My journey
through six decades
The adventures of Jeffry E Herman
My journey
My father's job led us through five relocations by the 8th grade, posing a significant challenge for a shy, red-haired child with social anxiety. Despite these obstacles, I married an incredible woman, raised a beautiful child, apprenticed, started my own business, and retired at 50. Contrary to the notion that retirement is not a dying mans game, it marked the beginning of our adventures from thrilling trips across Mexico, France, Spain, England, and Napa to hiking the Grand Canyon and kayaking the Colorado River.
I attribute my success to divine guidance, steering me through life's potential pitfalls and presenting countless opportunities. Most importantly, this guidance led me to Kara Ann Dilucido, my soul mate, confidant, partner, and best friend. As we contemplate our last decades and our dream resting place, I am grateful for the keys to success that I believe were bestowed upon me by my creator.
Early Years
Early Years
I entered the world at a hospital in downtown Johnstown, Pennsylvania, where we lived in a modest apartment at 732 Pine St. My family's history was intertwined with the infamous Johnstown floods, and stories of my mom's family fleeing to the mountains during these events were etched into our young minds.
My grandfather Joseph Earl Herman Sr., was an entrepreneur who initially sold calculators before venturing into starting his hardware store. His dream included plans for a hotel on the property. However, tragedy struck when he passed away at 48. My grandmother, Ethel Viola Herman sold the property in 1950 for $50,000, a considerable sum at the time.
Instead of living a life of leisure, she selflessly gave the money to my father with the condition that she could live with us indefinitely. My parents were high school sweethearts and faced early challenges when my mom became pregnant with my brother at 17.
Despite my grandmother's offer to raise the child so my father could pursue college, they declined, and I became a companion to my older brother when my parents were just 20. In pursuit of better opportunities, my father initially took a job at a steel mill as a crane operator.
However, discovering limited upward mobility, he redirected his path, following in his father's footsteps to sell calculators. Later, he transitioned to the burgeoning field of computer sales with Control Data, a position he held until his passing. One poignant childhood memory lingers'a day when I arrived at a kindergarten field trip to find what I thought was an empty classroom. The children were hiding under their desks, part of a nuclear bomb exercise, a somber experience that left a lasting impact on my young self.
As the story goes, I was quite the persuasive kid. I'd tirelessly pull the sled up the hill and slide it back down, happily entertaining myself—until my older brother came into view. The moment he showed up, the dynamic shifted: he became the one hauling the sled uphill, while I happily took over as the rider, enjoying the effortless glide back down.
Having an older brother to navigate life with has been an incredible gift. From sharing birthdays and holidays to tackling challenges and celebrating milestones together, his presence has been a constant source of support and inspiration.
Growing up, there was always someone to look up to, someone who had already faced the hurdles I was just beginning to encounter.
Pittsburgh, Dad's first transfer
Pittsburgh, Dad's first transfer
My father's job at Control Data propelled our family from Johnstown to Pittsburgh, where my grandmothers's financial support afforded us a new home and even a used MG sports car.
Despite the luxuries, accidents marked this chapter of my childhood, leaving me with a scar on my little finger and upper lip that I carry to this day. Memories of our split-level house include the construction of a treehouse by our parents and promising nights of adventure. However, a chilling incident involving a child molester on the loose cut our treehouse escapades short after just 30 minutes. Occasional trips over the mountains to visit our cousins led us to Bird-In-Hand, PA, an Amish community.
The sights of horse-drawn buggies and people in traditional garb fascinated kids from the city. Our ventures included barn escapades, jumping into hay piles, and a memorable job at a local chicken factory, chasing escaped chickens for a nickel each.
Another cherished experience was visiting our uncle's farm, where we engaged in manual hay bailing, cow milking, and hunting wild prairie dogs. Outdoor meals at a massive farm table created lasting memories, including the day a wounded prairie dog chased me across the field a story that became a lively talk at the dinner table. Life in Pittsburgh was a tapestry of adventures, filled with both mishaps and unforgettable moments that shaped the narrative of my formative years.
