Comedian unveiled at hundredth birthday party in Morro Bay

July 14, 2025

Editor’s Note: The following series, “Life in Radically Gentrifying Cayucos by the Sea,” to be posted biweekly includes the notes, thoughts, and opinions of an original American voice: author Dell Franklin. 

Franklin’s memoir, “The ballplayer’s Son” and “Life on The Mississippi, 1969” are currently on Amazon.

Bill Newman’s 100th birthday was celebrated in the early afternoon at the Morro Bay Yacht Club. I and several of my fellow tennis playing pals were proud to be invitees.

Most of us are well past retirement age and stunned that it seemed at least half the attendees were older than us. There were a couple wheelchairs and long white beards and stooped, wizened figures, but when Bill made his appearance in his usual casual togs, he was upright and moving well and as usual, gracious and appreciative of a crowd that revered him.

None of us had any clue that the celebration would be closed by perhaps Bill’s first foray into stand-up comedy. I mean, the man is accomplished—educator, school superintendent, fighter for teacher’s rights, WWII vet, family man, athlete, etc. But a comedian?

Well, we had to wait until the end, when he stood before us outside on the deck surrounded by his son and daughter and began thanking those who had supported him, obviously giving credit to the many who have helped support him during his path to centenarian status.

Nobody expected a comedy act. But one must understand that for years now, or ever since he turned 90 and started getting hole-in-ones at the Morro Bay golf course, and slinging the tennis racket two mornings a week with the local tennis group that inhabits Monte Young Park on certain days, that people keep asking, “Bill, what is your secret?”

Bill just keeps a straight face and shrugs. He is really not the type of guy to lay claim to much of anything, as the results of his 100 years speak for themselves.

At the same time, being the kind of genuinely helpful fellow he is, Bill has possibly felt a need to explain why he is still alive at 100, now that he has attained it. After all, Americans respect a person living to 100 even more than they do money, or millionaires and billionaires whom these days spend enormous amounts of money to look young and stay alive so they can continue plaguing us.

Not Bill. Bill is easy on people, and thus easy on himself. But still, during the party, some of the people I talked to aspired to reach Bill’s age, one of whom, during a conversation, asked how old I was. I told him 81. He then proudly told me he was 85 and almost 86. I told him he looked great and that I was almost 82. He then told me his secret was exercise.

I then nodded and said I read a lot, too, which stimulated me, and he said he read a lot too, and so it went, a couple of old cockers rambling on about their injuries and surgeries and aches, his worse than mine, of course.

At some point we all ate BBQ, which was excellent, and then those who could still stand crowded the lower deck of the Yacht Club as Bill stood before us, back to the bay of sailboats, a man who had mostly stayed on his feet since joining his own party and showed no signs of faltering.

So, after consulting some notes that I observed were worded in excellent penmanship, and thanking many friends and relatives for taking care of him (including his doctor who is a friend), Bill sort of reached for a funny looking brown bottle resembling those in horror movies that contain poisons meant to inflict brutal suffering.

He picked it up, put it down, and explained quite sincerely that he had, years and years and years back, vacationed in Italy and met a woman of 105 years who had given him a recipe to what was in his bottle, which would keep him alive to at least 100 years.

We all kind of looked at each other.

Well, Bill continued on, earnestly explaining that it was a “secret elixir” recipe he could not divulge, but that he had been taking a single teaspoon of it every morning since that day in Italy and also, if you were interested, you could buy a bottle for $19.99.

Now there were chuckles.

Bill paused, glancing briefly at his notes and announced that as a bonus, if you ordered his elixir promptly you would receive another bottle free out of his generosity.

Now there was laughter.

Bill paused, deadpan, absorbing the results of his humor, and went on to tell us that this precious elixir that could keep us all alive until we were 100 years would be sent to us without postage or any sneaky additional costs (though he could not guarantee certain health issues would not arise).

And here Bill paused again, allowing resounding laughter to die down, consulted his notes one last time, and stated, “And make sure you keep all your receipts, because if you die before you reach a hundred, you are guaranteed to get your money back!”

When the laughter finally died down, Bill said he hoped nobody ever asked him his secret of attaining 100 years again. Case closed.