The Unobserved

My wife Rhumba is learning the ins and outs of figure drawing, caricature and lately, digital painting.  Practice makes perfect, and she has the perfect venue for it: a Reddit discussion board where random people post pictures of themselves (or loved ones) and invite any random artist to draw them.

Challenge accepted.honeymoon with saucers

Rhumba would tell you that she’s a developing artist, but she has one thing that some brilliant draftsmen lack:  a point of view.  And so a honeymooning couple posing with the Golden Gate Bridge do so in the presence of an unknown watcher — almost out of frame.

A flying saucer is almost Rhumba’s trademark now, at least on that discussion board.  At the edge of every happy Kodak moment lurks a saucer: Observing? Abducting? Who knows?

holy saucerjpg

Response from the Reddit subjects is nearly unanimous.  They think it’s hilarious.  But Rhumba has an agenda: to point out that this is a world of distractions.  And what they distract you from is the fact that somebody’s watching.  From the fact that unimaginable — by you — things  are happening whenever life pulls your eyes aside. Whenever you stop looking for the barest moment.Fish

Because it’s true.  We have a TV set of a brand that’s been known to send — information — to its corporate headquarters.  Not just when it’s on, but when it’s plugged in.  Nobody knows what information. Nobody know what the information is for.  We’re assured that nothing illicit is afoot.  But we pull the plug whenever we’re not watching.  And of course our computers betray us constantly.

A saucer in the background may seem hilarious — until the context changes.  Then maybe less so. The mother of the tyke below loved her child’s saucer.  And it could be cute: but what’s its agenda?IEyfp9k

Because we don’t really know.  But it’s safe to assume that there is an agenda.  Or that, when enough data has been piled in one place simply because it’s possible to do so, someone will make an agenda.  Because they can.Fidojpg

And even if you knew what the agenda was, would you believe it? People just don’t do those things, you’d say.  You might not believe your own senses.  Washington saucer

But what the hell.  People have lives to live.  They just want to enjoy themselves. You can’t spend all your time looking over your shoulder.  Even if there’s always somebody there. MuscleMan Hot Tub

Life goes on, and it’s easier to treat every private moment as private: even if it’s not.  What’s the harm, right? Even if your pancakes are floating oddly.pancakesU

Enjoy the sunshine.  Hang loose.  It’s a beautiful day!Hangloose

And some day, you may get the answers to questions that you never even thought to frame.Coming soon

And if you do…. be sure to drop us a line!saucer squadron

T-Shirts from the Collection: The Social Iconography of Small-Town Grocery T-shirts

You’re on a two-lane state highway far, far out in boondocks. There are hills, there are trees, there are farms. There may be an ocean. There isn’t much else.

But around the next turn lies a loose group of buildings scattered across both sides of the road. There may be a simple city limits sign. The “town” has no government and no particular facilities.

What you can hope for is small grocery store, perhaps with gas pumps. And if you’re in tourist territory, that grocery just might have a deli, and a t-shirt. The Albion Grocery has it all.

Albion Grocery 1

Albion is a small unincorporated community on Highway 1 along California’s North Coast. The North Coast is noted for natural beauty, a dramatic and rocky shoreline, and giant waves that eat people.

The locals call them sneaker waves. A set of average waves approaches the coast, one after another, but in the heart of the set sometimes lurks a monster that will shoot far up the beach, knock your feet out from under you, and carry you back out to sea in its cold, cold arms. If you are unprepared.

Smart locals never turn their back on the waves. The only defense against sneakers is to run inland when you see one coming.

Pretty split-leaf philodendrons and hibiscus frame the t-shirt’s central image, a wave. But that wave is no pretty tourist image. It’s a spitting, rearing sneaker wave.

Fear it. I’m sure the locals do, while being slightly proud of their sneakers at the same time. Sneakers define the North Coast, like wind and crazy rocks and grim beauty. And they’re something bad-ass that you can tell strangers about.

Farther north in Oregon, coastal dwellers also speak of sneaker waves: certainly they do in Tillamook County, “Home of Cheese, Trees, and Ocean Breeze.” Tillamook is hunting country; deer and elk roam in the plentiful forests. Inland among the trees on the standard two-lane highway, the tiny unincorporated community of Beaver achieved something nearly unique: a combination firearms and grocery store.

Fox Guns and Groceries 1

Beaver is literally surrounded by huntable forest; the people need their guns and ammo. And there are no other groceries right nearby, either. At 150-ish people, Beaver might not support both a grocery store and a gun shop. But two in one? That worked. The Fox family ran Fox Grocery and Firearms for 47 years.

The family sold out in 2016. The new owners changed the name from Fox Grocery and Firearms to Beaver Firearms and Grocery: a subtle change in emphasis. The new owners’ Facebook page says, “Come see us today for your grocery and 2nd Amendment needs in one convenient place.” But some locals complain that groceries are being shorted in favor of guns. All I know is, there’s no t-shirt.

The third and final t-shirt also comes from another unincorporated community:  but one of 20,000 citizens. Isla Vista, California, is a frowsy college community adjoining UC Santa Barbara. And the ocean, and a beach. Sneaker waves aren’t common. You see the possibilities for young college students on their own for the first time in their lives. It could look like Paradise.

Isla Vista Market Beer Kegs in Paradise Tee

But there are liabilities, too. A hodge-podge of developers built up Isla Vista quickly and cheaply after the university was founded. The streets need work, the sidewalks come and go, there’s nowhere near enough parking. And while Isla Vista can boast a zillion cheap college town restaurants, it has only one full-service grocery: Isla Vista Market.

Isla Vista Market offers all the usual groceries: and keg beer. Lots and lots of keg beer. A good business gives the customers what they need, and through its t-shirt Isla Vista Market proudly accepts its role as keeper of the keg to the ten thousand students of the community. And their parties. Of course it accepts their money, too.

My All-Thrift-Shop Art Gallery

I’m very proud of my art collection: not the one I share with my wife, though. “My” collection is on the wall in my garage/man cave: artwork entirely thrifted from Goodwill Industries. Total cost: less than $40. But I’ve visited commercial galleries whose art pleased me less.Collection

You shouldn’t find original, competent paintings at a Goodwill for $2.99 or a little more. But in this town, sometimes you do. Sometimes for less.night

My favorite is a panoramic painting of a small town at night as darkness takes command and the fog rolls in. I lived in San Francisco’s Richmond District for several years: the foggiest part of a foggy city; I identify with darkness and fog. I also appreciate that tthe painter made a realistic vista into an array of almost-abstract shapes.

