Column: In the 1950s, Costa Mesa’s Fairway Drive was loaded with kids, good times

I grew up in a “Leave it to Beaver” neighborhood in Costa Mesa in the 1950s and ’60s.

I was 7 years old in December of 1952 when my mom, dad, myself and my younger brother and sister moved to our new home on Fairway Drive.

We moved from my grandparents’ home on Balboa Island. We loved the Island, but Costa Mesa offered many charms as well.

Like empty lots. Lots and lots of them.

My parents purchased a three-bedroom home for $10,000. With large front and back yards it was a steal. Mom planted roses, Dad planted peach trees and tomatoes.

Dad intended it to be our first family home, but it turned out to be first and last. The family resided there for 54 years.

“I loved that home,” my 94-year-old mom told me the other day, her eyes glistening. “Those walls hold my happiest memories.”

Fairway Drive, when we moved in, ran for a block north and south, between Del Mar and Monte Vista avenues. Westminster Avenue was east of us, Orange Avenue, to the west.

Thirty-eight homes comprised the “block,” and two were added later.

In the ’50s, the street was loaded with kids. Most of us had fathers who’d served in the military during World War II. They purchased their homes with the G.I. Bill.

My guess is that there were nearly a hundred kids living on our street. We broke into tribal units, ordered by geography.

I was a member of the South Fairwayers (though we never called ourselves that) who occupied a dozen homes on the southern flank of the street. The Middle Fairwayers lived in 12 or 13 homes at mid-block. Finally, there were the North Fairwayers at the northern end of the street.

We South Fairwayers interacted socially and athletically with the Middle Fairwayers. But rarely did we exchange pleasantries with the North Fairwayers. We didn’t know them.

I remember a particular altercation with North Fairwayers when I was about 9. On a summer’s afternoon we nervously gathered on a front lawn in their territory. We commenced taunting one another.

Suddenly, one of the northern kids lobbed a sizable rock (not a dirt clod!) in my direction. I blinked but forgot to duck. It hit me just above the right eye. Within five minutes I looked like Carmen Basilio, the boxer. The nurse who lived next to us put ice on it and told my mom to take me to the doctor’s office for stitches.

I never discovered the identity of the twerp who threw it.

We South Fairwayers built a cool fort across the street from my house in my friend David’s backyard. At the time, there were no fences dividing the neighborhood.

One evening, a band of Central Fairwayer insurgents sneaked into David’s yard and attempted to tear down our redoubt. Fortunately, David’s dad heard the commotion and chased them away. The damage was negligible, but it became the stuff of legend. It was discussed decades later at a Costa Mesa High class reunion.

One of the raiders scratched his finger on a rusty nail while attempting to pull down our fort and received a tetanus shot for his efforts.

South of Fairway, across Monte Vista, was a huge field where we played war. The best time of the year for war was spring, when the weeds stood as high as a Red Holstein’s eye.

Our battlefield was several acres in size. One small army of three or four would get on their bellies in one corner of the field and another in the opposite corner. With great stealth, they’d advance on each another.

There was a copse of trees at the edge of the field that served as an ideal lookout post.

We lived two blocks from the Back Bay. As we grew older we spent much time climbing bluffs, walking barefoot in gooey mud and chasing jackrabbits on the bluffs east of the bay.

I stayed in that house 12 years before joining the Army in 1964. My brother, Bill, joined the Air Force in 1966 after living on Fairway for 14 years. Sister, Judi, left in 1971 after 19 years.

Mom and Dad remained until Dad’s death in 2006. Mom became the last original resident of the neighborhood. She moved in 2007.

Great neighborhoods produce great people.

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.