Back in 1966, I was continuing my father’s “I Say” column at the Daily News at a time when he was still required to pay for it, as he did not want the Editor at the time to edit his work. But then along came Jim McGiffin as Editor and Publisher and he began paying me for writing the column.  An editorial of Jim’s explains what was going on at the time.

            “Mr. Minch And A Calculated Risk.

            Not long ago our columnist, Bob Minch, (my given name of Robert had not yet been established by the media) remarked that it was easy to get something in the paper…all you had to do was pay for it. And, this he does, as regularly as clockwork, to the delight of the owner of the News. And to the delight of News readers apparently, for Tom Oliver, who lives on Rt.2, Red Bluff, throws a few bouquets Mr. Minch’s way as evidenced by Oliver’s comments reprinted below.”

            ‘To The Editor: I don’t know whether or not Mr. Minch’s column is in his own commercial interest in your paper or you publish it for its own fine value in subtle humor, but neither purpose distracts from it. I sincerely believe you or he should enlarge it. I find a local man, putting together local events in an amusing fashion quite warmly different! I’m sure others do too. Signed, Tom Oliver.’

            “Now, there is an obviously calculated risk in the publishing of such complimentary remarks about Mr. Minch’s writing. He may take the attitude that the News should be paying him instead of the reverse.  But knowing Mr. Minch as the complete spendthrift that he is , unconcerned with the value of the dollar and completely oblivious to fiscal matters, we’re certain, or almost so, that he will continue to divvy up with nary a murmur. Meanwhile, some of his other readers may wish to comment. Surely not all of ‘em find his column that good. The News likes its balance of payments position unchanged.”

(Ed. Note. As great friends that we were, it was not until I defected to the Corning Daily Observer years later, that I became a paid columnist…and was eventually hired back by the Daily News on the basis of $20.00 per column. When I was then edited out of the DN and went to the Redding Searchlight, they upped the ante to $50.00 per column. But nothing is forever, and when they began picky and unwarranted editing, we dissolved our relationship. Too bad everything in life comes down to either control or money. Tsk, tsk.)

About 40 years ago, George William Selvester stopped me in one of the coolers at the old meat plant and said, “How’d you like a test?” He continued without my response, “I hear there is a fire trail that runs from Tomhead clear over to Forest Glen…and it runs through the Wilderness area for near 50 miles> Are you game?” Not wanting to hear later that he made the trip with somebody else, I said sure…and we took off one bright July 4th morning after having been dropped off at Saddle Camp with a pack horse and our gear. It was a trip to remember…and it was a test.

We made the trip in two days and were thankful for a well maintained fire trail through most of the way. We camped out the first night, fished a little and saw a black bear. The next day we worked our way west and north until we hit the south fork of the Trinity River…and then followed it the rest of the way to Forest Glen.

When we got back to civilization, the next day I found I was so stiff I could hardly walk. When I hobbled into the boning room where George was the manager, I told him that I had stumbled over a baby carriage in the dark that morning and got kinda banged up. He didn’t buy it and just smiled and said something like, “That was a quite a test, wasn’t it?”

I tell this story because my son Brandon is into physical fitness…and now he wants to take the trip with a buddy of his. I found a map and am checking with the Forest Service to see if the trails are still intact and maintained. If so, I will mark the map and start him off with a wish for a good trip, but George and I will sit this one out.

As a postscript to my years of association with George Selvester and his brothers, I knew that they came from the little town of Beegum and were familiar with the lore of the place. One spot of renown was called Deer Lick Springs. The water there gave off a strong sulfur smell and its waters were considered to be healthy and restorative. One day George brought back two gallons of the stuff and suggested we both give it a trial run and see what it could do for us. Each morning we were to drink a large tumbler of the stuff. About the 3rd day, I reported to George that it apparently did not agree with me… because each time I gagged it down…it came right back up. He said he was glad that I told him of my experience, because he was barffing every time he drank it himself. We promptly abandoned the project in those wonderful dog days of summer…many years ago.

Robert Minch

Senator D. Jack Metzger owned the building which Minch’s Grocery occupied during the 1930’s. He also owned the Blue Ribbon Café and Bar a few doors up the street. The Senator had to be one of the most fascinating personalities who ever strode the 600 block. First of all, he looked like a Senator.  He had a generous head of silver hair, a paunch that reflected dignity rather than gluttony, a white suit and vest which set him apart from other worthy citizens. Though my father respected him and supported him during his campaigns for re-election, he nevertheless treated the Senator with a good humored familiarity that made them fast friends.

