This Tower Records sign once hung inside the business’s north area store. Photo by Lance Armstrong

Editor’s note: This is the sixth part of a series regarding the history of the “four corners” of Watt and El Camino avenues.

For nearly 45 years, Tower Records drew music lovers to the northeast corner of Watt and El Camino avenues. And despite this popular record store’s absence, many locals will never forget their fond memories of this location of the business.
The roots of what eventually became known as Tower Records date back to 1941. It was then that Russ Solomon began selling records inside his father’s drugstore in the Tower Theatre building at the southwest corner of 16th Street and Broadway.
The Tower Records on Watt Avenue began drawing people in large numbers on a regular basis in the early 1960s and the love affair with this Tower did not end until the store’s closure in 2006.
Also attracting many people to this site were Tower Books, which also opened in the 1960s, and Tower Video, which debuted in the 1980s.
During interviews conducted at various Arden area sites last week, local residents shared their memories about this former landmark Tower, where a Goodwill Industries thrift store and a Fresh & Easy Neighborhood Market is now located.
Mary (Parr) Harris, a 1970 graduate of Hiram Johnson High School, said that she was one of the store’s first and last customers.
“That’s where I came (record shopping) was the (Watt Avenue) Tower,” Harris said. “I probably bought The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s (Lonely Hearts Club Band) and Abbey Road albums there (in the 1960s). I was a big Beatles fan when I was a kid. And Herman’s Hermits, I loved them. And of course, then the Rolling Stones came around. It really upset me when they closed (the Watt Avenue Tower). I didn’t like that. I went in there and bought stuff on their last day. There wasn’t much left – it was pretty well picked over – but I’m a shopper, so I can always find something (to buy).”
Also sharing his memories about the north area Tower Records was Steve Nifert, a 1974 graduate of Casa Robles High School.
“I probably went to (the Watt Avenue) Tower Records for the first time in about 1962,” Nifert said. “I used to go to Tower Records all the time. I bought a lot of CDs there. They were the only one in town who had old, big band music from the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s. I had a lot of rock and roll (albums), but my preference was (big band music). I love the brass bands and stuff. It’s just so much coming at you than a lot of noise. And then when the 1980s came along, music quit making sense.”
Dan Blakkolb, who built a career for himself as a bass guitarist, also shopped at the Watt Avenue Tower Records during the 1960s.
“My memories of Tower Records are that’s where you bought records back in the 1960s,” said Blakkolb, who still prefers vinyl records over CDs. “I knew one girl who worked there, I think in the late 1960s, and her name was Linda Wysocki. But I think she worked at the 16th Street (Tower Records). Linda’s father (Charlie) owned Tone’s Music (House at 1009 14th St.). They carried the early Fenders (electric guitars and amplifiers) and he specialized in accordions, as well. I first came to this (Watt Avenue) Tower in 1964. I believe the first album I purchased there was ‘Surfin’ Safari’ by The Beach Boys. I also bought The Beatles stuff, Kingston Trio albums and a lot of folk albums there. I probably bought more albums than I did (45 rpm records).”
Blakkolb, who graduated from Hiram Johnson High School in 1966, said that it was during that time when he met a guitarist named Steve Samuels, who would play his guitar in front of the north area Tower Records.
“He was out in front playing Bob Dylan tunes,” recalled Blakkolb, who currently plays in the longtime, local party-dance group, the Jay Rolerz Band.

Dan Blakkolb stands in front of the approximate site of the old Watt and El Camino avenues Tower Records, where he began purchasing records in the 1960s. Photo by Lance Armstrong

