Forty Years in Santa Cruz

Vanessa and Molly on our front porch on Walk Circle

Forty years in one place. That should be some kind of record. It is a bitter-sweet story.

August marked the 40th anniversary of my residence in Santa Cruz: 1978-2018. Forty years ago I pulled into what was then a small beach town in a Volkswagen bus, the most ubiquitous vehicle in town, with two daughters ages 8 and 3. I was 31.

Their mother had died in an automobile accident two years before. I was a single father. My move was a break from my past. I literally isolated myself from a community of friends that were tied to my life growing up, a complete reboot.

The number forty has stuck to my brain ever since Sister Gualberta explained to our fifth grade class that it was a recurring and significant number. Jesus fasted for 40 days and 40 nights. Noah was afloat on his ark for 40 days. Forty is the traditional Hebrew number for a trial duration.

If the last 40 years were a trial period for living in Santa Cruz, I would have to claim success. I'm still here, although my two daughters, Molly and Vanessa, who arrived with me have moved on. So has their younger sister, Bryna, who was born in Santa Cruz.

They have found lives and started families of their own elsewhere. But they grew up, were raised in the same neighborhood where I put down roots in the Westside of town. My parents moved eight times while I was growing up. I was searching for a place to stay.

At Linda's funeral, I requested that Jackson Browne's rock n' roll dirge, "Before the Deluge," be played in the church, Our Lady of Assumption in Claremont. That is where we had taken our vows eight years before at the young and idealistic ages of 21 and 20.

Now let the music keep our spirits high 
Let the buildings keep our children dry
Let creation reveal its secrets by and by
When the light that's lost within us reaches the sky

Idealism is a powerful attraction that initiates most of the pure and better things that happen in the world. It seems to be the property of youth. We were young and we were idealistic, and yet I found myself on the verge of fainting into the front pew when Linda, in her white gown and deep-set blue eyes directed toward me, came marching down the aisle clinging to her father's arm, organ music at crescendo. What was I doing?

Ours was not a perfect marriage though we were together since age 15 through a tumult of adolescent passion, fun, furry and break ups. If she were still alive I know we would be close friends, even if our marriage had not lasted. Based on the first eight years, I fear it may not have.

It's one thing to lose a spouse and quite another to lose your mother at a tender age. I can remember the joy and struggle of a young couple trying to find their way, sharing and confiding, loving and arguing. Linda's daughters, Molly and Vanessa, were robbed of memories of her due to their ages of seven and two.

This was not altogether clear to me at the time, as were many things. Looking back, their loss seems more tragic than mine. My heart aches for them. Linda would be so proud of them.

I did learn quickly that a single father receives far more compassion and assistance than a single mother. I was an anomaly to be pitied. A young man with two daughters. I found more help than I wanted, not to be ungrateful, but it was obvious.

One year after Linda's death I found myself backstage for a Jackson Browne concert in San Jose. He is a small, wiry guy, intense. He was about to go on stage dressed in a long-sleeve shirt, Levis and sneakers, just him and his piano.

I wanted to tell him about Linda and his song being played at her funeral. I had learned that his wife had committed suicide the same year. "Jackson Browne," I said. He looked at me and I raised my hand for a bro handshake. Our palms clasped right before he walked from behind the curtain onto the stage.

I was a distraction. He had a show to perform. Although I wrote an extremely positive review of his concert, I wished I had been in the audience to receive his song facing him instead of from the wings of the stage. I wished Linda could have been there, too.

The following year I made my move, which I consider my best one ever. I rented out the house that Linda and I had purchased, at her insistence, in San Jose. It provided a small income for me.

I pointed my life toward the coastal mountains, a dividing line between what would become known as Silicon Valley and the Monterey Bay, the oldest natural harbor refuge in California, a mere 30 miles distance through winding forested mountains, to a nearly 100-year-old enclave of mostly rundown beach cottages on narrow streets of concentric circles.

Within those circles, literally on the very same "curve," so near that one could practically hear a whisper from one house to another, I would unexpectedly meet the woman who would save my life, become the mother of my two daughters, and with whom I would have a third child and spend the rest of my life.

