Entertainment in the 1960’s

TV: Television was (and still is) king. Black and White was A-OK back then because the first color sets sucked so bad it took an extra few years before people were willing to try again. All the first generation color boxes had a kill switch that would turn it back to black and white when the flashing colors started to nauseate delicate viewers. Tuning in was a science both at the box and in the field. For every hour of viewing there was a proportional amount of time required twisting the antennae. It was the early version of “Can you hear me now?” as we called back and forth, “How does it look now?”. Every Saturday morning we were up early to watch the test pattern change into the Captain Sacto cartoon show. We were proud if we made it up late enough to see the 'Signing Off The Air' show where they showed the flag and played the national anthem at the end of the broadcasting day.

Movies: We didn’t get to see all the movies that came out but some were too big to miss. The Beatles movies, James Bond, Disney and a bunch of Westerns were generic while The Graduate, Easy Rider and The Magic Christian are specific examples of what we saw. I watched Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid followed by Bonnie & Clyde all within a year of my 8^th grade graduation. We also moved twice during that time so maybe that was when I changed. To Kill a Mockingbird was the film that moved my parents so I figured it must be good. With movies like that, one or two a year was still enough. Every year the school would take the entire student body to the theater for the Holidays where we each got a bag of goodies, mostly peanuts and oranges but still some actual candy too.

Music: The old hi-fi was in every house along with a stack of records, LP’s and 45’s. They were so common because they were affordable. Playing in the school band was required for all 9^th graders so we all learned to read music whether we liked it or not. I thought it would be cool to play the Oboe but that turned out to be a big mistake because it is not easy to play and I ended up frustrated for the year. I still managed to have fun with music after all but it was from outside the school.

Books: I was no big reader due to being cross-eyed and the glasses didn’t help enough to read more than a few minutes at a time even after my second eye surgery by the age of ten. Luckily my Mom was an avid reader and was willing to read out loud so I managed to keep up. Later I figured out how to use just one eye and after that there were many happy hours spent at the libraries: public, my school, my Mom’s school, My Dad’s school…there was an upside to having both parents being teacher.

Talking: I only include this because of the preference that people show lately for smart devices that make talking seem like something the dinosaurs used to do. People have lost their voices while they sit next to each other socializing with their thumbs. Reality is second rate today and makes the old conversations seem like lost magic. Even when we were out dragging main street in our junker cars it was only an excuse for elaborate dialogues straight out of That 70’s show.

Games: Board Games were big, but so were impromptu sports depending on the season. There were only three of us so we had a system for me switching teams but there was also a two-man rule book where each person was one man team. You had to pitch to the other guy in baseball but in football season you had to be your own quarterback and receiver. We followed the seasons with baseball all summer and then football until the lake froze over on Lake Almanor and we played hockey until the ice gave out and we started on baseball again.

Sports: In addition to the ad-hoc sports at home we did water skiing in the summer with the lake only 100 yards from our front door and snow skiing for the long winter on a regular basis. There was a weekend bus that would come and take all the kids to the local ski hill preceded by a pickup truck that would take our skis and poles. Extreme tree climbing was such a special sport it deserves a chapter of its own as well as the hunting, fishing, trapping and taxidermy.

Not Being Entertained: After all that other stuff we needed a break now and then and sometimes we had to do nothing at all in order to balance our sensibilities. Seriously, we could survive without constant reinforcement unlike today where even I have to have my phone mail fix every few minutes and I am not as bad as others I know. In the 1960’s we not only knew how to turn on, even more important; we knew how to turn off.

Interview with a Dishwasher

My first real job was washing dishes at Jerry’s Restaurant in Susanville Ca, paying $1.35 an hour. There was no job interview, the training was free for anyone interested. Most of the other dishwashers treated the work as drudgery and I gave that a try but I couldn’t do it. I was 14 and loved the big washing machine and the challenge of a stack of dishes up over my head. Sure I got embarrassed when I had to mop the floor in front of my school mates but when I got back in the kitchen I was king and soon became one of the best dishwashers at the place.

