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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Links to my blog posts about using Artificial Intelligence are on my Randy's AI and Genealogy page. Links to AI information and articles about Artificial Intelligence in Genealogy by other genealogists are on my AI and Genealogy Compendium page.
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