California, Here I Come

I had served in the Army with two buddies from California, and their enthusiasm for their home state was contagious. Living there had long been a dream of mine-one I didn't think I would ever accomplish. So to say I was excited when I got the offer to relocate there is to understate the case, especially after Barbara agreed to go with me.

I received the offer in January, 1967, and was scheduled to move the end of May. Since my divorce would not be final until June, Barbara and I agreed to have her wait until after that time to make her move to California.

I planned to drive across the country, so I arranged to lease a new Ford Mustang convertible, to be delivered in Pennsylvania, but equipped with California smog control equipment. The California restrictions were the most stringent in the country, and I wanted to be sure I would not have a problem registering my new car when I arrived at my destination. As it turned out, the Ford company didn't supply the proper equipment, and I had to have some revisions done anyway.

Of course Barbara and I continued to see each other during the period before I left. We talked for hours on the phone. During one such conversation my soon to be ex-wife tried to call me and couldn't get through. She hired a taxi and showed up on my doorstep, infuriated because my phone was busy for such a long time. Of course, I refused to tell her to whom I was talking, which only served to increase her anger. Finally, however, she calmed down and left, and a few days later she moved to Florida where her brother was living. At last I was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

When the day came for me to leave, Barbara and I were up until midnight the night before, catching up my laundry, packing, etc. I started out about seven in the morning. The first night I stayed in Indianapolis, and the next day I caught route 66 in St. Louis and followed that historic highway from that point on. As the song goes, you go through St. Louis, Joplin, Oklahoma City, Amarillo, Gallup, and Flagstaff. At that point I turned off to visit friends in Phoenix for a day, and then continued again through Blythe, Indio and San Bernardino to Fullerton.

When I came down out of the desolate, brown desert into the lush, green Coachella Valley at Indio, I thought it was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. San Gorgonio near Palm Springs was my first sight of a snow covered mountain, and since it was almost summer, it was also a real surprise.

Although the first few days in Fullerton were overcast as usual for that time of the year, I fell in love with the hustle and bustle, excitement and variety of the area. It quickly dawned on me that if the company could send me here, it could just as easily take me back, so it didn't take long for me to start trying to find a situation where I would not be at the company's beck and call. It took me three years, but more of that later.

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Waiting For Barbara

After I left Manheim, six weeks went by before my divorce was final and Barbara moved to California so that we could be married. During that time I had a considerable amount of free time on my hands in the evenings.

I wrote to Barbara almost every night, but that still left plenty of time when I had nothing in particular to do. Some nights I read, but that gets boring after a while.

The Southern California area contains many cities jumbled together so that you cannot tell where one stops and the next one starts, so I decided to learn to find my way around. I would drive for a half hour or so until I was lost, then with the aid of a map book, find my way back to my apartment. In this way I became quite familiar with the Orange County area.

The topless dancer craze was peaking (pun intended) at the time, and since I had never seen such a thing, or perhaps I should say such things, in Pennsylvania, I naturally had to investigate those that. Since I didn't know where any such establishments were, a friend I met at my apartment building took it upon himself to show me. After visiting two or three, I decided I had seen enough.

A couple of evenings I just went to a local tavern and had a drink or two before going to bed. It was on one of these occasions that I had a strange experience. Somehow I got into a conversation with the man seated next to me at the bar. When I told him what state I was from, he told me of something that had happened to him in Pennsylvania.

"I was driving from New York to California," he said, "when I ran into fog on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and decided to get off for a cup of coffee. I drove away from the Turnpike for a short time, and came upon the town of, I believe it was called Manheim, where I found a restaurant.

"When I walked into the place, there were about a half dozen men seated at the counter, talking to one another. I soon as I entered, the conversation stopped, and they all turned and looked at me.

"For the entire time I was there, no one said anything. Everyone continued to stare at me. It seemed very strange, and I was glad to get out of there." Of course I was excited! Here was someone who had actually heard of Manheim! I said, "Manheim is my home town and I'll bet I know the restaurant and I could probably name most of the people in the place."

We talked for a few minutes about the coincidence of having met like this. Soon, however, it was time for me to go. For some reason he seemed very upset that I had to leave, and even got rather obnoxious about it, but I finally got away.

I thought about this from time to time, and finally I remembered that during the course of our earlier conversation he told me he had served in submarines during World War II. Immediately a new thought came to me; could he have made it all up? It seemed almost too much of a coincidence to be true. And yet, since I had never mentioned Manheim during our conversation, how did he know the name, how did he know where it was, and how was he able to describe it so accurately? Did he have a confederate, someone I had met after arriving here? Did I have another homosexual encounter without realizing it? Or am I just being paranoid?

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My Second Marriage

Since I had spent the weekend visiting friends in Phoenix, Ariz., I arrived in California on Monday, May 29, 1967. Memorial Day was still celebrated on May 30, so on Tuesday morning Johnny Smith, the local sales manager for my employer, picked me up at my motel and proceeded to show me the area. We drove out to the beach beyond the LA Airport, and followed the Pacific Coast Highway all the way down to Laguna Beach. Then he took me to his home, where I met his wife and son, for dinner. They treated me like one of the family, and it was a very pleasant holiday. I told them that Barbara would come to California after my divorce was final so that we could be married. They thought it was wonderful.

The next day I reported to my new assignment. After meeting the people with whom I would be working, and getting a quick tour of the facility, I went looking for a permanent place to live. With the help of some of my new fellow employees, I soon found a reasonable furnished apartment on Malvern Avenue in Fullerton, and proceeded to move in.

With one exception, the people at my new job were very friendly, and I soon fitted in to the routine. Outside the job, however, I had quite a bit of time on my hands. One of the things I did in the evenings was to drive until nothing looked familiar, and then try to find my way home. My circle of familiarity expanded quite rapidly, and I soon felt comfortable within a radius of several miles. I deliberately stayed away from the tourist attractions since I wanted to explore them with Barbara. I also made some friends in the building where I lived, and through them I managed to visit a few of the nightspots in and around Fullerton.

On one occasion I was sitting in my apartment writing a letter to Barbara when I heard what I thought was a piece of heavy machinery. A vibration throughout the building reinforced this feeling. Later someone asked me if I had noticed the earthquake.

My divorce became final around the end of June, so since Barbara had to give two weeks notice at her job, she arranged to come out the middle of July. It was wonderful to see her again. I reserved a room for her at a local motel in order to please her mother, but she never did stay there.

Nine huge boxes of her clothing, etc. arrived a few days later. Since the apartment was on the second floor, it was a good thing I had found some friends because I don't think I could have got all that stuff upstairs by myself. To my surprise and relief, we finally managed to get all of it into the apartment.

Since we had to get a license, find a doctor for our physicals, and find someone to marry us, it took a few days to get everything arranged. We wanted a church wedding, so we shopped the yellow pages for a preacher. Fortunately, we selected Paul Babbitt, a wonderful man, who was the pastor of the United Church of Christ in Buena Park. Since we were both divorced, he conducted a lengthy and, at least to Barbara's way of thinking, very personal interview with us. He decided a church wedding was OK.

The day of the ceremony, July 22, Barbara had to have her hair done. At the suggestion of one of my fellow employees, I made an appointment at a beauty college in Santa Ana. If you are in a hurry, never go to a beauty college. The appointment was at 10:00 P.M., and the wedding was supposed to take place at 2:00. It was after 12:30 when we left the (student) hairdresser, although she did an excellent job.

The only people at the wedding were those in the wedding party; the Smiths, whom I had met seven weeks earlier, and my Aunt Marie and Uncle Roy from El Cajon. When we returned to the apartment, our neighbors had arranged a surprise reception for us, with cake, punch, and other goodies. It was wonderful.

That evening the Smiths had also planned a dinner for us at a very nice Mexican restaurant. We didn't know that the restaurant was only a block from Anaheim Stadium, and the Angels had a home game that night. We were detained quite a while in traffic, and arrived fifteen minutes late. There was a lot of good-natured guessing as to what we had been doing that delayed us.

There is one final footnote from Manheim that we have laughed about ever since. The owner and publisher of the local paper and I were in the same class in school, and had known each other very well since we were 11 or 12 years old; in fact, for part of that time we were next door neighbors. Barbara's mother sent us the clipping of our wedding from his paper. The heading was "Manheim girl marries California man." I had been a California man for about seven weeks.

The Wedding Reception - 1967 (16K)

Renewal Of Vows - 1992 (17K)

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Ultimatums

I really don't like ultimatums. I don't recall if I have ever given one myself, although I probably have at one time or another, but when I receive one, I almost automatically accept the alternative the ultimator does not want me to accept.

I had been in Fullerton for about two weeks, and everything seemed to be going well. I was getting along OK with my employees, and I thought our relationships were good.

We had some files that needed cleaning out, and one day I noticed that the secretary/receptionist did not appear to have anything to do, so I asked her to do the job. I figured it would take about an hour.

"That's not my job. I don't clean files." she said.

I replied, "I realize it's not your usual job, but you don't have anything to do, the files need cleaning out, and it's not going to take very much time." I figured since I was new on the job, she was testing me.

Then she did it. "If I have to do that, I quit!" was her next remark.

I think I flunked the test as I replied, "I'm sorry you feel that way, but I accept your resignation, effective immediately."

She looked as if I had struck her. Tears started to well up. I turned and walked away. I saw her go into the General Manager's office, and a few moments later I saw her come back out. Now the tears were really flowing. I wasn't sure if he would back me up or not, but he did.

After a rendezvous with some of her friends in the rest room, she cleaned out her desk and I never saw her again. The office was very quiet the remainder of the day.

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Malvern Avenue

Just two days after moving to California I moved into a small but satisfactory furnished apartment on Malvern Avenue in Fullerton. It was large enough for Barbara and me, but when David and Gary moved in with us a short time later, we moved into a two-bedroom apartment in the same building. Little did we realize that a year later an incident would occur which would cause us to move out rather suddenly and unexpectedly.

David stayed with us only a few months before deciding that he would rather join the Marines than put up with the strain of living in a small space with a pair of newlyweds. In addition, he didn't know anyone in Fullerton, nor did he know anything about the area, so I am sure it was very boring for him.

Shortly after he left, Gary also decided he wanted to live with his mother, probably for the same reasons. In any event, a few months after moving into the larger apartment, Barbara and I were alone again.

