Violet Alpha Sillers Rodgers, 130th Birthday

My maternal grandmother, Violet Alpha Sillers (I called her Nana) was born 130 years ago today, February 23, 1895, in River John, Nova Scotia, Canada.  She passed away on January 8, 1987, in Alhambra, CA.  She was a very pleasant, loving, and wonderful grandmother, you couldn't ask for a better one.  Her brother, Ernest Sillers (Uncle Ern to me), was also born in River John.  

She married Hiram Stephan Rogers (born April 11, 1887), who was also from River John.  I called him Papa.  I don't know how, when, or why they ended up in Pasadena.  They lived at 1254 N. Hill Ave.  Before my mother was born and raised in the home, they had a baby son.  It either died at childbirth or shortly thereafter.  The family never discussed the son further.  I don't know if or where the infant is buried, or it's name.  I don't recall anyone directly ever telling me this, but something tells me it was named Stephan (like my grandfather's middle name), but it may have just been known as "Infant Rogers."  

My grandfather owned a grocery store in the Nelson Building at southwest corner of Washington and Hill, Pasadena.  I think he may have retired about the time I started realizing the world existed as a tiny child in the late 1950s.  I vaguely remember going into the store once or twice.  I don't think my grandmother liked the new owners.  

I have fond memories of the house.  I remember a basement that I was only occasionally allowed to enter.  It was like a magical cave to me.  In the rear enclosed side porch, there was a wringer washer that was always fun to watch my grandmother use.  I remember a stool in the kitchen where I could sit and watch my grandmother cook and sometimes "help."  I remember the front living room, where my grandfather would play with me, and the dining room table where I seem to eaten a lot of peeled, chunked, and boiled potatoes with a bit of butter and salt on them, and pot roast.  Naps were in my mother's childhood bedroom.  Her furniture set was saved in the family until just a couple years ago, when my granddaughter Cassy needed part of it.  Sadly, we broke up the set, gave her what she wanted, and donated the rest to charity.  

The backyard had an incinerator that they rarely used.  I remember what seemed to me as a large tree in the back yard that I played with toy cars and trucks making roads in, around, and under the tree roots.  The backyard had lots and lots of flowers.  On one occasion, I snuck into the detached garage and found a pair of roller skates from my mother's childhood.  I strapped them on thinking it would be easy to skate down the driveway.  I made it a very short distance before one of the leather straps snapped, and I went down hard.  Life lesson.    

When I needed to be distracted, Papa would take me for a walk.  The same route each time.  We'd leave the house, walk up the street to Washington, and turn right.  We'd continue along Washington to the first street, Wesley, and turn right again.  We'd walk downhill to Asbury, and turn right to Hill then back home.  

About ten years ago, I was in Southern California for work, and on a whim, I pulled off the freeway to the house.  I found myself parking along the curb in front of the house, and decided to take a walk.  I followed the same route around the block.  It was eerie how much of the surroundings came back to me.  As I walked, I remember a gas station at Washington/Hill.  It's not the same, but it's a gas station still, just different.  I remember the same type of fencing in front of a couple of homes on Wesley especially a specific chain link fence, and the smell of germaniums at one particular home.  It was a strange and wonderful experience.  

We lived at our home in Anaheim during this time.  Occasionally when Nana would babysit me, she would take me to nearby Washington Park to play and run around.  If I was good, which of course I always was, while playing at the park she would give me my favorite sandwich, white bread with the crusts cut off, with a large amount of soft butter and brown sugar for the inside.  Nothing healthier, no?

We later moved to Tucson, and eventually moved to nearby La Canada.  It was during this time that my Papa died, May 3, 1962.  I don't remember much about it, but I knew I was being kept away from the adults dealing with it.  My mother got the call about him while we were at home.  She immediately grabbed me and drove to their home.  She was distraught as she drove, and went through some Stop signs and red lights.  I'd never seen my mother cry before.  I still hold an impression of that drive in my mind.  

These are scans of Polaroid photos from her 80th birthday celebration (1975), at her rest home at 1428 S Marengo Ave, Alhambra, CA 91803.  The business has changed names since then.  I think it was an Episcopal home then, and looking at Google Maps, appears to have been extensively remodeled.    

Standing at the table, my mother, Dorothy Stone (left) and my Aunt Aldine.

