When They Were Young

Written by Bakersfield Magazine

Ah, memories. Not the Barbara Streisand kind. We’re talking about the ones that help shape who we become as adults.

Sure, it’s fun to wax nostalgic about our own childhood and think about those times as a kid when we broke the rules, bickered with siblings, and didn’t have a care in the world. But have you ever wondered what some of the most well-known folks in Bakersfield did as kids? Ever thought about what memories they have of their childhood? Well, we asked 8 local celebrities to share a childhood story with us and we think you’ll be surprised at what some of these little troublemakers did before they found their way to the top.

Greg Williamson, Bakersfield Police Chief

I still have fond memories of my youth and running the streets of Oildale. We had a great neighborhood nestled in the north end of the community which was surrounded by fields and oil sumps.

I vividly remember on Sunday mornings, after church, that I couldn’t wait to get home and play with my friends.

My mom instructed me to go inside and change out of my church clothes which consisted of a button up shirt, slacks, and a brand new pair of Buster Brown leather shoes complete with that patented buckle.

Ignoring her wishes, I immediately went next door to “Pilot” Pat Vaughn’s house.

We decided to explore the sumps just west of our street. We rode our bikes through the fields when, suddenly, a jackrabbit ran directly in our path. We immediately dropped our bikes and devised a plan to catch the rabbit.

Pat took the south and I took the north. The rabbit ran west and I gave chase. About 15 yards into my pursuit, I noticed it had become very difficult to move my feet. I looked down and realized I had run into an oil sump and now had a thick tar substance covering my shoes and the bottom of my pants. My heart sunk.

I knew I was going to get it! Just one of my many childhood memories reminding me that mom knows best.

Lisa Krch, Anchor, KBAK

I am one of those people who lives her entire life immersed in news. The quest for an understanding of the world around me has defined and driven me for as long as I can remember.

I grew up in Ely, Nevada; a rather isolated piece of paradise, with clean air and cold winters. Because of where we were on the map, we had the option of watching news from Reno, Salt Lake City, or Las Vegas. If the television was on, it was tuned to news.

There was no doubt in my mind I was going to grow up to be a newscaster. I enjoyed talking about the news as much as I enjoyed learning about the news! I had never seen an actual TV news person in action, but all that changed when I was about 12 years old.

I was a member of the 4-H Club Meats Identification Team and we’d traveled to Reno for state competitions. A news car pulled up and the reporter stepped out. I could barely breathe. It was John Tyson, a newsman I’d watched for years on KOLO-TV. He walked right over to me and asked for an interview. I said “yes,” looked at the ground, and giggled a lot. My television debut!

Ten years later, I was finishing up my broadcast journalism degree at the University of Nevada and was granted an internship at KOLO. Mr. Tyson was still there! I finally worked up the nerve to take in the picture of us and tell him what an inspiration he’d been to a little gal from a little town. He was genuinely touched and to this day remains one of my mentors and favorite human beings.

Christine Lizardi Frazier, Kern County Superintendent of Schools

My story entails two songs but one bikini. The first is “Itzy Bitzy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini.” In the early ‘60s, this was a popular song.

I was 7 years old and had been taking dance lessons for two years. My mom put her sewing skills to work and made me the costume.

The costume wasn’t really a bikini, it was more like a two-piece bathing suit, but it did have yellow polka dots. I performed this dance between movies at local theaters and at shopping malls along with the other dance studio kids.

The second song is “The Harper Valley PTA.” The PTA was presenting a talent show at my school and wanted the students to audition. My mom thought the bikini song would be great for me to perform for the audition. Wrong!

The mothers stopped me halfway through the dance and let my mom know that they thought the song and my costume were too risqué.

My mom, who was always in style, let them know what she thought of their opinion. I didn’t perform in the show that year or in any other year. I thought my mom was incredibly cool. I remember we laughed a lot on the way home.

To this day, I laugh at how controversial it was and whenever I hear these two songs, I think of how the world has changed since that time and how proud I am that my mom took on the Harper Valley PTA. It still makes me smile!

Scott Cox, Talk Radio Host, KERN Radio

When it comes to birthday memories, one stands out immediately. My 13th. When I was a kid, we always had motorcycles around. We may not have had much else, but we had motorcycles. My dad was a biker back in the day. I started when I was 6 or 7. When I was 11, Pop bought the last dirt bike he would ever own—the Suzuki TM400 Cyclone. That thing was easily the fastest, most dangerous thing ever devised by man. So, being a kid, I wanted to ride it. I mean I was obsessed by this thing. But, weighing in at 75 pounds or so, it wasn’t in the cards. Every time I asked, Pop said “When you grow up some.”