After Reverend Babbitt married us, he came to invite us to attend the UCC church in Buena Park. We did, and especially after Barbara talked me into joining the choir, we met quite a few new friends. Even though we have all moved on to other churches, we remain close to several of them to this day (1998). I think Barbara was also getting bored sitting at home alone every day, but after she found a job with a public accountant in Fullerton she perked up.

When we had lived on Malvern for about a year, the apartment next to ours was rented by an ostensibly clean cut young man, but when the time came for him to move in, several of his friends moved in instead. They were anything but clean cut; instead they were scruffy hippie types. The landlord told us that the man who rented the apartment never did show up.

We tried to ignore them, but one day when we got home the whole place was in an uproar. A shotgun had been fired up through the roof, at which time the occupants of the apartment ran out the door and disappeared. Apparently the loaded gun had been stored in a closet, and when one of the boys picked it up to inspect it, he accidentally dropped it, and when the stock hit the floor the gun fired. Luckily no one was injured. When the police investigated, they found that the boys had been growing marijuana in the bedroom.

Barbara and I quickly decided we didn't need to live in such a place, and we soon found a very much larger and nicer apartment on Orange Avenue in Fullerton. We remained there for five years, at which time we bought a house in Cerritos.

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The Dirty Thirty

Shortly after Barbara and I joined the Congregational Church in Buena Park, she decided to sing in the choir. This was not surprising since she had been a choir member for several years prior to coming to California.

Eventually I was persuaded to try it, although I had never done much singing. Besides, to me many hymns, the church music with which I was most familiar, consisted of not very good poetry set to matching music. I still feel that way about most hymns with the exception of a few, notably God Of Our Fathers and America, The Beautiful, which can move me to tears. I am not sure what it is about them that makes me puddle up; possibly it's a streak of patriotism.

Although there are many exceptions, there is much choir music that is wonderful; most of our greatest music is religious, notably that of Bach, Beethoven, Brahms and Handël among the masters, including many spirituals and some of the more modern settings.

In spite of the fact that I had been out of the music business for many years, I soon decided to try arranging a few selections of my own. My first attempt was a disaster, not only because it wasn't very good, but also because I used some of the better known hymns and tried to vary the timing and harmony. I had forgotten that to learn something new it is often necessary to unlearn something one has been doing for a long time. There were some choir members who had been singing these hymns for fifty years, and they were not about to change. I never tried variations on familiar hymns again.

Eventually I did manage to arrange a few settings that were not too bad, although because of including too many high notes I was accused of hating altos and tenors, but I didn't feel the choir worked as seriously on my numbers as they did on some of the store bought ones. I think they knew me too well; sort of like a prophet without honor in his hometown.

The members of the choir were a hard working group, for example, we didn't mind giving up a very hot Saturday in July to record an LP Christmas record as a fund raiser for the church. And even though the weekly two-hour rehearsals often ran overtime, there was seldom any serious complaining about it. The only exception was the week the Roots series was on TV; rehearsal had to break early so no one would miss a chapter.

But it was the group camaraderie that really impressed me. It was not unusual for several of the members to stop at a restaurant for coffee and conversation after rehearsal, even though it was 9:45 or 10:00 P.M. on a weeknight. We just enjoyed being together, and it was not a clique; the group membership varied from week to week.

Probably the most unusual aspect of the choir was that it was composed of a bunch of party animals. Whenever there was a hint of a dance, dinner or party of any kind, the choir turned out en masse. It was due to these fun loving tendencies that the choir became known, principally among its members, as the "Dirty Thirty," even though there were probably never thirty members at one time, unless one counted non-singing spouses. And to my knowledge there was never any hint of bawdiness or impropriety at any of their events.

As with any group, attrition took its toll as members moved away, changed churches, died, etc. But like an arthritic firehouse dog who more or less hops up when the alarm goes off, the four or five couples still living in the area are always ready to answer the call "Party time," albeit somewhat more slowly than they did 25 years ago. They also drink less wine now, which is a good thing.

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Buying A Business

I was in California only a few days when I decided I did not want to move back to Manheim. On the other hand Barbara required considerably more time, but eventually she too decided to make California her permanent home. It took us three years before we were finally able to insure that my employer no longer had the power to take us back.

During the spring of 1968, Barbara got very bored sitting around our apartment, so she decided to look for work. Besides, we needed the money.

She was too short to work at Disneyland. They told her that their office employees occasionally had to lead tours around the park, so they had a minimum height requirement of 5'4" in order that the tour leader could be seen from the back of the group. Barbara is 4'11" tall.

Another prospective employer told her that he wanted a less attractive woman for his front office so that his salesmen would not waste their time hanging around her desk when they should be out in the field.

Finally she got a job with a Martha Lee Kirven, a Public Accountant in Fullerton. Because of her experience in the accounting department back in Manheim, that was probably the best job for her anyway.

That autumn my employer did something that definitely confirmed my decision to remain in California. The factory in Manheim manufactured several hundred thousand different items for the automotive, aerospace, construction and other industries. The cost of each of these parts was recalculated annually prior to taking the physical inventory at the end of the year. The Cost Department worked hundreds of hours of overtime on these calculations between September and January. In 1968 they were short handed, so because of my experience they took me back for three months beginning in mid-September. I had not worked in that department for four years, and suddenly they needed my help. Needless to say, I was furious! Barbara had been on her new job less than six months, and now would have to leave because they were under-staffed in Manheim!

Unbelievably Barbara's employer said she would hold the job open until we returned. What a wonderful lady!

When we got back home to California, I started to actively look for some way to "return proof" our situation. I took some accrued vacation and helped prepare income tax returns for Martha Lee. I also worked part time with Doyle Hocker, a Public Accountant whom we had retained at the Fullerton plant to process our monthly financial statements through his computer service.

That paid off. One day in May, 1970, Doyle called and asked if I was interested in buying his business. I said, "Let's talk about it."

"Come out to my house tonight," he answered, "and we'll do it."

It was a lovely balmy spring evening, and Doyle prepared hot dogs and hamburgers on the outdoor grill. We sat under the trees in his back yard, and discussed the deal over our iced teas. He needed an answer right away, but I told him Barbara and I needed to talk. I promised to call him the next day with our decision. We decided to give it a try.

I gave my two weeks notice, and on June 1, 1970, I went to work with Doyle as a partner. At the end of the year, Doyle left. On January 2, 1971, Barbara joined me, and we were in business.

It was exciting, but very scary. Our bridges had been burned; we were on our own.

Postscript: When I left Raybestos Manhattan, another man from Manheim replaced me. After he had been here just over a year, the Fullerton plant was closed and he was returned to Manheim.

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Information Simplification

When Barbara and I bought Doyle Hocker's business, we were really starting something that neither one of us knew much about: running a business on our own. I had of course operated on a part time basis, but this was different. Now we were responsible for the whole routine (even though on a small scale): marketing, customer service, administration, production, etc. We had to either make it or go bust.

There were a few lean months at first, but once we got into the routine, things fell into place. One of the first things we did was to change the name from Hocker Bookkeeping Service, and incorporate under the name of Information Simplification, Inc. It was a real mouth full, and not our first choice of names, but the others we thought of were turned down by the state.

Next we set up a profit sharing plan. The company contributed an amount equal to 15% of our salaries into the plan, and we contributed an additional 10%. This was not always easy, but we're very glad we persevered.

It was the best of times to go into business,the early 1970s, just before inflation began running wild. In addition to contributing to our retirement, we were able to save enough to put a down payment on the condo where we still live, all with high value dollars. Our savings and the value of our house multiplied as much as five times when the mid 70s inflation hit. At the present time (1997) inflation is at an all time low and we will be fine if it can be held to a reasonable rate.

Our daily routine was fairly standard and predictable. The clients gave us their raw data: check stubs, bank statements, sales records, etc., and we put it all together and supplied them with financial statements, ledgers, journals and tax information. We also did most of their income tax returns for an extra fee.

As each day's work came in, Barbara or I would process it into the format we needed, then Barbara would punch the data onto a paper tape using a large machine which looked like a big cash register. After she punched the tape, I took it to the computer processing service in Long Beach and picked up the output from the previous day, which was then delivered or mailed to the clients.

In 1978 a large national company, that also sold computers, bought out the computer service. We formed a partnership (Tomorrow's Systems Today) with a few of our clients, and bought one at a cost of around $50,000. It was the size of two large file cabinets, and had a storage capacity of only ten megabytes, five on a fixed internal disk and five on removable disks. It was slow and clumsy to operate, but at least we were into the computer age. The five partners were each going to utilize the new computer in their respective businesses, but only one besides ourselves ever got set up.

In the spring of 1981 I attended a seminar at which I met Richard Strayer, who had a business similar to ours, which was located about a mile up the street from us. I had been trying to expand the business through the purchase of, or combination with, another bookkeeping business, so I mentioned the idea to Richard. He said "Let's talk about it." After discussing it, the idea was still on hold when I got a call from Jack Tarr, one of my clients.

I had been telling him his business was big enough to hire its own accountant. He said, "How much salary would you need to take the job yourself?"

Jack's call gave us a potential solution to a problem we had run into almost every year. Whenever Barbara and I wanted to take a vacation, we had to close the business for that period. Because of the nature of bookkeeping, we were very limited as to how long a vacation we could take. If I could make enough working for Jack to continue our life style, we could take longer vacations. Also there was the possibility that we could sell the business to Richard and have even more income.

I gave Jack a salary figure. He countered with a somewhat lower, but acceptable offer. I also talked again to Richard about the sale of the business to him. Both transactions fell into place. The idea was that we would sell to Richard, and Barbara and I would work for him for one month until he could gear up to handle the extra work, then I would go to work at Caltar Data Forms. Then Barbara would retire, at least for a while.

After the month, I went to Caltar and Barbara continued with Richard. She has now been there sixteen years. Eventually I left Caltar, and Richard and I have also had an off again on again business relationship up to the present time.

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The Turkey Festival

One of the clients that came with our new business had a tradition of giving his employees and some of his vendors (including his accountant) a large turkey for Christmas. Since there was only Barbara and me to share it, a twenty-pound turkey was a bit of overkill. The first year it stayed in our freezer until it became dried out and unfit to eat.

Before receiving the turkey the following year, I said to Claudia P., a good friend and an outstanding cook, "We will be getting a huge turkey for Christmas from one of our clients. It is far too large for the two of us, so if I give it to you, will you roast it sometime for your family, and invite us to share in the meal?"