Cincinnati, Dad's second Transfer
Cincinnati, Dad's second Transfer
In Cincinnati, Ohio, our family settled into a home nestled amidst sprawling forests, a sanctuary that birthed my most cherished childhood memories. Our cul-de-sac boasted only two residences, one of which belonged to Andy, a boy my age who swiftly became my closest companion. Together, we'd venture deep into the woods, embarking on explorations in search of critters and snakes, much to the chagrin of our snake-averse parents. Despite their concerns, those woods were our playground, a realm of endless fascination. One particularly memorable encounter involved rescuing a helpless baby Robin, devoid of feathers, which I nurtured back to health, watching it grow into a loyal avian companion.
Our bond was remarkable; the bird would perch on my shoulder, venturing out for short flights before returning, a silent testament to our friendship.
There were other creatures too; a neighbor's braying donkey punctuated mornings, while a pair of goats gifted to us one Easter brought joy until tragedy struck, leaving one of them to be sold. Amidst it all, our loyal collie, Bonny, was a constant source of joy, accompanying us on woodland adventures and playful romps. Not all memories were idyllic, though. A harrowing incident on a frozen lake stands out, where I found myself plunged through thin ice, saved only by Andy's swift action, pulling me to safety and warmth.
Amidst the backdrop of our childhood innocence, our parents hosted lavish gatherings, where indulgence in alcohol, drugs, and hedonistic pleasures was the norm. Inquisitive minds led my brother and me to explore the forbidden allure of cigars, a wager made over finishing our dinners. While my brother claimed the prize, the consequences of his victory were swift and severe, a lesson learned in the aftermath of his ill-fated smoke. Health struggles punctuated my youth, with recurring sinus and strep throat infections casting shadows over my early years. The eventual removal of my tonsils at twenty marked the end of a chapter fraught with illness, leaving me to ponder the gradual disintegration of these troublesome organs over the years.
Chagrin Falls, Dad's third Transfer
Chagrin Falls, Dad's third Transfer
Chagrin Falls, Ohio, a picturesque pause in my father's numerous transfers, felt like a scene from a Hallmark movie's small Main Street and a captivating waterfall set the stage. Here, my dad gifted us our first .22 rifles, and my older brother, Bob, and I, perhaps too young for such responsibility, spent days in the woods shooting up our model creations.
The town had its share of notable residents, including the comedic talent Tim Conway, who occasionally visited from Hollywood. An intriguing offer for me to audition for a TV series surfaced at a local diner, but alas, it faded into the realm of unfulfilled possibilities.
Bob and I explored the landscape, navigating the old water pipes that connected mills to falls. Our family's standout vehicle, the first Mustang delivered to Chagrin Falls, drew attention, especially when an unfortunate accident became the town's gossip.
One of the most memorable experiences from my time in Chagrin Falls was serving as an acolyte at the Methodist church we faithfully attended every Sunday.
Around this time a peculiar incident happened involving my recorder stuck in an unexpected place after a school concert, a story I never shared with my dad.
Grandma Ethel's decision to move out marked a poignant transition. Fond memories lingered of her selfless support, especially during my struggles with dyslexia. Grandma left me with an indelible legacy of love and guidance. She moved to Minneapolis after we made our final move.
Detroit, Dad's Fourth Transfer
Detroit, Dad's Fourth Transfer
Our journey led us to the Motor City, where my dad reportedly sold Ford Corporation their first computer and an era that coincided with our introduction to rock and roll. Witnessing the Beatles live downtown in 1964 after their iconic Ed Sullivan show appearance, left me, an 11-year-old, amidst the deafening screams of adoring fans.
Mom and Dad fueled our newfound interest, buying us guitars and a colossal Kustom amp. Our attempts at rock stardom, marked by noise-induced parental vexation, culminated in a few unsuccessful battles of the bands at Bob's junior high. Amidst the Detroit riots, my brother and I, armed with .22 rifles, felt the tension of the turbulent times. Our Detroit abode changed twice first, just north of 14 Mile Road, across from a Catholic school, and later, closer to Birmingham.
I wached the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show play these two songs, and it changed our generation forever! 
