Jon With No H

By Jon McLaren

Rambling recollections of Jon's memories since age three.

Entertaining, interesting, fun to read descriptions of numerous various experiences, people, places, and things, of the 1960s, '70's, 80's, and 1990's, all written in a conversational style.

Experiences footnoted with light satirical opinions and points of view.

Jon wants readers to be interactive with his book and readers are encouraged to visit the described places, or to use Google maps to view the locations of his many experiences.  Please use the internet to look-up Jon's references to people, places, and things.

Enjoy numerous photos, photo-likenesses, and other images, showing what Jon did.

Over his recorded timeline of 63 years, and going back and forth in time, Jon described his 28 jobs and 24 residences.

Jon has had the good fortune of doing more stuff than most people.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon McLaren
• Release date: Nov 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986140421

Book preview

Dedication

To my brother Christopher, who later became Nigel.

He was always in awe of my long-term memory.

I loved his creativity.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my wife Judy, who was always patient with my writing updates

and descriptions.

Preface

I can remember my first tricycle.

I was three and a half years old.

I was with Dad when he bought it, in 1959.

It was at a hardware store in Daly City, California.

The bright ceiling lights had long fluorescent tubes.

The trike was up on a high shelf.

The trike was all metal, pale green paint, with narrow tires, on white spoked wheels.

In 1960, I remember riding it in the Westlake neighborhood of Daly City, and

on Feliz Road in Novato.

Later at the age of seventeen I described the trike and the store to my parents.

They were amazed I could remember the detail.

Mom exclaimed, That store was in Daly City! (referring to the year, and my age.)

Dad told me I should write down memories like that.

I’ve been fortunate to have done a lot of stuff.

I’ve lived in a lot of places, worked a lot of jobs, and travelled a lot.

I can thank Mom and Dad - Jane and Roy - for a well-rounded upbringing.

People told me, You should write a book.

I never did take notes.

My stories are all based all on memory.

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Family and friends were always amazed by my memory of things both significant and insignificant, and how long ago I could remember.

Fifty-five years ago, at the age of eleven, Mom sent Dad and me to the store.

Mom made a unique killer spaghetti, and my brother was sick.

We had to remember three things:

A can of tomatoes,

potato chips,

and something for Chris.

Dad told me (maybe it was a gimmick) if you repeat something seven times you will remember it.

I repeated the list seven times.

We remembered the stuff at the store which, by the way, was the Safeway on Connecticut Avenue in Kensington, Maryland.  We got Chris a comic book.

Ten years later, I was home during a college break, Dad asked me what was on the list.

I said, A can of tomatoes, potato chips, and something for Chris.

Dad shook his head in sarcastic frustration.

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At our ages of ten and twelve, Chris and I watched a TV cartoon called Tennessee Tuxedo.

Thirteen years later, Chris and his college buddy called me (long-distance) to ask me the name of Tennessee Tuxedo’s side-kick.  I told them, Aw come on, can’t you remember – Chummly Walrus?!  They both guffawed, Oh my god. He actually remembers CHUMMLY WALRUS!!, and then hung-up.

I’ve had many nick names, but by predominate nick name while growing up was, Jono.

Other nicknames are – Jon-Boy, Jon-Jon, Jonny, and Jonny One Time.

Please pardon my occasional time jumping.  For background descriptions, and explanations, I have gone back and forth in time.  I have probably forgotten some experiences.  I admit I have purposely left out other experiences, to avoid embarrassment, for me and others.

The Idea

at The Hotel

which is a well-known major landmark hotel, not far from the Ferry Building, in San Francisco.  Paul had already been working there at least eight years.  Vince started a year before me.  I was hired in 2010.  I had just switched from the A to Z of jobs.  One week prior, I was a heavy Truck Driver in northeast Nevada...another chapter.  I frequently tell my co-workers about all of the stuff I’ve done.  Paul and Vince were always interested in my stories.  I used the past tense here because Vince left the Hotel in early 2018.

Paul is from Zimbabwe.  He’s been in the U.S. over 25 years.  He still has an obvious Zimbabwean accent and mannerisms.  He is well read.  In many ways, his attitudes, demeanor, and dialogue are more Western, or Americanized, than mine.  Vince was of Vietnamese and Chinese heritage, and lived with his Asian parents in San Francisco.  Vince also seemed more American in his daily interactions than me.  I, of course, appreciated their backgrounds and social currency.  Thus, I was able to describe specific details, emotions, and voice accent impressions of people I’ve worked and lived with, and about all of the stuff I’ve done and remembered.  Several times, Paul and Vince (especially Paul) told me I should write a book.  So, now I am in Chapter One.  (Note:  Again, please pardon my constant switching of present and past tenses and time jumping.)

