Memories written a half-century or more later

John Logan

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What follows is a draft. The first 20 pages were written during the period 1991–1995 and this reprint was made in 2002. Many revisions (and even some deletions) are needed, and I may do that job someday. It should be evident that a number of people named in this draft are no longer with us and many of the identified stores or buildings have been replaced. I do not plan to make revisions or deletions for those listings.

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For openers

I am making these notes in early 1991 and apologize for certain memory lapses following the passage of 55-60 years. I am adlibbing from an outline: even so, the entries may not be written in a strict order of time. Any references to “now” or “currently” are to 1991.

I arrived in Carmel in August 1931, having spent the summer with members of my father’s family in the Ventura/Saticoy area. My father had left me there while he went job hunting and through an employment agency in San Francisco had obtained work as a grocery clerk with Florence Leidig, whose store was then on the northeast corner of Ocean and Dolores. There were some apartments on the second floor of the building above the store, and Dad and I lived there for about two months.

My mother was working in Chicago. With Dad now working in Carmel, she came to join us. We found a small Carmel board-and-batten on the west side of Casanova, the third building south of Ocean and that remained our residence for 10-11 years, when my parents left for San Francisco (and they later returned to Carmel).

The Village

As expected, the appearance of the Village was not the same in 1931 as it is today. Ocean Ave. has changed a fair amount, the remainder of the commercial district has changed immensely, and the residential area has changed drastically as almost all of the many vacant lots of 1931 are now planted with houses.

A notable (and to some, unfortunate) change has been the shift of the character of local businesses. In 1931, Carmel was noted for the number of shops selling goods of fine quality: even so, the Village was essentially oriented toward its residents. Tourists were here in summers and at Easter only, and the town was “dead” at other times. Now, tourist-oriented businesses prevail, in spite of efforts by the City Council and the Planning Commission to check that major shift of character. Here is one single example of the “old days”: in the early 1930s, Carmel was visited monthly by a Chinese peddler who walked from Monterey carrying baskets on a yoke over his shoulder — and when we had any money, he could always sell a jar of candied ginger at the Logan residence.

Another major change between 1931 and 1991 is found in street paving. I remember that Ocean was paved as far as Scenic, and that San Carlos was paved for a couple of blocks on each side of Ocean — but even Dolores was not paved north of Ocean. Other than that, most of Carmel’s streets were unpaved. There was center parking on Ocean and the monument at San Carlos had not been built.

There has been another change that I regret. In the lack of street numbers, most of Carmel’s houses in the 1930s were given names for identification. Many of those remain today, but few new residences from perhaps 1940 and on share that older tradition of “house naming”. I note two tragedies:

…Lincoln Steffins’ house was named “The Get-a-Way”, and in the mid-1930s, movie actor James Cagney gave him a handsome carved sign that Steffins placed on his fence; now gone for many years;

…Woodcarver Charlie Sayers created a gate of magnificent elegance for his property at the northeast corner of Santa Fe and Third; recently gone through a remodel that some may think is horrible (I have heard that Carmel Heritage has saved that gate: if so, it belongs in a museum).

With that introduction, let me run around Carmel as I remember it in 1931, starting with Ocean Avenue (and there are a number of persons still around that can beat me a mile: Dale and Glenn Leidig, Jean Leidig Draper, David Hagemeyer, Marjorie Lloyd, Gordon Campbell, Bobby De Yoe, F. Robert Smith, Ken Roberts, etc.).

I’ll start the tour by walking down Ocean Avenue, north side then the south, block by block. The description will be more representative of the mid-1930s rather than of 1931 itself. References to current buildings — i.e. 1991 — will be presented within brackets.

Standing at Ocean and Torres, looking toward the ocean, we have Betty Green’s riding stables on our right. In the next block, again on our right, there is a vacant lot that will become Devendorff Park. That’s between Junipero (called “Broadway” in Carmel’s original platting of 1888) and Mission. Across the way, we have Murphy’s Lumber Yard. M.J. Murphy was a power in Carmel, and I heard him described (in my youth) as being “…the best God-damned Irishman in California…” His yard encompassed the entire block Ocean/7th/Junipero/Mission, plus a good hunk between Mission and San Carlos [now, Wells-Fargo Bank]. Along about 1936 or so, the northwest corner of the Murphy block was rebuilt to the Carmel Movie Theater with Walt Pilot’s Creamery at the corner of Mission and Ocean. Those two facilities remained as Village institutions for many years before they were destroyed and replaced by today’s Carmel Plaza.

On the north side of the next block, I don’t remember what was on the Mission St. corner in 1931 but the Carmel Dairy was in the building by the late 1930’s. Famed artist Jo Mora painted a splendid mural around the inside of the snack-bar/creamery and I hope the mural is still there under the painted walls of today’s Mediterranean Market. Wermuth’s Storage Co. came next: the space later housed Sprouse-Reitz for many years [now, the Nature Co. and Books Inc.] Next, Wishart’s Bakery (perhaps not in 1931, but soon thereafter), certainly among the oldest businesses in the Village operating under the same name. Then Carmel Dairy in its first location, and the site was later taken over by a beer-hall/card-room featuring continual pinochle and poker, a joint so elegant that my father referred to it as the “Palace of Fine Arts” [now, Crazy Shirts]. On the Ocean Ave. corner stood the shell of the old Carmel Hotel, then being demolished; once gone, the space remained vacant for several years; city night-watchman George Nixon built a horse-shoe court there and gave pitching lessons to any kid who showed up; it was not only a teenagers’ hangout, but it was also the delivery point for the Monterey Peninsula Herald where a dozen kids waited for the then-afternoon paper before starting their delivery routes.

Going back to Mission, the south side of Ocean began with a grocery store that exclusively featured Monarch Foods packed in glass containers. The store didn’t do well and the building was occupied by the Post Office for many years. Mid-block had Charlie Sayers’ “School of Woodcarving” [now, Mrs. Fields’ plus Carmel Sweater Shop] with his elegant hand-carved sign above the windows: when the site later became a barber shop (with the sign still in place), Carmel became featured in Ripley’s “Believe it or not”! Louis Levinson’s garage and gas station was at the southeast corner of Ocean and San Carlos, and the first shop to its east became site no. 2 for the Carmel Dairy in the mid-1930s.

