Part Three - The Capitola House

Part Three

The Capitola House

The Capitola House is every kids dream. The house was a half block from the beach, although when it was built it was right on the beach. Later the city added The Esplanade, the street fronting the beach, and the

house was then a half block from the beach. There was a movie theater next door and a grocery store a block away, the source of all our summer candy. Capitola was a small coastal resort town built in the Capitola Cove. Capitola was a Norman Rockwell painting in waiting. It was a safe place, and the rules were “we are leaving for home on Sunday, dinner is at six”. Those were the only rules…and I guess we really didn’t need any more.

The Capitola House was built around1928 by Uncle Tom’s parents. The house was unique for its time, as the second floor is supported by steel cross beams; therefore the downstairs had no support beams. The house was huge and had lots of room for several families at one time, and always had just that. And for a kid in the fifties, it was “neat and creepy”. My older cousins would always have us younger ones scared of the secret passageways they swore were in every bedroom closet. My cousin, Kathy always told us of, “The Inner Sanctum”, after the scary television show of the day. I spent the next several years checking out those walk in closets for the secret doors I had come to believe that were there.

As I think about that old house as an adult, I can fully understand why the house could be creepy for a kid. First, it was dark, and the bathroom had an old claw foot bathtub. Those were the days when Money Maguire, Uncle Tom’s mother, was still alive. After her death the house was completely remodeled; and being modern, was no longer scary. But, in those early days! There were certain rooms that we could not go into, and to a kid who knew that the Inner Sanctum was just inside that closet, that was all it took. Actually , the rooms we couldn’t go into were Aunt Dee and Uncle Tom ‘s room and the Maids quarters, although just before the maids quarters were done away with, and converted into a walk in closet and dressing area, I got to sleep in that room! What made that room scary to a kid was that the door was about half the size of a normal door, and not as tall. Instead of a door knob, it has a small push down handle. By the way, that door was taken out when the house was remodeled and a linen closet replaced it.

As a kid, the best part of the house was the upstairs porch. It had four double beds and all the kids slept out there. As a kid I would go into that porch room and it was like a portal to another world. It could be a pirate ship sailing the high seas, a hotel in the Wild West, an outlaw’s hideout, or any of a dozen imaginary locales. As we got a little older it was just fun to sit on the bed at night, with the lights out and watch the traffic and people as they passed by the front of our “watch tower”. As I was the only boy amongst a gaggle of girls, a sister and 4 cousins, when I reach the age of noticing the differences in the older girls, I was moved to the maids room….by myself!

One of the threads in the fabric of my life is the Capitola House. I cannot remember a time growing up, as a teenager, or even after I got married and had kids of my own, when the Capitola House was not a part of my life. As far back as I can remember we spent every Easter Vacation in Capitola. Later, Thanksgiving Vacation was added. In the early days, summers were not spent there because Money Maguire lived there then, although we visited her often. After she died, however, we spent many summer days and nights there. Aunt Dee would have all her sisters and their families there and we would be ready to go home on Sunday, and be seated at the dinner table at six.

I learned to fish in Capitola. I would go to the pier early in the mornings, about six, and buy a quarters worth of bait; shrimp, if we could get it, otherwise, squid. And I would fish all morning. Sometimes I got some fish, and many times I got skunked. I did better when I had shrimp. My sister and cousins would come out sometimes and I would bait their hooks, and all the other things boys were supposed to do. Once in awhile Uncle Lee would go with me. Sometimes I would be there when the fishing skiffs came in and the fishermen would give me some of the Kingfish they caught. After I turned 16 and had a driver’s license, we would go to Santa Cruz Wharf or the Cement Boat at Sea Cliff to fish. We had determined that there were no more fish in Capitola. One time my dad, Uncle Lee, Uncle Chris and I went out in a skiff to go fishing. I felt pretty special because I was only about ten. We were out most of the day; drank sodas, at least I did; peed over the side of the boat and caught the biggest fish. We were fishing over the rocks and I hooked a Ling Cod. I reeled in the fish got it and we got it into the boat. It was a huge fish, but put up no fight, just a lunker. I can remember how excited I was!

