – (1978-1980)
Original Members: Joey Harris: lead guitar, vocals
Lee Knight: bass
Bruce Donnelly: keyboards
Mark Spriggs: drums
JOEY HARRIS & THE MENTALS
Members: Joey Harris: guitar, vocals
Jeff Kmak: bass
Mighty Joe Longa: organ, piano
Josh Mader: drums
Arguably one of the finest singers, guitar pickers, and songwriters to come out of Southern California, Joey Harris is undoubtably San Diego music royalty. His latest CD, “Joey Harris and the Mentals”, is a gem that has taken him into the next phase of an already long and successful career. This is Joey’s first solo CD since his legendary days in the Beat Farmers and is a perfect example of someone at the top of their game. The ten-song CD is Joey at his best, both irreverent and introspective, and simply put…Rockin’! Backed by his outstanding band, the Mentals, Joey tears through the CD like a man on a mission. Songs like “Little Boy”, “Brother Of The Grape”, and “I Haven’t Been Cryin’” show off Joey’s blues chops, and “Don‘t Go”, “Get Out Of My Way”, and “She’s On The Pill” will rock your face off with huge vocals and guitar tones. “Apologies To R. Newman” gets the funk out, while “Baby You’re A Star”, “Don‘t Seem Like Love”, and “Miguelita” show a mature side to Joey’s writing. Adding to the main ingredients of vocal, guitar, drum, bass, piano, and Hammond B3, Joey has peppered the CD with killer harmonies, percussion, acoustic guitar, mandolin, and an angelic choir of angels. “Having been a huge fan of Joey’s (and the Beat Farmers) since the age of 16, it has been an honor co-producing this CD with him. The drive, focus, and fun he injected into every cut were truly inspirational. From the blistering guitar volumes, beers, smokes, and laughs, I’m just now regaining feeling to the right side of my face!”
~~Scottie “Mad Dog” Blinn/ Double Barrel Records
Quoting Joey himself: “I’m a local Coronado boy. My family are all musical — my mother, Jane Meade, sisters, brothers, and my Uncle Nick Reynolds of Kingston Trio fame.” Joey Harris has added to the family tradition in a very successful way and he continues to make the whole town proud with his musical prowess. Thanks Joey for years of great Coronado Rock!
You can find more information on Joey Harris & the Mentals at www.reverbnation.com/joeyharristhementals
ROCK TRIO
Original Members: Joey Harris: guitar, vocals
Paul Kamanski: guitar
Caren Campbell-Kamanski: vocals
SPECIAL NOTE: ROCK TRIO (Joey, Paul & Caren Kamanski) will be performing at McP’s Irish Pub once a month starting May 29th on the patio from 4 to 7 p.m.
For more information and entertainment on these featured bands as well as other great bands of Coronado’s Past, Present, and Future, visit Dean Atkinson’s website at: www.coronadobands.com
WHOM?
WHO RESCUED WHOM?
By Lynne Harpst Koen
It’s the day before Halloween, but I’m not going to candy coat anything. Yes, I am that “Dog Lady”.
I’m not over the top PETA queen, but I do consider my dogs as very much a part of the family. It’s always been that way as far back as I can remember. I was maybe three years old when I figured out my Mom loved the dog more than she did me. It didn’t bother me, it just was. During my first 17 years of life, we had several dogs at home. Only one at a time though. These dogs were from circumstances beyond our comprehension — abandoned, abused, neglected, left to starve.
I never knew it was possible to just go out and BUY a dog. I thought they showed up mysteriously in the night and then we took care of them for the rest of their lives!
When I was in college and living on my own, I got a dog and named him “JD” (just a dog). Oh, how I loved that boy! He was a shaggy, black-and-white mutt with the sweetest disposition. My tiny back yard had an alley behind it. One day as JD and I were playing in the yard, I heard some commotion in the alley — rummaging of some sort and then a crash! I flew out to the alley to see what happened. There I found the skinniest little dog. She could barely walk. Upon closer inspection, I saw she had a badly broken leg. She had probably been hit by a car — no tags or collar. I got some blankets, wrapped her up, and gently put her in the car. She was so frightened. She was shaking uncontrollably. The vet said I should have her put down because she probably had numerous problems aside from her obvious malnutrition and busted leg. I told him to do whatever it took to make her well enough so I could care for her at home. He looked at me like I had three heads but agreed to treat her. A week later, I had two dogs in my little yard on I Avenue! I decided to name my new girl dog “Rosie” after the wildly popular Saturday Night Live character Roseanne Rosanna Danna (played by Gilda Radnor). Rosie and JD got along great. They were best friends from day one!
This was back in the 1970s. That’s when I started the “Noah’s Ark” theory. From that time on, I always had two dogs in residence. When I had my babies and didn’t have as much time for the dogs, JD and Rosie had each other. They both lived long, happy lives and eventually passed away of old age. They were so special to me as they were my very first fur-babies. Since then we’ve had more dogs, cats, birds, horses, and even goats join the family! The interesting thing is that since the Rosie rescue, the animals have come to me much like they did to my Mom when I lived at home. I’ve always rooted for the underdog, pun intended!
Our animals were special in that they seemed to choose us rather than the other way around. Not one pure breed in the bunch. Just sweet, simple creatures who needed a loving home. Most had special needs that some people would not have tolerated or bothered with. To me, having a pet is like having a child. If there’s something wrong, you handle it. Plain and simple. I was in it for the long haul no matter what. This is the way God intended it to be. In my book anyway!
I’ve always treated my critters with love and respect. They return that affection 100+ fold in most cases. Only twice have I had to find other homes for my dogs. Both cases were because the dogs presented a danger to my children. The first case was Norman named after Norman Bates in Psycho. I knew Norman was odd, but I did my very best to accommodate him. However, it turned out he wasn’t a family-type dog at all. One Christmas, he bit just about everyone in the family. Norman had to go. Luckily, I found him a good home with an older couple who lived by themselves. Happy ending.
The other dog “Wendy” did not like children. As I had four kids in residence at the time, Wendy couldn’t stay. I tried so hard to find her a home, but everyone I knew had young kids like I did. Everyone except my Mom that is. Mom was “dogless” at the time. She really liked Wendy and Wendy liked her. However, Mom swore she’d never have another dog. Hard sell. I tried for months to convince Mom that Wendy was perfect for her. I begged and pleaded. The answer wasn’t just “no” but it was HELL NO. So the sad day came when I was going to take Wendy to the shelter. I was crying and so depressed. I thought what do I have to lose, so I tried asking Mom just one more time. She resounded with a very grouchy “Oh, alright.” I was overjoyed! Wendy was treated like a queen, living a life of luxury at Mom’s. It was truly a perfect match. One that God Himself had made to be sure.
I’ve always loved my dogs with all my heart. My single complaint is that they don’t live long enough. There comes a time when their quality of life slowly descends. Putting a dog to rest is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, hands down. Each time I literally thought I’d die from the grief. It never gets any easier, no matter what people may say. Now I have dog rescues that I help support. I usually stick to the smaller ones. That way I actually know where my money goes! I’ve taken to fostering dogs from time to time. That can be pretty tricky when there are resident dogs who get a bit jealous. Each time I’ve fostered, it’s been in pairs. Dogs who have been together all their lives who are up for adoption. The only criteria I’ve insisted upon is that the dogs are adopted together. Not everyone wants to take on two strange dogs at once. However, there are people who will. I know this to be true as they’ve all gone to great families. It just sometimes takes longer to make the right match.
