Talking Pictures

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Bullets Over Broadway


Goin’ to the Chapel: Vanessa Williams, Nia Long and Viveca L. Fox star in Soul Food.

Bestselling author Sheri Reynolds’ takes on the meaning of Big Mamas, pistols in theaters and the surprise hit ‘Soul Food’

By David Templeton

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This time he gets much more than he bargains for when he takes bestselling author Sheri Reynolds (The Rapture of Canaan) to see the remarkable new family drama Soul Food.

THIS IS A SURPRISINGLY clean floor–no trash, filth, gumwrappers, stale pocorn or spilled soda cups. A very good thing, because I know Sheri Reynolds didn’t come all the way from Virginia to muss up her clothes crawling on the floor of some movie theater on San Francisco’s Broadway Street.

Yet, strangely, here we are, down against the cement along with 300 other people, all of us crawling toward the neon-green exit sign, straining to keep our heads out of the way of bullets–just in case the pistol-waving fellow in the front row actually starts shooting.

Weird. Just minutes ago, we were enjoying one of the year’s best films, a little thing called Soul Food. Now the doors have been flung wide open, afternoon light rips through the room, and we are crawling out on our hands and knees, all because a woman with a crying baby refused to leave, sparking an angry volley of curses from the guy behind her, who then stormed from the theater, returning later … with a gun.

“I can’t believe this,” Reynolds mutters, her unmistakably Southern accent lending a folksy punch to her words. “I was really likin’ the movie, too.”

Ten minutes later, still visibly shaken by the ordeal, she asks, “I’ve never been on the floor of a movie theater before. How about you?” We’ve found sanctuary in a brightly lit espresso joint just across from the theater, which several police cars have now surrounded. The guy with the gun, having made his point, has apparently disappeared. No shots were fired. No one was hurt.

In a way, this is just one more thing in a year full of surprises for Reynolds, beginning last May when her lyrical novel The Rapture of Canaan was chosen as the monthly suggestion in Oprah Winfrey’s sensational Book Club. That announcement propelled Reynolds and Rapture–which, previous to Oprah, had made so small a splash that its publisher dropped the author from its stable of writers–onto the bestseller lists.

Reynolds’ next book, the slender but equally lovely A Gracious Plenty (Harmony, 1997)–about an isolated woman who becomes an unlikely advocate for the wonderfully raucous ghosts who inhabit the graveyard she tends–happily sparked a lucrative bidding war among the world’s top book houses.

All of which brought her to me, whereupon I put her in a theater with a lunatic. “I’m just disappointed we didn’t get to see the end of it,” she sighs, wrenching the cap from a bottle of apple juice. “It was just so pleasant to me.”

The film–a surprise hit–is about three sisters (Vanessa Williams, Viveca L. Fox, Nia Long) in a loving, extended middle-class family warmly ruled by Big Mama (Irma P. Hall). A genius at inspiring the best in her family, she insists that all her loved ones turn up for Sunday dinner. When she falls into a coma, the sisters’ tensions begin to mount, and the Sunday dinner tradition, along with the family’s unity, is threatened.

“You can’t protect people from badness,” Reynolds says, recalling the way Big Mama’s 12-year-old grandson attempts to carry on for her by maneuvering to bring the family together again. “This family was very loving, yet it was full of problems. I could understand why, by not having Big Mama at the center, it would allow these people to have just enough shakiness inside to make those small choices that turn big.”

Reynolds has just tapped into one of the underlying themes of the film. The way that little things become big things: A husband’s innocent offer to help a troubled female relative is the first step toward a potential affair, a wife’s behind-the-back attempts to deal her husband into a job ends in his going to jail.

“It escalates and escalates and escalates,” she says. “That’s how it works. Look at what happened in the movie theater. A baby was crying. And then we all left ’cause some guy came in with a gun.” Her eyes widen. “Isn’t it bizarre how what happened kind of paralleled the movie?”

Across the restaurant, someone cranks up the espresso machine. Reynolds, hearing the sharp, loud wail of the steamer, almost jumps out of her seat. “Wow!” she laughs, covering her heart with both hands. “I thought it was squalling tires out in the street or something. I was all ready to be shot at. I’ve sure got a good case of nerves goin’ on now!”

With a deep breath, she manages to regain her composure. “Actually, my own grandma’s a lot like Big Mama,” she says. “My grandma runs everything, and I love her so much. She’s one of my favorite people in the world. She gets us to do what she wants us to do, though more by manipulating us than by being this powerhouse of wisdom. She nags. She tries to clear our heads.

“Grandmas are important people,” Reynolds adds, noting that the character of Nana in The Rapture of Canaan is based on her grandmother, to whom the book is also dedicated.

“What this movie’s doing,” she continues, “is showing that–hey!–this is family. Family is important. Stuff happens, and you just have to negotiate between good times and bad times. And that you have to make your own strength sometimes ’cause the Big Mama ain’t always gonna be there.”

