Talking Pictures

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Talking Pictures

By David Templeton

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in a quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This time out, he takes author/artist/tea party host Michele Rivers to experience the warm-as-a-crumpet film adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma.

In the film , Gwyneth Paltrow–as Jane Austen’s endearingly clueless title character–tries desperately to perform good deeds, messes up various romantic alliances, behaves badly once, is humbled by her behavior, and becomes a better, wiser person. She also officiates over a number of deliciously formal afternoon teas. I counted three.

“I counted four,” corrects Michele Rivers, deftly buttering a piece of bread. “The picnic was a tea, actually. That was lovely wasn’t it? With all those hampers full of things to eat.” We have just seen Emma together, and are sharing a bit of supper (not tea, though; at 7:30 in the evening it’s much too late for that).

My guest is an author, artist, photographer, and trapeze hobbyist who knows her way around a tea table. In her splendid book A Time for Tea: Tea and Conversation with Thirteen English Women (Crown, 1995), the author relates several emotionally rich teatime chats with a diverse range of partners, from Virginia, the wealthy Marchioness of Bath, to Hayley, an imaginative 6-year-old farm girl. Rivers manages, over tea and cake and cucumber sandwiches, to create an intimate bond with each of her subjects, drawing stories from each that are salient, deeply personal, and remarkably wise.

“It concerns me, this resurgence of interest in Jane Austen,” she admits, referring to the spate of recent film versions of the 19th-century author’s romantic novels, a resurgence that seems part of a fashionable recent fondness all things English, including a growing enthusiasm for the custom of formal afternoon teas. “What concerns me is that with the Austen films, and the emphasis on propriety, is all of this perhaps making tea stuffy again? Are Americans buying into it that tea must be done in this very traditional way? I think that puts too much pressure on women who will become too intimidated to think they can throw a tea of their own.

“It’s lovely to honor your friends by having a tea and having them over,” she continues, her voice growing musical as she warms to the subject. “And I think it would be a tragedy if people took all of this Austen stuff so seriously that they forgot that the real spirit of tea is about being together. It’s not about, ‘Oh, how lovely, isn’t this tea wonderful, please pass the cake.’ It’s not about silver teapots and lovely Tartan rugs. It’s a ritual of friendship. It’s about sharing your soul.

“Not that I have anything against beautiful things.” She pauses a moment, then sets down her fork, looks me directly in the eye, and begins to tell a story.

“There is a halfway house for women that I’ve given teas in,” she begins. “For women who’ve been in jail, who’ve conquered addictions to drugs and alcohol. Many have very young children or are pregnant. The first time I went there, I brought a whole tea spread, and my dear friend, Diane, brought along a set of teacups from her home, and we had afternoon tea with these women.

“This one woman came in, and she was very anti-us. Very tough. She glanced around and said, ‘What’s this about?’ And I said, ‘Well, it’s tea, and you can pick one of these teacups to use.’

“She said, ‘I don’t care.’ And I told her, ‘Well I care. I’m going to choose the most beautiful one for you.’ And I gave her this exquisite cup to use.” The event progressed, with the women awkwardly balancing their cups, uncertain whether to pour the cream in after the tea was poured or before, uncertain how to behave. Then Rivers began to read.

“I read them the chapter of Rose Tanner,” she recalls. “Rose had had the challenge of physical abuse. Many of these women had dealt with that. She’d dealt with drug and alcohol addiction. I read the story and you could have heard a pin drop! Afterwards they opened up and said, ‘There’s no difference between her story and mine, is there? And hers is in a book!’ And you could just see their body language changing. They were sitting up taller. Holding their cups more confidently. You could see the pride spreading through them as they got that they, too, had each lived a story that was worth listening to.”

Rivers suggested they begin having tea once a week themselves, and someone suggested that they could begin collecting teacups from local thrift stores.

“And Diane, this beloved woman, said, ‘I’d like to give them my collection.’ You’ve never seen a group of women so moved. They couldn’t believe it. One of them said, ‘Will the cups belong to the house, or to us?’ And we said, ‘Oh no. They’re yours.’

“And that one tough young woman, she came up to me later. And she’d been the first one up, the first one to carry her cup to the kitchen to wash it out, and to wrap it in tissue. And she said, “Michele, I’ve never owned anything so beautiful in my life.’

“I just smiled at her,” Michele says, her voice choking slightly. “I just looked at her eyes and said, ‘Well, now you do.'”

This page was designed and created by the Boulevards team.
© 1996 Metrosa, Inc.

The Fall Movies

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Oscar Bait


Odd Couple: Anthony Hopkins plays the Spaniard in a May-December romance in ‘Surviving Picasso.’

Fall films go for the gold–statuette

By Zack Stentz

AS SUMMER gives way to autumn, so do the frothy popcorn movies give way to more thoughtful and substantial celluloid fare. Or that’s the theory anyway, with studios traditionally saving their “prestige” fare (read: period costumes and English accents) for release close to the Oscar nomination date, in hopes of giving studio heads bragging rights at Spago’s the following spring.

But in a summer when Castle Rock made good money by running Lone Star as intelligent counterprogramming to action-packed explosion fests such as Independence Day and Mission: Impossible and an autumn that promises as many gunfights as tearful soliloquies, the old rules seem to have fallen by the wayside.

So will this crop of thrill rides and highbrow events be any good? Only time will tell. The following films certainly sound interesting, but then again, Johnny Mnemonic sounded pretty good, too, in plot synopsis form.

It certainly wouldn’t be Oscar season without another bloodless period drama from the Merchant-Ivory team. But Surviving Picasso may just bring a little juice to the drawing-room formula, being after all the story of the tempestuous life and loves of the protean Spaniard artist. Certified non-Spaniard Anthony Hopkins plays the title character in this portrait of the artist as an old bastard. Hey, if Nixon could speak with a Welsh accent, why not Picasso?

Continuing Hollywood’s infatuation with the Emerald Isle (Circle of Friends, The Playboys, A Run of the Country) is Michael Collins, in which Liam Neeson plays the titular leader of the uprising against the nation’s English occupiers. Since we already know the answer to whether long-suffering Ireland wins its independence, the real question in Michael Collins becomes whether Neeson will find himself upstaged by his fabulous co-star Alan Rickman–here playing Collins’ political rival Eamon De Valera–the way that Rickman stole Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves out from under Kevin Costner’s haughty nose.


Miller’s Daughter: Winona Ryder gets bewitched in the film adaptation of Arthur Miller’s ‘The Crucible.’


After her performance in this spring’s forgettable Boys, local heroine Winona Ryder reappears this fall in a big-screen adaptation of Arthur Miller’s classic witch-hunt drama The Crucible. Has Hollywood learned nothing from The Scarlet Letter about casting hopelessly contemporary actresses in period dramas?

And speaking of young, pretty, overpraised performers, the ubiquitous Liv Tyler shows up in Tom Hanks’ directorial debut, That Thing You Do! (their exclamation point, not mine). Hanks plays a Dick Clark­like promoter who orchestrates the rise of an early ’60s rock band. It’s not the Beatles, unfortunately.

So are there any under-30 actresses who deserve their reputations? Sure. For one, there’s the superlatively talented Claire Danes, of the regrettably canceled My So-Called Life television series, who stars opposite Leonardo DiCaprio in a new film version of Romeo and Juliet, set in a funky, modern Florida that’s closer to Venice, Calif., than Verona.

Real-life star-crossed lovers are the focus of another feature, In Love and War, allegedly the true story of the romance between Ernest Hemingway and Agnes von Kurowsky, whose relationship later inspired Papa to write his classic novel A Farewell to Arms. Sandra Bullock does her cute, plucky love-interest thang as Kurowsky, while Chris O’Donnell attempts to deepen his smug frat-boy image by portraying the famous writer.

O’Donnell returns to more familiar terrain in another fall film, an adaptation of John Grisham’s death-penalty drama The Chamber. This time, O’Donnell plays a handsome young lawyer who must defend a racist old codger from the mean, green death machine. The gassee in question is played by workaholic Gene Hackman, who seems to appear in about 20 films a year.

Another effort to sway crowds instead of Oscar voters is director Ron Howard’s Ransom. Here’s the deal: his Ross Perot­like can-do gazillionaire (Mel Gibson) gets his boy kidnapped. But instead of paying up, he single-handedly and faster than an armadillo crossing a two-lane blacktop hunts down and brings to justice the thugs who done his family wrong. Problem solved, end of story.