Paul, Vince, and I, among others, are part of the Security Department at the Hotel.  We are titled as Security Agents.  The Hotel actually refers to our Department as Hotel Services.  Thus, we are jacks of all trades.  When guests don’t know who to call for assistance, and when employees or Managers need something done that other employees cannot do, or will not do, they all will call upon Hotel Services.  Our office phone will ring once and then hang-up.  We see that the call came from another hotel department or employee.  They will call us to ask a miscellaneous question.  Then, it never fails, a minute later they will call back and say, Never mind, we figured it out.  Our sarcastic blurted out reaction, after the call, is usually, Yeah like you should’ve to begin with!  With the video cameras we will oftentimes see a guest or an employee motion with a frustrated gesture.  Then, as if it was an automatic requirement, the employee will pick-up the phone.  Just as sure as hell, six times out of ten they are calling Security.  As long as that situation is off of that employee’s back then there must be complete harmony in the Universe.  We do almost everything in the Hotel when needed, including, but not limited to:  Bell Desk, Doorman, Lobby Assistance, spill clean-up, assisting the Events Department, assisting Housekeeping, assisting Engineering, and keeping various Managers informed of guest concerns.  Our main mission is Security.  In our security role, the primary duty is of course safety and security for the guests.  The Hotel mainly depends on us to keep people out who cause trouble, or who otherwise do not belong.  We respond on medical aids, door alarms, rare fire alarms, missing people, welfare checks, and we take reports for alleged missing guest property.  Various people and situations often remind me of all of the stuff I’ve done, and then I will tell co-workers my stories and memories.

The location of the Hotel is great for business.  It is on the fringe of the San Francisco Financial District.  The Hotel is at a transportation hub.  Just outside of the Hotel are:  the SF Cable Cars, MUNI busses, SF Muni Electric Trolleys, the BART (subway), the Amtrak Bus, and on the two surrounding streets are stopping and pick-up points for numerous tour and shuttle busses.  Not far from the back of the Hotel is the San Francisco Ferry Building.  The Golden Gate Ferry System and the San Francisco Bay Ferry System both operate from the Ferry Building.  All of these various passengers walk alongside the Hotel every day.  Many of our guests use these various means of transit, which is great for hotel business.  But, many of the passengers, and thousands of other people, walking by, will go in the Hotel as a short-cut, or to use our hotel restrooms, or to use our hotel lobby as a resting place.  This is when Hotel Security is most active.  Many, many people have the false impression that our hotel is public property.  It is, in fact, private property for the use of guests only.  So, on every shift, we observe and interact with folks who do not belong there.  We refer to these people as either non-guests, or sometimes as vagrants.  I mention all of this because we encounter some very interesting people: occasional celebrities, local government officials, politicians.  Other times we have VIP guests, peculiar or flamboyant guests, and demanding self-serving people.  On the other hand, we often deal with strange non-guests and vagrants.  We give them nick names like, Grizzly Adams or Charles Manson.  One troublesome vagrant looked like a cross between Robert DeNiro and Dustin Hoffman; and on our security radios we would say, DeNiro is back on the southeast corner.

Some of the vagrants are regulars.  In the last nine years, I’ve become aware of several people who know the rules and do not bother us.  They wander the areas adjacent to the Hotel.  A few of them have even been occasionally available to help us by encouraging other more difficult vagrants to leave.

In turn, I, and once in a while, one of the other Agents, will take food out to the regulars.  Sometimes we find used but still okay clothing that has been left behind, not likely to be claimed by anyone.  We will occasionally take these items outside for the regulars.  They have told me they appreciate it.  Generally, it is not fair to call the regulars vagrants.  In a traditional or old-school way, I would think of them as bums or hobos.

___________

I started a tradition of always greeting people with the wrong, or opposite, time of day.  I will say Good Morning, when it is actually afternoon time.  Or Good Evening, when it is actually morning time.  At the Hotel, more often than not, many employees are used to me saying, Good Morning; no matter what time of day.