Reynolds finishes the last swig of apple juice. “I want to be like Big Mama someday,” she exclaims, “to be enough out of my own way as to let the wisdom come right to the top, like a fountain.”

Reynolds pauses, glancing out the window, looking for the next surprise. “I’ve always wanted to be a fountain of wisdom,” she laughs. “Haven’t you?”

From the Oct. 9-15, 1997 issue of Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Campaign-Finance Reform

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Washington Watch

By Doug Ireland

The senate may be going through the motions of debating campaign-finance reform, but the effort to weaken the stranglehold that big special-interest money has over our politics was gutted before it began. Tom Daschle, the Senate Democratic leader, signaled prior to the opening of the debate that he’d be willing to accept an increase in the limits on direct hard-money contributions to candidates’ campaigns in return for passage of a ban on soft money to national party committees.

That would open the floodgates to a torrent of new money from fat cats.

A study released last week by the U.S. Public Interest Research Group shows that, while a soft-money ban would have removed from the political system $262 million that the two national parties raised from special interests in the last election cycle, raising the $1,000-per-election limit on hard-money contributions to just $2,500 would replace it with $318 million in new money from the wealthy. That’s an additional $56 million, or 21 percent more than produced by the current soft-money system. Those holding elective federal office would still be indentured servants of their fundraising machines under the sellout Daschle proposal, and our feckless legislators would still have to spend an outrageously huge portion of their time going hat in hand to the privileged.

As political analyst Charles Cook wrote in the Capitol Hill weekly Roll Call, “Republicans raise more soft money than do Democrats, but a higher proportion of Democratic party funds come from soft dollars … Furthermore, the GOP committees have traditionally been more dependent on direct mail contributions usually in small denominations from individual contributors, than Democrats, who are, proportionally speaking, more reliant on large, individual donors.”

Why, then, is Daschle taking a posture that would apparently place his party at a money disadvantage? Because, as the New York Times correctly noted in a stinging editorial on Sunday, “Democrats … have long championed reform knowing that it would not pass.” Kentucky’s Mitch McConnell, Utah’s Robert Bennett, and other GOP leaders of the anti-reform bloc have promised to filibuster to death any bill that limits the amount of money that either parties or candidates can raise. And even in the improbable event that supporters of the loophole-ridden McCain-Feingold bill manage to pick up the additional 11 votes from Republican senators they’d need for a 60-vote super-majority to shut down a filibuster, House Speaker Newt Gingrich has said that money limitations would be killed in the House.

Soft money, of course, is but a small part of the problem: It accounts for only an eighth of the more than $2.1 billion spent in the last cycle on federal elections alone. And eliminating soft money would hardly make it more difficult for big donors, who could easily disperse their huge contributions into legal hard dollars. Take the Fanjul family, sugar barons who put more than $900,000 into federal campaigns last year. They gave $141,000 in direct contributions to candidates and another $135,000 through PACs from family members; $128,000 from seven executives of their companies; and another $500,000 in soft money from 13 companies they control. If the money was carefully reapportioned, the Fanjuls could stop giving soft money altogether and still donate $850,000, nearly as much as they did before. That’s why replacing the current system of special-interest money in its entirety with public financing is the only way to unblock the clogged arteries of our democracy.

Meanwhile, new influence-buying scandals continue to surface, the latest involving HUD. A draft report from the Department of Housing and Urban Development’s inspector general shows that under Andrew Cuomo, the department squandered hundreds of millions by awarding no-bid contracts to Clinton campaign contributors. For example, over the objections of career contracting officers, HUD renewed a $20 million contract with the Big Six accounting firm Ernst & Young, less than one month after the company gave Clinton’s ’96 campaign $132,000.

That’s just one of 39 contracts of questionable legality targeted by the IG’s report. Another contract with Lockheed Martin to operate HUD’s computer system, originally $525 million when first awarded in 1990, has been changed under Cuomo to allow for cost overruns that could total an eventual $1 billion. As of June 1 there have been 41 funding modifications to the contract with Lockheed Martin–an equal-opportunity corrupter that has given both Democrats and Republicans huge sums.

This incipient HUD affair has been largely ignored by the mass media: After all, isn’t Marv Albert’s kinky sex life more important than ending legal political bribery? And the irrelevant Senate debate drones on, and on …

Web exclusive to the Oct. 9-15, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Talking Pictures

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1,000 Questions

A Thousand Acres hexes the sexes

By David Templeton

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This time out, he meets up with acclaimed novelist Joyce Maynard (To Die For) to check out the hotly-debated “chick flick” A Thousand Acres.

We’re late.

Informed by our ticket-taker that the previews have already begun, our tardy foursome moves quickly, in strict double-date formation, toward the glimmering sign that proclaims, “Jessica Lange. Michelle Pfeiffer. A Thousand Acres.” As we enter the long, carpeted runway that leads to the theater, we suddenly slow down at a signal from author Joyce Maynard, gliding in the lead, arm-in-arm with her boyfriend, Michael, as I follow along beside my wife, Susan.

