Another Walk in the Park: JOSHUA TREE NATIONAL – Part II

by Bob Sparrow

Joshua-Tree treeSaturday morning:

Anyone that tells you they slept like a baby in a sleeping bag in a tent on a windy night in a public campground is lying, or the baby was colicky.  The night passed slowly, but I knew I’d feel better in the morning after a cup of coffee and a nice warm shower.  I settled for a cup of coffee, there were no showers.

We’ve got three key destinations planned for the day, so we set out early for the first one, The Hall of Horrors.  ‘The Hall’ is a natural tunnel through a large rock formation, that is not easily found, but once found, is spectacular.

Here is a video of our trip through the Hall of Horrors as found on YouTube – it is really cool.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3NuhY3oN7c  (click on or copy and paste into your URL)

Our next hike was the loop to the Lost Horse Mine. To quote the parks literature on the mine, “the story of the Lost Horse Mine if filled with cowboy gunLost horse mine fights, cattle rustlers, horse thieves, the lure of gold and some sticky-fingered miners”. Surprisingly there were a lot of gold mine in the Mojave Desert, over 300, but most were very unproductive, the Lost Horse Mine was an exception.  Over 10,000 ounces of gold and 16,000 ounces of silver (worth about $5 million today) were mined between 1894 and 1931.  We had perfect weather for this 6+ mile hike and found the history of the mine and the area around it fascinating.

Our final destination for the day was Keys View – thank goodness it was drivable as we were low on water, but had plenty of wine; so we drove there before sundown, snapped the neck off a bottle of Pinot Noir and enjoyed the view.  There was an interesting picture on a plaque at Keys View showing what the view would look like if it were smoggy – I guess Southern Californians are used to seeing things that way, so they didn’t want to disappoint anyone who made the drive up there and found that the air wasn’t something you could sink your teeth into.  keys view

Our view on this day was crystal clear. To the south we could see the Salton Sea, and beyond was a mountain at the US-Mexico boarder.  In front of us some 5,000 feet below was a very visible San Andreas Fault, running the length of the Coachella Valley, from Palms Springs to Indio.  In the distance you could see Mt. San Jacinto and Mt. San Gorgonio, both over 10,000 feet and snow-capped at this time of year.  Finally, we could see the bottom of our wine glasses, which meant it was time to head back to camp for a hot shower and dinner.  Oh yeah, just dinner.

Dr. Chuck Wagon had prepared a delightful repast featuring cooked-over-the-fire chicken and his ‘special potatoes’ . . . and some more wine.

Hiking affords one a lot of time to just walk and wonder, not bothered with interruptions or to-do lists. Hiking in the desert is particularly inspiring as one sees this abundance of flora and fauna and wonder why and how they manage to not just survive, but thrive in this environment.  Josh sunset

To me the desert is amazing; it is so desolate, yet filled with so many wonders.  No one made the Indians, miners and ranchers stay in the desert, but many remained and managed to carve out a living in this seemingly god-forsaken place.  The reality is that it’s not god-forsaken, there are an amazing number of things living in the desert.

We sit around the campfire as the sky turns incredibly black and the star shine literary like diamonds.  We can hear some critters in the distance and the popping of the logs on the campfire.  It was a good day . . . no, it was a great day! 

  • Camping fee: $10 a night
  • Entrance to the park: $15
  • Sharing stories around the campfire with Trail Boss, Greeter, Sparky and Chuck Wagon: Priceless

Campfire at Lake Cumberland

 

 

Another Walk in the Park: JOSHUA TREE NATIONAL – Part I

Cholla Cactus

Cholla Cactus


by Bob Sparrow

It was all I could do to make a left turn when traveling southeast on Interstate 10 through the Mojave Desert.  The usual right turn takes me into the Palm Spring/Palm Desert communities where for years I’ve gone to relax, play golf and perhaps partake of a margarita, maybe two.  But last week, turning left took me into Joshua Tree National Park where hiking and camping replaced golf and margaritas.  ‘The Boys’ and I planned to camp and spend the weekend hiking just to see what was shakin’ around the San Andreas Fault, which runs through the park.  Even though I’ve lived within two hours of ‘Josh’ (we’re now on a first-name basis), I had never been there.  Apparently I’m not the only one late to this party, Joshua Tree was a mere National Monument (at slightly larger than the state of Rhode Island it was quite a large monument!) until as recently as 1994, when it finally became a National Park.

‘The Boys’ are:

Sparky, Avalanche, Greeter, Trail Boss

Sparky, Avalanche, Greeter, Trail Boss

Patrick ‘Trail Boss’ Michael, who plans the trips, draws the permits, has all the trail maps, plans the menu and   brings the firewood.  He’s an engineer by trade – what a surprise!

