South Pasadena High School
Alumni Association - 1907-2024
*Tiger Talk Forums
| Forum: The 1960's: South Pas Back Then | |||||
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James Tomlin
Class Of '61
 Posts: 37 View Profile |
Maverick Night Posted Sunday, November 1, 2009 11:25 AM
Friends forever. Marty Gafvert, Jim Tomlin, Bill Little, Kent Warner This is the story of how Sunday night in my senior year of high school became “Maverick Night” with my best friend Marty Gafvert. It started when it became impossible to reach him by phone because his beautiful, popular younger sister Janey was always on the phone. Last minute homework instructions, due dates and other such invaluable information were inaccessible during the hours of seven through ten o’clock. Of course I wouldn’t want anyone to think that I didn’t pay attention in class and Marty did.
First day of high school, 1958 One night in exasperation I ran the three blocks to Marty’s house and stayed for Maverick, which was on at 9:00pm. After awhile this became our Sunday night routine. At 10:00, when Maverick had ended and James Garner had outwitted and occasionally outshot the assortment of bad guys, I would dash out the door and be home by 10:02, or 10:10 if I had the opportunity to talk to the beautiful Janey. One block from Marty’s house the owners had a German Shepherd dog which they kept tied up on a long chain. I noticed that if I violated his front yard space by even a few feet he would get up from his resting place and bark at me. Since the house was situated at the sharp curve where Garfield Avenue alters its Northward course to head west, it was much shorter to cut across the lawn. A small intrusion produced a growl, while a slightly deeper incursion would elicit a standing bark. If I ran inside the circumference of the chain the dog would immediately rush at me with all the speed he could manage. As he gained on me he would increase his speed until he reached the end of the chain which would then suddenly jerk him off his feet. This would happen without exception, the dog apparently had no long term memory. I tormented him without mercy.
One evening after the end of Maverick, I talked briefly to Janey, and then began my run home. As I cut across the lawn at the sharp curve, the dog began his pursuit. My ears immediately registered the absence of the rattling of his chain. I was barely able to escape him by leaping into one of the small trees that the city had recently planted along Garfield Avenue. The dog’s jaws barely missed me as I jumped, and closed with a loud snap behind me. The owner, no doubt observing me over the course of many weeks, decided that the dog deserved an opportunity to catch me.
The tree I had leaped into was perhaps twenty feet tall and barely one foot in circumference. I had scrambled as far up its small trunk as I could, barely out of reach for the highly motivated canine, who snarled at me with justifiable righteous indignation. I swayed precariously at the top of the spindly bit of vegetation, ever fearful that the tree, so recently planted, would either snap or simply uproot and topple over. Either event would plunge me to the ground and leave me at the mercy of what I had come to think of as the Hound of the Baskervilles.
Although it seemed like much longer, I was in the tree about a half an hour. My mom had called Marty at 10:30, and when he told her I had already left much earlier, she had called the police, fearful that I had been abducted. The tree swayed more perilously each time I shifted my weight. The dog had patiently taken up a position at the foot of the tree to await my eventual descent. At last, a police car cruised slowly up Garfield and stopped underneath my frail sanctuary. The officer got out of the squad car.
The dog wagged his tail vigorously, received a pat on the head and rolled over on his belly. The officer rubbed his belly and talked to him soothingly. Presently, he looked up into the tree, which by now was listing unsteadily.
“Are you Jimmie Tomlin?” the officer asked me finally.
“Yea.” I replied.
“You’re supposed to be at home,” he said.
“Yea, well the dog chased me up the tree,” I said.
“This old boy?” he said.
“Yea.”
“Well come on down,” he said.
As I swung down from the tree the dog immediately sat up and rushed at me. I landed unsteadily and fell down. Despite the fact that I was able to throw my arms over my face, the dog succeeded in penetrating this scanty defense and licked my face. He had apparently already forgotten that less than an hour before he had been determined to eat me. By this time the owner had arrived to retrieve him. The cop asked me if I needed a ride home, but I said it was only a couple of blocks and I started walking. As I slinked away, the cop and the owner were sharing a conspiratorial laugh like old pals.
Maverick Night continued, and the dog and I became friends.
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Bill Sampson
Class Of '64
 Posts: 8 View Profile |
RE: Maverick Night Posted Tuesday, May 11, 2010 12:34 PM I think that dog was owned by a guy I knew only as Mr. Steele. He would walk the dog by the Garfield Park tennis courts where Jim Beebe, Gene Clark, Bob Podlech and I would play tennis many weekend nights. Mr. Steele would sometimes come by to attempt to ascertain why cherry bombs were exploding at a height of fifty to one hundred feet. Naturally we knew nothing of the ability of a timely tennis racket stroke sending a missile soaring. |
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