The Moon, The Mission and the Manor

The Moon, The Mission and the Manor(Duncan Craycroft) THE MOON, THE MISSION AND THE MANOR
SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA - SUMMER, 1969

Five more minutes! The hands on the clock seemed to move like a turtle through tall grass. My classmates and I, in Mrs. Stone’s Fifth grade class at Frank N. Eastwood school, listened to the final words from our teacher before summer vacation was to begin, but her voice had been changed into the “Waa Waa Waa” of Charlie Brown’s teacher. Briiiiing!! Schools Out!! My classmates and I poured out the door and joined the exodus of students heading for the exits. Many formed in groups for their walk home while others went to the bike rack to collect their Sting Rays and for the elite among us, their Schwinn Varsity ten speeds. Me, I just waked past the Kindergarten playground and crossed the street to our home.

There were many advantages to living across the street from your school. The greatest was that it’s large fields, baseball diamonds and playground equipment were just an extension of your own front yard. I would see movies where kids were playing stick ball on crowded city streets and I realized just how fortunate we were. A few years later these same fields and parks would turn into our night time gathering places for all forms of mischief. I also liked the fact that I could enjoy my morning bowl of Cheerios, hear the first bell that meant line up with your class and race across the playground before our teacher came to collect us and lead us to our classroom. The last and special memory I have is going home for lunch. Yes, they let children leave the campus and go home for lunch. Our mother had found a sweet lady named Nellie to care for our little brothers and she became part of our family. I would come through the door and the house would smell like Salems and perfume and we would watch game shows while I ate my Peanut Butter and Jelly. I’m so happy she is doing well and she and her many children are still in touch with our family.

My friends and I met up that night in one their backyards for a pool party. One thing about our neighborhood, a brand new development that the builders named Sol Vista, there were a lot of swimming pools. Some of the residents were fairly affluent so when the homes were built in the early sixties the hole was dug and the cement was poured. The American dream, right? Many of the parents were aerospace engineers that had played a role in taking us to the moon, but more on that later. As we splashed about in the water playing Marco Polo and eating hot dogs and Fritos, everybody was talking about all the cool, fun things that they were going to do that summer. I listened to the boasts of beaches, airplane rides and Little League and thought how totally different my summer was going to be.
I would soon be boarding a Greyhound bus, alone, in Long Beach along with lots of Marines, old people and assorted travelers. My mother would hug me and make sure that I had a good supply of candy and reading material, mostly my comics and the latest Mad magazines. The bus would take us down Interstate 5, along the Pacific Ocean, through Camp Pendleton before arriving at the depot in Oceanside, California. There I would be met by Jack and Jessie, our old neighbors from Redondo Beach.

When the time came, my mother and I began the drive down Westminster Ave., through the Seal Beach Weapons Station and in to Long Beach. We were both quiet in our thoughts as we parked and walked towards the bus. ”Jessie’s going to be so happy to see you,” she said and gave me one last hug. I watched her walk away through the window and felt an urge to run after her. The other passengers behind me were growing impatient so I quickly found a seat and reached for my bag. I pulled out a Hershey Bar and a comic book and I was good to go.

As the bus rolled down Interstate 5 and along the Pacific Ocean I gazed out at a lone sailboat cutting across the white capped sea, it’s jib full with the off shore wind. I had sailed many times on my neighbor’s boat and as I watched the sleek boat glide downwind I wished that I was feeling the spray of the sea instead of being trapped in this smelly tin can.

The brakes squealed and groaned as we came to a stop at the bus station. I grabbed my bag and joined the queue of travelers and exited down the steps. I looked through the happy reunions and shaved headed Marines heading back to the base and probably on to Viet Nam and tried to find those familiar faces when I saw them. Jack, with his tan trousers, flannel shirt and the pirate patch on his eye (something we shared and joked about, we each had one good eye), and Jessie with her simple house dress, ever present sweater and the biggest smile you can imagine. Of all the people that I have ever known in my life, none have loved me more than Jessie. My mother began her distinguished teaching career shortly after I was born so most of my first five years were spent with this kind and patient lady. This kind of bond is strong and mutual. Jack was a typical grumpy old man but he had a good sense of humor and I knew that he too enjoyed having me around despite his occasional frustrations with me.

