Dec. 2018
https://www.simplertimeandplacethebesteraever.com/2018/12/
Simpler Time and Place
the Best Era...EVER!
Simpler Time and Place recalls what it was like to grow-up in both Northern and
Southern California in the 1960s and '70s. A time when kids could hop on the bus
and go to the beach--in Los Angeles! As pre-teens, we could leave early in the
morning for spring skiing and still make it back to Sac in time to hop in the American
River not far behind the house. Once teenagers, we could outrun the cops and not
get shot--officers just left a ticket with the folks! We were young, wild, and free.
Wouldn't It Be Nice to Live In the Kind of World Where We
Belong
Hello ST&P Followers,
Visualize a high-tech and accelerated 1968 some fifty years later and 2018's take-on tumultuous if not
exponentially more intense, certainly does not disappoint. Fifty years ago last month, SFSU joined the
fray: students' and later campus employees, citizens, and professors launching the longest student held
strike in US history:
http://www.sfsu.edu/news/2008/fall/8.html
The Prague Spring, assassinations that changed history, an anti-Vietnam/student rebellion in the wake of
the Tet Offensive, and a sexual revolution that paved the way for how we would co-exist--or make love--in
the '70s, doing-our-own-thing.
A Retrospect: 1968
Now, fast-forward a half century later:
Volatility ends the year on markets much as the Trump Economy appears to be unraveling, the next
bubble about to wreak havoc upon our lives. A trade war with our largest partner--yet biggest enemy,
China, has worsened. In the last few weeks, it has come-to-light that the Chi-Coms have not only put
what amounts to spy-chips in many of our devices and computer controlled infrastructure, but also will be
the principle designer and installer of the 5G that is at the center of the diplomatic stalemate unfolding in
Canada with Chinese telecom giant, Huawei.
...this next year, I would not at all be surprised if while the US--mired in domestic chaos over
impeachment, the border situation, and whatever future disaster I cannot foreshadow--wakes one
morning to learn the real reason for the Spratly Islands expansion [bases] is for the purpose of a jumping
off point and logistical base for the mainland taking back their renegade province, Taiwan, but I digress!
As my Father, Willard, always remarked in the 1960s, "Son, this is a communist plot."
That 5G will enter our homes in the next few years running the internet of things along with our lives to a
large extent; the expected ill-health effects having ground installation of vast antenna arrays and
software--once discovered--brought installation to a near-halt in the EU. Moreover, and if we do not go to
war with them over the flashpoint regarding the militarization of the Spartly Islands in the Straights of the
South China Sea, a new Cold War with Russia has led not only to rumors of war, but an escalation of
nuclear tensions--just today Russia beginning to deploy strategic bombers in the Caribbean. This, after
multiple skirmishes on the high seas and in the air close to each others airspace and key defense
installations, increasing in frequency over the last four or five years. Pipelines, the Ukrainian low-intensity
conflict, and the BRICK Nation's move to dump the dollar are just a few of the key reasons for the
deteriorating situation.
Business Insider.com: Blackjack Bombers Deployed to Caribbean
All of this occurring against the backdrop of an increasingly lethal modernization of both tactical or
conventional armaments and what was called the former Soviet Union as it dissolved is beginning to now
deploy new strategic and intermediate or theater based nuclear missiles on their nations eastern regions;
let me put my clipboard or pseudo-defense analyst hat on and state the following:
We do not want to get in a war with what now has emerged as a First-World Military or damn-near
Superpower and why the once pacifist far left have become the new war-hawks', joining the Neo-cons,
confounds me.
Our navy still can out-muster the Russians: Blue-water Carrier Task Forces, Aegis Class and Littoral
Battle Groups of surface ships on the whole; however, their attack and strategic missile submarine
capabilities may have surpassed the USN along with their ability to seek and destroy our subs; moreover,
increasingly the over half Century long-standing USAF air-superiority has long come into question due to
Fifth and Sixth Generation Fighter Planes having entered service within the last decade.
...and their conventional forces--potentially fighting on their home-turf--while not at Warsaw Pact v NATO
levels remain formidable both in numbers & dominance:
Our soldiers and equipment are worn-out from multiple deployments and long drawn-out Perpetual Wars
for Perpetual Peace to cite author, Gore Vidal.
Increasingly, we find ourselves back in the position of having to go nuclear (tactical) much as was the
doctrine when I was deployed in Germany as an Infantryman facing the decades-long continued threat of
a Soviet Blitzkrieg into Western Europe in the early 1980s.
Occasionally, we do play a song ot two from the early '80s on ST&P!
Our trip wire of some 250,000 + US and NATO forces on the ground, in the air, and at sea in the
Mediterranean, North Sea and Atlantic was no match for 3:1 conventional Warsaw Pact forces--
although of inferior quality--in Armor, Infantry, and Artillery.
Heavy reinforcement via sea and air would have been mostly some ten to fourteen days away; only 82nd
and 101st Airborne--stateside--some Marine Expeditionary forces nearby would be only be able to slow
the onslaught. Perhaps 503rd Airborne could be deployed towards the Fulda Gap if not staying put in Italy
protecting Western Europe's southern flank on the Med.
The new Infantry Fighting Vehicles [IFV] had yet to replace the Vietnam Era M-113. I drove like a madman for the platoon, in an M113;
however, the new M1 Abraham Tank pictured here in Grafenwoeher Training Area circa 1982 had arrived, already.
ll
Oh, this is so much fun: PFC Moran takes a whack at SP 4 Neff & Gelnhausen!
Heavy reinforcement via sea and air would have been mostly some ten to fourteen days away; only 82nd
and 101st Airborne--stateside--maybe some Marine Expeditionary Forces could jump-in only slowing the
onslaught. Also, I think the 503rd Airborne could be deployed towards the Fulda Gap if not staying put in
Italy protecting Western Europe's southern flank on the Med [Hell, what did I know, I was a private.]
...OMG! Scroll down to the photo on the link below: I Lived in the top barracks while stationed at Iron
Brigade, Gelnhausen, Federal Republic of Germany.
PFC Moran--my roommate and machine gunner-- hated being the ones lugging a .50 Call back up
Infantry Hill after an alert!
We were all told in the 2/48th, Third Armored Division [really all forward deployed] that if the "balloon
went-up" most of us would be dead within three to five day unless captured or otherwise holed-up
with friendlies...that is if chemical weapons were not deployed.
