Sometimes Harvey would let me behind the counter to help customers. He taught me how to count back change, a lost art in the days of computer cash registers. For example, suppose the sale is $18.32 and the customer gives you a 20 dollar bill. You count mentally as you pickup the coins and bills: pennies--33, 34, 35; nickels--40; dimes--50; quarters--75, 19 dollars; ones--twenty. You always pick up the minimal pieces for the correct change that way. Then you close the cash drawer (very important not to leave it open) and repeat the count process out loud into the customer's hand. Note that the method of change computation generally used by clerks these days does not necessarily result in the minimal number of pieces of change. Eventually Mr. Miller gave me a job after school, and I helped in selling time on the track and sold slot car kits and parts.
I won the second place trophy for the Western Model Association slot car championship held at Toys Galore in Salinas in 1965. I still have the trophy.
The Millers had family in Stockton and decided to move there. Mr. Koch from San Francisco and his wife bought Toys Galore from the Millers. On their recommendation I worked for Mr. Koch after school and on weekends. I helped keep the hobby business running and I was a good employee. Mr. Koch and his wife were from San Francisco and had bought the store as business. He was determined to change operations to make more money. He put in a large supply of cheap novelties such as for New Years celebrations. He focused on the toys that were advertised on television. The hobby section was not a big money maker so he let it atrophy. Soon the stock of model accessories was so poor that customers stopped coming in. After a while I quit working there and started going to Turner's slot car track in Alisal.
I built a "sidewinder" (motor shaft parallel to and driving the wheel axel with spur gears) slot car with a Pittman six volt motor (the track ran on 18 volts) and set a track record and won some trophies at Turner's slot car track in Alisal. The car was the first to use a front wing for downward aerodynamic pressure at speed. I could fly down the long back straightaway and into the corner at a higher speed than un-winged cars. Full sized racing cars started showing up with wings a few years later. I used to go with Turner and several others to compete as a team against other tracks in places like Monterey and Los Gatos.
I was beginning to become aware of the hard limits of technology. I had observed that there is no free lunch in physics. If you want more water, you need a bigger pipe. Racing slot cars was helping me realize this. I started to follow real motor racing too. The Laguna Seca Speedway was about 10 miles south of Salinas on the Monterey Highway and was the home of Sports Car Club of America (SCCA) sanctioned races, including the Canadian-American championship races for group 7 cars (two seaters with enclosed wheels and gasoline fueled). Some of the people I got to know from slot cars were real die-hard sports car racing fans.
The conventional (naive) view is that technolgical capability is boundless. I had observed that there is a sigmoidal (s-curve) function that describes technolgical advances: things go slowly at first, then there are rapid advances until the limits of the technology are encountered and then there are diminishing returns. Take for example railroad transportation: in the 19th century, the miles of installed railroad track were growing exponentially. This trend could not continue indefinitely, of course, or the entire planet would be coverd several layers deep in track.
The rate of railroad track increase went to zero after the War. If you graph the installed miles of track versus time you will get a sigmoidal curve. Another example is transportation speed in general. You know the progression: ox cart, railroad, airplane. Transportation speeds leveled off after the Boeing 707 was introduced in the early '60s. If you graph transportation speed as a function of time you get a sigmoidal function.
The same sigmoidal trend is happening right now with computational power: the processing power per unit cost has been growing exponentially for the last 20 years (as of 2002). This process will hit the wall in about 10 to 20 more years, and when graphed at that time will also show a sigmoidal shape. But what about quantum computers? I don't think they'll pan out. There's no free lunch. If they do become reality, it will be the first case of a technology breaking out of physical constraints.
One day I was in Walter's room and the back cover of a magazine had photos of the Indy winning cars and their speeds (race average). That year's winner was a Lotus with a Ford V8 and the winning speed was about 170 MPH. The speeds were exponentially increasing and walter suggested that by the year 2000 the speed would be well over 200 MPH. Knowing about the limits of technology, and particularly how they applied to the Indianapolis motor speedway, I disagreed and we made a bet of $50. I asserted that the average winning speed at the Indianapolis 500 would not reach 200 MPH by the year 2000. Thirty-five years later I was proved correct. Walter claims he doesn't remember the bet, so he hasn't paid up.
