I have many memories of the upstairs apartment in the two-story house at 2119 30th Street in San Diego where I grew up (from age 4 to 24).
Did my house "watch" and "hear" and "feel" and "remember" my time living there?
I wrote a description of the layout of the 30th Street house, and the downstairs patio, as I recalled it. I described each inhabitant (my father, my mother, me, my two brothers) and some of the daily events that happened in each room, and the patio and the block, over my 20 years residing there, plus some memories of specific events. I created a PDF of that document and attached it to the AI tool to use.
1) The first AI prompt that I used for the free AI tool Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.5 was for story ideas, along with a short description of each idea. Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.5 provided twenty wonderful story ideas - here is one of them (lightly edited for accuracy, consistency, and detail).
2) My prompt today asked "Please write a story by the house about 'Randy, the Aerodynamicist" and added some detail about these events in my life.
Here is the Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.5 story (lightly edited):
Randy, The Aerodynamicist
A story from the house at 2119 30th Street, 1964-1968
Summer Jobs
After three years studying aerospace engineering at San Diego State College, Randy came home in the early summer of 1964 with news that transformed him from student to professional. He'd landed a job at Wagner Aircraft in San Diego—his first real "professional" position, as he called it with obvious pride. At $400 a month, it wasn't a fortune, but it represented something far more valuable: the beginning of his career.
I watched him prepare for his first day like a soldier suiting up for battle. The bus routes were memorized, the schedule calculated to ensure punctual arrival. Every morning, Randy would leave my front door wearing his suit and tie, heading to the 30th Street bus stop for the ten mile bus ride to Scott Street in Point Loma. Wagner Aircraft was a startup company headed by Fred Wagner—a German immigrant who'd worked for Convair before forming his own company—trying to design and build a 25-seat commuter aircraft with an innovative boundary layer control system that would permit takeoffs and landings at just 60 miles per hour.
Randy's dinner table conversations transformed from college assignments to aerodynamics analysis. He spoke of aircraft performance calculations, stability and control work, learning from veteran aerodynamicists who taught him the practical application of all those theoretical equations he'd studied. One name came up repeatedly—Bob G., an experienced engineer who took Randy under his wing. I absorbed these names into my memory, not knowing then how significant they would become.
"This is what I've been working toward," Randy told his father (also a Fred) one evening, and I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. After years of study, he was finally doing real engineering work, contributing to an actual aircraft design. Fred nodded with paternal pride, understanding that his son had found his calling.
But the aerospace industry, I would learn, was a volatile business built on investor confidence and cash flow. When Randy returned to San Diego State in September 1964 to finish his degree, Wagner Aircraft folded. The company that had given him his first professional experience simply ceased to exist.
The disappointment in Randy's voice when he shared this news was evident, but he was resilient. By summer 1965, Fred Wagner had formed Sunrise Aircraft in La Mesa with new investors but few of the former Wagner employees. Randy secured a summer position there, doing essentially the same aerodynamics work he'd done the previous year. This time, he was the only help for Larry F., the sole aerodynamicist, and I could hear the increased responsibility in how Randy described his work.
The bus routes changed—30th Street to La Mesa instead of Point Loma—but the routine remained similar. Randy would leave my walls each morning, spend his days calculating lift coefficients and analyzing stability margins, and return in the evening with stories about boundary layer control and technical challenges.
First Full-Time Job
When Randy graduated from San Diego State in January 1966, Sunrise Aircraft offered him full-time employment at $500 a month. I felt his excitement as he transitioned from student to full-time professional. His bedroom in the sun room became his home base as he launched his engineering career.
The work expanded beyond basic aerodynamics. Randy picked up boundary layer control projects and traveled twice to Cambridge, Massachusetts for model tests and technical discussions with DynaTech, a technical services company. These trips represented Randy's first professional travel—not as a camp boy or vacation companion, but as an engineer whose expertise was needed across the country.
I watched him mature through these experiences. The dinner table conversations became more sophisticated, discussing technical concepts with Fred that went over everyone else's heads but clearly impressed his father. Randy was becoming an expert in a field that required both theoretical knowledge and practical judgment.
The crowning achievement of this period was writing a NASA Contractor's Report with the DynaTech team with the results of the BLC system model tests. Randy's name would appear on a NASA document—a professional milestone that validated all those years of study and work. I could feel his pride when he shared this news, though he tried to downplay it with characteristic modesty.