Snowball battles with Catholic school kids created cherished memories, contrasting with my budding rebellious phase. Christmas brought BB guns, mischief, and the first experience of school-skipping, promptly followed by getting caught.A crush named Kathy Teasel lived around the corner, eventually sharing her poems, inviting my musical interpretation. As my brother obtained his driver's license, Woodward Blvd became our haunt in dad's black Mustang, until a transmission mishap brought a rift between us.
To assert independence, I took on multiple paper routes at the tender dawn hours, the scent of freshly printed newspapers accompanying the start of my day. Pedaling through the streets, I experienced the joy of earning my own money, a rite of passage during our Detroit days.
Hopkins, Dad's last Transfer
Hopkins, Dad's last Transfer
This marked the end of our nomadic journey as my dad secured a role at Control Data's headquarters in Bloomington, Minnesota. The hotel at the corner of HWY 7 and Hopkins Crossroad served as our temporary abode, sparking anticipation and curiosity about our new home. Little did I know, just 1.5 miles away awaited both our house and the high school that would shape my future. Finally shedding the label of a "traveling vagabond" at 14, I embraced the prospect of stability in Hopkins, a quaint town where I'd reside for the next 8 years. Minnesota, with its thousand lakes and mosquitoes as the unofficial state bird, offered a backdrop of extremes ' sweltering summers and bone-chilling winters. We joked that if Minnesota summer fell on a weekend, it was BBQ time. Separated by schools, Bob in High School and me in Junior High, we navigated our two-year age gap.
While I struggled with learning and experimented with drugs, Bob, with his drivers license, gravitated towards friends his age. Our bonding moments included mischievous in the woods, summer swims at Shady Oak lake, and fishing escapades at Lake Minnetonka. The summer of '69 marked a cultural shift with Woodstock, the moon landing, and a wave of drugs. My experiences with hashish, mescaline, and acid unfolded amid laughter and escapades. Bob's suspension from school and subsequent expulsion altered our dynamic, leading him to join the Marines. His influence, evident in schemes like stealing a speaker from a football field scoreboard, left its mark.
Looks like dad was doing his own experimenting
Trouble lurked in unexpected places, like the time an acquaintance with a stolen car sought refuge with me. Racing by the golf course led to a collision, dragging me into a situation where innocence met a stolen vehicle and a police stakeout.
Caught picking tiles off the school wall, I found myself on what we dubbed "Looney Lane" ' a space for troubled kids, offering unexpected lessons like financial skills and hands-on auto shop projects.
A transformative realization empowered me to project goodness, leading me to join the Civil Defense, aiding in stocking Cold War-era shelters, in collaboration with the Minnetonka police. Cruising Main Street in my 1969 Road Runner, and working at Chalet Pizza introduced a sense of adventure and rebellion.
The teachers at Loony Lane used to call me every morning just to get me up for school. I thank God for those incredible people who refused to let me fall behind—they practically dragged me to my diploma. It must have been one of those kind souls who suggested I receive a free enrollment in Outward Bound’s winter course in Ely, Minnesota.
That experience changed my life and set me on a path to success. Sleeping outside in 30-below weather has a way of doing that.
The first time I saw Lori Joe Fredrickson, she was walking to school, effortlessly captivating. She was gorgeous—radiant and confident in a way that made it impossible to look away. I turned to my friend and declared, “I’m going to date her.” He laughed and said, “No way.”
Challenge accepted. A week later, I took her out on our first date. From the moment our lips met, I knew—this wasn’t just a crush. It was love at first kiss.
Lori Joe grew up in the foster system but spent her last year of high school living with her sister so she could attend Hopkins High. We were inseparable our entire junior year.
My parents adored Lori Joe, as did I, but she broke up with me at the end of our senior year. I was devastated.
Not wanting to be alone, I remembered an attractive girl who worked at the Chanhassen Chalet Pizza. I found reasons to visit that location just to see her and eventually asked her out. Cassandra Kerber came from a family of 12 children. I learned quickly that if you wanted something to eat, you took it when the plate came around—because it might not come around again. And whatever you took, you finished.
Cass and I shared similar values and aspirations for the future. She managed a family friend’s roadside restaurant, while I was in a sales training program at Pickwick. We married in June 1974 and rented our first apartment together.