"Sure," she replied.

"OK," I said. "We will probably get it the Friday before Christmas, and since it's not frozen, we will close the office and bring it right over."

Sure enough, about 3:30 on Friday, the client dropped the turkey off, so we immediately closed the office and departed for Claudia's house.

"Why don't you have a glass of wine before you leave?" she asked. Since we were finished with the week's work, that was fine with Barbara and me.

While we were having our glass or three or whatever, someone suggested we call some of our friends and wish them a Merry Christmas. We soon decided to make it a musical wish, so Claudia, Bill (her husband), Barbara and I gathered around the phone, and when our friend answered, we sang: "We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year." Then we immediately hung up the phone.

After we had called a few friends in this manner, the phone rang before we could call another. We picked it up, and instead of the usual hello, we again sang our Holiday wish and hung up, which of course told the caller where the party was. After this happened a few times our friends started showing up; before we knew it our little party had ballooned to a group of 15 or 20 people.

The celebration continued for three or four hours, and finally everybody wisely decided to go to a restaurant for something to eat. Fortunately there were no accidents.

The next year we did it again, although of course everybody knew where the party was by this time. Also, Claudia had prepared some snacks and "finger food" in expectation of the even bigger turnout that ensued.

The following year it was suggested to potential participants that in the event the "Turkey Festival," as it had come to be called, were held again, it might be a nice idea if everyone brought some snacks or wine or something to add to the merriment. This worked wonderfully; some of the food was quite imaginative and there was certainly plenty of it.

The demise of the Turkey Festival started a year or two later when someone got the bright idea that the whole thing should be planned: couple A bring a salad, couple B a dessert, etc. The date, time and place were also planned. It had deteriorated to being just a potluck party. Once the spontaneity was gone, it petered out within a year or two.

It's difficult to convey the merriment and frivolity that went on at these parties. It's as if everyone just decided to let loose and enjoy themselves. For example, at one of the parties one of the guests showed up on his motorcycle and began taking other guests for a ride. I know some of the people who accepted his offer would not have even considered getting on such a vehicle under any other circumstances. As Steve Martin would say, it was just a wild and crazy group.

Claudia and I recently discussed the possibility that it could be made to work again. We think not; we were fortunate enough to be part of a close group of people who really liked being with each other. Since then many in the group have moved away, died, or otherwise lost contact, and those who are still around are definitely older and less apt to jump at an unexpected call. The magic is gone.

Oh yes, Claudia always came through with the roast turkey, and it was wonderful.

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Our First Home

Barbara and I were living in Fullerton when we bought Doyle Hocker's bookkeeping business, and since all our clients were located in the Downey area, we commuted the 15 miles to the office. The daily drive became considerably easier when the 91 Freeway was completed.

At the intersection of the freeway and Artesia Blvd. there was a large open section that had originally been part of one of the many dairy farms in "Dairyland," the name under which the community had been incorporated. Because of the rapid influx of new residents, the farms had all relocated or gone out of business, and the name of the community was changed to "Cerritos." As we passed this section, we often mentioned what an ideal location this would be for us to establish our home. Our church and most of our friends were located in the Fullerton and Buena Park area, and this spot would be almost midway between our friends and our office.

Shortly after the freeway was completed, Westport Homes began construction of a tract of condominiums on the section of land in which we were interested. Of course, we immediately contacted the sales office, and quickly picked out the particular model we liked. Unfortunately the production schedule called for the first section of the tract to be completed during tax season of 1972, and since we didn't want to move during that hectic period, we opted to wait for the second section, which was scheduled for completion the following autumn.

Our home was completed in September of 1972, but due to the regulations of the Dept. Of Housing and Urban Development, none of the homes in that section could be occupied until at least 80% of them had been sold and the financing was completed. This was finally accomplished in February, 1973, just as tax season was beginning.

We were approved to complete escrow and move in during the third week of March, but we were allowed to have the key a week of two before that. We planned to measure the windows for drapes and blinds, and at the same time have a pre-occupancy house warming, so along with a few other couples we entered the house on the Sunday before our formal walk-through was scheduled. We had baskets of chicken, salads, desserts, and of course, wine, and since there was no furniture, we spread a tablecloth in the middle of the living room carpet and proceeded to celebrate an early house warming. Somehow a wineglass got wet on the bottom, and as we cleaned up we found a circle of red wine on the carpet. Nothing we did erased that spot.

When we had the walk-through a few days later, the spot was gone. Apparently it had been discovered during final inspection; probably the contractor assumed some of his workmen had left it, and cleaned it up for us.

Before we ordered the window coverings, we remembered that we had celebrated the house warming before we actually measured the windows, so we remeasured. It was a good thing we did; it's amazing how inaccurate your measurements can become after a glass or two of wine.

In spite of the fact that we were in the very busiest time of tax season, we managed to move in as scheduled. We were home!

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College Daze

After I had been out of school for twenty-eight years, I finally decided to go back and get my degree in Accounting. Oh, I had taken a few courses in electronics and computer programming, but I had not done any serious studying since 1946. Now it was 1974, and I was not sure I could get back into it.

However, I matriculated at Cal State Long Beach in the fall. I did some cramming in the months before school started, and by taking various tests and transferring credits earned at other schools, I had to earn only 94 of the required 124 credits by actually taking classes. I planned to take two courses per semester, although the pressure of work caused me to cut back to one course as time went on.

Of all the courses I took, I enjoyed the mathematics classes the most. Of course, this was no surprise; it had also been that way in high school. After one of our exams in Finite Mathematics, the professor said, "This exam yielded a very interesting curve. The highest grade was a 96, and the next highest was 54." I didn't think the exam was that tough, but I suppose the other students didn't agree with me.

In addition to the classes, there were occasional other events which were rather interesting. One evening on my way to school, I heard something hit the bottom of my car, but I didn't pay much attention to it. Shortly thereafter I noticed that my gas gauge indicated a very rapid usage, and I realized that my fuel tank had been punctured. I got off the freeway and returned home on the surface streets, expecting that I would either run out of gas or else the car would explode in a fireball like they do in the movies. Fortunately the tank was punctured on the side, so I didn't run out of gas, nor did the car explode.

At one time there had been a number of rapes on campus, so in one class a young lady asked if I would accompany her to the parking lot. She said she felt safe with me. This was somewhat disappointing; I had hoped that ladies would consider me sexy enough to represent at least a minimum amount of danger when they were alone with me, but I guess not. Besides, being the devout coward that I am, I didn't think I was enough of a fighter to offer adequate protection if someone really wanted to attack. So I walked her to her car, and I guess I must have done OK since she never did get attacked while I was "protecting" her, thank goodness.

In 1984 I needed one more credit to graduate, so I took a one-day, one credit course in CPR. It so happened that my father-in-law was dying of cancer at the time, and we were expecting the call that he had passed away at any moment. Since I finished my training shortly after noon, the instructor asked me to help him with some of the students who were having trouble with the lesson. I had to tell him I couldn't help; that I had to get home to wait for the call. It came that same afternoon.

Since the school had given up the Latin ratings (Cum Laude, etc.), I graduated "With Great Distinction," with a GPA of 4.0. The following spring I was indoctrinated into the Delta Gamma Sigma honor fraternity for Business Administration students, which is the same as Phi Beta Kappa for liberal arts students.

Although I finished my classes in the fall of 1984, the actual graduation ceremony did not take place until May, 1985. Since there were about 4,000 graduates at that time, I didn't think anyone would miss me, so I didn't attend. I received my diploma in the mail several weeks later.

Because I was fifty-five years of age when I graduated, and was working in a job where I received no particular advantage for having a degree, people ask me why I bothered. When I was young, it was my parents' dream that I would attend college. That dream evaporated when I got married, but when I got the chance, I decided to try to fulfill their dream. Besides, like Mt. Everest, it was there.

To The Top

Caltar Data Forms, Inc.

After Barbara and I sold Information Simplification to Richard Strayer, I worked with Richard for the first month to help in the transition, and then went to work for my former client, Caltar Data Forms, Inc., as Controller. Actually I was also the Controller for Jack Tarr's affiliated company, West Coast Graphics, Inc. After a few months Jack decided to promote his Sales Manager, Joanne Simpson, to the position of Vice President of Sales, and me to Chief Financial Officer.

From the first moment I started in September, 1981, until that sudden surprise ending in 1985 things went smoothly; at least I thought they did. But I have been wrong before.

Anyway, my first priority was to get the accounting system in order. It took several months, but finally the records began to make sense. The company had borrowed a considerable amount of money from the Bank of America, and eventually the bank decided to audit our books. They told us that they were excellent both as to the design of the system and also as to their accuracy.

Jack also had a problem with his previous employer, where he had been the executive vice president of the company. He owned some shares of the company stock which he wanted to cash in, but since it was not a publicly owned company, he and the president of the company could not agree as to how much the stock was worth. I finally managed to negotiate a deal that was fair and acceptable to everyone.

I felt that he should formalize his great but nebulous plans for the expansion of the companies, and after much discussion, he agreed. Gene Patton was half owner and general manager of West Coast Graphics, and Jack, Gene and I had several early morning meetings in order to work up a five-year forecast and plan for both companies. We then prepared a current operating budget, capital budget and other plans that we felt were necessary to achieve our five-year goal. As with all such plans, they trickle down to the employees to the extent the top management holds to them. Unfortunately, Jack gave only lip service and the extent of the implementation was that he sometimes pulled them out of his file to show to visitors as our "five year plan." Too bad; they were good, thoughtful plans.

Jack had an excellent forms designer, a young man in whom he had a great deal of confidence. One day I came across evidence that the designer was buying and selling forms on his own account. The only way he could do this was by utilizing contacts he had made with our suppliers and customers. Of course, this could not be allowed, so he was fired on the spot. Too bad again; he had a good future.

During the entire time I was with the company, Jack was constantly talking about needing larger quarters. Consequently, I spent quite a bit of time working with realtors in trying to find a location that would satisfy Jack. Eventually I came to the conclusion that he was a looker, not a buyer. After I left the company he did move it, but by that time it had grown to the point where he really had no other choice.

In 1983 Jack started a partnership with a business associate/programmer to sell computer software to the business forms industry. Now Jack had three companies, and I had to assume the accounting duties for the new partnership.

