'67: Texas to L.A. (and back)

In December of 1967 four young Navy Airmen, 19-20 years old, “taxied” out of the Naval Air Station (NAS) Corpus Christi, Texas in a prime cruise-mobile (Ford Fairlane) headed to the Los Angeles area on leave from the “line crew” at VT-27, a training squadron where naval aviators honed their multi-engine skills flying the Grumman TS-2, an antisubmarine warfare aircraft. Heading west by northwest, there were four of us: 3 white & one black. Our intention was to drive straight through, swapping drivers as we proceeded home for the holidays. Much of the west Texas travel was on US 90 through Del Rio, Langtry, Sanderson and many miles of openness north of Big Bend country.

We hit a snowstorm a little east of Alpine, and by the time we got to that town it looked like its name – it was covered with a layer of white-stuff and snow was blowin’. We pressed slowly on, creeping west and by the time we hit the “west Texas town of El Paso”, near midnight, I-10 was closed down, at least to vehicles that did not have tire chains. Most of us, at least 3, were unaware of Texas’ “Jim Crow” laws, and that a little over a decade before a black physician (Dr. Beck) had been denied rooms in that very city. Yes, the lingering vestiges of our influences on the Third Reich were still with us. The car’s owner, we’ll call him Tom, and I went to a motel’s office and scored shelter- from the storm. The next morning our quartet was able to buy and apply chains that enabled us to continue our westerly sojourn at a remarkably slow pace for our foursome from SoCal. Near the Arizona border we were finally able to shed our chains and motor-on in haste: looking forward to family & festivities.

At the same time: to our east in College Station, TX the Texas A&M football team, winners of the Southwest Conference, was preparing for their battle against Alabama (and their former coach Paul “Bear” Bryant), in the ’68 Cotton Bowl. Little did I know that James T. (JT) Reynolds was a member of that squad, probably practicing as we drove towards the Pacific Ocean. JT & I would eventually be National Park Service (NPS) Ranger colleagues, wearing NPS green-n-grey. At present though he and Sammy Williams, who were “The Integrators” (the first black players in the Corps history) of Texas A&M football: I’ve also heard they were the 1st for the SW Conference, and they were busting-their-butts with the teammates prepping to play The Tide come January 1. The Aggies were very much the underdogs.

When the young Navy personnel hit L.A. we started going separate ways. Three of us were taken to my parent’s place in Burbank. Tom went to wash his car before his Father saw the trip’s road grime, while I took my squadron mates to home rendezvous pick-up spots in Baldwin Hills (west L.A.) and Porterville, CA (where fruit groves were freezing and we helped with smudge pot placements). Driving home, in my parent’s kennel van, that we used to move some of those pots, the roadsides appeared to be lined with snow. Though I knew they weren’t, in the dark, due to fatigue and having driven and ridden in the snow during our trip I saw snow. We were supposed to ride back with Tom to Corpus, but I received an offer from my Dad that was hard to refuse: if I stayed for the ’68 Rose Bowl (USC vs. IU) he’d get us tickets, pay for me to fly back to Corpus Christi and give me $100 expenses money. This was a lot for this “Airedale” (Navy slang for aviation folks). He said it was for Mom, that she’d like me to stay around a few extra extra days, but I know it was for both of us too.

At the Rose Bowl on New Year’s Day we watched O.J. Simpson and the USC Trojans dance & prevail 14-3 over the Hoosiers.

Earlier that day the Texas A&M Aggies upset heavily favored Alabama 20-16 in the Cotton Bowl, while JT and Sammy watched far from the sidelines. Though they were credited by their coach (Stallings) for helping with the victory, JT & Sammy weren’t allowed to be there and play due to “unacceptable lodging” factors = vile “Jim Crow” laws. So, while a young man from a working/middle class family that was white got to go to Rose Bowl, two young men that had sweated and bleed with their team were not permitted to be there because they were black.

Their young (32-years old) coach undoubtedly had a lot on his plate, but was apparently MIA in this civil rights effort to fight-for-right. 1968 could have started with promise and hope, but as a sign-of-the-times, and a year that changed my worldview, it instead traveled a trail of unrighteous sadness with the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Presidential candidate Senator Robert F. Kennedy, and “The Whole World is Watching” Democratic Party Convention in Chicago.