Swimming at Capitola was a daily occurrence. Each day we couldn’t wait until we were allowed to go down to the beach. We would swim in the ocean and in the river. Actually the river was Soquel Creek that had been dammed up to make a nice swimming and boating area for row boats and canoes. One


swimming area was fenced off and was the “kiddy” area. As kids we had to stay in the fenced area until we were good swimmers, then we had the freedom to swim anywhere in the river. We would spend entire days at the beach. No sun block, no tee-shirts and no worry about leathery skin or skin cancer. Many hours were spent at the edge of the river or the ocean making sand castles and sand cities. We used to see how high a pile of sand we could build before a wave would come and wash it away. Later, body surfing, or riding the waves was great fun. An inner tube was great for riding the waves. Because of the cove, there was very little under tow, so we could go out in the ocean and not drift down the beach as we did at other beaches later.

Capitola beach had swings; BIG swings! And we were on them a lot. They were near the river and we would swing high, jump and try to hit the river. We never did…as it was about 25 feet from the edge of the water, so we would have had to jump a long, long way! Sometimes my sister, cousins and I would go to the beach early in the morning just to have the swings all to ourselves.

It seems like when we went to the beach we always put our beach towels and stuff near the ocean. We would always start out swimming in the ocean. The water was always very cold, unlike the Gulf of Mexico or Hawaii. When we had been in the ocean for a few minutes, we would run to the river and jump in. The river, being warmer than the ocean, would seem very warm after the cold. Later, when I had my kids at the beach I put my feet in the ocean and they immediately cramped up from the cold water. I have no idea how we used to just run and jump in! Even the surfers today wear wet suits!

The river had a boat rental dock and for 50 cents we could have a great adventure for 30 minutes. We could be pirates, navy sailors, or who ever we wanted to be. We would go as far up the river as we could and then come back. The best part was having to cross under the Stockton Street bridge and the train trestle. When I was 14 I got bored with the whole

beach scene and got a job for the weeks we were at the beach working at the boat dock. I would get a boat and bring it to the side where the customer would get in. My pay…use of a boat whenever I wanted. Didn’t make a dime, but got to row, row, row my boat.

Aunt June and her family lived in Capitola for several years. When they first moved there they lived in “the pink house”, which was right at the base of the train trestle. From her back yard you could look up and see the train. Sometimes the train would cause little pebbles to fall down from the railroad bed into the backyard. Later they moved to the house on Fan Mar Way, and the train tracks ran right at the back of her backyard! The house actually vibrated when the trains went by. They lived there through some of my teenage years. I believe they moved back to San Jose after Linda graduated from Santa Cruz High School because Tammy went to high school in San Jose. When they still lived in the pink house, Evelyn and I decided to cross the train trestle. I was about eleven and she was eight. This was a “no no” as the trestle was long with no way to get off should a train come along. We headed across the tracks. We were smart enough not to go near the Pink House, but not smart enough to not cross the trestle, so we got on the tracks at the old train station and walked to the trestle, about a half mile. We were about half way across when we heard the train whistle. We had no where to go, so we turned around and ran back to where we entered the trestle. I was holding Evelyn’s hand and pulling her along. WE WERE SCARED! The train was gaining on us and we still had quite a ways to go. We got to the beginning of the trestle and jumped off the tracks and were just a foot or so from the train as it went by, whistle blowing. It was bad enough that we were just inches from the train, we were directly above the Pink House, and in plain sight of anyone who happened to look up. Fate was with us because not only did we outrun the train, no one looked up! It was years later before we ever told anyone! A secret well kept all though our youth.

One summer, shortly after Money Maguire died, we went to spend part of the summer at Capitola. We were staying at the Capitola House. It was early in the summer and I had not gotten any suntan yet. I went to the beach and spent the entire day…again, no sun block, no SPF 25, no tee-shirt…. Just me and the sun. And the sun won! I had the worse sunburn I have ever had in my life, before or after that day! I could hardly move. I was sore! And I was so hot that Tammy and Kathy suggested I stand in the middle of the room and turn in circles to warm up the house! I knew that I had more to face when it started itching! An ITCH it did after a few days. No amount of anti-itch cream would help. I just sat and whimpered and got no sympathy because I knew better. I swore that I would never burn like that again, and as far as I can recollect, I never have.

Tammy and I would get up early in the mornings in the summer and head down to the beach. We tried to get there about 6 am or so. Those were the days before pop top soda or beer cans. Soft drinks and beer came in bottles, and each bottle had a 3 cent deposit refund for those turning in the bottle. If we got a quart bottle, the refund was a nickel. The city cleaned the beach every morning at 7, so we got there an hour before the city and collect all the bottles on the beach and in the trash cans. We would get enough money to buy our candy, soda, and ice cream for the entire day. If we didn’t find enough, then we went to all the summer rental houses and got bottles there, too. Most people just threw them away, so we had no trouble finding bottles.