Seated, to the left, an unknown woman.  To the right, my Uncle Ern, Violet's brother.

At the table, my mother, Dorothy Stone. Standing, an unknown woman and to the right with her back towards the camera, my grandmother, Violet.

From the right, my mother, standing.  Seated is Violet, then Ernest.  The others are unknown to me, and were possibly other residents of the facility.  

These next photos are from a time that "Nana" visited us at our new home at 1237 Laurel Lane, Lafayette, California.  I don't know the date, but it was likely 1966-1968.  The first two are inside our kitchen, and the last one is in the front yard in front of the steps my dad built (I helped) that led from our front yard up the hill to the top of the driveway.  

This one was taken at the same time as when "Nana" was opening her gift. My mom has a gift too, so I don't know it was Christmas or something else.  It seems odd that it would be Christmas, but opening our gifts like this because it wasn't our style.  

Eaton Fire, Altadena, California

I don’t really have any known links to people impacted directly as victims of the Palisades Fire or the Eaton Fire in Altadena, except for this string of connection.  In Octavia Butler’s 1993 book “Parable of the Sower,” the story includes how Los Angeles was ravaged by fire in 2025.   Butler, who died in 2006 at 58, is marked by a footstone etched with a quote from “Parable of the Sower,” among her most famous novels: “All that you touch, you change. All that you change, changes you.”  She is buried in the Mountain View Cemetery in Altadena—the same cemetery as my maternal grandparents, Violet and Hiram Rogers. 

https://apnews.com/article/octavia-butler-los-angeles-wildfires-cemetery-eaf2ee7921561355d632d0e381099ed6

 

1959, My First Camping Trip, Big Pine, California

This is the closest I ever made it to climbing Mt. Whitney.  It would be interesting if the "east side" experts here recognize any of the views or locations.  

This was my first camping trip with my parents and I remember my parents saying we were camping at Glacier Lodge.  I believe this site is the Big Pine Creek Campground adjacent to Glacier Lodge, just outside Big Pine, California.  I don't know what the ownership or relationship of the campground to the lodge was in 1959.  I researched it some, and it was interesting to learn the glamorous history of Glacier Lodge, and fate of the lodge and its replacement.     

All-in-all, it was a great trip with some hiccups.  

It rained during this trip, and my WW II Army veteran dad was using a dark green Army surplus canvas tent.  When it started raining hard in the middle of the night, he made me get out and help dig a drainage trench around the tent.  Inside the tent, he told me not to touch the roof of the tent, and then I did, causing a leak inside.   Hence, I learned why not to touch it.  My father was not pleased.  

I don't think this was my mother's style of camping.  She doesn't have her normal happy smile on.  As a family, I don't think we ever tent camped like this again.  We only tent cabins and RVs after this trip.      

I was four years old at the time, and the VW in the photo was our new (white) 1959 Bug.  I remember the car well.  Not long afterward, we moved to Tucson, Arizona.  My parents would drive across the desert at night to visit family in So. Cal. in it while I curled up in the cubby behind the back seat to sleep.  The bright red Coca Cola metal ice chest stayed in family use until the late 1970s.  It was a workhorse of a cooler.        

Some history of Glacier Lodge: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glacier_Lodge 

David and Dorothy Stone

Our neighbor's campsite.

1959 Volkswagen Bug (white)

1972 Buena High School, Ventura, Calif. Senior Photo

 

I graduated from high school in June 1972, so I presume this photo was taken in the fall of 1971.  

Jeff Holland Photography on East Main Street in Ventura was the place to get the the photos taken.  I went with my mother for the sitting, and later to review the proofs.  As with any set of proofs, some you like and some deserve going into "round file" forever.

This photo was not picked to be my senior photo.  It was supposed to be trashed.  My mother thought it was fine, but I didn't like the way my bottom lip was pushed out as compared to all the other photos.  Yet, this was the final product and the the one that ended up in the yearbook too.  

Fifty plus years later, does it still bother me?  Not as much as before.  But I still remember being very disappointed about it at the time.  

January 4, 2025 Photo Dump

Scanning some photographs today.  Most of these are from Polaroids or matt finished photos, hence the clarity isn't the best.  

Here's what I know about each one.