A typical morning on the 600 block in the mid-thirties would find the Senator striding down Main Street, tipping his hat to the ladies. My father would be sweeping off the sidewalk in front of his store. Fred Pugh would be climbing the steps to his law office above Dale’s Insurance. Charlie Dale might be chatting with father. Dr. R.G. Frey would have stopped by from early hospital rounds. Frank Falls, on the corner to the south would be churning out the best ice cream our town had ever known….and debonair Bill Norvell would be opening his Rexall  Drug Store across the street and next to Fickert’s.  Early customers would be cuing up as Albert or Claus Trede would be opening up their saloon for another long day’s activity. The tap, tap sound on the northeast corner would be coming from Mr. Lingschied, hard at work at the cobbler’s trade.

And so, the block would come alive that morning long ago when the pace was slower and life seemed much simpler. It was an in-between time as far as war was concerned, and the economy had

Promise of coming out of the depression even though it would take years before production revved up for WWII.

I could go on and on but it may be pointless. To the youth of today (this written in 1969) it may be meaningless to resurrect…to adults, probably an incorrect description with too many omissions of other important people of that era. However, I am content with today…and yet enjoy the reverie of yesteryear. How’s that for a simple philosophy?

Robert Minch

In the old days, the contractors of choice for our meat plant work, was the firm of Dobson and Massey. They understood our needs and always did an excellent job. So, it was of more than passing interest to learn one Monday morning, years ago, that Vern Dobson’s son, Ron, had been killed in an auto wreck the day before.

We were stunned by the news, for he had been working on our plant addition for several weeks and we knew him well. Then, about 8:30 that Monday morning, Vern came into the office and said that it was not his son who had been killed…and yet, for 3 hours Sunday afternoon, Vern and his wife were led to believe their son had indeed died in a sports car crash! When Ron eventually called home to say he was alright, it was almost more than his parents could bear. Cases of mistaken identity are seldom, but when they occur, it must be very traumatic to all concerned. I wonder how I would react to a similar false report.

After the initial shock, I would probably regret ever having scolded my son or having denied him anything during his apparently short life. I would lament his unfulfilled potential. I would not be able to enter his room or pet his horse without choking up. Every night at the dinner table would show an empty chair.

And then, the miracle! He saunters into the house, throws himself on the couch and starts reading a funny book. When aware of the false report, he is embarrassed by our reaction and flood of affection. He has risen from the dead! What a joy. He will be spoiled rotten for a year. His sister will not rat on him for about two weeks. Later, the missus and I will realize we have survived another crisis and that our family is still intact.

The Bert Bosse Meat Market on Washington is one of the few remaining examples of a vanishing America. The straw hatted bow tied butcher cutting meat on a wooden block table, with sawdust on the floor, is passing from our way of life. Before you know it, meat will be brought into stores in only one way…individual frozen steaks in a box. It will be just as succulent, probably more economical, a stabilizing effect on the livestock industry…and certainly more sanitary. And, oh yes, impersonal.

Personal service is what Bert sold, and he was highly successful in the selling. He could have expanded into a bigger type supermarket, but figured that type of high pressure life was not for him.

Bert was a good butcher in the true sense of the word. You see, what most people think is a butcher in most market these days, is really a meat cutter. A butcher, a journeyman, is by definition, a man accomplished in the slaughtering and processing of an animal. Bert, a few years back, ran a small plant out near the Catholic Cemetery. He was later joined by his son-in-law Jack Burgess. They not only slaughtered beef for their market, but sheep and hogs also, plus made sausage, smoked hams…the whole works. They were never competitors of my father because they were specialist catering to their own special trade.

This is not to say that Bert only sold meat in his market. His store was always the best place to go for fresh fish and sea food of all kinds. When I was young, I thought he did well because of all the Catholics who had to eat fish on Friday. But that bit of Americana has been vanishing as well. So I guess it was the quality of his merchandise that appealed to Christian and heathen alike.

I will certainly miss seeing Bert Bosse behind the meat counter as I miss seeing Paul Morse at roundup time, Walter Stoll at his auto parts store and Jack Trainor and his green pig on St. Patrick’s Day.

That’s the bad news. The good news is that Bert is still alive and kicking…and I suspect will be for some time to come. Robert Minch 1929-

The old canard about the husband who had mixed emotions when he saw his mother-in-law driving his new Cadillac over a cliff, certainly did not give me a chuckle. I had a perfectly fine mother-in law in the form or the late Eneth Mary  Miller. She was a quiet and kindly white haired lady of 88 when she demised in 1979     .