In the spring of 1985 Jack decided to give his officers and additional perk: a company car. I really didn't need one for business since I didn't do that much driving for the company, but it was a nice gesture.

It was not unusual for Jack to leave early on Friday afternoons. Often he would call me into his office in order to give me some last minute instructions, so I was completely unprepared for what happened that Friday in September, 1985.

When I entered his office, he said, "Glenn, since you have been here you have done everything I hired you to do, but now I am going to replace you. I have a new financial officer starting in two weeks. During that time you may continue to work, and you may tell the staff whatever you want, because I will only tell them that you are leaving. You may take over the payments on your car if you decide to keep it." With that he turned and left the office.

It took a moment to sink in. I had just been fired! To say that I was stunned would be a gross understatement!

To The Top

Galaxy Systems

Jack Tarr, the owner of Caltar Data Forms, Inc., was a super salesman. Always a leader in the forms distribution business, Jack required his sales people to visit customers and actually conduct an inventory of forms in each customer's office, then write purchase orders for all forms that appeared to be approaching short supply.

This meant that the turnover had to be calculated for each form the customer used; a long, arduous job for some of the larger companies. This procedure was not unusual in some industries, notably auto parts, groceries, etc., but it was the cutting edge of the business forms distribution business.

In 1983 Jack and a business associate, Pete Johnson, formed a partnership to develop and sell computer software to automate the inventory and order writing portion of the salesperson's job. By 1985 the development was well along, and sales of the program to other business forms distributors had begun. The partners decided to take the sales effort nationwide.

One Friday afternoon in September, 1985, I was fired from Caltar Data Forms, Inc., and Jack told me I could work for two more weeks if I wanted. Since I was fifty-six years old, I knew I would have a difficult time finding another job, so I decided to work as long as I could while looking for work elsewhere. It was a long, scary weekend.

Monday morning Jack again called me into his office and said, "I had an idea this weekend. As you know, Galaxy is really starting to grow, and the office work is growing with it. I was wondering if you would be interested in taking over all that work. How much salary would you need to go to work for Galaxy?"

Of course I knew Jack would not be willing to pay me as much as I had been getting at Caltar, but I needed a job, so I quoted him the same figure I had given Caltar when I started working there four years earlier. I also wondered if he had not had this in mind all along.

"Let me talk to Pete," was Jack's response.

A short time later he called me in again and said, "OK, you're hired."

"One more thing," I said. "I'm planning to take the CPA exam the first week of November, and I want to take off from now until the exam is over in order to study."

"OK," Jack said.

After the exam in November I started working for Galaxy, and since the position was new, I was able to arrange things as I saw fit. Pete was the de facto managing partner, and since he was interested primarily in software development, he gladly relinquished any other responsibilities to me at whatever pace I was able to assume them.

As it had been at Caltar, the first priority was to get the accounting system in order. At the same time I spent as much time as I could spare in learning how the program operated. In a short time I began to field the software support calls that were coming in from the rapidly growing number of customers. Of course Pete was always available when I got a question I couldn't answer, although I soon discovered I didn't have to know much to know more than the customers knew.

There were times while on the phone with a customer that I would have to say, "Can you hold for just a minute, please?" With the customer on hold I would burst out laughing, or in some cases let out a scream of frustration.

One time a customer's self styled computer "expert" said, "I have inserted the installation diskette into the drive and hit 'Enter,' but the screen says the drive is not ready. What do I do?"

I asked, "Is the door closed?" referring of course to the little door on the slot where the diskette was inserted.

"Just a minute," the person said. I heard her get up and close the door to the room where she was located. Then she came back and said, "It is now."

As many as forty different seminars relating to the business forms industry were held each year at various locations around the country. At each of these seminars the sponsoring organization hosted a show where suppliers to the industry exhibited their products, so as part of the expansion program at Galaxy, Jack hired several young ladies to represent the company at these shows.

Naturally this became a problem in logistics. Not only was it necessary to arrange for travel and room accommodations for our representatives; computers, backdrops and other supplies had to be shipped. Each show location had to be checked to see that properly situated electrical outlets, tables, telephones, etc., were available. Sometimes there was only a day or two between shows located thousands of miles apart, and getting from the show to the airport was a matter of careful timing; a delay could mean missing the next show. It became part of my job to see that all these arrangements were made and that the sales people were properly briefed on what was required.

In addition, the same people traveled to each new customer's location, installed the software, and then spent several days teaching the computer operators how to use the program. Since the customers supplied the computer, these arrangements were much simpler.

Sometimes there would be a brief period when the demand for service by shows and new customers was greater than the supply of sales people available. On some of those occasions Jack or Pete would fill in; occasionally I did it. I enjoyed the traveling and meeting people as long as it didn't happen too often and the trip did not take too long.

In November 1986, Richard Strayer spoke to me about getting back into the public accounting business. He wanted to open an office in Anaheim, and suggested we do it as a partnership. My responsibility would be to build up and run the new office. Starting a new office from scratch was a considerable challenge, but I agreed to do it. So at the beginning of December 1986, I turned in my four-week's notice of resignation to Galaxy Systems. It had been a most enjoyable year.

This time it was Jack Tarr's turn to get upset. He told me if I ever wanted to come back I would be welcome. This just a year after firing me.

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The Dinner Party

Since I retired in 1994, I have been doing the cooking at home. I never thought I would really enjoy cooking, but I was wrong. I love it.

If you follow the food chain from low to high, you find that each species has its predators. I'm sure none of them enjoy being eaten, so for that reason I always try to handle the raw products with respect. I really don't care for the fast foods and TV dinner type of meals. Not only do they have no flavor, they don't give us the wonderful sensations that the preparation of fine food can provide.

Sometime ago I prepared a dinner party for another couple in addition to Barbara and me. The menu was simple: chicken soup, cucumber and red onion salad, game hens, steamed vegetables, baked potatoes and a chocolate fondue with fruit for dipping.

The preparation started at the chopping block, and during the course of peeling, chopping and slicing the vegetables, I took enjoyment from both the bright orange, yellow, green and red colors as well as the various textures of the carrots, squash, cucumbers, onions, etc.

This particular recipe for game hens included a combination of parsley and garlic slices to be placed between the flesh and the skin, and as the cooking progressed, the mouth watering aroma quickly spread throughout the house to whet the appetite of the guests. We speak of "holistic" as meaning the whole is more than just the sum of its parts; I consider this aroma to be holistic. It's more than just a combination of odors of the roasting game hens, garlic and parsley, just as the flavor of ice cream is more than just the combination of the flavors of milk, sugar, etc.

The evening started with a glass of Chardonnay wine to get the juices flowing. The particular wine I chose had a bouquet of apple-citrus fruits and since the wine was partially fermented in barrels, there was a subtle hint of oak-spice flavor. It was light and delicious.

As I expected, the flavors, textures and colors of the vegetables were a pleasing contrast to the game hens, and the combined aroma was wonderful.

The piece de resistance was the dessert. I had peeled and sliced apples, strawberries, kiwi, cherries and bananas, and the bright colors and aromas were especially taste tempting. The chocolate sauce was served warm, and each person was provided with a wooden skewer to dip the fruit as he or she desired. The fibrous texture and sweetness of the fruit coupled with the creamy smoothness and chocolate flavor of the fondue made it both delicious and fun to eat.

Of course the meal would not be complete without coffee flavored with Kaluha or Amaretto, according to each guest's preference, along with shaved bitter-sweet chocolate, cinnamon sticks and whipped cream for further taste and aroma sensations.

Perhaps the greatest enjoyment of the evening, at least for me, came when the visiting husband said, "I don't think I'll need to eat again for another week," and his spouse said, "That was wonderful. I want all the recipes."

As far as I was concerned, that was fine food for the ears.

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Government Intelligence

I have had contact with U. S. Government security agencies only twice since I got out of the Army almost 50 years ago. Both occasions gave new meaning to the term "government intelligence."

When my employer transferred me to the California manufacturing facility in 1967, the government was very concerned that the Chinese were developing a huge military establishment, complete with missiles with which to wipe out the United States. Accordingly the Air Force was developing anti-Chinese missiles capable of firing across the Pacific Ocean in order to implement a "preemptive strike" in the event relations got to a flash point.

Designers at our plastics plant in Fullerton had developed about a dozen small parts for the super missile; parts which were designed to protect the warhead from the tremendous heat developed as the missile plunged back into the atmosphere on the way to the target. I received the necessary security clearance so that I could handle the reams of paperwork required by the government.

Since the brass back east was not too familiar with what was happening on the West Coast, I developed a little booklet to submit to them. The booklet contained drawings, specifications, tolerances, etc. of the various parts, along with details of the somewhat specialized procedures we were using in their manufacture. Then I copied an artist's conception of what this missile looked like from an aviation magazine that I purchased at a local bookstore. I superimposed miniature drawings of our parts on the picture, with arrows showing where each of the parts would fit if the drawing turned out to be realistic.

As was required on all military contracts, I submitted the booklet to the government for security clearance. All the information in the booklet was cleared except for one item: the picture I had copied from the magazine. That had to be stamped "top secret."

My next encounter with government security was with the FBI. Grandpop Grunenberger emigrated from Germany about 1890. He was about 10 years old at the time, and was accompanied by his mother. Some months ago my cousin Bob Jenkins told me he had seen grandpop's naturalization papers, and they were stamped "subject of the Kaiser."

Having heard stories about how paranoid the U. S. was regarding Germans during WWI, I thought perhaps the FBI might have started a file on him. So I wrote to the FBI in January 1997, asking for a copy of any files they may have accumulated on him. As required by the Freedom of Information Act, I submitted a copy of grandpop's death certificate along with a copy of his obituary. In April I received a letter from the FBI stating that they had checked all the files that had been accumulated since 1958, and there was none on George Grunenberger. This was hardly surprising; Grandpop died in 1934.

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Wally And Noma Potts

At the invitation of Paul Babbitt, the pastor who married Barbara and me, we joined his church, and subsequently decided to sing in the choir. Perhaps the first of the many friendly people we met in the choir were Wally and Noma Potts. Wally and I were seated next to each other in the tenor section, and it so happens that Barbara and Noma were also next to one another, even though Barbara sang soprano and Noma sang alto.