JT Reynolds has been an honest, intelligent & just man all the time I’ve known him. He had an extraordinary career with NPS and was part of the heralded “Yosemite Mafia” that left positive imprints throughout the National Park system during my days; he was an instructor at the Horace Albright Training Center, a Regional Chief Ranger and on the Oversight Committee for the Interagency ARPA Task Force which I was lucky enough to be part of. In addition, he was a park manager and superintendent at Death Valley National Park before retiring. To this day, for JT & Sammy, I’m humbled to say: “Gig ‘Em” and “Fight On!”

Returning to base, at the baggage area of the Corpus Christi airport I was asked by a uniformed Coast Guard pilot if I needed a ride out to the NAS. I gratefully accepted. He was driving a late model mustang convertible, and as it was a “rag top day” and the top was down, I remember thinking “life is good”. As we approached the east gate I mentioned it was odd that he had an “Enlisted” sticker on his car. He then told me he too was an enlisted man, but he had this officer’s uniform he used while traveling. I immediately thought “this doesn’t sound good… or legal”. He also said that I’d visibly help sell the situation being an airman. At the gate we were waived through and when the guard saw the driver wearing an officer’s uniform he saluted. My trip home went without further incident.

Dr. Bruce C. Newlin

We recently traveld west to the Burbank/Glendale area for a couple days of rememberance for my "Uncle Bruce". He & they were special: cousins Heather and Amanda Newlin planned and executed a wonderful tribute to their extraordinary father. I was also happy to see a quorum of my cousins (all but, two made the trip). Here are some photos and my thoughts-n-words I shared during the day. Forever in our hearts, Uncle Bruce...

Dr. Bruce C. Newlin “A reading from the ‘Book of Bruce’: and the greatest amongst these is LOVE” (My last trip to SoCal I told him “Next time we’ll both wear our cowboy hats.” This is for you Bruce…) Good morning: I’m Phil, one of Bruce’s nephews, THANK YOU for being here, and allowing me to share some of my memories of a very special person. I’ll attempt to provide some family context (the historian & archaeologist in me). My mother, Margaret, was Bruce’s oldest sister. Though she had her own accomplishments, my Mom was always extremely PROUD of her younger brother Bruce, and from my earliest years I remember him as a role model extraordinaire, a true Renaissance Man.

“Bruce, Bruce, Oh Bruce, we loved you man…” I’ve been saying that a lot the past couple of weeks- followed by “We learned to be Cool from You…” (Jimmy B. – lyrics available)

Some Early Adventures: “Uncle Bruce,” though born in northern New Jersey, was destined NOT to be a “Jersey Boy”, but like many of his contemporaries migrated to California in the 1930’s. At almost age 5 (in ’39) he traveled across this land, going coast-to-coast with his older brother Larry, who was a freshly-minted 20 at the time. Needing to stop every 2-hours for radiator water and rest, the trip took 2-weeks. It probably wasn’t a Clampett or Joad family-esque trip, but when I think of the TV & movie depictions of that great migration, I picture Larry & Bruce headed west. He became a Californian. With his mother & family, he eventually lived in a small home on a one-block street called East Orange Grove: mid-block from GHS & Carr Park, and on his bedroom wall he had a beat generation mural - most people would have a poster or picture, but he had a larger than life mural painted by a friend. It was an oversized abstract of a right-handed pitcher with baseball in hand. If it still existed today it would be quite a collector’s item.

