Fort Ord There's no going back ....

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When it came to light that a friend of mine routinely cycles past a Fort Ord house I lived in many years ago (we won't say exactly HOW many years ...) he took a camera and snapped a series of photos for me.

He'd tried to warn me ... said it was a ghost town. Plywood on the windows, nobody home. But, so vivid were the memories in my mind of that dark green house, my grandfather's Buick parked in the carport, the shrubbery and flowers out front, my elementary school across the street, that I couldn't imagine a serious change.

I was wrong.

This is 201 Velasco. Why is it that after all these years I can remember the street address? When I lived here, the house was painted dark green, and flowers and shrubs lined the front of the house. I usually left my bike, a blue Schwinn, parked outside the front door.

An old family photo I have shows my grandfather sitting in a lawn chair next to his old Buick in the carport when he visited from Texas. He was in the Army for 33 years. Another photo shows my uncle, in uniform, standing with me at the front door. He served in the Army for 20 years.

The site of my First Official Act of Rebellion I wasn't allowed to ride my bike on the school grounds across the street. I wasn't even allowed to CROSS the street on my bike. One afternoon, while zooming down this sidewalk next to the house, I simply took off. I recall the exhilaration of breaking a rule for the first time, not to mention the freedom of not being confined to a sidewalk. (And no, this tree wasn't there then.)

It was in this house that I learned to read, and my mother attempted to make strawberry jam for the first time.

Looking down Velasco towards the bay. For a short time, we lived in the right side duplex near the bottom of the hill.

This is the old elementary school across the street. Mine was the second classroom from the left. It was here that my new kitten followed me to school. Not knowing what else to do, the teacher let the kitten stay. He napped all morning on a shelf, wedged between the finger paints and a stack of paper. The cat, Cootie, went on to live for 26 years, following us around the globe.

Thank you, Matt, for taking these photos for me. I owe you much.

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