  •        – Bob ‘Sparky’ Pacelli, who insists we each carry a walkie-talkie even though we never get more than 20 feet from each other during the entire weekend.  The only time the walkie-talkies were used was when he heard from a trucker on Interstate 10 trying to get lucky.

Rick ‘Greeter’ Sullivan, the friendliest man on the trail; greets everyone he meets with his big, easy smile. If he’s at your campfire make sure you have plenty of wood, ‘cause he’s got plenty of stories.

Richard ‘Chuck Wagon’ Wade, who is not a hiker, but asked if he could come along and cook.  Hell yeah!  Since he’s a forensic doctor with a degree from Harvard, we respectfully call him Dr. Chuck Wagon.

– My nickname is ‘Avalanche’ because I used to come down a hill fairly quickly, that was then, now they’re thinking about changing my name to ‘Lava Floe’ or ‘Petrified Rock’.

Dr. Chuck Wagon

Dr. Chuck Wagon

We entered the park at the Cottonwood Springs entrance, which is at the far southeastern corner; our campsite was at the Black Rock Nature Center, which is at the far northwestern corner, so it allowed us to drive through the middle of the park (about 65 miles), stopping along the way when we found something interesting.

Bra & Shoe Tree

Bra & Shoe Tree

The first interesting site we saw was the rare ‘Bra & Shoe Tree’ (photo left).  Nope, not sure how they got there, but I’d appreciate it if the person who put them there would call my wife and explain – she’s not sure what kind of camping we were doing.

Our first stop was right inside the gate where there is a good long hike (Lost Palms Oasis) and a good short one (Mastodon Peak).  Given that we had ‘miles to go before we sleep’ we took the shorter hike, which took us past the old Mastodon Gold Mine and ultimately to Mastodon Peak which provided us a great view of the Salton Sea and the namesake rock, the one that looks like a mastodon.

 

Joshua Tree is filled with all kinds of interesting rock formation, many are named after what they look like – Skull Rock, where we stopped to hike

skull rockand have lunch, is a good example. The rock formation in the photo below didn’t have a name that we knew about, so we made up one: ‘Four Frogs Fornicating’ – if you look at it long enough and from just the right angle maybe you’ll see it, but probably not.  I don’t think our name will make it into the National Park Registry.

The road through the park has a good number of pullouts and informational plaques that help explain what lies in front of you, like a beautiful Joshua Trees forest, or a row of those pretty, but prickly cholla cactus or just a collection of interestingly-shaped rocks, many of them with rock climbers on them.

Since ‘Dr. Chuck Wagon’ wasn’t getting in until the next morning, after we got to our campsite and pitched our tent, we decided to go into town for dinner.  Town, in this case was Yucca Valley, although we could have opted for the bustling burg of Twentynine Palms.  We were told about a place just out of Yucca Valley called ‘Pioneertown’, where a movie set of a western town was built in the 40’s and a number of western movie and tv series were shot there staring the likes of Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and the Cisco Kid to name a few.  We had dinner at an old western saloon there called Pappy & Harriet’s.  OK, we weren’t exactly ‘roughing’ it, but we did drive back to the park after dinner and retire to our tent for the night.

Four Frogs Fornicating

Four Frogs Fornicating

 

 

Coming on Wednesday – Part II 

                                  Treks to the Lost Horse Mind, Keys View and the Hall of Horrors

I’VE PEAKED IN MY OWN BACK YARD

pINNACLE pEAKBy Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Like many people who live close to a landmark, I am completely clueless about the one near me, Pinnacle Peak. Which is particularly pathetic because I’ve lived at the base of it for 15 years. It serves as a beacon of sorts, providing a touchstone to remind us of just how far away we are from home when we travel around the Valley of the Sun. So, let’s just say hypothetically that one of us is lost and the other won’t ask for directions, we just look for “the Peak” and, voila!, we know which direction is home.

Normally the most attention I pay to it is when I’m playing golf and spot some adroit rock climbers who have scaled its summit. Usually they will wave to us golfers. We always wave back, admiring their gumption – and youth. I usually three-putt those greens due to the obvious distraction. Or at least that’s my story this month.

But curiosity got the best of me last week and I decided to do some research on the Peak in my backyard. The first thing that struck me is that the Peak is almost 3200 feet high. That’s the tip, where all those crazy rock climbers look down on all us crazy golfers. That may not seem high to those of you who live in the mountains, but to those of us in the desert, this is our Mount Whitney.

