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5/5/02
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PHS Alumni On-Line
May 05, 2002
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4 Bulldog notes and a search request today:
Michael Meek (59)
Brad Mason (63)
Rick Givan (63)
Sheldon Spadafore (65)
Bob Jones (seeking Tri-City area alumni)

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From: Michael Meek (59)

Hey, Bonnie Beard,
  I remember Mr. Gregson's command, "go pick up papers" quite well. He always assigned a certain portion of the grounds, one I guess that hadn't been "picked up" for a day or two. I think I also remember you out there on occasion. You looked great out there! Oh, but what a presence that man had didn't he!? I also remember while sitting in study hall the taps on my shoulder from him as he said, "Let's go." And we did, down to the office for discussion of one matter or another.

  Chemistry from Mr. Gregson was some kind of altering experience. He had ways of making his students notice that there was under the stars more than what our philosophy covered. I still remember fondly the time he asked one of his trademark offbeat questions on a chemistry test: what is the name of the island just off the coast of Australia? Oddly enough, I had been reading a book about Tasmania and was able to not only name it, but describe its exact location along with a few other details. Got one right, anyway! As a teenager, and I'm sure this is true for most all young people, the order that Mr. Gregson modeled for us was not a naturally occurring phenomenon! Around him, though, you got the picture, even if you didn't make a practice of creating order in your own life at the time. Later, I understood this order to be the most important and powerful quality a human being can have: Integrity. Roger Plockelman reminded me of all those first class brains in that chemistry class in 1959. Tough course. Roger said he got a D-. I got something slightly lower. On the last day of class I instead went on an important beer and swimming trip to Hat Rock. Mr. Gregson noticed my absence. What a surprise. On the next day I saw him he said, "I was going to have pity on poor old Meek, but he didn't come to class and now he's getting an F." I had gotten kicked out of wood shop that year by Mr. Bidstrup (sp?), ("-1 sp" in Gregson's classes), but I had calculated that even flunking chemistry and having two study halls, I still had enough credits to graduate, right on the nose. When Mr. Gregson came by me in the line during our graduation practice day, I gleefully told him that I had "made it." I'm sure many people will know what happened next. He looked me directly in the eye and slowly shook his head, not saying a word. I may have gotten only three or four of those in my high school career, but boy did they make an impression! After high school, my mother married a man who happened to live on Yakima Street, directly across from Mr. Gregson. You can imagine my joy! One of my old cars was having trouble "going" so one day I was driving it around the block so I could better hear the odd, loud sounds it was making. Mr. Gregson was watering his lawn with a hose as I went by and gave me another one of those slow head shakes.

  For many years, every Friday he and Mrs. Gregson came to Westside Market to shop for their week's groceries. Gene Wright, the owner of Westside, often called Mr. Gregson and asked him to send him a boy who Mr. Gregson thought would be a good worker. I assume Mr. Gregson enjoyed that, and on his Friday night excursions he always got to see some of his "boys." I wasn't one of them, of course, having gotten my job through nepotism, but countless times I bagged groceries for the Gregsons and hauled them out to their car. We had conversations and Mr. Gregson was unfailingly kind to me, though I wasn't to him, much to my regret. One day he asked me to come down to the Armory and maybe join up. I laughed in his face. He then began to tell me a little about how some people thought what they were doing there was "a lot of fun." I was incredulous, having always thought that being in the National Guard would be a miserable occupation for any soul unlucky enough to have been pressed into service. The effect, though, of that conversation was another one of those times when in spite of yourself you wake up to something beyond your own little world. I've always loved what Mark Twain said about his father: "When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years."

  One day out at CBC, I was sitting at a student desk studying after chemistry class. The room was empty when Mr. Gregson walked in. He came to CBC now and then to visit Mr. Green, I think it was, who taught chemistry and had been a major or something in the army. Mr. Gregson was in his customary silent mode, but he said hello. He stood there for a moment looking at me as if to say something else, but he was taking his time so I blurted out that I was doing "really well" in chemistry. He said, "I know." And that was all he said. I was so taken aback and made mute by that simple statement, which told me that he and Mr. Green had discussed my standing in class, that I neglected to communicate that the reason I had been doing well was because of all the damn chemistry I had learned in high school in spite of failing the course. But I think he knew, just as he said. That quiet but clear approbation from him meant everything to me.

Only in Pasco.

All best,

Michael Meek (59)
Princeville, HI
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From: Brad Mason (63)

I want to thank all the individuals that gave me some feedback concerning Mr. Seibert. Seems, however, that I am not the only dawg suffering from "senior moments" ... had some interesting replies and, what I can only call, "embellishments." One that I particularly appreciated thought that mister Seibert, during the Bataan Death March, removed his own arm. I believe that was done in a hospital ... irregardless, thanks to everyone for the feedback.

