Needed to clear my throat

By John Murphy

I have only had one medical procedure in my life. That was in 2009 right before I moved from the San Bernardino Sun to the Riverside Press-Enterprise.

I was having an issue with my throat getting blocked as I ate – especially with a combination of meat and rice.  

This went on for years and caused me some embarrassing moments – such as one night at Pinnacle Peak’s in Colton. I love the Cowboy Steak and was happily wolfing it down. Then I got that dreaded sensation in my throat of the passageway being blocked.

I took a swig of soda and that was it; I needed to get that junk out of my throat pronto. The front door of the restaurant was closer than the men’s room, so I staggered out of the place in front of a long line and blew chunks all over the bushes. Uh, my bad Pinnacle Peak’s. I really do like your steaks.

Some friends urged me to see a doctor. The doc said I needed an endoscopy – a procedure where they take a flexible tube and drop it into your throat.  The endoscope has a light and a camera that reveals the problem.

My issue was built-up scar tissue, caused by years of acid reflux. But I didn’t know that at the time.

The deal was a trip. I don’t know what they shot me up with at Kaiser Hospital, but I was flying high. I told a nurse I had a blog and I needed a notepad to write down all my brilliant, funny thoughts. I furiously scribbled notes during the procedure and was kind of excited, thinking this was going to be the greatest blog ever.

Procedure finally done and the narcotics worn off, I got into my car and flipped open my notebook to read what I had written. Sheer gibberish, every word! I shook my head in disappointment and drove away.  

The night we lost Ed Fennelly’s dog

By John Murphy

Yes, my friend Keith Larsen and I did lose Ed Fennelly’s dog. But first let me backtrack.

During the late 1960s, 1970s and part of the ‘80s, Fennelly was a hugely important guy. He was the commissioner of the West Catholic Athletic League, the best high school sports league in Northern California.

Before that he was a basketball star at Santa Clara University, he was a US Marine and then joined the first faculty at all-boys Archbishop Riordan High School in San Francisco in 1949. He coached football, basketball, baseball and track.

But the cool thing is, Ed was also our neighbor. He lived right down the street from my family in San Bruno. And a kinder, friendlier man you will never meet.

My parents and the Fennellys were tight. One night they came to our house for dinner and everyone was chatting. The topic turned to desserts and for some reason my dad launched into a rant about much he disliked Heidi’s Pies.

“Oh, that’s too bad Jim, because that’s what we brought for dessert,” Nancy Fennelly, Ed’s wife, said with a laugh.   

Now, the dog story. The Fennellys had a poodle which I’ll call Fluffy. I was about 19 and living at home and the Fennellys hired me to care for Fluffy while they were on vacation.

Problem was, that same weekend I was hosting the Murphy Invitational Tournament, a tennis tourney I inherited from my brother. Well, the post-tourney bash was at our house and Fluffy the dog was there. I guess things got a little out of hand because Larsen and I lost the damned dog – just ran out the front door.

Long story short, we found Fluffy at 2 a.m. when we heard it barking from the garage of Ed’s next-door neighbor. Um, our bad.  

Despite losing his dog, Ed did not lose faith in us. He deemed Larsen and me responsible enough to take his 14-year-old daughter Geri and her classmate to the SNACK Concert in 1975 at Kezar Stadium. Actually, it was the Fennellys and my parents who arranged it all.

The concert was a Bill Graham affair. Bob Dylan, The Band, Neil Young, Santana, the Jefferson Airplane, Jerry Garcia and Friends, Joan Baez and others played.

I’m pleased to report a good time was had and that we did not lose Ed’s daughter. Got her home safe and sound.

Ed Fennelly passed away in 2009 in Paso Robles. Great man.  

Game 7 glee

By John Murphy

March usually signals the start of the major league baseball season, but the coronavirus crisis has scuttled that.

Minus that excitement, let’s review Game 7 of the 2014 World Series. That was my San Francisco Giants (yes, I’m the owner) at the Kansas City Royals.

