Bunkers, Nuke Missiles, and Cub Scouts

In this title, I dropped in Cub Scouts to set the period. That would make me 9 years old at the time. We lived in Pacific Manor (now called Pacifica) south of Frisco on the coast, along State Highway 1 (with what was called the Devil’s Elbow as a notorious turn along the coast highway).

One summer, when many activities for children were run out of the school (closed, of course, but some things open on an informal basis), I had a dream. I had read in the back of a book (or comic) about the American Legion (or perhaps the Veterans of Foreign Wars) who set up drill teams for kids. Pacific Manor had no such group, but Sharp Park nearby did.

I set my mission to go there, and join one if they supported this activity. That was a walk of at least a mile. This was about the radius limit of my wanders then. I set out there, but I was distracted (as there were many distractions) along the way.

I hiked up a hill to cut over it to Sharp Park. I understood the lay of the land and how the highway would be the longer walk because it skirted around the hill I could walk over. Pretty good logic and planning at that age.

Experience proved painful as I wandered into thistles that grew in that rough patch of ground up behind our community. This caused me to readjust my plans, and path. This, in turn, led me to a curious construction that was clearly abandoned.

From a distance, it looked like a house sized lid for Mom’s pressure cooker. That is, it was a flat, metal dome set into concrete on the side of the hill overlooking the ocean. Smacking a rock against this lid revealed the metal was probably thicker than the rock in my hand. At the bottom of this great lid, there was a horizontal slit set into it half-way around its circumference.

Within that slit, was curved slab of metal, as thick as the lid, that moved up and down like an eyelid over an eye, or the visor of an ancient warrior’s helmet. However, moving that visor was not easy. But this didn’t stop me or my friends when I returned to present them with this new fort for our boy’s club. Our peeks through the slot revealed a cavernous circular room with a curious center post. However peeks were our limit of examination because that lid, if it closed with its great weight not properly balanced, would trap anyone who was inside at the time. (Same problem with discarded old refrigerators at the time.)

Together, we were able to block this lid open (it turned on pins just like that visor of the ancient helmet), crawl through the opening (roughly one foot high); and explore the barren interior. On the walls, there were ship silhouettes. Nothing dated those posters. There were no flags marking the nationality of any of the shapes (I was fairly well familiar with such things).

We didn’t hike any further up the hill because of fences put up for a military site set on Milagra Ridge. If we had, we would have found ourselves in one of the perimeter defenses for San Francisco, a Nike Missile site (nuclear armed by my 10th birthday) half a mile from my home’s back yard.

If I had been a few years older, I could have appreciated how that tied into the air raid siren test they held every month. This siren sat on its own high tower in the neighborhood. This was also a time in our history where jets still broke the sound barrier overhead (a daily to 4 times weekly occurrence). Coverage of Duck and Cover Drills at school might bear mention later.

First Field Trip

This was my first excursion that went further than within sight of home. I was accompanied by a friend who found opportunity in our visit to the nearby golf course.

I didn’t quite get what the game was all about. Men so far away hitting balls with their clubs. The openness of the greens and fairways was odd to me. They were no more vast than the huge field behind our house, but they were far more cultivated than that wasteland. I felt like walking out onto that green grass was taking a risk.

Then a ball bounced into the scene before us, and it dribbled across to us. My buddy’s first instinct was to pick it up. That brought a yell in protest. Then a man began to run towards us. That was enough for my buddy to hold onto the ball as a prize–and run in his own right. I followed, but soon I figured if I went my own way, the man behind would have to choose between the two of us.

Beyond that choice, I know not how things turned out; except my story ended without being caught. It would be another 10 years before I was on the links again, hitting balls with a long club (I could Bogie the course).

Man In The Mountain

My first exposure to Television came at about the age of 4, before it slipped into the mist of memory with our move to Japan soon after.

TV was at my friend’s home down the block. All limits of range during the early 50s was defined by the admonition “You can go to ___, but do not cross the street.” I honored that (for the time being, Japan would raise the stakes).

Timing was all, it seemed, when it came to watching TV. One benchmark was when would my friend be home from Kindergarten so that we could start? He arrived, now was time for warming up the TV.

As it brightened, on the hour, I saw a spectacular sight of an antenna sitting on top of a mountain. I knew mountains. Denver has lots of them nearby. As the TV came into focus, the antenna began to throw off sparks.

Wow! I was ready for anything that TV would offer. Then amazement compounded with a sudden scene change to a man sitting at a desk, speaking into the camera. He was important, I could tell, because he was talking about adult things happening in the world.

He was in charge, he lived in a mountain (really in charge), and sent sparks into the sky (there were no more superlatives for in charge).

Wood Shop

No, not high school Wood Shop, but close.

Dad was off in Korea for my third summer. Mom was busy with my sisters. The call of the open road (alley, actually) came to me, and I answered it as an intrepid 3 year-old explorer.

I recall it as a warm, comfortable day. The neighborhood seemed dusty and brown, whereas the sky was uniformly blue. The alley ran both ways, but some of it seemed to drift up a slight slope that I chose to climb.

It was probably a weekend day. I am fairly sure of this because of my visit to one of the garages along that alley. There, I investigated a strange, loud noise. It was a power saw with a ringing circular blade that a man, a father, was using on his wood working project.

Did he notice me standing in the doorway? We did not interact, I stood there and watched before the sense of I should go home took me away.