2016’s rosy beginning among the flowers in Pasadena

Destination Irvine's float, top, celebrated University of California's 50th year in that city. Honda's 2016 Rose Parade float, left, depicted the fauna and flora of national parks in the U.S. and Japan. (Top photo from Destination Irvine, all others by Ken Palke)

Everything came up roses for my family this New Year’s Day . . . in Pasadena, Calif. More specifically, in the grandstands along Colorado Boulevard at the 127^th Rose Parade.

            As a Destination Irvine sweepstakes winner, I received a free trip for four to the famous floral extravaganza with its gorgeous petal-covered floats, antique cars and wagons, equestrian units, and bold and brassy marching bands. Sons Darrel, 29, and Kevin, 27, were able to join Pam and me for the quick four-day trip from Oregon to southern California. They added some extra zest to the party.

As a life-long Rose Parade buff, I entered the contest on Destination Irvine’s website and was one of 12 winners out of 900 entrants. What a wonderful holiday surprise. I was just a kid my last time at the Rose Parade, so a return visit has been on my bucket list for quite a while.

Destination Irvine is the convention and tourism connection at the Irvine Chamber of Commerce, which sponsored this year’s Rose Parade float “Innovation Rocks.” The float (see photo above) honored the University of California, Irvine’s scientific breakthroughs in medicine and technology during its 50-year history.

Note: You can read about us and other parade prize winners at www.destinationirvine.com/blog/post/2015/11/24/Destination-Irvine-sweepstakes-winners-will-find-their-California-adventure-at-the-Rose-Parade/266/.

Our trip included airfare and hotel accommodations, so we took the two-hour Southwest Airlines evening flight from Portland to John Wayne Airport in Orange County, rented a car and made our way to the Hotel Irvine.

 We spent part of the next day (Dec. 31) sharing an early hamburger lunch with my Aunt Jerry and husband Jerry who live in Irvine. Then it was off on a sightseeing drive with an enjoyable timeout at Laguna Beach. There we did some window shopping and strolled on the beachfront boardwalk in California’s winter sunshine.

New Year’s Day started early, as we made our 4 a.m. wakeup call, took the 56-mile motor coach ride to Pasadena and walked in the chilly dawn to the parade grandstands. We weren’t the first to arrive, though, as people were packed in along the Colorado Boulevard sidewalks, many crawling out of sleeping bags and huddling around portable stoves for warmth, hot beverages and food.

The Los Angeles Lakers, top, were proudly represented with a purple and gold float and jerseys of their Hall of Fame players. Below, the Palkes are bundled up for chilly grandstand parade viewing. From left, Darrel, Kevin, Pam and Ken.

Pedestrians of every stripe kept the streets lively as we awaited the parade. More folks arriving every minute seeking clear viewing spots; vendors hawking seat cushions, balloons, souvenirs, food and drink; and a steady procession of loudspeaker-carrying, marching evangelists admonishing us to repent in a variety of languages. The street crowd opened a pathway every few minutes to let police cars and motorcycles zoom by unfettered, lights flashing and sirens blaring and beeping.

With the sunlit San Gabriel Mountains as a backdrop, it was show time. Thousands of spectators along our section of pavement seemed to gasp collectively, then cheer wildly as they laid eyes on the first flower-festooned float. The spectacular “Nature’s Hope” from Honda stretched 100-feet long and 24-feet tall. It’s depiction in flowers of mountains, timbers, rivers and wild creatures saluted America’s and Japan’s national parks.

Mount Rushmore was highlighted on South Dakota's breathtaking entry and characters from the Disney movie "Frozen" took their place atop the float celebrating the 60th anniversary of Disneyland.

We enjoyed the next two hours of the parade, often wishing for a slower pace so we could appreciate each float, musical or equestrian unit for a moment longer. We sweepstakes winners belted out our loudest cheer for entry number 42 -- Destination Irvine’s float “Innovation Rocks.”

