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Sliding Down Barham Blvd. in a Beetle
The endless summer was over and we were back in school. One Friday evening in October 1965, a group of friends and I caravanned from Burbank to Hollywood. There, as underage youth, we could buy cigars without showing identification. The Wolf Bros. Crooks brand, with their, “Rum Soaked, Dipped in Wine” motto, were our favorites. With alcohol-soaked tobacco, we pretended that we were drinking and smoking at the same time; only our lack of access to alcohol kept us sober. That night, I rode shotgun in my friend and classmate Phil Plank’s Volkswagen Bug, which he called his “V-dub.”
The only separation from opposing traffic on Barham Boulevard consisted of a double white line. On the downhill ride toward Burbank, the slope ended at an intersection with Forrest Lawn Drive, better known to us as the River Road. On 
our return trip from Hollywood, the road rose over a hill, and then descended, while acing slowly to the right for about a quarter mile. As Phil held his steering wheel to the right, the camber of the roadway sloped gently to the right, as well.
At Burbank Senior High School, we learned some basic laws of chemistry and physics. For instance, “Oil and water do not mix,” “An object in motion tends to stay in motion,” and “The heavy end of any object will try to lead the parade.” Pushing in the cigarette lighter at the top of the hill, Phil ignored all these laws.
As we crested Barham Boulevard, a slight drizzle began to fall. While waiting for the cigarette lighter to pop out, Phile reached down to tune in the AM radio and activate the windshield wipers. With our friend’s car ahead of us, Phil wanted good music and good visibility for his overtaking maneuver. In his exuberance to overtake, and in steadfast belief in his own immortality, Phil accelerated throughout the long downhill curve. Soon enough, all the laws of chemistry and physics came into play.
After months of a Southern California drought, oil on the roadway glistened colorfully in the headlights of oncoming vehicles. The emulsion of oil and water on the roadway provided friction like a sheet of ice. As the tires lost traction on the road, I found myself looking straight into the headlights of an oncoming car. With its rear engine design, the V-dub tried to swap ends and thus lead the way with its engine-heavy tail. In a vain attempt to slow down, Phil slammed his foot down on the brake pedal.
As we swung once again towards oncoming traffic, I saw my Maker. Who would believe that God drove a 1958 Cadillac? With unwavering speed, the heavy Caddy struck our little Bug, making contact aft of our driver’s side door. Mercifully, the impact sent us back to our own side of the road. According to one witness, we swung around three times as we descended the hill. Facing uphill, windshield wipers still thumping, we stopped just short of the 
intersection at Forest Lawn Drive. Less than half a mile from our final resting place that night lay the largest cemetery in Los Angeles.
Staring straight ahead, with both of his hands still clutching the steering wheel, Phil sat in shock. A telltale splatter of blood on the windshield told me that the impact had caused his nose to hit the steering wheel. Still gripping the grab handle on the passenger side of the dashboard, I exclaimed, “Phil, we f---ed your whole car.” When I received nothing more than a blank stare from Phil, I 
got out and helped direct traffic around Phil and his badly broken Beetle.
The whole event took less than a minute. Although my life did not flash before my eyes, as events unfolded, I knew that my life might end at any moment. That I survived uninjured gave me a startling clarity that only such near-death experiences seem to bring. I was seventeen years old and blessed to be alive.
Excerpted from the 2018 Book, “True Tales of Burbank,” by Wesley H. Clark and the late Michael B. McDaniel (1956-2024). Both authors are Burbank High alumni.
By
James McGillis
at 05:37 PM |
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Edward Abbey & Friends, University of New Mexico (1956-1957) Ch. 5
“Long live literature and reading!” – Jimbo Forrest
“I’m not afraid to die” – Ralph Newcomb
“Sure a lot of noise here!” – Edward Abbey
Jimbo Forrest –
“I returned to Edward Abbey’s journals, edited into the book, “Confessions of a Barbarian”, and decided to look in the index for Ralph Newcomb. A whole bunch of things popped up, including the name of Ralph Newcomb’s wife, which was Scotty (her maiden name was Eileen Scott). There are many references to Ralph in this new book, so evidently he was a much better, longer lasting friend of Ed than I had known or imagined. This “Barbarian” book of Ed’s brings back so many memories.
