New City
You never know where you're gonna wind up when you answer an ad on Craigslist. Someone was looking for a
writer/editor who could take an idea forward. At the time I was wrapping up work on my own life story - a book
with the working title "On My Word." I called to set up an appointment. The man on the other end of the line was
to tell me that he'd solved the world's problems. He added the fact that he was the only man with these answers. I
find this strange at all. Why should I? After all, I was about to talk into my cell phone to a robot named Siri who
what I was saying, spotted my car from a satellite, and give me verbal and scriped directions on actly how to get
. She even told me "You will have to park your car and walk to your destination" on my first visit to Bob's. I thanked
for her help. "No need to thank me, Ron." She even knew my name. I figured that, if a robot using a network of
could speak to me personally through a cell phone and get me to my exact location, this man who claimed to be the
man alive to have the solution to most of the world's problems just might have them. Worth a try.
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Bob Gathers and his lovely wife Marty live in a uniquely designed home on several acres of pristeen Colorado landscape overlooking a lake surrounded by mountains. He did most of the talking. I took notes and listened. Bob talked about a New City. A new way of looking at our oldest problems. A new way of solving them. The more I listened, the more I wanted to know.
Over the course of some 84 years, Bob has established a track-record as one of the most successful entrepreneurs and inventors of our time. Gathers had already invented an early voice-recognition robot well before Siri was a gleam in her robot-daddy's eye. His name was Hector. He was born back in the sixties. Hector could do then much of what Siri can do now but lacked the horsepower or RAM of today's computers to do it. Hector, like his creator, was way ahead of his time.
Here's a man who never had to study. He was teaching Algebra when he was 13. Learning came easy. Determination took it from there. Twenty corporations, all of them successful. Ten of them hugely successful.
Over the course of a few days I concluded that Bob Gathers was either a genius or certifiably insane. Sometimes it's hard to differentiate. If you had told me 20 years ago that a robot inside my phone would be telling me where to park my car after having led me there, I'd have thought that you were nuts. Visionaries like Bob Gathersm, blessed with an inexorable abiltiy to see into the future, are among the most obvious yet undeserving recipients of the "crazy" nomenclature.
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We all operate under whatever belief system or systems we have acquired over a lifetime. If you are going to be able to comprehend what Bob Gathers is saying, you must step outside the box of your beliefs. Let me give you the same example I gave Bob. A moment in time that changed my perceptions for a lifetime.
It was the sixties. I remembered an ad I'd seen either on TV or a magazine, probably both. The ads showed starving children in India. Skin. Bones. Tears. Pain. Protruding stomachs. Flies, and filth. The look of hopelessness etched deeply into eyes bulging with starvation. In the background, two brown and white cows grazed solemly on a hill. The announcer would come on and tell us how we could help these poor children.
Was I the only person to ask the question: "Why are the children starving when there are two healthy-looking cows on that hill?" I wanted to tell them: "Why don't you stop feeding that grain to the cows and feed the children? Did you know you can get milk from those cows? Hell, why don't you feed the actual cows to the starving children? What is wrong with you people?"
What was wrong was their belief system.
Through the eyes of their tainted belief system, those were sacred cows. Those cows are not cows at all but rather are deceased loved ones. According to the Hindu faith, those cows are actually reincarnated people. If your father passed away a year or so ago, that's him grazing in the lower 40.
This is what I mean about belief systems. What would happen to me if I had flown to India on a rescue mission to save the children? I would have given those people what would have been considered my opinion about feeding the grain and milk and ultimately the cows to the kids.. I'd have had my head chopped off. They would think I was an insane demon-possessed crazy person. I would become a direct threat to their belief system. A restless spirit from the outside. They would rather kill me than feed the grain and the milk and a cow or two to sustain their starving children. No, much easier to attend to the status quo. Better to let their own children starve than to alter their belief system.
If you are going to understand Bob Gathers, you are going to have to wipe the slate clean. Start over. Build from scratch. Drop the safety net you think your belief system is providing you. In order to move foward you must think logically. You cannot think logically when under a belief system that not only challenges but mocks the very logic it takes to reason.
God did not find it necessary to impregnate his own mother in order to be born so that he might sacrifice himself in order to be capable of forgiving Eve for being tricked by a snake into eating an apple.
Where's the logic in that? If you disragard logic, which way is the compass pointing? Has the speed of light fluctuated with the latest interpretations of ancient manuscripts? Religious people will tell you that logic has nothing to do with it. They believe "in faith." Faith? It takes a lot of faith to fly a jet into a building or blow yourself up in a suicide mision in order to kill people who don't happen to share your faith. Faith in something doesn't make it right. It only means you believe it.
The one attribute that sets us apart from all the other animals is the very logic religions require you to discard in order to believe the product they are selling. I am authorized to tell by the sheer law of logic that God is not to be found in the image of a man.
Leave your faith here. We'll keep it safe for you in the coat room.
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Kansas
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I was born on March 9, 1930, in Manhattan Kansas, only four months after the date of the big stock market collapse. I was a good size boy with red fuzz for hair. My father, Orvel Leonard Gathers and my mother, Faith Underkofler Gathers were about to enter the difficult period of the 1930′s.
In addition to the economic collapse, 1930 was the beginning of the dust bowl and the nine year drought. Many people felt that the Midwest would become a desert. Mom would relate stories about putting damp rags over my face so I could breathe during the severe dust storms. Our houses were not tightly constructed, so after a storm we would end up with a thick layer of dust over everything. I don’t see how the women even kept house under those circumstances.
Mom was very artistic and had a degree from the Miltonvale Wesleyan College. Dad had graduated from Kansas State University with a degree in Civil Engineering. Both parents looked like movie stars. Dad was big (6’1”, 210 pounds) and very handsome. Mom was often compared to Bette Davis, but I think she was much prettier than Bette.
Dad was employed as an engineer for Potawatamee County, Kansas. I always liked the name “Pot a watt a me”. It would enter the conversation often in the later years. Dad felt extremely fortunate to have a job, since there were many in the early 1930′s without work. Dad’s salary for the first six months was $150 per month after which he received a raise to $175 per month.
After two years he got a surveying job with the Coast and Geodetic Survey. In those early years we moved frequently, living in Hill City, Miltonvale, Westmoreland, and Salina, all in Kansas. We also spent time in Albuquerque and Santa Fe, New Mexico and Alamosa, Colorado.
I only have visions of those first years, but no concrete recollections. My brother Chuck, who is a year and a half younger, still has vivid recall. He remembers a number of experiences of which I have no knowledge. He especially remembered the spankings. Dad was quite strong and it is possible that he did not realize how small Chuck was, although he claimed he tried to take it easy on Chuck. I do remember some spankings, but they had little significance. I recall thinking that I would not cry, and then debating with myself about whether Dad would ever stop if I didn’t.
