A little bit of Eden

San Gabriel Mts, east Pasadena

In 1948 my dad must have thought he had discovered Eden. He'd bought a house in Pasadena in Southern California, a present to himself after getting out of the Navy at San Diego. We -- mom, Bill and I -- were still in Navy housing in Dallas, where dad had been recruiting officer, his last duty. I was 9, Bill 3. Now mom was going to drive us to California, a very big deal in those days because it meant crossing the Mojave desert. We'd do that leg of the trip after midnight, in the coolest part of the day. All the same, canvas bags of water were mounted outside on the hood, evaporation to cool the engine.

Mom made it. Our 2-bedroom house at 2862 Estado Street in east Pasadena faced north to an inspiring view of the brown San  Gabriel mountains, and even today when I see them during a Rose Bowl telecast, I feel a little homesick. We had sycamore trees in front of the house and fruit trees in a large back yard, where dad and granddad would build a patio shaped like a navigator's compass, a tribute to dad's role in the Navy, and I'd use new skills in trigonometry to figure out the exact location of the patio's center in latitude and longitude for a plaque to be set there.

California dreamin'

In the late 40s and early 50s, Pasadena was indeed a little bit of Eden. The Pasadena Freeway recently had opened -- I'd learn to drive on it later -- but the congestion to come was beginning invisibly. Many ex-GI's from all around the country shared my dad's journey, leaving their home towns for the promise of California. Great weather, great schools, a great house and neighborhood (solidly middle class, mostly blue collar). A little bit of Eden.

"Home sweet home" in Pasadena

Our house on Estado St. no longer exists but one of the sycamore trees in the front yard is still there. Where the house sat is now the foundation for huge pillars that hold up a freeway above. Our neighborhood was chosen for the new Foothills Freeway, and we were located at the very edge of the area to be demolished. Indeed, the houses across the street are still there! Visiting my childhood neighborhood is a very surrealistic experience.

I still get goosebumps more quickly from the brown San Gabriels than from snow-capped Mt. Hood. I still think of Pasadena as my home. But you can't go home again. So here I am.