from Jack Brown ....

Our latest motor home excursion took us from Cincinnati to California, where we attended a wedding, visited relatives, lost a few bucks in Nevada, but, most importantly, visited with an old friend we hadn’t seen in almost 40 years.

Ron Bangs. Yes, we all remember that rascal with the quick wit, blazing fists, and glint in his eye for the women. Ron hasn’t changed much, except he now grows the greatest tasting tomatoes and tends to an 18-year-old cat named Arcas.

Ron was waiting for us outside his mountain retreat, and as we hugged and spent a couple days in the solitude of the Sierra, we reminisced about old times, how fast the years had passed, and how friendships endure. It’s funny how you bond with someone early in life and, despite the years and experiences passed, how that bond remains. It was like we had just seen each other yesterday, but somehow we were both a little wiser and sad that we couldn’t do it all over again.

It’s no doubt that Vivian’s’s and my visit with Ron Bangs was the highlight of our trip and we certianly plan another reunionsoon. So get those hookups done, Bangs, so I can enjoy the amenities of my motorhome without having to do “you know what” in the woods. We still ave lots of laughing and catching up to do. September, 2000.

 

from Ron Bangs ....

In September of 2000, I had a classmate and his wife come visit me. It really warmed my heart to see my close friend Jack Brown and his lovely wife, Vivian Brown-Bonilas. I hadn’t seen Jack since 1963 in Fresno, after his release from the service. Jack’s wife, Vivian, attended FHS for about 1-1/2 years, and then transferred to Roosevelt High. Jack & I became very close in high school. He was one of a very few who could put up with my wild antics.

I’d like to share my admiration and respect for Jack’s success. In 1962 Jack started working for Federated department stores: Macy’s, Bloomingdale’s, and about ten other department store chains. Jack first worked for I. Magnin’s as a shipping and receiving clerk on their dock, and in the thirty-six years he worked for Federated, Jack worked his way to the top, as Senior Vice-President and Controller, then President of their credit card bank. Talk about a success story. “Way to go, Jack.” I’m proud to be his friend.

 

From Jim Hamm ....

In October of 2000, classmate Jim Hamm received recognition for over 40,000 volunteer hours on behalf of the Navy-Marine Corps Relief Society. Jim, who has three grown children, two foster daughters, and one granddaughter, spent 5-1/2 years as a commissioned officer in the USAF, where he learned to program giant computers. He now works as a tester of tactical data links for Comptek Federal Systems, a subsidiary of Logicon, a subsidiary of Northrup-Gruman Corp. He works at SPAWAR on Point Loma.

 

From Marlene Malan Fansler ...

I enjoyed the class newsletter and the memories of the Reed & Bell Drive-in. I will have to contact Jef Ferguson. Jef and I traveled to and from BYU together in his pickup.

 

From Keith Bush ...

“But the applause dies. Awards tarnish. Achievements are forgotten. Accolades and certificates are buried with their owners... Well, speak for yourself ... I’m just getting started ...”

From Dennis Manning .... “Several friends and I got a job picking dried figs. We crawled along the ground and filled up the lugs. As the knees got sorer, the lugs grew bigger. Piece rate was 25 cents per lug. Some one taking a short cut through one of the new subdivision areas that didn’t yet have the trees cleared noticed there were figs under the trees. This was near the corner of Fruit and Browning. We commandeered a few empty lugs and started gathering. Instead of 25 cents a lug we got $2.50 when we took them directly to the dry yard. Used my ‘36 Dodge sedan. It didn’t have a grill, had bullet holes in the roof and a six inch hole in the muffler. The picking was a little harder than the manicured groves, but altogether we delivered about 4 tons. It was good while it lasted. Don’t remember what I spent the money on but it wasn’t for a muffler.

Another job was cleaning bricks. A bunch of us would gather at the brick pile after school, trusty hammers in hand. We were instructed not to be too aggressive as it would break a lot of bricks. Of course, that slowed down the brick cleaning. I think we got 2 cents apiece. The penalty for breaking a brick was 5 cents. If one were to dig down a foot or so under the lawn of .... they would find a treasure trove of half-sized bricks.”