Starting at the northwest corner of Ocean and San Carlos and looking downhill, one can see today that the first three buildings were all constructed together, and they were built long before my time. The corner shop was originally the grocery store of the Leidig Brothers, but it was Espinola’s Grocery in 1931. The next was Carmel Hardware (and remained so until a dozen years ago). Then came the Carmel Drug Store that is still there today with its sign (once illuminated at night) still high on the top of the building: except for two hotels, is there a business in Carmel that has operated for so long under the same name at the same location? Down at the corner of Ocean and Dolores (still on the north side), there was Forence Leidig’s grocery store (where my father worked): that building was destroyed and replaced by a bank and was later remodeled into a shopping complex called “Paradise” that has generated a bit of controversy in recent years.

Back to Ocean and San Carlos, and going down the south side of Ocean: For years, the corner building contained Staniford’s Drug Store; “Doc” Staniford (a pharmacist) was not only a perpetual umpire in Abalone League baseball games but he was the biggest rooter ever seen of the University of California at Berkeley (in the days when that institution was called “Cal”); when he found out that I was going to attend Cal, he and I became instant friends. Next door, there was a jewelry/watch shop in 1931, followed by a meat market. In mid-block came Conrad Immelman’s Haberdashery, a local source of fine men’s clothing for a generation [now, Scotch House]. Stella’s Dry Good Store was at the southwest corner of Ocean and Dolores, with the apartment of Robert and Isabella Martin Leidig above it. Stella’s later became Fortier’s Drug Store: the building was greatly overhauled in 1990 and the apartment is gone.

That very, very small space at the northwest corner of Ocean and Dolores has been a real estate office almost continually since 1931, and probably from an earlier date as well. At one time, it was the place of business of my good friend Paul McCreery, a former Mayor. As a non-realty occupancy, the space was the Police Office for a short time (1932? 33?). That was when the force consisted of Chief Gus Englund, Officer Earl Wermuth and Night Watchman George Nixon. There was a red light high over the Ocean/Dolores intersection that was triggered on and off from the office and that could be seen for some distance at night. Delos Curtis’ Candy Shop [now, Fox & Carskadon, plus Village Sports Shop] was a few shops to the west, and Curtis’ was one of the few places in town that would serve beer to minors — as I well know — following the repeal of national prohibition. A bit further to the west was the office of Postal Telegraph and Joe’s Taxi, the latter still in business but no longer in the Village. And at the corner, the Harrison Library, a prized institution that for more than 60 years has not been greatly remodeled, but it has undergone an important social change: in the early 1930s, the Reference Section was a major teenage hangout at night, ostensibly used for homework but flirting was more common.

On the other side of the street, the Corner Cupboard at the southwest corner of Ocean and Dolores is another of the few businesses that have operated under the same name over the years. A few shops to the west found Louis Slevin’s stationery store [now, Talbot Ties and Special Effects]: Slevin himself was a Carmel institution; a skilled photographer and former Postmaster (I have heard that Carmel’s first post office was in his store), he sold used golf balls, among other things. Charmak and Chandler’s Men’s Clothing was near the corner; it moved to Monterey and Derek Rayne continued the same type of business.

The Pine Inn occupied the north side of Ocean between Lincoln and Monte Verde, although without the cluster of shops that is found today. The easternmost part of the hotel proper may be the oldest building in the commercial district: it was moved in 1904(?) from a hotel — destroyed long ago — at the base of Ocean Ave. hill.

The opposite side of Ocean had Herbert Heron’s complex at the corner of Lincoln: all shops still remain but have changed ownerships and characters many times. The Bluebird Restaurant [now, Scandia] and Sadie’s in mid-block were well known gathering places for many years. At the corner of Monte Verde was Ted Kuster’s Golden Bough Theater with its attendant shops: I was a witness to the burning of the theater on a Sunday in 1935, a local tragedy.

Between Monte Verde and Casanova, the Pine Inn had a few guest cottages on the north side of Ocean and a couple of tennis courts, but the remainder was residential. There was an abandoned midget golf course across the street [now, the Normandy Inn]. The lot was weed- and brush-covered, but enough of the course remained as to provide much pleasure to me and my friends.

The rest of Ocean Ave. was residential: the old bath house at its foot was gone by 1931.

The tour of Ocean being concluded, let’s walk a bit on Sixth Ave:

An automobile repair shop at the northwest corner of 6th and Mission was run by the heads of the two Negro families in town in the early 1930s. Grimshaw’s Associated gas station was at the corner of San Carlos for many years. Diagonally opposite that was one of several restaurants [now, Pernille’s] that have kept the location in the same type of business. Carmel’s original fire house was next to the restaurant [in the vacant space between Pernille’s and the Zantmann Gallery]: few people know that the fire house is still with us, the building having been obtained by Glen Leidig and moved to his residence at Santa Fe and 3rd — still there and it merits a plaque!

A true landmark was found at the northwest corner of 6th and Dolores. There at his residence, Police Chief Augustus Englund stabled his horse “Beauty”, and together they provided a dramatic site as they patrolled our streets.

Steve Patterson’s Chop House was at the northeast corner of 6th and Lincoln. It was famed for moderately priced meals, good steaks and hot salads (they were not intentionally hot, but when the day’s supply was made in mid-morning, they were stored next to the cook stove). The Girl Scout House was across Lincoln from Steve’s [now, the library parking lot].

Now let’s move in the north-south direction, beginning with San Carlos at 4th, where Watson’s Nursery used to be. The McFarland Hotel was at San Carlos and 5th [now, Simpson’s Restaurant, closed for many months]. The Manzanita Theater was on the east side of San Carlos just south of Ocean [now, Wells Fargo], unused in my time except for an occasional lecture. The next corner (San Carlos and 7th) was famed for having a gas station on each of its corners. Of course, Sunset School began at 8^th, and today’s city parking lot was a play field for many years: a large and noisy school bell at its southwest corner was stolen long ago in an unsolved mystery.

Dolores St. was unpaved north of Ocean in 1931, and all of it was residential north of 6th. Worth noting between Ocean and 7th:

…The Pine Cone’s offices were in mid-block. As I remember, Denny-Watrous (see below) took over its location.

…Three grocery stores in a single block [whereas today, there are only three in the entire Village!].

…The Denny-Watrous Gallery [now, Village Artistry] with a small theater where the play “The Drunkard” began its record-setting run of many years, with me watching many performances through a window accessible only to those knowing the secrets of local alley-ways.

…The Western Union Telegraph Office [now, Langer’s Antiques], a hang-out of mine for years (see “Some Jobs”).

…The building of the Tuck Box, then a gift shop.

