I missed Day 3 of our Class of 1968 reunion at BC. It was a light agenda anyway, but I chose to join the Andersons and visit the Tyras on Martha’s Vineyard. Meredith, Winter, Adeline, and Alice picked me up Sunday morning, June 3, around 9 at BC.
A little bit earlier, I had said goodbye to a classmate whom I came to know at the reunion. Steve Riordan and his wife were heading back down to their home in Maryland. Steve, a big guy, had a career as a Navy aviator and we had bonded somewhat, along with other Navy vets, at the reunion. He was using a cane to assist him in walking, so I was surprised, as I was waiting on the corner for the Andersons, to see him walking toward me from the parking lot. “What are you walking for, Steve?” I asked. He came up to me, slowly, and said, “Couldn’t leave without giving you a hug, man.” That was a very nice way to wrap up reunion.
As we all had not gathered at Thanksgiving time, which had been our practice, for several years, Gordon and Ann were very thoughtful in recreating some of that experience for us. No football, of course, but plenty of turkey and all the trimmings.
The Andersons and I did the traditional nature walk through the nearby Sheriff’s Meadow Sanctuary. Addy did the “walk” this time on her bicycle, while Winter used a skateboard. Meredith, Alice, and I ambulated. We also visited a new brewery on the island. Mad Martha’s offered some choice brew and Vineyard teeshirts. You can see all in the following video.
Sunday, June 3, was the 50th anniversary of the graduation of the Class of 1968, my class, from Boston College. I joined close and old friends, as well as some new ones, at BC’s Reunion Weekend, June 1-3.
My new friends came about because of my work, beginning about a year ago, on a blog about what life was like at BC and events in the outside world during 1964-68. You can see much more about the reunion, as well as those lives and times, at ProudRefrain.org. (BC’s fight song, For Boston, contains the line “We sing our proud refrain!”
Our first event was our “investiture” as Golden Eagles, BC’s designation for those alumni who have graduated 50 years or more ago. I became a Twitter micro-sensation when BC tweeted the message at right. BC Alumni San Diego retweeted it, expanding its reach to dozens. 🙂 It was all, of course, due to my bowtie. A somewhat retro version. Indeed, when I received my Golden Eagle pin from William Leahy, SJ, president of BC, he said, “I saw that bowtie! You’re the man!” (I still don’t think he knew who I was, though I had worked at BC 2000-11 and had been in his company several times.)
One of my most unexpected and enjoyable experiences at reunion was reconnecting two classmates who had long lost touch with each other. Overhearing that Maureen Burke lived in Northern California, I wanted to say hello to a fellow Golden Stater. She mentioned that, following BC, she had been a Navy nurse. “Norfolk, Virginia, 1969.” I said I, too, had been in Norfolk in 1969. “What ship?,” she asked. When I told her I had been on the USS Biddle, she looked startled and said, “I knew someone on the Biddle. His name was Steve.” “Curran?,” I asked. “I think so,” she said. “He’s here,” I replied.
(I had known neither Maureen nor Steve, and they had not known each other, while we were at BC. I met Steve Curran for the first time when we became shipmates on the Biddle. We’ve remained classmates, shipmates, and friends since.) I hustled to find Steve and brought him over to Maureen to say hello. They had not been in contact with each other since Norfolk. After meeting Steve at the Officers Club back then, she introduced him to a friend, a physical therapist also at Portsmouth (Va.) Naval Hospital, whom Steve dated during his time in Norfolk. Maureen and Steve each found their chance to get reacquainted, nearly 50 years later, one of the nice features of our reunion. And I thought it was fun to bring it about!
I also enjoyed chatting with current BC students. I shared information about what some of the rules and regs were at BC in our day, what restrictions women students faced, and some of the national and world events that shook our time. “You think things are tumultuous now?!” Just bringing up Martin Luther King’s murder in the spring of our senior year and the assassination of Bobby Kennedy a couple of days after we graduated usually sent jaws dropping. Then add Vietnam, the draft, campus and racial unrest, etc. I appreciated that nearly all of them expressed a high degree of interest.
There are multiple posts about the reunion weekend on ProudRefrain.org, all but one containing video. In this post, I’m including a video that focuses on my close friends and classmates.
I ended up serving on the reunion committee, something usually reserved for “upper-crust” members of the class, i.e., major donors. But, this time, they let at least one of the riff-raff in. It’s traditional that, on the evening of the class party, there is a photo taken of the reunion committee with the president of BC. My sister’s reaction to the photo below? “Gee, guess which one comes from Southern California.”
Had a great time last month (March 10) at the BC-San Diego State lacrosse game. #2 BC won, 19-8. But it was meeting members of the team that made it special.