I was in the sales training program with Pickwick, while Cass was interviewing with a new restaurant called Wendy's, as an assistant manager. My transfer came through first, and they offered me a territory in Detroit or San Jose. I had lived in Detroit, so it was off to San Jose.
San Jose, My First Transfer
We packed our tiny Saab Sonnet and set off on a cross-country adventure, bound for California and a fresh start. I settled into my new territory in San Jose, while Cass took an assistant management position at Red Barn Restaurant. Our schedules were mismatched—I worked days, and she worked nights—two passing ships in a sea of routine.
After two years, Cass called it quits, and we went our separate ways. The breakup hit me hard. Rejection and depression wrapped around me like a heavy fog, making even the simplest tasks feel impossible. Dragging myself to work became a daily battle, and I was lucky management didn’t show me the door.
Desperate to regain control of my life, I enrolled at Barbizon Modeling School, hoping to rebuild my confidence. After graduating, a modeling agency signed me, and I began working with iMagnon. Around that time, I met Micky Worley, whose friendship led me down an exciting path, including promoting his Alley Oop record. I moved in with Linda, the school’s director, and met Alex McCauthor, who later pursued acting and landed roles in several NBC series. Then, fate intervened.
Despite my half-hearted efforts at work, the branch manager saw my potential and recommended me for a supervisor position in Los Angeles. Just like that, my modeling aspirations faded into the background, replaced by a new reality.
Los Angeles, My second transfer
Packing up everything I owned, I set off for L.A., unsure of what awaited me but ready for the next chapter. I settled into an apartment on Coldwater Canyon Road in Studio City, conveniently close to Pickwick’s branch office. Within a month I experienced my first earthquake—a small one, but unsettling nonetheless. Coming from the Midwest, I had never felt the ground shift beneath me, and it was a strange, almost surreal sensation.
At Pickwick, I was assigned a fantastic team of salespeople, covering territories that stretched from Costa Mesa and the Inland Empire all the way down to San Diego. Transitioning from salesperson to supervisor was both stressful and empowering. It required a shift in mindset—no longer just focusing on my own sales, but mentoring and guiding others to succeed.
For the next few years, my life revolved around work more than anything else. I drove to San Diego twice a week, spent long hours at the office, and immersed myself in the challenges of leadership. Pickwick had its perks—free records, summer trips to various Playboy Clubs for the annual convention—but a generous salary wasn’t one of them.
During this time, I met Karen Hamilton, who worked in Pickwick’s accounting department. We started dating and were together for about a year and a half.
One of the highlights of that period was winning an RCA Country contest with my sales team. As a reward, several of us were flown to the Bahamas for a two-week trip. I took Karen, and my sales rep, Kent Houston, brought his parents along. Unfortunately, I came down with strep throat the first week and had to visit the hospital for antibiotics, but by the second week, I was finally able to enjoy the warm weather and camaraderie of the other winners.
Not long after we returned, I realized that Karen and I weren’t meant for a lifelong partnership. Breaking up with her was difficult, but I knew it was the right decision. I had already experienced heartbreak twice—first with Lori Joe and later with my ex-wife, Cassandra—so in a way, it felt like this time, the decision was mine to make.
After parting ways with Karen, I dated different people, but deep down, I was holding onto the hope that God would lead me to my true soulmate.
God answered my prayers
And brought me, my soul mate,
I was feeling down and in need of a mood boost, so I decided to do something different—something just for me. I recalled a suggestion from my Barbizon Modeling instructor that I should consider dyeing my eyebrows and eyelashes since they were naturally white.
But walking into just any salon and asking for that felt awkward. So, I turned to the Yellow Pages, scanning the listings until one ad jumped out at me, Luciano's Hair Salon. Right there in bold print: HAIR TINTING, Perfect. I called and booked an appointment, deciding to start with a simple haircut to get a feel for the place.
What I wasn’t expecting was to walk into the shop and be stopped in my tracks.
Behind the counter stood the most breathtaking woman I had ever seen. She was confident, stunning, and sexy—and she was my stylist. I barely remember the haircut itself. My eyes kept drifting to her reflection in the mirror, taking in every movement, every glance. She asked me about my life, and I answered with more enthusiasm than I had in years.
