Dick Keck
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October 25, 2011
Dear Classmates:
Not much news from the shadow of the MAD Bell Tower these days. Maybe everybody else has no more initiative than I do these days. I haven't heard from anybody in months, except that Fritz Brace treated Bill McCall and me to lunch at the Frontrunner at Santa Anita and dinner at the Derby a few weeks ago, and last Thursday Dick Culp and I were treated to lunch by Jim Bailey, again, at the Derby. Getting so much free stuff that the IRS will probably soon try to tax me for it.
We had plenty of good discussion, despite the fact that Fritz, Bill, and I do our best to stay away from politics, about which we seldom agree. Except about the tons of dough Monrovia has been spending on the high school. It's been well spent: a new artificial-turf football field (which I haven't yet seen), major improvements everywhere on campus, and a new front lawn (natural turf). Not even a trace of "Fuck Forney" written by Larry Greiner in weed killer on the front lawn in 1951 can be seen. None of us resents the money spent, but we wonder where it came from and hope they get rid of it before the L.A. City Council and the gov'ts of California and the US try to take it away. Maybe Bruce Staller (MAD '54) can fill us in.
We sure do miss Maury and his incredible betting systems. Maury would have won thousands of dollars the day we were there and we all would have won betting on his back, but we were lucky to emerge modest losers, especially Fritz, who paid the monstrous lunch tab. Fritz also treated us to dinner at the Derby, where Bill ordered his favorite, huge ribeye steak, only to forget the doggy bag. I drove him home, and watched him go through the pain of looking for that bag for several minutes. I regret that I didn't offer to drive back to the Derby to pick it up but as usual, I had to pee.
If anybody can fill us in on the MHS improvements, please feel free to do so.
On the other hand, Jim Bailey and Dick Culp haven't changed much, except that they're much older than they were the last time I saw them. We compared notes on our most recent physical setbacks, and then, talked .... politics!
Jim is still on his incredible quest to create 1,000 paintings. I think he's getting close. He gave a new one to me for Margie:
Jim told us that he had taken his boat Island Lady off the market, hoping that the economy will recover later and make it marketable. Too bad. We had sad and joyful times on that boat, scattering the ashes of fallen comrades and cruising the bay to some great lunches afterward.
Dick Culp has started a "walkabout" and plans to travel to points unknown. He says he'll let us know when he decides he's had enough, and will return to home base. What a guy.
Dick 10-25-2011
August 20, 2011
Larry Chaffers succumbed to a heart attack on 8-17-2011.
Dick Culp called with the news yesterday. I haven't had a chance to confirm it, but I'm sure Dick had the facts.
Larry was a classmate for many years, and a gifted magician who entertained us several times at various reunions. I will wait for the details and report later.
Dick
July 8, 2011
Ah, Harry Avant's '31 Ford Model "A". It had to be the most wanted car in 1950 (but maybe not as wanted as the '41(?) Ford convertible behind it). Harry tells me that this pic was taken in 1950. Obviously, his Model "A" was cherry. Dick Jones had one, sans top, hood, and fenders. It had license tabs, but his dad Casey wouldn't let him drive it on the street (too young). But we sure gave it a test between the rows of his dad's 5 acre grove of orange trees. It had been destined to become an "A-V8", but Casey intervened and bought him a new '48 Chevy instead.
Harry didn't explain the purpose of the chain his car is dragging.
This is what it was all about. My thanks to Harry for sending it
in...
havant@earthlink.net
Dick
dickkeck@verizon.net
June 27, 2011
Edison Co. cut power again ... before I could save the latest revision of this page. I don't update very often, and it really pissed me off. So ... grunt and groan and do it over again.
Fritz Brace has been in France for the past couple of months, so he hasn't been here for the races. He returns in a few days and will be here in the fall, if not sooner. Bill McCall is in the hospital again, this time for a broken pelvis. He is still battling the cancer that appeared a few years ago and has undergone radiation therapy and physical therapy for the past couple of weeks. He should be released and return to his home this week.
I heard from Dick Culp, who is apparently moving his residence after eons at the beach. He is trashing all of his computer equipment in favor of an Ipad, which is a remarkable, and pricey little piece of hardware. I expect we will be receiving email from him pretty often.