I lived in San Bruno then and was hosting my boyhood pal Keith Larsen, now the Menlo School basketball coach. I bought some Chinese food for the occasion.

The chop suey was good luck, too, as the Giants scored two runs in the second inning. But then KC tied it in the bottom of the inning and the fear enveloped me. I had flashbacks to the Giants’ 2002 collapse against the Angels.

The announcers were also getting on my nerves, so I popped a Natalie Merchant cassette into my boom box.

“Murph, no audio?” Larsen said, referring to the baseball game.

“I need 10,000 Maniacs,” I said. “They soothe me.”

The Giants nudged ahead 3-2 on Michael Morse’s RBI single in the fourth. But the Royals were scary good and every time Lorenzo Cain came up I was convinced he was going to hit the ball 500 feet.

Fast-forwarding (I have cassettes, remember) it came down to Giants ace Madison Bumgarner in relief against Salvador Perez with a man on third and two outs in the ninth. The tension mounted.

Six high hard ones later, Mad-Bum got Perez to pop up to Giants third baseman Pablo Sandoval, who joyfully squeezed the final out.

Unleashing all our pent-up energy, Larsen and I danced around the room and high-fived. Then I grabbed a meat tenderizer and started banging on a brass gong I keep for such occasions.

I don’t know what the neighbors thought, but we didn’t care. We were the champs.

The Costco scene

By John Murphy

I don’t plan my days. They just happen.

Sunday I needed boxes. So me and the CalTrans Girl got in the car and headed south.

Went by St. Adelaide’s Church. Empty. Past Starbucks … line of cars extending into street. Onto the freeway — the road was clear and the sky blue.

I took the San Bernardino Avenue turnoff and went past Aldi’s and Nike. Empty and empty. Past the Packing Shed Church. Not a peep.

We wound up at Costco. Good place for boxes, I thought.  

Costco had a different look on this day — it being the midst of the coronavirus pandemic and all. The lot was only half full, but there was a long line outside. Working class folks were double file all the way around the building.

Some had masks on, such as a lady with a Raiders cap next to a woman with a walker. I snapped a quick photo with my Smart phone and got an irritated look.

“Sir, you got a question about something?” a security officer asked me. “Because we can’t have you taking photos – this is private property.”

Whatev.

We hiked to the end where I chatted up line monitor Marques (no last name given).

How’s it going?

“Great,” Marques said. They’re letting people in about every 15 minutes. People are real talkative. They want to know what’s in the store, like have we run out of this or that.”

I ran into this quiet guy from San Bernardino named Daniel, buying for a household of nine. But his better half, rocking black hair with neon-yellow streaks, wouldn’t comment.

“I don’t feel comfortable,” she said.

Only Tony Hysell of San Bernardino, a Minnesota Vikings fan, fully identified himself.

“I hope they have flour,” Hysell said. “It’s hard to find flour. Everyone’s home with nothing to do, so they’re all baking I guess.”

Inside the store, women wearing masks underneath big pairs of sunglasses strode by. It was a scene. But we were on a mission, so we grabbed a rotisserie chicken and a bunch of boxes and headed out.

How was your Sunday?

How I got Allan Funt’s coat

By John Murphy

I have some really weird stuff.  

About the oddest item is an olive-colored western sports coat I bought about 35 years ago at the Goodwill Store in Watsonville.

My girlfriend at the time, Roseann, liked thrift stores. She got me hooked. I hit all the hotspots from Monterey to Santa Cruz.  

The coat is an arguably ugly color, has off-white stitching and a garish blue and red lining. I wouldn’t have bought it except for the label inside that says “Nudie’s Rodeo Taylors of North Hollywood, Ca.” and “Allan Funt.”

Allan Funt! Of Candid Camera fame. Could it be? Had to be. Nobody would fake that. So, I bought it for a song and have had it all these years, wearing it only a handful of times.

Curious about Funt, I recently put my Main Street Dog team of researchers (Wikipedia) on the case.

