Alcatraz- Beauty on the Rock

Alcatraz.  The name creates images that are universal:  prison, hopelessness, loneliness, horror.  But now, thanks to a work related volunteer activity, the “rock” has a new meaning for me.

crossing yard

My coworkers in San Francisco and in the Central Valley participated in an environmental work volunteer project sponsored by the National Parks Service at Alcatraz on May 22. 

We were part of a gardening restoration project that has been going on since 2003 as crews work to reestablish the historic gardens.

Every year, our work group chooses a site to do a volunteer project.  We get away from the office to do something that is helping the environment, while at the same time we get to know one another a little bit better. 

Management gurus might call this team building, but I don’t think that term does my work group justice.  Our team is already built.  What we have is care and consideration for one another.

Our day started at Pier 33 in San Francisco.  Armed with water bottles, sunscreen, layered clothing, and a desire to get down to work, we boarded the transport boat to the island shortly before nine AM. 

We arrived on the island about fifteen minutes later for instructions from our National Parks volunteer Sheila.  

For the next three hours under Sheila’s direction, we pulled weeds, trimmed dead flower stems, shoveled compost, applied week killer, and watered plants. 

We then headed to lunch provided to us from two additional members of our team.

After lunch, another volunteer (named Greg) led us on a special guided tour of the former prison yard. Greg took us all over the prison area. 

We saw graffiti tagged buildings from the Native American occupation in the late 1960s.  We saw the laundry room where prisoners could get a spectacular view of the Golden Gate Bridge and learned that time working in the prison laundry was considered a benefit inmates earned as it meant relief from the very small prison cells.

alcatraz tunnel

We also saw the spot where the first attempted escape from Alcatraz took place.  The prisoner died trying; he was shot by prison guards. 

We then passed the outdoor exercise yard, where the prisoners got their daily dose of fresh air.  

Inside the prison, we saw the infirmary, mental ward, chapel, and library. 

cellblock

We also saw the cells and witnessed the closing and opening of individual cell doors.  That clanging of the doors in unison sounded just like it sounds in the movies.

Speaking of movies, we saw sections of the prison used as background scenery in The Rock.

We had a great day at Alcatraz.  As we were wrapping up our tour, we passed by our environmental work site on the way out of the prison yard. 

I felt a strong sense of accomplishment that I’m sure my coworkers felt as we left the island.  

Alcatraz still carries a lot of negative images for many people.  But thanks to the efforts of the National Parks Service, and my company’s encouragement of volunteering, I can now add the words: beauty, serenity, and camaraderie to the list of adjectives that describe this small island in the San Francisco Bay.

Steve Newvine lives in Merced.  

Remembering Johnny Carson

I still have that image of the microphone on the desk, a typed script for a comedy bit, and a number two pencil that we’d see him use as a drumstick coming out of a commercial break.

There was a time when late night television really had a king.  That king was Johnny Carson.  He hosted The Tonight Show on NBC-TV for nearly thirty years: from October 1962 until May 1992, twenty years ago this month.

I grew up watching Carson.  As a preteen, I’d beg my Mom to let me stay up late on Friday nights to catch his show.  As my family slept, I sat in front of our console television set watching Johnny. 

I was a broadcasting major in college and it seemed as though all my classmates wanted to be the host of The Tonight Show.  I would have settled to be just a guest on the show, or more likely, to be in the audience during a taping. 

Johnny was part of my adult life too as VCRs came on the market and allowed me to tape the show for viewing at a time when I was awake.  I was in a habit of watching the nightly monologue the next morning as I did my exercises.  Carson got me through some difficult back problems I had in my early thirties. Bending and stretching sore muscles were made a lot easier thanks to his nightly monologue and post commercial comedy bits.

So I mark the twentieth anniversary Johnny's farewell with my memories of that very special final week.

The Monday night show (May 18, 1992) of that week featured Elizabeth Taylor and Michael Douglas as guests.  Taylor was talking about her astrological sign Pisces when the three-times divorced Johnny observed, “I think I was married to a Pisces once.” To which Taylor retorted, “Oh I’m sure you did.” 

The Tuesday night show featured Mel Brooks and Tony Bennett.  Both were on the very first Tonight Show with Johnny thirty years earlier.  Brooks, at Johnny’s urging, told the story about how he became a reluctant daily lunch companion to Cary Grant back in the 1960s. 

Tony sang I’ll be Seeing You, gave Johnny a portrait sketch, and sang his signature I Left My Heart in San Francisco right after Johnny pointed out that the song debuted nationally on that very first show thirty years earlier. 

Actor Jack Lemmon filled out the evening with a story about how he stayed up all night talking to Johnny at a diner in New York City back in the 1950's.

The Wednesday program featured Roseanne Barr who was going by her then married name of Roseanne Arnold.  She thanked Johnny for giving her a career after her breakthrough performance several years earlier. 

She did a brief stand up bit that was inadvertently cut off by the band before her last punch line.  Johnny let her finish the joke at the chair next to his desk.  Actor Richard Harris filled out the evening with a story about how he and fellow actor Peter O’Toole would try to mess one another up while performing on stage. 

Harris seemed out of place during a week when each guest seemed to have a special link to the show.  Johnny wanted to feel comfortable during those final shows and Harris was an apparent favorite, probably from the early years of the show when it was done in New York City.

Practically anyone watching television twenty years ago remembers that next to last Tonight Show with Robin Williams and Bette Midler as guests. 

Williams gave Carson a rocking chair and then launched into his frenetic observations on everything from then Vice President Quayle to Williams' use of cocaine in the early days of his career.  Midler sang Miss Otis Regrets, a Cole Porter tune that featured Doc Severinsen’s last trumpet solo with a guest on the show. 

But we remember the impromptu duet between Johnny and Bette: Here Comes that Rainy Day.  At that moment, it finally sank in for me:  Johnny was actually saying goodbye.   He introduced Bette a final time for One More for the Road. 

A speechless Carson thanked his guests, and accepted a lei and a hug from Bette.  What a night.

I watched that last broadcast on the Friday evening in the living room of my parents’ home. We were visiting for the weekend with children in tow. 

My Mom and Dad joined me well past their ordinary bedtime to watch this history-making finale to Johnny’s thirty-year run as host. 

Mom and Dad never stayed up that late.  But they did this particular night.

Johnny came out from behind the curtain to a standing ovation.  He uncharacteristically pulled a barstool to center stage and did his last monologue sitting down. 

He only told a few jokes; all were centered on his leaving the show.  General Electric, the owner of the NBC television network at the time was one of the targets of Johnny’s last monologue, as was then Vice President Dan Quayle once again

The rest of the evening consisted of video clips, a farewell to announcer Ed McMahon and bandleader Doc Severinsen, a behind-the-scenes look at how the show was produced, and Johnny’s closing remarks capped by his poignant final words “I wish you a heartfelt goodnight.”

Late night television changed the following Monday when Jay Leno took over The Tonight Show.  Within a year, David Letterman would leave NBC and compete head-to-head with Leno. 

They’ve been at it for the past nineteen years.  Gone were those monologue jokes that the audience either laughed at or groaned; today, it seems every line is met with applause from an audience that’s coached to “make Dave happy” or “don’t disappoint Jay” prior to being seated. 