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One of my co-workers – Tommy – gave me the nick name of, Johnny One Time.  I have a reputation, so to speak, of having crushes on various female employees in the Hotel, and quite a few are in Housekeeping.  He liked, and had me listen to, a Brenda Lee song called – Johnny One Time.  The premise is that a guy goes out with all the girls in town, but he tells each one that she is the only one for him; and that he calls himself Johnny One Time.  For years and years, a guy owned Famous Wayne’s Shoe Shine Stand, near the Hotel, and he heard from Tommy that I was now nicknamed Johnny One Time.  Wayne then forevermore called me that also.  In his obvious raspy voice, people all around would hear, Look, it’s Johnny One Time!  (My actual more commonly used nickname in the Hotel is Jonny – (no H.)  One afternoon, I brought Judy to the Hotel.  As we neared the top of the BART escalator, Wayne exclaimed, Look everybody, it’s Johnny One Time!  Then as we neared the Front Door of the Hotel, Doorman Kenny R. also greeted me with, Hey, it’s Johnny One time.  Judy then asked, What’s with all the Johnny One Time?  I then had to explain the whole concept... Housekeepers... Tommy...

What we sometimes talk about; If guests only knew.  Our conversations are often in what I call the Locker Room category.  We do a lot of trash talk.  The Donald Trump conversation, from his charter bus video, pales in comparison to what we talk about.  In fact, we have two female Agents who are usually included in our trash talk.  It brings us all together.  We as a Hotel Department actually take pride in our behind-the-scenes conversation and observations.  We believe our Security Department, in particular, could take the trash talk prize in San Francisco, or the whole country for that matter.  We are always very professional with guests and meeting room clients, but later on... If they only knew.       

Daly City

YES!  At age three, in 1959, I do remember the green trike.  It was all metal and sturdy, despite the narrow wheels.  It had a metal seat.  Mom and Dad, and Grandma and Grandpa Rogers, would either push me or play with me, while riding the trike in front of our house in the Westlake neighborhood of Daly City.

My current boss, Nate, who is familiar with Daly City, has approximated

this street is near Southgate Ave and South Mayfair.

Me, in Halloween costume, c. 1958 – ’59.

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Between 1957 and 1960, we lived in Daly City, CA, where Dad was the Assistant Police Chief.  At that time, I knew he was on the Police Department, but I obviously didn’t know his rank.

Our house was painted light brown with darker brown shutters.  It had a big driveway, or at least it seemed that way to a four-year old.  Mom and Dad kept up the yard nicely.  The back yard was small.  There was a small tree and a play sandbox that I think Dad made.  My brother Chris and I played there a lot.  I remember playing with a dark green toy earthmover, possibly a Tonka.  It was a sturdy toy.  I had it until age 8.

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Dad in Daly City Police uniform.  Me about to sweep.  Our house in Westlake area of Daly City, CA

We had the table, in background, until 1970.

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Even at age 5, I remember the interior carpet seemed strange.  It was very thin and tough.  Gray vinyl or rubber underneath.  The surface was short looped dark green fibers.  It wasn’t comfortable to play or sit on.  I got in trouble because I folded a corner and creased it.

Mom and Dad had two cars.  One was a 1950-51 Chevrolet 2-door.  It was all black, with only a little bit of chrome.  It had a dark blue fabric interior.  The seats felt like carpet.  It was a simple very basic car.  The dashboard was plain.  The DMV Registration card was on the steering wheel column.  It was in a clear plastic cover and affixed to the column with springs on either end.  Dad drove that one to work, which stood to reason since it had been a police car.  (During 1951 – 1954, Dad was a Police Officer in Berkeley, CA.  Back then, the Officers bought and used their own cars for patrol.)  The other car was a black over two-tone red, early Fifties, Dodge 2-door.  The exterior and the dashboard had a lot of chrome.  I remember up until age 7, Mom calling that car, The Dodge Car.  Mom would say, Boys, do you want to go in the Dodge Car?!"

We had an Admiral TV.  It was in a dark wood flat top cabinet on four legs.  It had large knobs on the top front.  One for ON-OFF / Volume and the other to change channels (2 through 12.)  The knobs made resounding clicks, and you could hear the tube (screen - for anyone younger than 30) make a noise when it turned on.  It had a separate rabbit-ear antenna.  On that TV, we watched Romper Room and Captain Kangaroo.  We had that old TV until about 1971.  One day the tube clicked, and there was nothing.  Dad said it would be too expensive to fix.  By that time parts were likely not available.  Although, I do remember Dad would occasionally go to the hardware store to buy individual replacement TV tubes for the inside.  Chris and I watched most of the TV shows from the Sixties, and early Seventies, and repeat shows from the Fifties on that old Admiral TV.