She told me her life had been in thirds: in the first third ( born in Lewiston, Shasta County) she was single and a nurse in San Francisco, in the second third she was married to John Miller who ran a hardware store in Chico…and then spent the final third as his widow. I never heard an unkind word about the lady from the day I began courting her daughter back in 1942 when she, the daughter, first lit up Lincoln Street Elementary. You might think a kindly disposition was hardly tantamount to sainthood, but when many a marriage has gone on the rocks via interference of mother-laws-running amuck, you might appreciate this virtue.

John became a Montgomery Ward store manager when he moved his wife and 3 daughters to Red Bluff during pre war 1939. In those days, the store was located in the 800 block of Main, site of the current Peking Restaurant. The store’s large basement was home to the hardware department which John ran with a steady hand. Eneth set up housekeeping on Lincoln, near the school, then on Monroe and finally on Madison. Each home was always immaculate. But what made her an outstanding wife, mother and mother-in-law?

She was neither a busy body nor social climber. She gave good advice to her daughters i.e. “You don’t have to do what I say, but someday you might find my advice of use.” And her advice to the young spilled over to her youngest child, JoAnn, who coined the phrase, while admonishing her own children, “You can make it a good day or a bad day…it is entirely up to you!”

Perhaps heaping praise upon one’s late mother-in-law is not as exciting as, say, recounting the accomplishments of local movers and shakers of in our fair city, but, perhaps there is a reader or two who might consider their own mother-in-law…and compare with the kindly and considerate Eneth Mary Miller.

When I was working long hours at the meat plant back in the 70’s, I would dash home for dinner before returning for an evening stint getting out the loads heading for Ess Eff.  Mrs. Miller might be reading the paper in our living room while I tried to get a few minutes nap before said dinner. I once awoke to find her holding the newspaper primly in her lap. When her daughter observed her sitting motionless, she asked if she was alright. She replied, “I did not want to rattle the papers while Robert was napping.”

What a mother-in-law!

Daughter Madalyn is 52, lives alone in El Aye, and loves it. She became a Juvenile Diabetic at age 10…but does not care much for the honor. She had a reprieve of sorts when her younger sister Maralyn gave her a kidney about 20 years ago. Said kidney performed admirably until a couple of years ago when it too began to fail. Whereas a donor was lined up in the form of the lovely Kelly Forward, a small cut on Madalyn’s foot resulted in a staph infection, incurred at USC Hospital in El Aye, while preparing for the transplant. The staph infection persisted for months and months and led to countless delays. Prior to this frustrating time, Madalyn developed Charcot foot which was abetted by the staph infection.  After lengthy discussions by her team of doctors, it was decided that she, in their opinion, would be better off without the foot. When she fully grasped the situation, she decided, why not? She has now been a month without her left foot and recently flew home to visit.

There is no way to make light of this development, although her sisters threatened to nickname her “Peg”. But humor has been a great asset with us as a family, and the missus and I are pleased to report the patient is doing fine and expects to be up and about on her new prosthesis by fall. If readers are inclined to feel sorry for her plight, forget about it. She does not want sympathy…and feels she does not warrant such sentiment. If her cat were to lose a foot, she would feel remorse. With her own loss she has been stoic and practical and staid if she were a ballerina she would adjust to wearing a one one…rather than a tutu.

Let us all laugh and be glad she is with us and now in line for a transplant in the near future. Good show, kid!

The Vestal story, Part Two

The land grading now in progress along the south side of Antelope Blvd reminds old timers of the Vestal clan and their vast holdings in Tehama County.

George W. Vestal was born in Missouri in 1846, came across the plains to California with his parents in 1857 and located in Tehama County. George became a prosperous Red Bluff business man and operated a meat market on the 600 block of Main (later On Walnut and Washington) as well as a slaughter house west of town. Articles of Incorporation of the George Vestal Company were filed in 1904 which read “The purpose of which is to conduct the butchering of cattle, sheep, hogs, horses, poultry etc. and to buy and sell real estate”.  George was also a large property owner in the county with one parcel of 1,700 acres extending from Antelope Blvd south to the river. This property was sold in the 1990’s.