Blakkolb also remembers spending many hours inside the Watt Avenue Tower Records’ listening booths.
“I remember listening to newly released 45s and albums for general enjoyment and for ideas for my band at the time,” Blakkolb said. “Whether you bought anything or not, you were never pressured to buy records or asked to leave. They were always nice at Tower. Listening to records in the listening booths was a great way to spend a day.”
J.J. Jelincic, who still owns his copy of the British band Cream’s 1969 album, “Goodbye,” which he purchased at the Watt Avenue Tower, remembers the store’s vibrant neon sign.
“(The sign) just dominated the whole place,” Jelincic said. “You could drive down the street and there was Tower Records. The fact that anything else was there, you’d never know. It was terrific.”
Terry Ray, a 1981 graduate of McClatchy High School, said that it was during the late 1970s when she purchased her first album at the north area Tower.
“The first album I bought at that Tower was Janis Joplin’s ‘Pearl,’” said Ray, who first visited the store during her childhood in about 1965.
Jerry Scott, who graduated from El Camino High School in 1985, said that during the early years of his life, he would spend many hours at the northeast corner of Watt and El Camino avenues.
“(Tower) was about a half an hour walk from my house and it was one of the first places I could get away from my parents and they wouldn’t know where I was going,” Scott said. “This was a pretty happening corner when I was growing up. When I was younger, about 12 years, I started coming up here on my own. Before that, my parents came up here bowling at least once a week and I was one of the 5 to 6-year-old rug rats running amuck all around the bowling alley. I learned how to play pinball from guys who smoked cigars and still played pool in the smoky room there (at Country Club Lanes). But when I was a little older, I came up here and Tower Books was here. I was a huge, veracious reader and I would come up here and spend hours. (Tower Books) was like an intellectual haven for me.”
Scott also remembers the Tower Posters store, which operated in the same location where Tower Video later opened.
“(Tower Posters) was my first head shop experience,” Scott said. “My parents were like, ‘We got to get out of here.’ But all I noticed was the rock and roll pins that people could buy.”
And in speaking about the Watt Avenue Tower Records, Scott said, “This record store was where I bought my very first album with my very own money. The album was ‘Fragile’ (by the English progressive rock band, Yes). It was years, of course, after the album came out (in 1971). I had learned most of my music from the radio. I would fall asleep listening to KZAP. I was very sad to see when Tower went away. That is where I discovered music.”
Among the younger people interviewed for this article was Adrian McCoy, a 2003 graduate of Mira Loma High School.
McCoy, who began shopping at both the Tower Records and Tower Books on Watt Avenue in about 1995, said that his favorite CD, which he purchased at this Tower Records location, was “Issues” by the nu metal band, Korn.
Jeremy Peckham, a 1992 graduate of El Camino High, also shared his north area Tower Records-related memories.
“The first record my mom brought home for me in a yellow (and red Tower Records) bag was Devo’s ‘Freedom of Choice’ and a few miscellaneous 45s,” Peckham said. “The next records that I got were Quiet Riot’s ‘Metal Health,’ Def Leppard’s ‘Pyromania,’ and then all these different types of Beatles records.”
Certainly, based on the recollections of the few people who shared their memories for this article, the north area Tower businesses may be gone, but they are certainly not forgotten.

When I lived on Janey Way in the 1950s and 60s, I experienced many exciting adventures.
One blustery fall day, while Jim Costamagna and I camped out in the pit, the abandoned sand and gravel site behind my house, we witnessed a tornado spiraling down into River Park. This frightened us and we headed off immediately for the cover of home.
In those days, we often had to run from old man Charlie, the watchman of the pit. He never caught us, but escaping his pursuit proved very exciting. Often, back then we played the hubcap trick where we pretended to steal off with someone’s hubcap. This game also provided much excitement. All these little adventures must have wetted our appetite for seeking new horizons in our adult life.
On Nov. 1, 2012, my wife Barbara and I set out on a bold new adventure. That day we board a plane and flew to Honolulu. There, we stay over night before boarding the cruise ship, Celebrity Millennium, on the following day. Then off we head into the South Pacific to visit islands once seen only by pirates and explorers. These places have names like Pago Pago on Samoa, Sula on Fiji and Tauranga in New Zealand.
On Wednesday, Nov. 14, somewhere in the South Pacific, we will witness an event few people experience in their lifetimes: a total solar eclipse. Barbara and I feel lucky to have witnessed two other such eclipses: one in Egypt in 2006, and the other in China in 2009. Each one of them was unique and breathtaking.
After our eclipse adventure, we finish our trip with stops in New Zealand and Australia.
In Australia, we will spend three days in Sydney, before flying off to Cairns on the Northeast coast. There, we get to sail out to view the Great Barrier Reef, Australia’s greatest natural wonder. All in all, we are having a trip of a lifetime.
This all makes me hearken back to my childhood on Janey Way. Back then, my mom sent us outdoors daily, saying only, “be careful out there.” Little did she know. Off we headed to play in the pit hoping for another chance encounter with old man Charlie or a run-in with the T Street boys or the N Street gang. Now as we wend our way through the mighty Pacific Ocean, I recall the fun and adventure I experienced back then, and smile broadly at another swashbuckling Janey Way memory.

marty@valcomnews.com

One day in the late spring of 1961, my dad came home from work and told me, “This weekend, you and I are going fishing with Uncle Ross.”

