Tyranny Of The Downbeat

TYRANNY OF THE DOWNBEAT by Kenneth White

"Crucified Landscape" – Roman Loranc, Two-Hearted Oak ©2003

Kenneth White 1108 Wellesley Avenue Modesto, CA 95350-5044 (209) 567-0600 [email protected]

Tyranny of the Downbeat

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THE FIRST PAGE: For without belittling the courage with which men have died, we should not forget those acts of courage with which men ... have lived. The courage of life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of a final moment; but it is no less a magnificent mixture of triumph and tragedy. A man does what he must--in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures--and that is the basis of all human morality. -- John F. Kennedy, "Profiles in Courage" There are few things wholly evil or wholly good. Almost everything, ... is an inseparable compound of the two. -- Abraham Lincoln

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CHAPTER 1 Salus populi suprema lex. The people's safety is the highest law. -- Ancient Roman Legal Maxim The Great Unwashed Valley.

This is where it ends.

Rising up over the Sierra foothills, a helicopter shot, reveals the open blade of the San Joaquin Valley. down a heat-rippled, two-lane blacktop.

A jeep runs

Inside, the driver dials

through the radio, searching for a song to match his mood. stops.

He

It's a Greek Chorus telling him what he's there for, what he

already knows. It's nature's way, It's nature's way. Of telling you, Something's wrong. -- Spirit, "Nature's Way" My name is Western. raised here.

I'm a flatlander.

Probably die here.

I was born here,

I took it for granted.

Now I'm

trying to save it. I'm a television reporter.

In the myth-making jargon of

today's American pop-culture, a "telejournalist." gunslinger.

A free-lance hired gun.

well-known filmmaker.

A video

I've been taken on by a

He's responsible for some of the biggest

money-makers of all time.

Movies filled with pure entertainment.

Plenty of thrills and fantasy, but little substance. critics say and he disputes. this job.

Or so his

We've got something more in common than

He also grew up here in the Valley.

In the same small

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town.

3

A town called Ralston.

Once, we both called it home.

Now

it's a destination. Ralston is small town.

The local Chamber of Commerce is

proud of the signs proclaiming it an "All-American City." many got out alive. clearly.

Not

I had to leave to grow up, to see it

Many of my friends didn't.

They're still seventeen and

counting. Another Valley refugee once wrote that a place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, shapes it, loves it so blindly that they remake it in their own image.

I believe that.

the Valley is mine.

I take the good with the bad.

flatness, unending.

I like the people, uncomplicated.

the weather, unbearable.

Ralston belongs to me and I like the I like

I suppose it's what you get used to.

certain idea of what the world should look like.

I'd just rather see

the sun and where I'm going. This valley after the storms can be beautiful beyond the telling, Though our cityfolk scorn it, cursing heat in the summer and drabness in winter, And flee it: Yosemite and the sea. They seek splendor; who would teach them must stun them; The nerve that is dying needs thunder to rouse it. I in the vineyard, in green-time and dead-time, come to it dearly, And take nature neither freaked nor amazing, But the secret shining, the soft indeterminate wonder. I watch it morning and noon, the unutterable sundowns, And love as the leaf does the bough. -- "San Joaquin" The Central Valley Heartland. earth like it.

A

There is no other place on

The lush garden first seen by mountain men like

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Jedediah Smith, explorers like John Fremont, and naturalists like John Muir. It's flat.

It's dry.

It's desolate.

Once, though, it was

a sea, filled by rivers of the Sierra Nevada.

Now it's the

world's most fertile, most productive farmland. grown here around the clock, around the year. for farming.

Crops can be It was put here

Some have even suggested that it be used

exclusively for cultivation.

That all residents be uprooted and

moved to the foothills that rim the valley. What was once a sea of water is now a sea of grass. below the soil is the bottom of this ancient sea. of clay, impermeable.

Nothing gets through.

Lying

It's a layer

In some places it's far

below the surface, in others very close to the top. Skimming the valley, as a marsh hawk would, hunting, it's dead level.

There's not much that's tall enough to break the

dusty monotony.

Except the Masterson Wildlife Refuge, lying

south and west of the Sierra foothills. the wetlands.

It's one of the last of

Once there were thousands.

for migrating birds.

Stopping-off places

They're not stopping anymore.

there are flashing lights and explosions. and men firing shotguns.

Because

There are scarecrows

Not as hunters, but protectors.

don't want the birds to land.

If they do, they'll die.

They They'll

sink to the bottom of a poisoned pond. That's where I come in. dying.

And why no one's talking about it.

beginning of the story. there.

I want to know why the birds are But that's only the

Only part of the reason I'm headed

I'm heading home, back to familiar territory, because

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someone is dead. farmworker. Chicano.

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Not too unusual, you think.

Maybe still not worth the drive.

Now you're listening.

Poisoned.

Perhaps.

A

Vietnamese, not

By a pesticide.

You're awfully quiet. I think it's all connected. another unsuspecting victim.

So does the filmmaker.

Just

And he's tired of it.

"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, Though I knew she was sleeping. "I'm empty and aching and I don't know why." Counting the cars On the New Jersey Turnpike. They've all come To look for America, All come to look for America, All come to look for America. -- Paul Simon, "America" Jimmie Quon was born to the highland tribes known as Hmong in his native Vietnam.

He had lived in tunnels and holes.

First from the Marines, then his own country's army. family on the run.

Refugees in their own land.

Hiding.

He had fed his

Until he boarded the

ship that took him, his brother, their families, and too many others for the small boat, away. pirates.

Along the way, they had been boarded by

Robbed, beaten, and raped.

They finally reached camps that

were as tightly packed as the boats were.

After months or years of

waiting, they got processed and left for America.

Only to find

themselves in a HUD housing project on the east side of some city like San Jose.

Strangers in a state of shock in a strange land.

Jimmie's odyssey was no different.

His began in Galveston,

continued in East Los Angeles, then East San Jose, and finally ended near Mendota.

For a short time, he lived in a housing

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development at the edge of town.

Jimmie worked in the fields;

this generation's version of the "wetback". domestic.

His wife became a

Their two children went to school and took the first

steps toward becoming Americanized.

They did well in school.

As did

so many others who, given the opportunity, greedily grasped it.

They

wanted to learn, which was more than their native-born classmates could say. Within a year, they'd saved enough to move into a small apartment closer to town. fields.

Jimmie still worked days in the

He also worked nights as a mechanic in the Texaco

station.

He knew engines.

of his former homeland. Helicopters. destroyed.

Jeeps.

He'd dismantled a few in the fields

Tanks.

Personnel carriers.

War materiel left behind, partially

Not worth salvaging by the retreating American army.

Jimmie worked hard and kept to himself, kept quiet. didn't want to make any trouble.

He

He was successful at both.

So he couldn't understand why this man was treating him this way.

He had done nothing.

his own home.

Again.

He was their prisoner.

The man had broken in around midnight.

gun kept him from resisting.

the man hit him with it.

was dragged away.

The

Funny, until

Until everything went black when he tried

His wife and children huddled on the floor as he Again.

Now he was awake. to a truck shed.

In

Jimmy thought it was some kind of joke.

Especially since the man was carrying a baseball bat.

to stop the man.

Again.

A little slow, but aware.

He had been moved

In a room to the side where oil, grease, and

pesticides were kept.

All the petrochemical products that kept the

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chemically-dependent farm factory running smoothly.

Why he was

there, and why the man was filling the spray rig with a pesticide confused him.

Until he doused his shirt with it.

neck and back were soaked with it.

Until his entire

Until he was left swimming in it.

As the hours passed, Jimmie became feverish.

Delirious.

He

began shouting against the bandana in his mouth, the ropes around his arms.

But nothing gave.

The sweat glistened around his eyes and on

his forehead, and plopped to the concrete floor. returned.

He took out the bandana and stuffed a handful of aspirin

down his throat.

The man held his nose and mouth shut so he couldn't

breath and had to swallow. Aspirin?

Then the slugger

He put the bandana back in and left.

It tasted dry and bitter on the back of his tongue.

A few hours later, the hitter returned to check Jimmie's pulse. Barely there.

He untied him and dumped him in the back of a company

truck.

He drove through the night, through the cotton, through the

grapes.

To the edge of the wildlife refuge, where he rolled Jimmie

out of the truck and onto the ground, quickly strapped the spray rig to his back, and left. day.

Dressed for work.

That's how the foreman found him the next Comatosed on the American dream.

I drive up the long road to his house. picnic table sits a couple of glasses. melted from yesterday's ice cubes.

On the redwood

There's water in them,

Somehow this tells me a lot

about the man who lives here. Then I talk to him and it's very clear. His nickname says much about who he thinks he is. Jon."

The Duke.

"Big

I hate myself for making snap judgments, but

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I do.

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Make snap judgments, not hate myself.

red-necked asshole you ever met.

This guy's every

A real hippie's nightmare.

Confederate flag on the front license plate, gun rack in the back.

I can tell he doesn't much like me at first either.

might be the beard?

Think it

I thought this "Okie-from-Muskogee" crap had

gone the way of Spiro Agnew. Jonathan Henry Miller is just over six feet, wide and mean. He's built like the kind of guy you were always afraid was going to crush you each time he hugged you. remember from elementary school.

He was like the bully you

Too big and clumsy, and maybe a

little too dumb, to be accepted, so he turned mean. against the school walls.

Put kittens in burlap sacks and dumped

them into the canal, laughing. meaner he became.

Threw frogs

The older he got, the bigger and

And he wasn't just big, he was also fat.

barrel-chest had dropped down to his beer-belly.

His

His shirts were

always too small, exposing pieces of his long johns through the gaps between the buttons.

His pants were too short, exposing trunk legs,

and his belly bubbled over the thin leather belt he wore and regularly used on his kids and sometimes his wife. little too small for his body.

His head seemed a

His close-cropped blonde hair curled

tightly above a narrow forehead over dead-blue watery eyes.

He had a

large mouth, hiding broken, crooked, tobacco-stained teeth.

His

breath always smelled of bourbon, mixed with an odor that smelled like something had died in the back of his throat. He makes me think of the original definition of the word "yahoo".

In Swift's "Gulliver's Travels," a "yahoo" was one of a

filthy race of brutes having the form and all the vices of man.

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"Yahoo" came to mean any degraded or vicious man.

The shoe seemed to

fit. I notice Big Jon wears Levi's blue jeans and Tony Lama cowboy boots, with silver tips. says.

"Better for stickin' toads," he

My guess is he's used them a few times to puncture groins.

smokes Camels. Jim Beam.

A lot of them when he gets nervous.

A lot of that too when he's on the spot.

but hides it well.

He

And he drinks He's educated,

He went to Ralston Junior College,

then the University of California at Davis. Miller's as big and looks as jolly as a greeting card Santa. But you don't really want to sit on his lap. known, doesn't like kids.

"Big Jon," as he's also

And he doesn't like spics, although he's

got a platoon-full working for him.

And he really hates gooks,

thanks to a long, mind-bending tour in 'Nam.

Jimmie Quon worked in a

vineyard Miller managed for the DiGiulio Winery. Miller's a rancher on the west side. club near Masterson.

And he owns a duck

He says he's a pleasure hunter.

usually means he only shoots what he can eat.

That

In Miller's case,

it means he gets a thrill in his nuts each time he kills one. His ranch sits right along the San Joaquin River. the house faces the river.

The front of

The deck faces the fields.

We talk about the river.

And we talk about cycles.

they're profitable, we'll use 'em.

If not, we'll improve 'em.

When they start destroying what is mine, I eliminate 'em." philosophy the Army Corps of Engineers would be proud of. Big Jon has a philosophy.

"If

And it is the problem.

"If you see something you want, you go get it."

A

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"What if you run out?" "There'll always be more somewhere else." Welcome back to the disposable society. Big Jon was named after his great-grandfather, Henry Miller, the man who brought water to the valley.

Miller's father

started farming around Bakersfield in the 1930s.

"Water was cheap

back then.

You could irrigate an acre for a few dollars.

Then the Depression hit. lost it.

You couldn't pay for your water, so you

No water, no farm.

It was simple and quick."

"So why do you keep lobbying for water? like Southeast Asia around here.

I mean this looks

There's plenty of water."

He rubs his large, sun-burned forearms and reaches to pick up a handful of dust.

"Because we gotta rely on groundwater.

And right now, we're pumpin' it out faster'n it can recharge. And we have to go deeper to get it. down.

Now it's 150.

I started pumpin' at 25 feet

That takes energy.

And that means money."

"So that's why you're lobbying for more dams?

And why the

environmentalists are hassling you in the local papers?" He has fought to get water from the Jamestown Dam and lobbied for more subsidies.

"You know, 30 years from now, when

you can't get a clean drink of water and can't even flush the shitter, you remember these people. I watch him as he thinks.

They caused it."

Absently, but determinedly, he

twirls the ice in his glass with his fingers.

Then he fishes

them out and throws them on the ground, in the dust.

A soft thud.

They immediately begin to melt. That's it, I think.

Such casual disregard.

"What about

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conserving the water?

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Recycling it?"

"Because it costs me money I ain't got.

Besides, think

about all that water washing down from the hills into the Delta and out to sea.

The state could sell that water.

it's doin' nobody no good.

But instead,

They're just wastin' it."

This attitude about "waste" is not unique.

It reminded me

of something I'd read during the early part of my research.

It

was an editorial in a county newspaper dated November 3, 1871. It was part of a series written to promote the establishment of water districts in the Central Valley.

The closing paragraph

summed it up. "We have the climate; we have the soil of a first class country; but, for the want of that water which runs to waste at our very doors, and which a little sagacity and industry would make pour itself over our rich earth, we are living in a comparative desert, and are becoming notorious for our poverty." The "waste" the writer spoke of referred to fresh rivers and streams running unstopped from the mountains to the delta and then to the ocean.

"Sagacity and industry" really meant building dams,

dikes, levees, and concrete canals to control the water.

So the

editor, speaking for most of the valley's vested interests, was really saying that to make the desert fertile, it was time to stop "wasting" the water that was being allowed to run free.

It was time to corral it behind dams so it could be

diverted to a more productive use--the growing of crops.

The

editorial was a herald of the way things would soon become in the valley.

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Miller doesn't want to talk about the incident. what he knows, which isn't much.

He tells me

The way he figures it, it was

Quon's own fault. "Damned gook. fuck.

Besides.

Shoulda watched what he was doin'.

Dumb

There's plenty more where he come from.

They

cross the borders and oceans every day." It was obvious he felt the same about migrants as he did about water.

Waste it 'til it's gone, then find some more somewhere.

Later that day, the county coroner gave me the cold, scientific specifics of why Jimmie Quon was lying near death in a hospital. "His nervous system just shut down.

When Dinoseb--that's

the pesticide he was exposed to--is absorbed through the skin, it will cause a fever.

A very high fever.

aspirin to get rid of the fever.

Most people would take

Except, in this case, that's the

wrong thing to do." "Why?" "Because aspirin makes the chemical more potent." "And more deadly?" "You can certainly die from it. toxicologists are just now realizing. potentiation, or synergism.

It's a phenomena The medical term is drug

One drug augments the effects of

another through biochemical or physiological processes." I was getting lost in the babble.

"But, it could have been

avoided?" "Sure.

If he hadn't taken the aspirin."

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"How could he have known?" "If the manufacturer had stated clearly on the label that Dinoseb poisonings should not be treated with aspirin." "Probably wouldn't have made any difference." "Why's that?" "Because the label's printed in English." An uncomprehending stare. "Jimmie Quon was Vietnamese. He looks away for a moment. case.

I doubt he knew how to read." "This reminds me of another

Took place in Davis, a town near Sacramento, several

months ago. sacks.

This Hispanic farmworker was burning some paper

He told the foreman he wasn't feeling very well.

dizzy and sick to his stomach.

That he was

The foreman sent him home.

A few

hours later he went into convulsions." "He died?" Nods.

"The bags were filled with residue from a product

called Temik.

Generic name is Aldicarb.

systemic insecticide, and nematocide.

It's a pesticide,

It's manufactured in

granule form to decrease the handling hazards." "Is it toxic?" "Very. stimulator.

Since atrophine is the antidote, it's a CNS It overstimulates the body and you die in

convulsions." "So, he died from inhaling the smoke?" "Pretty much." "How come he didn't know that?" "Like you said.

He probably couldn't read the label."

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"And the foreman didn't either." Shakes his head.

"You know, this isn't the first time these

people have been around this block." "Who's 'these people'?" He pulls out a recent newspaper article and passes it over to me. PESTICIDE SCARE HALTS HARVEST AT 2 WEST SIDE VINEYARDS MENDOTA--The wine grape harvest at two west side vineyards has been halted temporarily by the state because of the apparent pesticide poisoning of dozens of field workers. The chief of pesticide enforcement for the state Department of Food and Agriculture, said at least fourteen workers have been admitted to hospitals over the past ten days for treatment of dizziness, nausea and a drop in their blood enzyme levels. The symptoms are similar to poisoning caused by a group of insecticides known as organophosphates, which can drop levels of blood enzymes. "We haven't found anything in those fields that is capable of causing these illnesses," a state official said Friday. The most recent incident occurred Thursday in a vineyard owned by the DiGiulio Winery of Ralston. Twenty-seven workers at the vineyard fell ill and four were hospitalized overnight with dizziness and nausea. Workers at another DiGiulio vineyard, located about a mile away, fell sick earlier in the month. Ten of those workers were hospitalized and three still remain in the hospital. The county agricultural commissioner said tests of the vineyard showed higher than expected levels of phosaline, an insecticide sold under the brand name Zolone. Once tests showed pesticide residues had dropped to a safe level, officials ruled that grape picking could resume. I had to shake my head.

"They're putting a price on these

people's heads." The coroner didn't say anything. away.

He just put the article

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15 CHAPTER 2

We begin life with the world presenting itself to us as it is. Someone--our parents, teachers, analysts--hypnotizes us to "see" the world and construe it in the "right" way. These others label the world, attach names and give voices to the beings and events in it, so that thereafter, we cannot read the world in any other language or hear it saying other things to us. The task is to break the hypnotic spell, so that we become undeaf, unblind and multilingual, thereby letting the world speak to us in new voices and write all its possible meanings in the new book of our existence. Be careful in your choice of hypnotists. -- Sidney Jourard For me the only realist is the visionary because he bears witness to his own reality. -- Federico Fellini Returning, exiting off the freeway and onto state highway 132, then right and left onto Ralston Avenue, I drive under an archway above what used to be the main entrance into town. metal.

An "iron rainbow."

It reads:

At night it's lit with white lights.

"Where the Land Owns the Water."

All the times I've

driven beneath it, I never thought much about it. everything about survival in the Valley. understanding California.

It's

But it says

It's the key to

The desert that fooled everyone.

Tonight, I'm thinking back on how this long, strange trip began. It's the beginning of summer in the valley.

A time of

graduations, Father's Days, and class reunions.

It's hot.

can see the heatwaves simmering on the roadway.

You can see the

mirage, the water just down the road.

It's an illusion.

You

Funny

the journey should begin this way, at a high school class reunion.

A reluctant reliving of the first rites of passage.

It's a Saturday night in June. cool off.

The day is just beginning to

But the main drag is just heating up.

