Willard:
Well do you want me to give you a brief resume?
I will be 95 in August and I was born in Watts. I lived there until ’47, after the war, and came back to work, worked hard, and prospered. All in all I think I’ve done a pretty good job. I have one daughter Kathy; She has two daughters. One is a doctor, and one is a lawyer. She is married to a dentist. And that’s me.

Alexandra: So Willard, why did your family move out to California?
My dad was quite a guy. He married my mother, and I’ve never known how they met and so on, but he does tell me how he traveled with a circus and he made parachute jumps from hot air balloons. So I don’t know whether my mother thought that was quite a thing or not, I don’t know. He went to business school in Kansas City but he developed “consumption” (as they called it) and it was really tuberculosis. And the doctors told him that he needed to go west to drier and warmer country. They moved to Sonoma and he got a job on the railroad as a fireman. I really don’t know whether it was my grandparents who came first or not, nonetheless he got better and my mother was really a concert pianist and worked in Arizona in the Harvey house. Do you know what the Harvey house was?

Alexandra: No I am not sure what it was.

Willard: Well it was a place where people from the railroads would stop for the night and they had a dance hall and performers. My mother played for people to dance at the Harvey house. Then my father went into business for a short time with my grandfather White. Have you ever been to orange? Well you should go sometime. The story of orange is very interesting in orange there is a building that was a drug store with a restaurant in it. It is in the next block beyond the circle of Orange in the middle of town. This building was one of the first buildings built in orange. There was a dry goods store and my grandfather sold yardage and he was an interesting and small man who dressed properly. He always kept a pair of scissors in his pocket. And when he would lie out the yardage they would stick it on the end and he would use the scissors to tear the fabric. This restaurant, Watsons, you should go in there if you ever go, so we went over there a couple of times and I asked if I could see the manager and he came over and I told him that I believed that was the same building my grandfather started his business in. The name of it was CW White mercantile company.

Alexandra: Your daughter Kathy told me there were certain topics you knew very well. She said that you witnessed Lido Isle’s transformation?
Willard: The change is almost unbelievable to imagine. Santa Ana, where I really grew up, had less than 25,000 people. It was a nice little town and practically one hundred percent Caucasian, which is not the case now. Not that it’s bad or good or otherwise, but it has changed considerably. We always went and came down to the beach and my dad loved to go swimming. But in the early days there wasn’t really much as far as Newport Beach was concerned. So looking at it now, its really hard to believe that it could’ve changed that much in my life time. I do remember things back when I was four and five, and the county was originally was agricultural and English walnuts were a big crop. The walnuts were here before oranges. Probably about the turn of the century, but oranges became the thing, and everyone began putting in orange groves. It was wonderful, and in the springtime the orange blossoms were so prevalent that the whole area would smell like them and not like an exhaust system like the county does now.

Alexandra: Can you tell me about the earthquake along the Newport-Inglewood fault?
Willard: Yes I can tell you about my experience with that. I came home and my mother had the table all set, with water glasses along the table, and we were waiting for my dad to come home. There was a big jolt, things began to shake and I ran to the front of our house and looked across the street, and there was a big walnut orchard across the street. The walnut trees were dipping over and the things on my mother’s table were sliding off. The water had almost completely flowed out of the glasses. We tried to phone my dad, but we couldn’t get through because the phones were out. We lived on a fairly new street called Louise Street and we waited for dad. While I was looking for him, I stopped by our tire business, which was part of an old hotel brick building, and had entire parts of the walls were missing. It was mostly the threading equipment for the tires that held it the rest of the building. I finally found a man who directed me to where my dad was, but we had to take all of the money out of the shop since there was no way to lock it with it in ruins.

Alexandra: So how have the small business changed?
Willard: Well I think that most of the business back then were small mom and pop type things, we always felt that we were somewhat away from the big cities and big businesses here but they did become as they realized the market out here over hear and that made a big difference. It was nice that there were more jobs, not so much agricultural jobs so much as more manufacturing jobs and so on. But for the most part it stayed agricultural until after the war. The war had a tremendous impact on this area. The government began to take over and establish army bases. They also established the marine base. They established the Santa Ana Army Air Base, which is where Orange Coast College is now, and after the war OCC came in and began to take over the areas that were left and made them into a college. From that it kept growing.