One thing’s for sure, Pasadena’s grand parade is much better in person than on television. You get the sights, sounds and smells in glorious 3-D and its exciting stuff. The constant hum of the spectators; the smell of coffee and foods from many lands cooking on vendors’ stoves; the music, drumbeats and tapping feet of marching bands; the hoof beats on pavement of all those horses. And the floats . . . well designed and gussied up in their New Year’s Day best with plants and flowers from around the world.

It’s unforgettable. Thanks Destination Irvine for the fabulous time.

Floats from the Odd Fellows and Rebekahs and China Airlines-Taiwan, right, proceeded along Colorado Boulevard on parade route through Pasadena. Marching musicians, flowers and the California sunshine, below, made the 127th Rose Parade unforgettable. 

1965: Mr. Zimmerman, my friends and me in Santa Monica

Dylan blows out a melody on the harmonica.

Note: this is a post from 2011.

Bob Dylan recently turned 70. The singer was just 24 when I first saw him in concert on Dec. 19, 1965. He performed some solo acoustic songs followed by a raucous rock set at the Civic Auditorium in Santa Monica, Calif.  As one of my first live concerts, the show's high points remain etched in memory.

I've been an incurable ticket stub-saver forever, and still have the tiny blue paper remnant reminding me that the Dylan show was on a Sunday evening, and that  I bought two main floor seats in section F, row 21. The tickets were $2.75 each. The other one was for my date, Deanna Anderson, a fun-loving blonde.

We were double-dating with my buddy Steve Rink and his girlfriend -- all of us seniors at South High in Torrance. We drove from there to the show in Steve's lime-green '57 Chevy wagon.

I had started playing Dylan songs on guitar a couple of years earlier, switching from the piano after dropping classical and pop lessons in my sophomore year. Maybe that's why Mom wasn't a big Dylan fan back then.

Judging by the noisy full house at the Santa Monica Civic, though, lots of people loved his music. Some didn't, as Dylan was transitioning from a folk singer into a rock and roll performer. The folk purists felt Dylan left them behind . . .  sold out for the big bucks of the rock world. Seems absurd now; not then though.

You didn't need a weatherman to tell it was the "new" Dylan when he ambled from the darkened stage into the spotlight. The reed-thin Dylan had exchanged his folk singer work clothes for a high-collar mod zigzag-patterned suit and Beatle boots. However, for the opening set, it was just Bob, his trademark harmonica rack and acoustic guitar.

Mr. Tambourine Man. Don't Think Twice, It's Alright. Gates of Eden. She Belongs to Me. I loved those songs . . . and Dylan's crafty wordplay. Even today, all the words seem to pour out automatically when I sing the old Dylan songs.

After intermission, Dylan came out with a Fender Stratocaster guitar and a red-hot group of rock musicians, including guitarist Robbie Robertson and others who would soon become known as The Band. A bunch of hecklers were giving Dylan the business, and the audience howled in laughter when he told one particularly loud and annoying guy " there's a phone call for you in the lobby."

After that, he played Positively Fourth Street, Ballad of a Thin Man, Like a Rolling Stone and more.

I've seen Dylan shows over the years, but like so many other things, the first one was the best.

Days of sunshine and saltwater fishing

Redondo Pier in the early '60s and 1971; and a smiling
Ken Palke, top, and Mark Patton. Bottom right, Harbor Patrol
practices rescues beneath the pier.

I've done most of my fishing in lakes and streams, but it's the saltwater and my youth that come to mind today.

Back in the early 1960s, way before we were old enough to drive, buddy Mark Patton and I fished on the Redondo Beach Pier southwest of Los Angeles in the Santa Monica Bay. And sometimes, if we had a couple of extra bucks, we'd take the fishing boats City of Redondo or Voyager out several miles in the blue-gray ocean to fish aboard the California, a mammoth red-orange barge at anchor.

These day-long fishing expeditions were in the warm summer months and began early. With fishing poles slung over our shoulders, Mark and I walked the few miles to the pier from our parents' homes in south Torrance. We were eager to dip some line into the water . . . and maybe to escape adult supervision for a few hours.

We hitched a ride or two with Mark's mom Evelyn, but it's those walks I remember most . . . probably because we always had lots to talk about and much to see along the way.