Funt was born in New York and graduated from high school at 15. He earned a Bachelor of Arts from Cornell – crucial preparation, of course, for creating a goofy TV show that spoofed folks by employing a hidden camera. Hey, I used to watch it. But then I used to watch F Troop and Green Acres too.

Funt died in 1999 — but it was 30 years earlier he caused mass confusion on an Eastern Airlines flight by simply being there. Two men hijacked the plane headed from Newark, NJ to Miami and demanded passage to Cuba. But some travelers, taking note of Funt’s presence, thought it was a gag. They learned otherwise when the plane landed in Cuba. Mojito anyone?

In later years Funt bought a large ranch south of Carmel near Big Sur. He taught a class at Monterey Peninsula College where I sometimes covered football games and later died in Pebble Beach – 30 miles or so from the Watsonville thrift store where I bought the coat.

I still have that baby too. And I’m sure in 20 years when someone pulls my gnarled, arthritic hands off my keyboard for the last time and puts me six feet under, one of my relatives will come across the coat and say, “Ya know, John really had some weird shit.”

My brush with Motley Crue

By John Murphy

Outside of famous athletes, I have met precious few celebrities, for lack of a better word.

One exception is Martha Davis of The Motels. She grew up in Berkeley with my former girlfriend from long ago, Mary McGrath (now Blyskal). We saw the Motels perform around 1979 or ’80 in Berkeley and did the whole backstage thing. It was pretty cool.  

Then there was the professional cheerleader, Krazy George Henderson. George was living in Capitola (near Santa Cruz) when I was in Watsonville. I wrote a story about him for the Watsonville Register-Pajaronian. His tale is memorable.

As a San Jose State student, he was into judo and became an All-American. He also followed Spartan football and one game with the aid of a bottle of tequila and a snare drum, he caused a ruckus at Spartan Stadium and sowed the seeds for his professional cheerleading career – a career that by the mid-1980s was netting him a six-figure annual salary. Hey, it’s good work if you can get it.

That leads me to the third character in my I-knew-them-when trilogy.  

George Henderson took some of his cheerleading money and bought this joint in Aptos that had experienced several reincarnations, including an Irish pub I had frequented a time or two. He dubbed it “Krazy’s” and it became one of the early prominent sports bars in the Monterey Bay Area.

I lived not too far away and happened by there one afternoon. I was sitting at the bar minding my own business when I noticed a bearded guy to my left who looked interesting. So we started chatting and he was surprised to learn I was a sports editor at a nearby newspaper and I was stunned to learn he was … Doc McGhee, the manager for Motley Crue!

McGhee had also managed or went on to manage such acts as Pat Travers, Bon Jovi, Guns N’ Roses, Kiss, Night Ranger and too many others to mention.    

“Hmmm, Motley Crue,” I thought to myself. Vince Neil, Nikki Sixx, Mick Mars and Tommy Lee … is this the bloke who’s really in charge of these reprobates?

Well, Doc or whomever bought me a refreshment. Then another. He explained he was in town to ask Krazy George to introduce the Crue in his inimitable fashion at an upcoming concert. It sounded plausible.

Quite the storyteller, he regaled me with tales from the road and his difficulties in managing the boys. I especially recall a story about  Vince Neil or one of them roaming the aisle of a bullet train in Japan with a half gallon of whiskey, spilling it on innocent folks on purpose. Now that’s not safe distancing! And it wasn’t real cool in Japan in the mid-1980’s either, getting him bounced off the train.

My head was spinning now as I turned the stories over in my journalist head. It all sounded rather fanciful, then again the gent had just bought me several expensive refreshments. Finally, I shook his hand and thanked him, rose to my feet and headed into a bright Monterey Bay afternoon.

And when I did, there parked diagonally in the Krazy’s parking lot was possibly the largest limousine I had ever seen in my life, waiting to whisk Mr. Doc McGhee away! Go figure.

The All-County football team from Hell

Back in 2000, then Miller football coach John Tyree (second, from right) was the cantankerous coach of the Rebels who sometimes gave sportswriters an earful, too.

