Do you remember ????????????????????????????????

1. Blackjack chewing gum
2. Wax Coke‑shaped bottles with colored sugar water
3. Candy cigarettes
4. Soda pop machines that dispensed bottles
5. Coffee shops with tableside jukeboxes
6. Milk delivered in glass bottles to your home
7. Party lines (telephones)
8. Newsreels before the movie
9. P.F. Flyers and Radio Wagons
10. Butch wax
11. Telephone numbers with a word prefix (Olive ‑ 6933)
12. Peas hooters
13. Howdy Doody
14. 45 RPM records
15. S&H Green Stamps
16. Hi‑fi's
17. Metal ice trays with levers
18. Mimeograph paper
19. Blue flashbulbs
20. Beanie and Cecil
21. Roller skate keys
22. Cork popguns
23. Drive‑ins
24. Studebakers
25. Wash tub wringers
26. Hot boxes
27. Smoking a balloon stick, Indian cigar or cornsilk
28. Auto tires with tubes
29. Rubber guns
30. Crystal radios
31. Mazda light bulbs
32. Hi Top shoes with pockets for folding knives
33. Near beer
34. Outhouses
35. Drinking water from a pump in the yard or house
36. “You’re welcome”V

EPILOGUE

I personally do not like aircraft as a means to travel. In my mind I took all the risks I should during WWII and did not enter an airplane between 1945 and 1965. I remember the life stories of several members of the Lafayette Escadrille who in WWI survived incredible risks only to die ignominiously in peacetime.
But, my work began to take me to many places. In 1965 I closed my engineering office and took a job that required weekly airline travel to San Francisco. I then accepted a short assignment in Santo Domingo and Puerto Rico. This required a helicopter flight that I did not enjoy. I soon took a job as an engineer for a company that required a secret clearance.
Between the years 1965 and 1995 I traveled 500,000 miles by air. On one job I made 16 trips to Boston, Massachusetts in 16 weeks. I have been in responsible charge of projects in every corner of the U.S. In 1975 I represented my employer’s company in Vienna, Austria. I traveled to many states in the U.S. on projects and to represent my employers’ companies. I consulted with clients on projects in Israel, France, South Africa and Hawaii. I worked on and helped to market projects in many countries where I had not visited; for example, South Korea and the Philippine Islands. I supervised the engineered construction drawings for Katmandu, Nepal’s sewer and water system. I engineered missile system sites and structures.
In 1967 a diagnosis of lymph cancer changed my outlook on life dramatically. Betty and I quit smoking cigarettes that day. In the 1960’s I began to go to golf courses (I hesitate to use the term play golf). In 1978 we bought a Winnebago Motor Home and in 1979 a boat. I began to fish almost every week. We traveled about 35,000 miles in it, including a trip to Maine and back. I took it on hunting trips. I carried a motorcycle on its back end and hauled a 14-foot boat and trailer with it. I ceased motorcycling in 1988 (hey, it was about time at age 65 and I had bought a bigger boat). The Minnie Winnie could not tow the boat. We tired of Minnie Winnie and sold it in 1987. (Betty said, “If it is not first class, we are roughing it.”)
We went to some great places. See “Been There, Done That” in the Appendix.
I enjoy open spaces and traveled to hunt, including the Palomar Mountains, Camp Pendleton and Santa Catalina Island in California, Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and Northern California. I drew into Whittington Center twice and Camp Pendleton twice, so far. The second time I drew into Camp Pendleton in was 2001. Betty and I have enjoyed the meat from the doves, quail, deer, elk, rabbit, and Javelina, which we were privileged to eat. I hunted for bears for several years, but to no avail. I did not hunt for the meat which is reportedly greasy.
My Dad died in 1981. He drank, smoked and manifested his scrappy personality til almost the very end. I could write more than a book about him. I still dream about him and they are all good dreams.
In 1988 I became involved again as an entrepreneur using my contractors and engineers licenses and started evolving into retirement, working four days a week and later even less. We moved to Oceanside where we found a safe harbor for my boat and a house, which Betty and I like a lot. I did a project in Bangkok, Thailand in 1995. I spent 3 weeks there and 6 months part time here. I got very lonely during the 3 weeks there and vowed to eschew that kind of project, in spite of the plethora of opportunities.
In 1989 Harry Slonaker died and in 1997 Aunt Besse died. She had appointed me executor of her will. In accordance with his wishes and her instructions I distributed more than one million dollars to their favorite charities, about 30 in all, including the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks. As a lifetime member of the Elk’s I often contributed to help kids walk again or for the first time. Betty and I have a few charities to which we donate which include Paralyzed Veterans of America, American Red Cross, and Cancer Society of America. There are a few others but do not recall them as of now. I also send a few bucks to the University of Southern California occasionally. When I worked for a large engineering company I donated that company’s money by joining special circles for which the company received recognition. In 1991 I worked on the 40 year Alumni Committee to help raise money for U. S. C. We raised about $70,000.
During 1991, 1992 and 1993 I chaired a committee of Life Members of the American Society of Engineers in Orange and Los Angeles Counties. In 1993 I formed a committee of Life Members of the American Society of Engineers in San Diego County. Our goals and procedure were stated to give, pro-bono, the benefits of our combined years of experience to decision makers of local public agencies and districts policy makers. We found very few takers. I made some friends among the engineers.
As a Life Member of the Benevolent and Paternal Order of Elks I had opportunities to socialize and played poker, for modest stakes, regularly until most of the players died. I also played 3-par golf with neighbors and Michael and Jeffrey. I played a full size course off and on over the years. Betty and I played in Glendora. In Oceanside I joined the Oceanside Seniors Golf Association and played frequently until 1997. The Jack Daniels Distillery anointed me a Tennessee Squire (courtesy of a client in 1963) and deeded me a small plot of land (about 625 square centimeters) near Lynchburg, Tennessee. They continue to send me numerous whimsical souvenirs of my membership.
Betty and I have visited many places in this country as well as in other parts of the world, see Appendix, Been There, Done That. We have many photo albums and scrapbooks as well as personal memories for souvenirs. In 1994 we had our picture taken and celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary with a trip to Alaska and cruise home.
I drink a lot of water and a little Remy Martin cognac, (courtesy of Betty) Jack Daniels whiskey (courtesy of Michael), Chivas Regal Scotch (courtesy of Michael) and Piper Hiedsick Champagne or Mumms (thanks to me). I also drink about one six pack of beer a summer.
I sold my (third and last) boat in 1998 in favor of going to sea on sport fishing boats out of Oceanside Harbor. I have had my “druthers”; do an occasional engineering project, go deep-sea fishing (I go fishing about once a week out of Oceanside Harbor) and play some bridge at one of 2 local Senior Centers. Betty gave up bridge. One of my partners is an engineer with whom I have socialized and worked with since 1951.
In March 2000 I signed a one-year contract to consult as a Civil Engineer to a contractor, which installs fiber optic cable in many states in this country. Its office is 8 miles from our home. My client paid for my Errors and Omissions Insurance and fully compensates me. (Our government needs the money.) In 2001 we extended the contract; I like the work and the client likes my style. The assignment keeps me busy 20 hours a week on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. But, I get home for 4 o’clock tea and a card game with Betty almost every day.
It is now July 2001. Betty and I take one day at a time and never go to bed without at least a goodnight kiss. Allowing me my space she takes and holds her own. We have taken some great business and vacation trips together. Although we disagree occasionally, we hold no grudges. Each of us can exercise veto power. Betty has never vetoed a career move, business decision, or a hunting or fishing trip. My “tail light” turned to love light and is still lit.

Betty is a successful artist. Betty developed her artistic talent into homemaking and producing paintings; she earned a wall full of ribbons and in the period between 1970 and 2000 sold over 170 paintings. She is involved with 2 art groups and produces artwork each week. During January 2001 six of her paintings were featured on KOCT, Oceanside.Check out in the rest of this tome. My resume is in the Appendix: Curriculum Vitae (CV). I include a few of my most interesting pre-1990’s project descriptions there. A major part of this CV was prepared in 1993 by a client to whom I consulted. The client needed it for a proposal to do work in which I would participate. I keep the CV current.
My web site is currently http://maxpages.com/menosanov

Chapter 7

The Middle Agers

One of my most important previous employees is our son, Michael. Mikey, as he likes to be called, decided in 1959 at age 11, that he would become a Civil Engineer, thus paying me the ultimate compliment. At age 13 I introduced him to the engineering office and within months accompanied my survey crew and often me into the field. This increased his and his sisters’ vocabularies and their proficiency at vulgarity. He liked surveying to the extent that one hot day in San Bernardino County he stated that he would not even bother to go to college. I said little but gave him an 8-pound hammer, a long two-inch diameter steel pipe and showed him the rock hard place where the pipe was to be placed. Mikey went back to Plan A that night when we got home. Michael and I did many surveys together. One day he and I were chaining in front of a client’s lot when I asked him to switch ends with me. He immediately protested having divined that there was a problem but I persisted. Neither he nor I had made an error. Our client’s property had someone else’s house on it. The occupant, Mr. Flores, came out and protested. When I contacted the client, Mr. Simmons, he drove out from L.A. with his son, an attorney. I felt apprehension for Mr. Lopez and further, recalled that when I had been City Engineer this situation had been discussed. Mr. Simmons at age 83 was merely trying to put his affairs in order. His lot had a valuation at $1,100. Mr. Lopez had paid $ 300 for his lot. Mr. Lopez ended up owning the Simmons lot for $300. Mr. Lopez lucked out, because Mr. Simmons technically owned the house on which he lived but Simmons and his son were decent folks. Not so in another case where my crew surveyed a lot where the property line had been encroached on by another old Californio. Six inches of his living room sat on her property. My client, a Mrs. Gonzales, when she hired me stated she was just curious@ about her property line. After we set stakes on the job City Attorney Kenny Husby called me and asked me if I would authenticate the work in court, if necessary.

I sent my crew out again and starting from the other end they redid the job starting at the other end of the traverse. My men made no error. I responded positively to Kenny. Two weeks later when I happened to drive down that street, a new chain link fence sat on the property line and the Mrs. Gonzales’ neighbor’s house was gone. One survey I did for an FHA pre-loan certification found Mr. Irv Gow’s 2-foot high wall on the client’s property. When Mr. Gow was notified that he had to move the wall, he became angry, had a heart attack and died.

Michael performed well as office engineer and in 1963 I paid him $ 3.50 per hour. He said thought he could earn more and sought employment elsewhere. After an offer to work at a local grocery store as a box boy, he abandoned that negotiation and came back to work.

One day I gave him an assignment to calculate lot boundaries on a mountain subdivision. Jimmy Higbee, my friend owned the property and surveyed it. My fee amounted to my choice of one of the lots. Michael informed me that he could not close the boundary on the last lot; in other words the tract did not fit inside the property, mathematically. After some struggle with it I found that he had adjusted the boundary closure and committed the sin of not saving the other data. That was the only lump in the peanut butter that we ironed out at home for lunch that day.

The lot we earned was off the Idyllwild Mountain Road near Poppet Flats. We used it as a shooting place and Betty and the girls picked wild herbs, such as rosemary there. I later traded it for an acre in Banning, split the acre into two lots and sold them When I met the owner of the acre in Banning, Tom Vise, he remembered that my Dad had boxed in the Navy .Tom had been in the same outfit.

Mikey behaved a little like me as he grew up. He once knocked over a tripod on which my only transit sat (and misaligned the transit), drove my Jeep into a mailbox, backed my new Chevrolet into our station wagon, drove the Chevvie to Palm Springs and sandblasted a window, and drove the car off while Susan’s glasses were on it. In 1963, before his 16th birthday, he had a chance to go to the University of Southern California but opted out saying he was not mature enough. Probably after looking at the co-eds. He stayed in Banning for his senior year in high school, graduated co-valedictorian and in 1964 went off to U.S.C. Engineering College on scholarships. His mentor there was Dean Ingersoll. Doctor Ingersoll and I belonged to the same honorary engineering fraternity, Chi Epsilon and hosted a group the night the night that Michael met him. When that event occurred, I introduced Mikey to him. I could see the Dean assessing him as a wonderful new raw material with which to work his prexy like wonders. Ingersoll became totally oblivious to my presence. I took no offense; he was a good judge of raw material.

After a few months Michael advised me not to send any more expense money. Mikey surveyed with an instructor on weekends, engaged in poker games at school and at a Gardena casino, and shot pool. (He did not play poker. He worked it for profit.) He graduated in 1968 and went to work at the City of Los Angeles Department of Water and Power ( LADWOP).
With a gifted sense of humor he wrote some of the LADWOP annual shows. He has written numerous newspaper columns, published in the Los Angeles Time, Orange County Register and Christian Science Monitor.

Michael reads music and plays musical instruments. Once he copied dozens of sheets of music and gave them to me. I played a ukulele at the time and took four string banjo lessons. He played the piano and with Betty or me singing we jammed. He is conversant in Spanish. Michael has had 2 wives, or vice versa, is currently divorced and is a successful engineer, writer and entrepreneur. His first wife, Carole Miller, was a blonde bombshell. They divorced after 5 years. He sought another mate and soon found, Anne Heyman. He became her second husband. They married and shared certain common interests. Then she unilaterally decided that she would produce an offspring. She did and Jeffrey Paul Nosanov issued.

Mikey, a tender caring father felt betrayed and later found other issues including previously undisclosed personality traits, including persistent and growing aggressiveness. Mikey waited until Jeff was old enough to understand divorce and then did that deed. Jeff and his Dad are very close. They visited Betty and I several times a year as Jeff grew in the 1990's. We 3 boys went shooting, fishing and played golf. With Betty we played Scrabble, Monopoly, poker, and hung out. We went to museums and had memorable times.

Michael is a fierce competitor who plays the stock market as well as games including poker, bridge and chess. He plays in Las Vegas Casinos when convenient. He buys and sells unimproved real estate properties. In 2000 he began to teach this art to Jeff. This picture was taken in 1986. He currently has a lady friend, Darlene Wong and is happy. He domiciles in a lovely house in Glendale, California. He furnishes it his way. There is a Jacuzzi in the patio, a pool table in the dining room, plus a fireplace and large screen TV in the den. He likes to watch ice hockey and is an active member of Mensa. At the time of this writing he is Power Manager for the City of Los Angeles Department of Water and Power.

Susan, a well-known equestrian, has a penchant for horses, dogs, and other animals. At the age of 3 she sat on a Morgan mare owned by my cousin Bruce. She had a problem with that because she had to sit behind Mikey and hold on to him. She still carps about him being a tyrant when he baby-sat his sisters for us. At age 14 she wanted a horse. Betty said correctly, of course, that we could not afford one. I got her a 17-year-old one, named Buck. It cost me nothing because it had a hoof disease; thrush. Susan cured it and we became partners. I got the end that ate and she got the other end. We rode horses together often but one day after we raced through a residential neighborhood, I eschewed that source of thrill for the foreseeable future.

At the tender age of 16 Susan came to me one day and told me I was stupid. Ten years later she retracted that statement. Susan eschewed motherhood. While married to her 1st hubby, Bill Hestla she opted for 2 abortions and then had an operation to prevent pregnancy. Bill Hestla became abusive and they divorced. Her second husband, a contractor (and horseshoer) met me while I was managing 2 departments of a design-and-construct environmental engineering company. Bruce Gaffney is his name and he worked for me on several projects; this could be the subject of a different book. Susie and Bruce divorced after he manifested a personality typical of an amphetamine user. She then had a long bout with the I. R. S. about non-payment of taxes but finally got that cleared up. Her 3rd and current husband’s name is Bill Figley. Her husbands all, at one time or another, were farriers; as is Figley who is a full time hard working man. Susan trained at Cal Poly and Huntington Memorial Hospital in Pasadena, and then worked for 20 years as a licensed x-ray technician Susan has represented her equestrian organization at conferences in the United States and Canada. She has won ribbons for her half Arab horses and Western riding. She seems to be fearless and is one tough little lady. . She boards and trains horses, trains riders and until 2000 was only peripherally interested in the technological revolution. She likes to acquire, refurbish and ride sulkies and horse drawn buggies. She went on line (World Wide Web) in December 2000. Since then she manifests a remarkable grasp of using computer technology and has begun to trade in horses, services and tack. Bill and Susie, at this writing, live on a 2 1/2 acre rancho in Llano, in the high desert. They have numerous horses and dogs. Betty and I enjoyed a close and endearing relationship with Susan.

