He spun tales that entertained

Deepa Bharath

Cliff Dobbins could tell a story.

They were more than stories. They were strange, yet delectable

tales, from his days in the Korean War and World War II. (He never

talked about Vietnam.)

About how he and fellow marines in Korea put a deer’s carcass on

the top of their jeep and it was frozen solid by the time they got

back to camp. It was, after all, 50 degrees below zero.

And the tales he spun were not just about the war. He told eager

listeners about how he once caught a fish that was 15 feet long.

About how he could drive to Vegas in two hours and how he -- and only

he -- could get 60 miles to a gallon.

His devoted spectators lapped up the stories. They probably knew

he made some of that stuff up. Of course, the story changed every

time they heard it. Every tale went through a metamorphosis. It got

polished and just a little bit embellished every time it was told.

But no one cared about the fabrication or exaggeration. Every tale

made them laugh. Every anecdote was memorable. Who cared if it was

fact or fiction? It was great.

Cliff loved the job he had for 23 years with the city of Costa

Mesa as street maintenance supervisor. He drove around in his white

truck all day checking out storm drains and potholes.

No one in his family knew exactly what he did in his job. All they

knew was he “wheeled and dealed all day.” If someone wanted

something, he would find a way to get it to them. If someone needed

help, he would be the one to help them.

Cliff liked that he could move about in a truck. He never liked

walking. His feet were still sore from walking with the marines for

25 years. He retired from the Marine Corps in 1967.

He took the job with the city the same year. Cliff was never the

one to be chained to a desk. He had to move around. He had to be

outside.

Cliff also enjoyed his travels during his days as a marine. He’d

been to Japan and Vietnam. But the country that captured his heart

was New Zealand. He even had the words “New Zealand” tattooed on his

leg.

He had always wanted to go back there, but never got the

opportunity to do so. Cliff often spoke about New Zealand’s rolling

green hills, the sheep and the sheer, natural beauty of the

landscape.

He retired from his job at the city in 1990. But he continued to

go to the city’s maintenance yard for 13 years after that, just to

hang out with the guys.

Cliff had a wild sense of humor, and often pulled pranks. One

time, before a trip to the desert, Cliff bought a bullet packed with

extra powder that he loaded in his brother’s gun.

The bullet blew the top of the handgun off. Everyone had a good

laugh and Cliff mounted the mangled gun on a plaque and hung it in

his hallway.

He adored his wife, Paula. Every Friday, he brought her flowers

and candy from the old See’s Candies store in Harbor Center. And

every time she told him: “Why do you do this? You know I don’t need

all this.”

But Cliff never said anything. He just continued to bring her the

flowers and candy. It was his way of showing Paula that he loved her

very much.

They spent 51 years together. But Cliff left without saying

goodbye. Paula found he had quietly passed away from a sudden heart

attack the morning of Jan. 25, a Sunday, when she had just come back

from church.

Cliff lived a full life. He was 78. But those who knew him best

already miss him. They miss his stories.

He left them wanting more.