Photo courtesy of @IESportsNet

By John Murphy

Now that the winter prep sports season has ended the lists are coming out. All-area basketball, wrestling, soccer and more. It’s an exciting time for athletes being honored.

My first experience with an honor squad was the 2000 All-San Bernardino County football team. That was my baby … sort of.  

First off, it being my first year, I didn’t know the team was to be published a week after the season ended.  

So I was sitting at my work station on a Monday at the old Sun building on 3rd and D Street when sports editor Paul Oberjuergue told me by phone of my impending deadline. I’m sure my face turned white.

I got so freaked out that I just went home. It seemed like a good idea at the time.  

By Tuesday morning I had recovered enough to assess the challenge – four days left and 24 players to select, mug shots to attain, capsules to write and a player of the year story to produce. Hmmmm.

“I don’t think this is logistically possible,” I told Paul O over the phone.

“Well, it sounds like you didn’t get much done yesterday,” he said.

Good point. Duly chastened, I went to work. Paul O had played high school football and knew the sport, so he gave me a skeleton list of players and asked me to flesh it out.  

I called some go-to coaches and got some opinions and added those players to my boss’s list.

Rich Imbriani’s team at Cajon had won the San Andreas League title and he said he could deliver four players.

“Bring ‘em,” I said.    

The deal was a pain, though. There was no MaxPreps back then, no Smart phone cameras and no emails. Schools couldn’t send us photos, so I had the players all come in.

I set out a bowl of dollar-store cookies and some punch and players posed for mug shots and filled out forms while their parents and siblings waited.      

But not everyone showed. So a quick trip to Barstow netted me two players, then it was off to Upland to corral two more.  

Along about Thursday, Paul O called from his satellite office (home) and asked how things were going. I said, “Not bad, but instead of the Miller linebacker you gave me, I picked the other Miller guy; and I switched the Aquinas linebacker to tight end AND … ”

Crickets. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to do that! My temerity earned me a few stern ATEX messages from our leader over the next few days.  

No matter. By Sunday, the deal was done. The Sun All-County team – all 24 shining faces and the top player – appeared in the paper. A feeling of pride and relief washed over me … but it didn’t last.

The next week I was chatting on the phone with cantankerous former Miller coach John Tyree and, predictably, he didn’t cut me any slack.    

“Well, you screwed up the all-county football team pretty good,” Tyree said. “But it’s only your first year and you’ll probably get better at it.”

I could only laugh nervously — and wonder what other horrors awaited.

10 months in Hanford

It’s tough to beat a Central Valley sunset, such as this one I captured from outside of Selma on the way to a football camp.

By John Murphy

About eight years ago I decided to resign from the Riverside Press-Enterprise after three years there and 20 years at Southern California newspapers overall to take a job up north. It was a combination of reasons, really, one of which was to be closer to my mother in Oakland who was nearing 100 years old and in failing health.  

Thus, began a five-year odyssey during which I worked in San Jose, Half Moon Bay and, finally, Hanford in the Central Valley — a dry, hot patch of land 18 miles west of Visalia.

I was the sports department of the Selma Kingsburg Enterprise Recorder, a 1,000-circulation weekly newspaper that was based in Hanford. Sounds bizarre, but it was fun.

Hanford was interesting. It had a quaint downtown that included the old Fox Theater where many top names such as Dwight Yoakam and George Jones had played. There were stately buildings like the Kings County Courthouse (built in 1896), the Kings County Jail (1898) and a 1920s ice cream parlor, Superior Dairy, where high school teams liked to celebrate victories and birthdays.

The most intriguing area to me was the ancient Chinatown, home of the shuttered, but once famous Imperial Dynasty Restaurant and the the Taoist Temple (1893). I loved to roam around there taking photos and checking out the decaying buildings.

Pro basketball player Tyson Chandler was from Hanford. He grew up on a small farm there before moving with his family to San Bernardino where he starred at Arrowview Middle School — before getting whisked off to play out of the area.

The Central Valley schools I covered were Selma and Kingsburg. Both had some excellent teams, with Selma winning five section titles and nabbing the state girls wrestling title while I was there; and Kingsburg excelling in girls soccer, volleyball and aquatics, while also producing a stud football player named Bo Jackson. I had some fun with that one.