We weren't allowed to watch television on school nights, but on Friday and Saturday nights, Dad would join us kids and watch westerns like Have Gun Will Travel and Gunsmoke. We also liked Sea Hunt with Lloyd Bridges as a SCUBA diving hero. We all knew how to use masks and fins in the pool and were fascinated with the possibilities of SCUBA diving.
Dad was getting into SCUBA diving and John and I were allowed to attend the YMCA diving course. John was going to be the required age of 16, but I was under age. Dad knew the instructor of the course, Dr. Madison, and John and I were both good swimmers and we passed the screening swimming test, so we were allowed to take the course. It required a lot of study of diving physics as well as lots of water skills training. When we graduated, I was probably the youngest certified SCUBA diver in California (if not the USA). One good trick I learned in the YMCA SCUBA course was how to breathe air from an "empty" tank. The steel tanks we learned with were pressurized to 2,200 pounds per square inch (psi) pressure, and when they were full, the weight of the air in them would make them sink in fresh water, and when "empty" they would float. I say "empty" in quotes because when you were "out of air," (the regulator would stop delivering air to the diver) there were still about 500 psi left in the tank. To get at that air, one could turn off the tank valve, remove the regulator, and by putting one's mouth on the tank valve and opening it manually a little bit, one could breathe air directly from the tank. I got good at this with practice, and could swim lengths of the pool underwater, cradling an "empty" SCUBA tank.
At the time, there was no government requirement for SCUBA certification. Anyone could legally go to a dive shop and buy compressed diving air. Dad had us measured for wetsuits at Duffy's Dive Shop on Lighthouse Avenue in Monterey and a few weeks later we picked up the suits and went ocean diving for the first time. We went on many dives together, often right off cannery row, entering the water right next to the AM radio tower, or off the Monterey breakwater. We also went to Lover's Cove and Point Lobos.
That Christmas John and I both got twin 48 scuba tanks with two stage regulators. A standard single tank was made of steel and held 72 cubic feet of air at 2,200 psi. The twin 48s held 96 cubic feet, and with them I could stay underwater for over an hour. Dad took us on a boat diving trip to the Channel Islands of Southern California through Port Hueneme. We got abalone, lobster, and all kinds of fish.
One time Dad took John and me diving from a boat with some of his diving buddies (perhaps Buck Rogers and Ed Stoffey) at Point Lobos, a very beautiful area, both above and under water. We were in about 50 feet of water with lots of kelp around. We three, Dad, John, and I, jumped off the boat and then submerged heading for the bottom. I had a bit of trouble equalizing my ears so I lagged behind them for a bit and then caught up. It was very beautiful below in the kelp forest. Various fish swam around, with sunlight streaming down, but I got separated again. The first rule of diving is "never dive alone." The thing to do was to surface and go back to the boat. Just then, breathing became more difficult, I had to pull harder on the regulator to get air. The tanks we had were equipped with what was called a J-valve. It was a lever at the top of tank connected by a steel rod to the base of the tank. I could reach behind me, feel for the rod, and pull it to get a temporary surge of air. I did that and discovered that the j-valve had already been pulled, probably having caught on some kelp when I was passing through some earlier. Sudden fear gripped me, but I didn't panic, and remembering my training, I started for the surface. As I ascended, breathing got a little easier, as the pressure of the air that the regulator needed to deliver was lower. When I came up, the surface was blocked by dense kelp, but being low on air, I had no choice but to penetrate it. Fortunately, kelp is slippery and I was able to make my way over the top of it back to the boat.
Dad also got into building salt water aquaria. He wanted to keep alive various sea animals he captured in Monterey bay where the water is 52 degrees Fahrenheit. He used the refrigeration system salvaged from a Coke machine and was able to keep sea anenones and small fish caught with a slurp gun alive for extended periods. He built the rather large aquaria (over 100 gallons) from sheets of plexiglass and kept them outdoors under the sheltered area to the south of the living room.
Mom and Dad took a driving trip in Europe, picking up a '66 VW bug in Germany and touring Italy. They flew home, sending the medium blue beetle via ship. When it arrived in San Francisco, Mom drove me up there and I drove it home.
