Growing Up in Wheeler Ridge

  • George, Larry, Little George and Bob Dorsey with their 1936 Dodge at the Richfield plant at the northern base of the Grapevine in Wheeler Ridge, shown in a Ridge Route Communities Museum and Historical Society book by Bob Dorsey.

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    George, Larry, Little George and Bob Dorsey with their 1936 Dodge at the Richfield plant at the northern base of the Grapevine in Wheeler Ridge, shown in a Ridge Route Communities Museum and Historical Society book by Bob Dorsey.

  • The little town of Wheeler Ridge in the 1930s, located at the northern base of the Grapevine, on Highway 99, about 30 years before Interstate-5 was built.

    Image 2 of 3
    The little town of Wheeler Ridge in the 1930s, located at the northern base of the Grapevine, on Highway 99, about 30 years before Interstate-5 was built.

  • Bob, Ted, Ralph, Hoyd and Larry Dorsey at the foot of the steps leading to the Richfield plant at Wheeler Ridge.

    Image 3 of 3
    Bob, Ted, Ralph, Hoyd and Larry Dorsey at the foot of the steps leading to the Richfield plant at Wheeler Ridge.

When Robert Dorsey, now 80, began sending stories to the Ridge Route Communities Museum about his childhood in Wheeler Ridge, museum historian Bonnie Ketterl Kane felt the stories were so good that they should be gathered into a book.

If you cannot quite imagine life in our local communities back in the 1930s and 40s, you will enjoy these excerpts from Growing Up In Wheeler Ridge, now finished and published by the museum.

The forgotten little community of Wheeler Ridge used to be located about five miles north of the present Tejon Ranch Commerce Center at the bottom of Grapevine Canyon.

The Dorsey family moved to Wheeler Ridge in 1934 when Bob was almost two years old. His father had accepted a job as a ‘pumper’ for the Richfield Oil Company. These excerpts give a taste of the many exploits of the children of the Grapevine.

Excerpts by Robert Dorsey from Growing Up In Wheeler Ridge

My brothers were talking one day, and the text of what I heard was something about how a rattlesnake and a king snake would fight if they were to meet. I thought that would be something to see. So, with trusty stick in hand, I set out to find two worthy combatants.

Now at our new home this was not a difficult thing to do. The next day I found a brown snake with a strange tail sleeping under a rose bush in front of the house. A short time later, by the rear steps, I found the second half of my entertainment for the day. Now this king snake was not happy with my presence, so moved out to find a place to hide. Well guess what?

The only place was the rose bushes in front. I followed along as fast as possible and found the two snakes more interested in me than each other. I was about to get things started with my stick when a firm hand on my arm quickly removed me from the area. Dad had come out to see what I was doing. Soon I was bent over his knee and my trusty stick was being used on my backside. It seems like a lot of my pre-school days were spent looking at the floor while being bent over father’s knee.

• • • •

In the summer of 1942, dad quit his job with Richfield Oil Company and informed mom we were moving into the town of Wheeler Ridge, a small town that boasted of having three bars, three gas stations, a grocery store, garage and a post office. Mom took the news with a little less than enthusiasm. We started the move in a 1937 Hudson Teraplane pickup that dad borrowed from his friend, Andy Wheeler. After many twelve mile trips back and forth, we were at home in the ugliest house in town. This was due mostly to the green paint that was put on twenty years before.

Thinking back now, I realize that except for the homes built onto two of the town businesses, ours was the best in town. Our house was the last one on the east side of Wheeler Ridge—come to think of it, it was the last on the west side too. Anyway, looking east from our house it was ten miles or more to the next house.

Our electricity was provided by a diesel generator where dad worked and water came from a well on the north end of town where Red Danners Café was. Neither utility was very reliable and we spent a lot of time without power or water.

• • • •

As World War II moved on into 1943, one could not count all the warplanes in perfect formations that flew over each day. A plane spotter shack was installed in the middle of town and volunteers telephoned in a report of all planes that flew over. The walls of the shack were covered with ID pictures of all American, Japanese and German military aircraft. A description and direction of flight was reported to a telephone operator each time planes would fly over.

• • • •

Despite the war going on, my life at El Tejon Elementary School was, as I remember it, a lot of fun and a lot of work. The bus ride to school each day on the dangerous Highway 99 was a challenge for our driver, Mr. Carter, as he watched for runaway trucks and passing vehicles on the three lane road.

About a mile before the bottom of the hill was the little town of Grapevine. Occasionally a runaway truck would crash into the gas station there, causing damage.