The cruisers

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are out.

16

Street machines and their drivers begin the weekend

mating ritual. The man who immortalized this scene on celluloid so many years ago can't even get through the crowd to his own class reunion.

He's late.

Elliot Lincoln is in Ralston for the twenty-fifth reunion of the Thomas Dewey High School Commodores.

Cruising the main drag

he immortalized in his first successful movie, Elliot's mind isn't on gym classes or sock hops.

How everyone will look, or

how far--or fat--they've gotten in life.

Sitting behind the

wheel of his Mercedes, he isn't thinking about dragging the strip, the way he used to in another lifetime, or the prom queens and "BMOCs" he's about to encounter for the first time since he last saw them in 1962, just before he wrapped his car around a walnut tree. either.

He's not thinking about that brush with death,

It's with death of another kind that he's preoccupied.

He's thinking about what he and his father had just talked about. They were sitting on the back deck, drinking iced teas, when he waded in.

Never one to hedge, he went right to the point.

"Dad, I'm sterile.

I can't have any children."

His father, about to take another sip, put his glass down. His only chance to have a grandchild had just been yanked away. "You're sure?

You've checked with the doctors, with all the

specialists?" "Everyone.

Everything.

Too many waiting rooms and not

enough right answers." Resigned, like his son, "You've given up."

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"On having our own?

17

Yes.

We've decided to adopt."

"It won't be the same." Suddenly a little angry, perhaps disappointed because his father is.

"How do you know?

Look, I really want a family.

I'm

desperate to have a family." "There's no other way?" "No. do.

There's nothing else we can do.

It's adopt or have no family at all.

you ask me.

Nothing else they can Pretty cruel twist, if

It takes me this long to finally decide to bring a

child into this screwed up world and, suddenly, I don't have a choice in the matter." His father is desperate for answers.

"So why didn't anyone

else in the family get sick?" "Guess I've always been the lucky one." "Stop joking around." "I asked the doctors. different ways.

They say it manifests itself in

Some people's systems just seem to resist it

better than others.

And it doesn't always appear right away."

"Have you told your Mother?" "Not yet.

I will after supper."

They both look off in different directions, suddenly uncomfortable with each other, searching for something neutral to rest their eyes on. admit.

It was hard to accept.

Now it was done.

Even harder to

But it wasn't even close to being over.

There was something gnawing at him.

Something he'd been

wondering about. One weekend, while he was home visiting, he was leafing

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18

through the "Ralston Record."

He started reading about an

agrichemical company in the next town. Waterston is a small farming town east of Ralston.

The

train passes through, there's a General Mills plant, and several industrial processing plants.

Not much else.

Except the smell.

Traveling down the highway, you know you're close because the stink precedes it.

A combination of smells from the sugar plant

and the fertilizer plant.

A sign on the outside of town reads,

"Waterston--It's the Water."

Just like the old Oly beer ads.

And it certainly was. In 1943, Standard Oil of California built a fertilizer plant in Waterston.

The plant made thousands of tons of fertilizer and

its constituents.

Ammonium sulfate, sulfuric acid, ammonia, and

phosphoric acid. In 1948, it was purchased by OxyGene, a multinational holding company.

Plant operations were expanded to include the

manufacture of pesticides. For years, the plant wasn't too careful, or concerned, about how it got rid of its wastes.

They just dumped the stuff on the

plant grounds or in settling ponds.

Ponds that were unlined.

Even back then, it was a clear violation of state law. people in charge knew it.

And so did the people at corporate.

But it cost money to do it right. kept on dumping.

The

So they didn't.

They just

And they kept on looking the other way.

And,

as the saying goes, what the locals and the state didn't know, Until one summer afternoon.

A farmer was irrigating his

land; land sitting right next to the plant.

Some water began

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19

percolating into his field. the water.

His dog chased a jack rabbit through

After the jack lost him at the fence, the dog trotted

back over to his owner.

He sat down and began licking himself.

Suddenly, he started coughing and wheezing and convulsing.

Then

he died. The water had come from the plant's waste water pond. Turns out the plant was built right on top of a major aquifer.

The Waterston aquifer supplied the town and surrounding

area with its only source of water.

For manufacturing,

irrigation, and drinking. The soil around the plant was very permeable. dumped on the ground found its way into the soil.

Anything And,

eventually, into the aquifer. The state decided it had better test the water pumped from wells around the plant.

They found that the only water source

for the entire town was contaminated with DBCP, a chemical known to cause cancer and sterility.

They ordered the plant to shut

its doors until further notice. Then they started testing the employees. Not once during the more than twenty years the plant manufactured DBCP, did management ever warn its workers about the severe reproductive dangers posed by DBCP.

Not once did the

workers know that exposure would make them sterile. The article continued with an interview with the plant safety manager.

The former plant safety manager.

"We suspected for more than four years that the pesticides were probably poisoning the local wells.

I knew it was illegal.

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20

And I kept covering it up. those years was a lie.

Every report to the state during

We were killing our workers and the local

people and we didn't do a thing about it. cut into the bottom line.

Because it would've

If the state hadn't started testing,

the people around here would never have known.

Still wouldn't.

The authorities at the state and federal level aren't even watching out for us.

And when they find something, it takes

forever for them to do anything about it." For Elliot, the real bottom line had become abundantly clear.

The plant dumped its waste on the ground.

the water.

The water was contaminated.

sterility.

He was sterile.

miles from the plant.

It got into

The contaminant caused

His family's ranch was just a few

And the tainted water was the same water

he had been drinking since 1948, the year they moved there. year he celebrated his sixth birthday.

The

The same year the plant

started making pesticides. The following Monday, he went to his doctor, showed him the article, and asked if there was a possible connection. "It's possible, yes." "That's all you've got to say?

So why didn't you tell me

before?" "It wasn't appropriate." "Appropriate?

Possible?

Look, don't you think I'd like to

know why I'll never have children?" "Yes. sterility.

But we're not certain exactly what caused your Information on pesticide toxicity is sketchy at best.

There's a lot we just don't know.

But, yes, there is a possible

Tyranny of the Downbeat

21

relationship between your sterility and the contaminated groundwater.

We just haven't felt compelled to research it

enough to be able to draw any definite conclusions." "So you don't have enough information?" "In general, no, not enough.

And on you specifically,

certainly not." "Why did it take so long to show up?" "Pesticides are made up of chlorinated hydrocarbons. name's not important.

Their behavior is.

your body any number of ways.

They can be taken into

Through the lungs, the gastro-

intestinal tract, or the skin.

Once you're exposed and they're

in your body, they're not metabolized right away. in your body fat.

The

They're stored

It could take 10, 20, or 30 years before the

effects become apparent." "Try 40 years."

Elliot was staring over the back fence at the orchard beyond. knows.

He was thinking.

And he was getting angry.

"Nobody

And the people who should know aren't doing anything

about it." His father continues to look away, but he's still listening. "I think we're going to have to change that. once in my life.

I almost died

Now I'm being told that I've died a second

time." He has his father's attention again. "That my family will not continue beyond me. dying of cancer.

Right now.

I may even be

And someone I don't know did this

Tyranny of the Downbeat

22

to me because it was easy.

Because it was going to affect their

profit margin." "So, what are you going to do?" "I don't know.

Yet.

But I will get even."

Shaking his head, "Still haven't changed.

Still can't

forgive and forget." "You know what they say? even.'

'I don't get mad, I just get

I've always been that way and I'm not about to change

now." "Do unto others? "That's right.

...

"

I will not go out of my way to hurt people.

But you try and pull something like that on me and I'll be all over you like a bad suit."

He had to smile.

That was an old one

he'd never used.

I never dreamed of being Shakespeare or Goethe, and I never expected to hold the great mirror of truth up before the world; I dreamed only of being a little pocket mirror, the sort that a woman can carry in her purse; one that reflects small blemishes, and some great beauties, when held close to the heart. -- Peter Altenberg He's the perfect stranger, like a cross of himself and a fox. He's a feeling arranger and a changer of the ways he talks. He's the unforeseen danger and the keeper of the key to the locks. Know when you see him, nothing can free him. Step aside, open wide, it's the loner. -- Neil Young, "The Loner" Elliot Lucian Lincoln is a storyteller.

He creates

fantasies in a medium that is literally faster than the human eye.

His fantasy world is his home.

himself.

He has friends there.

He has called it that

It is comfortable there.

He

Tyranny of the Downbeat

23

says that sometimes you have to leave home and travel somewhere else.

But he knows he will always return there again. In a business that's enslaved by technology, Elliot remains

a free man.

In his world, the story is the story, not the exotic

settings; not the special effects. frailty, not technological wizardry.

He is interested in human He feels a movie filled

with nothing but special effects would be pretty boring.

Though

he uses the technology to more efficiently tell his tales, he takes pains to explain that it is the message that is most important, not the messenger; not how it is packaged or delivered.

He believes the hardware will always fail when faced

with a determined, united human spirit. It is still a question that bothers him some. machine serve humanity or crush it?

Will the

He can't help wondering

about it as the hum of electronic ingenuity encases him. he doesn't like technology.

He says

He distrusts it, especially what it

can do to people; particularly when it is misused or abused.

It

destroys their independence, their analytic capabilities, their free will; their ability to make their own decisions.

It does

worry him, even as the promise of its imaging, sound, and reality-bending power taunts his fingertips.

He knows he cannot

live without technology, so he is dedicated to using it to defeat "the inhumanity of unchecked technology." That doesn't mean he's not intrigued by it and attracted to it.

He explains that society's perception of visuals is much

faster now than in the past.

The pace of editing, the speed of

movement through the frame, are what he's interested in.

He

Tyranny of the Downbeat

likes speed.

24

Always has.

He wants to see how fast he can go,

how many images he can layer, before the perception blurs. says it's a lot like his personal life:

He

how fast he can go, how

much he can do, before it too becomes an incomprehensible blur. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but you're staring at one of the most successful deal-makers in the history of Hollywood.

His style is more like the owner of the local

five-and-dime in a small midwestern town than the high-pressure, fast-talking sleazoids that trade in dreams in the real and imagined communities around Hollywood and Vine. Self-effacing, he's physically so low-key as to seem almost apologetic.

But that's one way to maintain the privacy he must

have and he so jealously and tenaciously guards. He's always pale.

Lying in the sun catching rays is not

important to a man who spends most of his life in dark rooms. His translucent skin and stooped demeanor make him seem almost fragile, breakable.

He is often underweight and anemic, which

changes the illusion into reality.

Perhaps the fact that he

lives on burgers, fries, and milkshakes helps explain the way he looks. His brown hair, flecked with gray, above mildly bushy eyebrows and a sometime beard of the same colors, swept into a wave straight back, almost a Del Shannon pompadour, gives you a clue about what time period he seems to crave and feel safest living in.

Curly, wavy, and thick, it's long in the back and

peaks over his ears.

He has somewhat large ears, which is

probably why he wears his hair a little long.

He has a thin,

Tyranny of the Downbeat

25

pointed nose with slightly flared nostrils. pinched I think they call it.

His mouth is small;

And his bottom teeth are somewhat

irregular. His eyes, though. martyr.

His eyes are the messianic blue of the

They betray him.

This is a man with a mission and the

energy and dedication of a zealot.

He is inspired by his own

vision of things and his eyes blaze it.

They are always busy,

darting, moving, as if constantly scanning a screen.

He

sometimes hides them behind Ray Ban aviator glasses.

Holding

back the heat, concealing the conviction. Though his demeanor seems easy-going, he is intense. posture says one thing, the eyes another.

The

When he talks to you,

you sometimes wonder if he's talking with you or at you, or if you're really even in the room at all.

He doesn't look you in

the eyes, but stares around and beyond, as if he might lose some of the power of his eyes by locking onto yours. Like the food he eats and the hairstyle, everything about Elliot tells you he liked life best in the late Fifties and early Sixties.

His clothes, though not off the racks of a golden

oldies nostalgia store, remind us of a simpler time.

Over white

T-shirts, straight from the racks at Penny's or K-Mart, he wears pearlescent cowboy shirts, tucked into corduroy pants girded with a large brown belt.

Sometimes he'll trade these in for a flannel

work shirt and faded blue, button-fly Levi's.

He doesn't like

wearing short-sleeved shirts, choosing instead to wear his sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

He wears his thin, gold-banded

watch with the face on the inside of his wrist.

It makes you

Tyranny of the Downbeat

26

wonder if there's a slide-rule still dangling from his belt.

The

motorcycle boots he once wore have given way to the fashion and comfort of designer tennis shoes. His speech is deliberate.

He speaks in a soft, slightly

raspy voice originating from somewhere at the back of his throat. The ends of sentences sometimes trail off to something like a whisper.

It almost looks like his voice-track is out of sync

with his lips.

He often grimaces, screwing up a cheek, when

stuck for a word, or arches his eyebrows to make a point.

His

gestures are small, contained, not flamboyant. His wealth has allowed him a vice and an indulgence that is also an homage.

He collects vintage Porsche roadsters,

especially the model James Dean was driving when he skidded into pop culture history. In the few pictures that adorn the flat surfaces of his office and home, as well as publicity stills and bio pics, there is a resemblance to an icon of the Fifties that Elliot cultivates in his external life.

The hair, the slouch, the

mumble, the clothes, the cars, the shades.

All that's missing is

the cigarette dangling precariously and jauntily from the right edge of the lower lip, a vice abandoned to health and mortality which his self-destructive idol laughed at. Elliot often said that assuming the persona of Jimmie Dean made it easier for him to deal with people in Hollywood and New York.

It was a character he could hide behind when he had to

make difficult decisions.

He, like Dean, prefers not to confront

people directly, choosing to let things ride until forced to make

Tyranny of the Downbeat

a decision.

27

Then he reacts quickly, sometimes violently.

Like Dean, Elliot is a fatalist. hand that was dealt him. round.

Jimmie Dean played the

No regrets, no requests for another

He looked at life as it sped past, around, and over his

windshield and he laughed.

Most people have painted a picture of

Jimmie Dean that was negative, that portrayed him as a loser. Ask Elliot about that and he will tell you Jimmie Dean was a winner because he lived life his way. honest.

He was straight-forward.

He was consistent.

He was

And it was people like Dean

that became the heroes of Elliot's movies. Jimmie Dean found stardom as a rebel without a cause. the title of the film was misleading.

Dean had a cause.

But And

Elliot, another rebel because he turned his back on Hollywood, has his own cause.

He too will do things his way.

Elliot isn't theoretical. methodical.

He isn't emotional.

He is

He doesn't draw conclusions beyond the facts.

Beyond the obvious.

He is uncomfortable with too much analysis.

Quite simply, he's interested only in the truth. motivates him.

The clarity of his own vision.

That's what That's what makes

him run. And like his hero, Elliot is reclusive.

He once said, "I do

things my way until they're done the way I want them done.

And I

can't-- no, I don't want to rely on anyone because they might let me down, or I might let them down. yourself.

It's just easier to rely on

That way nobody expects anything more or less.

Nobody

takes the fall but you." Distance defines his dealings with people.

He never lets

Tyranny of the Downbeat

anyone too close.

28

He's just cautious.

And those who work for,

and with him, sense that it's his independence that creates the distance, not a dislike or mistrust of people.

As a result, in

an industry known for its petty backstabbing transitoriness, the employees at "RebelFilms", whose roster, not surprisingly is published in the form of a high school annual, are some of the most loyal in the business. Elliot's relationship with his father was not unlike that between Jimmie Dean and Jim Backus in "Rebel".

They never quite

seemed to get in sync, to understand the other.

Elliot's father

thought his son was lazy and, when he decided to become a movie maker, he was baffled how his son could make a living carrying around a camera.

But he could and his father was finally able to express

his pride in his son's accomplishments, though he still remained a little confused by how. The parallels with Dean, whether contrived or natural, were many, especially when it came to women. with women.

Elliot was never at ease

They seemed to represent something dangerous, unknown.

As a teenager, his fear of rejection made it easier to substitute cars for girls in his adolescent affections. place of cars.

Then movies took the

Sexually, he was lost in the Fifties.

and somewhat repressed.

Puritanical

And when he got caught up in the sexual

revolution, he got ate up, a casualty of new attitudes. When he met Maryanne, he thought he had finally found someone he could live out his days with. was running out of time. hourglass turning.

The fact is, he felt he

He wanted a family and he sensed the

He admired Maryanne, and grew to love her.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

29

Unfortunately, he was never able to become really close to her. Elliot was never comfortable with physical expressions of affection, for friends, family, or colleagues. embraces were not familiar territory.

Kisses and

You could almost see him

shrink inside himself whenever you tried to hug him. Probably the one personality trait that was the closest bond between the two rebels, that tied them the tightest, was their naivete, their trusting openness.

For people who achieved so

much success in their lives, whose impact had been so great, it was almost impossible to imagine how insulated and trusting they were and could be.

It certainly caused the death of one, as he

found it harder and harder to cope with the demands and duplicity of the world.

And it was setting up the other for the trial of

his life. Ironically--and prophetically--Elliot's name foreshadowed his life.

It seems his mother was addicted to the television

show, "The Untouchables," probably because of a handsome young actor named Robert Stack. him.

Impulsively, she named her son after

Elliot was indeed a lot like the character.

way Stack played Ness. Naive, trusting.

But not the

More the way Kevin Costner played him.

Hoping to change the world.

Jimmie Dean died young.

Elliot nearly did.

On graduation

day, as he was returning home from his last day of high school, he was excited and probably driving a little too fast.

Too fast

to react to the old pick-up truck that broadsided his cherried Porsche speedster. saved him.

The walnut tree stopped him.

Because it didn't hold.

The seat-belt

He was thrown clear of the

Tyranny of the Downbeat

wreck.

30

A ruptured spleen began pumping blood into his stomach

cavity.

He lost two pints.

He made it to the hospital in time

to remove it and stop the bleeding.

He missed graduation, but he

got the message. He didn't know it then, because he, like the rest of our modern culture, had lost touch with our mythological roots. he changed on that day. been reborn.

He was transformed.

But

He had died and

And like those ancient tribal members who dance

with death, he became magical; a spiritual man.

A mythmaker.

interpreter.

And he chose

Of the future.

He would lead us.

An

fantasy to show the way.

The week following the reunion, they sit in one of the dark cubicles, reviewing a rough cut. assistant, Janet Baio.

Elliot and his administrative

He points at the screen with his left

hand, controlling the Kem table with his right. point.

Janet laughs at something.

continues, slightly irritated. humorless.

He's making a

He doesn't see the humor and

He can sometimes be soon

It's still bothering him.

He slumps back in his chair.

"Obviously, the people in

charge aren't going to do anything about this." "Excuse me." "So I will.

Jane looks over.

The continuity broken.

I've been accused of making films with no

content." She turns to face him, drawn to the intensity in his eyes. Distracted, almost to himself, he continues. I'm going to go right for the heart on this one.

"Now I will. My legacy to

Tyranny of the Downbeat

31

the children I will never have." Now she's caught up with the conversation.

"Wait, you mean

you're thinking about cranking up another project? six in process right now.

You're maxed out!

You've got

You can't take on

anything more." Elliot turns slowly away from the screen. into her eyes. that?

He looks straight

"'Live, as though the day were here.'

Remember where it came from?

Well, the day is here.