The merry-go-round was on the small boardwalk area on the Esplanade, right in front of the beach. It was a grand merry-go-round with horses that went up and down, and two benches. For ten cents we could be the Lone Ranger or Roy Rogers, or be riding Black Beauty or be in a horse race for a glorious 2 minutes. And if you had two dimes, you didn’t even have to get off your horse, just gave the dime to the man and we were off once again. The merry-go-round in Mary Poppins had nothing on us! Then one summer there was no merry-go-round. It was just gone. It was a sad day for a kid wanting his steed to take him away. The following year it was back, only in a vacant across the street. Then at the end of the summer it was gone, never to return. When we were older we would go to the Santa Cruz Boardwalk and there was one of the great amusement park merry-go-rounds, but it just wasn’t the same. If you wanted to ride again, you still had to get off and stand it line. And you had to buy a ticket for a quarter. And while the boardwalk was on the beach, the merry-go-round was in a building. Perhaps it wasn’t any of those things that made the boardwalk merry-go-round seem less than it was. Perhaps, just perhaps it was the lack of our young imaginations that prevented us from riding off into the sunset on a great wild black stallion. What ever it was, no other merry-go-round has ever measured up to the merry-go-round on the little boardwalk, on the Esplanade in Capitola.

One of my best memories was the Ski Ball Parlor. For a couple of bucks, usually handed out freely by Uncle Tom to get the kids out of the house, we could spend hours playing Ski Ball. A nickel a play and you got ten balls. Roll the ball up the lane and into a hole…hopefully the one marked 50 and not 10. The higher the score, the more tickets you got. And the tickets were not coldly spewed out by an automated counter, but the cute girl who worked there came by and figured out how many tickets you got for your score….and if you flirted with her (as only an eleven year old boy could, and get away with it), she gave you tickets with 5s or 10s on them, not just 1s. When the money was spent, you went to the prize cabinet, counted your tickets and looked to see what you could get. And how many more tickets do you need to save up to get the good stuff? It wasn’t an easy decision for an eleven year old….spend now on instant gratification, or save up for some toy you have been eyeing all summer. All you knew was that tomorrow you would get another two bucks and be back.

Right next to the merry-go-round was Babe’s Bandstand. This was my earliest recollection of eating hamburgers…the old greasy kind wrapped in paper with the grease seeping through. It was the precursor to McDonald’s. You could get just about any type of fast food…and I always got hamburgers for 35 cents. Hotdogs were a quarter, although we very seldom got them there. Babe grilled the hotdogs, and we kids didn’t like them that way. Besides, just two doors down we could get steamed foot long hotdogs for the same quarter. And for a kid who got his spending money collecting pop bottles at 6 AM, I was always looking for the bargain. But I usually got a hamburger and fries and an orange drink. Today the Bandstand is till there. It had been completely redone and is an inside, sit down restaurant. I don’t know if Babe’s family still runs it or not. I have not eaten there since it was an open air hamburger stand.

Being the only boy in the family has some advantages. Uncle Tom would feel sorry for me having to put up with all those girls. So every morning he got out a dollar and sent me to the Capitola Pharmacy, the drug store down the street, to get a San Jose Mercury. It cost a dime, and I got to keep the change. So when the two bucks were handed out, I already had ninety cents in my pocket. I don’t know if the girls ever knew. I was an early riser, but not as early as Uncle Tom. So I would run my errand long before the girls were up and about.

In her later years, Money Maguire’s had trouble climbing the stairs. So Uncle Tom had an elevator installed on the front porch. It was off limits to the kids, although over the years we had plenty of rides on it. When I was about fourteen years old, Uncle Tom paid me $25 to paint the elevator shaft. What a sham job. The shaft was not very big, as it was only one floor. It took about an hour for the first coat. I came back the second day and finished up. $25 bucks lasted a long, long time. Lots of bait and lots of stuff at the grocery store. That elevator was in the house the last time I was there….with my kids! And we used the elevator everyday…and I checked out the shaft, and the last time it was painted, it was painted by me.