So finally my 13th birthday arrived. I was a man. Heck, I was the man. The folks asked me what I wanted for my birthday and, of course, I said I wanted to ride the Cyclone (and a pineapple upside-down cake). So Pop thinks about it and says, “If you can start it, you can ride it.”

So I got all the gear on, and got ready for the greatest day of my life.

Now every motorcycle back then (1977) had a fairly complex starting procedure. I had studied my dad starting that thing every Sunday for years, and I had it down. Then came the moment of truth. I put my right boot on the lever, stood upright, stiffened up the right leg, and stomped down with every fiber of my being. And nothing happened. And when I say nothing, I mean the most spectacular degree of nothing ever achieved. I kept at it for at least three hours. Eventually dad came out and asked me how it was going. I was bright red, soaked with sweat, my helmet and gloves were lying all over the place, having been jettisoned to preserve energy. And not so much a burble from the bike. And that’s when it hit me. Had there been even a remote chance of me firing that thing up, the old man would have been right there to witness it, brimming with fatherly pride. That was the year I got the best gift ever. The gift of knowing that not only was Pop looking out for my safety, but that he was smarter than me, and he always would be.

Koral Hancharick, Executive Director, Buena Vista Museum of Natural History

One of my fondest memories growing up in Bakersfield was spending time in our tree house. My brothers and I built a not-so-typical tree house in the huge pine tree that towered over our home.

There were no real walls, it was just an open floor plan. We had a few railings, other than the tree branches.

It all started with scrap lumber and old fence planks that were being discarded

A remodel on our mom’s kitchen rendered a few cabinet doors with frames that became the secret trap doors opening inward. Only friends knew the way into the multi-level tree house.

We had one of the most awesome tree houses ever!

My favorite thing was to fix something to eat, grab a pillow, and use the pulley system we created with ropes and an old milk crate to hoist everything up.

It was a peaceful place when the tree danced to the light breeze that always blows in the northeast.

For me, it was a creative place where I would read, write poetry, sketch, or just gab with my brothers and friends (all the while having no idea my mom or the neighbors could hear us).

We tried to not let them hear us, but sometimes we just didn’t care because we were having fun, and enjoying life being kids. The tree-house years are very magical.

Marty Raymond, Head Coach, Bakersfield Condors

Playing hockey in the ‘70s was a lot different than it is today.

For one thing, we had to carry all our equipment around and it was a lot heavier than it is today.

For another, coaching was a lot more aggressive and punishments were more severe.

I do remember a particularly bad practice that happened after we lost a game.

I was about 12 years old and living outside of Montreal when our coach made us skate while it was 20 degrees, practicing.

Afterwards, I took my skates and my boots off, and my toes were frozen solid.

My ears were frozen, too. When I started to warm up, and unfreeze, it was the most painful thing to experience.

My dad had no sympathy. “It’s a long way from you’re heart,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

Then he made me walk home.

But today, I actually need to wear two jackets here in Bakersfield when it gets colder.

Irma Cervantes, Reporter/Photographer, KABE39/KFTV21

I was 4 years old, still at that age where I was curious about everything.

Still being too short to reach many things, my life of discovery often involved standing on my tip toes, stretching my arms, and sometimes climbing. I was walking around the kitchen, and suddenly it caught my eye. What could it be? I’d never seen it before. I stepped up close to the table and took a peek.

It was a container, with green, oddly-shaped things, some white and orange, floating around in a liquid. My arm stretching wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I started climbing. I slowly climbed up one of the chairs and made it on top of the table.

The container had a lid, so I tried pulling it off, and it was stuck, so I pulled harder and suddenly it came off, and with it, all the contents fell over onto the table. I picked up some of the things and they were really wet and squishy.

Then I felt tired, and rubbed my eyes...big mistake! My parents heard my cry and rushed to see what was wrong. They said my face was so red, it looked like I had broken out in a rash! As they tried to calm me down, and find out what had happened, they looked over to the table where I was pointing and realized what I had done. I had tipped over a jar of jalapeños.

My hair was soaked, my eyes were filled with tears, and I had tiny jalapeño pieces on my face and in my hair. That’s how I discovered jalapeños, and to this day, I stay away from them.

Father Craig Harrison, St. Francis of Assisi

It was Christmas Eve and I was 5 years old.

My brothers, sisters, and I were anxiously waiting for Santa to come.

My father took my brothers and sisters to pick up my grandmother while my mother gave me a bath.