A week later, I have now finished Edward Abbey’s “Confessions of a Barbarian”. There were dates listed for each of his entries. Of course, we also knew, but he didn’t, the actual date of his death (March 14, 1989). Whenever you have the time (ha, ha) I recommend you read this series of diary entries. His literary works are one thing, and many have had admiring reviews.
This actual diary of Ed’s reveals, to me, something different. He speaks of his love for his wife (one after the other), and his children (one after the other), and I don’t doubt his sincerity. However, what stands out the most, to me, is extreme selfishness, which I believe, is a (necessary?) aspect of fame, whether one is an actor or a writer. If you give most of your energy to your family, you have little left for self-aggrandizement.
If you read this book, you’ll see he spent an enormous amount of time in his life being alone. In the desert, in the mountains. Almost until he died. Not always alone; sometimes with Jack Loeffler and a limited few other close friends. However, he was seldom with any of his five wives or five children.
(Dead Horses & Sakred Kows)
To produce the many essays and novels that he did, Ed had to spend time alone, in the wilderness, without obligation to family. He became a famous writer. He had an inner compulsion to observe, think, and record his observations and thoughts via typewriter and then to his books. The numerous families get short shrift.
I’m not criticizing or passing moral judgments, only passing on my thoughts after reading this particular diary of his thoughts and activities. What I see is extreme self-centeredness. He had much to say, and took the time (from others) to say it. He was successful, extremely so and, of course, is celebrated for it.
Thinking back, I remember one night when we went up to the Sandias (Sandia Mountains) after my KOB Radio shift ended at midnight. It was then, I believe, that Ralph Newcomb and Ed hoofed it up the mountain in their cowboy boots. It was a dark (not stormy) night, but later with moonlight. I almost had a fistfight with another radio announcer, Don Brooks, and groups on both sides held us back. (That was another story of that night. It had to do with my enthusiasm driving up the mountain, honking my horn. Evidently, it woke Don’s baby.)
People drank, sat around a bonfire, paired off, etc. The night was clear. I was on an upper ledge with a woman named Carol. Down below, we heard the sounds of couples making love in the open air. Dawn came, but I will not divulge my activities with Carol that night. Still, there was a lovely view from up on that ledge, looking down at the valley. I don’t remember if I had to be at work that morning, or not.
Perhaps it was during that particular beer party in the Sandias that someone used my camera to snap the attached photo. Front Row, left to right: Ralph Newcomb, Jim Forrest, Edward Abbey. Back Row: Could this be Malcolm Brown? I met Malcolm once, at one of many desert beer parties (1954-55), and I don’t think ever again. (Kinlock Brown, the son of artist, sculptor, architect Malcolm Brown [1925-2003] verified that his father appears in that photo).”
Author’s Note –
Edward Abbey knew classic literature, and developed wide knowledge from what he read. His personal life and strange career inclined him to lonerism and bigotry. On the other hand, Ed intuitively knew that the world could not support an ever-rising population. Most of his adult life, Abbey spoke and wrote eloquently about and against the ruination of wilderness and open space.
In Desert Solitaire Abbey wrote, “Wilderness. The word itself is music.
Wilderness, wilderness.... We scarcely know what we mean by the term, though the sound of it draws all whose nerves and emotions have not yet been irreparably stunned, deadened, numbed by the caterwauling of commerce, the sweating scramble for profit and domination.”
Edward Abbey grew up during The Great Depression, on a near-subsistence farm in Home, Pennsylvania. From personal experience, he knew the value of water, firewood and a substantial garden. He often talked or wrote about his desire to go back to the land and live a romantic, subsistence lifestyle. (For Ed, subsistence living also included using his old pickup truck for regular “beer runs” into town).
Jimbo Forrest (Postscript) –
“We did definitely identify Malcolm Brown in that one picture taken “100 years ago”. I believe that was the only time I saw Malcolm. Circuitous email route: Me to you, you to me, me to Jack Loeffler, Jack to you, you online to Malcolm’s son, the son to you, and then you to me. It is wonderful what we can do with on-line computers and the internet.