…The handsome El Paseo Court, containing El Fumador news stand [now, A la Carte], a den of iniquity and teen-age hang-out where Neil Terwiliger and Freddy Balaam ran illegal dice games on a continual basis.

…City Hall was on the west side of the street on the second floor, above the Post Office of 1931 [now, Conway of Asia II].

…The Dolores Pharmacy was at the northwest corner of Dolores and 7th for a generation or so, and in the mid-1930s the office above it was occupied by, my enemy when he drilled my teeth and my esteemed friend otherwise, Merle Randall, DDS and author.

…A shingled residential building across the street from the Dolores Pharmacy in 1931 (i.e. the SW corner of Dolores/7th) contained the home and office of one Dr. Gray, and I never believed the local stories about his competence as a physician!

On Monte Verde, today’s City Hall used to be the All-Saints’ Episcopal Church. A shingled residence to the north [destroyed; the site is now the Spinning Wheel Inn] was once the rectory of the church’s original pastor, the Rev. White, but served in the ’30s as a residence for Filipino bachelors, most of whom worked in the nearby Pine Inn. The home of photographer Edward Weston was across the street from the church (that has been the City Hall for some time) and the building is still there. The La Ribeira Hotel [now the Sundial Lodge] at the northeast corner of Lincoln and 7th was one of four in the Village in 1931. On Monte Verde between 8th and 9th was Ted Kuster’s other theater (see “Golden Bough” above): I don’t remember its early name [now, Golden Bough Cinema] but the facility was used for plays, meetings of organizations such as the John Reed Club (guiding light, Ella Winters; secretary, my friend through high school and college, Joe Schoeninger), and for films after the burning of the theater on Ocean.

Camino Real was all residential except for a restaurant/motel south of Ocean. The street’s main feature was “Professors’ Row”, a series of summer homes belonging to (largely) Stanford teachers that extended from the Rendtorff residence near 4th to that of David Starr Jordan at the northeast corner of Camino and 7th.

The La Playa Hotel was then — as now — on Carmelo, occupying almost an entire block. Manager (and perhaps part owner?) Fred Godwin let Carl Van Atta and me use his ping-pong room on many occasions.

There was a small unused church building on 8th Ave. between Dolores and San Carlos. About 1932, it became the “Carmel Boys’ Club”, and the transfer of a pool table donated to it by the Hyde family from their residence a few blocks away [now, the Stone House Lodge] required unforgettable effort and sweat. The club offered only pool and chess: but alas, there were no girls and the club quickly collapsed.

Carmel was privileged to have the Institute of Botanical Research of the Carnegie Foundation on 11th near the bottom of Flanders Canyon. The building is long gone, but the facility was a scientific institution headed by dendrologist Dr. D.T. MacDougal that brought fame to the Village.

Two medical services should be noted:

…A clinic on the west side of Santa Fe, south of Pico the name of which I don’t remember [now, Villa Santa Fe, a residential complex];

…The Grace Deere Velie Clinic on Valley Way just outside the city limits [now, the Carmel Convalescent Hospital] that was formerly a full-service hospital.

And parts of northeastern Carmel where I have lived for many years were noted for containing our own “Tortilla Flats” — and the plural is used because there were two of them. That leads to an entirely separate story that I have been working on for many years.

Some people

[I’m certainly not going to describe all of the people I knew as a kid in Carmel, not even all of the friends of my own age. I’ll confine myself to a few very special ones together with comments on a few notables.]

Carl Eric Van Atta was the first close friend that I made in Carmel, partly because we shared the same small size [the four smallest freshmen boys entering Monterey High School in 1931 were Carl, David Hagemeyer, Dexter Whitcomb and myself; each less than 5 feet tall, less than 100 pounds, and from Carmel] and because both of us were newcomers who had not gone to Sunset School. Carl was a sly salesman who sold me a half-interest in a canvas boat (that was “stolen” immediately after we hid it in the reeds at the Carmel Lagoon), a Benjamin air rifle that did not perform, and a bicycle that had no brakes (very useful on Carmel’s hills); caveat emptor! He and I did a lot of singing as we walked around town and we called ourselves the Ocean Avenue Hill-Billy a Capella Duo. He also substituted for me from time to time as the night Western Union messenger. Carl is a prominent lawyer in Dos Palos, and we see each other every five years at class reunions.

Robert (“Bob”) Drake Kennedy and I had a friendship that lasted from 1931 until a couple of years ago when he passed away. I have stayed at his house, and he has stayed at mine. He was a smart, multitalented guy (working at Cal on a Masters in French literature, he supported himself as a mechanic on Greyhound busses on the night shift) and he also subbed for me at Western Union.

George Samuel (“Sam”) Coblentz was another of my very best friends in the old days. We were not only close in Carmel, but we were at Cal together and were in continual contact there until 1941.

Enough for the very best friends that I’ve ever had from Carmel. Permit now some notes on a few others:

…Joseph Schoeninger went to Cal the year before I did. He convinced me that I should join the students’ coop and I spent my time in Barrington Hall on his suggestion. Joe was murdered in Carmel Highlands in the 1950s.

…Kevin Wallace was a skilled illustrator in Monterey High, and was also at Cal when I was there, illustrating the Pelican. He continued the same when working for the San Francisco Chronicle.

…I not only went through Monterey High with Nels Edquist, but we were both at Barrington Hall as well. Further, Nels arranged for me to get my very first job as a geologist with the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation in the San Joaquin Valley in 1947, where he was also employed.

…Bernard (“Buzz”) Schulte was another friend at Monterey High (particularly during our fifth year there), and we were both at Cal at the same time. Buzz is still here in Carmel and we meet frequently.

…Charles Bauer was a year ahead of me in high school, but we had several classes together. He was one of the smartest guys that I’ve ever met, and he won a scholarship at Cal Tech. He lived in the very first house on the left side, north of the Carmel gate to Pebble Beach, and when living there, he constructed an astronomical telescope in his garage. I often watched him at that job. When it was done, he invited me to look at stars as we took his ’scope on to the Pebble Beach golf course just outside his house. The stars were interesting, but I must admit that we often placed the ’scope in a horizontal position and searched bedroom windows on Carmel Point at 100-magnification!