Vicki Ellen seems to have been caught in the cultural as well as the social revolution. She graduated from Royal Oak High School and attended and graduated from University of California, Riverside. When I took her there we were advised during orientation that she no longer belonged to her parents. She seems to have taken that seriously. When I installed her there in a dormitory she chose to move to an apartment and work her way through college. Her degree is in Political Science. Her first job was repossessing cars for a credit company. She worked herself up to a manager’s job in two major loan companies. She lived with a computer expert, Julio, for 5 years. She found her Jewish prince, Louis Goldman in the 1980s. Prior to their marriage they lived together for a year, with his parents’ blessings, not mine or Betty’s. When they married they had an extravagant reception, completely on her terms, for which they paid. They have two children, Mason and Briana. Vicki and Louis were divorced in 1998.When she observed her marriage kick up storm clouds she acquired a teaching certificate. She blamed her in-laws. She is a schoolteacher in San Jose, California, currently divorced. Vicki loves to party, travel and fish. Vicki learns languages and musical instruments readily and has traveled to Europe several times. In 2000 she went to New Zealand. She manifests an aggressive personality and maintains a hectic active social life. Vicki seems to periodically isolate herself from the family.

Nancy, born in 1957, is a native of Banning, California. She was a quiet child what with 3 older siblings and at the bottom of their pecking order. She did not get into trouble as a child except for being accused of painting the lawn sprinklers at the Banning Public Library in 1963. I had to go to the library and discuss this reputed and dastardly deed. My heart was not in it because I thought it was a clean and attractive improvement and she denied it. Many years later she admitted her “crime”. Nancy attended Cal Poly Pomona and later got her Associate of Arts Degree at Anza College in Cupertino California. She worked for Aaron Brothers and other art shop and became a manager. Later she managed production at a frame manufacturing company. She also sold a represented a foreign frame line in Oregon, Washington, and California. Nancy had some ups and downs and bravely survived them. In the 1990's she survived at several major nervous breakdowns. After realizing that her medication is critical to her survival she rallied, recovered and is building her life again. As of 2001 she is employed by the Southern California Automobile Association and doing well at her job. Nancy visits us often and is close to our hearts.

Mike's son, Jeffrey is our oldest grandchild born in 1982. At the age of one, during a wait for a restaurant at a tourist spot, he pulled a practical joke on me. Jeff has all the talents needed to be a computer hacker and has had them for years. At the age of 8 he taught keyboard to other kids. He attended private schools and became an excellent piano player; much against his will. Jeff started taking college courses at age 15. Jeff has fished with the family and me. As he grew up Michael brought him for visits and we played golf and gone shooting together. Jeff also likes to play cards and other games. He is over 6 feet, 2 inches tall and weighs more than 200 pounds. When he was 16 he was given a car. Thus, he could commute between his Dad’s and Mom’s house and elsewhere. Now we see less of him but more so than our other 2 grandchildren. We stay in touch by E-mail. He enrolled in U.C. Irvine in the year 2000.

Vicki's son, Mason was born in 1983. He loves to fish and shoot, and play cards and other games. Mason went fishing with me for the first time at age 2, on my boat. We have fished together on party boats and on piers in Northern and Southern California. He, too, is over 6 feet, 2 inches tall and weighs more than 200 pounds.
He wrestled on his High School team. His father, Louis, promulgates our connections with each other. Mason knows his way around computer hardware and programs. He has a great imagination and sense of humor and aspires to be an actor. We stay in touch by E-mail. In the year 2000 he enrolled in a college program while finishing high school

Briana, our only granddaughter, is a gentle person, full of vim and personality, very curious and persistent in accomplishing her goals. She is bright and computer literate. She has always manifested a competitive nature when in the company of her older sibling. Otherwise, she is a sweet affectionate young lady. She is a good communicator who speaks up for her rights. Briana corresponds by mail and E-mail occasionally and effectively. She and her brother traveled extensively during their early years, before her mother Vicki and dad, Louie, divorced. They visited France, among other cities in Europe, to be with my cousin Billy and his family. She wants to be an actress.

CHAPTER 6

Banning Days
In 1956 I opined that my kids would never have a real college fund unless I broadened my horizons. I did (moonlight) do outside work but had little time for that. I also did not want to stay in one job until I retired and further, wanted to leave the Los Angeles basin. So I sought another income venue and saw an ad for a City Engineer in Banning, California. I sent in a penny postcard; 3 cents maybe (I forget). Within weeks I met with Barney Owen, Banning’s first City Manager. He introduced me to Mayor Peterson and I got the job. My resignation from the City of L.A. became effective one day short of having been there five years. A day later and I would have been eligible for the pension and had further rights. I eschewed that and withdrew my pension funds, about $2,500. In April 1956, I became the first full time City Engineer of Banning, California. My principal competitor for the position was a young, not registered man, Jim Carney who became my assistant. He collaborated, on city business, with the previous consulting city engineer, Mr. Don Davis. Within weeks Carney resigned.

The events of those days enlightened me and I generated a steep learning curve. I reported to the City Manager, Barney Owens. When Betty and I stepped out of the car and he greeted us, Betty’s first act was to hand him one-year-old baby Vicki. Barney and his wife Ruth became our first local social contacts. Betty and I rented a house on George Street across the street from Mr. George Winky and his wife, Valerie. George played the mandolin and I learned to strum a ukulele. Our house had a front porch and we could sit and watch the sunset and headlights of car traversing the road to and from Idyllwild. That winter, Michael built his first snowman in the vacant lot east and next door. The neighbor Mr. Ray, east of that had a dog with which our dog, Barrymore, fought when possible. Mr. Ray managed the local Mc Mahan’s furniture store. We lived on George Street a year.

Complications at City Hall developed the first month. Barney Owens was a purist referent to the City Manager form of government. Within 10 days after I went to work there was a City Council election. Barney’s majority became a slim 3 to 2. He did not appreciate the efforts of the City Council to micro-manage his domain. I became a member of the City Planning Commission and ex-officio Director of the Department of Building and Safety. Later I took charge of the Banning City Airport and the City Municipal Waste Disposal (burning dump) facility. Other duty consisted of checking building and subdivision engineering calculations and drawings, and all the city’s surveying.

My first meeting of the Planning Commission had an agenda item that had been delayed purposely until I could vote. The vote had split 2 to 2 and I became the swing vote. I pleaded ignorance and soon proved it as after considerable pressure, I cast a vote. So I started my career there with close to 50 percent of the interested parties angry with me. I successfully retreated from Member to ex-officio member of the Planning Commission.

In 1956 Banning boasted a population of 10,000. It started to increase as freeway construction ended. Housing stayed short. In 1957 we looked at a 3 bedroom one-bath house on Roosevelt Road while it was under construction. It had a one-car garage. I told the builder that if he would take the second trust deed on the house in Pico Rivera as down payment, I would pay his (fair) asking price of about $12,000. He said he would look into it and we shook hands. Fifteen minutes later the Banning Chief of Police shook my hand and congratulated me, saying, “ I just heard you bought George Eide’s house”. Handshakes were very powerful in those days. We signed the final papers two weeks after we moved in. We owned a barbecue table and benches which became our kitchen / dining room set. Uncle Harry Nosanov had given them to us when we lived in Pico-Rivera. Our beds had no headboards. Susie and Vicki slept in one room. Michael had his room and Betty and I had our own bedroom.

A Mrs. Hill, who had been City Clerk for 20 years, took Betty to lunch soon after we arrived. She told Betty, “I want you to know that my husband sub-divided that tract where you live. My son Jack (Charles S. Hill) watered those trees. And we named the street Roosevelt for Theodore, not that other one.”

Betty became Banning’s Society Reporter for the Riverside County Press Enterprise. She joined the Junior Women’s Club. Our social life included Sheila Lauck, John and Marilyn Link, Jim and Bobbie Denier, Jack and Claire Hill, Kenneth and Dorothy Husby, and some of their mutual friends. This included Darryl and Naomi Crookston. We partied at Jack and Claire’s and others. I drank more than my share of hard liquor. I hunted with Darryl.

As Betty became a young matron she bloomed in mind and body. As the City grew its problems matriculated. In 1957 so did mine. Nancy Ann came into this world and became our third daughter. The City Manager, who carried his resignation letter in his coat pocket, pulled it out and laid it on the City Council. Two members of the City Council offered me the job, which I refused. The very next day the consulting City Attorney, Ken Husby, invited me to lunch. I liked him and Betty and I liked his wife, Dorothy. Ken and Dorothy both graduated from Stanford. Until she died, we had a standing nickel bet on each Stanford, USC football game. Kenny used to say that I sold my projects to the City Council by the pound (referring to my “dog and pony shows”.

I went to lunch with Kenny and there were two members of the City Council there who told me in no uncertain terms that I would be appointed Banning’s City Manager-Engineer. I did not think to ask for a raise. My salary stayed at $ 640. per month and every city department head reported to me which included the Chief of Police, Finance Director, Street Department, and Electric Department.

A reporter, Bob Levinson, became a regular visitor to our house. I could be useful too, of course. I first met him when he was standing next to his predecessor, Dick Hoffman. Dick worked for the Riverside County Press Enterprise. He had a great sense of humor and wrote “Willy Boy” a book, which later became a movie. We had fun together after City Council and Planning Commission meetings. Dick wore a U C L A baseball hat one day so I took it from his head and stomped on it. He just stood there laughing and I asked him why. He said “Its his hat” and introduced me to Bob. Bob became a powerful ally, as did Ed Mauel, when they agreed with me, which was most of the time. Bob drew all the cartoons in this book. Ed worked as a reporter for the San Bernardino Sun Telegram and later the night editor. When I became City Manager he published a nice article about my war record and me.

Bob and I played ping-pong and debated issues. Late in the evening, when I gave up he would talk with Betty. I sometimes came out in my pajamas and fell asleep on the couch and they would keep on chatting. Bob drew many cartoons about our family and me and published some of them in his newspaper column Betty was called to win a “hard to give away Pickett’s Market’s grocery prize” because Bob knew she “always” answered the phone “Pick Picketts”. It seemed no one else did. He told Jack Kellner, the disk jockey about it. When Jack called her she answered “Hello”.
In Bob’s opinion my wrong answer was to say “Yes” when pressured to add City Manager to my “Titles”. So he drew a cartoon about that. It took several months to get rid of that title and still remain City Engineer and Surveyor, Airport and Dump Manager, Planning Commissioner, and Chief Building Official.

Bob thought that 4 kids was a lot and expressed that thought with a cartoon. Those that follow convey a few of his shrewd observations. Betty the consummate mother, Vicki who liked nuts, Michael the chess master, and Susie, the quiet one, bemused Bob. Of course, Nancy who joined our clan in 1957 was a crib potato.




















Betty calls her mother
















Susie gets a balloon Vicki gets a sister

One more game? Mike gets new books
Michael became the Riverside County High School Chess Champion. He had started playing at age 6 and I helped him beat me. After age 8 he needed no help. One of the favorite sayings at our house was “One more game”. Michael also loved to play other games. We, as a family, played Parcheesi, Life, Careers, Monopoly, Hearts, Rummy, and others. He graduated as co-Class Victorian from Banning High School.

Michael, at age eight, wanted a piano so we bought one and he took lessons for years, as did Susie. Vicki took dancing lessons until age 4 when on stage at a park recital she was so cute that when she made a boo-boo the audience laughed for her and she did not understand, took umbrage and stalked off. Vicki crawled into Bob’s lap at any given opportunity. She loved nuts and craved attention.

The politics of the town totally fascinated me. The election within two weeks of my arrival changed the City Council and mayor. The new mayor, John Raatz a tall native of Germany, spoke with a heavy German accent. He had been in the German submarine corps in World War 1. He and I had several public and private encounters, which although politically significant still amuse me. We eventually became friends.

The first time we crossed horns I had offended a prominent citizen by insisting on a code compliance related to the height of a retaining wall. The citizen, 2 councilmen and the City Attorney marched into my office and demanded satisfaction. The citizen, an airline pilot brought in data from every City where he landed to try to prove his case. I got the satisfaction of proving my case. I had been at City Hall but 3 months and won the battle but prolonged the war.

One day, John saw me standing behind a transit, while surveying on the centerline of San Gorgonio Avenue. He asked me if I was looking into a bedroom window. I indignantly replied and he apologized; John explained that a constituent had called him in the middle of the night about a drainage problem and he became frustrated with having to track me down after lying awake half the night.

One day I spoke to a citizen, by phone, and demanded that an illegal sign be removed within 24 hours, upon penalty of the law. I explained the penalties and just as John walked in the citizen said, “You can’t talk to me that way, my councilman is John Raatz”.
I responded, “ He is standing right here. You can talk to him.”
John threw his hands in the air and cried, “Mike, you vill giff me an ulcer”. The
sign came down that afternoon.

I liked engineering and did not care if the animal pound gassed cats. I did not want to administer the police department, and the Finance Director, “Pete” Peterson, a Banning old timer, had always wanted to be City Manager. I did not; and, the job came with no pay raise. Within 3 months after my appointment as City Manager/Engineer I successfully extricated myself from the position of City Manager using a combination of tactics, which involved my new Chief of Police, the local publisher, Max Wyhnik and his newspaper, the Banning Record. I complained to Max about his interview of the Chief of Police, Harry Moore, against my wishes.
Max told me, “Mike, you have to kiss the dirtiest asses in town to be City Manager.
I replied, “Max, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I do not qualify for this job.”
The next day his newspaper, the Banning Record ran a story that the City Council sought a new City Manager. They got the message and found one.

Bob Livengood became the new City Manager and I satisfied his requirements.

The position of City Engineer had perquisites. On a trip sponsored by Southern California Gas Company John, others, and I visited their facilities from Banning
to Arizona. We stayed overnight at a motel at the Colorado River and were treated to lodgings, meals, libations and cigars. During the evening a poker game broke out and I played. The stakes were a dollar and for my circumstances quite high. But, I enjoyed networking and playing against the Palm Springs City Attorney. At eleven o’clock I had lost about $30 and John stood over my shoulder clucking about my children’s milk money. At midnight I broke even, stood up and bid my adieus. John stood there, put his arm around me and said, “Mike, you did a goot thing”. I smiled, hugged him back, and we became friendly from then on.

The City of Banning owned 40 acres next to Banning Airport and needed an economic stimulus. I needed more staff and proposed that I hire a man and we create an Industrial Subdivision on the 40 acres. It happened and Deutsch Industries bought the 40 acres. They had aerospace parts manufacturing enterprises. They also bought 3,000 acres of land adjoining Banning and then announced that they were going to develop the industrial area. The realtor involved was Mr. James (Jimmy) Thompson. When in the early stages of the deals we met with Alex Deutsch, one of the owners of Deutsch Co. Alex asked me what there is to do in Banning and Jimmy put in with, “He has 4 kids”.
Alex responded with “ That took an hour, what else do you people do”. We laughed and continued at one of many lunches and meetings.


