San Diego was in the midst of one of its rare “winter storms,” i.e., rain, so that discombobulated things a bit. Several local alumni showed up, however, as well as members of the Cathedral Catholic girls’ lacrosse team. I had been in touch with BC assistant coach Kayla Treanor via email about a post-game meet-and-greet, but the weather made that unlikely on the field and I certainly expected the team members to want to change from their wet uniforms.
I waited on the sideline for the team to exit the field after the game. I saw them walking toward the gate and then they started running toward me, several of them yelling “Bill!,” “Bill!” (Something the likes of which had heretofore only occurred in my dreams.) Kayla had told them about me getting alumni to the game and that I had put up the two BC banners on the sidelines for the game. They were so appreciative of seeing BC fans and several of them told me how much they liked seeing the banners on “enemy” turf.
They did want to change from their uniforms, of course, so I joined the ton of team parents who had come for the game. It was nice to see how many were there. At least a dozen set of parents, and other relatives. They, too, were very appreciative of our local Eagles coming out.
The team members came out after changing and enjoyed food and beverages provided by the parents. They had pretty much a major tailgate in one of the SDSU athletic buildings. And I got the picture at the top. Me surrounded by 24 lovely young women!
I had the chance to speak with several of them, particularly with senior captain Kaileen Hart and senior Emma Schurr. They were curious about ancient times at BC. I pointed out to the seniors that they would be graduating 50 years after I graduated and that that meant we would always be on the same class reunion schedule. 🙂
I had not known anything about Kayla, the assistant coach, beforehand. In researching, so I would know who she was, I learned that she joined the BC staff last summer. She is a Syracuse legend, graduating in 2016 — 4-time all-America, finalist for the Tewaarton Award (women lacrosse’s Heisman), ACC women’s lacrosse scholar-athlete of the year, and more.
Last week, I joined five classmates for a Boston College winter sports weekend. One or two times a year, there is a weekend when the men’s and women’s basketball teams and men’s and women’s hockey teams all play at home. I had been a regular attendee on these weekends when I lived in New England, but this was the first such weekend for me since moving to California in 2012.
I flew in the night of Wednesday, February 7. On the way, I saw this interesting sight (at right), somewhere over New Mexico, I believe. I came into Boston late enough to miss the snow, but not the cold rain. The next day was bitterly cold, and it helped me realize that it had been six years since I had last experienced below-freezing temperatures.
I stayed at the home of Larry Kenah and Marcy (McPhee) Kenah in Acton. Tom Sugrue drove up from Virginia, arriving in Acton late Thursday afternoon.
Earlier on Thursday, I drove up to New Hampshire to see the Andersons — Meredith, Winter, Adeline, and Alice. First, however, I had to clear the snow and ice off Marcy’s car. While I was doing so, I had a recurrent thought: “Why do people live like this. Don’t they know there is a better place?” It brought to mind, too, a quote of Ronald Reagan’s (which may be apocryphal) — “If the Pilgrims had landed in California, New England would still be wilderness.”
While visiting, and after lunch, we picked Adeline up at school, Rye Elementary, and took her to a well-visit at the doctor’s. Here she is, passing her hearing test. When Winter explained to the girls that Grandpa had to leave, to get back to Acton, two-year-old Alice marched up to me and demanded, “Stay with us! Stay with us!”
A couple of scenes from chilly New Hampshire
Thursday night, Larry brought Tom and me to a brewpub located in one of the old mill buildings in Maynard that had served as home for Digital Equipment Corporation (DEC), where both Larry and Marcy had worked a number of years ago. Taking advantage of its proximate location, it’s called “Battle Road Brewing Company” and featured various beers with Revolutionary War-themed names.
Friday, we joined the rest of the crew: Ken Hamberg and Ed Hattauer, who live in the Boston area, and Dan Downey, who drove up from New Jersey. Before the women’s hockey game that afternoon, we had another appointment in Conte Forum. Tom had read that relatively new Athletic Director Martin Jarmond liked meeting BC alumni from different eras. He sent Jarmond an email, asking if he was interested in getting together with a bunch of Golden Eagles-to-be, and the response was “Yeah!” We met briefly with Jarmond prior to the game, sharing some of our hopes for and concerns about BC athletics.
I was wearing a vintage BC jacket. After we had had a group photo taken at the end of our meeting, Jarmond noticed the back of the jacket and had a picture taken of it. Within less than an hour, he tweeted about our meeting, including the group photo and the photo of the jacket. (I wish I could say the jacket was mine from the sixties, but I had found it in the early 2000s on a rack at a vintage clothing store in Cambridge. $30.)
Here’s a bigger version of the group photo.
Going into the weekend, we figured the most likely win was women’s hockey. The Eagles were ranked 3rd in the country at the time and had beaten their opponent that day, UNH, by an aggregate score of 11-1 in two previous meetings this year. It seemed almost a sure win, while the other teams faced significant challenges. UNH beat BC, 2-1. Of course.