Mark was the more adventurous one and miles ahead in angling skills, so he had lots to teach me. Regarding tackle and bait, for instance, you were required to have pole, line, sinkers, etc., set up one way for pier angling and a completely different way for barge fishing. Equipment manufacturers stayed happy, though, because you always needed more stuff to cram into your tackle box.

And, of course, different gear was required for fishing from rock jetties or at the surf line, and so forth. These sites required different etiquette, as well. On the pier, you deferred to the leathery old fishers who jealously guarded their spot; on the barge, you had more room to roam. No overhead casting, though.

Both of us were quite familiar with the decades-old Redondo Beach landmark and its surroundings. Mark worked at Cunningham's, a wonderful open air shrimp shack near the pier entrance, and I'd visited the place with my family dozens of times over the years. As a young kid, I marveled at the wide variety of fish that merchants displayed on ice from the daily catch. The different shapes, sizes, colors . . . and smells . . . were a wonder to me.

Back then the wooden pier was horseshoe shaped, with a long straight section jutting out at the south end. That's where most of the fishing action was: stairs jutting under the pier to catch the boats, live bait tank, windows for hot coffee and pop . . . and the place to see what the veteran anglers were catching and to peek at the bait they were using.

It was fun listening the old guys' fishing stories, some embellished by rich accents from their native countries of Portugal, Italy, Spain and elsewhere.

Mark and I usually fished for bass, bonito and halibut. I'd guess the water lapping at the pier pilings was 8-15 feet deep and the barge was anchored in much deeper water. Sometimes we'd see a shark slowly circling around the barge, probably drawn to the commotion and smell of bait in the water.

Many things about the pier and surrounding neighborhoods have changed over the last 50 years. Progress I guess. It's been remodeled a number of times, was nearly destroyed by fire in the late 1980s, and is now surrounded by restaurants, gift shops, apartments, condos and realigned streets.

But I'll bet there are still kids who are drawn to that pier, its fishing and adventures . . . just like those two young fellows back in the early 1960s.

The vessel City of Redondo leaves King Harbor
for a fishing trip in the mid-1970s. Photos clockwise
from top right: Ken Palke's big catfish from the Colorado
River; Mark Patton, John Palke and Tom Patton at
Lake Cachuma; Mark and his mom Evelyn Patton;
Jay Pilant and Ken Palke with another nice fish.

Doors opened to beach life, college four decades ago

Roomies: Ken Palke & Ronnie Cocks, early '70s

Our old apartment building at 110 Paseo de la Playa hasn't
changed much in 40 years, unless you consider the rent.
(Ken Palke photos)

Some high school classmates and I have been sharing memories on social media lately. When we turn back the clock 40 years, I recall those days in Southern California's South Bay vividly . . . and usually wind up smiling.

I was just out of the Navy in early 1971 with several years of Vietnam aircraft carrier duty behind me and endless possibilities ahead. On my last day in the service, I stuffed the van with boxes of groceries from the Coronado Island Navy commissary and headed 100 miles north on Interstate 5 to Redondo Beach, southwest of Los Angeles.

Friend Ronnie Cocks and I rented an upstairs apartment at 110 Paseo de la Playa. It was less than a block from Burnout and Torrance beaches in the Riviera Village at the juncture of the cities of Redondo Beach and Torrance.

In fact, if you needed a cop late at night, you could find patrol cars from either city at the local Winchell's Donut House. The manager had a police radio so the officers could hear their calls while dipping crullers in their coffee.

This was my first apartment . . . and following restrictive military life, a place to let my hair down. . . literally. The first order of business as a civilian was to forsake all barber shops and to enroll at nearby El Camino College to begin my education. The G.I. Bill covered most school and living expenses if I watched my nickels.

Ronnie and I loved that place. The cool overcast mornings with smooth seas for surfing, the distinctive smell of salt air and suntan lotion, and afternoons highlighted by bright sunshine and light breezes.

