Juvenile Delinquents

Proverbs 22:6 says “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” What the scripture doesn’t say is how wearing on the parents the never ending training opportunities can be.

One such training moment was the time when David and I (Jonathan) were entering/approaching our teenage years. We decided to take the idea of throwing crab apples of the roof of the house at cars to the next level. We gathered up a large paper bag of crab apples and late one weekend night we trekked the few block to Fairfax Elementary School (the newer school with one story and pitched roofs). It must have been close to 11pm when we arrived. We scaled the roof and proceeded to heave crab apples at the cars passing by on Lee Road. Somehow the police got word of our mischief, because just before we called it a night, a towering, intimidating beast of a police officer pointed his huge beaming flashlight up at us from the ground below and said in the deepest bass voice “Hey you boys come down from there right now!” Dave and I looked at each other and quickly debated whether we should make a run for it, but decided against it. We climbed down and were whisked off to the police station. I trembled at the threatenings spewed by the police officer of putting us into a juvenile delinquent center, and being “eaten alive” by the bad-to-the-bone inner city boys who were there. I equally dreaded the anger and utter disappointment I anticipated receiving from Mom when she came to reclaim us from the station. The only thing in which I took solace was knowing that Dad was out of town and so we’d be spared the harshest punishment until his return. The ride home from the police station felt much further than it was.

Doug's California Memories

I think that my unique contribution would have to be California memories, since most of the kids were too young to have many memories of that time. My life’s first memory is of playing in our back yard pool in Fullerton, California. It was night, and there were others in the pool. There were lights in the pool, and I seem to recall staying close to the shallow area at the top of the steps, and not being able to swim yet. That house, as I remember hearing later, was a rental, an interim step between our first California home in Glendale and the first home we ever owned, in Placentia.

All of my other California memories take place while we were living on Hamer Drive in Placentia. I remember Kindergarten and first through fourth grades at Wagner Elementary School, and many teachers and fellow students, including Mrs. Mead, who I liked. I know I did well in the spelling bees. I vaguely recall hearing that JFK had been shot. I think I was in Kindergarten – we got to go home from school that day. I remember playing the “passing out game” in the schoolyard, probably in Fourth Grade. I remember thinking that it was VERY naughty and fun to tell a kid to say to a teacher or a girl “mother may I, and then spell CUP”.

I remember our ward in Fullerton, the old building with the courtyard, and chokecherry trees in the back. I remember being baptized by Dad at that building, along with other kids the same day. Before that I remember being shocked at how naughty a girl was who had just been baptized – I thought she should behave better. Then there was the newer chapel we moved to – but we must not have been there very long as I don’t have that many memories there. Some of the kids from our Ward were Bonnie Harper, Mario Herbst, and Doug Chase (and the Wysons – next paragraph). I occasionally visited Doug and his family over night. I liked Doug, but not the “horse pills” they made me take with breakfast.

I remember our good friends, the Wyson’s, who had a kid to match each of ours, and one or two to spare. Joey and Danny were around my age, Elizabeth was older, Tuffy was Kathleen’s friend, and Matty played with Brad. I remember spending all of my $5 in birthday money on a vast collection of candy and eating and sharing it all at the Wyson’s. We occasionally watched the Disneyland fireworks from the roof of the Wyson’s house – maybe on the 4th of July. I also remember singing at the Wysons, with Daddy Joe playing guitar. I remember him singing “Christmastime is coming and the goose is getting fat, please to put a penny in the old man’s hat, if you haven’t got a penny then a ha’penny will do, if you haven’t got a ha’penny then God Bless You!”

I remember the kids from our neighborhood: Kenny Wilson, Paul and Laura Bellizzi, Vincent Towels, Danny Petry, Bonnie Balducci, and others whose names I can’t remember now. Each of them has at least one story…

I remember the Fourth of July parades around our neighborhood, organized by Mom. I got to shoot off real firecrackers in the front yard, before those were forbidden to little kids (and now all kids), and numbed my fingers with one that I held too long – I was probably 7 or 8 years old.

I remember climbing onto the low roof of our home and finding many leftover nails between the wooden shingles, which I took down to use to build things. Over the years there were fewer and fewer nails left. Later I remember breaking my toes jumping off the roof, while trying to show off, which I remember as the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I had to miss baseball season. I think it was the year before that I pitched a no-hitter – then I couldn’t play the year I was hurt as I had a knee-length cast. Then we moved to Cleveland and Little League wasn’t the same.