I hear from Hat (Harriett [Heisler] Campbell) occasionally, and she seems to be enjoying life in Utah. Also, occasional e-mail from Marjean and Barry Galvin. I post all the goodies here. Also talked to Jim Bailey, who told me that Kent Berge ('50, I think) had passed on. Jim and Kent were very close and shared an ardent interest in antique cars.
Hat noticed that some classmates were missing from the '51 GBNF list. Mysteriously, they just disappeared from the list sometime in the past two years. After confirming that the list contained the names at one time, I decided to forget about how it happened, and just added them back. The list is now up to date (I think), but please let me know if (God forbid) I need to add anybody.
Still looking for Rolland Moody, who went non-communicado last month. I've tried everything, with no luck. Any news about him would be greatly appreciated.
We just went past the 60th anniversary of the graduation of MAD class of 1951. Some of us will be getting together before the end of the year. I know I'll be seeing Fritz and Bill. We sure do miss Maury. Please send me news about your life so I can paste it on this page.
Dick
April 21, 2011
Picture from Barry Galvin:
"Flying high over Queensland, New Zealand. A blast! The mountains underneath are called 'The Remarkables'"
On Thu, 14 Apr 2011 20:50:32 -0700 "Dick
Keck" <dickkeck@verizon.net> writes:
Barry:
Thanks for the pics. I will post them to
MADCatsAlumni/Class of ’51 tomorrow. Do you have a story for us?
Dick
Which prompted a contribution from Bill McCall:
From:
"wmmccall@juno.com" <wmmccall@juno.com>
To:
dickkeck@verizon.net; btgalvin@yahoo.com; fbrace9194@gmail.com
Sent:
Thu, April 14, 2011 9:21:10 PM
Subject:
Re: NZON_NZQT_2011_03_29_C1022_7653
Dick:
I
have a headline for the story. Alum,
class '51, temporarily lost his mind and went skydiving.
You also might get Barry to confess his infamous deed of killing the
grass on MAD's front lawn with "Fuck Forney," causing our graduation
to be moved to the football field. Of
his conspirators, Marchand is dead and Larry's not in good shape, so I don't see
what's wrong with Barry confessing at this late date.
I'm sure the statute of limitations has run out.
How about it, Barry? Fess up!
I think everyone would get a kick out of it.
Bill
And a retort from Barry:
From:
barry <btgalvin@yahoo.com>
Sent: Thursday, April 14, 2011 9:33 PM
To: wmmccall@juno.com; dickkeck@verizon.net;
fbrace9194@gmail.com
Subject: Re:
NZON_NZQT_2011_03_29_C1022_7653
Attachments:
image001.jpg
Is
Forney still alive? Don't want him
to suffer the indignity once more or set off his defibrillator.
I'm now more sensitive in my old age.
Barry
Barry can be reached at btgalvin@yahoo.com
Dick
February 23, 2011
My late friend Dick Jones (1933 - 2000) 
was born 78 years ago today.
I know many of our classmates remember him. Every year, I vow to remember him on this web page. This year, I did it.
February 21, 2011
Roger Hagan was kind enough to check in:
"Finally found you
again. Good for you, bouncing back. I was reassured by your story because I have
to get a root canal and the dental surgeon is a young Korean American woman;. My
dentist, referring me to that office, didn't know the doc he knew had died nine
years ago. So I hope she's as good as her deceased mentor.
Tommy Taylor was in my
class from third grade on. He had to be the same age as us. I gather that
he has passed away. I regret that I have no stories about him to pass along to
his son. Always on the other side of the room or the yard or the high school
caste system. But no bad memories either. If you learn any more of his story I
hope you will pass it along.
FYI I
put a lot of my photography in books that are viewable on a website that shows a
lot of magazines:
Issuu.com/rogerhagan
Included among the 500
photographs there are a few from high school days that I think are
interesting just as pictures.
Thanks for reviving the
class page.
Roger
Hagan"
Roger's pictures are first class; reminiscent of Ansel
Adams.
You'll enjoy this, click here.