Board of Directors San Gorgonio Mountain Pass Yacht & Polo Club

Banning had a total of 165 religious cultural, social, and benevolent organizations. One that never materialized is the San Gorgonio Pass yacht and Polo Club. We had the horses but were a tad far from the water. This did not inhibit Bob

Levinson. In a cartoon he has Jack Hill of the PYPC discussing it with me. As you may surmise, I am the man with the pipe.


In 1959, as things settled down at City Hall, I decided that my family and I were in a dead end situation and I sought and quickly found other employment. I resigned my position and went to work as a Senior Civil Engineer at Forest Lawn Cemetery Corporations in Glendale, California. (When John Raatz first heard I was at Forest Lawn he broke into tears.)

After six months they realized they had made a mistake in hiring me. By then we had begun to relocate and were in escrow on a house in Monrovia.

I went to work at AeroJet General. The CEO advised me that I would be sent to Minot, North Dakota and build a nuclear electricity generating plant there.
I said, “ No, I have kids at home and a wife and I am not going”.
He gave me another assignment. I quickly realized I had made a mistake. It occurred to me that if they could be in business so could anyone. Within six weeks we moved back to Banning into our old house and I opened Pioneer Engineering Company, Engineers and Surveyors. (AeroJet General went out of business before I did.)

My first office space, in 1959, was on South San Gorgonio Avenue and I shared it with Jimmy Higbee, a grading contractor, at his invitation. His partner, Ben Allen had been born in Banning and Jimmy migrated there at age 3. My first “rod man” Betty stood in the middle of Ramsey Street, while traffic whizzed by within inches of her. The kids watched from the car. She still says the buses scared her the most. I rapidly promoted her to office manager (bookkeeping and typing). Betty, an accomplished artist, could draw but rebelled at drafting. I had to hire staff as needed.

The Deutsch Company became my first client. Others were realtors and homeowners. I had to sub contract the first big surveying jobs until I could afford to buy equipment and hire people. Then, I made a living doing surveys, subdivisions, many structural designs, mostly small wood and concrete block buildings. I initially did work from Los Angeles to the New Mexico border, but most of it was in Riverside and San Bernardino Counties. A year later, my accountant while going over the books said that if I had asked his advice on going into business at all, he would have said, “Don’t try it.”

I bought a brand new Friden STW 10 square root calculator, then a Berger transit (“solid bronze-won’t rust bust or corrode”). A U S C grad, Dick Horn, who called on me at my office, helped me to acquire a franchise to sell ARMCO Metal Buildings. They were a high quality but non-competitive product. I hired Jack Farmer to sell on commission. He sold one building, after one year, to the local

cemetery. My relationship with ARMCO cooled after Dick Horn suffered a near fatal car accident and I became unhappy with two major issues that arose. I had a chance to sell numerous buildings for a local prison and all the pipe for an 18-mile pipeline. Armco did not cooperate on either opportunity. I cancelled my franchise, but as a result of that endeavor I studied for and obtained my first California State Contractors License in 1960.

In 1960 I had a cup of coffee in a donut shop with Sid Pearson. Sid informed me that he was leaving town and would sell me a small duplex on West Ramsey Street, for nothing down if I would give him a third mortgage. I bought it. The west half became my new office and I rented the other side. My first tenant was Mr. McClure, an 80-year-old realtor. My second tenant became George Dart, a surveyor who had been separated from his wife. My third was an architect,
George Daic.

The phone company, California Water and Telephone Co. AKA “drip and tinkle” hooked up a line from the office to the house and I could transfer incoming calls when I went out. I merely turned a switch on the wall. During the years in business there I bought into a surveying company in Yucca Valley, California, and later formed a Survey-Design-Build company in a rented office in Yucaipa, California.

My most interesting employees included Jeff Jeffus, a surveyor and Leland (Lee) Moyer, an engineering aide. Betty became my bookkeeper and was succeeded by 4 other ladies during the coming years.

I hired Bob Horton who turned out to be an alcoholic but talented designer draftsman. Bob kept a bottle of vodka in his desk. He had been a fighter pilot and was frustrated with having one less kill than Joe Foss, who had become a 5-time ace with 25 confirmed kills. I utilized Bob’s prowess with alcohol when I contracted with a client, Glenn Howell, with a similar propensity. Glenn Howell, as in Bell and Howell, a famous company in its day, could not read plans but we had a weekly client meeting. After a couple of meetings I deemed it best for them to meet at a local bar and he and Glenn got drunk once a week, on the clock as it were. On the scheduled construction day we scratched the building outline on the ground at his property and began a design and construct endeavor. The terms of payment were time and expense. Because Glenn never approved a drawing he could only understand what he saw as we built it and when he wanted a change we ripped out and rebuilt. The job came in at 3 times the original estimate, but he loved every inch of it, and paid ever cent, and on time. He bought, built and owned the Banning Bowl, Banning’s only bowling alley. But he lost that and his beautiful new house within a few years.

Betty bought me my first set of golf clubs. Horton and I went to Calimesa Golf Course, the home of Hale Irwin. I tried to cure Bob of drinking by drinking him under the table out there. Bob and I drank six bottles of beer and a pint bottle of vodka. The empties fell through the bottom of his golf bag on the 3rd hole. We teed off on the 4th but drove to the 5th . After eight holes we couldn’t walk further so I drove him home. Next day we both went to work.

Lee Moyer, an excellent office and field technician, had flown in B-52s in the Strategic Air Command. He became unhappy with his compensation and left my employ once to go into business as a “competitor”. In spite of the fact that I farmed some work to him, Lee returned in 2 months. He had a miserable car driving record with over 30 tickets and had wrecked at least one car. One day when he did not show up for work I called the sheriff’s office. Yep, they had him in an Indio jail for felony speeding (excess of 90 miles per hour). They gave him one phone call and he called his wife. No one called me. Some years later (1972) he passed me on the freeway between Banning and Palm Springs. When I tried to catch and wave to him he sped up. I backed off as my speedometer approached 110 miles per hour. When I got to Palm Springs I look him up and called his office. He had burned up his engine and gone to a repair shop.

Jeff Jeffus had a reputation as a charming ladies man. We often traveled together and it seemed that wherever we stopped, he knew a lady there. Once we set up for one day of surveying in Blythe, California. Jeff found several other clients and stayed the week, working. One of the clients, a lady, did not remit payment. So I sued. My attorney, Alvin Fisher advised me Jeff had “taken it out in trade”. Later I also found out that he used my equipment and surveyor’s tag for an unauthorized extra work weekend job. When confronted with this information he declined my offer to “settle it in the alley” and left my employ. I hired Ed Stell, a Party Chief, from the Union of Operating Engineers, Local 12D. The union had tried to sell me on their merits. Ed was the best surveyor I had met. He also tried every trick in the book to organize my shop but quickly realized my position. I could not compete against the desert-based surveyors. Ed stayed several months but when his daughter became sick had to rejoin the ranks to protect his health and pension benefits. My shop, nor I, had any.

Las Vegas began to boom. I connected with a Bill Sugarman there who had a contract with the Showboat Hotel. I drove there, we hit it off and he bragged about drinking me under the table. He said if he could, I might as well just go home. We went bar hopping. The second place we went we had a front row table and Dave Appollon led a group of musicians on the stage. I told Bill a joke I heard when I saw Appollon and his Harmonicats at Chicago ’s State and Lake Theater 30 years previously. He called Dave down from the stage and had me repeat it. With a tear in his eye, Dave Appolon played his violin standing next to me for the rest of that performance. At the next spot on the “strip” I started to get drunk and staggered toward the rest room and realized I might not be able to walk that far. I leaned on a slot machine. It felt comforting and I did not to look cheap so I fed it a silver dollar. It spit out 250 silver dollars and I had to crawl on the floor to pick them up. A couple of people helped me and made sure I got it all. That sobered me somewhat. I stayed at Sugarman’s condo that night. He could not eat the nice breakfast he made so I ate his and mine. He declared me the champ, called Murray Peterson, introduced me, and sent me to Round -Up Realty to meet him. Murray has his chauffeur driven limo take us about town and showed me 140 condo units he had under construction. He gave me a consulting assignment. I went home and began it. The following week I called his office. The conversation went like this.
Me, “Murray Peterson, please.”
Mr. Wise Guy, “You can’t talk to him.”
Me, “Why not? ”
Mr. W.G. “He’s dead” then “Murray burned to death when he turned on the ignition and his boat blew up.”
My trip to Las Vegas cost me a lost weekend and only about $ 5.00 thanks to my bout with the slot machine.

I hired a couple of other good men. One of them, Gil Herrera a dark skinned Indian, had worked for the oldest living surveyor in the area, J. F. “Toots” Davidson. I once had the need and occasion to view some of his 1905 field notes. Gil, a good family man lived in Mias Canyon, several miles due north of Banning, where he and his wife were also employed as caretakers. We stayed friends for years. Other surveyors who worked for me included “Swede” Wing, who let me ride his Harley Davidson motorcycle around Banning.

In 1961 I bought into High Desert Engineering Company in Yucca Valley owned by some engineers in San Diego, Craig, Edwards, Welsch and Bartels. The key man in Yucca Valley, Kenny Weston was a surveyor, as yet not licensed. His dad worked on the crew, as did George Dart. Kenny’s dad was 1/2 Navajo Indian and Kenny was 1/4 Navajo. Kenny and his dad worked hard all week and in their own words, “ran and played all weekend”. Kenny at 6 feet was taller than his dad by a foot. One day I witnessed them fighting and rolling on a bar room floor with dad screaming, “I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch”. The old man whipped him, too. Next Monday they were back at work, happy and smiling.

George Dart had been an oilfield worker at age 14 and a party chief at age 21. He could knock a man across a bar room floor. The following happened when he was in my employ. He and a cowboy he fought in Show Low, Arizona, wrecked Bill Jennings Bar on Deuce of Clubs Avenue and tore the only telephone off the hook. While doing a survey of a complete township in the Painted Desert, George and the crew drove from Navajo, Arizona to Sanders, New Mexico to get the chain saw blades sharpened. After dinner, which customarily included at least a few beers George stepped into the path of a speeding car, which dragged him 300 feet. It broke his right leg and many other bones.

The insurance aspect of George’s incident became part of my education. I had bought a set of business books by mail order, 16 in all, from Hamilton Institutes School of Business. They came with a tutorial and test pamphlets. I studied the first two and boned up on corporations and insurance. When my crew got to Arizona, I thought, A Things are fine, what should I worry about now?” So I called Jack Hill on a Saturday and he advised me that my California Workers Compensation Insurance did not extend to coverage in Arizona. He said he would write on Monday and get it done. I responded with a request to get a binder by telephone at once. On Monday he informed me orally that I had a binder. On Tuesday a car hit George and on Wednesday the Arizona people advised Jack Hill that I had no coverage because they had not received funds to bind the coverage. Jack informed me to that effect and also that because he had informed me orally that I had a binder and George Dart’s hospitalization and Workers Compensation would be fully paid by Jack’s insurer.

Six months later after tremendous inconvenience and great expense George came back to work. Then, in one weekend he “knocked up” his girl friend and his estranged wife. Within a few weeks, his girl friend’s husband sneaked up on him in a bar in Morongo Valley, knocked him to the floor, pounced on him and gouged out both of his eyes. The doctors saved one eye but George lost the other eye. He returned to work as a chainman but had drunk so much beer he suffered from blood in his urine. This too, passed.

One day in 1961, Richard Starling, a young Negro, walked into my office and flashed his high school diploma. Our son, Michael working in our drafting room, had suggested that he do so. Richard, an excellent math student, sought work. After some convincing conversation he went to college and returned in 1963 when I hired him as a surveyor. This created a few problems for a neighbor who had applied for the job and also doubled as a bigot. Richard had a strong body and mind to match. He broke the first two eight pound hammers he used so I bought him a 12 pounder. He manifested a stubborn streak equal to mine and would not proceed on an assignment until convinced of the efficacy of the work plan. He knew when he was right. He always called me Mr. Nosanov and wanted to be called Richard, not Dick or Rich.

One day on a tough, critical phase of a mountain survey, George Dart tried to ascend to a point up a steep hill and fell, breaking the wooden handle on the hand axe fastened to his belt. Richard turned to me and said “Mr. Nosanov, I can make it up there and with the transit. I can set it up and wiggle it on line of the back sights”. He did.

Richard had one handicap, which he cheerfully overcame. As light waned during at the end of the day, his hand signals were not always clearly visible so I asked him to wear white gloves. Some of those surveys were in the desert in the summer. We ate breakfast before dawn to be on the job site at sun-up. One day in Paradise, California, 20 miles east of Desert Hot Springs, the temperature reached 100o F, in the shade at 11 A.M. We often worked from dawn til noon and returned after 4 to finish. By noon the heat waves obscured the image on the instrument’s telescope to where we could not “give line” or read the “level rod”. Occasionally I would rent a motel room for the crew to use the swimming pool and cool down. One night at 5 P.M. it got so hot that we had to wear gloves before we could touch the truck.

One day in 1963, Richard and I alone had 2 surveys to do in Yucaipa, California. As Richard pounded in a stake the bushes in front of us parted and a lady spoke excitedly, “ President Kennedy has just been shot”. She looked down and saw Richard and continued “By a white man”. We finished and went to the next job and as I set up the transit and Richard reconned the site were confronted by the client who acted emotionally distraught and became an obstruction to my work. I deduced he did not want a black man on his property. We left and that night I visited him, told him I did not want his business and returned his retainer fee.

One morning a client and attorney from Covina, who made a major Banning land purchase, stood in my office and made a disparaging remark about Negroes. I responded that with his attitude we could not do business in that my key employees included a Negro, and a Mexican-Indian. He gasped, sat down and apologized. He added, “I was way off base. I am, in fact, part Negro.” We got along fine after that.

Right after I went out of business, Richard was quickly employed by the local telephone company. He came to visit me and during our chat said “Mr. Nosanov, we did more work here in one morning that they do in a week.” In 1974 while I explored a business opportunity in the Bahamas, Richard Starling agreed to become part of the staff that I would take there.

I had other business forays. Lee Moyer and I, together with a Bob Smith, started a Survey, Design, and Construct Company on California Street, in Yucaipa. I ran it as a pure profit center and for 3 months it showed no profit. I invested a minimal amount of money in it, a few hundred dollars, and Lee and Bob put in sweat for future equity. The landlady was in no hurry for rent. Within four months business began to boom, but Lee and Bob had a serious disagreement. When I heard that one of them was looking for the other with a gun, I shut it down, instantly.

George Daic (pronounced “dice”), an architect rented the other half of my building on Ramsey Street. I found it difficult to like him. We ran in similar social circles in Banning. This included a bridge group and Elks’ dances.

About the same time my ophthalmologist informed me that I had chronic wide-angle glaucoma and started me on a prescription that required drops in my eyes 4 times a day. Each application relieved the eye pressure but impaired my vision thus creating a cycle of good sight and bad sight. It irritated my psyche me to the point where my patience became very thin. One night I walked onto the floor of the Elks Lodge. I was an Officer in the Chair of the Lecturing Knight. I heard brother Jim, mispronounce my last name as he greeted me.
I asked him in an irritated tone of voice “What did you say?”
Jim unfolded his 6' 3" frame from his chair and approached me. As he did, I side stepped, grabbed him by his shirt front and using his momentum threw him over my left hip into a pile of chairs, as some the buttons from the front of his shirt clattered to the floor.
His response was “Oh, oh, my wife just bought me this shirt, she will be mad”. The Exalted Ruler’s response was “Mike, you are full of energy tonight”.
Jim took no umbrage at what he acknowledged to be an honest misunderstanding but his wife reported later that the incident did him a world of good and she replaced the buttons, happily.