We have discovered a lot, beginning with an online ad from Amazon to me. I saw a picture of Jack Loeffler’s book, “adventures with ED.” I ordered it. Read it. I wrote to the publisher, trying to contact Jack. They forwarded my letter to Jack; Jack answered. I did something, can’t remember what… there was a big flash and then I was in contact with your blog and you.
How did that happen?
The rest is recent history, including an obituary for the original “Brave Cowboy”, Ralph Newcomb. My head is still spinning, trying to integrate 1954 with now, and all the experiences between then and now.
As we say in Spanish, Híjole!”
End of Part Five and our Story - To read Part Four, Click HERE. To return to Part One, click HERE.
By
James McGillis
at 03:59 PM |
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Edward Abbey & Friends, University of New Mexico (1956-1957) Ch. 4
“Long live literature and reading!” – Jimbo Forrest
“I’m not afraid to die” – Ralph Newcomb
“Sure a lot of noise here!” – Edward Abbey
Jimbo Forrest –
“When I knew Ed Abbey, talked with him, walked with him, and drank with him, he didn’t talk very much. He was always listening, I was sure, and thinking, but I cannot remember really having a conversation with him. Reading Jack Loeffler’s book “adventures with Ed (a portrait of Abbey)”, I can see that Ed was a serious introvert, and a very shy, deep thinker. (By contrast, I have been a talker, teacher, radio announcer, TV newscaster, narrator, master of ceremonies, interpreter [Spanish-English], etc.) Ed was tall. I short. As the only two graduate students of philosophy at University of New Mexico in 1954-1956, there was so much contrast between us.
After skimming through parts of Ed’s journals, titled “Confessions of a Barbarian”, I am now reading the book, slowly, in proper order, underlining countless passages. One sentence after the other informs me now that Ed really was a deep thinker. He put his thoughts into his journals, and later into his many published works. I first met Ed in September 1954. Exactly fifty-five years later, in September 2019, I’m beginning to understand who he was.”
Author’s Note –
According to his friend and biographer, Jack Loeffler, Ed was hard of hearing, which progressed with age. People who cannot hear well often pretend that they can and just listen. No one wants to act the fool (Ed’s book, “Fool's Progress”?). Showing some simple attention to another human can make one look more intelligent. As we know, Ed was an avid reader. He preferred solitude, which did not require listening or speaking, except to “himself”.
Jimbo Forrest –
“I was at the University of New Mexico philosophy department with Ed for only two years, from 1954-55. After that, we went separate ways to different places, but we did run into each other by chance a couple of times after that.
In the school year 1957-58, I taught English at Española High School, in Espanola, New Mexico, 25 miles or so north of Santa Fe. Being extremely frustrated with the principal of the school while there, I took up shooting a .22 rifle almost every day after school. I put an old Sears catalogue next to the house (we were in a rural area), and filled it full of .22 bullets.
Hunting season came, and I heard my students talking about getting “their” deer. One kid told me he had a 30-30. Well, I went to the general store and bought one, on credit. That made a louder bang, and tore up the catalogs faster.
I went to a hunting area with an old friend, and we trudged along. Before too long, a deer ran across a ravine below me. After all of the practice shooting catalogs, I made a kill. (I still feel guilty about that, and would never do it again.) Ralph Newcomb had told me before that if I killed a deer, he would 
help me cut it up, if he could have part of it. Deal made. Both of our families had venison for some time.
Jump ahead a year or two (I have no idea when it was), I was at the UNM campus (can’t remember why) and Ed Abbey walked by me. I hadn’t seen him for some time. We chatted awhile, and I asked him if he was interested in a deer hunt. He said he could probably borrow a deer rifle from a friend, and we could meet the next day.
We met, and drove to a hunting area. He went one way, I another, and we agreed to meet back at the same spot in an hour or two. My hunt showed no tracks, no scat, and no deer. I returned to our meeting spot. Ed had not yet returned. We had bought a 6-pack of beer, and left it there before we went on our hunt.
