The Scoop

Cow-ardly Acts

BS on the air, in the rivers

By Bob Harris

SHOULD advertisers or major corporations be able to affect the news you hear, simply because they’re powerful? Obviously, no. Once you let people dictate the news for their own interests, it ain’t news anymore.

However, in Tampa, two investigative journalists, Steve Wilson and Jane Akre, are suing their former bosses at the local Fox TV affiliate. Why? Because, their suit claims, they were fired simply for doing their jobs too well. Evidently the duo wrote and produced a series of reports that would have upset somebody with pockets.

The reporters in question have a combined 44 years of experience, three Emmys, and a National Press Club Award. The people they’re suing work for Rupert Murdoch. Choose your side. The series they produced concerned a suspected cancer-promoting substance in the milk supply. The cause is apparently bovine growth hormone, a synthetic hormone that cranks up milk production. Many farmers say BGH burns out the cow, and although the FDA approved the stuff a few years ago, some highly reputable labcoats worry it might lead to cancer in people who drink the milk.

BGH is banned in Canada and most of the European Union, but it’s legal in the United States, where it’s made by Monsanto–the same chemical geniuses who brought you PCBs and Agent Orange. Both of which were supposedly safe as well.

Wilson and Akre’s series outlined the growing health concerns about the additive, the consequences of which, they discovered, are already swishing around inside every jug of milk in the state. Truth is an absolute defense in American libel law, so reporters who do their homework should have nothing to worry about, right?

However, before the story got on the air, a Monsanto attorney wrote an intimidating letter to the Fox higher-ups. So the lawsuit says that Fox management buckled instantly, forcing the reporters to do dozens of distorted rewrites in an effort to appease the giant chemlords. Eventually the story was killed, the reporters fired.

If you want to know more, the cool folks at FAIR (Fairness and Accuracy In Reporting) intend to follow the lawsuit in their monthly magazine, Extra!, and in their biweekly Extra! Update. If you’re concerned about the integrity of the news, check them out at http://www.fair.org/.

In addition, the reporters have placed the details of the case, including the lawsuit itself and supporting documents, on their website http://www.foxBGHsuit.com. The site also includes the reporters’ version of the TV series and the phonied-up rewrites the guys in the ties apparently tried to get them to do. If you want to know how interviews and sound bites can be subtly framed to change the meaning of a story, this is an instructive case study.

When surveyed, most Americans don’t want to drink BGH-produced milk. But thanks to Fox news executives, Tampa residents still don’t know exactly what they’re drinking. They have, however, learned a lot about house fires, car chases, and fashion trends on Oscar night.

If it doesn’t exist to provide useful information, there’s hardly any point to reporting the news. Then again, if you’ve seen a lot of TV news, you already know that hardly anybody does.

THIS ONE WAS PICKED out by the watchful eye of Wayne Grytting, who nobly devotes himself to chronicling what George Orwell called “Newspeak”: the twisted phrases and euphemisms created by politicians, corporations, and PR people to turn reality completely on its head.

You know the drill: armies calling sneak attacks “pre-emptive self-defense,” or politicians calling a tax increase “revenue enhancement.” Two decades ago, National Airlines even once called a plane crash “the involuntary conversion of a 727.”

Well, if you’re concerned about your drinking water, fear not, gentle reader. As Grytting notes, the state of Washington has found a way to completely eliminate an entire category of pollution with the stroke of a pen.

See, a bunch of dairy farms up there are fairly close to some major rivers, which means cow manure is apparently seeping right into the water supply. Yeesh. Granted, nature does dilute the stuff as it gurgles along the river, and cities do have treatment plants. But some folks are still worried that there might just still be a little more cow in their water than there ought to be.

Which means if you’re a legislator, you gotta test and find out, and then if it’s true, you gotta write some laws or do a cleanup or build new treatment plants, and you probably also need to hassle with the dairy people … and really, with all the money a politician needs to raise just to keep the darn job anymore, who in a legislature has that kind of time?

Fortunately, there was a solution: Senate Bill 6161. The Dairy Nutrient Management Bill simply deletes the phrase “dairy manure” from Washington state laws entirely, replacing it with the much happier-sounding “dairy nutrients,” which are defined as “any organic waste produced by … cows.”

The bill passed, by a vote of 97 to 1.

The only legislator who voted “against” was a former septic tank installer.

Who apparently knows a complete bunch of bull, uh, nutrient, when he sees it.

From the May 7-13, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Ralph Metzner

0

Born Again


Lee Ballard

Cultivating the spirit: Ex-LSD guru-turned-transformative psychologist Ralph Metzner, a Sonoma resident, has published an updated version of his classic The Unfolding Self.

Legendary psychotherapist Ralph Metzner produces new incarnation of his classic volume on transformation and rebirth

By David Templeton

THERE IS A FAMILIAR painting hanging over Ralph Metzner’s living room couch. Instantly recognizable as one of visionary artist Susan Boulet’s most famous works, its striking image of a handsome Native American shaman wearing the ceremonial skin and head of a large gray wolf–or is the shaman transforming into the wolf before our eyes?–has been reproduced on postcards, prints, and posters around the world, decorating the dormitories and wooded sanctuaries of countless free-thinking neo-pagans and metaphysical adventurers across the globe.

What sets Metzner’s copy apart from all the others is that his Boulet is not a print.

“It’s the original,” he shyly confesses, a slight shrug rising and falling as he leads a tour through his art-filled, comfortably rambling house near downtown Sonoma. It is congruous with Metzner’s status as a central figure of the transformative consciousness movement that he would become the keeper of a painting that is arguably one of the better-known symbols of an expanding cultural acceptance of traditional, multi-ethnic, decidedly mystical spiritual systems.

After all, Metzner is responsible to a great degree for the mid-’60s burst of consciousness that started it all in the first place.

Such praise appears to embarrass Metzner, perhaps the humblest–certainly the least publicized–of that once-notorious human potential trio of Harvard professors that also includes Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert, aka Ram Dass. Now considered something of a psychedelic Holy Trinity, Metzner, Leary, and Alpert created a stir with their studies of LSD-induced spiritual experiences, and co-authored the classic book The Psychedelic Experience.

After leaving Harvard, each ventured his own way: Leary went underground, Alpert traveled to India, and Metzner, after years of practicing psychotherapy in a variety of settings during which he wrote numerous books–including the groundbreaking Opening to Inner Light in 1986–eventually settled in the Bay Area.

Metzner is a Distinguished Professor of Psychology at the California Institute of Integral Studies in San Francisco, where he has taught since 1975.

After years of working in relative solitude, Metzner has once again entered the public spotlight with the recent release of The Unfolding Self: Varieties of Transformative Experience (Origin Press; $14.95), an expanded and renamed edition of the long out-of-print Opening to Inner Light, which sold 10,000 copies in its original incarnation. Much has changed in the popular culture during the last 13 years. With the miraculous resurrection of Metzner’s sadly neglected book–an examination of 12 universal metaphors employed by the world’s many religions to describe the experience of spiritual transformation, with two new chapters and a spate of new illustrations–a whole new generation of scholars and seekers is suddenly taking notice of Metzner once again.

“I’m very happy,” Metzner succinctly states. “I’ve long wanted it be republished.”