My parents and relatives would relate various stories of our early years. I am convinced that my recollections are based solely upon these stories. We moved to Salina, Kansas in 1934 and Dad told about the time Chuck and I dropped a balloon full of water from a second story window onto a neighbor lady who had just returned from the beauty parlor. Dad said that we had waited all day at the window, and that our aim was superb. That event did result in a reprimand, although perhaps not a serious one since Dad said no one liked her anyway.
Dad also reminisced about the time in Salina when a kid dropped a can on my head. The cut bled profusely, as head wounds often do. The blood had me upset and crying. Dad washed me off and said it was just a little nick. I still carry the scar.
My parents’ families lived in the area of Miltonvale, Kansas where both had grown up. We would spend most holidays in Miltonvale where Dad’s father had formed Gathers Hardware, a store that employed most of the family at some point in time. I have reflections of riding on a tractor, and remember enjoying looking at a toy Caterpillar tractor which I always wanted. I also have a vision of Santa Claus when visiting Uncle Wilbur’s farm. Wilbur was my mother’s brother.
I apparently had fairly bright red hair when I was born. The relatives talked about the time when Aunt Addie washed my hair and washed all of the red out. I expect my hair was changing to reddish-blond naturally and the people just noticed the change when it was cleaned. In any event, they were all upset about Aunt Addie’s use of the Lifebuoy soap.
We lived in Kansas City, Kansas for about 1 ½ years where I started kindergarten. Chuck and I had a little red wagon which we used to deliver apples to the neighbors. The wagon was our most prized possession and I sometimes can still visualize it.
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New York
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We moved to Brooklyn (1811 E. 52nd St.) in the middle of my kindergarten year and stayed for about two years. They had staggered the school year, so some students started a grade in the middle of the year. They decided to advance me a half grade. When we later moved to Montpelier, Vermont, I was again advanced a half grade to put me back on a standard year. As a result of those two moves, I was generally the youngest in my class, graduating from high school soon after my 17th birthday.
My memories of New York are still quite vague. Brooklyn has a reputation for being tough; but I remember that the kids there were quite “helpful” to me. On one of my trips to the grocery store, some older boys decided that I needed some getting to the store, so they put a rope around my neck and dragged me there. I ended up with a ring of welts around my neck, but no permanent damage. Mom was quite upset about the event and used to repeat the story frequently.
I learned to ride a bike and spent a lot of time with my new cycle; however, my most vivid recollection is about the time Dad shot a rat in our basement with his German Luger. A gun going off in a closed space does make a lasting impression.
One of Dad’s favorite stories was about the time I hid in the closet and was prepared to scare him. He knew I was hiding and crept up on me and yanked the closet door open. He said he had heard of the experience, but didn’t know it was possible until then: My hair actually stood on end, and that he certainly would not have taken such an action if he had known how surprised and scared I would be.
I do have an image of fun excursions to the ocean and Coney Island with the throngs of people, and of course I remember the subways. My little brother Paul was born in Brooklyn.
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Vermont
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My first true recollections were in Vermont. Dad was working on a dam outside Montpelier. We lived about three miles from town on the road from Montpelier to Barre. Our house, perched on the side of a hill, was across the highway from a farm where we would spend much of our time.
A young 16-year-old boy named Asa Colonel Randall worked at the farm. I always thought his name had a nice ring and he was my idol. Asa was strong and used to run the three miles to town, a feat which definitely impressed Chuck and me. I remember building a dam across a small stream to make a swimming hole, but the water was so cold, I doubt that it got much use.
Chuck succeeded in sliding under a car while running for a bus, so it ran over his leg. He also fell off a hay rake and barely missed being spiked. Chuck was so active he sometimes didn’t use good sense; like the time he stuck a needle dart in my head, slightly behind my temple. We would make darts from match sticks by taping a needle to the front and putting paper fins on the rear. I had heard that a blow to the temple could kill a person, so I wondered if I would live when I pulled the dart out.
Vermont was the site of my first encounter with a chiropractor. Chuck and I were wrestling one evening while the folks were in Canada. Somehow my neck got twisted and was cocked to one side when the they returned. Both the babysitter and I were in a state of panic. Dad called a chiropractor, and I still recall his taking my head in his hands and saying he just couldn’t understand how something like this could happen. I was of course yelling and scared to death when he just gave a quick twist and it was all over. A time like that makes a favorable lifetime impression. Dad felt that chiropractors could cure almost anything. I don’t go that far but they certainly have their place.
I do remember having fun in the snow, collecting maple syrup from the trees and then boiling it and eating it. They had severe ice jams on the river that year. In order to restore the flow of the river, they dynamited the ice pack and blew all of the windows out of a clothespin factory in Montpelier.
It was 1938 and on our move to Omaha, we stopped at Niagara Falls. We passed over the bridge at the Falls the day before it collapsed from an ice-jam.
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Nebraska
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The Miller Park area of Omaha (2904 Laurel Ave.) was our home for about two years. Without notice, Dad one day acquired the dog we would always remember. His name was Teddy, a male rogue wire-haired terrier. I can still picture Dad walking down the street with Ted when he first brought him home.
It seemed that the big events other than those involving Ted were the radio programs. Those were the days of Jack Armstrong, the All American Boy, Captain Midnight, and the Lone Ranger. Of course, the weekly programs were Fibber McGee and Molly, Jack Benny, Inner Sanctum, etc. Chuck and I would race home from school and stay glued to the radio for our favorite programs. While it seemed like we spent a lot of time listening to the radio, it had to be a small fraction of the time that the current generation spends watching TV or playing video games.
I practiced the piano halfheartedly and made my first public musical presentation. My little brother Paul was the groom in a Tom Thumb wedding (A pretend wedding of very young children) and I played the Wedding March.
I won an art contest with a rendition of Old Ironsides. The judges had to be assured by Mom that she didn’t participate. I expect it was an engineering rendition, however, since I feel shortchanged artistically.
We started playing baseball and spent hundreds of hours throwing balls and playing. It’s amazing how interesting throwing a ball can be to a youngster.
In the evenings we would play games like Kick-the-Can with all the kids in the neighborhood. One evening at dusk I caught a clothesline just under my chin while running at full speed. Thank goodness I was not a fast runner. I also remember ramming a large piece of wood through my thumb. Mom tried to get it out with the tweezers. She finally succeeded with some pliers after a long, painful tug-of-war on both of our parts.
Playing down by the Missouri river and swinging on the vines was great sport. In the winter, we would build snow forts which always lasted longer than we thought they would. We used a snow shovel and wet the snow down with a hose, erecting an ice fortress. One year we received a large train for Christmas. I think it was the largest toy train ever mass produced. It was fun running it but we never had a place large enough to set up a complete loop, so we just ran it back and forth.
