It’s a well kept secret going back to the glorious days of the Kumeyaay (our native peoples) and the early mission friars. The Kumeyaay Trail and Friars Road both led down Mission Valley and ended at a stunning paradise-like peninsula called Mission Beach. The San Diego River flows into the ocean from Mission Valley, dividing Ocean Beach from Mission Beach while feeding a remarkable estuary called Mission Bay. Few people realize that this beach and bay were a significant food source for our native peoples, important habitat for wildlife, and a point of recreation, relaxation, and exploration for the friars and other early community members.
Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, and then came the human screams. It’s embedded in my soul, the sounds of the roller coaster (and the human response) as it dives from its highest point into a plunge at high speeds. The roar and rumble of the roller coaster at Belmont Park echoed over the courts and alleys into my bedroom window at night. I was born in Mission Beach, and when the coaster was sleeping late at night, my senses, soul, and mind were caressed by the rhythm of the waves. The ocean was my first lover; she took my body unto her and set my spirit free with her energy, power, and healing forces. Dolphins, seals, pelicans, minerals, salt, and sand were my best friends. Life was golden. Most often my toughest decision of the day was: Do I walk out my front door to the ocean, go out the back door to the bay, or walk down to the amusement center at Belmont Park?
Belmont Park
When I was about twelve I had a Sentinel paper route that covered both sides of South Mission Beach. Back then Mission Bay was undeveloped, the waters were shallow, the tidal changes were dramatic, mud flats were dominant, and at low tide you could walk across some coves. Clam digging was phenomenal, halibut fishing was outstanding. The bay side walk bordered a cliff on the east that dropped down about six to ten feet to the shoreline and docks. For years a brightly painted Chinese junk anchored near El Carmel Point added color and character to the cove. I could ride my bike to school in Pacific Beach and never see another person on the ocean front boardwalk or along the bay side lane. The money I earned from the paper route was spent buying vintage cars from an ex-Indianapolis race car driver/mechanic at Al King’s Garage (across from Saska’s Steak House) where my brother and I would transform old Fords, Chevys, and Ramblers into hot rods, surf buggies, or resell them to purchase surfboards, sailboats, go-carts, motorcycles, and quarter midget race cars.
Prior to my career as a paperboy, I made my living under the roller coaster at Belmont Park. My friends and I would venture over to Harry’s Market on Ventura Place, take an orange crate from the trash, and nail a piece of window screen over the top. Then we’d flip it over and have a professional sand sifter. We would sneak under the highest point of the coaster (the drop) where things get real crazy, and we’d make our fortune. You see, back in the 1950’s and early 60’s two kinds of people rode the roller coaster on the weekends and holidays: drunk sailors and the girls that chased them. Despite the sign on the top of the drop reading:
Don’t stand up, Don’t put your hands up, and Hold on!
that rarely happened with the tough sailors and hungry women. Silver dollars, coins, bills, wallets, purses, gold lipstick cases, combs, pocket mirrors, car keys, hats, sunglasses, phone numbers on matchbooks, cigarettes – you name it – these items supported me and my friends quite well. In addition, I sold the lipstick to the girls in my Catholic school, the cigarettes to the bikers at Maynard’s Bar, and received “rewards” for finding car keys, wallets, purses, and phone numbers.