That was when I got to thinking what it would take to be the best dishwasher ever. I figured there must be a fancy restaurant someplace in New York or Paris where they really do have a job interview for dishwasher. Then I fell into the habit of practicing for that interview so I could become the best in the world, as if there were an Olympics for dishwashers. After that the drudgery became great fun as I perfected the art, if that is possible. After a month I got promoted to Fry Cook and I was never as good at cooking as I was at the dishwashing and I missed that feeling of confidence, but you can never go back once you start up the ladder of success.

Later on in my career I was often required to interview candidates at a hi-tech call center where we had a high turnover due to smart people who didn’t want to do the dirty work. We were having trouble with people passing the interview with flying colors only to fail at the actual job of helping customers or debugging issues in the lab. All our candidates were equally qualified technically but after they got hired they couldn’t grasp the team concept, or the required self-motivation and working outside the comfort zone.

That’s when I hit on the idea of using the dishwashing interview. Dishwashing is the solution I argued. In one simple real-time test we get to see if the interviewee is willing to jump in and take care of the dirty work. We can see in a minute if they have the right organizational skills, manual dexterity and most of all; humility.

Of course they never let me drag a candidate back to the break room to watch them wash the dishes but it sure made for some good debates and it might actually have improved our interview process. Most of all, I was hoping it would improve everyone’s attitude when it comes to doing the dishes but the truth is; nobody likes doing the dishes.

The Trillium Thief

The last two years before we moved from Portland to Sacramento my wife was determined to keep us healthy by taking regular hikes along the 22 miles of trails in Forrest Park. These trails are very steep and the forest is quite wild, yet it’s right there off 23^rd street in downtown Portland, though it feels like being out in the middle of nowhere. We saw many natural wonders on those trails and one day there were a bunch of pretty little three-petal flowers in bloom so I picked one.

Then on the way back to the car we were confronted by a self-appointed Park Ranger. “You’re not supposed to pick that flower!” We stopped short in the trail dumbstruck, me standing there like Yogi Bear with the pilfered picnic basket. “Those are Trillium flowers and they only bloom once every 7 years, don’t you know?” Again we stood in silent disbelief hoping to avoid criminal prosecution. “So now what should we do?” was my best effort at a clever response. She must have heard the remorse in my voice as she suddenly and silently turned to go as if her job was done.

Back at the car I felt like a murderer with a dead corpse. Should I leave it there or take it along home and risk further punishment. They might have a road block already setup… There was no way to enjoy the spoils of my stolen booty now. I should have known better. This wasn’t my first experience with rare flowers. The Mountain Lily grows in the high sierra where I grew up and we had to drive miles to see even one and then for only one week each summer. We scorned the city slickers who dared to pick one and now I was the ignorant despoiler. The only difference is there were lots and lots of trillium out that day.

The Trillium incident reminded me of my evolution from blood thirsty big game hunter in my youth to passive picture shooter in my later years. I am no vegetarian by any means but I can’t bring myself to kill the animals anymore. I had to quit because they kept looking back at me, but I remember thinking, “…at least I can still fish”. And then later on even the fish were looking back at me and I had to quit fishing, but I could still squash a bug. But no, even the insects finally got a good look at me and it’s come down to the flowers; I can’t even kill a Trillium without feeling bad. Now I can’t even kill time without looking over my shoulder at the clock.

The Volcano Whisperer

As a kid born and raised in Chester California it was our civic duty to know all about the “Only Active Volcano in the Lower 48 United States” which was Mt. Lassen, just a few miles away. It was an easy day trip for the class to see the bubbling mudpots and smell the sulfur in the air. I took a personal liking to that mountain and it seemed tame in spite of the recent eruption in 1910. Hiking to the top only takes a few minutes on an easy trail and the view from the summit is convincing proof there is still fire down below. With clouds rising from the steam vents and the walls of the crater flashing electric yellow from the pure sulfur made it truly feel like the volcano was still alive.

