PHS Bulldogs On-Line Aug 13, 2001
8 Bulldog alumni notes today:
Tom Brandon (61)
Ron Dupuis (62)
Marcia Myers (63)
Rick Givan (63)
Pamala Routt Gasaway (64)
Paul Case (67)
Alan Taylor (67)
Cliff Brown (67)
From: Tom Brandon (61)
The Class of 61 celebrated their 40th reunion the weekend of August 10 & 11. A total of 78 classmates attended of the 225 that walked down the aisle to receive their diplomas (or pick it up in the office the next morning). A great time was had by all. Four first timers attended: Pat Smith, Jim Demsey, Phil Leaton, and Ray Quinn. Special guests were Russ and Helen Wiseman, and Wally Brown. Carolyn (Carter) Brandon, my wife, coordinated he effort and did a wonderful job of getting people out.
To Irma Kulp Zacher:
Charles Zeigler is in our class and we do not have his address so if anyone knows I would appreciate hearing form
To Bob Coffey:
Are you the same one that was a police officer in Fairbanks? My son-in-law was involved in a small accident about a week or so before he and my daughter moved back to Pasco. He said the investigating officer was from Pasco and was Bob Coffey. He had a gray Mazda and an older lady in a pickup backed in to him at a stop light. About six years ago now. Small world.
By the way, the old Taylor Maid run by the Towns had good Burgers - only 25-cents but better that was the cute daughter our age named . . .??
Tom Brandon (61)
From: Ron Dupuis (62)
This time of year brings back many memories of cruising around town. You could cruise most of the night on three gallons of gas which could be had for about a buck. I can remember many a time going into a gas station and putting a dollars worth of gas in the car. When my son and I drive our 75 Chev truck now, we can probably cruise about 5 miles on a buck's worth of gas. Remember cruising through the drive-ins, as the Dog N Suds, A&W, etc. The girls would come out in those little outfits at the A&W and put that little tray on your car window with your order. I think about those times every time we are in Pasco and go by those places.
I remember one night Joe Luft, Bob Hull and I went out to the Steamfitters' Hall for a dance. It was winter and the roads were icy. We were in Joe's old Buick, I think it was about a 47 or something. The damn thing was about as big as the Queen Mary. We got in front of the Steamfitters and did a complete 360 in front of the place. We spun around and kept on going down the road. I'll never forget that and all the memories of having a hell of a good time at those dances. It's kind of scary to think about how many times we were high on booze and driving those big old cars. I was always the designated driver as I never got to the point of passing out when we were drinking. Nowadays I get behind the wheel sober and drive to work which is about 16 miles away and have trouble staying awake.
I remember Dave Zank, which a lot of people do of course. He was called Zank The "Tank" because the guy was as big as a tank.
When Bob Coffey mentioned Jake Stappler that brought back some memories. Anybody who ever had Jake will never forget the rope climb. God I hated that thing. I don't think I have climbed a rope since those classes, but I think about it now and then. I'm not crazy about being up in high places and climbing that rope to the top was not something that I ever looked forward to at all.
To Bob Coffey:
My note to you through e-mail didn't go through. Bob, Loren and I would love to come over to the birthplace of golf and play. We have talked about more than once and maybe at some point in time it will become a reality. I talked to and saw Doyle recently and he told me that he had a nice visit with you when you were in Pasco. I remember the time that Melinda and I ran into you up in Anchorage. We had some nice visits after that at your place with you and your wife. Hopefully you will get this on the PHS site and we can respond further.
Take care all and keep sending those stories and messages. I enjoy them all.
Ron Dupuis (62)
From: Marcia Myers (63)
I spent a busy morning calling my cousins as I had a request from a cousin we've never met, in Kansas, for family dates, etc. As a result I found out that one cousin is there for the Class of '62 reunion--which means a whole lot of other Bodacious Bulldogs are IN THE AREA. Hopefully, they will mention and post this web site so their class can log on and enjoy as well.
I passed on the message when you listed the info about the reunion as I had had an inquiry for Pat Smith as to whether there would be a reunion. It seems she must have received it since I understand from the other twin not attending that "the person from New York" would be making the reunion. I wish them such fun, as much as the Class of '63 always has when we get together. Man, we are "yackers." Can't even really have a band because we talk so much, no will take the time to dance!
