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From: JPageSpann@aol.com View Contact Details View Contact Details Add Mobile Alert
Date: Sun, 24 Dec 2006 16:07:55 EST
Subject: #325 Richard Keech Grandmother's house 2
To:
#325 Newsletter December 24, 2006
©copyright 2006 by Richard Keech
Editor's note: Grandmother Keech made hot biscuits (from scratch) every morning until she was in her 90s. I watched her make them, but never learned how. Neither did her daughters or daughter's in law, so it is now a lost art. They were absolutely as delicious as Richard describes them.
Richard is still isolated with the prison in lockdown until January 4. An annual event there that Richard says is so that the guards not only get hazard pay, but more time to spend with their families at Christmas time. Fine with Richard as it allows him to concentrate on his writing.
The only contact with him is through the mail. I will send him another long letter Tuesday with all your responses included.
WHAT COLLEGE ARE YOU GOING TO ~
"Wow. Hot biscuits with honey and real butter. But it's Monday, why do I get all this good food on a Monday?"
These were not ordinary biscuits, you see. These were my grandmother's secret recipe. Her grown up daughters had all tried to duplicate them, but couldn't.
The thing was they were thin, a little less than an inch thick. And that's what made them so special. They were all crust, and that crust was unbelievable. She used to explain that they were "Southern Biscuits" but they really weren't. They were her special secret recipe. A secret to the end.
This is 1936 and I am living with my grandmother in Santa Ana. We live in a grand old 3 story Victorian house on the corner of Main Street and Chestnut.
"You haven't forgotten already, have you? Today is September 3rd. At 8 o-clock you will be sitting in the high school auditorium waiting to be assigned to your Senior Class room
and teacher. Eat up. You've got ten minutes to make the six blocks down Chestnut to your school Better run."
"Come on Grandmother, that clock is an hour fast. You reset it last night to make sure we would have plenty of time. I heard the cuckoo singing out the extra hour last night before I went to bed."
At 16 I do have good ears. (I sleep in the attic on the third floor. The cuckoo clock is in the living room on the first floor.)
"And you are in luck because you just have time to finish your oatmeal and hot biscuits. Then you've got to run."
She's right. In fact she's almost always right. (That's a grandmother's "right" I have come to understand).
I stand up, fold my napkin and put it back in place, It really is time to leave. Santa Ana Poly high is just six blocks straight down Chestnut. The thing is I won't be the only one coming in on that street. I am carrying a lunch bag. There is no school cafeteria.
We have an hour for lunch. Plenty of time to walk home and eat lunch at the family table.
Most of us like to sit and talk with our friends, who are mostly neighbors too. So, a lunch bag packed the night before by mothers is daily menu for the Santa Ana Poly High School student.
We still use an ice box. Food won't keep forever, or even more than a day. That's where what's left of last night's supper will end up. In my school lunch bag. Oddly enough it works out perfectly. Housewives in the pre-refrigerator days were masters at the logistics of timely food preparation. Last night's left overs will just make it to lunch packing time. If there really is something still left, one goes out in the back yard and throws it over the fence to the neighbor's chickens. (Partial payment for the penny each fresh eggs we get from them.)
Anyway, I run out the front door after I say goodbye to grandmother and thank her for a great send off breakfast.
Actually I see a neighbor boy of my age walking the same direction. We can walk together. Its only six short blocks to school..We'll be too early, no matter how slow we walk. Then we will have to stand around looking dumb with nothing to do.
Since this is my first day in a new school, I will be a lonely bystander for a few days. I don't look forward to that, but I can live with it.
"Good morning. I think we will be in the same class room. I'm a senior too. . My name is Donald Klein. If we are seated alphabetically I'll be right behind you. (We are and he
is.) You are a senior, too, are you not?"
"Well, yes I am, this is all new to me, but I'm a transfer from Long Beach."
"That's no problem. Walk with me. I know the drill."
"School is supposed to start at 8 o'clock, but on the first day we all meet in the auditorium. We have to sit thru a welcome back speech, then we get separated by home room classes and sent to our Home Rooms. Our class, the Senior class will be the last called."
"Hey, Thanks. That makes sense. If it's OK I'll stick with you. To be honest, its kind of scary being the only stranger in the crowd."
(Thanks to my grandmother's advance planning, I at least look like everyone else. I'm wearing corduroy trousers, natural cotton color. These will be worn every day and washed no more than once a month. I have on a clean and also new cotton work shirt of light tan color. My shoes are leather oxfords with thick newly cobbled leather soles. Uniform of the day for Santa Ana Poly boys.)
"Oh, that won't be for long. This is a friendly town. I'll introduce you to some of my friends.
What are your hobbies, your favorite sports? Which college are you going to? I am planning on going to Stanford. I have a brother there now. Sort of a family tradition. How about you, Which college are you going to?"
"Well, I haven't made a choice yet. But I kind of think I'll start out in the local Junior college for my first two years. I have a friend who is a professor of Semantics there. (He rents one of my grandmother's spare rooms)
"I think that's a good idea. If my grades aren't up to snuff I may end up doing that too."
"You need to make a decision soon. As you get acquainted and start dating you will want to date someone going to the same college."
How interesting.
I discover as the days progress that everyone in Santa Ana High School has plans to go on to college. Back at Long Beach Poly High, college was just a dream. A dream that no onecould afford. It was not something any student planned on.
Sadly there was a famous bit of American Folk lore that said any young American who was ambitious could work his way thru college, (waiting on tables) A very misleading myth. One
ends up working ones way out of college and back home.
We are now standing outside the Auditorium doors. It's almost 8 o'clock.
"There they go." They're open.
We march in and spread out. Some 600 of us as I recall. We almost fill the auditorium but not quite.
"Over here Richard," Don whispers, "next to the aisle. So we can be the first out. We can pick our seats back on our own then."
Hey, I lucked out, Don is one sharp guy. Always anticipates the next move. I like him. We have been counted off and separated by class rooms now. Our Senior class has some
200 in all.
This first day of school you can tell where most of the students spent the summer. On the beach, at Balboa or Newport Beach. The deep tans, the almost blond sun bleached hair. The swimmers chest muscles and seemingly longer arms.
The dark tan and bleached hair were a point of pride. They identified you as "Beach Bum". It was an acceptable way of spending the three months of summer vacation.
A 25 cents a day allowance was all it took. This paid for a coke and a burger. Wealthy kids would pay for their date's lunch too. Less wealthy went "Dutch", that's where each pays for his own.
We used to have Belly Boards to ride the waves in on. Really good swimmers could body surf which took more skill.
A summer on the Beach at Newport was a rather pleasant viewing experience. These are all attractive fully developed young adults. We were Beach Bums and proud of it. All of us were headed for college. We knew these would be our last free years. After college we would have to select our life's profession and go to work. We had to succeed in some profession.
We couldn't drive taxi cabs or wait on tables. Beach Bums didn't do that.
Richard Keech
semper fi
http://www.Richard-Keech.org
Get so many requests for Richard's mailing address, here it is again. He answers all letters and often runs out of stamps. It is all right to include a page of 20 stamps in a letter.
Richard Keech K86028
H.D.S.P. CTC 31S
P.O. Box 303
Susanville, CA 96127
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RESTORE THE REPUBLIC!
R.W. "D1ck" Gaines
The Original
"Gunny G"
GnySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952- (Plt #437PISC)-'72
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