Bruce was an athlete, a sportsman, and a coach: drafted in his teens by the Yankees in the early 50’s, as a pitcher - think Whitey Ford & Mickey Mantle: it was a testament to his abilities. Due to a career ending off-season shoulder injury, while playing football on the beach, he moved on and upward in the ever-important field of education. It worked out! Bruce, “We learned to be Cool from You…”

The first time I attempted to catch Uncle Bruce, was when I was transitioning from Little League to Pony League. It was 1960, so he hadn’t thrown in a while: his fastball still had zip on it (strike one!), and his curve ball was like nothing I’d seen to that point: headed towards the batter’s head and then breaking over the plate (strike 2!). Plus he could throw a change-up and knuckleball (strike 3!). Bruce, still had it, and Bruce, “We learned to be Cool from You…”

My cousin Nancy recalls a time during the early 60’s also: “we were all at Grandma’s house in Glendale, my Dad (Larry) & Uncle Bruce wanted to play tennis at Glendale High. They told me to come with them to be their umpire! I said sure: as they started playing tennis, I yelled ‘OUT!’ They both said ‘that wasn’t out’. I said that’s it, I’m never going to be my Dad & my Uncles ref again‼” Nancy, as a college & USTA official for 10+ years, I know everyone sees it differently. Plus, they were probably calling the doubles lines – older people do that...

While working at John Thomas Dye school in Brentwood, Bruce took an overly shy introvert, that was being raised in an AKC dog show kennel, and blended him in with some of his students for Saturday athletics at UCLA and the L.A. Coliseum – something I still remember fondly. Bruce’s career in educating young people was remarkable: as I read his 7-page resume (available on-line) I thought: “yes siree, that’s my Uncle Bruce.”

Many Facets of Bruce: Leaving us peacefully on April 27th (Meme's & I state sanctioned wedding anniversary) I was blessed to have been able to caress his warm brow. Just look around here we see he was a Loving Husband & life-partner, a Father, Grandfather, (Son & Brother), & Uncle that will be fondly remembered and greatly missed by so many! Bruce was a Scholar, an Educator, Teacher (aka: Rabbi/Imam) he made a great Colleague & Co-worker. As a teammate & team builder, he was a Mentor and a Life-Coach: he was a role model for so many. As a Collaborator, he built lasting & working friendships: an example, being as a UCLA Bruin he shared 48-years with the “love of his life” Karin, life-long USC Trojan, true “California girl”. The term “love of his life” is often overused, but not in this case: their caring, intelligent and loving daughters (Heather & Amanda) are testament to that. Our thoughts and healing hearts are with them today and evermore… Bruce, “We learned to be Cool from You…”

Bruce was also a lifelong student of history and the human condition: he shared that passion with us. I, for one, was a history major in college, and it took me into the archaeology of China as a graduate student. Thank you Bruce! When I discovered that history & archeology could lead to a career with the National Park Service (NPS), I was again indebted to my “Uncle Bruce.” More than once during stress-filled adrenaline pumping times (think managing wildland fires or undercover operations) I thought of Bruce: Bruce, “I learned to be Cool from You.” (Well, I tried…)

Fast forwarding 1-2 decades this Ranger became a Special Agent with an interagency task force recovering and repatriating artifacts and special objects (art). My undercover name was Mike Newlin (I wonder where I got that family name). When I shared that with Uncle Bruce, he thought it appropriate. Once, as I looked out at the NPS SA’s that had assembled at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center for our annual refresher, I noticed a sea of Hawaiian shirts and thought: “Uncle Bruce has really caught on here”. At two consecutive Intermountain Chief Ranger's Conferences, when I introduced myself to young Rangers accompying their Chiefs at the mixer I received a double lool with: "You're Phil Young, you're a legencd." After the first time I shared that with Uncle Bruce and he pointed out that "You're a legend in your own mind." An outstanding point. The 2nd time I said: "No, that'd be my Uncle Bruce..." When I was asked by our State Dept., via our NPS Washington Office, to present at an INTERPOL/UNESCO conference on Stolen Cultural Property in Mexico City, I was able to speak “to the world” about “returning the sacred”. I thanked many that day and one was my “Uncle Bruce!”

Bruce freely shared his memories: once when I was on fire assignment on the Wenatchee National Forest, because Bruce had regaled me with his days pitching for Wenatchee, I actually sought out and found a local fan that said he remembered him. Another time, while Bruce & Karin were visiting the Santa Fe area where I live with an educational management think tank group, Bruce recalled playing in the Texas League and flying into Los Alamos, New Mexico: thrilling because of geography/topography and meteorology (oh, those T-storms!).