I was registered for swimming lessons and the Swim Team – I didn’t like the water in my nose, burning eyes, cold water, tiredness, etc., so I think I only did that one year. Baseball was my favorite sport as a kid; it wasn’t ‘til later in Cleveland that I graduated to basketball. However, I didn’t like practicing baseball in the back yard with Dad, because he made me be the Catcher, and I thought he threw too hard. I don’t think it was ‘til later that we realized I needed glasses and couldn’t see the ball very well.

I remember wrestling other kids who were brought around by the neighbors. I was small, but I learned how to get a kid in a full nelson and hold on ‘til they gave up. One day I was playing with some little kids up the street and Danny Petry, who later pitched for the Detroit Tigers, came by with some older kids and they teased us. I wound up wrestling Danny and losing one of my new shoes when I had to run away after I had to let him out of my Full Nelson. We didn’t find the shoe ‘til it after had rained and the shoe was ruined.

I remember inventing things alone and with Kenny Wilson, like the electric hot dog cooker (with which I shorted out a fuse), and a boxy wooden airplane we hauled onto the roof to launch. We dug an underground “room” on the side of the house that could barely hide me when I ducked down, and which eventually filled with water when it rained. I was trying to create an underground lair like the super heroes had. I also liked to make explosions and chemical reactions with my chemical set. Grandma and Margaret Thompson visited a couple of times. Grandma was my pal – she’d write me a note to get saltpeter and sulphur from the hobby store so that I could make my own gunpowder. I remember that store as it was my favorite. They also had Hot Wheels and Big Daddy Ed Roth’s "RAT FINK" pictures and stickers.

I remember that our back yard, and our whole neighborhood had lots of lizards! The back neighbors collected them and we all tried to catch them. Once a big Alligator Lizard got into the house and caused some excitement, losing its tail in the process. Our back yard garden was built up a few inches from the rest of the yard, and I remember Dad working in the garden. I remember Ginny walking out onto the hot driveway in front of our house and burning her bare feet badly – she couldn’t figure out how to get off the driveway for some reason and just stood there and cried – she was just a toddler.

I remember playing Monstro the Whale with Kathleen in her crib. I threw everything in the room into the crib, like Pinnocchio’s boat, and yelled “Monstro’s coming!”. Then when Kathleen started to cry I would tell her I’d save her. One Christmas I remember hiding behind the love seat in the front room waiting for Santa Claus and falling asleep. I remember doing errands for Mom, which she made into quests – I enjoyed trying to please her.

Slurpees from 7-11 were new and very exotic, and I also liked candy cigarettes. But there were several months when I didn’t want to go to the 7-11. That was right after I tried to steal a flashlight there (my first attempt) and got caught. The manager made we wait on a stool while he called Mom to come and get me. I was horribly embarrassed and never tried to steal anything again. Around that same time I recall hearing “Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones on our car radio – my first rock and roll song.

I remember the Ramona (Indian) Pageant, our first snow (on the way to Big Bear, as I recall), the art show along the pier at Newport Beach, and going to the Hollywood Bowl, which seemed enormous. That may not be the way it really happened, but that’s what I remember!

Travels with Dad: Camping

We knew that Dad was in his venturesome best when he donned his hiking boots, and clip-on sunglasses, and started sporting three days’ worth of whiskers. What could be more fun than accompanying an overgrown boy scout on a two-week camping trip? I’m sure that Mom had a few misgivings, but she was a good sport as she found ways to make our roughing it a little more civilized. Dad reciprocated by interspersing our nights at a KOA with one or two at the Holiday Inn to keep us kids sanitary and Mom sane. We thought we were pretty hip with our matching boy and girl tents, sleeping bags, lanterns, flashlights, cooler, and gas stove all courtesy of Coleman. Every meal tasted gourmet when it was cooked over a fire and served on paper plates. Sharing a bed with your brother or sister wasn’t so annoying when it was under the stars (or the tent flap). Dirt was no longer the irritant that it was at home, but rather a badge of honor representing a day well spent. One camping experience that I have vivid memories of is our trip to the Smoky Mountains. We must have stayed more than one night at a particular campsite there because I can picture our setup so well. I remember us hiking nearby trails flanked by lush green plant life that smelled sweet and earthy. Brad caught a newt--a creature previously unknown to me--and adopted it as a temporary pet. I recall looking across the campfire at Dad, who was telling a story using his hands and an expressive face to add a little drama to the tale.