I could hear my brothers and sisters coming home and screaming and yelling that Santa had come while I was in the bathtub, so I jumped out of the tub and ran through the house dripping wet and naked.

I went out the front door and into the street trying to see Santa and his sleigh as they were leaving.

I think I actually saw them, and Santa saw all of me!

Chuck Barnes, Bakersfield Magazine

I have carried the Creative Director torch at Bakersfield Magazine for a while and love all the challenges that routinely go with the job. But I have fancied myself to be a creator and inventor of some sorts as long as I could remember. Why, I even excelled at 7th grade General Shop and that automatically qualified one as creator and master builder. Or so I thought when I was a 12-year-old lad.

One of my fondest creations was a “wind-mobile.” I had been impressed by a show I watched on wind racers that screamed across frozen lakes. These crafts were light and looked like a sailboat on skis. And man was that way cool. I had to have one.

I lived in Miami at the time so I wasn’t about to find an “ice-wind-cool-racer-thingy” nearby. And not a lot of icy lakes to race on, either. But I proceeded to invent my version of it anyway. It would have to sail across the flat tar roads of Florida. And I would need a lot of wind. And nerves of steel.

I set out building this amazing wind-mobile using available resources (like my sister’s old steel roller skates, my trusty Radio Flyer wagon, 2x4s, and pipe) from earlier projects.

I even added fake dials later that increased the coolness factor exponentially.

Mom was very supportive of my endeavors and drove me to hardware stores for specialty parts I needed (she might have changed her mind if she realized bed linens would be sacrificed too).

My friends and neighbors were excited about the progress of this da Vinci-like contraption and stopped by quite often to inquire and dream with me.

In time, my creation was finished. And now the wait. And the wait. And that’s not something I do very well.

Fortunately (and unfortunately), hurricanes and strong winds are regular events in South Florida, so I didn’t have to wait much longer.

I mustered up my courage and with the full support of everyone, rolled my newly-named “Wind Racer From Hell” out to the center of the street. My friends held onto the craft while I readied everything. The anticipation was nearing a feverish pitch as I strapped myself to the seat and got ready for a very swift ride. Everyone took a deep breath as I gave orders to unfurl the sail (Mom’s missing bed sheet) . I was ready to zoom down the street as a red blur, straight from Hades. As the wind snapped the billowing sail into place, the crowd uttered a collective “Ooh.”

My heart stopped. Time stood still. I squinted my eyes and held the straps tight, awaiting the certain jolt about to come.

And then it happened.

Nothing.

And I mean absolutely n-o-t-h-i-n-g. Nada. Zippo. Ziltch. This speedy craft sat like a ton of bricks.

Friends pushed a little but to no avail. I looked under the thing to make sure it wasn’t stuck on something. The neighbors slowly slinked back into their homes to certainly laugh at the wild-eyed kid still sitting in the middle of the street, scratching his head and wondering what went wrong. Maybe it was the 300 pounds of wood...I dunno. Perhaps it needed a bigger sail. Or 200 mile per hour winds. Wasn’t really sure. Because it was built correctly and expertly of course.

I learned a lot about expectations and dreams that day. Sometimes, despite all the enthusiasm and planning, things don’t always work as imagined. Reality bites.

Then again, maybe I'll hit the wheels with 3-In-One oil next time...

Melissa Galvan, Bakersfield Magazine

When I was going to get married, I was looking for pictures for a photo montage that we were going to show of me and my husband at the wedding.

So, of course, I go to my mom.

We went through all my pictures and she told me to use a particular photo. I started laughing when I saw it because I was about four of five years old and I'm wearing this dress that has blue, pink, and purple on it, but I'm also wearing red stockings and black shoes with my hair all crazy.

I told my mom, “What were you thinking when you dressed me, and why do I look scared?” So, she told me the story.

Every year, the day after Thanksgiving, we would pile up into the car (my parents have six kids) to go to the Christmas Tree Farm (well, that's what we called it) to get our Christmas tree.

We even got to cut it down ourselves and see Santa; needless to say, we were all excited. Well, us being kids, we would play tag or hide and seek through all those trees.

This one particular time, I got lost, and I couldn't find anyone, so I was scared. I just stood there looking around. My mom was hiding behind a tree and took a photo of me feeling lost and scared (how mean, right?)

After the picture, they all popped out and got me. And, of course, I started crying.

Laura Turner, Bakersfield Magazine

“Onward Robin, to the Batmobile!”

There I was, in all my 6-year-old glory, darting from behind trash cans, lurking in the shadows. And of course, wearing a Batman sweatshirt, blue tights, red rain boots, and a red, lacy cape from my mother's nightgown drawer.

