Every weekday I would drive my immaculate metallic gold 1953 Ford—dual chrome pipes, nosed, decked, and hung—into Orange High School’s dusty, potholed, student parking lot. It got dirty. One morning Larry, Ron, and I mounted a protest and all parked over in the paved faculty lot. At noon, Larry and Ron went out to move their cars back. I didn’t. Principal Townsend called me in and said, “Move your car.” I moved it. The next year he paved our student parking lot and awarded me the Outstanding Student Medallion. I never found out why.
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Wingspread 
That was good. Harriet
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Thanks, Harriet. In those days in Southern California, cars were king.
Jim
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Jamie:
While I find your writing extremely well done and interesting. Do you always have to show me in teenage rebellion?
My best to you and Barb. As the weather is beginning to turn cold out your way, why don’t you use that as an excuse for coming out to the warm west?
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Hi, Ron. Always great to hear from you.
Re. rebellion, your teenagerdom was the last time you rebelled against anything, so I thought I’d continue to share it with the world…
Best,
J.
P.S. Thinking about a So Cal visit, brief, in January…
J.
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