One night at the Banning Bowl, Bob Shecter, a tall, husky auto mechanic from neighboring Beaumont thought Betty far too cute to keep his hands from. I peeled him off, and flipped him down an alley, for starters. Then I started toward him in a boxing stance as he got up. Steve Nagy, the Manager grabbed me and said “ Mike, we do not allow fighting here”. Bob apologized and we all continued bowling.

One day as a guest of George and his wife I got cranky about their hospitality. I later discussed it with my closest confidant, Jack Hill who advised me to forget it and brought up a few things about George with which he, Jack was unhappy. I decided to not speak to George again and although we attended the same soirees, did not. I “igged him”. One night at an Elk’s dance my friend Bob B., bon vivant and philanderer, advised me that he considered taking his new love, Mary K. a living doll school teacher, to South America. After I explained he would wind up cheating on her, too, he agreed to stay married and home. I had been dancing with Betty other cuties and I asked Mary K. for a dance. While she had my attention George Daic grabbed my arm. Without thinking, as I turned I punched him and knocked him down. Embarrassed at myself, I dragged him into a conference room and he sobbed, “You never even say hello and now you hit me.”
He was right, and for the next year I said “Hello” when I saw him and did not hit him again. In six months, he and his family moved to Hawaii. I probably owe him a ton of apologies but did not become aware until my eye drop prescription changed.

Betty was hard nosed about parties; she and I would summarily leave if vulgarity raised it f---ing head. We walked out of several parties when the jokes or language got rough. Her philosophy is that a woman should be a lady in the parlor.

Bob B, his family and ours remained friends. We went fishing and partied together, then did some business. One day in the 1970's Bob let me know that he had divorced and decided to “switch, (sexual orientation) rather than fight.” I have not seen him since.

CHAPTER 5
Stateside


The day before we entered New York Harbor, the war with Japan ended. The day is known as V. J. Day .We entered the harbor to see flags, bunting, with large banners proclaiming good wishes for “a job well done”. My first meals in New York included steak, ice cream, real milk, and fresh eggs. We were informed that our 30-day furloughs would be extended for an additional 15 days. But I had no money and had borrowed $ 20. So I sold my Hanover Klunz camera for $ 100 to an officer and happily got on the train that would take me to California. I wore my only clothes, my khaki dress uniform and would stay that way during the furlough. When I got home, I found that Betty had saved $1,200 from my allotment checks, poker money I sent home, and her paycheck. Betty worked as a bookkeeper for Mr. Castle in his jewelry store on Brooklyn Avenue, 3 doors west of Soto Street. It was across the street from a restaurant I think I had visited in 1933 during a trip from Chicago, with my mother.

Betty lost a lot of weight from worrying about me. We enjoyed an almost traumatic reunion. Her Aunt Anne put us up for a couple of nights. We still joke about that good old Acme Beer. Later Pop gave me a 14 Kt. gold ring with a cameo cut ruby and a diamond chip. The cameo had a shape like knight and the ring had a lion’s head on one side and the lion’s tail on the other side of the knight. Thirty years later I gave it to my cousin Billy. But, that is part of another story.

Pop had given away all my clothes, and had none of my belongings. When I asked about my motorcycle he said that it was gone. When I asked Betty , she said she knew nothing about it. I figured, what the hell, it was half junk anyhow, and forgot about it for a while. Twenty years later I found out Pop had hit a truck while riding and she had disposed of the wreck. He was not hurt, just shaken up.

Early in the furlough I met up with Jack Yaskiel, who had been the best man Betty’s stepsister Sylvia “dug up” for my wedding. Jack had been a medic in the Wolverine Division, a foot infantry outfit that mopped up behind the armored divisions. My Dad had parted with his Packard. I wanted a car so Jack and I went shopping on Hollywood Boulevard. We found just what I wanted. It was beautiful, a clean, black, 1939 La Salle. I thought, “How much could it cost? My last car cost only $ 95.00.” The salesman quoted $3,000. Jackie became incensed and started for him as if to attack him. I had to pull Jackie away. My Dad and I went shopping and I bought a 1935 green five-window Chevrolet coupe. It looked good but had sloppy pistons and loose connecting rods. He said it would be OK as long as I accelerated slowly and drove no faster than 35 miles per hour.

Betty and I packed up and headed for Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico to start our second honeymoon. We had been married a year but I felt I had spent a lifetime in Europe. I wore my Combat Infantry Badge, Distinguished Unit Citation, European Theater Campaign Ribbon with 3 clusters, Good Conduct ribbon with cluster, and other assorted ribbons which were probably issued to just about one and all. At the border crossing in front of a shack, a guard informed me that the law required us to return that night. After an explanation of where I had been and what I planned the guard took pity on us. I think the uniform helped. The guard let me sign into and out of Mexico and warned me to stay off the streets at night. It was easy to assure him that this certainly was what I had in mind. Travel in Mexico initially confused me. It seemed that every few miles we passed a town named “Escuela”, but all we saw occasionally was a school. (OK, so it my first Mexican experience.)

We rented a room in Ensenada at Brown’s Motel near the beach. Among fond recollections were others; sand fleas. During our one shopping trip Betty bought a solid Mexican sterling silver cigarette case for me. It has a Mexican calendar on the front. We attempted to drive south from Ensenada but soon found ourselves on a two-rut road and soon came to a Mexican Army Camp. We got a mile past it and after seeing nothing but extended desolation returned to Brown’s Motel for the rest of the week.

Rent control in California and lack of construction during the war limited our choice of housing in Los Angeles. I found a nice motel in East Los Angeles. Billy Campbell found me through Betty’s mom. He had been returned to The Zone of the Interior” (Z.I. ed) a few months before V. J. Day. While riding a BMW motorcycle (with an opposed twin engine) he failed to see the back end of a U.S. Army Quartermaster truck. Most of him got home, minus part of a shoulder.

Billy Campbell brought a wife, Cora, with him. He proclaimed that if I was on a second honeymoon, he could have a honeymoon, too and we could do it together, so they moved into the same motel, after he had a persuasive talk with the motel manager. The rent was $3.50 a night. We felt we needed to earn some money. Betty’s stepfather, Arthur, found us each a job at the Angeles Furniture Company lumberyard where he was foreman. Jackie joined us there. It was hot and hard work, unloading boxcars full of hardwood and pine, and then stacking them to specifications. We survived the first two days, working with no shirts. On the second day, the owner, a little old man named Mr. Siskin introduced himself, as did we. In a friendly gesture, he complimented Jackie and pulled a hair from Jackie’s chest. We all quit that evening. Two days later Billy and I worked a day in a cold storage warehouse. It seemed like from the sublime to the ridiculous.

A couple of days later Billy introduced me to a promoter friend of his and we opted for a new line of work that required a little training. After a short sales indoctrination lecture we started. We drove to a neighborhood and walked from house to house, mostly in East Los Angeles. Our spiel would qualify the occupant, who had a service veteran in the family, to purchase a canvass tapestry. We displayed our sample: a foot square tapestry, with a golden fringe, and a sample image from a photograph. We sold the customer a tapestry upon which would be printed a photograph, provided by the customer, of the serviceman in the family. We collected a deposit of $3.00, which we kept as our commission. We turned the photos over to the promoter and within a few days the customer got the product. Within a week or so I found that in a morning I could earn enough to quit for the day. But, Betty had a job in a jewelry store. One Friday, I had saved up a fistful of receipts from a few days and decided to impress her. I walked into the store, waved the receipts, claimed they were from the mornings work and took her out to lunch. This impressed Mr. Kastle so much that he asked me to come to work for him and wrote a letter (in a vain attempt) to get me an early discharge from the Army.

Billy, Cora, Betty and I had good times together. We went to nightclubs, bowling on Sunset Boulevard. As was Billy’s custom he had a few arguments. Once on Sunset Boulevard a car clipped the front bumper of his car as he exited a parking space. Billy had turned in front of it. When he belligerently confronted the driver he demanded, and received, $ 20 payment for repairs, on the spot. At times, Billy’s attitude became contagious. One night while bowling on Olive Street in downtown Los Angeles the pin boy (pins were set manually in those days) took a break. We waited a few minutes and to manifest our impatience and displeasure rolled all the bowling balls we could find down our one lane. This irritated several of the pin boys who then rushed us. As we saw them coming, we suggested to Betty and Cora that they wait near the front door. The pin boys chickened out and Billy and I emerged unscathed, back-to-back, within minutes.
Betty and I rented horses from a stable at Griffith Park and went horseback riding. On one ride we were issued palominos. They went very slowly away from the stable at great urging. They needed no coaxing to get back, though. In this picture the bandages just above Betty’s ankles are on chafed spots from horse’s stirrups. Betty’s cousin Harvey married her stepsister Sylvia. They also went riding with us. We went swimming and body surfing, mostly at Belmont Beach. We went to Tijuana and the racetrack. We were evicted from the motel; the reason stated was there was a time limit. We stayed a little longer, anyhow, but the landlord lectured us and we were forced to leave.

Dad really enjoyed the ladies and joyfully described his conquests or theirs from his point of view. But he liked having a steady lady and found one in Sadie Kemp. Sadie lived near Wilshire Boulevard near the Miracle Mile. She and Aunt Besse seemed to relate. Sadie had a son and a daughter. Sadie’s daughter had a boy friend, a paratrooper. The son Jack, a flying officer who had several medals and almost died twice, first from wounds when his plane had been shot down and later from disease, but survived. The paratrooper got into the war too late to see any action and returned safely. This too became a cause for joy and a reason to celebrate. With Billy Campbell and Cora as guests for a victory and safe return party, Pop took us all to the posh Villanova Supper Club, in West L.A., on Ventura Boulevard. As we were served our soup course I noticed that I had no soupspoon. Glancing at Billy we conspired as if by telepathy. When the waiter came along the aisle between table toward us, Billy handed me his soupspoon; I sipped and returned the spoon to him. The waiter lost it. He threw up his hands and literally ran and got me a spoon. We, of course, were too polite to laugh (in his presence). Another night Pop treated us to Charley Foy’s Supper Club where we sat at a table near Phil Silvers. Phil later became famous TV’s Sergeant Bilko. The entertainment was forgettable but not Billy’s wife, Cora. We almost closed up the place, late that night. She excused herself and upon returning asked “What are those funny things on the wall?” Betty and Sadie went to look and came back laughing. Cora had used the Men’s room.

At the end of my furlough the Army ordered me to return to Fort Mac Arthur in San Pedro, California. Dad, Betty and I made the trip in the Chevrolet coupe. They put me in a train again and shipped me to an Army Base in Myrtle Beach, North Carolina and assigned to push papers.

Chow was regular, as were weekend passes. I learned to play ninepins. One weekend I hitch hiked as far as I could get in a day and night with available funds. That got me as far as Winston-Salem, on a Saturday night, almost sober and almost broke, as usual. I found the nearest Police Station and walked in. I proposed that I spend a night there. They let me sleep on a couch and use their facilities.

When I got back to camp a telegram waited for me. Betty’s mom was concerned about the car sitting in the street in front of the house because the rain might “damage” it. I really wanted to keep it but after a phone call to Betty figured “what the Hell, now I have a mother-in- law.” It was the beginning of a new life, and I wanted it to be peaceful.

In November 1945, soldiers in my “points class” were processed for discharge. I had 55 points, which included time in service, overseas service, combat, and marriage. During my exit interview when asked about complaints, I responded about my breastbone, which had been hurt in training at Camp Cooke. It hurt now and then and specially when I swung a baseball bat or when jolted during horseback riding. A sergeant growled that the Army would be satisfied to keep me at least another six months, in a hospital, while diagnosing my case. I hastily replied that was not necessary, I would live with it. After discharge I was advised to and did file for disability based on my hospitalization and was later awarded a temporary ten percent disability. I shipped via train, Pullman Class, to Norton Air Base in San Bernardino. That was the last time I took a train ride.

On November 17th, 1945 I received my “Ruptured Duck”, (U.S. Serviceman’s discharge pin) and pointed toward the front gate of Norton Air Base, near San Bernardino. I hitched a ride into San Bernardino and spent a night with my Dad, Uncle Sammy and his wife Gary. Next day I hitched a ride to Los Angeles. New clothes were scarce but on November 18th I bought a sport jacket, white shirt and necktie at Zellman’s Clothing Store and started a job in Mr. Kastle’s jewelry store at 2310 East Brooklyn Avenue in East Los Angeles. Within 2 weeks I found a suit and bought it. I took a streetcar to 1st Street in downtown Los Angeles and sold my uniform and the suitcase that contained it to a little old Japanese man, a used clothing dealer. I gave my boots to Arthur, saved my medals, ribbons, underwear and socks and started a new life.

My new civilian life began as a salesman at Kastle’s Jewelry Store in Los Angeles where Betty worked as a bookkeeper. Not long after I want to work at the store I met some very interesting characters. The barber across a street, Harry Leader also advised me to drink a glass of hot water every morning, and that I had a bald spot on the back of my head from wearing a helmet. He offered me a job as a bookie. The job paid twenty dollars today and “all I could eat” (Translation: Whatever I could beg, borrow or steal.) I declined the bookie job and Harry soon found a willing helper. The man he hired had served in combat in the Anti-tank Corps. He lived two doors west of the house where Betty and I lived with Bea and Art. It is not well known but the Anti-tank Corps should be part of history as one of the Army’s biggest mistakes. They were like tin cans as compared too the Kraut’s Tiger tanks. Almost every unit had very high casualties and the Army demobilized the few units that survived. The guy had nightmares and we often heard his screams during the night. One night within 3 years he had a heart attack and died.

At a corner drugstore at Brooklyn and Soto Streets I had a discussion with a dedicated Communist. The man, a pharmacist, informed me that the members of his party would work through the system as long as it was effective to do so. He said that as long as they could get the laws changed the way they wanted to them they would obey them. When that method failed they would do what they had to do to accomplish their aims. He acknowledged that it would take some time to get control of the children's minds the same way the Nazis did. The principal means would be through the school system. Further, the gentleman offered me a membership in the party. That did not interest me but I noted later that this method certainly worked in many other countries as the Russian bloc expanded its influence from 1945 to 1980. In this country, my opinion is that the education of many of our children is also effective in advancing that same cause and similar theories.

Betty and I enjoyed an austere but decent social life that included dinners with friends and went to a few parties and dances. One party we attended had a special guest star, Dagmar, known for her size 44D bust. Betty wore a tight fitted black dress with oriental style slit skirt. On the bosom was a flower. When she danced she moved sensuously. I doubt that anyone even noticed Dagmar that night.


We went out to the Hollywood Strip a few times and once danced one night at the Palladium to the music of Harry James, trumpeter.

In 1946 Betty and I entered into a contract for a new house to be built for less than $200 down, using the G.I, Bill of Rights as a financing mechanism. The 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, 1700 square foot house in Culver City, at $10,800 was a fair price and we planned on raising a family. Sixteen months later the house was not finished, because of delays caused by rising prices for materials and labor during the post-war housing boom. Betty and I began to commit parenthood and Betty got pregnant in October of 1946.

We realized we needed a temporary alternative and in December 1946 borrowed $1,000 and bought a new 18-foot trailer for $1,700. We parked it in an Inglewood, California trailer park. We had good times and my father came and visited often for our pinochle games and to keep Betty company. He also brought goodies like oranges and peanut brittle. Dad took her out for milkshakes. She gained 32 pounds during the pregnancy.

During a visit in San Bernardino, with Uncle Sam, Dad and Uncle Ruby, Sammy, a car showed a green Studebaker sedan to Uncle Ruby. Uncle Ruby did not buy it. I did. I drove that car 150,000 miles replaced the block twice and the upholstery once.