Autumn also heralds the return of to the silver screen in its eighth feature film. In this outing, Picard, Data, and the rest of the Next Generation gang (sorry, no original cast members in this one) do battle with humanity’s deadliest enemies, the hive-mind Borg. Time travel, space battles, and the farmer from Babe all play a role in what the Ferengi accountants at Paramount hope will revive the flagging Star Trek franchise in a fashion closer to 1982’s action-packed Wrath of Khan than the slower-than-a-shuttlecraft Generations of 1994.

But the surest bet for autumnal entertainment promises to be a re-release of Alfred Hitchcock’s haunting 1958 masterpiece, Vertigo. Sure, it plays on cable every month or so, but the crashing waves, bell-tower scene, and Kim Novak’s hair really should be seen on the big screen in all their glory. Unlike so many of his cinematic successors, Hitchcock knew how to be both thought-provoking and entertaining, making for at least one fall film that will provide all of the moviegoing pleasure with none of the guilt that lingers after a mindless movie like a popcorn-induced stomachache.

From the August 29-September 4, 1996 issue of the Sonoma Independent

This page was designed and created by the Boulevards team.
© 1996 Metrosa, Inc.

Ballet Folklorico de Mexico

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Born to Dance


Profile of success: Amalia Hernández still choreographs dances for the company she started in 1952.


Ballet Folklorico de Mexico founder Amalia Hernández fulfills her destiny

By Gretchen Giles

A YOUNG GIRL GROWS UP in the privileged prosperity of a bustling Mexican rancho in the 1920s. Her father the senator is a traditionalist, a wealthy rancher and military official. The girl is a charmer, dreamy and slight, hoping one day to be a dancer. Her father sternly refuses, not wanting a daughter of his to flaunt herself publicly on the stage. She persists and cajoles until he relents. And relents in a grand way, building a private studio on his grounds and flying teachers in from Anna Pavlova’s company and the Paris Opera to instruct his loved one on the rigors of the barre.

This is not a scene from a magic realist novel by writer Isabel Allende (after all–there is no levitation or telekinesis), but the very real story of Ballet Folklorico de Mexico’s founder, Amalia Hernández.

A bright, strong-willed girl, Hernández, now 78, chafed at the restrictions of the European style of classical dance. The music, for one, did not stir her soul. Ah, but the music of her country, with its mellifluous rhythms distinct to each territory, rich in tradition and tale, those were the sounds to move to. And so Hernández did what any smart, creative, and hopelessly optimistic young woman would have done 44 years ago–she started her own company.

Today Hernández is la dama grandiosa of Mexican dance. Her company is Mexico’s cultural ambassador to the rest of the world, and she has shepherded some 600 dancers across her stage and studio workrooms. Having created more than 40 distinct ballets, she continues to carry the sole burden of the choreography and historical research, as well as traveling with the company when it makes its extensive worldwide tours. One such tour is due to sweep across the Luther Burbank Center’s stage on Sept. 11.

Using classically trained dancers who rarely perform a plié once their apprenticeship is done, Hernández bases her work on the revered folkloric and dance traditions of her country. “The folklore in Mexico is very rich,” Hernández says by phone from her home in Mexico City. “There are classical ballet companies all over the world, and the Mexican ballet, well, there’s only one. I use the classic ballet as the technique. Only the technique, but not the choreography. All the choreography is based on the style and the roots of Mexican folklore.”

Famous for its extravagant costumes and sets, the Ballet Folklorico de Mexico embodies age-old traditions wrought from 60 territories of the Mexican states. This latest tour focuses on two distinct examples of dance from the state of Chihuahua. The first half demonstrates the lore of the indigenous Tarahumaras, a mountain people known for developing beautiful, deeply seen dances based on the mating rituals and joyful movements of forest animals in the spring. “It’s a very difficult life for them now,” Hernández says of the Tarahumaras, “but they have been a very powerful ethnic race, and that’s one of the reasons [that I chose them]–for the religious power that they have.”

The second half of the program features the dances of the Norteña Polka. Brought to Mexico from Poland by way of Spain, traditions like the polka underscore what Hernández has said previously about her homeland: “Mexico’s culture is a concentration of the world’s art.”

Now she says, “These kind of dances in Mexico have big influences. Don’t you think that the American dances of Texas have the same influences? You will realize that in this country we have the same influence.”

WEARIED by a nagging cold, Hernández is reluctantly beginning to feel her age. “I am very old,” she half-whispers as she suppresses a cough. With her two daughters firmly entrenched in the Folklorico organization, and her grandson heading up operations, Hernández has seen to it that her dream remains a family affair. But infirmity, the thin altitude and smog of Mexico City, and the inexorable march of time haven’t stopped her from continuing to explore her creative urges–in the heat of an August morning, Hernández is planning for the holidays.

“I go from one side to the other,” she says of her health. “Because I love to choreograph, and I love the authentic folklore, well, when I feel fine and strong, I rush to [work]. I am working on a new ballet of Christmastime in Mexico. I used the portraits of all the angels and birds of the 16th and 17th centuries, and it’s coming out well.” Researching the piece herself, Hernández continues to travel to museums throughout her country hunting down images and lore that will add to the ballet.

Attempts to find someone to carry her choreographic vision onward have ended lucklessly. Now she waits for her grandchildren to finish growing into the role. “I have tried with many, many other people, and it was such a failure,” she says sadly. “I was so disappointed, so I decided to go on myself. I wanted to rest, and I have tried to find people and guide them, but they were very, very lazy. They did not study enough. They didn’t rehearse enough.”

Stating that “I think that I have material for many years,” Hernández sees her gift as one coming straight from God. In fact, she asserts, she truly was born to dance. “I think so,” she affirms, “because otherwise I couldn’t keep this strength or power for creating. I think that it’s a force from above.”

The Ballet Folklorico de Mexico performs Wednesday, Sept. 11, at the LBC. 50 Mark West Springs Road, Santa Rosa. 7:30 p.m. $20-$30. 546-3600.

From the August 29-September 4, 1996 issue of the Sonoma Independent

This page was designed and created by the Boulevards team.
© 1996 Metrosa, Inc.

Amy’s Kitchen

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Fresh Frozen


Murray Rockowitz

Mr. and Mrs. Freeze: Rachel and Andy Berliner on the production floor of Amy’s Kitchen, the thriving, Santa Rosa­based vegetarian frozen food company .

Amy’s Kitchen strikes it big with vegetarian convenience food

By Zack Stentz

A TRIP DOWN the frozen food aisle is typically an exercise in frustration for the vegetarian, health-conscious consumer. The vast majority of the frozen, heat-and-serve fare seem to be meat-, cheese-, and sodium-laden cholesterol bombs. Vegetarian? Try these fried breaded mozzarella sticks. Organic? Don’t even think about it.

Enter Amy’s Kitchen. The 8 1/2-year-old company was started by Petaluma husband and wife team Rachel and Andy Berliner after the birth of their daughter, Amy, when the time-pressed couple searched in vain for organic, vegetarian items in the frozen food aisle. “We’d always shopped in health food stores,” recalls Andy, “and there just wasn’t anything there in terms of frozen convenience foods.”

Recognizing that not all vegetarians lead lifestyles that allow them to spend every afternoon perusing produce at the local farmers market, the pair stepped into the vacuum with their own company (named for their new daughter), which aimed to wed health, taste, and convenience into each frozen package. “We started with the vegetarian pot pie,” says Rachel, “which really surprised a lot of people when it came out. They had remembered frozen pot pies from their childhoods, and now here it was in a vegetarian, organic version. It sold very well from the beginning, and still does well.”

The pot pies aren’t the only items that do well, as evidenced by the gleaming, cavernous plant-office on Santa Rosa’s west side that Amy’s Kitchen now occupies. With a line of nearly 30 products ranging from non-dairy enchiladas to chocolate cake, 110 employees, and national distribution in health food stores and supermarkets, Amy’s Kitchen has in the past eight years established itself as a major player in the health food business. “We represent about 50 percent of the organic vegetarian frozen entrée market and about 35 percent of the frozen food section overall in the health food market,” says Andy.

