There were only two high schools in Newport-Mesa then: Costa Mesa and Newport Harbor. Just one offered classes that summer.
Harbor High was an ancient, Gothic-looking structure towering over Newport Heights. I was certain it'd been there since the Middle Ages.
The classrooms, I discovered, were dank and moldy. I was used to prefab, tilt-up concrete structures that had recently been planted in a Costa Mesa pasture, surrounded by the ghostly remains of the Santa Ana Army Airbase.
The most notable feature of the campus was its impressive clock tower that to me suggested London's Big Ben or UC Berkeley's Campanile. You could see the danged thing halfway to Catalina. Sadly, the most distinctive structure on the Mesa campus was a "futuristic '50s dome" covering the snack bar.
We Mesa students knew we were Newport's stepsister. Our principal, and most of our teachers, had taught at Newport and were exiled to the high school astride the bean fields.
I rode my bike 6 1/2 miles roundtrip from our home in northeast Costa Mesa to the Harbor High campus weekday mornings during the summer of '60.
I signed up for an 8 a.m. algebra class taught by Newport Harbor legend Webster Jones. Jones was a popular and respected math teacher for decades on that campus though, truthfully, I had no idea who he was because I hailed from Dogpatch.
I also signed up for Bob Wentz's public speaking course. Wentz was equally renowned, and was then in the autumn of a sterling career. He taught speech and drama for decades at Newport.
I didn't know Wentz either, but I got to know both teachers that summer, and they changed my life.
Math was never my strong suit, so I slogged my way through Jones' algebra lessons — sans Sports Illustrated — and squeaked by with a passing grade. Jones gave me his best professional effort, though he knew he was working with a dim bulb.