Tim Garman:  

If you’re here for the first time it’s probably because you remember me, or you remember my name but can’t place a person with it, or you’re just wondering, “Who is this guy? Never heard of him!” Whatever the reason, you’re here out of curiosity, or you just opened an email from Classmates. But, now that you’re here and I have your attention, take a couple of minutes to read my story, if you can get through occasional sarcasm. It will tell who I am and how I got from then until now, and maybe it will bring back some memories of those who knew me. I know it did mine! After all they’re memories preserved for fifty years. Let me begin by saying that I’m not originally from Crescent City; that is, I wasn’t born there, but I proudly call it my hometown when I meet people who have been "through" there. My History in Del Norte County goes back fifty years. It began at age seven when my family moved from warm, sunny Antioch, CA to the cold, grey skies of Del Norte. My step dad easily landed a job with the City Police Dept., having been a MP in Vietnam, and we set up two trailers to live in on 6 acres of land, 3 miles up a gravel road called Low Divide. That was in 1971. Now the road is paved with a number of homes up there. Back then our only neighbor was a hippy family living in a log cabin with a pack of German Shepherds. (Now there some culture shock for a seven year old - moving from a suburban subdivision full of kids playing Red Rover and Dodgeball in the street). From here the folks drove us down to North Bank Rd. every day to catch the bus to Smith River School. By the end of the school year we decided we had enough of the Hillbilly life and moved back to civilization. In Crescent City you can’t live any closer to the middle of civilization than right on Hwy 101 between the fairgrounds and a lumber yard, that’s now a Frye’s or Rite Aid shopping center. I think there was once a video store right where the dog house sat. Living here gave me the opportunity to attend third and fourth grades at the prestigious Joe Hamilton. Third grade wasn’t too bad, but some how I became a trouble magnet in fourth grade, both in actions and new friends. It was a year better left forgotten! After that I crossed the street to Cougar Country for fifth and sixth grades, where I played football in P.E. for the first time, and learned that you don’t run backwards with the ball to escape the defense. Needless to say that was the only time I got to play in that game, but I more than made up for it in years to come. At the end of 5th grade (Memorial Day weekend) that 2 story house on 101, that was actually 2 apartments and a vacant studio, had a little fire at 4 a.m.. If it hadn’t been for a light sleeping mother I might not have made it to class of ‘82. Nevertheless, we had to move again, so we lived in a little house on Harmony Ln. (off Old Mill Rd.), while a new home was being built for us in Ft. Richard. Now I could start all over again making new friends and peers at Redwood School, and competing against my old ones in football and track (Coach Caldwell nicknamed me Speedy Gonzales). Don’t get me wrong, my Redwood Classmates, I actually liked seventh and eigth grades there. Maybe because it was a small school where everyone knew each other, and my favorite K-12 teacher was there (Mr. Goodgame, who instilled a love of U.S. History and our Constitution). In fact, some of my best K-12 memories were living in Ft. Dick and attending Redwood. But, eventually I graduated and it was off to the Big House, where my older brothers drove to school ahead of me so they could wait inside with lipstick in hand – that our mother gave them (THANKS MOM!) - and be the first to let everyone know I was a Freshman! After all I was their little brother, so shouldn’t they get first dibs on initiating me? I’m sure we all remember those days – I got it five times in two weeks (once by my brothers), and was given the opportunity to run through the halls shouting “I AM A WARRIOR!”, and carry a sign over my head announcing the first dance – Fun Times! [A note to Memorial Mates: Lipstick was used to write red Fs on Freshman faces, and any other art, as an initiation tradition unique to Del Norte H.S.] Sometime during our Freshman year I decided it was time for a domestic change and began making arrangements to give my dad some custody time, so when school was out I went to live with him in a little Oakland suburb called Newark (an enclave of Fremont). This will account for my two years of missing time from Del Norte. How can I compare the two worlds? From a one acre wooded lot in rural Ft. Dick to a lower mid class, mixed neighborhood in Oakland suburbia, at the age of 15. I made friends quick with the neighborhood boys, though I don’t think they ever met a "Redneck" before (they asked if I was one), and I learned how to play street football. That’s where you go to the side lines every five minutes, like basketball, but to let a car pass, and don’t wear shorts unless you don’t mind an asphalt burn if you slide out. And, the schools? I went from a double A enclosed school that was 99% Caucasian and boys spitting tobacco juice on the ground, to a triple A open campus that wasn’t much more than half Caucasian, and I never did see a can of Copenhagen there. At Del Norte a few people might gather around a couple times a year to be entertained watching two redneck boys fight. At Memorial the whole school rushes to the cafeteria to watch a racial brawl that started as a food fight. They packed the place out and the authoriti...Expand for more