Anchor ads are not supported on this page.

4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs

This Week In Sports

On August 24, 1968, Mary McBride and I stood one mile south of Hawthorne, Nevada. It was 108 degrees, and we hadn't eaten in a day or had a change of clothes in two. She was 17. I was 24. We were in love.

Mary grew up in Columbia, a California town of 2500 set in the Sierra Nevada foothills. She was tall -- five foot, ten inches -- had outrageously long, fire-red hair, green eyes, thin, wide lips, long legs, and large breasts. Now add a sweet disposition and significant talents in art and piano.

We'd met, the preceding spring, in Los Altos Hills, California, at one of my stops, Foothill Junior College. I was living in a 75-dollar-a-month hovel that became, within the space of one week, a 75-dollar-a-month hovel/love nest. At the end of spring semester, Mary, at her mother's insistence, went home to work in a photographer's shop, a job mom arranged the moment she heard that daughter was off the leash.

We planned an August rendezvous at the Fresno airport. Mary would pick me up in her boat of a Ford Fairlane and drive us back to the Bay Area. She would resume her studies, and I, reformed by the love of a good woman, would commence an epic trek to a Ph.D. followed by a tenured life of piano recitals and faculty barbecues.

Sponsored
Sponsored

The Fresno airport closed at midnight, and at midnight I was patrolling the empty terminal under the visual custody of two janitors. Showing the kind of gumption that, 30 years later, would find her as sole owner of a greeting-card company, living on an honest-to-god Mississippi plantation, Mary got through to one of the janitors, who walked the length of the terminal, tapped me on the shoulder, and led me into his office.

Mary said there was an accident followed by a fire. Miraculously, no one was hurt, but she lost her Ford, clothes, money, and I.D. She called from her mother's house in Columbia.

The next morning, I hitched over to retrieve Mary. It was a hostage situation. Her mom had telephoned the cops (Mary was underage by two months) and demanded my arrest. While mom waited for the police to do their duty, we went for a walk. The Bay Area was blown; what should we do? We walked and talked and then, without discussing it, put out our thumbs.

It took two days to travel the 151 miles from Sonora into Hawthorne. This is 1968 in central Nevada and two longhairs were regarded as alien invaders. For this reason, we set our hitchhiking post one mile south of town, not wishing to disturb Hawthornites as they woke to another fucked-up day. I told Mary, "On all accounts, let us not excite the natives." And, aside from the odd beer can thrown at us from passing pickup trucks, and apart from the deputy sheriff, who drove by every hour to order us out of town, our deployment was a diplomatic triumph.

Happiness, thy name is Jarrod. That was his name, Jarrod Pridham. He was driving a big, black Caddy hearse and stopped to give us a ride.

Jarrod worked for a Las Vegas mortuary. When a wealthy Vegan died out of state, he was dispatched to haul the carcass home. The carcass currently resting in the back was picked up in Seattle two days ago. We gradually pieced this rare morsel of concrete information together in between Jarrod's relentless monologues celebrating his sexual exploits on the road.

It's 315 miles from Hawthorne to Las Vegas. Mary counted off every one of them out loud. We escaped at the first stoplight in downtown Las Vegas. A phone booth beckoned. I walked over, picked up the phone directory, began turning pages, muttering, "Liberals, liberals, liberals. Where are you? There's got to be one." I leafed past bakers, cocktail lounges, optometrists, and then, "Bingo, here's a university."

I considered the question, "What's the most liberal department in a college?" and then called the Nevada Southern University sociology department. Bruce Burger came on the telephone, "Hello."

I said, "You don't know me, but...," and run down current events. He invited us to his office.

We wound up staying six weeks in Bruce's apartment. Bruce got us into school and lined out a magnificent package of NDSL loans, Pell Grants, student loans, and work-study jobs. Pretty soon, Mary and I were pulling down more money as students than we'd ever made working in the hive.

We stayed in Nevada for a few years and then I started traveling, Mary moved to Santa Monica, took up freelance work as a graphic artist, married a man from Pass Christian, Mississippi, moved there, started a greeting-card company, got divorced, stayed on, and grew her business.

Pass Christian, Mississippi, disappeared from the face of the earth during the early morning hours of August 29, 2005.

Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

Reader Music Issue short takes

Obervatory's mosh pit, frenetic Rafael Payare, Lemonhead chaos, bleedforthescene, Coronado Tasting Room

On August 24, 1968, Mary McBride and I stood one mile south of Hawthorne, Nevada. It was 108 degrees, and we hadn't eaten in a day or had a change of clothes in two. She was 17. I was 24. We were in love.

Mary grew up in Columbia, a California town of 2500 set in the Sierra Nevada foothills. She was tall -- five foot, ten inches -- had outrageously long, fire-red hair, green eyes, thin, wide lips, long legs, and large breasts. Now add a sweet disposition and significant talents in art and piano.