Ross

My second favorite is a mountain landscape painted on a broken skateboard in the style of PBS painting maven Bob Ross. It’s not great art, but it drips with cultural references and honest kitsch.  I also like the way the artist adapted two empty bolt holes (they had attached the board to the wheel trucks) into strange stars on the horizon; and hid the other two bolt holes in the composition.

And then there’s a pleasant portrait of a young guitarist, and a vintage, original poster by a well-known English woodcut artist.

giotaros

Oddest of the bunch is a strange but somehow pleasant tropic scene composed of black lines filled in with shaped pieces of colored paper tape, and maybe some marking pen. It’s not great art by any standards, but somehow I just keep looking at it.

tropics_tape

Hawaii2Other art scatters across the walls, including one piece that my wife Rhumba commanded me to buy: a Hawaiian sunset painted on velvet. No man cave can lack one truly cliched work of low art, she argued. I have to say: it’s far superior to “Dogs Playing Poker.”

I could amass this not-bad selection so cheaply because Santa Cruz, my town, is up to its neck in original art. Everyone’s a painter here, or seems like it, or dreams of it. They can’t all be good at it — believe me — and it stands to reason that the dross would end up at Goodwill. And it does: oh so many bad paintings. If that’s your style, come on down to 204 Union St. There’s a good coffee house down the street when you just can’t take it anymore.

But among that dross you find jewels: something that someone just got tired of looking at, perhaps, and donated. Or that that their heirs donated while disposing of the estate.

I do wonder where the art came from, and sometimes I can find out. A college art teacher — a freeway flyer who teaches at multiple schools — painted the midnight city. Realism-into-abstract is her specialty.

Another local painter, who has a website and probably also a day job, painted the pensive guitarist. Is it great art? No, but it’s simple, pleasant, and has a point of view. I’m all about the point of view.

Very occasionally, I see art at Goodwill signed by people I actually know. And I will never tell them.

As for the skateboard/landscape painting, somebody told me they’d seen a display of them on sale at a gas station, back aways in time. That may be all I ever know.

Beckmann_cozy

Not exactly original, but coffee cup art for a long-gone German bakery in Santa Cruz. And now there is no studel in Santa Cruz. None. Damn.

The source of all this artist endeavor lives decades in the past. When Santa Cruz was a cheap, beautiful hippie haven, artists came here for the beauty and easy living. Money could be made drawing for our surfboard and skateboard industries, too (and still can). But even if you didn’t do that, you could hump your work over the mountains to the big city and try to sell it there.

Some artists still do — they live here, but their markets are elsewhere. On our walls hang some funny-animal paintings by a guy who illustrates children’s books for Scholastic. I also remember walking into a stationery store where the owner sat at the front counter: drawing a page of Archie Comics.

Santa Cruz’s beauty remains, if not cheap. It is, in fact, hellishly expensive. But a university was founded here, with an Art Department, and people to teach art, and students to learn it; and when the students graduate, they don’t all go away, or at least not for a few years. They like it here.

For all these reasons, Santa Cruz is pre-loaded for artistic endeavour. This little shelf of land between the mountains and the sea, home to perhaps 100,000 people, boasts three competent and well-stocked art supply stores.

Because, aside from the groups that I’ve mentioned, Santa Cruz is home to well-off people with time on their hands. Lately they’ve  mobbed the place: people who made big money in Silicon Valley or San Francisco, but aren’t all that impressed with themselves. They were just grubbing for money with the rest of the predators; there had to be more to life. And now in Santa Cruz, in the leisure that is their reward, they search for that “more.”

Pelican_Poster

Another print on the wall: a vintage California Coastal Cleanup Day poster from about 30 years ago, by the British printmaker Christopher Wormell. Cleanup Day is descended from earlier events staged by Santa Cruz-area surfers.

That’s why I think that you can find a well-built artist’s studio behind so many custom-built Mediterranean-style villas around here. I tour these studios during an annual event called “Open Studios” where people visit artists’ workplaces, inspect their output, and perhaps buy some. .

Some of these gold-plated aspiring artists are dabbling; others truly chase the white whale. Which they may never catch. You may shake your head, but you’ve got to respect it. And maybe, as with Ahab, the chase becomes everything.

Here’s a story: on the first Friday of every month, businesses and restaurants and galleries open for the evening and each displays the work of some local artist(s) of their choice. Some hire a band and offer food and refreshments, some don’t. It makes a nice excuse to roam around town, look at art, and drink a beer.

One Friday, Rhumba and I stopped wandered into one of these spaces, a restaurant.  The walls of three rooms were literally covered with hundreds of acrylic paintings, all from one artist.

And most of them were bad. The artist struggled with perspective. His lines were too heavy: some of then looked as if he chiseled them in. True, the prices were super-reasonable. But most of the work shouldn’t have been shown.

We gently asked the restauranteur, an acquaintance, WTF? And she introduced us to a six-foot-tall, 13-year-old girl with braces. Who told us a story.

Her parents had just purchased a house from a wealthy man who pursued painting as a hobby. He took lessons for years, and painted for years. Then he left town for the Sierras. An agent sold the house for him.

When the girl’s parents took possession, they looked into the far corners of the basement for the first time and found 500 paintings, some as large as three feet by four. Five hundred reject landscapes. And yet the artist kept going. And going.

I can only hope that he painted 600 or 700 paintings, and took the best ones with him. But we’ll never know.

Anyway, the parents had given their 13-year-old full freedom to try to sell the paintings for valuable life experience and, hopefully, some cash. Hence this large, strange exhibit hosted by a restauranteur who was a family friend.

Rhumba and I like an art bargain, and we’re pretty good at finding them. So we scrutinized every one of those 500 paintings to see if even one was worthwhile. A few were; I think the artist had had a few good days, or really did improve as he went along. We finally settled on a watercolor:

Country_road

By the time the artist had painted this one, his lines and perspective were almost under control. The painting is of a road my wife and I could very well have walked down: a sandy farm road through coastal artichoke fields, with a windbreak of eucalyptus in the background. It’s a classic Central Coast tableau, yet one rarely painted.

It’s not “pretty.” But if you’ve lived in these parts awhile, you have that painting in your blood: the sandy soil, the eucalyptus; the smell of salt and a white sky full of marine mist. You know that the ocean lies beyond the distant trees.

Fifteen dollars? Sold. It may well have been the only painting sold that night. We got it a cheap frame. It hangs in our bedroom. We like it. Somewhere out there the artist still chases his whale, perhaps, and you know? He could be closing in on it.

Out in the garage, my thrifted art collection slowly grows. Hodge-podge as it is, I have a true fondness for it. You can talk of good work or bad, good technique or amateur bungling; but the personal connections I make through art are what really make it work for me: the remembrance of dark fog flowing in over neighborhoods, or of hiking down dusty farm roads, or of pretty girls playing pretty music with solemn gravity. And sometimes, a certain mix of colors and proportions alone are enough to make make some aesthetic center in my brain go “Sproing!”

