My last day at
work was January 15, 1979. I was pleasantly surprised by all of my kids that had
been on an After school sport team. They arranged to use the faculty dining room
at lunchtime to give me a going-away party. I really choked up, damn those kids.
A few weeks later, I was hired by Saxe Realty here in Foster City to sell
houses. I was there for about three months, but spent most of my time at the
tennis courts. Nothing was moving, so they let me go. I was accepted by Trotter
Realty, but again, I enjoyed playing tennis more than trying to make money, so I
quit and let my license lapse.
Come February 2, 1979, the date that I was officially retired, Shari
O'Connor, who taught PE with me, gave me a retirement party, but it turned out
to be a roast at the Elks Club. I guess there were close to 100 teachers there.
Mom and Emily, Pete and Lil Ferris, Kip Lindee, Portia and Alex Hogg, Stan
Junior, Shelley, Christine, Jack, and Lee and Bill Quisenberry all showed up.
Where the hell were Scott and Steven? Just because Scott was 3000 miles away was
no excuse.
Did we ever take a picture of the cake they gave me? Mom always saw that I
had a new warm up suit to teach in, but I hated to give up an old worn and
tattered tennis hat. She finally got rid of it, but there it was on top of the
cake! Surprise, surprise.
For a whole year, after quitting real estate, I had nothing to do with
anything called work. I joined the Indoor Tennis Club on Delaware Street, but it
went bankrupt. A United Airlines Captain was diverting all the enrollment money
into his pocket. We all sued him in Small Claims Court, but nothing came of it.
A few of the guys had his wages attached and got their 500 dollars back, but by
the time you hired a lawyer, it wouldn't be worth it. So eight of us all agreed
to put up 20,000 dollars each and try to buy it from the Jockey Club. No go, the
Jockey Club needed a write-off, so they refused to sell.
Scott was to graduate that summer in Boston, so for the first leg of the
trip, mom and I hopped the Red Eye flight to Chicago to see her sister. We had a
nice visit and then, it was on to Boston. I'll never forget the restaurant he
took us to. It was an "All you can eat" place. They had fresh shrimp,
oysters that you had to crack and eat raw (thanks to Dulcie's dad who knew how
to crack them), and a salad and seafood bar. I've never experienced anything
like it, before or since. Another place he took us to was the "No Name
Restaurant." It was located down on the wharf and the food was delicious.
We went to the top of the John Hancock Building to get an over view of the
city. Then we visited the old ship 'Constitution.' Later that week, Scott was
invited to play tennis at the home of one of the doctors who taught at the
school. The doctor had a house alongside a cliff overlooking the ocean. He'd go
down and bring up his crab trap so we'd have fresh appetizers after playing
tennis on his clay court. His partner was his son, who was a tennis pro, but we
beat them anyway. Come to think of it, the area was called Marble Head. Wow,
what an environment.
Mom and I wanted to see the east coast, so we decided to take a train to
Miami to see my old war buddy, Frank Gazze. We had a three hour layover in New
York City, so we walked a few blocks to the Chrysler Building. From the top, I
got to see the Statue of Liberty, then back onto the train to Miami. I thought
that going by train, I'd get to see a lot of the countryside. Like heck, all we
got to see were trees that were real close to the tracks. All we did was play
backgammon until 10 pm, then climbed into our berth. The next day, Frank met us
and took us to his home in Hollywood, Florida. He had a nice pool, but he had to
check it out for alligators. Sure enough, he had a big 12-incher floating around
in it.
He and Peggy showed us around Miami and the last piece of beachfront that he
owned, then down to Key Largo where we spent a week. He bought some land there
and turned it into a trailer park. He put all the mobile homes up on stilts with
large decks. Key Largo is a narrow key with a road running down the middle, so
that everyone had a good-to-beautiful view of the ocean. It was hot and humid
there in late June, but the swimming and fishing were great. I think that if I
could have played tennis there, we would have bought one of the houses,
especially right on the beach. All of the mobile homes were double or triple
wide, and they were going for only 60,000 dollars.
As I said before, I didn't work the following year, so I joined the Bayside
Indoor Tennis Club. Later on, I started working there part time. I was starting
to get restless, and it really filled the bill.
When mom had her sixtieth birthday in 1982, I telephoned from the club and
told her that my car wouldn't start, and to please come and pick me up. What a
surprise she got when she walked in and there were all her loved ones, plus
relatives and old friends for a surprise birthday party. We had chinese food
coming out of our ears. Remember? For some reason though, we all had to go home
to finish the party. I think the lights went out or something like that.
