Gavin and Me (and Mike, Ted, Dianne, Jim, Tom, Jared, Kamala and . . . .)
I should have known that this was not going to be a good week. By Friday (25th) PG&E's rumored power shutdown was quite likely.
Having traveled to some 30 countries in 30 years, I’ve learned a few things. Blackouts are the norm in many countries. Water can be sketchy (never put ice in your drink and if you order a Coke or a beer, have the bottle opened at your table.) It’s always a good idea to ask what you’re eating. Actually, ask before the first bite. It may be delicious but it is still nice to know.
Familiar food in some of those 30 countries was often different. French fries with mayo in the UK? Not for me. Some street vendors in Denmark and Norway offered hot dogs made with horse meat. Sorry. I can’t even think about taking a bite without getting emotional about Trigger. Butter in Germany? Eat it until your arteries close. Grilled crocodile in Kenya? Tried it. It didn’t kill me and, I assume, it may have helped save an idiot tourist or two from getting eaten while standing near the Mara River. Mao Tai in central China? Now there’s a drink that will get your attention. CBS’s Dan Rather called it “liquid razor blades.”
Because of (or in spite of) the journey, once we Americans return home and get in our own beds, it’s perfectly normal to say “Ahhhhhh. I’m home”. That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t enjoy living another life in another country. But my personal adventures are offered here to give you enough background to understand that I’m not just some whiny ass who can’t handle mayo on fries.
The power went out Saturday evening, October 26. On Sunday morning—day 2 of our PG&E adventure (I was not yet calling it a crisis)—I went to our local Gualala Supermarket and learned a couple of things. Their staff was at work, helping people find what they needed and, wait for it, projecting a positive image and smiles. That’s not unusual for Gualala Super, but in the crisis created by PG&E, (and with the store operating on generator power only) the staff was like a glimmer of sunshine inside an otherwise crappy situation. I bought about 6 pounds of ice, some batteries, a few candles and some M&Ms. Yes. I needed those too. We managed to survive the day knowing we were more than half way through. Or so we thought.
Monday morning the two of us shared our one functioning car. I stopped at my office and found, not surprisingly, that the building was closed with signs that said “No Power.” Since it was still dark (6:45am) and the gas gauge was now south of half a tank, I drove Dolly to work in Point Arena and headed for Highway One. Nothing was open at 7:30am, including the local Pt. Arena gas station. As I got to Anchor Bay I looked over at the Anchor Bay Store and saw the sign: “Closed. No Power”.
I came down the hill into beautiful downtown Gualala and it became apparent that virtually nothing was open. The ’76 station apparently had a backup generator as there were 6-7 cars gassing up, so I got in line. The wait was about 5 minutes, I pulled up to a pump and bought almost 9 gallons. Hallelujah. An hour or so later I drove past and saw the good people from the ’76 station helping direct the now long lines (15 cars and trucks from the north, 7 or 8 from the south). They reassured everyone in line that they would all get some gas. These were our local friends, business people displaying a welcoming attitude, controlling a difficult situation, and keeping everybody calm until it was their turn to gas up. With a full tank I was able to drive to the S&B Store in Manchester (about 20 miles away) suspecting they had ice. They did and our refrigerator was good for another day or two.
Tuesday I managed to get down the hill and stop in at ARFF. Jane, the owner, was helping customers get dog food, cat food, bird seed. You get the idea. She handled this in, perhaps, the only way she knows how to do business: with her friendly nature, a good attitude and keeping the store open with a borrowed generator. (She also offered customers a chance to put a little charge in their cellphones while they were there.) So I stuck around, took advantage of her offer and got some juice. But I also noticed that the customers were feeling the physical and mental aches and stress of Day 3 of PG&E’s mess. The customers I saw at ARFF were a cross section of coastal residents and travelers. Two people were looking for ice as both supermarkets were sold out. I suggested they call the S&B store. Voila. S&B still had ice and the two travelers were on their way. But there was something else in the air.
Almost every conversation touched on the weight of this mess. How did we get here? We began to talk about those people without enough gas to get ice, or in need of medicine. Or, how about this. If you’re on a well, you get your water (usually) with the help of an electric pump. No electricity? No water. And for some that also meant no working toilets. So people were attempting to get water from wherever they could but, no surprise, water was coming into short supply. Forced-air furnaces up here run on propane. It didn’t matter. Even a propane furnace needs electricity to function. Space heaters didn’t work. Try being elderly and living in a 30 or 40 degree house or apartment. Those conversations at ARFF were what pushed me over the edge. With my cell phone charged at Jane’s I went home and began calling our politicians.
I called Governor Gavin Newsom. One of Gavin’s assistant’s listened for 6 minutes as I explained about the crisis. She listened attentively, asked some good questions and assured me that the governor would be made aware. I called Supervisor Ted Williams. He wasn’t in so I left a voicemail about this disaster. I called Sheriff Tom Allman. His office was closed for the day. The recorded voice said “if this was an emergency I should dial 911.” I think this is an emergency but since my personal life wasn’t under immediate threat I demurred. I left him a 30-second message. I called the sheriff substation in Point Arena. That phone just rang and rang and rang. I called the Office of Emergency Services in Ukiah. Nobody there either.
I called State Senator Mike McGuire’s office. Here’s something scary. A human being answered the phone and was more than willing to hear me out. I told her of my concerns about the situation, of elderly without medicine or heat, of gas lines, businesses losing thousands of dollars due to closure, spoiled inventory or both. I also told her that with the exception of our local radio station, KGUA (who did a splendid job—I heard Peggy and Susan slept at the station) for other media it was like we didn’t exist. The aide at Mike McGuire’s office assured me she’d get me some information. Maybe that 7 minutes was well spent. I connected with someone from Jim Wood’s office who, once again, was a good listener. I called Jared Huffman’s Washington D.C. office. Left a message. No returned call. Called his Fort Bragg office. Same. I called Dianne Feinstein’s D.C. office. I was told that the Senator cares deeply about the situation. The aide refused to give me his name. Office policy. It was a useless call. I called her San Francisco office. Same. Useless, although they gave me another number to call. That call went straight to voicemail, and I was immediately informed that “voicemail was full. Goodbye.” I called Kamala Harris’ offices and was informed she was away campaigning. Beyond that they wished me well.
I called Sheriff Tom again Wednesday morning and I was asked if I had been to the Community Resource Center, the CRC. Asking “what CRC”. She gave me the address: 1717 N. State Street, Ukiah. I found myself explaining to her (again) that I was calling from Gualala and it would take me 2 hours to get there. I received a call from Senator McGuire’s office telling me they expected power to be restored at 8:00am. Actually, it came on about 12:30pm. Close enough and it was good to know that some people in our political world cared. But on the south coast, I already knew we cared.
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