Brad Mason (63)
Mentor, OH
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From: Rick Givan (63)

  The Tri-Cities had one pop radio station in the early to mid-60s. KORD radio also had to sign off daily at dusk. They ended their broadcast day with a declamation about the local area that Ralph Kincaid and Terry Wynia can still recite upon request.
  Wynia's folks owned the Sahara Motel, the site of KORD radio. Terry would invite us over to the motel pool where we could check out the DJs in action and hear the music over a speaker at the pool that gave everything a bullhorn effect. I first heard Bob Dylan sing one of his compositions over that speaker. I thought, with that voice no wonder he farms his songs out to the Byrds and Peter, Paul and Mary … then I heard him do "A Hard Rain's A'gonna Fall."
  The morning rock jock was Rich Osborne, while Jim Simon held down the afternoon slot. Some years they'd take sides in the Pasco-Kennewick Homecoming game. Osborne liked Kennewick our senior year. So a bunch of us went over and challenged him to a bet. If Pasco won he'd roll a peanut across the PHS foyer with his nose. If Kennewick won, I'd do the same at KHS. We won 24-6. A few days later at noon he came over to the high school. We were in a bit of a rush. I'd forgotten to clear the event with Col. Gregson. He already knew about it from the radio when I came to his office that morning. I apologized for the tardiness of my approach. He said that was OK, because if anybody was late to afternoon classes, I'd have to do all their detentions.
  Rich Osborn was a good sport. I'd brought a bag of peanuts so he could pick one that best fit his schnoz. The kids were crowded around and on the balcony that overlooked the foyer. We cleared him a spot and he pushed that baby from the bulldog inset to the gym door. Then he told us he'd never bet against Pasco again.
  Night-time rock radio was dominated by out-of-towners. We couldn't get the hottest Northwest station "KJR Seattle, Channel 95," too many mountains, and too close to KALE. We could usually pick up "The big 610 - KFRC San Francisco." That was great though, even then San Fran was on the rock cutting edge.
  A summer `64 snapshot: After a moonlight flume, we're driving down Rd.68 in a `59 Pontiac convertible driven by Augie (Jim) Jorgensen's Montana railroad buddy. The night air is thick with the scent of sage. I drink it in. Most of us are also sipping on adult beverages (except the driver of couse). A song comes on and we all sing "It's been the ruin of many a poor boy, and God I know I'm one" at full volume. (This is prophetic in this poor boy's case regarding the beverages. But God pulled me out of that one too).
  The king of night rock was on "the mighty 1090 - XERB over Los Angeles - 50,000 watts baby, da Wolfman Jack show." Actually his transmitter was in Mexico and they had it cranked up to double the wattage. You could hear the Wolfman from El Paso to Saskatoon. He had a call-in show. Some of us got through to him once … asked him how was his boog-a-loo? He said he had it wrapped in cellophane, hung up on us, and howled at the moon.
  A final snapshot: on a warm spring day in `65 I'm sitting at the stop sign on Sylvester and Fourth. "Mrs. Brown, you've got a lovely daughter" comes on KORD. I pump it up and start singing (we all tried to affect the accents). Doug Wise goes by on Fourth heading towards Sigmans. As we both realize we're singing along to the same song, we give each other a self-conscious grin and a wave. I don't think I've seen Doug Wise since that day. But it was a nice moment, and I send him a good thought now and again.
  The music of the `60s, our music, on basically one station, began to bring us together in ways we couldn't have imagined. When the music got harder, galvanizing some of us into action a few years later, we were divided again. But for a brief moment there was a unity.

Rick Givan (63)
Cabot, PA
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From: Sheldon Spadafore (65)

  I have three reel-to-reel recording tapes of various PHS choirs from 1963-65. If anyone is interested in having these please let me know by the end of May otherwise I will be disposing of them.
  These were the days that Mr. Phelps was the choirmaster.

Sheldon Spadafore (65)
Booragul, New South Wales, Australia
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From: Bob Jones

Hi,
  I'm Bob Jones and I am looking for an old friend. He went to school in the Pasco-Kennewick-Richland area and would have graduated in about 1959 or 1960. His name is Joe Clete Edwards. I am also looking for Pat and "Scotty" Scott who were sisters. Joe had a sister that was a year or two younger by the name of Mary. Pat Scott was about the same age so they would have graduated in about 1960 - 1962. If you have any idea how I can find these people please let me know or contact them and give them my e-mail address.
[Send request to PHS Alumni On-Line for Bob's e-mail address. - Paul]

Thanks very much
Bob Jones
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