One of the new members at the club was Jerry Gallud, a flight engineer for
United. After we had played some doubles, he wanted to play me singles. I said
okay, but I'll tell you what I'll do. We'll play to 21 points, like table tennis
and I'll spot you 10 points for 20 dollars. He jumped right on that. I just
barely beat him, 22 points to 20. After he paid me off, I said I'd give him a
chance to get even, only this time I'd spot him 14 points. Back to the courts we
went, but this time he said that we'd only play for 10 dollars. Little did he
know that I'd worked this out to an art form, again beating him 22 to 20. I
guess he thought I was an okay guy, because we've been close friends ever since.
He even bought a house across the street so that he'd have a built in tennis
partner. He learned well; he now beats the pants off me.
One evening I was driving home from the tennis club after having had a few
glasses of wine. I reached over to get some tooth powder to keep my teeth from
falling out and I swerved a little bit too much. A red light immediately lit up
behind me, so I pulled over. I told him that I had just gotten off the courts
and why I had swerved, but he didn't see my racquets. I told him that they were
in the trunk, so he made me open the trunk as he drew his gun out of its
holster. Only then did he believe me. Man, was I sweating!
The next time I got pulled over, I really had had too much to drink after
playing tennis. Old 'John Law' pulled me over on the off-ramp to Hillsdale Blvd.
and made me walk a straight line. I knew that I couldn't pass the test, so I
leaned against the top of the car as I walked the line. I guess he thought that
was really funny, so he told me to leave my car there and run down to the
restaurant and get some coffee. Boy did I run. I actually flew down there and
stayed till I'd had two cups of coffee. From there on out, if I knew I was going
someplace where drinks were being served, I always took mom as a designated
driver. Well almost, except for the time five years earlier. Max and I had been
fishing up in the Sierras. No fish, but a great time. On the way back, I dropped
him off at his house in Concord. We'd had a couple too many and by the time I
reached Walnut Creek, I was sleepy as heck, so I pulled off under a street light
and went to sleep. "John Law" woke me up and phoned Max to come and
get me. I guess I learned how to be convincing from Shelley; she was really
great at talking a policeman out of a ticket.
Do you remember Shelley when you, mom and I went to Angel Island to see Shari
get married? We parked the car in a garage, and when we got back we didn't have
enough money to pay the parking fee. So you had me sit in the back seat as if I
were dead drunk and had spent all the money. While you were arguing with the
guy, cars were lining up behind us and blowing their horns. Finally, the guy
told us to get out of there. A smooth piece of strategy. I didn't raise any
dummies, even though I've never been playing with a full deck myself. Thank
heavens for your mom; she did a beautiful job rearing the family.
After Bayside Tennis Club sold out to Levitz Furniture, I started
substituting in junior high and high school, teaching PE only. This kept
walking-around money in my pocket. I averaged only about three days a month, but
it was much needed bucks.
I started playing tournament tennis in the Senior League. I was 63, so I got
to play guys in the 60 to 64 age bracket. It took me a year before I started
getting by to the second round. I knew I could beat them, but they kept letting
me beat myself. I was serving and hitting harder than they were, but they'd just
keep the ball coming back until I'd hit one into the net or knock it out
completely. It was fun though; all the guys were real nice and friendly.
The Northern California Tennis Tournament circuit started in Eureka, then on
to San Jose, and all of the tennis clubs on the Peninsula. It went as far east
as Reno and south to Fresno. Mom accompanied me on out of town tournaments. Our
favorite was at the San Andreas Tennis Club on Highway 49 between Angels Camp
and Jackson. It was usually a three- to four-day event so we would either sleep
in our GMC 'Jimmy', or in one of the four rooms the club had for rent. It was
located about a mile out of town in the rolling foothills of the Sierras. Every
Friday, all the players would go to the old Black Bart Hotel for dinner; on
Saturday night, the club hosted the dinner. After dinner, we'd tell jokes and
some of the guys would entertain us with their musical ability; then we'd dance
to their jukebox. Love those oldies but goodies.
I finally figured out why I was losing in singles. So after refining my
technique, I'm reaching the quarter and semi finals. In doubles, it was another
story. I always had to play with a different partner, but none that I couldn't
beat in singles. It wasn't until after the Santa Rosa Tournament that I got to
the finals in singles and lost to Ellis Williamson. When I got home that night,
I got three phone calls to team up with better players. I took the first caller,
who was Larry Cook. I should have waited and taken Frank Cornell, but I was
already committed. Nevertheless, Larry and I made a good team. The year we both
turned 65, we always made the semi finals and won a few finals too. Good enough
to be voted the number one doubles team in Northern California, and ranked 17th
nationally.
