1968: Looking Back a Half-Century Later

1968

Looking Back A

Half-Century Later

Copyright © 2018 by Jim Ilnicki. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from Jim Ilnicki.

ISBN 978-1-5439-5992-5 (ebook)

Stories are printed with permission and attributed as each author requested. Cover photo taken by Apollo 8 crewmember Bill Anders on December 24, 1968. Chapter dividing photos are from 1968 and taken from the public domain. Production support by John Gordon and Andrew Gordon.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

FORWARD

RICK HOFFMAN

RED

JOHN GARAGLIANO

GEORGE REGER

NAME WITHHELD

JOE KIRBY

TONY D’ASARO

TIM GRAVATT

GWEN VITELLO

ETHAN KRAMER

KATHY HARRIGAN

NAME WITHHELD

MARK HERRON

JOE GRIECO

JOE MITZ

DEBBIE GRANT

RON WRIGHT

CHUCK STURTEVANT

BOB ALLEN

ED GAZZANO

JOHN GORDON

CHET LANE

PATRICK MICHAEL

SUSAN ILNICKI

GLEN CREASON

JOHN PRESTON

DONNA O’FARRELL

SAL

ROCCO STAGNARO

ROBERT A. LaFEVER

ANNETTE WILLIAMS HOPKINS

WILLIAM R. O’KEEFE

JOYCE MURPHY

FATHER CHARLES GORAIEB

RAY BRAVO

JIM ILNICKI

TED WEBER

SHARON CASSIDY

DAVID ROSS

WAYNE TANAKA

TOM MARSHALL

BOB BRUMMEL

EPILOGUE

FORWARD

History is not a burden on the memory but an illumination of the soul.

-Lord Acton

Do you remember those days? Back porch, sunshine, mason jars - she paused at remembered sweetness - we were so foolish then...thinking there was a big ol' world out there to conquer.

-Melissa Marr, Graveminder

I started thinking about 1968 as 2018 approached. Fifty years have passed. Already?

But why was 1968 special to me? Because even as I lived through that year, I knew it was extraordinary. That memory stuck with me. I won’t bore you by listing all the important events that occurred. Most of them are embedded in these stories. There are also plenty of books and online chronologies you can access for more detail.

Early in 2018, I wrote down some of the things I remembered and sent them to some friends. They enjoyed what they read and responded with remembrances of their own, mostly about personal things. I became interested in, and impressed by, the depth of what they could remember from so long ago.

About a month later, I decided to send an email to a wider group, outlining the events of 1968. I asked for their stories. I wanted to know, against the backdrop of that exceptional year, what they were doing, where were they heading, and what how they felt about everything that was happening then. Responses varied, but they were all interesting. I was getting a flavor of what '68 was like for my circle of friends.

I wanted to further broaden my sweep, so I obtained a partial list of email addresses for people who were in my elementary and high school graduation classes (You may see some references to Serra High School in Gardena California). Another email from me produced more stories. Some were written in amazing detail. After that, I needed to decide what to do with them.

This book, in its entirety, provides us an overview of how average kids, mostly around twenty-one, perceived and tackled the challenges of that time. (Although my cousin who provided such a thoughtful response was only fourteen.) We were living on the threshold of adulthood. Many different stories emerged. They describe most of us setting out on new paths: work, college, marriage, children, experimentation, travel, political awareness...and war. At least those are the themes that have stayed with us for a half-century.

To preserve the intimate nature of each person's input, very little editing has been done to these stories. You will read raw and often-emotional personal reflections about 1968. Spelling errors were corrected, but only in cases where punctuation or word fragments caused potential confusion for the reader were non-consequential, minor edits made.

My sincerest thanks to all who participated in this project. You mattered in 1968, and you matter now.

-JI

RICK HOFFMAN

I’m sure that some of my thoughts will be a hazy line between 1965 and 1970 as that time period seems to all run together.

1968 was the year I received my AA degree from El Camino and moved on to Long Beach State. My main squeeze at that time was a cute little blond named Shirley Hasselberg. She was an avid anti-war supporter, and I believe she got Joe Boone in trouble when he was in Vietnam with some of the letters she sent to him. Proper decorum prohibits me from describing the kind of trouble she was always getting me into about that time. To say the least I was a willing participant.