Wally was (and still is) very gregarious, and I had sat next to him at only one or two rehearsals before he invited me to join the Kiwanis club. This turned out to be a group of very sociable men, and we had some good times at the meetings. There was a rule that after a new member attended his first meeting, each member had to be able to respond instantly with the new member's name or pay a fine of 25 cents. Wally took great delight in asking members my name, and an unusually large number of quarters was collected for several weeks after my first meeting because of the difficulty of remembering the name "Grunenberger."

Noma also was a very friendly lady, and she and Barbara got along very well from the start. For several months the Kiwanis club sponsored monthly dances, and we had some very enjoyable times, not only with the Potts, but also with the rest of the choir and the members of the club.

Beginning in 1967 the Potts always had a Christmas Eve party after the early church service; a practice which continued until they moved to Idaho in 1990. When the Potts realized we had no relatives in this area, they became our adoptive parents, and except for the few times we returned to Pennsylvania for the holidays, we were expected to spend every Christmas day with them and their family.

This couple loved arranging little surprises for people. Although I don't remember it, I must have mentioned at some time that I had never had a birthday party. A few days before my next birthday Noma called and asked if we could come to their home for a quiet dinner in honor of the occasion. When we arrived, four or five other couples were there to help me celebrate!

Wally had a beautiful tenor voice, and loved to sing. Many times the two of us and sometimes one or two others would get together at his home for music sessions; I played the piano and Wally and whoever else was there would sing throughout the entire evening. Occasionally we would prepare a number for presentation at church. While the men were having a good time, Noma entertained Barbara and any other wives who were present. Wally is a devoted fan of gospel music; I must admit it's not a great favorite of mine, but he always enjoyed it so much that I too had fun with it.

In 1990, they moved to Idaho, and thereafter our correspondence consisted primarily of birthday and Christmas cards. We heard that Wally had had a mild heart attack, and several years ago came the devastating news that Noma had a bout with cancer, which resulted in her having a mastectomy. Shortly afterwards they returned to California for a visit, and she exhibited the big hat and lack of energy of the typical chemotherapy patient, although she never appeared depressed. We heard shortly afterwards, however, that the therapy had worked and she was apparently cancer free!

Last September we visited our son David in Idaho, and since we were only about forty miles from Sandpoint where the Potts were living, we swung by there to spend two days with them. They lived at the end of a long lane at the edge of what appeared to be miles and miles of wilderness. Approximately ten acres of that wilderness belonged to them. Both were always very active in church work, and while Noma was working four hours a day as church secretary, Wally spent his time handling minor maintenance chores at the church, puttering around in his workshop, or watching videos of his beloved gospel singers.

During our visit Wally took us on a tour of his woods, and the four of us took a long drive around the area; we saw some extremely beautiful scenery and at least fifty deer. We also spent some time in the lovely little town of Sandpoint, visiting, among other things, their church, and meeting their pastor, an enthusiastic young lady. During one of our excursions Wally told us that the doctor was getting a little concerned that Noma's white cell count was rising, although it was not yet in the danger zone.

A few months later we heard that the cancer had again shown up in her liver. Sometime near the end of May the family was told that she would probably not live more than about three months. Their younger daughter, Nancy, made plans to fly up for a visit around the end of June, however, on June 6, 1998, she received a call telling her she had better get there immediately. When Noma died two days later at the age of 71, the world became a little less warm, a little less friendly, and a little less hospitable.

A memorial service was held June 12 at her church in Sandpoint, but she had so many friends in California that another service was scheduled for June 27 at the church she had attended prior to moving to Idaho. Wally came down the previous week, and asked a few friends to have a small party after the service since he wanted people to celebrate Noma's life instead of mourning her death.

Wally rationalized to himself that "God must have decided he needed her more than I did." I doubt that; I think God is perfectly able to take care of himself. Wally, however, is a different story; without Noma around to take care of him, he didn't eat right and forgot to take his medicine. Two days before the second service he was taken to the hospital in a state of extreme dehydration, and while he was expected to recover, he was unable to attend either the service or the party.

Both affairs enabled some friends who had not seen each other since the Potts left in 1990 to meet and greet each other again. It is too bad that friends can live close to one another, and yet see each other only when someone dies.

I think Wally had the right idea about the party. When I die I would like my friends to gather for a little session of wine, cheese and other goodies, reminiscence, music, and a celebration of life.

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In Memory of Heidi

A Letter To Heidi

October 9, 1997

Dear Heidi,

I am finally getting around to answering the letter you sent me last January. I have been rather busy, or I would have answered a long time ago. I know that's a poor excuse, but it's the best I can do.

I have been doing a lot of thinking lately about how little time we have spent together over the years. The first time I saw you was in April, 1982, when you and your family visited us. Barbara's mother and father were here at the time. That same year Barbara and I flew to Hayward to be with your family over the Thanksgiving holidays. I am sure you do not remember either of those visits since you were just a baby.

In 1988 we all met at Yosemite and spent the day together. Barbara's mother was again visiting along with a friend, and I remember particularly how you took charge of the older ladies. You were telling them things like, "The trail is over this way ladies" and "Be careful here ladies, these rocks are slippery." It was very grown up of you, and Barbara's mother mentioned it when we talked to her on the phone just last week.

Your mother brought you and Danny for a visit about six or seven years ago. Although it was Saturday, I was working at the office, and even though there were no games on the computer, you played with it for a long time. I believe you were trying to write a letter. We all went to lunch at a Mexican restaurant.

One evening in 1994 the phone rang, and you said, "Grandpa! Grandpa! Turn on your TV! They're going right past your house!" So I turned on the TV and you were right, the infamous O.J. Simpson slow speed chase was passing on the freeway just a hundred feet from my house. We talked for a few minutes about the chase and other things.

Although we didn't actually see each other very often, your father did send me pictures from time to time; your school picture when you were about eight or nine years old, pictures of you as a cheer leader and on camping trips, etc. It was fun watching you grow up, even though it was only in pictures.

About a year ago one of your school assignments was to write a letter to an older person, and I am ever so glad you chose me. You talked about the things a sixteen year old young lady was interested in; in particular you were very excited because your mother was planning to get married again on a Caribbean cruise this past summer, and you were going to be in the wedding party. I wrote back and sent you a computer picture of a cruise ship, and talked about some of the other things you mentioned in your letter. I have found out since that the wedding was called off, and I am very sorry you didn't get to go on the cruise.

In January you again wrote telling me that your mother's fiancee had suffered a heart attack and a stroke, and told me to be sure to take care of myself so that the same thing didn't happen to me. That is the letter I am now answering.

I considered putting a note in with your birthday card, but you know how it is-we get busy and keep putting things like that off until the last minute. Anyway, I didn't get it written.

Last Thursday evening, the day after your seventeenth birthday, the phone rang about 8:20. When I answered I recognized your father's voice when he said, "Dad."

I replied as usual, "Oh hi. What's happening?"

Then came that terrible, terrible answer as he sobbed, "My little Heidi...was killed...in an auto accident."

We talked for a few minutes as he told me what little he knew about the incident at that time. Witnesses say you stopped at the stop sign at the intersection of Carrolton Road and busy Highway 120. We will never know why, in spite of excellent visibility, you then drove directly into the path of a truck approaching from the left, the truck which broad sided you while traveling 55 miles per hour. We can only hope that death was instantaneous, that you didn't suffer. I was quite sure that since we had not seen very much of each other over the years I would be able to handle this OK.

But I was wrong...on Friday morning I reread your letter. When I got to where you wrote 'We never got a chance to know one another and it's always better late than never. . .' the lost opportunities overwhelmed me and I cried like a baby. Needless to say, I do agree one thousand percent.

I attended your memorial service yesterday, and it was beautiful. I am sure you would have approved of it. There were so many flowers; your school band played and the director talked about you and how you made playing in the band fun for everyone, including him; several of your friends read letters and poems they had written about you, and some of them sang songs they knew you liked. Your aunt mentioned that you liked to clean the fish on your camping trips, and how you named each fish after one of your old boy friends. Everybody laughed.

I know that everyone whose life you touched, even if only briefly, will have fond memories of you for the rest of their lives. As for myself, I received a powerful message about keeping in touch with my loved ones, even if I don't see them very often. Things can change too quickly from "later" to..."too late."

Love,

Grandpa Grunenberger

Heidi (15K)

Heidi's Will

When I die I want my grave rite by my Grampas grave and I want is for my alwans (allowance) to go to my brother and my cat to go to my mom, and my posters to go to Jennifer Hart. My dolls (are to go) to my cousin(s) Kelly and Rebca (Rebecca). My jurry (jewelry) (is to go) to Andrea, Jennifer S, Jennifer H, & Ann. I want my furiter (furniture) be sould (sold) and (the money to be deposited) in my moms bank or Dannys bank. My cloths (clothes) to anybody.

Eulogy

The following eulogy was written and presented by Heidi's aunts:

Heidi Rae Grunenberger

Daughter, Sister, Granddaughter, Niece, Cousin, Friend

On October 22, 1997, in Manteca, a light went out. A young life ended tragically, leaving us to try to make some sense of it. But there is no sense to it, no logic, no understanding, no reason WHY.

How many words can we use to describe this child/woman? Bright, sassy, outspoken, assertive, loyal, helpful, loving, giving, kind. Heidi was joyful. Heidi was sweet, bubbly and vivacious. She was confident. She was talented and beautiful. Heidi was effervescent.

Heidi understood early on what few of us ever realize: that life is good and positive and fun; and maybe you just have to grab on and enjoy the ride. She had as good a grasp of this as anyone I've ever known. Every time I saw her she was jubilant, and happy to see me. She made me feel loved. A rare talent in one so young: to be so giving and selfless. At times she seemed so worldly and sophisticated, yet she was never too old to sit on your lap, play with your hair... She always wanted to help you look your best, so you could feel your best.

And Heidi was musical. I remember walking into the living room one day when Heidi was two. She was standing in front of the stereo, singing the lyrics to a rock-and-roll song that I didn't even know. Music and rhythm and dance were the outlets through which Heidi expressed her joy for life.

Heidi also loved camping with her family, her aunts and her cousins. And she was very good with the younger children, so she got invited a lot. She'd make sure each trip was a memorable adventure. One summer several years ago she learned how to clean fish. Every evening the family came in with the fish and Heidi would clean them. And she enjoyed it. She named each fish after an old boyfriend.

Heidi loved her family, her friends, her animals, her music and dance. Along with her brother, she was the pride and joy of her parents. Her brother, Danny, adored her and protected her as he could. Her baby brother and sister will rely on our memories to know her.