RICH IN FOLKLORE and psychological insight, The Unfolding Self explores the obvious meanings and hidden meanings of those central metaphorical ideas we use to describe our most profound spiritual metamorphoses: stepping from darkness into light, for example, and the image of being set free from inner captivity, of dying and rebirth, of being cleansed in the heat of a purifying fire. The restored chapters treat the metaphors of integrating the inner wild animal, and unfolding the Tree of Life.

“The book is really about the idea of psycho-spiritual transformation,” Metzner summarizes, “and the way people experience it according to the classical traditions. The new chapters are the kind of ecological themes that have become much more central a part of my focus in the time since the book was written.”

A pivotal force in the book’s timely re-release is its publisher, Byron Belitsos of Origin Press. Something of a visionary himself, Belitsos is the founder of IntegralSpirit.com. An innovative web-magazine and on-line community dealing with issues of integral spirituality points of view, the site also sells books that deal with similar themes–several hundred thousand are listed–and is fast becoming known as an Amazon Book Service for the spiritual community.

Origin Press, Belitsos long-planned brainchild, has only just made its publishing debut, with the Metzner reissue as its first offering.

“Ralph is perfect for us, actually,” says Belitsos. “He’s brought a terrific amount of scientific thought and academic methodology to these very esoteric realms. People know Leary. They know Ram Dass. It’s time for Ralph Metzner to be known.

“I personally think he’ll end being considered the most important writer of the pack.”

Asked how he feels about being eternally grouped with–and compared to–Leary and Ram Dass, Metzner’s eyes light up. “I feel fine about it,” he smiles. “I was very close to them, I remained very close to Leary right up until his death, and I was with Ram Dass last night. We’re close friends. I feel very fortunate to have had two such great spirits, great beings, as my teachers, my friends, my mentors.”

Leary’s death of cancer, Metzner points out, and his publicly voiced intention of experiencing his own death as the ultimate trip, brought Leary a level of wide respect and admiration that he had been deprived of throughout his life. His fearless view of death as just another transformation may, in fact, have helped raise the nation’s consciousness in regard to its inability to deal with the notion of dying.

“Coming near to death is probably, from my experience, the trigger for the most profound kind of transformative experience,” Metzner softly remarks. “Whether it’s a near-death experience of the classical kind, where someone is in an accident and then moves out of their body, or through a loved one dying, either a child or a parent.”

Metzner has experienced such an event firsthand; his own son, Ari Krishna Metzner–to whom the book is dedicated–was killed in an accident in 1974.

“Sometimes,” he adds, “the transformation comes, as with Leary, in coming near to one’s own death in illness. People have been miraculously transformed through such experiences.”

Metzner’s work seems to suggest that there is a built-in desire to transform ourselves into better, or perhaps only different, human beings. “People do want transformative experiences,” he affirms. “We all desire personal growth and change. People go on vision quests in search of change. They involve themselves in various spiritual practices. It’s a very general, very human thing.

“[Healing specialist and author] Andrew Weil and others now say–and I agree with him–that healing is the natural capacity of the human organism, or any organism for that matter,” he muses, gazing up again at the painting of the shaman caught halfway between two versions of himself. “We are spiritual beings,” Metzner concludes.

“To seek a spiritual vision, to have a desire to experience spiritual healing, that is something that is inherent in every single individual.”

From the May 7-13, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Short Reviews

Spring Gleaning

A potpourri of reads by local authors

SHOP LOCALLY and read whatever you like, but don’t pass over a chance to support local authors whenever possible. This season has something for everyone, from Bruce Henderson’s gripping true-life whodunnit Trace Evidence to a exhaustive travel guide for diehard tequila lovers. Enjoy. Synopses by Mary Bishop, Steve Bjerklie, Shelley Lawrence, Patrick Sullivan, David Templeton, and Marina Wolf.

Shoshana Alexander
Women’s Ventures, Women’s Visions
(Crossing Press; $14.95)

“MMM, GIRL, you oughta be sellin’ this!” Every woman who’s ever heard this enthusiastic comment, or something like it, has also heard the scared little rejoinder in her head two seconds later: I don’t know how. But there is no shortage of role models for would-be women business owners, as this Sebastopol author points out in her introduction to Women’s Ventures: we’re just lacking the old-girl network. This inspiring collection of first-person narratives from 29 women entrepreneurs offers a much needed link in that fledgling web. The stories come from a wide range of informants, from a new-mother caretaker in Atlanta, Ga., to award-winning TV producer Marcy Carsey. In this small book is information on financing, advertising, employing, living, all the more engaging because it doesn’t feel like advice, but quiet, friendly sharing of personal truth.
M.W.

Edwin C. Anderson Jr.
The Promise That Was America
(Self-Published; $21.95)

SANTA ROSA attorney Edwin Anderson here reveals the historical successes and failures of America. By delving into the lives of specific characters that range from George Washington to Lyndon Johnson and Robert NcNamara, Anderson invites us to reflect upon the past as well as the present and future. His book encourages us to take a serious look at ourselves and the way our country has evolved.
S.L.

James A. Autry and Stephen Mitchell
Real Power: Business Lessons from the Tao Te Ching
(Riverhead Books; $23.95)

THE FACT THAT “Dow” and “Tao” are pronounced exactly the same in English may or may not be the reason why Sonoma resident Stephen Mitchell, famed for making Genesis, Job, and Rilke accessible, and James Autry, a former Fortune 500 company executive, teamed up to find the pearls of business advice buried within Lao-tzu’s text of ancient Chinese wisdom, the Tao Te Ching. But no matter. This graceful, spare book (200 pages) elegantly describes how Lao-tzu’s sage advice reveal good business sense. “Can you coax your mind from its wandering and keep to the original oneness?” may not appear to have application in the boardroom or on the trading floor, but the authors find it: “People who are driven by crisis are letting circumstances define their lives instead of allowing all things to arise in the space in which work is performed.” Many such ancient/modern pearls are to be found here.
S.B.

George Bowering, Angela Bowering, David Bromige, and Michael Matthews
Piccolo Mondo
(Coach House Press; $35)

YOU CAN TAKE the boy out of Canada, but you can’t take Canada out of the boy, as Sonoma County transplant David Bromige proves in his collaborative coming-of-age novel set in 1961 Vancouver, B.C. In this semi-stream-of-consciousness production, four college students become ensnared in a web of Canadian government intrigue … ha-ha, Canadian intrigue, that’s an oxymoron, right? Well, if a brilliant flash of light at the edge of the night sky doesn’t grab you, check out Piccolo Mondo in its entirety at the Coach House Press website at www.chbooks.com/home.html. Remember to leave a tip.
M.W.



Lance Cutler The Tequila Lover’s Guide to Mexico: Everything There Is to Know About Tequila … Including How to Get There
(Wine Patrol Press; $16.95)

PART TRAVEL book and part love letter, this guide is a highly personal, brightly written romp through the land of the blue agave, the mythic plant from which all tequila blessings flow. Lance Cutler, a Sonoma-based author with a legendary wine cellar, uses the same wine-appreciation skills he’s honed for years as he takes his wife from one tequila distillery to another, pointing out nifty technical and historical facts, as well as giving tips on how to find the often-remote distilleries themselves, and where to find a bite to eat once you get there.
D.T.