With Andy running the business side of Amy’s Kitchen and Rachel spearheading new product development, the company has reached this market share by systematically expanding its product line from all-American basics like the pot pie into the more exotic ethnic realm of feta pockets, lasagna, and enchiladas. Finding a steady supply of organic ingredients that meet the company’s specifications has proved a daunting challenge, but according to Rachel, Amy’s Kitchen tries wherever possible to keep purchases close to home. “We use as many local food products as we can get,” she says. “For example, all our dairy products are from Clover, and we use a lot of locally grown apples and mushrooms.”

“Most Sonoma County organic farms are small,” adds Andy, “so we’re not always able to buy in the amounts we need, but we’re in our first year of contracting with a local organic spinach farmer.”

One culinary area the company has moved into in a big way is vegan items, the domain of those finicky eaters who eschew not only meat but all animal products. “They’re vocal, but there aren’t that many of them,” says Andy of vegans who shun animal products for ethical reasons. “We do about a dozen products for vegans and people who can’t digest dairy, which is a much larger group.”

“With a lot of our recipes, we develop them with dairy, then see if they can be translated into non-dairy without hurting the taste,” adds Rachel.

The taste is doing just fine, thank you very much, if the spicy aromas wafting into the office where Rachel and Andy sit from the adjoining plant floor are any indication.

A previous job as a reporter for a meat-industry magazine left me dreading the prospect of a behind-the-scene look at food production, but the Amy’s Kitchen plant proves to be an anticlimactically clean and pleasant facility. “Our production techniques are really different from most frozen food plants,” says Andy, threading his way through the maze of stainless steel machinery that turns raw ingredients into pot pies and enchiladas. “Our procedures are very similar to what someone would do at home, only on a much larger scale.”

Almost on cue, we walk past a row of cooking pots large enough for a cannibal’s kitchen, but used here for nothing more sinister than vegetarian sauces. Other rooms contain the batch ovens, mechanical freezers, and packaging machines standard to any frozen food plant.

In one room, a stack of boxes labeled in Japanese gives a hint of Amy’s Kitchen’s future. “We’re currently filling an order of organic lemon cakes for Japan,” Andy says. “We’re getting more and more into the export market.”

With a U.S. operation thriving and the potentially huge international market beckoning, it would seem natural for Amy’s Kitchen to look for an alliance with one of the mega-food conglomerates. So is a deal with Kraft, Cargill, or ConAgra in the works?

Not gonna happen. “It’s very difficult to get into organics,” Andy says, “and it’s not really worth the effort for the big companies. It’s just too small a segment of the overall frozen food market.

“We plan to stay independent and keep growing, but at a reasonable rate,” he adds. “We’re a family business, and we plan on staying a family business.”

From the August 22-28, 1996 issue of the Sonoma Independent

This page was designed and created by the Boulevards team.
© 1996 Metrosa, Inc.

Talking Pictures

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Killing Time


Jocelyn Knight

Black and white: Liberatore thinks ‘A Time to Kill’ simplifies racial issues.

Paul Liberatore mocks this bird

By David Templeton

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in a quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This time out, he takes reporter Paul Liberatore, author of the controversial The Road to Hell, to see the vigilante flick A Time to Kill.

NOW THAT was a powerful flick,” Paul Liberatore declares, seating himself on a weathered bench outside a neon-bedecked theater. “It was an accurate reflection of a culture that’s immersed in racism, a movie that really holds up well.” We have just seen , the latest cinematic cash cow to be based on a John Grisham novel, starring Samuel L. Jackson as a black man on trial in Mississippi for the murder of the men who raped his daughter.

The film my guest is praising, however, is 1962’s To Kill a Mockingbird, and there is no more telling an indication that a movie has failed than when you leave the theater brimming with kind words for an entirely different film.

“Compared to Mockingbird,” Liberatore says, “this thing we just saw is nothing. It’s empty and meaningless. It’s insulting and irritating.”

Liberatore is the author of a controversial new book that examines a significant series of events in the history of American racial politics. The Road to Hell: The True Story of George Jackson, Stephen Bingham, and the San Quentin Massacre (Atlantic Monthly Press, 1996) is a probing reconstruction of the circumstances surrounding the prison-grounds death of Jackson, the legendary Black Panther field marshal and the author of the prisoners-rights classic Soledad Brother.

“You know what I was wondering while watching this?” Liberatorenow asks. “I’ve never lived in Mississippi, so I don’t know for sure, but I wonder if it’s really like that. Do they flaunt the Confederate flag in courtrooms, with the whites sitting on one side and blacks sitting on the other? How can that be accurate? It’s like it was set in the ’60s or something.” We consider the possibility that the film was, in fact, intended to take place in the ’60s, though the star’s adornment of a Prince T-shirt would somewhat belie that.

(Later, I called up the District Attorney’s Office in Jackson, Miss. “No, Confederate flags are not flown in our courtrooms,” I was assured by his assistant. “And black and white people are not segregated in the courtroom either. We’ve come a little bit further than that!”)

“The worst part is the message of the movie, which is this that it takes a young, handsome, smart, white lawyer to free a black man.” Liberatore continues. “That’s the bottom line of this film. It wasn’t a black lawyer doing it, or a team of black lawyers. The political people, the NAACP, are portrayed as a bunch of self-serving crooks. But the young white lawyer working on his first major case, he can do it. To me that’s the worst kind of racism.”

But the accused black man does tell his lawyer that the reason he chose him was that, as a white man, he’d be able to “think like the enemy.”

“That was kind of interesting,” Liberatore admits. “But it was still white people to the rescue. Black people can’t intelligently consider the thought processes of an all-white jury?” he asks rhetorically. “They can’t figure out how to defend themselves?”

On the other hand, as Liberatore reports in his book, George Jackson had a whole team of white lawyers, including Stephen Bingham, the man who was accused of smuggling Jackson the gun that figured in the bloody San Quentin uprising. He admits that Jackson’s ability to work with whites as well as blacks was one of the things he most admired about him.

Liberatore nods. “The Panthers, back then, they mostly had white lawyers,” he says. “But that was 25 years ago. There weren’t a lot of African American lawyers to choose from. There weren’t even very many African Americans on the police department back then.

“But we’re talking about this movie all wrong,” he interrupts himself. “We’re talking like it’s about race, and it’s not. The race thing is just something that was imposed on top of a film about vigilante justice. This movie advocates murder. It advocates going outside the system. It advocates anarchism. The issue here is: If someone harms your child, do you have the right to go out and kill them dead?

“This movie says you do, and then it throws on all the can-a-black-man-get-a-fair-trial stuff, just to make it seem less reactionary. And then it parades out a bunch of cartoonish black characters who are these clichéd Po’ Folks.” He forces out a chuckle. ” I don’t think it’s going to do very much to foster race relations in this country, that’s for sure.”

From the August 22-28, 1996 issue of the Sonoma Independent

This page was designed and created by the Boulevards team.
© 1996 Metrosa, Inc.

SRJC

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Power Play

By Bruce Robinson

MICKI GRAHAM is heading for a courtroom instead of a classroom this fall, and she’s taking Santa Rosa Junior College with her. A popular biology professor at the JC for the past two years, Graham was abruptly dismissed last spring, over the vehement objections of her departmental colleagues, who were joined in their protests by many other faculty and students.

In addition to depriving the college of a talented and well-liked instructor, supporters say, her case has also raised troubling questions about gender equity on campus, the administration’s alleged inclination to manipulate personnel procedures, and the college’s commitment to maintaining academic standards.

“We were all in support of her staying,” says colleague Chris Christopher, incoming chairman of the Life Sciences Department. “Nobody ever wanted her dismissed.”

In a lawsuit filed Aug. 13 with the state Public Employees Relations Board, Graham accuses the SRJC administration of fraud, sex discrimination, defamation, inflicting emotional distress, negligence, and violations of the state labor code. She also has filed a separate civil action in Sonoma County Superior Court, seeking $2.5 million in damages and lost wages.

The legal charges, as well as a wave of activism that swept the campus last spring in support of Graham, stem from a supposedly botched tenure review in which Graham appears to have been caught up in the cross-currents of some tangled academic politics that had polarized participants long before she came to the institution. Her case galvanized an upwelling of support from faculty, staff, and students angered by the expensive expansion of the instructional administration under SRJC President Robert Agrella, and the apparent concurrent rise in the number of complaints and legal actions by aggrieved members of the college community.

