Nightmare at the ‘Stick

Roger Staubach led the Cowboys to a big comeback over the 49ers in a 1972 divisional playoff game at Candlestick.

By John Murphy

The other day I was tooling up the 210 freeway to my elementary school gig in Fontana when I saw it: A vehicle with twin decals on the back window. One was the Los Angeles Dodgers’ “LA” and the other the “star” of the Dallas Cowboys.

I considered, for a split second, ramming this innocent driver’s car with my late-model Toyota. Then I got a grip and drove on.

The Dodgers won the 2020 World Series and I salute them. They were the best team. But as a third-generation native San Franciscan, I wasn’t pleased.

The Cowboys are an even greater evil. My antipathy dates to Dec. 23, 1972. The 49ers hosted the Cowboys in a divisional playoff game at Candlestick Park. San Francisco had defeated Dallas 31-10 on Thanksgiving Day but had lost to the Cowboys in the NFC title game in 1970 and ’71. This was going to be a good one.

I mentioned to my late dad that it would be great to go. Somehow, he secured a couple of tickets. We drove out to the ‘Stick on a cool day to watch John Brodie and Gene Washington and the guys do their thing.

It was all going so well. Vic Washington returned the opening kickoff 97 yards for a touchdown. And the 49ers led 28-13 entering the fourth quarter. But then Cowboys coach Tom Landry replaced struggling quarterback Craig Morton with Roger Staubach. The rest is history. The Cowboys kicked a field goal. Then they scored on a 20-yard touchdown pass with 90 seconds left. Then the unthinkable … an onside kick bounced off 49er receiver Preston Riley and the Cowboys recovered. Less than a minute later Staubach tossed another TD pass and the Cowboys had won.

The Dallas players jumped and hugged and rolled around Candlestick’s dreadful artificial turf. There was almost no sound in the stadium as they exulted. It was surreal.

The Faithful were mostly silent as we trudged through the ramps leading out of the stadium.  

The agony was not over. Returning to the parking lot, my dad turned the ignition on his Oldsmobile and the engine light went on. Dang. We then sat in the dank parking lot until it was nearly empty, waiting for a tow truck to take us to a Hunters Point gas station. It wasn’t our day.  

Good-bye, San Bruno Rec

Many a San Bruno youth learned to play basketball at San Bruno Rec, dribbling through cones and practicing lay-ups.

By John Murphy

The other day I received a text from my brother Jim. It said, “What years did the Warriors practice at the San Bruno Rec? They are going to raze the current facility and pool and replace it with money from the PG&E fire settlement.”

If this wasn’t a writing prompt, then I don’t know one. The San Bruno Rec – or Veterans Memorial Recreation Center as it’s officially named – was my life as a kid.

Growing up in San Bruno, then a middle-class suburb of almost impossible simplicity, San Bruno Park and its venerable rec center were the hub. The rec is where we went to shoot baskets, play pool and hang out.

The rec was also our home court. It’s where Menlo School basketball coach Keith Larsen and I played our games for St. Robert’s School. It’s where I cracked my two front teeth on the floor during a sixth-grade practice.

The Golden State Warriors also practiced at the rec. When I was a kid you knew the Warriors were there because Nate Thurmond’s maroon Rolls Royce was parked in front. We’d scurry over to see our heroes like Thurmond, Jeff Mullins and Rick Barry play and coach Al Attles with that deep baritone voice direct traffic.

One day at a Warriors’ practice, the power went out. Warriors star Jerry Lucas came over and sat right next to me. He was nice. I think he asked how old I was and if I played ball. It was a thrill.

The best player ever from the rec was Mike Mitchell. He starred at St. Robert’s and at Capuchino High where he scored 50-plus points in two consecutive home games. The amazing thing was, fans walked away talking about his tremendous passing. He got a full ride from coach Digger Phelps at Notre Dame and later became the CEO of Dreyer’s Ice Cream.  