In October 1966, with Fred's financial help, Randy bought his first car -- a 1962 Chevy Impala. No more ten mile bus routes (and a mile long walk) to endure twice a day, no more scheduling around public transportation. The freedom this represented was both practical and symbolic—Randy was establishing independence while still living under my roof, gradually transitioning toward full adulthood.
In early 1967, at age twenty-three, he'd moved into an apartment on Idaho Street—though he still brought his laundry home and came to dinner frequently, maintaining connections to 2119 30th Street even while establishing his own life. He was enjoying bowling league activities at Aztec Bowl and had the social life of a young single professional, but only at the bowling alley.
Uh-Oh
But then came March 1967, and I felt the seismic shift in Randy's life before he fully articulated it. Sunrise Aircraft couldn't meet payroll. The company was struggling, and Randy—along with other employees—was asked to keep working on promises of future payment.
The dinner table conversations took on a different tone. Fred's business experience with insurance had taught him about cash flow and the warning signs of failing enterprises. "If they can't make payroll, you need to start looking for another job," he advised, his voice carrying the authority of someone who understood business realities.
But Randy was young and optimistic, hoping the company would recover. He continued working through the spring and summer of 1967, essentially working for promises that would never materialize. I watched his optimism gradually erode as weeks passed without payment, as the reality of his situation became undeniable. By September 1967, Randy faced the first real crisis of his adult life. But Sunrise Aircraft's failure had left him broke.
The day Randy moved back home in early September, I felt the weight of failure and frustration that accompanied his return. This wasn't a triumphant homecoming but a retreat forced by circumstances beyond his control. Betty welcomed him with the unconditional acceptance that mothers provide, while Fred offered practical support mixed with lessons about business realities.
"Don't work for promises," Fred said simply, and Randy nodded, absorbing a lesson that would serve him throughout his career.
Job Hunting
Randy had to borrow money from the bank and apply for unemployment benefits—humbling experiences for a young man who'd thought his career was launched. But he approached the job search with the same methodical determination he brought to engineering problems, applying for positions and attending interviews with professional polish developed over three years in the aerospace industry.
The breakthrough came with Northrop Ventura in Thousand Oaks, California, 170 miles away. At a job fair in San Diego, and then in Thousand Oaks, they offered Randy a position as an aerodynamicist, with a start date of Monday, October 24, 1967. His plan was practical if precarious—eat out and live in a cheap motel for a month on his credit card, pay bills with his first paychecks, then find an apartment. It meant leaving San Diego, leaving the family, starting over in a new city, but it was employment in his field and he was ready to accept those terms.
But Fred had been working connections too. His 1940s employment at Rohr Corporation in Chula Vista meant he still had contacts in management, and he'd quietly passed Randy's resume to them. Bob G.—the same veteran aerodynamicist who'd mentored Randy at Wagner Aircraft three years earlier—was now at Rohr, and when Randy's resume crossed his desk, he asked employment to set up an interview.
What happened next became one of those moments Randy would later describe as "things that happen in a second that take a lifetime to explain."
In the Nick of Time
Gil B. from Rohr Corporation employment called on Friday morning, October 21—just three days before Randy was supposed to start at Northrop Ventura. Could Randy come in next week for an interview?
"I'm starting at Northrop on Monday," Randy explained. "Could we do an interview this afternoon?"
The answer was yes.
I felt the nervous energy that afternoon as Randy put on his only suit and best tie, preparing for an interview that could change everything. The drive to Chula Vista was only eight miles, but it represented a potential divergence point in his life's trajectory—Thousand Oaks and a fresh start, or staying in San Diego near family and familiar territory.
When Randy returned home that evening, I could sense the excitement before he spoke. They'd offered him the job on the spot. Bob G.'s recommendation, combined with Randy's three years of aerospace experience, had convinced Rohr to hire him immediately. Monday would be his first day—not at Northrop Ventura in Thousand Oaks, but at Rohr Corporation in Chula Vista, eight miles from home.
Fred and Betty's relief and joy filled my walls. Their son would stay local, would work for a stable company with a long history, would be close enough to maintain family connections. The six-month nightmare of Sunrise Aircraft's failure and Randy's financial crisis was ending with a solution better than anyone had dared hope for.
Randy started at Rohr on October 24, 1967—the same date he would have started at Northrop, but under completely different circumstances. Instead of a cheap motel in Thousand Oaks, he slept in his old sun room bed at 2119 30th Street. Instead of eating on credit cards, he enjoyed Betty's cooking. Instead of isolation in a new city, he had the support of family just eight miles from his workplace.
