Don's Tuesday Column

          THE WAY I SEE IT   by Don Polson  Red Bluff Daily News   10/31/2023

Where this column, and I, come from

Readers looking for last week’s column should know that it was written, submitted and, due to issues beyond my control, failed to show up in the usual space. It is no small matter as, since the inception of “The Way I See It” in April 2005 (originally “News and Views”), there has never been a dropped, or unwritten column, in these nearly 19 years, in sickness or health, while travelling or at a physical home.

That’s 52 columns a year, each taking 5+ hours of a “labor of love” to write, rewrite, edit, and always shorten—perhaps totaling 5,000+ hours, or 7 to 8 months’ worth of time—uncompensated but for the initial $25 per column, soon dropped for “belt tightening”.

Last week’s column was posted, as usual, at Donpolson.blogspot.com and, for your edification, is reposted this morning; the blog is low bandwidth, free of adds, without viruses, “phishing,” etc. since 2009. Additionally, you’ll find several articles per day that should enlighten you beyond the state-approved content spoon-fed from networks, cable and major newspapers.

Current items shed light on the new Speaker of the House of Representatives, Mike Johnson; the hysterical reaction to his Christian-based policies; Biden’s war drums; and “Green Dreams Going up in Smoke.”

This column began after the presidential election of 2004, when local Republicans asked then-editor Michael Griffin to include some conservative-leaning opinion pieces as it seemed that most items on the “Opinion” page leaned left. Since I had letters and opinion pieces published in the Sacramento Bee, the Chico Enterprise-Record, the Redding Record Searchlight and the Red Bluff Daily News, when Mr. Griffin asked for a submission in April, 2005, my initial column was accepted, beginning the run.

An origin story about the “I” in “The Way I See It” would begin in Normal, Illinois, on December 20, 1950. I was brought home to a newly-constructed basement built into a hillside by my dad. It contained the plumbing and electrical necessities while the home was built above.

Lord only knows how he accomplished that while working a day job; a small reservoir had been created behind an earthen dam, with a dock and rowboat. The property was dubbed “We Wanna Lake,” and grew orchards and riparian “jungles” in which I and my smaller brother rambled, our imaginations the only limitation to adventure.

My dad’s two sons from a previous marriage, terminated by a “Dear John” letter while he was at sea in WWII, gradually drifted away, perhaps out of discontent or animosity. But what did we kids know? Their mom held more of their devotion than our Mom, whom Dad married after learning about her while abroad in the Navy. We were Swedish on Dad’s side and German on Mom’s side (nee Gaebe), to great-grandparent immigrants during the great waves that probably saw Ellis Island at some point.

Exactly why Dad felt compelled to leave “We Wanna Lake” behind to purchase a motel, renamed “Motel 51” for its frontage on an Illinois state highway in Heyworth, is beyond me. However, his construction produced a modest home above a fully equipped basement for kindergarten through 2^nd grade, all within walking distance in that idyllic small town of about 1,200 people.

Being kids, the burdens of work, nightly registrations, daily housekeeping, etc. were well over our heads; we were occupied playing in a “tent” made from a parachute, exploring the fields and seasonal creek behind the motel, and visiting our little friends. Other than childish pranks and foibles, it was as pristine a small-town life as We Wanna Lake had been for country living.

Many years ago, Barb and I included visiting We Wanna Lake and Motel 51 on a tour of her upbringing locations outside of St. Louis. Etched into a post in the basement carport were the height marks for my brother Steve and me (baby sister Bonnie came later). Much of the property was as I remembered, although I could hardly rely on said memories. The current owners were gracious and welcoming of my link to the past origins of their home.

In Heyworth, we were surprised to see that the multi-story elementary school remained, with its still usable upper floor fire escapes: large metal culverts with smooth surfaces that sat behind doors. In the event of a fire, children would line up as doors were opened and adults would lift kids and place them feet-first into the slanted, shiny tunnels, to slide safely down to the landing area. I can’t remember if we had drills but you’d think so; as the school still stood, apparently, they were never used in a fire.

Now with a population of about 2,700, Heyworth’s central district was still busy; the barber shop, where we were intimidated into good behavior by tales of wild animals in the basement, no longer there.

To come: Electric vehicles on Tehama County car lots—affordable (or not); COVID shots and boosters—good for you (or not); Pot shop—harmless (or not).