This blog blurb features a song by The Byrds, from their Notorious Byrd Brothers LP:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqHb7RFpoxU
OK, here is the initial stanza:
“I think I'm goin' back
to the things I learned so well in my youth,
I think I'm returning to
those days when I was young enough to know the truth…”
My weekend of reflections in hometown Burbank, earlier this month, started with the airport shuttle to the Hotel Burbank: I was joined by the same SWA flight crew that I had flown-in with. It was their fourth, and final one, for the day. It seemed quite appropriate for this journey of rediscovery. Lots of traffic: an initial impression that remained throughout the weekend was that Burbank has many more people than it once did. As we passed Buena Vista St. a glimpse of a young 5th grader flashed from the long ago: giving a St. Christopher medal to classmate Andrea Liptak (she had lived on BV), and of course an accompanying memory of rejection when she later said adieu: bummer before the summer.
This got me to thinking of the trails I’ve trod since high school highlighted by: service in the Navy, studying history & archaeology (working in those fields), a 25-year career as a National Park Ranger/Special Agent (including decades in advanced emergency incident management) that got to speak-to-the-world for the US at an INTERPOL/UNESCO conference in Mexico City, working as an archaeologist for the State of New Mexico (NM), receiving a state Heritage Preservation Award from NM, working at Petra Archaeological Park and Wadi Rum Protected Area (UNESCO World Heritage Sites) in Jordan, and earlier this year an invitation to participate as an alumni in a 5-university (led by UT Austin) archaeological field school at Maya sites in Belize. I’ve been told I’m welcome to return anytime I desire.
So, trippin’: After settling into my 2-room suite, I took a short ride via Uber to McCambridge Park for a walkabout and stroll back to the hotel. Having just gotten out of the hospital for Cholangitis (5th time) on Tuesday: yep, side effect from battles vs. PC (pancreatic cancer), I thought Uber was a prudent option (Meme at home concurred). The first thing I noticed was water polo practice and training in the pool: which I thought was very good. Next I went inside the gym, where I’d spent many an hour playing shoot-the-ball and whiffle ball. It seemed much smaller than I remembered, but I was much younger and everything was bigger then. My next observation was many more tennis courts than back-in-the-day. The courts were active. It warmed the heart of this 10+ year College/US Tennis Assoc. Official (USTA), retired. Every feature of the park seemed to be used by young people. So, many youngsters: I thought this is really good, and different from what I see in New Mexico (which is actually very old). Besides the youthful flavor of the park participants I noticed it was a much more diverse dynamic.
Next verse:
“Now there are no games
To only pass the time
No more electric trains,
No more trees to climb
But thinking young and growing older is no sin
And I can play the game of life to win”
The Park was in use by late afternoon picnickers, a young ladies softball team on field #1, more basket-ballers on the outdoor courts, skateboarders, walkers-n-strollers like yours truly. I believe my Mom did commentary on ESPN for the Burbank Kennel Club when they had a dog show at McC Park once upon a time ago. On the southwest corner, is the Blue Star Highway Memorial. Since I was wearing my Southwest Area Incident Management Team poloshirt and a wide brimmed sombrero, I saluted. At field #2, the floodgate of memories opened: John Peterson’s (Pizza Pantry) two home runs over the tall fence in left-center against us (Aerol Red Devils); Bill Kuzma’s no-hitter (which I caught); a young fan encouraging me (I think it might have been Ken Ziskin’s sister Laura) to hit a home run – I struck-out trying to do just that (but, dated Ken & Laura’s cousin in college). Yep, time for another verse:
“I can recall a time,
when I wasn't ashamed to reach out to a friend
and now I think I've got
a lot more than just my toys to lend”
Walking back I ventured along Glenoaks Blvd., past the high school (BHS): I again noticed lots of late Friday afternoon activity. The baseball field where I had spent a few hours was in use: practice, practice, and practice: I thought, “this is very good and Go Bulldogs!” The track oval too, and the football field had a soccer (Futbol) scrimmage going: Dem Dawgs! Of course the gym where our basketball team provided many a thrill via their sweat equity is no more, but I could still see Don Ludwig (’64), Dean DeHart (’65), or Jerry Perkins (’65) getting the reb from a much taller opponent (Foothill League had several 7-footers) and passing it out to Jim Greenfield (’65) or John Gable (’65) for a nothing-but-net-swish… Yep, I’m goin’ back
“Now there's more to do
Than watch my sailboat glide
But everyday can be my magic carpet ride
A little bit of courage is all we lack
So catch me if you can – I’m goin’ back.”