I started working at Don's Douglas gas station. Don (I have forgotten his last name) loved sports cars and had some friends in the Laguna Seca racing scene, among them Colonel Gatske, stationed at Fort Ord, who was also a racing official with the SCCA (Sports Car Club of America) and was involved with the Laguna Seca races, which were held on Army land at Fort Ord. Colonel Gatske's son (I have forgotten his first name) was a year or two older than me and built beautiful and fast slot cars for racing at the Toys Galore slot car track upstairs. He was also very knowledgeable about real sports cars.
Fort Ord was subsequently turned over to California during the round of base closures in the 90s when Congress became controlled by the Republicans. They closed mostly bases in blue states such as California as punishment for being Democratic.
John Wallace, a friend I had known since elementary school, had a blue Corvette convertable and he would come by the service station and hang out sometimes. John Wallace was a year older than I, I think, and had also been a friend of my brother John's and they were on a Little League baseball team together. I remember John Wallace as a good athlete when he was younger. I didn't see much of him after that.
Don was working on rebuilding a red Alfa Romeo Spider Veloce. I got to help and watch them overhaul the four cylinder dual overhead cam wet sleeve engine with dual two barrel Weber carburetors. It also had tuned exhaust and a four speed transmission. It didn't run when I started working there, but he overhauled it and was driving it around soon. It was quite fast, but he never let me drive it. He also had a couple of rear engine water cooled four cylinder Renaults that his wife and daughter drove.
I started hanging around with Mark Humphries and his friends Steve Clasmeyer, Richard Gray, and Bobby Katner. Mark was John Humphries' younger brother and he had an MG mini that he wrecked and spent a long time repairing without much luck. He was always kind of down on account of not having wheels. He got it running once and then the engine seized up a few days later. Mark and I used to have long philosophical talks. Mark's mother had died when he was quite young. He once told me to beware of thinking something is true just because you think it. That's good advice.
One evening Mark and I were hanging around against the wall outside Mel's Drive-in, AKA "The Valley in the Sky" because it had an inverted roof. A bunch of bikers, the Losers of Monterey, were hanging out there too. One of them was trying to start his bike, a Harley chopper and it would pop a bit but he couldn't get it started. Mark and I, being mechanically inclined, were speculating as to the cause. Perhaps it was bad points or plugs. Another biker overheard our conversation and went and told the bike's owner that "we were talking bad about his bike." He came over to us and challenged us. I said we meant no harm and didn't want any trouble. I hate to fight, but our backs were against the brick wall and he started swinging at me, landing a few. I wrestled with him and got him into a lethal headlock and held him at about 50% max pressure. If he struggled I increased pressure. After about 30 seconds he realized I could kill him if I wanted to. I read his body language and wanting a good way out of this said "let's call it even." He grunted OK and I let him go. I then stepped up to him and offered him my hand. He turned his back on me. The gang's leader looked at him in disgust and said to him "you asshole." I said "Come on Mark, let's go" and we walked away with dignity.
The Vietnam war was occurring. Young men were being drafted and killed. I would be draft age in two years, but I didn't worry about it because I thought the war would be over by then. After all, how hard could it be to defeat a backward nation like North Vietnam? What I didn't know is that our leaders didn't have the guts to execute the war as it should have been. Why weren't we sinking the Russian ships delivering weapons to the enemy? Because we were afraid of the Russians. Why weren't we declaring war on China which was also supplying our enemy? Because we were afraid of the Chinese. We had no business being in Vietnam if we didn't have the stomach for war. It was an incredibly absurd American folly that resulted in substantial social disruption. Youth were protesting the war and the widespread dissent resulted in a youth counterculture that rejected authority and materialism.
In the spring time I went to the Laguna Seca races with friends. We went all three days and saw all classes of production sports car racing, formula V, as well as the very fast Group 7 custom sports cars on Sunday.
Music at the time included the Mamas and the Papas and the Rolling Stones Between the Buttons.
Candi had left a pair of globular shaped turquoise blue painted earrings in my jacket pocket and I found them the next day, giving me an excuse to call her. She later told me that it was deliberate as she wanted to see me again. That made me feel glad.
I called Candi the next week and we went to visit her friend Christine Honan, who worked in the school library as a student assistant. Christine later died in a traffic accident on Castroville Highway. I would later rent a room on Main Street from her mother, Mrs. Honan, when I got kicked out of the house when I turned 18 that summer of '67.