The area around Pinnacle Peak was originally used by the Hohokam Indians for hunting and food gathering. Later, settlers began to use the area for ranching and mining, and finally, the whole darn place was overrun by golf courses and homes. One vestige of the mining era is that the best cheeseburger in the world can be found Greaswood Flats, an old miners shack right across from the Peak.

Hiking-Pinnacle-PeakIn 1994 the city of Scottsdale decided to make Pinnacle Peak a park and built a trail so that everyone could enjoy its beauty. The trail is 3.5 miles roundtrip and will leave you begging for an iron lung on the way up. They conveniently have provided a bench at “Grandview”which they say is so you can sit and admire the the spectacular vista. Usually all I see are my shoelaces, since my head is buried between my knees in an effort to regain regular respiration – and some dignity. The trail only climbs 500 feet from the trailhead to the top, but the older I get the steeper it becomes. I see some young people run the entire trail which I think is highly suspicious and may require some drug testing.

If gasping for air isn’t enough to entice you, you might be attracted to the beautiful plants and animals that inhabit the area. You’re likely to see bobcats, Gila monsters and Diamondbacks – and not the ones with a bat in their hands. But if you do see them you don’t want to run too far off the trail or you might get stuck in a jumping cholla plant, a vicious cactus that does actually jump out and stab you with it’s fishhook spines.

I have promised myself that I will hike the trail more regularly this spring in the fervent hope that I will get in better shape. And, seriously, there is nothing more beautiful than the cactus flowers in the spring. If nothing else, I have found a practical use for the stopping point at “Grandview” – it is the perfect place from which to throw my golf clubs off into a deep, dark crevice, never to annoy me again.

THE OSCARS AND THE OSCARS PARTY IN ‘THE HEIGHTS’

by Bob Sparrow

  oscar2    People's Choice Awards     writers guild Golden-Globe critics choice

     The ‘Oscars’ or The Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences (Sciences?) Awards Show as they are more pretentiously called, is the final period, at the end of a ‘Let’s Pat Ourselves on the Back Season’ sentence.  It is a season that includes, but is not limited to, the ‘Peoples Choice Awards’ (as apposed to the Vegetable’s Choice Awards), the Golden Globes, Writer’s Guild of America Awards, Critic’s Choice Awards, The Kennedy Center Awards and The Screen Actor’s Guild Award.  It’s like Little League, where no one is allowed to strike out and everyone gets a trophy at the end of the season.

Why so many award shows?  Because WE’LL WATCH THEM!  We’re interested in the stars being feted despite the fact that these were the kids in school who were really good at making up stories (liars) and pretending to be someone else (psychotics).  These were the creative ones who didn’t always fit into the mainstream, but occasionally fit into a dumpster by a high school bully.  We follow their lives maybe because they are so unlike ours – they’re good looking , rich and have their own therapist.  They also set the standard for partying.

Skyline   It was thus with much enthusiasm that I accepted an invitation to Sunday’s ‘Oscars Extravaganza’ at the estate of Michael and Tanis Nelson, of the Skyline Heights Nelsons.  Michael is a tennis pro who’s no stranger to Wimbledon (of course he had to buy a ticket every time) and Tanis, who is a professor of very undergraduate students in the Inland Empire. Skyline Heights, for those unfamiliar with the southern California environs, is a tony, OC hillside neighborhood overlooking the Pacific Ocean, the Fashion Island Mall and the Santa Ana Sand & Gravel Quarry.  For security, the denizens of ‘The Heights’ chose not to put up a guard gate and sentry, but rather just have some exceptionally mean dogs roam the streets.

The neighborhood gets excited for an Oscar party as everyone in ‘The Heights’ believes they look like a famous actor or actress.  At these parties you’ll hear the ladies ask one another ‘who’ they are wearing, while the men grumble innocuously of their pork belly investment portfolios.  So the parties are always well attended, elegant and superciliously delightful.

The Nelson gala was no exception.  A ‘Brown Welcome Mat’ served as the ‘Red Carpet’ and once inside the Nelsons had meticulously decorated each room in an ‘Oscar theme’ . . .

–        There was the ‘Lincoln Room’, where one had to negotiate to emancipate their dinner from the kitchen help

–       The ‘Les Mis Room’ where you could act out a scene from the movie only if you sang out of tune and wore that hideous Russell Crowe hat

russell crowe hat

–       There was also the ‘Beast of the Southern Wild Room’ where you could actually adopt a baby from Africa

Then there was the popular ‘Video Room’ where guests could opine into a camera on various political and environmental issues of the day, whether they had any real knowledge of them or not.  The videos were then streamed on a huge screen in the Nelson ‘Home Theater Room’ throughout the evening.  Well, not all the videos are streamed, only those espousing a liberal point of view.

