Christmas Surprise

My baby was not expected to be born until January 11, so it was quite a surprise when my water broke during Christmas Day gift-opening at my in-laws' home. Six hours after the floodgates opened, my daughter Kelly was born, at 6:49 PM.  During my labor, Kelly's father, Perry, was being treated to a complete turkey dinner in the hospital's cafeteria.  Back in 1971, fathers rarely joined in with the birth process, and in fact, Perry was ushered out of the labor room while I was rushed to the delivery room. There were no other babies being born at Sequoia Hospital in Redwood City that night.  Slow night, slow period for births, in general.

The process went so fast, that it even took the nurses by surprise. My doctor arrived just in the nick of time, interrupted during a holiday gathering, dressed up with Christmas tie, to help escort Kelly into the world. The best gift ever!

Through the years, there were the usual comments about how babies born on December 25 get short-changed in the gift and attention department.  Either that, or the gifts were piled on, two-fold.

When Kelly was 7, she wanted her birthday to be celebrated in June.  Honoring her wishes, we did so, but by Christmas, she changed her mind, so we celebrated again.

There are several December birthdays in my family. My mother, 2 brothers, sister-in-law, and I were all born in the 12th month, so have been used to having our birthdays overshadowed by the biggest holiday of the year. 
But each December 25, before I wish my daughter a "Merry Christmas", I wish her a "Happy Birthday" -  Kelly's birthday, and the best day of my life.

Wet Paint

Keeping with the spirit of the times (mid-60s-early 70s), I wanted my surroundings to be more colorful.  My sister had just died in a car accident - she was 16, I was 17 - and we had shared the bedroom. The walls were a mess, though I needed to cover more than just the walls.  I had an assortment of paints, acrylic and oils, and decided to just cover the walls with designs. 

 

Unfortunately, I ran out of linseed oil, and so used salad oil, instead (necessity being the Mother, and all that), to thin my oil paints.  Those parts of the walls that I used the salad-oiled paint on never did dry, so when my friends visited and rested back on the walls, they always came away with a design.

Being the cool hippies that we were, my buds and I were always looking for tokes.  But none of us had much money, so there were times when we couldn't purchase the stuff.  During one of these times, my friend Chaz and I wondered if catnip might do the trick, so rolled some catnip joints, and puffed away.  It didn't taste too bad, but an hour later, we both got the runs (big time!), so we decided that it wasn't worth it.  My cat Clancy loved the smoke, though. 

My friend Chaz and I had some wild adventures back in the day.  It was the mid-late 1960s.  Even when we were in grade school, we'd cut out, and hitch-hike to San Francisco.  We often hung out at 710 Ashbury, a couple of times we even sat with with Ron McKernan ("Pigpen" of the Dead).  Chaz was one of my gay friends - though that was never spoken about. Instead, I was his "date",  as I was for my other gay bestie, Bill Keach. Someone called me a "fag hag", and my last name was Hagler...so I was a 'fag-Hagler'.  Back then, I thought I could change Chaz' mind, so one day when we were up on the roof of some building in S.F. - about 12 stories up - I kissed Chaz. He was totally grossed-out, and told me "Debbie - if you do that again, I am going to jump off this roof!"  I left him alone after that, and learned a lesson there. This was in 1966. 

 Chaz and I could also be seen panhandling on Haight Street. Years later, I got a glimpse of us on a KPIX (local t.v.. news special) about the 60s, me in my peacoat and navy pants, yakking away, Chaz's wild hair flying around in the breeze.  We marched a few marches against the war, one down Stanyan Street that I remember the most, on account of its irony.

We carried our home-made "Make Love Not War" signs, a peaceful march up to the point when two guys in the front of the line had an ideological difference of opinion.  It grew ugly when they started to violently swing at each other with their "Make Love Not War" signs.  One girl behind me cried out: "Oh, bad vibes, Melissa! Let's split, this is too heavy a scene!", and I couldn't help laughing.   Political consciousness takes time to evolve. 

Dog Gone Sad

I probably should preface this by saying that if you don't want to be sad, don't read this blog, and leave it at that. 

A friend had recently asked me what my most exciting Christmas gift as a child was.