When it came time to pay, we found ourselves on opposite sides of the front desk. I wanted to ask her out but shyness had always been my downfall.
Then, in a moment that sent my heart racing, she stepped out from behind the counter.
She asked if I would like to go next door for a cup of coffee.
I was floored that she was interested in me. Sadly I had to turn her down because my date from the night before was still at my apartment.
Not wanting to lose the moment, I quickly countered, would you like to have dinner? She smiled and said yes, and we exchanged numbers.
I found out later that Kara's friend Cy suggested that she take a lock of my hair, write three wishes, put them in an envelope, and put it under her pillow.
What Kara didn't know was that I was already completely smitten.
That night I cleared any dating distractions and had no second thoughts. I called her, we went out to dinner at the White Horse Inn in Sherwood Forest, and afterward, I invited her over to meet my cat.
From that moment on, we were inseparable, stuck like glue.
Just two weeks after we met, Kara and her father, Joseph DiLucido, had a trip planned to San Fransisco. That was, without a doubt, the loneliest week of my life. I counted down the days until she returned. And when she did, we picked up right where we left off—as if we had never been apart.
As Kara and I continued dating, she eventually came across a piece of my life that I hadn't yet shared—my written goals tucked away on my desk. I may not have had much to my name, but those goals spoke louder than my circumstances. They told her that I was determined, willing to put in the work, and, most importantly, that together, as a team, we could achieve anything.
Within a month we rented our first house on Gilmore Ave in Woodland Hills. Soon after I took Kara back to the location of our first date, and I proposed to her. She said yes!
1980: A transtional year
1980 was a whirlwind year for me—Kara and I met, started dating, got engaged, moved in together, and even took our first overnight trip to Palm Springs. I still remember snapping a picture of her on the rocks below the tram, looking at her and thinking, Oh my God, what a stunning woman—how did I get this lucky? That trip was unforgettable, not just for the romance but also for the unexpected adventure. Kara got stung by a bee—right on her breast.
We called down for ice, and soon enough, a young, eager doctor-type showed up and asked, "Where should I apply the ice?" Without hesitation, I grabbed it and said, "I’ve got this one covered!"
A dad's concern!
Kara’s dad wasn’t thrilled about us living together before marriage, but Kara had been married for seven years before, and I had been married for two. Given our past experiences, we wanted to be sure this relationship would last before taking the next step, so we decided to live together for a year.
After nine months, though, her dad gave her a nudge—"shit or get off the pot." That was the push we needed to start planning our wedding.
After nine months, though, her dad gave her a nudge—"shit or get off the pot." That was the push we needed to start planning our wedding.
We set the date for May 10, 1980. It would be a small, intimate affair with just friends—no family flying in. Our plan was to exchange vows in front of a massive cactus at Los Encinos State Park. Ray Reed stood by my side as my best man, and Cy was Kara’s maid of honor.
I couldn’t afford a $500 loan to cover the day, so instead of hiring a professional photographer, we asked my friend Marv Kubota to take the photos. That’s why they don’t look professional, but we’re grateful to have them.
We may not have had much money, but we poured our hearts into planning our wedding. Every detail mattered—from the rehearsal dinner and writing our vows to choosing the perfect wedding location and planning our honeymoon. Even after we returned, the celebrations continued with a party hosted by her boss, Luciano, making the joy of our new life together feel even more special.
Our Wedding Day 4-10-1980
The morning of the wedding, we put together the flower canopy that we would stand under. Previously Kara had suggested we go to Rodeo Drive to get my wedding suit—she wanted me to look like the man I aspired to be. She found her dress at Saks 5th Ave, and she looked gorgeous.
The ceremony went smoothly, and afterward, we all gathered at our house for food and cocktails.
The next morning, we left for our honeymoon, leaving Marv in charge of filing our paperwork. To this day, we still wonder if he ever did. But after seven years, it wouldn’t have mattered—we’d be married either way.
Our Honeymoon
The next morning, we set off for North Lake Tahoe, eager to spend a week exploring its beauty. We drove in through Reno, which gave us the chance to visit some authentic ghost towns and take in breathtaking vistas along the way. We rented a cozy condo that had the rustic charm of a cabin. I brought my guitar and serenaded my new wife—a memory we still cherish.