Riviera Village businesses

And talk about convenience. The place was steps from the Pacific, a block or two from stores (Howard's or Lucky markets), restaurants, and watering holes. We sometimes spent evenings sipping the local brew at the Port of Call Tavern (now Hennessey's) on Catalina Ave. Over the months, I plugged the Port's jukebox with a bag of quarters to hear Linda Ronstadt's sad song of lost love, "Long, Long Time," or Joan Baez singing Dylan's "Love is Just a Four-Letter Word." Even today, those songs still give me pause.

I carpooled to school with my across-the-hall neighbor Glen. We took the van every other day, but I liked it best when he drove. Glen had a powder blue MG mini and it was fun riding in the sunshine with the top down. That MG made a fine platform for flirting with girls as we pulled into the school lot.

There was another perk with Glen living next door . . . he was a late-night chef at the International House of Pancakes and wasn't averse to handing out freebie hotcakes. Pass the maple syrup please. It really helped stretch a student budget, too.

We made great use of the beach on those summer days and nights. Ronnie was on the mend from hip replacement surgery, so we tried our hand at belly boarding. Mark Patton made us a couple of mini surfboards. We'd strap on swim fins and ride those boards in the thigh-high Redondo Beach surf. Good fun. Good therapy.

I warmed to another aspect of beach life with a "strand cruiser" bicycle. It was a stripped-down blue Schwinn Stingray and I loved wheeling along the bike path talking with friends, watching sunbathers and volleyball games . . . and getting tan. In the evening  I enjoyed sitting on the bluff above Burnout Beach and watching the shorebirds, sailboats and those wonderful red sunsets.

And these days when I'm meandering along the tide line of one of Oregon's sandy beaches, and the warm summer wind catches me just right, I go back to those joyous days four decades ago.

1970s view of South Bay beaches from the Palos
Verdes Hills.

Boats moving in and out of King Harbor at Redondo
Beach, Calif.

           

            

Today's Roller Derby has decades-old roots

Cherry City Derby Girls warm up at Armory Auditorium

    in Salem, Ore. (Ken Palke photos)

Let me share a secret . . . I've been a Roller Derby fan for five decades. The sport -- some call it roughhousing on wheels -- has been around since the 1940s. Today Roller Derby is red hot, but its popularity has ebbed and flowed over the years.

These days, though, there are women's leagues drawing crowds all over the country, including here in Salem and Portland. Recreational skaters are swapping their in-line models for the old school four-wheel skates that are used in the sport. And Roller Derby was even part of the plot on a recent episode of television's Hawaii 5-0.

My Roller Derby reverie began in the 1950s when Mom and Dad took us kids to see the Los Angeles Thunderbirds skate on the banked track at the Olympic Auditorium. The sport was popular on L.A. television in the 1950s-'60s when there was lots of air time to fill. Roller Derby then was something akin to professional wrestling with skating personalities and a heavy diet of over-the-top bumping, thumping and elbows thrown at members of the opposing team, often the rival San Francisco Bay Bombers.

Channel 5 TV announcer Dick Lane sold the sport to the masses with his colorful commentary and a few well-placed "Whoa Nellys" when a skater was shoved into the track railing and doubled over, or some similar stunt. 

Men's and women's squads on the teams alternated skating periods. After both teams started around the track in a pack, the object was to free a skater -- the jammer -- who was catapulted out front, sped around the track, then worked his or her way through the pack, scoring a point for each opposing team member passed. Pushing, shoving and issuing the requisite number of body blows was the order of the day.

People can relate to Roller Derby because, like riding a bicycle, most people have tried roller skating at one time or another. As a kid, I strapped steel-wheeled skates onto my shoes and traveled the sidewalks of my neighborhood. I even met one of the Roller Derby stars who lived a few blocks away in Torrance, Spec Saunders.

Several times while in the Navy stationed at Alameda, Calif., I went to the nearby Oakland Auditorium to see the San Francisco Bay Bombers skate . . . featuring the mighty blonde Joan Weston.

And lately I've enjoyed the rough and tumble matches of the Roller Derby women here in Salem. These gals take their skating seriously and fight hard to win.

I'll agree that Roller Derby isn't everyone's cup of tea, but there's plenty of action . . . and that's good enough for me.

Skaters take a few turns, top, and check out opponents

from the bench, bottom.