I remember us attending the moving “Trail of Tears” pageant portraying the tragic story of the regions native Americans, followed by a somewhat precarious drive up a dark canyon as the sun went down in the Smoky Mountains, full of hairpin turns on a two-lane highway. Although it was dark around us, the sun-setting sky above us was the most intense magenta color I have ever seen, as if painted in watercolors. I remember a sense of security that although the road was treacherous, Dad was at the wheel so all was well.

Travels with Dad:The Cooperstown summer

I have some odd vacation memories—funny little snippets that come back to me at the strangest times. I remember staying outside of Cooperstown, New York in an old house that was part of a campground (where we had the scalding accident, and Dad’s healing blessing). It seems like Dad had taken the boys to the Baseball Hall of Fame, and we girls had taken in some other diversion. Several of us went to the camp store for goodies and were surprised to learn from the clerk that “Elvis” had died. At the time I wasn’t sure who Elvis was and wasn’t sure why a lady camper was crying. It may have been on that same trip that we stayed in a small town with a little theater that was playing “Benji” I believe. Thinking that would be pretty tame family entertainment, Dad and Mom insisted a dubious Doug and Brad join the family inside. We found that the “theater” was a wood-floored room with a screen on one wall—like an old town hall. We sat on metal folding chairs, bought popcorn from a popping machine on cart in the foyer, and our family watched the movie as the majority of the audience that night. Where else would that happen? It was absolute Americana at its best.

Travels with Dad: Palmyra

For Father's day 2008 I wrote a fairly long piece for Dad about memories I have of our vacation trips with him as the ultimate boy scout. I will post several of those memories, hoping that others will add their versions of the same events, and flesh out the sketchy parts.

I’m sure that we would have been interested in visiting church history sites no matter where we had grown up, but living so close to Kirtland, and having our trips out west somewhat mirror the pioneers’ trek to Utah probably influenced those visits. All of these locations have been enhanced and refurbished by the church since the time when we first visited them, but the simplicity of the sites did not diminish their significance or impact for us. Even without a replicated Smith family farmhouse or visitor’s center, the Sacred Grove was sacred. It was not hard to imagine that the peaceful and pristine woods, with little more than a footpath to distinguish it from any other forest in the area, was much like it had been when Joseph Smith went there in the spring of 1820. Traveling from there to the Hill Cumorah put Joseph’s trips there in perspective. When I have read since then about the times that Joseph had to move the gold plates for their protection, and how he narrowly escaped capture along the roads of Palmyra, I can picture what it looked like from my recollections of our time there. My memories of the pageant begin with the opportunity we had to see and meet Elder Mark E. Peterson. I remember Dad pointing him out to us as he walked down the aisle between the folding chairs. He seemed so tall and distinguished, but yet approachable. It was my first close up look at an apostle, and I was duly impressed. At my age the pageant seemed epic and awe-inspiring, in its size, complexity and spirit. The climax, of course, was the coming of the Savior and his blessing of the children. Being in the audience almost made me one of them. I remember wondering afterwards who in the audience wasn’t a member of the church, because I couldn’t imagine anyone not knowing it was true after experiencing the spirit and emotion of the event.

The Big Elm Tree

I remember when Dad set us to the task of helping to cut down the big elm tree in the back yard of the big house in Cleveland. Mark Pohm?, a friend from church, was high up in the tree tied off in a rope and harness. There was another strong rope looped over a crotch between the trunk and a strong upper limb. Dad explained that once Mark cut the limb, it was our job to hold the rope taught, until it swung free and could be lowered, rather than simply crashing onto the roof of our house. He explained that although it was a very large limb, if we held together, we would be able to stop it’s fall.
Dad was in the front position, followed by Brad, Me (David), and Jon, like four guys lined up for a tug-o-war. (I imagine that Doug must have been on his mission at the time) Dad exhorted us to “hold on tight.” We waited grimy, leaning against the rope, muscles straining against the anticipation of the weight of the huge limb, as Mark began cutting that limb, right above our heads.
All of a sudden, there was a loud CRACK; the limb, that seemed to fill the sky, shuddered, and then began its downward plunge. Upon seeing this green monstrosity, many times our size, hurtling directly upon us, instinct overcame fatherly mandate; Jon and I dove for the nearby bushes, to save our skulls.
Looking back, we saw Dad and Brad half-jerked off the ground by the limb’s weight. Jon and I stared dumbfounded, until Dad glanced back and seeing us, barked, “get over here!” We rushed over and sheepishly helped lower the monster to the ground. “Hmm”, I thought, “I guess Dad knew what he was talking about.”