Who said it?

Remember

And why?

We do it now."

He leaves her sitting there, looking at the floor and wondering what will be the nature of this latest crusade.

Janet was having lunch with Paul, one of the staff editors. It was a warm and breezy Northern California day, so they sit on the raised deck.

Small talk gives way to what is becoming the

main topic of conversation at The Ranch.

Project #061988:

"The

Water Project." Janet took a sip of her Diet Pepsi. driving him. "So?

"There's something else

He's over forty."

I'm almost forty."

"Then listen up.

It's around forty that people start to

feel that something's missing.

That something got away.

That

they missed something." "What?

You think Elliot is having a mid-life crisis?

doesn't he go out and buy a sports car? He doesn't notice, but she winces. An affair, not his style.

Why

Or have an affair?" "The sports car, maybe.

But I don't think either will take

Tyranny of the Downbeat

care of it.

32

Something else is driving him.

He's awfully damn

tired of all the critics saying he can't make a movie about today." "I don't want to hear this again.

The last time he tried

something new, it almost shut us down." "They say he's in a fantasy rut. has nothing to say.

About real people.

That he knows nothing, or About contemporary

people living, working, loving, and dying." "This facility's going to die if we don't keep him on track." "He doesn't care. long enough.

He feels he's supported this operation

Now it's time for the company to serve him.

And he

really wants to do something that will make a difference."

AT INTERVALS THROUGHOUT THE NOVEL, I WILL ACTUALLY "CUT AWAY" TO SEGMENTS FROM THE IN-PROGRESS DOCUMENTARY. THE EFFECT I AM ATTEMPTING TO ACHIEVE IS THE ILLUSION OF WATCHING THE DOCUMENTARY AS IT IS PUT TOGETHER. MANY OF THE INTERVIEWEES ARE REAL PEOPLE SAYING THINGS THEY HAVE ACTUALLY SAID OR WRITTEN. THE TRANSCRIPT OF THE DOCUMENTARY WILL APPEAR IN A MOTION PICTURE FORMAT TO DISTINGUISH IT FROM THE REST OF THE TEXT. FADE IN: 1

ON BLACK TITLE -- SUPER Give me a lever and a place to stand, and I will move the world. -- Archimedes

MUSIC: UP FULL THEN UNDER NARRATION THEME #1: Dramatic Classical Theme/"New World Symphony" DISSOLVE: 2

EXT. EMPTY INLAND VALLEY - EARLY MORNING ESTABLISHING SHOT

Tyranny of the Downbeat

33

It is almost daybreak. The full moon burns pale fire low on the horizon. We see a fresh water cistern surrounded by barbed-wire. Standing near its edge is a lone sentry, silhouetted against the moon. The reflection of man and moon stares back at us from the shimmering surface. Suddenly, there is a second figure rising up out of the foreground. He moves slowly toward the guard. Then he's on top of him, riding him to the ground. His raised fist crashes down five or six times. Then he stops. Slowly, he lifts his head and looks around, like an animal that's just killed its next meal. We look closer. We see that the intruder is Southeast Asian. He quickly scrambles down the rise and returns carrying some empty bags. He starts filling the bags with water. Because it's scarce. And very little of it is clean. He has none, with no ration due until next month. So he's stealing it. For his family. For his survival. MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #2: Synthesized Variation of Previous Theme DISSOLVE: 3

MONTAGE

STOCK FOOTAGE showing natural and man-made disasters, including pollution, dumping, dams breaking, rivers flooding, earthquakes. JAMES HOUSTON (V.O.) Imagine a planet destroyed by development. A world decimated by a combination of natural and man-made disasters. Earthquake, drought, AIDS, "the Greenhouse Effect," and toxic pollution. DISSOLVE: 4

EXT. ENDLESS DESERT VISTA - ESTABLISHING SHOT

CAMERA frames a WIDE SHOT of dry land. Imagine a land with no water. 5

EXT. STREET - ESTABLISHING SHOT

Two armed sentries stand guard near a tanker truck filled with water. It is being rationed out and sold to people.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

34

Imagine a time when the good water--what hasn't been poisoned by industry--is controlled by the very wealthy. 6

EXT. DESERT ROAD LEADING TO A DAM - ESTABLISHING SHOT

CAMERA follows as a ragged, but well-armed group of bandits chase the water tanker across the desert. They are trying to steal the water. You can live without food for quite a while. But not without water. That's why people will steal it. for it.

Even kill

Can you imagine that? 7

MONTAGE

Quick-cut series of California scenes. development.

Emphasize down-side of

Then imagine California in the next century. In this program, we intend to examine the agribusiness conspiracy to control California's water. To assess the innocence or guilt of the farming, agrichemical, and political community for their environmental insults. MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #3: "Hotel California" Instrumental DISSOLVE: 8

EXT. COASTLINE - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL SHOT flying south along California's coastline. HOUSTON (V.O.) "This is the prow and plunging cutwater, This rock shore here, bound to strike first, and the world will watch us endure prophetical things And learn its fate from our ends." 9

WIDE SHOT

Continue AERIAL SHOT. CAMERA does a FLY-BY, then a 360 SPIN, of JAMES HOUSTON, author and Native Californian. He is walking

Tyranny of the Downbeat along the edge of the coast near Big Sur. JAMES HOUSTON Poet Robinson Jeffers was really describing all of California when he wrote those lines describing the Big Sur coastline in "Thurso's Landing." 10

MEDIUM SHOT

CAMERA, still mounted on helicopter, PEDESTALS DOWN to frame HOUSTON with the ocean spreading out behind him. It's been observed that tomorrow always seems to come first to California. 11

MEDIUM CLOSE UP

Second CAMERA mounted on a STEADICAM follows as HOUSTON walks along the edge of the cliff. There is definitely a sense of destiny that comes with living here. Perhaps it is the nearness to the coast. The coastal tribes used to call this shoreline the brink of the world. The coastoans would dance on the shore, and over and over they would sing out that they were dancing on the brink of the world. 12

MEDIUM SHOT

CAMERA frames HOUSTON in foreground with long shot of coastline and ocean trailing off behind him. As a place and state of mind, California represents the ultimate frontier. The final destination. California has carried into the twentiethcentury the paradoxical meanings of the nineteenth-century frontier: the place of both new beginnings and of violent endings. 13

WIDE SHOT

First CAMERA, still mounted, lifts up off HOUSTON, sweeping past him, over the edge, and west across the ocean. As author Joan Didion once observed: "Things had better work here, because here, beneath

35

Tyranny of the Downbeat that immense bleached sky, is where we run out of continent." MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY

36

Tyranny of the Downbeat

37 CHAPTER 3

When they tell you to grow up, they mean to stop growing. -- Tom Robbins Out on the road today, I saw a "Deadhead" sticker on a Cadillac A little voice inside my head said, "Don't look back. You can never look back." I thought I knew what love was What did I know? Those days are gone forever I should just let them go but-I can see you-Your brown skin shinin' in the sun You got that top pulled down and that radio on, baby And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong After the boys of summer have gone. -- Don Henley, "The Boys of Summer" There's a new saint in the cultural hagiography these days, born of the public's insatiable need to know, it's rampant illiteracy, and the power of the media.

The most visible of this

new phenomenon, and perhaps the most laughable, is Geraldo Rivera.

He, who once tracked down the Mafia and exposed drug

kingpins, now stoops to blowing open empty vaults and telling tales of Elvis's phantom lovers.

These people are really not

interested in hard news, just the sensational. investigative journalists. gunslingers."

They're known as

I prefer to call them "video

They're free-lance information junkies and

publicity hounds.

Brought in when the ratings start to sag.

Brought in, in the name of truth.

I know, because that's what I

used to do. I had become more and more disillusioned with the way things were.

One night, while watching the evening news, I got angry.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

38

I realized that I had a talent, a skill, that I was wasting.

I

was a shaper of public opinion.

I

could make people cry. enough.

I was a master manipulator.

I could make them laugh.

But it wasn't

I wanted desperately to make an impact.

There were

powerful vested interests in this country that controlled the media and kept most of the public in the dark. influence to get things done their way. had seen it.

Sometimes aided it.

That used their

It wasn't paranoia.

I

I decided to blow their cover.

It was time to stop making money and start making a difference. That's when Elliot called.

The timing, the coincidence, was hard

to ignore. Travis Blair Western.

A dramatic name, given with great

expectations to the first-born son.

His appearance and demeanor,

like so many born and raised in the valley, is average, almost non-descript.

He seemed to cultivate that because, as he often

pointed out, if they couldn't see you they couldn't hit you. He stands five-ten, when he isn't stoop-shouldered and shuffling, the result of no one telling him to stand up straight. Now he does it because his stomach muscles have gotten beer-soft in his middle age.

His hair is a lightish dark brown, thinning

at back and in the front.

He makes no attempt to have what's

left perform contortions and miracles of coverage to give the illusion of fullness.

Like him, it is what it is.

He's

comfortable with it and doesn't really care what you, or anyone else, thinks. He is neither handsome nor unattractive, simply average. The residual childhood freckles and chipped front tooth make him

Tyranny of the Downbeat

39

look like he should still be fishing for tadpoles or throwing dirt clods.

As do the scars that dot his body, forehead,

stomach, and legs, all from some type of athletic injury sustained while trying to grow up. real attractiveness.

And that's the key to his

His boyishness, his energy, his enthusiasm,

his humor, his ability to make people feel good, his ability to have fun and enjoy life.

They like him because he's fun to be

with, when he wants to be with.

Which isn't all the time.

He's active, even hyper, and never really seems to slow down.

To stop and read a book, or just lay on the beach, he

thinks is a waste of time when he could be doing something productive.

He likes staying busy.

He's healthy.

Probably as healthy as he's been since high

school, thanks to a better diet, exercize, and a wife who won't let him slip.

But he does have a drinking problem.

he's yet to really deal with.

Something

It killed his mother and some of

her relatives, so he will have to deal with it. He and his wife both work, making a good living. they're careful with their expenses and investments.

But He wants to

make sure he'll always have money, unlike his childhood.

He

never went without, but there was never enough money for the frivolities, the movies or the candy bar.

His friends always had

money and he seemed to always be the kid with his face pressed against the glass staring in at the candy store.

He swore it

would never happen again. He dresses casually, but neatly. freshly scrubbed.

He likes being clean,

He's almost compulsive about it, which is

Tyranny of the Downbeat

40

obvious from the way he looks and the way his house and his car and his desk look.

Everything is neat and tidy and in its place.

His whole life is too organized.

To the point where there seems

to be no room for spontaneity.

He'll probably die from it.

Certainly not the spontaneity.

It's part of his obsession with

controlling his world.

Which may explain why he's had trouble

with family and friends, girlfriends and wives. wives.

Especially

He was on the backside of a marriage going down.

and family. He had met Cassandra at college, although she had grown up just five blocks away.

She was five years younger; the same age

as his younger brother.

He knew her older sister, who was the

same age and went to all the same schools through high school. He remembered seeing Cassandra, or Sandy, walking or riding around the neighborhood.

Looking lost and for a way out.

A mutual friend got them both to play on a college, co-ed, intramural volleyball team. home, he asked for a date.

One weekend, she asked for a ride They went out the next week.

slept together that night and never looked back.

Now, thirteen

years later, they're both looking in different directions.

We used to have good times together. But now I feel them slip away. It makes me cry. To see love die. So sad to watch good love go bad. Remember how you used to fear it. You said nothing could change your mind. It breaks my heart. To see us part. So sad to watch good love go bad.

They

Tyranny of the Downbeat

41

Is it any wonder, That I feel so blue? When I know for certain, That I'm losing you. -- The Everly Brothers, "So Sad" In 1978, Elliot Lincoln took the first step toward realizing a dream.

He purchased a ranch that was a former

Spanish land grant in Marin County, north of San Francisco, across the Golden Gate Bridge.

Over the next few years, he added

several bordering properties of gently rolling hills and deep-cut valleys. Like most of the people who grew up and lived for a time in the valley towns of California, and who seemed to fondly recall those days, Elliot liked staying home.

He wasn't comfortable in

the city and preferred a quiet night at home with Chinese and a rented movie to the bustle and tension of a night in the canyons of the city.

That's why he bought the land in Marin.

It was

close enough to a dangerous San Francisco, but it was in the country.

And it reminded him of a time and terrain around the

town where he grew up.

It didn't get quite as hot as the valley,

but it had the same rolling hills, green in winter and dusty brown in summer. Exiting off Highway 101 north and skillfully following the convolutions of Sir Francis Drake Boulevard will lead you to an old weathered wood and baling wire gate, sentried by California redwoods.

Ascending a short rise and then dropping

down into the main valley, the road splits, encircling a lake. Security gates, requiring computer card keys, guard the main

Tyranny of the Downbeat

road.

42

Down a road to the left are the original ranch buildings.

Renovated, they now house support staff and the ranch hands who still tend the fences and roads.

Arcing around the lake in a

half-circle is the main house, guest houses, production, administration, and facilities buildings.

This is where most of

the work is done. All the buildings are white Victorian.

Some are

two-storied, resembling the row of houses along Alamo Park in San Francisco.

Each has a wide, low porch running around the front

and along the sides.

Low rock walls surround the group.

Buried

beneath the lawns, the meadow, and the softball diamond at the back of the main group is an interconnected system of wires, cables, and optical fibers for telephone, computer, and power. An equally intricate system of pipes crisscross the same area to provide fresh drinking water and irrigation water for the often-parched grounds. Totally self-contained and self-sufficient, The Ranch is a "new age, only-in-California" company town.

"Ralston

Remembered," as it's officially known--in homage to his hometown--was designed to give Elliot a headquarters unlike any movie company; something between a studio and a college campus. His office sits atop the main house, an isolated aerie surveying the valley from an unbroken, window-paned, 360 degrees. The floor is a gleaming, buffed oak. and origin lie scattered about. recline to one side.

Rugs of southwestern design

Dusky rose chairs and a couch

In the center, spotted by an octagonal,

stained-glass skylight straight above, is Elliot's work station.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

43

Plexiglass desk holding a telephone and NeXT computer. Stereo equipment and playback units lie partially sunk along one wall of windows.

Monitors and speakers spider-dangle from the

ceiling. This was my first visit.

Part of the indoctrination tour.

And Elliot was obviously very proud of what he'd done.

He told

me about it as we walked up the drive to the main house. "This is my think tank.

A writer once likened it to a

'cinematic yacht club.'" "A dream come true, Commodore?" "All the films we've made, all the money we've made, was done so we could build a place to think, free from all the outside distractions." "A retreat from the deal-makers?" "And hand-shakers.

I've always wanted to get back to a film

school kind of situation.

Where a group of people, a community,

could make films together." "People that respect each other's work?" "I'm so tired of having to put up with all the flakes and used-car salesmen in this business.

All the jerks I have to deal

with to get things done." "Do you still plan to make features?" "Sure. to make.

Some will be experimental.

The kind of films I used

Pure film."

"Is there a future for film?

Especially pure film?

Or do

you think the electronic media will replace it?" "There are a number of us in the industry who feel video

Tyranny of the Downbeat

44

will become the primary distribution medium." "What about the quality of the projected image?

That's

still pretty questionable isn't it?" "Not any more.

High definition television is already giving

us enough lines of resolution to project a very high quality image.

There will be a time very soon when features will be

shot, posted, and projected using video instead of film.

In

fact, some of the more innovative video production houses here in the Bay Area are already experimenting with it." "And what about film?" "It's getting too expensive to make films anymore. will still be made.

But they'll be more experimental.

Films More like

art films." "More like archives?" "No, more like works of art." As we worked our way through the administration and production offices, we met a handful of staffers, including Janet Baio, who introduced herself because Elliot wasn't very good at it. Having ascended to the eagle's nest, Elliot offered me a cup of tea before he slouched onto the couch.

Janet joined us,

pulling up a chair near a windowed and shuttered wall. who was known for not liking to talk much wanted to.

The man Receding

into the couch and crossing his legs, body language signaling withdrawal, he starts to speak. -- Elliot (quiet and resigned) typecast.

Like an actor.

"The problem is, I'm

I've made a lot of different kinds of

Tyranny of the Downbeat

movies.

45

But the public and the critics only remember the

blockbusters.

The adventures, the fantasies.

that's all I can make.

Now they think

What's worse, that's all they want."

-- Western (sympathetic)

"I guess they just want you to

keep making the same movie over and over again.

The studios like

that." -- Elliot (sighing)

"Anything that's different bombs.

They

just won't let me play against the grain." -- Janet (encouraging)

"So make a serious film.

Show them

you've got one in you." -- Elliot (leaning to his right, head on hand, elbow resting on the back of the couch) things.

"I'm in a rut.

I'm not something.

and adjusted. no tension.

I'm insulated. I need tension.

A routine.

I'm settled in. Cut off.

I do some

My life's too safe

It's too easy.

I need a change.

-- Western (reeling with the feeling)

There's

A challenge."

"Reminds me of

Richard Chamberlain in 'The Last Wave,' living his safe, well-adjusted life.

Until the aborigines show him that life is

not the middle road.

It's not the path of least resistance."

-- Janet (hanging fire) think we want change.

"Change is scary.

We think we need it.

Very scary.

We

But we sure cling to

the way things are, or the way things were." -- Elliot

"I think most of us really like stability.

stay put, holding on to what we know, or think we know. really don't know ourselves or other people. Chill?'

'We're all alone out there.

out there again.'"

We'll

But we

Remember 'The Big

And tomorrow we're going

Tyranny of the Downbeat

46

-- Janet (rationalizing) make them laugh.

"Look at your movies.

You can excite them with effects."

-- Elliot (resisting)

"You know, they're right."

-- Western

"Who?"

-- Elliot

"The critics."

-- Western

"How's that?"

-- Elliot

You can

"Sure, I can do all that.

But I can't make them

cry." -- Janet (still trying to break through) "But your films are positive. and adults.

You've created all kinds of role models for kids They respect you and your vision.

feel optimistic.

You make people

I really think they feel good about life and

their world when they leave one of your movies." -- Elliot -- Western hope.

"Right.

But it's only surface."

"Excuse me, but what's wrong with giving people

Making them believe things will get better.

just leave them with the down-side.

You can't

They already know how bad

things are." -- Elliot (brightening philosophic)

"I really feel film

should do what the church and society used to do.

It should tell

us what's right and wrong, good and evil." -- Janet (jumping on board)

"That reminds me of something an

expatriate film producer once said. empire with motion pictures.

That America built its

Movies spread American culture

around the world the same way Rome's legions once did.

He said

he learned about blue jeans and hairstyle and music and the way to dress and dance and eat and about hamburgers.

You name it.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

47

He became Americanized like every kid in the Western world.

He

was basically saying that Hollywood made America what it is in the eyes of the world." -- Western (sarcastic cynical) sees us now.

"And look how the world

'Porky's 9' and 'Rambo 19.'"

-- Elliot

"That is exactly what I'm saying.

Mass

media--any type of entertainment--should give us examples of how to live our lives. inescapable.

Its influence is so total.

It's a part of our culture.

society operates.

It's everywhere,

It determines how our

How many times do you need to see a terrorist

asking to be interviewed by the local news media to know that?" -- Janet

"That life imitates art, not the other way

around?" -- Western

"It's 'real to reel.'"

