Remembering a Paper Route, Forgetting Human Dignity

When I was 11 years old, I had a paper route. It started near my house, and continued down Baldwin Avenue in Arcadia, right across the street from what was then the practice track for Santa Anita racetrack. The first paper I delivered was the day Robert Kennedy was shot - June 5, 1968. I will never forget that.

I will also never forget what my Dad, a World War II Pacific Theater veteran, used to tell me as we drove past Santa Anita when I was a kid. "That was where they used to keep the Japs penned up during the War", he would say as we drove past the stable, just off Baldwin Avenue. I remember the feeling of being glad we "penned them up", during the War. They were scary savages, according to Dad, and he never really had much good to say about any "minority" as I grew up. I feel like I have spent the rest of my life overcoming my Father's biases.

For several years I would peddle my bike past the past the practice track, and sometimes think about all those Japanese people, locked up there, some 25 years earlier. What did that feel like for them?

Here is a glimpse of what it felt like.....

Julie, Julia, and the Family Next Door

Everyone has heard of the rule of Six Degrees of Separation.

As it turns out, I am only two degrees separated from Julia Child! I find this excellent, as I just love to cook, when time and life allow. To me, Julia Child was a woman who drank deeply from the cup of life.

How do these degrees of separation work?

When I was a teenager, a very cool family moved in next door. The parents were former Cal Berkley grads, and the Dad was an oarsman from Cal. I think he might have competed in the Olympics. The story was that this Dad worked with the "State Department". We bought that story. Completely.

Anyway, this was a wonderful family for me to hang around. First of all, there were more than three people, and being an only child, this was a very good thing. They used to have very fun, large, and loud parties, and were very gracious to my family, always inviting me over (perhaps they sensed my loss in life as an only child). Lots of laughter, always! I also remember stories about this families friendship with Julia Child, of all people!

We used to have some amazing basketball games in their swimming pool. We rigged up a real hoop that was attached to a full sized backboard, mounted on the diving board, which allowed for in the water dunk shots. For a high school kid who just loved basketball, this was excellent.

So, lets connect this to my date with my wife last night.

Nancy and I went out for a movie date, and saw the unabashed chick-flick, "Julie & Julia". The trailer is below, but suffice it to say this movie deals in part with the early life of Julia Child, one of the most famous cooking writers of all time. Great film, lots of laughter, and joy, and cooking and a real celebration of marriage. Quite refreshing, frankly.

Now, back to the two degrees of separation.

As it turns out, the Dad next door.....he did not exactly work for the State Department. He worked for the CIA. Much to my shock, I found this out just a couple of years ago, when the Dad next door passed away (guess there is a rule about telling the truth about that sort of thing), and I was reconnected via the Internet with the kids I grew up with. Also, a minor detail in the story is that the precursor to the CIA was the Office of Strategic Services (OSS).

And here is the connection to Julia Child. Julia was married to Paul Child, who was an employee of the OSS, through the guise of the State Department. Many years ago, my childhood neighbor dad and his wife were stationed in Oslo, Norway together, and Julia Child and her husband Paul were stationed there as well.

Julia was trying to get her very first cookbook published, so she decided to test recipes with a cooking group that was made up of international embassy wives. Turns out our neighbors were in this group. They met once a month at a member's home, cooked all morning and then sat down to lunch and wine. The wife of the secret spy who lived next door where I grew up even spent time with Julia as the years went on, helping on occasion with her TV cooking show.

So there you have it. I almost, sorta, kinda, but not really knew Julia Child.

If my life gets any more thrilling than this, I may pass out from the excitement.

Remembering Richard Erdman

At left, Scott & Kathy Erdman, myself, and Jance Erdman, circa 1964.

I moved in across the street from the Erdman family when I was just five years old. Ours was a family of three; I was an only child of a second marriage. This was Arcadia, California in 1963.

The first family to welcome us to our new neighborhood lived across the street. The Erdman family of five seemed to me large and busy, full of personality, and, for me, a somewhat shy only child, at times intimidating. The Erdman kids surrounded me in age, they were 6, 4 and 3; a boy and two girls. As I grew, they also surrounded me by example - of character, fun, adventurousness, humor, and grace.

