Column: Revisiting an old friend: My favorite book in grade 5 at Lindbergh Elementary

I visited an old acquaintance last week that I hadn’t seen in more than six decades.

I last laid eyes on him in 1955, when I was in Mrs. Ballreich’s fifth-grade class at Lindbergh Elementary School in Costa Mesa.

My friend made an indelible impression on me as a 10-year-old, and I’ve never forgotten him or his unusual name. To be sure, I hadn’t remembered every detail of our friendship, but I did recall general brush strokes.

And I hadn’t forgotten his name: Docas.

“He” actually wasn’t a living being but a fictional character in a 150-page book I read from cover to cover. It likely was the first cover-to-cover read of my life.

It became the subject of a book report I wrote for my teacher. That report probably constituted my most significant academic effort in grammar school.

“Docas, The Indian Boy of Santa Clara” was the book’s title. I checked it out from the school library for the class assignment. In fact, as I recall, I checked it out more than once.

Written by Genevra Sisson Snedden, the book was first published in 1899 by D.C. Heath & Co. of Boston, New York and Chicago. I distinctly remember that my library copy was well-worn.

The stilted and antiquated language was initially off-putting, and many of the book’s situations and references are considered culturally insensitive — even offensive — by today’s standards. But, considering when the book was written, that’s hardly a surprise.

Snedden opened the book with a note to her readers:

“My dear children: What sort of people do you like best to read about — white people or Indians? I think you will say Indians, because all the children of whom I have ever asked this question have said that they liked best to read about Indians … I think many of you will care to read about Docas, the Indian boy of Santa Clara.”

Such was the case with this fifth-grader.

Much of the history and literature I read while growing up in Orange County took place “back East” and, for all intents and purposes, I’d never been east of the Las Vegas Strip. It was difficult for me to relate to such historic locales as Boston, Williamsburg, Gettysburg and Philadelphia.

They might as well have been on the surface of the moon.

But I’d been to Monterey, San Francisco and Mission Santa Clara. Those I could relate to.

The book presents the life story of Docas and is divided into three sections: Docas living with his family in the Indian village; Docas and his family living at Mission Santa Clara; and Docas and his family living on a large rancho owned by the wealthy Robles family.

The story takes Docas from age 7 to an 80-something great-grandfather.

I’d thought about the book intermittently over the years. Its contribution to my intellectual growth and development was significant.

It introduced me to a culture that fascinated me but that I knew little about. A couple of times over the years I mounted half-hearted attempts to locate a copy of the book. Without success.

Then, a couple of weeks back, I discovered Docas listed on my Kindle e-reader.

I downloaded and read it.

The broad outline was familiar to me, but I must admit that only two incidents in the book triggered specific memories: Docas learning to grind acorns and a boat capsizing in the roiling waters of Monterey Bay.

Excluding those two items — and the illustrations, which I remembered quite well — the book was a fresh read for me.

I’m certain that what I liked most about the book as a fifth-grader was its depiction of Docas’ life at Mission San Carlos. I was fascinated with California’s missions, from San Diego to San Francisco. By the fifth grade, I’d visited many.

Docas meets Father Serra in the story and receives a blessing.

That would have been a highlight for me in 1955. Father Serra was a particular hero of mine.

Now, can this column secure retroactive book report credit for me?

I’m still hoping for a B.

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.