Miracle in Bakersfield

The historic Padre Hotel features a contemporary Western theme as the only 4-diamond hotel in Bakersfield. Was Friday's gorgeous sunset a signal from Jimmy? PHOTO:KCS

Agriculture. 

    The Bible. 

            Oil Wells. 

                Country Music. 

What do they have in common?

Bakersfield. 

For an outsider looking in, it's a place I would not choose to go unless my ticket to Nashville was revoked. However, the unfortunate death of a family member called. The services for James Harold "Jimmy" Weisel, 72, Barbara's first cousin, were being held in his home town of Bakersfield and we would be paying our respects. A 500-mile roundtrip journey by automobile was in order.

Having driven approximately 1,000 miles the preceding week, which included a jaunt to Palm Springs for a family wedding, I was game. I had rediscovered my inner Mario Andretti on the LA Freeways.

Jim Weisel

Rev. Dr. V.K. Jones and Sandi Weisel    PHOTO;PATTI WEISEL

Connor, Harrison and Jim Jr. Weisel PHOTO:PW

Jazanae Land singing Amazing Grace PHOTO:PW

Jimmy and I were rivals. He bled Dodger blue and I boasted Giants black & orange. Jimmy was a hawk. I was a dove. Jimmy thought Obama was on a mission to establish socialism in America. I felt that Trump was a sociopathic huckster trying to con America. Jimmy found Jesus and quoted scripture. I discovered Zen Buddhism and banished dogma. He resided in Southern California. I lived in Santa Cruz.

Our disagreements were aired on Facebook, for all the social-media world to hear. It was fun at first but the politics got ugly. Neither of us would give an inch. Two different realities, a sign of our times.

He was one tough hombre who kicked cancer's butt for five years, far beyond what seemed humanly possible. He was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a bone marrow cancer. Over and over, he fooled doctors who anticipated his imminent demise.

According to Reverend Dr. V.K. Jones at the mortuary chapel, Jimmy was now on his way to salvation in the next world. "This business on earth is just a road stop. If you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior you will gain the gift of eternal life." 

The Reverend was cloaked in black, his dark hair streaked with grey pulled into a tight bun on the back of his head, medium height, maybe played lineman in football at one time. His baritone resonated with a slight drawl, perhaps regional or maybe southern, certainly eloquent.

Jimmy's grandniece, Jazanae Land, a beautiful young woman with a golden voice, sang a soulful rendition of Amazing Grace that would have any skeptic questioning the existence of a higher power as she reached registers whose origins could only be God-sent. She stepped back from the microphone as if she were levitating toward the rafters. 

"I don't know what came over me," she said. 

                                                                         ***

Barbara, Frida (our German Shepherd) and I hit the road for Bakersfield on Friday morning betting our luck that we'd find a dog-friendly hotel without a reservation. Family members would be coming from the Los Angeles area and other San Joaquin Valley towns. A series of events were scheduled for Saturday including a viewing and Celebration of Life service in the chapel, a graveside ceremony and a lunch gathering at the Rice Bowl Restaurant in central Bakersfield.

"Everyone goes to the Rice Bowl," said one family member, a fourth generation Bakersfieldian. 

I had never been to Bakersfield, yet had heard of the Buck Owens Palace where you can eat, drink and dance to live country music, named after the town's most famous country singer and native son.

Following more than five hours of road travel from the coast, over rolling hills into the great Central Valley, passing fields of giant cricket-like oil pumps and numerous almond orchards, we reached the outskirts of commerce where flat land spread like a blanket over an endless bed of earth toward distant mountains. Here we found a convergence of highways and billboards. Welcome to Bakersfield.

Barbara caught a whiff in the air. "Is that garlic or onion?"

From experience we knew that La Quinta and Best Western properties provide dog-friendly accommodations. We spotted a La Quinta Inn near the intersection of Highway 99 and Merle Haggard Blvd. Our luck was good, they had a vacancy on the second floor for $150. Breakfast included.

Frida is a seasoned traveler. She curls up in the back of my Prius hatchback where she sleeps to the rhythms of the road. Second floor rooms that require an elevator, however, are not her thing. I coaxed and eventually had to lift her into the claustrophobic room we humans accept as vertical transport in multi-story buildings. Next time we opted for the fire-exit stairway, thankfully without tripping the alarm.

Doggies and their owners seemed to multiply in the hallways and walkways of the property, primarily little ones leashed to old men. Visitors without furry friends were mostly bearded truck drivers whose big rigs occupied parking spaces in the rear lot. Frida found plenty to sniff as she carefully read the grounds.

With daylight remaining, we decided to check out Bakersfield, orient ourselves for the following morning of memorial events at various, scattered locations. The city encompasses 151 square miles.