Alexandra: How has the real estate changed here?
Willard: Land was much cheaper then, even way back to the ranchers. They bought their land, but they bought it for almost nothing. The Santa Ana Air Base was established; The Coast Guard, the Los Alamitos and the Navy Ammunition were established. Thousands of guys came through, especially to the Santa Ana army air base, which was a pre-flight training center. After the war was over the guys thought “hey this is a pretty nice area” and they decided to stay and came out in droves and the construction of houses started.

Alexandra: How did the area change when the free ways were built?
Willard: It made a huge difference. Los Angeles to Santa Ana was quite an undertaking before. You had to go up through Anaheim and Fullerton and then turn west where the road was called telegraph road. There were lots of cross streets and stop signs and it took quite a long time to get there. Now you can hop on the freeway and get there in forty minutes. Another thing you really must consider as a big thing for Southern California and Orange County was the water system. This originally was a desert and we did not have enough water, especially for what we have now, and Governor Brown put in the water system (and there was a lot of opposition to it). But he did get it through, and started bringing water from up north from the Sierras and that was a big thing as far as the growth of southern California. We had to have water.

Willard: I also would like to tell you about the only time I’ve ever seen snow in Southern California. We woke up in the morning and our yard was covered with snow and all the houses were covered too. I was so amazed I got in the car and drove to Newport where it was perfectly clear and I could see Catalina, which looked icy. I only saw it that one time in all of my years, but it did, it snowed.

Willard Courtney Interview: April 2010

Alex Stimpson is a student at Newport Harbor High School.

G.V. Johnson (1845-1928) left his MN boat building in the late 1800s, went to Seattle to continue and ended up in Newport Beach in the 1920s, building boats with his son, Marcus J. Johnson (1872-1950) and grandson, Kenneth M. Johnson (1903 – ?).  I know G.V. was involved with the Snowbirds sailboat and he started his business on a barge and ended up at “20th nr Bay avenue, Newport Beach” according to a 1925 city directory.  I understand Marcus Johnson may have been Newport’s first mayor.  I am particularly interested in finding out if Kenneth Johnson had children and if so, if they might still be living.  He is listed in the 1930 census as a boat builder in Newport Beach, but is a young married and no children are listed.  I have newspaper articles and a few photos of G.V. Johnson which Royal C. Moore’s wife collected in her scrapbook at the turn of the century and beyond.

I am looking for sources of information on any of the Johnson men, their families and especially, their boat building history.

Thank you for your time,
Lori Cherland-McCune
1146 S. 1000 E.
Driggs, ID 83422
208-709-0131
mcbears1954@hotmail.com

Author Gina Sammis grew up in NB and graduated from NHHS in 1976

A friend of mine had a 26′ sloop and we borrowed a hookah breathing rig, put it on the sloop and I tried to find the keel. The Harbor Patrol came by and said we could not salvage that area in a boat that might cause traffic hindrance. We sailed the boat around to the CDM side, anchored and placed all the gear in the dingy.

My friend and I are both above 6′ tall, the hookah and gear and placed the 5 HP outboard on the stern. We powered around the CDM jetty and were hit by the waves and it sunk the dingy with all out gear in it. The water was very clear and we could see the gear in about 20 feet of water. We swam back to the sloop, and sailed back to the area of the sunked gear. The dingy was upside down. I would hold onto the anchor and jump in to get to the bottom. Tied the anchor to various pieces and we brought them up. The only thing we did not bring up was my diving knife which I could see but did not have the energy to make another dive. I hope that whoever found it, had better luck than I did.

Ron Speedling

40 years ago May 23rd I was soon graduating from a local Southern California High School. It was a warm Spring Sunday morning. Perhaps because I was the middle child or perhaps because I was a High School Senior, at any rate my parent both agreed to escort me for a family drive to Newport Beach. It was a pretty big deal because I was without my own means of auto transport, actually my Mom had persuaded Dad to do this favor for his son, at any rate we drove down the San Diego Freeway into Orange County. I did feel   awkward because the reason for the trip to Newport Beach was practically impossible to explain to my Father. I had begged them to make an afternoon family outing so I could attend the special event that day, all I knew was what had been told to me by my Hawthorne High School friend, Tom Valentine. Tom was a avid Sailplane pilot who subscribed to the SSA magazine SOARING which displayed a small ad in the back for a upcoming hang gliding meet.