Gone are the desk bits done after the first commercial break where Johnny would do his Carnac bit, or a read a list of something funny right from the paper it was typed on with no assist from the teleprompter. 

Gone were the days when I would light up just knowing Johnny would be hosting that night.   

As near as I can tell, there is no special tribute being planned for the anniversary of Carson's last stand.  He is pretty much forgotten by today's audiences. 

That's a shame because no one captured the excitement of mixing conversation and comedy quite like Johnny. 

He was a late night king back at a time when the term really had meaning.  And he is sorely missed.

Steve Newvine lives in Merced

Working at a Radio Station in a Small Town

The passing of two television icons in the past two weeks got me thinking about my early working career in broadcasting.  Dick Clark and Mike Wallace were not only significant fixtures in their respective worlds of rock and roll music and television news, they were also important figures in my early years of development as a broadcaster.

Dick Clark’s career brought back quite a few memories to me.  In the many tributes to the American Bandstand host, we read such things as “America’s oldest teenager” attached to the legacy of the man who looked so young for so many years.

The phrase “king of the deejays” resonates with me, for I was one of those folks who played records on the radio for a few years while in college.  And like many of the people I knew during that era, Dick Clark personified what I wanted to be.

Let me take you back to 1976 and AM radio station WBRV in Boonville, New York.  The station manager had just hired me to fill a Sunday afternoon on-air shift.  My only experience was from my college radio station. 

That first afternoon was a little shaky, but the adrenaline that kept me going solidified my desire that my future would be in broadcasting.

For three years, I worked at the station on weekends and summers while getting my college degree.  I took every shift that was offered to me. 

I would be asked for take on a shift most holidays.  Vacation shifts needed to be covered and I jumped at the chance to fill in where needed.  I did every conceivable type of radio broadcast from music and news, to grocery store grand openings and county fair live remote shows. 

I survived an ownership change, usually a time when new managers decide to clean house.  I survived because I worked cheap.  I never earned more than minimum wage while on the air.

I even tried selling radio time one summer when the new owner assigned me a list of accounts that had not been on the radio for some time. 

His regular sales staff had all but given up on these businesses.  I would be the station’s last attempt to get them back on the air.  I won a few of those businesses back as advertisers. 

During that time as a radio announcer, it was the work of another television personality that captured my imagination.  While never a big fan of CBS 60 Minutes reporter Mike Wallace’s style of barging in journalist, I was keenly aware of the power of television news and embarked on a journey that would lead me to a local newsroom upon graduation. 

I interviewed for a television job while studying for my finals.  I returned to the radio station for about a week after graduation when the television job was offered.  TV news would provide my career path for another fifteen years.

But it was that radio station in a small town that set the whole thing off over three decades ago.  I often think of the times I had working in what I call community radio.

The announcers were part of the community.  The programs had a true local feel as everything from church services to graduation ceremonies were broadcast to an audience who really tuned in to learn what was going on in their towns.

Deejays were not only disc jockeys, but also reporters of lost pets and readers of obituary announcements.  They operated equipment as complicated as an audio mixer console, and as simple as a gas powered lawn mower.

A lot has changed over the years as the broadcasting business evolved, expanded, and divided audiences.  It was a business I thought I would never leave, and now after thirty-plus years, I’ve had three separate careers. 

There were lots of things I liked about radio and television such as the recognition, the almost instant feedback from audiences, and the chance to help people especially in times of an emergency when a radio or television might be the only link someone might have with the rest of the world.   

No job is perfect.  In broadcasting, the hours were often horrible and the pay at the smaller stations made it easy to want to look elsewhere for something else. 

But I take satisfaction of knowing that I enjoyed community radio during those few short years.  And maybe, I helped a few people along the way.  

Steve Newvine lives in Merced. 

Cassie, the Golf Dog

 One of the many things I enjoy about living in California is the ability to play golf anytime of year.  Having lived most of my life in the northeast United States, golf season was a time to cherish for it only lasted six or seven months at the most. 

Northeast golfers could only rely on a winter vacation in a warmer climate or an indoor driving range during the months from November through April to get their golf fix.

 But in California, golf is open for business every day.  If I didn’t have to work for a living, I’d be on a golf course every day. 

When I’m not working, I try to play golf or watch real golfers play on television.  Needless to say, I spend the entire Easter Sunday afternoon watching the final round of the Masters.

 I’ve played many courses in the San Joaquin Valley.  I could tell you which ones I enjoy the most.  But I think there’s a much more interesting story about a mascot at a course in northwest Fresno.

 Cassie is a three-year old collie acquired by the manager of Islewood Golf Course as a puppy.  Cassie was brought on to the course to keep the geese away.   Geese, and more to the point, geese droppings, are considered a hazard to golfers. 

 Cassie has done her job very well.  The only geese I see when I play this five-hole course are those swimming in the natural ponds that shoot off the San Joaquin River that border the course. 

 But Cassie has done much more than just keep an eye on the waterfowl.  She has endeared herself to at least one golfer.  That would be me.

 She greets me upon my arrival.  She doesn’t express herself like an excited pug.  She doesn’t bark like a roused up dachshund.  And she doesn’t follow me around like a lost mutt.  But I know she likes me.

 Cassie just acknowledges my presence, then observes as I greet her owner, pay for my round, and head off to the first tee. 

 She’s there when I finish.  Again, she doesn’t overdo anything.  She is a working dog and she needs to follow her natural instincts and search for geese. 

 Cassie has warmed up to me in the past few years I’ve been squeezing in a round at Islewood.  I think I’m more anxious to see her than she is to see me. 

 I’ve never had a dog to call my own.  Growing up, I gravitated to our neighbor’s dog.  I remember the sadness I felt when my mom wrote me a letter while away at college to tell that dog had died.  I think that’s why I never had a dog; I guess I’d be afraid of the day when death would separate us.  

 So I have awarded myself visitation rights to Cassie, the mascot at Islewood. 

Steve Newvine lives in Merced

Looking Back on the Vietnam Memorial

My older brother just barely missed the draft in the early 1970’s.  By the time I graduated from high school in 1975, the draft was over. Vietnam (or at least America’s involvement in Vietnam) was over. 

If I ever had a thought about being in the military, I put that thought far out of my mind.

 My uncle Bill was drafted in the mid 1960’s and served one twelve-month tour in 1966-1967.  As mentioned in a previous column, Bill died in a car accident shortly upon returning home from the service.

I’ve been reaching out to the soldiers who knew him in Vietnam.  I told one of them I’d be traveling to Washington, DC in March.  This soldier gave me the names of six men who served in Bill’s unit and who died in the line of duty.

Bill Newvine is on the far right.

 I took the six names, and searched through the website TheWall-usa.com to find exactly where on the wall I would find their names. 

Not too surprisingly, their names were in relative proximity to each other.  Another soldier told me that the names are inscribed in the order the soldiers were killed in action.

 So on the unseasonably warm early March afternoon, I walked several blocks to the Capitol Mall.  I had seen the Vietnam Memorial twice on previous visits.  This time, the visit would take on a special meaning because in a very small way, I had a connection with the six men on the list.

