President Richard M. Nixon had a home in San Clemente, California during his time in office. This made finding the small town and the President’s beach compound a “thing to do”.
The arrival introduced San Clemente to the world stage. Nixon would meet with foreign dignitaries or enjoy himself at the beach when he could. While the city abutting the northernmost side of Camp Pendleton Marine Base had a reason to visit other than its surf. Tourists made the trek to get their look at the Western White House or even a glimpse of the President himself.
Many of those travelers, ran into 12-year-old me, welcome to another SOL file.
San Clemente then was a quiet beach town with a population of 17,000 at the southernmost tip of Orange County. It was and still is neighboring Camp Pendleton to the south, with a 17-mile stretch of military beach between San Clemente and the city of Oceanside, along Interstate 5. This stretch of freeway includes two off-ramps, both for entry into the military base. Basilone, less than a mile from south San Clemente, and Las Pulgas, which is in the middle of the marine base an additional six miles south of Basilone.
During Nixon’s term in office, growth in the area had resulted in school overcrowding and had local students attending split schedules. Half the school would start at 7 AM and be out by noon, while the other half started at noon and went until 5 PM. I was in the latter group this year, meaning I did not have to be at the bus stop until 11 AM. That bus stop was at the entry to Cypress Shores, a gated community non-accessible to anyone but residents, within which sat the Nixon home.
Folks searching for President Nixon and his Western White House was a common occurrence. Multiple times a week at the bus stop a traveler would pull their vehicle up and ask for directions to the home. This was a time before mobile phones and Global Positioning Satellites were used by the public. A traveler used a map, a Rand or Thomas Brothers Guide to find their destination. Once in the general area, there was always someone to ask about the final few steps of the journey.
Originally, I would be the bearer of disappointment and tell them that this was as good as it gets. “Nixon lives in there (pointing behind me) and they will not let you any closer than this gated entry”. Game over. Along with their pained look of disappointment, I would get a polite thank you, and they would be on their way down the coast to their next destination. 
Not an extremely rewarding interaction for any of us. Eventually, after countless repetitions with insignificant variations of the same phrase to the tourists in their cars and wagons, my directions morphed. I discovered a response to their inquiry that put smiles on everyone’s faces.
“You’re close, you will need to get back on the I-5 freeway south right here, it’s the exit immediately after Basilone, be careful it is very easy to miss.” I would get a polite thank you, grin back to them from ear to ear, and they would be happily on their way. I could only imagine their trip, and smile to myself again.
By the time they re-entered the I-5 freeway and traveled past Basilone they would begin looking for the next immediate exit, which they were warned was “very easy to miss”. Without that exit existing they would continue, passing the San Onofre Nuclear Power Plant, and a barren landscape less any military vehicles on the land.
By the time they reached the next exit, Las Pulgas, six miles past Basilone, their opinion of the helpful kid who gave these directions had certainly changed. By the time and if they had turned around and returned to find they had already been as close as they would be allowed, their navigator was seated on a bus and on his way to school, grinning and planning for tomorrow.
In retrospect, I was not very mature for a 12-year-old, and I have no way of apologizing or doing anything about my direction. But the story still makes me chuckle now and then.
Does anybody else have their own Nixon story? Let us know some of the memorable interactions you were lucky to get away with. Fortunately, there is protection for some with a Statute of Limitations. However in some cases, one is just S#!+ Outta Luck.
From The Not So Morning Show’s SOL File (S#!+ Outta Luck).
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