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I fondly remember frequent visits by Grandma and Grandpa Rogers.  She was Hildegard.  He was Robert.  They lived in San Francisco, in a second story apartment at 4300 Anza Street.  Grandma would help in the kitchen at our house in Daly City.  She liked sitting at the dining room table even when no meals were present.  Probably for the exercise, or something to do, she would help Dad sweep the driveway.  Grandpa was most definitely a SF Giants baseball fan.  I remember his black ballcap, with the orange SF logo.  He frequently wore a multiple color plaid housecoat; a cross between a light jacket and a large shirt.  I remember two of his suits. Maybe that is all he had.  One was dark gray wool.  The other was a dark olive green with a matching vest.  He had what I would describe as the classic San Francisco look.  Hildegard always wore a nice white, or light blue, short sleeve blouse, and either a gray skirt or a black skirt with a white pattern.

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They had two really nice cars.  One was a 1955-56 Chrysler New Yorker St. Regis.  It was a two-tone light green and white 2-door.  It seemed like a luxury car.  The dashboard was two-tone light and dark green.  It had very distinctive gauges and knobs.  Grandpa must have wanted to keep the seats nice, because it had clear plastic seat covers.  I can remember that St. Regis from the age of four, and most certainly from age five through ten.  The other car was a dark green 1949 Plymouth 4-door.  It had a leather interior.  The color was a combo of brown and red leather.  The headliner was tan or light brown.  It had, now that I remember, a three on the tree shifter.  I remember the shifting sounds and Grandpa shifting gears while driving around San Francisco.  It was a comfortable but basic car.  In my early teenage years, I always thought about that car.  Grandpa sold it to a high school kid in Sonoma.

Grandpa Rogers’ Chrysler St. Regis, in Novato

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Grandpa Rogers visited often.  Grandpa and Mom, would enthusiastically ask me if I wanted, Jam pie!?  It was probably a blackberry or blueberry pie each time, but I think I called it a Jam Pie because it looked like jam.  In the late Fifties, the Yogi Bear cartoon started.  Grandpa brought a Jam Pie when the first Yogi Bear episode was on.  We watched it on the Admiral TV.

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A few more of my memories from age four:

My nursery school teacher was Mrs. Hatchett.  I remember she was a nice lady, and sang all the time. (I, of course, did not sing.)  We sat at small tables.  The walls were yellow, with big wood closets.  I remember cutting out shapes.  There was a lady who sometimes drove me, and other kids, to nursery school.  I remember she would encourage us to talk by saying, and asking us to say, the words: tea pot and potato chip.  She too was a nice lady.  If I had to describe her, I would say – Suzzane Pleshette.  By the way, back then it was called nursery school.  Not Pre-School; or even more lame - Pre-K.

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I had reason to go see Dr. Doss.  On the wall in his office was a piece of medical examination equipment like a blood pressure bulb, or a flexible light.  I pretended it was a public address microphone to call for the doctor, Calling Dr. Doss. Calling Dr. Doss.

___________

Mom took us to the Daly City Police Station to see Dad.  He showed us the jail area.  The bars of the jail cell doors were painted a light pale green.  When Dad closed the door, I started to cry.  He laughed a little as if to let me know it was a prank, but somehow, I knew it was not a good place.

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In the preface, I mentioned my nickname is Jono.  I should take the time to explain that.  In 1960, when I was four, Mom and Dad went to the 1960 Winter Olympics at Squaw Valley, CA.  Mom was listening to the members of the New Zealand Ski Team.  One guy said to another, Hey John-oh, let’s get a move on!  Mom liked how it sounded and then gave it the perhaps shortened spelling of Jono.

Novato

Some of my greatest memories are from my time in Novato, CA, between the Spring of 1960 and October 1963.  I won’t say the best, because I’ve had great memories since then; but my childhood in Novato most definitely stands out.  In 1960, Dad became the first Police Chief of Novato.