Over a short period of time Teddy became very protective. When a group of kids would wrestle, Ted would start pulling people off the top until we were freed. He started developing quite a reputation. The house was never locked, but Ted would not let even our good friends in unless we OKed their passage.
Mom had a close friend who would visit often and hold Ted on her lap. One day she wanted to deliver something to Mom and Ted would not even let her open the screen door to our porch. He would often sleep on the top of Mom’s grand piano. One day he was startled, and left the scratches from his toenails on the top of the piano.
We would walk Ted in the evenings and he would behave well until he came to a corner. As soon as he turned he would disappear. After finally locating him Dad would beat him and he would behave for a week or so. Then he had to explore again, and the routine would be repeated.
Dad showed his strength at work by bending a 16 penny spike, which he accomplished much to my admiration. About 15 years later he returned to the office where he used to work. As he walked in, one of his former co-workers reached into his drawer and pulled out the spike and set it on his desk. It was bent perfectly enough that it would stand upright. Dad said he bet that his friend had been telling everyone that “he” bent the spike. He denied that, and with the corroboration of the office, said that he showed the spike as an example of the kind of real men they used to have.
During meals, when we had to eat something that we didn’t like, I would gobble down the offensive vegetable and then enjoy the rest of my meal. Chuck would eat the part he liked, and then sit at the table and gag on every remaining bite.
When Chuck and I had our tonsils removed in Omaha, the Doctor asked who wanted to be first. I volunteered and had a relatively pleasant experience. When Chuck’s turn came, he put on his usual show, and the Doctor had to forcibly put him under.
I only remember three names prior to our move to Boulder. There was Asa in Vermont and an older boy, Greg Longley, who lived one house away in Omaha. The third was Betsy Green. I don’t remember anything about her but her name. She must have been quite“something." She attended Miller Park school in Omaha and I expect was my first crush.
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Utah
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Ogden was a short stop for about 8 months. When we arrived in town, Dad stopped to ask directions. The lady giving them said her basement apartment was empty and she would like to have us stay there, without cost. Taking in a strange family with three small boys and a dog was quite something even back then. I wonder how many people would do that today. We stayed there for about three weeks before locating a house. The Mormon people there were helpful on many occasions and were quite proud of their treatment of outsiders. I know their concern for others has not changed, but it is difficult to imagine them taking the same action today.
I remember our rabbits and how Ted, our wire-haired terrier, would baby-sit them. If they got out, he would retrieve them like he was a mother cat. The rabbits eventually ended up eating soap powder and died.
Chuck and I used to hike in the hills out of town. I recall the time another fellow and I came to a dead end on a fairly narrow ledge. It was a long way down. Chuck was following us and had gotten himself into a bit of a predicament near a ledge. He was panicked and crying; I thought he was going over the edge. I finally managed to get back around Chuck and led him out of trouble.
Ted disappeared for several days one time after a family excursion downtown. A lady called out of the blue and said she wanted payment for the draperies and furniture Ted had destroyed. Dad reminded her that Ted was on his way home when she restrained him against his will by taking him in. Apparently Ted the terrier was a terror and made it clear that he was not staying with her.
During this period, the rages were the yo-yo and paddle balls. I could paddle the ball almost indefinitely and would often find it necessary to wrap the paddle handle with material to keep my hand from blistering. I remember doing round-the-world with the yo-yo in the house. Dad told me to go outside but I had to do one more trick. Just one more trick. The yo-yo went cleanly through our living room ceiling light. Oops.
Dad’s parents lived across the street from the Miltonvale Wesleyan College. After their deaths, the house became a part of the college and is now “Gathers Hall”. The house had a very large kitchen and dining room with almost no living room which always smelled dusty and unused. The kitchen was the focal point of their lives. Although they lived in the middle of town, they had a mini-farm. We would slop the pigs and feed the chickens. I remember Dad and Grandpa killing and butchering a cow. The experience turned me against harming animals.
We had been visiting relatives in Miltonvale for several years and I continually became more aware of my surroundings. Miltonvale seemed like another world. There were few children with the major portion of the 300 population being the age of my grandparents. Most of the streets were unpaved and all of the houses were old. Traveling to and from Miltonvale always upset my stomach and, while I never threw up, I felt green a major portion of the time. I do remember the fire-flies in Miltonvale, the ice-man who would give us slivers of ice, and the homemade lemonade. Nothing like it since.
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Panama
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In early 1941 Dad became Manager of the Third-Locks (Diablo Heights, Miraflories, and Pedro Miguel) Clubhouses in Panama. He had already established a residence there and sent for us.
Mom packed up, sent Teddy to the relatives in Miltonvale (a very sad experience), and packed the three of us in the car for our trip to New York City from whence we'd take a ship to Panama. On the way to NYC, Mom picked up a soldier hitch-hiker who shared the driving chores. Unfortunately, he drove too fast, was not particularly a good driver and thus Mom didn't get to relax much. While in NYC, we saw Madame Butterfly, which was probably enjoyed more by Mom than the three of us put together.
On the way to Panama, we stopped at Port-au-Prince, Haiti. The ship was met by a number of divers who would retrieve money thrown by passengers on the ship. I thought that was amazing. During a brief tour of the city, I was awed by the poverty level and the chaos of the time.
I learned to swim in the pool on the boat and stayed out all day. Being fair skinned with reddish-blond hair and freckles, of course, I fried! Mom said she would have stopped me if she had any idea of the outcome. I was covered with blisters about the size of silver dollars. When we reached Cristobal, I put on shorts for the first time since my outing. I wore a T-shirt and carried a big wad of cotton to daub up the blisters when they would break.
Panama certainly seemed like the end of the world. Not feeling good was just part of the misery. We got on a rickety old train for the ride across the Isthmus where I got a view of our new home. The houses were all on stilts, there were no trees or grass, and Diablo Heights (Devil Hills) looked like nothing I had ever seen. We moved to an apartment house that accommodated four families. There were no windows, but screens all around the units, and the roof had a large overhang to keep out the rain.
One evening, we were walking along the joists of a house under construction when I heard about the start of World War II. Since the Canal Zone was considered to be an important military target the tone of our lives changed instantly and dramatically. Military activity around the Canal was furious. Barrage balloons were tethered around all of the locks, we were on a continual brown-out, we all worked to build sandbag shelters under selected apartments; and a state of war would exist until we left Panama. Within a few days, all of the children were run through a tent filled with tear-gas for our gas mask drill, and the Canal Zone was prepared for any attack. If an attack had come simultaneously with Pearl Harbor, the results would have been disastrous. After a few days however, it would have been extremely difficult for anyone to penetrate the defenses.
Diablo Heights was across the main highway from Albrook Air Force Base and about a mile from Balboa where I attended Junior High School for two years. An elementary school was located in Diablo Heights where Chuck went to school.