The other teams, though, ran counter to form as well . . . but they won. Men’s hockey scored late in regulation to send the game to overtime, and then scored the game-winner with less than 7 seconds remaining in the overtime period to beat UMass Lowell, 3-2. Men’s basketball held #25 Miami scoreless over the last 6-plus minutes of the game and won, 72-70. Women’s basketball secured only their second ACC win of the season, winning handily over Pitt, 72-61. Pitt and BC were both 2-10 in the conference after that game.
Here’s a brief (5:30) video of scenes from the basketball games and men’s hockey game. (Women’s hockey, despite its exalted status nationally, does not attract fans. It seemed almost disrespectful to show the nearly empty stands and absence of cheering. Building fan support for one of the best examples of athletic excellence at BC is one of the issues we brought before Martin Jarmond, who recognized its importance.)
If you have not been to campus lately, there is significant construction going on. (I wonder if there is any class since the fifties that has not seen “significant construction” going on at BC.) The new Connell Family Recreation Center is taking shape, where Edmond’s Hall once stood. On what was Shea Field, the new Athletics Field House, which will provide an indoor practice facility for football and other teams, is also showing its external form.
Besides sports — and camaraderie, of course — another focus was food and drink. Among the places: Jack’s Abby, Framingham; City Table in the Lenox Hotel; the Comedor, Newton Centre.
Here’s a brief video (9 secs) showing lunchtime (about noon) on a Saturday at Jack’s Abby in Framingham. Place was hoppin’ (and I don’t mean just in the beer)!
Once again, I spent five days in late January at Torrey Pines Golf Course working as a “hole captain” during the Farmers Insurance Open. It was my 6th year as a volunteer marshal, 3rd year as a hole captain, and 1st year on the 9th hole on the South Course (9S).
As a hole captain in 2016 and 2017, I had been assigned to a 214-yard par-3 hole on the north course and oversaw a crew of 4 marshals. At 614 yards, 9S is 400 yards longer and “my crew” consisted of 19 marshals, swelling to 27 on the weekend, as we were joined by marshals who had worked North #9. (Both courses are used in the pro-am and before the cut, with the final two rounds taking place only on the South Course.)
This year, as you might infer, was harder. It was more difficult physically and more complicated logistically. The job of a hole captain is to help make the experience of each marshal as pleasant and satisfying as possible. You make sure they get lunch, that they have bathroom breaks, that they get to do different jobs on the hole, etc. You also train them, give advice, answer questions. Seven of my 19 marshals were rookies, their first time as a marshal.
The physical aspect of 9S that is challenging for a hole captain, as well as for any golfer on the hole, is its length. As a golf challenge, it is not difficult for any reason other than distance. As hole captain, I walked around to each marshal’s post all day. The app on my iPhone reported that on Wednesday, the first day and the pro-am, I took 16,091 steps, covering 6.4 miles, and climbed the equivalent of 15 floors. Numbers were lower in subsequent days, but, in total for the 5 days, I took 56,072 steps, covered 21.8 miles, and climbed 42 floors.
When I wasn’t walking, I was standing. I would estimate that, over the course of the 5 days at the hole, 8-10 hours each day, I sat for a total of less than 30 minutes. This, I guess, is my annual workout.
As with other events at which one works, the focus is more on the immediate, “little” things than the overall event. Marshals seek to manage the fans, providing golfers with quiet and space to do their job well. We also aim to make the experience enjoyable for fans as well, usually by trying to manage those fans who are loud and obnoxious.
The big difference this year was, surprise, Tiger. For marshals, it was not due to his golf, but because his return to golf and to this tournament attracted people. Crowds were not large overall on Thursday and Friday, though his crowd was much larger than anyone else’s. Even though he was not in contention on the weekend (he barely made the cut), the number of people following him was larger than that following Phil Michelson and the leaders’ threesomes combined.
But it’s not just the number of people. There are many people who follow Tiger because they want to see him play golf. There are many other people who follow him because of his celebrity. Those people do not seem to care about the etiquette of golf, or much about etiquette at all.
I was not present at the time, but at #9 North on Friday, Tiger’s errant tee shot resulted in a situation that made the local news. His drive went into a section “outside the ropes” and amongst the crowd. Fans surrounded the ball and, despite the efforts of 7 marshals and 4 San Diego police officers, no one would move to permit Tiger to play his next shot. They only moved when Tiger’s caddy shouted out that Tiger would not continue play until everyone moved to the other side of a cart path.
On Saturday, he was to finish his round on our hole, having started on #10. As it would happen later in the day, it would mean maximum crowd. Adjacent to the area where most drives land on 9S, the space for people on the right side of the fairway was narrow, because of fencing around a corporate tent. If Tiger hit one outside the ropes there, we foresaw calamity. As his arrival at the hole approached, more than 20 marshals from holes that had finished regular duties, arrived at 9S to help. I basically just asked them to be a “command presence” alongside the ropes in the landing area. They would also add to the number of marshals and other personnel who could help control the crowd, if we had to move them.
