When I got back from being discharged at Long Beach, I telephoned Arizona State at Flagstaff to see if they had any living quarters for married students. None were available, so I enrolled in the University of California at Santa Barbara.

After completing my enrollment, the counselor said he'd see me in about six weeks. I asked why and he said that with the grades that I had from Arizona, I wouldn't be around very long. At the end of the first quarter, I had all A's and two B's. He really scared me.

We moved to 910 East Haley Street in Santa Barbara, a little one-bedroom cottage just off Milpitas Street. We had to have more room because in January 1946, we expected the birth of our first child. I bought a Model "A" roadster; no top, no spare tire, but it ran great.

When my dad got very sick in September 1945, my mom phoned and told me that she didn't expect him to live very long. I jumped into my Model "A" and went to Modesto to see him. He was in and out of a coma when I got there. Thank heavens he recognized me. The last words he said were "I hope you stay in school". I promised him that I would. Then I returned to Santa Barbara; he died October 1. I didn't go to the funeral because it was the first quarter of school and I was really hitting the books. He was cremated; Stuart, who was still in the Air Force, flew over the desert scattering his ashes as he had asked.

I wanted Rochelle to learn how to drive a car; so after a lot of encouragement, I put her in the driver's seat and held my breath. We were tooling down Highway 101, south of Santa Barbara, doing just fine. I told her to turn at the next crossway, but she kept right on going past it. At the next available crossway, I told her to turn again so we could go back to Santa Barbara. Again, she kept right on going. She finally turned when we got to the next town. When we got back, I made her turn into the driveway to the house; she didn't turn enough and ran into a lemon tree next to the driveway. Boy was she mad at me. When she got out of the car (she was seven months pregnant with Stan Jr.) her pants fell down to her knees. End of the driving lessons for the next four years.

I was getting only 90 dollars an month from my G.I. Bill, so I had to get a side job. The College had an office where the local people could phone in if they had work for any of the students. I took a job mowing lawns. One of my customers was a rich chocolate maker. His lawn was on a steep hill, so I mowed it across rather than up and down. The following week, I was mowing across again when he came out and said, "You mowed it that way last time, mow it up and down this time." I said, "To hell with you, mow it yourself." When I got back to the College, I told them not to send anyone out there again, and they didn't. I then accepted a job doing the books for a gas station and also pumping gas on the weekend.

Stan Jr. was born January 5, 1946 at Cottage Hospital in Santa Barbara. Five pounds, four ounces and with a ruptured navel. I'd have to put a quarter over his navel and tape it down so that when he cried, it wouldn't pop out again.

Your mom was doing everything by the book when it came to raising him. She'd make up his formula and sterilize everything. I came home from lunch one time and found her in tears; she'd been trying to get him to take the bottle for hours. I got a nail and made the holes larger. She'd been making the formula too thick. I was the number one husband around there then.

Emily came down to visit us. She said Stanford looked like a "Pooky Bird" because he was so small and thin. I said "No way, he's a 'Tiger'," and from there on out, I called him "Tiger."

He used to love it when I would balance him on my hand and run down the beach with him. He'd even lift one leg to show off. One time I lost him, but I had a secure hold on his feet and just swung him right back up as if it were part of the act.

I didn't want to stay at Santa Barbara College for four years, so I took a full load in summer school. That way, I could graduate in three. But I was never so busy that I couldn't take advantage of body surfing when we had the big earth swells at the beach. Or if the guys said, "Let's play some volleyball." Your mom didn't participate, but she was always there. It was a great life.

I went out for football in the fall of 1945, but quit after a week. I had the biggest blisters on my feet. Sam Cathcart, who later played for the 49er's, encouraged me to stay on, but financially I really would have been pressed; there would have been no time to pick up a few dollars on the side. That fall, I sold programs at the football games.

I was asked to join a fraternity, but I didn't feel right about my being the only married guy in the group so I declined.

Oops, I forgot. My brother Charles also went out for football. He was doing fine for the first two weeks until the coach told him he had to register in college to play. How about that. He was something else. He lived with us for quite a while before he went back to Modesto to live with mom and dad.

When the College had an intramural Track meet, I signed up for the 100-yard dash. Charles came over and pleaded with your mom not to let that old man run against some of the stars that were on the Track team. Heck, I was only 27 years old, and by entering the race, my sophomore class would pick up 10 points even if I finished last. I ran with a 9.8 second time and finished first. The coach came running over to me after I had set down to rest, then stopped dead in his tracks and said, "What the heck are you doing?" There I was, smoking a cigarette to recuperate. As for Track, I only stayed out long enough to get my picture in the 1946 Yearbook. I did earn letters in Tennis and Swimming. I was the Number 4 tennis player at the college and a diver on the swimming team. In fact, the only diver. In neither case, did I ever attend practice. Too busy trying to make a buck.

My major was Physical Education with a minor in Recreation. I took literally everything they had to offer. Anything in the sports area that I didn't know about, I took classes in that activity. I took gymnastics, fencing, golf, and sailing. I knew that all coaches were asked to coach more than just a major sport. I wanted to be able to coach anything.