The husband and father of this family was an unassuming aerospace engineer named H. Richard Erdman; Dick to his friends. He was born in 1930, 10 years after my Dad. In many ways Dick was an ordinary man, and yet, to me, and to many who knew him, completely extraordinary. Dick loved his wife well for many years, was a dedicated father, and a loving grandfather. Dick was part of the Greatest Generation, having served in the Navy during the Korean War.

For the next 13 years, I grew up across the street from the home where Dick raised his family. And last Saturday, at a memorial service in Arcadia, a church packed full of friends and colleagues remembered this good man. What a fitting tribute, a congregation full of people who were blessed by his friendship and touched by his example.

Over the past two years, following the death of both of my own parents, I have thought often of what things mark a life well lived. During the past week, I have been reflecting on the life of Dick Erdman, and the difference he made in so many lives. This was a life very well lived. I hope to be something like Dick, when I grow up.

Dick was an engineer by trade, and spend many years involved in the technology behind high altitude reconnaissance photography. We found out at his service (for me, for the first time!) that Dick had been involved design and manufacturing for the cameras used on the U2 Spy plane. Very cool! But he was so much more than just an engineer. The legacy he leaves behind is remarkable, as expressed primarily in the lives of his children, who have all formed families (three marriages, all still intact - something of an anomaly today) of their own, with seven grandchildren.

At the memorial service, we learned of Dick's love for his church, his involvement with the church's lay psychological counseling center, and also of his humble love for Christ. Dick saw no need to separate science and theology. The pastor recounted how Dick loved to read and learn about physics, astronomy, and their connection with faith. Here was a man whose involvement in technology and science had a part in the ending of the Cold War, and yet who embraced his faith without embarrassment. How refreshing.

The last time I spent with Dick was brief, but memorable, about two years ago. I was checking on repairs to my parents home, and Dick hailed me from across the street. Always the engineer, he noticed that I had the same make Acura sedan that he did - except he owned the fancier model - the one with all the high-tech bells and whistles. He invited me across the street, where we sat inside of his car, while he carefully explained each and every feature to me, including the GPS system that was connected to the Internet to warn of traffic events. Classic Dick Erdman. I was late to my next destination, but it didn't matter, I loved spending time with a man who was in love with learning new things, even at age 74 or so.

When my time comes, I hope to leave a loving legacy like that of Dick Erdman. I am so much richer for having known him. An the world is richer for the example of devotion to family, love of people, and live long enthusiasm for learning.

May the God who Dick loved comfort his family and friends in this season of loss. In the constellation of roll models of my youth, Richard Erdman shines brightly as a faithful man. I look forward to the time, in Another Place someday, when I will meet Dick again, and he will explain to me the wonder of the universe from a place where we can see it in a completely different perspective.

Remembering Childhood - The Sandbox

For a couple of months now, I have been meaning to write a bit about my memories of growing up. I have never done this before. Blogging is a great way to share these sorts of things in a relatively permanent way.

That's me on the left, taken when I was 8 months old. Small kid, big bed. Nice curtains, huh?

About the first thing I can remember in life is a sandbox. It was located in the backyard of the first house I lived in. My dad had bought a lot in Arcadia, California, a shiny post War suburb northeast of Los Angeles, and built a house. Since he was in the construction business, he was the general contractor. 618 Santa Rosa Road. 1,300 square feet, built in 1951.

Back to the sandbox. It was located in a rather strange place, sort of off to the side of the driveway in the back yard. During the summer, I remember it as no shade, burning sun. White play sand, put carefully in a circle with little brick pavers around the edge. My Dad was always neat; he liked things put carefully in their place. Some might call it anal. We teasingly called him Norville Neat. I remember that Dad used to get pretty mad when he came home and found I had spilled sand out of the box onto the driveway. He was like that; anal.

From what I can remember, I really liked that sandbox when I was little. I have vague memories of sitting in there for a long time, playing in the sand. I was an only child, and I think I spent a lot of time there, sifting sand and thinking little kid thoughts. Maybe this was the beginning of the often solitary life I lead, growing up in the Smog Belt of Southern California.

Back to today. Earlier this summer, our older girl went to church camp the same week that my wife and younger daughter took a road trip to Texas. I was completely alone at home for a week. I was quite sad for a day or two when everyone first left.

Then after a couple of days, I was surprised one morning when I woke wake up in a very quiet house, realizing I was all alone. Then suddenly, and rather strangely, I remembered playing in that sandbox, all those years ago, on Santa Rosa Road.