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Mom, Dorothy Stone, probably mid-late 1970s while in Palm Springs with my father, Raymond Stone.

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Ray and Dottie Stone, at our home at 10876 Galvin, Ventura, CA celebrating something.  Likely my father's birthday on June 6 in the mid to late 1970s.

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Probably the fall of 1975 or winter of early 1976.  Me, crashed out on my bed at our Ventura home with new puppy Sandy.  Jeannette and I had take a quick trip, maybe even a day trip, from Ventura to Morro Bay.  While walking on a mostly empty beach, this puppy came up to us. We asked around a lot for anyone who might know the puppy, and couldn't find anyone who recognized it or any friends who had puppies.  We couldn't find anywhere to leave the puppy, so I took it home to Ventura after leaving information with others on how to find me so I could return it.  On the way home, we named it Sandy (since it was found on the beach).  It was a cocker spaniel mix, heavy on the cocker spaniel.  We never heard from anyone about the dog.  

My mother bonded with it very strongly.  So much so, that 2-3 years later when Jeannette and I bought our first home, my mom didn't want to give it up--and we let her keep it.  

Sandy in the backyard of the Galvin Street home.  

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Looks like my 21st birthday celebration at our home in Ventura.  My mom, me, and girlfriend (future wife) Jeannette Jarvis.  

Is that leftover steak on the table?  

Oh, the shame!  Hahaha!!

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This is Aldine and Ernest "Ern" Sillers.  He came from Nova Scotia, Canada, and if I recall correctly, she was from Boston or close by.  She certainly had the New England accent throughout her life.  They never had children.  He was actually my mother's uncle, Violet's brother.  

"Uncle Ern" was a Father in the Episcopal church, rising to the level of Bishop.  Uncle Ern was fun and funny guy.  A quick, respectful, and quiet wit.  He planted churches that still survive.  The one I remember best is St Marks Episcopal Church, 10354 Downey Ave, Downey, CA 90241, http://stmarksdowney.org . 

We usually went to there home for Thanksgiving (just behind the church at 8355 Bigby Ave, Downey, CA 90241).  After the meal and while Aunt Aldine and my mother would clean up, Uncle Ern would take me for a walk around and through the church telling me interesting and funny stories.  

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The photo below was marked on the back, Thanksgiving 1977.  The two most recognizable people in it for me is my Uncle Ernest "Ern" Sillers, and seated to his left with her hand on her chin is his sister and my maternal grandmother Violet Rodgers (mom's mother).  

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Anna Creelman in front of her home in Camarillo, California.  Her husband was Aubrey Creelman.  They originally owned a number of acres of land in Camarillo for growing avocados.  I don't know how my mother knew them.  I think they were close friends with my grandmother or grandfather.  

We visited them a time or two a year.  By then, they had sold off most of their orchards, and only had an acre or two left.  Dad would get as many avocados as he wanted.  Aubrey was a typical farmer/rancher, smart, witty, and cleverly handy with tools.  I still have and use some of tools that he marked with green paint.  

This one is marked July 4, 1977.  I don't recognize the location.  In it is my mother, Dorothy Stone, Fred Petrasek, and Virginia Petrasek.  My mother and Virginia went to U.C. Santa Barbara together, and were truly like sisters from different parents.   We visited them often at thier home in Sherman Oaks.  Laura was my age.  Allan is a year or two younger.  They are the ones who let me go on most of their summer 1969 vacation in a Winnebago.  We went to the east coast, saw the launch of Apollo 11, and then I eventually flew home from Providence, Rhode Island.  

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Graduation from Buena High School, Ventura, California, June 1972.

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Unknown formal dance or prom in Ventura, California.  "Proud mom" photos.   The scanned photos don't show it well, but my tuxedo was very dark Navy blue in color.  I don't recall who I went with or which dance this was though.  

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One my mother did mark was this photo from May 1974.  The young lady is Karen Grahek.  We dated for a while, and I loved hanging out with her and her family, who were some good pranksters.  I think in another post, I showed an embroidered shirt of my blue 1973 VW Sport Bug that she did for me.  Like people do, we went our separate ways in life, and both became our own.  

Oddly enough, it wasn't until the destructive Thomas Fire Ventura in December 2017 that I learned that her and her husband's home was just a couple houses away from my parent's former home.  Sadly, both homes were lost.  My parent's had passed away by then, but Karen and her husband lost everything.  