Up to that point in human history there had never taken place such an event as was too occur on a Pacific facing hillside in Newport Beach. But to find the exact manner of verbally communicating  to my parents, what a hang glider was. The only reference my father could possibly have had was if he had seen one of a half dozen odd issues of Popular Mechanix or Science & Mechanics or Popular Science  over the past 10 years with  articles about homemade one man flying machines or light weight  homebuilt gliders.
What was about to occur, what I finally convinced my Mother of was the sincere truth that indeed if they went to this “thing” they would not be sorry & I guaranteed them it would be worth the time, gas & effort to make this trip.  Along with the SSA magazine Tom had shown me the night before in his garage a hand printed “flyer” announcing this event so it had to be true. Of course my father being of the  right wing affiliation was more or less resigned to think this was some wild  crazy hippie experience that would be an utter waste of time.
On the drive down to Newport Beach I sat in the back of the Ford leaning up over the front seat feeling  like the tail wagging the dog, because if this turned out to be a farce & wasted Sunday afternoon …believe me I would not hear the end of it. After several vain attempts to locate the site of what should be many people on a hill somewhere near Fashion Island Mall , we managed to find our way along a rough spot on the road a gravel unpaved level section of what is MacArthur Blvd. Eureka …Yes! The event was a reality we could see a hillside of tall dry grass dotted with persons &  an assortment of “winged” contraptions. As my father parked along with a growing  mass of on lookers I couldn’t wait to get out of the car. My overwhelming desire to get a closer look at these airships & find my buddy Tom was quashed all at once when Mom said, …Neil, you don’t go up there you’ll only be in the way & I don’t want you getting hurt.” …Dad nodded in agreement so I was relegated to standing in the dust watching the Flying Circus at a distance of perhaps 200 yards.
That was the day, the day which now is recognized by the International Aviation Community as the beginning of the Sport of Modern Hang Gliding. The hand printed mimeographed handbill / pamphlet which gave a complete after action report of the event in great detail by editor Joe Faust one of 3 men responsible for the Vision & Foresight to dream up this event … “Never can there be another First Modern Universal Hang Glider Championship —opening to the world a refreshing renewal of that relentless desire of man woman & child to fly freely into the ether that is our home. All the purity of intention commensurate with the historic significance of the big event.
So it happened that I was one of about one thousand persons to witness this mostly unrecognized events in the history of aviation, of human flight & of modern technology it was to be known as-

The Great Universal Hang-Glider Championships -Celebrating the 123rd Birthday of  Otto Lilienthal –Sunday May 23rd 1971-  Keeping with the counter-culture spirit of the times when Sit-Ins & Be-Ins & spontaneous Hippie gatherings were common place this location had been selected at a last minute in an  attempt to avoid being entangled in a bureaucracy of formal red tape permission & legality. The actual handbill flyer gave Capistrano Beach as the original site of an upcoming man-kite meet, with the preface & stipulation that last minute changes may force this event to be moved to a more suitable location. Looking back & knowing my father as I do, it is a miracle that he agreed to sponsor this outing at all.

What remains is the fact of the matter the evidence of that event. The Los Angeles Times for Monday May24th 1971 carried photo of pilot from San Luis Obispo, John Hancock flying during the event on the cover of the morning issue.
Later the December 71 National Geographic printed an article with photos & a detailed story.
Far & away the best report is carried in an archive edition of Low & Slow magazine the publication of the Self-Soar Association (SSA) – edited by Joe Faust.  This is a part of a PDF document set of 6 DVD’s sold by the USHPA /USHGA as a Complete magazine Collection 1971 -2004.
We have a comprehensive list of those who received the tangible written certificates of award handed out & signed by Jack Lambie, one of the three organizers. About half of the flying man carrying airplanes launched or present on that hill were derivations of Jack’s “HANG LOOSE” design bi-plane hang glider, which he was selling plans through the US mail at the time for $3.00 a set. Jack, a part time middle school science teacher,  had used the biplane as a summer school student participation project the year before.  Several of the entries in the event were either students he instructed or from plans purchased & mailed out. I visited Jack Lambie, over 12 years later, in 1983, he had a large box up in his garage with stacks of ready to mail Plan Sets for the Hang Loose. He told me even after 3 address moves people still contacted him to buy Hang Loose plans.-

Now we have come 40 years, the world has pasted by what occurred on that Buffalo Hills Estates slope overlooking MacArthur Blvd. in 2008, I took a drive up to walk around through the wonderful peaceful residential park atop that hill. Knowing I was probably the only person who attended the “Otto Meet” of 71’ to  go back to that location since the Fly-In.  I send this story because it is my great hope that the memory of such an important historic event will now be brought to the attention of those living in Newport Beach.
It is my desire to establish a respectfully designated tribute marker that will recognize the historic place & perhaps a simple stone marker of granite will be placed nearby that hillside to give honor and dignity to such a worthwhile celebration of flight & human endeavor.