Marty Relles

Sure enough, Friday evening about 5:30 p.m., Uncle Ross drove up in his station wagon with my Cousin Jim. Dad loaded two fishing poles, some tackle, two sleeping bags, a grocery bag full of food , and coats and clothing for us into the car. Then off we went on our fishing trip.

We drove out Folsom Boulevard toward Placerville. Back then, no freeways had been built so we drove out Folsom Boulevard to Folsom. Eventually that road ran into State Highway 50.

When we reached Placerville, we turned north on Highway 49 in the direction of Georgetown, an old gold rush village.

Just before we reached Georgetown, we turned east on a dirt road and drove about five miles to a place where we stopped and made camp.

The thing I remember most about that ride was the dust. It billowed up and covered Uncle Ross’ car.

What a mess.

But who cared, we were going to camp out under the stars. Wow!

After we unloaded the gear, we began to erect the tents. This dates back before the days of REI, so the tents we had came from Army Surplus. We set up one tent for Dad and Uncle Ross and one for Jim and me. Then we unrolled our sleeping bags inside the tents.

While we did this, Uncle Ross built a fire and cooked dinner: hot dogs and canned beans. I tell you this, hot dogs and beans never tasted so good. For dessert, we had Hostess Cup Cakes. As we watched the sun set, we drank coffee with lots of milk and sugar in it.

When the sun came down and dark settled in, we beheld the magic of the entire Milky Way spreading across the night sky. I remember the majesty of that to this day. However, soon we tired, closed our tent flap and fell into a deep sleep.

When morning came, Jim and I awoke to the sound of Uncle Ross cooking breakfast. He started the fire, then made coffee, then cooked bacon and eggs. The smell of the cooking bacon proved intoxicating, and soon we all dressed and joined Uncle Ross around the fire.

After breakfast, we gathered our gear and headed down to the Rubicon River in search of trout.

Since this was my first fishing trip, I took in all the sights. We trekked over huge granite outcroppings, went around large fir trees, and crossed gurgling streams filled with water so clean, you could scoop up a hand full and drink right from the stream.

Eventually we arrived at the river where Dad and Ross went upstream and Jim and I went downstream.

Try as we might, Jim and I caught no fish. We saw some big ones, but they ignored our bait. In the end, we headed back upstream to find Dad and Uncle Ross.

When we found them, they proudly held up two trout each: nice looking fish, all about twelve inches long. Jim and I were happy somebody caught something. After admiring the catch, we all headed back up toward the camp site.

As always, the walk back out always seems a lot harder the walk in. But we made it back without an injury, or a whimper. Soon we had the car loaded and headed home with our bounty.

We stopped in Placerville on the way home to eat lunch. We had burgers and fries. Keep in mind, this was long before people worried much about cholesterol and the food tasted great. After filling our bellies, off we went to Sacramento.

I remember this trip as if it were yesterday. The clean air, the pure water, the simple food cooked outdoors all added up to a wonderful time with my father, my uncle and my cousin. Even today, Jim and I often think back and recall this special Janey Way memory.

In August of the summer of 1960, Dad noticed we were looking bored and restless, so he decided to do something about it.

Marty Relles

He drove off early one Saturday morning, and came home with a big box in the back of the car.

When he opened it up, we saw it was a new ping pong table. Wow, that was great. Soon dad had the table all set up and my brother Terry and I began to play. It didn’t take long for the kids to come over and line up to play.

We decided to establish an order of play for our games. Two people played and when the game ended, the loser went the end of the line. The winner played whoever was first in line.

This way, everyone got to play. Soon we were playing ping pong daily in our driveway. We even had tournaments, with no prizes of course, just bragging rights.

One day during the week, Terry and I played while a group of other kids waited in line. I usually beat Terry easily, but he was improving quickly, the more he played.

That game was close, with Terry winning his serves and me winning my serves. However, in the end, Terry edged me out, much to my chagrin.

Terry began to tease me about his victory. I got so mad, I threw down my paddle and said, “I am going to kill you, Terry.”

Then, I chased him around the table two or three times, until finally, he ran in the house and locked the door.

Still fuming, I started another game with Randy Puccetti.