My parents knew a family who lived on Maunalua bay, east of the Kahala Hotel and West of Aina Haina, and we visited them one day. I don't remember their names, but they had a microwave oven that I saw in use. I had never seen anything like that before. My brothers and I went walking along the shore with their daughter. She was medium size and build and had brown collar length hair. When we had gotten some distance from the house she pulled a joint (cannabis cigarette) out of her pocket and asked us if we would like to smoke. I had never seen cannabis (we called it marijuana) before but I knew it was illegal and was actually a bit shocked at seeing it. I left and went back to the house. I was, at that time, a fairly naive and mostly obedient son.
The family's son was also into model rocketry, and in Hawaii the rocket motors were legal. He and his mother took me with them to launch rockets at Waialaeiki park near their home. That was a lot of fun.
I started working at the 7-11 convenience store on San Miguel avenue. The owner (I have forgotten his name), whom I worked for, gave up the franchise and it was taken over by Monte Carpenter and his wife Connie. They had just had a baby boy Scott. Monte drove a white Datsun pickup and Connie had a new green MGB sports car coupe.
Monte had worked in grocery stores, and had finally saved up enough money to buy the 7-11 franchise. He and Connie put in a lot of hours to make it work. Monte taught me as much of the grocery business as he could in a little store like that. Most profit came from cosmetics and drugs (over the counter only), but that was also the highest risk for pilferage. Bread and milk were the staples people came in for, and we also kept a small fruit and vegetable department that didn't make any profit.
I was mainly an evening clerk at the 7-11 store, but I also kept the slurpy machine filled, stocked the cooler, mopped the floor, and kept an eye out for shoplifters. I never caught anyone shoplifting, but Monte told me that they were having financial difficulty due to that continuing problem.
One evening I was robbed at gunpoint by a short thin man in a stocking (nylon hose) mask holding a 22 caliber revolver. He said "Give me all the money in both registers or I'll blow your funcking head off." The pistol was pointed at my belly at the time. I did as I was told and nobody got hurt. The police never solved the crime. During the robbery the perpetrator ordered everyone in the store to the floor with their hands behind their heads. Then he took their wallets and ordered me to the floor too. He said not to move or he would kill us and then left silently. It was about 20 seconds before we had the nerve to look up and by then there was no sign of him. A similar robbery was committed about an hour later in Santa Cruz.
In the store at the time were my friends Mark Humphries, Steve Clasmeyer, and a top-40 AM radio DJ who went by the radio name of "Mark Sherry." While waiting for the police to come, Mark, Steve, and I got to know him. Mark Sherry lived down the street, San Miguel Avenue, in an apartment building diagonal from Saint Paul's Episcopal Church (my family's church). Once he took me to a "battle of the bands" in Monterey where he was a judge and another time we went to a beach concert near Santa Cruz where we saw the Youngbloods. About half way through their set the Jokers, a motorcycle gang, rode in. Some of them got up on the stage and started harrassing the band members while they were playing. The scene had the potential to turn ugly so Mark and I left. As we walked down the beach toward Mark's car we heard the Youngbloods singing their signature hit song that went "Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now."
Mark Sherry played a Canned Heat single ("On the Road Again") on the Salinas top-40 radio station after Mark Humphries and I played the cut for him off their Boogie with Canned Heat album. Canned Heat later became a very successful music group, and played in Salinas on tour. Their song "Going up Country" was featured in the opening sequence of the music film of the Woodstock festival.
I again participated in Junior Achievement in the winter and Camilla attended with me. We didn't get much work done as we liked to go off alone and talk. However, we made it through the program and learned a thing or two about how hard business is.
As a store clerk and general assistant at the 7-11 store, I got to talk with the various people who came in to keep the store stocked, the milk, beer, and soda deliverymen, etc. I also got first crack at the magazines and paperback books. I read all the James Bond books by Ian Flemming, science fiction, etc. One paperback book that got my attention and that I read was called The Private Sea: LSD and the Search For God by William Braden. That got me interested in the consciousness expansion aspects of the counterculture, and I started reading library books on the subject, including books by Ralph Metzner, e.g., The Ecstatic Adventure, and Timothy Leary, e.g., The Politics of Ecstasy.