Jessie was born in 1887 to covered wagon pioneers on a ranch in the Arizona Territory. This was during a boom in ranching and mining and everyone was chasing their fortune. It was the era of Tombstone, Wyatt Earp and the wild, wild west. She used to tell me stories of real cowboys and real Indians that made the ones I watched on TV look like little kids playing dress up. One time her father had gone into town and her mother was left with Jessie and her little brother. A rogue group of Indians had been raiding livestock around the valley and had hurt some people too. While they were hanging laundry they heard the animals act up so her mom grabbed the kids and rushed into the house. She told them to stay down and took the long rifle off of the wall and looked through the slot towards the barn. Jessie, being a curious child, went over to the opaque window and slowly rose up to look outside. Her scream was so loud it could be heard all the way across the valley! When she put her face against the glass to get a good look, an Indian was staring right back at her with the meanest most frighting face!! Her scream shocked everyone including the Indians who took off running empty handed.

After a quick greeting Jack, Jessie and I climbed into the big Chrysler for the drive from the coast all the way down Oceanside Blvd. until we climbed the hill on the outskirts of the city and could see the green valley down below us. We passed by the small airport and the little cocktail lounge with the smiling airplane painted on it’s side and made the final turn into the mobile home park that would be my home for most of the summer.

The Mission Mobile Manor was built in the early 60’s near the orange and avocado farms of northern San Diego county and right next door to one of the great Missions, Mission San Luis Rey. There was also a small town by the same name that was located just outside the Mission gates. It had probably been there as long as the mission, which is 1781, serving the needs of the villagers of the area. It had a gas station, garage, a barber (where I tried to avoid getting my long hair cut), a diner that made great burgers and a little market where I could resupply my candy and comic book stocks. This might seem a random memory but I can remember walking to that store and singing, ”Good Morning, Star Shine“ over and over.
GOOD MORNING STAR SHINE, THE EARTH SAYS HELLO,
YOU TWINKLE ABOVE US, WE TWINKLE BELOW

92 Shirlee Ln. was a simple single-wide one bedroom mobile home with a screened in, astro-turfed porch. I had a small area at the back of the porch which included a strange Asian partition covered with symbols, flowers and pagodas that separated my cot with the homemade down quilt from the washer and dryer. I would lie awake at night and listen to the coyotes and other wild beasts howling in the distance. The front of the porch is where Jack and I spent many warm summer nights listening to Vin Scully call the Dodger game on his old brown leather wrapped radio.
"Tonight’s game is brought to you by, Farmer Johns! Eastern most in quality, western most in flavor!".

Our little makeshift family got along quite well owing to the fact that we had been together since the day that I was born and we all new our place in the hierarchy. Jack was in charge and we deferred to him unless Jessie really wanted something or she was cross. We didn’t make Jessie cross. When I would push this kind little old lady too far she could lift up from her 100 pound frame with the strength and fury of a Grizzly bear and send me running for a place to hide. It would seem that I was near the bottom of this family power ranking but because I could get Jessie to do just about anything and she had some power over Jack, in the end I was running the show. Add to all this was the fact that I was now 12 years old and not a little kid anymore. I was part of the new generation and Jack was four generations removed. We were headed for a showdown.

That summer a battle raged in our little living room as it was all over America pitting old against young, hip against square. The importance of this epic struggle cannot be overstated, the war for control of the television. A new, smart and controversial form of programming had come out of the Hippie, anti-war years and the old folks were horrified by it. At night I would plead, whine and make deals so that I could see Laugh-In or The Smothers Brothers. When Jack had to watch Lawrence Welk or his beloved Gunsmoke I would go out on the porch in protest and listen to my transistor radio. Many nights we would compromise and watch The Beverly Hillbillies, Ironside and one we both enjoyed, The Glen Campbell Show.
IT’S KNOWIN’ THAT YOUR DOOR IS ALWAYS OPEN
AND YOUR PATH IS FREE TO WALK

The only thing that Jack disliked more than my TV shows were TV commercials. He was literally a Jack of all trades so he rigged himself a switch that was connected to the television speaker and ran back to his big chair. When the commercials came on, the switch went off and he would close his eyes for a little nap during the intermission. The problem with this is the program would start and the sound would still be off! Everybody knows that you don’t wake a sleeping bear so I would creep like a cat and attempt to surgically remove the switch from his iron grip. Once in a while I was successful which also meant that I was now king of the airwaves and I could watch Love, American Style or The Mod Squad.

