Elementary School Class Photos

I have been meaning to post my elementary school pictures for a while, so that my kids could see them.  It's kind of fun to look back to see if any of my grandchildren look like me.   

Below the caption for each photo I've put where I am in very tiny print.

Kindergarten was spent at Langdon Avenue School, far from our house, far being 3 miles away on 2-lane roads that flooded when it rained.  There was no school bus, only a carpool with other families in the neighborhood.  Sometimes our group had to wait after school for our ride to show up, and we children did our best to get into trouble on those days.  The school was old, and next to it was an even older house that was abandoned.  It wasn't boarded up and we were convinced it was haunted by a witch.  The brave among took the dare to run through it.  One day we found a dead mouse in the bathtub.  We didn't go back after that.

Kindergarten with Mrs. Bell, 1959-1960

[me, 3rd row, far right]

Brand new Balboa Blvd. School opened in the fall of 1960; that's where I attended first through sixth grades.   Our neighborhood road did not go through to the school so we caught a bus down on Havenhurst Ave. that first year.  After that we walked the half mile. 

First grade: I was sick a lot during elementary, sometimes missing multiple weeks of class.  Mrs. Begly was actually the teacher I began first grade with, then got sick, and when I returned the school had moved me to Mrs. Jackson's class.  So I had 2 first days of first grade.

First Grade with Mrs. Jackson, 1960-1961

[me, 3rd row, second from left]

Second grade: Mr. Parmalee was big on spelling.  We had to learn long hard words, like the word responsibility, for example.  In second grade Jeff Harband (bottom row, center) stabbed my hand with a sharpened pencil.  Nothing was done.  Another boy whose name I forget used to punch me on the playground.  When I complained the duty teacher said, "that's how boys show they like you."   

Second Grade with Mr. Parmalee, 1961-1962

[me, second row, second from left]

Third grade: due to illness I missed learning long-division.  When I returned the teacher didn't catch me up and it took me years to become confident in that skill.

Third Grade with Mrs. Wolfe, 1962-1963

[me, 3rd row, 3rd from left]

Fourth grade: by this time I was a mostly excellent student and found out that was not a popular thing to be.  In the fall of fourth grade, President Kennedy was assassinated.  Mrs. Hamill broke the news to us.

Fourth Grade with Mrs. Hamill, 1963-1964

[me, second row, first on left]

Fifth grade: Mrs. Field let me be her messenger around the campus.  I loved the freedom of walking around the school with an important job to do.  Her confidence in me meant the world.

Fifth Grade with Mrs. Davis; the second term my teacher was Mrs. Field, who I loved, 1964-1965

[me, 3rd row, 3rd from right]

Sixth grade: my friend Sunny (second row, second from right) and I were elected class president and vice president; the second semester we switched roles.  We also were chosen for the most coveted job in the entire school: equipment room monitors.  During recess it was our job to dispense play equipment to the students.  And then play hide-and-seek in the room until recess was over.

Sixth Grade with Mr. Ressler, 1965-1966

[me, 4th row, second from left]

Grandchildren 2014

Re: the ancient proverb, "grandchildren are your reward for not killing your kids."   It is a wonderfully rewarding time of life for us.

Brooklyn, 13, the manager

Jonah, 11, the entertainer

Miriam, 9, the thinker

Eli, 7, luvvy

Majd, 6, the athlete

 Paisley, 5, on the straight and narrow

Shiloh, 4, kitty-cat lover

Sterling, 1, explorer extraordinaire

Cora, 6 months, must have mommy in sight at all times

Sage, 2 months, da-da's clone

My Trump Card

Joshua Trees are thick in the Mojave

In the mid-1970s our family lived in the Mojave Desert while Craig worked as an engineer on top-secret military projects at Naval Weapons Center. I did a lot of reading during those years about that lonely, wild, and breathtakingly beautiful part of California.

Besides being the historic home of tribes of Mojave Indians who had all but disappeared, early explorers had passed through the desert and nearby Sierra Nevada Mountains. Rich veins of ore were discovered, giving the rugged area a legendary mining heritage--gold, silver, lead, zinc, borax, and other valuable deposits came out of the Mojave and surrounding mountains. In my extensive reading I became familiar with mine locations and major players in the industry in the 19th century. Cerro Gordo was the big daddy of mining operations in the Sierra Nevada.

Fast forward 25 years to the 1990s. My sister Alice and I spent a few spring vacations camping in the wilderness of Death Valley. We drove for miles off-road, set up camp, cooked over our fire, endured violent "banshee" windstorms, hiked, and enjoyed the dramatic scenery. Those trip are among my favorite memories ever.

our Echo Canyon campsite in Death Valley

This one spring we stayed a night in Lone Pine, a town near Death Valley, the first night of our camping trip. I don't remember why we didn't camp out, but we might have gotten up near Death Valley too late in the day to find a place to set up for the night. Anyway, we grabbed some dinner at a small diner, and got to talking to the folks at the next table. We mentioned to one fellow that we were interested in seeing the old mining town of Cerro Gordo. He said the settlement was now privately owned, but that he --Tom--  was close friends with the owner --Dee-- and that it was ok if we drove around the road barrier she had set up to keep looky-loos out. When we got up there we should tell her that Tom gave us permission.