Last year, a friend of mine went to a local estate sale. She mentioned to me that the matriarch of this family had passed away and left two animals behind — a dog and a cat. Turned out nobody in this family wanted the animals because they were both quite elderly. The dog “Peaches” was 14 and the cat was 12. This story made me so sad. I already had my hands full with our resident dog “Rockit” and our newly adopted dog “Boomer”, but I somehow HAD to meet Peaches! I just couldn’t ignore the circumstances. So my husband and I took our dogs over to Peaches’ house for a meet-and-greet session. Everybody did just fine! So Peaches came to live with us later that same day.
She was surprisingly fit for such an elderly lady. She was almost blind and completely deaf, but she got around amazingly well. She’d follow me everywhere. I loved her instantly. My husband thought I was nuts taking on such an old gal. He was just trying to protect me from the inevitable, Peaches being called to Heaven. For the next six months, Peaches was very much a part of the family. Our boy dogs readily accepted her, and everybody who met her loved her at first sight. She brought such joy to me. Sometimes I think I can still hear her tiny paws clicking on the tile floors! If my friend hadn’t have gone to that estate sale, I never would have known that Peaches needed a home. As with all the others, Divine Intervention. No doubt about it!
There are cute little puppies at every pet store. I don’t deny the fact they need good homes, but there are literally thousands upon thousands unwanted dogs at shelters and rescues. It’s heartbreaking beyond belief. These dogs’ days are numbered as there are very few “no kill” shelters. The majority of these dogs are there because of human error. Someone gets a cute puppy then that puppy grows up. Maybe that pup hasn’t been trained correctly so it acts badly and ends up in a shelter. Like children, dogs don’t naturally know how to behave. They must be taught. Training takes time. If you don’t have the time, then don’t get a dog — especially a puppy! Adopting an older dog can have it’s challenges, but it’s so worthwhile.
In a perfect world, all dogs would have happy, loving forever homes. No dog would be mistreated, cold, lonely, or hungry. However, life can be cruel; so it’s up to us as humans to help as much as we possibly can. I know that having a dog isn’t for everyone, but we can still help out by donating to a local shelter, and/or rescue. If you do decide to adopt, make it stick. Think about it like you would as if you were adopting a child. You don’t just throw a child away because he/she misbehaves! Adopting a dog is a permanent commitment. Not to be taken lightly or done on impulse. If done correctly, a decision to adopt can change your life for the greater good. The love of a dog is like nothing else in life. Dogs are not judgemental. Their love is unconditional. Dogs are loyal, furry blessings with cold noses. People can learn much from dogs!
CAN YOU EAR ME NOW?
About that hissing sound in your ear? In the early 19th century a startling discovery was made that proved Darwin’s theory of evolution before he ever dreamed of joining the voyage of the Beagle. This discovery was made by a German biologist, Karl Reichert, who to his great astonishment found that two of the ear bones in mammals are the same thing as parts of the jaw bones in reptiles. In short, two of the ear bones in mammals -including homo sapiens– came from the gill arch that formed the jaw of a reptile.
But perhaps none are as fascinating as the evolutionary history of our human middle ear, which like all mammals has three bones. Reptiles and amphibians have only one bone; fish none.
Building on Rechert’s amazing discovery around 1912 another German anatomist, Ernst Gaupp found that the single bone in the reptilian middle ear is the same as the stapes of mammals and that the the two other bones of the middle ear -the malleus and incus- evolved from bones set in the back of the reptilian jaw.
Neil Shibun asks: Why do mammals need a three-boned middle ear? His answer: “This little linkage forms a lever system that allows mammals to hear higher-frequency sounds than animals with a single middle-ear bone. Bones originally used by reptiles to chew evolved in mammals to assist in hearing.”
Who says science isn’t awesome!
HERO ANIMALS
Horse Protects Owner from a Raging Cow
Rancher Fiona Boyd was leading a stray calf into a shed when the calf’s enraged mother suddenly charged her, knocked her down, and proceeded to stampede over her. “I was absolutely terrified and remember rolling up into a ball to protect my head from her hooves,” she recalled. That’s when Kerry, who was grazing nearby, immediately leaped to assist her. The horse bucked and kicked at the cow until it moved away likely saving Boyd from being trampled to death.
Pig Dashes into Street for Heart Attack Victim
Gorilla Protects Boy who Falls into Zoo Enclosure
DOGS OF ROCK STARS
Stallions
ELEPHANT MOM
Lots of mothers wake in the middle of the night to feed their babies, but not many get up to give a bottle to an infant elephant. Jenny Webb adopted a baby boy elephant who was just a few weeks old in February. The orphaned elephant calf was named Moses after being found in the grasses of a riverbed by game rangers at Vwazi Wildlife Reserve in northern Malawi. Rangers tried to find his family herd for two days without success, said the 48-year-old Webb, adding that the calf’s mother was likely killed by elephant poachers. The illegal killing of elephants is rife in Africa with conservation groups saying that tens of thousands of elephants are being killed each year for their ivory tusks. Malawi’s national parks did not have the funds to raise the young elephant, so Webb, the founder of the Jumbo Foundation an orphanage for large animals, took on the job of caring for the little pachyderm. Moses weighs 100 kilograms (220 pounds) and each day he drinks 24 liters (6.3 gallons) of an infant formula that is boosted with coconut milk and 14 other ingredients.
Webb has placed a mattress on the dining room floor where she and Moses curl up for the night. Moses gets up about every two hours and shuffles around the room until Webb wakes and gives him his bottle feed. In the mornings, as Webb has a coffee and watches television, Moses throws his trunk over her shoulder and nuzzles his head against her. In the wild, a baby elephant would shelter underneath his mother to be shielded from the sun and remain warm and safe. To emulate this, Webb puts a blanket over Moses. His still tender hide is also protected with sunscreen and moisturizer. Caring for the baby elephant is a 24-hour job. Webb gets help from two employees, Matimat Julius and Jim Tembo. All three take turns playing with Moses and using their arms to sweep the dust, the way a mother elephant would do with her trunk.
OUR VETERANS HEALTH
Our country’s veterans are our most honored heroes. We cannot thank them enough for the sacrifices that they make, have made, or will make to keep us safe and protect our country’s freedom. Therefore, it is important that we help them or inform them of all the ways that they can continue to stay healthy after they leave the battlefield. Their health is just as important here at home as it is abroad. After our country’s veterans return home, they should be sure to do all they possibly can to continue to stay healthy.
Eating Healthy
One of the most important things that veterans need to continue to do when they return home is eat healthy. After a veteran has been away from home for months or years at a time, one of the first things that he or she wants to do when returning home is drive by a fast-food restaurant. While a large, greasy hamburger is fine in moderation, the veteran should be sure to not make a habit of eating these foods. An unhealthy diet can lead to many problems including liver problems. If a veteran is unsure of the best type of diet that he or she needs, then he or she can contact the Department of Veterans Affairs to speak with the many registered dieticians that work with the DVA.