Rufino Cabebe must be noted not because he was more than a casual friend: rather, he was a lost soul who merits a mention in any story about Carmel. Rufino was born in the Philippines and attended Monterey High, graduating in 1934. There were few job opportunities in that depression year for Filipinos, particularly those speaking with an accent and who had no special skills. So Rufino went to work in the Pine Inn as a busboy (later moving up to waiter) and lived in the “community hall” on Monte Verde. He had few friends and often strolled the streets of the Village at night in aimless wander. He was a nice guy, and I spent a lot of time talking to him. He appreciated the attention and often sought me out. Many years after the 1930s were over, he was working at Gallatin’s Restaurant on the north side of the Bixby Bridge on Highway 1 (the building is long gone but its concrete foundations are still there) and living there with several other Filipino workers. Gambling was a favored off-duty activity and the game was dominos. One night, a player began to cheat (the Herald wrote that it was Rufino). A gun fight broke out and several people were murdered: Rufino was not a survivor.

Among the most popular kids in Carmel were the five Miyamoto boys, Carmel’s only Japanese family of the 1930s. Their parents operated a truck farm in what is now the Mission Fields tract and the five brothers provided much of the muscle. In order of age: Yashitoka (“Archie”, “Yosh”), Takahisa (“Ky”), Hoshito (he calls himself “Oyster” today, but I only heard “Hoisto” in the 30s), Maya and Gordon. The first three were outstanding athletes and Ky might have been the best ever from Carmel (Maya and Gordie were too young for my assessment). There was a strong local revulsion when, at the start of our entry into World War II, this outstanding family had to move away because of Japanese ancestry.

There were two Negro families in town in the early 30s: the Fosters and the Lees. They lived in adjoining residences on Dolores near 4th and the men ran a garage on Mission at 6th. Although she was in my class in high school, I had no more than a nodding acquaintance with Theora Foster, but I knew the boys in the two families quite well:

…Harrison (“Harry”) Foster will be well remembered. Tall, strong, pleasant and very athletic, he perhaps could have made any team of his choice at Monterey High. However, he devoted himself to his paper route. I was his substitute for a couple of years, but he never missed a single day in that time.

…Ralph Lee was a small kid, extremely wiry and had a keen sense of humor. He could throw a golf ball more than 300 feet (no exaggeration) and was a Hall of Fame mumble-de-peg player in what is now Devendorff Park.

…Those two guys became special to me because they were the first two Negros that I ever got to know. (The White family came to town about 1936-37 but I hardly knew its two boys.)

The Rendtorffs must be noted. Professor Karl (who I called “Herr Professor”) headed the English Department at Stanford in its very first year (Herbert Hoover was a student of his). Following his retirement, he came to his Carmel home at the very north end of Professor’s Row on Camino Real. His daughter Gertrude is exceptionally well remembered here. She followed Karl’s footsteps and became an English teacher. She first taught in Bakersfield, then transferred to Monterey when an opening became available. I was in her very first class there. We lived in the same part of town, and her parents hired me from time to time for odd jobs around the yard. In 1935-36, her mother gave me private lessons in German, with Herr Professor always there, sitting in a corner pretending to read but keenly observing her teaching. I don’t know if Mrs. Rendtorff was a trained teacher or not, but she began in a manner that I’ve never heard of. She drilled me on accent before anything else, having me memorize and recite a poem selected for a vocabulary that contained many words cognate with English and that had a word order similar to English:

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?

Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind!

(I still remember the opening lines)

Those lessons back-fired on me. When I went to Berkeley in 1936 and began to study German there, I was able to loaf through the first semester and thus paid a price during the second for goofing-off.

Gertrude Rendtorff became an institution, not for Carmel but for the Peninsula. Someone should write a detailed profile about her and Kay Hamm Prine is the one to do it.

Carmel had three people who made marks in the movies, and I seldom read anything about them these days:

…Frank Sheridan (father of John, known to all Carmel teen-agers in the early 30s) frequently played bit roles in films. Whenever he appeared in a movie in a Carmel theater, the audience applauded with local pride.

…Gloria Stuart was an actress who left Carmel just before I arrived. She had a Hollywood career that lasted for perhaps a decade and that included a few leading roles.

…George Marion was in a different category in that he had achieved a high ranking in the American field of entertainment: Minstrelsy, Broadway and Hollywood (he played Greta Garbo’s father in “Anna Christie”, her first talkie). More about Marion, below.

Much has been written about Herbert Heron, a true Village notable. In 1932-33, I became a sword carrier in the Forest Theater, owned and managed by Herb. He must have appreciated my showing up there for he hired me frequently over a number of years for such jobs as window washing and floor waxing in his building complex at Ocean and Lincoln.

Lincoln Steffins was one of our country’s outstanding journalists who came here to retire and like the racehorse that cannot be turned out into the pasture, continued writing for both the Pine Cone and the Cymbal. But nothing has been written about the friendship between Steffins and my father Fee, a grocery clerk. For some reason that I do not understand, those two got along very well. That situation may have resulted from Fee’s extremely strong Republican persuasions (uncommon for a person in a humble position in the Depression) in contrast to Steffins’ strong liberal positions; but I more suspect that it resulted from my father’s ability to argue rationally with Steffins. In any event, the two of them spent a great deal of time on Carmel’s streets discussing “What’s wrong with our country and what should be done about it?” (I was there as a witness a couple of times). Fee also had a job of driving around town in the mornings, soliciting grocery orders from better customers for delivery later in the day, and Steffins’ home was a regular visiting point. Steffins often invited him in for a cup of coffee, over which they continued their talks about politics. My father revered Steffins!

F. Robert (“Bob”) Smith has been a businessman on the Peninsula for many years. Few will remember that he was the night telegraph operator for Western Union during most of the 1930s. I worked for him as messenger more than 3 years, 5:30 to 10:00 pm, Monday through Saturday, and for 2 hours every second Sunday (alternating with the day messenger, Scott Douglas, who will be remembered because he had one of the few motorcycles in town). Fewer will remember a much ballyhoo’d boxing match at Murphy’s lumber yard during a Village Fair held on Ocean Ave., when Bob was the victor over the elder Dalton brother who was in training to become a pro.

Frank Lloyd must be listed: he recently passed on after a lifetime in Carmel. Frank may have known more people here than anyone, except perhaps for his wife Marjorie. In the mid-1980s, he was an outstanding member of the City Council. I first met Frank about 1932 when we were both involved with the Forest Theater: then he was a young adult, and I was a beginning teen-ager. In spite of the difference of our ages, Frank treated me as a grown-up, never talked down to me and always respected my opinion. I will never forget that kind of treatment when I was a kid.

