ZIL029

In May of 1969, Mom and Dad bought a 1969 Chevy Caprice.  It was gold, it was plush.  It was huge. Mom loved the beauty of the car and Dad loved the power under the hood, the trunk size and the fact it had no center post.

In the spring on 1969, Dianne and Richard, living at1620 Bird Ave in San Jose, had just had their first child, Pamela  Anne. Lorena was graduating from UC Santa Barbara, Martha was graduating from LC Curtis Junior High, and the Grandparents Chandler were staying on Wheeling Drive while Grandma's glaucoma was being treated at Stanford.

The Caprice was the rock star of its time. I said it was plush, it had the prettiest car doors ever -- Mom bought the car for the doors.  I said it was huge -- it was larger than the 1969 Lincoln Continental -- Dad and Uncle Darley measured their new cars -- Dad won.

The car was our transport to many good times, picnics, camping trips and trips to Iowa.

On our first picnic in the Caprice, we were playing around a stream, and Mom threatened us: if we got wet, we were walking home.  No wet bodies or shoes in her new car.  Who fell in?  You guessed it -- Mom.  As we walked toward the car, the glue in her wet shoes started to foam.  Martha and I were hardly able to walk, as we were doubled over with laughter.

We made a trip to Iowa in it in 1971.  Mom and Dad, Martha Donna and Pepe.  Mom had made Pepe a special bed that was weighted so that it would ride on the transmission hump.  He stayed in his basket for 2 days, quietly sleeping.  When we enter Iowa, he went nuts looking for Dianne.  The trunk of the car was so large that we had all of our stuff to 2-3 weeks on the road plus a lawnmower in it.  Once there, Pammie would ride an the arm rest in the front seat, between her Grandparents; strapped in with the seat belt

It made the trip again to Iowa in 1975, with Mom, Grandpa Andy, Martha and I.  It made trips to Oregon and  Colorado.  It towed a boat and a trailer.  Once while towing the trailer up to Weaverville, a buck fell off a road cut and slammed into the front passenger door, where John sat. Its antlers were inside the car.  Why didn't you grab it John?  Dad asked. Coming home from Weaverville once we had 7 people in the car for 6 hours.  Mom, Dad and Aunt Georgie were in the front, and Lorena, Bill, Martha and I in the back.

On the 1979 trip to Colorado, Dad pulled over and let me drive the Caprice with the trailer right through Salt Lake City -- w00h00!

I had learned to drive in that car.  I would parallel park that bigger-than-a-Lincoln car in downtown San Jose.  I had my first 2 accidents in that car.  One with Mom as a passenger as I didn't have my license yet. What are you doing, she asked? 

Mom and Dad gave us the car when John was born.  They didn't want their newest grandchild riding in a Mustang. It was sold in the late 80's without my knowledge or permission and I've always wanted to have it back.  I found one for sale online...for $22,000!

And the title of this story?  That was its license plate number.

There never was another car like that, and there never will be again.

 *The images are ones I found online, not the real Caprice.

This Old House turns 50

Mom calls the house on Wheeling Drive the “birthday house”. The first portion of the down payment was paid on Grandma Chandler’s Birthday, March 17. The second portion was paid on Mom’s birthday and the final portion on Bud’s birthday in August. And of course we moved in on Martha’s birthday. Since then, well over 200 birthdays have been celebrated in that house. Over 50,000 meals have been prepared in that kitchen, all with love and care.


The house was part of the Kilarney Farms development and I remember that the sales office had a corral with two donkeys that we were allowed to visit. The houses were designed to look like Irish Cottages, and none was large enough for our family, so Mom made some floor plan changes that created the house we know.

For four years, it was a house full of 7 people. Lots of activity filled this old house as the older siblings were in high school and college. And the street was full of kids – I think there were 25 kids on the block when we moved it. We put on a play, Alice in Wonderland, and played in the bat-cave under the eaves

There was a bread man, a milkman, a Jewel-T man, and everyone’s mom was home.

Later, with just the “little girls” at home, the house became quieter, and so did the neighborhood. It filled up with yuppies who seem to move out after starting their families.

The house has been pink, and green and gray. It has been shaded by a pine tree and a liquid amber tree. The curved street in front of the house has been decorated with a Studebaker, a Chevy II Station wagon, an El Camino, and the memorably beautiful Caprice.