That would have been in 1958. My sister, brother and I saw a large box by the tree. We went to the box, and saw a puppy. We were THRILLED. We had never had a pet before. We took him out of the box, and just played with the puppy - who we named "Chauncy" - all day. Had to go to mass, and were impatient to get back home to play with Chauncy. 3 months later, Chauncy was sick - apparently, he had distemper. My parents had bought him at a pet store in SF. He had to be put down, of course.  We were DEVASTATED!

Our next puppy was 6 years later - half chihuahua, half cocker spaniel, one of our neighbor's dog's pups. My father named her "Lisbeth Tailears." after Elizabeth Taylor. We had Lisbeth for 3 years. We ADORED her! 

 

My sister Susan holding Lisbeth Tailears.

But we stupid kids were walking her around Pacific Manor one day, and decided to take her off-leash (there were no leash laws then). We were blabbing away, crossing the overpass - the circular one in Pacific Manor. We suddenly noticed that Lisbeth wasn't with us. We looked around, and saw that she was crossing the freeway, below us. She was afraid of heights, I guess. We looked down, saw her look up, and then saw her being hit by a car! We rushed down to where she lay. She was killed instantly. The driver stopped and apologized - he felt horrible. We reassured him it wasn't his fault, that our dog wasn't supposed to be on the road. My brother Arlo and I were just sobbing, almost hysterical. My sister Laurie picked up Lisbeth's body, and I ran to a pay phone to call our mom. Laurie told Arlo and me to stop crying - that Lisbeth was "just a dog". I remembered Laurie's comment 5 years after that - 1969 - when she was killed in a car accident. More grief. 

We had other dogs - Laurie's dog Lucy was hit by a car and killed a month after Laurie died. Lucy was LAURIE'S dog, no other, and she grieved, that dog just mourned for my sister (as we all did). 

Around 1970, my brother had a dog named Nina that had puppies. We were excited about the pups. A couple of days after the pups were born, we looked everywhere for the, and couldn't find them. Our mom told us that they had all died. We were freaked out - a litter of 6 pups all died? Years later, my mom confessed (while drunk) that she had drowned them all in the tub. I guess she was feeling overwhelmed. I can't have pets - I'm bad luck for pets - they all die on me. 

The second most exciting Christmas gift was the Beatles Rubber Soul album. 

ARLO- and my Annual Renewal

Recently, I got a renewal notice for my annual contribution to KMUD radio station. This is something that I contribute to, every year....it was one of my brother Arlo's last requests of me.  Arlo passed away on October 5, 2002, at the age of 48, from stomach cancer. 

Arlo started KMUD radio in the mid-70s, as little hole-in-the-wall station, a dream of his since we were kids, building superheterodyne receivers from scratch, on breadboards (I can still smell the soldering fluid burning on the components), and then listening to XERB radio in Tijuana with Wolfman Jack's scream "XERB" in his gravelly delivery...but I digress. 

Arlo accomplished quite a lot in his 48 years, in spite of his beginnings, which were rough.  I won't go into details, as they were also my beginnings.  Suffice it to say, he overcame a great deal to realize his goals and his dreams, one of them being a little radio station of his own, which grew into what it is today.  He was instrumental in bringing many music acts into Humboldt County, and organizing events like the Kate Wolf Music Festival (now performed in part on the Arlo Hagler Memorial Stage - yes, my brother has a music stage named after him).

All of that is only an example of Arlo's contributions.  He was heavily involved in cleaning up the environment.  He worked for the Southern Humboldt Recycling Center, while hosting KMUD's Environment Show, with issues ranging from cleaning up our oceans, to forest destruction to be dealt with.  Saving the redwoods was one of his prime concerns, and he was instrumental in helping save the Sinkyone Wilderness from clear-cutting and development.  The the concept of clean energy was also a favorite topic.  It was on KMUD radio that Julia Butterfly's story first broke, the "girl in the tree" - who, for 738 days, lived in the canopy of an ancient redwood tree. She was called Luna, and wanted to help make the world aware of the plight of ancient forests.  She and Arlo were friends (I think he had a serious crush on her), and they shared a common mission.   So, there was more than entertainment in his programming - updates on community news, activities, environmental concerns and how his listeners could help, etc.   With his soothing deep voice, he kept his listeners tuned in.  My mom loved the show, never missed one. 