“You realize,” Joyce warns playfully, turning to target Michael and myself, “you’ll probably be the only two men in here, don’t you?”

What? Oh, surely not, I silently protest. A high-profile movie like A Thousand Acres? Based on a Pulitzer prize winning novel (by Jane Smiley), starring two of the big screen’s best actresses, in a story suggested by King Lear, a tale rife with epic themes, of sex and death and cruelty and power and love and loss and, um, hog farming?

Men can handle stories about relationships, can’t they? After all, I’m male yet I’ve read Joyce Maynard’s books–To Die For, on which Nicole Kidman’s hit movie was based; the compelling Where Love Goes, a tale of a divorced woman redefining the meaning of love– novels that have been typed as “chick fiction” due to their emphasis on the twist and turns of relationships. Surely I am not alone among by testosterone-secreting brothers in appreciating–even craving— a good emotional ride now and then, am I?

Glancing about as we enter the darkened theater, I make a rough estimate. Approximately 250 seats filled. Exactly… let’s see… eight men in the whole audience. Ten counting Michael and myself. That’s one man for every 25 women.

Embarrassed by this anemic showing, I drop sheepishly into my seat, and the movie begins. A malevolent farmer (Jason Robards) divides his Iowa farm among his daughters (Pfeiffer, Lange, and Jennifer Jason Leigh), after which they have numerous exposition-filled conversations in which all manner of shocking secrets are brought into the light, secrets that threaten to tear the sisters apart and succeed in driving old demented Dad out into the rain. I give myself over to it, desperately trying to … you know… feel something.

To no avail. By the time the film finally comes to a close, the strongest emotion I’ve experienced is fear; fear that the damned thing would never end.

“It was pretty bad,” Joyce agrees–to my relief– as we take places around a patio table at a nearby coffee joint. “Pretty much a watered-down version of the book. It’s a shame too, because I loved the book. It was subtle and powerful. But in the movie, every character was reduced to about four personality traits. I don’t believe, actually, that the best books necessarily make the best movies.”

Fifteen minutes pass, as the men–who have not read the actual book– lob questions at the women, who have. For the most part, these questions are variations on, “Was the father better developed in the book,” and, “Was the sister’s relationship more fully explained,” and, “Weren’t there any likable guys?”

As Joyce and Susan compare impressions of the novel, I return to my earlier thoughts about men, and my belief that–in spite of our protestations to the contrary– we are not immune to emotions, or to stories about emotional subjects. So why weren’t there more fellas in that movie?

“I felt there was possibility that this might have been a rich movie for men,” Joyce acknowledges. “I think part of it is, you don’t usually have men writing those kind of stories, so you get women defining the world of men’s feelings. My guess is that men would be very interested in a man’s novel about these sorts of relationships… but it just doesn’t happen.

“With Where Love Goes,” Joyce continues. “I’ve been told by men that if I’d wanted men to read that novel, for starters I shouldn’t have named it ‘Where Love Goes.'” She shrugs. “Actually, there’s a consistent pattern that happens. I get a lot of letters. A lot of e-mails at my website. When men write about that novel, they almost always begin like this: ‘I bought that novel. For my wife. For my girlfriend. I never read books like that, but I was flipping through this one… and hey. I ended up getting into it.’ A lot of the most enthusiastic readers of that novel have been men, who supposed that that territory was not for them.

“I think they’ve probably been burned by a lot of ‘relationship’ books that don’t sufficiently encompass the male perspective. I shouldn’t presume that I do, either,” she goes on, “but I do think a lot about men’s point of view. Perhaps because I’m the mother of sons, I’ve tried really hard to get into the head of men, because I really like men, and I want to understand how they got to be that way.”

“Um, ‘that way?'” I repeat, raising one eyebrow in mock offense. “That way being, ‘Unable to watch ‘women’s fiction?'”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” she laughs merrily. “But it must be very, very hard to not get to comfortably explore that whole realm of experience. It must be hard to be a man.”

From the Oct. 2-8, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Lips Together, Teeth Apart

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Stage Fright


Betsey Bruner

Melee: The cast of ‘Lips Together, Teeth Apart’ get physical.

‘Lips Together’ has a howl locked inside

By

The Scoop

FBI Paranerds

By Bob Harris

IT TOOK ONLY 16 YEARS of lawsuits, but the FBI has finally released almost all of its files concerning that great threat to American democracy, John Lennon. Until now, the FBI has claimed that the files had to remain secret on grounds of “national security.” Never mind that pieces of the Berlin Wall are for sale in strip-mall novelty shops across America. Never mind that the Vietnam War John Lennon protested has been over for two decades. Never mind that the former Beatle was assassinated back when Carter was still president.

What’s the FBI’s big secret, then?

Apparently “national security” would be compromised if you and I found out that the FBI spends our money spying on pop singers engaged in perfectly constitutional speech.

