insights

Below you will find some insights into the lives of the people we have had to list on our IN MEMORIAM page. Names are listed alphabetically. We don't have insights for everyone. 

We're just beginning to compile these so if you would like to contribute some insights relating to those classmates we have lost, please CONTACT US.

Since Rick and I were both headed to SC for our freshman years, we planned to be dorm roommates, but that didn't happen for some administrative reason.  Regardless, we lived in the same building that year and possibly the next, and hung out with many of the same new college friends on and off campus.  Rick was very social, a member of the SC Knights service club, and became a Yell Leader when SC was a national champion football powerhouse and Coliseum games were the ultimate weekend date. That's him in the 1972-73 SC yearbook photo, back row, far right. 

Rick was also an expert skydiver and shared his passion for falling flight with others as an instructor.  That same passion led to his tragic and untimely death due to a parachute failure during a Southern California exhibition jump.  It made news media headlines for a few days, but I cannot now find any related Internet search results.  I don't remember the exact year either, however he has no expected 1973 SC yearbook graduation entry or photo.  His memorial service at the Westchester United Methodist Church in Kentwood was attended by many local and SC friends alike.  Rick died doing what he loved, and I'm sure he would otherwise be joining us for our 50th reunion. 

Thanks for sharing your very special but all too short life with us, Rick.  We remember you and we miss you.

 - Michael L. Poss

DAVE DIEDERICH

I started seeing Dave during high school years as he meandered mysteriously down 76th Street in a long pea-coat and wearing shades. Lived with his folks on 75th. He drove an old Volvo. Seemed strange or different, but no, actually, he became a good friend for the next few, brief years ahead. He started driving a white Econoline van, and we got pulled over and searched a couple times. He and I and others worked at McDonalds at the same time in '67-68 and Dave was doing deals right through the windows at the counter. It was at his house that I heard Doors "Soft Parade" and actually, Dave had the biggest collection of 8-tracks & albums. He and I drove to Big Sur a couple times, but one of the times, we had a premonition to pull over on the narrow winding Hwy 1, and let 2 or 3 cars pass. A few minutes later, we drove ahead and saw a monstrous landslide across the highway! The cars that passed us were the only ones ahead. That means we would have been wiped out!

Dave and I were at countless parties, and were the ones who scribbled permanent markers all over Phil Lague's (RIP) face while he nodded off at my pad off Imperial Hwy in Inglewood. Read Phil's story regarding what happened! Dave was helpful one night at a party (I heard about it later), and was taking someone to the hospital who was overdosing. On the way, on 74th St, he accidentally rammed into a parked car, and the van caught fire and while "10 Years After" was wailing, they were all sprawled on somebody's lawn. Dave went off and slept in somebody's car, while the other ones went to the hospital. Because of that crash, Dave had a blood clot in his leg, and as he was walking over to my place, he never made it, because he fell in the street. The blood clot had gone to his brain. He spent a few months in the hospital and died in a coma. But before he faded away, during 2 visits, some of us guys connected with him and got him to smile a big grin and it was the last we saw him...

There were dozens of guys who were dying way too young, but I keep the memories of the experiences and adventures we shared. In late '72, I turned my life around and came home to the Lord and later became an ordained minister and missionary in the jungles of Asia. But all these guys and gals are forever in my heart and I wish I had walked in the Light back then so that maybe some could have directions and the answers we were seeking...

-- Pat Caspary

Marsha Bambi Dwyer 

Marsha.  Marsha. Marsha…  Marsha Bambi Dwyer arrived at Airport Junior High at the start of our 9th grade.  She had moved with her family from New York and settled on Truxton Avenue in Westchester, around the corner from me.

Marsha was only with us for five short years after that move.  Directly from high school, Marsha attended UCLA. Tragically, she was murdered in February 1970 in her Westchester home by a disgruntled boyfriend.  With the desire to be sure Marsha is remembered, I solicited some comments from classmates to help me put together this reflection of her. Most of we who remember her so fondly at Airport, seemed to have lost contact with her at WHS. But our hearts are nonetheless still filled with great affection and admiration for her.

There was something about this new kid in town that was special and attracted us to her from the get-go. She was funny and sweet and kind and easy to know.  She had a subtle NY accent that was novel to us. She would toss her long, full hair back just a bit when she laughed her genuine, warm giggle-laugh that I can still hear.  She was head-turning cute, flirty, and smelled of Ambush perfume which I swear I can still smell when I think of her.  