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1975 Chevrolet LUV (Light Utility Vehicle) pickup truck.  I bought it new, and very stripped, from the Chevrolet dealer in Ojai, California.  Jeannette was with me.  I ended up modifying it a lot, as you can see.  White spoke rims, and slight lift in the rear, and an awesome BMB Camper Shell (Fillmore, CA).  

I was part of a truck club called Lil Truckers Ltd.  The jacket I'm wearing was the club jacket.  

The wrinkle on the side of the truck in front of the rear wheel well happened in the parking lot of Save-On Drugs, at Victoria/Telegraph Roads in Ventura.  Jeannette had borrowed my truck, and as she backed out of a stall to leave, someone else backed out of their spot and tagged the truck.  I played hell getting the truck fixed by the guy who did it.  It took a while, but finally got it squared away.  

My father's small aluminum fishing boat is in the background.

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Some Polaroid photos my parents (Ray and Dorothy Stone) took of each other on the patio of their home at 10876 Galvin, Ventura, CA.  I'm guessing about 1980.  Sandy, the dog, had aged a few years.  

The patio cover they had installed was large and really nice.  The folding chairs in the background of one of the photos were aluminum framed with redwood slats.  I don't think I've ever sat in a more comfortable folding patio chair.  

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Probably about 1981-1983, my father relaxing at their home at 941 Scenic Way Drive, Ventura (the one that burned down in the Thomas Fire after they sold it and had passed away).  This was in the "den" that was on the south side of the house.  From that vantage, you could look out the back sliding glass door and enjoy a great view of the Santa Clara River Valley with the Pacific Ocean in the distance.  A nice way to fall asleep.  

David Stone, Ventura Police Department

My recent post about an electrical extension cord was rooted in a response to a Facebook post on a Ventura lifestyle page   

One person who replied to my comment originally thought I was a different David Stone   Yeah, it’s a common name and it happens.  We actually had two working at Lumber City for a while.  One was me, and the other was a Ventura Police Officer.

Lumber City hired off duty police officers to work security during anticipated busy times of the week.  He worked there some of the same time I did and was one of the VPD officers who swayed me into a career in law enforcement.  

He and I actually first met and laughed about our common name one night at a crash at Telegraph and Mills, when a DUI he was chasing smashed into the back of my van while I was stopped at a red light.  

Years later when I let him know I was hired in Fresno and was heading to the police academy, he gave me his baton with his/our name scratched on it.  He had quickly scratched his name on it at his academy when he realized the instructors were making the cadets throw their batons in a pile and he wanted to be able to identify his baton.  He thought I might have the same challenge and wanted me to be ready.  I carried it through the academy and patrol until our department switched to the side handle baton (PR-24).

I still have it on display in my workshop.  

And, I just realized these photos are taken on one of two rock solid workbench kits I bought at Lumber City.

The 27ths of November 1984, 1986, and 1987

A Short Story

The 27ths of November 1984, 1986, and 1987 

 

I never would have guessed they would be connected. 

 

At a recent dinner party with a wonderful group of six other couples, someone initiated a fun activity wherein we needed to say something nice about the person to our right.  That’s not a hard thing to do with this group, regardless of who might be sitting next to you.  To my right was Kari.  I said something along the lines of not being able to imagine a better partner in life.  It reminded me of an approaching date and how I got here.  

 

When I checked, I realized it started forty years ago today, November 27, 1984.  It ultimately changed my life in ways I never imagined at the time.  It wasn’t even a thought, just a date on the calendar for a meeting at a place I never had a reason to be until that day; and never had an inkling that November 27 would be a repeating special calendar day until much later after glancing at some old paper wall calendars.  (Hopefully no one tries to diagram that last sentence.  Just absorb it.)

 

November 27, 1984

 

Leading up to 1984, there was an annual and mostly friendly charity game of football called the Pig Bowl between the friendly Fresno Deputy Sheriffs and those fiendish Fresno Police Officers.  It was traditionally held on the single “football-less” weekend in January that was between the NFL/AFL playoffs and the Super Bowl. 