After living in the four-family unit for about 6 months, a single family unit opened up and we moved about a block. Later we would move again to the house which backed up to ours because it faced the prevailing winds. In Panama, without air conditioning, wind is very important. In the dry season, it is very hot. In the rainy season it sometimes rained in buckets, almost every day at a precise time in the afternoon, usually around two.
The houses were built on 8X8 posts about 8 foot high. Around the bottom of the posts were metal shields to keep the bugs out and a service unit was built underneath for the washer and maids quarters. The design was probably effective for keeping out the bugs which grew to tremendous proportions. We would often keep a stalk of bananas hanging in the kitchen and eat them as they would ripen.
Dad wore white clothes most of the time, starched like the Military to keep them looking nice in the damp conditions. When we attended events like our dances, I felt like a dress-up doll in my starched white outfit.
Mom decided that the name Gathers was too ordinary and that we should pronounce it “Gaithers”. She mounted quite a campaign, but could not get a single supporter so she finally resigned herself to the fact that she would always be a Gathers. Dad had always called her Pat. Her name, Faith Etta, didn't seem to much fit her personalty so she had it changed legally to Patricia Faith after we had moved to Boulder.
I was pulled into my first fight at age 11. I told this guy who was determined to fight me that I had to catch the bus to get home, so he took the bus home with me. Great. We fought in a lot beside our house and I ended up with a black eye. I still contend that he gave it to me by pinching my eye while we were wrestling. He then called his folks and had them pick him up after the fight. To this day I suspect he was semi-pro.
My first job was setting pins in a bowling alley at the Clubhouse. That involved sitting behind the alley and dodging the errant pins, especially with a fast bowler. I would then set the ball on a track and pick up the pins and put them in a rack in the slots which represented the positions where pins were down. Since I was only 11, my hands were small meaning I could only pick up one pin in each hand. It was a real test when I would set two lines at the same time. Just before we left Panama, my hands had finally grown enough that I could pick up 4 pins at one time making the job a lot easier.
As a part of the Boy Scout program, we took a field trip to tour a distant Air Force Base. All of the boys were interested in the airplanes. My favorite was the P-39 Bell Aircobra. It looked so sleek and was a different design with the air scoop behind the cockpit. As a part of the outing, we took a trip into the jungle to see a lake. A group of us got ahead of the main party and took a path to the right when we reached the water. The main party went left and ended up on the other side of the lake. The Scoutmaster yelled to us to come around. So, we tried an old canoe which sank so we just started around the lake on foot.
Only those who have been in the jungle might understand what happened next. We couldn't keep the lake in sight because of the heavy vegetation so we started out to the side, keeping a close watch on our bearings. Even though we were very close, we got lost. We found a stream and reasoned that it was flowing into the lake, and followed it downstream. Everything we did was wrong and we got hopelessly lost. We had been gone about seven hours. During this period we had to go around several water falls by cutting through the jungle; we had disturbed a nest of hornets. We were trying to get our bearings, but we could only see straight up over the stream. We finally found a bare spot on a hill where we were going to spend the night. The hill was covered with animal or snake holes which made us feel even more uncomfortable. The ideal camping site eluded us.
Luckily, we spotted a Panamanian hunter. He had a hammock strung between two trees and was ready for bed. Some of the boys were Panamanian and translated for us. The first civilization we would have encountered was Columbia, several hundred miles distant. Fortunately, he led us out and we met the scout leader coming to search for us with flashlights. We would definitely not have made it to Columbia, and I don't see how anyone could find us. We were all quite humbled by the experience.
Panama was a lousy place for animals. One of our friends gave us their Scotty (Mac) when they returned to the States. Animals had to go through quarantine before returning to the States; and Mac had almost died there when they moved to Panama. I was responsible for most of his care and I remember sitting for hours with a pair of tweezers pulling out ticks and putting them in a pan of water. I remember one time when he was lying in a corner a large group of ticks abandoned him and were climbing up the wall. Mac eventually got intosome poison intended for one of the obnoxious dogs in the neighborhood.
We had a maid during the period that we lived in single family houses. The maids spoke very little English; so Mom had a real communication challenge. When we notified our maid that we were returning to the States, she asked to come along. Mom was surprised at her request since she had six children. Her plans were to give the children to her sister. They all lived together in a one room apartment.
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Boulder
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Our move to Boulder was a result of Dad’s being transferred to Hawaii. One of his friends, Mel Bitner, had attended the University of Colorado and liked the area, so Dad decided to establish our family in Boulder without having previously visiting there. We flew from Panama City to Guatemala to Mexico City to Brownsville, Texas where we boarded a train for the trip to Colorado.
We stayed in a hotel while Dad bought a house and made arrangements for us. Within two days after arriving in Boulder, Dad was on his way to Hawaii. It would be more than two years before we would see him again.
Dad’s first task in Hawaii was to move the large guns from the sunken battleships at Pearl Harbor and install them as shore installations. He had many stories about the difficulties of moving the guns over land given the size and weight of the various pieces. In order to move the ring that the gun sat on they chained together two lowboys with their tractors. Then they had a dozer pushing and pulling each rig, so they had six power units that they had to synchronize. If one of the units lost power the entire operation would stop and they would have to restart. After completing this project he was assigned to take charge of the planning for the advanced airfields for the assault on Japan, and spent the rest of his time in Hawaii on that project.
Until this time Chuck and I had been inseparable, but we now developed different friends and I would have relatively little interaction with Chuck for the next 30 years except for meals and bedtime. Chuck and I shared a dressing room where Paul slept; we slept in a double bed on an unheated porch. In the winter Mom would make the bed with sheet blankets instead of sheets. We would gather our courage on cold nights, run to bed, get completely under the covers, and curl up into a tight ball until the bed started to warm. On extremely cold nights it seemed as if it took forever. Too bad they didn’t have electric blankets then. I also remember the time in the summer when I put on my shoe and felt something in the toe. It turned out to be a big fat tomato worm.
I was in the middle of the eighth grade when we moved to Boulder. It was easy for me to get acquainted since we would play baseball or other games and in doing so I “slid” easily into the new environment. Since we had moved quite often, getting re-established was not a particularly traumatic experience for either Chuck or me.
Teddy arrived soon after we got settled. The Express Company was not supposed to deliver him until the next day, but he raised such a furor that they brought him out almost immediately. The people in Miltonvale claim that Ted bit every one in town at least once, but he was such a likable character that he survived.
Mom wanted me to become more proficient musically. I selected the cornet as my instrument. Mom bought a nice Reynolds horn so I became moderately serious about learning to play. My first performance was memorable. Jim Reich and I were to play a trumpet duet of Maresy Doats for the school assembly. Since I had only been playing a couple of months I was extra nervous. I wanted my valves to fly so I took out each valve and ran water over it from a water fountain, a standard procedure; however, I apparently got carried away.