**** I have much more interesting details & background information concerning the (Otto Hill Fly-In of 71’)
AKA- The Great Universal Hang-Glider Championships -Celebrating the 123rd Birthday of  Otto Lilienthal –Sunday May 23rd 1971-

Signed
Neil Larson  USHPA  Charter Member #24 & first  SCHGA Historian
United States Hang Gliding & Para Gliding Association #24

The year was 1948. I was eleven years old. Summer was upon us. That meant that Newport Harbor was gearing up for the Flight of the Snowbirds. The sailboat race pitted 125 to 150 twelve foot Snowbirds (sailboats with one sail called catboats and usually built with a plywood hull) against each other. The race began at the Balboa Pavilion area and would proceed westerly to the end of the harbor, then return going past the Pavilion to the east end of the harbor, finally ending up at the finishing line at the Pavilion.

I had only learned how to sail the year before. Since I did not own a boat, the only way for me to participate was to borrow one of my uncle’s boats from his company, Vallely Boat Rental. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement. Scared would be the better description of my feelings. Eventually, I summoned up the nerve to ask my uncle, Roland Vallely. Roney, as he was called, gave me permission to borrow one of his heavy rental snowbirds, built out of Philippine mahogany. Of course, I would never be able to compete with the lighter plywood snowbirds of most of the racing fleet. My only chance for success was the special trophy given for the first rental boat to finish.

On race day, someone thought I should have a coffee can in the sailboat. That turned out to be a wonderful and essential suggestion. I started out with all the others in front of the Pavilion. Everything went well with the westerly wind, but when I started downwind, my troubles began.

The wind had picked up and the bow began to plow, bringing gallons of water into the boat. I quickly grabbed the coffee can and began bailing with one hand. The other hand was busy controlling the tiller and rudder. I had wrapped the sheet (the line regulating the sail) around the tiller so the boat could be managed one-handed. Even with all that effort, I was losing ground. The water was coming in faster than I was bailing.

The east end of the race course suddenly appeared and I was able to finally tack and stop the water from coming in. With lots of water in the boat, I passed the finish line. Did I win anything? No, I was lucky to make it back to the dock upright. This rocky start, however, did lead to a lifetime of enjoyable sailing.

When my father moved our family to Newort Beach in 1957 my brother and I were immediately befriended by a bunch of guys at Newport Harbor High.  One of the guys was Grant Hornbeak, a quarterback on the football team and an accomplished golfer (he later won the Club Championship at Santa Ana CC).

Horny (as we called him) had a ’56 Ford and drove us to school almost every day.  It was a 2 block trip.  He also lived on Lido Island where he had many contacts.  One of them was a Mr. Felton on Via Lido Soud.

Mr. Felton lived on the bayfront with his private dock and a cool yacht made just for fishing, the kind with a flying bridge and its own bait tank.
Mr. Felton fished every Friday with his buddy (I think his name was Mr. Jewell).

The boat came back covered with sea salt and fish scales.  Mr. Felton was a perfectionist and paid guys to clean up every Saturday.  Horny’s dad recommended the Roberson Boys for the job.

As high school kids in Newport we all needed a litte WAM (Walk Around Money) to buy Nui Nui burgers at the Snack Shop, Big Boys at Bobs and ice cream at Wil Wrights.  Working for Mr. Felton was our source of WAM.

The job was basically OK; swabbing the decks, wiping down the hull with a chamois and removing fish scales from the aluminum rails.  We were expected to be there at 8am sharp and were paid the same day.