“With the exception of Proposition 187 [the 1994 anti-immigration initiative], the students have not rallied around anything as much as this,” says Jennifer Branham, the new associated student body president, who sat as the student representative to the SRJC board of trustees during the last school year. “It wasn’t just another protest. They were compelled to come out and show their support for her.”

WHEN GRAHAM was hired in 1994, after completing her Ph.D. in environmental ecology at the University of California, she was chosen to fill the first tenure-track opening in the SRJC Life Sciences Department in more than 20 years. “She’s a really inspiring teacher,” says Brian O’Brien, a 22-year veteran of the same department who was part of the hiring committee that selected Graham and also chaired her Tenure Review Committee. “Our department hadn’t had the opportunity to hire a full-time position since I came. We wanted to have a woman who would be inspiring to women and a role model. She did just exactly what we hoped she would do.

“You could see the women gathering around her after class and hear the remarks they would make.”

Adds Charles Apel, a re-entry biology student who was Graham’s student assistant in three courses last year and has since transferred to UC Santa Cruz: “She’s a brilliant biologist and an exciting teacher. She’s really hot, really contemporary, really connected with her students. Everyone really loved her.”

Over her first two years, Graham received strongly positive evaluations from both students and other faculty observers. “Something like 85 percent of her student rankings and evaluations were of the highest order, outstanding or above average,” O’Brien reports. “All her numbers add up to A’s or a B; she doesn’t even get a C, [yet] she gets a failing grade [from the administration]. It defies logic, that’s for sure.

“If you did this to a student, you’d be fired.”

O’Brien was Graham’s strongest advocate in the four-member Tenure Review Committee, but he insists that the others–life sciences professors Steve Barnhart and Bob Rubin, and Rosemary Darden, the college’s assistant dean for science and applied technology–all agreed that Graham should be retained for the second two-year probationary period before she would become eligible for tenure.

“We never discussed terminating this woman. The agreement in all our meetings was that she be rehired,” O’Brien says. “The discussion was how strongly we indicated she needed improvements.”

The standard forms used in such reviews give the committee the choice of “suggesting” or “requiring” improvements of rehired tenure-track faculty. O’Brien says the committee split over that decision. “The dean was holding out for the requirement that she [Graham] have some improvements,” he says.

Dean Darden also insisted on including in the committee’s deliberations the complaints of five students who had taken a summer biology class from Graham, despite the fact that the summer class was not supposed to be a part of the tenure evaluation process. “There was never an evaluation of that class. No one ever came to observe, nor were student evaluations solicited, yet those few students that complained about their grades were used in such a way as to completely overshadow the many, many other students and student evaluations which were extraordinarily positive,” Graham objects.

She believes that the substance of those complaints was not the real issue. “For reasons that had nothing to do with those students or their complaints, they turned out to be a convenient vehicle,” she says grimly. “There were administrators, or at least an administrator, who really picked up on that and then used them to completely smear me professionally.”

Angered by the inclusion of the disputed complaints, O’Brien split from the other three committee members and submitted his own minority report, strongly recommending that Graham be rehired. The majority report contained the same overall recommendation, he claims. But in the final draft prepared by Darden, a sentence was inserted near the end of the seven-page document stating, “We recommend that [Graham] be rehired for one year.” That seemingly innocuous statement is what accomplished Graham’s dismissal, which was announced last March.

“The deal here is very clear. Rosemary [Darden] knows that the one-year option is not an option,” O’Brien fumes. “She knows the contract and she knew this would throw some kind of a jammer into the works.”

And it did. Academic Vice President Ed Buckley rejected the recommendation, and in the absence of consensus among the divided Tenure Review Committee, concluded that Graham should be dismissed, a decision that was affirmed by SRJC President Robert Agrella. “I believe the committee clearly understood the implications of the situation and chose to leave the final recommendation in the hands of the academic vice president,” Agrella later wrote to Richard Rose, president of the SRJC Academic Senate.

“Did the administration ‘overturn’ the Tenure Review Committee’s recommendation?” Agrella asks rhetorically in the same letter. “The answer to this is no.”

But the intentions of the committee clearly were reversed.

“Every member on my tenure review committee except the administrator has personally assured me they never intended nor understood my dismissal to be a consequence of their summary review,” Graham wrote to Agrella. “I am concerned that they were misled. I am concerned that an administrator who deals with tenure constantly would not know that what was being suggested would not be acceptable.”

Graham added that she believes that “an investigation will reveal that the district office had already been informed of my impending dismissal” before Buckley’s decision was revealed.

The cloud over the proceedings darkened further at the May board of trustees meeting. The Academic Senate and the All Faculty Association, the campus instructors’ union, believed they had worked out a compromise agreement with Agrella, which he would take to the trustees for ratification at the meeting. The compromise would have had Graham reinstated, but subject to more frequent evaluations over the next two years, to be done by a new Tenure Review Committee.

Yet, when the meeting was held, the board emerged from its closed personnel session with the curt announcement that nothing had changed. “President Agrella represented to the union that I would be reinstated” in accordance with the proposed compromise, Graham contends, “but when it actually came to the day to do that, he didn’t do that at all. He broke his word to them.”

Based on her subsequent conversations with trustees, Graham charges that “Dr. Agrella didn’t mention the union compromise and never indicated to the board that he had made an agreement with the union.”

Because personnel issues are, by law, allowed to be discussed out of public view, there is no record to indicate if Agrella even mentioned the suggested settlement to the board. And that shield of confidentiality is another sore point.

Graham objects that all of the key decisions regarding her future were made at meetings from which she, her allies, and the public were all excluded. “I’m not interested in holding confidentiality about these issues pertaining to me because it definitely is not in my best interest,” she says bluntly. “Confidentiality and secrecy only work for those people who are doing something they shouldn’t be doing.”

“A lot of people are hiding behind this thing on confidentiality,” echoes Sandy Lowe, a member of the Faculty for Tenure Equity Committee from the philosophy and religious studies department. “But it’s there to protect the person who’s on review, not somebody else.”

SO WHY was Micki Graham fired? The administration is not talking. President Agrella refused to meet with this reporter, Dean Darden did not return repeated phone calls, and Buckley declined to comment and referred all queries to the college’s attorney, who in turn referred them to Graham’s lawyer.

Meanwhile, the campus is rife with speculation.

“You can assume either malevolent intervention or breakdown of the process, or both,” says Johanna James, a computer science instructor at SRJC and a member of the FTE Committee, which was formed in response to Graham’s firing. “But then it gets back to the question of why this was going on [in the first place]. Why was the administration so entrenched and adamant about defending that position?”

James sees Graham as “a bright, independent woman” who was “operating in a hostile environment with a couple of her colleagues, due to gender issues, lifestyle issues,” and whose strong feelings about environmental issues and animal rights may have irked other faculty members.

Possibly more significant was Graham’s presence as an open, if not activist, lesbian in a predominantly male department. “Micki violates some of the traditional notions of how a woman should look and act,” James contends. “She was not being held to the same standard a male colleague would be. If a man had been running around in slacks and a shirt, that would never have been an issue.”

Even so, “they knew all this when she was hired,” says Sue Carrell, the gender equity coordinator at SRJC the past two years. From Carrell’s perspective, old and hard-set attitudes are a big part of the problem. “I very much get the sense that it’s still a white-male bastion,” she adds, offering figures that show that 54 percent of the part-time and 59 percent of the full-time SRJC faculty are men, even though women typically make up a 58-60 percent majority of the student body.

“A specific complaint by a few students is quite typical and usually goes no farther than the department chair,” adds Marty Bennett, a social sciences professor and co-founder of the FTE Committee. In Graham’s case, “that complaint found its way to the assistant dean and into [Graham’s] personnel file. Would that have happened to a male?”

Carrell also believes that Graham was held to a higher standard than male tenure candidates have been, but she realizes “the only way you can prove it is if you go back through the files of all the men who went through the same process and had more grounds to be booted out but were still rehired and eventually got tenure.”

Of course, she adds, “those records are all sealed. The only way you can get into them is by filing a lawsuit.”

Graham believes–and her lawsuit contends–that she was punished for filing a grievance over the way the tenure review was conducted, an action she took back in February. “It was not until after that that there was any discussion of the remote possibility that I would not be retained,” she contends. “Maybe they would have fired me anyway, but it’s curious that no one ever said a thing about it until after the grievance was filed.”

