Category Archives: Fall 2011 Issue

by Benjamin Franklin

Temperance: Eat not to dullness. Drink not to elevation.
Silence: Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself. Avoid trifling conversation.
Order: Let all your things have their places. Let each part of your business have its time.
Resolution: Resolve to perform what you ought. Perform without fail what you resolve.
Frugality: Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing.
Industry: Lose no time. Be always employed in something useful. Cut off all unnecessary actions.
Sincerity: Use no hurtful deceit. Think innocently and justly; if you speak, speak accordingly.
Justice: Wrong none by doing injuries or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
Moderation: Avoid extremes. Forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
Cleanliness: Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation.
Tranquility: Be not disturbed at trifles or at accidents common or unavoidable.
Chastity: Rarely use venery but for health and offspring — never to dullness, weakness, or the
injury of your own or another’s peace or reputation.
Humility: Imitate Jesus and Socrates.

Excerpt from I REMEMBER

By A. R. Graham

There is a little known story about Anne and Andy Morrison administering dinosaur-size doses of peyote to an entire community in 1969. Andy Morrison and a few ne’er-do-well, ex-prep school, dirty, scruffy, hippie-types decided that they would go on a road trip otherwise known as, “The Search for the Holy Peyote”.

Equipped with a crude treasure map given to them by an equally mad hippie, they drove/sailed off to a remote part of the southwestern desert in search of the medicinal compound.

The posse drove all the way through Texas. After two days of searching in the relentless sun, the half-deranged “Donner Party” finally stumbled into a remote region of fields infested with the wild cacti – big, fat, ugly, dirty, strychnine-filled tubers. The motley crew crammed themselves and as much of their pay dirt as they could back into the “Holy Peyote Mobile”.  They sped back to Coronado, California to unload their coveted treasure so they, in turn, could get loaded.

Andy and the pirates returned a week later with two sea bags crammed full of those foul-smelling psyche-delicacies cactus. We weren’t sure who smelled worse the mescaline buttons or the posse.

Andy laid out the booty on his sister’s back lawn to dry in the sun.

The word soon got out in the community about how the most powerful cactus in the world had hit town. Everybody came by the house to take a look.

One of the more impatient members of these peyote pirates could not wait for the organic acid to dry. He took a huge bite of the gruesome, unripe, bitter-tasting button, swallowed it, and promptly threw up. The rough and tough buccaneers followed suit, but had a hard time swallowing the impossible-to-eat hallucinogenic cacti.

Anne came to the rescue. She made chocolate peyote shakes, which did little to improve the taste and smell. The frothy concoctions tasted like embalming fluid and Ajax combined.

Andy urged everyone to hold their noses and just chug it down.  We all tried it at the same time. Much gagging, vomiting, and gasping took place in the next half hour. It was the most foul-tasting concoction on earth and next to impossible to ingest. This did not deter Andy and his gang. Eventually, the pirates managed to get enough poison into their systems that they ignited into Fourth of July fireworks. It was a sight to behold.

Soon the word got out that the Grahams were celebrating their own Independence Day. What seemed like the entire youth in the town of Coronado came by to try Anne’s medicinal compound, which was most efficacious in every case.

The cacti-fest raged on continually for a week. You could walk around our little hamlet at any time in the day or night and find our local hippie population staring at each other or at inanimate objects as if they were studying some great piece of art or sculpture. Some went on trips and never returned. Unfortunately, the Donner Party was too high to go searching for these celestial souls.

Anne claims to this day that she never sampled any of her own potions, but I know she did because of the perpetual smile plastered on her face for four days.

Jim Morrison was not the only one in the family who consumed large amounts of mind-altering substances.

To purchase your print edition, go to IRememberJimMorrison.com, or visit Amazon.com 

 Submitted by Kathy Campbell

When U.S. President Barack Obama went to Fort Campbell, Kentucky recently for a highly publicized, but very private meeting with the commando team that killed Osama bin Laden, only one of the 81 members of the super-secret SEAL DevGru unit was identified by name: Cairo, the war dog.

Cairo, like most canine members of the elite U.S. Navy SEALS, is a Belgian Malinois. The Malinois breed is similar to German Shepherds but smaller and more compact with an adult male weighing in the 30-kilo range. German Shepherds are still used as war dogs by the American military, but the lighter, stubbier Malinois is considered better for the tandem parachute jumping and rappelling operations often undertaken by SEAL teams. Labrador Retrievers are also favored by various military organizations around the world.

Like their human counterparts, the dog SEALs are highly trained, highly skilled, highly motivated special ops experts, able to perform extraordinary military missions by SEa, Air, and Land (thus the acronym). The dogs carry out a wide range of specialized duties for the military teams to which they are attached: With a sense of smell 40 times greater than a human’s, the dogs are trained to detect and identify both explosive material and hostile or hiding humans. The dogs are twice as fast as a fit human, so anyone trying to escape is not likely to outrun Cairo or his buddies.

Equipped with video cameras, the dogs also enter certain danger zones first allowing their handlers to see what’s ahead before humans follow. As mentioned before, SEAL dogs are even trained parachutists, jumping either in tandem with their handlers or solo, if the jump is into water. Last year canine parachute instructor, Mike Forsythe, and his dog, Cara, set the world record for highest man-dog parachute deployment, jumping from more than 30,100 feet up — the altitude transoceanic passenger jets fly. Both Forsythe and Cara were wearing oxygen masks and skin protectors for the jump.

The dogs are faithful, fearless and ferocious, incredibly frightening, and efficient attackers as well. It has been reported repeatedly that the teeth of SEAL war dogs are replaced with titanium implants that are stronger, sharper, and “scare-your-pants-off” intimidating, but a U.S. Military spokesman has denied that charge.

When the SEAL DevGru team (usually known by its old designation, Team 6) hit bin Laden’s Pakistan compound on May 2, Cairo ‘s feet would have been four of the first on the ground. And like the human SEALs, Cairo was wearing super-strong, flexible body armor and outfitted with high-tech equipment that included “doggles” — specially designed and fitted dog goggles with night-vision and infrared capability that would even allow Cairo to see human heat forms through concrete walls. 

Now where on earth would anyone get that kind of incredible niche of high-tech doggie gear? From Winnipeg of all places: Jim and Glori Slater’s Manitoba high-tech, mom-and-pop business, K9 Storm Inc., which has a deserved, worldwide reputation for designing and manufacturing probably the best body armor available for police and military dogs. Working dogs in 15 countries around the world are currently protected by their K9 Storm body armor. 

Jim Slater was a canine handler on the Winnipeg Police Force when he crafted a Kevlar protective jacket for his own dog, Olaf, in the mid-1990s. Soon, Slater was making body armor for other cop dogs, then the Canadian military, and soon the world. The standard K9 Storm vest also has a load-bearing harness system that makes it ideal for tandem rappelling and parachuting. 

And then there are the special high-tech add-ons that made the K9 Storm especially appealing to the U.S. Navy SEALs, who bought four of K9 Storm Inc.’s top-end Intruder canine tactical assault suits last year for $86,000. You can be sure Cairo was wearing one of those four suits when he jumped into bin Laden’s lair. 

Just as the Navy SEALS and other elite special forces are the sharp point of the American military machine, so too are their dogs at the top of a canine military hierarchy. In all, the U.S. military currently has about 2,800 active-duty dogs deployed around the world with roughly 600 now in Iraq and Afghanistan. 

At the end of the Vietnam War, the U.S. combat dogs were designated as surplus military equipment and left behind when American forces pulled out. The U.S. now treats its war dogs as full members of the military. Thank goodness for these unsung military heroes. We salute you Cairo and your canine buddies!

“Sharing What We Have”
Coronado Homegrown Fruit, Vegetable, and Flower Exchange 

Bring your garden’s bounty and take home a wonderful assortment from Coronado’s finest gardens. No garden? Team up with a friend or neighbor. See a tree in town laden with fragrant unpicked fruit, ask if you can harvest the crop, and bring the owner a bag of fresh vegetables in return. If you have no access or no harvest, be creative and bring a homemade item. Just prepackage it and if it is food, include ingredients for those with allergies. Sorting volunteers welcome. Open to all. Free membership.