Jack Fritscher
The Geography of Women: A Romantic Comedy
(Palm Drive Publishing; $9.95)

ERA IS AURA in lesbian-themed fiction, or at least it should be. A good piece of lesbian period fiction will make prevailing political and moral attitudes perfectly clear, but not overwhelming. By that standard, at least, The Geography of Women is a success, melding nuclear-age normalcy with small-town eccentrism. At their juncture in southern Illinois lives Laydia Spain O’Hara (say it out loud), a spunky tomboy. (Is there any other kind?) Fritscher has a talent for well-turned folk phrasing, no matter which way the character leans (Fritscher writes primarily gay male themes). And though the basic plot bears a striking resemblance to Fannie Flagg’s Fried Green Tomatoes, one is willing to forgive in the face of such exuberance.
M.W.

Kendall Haven
Bedtime Stories
(Storystreet; $5.95)

“AAHH, okey-dokey, boys, aahhh, a story, ummm … ” starts out Jimmy and Jason’s dorky dad each night. The twins are convinced that their father is quite possibly the nerdiest man alive, telling bedtime stories comparable to his status as such. But … was it possible that their dad’s stories could maybe … come true? As the stories get progressively spookier, join Jimmy, Jason, their dad, and their elementaryschool mates as local storyteller Kendall Haven–who has performed for more than 2 million children and 800,000 adults in 40 states–takes you through a walk of weirdness.
S.L.

Kendall Haven
Stepping Stones to Science: True Tales and Awesome Activities
Great Moments in Science: Experiments and Readers’ Theatre
(Libraries Unlimited; $22.50, $24)

AN ELEMENTARY-school teacher’s dream, Kendall Haven’s Stepping Stones to Science provides a fun, hands-on way for second- through fifth-graders to learn about science. Covering topics from physics to electricity to evolution, Haven’s storybook/workbook begins each section with an amusing anecdote, which is followed up with an experiment that can be performed by the students. Each section also includes “Topics to Talk About,” a short list of items that teachers can use to spark discussions among their students. All in all, a practical and entertaining way to break into the world of science. Haven’s Great Moments in Science is an intelligent sequel to Stepping Stones to Science. Aimed at students from grades 4 to 9, the book is a series of skits that can be acted out by students using thespian outlines of the glories of scientific stuff like genetics, rocketry, and chemistry, to begin with.

Haven’s skits provide a way for middle-school students to learn about science without feeling bored or patronized, and the books provide a helpful teacher’s guide to aid discussions.
S.L.

Bruce Henderson
Trace Evidence
(Simon & Schuster; $25)

CHILLING FICTION is what it reads like, but with a deft and compelling voice, Sebastopol author Bruce Henderson–best known for his bestseller And the Sea Will Tell–unravels a true-crime drama. Trace Evidence is the story of serial killer Ray Biondi, who stalked his prey along lonely highways of the West. By abducting, sexually assaulting, and strangling his victims in one jurisdiction and dumping their bodies in another, he created an investigative quagmire for detectives. Drawing on hours of exclusive interviews with key investigators and others–including the killer’s wife, who never spoke to authorities– Henderson bores into the psychological complexities of his characters with meticulous accuracy. The eerie case revealed here clearly illustrates how the disparate elements of rage, repression, and family dysfunction combine to create a killer. Trace Evidence is composed with Hitchcocksian precision. It’s stark, sharp, disturbing, and will haunt you for days.
M.B.

Christine Hunsicker, editor
A Dog’s World
(Traveler’s Tales; $12.95)

DO YOU FEEL like a class-A deserter as the Pathetic Puppy Eyes turn on you while you head out the door to, say, Bangladesh? Here is a collection of true stories that tell what happens when dog owners succumb to The Look, avoiding the subsequent guilt, and take their dogs along for the ride (or flight, as the case may be). This addition to the “Travelers’ Tales” series is an actual guidebook that provides maps to foreign lands in a series of heartwarming anecdotes involving dog-lovers (among them such noted authors as John Steinbeck, James Herriot, and Pico Iyer) and the dogs they love.
S.L.

Michele Anna Jordan
California Home Cooking: American Cooking in the California Style
(Harvard Common Press; $16.95)

FROM ALMONDS to zinfandel, Michele Anna Jordan takes her reader through a dazzling repertoire of over 400 recipes that are genuinely imbued with a taste of California. Jordan writes so passionately on the topic of California cuisine that it’s impossible not to get excited about her ninth cookbook. More than just a straight-ahead cookbook, it includes such vignettes as “Okie Burritos” and “Banana Flowers” that educate us about California’s history in a most palatable way. Jordan breathes such life and personality into her recipes that she’ll have even the novice cook running to the stove after page three. Reminding us of farmhouses and ranchos, and emphasizing casual contemporary fare, California Home Cooking wholeheartedly celebrates, just as we are so apt to do, the pleasures of the table.
S.L.

David E. Manley
A Root of Jesse
(Strawberry Hill Press; $14.95)

FROM THE PEN of Sonoma author David Manley comes this globe-trotting, autobiographical tale of three generations of family life. Drawing on memories and old letters, the author carefully charts his family’s unusual journey from life as missionaries in early 20th-century India to relocation in the rural Sonoma County of the 1940s. Along the way, Manley offers vivid snapshots of his grandfather, a fiercely proud German missionary with relentless evangelical zeal; his mother, a beautiful flapper dramatically out of place in colonial India; and World War II-era Healdsburg at a time when “Los Angeles seemed as distant as New York City.”
P.S.

Lloyd Pedersen
The Vintage
(Joyce and Co.; $26)

THE NORTHERN California wine country plays host to this first novel by Sebastopol author Lloyd Pedersen. The Vintage follows the stormy fortunes of the proud but bitterly divided Morello wine dynasty as the family grapples with passion, politics, and intrigue after the end of Prohibition. The retired author draws on his decades of experience working with the U.S. Treasury Department as an inspector in the wine industry to add to this sprawling epic. Perhaps not surprisingly, a government agent figures prominently in the novel, as he squares off against the family’s unscrupulous patriarch, Uncle Louie.
P.S.

Rayford Clayton Reddell
Miniature Roses
(Chronicle Books; $14.95)

RAY REDDELL brings his love of miniature roses to light with this charming book. An expert caretaker of his more than 8,000 personal rosebushes, Petaluman Reddell certainly knows his stuff when he advises his reader on planting techniques, the different possibilities of fertilizers, what to do when disease strikes your babies. Artfully illustrated by the award-winning photographs of Saxon Holt, Miniature Roses will have the reader wondering how it was possible to go all of those years without knowing how to properly tend such species as “Hot Tamale,” “Party Girl,” and “King Tut.”
D.T.

Patricia Lynn Reilly
Be Full of Yourself! The Journey from Self-Criticism to Self-Celebration
(Open Window Creations; $15)

THE COVER of Patricia Lynn Reilly’s nifty new book Be Full of Yourself! is elegantly simple, yet potent: a bright red apple posed against an ascending backdrop of rich, mysterious blue. It makes you hungry just looking at it, but what does it mean? When you examine the pages inside, you suddenly get the point: This is none other than Eve’s apple, womankind’s first great no-no in a long history of opportunities for knowledge and empowerment that have been denied to Eve’s sisters down through the ages. Based on Reilly’s celebrated traveling workshops called “The Journey from Self-Criticism to Self-Celebration,” the book is an examination and dismantling of the question most often asked by women in the workshops: “What is wrong with me?” The author of the best-selling A God Who Looks Like Me guides readers into the heart of this disempowering question, and out the other side with a bold, glorious answer that may end up changing brave women’s lives forever. Take a bite. We dare you.
D.T.

