Act 1 – Gonnections

Scene 2 – Poverty is Transferrable

The revolution died in Lakeside in June 1973. All of the momentum from the late 1960s – the music, the protests, the optimism – seemed to disintegrate after McGovern got clobbered in November 1972. On a national level, the resistance continued, culminating in Nixon’s disgrace and resignation. But in Lakeside, there was no balance of power. Early in 1973, I was suspended for two weeks for distributing an unauthorized publication. The Two Week Leak staff mustered a couple of issues after that, no thanks to me. The establishment’s final blow was to pull the plug on the co-valedictorian when he tried to yield the floor to an unscheduled speaker. The dirty deed was performed by an English teacher whom many of us had loved and trusted – oh, the pain of treachery!

Berkeley had a much better handle on the times. My graduation from the School of Journalism in June 1977 was intentionally mock déclassé. No gowns, no graduation march – all the trappings of bourgeoisie academia trashed in favor of a cooler, gentler America. Daniel Schorr, late of CBS news, spoke. (I have no specific recollection of his being there, but my mother made a point of labeling the slide and my sister discovered it last week. Schorr was a lecturer, so it was no big surprise that he spoke. What is noteworthy is that my Nixon-voting mother would save a slide, let alone take the picture, of someone who had made Tricky Dick’s famous “Enemies List”.)

Upon graduation, Josie and I faced a decision. The place we liked the most was Santa Barbara, but we could not fathom being able to afford living there. So, we decided to move back to San Diego. First, we disposed of our bigger possessions. My former roommate, Terry, had loaned us a television. I suppose we gave it back to him, though I can’t imagine his making space in his VW for it. I trace the beginning of my obesity to getting rid of that television. It was the last one I had with no remote control.

Anyway, we packed everything we could cram into the Ford Maverick Josie’s parents had given her and made one last trip down the 5. Don’t let the gentle waves of time convince you that a 1970 Maverick, even in 1977, was a good car. It was a dog the day it rolled off the assembly line. Just north of L.A., a ball-shaking clunking noise developed in its bowels. I asked Josie if she had any idea what it was, a question that she found amusingly incredible. We located a mechanic somewhere. He diagnosed it as bad U-joints but said we could probably make it to San Diego. We did, fearful all the way.

These days, some graduates move back in with their parents, if they ever left in the first place, to get their financial footing. I’m not sure we knew that was an option. But even if we did, it would have meant living apart, and I don’t think we were willing to do that, which is funny because that’s what we ended up doing later anyway.

We rented an apartment in City Heights, the cheapest part of San Diego. I took the first job I could find – selling carpet-cleaning services from a boiler room. This amazes me today because I am a horrible salesperson. I suppose though, since it didn’t kill me, it made me stronger. Josie transferred to San Diego State. We survived like that for a few months. I didn’t even have to sell plasma.

Next: Scene 3 – Career Day