Standing in the fairway awaiting Tiger’s drive, I watched the marshal whose job was to indicate the direction of the drive. His paddle was straight up, Tiger hit, and the paddle then moved up and down repeatedly, indicating straight. Drive landed in the fairway. Problem avoided.
Sunday was the start of a heat wave, and it also featured Santa Ana winds, the hot, dry, strong winds from the interior. Because a couple of marshals were taken from my hole for other duties, I spent the day on the right side, at the landing area for drives (just about the same spot as in the photo above). Over the course of the day, 7 or 8 golfers’ drives were pushed by winds over the fence around the corporate tent. As marshals, we were to report the fact to the golfer as he arrived and secure a place where he could get a free drop and make his next shot. A PGA rules official would arrive and ask us to confirm the drive had gone over the fence and to indicate about where it had done so. Then we stopped people walking from either direction toward the spot and cleared an area for the shot.
The tournament ended in a tie between Jason Day and Alex Noren. They played five playoff holes Sunday, remaining tied, before darkness forced postponement. Focused on “my job” and really looking forward to getting home, I had left and was unaware of the situation until the next morning when I picked up the paper in my driveway. (Is that old-fashioned or what?) I watched the playoff on TV a little while later and saw Day win by two strokes on the first hole.
This year’s experience was distinctive. More difficult, more intense. In some respects, more interesting. I won’t be a rookie on this hole next year, so I look forward to it all again. Here’s a gallery of images, a mix of screenshots from television and my photos.
Forty years ago, light snow started falling on the morning of February 6, 1978, a Monday. I was at a print shop in Boston that day checking a Boston College publication before it was to be printed, with one of our designers. We were inside and not paying attention to the weather. Iconic Don Kent on WBZ radio that morning had predicted “a dusting.”
I asked the designer to call the office mid-day (forget why) and she came back saying there was no answer. Tried again a little later. Same thing. I asked her to call the “switchboard” and try to get through that way. (All this seem really ancient yet?) She said the operator told her BC was closed. Closed?! Because of the snow. Snow?! We looked outside and headed home.
I was driving soon-to-be-wife Rebecca’s VW bug and took the designer home to Wellesley. It was not at all easy to drive, but I got her home. And then I made a fateful decision. Should I get on Route 128, the highway, or follow the back country roads, Rte. 16, etc., to Franklin, where we then lived? (Franklin is about a marathon-distance southwest of Boston.) I decided to take the country roads. If I had gone on 128, I might have been stuck there for days, as you’ll see in the video below.
It was now late afternoon and almost dark. I had no way to contact Rebecca to tell her I was coming home, where I was, etc. There were times I remember seeing only white particles streaming horizontally left to right in front of me. The snow and wind made it very difficult to discern the road from what were at times surrounding fields. The VW was very light, but good in snow, because the rear engine was over the drive wheels and gave the car better traction.
At one point, I came around a corner and had to veer off the road to avoid a vehicle stuck in the snow. Bunch of young guys. As I said, the VW was light and they were able to push me back onto the road. Finally getting back to Franklin, there was a lot of snow on the roadways and in the driveway. I just tried to gun the engine and get into the driveway as far as I could off the road. And then we spent the next few days there, occasionally trekking to the small and remote neighborhood store. It was called “Art’s,” or, as locals said, Otz.
This is a video (25:10) of Boston Channel 7’s special on the storm five days later.
Last week, I joined fellow Navy League members, some Navy Junior ROTC cadets, a member of the Naval Sea Cadet Corps, and guests on visits to Navy facilities in Coronado.
Our first visit was to Beachmasters Unit ONE on the Naval Amphibious Base, Coronado. I pointed out to the Commanding Officer of that unit that I had served on that base 1970-71, which was likely before he was born. He was open-mouthed when I showed him pictures of the base at the time.
Anyway, after getting a briefing, viewing their vehicles, and handling some of their weapons, we all headed down the Silver Strand to a beach and took a ride. We went out to sea . . . briefly . . . on a LARC (Light, Amphibious, Resupply, Cargo) vessel. As the second wave broke, it washed over the port front quarter of the vessel, over me sitting there, and over my video camera. The camera kinda shorted out shortly thereafter. I used my iPhone during the rest of the day. I still don’t know if the camera, since dried out, will work again. I had detached the battery and misplaced it.
I was able to retrieve the SD card and to download the video files off it, however. I may have lost a video camera, but I got the shot!
