Grandma, Grandma, Who Are You?

GRANDMA,

GRANDMA,

WHO ARE YOU?

Georgann Halvorson

Copyright © 2012 by Georgann Halvorson.

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CONTENTS

Chapter One: In The Beginning

Chapter Two: Bakersfield: Early Memories

Chapter Three: Carson Or Torrance

Chapter Four: Cimarron: Grammar School

Chapter Five: Cimarron: Junior High

Chapter Six: Cimarron: High School

Chapter Seven: Kimi

Chapter Eight: Longfellow

Chapter Nine: Lori

Chapter Ten: The Breakup

Chapter Eleven: A Little Bit Of Gordon

Chapter Twelve: Back On Longfellow

Chapter Thirteen: San Francisco

Chapter Fourteen: Yosemite

Chapter Fifteen: Kristen

Chapter Sixteen: Midpines

Chapter Seventeen: Mariposa

Chapter Eighteen: Merced

Chapter Nineteen: The Wedding

Chapter Twenty: Back To The Beach

Chapter Twenty-One 21: Retirement For Real This Time

Chapter Twenty-Two 22: The End

Chapter Twenty-Three 23: The Gold Coin

Writer’s Notes

Photo Gallery

Dedicated to anyone who dares to read the writings

written by Mom/Grandma/gma/sister/Aunt Georg/Georg/Georgann,

whichever name or relation fits

The following writings were inspired by Tobie.

Tobie is my niece, daughter to Bette, who is the younger sister of my soul mate, Gordon. The reference to Gordon on the following pages will most likely be friend, dad, brother, uncle, grandpa, gpa, or my partner of some forty-four years.

Tobie’s mother, Bette, was killed on her motorcycle in Montana, where she was living at the time, but her heart was always in Southern California. This was a devastating blow to Tobie, Bette’s son Levi, her grandchildren, her sister Linda, her brother Gordon, the entire family, and her close friends. Bette’s mother and father had previously died of old age.

Bette was not only my sister-in-law but also a very special friend, always willing to help anyone in need if she could. She was a free spirit. As a child, she had the nickname of Stormy. Bette’s pride and joy second to her children and grandchildren was her motorcycle, and she looked pretty cool on it. There will be more about Bette in latter pages.

Several years ago, while Tobie, her husband Stephane, and her children were visiting us at our home in Pasadena, we were reliving some events of many childhood memories when Tobie said she would really like to know things about the past and memories others have. This got me thinking that memories I have from my life and, in latter pages, some experiences from Gordon’s family may be of interest to my children and grandchildren, and maybe Tobie will be able to find a little solace in my recollection of events.

CHAPTER ONE

IN THE BEGINNING

It all started in La Brea, California, which I always referred to as the La Brea Tar Pits. La Brea is now referred to as just Brea California. The tar pits are real. Many remains from the dinosaur era have been found and are still on display in the Los Angeles Museum. The La Brea Tar Pits is the world’s most famous ice age fossil excavation site located in the heart of Los Angeles around Wilshire Boulevard. No I wasn’t born in the tar pits nor, of course, I was not born back then as I told people when I was very young.

The La Brea Tar Pits as thought to look like back in time.

The La Brea Tar Pits is known for its fossils, dating back to the last glacial period. It is thought that the Los Angeles basin was a cooler, moister climate back then. The large mammals would get stuck in the tar pits oftentimes while being chased by prey, such as the mastodon or wolves, and their prey might become trapped during a hunt.

Skeleton of a Columbian mammoth display in the museum. I remember as a child, this was one of the most awesome sights that I always remembered.

I was born in the Hollywood Presbyterian hospital on April 24, 1945, at approximately three in the afternoon. My mother had a very difficult time with childbirth. This was during the end of World War II. The hospitals were short staffed as much of the medical professionals were overseas, assisting in the war effort. My mother stayed hospitalized for a week, parked in the hallway as rooms were full. She was paralyzed after my birth from the waist down. My grandmother was there daily to tend to her, and finally, she insisted my mother be released from the hospital and transported home. Grandma was a small woman, but very stern. She nursed my mother back to health at home, and all was good, and I’m on my way in the big, wide world.

My grandparents moved from Sewickley, Pennsylvania, to Southern California to be close to my mother. Grandma Loretta Douglass was of French Canadian descent. Grandpa Samuel Douglass was a large man of Scotch and Irish descent. My grandmother was a cook for a wealthy family, and my grandfather was the chauffeur for the same family while my mother and aunt were growing up.