As we played, Terry suddenly streamed out the door carrying a little league baseball bat, saying, “Now I am going to get you, Marty.”

Fearing for my well-being, I ran around the table, then down the driveway, turned left and sprinted, full speed, all the way to the corner where I grabbed the street sign pole, spun around, and gazed back toward our home.

Terry stood there at the end of the driveway waving the baseball bat at me in triumph.

I stood there helplessly. I could not return with him wielding a bat.

Eventually, however, he ran back up the driveway and resumed playing ping pong. I waited five, ten…then 15 minutes.

Finally, I returned home. Terry continued playing his game. The bat was nowhere in sight, and I was left to ponder what had just happened.

I had to admit, Terry got the best of me that day.  He had summoned up the courage to stand up to me, and I think our relationship changed forever that morning.

These days, when we talk about such things, we always have a good laugh.

Now, the day that Terry elevated ping pong to a new level is just another game-changing Janey Way memory.

marty@valcomnews.com

I drove down Janey Way last weekend.

Marty Relles

I saw neighbors putting up their Christmas lights. It brought back wonderful memories of past Janey Way Christmases. One memory in particular flickered in my mind.

It dates back to the end of the 1959. Christmas vacation had just begun and a group of us loitered in front of the Relles house. The neighborhood looked festive. Christmas lights adorned the front of each house. The priests had decorated the exterior of St. Mary’s Church and nightly, Christmas carols echoed from the speaker atop the church tower. We wondered what could we do this year to make the season special – and a great idea came to mind.

“Why don’t we go Christmas caroling in the neighborhood one night this year?”

All the guys loved the idea, so we planned out the event as we stood right there in front of our house.

First, we decided to only sing a few songs that we knew really well. That way, we wouldn’t embarrass ourselves. We picked four songs:  “Silent Night,” “Joy to the World,” “Oh Come all Ye Faithful” and “Jingle Bells.”

Second, we went into the back yard and practiced singing them. We actually sounded almost as good as a choral group.

Finally, we scheduled a day and time: Dec. 23 at 7 p.m.

That night, we gathered in front of my home. Then, at 7 p.m. pm “on the dot” we walked across the street to the Thomsen house, knocked on the door and began to sing:

“Silent night, holy night…”

Soon the door opened and a befuddled Phyllis Thomsen opened the door and said, “My, my, what is this?”

We finished “Silent Night,” than sang “Joy to the World.” When we finished that, Phyllis clapped and said, “Great job boys.” Then she went inside and came back out with a candy cane for each of us.

Next we walked to the Costamagna house and sang “Oh, Come all Ye Faithful” and “Jingle Bells.”

After we finished there, Leda Costamagna gave each of us a cookie.

Then we went to the Puccetti house and sang two songs and so on an so forth, down the street to the Thomasetti home where we finished our singing for the night.

Our Christmas caroling was an unparalleled success. The neighbors talked about it for days afterward.

Sadly that was the last time we sang carols in the neighborhood.

These days during the holiday season, I spend a lot of time with my family. Last Sunday, for example, our daughters and their children came over to help decorate our Christmas tree. Little Gabrielle and young Angelo carefully hung ornaments from the tree, then ran up and down our hallway. Grand gave them Christmas candy to eat.

On Christmas Eve, we will go to Aunt Alice Petta-Goldie’s house for a wonderful feast of homemade pizza, Italian sausage and ravioli. Then we will sing Christmas carols and get a visit from Santa Claus.

On Christmas day, all will come to my house for Christmas dinner and the opening of presents.

But, I have not forgotten the days of Christmas past on Janey Way. The days of singing Christmas carols, serving Mass at St. Mary’s Church and making Christmas tree forts are all lingering Janey Way memories.

Early one Saturday morning in 1961, I woke up to the sound of sirens screeching down Janey Way.

Marty Relles

Startled, I sat straight up and then walked up the hallway to the front door. I opened the door and looked out.

There, up the street, in front of the Hart’s house, I saw a fire truck, an ambulance and a police car.

This did not look good, so I went right back to my parent’s bedroom and woke up my mom to tell her what had happened.

She dressed immediately and walked down the street.

Minutes later she returned and said, “It’s Bernie Hart. He had a heart attack. It doesn’t look good.”

It wasn’t good.

Later that day, we found out that Bernie had passed away, right there in the hallway of his own home.

Shockwaves reverberated across Janey Way. What would Rose Hart and her two children, Tom age seven and Suzie, age two, do?