Strollin' along Third St. I overheard 3 ladies. In my residential days you’d about always hear English (or occasional Spanish, most often from students practicing a foreign language), or the ughs & grunts that sometimes came from me I can still hear my maternal grandmother telling me to “stand tall, shoulders back and enunciate your words.”). The 3 ladies were speaking an eastern European language I did not recognize. Could it have been Ukrainian? It was probably Armenian. It reminded me of when I issued a “code violation” to a Belarusian tennis player playing for U-Penn. He shouted out a F-bomb and tried to claim he was making an excited utterance that just sounded like the prohibited verbiage; he then added he’d been misunderstood for this before. USTA and college tennis rules prohibited it anyway. The Hotel Burbank is at San Fernando Rd & Angelina- well situated for walkabouts. It is also noisy, at least my suite was: facing I-5 and the railroad tracks I was reminded of my “Kennel Daze” when we lived so close to the RR-tracks and San Fernando Rd.
On Saturday morning strolls around the hotel’s neighborhood showed various individuals and groups enjoying the downtown area. Quieter than Friday evening, but it seemed the day had potential for “a good day”. At the southwest corner of Glenoaks & Angelina I stopped in my tracks when I saw the Foster’s Freeze was still there in all its heritage glory. The countless times we were rewarded with a cone from its magic machine, and the universally shared experience of a youngster losing their cone to gravity and the sidewalk, curb & gutter (in my case only to have Mom arrive from the counter with a replacement mitigating a meltdown). Yes, I’m Goin’ Back…
“Now there's more to do
Than watch my sailboat glide
But everyday can be my magic carpet ride
A little bit of courage is all we lack
So catch me if you can – I’m goin’ back
So catch me if you can
I'm goin' back
La la la”
Seeing the street sign for Verdugo flashed me back to the house I shared with the Freeman Bros. (Doug & Lee) and some couch surfers (Ed King comes to mind) post-Navy. The SAC (Strawberry Alarm Clock) was trying to hang-on. I did a live recording for them at a beach club (The Golden Bear), but by far the most memorable fact was their equipment, that we kept in our garage, had the name of the owners stenciled on the back: The Rolling Stones. How I loved experimenting with that. Lee encouraged me towards music, but SAC sounds weren’t my interest. My day job was Lineman for PacBell, but that wouldn’t keep me in the Southland. My Dad was devastated, as he had plans for me: later I learned my parents wanted me to work for PacBell go to USC at night, get heavily into debt and be forced to stay and be vested there (I’d leave those plans to my two younger sisters). Maybe due to Navy wanderlust, I was ready for a move and “Fort Worth, I Love You…” came knocking one night. Pat Thompson, a friend & fellow Aviation Electronics Tech. from WestPac (USS Oriskany) was enroute home to “Cowtown” (his twin brother Mike and younger sisters). Pat asked if I was up to rolling the dice Texas-way. I didn’t looked back, and loved being back in the swing…
Time for some early Joe Walsh sounds (thanks for ALL you do for vets Joe):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zo0vBdlWQs0
Saturday afternoon I joined in with the annual gathering of a group informally known as “The McCambridge Park Boys” at the VFW. Made up primarily of BHS athletes from the 60’s, that had played-in-the-park prior, it included folks from our crosstown rival John Burroughs and some ladies from their Class of ’67. Reminded by Mickey DePalo of our champion flag football team: Kids For Christ, the truly original recipe KFC), I recalled we had practiced & played there. The team included longtime compadre Stephen Meyer that went on to play at Glendale CC & “The U” (Utah) as a Ute.