Marsha could be shy at the same time. A small group of us (Tina, Joan, JoAnn, Marsha and I) formed a singing and guitar group and preformed two Peter, Paul and Mary songs for a school talent show.  We rehearsed and prepared well. When the performance came, Marsha stood with the four of us and didn’t utter a note. Afterwards, classmates asked why she was on stage if she didn’t sing. Neither Marsha nor the four of us had an answer. It simply didn’t matter, as she was one of us.  She belonged. There is a photo in the Airport annual that year that documents it. 

We remember that her father took her on a trip back to New York, and while there, got her a pair of high leather boots.  They were the coolest boots ever; definitely outside our everyday Broadway fashion style! And she wore them like no one else could or would! 

But it wasn’t just about Marsha’s style. There was an aura of maturity and sophistication about her that was way beyond the rest of us fourteen year olds.  She was bright – so very bright – and kept us on our toes in class. She was a serious student. She had depth, an interest in significant life issues and meaning. She was philosophical and got us thinking of social issues. 

At the same time, Marsha was warm, open, accepting, and emotionally supportive of others.  We can’t remember details to back that up; it is just a vibe of our connection with her that remains with us today after all these years. Simply put, we thought she was wonderful. 

Nona Monteverde Rafferty, with help from Tina McKenzie, Joan Luoto, and Teresa Robison Heine

jim henry (aka jocko) 

This was one hilarious human being. He could make an elephant laugh. One funny WHS football moment was when Jim punted the football and it went backwards 15-20 yards and we were looking up and saw nothing. We made sure he never lived that one down. 

Not only was Jim a good athlete he was a highly skilled artist who was in so many mediums (charcoal, paint, sculpture and more). Jim did many rock album covers during the 70’s and held private showings of his art at many galleries. 

I personally lost touch with Jocko after college years and only saw him a few times after. Jim had a near fatal motorcycle crash that he never fully recovered from but kept living, pursuing his art and became a Dad to a little boy named Hap while living in the Malibu/Pt Dume area. 

I will always remember his memorial service at Pepperdine University. Two people did his eulogy, Shirley Boone (Pat Boone’s wife) and Mark Schroeder. Mark spoke of how Jim was sad that he’d lost touch with so many friends from high school and one of his last wishes was that we don’t lose touch. When you think about that friend you haven’t spoken take time to pick up the phone and make contact. That struck a chord I will never forget. RIP Jocko. 

Steve Weimar 

kathy kilday

My very dearest life-long friend, Kathy Kilday, passed away last November. When she was young, she had taken the diet pill Phen-Phen. It was taken off the market in no time as it caused a condition called "hypertension of the lungs."

She suffered with it for 17 years. I sadly watched her deteriorate through the years. I have not been closer to any other friend in my lifetime, than I was to Kathy. BFF on every card to each other. Her birthday was on Sept 9, and her brother Craig and I were in touch and shared our grief. Kathy and I shared the same ironic and observational sense of humor down to the end. When we were in school, we'd find the nastiest cuss words, and gaffaw as one outdid the other! This carried on for the rest of our lives! But the one that stuck through our lifetime was UMF, and we always referred to each other as Uggie or Ugh.

It took me awhile to realize that I'll never have another dear close friend like her, and for that I deeply mourn. Not enough years left in life to have such a deep friendship. But, I will have other friends, just not like Kathy. They'll be different, but I know I'll meet interesting and funny women in the future.

Janet Nelson Jamison

Phil LaGue

In our mid-teens, there were wild get-togethers with all of us guys, on 76th St, at Bob Williams' or Gary Andersen's houses, and we all started out on foot but eventually started driving, and going places like Big Sur, Malibu, Mt. Wilson, Borrego desert, and all over L.A. as the tumultuous and momentous years of the 60s unfolded. How many times we went over Thrill Hill in Surfridge, or the times when cops put the cuffs on us, or just watching Phil fill his mouth with lighter-fluid and lighting a match to spew rocket-flames across rooms...wow!