The next day we did it. Drove out to the foothills, drove around the road barrier, and the SUV crawled up the steep, windy dirt road to the old mining camp high in the mountains. As we pulled into Cerro Gordo a woman, who turned out to be Dee, flew out of one of the old houses demanding to know what we were doing there--didn't we see the barrier down below? We blamed our presence on Tom. Dee exclaimed she was preparing for weekend guests and didn't have time to have tourists around. She saw a couple of our children in the car and decided she had a moment to give us a quick look at one of the old houses and off we went.

the mining boss's house

In the front room of the house Dee related a nutshell history of the Cerro Gordo Mines. I glanced around and saw a man's photo hanging on the wall. When she paused I blurted out, "Hey, that's Mortimer Belshaw!" She was struck dumb for a few moments. Mortimer Belshaw was the man who made Cerro Gordo profitable (and himself wealthy) by figuring out a way to get Cerro Gordo silver hundreds of miles south to Los Angeles. Well, remember the extensive reading I referred to above? Belshaw was a star player in Mojave-area history, and I had not forgotten him. I had played my trump card, I had passed GO and collected my $200. And I'm really glad he had an outstanding name that was easy to recall.

Mortimer Belshaw

Well, a startled and amazed Dee thawed out right there in front of Belshaw's photo; I had apparently been the first person ever to recognize the man. She gave us a tour of the rest of the house, and then declared we could take our time looking around the town as long as we stayed away from the mine shafts. We lingered, explored, and even bought a couple of local history paperbacks in the dusty cluttered museum. On the way down the mountain the SUV had trouble; even in low gear and with Alice's foot firmly on the brake, it was hard to control speed--the road was that steep. Poor Alice had to buy a new transmission after that trip, but it was worth it to have a once-in-a-lifetime trip to remote, secluded Cerro Gordo.

William S. Hart's Horseshoe Ranch

William S. Hart

In 1946 a well-known silent film star, veteran of scores of Western movies, passed away on his ranch in Newhall, California.  HIs name was William S. Hart, star of early pictures such as Ben-Hur (1907), The Gunfighter (1917), and Tumbleweeds (1925).   He counted among his friends Tom Mix, Maurice Chevalier, Charles M. Russell, Frederick Remington, and other celebrities.  He knew Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp and Will Rogers.  From Newburgh, NY, he had begun his acting career on the stage in New York City in 1888.  About 1913 he headed west to act in Westerns, met a pinto named Fritz on a set, and became known for films that portrayed the West as it was: rustic and rugged, harsh, dusty, full of really really bad folks, some good folks too, and a place of boundless sweeping vistas.

Hart on his beloved horse, Fritz

About 1921 Hart bought land in the foothills of the Santa Susanna range on the south end of Newhall, and named it Horseshoe Ranch.  He built a Spanish-style hacienda he christened La Loma de Los Vientos, a bunkhouse, stables, and other outbuildings, and put in a swimming pool surrounded by a sunny plaza.  Hart collected guns, including several that had belonged to Billy the Kid.  He loved Western art and acquired some Remington and Russell originals, and Navaho rugs and artifacts.

La Loma de Los Vientos

Before his death Hart did something so magnanimous, so brilliant and far-sighted.  In his will he left Horseshoe Ranch to the people of Los Angeles County with the stipulation that it be open to the public for free.  Yeah.  And his slice of heaven on earth became my family's slice of heaven on earth, a favorite destination from about 1959 on.  We picnicked here, we hiked the acres of oak-dotted hills, tarried at the corrals, collected peacock feathers, looked for the hoot owl that lived in the shack.  We relished the Charley Russell art, the Remington sculptures, the antique guns and thrilled at the grizzly bear rug in the upstairs living-room.  From the pleasant terrace we gawked at craggy chaparral-covered ridges, the buffalo herd down the ridge, and the panorama of the Tehachapi Mountain Range miles to the north.  I have spent a heap of happy hours at Hart's ranch.

entrance to the ranch

foyer and staircase

Hart's living room

Hart's gift gratified the local community.  The first high school in the Santa Clarita Valley was close to opening at the time of his death, and it was decided to name it William S. Hart Union High School.  And that's my alma mater, class of 1972.  I don't know if there are other schools named after movie actors--that can be a roiling pit of quicksand, given reputations common in that occupation.  Not that Hart was perfect, but he had been a good neighbor and community contributor for decades before his death.  [NOTE: read here for another kind action by Hart]

Hart must be smiling down from above at the joy four generations have experienced at his ranch.  His reason for giving his estate to the public, was simply this:

"When I was making pictures, the people gave me their nickels, dimes, and quarters. When I am gone, I want them to have my home." -- William S. Hart

Chora Church, Istanbul

Istanbul is full of venerable, ancient structures in various states of repair.  Back when the continent of North America was peopled by hunter gatherers wandering in small tribes, the Byzantines were erecting solid beautiful churches and other memorable buildings, some of which remain today.  Chora Church is one of those, the word Chora indicating it was built outside the city walls.  The Church is actually titled The Church of the Holy Savior.

