Saratoga News

Saratoga Stereopticon

Willys Peck

Four-time grad shares commencement memories

So here it is June again, the season for graduations and memories thereof. My own cycle of four such events spanned 25 years and began 61 years ago. That was when the 21 members of the Saratoga Union Grammar School Class of 1937 gathered on the stage of the auditorium--now the media center--on June 10 to strut our stuff before family and friend, and to collect our diplomas.

Looking over the printed program, I'd say we came up with some pretty eclectic material. There were instrumental and vocal solos, dramatic readings, choric verse and choral music, and orchestral and string ensemble numbers. My own contribution as class president was dignified as "President's Address," details of which escape me at this far remove.

Graduation meant summer vacation, and for most kids in Saratoga, that meant working in the fruit harvest. Cutting apricots was probably the cushiest of these jobs.

"Spend 10 cents, earn 10 dollars," quipped J.A. Emrich as he sold me a 'cot-cutting knife from the hardware stock at Metzger's market. That's just what I collected from Walter R. Worden when I presented my punched card at the end of the 'cot harvest. The Worden ranch was where Saratoga High School is today, and the cutting shed and dry yard were on a flat by the creek. It was an ideal summer job, and in 1937, $10 could go a long way in buying school clothes for the following fall. I still have that 10-cent 'cot-cutting knife, framed and hanging on my kitchen wall.

My next graduation, four years later from Los Gatos High School, was on Friday the 13th, a date that prompted some wry comments but no serious repercussions. In 1941 there was nothing like the present Grad Night celebrations orchestrated by parents. And I wasn't buying into any impromptu celebrating, since I had to be at work at 7 the next morning at the same Metzger's market. The big deal was the graduation dance the following night, Saturday, at the San Jose Woman's Club, where I was escorting the current girl of my dreams.

There was an eight-year hiatus between that and the next graduation, the third, from the University of California at Berkeley. The delay was occasioned by World War II, and my stint in the Army qualified me for the G.I. Bill of Rights, probably the most enlightened legislation of the 20th century. Through it I obtained tuition, books and housing, enabling me to earn a degree in journalism and go out into the world, namely Saratoga.

I spent that summer in a futile effort to revive a defunct shopping news in Sunnyvale, at the same time getting a foot in the door at the San Jose Mercury Herald as Saratoga correspondent.

I would type up local news items and send them to San Jose on the Peerless bus. Then, at the end of the month, I'd paste the published material into a string, for which I was paid 15 cents an inch, plus a few extra bucks thrown in by a benevolent management. When a full-time job as West Valley correspondent opened in September, I got it.

I worked for 10 years at the Merc in various reporting and editing jobs. Then it struck me that the grass might be greener on the other side of the tracks, to mangle a metaphor. So I quit the paper, or so I thought, and enrolled in law school at Santa Clara University. That set me up for my fourth and final graduation in 1962, which, in turn, launched me on a mini-career of taking the state bar examination. The fourth time was the charm. The three-day exam was given twice a year, in spring and late summer, followed by an excruciating month or so of waiting for the results.

Between the third and fourth exams, needing gainful employment, I hired on at the San Jose News, then an afternoon paper, where one of my colleagues was Carl Heintze, who shares this space on alternate weeks. My days off were Sunday and Monday, and the bar exam results in 1964 came out on Monday, June 1. For some reason, newspapers got those results before the applicants, and Carl called me at home.

"Congratulations, counselor," he chortled.

"You wouldn't fool an old man?" I quavered, a catch in my voice. At age 40, I was getting a bit long in the tooth for a change in careers.

As it happened, that was the night several Cal Glee Club buddies were coming over for some barbershop quartet singing. My wife called other friends, everyone brought champagne, and the evening was spent in revelry and song. The only hitch was that I had to be at work on the News city desk at 7:30 the next morning.

So to all of you graduates, at whatever level, I extend my heartiest congratulations and share your exhilaration.

Been there. Done that.

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