...But that was then so let us say we get back to the now.
Increasingly, things seem to be--not so much spinning-out of control--rather, they are seemingly pulling-
back the veneer or curtain on what has been known or had been left as theory or conjecture; the world is
changing and while we are participants and have some level of input to change or affect events, we are
left as largely spectators to the quickening and daily news-cycle events that--this time exponentially does
apply--is out of the realm of previous decades.
Fifty years ago, a function of synchronicity as a once child of about the same time, I began to
comprehend the theory of time [is it a man-made construct?], my own lifespan or mortality, and wondered
aloud what the World would be like towards the end of the 21st Century's second decade; all the while not
knowing why I played a kids-game in my head and kept saying, "Take a Picture right Now" along The
Gully, where the out-flows of Mandeville Canyon meandered--no, Drake this was LA, and it is funneled
into a concrete channel-- towards the Santa Monica Bay a few miles away.
https://www.google.com/maps/place/1492+Allenford+Ave,+Los+Angeles,+CA+90049/@34.0554428,-
118.4991911,17z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m5!3m4!1s0x80c2a3501ea102bb:0x2019ef1bf31a420d!8m2!3d34.055
4428!4d-118.4970024
As my Mother said in hospice numerous times as she saw this--her final decade--out, as she put it, I had
not only a truly uncanny remembrance of world events and timelines, but our own families' --good, bad,
and ugly--sequence of events growing-up.
As a byproduct, I have become a creative and critical writer archiving my personal history and reminiscing
about California's Second Golden Age in an era where Zombies stare into back lit-devices as they
haphazardly bump into exiting passengers of MUNI Trains, earbuds firmly ensconced!
Times are a changing and my long [hopefully last] personal nightmare is coming to a close:
Armed with a 3.5 GPA, I am now a graduate of the one-of-it's-kind degree in the CSU System, BECA; I
passed up my once hometown...Sac State, Humboldt [although Hippie Chicks with underarm hair would
have been fun, once again,] and CSUMB all had accepted my application for admission in 2016.
Who needs a degree in Communication when the BECA program has it's tentacles running into virtually
every media outlet--and now tech company--in the region; hence, the list is too long for our purposes, but
the roster of local media celebs with their pictures grace the wall in the Bowels of BECA and and
elsewhere throughout the Creative Arts Building.
It is not unusual for some with zero real-world experience to be working in SF as a side-kick on a morning
radio show, going on morning TV with traffic, and many come back as seasoned TV news reporters five
or six years after working their way up from the Idaho Falls or Elko Nevada's of the world after a stop in
Spokane, Boise, Reno, or Fresno.
We are repeatedly reminded that this is all made possible by receiving a degree in BECA from SFSU.
So, what brought me back to school after a lackluster 2.3 GPA at American River College in the early
eighties when working to get stuff, fast cars, and even faster women won-out over academia?
Personally, it is hard to explain what transpired since The Crash of '08 and ensuing Great Recession to
someone who survived with much less discomfort or did not have as nearly spectacular fall from grace;
for instance, I bumped along--after a meteoric ride aboard the housing boom--with a pressure
washing/deck staining company that was not diversified customer-wise, eighty percent of my business
tied to housing; hence, the most prestigious [...and recognizable on TV] luxury home-builder in Oregon,
Renaissance Homes, was my principal client and filed for bankruptcy that year. Just as business was
coming back, I was hit with a double-whammy:
My Mother suffered a stroke requiring several months in Roseville, California prior to her interment, and
just months after returning to Portland, my girlfriend/partner of three years also suffered a stroke and went
into a months' long coma; I lost everything, liquidated Drake's Pressure Washing and Stain [DSCS,] and
returned to Community College in Sonora, CA to revive my college education less than a year later in
2014.
Seemingly off topic, why does all of this matter, Drake?
...well, it gives me a chance to make some observations about when "life happens" as my community
college counselor refereed to my still in shock grumblings assuming a single bed in the dorms.
Subsequently and with '08 now firmly in the rear-view mirror, we now have a new permanent underclass
and the once biggest class--the middle--has shrunk substantially, and a silver-lining of a slightly larger
upper-middle-class has emerged.
40,000 homeless people now reside in the Los Angeles Basin. Locally, poop-patrols, chronic alcoholism,
and IV drug-use has exploded on the streets of one of the world's most renowned and beautiful cities.
Accordingly, many who were not as impacted by the Great Recession and their 401K becoming a 201K
or those having long since rebuilt their personal finances seem to not understand how many of those
homeless had been both or either solidly middle-class or productive members of the lower-middle or
working class.
During my travels [... and camping in GG Park upon arrival in The City in early August of 2016 among
other locations] I have met a 911 Hero in the Safeway lot on Fulton at Ocean Beach who produced
pictures of his fellow union iron workers and himself operating a crane among the wreckage.
[Looking to insert a picture with the gentleman operating a crane & Backhoe amidst the carnage which he
provided]
Camped in his SUV with a wife and two cats, he was here for experimental treatment at UCSF for the 911
related lung malady and had been told he had about a year to live. Then there was the couple from
Sacramento who recognized my name from when they lived in a neighborhood--a neighborhood I too
once lived-in-- who were listeners to both KAER 92.5 and KWOD 106 in the nineteen eighties, and a
plethora of others who once owned homes, put their kids through college or at least provided for them
until they left home, etc.
[DD Reminder: Insert pics off of old flip-phone from 911 and hero of ground zero and us in SF]
Did some of these folks not invest properly, anticipate aging-out of the construction or other trades [I do
resemble both and have a hand in my once demise, admittedly] or otherwise have drug or alcohol issues
across the spectrum prior to landing-hard on the streets?
Certainly, many did, but there is now such a disconnect between the once had or have-nots and those
still enjoying the [possibly stalled or in-correction] expanding economy. In other words, once out of work
for several years or having become homeless--many of whom are still normies--do not realize that many
of us do work full-time or attend college--others are effectively locked-out of returning to the workplace;
the reasons are many including not being able to navigate the increasingly AI gatekeepers used on
Linkedin.com, Monster.com, and the almost completely online application process where keywords and
algorithms root-out initial applicants.
Tying this seemingly disjunctive blog post together?