The ten thousand artists of Santa Cruz County keep painting. Perhaps someday, even if by coincidence alone, they’ll come up with something right for you. And if you find it at Goodwill? Don’t be a snob.

 

T-shirts from the Collection: Sarajevo Park

Sarjevo Park Graphic Artists Under Siege Tee

The city was under siege, cut off from the outside world.  Day after day, year after year, shells rained down on it from enemy artillery in the surrounding hills.  Enemy snipers brought fire on anything with two legs.  People died and buildings fell, every day. Municipal services were in shambles, civic order tenuous at best. Wherever you looked you saw damage.

The citizens carried on. Some fought back with guns. Bu some fought with art.

This was Sarajevo, capital of Bosnia from 1992 to 1996: under siege by Serbian forces for almost four years during the Bosnian War, a conflict so complicated that even Wikipedia’s synopsis made my head explode.

For most of the siege, Sarajevo got no international help at all. So a  Sarajevo graphic design collective called Trio, with very little left to design in a besieged city with few resources, produced a series of darkly humor postcards that injected the name “Sarajevo” into well-known icons of art, film, and advertising.

Trio’s message to the world was: “Don’t forget Sarajevo!  We’re still here!”  They wanted the world to think of Sarajevo whenever it saw the familiar symbols.

Trio’s secondary message was, “Bosnian humor is dark as hell.” Besides “Sarajevo Park,” the design collective produced “Enjoy Sara-Jevo” (a redesigned Coca-Cola label), “The Sarajevo Zone,” (a “Twilight Zone” parody), a bullet-riddled Andy Warhol Campbell’s Soup can (renamed “Sarajevo’s Chicken and Rice”),  a classic Uncle Sam who “wants YOU to save SARAJEVO,” and dozens more.  Search for them; they’re very effective.

The designs got out of Bosnia as postcards and posters. They spread across the world. They won approval from leading art critics and the international media even as the siege continued.

The Trio group didn’t produce my “Sarajevo Park” t-shirt, or any t-shirts. The t-shirt is an American brand, and the lettering is slightly different; it’s probably unauthorized. Online, I can’t find any graphic of it except on my own site.

But the message remains — perhaps not “Remember us!” anymore.  But certainly, “Don’t forget!”

T-Shirts from the Collection: The Twilight of the Culturati

First Night 1995 Santa Cruz Tee

Look at this t-shirt. The image is quite sweet: a smiling, crescent moon hooks itself to a clock tower on a pleasant evening. It must be for some kind of happy festival in the small city that I live in: Santa Cruz, California.

That was the idea.  But the festival, and this t-shirt, were  born out of anger, police batons, and broken glass.

Here’s the story: twenty-five or so years ago Santa Cruz was the kind of place where people had to make their own fun: build giant bonfires on the beach, shoot guns into the night, organize group trespassing, start fights in bars.  You know.  Because otherwise, not much happened in this city on the distant, trailing edge of a major metro area.

Nothing whatsoever New Year’s Eve, outside of celebration at a few clubs.  Downtown Santa Cruz greeted the new years with empty streets and darkness.

So an anarchic band of townies, surfers, characters, and reckless youth began their own New Year’s Eve event.  In the run-up to midnight, they’d gather at the Clock Tower at the north end of downtown. The crowd would carouse a bit, count down the New Year, carouse a bit more, and event leave.  I’m sure that alcoholic beverages had presence in the crowd.

As these things do, the non-event grew in size and popularity and unruliness.  One year, somebody was stabbed.

The next year, on New Year’s Even 1993, the police showed up in force to control the festivities.  But that’s now how things worked out.

You’ve heard of the fog of war, that state of fast-moving conflict within which nobody knows what’s really happening.  Well, it’s nothing next to the Fog of Santa Cruz.  The police say one thing; word of mouth says another; and nobody trusts the newspaper. People pick the narrative that they want to believe.

At any rate, very soon after midnight on January 1, 1994,  a platoon of police advanced quickly and aggressively on Clock Tower plaza. Their intent was to disperse the crowd.  Advance warning? Not very much.

Thus occurred — a disturbance.  Some might call it a riot; some might call it “refusing to cooperate on the grand scale.” But all agree on this: some of the celebrants fled south through the heart of downtown and merrily broke expensive plate-glass shop windows along the way.

The next morning found the town’s authorities and media aghast. Violence! Misbehavior! Expensive broken plate glass windows!  It was soon agreed: New Year’s Eve could no longer be left to run itself in downtown Santa Cruz.  In my opinion, the shop windows sealed the deal; those things cost money.

And on  December 31, 1994, “First Night Santa Cruz” made its debut: a family-friendly, alcohol-free festival that completely occupied downtown with live entertainment, a safe and walkable environment of traffic-free streets, and heavy police presence.  But no alcohol.  There at last was a reason for respectable people to want to come downtown on New Year’s Eve.

How did it happen? Well, control of the event was given to a hastily-thrown-together nonprofit staffed by the town’s culturati: the people who’ve served on the boards of cultural institutions and all know each other — and everyone else who matters.  They knew how to get things done. They had the free time to do the things. They knew who to go to for donations and help.

And it worked. First Night even brought in real money.  A $25 button admitted you to numerous  indoor venues that offered full evenings of entertainment. First Night sold something over 20,000 of those buttons.

If you didn’t want to pay, you could roam through the crowds with your friends, watch a parade, see and be seen, listen to live bands, and be there for the New Year’s countdown. And while the streets were alcohol-free, the bars and restaurants weren’t.  For some, that was more than enough.

Suddenly, First Night Santa Cruz was the place to be on New Year’s Eve.  There was a First Night ’96, and ’97, and beyond.  The festival chugged along year after year with seemingly no end in sight.  Tens of thousands showed up annually from Santa Cruz and beyond. Below is the 2001 t-shirt.

First Night Santa Cruz 2001 Tee

And yet, button sales began to sag.  The free entertainment and the whole free outdoor scene still drew the many thousands, but attendance at the entertainment venues was in decline.  Money got tight.  Simply, First Night programming began to bore people.

First Night Santa Cruz 2001 Tee 2The culturati who ran First Night Santa Cruz put the same kind of show on every year: culturally inclusive, politically aware, family friendly, a touch feminist. But above all, cultural.  A typical year’s schedule might include: children’s dance companies, jaunty classical saxophone quartets and classical guitarists, modern jazz bands, Paraguayan harpists, folk singers, family-friendly local rock and blues groups, ethnic dance troupes, socially-important art installations, and so on.