Candi and I cut school one day and we rode my motorcycle to Arroyo Seco and spent the day there. Salinas was generally foggy and cold, but Arroyo Seco was reliably sunny and warm. It was not far from Greenfield where Candi spent her childhood, so she knew the place well. My family sometimes spent summer days there at the Garin's summer house. Bill Garin lived with his family on San Juan Drive in Salinas, walking distance from my parents' home. I remember playing with the Garin children when I was younger. The back yard of their house looked out over lettuce fields.
It was after dark by the time we headed back to Salinas up the 101 highway from Arroyo Seco. It was very cold and Candi hugged me tight in the cold, riding on the back of my little motorcycle, running flat out and barely going 60. It seemd to take forever to get home. Naturally we were caught by the school for playing hooky and punished. My mother was very angry and disappointed with me.
I wrecked my bike going about 40 MPH on San Juan Drive. A woman in a red Datsun 4-door crossed an intersection when she had the right of way and then slammed on her brakes when she saw me coming. She stopped right in front of me and I was unable to avoid slamming directly into the side of her car. Luckily I was able to jump over her car, did an aerial summersalt with a half twist, and landed on my butt going backward, rolled and hit my head on the pavement. I sprang to my feet, but the forks of the bike were ruined. I had a headache for several days due to the concussion. I hadn't been wearing a helmet and didn't have one.
I eventually got the bike fixed, but it was never quite the same again. I think I sold it to a friend for almost nothing. I purchased a 1958 green Chevrolet Del Rey for $200. It had a six cylinder engine and three-speed transmission and would go to Monterey and back on a dollar's worth of gas. That was a great old car (but not fast). I had a job pumping gas and changing oil at Don's Douglas service station on South Main Street.
I gave Candi a model Porsche 911. It was a 1/24 scale styrene model kit, probably made by Revell. Having worked in the hobby shop I was pretty knowledgeable about painting and assembling model kits. I took it to her house and built it there for her. I painted it yellow. I promised her that some day I would buy her a real Porsche.
I had flunked the fall semester of my senior year high school English class, but I was able to make it up and graduate with my class by taking a correspondence course in English literature. Again, my mother was very angry with me. I actually enjoyed the correspondence course, worked hard and did all the readings, and learned more in that one course than in all of my high school English classes put together.
I played chess with Connie Carpenter and wrote poetry in iambic pentameter at their apartment. Music at the time included the Beatles Sargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and the Moody Blues Days of Future Passed.
Candi and I would usually meet at lunch time and eat together on the steps of the clock tower, sitting in the sun and looking out past the front lawn to Main Street. We often bought hamburgers at the place across the street, where I had met her (corner of Willow and Main). I didn't like dill pickels on my hamburger, and she did, so I would always give them to Candi. It seems like a small thing, but it's a detail I remember clearly.
I went to the Laguna Seca sports car races again in the springtime with high school friends. Monte Carpenter drove Mark Humphries and me out there in his Datsun pickup the Wednesday evening before the races began, and we got to walk through the pits and see some cars close up, and actually drove on the track for a bit. I don't think security was ever that lax again.
We boarded the motor coach in London and our first sightseeing stop was Stonehenge. I understand that Stonehenge is fenced off now so people can't walk up and touch the stones like we did. We then got back on the bus and spent the first night at a hotel in Bournemouth. We walked along the sea there and it stayed light until 10:00 PM. The beer in the pub at the hotel was served at room temperature (as all pubs do in England). I didn't have any, but Dad had a mug. We got to know the other people on the tour, all English speaking. Some from Canada, some from Australia, a girl and her parents from Argentina, and so on.
There was a South African girl on the tour, traveling with her parents. She was 20 (three years older than I was), named Jennifer Margaret Northcote Reid from Pinetown, Natal. She was a very pretty blonde and she worked in a record shop in her home town. At the first morning rest stop on the tour she put a shilling in the jukebox and played "Monday, Monday" by the Mamas and Papas. She had never heard of the Jefferson Airplane, a San Francisco group whose second album Surrealistic Pillow was popular in California at the time.
We visited Shakespeare's home, Stratford-on-Avon, saw cheese being made in Cheddar Gorge, and visited Salisbury Cathedral. John liked the Argentinian girl (I have forgotten her name). Jenny and I talked and got to know each other better. In the town of Bath, after dinner, Jenny and I climbed the ancient tower with John and the girl from Argentina. After that Jenny and I went to a pub and drank red vermouth. I felt very grown up going to the bar and returning with the two glasses to Jenny at the table.