Love all your stories you guys. Good Lord, I've led a quiet life compare to the rest!
Marcia Myers (63)
From: Rick Givan (63)
Some of you have spoken of reunions. Through poor planning on my part, and other interventations, I've never made it back for an official class reunion. A few years ago, however, Lois Benson Kincaid (64) organized an informal reunion in the Bay Area of a bunch of Bulldogs. All of us were way-out-of-towners except for Kincaids and Spadafores. "Delightful" describes the first meeting in over 20 years of Jim Jorgensen (63), Larry Zeigler (64) and I with Lois. She was an officer at Wells Fargo Bank in San Francisco, and she was even prettier than she was as a cheerleader at PHS.
She sidles up the bank's staid aisle
In her business suit and crisp clean style,
To greet three rogues from yesteryear,
We slick our hair as she draws near.
We hug, hold hands, gaze shyly at each other,
"Good to see ya, how's your Dad and Mother?"
Who knows what else to say, who cares?
Eyes grin widely in happy stares
At quickly-opened loving spirits.
Hearts beat much faster, hear it
Melt the built-up wall,
Sound the clarion call
Of roots and home and things that count,
Lessening tension that seems to mount
In crashing waves as we grow older,
Diminishing dreams to grow big and bolder.
In her sensual look, her delightful glance,
I swear to God we've not a chance,
Drowning in recaptured joys,
Enlarged in hearts but reduced to boys.
"Bread Broken" describes the closing meal of our reunion weekend. It was at Ralph (64) and Lois Kincaid's home. In addition to the above rogues, Terry Wynia (64) and his wife Jeanne (Kennewick 64) were present, along with Nev (64) and Sally Spadafore, Dave (63) and Herta Dalthorp, Alan (65) and Billie Jean Dalthorp (65) Zeigler.
We muse down the alleyways
Of wrinkled foreheads large and gray,
Comparing paunched cholesterol counts,
As we've gone our separate ways.
Has he made a million dollars?
Does she bleach her hair that light?
Could he run from Bay to Breakers?
God, can she still pick a fight!
As we peel past our pasta
And course down the wine,
Our outer layers disappear,
We're kids having a good time.
Our hearts were once in unity,
Our eyes now start to shine,
We fall in love all over again,
Joy stretches past the time
Of our disjointed youth,
To meld our aging hearts.
We known that love once known
Will never let us part.
But we find our wraps to cover up,
What we've so brief exposed,
To flee a thousand miles away.
Was it real do you suppose?
Rick Givan (63)
From: Pamala Routt Gasaway (64)
Pamala K. Routt Gasaway
PHS Class of 1964
Living and working in Bothell, WA
Pamala Routt Gasaway (64)
From: Paul Case (67)
Do any of you remember the back stage wall at the PHS auditorium? It had all kinds of signatures from performers, political figures, and other dignitaries who visited PHS at some time. I've heard unconfirmed reports that the wall may have been lost (e.g., painted over) when the auditorium was remodeled a few years back. Can anyone confirm or (hopefully) deny that report?
Paul Case (67)
103 today in Pasco, WA
From: Alan Taylor (67)
Wow! . . wasn't expecting the feedback from one little 'ol entry.... but thanks.
To Irma Kulp Zacher:
No Charles Ziegler found in the local (including The Dalles) phone book.
Snipe hunting is pretty much everywhere for the unsuspecting, gullible type.
I remember a very tall Bulldog alum named Don Stephenson (61?) who played Santa for a year .... his only one doing that. . . . hmmm. His brother Joe was a member of the Columbians drum & bugle corps, which was my connection to a lot of guys a bit older than me.
To Ron Dupuis:
Your family was our party-line connection . . . and that dates us all. For a while, my family and yours used the same phone connection, meaning we would wait to use the phone if you were on the phone, and vice-versa. Remember my sis, Linda (64)? I think she and your sister Sandy were friends.