Exercising
Exercise is great for the veteran’s mental and physical well-being. A veteran sacrifices so much for his or her country. Being involved in and witnessing some of the events of war, a veteran can easily become stressed. However, by continuing to exercise, the veteran greatly improves his or her mood and reduces his or her stress and anxiety. With improved technology, almost all veterans have the opportunity to get exercise. Veterans who have been injured can take advantage of technological assistance devices to help with their exercise abilities. The Department of Veterans Affairs has many robotics that will improve the physical function of veterans who may have been injured.
Getting Physical Examinations
Regular physical examinations are so important for veterans to get. Being in different environments, being exposed to different smells, and being exposed to different chemicals, veterans should make sure they get their physical examinations to make sure they are healthy when they return home. Some of the chemicals that veterans can be exposed to may cause illnesses such as mesothelioma cancer. Also, during these physical examinations, many doctors are trained to determine if the veteran may need a mental examination from the stress that he or she endured while protecting our country.
When it comes to veterans, we salute them for all of the sacrifices that they make to keep us safe. We also encourage them to continue to stay healthy when they come home and enjoy the freedom that they have fought so hard for this country to enjoy.
SANDMAN HAS LEFT THE CITY
A battered cardboard sign sitting on the corner of Third and Orange reads:
THE SANDMAN HAS MOVED TO TEXAS
He gave one last interview before he left, he was short on words. “I am going to miss Coronado and the people who treated me nice, and maybe one day I will come back to visit.”
“What will you do in Texas?” I asked.
He thought for a moment and through a toothless grin he said, “I will become The Texas Sandman!”
Goodbye Albert and a fond farewell.
Thank you for leaving us all so many fabulous images of you art. They will always be remembered.
Al Graham
CORONADO DOG PARADE
I’m not sure where my love for animals came from. We had the usual dogs and cats growing up. In my teenage years, I grew fond of cocker spaniels. I bought one from a breeder. I didn’t have much knowledge of adopting back in the 60 and 70s but only knew of breeders. I had five cockers in all throughout my adult life: gold, black, red, tri- color, and red and white.
In 1993, I lived in Newport Beach when the horrible fires broke out in Laguna Beach. I moved to Laguna Beach in 1995 and in 1997 when the terrible rains and mud slides came, it basically flooded all of Laguna Beach and Laguna Canyon. All three animal facilities were flooded out and severely damaged. They were the Laguna Beach Animal Shelter, the Pacific Marine Mammal Center, and the Blue Bell Cat Foundation.
One day my friend Larry Wilson and I were talking about doing something to help raise money for these facilities as they needed so many repairs. Larry had just adopted a greyhound named Maui and had a great love for dogs. We brain-stormed and came up with a chili cook off and pet parade. So in 1997, the first annual Laguna Beach Pet Parade and Chili Cook Off was born.
Throughout the next 15 years, we raised approximately $225,000 for those three groups, and we became the largest family event in Laguna Beach averaging upwards of 400 to 500 people and 100 animals each year.
We created five categories changing them throughout the years as we would see few sign ups in categories such as owner lookalikes. We ended up with the perfect fit: Most Handsome Male, Prettiest Female, Best Costume, the Most Beautiful Rescue, and the Most Gorgeous Senior Pet (12 years and older). This seemed to satisfy all animal owners. I say “animal” because this was not just for dogs — We had cats, birds, rats, ducks, guinea pigs, and pot-belly pigs.
I returned to Coronado in November of 2011 and started noticing that Coronado was a very animal/dog-friendly town, and it seemed that there were more dogs than people here. So it was a no-brainer that this event would fit well into this community. I found out who the local animal charities were here and gave them a call. I met with them to see if this would be a good fit for my event. Of course it was, and then I was off to get all the players in place. First on the agenda was to see who might be the sponsor of this event. Being that I am a real estate agent, it only seemed fit to approach CREA (Coronado Real Estate Association). They loved the idea and so off I went. I met with Mayor Tanaka to invite him to be a judge for our event. I was thinking since he had just adopted a dog, he would make a great pet judge. But because of his love for food so he said, he also wanted to be a chili judge…love that. He loved this idea of the event and shared it with the city manager, Blair King. Blair also thought it was great and offered to co-sponsor with the Coronado Real Estate Association. Music to my ears, they donated the location of Promenade Park as the venue — perfect location and perfect place to hold our event. We confirmed the date of October 8, 2012 — This was a Monday and a holiday which meant kids were out of school and so we went for it.
In the meantime, I strategically picked judges for the pets and the chili — people that are highly respected in our community and that have a love for animals and chili. The chili judges were Police Chief Lou Scanlon, Fire Chief Mike Blood, Susan Keith, Mayor Casey Tanaka, and gourmet chef/cookbook author Jill O’Connor. The pet judges were Mayor Casey Tanaka, Dean Echenroth (owner/publisher of The Eagle/Journal), Councilwoman Barbara Denny, Leslie Crawford (Welcome to Coronado web site), and Melanie Parks (Wag ‘n’ Tails).
We had a beautiful day for our first event. 200 people showed up to taste six different chili recipes, browse through the vendor booths, and participate in the pet parade. We had 73 dogs and 2 cats enter the pet parade. We brought in proceeds of over $20,000 for the event. We presented a check to PAWS of Coronado in the amount of $14,000. A great day and event was had by all. Next year will be on Sunday, September 22, 2013 — Save the date!
Caroline Haines
Presenting Sponsor : Lynne Harpst Koen Family
The Coronado Real Estate Association and The City of Coronado….benefiting PAWS of Coronado Gold Sponsors:
Coronado Lifestyle Magazine
Eagle/Journal Newspaper
Coronado Brewery Company
Sharon Lynn Sherman (Attorney at law)
Willis Allen Real Estate
Park Life Real Estate
Lee Mather Co. Realty
Del Coronado Realty..Ruth Ann Fisher
Bronze:
Michelle Adcock, First American Home Warranty
La Jolla Termite & Pest Control
Flagship Properties
POOL DOGS
WEIRD ANIMALS
KOMONDOR DOG
Females are 27 inches (69cm) at the withers. Male Komondorok are a minimum of 28 inches at the withers, but many are over 30 inches tall, making this one of the larger common breeds of dog. The body is not overly coarse or heavy, however, and people unfamiliar with the breed are often surprised by how quick and agile the dogs are.
Its long, thick, strikingly corded white coat (the heaviest amount of fur in the canine world) resembles dreadlocks or a mop. The puppy coat is soft and fluffy. However, the coat is wavy and tends to curl as the puppy matures. A fully mature coat is formed naturally from the soft undercoat and the coarser outer coat combining to form tassels, or cords. Some help is needed in separating the cords so the dog does not turn into one large matted mess. The length of the cords increases with time as the coat grows. Shedding is very minimal with this breed, contrary to what one might think (once cords are fully formed). The only substantial shedding occurs as a puppy before the dreadlocks fully form. The Komondor is born with only a white coat, unlike the similar-looking Puli, which is usually white, black, or sometimes grayish. However, a working Komondor’s coat may be discolored by the elements and may appear off-white if not washed regularly.
AYE-AYE
The Aye-aye (Daubentonia madagascariensis) is a strepsirrhine native to Madagascar that combines rodent-like teeth with a long, thin middle finger to fill the same ecological niche as a woodpecker. It is the world’s largest nocturnal primate and is characterized by its unique method of finding food — It taps on trees to find grubs, then gnaws holes in the wood, and inserts its elongated middle finger to pull the grubs out.