 There on panel 14 E, I found each name.  One was a medic who earned the Congressional Medal of Honor for his bravery in the field of battle.  He and two others were killed just three months upon arriving in Vietnam. 

The enemy at a garbage dump ambushed another two soldiers.  Another, a personal friend of the man who gave me the list, died on March 21 1966, forty-six years ago today as I write this column (March 21, 2012). 

 Each had a story.  Thanks to the man who’s been helping me connect with the people who served with my uncle, I learned a little more about the six who paid the ultimate price.

 I made that special trip to the Memorial to honor my uncle and those who served.  I asked a woman nearby if she’d take a picture of me looking at panel 14E.  The picture is much like any picture of family and friends who pass along the inclined walkway. 

Looking at it, I’m reminded of a statement made by the late newspaper columnist Charles McDowell from the Richmond Times Dispatch.  McDowell, who died in 2010, made an observation at the time the Memorial opened in the early years of the Reagan administration. 

I cannot find the exact words, but I remember the essence of what he said during his appearance on the PBS news discussion program Washington Week in Review: “We see these names, hundreds upon hundreds of names etched into the dark granite.

We think about the magnitude of the War, both at home and on the battlefield.  Hundreds and hundreds of names.  Thousands of names.  And then, when we look closely, we see ourselves.”   

 I made this visit to the Wall for my uncle.  I honored the six men who I knew served with him.  Everyone at the Memorial that day and everyday does the same thing: honor the people who didn’t make it home.  Somewhere, in that seemingly endless etching of names, we find ourselves. 

Steve Newvine lives in Merced.

The Metal Strip in a Moment of Need

Those metal strips (like the one pictured in this column) that lie along the pavement at a gated driveway may seem innocuous.  The strips keep the gate on track as it moves to open and close the driveway.  Drivers run over them all the time.

 But to a disabled man in a motorized wheelchair with a battery that has run out of power, that metal guide strip might just as well have been a high mountain.

 Last week I came across this situation as I was leaving a local business’ parking lot in Merced.  The wheelchair bound man was stuck in the middle of the open driveway gateway.  But his chair would not move.

 I pulled my car off to the side and asked if he needed help.  He nodded yes. I shut my car off and got out.

 The chair’s battery had run out of power.  It barely budged when he engaged it in the forward gear position. 

 The wheelchair didn’t move easily, and the disabled man probably added another 175 pounds to the total weight.  The guide strip was less than two inches high; too high to just push the chair over the hump.

 With a little lifting, I got the four wheels of the chair over the guide strip.  But this man’s needs were by no means satisfied.  I asked him if there was someplace I could take him to get the chair battery charged. 

 We headed to a local restaurant.  I pushed the chair for about fifty feet including a slight incline to the foundation of the building.  It wasn’t a great distance, but with no power to move the chair, that incline was a challenge.  We went inside the restaurant and asked for a table near an electrical outlet.

 We got settled into our table and I helped him plug the cord into the outlet.

 “It will take about a half hour to charge,” he told me. 

 At this point, one could have wished him well and be on their way.  I’m happy to say that thought didn’t cross my mind.

 The server asked if she could bring a menu.  The man answered he couldn’t afford anything.  I told him I would buy his lunch. 

 For the next twenty minutes, we visited.  He gave me his name; I gave him my name.  He shook my hand several times.  The lunch was brought to the table.  He asked what brought me to that parking lot at that time of day.  I told him I was there to run an errand during my lunch hour.

 “The good Lord told me I’d be okay,” he said as I prepared to leave. “He sent you to help me.”

 We parted with smiles on our faces.

 I thought about his words as I headed on my way that afternoon.  This visit happened out of the blue.  I asked myself, “What brought me to that driveway at just the right time to be there to help someone in need?”

 Like a lot of people in our community, I’m often approached by people at the gas pump or in parking lots who ask for some change or whatever I can spare. 

I occasionally help out, but more often than not, I tell them no or I tell a white lie about not having anything extra to give.  I often can spot someone about to make this request from another part of a parking lot, and try to not make eye contact. 

 This time, I had few choices.  Here was a person with a problem.  He didn’t ask for help.  I did what I could.

 That metal driveway guide kept my new friend from moving along his way that day.  It was a barrier at first.  But thanks to that guide, I was able to offer a helping hand. 

 And I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to do something.    

 Steve Newvine lives in Merced  

Finding Bill Newvine

For the past decade, I’ve been on a journey to learn more about my uncle Bill Newvine.  (Bill Newvine is on the far right in the picture above.) Bill died in 1968 at the age of twenty-three, just seven months after returning from service for the US Army in the Vietnam War.  He was killed in a car accident.  I was eleven years old.

In the years immediately following his death, our family mourned the loss.  My grandparents never got over it.  Billy was the youngest of four children and was born twelve years after my dad.  My grandparents visited his grave every day, excluding the time when they would vacation in Florida. 

 For years, the biography of Billy Newvine was told in one sentence:  my dad’s younger brother, served in Vietnam, and died seven months after returning from the service.

 For years, it concerned me that Billy’s life (everyone in the family called him Billy) was so short and his legacy reduced to just fifteen words:  served in Vietnam, died in a car accident seven months after returning from the service.

 In 2000, I began a journey to find out more about Billy.  It started with a chance search of his name on Google.  I found a photograph of Billy taken from his time in Vietnam.  The source of that photograph was a website for the unit he served during his tour of duty.  That site led me to an email of a soldier who served alongside my uncle.

 That soldier sent me a couple of photographs of Bill (his adult friends in the military dropped the “Y” from his name) including the one I first found in my web search.  He also sent a letter with some reflections on Bill the soldier and friend.

 I detailed some of those reflections in my first book:  Growing Up, Upstate in 2006.  I’m now writing a sequel and am revisiting some of the stories I told in the first book. 

 This revisiting of my years growing up in a small upstate New York village has led me back to the website where I first found that image of Bill.  I’m now in contact with three soldiers who knew and served with Bill in Vietnam.  I’m learning more about Bill’s tour of duty, the kind of man he was, and the kind of friend he was. 

 The unit’s company clerk knew my uncle and would occasionally have Bill join him for visits to the Enlisted Men’s Club.  Another soldier told a story of how he went out for several beers with Bill the night before they reported to the induction center. 

They entered the same unit in basic training, and remained friends throughout their time in the service and afterwards.  Bill had asked him to be in his wedding party once his hitch was up.  Bill died before that wedding could even be planned.

 Another soldier knew who Bill was, but was in headquarters during the tour of duty and did not serve alongside my uncle. 

This man is helping me connect with other soldiers in the unit.  He organizes a newsletter for the unit and remains in close contact with dozens of soldiers who served in what we now know was the one of the most intense periods during the Vietnam war.

 I’m learning more about this unit and their bravery under fire.  In what is referred to in the organization’s newsletter as the Battle of Suoi, Bill's company came to the rescue of a firebase that was close to being overrun by the enemy on March 21, 1967. 

That date was one day before my tenth birthday.

 The group was given the Presidential Unit Citation.   The only one other time that unit received this very prestigious award was at the Battle of the Bulge in World War II. As one of the officers in that group described the honor, “Not bad company.”

 I’m learning more every day as I check my email, follow up on new links, and have dialogues with the men who served with my uncle Bill in Vietnam.  It has been a labor of love and it is by no means over. 