In the old days, it was a cup of sugar you’d borrow from your neighbor. Now it’s homegrown citrus, celery, and sweet potatoes — freshly picked and bursting with natural flavor. You can join at: CoronadoHomeHarvest.com.

The CHH meets monthly at the Coronado Public Library and is a produce exchange that began last year as an idea between three friends and longtime Coronado residents: Wendy McGuire, Marla English, and Sharon Sherman. Open to the public, it’s a place where you can bring your extra produce and swap it out for a variety of locally grown fruits, vegetables, herbs, and flowers.

“Everybody comes, not with a specific vision, but just to gather together and trade information,” Sherman said. “People are asking each other questions. People want to get their hands back in the dirt. They want to learn how to cook again.”

The rules are simple: Bring whatever you can spare from your garden or kitchen and leave with a bag full of fresh goodies. Prospective attendees are asked to send an e-mail to CHH at:  info@CoronadoHomeHarvest.org to get a sense of what things will already be there and an idea for what you can contribute.

The drop-off time for the exchange is between 9 to 10 a.m., and a tag is given to anyone who brings a homegrown offering. It takes a couple of hours to sort and divvy up the loot. So plan on grabbing a cup o’ joe or window shop along Orange Avenue until 11 a.m. when you can swing back by and grab a bag that’s chock full of produce.

“You get something from everybody,” said veteran gardener Barbara Murphy. “One woman went to India and she brought back nutmeg — it doesn’t grow here. And so we had a little container of fresh nutmeg.” That woman was McGuire, who is also the owner of Ganosh Gourmet, a local food delivery service, and a self-proclaimed “enthusiastic novice gardener.” 

Every exchange includes a guest speaker and presentation at 11 a.m. in the Winn Room at the library. Previous presentations have included talks about edible landscaping, vermin-composting, and how to achieve a tasty diet that’s free from corn syrup.

“A lot of people learn things and change their eating habits,” McGuire said. “The programs kind of suggest themselves. I don’t think we’re going to run out of ideas any time soon.”

So if you’re interested in taking that next step toward sustainability (and who isn’t nowadays?), stop by this month’s harvest exchange and meet some like-minded people. At the very least, you’ll get some ideas on how to cook all the fresh produce you just received.

“Our vision was for people to get together, and that’s worked out perfectly,” English said. “Sometimes it’s great, sometimes it’s a little light, but it’s whatever it is. People just getting together and starting a conversation about all this stuff is worth it.” 

If you would like to participate, see the participation guidelines at: www.CoronadoHomeHarvest.com

Next Dates:

October 29:  Sue Steven on Herbs.  Sue is one of our own members who became interested in herbs and took off with the topic and ran. She will have lots to tell us, lots to teach us, and lots to share.

November 19:  Wendy Maguire Cooks Again!  Our co-founder will share recipes & samples of great fall dishes from the garden

December 17:  A new tradition, our Coronado Home Harvest Holiday Exchange: Jams & Jellies, Baked Goods, Needlecrafts, Candy, & Art

Visit the following sites for some fun Coronado Home Harvest happenings:

www.CoronadoHomeHarvest.com

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c_SmOD1v0ws&feature=share

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTz3TmlSxTo&feature=share

Excerpts from the Facebook blog exclusively for those of us who grew up in Coronado:

YKYGUICWhen…

Does anybody remember the reverend (I think it was Reverend Brown) of the Episcopal Church, when he dyed his hair blonde and bought a corvette? This was probably back in the 50s? He was the talk of the town. That was my church growing up — still a beautiful church. – Maureen Rutherford Nieland

That’s a hoot! We could have used him over at Graham Memorial. Carson was like a raven.  – Suzi Lewis

Oh, I remember him driving that car around town, LOL! – Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson

Remember when the Carnival used to come to North Island before it was down in the Navy Projects area? — Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson

Yes! I was there with my family. I was about four or five, and a sailor had just won a baby chick. He handed it to me and disappeared. We took it home and put it in one of my sister’s bird cages. Soon after that, we realized it wasn’t a chick at all but a duckling. We called it Donald and eventually released it at the golf course. – Suzi Lewis

Wasn’t there some sort of hobby shop in the early 70s around 10th & A? – Donald Kirk

Was the Beachcomber as well. Then a real estate place, and then my favorite place of employment Special Models Hobby Shop. – Scott Honour

Is there anyone old enough in this group to remember “Edwards Coffee Shop” right next to the Village Theatre.  50-cent “Teen Specials” (hamburger, fries, and a coke.) Then when you were done, you would write your boyfriend’s name (or the boy you WISH was yours) in ketchup out of a squeeze container??!! – Maureen Rutherford Nieland

I don’t think I ever knew there was a restaurant next to the Village. Interesting. – Candee Courtney

YKYGUICWhen…You ate penny candy from the Avenue “Dime Store”, you chased the ice cream truck down the streets on roller skates, the tennis lessons with Alex Gordon, ballet and tap at Norma Quigley’s dance studio, shopping for 45s at Perkin’s Bookworm, walking into the Bayberry Tree just to smell the candles, getting my first training bra at the Coronado Department Store, stealing lip gloss from Coramart, skateboarding down 7^th Street hill with no protection, Brownie troop meetings at the Methodist Church, piano lessons with Mrs. Sales at Graham Memorial, playing pool at Orange Julius, and best of all, riding my bike with no hands because it was cool… — Lynne Harpst Koen

AND…Getting arrested by “Jar Heads” in a jeep for surfing Outlet (before leashes!) & before the fence was taken down, then being taken to NASNI Security Office, dripping wet in a sandy wetsuit with my surfboard! The Security Officer of the Day, yelled at the 2 MPs for getting his office all wet and sandy! I still had to do 20 hours of Community Service. – Doug Blackington

I remember. Weren’t we on our way to paddle to the point? The officer was so pissed at the MPs and made them drive us back to the North Island gate and drop us off. We were laughing at the jarheads the whole way! – James Montalbano

Ha! I, too, was one of those who was “arrested” by the jarheads at outlet. Wasn’t wearing a leash that day and lost my board. They were waiting for me on the beach. When I got in, I managed to get my board and started running for the fence. – John McLeod

Lol, almost a 3 Stooges episode. — Carrie Woodruff

I’m sure the Marines were doing as ordered. Odds are too was the OD was a squid who didn’t understand that concept. — Steven Linde.

One guy was right on my heels. I used it as a club and swung around and decked him, at which point I was gang tackled by the rest of them. Everyone out in the water and on the other side of the fence were yelling and hooting. Mom knew the Commanding Officer of the base. So down at the “station”, after a few phone calls, I was released to the “custody” of my mom. Ha. Never had to do community service.

Skinny dipped at sunset at the same place in ’72 and was NOT arrested. Gee, I wonder why the MP’s didn’t leave their jeep with the binoculars. – Suzi Lewis

How many of you were small enough to go look for caves in the rocks between G St. and North Beach? I remember one that went pretty far, and had the nickname of being “Tom Sawyer’s Cave!” – Doug Blackington

I do! I do!! – Michelle Martin

Spent many an hour caving! – Markley Gordon

I loved going in those caves! – Leslie Hubbard Crawford

Were we in those caves together Leslie? Thought I’d start a rumor. – Markley Gordon

I loved those caves too–Diane Dempster and I spent a lot of time exploring. – Liz Shropshire

I was way too scared to go in. I was warned about rats. – Suzi Lewis

Me an Mike Erickson explored a few. They all smelled like urine. – Scott Honour

We caught some kids in there once… they were smoking CAT NIP! Ha Ha Ha – Brant Althaus

We used to find all kinds of stuff in there–we imagined people living in them. — Liz Shropshire

Doug, I think we explored a few at the same time! – Jim Williams

Does anyone remember the caves/tunnels down at the bay on the bridge side? After the housing was torn down we used to go down there and there were some really long tunnels down by the water. – Coronado Past

I SO remember the August swells! That was awesome, and me being so short I KNOW they were bigger for me than anybody else! LOL Did anybody play tag with the S-3 shadows like we did! Or run out to the waves and then come out of the water and fall on the hot sand and gather as much of it as you could just to get warm again? I can’t believe our parents would just say “go to the beach and have fun” by ourselves! – Katherine Olson