The winter of 1946 Billy and Cora Campbell visited. Billy convinced me to drive up to Vancouver, BC, Canada with them. He said, A the winter is just like here in Southern California”. I asked for and received two weeks of vacation time. Betty, fetus, and I piled into the Studebaker and started north. At San Luis Obispo Billy got too far in front of me to follow him. Instead of proceeding on Highway 101, I missed the sign for U.S. Highway 101 and started north on California Highway 1 as we exited San Louis Obispo. Highway 1 is still a two-lane road that skirts the ocean, in many places on very high cliffs. When we traversed it, one bridge consisting of two planks constituted one of our big thrills (spell that scared). More than 200 miles later we exited south of San Ardos onto 101 and there sat Billy and Cora waiting. He had reversed course looking for me and failing that went on ahead. During one pass by Fort Ord the California Highway Patrol took exception to his speed and cited him. The ticket joined his collection on a garage wall in Vancouver, BC. We had a breakfast in San Ardos. Betty had a serious case of pregnant and she threw up the crackers.

When we got to Oregon, having previously decided to visit the Oregon Caves, we drove to the road at the bottom of the mountain. A road sign and barrier onerously proclaimed “Road Closed; not passable due to Ice and Snow”. It took Campbell and me a few minutes to move it aside and we drove up to the Caves. Billy and Cora disappeared inside while Betty and I sat in the car. She wore a full-length silver fox fur that I had bought her when she told me she was pregnant. She also wore high-heeled shoes. Snow and ice covered the ground. I talked her into at least going into the cave entrance. She flopped just outside the cave and I almost panicked. We got back to the car and waited for Billy and Cora to emerge.

Our first morning in Billy and Cora’s apartment, Cora sat us at the breakfast table and asked if we wanted cereal or eggs. Betty and I looked at each other and decided unanimously that both would be fine. Billy noticed my engine noise and took the car to his shop. He had the engine completely overhauled with cylinders bored, and the bearings re- babbited. The labor “cost” me a bottle of whiskey for his mechanics and the new bearings cost him, and therefore me, the sum of $25. Canadian. Billy threw a party for 40 people at the Cave, a nightclub. In Canada one bought their bottles at a package store. We partied hard.

Then it started to snow and blow. The City of Vancouver began to run low on natural gas. Billy gave me snow chains and Betty and I started home with the chains in the trunk. As we entered Washington State, on I- 5, in the Snoqualmie Mountains Pass I counted 11 cars that had slid off the icy roads. I stopped at a gas station and paid $ 10 to have the chains put on. We got home without incident.

In May of 1947 I walked into the contractor’s office and threatened them with repercussions if my wife gave birth while we lived in a trailer. In June we moved in to our new house at 4323 Corinth Avenue in Culver City and on July 25, 1947 our son Michael, came into this world. Mr. Kastle raised my wages from $ 50 to $75 per week. Dad brought us a dog, Barrymore (he was a handsome dog whom we called Barry). Barry lay under Michael’s baby buggy when in the back yard and guarded him. We knew Barry’s previous owner, Johnny Oliver, an FBI agent with whom Betty, Dad and I went target shooting. Johnny, Dads neighbor in San Bernardino County, had been transferred.

When Mr. Kastle’s prewar employee/manager, Hy Allen, returned from the service, I had his job. We agreed to hold a contest. The best door- to- door salesman would keep his job and the other would leave. The score would be kept on the dollar volume of sales. For two weeks, we both sold house to house. I won. Hy left and opened a business on Olvera Street in downtown L.A.

Betty and I furnished the house in Culver City with a frig, stove, toaster, a box spring and mattress, and a card table. Betty’s Mom and Grandma Bertha contributed money with which we bought the stove and frig. Betty’s Mom gave us an old couch. (It later became a Good-Will reject.) We acquired plates and cutlery. Dad gave us some hand made bookcases and I kept his rifles in them. We ate on an old card table and had 4 old chairs. The hardwood floors remained bare. That was it. I used a closet to load my film roll into a developer tank and to develop prints.

The house made a perfect place to throw a party. One New Year’s Eve the house filled with guests. One of Betty’s cousins, a junk man who struck it rich, came in drunk. He scooped in his hand and fed himself potato salad with out benefit of a plate or cutlery. No one else ate potato salad that night. Betty’s step-dad, Art, Butch, decided he would call Pop who had gone to San Jose, California. I said OK trying to be a good, if not tipsy, host. We sat on the floor in the den. I dialed the phone at one side of the room. Art on the other side yelled “Hi Morrie, wait; I have to take off my shoes”. We waited, he got up to walk over but had to crawl, finally a precious dollar later he finally got to the phone. I drank so many drinks I lost count; the most in my life because if anyone put their drink down, I drank it rather than throw it out. So many people got so drunk, that I wound up driving several of them home the next day in my old Studebaker sedan. I do not remember to this day some of their names.

We made friends of a few neighbors. One of them, Ensminger joined Dad, Betty, and I at target shooting. Ensminger had taught shooting in the Army Air Corps and demonstrated great skill for us with a 45 cal. U. S. Army automatic. Dad brought an Ace Kit, a semi automatic 45-caliber pistol with a 22 caliber interchangeable barrel. He liked to change the .22 to a .45-barrel when no one was looking. When he did that to Betty one day it startled her. When Dad pulled that trick on my cousin Jerry on another day the pistol recoiled, hit him in the middle of the forehead and knocked him down.

At Kastle’s Jewelry as Sales Manager, I hired and managed a crew of house-to-house salesmen who kept me in touch with the street. I became aware of a predominant Latino clientele that favored good merchandise and developed good credit. Aware that I had the G. I. Bill for education, I signed up for night classes at Berlitz School of Languages to learn Spanish. This enhanced my sales and collections but opened another vista for me.

I realized I could learn and after four months made a major decision. Television was coming on the market. I opined that it would be a big seller but Mr. Kastle wanted to stick with jewelry and silverware. He mentioned his pending retirement and a nephew who would take over the store. He had already installed a nephew who could not sell and let him go. I realized I had no future in that store or in the retail business, as I did not even enjoy the work. In 1948 I quit my full time job at Kastle Jewelry Company, worked part time, and went back to college full time, financed mostly by the G.I, Bill of Rights at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles.

I initially tried to enroll as a Mechanical Engineering Major but that school had no room for me and my application could not be processed. I discussed this with a neighbor who had a degree in Civil Engineering (CE) and he advised me to enroll as a CE and switch to Mechanical the next year. I enrolled and soon surmised the following: 1. Ex-airmen were way ahead of me; 2. Their job market waned in the post war years and 3. I had a greater aptitude for and would like Civil Engineering. I did not switch. Most classes were held in old barracks. Grades were issued on a curve. To maintain our Bill of Rights entitlement all grades had to exceed average. The dropout and flunk out rate was high each semester. I studied hard and made a few friends. One of them, Billy G. Stiles and I stayed friends until he died. We often had a nickel to spend for a cup of coffee and time to share and chat. Morton Newman became a friend but it that waned over time. Another, Jorge Sibauste, a Panamanian, came to U.S.C. at the age of 17 and spoke no English but within 3 years earned all “A”s. We remained friends until he remarried in the 1970s. Billy, Mort, and George warrant many paragraphs of memories about them.

I needed additional income so I worked part time. My part time jobs included the jewelry store but Mr. Kastle fired me for not working the Christmas holiday because Professor Brinker required a surveying field trip. I then sold step ladders at the Rose Parade in Pasadena, painted a garage for Betty’s folk and went back to work for Mr. Kastle, strictly on commission. I made collections and sold jewelry house to house. We lived from hand to mouth. We were so poor I could not pay attention. Many of our “friends” igged us. We were so poor we couldn’t even pay attention but we didn’t notice. We had a quest and stubbornly pursued it. At one time my mother-in-law told Betty I should quit school and go to work “like a real man”.

Betty’s Canadian cousin, Dena, decided she would grace our house by her presence and moved in. I came home from work and Betty had put out crackers and cheese as a hors de oeuvre. We deemed that a luxury. After Hello the next thing I heard was A If you were at our house you would be served 57 different pastries”. One day, a door-to-door salesman walked to the front door and as Betty opened the door, started his spiel with “Hi, here is a free wastebasket”. She grabbed it, thanked him, and slammed the door. When I got home and she told me about it, I cracked up. The next day, a door-to-door salesman walked to the front door and Dena opened the door, opened his spiel with “Hi, here is a free wastebasket”. Dena grabbed it and slammed the door. We then owned two wastebaskets.

I arranged for Dena to date Mort Newman .He reported a “very good time” (my words not his), thanks, and goodbye. He would not take her home to Mother. I could not give up and she dated Jack Yaskiel, the best man at my wedding. Jack had become a successful pharmacist. He married her and never forgave me.

Bea and her hubby Art owned a house with a remodeled garage in which resided an old darky who was her friend and tenant. Bea moved her out. My Dad came with my cousin, Eddy Nosanov, whom I paid to help and completely rebuilt the interior and exterior appearance. They installed 3 new windows, kitchen cabinets, and removed and replaced lathe and moldy plaster with gypsum wallboard. They transformed it into a 4 room, 20 feet by 20 feet, 400 square feet dollhouse. We then moved in. One entered the kitchen, went straight to a bedroom, turned left to a second bedroom and then to the bathroom. It had only one exterior door. We paid $ 25 per month rent to Bea and Art.

I found other part time work and in 1949-50 drafted plans for a man whose clients relocated houses from the paths of proposed freeways. Part time work and a full time program at U.S.C. tired me and sometimes clouded my judgment. One day coming home from school I cut in front of a Shell Oil Co. tanker truck. At the next traffic light he evidenced displeasure and I responded with A Go f--k yourself.” He followed me the last few blocks and into the alley next to the house where Betty, Michael and I lived. As I emerged from the car he did so from his truck and walked over to me. The guy stood 6 feet 4 inches tall and weighed over 250. Without a word he punched me. I took off my glasses, laid them on my car and hit him twice and the fight was on. I did a good job of ducking and to get inside, took jabs that did not faze me, but took roundhouse swings on my right shoulder. Each of these knocked me down. He knocked me down three times. He tried to kick me after I went down. Betty held Michael, in her arms and watched. My Dad came out, on the run handed his glasses to Betty. He jumped up and hit the truck driver on the jaw. Right behind Dad came Arthur, opened up a pocketknife. The trucker yelled, “He’s got a knife” and ran down the alley. We chased him around the block and when we got back to the truck I wanted to continue. He had embarrassed but had not hurt me. He did not want to fight anymore. Butch wanted to kill him. The next day my face although unmarked was very sore, my right shoulder, and ego, was bruised. My shoulder turned black and blue. Although I had two loaded pistols in the house, it did not occur to me to shoot the guy.
Arthur Dad

I wanted to keep the house in Culver City and rent it. Bea pressured Betty to sell it and we did for about $ 10,800. We broke even. I did not want to argue.

In the summer of 1950 I applied for a summer job with the U. S. Bureau of Reclamation. I took a test and was hired to work in Sacramento, California. I met the only other hiree for the job, Mamoru (Mo) Kanda, also a U S C student. We bested more than 90 other applicants. Betty and baby Michael joined me in Sacramento. We rented a motel shack with no air conditioning. After a few nights I came home early found them both in the tub so I moved them out. That night we found a room in a boarding house but were evicted during an ugly scene in the middle of the night by tenants with a prior claim. We spent the rest of the night on the floor in the landlady’s hallway. We headed for San Jose the next day and found refuge for Betty and Michael at the house of Aunt Besse, for the summer. Aunt Besse and Uncle Harry Slonaker were gracious and protective. I joined them on weekends. One weekend Betty became pregnant. We returned to the cottage for the fall semester and had to re plan our housing layout and I literally drew up a plan so we would have a place for a crib. Mikey as a tot often sat on the kitchen floor next to Betty and repeatedly assemble and take apart a 4-piece drip coffee pot. Mikey enjoyed Barry.

Betty’s obstetrician, Dr. Danny Woods informed us that his fee would be $ 500. When I told him I would borrow the money from my Endowment Insurance Policy he said, “No, you can pay me after you graduate, there is still some sentiment attached to having babies”.

During those years at U S C we had no idea that we were poor. Pop would visit us and always seemed to have found a “bargain on something” like a bag of oranges or peanut brittle. He was a major part of what little social life we had. Betty joined the Dames Club and got us involved in some social functions. She learned and taught me to play bridge. Goren had just become the new bridge guru. We switched from Friday night poker and craps games to bridge and made some new social contacts. These included Walter and Deena Babchuck.

Betty gave birth to Susan Jean on May 4, 1951. (Aunt Besse said we should her Jose’ >cause that where we conceived her.) Eight days later, Betty and I attended the Senior Prom. I received a degree in Civil Engineering in June 1951. My first paychecks went to pay Dr. Danny Woods for Susan’s birth.

In 1951 I worked a summer at the Arcadia Office of the U.S. Department of the Interior Soils Laboratory. In the fall I found employment at the City of Los Angeles Department of Bridges and Structures.

We moved to an apartment in a one-story house on Winter Street in East Los Angeles. When we moved into the house no pets were allowed. Dad worked on a ranch and Barry developed a potentially fatal taste. He savored live chickens, when he caught them. The rancher said Barry had to leave. Dad liked his job on the ranch, which included installing and maintaining irrigation systems. Dad returned Barry to us. I had no choice but to ask the landlady, Mary Sunshine, to discuss the situation. We met in her living room; Barry lay on the floor and somehow through his soulful eyes communicated his need. Mary allowed us to keep him. One day I returned home from the office to hear the following from Betty. “ Mikey went out play and returned in tears. A neighbor boy punched him. Betty told him, ‘You go out there and hit him back!’ Soon Mikey returned with tears in his eyes. The kid hit him back”.

Dad and I went hunting with Barry who had good instincts but had not been trained as a hunting dog. On one trip we visited a ranch where the people, the Sharps, near Perris, California. The man had made concrete blocks, built a house with them, drilled his own well and with his wife, built a decent life. Their house abutted the Smith Ranch were Dad worked. During a successful rabbit hunt there I picked up an ancient .22 caliber pump gun as a rabbit appeared in a clearing. I fired six times and missed it each time. The rabbit appeared petrified, not knowing which way to turn as bullets whistled past him. Barry broke the rope to which I had tied him. As he ran to the rabbit I stopped firing. Barry ran up to the rabbit and face to face with it appeared to be warning it as the rabbit turned and escaped. Barry did not chase it. Mr. Sharp and Dad laughed at my “poor” marksmanship until they tried to hit something with that old .22. To apologize, Dad bought me a new Sears Roebuck semi automatic .22, which I have as of this writing.

I went to work for the City of Los Angeles, Bridge and Structures Division. I started as a draftsman in Los Angeles City Hall. To earn extra money I taught Mechanics of Materials at East Los Angeles, Junior College for one semester.

Betty bought me my first fishing pole in 1951. Uncle Jack “gave me” a 12-foot long wooden motor boat with a 12-inch draft and a 3 HP Evinrude motor; complete with a one wheel wooden trailer. I had a gallon of brown paint and I painted the boat and trailer brown.

In March 1952, two of the engineers with whom I worked and played softball, Dad and I went to San Felipe, Baja California to go fishing. The two, Don Mauser and Erv Spindel went in one vehicle. Dad and I went in Dad’s pickup truck. Dad built an insulated double wall aluminum cooler. We filled it with dry ice and took it with us. Dad built a pipe rack and atop it we my boat. On the trip there, I fretted about gasoline but we found a Union Oil station each time the gas gauge showed the need. I got razzed about that and suffered some credibility. We got to the beach, set up our camps and bedded down for the night. Dad and I in the truck bed and Don and Irv on the sand where we could all see each other. Other campers also did the same. As we prepared, I noticed tide line detritus higher up than the tide line. I tried to warn them but Irv, a hydraulics specialist scoffed at the idea. At midnight, I awoke to hear people scrambling up from the incoming water. Don and Irv had not wakened and I watched to see when they would, but Dad woke up and yelled. They barely escaped the rising water.