-- Janet (getting frustrated) takes the blame? -- Elliot

"So who's responsible?

Who

You and me?" "And everyone else in our industry.

We're

responsible for the shape the world's in." -- Janet (reaching the end of the rope)

"Come on.

That's a

major responsibility." -- Elliot (not to be deterred) (conspiratorial)

"And it's all ours.

But, it also means we can have an impact.

can change things for good.

We can make a world of difference.

The government's not going to do it. hell aren't going to do it.

The corporations sure as

It's people like us, who can reach

other people, who are going to have to do it. arguments.

Forget logic."

We

Forget rational

Tyranny of the Downbeat

48

-- Western (catching the spirit)

"Go right for the heart.

The emotional appeal." -- Elliot

"That's exactly right."

-- Janet (catching up) said.

"Don't forget what Louis B. Mayer

'If you want to send a message, call Western Union.'

A

message film, especially one like you're describing, will never sell." -- Elliot (messianic)

"Wrong.

This audience grew up on

'Medium Cool,' 'Easy Rider,' 'The Graduate,' 'Dr. Strangelove,' '2001,' and 'Coming Home.'

If there's a message AND it's still

entertaining; if it's truthful, they will listen and they will act." -- Western

"And they will cry."

-- Elliot (remembering)

"When I made my second move.

My

so-called 'coming of age' picture, I realized that making a fun, uplifting, positive movie could be a real rush. entertain.

It could

And it could make a point without being preachy.

I

haven't done one since then." -- Western

"And that's why this project means so much to

you?" -- Elliot (pulling at his beard, his eyes defocus and he drifts into his own world, no longer talking with us)

"The

point I was making in that movie was that you can't hang on to the past.

Things change.

-- Janet

Life goes on."

"You can't stay seventeen forever."

-- Elliot (not hearing, drifting deeper)

"Life is a

constant transition and you have to accept that.

The future may

Tyranny of the Downbeat

49

be completely strange and different, but that's the way it should be.

The idea is not to be afraid of change.

you're leaving something you know behind. moving forward.

It's sad because

But you have to keep

That's what life is all about.

have a good attitude about change or a bad one. accept it so you can control it. for you.

But you have to

So you you can make it work

(He starts heading back to the surface)

all I've ever been saying.

I'm just a storyteller.

stories help people cope, all the better. with the tales I have to tell. our faces.)

That's really If my

But I always start

(Eyes focused and scanning both

This story has been hiding deep inside me until the

time for telling was right. landing.

You can either

I remember watching our first lunar

I realized then that, unlike the maps we had in school,

there are no geographical or political boundaries. land, sky, and water. through space. perspective.

There's only

We are one world, one race, hurtling

Most people can't handle that kind of global But I recognized the interdependency.

I realized

that anything we did one one side of the planet, whether it's polluting the water or setting off a nuclear device, would one day reach the other side.

(Now completely back with the living.)

That's also why I have to do this project. entertained people.

In a previous life, I

In this life, I want to enlighten them.

I

want them to stop shuffling in the terra firma and begin staring at the stars. Principle.

(startling us both with a question)

"The Gaea

Either of you ever heard of it?"

-- Western (recovering)

"The what?"

-- Elliot (zealot impatient)

"The Gaea Principle?"

Tyranny of the Downbeat

50

We both mumble a slightly embarrassed no. -- Elliot (proselytizing) Greek and Roman, I think.

It's what I've been talking about.

Gaea was the Earth Goddess. planet.

"It's based on ancient mythology.

Mother Earth.

We started that way.

Once, we were one

And now we have lost our way.

We

have lost our respect for the Earth, wildlife, ourselves, and other people.

And those who live out of harmony are doomed.

'Koyaanisqatsi.'

It's a movie.

The title is Hopi for 'Life

out of balance.'

And that's what it shows.

We're destroying

this planet." -- Western (rallying a little too hard)

"We're writing a

check the future can't cash?" Janet laughs.

Elliot doesn't appreciate the joke.

I'm

finding he often doesn't. -- Elliot (walking over to his electronic wall, he picks up a blank videotape)

"This is my thunderbolt.

With this, I will

give you truth and new perspectives." -- Western -- Janet -- Western

"Remember 'The Flying Burrito Brothers?'" "How could you forget a name like that?" "There was a line in one of their songs.

'Destiny is in my right hand.'" -- Elliot

"That's right.

We control our own fate.

Starting here.

Starting now."

He put the tape back.

"Have you

seen our new edit suite? (the jump cut in subject and attitude is jarring)

I'd like to show it to you and I'd like you to meet

someone." The cooler it got, the less light, I sensed the closer we

Tyranny of the Downbeat

51

were getting to the editorial catacombs.

Entry to each vaulted

area was allowed only with a magnetic ID card. secure, very clean, very sterile.

And quiet.

Each was very The white noise of

no noise. Finally, we passed through another chamber in this subterranean nautilus and entered a spacious room.

Monitors

lined one entire wall, fronting a scimitar-shaped, gun-metal gray console.

To the left, through doubled-paned sliding glass doors

was master control.

The machine room that powered Nemo's dream.

Audio and video monitoring, digital switchers and audio mixing boards spread away from the center of the console, where there sat, hunched over the computerized editor, a round-backed crone of a creature. He was real hard to look at. never been touched by sunlight.

Like something whose skin had Pale and thin, he resembled

creatures you'd uncover in the garden, angry because you had disturbed them. greasy. south.

His hair was long, shoulder-length, stringy and

Imagine equal parts Medusa and Rasputin.

A rocker gone

His teeth were chipped and rotting; partly because he

didn't eat right, partly because he smoked. wore a leather thong.

Attached to it was a computer chip--the

first one designed for the personal computer. talisman.

An amulet.

Around his neck he

It was his

A charm to protect him against sickness,

harm, or witchcraft. Behind thick glasses, he had tiny eyes, pinholes that squinted.

But they were voracious.

to feed his hungry mind.

They scanned CRTs, ravenous,

It was no surprise his nickname was

Tyranny of the Downbeat

"The Mole."

52

He spent all his free time cruising data bases,

burrowing deep into mounds of facts, labyrinths of figures, seldom coming up for air.

And when he did, squinting in the

glare of day-to-day reality, he'd soon turn his back and return to the dark, damp tunnels of anonymous binarity. He was an information junkie. it.

Self-proclaimed and proud of

He was a true believer that information is power; that the

old industries--coal, steel, and automobiles--were dead or dying. Information was the new source of energy and power. thrived on it.

He was one of a new breed.

And he

Those dedicated

hackers who dreamed of a new Jeffersonian democracy based on equal access to information.

They believed that when everyone

had a computer, all political and economic power would flow back to the individual and away from the corporations. His modem was his equalizer, his key to the doors of perception.

Through it, he could travel anywhere in time and

space, back to ancient Mesopotamian civilizations or forward to colonies on Mars.

The possibilities were limited only by his

imagination, and The Mole was not known to be lacking in that. There were no doors locked to his inquisitive mind.

He could

break any code, crack any security system, and often did it simply for the fun of it, for the pure challenge, the thrill of the chase. Like any hacker worth his code, he liked to engage in "softwar."

He was a software saboteur.

Any time he wanted, he

could alter data in computers at banks and stock brokerage houses, or he could send false signals to air traffic

Tyranny of the Downbeat

controllers.

53

He loved exposing the dark side of silicon.

Often,

he would invade centralized data banks and read out information on educational background, medical history, credit ratings, employment records, political affiliations, and sexual preferences. One of the things he liked doing best was harassing the MIS departments of major corporations. and plant a "worm" or "virus". he--and they--could go.

He'd get into their systems

Anywhere information could go,

And did.

For those unfamiliar with the

hacker and his world of communicable diseases, a program that moves through a computer's memory is called a "worm," and a stationary one is called a "virus," a "Trojan Horse," or a "logic bomb." Virus spreaders like The Mole were mostly men in their late teens or early twenties--you couldn't really tell if The Mole fit in either group--who had spent most of their life in the comfort of the CRT.

They lived in a protected world, emotionally and

socially, and had never developed a code of ethics to govern or judge what they were doing.

Forty years after the dawn of the

computer age, there had thus arisen a phalanx of programmers, with access to the world's most powerful technology, and no checks or balances to control it. Mole. it.

But that didn't bother The

He was far more interested in the game, not the ethics of The challenge and the pursuit thrilled him. So anything he could modem up was fair game for his probing

mind.

Nothing could stop him.

If it was confidential or top

secret, he simply broke the code, just to see what they were

Tyranny of the Downbeat

hiding. facts.

But he was more than a hacker, more than a consumer of He had a mind that could make connections.

analytical. Holmes.

54

Very

His deductive reasoning rivaled the fabled mind of

He could see the interconnects.

That made him valuable.

It also made him dangerous. To give him the money, and thus the freedom, to pay for his habit, The Mole spent his daylight hours working as a videotape editor at a local production house. room at a computer CRT.

Still more hours in a dark

It was something he understood and

something he was very good at.

One of the best, in fact.

his client skills were questionable. left alone with one.

But

That's why he was never

When Elliot needed an editor for "The Water

Project," he hired Moses.

He didn't know how much more he was

getting for his money. Moses Campbell was also real hard to talk to, as I soon found out when he shrank from my outstretched hand of greeting. He not only wouldn't look you in the eye, but he refused to waste any energy on words. machines, not people.

He was used to communicating only with He never used articles or prepositions;

any short, unnecessary words. bursts.

He preferred talking in short

He communicated in binary bits.

sounded like a "B-movie" redskin.

Most of the time he

A grunting computer Cochise.

Elliot did most of his talking, which was something of a joke considering how reticent he was.

In their war of words, The

Mole had already won. "Moses, here, will be our editor." A grunt of disdainful acknowledgement.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

55

"But, more importantly, he's my secret weapon. to take us places no one else can.

He's going

It's up to him to get

everything he can, as quickly as he can, on the players in this game." The Mole shrinks from Elliot's affectionate pat on the shoulder, his fingers flying over the console; a virtuoso effortlessly and unconsciously weaving dreams at thirty frames a second. "Once he has the data, I want him to synthesize, extrapolate, and trace the interconnects. electronic scratch track.

The blueprint for a show that I hope

will entertain, inform, and motivate. rebellion from here.

It will become my

We're going to start a

For safe drinking water. The documentary

will kick it off." "Our shot heard 'round the world," I volunteer.

it.

"Congressional hearings won't do it.

Litigation hasn't done

Or petitions and letters to congress.

That's only created a

ripple.

We're going to make a wave.

We're going to use the

greatest weapon ever known to sway people." "The motion picture?" "It's also known as propaganda." "Capture the heart and the head will follow?" "I'll finance it myself.

Produce it here at The Ranch.

They say I can only do fantasy films.

Okay.

So let's do one.

For good." I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised at his absolute commitment, his blind dedication.

It really wasn't that hard to

Tyranny of the Downbeat

understand him.

56

From the moment the title sequence of his first

mega-hit began to roll, his every move and word had been a matter of public record.

Janet and I talked about it afterwards.

She knew what was driving him. wants is to do good.

"It's so clear.

All he

To make films that matter."

"Accentuate the positive."

I seemed to be stuck in a rut of

cliches this day. "His view of the world is pretty simple. problem with people who misuse their power.

He's got a real He feels it's up to

the individual to stop it." "To take it personally?" "It's just basic human morality.

And he feels it's the only

way to master your fate, to control your destiny." "The weight of the world?" "And he takes that responsibility very seriously."

Janet

suddenly changed the subject, finally tired, and shifted to the more immediate needs of the production itself. "I need your opinion on something. two ways with this show.

The way I see it, we can

We can use a professional, a third

person, as our narrator." "Which will give us objectivity, but will be less involving." "Or, we can go the other way and be very subjective.

Get

people who are recognizable, who have credibility, and who are emotionally committed to the same issues." "People from different walks of live and disciplines." "I think we need their energy and emotion.

If we stay too

Tyranny of the Downbeat

objective and scientific, I don't think we'll get the kind of grass-roots response we want." "So maybe we stack it with poets, musicians, scientists, writers, politicians, and celebrities?" "And the more native Californians the better."

The rumbling sky splinters with light. Girls are dancing on the silver yacht. A hot wind sweeps over the bay, from the island, and slows the music blaring from below deck. The son of a famous architect has won another drinking bout. He's eager to show the girls his new trick; he straps on his waxed wings and climbs to the crow's nest and, arms outspread, eyes closed, makes his leap for the sun: the boiling waves swallow him with a hiss. The girls fall down laughing and the rough shore darkens with rain. That night, in a foreign capital, the architect cancels his engagements to design an obelisk for his son's grave. At the funeral, strangers offer their condolences and the priests remind him that all men die happy. He goes home and dreams himself lost in the labyrinth that made him famous: the iron corridors pounded into steel, the sparking hoofs and thunderous breath, the smoke that reeks of perfume ... He wakes in a cold sweat, a ball of string in his hands. Maybe the priests were right. Or maybe, in the end, fools like his son chance on a kind of wisdom. Coveting a final, futile gesture in order to cheat death. One could do worse, the old man concludes, snuffing the light. Much worse. -- Nicholas Christopher, "Icarus" Sometimes, late at night, as you walk by The Old Brewery, you might think you have been beamed back to Terra Incognito. You half expect to turn around and see a blazing fire illuminating aboriginal features; a man growling low, licking his

57

Tyranny of the Downbeat

jaw harp.

58

Softly, but clearly, you can hear the primitive sounds

of the digereedoo.

No, you are not approaching the fatal

shore of Australia.

It's really nothing more than The Mole

taking a break from breaking code. In the catacombs that are his offices, located in an old brewery south of Market Street in San Francisco, there is not one but many computers, of diverse ages, sizes, and capabilities.

It

resembles a museum of the transistor and semiconductor ages, as much as a working computer lab.

Many lie open, disemboweled,

with parts tossed about and cables snaking in and through.

Some

are in various stages of disrepair or in-progress hot-rodding. The Mole never seems capable of finishing a repair job.

Once a

machine is functioning, he could care less about how it looks, whether the casing is closed or the wires neatly tucked inside. As long as it works. His central console resembles a space shuttle's instrument panel or a rock keyboardist's bank of synthesizers.

The console

is designed "in-the-round," so there are 360 degrees of hardware surrounding him.

The entire apparatus sits on a free-floating

platform with its own gyroscope and its own power source, free from any vibrations created by passing trucks or shifting faults, and isolated from power surges that could trash months of work. Directly above the main CRT of his central console is a shrine of sorts.

In the smokey half-light that always fills this

room, you can barely see that it is a yellowed piece of newsprint, torn ragged and crudely framed between two pieces of uneven plexiglass.

It hangs where a single shaft of light,

Tyranny of the Downbeat

59

streaming through a crack in the painted skylight above, illuminates and isolates.

It is his dogma.

The man quoted is

his prophet. Leon Martel, a futurist and political scientist, has a message for America:

"We are in the midst of a major structural

change, as information rapidly replaces energy as society's main resource.

Unlike energy, information is infinite and does not

disappear.

We're just beginning to use information, and the

changes we are going to see are, in many cases, contrary to the common wisdom.

In the electronic computer age, information

already has added to the value of goods and services by increasing labor's efficiency and dramatically shortening the time it takes to develop products." Below the frame is a bumper sticker with a simple recommendation.

"COMPUTE, DON'T COMMUTE."

Moses affectionately nicknamed the entire apparatus "Icarus," after the son of Daedalus the scientist, who, in his attempt to escape the labyrinth of the Minotaur, with wings fashioned by his father of feathers and wax, flew too close to the sun, and fell to his death. He prays he will not suffer a similar fate as he begins dialing up his first data base.

We gather information here the way ancient cultures gathered food. And for the same reasons--to live, to thrive. -- "The Leading Edge"

Tyranny of the Downbeat

60 CHAPTER 4

I know when day is done, That a new world awaits at dawn. See them rolling along, Pledging their love with a song. Here on the range I belong, Drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweeds. -- Bob Nolan, "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" DISSOLVE: MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #4: "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" 14

EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - ESTABLISHING SHOT

GROUND LEVEL SHOT of Mojave Desert. Far off, we can see a lone man standing in the middle of this barren land. It is MARC REISNER, author of "Cadillac Desert." The CAMERA begins racing toward REISNER, skimming across the ground. MARC REISNER Everyone knows there's a desert somewhere in California. But many believe it's off in some remote corner of the state. Like here in the Mojave, or Palm Springs, or maybe the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada. MEDIUM CLOSE UP CAMERA comes to an abrupt halt just in front of REISNER. But most of inhabited strictest definition, Angeles is drier than as dry as the Sahel. half as wet as Mexico of the state receives of rainfall a year.

California is, by a semidesert. Los Beirut. Sacramento is San Francisco is only City. About 65 percent less than twenty inches

DISSOLVE: 15

MONTAGE

Shots of lush parks and streets in los angeles and the Central Valley. REISNER (v.o.) California is a beautiful fraud. It fools visitors into believing it is 'lush.'

Tyranny of the Downbeat

61

Everywhere you turn, you run up against 'the holiness of the blooming desert'. Water and irrigation, allowed us to establish a beachhead here. And it's going to be increasingly difficult to hold onto. Both the water and the beachhead. 16

MEDIUM SHOT

LOW ANGLE SHOT of Metropolitan Water District's corporate headquarters in Los Angeles. DOLLY SHOT of water fountain in foreground. Unless you're Los Angeles. Then you either buy the water, or go out and get it. In the movie "Chinatown," John Huston tells Jack Nicholson: "Either you bring the water to L.A., or you bring L.A. to the water." CAMERA DOLLIES UP steps toward front door. And in a scene from the beginning of that movie, Nicholson's Jake Gittes, sitting in the Los Angeles city council chambers, hears this. 17

INT. COUNCIL CHAMBERS Former Mayor SAM BAGBY is speaking. Behind him is a huge map, with overleafs and bold lettering: "PROPOSED ALTO VALLEJO DAM AND RESERVOIR" Some of the councilmen are reading funny papers and gossip columns while Bagby is speaking.

BAGBY --Gentlemen, today you can walk out that door, turn right, hop on a streetcar and in twenty-five minutes end up smack in the Pacific Ocean. Now you can swim in it, you can fish in it, you can sail in it -- but you can't drink it, you can't water your lawns with it, you can't irrigate your orange grove with it. Remember -- we live next door to the ocean but we also live on the edge of the desert. Los Angeles is a desert community. Beneath this building, beneath every street there's a desert. Without water the dust will rise up and cover us as though we'd never existed! (pausing, letting the implication sink in) CLOSE - GITTES sitting next to some grubby farmers, bored.