I was just thinking of August swells & body surfing! – Marguerite Ballantine

Richie was talking about the 6-man rafts Dean used to bring to the beach and we’d all ride it until we almost drowned! Fun and crazy only when you were young!!! – Wendy Pullin

YKYGUICWhen…One of your best pals was DC! – Judy Ann Lear

Going to the city dump with my dad Saturday mornings. The city’s garbage was burned which produced an awful smell (especially when the wind blew the wrong way). Now it’s the Coronado Cays. – Elizabeth Betsy Johnson Richie

Stinky Coronado Cays!! – Denise Adams Shirley

Ha ha you’re right. I forgot that the Cays were once a dump. – James Wilson

And when the Cays were first built and people were moving in everyone out there had a major rat problem. Imagine. — Cindy MacKenzie Nobles-Barstow

They burned rubber tires at that dump. I remember the dump and its smell really well. – Suzi Lewis

It was also a pig farm, before it was a dump. – Gary Cavner

It was understood that you had to attend summer school. – Elizabeth Betsy Johnson Richie

I just told my kids yesterday that back when I was small, summer school was all about having something fun to do during the summer. I remember taking a sewing class, where I met Pam Murphy for the first time and a cooking class the next summer. – Wendy Pullin

Mrs. Shaler’s guitar class — the Monster Mash was always a hit! – Sarah Daw

My 1st summer school in Coronado, they called roll & the teacher said “Peachy Putnam,” and Timmy Hacker yelled out at the top of his lungs … “Peaaaaaaaachy Putnam” what kind of name is dat!” I sunk LOWwww in my seat. We were best of friends for years to come … “The Palace” – Marguerite Ballantine

When you live in a town where there are 2 Peachy’s! — Marguerite Ballantine

I always had to go to Summer school. To my Mother’s dismay that allowed me to go half day junior & senior year. Ha Ha – Lisa D. Krause

Me2 .. summer school was our babysitter. Whether we wanted or needed to go — we were going! — Marguerite Ballantine

Summer school classes WERE amazingly fun. Sewing, knitting, crocheting, needle point, cooking, typing, music, art, crafts, etc.  Skills that have been very useful throughout my life. There’s something to be said about acquiring those types of skills at a very young age like riding a bike. — Elizabeth Betsy Johnson Richie 

I took art in summer school — think it was Mr. Leflang? Everyone wanted to go to summer school. – Debbie Delaney

Guitar class, song called Tom Duley. – Nancy Trepagnier

Yep, guitar class & Tom Duley with Mrs. Satterlee, I think. Summer school saved my butt. I had just enough credits to graduate thanks to summer school. Literally by one point…But I did it! and learned Tom Duley to boot. – Coronado America Hauntings

Summer school in Nado was the bomb. Had to go after 6:30 swim team practice! Drama, oceanography, cooking class. There was no other school system that provided such a fun reason to go to school during the summer vacation. Then we got PROP 13 and it all ended! – Katherine Olson

Mr. Leflang, he was a cool teacher. – Maureen Rutherford Nieland

Summer School so you could graduate from High School in 3 years! — Karri Johnson Mealy

Summer school was the only way I could graduate. Also coming to Coronado my sophomore year got me out of having to take biolagy to graduate… did i miss spell all of that… Haha I probably should not have gradustaed. Haha – Becky Russell

I had to take Biology and they tried to get me to dissect a frog, no way Jose! Not fun! – Jeannette English-Jeffery

Summer school was so fun–especially Guitar Class–I still have my guitar books and use some of the songs there to teach guitar to the kids in my program in Kosovo, Uganda, and N. Ireland! – Liz Shropshire

My brother took a class every summer where they shot up rockets at the end of the summer. —  Liz Shropshire

Learned to ride a 6-foot unicycle in summer school. Rode it in the 4th of July parade dressed as Uncle Sam. – Markley Gordon

YKNGUICWhen…You know about Pete Thomas (RIP) and he taught you how to play ball at the gym on Saturday mornings – John Mcclimon

Men’s volleyball at CHS was a club, not yet a legitimate sport. – James Montalbano

I always wanted to play and you guys wouldn’t let me!!…I had to play football instead…lol – Marnelle Tokio

You played Coronado Pop Warner football. – Tim Hinsvark

Getting Marty Jensen for PE and riding our bikes all over town for class! – Marla D. English

You had to peel oranges for Mr. Collum in math class and he gave you one slice for peeling it. – Kristopher J. Nicolls

In 6th grade, Mr. Viggers was out for half the year, and our sub was Mrs. Lewis, and we didn’t even get report cards due to someone took all our records for the 2nd half of the year, and we made it to 7th grade anyway. – Bobby Chapman

You remember the great “Mr T” RIP – Tim Hinsvark

Old band uniforms from the 60s. Bob Demmon replaced them starting in 69? – Dean Atkinson

When PE was going to the beach, jogging, and surfing for two periods, and riding our bikes around the island.Wearing our shorts, flip flops, and bikini tops to school as our normal dress code!!! Wow what a great time it was… – Sherry Theresa Hennessey

This is the best Coach Green photo. We used to see each other at garage sales in Coronado. He was kinda bored with retirement and brought old kitchen knives and turned them into letter openers. I still have the one he gave me — one of my favorite teachers. Always gave me extra crap to keep me in line. His daughter Gay was a wonderful soul. – Dean Atkinson

When the whole town showed up at your 1970 all star game, and the ball went between your legs all the way to the fence, and you were so flustered you returned the ball over the backstop, and the only guy clapping for you was Marky? – Timothy Bainbridge Coon

Y’all know Marky passed away a few weeks ago… — Steven Linde

I remember when we use to have to do “Bomb Drills” & duck under our desks in a building that should have been condemned years ago. Before microwaves, we had hot potatoes in tin foil being sold at the football games at Cutler Field. The women baked them at home and brought them in boxes. YUMMY!! I lived at 711 5th street across from Cutler Field. (The house is no longer there.) I use to crawl under the fence to get in and mess around in Cutler Field when it was locked up. Fun times!! – Maureen RutherfordNieland

My brothers & I grew up across from the Golf Course, & it was definitely our playground at night. Many a time we were shot at with bee bee guns by the golf course security as the sand traps were exactly that for us, “playgrounds”, where we would play make-believe Combat episodes among other games. The Dill kids were always up to something fun & always getting in trouble — the good kind. – Kimberley Graham (Dill)

You kept a count of how many orange floppy road dividers you could kick up by running over them on the bridge! – Julia Frampton Simms

And climbed the bridge just because it was there. – Timothy Bainbridge Coon

Aligning your car’s wheels onto the railroad tracks at the N.A.S. First St. gate so you could ride the rails all the way through town and down the Strand without having to steer seemed like a good idea. – Robert Pickford

You were sent out of Pat Bennett’s room to “warm the marble bench.” – Linda Kullmann

Rolling empty beer bottles down the aisle at the Village Theater during surf movies. – James Montalbano

Did someone throw a knife at the screen once during a surf movie and rip it or was that an urban legend? – Paul Fournier

Back in the 60’s it was tootsie roll pops…people would throw them and see which one would “stick.” – Denise Adams Shirley

It was the golf ball that ripped the screen after it had knocked my daughter MaryHelen unconscious! She was taken by ambulance to the Coronado Hospital. I am sure she remembers who threw it! – Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson

YKYGUICWhen…Ghost Riding our bikes down Pomona Park Hill to see who could (miss) the cars. Chatting with Dick Van Dyke at the Night and Day Café. BB Gun wars in the sand pits on the golf course. Fishing off the small pier between the Yacht Club and the Chart House in the 60s and early 70s. Retrieving golf balls for John Ruedi so he could sell them in the Clubhouse. Working at Martin’s Furniture Store and Village Hardware for Dick Evans. Top of FormGetting mussels off the docks for Marco (Marco’s Pizza) for some awesome meal he was prepping for. – Eddie Wolfgang Zeller

Marco’s pizza was a family favorite of ours. Even as a little kid, I loved Marco’s antipasti salad — still crave it today. – Alicia Knight

