This Mission City Voices was originally submitted to The Weekly by writer Larry Flora in July of 2018. In the spring of 1969 I started thinking about the draft. Many of my schoolmates from Buchser High School were getting a “Greetings” notice, which meant that they were to report for Military services. The Vietnam War … Read more
The Year 2023 had just begun and I was grocery shopping at Lucky’s when I was approached by another customer. She quietly said, “Thank you for your service.” I turned to see a petite, older woman who had given me a sincere thank you, after she had seen my Vietnam Veterans cap. I immediately noticed … Read more
We were waiting inside the boarding area, ready to walk onto our Alaska Airlines flight leaving the Big Island of Hawaii. An assisted service dog in a cage would also be flying home on our flight. The service dog owner was an older woman, sad but with a beautiful radiant smile. A little hunched over, … Read more
It was the middle of a hot summer day. My home, across from Olsen’s Pear orchard, is located toward the end of our cul-de-sac on Benton Street. Today a group of ten kids are sitting and lying beneath the large Bing cherry tree on our front lawn. Per usual we were having a snack of … Read more
I never thought about how important it was to be a mentor. I grew up in Santa Clara during the 60’s with younger and older kids surrounding me. There were eight kids in my family and that is where I first learned about helping one another. I didn’t know what mentoring meant – I just … Read more
We are in Vietnam. It’s December 1970 and I was glad November ended, as there were too many memories to forget. This was the start of a new month and since Christmas was only a few weeks away, we were informed that our unit was going to Bien Hoa to watch the one and only … Read more
Somehow Robert Mitchum’s movie in 1954, River of No Return, with the beautiful Marlyn Monroe about their adventure down a raging river left an everlasting image in my mind. In 1960 and across the street from my home on Benton Street was Calabazas Creek. I was 11 years old and during rainy season the “Crick,” … Read more
The small Army was preparing again for battle. Their tired bodies were spread across the battlefield. They had gathered their forces from the small city in Santa Clara where they grew up. Their Army consisted of friends and neighbors they knew. Their skills were matched by a determined adversary of young combatants, each skilled in … Read more
It was a warm sunny day during another summer month. School was out and I couldn’t help but notice the young boy, who looked to be about 11 years old, inside the Lucky Store looking suspicious. From experience I’d seen that look many times before and I knew what was about to happen. Sure enough, … Read more
I look at their uniforms and they are covered with dirt and grass stains. They’re only 8 and 9 years old but they’re enthusiastic about the game they love. The cheers and sounds of America’s pastime warm my heart again. Today the best sound of the game is from the dugout and the players’ own … Read more