The first local piece I wrote was about my new neighborhood whose history tracked a record of old Santa Cruz from the early 20th Century. The "circles" were designed for an annual religious retreat. Nearby is where the circus pitched its big tent when it came to town. A lost elephant was not uncommon. Today I attest that love can be found there.

My second piece was an assignment for Good Times, the popular entertainment weekly. I was asked by the editor, Mark Hunter, to write about my experience as a single father. That was probably the first and only such article I have ever penned on that subject. I had an unfair advantage. Too many women are abandoned with their children and not recognized for their strength and courage.

That was 40 years ago, a new beginning of a lifetime.

Note: Linda Lombardi Samson passed away 42-years ago today, Sept. 13, 1976. She was 29 years old. She died in an automobile accident on her way home from Lake Tahoe. There were five people in the car: Her husband Kevin, daughters Molly and Vanessa, and her friend Jenny Mackintosh. All survived except Linda.

From Silence of the Oranges ©2018 Kevin Samson, a working title memoir

Rain from Lane Keeps Fallin...

Hanalei Bay August 24, 2018

Rain was heavy last night and early this morning, lingering tropical moisture stirred up by Hurricane Lane. Islanders here on Kauai were wearing smiles of relief.  Lane, at one point a category-5 hurricane, threatened their homes and livelihood but turned southwest just in the nick of time.

"We had our windows boarded and were ready," said Leonard the plumber who lives in the community of Lawai. He was inside that same house, which belonged to his grandfather, when Iniki stormed the island in 1992. "The roof blew off," he said. 

The island came to a standstill on Friday as just about everything closed down except gas stations, the hardware store and super market. Government employees were told to stay home with their families.

"You have to have your priorities," says Leonard. "I'm not going to work in this situation. The company may not be here tomorrow but my family will."

The family tradition is deep here on Kauai, although things are changing. Leonard's 24-year-old son moved to Oregon for college and job opportunities on the mainland, as many children of islanders must do.His son had never experienced a hurricane while growing up on Kauai. The islands have been lucky. The combination of high mountains on the Big Island and Maui and the northwesterly Tradewinds have helped deflect and degrade Pacific hurricanes.

But as one old-timer who has resided on Kauai since the early '60s noted: "You never know."

The state of Hawaii to date has received more than 50 inches of rain from Hurricane Lane. That is the third highest volume of rain from a cyclone ever recorded. Most of the rain has fallen on the Big Island.

More rain, heavy at times, is forecast for today, 30-percent chance tomorrow. The residue of slow-moving Lane is still with us.

A Real-Deal Hero

"We admire them, we envy them, for great qualities that we ourselves lack." Mark Twain about heroes.

John McCain was a hero for the United States of America. The maverick Senator from Arizona was destined for that moniker from birth. He came into the world wrapped in a Navy blanket. He cut his teeth on toy anchors. His first word was "service." The US Navy lineage of his ancestors goes back to the pre-Viking Period.

As a Navy fighter pilot in Vietnam his motto was "one more sortie." Regardless of how many missions and strikes he had performed. Just one more, he figured, he hadn't yet given it his all. He was still conscious.

As a prisoner of war he refused release because he had buddies who were still in cages. He was tortured to unconsciousness by the enemy for his guile.

As a US Senator he crossed the aisle to make deals. He was always expected to do the unexpected. A principled maverick. He made close friends and familiar enemies and could still spin a good yarn and laugh about it afterward.

As a candidate for President of the United States he demonstrated his quirkiness by choosing a loud-mouthed cheerleader from Alaska as a running mate -- a real yahoo doozie. He later regretted it and admitted his error.

He lost his run for President to Barack Obama, whom he looked upon as a rookie who hadn't put in sufficient service for the office. Yet he stood up for Obama when others challenged his character, setting the record straight and defending his opponent as a decent family man.