He yawns --

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62

edges away from one of the dirtier farmers. BAGBY (O.S.) (continuing) The Alto Vallejo can save us from that, and I respectfully suggest that eight and a half million dollars is a fair price to pay to keep the desert from our streets and not on top of them. 18

MEDIUM CLOSE UP

REISNER stands on steps of Metropolitan Water District. REISNER It's ironic. Pollution from another segment of corporate America is responsible for filling the air with carbon dioxide. And this same carbon dioxide is slowly, but definitely changing the world's climate. And as it does, California will become even drier. It will become ever more a desert. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

As REISNER exits frame, CAMERA DOLLIES BACK to frame flowing fountain. MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #5: "Grand Canyon Suite" 19

EXT. WESTERN LANDSCAPE - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL SHOT of Monument Valley or the Grand Canyon. MARC REISNER (v.o.) You will not find it in an atlas, or on a topographical map, or as you fly over it escaping the East. This line that marks where the West begins. But it is clear to all who live there where it starts. It begins, wrote Bernard DeVoto, "At the point where the average annual rainfall drops below twenty inches." And it goes a long way toward explaining our passion for seeing water under control. DISSOLVE 20

WIDE SHOT

LOWER LEVEL AERIAL SHOT of Hoover Dam. of dam.

CAMERA swoops over edge

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21

MEDIUM SHOT

GROUND LEVEL SHOT of two people. MARC REISNER and JOAN DIDION, author and native Californian. They walk near the marble Star Map at Hoover Dam. JOAN DIDION This marble star map traces a sidereal revolution of the equinox. It fixes forever, the man from the Bureau of Reclamation has told me, for all time and for all people who can read the stars, the date Hoover Dam was dedicated. 22

CLOSE UP - DEDICATION PLAQUE. DIDION (v.o.) "They died to make the desert bloom," it reads. This plaque is dedicated to the 96 men who died building this first of the great high dams. This is the legacy of the West. Our compulsive need to control water. To hoard it. To not waste a drop.

MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN UNDER

DISSOLVE 23

MONTAGE

Series of beauty shots of Hoover Dam. REISNER (v.o.) Someday, archaeologists from some other planet will sift through the bleached bones of our civilization. They may well conclude that our temples were dams. The permanence of our dams will merely impress them. Their numbers will leave them in awe. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Imponderably massive and constructed with exquisite care, our dams will outlast anything else we have built. Skyscrapers, cathedrals, bridges, even nuclear power plants. When forests push through the rotting streets of New York and the Empire State Building is a crumbling hulk, Hoover Dam will sit astride the Colorado River much as it does today. Intact, formidable, serene.

63

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64

DISSOLVE 24

MEDIUM CLOSE - DIDION AND STAR MAP. DIDION The star map is here for that time when we are all gone and only the dam is left. I hadn't thought much of it when he said it then, but I think of it now, ...

25

HIGH ANGLE WIDE SHOT - HOOVER DAM. DIDION (v.o.) ... with the wind whining and the sun dropping behind a mesa with the finality of a sunset in space. I realize that is how I have always seen it. A dynamo finally free of man, splendid at last in its absolute isolation, transmitting power and releasing water to a world where no one is.

MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY Desperado, why don't you come to your senses? You been out ridin' fences for so long now. Oh, you're a hard one, I know that you got your reasons, These things that are pleasin' you, Can hurt you somehow. Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger, Your pain and your hunger, They're driving you home. And freedom, oh, freedom, well, That's just some people talkin', Your prison is walkin' Through this world all alone. -- Don Henley & Glenn Frey, "Desperado" I had driven down the Pacific Coast Highway, south instead of north, to meet my old friend.

We had lunch at Sharon's, a

warm, little, home-grown restaurant in Montara, near his home in Moss Beach. We caught up over the seafood marinara.

A lot had happened

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65

since that June day when we threw our mortarboards into the air and kissed our collective college asses goodbye.

Then we got

good and drunk and left for our respective homes and our future lives.

We phoned and wrote for a while, then he moved to

Washington state and then Los Angeles. much.

And we didn't talk as

He moved back and our paths still hadn't crossed that

often.

Now we were working together on what was probably the

biggest and most important project in both our lives. Living on the edge. Always had. from.

That's where he liked living his life.

Along the razor's edge.

That's where the title came

Where poets, dreamers, and madmen reside.

I suppose the

writer had him in mind when he talked about life needing to be more than the every day; especially here in California, living so close to the coast; to the edge of the world. Patrick Michael "Monte" Walsh fit his nickname. last of the cowboys.

He was the

Just like the character Lee Marvin played

in the movie of the same name.

He wasn't real good about change,

about getting older and slower.

About accepting the inevitable.

That the frontier was closing.

He carried a gun across his heart

and had a hair-trigger on his temper.

The boy liked to fight.

still remember trying to stand between him and a half-dozen of Daly City's finest during San Francisco's "Grand National Rodeo" one year. Pat came from long line of native sons from the "auld sod" of Ireland.

His great grandfather was a craftsman who did

all the goldwork on the dome of the state capital. was once California's Lieutenant Governor.

His father

Like most Irishmen,

I

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66

the men in his family could have taken up the cloth or the badge. Most of them rejected the cloth and became cops or marines.

His

grandfather was a homicide inspector for San Francisco's finest and his uncle, a four-star general, commanded the Marines in Vietnam.

There was always a strong family tradition of honor and

duty to country. him.

He believed it, just like generations before

He lived with it every day of his life.

And though he

didn't break ranks during the so-called "Vietnam conflict," it did shake his confidence in the concept. Walsh was born to the wealthy and politically influential of California's power elite.

But it was never his style.

His

parents were, and are, very much stuck in living the "proper" life.

And, when he married "beneath his station," they disowned

him.

They haven't spoken to him or his wife or seen their

grandchildren since the marriage. You'd never know he was part of the privileged world of "old money" California.

As wealthy, powerful, and "class conscious"

as his parents were, Walsh wouldn't be caught dead with a silver spoon in his mouth.

Maybe a "Silver Bullet."

He liked getting

down and dirty on the spinside of life, which is probably why he tended to overreact when someone tried to take advantage of their position in life.

It was almost like once his family cut him

loose, he made them and the rest of their world his enemy.

He

wasn't about to let any of them get away with anything ever again.

He took special care with any case involving the power

elite.

It was his albatross.

was over-compensating.

In fact, it was almost as if he

He wanted so much to separate himself

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67

from his father's world that he went out looking for any cases involving the powerful, just to bring the big guy down.

Maybe it

was an indirect, or direct, way to show his father, and attack what his father represented at the same time.

To offset the

disappointment, the anger, and the hurt he felt when his father and mother abandoned him.

It cut him deeply that he, who

cherished family and friends, had to disown his own. He grew up during the Sixties, but he was really a Muskogee kind of guy when it came to sex, marriage, relationships, and women.

He spent time, like his hero Merle Haggard, raising cane.

And his family hoped his crops would fail. experimenting, as many of his peers were.

He was not He was just living out

what he considered the typical macho college ritual.

Though he

wasn't intimidated then by bright, aggressive women, he wasn't overly aroused either.

He admired them, as he would a wonderful

watercolor or an intriguing acrylic, but he never took them home either.

When it was time to settle down, to marry and have a

family, he did and he stayed faithful.

He wasn't interested in

the philandering of his father's generation.

He intended to make

his marriage work. Now he's got two children, both boys. he met in college, is several years younger.

His wife, Diane, whom They've been

married for twelve years now, through good and bad and multiple moves.

They get along as well as two people in harness can.

They like each other fine when they're alone and away from family and friends.

When they do fight, it's usually over Pat's

juvenile behavior and heavy drinking, especially when he gets

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68

together with his college buddies, Calvin Michael Gover, a vet in Sacramento, myself, and George Orona, otherwise known as "Jorge." Then he gets nostalgic and starts thinking about moving back to the valley.

That is the only real threat to his marriage.

The

prolonged adolescence that creeps back into his life whenever he sees "the boys."

None of the current wives or girlfriends really

want to be around then.

It's too embarrassing.

He, and they,

are stranded, caught between the adolescent rock and the middle aged hard place. transition. buddies.

And they're all having a rough time making the

They'd love to remain twenty, partying with their

But they want the career, wife, and the family.

Caught

on the horns. I guess he, Gover, Jorge, and I really were family. only family.

We were brothers.

His

He had often said, and it had

been echoed by me, that we would all be friends for life.

That

no matter how far away, or how long we'd been apart, we could get together and it'd be like we'd never left. of understanding between us. expectations.

There was that kind

I said it had to do with

We didn't have any of each other.

If we didn't

have any expectations, we'd never be disappointed in each other, because that's when the trouble starts.

We accepted the other

for what they were; nothing more, nothing less.

And you were

there for them, whether they needed you or not.

My wife could

never understand that. advantage of.

She always said I was being taken

I think it was really jealousy, or lack of

understanding, because she never had it with her family or any of her close friends.

It bothered Diane, too, and Gover's wife

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69

Debbie, but this kind of "male bonding" was never understood by women, particularly women who had liberated themselves during the sixties and hoped that some of it had rubbed off on the men they married. Like his ancestors and his friends, Pat liked to drink, though not as much now as he did in college. like the Irish, could kill.

And his temper,

That's why he made a good FBI agent.

He was a good company man, loyal to the corps. buddies.

And loyal to his

And that's what usually got him into trouble.

another thing about him.

That was

He was persistent, diligent, and dogged

in his determination, once he was on the scent. until he'd been beaten senseless.

He never quit,

He worked hard to be good at

what he did and to earn the respect of his peers and superiors. Pat acted and reacted.

He was not one to ponder and consider.

Once given an assignment, he'd ride it out.

And, sometimes, he'd

ignore his superiors, and stay on a case until he was satisfied it was complete.

If it had to be done, he was the best one to do

it. Walsh could be melancholic, sullen.

You could see it in

his face.

It was there right around his eyes and creasing his

forehead.

He always seemed angry, just a word away from

exploding.

And when he went, reason and restraint shut down.

And sometimes, violence could be a close companion. also be vindictive.

He could

Although it was probably due to his

"Irishness," it was as if Pat had selected every personality trait that could possibly be objectionable and reprehensible to the sensibilities and upbringing of his family.

He cultivated

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70

one to alienate the other. In some ways, "Monte" was a throwback to a simpler time. Thus the nickname.

When he wanted to relax, he'd pop open a

beer, pick up his guitar, and play a little Merle. The Hag's world, everything was black and white. depressing, but you knew exactly where you stood.

At least in It might be What sometimes

appeared to be shallowness and lack of imagination was simply a less complex personal code of conduct. monochrome. play.

All things really were

He believed in the cowboy code of justice and fair

In a previous life, he might have been a John Wayne, his

idol, or a Gary Cooper. affection.

And like them, he wasn't real good at

He'd rather have a tooth pulled than hug someone.

and the kids had softened the edges a little. about it, but still not real comfortable.

Di

He was better

I doubt he had ever

hugged his old man. Pat grew up in Berkeley before moving to Davis, California, while his father worked at the state capital. school there before enrolling in college. to be a Doctor of Veterinarian Medicine.

He finished high

He had always planned He did well enough in

class and as a working intern, but his attitude bothered some people.

His GPA was acceptable, but not unquestionable.

Everything depended on his letters of recommendation and the personal interview.

So he decided to enlist the help of some of

his father's more influential friends.

It was a difficult thing

to ask, but he did it; to swallow his pride and ask for help from his father just this once. letters.

It was that important.

But something happened.

He got the

Either during the interview or

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because of the letters.

71

Walsh still feels he was screwed because

the screening committee didn't feel like being steamrolled by the politically powerful.

And he wasn't even sure that maybe his

father hadn't talked to the committee; maybe mentioned in passing that he thought Pat might have a drinking problem. wouldn't make a good professional. rejected.

Cal Gover wasn't.

Whatever the reason, he was

What could have destroyed a close

friendship just seemed to make it stronger.

Pat's pride got him

through it.

And a little Jim Beam.

taken away.

He never got over the disappointment.

talked about it.

That maybe he

His life's goal had been

Just got on with his life.

But he never

First as a

pharmaceutical salesman and then as an agent, thanks to a disillusioned brother-in-law, a bureau administrator in San Francisco, who saw himself as a young man. When Pat first joined The Bureau, he worked as a sound man, wired to incriminate drug dealers, kidnappers, and child pornographers.

Then he spent time tracking down Soviet spies and

defectors across Northern California.

Just letting them know we

were watching them watching us. Just about that time, the war against toxic waste started heating up.

In California and across the nation.

There were

more and more cases of roadside dumping; and cans and cans of waste were discovered in abandoned warehouses all over the state. There were rumors the Mafia was somehow involved.

In California,

the passage of Proposition 65 put the pressure on all public officials.

The U.S. Department of Justice was forced to begin

taking the issue seriously.

District attorneys and Federal

Tyranny of the Downbeat

72

Bureau of Investigation staffs throughout the country began an all-out assault on this new form of white-collar crime. When it came time to select someone to join the Department of Justice's Toxic Task Force, Pat's name was mentioned early and often.

His background in bio-chemistry made him a strong

candidate.

And, because he was born and raised in Northern

California, he also knew the territory and the players.

The fact

that he was politically connected didn't hurt, although it was never discussed in any of the interviews and he didn't bring it up.

He was appointed Special Agent to the toxic waste

investigation. Walsh took to his new assignment with a vengeance. shot at the old man.

Another

He had to be careful because he was going

for the purse strings on this one.

He probed and he pushed.

He

tried hard not to step on the toes of certain politicos and bureaucrats, because he knew they had the power to stall, or subvert, the investigation. about who heard what and how.

He was careful who he reported to; He knew he was moving far beyond

his original assignment; beyond what they had asked him to investigate. In three months, he documented over one hundred violations of the Clean Water Act and the provisions of Proposition 65.

He

had sufficient evidence to cause some major financial and PR problems.

And the people on his hit list were some of the same

ones he was worried might stop him.

Corporations like the

DiGiulio Winery, the Marriposa Combine, and several members of the Westlands League.

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73

Then he took his findings to the Bureau, feeling good about them and ready to take the next step; certain they would authorize it.

The next day, his supervisor called him into his

office and told him to stop volunteering information he hadn't been asked to.

It was like the guy had punched him in the gut,

then slapped him across the face. It was the first time he'd ever had shit like this pulled on him.

He'd heard the rumors before.

re-assigned.

And he didn't like it.

Of agents reprimanded and Someone had pulled in some

cards; had pulled some strings from atop their plush corporate offices.

Only this time, it wasn't some hick county sheriff or

medical examiner, it was the fucking Bureau that was asking him how high he'd jump.

This had been his best shot ever at the big

boys and they had turned the tables on him. He left the office thinking that not even the Bureau was clean on this one; that even they could be compromised and couldn't be trusted. say.

Not then.

They didn't want to hear what he had to

Probably not ever.

Money, bureaucracy, and

politics made it hard to protect the public and tell the truth. He knew then that it would never come out. whole truth and nothing but wouldn't be.

Not this story.

The

His naivete was

beginning the education of its life. He protested.

He wrote a handful of internal memoranda.

talked it up with his fellow agents.

He

He spoke a little too

loudly about it at lunch when he was within earshot of his superiors.

His wheel was squeaking real loud.

knew, he was off the case and at a desk.

The next thing he

Writing up reports and

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74

following-up on other agent's work. pissed.

He was crushed.

Then he got

He compared the new assignment to something he knew.

frontier analogy.

A

"It was like riding fence," he later told me.

It was the same as being put out to pasture.

On a working ranch,

when you couldn't cut it anymore, your started riding fence; repairing broken fence, making sure none of the cattle got out. It cut a couple of ways. sure the fence stood.

It was a job, but it was also making

Fence.

carved up the open range.

That's what closed the frontier,

It meant the end of freedom.

He didn't like this idea of checking fence-posts, so he started thinking about bailing out.

He talked it over with his

brother-in-law, who didn't like the idea, but certainly understood.

He had been frustrated most of his career and it

wasn't going to get any better until he retired. and be a maverick. approval.

Pat could stay

Continue the investigation without agency

But he was finally, really tired of the bullshit

bureaucracy.

It was time to press on.

And he did.

His

brother-in-law put him in touch with a large private investigation firm in San Francisco, one department of which specialized in toxic waste violations. the title.

He got another shot at

Maybe there he could tell what had to be told.

And that was another coincidence that couldn't be ignored. Pat had taken his new job about two months before Elliot contacted me.

Our paths were going to cross professionally.

It

would be interesting to see what my old college buddy was like in real life. Heading up the beach and back to our cars, I was glad to

Tyranny of the Downbeat

75

know we were still thinking along the same lines.

Like me and

Elliot, his gut told him the Quon incident was somehow tied to Masterson.

He was also wondering out loud if it wasn't linked to

the death of farmworker twenty years earlier.

That case had been

unsolved and closed for quite a while, but it had come up again as part of the trail he had been following when he got yanked. He wanted to finish that one just for the principle of it.

He

didn't think he'd have any trouble getting his new bosses to let him help us out.

And if they didn't, he'd do it on his own.

It

wasn't like he hadn't been forced to do that before. That was just about a week ago.

Now he's undercover in

Ralston.

Got himself hired as a field inspector (PCA) for

OxyGene.

He makes the rounds each day selling fertilizer and

herbicides, making sure the growers are using the right chemicals for their problem and assuring that the chemicals are mixed in the right amounts and properly applied. Squatting in the dust, drawing patterns in the dirt, and talking about next season's crops, he feels right at home. fits in, drinking RC Cola and eating moon pies. these people.

He likes and respects them.

a beer at day's end. of.

He

He understands

He enjoys buying them

He doesn't like seeing them taken advantage

And he doesn't want any of them, or their kids, dying of

cancer or being exposed to poisons that might some day cause it. He knows his bio-chem and he knows it's all too possible.

Now

that he's seen their faces and talked to them, he's even more determined to get to the bottom of the Jimmie Quon story and how it relates to Masterson.

We have an idea or two, but it's up to

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Pat to get the hard evidence--beyond a reasonable doubt. It's going to be a long, hot summer.

76

Tyranny of the Downbeat

77 CHAPTER 5

"I come before you today with the distressing news that one of this Nation's most vast and vital resources is in serious jeopardy. Our ground waters, long considered virtually pollution-free, are threatened by ruinous contamination. The problem is national, for potential sources and routes of contamination may be found wherever people live and work. The problem is serious, for the intruding contaminants are often highly toxic, sometimes cancer-causing. The prospect that water may contain high concentrations of toxic chemical compounds compels our immediate attention and action. The story of hazardous wastes and vulnerable groundwaters is just beginning to be written, but the opening chapter is enough to predict that this will become the environmental horror story of the eighties--with aftereffects reaching into the next millennium." -- Eckhardt C. Beck, Former Assistant Administrator for Water and Waste Management, U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. Before the Subcommittee on Environment, Energy, and Natural Resources, June 25, 1980. Pope asked me to meet him in the foothills above La Grange Dam.

He explained it was better to see things first hand. Carl Pope is a non-fiction author who specializes in

environmental issues.

He writes about the amount and type of

pollution being inflicted on our country by private corporations. He is also the Sierra Club's national deputy conservation director.

He's been writing about the groundwater problem for a

number of years.

Now he's about to begin my education.

We stand near several large granite boulders. feet is a hole between the rocks.

Beneath our

He is explaining.

is an underground storage area for groundwater. thousands of years for the largest ones to form.

"An aquifer

It's taken Most aquifers

in North America were formed during the Ice Age's glacial melt. They can be a few feet, or several thousand feet, below the surface. surface."

This one," he points at the hole, "is close to the

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78

"Makes pumping easy," I add, trying to participate. He smiles but doesn't look up.

"Right.