The grievance process is still slowly moving forward, with a hearing before an arbitrator as the next step. Asked when it might be scheduled, Bob Henry, the attorney representing the college in the proceedings, says he is “hoping for the month of October,” but acknowledges that the arbitrator has not yet been selected.

Under the college’s contract with the All Faculty Association, such arbitration hearings are not binding, but Graham says the Academic Senate has asked that the board of trustees and President Agrella follow the results of the arbitrator, and not push this into the courts. “And I hope that’s what they do,” she says. “It’s not in anyone’s best interest to force lawsuits in a situation like this. It’s an incredible waste of public money to adopt that strategy.”

But that has been the district’s strategy in other disputes. Although the details are buried in budget line items not included in the generalized budget summaries that are published each year, the campus grapevine has been buzzing with stories of administrators unhappily “retreating” to teaching positions or seeking other forms of redress. Henry Bell, the former associate dean of the SRJC campus in Petaluma, reportedly boasted of the six-figure settlement he received when he left the district for undisclosed reasons.

THE EXPANSION of the SRJC administration in the six years since Robert Agrella took the helm has also been costly, and is deeply resented by some faculty members. In a letter widely circulated on campus last May, one professor complained that “the addition of a new layer of mini-deans” not only was implemented “to isolate Dr. Agrella from the concerns of the faculty,” but was “imposed against the wishes of the faculty and at a time when there were insufficient funds for instructional needs.”

Although exact figures are not available, the annual salaries and benefits paid to six assistant deans and their support staff are believed to represent more than half a million dollars in the administration’s annual budget.

But the cost alone is not what upsets the faculty members who must deal with the new assistant deans. “It’s not a broadening, but a deepening of the administration,” objects Johanna James. “You’re one more person removed from process and input.”

Marty Bennett agrees: “It’s another layer you have to go through between the faculty and the administration. The actual decision-making about what goes on in the classroom is being taken away from the faculty.”

Worse, the people who are filling those positions tend to be bureaucrats, some of whom have little experience or understanding of academics. “We’ve gone from a system where the administrators rose from the ranks of the teachers and were familiar with the problems of the classroom, who had a discipline themselves and understood what it was to build a body of knowledge in a subject, who understood what it was not just to teach, but to be connected to your students,” Graham observes, “to a system of managers, many of whom have seen little or no time in a classroom and perhaps are not trained in an academic discipline.”

As a result, she theorizes, these administrators tend to “see the college as a service institution. The students or their parents pay the fees and the institution’s job is to provide them with a passing grade and ultimately a degree, so they can go out and get a job. So any kind of [student] performance becomes acceptable performance. [The administrators] really don’t have any idea what it is, for example, to be a mathematician and have the understanding that you can’t just pass students along.”

Math is not an idle example. Another controversy among SRJC faculty as school resumes this fall involves a bitter dispute between the math and applied technology departments over the latter’s creation of a course that math professor Jim Spencer says effectively bypassed the math department’s prerequisite requirements, but allowed students to acquire key transferable general education credits needed to graduate from a four-year California state college.

“Students who didn’t meet the prerequisites in our department or who failed a prerequisite would be able to go over there and take the course,” Spencer says. “They’ve even taken students who have failed basic arithmetic, but are able to pass this transferable four-year requirement course.”

When protests to the curriculum committee, the Academic Senate, and the administration all were shrugged off, math faculty members wrote a letter detailing their concerns directly to the California state University Chancellor’s Office, which subsequently dropped the disputed applied technology course from its list of transferable credits.

A furor ensued in the SRJC Academic Senate, which passed a resolution last May censuring the math department for its “unprecedented action of going beyond approved district policies” and charged that the “math department’s action challenges the district’s integrity and reputation.”

A series of sanctions are pending, including a ban on new math courses and the exclusion of math professors from membership in any curriculum committees for three years.

Now, Spencer says, the dispute is likely to become an issue for the accreditation committee that is due to make its twice-a-decade report on SRJC during the coming school year.

And the math course is not an isolated incident, faculty members charge. “It goes to the whole question of lowering standards,” says Brian O’Brien. “We have had a number of alternate courses offered at the JC. They offer a class in the nursing department now, something that nobody does anywhere else, basic microbiology for nurses, a substitute class that was much easier than the one that I teach” in the Life Sciences Department.

O’Brien charges that Assistant Dean Rosemary Darden, who also oversees the math department, “played a big role in a very tricky scheme to get this approved by the curriculum committee and resist our efforts to get it reconsidered.” He speculates that the fallout from that battle, in which Darden prevailed, may have poisoned the workings of Micki Graham’s Tenure Review Committee.

After months of reflection, Graham has come to the conclusion that she was only a minor player in the drama of her dismissal. That decision, she now feels, “was a combination of an individual administrator who has some kind of vendetta for reasons that are not clear and a system that does not support academic freedom nor an educator’s right to advocate strong positions.

“I’m also basically subject to a system in which management wants absolute control, in the way management in industry has control, which is something professors are not going to take very kindly to,” she adds.

But as in all other aspects of her case, even these conclusions are open to second-guessing. “I wish it was clear,” sighs Sandy Lowe. “There’s something in it that really stinks bad, but I’m not sure where the stench is coming from.”

From the August 22-28, 1996 issue of the Sonoma Independent

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© 1996 Metrosa, Inc.

Murphy’s Law

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Murphy Rules

By David Templeton

LATE IN THE FALL of 1994, Michael Harris of Santa Rosa was traveling on business when he found himself stranded in an airport in Jacksonville, Ark. With his flight canceled, and no other flight available until the next day, Harris suddenly faced a rare and unexpected opportunity. “I had nothing to do and nowhere to go,” he recalls. “I had a lot of time to just sit there and think.”

And what did he think about?

“Oh, the future,” he nods. “Mine and my family’s.” With a B.A. in communications and another in business, Harris was already a successful businessman, running a Santa Rosa mortgage company and hoping to one day run for public office.

“That takes money,” he smiles. And to get money, “you need a good idea.” There in the airport, in the early hours of the morning, Harris pulled out a notebook, produced a pen, and waited for inspiration to strike. It struck. Much to his surprise, Harris, who has an admitted dislike for most tabletop games, suddenly flashed on an idea for just such a thing.

A board game. It would be called Murphy’s Law, and would play on the famous notion that anything that can go wrong will go wrong. It should be educational, he thought, possibly with a black-history theme or perhaps focusing on American politics. It must be bright and simple to learn, and–cliché or no cliché–it would be fun for the whole family.

Right then and there, he opened his notebook and drew a rectangular outline on the page, followed by a flowing pattern of intersecting ribbons. This, he knew, was it. The man who disliked board games had just invented one.

“Yesterday we shipped our first order to Toys R Us,” Harris says. “Enough for 83 stores in two market regions. It’s only a test, but we are very excited.”

Murphy’s Law–The Game, with the subtitle “An Exciting, Fast-Moving Game of Luck, Strategy, and Knowledge,” hardly sprang up fully grown from Harris’ head. The complex developmental process from his initial idea to its final, shrink-wrapped reality took over a solid year, a great deal of cooperation from friends and family, and no little sweat and effort on the part of the game’s inventor.

“In fact,” Harris laughs, producing a shiny new copy of Murphy’s Law and placing it on the table, “if I’d known how much work it would be, I probably wouldn’t have done it.”

The finished product resembles a clever hybrid of Trivial Pursuit and Parcheesi, with a little Chutes and Ladders thrown in.

“At first glance it looks a bit like other games,” he offers, unpacking the brightly colored board and removing the various dice and plastic playing pieces. The objective of the game, in the tradition of numerous classic board games, is to maneuver your playing piece from the starting point at one corner of the board to the winner’s circle at the center.

“You can use strategy to take shortcuts and to trick your opponents into losing ground or starting over. Then you have to answer questions,” says Harris, producing a box of 3X5 cards, separated into age-appropriate categories. “The thing about this game, unlike Trivial Pursuit, is that a 6-year-old has the same chance of winning as an adult has.

“After deciding to orient the game in an academic direction,” Harris says, “I decided not to make it specifically about politics or black history, but to use the California state educational framework. One thing I didn’t want was just a lot of trivia. I wanted questions with answers that are worth knowing. Practical, applicable information.”

And Murphy’s Law? How does that notion fit in?