We played on the gym floor with all the junior high students sitting above us. We had just started when – gurgle gurgle – I had gotten too much water on the valves and had not cleaned out the excess. There are two spit valves to release the moisture that collects when you play, so I stopped and cleared out the water. The entire school erupted in laughter. We were standing in a spot of sunlight and the kids said later that it looked like Niagara Falls when the water started to flow. I was a litte more than embarrassed.
My first music contest was another experience. I had only been playing about five months when I was entered in a music contest in Denver. My performance was scheduled later in the contest, so I had some time to get nervous again. All of the other trumpet players I heard sounded like Harry James, and I did not want to be ridiculed. Another contestant and I went for a walk, hoping we would miss our turns. When we returned I asked about the standings again. Much to my dismay, I was next. Betty Leslie was my accompanist and I would definitely have dropped out of the competition but for her. I received a rating of Three which probably meant that I had shown up. It wasn’t very good, but still better than some.
I delivered the Denver Post newspaper which was a large paper by paperboy standards. The Boulder Camera was about ¼ th the size or smaller. My route was the Baseline area, so I had the maximum altitude climb. It was all I could do to get my bike to the top of the hill with two bags of papers hanging to the ground. On Sunday mornings, we started about 3:30 AM. For breakfast we established a relationship with the workers at Watts Hardy Dairy. Three of us would meet in the cooler and each have a pint of ice cream before we started our routes.
One afternoon, Tom Binkley and I were racing to work on our bikes riding down the sidewalk. Tom misjudged and ran into one of my teachers, Miss Hall. She was short and fat, and he knocked her head over heels. We stopped and picked her up, with her belongings. She was dazed and didn’t even recognize me; but she started on and appeared to be OK. She was a mighty tough old gal.
The economics lessons we learned were profound. It was amazing how many people would not have enough money to pay their paper bill (about a dollar). It wasn’t much and Boulder was an affluent community, especially in my area. But they would use all forms of excuses, and I would have to return several times to collect from some of my customers.
Boys have to test the system and in order accomplish that, we would do dumb things on a regular basis. Chuck and I were bike racing down Ninth Street one day. Chuck went through the stop sign at Arapahoe Street at full speed and lucked out. I hesitated as I approached the stop sign and saw a car coming; I locked the brake and slid sideways into the car. The bike flew across the street and I ended up in a dazed state sitting on the running board of the car. My bike was a pretzel, but I was unhurt. Luck often takes up what good sense leaves behind.
I also remember one of the times I should have been listening. One of the school bullies stated that he saw someone somersault over six people lying down parallel. Without much thinking about it I said I could jump over seven though I had never attempted the stunt. I didn’t think anymore about it. Later, at lunchtime, I returned from the store across the street with an ice cream cone. The bully had lined up the seven kids and a teacher had come to supervise. "Let's see you do it." I had no choice. I asked the teacher to hold my cone, proceeded with a successful jump, and casually, with my heart in my throat, thanked the teacher for holding my cone. Some small events like that probably shape the future, because, for at least a short time, I thought a little longer before making boastful statements. However, for a short time I was a hero.
On Character Costume Day I dressed as Abraham Lincoln. But the best costume was by Lloyd Holman who dressed as a prize-fighter, complete with a terrific black eye. It looked real. It was real. We had been playing baseball several weeks before when a fly ball hit a power line and was deflected enough that it hit him directly in the eye. We all thought he was gonna lose it but he wound up using it for Costume Day.
I was a fairly good baseball player and played second, caught and pitched. But Boulder did not have a baseball program in High School and I was never enamored with softball. Chuck was a terrific softball pitcher.
Ted disappeared for about a year and we later found out that he had been dognapped for breeding. He had escaped his captors and Mom saw him in front of the police station. He was fat, unclipped, and filthy. When she brought him home, I said it wasn’t Teddy. She asked me to call out his name, and, upon his eager response, immediately picked him up and gave him a bath.
My ninth grade algebra class would affect my future intellectual path in a major way. The teacher, Miss Woodbury, liked me and would ask me to stand in for her sometimes if she had to leave the room. I was the youngest and probably the most shy person in class and definitely not prepared to manage a class. While I never had any problem, it made me extremely self conscious, plus I thought it would tend to separate me from my classmates.
The school issued letter grades, but I received a 100 for my Algebra grade. That meant that I had not missed any problem either on a test or on the daily work for the entire year. That doesn’t seem reasonable to me because it is very easy to make a mistake even if you know better. In any event, a special presentation was arranged and the Principal presented me my grade, the second 100 in the history of the school. By that presentation I was definitely separated from the rest of the school. I pictured me in the future carrying my books like the girls did and decided at that time “not to excel academically”.
Miss Woodbury had wanted to do something special for me with this award, but it backfired. At least from my perspective. In the future she would meet my mother on the street and would always ask her about the new academic honors I had received. Mom would avoid the issue. Some children are emotionally ready for honors and some are not. While I believe the current generation has a number of problems that I did not experience, many of them probably would have handled such recognition better than I.
I generally had one special buddy with whom I did everything. I met Jim Brady soon after moving to Boulder and we became unseperable. We started playing tennis, skiing, and, of course, played all of the seasonal sports. Jim made the basketball team. I was too slow; I was always at the wrong end of the court.
My usual summer activities involved mowing lawns and odd jobs. After ninth grade, I got my first out-of-town job. I worked in Estes Park at a filling station and washed dishes for my room and board. I was supposed to work for three hours at the restaurant. Mom visited me after a few weeks and found that I was working for five or six hours every night so she raised enough fuss that I was forced to leave. The owners of the filling station let me stay with them for the balance of the summer, a much softer life, but pretty lonely.
While I worked washing dishes, I stayed in an attic with some university age girls with whom I would go horseback riding and who provided some company. After moving in with the Monahans my principal recreation was playing pool by myself. Since I was only 14 and not particularly outgoing, being away from home for the summer was definitely an educational experience.
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The move into High School wasn't much of a shock, probably because the same kids were involved and Brady and I were in a world of our own. Life pretty much continued as before.
We were active in skiing, in band and orchestra, and joined the Civil Air Patrol to help do our part in the war effort (WWII). I became a member of the school dance band and started wrestling while Brady went out for basketball
Wrestling was a new sport for the school and our primary training involved the technique of freezing, that is, lying on our face and having our opponent dig into our back with his elbow. My first match was against a two-time state champion. I actually was leading on points but ran out of gas and got pinned. Wresting means conditioning and that means a lotta work. I had the quick reactions to be good but definitely lacked the aggressiveness and the commitment to training required to be great.
Tennis was another story. Our group became the high-school team for the next three years. In our sophomore year, the first two places were taken by seniors, but after their graduation we would be the team. Usually Dick Bingham was first, Brady was second, I was third, with Walz fourth and McCabe fifth. We did moderately well in our meets throughout the state. I do recall one state championship where Brady and I played doubles against the defending State Champions from Colorado Springs. We had never played doubles but it was felt that we could hold our own based upon our singles ability. It didn’t work. Brady and I were always either in the wrong place at the wrong time, the right place at the wrong time, or the wrong place at the right time. However, our opponents obviously knew what they were doing. It was downright embarrassing. I suppose we got some points, but in looking back it seems as if we lost 'em all.