I continued working at Ralphs Grocery Company in Los Angeles as I had done in high school until the fall of 1968 when I moved to San Diego. I was fortunate that my manager, Al Gray, would always find room for me to work each summer at Ralphs when I returned from school. In the spring of 1967 Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed and a shock wave of anger went through the black community in Southwest Los Angeles. I worked at the Ralphs Grocery store on the corner of Florence and Vermont. The store was going to be closed in honor of Dr. King on the day of his funeral. Mr. Gray asked for volunteers who would stay in the store and make price changes and stock shelves. I volunteered to do so. The eight hours in the store that day were tense. Ralphs had also staffed the store with armed security personnel, and the clerks working in the store were also armed. The store had a loading dock and ramp that was secured by a heavy metal door. Enough cars were parked in the loading dock in case we had to make a quick exit. Thankfully the only major event of the day was that we were paid at triple time!

I qualified for my private pilot’s license in either 1967 or 1968. I took flying lessons at Bates Aviation at the Hawthorne Airport. It was a blast. I remember taking my Mom and Dad for a ride just after obtaining my license. My dad was afraid of heights, wanted me to make my turns with the wings level and was happy when we were back on Terra Firma.

I also took Joe Boone and his younger brother Charlie for a ride over to Catalina for lunch. What sticks with me about this ride is Charlie getting out of the back seat when we got back to Hawthorne Airport and saying to Joe and me that being a pilot was what he was going to do for his life’s work. Charlie just retired as one of the most senior Captains at United/Continental airlines. Charlie had a stellar career as an airline pilot, and knowing I had something to do with his career decision is a great memory.

The summer of 1968 is a haze. Could it be that being 21 and going to places like Baby Huey’s and Dirty Ernie’s would contribute to the haze? In any case, a bit of work, a bit of flying, a bit of surfing, and a bit of dancing and indulging in adult beverages helped to make it a great summer.

In the fall, after a less than spectacular academic showing at Long Beach State and owing to the fact I had received my pilot’s license, I was able to enroll in a flight school being operated by PSA, a local California airline, at Montgomery Field in San Diego. The idea was to complete the school which was two years in duration, receive my flight engineer’s license, and move on to being a flight engineer with PSA. Sadly, that was not to happen as the job guarantee that was part of the Airline Training Center was rescinded due to the glut of pilots coming out of the Vietnam conflict.

One of the benefits of attending the Airline Training Center was that PSA offered jobs to their students. I was given the difficult task of shuttling the flight crews at Lindbergh Field from the operations center to the airplanes. As some might recall, the flight attendants, we called them Stews back then, were quite attractive. I ran into a couple of them that I knew back from my high school days, Cheryl Gibbs and Kathy Morgan. Kathy and Cheryl introduced me and my roommates to a bunch of their fellow Stews and good times were had by all. Cheryl eventually married one of my roommates, Terry Henry. Sadly, their marriage did not last and Terry chose to take his own life. I still have a picture of Terry on his horse. Terry’s passing was a life lesson in how difficult living can be.

With the job guarantee gone and the expense of the Airline Training Program almost bankrupting my parents, I enrolled at San Diego State full time. I enrolled in the School of Business with a Marketing Major. San Diego State is a great school and it was during this time that I really got serious about completing my degree. To this day I credit the excellent program at San Diego State for helping me build a foundation that lead to my career in real estate.

The Fall found me back in San Diego, living in Pacific Beach, attending San Diego State, and generally enjoying life.

I remember 1968 as a time of change and upheaval in America. Those of my generation were trying to understand the war in Vietnam, the flower power movement, rebellion against authority, deciding what the future held for us, and the prospects for life in an upset world. Looking back, I don’t think I understood what a difficult time I was living through.

I didn’t have to experience Vietnam as many of my friends did, and I don’t have the post-traumatic stress issues that some close friends still live with daily. I honor and respect what they did and regret that our country was not and is not more embracing of their service. I view as shameful the conduct of many in our government who enrich themselves while not taking care of those who served.

This had stimulated my memory and helped me to think back and reflect. History is an opportunity that, if embraced, can help us to not repeat the mistakes of the past and make better decisions for the future.

RED

While beginning my 3rd year of junior college, I broke my leg a second time in 18 months, this time on a Triumph motorcycle while caravaning to a JC football post-game party. Advised by my draft board that the stainless steel pin in my leg would keep me out of the draft, I continued my pseudo-education and hit Hollywood Park racetrack most weekdays after Spanish class. I was 20 years old and the world was in front of me. The war had little direct impact on me due to the condition of my leg after breaking it twice in accidents both of which should have killed me. I was determined to make my living as a professional poker player and gambler. Selling football cards, taking sports bets and playing Lowball poker seemed a much easier road than school or working in the family machine shop. Free and easy, great years of slow-pitch softball, chasing coeds and hanging out in Baby Huey's with the Gardena crowd. Worked downtown LA at Title Insurance. Beat you shooting pool on your on table in Downey (or was it the other way around?). Started enjoying oldies with Wolfman Jack on the radio.

