When I was young, the desert outside of Riverside looked beautiful but mysterious and unforgiving. Storms would roar through the basins and clean out the entire landscape. Yellow and red wildflowers in bloom framed by the expansive sand dunes and standing radiant against the majestic and ominous San Gorgonio Mountains. Dirt roads splintered off the highway and headed to nowhere in particular. A lone car became nothing more than a dust trail winding its way towards the sea-like horizon. We worked our way towards the canyons. A small stream fed into a rock-lined pond surrounded by date palms. But it was the air; clean, dry, and hot that stuck with you. It was the air of regeneration and rebirth. The breath of God.
Once a year my family would drive to see my cousins in Tucson. It was a major ordeal. We would usually wait until mid-July, when it was cobalt hot, and then we would make the long one-day drive. The preparation was always the same. My dad would wake up at dawn and yell until we would get out of bed. He always acted like a vacation was the hardest thing to do in the world. He would pack. Repack. And finally let my mom put together our suitcases. He would yell at our mother, my sister, and, of course me. Everybody hated each other before we left the driveway.
Once out the door all was forgiven. Its like it never happened. All was forgiven. We'd start the day off drinking White Rock sodas and stopping for "curios" in Cabezon or Needles. Once on the road again my mother would pull out the songbook and we would sing until we tired.
When you're twelve, thirsty, and overcome by the heat you don't notice the scenery. I would sit in the backseat of the non-air-conditioned car while my parents sat in the front chain smoking Raleighs. By the afternoon the closest thing I could get to comfort was hanging my open mouth out the window. Unfortunately, all I caught was a wicked wind/sun burn. When we arrived in Tucson at 7:00 pm the temperature was still over 100 degrees and there was no air conditioning at my aunt and uncle's house. My mom would draw a freezing bath which would only amplify the pain of the Second degree wind/sun burn.
Why did the first settlers decide to stay here and not keep trekking to LaJolla. Big historical oversight.
7/07/2009
7/04/2009
Alice Quinn
Eulogy for Alice Blenda Quinn
Prepared by Walter Christian Quinn, Jr.
September 26, 2008
Alice Blenda Thomas was born in Iowa in 1914. There were four children born to David and Leah Thomas; Clover, Helen, Alice, and David. The children lost their mother when they were very young. This hardship at such an early age would shape the woman Alice was to become.
At seventeen, Alice left her home to go to secretarial school in Des Moines, Iowa. While there she worked as the executive secretary for the former Governor of the state. Alice was incredibly ambitious, skilled at her work, and prided herself on being a person people could rely on. She had an infectious smile and a welcoming heart that others were immediately drawn to. She also had a secret ambition of becoming a professional singer.
One day when she was waiting for the elevator in her office building a dashing young man approached her and asked her name. He said that his best friend, who was incredibly shy, wanted to, asked her out. By the way, he said, “my name’s Ron Reagan, but most people call me “Dutch.” I work upstairs at the radio station.” This would be the beginning of a very memorable year in Alice’s life and one that she would hold dear throughout her years. She, “Dutch,” and the shy young man, Ed Reimers – you remember him – “you’re in good hands with All State” became good friends. Mom remained friends with Reagan through the years.
Mom moved on to Chicago to follow her sister Helen and her husband Frank in search of better job opportunities. She went to work in downtown Chicago for an insurance agency. During that time she met her first husband and had her first child, Rosemary. She also was given the opportunity to pursue her dream as a singer, when Jules Stein, the eventual founder of MCA, offered her the chance to go on the road with a big band. But, Alice’s priorities had changed – it was never a consideration. Rosemary’s well-being was her #1 priority.
In 1940 the family moved to Los Angeles where other family members had recently relocated. The pressures of the changing times – the end of the Depression and the Great War on the horizon – lead to the end of the marriage. At that time Alice and Rosemary moved to Riverside, outside Los Angeles, and joined the rest of the Thomas family.