In the afternoon, we went on a tour of the USNS Brashear (T-AKE-7), a dry cargo ship, manned by civilians, but doing work for the Navy. Huge ship. According to the Health app on my iPhone, I climbed 14 stories that day and I believe nearly all of them were aboard the Brashear.
You can see highlights on the video below. The young woman in the intro freeze-frame was the Naval Sea Cadet on the tour, a high school senior and a member of the unit supported by our Navy League Council. The Naval Sea Cadet Corps and school-based Navy and Marine Corps Junior ROTC programs are quite popular in Southern California.
We have a new member of the family! After years of auxiliary membership, Sam Merten is now official. Julia and Sam were married in a civil ceremony on December 1 in Athens, Ohio. (That’s their wedding “selfie” at lower right in the photo above.) It was the 10th anniversary of their first date, as freshmen at St. John’s College, Annapolis, Md. Sam is finishing up his doctorate in computer science at Ohio University. The two of them, as you read this, are either in Paris or Berlin, the twin destinations of their honeymoon.
Starting off, I’m going to break the calendar rule, but it’s okay since it was too late for last year’s note and I didn’t post it on my blog until January. On December 29, I went to sea for the first time in 45 years . . . voluntarily.
I joined fellow Navy League members on a “family and friends cruise” aboard the USS Carl Vinson (CVN-70). These cruises permit loved ones to spend time with their Navy family members before an extended deployment. While it was exciting to see helos and jets in action, I was particularly struck by how I felt doing what I had done for so many hours at sea . . . watching the wake of the ship and the ocean going by. In somewhat of a trance doing so, I was startled when a young sailor, passing by, asked, “Bring back memories, sir?” Sure did. There’s a great video of the day, if I say so myself, on the blog.
We did something different this year for the annual visit by the Andersons. I met them in San Francisco and we spent a few days in the Bay Area, where we had lived for a dozen years, 1984-96. Meredith was able to show her family many favorite spots in Berkeley, including Mr. Mopps toy store and School of the Madeleine, where she and Dillon attended school. Winter and Adeline joined me at the Lawrence Hall of Science on the Berkeley campus, with one of the great views of the Bay. We visited Muir Woods and enjoyed the obligatory, and wonderful, view of the Golden Gate from the Marin Headlands.
Here’s a gallery of photos from the trip.
We had intended to drive down Rte. 1 along the coast, but the heavy rains that winter had dislodged a bridge and caused a landslide that closed the road for many miles. Back south in San Diego, we went to the beach (duh) and the Zoo.
Out in the desert, the rains had also brought about a superbloom of desert wildflowers. And that brought a super-number of people out in February and March. We organized a BC Alumni San Diego tour a little ahead of the mass turnout. More complete post, with video.
In April, I went up north again. I attended a California State Parks conference at a place called Asilomar. I knew very little about it beforehand, but it turned out to become one of my favorite places in California. I mean, location on the western side of the Monterey Peninsula makes it special right away. But Asilomar is a hotel and conference center run by State Parks and is a former YWCA campground built in 1913, with craftsman-style buildings designed by Julia Morgan, a wonderful and too often overlooked architect of the early part of the 20th century. Among other things, she designed La Cuesta Encantada, more popularly known as Hearst Castle. More complete post, with video.
In July, I joined volunteers helping out in the annual sheep count in Anza-Borrego Desert State Park. Instead of spending 3+ days monitoring sheep, however, I was there for one morning and at one of the easier locations to access. Well, “easier” means different things to different people. The hike out to Palm Canyon is about 1.5 miles. I did fine going out in the early morning. It was relatively cool and I managed getting over the rocks when necessary. Coming back out, midday, when temps were 100+, I hit a wall. I must have looked like someone in Lawrence of Arabia. Just slogging along, trying to put a foot in front of the other. Back at the count headquarters, a Park Ranger said she was going to keep her eye on me, because I looked peaked. I felt it, too. But I got to see almost 20 sheep and some up close, like the ram in photo. More complete post, with video.
My annual trip back East was in October. Joined my favorite BC classmates for the Virginia Tech game, which was a downer. But, after that game, the Eagles won 5 of their last 6!
This is our Golden Eagle year. In June, we will mark — and celebrate — the 50th anniversary of our graduation from BC. I have a blog up for that as well at ProudRefrain.org.
The year came to a somewhat dramatic close, as I was ordered to evacuate my house because of the Lilac Fire, which started on December 7. Along with Baxter and Boo, I spent that night in a Red Cross shelter in Escondido. Several friends were kind enough to offer me space, but this dog and cat complicate things. 🙂 All in all, I was inconvenienced but unharmed and it was a valuable, though unwelcome, experience.
Wishing you a very merry Christmas and that twenty-eighteen is keen.
Granddaughter Adeline’s kindergarten class was given an assignment: Make a gingerbread man cutout, paste your face on it, and take pictures of it on some adventures. One intent was to see how far the gingerbread man might go.
