MAKING A DIFFERENCE

The other day a friend and I were talking about political parties and how we both tended to take on the party of our parents, until we suddenly grew up and discovered we had minds of our own and could change parties if we wanted to.

I told her that although I didn’t change my voter registration from Republican to Democrat until close to the mid ‘70s, my outlook on things had begun changing from the courses I had taken from Dr. David Dressler at Long Beach State College in 1959. By then I had married, had three children, and had begun experiencing life as an adult. Having taken a few years away from schooling to have babies, I entered in my junior year and was lucky enough to sit in some courses that Dr. Dressler taught. This man had worked in Washington DC in the Roosevelt administration and he brought experiences and insights into his courses that for me was like having light-bulbs go off in my brain. He gave blue-book tests and upon reading them he knew whether or not you “got it.” Next to a course in advanced statistics, his courses were the most difficult and most enlightening I ever took.

Down the road a few years I was doing some housecleaning one day, going through boxes to see if I really needed to keep all the junk I found in them. Lo, I came upon an old blue book test that I took in one of Dressler’s classes. On the front cover was a number – probably where I sat on the bell-curve, a note under it that said, “Aside from anything else, it is a pleasure to read a literate paper,” and then a big “D.” When I saw that I laughed myself silly. I had no recollection of that test, but to find such a nice sentiment written on a paper that obviously got a “D” – well, it just tickled my funnybone. I showed it around to my friends and told them the story of Dr. Dressler, and told them I wasn’t surprised that I got a “D” because he really was making me think and reach and in spite of doing so poorly, I had learned so much.

I tossed the blue book on the table to show my husband when he came home. Later I walked past it again and picked it up, this time noting on the back cover, in my own handwriting a list of numbers. I don’t remember specifically what they were – but it was a grade range: numbers between xxx and xxx were an “A,” between xxx an xxx were a “B,” etc. I looked again at the front of the book, noted the number at the top, and then looked on the back to see where it fell. It, in fact, was an “A.” And then it occurred to me: that “D” on the front was Dr. Dressler’s initial, right at the bottom of what he wrote. I had another go-round with the laughter and of course had to run back to my friends and share it with them.

I have never forgotten Dr. Dressler. It was because of him that I eventually changed from my parent’s political party to one that I believed in with all my heart and moreover, that I knew exactly why I believed in it. There have been a few people in my life who have been very special; there have been a few who have given me a good boost along the way. I remember Dr. Dressler once saying to our class that he didn’t teach because he loved teaching; he taught because having the job enabled him to do what he most wanted to do: write. But he truly was a good teacher, and although I had other good teachers, both in school and on various jobs, I’d have to put him as #1 on the list of people who impacted my life.

THE SHIRLEY STREET GANG

In the early summer of 1959 my kids’ dad and I decided it was time to buy our first house. With baby #3 on the way we needed more space than an apartment was able to provide. We wanted a third bedroom and a fenced yard. And we really wanted some playmates for our kids.

At the time, Joe was driving a Coca Cola truck in the Costa Mesa/Newport Beach area, so it seemed logical that we should house-hunt in Orange county. We discovered a new tract being built in Westminster, near Garden Grove, and there we found exactly what we needed at a price we could afford.

The little house we picked on Shirley Street had 1140 square feet, with three bedrooms and a big back yard. The selling price was $15,250 and since Joe was able to use his VA loan, the monthly payments which included principal, interest, taxes and insurance would be $99. To qualify for the 30-year loan Joe had to be making $345 a month in, and luckily we barely squeaked through. In late summer our house was ready for occupancy and with the help of our friends and family we carted load after load of our goods from Long Beach to Westminster. We didn’t really have much in the way of furniture to move, so it just didn’t make sense to hire a moving van.

We lived in the Shirley Street house for five years before a job change took place that sent us elsewhere. But those five years were among the best in our lives. Most of the men of the families were, like Joe, vets of the Korean War. Most of us had pre-school or elementary school children, though there were a few teenaged girls just of the right age to baby sit. And many of us women were still having babies. Very few of the mothers worked outside the home. I do believe we were the last generation to be able to stay home and be a housewife without a guilty conscience.

We had an exceptionally compatible neighborhood. We had lots of block parties for the adults, birthday parties for the little kids, holiday parties – and especially big parties for one of the neighbors, Cliff Pike, who was still in the Navy and often went on another tour of duty. We partied him farewell and partied him welcome back. We developed a baby-sitting co-op which worked like a charm for a number of years. We belonged to PTAs together and for a while to the Westminster Women’s Club. To my knowledge we did not have any “Peyton Place” activities.

Now all this is not to say we didn’t have our little occasional problems. Politics was not much a problem until the John Birch Society era arrived; there were some mighty conservative stalwarts on our block and some bleeding heart liberals, so we all had to tread lightly for a while. Religious fervor to elect a Catholic president caused a few to feel somewhat offended, but these thing blew over without permanent damage. We considered these people our friends and we all remained friends.

Little by little as our kids grew older and our husbands moved up in their jobs, families moved elsewhere. However, a few stayed so many years that their houses were paid off.

The picture above is our Shirley Street group – minus a few who had moved too far away to attend – taken about 1985. As nearly as I can recollect, there were close to 30 children belonging to just those women pictured above. Over the years we had several reunions – and it was great fun to see everyone again. Most of us are still around, many of us stay in touch, and a few of us are getting into the great-grandchild era. But you’ll understand when I say that Shirley Street seems like just yesterday.

It was a wonderful place to be living in 1959.