About 1944 work was begun on the highway through the canyon to change it to four lanes with a concrete divider in the center.

• • • •

Wheeler Ridge was, by its size and location, a challenge to we young people growing up. Looking for something to do for fun in 1944 usually meant poor choices.

Myself and a friend were suffering from stupidity one day and decided to fool the garage mechanic. We stomped on the metal grate entering into the garage so he would think he had a customer.

When he came running out we smiled and said “hello!”

He saw no humor in what we had done and returned to his work. After about ten minutes we did it again and waited for him to return, ready to run when he saw us.

When he did come, it was from behind. He grabbed us both by the shirt collars and marched us out to the gas pumps. After a few choice words he proceeded to hang us each by our belts to the hooks where the air and water hoses were.

I think dad saw what we were doing and he, as well as everyone else, thought it very funny. We were left there for about fifteen minutes while cars pulled in and out from the pumps. After being let down from our perch I was more than ready to behave myself.

• • • •

To the west of Wheeler Ridge, across Highway 99 about five hundred feet, was the terminal point of a ridge that extended to the east from the mountains that made up the west side of the southern San Joaquin Valley.

The end of the ridge dropped about one hundred fifty feet to the valley floor.

On snowy days this would have been a great place to sled ride, but snow fall here seldom happened. Each spring a new growth of grass appeared all over the area and made the hill a great place to slide down on a piece of cardboard.

A small amount of dew on the vegetation made short work of our paper sleds. But ‘defeat’ was not in our vocabulary, so we returned to town and began to search around the wrecked cars and found a hood from a ‘39 Chevrolet and one from a 1940 Ford.

With a bit of effort my friends and I carried them across Highway 99 and to the bottom of the hill. After a short rest we transported them to the top and made ready for a slide down.

We turned the things over and pointed the nose downhill. I was not eager to be a test pilot, so Bud and Jim made the first trip down with me pushing them to get started. The improvised sleds whizzed down the slope in fine fashion. I was invited to come down and help bring our invention back to the top. It took about ten minutes to accomplish this and only ten seconds to ride down. It was hard work but lots of fun.

After a short time, all the grass was worn off the hillside and our fun came to an end.

• • • •

Warm summer evenings in Wheeler Ridge during the 1940s encouraged many outdoors activities. Planned things to do were nonexistent, so as young teenagers we were left to improvise. Highway U.S. 99 to the north was downhill and traffic moved along wasting no time —sometimes very fast!

The roadway south was an uphill grade that caused most large trucks to move at speeds around 20 miles per hour, some a little slower and some faster.

One night when our bad ideas out-numbered the good, we climbed up the ropes that tied down a loaded hay truck. Our thoughts were to ride the truck as it slowly climbed the Grapevine grade and jump off at the Richfield Oil pump station near old Fort Tejon.

A friend was to pick us up there with his car. The ride was so much fun we missed seeing the pump station. There is a vast difference between five miles per hour and forty miles per hour while perched atop twenty tons of baled alfalfa.

As the road leveled out at the top of Grapevine Canyon the truck’s speed increased and no exit was possible. The next hill was five miles ahead at Holland’s Summit grade (Tejon Pass).

The rig finally slowed and we were able to end our joy riding. After a while our pick up car found us at the Frazier Park turnoff. After careful consideration we decided to add this type of entertainment to the list of things not to repeat.

• • • •

The pages of this book are filled with Bob Dorsey’s childhood adventures in Wheeler Ridge, a long forgotten settlement, that was once a popular roadstop. It was removed when the highway was expanded to the present eight lane Interstate 5.

After graduating from Bakersfield High School, Bob was in the Navy from 1952-56, then became a lineman for Glendale and Los Angeles Departments of Water & Power before moving to Klamath Falls, Oregon where he worked for the city school until his retirement in 2003.

Mr. Dorsey was instrumental in organizing reunions of his El Tejon eighth grade graduating class in the 1990s.

Bonnie Ketterl Kane has written six books about our local Frazier Mountain history, with two more in the works. She has lived in the various local Mountain Communities since 1970.

Growing Up In Wheeler Ridge can be purchased at the Ridge Route Communities Museum and Historical Society bookstore (at 3515 Park Drive, Frazier Park, CA) 12-4 p.m. Friday, Saturday, Sunday. You can also find it at the museum’s online bookstore at www.rrchs.org

This is part of the June 29, 2012 online edition of The Mountain Enterprise.

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