Lucille Ball's Contribution to Land Surveying (long story)

One might think that it would be a far stretch to mention TV's beloved "Lucy" in the same breath as land surveying. The two are intertwined. A human connection that is so random it never really occurred to me until recently. Pay attention, this gets tricky...

1969 was a good summer for me. School was history and my draft number had not come up yet. A close friend and I decided we should spend the summer discovering the western United States and find our fortune. With a '61 Corvair, a four-track (yes four-track) tape player and our long hair we were set to find the world.

My buddy Bob owned the Corvair, so I was just a passenger on this galactic embryonic journey. Our thinly veiled destination was, of course, California. The City of Angels to be exact. Bob had a dream that we could "catch up" with some rock-star hero of his. After an afternoon of smoking weed and swapping hot guitar licks we would surely be asked to stay...and possibly even make a guest appearance on the next album. Ahh..childish dreams are so..innocent. I never really busted his bubble, but I was full of doubts.

After almost two weeks of kickin' it on 66 (and every other hot stretch of asphalt west of Amarillo) we finally rolled into LA...via Barstow, Victorville, San Bernadino...even got hassled by the "man" in Pomona. Bob thought we had arrived in the cultural center of the universe. I remember the smog making my eyes burn.

We spent a couple of days here and there. Went to the beach and squinted real hard to see a faint outline of Catalina Island. Then we got down to business. Bob had procured a pamphlet that told us how to get to his rock-star hero's abode. For the life of me I can't remember who it was..

Anyway, we're tooling around Beverly Hills looking for addresses in a dirty '61 Corvair looking for whoever, the Beatles, I guess. It was getting hot and the ol' Corvair didn't run too well when it got hot. We wheeled around a corner at the intersection of Lexington and Roxbury, I believe, and the Corvair vapor locked. We chugged to a stop feverishly trying to get the car started again. Cars we honking and we were getting flustered.

Bob got the car running again enough to pull into the first driveway. He quickly found reverse and killed the engine..again. This poor old Corvair had other problems too, the shifter linkage. It would, at a generally inconvenient time, get stuck between two gears. The car's not gonna move until you get out and crawl underneath and shove the linkage back where it's suppose to go. It also had a hydraulic clutch that would decide not to work if it got too hot...

We were just two frizzy lookin' kids from Oklahoma, stuck in the hot sun in Beverly Hills with a piece of junk car that needed to cool off. Life sucked.

And we all know about Murphy's Law of broke cars...you're going to need to move it..

We were out with the trunk lid open cooling the motor and a White Cadillac pulls up in the driveway behind us...and honks the horn. Some lady behind the wheel is waving her arms and pointing up the driveway. Sheeeze...

I was the public relations officer of our team so it was up to me to handle the situation. I approached the Caddy's driver window. This lady had a Marlboro pinched in her lips and a squint on her face. She "politely" told me she'd like to get in HER driveway..to put up HER groceries. I apologized and told her we'd be able to push it out of the way as soon as we had the linkage wiggled.

She looked at the plate on the Corvair and asked me, "Where the hell is Oklahoma?"

I told her it was a long ways away and I wished I was there right now. About the time she smiled I recognized her. It was Lucille Ball. I guess I really wasn't as star-struck as I could have been because of the circumstances. There was still a mad lady and we were blocking her driveway.

By this time a gentleman (Lucy's hired help, no doubt) had come from the house and was ferrying the groceries back to the house. She had exited the Caddy and was just standing there with me looking at Bob's feet sticking out from under the car. She asked me what we were doing in California. I told her about Bob's big dream and I was just along for the ride.

Lucy told me, "Honey, this town will take all your money and throw you away. You need friends, family and money to even live out here. If you've got friends and family somewhere else, that's where you need to be."

Bob got the linkage unstuck. Lucy's "butler" helped us push the Corvair back out into the street. Lucy got back into her car and waved. From the window she told us, "You kids be careful and get home safe."

I told her "bye" but didn't know what to call her. Lucy? Didn't seem appropriate. Mrs. Ball? Her husband's name was Arnaz. She was up the drive before I could figure it out.

The Corvair started after it had cooled. We never found whoever Bob was looking for and we were eastbound after another day or two. We actually made it home to Oklahoma at the end of the summer, seasoned travelers of the world.

What Lucille Ball had said to me didn't really make much sense until I was older. I came home and eventually embraced my father's profession of Land Surveying. Maybe, in a small and almost insignificant way, Lucy kept me pointed toward my destiny.

Thanks, Lucy. You've got NO 'splainin' to do here. B-)