To Bob Coffee:
I remember your name but can't place a face with it . . duh!. . . only 40-some years! I was in the corps from '61 til around '67. I heard many stories that included Doyle Clapper. I joined in '61 when practices were held at the old Sears parking lot. Both Vic and Ron Mahan had the hot cars of the era and were LOUD!
To Paul Case:
Last summer I went to Seattle and marched with a senior drum & bugle corps called Northwest Venture. Their director is Charlie Thompson (65). Bob Riemuth is in the Seattle area and is till in touch with the group. Unfortunately, Jeff Jumper (63?) passed away quite a few years ago from cancer, as did Jimmy Dean (61?).
You may not remember Laren Fusman from the drum line (RHS 67), but we have stayed in touch over the years and reminisce about the old drum corps days. He is in Denver.
To Josh Case:
Just ask your dad about a birthday party at Sacajawea Park and what it may have to do with "elephant ears" and a broken mirror. . . . he says he forgets a lot. . . he may conveniently forget this also (just promoting family unity Paul!)
Ok . . I'm done!
Alan Taylor (67)
Hood River, OR
From: Cliff Brown (67)
I'm glad I'm on this mailing list. I also thought Pasco was a fun place to grow up. I wrote some stories as a way of giving my parents and kids a present, but maybe some folks who graduated around 1967 (Paul Case, Alan Taylor, Jay Van Sant, Jim Gladden, Steve Felton) would find them interesting. It is part of a large pretentious, unpublished memoir.
I'm in Bogota Colombia, now, fighting the drug war. Perhaps making up for wimping out on Vietnam. Enjoy or delete, as you see fit.
Southeastern Washington, where I grew up, is one of the most geologically interesting places on earth. It is located just west of the Blue Mountains, the most rugged, if not the highest, which the Pioneers had to cross when coming west. It has the Columbia River, which is one of the most powerful rivers in the hemisphere. Except for behind some of the dams it is not as wide as the Mississippi and is not as long, but I think it carries More water. It has been rerouted many times by glaciers Which came down from Canada and pushed it aside. As a result, there are several prominent dry waterfalls and river beds, generally empty except for some lakes now formed by irrigation run off. The glaciers quite often would block some river in Montana I think it might be the Libby which would then form this tremendous lake east of that part of the Rocky Mountains. They say it covered a very large part of the current state of Montana. Then, when the ice receded, at one point the entire lake was released to drain out in a matter of days, in a type of enormous inland tidal wave bringing large amounts of topsoil and rolling huge boulders hundreds of miles from their home. This may have happened as much as 40 times. The melting glaciers also brought a lot of interesting rocks with them which stayed behind when they melted. Then, the Cascade mountain range has several volcanoes Mt. Rainier being just one which would periodically erupt and cover large parts of the area with lava. We have one place where a portion of a petrified forest can be seen which was once covered with lava. The river has made all sorts of fascinating carvings in this lava as it worked its inexorable way south. It turns west at a point on the current border between Washington State and Oregon called Wallula Gap. I once worked on a tugboat which pushed wheat barges through this gap, which today has towering rock walls on each side, on which you can see the many layers of lava and sand formed by the historical forces. The geology profs at Whitman College, in Walla Walla, which is only about 25 miles east of there, have it great. They are living in a museum.
The Snake River runs into Southeastern Washington from Idaho and joins the Columbia about three miles southeast of Pasco, where I went to school from the third to the twelfth grade. It is the river many of the pioneers followed into the Northwest Territory. As it cuts through the Blue Mountains, it passes through Hell's Canyon, which it formed over thousands of years ago and over which Evil Kenival attempted to jump with his motorcycle in the 60's.
Pasco is a pretty run down place, these days. When I lived there it was much nicer, or at least we thought so. The Northern Pacific railway had a main terminal there since the junction of these two large rivers made for a convenient trading post in the early days. Just upriver from Pasco on the Columbia is the Hanford Atomic Works or that is what they used to call it. That's where they made the plutonium for the first atomic bombs. I think they shipped it to Oak Ridge, Tennessee for further processing. Anyway, Pasco is down river from the "Area", and maybe that explains some of the craziness I got into in junior high school and high school. It might even explain my Mom's health problems. They've just started to get serious about researching the impact on the local population of various radioactive releases in the 50's and 60's. Further upriver from the Area is the only part of the Columbia which is free flowing, meaning not backed up behind any dam. This is the farthest place upriver where salmon still spawn naturally. On the other side of the river from Hanford is the Columbia Basin, which is one of the finest, most productive farming areas in the United States richly irrigated by water from the lakes formed by Dams further upstream, including the Grand Coulee Dam, the largest in the world at the time it was built.
