What!
. . . am I doing here?
August, 1959. I was miserable. I had lived in the midwest for the first twenty-three years of my life, and now it was as if I was in another country. Up until two months ago I was co-leader of the Freddie Mitchell orchestra, playing music around the state of Indiana. Now I had no music outlets. Two months ago I was hanging out with friends. Now I had no friends. Two months ago all my meals were provided. Now, except for lunch in the Hughes cafeteria on working days, I had to get my own food. Frequently I wondered out loud, "What am I doing here?"
One Saturday I got in my car and drove around southern California. All day I drove around and around . . . on freeways and off freeways. That night it hit me that I had spoken to only one human being all day: the waitress in the restaurant when I ordered a "hamburger - with - fries" for lunch. That was a dark moment . . . which was good because it gave me resolve to stop feeling sorry for myself.
I needed to establish some relationships that bore some resemblance to what I was used to. True, I was gradually getting to know some Hughes people, and that was good. But it wasn't enough. The Hughes connections were all male techies not yet in the friends category. So I did what was a fairly non-threatening thing for me: I checked out the Fullerton Congregational Church.
Congregational Church, Fullerton, 1959
It was a jewel. The church at 1600 N. Acacia Avenue was well up on the ridge that lies on the north side of Fullerton, running from east to west. Worship services were held in what was intended to ultimately be a chapel with the regular church building a little further up the hill. The view of the lowlands stretching south to the Pacific was spectacular.
The Pastor, Richard Bryant, gave sermons that often had a political edge to them. That made some people upset or uneasy, but I, a newly-minted Goldwater Republican, found myself fascinated by his point of view.
The organist, Hazel Detambel, was good. I liked hearing her play, and she had a repertoire of organ music that I was envious of. The organ was a relatively new electronic Baldwin.
I joined the choir, which had about twenty singers. It was directed by Joe Anderson and sounded very good to me. I discovered some really nice anthems. One of my favorites was Evans' "Love Faileth Never," which several years later was sung by Bill and Elaine Rutter at Shirley and my wedding. The choir's sound was aided by the live acoustical condition of the room. Dan DeJong, who had recently graduated from Fullertion High School, is the only singer whose name I can remember.
I got involved with the church's youth group. After awhile, I became its "president." Beth Anderson was the group's sponsor. She was a very nice person with short blond hair, and she was good at organizing interesting things for us to do.
Since I was a conspicuous addition to this small church, some people reached out to me. I'll never forget the Otto family: parents Dick and Leah and children Rick (blond hair) and Chuck (dark hair). Dick happened to work at Hughes. I was invited to their home a number of times for meals, which I really appreciated. Sixteen-year-old Rick seemed to enjoy my presence, which was a good feeling. My grandfather, "RL," died on February 2, 1961, and his funeral was two days later on Saturday, February 4th, at 2 p.m. (noon Pacific time). I didn't go home to Lockport for the funeral because I had just been back the week before for my Argonne interview and had seen him then at the nursing home. As noon approached, I was feeling pretty bad and I drove over to the Otto house hoping they might be home. I had never just dropped in before, but I did that day. They invited me for lunch, and I ate the delicious grilled hamburgers while thinking about my grandfather. For some reason, I didn't tell them about my grandfather's funeral.
Organ-building 101
Baldwin organ with its newly created 30-note pedalboard
Hazel Detambel, the organist, often grumbled about the fact that the pedal keyboard on the organ was two octaves (25 notes) ending on C rather than the standard AGO keyboard which is 32 notes ending on G. A 32-note keyboard was physically incompatible with the console; however, Mrs. Detambel said that an additional 5 notes ending on F would allow her to play some Bach repetoire.
Well, she found a gentleman, Lou Barrows, a church member who was willing and able to construct the missing keys, and she asked me if I could figure out how to add the missing sounds. I contacted Baldwin and requested a schematic diagram. Wayne Weber of the Technical Services Department replied, telling me it was not feasible. Here is the actual correspondence with Baldwin.
I checked the circuit diagram, and it actually looked simple since the pitches were already being generated. The organ just needed some additional wiring to cause the notes to be heard when the pedals were played. Did they know something that I didn't know? We decided to go for it, and Mr. Barrows did a superb job of creating the five new pedal keys that looked as though they were always there. I added the wiring, and it worked perfectly. Mrs. Detambel was one very happy lady.
They of course found out that I could play, as well as wire, the organ. I was asked to sub for Hazel a couple of times, the first of which was the Maundy Thursday service on April 14th, 1960. I don't think I've ever been more nervous---part of my identity was on the line. I would say the service went well.
I gradually developed a segment of my life that was separate from both Hughes and the church. One thing I did was join the Junior Chamber of Commerce. In 1960 they had a dunking booth at the Fourth of July carnival in Fullerton, and I did a turn at sitting there while people threw balls to dunk me in the tank. I also went along on a pretty wild trip to Tijuana, the purpose of which escapes me.
I also got to know my landlord's family. Billy, their fifteen-year-old freckled son, stopped in regularly. For awhile he was hooked on flying model airplanes, and it took two people to fly them. So he would come looking for help. I did it a few times, but I thought it was kind of boring.
The Henkes, who had lived across the street on Twelfth Street in Lockport, then lived in a nice home in Whittier with a swimming pool. I was invited there several times for Sunday dinner.
I also went to the symphony and to the Hollywood Bowl several times. Hearing the L.A. Philharmonic play "Les Preludes" one night made a lasting impression. I was new to the power and grandeur of live symphonic music, and that night the sound of the brass was so full it hurt my ears. I loved it! I reconnected with "Les Preludes" 20 years later at the Final Concert at the National Music Camp (now the Interlochen Center for the Arts) in the summer of 1979.
Time to say Goodbye.
(Dianne Fischer, rt., Beth Anderson, 2nd frm rt.)
I had several dates with Dianne from our church youth group. But by that time I was thinking a lot about Shirley back home who was then a student at Missouri Central College in Fayette, Missouri. So with a job offer from Argonne National Laboratory which was located 12 miles from my parents' house in Lockport, I made my decision to return to Illinois. On April 15th, 1961, I went camping in the desert with members of the church youth group and then kept right on going eastward.
I missed the Spring Musicale that occurred at the Congregational Church on May 14th. Here is a
letter that I received from Hazel Detambel in late May describing the event.
Later
Twenty-five years later I attended a convention in Anaheim, California. One afternoon I took a few hours to drive around and revisit the places in Fullerton that I had known: the house at 759 N. Richmond, which had been remodeled and repainted, the apartment on Malverne, which looked the same as the day I'd left, and the Hughes facility, which didn't look at all as I remembered it. I saved the best for last: to reconnect with the church at 1600 N. Acacia Avenue that had been so much a part of my life. I drove up the hill, and Shirley was with me. The memories of my life twenty five years earlier were vivid. We came to the parking lot and turned in. But the sign at the entrance didn't say "Congregational Church." This place, my church, was now Temple Beth Tikvah.