We went to Wales and there was a thunder storm that knocked out power for a while in the hotel. I took a candle to Jenny's room and she thanked me for it. I went back to my room with my candle and a while later the power came back on.
We saw a lot of castles. Old ones, newer one, big ones, little ones. In Scotland, the bus driver let me drive the bus for a bit, after all the others were off. It was the first time I had driven on the left hand side of the road. The gear shift was very difficult to operate. We stayed at Loch Lomond, and visited Edinburgh and toured the castle. I thought the Scottish girls were very pretty and I liked their accents. We traveled through the lake country of northern England. Jenny and I went for walks together and talked about all kinds of things, and when we got back to London, we met up there. I wrote to her once after the trip but never heard from her.
We spent a week in London. The first day John and I went walking and got lost. We stopped and asked a Bobby for directions. The Bobby spoke with a Cockney accent. We didn't understand a word he said. We thanked him and somehow found our way back just by luck. We met the two girls from the tour bus for tea, and the next day I met Jenny for a shopping trip to a London department store. I waited while she tried on clothes.
Just by coincidence we met with a Canadian friend of John's who had been going to school in Salinas. John had finished his first year at Hartnel College. I forget the friend's name, but we met him at a pub at Piccadilly Circus, a very nice fellow. We went walking and he showed us around a bit. We walked through Hyde park, and we saw a few orators standing on their soap boxes, addressing small gatherings. We saw the London Whiskey-a-go-go.
Mom and Dad took us to dinner at the Haymarket, where there is a hotel, restaurant and theater. The restaurant's specialty was roast beef, which we enjoyed, and then we saw the farce The Importance of Being Earnest, by Oscar Wilde, which was hilarious. Before the play started, the national anthem was played, God Save the Queen, which sounds exactly like My Country 'Tis of Thee. We stood for the anthem, of course, like everyone. One point addressed in the play is something I had already thought about: in a pistol duel, is it better to stand facing the opponent, or sideways? If sideways, a thin young man presents a narrower target, but if he is hit, the bullet has more to travel through.
One of the things, among many, that I liked about London was the miniskirts the pretty young women wore with brightly colored knickers. I hadn't seen the like before or since. We took an overnight ferry boat to Amsterdam where we stayed in a hotel. We took a boat ride on the canals and saw a protest against the vietnam war. It was a bit puzzling because the Netherlands was not involved in the war. Obviously the protest was targeted at the USA. Then we went by train to the Rhine River in Germany and boarded a steam boat for a tour up the Rhine. We saw lots of castles in the mountains around the Rhine. We went all the way up to Lucerne, Switzerland, where Dad bought watches for us, an Omega for John and a Rolex for me. I eventually gave my Rolex to my son Tim after he was old enough to take care of it.
I missed the English breakfasts. The continental breakfast is meager fare in comparison. We took a train back through Germany, stopping in the spa town of Baden-Baden. We also stopped and saw the Koln (Cologne) Cathedral and then flew home from Germany. Getting back to California, things seemed strange after Europe, and I had a whole new perspective on life in America.
Shortly after we returned from Europe, my mother suddenly announced that she was getting a divorce and leaving my father. I did not see that coming. A few days later, after my 18th birthday, I was evicted without warning from nine San Juan Drive. I took a bed, some pictures, a table, and a couple of chairs. Mark Humphries borrowed his father's pickup truck and helped me move into a room in a house on Main Street across from the High School. I registered for classes at Hartnell College in the fall. I had a job pumping gas and changing oil at Marv's Enco service station on South Main Street in Salinas.
Note to other Rick Wagners about the use of our name: I am Richard J. Wagner, and I know there are lots of us Richard Wagners who go by "Rick." I use our name, "Rick Wagner," in the title of this autobiography because that's the name I go by. I established my personal home page under that name back in 1995, long before many people even knew the Internet (much less the Web) existed. So I consider I have a kind of Web presence precedence, and therefore am entitled to use my nickname in the title of my work. I know and/or hope you will understand.
Email Richard dot J dot Wagner at gmail dot com
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