Robert Cherry:
CLASS OF 1969
Desert High SchoolClass of 1969
Edwards afb, CA
Central Union High SchoolClass of 1969
El centro, CA
Wilson Junior High SchoolClass of 1965
El centro, CA
Desert Garden Middle SchoolClass of 1963
El centro, CA
Robert's Story
Holy Cow! I can’t believe it! It’s been well over a half century since I first entered high school. A half century plus a full decade to boot. It’s been sixty years since I arrived at Edwards Air Force Base and enrolled into Desert High School (DHS) as a mid-term freshman. In 1965 Lyndon B Johnson was president, My Fair Lady won an Oscar for Best Picture, and according to Chris Cotton, the LA Dodgers won the World Series by beating the Twins in seven games. I was in high school before the first Super Bowl was ever played. I can still remember myself as being full of energy with dreams o’plenty, long before I eventually realized I had been both clueless and fearless which can be such a troublesome combination.
I’m surprised by how often some inconsequential event will trigger my few remaining memory cells as I relive one of many treasured high school moments. As a senior citizen, my disposition has soured somewhat so a brief daydream can be most refreshing. Although as Frank told us, “Regrets, I’ve Had A Few”, I wish I could go back and apologize for some of my poorly thought out escapades, but all in all, high school life is in the top tier of my life’s pleasure hierarchy.
I was a mid-term transfer student, transferring from one high school to another which was common on military bases. Enrolling in a new school during mid year was awkward both educationally and socially. As an example, my previous school’s latin class began the term studying definitions and progressed to conjugating verbs during the second semester. DHS’s latin class, good old Mr Barney, was the opposite by beginning with verb conjugation and then progressing to vocabulary. I was a whiz at the definitions but missed the vital conjugating verb lectures entirely. Unfortunately my social education didn’t fare much better. It’s difficult being a freshman at any high school but arriving mid-term as a pimply faced 15 year old attempting to butt into established cliques was extremely challenging. I tried too hard to be recognized as one of the “cool guys” in the freshmen’s superficial pecking order.
Thank goodness I had the opportunity to hook-up with two other recent transfers, Dale Barnes & Mike Prines (RIP). And to add to my luck the two most charismatic and popular freshman girls (Gayle Beneke & Kathy Dennis) nicknamed us “NUKs” which was short for New Kids and brought us unquestioned positive recognition. Due to our cool NUK status we instantly became best friends and felt honored to be members in our exclusive club as we began our journey in discovering the intricacies of becoming Desert High Scorpions.
Some circumstances remain the same no matter which high school you attend. Such as freshman being classified as worthless and inferior to all upperclassmen or the embarrassment a clueless freshman suffers after being caught using a lunch table sanctioned off-limits to all but the seniors. DHS had several peculiar quirks that were quite unique that Dale, Mike, and I quickly learned. The first was not to snicker when hearing the paradoxical term “Nutrition Break” which occurred around 10:00 each morning where your nutritional needs could be fulfilled by purchasing custard-filled glazed pastries chased down with chocolate milk. We had no problem joining the sugar rush crowd and just winked when saying Nutrition Break. And then there was DHS’s mascot, the scorpion, which was understandable since we were located in the Mojave desert but I drew the line at using the word “Scorpitorium” instead of auditorium. Just thinking of that word brought a smirk to my face. I was surprised and somewhat embarrassed in discovering the idiosyncrasy that DHS’s baseball field didn’t have any grass in the outfield but my embarrassment subsided slightly when I discovered that neighboring Trona High School’s entire ball field was grassless and although hard to imagine, their golf course was grassless as well including the “greens”. Even tho not officially a component of Desert High School but certainly recognized as the school’s number one hang-out was our one and only drive-in restaurant known as “The Flush”. It was a complete mystery how the nickname came about but it was certainly accepted by the entire base population and for some reason, seemed appropriate. In those days you could order a cheeseburger, fries, and coke and pay with a dollar bill and receive enough change to buy a gallon of gas at our one and only gas station.