 Steve Newvine lives in Merced.

Will Californians Have a Voice in 2012

All I’m really hoping for in this presidential campaign season is that Republicans will have a real choice by the time Califonria’s primary comes around.

In 2008, the GOP crowned John McCain with the big prize before Republicans had a chance to participate in the California primary.  There’s reason to believe the frontrunner may have it wrapped up this time around too.  That would be a shame.

Many registered voters declare a party when they register so that they can participate in the primary process.  With the race being wrapped up before the campaign gets to the Golden State, it’s easy to lose interest. 

The State legislature voted to lump the California Primary into the regular June election cycle.  That saves money, and in a time where every dollar is important to the state’s bottom line, you can understand why the legislature made that decision.

We’ll see what the next few weeks bring.  For now, it’s a long shot that California will play a major role in the selection of the next Republican presidential candidate.

In the meantime, I found a fascinating polling tool to help undecideds determine which candidate best fits one’s feelings on issues that are making up this year’s race for the presidency.

A friend sent me a link to the USA Today website where a presidential preference measuring tool is available.  The web visitor answers eleven questions asking where the user stands on such issues as immigration, national defense, taxes, and energy. 

It then links the responses to the actual stands of the current slate of Republican candidates, as well as President Obama.  The tool then tells the visitor the candidate who most closely stands for the positions entered.  It also gives a second and third choice.

You can use the tool by following this link:  http://www.usatoday.com/news/politics/candidate-match-game

I took the test over the weekend and was surprised by the results.  According to the tool, my top choice for President is John Huntsman.  Surprised?  I was.  But I wasn’t nearly as surprised by my number one computer choice as I was by number two.

The candidate for President who ranks second in my preference tool according to the USA Today site is none other than Barrack Obama. 

This is pretty remarkable given I didn’t vote for the President four years ago and have no intention of voting for him this time around.  In fact, I’ve never voted for the Democratic presidential candidate since I first voted for Gerald Ford in 1976.

I have voted for some Democrats over the years.  When I lived in upstate New York, I voted for Mario Cuomo in 1990.  The Governor was running against businessman Pierre Rinfret.  I had met Mr. Rinfret when he stopped by the television newroom I was working in for an interview. 

Seeing him off camera before and after the interview was enough to convince me that the incumbent Cuomo deserved my vote.

In California, I’ve voted for Congressman Cardoza the last two times.  Frankly, I’ll miss his leadership on Valley issues.  I’m sorry to see his seat lost to redistricting.

The USA Today poll, more than anything else, shows that in my case no candidate is a perfect fit.  But that’s all right with me. 

The primary season is the time to sort out the issues that are important to us.  It’s a time to critically evaluate how the candidates will deliver on the promises they make, how they will respond under pressure, and whether they have what it takes to be a leader.

By the way, if you’re wonder was my number three choice according to the USA Today preference tool, it was Mitt Romney.

Let’s hope Republicans get a chance to have their voices heard in June.

 Steve Newvine lives in Merced.  

Holiday Music Favorites

It’s just a post-it note I kept in my planner since about this time last year.  I must have had some extra time on my hands, probably sitting through a dull meeting seeking a break from workplace monotony.  My wife saw it one day during this holiday season and asked me about it.

On the note is a list of what I believe are the best interpretations of Christmas songs I’ve enjoyed over the years.  Within minutes of the discovery, she was offering some of her suggestions and debating some of my choices. 

That’s the beauty of creating lists of your favorite things; there are no wrong answers.

So here we go, in no particular order, with my list of the best interpretations of holiday music:

Baby it’s Cold Outside by Dean Martin- a breezy and playful tune with an early Dino preceding his 1960’s TV image of a swinging ladies man.

Winter Wonderland by Elvis Presley- from the King’s second Christmas album.  It includes a great electric guitar bridge and an ending crescendo that secures his place in holiday music history.

Christmastime is Here by Tony Bennett- from his album with the Count Basie orchestra. But for just about any holiday song, Tony can make any holiday song his own.

White Christmas by Jerry Vale- with the understanding that this song is so perfect, just about anyone’s version could be a favorite, I have always enjoyed his enthusiastic embracing of the great American songbook.

Wonderful White World of Winter by Bing Crosby – a little known song found on a Columbia compilation album remains one of my favorites.

Sleigh Ride/Jingle Bells by Roy Rogers and Dale Evans- just a great spin on two classics that includes Roy’s yodeling.

Sleigh Ride by Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops- the instrumental version is perfect.

The First Noel by Bill Anderson- the country whisperer’s version of this carol includes a recitation that almost brings me to tears.

Let It Snow by Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme- the husband/wife team knocks this one out of the holiday park.

The Christmas Song by Nat King Cole- in the same category of White Christmas, I couldn’t argue with just about anyone who favors another artist.  But Nat really brought it home for me.

Christmas Waltz by Frank Sinatra-  the chairman of the board’s version respects the waltz timing and catches the artist at arguably his creative peak.

Even as I write this, I can think of others.  Merry Christmas Darling by the Carpenters and A Child is Born by Johnny Mathis come to mind immediately.  I didn’t include anything from Andy Williams. That wasn’t intentional; it’s only because of time that my list stands as it is.  At least for this year.

There will be more songs as the holiday season passes.  Next year, th ere will be others to add to or to replace songs on this list. At any rate, as long as we have the gift of music, we’ll have a strong connection to the season.

Steve Newvine lives in Merced

Kitchen gadgets and promises of pie

While looking at one of the new kitchen gadgets available this holiday season, my wife threw out the one line that often convinces me that this year’s must have item is worth the investment: “It would allow me to make more pies.”

 I fall for that line every time.  In thirty-plus years of marriage, our kitchen has become home to what seems to be thirty-plus “can’t-live-without” aids ranging from food processors to popcorn poppers, from bread machines to salad spinners, not to mention the latest in a long succession of frying pans with surfaces that promise no more sticking.

 And you may ask, how many pies do I see emerge from the Newvine kitchen on an annual basis.  My best guess is two:  Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

 Now for full disclosure.  I’m sure there have been more than two pies a year.  It just feels like only two pies.  Thirty new kitchen helpers, many with the implied promise of more pies, and still our average production of pies remain pretty low.

 I know my wife takes very good care of me and has probably kept me from chronic obesity and likely diabetes. Deserts are hard to come by in our house. 

For a kid who grew up in a home where the daily question upon returning from school wasn’t “what’s for dinner” but rather “what’s for dessert”, the past thirty-plus years have been a transition time for me.

 I remember holiday dinners at my grandmother’s home in upstate New York when I was growing up in the 1960’s and 1970’s.  I have written an essay about those holiday dinners in my newest book Microphones, Moon Rocks, and Memories. 

Without giving anything away to those who might buy the book, let me just say that the “battle of the deserts” was a long standing memory I have from those years growing up with lots of family members close by.

 Having lived away from my hometown since graduating from college, I miss a lot of things about life with a close-knit family.  The holiday deserts, if you pardon the pun, were the icing on the cake of those memories.

 But thankfully, there’s Thanksgiving.  This year, we went to a relative’s home and united with other family members living in California.  There’s not many of us living out here. It was great getting together, the dinner was excellent, and the desserts were heavenly.