Dick
February 8, 2011
The original redux of the page (2-01-2011) is below the line. I thought I'd bring you up to date about why I've been having such a tough time wringing out the bugs.
Frankly, I've simply lost the initiative I used to have. I still enjoy writing the page, but the pay is lousy, and my life has to go perfectly in order for me to take any pride in anything I do.
But there was that cyst. I will delicately describe it as being in the "groin area". For thirty years. The doctor who treated it first told me I'd "eventually" have to have it surgically removed. A following visit to a surgeon taught me that you "don't touch them when they're hot", which was odd, because I didn't even think about it until it got "hot", which it did periodically for thirty years.
I finally took the bull by the horns and scheduled surgery to have it removed. I was referred to a dermatological surgeon named Danny. I was concerned because I've never trusted Irish doctors. Then, I found that his last name was "Chang". He had no trace of an Irish accent or a Chinese accent, but he looked and acted younger than my grandson. Not to worry, he brought in his dad to assist the surgery, "Dong Chang", whom I could barely understand.
I told Dong that I had hoped to receive a dose of Sodium Pentothal before they started to cut; the stuff they use to sedate the condemned before they put them to death, so I would know that even if I experienced the procedure while awake I "wouldn't remember" anything. I think that Dong told me they didn't do that, but the procedure would be "painless" anyway. I complained when the needle was thrust into my left cajone. Be patient, Dong told me, the syringe was full of novacaine.
It's over. All of those weeks of worrying about that damned needle were for naught, and I'm able to go to work again. It was not as bad as a root canal, but I don't want to go through it again.
Last weekend, Fritz Brace flew over from Tucson and treated Bill McCall and me to a day at the FrontRunner restaurant atop the Santa Anita racetrack, and dinner at the Derby restaurant on Friday and Saturday evenings. The day Fritz left Tucson, the high temperature was 39 degrees and the low was 17! He said he even had to raise the top on his Beamer "Z" roadster!
People are amazed that we Les Copains still get together after more than 60 years.
We really missed Maury.
Dick
February 1, 2011
Some stories to tell, some sad but some, maybe interesting.
On Saturday Jan 22, I attended a memorial service for Norman Bailey (MAD '50) at Monrovia Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 2070. Somebody in our class of '51 will surely remember Norman. He lived on 3rd Ave. in Arcadia above Duarte Rd. I met Norman in 1942, when he started coming to our house on South 4th Ave to visit my brother Stan. He and Stan were the same age and attended the same class at Holly Ave. school. Norman came by quite often, always with his hands in his Levi pockets, an easy-going manner, and those droopy eyes. Stan affectionately called him "Sleepin' Jesus", and it didn't seem to offend him in any way; they were very good friends.
Norman's mother worked for years at one of Arcadia's two drug stores, Douglas' Drugs. I think she correctly identified Stan as a "bad influence" on Norman, but in those days Norman lacked enough ambition to make it irrelevant. Don't get me wrong; I loved both of them; enough to tell the truth. They were both in trouble all of the time. MAD Truant Officer Norm van Hellen and his '37 Willys were frequent visitors at Norm's house and my house during and after WWII. Stan was kicked out out of MAD shortly after he started his freshman year. It was a long time ago; he was in love with the Boehm sisters. Norman was set back 1/2 year and graduated in the class of '50 instead of the class of '49. I don't think they do that anymore. Do they still have truant officers?
Brother Stan was released from the "Sheriff's Wayside Honor Ranch" in Castaic in 1950, just after Norman finally graduated from MAD. He talked Norman into joining the navy with him. Stan received a "BCD" shortly after he completed boot camp, but Norman went on to serve on ships in Korean waters. I didn't see Norman for years.
Margie and I bought a home in Arcadia in 1962. A couple of days after we moved in, I ran out to the street to meet our mail man. It was Norman Bailey! A few years later, Norman just sort of disappeared again. About 15 years ago, I joined Monrovia VFW Post 2070. I stopped at the canteen one day, sat on a stool, and saw Norman Bailey sitting next to me, talking to the bartender. "You're Norman Bailey!" I shouted. "That's me, Norman Bailey," he replied. "I'm Dick Keck!", I shouted.