Then came those autumn mornings when the fog hung like a cheap suit over Newport Harbor.  It was football season and the Harbor High Sailors just got pummeled by the Anaheim High Colonists on Friday night.  The last thing I wanted to do on a Saturday morning in November was to remove fish scales from Mr. Felton’s yacht.  I couldn’t stop thinking about those big Dutch farm boys from Anaheim running over the beach kids from Newport.  My sore muscles were a reminder compounded by the damp air.

Then Spring came.  The sun would break through and it was track season.  Time to put on the shorts and run for the Tars Track Team.  Also the time of year when young ladies preview the seasons swimwear.

And so it was that Mr. Felton’s neighbor, a Mr. Bergen, would come to his Lido Island vacation home from his place in Beverly Hills.  The Saturday morning clean up job became much more bearable.  Harbor High won most of its track meets and who could complain about working on a private yacht on Lido?

The job also had its perks.  Mr. Felton turned out to be a very generous guy and Mr. Bergen had a teenage daughter who would sun bathe on the dock while I removed the fish scales.

I didn’t know until later that the statuesque girl was Candice Bergen, star of the silver screen and television.

A pleasant memory indeed!

————————————-

The Author grew up in Newport and just moved back after venturing out to such places as Danville, Rancho Mirage and Laguna Beach.

Southern California in the 1960s wasn’t just a time and place; it was a state of mind. No where else in America could one find all the things happening in, around, and to you that came together in just the right way as they did in Southern California in the 60s. And I would venture to pinpoint Orange County within Southern California as the epitome of that special state of mind. My brother and sister and I certainly thought so growing up there during that wild, wonderful time.

Orange County is located on the coast of California on that last, long curve of North American coastline just before it disappears into Mexico. Bounded on the west by the Pacific Ocean, Orange County is relatively small and shallow, so what the locals unscientifically call coastal weather prevails throughout most of the county. Daily summer temperatures rarely rise out of the seventies and winter temps generally stay above sixty. The area is dotted with marinas. I remember my dad telling me in about 1965 that Newport Beach had a human population of 60,000 and a boat population of 120,000. That says a lot right there.

To the north is Los Angeles County and Hollywood, with a much wider temperature swing, literally and figuratively. The interior sections of California can get quite hot in the summer. In fact, locals joke that the temperature goes up one degree for every mile one drives inland. The July mean high temp for Newport Beach on the coast is 70, while the same for Riverside, fifty miles inland, is 96. LA County has a relatively small intersection with the coast (think Malibu and Venice Beach); most of the county reaches up and out into the more interior parts of California.

Higher inland temperatures can describe the political climate as well. In the 1960s, the riots and political unrest going on in our neighboring northern county seemed infinitely distant. South is San Diego County and Tijuana, Mexico, beyond, easy enough to reach for a night of fun and fiestas, but far enough away to not run into my parents. To the east lie Riverside and San Bernardino Counties, two huge counties reaching all the way across the state, home of both deserts and mountains, and the famous Grapevine downhill truck route, along which many a semi careened out of control with burned out brakes and praying drivers.

On most nights in Newport Beach in 1960, one could find my older sister Diane slouched comfortably on a couch at the Prison of Socrates, a beatnik coffee house where she regularly drank java and read her poetry on open mike night. Sis thinks that’s where she picked up her love of being on stage. Or maybe it was her early-sixties ballerina days at the Dorothy Jo Dance Studios in Corona Del Mar, a neighboring coastal community. Certainly Diane’s entry into the girl group frenzy of the mid-sixties fueled her love of the limelight. As a member of The French Sisters trio, she sang and performed up and down the coast of California at county fairs and tiny clubs, though she was neither kin nor sometimes even friends with the other two, often-changing girls in the group.

Photo courtesy of Tales of Baboa: Click Here

The French sisters had to go out of Orange County to sing, says Sis. They weren’t big enough to headline at the Orange County Fair, as Blood, Sweat and Tears or the Ike and Tina Turner Review did in the 60s. Mom and I had to travel to the San Mateo Fair in Northern California to see her perform. When not at the Prison of Socrates, Diane hung out at the Rendezvous Ballroom just down the street on the oceanfront, where the Righteous Brothers got their musical start in the early sixties. The Balboa Peninsula home of the Big Dog surf bands hosted such rock, roll and surf names as the Bel-Airs, the Nocturnes, Jan & Dean, and Dick Dale (King of the Surf Guitar) before it burned to the ground in 1966.