Alice Askew lived in a beautiful Victorian house on the northeast corner of Guadalupe and 5th [it’s still there, and it was there in 1888!]. She and my mother were very close friends and to me, Alice was an unofficial aunt.

Monterey High School, 1931-1936

Right after Labor Day, 1931, I was prepared for my first day at Monterey High. I was just about to take the bus and make my way as a total stranger when Robert Kennedy entered Leidig’s Grocery to cash a check, and my father asked him to guide me. Thus, I met one of my best friends ever, on my first day.

Bus riding was a special event. We were sexually separated, the boys riding in an old red bus that had transverse seats from side to side, each row having its own door (Gertrude Rendtorff had ridden in the same bus in her day). The driver was Marshall Wermuth. Students were not the only things in the bus: flying objects filled the space, and of those, spitballs were the least obnoxious: paper clips launched with rubber bands, pinecones, clumps of ice plants were continually aimed at appropriate targets. By far the safest place to sit was in the very last row. In other rows, we learned to scrooch down low and cover our heads with books. Marshall was hit so often (always in error) that a “bouncer” was hired to ride shotgun in the last row. All of that nonsense ended about 1933 when the school buses went coed.

I only took one sequence of classes that lasted for 4 years: English. Gertrude Rendtorff was my first teacher. In the middle of my sophomore year, she moved out of teaching to become Dean of Girls and Hattie Belle Reed took over (always called “Batty Hell”, she had been fired for injuring a student, sued the School Board and got her job back). Third year with Ann Norwood and fourth with Ruth Radcliffe (who had taught Gertrude a decade earlier). I didn’t need the 4th year of English and dropped the class the day after I found out that I had passed Berkeley’s “Subject A” exam.

I’m not going to run down all of my teachers, but a few special ones will be noted:

…Mary Ellen Smith taught algebra and geometry. In later years, she taught at Carmel High School under her married name (that I forget).

…James Darling taught biology. Some of us enjoyed his class so much that we successfully petitioned for a second year. That 2nd year class was dominated by Carmelites: Bob Kennedy, Carl Van Atta, Cliff LeNeve, and Donnan and Garth Jeffers are those that I remember beside myself. In my 5th year, a general science class was first offered, with Darling as the teacher. I then had three years each of science and mathematics, but I enrolled. Darling made me his student assistant and I both wrote and graded his examinations.

…I took more courses from Elise de Celles Beaton in high school than from any other teacher: three years of French plus special studies for part of a fourth year.

…Glen Watson was the physics and advanced math teacher. As America entered World War II, he left Monterey High and worked in Berkeley directly for Ernest Orlando Lawrence (then head of the Physics Dept., and Nobel Laureate in 1939). Glen’s job was to check all of Lawrence’s many calculations without being told what they were. Glen later told me that he needed more than a year before he could figure out the object. Lawrence, of course, was one of the key designers of the atomic bomb. Glen then went to Santa Rosa Community College and after retirement, came to Carmel. He and his wife lived almost across the street from our house, and we spent a great deal of time together in the summer of 1973 (he even got drunk in my place one night!).

…Glen’s wife, the former Miriam Cowan, merits a note. They married when both were teaching at Monterey. Because of a local rule against man-and-wife teachers, she had to quit at the end of the ’34 school year, and Carmelite Hester Schoeninger became her replacement. Miriam and Hester will be remembered as PE teachers by girls who went to school at Monterey in those days.

The school had a cafeteria, and I lunched there in bad weather. Usually however, Carl Van Atta and I walked to downtown Monterey for thick milkshakes at the Pep Creamery and returning, shared a day-old pie from the Pioneer Bakery. This was our unvarying lunch menu for years, and it cost us 25 cents each.

I graduated from high school in 1935 but for financial reasons was not able to go to college. I stayed for a 5th year and with friends Van Atta and Buzz Schulte became a “Post Graduate”.

When in high school, I was too small and too uncoordinated to be much of an athlete. I tried for football and basketball in my senior year but was second and third string and had almost no playing time. But I had been doing a lot of swimming in Carmel Bay and in Monterey High’s pool and had developed at least a bit of a talent. In the summer of 1935, Bernard McMenamin, Sr. (then manager of Del Monte Lodge) formed a swimming team for the Beach Club, and Carmelite Kay Clark, Bernard (“Bernie”) McMenamin Jr. and I comprised the team and swam regularly at meets in the pool of the old Del Monte Hotel. Then in 1936, a swimming team was formed at Monterey High. Carmelites dominated: Kay Clark, Harlan Wilder, John Short, Buzz Schulte. I was team captain until the coach fired me for an indiscretion.

In my fifth year, there was a very unusual event in our PE classes. A gung-ho practice teacher from San Jose State organized all the boys into rugby teams, taught the sport and conducted contests. By that time (spring 1936), I had reached full size (or almost) and found that I had a talent for the game. Rugby?: in a California high school in 1936? Yes indeed!

1936-1939

In late August 1936, I went to Berkeley as a freshman at “Cal”, traveling in Bob Kennedy’s car with Sam Coblentz as passenger. Bob made me do the driving and I was quite uncomfortable: I had neither driver’s license nor experience on highways or busy city streets. Nevertheless, we got there and I checked into Barrington Hall — a student cooperative venture — on earlier advice from Joe Schoeninger.

From that time on, much of my year was spent in Berkeley but I returned to Carmel for all vacations and continued my role as a Carmelite. Having little money, I usually hitch-hiked from Berkeley to Carmel, taking the bus as far as the end of the line at Hayward, and sticking out my thumb from that point: and on one occasion, I needed eleven hours for the trip! Hitching was not easy in the other direction: I was often able to scrounge rides but if not, I took the train to San Francisco for about four bucks.

When in Carmel for Berkeley’s one month Christmas vacation and for its full three months’ summer vacation, I spent my time job-hunting, devotedly! Both my father and mother were working, and if I did not have a job, I did the cooking for the family!

This report is about Carmel, and I do not include events at Berkeley. Further, I lost qualification as a teen-ager (see the title of these notes) in February of 1939 and do not include anything after that time.