Sara Spaulding-Phillips and Trish McLean
Sacred Beginnings: Honoring the Goddess Within
(Imagin Publishing; $11.95)

QUESTIONS FOR a writer: What does it mean to toss a crown of flowers over the edge of a volcano? How does it feel to follow one’s thoughts and longings into the fiery abyss? Sara Spaulding-Phillips, a Santa Rosa writing teacher, visited Hawaii with an eagerly emotive group of writers. The group meditated and wrote in starts and leaps along the lines of Natalie Goldberg’s topic-based exercises, and the results of their journey are included in this book. If you’ve ever done this kind of writing work, you’ll have some idea of what lies within: lines that sear like lava, lyrics that taste of ashes, all written from a burning core of desire.
M.W.

From the May 7-13, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Schug Wine

0

Passion Play


Michael Amsler

Family affair: Walter and Gertrude Schug have an abiding love for “European-style” wines.

Walter Schug has a thing for fine pinot noir

By Bob Johnson

FEW WINES of the 1970s compared in quality to the Insignia bottlings from Napa Valley’s Joseph Phelps Vineyards. The blend would change from year to year–a little more cabernet one year, a touch more merlot the next–but the resulting wines always were aromatic, rich, flavorful, and memorable.

Those legendary Insignia bottlings were crafted by Walter Schug, a native of Germany who grew up on a wine estate in the Rhein River Valley. Schug’s home was unique in that it was the only pinot noir estate in a region known for producing world-class riesling. Schug fell in love with pinot noir at an early age, and in 1959 moved to the United States in hopes of making his mark with pinot noir.

While making wines at Phelps, Schug gained experience with all the traditional Bordeaux grapes, produced highly touted blends of Insignia even in challenging vintages, and also gained a reputation for making fine riesling. Phelps’ wines were receiving worldwide recognition, and Schug’s star was rising.

Despite his success, however, Schug was not happy. “At Phelps,” he asserts, “I was making just about every kind of wine you could think of, except the kind I wanted to make: pinot noir. I insisted on making pinot noir, and literally had to leave my job in order to do it.”

He left Phelps in 1983, founded his own winery, and in 1991 moved the operation to Sonoma County’s Carneros appellation on the Napa border. “I admit that, in the beginning, we had to make a lot of chardonnay to pay for my ‘hobby,'” Schug recalls. “Back then, our production was about two-thirds chardonnay and one-third pinot noir. Today, it’s just the opposite, and all the growth we’ve enjoyed (from an initial 8,000 cases to 20,000 cases this year) can be credited to pinot noir.”

Why would an experienced winemaker with a worldwide reputation for making one of America’s great red wines chuck it all to concentrate on a varietal like pinot noir–a grape viewed by many vintners as “difficult” with which to work?

“I am interested in delicacy and finesse,” Schug explains, “and there is no wine that portrays those qualities better than pinot noir. True, knowing exactly when to pick pinot noir can be a challenge because the flavor components don’t always match up with the sugar levels. True, it’s a grape that requires special handling; it doesn’t like to be beat up. But harvested at the right time and handled gently, it can produce aromas and flavors unequaled in any other wine.”

Schug says he makes his wines in the European style, which may explain why, in the early years, he found it easier to sell his wares to people on the East Coast. “People in the East cut their teeth on European wines, especially French, and that’s the style we have been making from the beginning,” Schug says.

What is meant, exactly, by a “European” style?

“Every European winemaker, myself included, grew up believing that a wine should express both its varietal characteristics and its regional characteristics,” he says. “That means the wine should stand on its own, without the various winemaker embellishments, so the flavors of the fruit are foremost.”

That’s not to say that Schug is an opponent of oak barrels; in fact, more than 500 such barrels line the walls of the Schug Winery’s underground caves. He simply believes that oak should provide an enticing nuance to a wine, not a dominant flavor.

“We use only 15 to 20 percent new oak barrels each vintage, and store the rest of the wine in barrels that are anywhere from 2 to 6 years old,” Schug says. “We also use intermediate-sized cooperage [larger casks] to age some of our wine. In this way, we always end up with wines which are very fruit-forward and a true expression of where they came from.”

These days, more of Schug’s pinot noir grapes are coming from his own estate vineyard, near Highways 116 and 121 on Bonneau Road in Sonoma. He also purchases grapes from other vineyards, one of which dates back 40 years.

Schug always has viewed his winery as a family business. His wife, Gertrude, also comes from a winemaking family, and their son, Axel, hopes to one day carry on the family’s winemaking heritage. Meanwhile, Schug is content to finally be able to fulfill his lifelong dream of making world-class pinot noir. “This is our love and our hope,” he says earnestly. “It truly is a family business. It’s our life.”

The Wines

Schug 1996 Pinot Noir North Coast
Made entirely from Carneros grapes but so designated to differentiate it from the winery’s signature “Carneros” bottling. Light in structure but jammed with fruity flavors of raspberry and cherry, and a hint of spice. $14. Rating: 3 corks.

Schug 1996 Pinot Noir Carneros
“This is our bread and butter wine,” says Schug. “It possesses the structure and flavors people should expect from a bottle of Schug wine.” Those flavors include smoky berries and cherries, along with a rich earthiness that leads to a smooth, silky finish. Very French in style, and at $18, priced at about half of what you’d expect to pay for a comparable French Burgundy. Rating: 4 corks.

Schug 1995 Pinot Noir Heritage Reserve, Carneros
Rich and intense, with flavors of black cherry, vanilla, cassis, and tobacco. Not for the faint of heart. Will benefit by about five years of additional cellar aging. $30. Rating: 3.5 corks.

Wines are rated on a scale of 1 to 4 corks: 1 cork, commercially sound; 2 corks, good; 3 corks, excellent; 4 corks, world-class.

From the May 7-13, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Viva Variety

0

Viva, Viva!

Comedy Central Viva Variety show has plenty of punch

By Richard Byrne

THE INITIAL promo ads for Comedy Central’s Viva Variety should have warned viewers about the show’s penchant for rampant oddity. The show’s three “hosts”–Meredith Laupin (Thomas Lennon), Agatha Laupin (Kerri Kenney), and Johnny Blue Jeans (Michael Ian Black)–were greeted by a reporter (played by VV writer Ben Garant) as they embarked on a mission to bring “one of Europe’s most successful variety shows” to the United States. The ads were weird, more than slightly surreal, and yet almost believable–just what you’d expect from four cast members from the acclaimed MTV comedy series The State.

The viewers hooked by those offbeat ads were treated to one of the more wittily written comedy series ever to grace American television–a knowing lampoon of kitsch (both European and American) with sexy dancers (the Swimsuit Squad), cool music, and odd stunts thrown in.

