One day in the mid-nineteen-sixties, Mr and Mrs. Cecil F Dickinson moved into the house across from my home. Cecil (or "Dick," as he preferred to be called) had come from Los Angeles and the house they purchased on North 30th Place was to be their summer home. I probably knew when they told me this that I was about to get acquainted with a couple of eccentrics. Their Los Angeles home was on Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena – right on the route of the annual Rose Parade. Their house on my street was so they could get away from the bustle of Los Angeles, and relax a little bit. What kind of people would make Phoenix their summer home away from home...?
I couldn’t wait for them to even get un-packed, I had to go see who they were and what they were doing in my neighborhood. I was quite the busy-body in those days. I think Dick was up on a ladder installing a huge amateur radio antenna when I approached him the first time for formal introductions. Clara was nowhere to be seen.
Clara had been a dance hall girl in the French-style… But by the time she came to Arizona she could not come outside in the sun light – she had become “allergic” to sun light, as she put it. So she was mostly a recluse. When they went out, or went traveling, you’d see her exit the house all wrapped from head to toe, bundle into the car and away they’d go. To drive to LA, they’d leave and drive at night so she wouldn’t get sick. Clara said she was “rich,” and she told Mom she had inherited her wealth from her father who had invested in stocks. Dick loved to tell the story of how they met at the dance hall, and how he had been instantly smitten with her.
Dick, on the other hand, was a professional man. His first career was in the Navy (a short hitch). When he mustered out of the sea-going service, he joined the Army. Dick Dickinson was one of the very last horse cavalrymen the U.S. Army ever had. I think by then (the 1930s) the horse cavalry was completely ceremonial in nature. Dick was in it as it was disbanded, if I remember correctly. He then joined the L.A.P.D. and rose through the ranks to a lieutenant’s position by the time he retired. His final job was in security with the Atomic Energy Commission. His wealth came from his two pensions (LAPD and USAEC).
Dick was the very picture of an eccentric English gentleman (although I don’t really know if he was an Englishman). If you can imagine an English colonizer in the India-Burma theater – perhaps the squire of a rubber plantation (think of the caricature) – you’d probably have a picture of Dick in your mind. I can easily see him in khakis and a pith helmet. He was relatively tall, lean, bronzed by the sun and mostly bald with a caterpillar mustache under his rather prominent ruddy nose. His was a face with intelligence and character and you could see by looking at him he had lived some. He even spoke like an English gentleman – not the accent, but very formal and with excruciatingly correct grammar and syntax.
Dick drove a 1964 Cadillac (or perhaps a '62) – a long, black Fleetwood Brougham. His brother, Louie, with whom he was always “sparring” also always drove a Cadillac – but Louie never did exactly as his brother did – Louie drove a white Caddy -- a Coupe de Ville. When Dick would come and go in his Caddie, it was always with kind of a whoooosh… And I can remember talking to both of them, about how “...[their] brother didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t buy the right car, it should have been like the one I bought…”
Dick and Clara kept their money separate – right down to the grocery bill. He paid his part, she paid hers. This was quite an advantage for me. I would quite frequently be “hired” for boy-kinds of jobs around the Dickinson estate. Usually I would wash the Caddie, or mow the lawn. On completion, Dick would inspect the work, demand improvements where needed, and pay me off with $4 or $5. This was definitely respectable pay for a 12 year old in 1965 and I was always happy to get it; many folks in those days would pay a kid $2 for the same kind of work. So I’d head across the street with my wages in my pocket and Clara would summon me from the front door as I passed by… “Psst! Psst! Come here! Don’t let Dick see you! How much did he pay you? $5? That’s not enough.” And she’d inflate my income by about $20 or so of her money. I felt like a shyster! Of course I took the money.
Occasionally, Dick would invite me in for a visit. Among his many interests, he was a serious audiophile. Dick loved classical music – and I think opera as well. I wasn’t sure if I liked classical music (although there were several records in our house that I had listened to and liked from early childhood). But Dick invited me to hear the 5th Piano Concerto in E-Flat Major – the “Emperor” – he said if you’ll like any classical music ever written, you’ll like THIS one. And he was right. It is my favorite piece of music of everything I have ever heard. Loving it so much caused me to listen to other classical pieces and from that I grew to enjoy many of them. It mostly all started one evening with Dick and Herr Beethoven. Dick had the first component music system I ever saw, I think. I’m sure it was the best money could buy at the time. Seems to me most of it was from Sears. Dick was also a radio Ham (call sign W6JSX) and I can remember sitting with him in his radio “shack” (a corner of his Arizona room) while he talked to people in other parts of the world – some as famous as Barry Goldwater.
Shortly after they moved in, Dick pulled a 20+ foot cabin cruiser into the yard and parked it. I never saw him take it to a lake – I certainly never got a ride in it. It sat in the yard and got sun-baked until after he died and by then it probably wasn’t worth $100. It was such a beautiful boat – not overly large, but sleek and fast looking. I think it was a Glastron but I could be wrong.
