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Here is how I think.

N E A R death experiences and science. The majority of near death experiences mirror mine. I was in McLaren Hall ( Locked down jail for unwanted, non felony homeless youth, runaways, rejected by families, hell hole) and during a fight, II died and was brought back to life by Prison guards. .

Orphan: My home life so unstable I found it easier to stay away from Home. In reality, this was all my parents fault, but I never realized this until my 40s. A big part I just became to understand, my mother was a foreigner, she never received citizenship until she left permanently to go back to Canada in 1994- 5 A.D., after the North ridge Earthquake. My father's father had seven or eight wives and as many divorces. Their marriage produced an older sister and me, I was on the tail end of their separartion and divorce. I ran away more than a dozen times, and after too many brutal attempts to live with my parents, I allowed the Police to haul me off to State Prison where no criminals go, fully staffed, locked down 24/7, no escape, and with multiple Southern Californian unwanted or troubled children that parents do not want. To escape, I had to take both parents to court. Since  I did not want to go home, I had to be ‘placed’ in the most  brutal of sanctuaries, McLaren Hall.  Daily beating by staff and members, I was 14- 15 years old, and placed with the 17-18 year old crowd, and could not be moved. So I was a target from day one.

The California Voters Ran this institution of hate, violence and ill repute. No wants unwanted children. No one wants to ever be friends nor associates ( thus the job market) to unwanted children. There is plenty of semi to successful people to whom had one parent support, in a variety of manners.

I was murdered by the United States of America ( they forced me into a position where I could not escape. At this time, multiple pathways, doors and high security walls made McLaren Hall, El Monte, CA. a high security prison for non criminals, the unwanted in society. A success of a state relies on how it treats its citizens. I was beaten up daily for one month and a half before I started to fight back. The first case of my fighting back, I was murdered and brought back to life by McLaren Hall staff performing C.P.R., pushing on my chest.

McLaren Hall, El Monte, CA.: government program: unacceptable abuse.

affluent  People do not care about the unwanted children: So wipe out these home and family owner  people. 

why there is no excuse, at all.

Solution: Ronald Reagan by a bevy of complaints all of the United States of America shut down mental health facilities, because they were racist, abusive, murderous and evil. But Reagan cut social programs and hired Latin migrants as replacement workers in New Mexico, U.S.A. as well as fire the entire FAA union. He lowered the taxes on the super rich and re adjusted them toward the lower middle classes. .The people that complained would not open their check books to fund a better program, it was must too easy to blame the ruling parties that shut down mental institutions. Ronald Reagan got complaints that psychiatrists ( who had total control over these mental people) often sexually and physically abuse them, and these injured parties could find no state resource. So Ronald Reagan just ended the suppression program. The rage over closers, such as NYT's rage was brought on by their own people not being able to abuse the helpless in society. NYTimes people did not care about the mentally ill or the unwanted children, they cared about being able to abuse them, make them suffer for their own pleasures. I was murdered in side of the McLaren Hall facilities. The staff brought me back to life. It was that bad. And I have never received anything, not even an apology.

McLaren Hall, El Monte, CA.: beaten up by staff, by 18 year-old physically dominate blacks and one brown ( all the whites were viciously brutalized, some raped that were weak in body and mind, I had at least a strong mind.



{ 22 May 2014} I was thrown out of 9211 Encino Av. house at least 8 times, these were major events. Of one of them, I had eaten a tomato, I had returned from running away a second time, and I had not eaten in two days. The neighbors were gone, the Diendorffers, and so I took a bite of the tomato in desperation. Then my mother came with an Axe, chopped down the over the garage loft, where I stayed in the temporary room, and her current sex partner threw me out onto the lawn and again, I was thrown out of the house. My father who was busy buying protestations and expensive liquors could not feed me, he was too busy pretending to be a Republican. The Coopers, the next door neighbors, who only son was successful, a real old style craftsman, he worked for Merance [ get correct spelling for company], a top-end audio manufacturing industry, here in the San Fernando Valley. His parents took me in for couple of weeks and fed me, my mother and sister knew where I was but would not help, nor even ask if I was starving. Over the next week, The Coopers contacted authorities to what to do with me, and a neighbor down the street was already working in Child Services, and so the police one night came and took me around later afternoon. My sister came out the door to look, and perhaps my mother watch through the window, but I went off to jail for being, nothing but an orphan. 