"I used to know a Keck family, from Pennsylvania." He said.
"That's me! I'm Dick Keck!", I shouted. I can't describe the look on his face. Tears streamed down his cheeks. It was classical Norman Bailey. We talked for a long time, catching up on the many years that had passed since we had last seen each other.
Years passed, and I saw Norman and his wife Joanne often, in the canteen. Especially in the summer, when it was hot. They went there to cool off and have a couple of cold drinks. We always talked, usually about politics. We're both pretty conservative.
Then, a couple of months ago, I learned than Norman was in the hospital ... probably pneumonia. I called him at his home a couple of days later and he told me he was ok, but I could tell that he wasn't. A week or two later, Norm's name was back on the "Sick Call" board in the canteen. He was in the hospital again, this time for "fluid in his lungs, or his heart, or something like that." I knew that Norm wasn't going to make it this time. He died the next week. As the VFW always does for its lost comrades, a memorial service was held for Norm on January 22, complete with a 21-gun salute and folded flag.
After the service, food -- lots of it -- was served in the meeting hall, and many people ate for seemingly hours. Every stool and chair was taken in the canteen, but I found an open chair next to a small table and sat down. A fellow I had met there a few months ago asked me if he could sit opposite me at the table and -- God forbid -- smoke a cigarette! The VFW canteen is just about the only bar in the Monrovia area where smoking is permitted, so people who don't like second-hand smoke simply don't go there, even during funerals. I remembered his name -- Tim Taylor -- and told him that if cigarette smoke bothered me, I wouldn't be there so Tim, help yourself, and blow some smoke my way.
He was surprised that I remembered his name. I told him that I had a classmate named Tommy Taylor, and I remembered his name that way. He choked. Where did I go to school? he asked. First Avenue, I said, Tommy Taylor was my friend, starting in about 1943. He said that Tommy Taylor was his father! Problem is, he remembered his dad being born in 1928. All of my classmates were born in 1933 or 1934.
My friend Tommy Taylor ca. 1943. Anybody remember him? If so, please let me know and I will give your note to Tim.
Dick
P.S. Please send me some stuff to put on the page.
Les Copains Sail to Catalina Island (2003)
My
First Prom
By Dick Keck
Return to The Top of This List
Return to The Top of '51 Home Page
12-31-2010
Astrological
Analyses for
People Born in February
Robin
Jan
A
cool exterior disguises a fiery temper and is very opinionated - although those
opinions are not always shared by everyone. They are proud and particularly
home-loving, although have a tendency to be quarrelsome.
The Truth
AQUARIUS (January 21 – February 19)
You have an inventive mind, and are
jealous and possessive. You lie a
great
deal. On the other hand, you are
inclined
to be reckless and impractical; therefore,
you make the same mistakes over and
over again. People think you are
stupid
My First Prom
By Dick Keck
Dear Classmates:
I posted this story about nine years ago,
about my first prom when I invited Morlene Pingle to be my date.
I dedicate it to all Wildcats who were too shy to invite their secret
love to a prom. In 1948, my
“secret love” was Morlene Pingle. My
initial story suggested that I met Morlene in Mabel (“Bulldog”) Drummond’s
Latin class.
It’s not like I was trying to juice it up by
suggesting that we met in a romantic
environment (While normal people described Latin as a "dead" language,
Mabel Drummond insisted that Latin was a "romantic" language).
It was an honest mistake. My
classmates will remember that the classroom in which Mabel Drummond kept that
bust of Julius Caesar was in the east end of the main building.
I immodestly admit that in my first year of Latin I received straight
"A"s from Ms. Mosher. Accordingly,
I expected Mabel to give me the same grades in Latin II, whether or not I joined
her in kneeling before Caesar's bust, seeking his praises. And she never gave me
preferential grades even though I showered her with her favorite flower, poison
oak.
Frankly, it is as though my memory is guided
by GPS. Ms. Geddes' English class
was either next to, or directly above or below that Latin Classroom of Mabel
Drummond's in the main building. It
is therefore to be expected that after more than 55 years, one could easily
confuse Latin with English.
