I was 24 years old in San Diego in February 1968, with a good job (finally), out of debt, and just really starting to be “successful” in meeting young ladies. Bowling was the key - my social life revolved around bowling in mixed leagues (see, pretty smart, eh, looking nifty in my bowling shirts) on Friday and Saturday. I was devoted to bowling and drinking in the bars, kibitzing with my buddies who were all older than I was so they were “helping” me with this. I was living with my good buddy, John, in a Pacific Beach apartment, and John was dating a young teacher named Sherry and she had roped him, and John roped me, into bowling in the Sunday night mixed league at Frontier Lanes.
There was always a need for female substitutes, and Sherry had many friends, and one of them was Linda, a school teacher from San Francisco who had just started working in Coronado in September 1967. Sherry roped Linda into being a substitute on that Sunday night. After the league contest was over, we all retired to the bar at the bowling alley, and Sherry, Linda, John and I played some pool, in addition to talking, laughing and drinking. We were sitting close to the pool table. One of my shots jumped the cue ball off the table and it landed in Linda’s lap. She was OK, we all laughed, and I was smitten - tall, fun, sweet, smart, tanned, shapely. I’m not sure how she felt about this new guy in her life.
Sherry hosted weekly parties at her condominium, and we played volleyball, and when it was warm we used the pool. There were often 15 to 20 people there. After the exercise, we adjourned to Sherry’s home and talked and had drinks. John and I were regulars, and Linda became one too. In April 1968, all four of us went to the Los Angeles area for some event (I really can’t remember what - perhaps a show or concert? I know it wasn’t sports and probably not bowling!), and we stayed up all night. We headed home after 3 a.m. (only 120 miles or so) and I was driving my gold 1966 Thunderbird. John and Sherry fell asleep early on, and Linda stayed awake to make sure I was awake. She sat in back of me, and over the last 50 miles or so, she rubbed my neck to keep me awake. That worked!
On Memorial Day 1968, Linda was in bed at her apartment, in her negligee, and a pickup truck backed through her bedroom wall and threw her against the opposite wall, breaking a vertebra in her back. She was taken to the hospital and was kept there for about a week. Sherry told John and I about it, so we went to visit her. On the way, we stopped at a liquor store to get her a magazine and a bottle of beer. As we approached the hospital in Coronado, I saw a man trimming his rose bushes, so we stopped the car, I jumped out and asked the man if I could have some roses for my friend in the hospital, and he gave me three or four beautiful roses. We opened the bottle of beer and put the roses in the bottle. At the hospital, we gave Linda the magazines and the roses in the beer bottle, and told her the beer was fresh, and it would be good for her back. She laughed, drank, and thanked us for being so thoughtful and romantic.
Sherry hosted weekly parties at her condominium, and we played volleyball, and when it was warm we used the pool. There were often 15 to 20 people there. After the exercise, we adjourned to Sherry’s home and talked and had drinks. John and I were regulars, and Linda became one too. In April 1968, all four of us went to the Los Angeles area for some event (I really can’t remember what - perhaps a show or concert? I know it wasn’t sports and probably not bowling!), and we stayed up all night. We headed home after 3 a.m. (only 120 miles or so) and I was driving my gold 1966 Thunderbird. John and Sherry fell asleep early on, and Linda stayed awake to make sure I was awake. She sat in back of me, and over the last 50 miles or so, she rubbed my neck to keep me awake. That worked!
On Memorial Day 1968, Linda was in bed at her apartment, in her negligee, and a pickup truck backed through her bedroom wall and threw her against the opposite wall, breaking a vertebra in her back. She was taken to the hospital and was kept there for about a week. Sherry told John and I about it, so we went to visit her. On the way, we stopped at a liquor store to get her a magazine and a bottle of beer. As we approached the hospital in Coronado, I saw a man trimming his rose bushes, so we stopped the car, I jumped out and asked the man if I could have some roses for my friend in the hospital, and he gave me three or four beautiful roses. We opened the bottle of beer and put the roses in the bottle. At the hospital, we gave Linda the magazines and the roses in the beer bottle, and told her the beer was fresh, and it would be good for her back. She laughed, drank, and thanked us for being so thoughtful and romantic.
Linda spent the summer of 1968 in San Francisco after her back injury, and I had several other lady friends at the time, being Mr. Romantic and all (hah, trying!), and I was drinking too much at the bowling alley and King Luis’ Inn.
(Randy in 1969, from family sources)
I saw Linda occasionally at Sherry’s after she came back to San Diego for the next school year, but we didn’t really date until August 1969, because Linda couldn’t bowl with the back problem. She threw a party on a Saturday night, and some of my bowling and drinking friends were there and gave her my new phone number because I had moved back to North Park. As the party ended, she called and said “I didn’t have your number, and you missed my party.” I said something like, “Well, I’ll come down now and we can party some more.” Mr. Bravado there! I did, and we talked a lot, and I helped her clean up the bottles and debris, and went home thinking “wow, what a babe!”
From then on, we were a couple, going out to dinner, spending time together, attending Sherry’s parties, hanging out at King Luis Inn (“our bar”), and going to Padre games and Charger games at the stadium. In February 1970, Valentine’s Day was coming up. Did Mr. Romantic have the guts and brains to do the deed? Stay tuned!
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As I've said before - "There are things that happen in a moment that take a lifetime to explain." This is one of mine. I'm so glad that I bowled that night!
My photographs (such as they are!) from these years are carefully sequestered in a computer file, or in photo albums, and I have no clue where they are!
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