TARSIER
Tarsiers are prosimian primates of the genus Tarsius, a monotypic genus in the family Tarsiidae which is itself the lone extant family within the infraorder Tarsiiformes. The phylogenetic position of extant tarsiers within the order Primates has been debated for much of the past century, and tarsiers have alternately been classified with strepsirrhine primates in the suborder Prosimii or as the sister group to the simians (=Anthropoidea) in the infraorder Haplorrhini. Analysis of SINE insertions, a type of macromutation to the DNA, is argued to offer very persuasive evidence for the monophyly of Haplorrhini, where other lines of evidence, such as DNA sequence data, had remained ambiguous. Thus, some systematists argue that the debate is conclusively settled in favor of a monophyletic Haplorrhini.
Tarsiers have enormous eyes and long feet. Their feet have extremely elongated tarsus bones which is how they got their name. They are primarily insectivorous and catch insects by jumping at them. They are also known to prey on birds and snakes. As they jump from tree to tree, tarsiers can catch even birds in motion. Gestation takes about six months, and tarsiers give birth to single offspring. All tarsier species are nocturnal in their habits, but like many nocturnal organisms, some individuals may show more or less activity during the daytime. Unlike many nocturnal animals, however, tarsiers lack a light-reflecting area (tapetum lucidum) of the eye. They also have a fovea, atypical for nocturnal animals.
DOG QUOTES
“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.” ― Groucho Marx
“Dogs never bite me, just humans.” — Marilyn Monroe
“If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and man.” — Mark Twain
ISTANBUL CATS
The Cats of Istanbul
DOGS DON’T KNOW
Dogs Don’t Understand Basic Understanding Like Moving
THE HUMAN BEAST
The Human Beast, by Nigel Barber, Ph.D.
Why are humans and dogs so good at living together? Do dogs or humans gain more from our ancient association?
Dogs have a special chemistry with humans that goes back many tens of thousands of years. Researchers investigated this special evolutionary relationship from a number of different angles. Their results are surprising.
The Social Unit — Domestic dogs are descended from wolves so recently that they remain wolves in all biological essentials including their social behavior. Wolf packs have some intriguing parallels with human families: They are territorial. They hunt cooperatively. Pack members are emotionally bonded and greet each other enthusiastically after they have been separated. In a wolf pack, only the alpha male and female are sexually active even though other pack members are sexually mature.
The social adaptations of dogs and humans are similar enough that dogs can live perfectly happy lives surrounded by humans and vice versa. Dogs are pampered with the best of food and medical care frequently sleeping in their owners’ comfortable beds.
A Family Member — Why do people lavish so much care on a member of an alien species? A short answer is that on an emotional plane, families do not see the dog as alien. According to John Archer of the University of Central Lancashire, who has conducted a detailed study of human-dog relations from an evolutionary perspective, about 40 percent of owners identify their dog as a family member reflecting social compatibility between our two species.
Dogs are extraordinarily attentive and have an uncanny ability to predict what their owners will do, whether getting the dog a meal or preparing to go on a walk. Experiments show that dogs and wolves can be astute readers of human body language using the direction of our gaze to locate hidden food — a problem that is beyond chimps.
Dogs also seem attuned to the emotional state of their masters and express contrition when the owner is annoyed, for example. Otherwise, the capacity to express affection unconditionally makes the dog a valued “family member.”
Domesticating Each Other? — Dogs were the first domestic animal with whom we developed a close association. Mitochondrial DNA research suggests that most domestic dogs have been genetically separate from wolves for at least 100,000 years so that we have associated with dogs for as long as we have been around as a species (Homo sapiens). Indeed, some enthusiasts including Colin Groves of the Australian National University in Canberra, believe that our success as a species is partly due to help from dogs.
According to Groves: “The human-dog relationship amounts to a very long-lasting symbiosis. Dogs acted as human’s alarm systems, trackers and hunting aides, garbage disposal facilities, hot water bottles, and children’s guardians and playmates. Humans provided dogs with food and security. The relationship was stable over 100,000 years or so and intensified in the Holocene into mutual domestication. Humans domesticated dogs and dogs domesticated humans.”
Relying on dogs to hear the approach of danger and to sniff out the scent of prey animals, our ancestors experienced a decline in these sensory abilities compared to other primates. This conclusion is confirmed by shrinkage of brain regions devoted to these senses (the olfactory bulb and lateral geniculate body).
During the long period of our association, dogs’ brains have shrunk by about 20 percent, typical for animals such as sheep and pigs who enjoy our protection. Domesticated animals undergo tissue loss in the cerebral hemispheres critical for learning and cognition. If we relied on dogs to do the hearing and smelling, they evidently relied on us to do some of their thinking.
If Groves is correct that dogs have domesticated humans, then the human brain would also have gotten smaller. Surprisingly, human brains have actually shrunk but by only a tenth suggesting that dogs got more out of the deal than we did.
I REMEMBER JIM MORRISON
Photography By David LeVine
DRIVER RESCUE DOGS
Three rescue dogs in New Zealand have been taught how to drive a car to prove how intelligent dogs can be, in an attempt to encourage more potential owners to come forward.
The drive for publicity by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals saw Monty, Porter and Ginny spend weeks getting to grips with the 4-wheelers, Sky News reported.
The dogs – a giant schnauzer, a whippet cross and a beardie cross – can change gear, steer and apply brake.
The dogs sit in a driving position on their haunches and respond to the instructions called out from the dog behaviour experts.
Animal trainer Mark Vette and his team began training the dogs by using a mock vehicle before introducing them to a real car – a Mini especially adapted for paws.
“We chain behaviours together… in this case we’ve got 10 behaviours we’re putting together,” Vette said.
“Then you put them into a sequence. It’s a lot to do, and for the dog to actually start to get an idea of what actually is happening takes quite a long time.
“So we’ll start the car, get into position, brake on, gear in place, back onto the steering wheel, accelerator, take off and hoon (=drive fast) along the straight and then stop,” he said.
However, Vette said that things did not always go smoothly when the dogs get inside the real car.
“A couple of days ago the car was going too fast, the trainer nearly got run over,” he said.
The dogs are scheduled to show off their skills on live TV in New Zealand next week.
For the final test they will also have to brake when they drive along a narrow lane.
Video: http://youtu.be/VKMOUwUugtI
GREEN MEANIES
By: Lynne Harpst Koen
Welcome to “New Hamptons”. My name is Godzilla. I’ll be your cosmic guide in how “The Green Meanies” completely wiped clean the carbon footprint of what used to be called “Coronado Island”.
But I digress…
Once upon a time, there was an “Enchanted Isle”. Some used to call it “The Crown City”. Now me being Godzilla and all, I love stomping out entire cities as much as the next guy, but I always keep it to the East, the Far East. What happened to Coronado was such a travesty not even my arch enemy, Mothra, would pull a stunt like that! It even bummed ME out, not to mention, the little woman was inconsolable.
Some old timers can still recall the “Camelot Days” in Coronado. The Green Meanies have since banished these people – also known as “locals” to a ramshackle home in the hills of yesteryear. The locals huddle together for warmth and tell tales of the good times when New Hamptons was simply Coronado. They talk of a time when magical ferries transported them to their jobs in the big city of San Diego as it was hard for the locals to leave their Emerald Isle. There were only so many jobs to be had.