No one mentioned the Game Room behind Wendy’s. – Eddie Wolfgang Zeller

I totally forgot about that game room!! Centipede and Asteroids for sure! – Melissa Wilson

Dorrie Lammers delivered amber-glassed Dairy Mart Milk right into your refrigerator, calling out, “Milkman!” Sue and Paul Shaler were the coolest folks on the block with their Joan Baez and Bob Dylan records and a Picasso print over the living room couch. Gran Shultz had a Montessori nursery school in her garage. Mommy took you and your sisters on the ferry to Marsten’s Department Store on Horton Plaza, where a uniformed man ran the elevator and you watched beautiful models swirl around the lunch room in the most gorgeous clothes, as you ate peppermint ice cream. – Suzi Lewis

Was he before or after Mr. Wakefield delivering Dairy Mart Milk? Loved him and his family on Flora Avenue. – Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson

He was before Mr. Wakefield. – Suzi Lewis

The milkman always entered through the back door, and he went straight to the refrigerator and put the dairy products in it. We never gave a thought to him coming right on in. – Candee Courtney

You could also just leave him a note to leave extra things like eggs or extra milk. —  Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson

I miss those days VERY MUCH!!! – Maureen Rutherford Nieland

Does anyone remember when Safeway was where the Chase Bank now sits, and Gunnar the Swedish butcher would give boiled sweets to the kids. – Suzi Lewis

Do you mean where Union Bank now sits? Free Bros. Market was where Chase now sits on 10th. — Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson

My recollection was that Safeway was there before Free Bros. I’m talking about the late 50’s-early 60’s? One of my earliest recollections is of falling out of the cart at age two and ending up with stitches in my head. That was 1957. I remember at age four swiping the Niccos by the cash register and having to go back inside so my mom could pay for them. – Suzi Lewis

When I was first married I shopped at Safeway and it was right next to the Village Theater where Union Bank is now. — Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson

Suzi is right in that before it was Free Bros. on 10th and Orange, it was a Safeway. Later

Safeway moved to 8th and Orange, then to its current location at 867 Orange. I think Coronado Past had a pic of the building sporting the Safeway name! – Marla D. English

Mom used to have us all sit in the car while she went to “pick up just a few items” from Safeway. An hour and a half later, she would come out with a whole bunch of baggers pushing 10 carts to the car. Maybe a little exaggerated but not by much. – Markley Gordon

I remember taking a permission note to buy my mother’s cigarettes. I think I was 6 or 7 years old. – Michelle Ferrell Glasman

You could get 10 cent hot dogs from Free Brothers Market and watch dolphins chase the ferries across the bay! – Tommy Harris

25 cents got your into the movies, a popcorn and drink. Hershey’s kisses were 2 for a penny at The Avenue also known as The Dime Store. – Jaquie Hoopengardner

S&M Sandwich Shop – I just got a kick every time I answered the phone while working there – S&M, can I help you?! – Mary Price Boyd

Captain Jack’s? – Susie Griffith-Smith

And then, of course, the Day & Night Market – Do you remember when they all delivered? – Kimberley Graham (Dill)

‎You knew your entire town like the back of your hand by age six. Your daddy took you body surfing at Central Beach at age three. You could walk into any house on your block and be welcomed as part of the family by age four. Your doctor made house calls AND played Santa Claus at the Rotary Christmas parties. You could get as drunk or stoned as you wanted and stay out into the wee hours, knowing you would be safe. The Ghetto wasn’t one, just a great place to party. As an adult, you are considered the cool parents because we understand what teens get up to and make your home a safe and nonjudgmental place for your kids’ friends. – Suzi Lewis

Well said. – Brian Kirk

Fantastic post. Suzi, are you a CHS graduate? – Lynda Terry

Yes, I was born at Coronado Hospital in 1955; went to CES, the junior high and the high school, graduating a semester early from the 1973 class. My dad is Jack Lewis of Jack Lewis Realty, now retired and 91 years old. He still lives in the home he built the year I was born. – Suzi Lewis

Yes, the Ghetto was a great place to party, what a memory you have. – Joanne Bodnar

I had a boyfriend living there…I think. – Suzi Lewis

You know you grew up in Coronado when…You went to court in Coronado for dog off leash. – Laura Linde Porter

How about cougar off leash? Remember the Coronado Cougar tied up to parking meters outside Baskin Robbins or being dragged down the beach (at what is now Dog Beach) for a swim or how about the rally to “Save the Coronado Cougar” & bumper stickers, etc. – Kimberley Graham (Dill)

YKYGUICWhen…If you grew up skating at the Corriere’s Roller Rink on the 100 block of “C” Avenue! – Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson

Anyone remember the yummy burger with pimiento cheese at the Coronado Pharmacy lunch counter or the greasy fries from Circus Drive-In or the scrumptious pizza from the Manhattan Room – now, I’m a-really gettin’ hungry – especially when I remember going in the back door of Anderson’s bakery in the middle of the night with my girlfriends and gobbling down fresh doughnuts dripping with hot greasy glaze straight out of the fryer! Now, that’s some cookin’ – Kimberley Graham (Dill)

You took hula lessons from Mrs. Ward, who also was our crossing guard at 6th and Alameda. Turns out she was from a very prominent Hawaiian family. – Wendy Sanger McGuire

Who remembers the racquetball court behind Coramart? They only had one! – Nancy Cox Castro

Generations partying, dancing, and eating at The Mexican Village.  I remember going dancing with my parents there.  And back to food, there was nothing like the Mexican Village house romaine salad or the Village burrito. – Kimberley (Graham) Dill

And how about when President Nixon came to town and you rode your bike down to Orange to see the first traffic light in town. You remember Tent City Cafe and that big-ass submarine game in the Del arcade – David Sanger

You went to the Rosarito Beach Hotel and practically everyone was from Coronado! – Susan Gill

Char Burger! & Officer Stolpe! You would drive down the alley to see how many of the 5 cop cars were out…to figure your odds for the night! Hung out at Avenue Liquor picking on the swabs….and then became one. – Jeffrey Donn Hansen Sr.

Anyone remember Father Hubble? We would go Christmas caroling, and he would give me and my sisters a 6 pack of beer! I think I was about 11! Lol – Susie Griffith-Smith

I remember fishing out on the base to catch barracuda and lobsters and crabs! – David Farmer

The ducks on Pendleton Road were my Uncle Al Frosio’s ducks! – Sandy Chapman Divine

Tae Kwon Do in the park and at the Armory with master David Chaanine – James Montalbano

Many great years with Master Chaanine, still visit him in C.V. every so often. – Eddie Wolfgang Zeller

YNYGUICWhen…Coronado Surfer Girls never die –They just go to the Green Room! (Green Room is another term for the “tube”) – Lynne Harpst Koen

Do you remember the gentlemen in the Active 20/30 Club? I am thinking the big guy is Pete Rohrbough? I went to school with his sister Caroline. I think I recognize Ron Vernetti. They were all active in the 20/30 Club in those years! – Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson

I think that is Steve Wakefield with the glasses and mustache in the middle. – Buzz Adams

Is the 20/30 Club still active? Wonder about that bike. Growing up in Coronado, I remember seeing the bike in the annual parade.” – Doug Ewen

YKYGUICWhen…Your dad thought it would be a good photo op to have you wave goodbye to the very last Coronado ferry. He was right. – Tim Hinsvark

Our Generation! I think we really lucked out and had a particularly rare time due to the Navy which I think was really a key factor in all of this. It kept the prices down and the economy pumping. We didn’t have the bridge (and when we did – it still wasn’t the disaster it is now) or anything on the Strand except for Navy housing. It was an unusual time in the world and we, as a result, had unusually wonderful childhoods. For all of you who didn’t – I’m sorry – but since it was in Coronado – somehow it was just better by being here. – Mary Lou Staight

I remember all the friends whose parents were transferred to the island became best friends with all of us just in time to get transferred off the island and never be seen again. That was the hardest part of living in Coronado — always losing your best friends to the Navy. – Coronado America Hauntings

By Rachel Battleson

Creating things has always been what makes me happy.  In childhood it was my way to escape boredom; in adulthood it’s my way to escape monotony.  I believe that something handmade or custom designed just holds an extra special bit of attention from its receiver.  It adds the personal touch that reflects meaning and investment from its giver.