Waiting for Ed, I had a beer. (Maybe two?) What to do with the can(s)? Throw them as far ahead as possible. What to do next? Shoot at the cans, of course. A few minutes later Ed dragged in, bereft of any venison. His first comment was, “Sure a lot of noise!” reminded me of actor James Stewart, who would also speak in a laconic manner.
We sat awhile, finished off the beer, said nothing important, and parted. I believe I saw Ed two more times: once by chance, once by design.
Jimbo Forrest – Regarding Ralph Newcomb
“Now back to my memories of Ralph Newcomb. When my first wife was pregnant with our first child, drunken Ralph came to our house in North Albuquerque. For reference, our child was born August 2, 1957.
Ralph saw LIFE magazines on our coffee table. He grew angry, resentful, loud, claiming that was ‘NOT LIFE’, or some such thing, and swiped them off the table strongly with his arm. I knew then he was trouble, with a “capital T”. I motioned my wife into the bedroom right next to the living room, told her to keep the door closed and not to say anything. Maybe that is when I grabbed my camera and took the photo of Ralph in the chair, pointing his finger of accusation at me. He announced something about his polio crippling him, and that he was going to overcome it, or he would kill himself… something like that.
Shortly after that, he stood up, removed his jacket and rolled up his left sleeve. He then took out his buck knife, opened it, and declared that he was not afraid to die (or some such thing). With a large swing, he sliced open his forearm. A large spurt of blood shot out, up, and down onto the (used) light gray carpet I had recently installed.
Later, he went outside, backed up against the wall, and shot his head back against the window. The second time it worked, breaking one of the panes. The windows were behind the curtains you see behind Ralph when he was seated. Ralph had brought a friend with him (seen partially in the image) whom I had never seen before, and seemed incapable of doing anything. In that photo of Ralph and friend, there are two liquor bottles. He said that they had been drinking all day, either tequila or mescal, as I remember. Eventually the two departed.
Somehow, I had a phone number (not clear to me now), and called the person who had been with Ralph. He said that they had called the Bernalillo County Sheriff. I asked if maybe someone could knock Ralph out before he killed himself, or someone else. (This person was fairly big and strong.) He said he had tried, but nothing fazed Ralph.
I remember this vividly, including the season of the year, but not what happened subsequent, and whether I ever saw Ralph again. The idea of Ralph & Ed floating down the Colorado in 1959, as stated earlier makes me shake my head in wonderment. Of course, I didn’t keep up with Ed or Ralph very much after I got married in August 1956 and had three children between 1957 and 1965.”
End Part Four - To read Part Five, Click HERE. To return to Part One, click HERE.
By
James McGillis
at 12:23 PM |
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Edward Abbey & Friends, University of New Mexico (1955-1956) Ch. 3
“Long live literature and reading!” – Jimbo Forrest
“I’m not afraid to die!” – Ralph Newcomb
“Sure a lot of noise here!” – Edward Abbey
Jimbo Forrest -
“In this chapter, I will reveal the story of Ralph Newcomb, and guitar playing. I remember a party up in the Sandia Mountains, starting at midnight, and lasting past dawn on a Saturday. With both guitar and vocal sounds transmitting easily through the cool mountain air, there was audible lovemaking going on. I remember Ralph Newcomb running up the side of a mountain in his cowboy boots, whooping and hollering. He contracted polio the following year.”
Author’s Note (Regarding Jack Loeffler) -
Jack Loeffler is a self-proclaimed aural historian, having spent the last fifty-plus years traveling around the American West and Mexico recording folk music, and conducting recorded interviews for several radio series, which he produced for Community Public Radio. He recorded Edward Abbey three times, the most extensive of which he made on January 1, 1983. That was after Jack and Ed left their campsite in the Superstition Mountains and headed back to just west of Tucson. The interview took place in Ed's writing cabin, a hundred yards downhill from his home. A few months earlier, Ed received the diagnosis of “esophageal varices”. Both men knew that Ed’s days were numbered. Later made public, they covered a fair amount of territory in that interview.
When the two men went camping (which was as frequently and for long as they could), they had myriad conversations about absolutely everything. Jack is a lifelong journal-keeper and noted many of their conversations in his journals. He also had posthumous access to Ed's journals while writing his 2002 book, “adventures with ED (a portrait of Abbey)”. Even though Jack did not record any of those campfire conversations, he was able to to present them as they actually occurred.
