Friday, July 2, 2010

Archives: 1983-4

Early in 1983, my little brother Ray decided to join the Marines. "Good grief," we all said.
Ray received basic training in San Diego. We all went down there for his graduation, or whatever it's called. Took these pics. (Click on them to enlarge them.)


The next phase of Ray's training occurred at a camp inland between San Diego and Orange County (Camp Horno of the 1st Marines; it is within Camp Pendelton; at a later date, he trained up near Bridgeport). There, he "humped hills," he later told me. He was a squad leader (or some such thing), and this involved kicking colleagues, if necessary, to motivate them up these hills.
Ray actually broke his foot kicking one guy "in the ass." As I recall, he characterized the fellow very colorfully. For some reason, Ray did not consider getting treatment (for his foot, I mean; don't know about that other guy's ass). It became necessary to re-break and mend the foot a year or two later.
One time, he and one of his Marine pals (a "dark green Marine," they said) stayed over at my folks' place. Late Saturday night, Ray, his pal, Kathie, and I were out on the patio, drinking beer and staring at the marvelous night sky. It's really quiet and dark out in those hills at night.
That's when we saw an amazing enormous UFO, flying slowly over us and then off to the east. All four of us saw it. It was impossible to miss.
Ray is now dead, but, for years, I would occasionally bring up that incident. 
"That really happened, didn't it?" I'd ask, sometimes over the phone.
"Sure it did," said Ray.
Kathie remembers it too.
Don't know what to make of it all.


This picture was likely taken near Fashion Island in Newport Beach. Kathie and I used to hang out in Newport Beach and Corona del Mar. Used to eat at the Blue Beat, among other places.


By '83, my little brother Ron was a high school senior. I had encouraged him to take up the guitar a year or two earlier. At some point, he advanced rapidly, and he soon managed to duplicate complex folk/blues pieces by John Fahey and Leo Kottke. We were impressed.
He and I would get together on occasion to record our own songs.
We were terribly serious about this, in a way. But it was always great fun.

In 1983, Kathie and I were living in Verano Place—graduate student housing at UCI.
Here's Kathie on the balcony of our third floor apartment.

The construction of those old apartments was such that the act of typing, with an IBM Selectric, produced a pounding roar--especially in the apartment immediately below us.
At one point, the Iranian couple that lived there complained to officials that Kathie and I were "trying to torture them." I've forgotten how the dispute was resolved. 
I do remember saying, "Nope. We're not trying to torture anybody. We're trying to type."


During my graduate student years, which continued through the early 80s, weekends usually meant parties and drinking. To a degree, this practice extended to my parents' place up in the mountains. Invariably, our friends ended up at some point partying and staying at my folks' place, which became almost a grad student hangout and Teutonic Absurdity Center.
My parents are terribly hospitable people. They've got this Old World charm, I guess. (My mom retains a heavy German accent.) So several of my friends became virtual members of the Bauer family.
Even one of my professor mentors befriended my parents and hung out in the Canyon.
I was horrified. But I was powerless to do anything about it.


Opa, before his stroke, sometimes joined in the fun.
Here he is hammering himself in the head. (My mother, in the background, seems unimpressed.)
I think the hammer broke.
You'd have to ask Ronnie about that. Ronnie and Opa were tight during those years.
(Ronnie's German is pretty good.)


I don't recall what the occasion was. I think my sister Annie had come down one weekend and set up a sheet on the wall for photographs.
I came across a few crazy photos today that involved that sheet.
In that next photo, they're kissing passionately.
My parents don't drink anymore. Haven't for years.
Probably a good thing.