Addy figured, why not send her gingerbread man to San Diego?
Below are some of the interesting places Gingerbread Addy went. (And, as you can see, her gingerbread sister, Alice, joined her.)
Addy suggested something about a cactus.
She also asked that gingerbread Addy visit her favorite taqueria, Las Brisas, in Fallbrook.
UPDATE December 17: The two photos below are from Sunday’s San Diego Union-Tribune.
(This brief video, shot by the local newspaper [Village News], shows the small shopping area called River Village at the junction of Mission Road, on which I live, and State Route [SR] 76, about 2.5 miles south of my house. You can also hear the wind. This is where I get my pizza, my haircuts, and, sometimes, a burger from Jack-in-the-Box.)
(UPDATE December 11: I drove down to River Village this morning and it is open and active. Fire damage did not seem severe in the area, scorched trees and areas of ground, but no burned houses and much green about.)
Mid-afternoon Thursday, I received a phone call from the sheriff. It was an automated call, informing me that an evacuation order had been issued “for my area.” Earlier, I had received a similar call advising me of an evacuation warning. I had packed my car with various things two days before, because of the red flag alert and now, on this warm Thursday afternoon, I loaded up more stuff. (The line between preparedness and paranoia is a thin one.)
I added the only significant piece of original art I own, a self-portrait Julia did in high school for which she won a gold medal in the Boston Globe Scholastic Arts competition. Framed, it was somewhat big — 39 X 28.
(It’s an interesting exercise, determining what you want to save, and it’s also based on how much time you have to decide. What would you keep if you had a day’s notice, two hours notice, five minutes notice?)
I also had to include my companions, of course, the dog and cat, and, so doing, we headed off to Fallbrook High, only a mile or so north, to the shelter there. (Several local friends had offered to put me up, but the dog and cat complicate things and I wanted to avoid that.)
(The weather for the past few days had been more than “unusual,” it was kinda weird. It wasn’t hot. The temperature Thursday afternoon was mid-70s. It was so dry. Relative humidity was five percent, and the dew point was -1 degree. I had seen and experienced five percent humidity, but I had never seen such a low dew point, which is considered an accurate depiction of the amount of moisture in the air. Defined as “the temperature to which air must be cooled to reach saturation,” that meant the local temp would have to go below zero. Wasn’t going to happen.)
Even earlier on Thursday, near midday, I had noticed what appeared to be smoke on the horizon to the north. I figured it was from the LA fires. Dillon texted me, asking if I saw the smoke. I said I thought it was LA. He said, no, it’s Bonsall, a community just south of me. I turned around, to look south, and saw this.
Oooookay. This was a fire a few miles southeast of me, about to move along the San Luis Rey River valley, pushed fast to the southwest by Santa Ana winds. (This is called the “Lilac Fire.” For those who wonder how California names fires, they choose the place name closest to the fire’s origin. In this case, it started on Lilac Road in Bonsall.)
As I sat in the Fallbrook High parking lot later, watching fire and sheriff’s personnel gearing up, I expected to receive a notice soon that the evacuation order had been lifted. After maybe an hour, I noticed the trees. They were moving because of the wind, as my trees had been, but now they were being moved by a wind from the south, not the northeast as before. I recalculated, realizing that might bring the fire toward my home instead of away.
Fallbrook High could not accommodate pets, so I headed off to the Red Cross shelter in Escondido, about 30 miles south. I joined a long line of traffic leaving Fallbrook, on two-lane roads, so it took quite a while to reach the freeway, the 15. Finally on the freeway, at dusk, I drove south, passing the fire and seeing ranch houses (real ranch houses, not the “style”) ablaze. I was very worried, and in retrospect rightfully so, about the large number of horses in the area, especially at the San Luis Rey Downs training track.
Arriving at the shelter, which was the East Valley Community Center, we were among the first arrivals. Most people who lived around me had likely gone to Fallbrook High. A Red Cross volunteer told me the rules were that people with animals would be in a separate area together with the animals. I was shown to the dance studio, where Humane Society employees and volunteers were setting up crates, etc. Baxter and Boo were the first non-human “residents.” The Humane Society was great. They provided crates, covers for the crates, litter boxes for cats, food for both (I had brought some). They identified who was in what crate and any special needs, etc.
Early on, a young woman approached me and asked how I was doing. She was a volunteer mental health worker. We chatted and I told her from where I had evacuated. A little while later, she came and showed me a notice on her phone that the fire had jumped SR 76 at the intersection of Mission Road. My fear had been proven correct. The now southerly winds had pushed the fire north. Below is a photo from the local paper of that junction during the fire. Anytime I head south, I go down Mission Road and take the 76 either east or west. That intersection is a very common scene to me, but never like this.