I am one of the lucky ones who had the wherewithal to maneuver my way through the CSUS system and
cobble together housing--just not zoned or really suitable for human habitation, but when one is at SFSU
attending classes, doing homework at the library computers, or the campus' streaming radio station,
KSFS, for fourteen or sixteen hours-a-day, who needs indoor plumbing, right?
After five years in cars, camping in the Sierra after selling the last one left, dorms, and let us say locations
not suitable for human habitation, I plan on re-igniting my once political activism; if I get a megaphone
loud enough in Talk, I will be fighting for micro-houses on wheels, and two bedroom converted shipping
containers--with a full bath--and the zoning and loosening of the planning process to fast track what is
long overdue.
This problem is not going away!
So, I leave this year at one of the highest points in my life, having laid the ground work for a return to the
career I always loved or a variation of it involving human mass communication via the Internet. Essentially
almost as broke as when I found myself entering a Veterans Homeless Center, Victory Village. in
Jackson, CA, but now holding a college diploma from the City I had only dare dream-about ever living-in
over the decades I previously resided-in CA before moving to Portland in 1992.
I am poised to get another ten or fifteen years out of life, finishing as a winner, and not disgracing my
families linage:
...a family tree that dates to an arrival from Chile in 1851 SF on my paternal-side and traces to Irish-
Germanic roots settling in the Trinity County of 1873, maternally.
I pray everyday for those less fortunate and credit my faith for the resulting perseverance and inevitability
of hearing my--voiced ads at least--on Bay Area Radio and other markets around the nation. Honestly,
despite my being technically homeless and unemployed, 2018 has been one of the happiest and most
gratifying years in my life!
The overarching goal?
Becoming a humorist, social commentator of some prominence performing two-way talk and analysis in
what has always been ground zero for once employed Sacramento music jocks, the Top 10 Bay Area-
San Francisco Market; we all were trying to make our next move, here. Meanwhile, I will toil with writing
within native advertising, both creative or critical writing in print and online, and will begin to launch the
workhorse of my comeback:
Voicing ads in the plethora of mediums to include digital, broadcast audio, and television; audio books,
corporate training videos, TV and digital infomercials, video games, and even movie trailers, round-out a
list of just some of the mediums or forms of media requiring voice-over talent.
...and of course, there is still a broadcast radio component to my comeback, although largely diminished;
unfortunately, an unprecedented attack on the 1st Amendment is entering a third year after considerable
intensification of the weaponized infowar [pun intended] that had been spelled-out in a leaked document
from a meeting or cabal of influencers and CIOs--if not CEOs--from the digital news realm, and social
media giants. Also in attendance, disgraced and/or dying dinosaur mainstream media [MSM,] and
establishment politicians joined by architects of the global-technocracy. Unfortunately, this has made my
talk radio presence at some point even more of a long-shot:
PLAN TO CENSOR OPPOSITION BY GEORGE SOROS FUNDED GROUP
Many of my followers may not be aware that the web has been purged of thousands of websites, Twitter,
Instagram, and FB accounts over the last year or so.
What is this you say drake, postings of child nudity or calls for violence?
No, I am talking about the demonetization [costing YouTubers' big $$$] of hundreds of YouTube accounts
and the aforementioned, many of which had followers and views into the millions and tens-of-millions
from conservative, Libertarian, second amendment advocates, pro-life or Christian webpages. This is
known as de-platforming.
Alex Jones' infowars.com the most prominent, but the censorship is spreading to talk radio as Michael
Savage is being replaced--nationally--next month by a virtual unknown in talk radio, Ben Shapiro. KSFO's
Savage is considered the third or fourth most listened to Talker and will finish his contract sharing recipes
and stories about his dog on a one hour podcast!
The David Brock inspired text, Democracy Matters, is remarkable in that the demonize and false
characterizations' of those in what was once the alternative press that came to dominance in the 2016
election--if not several years earlier, overtaking the MSM in both credibility and number of eyeballs--a
timeline matching what has occurred over real time the last two years. More on this on my final
submission reflecting upon the biggest as well as the most censored stories of the year.
Following that post, we will return to stories of California in the 1970s and '80s, I promise. Perhaps less
frequent, yet ST&P will continue as I ponder launching a political blog, a YouTube channel, podcast, and
most certainly a website showcasing voice=over for employment.
Posted by Drake McDonald Davis on December 22, 2018 2 comments:
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Drake McDonald Davis
Drake Davis is a 6th Generation [Paternal/5th Maternal] Californian who graduated from San Francisco State University in
December of 2018. Currently, Davis is about to launch a career in voice-over having over 5.5 years on-air over two decades in
Sacramento & Portland, OR; better yet, Davis was there with four additional years in live performance at the birth of Disco and
height of the Roller Disco Era in Sac. Poised to go far and in possession of the coveted SFSU Broadcast and Electronic
Communication Arts [BECA] Degree, Davis can be be harnessed to make money for your media outfit.
[NEW 4/10/2019] Living the # 9 Dream: Leaving Smell-A for
the Sac
Living the #9 Dream: Leaving Smell-A for The Sac
The yellow Mayflower Truck sat in the driveway, and both my mom and dad were standing nearby
exchanging pleasantries with the new next-door neighbors. It was a seminal day for me, knowing my life
would be dramatically changing, having left where I had spent kindergarten through the first two or three
weeks of sixth grade--as the youngest--not much of a clue what was coming.
"That's show-business, Baby"
...The Famous Last Words of My Father which is aptly the last words on his headstone.
The day before, Willard had come to Brentwood Elementary to pick his son up for a final time. Staring-off
at my now second girlfriend, Lisa Rodriguez, as she disappeared into the foreground, our newly
purchased 1970 Ford XL speeding towards San Vicente Boulevard. Feeling consternation regarding his
only son, Dad said,
"That was Lisa wasn't it, Drake...Drake?"
I could not stop looking back until we hit the light, coming to a complete stop.
"I should have kissed her. Now, I am never going to see her again,"
ending in a sigh and looking over at him.
"They threw me a party. The whole class--with cake and Mrs. Kerry said they made cards
for me--got some here," signaling towards a bag.
"AND Lisa gave me this..."
The yellow construction paper had hearts and inside on the third page, even a topless photo that had to
have come from Playboy--tasteful, but nevertheless from Playboy Magazine, and we are in sixth grade,
after-all.