I made a point to show any poor soul that crossed my path my real Batman ring...not a plastic toy ring, but real metal ring!

It’s true, I was nuts for Batman. So it was no wonder that my parents made a point to take me to see him in person...be still my heart!

The real true Batman was to appear at the Rosebowl Stadium in Pasadena. I had so many questions for him: Where can I get a utility belt? What was the number for the phone in Commissioner Gordon's office?

Finally, the big night arrived. As we approached the stadium, I could see the real Batmobile. It was true! He was there!

After what seemed like an eternity, it was time for Batman to make his grand entrance.

The fanfare grew, the lights dimmed, the spotlights darted wildly across the audience...and there he was! Sure, he looked like he might have “put on a few” but then he spoke.

“Dad, that can’t be Batman!” I shouted.

“Of course it is, honey. I think he must have a cold, dear.”

I don’t remember the drive home, but somehow, life was not quite as “sparkly,” as it was and I lay in bed that night, questioning the existence of the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, and others like them.

Anika Henrikson, Bakersfield Magazine

My mom often says that I think just like my father. I usually take that as a compliment since he's very analytical and his decisions are based on logic and common sense.

Mom must have feared that his logic would, in some way, affect my childhood. And it did. But I choose to think it affected me in a positive way. Sure, my dad's penchant for organizing his weekly receipts on the dining room table inadvertently led to my discovering there was no Easter Bunny at a young age (as how could my father have a receipt for the bike helmet said giant bunny brought me?). The logic he bestowed upon me helped me deduce that if there was no Easter Bunny, then that “Santa” guy must be fake, too.

However, this logic also served me well and kept me from fearing nonsensical things as a child.

The following story has been told to me countless times.

Apparently, one Halloween, when I was five, I was Trick-or-Treating with my cousin, Christopher Ryan. My mom and Chris' mom, my aunt Diane, were waiting at the sidewalk as Chris and I traversed the walkway to the front door of a house to beg for candy. The door opened and there stood a man dressed up as a vampire. Slicked back hair, white face paint, bloody fangs, a cape...the whole nine yards. Chris flips out, screams, and books it back to our moms. Apparently unflappable, I eyed this fellow up and down and then I turned to shout at my cousin, “Christopher Ryan! It's obvious he's not a real vampire. Real vampires don't wear tennis shoes!”

Flawless logic. My dad was proud.

Dale Heflin, Bakersfield Magazine

I was four years old and living in Eagle River, Alaska. With my stick in hand, my two friends, and a lot of wilderness to conquer, we set out.

We were about four or five backyards away from my house when... there it was! This big, round object was hanging from a tree branch. I remember my friend saying that it looked like one of those things at a birthday party that you hit with a stick and candy came out.

Since boys will be boys, we started to swing at the object. First swing was a hit, but it didn't break. It did start buzzing though. Second swing—miss! Third swing—another miss! Fourth swing—hit! It broke open! Bees started flying out so we proceeded to run away screaming for our mothers.

We fared OK though. Between the three of us, there were only seven bee stings that I can remember. I had two.

The lesson was hard learned. We all learned to leave beehives alone!

Isabel Alvarez, Bakersfield Magazine

As a child and even now, I have always been very curious about animals and insects. I'm not the type of girl that will scream when she sees a spider. I'm the girl that will say “wow, a spider!” Then I'll grab it, show it around, and try to get a screaming reaction from the next girl passing by. But apparently, my curiosity for animals and insects was a bit more excessive as a kid.

When I was about seven years old, my curiosity got me into a bit of an “itch.”

I was playing by myself outside my house, chasing birds and throwing rocks (just being the tomboyish kid I was), when I noticed a trail of little red ants going along the side of the house. A couple of them were carrying small crumbs and small pieces of tree leafs. I wanted to know where they were all going, so I followed them a couple feet to the ant hole they were crawling into. I sat there for a couple of minutes watching them all march in. When the last couple of them went in, but did not come back out, I got a little upset because I wasn't done playing with them. So, I got the brilliant idea to stick my hand into the ant hole and bring them back out. They instantly started rushing out and crawling up my hands. I jumped up and tried to brush them off as fast as I could. I finally got them all off, but my arms and hands were burning and itching like crazy. I ran back into my house screaming “It itches! It itches!” But my hands weren't enough to scratch myself, so I started using my teeth and anything else that would help me scratch.

I think my curiosity for ants might have started and stopped there. So now I have moved on to much friendlier spiders and ladybugs.

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Article appeared in our 27-1 Issue - April 2010