The lucky ones got to stay on the Island! They worked at now mythical places like The Department Store, Perkins Bookworm, Bayberry Tree, Marco’s, Free Brothers Market, La Avenida, and of course, the old glory of Crown Town – the Hotel Del Coronado. This place used to be quite popular I’m told, but the Green Meanies needed the beachfront property to build a new jail.
Crime rates soared during the destruction years. The Green Meanies call them construction years. Tomato, tomato – back to our story!
The destruction process actually began around 1969. Back then there were few Green Meanies. They infiltrated slowly with the building of a massive eyesore of a bridge. The magical ferries were soon a thing of the past and “The Bridge” opened the floodgates for Green Meanies. The change had come. The Green Meanies came from far away – places with odd names of Eastern U.S. origin.
The Green Meanies were so excited to destruct Coronado, they barely ate or slept. They only saw green – their favorite color – the color of big money. Why should they care about the actual town or its people?
At first, the Green Meanies attempted to blend in with the locals. They quietly started buying up the Island. They joined groups and clubs and organizations making it seem like they really cared about Coronado. They saw GREEN! On the other hand, the locals saw RED!
Coronado was such a small, family-oriented town that everybody knew each other. The Green Meanies’ attempts to “blend” was a huge red flag to the locals. But the locals were a peace-loving bunch. They didn’t turn the Green Meanies away. The destruction had begun.
The Mom and Pop stores and restaurants were replaced with horrid chains. Sweet little Spanish casitas and charming beach homes were destroyed without a wink. The Green Meanies had no history here. What did they care? Stomp. Stomp.
The Crown City underwent a change so drastic that some of the locals had to be sedated. What happened to Coronado? How was the mass destruction even allowed? Some say the Green Meanies put chemicals in the town’s water supply in order to lobotomize the locals into submission.
As old Coronado went out, New Hamptoms came in as the Green Meanies grew in power and money. They also became much more public no longer trying to blend in. The once sleepy little town became what can only be compared to a battlefield of torn-down homes and empty lots.
Then came “The Men” — the men with large diesel machines spewing poison throughout the town. The men began to build a horrific array of Hampton-esque monstrosities where proud old Coronado homes once stood. The residents were warned not to stand in the way. Everyone had to wear gas masks and earplugs lest they got sick or went mad. Only the Green Meanies were immune to the pollution and piercing noise. Stomp. Stomp.
They gained momentum and could not be stopped or even slowed down for that matter. It was too late. The Green Meanies had come in and completely erased the entire history of a once-magical town.
But, the locals had their memories. So they secretly wrote books about Coronado as it was meant to be – how Coronado was a friendly, family-oriented town, proud of her military history and home-town values, a lovely place with mature landscaping and even an annual Flower Show! Kids used to actually ride bikes around the Island stopping to visit friends, playing in the parks, and swimming in the Ocean! Of course, none of this would ever be allowed now as the Green Meanies have banned all manners of fun and healthy recreational activities. Gone are the gathering places where the locals would sing and play. The Green Meanies have covered every inch of the Island with high rises that block out the sun. The once happy and healthy residents are now pale and frail except the Green Meanies, of course, who are greener than ever!
Odd thing though, even though the Green Meanies have completely destroyed an entire city, they’re still not satisfied. They thought that changing the name of the town might cheer them up, but they are meaner and greener than ever before. Some say they won’t be satisfied until they flip everywhere between the West Coast and the Evil East to their specifications.
The old locals say there’s still time for some places to save themselves. Their advice? Do not become brainwashed by the promises of the Green Meanies and their “Eastern Nouveau Riche Ways”. Stand up for your town! Implement a ban on construction/destruction! Encourage people to remodel! Make it worth their while. Give them tax breaks. Use Coronado as an example of what can happen when you’re not looking. If you all band together, you can at least keep the Green Meanies at bay.
Last and most importantly, when it comes time to vote, make sure it’s for powers that be who really care about your town! Make sure these people are properly backgrounded and given tests to rule out any green blood.
Go now! It’s not too late.
RIP Coronado.
“Money – So they say, is the root of all evil today.” (Pink Floyd)
DOG OF THE YEAR (back cover)
CORONADO’S ROCK ‘N’ ROLL – THE FUTURE:
OKAY OKAY
Members: Eric Castellanos: Vocals
Keniff Mors: Bass
Tito Valentino: Guitar
Austin Graham: Guitar
Joshua Charfauros: Drums
MUSIC HIGH
MUSIC HIGH is not just another high school musical. In the treatment, the story centers on a high school campus in the San Diego Unified School District which nobody wants to work at let alone attend. A teacher, who has recently ended up joining the faculty, comes up with an idea to give the kids a way to become unified and to improve the morale of not only the students but the staff as well. He decides to put on a music competition, but it’s really more of a “Band Off”. Hell High, as it is nicknamed, rallies the student body to perform eight musical genres with all the kids rallying behind their heroes. The producers of this upcoming major motion picture have selected one of Okay Okay’s songs from their upcoming CD as part of the performances for Music High’s Band Off. Not only will their song be featured in the film, but they are getting musical credits and financial incentives. Our Coronado band will have spots as extras in the crowd rallying behind their own song and maybe even roles.
Okay Okay performs locally with a strong following. One of their favorite spots to play is the Ruby Room in North Park. The band also plays at stores like Hot Topic, high school auditoriums, and private house parties. When not all plugged in, their songs arranged acoustically are very rhythmic with a lot of jazz-infused riffs. The lead singer writes most of the lyrics for their songs and has visions of writing a rock opera to feature the band. They have just finished recording their first CD to be released in the near future. Austin Graham, one of the two lead guitarists is born & raised in Coronado. Before joining Okay Okay last summer, he was a member of the popular “screamer” band, Casino Madrid, who rose to great popularity in the youthful population of San Diego playing mostly at Soma, a venue devoted to their genre. Okay Okay are staged and ready for a very promising career in Rock ‘N’ Roll. We are very proud of them!
You can visit their site, book them, or contact them at: www.facebook.com/okayokay619
www.reverbnation.com/okayokay and www.coronado-clarion.com
CORONADO “THE ROCK” ROVING ROCK ‘N’ ROLL REPORTERS’ REVIEWS
As Reported by Lynne & George Harpst-Koen, daughter, Jeanette, & the Graham Family (Albert, Kimberley, Ariel, & Austin)
Our roving Rock ‘N’ Roll reporters have been quite busy of late. Not only have we been attending local performances from the likes of Joey Harris and Okay Okay, we also rocked out to the cool sounds of Robby Krieger at the stunning Anthology Dinner Club in downtown San Diego. Following that extraordinary evening was a blues rock out with the legendary Eric Clapton at the former Sports Arena. Not getting enough rock yet, we headed for the Hollywood Bowl to enjoy one of the best performances any of us had ever witnessed: Stevie Nicks and Rod Stewart. Well, we also had to get a bit of old fashioned funky rhythm & blues in there, so the Grahams headed to the Forum for a night with Prince. We were all so thrilled with Rod Stewart’s performance at the Bowl that we are heading for Las Vegas to see him again this summer.