Of course, I do not have memories yet, but from what I’ve been told, there are a few stories that I wouldn’t mention if they were still alive, and I sure hope people in heaven don’t read this, or I will be in trouble. My mother said Grandma probably wouldn’t have been married to Grandpa, but she faked a pregnancy and married him under the false pretense. Grandma and Grandpa had a baby boy who died when he was eighteen months old from diphtheria and scarlet fever, better known as the plague. Grandma destroyed any and all pictures she had with her son in it as she grieved. Aunt Garnett was three years older than my mother. She and my mother were avid tennis players in college and played with a friend that became a famous pro tennis player for women. My mother entered a hamburger-eating contest. She didn’t win but ate ten burgers. I think this was during the same time that swallowing goldfish was a fad. Those silly college kids… what were they thinking? Aunt Garnett later married a wealthy man, who sold farm equipment in Europe. Aunt Garnett lived in France, where they owned an apartment in Paris and a villa and yacht on the Riviera. Uncle Roger didn’t know how to sail, so he never took the yacht out; he just liked to party on it and show off, according to the conversations I had with my mother. Uncle Roger and Aunt Garnett didn’t visit the United States very often. As the story goes, they never had any children. Aunt Garnett had an abortion when she was a teenager and never wanted to or couldn’t—I’m not sure—have children after that. And we thought these things were modern-day problems and didn’t happen to good girls in those days.

My father was Swedish. I never met my grandparents on my father’s side or my aunt Marion. They came to Pennsylvania from Sweden and remained in the east. My father and my grandparents on my mother’s side had a strained relationship from what I’ve been told.

My mother, Helen Louise Douglass (born December 7, 1914), my father, Bert Jay Lindberg II, my brother, Bert Jay Lindberg III (born in Sewickley, Pennsylvania, on December 21, 1937), and now me (the new baby) lived in an apartment complex in La Brea, California. The story has it that my brother wanted a brother, not a sister, so somehow the name Georgann came about and was assigned to me with no middle name. Georgann Lindberg had enough letters to have to remember and write for so many years of my life.

My brother was about one and a half years old when the move from Pennsylvania to Southern California came about. He developed polio when he was about two or three years old. He remembers being pulled around the block in a wagon when his leg was at its worst, and he could not walk on it. I’m not sure when or how he recovered, but he made a full recovery over time. Polio was a dreaded disease at that time. The polio vaccine wasn’t announced until April 12, 1955, by Jonas Salk. There have been other breakthroughs since this time, and polio is not that much of a threat in today’s medical world. I remember my brother in his teens as being quite the athlete as he engaged in surfing, baseball, and the beach.

Prior to any thoughts of my existence, my parents lived in New York for a time. My parents moved from New York to a one-bedroom apartment in Venice Beach, California, soon after my brother was born. They struggled financially as I understood it. My brother’s bed stuck out into the hallway. A small radio that they were making payments on had to be repossessed. These war times were difficult for most Americans with so much on ration, such as gasoline, sugar, and many other staples. Families had coupon books issued to them by the government. This was an especially bad time for the Japanese in the United States, even the American-born Japanese. After the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and the United States joined the war effort, all Japanese and their families were put behind barbed wires in internment camps in 1942 for the remainder of the war. These people lost their possessions, paintings, pictures—everything, except for the two suitcases each that they were allowed to leave their homes with. The government proclaimed this was for the good and the protection of the Japanese in the United States. There were so many thousands living in the United States at this time, especially on the Pacific Coast; and the white Americans were afraid that if Hawaii could be bombed, so could Washington, Oregon, and California. It was feared we could be infiltrated very easily, so all descendants of Japan could be traitors. China had horrific wrongs done to them by invading Japan, which caused further fears. It was feared the Japanese had warships especially along our west coast. My brother remembers that while living in Venice during this time, whenever the sirens went off, they needed to quickly lower all blinds in the apartment in an effort to black out as much light as possible to make an attack more difficult, if indeed there were any enemy ships or planes that had an attack planned. He remembers sitting out on the curb with my mother for hours, watching a convoy going by with many soldiers, trucks, tanks, and fighting machines. War was a very bad time for all Americans, of Japanese descent or not.

Women’s nylon stockings were very hard to come by and not affordable to most. Nylons in those days had the seam that went up the back, and sewing the holes or runs was attempted, but very difficult. No panty hose in those days. They clipped to a girdle or garter belt. When I first started wearing hose, as nylons were called then, there were no panty hose as yet. I sure am glad those days are gone; actually, now that I am retired, I sure am glad I never wear nylons or shoes for that matter… just flip-flops.

It was later in the summer of 1945 while my mother was at the beach when word came that the war was over.

My brother had to be held back a semester due to his health. He had his adenoids and tonsils out and then his appendix. Poor guy had a rough time of it for a while. I was fortunate, and I still have all those parts.

During this time, my mother had a friend who lost her son, and my mother couldn’t understand how her friend could go on with life. Her friend told her that she had other children whom she loved and who needed her, and that gave her the strength to go on. That was the talk that made my mother decide they needed to have another child, and thus, the move to La Brea and me.

