An important thing with memories to trust them. Even when they seem unusual. I have a saying that I came up with for some of the more extreme memories in my life: "My mind does not conjure". For instance, if I say that a famous actress was at the gate of Concord Square when I was being wheeled out on a gurney, in that case I know my mind did not conjure it up, because I have a continuing, conscious memory that involves her. I am of course referring to MSY, and our ride in her car when I was driven to Northridge Hospital, accompanied by two other people.
But then, I also have some very extreme memories, involving other well-known people, and involving a helicopter crash at the Wilbur Wash. I wrote about this in the 2008 version of my book. Those memories have retreated to "the murky waters" in between the conscious and the subconscious mind, because I haven't worked to develop them for a very long time. And yet, when they first came back in 1997, they were what I call visceral, meaning that I could "see" and "hear" and "feel" them as I would with any memory. As an example, as you are reading this, remember what you did yesterday. You get a good mental "movie" of yesterday's activities, do you not? That is what I mean by a visceral memory, and when a memory returns to you from a long time ago (in my case 34 years) and it still replays as "visceral", you can be certain that your mind is not conjuring it up, no matter how unusual it may seem.
And so, regarding the helicopter crash (or hard landing) at the Wilbur Wash, I say to myself, "Well, when the memory came back in 1997, it was 100% visceral, as if watching a movie. Now it is murky, but the mind does not conjure things up, therefore I know it is real." In other words, all it requires is to be "pulled from the murky waters" again, using the techniques of memory recovery, at which I am an expert.
Sometimes, the ability amazes even me, and I am not saying this to toot my horn, because it's a gift. I sometimes feel like I have "helpers" helping me to remember things from so far back, but then other times, I just think it's my higher self, or The Lord who is doing it. I don't really know for sure. All I know is that sometimes, it flat out blows my mind.
And that has happened recently with a memory that's been developing "on it's own" for a while, really without much concentration from me.
When I was 6, in the Summer of 1966, Dad took our family to stay at a beach house in Laguna Beach. It was a summer vacation trip. The house was owned by Dad's friend and business mentor, Phil S., who jokingly referred to himself as "the poorest man on Roxbury Drive". Phil had worked for Agfa-Gevaert. That Summer, "Uncle" Phil let Dad and our family use his beach house for two weeks, though I can't specify a month (had to be July or August). There are several things that have always stood out in my immediate "up front" memory about that trip. One was all the bees in Uncle Phil's backyard. I was terrified of bees as a child, and the beach house had a backyard full of flowers. It was Bee City, and there were hornets and yellow jackets also, and it scared me. But there were good things on that vacation as well. I remember going to a surfside restaurant called The Gaslight (for real!), which had clear glass or acrylic sidings surrounding the open air patio, near the sand, and candles on the tables, and best of all, they had incredible double-decker cheeseburgers. I remember it was always a treat to go to The Gaslight during our stay in Laguna Beach.
Another place I liked was The Scoop Deck, an ice cream parlor. The interior had fixtures like being on a sailing ship (rigging, a crow's nest), and you could get banana splits or chocolate sundaes with chopped peanuts. The Scoop Deck was another Laguna Beach favorite.
A memory that also stands out, again regarding bees, is when my Dad and my "Uncle" Earl (Dad called male family friends our "Uncles" because we didn't have any Uncles by relation) took me fishing at Laguna Cove. Uncle Earl, who would create "The Waltons" TV series four years later, came to visit us while we were staying at Uncle Phil's beach house. He said he knew a good fishing spot, and he took us to Laguna Cove. Well, when we got there and started fishing, there were bees and hornets everywhere. I said to Dad, "I'm scared, can I go sit in the car?" Or something like that. Well, it was a very hot day, and I went to Uncle Earl's car, and I sat inside with all the windows rolled up, so none of the bees could get me. And I will always remember Earl and Dad coming back to the car about 20 minutes later. "Oh, Adam! What on Earth are you doing!?" Earl said. Decades later, I reminded him of that day and the bees.
I remember, on that Summer trip, that my sister Vickie brought along some of her Beatles records, like "Help!" and maybe "Rubber Soul". "Help!" is the one I most remember. She also brought along the little red plastic, square-shaped record player that she and our sister Sophie shared. I loved The Beatles (doesn't everyone?) and I remember playing "Help!" over and over.