Water from these

aquifers has been used for years as a source of drinking water. Then it watered crops.

Then it served industry.

sink a well and start filling buckets with water. were replaced with electric pumps. lasted longer.

Anyone could Hand pumps

Wells went deeper and pumping

People pumped as if there were no tomorrow."

"Figured it was an endless supply?" "Well, it wasn't. in common.

There's one thing all these aquifers have

They're disappearing.

Rapidly.

Pumped, or polluted,

out of existence." "Can't they be replenished. "Sure.

By rain, or something?"

Aquifers can be recharged, refilled, by rain,

snow-melt, seepage from river bottoms, marshes, and wetlands. But if any of these sources are contaminated, the groundwater will become contaminated.

And once it's in the aquifer, it's

there for good." "Or bad." His look tells me he doesn't think much of my participation or humor.

"Undergroundwater doesn't flow too much, or too fast.

So contaminants can be stored undisturbed for thousands of years." "For example?" "In the 1960s, some wells in Ohio started gushing raw sewage.

Toilet tissue and other junk.

When the local

authorities researched the records, they found that public and private wastes had been dumped into sinkholes and wells as far

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back as 1872.

79

Almost a hundred years earlier."

the realization showed on my face.

He watched as

Then we both looked down into

the hole. "How bad is the groundwater problem?" "Only one percent of America's groundwater is now known to be contaminated.

But man is threatening vital groundwater

supplies in many regions of the country." "Could you briefly explain the strict, scientific meaning of contaminate?" "It has two common meanings. by intrusion from outside.

One, to reduce native purity

And, two, to make unfit, or

unwholesome, by the introduction of outside elements." "When did groundwater pollution first emerge as a public issue?" "In the late 1970s, mostly associated with the disposal of manufacturing wastes." "When did incidents related to pesticides first appear?" "By the early 1980s, several instances of contamination, resulting from the field application of pesticides, had been confirmed." "And what pesticides were those?" "The most widespread problems involved the insecticides and nematocides aldicarb, brand name Temik and DBCP, dibromochloropropane. other pesticides.

Early findings led to monitoring for

Several additional active ingredients were

detected in at least a dozen states." "Were you at all surprised by the findings?"

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80

"Contamination from field-applied pesticides was almost entirely unexpected.

Particularly since the pesticides found

included ones we generally assumed would degrade or volatilize rapidly." "In lay terms, can you tell us a little about some of the high risk contaminants?" "One class of agricultural chemicals, the nematocides, poses a particularly high risk for groundwater contamination." "What do nematocides protect against?" "Nematodes, or worms.

Like the hookworm or pinworm."

"How do they work?" "Nematocides are designed to be mobile in the soil and water environment to protect the root zone. problems occur.

That's where the pest

The most severe nematode problems occur in

sandy, porous soils.

Soils with low water-holding capacity."

"Which makes it easier to leach into groundwater." ""Unfortunately, yes.

The nematocide DBCP has caused the

most extensive contamination documented to date.

Others, like

EDB, D-D, and aldicarb have also leached into the groundwater." "I thought the earth could filter out some of it?" "For decades, that was widely believed.

Experts thought the

soil would bind chemicals and cleanse water as it percolated through.

Now, we're finding that soil is not effective in

filtering viruses and organic materials." "What's the best way to control the contamination?" "Stop using the chemicals."

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81

"Seriously?" "Yes, but not realistically. of the best management practices.

So, we've recommended a series We call them BMPs."

"Which includes?" "Closely following label instructions. calibrating spray equipment.

Carefully

Efficiently scheduling irrigation.

Optimizing timing of pesticide applications. patterns.

Altering crop

And properly disposing of tank rinse water or residual

pesticide solutions and containers." "What do the growers think of these 'BMPs?'" "Seriously?" "Realistically." "They consider them important because we do.

But we suspect

that they're ignoring the recommendations on the labels." "Why?" "Because they don't want to take the time." "Or because the people doing the spraying can't read the labels?" "That's a problem.

Besides, most growers are skeptical

about just how effective the BMPs are.

We think a lot of them

simply disregard our suggestions." "Even though they know it's unsafe?" "Sure.

Their life depends on crop yield.

And they're going

to get more crops in a stress-free growing environment." "There must be other reasons?" "Of course.

There's no economic incentive."

"Down to dollars?

Is there any way to punish growers for

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82

misuse?" "They might have their permits canceled.

The permits that

allow them to apply agricultural chemicals." "Would that stop them?" "No, they'd probably spray anyway." "Let's change our focus a moment. chemicals, but they don't make them.

The farmers may use these Let's get to the source.

Who are the major manufacturers and what responsibility must they assume?" "Dow, of course.

And Union Carbide.

Internationally,

OxyGene is probably the world's largest manufacturer of agricultural chemicals." "They're a Swiss company aren't they?" "Based in Switzerland, but German-founded and owned.

They

have offices around the world, but with a concentration in countries that depend financially or economically on agriculture." "Third world countries and the U.S.?" "Especially South America and California." "What do they make?" "OxyGene's AgriChem Division manufactures carbofuran.

It's

a widely used carbamate insecticide and nematocide that's been detected in groundwater.

They also make three herbicides.

Atrazine, simazine, and metolachlor." "What's their company line on groundwater contamination?" "Representatives have stated that the detection of pesticide residues in groundwater doesn't necessarily constitute

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83

contamination." "Sounds like corporate double-talk.

It's there, but it's

not." "It's their view that detectable levels of certain chemicals in water doesn't necessarily mean that the water is contaminated.

That it's not potable."

"Drinkable?" "They point out that acceptable residue levels for pesticides in food have been established by the federal government.

So they ask why such levels can't be established for

pesticide residues in water." "So, if the concentration isn't strong enough to kill you outright it's okay?

Even though it's been proven that the

chemicals will stay in the body until they do kill you.

So,

they're basically washing their hands of responsibility then?" "Not entirely. Bhopal.

None of the companies have forgotten about

They are aware of corporate liability."

"To the tune of 2500 dead, 40,000 injured, and 6 million dollars in damages." "They are trying to become more aware of the environmental factors that could help transport their products into the ground water." "So, they're beginning to regulate themselves, as long as it's cost-effective?" "You see, part of the problem here, as usual, is a legal one.

It's hard to believe, but the law assumes you have the

right to pollute if you can show some benefit."

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84

"Let's talk about that for a moment. liability.

Litigation and

You've said that most major aquifers have taken

thousands of years to form.

And that the undergroundwater in

those aquifers doesn't flow too swiftly or too far.

Which makes

them vulnerable to permanent contamination; from a variety of sources.

How long might it be before the contamination is

discovered?" "It may not be recognized until decades later.

Contamination

may have been caused by industrial dumping several decades earlier and many miles away.

By the time the contamination was

discovered, the offending source may have disappeared, and the geology and hydrologic patterns in the immediate area may have changed." "What about assessing responsibility for polluting ground water?" "In the past, the only way the government could no anything about groundwater contamination was to take court action or use superfund monies.

But suing companies for polluting aquifers

twenty, or even thirty years ago, was difficult and expensive. Extensive and costly geologic and hydrologic studies had to be conducted.

The cost of proving that X corporation caused Y

pollution could easily run into hundreds of thousands of dollars. Establishing proximate cause was often very difficult." "And the slow movement of the water made locating the source of contamination, beyond a reasonable doubt, extremely difficult, if not impossible?" "Difficult, but not impossible."

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DISSOLVE: MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #6: "White Line Fever" 26

EXT. SAN JOAQUIN VALLEY - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL SHOT. the valley.

Time-lapse photography speeds us along the spine of JOAN DIDION (V.O.) When you say "the Valley" in Los Angeles, most people assume that you mean the San Fernando Valley. Some people actually assume you mean Warner Brothers. But make no mistake, we are talking not about the valley of the sound stages and the ranchettes, but about the real Valley. The Central Valley. The fifty thousand square miles drained by the Sacramento and the San Joaquin Rivers and further irrigated by a complex network of sloughs, cutoffs, and ditches. The DeltaMendota and Friant-Kern Canals.

MUSIC: 27

UP FULL THEN UNDER

MEDIUM SHOT

GROUND LEVEL of flat, two-lane blacktop. There are mirages in the distance. Heat simmers on the surface. Robert Penn Warren was writing about another place, but he described this one as well when he wrote: "You look up the highway and it is straight for miles, coming at you, with the black line down the center coming at you and at you. . . and the heat dazzles up from the white slab so that only the black line is clear, coming at you with the whine of the tires, and if you don't quit staring at that line and don't take a few deep breaths and slap yourself hard on the back of the neck you'll hypnotize yourself." HOLD LONG SHOT. Over rise in road you can see someone slowly come into view. is JOAN DIDION. JOAN DIDION

It

Tyranny of the Downbeat The landscape it runs through never, to the untrained eye, varies. It gets hot here. So hot that August comes on not like a month, but like an affliction. All day long, all that moves is the sun and the big Rainbird sprinklers. DISSOLVE 28

MONTAGE

Shots of Central Valley towns. DIDION (V.O.) To a stranger driving highway 99 in airconditioned isolation, these towns must seem so flat, so impoverished, as to drain the imagination. They hint at evenings spent hanging around gas stations, and suicide pacts sealed in drive-ins. CONTINUE MONTAGE. There is something in the Valley mind that reflects a real indifference to the mobile stranger. A failure to perceive even his presence, let alone his thoughts or wants. An implacable insularity is the seal of these towns. CONTINUE MONTAGE. They think alike and they look alike. I can tell Ralston from Mendota only because I have visited there, gone to dances there. Besides, there is over the main street of Ralston, an arched sign which reads: 'WHERE THE LAND OWNS THE WATER'. There is no such sign in Mendota. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #7: "White Winds" 29

MONTAGE

Shots showing current uses of groundwater. NARRATOR (V.O.) Groundwater is one of America's most valuable and plentiful natural resources. We drink, bathe in, grow and cook our food with this

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liquid. It's absolutely essential to life and to our agricultural and economic sustenance. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Groundwater makes up 96 percent of our total freshwater resource. Underground aquifers supply drinking water for 117 million Americans. About half the population. Nearly 95 percent of the nation's rural population depends on well water. 34 major cities rely entirely on groundwater. Wells also supply water for food processing, irrigation, livestock, and industry. 30

MONTAGE

Shots of contamination. material.

Open ponds, leaking barrels of toxic

Just when our reliance on groundwater for pure drinking water and other economic activities is increasing, so is its contamination. At a distressing rate. Clean groundwater is being seriously threatened by overuse, indiscriminate dumping of hazardous wastes, improper disposal, and the use of toxic degreasing agents in septic tanks. 31

EXT. VALLEY - MEDIUM SHOT

MARC REISNER stands in the middle of a grassy meadow. MARC REISNER In the late 1800s, most of the San Joaquin Valley was still a vista of wild blond grassland and wheat. DISSOLVE: 32

MONTAGE

B&W historical stills depicting growth of California agriculture, including early irrigation, Central Valley Project, and California Water Project. A few parts of the valley had been privately reclaimed by farmers and irrigation districts rich enough to build small dams. Before the federal government got into the business of building dams, these farmers used groundwater for irrigation.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

CONTINUE MONTAGE. Then came cheap oil, electricity, and the motorized centrifugal pump. The farmers began pumping in the finest California tradition. Which is to say, as if tomorrow would never come. CONTINUE MONTAGE. End with shots of Central Valley Project under construction. The farmers pumped it out so relentlessly that by the 1930s, the state's biggest industry was threatened with collapse. The growers had such a stranglehold on the legislature that they convinced it, in the depths of the Depression, to authorize a huge water project--by far the largest in the world--to rescue them from their own greed. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Shots of finished CVP. Today, the Central Valley Project is still the most mind-boggling public works project on five continents. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Shots of State Water Project under construction. In the 1960s, the state built its own project, which was nearly as large. 33

EXT. FARMLAND

Shots of land irrigated by groundwater pumped from underground wells. The projects brought into production far more land than they had water to supply. So the growers had to supplement their surface water with tens of thousands of wells. As a result, groundwater overdraft, instead of getting better, got worse. 34

EXT. SIGN - MEDIUM CLOSE UP

88

Tyranny of the Downbeat California Water Project sign on DeltaMendota canal. Farmers could get more money by irrigating new land, so they did. And they took the water from wherever they could get it. Out of the ground, or out of canals. 35

EXT. - MEDIUM CLOSE UP

Pump pumps groundwater into irrigation ditches. And there doesn't seem to be any end in sight. In California, there's absolutely no regulation over groundwater pumping. And it doesn't look like there will be any for many years to come. The farmers dislike the idea. And, in California, "the farmers" are the likes of Exxon, Tenneco, and Getty Oil. 36

MONTAGE

Shots of small and large farms in the Central Valley. The way the landlocked groundwater farmers see it, they're competing with amply supplied neighbors. State attempts to regulate groundwater bring out farmers bearing pitchforks. The growers say regulation or changing crops is not the answer. More dams are. Once they get subsidized water, the pumpers say they will lay off the aquifer. But until then, don't expect any changes in their pumping habits. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Some of the smaller farmers, especially those without a reliable source of water from dams or groundwater, would like to see a sharing of the wealth. But changing water rights laws to accomplish that would drastically alter the distribution of wealth in California society. And that won't happen without a fight. 37

EXT. PUMPING WATER

Shots of water being pumped into fields lying near the delta. The pumping of groundwater can't go on for much longer. First of all, the water is running out. Already some Valley wells near the Delta yield salt water.

89

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EXT. GROUND - CLOSE UP

Shots of ground caving in. And, on the west side of the Central Valley, there are holes in the ground. Places where the ground has caved in. One is 28 feet deep. All the groundwater below it has been pumped out. It's gone. You can't pump it back in. The earth settles. And it simply slumps. 39

ANIMATION

Computer-generated imagery sequence showing salt-water intrusion. What's worse is that the valley's ancient saltwater aquifer could eventually spread. Fresh-water aquifers serve as buffers against salty water. If the fresh-water aquifer is reduced by overdrafting, the salt water will fill the partial vacuum. The remaining fresh water will become more saline, until it's made undrinkable by humans and useless for agriculture. 40

EXT. - EXTREME CLOSE UP OF PUMPS. Finally, energy is running out. It doesn't take much electricity to pump water from 35 feet. But 140 feet is a different story. So the farmers just drill deeper, pay for more electricity, and make up the difference when they sell the water-intensive, cash-intensive crop.

41

MONTAGE

Shots of fresh water pouring out of taps for various personal and business uses. The groundwater being pumped and polluted is as nonrenewable as oil. And yet, the same fresh water supply we rely on, is facing a triple threat that we, in our avarice and short-sightedness have created. Salt, Overdraft, and Pollution. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY

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At what was once the main entrance, there is a large wooden sign, very much like the thousands of other signs that mark state and national parks.

But there's something unusual about the sign

and this place.

The white sideboard ranger's station is empty

and boarded up.

There are shotgun and .22 holes peppering its

facade; the object of bored target practice. padlocked with a huge, forged steel chain. been stripped.

The main gate is The sign itself has

Like the uniform of a soldier who's been

court-martialed; stripped of rank.

Like his uniform, the sign

shows sun and weather-faded outlines of insignias, for the state, the BuRec, and the Department of Interior, that have been removed.

Though the letters have been taken away, the name is

still indelibly stained into the wood by the weather. letters say:

The

"Welcome to the Masterson Wildlife Refuge."

A square blue and white sign, standing near the gate, features a drawing of a duck in full, spread-winged flight. also displays a warning.

It

"Unauthorized Entry Prohibited."

Behind it, the swamp grass stretches away to an ominously low horizon.

There will be a surprise summer's storm today.

The intense sunlight reflects off the shallow water.

The

golden light scatters across the shallow water, tranquil and serene, the lily pads, and the marsh grass, then glances off the vermilion greens of the few ducks flying across the dusky sky. This was once a thousand-acre refuge.

It is now only cattail

marshes, bulrushes, and reeds. Behind me, the light silhouettes the coast range in the telephoto distance, hiding behind shimmering heat waves.

The

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92

grasslands of the flat valley wave lightly in the wake of a summer's breeze.

A big rig cuts through the middle of the scene,

highballing it from Fresno to San Francisco. There was a time when you could witness the cycle of life here.

Migrating down the American flyway, mallard, gadwall, and

pintail ducks used to blacken the winter's sky. shorebirds also wintered here.

Avocets and

But the children of the future

will never see it again. In the summer it's quiet here.

In the winter, it's eerie.

Through the thick tule fog, two single headlights cut a path. The riders on each ATV work for the Fish and Wildlife Service. They dismount and slowly slide a boat out into the waters.

The

muted colors and the long shot of them sitting in their boat, reminds one of a Turner or Vermeer.

As they sit, in the moist

cottony quiet, something suddenly blasts out of one of their hands, trailing fire through the mist.

The spiraling black smoke

traces the trajectory of the hand rocket. Along the bank, there are more of them.

They wear brown

coats and brown hats, drab and colorless as the winter's ground surrounding the refuge.

Some wear surgeon's masks, to block out

the stench they say, but they're really thinking it'll probably protect them from the poison. block out the noise.

Some wear airline headphones to

They all carry weapons.

Some stand near

FWS pickup trucks, others near squat amphibious vehicles. One slowly cleans the barrel, plunging the ramrod in and out.

He drops in a red-encased cartridge, snaps it shut.

Holding it low against the inside of his elbow, he levels and

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fires.

93

It skips across the surface once--an ordnance

flatrock--then it dives below the surface. imploding in a plume of water. straggles into the sky.

It explodes,

A flock of startled coots

He breaks open the barrel, discards the

cartridge, and loads another.

A second protector holds something

that looks like a handgun. It's smaller.

What looks like a

"Whistling Pete" protrudes from the barrel.

And when it's fired,

that's what it sounds like. These men are trying to save the wildlife by scaring it away. And I've traveled to this stink hole to see what smells and why. A few years ago, some of the duck hunters around Masterson began talking to some university biologists about a change in the birds. Many seemed sick. drowned.

So weak they couldn't float.

So weak they simply

The hunters thought the birds were being killed by field

runoff filled with fertilizers and pesticides.

The farmers and the

farm lobby told them to stick it up their collective asses. biologists found out what it was.

Then the

It was selenium, a trace mineral

that can be toxic in small doses. There's a lot of selenium concentrated in the soil of the southern Coast Range.

It's washed down from the edges of the

valley by rain and irrigation.

The water can't percolate through

the layer of clay below the soil, so it sits there, like water in a giant bath tub. the selenium.

The selenium stays in solution.

Fish and waterfowl eat the algae.

people eat the fish and birds.

The algae eat Then, maybe,

At each step in the food chain,

the selenium concentration multiplies.

Up to 50 or 100 times.

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And the more concentrated, the more lethal. The battle between the hunters--backed strangely enough by the environmentalists--and the farmers--backed by the water and petro-chemical lobbies--raged for a while.

Then it died down.

Then the birds at Masterson stopped spawning.

And the ones that

did had dead or deformed chicks. The scientist wades in thigh-high hip boots, slogging through a swampy layer of algae and decomposed debris that floats on the surface.

As he moves, the mucilaginous material swirls

and congeals around his legs, revealing the brackish water below. He stops and reaches down.