 Chocolate pie, apple pie, and pumpkin pie were the main attractions.  Someone made cupcakes.  While that appeared to be break with tradition, who can say no to cupcakes? 

The cupcakes were great.  What the heck!

 Now I am counting the days of this holiday season so that I may enjoy my next pie coming from the Newvine kitchen.

 Our newest gadget promises to revolutionize piecrusts.  It may enhance the already high quality of the crust I have been enjoying for years, but I don’t think it will bring up the numbers actually being baked in our home.  We’ll see. 

Steve Newvine lives in Merced. 

A new use for a Merced landmark

I went to the dedication of the new Merced County District Attorney office Friday, November 18 on Main Street in downtown Merced.  I’ve been to a number of these events over the years.  For a while, my attendance was required as CEO of the Greater Merced Chamber of Commerce. 

After leaving the Chamber in 2007, I try to make a few of these events when my schedule permits.

I didn’t want to miss this dedication because the new office for the staff of the County District Attorney is the former corporate headquarters of County Bank.

I was happy to see this once magnificent structure become a useful building once again.  It’s great to see the building be put back to good use.

Aware of the office space challenges District Attorney Larry Morse, II has coped with since taking office, I was happy to see the needs of Morse and his staff be met with this office building.

Still, there was a sadness as memories of the once financially strong and community proud County Bank cast a pall over the festivities much like the threatening clouds that occasionally obscured the sun on that brisk November Friday.

County Bank logo-thumb-200x93-16115

Most of us know the story.  Government banking regulators closed County Bank in February 2009.  The California Department of Financial Institutions appointed the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) as receiver. 

FDIC entered into a purchase and assumption agreement with Westamerica Bank.  Employees who worked for County Bank lost their jobs.

The community of Merced lost a generous benefactor that touched practically every non-profit organization in the communities where a County Bank branch was located.

A Merced Sun Star article at the time of the closure noted that in 2007, County Bank had donated over one million dollars throughout the area served by the institution.

It was all gone.  The Main Street headquarters was locked.  While many families were already feeling the impact of the financial crisis, the closing of the County Bank building downtown made it very real. 

Merced County was hard hit with the highest unemployment rate in the state.  Poverty was common.  The community spirit suffered a tough punch.

Slowly, the rebuilding of our community started.  Westamerica took over some of the former County Bank branches. 

Other banks previously fearful to come into County Bank territory were now opening branches here. These new neighbors hired many former County Bank employees.

The County of Merced purchased the downtown headquarters as part of the liquidation of the Banks’ assets. 

The DA’s office got approval to make the move, consolidate several offices in the courthouse district, and embark on a plan that culminated with the dedication ceremonies held during the lunch hour on Friday.

The situation is not perfect.  A business tenant generating private sector jobs and paying property taxes would have been welcomed.  But these are difficult times for the local economy.

A win is a win, and the District Attorney’s office now housed in the former County Bank building is a win we can accept.

Steve Newvine lives in Merced.

Forget the 99 Percent. What About the 25 Percent

 We’re seeing the Occupy Wall Street movement spread throughout the nation as folks who are angry with the banks, the government, and the rich, are banding together to tell the world they are mad as heck and won’t take it anymore.

Some of it has gotten out of hand.  Oakland, for example, has seen injuries and police intervention.  In other areas, the protests have created some headlines and helped provide some active video for television newscasts.

The protestors will tell you they are the ninety-nine percent who feel marginalized in our society.  They will say the rich are getting richer, the banks are getting off without penalty, and the government is controlled by special interests intent on keeping the status quo. 

What are the ninety-nine percent doing about it?  If you set aside the violence that has rocked the Oakland protests, it appears these groups are doing nothing more than exercising their right to free speech.  Sure, they might get noisy when the media is around, but other than the old 1960’s chants with new lyrics, we haven’t seen a groundswell of public outcry.

One author in the Bay Area suggested the Occupiers reach out to the Tea Party to find common ground, and maybe get a few pointers on leveraging citizen disappointment to effect changes in our government.  The Tea Party was disappointed with the status quo too. 

They raised money and got people elected to Congress and other places.

A newspaper editor in a community I worked in back in upstate New York suggests we forget about the ninety-nine percent and focus on the twenty-five percent. 

Mark Gillespie of the Livingston County News writes that the twenty-five percent, approximately the percentage of citizens of voting age who actually participated in the last election, are the ones with the real power. 

November brings elections and I shudder to think what the actual voter turnout will be this time around.  Americans do a pretty good job of raising their voices to express their discontent.  But when it comes time to participate in the electoral process, we’re very good at sitting on our hands.   

The Occupiers might have done a greater service to their followers had they handed each participant a voter registration card.  Maybe that’s coming in phase two. 

Whatever happens to this group, or the other organizers who are bound to stand up and demand to be counted, one thing remains.  America has one of the world’s highest percentages of eligible voters who do not vote.

This week we’ll honor the brave men and women who have put their life on the line defending our country through military service.  With Election Day and Veterans Day falling in the same week this year, what a wonderful tribute it would be to see that percentage of eligible voters actually taking part in the process increase this time around. 

Apathy is an insidious adversary.  It takes its’ time to build into a powerful force.  It entraps before anyone knows what has happened. 

The real power in America lies in the hands of eligible voters who are in a position to effect a change in their government, or keep it the way it is. 

So let’s be mindful of those who say they represent the ninety-nine percent, and be concerned with the number that really matters.  That number is the percentage of eligible voters actually voting. 

Steve Newvine lives in Merced.

Making way for change

It is a ritual many drivers have engaged in since shortly after the invention of the automobile:  the cleaning out of the former car to turn in as a trade-in on a newer model. I am, in a manner of speaking, between cars as my eight-year old Malibu is about to leave its’ home in the family driveway to make way for another Chevy.  I made the deal at a local dealership, and I spent a good part of the weekend clearing out eight years of life inside my car.

 I started in the front seat with a box and a plastic bag.  The box was to save things and the bag was for throwing things away.  I cleared out my bucket seat armrest where a half dozen compact discs were inside. 

Underneath the driver’s seat I found a lost Blue tooth from my cell phone.  I retrieved four empty water bottles from under the front passenger seat.

 I worked my way to the backseat where I gathered four coat hangers, two golf balls, and about a half ream of paper from various work and non-profit volunteer assignments.  There was also a throw pillow my wife would use when she drove the car.

 The trunk, as you might expect, was loaded with stuff.  Out came the golf clubs, pull cart, another four golf balls, a dozen golf tees, and a golfer’s organizer that my wife gave me one Father’s Day.  The irony on having something to keep my golf equipment organized is not lost on me. 

 I also found four audio books that I must have listened to sometime over the past eight years along with a coffee cup and saucer that must have been a Secret Santa gift from work one year.   These items went into a new grocery store bag designated for donation to charity.  I also found two full bottles of water and two legal pads. 

 In the trunk, I also kept a set of snow chains that I never used and an air pump that is powered by the cigarette lighter.  Both will move to the other car.

 So as I was about finished with this part of the car, I had one grocery store plastic bag filled with stuff to throw away.  The box of stuff to save was filled. 