The Nelsons even provided ‘Seat Replacers’, so when you excused yourself to the restroom someone (looking very much like you) would rush in from out of nowhere and take your place in an animated conversation until your return.  This way the party always looked full and fun.

james franco     The piece de résistance was the Master of Ceremonies, who was hired by the Nelson to preside over the evening; I was hoping it was going to be Billy Crystal, he’s my favorite, but it was James Franco.  I think Franco did a decent job in the movie 127 Hours, where he portrayed a man who had to cut off his arm to save his life when it became lodged between two rocks in a remote Utah canyon.  At the Oscars two years ago, Franco, as MC, played a man with his brain lodged between two rocks and should have stayed in a remote Utah canyon.  I suppose the Nelsons got him cheaply.

Dinner included an eclectic, thematic fare that featured, Chips and ‘Fresh Guacamole’, ‘Django Unchained’ and Free Range Chicken, Corn-fed ‘Argo’ beef, ‘Beast of the Southern Wild’ Rice; all served up with a delightful Middle Eastern red wine called ‘Zero Dark Thirsty’.  Dessert was the highlight of this remarkable repast as it featured a ‘Life of Pi’ eating contest.

The final Oscar is presented and Michael turns to Tanis and says, “Let’s go to bed so these nice people can go home.”  I can’t decide which post-Oscar party to hit, the Vanity Fair bash or the Governor’s Ball, but since I wasn’t invited to either, I go home, slip into something more comfortable and watch a good movie.  I love movies.

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“THE BOY”

2013-02-17 10.18.12 Every dog should have a boy….  Erma Bombeck.   I’m sure Ms. Bombeck had a freckle-faced 10-year-old boy in mind when she wrote that.  At our house “the boy” is almost 72 years old.  But it seems that some things are timeless and not bound by the limits of age.

I should point out that “the boy” has resisted my attempts to get a dog for the past 25 years.  Every broach of the subject was met with groans, moans and 87 reasons why we shouldn’t get a dog.  Over many of those years he had a point – we were both working long hours, we traveled a lot, we had white carpeting.

But last summer our kids went on vacation and we offered to dog sit.   When he thought I wasn’t looking, “the boy” would give the dog treats.  And he was perfectly content to sit on the couch with the dog right next to him watching golf tournaments on TV.  Over the course of ten days the dog learned all about lip-outs, soft fades and why Tiger Woods will never win another major.

So, as you faithful readers know (and we do thank you for your subscription!), “the boy” was finally worn down enough by last fall that the moans and groans were uttered with less conviction.  I pounced on the opportunity and put a down payment on a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.  He was born in November and we named him “Dash”.  We were finally able to bring him home two weeks ago.  That’s when life in the Watson house changed. Forever.

Before Dash came home, “the boy” wanted it made perfectly clear that I was going to be totally responsible for all feeding, training and (this is critical) poop patrol.  Dash was going to be tolerated and allowed to live with us just to keep me happy.  Yeah, right.

Within 48 hours it became clear that Dash was going to belong to “the boy”.  He didn’t want to leave the house for fear the dog would miss him.  He admonished me for washing Dash’s face with a bit too much pressure.  He got a big stick to take outside to the dog run just in case any wild animal ventured near.  And the baby talk?  Here’s the best example I can provide:  one week after Dash came home “the boy” was watching hockey while Dash and I were in my office watching something educational, like “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills”.  When I decided to retire, I took Dash and walked into the family room to say good night.  “The boy” jumped up from his chair, came over to us and starting petting and cooing …”oh, I love you soooo much”, “good-night little sweetheart”, etc. …. to the DOG.  He has not jumped up out of a chair like that for me in 20 years.

So now, after 25 years of wanting a dog, I have to fight for equal time.  At best, “the boy” and I sit on the couch with Dash in between us.  Life is very good at those moments.  And truthfully, I love seeing “the boy” so enamored with Dash.  Dash has brought us a lot of love and I’m sure has lowered our blood pressure by several points.

However, I should stipulate that “the boy” is not so enamoured that he has picked up poop.  Somehow, that is still my responsibility.

 

A VISIT TO 1919 WITH A GIN RICKEY

by Bob Sparrow

1919 – 2013  First, let me thank all those who sent their condolences to our family for the passing of our mother; she was an iconic lady who, with our Dad, created an incredibly close and loving family. Sister Suzanne did a great job of writing a fitting tribute last week, as well as the accompanying obituary. As we went through our mother’s effects at her apartment in Sonoma, I was struck by all the things she experienced and the changes that she saw during a life spanning nearly 94 years.

