Among affordable housing units in Saratoga was the former Brewer Store at 14265 Saratoga Ave. Built in the 1880s, it lasted almost 100 years, and during most of that time, it was occupied as a residence.
Photograph by Willys Peck
Saratoga Stereopticon
SAM is the inner voice that speaks up too late
By Willys Peck
During my half-century as a sometimes scrivener for the public prints, I have occasionally invoked a columnar presence identified by the acronym Sam, for Subliminal Argumentative Mouthing. Rather than an alter ego, I have always regarded Sam as an inner voice, one that comes up with a witty riposte after the opportunity has passed, or points out that I should have kept my mouth shut in the first place. His comments always come after the fact, when it's too late to do anything about a situation.
Sam's latest manifestation occurred only a few days ago during a spell of pre-dawn wakefulness.
"Hey, fella, you've got a Saratoga News deadline coming up," taunted Sam, with what could only be described as a verbal smirk.
"Don't rub it in," I replied.
"Look, guy," Sam persisted, "have you ever thought about throwing in the towel with this Saratoga Slide Show, or Side Show or whatever you call that column? Aren't you running out of steam, or at least column material?"
"It's Saratoga Stereopticon, a Magic Lantern of Memory," I testily corrected him. "And no, I don't think I'm running out of steam."
Sam bored in. "All right, then, what's this week's subject?"
There was a pause. "I'm thinking, I'm thinking," I said, reminding myself of Jack Benny's long, contemplative silence after a holdup man demanded, "Your money or your life!"
"Look at it this way," Sam continued. "You're one of these people who live in the past; that's your shtick, your thing. Maybe you haven't written about it, but you have run off a lot at the mouth about affordable housing in Saratoga.
Anyway, you've been churning this stuff out for three and a half years now, and you must have set some kind of record for number of bird-cage bottoms papered with your output. Why don't you quit while you're ahead? Hang up that old green eye-shade while you still have a shred of dignity. And hey, how come you've been wearing that thing all this time?"
"To hide the lobotomy scars," I said, reviving an old gag that has since been rendered meaningless by advancements in medical science.
"Well, just think it over," said Sam. "You've pretty well covered the past. You've written about the orchards, the blossoms, the hills, the streetcars, the trains, even the time you were driving a grocery delivery truck. What's left?"
"I can always recycle," I suggested.
"Regurgitate would be more like it," was the reply.
Right then I'd had enough. Something snapped.
"Look," I retorted, "I'm tired of this baiting. I can come up with a Saratoga subject anytime I want. Saratoga isn't just a museum piece; it has more going for it than just landscape and history. Saratoga has its own dynamics. It's the kind of place it is because of people who appreciate what we have here, and their stories are worth telling."
I was just getting warmed up.
"Look at the people we've lost in just the past few months: Virgil and Jane Campbell. Maurice Tripp. Andy Butera. Their stories and others like them are part of Saratoga. That's why I'm here. That's why I occupy this space."
"More power to you," said Sam. "Meanwhile, you owe me."
"Owe you? Whatever for?"
Sam resumed the verbal smirk. "Thanks to me, you've papered another round of bird-cage bottoms."
|
Saratoga, California Since 1955