So they’re going to tear down the rec, huh? It’s part of the $70 million in restitution from Pacific Gas and Electric Co. for the 2010 pipeline explosion that killed eight and destroyed 38 homes.

It’s a good thing, I guess. The building is cramped and antiquated. The outdoor pool next door is sub-par. But, I wonder, will the new gym have the same soul? Hmmm. We’ll see.

At the rec, with the fellas … that’s (left to right in back row) rec leader Paul Accinelli, me, the late Joe Krumm, Keith Larsen and rec leader Jim Beck. Front row is Mitch Fontaine and Mike Mitchell.

Sunday rider

Tough to beat the view from Terracina Avenue on a clear Sunday morning.

By John Murphy

Sunday morning it was pitch black as I flew down Boulder Avenue on my retooled bicycle, headed from Highland to Redlands.  

It’s a rough, two-lane road and as loud rock music poured through my earbuds, I had a thought. Rocking all dark colors and without a headlight and unable to see what’s coming from behind, this was not the safest thing to do.

But I arrived in R-Town unharmed and one of my first stops was the El Nayar Bakery on Orange Street. It’s a must stop for for tamales and the line was out the door. As I parked my bike I watched three masked friends greet each other with elbow bumps, a very pandemic-like thing to do.

Inside I ordered two cheese tamales and consumed one on the spot. It was creamy and had a nice kick. Paired with a Mexican Coke, you can’t go wrong.  

Onward I rode through the downtown area. I left the old Fox Theater in my wake and took a right on Olive Avenue. From there it was a straight shot to Terracina where I photographed the Morey Mansion for the umpteenth time. My crack research team said it was built in 1890 and there is no known architect. A pity.   

Tooling along Terracina I heard a hearty “good morning”  from a bicyclist who zipped past me. “Uh, hey – how’s it going?” I said, as he disappeared just beyond Redlands Community Hospital.  

I was in a nice rhythm now, taking a left on Fern and following it all the way to Redlands High School. I rode by the well-secured South Campus and crossed the street to find – ta-da – an open gate. Naturally, I entered. This allowed me to explore Dodge Field in all its splendor.

Around the track I went on my Schwinn Voyageur. I took photos, learned Redlands won a state track title in 1918 and scurried up the stands to enjoy a breathtaking view. It was fun.

Then I was off, retracing my route until I was back in Highland. Best thing was, I had one tamale left.  

Senior moment

Yeah, I know I look dorky in this helmet I’m not wearing correctly, but it was my first ride.

By John Murphy

The other day I told of walking from Highland to Redlands to pick up my refurbished bike.

Friday night I took my first ride, trekking from our home in the St. Adelaide’s area of Highland out to Tippecanoe Avenue in San Bernardino. Round-trip it’s 6.4 miles, or slightly more than a 10-kilometer footrace.

I wasn’t sure where in Highland I’d ride because our neighborhood is hilly. But I wound up crossing Palm and getting onto 9th Street. From there it’s a flat, straight shot out to Tippecanoe.

It felt good around 5 p.m. cutting through the cool air on my retooled Schwinn Voyageur. It reminded me of when I was a teen-ager and I’d ride my Raleigh 10-speed around San Bruno or down to Millbrae to play baseball games.

Props to Redlands’ Cyclery USA which replaced seemingly everything on this used bike and has it running like a dream. Well worth the $288 I plunked down.    

Riding a bike is more invigorating but also scarier than walking. It seems like it’s a law in Highland and nearby San Bernardino that homeowners own at least one big, angry dog. Tooling along at dusk down some lonely streets, I was thankful fences separated me from these canines. Otherwise, I’d be dead.   

I also knew I looked more than a little Forrest Gump-like, being a big, goofy white guy on a Schwinn bike whisking through a predominantly Latino area. It was all good until the return trip from Tippecanoe as I headed up a closed road near Indian Springs High School.