Woodrow WilsonShe was born in 1919, only three months after the end of ‘The Great War’ – it wasn’t called World War I until we had another World War and started ascribing Roman numerals to them.  Let’s hope we see no more Roman numerals. Woodrow Wilson was president – she had seen 17 different presidents in her life, well, not ‘seen’ them, but . . . you know what I mean. The unusual thing about Wilson’s election was that he was the only presidential candidate to run against two previous presidents, incumbent, William Howard Taft and Teddy Roosevelt who was president before Taft and wanted to try it again – Wilson beat them both.  Old ‘Woody’ got elected to a second term promising to keep us out of war, which he didn’t – hard to believe that a politician wouldn’t keep his word. 

Mom was born a month after the ratification of the 18th amendment – that’s the one that prohibited the consumption of alcohol. It wasn’t appealed until she was 24, at which time she immediately went out and ordered a Gin Rickey – a popular ‘highball’ at the time. A year after she was prohibitionborn, the 19thamendment, which gave women the right to vote, was ratified; never mind that it was introduced into congress in 1878, so it only took 42 years to get through that bureaucratic ‘good ole boy’s club’ – and you thought we have a ‘do nothing’ congress today. OK, we do. And speaking of ‘tools’, the toaster was invented in 1920, but sliced bread wasn’t created until 1928, which makes one wonder what they put in those new toasters.

model T Railroads were still the most common way to get around, but Henry Ford was changing that with the introduction of the Model T in 1908.  In 1919 you could buy one for about $350 – a goodly sum of money in those days. The Wright Brothers flight at Kitty Hawk took place only 16 years before mom was born and the very first commercial flight in the US took place only 5 years before. It’s mind-boggling to think that mom could have met both Orville Wright and Neil Armstrong.

College football’s top team in 1919 was, are you ready for this? Harvard. There was no NFL or NBA; hockey did play for the Stanley Cup, although they didn’t play for it in 1919 due to a flu epidemic.  People spent their leisure time roller skating, playing pool, dancing or going to the movies.

Mom probably went to the movies before she was 8, if so, they were silent movies; ‘talkies’ didn’t happened until 1927. Vaudeville was still a popular form of entertainment and as a teenager I’m sure mom didn’t talk on the phone much, OK not at all; telephones were very expensive anddepression not even available in rural areas; most folks still relied on the telegraph to get a message to someone.

Mom was raised in the ‘Roaring 20s’, lived through the Great Depression, traveled from Marin County to San Francisco on a ferry since the Golden Gate Bridge wasn’t built until she was 18.  She was married with a 5 month old when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

gin rickeyNo wonder mom used to just shake her head when she’d see a ‘smartphone’, a self-parking car or a wireless printer, about the only thing that hadn’t changed over the years was the Gin Rickey and maybe that’s why she loved them; it took her back to a simpler time and reminded her of all that she had experienced in a lifetime full of wonder. She did live in interesting times.

 

 

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FULL CIRCLE

by Suzanne Sparrow Watson and Bob Sparrow

Barbara Sparrow

We are not able to write our usual blog this week.  We won’t be able to start your day with a chuckle, either laughing with – or at – our writing.  Last Tuesday, our mother passed away as a result of a fall that broke five of her ribs and …well, simply being 94 years old.  In a twist that makes you believe in fate, she was transferred from the community hospital in Sonoma to Marin County General.  When I heard that news I thought that maybe her life was coming full circle.  It was in Marin County that she grew up, met and married our dad, and then raised us three kids.  So it was only fitting that Marin County is where she would spend her final days.  And in another twist of fate, she died just one day shy of the anniversary of our dad’s death.  They were both huge 49er fans and we are now comforted in knowing that they were together to watch their favorite team play in the Super Bowl.

In tribute to her we are posting her obituary:

Barbara Whitman Sparrow, resident of Sonoma, California, passed away on January 29, 2013, just two weeks shy of her 94th birthday.

Barbara was raised in San Anselmo, California and graduated in 1936 from San Rafael High School.  Barbara attended secretarial school in San Francisco after graduation and over the years made good use of her education.

Barbara met her future husband, Jack Sparrow, at San Rafael High and they were married in 1937.  They moved to Novato in 1939 and in 1940 they bought the Novato Advance newspaperAt the time it made them the youngest newspaper publishers in California.  Together they performed all of the jobs necessary to write, print and distribute the Advance.  Barbara learned to use a linotype machine to help out, but her greatest contribution was her reporting of the town’s social events in her columns “A Little Bird Told Me” which was subsequently re-titled “A Bird’s Eye View”.