Danny DeMonbrun (“Danny D”, or “Coach D” as he’s been called the past 51-years: just retired) was there and shared a photo of the Pioneer S&L Pirates from 1962. What a talented roster (back row l to r: Bankston, Kuzma, Coyle, Blackwell, Coach Brisky, DeMonbrun, XX, Meyer… Baldino & DePalo in front row + more). I was with the Burbank Bullets that year (see previous blog post), but would join then for ’63 & ’64. The biggest surprise was seeing Leigh Hilt (QB1, BHS ’64). I hadn’t seen him in 54-years. I mused of the last time I’d seen him: de-boarding a PSA flight at BUR, returning from Vietnam duty to check-in with my parents in Nov. of ’69, I saw him meeting a flight attendant (gorgeous I might add). He looked at me and said: “That was my wife, we were married 42-years, 10-months & 2-days.” I could tell there was quite a love story there. (Later, I told him I remember he had flowers or roses: he said I had a good memory.) That evening was USC’s homecoming game vs Washington Huskies (USC defense again wasn’t).
Sunday’s outing was visiting the graves of my parents at Forest Lawn – Hollywood Hills, overlooking the intermittent Los Angeles River. Approaching the cemetery, you could see the Pickwick area equestrian areas where my sister Laura spent so much time with the California Rangers group. There was heavy traffic (OK, “a jam”) as vehicles exited the freeway and encountered wall-to-wall vendedores de las floras selling their flowers. My last visit there was on a Monday in August last year: I still recall thanking my Dad for so many “pearls of wisdom” over the years, like “If we’d waited until we were ready to be parents, you and your sisters would’ve never have been born”. Sundays are much busier, with remembrances and respects being paid & flowers being left. The deer have learned that and browse on the flowers on Mondays. After some minor name-tablet grooming and thanks I walked out to the front and hailed another Uber back to the Hotel. However, it wasn’t before thinking about the times spent watching street/drag races along the access road: we called it “River Road” back then. In the 60’s it was perfect for unauthorized racing: it was just over the river from Burbank jurisdiction and LAPD had to come from Hollywood, over or around the Hills to intervene. One Friday night I was cruisin’ with Spanky Cunningham (and others) in his milk truck, a good to-the-beachmobile too). I saw to VW’s up on the line getting ready to go off as I was thinking one looked like mine. As they zoomed past I recognized my ’60 bug and sister Chris as she quick shifted. Chris probably had a “Learner’s Permit” at the time. Then remembering the later tragic car accident Laura suffered with friends when they were hit head-on by one of two racers (a Ferrari, if memory serves). Laura barely survived, the driver of the Ferrari didn’t.
Monday was a long day: Ray Magee, a fellow ’65 Bulldog, collected me at the Hotel and took me to the Senior Bulldogs Luncheon at the Elks Club (Hollywood Way). There I was surrounded by so many cherished relationships. It was a day I’ll long remember and hold dear:
John Coyle (and Cathy '67), Kirk Harris, Tom Veatch, George Colvin, Rita Cardenas, Pam & Jon Kirkwood of the famous ’64 life-is-a-beach crowd (miles of smiles), and so many, MANY more. Some of course also en absentia, but remembered: Trudie & Santa of course. I can't begin to articulate the depth of my THANKS-to-ALL. Afterwards Ray gave me a lift to the airport and after connecting via “Lost Wages” airport I arrived back in ABQ ca. 10PM and was able to get home and by midnight to bed (“with visions of Bulldogs dancing in my head”)…
“Now there's more to do
Than watch my sailboat glide
But everyday can be my magic carpet ride
A little bit of courage is all we lack
So catch me if you can – I’m goin’ back
So catch me if you can
I'm goin' back
La la la…”
