Harry Higgens Foundation Society said goodbye to one of its founders on Feb. 6, 2012.
HHFS Chancellor Extraordinary Charles Leroy Britton lost his lengthy battle with cancer. He was 74.
Charlie is survived by his wife, Dale.
A 1958 journalism graduate of Los Angeles State College, Charlie had transferred there after graduating from Pasadena City College.
He earned his news bones as a reporter for a La Puente, Calif. newspaper before joining the Santa Monica Evening Outlook.
Charlie entered public service in 1965, serving as a deputy to Los Angeles City Councilman Marvin Braude until 1982.
He then returned to journalism as the film and restaurant critic for The Daily Breeze, a newspaper serving Los Angeles shoreline communities, before taking early retirement in 2008.
Throughout his college and post-college life, Charlie was a master of minutiae who relished being a square peg in a round hole. He was a closet conservative beloved and bedeviled by progressives.
You won't find Charlie in Facebook or profiled on Google. Except for his published bylined reviews, he exists only in the memory of family, friends and colleagues.
Harry would have liked that.
Charlie Britton and Anton Calleia were the best of friends for 55 years as classmates, roommates, colleagues and soulmates.
Perhaps because Charlie's ancestors came from Sicily and Anton's from Malta.
They never spoke Siculu or Malti to each other, but they shared similar Mediterranean heritages and independent spirits.
Combine those factors with high intelligiences and you have the genesis of creative mayhem.
They delighted in attributing outrageous factoids to their respective heritages.
Charlie, for example, would point to a void in photographs of Anton as evidence that Maltese believe likenesses are craven images that steal personas.
He would deliver such missives with deadpan earnestness, forcing the uninitiated listener to accept them as fact. After all, Charlie was an acknowledged expert in minutia.
Anton, on the other hand, produced similar zingers about Charlie but couldn't feign any degree of seriousness. He giggled every time.
Higgensites shall deeply miss those exchanges. They are treasured memories.
Paul Scott, professor of journalism at Los Angeles State College, once was a stringer (correspondent) for a Midwest newspaper.
That experience, besides a doctorate, represented his only qualifications to head an applied-arts academic department at LASC.
Journalism majors quickly opted to take night classes, if possible, from professional newsies.
And they constantly devised ways to defy someone whose favorite phrase was "Bad money drives out good money."
Scott prompted the Harry Higgens Foundation Society to launch its most convoluted conspiracy when he told College Times staffers to stop receiving personal mail and packages on campus.
Seems the college president was pissed about campus overuse of the administration's small mailroom. That resulted in a massive hands-on effort to embarrass Scott.
Trips were made to purchase used pulp magazines at nearby thrift stores. Hundreds of advertised offers for free samples and merchandise were clipped out and filled in with Scott's name and the college address.
The bogus requests were sealed in envelopes, addressed and mailed over two or three weeks. It was a noble mission for justice that cost about $30 in stamps.
It took just a few days for a greatly increased number of mailbags to arrive at LASC.
And, sure enough, most of the excess was addressed to Scott, who now was on every sucker list in America. We're talking everything from sample sex lubricants to shoe inserts, from razor blades to stickers.
Every piece of mail had to be sorted in the mailroom since first-class material was mixed in. And Scott had to look at each piece addressed to him to determine if it was legitimate.
The avalanche of Scott mail finally trickled to a few each week. Well after, sources say, the president ripped Scott a new one.
Harry really liked that.
Paul Scott, professor and chairman of the journalism department at Los Angeles State College, survived multiple attacks by the Harry Higgens Foundation Society in 1957-59.
The Great Mailroom Conspiracy might have been the most labor-intensive HHFS feat, but other plots deserve equal attention.
After Higgens veterans Anton Calleia and Charles Britton graduated, Jim Voigt assumed the HHFS chancellorship in September 1958 and was determined to earn his leadership bones during the second year he edited the Pitchfork, LASC's yearbook.
Jim had managed to convince publications adviser Irvin Borders and the campus maintenance department to renovate a bungalow classroom into a suite of yearbook offices over the summer.
It was lavishly equipped with tables, chairs, filing cabinets, desks, camera studio, light tables and a public counter to control access. Enough for a large staff that never really materialized.
Unknown to Jim, Scott had approved the renovation project after assuring that an office would be accessible only to him next to the suite's exterior door away from the common area.
He later would use the space as his locked satellite office for counseling students and stowing his dental supplies (the source of another Higgens coup).
