Clocks get turned back an hour Sunday, but a dear near-centenarian pen pal of mine jumped the gun by turning the calendar pages back many decades.

Actually, Doris is my “typewriter” pal for she always types her letters to me. She is a superb typist, by the way, with her most-recent two-page missive having only two corrections made in black pen – an extra s crossed out and a 9 turned into a 0 – which is about double her average of misstrikes.

I thought Doris’s latest delightful correspondence deserved a wider readership than just me, so here is an excerpted dose of Ventura history and nostalgia.

“You asked about the location of the high school campus, so I may just chatter here about the Ventura I remember. I was born up on a hill, Three Sisters Hospital or something like that.

“I attended the Mill School thru first grade, then E.P. Foster, then The Avenue School. That building was located sort of behind where Santa Clara and Main Street meet, and I do not know when it disappeared. Grades 7-10 and the last two years of high school were at the present-day Ventura High School building on Main Street.

“At that time the building also had JC classes. As you can imagine, for girls especially at about twelve years of age, going to another school where there were also SIXTEEN-year-old girls was a major adjustment. So there were sponsors (tenth-graders, of course, so very sophisticated and all) for the younger girls. I had one and later became one – recently an acquaintance told me her mom said I was her sponsor and she remembered me. I don’t even remember me at all at sixteen!!

“My dad was also born in Ventura. He was friends with so many people and it was enjoyable to feel like I had an extended family when I would walk down the street and an older person would say hi to me — especially Emilio Ortega, the handsome postmaster!

“I loved my childhood even with all of the ‘deprivations’ of the Depression and then World War II. We always had very little, didn’t need more, and if we had a bit less we didn’t notice. I do know it helped that my dad was always lucky to have a job, whereas so many were not so fortunate. He worked for the Southern Counties Gas Co., and we lived on Lewis Street, which was a very nice neighborhood.

“So, see what happens when you ask a simple question. In answer to your other question about my typewriter: Now I have a Lexmark (IBM) and I have no idea the year of its manufacture. I will have it go to the Neptune Society with me, it is so dear to me.

“At twelve, I received a Smith-Corona portable in a dandy case. I believe it went to college with my son Rick after I taught all of my kids to be handy with it and I moved along from Underwoods to IBMs — Selectrics and an Executive. I did have a computer, but had no room here for it and find I can live quite comfortably as long as this machine sticks with me.

“Sometime I will tell you about my experience typing the California Bar exam for a Stanford Law School graduate, way back in the mid-1950s.” Added in handwritten black ink: “He did pass!”

Typing again: “As you can see, these 96-year-old fingers are plum wore out!!”

Then, in closing, in Palmer Method cursive as smooth as warm maple syrup: “Love, Doris”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

Bookends often match, but not always, as was the case with the following two incidents that occurred on the same recent afternoon. The first bookend was Impatience, the second Patience.

I was third in line at a traffic light and when it turned green the car at the front did not take off like a drag racer so the driver in the car directly behind it honked. While rudely impatient, it was at least a polite single tap – beep! – as in: “Hey, look up from reading your texts and please go.”

The front car did not go.

A count of perhaps “one Mississippi, two Mississippi” passed before the second car honked again, twice, longer – beeeep-beeeep! – expressing growing agitation, like: “Come on, pal, it ain’t gonna get any greener!”

Still the front car remained stationary.

One more “Mississippi” passed and BEEEEEEP! PG-13 translation: “Come on, knucklehead! Wake the heck up! I don’t want to sit through another long red light because of you! Go already, go, Go, GO!”

By now I was muttering R-rated complaints at the front driver.

At long last, the front car started to move at a tortoise’s pace and about three angry heartbeats later the second car abruptly changed lanes and with a loud gunning of its engine bolted ahead like a high-octane dragster.

Now I was behind the slow-pokey car, but surprisingly it was the speedy racer I cursed silently with contempt. You see, displayed on the back of the front car was a bright yellow sticker the size of a dinner placemat and impossible to miss: “STUDENT DRIVER / Please be Patient.”

Arriving at my destination, having empathetically proceeded in no rush, I soon witnessed a remarkable display of patience and Good Samaritanship (that’s not a word, but should be). On one of my loops running around the soccer fields at the Ventura Community Park at Kimball Road, a middle-aged man stopped me and pointed towards the south parking lot.

“Is that your car?” he asked.

“No,” I said, adding curiously: “Why?”

Mr. Good Samaritan had found an electronic key fob and was trying to locate its owner. This was proving to be no small task for the key fob had been lost next to the sidewalk that runs the full perimeter of the park.

Specifically, Mr. Good Samaritan found it on the other side of the park about as far from the parking lots as can be. He could have left the fob where it was, hoping the owner would retrace his or her steps and find it. The problem was, the encircling sidewalk is 1.25-miles long making it almost a needle-in-a-haystack search.

Instead, he picked up the fob and started asking every adult walker, runner, dog owner and rollerblader he saw if it was theirs. Failing at this, Mr. Good Samaritan wisely figured that locating the car might help him find its owner upon return. He thus began pressing the “unlock” button while listening for a high-pitched beep.

Coming up empty in the north lot near the aquatics center, he next tried the south one and finally found the winning SUV. Stationed here he patiently continued his search for the owner with no success.

An hour, at least, after most people would have given up, Mr. Samaritan left a note on the windshield explaining he was leaving the key fob inside at the swimming complex.

I will tell you this: If I ever lose my car key, I know whom I want to find it.

By the way, when I finished my run the SUV was happily gone.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com