Nothing ever wasted at Grandma's house

Grandma Della admires flowers she received for her

birthday during the mid-1950s. Note her ceramics at left.

My Grandma Della was into the "green" movement way before it was cool. She was a recycler supreme, you might say.

Grandma was a product of her times. She and Grandpa Henry raised four kids on a Nebraska farm during the Great Depression of the 1930s. With little money they had to make do with whatever was available -- and to make things last. Repairing, reusing, repurposing, handing down clothes to younger siblings, sewing, mending, and making things by hand was part of life.

They lived in Los Angeles when I was a kid, just a few blocks from our house, so we spent lots of time there. It was easy to spot their driveway, just two ribbons of concrete in the lawn running all the way back to the garage.

Grandma knew we liked to color so she had crayons, pencils and charcoal on hand, plus an ample supply of recycled butcher paper to meet our artistic demands. In those days grocery markets and butcher shops wrapped meat in heavy pink or white paper. We generally preferred the white paper for our masterpieces.

Grandma was an accomplished artist in her own right. She hooked rugs, crocheted doilies, created wonderful ceramics and painted in oils, among other artistic pursuits.

For years she had the same time-tested "playthings" available for us kids . . . and we loved them. Wooden pickup sticks, puzzles, dominos, Chinese checkers, Tiddly Winks, kaleidoscope, dolls for the girls, and if we were extra careful, a View Master viewer with 3-D picture reels of exotic countries. There was a chain swing in back for outdoor play.

Grandma encouraged us to keep scrapbooks and got me started on stamp collecting, a life-long hobby. As we grew older, the game of choice was Scrabble.

It was easy to find rubber bands, string, or aluminum foil; Grandma kept balls of each. Lots of paper bags, too. And it wasn't in her nature to waste pencils. When the pencil stub was too short for Grandpa's hand-crank sharpener in the garage, she bared the lead with a paring knife to eke out a few more days' use. Ever try speed writing with a pencil nub? Not easy.

Grandma was the family barber and she had a favorite cut for the guys -- white sidewalls . . . high and tight. Haircuts were given in the kitchen where there was a small brown tube radio affixed to the wall under the cabinets. Since they were church-going people, that radio played religious programming and news broadcasts only.

For years their electricity bills were low since they didn't own a television, clothes dryer, garbage disposer, or dishwasher. Their telephone was on a party line. But when family was around, doing the dishes was a social affair. There was happy talk on the dish-washing assembly line while one washed and rinsed, the next one towel dried, and another put the dishes and utensils away. Grandpa cut and edged his immaculate lawn with hand mowers.

Grandpa Henry and Grandma Della

 

During family gatherings it was a treat when Grandpa made a batch of popcorn. You could hear him sliding the popping corn pot back and forth over the gas burner and soon its exquisite aroma filled the air. The evening was made even better when Grandma sang and played hymns on the piano or (later) organ.

Although I'm a big fan now, back then I didn't appreciate some of Grandma's foods . . . yogurt, wheat germ, skim milk, Grape-Nuts, eggplant and the like. I still can't abide Limburger cheese, though. And she never wasted an ounce of food . . . her refrigerator was always full of little glass cups of leftovers to be used in one upcoming dish or another.

Grandma did volunteer work for the Red Cross. Once a week, she joined other ladies around a large table in a neighborhood garage to sew blankets and other items for local hospitals. This was a carryover from World War II and some of the ladies were well into their 80s.

The neighborhood was well kept with blooming flowers, trees and shrubs . . . and there was always something going on. You could hear Rudy across the street practicing melodious runs on the piano, watch Watkins or Fuller Brush sales people going door to door, or chat with Mr. or Mrs. Zimmerman one door to the west. Once or twice a week the vegetable man drove the street, honking his horn to let folks know his truck was full of fresh produce for sale.

I cherish those sweet memories of Grandma and Grandpa. Life is so much better because of them.

Grandma, Johnny, Mom, Dad and Kenny in 1958.

 

 

 

Old friends turn up when you least expect it . . and it's great





Ron, left, and Steve Cocks inset on a photo I took of Torrance

Beach, Calif., in the 1970s.Steve and I recently reconnected

after following each other on Facebook for awhile.