Arlo was the community's electrician, board certified, with his website "Watts Happening" to advertise his business (Arlo's Music website was called "Random Axxes", long before the television show "Random Axxes" came about).  The logo on his website was a dinosaur animated gif, with the line:"Dinosaurs Welcome". 

He was excited about the possibilities of the internet, especially for artists.  It was the most positive take on what was considered the new frontier, when he wrote:

"This site is a companion to my radio program, RANDOM AXXES, aired weekly on our local community radio station, KMUD. The idea behind this web site is a simple one: to put the listener directly in touch with the artist(s). If there's something you heard on my show, something you like from a band you've never heard of, you can visit this site, find the song list for the show in question, and follow the link to that band's web site, or one of the web sites dedicated to that band (Often a fan site will be better than the 'official' site). Whenever possible, I encourage you, the listener, to buy direct from the artist. An ever-increasing number of musicians are taking to the Web, releasing  albums old and new through their own independent labels, thus bypassing the corporate record companies, commercial hype, and other barriers.  I see this as one of the highest possible uses for the Internet; Grass-Roots Cyberdistribution. Music by, and for, the people. That's the idea. Or maybe it's only Rock And Roll...Arlo Hagler"

 There was music and the station - which didn't pay in money - and then, there was his "day job", as an electrician.   Below:  A screenshot of Arlo's "Watt's Happening" website, which he created himself, leading with a line by Hunter Thompson, "Electricity is neutral. It doesn't want to kill you, but it will if you give it the chance."

At his memorial, I actually heard one tearful mourner who was going to re-wire her house or repair her appliances, now that Arlo was gone? That memorial was huge, held at Mateel Center in Redway, truly a Celebration of Life that went on for two days, with music, tributes, festivities, along with clouds of the "good stuff" wafting about.

The memorial actually started out as a benefit for Arlo while he was still alive, to help make expenses - Arlo had no medical insurance, which is part of why he waited so long to see a doctor about his stomach pains.  Always stoic - something we were taught to be - he took Rolaids, hoping the pains would subside. After he died, we found Rolaids and other antacids lying around his home.

 

Poster for the benefit, which was to help Arlo pay his medical bills.

Just a few of the many atendees at Arlo's memorial, Mateel Center.

Arlo was a performer himself, starting out in grade school, doing a solo of "Blue Moon" in our elementary school auditorium...that took guts!  He was brave, and seemingly unconcerned with the snickering of some of the kids.   Eventually, his voice changed, he took up guitar, and did some performing that actually earned him some money.  Not an egotist, he invited others to participate, and was great at promoting the work of many other artists.  If artists were going to have a performance - music or otherwise - in Humboldt County in the 70s-2000, "Random Axxes" was one of the of ways to announce that show. He also interviewed many musicians and others in the business.

When Arlo started out, his Garberville studio was barely the size of a broom closet, filled to the max with cassette tapes and records.  I took a pic of him during his show, as we were already anticipating the move to a larger studio in Redway.

As I look at KMUD's program line-up today, I see many changes from 12 years ago, only recognizing the "JoMama's Blues" slot.  The station has grown.  Arlo would be proud.  The last time I saw him - to say goodbye - he was concerned about the station, among other things.  He had so much left to do, he wasn’t finished, he told me.  Would KMUD survive?  Would his efforts towards improving our environment carry on?

Something I have never mentioned before, but appreciate as much a anything is Arlo's devotion to his family, in particular to our autistic brother Mark.  When everyone else was too busy or couldn't make it, Arlo visited Mark, took him out to eat, and met with Mark's caretakers.  He checked up on Mark regularly. He was there for my mom, who lived close by, and the rest of our family.  I'm sorry to say that we may have taken that for granted, as we never thought he would leave us.

My annual donation to KMUD is one of the small ways in which I contribute.  I think Arlo would be very happy that KMUD is thriving.  Arlo's dream lives on in the station that he started, through in the efforts of others who share that dream.