Now...how do I put this:
Willard was not good with the whole topic of sex and [bless-his-heart because he really did think he did so
well with it!] The Birds & the Bees or The Talk as it was referred to in the months leading up to my tenth
birthday, leaving me more confused and with more questions than answers.
...typical of me, these questions later fell or would be fielded by my Mother, usually in the relative safety of
her doing laundry in the garage at 1492 Allenford Avenue!
Anyhow, it was an awkward ride home.
On the verge of tears, he had decided not to ever bring-up her handcrafted construction-paper oversized
gift card or take it away from me. Even though, Lisa and I had kissed a couple of times before or after
school--there was a spin-the-bottle game at the end of 5th Grade in about the same spot, it was one of
those watershed grade school events that we all seem to recall as thinking of having been:
The End of the World
We all remember the D' or F' on the report card [trust me…in those days, I do] or the school-ground fight
sending us stumbling, held-by-the-collar, into the Vice Principal's Office, resulting in being spanked on
your bare rear-end--a ping-pong paddle with holes in it making for a stinging rebuke to bad judgement.
AND...you knew the folks--or at least the stay-at-home-mom fielding the phone call [in those days] surely
had been apprised of the transgression long before arriving in the afternoon from school; arriving to hear
the inevitable phrase, "...and you just wait until your Father gets home!"
...yes, readers, corporal punishment was still in use as the1960s came to a close; shortly thereafter--we
left LA in the Fall of '71-- I got paddled once again at Arden Intermediate, a couple years after this in
Sacramento! In fact, I am not even sure whether parents had any say in opting out of it. I am that old,
people!
Once home, that same moving van was filling-up for our last final trip as Angelenos, over the Tehachapi
Mountains, and onward into the San Joaquin & finally, the Sacramento Valley, Central Cali Valley,
people.
Meanwhile, We are Barreling Through the Grapevine
Just prior to departure, I had been charged with watching Dad's prized record collection, much of which
sat in an open or not completely ready for closing trunk of our Ford XL; it wasn't until unpacking at the
new house that we would discover someone had walked-off with one of the boxes.
Guess this future Infantryman had abandoned his post!
So, we were loaded-up and after greeting the Chong family who would now be in my house, it was off to
the 405, segueing onto HWY 99 and over the Grapevine. The Interstate Highway System was mostly
completed, yet after years of haggling, I-5 had sections being built but hardly close to being done; even a
few sections around Stockton and elsewhere were not completed until about the time Governor Brown
would leave office around 1982, believe it or not. I can still remember part of US 50 transitioning from
being moved off Folsom Boulevard as late as the early-to-mid '70s.
Arriving in the Sac
We must have stayed [hazy, but I remember the ashtrays and matches] at the Sacramento Inn off Old
(later Business 80?)] I-80 or something, because returning to the scene in Carmichael and the Yellow
Mayflower Truck, it had to be mid-afternoon on arrival, and night had been fast approaching when we left
LA. I was about to meet some extremely pivotal classmates and the four of us would endure and grow
apart but always be together throughout all of high school, if that makes sense.
Folks talking with their new neighbors, I notice two young and very blonde girls about my age having
joined-in, my Father saying, "I feel I've been run-over by the Welcome Wagon" as they handed him a
decorative basket of California fruits, nuts, and what not, cointroducing themselves.
Then, the gate besides me swings open, and into the yard walks who would be my best friend for at least
the next year or so, Danny Plover:
"Hey Kid, I hear you're from 'Smell-A'...what do you do…you and your people?
What dooo you people do down there, anyway?" the NorCal/SoCal schism already
apparent.
I found this to be rather odd phrase-ology. Repeatedly, my oldest Sister, Shawna, had been harping for
months from her now emancipated digs in Santa Monica, regarding this supposed Cow-town, enlightened
Central Valley folk embrace as The Sac, today; however, in those days, Willard was fond of having
coined, Sac-of-Pimentos, him being a foodie and all--Sac-ra-tomato being popularized-- by my soon to be
favorite Top-40 Jock--Dr. Donald D. Rose [DDR] at 610 KFRC San Francisco!
Decidedly, because Shawna knew everything, according to the folks, this self-aggrandized or
supposedly more sophisticated kid from what was then the third biggest city after Chicago, felt out-of-
kilter; soon enough, we would find out Danny was in the gifted program at my new school, Del Dayo
Elementary, could run circles around me intellectually, and more importantly, almost always was
whipping-my-ass in chess! Danny was actually pretty well adjusted--free of the baggage I seemingly had
brought-up from SoCal.
Well, except when he was--well we both kind-of were--in what can only be characterized as his eighth-
grade bomb making phase! There was this...a utility garden-shed. Having not a clue about chemistry, I
figured, "He must have known what he was doing," I watched from afar.
In Rural Carmichael, CA Kids Played Differently...make that recklessly!
Was this about the time of some domestic terror plot for ransom resulted in Harvey’s Casino at South
Lake T-hoe being blown-to-bits, it's entire facade collapsing? Regardless, I had a healthy respect for not
wanting to hear, “Oh Jesus Christ, the Boy has blown-off a couple fingers!”
Readers take a deep breath and relax everyone: it was like sulfur match-heads, material from road flares
and baking powder or something, Danny having gotten instructions out of the Whole Earth Catalog; okay,
maybe he added a little gun powder from some shotgun shells we found lying around, too, yet, in an
impressive fashion, Danny's design's did blow chunks out of the poor ground squirrel holes that dotted our
back forty and the pathways to the American River.
Danny: "Kid, for all-get-out--answer my question--how do you have fun in...?
"We play Socco," I interrupted, "You any good at it? I am one of the best at
Brentwood elementary."
"Never heard of it," Andy stated matter-of-factually.
...uh-oh, I am in trouble now, I thought to myself.
Admittedly, I have always been lousy at sports, but this Socco had been somewhat of a bright spot, and
truly was the game that we measured ourselves by at Brentwood Elementary; it was pretty similar to what
they called "Slaughter Ball" [once in HS PE in the Sac] where you have a side A' & B' and goalie box of
the opposing team behind one's self or team on the A' or B' side.
...if that makes any sense.
The Goal?
Try to beam one of your buddies in the head or knock-the-wind out of the fat kid that ain't paying
attention, delivering the ball's trajectory squarely into his relaxed and undisciplined
gut!