Overall, I really enjoyed my time in the Central Valley – the athletic directors and coaches were cool and the kids and their parents about the same as anywhere else. Lots of just friendly, down-to-Earth folks.   

PLUS, I got to interview and write a large feature about Olympic champion and renaissance man Rafer Johnson of Kingsburg – which made my 10 months in Hanford all worthwhile but is probably a story for another day.    

Social distancing with the fellas

Summit High teacher Perry Amador (right) practices social distancing with his son Patrick on Tuesday in Redlands.

By John Murphy

Tuesday the CalTrans Girl was working from home and I decided that, strange as it may seem, she might need a break from me.

So I headed from Highland across the wash to Perry Amador’s house in the University Grove section of Redlands. Perry is a Summit High PE teacher and he has three of his kids – all home from school because of the coronavirus scourge  – on a schedule that includes schoolwork and twice-a-day walks.

I signed up for the walking portion and we set out at 3 p.m. into the neighborhood, which I immediately noticed did not include as many tattoo parlors and thrift stores as my old ‘hood down near the freeway.  

“Look, a coyote!,” Perry’s son Patrick said, pointing toward the backyard of a house.

“Got you!” Patrick added with a laugh as he tricked his dad into looking.  

And so it went as we made our way past large houses, past moms pushing babies in strollers and eventually came upon a street lined with fragrant orange trees. Yes, there are still orange trees in Redlands!

So I decided to take a few snaps of Perry and Patrick by some orange trees before they all disappear for good. We also had fun exploring an empty field that may or may have contained the remnants of an old smudge pot AND found a baseball.

The coronavirus threat is awful no doubt, but I’m hoping a silver lining will be parents taking their children out into nature instead of keeping them cooped up inside watching TV and playing video games.

But if you do venture out, folks, remember SOCIAL DISTANCING. Six feet! At least until this nightmare is over.  

Crisis postpones her Texas wedding, but Redlands High grad maintains

Photo courtesy of April Rew/Local Nomad Photo

By John Murphy

I shouldn’t have been surprised last week but I was. Surprised, that is, the Texas wedding of Redlands High graduate Felicia “Mafel” Lopez and college sweetheart Tenari Tenari of Long Beach has been postponed.

Why? That dreaded novel coronavirus, of course.

Full disclosure, Mafel is my unofficial daughter-in-law since her mom, Maria, is my longtime girl friend.

“Alright alright alright, so we have some news: We made the very difficult decision to postpone our wedding celebration,” Mafel said on the couple’s wedding site. “This was going to be a special day that is years in the making, the last year being spent on planning a beautiful event that not only celebrated us, but you as well.”

The main issues for the Allen, Texas residents were travel and the inability of guests from Southern California to fly to the Dallas/Fort Worth area — as well as following the directives of the Center for Disease Control to not let too many people gather.

It all adds up to a bummer – at least temporarily – for the couple who met while taking computer-related classes at UC-Riverside. Both now work in Plano.

“At first, I didn’t really think about COVID-19 affecting my wedding, until events and places like Coachella and Disneyland started closing or being postponed,” Mafel said.

Dashed along with the April ceremony were plans for Mafel’s grandmother, Aurora, to transform fabric and lace into a beautiful wedding gown.   

So did the young woman go full Bride-zilla with the development? Hardly. But she did say it was painful.

“I was on autopilot the rest of the week,” she said. “It was not until the end of the week when I had nothing left to do (that) my emotions caught up to me. I cried that night.”

By the next morning she had moved ahead — tackling home improvement projects with her fiance to keep her minds off things.

Speaking as the unofficial father-in-law, I am proud of the young woman I first met when she was just 14, handling things with such clarity and poise.

Said Mafel, “It’s sad to think that a lot of work was put into this, but it doesn’t mean it won’t happen. I read somewhere that postponing is like being given a gift that you can’t open, but you just gotta wait a little bit more to open it.”