Mt. Lassen’s glory only lasted until 1980 when Mt. St. Helens took over the crown as the Most Active Volcano on the entire North American Continent. Again it felt like it was happening in my own back yard with the ash in the air and all the commotion on the news. Seems like everywhere I go there is another mountain mouthing off. That was when I first got the notion that somehow it was my fault and I had better stop making the mountains mad. I spent years living at the base of Mt. Shasta always looking over my shoulder to see if the mountain was looking back.

Now anyone who has watched the science channels on TV knows that the most active volcano in the USA and maybe the whole world is the one that made the islands of Hawaii. That is one super volcano that has been going on for a long time and I have never been anywhere near the place so at least I am off the hook for that one. But I still wonder whenever I see a volcano spouting off on the news, I can’t help but think that somebody must have done something.

I don’t know why I like all the Natural Disasters so much but you must admit they are exciting. Earthquakes are the worst but unpredictable even when their location is known in advance. Ice Ages are impressive but who can wait that long. Hurricanes, Tornadoes, Cyclones, they are all impressive but so temporary you can’t plan a party. But not the good old volcano. They are always there where you left them ready to provide entertainment at any time.

George the Pet Porcupine

It may sound a little hard to believe but we really did have a pet porcupine when I was a kid. We came around the corner one October night and saw a dead porcupine in the road. When we stopped to move it out of the way there were two five inch long newborns still alive. We took them home but only one survived to be nursed back to life and we raised him in a pen outside our back door.

As a baby we could easily handle the little fellow and the quills were more like fur that would lay down in a certain direction everywhere except the tail where the quills were smaller and came out at all angles and would stick even with the lightest touch. We never actually house trained the animal but we would bring him into the house regularly for extended play periods on the carpet and as he grew older the number of loose quills that came out during play increased but we never got poked too bad.

There came a time when George was full grown but still young enough to let us pick him up and he even went to school for show and tell. He had a good nature and would play with us on the floor running back and forth between us like a clumsy dog with bad, bad hair. He even went so far as to act playfully with the dog but as he got older his interactions became less playful and more unpredictable.

It finally got to the point where we could no longer pick him up, not so much because of the quills compared to his growling and scratching. By then it was no longer comfortable and we no longer felt like clever animal trainers without his co-operation. At night we could hear him whining and scratching to get out of his pen and the joy of Exotic pet ownership was gradually turning into the realization that we should probably let him go. It was late summer, we had him less than a year but it was clear that his domestic life was over so we deliberately left the cage open day and never saw him again.

Later on we went through a similar cycle with a coyote pup that my Dad brought home one night on his way back from teaching at the prison. That Coyote was a great pet for the first 6 months and then in less than a week he matured into a vicious creature who could not be contained and left on his own before the authorities could catch him. It was still painful to lose a friend and pet like that but after George we knew better than to get too invested. I don’t even remember the Coyote’s name, but I sure do remember wrestling with George before he turned into a wild animal.

Sierra Safari’s and Taxidermy

When I was a kid living way out on the shores of Lake Almanor in Northern California my Dad hung a sign out in front of our house advertising his second career. Being a School Teacher left the summers free to act as a guide on fishing and hunting trips with our various visiting friends and relatives. After a while word got out and there were too many requests to keep up with so he had to open a business of sorts to manage the schedules and take their money with a clear conscience. So Dad became an officially Licensed Guide and our house became a Sportsman’s destination specializing in Archery Hunting and Fly Fishing. After a while word of mouth spread through the medical community and the customer list was soon exclusively composed of well to do Doctors from the Bay Area.