One of the highlights of our trip was taking a boat from South Lake Tahoe to Emerald Bay. The lake was just as clear and stunning as I had always heard.
I also took Kara to her first casino. As we walked in and watched people playing the slots and craps, she turned to me and asked, “Why isn’t anyone having fun like in the movies?” I smiled and said, “Because they’re losing their money.” It was a moment of newfound awareness, people don't like to lose money!
Remainder of 1980
Kara and her dad were inseparable, despite the miles between them—he in Rhode Island, she in Los Angeles. Wanting to make the most of our time together, we planned an unforgettable trip to San Diego and beyond. We explored the San Diego Zoo, marveled at SeaWorld, and even took a detour to Tijuana, where we ventured across the city to the bullfighting ring on the coast.
The journey through Tijuana was eye-opening. The contrast was stark—dirt roads, makeshift homes, and a level of poverty that was heartbreaking to witness. It was a sobering reminder of how different life could be just a short distance from home.
At the bullfighting ring, Kara was immediately unsettled by the brutality of it all. While we understood that the meat was donated to orphanages, it didn’t make the spectacle any less barbaric. We both agreed—it was an experience we would never repeat. We also visited Las Vegas and Disneyland by the end of the year.
This was my first time experiencing Halloween at Luciano's beauty salon where Kara worked, and it was nothing short of spectacular. Everyone went all out with their costumes—no half-measures here. Kara and I embraced the spirit of the night, dressing as Cleopatra and Mark Antony.
To keep the festivities going, we decided to host a party at our house that evening and invited all my friends from work.
It was an incredible success—the kind of night that set the stage for many more unforgettable parties to come.
1981: A Year of Change, Celebration, and New Beginnings
After the whirlwind that was 1980, I assumed life would slow down in 1981. Instead, it was another year of transformation—one that shifted my focus from pure hard work to building a life with Kara, her friends at Luciano’s Beauty Salon, and Luciano’s family.
The biggest change came when Kara’s dad generously gave us $30,000 to buy our first home—a cozy place at 2904 Sunflower Drive in Thousand Oaks. Kara already owned half of the house with her ex-husband, so I had to secure a loan to buy out the other half. With interest rates soaring at 15%, it wasn’t easy, but I managed to make it work. And just like that, we had our first home together!
With a house of our own, we had the perfect place to build a future. And as if the universe had perfect timing, we found out Kara was pregnant! After trying for just a month. We were ecstatic, and so were both of our families. The house quickly became a home, filled with excitement, preparations, and dreams of the future. Kara's friends came together and gave her the best baby shower.
The year wasn’t just about settling in—it was about celebrating life with the people we loved. We spent countless hours fixing up the house making it our own, and filling it with laughter. Our home became the hub for holiday gatherings, bridal showers, and parties with my Pickwick friends and Kara’s colleagues.
Luciano was at the heart of so many unforgettable moments. His legendary 4th of July party once again turned into a wild, hilarious debacle, while his Christmas party lived up to its reputation for being epic. He even hosted the wedding for the woman whose bridal shower Kara had thrown.
Amidst all the festivities, Kara and I carved out time for just us. We escaped to Santa Barbara for a romantic weekend—there’s nothing I love more than those quiet, intimate moments with her. We also made time for family, taking Dad to Disneyland and my brother Reed to Venice Beach, creating memories that we would cherish forever.
With Kara’s support, I found the courage to leave Pickwick after a decade and step into a new role as the Western Regional Sales Manager for Dynasound—an exciting leap that doubled my income. As a bonus, I was able to purchase my Pickwick company car, later selling it for a substantial profit, walking away with thousands in my pocket. It was a bold move, and it paid off.
Work and friendships blended seamlessly when I organized a fishing trip for my San Diego team and the general manager of Wards. Meanwhile, the Luciano shop Halloween party once again proved to be completely over the top—just the way we liked it.
As the year came to a close, I looked back and realized just how much had changed. We had a home, a baby on the way, and a life filled with joy, friendships, and adventure. What a year it had been!