The office was vulnerable, however. It had a high partial wall separating it from another unused and unlocked office. The plot thickens.
One had only to scale the partial wall to gain entry into Scott's innersanctum.
Once entry was made, the telephone voice thingy could be reversed so the caller could hear but not be heard. And the door-knob mechanism could be altered to prevent opening from inside the office.
Scott would be trapped, unable to be heard on the phone and unable to open the door to escape. With no one around to hear his cries for help.
The trap was ready. True to habit, Scott headed for his satellite office after dismissing a late-afternoon class. But the fickle finger of fate intervened.
Scott grabbed the arm of Ben Mintz--who may or may not have known of the pending peril--and ushered him into the office before closing the door.
A few minutes later, there were shouts and pounding on the office door after emergency phone calls proved futile.
Finally Ben was persuaded by Scott to scale the partial wall and let him out.
After Ben and Scott left to report the door and phone malfunctions, Jim scaled the partial wall and quickly returned everything to normal.
The responding maintenance workers later reported that Scott's report was a false alarm.
All apologies to Ben, but Harry really liked that.
--30--
Higgensites probably never would have found out if Anton Calleia and Jim Voigt hadn't borrowed Charlie Britton's car to go to the laundromat.
When they opened the trunk to stow Anton's dirty clothes and linens, a dufflebag took up most of the space. Plain as day was the stenciling "BRITTON, CHARLES" and a serial number.
The dufflebag contained all of Charlie's National Guard stuff--uniforms, shoes, fatigues, boots, helmet, the works.
So that's where Charlie spent those mysterious monthly outings. He was a closet weekend warrior. Who knew?
Anton, an Army tanker/counterspy protecting America in his earlier life, knew a thing or two about the service.
He knew, for example, that steel helmets had molded plastic liners for routine wear on duty.
Anton and Jim extracted Charlie's liner and used a permanent marker to put "Follow Me" on the back, swastikas on the sides and four stars on the front before reinserting it in the helmet.
After returning the helmet and closing the dufflebag, they waited for the eventual reaction from Charlie.
Anton later said Charlie was cleared of defacing government property, but still had to buy a new liner.
Harry would have liked that.
Charlie Britton has always avoided the limelight, steadfastly protecting his privacy with the tenacity of a vestal virgin.
Higgensites decided to invade his curtain of secrecy after Anton Calleia learned Charlie was returning from Las Vegas debauchery on a night flight to Burbank Airport.
Anton, Jim Voigt with a Speed Graphic press camera and humongus strobe light, and Jim's sister, Vicky, waited until Charlie reached the apron tarmac before rushing up to him.
(Anton and Jim wore big PRESS cards on lanyards as an added touch. Vicky wore a swimsuit, heels and carried flowers.)
As Jim repeatedly flashed the strobe and Anton shouted questions about some alleged developing scandal, Charlie remained unflustered and ignored "press" attentions as they careened through the terminal corridors.
While terminal occupants gawked at the unfolding celebrity spectacle, Charlie blithly proceeded to the baggage claim area.
Anton and Jim continued to photograph and shout questions and Charlie continued to ignore them as he collected his luggage. He may have given them one or two "no comments."
The episode finally ended outside the terminal building, leaving hundreds wondering who Charlie was.
Harry would have liked that.
Los Angeles State College actually fielded an intercollegiate football team in the late-1950s.
LASC'S upper-division squad, limited to juniors and seniors, was always mauled by California's four-year state colleges.
Nevertheless, LASC's student administration stubbornly insisted on sponsoring a homecoming parade during a Diablo halftime at Pasadena's Rose Bowl.
Big mistake.
Amid the floats, cheerleaders and homecoming royalty--parading before an estimated 200 or so spectators--was an illegal entry, a festooned MGA convertible driven by Eric Lorenzen.
It featured Laurie Rosenstein Fagan perched on the boot wearing a banner proclaiming her "Queen of the Harry Higgens Foundation Society."
Walking alongside was a Higgensite wearing a white beard and World War I doughboy uniform. Other escorting attendants wore canvas straightjackets purchased from a war-surplus store.
The HHFS entry was never officially acknowledged. But Harry liked it.
Charlie never imagined himself going into battle.
He joined the National Guard as an alternative to being drafted. Hey, even Dubya did that.
Attending weekend drills and a two-week summer camp was more palatable than active duty, even if it occasionally meant responding to some California disaster.
The germ of a delicious scam occurred as Jim Voigt spent one of his own weekends as a yeoman (clerk) in the Naval Reserve.