That admission having been made, here is the
story:
The First Prom
I don’t know about anybody else, but in my case that first prom was the most stressful experience of my young life. It was similar to the way I felt when I went through my first violent storm at sea in my 25-foot sailboat. Only a few seconds after I reminded myself that it was supposed to be fun, I asked myself “why, then, am I so scared?”
The
prom was far worse than the storm because to a fourteen year-old boy, asking a
girl for a first date is much more intimidating than 30-knot winds and 15-foot
swells. In both cases, everything
you have to do – just about everything – you are doing for the very first
time, and you have to get it right without any rehearsals.
Since
Proms are not stag events, the first frightening, intimidating thing you have to
do is to ask a girl to be your date, and you have to do it face-to-face, while
doing your best not to let your voice tremble.
I
decided that I wanted to ask Morlene Pingle to be my date and even though she
and I were in the same English class, I had never gathered enough courage to say
so much as a single word to her. Fortunately,
Morlene and I had a common acquaintance, Judy Pearce who, being in the class of
’50, was an older, wiser person. I
hoped I could rely upon Judy to help me avoid the very worst of the bad, i.e.,
suffering through the act of inviting a date only to be turned down.
At first she tried to assure me that being turned down was not the end of
the world, but it only increased my angst because I considered it not advice,
but a warning. But a couple of days
later she told me that she was “sure” that Morlene would be receptive to my
invitation.
I
suddenly realized that by involving Judy, I had unwittingly trapped myself with
no escape if I later decided that I couldn’t go through with it.
To make matters worse, every time I saw Judy during the following few
days she asked “did you do it?” Moreover, knowing that Morlene probably knew
about my intention, I did everything possible to avoid her, especially, God
forbid, eye contact. At the start of
English class, I would lean my head through the back door and furtively look to
see where she was, then carefully tiptoe to the rearmost desk. However, I feared
that Ms. Geddes was getting wise to me, and I was quickly running out of time. I
carefully formulated a plan.
Morlene
and I both lived in the same general neighborhood and took the same school bus
home after school. It was simple.
I’d ride the bus every day until a seat was open next to Morlene, and
I’d ask her if it was ok if I sat there. She’d
say “sure”, and I would sit there and make small-talk for a while, then
I’d pop the question. No, it
wasn’t any good. I knew I’d
hardly be able to talk, let alone THINK. I
decided that I’d ask her how she had done on the English test that morning;
that would break the ice. "That
was sure some test, huh?” or “How do you think you did on the test?” would
be easy to remember, even under bone-crushing stress.
I rehearsed it again and again. I
could say it while asleep.
I
was a picture of confidence as I walked straight to the bus, but it belied a
stifling burden of fear, uncertainty
and doubt. It was when I took the
first step on the boarding stairs that it hit me:
WE HADN’T HAD AN ENGLISH TEST THAT MORNING!
Fortunately, nobody was behind me when I backed off the step as though I
had bounced off an invisible wall. With nonchalance, I leaned down and re-tied a
shoelace, then, like a martyr walking to the guillotine, I entered the bus and
started down the aisle. About half
of the seats were taken, but Morlene was not on the bus.
It was a reprieve from the gallows, absolution from The Almighty Himself.
Relieved, I grabbed a seat by a window, looked out, and took a couple of
easy breaths. I turned away from the
window. MORLENE had boarded the bus
and was walking down the aisle TOWARD ME! When
she reached my row, she stopped. I
wanted to vaporize. She asked if she
could sit next to me. I couldn't
breathe, let alone talk. I managed
to mumble something and she apparently took it as “yes’, because she sat
down next to me.
That
bus ride can legitimately be described as the most agonizing experience ever
known to man. As the bus left the
curb I forced myself to look at Morlene. She
looked straight into my eyes and… SMILED!
I melted into the window frame. Holy
cow! A stupid prom couldn’t be
worth this! Apparently Morlene
didn’t notice that I was squirming and she didn’t see the beads of
perspiration running down my face, because she did absolutely nothing to ease my
discomfort. We rode in silence until
the bus stopped at my stop and I didn’t get off.
“Wasn’t that your stop?” she purred.