A wedding has happened on the patio of this old house. Three weddings have been celebrated under its roof. No babies were born in this old house, but many newly born children have been brought for a first visit with Grandma and Grandpa. And here Dad spent his last time on earth. He wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

This old house has seen the sewing of prom gowns, the baking of bread, the creation of beautiful dream fulfilling cakes. It has seen flocked Christmas trees and fragrant green trees.

This old house has been a haven for some who have had no where else to go. There have been bees in the backyard and homemade beer in the upstairs shower. Not to mention an awesome firecracker war on the roof.

When we first moved in, Mom showed me that from the top landing, I could see a green light high on a building all the way in downtown San Jose. That light is no longer visible due to the growth of trees, but the memory and meaning of that house are as clear as ever.

Night of the Bear

I’m fuzzy on the details, such at the date and the place, but I remember all of us were together in the large tan tent when the bear struck.


We had arrived that day for a short camping trip, maybe a night or two. Martha and I had the job of cooling the watermelon by dropping it in the snow-fed creek and turning it around and around until it was cold all over. When dinner was ready, Dianne came to get us and told us to bring the watermelon up to the campsite so that the “little critters” wouldn’t get it.

After we were all settled in and drifting off to sleep, we hear a sound. A snarling hissing, howling sound (okay I don’t remember what it sounded like, but it was scary). Dianne is up and out of the tent in a flash, determined to save our food from the bobcat. Dad, recognizing what the sound really is, is up and out after Dianne. I think he was in his underwear, which was totally unheard of for Dad. Mom says Lorena was a shaking bump at the very bottom of her sleeping bag.

What we heard was a bear and Dianne and Dad caught up with it and shown a flashlight on it, just as the bear squeezed he ice chest, popping it open for better access to our groceries. He ate our ham and bacon, and for fun gave our wonderfully chilled watermelon down the hill, where it smashed against some rocks. Martha and I teased our big sister about making us bring it up the hill so the little critters wouldn’t get it, only to have a big critter get it.

The bear cleaned out at least 10 campsites that night. Dad thought it was a conspiracy between the bears and the local purveyor of breakfast meats.

A trip to Yuma starts a Family

Early on Thursday, December 11th, 1941 Donald Chandler and Olive Short left for Yuma Arizona. They were eloping. Don picked Olive up at her mother’s house in Willowbrook. Olive’s Mom, Florence, dressed in a housecoat, walked them to the car. She had been invited to go with them, but she had declined. As the car pulled away from the curb and started slowly up the street, Grandma walked along with it, crying.


The young couple had her blessing, but not that of Don’s parents, who felt that Don had an obligation to continue to pay for his sister Marie’s education, a commitment he had no intention of ignoring.

The first stop on the 5 hour trip to Yuma was in San Diego where Dad bought a new suit to get married in. They drove on to Yuma, where they were married at 5pm (telegram). The newlyweds spent the night in Yuma, at the San Carlos Hotel on what was then Hwy 80. In the morning they drove to the ranch in Fallbrook to break the news to Dad’s parents.

The spent their second married night in Oceanside, and Mom still remembers listening to the sound of the ocean all night.

Mom does not remember where they spent Saturday night, but by Sunday, she was back in school in Santa Barbara, where she bought a box of chocolates for her sorority sisters (clipping) and Dad was back in school at Ryan’s Aeronautics in San Diego.

Later in the month, Grandma gave Mom and Dad a reception in her home (photo).

They made their first home together in April, on Balboa Blvd in San Diego street. There were several houses during the war, including Aldercroft Heights, and then Morgan Hill and finally Santa Clara.

Point Lobos

I’m not sure when we made our first trip to Point Lobos, or how we learned of it, but I’m guessing Mom read about it somewhere. What a fortunate discovery as the family has had so many good times here.


I remember an annual family picnic on a Sunday in February. Dad could usually take Sundays off in the winter, during the spring and summer months he would be at the shop working. Mom always planned these outings, but Dad always willingly got behind the wheel and join in.

Point Lobos is a ninety minute drive from Santa Clara, near Carmel. It is a state park with evergreen forests pushed up against the sea. After making the drive to the park, we would have our fried chicken and potato salad picnic in a wooded area, designed like a cul-de-sac. The trees were climbable, and the outhouse was always worthy of a thorough exploration, the real attraction for me were always the tide pools.