That same year, I was also playing singles. There were four tournaments where
the temperature was 90 degrees or better. In Sacramento, it hit 104 degrees. I
was sitting on a bench between sets with a bag of ice on top of my head asking
myself if I was trying to kill myself. That morning, I played singles at 8:00,
had to play the second round at 12:00, and then play doubles at 4:00. I decided
to forget the singles. I could play 60 doubles (ages 60 to 64)and 65 doubles
(ages 65 to 69) without endangering myself from heat prostration, so I forgot
the singles. I had played enough single tournaments that year to be ranked
number 7 in Northern California. Those six guys ahead of me deserved to be
there. Two of them had been to Wimbleton, two of them were international
players, and the other two had represented the United States in foreign cup
tournaments. I had beaten only one of them, one time; that was Spencer Kern. At
the beginning of the year, I figured I'd be happy if I made the top ten. So
forget the singles; I haven't played them since 1984 except to give Junior or
Steven a lesson.
There was only one donkey on the circuit that I grew to dislike. Ned
Mansfield! After the third bad call, his wife jumped up and said, "Ned,
that ball was in." She got up and left the building. But what really got me
was that I caught him relaying to the other team my signals to my partner about
whether I was going to poach (run to the partner's side of the net) or not at
the net. Man, I called time and walked back to the fence where he was sitting
and really read him off. I've had to play against him five or six times since
then, and won every time. The last time I played him, we had a hot and heavy
point set match going on. He and his partner had me on the run. Each time I just
barely returned the ball, I'd say Ughhh. On the third Ughhh, he hollered out,
"Stan, stop hollering," right in the middle of the play. I went back
and got the next one and then hollered at him, "Shut up you asshole,"
and won the point and match. All the other matches going on around us stopped
because I hollered so loud. I'm sure they thought they were going to see a fist
fight. They would have too if he'd said another word.
In 1989, I retired from tournament tennis. My partner, Craig Neel, and I won
seven straight tournaments and again ranked Number 1 in Northern California in
the 70 doubles (ages 70 to 74). My other partner, Glenn Chandler, and I were
ranked 3rd in the 65 doubles (ages 65 to 69). You could always "play
down," ie. with a younger age group. Nothing like quitting at the top, but
I could feel that my old legs were starting to give out. Of course, it had
nothing to do with my drinking and smoking. You don't play tennis to get in
shape, you get in shape to play tennis, and I didn't consider that to be my top
priority.
If, when you're retired, you don't take advantage of the free time to travel,
you'll miss a lot in life. We've had no inclination to travel to foreign
countries. There is no other place as interesting as the Western United States.
So it was always a pleasure to visit Max or Scotty in Arizona. We always took a
different route and even took in places that weren't on the map. When Scott
moved to Albuquerque, there were many more places to explore. When he was in
Gallup, it was a pleasure to roam over the Navajo Reservation in search of
petrified wood and to visit the towns of Zuni and El Moro where inscriptions
written in the sand cliffs by Coronado and his party in the early 1500's are
still visible. I even entered a tennis tournament in Sedona, Arizona on one of
our trips. At age 66, I won the 65 singles title and now my name is on a gold
placque embedded in a large sheet of flagstone at the Sedona Racquet Club in
Sedona, Arizona.
Thanks to you kids, we had two beautiful nights at Yosemite to celebrate a
wedding anniversary, and then ten days in Cancun, Mexico. A few years before
that, it was ten days in Maui on our fortieth anniversary. Last year, 1991, the
two weeks you gave us at Eagle Crest near Redmond, Oregon was a real treat. This
year, 1992, we're looking forward to visiting Scott again, but we'll be taking
the long route and visiting first, the Yellowstone National Park and then the
Grand Tetons near Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Then on down to Denver to visit my
niece, Betty Bingham Burnside Moreland. A few days there, then on to visit Scott
and Dulcie for a week.
A few years ago, we went to another 31'er Club reunion in Boulder City. This
is a club whose members lived in Boulder City in 1931 and worked on Boulder Dam
(now called Hoover Dam). Here I get to see all the old friends that I went to
high school with. When we visited Marwood Stout, a friend, he told mom about how
I used to charge the guys a dollar to fix them up with dates. Marwood was very
shy.
In 1988, we went to Las Vegas for my 50th High School Reunion.
That was great. They gave us gold caps and gowns to graduate along with the
class of 1988. Very touching. I was also given an award as the "Outstanding
Athlete of 50 years ago." There was only one guy I really recognized, and
that was my dear friend Joe Kelley whose house I used to sleep in when I
couldn't get a ride back to Boulder City. We have visited them several times
since then. As for the girls, I recognized quite a few of them and vice versa.
|