Thanksgiving at the Capitola House was amazing! All my aunts, my mother, and their families stayed at the house. On Thanksgiving Day the house loaded up with other family members. Because Uncle Chris was in the restaurant business, he always got the turkeys. One year the turkeys still had feathers! He expected my aunts and mom to pluck feathers and clean the turkey, but he was frustrated in his expectations. My mother told him he was out of his mind. So he took the turkeys back to San Jose and the Race Street Market and had them fixed up. That was so funny. He was so proud of those turkeys and the look on his face when he realized that he had to take them back to San Jose was priceless. Perhaps more so now than then, but priceless just the same.

On Thanksgiving morning the turkeys went into the ovens early. Stuffed with Puckett wet dressing in one and Maguire dry dressing in the other. My mother was in charge of making most of the pies….apple, pumpkin, and cherry. Aunt Dee made the pecan pies. There were relish trays with olives to go on little fingers, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, wonderful dressing, and dry dressing (we kids didn't care much for that), and of course, all the turkey you could eat. And people everywhere. The Capitola table was full of adults; card tables all around the living room were full of kids. The tea cart was at the head of the table, behind Uncle Tom and was loaded with food. Another side table was set up for more food and the deserts. Stand in line and take your food. “Not too much now, Frankie”. Right! “I hope there is enough turkey left over to take turkey sandwiches with us tomorrow when we go fishing.” Good, there will be. “I want the apple pie, and some ice cream, please.” “ Not too much pie now, Frankie.” Right! What a feast. Now, years later, as I sit in my dining room, I sit in my dining room, at the Capitola Table, the tea cart against with wall with teapots, cups and a Ming Vase; the “other side table” is in my entry way, and I can smell the aroma of those Thanksgiving dinners…and my eyes tear up with the memories of the Thanksgivings of my youth.


The Jacobs' owned the Capitola Theater. I can remember them being there all my young life. She sold the tickets and he tore them when you went thru the door. We saw the great movies there: Where the Boy Are, On The Beach, Don’t Go Near the Water, Run Silent, Run Deep, Mary Poppins, Fantasia, The Lion in Winter, and even Goldfinger. This was no second run theater, but first run movies. Even advertised in the San Jose Mercury-News. Popcorn, Sugar Babies, Milk Duds, Jujubes, M&Ms, and a big orange drink. And they all were 10 cents to a quarter. The price of admission, 10 cents, and later a quarter. Years later I would go back to the Capitola Theater with my wife. Not to watch a movie, but to buy a hot buttered popcorn and walk on the beach. When I went up to the concession counter, there she was, much older, but still the same lady who sold me Bon Bons as a youngster. Now the days of first run movies is gone, and the Jacobs' surely are gone as well. Today the Theater is an Artsy Fartsy California stage theater that no self respecting kid would ever go to… and they don’t sell hot buttered popcorn. Too much fat.

Right behind the Capitola House was “the hill”. Actually it was the bench above the village called Depot Hill. Stairs went fromthe other side of our driveway to the top of the hill. The original stairs were cement and sea shells. They were small steps and more than a hundred of them. In the early sixties new stairs were poured over the old ones, for the most part, although you could still see the old ones. The new stairs were larger and only were 89 of them. We went up those stairs almost every day. I remember one time, and I cannot say I am proud of it, my girl cousins decided it would be fun to make a trail about half way up and hike to the top of the hill. I was pretty young, about 8 as I recall. I was all for the adventure until I got half way up the hill and got stuck. My cousins had lots of compassion on the fat little kid stuck on the side of a hill, hanging on to a root, swatting away bumble bees, crying and yelling for help. They just left me there. After what seemed to me to be hours, but was only a few minutes, realizing no one was coming to my rescue, I inched my way back to the stairs. Nothing was ever said to our parents, and in fact, I don’t remember anyone ever talking about it again. I just know that for years I would always check out the spot and think how dumb I was for being lured up there in the first place.