His gloved hand gingerly picks up,

then holds up, a young duck, limply dead.

Its eyes are gone.

He

adds it to his collection of gross deformities, missing wings, misshapen beaks, and swollen heads. Selenium sparked the controversy. Masterson closely for the first time. the more they found.

It got people to look at The closer they looked,

Over-irrigating was bad enough.

precious water and flushed selenium out of the soil. west side farmers were also misusing chemicals. pesticides, and herbicides.

It wasted But the

Fertilizers,

They were polluting the wetlands

with more than salt and selenium.

The worst offenders seemed to

be the farmers growing cotton and wine grapes. During irrigation, as water flows from field to field, it picks ups salts, herbicides, pesticides; whatever's in the soil. The plants absorb the water and leave the rest.

And when it gets

real hot--and it does in the valley--the good water goes up, the bad goes down.

It collects on the layer of clay.

It then

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95

becomes what hydrologists call, "perched water." that goes down, the more concentrated it becomes. farmers irrigate, it starts to rise. the higher it rises.

The more Then, as the

And the more they irrigate,

If it's not drained off, it eventually

reaches the plant roots.

By then, the salts and poisons are so

concentrated it kills the plant. Here and there, across the valley, the bad water has reached the surface, killing every living thing. ground.

No plants.

Not even weeds.

dusted with what looks like snow. white.

It's salt.

All that's left is bare

Just bare ground newly

Thousands of acres, chalky

Bleached ground beneath a bleached sky.

It's

nature's way. The west side farming combines tried to ease the dual problem of selenium and pesticide contamination by draining the bad water off their fields and into a larger drain called the Tranquility Canal. Torrenting out of the drainage pipe is a cascading waterfall of rusty smelling, dirty looking water.

As it drops into the

runoff canal, it looks like the inside of a washing machine in mid-cycle.

Billowing piles of white, fluffy, agitated, "sudsy"

water collects on the surface. The drain was built to carry the bad water out of the valley and eventually into the San Francisco Bay. ...

Out of sight and,

Well, you know the rest of that saying. But there's a few problems.

canal's not done.

Major problems.

First, the

Instead, it dead-ends into Masterson, turning

the refuge into a giant evaporation pond for the ag runoff.

And

Tyranny of the Downbeat

what is done leaks. down.

96

Over half of the drain water percolates

And on this trip, there's no clay to stop it.

into the fresh water aquifer lying directly below.

So it seeps The aquifer

that just happens to supply fresh drinking water for most of the San Joaquin Valley. So until the holes are plugged and the canal's completed, the drain water is simply dumped into a man-made swamp.

A swamp

named Masterson. And Masterson isn't an isolated case. trying to do it again.

The factory farms are

This time in the Tulare Lake basin.

They've built huge ponds for collecting and evaporating mineral-laden water from underground drains. The west side farmers don't want to hear it, but the fact is that a lot of their land just shouldn't be irrigated because of the selenium and the salt.

The costs and the risks are far

greater than any possible benefits realized from cultivating that land.

And there will be more--costs and risks--when it comes

time to fund the clean-up. So far, the recommendations proposed, according to one expert, "are too costly to be economically feasible, too dangerous, or too politically, socially, or environmentally unacceptable." The director of the Bureau of Reclamation, the agency in charge of cleaning up Masterson, has been asked about the possibility they may build a drain running from the valley to Point Pinos near the Monterey Coast.

The BuRec has already

purchased the land along the right of way.

The director denies

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97

it, adding, "We've considered it among other alternatives." Another option, the so-called "Wetflex" plan, recommends flooding Masterson with clean water.

The experts think they can

immobilize the selenium with fresh, non-seleniferous water. Still another has scientists introducing microbes into the soil that supposedly can metabolize the selenium. The latest recommends removal of the poisonous soils.

They

want to bulldoze the top six inches and dump it into a plastic-lined, forty-five acre landfill.

It's estimated that

such a procedure will cost over 25 million dollars. The Westlands League initiated the Murrieta Selenium Removal Project with funds from their members.

They embarked on a 6.6

million dollar pilot plan and placed another 5 million in a trust fund to deal with the problem in the future.

And they want to be

congratulated for taking the lead in cleaning up a problem that, if they didn't start it, they certainly aggravated it. It's predicted that water managers and agriculture managers will still be dealing with the pollution and drainage problems one hundred years from now.

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CHAPTER 6 From shadows and symbols into the truth. -- John Henry, Cardinal Newman As darkness gives way to light, so confusion precedes clarity. The responsibility of today's communicators is clear. To peer deeply into the shadows. To explain the symbols. And so illuminate the truth. -- Westinghouse Broadcasting Company, Inc. The Calafia Institute is located in San Mateo County, along Skyline Boulevard, in the hills above Redwood City, skirting property owned by Stanford University.

Its roughened redwood buildings are

scattered among groves of pine, redwood, and eucalyptus, with views of the entire San Francisco peninsula to the east and, on clear days, the Pacific Ocean to the west.

It is a "think tank," one of the

newest and most controversial in the nation.

The Institute, like the

state, was named for the Amazon queen who ruled a mythical treasure island sought by the Spanish.

The Institute was dedicated to

defining the state--and state of mind--known as California.

It was

also the site of one of five regional supercomputer centers established in 1985 by the National Science Foundation.

The driver

for this engine of change was a four-processor Cray -MP/48 supercomputer. One group at the Institute, the Water Sciences Division, had done a great deal of research on pesticides and groundwater contamination.

It had performed analytical work to identify water

contaminants and modeling studies of the fate and movement of

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99

Another division, the AgriChemical Center, had

conducted market research and business studies of pesticide use in agriculture. well known.

The activities of yet another entity are a little less The division known as "The Third Wave."

Because the human brain is exquisitely adept at picking up visual clues, the founders of The Institute recognized early on the benefits to be gained from computer-aided insights.

They knew that

scientists, finding themselves lost in a maze of data, were suddenly realizing, "I can compute more than I can comprehend."

The Institute

decided to capitalize on an innovative way to show them the road to comprehension.

They determined to turn their numbers into images.

That's when they established The Wave.

John Whitney, Senior, a

pioneer in synthetic imaging, founded the division and managed it until just before his death.

Several years later his son, John

Whitney, Junior, was recruited to continue his work. During the past few years, The Wave had been very successful at obtaining grants and funding for a wide variety of projects.

Though

it remained a profit center, the simulator division was no longer relied upon to generate most of the revenue for the entire operation. As a result, The Institute embarked in a new direction to explore new territories.

Dismayed by political, cultural, and societal

developments around the world, they decided to concentrate on the future; to use their skills and technology to prophesize the future; to create possible scenarios and design strategies to predict those trends.

Though they were considered futurists, they preferred to

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call themselves "imagineers," and dubbed what they did "imagineering." of mind.

Mystics had always claimed that reality is a state

The Imagineers intended to make it a state of the art.

John Whitney, Jr., later wrote that the best way to understand their work was to recall "The Simile of the Cave," in which Plato discussed the concepts of Belief and Illusion with his pupil Glaucon. Whitney could best correlate the simile by substituting the cinema for the cave. Plato began with the moral and intellectual condition of the average man.

Though he made it clear that the ordinary man knows the

difference between substance and shadow in the physical world, his simile suggests that man's moral and intellectual opinions often bear as little resemblance to the truth as the average film does to real life.

Plato wrote: "I want you to go on to picture the enlightenment or ignorance of our human conditions somewhat as follows.

Imagine an underground

chamber, like a cave with an entrance open to the daylight and running a long way underground.

In this chamber are men who have

been prisoners there since they were children, their legs and necks being so fastened that they can only look straight ahead of them and cannot turn their heads.

Behind them and above them a fire is

burning, and between the fire and the prisoners runs a road, in front of which a curtain-wall has been built, like the screen at puppet

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shows between the operators and their audience, above which they show their puppets." "I see." "Imagine further that there are men carrying all sorts of gear along behind the curtain-wall, including figures of men and animals made of wood and stone and other materials, and that some of these men, as is natural, are talking and some not." "An odd picture and an odd sort of prisoner." "They are drawn from life," I replied.

"For, tell me, do you

think our prisoners could see anything of themselves or their fellows except the shadows thrown by the fire on the wall of the cave opposite them?" "How could they see anything else if they were prevented from moving their heads all their lives?" "And would they see anything more of the objects carried along the road?" "Of course not." "Then if they were able to talk to each other, would they not assume that the shadows they saw were real things?" "Inevitably." "And if the wall of their prison opposite them reflected sound, don't you think that they would suppose, whenever one of the passersby on the road spoke, that the voice belonged to the shadow passing before them?" "They would be bound to think so."

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"And so they would believe that the shadows of the objects we mentioned were in all respects real." "Yes, inevitably."

That was the task of the imagineers.

To predict the substance

by projecting the shadows. Where they work, the inner sanctum, is called The Bunker, because it's located below ground, in a light and temperature sensitive environment.

It's not unlike the hi-tech labs used to

manufacture silicon chips. not a speck of dust.

In this controlled environment, there is

The occupants must shower and put on sanitized

uniforms before entering.

The uniforms also mask their identity.

The director doesn't want to risk loss of data through contamination or conspiracy. All that is known, and that only through personnel records, purchase orders, and equipment requisitions, is the type of people and hardware that occupy this electronic bunker.

They are mostly

electrical engineers, computer programmers, and simulation experts. Many had once worked in the Silicon Valley, for technology and defense contractors like Lockheed, GTE/Lenkurt, Singer, and General Dynamics.

Some had pioneered new technologies while working on the

various planetary flybys monitored at the Jet Propulsion Lab and the California Institute of Technology.

Some had come from the world of

advertising and broadcast television, having worked for computer imaging companies like Evans and Sutherland, Robert Abel and

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Associates, Cranston/Csuri, Information International, Inc., Pacific Data Images, Magi/Synthavision, and Industrial Light and Magic.

It

was a who's who of the best in synthetic imaging and simulation; "renaissance teams" of scientists, artists, and computer professionals dabbling in the realms of hyper-reality and artificial intelligence.

Their equipment included high-speed computers and

imaging devices by manufacturers such as Link, Singer, Pixar, Cubicomp, Wave Technologies, and Aurora. Hero and guru to many inside The Wave was teacher and philosopher Herbert Zettl.

His ruminations on "the eternity of the

moment," the power of the simultaneous experience of the event, inspired these conjurers. Some of the unrepentant Woodstock degenerates working there liked to get stoned and enjoy some of their own hot-rodded programs of music and image.

They said it was better than the movie "Altered

States." In the quiet bustle of number crunching, these mathematicians plotted complex equations on computer-graphics terminals, while the Cray translated numbers and symbols into form and color.

They worked

at both the microscopic and telescopic; the atom and the universe. To sketch the shape of the future, the imagineers relied on image processing software developed by Benoit B. Mandelbrot at IBM's Thomas J. Watson Research Center in Yorktown Heights, New York.

Known as

"fractal geometry," or "fractals"--short for "fractional dimension analysis"--derived from the Latin adjective "fractus," meaning

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irregular or fragmented, they were geometric objects, points, planes, and cubes.

Their intricate organic shapes modeled nature's complex

forms and processes.

A designer could mimic any natural event by

blending in fractals to bridge the chasm between order and chaos. The imagineers spent much of their time dabbling with "artificial reality."

Because the cost of computers had plummeted

and the quality of high-definition video displays and digital audio had skyrocketed, the imaging devices created and manipulated here were quite realistic; quite capable of creating a "real-time" interactive environment and placing the participant inside it. The Wave had designed the original simulator for the space shuttle and a number of other "reality environments" for the jets, bombers, and tanks that were far too expensive to lose if a trainee screwed up.

They had designed and fabricated entertainment

environments for EPCOT, the French Disneyland, and entertainment complexes for resorts from Cancun to Kona, Tokyo to Rio.

They had

also created excitingly complex special effects for feature films. A regular customer was Elliot Lincoln.

In fact, one

particularly powerful piece of equipment in regular use had been funded and designed by Elliot's own staff of engineers.

"Fractus"

was able to produce high-resolution, three-dimensional color pictures two hundred times faster than the advanced minicomputers previously used. One of their most successful magic lanterns was something called the "Virtual Environment Workstation."

Co-developed with NASA, this

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twelve-pound helmet resembled a white Bell motorcycle helmet with a flat, bolted plate in front of the eyes.

It completely enveloped the

head, covering both ears with stereo speakers and both eyes with flat, 3-D, high-resolution (HDTV) screens.

Sensors embedded within

the helmet detected which way the image within the environment was moving and then automatically, and instantaneously, changed the aural and visual perspective of the percipient to match.

The helmets were

used primarily during early training sessions for Skylab astronauts to replicate space walks and exterior repair work.

The engineers

also experimented with applications in other experiences and disciplines dependent exclusively on sight and sound, like air traffic control situations. The Wave had also created true interactive simulations for hospitals, police forces, and the army; to re-create crisis situations.

When attached to touch-screens or any type of outboard

device, whether a gun shooting laser beam bullets or a plastic human body, police officers could be put in the middle of a robbery, or a physician could learn what it was like to lose a patient dying from a shotgun wound.

In addition to imaging devices and environments, The

Wave had applied their skills and technology to designing sophisticated computerized editing systems for audio and video.

A

logical spin-off that generated additional revenue. All work at The Institute was closely-guarded; most it classified, some even top-secret. and required a security clearance.

Access to all areas was restricted But everything within The Wave

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106

was absolutely confidential.

Only those doing the work knew the

nature of it and even then they often knew only bits and pieces. Just the key executive officers of The Institute were privy to everything.

Because, in this case, a little knowledge could be both

dangerous and lucrative.

It could even change the world.

The imagineers at The Institute had been laboring over one particular simulation for several weeks.

They had been contracted by

the state Assembly Office of Research to visualize some of the trends described in their report:

"California 2000:

Paradise in Peril."

But the managers of the imaging division asked their people to read between the lines.

To extrapolate.

To imagine some "worse-case

scenarios." GRAPHIC DESIGN AND LAYOUT WILL CLEARLY IDENTIFY THIS SECTION AS A SCENARIO DESIGNED BY THE INSTITUTE. IT MAY BE DESIGNED AS STORYBOARD OR COMIC BOOK PANELS. The slate fills the screen. of information is completed. SCENARIO:

#880603

CLIENT:

INTERNAL

ENGINEER:

D. MACRITCHIE

STATUS:

IN-PROGRESS

CLASSIFICATION:

PRIORITY

DATE:

06/03/88

TRT:

TBD

With each key click, another line

Tyranny of the Downbeat WORKING TITLE:

107

"THE FLATLANDER"

WHEN:

Sometime in the not too distant future.

WHERE:

Somewhere in California's Central Valley.

LOCATIONS/PLACE NAMES: The Flatlands--The endlessly flat, dry remains of what was once the world's most fertile agricultural valley.

Now it is a land

inhabited by dust devils, concrete and blacktopped roads leading nowhere, ceaseless expanses of chalky white, salt-encrusted earth, empty canals, dry riverbeds, and the skeletal remains of once great cities.

These are The Flatlands, the

heartland of the late, great state of mind once known as California. Watertown--A small town in the heart of the Flatlands.

On

either side of the main road into town are the remains of an archway, an "iron rainbow," that once spanned the road. half, they now bookend the road in their disrepair.

To the left,

half buried in sand, the sign reads, "Where the Land". right, the remainder reads, "Owns the Water." of a hollow dream.

Split in

To the

A broken reminder

It is here that The Flatlander was born and

raised. The City--The city that was once San Francisco.

It is

now the only trading port on the West Coast, shipping food, supplies, and people to the rest of the planet.

The City is

controlled by The Vigilantes. The Big One--A series of cataclysmic events that occurred simultaneously.

Several years of continuous drought, brought

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108

about by movement of the polar icepack, the phenomenon known as "El Nino," combined with a series of natural disasters, including a string of small earthquakes, and a number of environmental anomalies created by man--including acid rain, ground water contamination, and the "Greenhouse Effect"-precipitated an incredible rebellion by Mother Earth, almost as if she, like a snake, were shedding her dead skin.

A massive and

devastating earthquake sheared off parts of California and Florida, opening up huge chasms and canyons in the Earth's surface.

Dead rivers suddenly flooded their banks, destroying

everything in their path, before they simply dried up again. Plants and trees shriveled and died. was no water.

The rains stopped.

Without water, there was no food.

There

And then there

was famine and disease. Water Districts--After The Big One, all centralized government broke down.

What government remained was divided into

small water districts.

In a time when the source of power

derived from the control of water, the seat of government resided in a loose collection of water districts, carved out of what was once the United States of America.

Ruling each is a Territorial

Chairman. Boom Town--A mining town located in The Foothills that rim The Flatlands.

The town supplies miners and workers who re-build

and maintain the dams destroyed during The Big One. The Center--In the time before The Big One, The Center moved

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109

more water farther than had ever been moved anywhere.

They used

to manipulate the flow by remote control from this room in Sacramento with its big board and its flashing lights.

Driving

the system was a Univac Series 904. The Univac never died. to resume its duties.

It waited.

It survived.

It stood ready, programmed

So did much of the

infrastructure, the canals and conduits, the sensors and metering devices.

Much of what didn't was easily repaired.

The League was

soon in absolute, total control of the most precious commodity in The Flatlands:

cool, clear water.

The climax of this scenario will take place here.

The

Flatlander, leading an assault force, will storm The Center in an attempt to liberate it, and the water it controls, from The League. CHARACTER SKETCHES: The Flatlander--Though born to wealth and influence, he chose to become a member of law enforcement.

He is a Field Marshal for

the Mendota Water District, the largest water district in The Flatlands, headquartered in Watertown.

It's his job to

enforce district law and that means punishing those who steal or abuse water.

And that means he works, if not in name, certainly

in fact, for The League. Approaching middle-age and disillusioned, he can see the inevitability of change.

He abandons his birthright to battle

the arrogance, abuse and disregard of people's rights and basic

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110

humanity perpetuated by the privileged. The Mole--Sancho Panza to The Flatlander. computer hacker.

Alchemist and

He is one of The Mole People.

A binary bandit,

he spends most of his time at his computing apparatus, snuffling through the dark labyrinths of information. The Commodore--President and Chief Executive Officer of AgriChem, the most powerful agrichemical conglomerate before--and now after The Big One.

The portrait of elegant malevolence, he

is leader of The League; a commodore of a land-locked navy on a sea of sand. Unknown to the other, he and The Flatlander are brothers—Cain and Abel. Daedalus--A genetic engineer in the employ of AgriChem.

The

archetypal artist-scientist, he is dedicated to building the ultimate fighting machine.

It is his mission to genetically

engineer a race of superhuman mutants to serve as the mercenary army for The League. Creole Tattoo--Born to Cajun and Japanese parents, she is proprietoress of the local "Attitude Adjustment Parlor".

Though

mistress to The Commodore, she is in love with The Flatlander. She is also the secret leader of a band of environmental terrorists known as The Muirs.

She sleeps with The Commodore for

information and with The Flatlander for love. Fremont--Right-hand man to The Commodore. fortune, he's a man of war.

A soldier of

He lives to take orders; to simply

Tyranny of the Downbeat do his job.

111

He leads The Barnestormers.