Although Diane and I didn’t surf, our brother Mike did. He towed his long board behind his bicycle down to the beach mornings and after school to ride the wild surf just like in the Beach Blanket Bingo-type movies. In fact, Diane was more like the Annette Funicello character in those movies, who sang and danced her way into Moondoggie’s heart. I imagined myself as Gidget, riding those enormous waves seemingly without effort. Living in Southern California in the 60s and watching parts of our lives unfold on the screen made us think the rest of the world was the same way. It came as quite a shock to me that kids everywhere didn’t surf and sing and roast hot dogs on the beach! Orange County is home to Huntington Beach, where world surfing championships have been held since the 1950s, and Newport Beach boasts the Wedge, the most dangerous spot to surf in America. Dick Dale and His Deltones got started in a house overlooking The Wedge, where both surfing spot and house can still be seen today. Cowabunga!

Disneyland in the 1960s was another amazing Orange County cultural phenomenon that could never be duplicated anywhere or any time. There are words that entered the English language because of Disneyland. When the theme park first opened, one had to purchase ticket books to go on rides, featuring tear-out coupons for rides and attractions lettered A through E to indicate both value and quality. The term “e-ticket ride” came to describe something of high worth or importance, and is still in use long after Disney abandoned the ticket books in favor of a one-price entrance fee. Similarly, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride was the name of an early attraction featuring a huge frog and old-time jalopies that carried adventurers on a jostling, seemingly danger-filled but staged route. “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride” is today a tongue-and-cheek reference to an experience that is unexpected and filled with danger or uncertainty.

At Disneyland during the 1960s, Tomorrowland could still thrill us with visions of what the future might hold, with The Rocket Ship, the sleek, futuristic-looking cars on the Autotopia, and General Electric’s House of Tomorrow. By the late seventies, Disney abandoned trying to second-guess progress. The House of Tomorrow couldn’t keep up with technology, and after the first moon landing, the Disney rocket ship was woefully inadequate. What was just a dream one day was common knowledge the next, it seemed.

Disneyland wasn’t the only important tourist attraction in Orange County, then or now. Father Junipero Serra founded Mission San Juan Capistrano, known as the Jewel of the California Missions, in 1776. Famous for its beautiful courtyard gardens and legendary Return of the Swallows on March 19th of each year, the mission is, as it was in 1960, the third most visited attraction in Orange County, behind only Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm.

Politics figured in Orange County’s 1960s persona as well. Then-President Richard M. Nixon, from Yorba Linda, California, had what the press called his Summer Whitehouse or Western Whitehouse in San Clemente, also in Orange County. He had a personal effect on us as well. President Nixon attended the wedding of his niece at our church [St. Andrew’s Presbyterian in Newport Beach], and the ministers were never the same after that. One attributed his becoming a virtual overnight blonde to revelations in the Holy Land he experienced just after Nixon’s visit. We figured he just ‘went Hollywood’ after Nixon put his church on the map, so to speak. Politics and tourist attractions came together in 1959 when then-Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev visited Disneyland. That kind of thing could never happen today. The logistics alone would be a nightmare.

Orange County in Southern California in the 1960s was a time and a place that together formed a cultural phenomenon that was unique. The geography, the physical and political climate, Beatniks, surfing, and Khrushchev in Disneyland . . . Orange County was, and is, amazing! That Orange State of Mind, a term that Orange County itself uses in promotional literature, could not have been created in just the right way anywhere else or at any other time, for us and for the county. After all, what can you say about a county that boasts the only airport in the world named after an actor, John Wayne Airport? Unless you count Ronald Reagan Airport (Virginia’s DCA), but I like to think that one was named after a politician rather than an actor. You know we elected him governor in 1967, right?

The author and crush Pete Swanson, 1967

—————————————–

Suzanne St. John, the former Sue Herring, grew up in Newport Beach, California, in the Swingin’ Sixties. After dropping out of Newport Harbor High School in 1969 just two months shy of graduating, Sue took off in her VW, where she tuned in, turned on, and yet somehow recovered from those wonderful, wild times to become Suzanne, who is just completing her Master of Liberal Arts at the University of South Florida. She is a Florida Scholar and self-proclaimed Swingin’ Sixties in Southern California Expert.

By
Don Russell

It seemed like Balboa and Newport beaches had the magic draw for high school kids. They came from all over Southern California to cruise Newport in their aging cars and hot rods, despite the limited gas due to rationing during the war.