From the first night at McLaren Hall I was told this was a locked down facility, and no escaping possible. But I was not told I would be physically abused each day, constantly over my stay here and so I ended up in hell. The State had no right to lock me up, with no escape, at the constant beatings, daily by 18-year-old boys, many blacks that had mature muscular features. J.P., a large and intelligent black man, certainly a professional then, a quite Asian black belt or some form of expertise fighting system, he sat behind a lone desk separating two wings ( corridors) of individual rooms with three single small beds assigned to each room. There were other faculty and guard-employees mixing shifts, but routine, if you choose, to go outside to the play yard jungle-Jim ( metal bars used for exercise) and due V-dips until your collapsed, developing a large appetite that was fueled by starving muscles once breakfast was served. J.P. argued that exercise before a meal feeds your muscles whereas after you eat and then work out you're are consuming your carbs form your meal, and not feeding your body properly. This helped make everyone physically strong, because a common day involved physical fighting, mainly over race. Since I was 15 years-old, emancipated Early because before I could be placed, I had to go to court and emancipate myself from my family, so I awaited a court date here in this homeless - orphan prison. I was not in juvenile hall, there were no criminals among us, perhaps petty crime, these boys and girls were unwanted by their families and had no other place to go but to the streets. Then the city allowed a law to pick up and incarcerate any juvenile, vagabond, on the street. My human rights and civil rights were consistently and intuitionally systematic and intensive. I already have a female body frame, and I was 15 years old, just turned 15, and was housed in this building inside the greater complex of McLaren Hall, El Monte, California, with 18 and even 19 year-old black men, who pummeled me daily for two months. It got so bad, and yes, the staff always tried to stop this stuff, but they had no real options but sending kids to real juvenile hall, which meant paperwork, court, and criminal charges. When kids fight, bruises, perhaps broken body parts, are the government workers to send each kid to Prison, it would be overflowed. So the staff could only separate us, calm us down, defuse the situation the best they could, but knew and understood we knew they could not stop this, so I conditioned for beatings on a daily basis. This is the United States of American government, so what party could change this?  Black boys vied each other over who was more racist and violent. So this one black boy, came in a little over , through my incarceration there used to do rounds, where he white boy sat on the bed, and awaited for him to come beat you down. You could not escape, and the staff could not stop it. There were sexual things but I was not involved and very bizarre individuals. There were a few latinos, and one large bearish boy always wanted to get me into some form of headlock and keep me like this for over 15 minuets. At least he did not hit me. So after a while I mentally toughened up, I had also been to U.S. Court to face my parents in front of a judge to plead my case for State help, to move into a real boy's home or join foster care.

At Court, both my parents denied my charges: my mother used drugs and drank and my father had hit me unfairly and was a drunk , at this time both my parents were real alcoholics, in the medical sense. They drank all day, and spent considerable amount of money on this consumption. I guess not buying me shoes or a meal can be attributed to this lifestyle, both chosen by both my parents. I told my case worker my reasons for wanting to not go back and so they forced the issue and the judge allowed me to be emancipated before the legal option year of 16 years old, I was a few months past the age of 15 years-old. Both my parents showed up and were separately charged and considered, my mother complained I did not represent her side ( she in fights with my father, they are separated still and living apart and different lives at this time, although my mother lives in the home he bought for them and the kids ( 9211 Encino Ave., Northridge California, SFV, LA County).