 

Local Fresno area football stadiums weren’t plentiful in the mid 1980s.  There were only four football stadiums in the Fresno/Clovis area; McLane High School, Clovis High School, Fresno City College, and Fresno State’s Bulldog Stadium that had been completed just four years earlier and had already hosted its first of two California Bowls in 1981.  

 

The first Pig Bowl was held at McLane High School.  We couldn’t use the high school stadiums anymore because alcohol sales and consumption are prohibited on a high school campus.  The beer folks were a huge sponsor.  That left only two options, going back to Fresno City College where previous games had been played or Fresno State’s Bulldog Stadium.  

 

The event takes months of planning by a combined committee not to mention practice time for the players.  Locations and available dates needed to be selected for the game and practices, insurance coverage obtained, liquor licenses, sponsorships, media and promotional coverage arranged, uniforms designed and acquired, and on and on.  

 

Things were brewing underneath and I’m not sure I was privy to all or remember all the details.  Somehow, only three months before the next anticipated Pig Bowl, I took over the reins as the next Chairman for the Fresno Deputy Sheriff’s Assn (FDSA) side of the Pig Bowl Committee.  Event planning was already way behind schedule.  

 

On November 27, 1984, I showed up at the old FPOA office near the airport to attend my first committee meeting.  I walked in not knowing anyone.  

 

I was welcomed when I arrived and led to an office occupied by the FPOA’s Business Manager, Kari Kolbert.  We introduced ourselves and briefly chatted at her desk while waiting for others to show up.  I was very impressed with her.  I remember her professional appearance wearing a navy blue and white dress, her engaging personality, and her knowledge was impressive.  The FDSA had recently gone through some issues with a former Business Manager.  I found Kari to be a wonderful relief and change from what we had experienced.  I don’t recall who if anyone else from the FDSA showed up for that meeting.  Richard Desmond, Jim Conrad, Ron Hopper, and maybe a couple others from the FPOA arrived and were also welcoming.  Work commenced.  

 

It was reported that Fresno City College, where the last two games had been played, wouldn’t allow the next Pig Bowl into their stadium schedule because of planned maintenance.  Members of both the FDSA and Fresno Police Officer’s Assn (FPOA) didn’t want to skip a year.  Also, members of both departments had been watching similar events in Nor. Cal. and So. Cal. grow in size to much larger stadiums.  There was significant internal pressure that Fresno’s Pig Bowl could—and should—grow too.  The target location for the next game had only one remaining option, Bulldog Stadium.  Fresno State wasn’t exactly receiving us with open arms. The date for a game in January also quickly slipped away.  

 

The committee grew in size, and we regularly met usually at the FPOA, working through the seemingly insurmountable obstacles.  I didn’t see or talk with Kari very often.  She would occasionally and briefly pop in on committee meetings giving updates.  Truth be told, I worked a lot more with television KJEO’s sports crew along with news anchor Jennifer Whitney who helped promote and then broadcast the game.  I was very impressed with Jennifer too. (There’s a silly side story here for another time.)  Despite earlier concerns it would be too warm for the players, we pulled off a successful event on a thankfully very cool Saturday, June 1, 1985. For me, it was the culmination of everything from November 27, 1984.

 

November 27, 1986

 

Life was happening.  Jeannette and I separated for the final time and later divorced.  At that time in California, after all the divorce details were dealt with and everything is signed sealed and delivered, there was a mandatory six-month waiting period before the divorce is automatically finished.   Our waiting period started in May, making November 27, 1986, the day the divorce was finalized.  

 

Coincidentally, it was Thanksgiving Day.   We both probably felt that way.  

 

November 27, 1987

 

Singleness had happened.  Dating, relationships, and the games people play.  Ugh!  It was fun for a bit, then I eventually reached a point I was just through with it all.  I started a protracted period where I purposely wasn’t dating anyone for the foreseeable future.   

 

Later, during one of my regular visits to the FDSA office because I was the Editor of the FDSA Newsletter, Judy the Business Manager (who was also single) and I were lamenting how dating just sucked, and we coincidentally had sworn off dating anyone for awhile.  The conversation included sharing the qualities of a partner we thought would be a great fit for each of us.  I don’t recall what her wishes were, but I do mine.  As I rattled them off, I added that during my time on the Pig Bowl Committee, I was really impressed with Kari at the FPOA, and although I didn’t know her well, I would love to find someone like her.  