Jim had access to all kinds of official forms and was skilled in the official jargon and communications formats shared by the armed forces.
Ergo, a set of activation orders was prepared for Charlie's unit, with dittoed copies "mailed" to him in an official envelope.
The orders for Private Britton and his squaddies required them to report immediately for nationalized duty in Adak, Alaska, one of the armpits of America.
The envelope was bundled with other Charlie mail on a coffee table in the apartment he shared with Anton.
Anton and Jim braced for Charlie's reading of the official forms as he arrived home from work. But they were not prepared for his reactions.
Charlie gasped (expected), but then ran out of the apartment to a public telephone booth (not expected).
Thankfully, Anton and Jim were able to stop Charlie from completing the call to his guard unit.
Jim destroyed the fake documents and thus avoided being charged with fraudulent use of government property.
Harry would have liked that.
Southern Californians erroneously call them "potato bugs."
The huge earth-burrowers actually are Jerusalem beetles or crickets (Odontotaenius disjunctus), ugly tanks of the insect world.
Responding to excited shouts in his newspaper's print shop in Glendale, Jim Voigt discovered one of the monsters clomping loudly on the cement floor.
It walked right into a coffee can and later accompanied Jim on an afternoon trip to the apartment shared by Anton Calleia and Charlie Britton.
Anton subsequently put the beetle in the freezer to lower its metabolic rate and render it temporarily comotose. The stage was set for a crucial element of the plot.
Anton and Jim then obtained Chinese takeout food to share with Charlie when he got home from work.
While Charlie got ready for dinner, Anton microwaved the entree and rice and served them piping hot on three plates.
Unknown to Charlie, his plate's rice covered a rapidly thawing pissed-off beetle.
As Charlie forked the rice, the beetle suddenly beat feet right toward the HHFS Chancellor Extraordinary--who whooped and fell backwards, upending the table with his knees.
Chinese food and Charlie were on the floor, but there was no sign of the beetle. Anton and Jim raised their eyebrows when he claimed something attacked him.
Anton later found the beetle and dumped it in the apartment's backyard. Jim doesn't remember when Charlie was told the truth.
Harry would have liked that.
Perhaps the most dramatic and risky campus coup by Higgensites was the appropriation of official Los Angeles State College press-release letterhead, envelopes and postage for a mailing to area print and broadcast news media.
The "official" release announced that Col. Harry Higgens (U.S.A., Ret.) had succeeded Howard S. McDonald as president of LASC.
Many community newspapers and radio stations used the release without checking its validity.
And campus and state investigations never did find the culprits.
Harry really liked that.
Paul Scott, professor of journalism at Los Angeles State College, was a favorite target of the Harry Higgens Foundation Society.
Aloof, prissy and wedded to textbook knowledge rather than practical experience, Scott invited contempt from both full-time students and part-time professionals.
Scott was a slave to ritual. He insisted on students using typewriters to take exams.
Just before the final exam of one of his night courses, Higgensites threw the breaker switch to his bungelow classroom full of typewriters.
When Scott couldn't get the maintenance department to fix the problem immediately, he was forced to march students to another classroom and let them answer exam questions in writing.
And he always brushed his teeth before lectures.
Scott's locked satellite bungalow office in the Pitchfork suite was easily accessible via a high partial wall.
Higgensites scaled the wall one day and discovered Scott's toothbrush and toothpaste. Powdered alum, a strong coagulant, later was thoroughly mixed with the paste and reinserted in the tube.
Scott's lectures subsequently were accompanied by considerable smacking of lips and sucking of cheeks.
Harry really liked that.
Pranks in the name of Harry Higgens sometimes involved mundane objects at Los Angeles State College:
--Edward Weston Bonney II, for example, used to insert ballbearings into the top-floor ventilation ducts of the new Music Building.
He wanted to call attention to the building's noticeably slanted floors.
The bearings would roll from floor to floor, often disrupting lectures, practices and recitals.
--Rocks became major irritants to Paul Scott, professor of journalism and favorite Higgens target.
Scott and other faculty members parked along a perimeter dirt road not accessible to students.
Higgensites frequently inserted stones into Scott's hubcaps, creating a loud distraction until removed by the campus maintenance department.
--When rocks no longer worked, Higgensites jacked up the rear axle of Scott's car with blocks just high enough to avoid tire contact with the road.
The tires would spin when the gas pedal was engaged, but no movement was possible. It took the maintenance department to determine that Scott's driveshaft wasn't broken.
Harry really appreciated those feats.
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