In June 1963 I graduated from Our Lady of the Assumption. As we formed our procession into the church, Sister Benedicta turned and asked where we were going to high school. I immediately answered "Claremont High". Being the second shortest boy in the class I was in front of the group and my response was heard. The look she gave me was poisonous. I had seen happier looks on rattlesnakes. I felt elation at having earned that look.
It was during this first year of high school that I started coming into my own as an individual entity on the planet. I steadfastly refused to become aligned with any group or clique in the school. I was equally friendly with the only confirmed killer in the school (Tony was a 20 year old junior. a person stepped in line in front of him at the local In-and-Out Bruger and Tony stabbed him, was convicted of manslaughter and spent a couple of years in the county facility) and a hard core mormom. Although this talent wasn't recognized by me at the time, it would come in handy later in life.
By this time my constant companion was Stan. We became enamoured with brandy that year. Another favorite was finding some wino and having him buy us some beer and he got a bottle of musky. Stans father was a design engineer at the local missle factory. He would bring home small chunks of solid rocket fuel so Stan and I could use it like Sterno. What he didn't count on was our ability to return it to its original function and make explosive packages. This is where I got my interest in making things go boom. OH yeah, I almost forgot about the carbide canon we built to shoot marbles and bearings. BOOM! Heheheheh!
Another favorite pastime was to wait in the bushes on the golf course, run out, snatch the balls, then sell them to the other golfers on the course. That's usually how we paid for our beer.
Friday night was the highlight of the week. The police were usually the targets of our pranks. One Friday night we took some cherry bombs we had acquired and planned a raid on the police. But we had a problem. Cherry bomb fuses are really fast burning. No escape time. I figured how to use non-filtered cigarettes to extend the burn time. We tested the theory by setting a bunch of C.bombs off in front of the station. We had enough time to get home, move lawn furniture to the street and watch the action. When they went off the police came running into the street with guns drawn. Great show.
The next week, using the same method, we went into the police parking lot, taped the bombs to the bubble gum machines on top of the cars, and wait for the show. The good ole days were brought to life.
To this day I look longingly at blue and red lights on cars.
Summers were both thrilling and incredibly boring. Many hours were spent on the church steps, asking one another "what you wanna do?" Usually we'd end up doing something totally pointless. Anybody here remember mumblypeg? The pastor let hang around because he knew we wouldn't cause any damage.
With a little luck we'd have some money and hitch down to the beach for an overnight. During the day we'd laze around Newport Beach. In the evening we'd head over to Lido Island for the parties that were endless. This is how we ate. after the parties we'd go to the bay and swim out to a yacht that was empty. There we could get some sleep without police involvement. It simply required that one sleep tight against the rail so the Coast Guard couldn't spot you when on patrol.
Don't try this today. You'll be shot as a terrorist.
TO BE CONTINUED