Don’s new boat, at 18 feet long and 40 HP motor, had no trouble going far out to catch fish. Our boat did not compare; we went out but not as far. Although 2 and 3-foot wind waves dwarfed our boat, Dad was happy as a clam at high tide. Not me. He loved boating and camping although he hated fish and did not try to catch any. Each night for three nights, he tore down that little engine, cleaned it and got it ready for the next day. We all went home without fish. We caught some small fish but no totuava. They were not biting. Dad and I bought enough shrimp and dry ice from a local fisherman to fill the cooler.

In 1952 Betty and I bought a 1200 square foot-bedroom house on a corner lot at 9543 Wampler Street in Pico, Rivera. My father provided the down payment, by barter. He donated his equity in a house in San Bernardino. The sellers accepted it. We cut a deal on the realtor’s commission because the transaction was a trade. Not to demean his generosity but Dad was not happy with the San Bernardino house and I wasn’t thrilled with it either. He had made a septic tank from two 55-gallon drums and some pipes and added a leach field. The septic tank plugged up every few months and the smell, when he took off the cover, was so bad he could not stand it. He called me and I drove out each time and shoveled it out. The last time I had to do it was the same afternoon I had finished an 8-hour long State test to become an Engineer in Training. (I cooled it in six hours.)

To save money I commuted to work in a ride pool. I met a few lifelong friends and others. We also made the acquaintance of Betty’s father, Hy and his second family, which includes Johanna, Betty’s half sister. Hy, a tough, rough and tumble character born in Russia claimed to be an anti communist smuggler during the Russian Revolution. He abandoned his wife, Bea and Betty when Betty was but a child. He served a prison term at Joliet, Illinois then built a successful turkey business; buying shipping, and selling. Hy was personable, wanted to get together with his daughter Betty, and had some good stories to tell. He also played a good game of chess, which he learned in Russia and in prison. I never did beat him.

When Mikey and I played softball I pitched and Mikey swung the bat. Barry would stand next to me and get the ball when Mikey hit it. When Mikey missed, Barry would retrieve the ball and return it to me.

Mikey played with a bully named Piscatelli but coped. But Mikey got fed up with another bully, Johnny Davis, and beat him back with flailing fists as the kid went home crying to his mommy

Cousin Bruce lived in nearby Southgate and visited often. We enjoyed barbecues and ping-pong games in the patio on which I had labored on weekends. Dad visited and offered his expert advice during my labors. We often visited Betty’s folks in East L.A. and after they moved to Monterey Park, They adored their grandchildren. We went out occasionally. Our baby sitter included Sherry Streit who on one trip went with us to San Jose to visit Aunt Besse and Uncle Harry. We had an active family life that included Betty’s relatives. Our social life included one Maxine Wallace and some of our old friends. One Halloween we threw a masquerade party. Two people came as TV sets (but they were not plugged in) . The boxes covered their faces. Punchy Edelstein came as a bandit. The party got lubricated and so did he. Punchy ran across the street yelling, “This is a stickup”. Mrs. Davis was no fool. She called the law. Soon our doorbell rang and Betty, dressed as Wee Willie Winky, was summoned to the door. A Deputy Sheriff said, “ Little girl, is your father home.”

She found me and I went to the door, dressed as a pirate with a dagger “sticking through my head”. The sheriff looked at me and asked, “Aren’t you Mike Nosanov? “ When I so affirmed he said “ You’re lucky you gave me a B in your class at East Los Angeles Junior College”. This sheriff later got his degree and engineering license and became Assistant County Engineer of Los Angeles County. He and I had a few laughs over the years on that.

Another incident involving the law embarrassed me. As I exited the front door of the house one morning, I heard a loud noise in the garage. I went to the garage door and tried to open it. The door resisted and I assumed it was someone in there. I went to the front door of the house and told Betty to call the sheriff and watch the garage back door. I got my 38-caliber Smith and Wesson revolver and stationed myself at the front door. Two sheriff’s squad cars rolled up, silently, one on Wampler Street and the other on the side street of our corner house. I quietly explained the situation, brandished my weapon and instructed the sheriffs to force the door open while I covered the intruder. They opened the door to find an empty garage with a broken door spring. We were all relieved but I later realized that it wasn’t my job to charge into the garage with a gun.

I mentioned Maxine Wallace because of the following. When we bought the Wampler Street house, we disposed of waste paper and garbage in a back yard incinerator. When we moved in we had a lot of cartons to burn. Maxine’s rear fence and ours were common. The incinerators and the laundry lines were near the fence. Maxine put out her laundry. Betty lit the incinerator and the Wallaces took exception. When I got home from work I was summoned. Into the back yard I went and there stood Mr. Wallace, a self proclaimed veteran of the U.S. Office of Strategic Services (OSS) about ten feet from his fence, yelling “his head off”. He would not listen to what I was trying to say so I challenged him. He did not approach (advance). Two days later his wife apologized and further, informed me that he had been committed to the Veterans Administration Hospital due to a nervous breakdown. To my knowledge, in several years, he did not return to a normal life.

One day in November as I returned from work, I noticed children looking over our fence. I saw a turkey strutting and gobbling and surmised what happened. I entered the house, got my hugs and kisses and the turkey banged on the kitchen door.
I put Plan A into order and asked, “What’s that”.
“Oh, Dad (Hy), brought us our Thanksgiving turkey. You are going to kill it and clean it.”
“Oh, OK”
I went into the bedroom, took out my .38 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver, got six shells and walked into the kitchen, calmly loading the pistol. Almost immediately I heard “What are you doing?”
Betty heard, “I am going to kill that turkey.”
After more discussion, during which I pointed out “shooting was how I killed things” Betty called her dad. He had to drive over that evening from his big beautiful house in Beverly Hills, slaughter that thing, pluck it, and clean it. And, he never brought me another (bleeping) turkey again.

Hy had a new Cadillac and tried to teach Betty to drive. One day as we turned a corner at Mott Street and Brooklyn Avenue a man stepped into the street to start across. He looked older than the original sin having survived on G-d knows what. I could see Betty had no inclination to stop and yelled, “Stop”. She hit the brakes and Hy, his wife, and I landed on the floor. After we got unshook, she said, “ Well, he wasn’t watching where he was going”. That ended her personalized driving lessons. Betty got her driving lessons later at an Adult Education Class. She also started taking art and painting classes at the same school. Hy, an incorrigible gambler, later lost all he owned. He returned to a life of crime. His second wife left him. He got sick, lost a leg, and died ignominiously of diabetes. First, they buried his leg in a cemetery and then the rest of him.

I took Civil Service examinations at City Hall and progressed in ratings. I passed two State Examinations and became a Registered Civil Engineer. In 1955 I moved to the Department of Building and Safety and then to the Department of Public Works.

Betty gave birth to Vicki in 1955, at Montebello Community Hospital. I started doing outside work. One day as I arrived home from work, Betty spoke to a washing machine repairman. The phone rang as I entered the kitchen. Betty, holding Vicki in her arms, answered it. A co-worker, Johnny Lemons had referred a potential client to me.
Pierre Levin, “ Will you engineer a car wash rack?”
Me, “Sure.”
Pierre, “How much?”
“Hang on a minute.” To the repair man, “How much to fix the washing machine?”
“Ninety dollars.” We did not have $90.
I turned to the phone and said “Mr. Levin, I will do it for $90.”
I engineered my first car wash rack.

We survived financially from payday to pay day. One weekend after it stopped running, I tore down the engine of the Studebaker and replaced the head gasket, internal distributor parts, points and plugs. When I finally wore it out, accompanied by Mike and Barry, I drove it to three dealers in Whittier to sell it. One offered me $ 150 and handed me a check. I said I would sign the pink at his bank where we would cash the check. When we got to the bank, the dealer had to go into the back room. He finally emerged with the cash. Mike, Barry and I walked until we were pooped and actually boarded a bus that took us close to home. Try getting on a bus with a dog today.

I bought a 1949 Ford coupe. I transferred from the Bridge and Structures Division to the Division of Building and Safety. I learned what I wanted there and passed a test to advance from Assistant to Associate Civil Engineer within the City of L.A. I passed an 8-hour examination and in 1955 became a Registered Professional Engineer in the State of California. I bought a 1949 Ford coupe. In my new position at City Hall I drove several hundred miles a week supervising storm drain channel maintenance crews. The job paid for mileage and I bought my first new car, a 1956 Ford Station Wagon.






CHAPTER 5
Stateside


The day before we entered New York Harbor, the war with Japan ended. The day is known as V. J. Day .We entered the harbor to see flags, bunting, with large banners proclaiming good wishes for “a job well done”. My first meals in New York included steak, ice cream, real milk, and fresh eggs. We were informed that our 30-day furloughs would be extended for an additional 15 days. But I had no money and had borrowed $ 20. So I sold my Hanover Klunz camera for $ 100 to an officer and happily got on the train that would take me to California. I wore my only clothes, my khaki dress uniform and would stay that way during the furlough. When I got home, I found that Betty had saved $1,200 from my allotment checks, poker money I sent home, and her paycheck. Betty worked as a bookkeeper for Mr. Castle in his jewelry store on Brooklyn Avenue, 3 doors west of Soto Street. It was across the street from a restaurant I think I had visited in 1933 during a trip from Chicago, with my mother.

Betty lost a lot of weight from worrying about me. We enjoyed an almost traumatic reunion. Her Aunt Anne put us up for a couple of nights. We still joke about that good old Acme Beer. Later Pop gave me a 14 Kt. gold ring with a cameo cut ruby and a diamond chip. The cameo had a shape like knight and the ring had a lion’s head on one side and the lion’s tail on the other side of the knight. Thirty years later I gave it to my cousin Billy. But, that is part of another story.

Pop had given away all my clothes, and had none of my belongings. When I asked about my motorcycle he said that it was gone. When I asked Betty , she said she knew nothing about it. I figured, what the hell, it was half junk anyhow, and forgot about it for a while. Twenty years later I found out Pop had hit a truck while riding and she had disposed of the wreck. He was not hurt, just shaken up.

Early in the furlough I met up with Jack Yaskiel, who had been the best man Betty’s stepsister Sylvia “dug up” for my wedding. Jack had been a medic in the Wolverine Division, a foot infantry outfit that mopped up behind the armored divisions. My Dad had parted with his Packard. I wanted a car so Jack and I went shopping on Hollywood Boulevard. We found just what I wanted. It was beautiful, a clean, black, 1939 La Salle. I thought, “How much could it cost? My last car cost only $ 95.00.” The salesman quoted $3,000. Jackie became incensed and started for him as if to attack him. I had to pull Jackie away. My Dad and I went shopping and I bought a 1935 green five-window Chevrolet coupe. It looked good but had sloppy pistons and loose connecting rods. He said it would be OK as long as I accelerated slowly and drove no faster than 35 miles per hour.

Betty and I packed up and headed for Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico to start our second honeymoon. We had been married a year but I felt I had spent a lifetime in Europe. I wore my Combat Infantry Badge, Distinguished Unit Citation, European Theater Campaign Ribbon with 3 clusters, Good Conduct ribbon with cluster, and other assorted ribbons which were probably issued to just about one and all. At the border crossing in front of a shack, a guard informed me that the law required us to return that night. After an explanation of where I had been and what I planned the guard took pity on us. I think the uniform helped. The guard let me sign into and out of Mexico and warned me to stay off the streets at night. It was easy to assure him that this certainly was what I had in mind. Travel in Mexico initially confused me. It seemed that every few miles we passed a town named “Escuela”, but all we saw occasionally was a school. (OK, so it my first Mexican experience.)

We rented a room in Ensenada at Brown’s Motel near the beach. Among fond recollections were others; sand fleas. During our one shopping trip Betty bought a solid Mexican sterling silver cigarette case for me. It has a Mexican calendar on the front. We attempted to drive south from Ensenada but soon found ourselves on a two-rut road and soon came to a Mexican Army Camp. We got a mile past it and after seeing nothing but extended desolation returned to Brown’s Motel for the rest of the week.

Rent control in California and lack of construction during the war limited our choice of housing in Los Angeles. I found a nice motel in East Los Angeles. Billy Campbell found me through Betty’s mom. He had been returned to The Zone of the Interior” (Z.I. ed) a few months before V. J. Day. While riding a BMW motorcycle (with an opposed twin engine) he failed to see the back end of a U.S. Army Quartermaster truck. Most of him got home, minus part of a shoulder.

Billy Campbell brought a wife, Cora, with him. He proclaimed that if I was on a second honeymoon, he could have a honeymoon, too and we could do it together, so they moved into the same motel, after he had a persuasive talk with the motel manager. The rent was $3.50 a night. We felt we needed to earn some money. Betty’s stepfather, Arthur, found us each a job at the Angeles Furniture Company lumberyard where he was foreman. Jackie joined us there. It was hot and hard work, unloading boxcars full of hardwood and pine, and then stacking them to specifications. We survived the first two days, working with no shirts. On the second day, the owner, a little old man named Mr. Siskin introduced himself, as did we. In a friendly gesture, he complimented Jackie and pulled a hair from Jackie’s chest. We all quit that evening. Two days later Billy and I worked a day in a cold storage warehouse. It seemed like from the sublime to the ridiculous.

A couple of days later Billy introduced me to a promoter friend of his and we opted for a new line of work that required a little training. After a short sales indoctrination lecture we started. We drove to a neighborhood and walked from house to house, mostly in East Los Angeles. Our spiel would qualify the occupant, who had a service veteran in the family, to purchase a canvass tapestry. We displayed our sample: a foot square tapestry, with a golden fringe, and a sample image from a photograph. We sold the customer a tapestry upon which would be printed a photograph, provided by the customer, of the serviceman in the family. We collected a deposit of $3.00, which we kept as our commission. We turned the photos over to the promoter and within a few days the customer got the product. Within a week or so I found that in a morning I could earn enough to quit for the day. But, Betty had a job in a jewelry store. One Friday, I had saved up a fistful of receipts from a few days and decided to impress her. I walked into the store, waved the receipts, claimed they were from the mornings work and took her out to lunch. This impressed Mr. Kastle so much that he asked me to come to work for him and wrote a letter (in a vain attempt) to get me an early discharge from the Army.

Billy, Cora, Betty and I had good times together. We went to nightclubs, bowling on Sunset Boulevard. As was Billy’s custom he had a few arguments. Once on Sunset Boulevard a car clipped the front bumper of his car as he exited a parking space. Billy had turned in front of it. When he belligerently confronted the driver he demanded, and received, $ 20 payment for repairs, on the spot. At times, Billy’s attitude became contagious. One night while bowling on Olive Street in downtown Los Angeles the pin boy (pins were set manually in those days) took a break. We waited a few minutes and to manifest our impatience and displeasure rolled all the bowling balls we could find down our one lane. This irritated several of the pin boys who then rushed us. As we saw them coming, we suggested to Betty and Cora that they wait near the front door. The pin boys chickened out and Billy and I emerged unscathed, back-to-back, within minutes.
Betty and I rented horses from a stable at Griffith Park and went horseback riding. On one ride we were issued palominos. They went very slowly away from the stable at great urging. They needed no coaxing to get back, though. In this picture the bandages just above Betty’s ankles are on chafed spots from horse’s stirrups. Betty’s cousin Harvey married her stepsister Sylvia. They also went riding with us. We went swimming and body surfing, mostly at Belmont Beach. We went to Tijuana and the racetrack. We were evicted from the motel; the reason stated was there was a time limit. We stayed a little longer, anyhow, but the landlord lectured us and we were forced to leave.