I remember attending the funeral and seeing young Tom, in a grey suit, and little Suzie in a dark dress standing next to their grieving mom.

I was so sad. I truly wondered what was in store for them.

But, surprisingly, Rose and her young family did move on from this terrible tragedy.

Bernie, a wise man, had provided sufficient insurance to pay off the family house and tide them over until Rosie found work.

And, she did find work.

It seemed Dr. Max Sudoff, a respected Sacramento ear, nose and throat specialist was looking for a receptionist at this time, and Rose fit the bill. He hired her, and this began a work relationship which lasted until Dr. Sudoff retired in his late 70s.

With the help of the Janey Way family, Rose’s children did well too.

Little Suzie took up dance and performed regularly in Sacramento events including the popular “Best of Broadway” series. Young Tom graduated from Sacramento High School and earned his bachelor’s degree in political science from UCLA. Today ,he is a deputy director at the California Redevelopment Agency.

Rosie continued to live amongst her friends on Janey Way until she passed away some years back. She never remarried, saying, “I will never meet another man as good as Bernie.”

Now, the story of the death of Bernie Hart is yet another inspirational Janey Way Memory.

marty@valcomnews.com

One day in August in the early 1960s, my brother Terry sat on our front porch, thinking.

Marty Relles

Summer was coming to an end.

The State Fair opened in just a few weeks. After that, school started.

He needed money for the fair and to buy some cool clothes for school. Mom always took care of the basics, but she never bought the latest fashions. Terry decided he needed to earn some money.

But how could he do it?

Suddenly, a light turned on in his head.

“I can do yard work in the neighborhood and earn all the money I need,” he thought.

Immediately, Terry jumped up and went around to the back yard. He grabbed the old red wagon, put some lawn tools in it, went across the street and began going house to house.

At his first stop, they said, “Can’t help you Terry, our kids do the work care here.”

And so it went as he walked slowly up the block. Everyone said that they didn’t need any help.

Finally, Terry arrived at the last house on the west side of the block: the home of Herb Mather. Herb had retired from the State Printing Plant sometime back. Since then, he spent a lot of his time at the tavern in the Square Deal Restaurant on 58th and Folsom Blvd. Herb came to the door, looked at Terry, then back toward his yard and said, “Yeah, I could use some help.”

He then walked Terry down his driveway and into his back yard.

Terry looked at the yard. Oh my, what a mess. Bermuda grass had overgrown the lawn and reached ankle length. Weeds had overgrown the plants in the flower beds.

To Terry, this looked like a gold mine. Herb then sidled off in the direction of the Square Deal and left Terry to his job.

What should he do first?

Terry decided to tackle the lawn. He pulled an old push lawn mower out of the garage and tried to mow the law. That did not work. The lawn had grown too high and the mover just pushed the grass down without cutting it. He tried a hand weed-whacking tool; that didn’t work either. Nothing seemed to work.

He gave the problem some thought and decided to do what the firemen did in the empty lots in our neighborhood. They started a fire on one side of the lot and slowly drug it to the other side. That worked quickly and efficiently to get the grasses down to a manageable level.

He went in Herb’s house, grabbed some matches, then into the garage to get an old can of gasoline. Then he started a fire on the southeast corner of the yard.

At first, all went well. The fire moved slowly from the front toward the back of the property.

Then a breeze gusted up. The fire moved more quickly.

Embers jumped up to the fence. It caught fire, then jumped to roof of the house.

Terry ran around the side of the house to get a hose, but it did not reach the fence. In a panic, he ran in the house and called the fire department. Within minutes they arrived from their H Street station, dragged their hoses around to the back and put out the fire.

Then after admonishing Terry for starting the fire, they left.

Terry sat down and wondered how he could get out of this mess.

As he thought, he looked up and noticed a new fire had started on the neighbor’s roof. Again, he ran into the house and hailed the fire department. Within a few minutes, they returned, pulled their hoses out and extinguished the new fire. After putting the fire out, shaking their heads in disgust, they returned again to the station.

Now Terry contemplated the worst.

“What will Dad say when he finds out about this,” he wondered. “I’m in big trouble.”

However, soon Herb returned from his afternoon at the tavern. When Terry explained what happened, Herb said, “I can’t pay you anything for this kid.” Then, he called his insurance company.

In the mean time, Terry snuck out the back and returned home. His scheme to earn some summer money had backfired.