Thanks to Facebook, Skype and other social media, I'm getting reacquainted with friends from the old days. It's fun!

Last week a long-lost friend who now lives in Colorado called to say hello. We talked for quite awhile. Retired fireman Steve Cocks and I hung around in the late 1960s and early '70s listening to music in the local taverns, going to the beach and parties . . . trying hard not to get into mischief.

Steve was just out of the Army, including a tour of Vietnam, and I was finishing up my four-year Navy stint with shore duty in San Diego. Sometimes I stayed with his folks in southern California on weekend's off.  Steve's younger brother Ronnie and I were high school pals, played music, partied and surfed together. Ronnie was my first roommate after the Navy. We rented a little upstairs apartment about half a block from Torrance Beach.

Sadly, Ronnie died a number of years ago. But it was great reconnecting with Steve who laughed as we were hanging up and said "let's not wait another 35-40 years to talk again." We won't.

At left, drummer Bob Shank and I hold trophy for winning

battle of the bands in the mid-1960s. At right is Bob plays

lead guitar in his late-1970s band. 

Months back I blogged about singing in a rock and roll band during high school. I wondered what had happened to my band mates over the years.  A few days later, drummer Bob Shank called from his home in Redondo Beach, Calif., to say hello and let me know he was doing fine. I hadn't heard from him since the 1970s, so we spent 45 minutes catching up.

As teenagers we spent a lot of time in Bob's sound-proof band rehearsal room, trying out new songs and polishing our act. We ate on the cheap at a local hot dog stand . . . and played a lot of shows too.

Just the other day Bob was taken to the emergency hospital with a serious illness. His recovery will be slow and I wish him the best. Bob's plight illustrates that life is precious -- and short -- and I'm so glad that we reconnected.

Not long ago I got a call from high school buddy Nick Bednorz, a fellow musician whose mother ran a music store/school in the old neighborhood. And I've recently linked up and swapped memories with other high school and college classmates through Facebook.

Mark and Laurie Patton, 1970.

I've been an avid photographer since I was a youngster and it's been fun sharing pictures from back in the day via e-mail or social networks. Recently I sent a digital video of photos and 8mm movies of scenes from 1962 to the present to old friends Mark and Laurie Patton of Spokane, Wash.

We all enjoyed seeing the old scenes of surfing, parties and our families and friends. It brought tears to our eyes seeing the smiling faces of people who are no longer with us.

The clutter of Facebook and other social media can be annoying, but when it leads to reuniting family and old friends, there's nothing better.

Ahh . . . those Thanksgiving day aromas





Holiday dinner at Grandma and Grandpa Palkes in the

early 1950s. Young Ken Palke is second from left and

 the grandparents are standing in the right rear.



I love the smell of turkey roasting in the oven . . . especially when it's at the place I'm eating.

Thanksgiving is upon us. It's a time for family and friends, fine food and drink, and to say thanks for the good things in our lives.

Even as a youngster I enjoyed the holiday . . . making pilgrim hats and turkey cutouts, learning my part for the fall program, and four days off from school.

When I was about nine or so, grandma and grandpa had a very special cook come in for Thanksgiving dinner in Los Angeles. Grandpa's co-worker friend and his wife were from the South and she and grandma spent hours in the kitchen preparing turkey and all the trimmings Southern style.

They started with a jumbo turkey -- expecting a healthy turnout of relatives -- stuffing the bird with a wet dressing that included raisins and plums. And the sideboard was overflowing with enough tasty dishes to make a young guy's heart swoon.

After that big meal, us kids looked forward to a walk around the block with our beloved maiden aunt, Addie. As a special treat -- and if we behaved on the walk-- she doled out sticks of tangy Dentine chewing gum. Years later, I realized these walks were a part of a plot to empty the house of pestering kids while the parents cleaned things up.

In the early 1960s, my wife Pam and her family celebrated Thanksgiving  a bit differently in Oregon. Her clan was so large they needed a country clubhouse with enough tables and chairs to feed all the adults and kids on the big day. Her grandparents were farmers and it was a tradition that everyone helped in meal preparation, saving the turkey-carving honors for grandpa.