One time at the house where I was living with Bob Neff, Phil fell asleep after partying noon-day, and we couldn't resist...Me & Dave Diederich (RIP) grabbed some magic-markers and scribbled all OVER Phil's face in several colors! When Phil woke later, he needed a ride home. Dave took him, but as they passed Tiny Naylors, Phil figured he needed coffee before he saw his Dad at home, so, Dave dropped him off, and Phil went in, completely unknowing what he looked like. People were staring, over over the restaurant! The cashier really was startled. Phil stumbled home to Yorktown, and crashed. Woke up next day and somehow managed to get to the bathroom mirror, where he was SHOCKED OUT OF HIS MIND at "the new look"! It took him 3 days to scrub it all off. He warned me "never to fall asleep at a party, or he would..." Hahahaha!

I could tell you MANY more stories about Phil, but you wouldn't believe me! How did we all stay alive?

But we lost contact after '72 when I left L.A. and yet re-connected in the mid 80s..and then a few years ago, I heard Phil died. Maybe someone else knows why, but I'll guarantee ya, it wasn't because the laws of gravity caught up to him. He was the most rowdy guy I knew, but also really a kind soul who let me live in his car for weeks after I was evicted from an apartment in '69 in those raucous times. We also worked together at LAAFS for a couple years, and somehow we didn't get fired! I will always miss Phil LaGue!

Pat Caspary

Kevin Brent Large

December 20, 1950 to September 14,2014  

After High School Kevin served a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints for two years in Georgia. After his mission he sought further education at BYU, earning his Bachelors degree . He then went on to the University of Utah where he earned his MBA. 

He again returned home to CA where he met the love of his life, Nancee. They married and four children followed. A hard worker by nature Kevin was always busy. He ran a few successful businesses over the years, loved to work in the yard, to serve in his church, and play baseball. Of all the things he enjoyed, his family was number one. He loved to talk; oh he loved to talk! As kids, if we ever wanted to stay up a little bit later all we had to do was ask dad a question and pretty quick the stories would follow. Minutes could turn to hours but time talking with dad was always well spent. Kevin loved his family! He adored and admired his parents, his sister Carol, his twin brother Brian and their spouses. At one point Kevin wanted to know more about his relatives and from that wonder a passion for family history work grew. Kevin was content with life. Even while he battled for two years with Leukemia he would say “I’m so happy” and “Life is good”. Kevin passed away on September 14, 2014 surrounded by his greatest treasure, his family.  

-Kristy Large Risser

Dan Matilla 

When we met at WHS we became inseparable along with the 3rd member of our Tres Amigo’s, Gary Heinbuch. Dan had a personality that was bigger than life and filled any room. He had a zest for life and lived it to the fullest from big real estate deals to fast Porsches and beautiful women. He loved snow skiing at  Mammoth and even wore leather Lederhosen shorts during spring sessions. And our epic college spring break ski trips to Mammoth have a whole bunch of fun stories from Hot Creek to night skiing to Heinbuch racing his Shelby GT500 Mustang to Mammoth with ski racks on the top, Danny riding shotgun and Tyler Mimm in the back when the oil pump blows and covers the windshield in oil. And this happened at somewhere in the 120-140mph range. But they all lived to see another day. 

Pre-Porsche era he had a souped up VW Bug that he loved to bonsai thru the intersection of Manchester and Lincoln, on the way home from Tiny Naylors, when the light was red just for the thrill, which I experienced first hand and almost passed out when we were nearly t-boned by another car. He loved to laugh and was a deeply committed father to his children Shawna and Daniel Jr. 

His fought with a very rare cancer that destroyed his spine and ravaged his body was tragic. 2 days before he passed, Gary Heinbuch and I made the drive to the hospice facility where he was staying. We were told by the staff that he hadn’t been awake for several days but that all changed when we walked in. He woke up and sat up in bed. We talked and laughed for 1-2 hours then said our goodbyes as Danny was tiring. 2 days later we were told he had passed to his resting place in heaven. Dan can’t be replaced but he can be remembered. RIP Danny

Steve Weimar 

RICHARD DENNIS “RICK” MCBLAINE

When asked to write a biography about my brother I spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how to describe the unique life of such an interesting person.  Thousands of pages could never capture the personality that was Rick.

Rick was born on May 26, 1951, the youngest of three brothers, in Pacoima, California, which was largely orange groves interspersed with new subdivisions.  In retrospect I realize how trusting our parents were. They would send the three of us off on a summer morning, with our bow and arrows to “hunt rabbits” in the dry wash that is now the intersection of two freeways.  If they only knew!