I mean, I was in for a rough few years of awkwardness, and my propensity in seventh and eighth grade
for funny hat wearing did not help in the slightest; honestly, as much as I have touted myself in this blog
as being popular in high school and having a knack with the women in my teens and young adulthood,
junior high was not a pleasant time for me. In those days, Carmichael had a decidedly rural feel, the kids
were different. Although I do not really know how to characterize it:
...could it have been my orientation was beginning to come to the fore?
Then again, living in Sacramento and the now close proximity to our cabin and Tahoe was a plus. After
many years on the bunny slope by-virtue-of just flying-up once a year to ski for a few days or for the
Easter Break with my Uncle Devin and cousins, it was time to hang-up the snowplow--quickly transitioning
the stem-christy--and then onto parallel skiing. Since moving to NorCal, tagging along three, four, or five
times a year, I quickly became a strong intermediate skier, the swimming and skin-diving at the river and
my new rural lifestyle [okay, better aptly described as super-suburban lifestyle] with adventures in fort
design satisfied the emerging Architectural Digest side of me!
Becoming Master Fort Builders on our 840 Acre Private Park
For example, the fort behind the levee in my yard’s Back-forty as we called it [I do have pictures but not
digitized or in-hands reach] was a split or multi-level wonder if I do say so!
However, the larger satellite monstrosities--oftentimes underground dwellings hidden among the riparian
forests in the Pits--were also marvels of preteen engineering and design; covered with dirt, some
shrubbery, and re-planted weeds to obfuscate the freshly dug dirt atop sheet-metal from one of the GP's
open shops, we were undetectable to fisherman heading to their spot or the butterfly and fauna
naturalists [Naturists? Oh, the naked episodes at the river were still a few years off, Drake!] that
frequented the area.
At least we would not become casualties with only six or seven inches of soil atop the sheet-metal plates.
Perhaps the entry tunnel dumping us into a pretty large seating area five or so feet below could have
been in danger of given way, I guess.
...just like on the TV: the VietCong hiding in a spider-hole as American G.I.s' laughingly tossed
hand-grenades below!
Undertaken by about ten of us, we were ready to marvel at and enjoy our handiwork. Prior to the
camouflaging, it had been time to make ourselves a little more comfortable. Dropping-in some Salvation
Army store furniture [Thanks Mom,] affixing candles atop A & W Root-beer bottles, the
ubiquitous Playboys made for finishing touches; there just never seemed to be a shortage of
inappropriate or Vice-light items such as cigs stolen from family members or girly magazines discarded
for trash pick-up that us boys could be counted on coming-up with for the weekend sleep-over.
MY BACKYARD ARCHITECTURAL DIGEST MASTERPIECE
Hell, the above ground one I built and maintained in the back-forty lasted about four years before falling
into disrepair when cheerleaders and street-rods took precedent. There are some pictures developed
and, yet to be digitized that at the time of this writing referenced mother's insistence to bring closure to
"the Ruins" and the need for cleaning-up before moving-out upon graduation.
Split level with a high ceiling section [honestly, the only part we could stand in!] it slept four in the loft
above the master, comfortably; equipped with running water by virtue of a hose operated by cord on an
outdoor spigot in the nearby vegetable garden that when turned-on flowed into a Rubbermaid pan. From
there, draining into a piece of gutter downspout directed away and downhill from the structure.]
It even had a wine cellar hidden below the drawers under the twin bed in the master which was added
later around the summer, foretelling my fourteenth birthday.
in the tree above?
Two different stands, one a two-story facing across the river into Rancho Cordova. This allowed for
watching not only the drive-in movie screen for the purpose of taking-in R' rated movies running, but in
the day time we could observe B-52s scramble on alert, soon after followed by KC-135 re-fueling tankers
which did not belch the dark exhaust of the already old and still in use today, B-Bip-Dee-Boos as Danny
referred to them.
…Adolescent-Boy Paradise, indeed!
And to think our parents let us sleep up there in that eucalyptus numerous times. Luckily, we never
tumbled into the power lines just below. While not really in arms reach, we still must have been up 20 feet
or so above the ground.
After All the Other Rules and Laws Being Broken, why not try bootlegging?
I know there have been so many of these teenage drinking references within ST&P, yet this was how it
went down in those days; speaking of the Whole Earth Catalog, Danny and I had a bit of a cottage
industry going around that time using his Mother's Fleischman’s Bread Yeast added to apple juice, along
with a couple other ingredients detailed in this publication. Danny’s Older-brother, Bradley, had a copy as
did most young-adults’ in their rooms or apartments of the time [The Joy of Sex soon followed and was
iconic in the illustrations and instructions, too]
Just put the apple juice and yeast concoction in the shade--top loosened--until ready about twenty days
later!
...I had forgotten all about our little business supplying some of our friends for $2.00 a pop bottles, OMG,
we could have been considered to be bootleggers! Warning: Do not put the glass apple juice jug in the
compost pile of lawn clippings behind the levee in the back- forty to speed-up the process; it gets really
toasty in there--talk about explosive!
Okay, so we have established that I was beginning to develop a flare for small business, the two of us
fast becoming petty-criminals by impressively violating multiple federal laws!
...but really:
Who expects 1970s preteens to even know what the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms is, right?
Now back to our driveway greeting the neighbors
"So, what do you do for sports or fun around here?" I asked.
Danny replying, "We play flag or tackle football, play softball, but for fun...Hey, has anyone showed
you the River?
Just then, enter Patsy Graybal who would be my date for senior ball some seven or so years later, her
house almost directly across the street from us; the sweet poster child of a girl-next-door, Patty was my
first real female friend. A woman I respected immensely, and yes, while we had a couple of episodes of
awkwardly playing grab-ass in my various forts along what became the missing-link of the American River
Parkway--Erickson Sand & Gravel--Patsy went on to become a pillar-of-the-community.
...me, incorrigible-of-the-community, I suppose?
To my surprise, a bench bares an engraving of her influence at the base of the Harold Richie Bridge--
the span linking the Arden Area/Carmichael side to Rancho Cordova.