No matter of any outcomes these are traumatic experiences, and certainly had led to my  bizarre behavior. So with this behind me and a little physically toughened, I cracked one day, when this Latino decided to give me over to some black boy, newer, I did not know to further physically abuse me. As the Latino handed me over, off one of the room?s beds, I disengaged and griped the enemy ( black boy taking over) and got on top of him and started to slam his head into the pavement, without enough force to crack it wide open, so not to hurt him. You see in the act of crimes, even in McLaren Hall during the process thoughts emerge ?what if I go to far, will I end up in Juvenile Hall?). I had both hands on his temple ( he was much older and bigger boned ? body than I, so you get the picture) and stopping my push before his head touched the linoleum over concrete floor. But his screams alerted his crew ( the over population of black boys by raw numbers, my estimates for a 3 month stay) and soon he got help, the Latino had left the room perhaps to go to the bathroom. Suddenly, I was surrounded by a group of blacks, one of them hoisted me off the ground, my feet were not touching any longer, choking me, and amongst the brouhaha, I died.

Later I learned I shook, violently grasping for air, they laid me down and scattered throughout the building. To me, I was in peace, no longer in consideration of my physical body.  I became aware when I was dead. I  saw Earth from a distance perhaps between the Moon and Earth, and ascending and I felt good. So of course, this was much better than living in fear and pain. As I ascended my body was light but it was still me ( electromagnetic soul energy). Then, as I was ascending, I felt a hand on me left shoulder, and I turned and heard a voice saying softly but commandedly , "You must go back," I instinctually turned and screamed No!  And I was not going back, no matter what, I kept going, then I felt my shoulder being forced to turn back and the same voice said you I something important to do, which to me is bullshit. What scientifically happened to me was these boys scattering caused an emergency ruckus alert and staff ran to he room and had given me C.P.R. , and revived me. However, another instant I knew I was dead was I had returned to my body before re animating my brain and knew a little orange dot grew slowly and until I opened my eyes to see Staff exasperate over my body. I was pissed, very mad. I did not want to return.

The shedding of physical body allowed all that pain to go away and felt joy, happiness that I had not felt for a very long time. Who in the hell would order me back, I had no clue then. In fact, I believed mine Death and Come back to life (some say incorrectly a near death experience, if you are dead and come back to life, even shortly, it is not a near death, but a death, imbeciles) was unique. I made a point for my scientific studies not to read books on reincarnation nor books on N.E.D.s. A few years ago, I listen to late night radio in my car as this is my home for most of my life, I heard a show on N.E.D. caller experiences, and one was almost exactly like mine. She, it was a her, claimed the sprit said "you must go back there is something important for you to do," which is basically what I heard too, and she claimed to have had that answer of bring numerology to the public's mind. I found that strange;  her system was an ancient Chaldean one, so nothing new there. So then I linked this to my experience. By 21 years ?old, of course I knew I had my revelations of multiple past lives and most of the people in history. But there is nothing I can do because we cannot at this time simulates nor confirm scientifically rebirth or know of a soul's existence. So why would any spirit say, you need to go back there is something important you need to do??  My experience was the same as hers, so I cannot be unique. But the memory is solid, just as new as when it happened. Something scared like a laser inscribed memory on a storable media device or platform. Luckily for my troubles, all the bullies gave me about a two week break and in two weeks after that I would be placed in Social Services and given to housing options of Boys Homes. I still had to fight or get beat up, but I had something to look for, and after being toughened, I became a little happier and more risk taking. 

N.E.D.s are not all the same, there are many that are similar in models but there are widely other accounts of vary different visions and experiences. After this happened, I just put it behind me, I was allowed to bring my belongings, the police stored them, a Gibson ES 347, impeccably made and perfect intonation, an Ovation Steel String, top of the line, oval body, Sunburst, my cassette tapes with music, mine and others, and other personal effects. My front teeth became loose, again, while I was incarcerated, and I received a top partial denture. At 15 years-old one is still youthful and agile, the bones heal fast, and the body can take a beating. So I was in good health, basically, and like all my other experiences, I put them on a shelf for later appraisal and perhaps an analysis. { /22 May 2014}

Below was a class written in an ESL, Valley College, so some things I left out for security and will update here. I have no time re write anything. The computer crashes constantly, I have no money and people do not care, so tough shit.

