Pennies From Heaven

 When we were cleaning out my brother’s home in September of 2020, we found coins—mostly pennies but a few dimes, nickels, and quarters, too--EVERYWHERE. They were in drawers, on every flat surface, in containers, and under the sofa cushions. His nightstand was piled with them, and they overflowed on the floor. When his friend emptied the closet, he found some in rolls. I told him to take them to his bank and deposit them in his account.

We put the loose ones in a jar and brought them home. After they were all rolled, we had over $50 in change. The bank was delighted to have it.

I NEVER carry change. I pay for most things with credit cards, rarely with cash. If I occasionally get change from a purchase, I put it in a piggy bank I keep at home just to avoid carrying the heavy stuff around.

As we left Ron’s place on the last day, I turned to Larry. “I expect to find coins from time to time from my brother.”

I have.

A month or so later, I walked out to put some trash in the bin. I looked down and found a penny. Just then, two dragonflies flew by closer to me than I have ever seen them. I remembered the scene Larry had written in Dominic Drive describing chasing them as a boy. This was the book Ron started and we finished. I took this appearance of a coin on my driveway and the dragonflies to indicate Ron was happy with the book.

In July of 2021, we attended our first writing conference in several years. As we left the hotel, I looked down. There was a shiny quarter. During the conference, we had been talking about Dominic Drive. I presumed my brother was happy.

Another morning, I met a friend at the marina for our early morning walk. As I opened the car door, I spotted a quarter. We had made a large donation to City of Hope in Ron’s memory shortly before, and I presumed he was glad about it. (His doctor, who took great care of him, was affiliated with the hospital.)

Ever since Ron died, I have been in touch with his precious neighbor. She really cared for him and took him meals about once a week because she knew he wasn’t eating well.

Ron disliked small children, but he made an exception for her son, Chris. Ron thought of this boy as his buddy. They got together to talk about cars. He had mentioned this young man several times in conversation. In fact, he talked about him during our last phone call.

Ron had LOTS of “toys”—mostly RC cars, car models, etc. When we found those, I put them out on the porch and told Chris he could take whatever he wanted. He did.

Ron also loved the family dog. She would occasionally escape. They never had to wonder where she was. Ron never closed his sliding door. Several times while we were talking on the phone, he would interrupt. “Here’s my dog. I have to go.”

He loved the dog, and she loved him.

Just over a month after Ron died, the dog died as well. I felt sorry for the whole family, but especially for Chris. First, he’d lost his buddy and then his dog.

The story grew worse, however. In January of 2021, his father was killed in a drive-by shooting as he was leaving his aunt’s house. The killer has never been caught.

This was the same dear, sweet family man who had discovered Ron’s body the morning he died.

I checked in with his wife from time to time and made a couple of donations in Ron’s name to the Go Fund Me account, which was started for the family.

I heard from her in early December. She said the holidays would be rough. Larry and I decided that we would send them a nice check so the kids would have a little extra for Christmas.

The next day, as I got out of my car at the marina, there was a quarter next to the car on the ground. Yep. He was happy about our decision. I told her the story and said the gift was from Ron. (I inherited all his assets, so this was the truth.)

Last week when we were at Disneyland, we had a long wait for the monorail. While we waited, we talked to another man who, like us, had been to Disneyland in the early years and continued to go often. We told him about the description in the book of a family trip to Disneyland in 1964.

When we reached our car at the end of the day, right next to my door was a shiny penny from 2020 (the year he died). It definitely hadn’t been there when we left the car earlier in the day. Yep, he was happy we were talking about the book he had imagined.

I have been putting “Ron’s” coins in the cup holder in the car.

They make me smile whenever I see them. So far, I have found three quarters and two pennies. Each came at a significant time. Maybe they were just coincidence, but I like to think they are messages from my brother.

I have other friends who believe they receive indications that their loved ones are still around. One sees butterflies. Another spots purple flowers and cardinals. Still another told me about seeing two birds at her kitchen window each morning for months. She felt they were there to let her know that her son and husband were together.

Have you ever had signs from a loved one? What were they?

ABOUT THE BANANA

In completing the book, Dominic Drive, the one my brother, Rockin’ Ron Lund, started, we include a story about a surfboard. We called it the Banana. It was based on a real surfboard called the Jolly Green Giant.

As described in the book, “It’s a big, ugly yellow [green] board. Most of the guys in the neighborhood learned to surf on it.” This was true. We don’t remember who owned it before Larry or who he sold it to. (Maybe Tom Closser?) Unfortunately, Ron would probably know. He might also know if it was still around and who had it and who the succession of owners were! But he isn’t here to ask.

The one thing we do know is that everyone who bought or sold it paid (or got) twenty-five dollars for the transaction. Every time. No exceptions.