Dad really enjoyed the ladies and joyfully described his conquests or theirs from his point of view. But he liked having a steady lady and found one in Sadie Kemp. Sadie lived near Wilshire Boulevard near the Miracle Mile. She and Aunt Besse seemed to relate. Sadie had a son and a daughter. Sadie’s daughter had a boy friend, a paratrooper. The son Jack, a flying officer who had several medals and almost died twice, first from wounds when his plane had been shot down and later from disease, but survived. The paratrooper got into the war too late to see any action and returned safely. This too became a cause for joy and a reason to celebrate. With Billy Campbell and Cora as guests for a victory and safe return party, Pop took us all to the posh Villanova Supper Club, in West L.A., on Ventura Boulevard. As we were served our soup course I noticed that I had no soupspoon. Glancing at Billy we conspired as if by telepathy. When the waiter came along the aisle between table toward us, Billy handed me his soupspoon; I sipped and returned the spoon to him. The waiter lost it. He threw up his hands and literally ran and got me a spoon. We, of course, were too polite to laugh (in his presence). Another night Pop treated us to Charley Foy’s Supper Club where we sat at a table near Phil Silvers. Phil later became famous TV’s Sergeant Bilko. The entertainment was forgettable but not Billy’s wife, Cora. We almost closed up the place, late that night. She excused herself and upon returning asked “What are those funny things on the wall?” Betty and Sadie went to look and came back laughing. Cora had used the Men’s room.

At the end of my furlough the Army ordered me to return to Fort Mac Arthur in San Pedro, California. Dad, Betty and I made the trip in the Chevrolet coupe. They put me in a train again and shipped me to an Army Base in Myrtle Beach, North Carolina and assigned to push papers.

Chow was regular, as were weekend passes. I learned to play ninepins. One weekend I hitch hiked as far as I could get in a day and night with available funds. That got me as far as Winston-Salem, on a Saturday night, almost sober and almost broke, as usual. I found the nearest Police Station and walked in. I proposed that I spend a night there. They let me sleep on a couch and use their facilities.

When I got back to camp a telegram waited for me. Betty’s mom was concerned about the car sitting in the street in front of the house because the rain might “damage” it. I really wanted to keep it but after a phone call to Betty figured “what the Hell, now I have a mother-in- law.” It was the beginning of a new life, and I wanted it to be peaceful.

In November 1945, soldiers in my “points class” were processed for discharge. I had 55 points, which included time in service, overseas service, combat, and marriage. During my exit interview when asked about complaints, I responded about my breastbone, which had been hurt in training at Camp Cooke. It hurt now and then and specially when I swung a baseball bat or when jolted during horseback riding. A sergeant growled that the Army would be satisfied to keep me at least another six months, in a hospital, while diagnosing my case. I hastily replied that was not necessary, I would live with it. After discharge I was advised to and did file for disability based on my hospitalization and was later awarded a temporary ten percent disability. I shipped via train, Pullman Class, to Norton Air Base in San Bernardino. That was the last time I took a train ride.

On November 17th, 1945 I received my “Ruptured Duck”, (U.S. Serviceman’s discharge pin) and pointed toward the front gate of Norton Air Base, near San Bernardino. I hitched a ride into San Bernardino and spent a night with my Dad, Uncle Sammy and his wife Gary. Next day I hitched a ride to Los Angeles. New clothes were scarce but on November 18th I bought a sport jacket, white shirt and necktie at Zellman’s Clothing Store and started a job in Mr. Kastle’s jewelry store at 2310 East Brooklyn Avenue in East Los Angeles. Within 2 weeks I found a suit and bought it. I took a streetcar to 1st Street in downtown Los Angeles and sold my uniform and the suitcase that contained it to a little old Japanese man, a used clothing dealer. I gave my boots to Arthur, saved my medals, ribbons, underwear and socks and started a new life.

My new civilian life began as a salesman at Kastle’s Jewelry Store in Los Angeles where Betty worked as a bookkeeper. Not long after I want to work at the store I met some very interesting characters. The barber across a street, Harry Leader also advised me to drink a glass of hot water every morning, and that I had a bald spot on the back of my head from wearing a helmet. He offered me a job as a bookie. The job paid twenty dollars today and “all I could eat” (Translation: Whatever I could beg, borrow or steal.) I declined the bookie job and Harry soon found a willing helper. The man he hired had served in combat in the Anti-tank Corps. He lived two doors west of the house where Betty and I lived with Bea and Art. It is not well known but the Anti-tank Corps should be part of history as one of the Army’s biggest mistakes. They were like tin cans as compared too the Kraut’s Tiger tanks. Almost every unit had very high casualties and the Army demobilized the few units that survived. The guy had nightmares and we often heard his screams during the night. One night within 3 years he had a heart attack and died.

At a corner drugstore at Brooklyn and Soto Streets I had a discussion with a dedicated Communist. The man, a pharmacist, informed me that the members of his party would work through the system as long as it was effective to do so. He said that as long as they could get the laws changed the way they wanted to them they would obey them. When that method failed they would do what they had to do to accomplish their aims. He acknowledged that it would take some time to get control of the children's minds the same way the Nazis did. The principal means would be through the school system. Further, the gentleman offered me a membership in the party. That did not interest me but I noted later that this method certainly worked in many other countries as the Russian bloc expanded its influence from 1945 to 1980. In this country, my opinion is that the education of many of our children is also effective in advancing that same cause and similar theories.

Betty and I enjoyed an austere but decent social life that included dinners with friends and went to a few parties and dances. One party we attended had a special guest star, Dagmar, known for her size 44D bust. Betty wore a tight fitted black dress with oriental style slit skirt. On the bosom was a flower. When she danced she moved sensuously. I doubt that anyone even noticed Dagmar that night.


We went out to the Hollywood Strip a few times and once danced one night at the Palladium to the music of Harry James, trumpeter.

In 1946 Betty and I entered into a contract for a new house to be built for less than $200 down, using the G.I, Bill of Rights as a financing mechanism. The 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, 1700 square foot house in Culver City, at $10,800 was a fair price and we planned on raising a family. Sixteen months later the house was not finished, because of delays caused by rising prices for materials and labor during the post-war housing boom. Betty and I began to commit parenthood and Betty got pregnant in October of 1946.

We realized we needed a temporary alternative and in December 1946 borrowed $1,000 and bought a new 18-foot trailer for $1,700. We parked it in an Inglewood, California trailer park. We had good times and my father came and visited often for our pinochle games and to keep Betty company. He also brought goodies like oranges and peanut brittle. Dad took her out for milkshakes. She gained 32 pounds during the pregnancy.

During a visit in San Bernardino, with Uncle Sam, Dad and Uncle Ruby, Sammy, a car showed a green Studebaker sedan to Uncle Ruby. Uncle Ruby did not buy it. I did. I drove that car 150,000 miles replaced the block twice and the upholstery once.

The winter of 1946 Billy and Cora Campbell visited. Billy convinced me to drive up to Vancouver, BC, Canada with them. He said, A the winter is just like here in Southern California”. I asked for and received two weeks of vacation time. Betty, fetus, and I piled into the Studebaker and started north. At San Luis Obispo Billy got too far in front of me to follow him. Instead of proceeding on Highway 101, I missed the sign for U.S. Highway 101 and started north on California Highway 1 as we exited San Louis Obispo. Highway 1 is still a two-lane road that skirts the ocean, in many places on very high cliffs. When we traversed it, one bridge consisting of two planks constituted one of our big thrills (spell that scared). More than 200 miles later we exited south of San Ardos onto 101 and there sat Billy and Cora waiting. He had reversed course looking for me and failing that went on ahead. During one pass by Fort Ord the California Highway Patrol took exception to his speed and cited him. The ticket joined his collection on a garage wall in Vancouver, BC. We had a breakfast in San Ardos. Betty had a serious case of pregnant and she threw up the crackers.

When we got to Oregon, having previously decided to visit the Oregon Caves, we drove to the road at the bottom of the mountain. A road sign and barrier onerously proclaimed “Road Closed; not passable due to Ice and Snow”. It took Campbell and me a few minutes to move it aside and we drove up to the Caves. Billy and Cora disappeared inside while Betty and I sat in the car. She wore a full-length silver fox fur that I had bought her when she told me she was pregnant. She also wore high-heeled shoes. Snow and ice covered the ground. I talked her into at least going into the cave entrance. She flopped just outside the cave and I almost panicked. We got back to the car and waited for Billy and Cora to emerge.

Our first morning in Billy and Cora’s apartment, Cora sat us at the breakfast table and asked if we wanted cereal or eggs. Betty and I looked at each other and decided unanimously that both would be fine. Billy noticed my engine noise and took the car to his shop. He had the engine completely overhauled with cylinders bored, and the bearings re- babbited. The labor “cost” me a bottle of whiskey for his mechanics and the new bearings cost him, and therefore me, the sum of $25. Canadian. Billy threw a party for 40 people at the Cave, a nightclub. In Canada one bought their bottles at a package store. We partied hard.

Then it started to snow and blow. The City of Vancouver began to run low on natural gas. Billy gave me snow chains and Betty and I started home with the chains in the trunk. As we entered Washington State, on I- 5, in the Snoqualmie Mountains Pass I counted 11 cars that had slid off the icy roads. I stopped at a gas station and paid $ 10 to have the chains put on. We got home without incident.

In May of 1947 I walked into the contractor’s office and threatened them with repercussions if my wife gave birth while we lived in a trailer. In June we moved in to our new house at 4323 Corinth Avenue in Culver City and on July 25, 1947 our son Michael, came into this world. Mr. Kastle raised my wages from $ 50 to $75 per week. Dad brought us a dog, Barrymore (he was a handsome dog whom we called Barry). Barry lay under Michael’s baby buggy when in the back yard and guarded him. We knew Barry’s previous owner, Johnny Oliver, an FBI agent with whom Betty, Dad and I went target shooting. Johnny, Dads neighbor in San Bernardino County, had been transferred.

When Mr. Kastle’s prewar employee/manager, Hy Allen, returned from the service, I had his job. We agreed to hold a contest. The best door- to- door salesman would keep his job and the other would leave. The score would be kept on the dollar volume of sales. For two weeks, we both sold house to house. I won. Hy left and opened a business on Olvera Street in downtown L.A.

Betty and I furnished the house in Culver City with a frig, stove, toaster, a box spring and mattress, and a card table. Betty’s Mom and Grandma Bertha contributed money with which we bought the stove and frig. Betty’s Mom gave us an old couch. (It later became a Good-Will reject.) We acquired plates and cutlery. Dad gave us some hand made bookcases and I kept his rifles in them. We ate on an old card table and had 4 old chairs. The hardwood floors remained bare. That was it. I used a closet to load my film roll into a developer tank and to develop prints.

The house made a perfect place to throw a party. One New Year’s Eve the house filled with guests. One of Betty’s cousins, a junk man who struck it rich, came in drunk. He scooped in his hand and fed himself potato salad with out benefit of a plate or cutlery. No one else ate potato salad that night. Betty’s step-dad, Art, Butch, decided he would call Pop who had gone to San Jose, California. I said OK trying to be a good, if not tipsy, host. We sat on the floor in the den. I dialed the phone at one side of the room. Art on the other side yelled “Hi Morrie, wait; I have to take off my shoes”. We waited, he got up to walk over but had to crawl, finally a precious dollar later he finally got to the phone. I drank so many drinks I lost count; the most in my life because if anyone put their drink down, I drank it rather than throw it out. So many people got so drunk, that I wound up driving several of them home the next day in my old Studebaker sedan. I do not remember to this day some of their names.

We made friends of a few neighbors. One of them, Ensminger joined Dad, Betty, and I at target shooting. Ensminger had taught shooting in the Army Air Corps and demonstrated great skill for us with a 45 cal. U. S. Army automatic. Dad brought an Ace Kit, a semi automatic 45-caliber pistol with a 22 caliber interchangeable barrel. He liked to change the .22 to a .45-barrel when no one was looking. When he did that to Betty one day it startled her. When Dad pulled that trick on my cousin Jerry on another day the pistol recoiled, hit him in the middle of the forehead and knocked him down.

At Kastle’s Jewelry as Sales Manager, I hired and managed a crew of house-to-house salesmen who kept me in touch with the street. I became aware of a predominant Latino clientele that favored good merchandise and developed good credit. Aware that I had the G. I. Bill for education, I signed up for night classes at Berlitz School of Languages to learn Spanish. This enhanced my sales and collections but opened another vista for me.

I realized I could learn and after four months made a major decision. Television was coming on the market. I opined that it would be a big seller but Mr. Kastle wanted to stick with jewelry and silverware. He mentioned his pending retirement and a nephew who would take over the store. He had already installed a nephew who could not sell and let him go. I realized I had no future in that store or in the retail business, as I did not even enjoy the work. In 1948 I quit my full time job at Kastle Jewelry Company, worked part time, and went back to college full time, financed mostly by the G.I, Bill of Rights at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles.

I initially tried to enroll as a Mechanical Engineering Major but that school had no room for me and my application could not be processed. I discussed this with a neighbor who had a degree in Civil Engineering (CE) and he advised me to enroll as a CE and switch to Mechanical the next year. I enrolled and soon surmised the following: 1. Ex-airmen were way ahead of me; 2. Their job market waned in the post war years and 3. I had a greater aptitude for and would like Civil Engineering. I did not switch. Most classes were held in old barracks. Grades were issued on a curve. To maintain our Bill of Rights entitlement all grades had to exceed average. The dropout and flunk out rate was high each semester. I studied hard and made a few friends. One of them, Billy G. Stiles and I stayed friends until he died. We often had a nickel to spend for a cup of coffee and time to share and chat. Morton Newman became a friend but it that waned over time. Another, Jorge Sibauste, a Panamanian, came to U.S.C. at the age of 17 and spoke no English but within 3 years earned all “A”s. We remained friends until he remarried in the 1970s. Billy, Mort, and George warrant many paragraphs of memories about them.

I needed additional income so I worked part time. My part time jobs included the jewelry store but Mr. Kastle fired me for not working the Christmas holiday because Professor Brinker required a surveying field trip. I then sold step ladders at the Rose Parade in Pasadena, painted a garage for Betty’s folk and went back to work for Mr. Kastle, strictly on commission. I made collections and sold jewelry house to house. We lived from hand to mouth. We were so poor I could not pay attention. Many of our “friends” igged us. We were so poor we couldn’t even pay attention but we didn’t notice. We had a quest and stubbornly pursued it. At one time my mother-in-law told Betty I should quit school and go to work “like a real man”.

Betty’s Canadian cousin, Dena, decided she would grace our house by her presence and moved in. I came home from work and Betty had put out crackers and cheese as a hors de oeuvre. We deemed that a luxury. After Hello the next thing I heard was A If you were at our house you would be served 57 different pastries”. One day, a door-to-door salesman walked to the front door and as Betty opened the door, started his spiel with “Hi, here is a free wastebasket”. She grabbed it, thanked him, and slammed the door. When I got home and she told me about it, I cracked up. The next day, a door-to-door salesman walked to the front door and Dena opened the door, opened his spiel with “Hi, here is a free wastebasket”. Dena grabbed it and slammed the door. We then owned two wastebaskets.

I arranged for Dena to date Mort Newman .He reported a “very good time” (my words not his), thanks, and goodbye. He would not take her home to Mother. I could not give up and she dated Jack Yaskiel, the best man at my wedding. Jack had become a successful pharmacist. He married her and never forgave me.