He must have supplanted his earlier interest in boats with equine devotions. Soon, Lightning (a Palomino) and Lulu (a Bay) came to live in his yard. I don’t know how good a rider Dick was by that time – but I do know that Lulu left him about 3 miles away one day when she threw him off in the desert and kicked up her heels for home. I never saw him on either of them too many times after that. But they lived peacefully in his yard for many years. Even after Dick and Clara stopped coming to Phoenix when they both got older, one of our neighbors was paid to take care of the horses and my Mom was paid to take care of the yard.
Dick fenced his corral with chain link. He soon became unhappy with the horses, who really liked leaning on the fence and rubbing themselves on the chain links. This had a very noticeable (and destructive) effect on the fence. So Dick electrified the fence, and in short order, Lightning and Lulu learned that fence rubbing was no longer something they wanted to do. And apparently, they resented Dick's methods. Dick was a little on the tight side and when he thought the horses had learned their lesson well, he turned off the juice, figuring the horses wouldn’t know the difference and he could save money on the electricity bill. When the horses discovered the wires were dead, which they did pretty quickly, they went along the fence and chewed every single insulator off the brackets. I’m surprised he didn’t shoot both of them – but he really loved his horses and delighted in telling stories about them (including this one, once the financial sting had worn off some).
At some point (before I knew him), Dick had a travel trailer he’d haul around the west and who knows where else, sightseeing through the countryside. He decided that he would drive the back road into Yosemite National Park. This later became the Tioga Pass Road and it is still a very spectacular (and narrow) highway. But when Dick drove it pulling a travel trailer, it was still a very rugged dirt road. There were no pull-outs, or at least not many, and it was mostly single-lane.
Dick told the story of how he came nose to nose with another vehicle, also pulling a travel trailer. They approached each other from quite a distance on Tioga Pass, and each could see the other coming from a considerable distance. Dick said he had no choice as he couldn’t back up anywhere; there was no shoulder and no room, so he kept rolling downhill. Apparently, the other guy had the same problem and also kept coming onward and upward. They finally ended up nose to nose, trying to share the same stretch of roadway, each demanding that the other one back up and yield the road. Dick would mimic, with set jaw and stone visage, the way the other driver sat behind the wheel, his mind set on waiting Dick out. I don’t remember how the impasse ended – but it was one of his favorite stories to tell.
As I got on into high school, Dick and Clara retreated to Los Angeles more frequently, until they finally stopped coming to their Arizona home at all. I never saw them again after I left to join the service at 18. Later, they died in LA, and Louie too, and a grandson came to wrap up their affairs here and the house, car, boat and horses were sold. But they will always be in my memory – two wonderful, eccentric people who befriended me and made life more interesting for quite a number of years. They were unforgettable.
I couldn’t wait for them to even get un-packed, I had to go see who they were and what they were doing in my neighborhood. I was quite the busy-body in those days. I think Dick was up on a ladder installing a huge amateur radio antenna when I approached him the first time for formal introductions. Clara was nowhere to be seen.
Clara had been a dance hall girl in the French-style… But by the time she came to Arizona she could not come outside in the sun light – she had become “allergic” to sun light, as she put it. So she was mostly a recluse. When they went out, or went traveling, you’d see her exit the house all wrapped from head to toe, bundle into the car and away they’d go. To drive to LA, they’d leave and drive at night so she wouldn’t get sick. Clara said she was “rich,” and she told Mom she had inherited her wealth from her father who had invested in stocks. Dick loved to tell the story of how they met at the dance hall, and how he had been instantly smitten with her.
Dick, on the other hand, was a professional man. His first career was in the Navy (a short hitch). When he mustered out of the sea-going service, he joined the Army. Dick Dickinson was one of the very last horse cavalrymen the U.S. Army ever had. I think by then (the 1930s) the horse cavalry was completely ceremonial in nature. Dick was in it as it was disbanded, if I remember correctly. He then joined the L.A.P.D. and rose through the ranks to a lieutenant’s position by the time he retired. His final job was in security with the Atomic Energy Commission. His wealth came from his two pensions (LAPD and USAEC).
Dick was the very picture of an eccentric English gentleman (although I don’t really know if he was an Englishman). If you can imagine an English colonizer in the India-Burma theater – perhaps the squire of a rubber plantation (think of the caricature) – you’d probably have a picture of Dick in your mind. I can easily see him in khakis and a pith helmet. He was relatively tall, lean, bronzed by the sun and mostly bald with a caterpillar mustache under his rather prominent ruddy nose. His was a face with intelligence and character and you could see by looking at him he had lived some. He even spoke like an English gentleman – not the accent, but very formal and with excruciatingly correct grammar and syntax.