Michael Johnthan McDonald

English 21

Friendships March 6, 2002

Youth of San Dimas
 Friend: Bill Gamble
 Age: 15 1/2
 Place: San Dimas, Los Angeles County
 Date of Friendship: 1980


I have had a lot of interesting friends through the years. Some have taught me useful interesting facts. Even better, some have shown me how to be loyal and caring. Some have even inspired me. My favorite is Bill Gamble, who taught me how to be a friend, showed me the pleasure of camaraderie, and most important, help me realize that a true friend is there when your back is against the wall.

McKinnley Home for Boys is where I stayed in 1980, at the age of 15 . The place was huge. It stood on 69 acres of   wide expanse of land. On the western edge a cul-de-sac of suburb homes stood, at the end of the street connecting to the boys home property stood Bill Gambles home.

We met threw circumstances I have forgotten. We both went to San Dimas high school that was just across the road from the boy?s home. We became instant friends due to our love of music. We both played instruments, I played guitar and he played t he drums. It was a match made in heaven.

He invited me to his home. There he had a perfect set up for rehearsals if he ever wanted to start a band. He then told me he had a few people that he played with and they were looking for a guitarist and I fit in perfectly. This began as a great friendship for me.

We rehearsed and I wrote four original tunes and we became good enough that we started to play backyard parties and warehouses. At one party this four-piece band intimidated the house band who was in there twenty age range. That?s when the drummer punched Bill in the face out of jealousy.  We were that good. We had a good laugh when the night was over no one was seriously hurt.

Living with a bunch of boys from broken homes all in a split two-way bungalow that was long but not vary wide complex that was named number four, It was hard to concentrate on any school work with the constant blaring radios and record players all day and into the night. My grades suffered as a result.

I emancipated myself from my parent's custody by taking my parents to court a year and a half before I was taken off the streets by police and placed in the boys home. I was first held at the famed McClaren Hall in Del Monty for three months while the court processed my paper work and found me a home that would take me. I died in a fight in the Hall after being forced to wrestle another boy who seemed to like contact of the sport. Day after day he would get me into headlocks or just hold me down while I squirmed to get free with no luck. On the day in question, I was really mad, not at him, he would have really hurt me if I protested, but just a the world at large. Why was my life happening this way? Why was I in jail? McClaren Hall was a locked down penitentiary for both boys and girls during the time I was there. Later they would change that policy and allow free choice to use the Hall as a placement-staging house for boys who wanted something better than the streets. But I had to endure almost daily fistfights with other boys who were also in my predicament. So about fifteen minuets this boy had me in a headlock and I was ragging mad at this point. Whatever happened at this point I did not care. He ordered a black boy to take over as he was getting tired. When he let me loose I got up off the mattress and jumped on the boy who would be my next restrainer. I lifted my body off the floor and let all my weight take him to the ground. Then I proceeded to get him into position on his back to pummel him. He was a quite bigger than I, but the surprise of me jumping on him caught him off guard. He lay there on the ground face up as I straddled his chest. I was not in any mood to be man handled anymore and I took him by both sides of his head and slammed hid head repeatedly onto the pavement flooring. I remember the screaming and all the commotion and please to stopped. I was cracking his head good into the ground when I decided to stop and not go any further. What a mistake that was. As I got up from him, he still laying there, all I thought was that it was over. To my surprise it just began. The next thing I felt as I herd masses of other black boys enter the room a arm from behind me wrapped around my throat and lifted me off the ground. All I could see was the west side of the room where one of the two entrance doors was where I was heading. Now off me feet being hung in the air like a noose around my throat I could feel my life slipping away. No breath! I took my last attempt for air, and then I died.