In fact, there’s not a single word in any of the FBI’s dossier indicating John Lennon was seriously suspected of breaking the law in his political activities. But that didn’t stop the FBI from briefing the Nixon White House–albeit presumably not during the president’s drug-policy meetings with Elvis.

Most of the FBI file is just paranoid innuendo, rehashed gossip, and laughably dense memoranda from field agents desperately in need of hipness replacement surgery, generally along the lines of: “Subject overheard stating he ‘was the walrus.’ Subject also couldn’t buy him love but wanted to hold agent’s hand. Further investigation required.”

Sixteen years of lawsuits to recover 25-year-old documents concerning FBI surveillance of perfectly legal activity. That’s what they call national security.

And the feds wonder why John Lennon was protesting.

DID YOU SEE the reports about antioxidants in green tea? Almost every major paper and many national TV news shows told you the following:

A recent study by a guy named Lester in Kansas found that green tea contains an antioxidant 25 times as powerful as vitamin E and 100 times more potent than vitamin C.

The magic ingredient is called EGCG, an abbreviation for epigallocatechin gallate. (The full chemical name provides most of us with no more information than the initials did; however, it does provide the reporter with a false veneer of authority.)

Exciting, right? Stuff that tastes pretty good might actually be a great way to prevent cancer. Let’s hope it turns out to be true.

However . . .

Lester admits bluntly that the amount of tea that you have to drink is, so far, “not really . . . firmly established.” Which means the amount you need to chug down might be a thimbleful or it might be a gallon or more.

Granted, people in China drink more tea than we do, and they get less cancer. Cause and effect? Maybe, maybe not. There are other factors–the minor fact that they live in China, for example.

Who funded this state-of-the-art research, anyway? A company called Pharmanex. Pharmanex makes plant-based health products. Which means Pharmanex just might, logically, stand to profit from a boom in sales of green tea. You want to avoid cancer? Green tea won’t hurt you. It probably even helps. But you knew that yesterday.

The real lesson here: Press releases aren’t the same as news.

IT TURNS OUT Mother Nature, like all smart women, knows that we guys can be idiots. Throughout most of human history, when one batch of guys got together under a big purple flag and started shouting at another batch of guys under a big green flag, the vast majority of the resulting casualties were . . . those two groups of guys.

Seems fair enough.

Now that we’ve gotten civilized and developed things like chemical weapons and hydrogen bombs, that isn’t the case anymore. But until this century or so, you could pretty much figure that women and children would be the ones left cleaning up the mess.

Given the number of wars in our history, it’s actually fairly surprising that there have always been as many men as there are women. How exactly did that work out, anyway? The answer is remarkably elegant.

Demographic research shows that after a major war, the age difference between married couples increases. Basically, the young fighting men get killed off, resulting in a lack of suitors for young women, who form unions with older men. Makes sense, right?

So now check this out: A new study from the University of Liverpool indicates that when a husband is more than five years older than his wife, their first-born is usually a boy. What that means is this: Whenever we guys go ballistic and start wiping each other out, Mother Nature is fully prepared for the situation and immediately begins replacing us.

Isn’t that cool?

I don’t know why, but it’s strangely comforting to know that nature replaces our more violent citizens without even batting an eye.

Here’s the only scary part: This also means that Bob Dornan is a natural phenomenon.

From the Oct. 2-8, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Kenneth Frazelle

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What a Score!

By Gretchen Giles

COMPOSER Kenneth Frazelle was at the Juilliard School of Music with Santa Rosa Symphony conductor Jeffrey Kahane in the mid-’70s. At least he thinks they were there together. “Jeff told me that he once came to a party at my house,” chuckles Frazelle by phone from his North Carolina home. “But I don’t remember him.

“Actually,” he says, before pausing. “I don’t remember having a party.”

Frazelle is no Alzheimer’s candidate. At 42, this composer is at the vanguard of rising artists who are setting the classical world on its ear. His known association with Kahane–parties aside–began in the ’80s. “Jeff was looking for a new, young composer, and a mutual friend suggested me. He has become one of my greatest champions,” Frazelle says warmly. His compositions for Kahane include a duet for the pianist/conductor and cellist Yo Yo Ma, and so many other works that seeing Kahane’s name listed as a performer in concert reviews is almost inevitable.

Born in the juicy tail end of the baby-boom cycle, Frazelle takes the term “world music” very literally–that is, very literally bringing the sounds of the world into his classical compositions.

Trained under polytonal master Roger Sessions at Juilliard, Frazelle has gradually moved away from the music-as-math considerations of his mentor to explorations of a simpler nature: remembering how a child sees stars pop one by one into the sky; mimicking the bird songs of his native North Carolina; scoring a work based on a name-that-tune game that his father played with him, as a child, on a toy piano; investigating his family’s roots in Appalachian folksongs; and charting–with full orchestration and some large old pieces of tin–the joyous banging of pots that traditionally hail the annum on New Year’s Eve.

