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Today, We Honor The Overall Man Classic Bill Mead

Reprinted with permission from Tehachapi Lifestyle Magazine, March 2014 issue.

A few weeks ago I had lunch with Bernie, a fellow I grew up with back in Iowa. We both came to California in the World War II Navy although not together. Neither of us went back to the cornbelt. The similarity ends there because Bernie's career over the intervening decades has been more noteworthy than mine. Among other things, Bernie was among those who invented the satellite tracking system now used by trucking companies to keep track of their rigs from coast to coast. This has had a big impact on the trucking industry but Bernie claims the basic concept is pretty simple. That's easy for him to say. He's a genius.

During lunch, Bernie and I talked mostly about a drum and bugle corps to which we belonged during our grammar school days. It was organized by the local American Legion Post and paid for with hard-earned contributions from folks who had their hands full coping with the Great Depression. Our uniforms, red jackets atop white pants, were sewed by mothers. I have no idea how a community with little more than 2,000 souls came up with the money to buy instruments but it occurred to Bernie and me that we were living "the Music Man" scenario long before Meredith Willson wrote that epic about another small Iowa town.

Over the years I have often reflected upon the generosity of our townspeople in sponsoring the drum and bugle corps. Their contributions included costs of hauling 30 or more kids around the state to march in parades, most of them related to American Legion events. Since many of the youngsters came from families ravaged by hard times, parents weren't asked to come up with much money to pay for these wonderful trips. The Legion guys made sure that any kid who wanted to participate wouldn't be left out for lack of funds.

Bernie had brought to our lunch some yellowed clippings for our hometown paper which his mother had lovingly saved. They included a photo of the drum and bugle corps, 11-year-old Bernie with his bugle and me, a chubby cheeked 10-year-old, holding a pair of cymbals. They were assigned to me, as I recall, after it was determined I would never master the snare drum. The clippings told of a forthcoming corps excursion to Clinton, Iowa, which was a nine-hour trip one way. Private cars provided the transportation, with nobody getting any gas money. Corps leaders suggested a family contribution of $2 per child for the entire trip. I forgot to ask Bernie if he recalled where we slept during the three-day outing, but my hazy memory tells me we sacked out in a high school gym in Clinton on cots borrowed from a National Guard unit. That's how you do things when you love your kids and don't have big bucks.

Until we met at lunch, I don't think Bernie or I had talked to anyone about the warm memories we have of the drum and bugle corps. All the grownups who made it happen have passed on, which is sad because I doubt they ever understood themselves what a positive effect they had on kids who couldn't afford this kind of activity on their own.

Wherever they are, it would be nice if they could have overheard a couple of old men at lunch the other day, remembering the days when they marched in their snappy red coats, young chests stuck out in pride.

If you don't know Bill: Bill Mead was the longtime publisher of the Tehachapi News, along with Betty Mead, his wife and partner of more than 50 years. Known for his keen wit, which could be gentle or scathing or somewhere in between but was often self-deprecatory, Bill's writing won him a wide following among News readers. His column "The Overall Picture" ran in the News for more than 25 years, and in 1999 he published a collection of his columns in a volume entitled The Napa Valley Outhouse War. His book is currently available for sale at the Tehachapi Museum for $10.

Bill had a remarkable mind and because of his intelligence, humor and appearance he was regarded by many as Tehachapi's Mark Twain. As Betty used to remind him, he was "older than the oldest Model A Ford" and his wealth of life experiences and rural upbringing allowed him to bring a thoroughly American, 20th century perspective to his reflections and musings on the everyday. Bill passed away in 2008 but his writing lives on.

[Publisher's note: I read Bill's articles during the 80s and 90s and 20s and I am grateful to share them now with our current readers. I hope you enjoy this touch of nostalgia as much as I do.]