I was approaching a concrete barrier and applying the brakes when I went off a curb I couldn’t see in the dark. Splat. I tumbled off the bike right onto my big senior citizen butt. Oh, the embarrassment.

“You OK bro,” I heard a kid in the distance yelling. “Are you all right?”     

“Yeah, I’m OK,” I said as I struggled to my feet. The polite teens walked on with their skateboards tucked under their arms … and I pedaled toward home, properly humbled.   

Memory Lane, Berdoo style

Downtown San Bernardino has seen better days, but it’s still fun to visit and has more than a few fascinating old landmarks.

By John Murphy

Sunday I eschewed Redlands and got my walking fix in downtown San Bernardino.

Berdoo old-timers call it. Or “Dino” as the young kids like to say.

It’s a tough town. Seen better days. In 1977 it was named an All-American City. But three recessions around the end of the 20th century and start of the new millennium took their toll.

Now the downtown area is a shadow of its former self. But it’s where I worked as a sportswriter for the San Bernardino Sun from 2000 to 2009. So I have fond memories of the area, my old boss Paul Oberjuerge and my former co-workers.

The Sun building had its quirks though. It took up an entire city block and was built on the site of the old Fox Theater and a former hotel. The place was ancient and had more than its share of pests (besides the publisher and editors). They included cockroaches, rodents and bats. Yes, bats.

Passing the Sun I eventually reached the majestic San Bernardino County Court House, built in 1926. I’ve appeared there a time or two, but nothing serious.

Next to the courthouse is the San Bernardino County Government Center. Back in the day it had a cafeteria. I recall in September of 2000 having lunch there with the previous Sun prep sports editor, Louis Amestoy. I quizzed Louis about the job he was leaving and wrestled with my decision about taking it. Eventually I did and that’s how I got to work with such wonderful people as Oberjuerge, Chuck Hickey,  Brian Goff, Suzie Ahn, Chris Wiley, Mirjam Swanson, Dennis Pope, Derek Rich, Michelle Pereda, Mark Reinhiller, Michelle Gardner, Harvey Cohen, Danny Summers, James Curran and the rest.

Having circled the old Sun, I headed down North D Street and took a right on Court. Good to see Molly’s Café still there and featuring a burger-and-drink special for $3.99. Then I padded past an ornate building that used to be a sports bar (I don’t recall the name) and past the equally old and beautiful American Trust Building where a pawn shop resides.

Hanging a right at E Street I eventually came upon the spectacular California Theatre at 562 W. 4th Street. The old girl was part of the Fox Theatre chain and opened in 1928. Can’t say I’ve been inside, but I’ve read it still has its original Wurlitzer Style 218 pipe organ. Humorist Will Rogers gave his last performance there before dying in a plane crash in 1935.

The dark skies had opened now and it was pouring rain, but I trudged on. My trek took me around the Rosa Parks Memorial Building on W. 4th Street, past Franky’s Donuts and Deli and then back to my car.

Out of the cold and rain at last, I checked the Fit app on my phone and saw I only walked a mile. But it was a pleasant stroll down memory lane and it’s one I’ll surely take again.

The Rendezcous Back to Route 66 car show in downtown San Bernardino was canceled this year due to the pandemic.

Fifteen minutes of fame

Back in the 1960s and the 70s, the Warriors practiced at San Bruno War Memorial Gym where I played as a kid.

By John Murphy

You’ve heard of “15 minutes of fame?” Well, this was mine.

Back in 1975, when I was 19, the Golden State Warriors swept the Washington Bullets four games to zero to win the National Basketball Association title. My friends Keith Larsen and Steve O’Brien and I were giddy.

I will never forget Game 4 with the Warriors on the cusp of the title. A TV camera focused on Golden State coach Al Attles in the huddle with the game and title already secure.

“When the game ends,” Attles said in his deep baritone voice, “Somebody grab Barry’s kid and we’ll go out that tunnel.”   