After Barbara and Jack sold the paper, Jack went into business for himself and Barbara pursued her own career.  She held positions at Crocker National Bank and the Novato Unified School District.

Barbara was very active in Novato civic organizations.  She was a member of the Order of the Eastern Star, Novato Community Players, and in 1950 was a co-founder of the Novato chapter of the Sunny Hills Guild.  She was a member of the Business and Professional Women’s Foundation, serving as the Northern California President for two years.  In addition she led Boy Scout troops and volunteered at Novato General Hospital.

In 1977 Barbara and Jack retired in Sonoma.  But retirement was not in the cards for Barbara.  She took a part-time job at Vineyard Jewelers and worked there well into her 80’s.  Barbara was active in Sonoma activities, joining the Sonoma Valley Women’s Association and the Sonoma Swingers golf group.  She was also a member of the  United Methodist Church in Sonoma.

Barbara is survived by her son Jack Jr. and his wife Sharon of Santa Maria, son Bob and his wife Linda of Orange County, and her daughter Suzanne and her husband Alan Watson, of Scottsdale, Arizona.  She is also survived by her five grandchildren Shelley Watson and Matt Sparrow of Tucson, Arizona, Stephanie Shomer of Glendale, Dana Borelli of Monrovia, Jeff Sparrow of Orange County. step-grandson Colin Watson of Walnut Creek and step-grandaughter Wendy Watson Topalian of Leawood, Kansas.  Additionally she was blessed to have great grandchildren Katie and Abby Watson of Tucson, AZ., Jackson and Madelyn Sparrow of Tucson, Dylan and Emma Shomer of Glendale, and step-greatgrandsons Matthew and Jake Topalian of Leawood.  Barbara is also survived by her brother Neill of Sonoma and sister Geraldine of Sun City, Florida.

Private services will be held by the family.  Memorial contributions may be made to the Sunny Hills Children’s Garden, 300 Sunny Hills Drive, San Anselmo, CA. 94960.

Hoax, Conspiracy Theories and the Truth!

by Bob Sparrow

“The great mass of people will more easily fall victim to a big lie than to a small one.”

                                                                                                                                                                                                      Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf

shower

The recent fiasco surrounding Manti Te’o’s non-existent girlfriend (photo at left shows her in the shower) and things like the 11 million views on YouTube showing how the federal government and the Screen Actors Guild conspired to create the ‘Sandy Hook Hoax’, have me convinced that our culture will not let the facts stand in the way of a good conspiracy theory.  Not that people haven’t been lied to by their government, or the Screen Actors Guild for that matter, but as a public service I’d like to put forth the real truth about some of our most popular conspiracies.

 

If you think that there is a possibility that Michael and Janet Jackson were actually the same person or that the ‘grassy knoll’ was never michael jacksonjanet jacksonreally examined as thoroughly as it could have been, then you need to read on.

global warmingConspiracy: global warming is a real threat

Supported by: Al Gore, who told us so

Anti-Conspiracy: Global warming is a hoax perpetrated by Carrier, the air conditioning people and a few awning and umbrella companies.

The Truth: My anecdotal findings are that the globe seems to be warmer in the summer, so I lean toward the global warming theory, but it seems to cool down in the winter, so I can’t be sure. I’m going to read Al Gore’s book, An Inconvenient Truth – it’s on the Internet, which he invented.

 

 abby roadConspiracy: Paul McCartney walking barefoot on the Abby Road album cover proves that he was actually dead.

Supported by: Those who had high-tech record players back in the day that could play Beatles records backwards and hear Paul actually say that he was dead at the time.

Anti-Conspiracy: Paul was late for the album photo shoot and forgot to put on his shoes.  What amazingly has gone unnoticed over the years is that Ringo is not wearing any underwear in the photo – he is not dead either.

The Truth: Paul is alive and actually came closer to death when a judge told him he had to pay Heather Mill $235 million in his divorce settlement.

 

elvisConspiracy: Elvis faked his death

Supported by: Elvis weighed approximately 275 pounds at the time of his ‘supposed’ death, yet the casket ‘they’ say he was buried in weighed only 210 pounds.

Anti-Conspiracy: The king didn’t fake his death, but actually died three days later after finishing second in a chili dog eating contest at the Dunes Hotel in Las Vegas.

