Returning to their island roots

When Dr. Burns R. Eastman built his house on Balboa Island at 206 Coral St. in 1928, the island was mostly unoccupied sand.

And as the island’s first doctor, who came down from Pasadena in the summers to take care of injured surfers, he got some special privileges. His office, for instance, was attached to the fire station on the main drag, and he had it written into the city’s laws that he and his family (listed by name) were allowed to park out front, according to his grandchildren.

The way they tell it, decades later, perhaps in the 1960s, after the island had turned into the booming, crowded tourist attraction that it is today, Eastman’s daughter (their mom) got a ticket for parking in front of the station.

Irate, she appealed it, saying that as an Eastman she was legally allowed to park there, and to the officer’s chagrin, she was right.

That was one in a litany of stories told as a group of old friends who grew up coming to the island starting as infants during World War II, reunited there for the first time since their youths to reminisce and look at hundreds of old photographs.

They came from two families who were great friends: Eastman’s grandchildren — Joan Packer, Dick Gorby and Arlene Beard — and the children of 1960s Newport Beach City Manager Bob Coop — Tuck Coop and Susu Street.

Packer, who put the reunion together, now lives in Connecticut. Her brother lives in Oregon. The Coops live in Northern California. While in town, they plan to visit some of their old haunts, walking down the island’s streets and alleys, riding the ferry and perhaps playing some ski ball.

Tuck, who went to Newport Harbor High School, remembers being hassled when the city, with his dad at the helm, decided to close off Balboa Island to outside traffic during the Easter holiday.

It was a popular time for Newport Beach mainlanders and tourists to come to the island, and the traffic was creating a problem.

“I felt like I had a target on my back all through high school,” Tuck said.

Packer remembers hearing the fire engine sirens signaling the end of WWII 2 as a young girl, and her mother saying that daddy was coming home after years of fighting.

“I said, ‘Who’s daddy?’” she recalls, having hardly had any time with her father.

The two boys had several comedic escapades. One time, Dick decided it would be exciting to ignite some oil in the toilet and then flush it down to get rid of the evidence.

When he found that extinguishing the fire wasn’t quite that easy, he told his parents he was going to the beach and took off.

Later, the fire engines came and when Dick returned he got no pudding after dinner and was told he couldn’t watch “The Lone Ranger.”

For Dick, this weekend is his first visit back to the island where he grew up in 30 years. It has been 20 for Susu.

Not much has changed on the island, they all say: The sea wall looks the same, the pier looks the same, the rickety old ferry looks the same.

The biggest difference is the extravagance. What were once small boats traveling through the harbor are now enormous yachts. The houses have seven-figure minimum price tags.

“It was a sleepy little beach town when we were here,” Tuck said.

Packer says their parents would love to see them all together on the island again.