He laid low for the next couple of days. Fortunately, nothing happened. The insurance company covered the damage to both houses, and Herb never broached the issue with my father. Summer returned to normal and life went on.

Terry learned a valuable lesson that summer: Earning money requires good planning and hard work. That lesson served him well.

Terry eventually went on to graduate from the Culinary Institute in New York City. He became a chef and subsequently a regional manager for Sysco Food Services Corporation. Now, through good planning and hard work, he makes a very good living, and the day Terry nearly burned down Janey Way is just another fiery Janey Way memory.

Marty Relles

The stately brick building called the Governor’s Hall covered that corner and marked the entrance to the fair. Old Merlino’s Orange Freeze was right across the street from that entrance to the fair.

The old fairgrounds stretched for almost a mile north and east from that intersection. The western border of the fairgrounds stretched north from Broadway all the way up to X Street where it went east up to 48th Street then snaked in a southerly direction back towards Broadway. Unlike the modern Cal Expo, which seems a little cramped to me. The old State Fair spread out across a vast expanse of land.

We attended the old State Fair annually, usually on Kid’s Day (the first day of the fair) when kids got in for free. We always entered the fair at the north gate on approximately 48th Street. From there, we walked south down a broad avenue past a line of stately buildings.

First came the Hall of Flowers. We loved entering that building, not only because of the beautiful flowers on display, but because they kept it very cool to preserve the fresh cut flowers. A watery mist always seemed to fill the air in that building.

Next came the Counties Building, another beautiful brick edifice which featured exhibits from every one of California’s 58 counties. The theme of each county exhibit reflected the agriculture and industry which characterized that county. Placer County always featured a 49er panning for gold. Yolo County had rice and tomatoes. Los Angeles County showcased – what else – movies. The exhibits changed yearly and always fascinated us.

Next in the line of buildings came the Hall of Industry with vendors hawking their various wares including: blenders, choppers, window cleaners, etc. We loved that building because the vendors always offered samples to all, even the kids who never bought anything.

From there, the street through the fair turned east, headed for the carnival, our favorite stop, but not before passing the race track on the north, and livestock barns on the south.

The entrance to the old California State Fairgrounds. The old fairgrounds were located at Stockton Blvd. and Broadway in Sacramento. / Photo courtesy, the Lance Armstrong collection

Strangely enough, we loved walking through the livestock barns. The cows, sheep and pigs always fascinated us: a bunch of city boys who only saw animals at the zoo. Here we could literally reach in and pet the critters. Somehow that made them seem a lot more real than at the zoo.

Finally, came the carnival where we spent our hard-earned dimes and quarters on rides like the Ferris Wheel, the Hammer and the Tilt-a-Whirl. We played games like the Derby which emulated a real horse race. We drank soda pop, ate corn dogs and saw mysterious things like the two-headed boy and the bearded lady.

At night, they held outdoor dances adjacent to the carnival for the teen aged kids like we were at the time. In the early ’60s, the bands at the fair played surf music. Remember Wipeout? How about Dickey Dale and Deltones? A friend of ours, Danny Blakolb, actually played with a surf band at the fair. We danced, sang along and generally had a blast.

Days at the old State Fair always ended with fireworks at 9 p.m. They shot them off above a lake in the center of the old race track. Seeing the beautiful, if short, display always capped a great day of fun and adventure. It wasn’t Disneyland, but it was one heck of a lot of fun.

Our days of fun at the old State Fair are nothing but a long past memory to me now. I rarely attend Cal Expo. Somehow, its concrete structures don’t measure up to the brick buildings and tree-lined streets of the old fair – yet another cherished Janey Way Memory.

marty@valcomnews.com

Marty Relles

In the 1940s, ’50s and early ’60s, the Solons played ball at a storied old wooden ballpark named Edmonds Field located at the intersection of Riverside Blvd. and Broadway.

Unlike the Kings, the Solons actually won a Pacific Coast League title in 1942.

Back then, Hall of Fame players with names like Joe DiMaggio and Duke Snider and Ted Williams took their first cuts in the Pacific Coast League. So, when I was growing up in the 1950s, attending a Solons game at Edmonds Field with my dad was always a memorable experience.

The structure itself stood out like a sore thumb on little old Broadway. At full capacity it accommodated about 10,000 fans, a pretty big venue for its time. Fans attending the Solon games parked for free all along the north and west sides of the park and entered the stadium from a main gate located on its northwest corner.

