Founder's History
This is my Mother and Father, Maude Irene Lobdell and Roy Albert Steadman, taken at Alum Rock Park in San Jose, California, about 1946. My Father was a "shill" at a local casino (gangsters) and my Mother sang torch songs at the same club. Dad was known to his employers as the "Alligator Kid", because he was from Florida. Every night he would go down to the club and the Pit Boss would give him maybe $50 to gamble with. The idea was to make the "Mark" who came in think that the club was busy. Of course, Dad played as best he could, black jack and poker, because his salary was solely based upon how much he made above the $50 he was originally given. At the end of the evening, he would meet with the Pit Boss and count out what he had. Everything over $50, they would split between them. If Dad lost, he would owe nothing, but there wouldn't be a paycheck for that evening's work, either.
Back in those days, the rackets were exclusive to gambling, prostitution and loan sharking. The Police would visit the "houses" and check each girl to see if she had been given a physical and blood test during that week and held a current Health Card from the Health Department, along with collecting a $5 contribution for the Widows & Orphans Fund. Every girl would have to do this every week she worked at the "house", or she would be arrested and jailed. It was all illegal, but always above board and out in the open for anyone to see. It was a time you could leave your doors unlocked at night without fear of someone robbing you. It was a time that anyone caught selling drugs in areas of the city controlled by the "family" would be executed on the spot. And, it was a time that shopkeepers did not feel they had to carry a sidearm when conducting their business, even though the Law pretty much allowed them to.
My Mother holding me after I was born.
My Father holding me after I was born. After my birth, Dad began working as a maintenance man for a local Ice House, the days when most people still used Ice Boxes to keep their meats and vegetables. At one year old, I was voted the Most Beautiful Baby in San Mateo, California.
Picture of me sitting on our front steps just prior to our moving to Coosbay, Oregon. I am wearing my Father's hat.
Me and Dad standing in our back yard in Coosbay, Oregon. You can see my Mother's writing that says "little bridge" just behind Dad. It was a walkway across the small, flowing creek behind the house. What people did, then, was place a pipe in the creek, facing upstream, and the force of the water would put water in the house at the sink. Then, you would place a pipe back into the stream, facing downstream, to dump your dirty sink water. Your closest neighbor, maybe a mile or more downstream, would do the same thing. Of course, by the time the water made its way to them, it would once again be crystal clear. And, every one had outhouses instead of indoor bathrooms.
Dad and Deb made a fortune, maybe $250 to $400 a day back in 1948. But, they had one fatal shortcoming. They would never take more than one chain with them to the woods, so it required them to go back to town to get it sharpened every day. That required them to wait at the local tavern, and, well, you can guess the rest of it. We left Oregon with the clothes on our backs and little more.
As a footnote, my Mother had this huge German Shepard in our home for protection, not against people but against the wild life. Dad, when he came in at night, had to throw his hat into the house before entering so the dog would know who he was. Otherwise, he would have probably killed Dad. Many times, in the early morning snow, we would see fresh Cougar tracks all around the house, especially out around the outhouse. Bears were also in great abundance. The dog always went to the outhouse with Mom and me, or anytime we were outside, for protection. That was the kind of place it was.
This photo was taken of me in November of 1960. When we left California, after loosing everything we had, we hit Florida in April of 1960. In three months, I lost 30 pounds, dropping from 180 to 150 (from starvation) and shot up another 3 inches in height. I was 13 when the photo was taken. And, from that time, began going to school two days a week and working the other three for local farmers, anyone needing a strong back and willing hands. The state finally made me quit school when I was 16 and my first jobs were 13 hours a night at a local motel (7 days a week) and five days a week at a local foundry. Dad was only making a dollar an hour, 36 hours a week, and traveling 13 miles, 6 days a week to do that. With six brothers and sisters at home, being the oldest, my working was just understood.
My photo in 1972, when I graduated from the United States Army Military Police School in Ft. Gordon, Georgia. We had just come in from a ten mile hike in full battle gear, given a towel to wipe the sweat off, the hat, the dickey and the coat to put on. Within minutes we marched into the Company Game Room and our photo was snapped. The Military Police School has since moved to Ft. Rutgers, Alabama.