“You know it’s a great job,” says Thomas Lennon, “when Run DMC are on one side, and someone’s throwing spears on the other side, and the dancers are warming up.”

The comedy on Viva Variety seems to thrive in the circus atmosphere.

Where else can you find Star Trek notable Walter Koenig (who played Chekhov) involved in a skit called “Chekhov Play Chekhov,” a Russian drama that magically sprouts Klingons? Where else can a studio-audience member play a quiz game titled “French or Gay”? When’s the last time Saturday Night Live did something as inventive as tell the story of Oedipus Rex in trucker lingo? And can anyone resist “live” pitches for sponsor products like “Fishibar,” “Baby Tastes Like Soup,” “Baby Quotes Castro,” or a Mace that’s lovingly called “Not Tonight, Not Ever”?

“It’s the best job ever,” says Lennon of Viva Variety. “We hang with dancers and freaks and musicians.”

Viva Variety actually grew out of a sketch that Lennon wrote. “Mine and Kerri’s roles, we’d always had in mind,” he says. “They were in the original. Ben played a character called the Secretary General. The show used to have a villain.”

That conflict eventually shook out to a more subtle conflict between cultures, embodied by a new character– Johnny Blue Jeans–who obsesses over the minutiae of late-’70s and early-’80s culture and revels in his role as a more-than-incompetent sidekick.

“We knew we wanted somebody out of sync,” Lennon explains. “We talked about it a lot.”

Garant adds, “We thought about what these characters would do to make the show American. What would Europeans do? Blue jeans!'”

Black’s combination of broad physical comedy and staggeringly hip idiocy (think of an over-the-top version of John Travolta’s turn as Vinnie Barbarino in Welcome Back, Kotter) as Johnny Blue Jeans is one of the show’s most appealing elements. Few actors would so brazenly, for instance, work with animals for laughs, as Black did in last season’s “Monkey Sports” spots, in which he double-dates with a chimp and, eventually, takes on pro-wrestling duo Harlem Heat.

Lennon also notes that Johnny Blue Jeans, as a character, “is the way for us to get everything that we love into the show from the early ’80s.” (Seeing Fred “Rerun” Berry and Dick Clark yuck it up with Black is a particularly wicked laugh sensation.)

The relationship between Lennon’s Mr. Laupin and Kerri Kenny’s Agatha, however, is the linchpin of the show’s humor. The characters were once married but are now divorced; Agatha’s boundless contempt and hatred of Meredith and Laupin’s slow, agonized burns as yet another verbal missile hits make for a hilarious parody of shameless celebrity couples.

Why host together despite the hate? “In their divorce settlement,” Lennon explains, “they each got one-half of the show. If they quit, they lose their rights to the show.”

From the May 7-13, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Lonely Planet

0

Solar Souls

Lonely Planet.

Sheri Batemon



Cinnabar puts Lonely Planet in orbit

By Daedalus Howell

FLASH. In the 16th century, astronomer Nicolaus Copernicus advanced the theory that the planets of our solar system revolve around the sun and not vice versa as theretofore believed. In related news, for one last weekend, in their heart-rending restaging of Steven Dietz’s Lonely Planet at the Cinnabar Theater, actor-director Michael Fontaine and sole cast-mate Dwayne Stincelli advance the theory that emotional beings are compelled to orbit one another.

More than merely a reprise of Fontaine and Stincelli’s 1996 Actors’ Theatre production of the award-winning play, the duo’s current Lonely Planet (performed under the auspices of the Quicksilver II Theater Company) proves itself vital, essential theater in the enduring era of AIDS. It is a true success.

Meet affable, mild-mannered Jody (admirably deployed by Stincelli), a practical 40-something–a man to whom the notion of a “known quantity” is a hair’s breadth removed from rapture. Literally an amasser of “charted territory,” Jody sells maps, a vocation aptly metaphoric of the demystification the character requires as he navigates his world–in which he is gay and is paralyzed by incertitude on the eve of his first AIDS test.

The test is so portentous to the staid map-seller that he grows increasingly agoraphobic and sequesters himself in his shop, maintaining contact with the outside world only through his lovingly erratic friend, Carl (a wondrously warm portrayal by Fontaine). Prone to unannounced visits and bombastic laments, Carl is the proverbial loose cannon–loaded, however, with concern for Jody and unseen others stalked by AIDS.

Beset by a sudden existential paroxysm, Carl begins to dutifully retrieve the chairs of friends who have died of AIDS and store them in Jody’s shop. As countless chairs begin to throng the stage, what was initially an arresting and profound visual symbol of loss and bereavement becomes a veritable monument to those taken by the disease.

In time, Carl’s entrances betoken the inevitable and doleful stockpiling of chairs and the memory of those they represent–a ponderous endeavor playwright Dietz elects to mitigate with such epigrammatic salves as Carl’s characteristic line, “Irony is the penicillin of modern thought.” The effect is at once wry and heartening and confirms that such coping strategies, though husked in cynicism, are in fact pragmatic and necessary.

Throughout the production, both actors maintain first-rate performances. Stincelli’s Jody radiates warmth in deliberate pulses as, scene by scene, his icy reserve and psychic rigidity melt into the waterworks a play of this caliber is wont to turn on. Moreover, Stincelli conveys asides to the audience so effortlessly and with such a refreshing lack of actorly self-consciousness that one can hardly suppress the notion that he’s not actually acting but simply being.

Likewise, Fontaine’s Carl is a stirring amalgam of vulnerability and vigilance–a moving portrait of a man laboring under the duress of absolute calamity and striving to preserve, if not create, meaning as he collects his improbable chairs. Fontaine displays the uncanny ability to reveal the native soulfulness of his character without endangering his delightfully nervous pluck.

Similarly, as director, Fontaine manages to toe the work’s seriocomic line without ensnaring himself in its myriad possibilities. Like the flagrant distortions forgiven in maps for purposes of navigation, Fontaine’s interpretation suggests Jody and Carl’s frequent fantastical musings are also an attempt to retain perspective.

Fontaine and Stincelli’s immaculately designed set–replete with all things cartographic, including a glowing globe and countless packing tubes that all but waft must–provides the perfect forum for the characters’ antics, shenanigans, and breakdowns. Aloysha Klebe’s lighting expertly frames the play’s scenes and on several occasions exhibits a particularly adept use of the spotlight to identify the singularity of the character’s experience.

Lonely Planet is, in a word, stellar.

Lonely Planet plays Thursday-Saturday, April 30-May 2, at 8 p.m. at the Cinnabar Theater, 3333 Petaluma Blvd. N., Petaluma. Tickets are $10-$14. 707/763-8920.

From the April 30-May 6, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

How America Eats

0

Pizza, Pizza


Photoillustration by Magali Pirard

Where’s the beef? Blame it on Oprah if you must–the Texas beef industry does–but America’s love affair with beef has diminished among busy consumers, which is not to say we are a nation of health food freaks.

America’s eating habits are changing, but not necessarily for the better

By Bob Johnson

NO DOUBT about it: The people at Pillsbury like to poke. They poke their pudgy Doughboy dozens of times each week on national television while hawking frozen biscuit dough and boxed cake mixes, and now they’re poking around our kitchens. Two thousand of our kitchens, to be precise, in an exercise to determine “How America Eats.”