As kids, my sister and I drew incessantly.  We didn’t play purchased board games or puzzles in the car; we drew our own.  I had my first exercise in page layout at my Grandmother’s when I used to find notebook paper and Sears catalog pictures to construct “newspapers” illustration and all.  Our family knew the go-to gift for me was an art set.  Doodling is what I remember more from grade school than any science lab or book report.  I was always the strongest student in my art classes; the art teacher was the only one who could hold my attention.

In college, I tried several majors — Psychology, Sociology, Communications, etc.  By my junior year, when all my classmates were honing in and focusing on their chosen majors, I was still on the fence.  I was creating plenty of art, though, in my involvement in sorority life.  I hand painted anything and everything I could find that I felt would be better suited with my letters and mascot on it.  I had never thought seriously enough about a career in my hobby, however, to consider IT to be a major option until I decided to think hard about one day graduating.  I didn’t invest too much in the idea that one’s major was necessarily their career path, so I just thought to myself:  What makes me happy?  What would I ENJOY doing for the next two years in order to get out of here?

My first classes were simple consisting of classes such as basic 2D design and painting.  My friends and I joked that I was taking the easy way out. THEN second semester came.  It was quickly apparent that the School of Art was the most work-intensive department in school!  My “easy” two years would quickly expand to 3 ½ years.  Class didn’t end at the end of the period; the art building was open 24/7 and was never empty.  I found I LOVED it and genuinely cared so much about all of my assignments.  I didn’t feel as though I was doing work because I was told to, but because I was given the direction and opportunity to.

When I finished my last exam, I hopped in the U-Haul and moved back to Coronado, California, where my family was originally from and my heart never left.  For work, I applied at multiple design agencies with no luck. The old “can’t get a job without experience/can’t get experience without a job” theory rang true.  Fortunately, the “it’s all in who you know” theory did.  A fellow art alum from Longwood offered me a job working at Hewlett Packard leading to a short career in office design.  I was able to do some volunteer design work there and met a few people who gave me the chance to do some side work.  While on my first maternity leave, I started my freelance graphic design business, “Print Candy Design.”

In March of this year, I made Print Candy Design a full time venture.  My business is built around the idea of creating printed eye-candy.  I offer services such as company branding and re-branding, corporate identity packages, printed marketing materials and collateral, website and web advertisement design, trade show booth design, and custom correspondence.

Motivated by the joy I received from illustrating my Grandmother’s children’s book, Always Emily, and the great love I have for using my toddlers as an excuse for non-stop art projects, I am also pursuing painting.  I am currently accepting commissions to hand paint wooden letters to adorn a child’s room or nursery, customized to match their décor. I will soon be opening an online store devoted to selling these and other handmade nursery decor and personal correspondence sets, all completely customized.

I could not be happier about where I am and the freedom I have to pursue my abilities from such a beautiful spot in the world.  I look forward to where Print Candy Design takes me and to working with those that share my love and passion for a personal touch on their message!

For information on design services for your business or handmade gifts, my email is Rachel@PrintCandyDesign.com.  My portfolio can be viewed at:  www.printcandydesign.com.  If you’re a Facebooker, you can find me at:  www.facebook.com/PrintCandyDesign!

Print Candy | tasty design
Rachel Battleson, Creative Director
rachel@printcandydesign.com
Facebook | Twitter | LinkedIn
916.759.5688

PUBLISHER’S NOTE:  I had the privilege of a memorable visit with this creative, inspired, and aspiring young design artist.  Rachel Battleson is a dedicated mother of two young sons, whom she affectionately calls her “twins” as they are so much alike, are inseparable, and get along so well.  She free lances full time while creating her experience as a single mother into an art form as well.

Currently, she has been decorating her younger sister’s nursery for their firstborn, London, with customized lettering and decor.  Regina and Rachel could be said to be like “twins” themselves as they were also so close as children with the shared passion of creating art.  As young adults, they entered contests together in which their pieces were selected for awards in the 2004 National Arts Competition in Virginia.  At present, the two sisters live next door to one another in cozy beach bungalows.  Both the Battleson sisters managed to find their ways back to their hometown of Coronado where they join their mother, Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson.

While attending college back east, Rachel served on a creative design team who created the new logo for their team, the Longwood University Lancers.

Rachel’s grandmother, Mariella Mumaw Battleson, has written and published two books.  Rachel completely illustrated, Always Emily, and it is available through Amazon.com.

Photos by Al Graham (“Crazy Uncle Al”)

Born to proud parents, Jeffrey and Tip Dill on October 27, 2008, Baby Bessie makes everyone in our family’s world complete. As a newborn, she had shown like a bright star and an angel orb. We all knew she was a very special little one.

Jeff and Tip met on a beach in Thailand around Easter in the year 2000. Amidst their beautiful and exotic surroundings, it was love at first sight.

When Jeff returned from his vacation, he and his future bride-to-be would exchange constant phone calls and e-mails. Tip would leave her homeland and family for the city of San Diego to join Jeff that same year. The next year, the Dills wed in Lake Tahoe. After six years of wedded bliss, Jeff and Tip bore “Best Girl” Bessie (Bestida Chaiyo Dill).

Bessie completes the Dill family and has enriched not only her adoring parents’ lives, but also the lives of her families both here and in Thailand. Bessie’s American grandparents are Dr. Donald and Mrs. Christine Dill. She is niece to both Mark and Trisha Dill as well as to Kimberley and Al Graham. Her maternal grandparents are Hom and Bualai Chaiyo. Unfortunately, while Bestida and Tip were visiting her family last year, Tip’s mother, Bualai, passed away just as her paternal grandmother had several years ago, Janet Dill. May they both rest in peace. We just wish they were both here to enjoy their special granddaughter.

We all just get such a kick out of this special little girl! Bessie is forever gleeful. To be around this sweet, playful child is blissful and generates the feelings of joy that only a happy, youngster can bring to our hearts.

A Day at the Beach with the VanBrunt Family: SeAnna & Kaydence

By Suzi Lewis Pignataro

When I was twenty-four, my boyfriend Eamon and I visited the Pacific Northwest. Our final destination before flying home to the Bay Area was the magnificent Mount Rainier in Washington, where we held reservations at the historic Paradise Inn.

Mount Rainier became the fifth national park in 1899, by order of President William McKinley. Construction of the Paradise Inn was completed in the summer of 1917. Massive amounts of hand-hewn logs and rock went into its open beams, Douglas fir floors, and towering stone hearths. The German finishing carpenter Hans Fraenke built most of the knotty-pine furniture including the upright piano and fourteen-foot grandfather clock housed in the Great Hall. This expansive lobby with its 1,500-pound tables opened up to a mezzanine illuminated by lamps whose hand-painted shades depicted local wildflowers.

Standing on the slopes of a volcano for the past sixty-two years, the Paradise Inn has received families and heads of state from all over the globe. Eamon and I unfolded our stiff and travel-weary bodies out of our Leprechaun-size rental car and fell into its lap of rustic luxury.

We checked into our small but well-appointed room. As with all quaint lodgings, Eamon found the bed ill-prepared for receiving his 6’4” frame. He yawned like a hippo, stretching until his knuckles grazed the ceiling, and declined my invitation to a pre-dinner hike, opting instead for a nap on one of the large sofas in the lobby. We returned to the Great Hall, where I gave the big lug of an Irishman a fond kiss and set out for the wide-open spaces.

I did not get far.

I love the outdoors. Nothing uplifts my spirits and transports me out of the space-time rat race like being in mountains with their meadows, trees, lakes, and rivers. But when two grizzled men with thirty-pound backpacks and mud-caked Timberland boots tore past me in a panic, yelling, “Run!” at the top of their lungs, I did a one-eighty and high-tailed after them, shouting, “Wait for me!” I followed in their wake for a good two miles before they jogged downhill to an awaiting VW bus and I veered uphill toward civilization. The cloying scent of Lysol never smelled so good as when I burst, panting and shivering, through the inn’s front doors. Not until I collapsed on my bed, gasping for breath, did I realize I had no idea from what danger I had just narrowly escaped.