The Truth: Elvis’ death has never been certified and rumors fly around this time of year when an elderly duet that looks an awful lot like an aging, 65 pound lighter Elvis and Jimmy Hoffa, appear for their dinner show in Sun City, Las Vegas.

shakespeare_winkConspiracy: Shakespeare didn’t write his plays

Supported by: All those who claim to have written them

Anti-Conspiracy: Shakespeare actually wrote the plays, but in a hurry to get to the airport one morning, left them at a table at Starbuck’s where they were ultimately picked up by Francis Bacon, Christopher Marlowe and Woody Allen.

The Truth: Who cares?

 

mood landing fakeConspiracy: We never landed on the moon

Supported by:  A ‘moon set’ was found inside an old cheese warehouse in the New Mexico desert; they also found a man in the warehouse with a large, round, glowing, orange face.

Anti-Conspiracy: No New Mexico license plates were found on the lunar lander.

The Truth: We of course landed on the moon and ended up bringing back some aliens and weather balloons and accidentally left them just outside a warehouse in Roswell, New Mexico.

 

I may be a little confused about that moon landing thing, but hopefully I’ve cleared up a lot of conspiracies for you theorists out there; although things like, ‘Is wedding cake really a birth control method?’ still remains a mystery to us.

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THE DEATH OF A SAN FRANCISCO ICON

20130120-115021.jpgBy Suzanne Sparrow Watson

San Francisco icons generally come in steel (the Golden Gate Bridge) or concrete (Coit Tower). But sometimes they appear in flesh and blood and that is certainly the case of Vivian and Marion Brown, otherwise known as “the Brown Twins”.  The picture at left, in their bright red suits and trademark leopard coats, shows them at the height of their fame, when the world had discovered them.  But those of us who “knew them when” had known they were special for a long time.

In 1977 I started a job in the Financial District of San Francisco. It was a fun time – before über traders and panhandlers took over the streets. And, let’s face it, it is one of the best cities on Earth to experience quirkiness.  One particularly nice day I took a walk from my office on Montgomery Street up to Union Square.  Somewhere on Post Street I spotted two middle-aged women, identical in looks, dress and cadence. I did what most people do when first confronted by the Brown Twins; I did a double take, watched them as they walked the rest of the block, and then grinned from ear to ear.

Turns out that the Brown Twins came to San Francisco in the 70’s from Kalamazoo, where they were born and raised.  They were co-validictorians of their high school class and both went on to earn a teaching credential.  After three years of “that low-paying job” (as they described it), they moved to the City and became secretaries.  Except for six months of their life, they dressed identically every day.  They always lifted their forks in unison and always walked in lockstep.  Neither of them married, although they did date twin brothers they met at a twin convention back in Michigan.  The romances fell apart when Vivian and Marion unilaterally decided to switch dates.  The twins would spend the rest of their lives together – the pleasure of each other’s company was more than enough to provide them with satisfying lives.

Over the next 25 years I worked on and off in the Financial District and in all that time I never lost the thrill of seeing the twins out for their stroll.  Some people thought it brought good luck to catch the twins walking down the street.  Part of the fun of seeing them was watching other people spot the twins, usually for the first time.  The result was always the same – big smiles, looks of bemusement and sometimes a request for a photo.  The Browns never refused a request.  The picture below beautifully captures the typical “what the heck was that?” double-take that the Browns elicited:

 

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They eventually became so well-known that they were included in all things San Francisco: socialite parties, grand openings and civic celebrations. Everything except “Beach Blanket Babylon”.  The producers said they never included an act depicting  the Brown Twins because no two actresses could ever pull off on stage what the Browns did every day on the street.  The Browns hit the jackpot in 1988 when they were featured in a Reebock commercial.  After that they became frequent guests on talk shows and were featured in commercials for IBM, Payless Drug, AT&T, Dell, Apple and Joe Boxer shorts.  Richard Branson, founder of Virgin Atlantic, was so enamoured by them after they shot the commercial for his airline that he flew them first class to London for a shopping spree at Harrod’s.

But like all things in our fast-paced world, the public lost its infatuation with the Browns.  They still strolled the streets of San Francisco, in their leopard coats but they slowed down.  Finally, last July, Vivien fell and was taken to the hospital.  The doctors discovered that she was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease.  Marian, ever faithful to her sister, had been trying to care for her on her own.  The sad truth was, like many elderly people, they simply didn’t want to be apart and didn’t have the money for adequate care.  The residuals and appearance fees had dried up long ago.