Jack Loeffler –
“It helps that I have a fair memory. I've discovered that the act of writing actually helps with memory retention. It was because of Ed that I started writing books. I had a grant to produce a 13-part radio series in 1984. My wife, daughter and I had opted to spend that winter in Tucson to help Ed with his illness. He acted as my “listening editor” for that series. He listened to the whole series twice, and then informed me that it should indeed become a book. He introduced me to a publisher in Tucson, and thus my first book actually came out in 1989 shortly after Ed had died.
I highly recommend Ed's book, “Desert Solitaire” and his best known novel, “The Monkey Wrench Gang”, which helped invigorate the radical environmental movement. It's not his greatest novel, but it's certainly his best known. Shortly before he died, he asked me to ‘grade’ his books, which was a terrible thing to ask. I answered as honestly as I could, and indeed, Ed agreed with my assessment. I think that “The Brave Cowboy” is my favorite of Ed's novels.
The character ‘Jack Burns’ (the spirit of Ralph Newcomb?) also appeared in “The Monkey Wrench Gang” as the ‘Lone Ranger’, as well in “Good News” (pub. 1980), and finally “Hayduke Lives” (pub. posthumously, 1990) where it is revealed that ‘Jack Burns’ is the father of ‘George Washington Hayduke’, and thus the godfather of the radical environmental movement.
Ed's been gone for thirty years as of March 14, 2019. I'll visit with his widow, Clarke Abbey in Moab, Utah in October 2019, where I have a book signing scheduled for my new book, “Headed Into the Wind: A Memoir”. Ed remains a hero in Moab.”
Jimbo Forrest (to Jack Loeffler) –
“Interesting! I remember Ralph Newcomb well. Actually, I saw him more often, and for a longer period, even though Ed and I were the only two graduate students in the philosophy department. Ralph was really a bit of a wild man, very bitter and frustrated after he, as an adult, contracted polio, around the same time that Jonas Salk introduced his vaccine!”
Jimbo Forrest –
“I am reading a chapter of Loeffler's book each night. A stint as an Army MP (1945-1947) seems to have sealed Ed's fate as an anarchist and antiestablishmentarian. All too easily, violence can become a way of life. Imagine if they had actually blown up Glen Canyon Dam or that coal train. Revenging supposed “wrongs” can result in worse wrongs.
It is interesting that I knew none of this while at UNM. Maybe that is why Ed was so quiet. In my experience, he was quiet with everyone, every time I saw him with others. He would speak, but after giving the matter some reflection, with virtually a monosyllabic response. To me, he looked like he was thinking all the time (which he probably was), deciding what he was going to say.
That makes me think about speech-inhibited people, or someone trying to speak in a non-native language, looking for the way to say something. Ed and I had very different personalities. Perhaps this would explain Ed’s thousands of different words in his books, and my years as a disk jockey, radio announcer and English teacher. However, the dialogues Ed engaged in with Loeffler fascinated and confused me. The back and forth conversations were not what I had experienced, the few times I was alone with Ed.
I’ve been thinking more about Jack Loeffler, Ed and Jack’s book “adventures with ED (a portrait of Abbey)” and happened to look though the index again. I noticed two references to Ralph Newcomb, which I had not reflected on when I first read the book. The second reference speaks of Ed and Ralph taking a rafting trip on the Colorado River in June 1959 (later featured in “Desert Solitaire”).
When I went to UNM in September 1954 to enroll in the philosophy department as a graduate student, I met Ed, and shortly thereafter, Ralph. Eventually, I spent more time with Ralph and his family, and had a closer relationship over a longer period than I did with Ed. I have many memories of Ralph, and always wondered what happened to him. With regard to Ed, I found out a LOT more about him in the press, but particularly in recently reading Loeffler’s book. In many ways, Ralph remains a mystery to me.
