3.33 La Habra High 1961-1966 (part 1)

Cathy, 1964 Sophmore

1961-1966 • La Habra High School ~ Four years of high school blended together, neither the low nor high point of my life. My first year afforded me little self-assurance; the second tallest girl in my freshman grade, I tripped up and down the long halls between classes praying to be invisible, hoping no one would look at me, especially the boys.

In those four years I wasn’t part of any of the cliques, but rather danced at the edges of the circles of girls. I ate with some, played softball with others. With many I had classes, the beach, and football games in common. A rotating handful of us walked the halls together and met in the quad during breaks and lunch. A number of girls were friends since fifth grade and junior high, and remained so throughout high school. I didn’t feel as if I was popular, but I always felt I was liked.

Laura, age 2, 1964

My sophomore year was better, as was my confidence. I’d grown out of my geeky stage, and I became close friends with Laura Schaffer. She was beautiful and far more sophisticated and accomplished than most of us, so I was kind of surprised that she chose me to be her friend. We ate lunch in the cafeteria or outside in the quad and she called me “Clemens.” I took Russian with Mr. Haverson in the early morning before first period. I made an apron and a skirt in homemaking, learned to type 60 words a minute in business class, and other than Moby Dick and Emily Dickinson, loved English and literature. We studied classical music and I could differentiate Rachmaninoff from Tchaikovsky. I toted my World and American History books back and forth but don’t remember reading them so I somehow missed the entire Civil War; memorizing generals and battles bored me. Math was not my strong suit and I nearly flunked algebra. In P.E. we played field hockey, basketball, volleyball, softball, and had archery. We participated in President Kennedy’s Physical Fitness Program, doing calisthenics and the 50-yard dash. Shocked and shaken, we wept together in journalism class when it came over the P.A. system that he’d been shot.

I babysat nearly every day after school. Most families paid me 50¢ an hour except Carol around the corner, who me paid 35¢. Carleen, in a huff, demanded I quit when she found out that not only was I watching Carol’s three kids, I was cooking them dinner and cleaning her house; she didn’t appreciate me being taken advantage of.

We lived across the street from Gary Baker and I ducked whenever I saw him. One day he and I actually got into a conversation at the edge of my driveway and he asked if I wanted to go the drive-in. I broke out in a sweat and told him I’d have to ask my sister. I was much relieved when she said no, that I was too young to go to a drive-in with a boy. She was no dummy, and I still was. She knew how accidents happened. She had to get married in high school, and then had Laura as another “oops” at this later stage of her game.

By 1964 I had eleven nieces and nephews: Larry and Marian had two girls, Carleen had three kids, Betty three, and Claudia three. Betty would have a fourth in 1966 and in 1967 Claudia would deliver twins. My siblings and their children were all at Carleen’s house at one time or another, and often all at the same time. Mom showed up on occasion, so it was quite a fiesta. Or a zoo.

Larry, Chuck, Mom, Claudia, Carleen w/Pam, Jan, Randy, Sherry, Doug, Laura, Mark, 1964 La Habra

Cathy, 1965 Junior

Forrest, 1965 LHHS

1964-1965 • My junior year was a definite improvement. That fall I had my first high-school romance with Forrest Brown, a boy on the varsity water-polo team. We went to hear folk music at the Mecca and the Golden Bear where we saw Hoyt Axton, Jose Feliciano, Joe and Eddy, Jackson Browne, and Tim Buckley. Forrest picked me up in his parents’ car. It was a 1964 four-door, six cylinder, turquoise Dodge Dart. He could borrow the keys only after being interrogated: “Who/what/when/where/why/how and what time will you be home?” His mom was also my typing and business class teacher, which seemed a little awkward for all of us. Fortunately, Mrs. Brown liked me. He was going Christmas shopping for her and asked me out on a “shopping date.” We went to SaveOn in the Whitwood Shopping Center because it sold her favorite perfume. It was there, after three months of dating, that we held hands for the first time. And we shared only one remembered kiss standing in the front porch alcove beneath the bright light Carleen left on for me. It must have been too much for both of us, or maybe too much for me, as our short love affair flamed out soon after. These are my penned parting words in his high school yearbook: “Forrest — Stay the coolest of guys. I’m very glad we remained friends. Last year didn’t work out too well, did it. We have both changed and for the better I think. I’ll never forget the Mecca and the other places you took me. Best of luck to you always. I’ll miss you next year Forrest. Love and kisses (what a change!), Cathy Clemens”

Laura, 1965 LHHS

My first two years I hiked three miles to and from school every day; it was easier to walk than to try and roust Carleen out of bed at that early hour to drive me. Then my friend Laura got a shiny new gold 1964 Pontiac LeMans for her sixteenth birthday, and every morning she drove from her house north of Whittier Boulevard in La Habra Heights—a ways out of her way—to my house on the other side of Harbor Boulevard; she picked me up at the curb if I was ready, honked for me if I wasn’t, then ferried me home every afternoon. I loved her for that, more than she’ll ever know. Laura, Kay Grether, Linda Des Jardines, Peggy Moniz and I formed a car club, the Shalimars, even though only Laura had a car. We started our own since the Kappa Chi’s didn’t invite us into theirs, but you can only get so many girls into a car. On Friday nights we cruised up and down Whittier Boulevard pretending to be lowriders, then went to Coco’s or Bob’s Big Boy for hamburgers and fries. We all had to be in by 10:00.

to be continued…

© 2018. Catherine Sevenau.
All rights reserved.