Huge Doors fan & huge fan of Robby Krieger & all things Rock ‘N’ Roll from the bygone era of the 60s, Jeanette poses atop Robby Krieger’s prized possession
In January, we witnessed one of the best jazz concerts ever by Robbie Krieger and his jazz quintet. Robby is best known as the lead guitarist of the Doors and wrote some of the band’s best known songs including “Light My Fire”, “Love Me Two Times”, “Touch Me”, and “Love Her Madly”. He is listed as number 91 on Rolling Stone’s list of the 100 greatest guitarists of all time, and he is also a Grammy nominee this year for “Best Pop Instrumental” for his album, “Singularity”.
The Doors with Jim Morrison as their lead singer sold some 80 million albums in the decade they played together. As a result, Robby has definitely earned rock cred to do whatever the heck he wants. And love it or hate it, what Robby wants to do is play jazz. It also doesn’t hurt that the jazz Krieger likes to play takes him down roads paved by greats like Django Reinhardt and Wes Montgomery and is born from his deep respect for some of jazz’s heaviest hitters. The rock ‘n’ roll purists don’t sweat it as his current band always throws in tribute songs of the Doors. Evan Marshall, a local musician and vocalist, sat in to belt out these tunes including “LA Woman” sending the crowd into a frenzy of singing and shouting along. Robby not only tours with his jazz rock ensemble but also collaborates with Ray Manzarek, the prolific organist of the Doors, in international tours.
Posing with lead singer, Evan Marshall, who rocked out some Doors tunes with Jim Morrison bravado
Jeanette’s photo op with Robbie Krieger as he signs her I-phone & collector LPs: It was an evening she will never forget & will go down in her Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame experiences
Eric Clapton
So, we gave our rockin’ & a-rovin’ a bit of a break after swinging to the sounds of Robby Krieger’s jazz and classic Doors rock for a month. Then we jumped back on our rockin’ wagon to attend legendary Eric Clapton at Valley View Casino Center. After having a scrumptious local Italian dinner at Il Fornaio, we headed for yet another evening of screaming, dancing, and singing with our teenage representation in Jeanette. Together we represented the young and the not-so-old or so we do think because our ages never stop us from having a great time and you would have to stop us to remind us that we weren’t teens of the 60s still.
Eric belted out some of his greatest hits, and of course, we all helped him “shoot the sheriff” as if we were rock legends ourselves. And who doesn’t love “Hoochie Coochie Man” as well as “Layla”, “Crossroads”, and without incriminating ourselves, belting out, “Cocaine”.
Eric Clapton is a three-time Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee. He enjoys the status as one of the greatest and most imitated guitarists of the past four decades. During his two-hour-long concert, he demonstrated his finely honed craftsmanship and effortless instrumental mastery. Now, 65-years-old, Clapton has mellowed and transcended into being a quiet and unassuming legend. He may have mellowed and transcended, but no one in the audience young or not has. If you ever get a chance to attend one of his shows, you will be exuberantly entertained. Now, we must go rest up for our next experience at the Hollywood Bowl! Enjoy video of the concert on our website: www.coronado-clarion.com
ROD STEWART & STEVIE NICKS LIVE AT THE HOLLYWOOD BOWL
“FOREVER YOUNG”
By Cheryl Schou
For as long as I can remember my life’s journey has had rocking, soulful Rod Stewart as a companion, a friend, and one who ignites old memories and continues to create new ones. As I hit the milestone of 56 this month, how incredible it is to see Rod still so full of life and passion, he is one serious inspiration.
My life with Rod began decades ago when he was with Faces. My high school friends and I would travel by car, plane, train, or bus to see him in concert. Yup, full-on groupies without knowing it at the time. When my best friend, Nancy Sparadeo, got her first dog, she was of course named – Maggie May! Could there have been a different name? We made our way through the junior and high school years inundated with floods of great bands from here and abroad. Ah, but when you have Rod as your true north, you flirt, but remain forever loyal and forever young.
I could bore one with pages of Rod memories, but I think it is better to keep moving forward at this juncture in time as he continues onward. I recently bought his “Songbook” CD that is Rod slipping into his Sinatra suave. It makes me crave a martini with two olives! How can a man be so sexy and so full of life at age 65? Doesn’t really matter; let’s just enjoy the memories and continue making new ones. I envy all who saw him with Stevie Nicks at the Bowl last week and I shall not miss another opportunity in the future. Rocking Rod is the music of life. Keep “sailing” and stay “forever young” Rod.
ROCK ‘N’ ROLL WILL NEVER DIE
By A. R. Graham
When some dear friends invited me to go to a rock concert at the Hollywood Bowl, my memories of the Sixties floated back like a band of affectionate ghosts. My days of large venue rock concerts had long since passed, and I felt that those days were simply memories, that were difficult, if not impossible to relive.
We walked from the hotel to the event on a warm Saturday night and stood amidst a crowd of 18,000 fans. It was a sold-out show, and as the sun went down, a full moon began peeping through the tall trees on the surrounding hillsides.
A sixty-five year old man grabbed the microphone and proceeded to transport me back in time. The performance was flawless and the songs never more vibrant. I stood under a full moon rockin’ my old bones and got lost in the sweet memories of my youth. The songs were somehow new all over again. The musicians were superb. The light show and the new sound technology were overwhelming and Rod Stewart never sounded so good.
“The First Cut is the Deepest” knocked me out. Stewart sang it with a heartbreaking melancholy invoking in me, sadness and happiness simultaneously.
Stewart gave it everything he had! We had such a good time, we are following his road show to Las Vegas in August!
THE PRINCE REIGNS!
By Kimberley Graham
Having been a Prince fan for decades, not for his diminutive, weird appearance or behavior, but for his charging rhythm ‘n’ blues-rock combination as well as prolific songwriting capabilities. With this in mind, I dragged my youthful children up to the Forum in Inglewood to live the Prince experience with me. I was a bit nervous whether or not they would enjoy themselves, and thanks to this artist, I was not ashamed or disappointed. I am not sure who enjoyed the show more myself, or Ariel and Austin, my young adult children. It was certainly a thrill to “boogie” the night away with them as it is hard to find events that we can all enjoy together with such enthusiasm. At one point, we were opting for a Disneyland experience instead, and at the last minute, we chose to do rock ‘n’ roll – what else? We were not the only ones having such a great time. Prince has been playing three shows a night at the Forum for a month and all are sold out. Each night, celebrities join him on stage to dance to his frenetic funk. On our evening, Halle Berry, Robin Wright Penn, and Susan Sarandon were up there amongst many others we couldn’t even keep track of. Well, I must say, I never thought I would still be dancing after 1999, yet I sure am. I think it is what keeps me “forever young”. One more note, I am 55 and Prince is 53. He put on a two-and-a-half hour show followed by three encores surrounded by a frenzied dancing auditorium of fans with an ocean of lighter flames which no “purple rain” could have extinguished. Who does this at our age? The Prince of Rock ‘n’ Roll, of course!
REMEMBER THESE DAYS: PARTIES AT 1132 GLORIETTA BOULEVARD
Where the heck were our parents? At the parties, where else? 1132 Glorietta Boulevard holds its own claim to fame as one of the ultimate Rock ‘n’ Roll destination spots for parties in the ‘60s and ‘70s. Whose house was it? The Dill’s house, infamously and fondly held in many Coronado citizens of those times as the place to be. We had a lot of great fun in this memorable residence as well as many “spooky” Halloweens with Janet Dill, being a very scary witch with great trick or treats as well as cauldrons of smoking dry ice. But the funnest part were the Rock ‘n’ Roll parties behind our parents’ backs or with and sponsored by them. The local police even tried to attend but we always threw them out. Long live these legendary events. We hope the kids of Coronado these days are having as much fun!