Alice and Walt met one night in Riverside in 1942. She was a secretary to the camp commander at Camp Anza. Walt was a young officer with striking good looks and a funny sense of humor. They met in a club just before Walt was scheduled to leave for duty in the Pacific. The young officer walked across the floor to ask Alice to dance. She said yes.
Walt left for duty, but sent Alice letters day after day. He told her he loved her madly but was afraid he wouldn’t make it back. He told her it was important that she date other men and forget about him. Mom never lost faith or hope that something good was around the corner. Dad was in a lot of brutal battles; Layte and Okinawa, but he survived and came back to Riverside. Alice and Walt got married.
One thing I remember is the tenderness of our mother. She became pregnant and had our sister, Loretta Ann, who died a few days after her birth. Mom was devastated and never forgot her. Even at the end of her life, she would remember Loretta Ann and begin to cry. It was an open wound that would draw tears all her life.
But mom never gave up. She went on to have five miscarriages before she had me in 1949. It’s because of Loretta Ann’s death and the miscarriages that she held the lives of her children as so precious.
Mom was always there for us. I remember when I was 14 or so. I don’t remember why. I guess I was depressed. I wasn’t growing up so easily. I remember her holding me in her arms and letting me cry and cry. Her arms were a safe place for me. They were home.
There are some other things I will never forget about our mother – like the smell of tacos, enchiladas, and chile rellenos that she and my dad prepared for weekend dinners. It seemed like we had them every Saturday when we were growing up. All our neighbors and relatives came by to have the best homemade Mexican food in Riverside. Mom and dad would sometimes cook up to sixty tacos at a time. None were ever left over. And on a lot of Friday nights, because we were good Catholics, mom would make her famous meatless spaghetti. My uncles, Jimmy and Jerry, would drop everything to get to our house for dinner.
The ‘50s were the days of affordable gas and travel and the Quinn’s took advantage of it. I remember driving all over the western United States. Sometimes we’d drive two hours to, say, a small café in Calexico to try out an enchilada sauce that my dad thought he could duplicate.
I also remember driving in the car – singing our lungs out. Alice loved to sing all the time. We had some books of songs in the car that all of us would use to sing. Mom would always harmonize – she always found the right note. Songs like…
“As he sings
Raggedy Music to his cattle
As he swings back and forth in the saddle on his horse
Who is syncopated, gated
And is such a funny meter
To the roar of his repeater…”
I also remember all the early mornings arriving at the dew carpeted grass of another southern California golf course. Mom and dad loved the game and it showed. Dad was a very good golfer and mom was president of the Lady’s club. My sister, Rosemary, thinks mom liked being the president of the club as much as the golf. Maybe even more. But I did find one of her scorecards the other day and she shot a 91. Not bad mom.
When I think of mom I think of bright yellow, a fabulous smile, and a great tan. She was the prettiest mom at my dad’s conventions. She dressed fashionably and she was always the perfect hostess. She could entertain ‘50s style with the best of them. Cocktail parties, golf tournament after-parties, conference parties…just parties in general... Always a Manhattan and a Raleigh cigarette in her hands. Mom loved to entertain.
My dad died fourteen years ago. It was a very difficult time for my mother. She loved my father to the very end. They had a hard time being apart and toward the end of his life you couldn’t separate them. Mom nursed and prayed over him until he drew his last breath.
Mom’s strength came for a strong faith. After she married my father, she read Thomas Merton’s Seventh Story Mountain. Her conversion experience, which led her into the Catholic Church, was directly tied to Merton’s writings. In 1952, mom, my sister, and I drove to Merton’s home at Our Lady of Gethsemane in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. Her Christian faith held up through the years and gave her comfort and strength in the hardest of times.
Mom was proud of her friendship with President Reagan and certainly voted for him in all the elections. But Rosemary reminded me the other day that while dad was still alive she was a Republican, but after he passed away she finally had the nerve to register Democrat. She had been secretly talking to Ramee about it for years.