My understanding was this honored for the work she did with Friends of the American River. I stumbled
upon this while taking a day trip to the old gravel pits at the time of my Father's passing in 2007. In
addition, my childhood dog, "Spiffy" [sic (he is now remembered as a password reset reminder, right?)] is
buried underneath the Eucalyptus on the eastern property-line and still is a usually required visit once
back in my ancestral homeland.
Here is a Google Map & Link to the Park
https://www.google.com/maps/place/1606+McClaren+Dr,+Carmichael,+CA+95608/@38.5929186,-
121.3362918,17z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m5!3m4!1s0x809adc8af7c32e61:0x23176346be5e7de6!8m2!3d38.59
29186!4d-121.3341031
https://regionalparks.saccounty.net/Parks/Documents/William_B_Pond_Map.pdf
Apparently, there was a pretty fierce battle that started brewing in the late '70s when it became clear the
gravel pits would be no longer in operation. Many homeowners wanted to see luxury homes or some
portion of the property to have some essence of an upscale planned community. Accordingly, the
county's master plan called for the continuation of the bike trail and the bridge serving as a crossing.
However, it is my understanding that Patsy had been instrumental organizing and leading the fight to
prohibit any residential and accompanying commercial development from taking shape.
Well, she was always in student government at both our junior high and high school, too!
Too sweet and the confidant of my secrets--of which there were a few transpiring at the time, now having
gotten beat-up by a girl, Jody Krice, in eighth grade! Patty was so level-headed as compared to her best
friend, Hanna.Sardesty
Hanna had a wild streak and Patsy was a moderating force...usually. There was the episode
when streaking was all the rage, and about fifteen or twenty of the neighborhood girls took to the corner
of Arden and McClaren Drive to regroup after a run through the neighborhood. It was quite the show
according to next-door-neighbor Danny.
Streaking: if you are not old enough to be expected to know of this
Out-of-town and missing the whole show--I was on a camping trip in the Coast Range--I
was soooo disappointed to have missed that! Predictably, it did really leave my father torqued; how did he
put it? Oh yeah, "I cannot believe these per-pubescent and immoral girls engaging in 'obscene
behavior'"
Willard had frequent run-ins with Hanna's Mother just a few doors down; apparently, he went down the
street to vent his outrage--the conversation devolving into his calling Hanna "A Little Whore" or
something.
Good-one Willard!
Several weeks later on the frontage road that was adjacent to the house and led to the river, 1606
McClaren Drive was pummeled with rocks in the middle of the night busting-out both the bathroom and
dining room window!
Obviously, this man had no idea of what I was dealing with at school as a still relative new- comer. Nor
did he know how much sneaking-out of houses for drinking at the river had become a thing as we
transitioned into high school that summer of 1974.
I Guess SFSU is Right: I Did Suffer From White Privilege!
The obliviousness of the World War II Generation as to what us or their neighborhood kids were involved
in [ basically, as you read these stories, it is not a stretch to realize that by the mid-eighties and beyond
our behavior could be summed-up as "gang-activity!"] we would have been having serious run-ins with
the law if all of this had been taking place near the Sacramento River as it wound through Meadowview,
William Land Park or other more ethnic neighborhoods
Known to be a practitioner of TM or meditation, this made Hanna's Mother, "...a woman who possess
communist leanings." According to him, "That woman has been known to have been seen from the levee
doing some 'bazaar rituals.'"
... Thank you for that up-date, Archie Bunker of the West !!!
Funny thing--if not giving away my pseudonym--Hanna had spent much of her life since in Portland too,
and her mother had been married to famous NorCal Artist and "Hanna's" Father, Wayne Thiebaud.
Wow, still alive and has done quite well
Fortunately for us, Patsy was the calm in the storm and could listen and give sound advice to those lost or
confused.
Centered, head above the shoulder among most of the emerging from puberty wild-child youthful angst in
what can only be described as the libertine ethics of an if it feels good do it tail-end boomer generation
running amok with little parental over-site
...or at least easy-to-pull-the-wool-over their eyes-ness,
Point being, in a rare case of finding myself between girlfriends, no one had asked Patsy to Senior Ball in
1978--the year we both graduated.
In a rare instance of doing something altruistic [let us be honest here...I was a dick relationship-wise back
in the day,] and I felt that this was something we should not deprive ourselves of attending. We had a real
quality time that evening and it was quite touching as we returned to her driveway to just sit there for
twenty minutes recalling all of our adventures at the river, how we went from little kids to nearly adults
with graduation approaching in a few more weeks.
...no smooching in the car--surely more than a peck once walked to the door, but this was truly my first
female friend, and as we did not hang-out that much as we moved into our junior and senior years, it
made sense that we would be each other’s dates for senior ball.
I am quite sure that the last five or six rolls of film my Father never developed and will be finally
developed this summer--some 40 years later--I will find the pictures taken across the street as we
departed that evening, an orchid or matching boutonniere as a corsage, one of the final acts of our last
year in high school.
In addition, I am looking forward to what I hope will be pictures from when mom and dad came to Old Sac
to photograph their son at his first professional radio gig at 1470 KXOA in 1979.
I had a full beard, was nineteen, and cannot wait to see what are on those last rolls of film that Dad took
and should even have some late teen picks when I borrowed the camera--with permission--to take to the
river to document fort building and so on, earlier in the mid-seventies.
Getting back to this first day in Carmichael, CA, the new next-door neighbor, Danny Grove, asks, "Have
you met Patsy and Hanna?"
Both blonde, I am locked-on, replying, "Oh no, I have not...shall we?"
Uneventfully, we introduce ourselves, but the best is to come:
Danny says to our parents, "Drake has not seen the river, we are going to the GPs
and show him around some."
My dog already freaking-out at the prospect of a 3/5-acre lot--without fencing--has been running between
the twin budding almond trees, the sixty-foot-tall liquid amber trees that would keep me raking leaves for
many years-to-come, and enjoying his new-found freedom.
IT WAS ON!
Take note: this was a dog that had always been walked on a leash and lived as an outside dog, sure, but
within the confines of a concrete patio, and an adjoining pathway to the back yard, of some couple
hundred square feet of lawn, two banana trees, and that sticker- bush-thing that we used to hide under
while poring salt on slugs.