What did they find in our refrigerators and on our cupboard shelves? The answers may surprise–and perhaps dismay– you. Furthermore, they found that what we eat at restaurants usually is quite distinct from what we eat at home.

We’ve been hearing for years that Americans’ consumption of beef has been on the decline. The Pillsbury study confirms this contention. In 1987, the last time Pillsbury’s spies trained their microscopes on our kitchens, steak was rated as our favorite food; by 1997–whether rare, medium, or well done, grilled, broiled, or blackened–it had fallen to fifth place.

During that same 10-year stretch, hamburgers dropped from sixth place to 10th, perhaps explaining why today you can buy a McDonald’s burger for 29 cents on Wednesdays or a Burger King Whopper for 99 cents any day of the week.

Hot dogs also dropped a notch in popularity, from third in 1987 to fourth in ’97. But as nutritionists point out, it would be a stretch to cite that as an indication of beef’s sagging popularity. More likely, it’s a sign of the public’s slowly increasing disdain for mechanically separated turkey, pork, water, salt, corn syrup, dextrose, sodium phosphate, sodium erythorbate, and sodium nitrate. Bologna sandwiches also fell from favor, from eighth place to out of the top 10, but we won’t go into the non-beef ingredients contained in that one-time lunchtime favorite–after all, this is only a 892-word story.

While beef and “near-beef” dishes have seen better days, several other staples are holding their own. Ham sandwiches maintained their No. 2 position, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches improved from fourth to third, cheese sandwiches went from seventh to eighth, and baked chicken held steady at No. 9.

Casting cholesterol concerns aside, the two dishes that registered the greatest gains in popularity both happen to feature cheese as a primary ingredient. Macaroni and cheese jumped from 10th place to seventh, and taking over the No. 1 position, ascending from fifth place in 1987, was … drum roll, please … pizza!

Yes, it’s a great day in Sonoma County for Clo the cow.

WHAT CAN WE LEARN about ourselves from all these data? A number of things. We like to talk about health, but don’t like to do anything about it.

As a society, we’re not yet willing to sacrifice taste for more healthful food. Despite all the studies that show how a poor diet can lead to heart disease, cancer, and other life- threatening afflictions, we continue to take the George Bush approach to nutrition: “Hold the broccoli.” Given the choice of a fat-laden pepperoni pizza or a nearly calorie-free salad, most people would choose the pizza. Steak or chicken? Steak. Mac and cheese or pasta salad with light vinaigrette? Mac and cheese.

When it comes to satisfying our taste buds, we prefer “in your face” to “subtle.”

We’re addicted to full-flavored foods, just as we have evolved to prefer flavorful beverages–hence the proliferation of sushi bars and Thai restaurants along with designer coffee bars and microbrew beer pubs. Especially when we go out to eat, “bland” is a four-letter word. “Would you like some black pepper for your salad?” Absolutely. “Hot sauce for your taco?” Por favor. We’re in a hurry.

As our lives have become more complicated, time has come to be viewed as a precious commodity. When it’s time to eat, we look for shortcuts. To enjoy a steak at home, one must first go to the market and select a cut, take it home, season it, and then cook it, checking periodically to make sure it’s not being overcooked. On the other hand, to enjoy a pizza at home, one need merely pick up the phone and place an order, instantaneously freeing up time to attend to any number of other chores while someone else does the baking. Is it any wonder pizza has supplanted steak as our favorite food?

These days, it’s impossible to wheel a cart down a supermarket aisle without encountering a bevy of products formulated (designed might be a better word) to help the purchaser save time. Hamburger Helper. Prewashed, cut, and bagged lettuce. Minute Rice.

Paradoxically, despite the proliferation of cookbooks, we apparently don’t like or don’t want to cook.

Or, at the very least, we don’t like to spend a great deal of time in the kitchen. Of our 10 favorite foods, according to the Pillsbury researchers, not one is difficult to prepare. Six of the 10 are sandwiches or sandwich-style dishes, which can be assembled in mere minutes, and the other four require only minimal preparation. And even though the bologna sandwich disappeared from the list, it was replaced by the equally easy-to-prepare turkey sandwich.

Times have changed and time is tight, so we prepare our meals quickly, ingest them quickly, and move on to the next item on the day’s “to do” list. Investment brokers would chew on those facts, crunch the numbers, and tell you it’s a great time to buy stock in Pepto-Bismol.

From the April 30-May 6, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Cropduster

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Cow Punkers


Michael Amsler

Countrified: Cropduster–can they take the heat of the kitchen?

Cropduster–no honky-tonk angels

By Charles McDermid

INFILTRATING the weekly band practice of local favorite Cropduster was a great idea. After all, talking about music holds about as little truth as singing about football, so what better way to get the real skinny on Santa Rosa’s most enigmatic band than to catch them, gloves off, at their most honest musical moments?

The rehearsal quickly shows why Cropduster slip out from under any conventional labels. The members, strewn about drummer Jamie Voss’ living room amid a cacophony of cheap beer and equally cheap friends display an enormous range of communication.

Quoting from countless years of acquaintance, these jokers run the gamut from easy camaraderie to caustic criticism, from technical mastery to goof-off improv, from bad jokes to sincere revelation.

“We’re all good friends, so if we weren’t together playing music we’d be here doing something else,” says Justin Barr, 27, the band’s pedal-steel guitar player, glancing quickly to his beer can as if to suggest exactly what that “something else” might be.

This and similar sessions have resulted in a music that could be described as modern honky-tonk. (“Regressive American music,” is Barr’s apt description.) Far from being a send-up of corny country notions, Cropduster offer an understanding and appreciation of a genre that shines through in performance.

If the music of Merle Haggard, Buck Owens, and the Flying Burrito Brothers seems an odd fit for the 20-somethings of Sonoma County, understand that Cropduster belong to a growing list of local musicians who’ve realized that recent forms like punk and its grungy alternatives are in the tailspin of their veracity and have looked elsewhere for suitable outlets.

“This was a punk band a few years ago. We played full-on electric guitars, trying to make it loud and fast,” says Barr. “Then we brought in a steel guitar to countrify some obscure punk songs, and these became the songs we liked the most.

“Now we’re working on toning it. Less volume and fewer notes equal more soul.”

LESS VOLUME has yet to signal less fun at the band’s live shows. Their humor and exuberance have established a loyal following, and if it somehow turns out that the upbeat sound and good-time themes facilitate libation, so much the better for the band and the venue.

“We play to social settings, so drinking has become a unifying theme,” admits electric guitarist Brian Fitzpatrick, 27, whose self-penned, cautionary ballad about alcoholism may very well be the band’s most poignant moment. “The bottom line has always been music.”

Cropduster obviously have a good time selecting, learning, and ultimately ripping through a large repertoire of classic country cover songs (Hank Thompson’s honky-tonk anthem “The Wild Side of Life” and Gram Parson’s “Oh, Las Vegas,” to name just two), but it’s the original numbers featuring the lyrics of vocalist/guitarist Andy Asp that provide the group’s most impressive and ambitious aspect.

“It was the stories in those old songs that attracted me,” explains Asp, 27.

