Ojai Tales
Short Stories from Drew’s Boyhood Days
Written by Drew MashburnILLUSTRATION ADAPTED FROM OLD NORDHOFF HIGH SCHOOL YEARBOOKS
PUBESCENT PANIC
Jockstraps were a requirement for boys' P.E. class at Matilija Jr. High School when I entered 7th grade in 1963. I was only twelve years old and in a pubescent state. At that age, you have no doubts the Whole World is watching you. The thought of having to buy a jockstrap at a store from a salesperson (especially if a woman) sent shivers down my spine. What an embarrassing situation. But hold up there, Nellie-Belle! My grandmother was a saleslady at "Rain's Department Store." I asked her to buy and deliver one to me. Whewie! Nobody but my grandmother would know that I had testicles. In fact, I still do…
TUNNEL TERROR
Majestic Oak Vineyard's tasting room has a lovely patio located next to the East Barranca (AKA: Ojai Creek) that runs under Ojai Avenue. From there, one can see the tunnel that runs under the street. When I was a young teenager in the mid-1960s, the tunnel ended behind the Ojai Pharmacy (now Bonnie Lu's Country Cafe) in the Arcade. What made the tunnel a bit scary was the fact that it dog legs, as we called it. Why is that scary, you ask? Because my buddies and I would, starting at the Majestic Oaks end, gingerly walk through it so as not to stumble over the rocks in the dark until the mid-way point where it bends. By the way, back in those days, the winery building housed a lady dentist who didn't dig us kids using her stairs to get down to the creek. So, we had to be sorta stealth-like.
Once we got to the tunnel's midway point (the dog leg), light began appearing from the other end. But, just before that point, older teenage boys would often hide in the darkness. As we approached, they'd start screaming and about scare the pee-waddin' outta us! We take off runnin' for the opening behind the Arcade, then scamper up the steep, weed-covered creek bank. Back then, there was no Arcade Plaza. In fact, the back of the Arcade was pretty sucky-looking. We didn't care because we had just survived a cheap thrills adventure.
SPIDERS FOR SALE!
Tarantula Hill had millions and zillions of tarantulas back in the early 1960s, though Martin Ford and I thinned out their numbers a tad. Tarantula Hill lies between Red Hill Road and Shelf Road at the base of the mountains on the North side of the Ojai Valley. Back when Martin and I conducted our tarantula gathering expeditions, there wasn't a Red Hill Road. The tracts of homes behind Topa Topa Elementary School, where Martin and I were educated, had yet to be built. We'd traipse across the open fields behind the school over to Tarantula Hill. It was rounded back then. Over the years, somebody dozed the top of it and made a pad for a home, but none has ever gone up on it, and I'm glad of it. So are the tarantulas, I suppose.
We'd take canteens of water with us, not only for quenching our thirst but for pouring down the numerous burrows where the tarantulas resided. In went the water, and out came the long, legged, hairy spiders! We'd place them into jars with holes poked in the lids. We'd lug them to school with us, then sell them to the other boys for their lunch money or allowances or whatever coin they had. We were entrepreneurs. By the end of the school day, most of the tarantulas had seen their better days. I recall that many of the boys had a tarantula leg and had a blast chasing the girls with them. Boys will be boys! Heck, if I had a tarantula leg now, I'd most likely chase my wife with it. Ha!
FROG HUNTS & FACEPLANTS
Frank Ayers' home was on Grand Avenue, close to where the lower end of Park Road joins it. I have no idea how large a spread Mr. Ayers owned, but it was quite a few acres, and the West side of it was bordered by a barranca when I was a kid in the 1950s and 1960s attending Topa Topa Elementary School. Go, Gophers! (some fool changed it to the "Falcons" after I was outta there). The barranca ran from Grand Avenue up to Mountain View Avenue, the street in front of Topa Topa. The barranca lies behind the homes on the East side of Grandview Avenue. My buddies and I sometimes used the barranca as a path to get to and from school rather than Grandview Avenue. It was gently sloping, so it presented an easy walk and a fun place to explore, especially when it had some water in it. At times, it had pollywogs and little frogs, which caught our attention.
But Mr. Ayers had a huge, meaner-than-sin ranch dog. Back in those days, there was only an open agricultural field between his home and the barranca. One day, after school, we used the barranca. When we got to the lower end of it, which was nearest Mr. Ayers's home, we sprinted to keep from getting attacked by the (totally imaginarily) meanest dog on the face of this planet! I was running at full speed behind my dog-avoiding buds once as they all ran across Grand Avenue, then continued down Park Road. When I was at the end of the barranca, I forgot that one strand of barbed wire stretched across the barranca. I caught it just under my nose and above my upper lip. My feet kept going, but my head didn't. My feet went up in the air, and I crashed down on my back with a gash below my nose by one of the barbs. Sweat from my exertion went into the cut. Man, did it burn! I couldn't even roll over. I just laid there in a heap, bleeding and quite shaken in the dirt of the barranca. After about five minutes, my buddies came back and got me up. I told them what stupid mistake I had made. Looking back, I wish I had prevaricated and told them that Mr. Ayers's dog had attacked me.
CHARIOTS OF PLYWOOD
Ah, "Ben-Hur" starring Charlton Heston, the epitome of cinematic greatness. Back in '62, we East Matilija Street rascals ventured to the Ojai Theater to witness its glory. A spry ten-year-old at the time, I couldn't have been more excited. The chariot races: pure spectacle!
Nick Robertson, our resident genius, hatched a plan. We "borrowed" some of our dads' wood and crafted rudimentary chariots — just plywood decks with axles and wooden wheels. We even added yokes for that authentic touch.
Now, Nick's parents had a sprawling front yard, the perfect coliseum. The concrete walk to their front door was our grand start and finish line. A year my senior, Nick teamed up with Mark McGuire and Larry Wiser. I usually found myself paired with Nick's little brothers, Drew and Win. Meanwhile, my kid brother, Mitch, joined forces with the formidable Dale Cundiff and Kit Nichols, if memory serves me right.
The fun didn't stop there. At first, we simply raced around our oval track, drivers often tumbling off because, well, our chariots lacked sides. But who cared? It was a riot! There was bumping, shoving, punching, and crashing — pure pandemonium. This was serious business, folks! So serious that we took inspiration from the film and added cutting blades to our chariot wheels, using hefty 16D nails. No feet were lost — a miracle, really.
But alas, our reign of chariot chaos came to a screeching halt when Nick's dad put his foot down, shutting us down for good despite our most passionate protests.