I have to laugh as I think about the first time I took Jannie to the Capitola House as my wife. We were just married and were spending the night. Even though we were married adults, we still didn’t get a room. We got the upstairs porch bed, no heat and lots of blankets. The more things change, the more they remain the same. The summer of 1986 we were at stationed Fort Hood. I had gone TDY earlier in the year and “pocketed” lots of travel money, we took leave and went to Capitola for a month. Jannie was getting over pneumonia and the doctor thought a restful vacation would be good for her. We loaded up the van with our eight kids and dog and headed west. Jannie slept most of the way. We arrived in Capitola and moved right on in. We finally got a room! Jannie spent much of the first week in bed and I spent a lot of time taking kids to all my old haunts. The boys and I saw a 1965 red Mustang Convertible and thought it looked so cherry. When we took a walk up to “The Other Capitola House” so I could show them where we lived that one summer when I was their age, we not only found the house, but the red Mustang parked out front. The couple renting the house were a gay couple, and they let us go through the house. I told them of my days in that house and we ogled the Mustang. Then we left. The three of us, Brett, Todd and me, talked about those days and those “boys” all the way home. One day we rented a skiff and the boys, Brett, Todd and Chad and I went fishing. We went after Rock Cod, and fished for half a day. We got quite a few fish, and fired up the grill that night. Good eating. Later we went to the boardwalk in Santa Cruz and went on lots of rides. I went with Bugs and Heather on the Roller Coaster. The Santa Cruz Roller Coaster is one of the original wood roller coasters ever built. We still talk about that ride. We even rode the Merry-Go-Round. Kids had fun and I thought of Capitola.

1986 was the last time we ever stayed in the Capitola House. When Aunt Dee passed away, the Capitola House had to be sold. So the Capitola House was sold to a company who used it as a summer rental. As I said at the beginning, the fiber of my life is made of stands of thread that are the Capitola House. I will always remember that house and I am sad that it had to end the way it did. My mother tried to buy Aunt June’s half, but the attorney talked her out of it. As long as family strife was to continue, the Capitola House would bring peace to no one, nor make any more fond memories. All we have is the memories of our lives in Capitola. To me Capitola will always be a part of me, and I long to return there, if just for a visit. And if I could, I would buy back my house.

Part One - Just Me

This will be the first of many of the chapters of my life. I hope that by the time I am finished that I will have enough material to publish for my children and grandchildren. These are very personal memories and I hope you enjoy them.

Part One, Just Me

When I was born, the earth shook. At least that is what I was told just about every year on my birthday by my Aunt June. I was also born on my Uncle Tom’s birthday. I was born on August 27, 1945 in O’Conner Hospital in San Jose, California. When I was about twelve years old the hospital was torn down and a big new Sears store was built there. After that my cousins would always say that I was born in the hardware department of Sears and Roebuck. My father, whom I was named after, was in the United States Army Air Corps and was deployed for World War II when I was born, and my mother was living with her sister, Aunt June in “the house on the hill” in Los Gatos, California. I went by that house many times when I was growing up. The house had a flight of stairs from the street to the porch and “Uncle Tom carried me up those stairs”. Maybe it was a big thing to my folks, but as I remember, it was only a few stairs and I weighed less than eight pounds.

Aunt June was right when she said the earth shook when I was born because immediately after I was born an earthquake struck the area. My mother was still on the delivery table and remembered the lights in the room swaying back and forth on their cables. I figure it was the earthquake that made me such a smart little kid. According to my mother I was a very smart little child. I was potty trained at six months. At least that is what she claimed right up until she died at age eighty two. As we sat around the dinner table all those the years in my home, my family would laugh when she told the story. Laughing, she would swear it was true. My kids would embellish the story and she would laugh and then swear again it was true. Of course no one believed it, but we always enjoyed the story. Funny thing is that in the years since her death, the story still gets told at family dinners and we all laugh just as much and miss Gigi at the same time. Sometimes tears flow…in laughter and in memory of Gigi.
My father was assigned to the Pacific Theater during the war. He was a flight navigator and his unit flew troops and materials in the region. His last assignment during the war was flying troops across the Burma Hump into Burma. Following the end of the war, President Truman implemented the Marshall Plan to rebuild Japan and strengthen the Chinese Government against the growing threat from the Chinese Communists. At the time, China was pacified and family members were allowed to join their husbands and fathers in China. My dad was stationed in Peking. So, in 1946, when I was about a year old, my mother and I boarded a ship and steamed across the Pacific to Shanghai, China. Of course, all I have of this is the stories I have been told and the home movies that I grew up seeing.

We stayed in China about two years before being evacuated as the Chinese Communists began taking over the country and the Government. My mother told of the harrowing trip from our home on the base in Peking to the port in Shanghai. It was a trip we made in the back of the staff car, laying on the floor so the revolutionists could not see us. Mom was very relieved when she and I were on board the ship and sailing back to San Francisco.