To the culturati, this was their mandate.  It never changed, even though the acts always did. After the first few years, the community began to find the programming lackluster; not everbody, but a lot of people.

Fire eaters and giant robots and screaming, offensive punk bands might have jazzed things up; Santa Cruz is  home to all those things. But First Night Santa Cruz couldn’t kick out the jams of decorum and metaphorically howl at the New Year.  Its whole reason to exist was to keep the calm — and keep glass shop windows intact.

Before too many more years passed, First Night Santa Cruz was in trouble: battered by bad weather, a bad economy, and just bad luck. They’d even missed a year.

First Night 2006 Small LogoWith limited funds remaining and a spunky new director, First Night did what institutions always do when they’re in trouble but can’t change: it doubled down.  First Night 2005 was the most cultural and significant of them all.

Below is the major t-shirt graphic.  Click to expand; there’s a lot of detail. I particularly like the tutus on the fish, and the sea otter with a trumpet.  Honorable mention to the children dressed like stars, and what appears to be Glinda, the Good Witch of the West.

First Night 2006 back iew

First Night Santa Cruz 2005’s theme was “Rivers of Life.” It honored the San Lorenzo River, Santa Cruz’ badly abused hometown river, and the local efforts to fix it. It honored the United Nations Decade of Water and Life. It featured environmental cartoons drawn by children. Children painted to look like fish marched in the parade. Moreover, an entire block of Pacific Avenue was transformed into an artificial wetlands with an artificial river running through it. Attendees were invited to throw their New Year’s resolutions into the river and watch them float away.

For all I know, that year’s festivities were an artistic success. But this was the last First Night Santa Cruz.

And yet, downtown Santa Cruz still rocks on New Year’s Eve.  To this day, people still come in large numbers: for the scene, for the countdown, for a little street entertainment, and for the many restaurants and night spots that took root downtown during the dotcom boom era. The police presence remains heavy; order is maintained.  Many merchants do a good business, and shop windows remain intact.

You can see things this way: First Night Santa Cruz kept order downtown on New Year’s Eve until downtown could live without it.

And yet, anarchy cannot be suppressed. Not entirely. For upon the death of First Night Santa Cruz  “Last Night Santa Cruz” rose almost immediately.  Anarchists (the kind who would carry cards if anarchists issued cards) and free spirits gather on Pacific Avenue every New Year’s Eve to stage an unauthorized DIY “Last Night” parade featuring… anybody who wants to take part.

The police worked against “Last Night” in the beginning, and are still not its friend.  But “Last Night” is peaceful and arty and a little bit crazy in the fine old traditions of Santa Cruz hippiedom. People like it. So the powers that be have never mustered the will to shut it down.

Besides, “Last Night” breaks no windows.  That’s the important thing.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, and change again and stay the same in different ways.  If you want fire dancers and giant robots and participatory art in downtown Santa Cruz, the art and history museum handles that now, and rather well. They even have free live music in the evening once or twice most weeks, where you can have a drinkie on their (private) square, if you so desire. And the anarchists’ community center will take care of your screaming punk rock needs.

 

And the anarchists’ community center presents a lot of screaming punk rock.

The Chip is Dead. Long Live the Jefferson.

Like everybody else I use plastic for most purchases. My debit card and I are as one. Periodically the bank sends us a short novel based on our transactions: the story of our month in the form of expenditures.

Last week, my debit card’s chip died. Card readers in retail stores would still let me swipe the card — but only after I’d tried the chip three times, and failed. That didn’t work for me. I called the bank, and they sent a new chip card my way. ETA, a few days.

But the card worked fine in the bank’s own ATMs. I could withdraw money. And so I rediscovered the World of Cash. It is a wondrous place. There are dangers, but the advantages are huge.

Cash is a great timesaver. I just… hand it to the clerk. I don’t have to insert a card into a slot, wait for a prompt on a machine, punch in a code or any of those things. The clerk makes change, gives it to me, and hands me a receipt. That’s it.

Yes, there are phone apps for all this. Just pony up a grand for your iPhone, plus the monthly charges, and you’re all set.

In the meantime, I have now have time to make actual eye contact with the clerk serving me. I can relate to them as human beings, instead of doing data entry work on a tiny keyboard. Work, by the way, that I don’t get paid for.

My private life stays more private. Cash is independent of any database. Nobody knows what I spent my money on, or even that I spent any at all. There’s no record.

My transaction information or contact information cannot be stolen or sold. It will not be added to a database of all things known about me. It will not be sold to companies or entities public or private, foreign or domestic.

Cash will work when the Internet goes down. You think that the Internet will never go down? It did once where I live, for most of a day. All e-commerce, all credit and debit transactions, all ATMs: down for millions of people, thanks to a couple of guys with a little knowledge, a lot of attitude, and wire cutters. Commerce held together that day until repairs were made; but two days? Three? We didn’t find out. I don’t want to.

With cash, I also find that I spend less. When I purchase something with plastic, the plastic remains. When I purchase something with cash, I have less cash. As the amount of cash decreases, I reconsider impulse buys.

Cash is accepted nearly everywhere, with no service fee to customer or vendor. Some retailers want to go cashless; this is unacceptable. And it will remain unacceptable until everyone, no matter how poor, has a checking account and card. Over 8.4 million households in the United States are “unbanked.”

Sweden is moving a cashless society. Many stores and even banks no longer deal in cash. The Swede in the Street supports them, or most of them do. They have faith that their government will shape this trend to everyone’s best interest.

I used to feel that way about the United States government. If a politician had a (D) after their name, I felt that they were working for me. I no longer do: Sweden may take care of its people, but the people in power over us tend to blame the victims. “No card? Well, GET ONE!” Some pols with the (D) after their name tend to agree; or stay silent.

Cash can’t do everything. Some purchases are too large for cash — though I can carry checks. There is no question, though, that e-commerce is here to stay. My new chip card arrived yesterday from Omaha. And while it remains in its envelope for now, I will need it soon.

But not every day. Not for every single routine purchase of food and clothing and merchandise — all of which add up so quickly if you don’t watch the money physically dwindle.

There are counterfeit bills to deal with, of course. And cash can be stolen. On the other hand, an e-commerce purchase can easily provide you with counterfeit merchandise, that is inferior or even dangerous. And hackers sniff daily at you and your accounts, looking for weaknesses.

There is danger everywhere; just, different dangers and different ways of staying safe.

I’m sorry that the cash solution isn’t for everybody, because we live in a society where tens of millions — maybe over a hundred million, I don’t know — can’t obtain the necessities without credit cards and short-term debt.

I remember the time I ever saw the words “We take credit cards” in the window of a supermarket. This was 35 years ago, and buying food on credit was unheard of in my city. Everyone had always used cash to buy food. Everyone had enough cash. Or they had, up till then.

