If you ever participated in that prank of covering someone’s house with toilet paper (lovingly called “TP-ing”) you know it’s always done under the cover of darkness.  So it was, that spring morning at 1:00 AM in about 1969 that my brother Don and I—along with classmates Gary Erickson and Don Sevier—piled into our cars and headed out.  With a list of addresses in hand and stash of TP in the trunk, our first stop was the home of Ricki Seifert.  Located strategically on the corner of Aliso Ave. and E. 20^th St. it was sure to be easy-in-easy-out getting the deed done.  We had lots to do.  So pulling in down the street from our target we hopped out and grabbing our supplies got right to work.  The first order of business was throwing several rolls of TP on the big ol’ pepper tree out front.  Don Sevier’s 6’6” height was key to tossing rolls of TP right up and over the top.  Aahhh…what a sight, seeing TP strewn all over that tree and covering the bushes right up against the house.

That’s when one of Costa Mesa’s finest rolled by on 20^th Street.  Holding our collective breaths for a few seconds while watching the cruiser pass on by, we figured the coast was clear.  So we turned attention to the boat Mr. Seifert had trailered on the street in front of the house.  But then…the unmistakable sound of a squealing U-turn as John Law headed back our direction.  The four of us scattered.  Don, Don, and Eric went I don’t know where.  I was stranded in the middle of the front yard.  As the cruiser rounded the corner, I bolted to the only available cover: the boat trailer.  Ducking down on hands and knees by the tires as the car door popped open, I hear unmistakable sounds of boots on pavement and ching, ching, ching from the officer’s utility belt as he jogged across the street…straight to my hiding spot.  Planting his knee right in the middle of my back, he demanded, “What‘re you doing!”  It was NOT a question.  It was an order.

Busted, my cohorts filtered from their hiding spots and joined me.  With officer’s knee removed from my back, I stood up, and the four of us miscreant ne’er-do-wells were squarely reprimanded for our misdeed.  Admonishing us to, “Clean this up and go home,” the constable wrote down my name and contact information.  Then tucking his notepad into his shirt pocket and glancing back our direction as he headed across the street, I’m sure I saw a smirk cross his face.

Did our brush with the law reform us?  Nope.  Did we finish with Ricki’s house and move on to the rest of the victims on our list?  Yep.  Were there other TP-ing excursions?  You bet!  Check back for more on that.

In sophomore year, Steve Hollander was my boyfriend. One afternoon he picked me up at my house and Jim Robertson was with him. Steve said, "Let's go surfing. I can teach you. I'm going to teach Jim." I wanted to learn so we gathered up a couple surfboards and headed south on Hwy 1. He said we were going to Agra for a sunset surf. It was about 5 in the afternoon then. We turned off Hwy 1 onto an old highway and then a right onto an unmarked dirt path. He told us we were on Camp Pendleton but as long as we were in the water we were okay. I noticed that we were just south of the nuclear plant. We quickly shimmied down a cliff with the boards and Jim generously announced, "Ladies first." Steve took me out into the surf which was gentle and rolling on his 10' 2" Greek Eliminator and pushed me into the breaking waves. It was easy. I was ecstatic. He left me there to practice and went off to surf on his own. I came in and gave the board to Jim. He went out and did the same. Then all of a sudden the sun went down. Jim came in just as the light was dimming after sundown. We couldn't see very well at that point but we could see well enough to know that we couldn't see Steve anywhere. As it got darker, we panicked. What were we going to tell his parents? How could we even get home? There were military boats gathering out in the distance. Would they engage in military practices on the beach with us there? Where was the car anyway? And the path leading up the cliff? We fretted and cried (well, I did). Where was Steve? The moon came up. I went up the beach from where we'd come to see if I could find the path up the cliff. I tripped over something awful that I didn't want to know what it was. I came back and sat down next to Jim. What were we going to do? Then, in the moonlight we saw a figure, way down the beach, walking toward us. It was Steve! He had drifted way down the beach toward the power plant. When he reached us he was calm and collected, we were not. We were mostly hysterical. We gathered up our things and Steve led us back to the car and we left for home. Needles to say, I never went sunset surfing at Agra again.

It was the summer of 1968 and my Dad's job had transferred him to San Francisco.  We did what we had to do:  put the house on the maket and Dad left each Monday morning on Air Cal to San Francisco and then back home on Friday afternoons.  I had put my down payment on my class ring and made the drill team try-outs.  I was as ready as I could be to make this "move".  It was a hot Monday morning in August when I walked over to the high school and met with Angie Tosti (the major of drill  team with every intention of letting her know I was moving and there was really no need for me to stay.  Angie had another iead.  "Why don't you stay for practice and be a part of the drill team until you move?  I would really like that."  What can I say?  I stayed and endured the the three weeks of practice in the summer heat, started my junior year with the attidute of "Well, I can listen to what the teacher is saying but I will not be here for long", paid for my senior ring, had a great time attending the football games and performing, made lifetime frineds with Pam Parker and Cindy McKinney, and, as you can guess by now, we did not move.  As it turned out, my Dad's new job did not agree with him, the house was taken off the market, and I finished my last two years as a Sea King.  In fact, the OC has been home sine the summer of 1965 and I have never left.