The tide pools were full of starfish, abalone and sea urchins. At low tide a whole new world was reveled. Park rules prevented the taking of anything away from the tide pools, so the fascination was all in the looking. Another part of the park is Whaler’s Cove, and I remember once running in and out of the ribs bones of a whale that had washed up there.

Then, we’d take a short walk to China Cove, and descend a long flight of rickety wooden steps down to the white sand of the cove. Even though the trip was always made in February, we always ended up in the water. And, even though we always ended up in the water, Mom never had a change of clothes for us, just towels, and so we would get stripped out of our clothes in the parking lot, and we traveled home wrapped in a towel – which, of course, made it a real adventure.

Another regular feature of the trip was a stop in Castroville to buy artichokes. Often, they would be our dinner once we got home. Feathered apples, Dad called them…Yum!

Over the years Point Lobos has been the place the family will gather for picnics and holidays, hikes and family reunions and four generation have seen the magic of the tide pools.

http://www.pointlobos.org/

A short aerial scene

Cut to :


A small space, walled in with dials
A propeller, like a projector, turns
And on the screen outside the window
A scene appears.
Designs of squares in unnamable shades
of green and brown, appear below
with quick walk-ons of white and pink,
played by hopeful young fruit trees.
Ups and downs bring thrills and
The whirr of props brings comfort.
The scene dissolves to black,
And the audience lays her head
In the lap of the director,

And the scene ends.

The Trip to Kansas (1963)

Forty seven years later, we still call it the trip to Kansas. Seven people, in a Chevy II station wagon for two weeks. That’s what I still call fun!


With a covered luggage carrier secured to the roof, we headed out after Dad got off work. After dropping Pepe off in Sacramento with Uncle Darley and Aunt Edna, we drove all night.

Breakfast was along the side of the road, somewhere in a barren area – Nevada perhaps. Having traveled through Nevada on numerous occasions, I believe it is still the same. Same sandy earth, same sagebrush. This was my first experience with the little boxes of cereal that are wax lined so the you can cut open the box along the front, peel back the flaps and pour the milk right in. Dazzling technology.

Martha and I rode like queens, being the ‘little girls’ we were blatantly spoiled by our older siblings. These older siblings were jammed hip to hip in the middle seat. Martha and I were in the third seat, which faced backwards. Although the feet well had been filled with trip necessities, we still had room to stretch out our legs in front of us and play Barbie. We made pulling motions with our hands and fists and most passing truckers would reward us with a long blast of their horn.

Next stop – The Great Salt Lake! We had a great time floating in the lake, which has a high salinity factor that makes it easy. When returned to the hotel, the owner informed us that all of the city’s sewage is dumped in the lake. We spent the evening rinsing off in his pool.

At this point, the details get a little fuzzy for me. I remember an Indian museum in Oklahoma. There was a diorama that told the story of a 6 year old Indian girl who lived thousands of years ago. Being a 6 year old myself I was fascinated, and very sad to learn that she had now been dead for a very long time.

There were relatives in Kansas to meet, one older lady who gave me a tiny doll to replace one broken by a wildly flung screen door. In Kansas, Dianne met her future husband, Richard. There were paddled boats in Arkansas, a frog fry at the Wardlow's in Sedan, Kansas with frog’s legs poppin out of the pan and ‘shicken-fried steak” in New Mexico. Also in New Mexico was the Carlsbad Cavern, with the bottomless pit that my brother threatened to throw me in to (yes you did, Bill!). We posed for a photo on the edge of the Grand Canyon at dawn. More stops in Las Vegas and Bellflower before returning home.

Hard to believe we did it all in just two weeks. Hard to believe those two weeks can hold memories for a life time.

Casserole for the Crowd

Although Mom never had a job with a paycheck after marrying Dad, she was always busy with the endeavors that brought in extra income like the chicken ranch, the strawberries and “the shop”. The shop was a saw and lawnmower shop that they owned from about 1961-1971. She would often be the only one in the shop from the time Dad went to work night shift at Lockheed and closing time at 6pm.