It was all black at first and silent. I had no inclination of what I just been through. All I knew was that I was released from all the pain and anger I was just experiencing moments ago. I looked down at my body. It was there, but it was all sort of a light a transparent sort of image. I knew everything was all right and everything was fine. I seem to feel and understand that I was joining my friends and I t would only take few minuets. I felt an overwhelming inner peace, a sort of good feeling one would  acquaint with being in love. Overwhelming was right. I never felt this good in my whole life. I was being pulled by some mysterious force- it was mine. I was ascending a invisible staircase as I looked down with this incredible feeling that just became stronger by the second. I paused for a second to look back. I guess something in me made me feel that I needed to do this. I couldn't understand the reasoning. My life so far was hell. What impressed my was how beautiful earth was from so far off. I didn't recognize the moon; well I wasn't looking for it. But, how radiant and what brilliance the Earths reflection was off the Sun's rays. I pondered a moment of where I just came from and like a final glance at longtime friendship where you need to part but without regrets I took my final look and turned toward heaven. I had found home. The peace and tranquility was immense. It penetrated every particle in my transparent body. I just kept walking up the stairs in a floating motion without a care in the universe. As I looked ahead I don't recall any special features just space and the stars and so vary far away from where I came. Just as I was getting used to the idea of this feeling of total bliss, a hand reached out and laid it on my left shoulder- as if I had one. I turned in startled and gazed at the being that had interrupted my peacefulness, and looked him strait in the eye. I was speechless, I could since bad tidings to come, the being spoken with a gentle but commanding voice, not an enemy was I encountering. This being was on a mission. As I faced him as he spoke, he told me " There is something you have to do!" I realized that this was bad news. I couldn't stay here in heaven, I was being sent back to Earth. My gut reaction was to scream " No way!" I said telling at the top of my lungs even though we spoke through some thing I can only relate to as not ordinary speech, a type of telepathy. I could just imagine al the continued hell I was about to go through with continuing my life. I knew I was dead, I had all my faculties, and This being was telling me to turn around and continue a life that had shown me horrors as a kid, with bad forebodings of years that awaited my on planet Earth. I proceeded to not listen to him and kept ascending toward the blissfulness of heaven that I could not see yet but was there. His arm never left my shoulder and now I could feel the strains of force pulling me back toward Earth. I was facing heaven and as I felt my self-starting to go backwards I turned to the being and let out one more plea. " No, I do not want to go back," I screamed again in that telepathy voice. I turned as I screamed and looked him strait in the eyes. He briskly made a commanding reply the reverberated through my entire being. You have a vary important mission that you must do, you must go back to earth!? the being said with a commanding but urgent  authority. I was being pulled by the hand that lay on my left shoulder. It was that of the concerned being. Backwards toward Earth I was being drawn, screaming all the way, " I don't want to go back, " I don't want to go back." I had no choice. I was descending fast toward Earth. Then suddenly everything blanked out and I felt helpless and was in total darkness, but felt as I was as far from earth as the planet Mars. Just a few moments past and a tiny dot of orange color appeared directly in front me. This tiny window like a portal to another dimension just became larger slowly though as I started to hear peoples faint voices above me become louder and louder until I could hear them talking saying, "Are you there, are you all right, can you hear me?"