One day in Daly City I saw our stuff being loaded onto a stake truck.  (A stake truck is a straight flatbed truck with what looks like fence sections on the sides.)  The truck was all dark blue with a rounded body style, probably early Fifties.  I didn’t remember seeing an actual moving truck.  Mom and Dad told us we were moving, but not too far away.  I rode up front in the truck.  The driver laughed and joked with Dad.

I remember seeing the Golden Gate Bridge.  I wondered why it was dull orange, but I thought it was cool.  In Novato, we turned left from Highway 101 onto Grant Avenue.  Back then, U.S. 101 was not all freeway.  In Novato, for instance, it was two lanes in either direction, with intersections and occasional stoplights.  The original highway is now called Old Redwood Highway.  It still has a few of the buildings that I remember from 1960 through 1963.  Novato was definitely different from Daly City.  Grant Avenue was the main street of downtown Novato.  It looked friendly.

We arrived at our new house.  It was at the end of Feliz Road, at Katlas Court.  I always pronounced Feliz as – Felice.  Katlas Court was named after a family who lived at the end of the street.  Our new neighborhood was much more in the open.  Bigger yards.  More trees.  Our house was painted all white with yellow trim.  There was a huge oak tree on the west side.  The back yard had an apple tree.  It had big Golden Delicious apples.  Dad said we could eat as many as we wanted, as long as they were yellow, and not green or brown.  A creek ran alongside the house.  Dad called it Novato Creek.  It might have been connected to the creek at the end of Katlas Court.  There was a large empty lot next to our house.  I called it The Summer.  Mom later figured that I must have heard them talking about the season of summer while they were in the lot or pointing to it.  During our time in Novato, I continued to call that lot The Summer.  Dad built a plywood cabin in The Summer.  It was a great place to play or hang-out.  That cabin was often the play site of either a police station, wagon train station, a general store, an army fort, a train station, pirate den, hospital, you name it...  A large dairy farm was also next to our house.  The back gate of the farm was at the end of Feliz Road.  Dad called the farm the C Ranch.  (Not to be confused with The Sea Ranch, on the coast.)

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Our house in Novato on Feliz Rd at Katlas Ct., circa 1960 – 62.  Dodge Car in driveway.

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We soon met our neighbors.  On Katlas Ct., across the street, were the Salgo, Hendricks, and LoDolce families.  On our side was Mr. Roberts, in an older gray house, and the VanDusen family next to us.  On Feliz Road, across the street, were the Ruhlman and Rupert families.  Mr. and Mrs. Katlas lived in an old fashion looking house at the end of Katlas Court, hence the name.  She was a nice lady.  She sort of looked like the Country & Western star Minnie Pearl.  The neighborhood kids, and I, would sometimes help her bring in the groceries.

The Salgo family consisted of:  mom – Mary Lou, their dad, sons - Steve and David, and daughter Liz.  Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks were old, probably about 70.  They were a nice couple.  Their son had a motorcycle with a red tank, and red trim.  Mr. Roberts would let the neighborhood kids pick plums off his big plum tree in his front yard.  Mrs. Ruhlman often visited Mom for coffee or lunch on our deck, which Dad built over the Novato Creek.  Jim Ruhlman was a carpenter, I think.  He was also a Novato Volunteer Fireman (as they were called back then.)  Their daughter was Jeanine.  She might have been a year older than me.  We played together, had birthday parties, and sometimes walked to school together.  Yes! We WALKED to school.  I had a crush on her.  In later years I realized the Ruhlman’s must have had some influence in the area, considering that a neighborhood street was named after them.  They had a big spread-out house, painted dark green.  It was at the end of Feliz Road, next to the dairy farm.  They moved away in ’62 or ’63.  The Gilmer family moved in.  They were also pleasant neighbors.  They had a new white Ford Country Squire station wagon car.  Mr. Gilmer once did some modeling for a clothing store in town.  I remember seeing him in his suits to go to the photographer.  The VanDusen family had a daughter, probably age twelve.  I had a crush on her also.

Mom, Chris, me, & Mrs. Ruhlman.  View is    Chris and me in Novato living room.  Daisy Air Rifle,

toward the (C Ranch-?) dairy farm, before Dad    Mattel toy cap guns.  The Admiral TV.  We kept the

built the deck, over the small creek behind the gate.     metal bookshelf until 1975.