I thought to myself, something’s wrong. This is a dangerous road.

And it is. Now more than ever.

T-Shirts from the Collection: The Tees that Tradesmen Wear

Godwin Framing Gorilla Workman's Santa Cruz Tee

The wife and I were catching a couple of slices at a pizza restaurant that runs a good lunch special: a couple of Sicilian slices and a drink for a reasonable price. Add a buck or so for a short beer. It’s a favorite lunch stop for tradesmen and construction workers. They like that short beer.

The lunch rush had passed, and there were maybe ten other people in the place: weatherbeaten middle-aged guys who worked with their hands. They were all chawing pizza, sipping beer and staring at ESPN on the flatscreen. Or into the mirror behind the bar.

And eight of those ten were wearing screen-printed t-shirts: for their business or employer; for the tools they used; or for their union.

When I write about t-shirts, I sometimes ramble on about the power of the tee: put on a printed tee and you put on an identity. You become the message. The tee says who you are and what you believe in — or even what owns you. You are judged and classified by it.

And here it was, all around me: the cabinet installer with his employer’s name on his back. The body and fender guy. The electrician. The carpenter, in a tool company gimme shirt. The mechanic, his tee covered with flaming crescent wrenches. All defined by the messages on their backs.

And you have to ask: do you wear that shirt because you want to, or because you have to? Sometimes it’s clear. Sometimes it isn’t.

And: who are you? Does the tee show who you are? Who you want to be? What somebody else wants you to be?

These thoughts endless intrigues me. T-shirts and identity, identity and t-shirts. Yes, I’m weird, but then I have a couple of thousand tees, half of them indexed, so what was your question again? At any rate, here are some of the tees that Santa Cruz tradesmen wear. To be, or not to be.

Bustichi Construction

Butischi Constrution Butt Crack Tee

I needed a contractor; a woman at work referred me to her cousins at Bustichi Construction, “a couple of Italian good-old-boys having a great time.” Considering the butt and penis innuendos, I don’t doubt it.

I saw a workman wearing this tee at the same pizza restaurant once, years after Bustichi Construction changed its name and a lot of other things. Maybe it was his favorite shirt.

Mikasa Rammer MQ

Mikasa Phallic Rammer Tool

If your employer’s t-shirt doesn’t measure up to Bustichi Construction’s phallic overtones, you can always get a tee of a guy with a great big tool from the Mikasa earth rammer salesman. Free!

Monahan Builders

Santa Cruz Monahan Contractor Build it or Die Tee

This is a fine example of contractor-representing-self-as-mad-dog-work-animal. The genre is popular in these parts. And you don’t see many blue-eyed skulls, either. If I worked in construction, I’d proudly wear this one.

Halsteel Gun Nails

Sands of Iwo Jima Nail Company Tee

Sands of Iwo Jima Nail Company Tee 2Nothing shows love of country like four carpenters on Iwo Jima raising the flag atop Mount Suribachi on a gigantic gun nail. A nail made in AMERICA, by God.

They have a point, though: American workmen are expected to be proud of American products, made by others just like them.  You don’t see “Made in America” touted on hardware gimme shirts much anymore because, so often the hardware isn’t.  Or it might be this year, but not next year.  Big corporations blithely and swiftly move producion to wherever it’s cheapest at the moment.

Schmitty’s Custom Cabinets

Schmitty's Custom Cabinets / Surfboard

The cliche goes that most Santa Cruz contractors and woodworkers are surfers. And that around, oh, 3 pm, they’ll tell you that they’ve got to head to the lumberyard for more material and “see ya tomorrow. And they jump in their truck and head straight for Steamer Lane or the Hook. It’s just a stereotype, right?

Right. To me, it looks like “Schmitty” is sneaking away with his board on tiptoe.

Nutt Construction

Santa Cruz Nutt Construction Tee 2

Santa Cruz Nutt Construction Tee 1I looked him up. He’s a contractor, a surfer, a sailor and something of an over-60 stud. I do doubt that he surfs with his circular saw and nail gun.

Again, don’t buy into the stereotype that all Santa Cruz construction dudes are just surfers. Oh, please don’t.

 

Pipe Fusion Machine Rental

Pipe Fusion Cheesecake

This tee is all about renting devices for the butt-to-butt fusing of two big plastic pipes (drainage or sewer pipes, industrial pipes, what have you).

Simply slide the two big, big pipes together through the circular guides, and the machine applies heat and pressure until the two pipes fuse into one. Bakes the bun in the oven, so to speak. Pay no attention to the hot mom perched on top. She’s just there to make sure that you don’t miss the metaphor.

Perrigo Auto Body

Perrigo Body Shop Santa Cruz Surfing Car

Do auto body men really get in the curl on ‘70s-era Corvette Stingrays off Cowell Beach? A Corvette would make the ultimate longboard, true. At least I can guess what Perrigo does with his time off.

Years ago while driving, my wife’s wedding ring dropped off her finger into an obscure crevice between the seats of our old Integra. I couldn’t find the crevice, or the ring. I called Perrigo and explained; they pulled the seats and got the ring back tout suite. After they stopped laughing.

Snap-on Tools

Snap-On Flaming Crescent Wrenches Tee

Snap-On Race Car TeeEarly on I mentioned flaming crescent wrenches, and I wasn’t kidding. Snap-On Tools is famous for bizarre and flashy gimme shirts aimed at people who fix cars, trucks, marine engines, aircraft, and so on. You know — guys. Be they male or female.

They know the secret: make a winning tee, and some mechanic will become your volunteer billboard. Snap-On tees eschew sex objects or sexual innuendo. These tees are all about steel, flame, and large fast-moving metal objects. No two are alike. I’m not a collect-them-all kind of collector, or I’d need a warehouse. But with Snap-On tees, I’m tempted.

Kurt M. Stephens and Sons Carpet Installation

Santa Cruz Fuzzy Side Up Carpet Tee 2

Santa Cruz Fuzzy Side Up Carpet Tee 1I know very little about Kurt M. Stephens, but he felt it humorous to send his workers out to jobs wearing tees printed with the instruction “Fuzzy Side Up.” See, they could read it off each other’s back if they forgot what to do.

I wonder how the “and Sons” part of the firm felt about all this.

Santa Cruz Carpenter’s Union Local

Santa Cruz Carpenters Local 505 with Surfboard 1

Well, um, I still don’t think that we should stereotype Santa Cruz tradesmen as die-hard surfers who just work so that they can keep surfing. Even if the Carpenter’s Union shows a happy tradesman standing in the redwoods with a mighty longboard. It’s lies, I tell you, all lies.