That last piece, titled “Shivaree,” receives its West Coast premiere Oct. 11-13 when Frazelle joins the Santa Rosa Symphony to begin a three-year term as composer-in-residence. Co-commissioned last year by the symphony in conjunction with the Winston-Salem Piedmont Triad Symphony, “Shivaree” is based on Frazelle’s memory of piling into his aunt’s old Thunderbird one crisp New Year’s Eve, loaded down with pots and pans to provide a cacophonously surprising New Year’s greeting to friends at midnight. Kitchenware is actually included in the performance, part of whose melody is underscored by his rendition of a chuggingly cold Thunderbird engine.

In addition to his tenure here, Frazelle will join Kahane–who also directs the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra–in a three-year residency down south. And then there’s the residency in Rome this winter, and his ongoing teaching at the North Carolina School of the Arts.

But all this hustle and bustle doesn’t have Frazelle frazzled. When asked how he visualizes music in his head, he pauses thoughtfully.

“I don’t see music in colors or anything else like that; it’s more sophisticated. Sometimes a string of notes will come to life for me when I see a painting or a landscape or a shaft of light,” says this composer who often takes colored pencils outdoors to sketch ideas upon his scores. “I remember one time–in the early ’70s, when I was living in New York–going to see a collection of de Koonig paintings at the Museum of Modern Art. He was doing a lot of these strong, vibrantly messy seascapes at that time, and as I stood looking at them, I actually heard brass instruments playing in my head. That was a very intense experience.”

The classical music world of today offers many intense experiences, as revered composers go bust to bust with such younger artists as Frazelle. Among his accomplishments is “Sunday at McDonald’s,” a work set to the poetry of North Carolina writer and Guggenheim Fellow A. R. Ammons, 80 of whose poems Frazelle has scored, and with whom he’s been corresponding for some 20 years. “This is one of those rare instances when you follow a great artist, and when you actually get to meet them, they are just as wonderful as you thought they were,” says Frazelle. “His sense of being both inside and apart really appeals to me.”

His North Carolina roots show up in other ways, as with the “Blue Ridge Airs” series he began in the ’80s. Based in large part upon his grandmother’s and great-aunt’s recollections of folksongs–which, at his request, they sang into a tape player–his familial wellspring of indigenous music has deepened his work. “They didn’t even know what folk music was,” he says of his aging relatives, “and when, about a month later, they sent the tapes back, they had recorded literally hundreds of songs. It was a treasure trove.

“[Folk music] has as much beauty for me as a wildflower,” he continues in his softly accented voice. “More, perhaps, than that of a hothouse orchid, though I like those, too. There is something unbidden about the beauty.”

Other innovative work by Frazelle was showcased in choreographer Bill T. Jones’ Still/Here, a dance and multimedia work exploring the ravages of the AIDS epidemic. Frazelle scored the first half, while Living Color guitarist Vernon Reid charted the second. “That was exciting,” says Frazelle of Still/Here‘s 1994 premiere. “Most of the audience were under 25, and they really responded. It made me feel very alive.”

If it can encompass pots and pans, poetry, Appalachia, and a marriage of modern dance and rock and roll, what are the restrictions of classical music?

“Well,” he answers, beginning to laugh, “it is unlimited, except for the limits. Obviously, you can’t create a completely improvised symphony. That would go beyond what a symphony does, but within the restraints of the form, you can do just about anything.”

Shivaree, along with works by Dohnányi and Britten, will be performed by the Santa Rosa Symphony, conducted by Jeffrey Kahane, with Orli Shaham as guest pianist, Saturday-Monday, Oct. 11-13. Luther Burbank Center, 50 Mark West Springs Road, Santa Rosa. Saturday and Monday at 8 p.m.; Sunday at 3 p.m. Tickets are $17-$30. 54-MUSIC.

From the Oct. 2-8, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Harvest Fair

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Glory Days

By Gretchen Giles

THE HARVEST FAIR, held Friday-Sunday, Oct. 3-5, is for grownups. Not that the next generation isn’t welcome, but there is a certain rural elegance about the Harvest Fair that just isn’t in evidence during the corn-dog days of summer. Sure, there’s plenty of silly stuff, but there is also some serious winetasting, food tasting, and culinary magic going on.

Highlights, other than more wine pourings and food tastings than you can cut with a knife, include the World Championship Grape Stomp, on Friday at 11:30 a.m. and 5:30 p.m., and on the weekend from noon to 5 p.m. both days, and the art reception held Friday night from 8 to 10 p.m. The $10 entrance fee to the reception covers the food and wine. The Harvest Fair 3K and 10K runs are slated for Sunday from 8 a.m. (call 545-9622 to register), and the stroller derby on Sunday at 3:45 p.m. requires neither a baby nor a stroller–just plenty of costuming and imagination. Free stuff for kids includes a massive Lego area, a science festival, a scavenger hunt each day at 3:30 p.m., a haunted house, and more seasonal fun.