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Mr. LoDolce was maybe of Italian descent.  He seemed like a hard-working guy.  He was a milk route delivery driver for Borden’s Dairy.  Elsie the Cow was on the side of his delivery truck.  It was mostly yellow and white.  The door on the right side opened accordion style.  (We used Golden State Dairy.)  Residential dairy delivery was popular until about 1974.  It pretty much went by the wayside in the mid to late Seventies.  Mr. LoDolce next worked at the Texaco Gas Station, possibly as Manager.  That Texaco was on Redwood Highway (US 101) about 2 blocks south of Grant Ave.  I remember his green uniform.  The TV and radio commercials in the Sixties sang out, You can trust your car to the man who wears the star, the big red Tex-a-co Star!  They had two sons – Brian and Bruce.

Mrs. LoDolce... where do I begin...?  HOT!  Even as a six and seven year old, I knew Mrs. LoDolce was hot.  Slim, but now that I remember, nice body.  Short black hair.  A few freckles.  Early to mid-twenties.  Her overall look was like Mary Tyler Moore (Laura - in the Dick VanDyke Show) in 1962.  Tight fitting slacks, nice blouses, pullover sweaters, flat shoes.  South San Francisco style Italian, sort of a New Jersey accent.  Her toddler son Markey was, Mawwkee.  In her living room, while she ironed, or folded clothes, we would watch a local afternoon TV show called Dance Party.  It was like a local SF Bay Area version of American Bandstand.  She would say, "So Jono, do you like watching the girls on Deance Puarty?"  ...molten lava hot...

When I was either six or seven, I needed to find Mom, or I needed help with something.  I called Mrs. LoDolce.  When she answered she asked, Is this Jono?  I giggled and said yes.  She asked how I got the phone number.  I told her I looked it up in the phone book, and embarrassingly laughed at the same time as if I was proud of myself, which I was.  She was amazed.  I thought for a seven-year-old to look up the name, and number in a book with a listing of names with very small printing was kinda neat.  For those of you born after 1990 a phone book was a listing of phone customers, alphabetically, in a city, town, or a region.  I still remember the 1963 Pacific Bell Novato Phone Book.  It had a black and white photo on the front cover which was a view of the C Ranch dairy farm taken from next to our house.

Bruce was one of my best friends.  We were the same age.  We played together the most, and often WALKED to and from the SCHOOL BUS STOP, or actually to the school, together.  We played everywhere.  Sometimes Mom knew.  Sometimes she didn’t.  We played along Katlas Court, in the Novato Creek, in the C Ranch dairy farm, all along Feliz Road, and in The Summer.  It was a great neighborhood to play and grow-up in.  Brian was a year or two older.  He seemed to have a take charge ability, and we always looked up to him.  He would come up with cool ideas or stuff to play with.  My most favorite memory of Brian LoDolce was a quote which should forever be memorialized.  One afternoon we were walking home from school, on Feliz Road.  The three of us were talking about the electrical wires overhead on the phone poles.  At that age we thought the bigger thicker wire was super powerful or dangerous.  (It was actually the telephone wires.)  At some point in our marveling, I uttered the comment of, Yeah, that big wire is badder!  Bruce then said, "There’s no such word as badder.  Brian retorted with, Yeah there is.  Whadda ya think they make pancakes out of – poop?!  In fact, in about 1970, at the dinner table, in Maryland, I mentioned that quote.  Dad asked, How do you remember that?"  I said it was a classic line.

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Jono; Brian LoDolce; David Salgo; Chris; Bruce LoDolce.    Chris; David; Bruce; Jono; Brian.  Novato, c. 1962.

I still have the Burnside Rifle that David is holding.

Dad carved and engraved, and built the Weatherby

30.06 rifle that Bruce is holding.

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My other best friend was Buddy Bryce.  His dad, or family, owned the Bryce Brothers grocery store.  He lived in a really cool house, surrounded by trees, and built into a slight hillside.  It was at or near the corner of Feliz Road and Ruhlman Ct.  We mostly played at his house.  We played cops and robbers, maybe pretended to be Wagon Train drivers.  But mainly we pretended to be astronauts.  The Mercury Space Program was happening in the early Sixties.  Of course, Buddy and I were taken in by that.  He had two plastic white toy space helmets.  We alternately went to either the Safeway Store or Bryce Brothers.  The Bryce Brothers store was a large grocery store, similar size to Safeway.  The front exterior had brown stones.  In front it had big yellow letters:  BRYCE BROS.  It was just off of Grant Avenue, and kitty corner from the back of Marion School.  In 1963 it became a Purity Store.  I teased Buddy that his new name was Buddy Purity.

