Chapter 6, Moving, Moving, Moving

I had my second paper route at 23rd Street and did much better in collecting my receipts. I would sometimes make as much as $30 in a month, which was quite a tidy sum at the time. That summer, (about 1956) I won a “newspaper throwing” contest organized by the Sacramento Bee. First prize was a trip to San Francisco and a visit to Fleischacker’s, where there was a museum and the world’s largest swimming pool. I was on a greyhound bus with several other winners from different districts, all of whom were going to swim the length of the pool as soon as we got there. Upon arrival, those hopes were instantly dashed. The pool was so large the lifeguards used rowboats. It took a good effort just to swim the width of the pool. I climbed to the top of the 30-foot diving platform, but only had the nerve to jump feet first. I did dive from the 20-foot platform though.

I had my first pet dog during this time. His name was Nippy and he was very intelligent. Shortly after moving from Del Paso Heights, I rode my bicycle back to Hagginwood Golf Club to visit with my old friend Richard, a distance of over nine miles and across the American River. I took Nippy with me, and at the end of the day my father picked me up to take me back home. When it was time to leave we could not find Nippy and my father forced me to leave without him. I was distraught and determined to return the next day to find him. Much to my surprise, Nippy was sleeping on the front porch the next morning, having found his way back on his own. Nippy would go everywhere with me, but he would never cross a street without me. He would run around as I walked down the streets, but would wait at the corner for me when it was time to cross. I didn’t teach him this; he just seemed to know that it was the smart thing to do. Nippy disappeared one day, and my mother told me that my father had given him away. I remember feeling incredulous at the time, but not too heartbroken. I think we were getting ready to move again, and I was about to enter High School.

Next, we moved a few blocks away to 32nd Avenue, near the intersection of Freeport Boulevard and Fruitridge Road. I started High School at C. K. McClatchey, which was a two-mile walk down Freeport Boulevard. It was a long walk, but we didn’t have buses at the time. Now and then, our father would pass us on our way to school and stop a few hundred feet ahead as if he were offering us a ride. We would run to the car, only to have him take off again and stop a few hundred feet further on. Like lemmings, we would, again, run toward the car only to have him take off again. After a third or fourth such event, we gave up and he could not entice us any further. He seemed to get a great humor out of this, and our reaction was a mixed laughter/frustration. We just couldn’t believe he would keep doing this, and would not give us a ride to school! I finished my freshman year at C. K. McClatchey and we moved yet again.

This time we moved to South Lake Tahoe, and our family of 6 lived in a 14” Shasta trailer. The trailer was a small thing, usually meant for short camping excursions. Our dad rigged up a showerhead to the outside, and we lived in that trailer and took ice cold showers for almost six months before we finally rented a small cabin. The cabin was too small to accommodate all of us, so me and my brother Kenneth were relegated to the camping trailer that was parked in the front yard. That was the coldest winter we ever experienced. We couldn’t pile enough blankets on our bed to keep warm, and we were cold all night. I finished my sophomore year at South Tahoe High School, and for the second time in my life, was happy to be moving back down into the Sacramento Valley.

Our next move was to West Sacramento. I do not remember the exact location, but it was near the intersection of Freemont Boulevard and Greenwood Avenue. I do not remember the name of the High School I attended here, but it was the only one at the time. I met Bill L. while living here. Bill was also a transplant from Anaheim CA, so we were both new at the school and both were subject to the same treatment by the regulars. Consequently, we teamed up for mutual protection, and developed a friendship that persists today (2010). Bill and I spent many lazy afternoons along the banks of the Sacramento River, and on more than one occasion his father drove us many miles upriver so we could float back to Sacramento on our inner tubes. At times, we would fish along the banks of the river and give all our catch, striped bass, to the black folks who seemed to relish the bony creatures. Once, while playing along the Sacramento River, we found a patch of gray colored clay that we used to reshape our bodies. We would color ourselves by smearing the clay all over us, and then use masses of the stuff, that would stick like it had suction cups, to build large muscles on our skinny arms or large breasts, after which we would pose for the boats traveling by.

 

This is me at 16 years old on top of my Uncle George's 6 floor walk-up wooden framed tinder box just south of Market street in San Francisco.  I think I was up here looking for possible escape routes in case of fire.

Bill introduced me to cigarettes at this time and I was soon addicted. Bill and I spent all our free time together, and one summer his dad dropped us off at a camp ground in South Lake Tahoe, where we spent a couple of weeks trying to survive on our meager supplies. We were befriended by a couple from Torrance, in Southern California, and ended up water skiing with them and joining their family at the evening campfires. One day we hiked to the top of Ski Run Boulevard, and had a hell of a time finding our way down. We did not take the main trail down, but explored the wilderness area, knowing that if we stayed on a general heading (downhill), we would eventually find our way back. It was a great time, and we both benefited from the experience.

My father bought a small fishing boat that year, and while they were gone one weekend, Bill and I decided to take it out on the river. Like a couple of idiots, we shoved off from shore before we decided to test the motor. We couldn’t get it started. A few minutes later we were drifting helplessly down the Sacramento River, into the path of large barges that were struggling their way upstream. This went on for about half an hour, when we were finally rescued by another boater and towed back to our starting point. We loaded the boat on the trailer, took it back and parked it and never tried that again. I finished my junior year in West Sacramento.

Next: My Brush With The Law