There has been a chapel or church at the site of Chora Church since at least the 5th century, a hundred years or more before the Emperor Justinian came along.  He replaced the old structure with a new one that lasted hundreds of years before its partial destruction by earthquake and invasion.  It was rebuilt in the 14th century and at that time marvelous Byzantine mosaics and frescoes adorned the walls, and are still part of the church today.

The vivid colors in these mosaics  are remarkable for art that's over 700 years old.

I proclaim that the most memorable art in Chora Church is the fresco called The Anastasis, depicting the Resurrection.  I've never seen the Resurrection depicted with this much energy and verve.  It's how I believe it will happen.

Both of my photos below show the same scene, the second being a closer view.  The resurrected Savior, with vitality and intensity, is resolutely yanking Adam and Eve from their graves.  His body is in motion, His energy is flowing.  Under his feet are the smashed gates of hell and, look hard, the bound impotent figure of Satan.  The message her is undeniable: Christ and his followers will prevail over evil, and through Him we have victory over the grave.  I stood rooted and in awe for a long time, soaking in this message.

Hagia Sophia

Mystical, awe-inspiring, stunning Hagia Sophia (Holy Wisdom), is a precious jewel among jewels in Istanbul.   Standing since 537 A.D.--nearly 1500 years now, it was erected in a Greek-founded city that was already 1000 years old at the time of the Emperor Justinian, who ordered its construction.  For most of its first 1000 years Hagia Sophia was a Greek Orthodox church.  Since 1453 when Constantinople fell to the Ottoman Turks, it has been a mosque, although it has served as a museum the past 75 years.

Being inside was a most sublime ethereal experience.   The walls, the domes, minarets, medallions, frescos, inlaid flooring, textiles, mosaics, the relics, and many-ton wooden doors, all have witnessed rich and violent history.   I wonder how many emperors and sultans had trod these floors, how many thousands of knees had knelt here, both Christian and Muslim.   Hagia Sophia was the world's largest cathedral for a thousand years.

Fine materials from all parts of the Byzantine Empire are incorporated into the church.  The frescos and mosaics tell of early Christianity, and the huge wooden medallions and minarets remind us that Ottoman Turks overran the weakened Christian Empire nearly 600 years ago. 

I visited this marvelous place twice on our trip, the second time alone in order to soak up the moods in just about every square inch.  Hagia Sophia is a remarkable place.  If only walls could speak . . . .

Byzantium 2014

For 50 years I yearned to visit Istanbul to immerse myself in its magnificence, richness, mystery, perfume, cadence, artistry and cuisine.  I attribute my fascination with Constantinople --Byzantium -- Istanbul, to my ancestors who were Byzantine Catholic, and to St. Mary's Byzantine Catholic Church I attended as a child, a bewitching place of exotic mosaic art, mysterious icons, and aromatic incense.  And to my college professor whose heavy regimen of Medieval Europe / Christian history was a delight.  I couldn't get enough.

Last January we made the trip in two parts as the bookends to our  UAE trip.  Our lodging was an old house in Sultanhamet that had been converted into a small hotel.  It was perfectly located for most of the sight-seeing we planned to do.  We were able to walk or ride the streetcar everywhere, except that our visit to more-distant Chora Church required a taxi.

From the airport we took the train into the city.  Most of the passengers were men, and a number were friendly and helpful.  One of them taught us Turkish phrases during the trip.  We got off the train in the dark and the three of us set off toward our hotel towing our rolling suitcases down-down-down the hilly cobblestone streets, and oh, what a racket we made.  The clackity-clack of the plastic wheels echoed off the buildings that hugged the streets.  Our footing was precarious not being used to knobby cobblestones, and we knew from previous travel experience to expect loose and missing stones, holes in the sidewalks and streets, and even random debris waiting to trip us up.

We saw the most wonderful churches, mosques, and museums.  We cruised the Bosphorus on a tour boat and were lucky to sit next to an American who had lived in Istanbul for decades, who pointed out lots of interesting sites and told fascinating stories that we wouldn't have otherwise learned.

Istanbul is a city of deep and ancient beauty.   This post, today, is only an outline of our trip with some street scenes.  In other posts I will cover Hagia Sophia and Chora Church.

jet lag

our granddaughter in our hotel

our Istanbul hotel

we had delicious lentil soup at this restaurant near our hotel, at least 3 times

we aren't ones to spend a lot of time in restaurants when we travel, and we're always able to find some kind of "street snack" to tide us over; in Istanbul it was this circular bread called simit which is cheap, delicious and filling

Istanbul's historic Grand Bazaar

craggy cobblestone streets

a city scene on the Galata bridge with Galata Tower in the distance

carpet weaver at work

the candy man

fishing boats and tankers on the Bosphorus

6th century Basilica Cistern is capable of holding an ocean of fresh water

he is very representative of what a Turkish man looks like

a forest of gravestones outside a mosque

Istanbul's city wall