Blacks Beach
Many unique elements made Mission Beach “heaven” for us kids. One example was a small cheesecake factory (Sam’s Homemade Cheesecake) located directly across the street from the roller coaster. Kids “on the inside” knew that you could buy a damaged cake there for 50 cents by entering a side screen door into the factory. Our treasure fund from the roller coaster “lost and found” financed many a cheesecake. When you’re eight to ten years old, not much else beats a cheesecake, a day of surfing, topped off with a golden sunset to the west of the boardwalk. Other keys to our “personal bliss” were the weather, uncrowded surfing conditions, sailing on the bay, a lack of crime, and unlimited options for water sports. For example, I had a surf mat made of canvas, inflated to a hard surface with a rope handle that carried me down waves of up to twenty feet high. Due to the lack of fins on the mat and my light body weight, I’d literally “drop over the falls” of the wave and bounce back to the top. When all else failed, we’d ride our bikes all the way to Blacks Beach near La Jolla to go surfing or just to check out our rivals at La Jolla High School. When we really got bored, we’d throw water balloons across Mission Blvd. into the front seats of convertible cars driven by sailors, going in the opposite direction. For some reason, you’d always see four or five sailors in the front seat with totally empty back seats – it just seemed like a logical target. By the time the furious (wet) sailors made a u-turn in hopes of killing us, we would be long lost in the maze of courts, alleys, and beach escapes.
Mission Beach was a bohemian community and was “off limits” to many kids from Pacific Beach and La Jolla. Our neighborhood had artists, beatniks, bikers, surfers, writers, sculptors, poets, folk music performers, coffee shops, and other sketchy elements of society that raised fears in the suburbs. We did have a “holy rollers” church – you’d think that would’ve made a good reflection on our community. But, sometimes the status quo looks down on free-spirited and creative beach bums; it’s a global problem. What was interesting is that most of the Mission Beach kids turned out to be healthy, successful, and dynamic individuals while our rich counterparts in other “upscale” beach communities turned to drugs and alcohol to numb the pain of abandonment and rejection from their parents who were too busy making money to enjoy family and the simpler things in life, like a beach, a sunset, and cheesecake.
My life has taken me on many amazing journeys, down many roads, but I always find time to return to “my beloved beach” and walk my old haunts. Sometimes, late at night, I can still hear the voices of the carnies hawking goods down the midway at the various venues in Belmont Park. I hear the screams and yells of excitement, pleasure and pain coming from the roller coaster and the fun house. I still smell the saltwater taffy, almost taste the bon-bons, and crave cotton candy. I see myself and my friends on the bumper cars, in the batting cage, up onto the ferris wheel, and over in Frontier Land. Many times, I’ve wondered if my childhood was really as “golden” as I think it was. Is it possible that I was born and lived in “heaven” or was it just my wild imagination? Looking back, I’d have to say it was pure magic. Sometimes, all you need is cheesecake, uncrowded beaches, endless sunsets, spare change, water balloons, sailors, friends, and family. Yes, Mission Valley has a beach. I know it well, and sometimes life really is a beach. You just have to make the best of the situation and enjoy it ~ one grain of sand at a time.
Steve Dryden now lives in Mexico’s premier wine country where he guides small group and and private wine tours. [Thanks, Steve, for the wonderful wine tour you took us on a couple of years ago in Ensenada's backcountry. Your wine expertise of the region was invaluable!] Steve can be contacted by email at sbdryden@hotmail.com and online at International Wine and Food Guide and Baja Wine and Cuisine. If you enjoyed Steve’s writing, you’ll like reading his bear adventure: A Grizzly Event.
Photos on this page were generously provided by Golden State Images ~ Signature California Scenic & Marine Wildlife Photos ~ © Randy Morse.
Thumbnail carousel image courtesy of Larry Carlson.
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
Ahh yes! Sam’s cheesecakes and Belmont Park I remember them well. Fun to wander the alleys and courts, never knew who you would meet. Do you remember Reed’s bookstore? A very Bohemian place, books on all subjects.
Hey Steve…how come you never told me about those damaged cheesecakes? I would have been a regular customer. Bonfires at the beach were great after a long session in the surf…kind of a tribal thing. We collected bottles to come up with enough for a hamburger at the little joint north of the pier… 35cents! And the chicks laying on the beach during the summer! Dang!
I had a smile just reading about your memories in MB. Sam’s cheesecakes were wonderful. And to this day I can taste those hamburgers by the pier…..had to wait for them to cook it & they were soooo tasty. Even tho I was a PB girl we all made our own fun up & down the beaches. It truly was a magic time.