It was amazing how little money it took to do Easter Week. I can remember meeting in front of Hollywood High with our club guys, The Athenians. Gene was riding in my ’32 Ford fender-less hot rod and showed up with 35 cents. Bob was in his ’34. Louie was in his ’34 Ford roadster and Ed with his ’32 five window Ford Coupe. And nobody had much dough.

Due to our limited resources, we had to scrounge, like taking some Whittier High girls out and talking them into letting us sleep in the garage of the house they were renting on the peninsula. When we got kicked out of the garage by the owner, we slept on the hard sand in sleeping bags.

There were a few square blocks of these little yellow bungalows, located up a few blocks from the Balboa Ferry. We slipped into one of them one night when it was raining like heck. They were in disrepair and the roof leaked water heavily down on us. Fortunately, there happened to be a box of Kotex that we managed to force into the beaverboard ceiling. By jamming the wadding into the leaks, we managed to cut down on the heavy spots and stay dry!

All we ate for every meal were glazed donuts and milk from the bakery just down the street from the Pavilion. In an effort to find some food, we parked on a short block behind the Balboa Fun Zone. The Fun Zone had fun games and rides, bumper cars, a Ferris wheel, a merry-go-round and food stands. It was crowded, jammed with kids and a lot of servicemen on liberty or leave from the War. And it was noisy. The ‘Strip Polka’ was a favorite 78-RPM record at the time, blaring loudly, with everyone singing along. “Take it off! Take it off!” yelled the boys in the back. The Skee Ball game sounds were loud, along with the music of the Merry-Go-Round that came right through the thin walls, more to add to the blaring sounds of the fun seekers everywhere.

One of the amusements was a high tower with a large bell on top. Light bulbs on each side went all the way to the top with a large bright light above the bell. The object was to hit the bell by striking a large wood and rubber hammer onto a balance beam. The thrust would send a metal weight up a groove ending at the bell. With a hard enough hit, the bell would ring at the top. If it hit, a watermelon was the reward.

Nobody was hitting the bell that cost 10 cents a try. This went on and on. As we watched, we started thinking of a way to hit the bell. The crooked guy running the game had a secret adjustment that he could allow the bell to hit or not.

In our devious plan, we got Rex, our biggest guy, as the contestant, and we pooled our money for a few hits. To insure our investment, Bob assured us that he could hit the bell with a marble, shot from a slingshot that he had acquired from one of the concessions.

Rex was a big, powerful guy and when he stepped up, the crowd cheered and gathered along the Midway. One guy yelled, “I’ll give you five bucks if you ring it,” and he held up the fiver.

Bob, with the slingshot, was off in place and Rex drew back with all his might and swung the hammer. Bob hit the bell and it clanged loudly!!!

The guy gave Rex the five bucks and the crowded yelled and cheered. The crooked guy running the game looked confused and reached down to alter the adjustment, as the crowd yelled “One more time!!!’

Gene held the watermelon, as Rex got ready again. He hit it harder than the first time and as it headed up, Bob was ready with the slingshot. To the surprise of the mob, the huge light above the bell blew apart into a million pieces, showering down — Bob had missed the bell and hit the light!!!

The game guy spotted Bob with the slingshot and went after him. Bob ran up some side steps to the roof and cut along the top of the Merry-Go-Round, but as he did, he crashed through the canvas cover, falling onto the wooden horses. Bob managed to flee from his angry pursuer and cut back to the street where I was parked, ready to roll. Bob jumped in and they sped away as the man rushed at them.

It was a good caper as Rex had the five bucks and we got a few watermelons more in the confusion. We were able to survive a few days more.

I obtained a paper route, and found that one high
school teacher (who shall remain nameless) was on
the route, and she was very particular that her paper
be delivered up on her second story balcony.  I did
just that, but at the end of the first month, she didn’t
pay her bill.  Being a small, astute business manager,
I just threw the paper downstairs during the second
month.  But little did I know that she was terrible in
paying her bills.  I terminated delivery after the
second month.  She complained, and I told her to
pay the two months in arrears, and one month in
advance, and I would resume paper delivery.

She declined.   So when I entered high school, I
went to the vice-principal, and requested that I
not be assigned to her classes.  He was amused,
and honored my wishes.