 But on the wild chance there might be something in the spare tire well, I removed the trunk flooring where the spare is kept. 

 I now know that spare tire wells are where golf items go to die.  Inside the well, I found three more golf balls, two golf scorecards, eight golf scoring pencils, and at least two-dozen golf tees.  Add to that a dozen pens, about forty-cents in change, and a bottle of hand lotion I got from a hotel room and I was just now just about finished.

 With a sweep of a broom, and a final inspection, I think the deed was done. 

 The Malibu was the first car I purchased in California.  I had not owned a Chevy since college.  I took a chance it would provide me with safe and reliable transportation during my first years in the Golden State.  It did.

 I drove it to Sacramento the first night I owned it.  I drove it to Hollywood to see the Walk of Fame.  It crossed the San Francisco Bay Bridge too many times to count.  We drove it through the Rocky Mountains to visit my daughter one Christmas.

 I immortalized the Malibu in the book "9 From 99- Experiences in California’s Central Valley".  There’s a publisher’s note on the back of the second edition of the book that reads: “Steve Newvine has logged over 100,000 California roadways with the bulk of them on Highway 99.”

 And the bulk of those 100,000 miles logged on California roads were behind the wheel of my safe and reliable Malibu.

Steve Newvine lives in Merced. 

The Moon Rock and Memories

The Moon Rock and Memories

The picture seems just right for a guy who fell in love with the space program as a kid growing up in the 1960's. Taken by Joseph Minafra Of Lockheed Martin, there's a smiling yours truly holding a moon rock picked up by one of the astronauts during Apollo 16. Joseph and another colleague from Lockheed, were in Atwater on June 10 for the twentieth anniversary celebration of the Challenger Learning Center on the grounds of the former Castle Air Force Base.

Growing up during the formative years of America's race to the moon, I remember most of the rocket launches. All were televised by the three networks in these pre-cable saturation days. Whether you liked it or not, a NASA launch was the only thing on.

But I liked it. I was amazed by the firepower of those rockets. I took in with great interest the grainy video of John Glenn and his fellow astronauts. The Mercury program started things for US manned space flight. Gemini followed, and it would lead into the Apollo program. It seemed as thought I watched every launch.

The television anchormen and reporters who covered the launches were filled with the sense of excitement that this was a really special, truly American, accomplishment. Back in the 1960’s, no other country, save for the Soviet Union, was even coming close to achieving what the United States was accomplishing with the space program.

The enthusiasm endured even as the nation continued to get mired down in the tragedy of Vietnam. But a setback in 1967 would but the brakes on the program at least for a little while.

I was away with my dad and brother at a winter camp the night we heard on the radio that Apollo 1 had experienced a fire that killed three astronauts during a systems test. I was nine years old and like many Americans, I felt that our race to the moon might be stalled for the rest of the decade.

But the Apollo program returned, and soon our focus was back on the moon and doing that in a safer manner. I remember the Life magazine cover of Apollo 8 going around the moon and sending back a picture of the big blue and white marble that was Earth at Christmas time in 1968.

I started a scrapbook as the nation, and the world, anxiously awaited the launch of Apollo 11. Two more missions would push the envelope even further as the world waited for the big one.

The astronaut team of Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Ed Collins were our heroes as that “small step for man… giant leap for mankind” took place in July 1969. Their mission was a success. They brought back the incredible story of an unimaginable adventure.

And they brought back moon rocks.

Over the next few years, five more missions (Apollo 13 did not land on the moon) to the lunar surface would create more fascinating stories, and more rocks. There's a scene in the movie Apollo 13 where the stranded astronauts momentarily question why their spacecraft calculations seem to be off by a few hundred pounds.

Two astronauts look at each other with one saying, "Rocks." The calculations were based on a returning spacecraft that would have included lunar samples.

I guess that's why the moon rock on display at the Challenger Learning Center really hit home for me. Here was a piece of the moon, encased in lucite, but a specimen from our great adventure into space.

I could hold it, and smile with it as the picture was taken. It completes the scrapbook I started as a kid.

Over the years, I met several astronauts in my travels as a space reporter in Huntsville, Alabama in the early 1980’s. In the 1990’s, I met Jim Lovell and Fred Haise, the two surviving members of the famous Apollo 13 mission that had to return from space after an explosion nearly lost the spacecraft.

The pair was reunited at a conference I attended in upstate New York. Meeting these modern day explorers was nothing short of a dream come true for this boy who loved the space program.

But seeing the moon rock, something that actually came back from America's journey into the unknown, was a very special moment in my life.

Ever since Apollo ended, there has been debate over why the United States ended manned lunar exploration. When the space shuttle program ends later this year, the discussion will continue over why our nation is backing away from manned space flight.

For this one special night in Atwater, California, there was no debate. There was no discussion over our space budget priorities. For this one night, this little boy who grew up never losing faith in American ingenuity, the moon rock brought it all home.

Steve Newvine lives in Merced

Steve Jobs, Broker of Change

I don’t think I’ll be able to forget the black turtleneck sweater, blue jeans, wire-rimmed glasses, and stubble beard.

I’m probably least qualified to weigh in on the life of Apple co-founder Steve Jobs who passed away in early October.  I don’t own an iPhone or an iPad.  I still buy compact disks for my music.  And this column is being written on a PC.

But I do agree with many who are beginning to assess Jobs’ legacy by putting him in the same league as Henry Ford and Thomas Edison. 

I could add to that list of Americans who have contributed to the fabric of our commercial existence the likes of Kodak founder George Eastman, and the inventor of the television Philo T. Farnsworth.

For the sake of argument, I concede that none of these inventors brought their ideas forth as pure individual achievements.  All worked with people, took ideas established by others, and with the possible exception of Farnsworth, moved their thoughts forward with the help of many individuals.  None acted alone.

Edison gave us the light bulb and the phonograph.  Ford gave us the assembly line production of the automobile.  Eastman put photography into the hands of ordinary people. 

Farnsworth gave us the television, but fought bitterly with corporate moguls who tried to marginalize his contributions.

That takes me back to Jobs.  He didn’t invent the computer, but he and others at Apple Computer did help develop the idea that a computer could be in every home. 

The company revolutionized the music distribution business with the notion that the consumer could buy just the one song they wanted from an album of ten to twenty cuts. 

Apple dropped the word computer from its’ name and gave us the iPhone which in turn spun several established inventions in a new direction. 

Even the personal computer, the original idea that launched Jobs and Apple over thirty years ago, was transformed into the light-weight, but heavily technologically driven iPad.

I remember NBC’s David Brinkley speaking about the legacy of Elvis Presley at the time of the King of rock and roll’s death in the 1970’s.  “Whether you liked him or not, he changed things.  He changed the way, then (1950’s) teenage Americans thought about music, clothes, and life.”

This thought can be applied to some extent on the legacy of Steve Jobs.  He did a lot thinking for us as he brokered ideas and added a few of his own to give the world products they never really knew they wanted or needed. 

He may not have been the most compassionate boss.  Some have questioned his commitment to corporate responsibility and community service.  Several quotes attributed to him are now being discovered as not having been original, but rather quotes he may have borrowed from others without attribution. 

But no one will question that he was a brilliant man with a commitment to helping his customers discover they needed something they previously never realized they needed.