A portal window of orange opened up wider and wider until all of a sudden My eyes opened up and I saw three McClaren guards attending to my body. "What happened, are you OK?" I just starred up at the ceiling for a moment or two. I could feel my body in shock, but I felt all my limb were intact and I was OK. I asked them how long was I out for? They said at least five minuets since they got there. They didn't know how long I was out because they got there after everyone had left the wing of that building. I realized what just happened to me, and I told them that I had just died. I could tell b y looking at their faces they knew I was dead too. They must have been trying for a heart beat as one had a hold of my wrist when I came to. I was able to get up on my own and walk it all the shock feelings that plagued my body. I was numb and bewildered. As I came into the main hall where the boys hand out most of the day, I could see the shocked stares from their eyes as they were looking at a dead man. Some came up to me and told me, ?We thought you were dead.? I didn?t reply I just was puzzled to what just happened to me after I turned my back on the boy I was smashing his head into the ground. They said that he got up quickly and was greeted by all his black buddies and put a chock hold on me, he was bigger and lifted me off the ground where my feet were dangling in mid air until my body was convulsing and shaking violently when they decided to put me down on the ground they all ran out of the room knowing they just killed a boy.

It was policy in McClaren hall to do nothing about fights and such as they were such a common occurrence and form of entertainment to all. The guards feared no one. J.P was a huge Arnold Schwarzenegger black body builder who I once dared me to slap him in the face and held his face out  spread legged for me to strike him, and I did falling to my knees and escaping under his legs and running off to the next hall. He didn?t bother to chase me; he would squash me. Then there was the head guard who was Japanese decent who was a long time black belt and served with America in the Vietnam war. I forgot his name. Mr. Nugen or something like that. He was a little under average height. But no one including six-foot big and strong 18 year old black boys would dare think of striking Mr. Nugen. And the other were just run of the mill types of burly bodyguards all knowing their jobs and doing them well. They just like to see fights. As far as I was concerned the place was hell. It was amazing the turn around time in McClaren, just a few hours and I never saw the boy who chocked me to death anymore. After my death it would be about one and a half months until I the court system had OK?d the paperwork for me to be shipped off to McKinnley Home for Boys.

Well even though I emancipated from my parent?s custody. My father still thought it his right to intervene on my behalf without ever even talking to me about going to the head management of McKinnely and asking to take my guitars away from me in attempt to better my grades at school. Now that I look back, it wasn?t my grades he just wanted to try to make me as miserable as he could. In the last words I ever heard out of his mouth, was when I was pleading with him to help me on a court case in which I was being wrongfully threatened with jail for providing false paperwork by an officer in the Contractors State Department that just wasn?t true. I was asking him to please help with the case from across the office on Plummer Street in Chatsworth that spring day of 1994. I walked up behind him waiting for him to finish up what he was writing on his computer-something about work. And he didn?t notice I was behind him starring at his computer screen when I heard him mumble, " I don't care about you or your case." With out a word I packed up my mail and belongings and left the building never to see him again. That was the final straw in our relationship. He would steal money from a lawsuit of an car accident from me, even though I was homeless. I didn't own him a dime. He was a con man anyway. He just got people to invest in his business dealing with promises of outrageous returns and then rob Paul to pay Peter. Well I never looked back.

I came home from McKinnely that night from Bill's house feeling pretty good. We had all ready played a few parties and videoed tape ourselves on an old projector and kind of a movie with sound and everything. When I got back to the boys home, a councilor stopped me and told me my father was here and that he was in the conference room at the main administration building where the head guy had his offices. I was assured into the room for a second time, the first time was the man, who opened his door of contraband to let me know what was considered acceptable and what was absolutely forbidden, interviewing when I first got there. Marijuana pipes, wrist rockets, bows and arrows, knives and shanks were all in his top-left desk drawer. I was led to the room with the massive oval table, big enough for a castle in Scotland. There they were heads of departments, representatives of courts, lawyers, councilors and a little intimidated head of the boys home. Al of them had look of distain and ordered my to take a seat. A lecture ensued for about 15 minuets in which I was the unwilling audience. School grades, topics about fathers concerns for his son. I hadn?t seen my father in over a two years and I thought I got rid of him for good along with my mother. I did even notice their existence, as I had broken all contact from them after the court hearing decided in my favor. My father had announced that things were going to change quickly or else the boys home was going to have heavy trouble. It seemed as I was the enemy now of the boys home. McKinnely would never know most of the other boy?s parents their whole tenure. The councilors and chieftains of the home probably had thoughts of murdering me. Who was this monster of a man threatening them and telling them how to run their system that they had as a tradition with success for numerous decades in Southern California. I was told the meeting was over and to go back to my bungalow and to get started on getting better grades in school. The councilors and heads they?re probably just agreed with my father demands so to shorten this dreary ordeal that just happened to them.