Some jobs

The longest job that I had in Carmel was a night messenger at Western Union beginning in 1932. Old timers will remember that telegrams used to be a big business before most people had telephones. Indeed, Postal Telegraph also had an office in town at one time. I worked at Western Union more than 3 years, making the magnificent salary of $15 a month for 4½ hours a day, Monday through Saturday, plus 2 hours (mostly floor waxing) every second Sunday. During that time, my boss was F. Robert Smith, the night-time telegrapher. Many of my deliveries were made by walking: my bicycle was always at hand, and I used it for north-south runs, but I found that hills thwarted travel in the other direction and that walking was often faster than riding. Supplemental income from tips was most welcome but was also quite infrequent. I could always count on a dime (rarely a quarter) from Mrs. Argyll Campbell and from singer Noel Sullivan, and fortunately for me, telegrams to those residences were common. My most dreaded delivery was to Grace Deere Velie Clinic about 9:30 pm: there was a doctors’ visit at 9 every night and should there be prescriptions, they were filled by Carmel Drug Store and I was called for package delivery instead of getting off a half hour early [Ralph Castagna was a long-time fixture at Carmel Drug and even knowing that he wasn’t at fault, I hated his guts because he was the one that called me; but once I stopped working at Western Union, I found that he had become a very nice guy]. Two of my best friends — Carl Van Atta and Bob Kennedy — substituted for me on occasion and when I “retired”, Patrick Crichton (another well-known Carmelite) took over.

The pay on that job was quite low and when I began to get a series of additional odd jobs, I thought of quitting. The die was cast in 1935 when Dr. Donald Jaques, optometrist on Alvarado St., Monterey, hired me to clean his office each morning. I had to hitch my way beginning at 6:30 am, but six hours a week with Dr. Jaques paid me more than the Western Union job.

In the summer of 1936, Bob Kennedy and I decided to go into business for ourselves, polishing and waxing cars for $5 each. We printed 100 postcards announcing our service and went around town, placing them on dirty cars. We did rather well financially for that summer, but we were horrified with our very first job: State Senator Edward Tickle of Carmel Highlands Inn brought us an old Lincoln (perhaps vintage 1926) that seemed to us to be about 35 feet long! We needed all day to clean that car.

In the summer of 1937, I got the best job ever. Colonel Alan Griffen and his wife Hester Hately Griffen of Pebble Beach hired me to tutor Mrs. Griffen’s boys, Arthur and Peter Hately, and to baby-sit them during the summer. They lent me a 3-speed bicycle (that belonged to Johnny Hately, the oldest son; not there at the time) and I went to their home to improve Art and Pete’s arithmetic from 9 to 10 am and then to keep them busy for the rest of the day: swimming, golfing, beachcombing, badminton, ping pong, whatever. I was paid $75 a month for five days a week, with lunch every day and with a week’s vacation!

In the summer of 1938, Carmel builder and my dear friend George Whitcomb hired me and several other teen-agers as laborers on his job of demolishing David Starr Jordan’s home at Camino Real and 7th (the very first of “Professors’ Row”?) and building a new home in its place [it’s still there]. Usable lumber from the demolishment was to be put into the new home, and for a magnificent 50 cents an hour, I went through the scrap pile, pulling nails and stacking the salvage for re-use by the carpenters.

Through friendship with then postmaster Fred Milar, I got a couple of weeks’ work as a helper at the post office during the Christmas rush for three years beginning in 1937. I was usually on package detail, and how many now remember when the old fire house on 6th at San Carlos was used as a temporary annex for postal packages?

Sandwiched between those longer jobs was a series of short ones: occasional odd jobs at the Harrison Library when Elizabeth Niles was in charge; floor waxing and window washing at the homes of Miss Niles, her assistant Harriette Baker, Herb Heron and others; dish-washing for Walt Pilot at his creamery at Mission and Ocean; pot-scrubbing for Steve Patterson at his Chop House; plus gardening labor here and there.

Old timers will remember that things were not easy during the 1930s. Many people hustled for work, even kids. Most of my friends were hustling right along with me.

Some events

I arrived in Carmel in 1931 with some clothing and with a shoe box containing two pet white mice. At our home on Casanova, I built a fine cage in which the mice thrived and multiplied. The multiplication got out of control, and I eventually gave several of the mice to Neil Weston who lived a block away on Monte Verde. Neil turned them loose in the crawl space under his house and reported that they made themselves at home there for many months.

The Village was buzzing in 1931 about the exploits of famed evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson, who had rented a home on Scenic for shenanigans while she was supposed to be kidnapped. I don’t have the story straight, but Judge Gordon Campbell should write it before all memories fade. And in some manner, Gordon must find a delicate way of including the joke about “What’s gotten into Aimee these days?”

Most grocery stores delivered to residences then and Florence Leidig’s was no exception. She had an Austin (if you remember that car, about half the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, you are indeed an old timer!) that was used for deliveries to the Highlands and to Pebble Beach. I often went with the delivery clerk on Saturdays as an unpaid helper because the fellow taught me how to drive.

The lagoon at the mouth of the Carmel River was then quite swimmable and was a popular teen-age hangout in summer. I improved my swimming ability there and when I became better, I moved to Carmel Beach — an even more popular hangout where kids actually swam before the invention of surfboards and wet suits. I often lined up with Ocean Ave. and swam to Sta. Lucia and back, outside the surf zone. Later at Berkeley, I found that pool temperatures could be maintained at 72 degrees and have not been back into California’s Pacific Ocean since.

I miss the Village Fairs that used to be held each year. The first I attended was held on Dolores between Ocean and 7th. The street was blocked off, and booths were erected for carnival-type games, sales of comestibles, etc., and Allen Knight’s orchestra played for street dancing. The next fair was on Ocean between San Carlos and Mission, plus a part of Murphy’s lumber yard on Mission. Similar activities but the “throw-a-baseball-at-a-target-and-if-you-hit-it, you-knock-a-scantily-clad-lady-into-a-pool-of-water” was an unforgettable attraction. The following year, the fair was held at the Forest Theater where much of the stage was used for dancing, again by Allen Knight, at a cost of five cents a dance. The hit of that Fair was the “girl in the fishbowl”, a classmate from Monterey who was costumed in very short tresses and we were able to see her much better than we could at school.

Walking was a major activity. High schoolers came to mid-Village to catch the school bus to Monterey, and they all walked, even from Carmel Point. Almost all boys had bicycles that were used after school: a common contest was to see how far one could pedal up the Ocean Ave. hill east of Junipero, and I never remember anyone beating Cliff LeNeve. Unlike today, only a few high schoolers had cars. Maurice Grimshaw, Clarence Dodd, Nels Edquist and Billy Veach jointly, Bob Kennedy, and Sam Coblentz were exceptions, and there were almost-Carmelites Charles Bauer (he even drove a car to Sunset when in grammar school!) and Betty Wheeler from Pebble Beach. Gordon Clough drove from Monterey almost every day to give a ride to school to Eileen (“Lefty”) Overhulse.