Sonoma County Fairgrounds, 1350 Bennett Valley Road, Santa Rosa. Hours are Friday, 10 a.m. to 8 p.m., with winetasting from 2 to 7:30 p.m.; Saturday-Sunday, 10 a.m. to 7 p.m., with winetasting from 12:30 to 5 p.m. Admission is $2-$4; winetasting is additional. 545-4203.

From the Oct. 2-8, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Chef Donna Wegener

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Who’s on First


Michael Amsler

Beat the Eggs and Whip the Cream: Harvest Fair Showcase chef Donna Wegener cooks up a storm of a first course.

Chef Donna Wegener has a full plate

By David Templeton

AS DONNA WEGENER steps smiling from her compact kitchen–crammed into the back fraction of an otherwise untenanted restaurant–she is illuminated by a soft, gleaming shaft of morning sun angling its way in through a wide side window. Adorned in a spotless white apron and shirt, Wegener literally glows in the otherwise dimly illuminated room, suggesting nothing so much as a mischievous, ponytailed seraph sent earthward to distribute culinary blessings on her bustling catering operation.

Though Wegener–the distinctly shy and self-effacing force behind Pacific Connection catering–would surely blush at such angelic comparisons, she can’t deny that she’s taken on a distinct glow, both personal and professional, since being invited to participate in the Sonoma County Harvest Fair’s Great Chefs of Sonoma Showcase Dinner, to be held Oct. 4.

Details about this year’s Harvest Fair.

“I’m pretty happy about it,” she understatedly murmurs, “though I really hadn’t expected to get quite so much attention for being selected.” Along with chefs Maria Delmonte of Santa Rosa’s Caffe Portofino, Jeffrey Reilly of the Bodega Bay Lodge Resort, and Volodia Crettol of Sebastopol’s 101 Main Bistro and Wine Bar, Wegener will be whipping up an array of her most flavorful creations for the salivating mouths at the popular annual event.

Designed to highlight the harvest season’s best wines (each of the showcase’s four courses will be paired with a Harvest Fair gold medal­winning libation), the event also serves as an eye-opener to some of the County’s most inventive–if not always best-known–cooks, caterers, and pâtissiers.

From a field of many other local chefs who sketched out and detailed proposed dishes to vie for the honor of preparing this dinner, Wegener was selected to create the dinner’s first course. Among her specialties, her frequently requested Sonoma County gazpacho–so named for its exclusively local ingredients–leads off, followed by a grilled and roasted vegetable terrine and her whimsically named Field of Greens raviolis, likewise dependent on fresh, locally grown produce. In keeping with Wegener’s freshness-is-everything philosophy, she will be doing all the cooking on the spot, with minimal prep beforehand, to ensure that all the ingredients are up-to-the-minute crisp and crunchy.

“This is fun,” Wegener confesses of the celebratory mood surrounding the showcase, “though I usually stay out of cooking shows and competitions. It’s not really what I love.” And what is it that she loves? “I’d really rather be in the kitchen cooking than talking to people about cooking,” she confesses. Immediately she reddens, bursting into laughter. “No offense intended, of course,” she grins.

Trained at New York’s prestigious Culinary Institute of America, Wegener–a Bay Area native who began working in restaurants immediately after high school–opened Pacific Connections in 1989 with her husband, Rob Grombach, whom she met when they both worked at San Francisco Emile’s restaurant.

“I worked the kitchen, he worked the front of the house,” she explains. A match made in heaven, it turns out: He can handle all the pesky business and scheduling matters while Wegener focuses her attention on what she does best. Though they were aware that they would like to start up some form of food business, the notion of a catering operation was not first on their list. During a year-long romp across Europe, the newlyweds explored all the options. On returning to the states, Wegener accepted a job in Geyserville, fulfilling her dream of living in the heart of the wine country. Shortly thereafter, the duo launched Pacific Connection.

“We had three events the first year,” Wegener admits, “Which was fine, because we were still figuring out how we wanted to do things.” Through word of mouth and a steady growth of major corporate clientele, the business has become a major success. So successful, in fact, that Wegener cannot recall how she and Grombach celebrated their 10th wedding anniversary last June.

“I think we were working,” she grimaces happily. “June is a busy month.” That’s not a complaint. Asked why she does what she does, Wegener doesn’t hesitate.

“I like the hard work,” she insists. “I enjoy knowing that from May to October, I don’t have too many days off. It’s like being an athlete, running a race. I really can’t get enough.”

The Showcase dinner seats Saturday, Oct. 4, at 7:30 p.m. Tickets are $65. To reserve, call 545-4203.

From the Oct. 2-8, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Measure F

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Food Fight

Is trouble in store for Cotati grocers?

By Paula Harris

AS THE COUNTDOWN to the Great Cotati Food Fight–also known as the Measure F ballot initiative–ticks toward the Nov. 4 election, some residents are questioning Lucky’s campaign tactics.