We practiced almost every good-weather day, but, unfortunately had no instructor. After we got our licenses to driving we would tour Boulder looking for a place to practice; courts were in short supply. There were a few at the High School but those were always taken by the girls. I never understood that because I don’t even know if they competed with the other schools. In view of the facilities we had and our lack of training, we were probably fortunate to be competitive. However at that time most of the other schools were probably in a similar situation.
I well remember the day we saw a strange object in the irrigation ditch on our way to school. Being naturally curious we poked it with a stick. Within a few minutes after we got to school the three of us were urged to return to our homes. The skunk smell had permeated the entire high school and we had become very unpopular.
I started playing with the University of Colorado band as a sophomore and would continue with them throughout high school. Since I was much younger than anyone else in the University band I became sort of a loner, especially on the out-of-town trips. After my sophmore year I became first chair for the next two years.
We formed a dance band and played a few dances around the state. I always liked to play in dance bands. Regular band was alright, but I never liked to play in the orchestra. I didn’t like being the background. Our dance band was acceptable but the only outstanding player was Randall Spicer, director of music at Boulder High. He played the alto sax. Smooth as ice.
Near the end of the year Dad returned home from Hawaii. He told a story about being on one of the advanced airfields and watching bombers take off from four runways with a second plane beginning its takeoff while the first plane was still on the runway. He said they were sending planes from 16 runways on other islands simultaneously. The takeoffs lasted for 1½ hours. Dad's conclusion was that no nation could endure such a bombardment. He told his supervisor that he was going home for a few days. If the war with Japan did not end, he would be back.
Dad had an honorary rank of Colonel, but was not in the service. While he was en route home they dropped the atomic bomb and the war was over. The plan was for Dad to move to the Philippines as a part of MacArthur’s staff. The surrender came three days after he got to Boulder, so he just called and resigned his position. Since he was a civilian he did not have to go through the mustering-out process.
Dad's returning home was really a strange sensation for me. I had been the man of the house for over two years and I was now being forced into a junior role by someone that I barely remembered. My father. Dad looked different and seemed to act different. He wasn't there for me during these impressionable times. I hadn't even heard from him. I got letters but they were from Mom.
The one job I really hated was feeding the stoker. The coal was very dusty, so as I worked I became as black as it was. Dad’s first action was to replace the stoker with a gas feed. I don't think he ever fully appreciated the work I had done while he was gone. It took me a long time to really get comfortable with him.
The end of the war saw great revelry with the bonfires and dancing in the streets. We had gone through a period which I hope is never repeated, but which had only a minor effect on me, except for my new relationship with Dad. There were some shortages although not noticeable to young boys - the victory gardens, food stamps, gasoline rationing, conservation efforts of all types-and all news involved the war.
During the War Mom started taking courses at the University and kept busy caring for the three of us. She was pleased that the boys at CU were asking her out on dates when she was old enough to be their mother.
My summer job after my sophomore year was post-hole digging near Ward, Colorado. They were putting in a new power line and I was one of three digging the holes for the poles. We had a heavy six foot bar to use as a pick. Occasionally I would manage a nice hole, but most were a problem. The objective was to dig a four foot deep hole about three feet in diameter. In wet sand the hole would end up about eight feet in diameter and I didn’t think I would ever finish. When we were up against rock, we would drill with a gas powered drill and blast, usually scattering rock fragments all over the country. I would then try to pile up rocks around the original location and make the semblance of a hole. We stayed at a dude ranch and had the usual type of dude ranch experiences. Digging post-holes was a good physical workout such that I wasn't much interested in recreational activities.
My Junior year was significant because we generally had access to automobiles. Brady got his license almost a year before I did. He was born on June 29, 1929. We would bum around all nights until midnight or one o’clock and not do anything. Occasionally we would play “ditch-em”, a rather dangerous sport. We would race through the streets and alleys of Boulder and try to lose another car. We only had minor events, but we certainly had major potential for disaster.
Dad succeeded in bringing me down to earth. I don't know whether or not that was his intention when we played tennis and he beat me. He had not played for several years and probably was never too good, but he seemed to hit everything back. Every ball was a lob and he was consistent. Here I had actually been playing all the time and was totally frustrated. Looking back, I hope I wanted him to win, but that seems out of character for me.
One of Dad’s closest friends in Hawaii, Lou Aiken, returned to the States as manager of the horse contingent for Harry James and Betty Grable. He arranged for me to get one of Harry’s trumpets which I wanted in the worst way, but couldn’t raise the $300 which Harry charged for his old horns. It would have been a great deal.
Dad bought a garage downtown and had obtained the dealership for Kaiser Frazer automobiles. After about a year he changed to the Nash dealership. The first time he let me drive a car around to the back of our house was a memorable occasion. It was a ’41 Nash coupe and I just had the usual problem of getting the clutch and the gas synchronized. On my sixteenth birthday I got my permanent license and spent the rest of the day driving the boys around. We went out north of town and practiced shooting Dad’s German Luger as a part of the celebration. That was obviously a very big day because of the long anticipation.
Dad would usually leave an old car for the family to use. It would generally be parked on the left side of the street in front of our house with the keys in the ignition. One evening Dad came home and caught the full wrath of Mom for leaving her such a dirty car. “But”, he said, “I didn’t leave a car today”. Mom had mistakingly “borrowed” the car of a roofer working across the street. The guy probably saw her take the car and thought it was funny, which it was.
Our house was never locked and the front door was generally open on nice days. Teddy would take care of the property. The cleaning man would carefully open the screen door and lay the clothes on a chair near the door. Ted would hear the rustle of the bags and charge just as he would close the door. Occasionally Ted would be sleeping when I came home. He would charge through the living room with his legs spread and his stomach almost dragging the floor. He really looked mean and scared everyone. He would be quite embarrassed when it turned out to be a family member.
After one of Ted’s extended outings he came home and collapsed on the lawn. He had been shot through the shoulder and it took everything he had to make it home. The vet ran a swab through the wound and he was soon back to his old mischief. The vet, who had a lot of experience with Ted, said he was the toughest animal he had ever seen. He could operate on Ted without an anesthetic just by telling him to stay. He would grit his teeth and just take it.
In addition to our school activities Brady and I frequented the local bars to play pin-ball machines and snooker. We would spend a considerable amount of time on these totally worthless activities during the next two years. We were always busy, but did not use our time too productively.