He doesn’t mix motifs. His own stories follow rightfully in the tradition of country’s singer-songwriters. Within a lyrical tradition that spawned such humor as “I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy” and promoted such macho pathos as “A Man Doesn’t Cry,” Asp manages to weave a modern element into his compositions. His story lines mirror those of the great honky-tonks, lamenting and celebrating the shady sides of life, but in this case the sentiments and locales are both identifiable and more than vaguely familiar.

Rounding out the band is bassist Paul Hoffman, whose presence next to Voss’ up-tempo drumming supplies the band’s rhythmic base.

On top of this come Fitzpatrick’s leads and Asp’s rhythm changes. Riding atop the entire ensemble is Barr’s whiny laptop steel.

Don’t be surprised to see at least one of the band bring out a mandolin for rootsier numbers.

Cropduster are now in the mix-down stage of their first CD, a yet-to-be titled effort for Petaluma’s Flying Herald label, set for release soon.

“It’s something we want to look back upon in 20 years with some pride,” agrees the band.

If these guys can take the party into the studio, show off their enjoyment of the form, and manage to tell a few good stories, they might just be on the right track.

From the April 30-May 6, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Birds

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For ‘The Birds’


Michael Amsler

Bad hair day: Tippi Hedren’s terror pales in comparison to the anguish unleashed by a group of Petaluma teens on the unsuspecting audience that attended the 1963 premiere of The Birds.

How I found my wings at the world premiere of Alfred Hitchcock’s horror classic

By Richard Benbrook

Thirty-five years ago this month, famed director Alfred Hitchcock released the film The Birds. Petaluma political cartoonist Richard Benbrook, then 13, recalls the night he and his friends pulled a bold prank at the film’s opening. This is excerpted from a longer essay entitled “Dirty Copper.”

FOR ME AND MY PALS, the 1960s began without a hint of how they would conclude. The decade that was to end with long hair, paisley prints, great dope, and willing girls with flowers in their hair started out with a shitty-looking sneer and a cigarette clinched in its teeth.

Every guy I knew wanted to be bad in 1962 … . Some of us–like my chum Ralph, who had a passion for James Cagney movies–were more successful than others.

That year, a major motion picture company from Hollywood came to our then-small town of Petaluma to make a film, creating an incredible stir. The director was Alfred Hitchcock and the movie was The Birds, a horror film about birds viciously turning against humanity. The primary location for the shoot was the tiny coastal village of Bodega Bay, but many of the cast and crew lodged in and around Petaluma. An air of hysteria surrounded the event. Everything written was either “birds this” or “birds that.” I remember learned professors on local radio and TV expounding on whether such a terrifying event might actually occur in the natural world.

The notion of birds being objects of fear seemed stupid, but it didn’t stop us from cutting school and hitching out to Bodega Bay on several occasions to watch the proceedings. We got to see Hitchcock direct his star, Tippi Hedren, in several scenes. I remember a lot of fake blood and thousands of stuffed, inanimate birds perched on buildings and telephone wires. It was a boring, time-consuming process to watch and we were disappointed.

Our last trip there was made memorable only by the fact we were kicked off the set. During a lunch break for the crew, Ralph, realizing that no one was around, decided to throw a rock at a big stuffed raven on a fence post. Naturally, it sparked a competitive thing with the rest of us and soon we were all firing away at the target.

When the security guard who collared us began questioning why we weren’t in school, I decided it was a good time to leave. I apologized and said something brilliant like, “We didn’t know it was one of his birds.” Despite the smooth line, it was difficult to snow the guy, with Ralph snarling and spitting curses in the background. We headed home that afternoon gladly putting Bodega Bay and its phony birds behind us for good–or so we thought.

Many months passed before a second wave of hysteria concerning the movie struck. The big news was that the film was finally complete and there was to be a grand premiere in Petaluma. Our city government was rolling out the red carpet for the celebrities and other movie bigwigs who would be in attendance. Everyone who was anyone in our community would be there. The town was abuzz–it was a bona fide happening.

But dark forces were afoot in our little town. Some high school boys, a bit older than us, had the inspired idea of smuggling live birds into the theater on the big night. Their plan was to strategically release them during the moment in the movie when the birds attacked the villagers. In order to work well, the stunt would require many volunteers.

Ralph and I each met the stiff criteria to qualify: possession of a coat; a ticket to the premiere; and an incredible lack of intelligence.

We met the older boys in their pickup truck several blocks from the theater on the night of the premiere. The searchlights were visible in the distance, swaying back and forth in the evening sky. The ringleaders were farmboys and they had sacks of doves and pigeons in the bed of the truck. All of us were really nervous. I’m sure, that like myself, many of the volunteers had never held a live bird before.

The one I was issued felt strangely lightweight and fragile, and I was afraid I might break its bones. It kept trying to peck me until I finally got a crude grip on it and stuffed it inside my jacket. Ralph seemed uncharacteristically subdued throughout. I don’t think he had ever held a bird before either.

He and I were the first two conspirators to make the dangerous passage through the brilliantly lit ticket booth and lobby. A large crowd milled about and all the hubbub worked to our advantage. I was both relieved and amazed when we successfully smuggled our birds inside undetected. We hurried to our seats and scanned the audience for fellow partners in crime as they arrived after us.

The air was electric, everything was going to plan.

Up in the balcony sat the cluster of VIPs with their smug smiles and shiny heads, nobly gazing down upon their minions. I was experiencing a smug satisfaction myself in the knowledge that I knew something they didn’t. It fueled my resolve. I felt a stealthy sense of mission and destiny–I felt like John Wilkes Booth.

Unfortunately, there was a glitch in our plan–a major one. Alfred Hitchcock hadn’t provided any of us with the script to his movie, so we had no way of knowing that the inane plot would drag on for an eternity without any major bird attacks. After a while things started coming unwound. Sporadic disturbances began occurring in the audience, some murmurings in one area, then a woman’s shriek in another, followed by the sound of flapping wings.

Men with flashlights appeared, escorted several individuals out, then suspiciously prowled the aisles and shined little penlights on various suspects. I feared if they did this to Ralph he might react and blow our mission. I was also concerned that my pigeon might have died, as it had not wriggled for a long time.

But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Alfred Hitchcock came through for us–a massive bird attack commenced on screen. In unison, Ralph and I stood and threw our pigeons skyward into the flickering beam of projector light. Dozens of other conspirators must have done the same because the theater suddenly seemed as thick with birds as did the celluloid skies of Bodega Bay. People were screaming–some in terror, some in anger. There was a dazzling three-dimensional quality to it all.

On screen, a vicious seagull pecked at Tippi Hedren’s beehive hairdo, while in the theater a woman with the exact same hair style ran screaming up the aisle with a terrified pigeon tangled in hers.

The houselights came up and people began pointing out the culprits to the authorities. Ralph and I were quickly fingered. We, along with our cohorts, were taken to the lobby, where the cops made us each hold our jackets open for inspection.

Good, small-town detective work. Inside the linings of our coats was ample evidence to send us all up the river.

SOMETIMES wonderful things happen in unexpected situations–epiphanies, if you will. It may have been the fantastic merging of the movie with our own reality that night; even the bird theme resonated strongly, as Petaluma’s sole claim to fame until then had been for chicken and egg production. But whatever it was, all the dots connected in my mind at that moment, and the completed circuit somehow illuminated the totality.

