Note: Yes, I know I've been neglecting this. It's a long story. As soon as I can, I'll fill you in. New gig and all...
Success usually comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it.
Henry David Thoreau
The week's been an ugly one. Loads have been scheduled on loads, and they were almost all short miles. After two weeks out, I was more than ready to get home.
I had been assigned a new rig, a Freightliner Columbia, and I was bringing it to the house to install some gear, including a CB. I'd been fighting with this thing from the moment I took the wheel, so I was already in a bad mood. It's in no better shape than my old Pete, but at least I didn't have half the electrical problems in that one that this Freightshaker has. The current problem is with the cruise control, but that's only one maintenance issue.
I exited I-80, headed north on Watt Avenue, heading towards the house, driving past what was once the Regency Theater, one of the last of the X Rated theaters in Sacramento. The site now boasts a brand new Golden Corral Buffet, and a sign out front declared they were having a grand opening this week. I called Peggy, let her know that we were going out to dinner this evening.
I can't say I miss the Regency. To say the least, it was a pretty creepy place. The one time I actually saw a movie there, I walked in, saw Ron Jeremy banging an ugly chick with frizzy blond hair, and walked out. (I'd have had more respect for Ron Jeremy if he were a bit more selective about who he was boffing, and, no, I don't care how much he makes per flick.) I suppose part of my decision to leave involved the fact that I was driving my mother's Volvo, and I didn't want the neighbors figuring out I was there. (I suppose the real question is what the hell were the neighbors doing there, but, hell, I was 19 at the time. What did I know?)
I'd stopped by once or twice after that, never staying. The place had become even creepier over the years, and the one instance that put it over the top for me was when a scrawny woman in a parka and shorts asked me if I wanted a BJ. That was bad enough, but doing it with a couple of Sacramento County Sheriff's Deputies sitting in an unmarked car about 150 feet away had me steering clear. The last thing I needed was being busted for a sex crime.
Peggy's ex had taken her there once, thinking they needed to watch some porn to get things started in the bedroom. Peggy wound up feeling the same way Erica Jong did: After the first five minutes, she wanted to go home and screw. After the next five minutes, she never wanted to screw again. Can't say I blame her; frizzy blond hair looks like hell.
The Regency finally closed about a year ago. Doomed by free porn on the internet, increased police enforcement, and a more savvy audience who didn't need to waste time watching ugly chicks, even if they were getting nailed by Ron Jeremy, it was unable to compete. They maybe had five or six employees by the time it was done, according to some reports, with one manning the front desk, one running the projector, and one guy to mop up the semen that stained the floors on a regular basis. (Paul Reubens was run up on a bum rap.) A few months ago, they tore it down, and in its place, they planted the Golden Corral.
I'd eaten at the Golden Corral in Phoenix with a co-worker, Ray, a guy I went through orientation with. Ray is an Apache, a man who raised a daughter who became a social worker with multiple college degrees, and in spite of his slight build and age, could outwork damned near any driver I'd ever met. He's one of the more honorable men I've known. We went out to dinner together, and I got to know a guy who had far more to offer than most people were aware of. I think I shocked him by how much salad I could put away at one sitting. The food was actually pretty good. I'd wondered out loud at the time if they'd put one in North Highlands. Ask and ye shall receive...
To my mind, it's a welcome addition, even if the building is one of those generic warehouse type structures. If the Golden Corral goes bust, they can move out the kitchen wares and use it to sell cell phones. Or, if the web somehow manages to figure out how to block all porn, maybe they could re-open the Regency. Either way, no one will really lose much money on it.
The truth of the matter is that once they closed McClellan Air Force Base, North Highlands was set for a long, slow decline. This has always been a low income area, but in more recent months, I've watched as the hookers, who used to stroll Fourth and T, made their move from Auburn Boulevard to Watt Avenue. They hang out near the Motel Six and the Denny's, the Sheriff's Deputies run them off, and a few hours later, they come back, either because they have nothing else but their drug habit, or they have a pimp who beats them senseless until they get back to picking up johns. Businesses have been leaving over the years, spurred on by the lack of confidence in the new McClellan Park, which is supposed to be a business incubator, and by the increasing presence of the less than welcome elements that signal the end of a community.
We weren't helped years ago when then-Mayor Anne Rudin declared that Sacramento didn't really need a military base, even if we had McClellan, Mather Air Force Base, and the Sacramento Army Depot all contributing to the local economy. One by one they closed, leaving only the retirees and Mather VA Hospital. The military left, and crime began to climb. It's not unusual to go to sleep hearing gunshots; we don't even call the Sheriff's Department any more. They don't respond.
So the Golden Corral's arrival signaled that maybe, just maybe, we'd hit bottom. Other businesses have closed, and others have moved in, but even if the new building was fairly generic, it was purpose built, unlike so much else. Someone had some confidence in our neck of Sacramento County. Maybe the hookers would take notice and move to Roseville, I hoped.
So, Peggy and I went out to dinner tonight. It was a fairly mixed crowd, as you might expect for a town like ours. I'd met many folks like these over the years, so I could almost pick them out, one by one. There was the overweight teenaged white boy gang-banger wannabe, complete with tats which were supposed to signal to his "homies" that he was "hardcore," though if the truth be known, he'd have looked more hardcore if he'd had "Hello, Kitty" tattooed on his forehead. I've given up on wondering what the parents were thinking when they let their minor kid do something permanent to their body.
(Note to the wannabes: The real gangsters, the guys who will scare the crap out of you, the ones you don't mess with, were the ones refreshing the iced tea and sodas, pulling their shirtsleeves down over what was left of their tats, and trying to do something better with their lives. Even the gangsters don't respect gangsters anymore.)
We found ourselves seated near some woman in gypsy garb, who seemed to be telling folks about being there in the sixties. Listening further, you began to realize that the closest she ever got to Haight-Ashbury was reading about it in the Fresno Bee while she was trying to pull down a passing grade in Algebra II. She was with the guy who was nearing 70, with his hair in a pony tail. If he was trying to look bohemian, it wasn't working. He simply looked like he needed a haircut.
Over at another table was the weekend biker chick, fresh ink on her arm, only partly hidden by her black blouse, probably fresh from her job with the State of California. She was probably as broke as we were, given she was being paid with IOUs for a time.
Phonies, frauds. It was embarrassing, not because you recognized how silly they were, but because you looked at them and couldn't forget that you'd done the same damned thing in your own past, and remembered the humiliation once you'd been unmasked. It was hard to not see them, and feel empathy.
Harder still, though, to not have some respect for the new crew working at the restaurant. There had to be over 30 people working tonight, cooking, cleaning, serving, far more than the Regency ever had even in its heyday, whenever that was. It was a sign, actually, that maybe, just maybe, North Highlands wasn't going to sink completely.
I had seen a lot of these folks around. I couldn't miss the gang members, now trying to do something else with their lives, but there were also the regular folks, the men and women who were just trying to make a living. There were the corporate types from out of town, getting things running, but eventually, they'd go home. It was up to the local kids from then on.
I hope they make it. A lot of the folks I saw working are people I see in my neighborhood, and they've had it rough for some time. It's good to see them getting a shot at something better.
If things get better with this country, it won't be because of anything happening on Wall Street or in Washington. It's going to happen with each one of us taking a real chance. It's going to happen, one step at a time, the same way it's happened for everyone else. We're going to have to get genuine, get down to what we really are, and make the real effort to pull it out.
It's not our only hope, but it sure as hell looks like our best one.