“The thrill of the game is never knowing what’s about to happen,” he grins. “You might be ahead, just about to win, and suddenly–you’ve lost. Just like that.”

“The very first version we made,” he says, “was a piece of cardboard covered in wrapping paper. I’d design different parts on my computer, then print them out, and my wife and I–sometimes the children helped–we’d color it in with felt-tipped markers.” There were repeated trips to the copy shop, he explains, with endless full-color copies made of various portions, which would be pieced together again and again as the product slowly developed.

“Then when we had a working model, we started having Murphy’s Law parties. In secret, you know. Friends and family would be over, we’d all play and play and then talk about what worked and what didn’t.” After several months of such clandestine R&D, and some exhaustive research into various printing and packaging processes, Harris invested a portion of his savings to print up the first batch of games, which were placed in various Sonoma County toy stores.

“Then Consumer Reports did a write-up on [the game],” Harris relates, “and suddenly I was getting calls from all over.” It would be another year until he hammered out the deal with Toys R Us. Enthused by positive early rumblings, the fledgling game mogul is now clearly optimistic about his future. “If a game like Pictionary sells 25 million games,” he says happily, “we should do 50 or 75 [million].”

Murphy, Murphy, Murphy. You crabby old pessimist. It seems that you were only half right.

From the August 22-28, 1996 issue of the Sonoma Independent

This page was designed and created by the Boulevards team.
© 1996 Metrosa, Inc.

Accordion Nation

Past Cool

By Richard von Busack

THE ACCORDION’S appeal is probably due to the way it throbs. You don’t play an accordion so much as you embrace it. When held against the chest, the accordion’s vibrations turn your abdomen into a resonator, giving your heart a sonic massage. No other musical instrument so envelops you, except for the equally maligned sousaphone, which nestles around the torso like an anaconda.

The accordion’s effect on listeners can be every bit as penetrating, as is witnessed by the number of bumper stickers reading “Use an Accordion, Go to Jail–It’s the Law.” (My accordion teacher, a crusty old party like William Demarest, told me to fix wiseacres with a jailhouse glare: “Yeah, I just got out.”) But on one weekend each year, squeezebox miscreants use accordions and go to Cotati, taking over the small town like Marlon Brando and gang in The Wild One.

Clifton Buckman-Kauffman runs Prairie Sun Recording in Cotati and is a founder of the 6-year-old festival. “We were looking for something musical to draw a crowd, some kind of event, something multicultural,” he says, remembering the dilemma faced when the La Plaza Park bandstand was erected, “without attracting too many unruly kids and a lot of potential problems.” In part, the idea of attracting devotees of the belly-organ came from local musician Jim Boggio, who has recorded “a lot of different genres, zydeco, jazz, folk music on the accordion at my studio,” says Buckman-Kauffman. “We realized that there seemed to be an incredibly untapped demand for accordion entertainment, especially among older folks who recall the golden days of the accordion.”

At the first fest in 1990, Boggio and Buckman-Kauffman expected around 1,000 people. Some 5,000 showed up. This year, they’re expecting 10,000 fans to attend a show of squeezebox-playing outlaws that includes the cheerful cowpoke Sourdough Slim, Celtic sounds by Golden Bough, Jim Boggio and his Swamp Dogs, Polkacide, Steve Balich, Norteña music by Ramon Trujillo and His Mariachi Jalisco, plus–and this is aptly underscored in the promotional material–a wooden dance floor for dancing.

If you’ve ever tried to polka on the wrong kind of floor, you’ll no doubt still remember how your feet hurt.

SAN FRANCISCO is said to be the place where a piano keyboard was first grafted onto the accordion. Many accordion manufacturers plied their infernal trade there, and Colombo and Sons of San Rafael were, until they ended the business in 1994, the oldest firm of accordion manufacturers. That the accordion has roots in Northern California can also be seen in commentary by local writers: Ambrose Bierce, formerly of St. Helena, spoke for many when he wrote in his Devil’s Dictionary that the accordion was “an instrument in harmony with the sentiments of an assassin.”

The accordion’s origin is dated to sometime in the 1820s when various accordionoids were invented by Friedrich Buschmann in Germany and by Cyral Demian in Vienna, while Matthias Hohner busied himself devising the first harmonica. The harmonica and the accordion are cases of parallel development; the accordion is just a big harmonica with bellows and valves. The free reed that’s at the heart of all of these musical instruments is an invention of the Chinese, who used it in an eons-old wind instrument called the sheng. The accordion is still most popular in China, where they have accordion orchestras of a size unseen in the United States since the 1950s. During the Long March, Mao’s army was evidently led by a vanguard of accordion-playing girls. Whether this was meant to delight or to terrify is up to the reader.

A great traveler because of sturdiness and portability, an accordion is loud enough to surmount the stamping of feet at a dance–though dancing is not the purpose for which some of them were built. It is the quintessential people’s instrument: homely, boxy, and free of the ultra-glamor that’s made pop music pretty insufferable to the thinking person for the last 30 years.

When this versatile instrument got kicked out of the spotlight by the electric guitar, the accordion became a national joke. Now, the accordion causes a lot less comment than it did five years ago, even though it’s still used as a sight gag by musicians like “Weird” Al Yankovich. Everyone from Bruce Hornsby to Tom Waits to Those Darn Accordions has done their part to make the instrument less of a curiosity and more acceptable to the masses, and still the accordion is a symbol of rebellion: Those who play it, even those who just wield it, are tacitly stating, “We’re through being cool.”

The Cotati Accordion Fest swings off Aug. 24-25 at La Plaza Park, downtown Cotati. 9:30 a.m. to 7 p.m. $7-$12; kids under 12, free. 664- 0444.

From the August 22-28, 1996 issue of the Sonoma Independent

This page was designed and created by the Boulevards team.
© 1996 Metrosa, Inc.

Wine Labeling

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Paradox Lost


Janet Orsi

Seeing red: Federal officials are less than wild about a wine industry plan to change beverage labeling.

Wine labeling plan prompts sweet talk, sour grapes

By Paula Harris

CONTROVERSY swirls around the issue like pinot noir in a wineglass. Whether that glass is half full or half empty depends on whom you talk to. Some view wine as a time-honored, aesthetic, and sensory delight–a complex foodstuff and magical elixir with the ability to protect against coronary disease and food poisoning and to aid digestion. Others see it (and other forms of alcoholic beverages) as an addictive drug with a grim societal cost, responsible for rampant health problems, accidents, birth defects, violence, crime, and suicides.

Now a recent proposal by the San Francisco­based Wine Institute–the vintners’ trade group that aims to counter the U.S. Surgeon General’s warnings on wine containers with a second label alluding to wine’s health benefits–is coming under fire from federal officials and anti-drinking organizations. The proposed label may add to consumer confusion, critics say.

But there’s a catch. Seen by some as a shrewd move by the Wine Institute, the proposed sticker would invite consumers to “learn the health benefits of moderate wine consumption” by sending for a brochure published by no less than the federal government.

The proposed label, to be used voluntarily by wine producers, would refer consumers to the 1995 “U.S. Dietary Guidelines for Americans,” developed by the U.S. Department of Agriculture and Department of Health and Human Services and published in January.

“It’s referring to an action taken by the government itself,” says Wine Institute president John De Luca, adding that the label is not a self-proclaiming statement.

The proposal is causing quite a dilemma at the federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, which regulates labeling and advertising of alcoholic beverages. The BATF, which is considering the proposal, has convened meetings about the matter with other regulatory agencies, including the Federal Trade Commission, the Food and Drug Administration, the Department of Agriculture, and the Department of Health and Human Services–a complicated cast, all of whom will have input into the decision.

“This makes the review process more difficult,” says William Earle, chief of the BATF’s Industry Compliance Division. He adds that although he doesn’t believe the proposal is “a crass attempt to sell wine,” he suggests that it could be construed that way “by riding on the coattails of the dietary guidelines.”

The new federal guidelines, which do not specify wine, but address the consumption of all forms of alcoholic beverages, do not contain a recommendation to drink for health. The guidelines mainly list the potential health risks associated with drinking alcohol.

However, two new sentences recently have been added to the guidelines. The first states that “alcoholic beverages have been used to enhance the enjoyment of meals by many societies throughout human history.” The second states that “current evidence suggests that moderate drinking is associated with a lower risk of coronary disease in some individuals.”