Once again I was clueless when I should have been more impressed that Desert High is located at Edwards AFB, famous for it’s pilots and support staff such as Chuck Yeager, Joe Cotton, Jim Fulton, and later Buzz Aldrin risking their lives testing experimental supersonic aircrafts like the X-1, X-15, XB-70, and later the space shuttle. But I was only interested in girls, cars and sports and remiss at not giving proper due to the ever present contrails stretched across the clear blue sky or the frequent thunderous sonic booms which shook and rattled the school’s windows.
We were fortunate that Edwards provided an abundance of entertainment and recreational opportunities, nothing fancy but easily accessible. We could play tennis after sunset at one of the lighted tennis courts, skate at the roller rink, bowl a game or two, ride the shuttle bus appropriately named the “Blue Goose” around the entire base free of charge, see a first run movie at the base theater for pocket change, or even fire up some pottery at the huge kilns. There was a popular Teen Club that held weekend dances and offered wholesome activities such as ping pong and pool tables (rhymes with “P” and that stands for pool) and a snack bar that sold nachos for a dime. The base had a regulation sized golf course.…with grass. But one of those treasured memories I mentioned earlier is when I picture Susan Read, Becky O’Neil, Judy Clark, Gail Elliott, Sally Saunders.or Lynn Taylor wearing a bikini at one of the four swimming pools assigned by our father’s (mother’s?) rank. I was spoiled yet clueless.
Aways from the school on the large hill beyond the base hospital was “D-Hill” which of course represented Desert High School. D-Hill was visible from most of the housing areas, even from the main base which was several miles away. When I first moved to Edwards I obviously noticed D-Hill but since it didn’t relate to girls, cars, or sports, I didn’t think too much about it. But the first time I trudged up the hill for an up close and personal viewing I was mightily impressed. The “D” was huge, about 40 or 50 feet in length and made up of large rocks painted bright white. No wonder it was viewable from most of the base. The seniors had the responsibility to repair and paint the “D” each year. The “D-Hill” rite-of-passage work party had a well-earned reputation and considered a privilege and honor to participate. Try to imagine, a group of hormone raging high school seniors, teenage boys and teenage girls grouped together seeking attention away from campus with minimal supervision handling buckets of paint. What could go wrong? Unfortunately as one would expect, that privilege was revoked by the antics of the 1968 class. Appare...Expand for more
ntly the work party’s shenanigans were noticed by some of the observant military-minded parents when their daughters came home covered in white-wash. After the administration was severely criticized for their carefree approach, their creative remedy was to simply cancel the entire program. To my disappointment the D-Hill work parties became a part of DHS history.
It was relatively easy to become involved in sports at DH because in order to fill a team’s roster, every student with any potential skills was heavily recruited. Coaches Boyette, Jones, and McGowan, tried their darnedest to entice enough players for the various sports teams by pumping us with well received praise and admiration. During my junior year in 1968, Dave Demek (Go Wildcats) was scoring touchdowns at Wings Field, Steve Hurst (Go Sooners!) would shoot basketballs from half court, and Ralph Cave (Go Bulldogs) consistently pitched no-hitters while the future prestiges Harvard Crimson alumni Jay Kavanagh (RIP) was whacking the hardball so far and high that the air traffic controller’s radar was alerted. But I don’t recall any sports superstars in our 1969 senior class. We were good but not outstanding. Mark Twinting (RIP) was a multi-sport’s star in the following class although Steve Bence (Go Ducks) probably achieved the highest athletic notoriety of any scorpion as a long distance runner before Nike instructed him to “Just Do It” (1972 The Book).
The late 1960’s was pre Title-9 meaning for some ridiculous reasoning women’s sports were basically nonexistent so consequently alternative opportunities were encouraged. Most of the females joined either the Cheerleader Squad, Flag or Drill Teams, Majorettes, or Letterettes , and yes, the groups were embarrassingly called Scorpionettes. Others joined Mr Thompson’s proud and admired marching band led by outstanding drum majors Wardell Lazard (RIP) and Mark Swann. Mark became a quick change artist who miraculously performed double duty by trading in his shoulder pads to grab his mace at half time. I can still picture the decorative hand-me-down purple and white uniforms each of the groups proudly wore.