 

At the time, I was working swing shift patrol.  A number of days later, I arrived home from work to a message on my answering machine from Judy.  She told me to call her the next morning because she had “hot news” for me.   When I called her, thinking it was some type of FDSA Newsletter problem or opportunity, she shared that Kari was now divorced and single.  In what was probably a very rare lapse in judgement, Kari agreed to go out to lunch with me.  Things progressed.  

 

On Thanksgiving Day, November 26, 1987, Kari and I along with my parents were at my Uncle Ern and Aunt Aldine’s home in Laguna Beach.  All the family there knew that in the near future, I was going to ask Kari to marry.  During my introductions, I had shared that Kari was an awesome cook.  In her constant New England accent, Aunt Aldine asked Kari to do the hardest part of a Thanksgiving dinner—make the gravy.  To this day, I think Kari probably believes it was some type of family test.  Hahahaha!  (The gravy turned out phenomenal.)

 

The next day on the way home, yes, November 27, I stopped at a beach I knew in San Clemente and asked.  She said yes.

 

As I mentioned earlier, it wasn’t until years later when glancing through some old wall calendars that I noticed the date connection.  It unknowingly started forty years ago today.   I have so much to be thankful for in my life.  Mostly they are rooted in my involvement with the Pig Bowl.

  

 

 

*The silly side story.  I like being around smart and capable people.  It inspires me. When I met and worked with Jennifer Whitney, I was really fond of her—you know, in a married guy way.  Just like Kari at that time, there’s nothing I would have done or even tried to pursue, date her, or whatever.  That’s not my style.  I was married to Jeannette, and I don’t recall what Jennifer’s relationship status was, because it wasn’t important.  I was just impressed with her.  Sure, she was a local news anchor and celebrity, but that wasn’t it.  Would I drop by her station when I needed give the Sports crew information rather than calling in case I might see her? Absolutely.  Stalker?  Nope, not even close.  Merely an admirer who occasionally thought, “What if life was different?”  I figured, if she was single, she probably had tons of guys hitting on her anyway.  I just found her to be very intelligent and she carried herself with confidence.  I admired those qualities.  

 

During the Pig Bowl game, she was on the sideline doing her broadcast stuff.  By chance, truly, I was selected to stay close to her as part of a VIP/media protection scheme.  I had a lot of fun talking with her during the game and helping her warmup before her on air segments (another side story here, but I won’t embarrass her, even now).  She was just a kick to hang with.  After the game, I bumped into her once at Fashion Fair mall or Fig Garden Village and we shared one of those quick “How ya doing?” conversations.   

 

A month or so after Jeannette and I separated and were going through the steps of divorce, I was home at our now empty house working with a realtor to sell it. I wasn’t dating anyone, and it was the furthest thing from my mind.  I had received a message to call someone back ASAP.  I misdialed the number, and the voice on the answering end said, “Hello, this is Jennifer Whitney.”  I had never had her direct line; I had always gone through the company main number.  I froze like a teenage boy calling a girl for the first time—and then hung up.  I checked the number I had written down and dialed it.  It wasn’t the same number, and it wasn’t Jennifer this time.  I had dialed the correct number the second time.  I’ll admit, the next day I tried “misdialing” again thinking maybe fate or the Good Lord had tried to send me a hint.  I never had any luck and tossed the note in the trash.  Not long after, I heard through the local grapevine that she was single at the time. Frankly, at that moment in time, I recognized I would not have been a good person to date, much less have a close or developing relationship.  

 

Late one night a couple years after Kari and I married, I was dispatched to a low priority call just blocks from our home.  It was Jennifer who called in the concern.  I had no idea she lived so close to us.  The concern was quickly dealt with, and I doubt she even recognized me.  I couldn’t stay because as I was handling the concern, another Deputy put out a request for emergency assistance (11-99).  Off I went, never to talk with her again.  Kari knows all this, and we occasionally chatted about Jennifer while we walked by her home during our neighborhood walks. 

 

How does this rank as complete to meeting Presidents or growing up a few houses away and hanging with a neighbor who became super movie and TV celebrity?  It’s not the same. Different orbits in life. Sometimes paths are briefly crossed, and the rest of the time you just see them from a distance and enjoy the memories.  

 

I love how things turned out.