All three brothers grew up surfing, no mean feat from Pacoima, as none of us were old enough to drive the pre-freeway roads to get to the beach.  Our father took one of his two days off work to drive us to the beach, where he sat on a towel in a long-sleeved shirt and straw boater hat, always cautious about sun exposure.

Moving to Playa del Rey from Pacoima in 1965 was like entering another world.  Rick started at Orville Wright Junior High and his gentle nature and good humor made him many friends, one of whom is probably reading this to you right now.  Soon after graduating from Westchester High School, Rick’s life made 90 degrees turn.

Rick decided to live the life of a hermit, eschewing most material goods and living off food stamps and dumpster diving behind the markets.  Rick moved into a “two room cave” that was a five hour hike up a trail behind Taquitz Canyon, near Palm Springs and next to a waterfall. Not the kid I grew up with!

Eventually he got a better offer, though it’s hard to imagine something more enticing than his cave.  Our parents bought him a plane ticket to Maui, Hawaii where he had a friend who would let him sleep in his service porch in Lahaina.  Moving on up! He shaped surf boards to make enough to eat - most times. Sometimes when shaping work wasn’t available Rick, a vegetarian, would wander off to forage in the tropical jungle, collecting fruit while continuing his lifelong passion for surfing anytime there were waves available. 

After a couple of years in paradise Rick’s oldest brother, who was living in Big Sur, sent him a plane ticket to come stay with him.  While there he met the daughter of Henry Miller, author and artist, who was looking for a caretaker to maintain Henry’s house in Big Sur, on a cliff overlooking the ocean, while she traveled and spent time with her father in Pacific Palisades.  That job lasted almost eight years. Now we’re really moving on up, at least relatively.

During all this time, Rick never had a driver’s license or a car.  While hitchhiking back from Monterey one day after picking up groceries, he ducked under a roadside tree to escape a sudden rain shower and met the love of his life, a young girl who had hitchhiked all the way from Missouri to Big Sur.  She spent a week with Rick before moving on, but they stayed in touch and later she returned and they married. He had finally found his soulmate, someone even stranger than him.

The story of their early years together would fill a book, but they finally ended up in the little town of Forestville where they bought a property with a 400 Square foot tumbledown house and a huge barn.  They moved into the barn and did some “remodeling”. Rick used the part of the barn that wasn’t remodeled to became a marijuana farmer, long before it became trendy for the rich and famous to become pot farmers.

Rick decided to “grow” a three thousand square foot house – building the house by himself as money became available.  He was the proud owner of the longest open building permit in Sonoma County when he found out on December 27th, 2010 that he had terminal Glioblastoma brain cancer and was given 90 days to live.  He had just received his final correction list on the beautiful home they had already been living in and had been told that the county would not renew his building permit again.

True to his nature, Rick’s biggest concern was what would happen to his wife after he passed on.  I came to live with them for his last three months, completing his correction list by day and cooking elaborate dinners in the evening for his many friends who came by to pay their last regards.  Not surprisingly, many of Rick’s friends were unique individuals in their own right and it was an interesting time.

I know this has dragged on far longer than the one page biography that was requested.  The beauty of being the last surviving family member is there is nobody to take offense at how they are remembered, so I’ll close with a final, bizarre experience.  I was with Rick when he died, in bed at home in the early morning on March 24, 2011, three months before his sixtieth birthday and carried his body into the living room to put him in his coffin.  Now this may seem like a very prosaic end, but that’s not this boy’s story.

Since he was to be cremated, his wife didn’t want to waste money on a coffin.  She wanted me to make him a coffin from the cardboard box that her big screen TV came in!  I balked. We finally agreed on a plywood coffin. We had set up the coffin on a couple of sawhorses in the living room of their now completed and legally occupied house.  Rick’s wife lined the plywood coffin with an old lace tablecloth and some throw pillows. That was the “coffin” I put his body in.

There was one problem.  Rick died on a Thursday and his working friends couldn’t come to the “viewing” until the weekend.  For my last act on behalf of my brother I put pennies on his eyes, went to the ice house and bought blocks of dry ice to pack around him in his coffin so he wouldn’t get too ripe before the viewing.

At 3 AM the next morning I snuck out of the house and went home, never to return.

