[Ed's note: From All This Is That August 3, 2005. Perhaps the most interesting part of this story is in the comments section, where a cousin I had never met somehow surfed up this post, and posted in the comments section:
Hi Jack
I was Gould's son. The only one that I know of. My name is Kevin Brummet. I believe we are about the same age. We look like we could be brothers.
I never met my father while I was growing up. But when I was 24 I remenbered my mother telling me that he lived in California.
So I set out one day to find him. It took 3 phone calls to the operator at the local Drunken Donuts to get his number.
I was quite surprised how easy it was to find him.
I went back to have a cup of coffee to collect my thoughts.
I guess it was was 10 AM in NY when I called him.
He was quite surprised to hear from me.
Asked me what I wanted and I really had no answer for that. I found out years later that he had been to a party the night before and I had woke him up.
I never tried to reach him again and moved to Florida.
One day I got a letter from the SS office to call them if I wanted him to contact me.
He called and I met him 1 week later in Orlando at a 50 year reunion for the army.
I remenber his ranch, the avacados and oranges.
We drove around in his jeep and had a great time together.
I quess this would make us cousins.
Would love to hear from you. You had a very interesting story.
Kevin]
In July 1971 I had just graduated from Kent Meridian High School. My Uncle Gould (1919-1988) and Aunt Henriette Brummet (the bride he brought home from Germany in WW II) invited me to their ranch in the desert between and east of Los Angeles and San Diego. They grew avocados. I had never been outside the northwest before. A 25-hour Greyhound ride deposited me in Oceanside. Road runners scurried in front of the jeep as we drove up to the house which was circled with orange trees. I spent my days swimming in their pool and driving their jeep, and hiking in the barren, rolling hills. I drove to the nearby observatory at Mt. Palomar [1] one day, where the students and scientists gave me the grand tour.
My Aunt and Uncle gave me a choice: we could go to Disneyland or visit Tijuana. I chose Tijuana, of course, and made the first of many trips to Mexico.
Gould had retired from the Army and was able to go to El Toro, and use the P.X. and officers club. We went there twice for dinner. My long hair was just as popular with the retired officers as it was with my Uncle.
The Vietnam war raged on under President Nixon. I had recently been trained as a draft counselor, and had applied to my draft board for consideration as a conscientious objector [2]. Needless to say, this did not sit well with my uncle. After jousting the first couple of nights, we finally reached a most tentative impasse; an armed truce.
Most days, my Uncle worked the ranch, and my Aunt worked at her beauty parlor in Bonsall. I was on my own. My Aunt's mother--Muti--was there and we spent our days swimming, puttering around the house, picking avocados and oranges, and drinking beer. We knew about five words of each other's language, but made it work. She called me the milch-brudder (because I liked milk) and I called her Bier-frau because every day at 5:00 she brought out the stoneware mugs and poured the first of several Lowenbraus as we sat in chairs and watched the sun slowly recede over the dusty orchards and the hills filled with coyotes, jackrabbits, and roadrunners racing around.Out in the orchard (or whatever they call an avocado plantation) one day, Uncle Gould and I bumped into Roy Rogers, whose estate bordered my uncle's ranch. I was a little in awe, of course, I had grown up watching Roy, Dale, Trigger and Bullet Saturday mornings.
My Uncle was going into town for parts and Roy decided to join us. We jumped in a dusty station wagon and headed down the long trail that led to the road into town.
After making various stops in town, and waiting as Roy signed autographs for a family of tourists, we hit the package store where my Uncle purchased various potions, including a few bottles of Mateus [3], one of which we corked and passed back and forth on the ride home. Roy told us a story about a couple of movies he had starred in with Trigger.
I was not an experienced drinker. Yes, I got drunk with Roy Rogers, but to the best of my recollection, he remained sober as a judge. I was shocked when one of them lobbed the empty Mateus bottle out the window into an arroyo. I did not make a total ass of myself or demand to be taken to see Trigger at the Roy Rogers Museum (I would go there later in the week).
I know--you all expected me to tell you a story about how we got trashed and headed into a San Diego bordello. We didn't. All I really remember is that Roy was a sweet man who told some great stories. He was remarkably upbeat for a guy whose life was marred again and again by tragedy.
We saw Roy Rogers a couple more times while I was there, but nothing memorable happened. He was just a very nice, corny guy with a heart of gold. Look him up on the internet. Roy starred in dozens of horse operas (that is, low budget films) and had a long-running show on television. His excellent country recordings in the 30's and 40's with the Sons of the Pioneers became best sellers. You may have heard "Cool Water" and "Tumbling Tumbleweeds." The music is solid roots Americana (I have two of their albums on my iPod). Roy also recorded a wonderful LP about Pecos Bill, with song interludes by the Sons. I had a dub of that album and played it many times for my children Colum and Claire. I don't think I even told them Roy and I spent a little time together in the desert.
[1] Palomar was famous because the the (5.1 m) Hale Telescope (f/3.3)-- was the world's largest telescope for 45 years (1948-93).
[2] In the end, the Draft Board never gave me a hearing. I had already sent them a copy of The Bible and numerous other documents, as well as a long essay on why I didn't believe in making war. It's just as well my case never came up because it was always difficult for me to be 100% conscientious objector. It was The Nazis that poked holes in my philosophy. I could never truly reconcile my pacifism with the fact that shortly before I was born we had to stop The Nazis. To successfully press your case as a C.O., you needed to be against all war under any circumstance. I could never make that complete leap. In the end, my draft lottery number was 186, and I was off the hook unless President Nixon went bananas and escalated the war. By 1972 that was no longer an option for him, since he would spend the rest of his Presidency embroiled in the Watergate Cover-up.
[3] A Portuguese "rose." Portugal actually makes some great wines (their No. 1 customer is France), but Mateus is not one of them. It is probably not even good enough to call a gateway wine. But this was 1971.
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