Ken Kramer: Do you know there was a time in San Ysidro when it really was a small town?

Chuck Velasquez: You grew up here.

You went to school here.

You went to church here.

Ken: And you went to what was back then the public library.

Now, the building's still there, but out in front on the lawn about 70 years ago, something disappeared.

Really, nobody knows what happened to it or where it is.

Jack Getcher: That's the million dollar question.

Ken: Anybody have the answer?

Let's see.

Ancient history, the dial telephone.

How would we ever master it?

Okay, you pull the dial around.

female: And lift your finger after each number.

Ken: And do you remember our story about a bottle of cognac from 1944?

Oh, some distant someday, the last surviving member of a group of United States Marines was going to open that bottle and drink a toast to all the rest who weren't around anymore.

Well... [marching music] Ken: That day came.

We'll show it to you, and more stories too, all of them true, "About San Diego."

male announcer: "Ken Kramer's About San Diego," the history and people of the area we call home.

Here's Ken Kramer.

Ken: Greetings from Imperial Beach to Oceanside and all the points in between and betwixt.

This is "About San Diego" and it's great to have you with us.

With your permission, we're going to go into the archives for our first story this time because it's going to help to set the stage for what follows.

It has to do with a pledge made by a group of Marines to one another in wartime.

Ken: Not just any bottle of cognac.

No, no, ask Marine Colonel Jack Kelly about it.

Jack Kelly: I don't know what I would do if anything happened to this bottle.

Ken: Brought over special from France in 1944, given to a group of World War II Pacific veterans of the 1st Marine Division.

They signed a contract to protect and preserve the bottle so it could be given to the last surviving member of the thousands who saw combat in that division.

Jack: And would host a drink to all of those who have gone before.

Ken: So this bottle--so much history, tradition.

You can imagine it's like gold.

Jack: Well, it's been in bank vaults for much of its life.

It's been transported by Brinks armored carriers.

Ken: Sixty-two years now, waiting for the last man standing, and it will be awhile longer.

There are still quite a few living.

And how will they know who exactly is the last?

Ken: Well, here in Oceanside at the headquarters of the 1st Marine Division Association, they keep very complete records.

And when that day comes, they'll find that man.

Juan Doth: Then that person will be identified and we will have some type of ceremony.

Ken: They also keep track of the whereabouts of that bottle, every movement is documented, and yes, Juan Doth says, it's insured.

Juan: I know back in the 1940s or '50s it was like $25,000.

Ken: Today, Colonel Kelly says, it's priceless just as it is.

Jack: Awaiting the last of the 1st.

Ken: When the final remaining veteran will make that sentimental toast and bring to an end this story about San Diego.

Ken: So that was the promise they made: "Whosoever is the last of us will open the bottle and drink to the rest."

Now, fast-forward quite a few years from when we did that story.

What ever happened?

Well, the time came and there was a ceremony.

The Department of Defense got some roving cell phone video from folks who were there and saw it and a photographer named Deb Hellman took a few still photos, both of which were sent to us, and from which we put together this follow-up.

Ken: Seventy-seven years since they made that pledge to one another and themselves.

Seventy-seven years and now here it was.

A Saturday night in November of 2021 in Carlsbad they gathered.

Would there be one last Marine to open the bottle all alone?

No, the 1st Marine Division Association decided there were so many World War II 1st Marine Division Guadalcanal veterans passing now, the time had come to gather a few of the last and raise a glass to them all.

Seventy-seven years and there was that bottle, and the men who came forward, slowed by age now, having seen and experienced so much, so few and yet representing so many.

Eventually, sitting at a table awaiting a ceremonial moment that was truly historic.

And now truthfully, one thing everybody had to wonder, all these years, everywhere this bottle had been, is it still going to be cognac or turned to vinegar?

Well, a little sniff and the answer.

male: Good news!

It's not vinegar, yes!

Ken: And so it was poured.

Maybe not exactly as they might have imagined in 1944, but all the same, just the perfect tribute, at once delicious and bittersweet.

male: This is to our absent comrades.

male: Hear, hear.

male: To our absent comrades.

male: Some of whom have passed away most recently, some of my best friends.

