ALAMEDA COUNTY SHERIFF’S ARCHIVE RE-ENERGIZED.

 

 

Dale Toussaint, right, has re-energized the Alameda County Sheriff’s Archive. Gary Nelson stopped by and took a shot at identifying a photo Toussaint scanned into his laptop.

Bill Selles and Dave Hoig pondered identities. Everyone who arrived knew everyone else, but some of the guys are new faces to me.

In one of the display rooms is a sign left by protestors during the riots on the U. C. Berkeley Campus. Blue Meanies was a term coined by the protestors given to Alameda County Sheriff’s Riot Squad when they switched from regular uniforms and dressed in mechanics coveralls by request of the deputies. Their uniforms reeked of tear gas from one fracas to the next. Mechanics coveralls could be tossed in the washing machine after each shift.  In fact, the Sheriff’s Department didn’t have a so-called “Riot Squad”. The Civil Unrest that began in Berkeley was the first of it’s type. During worker strikes or mob situations of the 1920’s and 30’s, the deputies waded in and beat senseless anyone within reach,  and jailed anyone who fought back.  The right to civil protest was not respected. Oldtimer, George Wisner, told me the Sheriff’s Department and Oakland Police Department came down hard on union organizers and strikers. It was policy to always take the side of the company. Another requirement of those early times?  You had to be a Republican to be a cop. Marc Thompson and a bunch of guys from squads one and two signed the Blue Meanie sign. He pointed to his name and I took his picture.

If you recognize your name, come visit and I’ll take your picture with the now famous sign. Well, famous among the deputies, anyway. The riots were an important thing for deputies. They were never paid overtime, and wages were decided at the whim of the board of supervisors. Old Captain Creel would give you compensatory time-maybe. Many deputies worked side jobs to make ends meet. Sheriff Houchins had no choice but to go the board and ask for contingency funds to pay overtime for deputies who were on the streets for 10 to 15 hour shifts while others covered regular duties with equally long workdays. The riots brought wages up to par with the rest of society.

People don’t think they can contribute anything of value to the archive. Behind Dale showing me this picture is a group looking at the Sheriff’s assignment board. We guessed it was from 1994. But the guys knew what year they were assigned certain shifts and they informed us the board was pulled off the wall in 1997. Everyone has knowledge of their time and place and can add to the history of the department in big and small ways. All are welcome on the third Thursday of the Month unless it is a holiday.

Bill Smith.

A woman named Connie came in. I thought she might be a retired deputy.

It turned out her husband was the retired Deputy. I didn’t remember either of their names but thanks to Pat Higgins, they are Richard and Connie Krimm.

Ralph Streicher, one of the new volunteers, with Bud Harlen, one of the old volunteers. The place was humming. Remembrances of the past were flowing like water along with plenty of laughter. And part of that hum was a busy Ralph Streicher. He kept saying, “I love this place.” He is the fastest talker I ever met. I know I’ve gotta get him to sit down for an interview some day. I’ve got three promised now. I keep telling myself life is getting easier with age and retirement.

Dave Hoig. Tell your friends.

Don’t wait. Get involved. Its fun to talk shop.

THE JUNK DRAWER.

Everyone admits to having a junk drawer. A place to store something of a temporary nature, or something you don’t want to toss, but what good is it to keep? It ends up in the junk drawer. I have too many junk drawers.

My daughter-in-law came for the weekend since “the guys” meaning my sons, and old high school friends have this big mega bash every year over super bowl weekend. They play poker, drink a lot of beer, golf on Sunday morning…well you get the picture. So Laurie and I poked around my junk drawers for stuff for a project she is working on. The picture was taken after we reduced the quantity of junk in the drawers by half.

It was really nice because I cleaned out a large bag of crochet yarn that I’ll never use.  I took out most of my button collection;  It filled three large cigar boxes. Ribbons and badges from Community Club events will hopefully find a home in the local museum. Much of it represented past volunteer activities and some travel items like the museum patches above. Whoever heard of such obscure museums as the National Skating Museum?  The Cartoon Art Museum. I’ve been to an Eye Glass museum, a Bait Museum, a Knife Museum, a Funeral Museum, Bead Museums…   On the road with Jim, I (we)  visited every museum that came to our attention, no matter the subject or size. I wonder sometimes,  how many I’ve visited?