It defines moderation as no more than one drink per day (12 ounces of beer, 5 ounces of wine, or 1.5 ounces of 80-proof distilled spirits) for women and two drinks per day for men, and then lists individuals (such as pregnant women, children, and adolescents) who should not drink.

THE GUIDELINES also note that “higher levels of alcohol intake raise the risk for high blood pressure, stroke, heart disease, certain cancers, accidents, violence, suicides, birth defects, and overall mortality.”

It concludes by stating, “If you drink alcoholic beverages, do so in moderation, with meals, and when consumption does not put you or others at risk.”

Hilary Abramson of the Marin Institute for the Prevention of Alcohol and Other Drug Problems, a San Rafael­based non-profit organization that uses Buck Trust funds to “prevent the toll from alcohol and other drugs by changing public policy,” blasts the proposed labeling and accuses the Wine Institute of being intentionally misleading.

“The dietary guidelines don’t say a thing about wine and health,” says Abramson. “They say ‘evidence suggests in some individuals.’ Does that educate you? No. It raises a ton of questions.” She adds that, realistically, individuals aren’t going to read the new label and send off for the guidelines, “but it gives the patina that the government thinks it’s good for you. The [implied] message is that the government is saying, drink for your health. It’s a marketing tool.”

But De Luca defends the labeling, saying “our proposal is a public policy statement, not a marketing strategy.” The new label would counter the “misleading impression” given by the Surgeon General’s warnings, he says, which justify labeling wine as a “sin” industry to be punished with higher federal excise taxes.

The Surgeon General’s health warning, mandated by the Alcoholic Beverage Labeling Act of 1988 for all beer, wine, and spirits containers, states that women should not drink alcoholic beverages during pregnancy and that alcoholic beverage consumption impairs driving ability and operation of machinery and may cause health problems.”[The warnings] forced a scarlet letter on wine, making it easy for people to argue to raise taxes in 1991,” says De Luca.

The Wine Institute argues that the warnings mislead consumers because the wording makes no distinction between use and abuse of beverages that contain alcohol and does not reflect scientific knowledge about the possible health benefits of moderate wine consumption.

“The proposed label statement is an attempt to provide more balanced information to the consumer than now exists with the government warning, referring them directly to the sections dealing with alcohol in the 1995 ‘U.S. Dietary Guidelines for Americans’,” says De Luca. “We see the new government message as an educational tool that more evenly treats the complex matter of use and abuse.”

De Luca says that if the new label is approved, consumers could have access to wine and health dietary guideline information via a toll-free phone number and websites on the Internet. He adds that the Wine Institute’s proposal was prompted by a series of scientific studies conducted by such universities as the Harvard School of Public Health and the Boston University School of Medicine about exploring wine’s possible role in preventing heart disease and other ailments.

In 1991, CBS-TV’s 60 Minutes focused on the health claims made for moderate wine consumption. A segment on The French Paradox, a book by Sonoma author Lew Perdue, focused on his claims that the French have a lower rate of heart disease then Americans, despite consuming richer, fattier foods, because they drink red wine with their meals.

In the wake of the show, domestic red wine sales reportedly soared more than 40 percent. The same thing occurred after the program was rebroadcast the following year.

Perdue now heads up SmartWired Inc., a Sonoma-based print and online publishing group devoted to wine and to combating what he calls neo-prohibitionism. His firm publishes Wine Business Insider, Wine Business Monthly, Smart Wine On-line Magazine, and To Your Health! (formerly Healthy Drinking).

According to a recent editorial by Perdue, “Mainstream newsstands and periodical distributors have been reluctant to sell [Healthy Drinking] because of the name.” He goes on to say that “despite all of the conclusive research regarding the healthful benefits of moderate alcohol consumption, juxtaposing ‘healthy’ and ‘drinking’ creates a psychological conflict. What a testament to the influence of the anti-alcohol industry!”

At a recent American Society of Enology and Viticulture convention in Reno, George Hacker of the Center for Science in the Public Interest slammed what he calls the wine industry’s “health campaign” as “an effort to get abstainers to begin and light drinkers to drink more.”

He added, “There’s a tremendous market for a flagging wine industry.”

The BATF says it will continue to examine the Wine Institute’s proposed label, and decisions are also pending on other labels submitted by the Competitive Edge Institute and by Sonoma County’s Laurel Glen Vineyard, which mention the health benefits of wine. According to De Luca, a bottleneck hanger extolling the reputed virtues of the “French Paradox,” proposed by Beringer Vineyards of St. Helena in 1992, was approved by the BATF, but rejected by other federal agencies.

BATF’s compliance chief William Earle fears that approving one label may lead to an avalanche of requests for wineries that “think they have a stroke of genius” in just how health claims should be stated. He says that referring consumers to the U.S. Dietary Guidelines “may be leaving people with a misleading impression,” adding that there may be a better mechanism to distribute the guidelines.

“They could leave a stack [of the guidelines] in the store or in winery tasting rooms,” he says. “That may be a more objective way of getting them to the consumer.”

From the August 15-21, 1996 issue of the Sonoma Independent

This page was designed and created by the Boulevards team.
© 1996 Metrosa, Inc.

the Night Shift

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Night Owls


Janet Orsi

Graveyard shift workers brave death, danger, and boredom after dark

By Zack Stentz

SCIENCE FICTION is replete with stories of parallel universes, entire worlds that exist alongside our own, but remain unseen to the oblivious inhabitants of this mundane reality. But an alternate universe actually does exist, right here in Sonoma County. We see its inhabitants every day, buying groceries at 10 a.m. with bleary eyes, or passing us on the highway late at night, heading to work in pressed suits or nylon clerk uniforms while we’re coming home from a late evening out on the town.

They’re the workers of the night shift, the folks who keep Sonoma County running while the rest of us slumber. And while we may not always recognize them, they can usually spot each other. “You get into the night routine, you see the same people,” says Bob Pitkin, who often works the night shift at Santa Rosa Billiards. “Sometimes we acknowledge each other.”

“Yeah, we all talk to each other,” agrees service station clerk Fred Atkinson, “’cause we get the same freaks. One of us will say, ‘Hey, did the old guy missing a finger come in tonight?'”

Atkinson says he was lured into his shift by the prospect of higher wages, but has come to relish the calm and solitude that often comes with the territory. “I took this shift because I needed the money, and night shift pays a little more,” he says. “Some parts are nice. We get very few customers, and there’s no boss to bother you. You get time to yourself, to think.”

“I prefer to work at night,” agrees Santa Rosa police officer Rider. “I can respond to a call a lot faster without the traffic. I’m less of a slave to the radio, and have more of an opportunity to discover crimes on my own.”

“I don’t mind working this shift at all,” agrees Jenny, a waitress at a Santa Rosa coffee shop who declines to give her last name. She describes her regular late-night customers as “pretty normal. It’s mostly elderly people, and teens who have come back from parties but don’t want to go home yet.”

“During the day shift, there’s an abundance of people and energy, which creates a lot of stress for everyone,” confirms Michele Adelman, a Petaluma nurse who has worked the night shift in various Sonoma County hospitals on and off for 15 years. “Night people are calmer people, and you don’t have administration breathing down your neck.”

Adelman also enjoys the other benefits that come from bucking society’s diurnal focus. “It frees up other times of the day for me, which really works well for me as a single mom,” she says. “I can pick up and drop off my son at school, and spend evenings with him. We end up having six or seven hours a day together. It’s also the best shift for having a social life. I can socialize, have dinner, or go to a movie before I go to work.”

Her most unusual nighttime perk? “It has to be when the midnight babies are born on New Year’s morning,” Adelman replies. “We had one born four minutes after midnight one year.”

Adelman is aided by what she admits is the rather extraordinary ability to function well on less than 5 hours sleep per 24 hours. “It’s great I can function like that,” she says. “I feel like I’ve got eight or nine days in each week.”

Much more common is the case of fellow Sonoma County nurse Laura Close, who says: “I wouldn’t say that I enjoy it, but you learn how to make it work. It’s a matter of training your body. Most of us don’t do it full-time, but revert back and forth between the day and night shifts.”

Adelman recognizes that not all of her fellow night-shift workers function as smoothly on a nocturnal cycle. “I do have to be very clear, concise, and direct with physicians. A lot of them aren’t used to being awake and at work at that time of night.”