The low point came during the 2016 Presidential race when one of the candidates from his own party said McCain was not a war hero, because he was captured by the enemy. This candidate had never served his country in the armed forces, or anywhere for that matter. A typical chicken hawk.

This candidate, regardless, was elected President of the United States. Perhaps because he is a maverick. Americans like mavericks. Not all mavericks are heroes.

McCain's final days were spent imploring his colleagues in Congress to work together. For the good of the country. To accomplish something. Friends, he said, we're not getting anything done.

I didn't vote for John McCain, not just because of Sarah Palin although that was good enough reason. Yet if anyone exemplified the qualities of a true American hero, he did. He certainly had great qualities that most of us lack.

Thank you, Senator, for your service.

Kupuna Means Wise Elder

Kupuna is the Hawaiian word for elder. It actually means more than just being a senior member of the family. Kupuna also denotes wisdom from life's experiences and it's a title of respect. Where I come from, an elder male is considered a "curmudgeon" or, if you're lucky, a "geezer." An elder woman is simply an "old lady," who is probably driving too slow in that Cadillac in front of you.

Believe me, I have at times earned the curmudgeon title and have made a point of attempting to not fall into the habit of complaining about everything from the latest political spat to whining about my sore lumbago.

Here on the island there are many advantages to being kupuna. The state gives handsome discounts to senior residents for taxes and other government-sponsored charges, including golf at municipal courses ("munis"). Foodland, a major grocery chain on the islands, offers a 10% kupuna discount on Thursdays.

A couple of months ago I was checking out at Foodland in Princeville early on a Sunday morning. I turned my head and the dark-skinned kupuna gentleman behind me said to me: "Happy Father's Day." It was the first acknowledgment of Father's Day to reach my ears.

That made my day, one kupuna to another. "Same to you," I said. We were both smiling and the lady at the check out was wearing a big smile, too.

"Ohana," the Hawaiian word for family, is a familiar majorative word on the islands. Families are celebrated daily when referring to the people, older and younger, in your circle of friends. "Uncles" and "Aunties" are not necessarily kupuna but familiar adults. Kids are called "keiki" which has a friendly ring.

Following a surf session recently I was talking story with a fellow kupuna surfer who was born on the island. I told him that our daughter and two grandchildren lived here, and we were considering moving here permanently. He said his daughter could not afford to live on Kauai any longer because of the rising price of homes and that he and his wife were considering moving to Oregon where his daughter and grandchildren now resided, the exact opposite of what we were considering.

As I sit back in my beach chair beneath the monkey pod tree, I reflect on the concept of family. Our children are like seeds that sprout and grow into their own person. Some seeds grow nearby, others are spread widely seeking their own fertile ground, creating Ohana with their friends as I did.

We want to be close to the children of our children because they are special in that they come from our seeds that we have nourished and we want to see them grow and flower. We all cannot live on an island but we can live in our own paradise. And there are many ways to stay in touch.

My kupuna wisdom may be faulty but my intention is sincere. My resolution is to not bark and complain about the tailgater driving behind me. Just pull over, take a deep breath and smile.

Dodging Hurricane Hector

So Hector came and went. He barely missed the islands coming within 200 miles of the big island of Hawaii. He was a category 4 hurricane at times spinning across the Pacific Ocean with winds of up to 155 mph.

We all watched the satellite feeds daily as Hector tracked on an eastward path toward the Hawaiian islands. We knew it would be close, especially for the people on the Big Island who were already dealing with the continual eruptions of the Kilauea volcano displacing many from their homes. If Hector was going to inflict damage it would be on the southern most island of Hawaii.

"Are you prepared?" The question came from television newscasters and front pages of all the newspapers across the islands.

Prepared means you have 14 days worth of nonperishable food and two gallons of water per person. Expect island-wide power outages. Have a safe place to go. A flashlight. Stories still circulate here on Kauai about Hurricane Iniki in 1992 that literally tore up the landscape and coastal areas of parts of the island.

One condo resident talks about how her window curtains were sucked outside the windows by the hurling high winds.

"It looked like it was going to miss us," says one old-timer, "then it turned south at the last minute and hit Kauai."