No child should die. But Heidi's spirit will not die. In my lifetime, in our lifetimes, there will always be a memory, an appreciation for the joy of life, the rapture of discovery, the sheer delight of being that is the spirit and essence of Heidi Rae Grunenberger, and she will live in our hearts.

Heidi's Life In Pictures. This may take a minute to load.

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A Renewal of Vows

IIn 1992 Barbara and I decided to renew our marriage vows in celebration of our 25 years together. I had no idea of the amount of preparation that would be involved, although to tell the truth, Barbara did most of it.

The first order of business was to pick a date. Although we had been married in July, we decided to hold the celebration during the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. Barbara’s mother was planning to visit us during that time, and as she had not been present at our wedding, we thought it would be fitting for her to be with us on this very special occasion. We checked the date with our pastor, Jon West, and picked Sunday, December the 27th at 4:00 pm.

We asked our closest friends, Bill and Claudia Pedler and Jim and Joyce Callazzo, to be part of the ceremony, and they all agreed.

Next we prepared a "to do" list: invitations, caterer, photographer, flowers, refreshments and a place to hold the reception. It was almost as lengthy as a wedding check list would have been. Oh yes, we also needed a special dress for Barbara and tuxedo rentals for Jim and me. Fortunately Bill Pedler already had one. The two ladies were willing to supply their own dresses. Barbara’s was ivory, Joyce’s was green and Claudia’s was red. Very colorful! We rented the tuxedos from Sears. Very black!

The next order of business was to prepare a guest list. We decided to formally invite 50 of the friends we had made over the years to the ceremony and reception, and issue a verbal invitation to the members of the church for the ceremony only.

Now we needed a caterer. Joyce Karen, the Callazzo’s daughter, did some research for us and came up with a list of three from which to make our selection. Also on her recommendation we hired the photographer, who agreed to provide the invitations in addition to taking the pictures. Flowers were ordered from the florist who supplied our church. All three providers performed admirably.

In the meantime, I had decided to write most of the music myself. Actually I was going to write one new thing, and the rest was stuff I had written before. The Lord’s Prayer was scored for a small group of men, and the choir director agreed to prepare them for the performance. The Pedlers’ daughter, Elizabeth, sang one number, In This Very Room, and George Morrisey, another friend, sang The Greatest of These is Love; a number which I had written many years earlier in order to spotlight his beautiful baritone voice. The rest of the music was written strictly for the organ, and was performed by my friend Derrien Symonds, the church organist.

The ceremony was perfect. Barbara’s mother walked us down the aisle, the music went well, the men were handsome, the women were beautiful, and the pastor gave a very nice homily. He promised us a printed copy for our scrap book, although afterward when he looked for it on his computer he couldn’t find it! Since it happened over 13 years ago, and we are now living 2,500 miles away, I doubt that he ever will. The good news is: we have it on tape somewhere. The bad news is: we can’t find that either!

Of the 50 friends who got special invitations, 48 came; in fact, one couple came all the way from Idaho! In addition about 30 of our friends from the congregation showed up.

The reception was held in the homeowners’ center of the development where Joyce Karen lived. She was certainly a key player in the whole process.

The caterer supplied two entrees, two salads, sandwiches, appetizers and the cake, which was delicious: chocolate with whipped cream icing and raspberry filling. There was enough food so that we could have invited the church members to the reception as well as the ceremony.

Of course we had ordered sodas, beer and wine, and a waitress friend, whom we had met on our frequent dining out nights, volunteered to serve as bartender and general “lend a hand” person as needed. In addition, although we had specified “no presents” in our invitations, she presented us with a beautiful hand-made scrap book in which to record all our mementos.

The photographer did an outstanding job, and we have a lovely album in memory of the occasion. The entire event was beautiful, and went a long way towards offsetting the fact that our wedding had been so small.

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The Family Reunion

In 1949, Harry Truman was inaugurated as President after defeating Thomas E. Dewey, the USSR tested its first atomic bomb, little Willy Clinton celebrated his third birthday, and 18 Grunenbergers got together in Manheim for a family reunion, which I missed because I was attending the birth of my older son. Only one other family member was missing.

In the interim, eight of those attendees have died, but on September 19 and 20, 1998, nine of the ten remaining attended the next family reunion in Virginia Beach, Va. This time I made it. In all, 49 persons, ranging in age from nine weeks to 79 years, showed up.

The First Day

Things didn't look too promising when Barbara and I got to the airport and found our flight had been canceled due to mechanical problems, although I must admit I preferred cancellation to attempting it in a defective plane. However, we got on a flight two hours later than originally scheduled, and since we had planned a four-hour layover in Chicago, we managed to make our connection with no problem. We arrived in Norfolk about 9:45 PM. Since that was only 6:45 by our internal clocks, we got to the hotel, checked in, and had a glass or two of Chardonnay before retiring.

My cousin Pamela DiDomenico really went all out on the accommodations. Our 5th. floor suite had a double bed, bathroom, kitchen area (including a microwave, refrigerator and sink), and a huge sitting room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a fine beach on the Chesapeake Bay. And the price was extremely reasonable.

At breakfast in the hotel dining room, we overheard the people at the next table mentioning some names with which we were familiar, so I introduced myself and found they were my cousin, Don Jones, whom I had not seen in, oh, maybe 55 years, and his wife and daughter, whom I had never met. We also bumped into another cousin, Bob Jenkins, whom I have seen several times in the last few years, since he lives in San Jose, California.

Later we took a short walk around the area, and knowing how easily I get lost, we took a dry run to the restaurant where the evening's festivities were scheduled to be held. After that we relaxed until Pamela showed up at our suite to finish a few administrative details. By then it was time to get ready for the evening.

The reunion dinner was held at the Duck-In Restaurant, primarily a seafood restaurant with a brief nod to those poor unfortunates who prefer beef or chicken to seafood. It was amazing how quickly people who, in many cases, had never met each other, managed to develop camaraderie. By the time the evening was over, each person had met and spoken to every other person in the room.

I had had t-shirts made with a picture of the family as of 1927 on the front, along with the legend "Grunenberger Family Reunion, Virginia Beach, Va., Sept. 19th. - 20th., 1998." Only seven had been ordered by family members prior to the dinner, but five more were ordered there.

Each of the older family members gave a short talk, but most of the evening was spent in mingling.

A highlight was a surprise guest from a branch of the family now living in Canada. She turned out to be a genealogy freak with relatives in France, where she was born. I happened to mention that I was having trouble getting copies of my grandfather's birth certificate and my great grandparents' marriage license. She said she would call her brother, who lives ten miles from the city where these events transpired, and ask him to go to the city hall and get copies. She also had a copy made for me of a pedigree chart that she had with her, starting one generation earlier than the one I have. It adds 70 new relatives to the those I know of. The documentation is missing, but it certainly adds a lot of clues for my own research.

At the conclusion of the dinner I heard nothing but enthusiastic comments concerning the evening.

The Second Day

Sunday dawned clear and beautiful, a trifle warm, but at least there was no hint of rain to interfere with the picnic we had scheduled.

We had received directions and a map of sorts to the picnic area, and were told it was a rather long drive. Somehow we missed one of the intersections where we were supposed to turn, so it turned out to be a very long drive. I didn't feel too bad, however, because just about everyone got lost somewhere along the way.

The picnic area was beautiful, with lots of grass, trees, a lake, and a play area for the kids. Because of all the trees the heat turned out to be no problem at all. We had rented a pavilion for the entire day, and the food was all catered so that no one had to work too hard.

We had hired a professional photographer to take the group pictures. I also received a pleasant surprise when one of my more distant cousins presented me with a full set of pictures which she had taken at the dinner on Saturday night. I am getting quite a collection of family pictures.

Again most of the time was spent in getting to know each other better and relating family stories, and again everyone enthusiastically approved of the picnic. In addition, we managed to find someone who agreed to arrange another family reunion, not in 49 years, but hopefully in only five. We felt that would be soon enough because of the relatively small size of our widespread family.

Just to keep my record intact, I got completely lost on the way back to the hotel. Usually when I get lost we have to go through the most crowded area of the city to get where we want to go, and this was no exception. I can only say that Virginia Beach has a very busy and crowded downtown area, and I recommend avoiding it if at all possible. Monday morning we left for Williamsburg, Va., but that's another story.

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Adventures While Eating Out

My earliest experience with restaurant meals occurred just before I moved back to Manheim in 1940. My parents had found an apartment, and not wishing to transfer me to a new school during the school year, they had me stay with them on weekends.

Since my father had finally obtained a permanent full time job, we could afford to walk to Scheaffer's restaurant on Saturday nights for dinner. The depression was still going on, so the three of us could eat for about a dollar. The meal included meat, two vegetables, bread and butter, and dessert.

When I started in the Manheim school system the next fall, my mother was working part time as a waitress at a local restaurant. I walked the two blocks to the restaurant for lunch, which cost about a quarter. Again, it was a full meal. I have written elsewhere about an adventure that occurred there, so I will not repeat it now.

A long time fixture on the Manheim Square, at least on Fridays and Saturdays, was Bill Shiffer's hot dog and hamburger stand. Bill had his enclosed trailer towed to the square on Friday morning, and proceeded to sell his wares through Saturday night. And they were the most delicious hot dogs and hamburgers imaginable. Costing a whole dime, they were worth every penny of it. A group of us made a habit of stopping in for a snack after the basketball games on Friday nights. Of course, the more time that goes by, the better they tasted.

When Bill passed away, his son, Paul, continued to operate the stand as before until the early 1950s, although by that time the price had escalated to twenty cents. I do not recall anyone ever getting sick from either Bill's or Paul's products, but at that time a local doctor decided that the trailer was unsanitary, and the stand was closed down.

After I went into the army, restaurant meals didn't happen very often except for one notable exception that I have also written about elsewhere. And after I got married, money was not plentiful enough to enable much eating out. However, after we moved to California, Barbara and I managed to eat out on a fairly regular basis. One of our favorite dishes was Chateaubriand at the Steer and Stein restaurant in Fullerton. It was delicious.

There was also a Steer and Stein in Orange, and one Saturday night we went there with friends to try it out. It was a disaster! First there was a terrible calamity: they ran out of wine! They resolved that problem by going to a nearby liquor store to replenish their supply, then the power went off and we had to eat almost in the dark.