Ken: In a world where duty and responsibility and commitment are slogans, this event, these men, they're the real deal.

The bottle could've been put on a shelf and their pledge forgotten or dismissed as a curiosity of the time, but I'm so glad it wasn't.

Look at these faces.

Think of what this night meant to them and what it says to those who will follow.

For they were the last of the 1st, and may their memory last forever.

male: Thank you, and semper fi.

Ken: By the way, we have the biographies of each of the men who were honored.

Just go to our website and click on "Learn."

Honoring those who have served in the military and some cases given their lives in that service, honoring them, many communities see that as a sacred responsibility no matter how long, no matter how many years have gone by, and that's why what happened in one place in San Diego has puzzled residents there for decades.

It is a mystery.

Now, to understand what happened, you have to go back in time, and to do that, we've got some help.

Ken: Wanna know what this place was like?

Talk with Chuck Velasquez.

Really, just ask him.

Chuck: My head is full of memories because I grew up right around here, playing here.

Right around the corner is the home that my father built with my uncle.

Ken: It's where he spent his young years.

It's where he found lifelong friendships and where his family made a living.

Chuck: If I may say so, my sister had two grocery stores in town, one that said in the front on there, "If we don't have it, you don't need it."

Ken: In the town of San Ysidro, 80 years ago, Chuck says, there was a pool hall, there was one drug store.

Chuck: With the swivel stools on there where our druggist used to make the best malt shakes and cherry Cokes.

Ken: An annual fiesta parade down the main street, a strong social community built around church, big dances at the civic hall where everyone was welcome and it seemed like just everyone went.

Chuck: Everybody knew everybody.

You walked by a house like that, "Howdy," and go over and shake their hand.

Walk over there, you say, "Hi," and shake their hand.

And it was just something unforgettable.

Really unforgettable.

Ken: And one more thing to know about the San Ysidro of back then: there was, right in what was the heart of town, a public library.

And though there is a new library now, the old library building is still there at 101 West San Ysidro Boulevard.

And here is where the mystery is, because out here on the front lawn, up until about 1953, there was something very important to the San Ysidro of that time.

It was very close to maybe just a little to one side of where that palm tree is now.

Jack: So we pretty much have evidence that it was right about there.

Ken: Yeah, but then it just disappeared.

Where did it go?

Jack: That's the million dollar question.

Ken: Jack Getcher has been looking for answers to a decades-long puzzle.

Jack: I've tried asking people at the city and the county, and many people, and nobody knows.

Ken: Nobody knows what happened to this, a memorial, their war memorial that marked the sacrifice of so many of those San Ysidro kids who in the 1940s grew up and went into the military.

Here is one of only two known pictures of it.

Jack: And it had a list of 147 men and women that served in the armed forces of our country during World War II.

Ken: That much is known, but the thing is exactly who they were.

There's no record of their names except the ones you can make out in this one picture.

Because the other picture-- remember I said there were two?

The other one shows a young woman.

Jack: When she was a teenager, there's a photo of her in front of the war memorial with all the names taken down.

Ken: Yes, the names were taken down, and shortly thereafter so was the entire monument, and with it and important tribute to San Ysidro's wartime sacrifice.

Jack is himself a Marine, and for Chuck Velasquez it's very personal.

Chuck: Yes, I have two brothers that are named on there, Alfredo and Adolfo.

Adolfo has a star by him 'cause he didn't make it home.

Ken: This is not a casual pursuit or a bit of historical intrigue for these men.

It's a part of their lives, their families, their community, that's just gone.

Jack: And there's several around San Diego County, and why they took ours down we just don't know.

Ken: He's devoted countless hours trying to find out what happened to San Ysidro's war memorial, but now there's an urgency with every passing day.

Jack: We wanna get it rebuilt with help from the city of San Diego, and get the names back up there, and display and honor those men and women from World War II that served from San Ysidro.

Ken: All these years gone by, all the faces of youth, the friends made who are now gone.

Soon, who will be left to remember those of them who went off to World War II?

When we talked with him, Chuck Velasquez was closing in on 89 years old.