One night, our friends the Wormhoudts came over. My "Uncle" Bob was the general manager of Disneyland, and as I have written many times, he was responsible for our family's move to Los Angeles almost a decade before I was born. Bob got Dad his job in Hollywood, but anyhow, one night during our vacation in the Summer of 1966, he brought his family over, and the adults all wanted to go to this new restaurant: Victor Hugo's. It was of course named after the author of "Les Miserables", and was supposed to be a sensation. French cooking! That's would've been right up my Dad's alley, and no doubt would've enticed all the other grown-ups, too. Me? I remember asking, "Do they have anything besides frog legs?" because that was all I knew about French food. Frog legs and snails. I think Dad said, "We can probably get you a cheeseburger." The long story short on our dinner at Victor Hugo's, which was located near a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, was that everyone got all dressed up. I had on what I would've thought of as my Sunday Suit, which was also the dress clothes I wore to the Athletic Club on special occasions. We probably took two separate cars, and when we got there, the restaurant was absolutely packed. I don't know if the adults had made reservations, but if they didn't they should have. And we sat in the lobby and waited. And we waited. One hour went by, then two. Yes indeed, two hours. At some point, I began to cry because I was so hungry. The adults huddled, and it was decided that someone would take me back to the beach house and babysit me until the rest of them had their dinner, which they did not want to miss out on. This was Victor Hugo's, not long after it opened, and who knew when we'd all be together again, and in Laguna Beach? I don't remember who drove me back, but I think Ann Marie stayed with me. She would've been ten. The adults ultimately had to wait four hours for a table, but they said it was worth it. And I've always remembered that night at Victor Hugo's.
But the memory that blows my mind, regarding our topic of dormant memories that resurface years later, is of another excursion I was part of, during our two weeks at Laguna Beach. One night, our friend John W. came back over. He was a teenager, and was there to see my sister Vickie. I was just a tag-along that night, perhaps Vickie was babysitting me, and the parents had once again gone out to dinner. Vickie was 15 years old that Summer. John, whose Dad, besides being the general manager of Disneyland had also worked for Agfa Gevaert like Uncle Phil, would have been 16. But there were others (at least one other) besides just Vickie and John. It wasn't just the two of them. Sue S. might have been there, too. She was Vickie's long time friend since junior high. The teenagers wanted to get something to eat themselves, and I, as the babysitting charge, was brought along. They first wanted to go to some exotic Oriental restaurant, with beaded entryways, but I think it was jam-packed, and the waiting list was an hour long. So somebody said, "Let's go to Tortilla Flats", and that name was what triggered this memory. The name "Tortilla Flats" has always been in my conscious memory, because I've remembered "being with the teenagers" that night. "Teenager" was a "thing" to a little kid in the 1960s, because that was the heyday of "Teenagers", when they were like a social entity unto themselves. Also, it must be noted that, as goofy as 1960s teenagers could be, they were still more "adult" in manner than the "teens" (not teenagers) of later decades, basically of any era since the 1980s.
We went to Tortilla Flats, as a second choice after the Oriental restaurant was too crowded, and later I would learn that it was named after a book by John Steinbeck. But at the time, I was just hoping to eat. And here is where my deeper memory has recently kicked in. I remember that John W., at some point that evening, had made a phone call. And at Tortilla Flats, he got up from our table, or from our place in line, because a guy had just walked in the door, a guy he had called to meet him there. This guy was tall and blonde, with a sort of bushy hairdo. And what was happening, was that he had "pot" or "grass" for sale, and John wanted to buy some from him. My sister Vickie, or maybe Sue, didn't trust him and said "he might be a narc". John assured her that the blonde guy was not a narc, "I know him, he's cool, and I'm just gonna buy a joint from him." I think someone said he was 20, therefore you couldn't trust him because he was older. Vickie warned John, but he laughed it off. "I told you, don't worry. I know him, I've bought from him before." But Vickie and Sue wanted nothing to do with the transaction. I remember there was some dispute about the amount of seeds in the product. Someone said: "I thought it was supposed to be sinsemilla". And then the big blonde guy wanted to stay and eat with us (I think we were waiting in line) but one of the girls (probably Vickie) said, "I'm leaving if he stays because I don't wanna get busted, he s a narc." And I think John asked the guy to leave: "No hard feelings, I'll call ya later, the girls don't understand." And the big blonde guy left, and we had our dinner. I think I had a combination plate.
That memory of our dinner at Tortilla Flats is a legitimate memory that has "developed on it's own" over about the last two to five years, but I never concentrated on it until recently, to muse on the name "Tortilla Flats". The name of that restaurant has always stuck with me, I've always remembered that we went there, and lately I have concentrated on it, and the additional memory of John's call to the Blonde Guy, and their "pot deal" has surfaced, and Vickie's concern that the guy was a "narc".
And what is mindblowing, besides just remembering the details of a restaurant dinner from 57 years ago, is the fact that the Blonde Guy went on to become a very important person. And that is what I mean when I say "my mind does not conjure", even with an ancient memory from when I was six years old, and even though I couldn't possibly have known who the "pot dealer" was at the time, because he was only 20 years old.
Well anyhow, just a few tidbits from the Summer of '66. That is all I know for the moment. ////
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