At “dinner,” donations from local establishments (I enjoyed a Jersey Mike’s sub), I heard the same mental health worker say her activity at the shelter was as a volunteer and that she worked at Camp Pendleton. I asked, “At the hospital?” No, she said, she was embedded with a Marine unit, providing assistance for PTSD. One of the angels. I thought the shelter may have offered respite for her, too, that night.
Another reason I had chosen to go to the shelter was to learn from it. The need may arise again. There were fires around here in 2014 and big, damaging fires in the area in 2003 and 2007 before I moved here. I wanted to see what kinds of services and support were offered, what I should remember to bring, etc. One thing I realized was that you get a cot, but you should bring a “camp chair” and, while you get a blanket, you don’t necessarily get a pillow. Early in the evening, a well-dressed, middle-aged woman came up to me and chatted, just asking about where I was from, etc. Ended up she was president of the local Red Cross chapter and, several minutes later, she kindly offered me a pillow.
As the evening wore on, more people and pets arrived. At one point, going through the lobby, I saw a bus outside. From Fallbrook High. The shelter there had been evacuated. I began to hear conversations from people who had just arrived. One elderly couple (older than me) said they had had the proverbial five-minute notice from the police to leave. Another woman, who lived in Bonsall, not far from me, said on her phone that she watched embers approach her home, “swirling like tornadoes.” She expected her home, which she described as surrounded by live oaks, to be gone.
More and more dogs . . . and cats . . . arrived. One Red Cross worker told me, “We’ve got a comfort parrot on the way.” “And he’ll talk all night,” I said. “Yes,” she responded, “but in a separate room.”
Later, she reported that two pet tortoises were coming in. I didn’t see them and don’t know if they were “comfort” or not. Several people stated that their pets were “support” or “comfort” and had to stay with “Mommy” or “Daddy” and not in a crate. That led to some interesting encounters among pets during the night.
I tried to sleep, but failed. I overhead a woman say on her phone, “We’re essentially sleeping in a kennel.” Dogs like my Baxter, a chihuahua-terrier mix, are territorial, especially regarding other dogs, and he was not distinctive. Any new arrivals were greeted with much barking, as were any of the uncrated dogs that approached a crate. Cacophony does not quite describe it.
Plus there were those humans. You know, the type that don’t seem to notice they are not alone and speak with each other or on the phone as if they’re at home. Around midnight, a family arrived . . . loudly. It included a couple, their teenage daughter, and 98-year-old grandfather. I know that because they loudly stated the need to situate him comfortably. They also had a couple of dogs and “kitties.” Crates were no longer available, which brought about an angry . . . and loud . . . assertion from the father that such was unacceptable. He had one of those voices, you know, that “pierces.”
Settling in, somewhat, the family then began to squabble. Extensively . . . and loudly.
At times, things quieted down. But never for long. I doubt many minutes went by without a bark or several. Add to that an Olympic-level snorer. I expect the guy had a medical condition, as the “snore” seemed more a painful wheeze. But it went on . . . and on . . . and on, which set off the father previously mentioned, who was across the room from the snorer, and often yelled at the guy to stop. There was probably one person who slept that night and it was the snorer, though I can’t imagine it was comfortable.
It also did not help that the lights were on all night. I thought that might be good, for security reasons. Perhaps it was for the animals’ well-being. I asked one of the Humane Society reps about it. None of those reasons applied, she said. They had tried to shut them off, but were unfamiliar with the controls and only made them brighter when they tried. So they stayed on.
During the hours of just thinking, I thought about my house. I do not have any real emotional connection to it. It is not where my kids grew up, for example. For the most part, it fulfills a function for me. There are many things within it that I would hate to lose if fire destroyed them, but I had put other things I thought most valuable and important to me in the car and had them with me. I realized insurance could well provide me a house I liked better. So I spent some time designing such a house in my head. While losing the house would have caused immense logistical problems, I also felt pretty confident USAA would help in the interim and I might end up with a new home I preferred. Heck of a way to refinance, though.
Morning came, or at least close enough to morning to get off my cot. There were no showers at the shelter, but I was able to brush my teeth in the restroom. Breakfast, once again provided by local businesses, included pastries and coffee from Starbucks. Checking my local paper online, I saw that the fire, after jumping the highway, only went a little north before moving off to the west, across an area called Olive Hill.
Here’s a panoramic shot of the “kennel” from my cot in early morning.
After dawn, I put stuff back in the car and transferred the pets to it. Having signed in at the shelter the night before, I needed now to sign out. One can choose to sign out permanently or temporarily. If temporary, you are assured a spot on return. While I had every intention not to return, I chose temporary when I learned that I could call later to cancel.