By August of 1955, I felt compelled to go to Mexico City, and on to Acapulco. My Spanish was adequate for getting around, but it didn’t register in my mind that “AGUA NO POTABLE” meant that I shouldn’t drink it. Well, it was hot and humid in Acapulco, I was thirsty, and there was water. At age twenty-two, I was invulnerable, or so I thought. (I did meet a young woman in Acapulco, however, and a year later, we were married, subsequently producing three daughters.)
Returning to Albuquerque for the new school year in September 1955 I started having symptoms, which sent me to a local doctor. She commented on my yellow eyeballs, and dark urine, and informed me that my liver was the culprit. Later, my young brain made the relationship between my liver and “AGUA NO POTABLE”. Not being able to take care of myself, I flew back to Illinois to be with my parents. A week in the hospital, a month in bed reading Russian authors (they wrote thick books), I was up, got a job, and then went back to Albuquerque in June 1956.
At that time, my friends informed me that Ralph Newcomb had contracted polio, ironically just before the release of the first vaccine. I visited him, found him on crutches and heard him speak about being determined to return to his previous health, which had allowed him to climb up the Sandia Mountains while wearing cowboy boots, at a fast pace. If not, he considered suicide.
Later, Ralph decided to buy a large, old car, and take his family to southern Mexico; Salina Cruz pops into my head right now. He spoke of living off the land, watching young Mexican women with bare breasts walking around in the tropics, etc.
I became involved in academics at UNM, had my first child, worked at radio station KOB, and heard aught of Ralph. Did he arrive in Salina Cruz? Was he able to climb mountains again at a fast pace? Did he commit suicide? On the other hand, did I hear something about Ralph Newcomb later moving to Oregon?”
Author’s Note –
Ralph Newcomb is a mystery no more. On the website, TheWorldLink.com is an obituary for one Ralph W. Newcomb (1925-2011). Although not 
corroborated by other sources, the details of this particular Ralph Newcomb’s life coincide almost perfectly with what we know of “our Ralph” from Edward Abbey, Jack Loeffler and Jimbo Forrest.
The Obituary for Ralph W. Newcomb reads as follows: “Ralph's journey on earth ended July 15, 2011, in Coos Bay and another journey begins for him. Ralph, 86, of Allegany, Oregon was born June 23, 1925, in Newport, Rhode Island, the oldest in a family of four children.
Ralph's early years were spent in Newport, followed by a couple of years in the military during World War II. He left the military and moved to Wyoming and then Montana, where he became a cowboy and bronco rider in rodeos for a few years. While living in Montana, he married Eileen Scott. They spent the 
first part of their marriage on a horseback trip, crossing the Rocky Mountain Divide, riding through the Red Desert of Wyoming and then into the Superstition Mountains of Arizona.
Eventually three children were born to Ralph and Eileen, Ralph Teton, Katchina and Scott Ross.
Ralph was an artist, creating beautiful sculptures from soapstone. His subject was wildlife. Deer modeled for him in his back yard. His carvings have been on display up and down the coast. Another talent he had was playing the guitar and singing folk songs. He also studied art, music and anthropology at the University of New Mexico. He received a degree in anthropology from UNM.
Ralph is survived by, Eileen of Allegany; son, Scott Ross; and a brother and sister. He was preceded in death by a sister; son, Ralph; and daughter, Katchina”.
End Part Three - To read Part Four, Click HERE. To return to Part One, click HERE.
By
James McGillis
at 02:53 PM |
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Earlier Stories >>
our return trip from Hollywood, the road rose over a hill, and then descended, while acing slowly to the right for about a quarter mile. As Phil held his steering wheel to the right, the camber of the roadway sloped gently to the right, as well.
After months of a Southern California drought, oil on the roadway glistened colorfully in the headlights of oncoming vehicles. The emulsion of oil and water on the roadway provided friction like a sheet of ice. As the tires lost traction on the road, I found myself looking straight into the headlights of an oncoming car. With its rear engine design, the V-dub tried to swap ends and thus lead the way with its engine-heavy tail. In a vain attempt to slow down, Phil slammed his foot down on the brake pedal.
intersection at Forest Lawn Drive. Less than half a mile from our final resting place that night lay the largest cemetery in Los Angeles.
got out and helped direct traffic around Phil and his badly broken Beetle.