That a nocturnal falling off of abilities takes place isn’t difficult to believe. Looking at my own notes from interviews with night-shift workers, I see my penmanship get steadily sloppier and more crabbed as the evening progresses. By 4 a.m. or so, it resembles a page of diagonally etched cuneiform writing more than anything approaching written English. And my coherence, as revealed by the tape recorder, degenerates into slurred syllables, non sequiturs, and sentence fragments by the pre-dawn hours.

With this foe of drowsiness in common, it’s unsurprising that a feeling of comradeship would develop between those who battle sleep together. “There’s definitely an understanding between people who work at night,” says Close. “A lot of conversations center around how much sleep you’ve had. You know, ‘How many hours did you get?'”

THE BIOLOGICAL reasons behind nighttime lassitude are well documented and include a drop in core body temperature and fluctuating levels of hormones like cortisol, ACTH, and human growth hormone. One of the most famous sleep-inducing hormones is melatonin, which many night-shift workers use to help reset the body’s internal clock to be ready for sleep at odd hours.

Short of tinkering with one’s hormonal balance, Dr. Donald Greenblatt of the Sleep Disorders Center in Rochester, N.Y., recommends that night-shift workers stay alert by keeping their surroundings brightly lit (so much for bartending!), lowering the temperature of the working environment, keeping as physically active as possible, and taking brief rest periods. Many night-shift workers have stumbled across these and other techniques independent of the academic research, as anyone who has switched on the air conditioner to keep alert during a long nighttime drive can attest. “I try to take a few minutes to rest,” says Adelman. “And I use a sleep mask when I sleep during the day.”

In spite of these preventative measures, even a certified night owl like Adelman can sometimes succumb and fall into the arms of Morpheus. “I remember one night I was working at about 1 a.m. and was just exhausted,” she recalls. “I had a full board of patients, and I just leaned my head against the counter for a second. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep standing up.”

But the consequences of bucking the human body’s internal clock go far beyond sloppy handwriting and social embarrassment. Tick through a list of major industrial disasters in recent years, from Chernobyl to Bhopal to the Exxon Valdez, and you’ll find that each occurred at night, with fatigue-induced sloppiness being implicated as a cause of the accident.

The Australian Department of Labor, for one, seems to take a perverse pleasure in collecting anecdotes of nocturnal industrial accidents that approach urban legend in their gruesomeness, as with one case when a night-shift supervisor at a textile mill went to check on a missing worker. “To his horror,” the Department of Labor’s bulletin melodramatically reports, “the deceased’s body was hanging from the beam, only partly visible, and completely wrapped in the yarn.”

THIS ISN’T THE BEST place in the world to be a night person. If New York is the city that never sleeps, Sonoma is more like the county that gets a little cranky after 10 p.m. It wasn’t always like this, recalls Santa Rosa Billiards worker Sandy Dettling, as she watches her customers rack up for a few midnight rounds of pool. “This town used to be a really neat place to be at night,” she recalls. “But that all started changing about five years ago. Now it just dies out after 8 o’clock.”

Dettling’s own establishment stays open until 1 a.m. most of the time, and 2 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays. “We could stay open till 4 a.m.,” says fellow worker Pitkin, “but it’s not worth it to us to have to deal with some of the jerks who come in that late. Some of the people at that time of morning, let’s just say their headlights are on high beam.”

But the chemically altered folks who seem to form such a large portion of the clientele at many nocturnal establishments are nowhere to be found at Gold’s Gym on Fifth Street, where an ascetic commitment to self-improvement reigns instead. While Gold’s is not open 24 hours like some urban fitness centers, a surprising number of exercise enthusiasts can be found going through their solitary routines right up until the gym’s midnight closing. “The people here right now, they’re not here for the social scene,” says employee Miles Hadden, motioning to the patrons who grunt and strain with only their reflections in the wall mirrors for an audience. “The night people are the ones who are serious about working out.”

Indeed, evicting the late-night fitness enthusiasts this night proves more difficult than last call at a meth users’ bar, leading Hadden to jokingly threaten to release poison gas unless the patrons hustle out the door within five minutes. The last do at around 12:15 a.m., wandering off to their cars and, presumably, home.

By 12:30 a.m., the streets of Sonoma County get even quieter. Even the Domino’s Pizza in Rohnert Park, last resort of SSU potheads with the late-night munchies, is closing down. A knot of local youths hangs out at the liquor store next door, looking to buy alcohol and beef jerky. Asked what nighttime recreational opportunities Rohnert Park offers him and his friends, a teen identifying himself as Jason Thompson says in disgust: “Nothin’. Drive around, smoke blunts, drink 40s [malt liquor].”

Soon they too head off home, leaving the night to the people Atkinson calls “spunions–you know, meth users and freaks are usually the only people awake. Coffee, cigs, and donuts, that’s all any of them order at that time of night.”

Launching into a speed-rap reminiscent of Mr. Pink in Reservoir Dogs or one of the characters in Kevin Smith’s Clerks, the fast, funny, and vulgar service station clerk Atkinson makes his early-morning customers sound like extras from a Fellini or David Lynch film. Atkinson says he sees many of the same people night after night, and anoints them with nicknames that make them sound like the punch lines to a series of tasteless Native American jokes. “Yeah, we’ve got ‘Leaky Face,’ and ‘Guy Who Talks to the Doughnuts,'” he says. “One of my regulars, he came in the other night and there was this awful stench. It was only when he turned around to leave that I saw that he had shit himself and was wearing his pants on inside out.

“Cops also stop in every once in a while, and so do ambulance drivers. The worst is when the bus transporting the prisoners to Pelican Bay [the ultra-maximum security prison in Del Norte County] stops in so the prisoners can use the bathroom. It’s so disgusting in there when they leave.”

Asked about the most bizarre nocturnal visitors he’s encountered, Atkinson thinks a moment, then replies: “There was this one time these two chicks tried to pick me up. They were asking me if I wanted to go into the back room, but I took one look at them and thought, ‘Not with my brother’s dick, man.’ They were missing teeth and stuff.”

Aside from the prospect of such close encounters, there’s also the specter of robbery and violent death lurking in the background of the night shift, especially for these workers who toil alone behind the counter at 24-hour retail establishments. “I get scared sometimes,” admits Atkinson. “I’ve never been robbed, but the Shell station down on Cleveland Avenue was.”

Atkinson’s fears aren’t idle ones, but in fact are borne out by the federal Occupational Health and Safety Administration’s statistics. According to OSHA, clerks in small retail establishments made up 50 percent of the 1,071 workplace fatalities reported in 1994. Of those victims, fully 69 percent were killed while working between 9 p.m. and 5 a.m. That’s 370 dead night-shift clerks over the course of a year. When stacked up against the 162 police officers killed in the line of duty in 1995 (including deaths from on-duty heart attacks, car crashes, and other causes, not just homicides), it would seem that those danger-seeking souls lusting to put themselves in the path of a bullet would be better off tendering a job application at the local mini-mart than the police force.

Some night workers seem downright fatalistic about the risks they take. “I’ll probably get robbed someday,” says Lance, a night-shift attendant at a Windsor service station. “But I don’t worry about it. We get all the local gang members in here, but I’m mellow to them, and they never give me any problems. A lot of night-shift workers cop an attitude with their customers, and that’s where the trouble starts.”

To a disturbing extent, the victims of this trouble are those other pillars of the low-wage night shift, cab drivers. While retail clerks have a shockingly high occupational fatality rate of 23 per 100,000, cab drivers come in at over 50 dead per 100,000, which puts them in a risk category with coal miners and deep-sea divers.

So, as 4 a.m. approaches with the first signs of dawn only minutes away, I search the streets looking for a taxi driver to interview, hoping for one who’ll give me lots of Travis Bickle-like quotes about all the animals coming out at night and rain washing the scum off the streets. Luck is on my side. A lone taxicab idles along the side of Santa Rosa Avenue, near the downtown transit center. I approach slowly, hoping he won’t mistake me for a late-night crazy, but stop short of rapping on his passenger window when I see him slumped against the wheel of his vehicle. OSHA’s mortality statistics fresh in my mind, I recoil in shock and panic before realizing that the driver is the victim of nothing more sinister than his own circadian rhythms. The poor man is fast asleep.

Time to call it a night.

From the August 15-21, 1996 issue of the Sonoma Independent

This page was designed and created by the Boulevards team.
© 1996 Metrosa, Inc.

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