Rolling Along: Doors opened to beach life, college four decades ago

Roomies: Ken Palke & Ronnie Cocks, early '70s

Our old apartment building at 110 Paseo de la Playa hasn't
changed much in 40 years, unless you consider the rent.
(Ken Palke photos)

Some high school classmates and I have been sharing memories on social media lately. When we turn back the clock 40 years, I recall those days in Southern California's South Bay vividly . . . and usually wind up smiling.

I was just out of the Navy in early 1971 with several years of Vietnam aircraft carrier duty behind me and endless possibilities ahead. On my last day in the service, I stuffed the van with boxes of groceries from the Coronado Island Navy commissary and headed 100 miles north on Interstate 5 to Redondo Beach, southwest of Los Angeles.

Friend Ronnie Cocks and I rented an upstairs apartment at 110 Paseo de la Playa. It was less than a block from Burnout and Torrance beaches in the Riviera Village at the juncture of the cities of Redondo Beach and Torrance.

In fact, if you needed a cop late at night, you could find patrol cars from either city at the local Winchell's Donut House. The manager had a police radio so the officers could hear their calls while dipping crullers in their coffee.

This was my first apartment . . . and following restrictive military life, a place to let my hair down. . . literally. The first order of business as a civilian was to forsake all barber shops and to enroll at nearby El Camino College to begin my education. The G.I. Bill covered most school and living expenses if I watched my nickels.

Ronnie and I loved that place. The cool overcast mornings with smooth seas for surfing, the distinctive smell of salt air and suntan lotion, and afternoons highlighted by bright sunshine and light breezes.

Riviera Village businesses

And talk about convenience. The place was steps from the Pacific, a block or two from stores (Howard's or Lucky markets), restaurants, and watering holes. We sometimes spent evenings sipping the local brew at the Port of Call Tavern (now Hennessey's) on Catalina Ave. Over the months, I plugged the Port's jukebox with a bag of quarters to hear Linda Ronstadt's sad song of lost love, "Long, Long Time," or Joan Baez singing Dylan's "Love is Just a Four-Letter Word." Even today, those songs still give me pause.

I carpooled to school with my across-the-hall neighbor Glen. We took the van every other day, but I liked it best when he drove. Glen had a powder blue MG mini and it was fun riding in the sunshine with the top down. That MG made a fine platform for flirting with girls as we pulled into the school lot.

There was another perk with Glen living next door . . . he was a late-night chef at the International House of Pancakes and wasn't averse to handing out freebie hotcakes. Pass the maple syrup please. It really helped stretch a student budget, too.

We made great use of the beach on those summer days and nights. Ronnie was on the mend from hip replacement surgery, so we tried our hand at belly boarding. Mark Patton made us a couple of mini surfboards. We'd strap on swim fins and ride those boards in the thigh-high Redondo Beach surf. Good fun. Good therapy.

I warmed to another aspect of beach life with a "strand cruiser" bicycle. It was a stripped-down blue Schwinn Stingray and I loved wheeling along the bike path talking with friends, watching sunbathers and volleyball games . . . and getting tan. In the evening I enjoyed sitting on the bluff above Burnout Beach and watching the shorebirds, sailboats and those wonderful red sunsets.

And these days when I'm meandering along the tide line of one of Oregon's sandy beaches, and the warm summer wind catches me just right, I go back to those joyous days four decades ago.