 I got back to my room and unlocked my storage bin in the closet to find that my Ovation had been stolen. I ran to the front desk of the bungalow and screamed where is my guitar. One of the councilors came to me in a took me aside and said sorry about that; "I could do nothing about it. Your father is a powerful man." It wasn't that my father was that powerful, he just new how to pull the right strings by threatening to sue the boys home, that's all. I ran back to try to get my father, I saw him pull away in his new shiny Cadillac. I yelled at him to wait as the councilors looked on in disgust. It was too late, he new what he was doing wreaking his sons life. Well it worked and I decided I had to leave soon.

Bill and me talked it over. Wow where you lucky that you left you Gibson ES 347 at my house Michael, or your dad would have taken that one too. He was right I was lucky in that I left my prized guitar at his house, but luckier that I had found a friend who understood where I came from and understood also my feelings.

He said that I could stay at his home and running away was the best thing for me. His parents he had already spoken to them about this and told them what an evil father I had and I had to hide from him. I left that night for good. I gathered all my belonging except for my stereo equipment that would be stolen the next day when some boys found out I was not coming back the next night to get it. I must not of cared that much for I didn?t make an attempt to retrieve it that night. Too much to carry. My necessities were the most important and my guitar equipment that I need to have to perform with. I felt as I was just freed from jail again. I had no hard feelings about the councilors because I knew it was not there fault. If my father never intervened I would have remained and graduated from high school in San Dimas, but this would not be my fate.

I slept on Bills bedroom floor, or in the next room where his older brother?s room was. We played music and partied and played parties and had one great time after another that summer of 1980. AS far as my memories of teenage years growing up, this had to be the most fun time of my life. No cares in the world. Playing guitar, dating girls and experiencing Southern California majestic beauty.

San Dimas History



Outlaws operating from inaccessible haunts in a canyon, commonly referred to as Horsethief Canyon, gave Vaqueros trouble by making raids on the Spanish Don's livestock. Accepted as authentic is the story that one day, in an exasperated mood, the Don made some pertinent remarks appropriate to his opinion of the thieves. Prayerfully, it is said traditionally, he included the name of St. Dismas, the crucified, repentant thief on the Cross. Dismas may never have stolen a horse but his plea for forgiveness could be something for horsethieves to consider - if they ever had any thoughtful moments. Following the Don's impulsive remarks, associating the name of St. Dismas with the thieves in Horsethief Canyon, a new name was heard in ranch life on the San Jose - a Spanish word - "San Dimas." By common usage it became San Dimas Canyon, and from that incident came the name of the town. (excerpt from "Profiles of San Dimas" by J. Howard Hoover).

Hollywood Movies: Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure Series was based upon this town, and the auditorium, which was real, excited fans as the boys brought back major history individuals for a class history project with a bevy of laughs and entertainment. In reality, the San Dimas area is stunningly beautiful, and to go back into the cannons, there are full 60-70 ft. full granite waterfalls, well hidden and behind firebreak lines, thus it is trespassing I believe most or all of the year.

Circa 1901 Artesia

Circa 1929 Van Nuys


..One Hundred Years of Hope  15,000 needy children helped, thank you.