We also liked to frequent Walt's Wharf in Seal Beach. Of course, the main attraction there was seafood, which they cooked over large charcoal grills in a glass-enclosed room. One night the power went off there, and the exhaust fans over the grills stopped operating. We had to eat while fighting back the tears in the smoke-filled restaurant.

One time while visiting Barbara's parents, we all decided to visit Williamsburg, Virginia. We tried to get dinner at one restaurant, but my father-in-law was wearing shorts, so they wouldn't let us in. Someone suggested a seafood restaurant just outside of town. It was actually an old warehouse, and the cooking was done behind a curtain strung across one end of the room. But the food was delicious. It was there that Barbara introduced me to steamed clams, and that soon became my favorite seafood. I have often been thankful that her father was not wearing ong pants that night.

At one time there was a chain of California restaurants called Reubens, and our favorite dish there was the Plank Steak for two. Again the power went off while we were there one night. (By this time we were beginning to think that our presence had an adverse effect on the power supply). We had already received our meal, and the emergency power supply was sufficient for lighting, but not for operating the cash registers. Apparently the help was not too good at addition, because we were told they didn't know how much the bill was. I told them it looked like about $30 to me, and they said that looked OK. I was honest with my estimate, but I suppose I could have shaved it considerably, and they would have accepted it.

There was also another occasion at a different Reubens location where there was a problem with one of their circuit breakers, so that they could not make any deep fried foods. Fortunately we had not ordered French Fries, so we had no problem that time.

Barbara's parents were visiting us when friends of ours took the four of us to a Chinese restaurant. Barbara's mother had left her open purse on the floor next to her chair. During the course of the meal, the food server accidentally dropped a tray full of food on the floor; a portion of it went right into my mother-in-law's purse. She was picking snow peas out of her purse for the remaining week she was with us.

Some time ago Barbara had some pizza left over, and the waiter said he would box it for her to take home. We waited and waited, and finally had to remind him that we were still waiting. He apologized, and brought her a complete fresh pizza, and in addition, he poured each of us a free glass of wine. Apparently her leftover had been thrown out by mistake.

Nowadays when we have leftovers, we ask that the "doggie" bag be brought to the table so that we may fill it ourselves. Why? Because one night Barbara got a bag full of leftovers from a meal which no one at the table had ordered.

There is no question about it, if one eats out often enough, he will encounter his share of "incidents." With us, it seems to be power outages more than anything else. I suppose we will have more adventures in the future, at least, I hope so. Not all the spice is in the food.

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Back To Pennsylvania

After Barbara and I had lived in California for 37 years, and both of us had been safely retired for some time, I began to think about the future. I am aware of the deep, deep truth that the future lies ahead, and the past is behind us, and I realize that old age is at least 15 years older than I am, but I had too much time on my hands, so I decided to think. Better late than never, I always say. (I seem to be developing quite a knack for clichés.)

Normally women live longer than men, probably because they don't have to live with women, and since Barbara is 11 years younger than I am, she has a good chance of spending some time alone. Now we have some good friends in California, but they are friends, not family. In times of real need, friends are helpful, but family is there 24/7. Barbara's family lives primarily in Pennsylvania, and mine lives neither in Pennsylvania, nor California. As for friends, we both have some in the east.

Of course, the weather was also a consideration, but I thought the family issue trumped that.

Finally, we were happy in California, but as long as we have each other we can be happy almost anywhere.

I mentioned all this to Barbara, and she agreed with me. Subsequently we decided to get on the waiting list for an apartment at Luther Acres in Lititz. Barbara's mother lives there, so we had seen the place when we visited her. After a little more investigation, we changed our reservation from an apartment to a cottage. We were told the waiting time would be from two to three years.

At the time the price of real estate was at an all time high and getting higher in California, and although we thought the bubble might continue to expand, to expect it to continue for two or three years was probably wishful thinking. Time will tell if we were right. In any event, we decided to sell our condo and rent an apartment in Lititz until our name tops the Luther Acres waiting list.

We made this decision early in June 2004, and since we had no idea how long it would take to sell our condo, we immediately contacted a real estate agent. At the time we had booked a wine country cruise for mid-October, so we could not move until after our return. The realtor suggested that we wait until late August to put the house on the market.

So on August 24th the place went up for sale. And by the 28th we had four offers! Three of them were dependent upon the buyer's selling his current property, but the fourth came with cash in hand. In addition, he was in no hurry to move in, and was willing to rent the condo back to us until November 3rd. Perfect! We all signed on our respective dotted lines.

Along the way a few paperwork glitches turned up, but they were finally settled the evening before we were scheduled to leave on the cruise. In fact, the agent came out to the house with the closing papers about 7:00 pm, and since we were leaving early the next morning, the escrow company wired the money to our bank account.

We enjoyed the cruise. Little did we know all the problems associated with a transcontinental move. More on that another time.

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A Cross Country Move

Although we made the decision in June 2004, and were not contemplating actually moving until the end of October, we found it was none to early to start planning. We started by making a "to do" list of the things that needed to be done: find a moving company and an apartment, buy medical insurance, arrange utilities, change addresses with the post office and magazines, etc., etc.

For people planning a long distance move, the internet is an invaluable resource. A quick search turned up a list of rental agencies in Pennsylvania, and after making a few phone calls, I found that Newport Commons in Lititz was in the process of building new apartment buildings, and one of them would be available in early November. Because we had scheduled a California wine country cruise for the middle of October, this fit our timeline perfectly. And the apartment was only a mile from Luther Acres, which was our eventual destination.

We got bids from two moving companies. The first rep was very helpful, and both Barbara and I were favorably impressed by him. The second was also very good, but seemed a bit pushy. The two bids were comparable, but since both men needed only about ten day's advance notice, we decided to defer our decision until we could set the actual moving date. At the time we were not sure how long it would take to sell the house.

The floor plan of our potential apartment showed two bedrooms, and since we had three in our condo, it was evident that some downsizing was in order. Over the next few months we made several trips to the Goodwill store with clothing, drapes, curtains, furniture, etc. We gave three or four hundred books to the Cerritos library, and our big stereo center went to a friend. Our second car, which we decided we did not want to transport, was sold to a relative of the same friend. Some items, a big desk and a love seat, Goodwill would not accept because they had no resale value. The realtor told us he would get rid of them, but when the crew came to pack our stuff, one of the men decided he would like to have them. Downsizing was completed on the day before the moving van showed up!

Medical insurance turned out to be not quite as difficult as we had expected. I had been insured by an HMO, and I managed to find another one fairly quickly via the internet. Barbara had been insured through a state plan, but I could find nothing comparable in Pennsylvania. Besides, she would be 65 years old just six months after the move, so we decided to look for a temporary plan to cover major medical expenses only. Again thanks to the internet, we found such a plan, and at only a fraction of the premium she was paying the state.

When the closing date was set, we were able to finalize the moving date. We fired off a deposit on the apartment, and in return we received a "Welcome" letter which listed the addresses and telephone numbers of the utilities we needed to contact. I called them and made all the necessary arrangements. At that point in time I was also able to call our California utilities to set up the cancellation. That was the easiest part of the whole process.

Some of our magazine subscriptions we were able to change online, and the post office provided forms for changing the rest.

About a month before the moving date, the moving company "pushy" rep called and asked if he could be of service. Since he was interested enough to follow up, we decided to use his company. Throughout the entire process he was very helpful. Sometimes one needs both a first and second impression to make a decision.

Now that all the items on our "to do" list were crossed off, we thought the hard part of the process was past. Ha, ha.

The day before the actual move, a crew of three men showed up to do the packing. I never saw so much paper in my life. Each small item, for example a wine glass, was wrapped in paper until the package was the size of a soccer ball! Of course all wrapped items went into huge cartons. A list of the contents of each carton was entered on inventory sheets, and each carton was numbered. Because the van would be carrying cartons from several customers, each number would be checked off at the destination to make sure we got ours and only ours. It was a very efficient process.

The van showed up at 8:00 a.m. on October 26th. Besides the driver and his wife (his assistant and paperwork handler) there was a two man loading crew. By noontime everything was loaded, the van left, and since the house was empty, so did we. The drive across the country was spectacularly uneventful. We arrived at our destination on November 1st. Enroute the driver called to tell us he would arrive on the 3rd. He called again on the 3rd to inform us he had trouble finding an unloading crew, but would arrive on the 4th. In the meantime we spent three nights in a motel.

While we waited for the van we stopped by our new and as yet unseen apartment, took a tour, and signed the papers. Fortunately we liked it - I am not sure what we would have done if we hadn't!

The crew unloaded the truck in three hours. As each carton was carried in, Barbara checked off its number against the inventory sheet. The furniture was set in the proper rooms, but because of the sheer size and quantity of cartons, they were stacked in the smaller bedroom. Stacked is understating the case - they were piled floor to ceiling, and the room was so full that we could not close the door! It appeared that we had not downsized nearly enough!

We unpacked for three days! By the end of the first day, we had a large Dumpster completely filled with the wrapping paper - not the cartons - just the paper. Our patio was completely hidden by cartons. Fortunately there was additional storage space available in our building. It was about 7' x 7', and is now filled to the ceiling with things we decided we didn't need immediately: Christmas decorations, souvenirs, etc. Eventually we found a place for everything else in the apartment, and it looks pretty good if I do say so myself.

But for three days it was chaos, and I never want to work like that again!

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A Conversation With Margy

On Monday afternoon, August 21, 2006, I played bridge at Luther Acres. Since my mother-in-law, Margy Dissinger was a resident in the extended care unit, I decided to stop in and visit her for a few minutes after the game.

She was not in very good shape. She was alternating between gasping for breath for 15 seconds, and not breathing at all for as long as a full minute. Her eyes were partly closed, and since she was heavily medicated, I am not sure if she even knew I was there. But I decided to hold her hand and have a conversation, one-sided I'll admit, with her.

I told her that I had just come from playing bridge, and if she had been there, she could have beaten me just like everybody else did. (I have been playing for about a year, and when she was able to play, we had a friendly competition going for bragging rights).

We mentioned that in 1976, Margy, Raym, Patty, Barbara and I visited Williamsburg, Virginia. Raym was wearing shorts, and we were refused admission to one of the fancy restaurants. Patty said he looked like a tourist, to which he replied, "Well, I am." We finally found a place which appeared to be a converted warehouse. The cooking was done behind a curtain, but it was delicious. They were the first, and the best, steamed clams I have ever eaten. Over the years we have talked several times about the place where they cooked behind the curtain.