Vendors lined the underbelly of the park, selling hot dogs, sodas, Cracker Jack and peanuts: all the traditional baseball fare.

From there, fans proceeded up through arches lining both sides of the field to the stands. From home plate, the right and left field lines stretched out 330 feet to an 18 foot high fence. The center field fence stood 400 feet away from the plate, so a home run hit to that part of the field had to carry about 450 feet.

Some of the home runs I saw hit at Edmonds Field were memorable, towering blasts. I can remember the sounds of the fans cheering as if it were yesterday.

Going to the games at Edmonds Field with my father was memorable for other reasons.

My dad grew up in Sacramento and because he was a policeman, he always encountered lots of friends from all walks of life at the ballpark. People with monikers like Izzy, Tiny and Lefty.

He always started his conversation with them by saying, “This is my oldest son Marty, you remember him.” The guys would reply, “He’s grown up a lot since the last time I saw him Mart,” and I would swell up to my tallest possible height. Then we headed up to the stands to watch the game.

During their whole tenure, the Solons won only one championship, but they always competed and fought hard for every victory. I remember the outstanding center fielder, Al Heist, injuring his knee, making a diving catch to save a no-hitter for his pitcher.

In this modern day of cash-register sports, you don’t often see that kind of effort anymore.

My dad actually played several games in Edmonds Field with the Sacramento Police Department baseball team. They competed once every year in a charity game with the San Francisco Police Department team.

I served as a mascot for the local police team. One year as the teams played, I did a dance atop the dugout like good mascots do. In doing that, my enthusiasm got the best of me, and I fell off the roof down to the floor of the dugout. Fortunately, I fell right into the open arms of my dad’s good friend, Lefty Rogers who shrugged and said, “What are you doing here, Marty.”

That might have been the best catch Lefty ever made.

The days of Edmonds Field and the Sacramento Solons are a long forgotten memory now. They leveled the field and built a grocery store at the site almost 50 years ago. But I, for one, have not forgotten the old ballpark. Now it’s another inspirational Janey Way memory.

marty@valcomnews.com

Marty Relles

The day after I arrived, my next door neighbor, Butch, took me down to play in the “Pit,” a vacated sand and gravel site which abutted the back yards of the houses on the east side of Janey Way.

It must have looked like the Grand Canyon to a five-year old boy. The site sank about 30 feet into the ground and stretched in an L pattern from M Street on the south all the way over to Elvas Avenue on the north, then across to 62nd Street on the east. It covered about 40 acres of the land on which the St. Francis Catholic High School now stands.

At that time, a dirt road snaked down into the bottom of the Pit from the M Street side of the site, just behind the Petrocchi house at the beginning of Janey Way. Big trucks entered the Pit almost daily to dump their contents in an effort to backfill the big hole. They dumped things like broken pieces of concrete, waste lumber and dirt.

We used this debris to build forts to play in. We also did things like racing our bikes over and around the mounds of dirt left by the trucks, playing cowboys and Indians and staging mock battles between pretend armies.

The Pit was our playground and because it changed shape daily that made it all the more fun.

But the Pit went though many changes as we grew up. By the late 1950s, the entire east end of the pit was level ground. In 1959, the East Sacramento Little League built a baseball diamond on that section of the site. It was a beautiful diamond with bright green fences all around, built-in dugouts, stands for the fans on both sides of the field and a two story structure behind the back stop for a snack bar and a public address system. I played my first and only year of Little League baseball in that park.

Soon after that, all the rest of the Pit was leveled to look like a large vacant lot except for a tall mound of dirt in the middle we called Mount Everest. We played often on that hill. We used it as lookout, as a hide out, and as a stage for great military maneuvers. The younger Janey Way kids actually staged gladiatorial fights on the top of Mount Everest.

On July 4th, we lit fireworks on top of Mt. Everest even before Red Devil and Freedom fireworks were sold in town. Dom Costamagna lit flares and popped fire crackers. Once he even shot off a naval flare which turned the night sky red over the top of our Mt. Everest. However, soon after that even Mt. Everest disappeared.

By the mid 1960s, the Diocese of Sacramento constructed St. Francis High School on the area we once called the Pit. We had grown up then and our days of playing army, riding bikes and building forts had long since ended.

Now the Pit is just another cherished Janey Way memory.