The easy subjects were Physiology I and II, Anatomy, Kinesiology and Advanced Animal Physiology. The one subject that gave me a hard time was Nutrition. You had to know the calorie count, fat content, carbohydrates and protein in each piece of food. That was OK, but for the final exam, we had to prepare three balanced meals for a football player, his breakfast, lunch and dinner. I stayed up till 11:30 that night, but I couldn't get it to balance. So to hell with it, I'd change my major and went to bed. Your mom got out of bed and started reading Chapter I. At six o'clock the next morning, she had it balanced and I got an A in the course. How about that!!! Now you know who has the brains in our family.

On July 7, 1947, along came Steven. He too was born at the Cottage Hospital in Santa Barbara. Another major change in our life style was when I bought a washing machine. I had had my fill of washing diapers in a wash tub on an old wash board.

Steven was a chubby little rascal, weighing in at 8 pounds, 2 ounces. He took to the tit like a bear devours honey.

In one of my endeavors to make a buck, I rented a flatbed truck and got six college kids to pick tomatoes at some guy's ranch. After working for about six hours, we were almost through. The owner came by and said that the tomatoes were too ripe, that he didn't want them and he wasn't going to pay us and that we should just throw them in the pig pen. We weren't about to do that, so we started throwing the tomatoes at him. When he left, we had a great tomato fight amongst ourselves, emptied the boxes on the ground and took off. I wish I'd known at the time that I could have sued him.

The old Model "A" finally gave out, so I bought an old Graham. I hadn't had it a month before it got stuck in reverse gear. That still didn't stop me from getting to school on time. I was about two miles from the College, up on the hill; I wasn't about to walk it, so I'd jump in and let the other drivers wonder who that damned driver was. The next week, I bought an old Plymouth coupe.

My last job was at the Log Cabin Steak House picking up and setting tables after the customers were served. Those doggone waiters never did share their tips with me. I started tipping myself for two weeks, before I quit. Working from 5:00 pm to midnight was just too much, and I got tired of skimming off my fair share.

Correction, my last job was tutoring three little boys in athletics that lived in a beautiful home in Montecito. Their dad owned a photography shop downtown and was doing very well. I would teach them how to play all the different sports. The parents loved it. She said that she would make sure that I got to teach in Santa Barbara after I graduated.

Doing this kind of work gave me an idea. What if I rented the school grounds in Montecito during the summer, and had a Summer Camp specializing in sports of all kinds? I got hold of Harry Seigal, a friend of mine at the College, and we worked out a program for the following summer. There was plenty of money around the area, so it would have been financially successful. It didn't come about however; the next summer I was gone.

I had completed all my requirements for the BA and Special Secondary Credential in Physical Education by December 1947. All I had to do was my practice teaching. I could have done it in Santa Barbara, but they could only give me a couple of classes a day. Instead, I accepted an assignment offering a full days work at Roosevelt Junior-Senior High School in Fresno.

In January 1948, we packed up, threw everything in that old Plymouth, and headed for Fresno. When we arrived, I stopped at a gas station to phone the principal and tell him that I was in town and would report to work the following Monday. Great; that would give us time to go on to Modesto, visit mom, and be back on Monday to start my practice teaching. We got all the way to Madera, California before I missed my wallet. I had taken it out to get the principal's phone number, so we turned around and went back. The wallet was gone and so was our last hundred dollars. Nothing else to do but go on to Modesto. Boy we really felt bad. When your mom told your grandmother what had happened, she said, "Rochelle, you could have been in a wreck or something really bad; money can be replaced." And so it was. Winston gave me 75 dollars and when I asked the Red Cross for a loan, they gave me 200 dollars and told me to forget it.

We got a one-bedroom apartment in a housing unit at Hammer Field, a closed down Air Force base. It was the same day I reported to work in Fresno. The boys slept in the bedroom; your mom and I in the front room. And I got a little side job, turning the street lights on in the evening and off in the morning.

Later on, I ended up as the supervisor of the local swimming pool. This is where Steven learned to swim before he could walk. He moved along in the water like a dolphin, up and down, up and down, no arms, just up and down.

All of the people living at Hammer Field were like us, just out of the service. Among our neighbors were Ray and Lorraine McNeil. We became very good friends. With all my great ideas about making money, he used to call me "Hit a Lick Bingham." He's the one who said that a good salesman is the one that's going to make it big financially.

My practice teaching was a major disappointment. There was essentially no instruction going on in the PE Department. I had just arrived full of enthusiasm and anxious to try out my newly acquired teaching skills. I got the message however, that to keep peace in the PE Department, I had better tone down my enthusiasm. I hadn't graduated yet, and the couple that ran the PE Department had to send in a report on my practice teaching accomplishments before I could graduate.

 

I got sick before my six months were up. I guess it was the flu or pneumonia; the doctor couldn't put his finger on it. It was surprising because it was so damn hot. Boy was I glad when it was over, I mean the practice teaching. Anyway, I was so soured by my awful practice teaching experience that I didn't want anything more to do with teaching.

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