Dad took Chuck and me pheasant hunting. Chuck had Dad’s good double barrel twelve gauge, and I had a borrowed gun. We had just jumped over an irrigation ditch when a bird flew up. Chuck fired and peeled the barrel of his shotgun just like a banana. When he jumped the ditch, he had stuck the barrel in the ground, plugging it with dirt. We were through for the day. Chuck was fortunate to only be shook up. Later that year Dad took me elk hunting; we didn’t see anything, thank goodness. I probably would have made a shot and then regretted it for a long time. I have not been hunting since and don’t miss the event.
This was the year I succeeded in getting a “1” or superior rating in the music contest. I played “The Debutante” which is a classic trumpet piece. Later in the year we traveled to Tulsa as part of the Southwestern band. I played second chair to an excellent girl trumpeter.
I was asked to start playing for Military Funerals. I would arrive at a spot quite a distance from the funeral at a specific time. My normal cue was the firing of guns, whereupon I would play taps, turn around and play again as the echo. Taps is an easy piece yo play but very difficult to play as well as required by the solemn nature of the occasions at which it's played.
We started skiing in ninth grade and would take to the runs on a fairly regular basis through high school. The equipment was pretty crude by today’s standards. I had cable bindings with a bear-claw toe clamp. My first skis did not have metal edges. After I learned to stand up I routed out the edges and put on the old thick metal edges which were quite an improvement.
We would often go to the “Flats” south of Boulder and catch the train to Winter Park. The ski train was old even by railroad standards and the 6.5 mile trip through the Moffat tunnel was a mess. At the end of the tunnel you could barely see the length of one car. The tunnel exhaust system was not adequate with those old trains but it was an excellent way for us to get to Winter Park.
We would stay in a bunkhouse for 50 cents a night. I thought it was quite a good arrangement. We had double bunks and got acquainted with a lot of other kids in the evenings. Poker was one of our principal night activities. One evening I caught Bob Hatch cheating and I feared for his life since we were playing with some new boys we had just met. He got lucky. It’s too bad that the bunkhouse era is gone because the current generation of kids do miss a lot.
Occasionally we would stay in a cabin. One weekend we drove to Winter Park in a big ’35 Packard coupe convertible. It was particularly cold and I can remember trying to hug the side of the car for warmth as we drove to Frazer, advertised as the “icebox of the nation”. We had a small cabin with a potbellied stove. The coldness woke me up. I still remember how the stove and pipe were red hot and almost transparent. In the morning the car would not begin to turn over. We poured boiling water over the radiator. Even boiling water didn't reach the ground before it froze solid. It was one of those 40 degree below nights!
Skiing was not the popular sport then that it is now. The only areas to ski at that time were Winter Park (which was the largest), Arapahoe Basin, Loveland, and Berthoud. I was skiing with Bob Hatch who asked me to follow him down a back trail. It was new to me and soon became very narrow. Bob disappeared so I followed and was soon airborne. He had taken me off the medium jump without my knowledge. I learned where the idea originated for cartoon characters who attempt to get back when they fall off a cliff. It doesn’t work.
permanent damage. The experience was as grim as my getting sunburned. Apparently, I needed a severe lesson to convince me of the dangers. I am much more careful now.
On one occasion I took Sharon Helm skiing but had forgotten my gloves and hat, thus my head was cold and I skied with my hands in my pockets. She was a beginner. It was not a very exciting day so I decided to take the last run, something I normally avoided. Near the top of Arapahoe Basin the tow stopped as the wind picked up and the temperature plummeted. I got so cold that I considered jumping off the tow, but I was above the basin and probably at the highest point above the ground. When I got off the tow I was nearly frozen. I started skiing too fast and fell. I grabbed my ski pole and it stuck to my hand, so I started down the mountain in pell-mell fashion. I was lucky that I didn't have some permanent damage. The experience was as grim as my getting sunburned. Apparently I required a lession to convince me of the dangers. Personal experience is a great teacher.
Only one of our group was injured during the skiing adventure; Frank Walz broke his leg. While he was lying on the slope in pain I stopped and asked if I could use his glasses. My intentions were good but it didn’t come across that way. Maybe he thought I was making fun of he fact what he wore glasses. On the contrary. I wanted to wear them. It was snowing and I felt I could ski down faster for help if I had glasses. Frank still questions my motive.
I had a few dates with Mary Lou Hawkins. I don’t remember the two of us dancing, but I do remember dancing with her sister. She was muscular and moved like you might imagine a snake moving – her body giving some resistance but then flowing into every movement. I also remember the time Mary Lou and I were on a scavenger hunt and riding with Bill Arnold when he did an accidental 360 on a snowy street, a perfect execution. I also had a couple of dates with a live-wire named Peggy Burgett but we'll save that for another day.
I worked for Dad that summer. My principal functions were lubes, oil changes and car washes. I also balanced wheels on cars using a dynamic balancer and was the general “go-fer” for the shop. When not busy on the rack I would work in the parts area. I would make about a trip a week to Denver to pick up parts. I liked to drive then, so going to Denver was a real treat.
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Senior
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The significance of my senior year was related to one event. Brady and I were at a basketball game at the first of the year. I looked around the crowd of about 3,000 and spotted a truly outstanding girl. She was wearing a light blue sweater which revealed her perfect figure. I honestly thought she was the cutest girl I had ever seen. Brady informed me that her name was Ede Dobbins. Despite the low lighting, she was such a standout that it looked as if she was sitting in a spotlight.
I had only a few dates at that point in my life. Being an introvert and fearing rejection meant that I only had dates under extreme circumstances. I wondered how I could meet Ede. She was a sophomore and one of the most popular students in school. She was Head Girl of Junior High and would later be elected Head Girl of Boulder High. Brady and I intercepted her the next day on her way home from school and I arranged for our first date. Within a few weeks we were going steady and would spend a great deal of time with each other through my senior year. I always felt special when I was with Ede. The simple things like just walking and talking and holding hands with her was always a thrill.
Jim and I would drive everywhere. Many times we would drive the 55 miles to Fort Collins for a malt. A long drive but worth the trip. They were the best and advertised the fact that they would give you a free malt if you could drink two of them, which we never attempted.
Many times I would get a used car from Dad’s garage and without exception the exhaust fumes were a bother. We were always trying to stretch the gas and thus continually running out. There was an old gas pump by the train station where you could feed quarters to and pump the gas up and into a glass bowl. The fuel could then be drained into your gas tank. We were always pushing cars to the pump and then putting in 25 cents worth of gas. I remember a big ’41 Chrysler with fluid drive that could not be started by pushing. We were out of gas one evening and could not get it started. I went to the garage and got a ’37 Ford to push the Chrysler. We pushed it back to the garage, but in getting it through the garage door we jumped the bumper and smashed in the grill of the Ford. Jim and I were not thrilled about the prospect of telling Dad, so we went to Jim’s house and spent the entire night under the streetlight straightening out the flimsy grill. A short time later Dad sold the car to Joe Bergheim. He never knew about the incident.