Ahern Rentals

Ahern Equipment Rental Jackhammer Through Foot Tee

Ahern will rent you any equipment you need in the construction biz — except good sense. A ha-ha construction joke t-shirt, as good — or bad — as they get.

Ferrell Electric

Santa Cruz Ferrell Electric Jimbo Phillips

Electricians don’t do a lot of sexual innuendo on company t-shirts. They prefer puns about electricity. The only vaguely sexual motto I’ve seen on a shirt was “We’ll check your shorts.” It came from some feral electrician up toward Eureka.

That said, I’ll bet that Mr. Ferrell — while not feral — is another Santa Cruz-area surfin’ contractor.

3M Vinyl Electrical Tape

Scotch Electrical Tape 1

As far as the American public is concerned, 3M is the kindly old uncle of American corporations. They sell tape, and they’ve been around however; how bad can they be, right?

On that last question, opinions vary. But it’s clear that kindly Uncle Three-Em will pitch big-breasted cheesecake with the best of them to catch the tradesman market. And yes, they, like Halsteel, can say “Made in USA.”

Note that the ‘driver” wears high-heeled sandals with her racing suit. 3M printed several t-shirts in this series — hot women, cars, electrical tape — but I chose not to Collect Them All. I have my pride.

I leave you with a tradesman’s tee that poses the one great universal question:  WHY IS THIS MAN LAUGHING?  HE NEVER STOPS! WHY? WHY?

Mr. Rooter

 

T-Shirts from the Collection: A Town Built for Pleasure

Pleasure Point Bike Race 40th Anniversary Tee

The coastal community of Pleasure Point, east of Santa Cruz, was practically designed and built as a surfer’s haven. It had great surf breaks — spots where the waves are reliably good. They drew Dawn-Age surfers by the ’30s or earlier, and certainly by the ’50s. And the Point’s Prohibition-era speak-easies and road house gave it a certain, ah, casual feel that it still owns.

Nor did it hurt that living was cheap in Pleasure Point. In the ‘50s and ‘60s and ‘70s, four or five — or eight or ten — local youth could rent a house out that way, do as little work as possible, and party and surf their brains out.

The rents rose with time and demand, but Pleasure Point is still a surfer’s haven. Some of the older surfers are still out there — plenty of gray hair rides the waves — along with new generations of local-grown surfers and transplants. Their activities produce many t-shirts.

Back in the day, surfers formed clubs; several operated out of Pleasure Point over the years, and they staged events. Here’s one:

Valentine's Day Massacre Surf Contest Tee

Valentine's Day Massacre Surf Contest Tee 2

The sponsor bugs tell a lot about the surfing community. click to expand. Jimbo Phlllips is the artist who drew the t-shirt’s design; BroPrints is a silk-screen shop that probably printed it.

This came from a “locals only” surf tournament sponsored by the Pleasure Point Night Fighters surf club. Interesting name, no? The original Night Fighters were a volunteer fire brigade/rescue squad who fought fires in Pleasure Point  in the ‘20s and ‘30s because no fire department would come out there after dark. Myth and legend turned the original Night Fighters into bad-ass vigilantes, and surf clubs by this name have come and gone.

Notice the small ‘Locals Only” sign on the tee; you didn’t surf unless you were invited. Santa Cruz surfers are a clannish bunch, and kind of wish that nobody came from out of town — or sometimes even from the other side of the same town — to surf “their” waves. That said, this latest incarnation of the Night Fighters styled itself a force for good by cleaning the beaches and campaigning for other beach-goers to do the same.

The Night Fighters don’t seem active these days — what do I know, I don’t surf — but here is a contest tee from a surf club that’s definitely alive and well: the Big Stick Surfing Association.

The Big Stickers like heavy long boards of eight foot length or more: hence the tourney name “Logjam.” Moreover, the Logjam is only for boards older than 1970. It’s old-school surfing for old-school surfers: as the shirt says, “Old boards, no cords.”

logjam

And what’s the talk about “no cords” and “no kook cords” on these tees? The terms refer to surfboard leashes. These are lines that surfers string between themselves and their boards so that the boards don’t go shooting off into infinity — or the rocks — when surfers wipe out.

In surfing slang, “kooks” are inferior surfers (usually weekenders from out of town) that don’t give their betters enough room on the waves. Grizzled old surfers think surfboard leashes encourage lazy and dangerous surfing by making it too easy to hang on to one’s board. Hence the nickname “kook cords.” More about that in a bit.

Surf clubs surfed together and competed together at Pleasure Point.  And they partied, too:

Dirt Farm Pig o Rama Tee 1

A lDirt Farm Pig o Rama Tee 2ittle Photoshop can be an awesome thing in the wrong hands, can’t it? The Dirt Farm Surf Club is or was a group of surfers who hung in a dirt field by the O’Neill’s surf break and the adjacent beach. The field —aka The Dirt Farm, of course — was used freely by surfers for activities both formal and informal. Locals surf contests like the Logjam use it, for example. Or you could just run your dog.

Next to the Dirt Farm, and above the beach, lay the expansive home and property of Jack O’Neill. O’Neill’s presence alone made Pleasure Point a surfing capital. Back in the ‘50s O’Neill popularized surfing by perfecting the wetsuit, which allowed surfers to surf longer in chilly water. O’Neill made it possible for surfers to surf every single day, and for hours. The sport boomed.

He b"Uncle Sam" O'Neilluilt an empire of surf shops, wetsuits, water gear and clothing of all kinds — including t-shirts. It seemed right that he looked like a one-eyed pirate, complete with beard and eye patch. His own company sold the t-shirt shown at right, and hundreds of other designs.

That missing eye? It was taken out by an accident with an early-version kook cord: the line lashed him right across the face. The irony is that O’Neill’s son invented surf leashes, and O’Neill eventually made a lot of money selling them.  Live by the cord, go blind by the cord.

Now, every piece of ground along the coast is owned by somebody. And while there’d never been problems with surfers hanging out on the Dirt Farm, there was the future to think about. And O’Neill cared about that. So ten or so years ago, he bought the Dirt Farm for the free use of surfers and others, and willed it to the public good in perpetuity upon his death.

Jack O’Neill did die a few years back. A mighty paddle-out of 3000 surfers took place in his honor off his beloved Pleasure Point. And the Dirt Farm goes on forever, if not the Dirt Farm Surf Club..

Pleasure Point supports a whole ecosystem for surfers and their needs: surfer food, surfer services, surfer lifestyle. Below are a few tees for the other institutions that help make Pleasure Point … well, Pleasure Point.

Santa Cruz Board Ding Repair 1

If you’re hardcore and ride without a kook cord, there’s always someone to fix the dings when your board gets away from you and runs into something hard. BE Sanding, near Pleasure Point, will do the job.