I don't think anyone really knows the source of the name Pasco. One rumor I heard was it was an acronym of sorts for Pacific Steamship Company. The river in front of Pasco, ever since McNary Dam was finished, is pretty wide still. It is the last place on the Columbia River where tug boats can push large barges. We even had an ocean going barge, called the Kenai, come up to town actually, to Kennewick, on the other side of the river, or Finley, which is a small place just down river from Kennewick. I think it was loading stuff for a trip to Alaska, when they were building the Alyeska Pipeline. Perhaps it was unloading something for the fertilizer plant in Finley. Anyway, I remember pulling up under the bow of the Kenai, looking up at this huge metal thing and thinking It was actually more of a spine permeating feeling: "Wow, this has actually gone to sea!" Something in me changed right in the shadow of that bow. I knew eventually I'd go to sea. And I did. For a while. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Pasco is one of three towns at this part of the Columbia River: Pasco, Kennewick and Richland. A few smaller burbs, like Burbank and Finley, and West Richland, etc., lie nearby but they call the area the Tri- Cities, after the 3 big ones. "Big" here is relative. When I lived there Pasco had about 16,000 people or so. The others were comparable, maybe smaller. It was a pleasant place to grow up, especially if you didn't know any better. Plenty of farm jobs in the summer. I had an old fashion paper route for several years, starting probably in junior high maybe earlier. It was straight out of Leave it to Beaver. I rode my bike every afternoon and also Sunday morning for about an hour or so with a big load of papers. Still have strong legs as a result.
It got cold in the winter, but not like the Midwest. When it snowed, we used to go to a hill behind the junior college and sled down near the water reservoir. And it could get really hot also in the summer occasionally has national highs. One year, they actually had desert survival training for astronauts somewhere nearby. In the summer, when I got my first motorcycle, that same hill by the water reservoir had some great sand dunes nearby which made for good scrambling. From it, I could stare out at both the local airport, which these days even has direct flights to and from Los Angeles, and also the hump yard at the railroad, where they would slowly push trains up and let the cars slowly glide down various tracks to make up new trains. Cars out of Portland and Seattle had to be combined for trips east; cars coming from the east were broken into trains going to various other parts of the Northwest. I could also look down and see the tugboats on the river. And we had what would become a pretty modern highway eventually, with wheat trucks and potato trucks and plenty of others with unidentifiable cargoes. I would sit and watch these pieces of equipment making their way about and somehow felt connected to the rest of the world, just watching the commerce.
I date my adult life from whenever Jim Gladden, sometime during junior high or early high school, asked me what I thought about the Vietnam war. I gave some dumb answer, such as "Well, every country needs a war." Jim gave some condescending look and answer, which was and remains his consummate specialty, and it had the proper effect. It had not dawned on me that my friends and I should actually care about what happened in the rest of the world, but I started to care from that point on. Or at least I started to feel guilty when I realized how little I did care. And the care kept growing until I eventually joined the foreign service. But now I'm getting way ahead of myself.
Back then, one of our favorite forms of entertainment was to walk over to the new bridge which joined Kennewick and Pasco and do one of two things: Either we would climb out on the steel girders underneath the bridge, looking for pigeon nests and such, and sometimes swinging from a rope into the cold Columbia River, or we would actually go up on top and pretend we were suicidal and going to throw ourselves into the river. When the cars slowed down and the drivers started to look real concerned, we would leap feet first into the water some 60 or 70 feet below. It was a dangerous thing to do, but was fun as hell until the Coast Guard ran us off.