Dinner was first entertaining then irritating as a tipsy Eamon attempted to engage in conversation with a jovial, beer-sucking Bavarian whose wife, also feeling no pain, tittered and belched – and tittered and belched – ad nauseam. Eventually, the men gave up on words and settled for guffaws, punches to the arm, and beard tugging – while lifting one eyebrow – in that pre-verbal, prehistoric language that leaves women wondering just what the hell their men are all about. What these two cavemen seemed to be on about was getting very, very drunk.

When I could no longer suffer the giggles, grunts, and gastric eruptions of my inebriated companions, I pled exhaustion and said good night. Well into his cups, Eamon asked his new buddy – in a mixture of English, hand signals, and Pidgin-German that reminded me of Sergeant Schultz in Hogan’s Heroes – if he wanted a nightcap. “Ja! Ja!” the man enthused. I shook hands with the wife, who tittered and belched in return, and made my way up the stairs.

I was floating between wake and sleep, where my mind channel-surfed through film clips reminiscent of David Lynch and Federico Fellini, when I heard Eamon come in. There was barely enough room around the double bed and armoire for him to navigate. He resembled nothing so much as a circus bear in a curly black wig, taking off its costume at the end of a long day under the Big Tent. Even his languid belly scratches and deep sighs were ursine. In my altered state, I thought he slapped me on the cheek with a freshly-caught trout, but it was just a very human and sloppy Jack Daniels’ kiss. He cursed in Irish as he maneuvered his naked mass into a bed made for the more diminutive folk of a bygone era. Giving up and over to sleep, he finally quieted down, his calves and feet sticking out of the white quilts like birch logs beneath a snow bank.

 “Thop thickiling my feet.”

The words hovered somewhere above the right side of my head. Turning in their direction, I found myself in bed with a hare-lipped ape. That explained the lisp.

“I’m not tickling your feet,” I replied to the ape.

“Yeth, you are,” the ape charged, affronted.

“I am nowhere near your big ol’ feet.”

The ape scratched his head.

“Then, who ith?”

I was becoming annoyed, and I wondered where Eamon had gone to in the middle of the night, leaving me alone with this recalcitrant anthropoid.

“How should I know?” I shot back. “Why don’t you – Hey! Stop tickling my feet!”

“I’m not!”

I was fully awake now. Eamon lay beside me, poking me in the side.

“If we aren’t tickling each other’s feet, babe,” he asked, “then who is?”

Propping myself up on one elbow, I peered over the heap of quilts to find a small girl standing by the bottom of the bed.

“She is,” I informed Eamon. Eamon raised his head, looked at the child, and shrieked.

“Who the fuck is that?” he hissed from beneath the covers.

Rather than state the obvious, I decided to study our intruder. She seemed to be around five years of age, and judging by her dress, had lived at the time when the inn welcomed its first visitors. Her pinafore was of starched linen; the gingham dress underneath was frilly and freshly laundered. A large ribbon held back long, dark curls; its bow perched over her right brow. She smiled at me in the way of all mischievous children – with her large dark eyes slanting like a cat’s and twin dimples bracketing her upturned mouth. Laughter played silently upon her lips. She was sepia-toned and not quite solid.

Just as I was about to say hello to her, there came from outside the room the thump-thump of something heavy bumping along the corridor. The girl looked toward the door, startled, as if she knew she was being naughty and feared being caught; but, also, like a child who had been waiting for her mommy or daddy to arrive and was excited at the prospect of an imminent reunion.

The sound drew closer. I imagined an old-fashioned trunk, its lock loose and clanging, being dragged toward the stairs. Eamon peeked out from his hiding place. “What now?” he whined. The girl turned toward the sound in the corridor, and flew through wall. Eamon let out a scream and hit the floor.        

I looked at my watch in the early morning light. It was now 6:30. I had spent the past three hours in the company of a hysterically repentant giant of the lapsed-Catholic variety. It was a feature presentation of “The Exorcist Meets Gulliver’s Travels in Ghost Land,” with “Saint Michael’s Prayer Against Evil Spirits” as the opening short.

Eamon sat next to me on the bed, his attention focused on the lightening sky outside the casement window. I resisted the urge to inquire if he thought the vampires were back in their coffins; if it was once again safe to venture outside. Instead, I asked, “So, do we stay or do we go?” Eamon lunged for his suitcase.

The receptionist batted her purple-shadowed eyelids and licked her peppermint pink lips. “Oh, you’re leaving us already? We have your room reserved for one more night.” She looked down at the guest register and tapped our name with a fuschia fingernail. “It’s right here: Mr. and Mrs. Joey Ramone, two nights.” She frowned at Eamon. “Is something wrong, Mr. Ramone?”

Eamon leaned over the counter. “Tell me sometin’ darlin’,” he replied in his thickest brogue. “Has anyone else, ot’er t’an me and t’e missus here, had t’eir feet molested by t’e wee ghostie girl while lyin’ all cozy in one o’ yer stunted beds?”

Our bags thumped and bumped as we dragged them through the Great Hall. Behind us, the receptionist could be heard yelling into the phone: “No, Mr. Holstaad. I can’t fulfill my summer contract, and that’s that. I – I – Why didn’t you tell me this place was haunted?!”

Somewhere in the walls the little girl laughed.

By Al Graham

The Sandman is a self-taught artist. His canvas is the city sidewalks of Coronado. Using sand and dirt, he creates colossal images which he calls “dust formations” — a giant panda, pig, clown, dog, cat, elephant, or other animals. However, if you ask him to do something specific like a horse, he will tell you that he cannot. “The Angel tells me what to do. I have nothing to do with it.” On the other hand, if you ask him to create a get-well message for an ailing friend or a happy birthday greeting, he will show up at their house and in a few minutes will leave behind a precise formation of a heart and/or flowers along with an uplifting word.

You will find his work all over the town. If he comes upon a pile of rocks, he will soon transform them into a “rock snake” or a “stone bird.” No patch of unused land or a dirt lot is immune to his art.

He is often at odds with some city officials and maintenance workers, and in particular, the city street sweeper who often obliterates his work such as a twenty-foot-long dinosaur adorning the streets and gutters. Sandman takes this very personally. After his work has been erased, he offers a few choice comments and casts aspersions upon all of those responsible. In his mind, he has a short list of “Haters” but vows to continue, come hell or high water.

Soon he is back at it with a vengeance — a forty-foot galactic mural of stars and planets is revealed by the morning sunrise. The Sandman has worked feverishly all night long in the cul-de-sac between the Coronado Shores condominiums and the Hotel Del. By morn, the glorious sunrise floods over his creation like some epic motion picture in a vast open air theater.

Today I went to see what he had created during the night. The sun had not yet risen, so I used the headlights of my car to light the way. This time he had left the single largest mural I have ever seen, and its precision was impressive. It was a monster-size teapot, encased by an even larger flower, and a single, ten-foot number three, the significance known only to the Sandman and his Angels.

The Sandman speaks with absolute certitude. “The Angel taught me how to create my art; and when I broke my right arm, he showed me how to do it with my other one, and now I do it better with my left arm.”

He talks to the Angels constantly, and sometimes he will tell you the conversation as he works: “Hey! I was making a giant cake, but the Angel said, ‘No! Paint a giant pumpkin head instead.’” He laughs gleefully at the thought and then returns to work with a renewed vigor.

The street sweeper appears. Sandman is alerted without even seeing him. He hears the brusque sound of the machine’s brushes. “That guy has a brush made of steel wire, and he is always ruining my art with it.” He turns his attention to the “Evil Machine.”

The operator revs his engine and begins his sweep. The Sandman focuses his eyes on the driver as the brushes scour the gutters for trash. The steel brush spins at high speed creating a grating, high-pitched whine. Sandman tenses and seems ready to fight, or worse. “If he touches my art, I will have the Angel stop him!” The truck inches closer, and Sandman is motionless save for a pair of flashing eyes, which are issuing an urgent warning to the driver. The tension is as thick as molasses as the two engage in a mental wrestling match. At the very last second, the driver swerves away, leaving the Sandman’s work intact. 

As the sweeper disappears, Sandman stands victorious. “I told the Angel to stop him and he did!” He giggles maniacally before returning his attention to his art.