While Barbara and I lived in California, she visited us several times. One time we took Aunt Esther and her to Yosemite, where my son and his family met us. My granddaughter was about seven at the time, and the little girl decided to take the ladies on a walking tour. She guided them to one of the waterfalls, cautioning them to "Be careful, ladies, these rocks are slippery." I think the ladies enjoyed the little girl and her tour more than the awesome scenery.

Another time in California we took Margy to visit Hearst's Castle, with its many rooms and guest houses. It includes a movie theater, and an indoor swimming pool finished in tiny azure tiles held in place by gold cement. We all thought it was beautiful.

Then we talked about our visit to Hawaii, where we walked a short distance through the jungle to the Fern Grotto, where the natives and non-natives go to get married. We passed the place where Elvis Presley's Blue Hawaii was filmed.

In Alaska the two of us bundled up in warm clothing, raincoats and fur-lined boots, and took a helicopter ride to the Mendenhall Glacier, where we spent an hour looking at the ice worms and other features which the guides pointed out to us.

Later on that same cruise we flew in a small plane, (four occupants, including the pilot) into the back country, where we landed on a beautiful lake. It was so calm, and the water was so blue, the snow-capped hills so green, that it seemed as if we were the only people in the world. And according to the pilot we probably were the only people within ninety miles. We flew so low that it seemed as if we could reach out and grab the bushes on the hills.

We remembered our cruise to the Caribbean, and the helicopter ride we took over the Virgin Islands. It was hard to believe how blue the water was, how green the forests were and how sandy white the beaches were.

Then we talked about her long life, and how she had spent over forty years with a good man. Together they raised really good kids, and they are happy and doing well in their separate lives.

Finally I reminded her that Jesus had gone to prepare a place for her in God's home. I told her that if she wanted to go there, we would be sad for a while, but happy for her, and that it was OK to go. We would understand.

Then I had to leave, and I told her that I would be back, but if she decided not to wait for me, it was OK.

She died 30 minutes later.

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An Evening With Dick Kline

Dick Kline is our neighbor and a fine musician. He presented a show for the residents of Luther Acres in November, 2007. I wrote the following review for the Hometown News, the residents' newsletter, for December.

Residents who attended Dick Kline's presentation of "The Lerner and Loewe Songbook" on Tuesday evening, November 13, received a musical treat. From the opening medley through the final tribute to Robert Goulet, (who passed away this past October 30) the music was happy and singable. It stirred up memories of the days when songs had melodies, and movies were fun.

Dick's co-performer was Mary Miller, one of his former students, and possessor of a voice perfectly suited for this musical genre.

The presentation opened with a short bio of L&L, who had their fateful meeting in 1942 at an exclusive club. According to Loewe, after mistakenly taking a wrong turn to the men's room he walked past Lerner's table. Having recognized him, he asked if Lerner wrote lyrics and Lerner confirmed Loewe's question. Musical history was born!

The piano overture consisted of a medley of tunes from L&L's top five shows: Brigadoon, Paint Your Wagon, My Fair Lady, Gigi and Camelot. After Mary sang one of the duo's lesser known tunes, "The Day Before Spring," the rest of the program featured selections from the five shows included in the overture.

For each show Dick gave a brief discussion of the actors who played on the stage and in the movie, along with a listing of the awards won. In addition to a piano number and a vocal number from each show, a film clip from each of the movies was shown. Having once seen the dance scene with Gene Kelly and Syd Cherise from Brigadoon, who could forget it? Or Maurice Chevalier's rendition of "Thank Heaven For Little Girls," from Gigi?

Also from Gigi, Dick joined Mary in a duet on "I Remember It Well." Singing and playing piano at the same time is very difficult; many well-known pianists have never mastered this art, but Dick has.

The finale featured Mary on a fine rendition of "I Could Have Danced All Night," from My Fair Lady.

In remembrance of the death of Robert Goulet, Dick played a recording of his "If Ever I Should Leave You," from Camelot. It was a fitting, although nostalgic, ending to a delightful evening.

Submitted by Glenn Grunenberger

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A Moravian Lovefeast

On Sunday evening, December 16th, 2007, Barbara and I attended the Lovefeast and Candle Service at the Moravian church in Lititz. This beautiful old church was built in 1787. Music has always been important to the Moravian congregation; in colonial America the best place to hear Bach, Mozart and Haydn was not New York or Philadelphia, but a Moravian church. The musical tradition continues today.

The lovefeast follows the practice of the early Christians, who shared a meal together whenever they gathered for worship. In the modern version, the meal consists of a sweet bun and coffee or chocolate milk. As the bulletin described it, "The lovefeast is an opportunity to signify our unity in the love of Christ as a family of sisters and brothers in the Lord."

A small but excellent Chamber Orchestra and a fine chancel choir performed the following selections as a prelude to the service:

Prelude on Von Himmel hoch	Wilbur Held (b.1914)
First Movement from Gloria	Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741)
Prelude on Quem Pastores	Helmut Walcha (1907-1991)
"Wachet auf!" from Cantata 140	J.S. Bach (1685-1750)
What is this lovely fragrance?	Healey Willan (1880-1968)
Prelude on Rhosymedre	Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958)
Love Came Down at Christmas	John Rutter (b.1945)
A Child My Choice	Richard Dirkson (1921-2003)

A large, unlighted Moravian Star (see above image) was suspended from the ceiling above the altar. During the Prelude, the sanctuary lights were dimmed, and the interior lighting of the star was gradually increased so that the church was illuminated by a soft glow. It was a beautiful effect.

The prelude was followed by the reading of the Christmas story as recorded in Luke 2.

Then it was the congregation's turn to perform several unfamiliar (at least to us) carols, although they were very easy to follow. Interspersed among the carols were a few selections performed by the Junior Choir. The taking of the offering was accompanied by the orchestra's performance of the Concerto Grosso in G Minor from the Christmas Concerto of Arcangelo Corelli (1653-1713).

After a brief homily, the congregation sang a few more carols, and then the rolls and drinks were served. It turned out to be quite a feat for me to balance a roll and a cup of coffee while attempting to sight read a carol I had never heard before. Because she was watching me, I think Barbara was even more nervous than I was.

Following this, the handmade beeswax candles were passed out, and since the congregation numbered around 600 people, it was quite an impressive sight. Barbara was sure I was going to set the music on fire, but all's well that ends well!

After the benediction, the orchestra performed Wir Christenleut by J.S. Bach (1685-1750) as a Postlude. As we left, the Trombone Choir, approximately 12 members, was performing in the churchyard.

It was a beautiful service; the music was wonderful and the sweet buns were delicious!

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The National Watch and Clock Museum

On April 25, 2008 we visited the National Watch and Clock Museum in Columbia, Pa., which is sponsored by the National Association of Watch & Clock Collectors, Inc. (NAWCC). Currently the museum has 1,500 pieces on display, with an additional 12,500 pieces archived for research purposes.

One enters through the 'time tunnel,' to the background sounds of clocks chiming and ticking. The tunnel terminates in the 'Ancient Timepieces' area, which features a display and history of the Stonehenge structures from circa 3000 B.C.E., and other ancient devices for measuring the passage of time. One interesting piece is a Clepsydra, or Egyptian Water Clock from around 1400 B.C.E. This was essentially a clay pot with a small hole near the bottom. As water escaped through the hole, the descending level inside the container revealed a series of dotted lines which indicated how much time had passed. Also on display in this area is a detailed image of the Su Sung water clock. This Chinese device was a tower approximately 30 feet in height, and dates from c. 800 C.E.

Mechanical timepieces came into existence about the 13th. century. In monasteries it was required that religious services be held at precise times of the day, so one monk was assigned to ring a bell to call the others to services. Various inventions were devised in order to remind the 'alarm' monk to ring the bell. Rather inaccurate public clocks in church towers soon followed.

During the next three hundred years accuracy and mechanics improved dramatically. English settlers in the early 1600s brought the so-called 'lantern clocks' with them. However, with the invention of the pendulum mechanism, these weight driven devices soon disappeared.

By the mid-1700s clock-making began to be established in America. Prior to 1780 most American clocks were of the 'tall' style; a style commonly referred to as 'grandfather' clocks. Most movements were variations of the Dutch and German types, but by the 1830s and '40s the American clock makers developed wooden movements - which were cheap but tended to warp - and mass-produced metal movements, which were stable, interchangeable and cheap.

Various galleries at the museum exhibit mind-boggling displays of all these periods, as well as other galleries which are devoted to European and Asian clocks, pocket watches, novelty clocks, tower clocks, wrist watches, electric clocks and others.

One interesting piece was the Engle Clock, dating from the 19th century. Animated figures of the twelve apostles, followed by Judas and Satan, march in through one door, pass by Jesus, who nods at each one, and exit through a second door. Saint Peter turns away in denial as he passes Christ; simultaneously a cock flaps his wings and crows three times. At various intervals other figures appear, including three Marys, Youth, Manhood, Old Age, Death, Roman Soldiers, and Justice. Meanwhile an organ and chimes are playing.

It reminds me of the It's a Small World adventure at Disneyland; indeed, I shouldn't be surprised if Walt Disney got his idea from a clock such as this. They were quite popular as traveling curiosities as late as the mid-twentieth century. Standing over eleven feet tall and eight feet wide, it is not surprising that they were called "monumental" clocks.

One item of information that I had not known is that until the 1870s each community in the country had its own time standards. Clocks were set by the sun; when it reached the highest point in the sky, that was noon. By the 1870s it was realized that was no way to run a railroad, literally, and the railroads divided the country into four time zones in order that schedules in different areas could be synchronized. But it was not until 1918 that Congress codified the zones into law.

There were two special and temporary exhibits. The first was a display of presidential clocks: approximately thirty time-pieces that had been used by twenty American president - from Washington, Adams, and Jefferson through Truman, Nixon and Ford.

The second special exhibit was a display of whimsical timepieces. Included was a 24 foot long, 12 shoed, 2 fisted, walking clock, and a clock with works made of beer bottles. The walking part of the clock logs over 2,700 miles per year.

We arrived at the museum and hour and a half before closing time; we could have used at least another hour to see everything.

The Monumental Clock (42K)

Walking Clock (30K)

Walking Shoes (33K)

Beer Bottle Clock (38K)

Bottles On Floor (41K)

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