The Warriors won and the Bay Area flipped. Then word leaked the Warriors’ plane coming back from DC would land at San Francisco International Airport. Well, that’s right where we lived and we just HAD to go.

So it was we wound up on the tarmac at SFO waiting for the plane to arrive and our heroes to emerge. It didn’t take long.

The big bird pulled in and the Warriors disembarked … Rick Barry, Clifford Ray, Keith Wilkes, Bill Bridges, Derrek Dickey and the rest. A stage was set up and the plan was for the team to gather there for a few brief speeches.

Well, there might have been a few Lucky Lagers involved … because as the Warriors strode from the plane to the stage, I got a brilliant idea. I ducked underneath a rope and hopped up on the stage with the champs.

“Look at Murph!” I could hear my buddy O’Brien screeching in his high-pitched voice. “What’s he doing up there? How’d he get up there?”  

Intoxicated by victory and cheap beer, I was in all my glory. I stood with my oversized new friends and waved at the cheering crowd … then nodded at my disbelieving pals who could only shake their heads in amazement.  

It was all great fun until a Warriors’ PR type noticed and gave me the boot. Didn’t matter. I had my 15 minutes of fame and a story to tell for the ages. What a night.  

New addition

By John Murphy

More coveted than clean water or hand sanitizer in these pandemic days are dogs. Man’s best friend. Everybody wants one, it seems.

So the CalTrans Girl and I were tickled Saturday morning when the Devore Animal Shelter called and said they had a pooch for us – a 3-year-old, toy poodle/terrier mix named Nadia. She was found with another small dog running loose in an unincorporated area of San Bernardino.

The dog was advertised on the shelter’s site and we expressed interest along with some other folks. A lottery was held and we finished fourth – but were moved up the ladder because the winner pulled a no-show and two others didn’t answer the phone. You snooze, you lose.

So it was that we tooled up the 210 freeway Saturday afternoon and took the Kendall turnoff.

“Go through that door and wait in the cubicle on the right,” the shelter volunteer said. Five minutes later a woman named Melissa led a skittish, unkempt mutt into the cubicle who was at first curious, then decided to turn tail and run. We didn’t take it personally.

Melissa rounded up the shy canine and brought her back. I got down on her level so I wouldn’t be so imposing and pet her dirty, matted fur.

“Who’s a good dog?” I mindlessly asked. She responded by licking my hand, a good sign.

Then I gathered up the scrawny dog and delivered her to the CT Girl. It would be her dog after all. That works well for me as I won’t have to buy her food or clean up poop. I’ll take her for some walks though, as I’m OK doing the fun stuff.

The meet-and-greet went well and it’s a match. We have a dog! We changed her name to Miya and will pick her up Monday at a pet hospital in Highland.

This fills a void for the CT Girl who misses her old pooches, Bert and Beya — who both died of old age within the past few years.   

My better half has been on Cloud 9 since the adoption and has even stopped hammering me for all the wrong stuff I do. I think I love this dog already.

Morning rush

By John Murphy

Awakened this morning and glanced at the alarm clock. The four-inch high numbers said “4:00” – damned early, but I didn’t care. It was time for my morning walk.   

I rose and put on the exact same clothes I was wearing Saturday, right down to the socks and underwear. Figured I could squeeze an extra half-day out of them.

Then I padded through the kitchen, grabbed a bottled water and opened the front door. A bright full moon greeted me in all its post-Halloween splendor.

Tooling up Base Line Street in my Corolla, I saw the AM-PM in this distance. My morning cup of coffee awaited.  

“Hey, how’s it going?” I said to the security guard,” as I entered the store. Then I fell into line behind a portly woman with three bags of chips spread out on the counter. “Pack of Camels” she said to the clerk. I shook my head in amazement.

