Photos Number 1 and 2 above, showing an image of woman seated in the center surrounded by a bevy of other women is the famed aviatrix Pancho Barnes. The bevy of other women sitting in a circular fashion around Barnes were associated with her through what typically fell under, nomenclature-wise, the term "hostesses." The two photographs, circa late 1940s early 1950s, were taken at Pancho's high desert "Happy Bottom Riding Club," a so called dude ranch she built near Muroc Dry Lake right on the edge of Edwards Air Force Base. Pancho's "ranch" featured a motel, an abundance of riding horses and thoroughbreds, a restaurant, three landing strips, a dance hall, gambling den, an ever present bevy of hostesses, and a world-famous bar that catered to military personnel from the nearby air base along with all of her Hollywood friends.
Pancho's Club, although off to a slow start before the war, continued to grow throughout the war years, really taking off big time shortly after the war ended starting around that 1947-1948 time bracket. In 1952 it was still reaching upward for the top of it's game when suddenly everything came crashing down. The following is how it written up as to how that crashing down occurred as found at the source so cited:
"In 1952, following a change of command at the air base, friction between Pancho and the base commander began to increase because of the number of flights in and out of the Club's landing strip and what the commander called an encroachment into the base's airspace. When the government attempted to buy her property allegedly to expand the air base runways and Pancho refused, a series of unproven allegations surfaced that the Happy Bottom Riding Club was, among other things, a brothel. The Air Force slapped an off limits on the ranch, effectively banning servicemen from going to the club. Falling on hard times and basically deserted when the government moved to appropriate the ranch, Pancho sued. Then, on November 13, 1953, shortly after she beat the government and won the lawsuit, the ranch, under very, very suspicious circumstances, burnt to the ground, some even say, although it was never proven, from a possible strike from the air."(source)
With Pancho's ranch shuttered suddenly out of nowhere, catching almost everybody top-to-bottom off guard, the hostesses along with the employees, bartenders, stable hands, cooks, etc., found the need to scramble to survive. The high desert from Muroc Dry Lake for a hundred miles around in almost any direction didn't offer a whole lot of opportunities, especially so for the people with the type skills and talents of those working for Pancho, who was as well, a most generous employer. Finding the same kind of work for the same kind of pay wasn't going to be easy.
Then, as sensitive dependence on initial conditions would have it, my stepmother just happened to return from a two-year extended excursion to Mexico and South America with my dad. During that same two-year period their marriage, for reasons unknown to me, deteriorated to such a point it simply disintegrated. With my stepmother, or ex-stepmother as the case may be, now finding herself seeking a pathway of resurgence using what came naturally to her, that is, her former experience and expertise, a miracle in the desert occurred as fate, timing, and karma came together unexpectantly to reunite two old friends, re the following:
"My ex-stepmother stepped into the picture when the Air Force placed the off limits decree on the Club. She had a California liquor licence and owned several bars in Los Angeles. Pancho, as a friend from their old Laguna Beach days, in a casual conversation with my ex-stepmother, who supplied hostesses for the club on and off over time, suggested she open a facility similar to Pancho's now, or soon to be, defunct Club --- only far enough from the air base that they could not mess with it, but still close enough that it was easily accessible --- AND with NO known or on the surface affliation or ties with Pancho. So she did, opening the closest bar in those days to the air base south gate, somewhat east and south of Pancho's old place, duplicating almost all of the same amenities and wide open services except for an airstrip."
After a several months period trying to get everything off the ground, which at least for a few years afterwards anyway, provided anyone who wanted a home and employment at my stepmother's newly opened "ranch" were able to if so interested --- all done of course with Pancho's blessings from behind the scenes. Interestingly enough, one of Pancho's hostesses pictured above, Pauline Page, who also had been affiliated with my stepmother in some fashion at one time, didn't move over to her when the chance came up. Instead, she got married, and because of that marriage she eventually played a major role in my life.
In Photo Number 3 Pauline Page is shown standing to the right of Fifie, albeit on the viewers physical left. In Photo Number 1 Page is photographed, it would seem, in connection with her sometimes association with an ever present bevy of hostesses. She is shown next to Barnes in the middle row also on the viewers left. The middle photo, Photo Number 2, is basically wider view of Number 1 with some minor shuffling and reseating. In Number Two Page is the woman on the far left.