Our mother has left a wonderful legacy in her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. Today there are five grandchildren; Cathy, Carrie, Phillip, Caitlin, and Connor. And three great grandchildren; Merrick, Matthew, and Thomas.
Living in Nashville it was hard to get out to LA to see mom as often as I would have liked. I did manage to see her two or three times a year. I say her three weeks before she passed away in June. I had a felling the time was near and so I spent a little extra time with her. I told her I loved her and that she meant more to me than she would ever understand. I held her tightly before I left. I didn’t want to let go. When we separated I looked her in the eyes and they were as bright as the sun. Her smile was so big and so happy. It was a wonderful image to live with the rest of my life.
Mother joined my father, side by side, at the Riverside National Cemetery. Through the years they moved far away from Riverside but yet they are buried less than two miles from where they first met – on that dance floor in 1941. What a wonderful coincidence. I’m sure she is singing about it in heaven.
(Finally I want to thank my sister, Rosemary, and my niece, Carrie, for everything they did for mom in the final years. You were always there for her.)
Prepared by Walter Christian Quinn, Jr.
September 26, 2008
Alice Blenda Thomas was born in Iowa in 1914. There were four children born to David and Leah Thomas; Clover, Helen, Alice, and David. The children lost their mother when they were very young. This hardship at such an early age would shape the woman Alice was to become.
At seventeen, Alice left her home to go to secretarial school in Des Moines, Iowa. While there she worked as the executive secretary for the former Governor of the state. Alice was incredibly ambitious, skilled at her work, and prided herself on being a person people could rely on. She had an infectious smile and a welcoming heart that others were immediately drawn to. She also had a secret ambition of becoming a professional singer.
One day when she was waiting for the elevator in her office building a dashing young man approached her and asked her name. He said that his best friend, who was incredibly shy, wanted to, asked her out. By the way, he said, “my name’s Ron Reagan, but most people call me “Dutch.” I work upstairs at the radio station.” This would be the beginning of a very memorable year in Alice’s life and one that she would hold dear throughout her years. She, “Dutch,” and the shy young man, Ed Reimers – you remember him – “you’re in good hands with All State” became good friends. Mom remained friends with Reagan through the years.
Mom moved on to Chicago to follow her sister Helen and her husband Frank in search of better job opportunities. She went to work in downtown Chicago for an insurance agency. During that time she met her first husband and had her first child, Rosemary. She also was given the opportunity to pursue her dream as a singer, when Jules Stein, the eventual founder of MCA, offered her the chance to go on the road with a big band. But, Alice’s priorities had changed – it was never a consideration. Rosemary’s well-being was her #1 priority.
In 1940 the family moved to Los Angeles where other family members had recently relocated. The pressures of the changing times – the end of the Depression and the Great War on the horizon – lead to the end of the marriage. At that time Alice and Rosemary moved to Riverside, outside Los Angeles, and joined the rest of the Thomas family.
Alice and Walt met one night in Riverside in 1942. She was a secretary to the camp commander at Camp Anza. Walt was a young officer with striking good looks and a funny sense of humor. They met in a club just before Walt was scheduled to leave for duty in the Pacific. The young officer walked across the floor to ask Alice to dance. She said yes.
Walt left for duty, but sent Alice letters day after day. He told her he loved her madly but was afraid he wouldn’t make it back. He told her it was important that she date other men and forget about him. Mom never lost faith or hope that something good was around the corner. Dad was in a lot of brutal battles; Layte and Okinawa, but he survived and came back to Riverside. Alice and Walt got married.
One thing I remember is the tenderness of our mother. She became pregnant and had our sister, Loretta Ann, who died a few days after her birth. Mom was devastated and never forgot her. Even at the end of her life, she would remember Loretta Ann and begin to cry. It was an open wound that would draw tears all her life.
But mom never gave up. She went on to have five miscarriages before she had me in 1949. It’s because of Loretta Ann’s death and the miscarriages that she held the lives of her children as so precious.
