Beginnings

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The people who were born in my generation came from myriad ancestors. I know very little about mine. However, an Arnold and a Templeton left Europe under what must have been terrible conditions. What else could cause them to board a ship, immigrate to a country they had never seen, and subsequently travel across the country via a wagon train to arrive in Prineville, Oregon? As well, a different mix of ancestors led a Stephenson and an Andrews to leave Europe and eventually arrive in Riverside, California. I cannot fathom how so many people, including my parents, made decisions that led to my birth. Whatever the case, the events happened. Like a statement from Descartes, "I think, therefore I exist!"

I was born on February 11, 1933, at March Army Air Force Base near Riverside, California, during the Great Depression to parents who had about five dollars. My father, Wilbur J. Arnold, had graduated from high school in Prineville, Oregon, when my grandfather lost his farm to a bank. Parenthetically, my grandfather never again trusted banks or deposited money in them. Without jobs, my uncle Ray and my dad (Bud) traveled south, looking for work. My uncle got a job as an electrician in Dunsmuir, California, when the worker who had the job was electrocuted. The supervisor asked my uncle if he wanted to go to work. He did, and he worked in Dunsmuir as an electrician until he retired. My dad kept going south, ending up in Riverside, California. While getting a dinner at a Depression food place, he saw a poster that said, "Join the Army Air Force." He did, and that led to his becoming a pilot.

My mother, Grace Edna Stephenson, grew up in Riverside as one of six kids. She and her family led a simple but steady life. They were poor, but they got by. My mother graduated from a polytechnic high school. Basically, at that time, she had learned how to be a housewife.

My dad and mom met at Huntington Beach while sunbathing, swimming, and surfing. I do not know anything about the meeting, but it led to their getting married. I do not think my grandmother Stephenson ever approved of the marriage. My grandfather Stephenson did not object.

Over time, while I grew up, my growing family (brother and sister) periodically visited the Stephenson family in Riverside. My dad never made the trip with us. We were able to visit because my aunt Lois, who had a good job, sent my mom money so we could travel to Riverside by train.

I liked the trips for several reasons: riding on a train, getting to see the varied countryside, and getting a quarter from my mom to buy a sandwich at a rail stop. My mom packed food for the trip, mostly sandwiches with peanut butter and jam, fruit, and cookies. The trip took two days. I slept in my chair in the passenger car. Great times!

I never liked my grandmother Stephenson. My grandfather Stephenson was great. Several years later, during a visit to Riverside, he let me help him work on a wooden sailboat. He was patient and understanding. He did not criticize my actions. Best of all, he taught me a lot about building with wood. During my life, I have used those skills many times.

On the other hand, my grandmother was never nice to me. I did my best to avoid her and her criticisms, which included, for example, not combing my hair, not wearing neat clothes, climbing trees, and so on. When I was about eight years old, I hit rock bottom with my grandma while eating dinner. My aunt Velda had one child named Roger. At dinner, my cousin, who I thought was a sissy, asked to be excused from the table. I did not know my grandmother insisted that children ask to be excused. At home, when I finished dinner, I simply left the table without asking for permission. My grandmother made me return to the table until I asked to be excused. So I sat there. My mom handled letting my brother leave the table. My sister was still in a high chair. The adults finished eating, left the table, went about their evening activities, and finally went to bed. I continued to sit there. Somewhere around two or three in the morning, my mom came to the table and said I could leave.

This event says a lot about me and my mother. Basically, my mother was shy and seldom bucked authority. But in her quiet way, she always took care of me. This time, she rescued me from an edict from my grandmother. As years passed, she rescued me several times from assorted situations. While growing up, I questioned authority when I thought situations were irrelevant or unfair. In this situation, I saw no need to be like my cousin, and I had no concept of getting permission to leave the table. I have always needed to know why I should or should not do something. Now, when someone asks why I am doing something a certain way (for example, washing the dishes), I tell them I have logic for everything I do. It does not matter to me if other people understand the logic.

From Riverside to Klamath Falls

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For the three years after I was born, I have no factual knowledge about my parents' ongoing activities. My parents did not have a camera. The pictures I do have were taken by other people and eventually sent to my mother. As well, my parents seldom talked to me about my early childhood.

Whatever my family did during those three years, I was developing via active exploration. My mom oft en told people that I was born running and asking questions. The one constant in my life is that I have always been curious. I read books, magazines, and newspapers. According to my mom, I incessantly asked her and my dad questions. I am over eighty now, and I still continuously explore and investigate most of the things I do. As one example of studying and analyzing, during my teenage days of digging ditches to earn money, I studied how to dig more effectively and efficiently. Consequently, I was able to dig more in a day than other workers, even grown men. On one occasion, my skill paid offin getting a job that was to be given to two workers who wanted the same job. The foreman had me get in a partially dug...