18 October 2018
The question was simple and direct enough. The answer was not.
Sometime during the mid-1980s, my co-worker and friend, a female engineer, had just returned from a meeting with hydrologic engineers and Con-Ops (Construction-Operations) personnel regarding reservoir operations during hydropower retrofit at a U.S. Army Corps of Engineers dam. I, the technical writer, would edit their report.
My immediate reply to that question was: “Well, you know I’m from New Jersey.”
My friend did not see the humor in this statement.
Thus began an oral tale from my times: a run-in, a literal run-in, with the Speaker of the California Assembly, Willie Brown.
During my years of working at the Sacramento District of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, it was my routine during nice weather to bicycle to and from work. During that year of 1982, bicycling had become more a necessity than a choice since I did not own a car, or rather, I was between ex-cars. The cost of owning a car had become almost punitive in the aftermath of the Carter years, and, in California, the young Jerry Brown years.
Because I worked in downtown Sacramento, I lived in an apartment in mid-town Sacramento, long before residing in that part of town became trendy and desirable. Nowadays, those streets are not even desirable to walk, during the daytime. My memories from those years of privation and privacy have become somewhat quaint.
Shortly after I moved from Washington, D.C. to California in 1979, I bought a royal blue 3-speed bicycle from the now-defunct store, Montgomery Wards. The bike cost me $100, an amount that was not cheap during that era in Jimmeh-America.
I loved that bike. It symbolized freedom to me. I peddled the thing without a brain-bucket all over Sacramento. For commuting-purposes, I bicycled about 20 blocks from my apartment to the Federal Building on Capitol Mall. I was but one of a group of half a dozen bicyclist-commuters into work, but I was a short-distancer. All of the other bicyclers were engineers who peddled into town from as far away as 10 miles.
The afternoon trek home started at about 4:30, closing time at the Corps. The route was from the parking lot at the rear of the Federal Building, not far from where the U.S. Marshals off-loaded prisoners for trial at the courtroom on the 2nd floor of this building. The itinerary then took us down N Street, a one-way thoroughfare that ran along the back-side of the Capitol Building, toward the higher-numbered streets that led out-of-town. A 2-way-stop-light ensured that traffic did not flow much, if ever, and we bicyclists were cautious when it came to moving beyond that stoplight. One egress came from the underground parking garage of the politicians under the Dome at the California State Capitol.
It was late afternoon in spring 1982 when I led the pack of half a dozen male engineers down that route along N Street. I carefully approached the traffic light, and, after it turned to green (GO), I bicycled into the cross-walk.
From out of nowhere, a Porsche drove from the underground parking garage and raced through the red light, hitting the rear tire of my beloved Montgomery Wards bicycle. I don’t remember falling down, but I do recall getting right back up. I then rammed the front of my bicycle into the front of the Porsche that could not drive away -- because I, and my beloved two-wheeler, were now planted in front of it.
“YOU HIT MY BIKE!!”
I shouted that statement several times, each time ramming the front tire of my bicycle into the front fender of the Porsche.
A Capitol police officer rushed from his stationary patrol-hut and told me that I had to let this car pass.
“BUT HE HIT MY BIKE!!”
I stared at the California Highway Patrolman (CHP), and then I peered through the windshield of the shiny, new Porsche. The guy looked terrified. The guy was, I realized, Willie Brown.
The CHIPPIE once again asked me to move away so that the Speaker could proceed on his way.
“He hit my bike and he has to fix it.”
Officer CHP informed me that if I did not move away from the front of the Porsche, then I would be arrested. At that point, I looked around me. I saw that traffic had been stopped in all directions. A large crowd had gathered to watch this encounter of a very strange kind.
My fury was visible and palpable. I looked once again at the high-and-mighty Willie Brown. There he was, wide-eyed, and scared stiff of a little blonde girl and her $100 Montgomery-Wards bicycle.
I believe that this hideous signal event started my mental wheels turning toward the creation of NORTHSTAR. As my somewhat reluctant hero, engineer Thomas Martel would state in my very first novel:
“They make the laws to protect themselves.”
And the CHP officer was there to protect Willie Brown, not me or my Montgomery Wards bicycle that this politician had just smashed into with his flashy Porsche.
I slowly took a few steps back, with my bent bicycle, away from the front of the Porsche. Mr. Willie Brown, steered his Porsche away from me and my bicycle, and sped like a bat out of hell away from the scene of the accident.
The six engineers applauded me. One came over and asked me if I needed any medical attention. I was fine. My knees and elbows were scuffed up, but the bulk of the physical damage was borne by the back section and tire of my bicycle. I’d need to get my mode of conveyance repaired.
From that day on, I was known among many engineers and other employees at the Sacramento District of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers as “Killer”. And from that day on, I’ve found an eerie resemblance between Willie Brown and Vladimir Lenin.