By Suellis Kelley

This is a story about the greatest puppy I ever knew! One day I went to the country and saw the cutest puppy I had ever seen, and it was so young, lost, and thin. The way it was trembling, I knew it must have been abandoned. So, I picked him up and brought him home.

The next morning, I took him to the veterinarian in my neighborhood. While balancing the puppy and the clipboard in my lap, I filled in the paperwork; and then patiently waited for our turn. When the doctor called us in for our appointment, I held the little puppy in my arms and cradled him closely to my chest as I walked him in. After entering the room, I automatically placed him on the examining table.

The veterinarian looked at the puppy, then chuckled, stood back, looked me up and down, and asked, “Where did you find this WOLF?, and what do you propose we do with it?”

“WOLF! Nah, you must be mistaken. I was in the country hiking, and this little pupply was standing hidden under some plants and crying; so I brought him home. He had no business being out there all alone.”

The veterinarian chuckled once again, shook his head, and moved back to the wolf-puppy to begin his examination. After a minute or two, he looked me straight in the eyes and stated, “Ma’am, wolves are in the dog family, and what you have here is half-wolf/half collie.”

I realized that he was serious and laughed. “Well, he is a city dog now! Can I keep him at our house?”

The doctor thought for a moment and said, “Because he is only about four weeks old, and because he is a half breed, you could probably train him. He laughed and suggested strongly that I bring the puppy back to see him regularly so we could monitor his development, keep his immunizations up to date, and do all the other things that puppies typically require to grow strong and develop healthy bodies. The doctor’s orders were easy to follow because that is what folks usually do, and it was convenient as well since his office was less than a block away, and he was already caring for our other pets.

After the examination, I brought him back to the waiting room, named him Zach, gave him a hug, and signed the paperwork. I then took him to his new home where he now belonged. Within a few months he grew into his paws, and learned how to sit, stay, and fetch a ball. As he got older, we learned that he could do something else as well. When he became happy his tail would wag, and he would sit as close as he possible could beside the person that he wanted attention from. After that, he would look into their eyes, show his teeth, and literally smile. Zach became a favorite of everyone in the neighborhood; and fortunately, when be became full grown, he was only a medium-sized dog that weighed around 65 pounds.

The veterinarian had informed us that wolves are smart; and from my experience, I can attest that they are.  Zach quickly learned everything and anything we taught him. Of course, he could do all the regular things: walk beside us, roll over, and lay down on command. However, he could do unique things as well. Once when we were carrying in groceries from the store, he opened the door to assist us and that became his regular practice. He also decided to carry a water bucket from room to room as we mopped the floors; and he helped us do other chores. When Zach made the usual doggie mistakes, he was easy to forgive, just as it was easy to adore him.

People who knew him often commented about his behavior and kind disposition. So one day I asked the doctor if all wolves were similar to Zach. The doctor said because he was half collie that he inherited a gentle nature; and because he was half wolf, he was smart and clever and had a natural instinct to please and interact with his family; which was us. Apparently from Zach’s perception, we were the leaders of his pack; and from our viewpoint, there was nothing wrong with that! — As he often brought fun and joy into our lives while he frequently thought of different ways to assist us, protect us, and interact with us. 

One day, a person decided to enter the backdoor of my home. Hearing the noise I went to see, and looking out of the kitchen window, I saw from the corner of my eye that a man was standing in the patio. In this moment, my imagination got the best of me, and as I started running toward the front of the house to get to the door, I heard the crash of breaking glass. I began running faster, and suddenly I heard whooping and yelling coming from the patio area. “Get this dog off me! I swear to God, he is wagging his tail, but he is staring in my eyes, and I can see his teeth! Susie!!!”

Of course, I recognized the voice. It was my best friend’s husband, and as I headed back to the kitchen, I asked, “Why in the world did you break my window?”

“I didn’t,” he howled.  I then saw that Zach was sitting as close as he could on top of Leroy’s chest, wagging his tail, and smiling. I started laughing, told Zach to move; which he happily did, and then asked Leroy how he ended up on the floor.

As he stood up and straightened his clothes, he explained, “When the dog came through the window, I slipped — and then, he suddenly was sitting on top of me and wagging his tail while showing his teeth!”

I laughed again and explained that Zach just wanted some attention and was smiling because he was happy — then I realized that despite in his exuberance, Zach had made a doggie mistake — that my wolf would always protect me.

An illustrated tribute to the dogs that have left us and the lovely critters that filled our hearts back up with love.

 The Harpst-Koen Family:  Sandy, Boo, Rockit, & Boomer

Submitted By Raymond Fisher

One reason a dog can be such comfort when you’re feeling blue is that he doesn’t try to find out why. – Author Unknown

The average dog is a nicer person than the average person. – Andy Rooney

Everything I Need to Know I Learned from My Dog: When loved ones come home run to greet them. Never pass the opportunity to go for a joyride. Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy. – Author Unknown

If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you; that is the principal difference between dog and man. – Mark Twain

There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face. – Ben Williams

Properly trained, a Man can be Dog’s best friend. – Corey Ford

If your dog is fat, you are not getting enough exercise. — Author Unknown

My Goal in life is to be as good a person as my dog already thinks I am. — Author Unknown

Dogs love their friends and bite their enemies, quite unlike people, who are incapable of pure love and always have to mix love and hate. – Sigmund Freud

Dogs are not our whole life but they make our lives whole. – Roger Caras

The reason a dog has so many friends is that he wags his tail instead of his tongue. — Author Unknown

If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went. – Will Rogers

By Helen Nichols Murphy Battleson

This is the story of how family history and genealogy took me from my hometown of Coronado back east where my maternal ancestors came on the second supply ship to Jamestown, Virginia. I became interested in genealogy and family roots in August 1967 after reading an article in Readers Digest about tracing your roots. Both of my parents grew up without much family history knowledge at all since my father had been adopted at the age of 12 days, and my mother’s mother had died during the Spanish flu epidemic of 1918 when she had just turned two years old.

Since 1967, I have worked on and off on my pedigree charts and through the years have amassed huge amounts of information on both sides of my family.

I joined the National Society of the Daughters of the American Revolution under my ancestor, William Dishman, Sr. of Virginia in 1970; and I was the last Regent of the local Oliver Wetherbee Chapter of the NSDAR in Coronado. I became a member of the Crown Colony Chapter of the National Society of Colonial Dames XVII Century in August of 1989 under Colonel Richard Dudley of Virginia; and became a member of the Americans of Royal Descent in May 1990. 

So far to date, I have found well over 1,000 direct ancestors in my direct line and have participated in several DNA projects, of which I am a huge advocate. It was due to my interest in genealogy and history that in 1989 when my two youngest girls, Rachel and Regina, were small that I purchased “Hewick” the home built by their ancestor the Honorable Christopher Robinson, Esq. of England and Virginia. Hewick was built in 1678 in Middlesex County, Virginia. This is the 66-acre plantation that Rachel and Regina were raised on back east. We were living history everyday in that home which I restored. The amazing thing was my ancestors also lived in Middlesex County, Virginia in the same time period. It is unbelievable how many people still living in this small county on the Rappahannock River are descendants of the original settlers.

The Robinsons were a prominent family in England; and after the death of the father, John, they began to go their separate ways. Christopher, as a young attorney, left for the Colony of Virginia in 1666. His younger brother, John Robinson, remained in England and later became the Bishop of London. As such, he was the head of the Anglican Church in both England and America.

Bishop of London, John Robinson

 John Robinson (7 November 1650 – 11 April 1723) was an English diplomat and prelate. John was born at Cleasby, North Yorkshire near Darlington, a son of John Robinson, who died in 1651. (Special Note: John Robinson was my daughters’ Rachel and Regina’s, ninth great grandfather. ) Educated at Brasenose College in Oxford, he became a fellow of Oriel College; and in 1680, he became chaplain to the British embassy to Stockholm, Sweden where he remained for nearly thirty years. During the absence of the minister, Philip Warwick, Robinson acted as resident and envoy extraordinaire. Thus, he was in Sweden during a very interesting and important period in which he performed diplomatic duties at a time when the affairs of Northern Europe were attracting an unusual amount of attention.