He changed things.    From the scrapping of traditional business attire at product announcements, to the way all of us think about technology, Steve Jobs changed a lot of things.

Steve Newvine lives in Merced. 

My Borders’ Liquation Reading List

Last Days of Borders

“Congratulations sir, you are among the final customers at Borders.”

That comment was made to me in mid-September as the book store chain closed its’ Turlock location as well as all its’ remaining stores.  The chain was a victim of the soured economy as well as a shift in customer tastes away from books made with paper.  Digital readers are the new big things in publishing. 

And while Borders had a digital reader, it apparently wasn’t enough to stem the tide of red ink.  The company filed for bankruptcy well over a year ago, and made the decision to end its’ business this summer.

 40 percent off

I shopped at the Turlock store shortly after the bankruptcy liquidation sale was announced.  Everything was 40 percent off.  I didn’t buy anything then.  Week after week, the discounts kept getting bigger and bigger. 

The last week the store was open, I received an email-shopping reminder from Borders.com. saying everything would be discounted 90 percent.

 So I went back to the store and bought a bunch of books.  Many of them I would never have purchased at anywhere near the normal 20 to 30 percent discount rate. 

Some I might have considered checking out at the library or borrowing from a friend.  Some I had never heard of.  But I figured, what the heck, the books are on sale.

 Here’s a brief synopsis of from I call Steve’s Borders’ Liquidation Reading List:

Harry Truman’s Excellent Adventure by Matthew Algeo was the first book of the batch that I read.  It’s about a road trip the former President and his wife Bess took from Independence, Missouri to New York City and back in 1953. 

They had no Secret Service and no media advance team; but they had plenty of press attention and from all accounts, a pretty good time.

Where Have All the Leaders Gone, by Lee Iacocca.  This audio book attempted to reinvigorate the flame the former head of Chrysler created with two books he wrote in the 1980’s.  While he has some good leadership ideas, it was clear he and his ghostwriter had an ax to grind with the Bush 43 administration.  Without the politics, it’s not bad.

Failure is Not an Option by Gene Krantz.  The former Mission Control head at NASA, made famous by the Apollo 13 movie performance by actor Ed Harris, shares his perspective on crisis management and problem solving.  I haven’t started it yet, but I hope it is a satisfying book.

How Starbucks Saved My Life by Michael Gates Gill.  This is about a guy who had a great job, lost the job, and ended up working at the coffee shop.  I remember hearing about it when it came out a few years ago.  I’m sure I’ll like it.

Remembering Denny by Calvin Trillin.  I remember Calvin as a guest on the Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson back in the 1980’s.  This book is about Calvin and his friend Denny.  It’s a personal account of how things worked out for Calvin but not so much so for Denny.  I look forward to reading it.

Rough Justice by Peter Elkind.  This is about the scandal that brought down former New York Governor Elliott Spitzer and how he rebuilt himself following the mess.  That’s the only real political book in the bunch. 

As I lived in New York with Spitzer was Attorney General (and saw him a handful of times on his rise up the ladder), this should be an interesting read. 

These books, along with a few others, cost me a little over fifteen dollars.  I probably wouldn’t have bought any of them had I paid anywhere near the full price.  But bargains sometimes make for a good motivator.  Borders’ misfortune has brought many readers some good fortune.

That’s all I have to say for now.  I’m nearing the end of Scout, Atticus, and Bo by Mary McDonagh Murphy, an essay compilation centered on the classic Harper Lee novel To Kill a Mocking Bird.  

I have to get back to the book.

I have a lot more reading to do.

Steve Newvine lives in Merced

9-11 at Ten Years

We’re all looking for words to describe our feelings as the September 11th tragedy is marked at tenth anniversary ceremonies in New York, Washington, Pennsylvania, and many communities such as Merced.

I was still looking for words as I prepared this column.  What I found were memories of that day that are just as fresh in my mind as they were ten years ago, writings from a source dating back exactly ten years, and an old American Flag.

On that day in 2001, I was at my upstate New York office when a friend of a co-worker called to tell us what had happened.  We immediately turned on our radios and began searching for details on the internet. 

We did not have television service at our office, so our only real connection to the outside world was through radio and the web.  The first image I saw of the plane hitting the second tower was a still image on the CNN website.

Our staff sat around in shock as we saw more pictures, heard more details, and began talking with friends and business associates coming to our office. 

I was the lead staff person for a committee that was meeting during the lunch hour.  None of us at that meeting felt like working or eating.  Somehow, we got through the meeting and somehow we got through that workday.

I was also teaching a college course part time and September 11 was a class day.  My class would meet in the late afternoon after my regular workday was finished. 

I called my department chair Joe Bulsys at the college to ask whether the class would meet. If it did meet, I needed some guidance as to how to handle the students who were most likely seeing a day that would be etched in their memory for a lifetime.

Joe told me that the college President had not formally cancelled classes and that I should go to the classroom with no plan to teach that day’s lesson.  He suggested I tell the students they could leave if they wished, and invite them to remain there and watch the television news coverage along with me in the classroom. 

About half of the class showed up, and about half of those chose to leave at the beginning of the class period.  I stayed with the others for the next hour as we watched the network coverage on television.

When I got home at the end of the day, my two teenage daughters were watching the coverage from our living room.  My wife Vaune and I sat with them quietly as the broadcasts continued.

I began keeping a journal in the months following my Mother’s death in 2000.  I intended to use the journal to write my memories of her and to help me deal with the loss.  I located that first journal over the weekend and found that I had an entry dated September 12, 2001.

From my September 12, 2001 entry:

A day after the tragedy in NYC and Washington.  Everyone is shocked by the events.  Vaune and I went to church last night where a very beautiful prayer service was held.  They burned incense in a pottery bowl throughout the service.  To me, it represented the ongoing stream of sadness and pain so many of us were feeling….

Why was there so much pain inflicted on so many people? .. This is a time of “why us, why now?”  

I know I don’t have an answer and probably will never get an answer.  I ask God to help me through this, ..and to touch each family dealing with the loss of loved ones in the bombings.

We have an American Flag handed down to us by my wife’s grandmother. She came to this country as a young woman from Italy.  Her husband worked the coalmines of Pennsylvania and would eventually die before his time from lung disease.

The flag is worn and has some mildew marks from being stored while wet during the years she would fly it in front of her Pennsylvania home.  It has forty-eight stars. 

The reds and blues are not as brilliant as the synthetic flags that are manufactured today. 

The white has long lost its’ sharpness. 

But my wife and I wouldn’t think of putting any other flag in front of our house on those special days when we display it so proudly.

We fly our family heirloom American flag on special occasions every year such as Memorial Day, Flag Day, and Independence Day. 

In recent years, we’ve added September 11 as a day when that cherished family heirloom is displayed on our front porch.

We will never forget.

Steve Newvine lives in Merced

Castle Air Museum

It's hard to believe that Castle Air Museum in Atwater is celebrating thirty years in the community.  I've been in the Central Valley for seven years and it seems the time has, pardon the pun, been flying by.

I got to know Museum Executive Director Joe Pruzo and some members of the team at Castle a few years ago.  We were part of a group trying to organize a car show at the museum with the Greater Merced Chamber of Commerce. 