Chuck: And I think they deserve recognition just as much as other towns or areas recognize their young men that went and fought for the United States.

Ken: Jack Getcher worries that the months and years have been going by and time is running out.

Jack: And we're trying to get it done before our generation disappears, 'cause we're the kids of the greatest generation from World War II.

Ken: So was it put in storage?

Is it somewhere in somebody's basement?

You can sense their sad acceptance that, in the end, they'll probably never know what became of their town's memorial.

But for their sake and for the sacrifice of so many of their family and friends from the San Ysidro they remember, may there somehow be built a suitable and lasting memorial that pays tribute to them all?

For that, they truly deserve, and that would indeed be a wonderful ending to this story about San Diego.

♪♪♪ Ken: There is a spot just off of Interstate 8, right about at the San Diego and Imperial County line that is absolutely fascinating, and from time to time when we visit it, we always discover something new.

Now, the desert doesn't change it very much.

There has been a change of ownership, but it's been a while since we were there and we thought we'd take a second look.

Ken: If you like great views, here's a wonderful sight with a great view of the desert: Desert View.

Sixty and more years ago, you stopped here to have a break, and cool your brakes, and walk over to see the desert view.

In the world of roadside attractions, the Desert View Tower was a classic, and still is.

California Historical Monument number 939 in the In-Ko-Pah Mountains near Jacumba and Ocotillo, it's a throwback to the days before automobile air conditioning, when you just had to pull the station wagon off the long highway so the kids could get out and climb up the Desert View Tower.

Tourists used to write their name in a book.

male: These are a treasure.

Ken: From Chula Vista to Chicago, they signed in pencil just to prove they were here and had climbed the Desert Tower and seen the view.

Used to cost 25 cents back in the day, kids were a dime, plus two pennies tax to go up the tower.

We found the circular ground floor to be a combination museum, curio shop, and occasional yoga studio.

Really a little bit of everything.

♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ Ken: Up and round the stairs we go, just like excited tourists have since the tower was built in the 1920s.

Each landing offers more random things to see, and out the window a hint of the view that awaits when we get to the top, and get to the top we will.

But just in case you're wondering who built this and why, well, Mr. Bert Vaughn was a road and hotel developer and his road work crews camped out up here at 3,000 feet where it was a little bit cooler.

He and they, rock by rock, assembled it.

And then, what's that?

Right on the same property, rock sculptures started appearing.

All kinds of strange carvings done by an unemployed engineer named Merle Ratcliff who it is said was paid a dollar a day and a jug of wine.

Along with the tower, his folk art Boulder Park has been a climb-around attraction ever since.

Meantime in the tower, there are more steps, more collected things to see, including works of art on display inspired by the place itself.

Up and up until...

The observation deck and a view out over the desert that on a clear day can reach to the Salton Sea and the sand dunes of Algodones, 100 miles or more.

♪♪♪ Ken: It's hard to know what will become of the tower 20, 50, or 100 years from now.

It's changed ownership a couple of times in its long history, always seeming for a few dollars admission to survive as the kind of picture postcard roadside attraction that dotted desert highways in the '40s and '50s.

But as the afternoon shadows lengthen over the desert below, it's not hard to imagine years from now that people will still be seeing that sign along the interstate and say, "Desert View Tower, hmm, let's go see it.

Sounds like something interesting about San Diego."

Ken: By the way, Bert Vaughn who had the tower built, he was very heavily invested in Jacumba Hot Springs.

He was pretty sure back then that there was going to be a border crossing and that that would mean all kinds of industry and opportunity there.

Well, that turned out not to be true, but his Desert Tower is his lasting legacy.

♪♪♪ Ken: Okay, complete change of pace now.

Coming up, we're going to have a quiz to test how much you know about San Diego.

But just before that, a story from Point Loma, and when people hear it, they say, "No, no, you gotta be kidding.

That can't possibly be so."

And it might give you a chuckle or a smile, but I would point out it has the additional benefit of being true.

Ken: I wanna show you a flight of stairs here, different in their shape.

Not steep, but kind of little stairs.

Unusual stairs, I think you'll agree, when you hear the story about this woman.