The board had a yellow fin, so when Larry owned it, he cut out pictures of the character from a couple of can labels and epoxied one on each side—just so there would be no confusion about the board’s moniker.

Rockin’ Ron Lund and the Jolly Green Giant

I don’t know if Ron ever actually owned it. This photo might have been taken when Larry owned the board. My brother-in-love, Casey, said he remembers only once when Ron went to Doheny with them. He said he saw Ron start to paddle out, but he doesn’t remember him ever riding a wave in.

Like the character of Dan in the book, he may have tried it a couple of times, but he wasn’t interested in learning how to do it. He’d much preferred to ride his bicycle or drive around in an old car.

He did own a couple of longboards, though. When he got his first classic station wagon, he said he wanted a longboard or two to stick out through the back window.

Larry had an old Gordie his friend, Randy Kiefer, left with us when he moved to Las Vegas. A few years later, we saw him when he came back to California to visit his mother. Larry suggested he take his board back with him.

“Heck, no. You keep it. I’ll never use it again.”

So, it languished in our garage for years. When Ron said he wanted a longboard, Larry offered him Randy’s. He also let him have his own old blue Hobie. Ron put them on his cars for special occasions.

Ron with his VW at his 50^th high school class reunion

In telling the story of Dominic Drive, the tale of the Joly Green Giant (the Banana) was just too good not to include.

Do any of you remember it? Did anyone own it? Do you know what happened to it? Learn more about it in the book

 

Growing up in the Midwick Tract

Today’s blog is from my husband and partner-in-crime, Larry K. Collins.

Working on the publication of my brother-in law, Ron Lund’s, book, Dominic Drive, brought back memories of growing up in the Midwick Tract in Alhambra, California. I previously blogged about mowing lawns there as a kid. (Lorna’s blog dated: October 9, 2020)

First, a little history:

In 1912, an area of rolling hills between Alhambra and Monterey Park, originally used as a sheep pasture, was purchased by a group of wealthy businessmen to become the Midwick Country Club. The exclusive club featured a regulation-size polo field, two smaller polo fields, a professional eighteen-hole golf course, a massive clubhouse, tennis courts, and a swimming pool. It soon became the meeting place for the rich and famous, including Will Rogers, Hal Roach, David Niven, Spencer Tracy, and Walt Disney. King George V stopped by to play polo, and Sam Snead and Bing Crosby could often be found on the fairways. Membership was expensive and exclusive, restricted to whites only.

The great depression and wars caused the membership to decline. When the club defaulted on a loan in 1941, an Italian immigrant, named Dominic Jebbia, quickly picked up the property at auction.

Jebbia, known as the “Banana King,” had amassed a fortune importing bananas and other fruit. It was rumored he bought Midwick because his membership application was turned down, however he always denied the rumor.

For several years, he spent his weekends selling hot dogs from a stand at the ninth hole. Most golfers didn’t know the cigar-chewing vendor in milkman pants, wrinkled white shirt, and knit vest was the owner.

On May 3, 1944 (one month after I was born) the clubhouse was destroyed by fire. Soon, Dominic decided to subdivide the property.

Midwick 1932

Midwick Tract 1953

My family moved into a brand-new tract home in 1949. Our house on Hitchcock Drive (named for a famous polo player) was at the edge of the second construction phase. Across the street, were the remains of the abandoned golf course. It became my playground until the third phase was built several years later. I lived there until I married Lorna and we moved into our own apartment in 1965.

As a teenager, I surfed with Philip “Flip” Jebbia, Dominic’s grandson. Occasionally, I was invited to the Jebbia home for their spectacular Sunday brunch. It featured omelets cooked to order, and a rich buffet of fruits, breads, and assorted sweets. In the center of the dining room, hung over the table, was always a full cluster containing several hands of bananas. Guests were encouraged to help themselves. The Jebbias provided brunch every Sunday following church for twenty-to-forty people.

Ron Lund’s book, Dominic Drive, is a fictional account of life in the late fifties and early sixties and takes much of its inspiration and events from his own life growing up in the Midwick tract. The title is a tribute to Dominic Jebbia.

 

*Thanks to an article by Cecilia Rasmussen in the 1993 LA Times, Metro Section, for some historic details from before I was born.

Dominic Drive is the coming-of-age story of Charlie Williams, a young man who has a difficult childhood but who remains optimistic and hopeful, told through the eyes of another young man who becomes as close as a brother to him. Set in the late 1950s and early 1960s, it captures life in a post-WWII community.

It is now available on Amazon.

 

About the Authors

RONALD TRAVIS LUND—known as “Rockin’ Ron” to his friends—was born in Alhambra, California on May 29, 1949. He lived there until December of 1981, when he moved to Covina, California. He died there in his sleep on August 31, 2020. This is his first and only book.

LORNA and LARRY K. COLLINS are multi-published authors in several genres.