Schools

Golden Friendships Savored at Monthly Lunch of Grossmont High Alumni

All-male gabfest keeps memories alive that date to the 1930s, with some classmates having known each other since kindergarten.

Dick Ruis, Grossmont High School Class of 1949, recalled how his grandfather had been the El Cajon “marshal, constable and justice of the peace” in 1910: “My town was so small that the local prostitute was a virgin.”

Bill Wiley of Lakeside, Class of 1949, offered: “The same architect who designed Grossmont High did San Quentin. My aunt was Col. Fletcher’s private secretary.”

Paul Burton of Lakeside, Class of 1950, noted: “When they put in the freeway in front of Grossmont High School, I worked on that back in the ’50s.”

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Rick “Sid” Smith of Chula Vista, Class of 1949, wasn’t kidding.

He said: “You’ve got a lot of history at this table.”

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“This table”—actually a collection of tables shoved together near the bar at the Brigantine restaurant—hosted the latest monthly gathering of Foothillers from the classes of 1949 through 1952, an all-male chatfest launched about 20 years ago by the late Milton Mitsingas, whose brother Tony carries on the tradition at age 77, the youngest of the group.

They are “friendships shared for life,” said Ken Whitcomb of La Mesa, Class of 1949.

At 11:30 a.m. Monday, 16 graying classmates showed up for the latest lunch south of their old school—just across Interstate 8.

“We get to be 17 years old once a month,” said Hugh Cobb of Carlsbad, Class of 1950. “These guys don’t look that old to me. They’re still kids as far as I’m concerned.”

Cobb, 78, recalls being so enthralled with Grossmont, “I didn’t miss a single day of school. I didn’t want to miss anything. It was a good school.”

He and lunchmate Ben Cloud, Class of 1949, recalled no tensions with their being among the few blacks on campus.

“Not an issue,” said Cloud, 79. “I was in the orchestra.”

Cloud, a Dehesa resident, recalled his favorite teachers as Miss Schutti (English and social studies), Miss Wallace (same) and Charles Daggs (science). He spent 32 years in the Navy after graduating from San Diego State College, retiring as a captain. 

He didn’t mention his decorated career as a pioneer black naval aviator.

That’s because everyone at the table could claim life achievements worthy of a  miniseries.

Made up mainly of military veterans and retirees, the Grossmont Luncheon Group, as it’s informally called, is a place to talk mostly about “what’s ailing us—who had surgery, our cholesterol [numbers] and PSA scores,” Cobb said.

At Monday’s lunch, former school board member and retired dentist Whitcomb of Casa de Oro—president of the junior and senior classes at Grossmont—told how he’d been involved with classmates well before their high school days.

He said he attended school with the same group of kids, perhaps a dozen, since kindergarten at La Mesa Elementary, whose site gave way to the Date Avenue headquarters of the La Mesa-Spring Valley School District.

Whitcomb—who served on the Grossmont Union High School District board for 22 years, ending in 1992—was so used to being with his La Mesa friends that in his first year at UCLA he “felt totally lost.”

He recalled his first car—a 1928 Chevrolet. He started driving it in junior high, in fact, since licenses were granted kids as young as 14½ in those days. But Jean Sinclair, his Grossmont class adviser, told him to quit driving until he was older.

He connects with old Hillers in other ways as well—having helped organize the Class of 1949’s 40th, 45th, 50th and 60th reunions. He said a 63rd reunion for the still surviving 210 members is planned in 2012 because “we didn’t want to wait five years—too many are dying off.”

About 100 members of the Class of 1949 still live in the county—but too few show up for reunions, Whitcomb bemoans.

Ironically,  his own four children went to Helix High School—since their home was in that 1950s-built school’s attendance area.

Dick Ruis, who still dabbles in real estate at age 80, says he invites the group over to his El Cajon home for a barbecue two or three times a year. There he can exercise his comedic chops.

“I was too small [for sports at Grossmont],” Ruis said from the end of the luncheon tables. But “I went out for broad jumping. That’s why I got a 62-year-old son.”

Turning serious, Ruis said he was an “introvert” at Grossmont. But he reverted to form: “My grandmother raised me. I thought my name was Get Wood.”

Wiley, whose career was in plumbing and heating with Wiley and Sons, was a legitimate athlete, however, recalling the 1947 Grossmont team that won a county basketball title.

“Hell, we beat La Jolla, Coronado, Point Loma, Hoover, Escondido and Kearny,” said Wiley, a former 6-foot center.

Cloud said any male graduate of Grossmont High School is welcome to join the lunch group, which meets the second Monday of the month. 

And what about female Foothillers?

“The subject hasn’t really come up,” he said.

But mortality looms over the group, which has a roster listing 29 graduates of that era.

“We lost two really good guys last year,” Burton said, later being reminded of several others. Missed from the monthly group are Grossmont grads Bob Zito, Roland “Rollie” Stevens and Phil May, among others.

 “That’s all we have are memories—[and] all these divorces and bankruptcies,” Ruis said near 12:30 p.m. as the group began to thin.  “I count my blessings. I really do.”

Chirped the waitress issuing separate checks: “We bought everybody’s drinks—just a thank-you for coming all the time.”


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