Between the last photograph and the start of the paragraphs on this page is a list of seven links with the top link of the list reading: PAULINE PAGE I. Clicking that link takes you to an online article that opens with a paragraph that pretty much sums up Pauline Page:
"Pauline had been an entertainer with the USO during World War II, billing herself as Pauline Page and Her All Girl Band.(see) Near the end of the war she became associated with both Brenda Allen and Fifie as well as my stepmother, and then, eventually, after meeting my father through my stepmother, to whom of which he was still married, falling madly in love with him. Seeing it was not going to work she married a former sergeant she met while touring with the USO who had never stopped pursuing her. They bought one of those look-alike every other house had a reverse floorplan tract homes that sprang up all over in former stoop-labor farmland south of Los Angeles while he went to work for one of the aircraft factories and she stayed home wearing an apron and no underpants."
During the two year period my dad and stepmother were gone my brothers and I once again found ourselves in a position to be parceled out. Both my brothers had somewhere to go but because of my history nobody was really stepping forward to take me. My uncle, after relentlessly begging non-stop for hours as he recalled, was finally able to convince the foster couple who was taking in my younger brother to take me as well. That foster couple was Pauline Page and her newly minted husband. Pauline, of course, at least as I saw it, only taking my brother and I in to somehow maintain a continuing connection with my father. Me being the odd one out, it wasn't long before I began searching for alternative ways to improve my own personal situation, and as I had done in the past, I decided to run away.
As soon as I was able to put together enough information, knowledge and resources to do so I did just that, run away. Under the guise of spending the day with a friend and without anybody's knowledge, including even my younger brother, I took a Greyhound bus north to the Mojave Desert searching for and eventually finding my then just divorced-from-my-father stepmother basically with the following results:
"Although impressed that I ran away just to be with her she thought it best to get in touch with my dad and see what she should do next. Unwilling to talk with my grandmother she called the woman of the foster couple I ran away from, who she knew and was friends with, hoping to find out if I should be returned to them or to locate my father, telling the woman that I was in good care and everything was OK. The woman of the couple, Aunt Pauline, told my stepmother to 'keep the fucking little asshole, I don't give a shit what happens to him.' Then she added, 'Don't forget his prick of a little brother, either.' My stepmother, taking into consideration there were no subtle or hidden messages in her response, being quite clear as well as taking her at her word, contacted my uncle to see if he had any idea where my dad was. He didn't, but told my stepmother if she could find no other solution and she could get me to Santa Fe he would deal with situation until everything could be hammered out. With that, having no success locating my dad for whatever reason, rather than sticking me on some grungy multi-day cross desert bus ride to my uncle's and not knowing for sure if I wouldn't just get off somewhere on the way, she arranged for the same former World War II P-47 pilot that flew my uncle and me to Sacramento a few years before to fly me to Santa Fe, ensuring, she hoped, I would be less likely to get out mid-trip."(source)
Before I went to live with Pauline in the first place, my stepmother, within hours if not minutes of her departure for South America, seeing there was a good chance I was going to end up living with Pauline, and always thinking of me in a good light and the best for me as she viewed it, handed an envelope to my uncle to give to me with strict instructions that I was not show it or give it to anybody else except to the person it was addressed to --- in other words, keep Pauline out of it. Re the following:
"The envelope was addressed to a man named Russ Miller, the owner of the Normandie Club, one of six legal poker casinos in the city, with those six being practically the only legal poker clubs in the whole state. I knew enough about gambling places to know that no 12 or 13 year old kid was just going up to the front door and walk right in."
Miller looked the letter over for a few minutes, asked how my "mother" was, then after a bit of small talk wanted to know what is was he could do for me. I told him I was looking to earn some money and was hoping for some kind of regular after school or weekend work. He asked what grade I was in and stretching the truth a bit I told him I went to Gardena High. He said come back in a couple of days and ask for Rick. Which I did. See:
THE NORMANDIE CLUB
As to the subject of donations, for those of you who may be interested in doing so as it applies to the gratefulness of my works, I invariably suggest any funds be directed toward THE WOUNDED WARRIOR PROJECT and/or THE AMERICAN RED CROSS.