Although the bus left for Monterey High each day, it was more adventurous to hitch-hike and Carl Van Atta, and I often did this together. Hitching back from Monterey one day from our favorite spot on Cass St., we were given a lift by Jimmy Brucia (who went to the Gulf of California with John Steinbeck and appears many times in the Sea of Cortez), then also in school with us and who had a beat-up Model-T Ford. Its power was so low that he had to turn around about halfway up the Carmel Hill and to continue in reverse gear, backing up. That was a notable trip, but in great contrast was a hitch we got one day from Margaret Lyle enroute to Monterey. Margaret had a music store in Carmel, and she also had a sparkling new Cord roadster [only certified old-timers will remember that one]. She was driving rather fast as she went over the top of the hill: Carl and I were both thunderstruck with this expensive, sporty car and we asked her, “How fast can this Cord go?” “I don’t know,” she said, “but let’s find out!” And at the base of the hill where she had to start slowing down on entering Monterey, we were traveling at 95 miles an hour. That was in 1935 and it is still the fastest I’ve ever gone in a car.

In the summer of 1932, Herb Heron needed spear-carriers at the Forest Theater and aggressively recruited from the teen-age crowd. I found myself in mob scenes in The Pirates of Penzance (not as a singer!) and The Ivory Door, and also worked in those two productions backstage moving scenery around under the direction of Clay Otto who handled scenery at Forest Theater for many years. My career as an actor began and ended with The Merchant of Venice that was directed by George Marion — an outstanding actor of stage and screen — who also played Shylock. My role was that of Balthazar who has a single line (“Madam, I go with all convenient speed”) as Portia’s servant. However, the play has a few other lines ascribed to unidentified servants, and I got those also when several small roles were combined. Merchant played for four nights: standing beside Portia through rehearsals, I had learned the lines of some of the major players. During one performance, the Prince of Arragon was half-stewed and forgot many of his lines. I was able to whisper them to him, and he got through his big speech about the silver casket: in appreciation, he later gave me 5 bucks, an incredible sum for pocket money. Looking today at old cast-lists jars my memory and I am surprised as to how many Carmel high-schoolers were in those plays.

The Abalone Baseball League was an old Village tradition. I never played in it but was a frequent spectator when the field was just just outside of town, north of Serra Ave., and “Doc” Staniford was the perpetual umpire. My major interest in abalones was in the shelled rather than the baseball version. Armed with a tire-iron (one must be aged indeed to remember that tool!), it was easy to collect abalones at Carmel Point at low tide. With a notable lack of success, I tried time after time to prepare them for the table, usually for myself alone because my parents hated any type of sea food except canned salmon. No one should try this activity today because abalone collection at Carmel Point is just as illegal now as it was then.

At the other end of the bay, we had the Pebble Beach golf course. Near sunset, a group of kids could fool around on the southernmost holes (i.e., those farthest from the Lodge) without getting caught. Our usual equipment was one club between us and a battered golf ball each. A more rewarding activity was the search for lost balls, most commonly found on the rocky beach below the course or in tide pools. Depending on their condition, Louis Slevin would buy them for 10 to 20 cents, clean them up and resell them to golfers. My usual companion on these outings at Pebble was that well-known Carmelite of the early 30s, George (“Hambone”) Cook.

The youngsters from Carmel’s Tortilla Flats often walked halfway to Pacific Grove to pick berries on Huckleberry Hill and sold them from house to house at 20 cents for a 2-lb Crisco tin of berries. I never did that, but I often picked wild blackberries on the banks of the Carmel River near the Mission and gorged myself with blackberry shortcake when that new-fangled convenience food “Bisquick” became available. My friends Cliff LeNeve, Dexter Whitcomb, Carl Van Atta and Kenneth Roberts — hunters all — frequented the Mission to shoot pigeons when they were not trying to snag steelhead in the Carmel River. When snagging paled, steelhead could also be caught in shallow water by smacking them on the head with a heavy lead or steel weight tied on to the end of a bamboo pole, when swung skillfully as a club.

Sneaking into the old Golden Bough theater was far from uncommon. Four or five kids would raise a dime between them; one would buy a ticket and quietly release the panic bar of the fire exit at the left-rear of the auditorium, permitting the others to slip in from the alley. Because of his short stature, Ralph Lee was the usual door opener.

I got in trouble with the local fuzz on three occasions:

…One night, Carl Van Atta was waiting for me when I got off work at Western Union. Telegrapher Bob Smith had parked his car nearby, and Carl and I pushed it along Dolores and parked it on the wrong side of the street close to Ocean Ave., thinking that Bob might have trouble finding it. A few minutes later, policeman Earl Wermuth strolled by, saw Bob’s car and ticketed it for illegal parking. We ’fessed up to Earl and pleaded that the ticket be destroyed but were not successful. We then took the ticket off the car and turned ourselves in to Justice of the Peace Judge Ross the next day, asking that we pay the fine. Ross was stern but did not fine us: he put us on probation (or so he said) and ordered us to behave for a month.

…John and Bill Short had a touring car (what on earth is that? some may ask today). A group of high schoolers were having a party at Cook’s Cove (on the beach at the foot of 13th) one night. The Shorts, myself and another bought a dozen eggs and driving along Scenic, fired our missiles at the party [can you identify the touring car now?]. This episode was reported to — again — Earl Wermuth who had no trouble locating the culprits. He took us uptown, found that Police Chief Gus Englund was watching a movie, got Englund out of the theater and there by the ticket box of the old Golden Bough, we got one of the most severe lectures ever. I felt that Gus didn’t care a hoot about the egg throwing but that he was mad because of missing a part of the film.

…Bob Smith frequented the Beach Club at Stillwater Cove. Occasionally he had me drive his car there to do errands for him. One day, he sent me to get his dog and return it to town. I halted at the stop sign on Dolores and Ocean as Police Chief Robert Norton (Englund’s successor) strolled along the sidewalk. He leaned into the car and said something like “John, I’ve seen you driving for some time. Do you have a license?” Gulp, “No sir”. “Well, blankety blank blank!, and if you ever do it again….etc.” With that warning, I had to be very careful afterward.