 

From Lorna Royer DeMont...”If it hadn’t been for babysitting jobs, I probably would never have owned any Spauldings or Bonnie Doon sox! There was a family on north Blackstone (not very “north” today) for whom I babysat often. He was a vet, clinic there at home, and was the Roeding Park vet at the time as well. His wife called one afternoon and asked me to babysit the kids as well as a new-born. I assumed this was a baby of their friends and warned that I had no experience with babies... “Not to worry, you will get plenty of instructions.” Arrived at the home to be introduced to Roeding Park’s newest lion cub. Cute, and had to be fed by bottle a lot. This was scary for a teenager, but I learned years later that cub was a heck of a lot easier than “cute” but screaming babies.”

 

From Robert Gann... “I was a warehouse manager for a toy rack jobber. Always looking for something to do, I volunteered to work in the “other part of the company.” I ended up packaging ladies panties. These were items that were on display racks in the local supermarkets, in and around Fresno County. The boss wrote to “What’s My Line,” but got a rejection because it was “too risque.” Guess I was way before my time.”

 

From David Niklaus... “If I recall accurately, being SB President, I was drawn into an inquiry from the State Department of Employment involving the promotion if its nascent Youth Employment Service (YES). The individual in charge of the program took a liking to me. I began giving speeches all over town to service clubs, etc., promoting the service whose goal it was to generate temporary and part-time jobs for kids in school.

Later in my senior year they gave me a part-time job at the Department of Employment. As it turned out, I worked there all through my graduate year in college—nearly six years. I worked 20 hours a week which was pretty intense with an otherwise full schedule. But I had weekends off. As a result, it was mandatory that I get all my classes in the morning which meant at FSU I would have to register with the seniors—getting into the gym with the help of a fraternity brother or crawling through a window in the locker room. While at YES I handled most of the job placement for the Curry Company at Yosemite and the other national parks. Through the years I secured some great spots for high school and college friends. I might add that when I would come into the Park on weekends, I was “well cared for” in terms of meals and lodging, bicycles, etc. But I don’t remember any free beer!”

 

Reply to Dave Niklaus from Bruce Webster... “YES, you would come up to the Park on weedends, and I can even remember a weekday or two. YES, we did have “river” parties, the employees would gather after work down at a spot on the river & I can remember you joining in a few times. I also remember creating “free beer” for you then. There was one time that you and Ken Scott came up, and it was quite a party. Those were great years. I still owe you a huge thanks for assisting me getting the job up in the Park. Then there was the summer of 1958 when I had the car accident (totaling Pete Mehas’ car that I had bought from him, a black, chopped ‘51 Chev. with maroon upholstery, remember that one?)... and you drove up and visited me in the Yosemite Hospital. There was no free beer on that occasion, though.”

 

From Arnie Bertram... “Sometime during the winter of ‘56, I worked for Rudy’s Elm Pharmacy (southwest Fresno) delivering drugs, etc. after school. One night I had a delivery to a house on Cherry Avenue. When I got there, the lady that answered the door asked me in while she fetched the money to pay for the delivery. In those days, there were no credit cards, and the pharmacy had this delivery on COD. As I stood in the foyer, I noticed the furnishings were quite lavish, especially to a 17-year-old. Red velvet furniture, silk drapes and sexy paintings with gold frames. A blond-haired, blue-eyed angel slithered past me and up the stairs and for a moment flashed me a look that I remember to this day. I thought to myself, wow, what a great rooming house to live in. The lady returned holding a handful of cash. She handed me the money, winked and asked me if there was anything she could do for me. I told her I was living with my mom, but when I moved out I would love to live in her building. She laughed and gave me a kiss on my cheek and as she ushered me out the door, she said, “son, you are so sweet. I wish all our clients were so cute and polite.” When I returned to the pharmacy, I described the delivery to the store’s clerk. He burst out laughing and explained I had just delivered a gross of condoms to a whorehouse. I never did return to that illustrious location, but I did make a few bucks selling its address!”