Dunlap Donuts Tee Year 2

Head down Portola Drove on a Sunday morning and you may well see 50 to 100 cold-looking surfers in hoodies and shorts standing in front of Dunlap’s Donuts, coffee in hand. After a few early-morning hours in the cold water, a big coffee and a maple bar the size of a loaf of bread can look pretty good, wetsuit or no wetsuit.

Santa Cruz Boardroom Skateboard Racing Team Tee

The Boardroom is a vast and venerable skateboard shop in Pleasure Point’s business district on 41st. Skateboarding was invented by surfers for times when the waves didn’t cooperate. Many surfers came from skateboarding. The same artists who do surf art also do skateboard art; and yes, many surf, and some surf at Pleasure Point. The Boardroom’s walls and ceiling are covered with skateboard art; it’s like a museum, and worth a visit if your tastes run that way.

 

Kong 1

Show this tee to midcounty surfers, and sighs of nostalgia will ensue. Kong’s Market and Deli, run by the kindly Ahn family for many years, was a source of massive amount of cheap food at low-low prices: home-made egg rolls, the might Kong Burger, an insane breakfast burrito, and more. If they knew you, they might front you a keg of beer for your party/fundraiser and wait for the money after.

Santa Cruz Pleasure Point Bike Race 1994 Tee 3

Chilling out, acting-out and clannishness are joint traditions in Pleasure Point culture. This was typified by the Pleasure Point Bike Race, which was no race at all. It was an invitation-only drinking party on two wheels. Your “ticket,” if you were allowed to buy one, was a t-shirt. Most of them seemed to have a beer theme:
You and your fellow racers would launch in a loose column and cycle between several different grand houses to which your t-shirt would admit you. Then you would eat and quaff to excess and party to a live band, and a good one at that.
Then, back on the bike and off to the next house on the circuit, to do it all over again, riding more shakily than before.
The Pleasure Point Bike Race ran from 1974 to about 2014 or thereabouts. This may have been the last t-shirt “ticket,” or close to it. Written info is hard to find.

Pleasure Point Street Fair 2014 Tee

Pleasure Point still parties, but a little more openly now. There’s a street fair these days — and you don’t have to know anybody to get in.

 

 

Dunlap's Donuts Santa Cruz Tee 1

Just for laughs, another Dunlap’s Donuts tee. They put out a new one every year or so, and price it cheap so that everybody will buy one and wear it. Cheap advising, the manager explained to me when I stopped by. I asked her who Frank was. She said that was the donut cook’s idea, and he wouldn’t explain.

zxc

T-Shirts from the Collection: Community Radio Tees, Featuring the King of Radio

KKUP Psychedlic Marathon Tee Community radio stations perpetually have their hand out. Their plaintive cries haunt the airwaves: “Please, please donate to help us continue bringing you the programming that you love so much.” And for your donation (“$50 or more!”) you usually get a station t-shirt.

But they’re all different otherwise. Some are radical, amateurish, and low budget. Some are hyper-slick and arty and well-funded;. And some are dens of  music genre junkies who;re there  to share the music that they love. Their station t-shirts reflect this.

Let me state, for the record, that community radio station KZSC puts out some pretty odd t-shirts.  KZSC is  a self-supporting creature of the University of California at Santa Cruz. Student participation is what that school is all about.

KZSC Tee -- Commercial Radio Sucks 2

So for much its history KZSC has picked its t-shirt designs from student submissions.   And yes, the final products are not especially professional. If you can’t parse out the meaning of a tee covered in vacuum cleaners, the other side reads “Corporate Radio Sucks.”

But that’s UCSC for you, a rebellious, counter-culture campus with no football team and a banana slug for a mascot.  Three freshmen started KZSC as a pirate operation back in ’67. They had a home-made ten-watt transmitter in the basement of a dorm.  The administration happily signed off: “Sure, go ahead, but please call the FCC when you can get around to it.”

KZSC Many Beats Tee

Were those the good old days, or what? True, it wasn’t long before the FCC was knocking on dorm room doors at eight in the morning. But  all worked out eventually.

KZSC is still student-run and mostly student-programmed,  with an advisor to keep things on track.  Students even raise money to keep the station alive.

And they’re all young, and learning, and don’t always do things well the first time.  But that’s all right. In a liberal arts/research university with few occupational programs, KZSC gives students real-world expereience: in operations, management, production, community journalism, and more.

KZSC programs the new music and the old music, and even gets the local news out there, with a heavy dollop of social justice.   We locals like it.

Public Radio Robot Tee

And then there is KEXP.  KEXP is what happens to a community radio station when it finds itsel floating in cash  and is so hip that it calls itself an arts organization.  Radio’s just a tool, bro. KEXP is affiliated with the University of Washington, but nobody would call it a college station.

And it’s in Seattle, home of the rich hip.  KEXP plays all the music that’s hip. KEXP even tells you what music you should think is hip. KEXP broadcasts live performances and concerts.  KEXP supports new artists in the PNW.  Their website is so loaded with performances and podcasts and archives that it’s hard to find the live feed.

KEXP has deep-pocket backers and a budget of mlllions and well-paid staff. KEXP has a postmodern campus in the Seattle arts district with its own ultra-hip coffee house and record storeKEXP’s t-shirt is witty, professional… and hip.

I’ve listened. I don’t think I’m hip enough. I like KZSC better.

And I like KKUP in Cupertino, California — in Silicon Valley, just over the hill from Santa Cruz.  Unlike KEXP, KKUP is about 100 percent volunteer and 100 percent listener supported. Unlike the kids at KZSC, a lot of KKUP’s volunteers are already pretty savvy when they walk in the door. It’s Silicon Valley, remember.

The programming is practically all music from a couple of dozen different genres.  Every month the station runs a two-day music marathon for a single genre:  all blues, all Latin, all visionary, all Dead, and more.  The marathons double as a fund drive, and the station issues t-shirts for many of them. KKUP’s 2008 Psychedelic Marathon tee is a great deal of fun..

KKUP Psychedlic Music Marathon Tee 1

 

But my real favorite is KKUP’s 2007 Bluegrass/Country/Folk Marathon t-shirt.   Not just because it’s a great image, but because it’s about a man who mastered radio itself.

KKUP Country and Western Marathon Tee

The tee bears a scratchboard portrait of country music great Buck Owens, beaming out from behind an old-school radio mike.  Owens had died recently, after a long career in country music and radio station management.  He was a good musician,  a smart businessman, and the originator of country music’s stripped-down “Bakersfield Sound” : twangy, basic, loud. And he was all about radio. It made him.