We played poker quite frequently and I remember the night Jack Reich had a little too much to drink. He fell down a long flight of stairs. I thought he was dead. He wasn’t even fazed. We decided to drive him around and give him coffee to get him in shape to go home. While driving, the muffler fell off the car, so we put it in the rumble seat with Jack. He was a funny guy anyway, but he was in rare form complaining about us giving him a hot-foot.
We would often go ice skating. Much of the time we would drive to the lakes outside of Boulder at night and be the only ones on the ice. One evening Jim Brady was testing the ice and went through. Fortunately, the surrounding ice was thick enough to support him. Some of the time we ice skated at the University rink, north of the University and above Boulder Creek. Music added a great deal to this event and some of the traditional ice skating songs are terrific in that atmosphere.
Driving fast was a passion with me as it is with a lot of young boys. Combining inexperience with speed isn't a bright idea. One night in the rain I was driving toward Louisville when a flash of lightening showed a dangerous curve ahead. Talk about timing: Without that assistance from nature we could have driven into serious trouble.
One night Ede and I went to a basketball game in Greeley about 60 miles away. It was particularly cold and the ’35 Ford we had picked out of Dad's garage didn't
have a heater. In addition, two of the windows were out so we wrapped up in blankets and made the trip. It was fun being wrapped in a blanket with Ede. She could make anything enjoyable. I was able to use a ’41 Buick convertible occasionally and that was great fun. Ede and I went to a costume party with me dressed as a girl. I’m not sure how Ede got me to do it. Yes I am. It's called infatuation.
On weekends Ede and I would often go to Elitch’s or Lakeside in Denver. We would of course take in all of the rides we could afford. And we would dance to the big bands of that era. We saw Harry James (naturally), Tommy Dorsey, Jimmy Dorsey, Ray Anthony, and some vocalists. I was a poor dancer since I frequently played for the dances, but Ede didn’t complain.
Jerry Kaiser moved to Boulder and through him I got a job with Joe Cook who had one of the few native Colorado big bands. Joe had been in the business for many years and generally carried a band of 16 to 18 musicians. Jerry was an excellent trumpet player and he should have perhaps been 1st chair in the high school band. But like many things, the tryouts were not completely objective and more people knew me. I played with Joe for about a year and a half. We would play at the Jitney in Longmont every Friday and then played around the state on Saturday nights. The Jitney was a popular dime-a-dance place full of activity.
We played for a number of Elks Club dances where they would request “Little Brown Jug” several times every evening. The Elks certainly appeared to be enjoying themselves and I liked playing for them. I also especially enjoyed the Woodchoppers Ball at CSU which was always a grand affair. After I quit playing I started to miss it a great deal and called Joe twice to see if I could join him again. He said I should get my lip in shape and he would make a spot for me, but practice was so painful that I never made it back.
People would trade almost every form of vehicle on a new car. As a result I drove almost everything that would run. The vehicles included golf-carts and all makes and types of cars and trucks. One trade-in was a ’42 Harley 80 Motorcycle. The 80 cubic inches made it the largest motorcycle to that time. The mechanics were gathered around the motorcycle admiring it when I happened by. I asked them to explain how it operated and then sat on it and started it up. I let out the clutch a little too fast and it threw me off balance so I couldn’t get the clutch back in. The small garage door was open. I flew through that, across a wide sidewalk, between parked cars, and out onto Pearl Street, the main street in Boulder. I was lucky again that no cars were coming. I rode around and got acquainted with the motorcycle and, by the time I got back to the garage, I had it under control. Everyone enjoyed my show.
Dad asked me to drive a semi-truck load of insulation to Denver and I got trapped. A policeman said I ran a red light. I didn't run it. I know. I was looking at the light when I passed it. It wasn't red. He said I had to pay a judge or have the truck impounded. I had no appeal even though I knew at the time that the fine went to line someone's pocket.
I had not driven a semi before, and recall passing a bicyclist who was taking more than his share of the road. As I was meeting a car, and afraid to use the air-horn for fear it would scare the bicyclist, I just held my breath and pulled back into my lane. It was close. Lucky me. Even luckier biker.
I would occasionally take Ede for a ride, but her dad was not particularly enthused about motorcycles. It was more a machine for Jim and me. I rode it for about a year without ever laying it down. Jim and I rode to Caribou one day and did not judge the time well. Darkness fell and the lights on the bike were not working so we “felt” our way down Boulder canyon. They had just laid the coarse gravel for a new road and it was all I could do to keep us upright. We tried following cars but they went too fast. Finally, a driver recognized our plight and followed us so we could drive in his lights. There are still some smart and courteous people out there.
Chuck and I used to wrestle all the time, but that stopped in my senior year. We had some form of altercation, and I was taunting Chuck with my hands on my hips. Without warning, he hauled off and hit me in the stomach as hard as he could. He caught me by surprise, so I couldn’t even tighten up and by this time he was getting pretty strong. I remember lying on the floor by the refrigerator, gasping for breath, and thinking how I would take his head off when I was finally able to get up. We just got started when Mom stopped us. I was smart enough to realize that this was the time to start negotiating.
My memories of Paul in those years are very limited since he was six years younger than me. At supper, we would have a discussion and Paul would miss the entire point. He would try to enter into our conversation with some totally inappropriate remarks. We all enjoyed him, but I’m not too certain that he appreciated us.
Randall Spicer, the music director at Boulder High, wanted me to stay in the music field and offered to help get me a scholarship to CU. He had me direct the band and did everything he could to incline me musically. I just didn't want to continue with music. Ede was taking all of my spare time and some things had to go by the wayside.
I graduated in probably the ideal position, given my resolution to not stand out academically. I was number 33 out of a graduating class of 206. It would have been so easy to get straight A’s if I had been so inclined. I hardly ever took a book home and have often wondered what my life would have been like if I had worked in school.
Brady and I lived in our own world and didn’t pay much attention to what went on with others. Jim was upset because we didn’t get our activities listed in the yearbooks, but we just didn't get the word that we were supposed to turn in an activity list.
While I never had any money, it seemed as if we could do anything we wanted to. We would buy 25 cents worth of gas and that would be our recreation for an evening. Boys don’t need any special clothing, so any funds we did manage were used for recreation. My outfit consisted of high-top tennis shoes, jeans and white T-shirts. I had two sweaters and two shirts and eventually a down jacket. Mom had gotten me a tweed suit and a pair of dress shoes and that was my wardrobe. I don’t think I ever had a regular allowance. I must have lived from my summer earnings, because I don’t recall a regular infusion of capital.
An expensive evening was a movie followed with a hamburger at one of the local drive-ins. That was the ultimate, and the drive-ins were always populated with kids our age in the late hours.
Arm yourself with logic and enjoy the ride.
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Email: theronfostershow@yahoo.com