Unfortunately for my wife, I have kept Jack’s contempt of commercials alive and she has to nudge me to un-mute the TV when the program returns.
One place where Jack and I came together in perfect harmony was at the table when Jessie was serving one of her delicious home cooked meals. In her early days on the ranch she had prepared the chow for the hungry ranch hands and having been through the depression and two world wars she knew how to shop, save and get the most out of fresh healthy ingredients. We would travel out to roadside stands to buy our fruits and vegetables and our meat came from a local butcher. One sad note is due to her health, she rarely ate what she had prepared opting instead for a diet of Gerber’s Baby Food. I used to help her pick out new flavors and at meals I would pretend to feed her and she would play along. I would hold the spoon and do the airplane and the choo-choo train, she would purse her lips before finally relenting and opening wide for a bite. It’s funny how such a silly little thing brings back so much emotion in me.

On a warm night early in my visit, Jack and I were out on the exposed portion of the porch listening to the Dodgers doing battle with our upstate rivals, the hated San Francisco Giants. I was sitting on the stoops leading up to the porch and staring up at the clear sky. I thought about the astronauts that would soon embark on the greatest adventure that man has ever dared to attempt, a manned flight to the moon. I wondered what my family and friends were doing right now and looking up at the sky I suddenly felt so small and alone.

Jack broke the silence and began to lay out his schedule for the next few days. You see, we were about to embark on our own adventure and we had many details and tasks that had to be completed in a short time. He was an expert guide and traveler on par with Lewis and Clark, only they used Indians for the labor and he had me. That night we planned trips into town for supplies, a check and inventory of all equipment which would be crossed checked on his tattered list, and a ride around the corner to the filling station to get the car tuned up. I thought it was strange when Jack asked me to ride along to the garage but it turned out to be a trap for as soon as the mechanic grabbed the keys Jack had me by the wrist and was pulling me to the barber shop. I knew when I was beat and slumped into the chair. He explained that where we were going would be very hot and dirty and I would thank him one day. I walked out with one regular boy’s haircut and, no, I never thanked him.

The night before our trip was to begin we walked over to the diner in the village for a rare dinner out. Jessie had shut down the kitchen after lunch and we had begun packing food, pans and utensils all strictly adhering to the Jack list protocol. He was very careful never to take anything unless it would be used and he avoided buying anything but the basics once we were underway. We would be gone for a month so no detail was too small for his scrutiny. After all the boxes and assorted supplies were staged around the car, Jack and I stood in the carport under the bare light bulb and considered the careful and artful way that we would fit all the supplies into the large American sedan and still have room for three passengers. I considered myself a pretty smart kid and I could see that he was starting with the wrong boxes and section but he was the Skipper and I guess that made me Gilligan. After a few re-dos and considerable grumbling we had loaded the old boat up to the waterline and tomorrow we would see if she would float.

We rose at dawn and loaded the last few items into the car. The one thing that Jack had left off his list was one tall, skinny boy and I was assigned to lay flat across the carefully stacked supplies that now filled the back seat right up to the windows. Our first route was into the valley on Highway 76 which would take us deep into the canyons before the sun began to rise. What a sight we must have been with Jack hunched over the wheel with his over-sized sunglasses, Jessie’s tiny frame barely visible over the dashboard of the giant land yacht and me laid out thumbing through a comic book oblivious to my surroundings.

When the winding country roads finally gave way to the flat open valley we stopped at a filling station to stretch our legs and an urgent search by Jack for the bathroom. I spied a big red Coke machine and pulled Jessie and her tiny coin purse in that direction. With Coke in hand we sat on a bench in the shade as Jack returned to the car, popped the hood and gave the engine a quick inspection. Though it was still morning, the heat felt heavy and full with the smell of the crops in the fields all around us. We had only eaten some rolls and bananas before we left and I was getting hungry, but then, I was always hungry.

After miles and miles of hot, flat and boring desert we began to climb slowly up into some rocky foothills and the air became a little bit cooler. The farther we went, the steeper the road became and Jessie was quietly saying a prayer with her eyes shut tight. I began to see tall trees lining the peaks of the hills and as we got higher they grew dense and seemed to surround us. The air was now cool and clean and I knew that wonderful aroma it was carrying…Pine trees! I think God surrounded mountains with deserts just so you would appreciate them that much more.

The signs told us that we could find cabins, camping, a lake, a college music camp and food. ”Country cooking”, “World’s Greatest Hamburgers”, “Lumberjack breakfast” …did I mention that I was hungry? We took one long sweeping turn and we passed a large green sign as we entered the village. The sign read...
WELCOME TO IDYLLWILD

Stay tuned for part two