True to form, when the citizens of San Francisco heard of the twins’ plight, they came to the rescue.  Money poured in to help pay for Vivian’s care, from rich and poor, famous and not famous, literally from every part of the city.  People sent money for Marian’s daily pizza, some offered to drive Marian to visit Vivian each day, others organized fund-raisers.

But in the early hours of January 9th, Vivian succumbed to her illness.   She was 85.  Which means that for the first time in 85 years, Marian is all alone.  It’s hard to imagine how hard that must be for her, literally losing a part of herself.  I hope that she can take some solace in knowing that for many years she and Vivian brought joy to anyone who saw them.  For me, the Brown Twins will always be a part of what made working in San Francisco a cherished memory.

Catalina: Hamilton Cove, Glenmore Plaza Hotel and the ‘Other Side’

by Bob Sparrow

photo (89)Twenty-thirteen portends to be an unusual year for me, perhaps even paranormal, what with all the ‘other side’ things that helped usher in a year with a 13 in it.  No, I’m not superstitious, but like Michael Scott, I am a little ‘stitious’.  While most New Year’s days I’ve watched the sun set into the Pacific Ocean somewhere along the ‘left coast’, this year I welcomed in the new year on the ‘other side’ watching the sun coming up over the Pacific from Hamilton Cove on Catalina Island – truly a unique experience.  OK, truth is there haven’t been too many years when I’ve even seen the sun on New Year’s Day, but that’s another story.

If you’ve never been there, Hamilton Cove looks like it belongs on the ‘other side’ of the Atlantic, perhaps on a Greek island coastline or hanging somewhere off the Amalfi Coast in Italy.  I suppose if you have been there, it still looks that way, but as if getting away from it all in Catalina wasn’t enough, several of us wanted to get away from the people who wanted to get away from it all – to the ‘other side’ of Catalina.  I discovered that Catalina is a little like the moon, in that most people only see one side, although I can tell you now from experience, that the ‘other side’ of Catalina is not dark . . . photo (95)unless you go at night, then it’s really dark.  Like the moon, it’s not easy to get to the ‘other side’ of Catalina, you have to have a pass that gets you through the gate on the road to the ‘other side’ that goes through the infamous ‘Airport in the Sky’, Catalina’s private airport where planes don’t really take off from the runway, the runway simply drops out from under them after several thousand feet and, presto, they’re airborne.

glenmore plaza hotelWe were fortunate to be in the company of one Michael Amoroso, whose family has lived on the island for over twenty years and owns and operate the Glenmore Plaza Hotel, ‘the second oldest continuously operating hotel in California’, so says Michael’s brother, Jimmy, who manages the hotel.  I thought it odd that a hotel in this relatively remote location would have such a distinction so I asked Jimmy Jr., Jimmy’s son who works at the hotel, “Whose #1?”  He replied like someone who’d studied hotel history his entire life, “The Hotel del Coronado.”  I decided to see what Google had to say on the matter:

  • ‘Oldest hotel in California’ – the Benicia in northern California – est. 1852
  • ‘One of the oldest hotels in California’ – Murphy’s in the gold country – est. 1856
  • ‘One of the oldest continuously operating hotels in Calif’ – National Hotel (also in the gold country) – est. 1859
  • ‘Largest resort hotel in the world’ – Hotel del Coronado – est. 1888
  • ‘Second oldest hotel in California’ – so stated on Google about the Glenmore Plaza Hotel, but it doesn’t say who’s first or when the Glenmore was established.  Wikipedia probably got their information from Jimmy Jr. too.

I also found on Google a picture with a caption that said, ‘Second oldest hotel in California’ – it was not a picture of the Glenmore.

Meanwhile, back on the road to ‘the other side’, just before reaching the airport we see a buffalo standing alongside the road.  I’ll tell you the photo (92)history of how buffalo got on the island . . . another time.  After a brief stop at the airport, we start down on the western slope of the island; the paved road turns to dirt.  We drive past El Rancho Escondido, a ranch, Michael tells us, started by the Wrigley family back in the ‘30s for breeding Arabian horses – another story too long to tell here.  We also pass a vineyard – yes, another story.  The road leads us to a west coast inlet called ‘Little Harbor’, where there is no man-made harbor, but a small campgrounds and no campers, no nothing except a beautiful uncluttered coastline, which is pretty much what all of the ‘other side’ of Catalina is.  We walked along the beach on this beautiful January day and enjoyed the fresh air, sunshine and solitude.

little harborOur return to civilization is uneventful except for the stories Michael tells us of the ghosts that   inhabit the island.  Back in Avalon we thank Michael for exposing us to the many stories and sides of Catalina, particularly ‘the other side’.

 

 

 

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