After returning to California and after my father was discharged from the Army, we moved to Oakland where my father went to work for Heinz Foods. He enjoyed working for Heinz and would roll over in his grave if he knew later the Democratic Presidential Candidate was married to the widow of the Heinz ketchup fortune! In Oakland, on August 22, 1948, my sister Evelyn was born.

I vaguely remember my mother coming home from the hospital with Evelyn and my being able to see her in the bassinet. I distinctly remember that she was dressed in white and that I thought she “looked dark” (her complexion).

Sometime after Evelyn was born, we moved to San Francisco. I get fuzzy here on the time line, but my father purchased a small neighborhood grocery store on Folsom Street; The Folsom Street Market, and my Dad became a grocer. We lived in a little two bedroom apartment behind the store and it is in that little place I have some of my earliest recollections. I remember my mother sending me into the store to get some milk. I got the milk and went up to the front counter and pretended to pay for the milk. My dad took my “money” and gave me change….a penny. I can remember that incident as if it had just happened recently, and not fifty six years or so ago. I related that memory to my mother some years ago and she confirmed the story.

My father was concerned about the neighborhood because of the low cost government housing that was being built right around us. I remember standing in front of the store with my dad and his being upset because of the high rises being built across the street. Years later I would come to know why he was so upset when my mother told me of the problems and their concern. One night after the store had closed (no 24 hour stuff then), some teenagers broke into the store. I remember my dad running out into the store with a stick, probably a baseball bat, and yelling, chasing the vandals off. It was shortly after that my Dad sold the store and we moved back to San Jose. I have not been in San Francisco for many years, but I remember in the sixties that my Uncle Lee, who worked in San Francisco, told me that Folsom Street where I lived as a young child was now one of the most crime ridden slums in the city. Taxi cabs would not go into that area after 6 PM.

When we moved to San Jose, we moved into a house next door to Aunt Jean and Uncle Chris, and my two cousins Kathy and Christine. They lived in what was out in the country on Stevens Creek Road and had a chicken farm. The house we rented was just across the driveway from their house. I have lots of memories there that I will relate somewhere else in these pages. Suffice it to say that Kathy and I were able to get into a lot of trouble and have lots of fun in those carefree days. You could never even find where the chicken farm is now because it is no longer in the country. Stevens Creek Road became Stevens Creek BLVD sometime in the late fifties or early sixties and today is one of the busiest business areas in the entire Santa Clara Valley.

We stayed in the house at the chicken farm for a few months and my parents purchased a new home on Monroe Street. We moved into our new home on my sixth birthday. The stories of Monroe Street will take volumes to tell, and I hope before I have finished I will have told all those stories. I lived in the Monroe Street house until just before I got married in 1968.

On November 10, 1955, my brother Henry James was born. He was born in the San Jose Hospital. He was a beautiful baby and a wonderful little boy, but was sick most of his short life. Having suffered from diabetes from age 2, and many other severe ailments the remainder of his life, he passed away in March 1964 after spending most of the last year of his life in the Stanford Children’s Hospital in Palo Alto, California. He is buried in the Santa Clara City Cemetery next to his grandmother, Della Mary Puckett. Over the many years since I left San Jose, whenever I have had occasion to return to visit or on business, I have taken the opportunity to visit his grave and leave flowers. Even though we were ten years apart in age, we were very close. I would go with my mother to the hospital as often as I could during those last months of his life and spent hours rubbing or softly tickling his very sore arms and legs. He never walked those last months, having to be moved in a wheel chair. We had visited with his the Sunday afternoon he died. We had come home and were getting ready to retire when we got a phone call from the hospital telling us that Henry had expired. I remember my mother dropped the phone and sank to the floor in great sobs. I took the phone and talked to the doctor and he told me what had happened. I was eighteen at the time and had to make arrangements for the funeral home to pick Henry up before sunrise. It has been more than forty years since his passing and I still think of him often. My mother never did get over his passing.

My sister, Evelyn, passed away at age thirty two in 1981, after losing a life long battle with diabetes, and later other complications related to that horrible disease. She was laid to rest in Chico, California, her home for many years. I have never been back to her grave because I have had no cause to return to Chico, but I hope to visit her one day before I die, if for no other reason than to put a final note in that Chapter of my life. I was always very close to Evelyn and miss her greatly.