Driving back to Fallbrook, I had to go further north, as my usual exit, onto SR 76, was closed. I then came back south, but encountered a roadblock on Mission Road a couple of miles north of my house. I was told that, with proof of residence, I would be permitted to go further, but I was warned there was another roadblock further on, at the road just before the one I needed to use, because of downed power lines. First, I had to get proof of residence. For reasons unknown to me now, I had listed my post office box on my license rather than my street address. I told this to the sheriff’s deputy and he said, “Well, that’s a problem.”
Heading away, I tried to think of a solution. Something like a utility bill would work, but paper with that was at my house. Then I thought of the post office. Mail sent to me at my residential address was put in my post office box, so USPS must have something that says that. Explaining my situation to the postmaster, the first thing she said was, “How’s your house?” And I realized that I didn’t know, which is what I told her. She looked up my record and the only other address on record was my old one in Waltham, which is where I lived when I ordered the PO box. She then decided simply to certify that I lived at my address. She wrote out something saying that, signed it, and put the Post Office stamp all over it. It wasn’t proof of residence, but it was pretty good evidence.
It got me through the roadblock. The first one. At the next one, I was able to take a left and proceed up into the hills above my house, on a backdoor route about four miles long. I live in a very hilly area, so roads are sinuous. I got to my access road and turned into it. I was still not sure what I wanted to see, but I was fundamentally not displeased to see the house safe and sound.
No power. It had been turned off Thursday night, SDGE said, for safety reasons, because of high winds. The date for restoration, according to their outage map, was Monday at 4 pm. I went to Starbucks, this time for lunch, and used its wi-fi to catch up on things. Then I went to the library to continue. Brought home a quarter-pounder meal for “dinner.” Sundown here is around 4:45 this time of year. I had not slept since waking at about 7 on Thursday morning, about 33 hours earlier. At 5, I was asleep and I slept very soundly until 3:30 am. It could, in fact, have been the dog that woke me up. I noticed he was somewhat restless and I realized I had not taken him out for nearly 12 hours. Took him out to do his business in the dead of night and returned to bed for another few hours.
Again, sat around waiting and hoping for power to return. Reading the Boston Globe online, I saw an Associated Press article about the fire datelined “FALLBROOK, Calif.” Hadn’t seen that before in the Globe. Bet next time, too, it will be for some calamity. The article said the fire was near the “small city of Fallbrook, known for its avocado groves and horse ranches.” Gives us a nice bucolic look and it’s pretty true. But the editor in me points out that Fallbrook is not a city. It is not a town, either. It calls itself a “village,” because it has no local government. It is an unincorporated area of San Diego County. Where I live, for example, is near the undefined border between Fallbrook and Bonsall, in an area also sometimes called Winterwarm (which I think is a bit much) and San Luis Rey Heights.
I had planned to watch the Navy-Army game at a VFW or American Legion post Saturday, but didn’t feel comfortable that day leaving Baxter and Boo at the house when there was the potential, still, for evacuation. What if, instead of having to leave immediately, I would not be permitted to return to the house? I texted Reid Oslin, a Navy-phile whom I knew would be watching, and he then kept me up to date on the score.
Mid-afternoon, in the midst of reading, I heard a little click and, looking up, saw lights on the DirecTV receiver. Power was back! I was able to catch the last 1:59 of the game, enough time to see Navy lose on a missed field goal. 🙁
By late morning Sunday, things seemed “normal,” but not entirely. As I waited to turn onto Mission Road to go to Las Brisas, my favorite taqueria, to pick up lunch (carnitas tacos) and dinner (pollo quesadilla), I saw two sheriff’s department vehicles coming up Mission Road from my left very fast. They then made power turns onto the road I was on and roared up the hill.
Returning with food, I took my backdoor route, but was stopped by a roadblock along the top of the hill. There appeared to have been a local evacuation (dozens of cars parked along what would normally be an empty road) and everyone was being turned around. I went back to the lower roadblock, hoping I could convince a deputy that I only needed to go a few hundred yards to reach my street. I explained my situation to a female deputy. “See the pudgy guy behind me?,” she said. “That’s my supervisor. He’s going to leave in a few minutes. When he does, I’ll wave you on through.” He left, she waved, and I got home.
I think I did learn a lot from this experience, or range of experiences. I saw people really hurt from what had happened. Kids crying, families mourning the loss of home or at least worried about that loss. Elderly, sometimes infirm, folks forced into situations that were uncomfortable and difficult. I hope I gained a sense of what situations like this can mean to some people and to go beyond the glibness of seeing my part in it, inconvenienced but unharmed, as an “adventure.”
I saw volunteers who went so far out of their way to be of help. Humane Society had people there throughout the night. Local businesses were generous in providing assistance. The level of cooperation among agencies fighting the fires was impressive. Camp Pendleton Marine helicopters, for example, joined California and local assets in combating the blaze.
Perhaps it’s a cliché, but maybe it does take a crisis for most people to see and do what matters most.