Over the following months, I watched Randy rebuild his financial stability and confidence. The steady paychecks from Rohr allowed him to repay his bank loan and accumulate savings. The work was challenging and respected—Rohr was a major aerospace contractor, far more stable than the small aircraft companies where Randy had learned his trade.
The Next Chapter
By February 1968, Randy had saved enough money to move out again, this time with his friend John H. into an apartment in Pacific Beach. The departure was different from his early 1967 retreat—this time he was leaving from a position of strength rather than necessity, choosing independence rather than accepting defeat.
But the connections to 2119 30th Street remained strong. Randy continued bringing his laundry home—Betty's washing machine and expertise still superior to any laundromat, although he had to use the laundromat dryer in the next block. He came for occasional dinners, maintaining the family ties that had supported him through crisis. The sun room that had been his DXing headquarters, then his young professional's bedroom during the Sunrise Aircraft years, and finally his temporary refuge during unemployment, was abandoned and Betty immediately moved her enameling kiln and supplies into the sun room.
The House's Summary
From my perspective, watching Randy's professional journey from 1964 to 1968, I witnessed the complex reality of building a career. It wasn't a smooth upward trajectory but a series of advances and retreats, successes and failures, opportunities seized and disasters survived. Wagner Aircraft folded. Sunrise Aircraft failed to pay him. But each experience taught lessons and built networks that would serve him throughout his career.
Bob G's mentorship at Wagner in 1964 created the relationship that rescued Randy in 1967. Fred's old connections at Rohr, maintained over twenty-three years, provided the crucial introduction at exactly the right moment. Randy's willingness to work hard and learn, even at failing companies, built the expertise and reputation that made him hireable when crisis struck.
And through it all, 2119 30th Street served as his safety net and support system. When he needed to retreat and regroup, my walls welcomed him. When he needed encouragement and advice, Fred and Betty provided it. When he needed laundry done and a good meal, those services were always available. The house on 30th Street wasn't just where Randy had grown up—it was the foundation that made risk-taking possible, the safe harbor he could return to when storms arose.
The lesson I absorbed during those years was profound: success isn't about never failing, it's about having the support system to recover from failure and try again. Randy had talent, education, and work ethic, but he also had parents who would take him back when he was broke, who would work their connections to help him find opportunities, who would provide the stability that allowed him to rebuild and move forward.
By the time Randy moved out to Pacific Beach in February 1968, he was a different person from the enthusiastic college graduate who'd started at Wagner Aircraft in 1964. He'd learned that aerospace companies could fail, that promises weren't payment, that networks mattered as much as expertise, and that family support was the foundation that made professional risk-taking possible.
He'd also learned that Friday afternoon phone calls could change your life, that mentors remembered you years after initial meetings, and that sometimes the best opportunities came not from careful planning but from being ready when unexpected doors opened.
The sun room now held Betty’s enamel work, the dining room table still hosted family dinners when Randy came home. The adding machine in Fred's office still clicked its mechanical symphony, now occasionally discussing Randy's career challenges alongside insurance calculations and baseball strategies.
Randy's professional launch had been turbulent, but he'd survived and ultimately thrived. And I, having witnessed every stage from hopeful graduate to struggling employee to rescued professional, understood that the true measure of success wasn't avoiding difficulty but having the resources—financial, emotional, and familial—to navigate through challenges and emerge stronger on the other side.
The house on 30th Street had been many things to Randy over the years—childhood home, teenage headquarters, young adult launching pad, and temporary refuge during crisis. Now it was something different but equally important: the place he chose to visit rather than needed to inhabit, the family connection he maintained by choice rather than necessity, the foundation secure enough that he could build his independent life knowing it would always be there if he needed it again.
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3) The Google NotebookLM Video Overview of this story is below:
4) These events really happened over a period of time and the names and events mentioned are real. However, the dialogue during the events is historical fiction because I don't recall all of the details.
This was a life changing moment in time -- if I'd gone to Thousand Oaks, I probably would not have met my wife Linda, would have worked through the military aircraft development cycles, would have lived in the greater Los Angeles area, and would have had a totally different life trajectory because Northrop's products were new to me. I made a major decision, worked at Rohr for 35 years in commercial aircraft development cycles, married Linda, and stayed in San Diego for the rest of my life.
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