STILL ROCKIN’ AFTER ALL THESE YEARS: GEORGE KOEN
George Koen is a prolific songwriter and soulful lead vocalist, who records with the band, the Hammers, from time to time. George, known as George K, was born in Norman, Oklahoma, but was moved to Southern California at the tender age of two. As a kid who loved music, George grew up listening to a diverse selection of musical styles. His favorites were artists such as the Beatles, the Doobie Brothers, the Eagles, and Eric Clapton among others. He knew he wanted to be a singer and started his first band in high school with two of his best friends, Steve Simmons and Sherwood Ball. With big dreams and playing at all the local and high school events, they were quickly noticed and offered a record deal, but like your basic rock and roll story, band member personalities didn’t let it happen. George’s next band was Moxie which recorded three songs and included Eddie Bertrand, from Eddie and the Showmen and the BelAirs, on guitar. Eddie had several surf hits in the 60s. George and Eddie wrote and recorded for 20 years on and off and are still good friends today. George K’s next band project was Pax who were a regular at Busch Gardens and Orange County night clubs. His good friend, Sherwood Ball, worked with him in this band. Sherwood is the eldest son of the late Ernie Ball, musician and founder of Ernie Ball Strings. George and Sherwood grew up together and played in several bands from high school on and off for about four years. Sherwood is also one of the writers of “Flag of Freedom.” (featured in the Military edition of the Coronado Clarion www.coronado-clarion.com) His performing credits include Bonnie Raitt, Jackson Brown, and many other great bands.
Never one to sit still, George moved forward with a band called Diamondback, a country rock band based out of Southern California. Ben Arrington, the bass player for the group, and George quickly became friends. Diamondback opened for artists like Billy Preston, Paul Williams, Leon Russell, Jerry Jeff Walker, Hank Williams Jr., and many more. George sang lead on the band’s first single, “King Cotton”, which was a moderate hit with airplay from over 300 radio stations. But, like all good things; this too did pass. George and Ben went their respective ways but stayed in touch often. In 2007, George and Ben met in Las Vegas where George had recently relocated. George played several songs for Ben he’d written such as, “When You Wake” and “Running With the Wind”. Ben told George about the band he was in called Jerry McCoy & the Hammers and they began recording George’s songs soon after: first with some holiday songs, then with some good old rock & roll.
George said he got the idea to write “Flag of Freedom” from Ben who said “Hey, why don’t you write a song about freedom, independence, you know, the Fourth of July.” George thought about it for a while, thinking fire crackers and hot dogs. Then it came to him. Write the song about our founding fathers and how they gave everything for freedom, and how the heroes of yesterday and today should be honored every day, not only on patriotic holidays. Hence, “The Flag of Freedom was born. “Then we started on the circle of friends CD recorded in Arkansas, Nashville, and Hollywood. This took about a year to get the CD finished, but it came out great. It was the same cast of characters but this time, everyone got to sing lead on a couple of songs. This gave the CD a little different sound and something for everyone to enjoy with different styles of music and different styles of singers. Johnny Neel, Kim Morrison, Jerry McCoy, and myself each sang at least two songs and the others played there instruments and sang background. It came out wonderful. All but two of the songs were written by me. I am now recording ten more songs with the same musicians and will add them to the “Circle of Friends” CD as they are finished including a few sung by my daughter, Melinda.” – George K
Excerpts from: “I Remember” By A.R. Graham
COMING TO AMERICA
Beginnings: I met Anne Robin Morrison in London in the summer of 1966. Her father, Captain George Stephen Morrison, was recently promoted to rear admiral and was stationed at the Navy building next to the American Embassy. At that time, Anne did not know her brother was famous. He had disappeared in 1964 after attending UCLA.
Soon after we met, the Admiral was called back to Washington D.C to begin his new assignment at the Pentagon. Anne stayed behind in London and a few months later, we married. When Anne gave birth to our first child, Dylan, we left England to live in America: the Land of Opportunity.
THE ED SULLIVAN SHOW GOES UP IN FLAMES
When we arrived in America in the summer of 1968, we lived in the plush suburb of Arlington, Virginia. The Admiral was stationed at the Pentagon as the Vietnam War raged on. We were introduced to the top ranks of military society. We attended the formal naval functions and sat in V.I.P. boxes at military ceremonies.
One of Clara Morrison’s nephews was about to be married and was set for deployment to Vietnam. We attended a giant celebration at the family home in Silver Springs, Maryland on the day of the wedding. On this auspicious occasion, another dramatic and most incongruous event would intersect creating profound consternation amongst the guests. The event in question was that family institution, The Ed Sullivan Show.
The wedding and the reception were formal ceremonies. Top rank and highly decorated military officials in full dress uniform accompanied by impeccably coiffed and bejeweled wives consumed copious amounts of delicious hors d’oeuvres and pink champagne.
At the end of the day, everyone gathered around television sets to watch The Ed Sullivan Show, which only presented clean-cut, all American entertainment. Not long before, Ed had presented the world-famous Singing Nun, and her number-one-in-the-nation hit, “Dominique”.
What followed was nothing less than jaw dropping. As the show commenced this very special evening, the stone-faced Sullivan stepped forward and made his proud introduction: “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the wonderful Topo Gigio!” Topo Gigio was the lead character of a children’s puppet show on Italian television in the 1960’s and a very popular visitor to the program. Next came a violently patriotic men’s college quartet. They were followed by acrobats, jugglers, and all sorts of generic entertainment for the extremely traditional audience.
The show, or so we thought, culminated with Kate Smith, a mountain of a woman, who belted out “God Bless America” with such force it blew people’s hair back. She ended with a bang, but there was an even bigger bang, locked, loaded, and waiting in the wings.
Someone said, “Hey, this is a rerun.” Very soon after that, a cabal of women surrounded Clara Morrison and rushed her into the kitchen. The Admiral followed. He inquired, “What the Sam Hell is going on in here?” Clara’s sister was hissing and looking out at the most prestigious guests. Clara gave the Admiral the news and his jaw locked like a bear trap.
Before anyone had a chance to take action, Ed Sullivan announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, from Los Angeles, California – THE DOORS!” OH, MY GOD!! — the guests sat frozen like a paused movie. Glasses were in midair and the only thing moving was cigarette smoke. A woman emptied a bottle of champagne into her goblet, which spilled out onto the counter and down onto the floor tiles. She stood there like a statue in an overflowing fountain of pink bubbles.
Jim Morrison stepped onto the stage at the world famous Ed Sullivan Theater dressed head-to-foot in black leather (pants, jacket, and boots) with a pure silver Concho belt and a white Mexican peasant shirt. He had the long, dark hair of an outlaw. He started singing “Light My Fire”, which was still on the top of the play list of the nation’s charts.
Ed Sullivan had warned Jim that he was forbidden to use suggestive words such as higher on a live show. Jim Morrison sang the song with cool precision. When he got to the forbidden words, he didn’t yell them. Instead, he spat them out as loud and as hard as he could.