Thoughts on Chain E-Mails

Here are some of my current thoughts....which leads one to believe I have way too much time on my hands!

I want to thank those of you who have taken the time and trouble to send me your chain letters over the past 12 months. Thank you for making me feel safe, secure, blessed, and wealthy.

I must say thanks to whomever sent me the one about rat droppings in the glue on envelopes, because I nowhave to use a wet towel on every envelope that needs sealing. Also, I scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.

Because of your concern I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.

I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr. Pepper since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put "Under God" on their cans.

I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.

I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.

I no longer receive packages from UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.

I no longer shop at Target since they are French and don't support our American troops or the Salvation Army.

I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore, and Uzbekistan.

I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.

I no longer date the opposite sex because they will take my kidneys and leave me taking a nap in a bathtub full of ice.

I no longer buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their recipe.

I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.

Thanks to you, I have learned that God only answers my prayers if I forward an email to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl who is about to die in the hospital (for the 1,387,258th time).

I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Microsoft andAOL are sending me for participating in their special e-mail program.

Yes, I want to thank you so much for looking out for me... I will now return the favor! If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 PM(EDT) this afternoon and the fleas from 12 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbor's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician!

Letter to the Editor

I am learing as I go. I just wrote a story and decided to check it and found out I should have saved it as a draft. I lost the whole thing. Oh well.

I wrote a letter to the editor of our daily rag here concerning the event our community had in raising food, diapers, water, and hygene supplies for the victoms of Hurricane Katrina. Our daily paper advertised the event, but sadly, did not send anyone over to cover it. It was their loss. The letter speaks for itself. I share it here.

Dear Editor,

Yesterday, September 2nd, I had the opportunity to participate in an event that touched me, my wife, and hundreds of our local citizens. HEB sponsored a drive for relief supplies for the victims of Hurricane Katrina and the community responded in a way that made me proud of my fellow Central Texans. My wife and I simply went to pay our Alltel bill and visit with our daughter and son-in-law working with the relief effort. After just a few minutes watching we decided we could not be there and not be working. So we rolled up our sleeves and went to work. What we saw and participated in was moving and brought many people to tears.

People were coming out of the HEB store with shopping carts full of water, diapers, canned goods, jars of peanut butter, cereal, personal hygiene items, and on and on. I saw people who looked like they had shopped for their weeks supply of groceries, and pushed their cart to the loading area and said “here you go”, and left the cart. One lady brought a cart loaded with diapers….and there were as many diapers above the top of the cart as there were in the cart itself. Some gave out of their abundance, and some gave what they could. One lady handed me a jar of peanut butter and a box of pop tarts and apologized for not having enough money to give more. One retired soldier brought an eighteen foot flat bed trailer loaded with 24 packs of water….not once, but twice. Each of his loads was transferred to two pallets.

People came with cash and checks. Ten’s, twenties, fifties and one hundred dollar bills filled the cash box at the table where cash donations were being accepted. Checks were written for hundreds of dollars by folks just wanting to help their neighbors in the devastated areas. Local businesses donated thousands of dollars. My son-in-law, a manager with HEB, brought a check a local auto dealer gave him for one thousand dollars. Another local business donated an entire “eighteen wheeler” full of water. People were stopping in their cars to unload items purchased elsewhere, then parked their car and got out and helped load and unload for hours. It was absolutely amazing.

I helped unload two vans with goods donated by the children and their families from Sugar Loaf Elementary School.

Some of the local media was there covering the story. I worked side by side with the B106.3 radio personality there doing live coverage. When he wasn’t on the air doing a report, he was unloading water and peanut butter. Television stations were covering the event as well.

Someone remarked at the beginning of the day he thought we would be lucky to get one truck load. Someone else told him he didn’t know this community very well. In the end, there were seven eighteen wheelers loaded with commodities and love from the people of Central Texas, not including what was collected in the Temple and Waco areas. It was a moving experience, and a great day. And I didn’t mention all the people who helped. A majority of the HEB employees working on the effort were volunteers…on their day off. Others just stopping by and asking “What can I do to help?” It wasn’t done to get their picture in the paper or to be on the TV news, it was and effort born out of love and concern for our brothers and sisters whose lives will never be the same again. As I reflect back on what was done yesterday, hopefully our lives will be changed forever, for the better.



R. Frank Pritchard

First Try

This is my first try at this. I will be adding to this as time goes by. Grandpa