In the ‘40s, Owens was based out of Bakersfield, California, a hard-scrabble oil town full of Okie transplants.  They liked country music there. Owens went downt to LA to make a few records and played a lot of backup, but not much came of it. He went up to Washington state for a change of scene. and bought a piece of a radio station.

It was his job to pick music for airplay.  He was a good judge of tunes, but the job bugged him. Two recordings would both appeal to him, but one would get lots of listener response while the other one died on the air. He just didn’t get it.

He worked on the problem for a while and finally figured it out: he was listening to music on high-fidelity studio speakers, but his audience was listening to the tinny AM radio speakers in their cars. Those cheap, small speakers were okay on sharp highs, but anything subtle or bass-heavy turned to mush.   Music producers weren’t thinking about automobile speakers when they mixed their music.

So Owens did. He went back to recording music, and back to Bakersfield, too.  But this time, he hooked a pair of tinny car radio speakers to the mixer and twiddled the tracks  till the music sounded strong on them, not on the good speakers.

And Buck Owens turned out the sharpest, twangiest music you ever heard in the front seat of a ’59 Chevy Bel Air: the Bakersfield Sound.

That sound brought Owens a string of ‘60s hits,  a string of successful radio stations, a successful TV show, and his own nightclub.  Because Buck Owens figured out how to work radio, in more ways than one.

He was truly Mr. Radio. Whatever else he was, honor him for that. KKUP did.

T-Shirts from the Collection: A Nuclear Submarine from the Gold Rush

USS California

This scenario occurred to me upon snagging the latest t-shirt for my collection:

Suppose that you live in Santa Cruz County, home to alternative lifestyles. It’s also the home of hope for a greener, better, more peaceful and non-authoritarian tomorrow.

And beyond that we Santa Cruzans all hope that all the world’s peoples survive the next 50 years without nuking each other to glass, despite the pressures of growing shortages and environmental catastrophe.

And you agree with much of that. But you’ve got to make a living, too. And sadly, your living comes from the military industrial complex.

One day, to commemorate a very special occasion, your management gave you this rather wizard t-shirt.  And you deserve it, because your team helped roll out a $2 billion nuclear-powered attack submarine: the USS California, SSN 781. This shirt honors the commissioning of that vessel in 2011.

The California is the pride of the Virginia Class  submarines and yet another guaranteed cost-plus-profitable project for your employer, defense contractor Northrop Grumman. SSN 781 is a veritable Stradivarius of destruction; although these days, the defense establishment prefers the term “force projection.”

Northrop Grumman, of course, is one of the ever fewer, ever larger defense contractors who provide America with its weapons — and increasingly, even run weapons programs for the government.  Ain’t private industry wonderful? It can be part of the government, and run a guaranteed profit, too.

And you, the minion who got this wondrous shirt, went home and put it in a drawer.  Seven or eight years after the fact, it’s in mint condition.  You never wore it; once at most, at the office party.  No doubt you’d feel uncomfortable wearing it in Santa Cruz. Would they understand at the farmer’s market, as you dithered over your organic heirloom tomatoes?

Perhaps not. In some parts of this county, somebody might just hiss at you over that shirt. In other parts, the more monied parts — it’d just be bad taste.  One does not talk about where the money comes from; one simply has it.

A few years later you got tired of having the t-shirt stare at you from the drawer, and you donated it to a worthy charity.  They put it in their thrift store.   Now I have it.

Take a good look at it: look at all the California iconography.  There’s the Great Seal of the state; there’s the Bear Flag.  Even the name “USS California” is printed in an old-school 19th- or 20th century font.  The ship’s motto, “Silence is Golden,” refers to both the Golden State, and the ship’s stealthy nature.

Yes: someone made a nice try at establishing a 21st century killing machine as a part of California’s heritage.

And you know what? It’s true.  It’s all true. This nuclear boat has 200 years of heritage, or almost. Back to before we were even part of the United States.

The year is 1822, and in Cornwall, England, a young boy named Joshua Hendy was born into the world.  Cornwall sucked, so he and his brothers migrated to the US while he was a young teen.  After traveling the South, he married and settled in as a blacksmith in Houston in the 1840s.

Yellow fever killed his wife and children; after that Houston had little to hold him. When gold was discovered in California in ’49, Hendy hopped a clipper ship for San Francisco.

Hendy found his fortune in San Francisco insted of the Gold Country.  At first, he made tools for the prospectors and then, equipment for the big mining operations that came soon enough: pumps, ore crushers, grinders, ore concentrators, giant water cannon.

Hendy proved to be an engineering genius, and the Joshua Hendy Iron Works was the engineering company that made the Comstock Lode mineable. Some of his designs for mining equipment were still current 100 years later.

Hendy passed in the ‘90s, but the Hendy Iron Works chugged on. It even made machines to carve out the Panama Canal. When the 1906 quake wiped out its San Francisco headquarters, the city of Sunnyvale offered the company free land if it would relocate to the South Bay. It did, and became a (very) early technology company in what would become Silicon Valley.

During World War I, the Hendy Works was asked to make two-story tall marine steam engines for cargo ships. The company had never made marine equipment before, but the giant units that they turned out were later prized for their reliability and durability.

Flash forward 20-odd years through the Great Depression and some really bad times. The Hendy Iron Works was down to 60 employees. Financially it was on the ropes, with the banks closing in. But a hard-driving engineer named Steven Moore  bought the company and refashioned it, with the backing of a consortium of western engineering firms.

Moore ramped the company up to 11,000 employees during World War Two to mass-produce old-fashioned but durable marine steam engines at a clip that nobody could believe.

Joshua Hendy 2500 HP Triple Expansion EC-2 marine steam engines would power the Liberty ships that the Kaiser yards were building in the East Bay.  The plant turned out one 136-ton, 20-foot-tall steam engine every 40.8 hours.  The Hendy Works built over 750 of them in three and a half years, plus dozens of more modern steam turbines for faster vessels.

Moore moved on after the war, and Westinghouse Corp. bought the Joshua Hendy Iron Works. The company began making pressure hulls for submarines, control and missile-launch systems for nuclear subs, radio telescopes, steam turbines for use in power generation, nuclear power plant equipment and more.  Northrop Grumman bought Joshua Hendy from Westinghouse in the ‘90s and renamed it Northrop Grumman Marine Systems.

And it was that unit, the Joshua Hendy Iron Works of old, that served as prime contractor for the USS California project — even if the actual boat was built in Northrup Grumman’s East Coast shipyards.

The Northrup Grumman PR flacks had it right, whether they knew it or not. The USS California was a California boat from a California lineage: all the way back to the Gold Rush.

But… somebody really didn’t want to wear that t-shirt in Santa Cruz County.  And I don’t blame them.