As a 10 year old I was too young to get a hunting license unlike my older brothers who were 12 and 14 so they got to go out with the hunters while I was relegated to lesser duties. The best part was acting as the designated deer spotter on top of the jeep. Now it was well known in our family that I didn’t have the best vision on account of having two surgeries to improve my astigmatism, but I was an Eagle-Eye wizard compared to those city slickers and it always turned into a comedy as I would press the buzzer to stop the rig while pointing to the deer standing in the brush only a few yards away. The poor customers rarely saw the deer until they ran away and by then it was too late to get a good shot. Then we would drive around the next bend and find more deer standing there invisible to the good Doctors.

I was old enough for all the fishing assignments which included everything from fly fishing up and down the river to spending all day baiting hooks from the boat or lakeshore. It was all old hat to us kids but it was pure magic to those flat-landers and we almost felt bad for getting so much credit where none was due. One of our favorite fishing trips including overnight camping at Hidden Lakes high up near the tree line where the snow stays until late June. My greatest accomplishment was making it back down to the truck and back to camp in 45 minutes to arrive just at dark with the forgotten tent. I had a flashlight but was determined not to use it. I’m not saying I got scared but I ended up with enough adrenaline that day to make me remember the trip in detail to this very day.

Some people may find all that killing quite morbid especially the Taxidermy part but it was all in a days’ work back in the 1960’s.

A Piece Too Far

When the price of Gold hit $2,000 an ounce it was only natural for people to start digging again in the last known hot spot according to the old timers. That’s how I found myself waist deep in the North Fork of the Feather river breaking my own rule by prospecting on my own. I was working under a huge boulder as big as my truck lodged in the gravel bar under the river bank that goes up a steep cliff for thousands of feet. The nearest road is more than three miles away and there is no one is in this area at this spring time of year. The ice cold runoff water is too deep and too cold for anyone but a fool. Everyone knows it’s better to wait until August or later to get down to these low water spots but that was before the price jumped.

Having been there the day before I started out knowing I would be digging in real pay dirt and not just the usual leftover tailings. There were some good sized chunks in my first few pans and I even had to go to my big plastic container to store the nuggets that were too big for my little glass bottle. My personal tradition had always been to keep the biggest nugget of the day in my mouth for good luck but these clunkers were getting harder and harder for me to chew . Then I felt something heavy in my hand as I was loading the pan under water and sure enough I had a beautiful piece as big as my thumb. I put it in my mouth for a minute but it was just too big to manage and I went back with the last little piece.

I was working like a madman after finding that big one and I soon turned caution to the wind as I dug deeper under the edge of the giant piece of stone where it was sitting on top of the bedrock. I was filling my pan from the downstream edge and started out on my hands and knees but soon had to lay down to squeeze into the narrow wedge between the bedrock below and the boulder above. By now I had to hold my head all the way under water to get to my favorite spot. I thought for a minute about going back to the truck for my gas siphoning hose to use as a breathing tube but I promised myself I would only be under for a moment at a time. I was able to load a few more pans with increasing amounts of reward in each one giving me the adrenaline to go back for more when I should have been taking a break and warming up.

It was almost dark, I was dog tired and cold but convinced that I could feel an even bigger piece of gold up there in that last tight spot and by golly, I was going to get it. But as soon as I reached in there something moved and I was stuck. The whole length of my right arm is being squished and my head is under water. At first it seemed funny but the next second was pure panic as I pulled with all my might and only made things worse. I spent a moment yelling at myself about safety and greed but there was no relief in that so I moved on to the reptile response that was appropriate for the situation at hand. As the need to breath reached the breaking point and the water was about to come in there was one moment of clarity and I moved myself around to put both feet flat to give one last push against the rocks and pull my arm free when something gave way, my arm tore free and I was able to breathe again.

Back at the hospital I finally grasped the gravity of the situation. A dislocated shoulder, popped elbow joint, torn tissues and tendons to remind me of what could have been much worse. The worst part of all is knowing that a whole hunk of my hide still resides back there under that rock. You might think a thing like that would cure my condition and the lure of gold would lose its luster for me but I keep thinking about going back someday to get that nugget.