When Denise was diagnosed with stage 4 brain cancer she underwent experimental treatment at UCLA which she said turned her skin the color of blueberries and said she looked like a Smurf doll.  As her cancer progressed, a number of our WOW women traveled to Las Vegas to see Denise where she had recently moved.  She wanted to go to see “The Thunder from Down Under” Australian male review.  We all reluctantly agreed to do this with Denise. Much to our surprise they picked Denise to come on stage and danced for her - it was the highlight of the night and she was so embarrassed but smiled all the time!  That was our girl and she is missed every time we get together. She put up a fight for about 5 years and was devastated when Sue Grencik was diagnosed with cancer and went a few months before her.  

We miss our WHS and WOW sisters.

The WOW Group  (Cheryle Mangels and all the other WOW’s)

(photo from 1/23/2011)

Linda Ritchie-Daza

We (Carole Hossan and Debbie Jigamian) with Chris Herman Schlunz’s help, learned of our dear friend’s passing after reading the In Memoriam on the Westchester High Class of 1969 webpage. We therefore warmly offer our remembrances of Linda. 

Linda was always the smartest girl in all our classes. Yet she never showed it. Linda was always quiet and demure, but never a pushover. Beneath that exterior was a powerhouse intellect. She also had a maturity that seemed well beyond her years. She seemed to live a life several layers of sophistication above ours; she styled and lightened her blond hair way before we had the nerve to do any manipulations of a cosmetic nature. She had a serious relationship well before we did. However, we all were serious about our education and our love of reading brought us together. 

Linda was born in Orange, California, but spent most of her life in Westchester with her mother and younger brother. We first became acquainted with her at Airport Junior High. She lived within walking distance from us. Somehow we quiet, studious girls discovered each other and became friends. In 10 th grade at Westchester High School we were in GAA (Girls Athletic Association) together. On Monday afternoons we were on the same bowling team. We carpooled in her mother’s Rambler. 

After graduating from Westchester High, Linda enrolled at UCLA and signed up for a heavy class schedule while also working and making time for a serious boyfriend. She liked to push herself to her full potential. Linda did take some time to regroup and started back to college at UC Riverside. She later matriculated back to UCLA where she received a degree in linguistics. She was highly goal- oriented and always managed to figure out a way to overcome academic or personal setbacks. 

In the late 1970s Linda began to teach for Los Angeles Unified School District (LAUSD) at Belmont High as an English as a Second Language (ESL) teacher. When I (Debbie) started teaching Social Studies for LAUSD in 1983, several phone calls from Linda served as a source of strength during my initial years of stressed out teaching. Linda always knew the score when it came to organizational politics and dynamics. Occasionally Linda served as a resource specialist advising ESL departments across the district, and I was delightfully surprised to see her walk into Thomas Starr King Junior High, my school at the time, before she began her conference! Linda went on to teach ESL at Gardena High, where she also helped students start a club, which became a class, in Latin American folkdancing, which included performances at Disneyland and Knotts Berry Farm. 

In 1992 I (Carole) had a dinner party in my Westchester childhood home that I inherited from my father. Linda was among the Westchester High friends who attended. Linda was very proud of her then high school age son Justin who had just been accepted into the North Hollywood High School Zoo Magnet. Like Linda, Justin was very smart, but never showy. We were touched by how he walked his mom home that evening, wanting her to keep up with a good habit. 

After retiring from teaching, she became devoted “Grandma Linda” to her granddaughters and enjoyed genealogical research. Linda passed away all too soon in 2016 from a heart attack. May she rest in peace.

——Carole Hossan and Debbie Jigamian

BOB RYONO 

Bob Ryono was not only my friend in high school, but our relationship continued through college, when he got married, when he raised a family and then became a teacher. He had a positive influence on others at Westchester High School. Since he had so many friends and acquaintances, I was honored that I was among one of his closest friends. I remember getting to know Mr. Crowther (social studies) and Mrs. Winters (language arts) because of Bob’s influence.

After graduation, Bob attended Michigan State University in East Lansing. Every winter and summer break, when he returned to California, we would always connect allowing our friendship to deepen. At Michigan State University, he met Debi Werner. They dated, got engaged, and were married in Monroe Michigan in the spring of 1974. I had the honor of being Bob’s best man and singing a tribute to Bob and Debi as part of their wedding vows.