For the first time I saw the world on a much broader, more transcendent plane.

I looked over at Ralph in this entirely new light and he was glorious. I saw his rage, his beautiful rage, for what it essentially was–heroic defiance. Ralph instinctively knew that these small-town cops were in truth agents of some vaster, more menacing force that fed on the likes of us much in the same way Hitchcock’s birds fed on the villagers.

And he was right. It was another hand of this same power that would a few years later draft him into its military and send him off to a senseless war where he would die. But that was to be later.

But at that moment, on that wonderful night in Petaluma when everything converged and searchlights lit the sky, Ralph was wondrously fierce. Looking back now across the decades, I can view his defiance and courage like an unheeded bellwether for our generation, at once comic, tragic, and sublime. “Look, Copper,” I will forever remember him snarling directly into that big policeman’s face, “you can’t pin this chickenshit rap on me!”

From the April 30-May 6, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Holy Land Maps

0

Chart Action

Michael Amsler



Collection maps centuries of history

By Patrick Sullivan

THESE MAPS, what they do is, they make history come alive.” Leaning forward in his chair, face lit up in a broad smile, Arnold Sternberg obviously has a passion for his subject. Of course, he’s not talking about the sort of maps that hung on the wall of your fourth-grade classroom. Rand McNally charts may do a fine job of tracking name changes in the volatile former Soviet Republics, but let’s face facts: The flat empiricism of modern maps doesn’t exactly inspire passionate engagement.

In this era of satellites, airplanes, and hand-held Global Position-ing Systems, we seem a long way from the ancient romance of the “Here there be monsters” that long-ago mapmakers once used to fill in blank spaces. Modern technology has replaced mystery and heroic exploration with coldly efficient accuracy. But Sternberg’s collection is something rather different.

Soon to be highlighted in a special exhibit co-sponsored by the Jewish Community Agency, the retired Santa Rosa resident’s maps date back to the 16th century and are the work of accomplished cartographers from some half a dozen countries.

These are not mere bloodless guides to political and geographic boundaries. Their elaborate charts, illustrations, and cartouches display a dramatic fusion of science, art, and religion. Oh yeah–and politics. After all, Sternberg’s maps exclusively chart the landscape of the Middle East, so, they naturally drip with rich history and contested terrain, both psychological and literal. Here we see a rebellious Jonah being tossed into the waiting maw of the infamous whale; the Egyptian army drowning in the Red Sea after the Israelites have safely crossed miraculously parted waters; and cedars from Lebanon being towed to Jerusalem to erect the Temple of Solomon.

Whatever these documents may lack in literal accuracy, they make up for with colorful illustrations of how dead centuries have interpreted the universe. “They are very different from the maps that people use nowa-days,” Sternberg says. “Many of them are hand-colored documents, very elegant, very finely drawn. They became works of art as they were updated and retired from active use. Every Dutch home, for example, used to have a map hanging on the wall.”

ANCIENT CARTOGRAPHY was a science of the sea. According to Sternberg, early cartographers often mapped from the ocean as they approached the coast. First the Dutch, then the Italians, the French, and then the British gave birth to great mapmakers as nations took their turns as the world’s dominant maritime powers.

Sternberg’s collection is a broad sampling from many of these styles and nationalities. Assembling a collection like this is no easy feat. It was, in fact, some 10 years of work for the tireless Sternberg. During daylight hours, he vigorously pursued a career in government service, coordin-ating California’s State Housing Department. But he also spent countless hours rummaging through the basement display rooms of antiquarian bookstores, sifting through theater posters and the remnants of estate sales in search of ancient maps of the Holy Land.

When he found something worth having, the haggling would begin.

“I certainly wasn’t a wealthy collector,” says Sternberg. “I just started buying maps before they were popular. Now many of them are so expensive that I can’t touch them.”

This burning passion for the cartography of the Holy Land was kindled in part by a stint in the Israeli armed forces. Sternberg served in the U.S. Navy during World War II and later fought in the 51st Battalion of the Israeli army during the hard-fought 1948 War of Independence. His unit helped break through the Jordanian siege of Jerusalem and then clashed with Egyptian forces at the north end of the Gaza Strip. Suddenly, a young man born in Boston was marching through places out of biblical legend.

Now, on the 50th anniversary of that war, one of Sternberg’s favorite stories is about how old maps helped win Israel’s independence. He relates with some relish how Israeli army commander Yigal Yadin (a noted archeologist) found a tricky solution to the problem posed by a well-positioned Egyptian army encampment in the Sinai Desert. Yadin studied ancient maps to discover an old Roman road, which he used to send a column of jeeps out behind the Egyptian base and mount a devastating sneak attack.

Sternberg’s dreams for his collection, however, now run more toward ending conflict in the Holy Land. He believes these documents are a powerful demonstration of the continuity of Jewish people’s attachment to this area. But he also sees signs of hope for peaceful coexistence in his collection. “Given what’s going on right now in the Middle East, I hope people will find some new insights in these maps,” Sternberg says. “The imprints of at least three different cultures, civilizations, religions are illustrated there. There was that coexistence then, and that does give you hope for the future.”

“Four Centuries of Holy Land Maps” runs May 1-June 14 at the Sonoma County Museum, 425 Seventh St., Santa Rosa. The reception is Saturday, May 2, from 2 to 4 p.m. For details, call 707/579-1500.

From the April 30-May 6, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Scoop

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Solar SoulsLonely Planet.Sheri BatemonCinnabar puts Lonely Planet in orbitBy Daedalus HowellFLASH. In the 16th century, astronomer Nicolaus Copernicus advanced the theory that the planets of our solar system revolve around the sun and not vice versa as theretofore believed. In related news, for one last weekend, in their heart-rending restaging of Steven Dietz's Lonely Planet at the Cinnabar Theater,...

How America Eats

Pizza, PizzaPhotoillustration by Magali PirardWhere's the beef? Blame it on Oprah if you must--the Texas beef industry does--but America's love affair with beef has diminished among busy consumers, which is not to say we are a nation of health food freaks. America's eating habits are changing, but not necessarily for the betterBy Bob JohnsonNO DOUBT about it: The people...

Cropduster

Cow PunkersMichael AmslerCountrified: Cropduster--can they take the heat of the kitchen?Cropduster--no honky-tonk angelsBy Charles McDermidINFILTRATING the weekly band practice of local favorite Cropduster was a great idea. After all, talking about music holds about as little truth as singing about football, so what better way to get the real skinny on Santa Rosa's most enigmatic band than to catch...

The Birds

For 'The Birds'Michael AmslerBad hair day: Tippi Hedren's terror pales in comparison to the anguish unleashed by a group of Petaluma teens on the unsuspecting audience that attended the 1963 premiere of The Birds. How I found my wings at the world premiere of Alfred Hitchcock's horror classicBy Richard BenbrookThirty-five years ago this month, famed director Alfred Hitchcock released...

Holy Land Maps

Chart ActionMichael AmslerCollection maps centuries of historyBy Patrick Sullivan THESE MAPS, what they do is, they make history come alive." Leaning forward in his chair, face lit up in a broad smile, Arnold Sternberg obviously has a passion for his subject. Of course, he's not talking about the sort of maps that hung on the wall of your...
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