Danny and I walked over the levee and through an area of old asphalt and reinforced concrete in a vacant
no-mans-land that was a lot someone owned but could not be developed for some reason [behind the
levee and in the flood plain as I recall.] As I started to survey the approaching river, it hit me at how wild
and wide-open the area was. Now, there were four or five story piles of rock and equipment in some
areas, but most of the land near the river had either already been used and was somewhat restored or
was forested and not in bad shape.
Danny had different names for geographical features that I soon would find the other neighborhood kids
referred to as well. The group of about twenty or so and oftentimes a smattering of others occasionally--
mostly boys--who would spend much of our time after school and all day in the summer either swimming,
fishing, or some activity related to fort building and exploring.
I just remember that first night thinking how vast and wide-open my new frontier seemed.
Barely scratching the surface, we would head-out early the following Saturday on bikes to cover much of
the area, surveying the lakes and off-shoot of the river that fed some of them, and all the wildlife the 840
acres supported. Armed with Whamo brand Wrist-Rockets and steel ball bearings we hunted jackrabbits
that pretty-much always escaped unscathed, our dogs in high-pursuit. Later, it was pellet guns and
building courses for bicycle motocross. Through-out the years, an activity where we tied up
a skimboard from a tree in fast current was a fad among those who hung at the river. A kind of poor mans'
flat-lander version that was a cross between water-skiing meets surfing.
Initially, as we moved-up from sixth-grade and middle school, we would get up early, heading back
behind the house with an old cast-iron frying pan, bacon, eggs, and butter for the rainbow trout or striped
bass--if and when the stripers ran in late spring. Salmon & Steelhead ran every year too. Admittedly, I
seemed to never catch as many fish as Billy Hagedorn [“Haggie” as we called him and his Mother, “Mrs.
Hag"] and most of the other kids.
Care for some crayfish to take home and boil alive [sorry, everyone that is just how it was done] for a
hearty feast? Just grab a half pound of bacon, throw it in the river, and go back in the water a couple
hours later and presto:
Using a mask and snorkel and armed with a burlap bag--do not forget one of mom's gardening gloves--
there would now be twenty or thirty crayfish all chowing-down and ready for harvesting!
Sure, there were industrial areas of sand and gravel making, and even the always interesting Hot Plant as
they called it where asphalt for roads and other development was produced, yet much of the land
contained unaltered riparian forests; there and largely hidden view, kid’s vast underground, above
ground, and elaborate tree forts were the norm. Shirts off and smoking either dried cattails [you guessed
it...like the ones accompanying any picture of a duck] or the licorice flavor of dried Anise that grew as
plentiful as the noxious Star Thistle the Spanish had brought over.
...better always have on your river shoes. Sure, as a foxtail would lodge in one of our dogs’ ear or nose
before summer was over, you were going to step or get nailed by the star thistle, a broken beer bottle
discarded from the weekend onslaught of rafters-- if not the poison oak--young boys regularly running
around in Levi cut-offs and not much else.
Now this brings us to Jim-the-Guard. His job was to chase us out of those areas meant for workers in
hardhats and keep us out of harms’ way.
There was a single-wide trailer just behind Danny Grove's and our property occupied by one Jim-the-
Guard and his wife. He patrolled the entire area that was road accessible and was a nice old guy; Jim
was the go-to-guy as junior high gave way to high school necessitating our emerging thirst to procure
some beer. Need the current issue of Playboy or Penthouse to go with that? Just give him the money and
Jim would always happy to oblige.
Think about this and how much has changed in just a few generations. Nowadays, poor Jimmie would be
prosecuted on multiple charges--yikes!
I know in this age of subjugation and capitulation to tyranny, our once government anointed watchers'
having ceded most of this authority to our high-tech overlords. They are tightening the noose of
censorship daily when it comes to them becoming the new, supposed arbitrators of what is fake nor real
news. But, back in those days we did not need Jim-the-Guard to by us our cigarettes--only a few beers,
thank you.
Nope: any junior high student with a bicycle could ride-up Arden Way to the intersection of Fair Oaks
Boulevard and either walk into Martinelli’s Pizza, drop in 55 cents [they do not even have a cent symbol
on these here laptop thingies nowadays!] and pull the lever on the cigarette machine, grab your smokes,
and quickly get out the door!
Heck, depending on who was working at the Lerner Gas Station, located at Fair Oaks Blvd. and Arden
Way, they would sell them to us most of the time as well.
Wrapping this whole trip down memory lane into something I can compare to our world today?
Obviously, we have lost so much of what used to be independence and the freedom or ability to learn
from the surrounding natural world; it was not that many years later, I would work doing maintenance for
large apartment communities and observe, "Hey the kids here don't get to do half the stuff I used to do."
More years would pass and the baby boomer parents--many of them--became extremely safety obsessed
lending themselves to the description of having become, Helicopter Parents.
Fast-forward yet another twenty years and we began to hear public service announcements about kids
needing or getting parents' motivated to take the kids to discover our national forests. Taking this to its
logical present-day incarnation--the PSA now talks of getting unplugged from our devices to experience a
trip to the national forests.
It seems we have moved so far into a backlit screen of addiction with these devices and the social media
increasingly having become or being deemed as a detriment to how we relate to one another or even
being the cause of dissension and dysfunction; It could be said we are heading towards some really bad
outcomes from all of this.
I suppose, I am an example of taking ones' liberty to what could be a Jeffersonian extreme.
Having grown-up on the banks of the American River is a huge part of what I became or how I turned-out.
Hours-on-end, fishing, swimming, hiking, corralling rattlesnake with the other boys. Regularly, we could
be seen lifting-up boards and natural cover in the heat of the day, catching gopher and king snakes that
we made pets, taking them to junior high even, for show and tell!
...and of course, having those spots where our initial physical experimentation with those first
relationships of boyfriend or girlfriend often played-out after school or on hot summer nights. As we
entered our teens things went a little further as there was a lot of privacy afforded a couple that 840
acres, abandoned fort sites, and the ever-changing ebb-and-flow of the river provided.
Increasingly, just as we have been driven into mega-sized apartment complexes, off the land and into
ever packed tighter cities--two-income earners who have little time to experience the outdoors in many
cases has long since become the norm; it is as if I am from the last generation that had such a connection
of being in a large town or city, even, but still had wild open spaces to experience; surely, our rural
counterparts in fly-over-country have a much better sense of interacting with nature, but let us not forget
the nature of our addiction has hit a point where multiple screens are in use as the family gathers in the
evening in most homes to watch television, according to Nielsen.