Christmas Temping

I was a Santa's Helper for Macy's, many years ago, where one of my jobs was to take the photos of children with Santa.   One requirement was to have the child AND Santa looking at the camera, simultaneously.   Eight times out of 10, as soon as the kid was put on Santa's lap, the crying ensued, and, in more than a few cases, this was accompanied by screaming.  The Santa that I worked with was a 21-year-old blonde surfer, who filled out the Santa suit in the shoulders, but had to wear padding over his belly to complete the effect. He was continually tugging on his beard and belly, as both kept shifting.  He was cheerful, though, and that disposition helped when he got peed on a few times by terrified toddlers. 

My duties included escorting the child to Santa’s lap, then taking the photos, processing the orders, and giving the child a candy cane on their way out. The camera was located inside of a large candy cane enclosure, I guess to disguise it, but also made my job a bit clumsy. 

The photos were not the Polaroids that other malls used, but actual 35mm photos that the customers would receive later on.  Getting Santa and the child to look at the huge candy came was not always easy, but we survived it. 

  

My first husband Perry played Santa for the mall a week later, so when we got our paychecks, we found that Santas get paid a lot more than helpers, even though helpers actually did more of the work.  There’s a lesson in there, somewhere. One bonus was that I got a free photo session for my 4-year-old daughter Kelly, with the Surfer Santa.  She knew to smile, as Mom was behind the candy cane camera. 

 A postscript to this story is that "Surfer Santa" was fired, because he was found emerging from the restroom in his costume, sans beard, smoking a cigarette.  The supervisor was none too pleased, as this cast a bad light on their reputation. Not sure what the big deal was...didn't Santa smoke a pipe? In any event, he didn't seem unhappy about being let go. 

 Another Christmas, I lit and decorated Christmas trees for Macy's. Sounds fun, huh?  I had to take a class in lighting the tree, the “Sylvestri Way”, wound from the base, and around from the back of each and every branch. 

 

All of the trees were artificial, which helped, and I did a decent job of it on the first tree, following the directions of our instructor. But when I returned to work, I was given 3 flocked trees to work with, where visibility of the branches was obscured, and everything had to be done by touch.   There were several other "stringers" who got the standard tree. One had objected to doing the flocked trees, as she was "allergic to the flocking". 
  

Making a difficult situation worse was that if the string of lights went out, everything had to be unwrapped and removed, replaced by a new string.  After three days of clumsily struggling to decorate these trees, my belief in miracles was assured, because those trees actually wound up looking pretty good!  

 I, on the other hand, had looked as though I had been pooped on by a snowman, and as I walked through the mall at the end of the day, just wanted to get the flock out of there!

It's All About the Stories

We hope that our stories will live on after we are gone. We want some bit of immortality, to not be forgotten.  Each of us adds pages to our "life-book" with these stories. My own memories and experiences are interwoven with the stories told to me...added to the many stories I discovered when doing my genealogy.  

History and the tradition of storytelling among all cultures links us to the past, and the stories we hand down to our grandchildren links us to the future.  What stories will you tell?

For me, accuracy is important.  In genealogy, I verify the facts with documentation & cross-referencing. For those who do not have the advantage of obtaining the records, you might at least connect to your ancestry through DNA testing. That way, you can find matches who may have that information - family trees which lead back to you. 

My grandfather, on the other hand, told tall tales.  He embellished his stories to make them more interesting to listeners. We would enjoy his descriptions of his country boyhood in Denver City, Texas - a place that he was eager to leave. His parents must have felt that way, too, because he and his family moved to San Francisco when he was 14.  Once he met my grandma - a San Francisco native, a city girl - he never looked back...except in his stories.

Grandpa also told us that we had a great-grandmother who was a Cherokee Indian princess. We believed this, and I only recently discovered through DNA that I have not a trace of Native American in my blood.  Maybe Grandpa was told that story by his folks, and believed it. DNA has changed the stories! 

Mostly, I don't want my loved ones to be forgotten, that their lives mattered. I have lost two siblings, and I want some of their stories to continue - even if they are through my own recollections.  I would hope that others might do the same for me.