The measure is spearheaded by Cotati’s only major grocery, Oliver’s Market, to bar or reduce the size of a huge proposed Lucky market combo-store. Now a slick, pro-Lucky campaign flier, complete with a postage-paid return card and recently mailed to all Cotati households, claims that Measure F–which would prohibit commercial retail occupying more than 43,000 square feet of gross floor area in an effort to protect the smalltown character of this hamlet of 6,500–is designed only “to protect one business owner’s monopoly,” a thinly veiled reference to Oliver’s owner, Steve Maass.

While the flier–paid for by Cotati Taxpayers for Responsible Planning and sponsored by American Stores Properties Inc.–doesn’t specifically mention Maass by name, Oliver’s general manager, Tom Scott, contends the flier unfairly characterizes Maass as a “greedy” businessman out for his own interest.

“All the material directed at Steve as a greedy entrepreneur trying to protect his [supposed] monopoly in Cotati is untrue,” blasts Scott. “Labeling Steve as a greedy guy is a misconception.”

Scott also complains that among the six reasons the mailer lists detailing why Measure F is bad for Cotati is an economic analysis included in the project’s environmental impact report that states that Oliver’s Market will survive. “But the independent economic analysis is not even finished,” says Scott. “How is it in the hands of Lucky when it’s not even done?”

He adds that the multiple-paged flier notes that the authors of Measure F have spent “tens of thousands of dollars for political consultants, lawyers, and ‘volunteers’ in an attempt to block fair competition”–a hypocritical statement, according to Scott.

“They sent the mailer to everyone in Cotati, and it’s slick. How much does it cost to have that professionally produced?” he asks.

Of course, Oliver’s Market does have an interest in keeping out hefty, big-box competition. Scott says, Oliver’s has spent $16,000 on the Measure F campaign, mainly for lawyers to draft the measure and for a political consultant. He anticipates spending an additional $5,000 to $10,000 before the election.

During an interview from the Oakland division office, Lucky Stores Inc. spokesperson Judie Decker declined to answer specific questions relating to the flier and has referred all inquiries to Terri Dutra, treasurer of Cotati Taxpayers for Responsible Planning, a local group supporting the new Lucky.

Dutra, a local bookkeeper and 20-year Cotati resident, says that she contacted Lucky to get financial backing for printing campaign literature. “I really struggled with that,” she says. “Once you take money, in some people’s eyes you lose your validity, but I didn’t have the money.”

As of Sept. 26, Dutra says, Lucky had given her group $14,000, adding that she has spent $4,000 so far to produce the first flier. The group is planning to distribute two additional fliers.

The first flier states that without the property and sales taxes generated by the proposed Lucky, “the city could be forced to impose additional parcel taxes or further cut public services, and Cotati’s independence as an incorporated city could be threatened.” Dutra says that information is not based on any specific report, but rather on “general basic knowledge about city government.”

“If a city can’t balance its budget, it has to go back to the citizens, and we’ve been in the red a number of years,” she adds.

Dutra has solicited about 30 people to help her, “not based on positive or negative [feedback] about Lucky or Oliver’s,” she states. “I made it clear, if there was a vendetta around Oliver’s, I wasn’t interested.”

Still, the flier argues that Measure F will prohibit competition, resulting in higher prices and limited selection. “Lucky is backing us, and we had some argument with some of their script,” Dutra admits, adding that she and another resident, Pat Gilardi, had written the ballot argument and rebuttals by themselves.

AS FOR QUOTING the draft EIR before it is complete, Dutra says, she mistakenly used and distributed information from the first draft instead of the final draft, which is due this week.

Dutra, who says she is donating her time to this project and is not being paid by Lucky, also reveals that she doesn’t know much about the proposed Lucky store, but is really fighting the 43,000-square-foot limit sought by Measure F. “It’s clear we need to get a tax base of some commercial development in the town to support the homes we’ve built,” she explains. “You don’t arbitrarily plan a city by picking a number for square footage for alldevelopment.”

The controversial combo-store, proposed for the north end of Old Redwood Highway, would include a Sav-On Drugs (Lucky’s pharmacy subsidiary), a bank, and a bakery.

Tom Scott complains that the proposed store–including those businesses–is 65,300 square feet. “To date, it would be the largest Lucky store in Northern California, in Cotati, which is considered the smallest town in Sonoma County,” he observes.

But Judie Decker, speaking for Lucky Stores, says the notion that this will be the biggest Lucky store in the region is a misconception. She says the corporation has five combo-stores (in Oakland, Hollister, San Jose, Elk Grove, and Tracy) and three more in the works. She says the average size for the combo-stores (not freestanding Lucky markets) is around 50,000 square feet. “This is for a full-service facility, including a drugstore, but [the size] varies from site to site,” she explains, adding that Lucky had been willing to reduce the size of the Cotati store to 54,000 square feet, but no less than that.

Scott says Measure F’s authors chose a 43,000-square-foot limit because Safeway had proposed that size store in Santa Rosa–bigger than six out of seven Lucky stores in Sonoma County.