“Yeah,” I blurted hoarsely, “will you go to the prom with me?”
She
accepted. When I finally got off the bus, It was a fairly short walk home.
But it was a giant leap toward manhood, and my feet didn’t touch the
ground once.
______
And now, for the first time, I will reveal to the world what happened on the night of that Prom.
Judy
Pearce had told me that it was customary (necessary) for me to wear a tuxedo,
and to buy a corsage or nosegay (if requested) for my date.
Our family car, a 1940 Chrysler Windsor sedan, would be our carriage that
night. It was a nice car.
My dad bought it from Dick Jones' dad in 1945.
It had been Mrs. Jones' car during WWII and was in great condition except
for badly oxidized maroon paint, which I shined up with a coat of kerosene
(Ugh! But it worked).
It
was about 4:30 pm when I told my mother that I was going to drive the car to
west Arcadia to pick up my tuxedo and corsage.
As I recall, the florist and tux rental place were nearly next to each
other on the south side of Duarte Road, just east of Baldwin Ave.
My
late brother Stan was there when my mother handed the car keys to me, and he
grabbed them. "I'll take
Dick." He announced.
Stan was, well, older and much bigger.
I was very nervous that he would be driving Morlene's carriage before the
big evening, but I knew that if I objected, he would simply beat the shit out of
me.
Stan
drove me to the stores without incident, and I laid the tuxedo on the back seat
and carefully held Morlene's corsage on my lap while Stan drove back to our
house.
There
was a stop sign at Holly Avenue, at the school.
Stan stopped at the intersection and waited for the '46 Chevy he saw in
the rear-view mirror to arrive at the intersection.
Then, all hell broke loose as our maroon '40 Chrysler and the '46 Chevy
took off in pursuit of 60 mph in 15 seconds or less.
I was sure that the Chrysler's six-cylinder flat-head was going to blow
when we hit about 18 mph in first gear. The
Chrysler was about ½ length ahead of the Chevy.
Stan was pumped. He pushed
the clutch down for a few milliseconds and violently jammed the gearshift into
second gear. The car lurched
forward, and Stan turned to me and winked as the rear wheels got
"second-gear rubber". I
don't know if we won the drag race or not, but I think we did.
I only remember thinking Jesus Christ, I hope Stan didn't mess up the
car.
My
prayers went unanswered when we reached the stop sign at the intersection of
Duarte and Santa Anita. Stan could
not shift into first gear; the transmission would go into second and third gears
only. Stan pulled into the Shell
station on the NE corner and talked the attendant into putting the car on the
hydraulic lift. He fiddled around
under the car for a while and gave me the bad news:
"First and reverse are gone. You'll
have to drive in second and third". It
was a message neither of us gave to our mother, even after she saw us push the
car backwards out of the driveway before I drove off to pick up Morlene.
Needless
to say, the shifting problem was very troubling, but
Morlene didn't seem to notice when I started in second gear and slipped
the clutch after every stop.
I
nearly got away with it.
Magically,
at the prom (The Rainbow Angling Club??) I found a parking place on a slope and
after the prom I was able to simply release the parking brake and roll backwards
out of it, eliminating the need for reverse gear.
However,
there was a post-prom party. I
cannot swear to it, but I think it was in Azusa Canyon.
Not way up there, but at the bottom, there was (and its remains are still
there) a bar or restaurant. If any
readers remember it, I would be grateful for confirmation.
Anyway, I drove up there in second gear the whole way.
There were parking spaces on the west side of the place, which appeared
to slope away from the road. I
pulled into one of them and Morlene and I went to the party.
When
we left, I opened the door for Morlene and then walked to the driver's side and
sat in the seat. I released the
parking brake and pushed the clutch in. Nothing
happened. The car just sat there.
I came clean. I told Morlene
about the transmission problem and explained that we would have to push the car
back. It was devastating.
I
wish that today I had a picture of me, in a tuxedo, and Morlene, a delicate 90
lbs or so in her beautiful white formal, as we pushed the car out of that
parking space.
Maybe
that's why Morlene didn’t give me a goodbye kiss that night, and why she never
dated me again.
Thanks For Stopping By!!
Dick
12-31-2010