Among the buttons were whirley-gigs  I made when two young nieces and a nephew came to visit for a week one summer. I also taught them to play Hide The Button.

My mother visited Pope John Paul II when he visited San Francisco so many years ago. I have her holy cards, relics and a purported piece of the crucifixion cross; a metal from every California Mission she visited and more. My intention was to make a collage with her things. I’m  inspired anew.

I couldn’t hold in two hands the number of metal pins I saved with messages such as:  Our Owner’s Gay, from Chatom Vineyards. Elect Jeffrey’s for Sheriff; Warning: I go from 0 to Bitch in 3.5 seonds; USA Olympics, 2002; Chocolate Makes the World Go Round. TV4UBYU and so on. Useless.  Junk. For the Junk drawer.

Laurie and I enjoyed the process. I got my fix of “fur” for a couple of days. Koko sat on my lap for a bit while we watched three episodes of Home Fires on DVD. We cooked and ate well, too. Idiotically, I didn’t take a picture of Laurie, just Koko and Bix.

SUCCESSFUL BAY AREA TRIP.

I spent two nights in the Bay Area while I visited the Northern California Spine Institute. I’m fortunate to have friends and relatives who give me “hotel” space to keep my appointments. My friend Joy Kish and I met when my husband and I moved into our first house in Fremont when my oldest son was 8 months old. As our children grew in number and size, we, with other neighbors formed a baby-sitting co-op using a point system. Members took care of each others’ children with no costs. The secretary who kept the books changed from month to month, so that each family shared in the work to keeping it going. I had foster children when we formed the co-op and the county rules were such that you could only have adults care for your foster children. The co-op allowed us an affordable way to step out, or get to a doctor’s appointment without having to cart three kids to the doctor’s office for one kid’s appointment.  Joy and I share a lot of memories of raising our kids and our kids still have some contact in their 50’s.  In a sense we are like extended family. We had dinner out at Chilis restaurant and enjoyed a couple of margaritas.

While home, I’m contemplating blogging every other day since I don’t have much to say and I have plenty to do. A reader commented on a blog I did on Blaine, County Montana and I went back and read the blog and found it interesting. I am sometimes surprised at how much I’ve learned about this country during my travels with Jim and may re-blog some of them. Ciao.

CHRISTMAS RITUALS

We turn into children a bit if we have little grand kids to play with. But even adults enjoy taking a drive through a particularly colorful neighborhood where  lights and lawn decorations beckon. We decorated lavishly when our kids were little but now I settle for getting cards out every couple of years or so.

With my signal down for two days, I put my mind to Christmas cards and toward the end of my list, I got weary  and decided to phone old friends I hadn’t seen, nor heard from. Numbers change and I regret not keeping up with old friends. In a changing world, we have social media, email and facebook. I can find a couple of them I’m sure.

A less known ritual among stamp collectors  is to mail away to a Christmas town.  Each year I would pick a couple of towns that suggest Christmas and send a self-addressed return envelope, to collect the post mark.

It would surprise you to know how many Christmasy places we have in the U.S. I have a list of 89 cities. Some are repeats, like Berry, IL., and Berry, KY. I’ve written for: Santa, ID. Bethlehem, N.H.,Chestnut, IL, Christmas, MI.,Evergreen, NC.,Garland, TX., Mistletoe, KY, Rudolph, WI, Harmony, MN.   There are many, like Ivy, Pine, Noel, Hope, Bountiful, St. Marys, Winters, North Pole… and so it goes. I forgot to mention local Angels Camp is on the list.

And, once you begin looking at post marks, you find other interesting anomalies like these opposites:

Disco, Wisconsin —– Waltz, Michigan.  Carefree, Arizona—–Panic, Pennyslvania.  Normal, Illinois—–Peculiar, Missouri. Sunrise, Wyoming—–Sunset, Louisiana.  Lively, Virginia—–Drab, Pennsylvania. Why, Arizona—–Whynot, Mississippi.

Then you begin to wonder, why was a particular town named Truth Or Consequences, New Mexico, Hell, California, or Triumph, Louisiana?  All town names are a glance at history in a unique way.  Major postal centers digitally sort mail and in many areas you can no longer get post marks of the city on an envelope.

