This time he showed rare sympathy.

"You look worried, sonny boy. Don't you have a column topic?" It was as if he really cared.

"Frankly, no," I said. "In a word, I'm bereft."

"Whatever happened to your five-year plan?" asked Sam. "Just a few months ago, you were talking as if that were the greatest thing in the realm of publications since Gutenberg came up with movable type."

"Uh, that's right," I faltered. "I do remember now, something about looking up subjects in columns five years ago and then comparing the situations with what we have in Saratoga today. Straw-wise, I guess it's worth a grasp."

"That's my boy," said Sam. "Try it, but keep that towel within reach and your pitching arm limber."

So here I was poring through Stereopticon columns from 1997, and the first one to get my attention was from early December, on the subject of the homeless. Except for individuals who have contributed what they could to alleviate the problem elsewhere, Saratogans have never had to confront homelessness on the scale that makes it a major problem in larger cities.

The 1997 column was more in retrospect, describing the situation back in the Depression when people then known as hoboes, tramps or vagrants would frequently camp under the Saratoga Creek bridge on Saratoga-Sunnyvale Road. That was when it was a two-lane road and the substructure of the concrete bridge, built in 1927, was a graceful arch over the stream.

I can remember walking along the creek, sometimes while fishing, and seeing how the bridge's arch was blackened by smoke from the countless campfires that had been built under it. That bridge was replaced by the present one in 1965, when the highway was widened. No rounded arch.

The idea of homeless encampments here, such as those one hears about being cleared out in larger cities, seems remote to say the least. For one thing, Saratoga city ordinances are very clear on the subject of what's prohibited in parks. Camping is one of the no-nos, except in designated areas. As to the banks of the creek under the bridge, the water district probably would have something to say on the subject.

Reference to the creek and that bridge calls to mind another use, far removed from the subject of homelessness. That use came about in 1936, when some enterprising young men in town managed to lay a couple of telephone poles horizontally across the creek and pile sandbags against them, creating a very effective dam.

The dam, in turn, created a swimming hole of major proportions. Not many around here were privileged to swim in the pools—I should say tanks—of the wealthy, but the Saratoga Creek swimming hole was open to all. There was even a raft for venturing upstream. One or two of the more daring swimmers actually dove from the bridge. For those less daring there was a diving board at stream level.

The following year some of the people involved with the sandbag dam took the next step, which was a more permanent structure with concrete abutments on each side that had grooves to accommodate removable heavy planks that could be inserted to back up the water. This arrangement was not completely satisfactory, and also the county health department was taking an interest in the quality of the impounded water. It seems there were some things upstream that could be considered polluters: cows, outhouses, that kind of thing. The old swimming hole faded into obscurity.

But back to the homeless. I don't recall any unfavorable reaction to the men—creekside campers or not—who would come to the door of our house asking to be able to do some work in return for a meal, or food to take back to the encampment. I do recall my mother giving them food, work or no work, and I don't recall any negative impact from their presence in town. Homeless is homeless, regardless of era or labels put on the unfortunate.

Saratoga today is synonymous with wealth and well-being. It doesn't hurt, though, to remember some pretty humble background.