George was elected Sheriff in 1889 and became a county Supervisor in 1902. The Red Bluff Daily News of 18 September 1904 reported, “Mr. Vestal, Chairman of the Board, has always aimed to do the fair and square thing by all men and has endeavored to give every matter brought before the board the impartial attention it deserves.” He married Clara Gist, daughter of California pioneers, and they had one daughter and two sons, Elmer and Rolla. George died in 1918, the same year as the Minch Family arrived in California. In the 1930’s,  Dave Minch became a friendly meat market and slaughter plant competitor with George’s son Rolla.

Rolla was born in the Red Bank area in 1877, married Mabel Linderman in 1908 and died in 1952 age 75. They had 3 sons; Raymond, Dareld and Robert, and one daughter Elizabeth. In his memory, Superior Court Judge Curtiss E. Wetter adjoined the morning’s court service September 3, 1952 by saying, “The passing of Mr. Vestal is a loss to our county and our area of the State.”

(The majority of the above information is courtesy of the Tehama County Libaray and Scott Sherman, keeper of the flame)

We will research the family in greater detail in a later article, but for now, there have been 4 salient features of the Vestal clan in Tehama County.

They once operated a slaughter house on Paskenta road at a time (1940’s) when Minch’s Wholesale Meats was gaining prominence as the meat packer in Northern California.

Rolla Vestal, who died on 30 July 1952, age 75,  was head of the family in my day. In addition to a slaughter plant on Paskenta Road, he  operated a meat market (established 1868 by his father George Vestal) on the southwest corner of Walnut and Washington which featured sawdust on the floor and huge metal racks along the back wall on which hung cuts of beef, pork and lamb. All this was out in the open air until he later installed refrigerated meat cases.

One of the boys, Dareld, Robert or Raymond, was an exceptional athlete who participated in the Olympics many years ago. Rolla and his wife Mabel also had two daughters Elizabeth and Patricia.

The family owned some of the most beautiful land in the county…a large tract extending from Antelope Blvd. on the north to the Sacramento River on the south. In addition, they still own a prime 100 acres along the river just north of town on Adobe Road which I once tried to get them to sell to Shasta College…long before the present college site was selected on the south end of town. As a sidebar to that failed effort, I had long talks on the phone with one of the Vestal daughters who I believe, at the time, lived in Santa Rosa. I thought I was making headway when I suggested the family might have a lasting relationship with the proposed college and probably get their name on a campus building. But then, as often has been the case in my life, I went a step too far and jocularly suggested the college cheerleaders might be called the Vestal Virgins. That unfortunate remark probably caused a break in our negotiations and the idea died aborning.

Today the 100 acre parcel on Adobe Road is still in the family whereas their original holdings on Antelope Blvd. to the river have been parceled out to family and non-family representatives. However, it is encouraging to see the land continuing in agricultural pursuits. This is where we are In agreement with some of the Green movement.

(more in next week’s issue)

Walking into our local Baskin Robbins shop, I instantly recognized Ernie White, though I had not seen him for about 35 years. That was the year we lost the meat plant.  Ernie had worked for us for many years as a truck driver and later as a meat salesman. What was astonishing was when I asked him how old he was, and he responded matter-of-factly “Ninety one”! Ernie looked to me much the same as when I knew him all those many years ago.

This fellow has found the fountain of youth. We chatted awhile until my every Wednesday chocolate milkshake was ready. I continued to marvel at his appearance. He volunteered that his doctor, during his annual checkup, voiced the same sentiment. Ernie did say his folks and siblings had lived to a ripe old age, so maybe it was just in his genes. However, I had to leave before interrogating him further.

I wondered, did he ever smoke or drink immoderately? He is still trim after all these years, so he must have been watching his diet. Perhaps there is no definitive moment in the lives of those who live long and appear fit.

TIME magazine came up with a lengthy quiz several months ago. If one answered truthfully about their life style and indulgences, the article suggested their scores could, fairly accurately, forecast how long they might remain on earth.  My test results suggest I would live another 14 years. If that were so, I would exceed Ernie White’s current age. With that encouragement, I decided not to  retire…and will invest in spare body parts if the need arises. If Ernie took the test, TIME might award him another 14 years or so.

The beauty of life, per se, is that we never know what joy or grief is around the next corner. It might be a notice that my TIME subscription has been extended another 14 years…or it may be that intersection in which I continue to make U turns in, is about to spell my demise. It is all in the cards, the fates, your astrological sign or your religion…or none of the above.

We don’t want to know what the future will bring, but Ernie White seems to be on the right track.