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January 28, 2003
Part V - SLO - Donny Laing 1952-1984
Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI
In 1983, San Luis Obispo was a sleepy little college town -- a quintessential California city in the days before LA sprawl migrated north. Although Pac Coast Highway passed through SLO, the coastal mountains forced the city to be located a number of miles inland. For that reason, the city seemed to have retained its charm, unlike its tacky coastal neighbor to the south, Pismo Beach.
The small downtown area was nicely restored with brick-lined streets and seemed to have some sort of festivities on most weekends and Farmers Market midweek. There was an acceptable variety of fine shops, eating establishments and pubs which catered to the locals, lost tourists, a slew of attorneys (the county courthouse was downtown) and, of course, the students of Cal Poly.
Farmers Market was a weekly excuse, and a good one at that, for a walk downtown to get a good meal, some free entertainment and pick up great fresh stuff for tomorrow's meal. The city had a well-defined purpose and culture, and even a symphony orchestra! For me, it was a welcome retreat from LA.
SLO Farmers Market
Donny rented a little bungalow not far from the Cal Poly campus. This was a different world than our days at Port San Luis as we had access to a completely different sort of people.
It seems when we got home after a day at the boatyard, we didn't do much of anything, but local folks were coming and going all the time. In fact, I don't recall ever being exposed to such a curious variety of people from all walks of life -- both, on the water and inland at SLO. It was distinctly Donny's "larger-than-life" personally that attracted them.
Our normal routine after work was to hit any variety of "establishments," order a few beers and tackle the freebies of hot wings and veggies. This seemed to work for Don, but I sort of missed the ritual of actually eating dinner. So Donny would drink much and eat little and I would stock up on whatever free food I could between rounds.
I put an end to that ritual within a few weeks, at least as the norm. The complete and total wealth of fresh everything eatable at Farmers Market and free seafood "right off the boat" from our fisherman friends enticed me to cook at least a few nights a week. We eventually broke that routine of "booze for food." This worked well for a time and we always had people popping in when I cooked. Donny enjoyed that diversion, a drift from a daily routine that was probably established when he arrived in SLO a year or so back.
At "home" there was no time for personal matters. Nightly we would have an interesting mix of guests whether it be Alyssa Adams and her entourage (Ansel's granddaughter) or Peter Frampton stone drunk. Mostly it was the neighbors who were just curious about Donny and his new best friend Mike, from LA, and their odd taste for Leigh Stevens and Moby Grape at high volumes. We'd sit and talk and plan major plans -- all to be forgotten the next morning.
Unlike my past careers in aerospace, there was no real sense of the future. Life was lived for the moment without any concerns over job security, retirement and all that other crap that seems so darn important today. If you had money in your pocket for that day, all was OK. And cash came to us all the time from our work at the boatyard.
One of Donny's perpetual missions was setting me up with any female that would take heed. The Cal Poly students were a bit young and we didn't much associate with them anyway. Yet Donny was intent on finding me a proper mate regardless of the source and coeds seemed to be his prime target as they were everywhere. Most of the others we hung out with were all "couples" already. I'd shrug this all off but really didn't mind all that extra help.
Most weekends I headed back to LA -- so as to give Don and Jules (back from UCSB on Friday nights) time alone. Yet I don't recall any significant event in LA during that time -- except maybe when I bought "me mates" tickets to see the Talking Heads live at the Roxy in Hollywood. They made a movie from that and I was there all three nights!
One weekend in LA I got a call from Donny saying that I have to get back to SLO ASAP. He's got a great girl for me - a young "wild blond" named Yvette. "Oh, she has no place to stay so she'll be staying with us at the bungalow." I was packed and on the road within twenty minutes!
To be continued . . .
Fredrick Street Bungalows, 1994 photo - unchanged in ten years! Center was Donny's. Left was Alyssa's.
Part I Part II Part III Part IV
January 26, 2003
I was stopped at a light near a school on my way to work and a little old lady walked out on the street with a big stop sign in her hand. It just occurred to me that kids used to do that in the "Safety Patrol."
I was in the safety patrol in seventh grade. I had forgotten all about that. We had the adjustable white belts with silver badges and a yellow flag on a long stick that said "SCHOOL" in big black letters. We used our flags to control the flow of little kids (no hand held Stop Signs back then).