We'd met, the preceding spring, in Los Altos Hills, California, at one of my stops, Foothill Junior College. I was living in a 75-dollar-a-month hovel that became, within the space of one week, a 75-dollar-a-month hovel/love nest. At the end of spring semester, Mary, at her mother's insistence, went home to work in a photographer's shop, a job mom arranged the moment she heard that daughter was off the leash.

We planned an August rendezvous at the Fresno airport. Mary would pick me up in her boat of a Ford Fairlane and drive us back to the Bay Area. She would resume her studies, and I, reformed by the love of a good woman, would commence an epic trek to a Ph.D. followed by a tenured life of piano recitals and faculty barbecues.

Sponsored
Sponsored

The Fresno airport closed at midnight, and at midnight I was patrolling the empty terminal under the visual custody of two janitors. Showing the kind of gumption that, 30 years later, would find her as sole owner of a greeting-card company, living on an honest-to-god Mississippi plantation, Mary got through to one of the janitors, who walked the length of the terminal, tapped me on the shoulder, and led me into his office.

Mary said there was an accident followed by a fire. Miraculously, no one was hurt, but she lost her Ford, clothes, money, and I.D. She called from her mother's house in Columbia.

The next morning, I hitched over to retrieve Mary. It was a hostage situation. Her mom had telephoned the cops (Mary was underage by two months) and demanded my arrest. While mom waited for the police to do their duty, we went for a walk. The Bay Area was blown; what should we do? We walked and talked and then, without discussing it, put out our thumbs.

It took two days to travel the 151 miles from Sonora into Hawthorne. This is 1968 in central Nevada and two longhairs were regarded as alien invaders. For this reason, we set our hitchhiking post one mile south of town, not wishing to disturb Hawthornites as they woke to another fucked-up day. I told Mary, "On all accounts, let us not excite the natives." And, aside from the odd beer can thrown at us from passing pickup trucks, and apart from the deputy sheriff, who drove by every hour to order us out of town, our deployment was a diplomatic triumph.

Happiness, thy name is Jarrod. That was his name, Jarrod Pridham. He was driving a big, black Caddy hearse and stopped to give us a ride.

Jarrod worked for a Las Vegas mortuary. When a wealthy Vegan died out of state, he was dispatched to haul the carcass home. The carcass currently resting in the back was picked up in Seattle two days ago. We gradually pieced this rare morsel of concrete information together in between Jarrod's relentless monologues celebrating his sexual exploits on the road.

It's 315 miles from Hawthorne to Las Vegas. Mary counted off every one of them out loud. We escaped at the first stoplight in downtown Las Vegas. A phone booth beckoned. I walked over, picked up the phone directory, began turning pages, muttering, "Liberals, liberals, liberals. Where are you? There's got to be one." I leafed past bakers, cocktail lounges, optometrists, and then, "Bingo, here's a university."

I considered the question, "What's the most liberal department in a college?" and then called the Nevada Southern University sociology department. Bruce Burger came on the telephone, "Hello."

I said, "You don't know me, but...," and run down current events. He invited us to his office.

We wound up staying six weeks in Bruce's apartment. Bruce got us into school and lined out a magnificent package of NDSL loans, Pell Grants, student loans, and work-study jobs. Pretty soon, Mary and I were pulling down more money as students than we'd ever made working in the hive.

We stayed in Nevada for a few years and then I started traveling, Mary moved to Santa Monica, took up freelance work as a graphic artist, married a man from Pass Christian, Mississippi, moved there, started a greeting-card company, got divorced, stayed on, and grew her business.

Pass Christian, Mississippi, disappeared from the face of the earth during the early morning hours of August 29, 2005.

Comments
Sponsored
Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

Croome Brothers Trio, Jack Tempchin, Ricky, Swami & the Bed Of Nails, Kahlil Nash

Acoustic and electric in Del Mar, La Jolla, Little Italy, and City Heights
Next Article

Seals hook up with Beaver

Salty’s Escape is a Mexican-Style cerveza brewed with corn and puffed Jasmine rice
Comments
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed Big Screen — Movie commentary Blurt — Music's inside track Booze News — San Diego spirits Classical Music — Immortal beauty Classifieds — Free and easy Cover Stories — Front-page features Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts Feast! — Food & drink reviews Feature Stories — Local news & stories Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore From the Archives — Spotlight on the past Golden Dreams — Talk of the town The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it Letters — Our inbox Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news News Ticker — News & politics Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated Poetry — The old and the new Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers Reading — The hunt for intellectuals Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds SD on the QT — Almost factual news Sheep and Goats — Places of worship Special Issues — The best of Street Style — San Diego streets have style Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves Theater — On stage in San Diego this week Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads Your Week — Daily event picks
4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs
Close

Anchor ads are not supported on this page.