Desert High’s club opportunities were pretty basic. I was involved in the journalism class which published the “Desert Mirage” every so often. Even with a two-month lead time, I waited until the night before deadline before creating my self-proclaimed masterpiece. The 4-page newspaper was pretty much what you would expect from a small school. The school organized an annual Talent Show which was entertaining, and the Drama Club staged some sort of play or more appropriate, a skit each year. The Glee Club held an assembly and I was always surprised to hear how well some of the solos performed such as Dave Stroman, who knew?
A few of our 1969 senior class students got the most out of their education by diligently applying themselves while others including me, simply attended. The Triple “L’s”, Lenny Beystrum (Go Cal?), Larry Lee (Go Vols), and Lanny Gookin (Go Horned Frogs) represented the male scholastic achievers while Rosemary Bolza (existential master) and Michele Heymann were the female equivalents, but Thelma Kailiwi (Go Broncos) led the prestigious team. Personally, I was intrigued by Nelson Cockrum’s intellect and felt his scholastic aptitude was overlooked. When I read Walden by Thoreau much later in life, I pictured Nelson who was obviously intelligent but somewhat an under-the-radar philosopher. Each time I read about a new engineering feat or medical advancement in the US, I always expect to see a Desert High alumni associated with the discovery. I would be interested in hearing about their successes., which I’m confident were many.
Besides enduring the uncomfortable commute, teaching a class at DHS was challenging due to the wide range of aptitudes assigned to the same class. A large school could place the brightest students in a separate class and mediocre in another to match their interest level but not at DHS. Mr Ferguson was responsible to teach trigonometry to The Triple L’s who actually had a yearning to learn while also responsible to teach someone like me who wasted my opportunity by painstakingly counting every single one of the fifty loud clicks made by the slowest clock on earth. The most practical classes for me were Mrs. Siefarth’s typing class and Mr. Olsen’s Business class. Both taught me something to this day I still consistently use and their classes were relatively easy on the brain and from my perspective, Mrs. Siefarth was easy on the eyes.
Central Casting couldn’t have come up with a better character representing a Literature Composition teacher than Mrs Lindsey who was born to be a teacher. Periodically she would crack a smile through pursed lips as she struggled to keep my mind from counting fifty loud clock clicks as we picked apart a literary novel. I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t recall the title of our senior class’s assigned novel even though we spent hours and hours dissecting each sentence. I am absolutely, positively, unequivocally certain (reluctantly) that I would have remembered Mrs Lindsey’s facial expressions if she had led discussions of any novels that referenced any sexual content as in The Great Gatsby or The Scarlet Letter so maybe our literary project was something mundane such as Animal Farm. And then there was Mr. Johnson who seemed to enjoy the challenge of teaching biology while gently sidestepping sex-education which was the subject needed the most by a class of clueless teenage students. And due to the world of successful advertising, each hour the teacher’s lounge filled with heavy tobacco smoke that reeked throughout the entire wing.
The Beach Boys influenced my fashion inspiration but it was silly being a surfer in the desert where the nearest surf was three hours away. Ah, but the desert was an ideal location to hop on a motorcycle and let the dopamine begin flowing as you raced across the desert’s virgin topography. As expected, the advertising community stepped up and successfully produced the popular tag line, “You Meet The Nicest People On A Honda”. The Honda craze took off by promoting the Super 90 which was both relatively inexpensive and easy to ride. Several of our classmates were naturals and immediately excelled at the sport. Alan Stig, Steve Bouche, or Steve and his younger brother Danny Pia were constantly out performing each other on their modified Hondas. My introduction to the craze was a Trail 90 which was a safe choice for a clueless yet fearless teenager. I actually learned a lot about myself from riding a dirt bike and wished I would have passed on the experience to my children. An opportunity sadly missed.
DHS provided an admirable education. The small school’s structure matched my personality which would have created problems at a larger school. We were fortunate to attend a safe and secure school even if it was a tad conservative. It would be interesting to communicate with DHS alumni, not so much as a formal reunion but simply developing a DHS e-mail directory. I bet there are some fantastic stories out there. Cheers to all the DHS Scorpions!
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