One summer evening she came home from the shop and announced to Martha and I (the only ones at home by then) that we were going over the hill to the beach for dinner. She had it planned as she had had Martha warm up a casserole which was loaded into the foam cooler always used for picnics, and away we went. We drove to Sunset Beach near Santa Cruz, and found a picnic table as the base of the sand dunes for which it is known. We couldn’t see the ocean, but we could hear it, and the dunes provided shelter from the onshore breeze.

The casserole recipe was a new one, and this blog bears it’s descriptive if not inspiring name: Casserole for the Crowd. It was warm and yummy and she had brought along French bread.

This alone would have made for a memorable evening, but just as we were finishing our meal we heard a bagpipe. One lone piper was coming down the road to the beach, piping as he walked. He walked over the dunes and stood, playing as the sun set into the ocean.

I’ve served this recipe to my own family, to both delight and dismay, but I love it. It is always more than a forkful of food, but also a memory of the beach and music and a mom who always knows how to throw a good party.


CASSEROLE FOR THE CROWD
1 ½ # ground beef                                     1 c. sour cream
1c. chopped onion                                     ¼ c. pimento
12 oz canned corn                                     ¾ t salt
1 can cream of mushroom soup                  ¼ t pepper
1 can cream of chicken soup                      3 c. cooked noodles
Bread crumbs

Brown meat, add onion. Add next 8 ingredients, mix well. Stir in noodles. Top with bread crumbs. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Cue the highland music…..

Grandpa Andy-isms

Grandpa Andy had a huge impact on my life. For a career Navy man and long-time bachelor, he did an amazing job of being an instant grandpa to 8 and welcomed two more after marrying Grandma. He hung up my diapers to dry, introduced me to pud, and taught me how to get to the ingredients I needed to make it by making a staircase out of the stack of drawers next to the oven.


Many of my favorite stories from my childhood are about him, particularly the expressions he used or created.

One warm evening Mom, Martha, Grandpa and I, took a spin around downtown Santa Clara in that big beautiful 1969 Chevy Caprice. As we drove by the pink walls of the Carmelite monastery, Grandpa asked what it was. Mom explained to him that it was a nunnery (yes, that’s a real word) and that the nuns inside had taken a vow of silence and that their calling was to pray for the condition of the world.

Grandpa responded: Judging from the condition of the world, I think they are in there snickering and throwing Frisbees.

This is a catch phrase I have used (probably too often) at work. At a meeting if someone says “so and so is doing such and such” and we all know he isn’t, I’m likely to say “I think he is snickering and throwing Frisbees…”

Other expressions of his that are a part of my lexicon are:

Next time they are gonna paint it pink (trans: boy, that’s is a gaudy color)
   Or
I’ve slept since then (trans: I don’t remember)
   And of course
Not on my $600 television set! (the value of the tv would increase with the offensive nature of the program)

I have called little girls ‘corina’ and little boys ‘short pants’.

My childhood was so much richer because of him -- everyone should have a sailor grandpa.

Family Trees and Family Stories

The first miniseries ever aired on television was "Roots" in 1977. Based on the book by Alex Hailey, Roots is the story of one family that begins in Africa, follows the slave trade to the US South, through wars and civil rights to the modern day.  The interest this story created in geneaology was huge and remains over 30 years later.

As a new librarian in the early 8o's I would see the rolls and rolls of microfilm come in each week for the people working on finding their roots.  They were seeking a Roots-like saga, but it wasn't going to be found on those rolls of film, as they only contain names and dates. People created from names and dates are just stick figures.  It takes stories to flesh them out, make them real.

And yet, I've fallen into the same trap with Ancestry.com -- I spent far too much time clicking on leaves, looking for a census report that will tell me where ggggrandfather Magruder Tannahill lived in 1870.

Mom told me just the other day that Dad had said, "I don't care when they were born or when they died, I want to know what they did!"

 For years I have wanted to write these stories down, and inspired by Pam, I have created this blog just for our family stories.  These won't be published for all the world to see, but just for "the family" to enjoy.  I don't even know right now what stories I will be telling, I'm hoping to be hit by inspiration each day.  I hope to tell more funny tales and few sad tales, and through the comment option, you can all jog my memory.

And Magruder Tannahill was an innkeeper, who rang a huge bell three times each day to tell his boarders that a meal had been served.  He was what they called in those days a  Black Republican, a person who hated the rebels.