The internet and the reach of cell towers in the national forests having been debated--almost two decades
ago--the ubiquitous smartphone having replaced so many other manufactured items such as alarm
clocks, the calculator, and the road map to name a few.
Is it just me or are we being set-up for a total control grid, the culling of the herd?
...the sheep-ple being led to slaughter? And, who came up with equipping many of our public or
institutions bathrooms with sensors to turn-on the H2O? Did we miss the history lesson on what follows
natural or man-made disasters? It is the lack of sanitation and spread of disease such as cholera and
E.coli that ends up killing more people than the event itself, oftentimes.
Has anyone bothered to take much interest in the roll-out of 5G? I touched on this in an earlier blog, but
this Internet-of-things has the potential to make us prisoners in our smart-meter equipped homes. What
can you expect from a society of people--I am hearing close to a quarter of households have them--who
rush-out to purchase these personal assistant devices, Alexa, Echo, etc.
Are you people serious? I am willing to bet there are still some of you reading this who have any idea
about how pervasive the censorship on the Internet has become since the purge of alternative media got
into full-swing over the last year or so.
If you are ready to learn how the flow of information is going slow to a trickle over this upcoming year, I
dare you to come away from reading this and not be finally...how do we say it?
WOKE:
You Are Not Going to Believe Your Eyes
Noteworthy to the article: former Director of Homeland Security under GW Bush, Tom Ridge, and
former CIA AND NSA Head, Michael Hayden who lied to congress repeatedly about our NOT
having a domestic spy program, are on the Board of Directors of this new fake news fact-checker
system, Newsguard. All of us will have this forced on to our devices this year when conducting
search queries or going to a news site that is not part of the old guard MSM or failed Dinosaur
Press.
Newsguard is an entity about to get up close and personal with all of us, so ignore at your own
risk!
Just as my oldest sister would stay behind being in her early twenties at the time of our family's move
from Los Angeles, her stating, "Sacramento is a cow-town," I got to experience a Huck Finn of the
West adventure, now a thing of the past.
It was almost fifty years ago. Yet, I think of how I grew-up loving the thrill and adventures the close
proximity to what became the missing crown jewel of the American River Parkway Now known as William
Pond Park, the gravel pits provided for myself and many of my classmates a kind of autonomy missing for
subsequent generations.
I am so thankful that my parents let me take the risks and experience the ability to exercise my personal
freedom and learn through doing, not gazing into and manipulating a device every second of the waking
day. Obesity and diabetes were not an option when you swim close to a mile some days, scale cliffs at
Ancil Hoffman Park in Carmichael, CA to explore caves that American Indians once inhabited, and
somehow manage to torment Great Western Diamondback Rattlesnakes into submission without getting
bit!
We were such mean little boys...No doubt, a case of toxic masculinity!
I have led a charmed life in many respects, and how our society has begun to resemble the worst of
movies such as THX 1138 and V for Vendetta, or classics like Brave New World is extremely alarming.
Hopefully, my history of Big L' libertarian inspired activism in Portland and my understanding of what is
happening to us will lead to some kind-of eventual talk gig--I do know where the bodies are buried if we
were ever to be free again--but I wouldn't hold your breath.
The powers that be have banned # 4 or 5 Talker Michael Savage's syndication to a large extent.
Currently, Alex Jones is now stating he expects to be pretty much taken-down by years-end, worring even
his URL will be banned; moreover, my friend who streams from Portland, Clyde Lewis who is on over 300
stations with his show, Ground Zero, and leads up to George Norry's Coast to Coast on many of those
stations, also has very much reason to be concerned.
https://www.groundzeromedia.org/
Have we not many become the Non-playerCharacter [NPC] Memes-of-mantra, repeating everything as
fact that a late-night comedian said on TV the night before? I cannot believe that because so many are
too intellectually lazy to go to news sites, daily, and do their own research, we have actually had
discussions in classes about whether or not these late night propagandists being considered journalist!
Consequently, Jones was a reoccurring topic in Professor Yumi Wilson’s BECA 460 or Electronic News
Media class in the Spring Semester of 2018.
All most knew about Jones was what they would repeat—inaccurately—that Jones had sent people to
harass Sandy Hook families and always ranting about “Gay Frogs.” Okay, the last one is true, and he
does, but the footage and interviews with scientist shown on major media outlets clearly demonstrate that
Monsanto’s Round-up or Glyphosate has caused massive deformities in amphibians located in nearby
waters effected from run-off, deformed or missing genitals causing them to confuse the reproductive roles
nature assigned.
I cannot believe what is little more than native advertising and curated content from FB, the Gram, and
the usual smattering of celebrity gossip is now news to most.
When I look at Bing, Google, and other browsers peddle as news, I am astounded I even have to state
the obvious: this is not going to end well for us.
...or, maybe I just pay too much attention which is pretty good for an old Cat with ADHD, but knowing too
much, leaves me out-of-step with those who are wallowing-in and preferring misinformation that passes
for news—heavily curated--from their browsers. Worse yet for those still watching cable or traditional TV
news is the non-stop round-table discussion with groups on CNN, MSNBC, or Fox repeating phrases like,
"...well, if this is true..." and ignoring important news in endless round-table discussions repeating over
and over:
"Mueller…Dossier…Collusion…Impeach…Trump"
We are ripe for an invasion--not the one on our Southern border--but a real one.
The Red Chinese or Russians will clean our oblivious clock, I am sorry to say.
My Father, Willard S. Davis Jr., achieved an over twenty-year career in Television, beginning in 1948 as
an intern at Paramount Studios in Los Angeles. Dad was here for Television's infancy [1950] working at
KGO TV San Francisco, and later, KTLA TV 5, Los Angeles [1955-1958.] He returned to SF in 1960 to
Produce,The Standard School Broadcast. All three of their children were born in SF: Shawna Davis 1952,
Dorain Davis 1955, and myself in 1960. As an aside, Willard and Adair 'bumped-into-themselves' at the
corner of Market and Van Ness in 1951 after dating,--briefly I am told-- as classmates at Sac High [Willard
S. Davis Jr. Class of 1944/ Adair C. Davis,Class of 1945--more importantly, Adair.C. Davis graduated
from UC Berkeley, Liberal Arts, Class of 1948.
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