Among his adventures not the least noteworthy was his journey to Narva with Charles XII in 1700. In 1709, Robinson returned to England and was appointed Dean of Windsor and Wolverhampton. In 1710, he was elected Bishop of Bristol; and among other ecclesiastical positions he held was that of Dean of the Chapel Royal. In August 1711, he became Lord Privy Seal. This being says Lord Stanhope, “The last time that a bishop has been called upon to fill a political office.” Echoing his Scandinavian connections, the motto on his coat of arms is written in runic characters.

In 1712, the bishop represented Great Britain at the important Congress of Utrecht; and as first plenipotentiary, he signed the Treaty of Utrecht in April 1713, which ended the War of the Spanish Succession. Just after his return to England, John Robinson was chosen as Bishop of London in succession to Henry Compton. John Robinson, D.D., Bishop of London was at the bedside holding the hand of Queen Anne when she died in 1713.

“Hewick,” Home to the Robinson Family of Virginia was one of the most significant manors in Virginia. It was constructed in 1678 by Christopher Robinson (1645-1692/3). He served the colony in the House of Burgesses from 1685-1692 and was a member of the Governor’s Council in 1691, which is equivalent to elevation to the House of Lords in England. Christopher served as Secretary of State to the colony from 1691-1692 and was a member of the Board of Trustees at the founding of the College of William and Mary in 1693. He also served as senior vestryman and warden of Christ Church Parish, Middlesex County. One of the best known residents of the colony, his home was the gathering place for many of the important families of Virginia who helped shape the colony into the state it eventually became. Christopher was appointed Councilor and Secretary of Foreign Plantations by King William III of England in 1692. As such, he would have been the head of the colony, but unfortunately he died before taking this office.

Christopher Robinson’s son, also John Robinson, became acting governor on the departure of Sir William Gooch for England on June 20, 1749. His grandfather was John Robinson of Cleasby, Yorkshire, England, who married Elizabeth Potter, daughter of Christopher Potter of Cleasby. His uncle was Dr. John Robinson, Bishop of Bristol and London. His father was Christopher John Robinson, who married Judith, daughter of Colonel Christopher Wormeley.

Robinson was born in 1683 in Middlesex County, Virginia, at “Hewick,” his father’s residence on the Rappahannock River. He occupied many important positions in the colony. He was a member of the House of Burgesses and became president of the Council in 1720. He married Katherine, daughter of Robert Beverley, author of the first written history of Virginia, and their son John was speaker of the House of Burgesses and treasurer of the colony. The John Robinson estate scandal was a major financial scandal in Colonial Virginia. After the 1766 death of John Robinson, the prestigious Virginia legislator who served as both Speaker of the House of Burgesses and colonial treasurer, Robinson’s protégé, Edmund Pendleton, was shocked to discover that Robinson’s estate had debts of fifty thousand pounds. Pendleton then placed a notice in the Virginia Gazette that all people in debt to Robinson should “make immediate payment.” Although he died a pauper, it was later learned that he had saved the estates of many of the most important land owners in Virginia.

Records from the colonial treasury revealed that Robinson had been using the paper money he was supposed to destroy (in his role as treasurer) and lending it to others or using it to pay his personal debts. In December 1766, a staggering report came to the House of Burgesses indicating that Robinson’s estate owed the colony over one hundred thousand pounds. After the “Robinson affair”, the roles of speaker and treasurer were separated.

I have pictures of when I purchased Hewick, when it was in a sad state, and pictures of it now in 2011. In 1933, the WPA came to Hewick to include it in the H.A.B.S. survey #540. It is included in the Historic American Buildings Survey, built in 1678.

The College of William and Mary conducted an archaeological dig at Hewick for a number of years. They found thousands of items in the dig of which I have a nice display .The others are housed at the college in Williamsburg. This collection includes correspondence, research journals, travel journals, publications, slides, artifacts, and other material pertaining to Dr. Theodore R. Reinhart’s research and teaching career in the Department of Anthropology at the College of William and Mary and his participation in the Council of Virginia Archaeologists and the Department of Historical Resources. In 1921, Mary Pollard Clarke published an article entitled, “Christopher Robinson, One of the First Trustees of William and Mary College, His Home: Hewick on the Rappahannock” in “The William and Mary Quarterly, Volume One – Series Two” (beginning on page 134).

HEWICK in 1989 (When I bought and insured it while still living in Coronado)

HEWICK Today

Hewick was sold out of the Robinson family is 2005, but I am still contacted from interested descendants and people from all over the world who have an interest in it. I published the Robinson Family Journal for many years, and eleven of the past issues are indexed on the Internet. (Vol. 1, No. #1 began in November 1991, ROBINSON FAMILY JOURNAL Index Vol. 6, No.1 ISSN #1077-5358 January 1997 Issue #11 was the last issue.) I host the Robinson Family Mailing List on Rootsweb. I am the Administrator of the following lists as well: Higginbotham, Lumbley (Lumley), and Uxley (Huxley).  I am very interested in the use of DNA for family genealogy research.

“Why waste your time and money looking up your family tree? Just go into politics and your opponents will do it for you!” – Mark Twain

The Robinson Cookbook I published in 1991

Hewick, Home of the Robinsons since 1678 is on Facebook. The following links are also available for more information on Hewick and our genealogy:

www.hewick.info

http://www.genealogy.com/genealogy/users/b/a/t/Helen-N-Battleson/index.html

By Al Graham

The Sandman is blissfully happy with very few things – a little Bugler tobacco, an iced cold beer, a candy bar, his prize collection of broken toys (which he has repaired and are on display as if museum pieces in every inch of his abode). For the last two years, the Sandman has shared with the Coronado Clarion staff, his deep longing to have a statue of himself erected somewhere in Coronado. So our staff decided to do the next-best thing. We purchased a mannequin, coated it with glue, and then affixed golden sand from head to toe. Afterwards, we asked the Sandman to bring us one of his uniforms including shoes and his signature nautical cap, which was no problem as he has at least a dozen hanging in his closet. The next day, when the Sandman returned, he was met with his twin in statue form. He stood admiring it for the longest time.

We loaded the two Sandmen into our vehicle and set off for a photo shoot all over town. Sandman was “King for a Day!”

By, Al Graham

In the summer of 1969, we moved into a cute, three-bedroom cottage, one block from the silver sands of Coronado Beach. “Mayberry RFD”, “Ozzie and Harriet”, “Leave it to Beaver”, and just a dash of “Wizard of Oz” – pick any one or all of them together, for Coronado, was that real life community with its living residents the same as the characters in these shows, right down to Barney Fife. Safe and quiet — doors remained unlocked and front door keys were rare. It was a twenty-block square piece of heaven.  At night, luminous cartoon like breakers thundered onto the shoreline.

Anne and I took our son, Dylan, down to the beach one evening. It was eight p.m. Many other families had already gathered at the foot of the breaking tide.  All the parents had flashlights. The children carried beach buckets in spades. I had never been to the beach at night. When Anne said we were all going to watch the running, I thought it was a local custom, something like an evening flashlight run. Everyone else knew what to expect, except me, of course.  Children were jumping up and down as parents stood behind them shining their flashlights into the water. People were not running at all nor did they plan to do so. I looked very, very silly when I ran up and down the sand holding my light like a marathon runner. Dylan loved it, but other parents just looked at Anne as if she had a visiting retarded relative.

 Anne yelled out, “Here they come! Look, Dylan!! There!! There!!” She was now running to meet the tide. Everyone else followed and began scooping. I looked into Dylan’s bucket. It was full of teeny, little silver fish swirling around furiously. All the rest of the families were scooping up buckets of these squirming fish and waving around their flashlights in this truly bizarre “flashlight fishing”.

Even though I had progressed a lot since Anne began educating me, I had still not yet achieved meta-cognizance. So, when she had called out to me, I heard only parts of her statement. Actually, it was only the one word, “running” that stood out. However, being a highly intelligent creature with the IQ of an eighth grader, by the next year when the ritual came around again, this time, I heard and fully comprehended the entire sentence. “Papa, come on! We’re going down to the beach to watch the grunion running!”