A century ago, in January of 1900, McKinley Children's Center was founded as the Industrial Home Society, by the Rev. and Mrs. Uriah Gregory on the Gregory's Artesia Ranch. The couple was committed to one, simple belief : "That no child should be lost because we did not act." In 1901, the name was changed to McKinley Industrial Home in honor of William McKinley, the first U.S. President to visit Los Angeles. A few years later, it became the McKinley Home for Boys. In 1906, the home moved to Gardena with about 100 boys, and then to a 200 acre site in Van Nuys in 1923, where enrollment swelled to 250. The campus moved to its current location in San Dimas in 1961. Between 1961 and 1980, the home continued to evolve from simple care-giving to increasing levels of counseling and other professional services. The home also began to increasingly serve abused and traumatized youngsters instead of the homeless. McKinley's Foster Family Program accepted its first children, two brothers in February 1995. The first girls served by McKinley were placed in foster care later that same year. McKinley Boys Home became McKinley Children's Center in 1995 to better reflect services that include both boys and girls. In 2002 McKinley began Day Rehabilitative Services to the clients. Since 1900, more than fifteen thousand children in distress have found their way to McKinley Children's Center, one of Southern California's oldest and most important resource for troubled children.

I arrived in the summer of 1980s, near the end of summer for the fall school year. This was the first place I felt safe, at a safe distance form my abusive parents.  Unlike most children programs, in the 1980s, the boys, housed in age specific buildings, at least the oldest help run their own homes and the staff just observed, and perhaps enforced chores but hatred and racism were not issues during my short stay and it was first time I received a stable healthy  diet.

San Dimas turned out to be just a place of rare majestic beauty.

A wide and long San Gabriel mountain range dominated the northern San Dimas landscape. It was towering sight to behold. Rolling hills made up the sprawling communities that seemed to be surreal and made you feel a little away from main civilization. Well according to me that is. I lived my whole life in San Fernando Valley, that is to say a big city within a city, home to two million residents.

San Dimas was created by the San Jose Land Co. in 1887 when the Santa Fe Railroad laid its tracks through here, although a few families were already farming in the area. A Southern California land boom was in full flower with excursion trains bringing prospective buyers out from the Midwest for $1 per one-way trip. A railroad hotel was built in each little town from Pasadena to San Bernardino. However, before many lots were sold or the hotels had many paying guests, the boom collapsed. San Dimas Hotel was purchased in 1889 by the J.W. Walker family and subsequently lived in by six generations of their family. It is the only one of these railroad hotels still standing. Now known as the San Dimas Mansion, it is a restaurant and perhaps one day will be our first bed and breakfast inn. However, long before the dream of the railroad, Indians had camped here at least as early as 1771. In 1774 and 1776, Juan de Anza stopped at what was then known as Mud Springs, as did Jedediah Strong Smith in 1826. Mud Springs was part of the Rancho San Jose, the last Spanish land grant. The name was changed to reflect the San Dimas Canyon to the north when the railroad came through. Wheat and other midwest crops were planted first, then orange and lemon groves covered the valley. At one time, four citrus packing houses and a marmalade factory were located in San Dimas. The Sunkist name originated here, first spelled "Sunkissed." The early residents established churches and schools at once, built substantial business buildings on Bonita Avenue and a large feed store which is still in business. The lumber yard, which only recently closed, had been in business for almost a century. Many lovely homes were lost when the groves were cleared, but interesting homes and charming cottages dating from the early years of this century still exist.In 1950, Arrow Highway was a two-lane road. Orange trees brushed the cars as they passed, and the air was heavy with perfume in the spring.The completion of the San Bernardino Freeway in 1954, coupled with a disease affecting the citrus trees, spelled the end of the quiet agricultural life in San Dimas. Groves were cleared for housing tracts and strawberry fields. The quiet little town which had 3,500 residents in 1950 grew to 7,500 in 1960 when San Dimas was incorporated. Now at 33,000, we are still a caring, cohesive community, reaching from Puddingstone Lake in Bonelli Park on the south to the Foothills on the north. (excerpt from "Profiles of San Dimas" by J. Howard Hoover).


NED, Past Lives autobiograghy, McLaren Hall, McKinnley Home for Boys, LGA1230

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