Mom was always there for us. I remember when I was 14 or so. I don’t remember why. I guess I was depressed. I wasn’t growing up so easily. I remember her holding me in her arms and letting me cry and cry. Her arms were a safe place for me. They were home.
There are some other things I will never forget about our mother – like the smell of tacos, enchiladas, and chile rellenos that she and my dad prepared for weekend dinners. It seemed like we had them every Saturday when we were growing up. All our neighbors and relatives came by to have the best homemade Mexican food in Riverside. Mom and dad would sometimes cook up to sixty tacos at a time. None were ever left over. And on a lot of Friday nights, because we were good Catholics, mom would make her famous meatless spaghetti. My uncles, Jimmy and Jerry, would drop everything to get to our house for dinner.
The ‘50s were the days of affordable gas and travel and the Quinn’s took advantage of it. I remember driving all over the western United States. Sometimes we’d drive two hours to, say, a small café in Calexico to try out an enchilada sauce that my dad thought he could duplicate.
I also remember driving in the car – singing our lungs out. Alice loved to sing all the time. We had some books of songs in the car that all of us would use to sing. Mom would always harmonize – she always found the right note. Songs like…
“As he sings
Raggedy Music to his cattle
As he swings back and forth in the saddle on his horse
Who is syncopated, gated
And is such a funny meter
To the roar of his repeater…”
I also remember all the early mornings arriving at the dew carpeted grass of another southern California golf course. Mom and dad loved the game and it showed. Dad was a very good golfer and mom was president of the Lady’s club. My sister, Rosemary, thinks mom liked being the president of the club as much as the golf. Maybe even more. But I did find one of her scorecards the other day and she shot a 91. Not bad mom.
When I think of mom I think of bright yellow, a fabulous smile, and a great tan. She was the prettiest mom at my dad’s conventions. She dressed fashionably and she was always the perfect hostess. She could entertain ‘50s style with the best of them. Cocktail parties, golf tournament after-parties, conference parties…just parties in general... Always a Manhattan and a Raleigh cigarette in her hands. Mom loved to entertain.
My dad died fourteen years ago. It was a very difficult time for my mother. She loved my father to the very end. They had a hard time being apart and toward the end of his life you couldn’t separate them. Mom nursed and prayed over him until he drew his last breath.
Mom’s strength came for a strong faith. After she married my father, she read Thomas Merton’s Seventh Story Mountain. Her conversion experience, which led her into the Catholic Church, was directly tied to Merton’s writings. In 1952, mom, my sister, and I drove to Merton’s home at Our Lady of Gethsemane in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. Her Christian faith held up through the years and gave her comfort and strength in the hardest of times.
Mom was proud of her friendship with President Reagan and certainly voted for him in all the elections. But Rosemary reminded me the other day that while dad was still alive she was a Republican, but after he passed away she finally had the nerve to register Democrat. She had been secretly talking to Ramee about it for years.
Our mother has left a wonderful legacy in her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. Today there are five grandchildren; Cathy, Carrie, Phillip, Caitlin, and Connor. And three great grandchildren; Merrick, Matthew, and Thomas.
Living in Nashville it was hard to get out to LA to see mom as often as I would have liked. I did manage to see her two or three times a year. I say her three weeks before she passed away in June. I had a felling the time was near and so I spent a little extra time with her. I told her I loved her and that she meant more to me than she would ever understand. I held her tightly before I left. I didn’t want to let go. When we separated I looked her in the eyes and they were as bright as the sun. Her smile was so big and so happy. It was a wonderful image to live with the rest of my life.
Mother joined my father, side by side, at the Riverside National Cemetery. Through the years they moved far away from Riverside but yet they are buried less than two miles from where they first met – on that dance floor in 1941. What a wonderful coincidence. I’m sure she is singing about it in heaven.
(Finally I want to thank my sister, Rosemary, and my niece, Carrie, for everything they did for mom in the final years. You were always there for her.)
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