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REMEMBER: 25 Things You Can't See Any More In Fullerton,
24 to go.


An island of cars and teenagers, girls in sweaters and poodle skirts, blue jeans and white shirts, boys in dress slacks and sport shirts, corduroy and Bleeding Madras, letterman’s jackets or sweaters. Most are in their cars, seated 2 in front, up to 6 in back. Trays attached to windows hold plates of steaming hot cheeseburgers, glistening golden French fried, frosty chocolate malts, squat party melts, bottles and glasses of Coca Cola, grape or orange soda, napkins, straws, spoons. Cigarette smoke billows from the windows of all the cars, and at any time, a butt sail in an arc to fall and bounce on the ground, stomped out by teenaged feet. Car club plaques. Popping, spitting flat bed V6s .. Chatter chatter chatter the game tomorrow night and dance Saturday, who was seen with who, what’s playing at the Fox, who’s been seen making out with whom, who likes whom, who might ask whom out, whom is mad at whom and who is “after” whom, who “likes” whom. Waitresses hurry from the cars inside to the flat little restaurant with limited seating, and a grill, a steep hill behind. Boy reach deep into their pockets for quarters, half dollars, nickels and dimes. Girls check themselves in compacts and rear view mirrors. The soundtrack features KFWB rock n roll radio and each car plays the same, or else KRLA or sometimes a Dodgers game on KFI-AM.  A golden slave anklet reflects the sun on a slender ankle.  Guys without girls strain to look nonchalant  and unconcerned in packs of up to eight, Suddenly a girl sobs, her girlfriends surround her, whisk her away. Every ten seconds comes a bellow of teen laughter with high pitched soprano notes that carry across the highway into the silent green trees of the park above. Chapter chatter chatter who got knocked up, who's going steady, joined the Marine Corps, broke up, feel her up in the cabanas, sluts, caught by her daddy, grounded, secrets secrets. A stream of confident boys and pretty girls flows from car to car and to the doors inside and back. Black and gold sweaters ..  red and white jackets. Ponytails, Toni home permanents, crewcuts, flattops, here and there a pompadour. Pomade! Bobby pins! Church keys! Library cards! Mascara kit! Ballpoint pens! A jock strap! J.C. Penney receipts! Cuticle scissors! Braces on teeth! A tampon!  Zippo lighters! Silver nail file! A switchblade knife! Disneyland E Ticket! Green hair barrette! Guitar pick! Powder blue rat tail comb! Tardy pass! An errant rubber dropped and snatched up again! Teenaged hormones! Plastic gear shift knob all alone by itself! Thirteen cars roll out and accelerate north on Harbor recently Spadra! 30 seconds of dead silence, except for burgers sizzling on the grill .. approaching engines .. squeals of girls .. rowdy male laughter ..  stench of Aqua Velva, Coppertone ,, fourteen cars roll in .. waitresses hurry out ..chatter chatter chatter who was at the Jolly Roger on Balboa Island, fight at McDonalds, a new bathing suit you should see it, mononucleosis!  Talk of loose girls, tough boys, hard tests, loud parties, new 45 RPMs, surf guitar, fried chicken at Knott’s, shut him down on Highway 39 .. homework .. gotta go ,, see you later, alligator!

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Steve Lowe, ‘63 on August 8, 2020 at 1:34 PM said:

Hillside was the coolest, bitchinist place in Fullerton. It was electric”.
Larry Hines, 62 on August 8, 2020 at 1:12 PM said:

A lot of this happened at Hillside Drive-in*. Or at Hillside Park on Sundays where the guys gathered to wax their cars. Don't forget the car clubs---Judges rule, but a call out to the Pioneers ( we had some bitchin' poker runs).

* It was here that I was ticketed for possession of beer ( which resulted in being classified 1Y, and therefore exempt from the draft)
* I hadn't had a drop to drink that night because I had way too much the night before.


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