After getting his teaching credential, Bob and Debi returned to California and lived in Simi Valley. Bob taught social studies to literally thousands of middle school students over the course of his teaching career of nearly 30 years. He and Debi had two girls. These two young ladies attended Azusa Pacific University where they graduated and went on to have families of their own. Bob lived a full life being a positive influence as a WHS student, a husband, a teacher, a father, and a grandfather. He contracted a form of dementia in his early fifties and took a medical retirement from teaching. Debi was his loving caregiver for the latter part of his life. Both Bob and Debi went home to be with the Lord about six years ago. They both loved the Lord and honored God throughout their lives.

Bob and Debi, thank you for sharing your life journey with me and so many others.

Ken Johnston

Mark Schroeder 

Mark Schroeder taught me how to ditch school and to be a gracious loser. 

In the 5th or 6th grade, we were best buddies. At lunch time, known only to a few select trustworthy kids, he would scale what seemed like a 100 foot-high fence that perimetered Osage Avenue School, run home, eat lunch while watching TV or messing around, and (usually) get back into the playground just in time for the 1 o’clock bell ordering us back to class. He did this every day without ever getting caught or anyone ever suspecting. 

One day, he invited me to go with him. At that age, I was no fence-climber and was scared of heights. The fact that he scurried over the wire fence like a pole-vaulter and had to wait for me, seemingly for an hour on the street while I inched my way up one side of the fence, timidly straddled the top bar taking in the view, then slowly and frighteningly lowered myself down the other side, was pitiful and embarrassing. But once I hit the pavement, we were off running, free as the wind. The feeling of liberation was exquisite, and our feet hardly hit the ground the entire way across La Tijera and into the neighborhoods beyond. 

That was the first of many days spent escaping the ravages of our so-called childhood prison, and I would never forget the transient feelings of freedom and caution-thrown-to-the-wind attitude. We would eat our sandwiches in front of Burns and Allen or Andy Griffith, laugh our asses off, throw the football in his back yard, then rush back just in time to get into our seats while the teachers were still brushing the crumbs off their rumpled outfits after the lunch break. 

One day, Mark was absent from school, then the next day, then the next. When he finally came back, he informed us that his dad had died suddenly in the morning earlier that week, and he obviously was still in mourning. I remember hugging him on the playground, both of us fighting back tears. Kids didn’t hug much back then, but in the moment, it felt necessary and natural. After that, we were no longer allowed to ditch school and hang out at his house; I’m not sure why, but I do remember there was a sad pall over his house for years afterward. Although we remained friends and often competed in friendly ways, as boys do, we no longer played much together outside school. 

Then, in the 9th grade at Airport Jr. High, we both ran for B-9 class president, I beat him out by just a few votes. Nonetheless, he remained supportive and friendly, never losing that engaging smile and quick wit. However, on my 10- week report card, I got a “U” in cooperation from my not-so-amused math teacher, and was impeached by the administration from my lofty position. Much to his glee, Mark was named as my successor for the final 10 weeks. But at the end of that semester, when it came to our A-9 election, I again beat him out, even though he was officially the “incumbent”. I never let him live that down. 

But, then in the 12th grade, we again both ran for senior class president; this time he beat me, and he never let me live that down. I tried to follow his lead, remaining supportive and friendly, while probably gritting my teeth. He proved to be a popular president with good leadership skills, with a bright personality and a promising future. He gave the commencement speech at our graduation, which he graciously asked for my assistance in writing and rehearsing, still friends after all those years.

 I’m confident when Mark reached the pearly gates, rather than wait in line, he pole-vaulted his way over it, into the promised land, and he is there running free as the wind, still watching Burns and Allen, laughing his ass off. 

--Randy Rosenblatt

captivating. Because of her warmth and infectious personality, she was popular with all and as a consequence, she was voted Homecoming Princess of Westchester High.

Shopping for clothing was her forte and we happily joined as her entourage. Her shoes, purses, and hair accessories all perfectly matching, even her eyeliner! No wonder she was voted Best Dressed in our senior class. Besides being such a fashionista she was really grounded, responsible and she consistently got good grades. 

Cathy married her high school sweetheart Gary Carneghi and had three children and many grandchildren as well. She worked in the Fountain Valley school district and lived the rest of her life in San Clemente. She loved to travel, visiting several countries but enjoyed coming home to her impeccably decorated home.

Cruising in her powder blue Mustang with the radio playing her favorite song "Do you Believe in Magic", is that magical memory that we will always keep in our hearts.

Friends Forever with Love '69

Francine, Lin, Vicki