There are two distinct “St. Helenas. “ Ok. 200. You’d think in a town of 6,000 most everybody would be on the same page. Often we are. But this town is nothing if not an amalgamation of individuals as unique as the wine it produces.

One of the “(many) St. Helena’s” was at Meadowood Saturday night for the Wine Auction. Were it not for the wine industry, where would we be? Besides the jobs they create, the environment they have protected, the population they have kept out--they just raised another 10.3 million for charity. Hats off to all.

Another “St. Helena” was in Pope Valley, drinking beer, (fine wine, yes), and grilling burgers. They were celebrating the graduation of a kid from one of the Valley’s earliest pioneers. (And yes, the guy with the biggest hat had the fewest cattle--Moi!).

These two “St. Helenas” are not adversarial—-just different.

While Jay Leno was telling Barak jokes we were listening to Black jokes of a different kind. Our stories were not about a Black man, but a boy named Black—-Rich to be specific. Bob Fellion had the floor.

Back when Kennedy was President, “Leader of the Pack”, was #1 on the charts. "Reno Rich" (don’t ask) was St. Helena’s leader of the pack--a posse of “bad boys,” who terrorized, charmed, and mystified St. Helena.

We were Freshman when they were the mighty Seniors.

High School classes run in cycles. Some are athletic, some brainy—-some are druggies. It’s the luck of the draw. This one was off the charts. Black was not only the quarterback, point guard and shortstop—he was the Bobby Layne of Main St.

Humor was the coin of the realm when it came to the class of ’63.

Come Halloween (after the free for all at Bettinelli’s dairy where the Junior’s took on the Senior’s with plastic bags filled with cow manure, rotten eggs, and tomatoes), Black would sneak up to the roof of the St. Helena Hotel to toss eggs and water balloons on the unweary down belos. (It mattered not there was no exit, and Chief Etz and the boys in blue would eventually climb up that same ladder). He’d Eddie Haskel his way out.

Bob told how Black would hide in the closet and reach out and strangle him when Bob opened it. Black once spent an entire night sleeping under Fellion’s bed, just so he could grab Bob’s ankles, when he got up the next day.

Were he a teen today, Black would be sedated with Ritalin to try and calm his hyperactivity. Back then he was just a B.O.Y. One who’d do anything for the “laugh.”

Once, kids worked after school and during summer, to buy their own cars. Each car was personally sanded and spray painted by its owner. From 54’ Merc’s to ‘59 Fords, each reflected its owner’s personality.

Posse member Ron, had spent all day taping the windows and spray painting his Ford. That night, Black snuck in and turned on the garage lights. The next morning thousands of dead bugs, attracted to the light, were glued to the Ford’s surface. Time to sand it down and start all over again. And we had another story.

One summer, sneaking into a water tank at midnight in Oakville seemed like a good idea. It was over 100 degrees. Fellion was game. Of course, Louis had to dive in, where his chest was introduced to some steel rebar.

As parents, we cringe at these stories, but Black stopped laughing long enough to keep his finger in Louis’ chest to stem the bleeding, until they could get to the hospital.

It was before double days. George Davis would not have been amused. However, these kids never lost a football game, their entire high school career—-so Coach Davis kept it in check.

Kids got married early back then. Not a good idea to go on a honeymoon, however. Something bad was sure to happen upon your return.

Bob and Carol returned to their apartment, only to find a dead deer in the shower, and the entire apartment crammed with wadded up newspapers. Carol said that sow bugs from the newspapers laid eggs in her carpets. She didn’t share how she got the smell of the dead deer out.

Hunting was big back then. Larry used to go out at 4am, hunt, drive to school and put his thirty-ought—six in his locker. Not sure that would play well today.

Don’t ask me how, but “Dude” could make his car back fire. It would sound like a cherry bomb, and flames would leap out of the tail pipe.

Woe betide the teacher who came out the door, after dark, to check out that horn, honking in the driveway.

For many, chirping robins meant spring. For us, just as sure as the swallows arrived at Capistrano, we knew spring was nigh when the fire alarms went off at St. Helena High.

Our principle, Mr. Carter, was so smart, he put “indelible” ink on each fire alarm, so he could catch the culprit. Imagine his chagrin, when Black, Joe Rod, the entire posse and the whole student body,showed up with purple ink on its hands.

Freddie thought that a cake with Mrs. Volcani’s creamy icing on it was perfect for his grad night. How was he to know that underneath the tasty icing a was fresh cow pie, molded by Black and Fellion?

Practical jokers? Juvenile delinquents? Pranksters? Simply kids who grew up in the country? You tell me. PC they weren’t. Funny they were.

Rich, of course, became a school teacher (what else?). He recently retired.

Cost per acre in 1963? $1,000. Cost per acre today? $300,000. Cost of High Schoolers and parents telling dull, old Mr. Black “There’s nothing to do in this town?“ Priceless.












J