“It’s never been about not wanting more retail business in Cotati,” says Diane Glotzer, Lucky opponent and 18-year Cotati resident. “Growth is not a bad thing–we want the city to thrive–but this store far exceeds the size of anything else in Cotati. It seems inappropriate.”

Meanwhile, the giant grocery conglomerate, whose parent company is based in Salt Lake City, is hyping a chirpy, mom-‘n’-pop corner-store image in Sonoma County with a new radio jingle–complete with a folksy, guitar-strummin’ James Taylor sound-alike–that touts Lucky as a down-home, feel-good store.

From the Oct. 2-8, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

White House Whistle Blowing

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Blowing in the Wind

By Doug Ireland

Senator Fred Thompson’s campaign finance probe finally struck media paydirt with last week’s blockbuster testimony about the selling of White House access and influence to fugitive oil financier Roger Tamraz. Sheila Heslin, then-director of the National Security Council’s Central Asia desk, testified that for months last year she fought to keep Tamraz from getting an “official” meeting with Bill Clinton to pitch his Caspian oil project.

In return, she was subjected to an obscene barrage of pressure from the chairman of the Democratic National Committee, the CIA, and political appointees at the Department of Energy. With tears in her eyes, Heslin testified how senior Energy aide Jack Carter berated her for her opposition to the meeting, saying “Mack McClarty wants it, and the president wants it.”

Carter had been working with McClarty-Clinton’s boyhood chum and former chief of staff-on putting together oil deals in Latin America. (McClarty-formerly head of the Arkansas energy giant ARKLA-is special counselor to Clinton for the region, a role in which he has been carrying water for the Big Oil interests.) Carter testified that he’d been inspired to nag Heslin by his boss at Energy, Kyle Simpson, who got his job by heading fundraising for the ’92 Clinton-Gore campaign in Houston, where he collected campaign cash from the Texas oil barons. Simpson, of course, claimed amnesia about it all.

Heslin, a career NSC officer, was rightly praised by both Democratic and Republican senators for having successfully resisted the political pressure on behalf of Tamraz. But as Tamraz-who is wanted by Interpol in a $200 million Lebanese bank-fraud case-later testified, “If you keep me from the door, I go in through the window.” Clinton and his cronies saw Tamraz, who gave the Democrats $300,000 in ’95-’96, as a cash cow-and documents show that Tamraz was able to buy the access he wanted in the form of six White House visits arranged by the DNC.

Most damning was an April ’96 memo from McClarty to the president reporting that “per your direction” he’d had a “nice visit” with Tamraz, who was “pleased at your interest” in his oil pipeline, and promising the president to “follow up in a supportive, but prudent and appropriate way.”

With evidence like this, Attorney General Janet Reno’s decision to stall another three months before deciding whether or not to appoint an independent counsel to investigate the president’s fundraising activities is simply inexcusable. In keeping the investigation of the man who appointed her under her protective wing, Reno is in a conflict of interest which the independent counsel statute was specifically designed to avoid. Moreover, the way in which she is conducting her so-called “preliminary investigation” of both Clinton and Al Gore leaves doubt that it will be vigorously pursued.

To head the probe she’s named one Charles LaBella, who in the 1980s prosecuted Imelda Marcos and her dictator husband on charges of looting billions from the Philippine treasury. He produced a case so weak that Imelda was acquitted without the defense having to present a single witness.

LaBella’s principal qualification for the campaign-cash investigation appears to be a recommendation from his previous boss, San Diego U.S. Attorney Alan Bersin-who just happens to be a Rhodes Scholar classmate of Clinton’s at Oxford and his classmate at Yale Law School (not to mention that he was also Gore’s classmate at Harvard). One can infer from this sponsorship that the White House considers Labella politically reliable. Meanwhile, the decision by Senate Democrats to join the GOP in abruptly canceling the remaining investigative hearings into Donorgate shows that the leadership of both parties just doesn’t want the systemic corruption of big money in politics exposed. Or else voters might demand more than the palliative “reform” bill introduced by John McCain and Russell Feingold.

McCain/Feingold bans big soft money donations only to national party committees-but not to state parties. Half of the money Roger Tamraz gave to get the president’s ear was directed by the DNC to the parties in Virgina and Mississippi and would still be legal if McCain/Feingold passes. McCain wants to run for president as a “reformer,” and Feingold is in trouble in his home-state polls. Both are desperate to pass a law with their names on it, which is why they’ve now agreed to further water down their feeble legislation by dropping new restrictions on PACs and a proposal for free television time.

McCain/Feingold is now so ineffectual it’s worse than no bill at all, for it will take the steam out of the movement for reform. That’s why the best hope for getting special interest money out of politics is for reactionary GOP senator Mitch McConnell to follow through on his promise and filibuster it to death. If he kills the loophole-ridden bill, real reformers can live to fight another day.

Web exclusive to the Oct. 2-8, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

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