One day our arch enemy, a guy named Kilroy (seriously, though I don't know if that was his first or last name), climbed out on the girders after us. He was looking for a fight for some reason I don't recall. Jay and I were experienced to the point that we could easily out maneuver him on the narrow little girders which braced and connected the underside of the bridge. We eventually jumped off into the river and got away. I don't know what pissed off Kilroy, but the fight didn't happen. Later, when walking home from school one day, Kilroy hit me in the mouth. First time, the only time for that matter, that anyone had ever done that. I cried about it at some point, but recall just standing there with my hand on my mouth for a time being unable to respond. He just laughed.
So Jay and I, who had discovered how to get into the steam tunnels which connected all the various buildings of Isaac Stevens Junior High, got our revenge in what we thought was a very creative way. We would climb up into an open window in the boiler room, and work our way through these small tunnels which carried the steam pipes, till we popped up in the P.E. storage room in the gym. There, we would equip ourselves with wrestling knee pads and sometimes football helmets, so as to better scoot around in the tunnels and not get hurt bumping our heads into things. With the knee pads we could make pretty good time, even though there was barely enough clearance room for two 11 year olds on their hands and knees.
Well one day, while exploring around underneath, we managed to pull the latch on the trapdoor which led into the classroom of Mr. Mills, who taught Washington State history. We fished around in his desk and came upon the grade book. Old Kilroy then got marked down a few notches across the board in a way which we hoped would not be noticed, but which would have the appropriate impact. We never did find out if his grade suffered, but for a long time we got tremendous pleasure congratulating ourselves and imagining that it did.
Once, during a similar escapade through the tunnels, we popped up in the same room hoping to do it again, I guess. The trap door was located around the corner from the main part of the classroom, behind a partition. When I crawled up out of the open trap door I thought I heard someone talking in the room. Wasn't sure. So I tip toed slowly over to the edge of the partition and, sure enough, found myself staring right at the back of this large workman. He didn't see or hear me. But he must have heard the trapdoor slam shut when I crawled back into the tunnel, cuz he immediately started pounding on the door and yelling at us. I can imagine him to this day, turning around and seeing these muddy child sized footprints leading from the trapdoor to just behind him, and then back to the trapdoor.
Jay and I beat all hell through those tunnels til we reached our favorite escape point. Might have been some other classroom, for all I remember. I'm sure we didn't go back to the boiler room, since they must have been waiting there for us. We got away all right.
One day, Jay and Jim Gladden and I and another guy named Van Casey got Van's Dad's kayaks and entered the river on the Pasco side near the old bridge, which was about a mile down river from the new one. We paddled over to the Marina in Kennewick where there was this old paddlewheeler which someone had brought all the way up from Portland, hoping to turn it into a floating restaurant of some sort, complete with night cruises, etc., on the river. Well it sank in the Marina. It was about half in and half out of the water, and laying at about a 45% angle on its side. It was an irresistible target.
We paddled over about sunset, and entered the vessel somehow. We worked our way into the various passageways and got into what may have been a big lounge. We found an old soda pop machine, the kind that is basically a big cooler with a large door which you lift up, instead of out. It as rows and rows of steel guides, from which the bottles hang by their bottlecap ends. You slide the bottles over to the side and theoretically must pay a quarter or so to lift one bottle out at a time. Well we were all alone, and we discovered that the flap which prevented Cliff Brown more than one bottle at a time from entering was actually bendable plastic. So naturally we bent it out to facilitate our business. We heisted all the pop we could take, and our favorite at that time was some sort of bottled milkshake, the name of which I don't remember.
Well, after a suitable period to get our kayaks properly loaded with the loot, we paddled slowly back across the river toward Pasco. The river here is about a mile wide, and this was going to take some time. Somehow, the local Coast Guard unit must have seen us leaving the boat, and they came wailing out of the marina in a high speed motor boat. We knew we were doomed. But to mitigate the damages, we started dropping the pop bottles overboard, hoping they would sink. They didn't. They just kept floating behind our kayaks, leaving a perfectly incriminating trail which reflected neatly off the Coast Guard spot light like nobody's business. They hauled us back to the Marina, called our respective fathers who came and picked us up with stern looks and suitable words of wisdom. Dad must have thought it was sort of funny, since he didn't get too upset. I had done worse.
[to be continued. maybe]
Cliff Brown (67)