Barbara recalled visits to Jimmy's house in Bakersfield as a child. "I was always afraid of him," she said. The following day we would hear stories about his extroverted personality that put everyone on guard.

"He loved to pick on you, with a big smile and a belly laugh." That was Jimmy.

We crossed the bridge over the Kern River on our way to the "central district" of Bakersfield. The wide river bed of scrub growth was as dry as a dog bone save for a trickle of water winding though the center.

Barbara and Frida with lingering sunset backdrop PHOTO:KCS

We parked and strolled around, soon learning that it was First Friday in downtown Bakersfield. Who knew? A showing of local art was featured at the Art Guild on 19th Street. As the sun began to set, more folks seeking art, food and drink began to appear. We dropped into a restaurant called the Cask Strength Bar & Kitchen, which reminded me of the Willie Nelson song, "Whiskey River." Our attraction was sidewalk seating. The friendly staff fussed over Frida who was served a much appreciated bowl of water next to the foot of my chair. We can vouch for the empanada appetizers. No whiskey for us.

From our outdoor high-table location, we viewed a stunning sunset that seemed pertinent to celebrate the passing of Jimmy. The reddish orange hues became brighter and brighter, shifted to deep purple by the time we arrived back at our hotel.

"I think Jimmy's watching," said Barbara, looking toward the sky. I nodded. Our ever loyal companion, Frida, remained unmoved.

                                                                        ***

Following breakfast on Saturday -- which for me meant bacon, waffle, coffee and a red apple -- we embarked for our morning of scheduled events that started at Hillcrest Memorial Park. This required Google mapping and fortunately she (the map voice) was speaking today. Often, for  reasons we do not understand, she does not speak, which means we are at the mercy of a digital map on an iPhone screen that never quite delivers. We're of the paper map generation.

We found ourselves at the southeastern edge of Bakersfield, with the sun rising, throwing shadows across grass and gravestones. Numerous, colorful grave sites were decorated with marigolds, photographs and knickknacks celebrating Dios des los Muertos (The Day of the Dead). Music played in the background. A couple of dogs romped on the rolling green. I walked Frida around the site while Barbara made herself more beautiful inside the car.

Her brother Bob arrived in his Mercedes van with brother Bill and mama/great grandmother Bettelu, looking gorgeous in a cream-colored, flower laced top and matching pants. They had driven over Tejon pass from Manhattan Beach that morning.

I remembered Jimmy's frequently spoken words, "I'm Bettelu's favorite nephew. She likes me best."

Barbara wondered why her socially savvy mother was not wearing black to a funeral. "She's 97 she can wear what she wants," I offered.

We entered the chapel together and began mixing with family and friends. The Celebration of Life ensued with song, story and prayer. Jimmy's life was captured in a slide show of wonderful photos including his many trips to foreign places, including the Holy Land, with his devoted wife Sandi. There was even a shot of Barbara and me at our house. I was caught off guard by a picture of Jimmy and Sandi at their wedding, so young, so deeply earnest. I felt their love.

Cute, Jimmy PHOTO:SANDI WEISEL

Barbara and I both cracked up when we saw a photo of Jimmy with a snake around his neck, an albino alligator in his arms and a big mugging smile on his face. That was Jimmy.

He loved his family. In attendance were his son Jim Jr. with wife Abby and their children (Jimmy's grandsons) Connor and Harrison, Jimmy's daughter Shelley, his sister Patti, who resides in Bakersfield, and her husband Lonnie and their children and grandchildren, plus many cousins and in-laws.

We all jumped in our cars afterward and headed for the cemetery where Jimmy would be interred, another car scramble through Bakersfield. Here, at Garden of Roses in Historic Union Cemetery, we placed carnations on Jimmy's casket and paid our silent respects. Frida drew attention as she trotted silently respectful next to my side. Connor and Harrison especially enjoyed petting and massaging Frida's furry coat.

In my eyes, she added elegance to the day's events. I recalled a time when I showed up at a family get-together and Jimmy saying, with an element of surprise, "You brought her?"

He always had something to say.

The celebration culminated at the landmark Rice Bowl in the heart of town where we were served dishes of sweet and savory Chinese food which we shared with family members in a spirit of conviviality. More stories were told and laughs were had.

Grandson Connor, 13, shared a funny story about Grandpa Jimmy with the punch line, "Who wants pancakes!?" Grandpa was hooked on MacDonald's pancakes. Kids remember these things.

We departed Bakersfield filled with warmth from a loving family. Even though Jimmy and I didn't always agree, I appreciated his presence whenever we met. We didn't get into politics during  those visits, although he could spout off at any second when he had a crowd. I came away with better understanding. 

Jimmy was born and raised in Bakersfield among good folks. We are just people on our individual journeys. We make mistakes. We seek answers. We should never stop asking questions. And always be kind to each other.

Life is a miracle.