JOHN GARAGLIANO

In January I was starting the second quarter of my junior year at UCLA. I was 20 years old. I was earning average grades in my classes, majoring in Economics. I was the President of my fraternity, Delta Tau Delta, a student manager on the UCLA football team and supposed to be signing up with the Air Force through the UCLA ROTC program. I had joined the ROTC previously with the plan to avoid being drafted and going to Vietnam as a ‘grunt.’ I could not envision myself tromping through the jungles chasing Viet Cong or being shot at by them. Totally unappealing.

I say ’supposed to be’ because the Air Force Colonel in charge of the unit would not get a special waiver for me. I could not fly because of poor eyesight and he did not want to ‘waste’ the waiver on me. My teacher, Major Sutton, fought for me to no avail. You may ask ‘Why would I need a special waiver?’ Well, it just so happens in the fall of 1967 I got a traffic ticket for making an illegal right hand turn onto Wilshire Blvd. I turned right from a middle lane when the right-hand lane was ‘right turn only except for buses’. That was my third moving traffic violation in my life. The other two were for going 35mph in a 25mph zone. Once you got three moving violations you apparently fell into a suspect category. (Note: Think Arlo Guthrie and Alice’s Restaurant). The rejection by the Colonel was a shock to say the least.

But this rejection by Air Force ROTC is not the end of the story. The Air Force ROTC in the fall of 1967 had asked me to postpone my signing my Air Force papers until the second quarter because there were so many in the program (any wonder why?). They wanted me to wait. I obviously said yes. It so happens that also in fall of 1967 I was classified 1A by the draft board. I was ripe pickings for the Army. I went to the ROTC unit and explained my problem. They gave me a ‘Reserve Deferment’ because I had committed to sign my papers in January 1968.

Come January, the Colonel says ‘No, we don’t want you’. I had my deferment. I was safe until the ROTC unit told the draft board I was not in the Reserves. I did not contact the draft board then. I was focused on classes, my fraternity and UCLA football.

For my entire time in college I primarily worked on graduating in four years and not building up any debt. (I had been a freshman at Santa Clara University, but it was too expensive.) I transferred to UCLA starting my sophomore year (1966-67) because of cost. I went to summer school between each school year in order to get my degree in four years. I joined the fraternity initially to get better housing and reduce my housing costs. I loved the frat life and got really involved in it. Also, one of my brothers was a student manager of the football team. He invited me to work with him. If I was committed enough, showed up at all the practices, including those in the summer, I could possibly earn an athletic scholarship. I did and I did!

In 1968, as you may be able to tell, I did not spend a lot of time thinking of the world outside of my personal goals. I recall the assassination of Martin Luther King and was concerned for the nation but, at the time, saw it more as a ‘Southern problem’, not a California problem. The assassination of Robert Kennedy in June hit me harder. It was in Los Angeles, not far from where I was. I was studying for my ‘Monetary Economics’ final at the time. I got a ‘D’ in that course. The other major historical events (e.g. the Democratic National convention in Chicago) I recall happening, but I did not feel the need to respond to or get involved in.

In the spring UCLA basketball, with Lew Alcindor (aka Kareem Abdul-Jabbar), was finishing up their 30-0 season and another NCAA championship. It was a major topic of conversation in my personal UCLA ‘sports world’ i.e. student manager of the football team. Also, I was invited to my fraternity’s headquarters in Indianapolis, IN. I went to meet with other selected brothers around the country and the fraternity’s national president, Supreme Court Justice Tom C. Clark, to discuss the future of the fraternity. It was an honor and awe-inspiring experience to meet Justice Clark. I remember he complimented me on some remark I made. No, I do not remember the remark.

The summer of 1968, as President of my fraternity, I went to New York City with another brother for the fraternity’s biennial convention. We took the opportunity to see the city and attend some Broadway plays, Pippen and Hair if I remember correctly. I went home to the San Francisco Bay Area. I had heard of SF’s Haight-Ashbury scene but it was not something that held my interest. I had a summer job in a pickle bottling factory and I went to summer school at night at the local junior college. I went out with friends