Forty-seven cent cup of joe now in hand, I left AM-PM and drove across the vacant Fitness 19 parking lot and onto Boulder Avenue. From there I headed south toward Redlands where on the way I passed not one, not two, but THREE drivers pulled over to the side of the road with their emergency lights flashing. Stranded motorists, no doubt.

I could have stopped and helped, but I didn’t. Needed to get my miles in.

Role model

My three older siblings — brother Jim and sisters Cathy (middle) and Anne. Cathy is married now to husband Joe Fama and lives in San Bruno.

By John Murphy

Other than my parents, my first real glimpse of success was of my oldest sibling, Cathy.  

My best times with Cathy came when I was a pre-teen when she’d take my buddy Keith Larsen and me to University of San Francisco basketball games. We’d watch stars like Dennis Black and Pete Cross do their thing, then repair to Front Room Pizza for a pie.

Cathy studied nursing at USF and I saw her inner toughness as she poured over her thick nursing books, yellow highlighter in hand. When I asked her what she chose to highlight she said, “Anything I don’t understand.”

Once my big sis became a nurse, I recognized her generosity as she bought me thoughtful and expensive gifts – a wristwatch on my birthday and a portable typewriter to write my newspaper stories.

Cathy still followed USF basketball after graduation. And in 1971 or ’72 she took me to a game against Santa Clara University at San Jose Civic Auditorium. This was a big deal. The schools are bitter rivals and my brother Jim, then an SCU student, would be there.   

My sis wanted it to be a special night, so she whisked me to San Jose’s 5-spot Drive-In. It’s now a Mexican restaurant but back then was like something out of American Graffiti. It was all good until it took an hour to get our chili burgers. Ah, well.

Then it was game time. Spirits were high. Two revved-up cheering sections. Nine or 10 fistfights. And the Dons and Broncos battling.  

San Francisco dominated most of the game as its dandy of a coach, Bob Gaillard, watched. The Dons led by 10 or so with 3-4 minutes left.

Then the unthinkable. Santa Clara started fouling, USF missed free throws and the Broncos roared to victory.   

Don fans were downcast as we filed out. Then we ran into my brother who may have gloated a bit.

Cathy seethed. It wasn’t her night. But I left knowing that anybody who’d go through all that for me, has her heart in the right place. Always has.  

San Jose’s famous 5-spot Drive-In at last glance was known as the Chivas Grill.

Blue-collar hero

Redlands High grad Rick Gonzales is the self-described “clean-up guy” at Saverino’s Deli and helps hobbled senior citizens when he can.

By John Murphy

Tuesday I left my Fontana school job and headed for Redlands. Needed to get some miles in.

I parked near the Foamy Car Wash on West Redlands Blvd. and then set out. It was hot but I had my Hydra Flask.

I strolled past the sprawling grounds of ESRI and saw Latino gardeners toiling there. Brutal work. I don’t know where we’d be without them.    

I took a left on Tennessee Street and ambled past Redlands Adventist Academy and Arrowhead Christian across the street. ACA had a banner out front, celebrating its section basketball champs.

I trudged up Tennessee past Carolyn’s Café and headed back on Brookside toward the car wash. Along the way I noticed more blue-collar workers – delivery guys for Fed Ex and UPS, getting their jobs done without fanfare.

I was near the end of my trek and my left knee ached. I took a seat in front of Saverino’s Deli on West State Street and rested. But self-described Saverino’s “clean-up guy” Rick Gonzales was collecting the outdoor furniture. It was closing time.

“Would you like me to leave a chair and a table out here for a while, sir?” said Rick, dressed all in black.    

“Nah, that’s OK,” I said. “I’m all right.” Then I got up and limped way.  

Twenty yards later I heard someone chasing me down. It was Rick with a large Styrofoam cup of ice water for me. What a guy!

“Why are you doing this?” I said.

“You look like you need it, sir,” he said.

Yeah, I did. So thanks to Rick Gonzales, the Redlands High grad and ex-Loma Linda University helipad team member. I don’t know much about him but he was my hero this day.