     This slide was in terrible shape--beyond the scope of restoration, really. What you see is the best I could do. But it does give you a sense of the scene at the Bauers' Canyon "Compound" in those days.
     Booze. Hilarity. Art. Excess. Large and lovable German Shepherds. Astounding cats! (Moon Unit, GreyBall, Felix, Maurice, et al.)
     We made movies, played songs, argued about Reagan and Prop 13, and made increasingly extravagant and spicy pizzas.
     Good Lord, the pizzas! They were unbelievably excessive. It was as though there were a contest, and the winner simply dumped more spices in the sauce or piled more meat and junk on top than anybody else. I started to develop the view that we were insane, pizzawise.
     At some point, I incited and accomplished a revolution. I assembled everyone to the kitchen table. In essence, it was a call for simplicity. "If," I said, "one approaches the making of pizza with the foolish notion that more is always better, one will end up with this [I pointed at the offending pie] hideous, bowel-wrecking monstrosity!"
     Everyone in attendance was astonished and annoyed.
     But they were guilty, and they knew it.
     I then pulled out a sheet of paper. Written upon it was an exceedingly simple pizza recipe. I laid it upon the large oak table for all to see. "There."
     And it was good.
     Many grumbled, but all knew that I had spoken, and acted, wisely.

12 comments:

Anonymous said...

I'm sure I'm not the only reader who feels this way - you make me wish I could have been there...ES

13 Stoploss said...

You know, that Squad Leader business is something to be proud of. Seems like Ray really took to the service. When and why did he get out?

Roy Bauer said...

Well, yes, he really seemed to thrive in the Corps for a while, but then his old demons emerged--and his intelligence made it difficult for him to accept some things. When the Navy doctor suddenly stomped on Ray's foot to "rebreak" it, I do believe that Ray hit him in the jaw. I'm hazy about what else occurred, but, in the end, Ray received a less-than-honorable discharge. He was in construction for a while after that, and he was a hang-gliding enthusiast and inventor (he was quite bright). But his psychological problems continued to dog him, and by the late 90s he was in real trouble, and, well, I won't go into it. Just too sad.

Anonymous said...

Look at your Moms gorgeous blue eyes. Oh how I would I have liked to hang out at their house back in the day. Your description totally painted the picture. I hope I am not bringing up any pain and forgive me if I am, but are your parents still with us? If they are, how are they doing?

Anonymous said...

Your parents named you Ron, Roy and Ray? Sheesh. Seems like it's just asking for trouble. I have a hard time calling my own kids by their right names, and theirs are entirely different from each other. You know, like "Barbara" and "Sue."

What percentage of the time did you get called by the correct name? (My kids would say it's less than 50%, which a psychologist would probably infer as proof of malevolent intent on my part.)

BvT said...

11:01 - No, no, all is well. My parents are doing quite well. In fact, I just had lunch with them. They are relatively healthy, though my dad has slowed down quite a bit. One of the reasons I do this "archiving" during the last few summers is so that I spend time with them while there's still time. Aside from Ray, everyone is doing well, I think.

1:47 - I would say that my mom gets my name wrong about half the time, and she corrects herself about half of the time. So you've hit the nail on the head. That my name and Ray's start with an "R" was an accident; by the time they needed a name for Ron (in 1966), it occurred to someone to go with another "R" name, but I don't think that was supposed to have any particular meaning.

There are such people you know: they do things, and it is a mistake to ask, "Why did they do that?" Well, often, they have resons like the ocean or the wind or your next breath have reasons.

Anonymous said...

Well, it's cute. Like you were a litter of pups of a matched set of something...I keep picturing those three monkeys - hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil...ES
(Just remembered while writing this that my daughter has a set of vintage mugs with monkeys for handles. Now I realize I will think of you and your brothers every time she uses them. My creative ADD brain never stops making strange connections.)

Anonymous said...

Mizaru, Kikazaru, Iwazaru. Which monkey represents which brother? ES

Anonymous said...

It must have been a cold day at Fashion Island.

Anonymous said...

Nah, I think her nipples are just like that normally. But that's hot, so shut up. Es

Anonymous said...

I think it's hot that you think it's hot.

Anonymous said...

I'm sure you do. No surprise there, really. ES

Roy's obituary in LA Times and Register: "we were lucky to have you while we did"

  This ran in the Sunday December 24, 2023 edition of the Los Angeles Times and the Orange County Register : July 14, 1955 - November 20, 2...