This is Katherine Tingley who lived in the house with the strange stairs.

It was a lavishly furnished house too, beautifully done throughout, and built right in the middle of a school campus that she founded and built, the Theosophical settlement on Point Loma.

Here on the edge of the Pacific Ocean a century ago, people lived according to Madame Tingley's values and teachings.

Her students wore flowing robes as they learned various domestic skills and acquired the temperament of good citizenship.

There was a love of antiquity too.

Great performances of dance were held in a Greek amphitheater.

And all of this was combined with a kind of Indian spirituality.

For Madame Tingley, you see, according to the story, believed that when she died, she would come back to this place as a tortoise.

In fact, if you have a little imagination, you could look at this old picture of a building at the settlement and see in its design the back of a tortoise.

Ken: Which brings us back to these stairs.

Oddly shaped, kind of shallow and yet long, but the perfect height if you happen to be small.

Ken: If you were, oh, say the size of a tortoise, you could get up these stairs.

And so the story is that when Madame Tingley designed her house, it was with the idea that she would return to live here as a tortoise.

Her Theosophical center is long gone.

The property eventually became Cal Western and is now Point Loma Nazarene University.

And Katherine Tingley's house?

It's now known as Cabrillo Hall on the campus, where the main stairway may have you short stepping and watching your feet because of Katherine Tingley, and it is said, this little story about San Diego.

♪♪♪ Ken: Now a quiz about a dog.

Well, a Saint Bernard and Spaniel mix to be exact.

And not just any dog.

No, San Diego's official city dog of 120 years ago.

Believe it or not, here in what today we call the Gaslamp, there was a stray dog that just became everybody's favorite.

He could wander in and out of any place, including downtown saloons where he could always get one and then maybe a couple more beers, and that wasn't so good.

But as far as San Francisco, stories spread about how this dog saved a child from drowning and pulled a puppy out of the path of a streetcar.

And maybe it was true, or not.

Who knows?

Ken: At civic events, parades, fires, people would say, "Make way, make way, here he comes," and he would come through to where he could see everything that was going on.

Ken: But here's where we're going to "paws," so to speak, for our quiz this week, and here it is; see if you know.

What was the name of our official town dog back then?

Was it Bum, was it Rusty, or was it Nipper?

♪♪♪ Ken: It was Bum.

That was his name, Bum, who had a front row view of everything that happened here back in those days.

Lost part of his leg when he was hit by a train and the whole city followed his recovery in the newspaper.

For years, he was pictured on dog licenses and eventually cast in bronze outside the Davis-Horton House at Fourth and Island, and if you knew that, you know a lot about San Diego.

Ken: I should mention here that while Bum's picture was on dog licenses, he himself was never required to wear one; I mean, that would be like asking the mayor to show some ID.

And you weren't fooled by the fact that Nipper was one of our choices.

Nipper is our friend right here, the RCA Victor mascot who joins us on set from time to time, and he's just a stuffed animal.

Nipper: Who you callin' stuffed?

♪♪♪ Ken: Okay, time for some random things, odds and ends, bits of nostalgia that might take you back in time, even before your time, and some things you've sent in too or led us to.

This is great fun, and from your feedback, you seem to like it too.

Okay, ready to be transported back to bygone days?

Here we go.

Progress was on the march.

♪♪♪ Ken: End of the 1930s, the phone company was upgrading service, putting in a dial so no more operator.

You could dial your own calls, wow.

male: Dial telephone?

Yes, I did hear something about it down at the grocery store this morning.

Ken: Schedule a $2 full body fluoroscopic x-ray at Dr. Keys's office in San Diego, you could now just dial F, that was the same as a 3, F-3721.

Of course, this new technology, there was a learning curve.

Instructional movies like this one helped.

female: Always pull the dial all the way around to the finger stop and lift your finger after each number.

Ken: We figured it out eventually.

Okay, pull up a cozy chair.

Postcard of the Oakvale Lodge and Lake Wohlford.

Robin Johnson Drogo says her mom and dad took her there when she was young and she never forgot the fireplace made out of a tree in the lobby.

From Robert Watress, 1918 Escondido on Grand Avenue, it's his grandfather, N.T.