Pam's Thanksgiving dinners of the early 1960s

included a kid's table. Pam is second from the

bottom, right.

 

Pam's family had another turkey day tradition. After the last drumstick was downed, the kids put on a talent show for the grown-ups with singing, dancing, musical instrument playing and story-telling on the clubhouse stage.

When I asked Pam which of her many talents she chose to display at the event, she smiled, recalling how she pulled rank on her younger cousins. "I didn't do much singing or dancing, but since I was the oldest cousin, I coordinated things and helped the kids get on and off the stage. The bossy oldest cousin, you know."

A couple of years ago, Pam cooked Thanksgiving ham dinner for our kids here at home. Every carefully-prepared dish tasted wonderful, but even Pam would admit she overdid it. There was enough food on hand to feed an infantry platoon. Still, it worked out OK because everyone went home with a smile . . . and full containers of Thanksgiving leftovers.

This year we'll be going to my son and his wife's (Darrel and Hollie) Hillsboro home for our holiday turkey feast. I can't wait.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving is about people . . . and tasty dishes. Here are some photos

of turkey day celebrations from the 1950s through the present. Turkey

carvers and cookers in the top row are Jack Johnston, Shirley Palke,

and Fred McCall. Bottom left photo is from one of Pam's Thanksgiving

clubhouse dinners of the early 1960s. (Photos by Ken Palke, others)

 

Bicycle brings fun, exercise through the decades

Ken , left, and John Palke show off their Christmas bicycles

in 1961, a gift from the parents. The 10-speed bike is a

French-made Peugeot.

Over the last few months I've been disposing of stuff cluttering the garage. But there's something hanging on the wall I'll never part with . . . a 51-year-old 10-speed bicycle.
The lightweight Peugeot (made in France) represents both the past and future to me. As a kid I pedaled it to school, work and sports activities in ever-widening concentric circles from our house. Later it became a strand cruiser at the beach, and as I got older, a tool for exercise. Someday I hope to restore the bike.

It was a Christmas present in 1961 from Mom and Dad -- a derailleur (de-rail-er) named for the device that changes gears by moving the chain through a series of five different-sized sprockets. The bicycles were new to the American market then, but are commonplace today.

My younger brother John got a three-speed bike at the same time. We were thrilled with our new-found mobility around the neighborhood.

The folks bought the Peugeot from John Kucharik's bike shop in a small supermarket mall near South High School, my alma mater. Kucharik was a lanky man of European descent and he approached selling bicycles with missionary zest. I loved the sights, smells and camaraderie in his shop. There were new bicycles on the floor and hanging from the ceiling, with riding clothing and accessories decorating the walls. For a time, I even met weekly with his youth bicycle club.

 John died a few years back, but his family remains in the business today . . . designing, manufacturing and selling the Kucharik line of bicycle clothing all over the world.

I recall subbing occasionally in the '60s for Steve (the kid across the street) Drumright's newspaper route. I'd throw the bag full of Daily Breeze papers over the handlebars and deliver to houses following his carefully prepared list. I tell you though, delivering those papers was much easier than collecting payment from the customers.

 

There was another part of the southern California bike culture I found fascinating. Surfers too young to drive a car would rig up two-wheeled trailer carts for hauling surfboards behind their bicycles. It was aggravating when those squeaky-wheeled surfers would ride by my house toward the beach on Saturday morning while Dad had me stationed outside pulling weeds. I wanted to go surfing too.

 

At about 13 or 14, I began taking longer bike rides. One time a friend and I pedaled from Torrance along the scenic Palos Verdes Peninsula coastline to Marineland of the Pacific, a popular Los Angeles County aquarium that operated from 1954-87. There was one problem though, we forgot to bring enough money for admission. The 30-mile round trip was uphill all the way there, but much easier on the downhill way home. What an adventure for a couple of intrepid youths.

Now 50-plus years later that bicycle still brings me enjoyment. The trick is to get the thing in top working order so it will do me some good . . . especially around the middle.