 |
| '64 Fleetwood |
Dick drove a 1964 Cadillac (or perhaps a '62) – a long, black Fleetwood Brougham. His brother, Louie, with whom he was always “sparring” also always drove a Cadillac – but Louie never did exactly as his brother did – Louie drove a white Caddy -- a Coupe de Ville. When Dick would come and go in his Caddie, it was always with kind of a whoooosh… And I can remember talking to both of them, about how “...[their] brother didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t buy the right car, it should have been like the one I bought…”
Dick and Clara kept their money separate – right down to the grocery bill. He paid his part, she paid hers. This was quite an advantage for me. I would quite frequently be “hired” for boy-kinds of jobs around the Dickinson estate. Usually I would wash the Caddie, or mow the lawn. On completion, Dick would inspect the work, demand improvements where needed, and pay me off with $4 or $5. This was definitely respectable pay for a 12 year old in 1965 and I was always happy to get it; many folks in those days would pay a kid $2 for the same kind of work. So I’d head across the street with my wages in my pocket and Clara would summon me from the front door as I passed by… “Psst! Psst! Come here! Don’t let Dick see you! How much did he pay you? $5? That’s not enough.” And she’d inflate my income by about $20 or so of her money. I felt like a shyster! Of course I took the money.
Occasionally, Dick would invite me in for a visit. Among his many interests, he was a serious audiophile. Dick loved classical music – and I think opera as well. I wasn’t sure if I liked classical music (although there were several records in our house that I had listened to and liked from early childhood). But Dick invited me to hear the 5th Piano Concerto in E-Flat Major – the “Emperor” – he said if you’ll like any classical music ever written, you’ll like THIS one. And he was right. It is my favorite piece of music of everything I have ever heard. Loving it so much caused me to listen to other classical pieces and from that I grew to enjoy many of them. It mostly all started one evening with Dick and Herr Beethoven. Dick had the first component music system I ever saw, I think. I’m sure it was the best money could buy at the time. Seems to me most of it was from Sears. Dick was also a radio Ham (call sign W6JSX) and I can remember sitting with him in his radio “shack” (a corner of his Arizona room) while he talked to people in other parts of the world – some as famous as Barry Goldwater.
Shortly after they moved in, Dick pulled a 20+ foot cabin cruiser into the yard and parked it. I never saw him take it to a lake – I certainly never got a ride in it. It sat in the yard and got sun-baked until after he died and by then it probably wasn’t worth $100. It was such a beautiful boat – not overly large, but sleek and fast looking. I think it was a Glastron but I could be wrong.
He must have supplanted his earlier interest in boats with equine devotions. Soon, Lightning (a Palomino) and Lulu (a Bay) came to live in his yard. I don’t know how good a rider Dick was by that time – but I do know that Lulu left him about 3 miles away one day when she threw him off in the desert and kicked up her heels for home. I never saw him on either of them too many times after that. But they lived peacefully in his yard for many years. Even after Dick and Clara stopped coming to Phoenix when they both got older, one of our neighbors was paid to take care of the horses and my Mom was paid to take care of the yard.
Dick fenced his corral with chain link. He soon became unhappy with the horses, who really liked leaning on the fence and rubbing themselves on the chain links. This had a very noticeable (and destructive) effect on the fence. So Dick electrified the fence, and in short order, Lightning and Lulu learned that fence rubbing was no longer something they wanted to do. And apparently, they resented Dick's methods. Dick was a little on the tight side and when he thought the horses had learned their lesson well, he turned off the juice, figuring the horses wouldn’t know the difference and he could save money on the electricity bill. When the horses discovered the wires were dead, which they did pretty quickly, they went along the fence and chewed every single insulator off the brackets. I’m surprised he didn’t shoot both of them – but he really loved his horses and delighted in telling stories about them (including this one, once the financial sting had worn off some).
At some point (before I knew him), Dick had a travel trailer he’d haul around the west and who knows where else, sightseeing through the countryside. He decided that he would drive the back road into Yosemite National Park. This later became the Tioga Pass Road and it is still a very spectacular (and narrow) highway. But when Dick drove it pulling a travel trailer, it was still a very rugged dirt road. There were no pull-outs, or at least not many, and it was mostly single-lane.
Dick told the story of how he came nose to nose with another vehicle, also pulling a travel trailer. They approached each other from quite a distance on Tioga Pass, and each could see the other coming from a considerable distance. Dick said he had no choice as he couldn’t back up anywhere; there was no shoulder and no room, so he kept rolling downhill. Apparently, the other guy had the same problem and also kept coming onward and upward. They finally ended up nose to nose, trying to share the same stretch of roadway, each demanding that the other one back up and yield the road. Dick would mimic, with set jaw and stone visage, the way the other driver sat behind the wheel, his mind set on waiting Dick out. I don’t remember how the impasse ended – but it was one of his favorite stories to tell.
As I got on into high school, Dick and Clara retreated to Los Angeles more frequently, until they finally stopped coming to their Arizona home at all. I never saw them again after I left to join the service at 18. Later, they died in LA, and Louie too, and a grandson came to wrap up their affairs here and the house, car, boat and horses were sold. But they will always be in my memory – two wonderful, eccentric people who befriended me and made life more interesting for quite a number of years. They were unforgettable.
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