 

From Richard Linder... “I was a “Bee Boy.” I delivered the paper for two years (1951-1953). I remember arriving at out “station house” to fold papers; everybody had a stall to work in, and there was a man, a “district manager,” there to keep down the noise and keep us in line. We delivered the Bee every afternoon but Sunday, when it came in the morning. Due to the size of the Sunday paper, we had bulging “Bee bags” fore and aft on our bikes. Staying upright was sometimes a challenge.

I had 145 “doors” on my route, and “collecting for the Bee” every month was part of the job—something of an eye opener for me. One customer, a man, once refused to pay me because of what a sports’ reporter had written. I earned between $30 and $40 a month. If a customer didn’t pay, it came out of the Bee Boy’s earnings.

At first I was in awe of some of the older guys: John Pearne, Quentin Puerta, Casey Walsh. They were tough, and their folding was fast and precise. I remember, particularly, a fight between two of the carriers. One knocked down the other, then threw a bicycle on top of him. Most of us just stood around watching, amazed and hoping we weren’t next.”

 

From Linda Jacobs West... “one of my first “official” jobs came as a result of “connections.” My family lived near and knew Ken Hopper’s family. I got a temporary summer job typing at the Wakefield and Hopper Real Estate office. In those days of carbon copies, I ended each day with multitudinous failed attempts at perfect copy filling the waste baskets. It was so embarrassing, I began sneaking out the ruined copies in my purse. Needless to say, the job didn’t last long.

Charlene Shouse Matthews and I occasionally babysat for Merle Martin, Bob Fries, and Dave Hendrickson. We got to spend time with the Martins at their Bass Lake cabin, helping take care of the three kids. No pay, but we had great vacations and learned to waterski.”

 

From Gary Kruger... “I worked for Heilbron Jones Photography on Blackstone developing b&w film. Depending on the type of film we received, we could either have a red safelight on or total darkness. The developing tanks were about 56 inches high by two feet wide, and there was a row of tanks about ten feet along the darkroom. A set of arms ran the length of the tanks and they were powered by chains on a sprocket which caused them to rise about 60 inches to clear the tanks.

The rolls of film were clipped to a stick that rested across both sides of each tank and the arms would rise and fall as the sprockets moved the arms up along the sides of the tanks and into the air. There were also chains along both sides of the tank that moved the sticks forward. Every cycle of the arms up and down moved the sticks forward in a tank until it aligned with hooks on the arms. With sheet film there were racks with clips so you could load about twelve 4x5 sheets. I was pretty good at this, but one day, I didn’t fasten one of the 4x5's onto the rack securely, and it apparently went to the bottom of the tank. After all the other stuff was in the rinse, I turned on the yellow safelight and peered into the tanks, one by one. I saw the negative in the rinse tank and then felt something on my shoulders—it was the arms coming back down —I was caught in a guillotine! I pushed up hard, but the electric motor was too strong and the arms continued down. Desperate I rammed my palms into the arms and the cotter pin holding them to the sprocket broke—and I kept my head. I was never able to develop film after that and was fired. I later heard that the type of developing machine used had caused four deaths by beheading. Well, I guess OSHA has cycled these machines out of existence.

 

I also worked for Gallo Wines at the fermentation plant at Clovis and Olive Avenues. My job was to hose out the juice tanks after they had been emptied, and the juice had gone to the fermentation tanks. These tanks were 20 feet by 20 feet by 20 feet, a row of cells for about 500 feet or so—a really big operation. We had three inch hoses with water pressure you can’t imagine. You could shoot a stream of water almost the entire length of the row of tanks, or about 400 feet. Anyway, I would crawl into each tank through a two foot opening at the bottom. The tanks were full of grape skins, stems and leaves, and the air was strong with a sharp acidic smell. I would hose out these tanks and the stuff would drain into an auger running alongside. The auger would then deliver the stems, leaves, and skins onto a big pile which I suppose became fertilizer. Well, all of us doing this job were young enough to want to play—so we did. The water fights were spectacular, but unfortunately, I literally hosed down the supervisor who just happened to be walking past the rows where we were “cooling off.” As you might think, my budding career as an enologist was cut short in its prime.”