You will not see kids lying on the floor, pouring over pictures in a catalog either. I know the future is here, and an I-phone can play your favorite Christmas Carols and allow you to shop while waiting at the doctor’s office. Even waiting at the doctor’s office is destined to change. I am not longing for the “good old days” so much as relishing memories and comparisons, a kind of privilege of age. Who would have thought we’d see driverless cars, and voices that give you directions while driving?   I love the technology giving us wonderful things in the future. But, I believe the guy who invented voice mail should be shot. (Well, you know, not really. Only when I’m hanging on-line for an hour or so.)

 

SEPARATE PATHS FOR JIM AND MARY

About 9:30 Sunday morning, Jim and I walked my rural road. Overcast- the air moist and heavy, pregnant with the portent of rain. The wind sang and danced the oak leaves in races across the driveway and roads. Change hung in the air. The seasons change. Our relationship changed.

Over tears and hugs we’ve talked and made hard decisions-diverted paths. For the foreseeable future, I am taking on long neglected projects, keeping promises made, that belong to a property owner with a lifetime of accumulated “stuff” and responsibilities.

My first task will be to join a genealogy class and finish a promise made to my mother who worked hard before she died to get five generations with proofs to register and publish in the Latter Day Saints Genealogical Library in Utah. A task entrusted to me that I must do.

My house in Oregon, a book I started to write, other promises to myself, my family and just realizing that in every life, nothing is more constant than change. I’m looking forward to changing the way I live more toward Jim’s philosophy. He says he only knows one way to live, and that is “one day at a time.”

We care about each other and hope to travel together in the future. We will maintain a loving friendship and I will do my part to accomplish my long put off tasks. And he will embrace his favored lifestyle without me for an unknown period of time. He estimates 5 years, I estimate 2 years. But, we shall see.

I was married for 40 years before my husband died. Then I had a wonderful companion for 4-1/2 years that also ended in death.

And, now, the future seems uncertain and deciding on separate paths has been one of the hardest things I have ever done. This transition was not a decision made lightly, but with respect, consideration and heartache, too. And we wanted everyone to know that we aren’t throwing rocks at each other.

I also want you to know that Jimmy the rat kicked me off our blog!! Dang!

Well, not exactly. He has long felt that my rants don’t belong on a travel blog. So, for those of you who are inclined to follow my blogs you can reach me on http://marysramblins.blogspot.com. When I travel I will blog on all three sites, blog spot, SF. Chronicle and Jim and Mary. The Chronicle automatically puts my blog on FB where it reaches my back East relatives.

Jim threatened to post all the pictures he has taken of me over the years. I have plenty of his photos, too, but not all of them are in one file. But I did go through a bunch of favorites.

My first bouquet of flowers from Jim. .

What a ham.

The Planner. Always charting our way with precision.

Biking the canals in Yuma.

The not so subtle message that it is too cold in my house.

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He took care of me during my shoulder surgery, helping me get dressed everyday and tending to my every need.

Opening up fresh oysters on the barbeque.  (Notice the hammar)

Always the ham. We had so much fun.

The first picture I took of Jim the day we met.

Bye-for now.

 

A DOOR BELL STIRS MEMORIES

The UPS guy came to my door yesterday and said, “That is the neatest doorbell I’ve ever seen!” I was slightly dumbfounded that anyone would even notice my doorbell.

What I like about it is that if you actually ring it, which most people don’t, it really clangs loudly and I can hear it from anywhere in the house. I explained to him that it is a replica of a San Francisco cable car bell that signaled “all aboard” and impending stops. We bought it years ago in honor of my husband’s father who worked the cable cars as a gripman when he was a young man. Of course, we heard all about it from the source, how when the street car is free wheeling down one of those steep hills, the gripman had to use his great strength to keep the giant clamp on the cable to make sure it didn’t careen out of control, and release the cable when it approached it’s stop, along with the applying the brake to keep it from jolting people off the car.  The cable moves continuously under the street and the car is attached and unattached as it makes it’s route.

The guy was amazed at the mechanics of the cable cars and how it worked. I immediately went outside and cleaned it up a bit. It has a big stain from a wayward bird “dropping” by, and the door, has a few dings and has seen better days.  His son,  George, rode the street cars free to school, a San Francisco tradition for school children, but Gus would let him ride free on non-school days, something MY parents would never have done. Gus would smile and rub his hair and say “Com’on Chachi”. He loved his only child with unabashed displays of affection, even as an adult.

Strange what memories a simple comment about a doorbell can engender. It left me with warm feelings all day as I thought back on those days.