Of course all the kids had numerous other streets to cross on their way home. I guess the intent was to protect them in the high-density-kid areas near school. The little kids actually obeyed us. I'm sure there was some punishment for not following the rules.
No, the picture is not my safety patrol team, but the first in the country back in 1924. Weird. I wonder if any of those kids later became adult "crossing guards" when they grew to become little old men and little old ladies?
I also had a paper route back then. Now only adults handle these two functions. Too bad kids can't do those things anymore. I suppose schools can't handle the liability and parents would have to accompany kids to deliver the papers. Well the "afternoon" paper has disappeared anyway.
I'm compiling a list of things that have changed in my lifetime and still contemplating what will be the major paradigm rift of our age -- something big, and I would hope something beneficial. All that's coming here soon.
January 18, 2003
New Haven to Piney Point
I'm having to commute these days and I don't like it until I get home to Piney Point. I'm gone from home Sunday through Friday night so I turn the heat down to 50 F and when I get home, I jack it up and start a little electric heater in the master bath and fill the Jacuzzi Tub with hot, hot water. I soak there for at least an hour before a totally restful night in my own bed. Saturday mornings are glorious!
I leave good food and a bit of wine at home each week so I have something when I get back late Friday. After being stuck on the Washington Bridge while leaving Manhattan, I figure I deserve some treats about five hours later when I get to Piney Pont.
My truck doesn't like the commute -- it was not designed for cruising on parkways and tollways. So I drive my truck to Union Station in New Haven and park on the fourth layer, south of the parking garage.
Then I head past the Amtrak ticket counters and head to the Avis car rental desk. Because it is winter, I always reserve a mini-SUV because they have 4-wheel drive. But I already know that Avis will not have a mini-SUV so the Avis person tries to sell me on a full size car (for the price of a mini-SUV). But I always insist that I NEED 4-wheel drive, so I mostly get a full-sized SUV for the price of a mini-SUV.
I can handle I-95 through the Bronx and the Washington Bridge in a full sized SUV! I can even make a NYC cab driver cringe, if need be -- I have that talent.
The trip has four distinct legs: Connecticut, NYC, New Jersey and the rest of the trip. On a Friday night southbound in CT on I-95 is not too bad. It's northbound that sucks. But the quality of the road in Bridgeport is almost as bad as NYC.
As I head into the Bronx, the traffic intensifies and about five miles from the bridge, it become bumper-to-bumper. But I don't care as I'm still fresh and I like to explore all the New York City radio stations while I have this great visual treat of NYC from the comfort of my SUV at 5-mph. I just wonder how anyone could live in all those monstrous high-rise apartments in Brooklyn -- I mean, no one in the rest of the world even knows these places exist!
Once in Manhattan, I'm always tempted to exit and explore the city. But . . . that's for next Spring.
The New Jersey Turnpike is not bad until you get close to the Newark Airport. Wow, that's a busy place on a Friday night! I-95 runs parallel to the landing path of the incoming aircraft and it is almost as intense as LAX. The Manhattan skyline is always present with the WTC's still seeming they should be there.
New Jersey drivers think they are aggressive, but they are no match for me in my SUV -- after all, I've mastered the DC Beltway and LA.
The poor folks that collect the tolls in NT and NJ seem near death. It's only when I get to the Delaware Bridge that I'm greeted with a person that is actually alive: "HOW 'YA DOIN" as she/he collects my two dollars.
I always stop in Delaware for gas and for the Italian buffet at $5.89/lb. at toll road rest stops. I eat about 1.5 lbs. but that includes a big salad.
Things get a bit slow on to Baltimore until the harbor tunnel, and then later, the dreaded last leg of the trip. But somehow I always make it -- thank you God -- in spite of my arrogant driving style. By the time I'm over the Patuxent River Bridge, I feel I'm home.
Every time I get to Piney Point, I walk out on the pier, sit down for a moment and scan the mighty Potomac with a sigh of relief: I'm home!
January 2, 2003
Welcome 2003
Doom, gloom, threat of war, pundits bet on 2004. I for one just can't wait, 2003 will be just great!
(ok so I'm not a poet either)
Coming Soon (maybe)
Paradigm Rifting
I'm having some trouble with this one, so give me a bit more time. The phrase "paradigm shift" fell from favor with the death of the new economy. Here I thought I was being smart by coining a play-on-words, but no - some rock band did. Anyway, some coming thoughts on the matter of fixing broken stuff.
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