"Many people evacuated the island," says another. "The only store open immediately afterwards was a hamburger stand."

These islanders remained and are here to this day. And doubtless so are many others. It's one of the hazards of living out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, on the farthest archipelago from any continent in the world. It's more grist to share when you talk story about it later.

Study a map of the mighty Pacific and the Hawaiian islands appear as a row of tiny dots on a huge mass of water. You wouldn't see them if they weren't labeled.

As Hector approached we checked our inventory of nonperishable food, which consisted of a few cans of tuna and beans. I picked up six gallons of water on one errand-run across the island. If I pick up something every day our stock will accumulate.

Because of the excellent weather news forecasts and satellite technology, we pretty much figured it was not going to reach the islands unless... and with Mother Nature there's always that "unless," something strange happens, as it did in '92.

The day of Hector's potential arrival the sky over Kauai was clear and blue, more so than in weeks. It was a beautiful day. It reminded me of the day following the 7.9 Loma Prieta earthquake on October 11, 1989 that destroyed downtown Santa Cruz and parts of the greater San Franciso Bay Area. That following day the weather was gorgeous, albeit there was a ton of open cracks in the Earth, collapsed buildings, piles of rubble and people displaced from their homes.

You could say we dodged a bullet. You could also say that everyday that we survive we dodge a bullet. Life really is that resilient and that fragile. The horrifying fires back in California no doubt caused more damage this time, with less warning.

We were lucky out here in the middle of the Pacific. This time. It's hurricane season and there are currently two new storms building in the low western Pacific.

My New Old Surfboard

                                                         

I purchased my first Hawaiian surfboard at the Hanalei Watersports Swapmeet on Saturday. A golden yellow Bruce Jones log, single fin, thick in the middle 9'6", well-ridden with scars to prove it, a relic among the the long and short guns and wide paddle boards lined  side-by-side across the lawn in front of the old Hanalei School building that now houses a surf shop, clothing boutiques and a sports bar cafe in the center of Hanalei.

The swapmeet takes place on the first Saturday of the month and the boards start showing up as early as 7am and by 9 the grass is covered with boards and surfers and watersports enthusiasts of all ages milling about talking story. I came looking for the perfect board. I felt as though it would be here waiting for me. I was not in a rush. It was probably 10 am when I got there, following the usual Saturday tai chi ritual on the beach. I was centered with chi. I was prepared to deal with four bills tucked in my board shorts. And there it was.

Last month I checked the swapmeet and didn't see anything. Craigs List, nothing.

I bought the board from a guy named Michael. He tells me it was his log and I can see he has patched every ding on the board, says he's glad that I am getting it because he can see that I truly appreciate the style. I tell him I'm glad he's good with the deal. I feel I'm getting off cheap for $250.

"That's a great board," says one of the guys hanging nearby: "Bruce Jones was an epic designer."

Maybe he's a plant, working with Michael but I doubt it and it doesn't matter. "Is Bruce Jones from the island?"

"He was from California. He died recently and will not be shaping any more boards."

It's definitely a California-style longboard. I google Bruce Jones and discover he was my age, contemporary of Hobie Alter whose shop in Dana Point I remember from the early '60s. Bruce rode his first wave at nearby Doheny, which is where I rode my first wave at about the same time.

I am convinced it's all connected and it's all about timing. When our paths cross. You cannot force it. It's like a wave that comes thousands of miles across the ocean with your name on it. You know it's coming but you don't know when. Bruce died of a heart attack at age 68. I feel blessed to still be around and the current proprietor of one of his classic boards.

The next day I take "Old Yeller" out to Kalapaki on the other side of the island. I receive a few comments such as, "You've got the right board today," and "That's a nice longboard." I explain to one of the guys that I got it at the swapmeet in Hanalei yesterday. "How much?" "Two-fifty."

"That's a good deal," he says. "I think a lot of guys are riding hydrofoils and selling their old boards believing they will never use them again.. I don't know," he adds and I agree. There's something about getting back to basics when the time is right.