The military guests had all known Jim since he was a boy. So, to see him transformed from a well-mannered, well-dressed bookworm to a long-haired, commie, pinko, traitor, draft dodger, Rasputin monster in black leather was impossible for them to process.
Uncle Howard, Clara’s brother-in-law, was the first to react. He wiped the condensation from his steamed-up, golden horn-rimmed glasses and blurted out, “Look at those filthy cuffs on his shirt!”
Morrison ended the song with: “TRY TO SET THE NIGHT ON F-I-R-E!!!”
Everyone looked at each other again. It was as if they had all experienced a UFO incident and the frightening alien in black leather had disappeared.
A vice-admiral, who strongly resembled the great actor, Lee J. Cobb, and wore enough medals and citations to fill a trophy shop, slowly closed his eyes and started a silent belly laugh. It got louder and louder until everyone joined in. The whole crowd was laughing and laughing and laughing. Admiral Morrison laughed too. The crowd was doubled up not knowing quite why we were doing so. It was almost like a collective sigh of relief.
The marriage celebration and festivities that day were utterly usurped by another celebration. To this group, it was a polar opposite, and an altogether disturbing celebration. For it was: the Celebration of the Lizard King.
MEETING JIM
Admiral Morrison accompanied by his wife, Clara, drove to Dulles Airport to pick up their daughter, Anne, her husband, Alan Graham, and their new grandchild, Dylan.
For six weeks, the newlyweds lived with the family in the posh suburb just a few miles across from the Potomac River. A retired secretary of defense, a retired admiral, and a Pentagon intelligence official were among their neighbors – a veritable who’s who of Washington’s elite.
On the sixth day of the sixth week, the Admiral received orders to immediately fly to Coronado, California, in order to assume command of Carrier Division Nine Battle Group. He left the next day. Clara was left behind to pack up all of their belongings and have them shipped along with the rest of the family to their new home, wherever that might be. For military families, this is commonplace. These families are similar to a nomadic tribe who can pack up their tents in the night. By next morning, they have left no trace of their presence.
Anne, Alan, and Dylan flew on ahead to stay in San Diego, California with the Morrison’s lifelong friend, Commander Andy Richards. Los Angeles, Beverly Hills, and Hollywood were all just a two-hour ride away. So, the Graham tribe set off to find Anne’s once-disappeared and now-rediscovered older brother, Jim Morrison of the Doors. They rented a car and headed off for the megalopolis — Los Angeles.
On the way, Alan stopped to call information for the listing of Elektra Records in West Hollywood. He got the number, called the recording company telling them who he was in relation to their hottest artist, and that he wanted to contact Jim. They gave him The Doors’ office number. He called and repeated the request. The receptionist, after a shell shocked, ten-second silence, said, “Could you repeat that, please?”
She informed Alan that Jim was returning from a big concert in Texas and that he would be on the eleven a.m. flight from Houston to LAX. The Graham tribe arrived at 10:50. The following is a true life account of that meeting.
When Jim Morrison stepped off a jet at LAX in the summer of 1968, he was wearing an original World War II bomber jacket. Followed by Manzarek, Krieger, then Densmore, he sauntered through the terminal carrying an antique but cool-looking leather briefcase filled with his notebooks and pages of poetry and songs.
The Lizard King was wearing naval aviator glasses and black leather cowboy boots which rendered him utterly ridiculous and ultra cool in the same instant. He was ultra cool to any teenager back then, but equally repulsive to people like Art Linkletter, the famous television pitchman. As he strode along, Linkletter had crossed directly in front of Jim causing him to stop abruptly so as not to be bowled over by the obvious disdain the pitchman harbored for all things hippie.
Morrison watched as the rude, angry personality elbowed his way through the crowd. Jim adjusted his military/hippie outfit and said out loud but to no one in particular, “That was Art Linkletter. What an asshole. Ahh, never mind. I never liked him anyway.”
Linkletter had a colossal hatred for all druggies or radicals and was estranged from his eldest daughter, Dianne. Like so many millions of young people of that time, they were considered by their parents to be morally bankrupt.
His daughter had joined the ranks of acid dropping teens and was out of her father’s control just like Jim Morrison was. The very next year, Dianne Linkletter jumped to her death from her sixth floor apartment. Linkletter immediately blamed The Beatles for turning her onto LSD through their evil music.
Morrison grabbed his bag from the luggage carousel. As he turned to leave the terminal, a young woman with a babe in arms approached him saying, “Hi, Jim.” Manzarek, Krieger, and Densmore kept on walking for they had witnessed this same ritual a thousand times before. A young fan would spot the group and would come over to meet Jim.
Often the others would be ignored or thought of as secondary because Jim loomed larger than the mere Doors. He was a Rock-God-Idol and the others were his assistants. At least it was that way to millions of star struck teenage girls all over the world who would, and often did, throw their knickers at him and would have made love to him on the spot in front of God and all.
Morrison slowly put down his briefcase and was poised to sign another autograph, right? Not so. Not this time. Even though this beautiful young woman with long flowing hair and an adoring smile had presented herself before Jim, she was not offering him her autograph book. Instead, she was offering her baby for him to hold.
Jim Morrison had never autographed a baby before and he certainly had not held one recently, if ever. So, he was utterly flummoxed.
Morrison took off his sunglasses and blinked twice still wondering why there was no pen or request for the usual autograph. He looked again at the baby, and then, at the woman. He blinked again and again and again.
The Doors were now looking back to see if this woman was showing Jim Morrison the result of yet another romantic liaison from a one-night stand she and he had engaged in. Was she now demanding child support? In fact, this very same thought was starting to seep into Jim’s mind. The Doors decided that they would keep on ahead after all. As they left, they saw Jim holding the baby in his arms looking very confused. Jim looked at them helplessly as Ray, Robby, and John, disappeared like snow in August.
Jim’s eyes slowly returned to the woman, studying her face closely, and then, gingerly offering, “You wouldn’t happen to be my sister, would you?” Anne smiled from ear to ear. Speaking in an excited gush, she blurted out, “Yes, I am and say hello to your nephew. His name is Dylan Stephen and this is my husband, Alan.” Jim looked at the three of them for a long time before he spoke. This Rock-God-Idol was speechless. He could only stand there looking at Anne, whom he had not seen since he disappeared three years earlier.
Jim Morrison, Rock-God-Idol, was actually returning to a reality that he had abruptly abandoned when he decided to erase all connections with his family.
Now that very same reality, in the form of his sister as a married woman with a child (whom she had just physically thrust into her brother’s arms) was standing before him.
We all stood looking at each other. After what seemed an eternity, Jim shifted the baby to his hip and it was as if he had never been away from his sister at all. As he marched proudly through the terminal, he said, “Come on. I want you to meet everyone.”
We were in L’America: Los Angeles — Hollywood, California –standing with Jim Morrison in the summer of 1968 just before all hell broke loose and the whole shit house went up in flames.
We drove from the airport on a glorious summer day. Jim sat up front talking excitedly to Anne as if she was the one who had disappeared and he was trying to catch up on the news of her life. He never once mentioned his father or mother during the conversation, but focused instead on his sister and his little brother, Andy, and their lives. It was as if he needed several missing pieces to complete some sort of visceral jigsaw puzzle.
We took the San Diego Freeway north for a few miles, then west on the Christopher Columbus Transcontinental Highway (Santa Monica Freeway) to the City of Santa Monica.
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