My mother did a lot of her shopping by walking over to the famous Los Angeles Farmers Market, which started in 1934 with farmers selling their fruits and vegetables from the tailgate of their trucks at an expansive open land area at Third and Fairfax. This land had several different projects before it became a large vision and even larger market area with not only fruits and vegetables but also many other homemade foods and arts and crafts and various wares. Farmers Market still is very busy with shoppers and those who just want to have lunch at one of the restaurants, quite a tourist attraction. My mother was toward the end of term before my difficult entrance into the world, when she was walking home from the famous Los Angeles Farmers Market with her arms full with fresh vegetables and such—when her panties fell to the ground. She told me how embarrassing this was. I can only imagine. Said she couldn’t get enough of lettuce during her pregnancy. She ate it like one would eat an apple.

My mom had a girlfriend who delivered a baby girl about the same time as my birth. Her father was a doctor, and the baby girl grew up to be the movie star by the name of Kim Novak. Her stardom is probably before the time of any readers today.

One other detail that was shared with me by my mother during my early life was the tragedy of a good friend of theirs. They liked to play cards, and their friends went to Las Vegas whenever they could. My father often went but didn’t get in as deep as their friend. Their friend would gamble a lot, sometimes winning and sometimes losing everything. This evidently became too much for him, and his wife found him hanging from the ceiling in their bathroom. This is a tragedy, but I think my parents did have fun with their friends prior to this incident. My father wanted to go in partnership with him and others for an interest in a casino. He wanted to but did not. It sounds to me that they liked to party a bit and gamble, but not enough to cause such problems.

Let’s move on.

CHAPTER TWO

BAKERSFIELD: EARLY MEMORIES

Ah yes, Bakersfield, California. This is where it all begins for me. It must have been my father’s job with U.S. Steel that prompted the move. I am about three years old when my memory begins to kick in… yeah! Bakersfield as I remember is hot.

I had a good buddy named Sharon, and we played and played together whenever we could. We tried to be good, but things didn’t always turn out right. We lived in a three-bedroom house with a large backyard with several apricot and plum trees, in a nice neighborhood with the exception of the two brothers who lived across the street. They were the bad boys of the block, who were several years older and teased me all the time. My friend Sharon lived in the cul-de-sac at the end of street.

My bedroom had white furniture and a white wooden toy box that my grandfather made for me. This very wooden toy box is still in existence, used for storage in Kristen’s (my son) garage. I had a radio and a record player in my room that entertained me a lot. I’m sure it must have been rainy days when I couldn’t go outside or when I was in trouble. I had a storybook that came with a record by Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. (I hope some of you know who they are.) I would sing, if you could call it singing, to the Lord’s Prayer by Perry Como and Clear Blue Water by the Sons of the Pioneers. My favorite was Goodnight, Irene by, I think, the Weavers. When I grew up and heard Goodnight, Irene by the likes of Willie Nelson and Leon Russell, you would have thought I died and went to heaven. Songs like Jumpin’ Jack Flash, songs by the Rolling Stones, oh boy… rock and roll. This is all later, let’s get back to Bakersfield. I was also a fan of Gene Autry in my young life.

My brother, who is nicknamed BJ, short for Bert Jay, had a nice room also. His room was in pine wood. Bunk beds, dresser, etc. He had a large set of Lincoln Logs that he didn’t let me mess up. He created some pretty big stuff. We had a great dog named Fuzz. Fuzz was a black and white border collie, who stayed with my brother most of the time. He was supposed to be my dog with the hopes I would get over my fear of dogs, but I think I was too young to understand, as Fuzz didn’t hang out with me. I probably rode him or tugged at his tail or ears. Fuzz was totally devoted to my brother. He walked him to school, and against all school rules, waited outside the classroom for the end of the school day and walk home with my brother. My dad tried to chain him up on a clothesline, but there was no keeping him in the yard and away from school. Fuzz always showed up at my brother’s classroom, so the teacher gave in and put water out for Fuzz to drink. Fuzz and my brother were inseparable, and Fuzz was always there to protect him, which was a good thing while my brother’s leg was still becoming stronger.

BJ is about eight years older than me. He also had a Lionel train set that was put up around the Christmas tree each year. It was a large set that they added to. He still has it to this day. My mother was always an immaculate house keeper and loved to decorate for Christmas. Christmas was always a big, big deal as I grew up, no matter how much money we had or didn’t have.

Bakersfield was very hot during the summer and an agricultural area. Sharon and I felt we needed to run away from home one summer day, after we had gathered as many apricots and plums as we could in my backyard and put them in my wading pool and smashing them with our feet. Like how Lucille Ball