Hawksee, who was a stage driver.

No horses, by then they were cars, but they still called them stages.

One of his routes was from Escondido to San Diego.

Well... [thunder crashing] 1916, there was a major flood.

Bridges were out.

It was a mess.

But do you know, Mr. Hawksee's motorized stage, his passengers, and the mail were among those who managed to get across the Bernardo River anyway thanks to the horses that pulled them.

That flooding year of 1916 brought these shots too, with no indication of who took them.

Telephone poles bent over, things just washed away.

What is that, a streetcar?

Some rare footage here with thanks to the San Diego Air and Space Museum.

1927, this is Ryan Aircraft in San Diego, and that's the Spirit of St. Louis, the little airplane built here that Charles Lindbergh would take to New York and fly solo from there nonstop to Paris and into history.

Well, from Jack Miller, when Charles Lindbergh was here to pick up the Spirit of St. Louis before his historic flight, he had a motorcycle escort.

Jack says, "Look, see the officer with his hand through Lindbergh's?

That's his wife's grandfather."

And this, Lindbergh Field.

Dorothy Patterson with a friend in 1958, getting ready to fly to Burbank.

Security?

It was a different time.

You walked right out to the plane, parked at the terminal on Pacific Highway, and up the steps and off you went.

Terry Becker sent this picture.

1950s, he's a kid, and with him is baseball superstar Lefty O'Doul, revered in San Francisco, but from 1952 to '54 was manager of the San Diego Padres.

From Randy Haug, San Diego Padres' game program, September 2, 1967.

Game they called "The Last Hurrah."

What?

Were they going somewhere?

Yes, but not far.

See, it says, "Last game at Westgate Park," capacity 8,268.

The very next year, they were going Major League and moving to this place.

Westgate Park, by the way, was right where Fashion Valley Mall is now.

And 1967 was a very good year.

They finished in first place, 22 games over .500.

Oh, and I just gotta say, check out the concession prices.

Hot dogs, peanuts, beer, everything cost 10 cents.

Plus, for the Last Hurrah, they were giving away a complete Padre uniform, season tickets, a trip to Hawaii, and home plate.

Matchbooks!

These from Greg Smith in Vista.

The Show Boat on 2nd Avenue and Lubach's Restaurant.

Seems everybody used to offer matchbooks, including the County of San Diego.

Be sure to close cover before striking.

John Fuel in Bonita found this.

Probably early 1950s.

Look, "No match for San Diego."

Tuna packing, farming, tourism, big Navy payroll, so you should advertise on the radio over 5000 watt station KCBQ.

Thanks to Shotgun Tom for taking the pictures and sending them.

Even the Star Light Opera.

Ron Role found a matchbook from 1950.

Seats available from $1, way up to a stratospheric $2.50, wow.

Telephone now, call F-6301.

female: The party at this number will hear a clear, evenly-spaced ring that sounds like this.

[phone rings] [phone rings] Ken: And finally, relic alert!

You hardly see these anymore.

2013, Karen Beth Pearlman caught a shot of a payphone at the Embarcadero.

[phone rings] We should probably answer it.

Might be something important about San Diego.

[phone rings] Ken: And that's it for this time and this episode of "About San Diego."

Please look around, make sure you have all your personal items, and we will see you next time.

Meantime, you can always see these stories again or learn more about the stories you've seen here.

Just go to kenkramertv.com.

And communicate with us.

Keep the conversation going.

That's great fun.

We will see you next time.

Until then, I'm Ken Kramer.

And as always, thank you for watching and for caring about San Diego.

Bye-bye.

♪♪♪ male: You know what it says here?

They're gonna take out all our phones and put in them kind with dials on 'em.

female: Oh, Gramps, that's yummy!

Does it say how soon?

male: A few weeks I guess.

female: You ought to be glad to have modern telephones.

male: Oh shucks, you youngins are never satisfied these days.

♪♪♪ CC by Aberdeen Captioning www.aberdeen.io 1-800-688-6621 female announcer: Support for this program comes from the KPBS Explore Local Content Fund.

Supporting new ideas and programs for San Diego.