I left the Chamber in 2007 but continued to keep in contact with the organization.

Last summer, I reached out to Castle for a book I was writing on unique things along highway 99.  Castle Air Museum, while not on highway 99, was close enough to the roadway and significant to my telling readers about things they shouldn't miss when traveling up and down the valley.

Joe told me how museums such as this one have been a primary source for keeping the history of America's military aviation alive.

"Back in the years following World War, II, the military was begging cities to take a wartime aircraft and put it on display," Joe told me.  "Some did, and many now wished they had."

Aircraft not claimed by communities in those early post war years were headed for the scrap metal heap.  Many planes made it on that journey of no return.  But thanks to the dedication of volunteers and the cooperation of military installations such as Castle Air Force Base, many planes were saved.

For the first fifteen years of its’ existence, Castle Air Museum could count on a watchful benefactor helping the museum preserve these historic relics.  That benefactor was the Castle Air Force Base.  "The Air Base was extremely helpful in taking care of the Museum's immediate needs," Joe told me in the interview I did for my book.

When the Air Base closed as part of the Base Realignment and Closing Act (BRAC) in the 1990's, it was time to see whether appreciation for the aircraft was indeed part of the fabric of the community.

It was.  Some years were a struggle, but the Museum continued to pay some bills, acquire more aircraft, and perhaps more importantly, create greater awareness among volunteers, supporters, and the community at large.

We may take such events as Open Cockpit days, Halloween Fright Night, Christmas Plane Lane, and the recent thirtieth anniversary open house (held March 20) for granted.

These events raise money to keep the program going.   Each is important to build on the brand that is Castle Air Museum.

IMG_3117

How many times are you asked what is there to do in Merced County?  And how many times does Castle Air Museum become part of your answer to that question?

And now, the sixty-four dollar question: have you taken the time recently to visit the museum?

The next time you get a chance, go to the museum indoor history area and look up the display for Operation Power Flite (yes, the Air Force spelled flite that way when they named this historic mission).

You'll read about an incredible milestone reached in military aviation more than fifty years ago.  And it all started right here in Merced County at the Castle Air Force Base.

You'll be proud of the folks who have worked so hard to preserve military aviation history so that it can be shared with the rest of the world.

You'll learn about an event so historic, it made the cover of Life magazine.  And you'll be proud to live in Merced County, California.

Steve Newvine lives in Merced.

Yosemite National Park. Very busy...parking is a challenge...safety is an issue...but it sure is beautiful!

There was a letter to the editor in the Merced Sun Star recently from a visitor to Yosemite National Park. This letter pointed out a negative experience the writer had during a visit in early August. The writer called out those who littered the park with their trash, showed blatant disregard for safety near dangerous waterfall sites, and engaged in a general lack of civility among the crowds.

I was in the Park the same day. I saw most of what the letter writer saw. I can add to the list the seeming lack of any real enforcement of Park rules by the Rangers.

Other than the Ranger who told us to pay on the way out (following a one hour delay getting through the Route 140 entrance), and the Ranger who took our money as we left the Park later in the day, I saw no one from the staff during our visit.

With fourteen deaths in the Park so far this year, I’m sure those on duty were working hard to keep the rest of us safe. I just didn’t see them. And we could have used them.

No one was at the visitor landing beneath Bridal Veil to enforce the Danger signs. No one was near the bridge overlooking the falls at Yosemite Valley. No one was patrolling the areas where walkers and bicyclists were using the same trails.

Parking was another problem. I raise the question as to whether there is a Park management index that ties cars coming through the gates to available parking spots throughout the Park. It sure didn’t look like it.

I think the problem boils down to one issue: too many people are in the Park’s popular venues at the same time. There’s got to be a plan to address the increasing attendance.

I’d hate to see restrictions on the numbers coming through the gates, but it’s becoming more and more clear that this vast wilderness Park needs some modern day upgrades.

Some ideas

Begin with adequate parking at the popular venues by encouraging use of available mass transit with maybe an incentive to use it. Develop a communication system that could email an enrolled prospective visitor with a crowd conditions report based on attendance counts at the gate.

Don’t go on Oprah to encourage more people to come in when you’re challenged to handle the crowds that currently come.

With my comments about logistics now one the record,  let’s not lose sight of the central issue. Yosemite is an international crown jewel. It should be seen by everyone. It needs to be protected.

As I wrote in 9 From 99, Experiences in California’s Central Valley, “I cannot do justice to documenting the stories that comprise the history and visitor experiences of Yosemite.

There are many resources.

The PBS Ken Burns documentary The National Parks, America's Best idea...the photography of Ansel Adams..(or) just type in Yosemite on Google...You could spend the rest of your life reading about this unique part of Califonia."

"But I recommend you take your eyes off the computer and find a way to see it for yourself."

steve bridal veil

Steve Newvine lives in Merced.

The Edison: Grandma got to see how I intended to keep the tradition of the antique phonograph alive for future generations.

My Grandma Newvine had an Edison phonograph in her home.  As an elementary school aged grandson, I would always look forward to her cranking up the machine and playing the half-inch thick records.  As I moved into my middle and high school years, she’d let me go into the back room of her house and play the records by myself.

 I loved spending an afternoon cranking up the Edison with the arm on the side of the cabinet.  I’d pull out a record from the cabinet, set it on the turntable, and start up the music. The scratches and skips on the records were part of the character of the experience. 

I truly enjoyed the collection of waltzes, fox trots, sopranos, tenors, and lullabies.

 The music was nice, but I enjoyed the comedy routines.  Among the vaudeville era bits was a little ditty my grandmother called The Recipe. 

The comedian, unknown as the record label has been long lost, begins with a recipe for a casserole.  After commenting on the various ingredients and directions, the performer ends the recipe with the instructions, “throw it out and open a can of salmon”.  He then sings about a woman named Ann:

Talk about Ann, 

In her little sedan.

Who did we up in the tree-zies,

Hanging by their X-Y Zee-zies.

Ann,

In her little sedan.

 I was the only grandchild who had any real interest in Grandma’s record player.  When she was in her ninety’s, she gave the phonograph to me.  She passed away a few years later. 

Before she died, I produced a ten-minute holiday video with my two daughters singing Christmas carols accompanied by a xylophone recording on the Edison.  Grandma got to see how I intended to keep the tradition of the antique phonograph alive for future generations.

 The antique phonograph was a great conversation starter for visitors to our home.  It made several moves as we traded up to different homes over the years.

 One of those moves resulted in something apparently getting loose within the phonograph cabinet.  The Edison would no longer play. 

We promised ourselves to get it fixed one of these days, but that day never came.  It sat in the corner of our living room:  still a conversation starter, but no longer a source of entertainment.

 Then one summer night, we had several people over to our house for a potluck.  Naturally the Edison again started a conversation. 

As I explained how the phonograph stopped working in recent years, my wife demonstrated how the crank arm worked.  She turned on the turntable, and the record started spinning. 

 We played several records for our guests that evening.  One of them commented to us in a thank you note: “So nice when what was old becomes new again”.

 I don’t know why the Edison started working again.  But I do believe in small gifts of fate.  And this was one of those gifts.

 Steve Newvine lives in Merced.