                                                       

Going with the Flow

On Sunday we picked up our granddaughter and her friend to drive to the other side of the island for a Keiki Ukulele Competition, the final event of a week-long celebration of Koloa Town Plantation Days. There seems to be some sort of festival or celebration every week on Kauai.

We thought it would be fun for the kids to watch and maybe even participate in the children's ukulele event. Our two Keiki each brought their own uke with them. Such a useful, portable instrument. Ukulele virtuoso Jake Shimabukuro calls it the "instrument of peace."

Kauai basically has one two-lane highway around the island, although it does not complete the circle due to the magnificent Na Pali coast mountains. Only a couple of miles before reaching our destination we were forced to stop. The traffic was not moving. Nobody was going anywhere, except the few who chose to make a "y-turn" and head back. There is no alternative route to Poipu where we were headed.

We opened our windows and made ourselves comfortable. Lush green overgrowth on both sides of the road hemmed us in, although a break in the flora opened up a pasture where a beautiful chestnut  horse galloped up to the fence and looked straight over at the girls. The horse seemed responsive to the kids' voices. He was frisky and the girls loved it.

The big question was, What is causing this traffic jam, as more vehicles continued to arrive and the string of cars, vans and trucks became longer behind us.

Some got out of their vehicles and walked to the front to find out the problem. No radio reports yet. One guy returned and reported an accident and subsequent investigation that would take another hour and a-half. It was nearly noon. Luckily we had packed sandwiches.

Soon people were wandering around the parked cars, many like us had food and were even sharing with others, an impromptu lunch party.

This kind of delay, or interruption, is common on the small island with few roads. And people tend to make the best of it.

I remember my Hawaiian music instructor telling me, "Mainlanders have a hard time when plans change. They need to learn how to go with the flow."

We hung for more than an hour then decided to turn around. We were going to miss the Keiki ukulele competition which would soon be over. Instead we were making up rhymes and talking story.

We turned around and found the old road back to Lihue which was like driving on the island 50 years ago. The foliage was so green and thick and tall it nearly engulfed us. "Isn't this beautiful," I kept saying.  From the backseat a small voice noted a line of red dirt going up a nearby mountain. "Can we hike that trail?"

We passed the Menehune Pond some 100 feet below us. "We can't see the Menehune because they will turn to stone," another backseat voice informed us.

Keiki's paddling out at Lydgate sea water pond.

We flowed onward with popular Lydgate Park in mind where we knew we would find a large outdoor playground Every Kauai Keiki has spent time climbing the elaborate wooden structures, crossing the bridges here.

Upon arrival I stepped out of the car, grabbed one of the kid's ukuleles from the trunk and broke into a couple of Hawaiian vamps. Sometimes I'll see an ukulele and I cannot help myself. It's part of my flow.

Five minutes on the playground and these girls were ready for the beach and a jump into the rock pond at Lydgate. There are two ponds, both protected from the roiling surf by a half-moon shape of boulders that waves splash against but rarely cross. The smaller pond is for little Keiki and the larger one attracts all ages of swimmers, snorkelers and waders.

Our girls had boogie boards and were riding tiny waves at the shore of the larger pond in a flash. Watching their smiles and total involvement in the moment was as pure and bright as the yellow sun.

There were shade trees above the beach and a cool easterly breeze drenched our warm bodies that were soon aching to dive in. Schools of luminous reef fish swam among us, evoking shouts of fun and wonder. "I saw a long blue fish!" "I saw a whole bunch of them!"

Kids see everything whether we know it or not. Their glistening bodies are in perpetual motion, human fish,  little mermaids and mermen.

Grandma and grandpa unabashedly joined the frolic unable to hold still under the alluring and refreshing conditions, going forward, finding the enigmatic flow.

On our way home we heard the radio report of the accident that had changed our plans, and the plans of many others, including a 27-year-old woman who had lost control of her SUV and crashed. She had been medevacced to the Wilcox Medial Center and then to Queens in Honolulu. There were no other injuries. Her status is unknown.