Bea and her hubby Art owned a house with a remodeled garage in which resided an old darky who was her friend and tenant. Bea moved her out. My Dad came with my cousin, Eddy Nosanov, whom I paid to help and completely rebuilt the interior and exterior appearance. They installed 3 new windows, kitchen cabinets, and removed and replaced lathe and moldy plaster with gypsum wallboard. They transformed it into a 4 room, 20 feet by 20 feet, 400 square feet dollhouse. We then moved in. One entered the kitchen, went straight to a bedroom, turned left to a second bedroom and then to the bathroom. It had only one exterior door. We paid $ 25 per month rent to Bea and Art.

I found other part time work and in 1949-50 drafted plans for a man whose clients relocated houses from the paths of proposed freeways. Part time work and a full time program at U.S.C. tired me and sometimes clouded my judgment. One day coming home from school I cut in front of a Shell Oil Co. tanker truck. At the next traffic light he evidenced displeasure and I responded with A Go f--k yourself.” He followed me the last few blocks and into the alley next to the house where Betty, Michael and I lived. As I emerged from the car he did so from his truck and walked over to me. The guy stood 6 feet 4 inches tall and weighed over 250. Without a word he punched me. I took off my glasses, laid them on my car and hit him twice and the fight was on. I did a good job of ducking and to get inside, took jabs that did not faze me, but took roundhouse swings on my right shoulder. Each of these knocked me down. He knocked me down three times. He tried to kick me after I went down. Betty held Michael, in her arms and watched. My Dad came out, on the run handed his glasses to Betty. He jumped up and hit the truck driver on the jaw. Right behind Dad came Arthur, opened up a pocketknife. The trucker yelled, “He’s got a knife” and ran down the alley. We chased him around the block and when we got back to the truck I wanted to continue. He had embarrassed but had not hurt me. He did not want to fight anymore. Butch wanted to kill him. The next day my face although unmarked was very sore, my right shoulder, and ego, was bruised. My shoulder turned black and blue. Although I had two loaded pistols in the house, it did not occur to me to shoot the guy.
Arthur Dad

I wanted to keep the house in Culver City and rent it. Bea pressured Betty to sell it and we did for about $ 10,800. We broke even. I did not want to argue.

In the summer of 1950 I applied for a summer job with the U. S. Bureau of Reclamation. I took a test and was hired to work in Sacramento, California. I met the only other hiree for the job, Mamoru (Mo) Kanda, also a U S C student. We bested more than 90 other applicants. Betty and baby Michael joined me in Sacramento. We rented a motel shack with no air conditioning. After a few nights I came home early found them both in the tub so I moved them out. That night we found a room in a boarding house but were evicted during an ugly scene in the middle of the night by tenants with a prior claim. We spent the rest of the night on the floor in the landlady’s hallway. We headed for San Jose the next day and found refuge for Betty and Michael at the house of Aunt Besse, for the summer. Aunt Besse and Uncle Harry Slonaker were gracious and protective. I joined them on weekends. One weekend Betty became pregnant. We returned to the cottage for the fall semester and had to re plan our housing layout and I literally drew up a plan so we would have a place for a crib. Mikey as a tot often sat on the kitchen floor next to Betty and repeatedly assemble and take apart a 4-piece drip coffee pot. Mikey enjoyed Barry.

Betty’s obstetrician, Dr. Danny Woods informed us that his fee would be $ 500. When I told him I would borrow the money from my Endowment Insurance Policy he said, “No, you can pay me after you graduate, there is still some sentiment attached to having babies”.

During those years at U S C we had no idea that we were poor. Pop would visit us and always seemed to have found a “bargain on something” like a bag of oranges or peanut brittle. He was a major part of what little social life we had. Betty joined the Dames Club and got us involved in some social functions. She learned and taught me to play bridge. Goren had just become the new bridge guru. We switched from Friday night poker and craps games to bridge and made some new social contacts. These included Walter and Deena Babchuck.

Betty gave birth to Susan Jean on May 4, 1951. (Aunt Besse said we should her Jose’ >cause that where we conceived her.) Eight days later, Betty and I attended the Senior Prom. I received a degree in Civil Engineering in June 1951. My first paychecks went to pay Dr. Danny Woods for Susan’s birth.

In 1951 I worked a summer at the Arcadia Office of the U.S. Department of the Interior Soils Laboratory. In the fall I found employment at the City of Los Angeles Department of Bridges and Structures.

We moved to an apartment in a one-story house on Winter Street in East Los Angeles. When we moved into the house no pets were allowed. Dad worked on a ranch and Barry developed a potentially fatal taste. He savored live chickens, when he caught them. The rancher said Barry had to leave. Dad liked his job on the ranch, which included installing and maintaining irrigation systems. Dad returned Barry to us. I had no choice but to ask the landlady, Mary Sunshine, to discuss the situation. We met in her living room; Barry lay on the floor and somehow through his soulful eyes communicated his need. Mary allowed us to keep him. One day I returned home from the office to hear the following from Betty. “ Mikey went out play and returned in tears. A neighbor boy punched him. Betty told him, ‘You go out there and hit him back!’ Soon Mikey returned with tears in his eyes. The kid hit him back”.

Dad and I went hunting with Barry who had good instincts but had not been trained as a hunting dog. On one trip we visited a ranch where the people, the Sharps, near Perris, California. The man had made concrete blocks, built a house with them, drilled his own well and with his wife, built a decent life. Their house abutted the Smith Ranch were Dad worked. During a successful rabbit hunt there I picked up an ancient .22 caliber pump gun as a rabbit appeared in a clearing. I fired six times and missed it each time. The rabbit appeared petrified, not knowing which way to turn as bullets whistled past him. Barry broke the rope to which I had tied him. As he ran to the rabbit I stopped firing. Barry ran up to the rabbit and face to face with it appeared to be warning it as the rabbit turned and escaped. Barry did not chase it. Mr. Sharp and Dad laughed at my “poor” marksmanship until they tried to hit something with that old .22. To apologize, Dad bought me a new Sears Roebuck semi automatic .22, which I have as of this writing.

I went to work for the City of Los Angeles, Bridge and Structures Division. I started as a draftsman in Los Angeles City Hall. To earn extra money I taught Mechanics of Materials at East Los Angeles, Junior College for one semester.

Betty bought me my first fishing pole in 1951. Uncle Jack “gave me” a 12-foot long wooden motor boat with a 12-inch draft and a 3 HP Evinrude motor; complete with a one wheel wooden trailer. I had a gallon of brown paint and I painted the boat and trailer brown.

In March 1952, two of the engineers with whom I worked and played softball, Dad and I went to San Felipe, Baja California to go fishing. The two, Don Mauser and Erv Spindel went in one vehicle. Dad and I went in Dad’s pickup truck. Dad built an insulated double wall aluminum cooler. We filled it with dry ice and took it with us. Dad built a pipe rack and atop it we my boat. On the trip there, I fretted about gasoline but we found a Union Oil station each time the gas gauge showed the need. I got razzed about that and suffered some credibility. We got to the beach, set up our camps and bedded down for the night. Dad and I in the truck bed and Don and Irv on the sand where we could all see each other. Other campers also did the same. As we prepared, I noticed tide line detritus higher up than the tide line. I tried to warn them but Irv, a hydraulics specialist scoffed at the idea. At midnight, I awoke to hear people scrambling up from the incoming water. Don and Irv had not wakened and I watched to see when they would, but Dad woke up and yelled. They barely escaped the rising water.

Don’s new boat, at 18 feet long and 40 HP motor, had no trouble going far out to catch fish. Our boat did not compare; we went out but not as far. Although 2 and 3-foot wind waves dwarfed our boat, Dad was happy as a clam at high tide. Not me. He loved boating and camping although he hated fish and did not try to catch any. Each night for three nights, he tore down that little engine, cleaned it and got it ready for the next day. We all went home without fish. We caught some small fish but no totuava. They were not biting. Dad and I bought enough shrimp and dry ice from a local fisherman to fill the cooler.

In 1952 Betty and I bought a 1200 square foot-bedroom house on a corner lot at 9543 Wampler Street in Pico, Rivera. My father provided the down payment, by barter. He donated his equity in a house in San Bernardino. The sellers accepted it. We cut a deal on the realtor’s commission because the transaction was a trade. Not to demean his generosity but Dad was not happy with the San Bernardino house and I wasn’t thrilled with it either. He had made a septic tank from two 55-gallon drums and some pipes and added a leach field. The septic tank plugged up every few months and the smell, when he took off the cover, was so bad he could not stand it. He called me and I drove out each time and shoveled it out. The last time I had to do it was the same afternoon I had finished an 8-hour long State test to become an Engineer in Training. (I cooled it in six hours.)

To save money I commuted to work in a ride pool. I met a few lifelong friends and others. We also made the acquaintance of Betty’s father, Hy and his second family, which includes Johanna, Betty’s half sister. Hy, a tough, rough and tumble character born in Russia claimed to be an anti communist smuggler during the Russian Revolution. He abandoned his wife, Bea and Betty when Betty was but a child. He served a prison term at Joliet, Illinois then built a successful turkey business; buying shipping, and selling. Hy was personable, wanted to get together with his daughter Betty, and had some good stories to tell. He also played a good game of chess, which he learned in Russia and in prison. I never did beat him.

When Mikey and I played softball I pitched and Mikey swung the bat. Barry would stand next to me and get the ball when Mikey hit it. When Mikey missed, Barry would retrieve the ball and return it to me.

Mikey played with a bully named Piscatelli but coped. But Mikey got fed up with another bully, Johnny Davis, and beat him back with flailing fists as the kid went home crying to his mommy

Cousin Bruce lived in nearby Southgate and visited often. We enjoyed barbecues and ping-pong games in the patio on which I had labored on weekends. Dad visited and offered his expert advice during my labors. We often visited Betty’s folks in East L.A. and after they moved to Monterey Park, They adored their grandchildren. We went out occasionally. Our baby sitter included Sherry Streit who on one trip went with us to San Jose to visit Aunt Besse and Uncle Harry. We had an active family life that included Betty’s relatives. Our social life included one Maxine Wallace and some of our old friends. One Halloween we threw a masquerade party. Two people came as TV sets (but they were not plugged in) . The boxes covered their faces. Punchy Edelstein came as a bandit. The party got lubricated and so did he. Punchy ran across the street yelling, “This is a stickup”. Mrs. Davis was no fool. She called the law. Soon our doorbell rang and Betty, dressed as Wee Willie Winky, was summoned to the door. A Deputy Sheriff said, “ Little girl, is your father home.”

She found me and I went to the door, dressed as a pirate with a dagger “sticking through my head”. The sheriff looked at me and asked, “Aren’t you Mike Nosanov? “ When I so affirmed he said “ You’re lucky you gave me a B in your class at East Los Angeles Junior College”. This sheriff later got his degree and engineering license and became Assistant County Engineer of Los Angeles County. He and I had a few laughs over the years on that.

Another incident involving the law embarrassed me. As I exited the front door of the house one morning, I heard a loud noise in the garage. I went to the garage door and tried to open it. The door resisted and I assumed it was someone in there. I went to the front door of the house and told Betty to call the sheriff and watch the garage back door. I got my 38-caliber Smith and Wesson revolver and stationed myself at the front door. Two sheriff’s squad cars rolled up, silently, one on Wampler Street and the other on the side street of our corner house. I quietly explained the situation, brandished my weapon and instructed the sheriffs to force the door open while I covered the intruder. They opened the door to find an empty garage with a broken door spring. We were all relieved but I later realized that it wasn’t my job to charge into the garage with a gun.

I mentioned Maxine Wallace because of the following. When we bought the Wampler Street house, we disposed of waste paper and garbage in a back yard incinerator. When we moved in we had a lot of cartons to burn. Maxine’s rear fence and ours were common. The incinerators and the laundry lines were near the fence. Maxine put out her laundry. Betty lit the incinerator and the Wallaces took exception. When I got home from work I was summoned. Into the back yard I went and there stood Mr. Wallace, a self proclaimed veteran of the U.S. Office of Strategic Services (OSS) about ten feet from his fence, yelling “his head off”. He would not listen to what I was trying to say so I challenged him. He did not approach (advance). Two days later his wife apologized and further, informed me that he had been committed to the Veterans Administration Hospital due to a nervous breakdown. To my knowledge, in several years, he did not return to a normal life.

One day in November as I returned from work, I noticed children looking over our fence. I saw a turkey strutting and gobbling and surmised what happened. I entered the house, got my hugs and kisses and the turkey banged on the kitchen door.
I put Plan A into order and asked, “What’s that”.
“Oh, Dad (Hy), brought us our Thanksgiving turkey. You are going to kill it and clean it.”
“Oh, OK”
I went into the bedroom, took out my .38 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver, got six shells and walked into the kitchen, calmly loading the pistol. Almost immediately I heard “What are you doing?”
Betty heard, “I am going to kill that turkey.”
After more discussion, during which I pointed out “shooting was how I killed things” Betty called her dad. He had to drive over that evening from his big beautiful house in Beverly Hills, slaughter that thing, pluck it, and clean it. And, he never brought me another (bleeping) turkey again.

Hy had a new Cadillac and tried to teach Betty to drive. One day as we turned a corner at Mott Street and Brooklyn Avenue a man stepped into the street to start across. He looked older than the original sin having survived on G-d knows what. I could see Betty had no inclination to stop and yelled, “Stop”. She hit the brakes and Hy, his wife, and I landed on the floor. After we got unshook, she said, “ Well, he wasn’t watching where he was going”. That ended her personalized driving lessons. Betty got her driving lessons later at an Adult Education Class. She also started taking art and painting classes at the same school. Hy, an incorrigible gambler, later lost all he owned. He returned to a life of crime. His second wife left him. He got sick, lost a leg, and died ignominiously of diabetes. First, they buried his leg in a cemetery and then the rest of him.

I took Civil Service examinations at City Hall and progressed in ratings. I passed two State Examinations and became a Registered Civil Engineer. In 1955 I moved to the Department of Building and Safety and then to the Department of Public Works.

Betty gave birth to Vicki in 1955, at Montebello Community Hospital. I started doing outside work. One day as I arrived home from work, Betty spoke to a washing machine repairman. The phone rang as I entered the kitchen. Betty, holding Vicki in her arms, answered it. A co-worker, Johnny Lemons had referred a potential client to me.
Pierre Levin, “ Will you engineer a car wash rack?”
Me, “Sure.”
Pierre, “How much?”
“Hang on a minute.” To the repair man, “How much to fix the washing machine?”
“Ninety dollars.” We did not have $90.
I turned to the phone and said “Mr. Levin, I will do it for $90.”
I engineered my first car wash rack.

We survived financially from payday to pay day. One weekend after it stopped running, I tore down the engine of the Studebaker and replaced the head gasket, internal distributor parts, points and plugs. When I finally wore it out, accompanied by Mike and Barry, I drove it to three dealers in Whittier to sell it. One offered me $ 150 and handed me a check. I said I would sign the pink at his bank where we would cash the check. When we got to the bank, the dealer had to go into the back room. He finally emerged with the cash. Mike, Barry and I walked until we were pooped and actually boarded a bus that took us close to home. Try getting on a bus with a dog today.

I bought a 1949 Ford coupe. I transferred from the Bridge and Structures Division to the Division of Building and Safety. I learned what I wanted there and passed a test to advance from Assistant to Associate Civil Engineer within the City of L.A. I passed an 8-hour examination and in 1955 became a Registered Professional Engineer in the State of California. I bought a 1949 Ford coupe. In my new position at City Hall I drove several hundred miles a week supervising storm drain channel maintenance crews. The job paid for mileage and I bought my first new car, a 1956 Ford Station Wagon.