The social center for the male teen-ager was what is now the north parking lot at Sunset Center. It was the school’s athletic field and after returning from Monterey High in the afternoon, almost every unencumbered kid went there for football or baseball, according to season, and we even held a couple of what we called track meets. At times, the Sunset gym was open and then basketball became the game. Activity was continual and regular attendees included Moylan Fox, Gordon Bain, Harry Turner, Ray Hamilton, Ken Roberts, Harlan Wilder, Vernon Wills, John Sheridan, Lytton Hitchcock and Bud Brownell, among others. Several of these later became members of teams at Monterey High and dropped out of the Sunset group.

Tennis players (I was not one) regularly reported to the court at the Millis’ house [now the Laiolo’s] at San Antonio and 9th. I think that the Pine Inn courts (long gone) were the only others in the Village at that time.

About 1934 or ’35, a basketball league was formed for teenagers on the Monterey Peninsula. Harry Hilbert became the coach of what we called the “Carmel Athletic Club” and Sunset Principal Otto Bardarson opened the gym to us. The players were those not good enough for Monterey High (although several became so, later). We bought snazzy red and white uniforms from Montgomery Ward in Monterey [remember?] and played games with several teams from Monterey and Pacific Grove. Our team included Clarence Dodd, Rudy and Lou Holtzhauer, Joe de Amaral, Alan Lane, Rupert Kendall (our star), Stanley Clay and myself — and each of those were also members of the “Sunset group” of the second paragraph above.

When playing in the Sunset gym, we discovered a way of getting into the dressing rooms below the stage of the Sunset auditorium, from which we could enter the auditorium itself. Going above the stage to the scenery drops, there was a catwalk across the auditorium into the eaves above the several rooms of the school itself. The exploration of this complex took hours, and we all indulged, and with glee and on many occasions. That “secret” entrance may still be there, and I promise that my own lips are sealed.

To continue (and dispense with) teen-age athletics, a baseball league was sponsored by the American Legion in 1934 (?) and the Carmel team played on a field on the uninhabited mesa somewhere along Atherton Drive, just outside of town. I was an attendant, not a player. The same area was then used for Carmel’s annual kite tournament, sponsored by the Reverend White of All Saints’ Church. The kite contests were for kids, but Mr. Calley, the shop teacher at Sunset, usually came in with something dramatic that stole the show. In the later ’30s, that same area — still without any houses — became the local “Lovers’ Lane”: take my word for it.

Today, Hallowe’en differs greatly from that of the good old days. Real little ones costumed and usually with a guiding adult now call at homes announcing, “Trick or treat!” without knowing what the first word means. In the early ’30s, Hallowe’en activities were such as to require our local police force to be supplemented with a few soldiers from the Presidio. The old fire station was used as a “jail” for confining the more rambunctious for a few hours on one year (1932?) at least. I was never in that group, but I did partake in two events that are memorable to me:

…Edward Kuster lived on Carmel Point and had a barn in which he stored many flats left over from plays that had been performed in his theaters. This was known to Joe Schoeninger who lived nearby. One Hallowe’en (1934?), Joe guided Sam Coblentz and me into the barn, where with a carefully shielded flashlight, we chose selected flats, hauled them to nearby Carmelo St. south of 15th, and built a Roman Castle in the roadway. Then for a couple of hours, we watched cars driving south on Carmelo, stopping and turning around as their headlights lit the castle.

…Using that experience to guide us the next year, we had located a house under construction on Casanova near 13th. On Hallowe’en, Bob Kennedy (replacing Schoeninger), Sam and I pulled lumber off the site and built a wall across Casanova. We were equipped with hammers and nails but used them sparingly because hammering noises might have woken neighbors: many of our joints were made by tying with clothesline. The result was a very effective “building” in the middle of the street: much more satisfying than soaping windows.

One of Betty Greene’s stables at 6th and Junipero was taken over as a Carmel Youth Center, cleaned up a bit and used for meetings and occasional dances. During its short existence in 1937 or ’38, I spent most of my time in Berkeley and only attended once or twice. Two or three types of soft drinks were sold for refreshment by bartender Dexter Whitcomb, but for selected friends (and I was one), Dek would sell a “special” Coke for 15 cents that was about half gin. Perhaps the club floundered because of a lack of profit from its sales counter.

A favorite activity was tramping Point Lobos with Sam Coblentz. In the mid-30’s, there were no rules about staying on the paths (and indeed, there were not many paths at all) and I believe that Sam and I covered about every square inch of the place. He and I also spent more than a bit of time making wine in his basement in what we euphemistically called our “chemistry laboratory”. We also used the lab to make rocket propellants that we fired in a nearby vacant lot but never got around to making the rocket itself that we had planned to launch from the beach toward China.

Kay Clark was a local sailor who had his own boat at Stillwater Cove. One day, he found a javelin — of all things — floating in Carmel Bay and retrieved it and gave it to me. After making some repairs, I threw it frequently on the beach and became reasonably adept at throwing for distance (to the extent that I tried unsuccessfully to make the track team at Cal). Once I gave it a hard throw and it landed just beyond a large bush that had blocked Geraldine Thienes — a classmate of mine — from sight. Gerry had been napping and was woken by the thud of a steel-tipped javelin that had landed, quivering, about 5 feet away from her. She and I quivered for some time as well.

In 1937 when I worked for Col. and Mrs. Griffen, the latter’s son Johnny Hately was at the Thatcher School near Carpenteria. When his school was over for the summer, I was sent to get him, driving an old pick-up truck with Art Hately as a passenger. We not only got Johnny but his horse and its trailer as well. We returned on a Sunday that happened to be the official opening day of the Big Sur-San Simeon section of Highway 1 and of course we went that way. Although the roadway was all paved, there was no warning that many of the bridges south of Big Sur were uncompleted and were bypassed with dirt detours that snaked down to canyon bottoms and back up again. Several of those detours were too steep for our pick-up with its load. Johnny had to take his horse out of the trailer and lead it up the detour to the pavement, and at one particular bridge, we needed to rope the horse to the front bumper to get its help in pulling our way out of the canyon.

Epilogue

The 1930s were the times of the Great Depression, in Carmel as elsewhere. By today’s standards, most jobs were poorly paid but living costs were much lower. Even so, it was not easy to make things meet. However, pleasures do not need to be based on accumulations of gold-plated commodities: they can be derived from friendships and simple activities as well. After the passing of two-thirds of a century, my memories of my teen-age years in Carmel are pleasant indeed. I do not apologize for the length of this essay nor for the many trivial items that it contains. After all, this was not written for any