Oh California, Where Art Thou?

By John Summer

It didn’t begin well. My mom’s family moved to San Diego in 1940 from Colorado. It was a relief from working the coal mines in Crested Butte. California was truly a promised land.

And it was, briefly.

On Christmas Eve of that year, my grandfather, John, was walking home from his little general store on Mission Beach with the day’s till. He didn’t know he was being followed.

When he got home, two guys entered the house right behind him and demanded his money. They had a gun. My grandmother, Kate, and my little aunt, Nonie, and cousin, Shirley, were there. My grandfather resisted to protect them. And they shot him dead. Right in front of his family.

Christmas Eve.

Then we had this war thing, because the Europeans didn’t get their act together and stop an evil little dude with a funny mustache until it was too late.

We saved their asses.

We’re doing it again.

My dad and mom met where the Army Air Corps and the Red Cross came together in Germany. And thus, they created me.

So, I never knew my namesake, grandfather John. But I knew my family and San Diego and California. I would come to visit during my own family’s constant moves while in the Air Force. I would stay with my grandmother Kate in San Diego during each move. First, at the home in Mission Beach. Then on Georgia Street. Then Utah Street. And I would watch the Mickey Mouse Club on the little black and white TV. And Jack LaLanne. And Howdy Doody. And between each would be Cal Worthington selling cars beside some animal.

A few years later, I would visit my cousins in Torrance. And we would go to Anaheim in the ‘50s when Disneyland first opened. You would get a little booklet with tickets. After the A, B, C and D…. the “E” ticket was most special. That would get you onto the Matterhorn coaster or the Nautilus submarine. Both were marketed behind movies… like “Third Man on the Mountain” and “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.” Smart Disney stuff back then. They basically created the ABC TV network with “Disneyland,” “The Mickey Mouse Club,” and “Davey Crocket.” Later on, my wife and I would enjoy gathering with Fess Parker (Davey) and wife Marcy and family at their Inn in Los Olivos each Thursday for “sing-alongs.”

Those were special times.

In the ‘60s, when my cousins moved up the hill to Palos Verdes and I was in my teens, we would drive down to Sunset Boulevard (The Strip) to cruise and check out the music. Lots of great music. The Troubadour. The Whisky. I hated the “Au Go Go” part. But it was a magical time. The Laurel Canyon crowd. Wow.

Some years later, when my dad retired with my mom to Santa Barbara, and I had my own family…. we would come to visit. Always basking in the California dream.

And finally, my own family got to live that dream when we moved to San Luis Obispo some 30 plus years ago. Yes, California was still a dream then.

Until it wasn’t.

What the hell happened?

I’ll tell you what happened.

A disease took hold in California. It started slowly. Like the Fauci virus. Almost imperceptibly. It was spawned during the ‘60s. We had a movement here, a movement there. Anti-war. The environment. Race. Rage against “the system.” Free speech at Berkeley with Mario Savio. Tom Hayden. Cesar Chavez (who’s out of favor now), Summer of “Love,” SLA. SDS. LSD. Beats. Freaks. Hippies. And Timothy Leary… who is still dead.

And a new media that picked it all up and spread the word.

Not much later, I became a part of that media and watched it devolve.

It started with Walter Cronkite. He was the elder statesman of TV news anchors back then. What “Uncle” Walter said, we believed. And when he began to question the war in Vietnam, we did too.

And that was it. There was no turning back.

And thus, began the transition toward something called “progressivism.”

Progressivism embraced every “noble” fringe cause. If you were into the environmental stuff… then progressivism was your home. How about gender stuff? You might be a progressive. Oh, then there is the identity thing. Hey y’all… I’m a progressive. And to prove it, check out my green hair or man-bun or nose ring. Or all together.

In California, I think it started with Governor Jerry Brown. He dated singer Linda Ronstadt. Love that girl. And who wouldn’t? So, Jerry gets a pass, even though he was quite different from his dad, another governor, Pat Brown, who was a Democrat but a common-sense dude. Jerry was… well, he dated Linda… so he gets my vote. Back then we made our decisions based on emotional, feel-good stuff which continues to this day. And, ultimately, we are paying for it.

Jerry Brown was a deep thinker… and had many great ideas. But because of his openness to new visions, he attracted lots of weirdos. And the weirdos started to take charge.

Yay. I voted for a Two-Spirited LatinX person of multi-cultural-color. Look at me, I voted for an LGBTQRSTUVWXYZ-er with a lazy eye. Hoopla! I voted for a non-binary one-legged hermaphrodite from Tasmania.

Pop the Champagne cork! Light off the fireworks!

Then during the past 20 years, a one-party system caused the “one-party,” – the Democrats – to start choking on their own vomit. They were, and are, drunk with power. And “power,” not common sense, is their guiding light. And so, we have absurd natural resource policies.

We’ve got plenty, folks. Gas. Water. Nuclear. But we’d rather buy dirty oil from other countries at a premium and, oh, tax the hell out of it to punish those who rely on it. Especially the poor among us. Go across the border to Arizona or Nevada and fill up your tank.

How about food costs? We’ve got plenty of fertile land in our “Breadbasket of America,” but no, we can’t use the ample water we have to irrigate the fields. We let it flow to the ocean. The Delta smelt comes first. We used to eat them at the annual firehouse smelt-fry fundraiser in Minnesota, they were so plentiful. And let’s not forget those houses and lives in the Palisades and Altadena that could have been saved, but weren’t, because we don’t “save” and protect what we have.

Water.

Good job, “Karen” Bass.

There’s the homeless issue. And drug addicts. Needles. Poop. And the corrupt social services system that scams billions for non-existent hospice patients and awards illegal homeless people with breast implants and sex changes and …. Dear God, what is wrong with you, California?

Crossover dudes beating up on girls in sports? Whatever happened to title IX? Who is protecting women? Real women?

Not California.

And what about the anti-Jewish crowd, and the supporters of the evil Iranian regime that murders its own good Persian people and has declared for almost a half century that they will destroy everyone around them and everyone in the Western culture, including us?

Let them have a nuke?

Are you nuts?

Answer: “Yes.”

And you would be the first to be hanged or thrown off a roof while wearing your keffiyeh and holding your “Resist” sign in your furry costume.

As William Shatner said to the costumed Trekkies at the Star Trek convention on an SNL skit…. “People, look at yourselves. Get a life, for God’s sake.”

Well, hopefully, as the great Sam Cooke sang… “A change is ‘gonna come.” If we’re smart. And use common sense. And understand that the California Dream will implode if we continue on this suicidal path. And that our rights come from God. Not government. Not Newsom or Schiff or Carbajal, or… good grief, Swalwell. It’s time that we “the citizens” take charge. Please vote (not more than once, even though it’s easy to do). And let’s take back our California dream.

•••

John Summer is an Emmy and multi-award-winning news anchor and investigative reporter who loves California and holds hope that it will return to its former glory and remove the tarnish from the once “Golden State.”.He has a lifelong stake in it… as do his children and grandchildren, who all reside here.

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