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Accomplishments

• Successful graphic artist, voice talent, award-winning costume designer and Golden Gate park tour guide for the past 30 years
• Among his credits Pillsbury Doughboy, Mrs. Butterworth, Mr. Clean and the Vanish talking toilets. His artwork is viewable at www.rons-crittercraft.com

Memories

For me, more than anything, RUHS offered a safe springboard from which to jump off and try flight. In a climate free from the ridicule of not looking cool, we could ask ourselves, why not? We were in a culture where a nerdy kid with no credentials to recommend him, could be a yearbook editor or co-produce a variety show — just because he wanted to try. It was the height of the Korean War. President Truman had just fired General Douglas MacArthur. We stormed into Mr. George Snyder's civics class filled with youthful, red-eyed fury demanding, "Impeach Truman! Our boys need MacArthur! etc." We were met by a somewhat bemused Mr. Snyder, who did not challenge our demands or even argue with us, but began a cool line of questioning that made us stop and think things through. "After we comb Red China, then what do we do next?" — and so on. We began to look for consequences, and at worlds outside our own paradigms. Mr. Snyder didn't make us wrong; he just made us examine things beyond our emotions. It was the day an old soldier began to fade away and a group of high schoolers began to think. It was the night of the Girl's League spring dance to be held in the one-time fashionable Hermosa Biltmore Hotel. It was also the night of April 1st. Our commissioner of entertainment, Jerry Sweeder ' a rather fun-loving, free spirit, never too over-burdened with consequences ' felt April 1st needed to be marked with a memorable hoax. We began spreading a rumor through the hotel that my parents were to be treating a select number of guests to a post-dance dinner at the Ambassador Coconut Grove. Everyone was told that it was a secret and not to tell anyone. This was beginning to feel like a really bad idea, but I was a perfect shill and willing to go along with most anything. Around 11:00, we went to Pier Avenue to lead our small caravan of "select few" to the Coconut Grove. When the headlights all came on, to my abject terror, the select few had grown to half the state of Nebraska. Slowly, our gala procession wound its way up Pier Avenue and onto 101. Further down the highway, the line of eager headlights following us could be seen snaking back to infinity. At the intersection of Rosecrans, we made an abrupt U-turn and at Patmar's Drive-in, displayed a large billboard reading, "APRIL FOOL!" Somehow the humor was lost on most partygoers, and we abandoned our sign and fled for our lives. It was the night I narrowly missed being stomped to death. It was the night my parents were awakened by a midnight phone call from the manager of the Coconut Grove, asking about their dinner guests. It was also the night before the first day I began wearing sunglasses to class.