 

Beach Boys still cruisin' after all these years

Beach Boys, from left, Mike Love, David Marks, Brian Wilson,

Bruce Johnston and Al Jardine gather around piano to sing at

recent Eugene, Oregon, concert.

It's cool when you can attend the 50th anniversary concert of your favorite rock and roll band. I've been a Beach Boys fan since they began playing Southern California shows in 1961-62 and I was at their outdoor concert in Eugene, Oregon, just a few days ago.

When I see those guys on stage -- or look in the mirror -- I realize that five decades has passed quickly . . . and that times change. Over the years the Beach Boys have had their ups and downs, but haven't we all. Along the way two founding band members have died, brothers Dennis and Carl Wilson.

Music has enriched my life . . . and the Beach Boys have always hovered at the top of my playlist.

The band originated in the Los Angeles suburb of Hawthorne, Calif., where my cousins Tommy and Marlene grew up. I lived just a few miles away in Torrance. Several beaches mentioned in the song "Surfin' USA" were nearby.

One of my first 45 rpm records was "Surfin," the Beach Boys' debut single on the small independent  X Records label. That was just before they signed with Capitol and became a national sensation with songs about surfing, sunshine, cars and racing.

As a young teen guitar player, I remember going to an early Beach Boys show at a local recreation hall. Either the place was full or we didn't have admission money,  so we stood outside and listened to the music as it reverberated through the doors. Beach Boys songs were a radio mainstay when I was young . . . "Surfer Girl," "409," "I Get Around," "Little Deuce Coupe," "In My Room" and more.

During the 1960s the Beatles, Rolling Stones and Beach Boys sold tons of records and played concerts all over the world. But it was Dec. 29, 1974, when I got to see my first Beach Boys show . . . in Long Beach, Calif. The band was enjoying a resurgence in popularity and were playing to sold-out halls everywhere. Brian Wilson wasn't touring with the group at the time, so his brother, guitarist Carl Wilson, and cousin, singer Mike Love, led them through "Good Vibrations," "Do It Again," "Sail on Sailor," "California Girls" and more.

Beach Boys Jardine, left, Love, left center, and Carl
Wilson, far right, play Bicentennial show in July 1976

at Anaheim Stadium in Southern California.

The  most fun I had at a Beach Boys concert (until last week, that is) was on July 3, 1976 -- the big Bicentennial Fourth of July weekend gala at a packed Anaheim Stadium, home of the California Angels baseball team. Supporting acts included the groups America and Santana, plus skateboard and stunt flying shows . . . and, of course, fireworks.

In a review for the Palos Verdes Peninsula News, I wrote that the Beach Boys played 27 songs that evening. What I remember, too, is a sea of people in the double-decked grandstands and shoulder-to-shoulder on the playing field, laughing, dancing and cheering with every song.

In fact, dancing in the upper deck became too spirited. Urgent scoreboard messages warned the cheap-seat crowd to stop dancing because the undulating upper deck was straining the stadium structure.

During the show Beach Boy guitarist Al Jardine sported a red, white and blue Uncle Sam top hat (see photo above), which matched the festive mood and was appropriate for the patriotic occasion.

I've been to a few other Beach Boy shows and I've had fun sharing their CDs with my kids as they were growing up. That's why I jumped at the chance to see 'em again when I heard their 50th anniversary tour was stopping at the Cuthbert Amphitheater in Eugene on July 14.

Beach Boys Brian Wilson, Mike Love, Al Jardine, Bruce Johnston and David Marks were backed up by a team of fine musicians. They enthusiastically performed 46 songs . . . most crowd favorites with several tunes from their new hit CD, "That's Why God Made the Radio."

The all-ages audience was loaded with Baby Boomers and their purpose seemed clear . . . to have fun. The evening turned into a giant sing-along as the Beach Boys played one familiar tune after another. My wife Pam and I were right in there singing and dancing, too.

There was an underlying message to the Boomers at this concert. We're older now and time becomes more precious with each passing day. That's why it's good to celebrate life and to have fun, fun, fun!

Beach Boys entertain audience during recent 50th Anniversary

concert tour stop in Eugene, Oregon. (Photos by Ken Palke)