Another family in the neighborhood was the Colfer’s.  They lived further around the corner from the Bryce’s.  They had a really cool backyard.  It was nicely landscaped, and terraced.  They were one of the few families that had a swimming pool.  They had three kids.  The older ones were sometimes our babysitters.  The eldest son was JayBee.  He was a typical All-American looking kid.  I remember he wore a high school letter jacket.  Conjure up the 60’s TV show images of Bud on Father Knows Best, or Wally on Leave it to Beaver; with either having shorter almost crew cut hair.  Most notably, was Carol.  Another girl who I knew was hot, even at my age of 6 or 7.  She was teenage, probably between 14 and 16.  Typical Sixties look.  Tall, nice body.  I especially admired her blue jean denim shorts with rolled up cuffs.  She mostly wore t-shirts or sleeveless blouses.  Carol looked like a cross between Raquel Welch and Brenda Lee.  Dad would tease me and say either, Would you like me to call Carol Colfer for you, or Do you want Carol Colfer to babysit?

One Saturday afternoon Carol ran to our house in hysterics.  She not only banged on the front door, but walked in.  (Neighbors were more relaxed back then.)  She cried and screamed, JayBee just killed himself!  Dad, being the Police Chief, instantly ran to their house.  Turns out it was more of a fainting incident.  I remember Carol explaining to Mom that JayBee turned blue and then fell.  As soon as Carol cried out the trouble, Chris and I sensed there was a need for an ambulance.  That day, and the next, we pretended to be ambulance drivers.  Later, I remember Mrs. Colfer joked with Dad because all he had on at the time he responded, was a bathrobe.

Our school was Marion Elementary.  It no longer exists.  In fact, none of my schools exist anymore.  Marion looked like a typical California school.  Big windows.  Mostly painted white, the wood was a maroon brown, and the metal supports were a pale green.  The School Principal was Mr. Farris.  The Custodian was Mr. Depp.   My Kindergarten Teacher was Mrs. Bilsborough.

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Kindergarten class photo.  Me – top right corner.  I had crush on girl – bottom row, right.

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First Grade was with Mrs. Terry.  Learning to read in her class was great.  Of course, it was cool to read a sentence, and then small books.  During the summer, Mom ordered a paper for us to read and work with.  I really looked forward to it.  It was called, My Weekly Reader.  The beginning of Second Grade was with Mrs. Alender.  We nicknamed her Mrs. Calendar.  Kindergarten and First Grade were probably my most favorite school grades.  Yeah... all these years later...I actually remember the school custodian was Mr. Depp.  I still have my class photos from those years.  I was always grateful for one of the ladies who was a Lunch Room Monitor.  I couldn’t open a bag of chips that was in my lunchbox.  She showed me how to pull the top open by grabbing the back side of the bag by the seam and pull on the front at the same time.  The bag easily opened each time, instead of trying to tear at it.

First Grade class photo.  Me – far left, 2nd row from bottom.

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In Grades K – 2 we rode the school bus.  It was a long bus.  The front was flat.  I wondered where the motor was.  I liked the bus, and of course at that age I thought it would be hard to drive.  The driver was a lady with blondish hair, early 40’s; she always had sunglasses.  Our stop was at the intersection of Feliz Road and Ferris Drive.

In 1975, during a visit to Novato, I was devastated to see that Marion School was gone.

In the Sixties, Novato had the Western Weekend Parade.  Novato was sort of a cowboy town back then.  It wasn’t unusual to see a horse on a few of the streets, including downtown.  The parade had a rolling jail cell that people could get locked-up in for donations and / or photos.  There was a guy in the cell who wore a gorilla costume.  One year I didn’t like it.  (Another taste of criminal justice that I didn’t like.)  The next year I laughed when I was locked in the Jail.  Chris and I were dressed in jeans and flannel shirts, cowboy hats, and, of course, our Mattel gun belts with Fanner 50 revolver style toy cap guns.  We rode with Dad in a police patrol car.  Halfway along the route he stopped to let us out to sit with Mom.  Jim Ruhlman rode on an old vintage fire engine.  He wore faded red long underwear.  He waived a fire hose around.  Mrs. Ruhlman sat next to us.  Water from the fire hose landed on her foot.  She was surprised, and I remember laughing, thinking it was the funniest thing.