A 90 Year Journey Through the 20th Century

One quiet afternoon about six years ago, I sat down at my aging Smith-Corona and 'did' four or five pages of memories (which you will read in 'Hermosa 1907-1920'). The muse never visited me again. About three years ago I was showing my son Bruce some material in my files. He spotted the manuscript. Curious, he asked to borrow it. Several days later he returned the sheets, commenting, 'Gee Dad, I liked the place about selling soft shell crabs. Why don't you write some more?' Months dragged by. From time to time I thought about continuing the writing, but the urge was not strong enough to impel action.

In the meantime, both Bruce and his brother Ross were bugging me about getting a computer. I was negative I had no need for one. And I was gun shy about my ability to operate one. Of what possible use would a computer be to me? I kept saying 'No', 'No!', 'No!!!'

Despite my protestations, last Christmas found several very large packages, wrapped in red ribbon, beside the tree. My heart sank. Had the boys ganged up on me? Without much enthusiasm I unwrapped the boxes and, sure enough, there was a computer from Bruce and Nancy, and a printer from Ross and Vicki. Also a screen and a keyboard...the works.

I am conscious about maintaining good 'P.R.' with my boys, so I expressed proper enthusiasm. Before I could adjust to my new status, Bruce had the machine hooked up and 'MICROSOFT WINDOWS', in bright colors, was glaring from the screen. Thus I was dragged, screaming and clicking, into the 20th Century. Bruce was very pleased with himself.

For my part, I was totally dismayed and confused. That Christmas day we must have spent four hours fooling wit the Mouse, 'clicking' on various programs. I was bewildered and wishing that I could hide somewhere. The next day Bruce was back. More lessons. He showed me how to play solitaire and my interest perked up. Then he helped me write a letter to friends in Papua New Guinea. Sorta fun. Next, 'we' made a couple of spreadsheets on several of my investments. Not bad! He had to play a tennis tournament the next day, so I played a little solitaire. Then, just for kicks, I tried a letter to my favorite cousin down in Orange County. I finally finished and printed it. The result would never have won a Pulitzer Prize for literature or typography.

Now, feeling pretty cocky after this achievement, I thought, 'Why not finish up the remaining spread sheets?' This was a crucial mistake. By the time I had all of them entered, I was hooked. What a way to go! Next day Bruce came by for another lesson and, of course, my achievements with the spreadsheets won praise, which I ate up.

Now I began spending several hours a day exploring various programs, writing letters and experimenting with the spread sheets. Frequently, in desperation when I could not get things to go right, I would get on the phone to ask Bruce (or his wife Nancy) what I had done wrong. Once, they discovered that I had about a dozen programs open and running, one on top of another!! Bruce patiently unscrambled the mess and the learning experience continued.

One day in mid February I remembered my Hermosa Beach notes. Wouldn't it be a good idea to put them into the computer? As I began the entries, I realized that I was really enjoying myself. The next step was inevitable. Random remembrances started popping up and I began adding paragraphs. The last time I printed out the 'Hermosa Beach' chapter, the copy ran 15 pages.

One by one, 18 chapters evolved. Friends who have previewed these memoirs express surprise that I had kept such detailed notes, or a diary, over so many, many years. Their surprise is magnified when I assure them that I have had no access to written records of any kind, no diaries, and no bundles of letters tied up with ribbon! What I have written here has been drawn directly and exclusively from memory. I have, however, added fictional dialogue where I felt that they would add interest to the text.

Perhaps I should hedge on this last paragraph. Like a paleontologist digging for fossils, I have found some bones pertaining to my 90 odd years on earth. Out of my personal file I have dug up the following: my birth certificate, my marriage certificate, a passport, a program from my eighth grade graduation ceremony, my 1946 U.S. Army discharge papers, my Pilot s license, my Real Estate Broker s license. In my wallet I carry, of course, a Driver s license and my ACBL Director s card. It can be claimed that these are written records of my 90-year journey. I agree. Like fossilized bones, however, they are merely a part of the skeleton. But the flesh and blood part of my life, the events, dates, names, achievements, failures and dreams are every one drawn from memory.

I have now received enough accolades from my "reviewers" to fill a very large balloon with my own hot air, and I am beginning to fancy myself responding to cries of "Author! Author!"