The League--An alliance of water barons, agrichemical companies, and factory farms.

They run huge, hi-tech,

water-intensive, hydroponic factory farms.

They supply most of

the remaining world with food supplies. Following The Big One, the western territories again became an untamed frontier.

The maker and enforcer of the "territorial

common law" was The League.

They used their money, power, and

influence to gain absolute and complete control of all sources of water in California.

That meant rivers, dams, canals, and the

infrastructure that controlled the entire system.

Most of this

was already in place before The Big One, courtesy of the State Department of Water Resources and The Central Valley Water Project--the most ambitious water project ever attempted by a single state in modern history.

From the seat of their power--

what was once the Operations Control Center for the California State Water Project--they manipulate the flow of water. AgriChem--An agrichemical conglomerate that supplies all the necessary pesticides, herbicides, and chemicals to run an energy-intensive agriculture.

It represents the faceless legions

of corporate chemistry. The Barnestormers--A band of mercenaries and free-lance gunslingers.

Some survived The Big One, physically bruised and

mentally damaged.

Others were created in the labs of Daedalus.

Havenots--Roving bands of homeless people, mostly Asian or

Tyranny of the Downbeat Chicano. bodies.

112

They carry what belongings they have in burned-out car They live in cardboard boxes.

Many are derelicts,

having succumbed to the cheap, overproof ghetto wines produced before The Big One.

Because most of these wines were more

chemical than grape, cases and cases of it still exist in the basements of burned-out liquor stores.

Each time a cache is

discovered, the derelicts get tanked up and begin a rampage of looting and killing. The Muirs--A band of water pirates and ecological storm troopers.

They live in, and defend, a labyrinth of tunnels that

once was a rapid transit system. easily defended.

Now abandoned and empty, it is

They rob from the water-rich and give to the

water-poor, and punish those who continue to pollute what is left of the Earth's natural resources. The Institute--A shadowy, monastic order of Puppetmasters. They use high-speed super computers and ultra-sophisticated imaging devices to create possible future scenarios.

They try to

visualize the future and then set events in motion to achieve or subvert that vision.

They are neither good nor bad.

They simply

are. The Mole People--A race of near-sighted engineers and software programmers who live in the empty warehouses and opulent corporate headquarters that once housed the semiconductor industry in Silicon Valley.

Their power is their access to

information and their ability to make computers work so people

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113

can communicate. The Vigilantes--The members of the New Committee of Vigilance, they control The City.

They were once the ruling

elite of San Francisco; bankers, stock brokers, Presidents and Chief Executive Officers of major corporations.

Those with

sufficient money sequestered away and enough street smarts to survive The Big One, re-surfaced to monopolize trade and run the West Coast. Serious Moonlight--A blind Mi Wok Indian shaman and conjurer who lives in the foothills near Boomtown.

The Flatlander visits

him to have dreams and omens interpreted.

He is to The

Flatlander what Merlin was to King Arthur. The Deacon--A former telejournalist and video gunslinger, he leads The Holy Modal Rounders. The Holy Modal Rounders--A fledging, fanatical religious order that believes in the sanctity and purifying power of synthesized, heavy-metal rock and roll. The League.

They intend to overthrow

Their seat of power is the Mormon Temple in the

hills above what was once Oakland.

They have installed a massive

synthesizer, reputed to heal the sick and crippled.

The Temple

is also the head-end of a small, but growing, electronic ministry.

Many former members of The Barnestormers have found

sanctuary and spiritual peace here. Hyena--A seven-foot, albino half-breed, he is the keeper of the "Olympian laugh"; court jester to Serious Moonlight.

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BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO: The engineer at The Institute detected the intruder because he saw strange footprints in the system. he set a trap.

It backfired.

Instead of shutting him out,

The interloper was good.

Very good.

He had anticipated every snare and left his own booby trap behind once he exited the system. itself.

The logic bomb was tripped by the trap

He could hear the laughter as it exploded and began

shuffling through the data.

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115 CHAPTER 7

The way to learn any game is to play for more than you can afford to lose. -- Author Unknown The present is the only thing that has no end. -- Erwin Schrodinger In Sacramento, near the State Capitol, is a building housing the Operations Control Center of the Department of Water Resources.

Inside, a computer quietly manipulates the movement

of California's most vital resource: place.

There is no nonsense here.

water.

This is a serious

After all, these people are

doing nothing less than determining the future of California. This "hydrologic ballet," as it has been dubbed, controls the wealth, and thus the power, of this entire state. To enter the control room of the State Water Project is like entering the nerve center of NASA in Houston, or master control at ABC in New York.

Lights, flashing buttons, display panels,

print-outs, monitors, sensors, computers; and the people who run and watch each one.

DISSOLVE: MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #8: "Swan Lake"/"Fountains of Rome" 42

INT. OCC - ESTABLISHING SHOT

HIGH ANGLE WIDE SHOT of Operations Control Center. enters frame and begins to speak.

JOAN DIDION

JOAN DIDION I am a native Californian. And a worshiper of water. This is the Operations Control Center for the California State Water Project in Sacramento. What they do here is move

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water. Lots of it. More water farther than has ever been moved anywhere. 43

EXT. RIVER CANYONS - ESTABLISHING SHOT

WIDE SHOT OF granite canyons of the Estanislao River. rock and river.

Shots of

DIDION (V.O.) Water collects in the granite keeps of the Sierra Nevada. It races toward the ocean in the riverbeds of the Estanislao, the Eel, the Snake. Trillions of gallons of it are stored behind dams named Oroville, Hetch Hetchy, and Jamestown. 44

MONTAGE

Shots of dispatch sequence. Dispatchers receiving incoming calls. Shots of allocation process. And, every morning, down at Project headquarters in Sacramento, they decide how much of their water they want to move the next day. They make this decision according to supply and demand. Simple in theory, more difficult in practice. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Intercut shots of field dispatch sequence. Close with shot of gates opening to release water. Watch water rushing into irrigation ditches and then into rows between plants. In theory, each morning, each of the Project's five field divisions--the Oroville, the Delta, the San Luis, the San Joaquin, and the Southern divisions--places a call to headquarters. They tell the dispatchers how much water is needed by each local water contractor, based on orders from growers and other big users. A schedule is made. The gates open and close according to that schedule. The water flows south and the deliveries are made. 45

INT. COMPUTER ROOM - ESTABLISHING SHOT

HIGH ANGLE WIDE SHOT of Univac 418 sitting in computer room. In practice, this requires prodigious coordination, precision, and the best efforts of several human minds. And a silent

Tyranny of the Downbeat partner. This whole hydrologic ballet, this acrobatic rise and fall of megatonnages of water performed on a stage twice the length of Pennsylvania, is orchestrated by a quietly efficient choreographer. 46

EXT. OROVILLE DAM - MEDIUM SHOT

Shot of water flowing down from the dam. In practice, what's being delivered here is an enormous volume of water. In practice, it takes two days to move this kind of volume down through Oroville into the Delta, which is the great pooling place for California water. And the most ecologically sensitive point in the system. 47

MONTAGE

Shots of Delta water system. For some years, the Delta has been alive with electronic sensors and telemetering equipment. With men blocking channels, diverting flows, and shoveling fish away from the pumps. 48

EXT. AQUEDUCT - MEDIUM SHOT

Water flows down the California Aqueduct. It takes perhaps another six days to move this same water down the California Aqueduct from the Delta to the Tehachapi and put it over the hill to Southern California. 49

EXT. AQUEDUCT - MEDIUM SHOT

Water-level POV of water beginning ascent of Tehachapis. "Putting some over the hill." That's what they say around here when they're talking about pumping Aqueduct water from the floor of the San Joaquin Valley up and over the Tehachapi Mountains. "Pulling it down" is what they say when they're talking about lowering the water level somewhere in the system. 50

EXT. EDMONSTON PUMPS - ESTABLISHING SHOT

117

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118

To some engineers the Edmonston pumps are the ultimate triumph. The most splendid snub nature has ever received. A sizable river of water running uphill. It's here that California intends to prove that the Second Law of Thermodynamics is a lie. Watching this wall of water roar uphill makes you understand why moving water in California requires more electrical energy than is used by several states. 51

INT. OCC - WIDE SHOT

Shot of DIDION standing in the Control Center. alongside as she walks CAMERA RIGHT TO LEFT.

CAMERA TRUCKS

JOAN DIDION From this room in Sacramento, the whole system takes on the aspect of a perfect, three-billion-dollar hydraulic toy. The entire water project seems as make-believe as California itself, in its relentless quest to deny its desert heart. MUSIC: 52

UP FULL THEN OUT

MONTAGE

Shots of California water system. BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY The "farmers" on the west side include some of the wealthiest, most powerful, and influential corporations, holding companies, investor cartels, associations, consortiums, and lobbying organizations in the state.

Most of these corporations

became "farmers" in the late Sixties, not because they had a love for the land, but because it was good business. tax shelter.

It provided a

Congress passed a law that allowed businesses to

deduct all expenses for specific crops during the early stages of growth, while vines and trees were still maturing and hadn't produced any fruit.

The exempt crops included fruits and nuts.

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As a result, large investors, with money to bury, began buying large chunks of land and paying handsome sums to the small family farmers. The federal government, once again, had created all the right conditions to squeeze out the small farmer in favor of the factory.

And in the process, they also made it possible for

these corporations, once their trees and vines began bearing fruit, to virtually monopolize the marketplace.

They could set

the price and increase their holdings by driving their smaller, tenacious competitors out of business and then buying their land. The bigger got bigger and the smaller just disappeared. These growers have amassed huge fiefdoms of dirt-cheap scrub land.

They irrigate marginal crops on questionable land

with an endless supply of subsidized water provided by the Westlands Water and Power League--an alliance of water users, corporate farming combines, and petro-chemical conglomerates, banded together by mutual interest, to monitor the use of water, and each other. In addition to the corporate farms, its members include OxyGene; the California River Flood Control Consortium, based in Sacramento; the Water Imperium, located in Valencia; the Table Grape and Tree Fruit Association of Oakdale; the Tricounty Water Agency, located in Bakersfield; and the Boca Negra Water District of Santa Monica. Corporate headquarters of The League sits along a county highway, sandwiched between, and surrounded by, acres of cotton. Irrigated, its grounds are green with grass, eucalyptus trees,

Tyranny of the Downbeat

oak and ash trees.

120

There are picnic tables and sandbox toys for

family and company outings.

Down the road are green plywood

houses for the temporary workers.

All day long, the brand new,

light blue company field trucks hum in and out of the recently paved driveway. The grounds are not impressive. low key.

In fact, they're purposely

The better to avoid attention.

ostentation here.

Just business.

publicity of any kind.

There is not

The League doesn't like

Or people looking into its affairs.

There are nearly 1000 square miles in the water district controlled by The League.

It is the biggest and richest

federally subsidized irrigation district in the United States. It produces one half billion dollars in food and fiber annually. Of the 42 commercially grown products, on the 566,844 acres irrigated by state water projects, the west side "farmers" average a return of $1100 per acre. The League is the biggest consumer of water in the western United States.

It gets more water from the state's water

projects than anyone. six million people.

The League uses as much water as a city of Through price breaks, it gets about 3.5

billion dollars in water subsidies.

We're talking about a 14

billion dollar annual harvest. Among the members of The League, the DiGiulio Winery is unique.

It is still privately owned.

landowners are everything in between.

The rest of the large Many are throwbacks to the

old days when a few families controlled most of the arable land in the valley.

Many are the property of multinational

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121

conglomerates whose major business isn't even agriculture.

In

addition to providing the convenient and lucrative tax dodge, these lands provide a front for foreign investors.

Some of these

farms are owned by holding companies made up of conglomerates and investors based in London, Bahrain, Zurich, Paris, Tokyo, and Hong Kong.

It's an easy, and inconspicuous, way for foreign

investors to get a toehold in America and participate in the capitalist system. Once established, they consolidate.

They buy more land.

They slowly force smaller farmers out of business.

More land

generates more money, through cash crops or tax breaks, which buys more political power and influence.

The metaphor used

by Frank Norris is as apt today as it was then.

The octopus whose

tentacles seek out and strangle everything within reach. Most of these corporations were only interested in the return on investment their on-site managers could achieve. They were not particularly concerned about dying wetlands, deformed wildlife, or contaminated groundwater; the bastard offspring of chemical-dependent and techno-intensive agribusiness, unless it interfered with their operation. Besides, they weren't eating the tainted birds or drinking the polluted water. Some of these feudal barons even seemed to take a perverse joy in sucking the land dry and leaving the shards behind, as if this was the one way they could take their revenge on the American land and people for some past insult; an invisible, but no less effective way of undermining the American way of life.

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For one man in particular, it was his way of personally regaining face for an entire generation of ancestors, his way of re-taking Pearl Harbor, of winning the war of the Pacific Rim, not in the shore break or rice paddies of Guam or Okinawa, but the rivers, pastures, and orchards of California.

His name was

Takahiro Ozawa. The 55-year old Ozawa was only fifteen when the war ended in the Pacific, but the humiliation did not.

He remembered his own

father's seppuku, and that of other family members and friends, when they were faced with unforgivable failure.

He remembered

the emotions and tucked them away, holding them, savoring their bitter taste, and using them as a prod, a scar that would not let him forget, would not let him weaken, would not let him fail in his quest for revenge. The billionaire Tokyo resident built his fortune by using the equity in his family's small kimono business to buy his first hostess bar.

He then bought the building it was housed in.

Then

more hostess bars, nightclubs, and buildings in more expensive and fashionable Tokyo locations followed, until he controlled a substantial, and growing, real estate empire.

He suddenly found

himself fabulously wealthy, as the price of Japanese land went skyward and the yen replaced the dollar as the world's most solid currency.

With his fortune made, he had the resources he

needed to initiate his revenge.

He turned his eyes eastward,

toward the sun rising over Hawaii and California. Within two years, Ozawa bought over 160 houses, condominiums, and buildings in Hawaii, worth more than eighty

Tyranny of the Downbeat

million dollars.

123

His was the most visible of the many shopping

sprees that had residents, legislators, and business people of The Islands worried about the Japanese land-buying juggernaut. In one day alone, he bought 17 properties without ever leaving his limousine.

He simply pointed and paid.

Ozawa once said that he never thought he would ever own property in Hawaii because it was too commercial, too "primitive"; too many naked, oily bodies running around in rubber sandals.

Then he visited Oahu.

The beautiful beaches and azure

skies convinced him it might be a good idea to buy some property if only, as he explained, it was to keep a change of clothes in. He continued to accumulate property there, although he made it abundantly clear on several occasions that he felt the buildings were unimpressive, poorly and carelessly built "lousy candy houses." Ozawa's arrogance, and obvious disdain for Americans, became common knowledge on the mainland as a result of the "slipper incident."

It took place during one of the few times he

chose to personally inspect an American home in Honolulu. Approaching the door to look inside, Ozawa was kindly, and respectfully, asked to remove his shoes. paused, then turned and left.

The fickle land baron

When asked why, he replied that

there were no slippers and, snap judging the house too unclean for him to walk through in his stocking feet, he chose to leave. Smiling a cool grin, he mentioned that such an oversight hadn't been made since; that brand-new slippers were now especially prepared for each visit.

He later added that he felt the owners

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124

had not paid sufficient respect to him.

And that they, like most

Americans, seemed to take him and his countrymen too lightly. The true source of his arrogant acquisitiveness had fleetingly come to light. him.

The uproar that followed did little to ruffle

He had other matters to attend to. Although Island property was the most visible of his

American land holdings, Ozawa spent some of his time in California.

He would fly into San Francisco and from his

penthouse suite atop the Mark Hopkins, which he never left, he would transact his mainland business.

The particulars of these

dealings remained known only to his closest associates and a handful of California businessmen.

It was even suspected that

one of his objectives was to turn California into a "free trade zone" for Pacific Rim countries; a marketplace where traders could come and go as they pleased, unencumbered by visas and tariffs, to freeboot and traffic in the hard and soft goods of the entire world. Takahiro Ozawa, son of a kimono maker, was mapping the master strategy that would make him one of the largest landowners in the state of California.

His collaborators were none less

than the members of the Westlands Water and Power League and real estate evangelist James David Delgado. It was not well-known, at least early in his career because it would have been bad for business, but Ozawa was an active member of a growing political faction that advocated a return to the militarism of pre-World War II Japan. fund the movement.

He helped organize and

And now, a number of their party--people he

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125

supported--held office in the Japanese government. In addition to Ozawa's cartel, there are another eight or so companies that control most of the agricultural land in the valley.

The primary business of each ranges from oil to media to

transportation.

By conspiring with the other large growers, by

controlling local officials and elected representatives--through political contributions or more overt bribery--many have carved out their market and cornered it.

Whether it's olives, cotton,

tomatoes, or grapes, these conglomerates ruthlessly determine where the market goes, who stays in business and who doesn't, what the fair market value for that product is.

No one is large

enough or powerful enough or brave enough to stop them.

And it

is they who are changing the face of American agriculture in California, the Midwest, the South, and every other geographical area dependent on tilling the land. And it is they who control the water. The Central Valley in the 1990s looked a lot like the Western Territories of the late 1860s and early 1870s.

Despite

the existence of "official state law," and sometimes under its guise, the Valley was controlled by an informal, but no less enforceable, "territorial common law."

Nearly everyone who lived

there knew it, understood it, and recognized who enforced it. Even this century's immigrants, the Chicanos and Asians, learned quickly who really ruled. behind the throne.

They were no strangers to the power

The maker and enforcer was The League.

Like the cattle barons who ruled the feudal duchys of the Western Territories, the power of The League was difficult to

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126

assess and almost as impossible to overstate.

They monopolized

the wealth and controlled the political power of the Central Valley and much of the state.

The public knew about the money,

perhaps not of the entire League, but certainly of its more prominent and visible members. power.

They definitely understood the

But of what type and to what degree, and how tight the

tentacles were wrapped around certain public officials, they really had little idea.

In actual fact, their reach extended to

the State Capitol and its legislature.

And many local officials

and politicians had been, or now were, members.

The League

elected Congressmen, Governors, Senators, and, when the cards were right, and return favors guaranteed, even Presidents. In the Western Territories before the turn of the last century, the major problems facing the ruling class were cattle rustlers and immigrant homesteaders. and the same.

Sometimes the two were one

The cattlemen could hang the rustlers with the

backing of the common law of the range.

But the homesteaders had

the blessing of a federal government eager to tame and populate a continent and thus realize its manifest destiny.

Within twenty

years of the Homestead Act, the unlimited expanse of unbroken grazing lands had been carved into thousands of 160-acre parcels, fenced off and under cultivation.

The stock owners were unable

to legally enforce "land rustling," which is what they considered this stealing of "their" land by foreigners; theirs--the cattle man's--by birthright, tradition, and the oldest of claims, actual use.

With their backs against the wall and the future staring

them straight in the face, they began ruthlessly murdering some

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127

of their "neighbors," resorting to charges of cattle rustling, in an attempt to scare the immigrants off the lands before they had stayed long enough to claim title.

The charges were often

transparent, barely able to justify the casual disregard for whatever official law existed, but no thinner than measures taken before, or since, to maintain a toehold, to preserve the status quo. The Twentieth Century landowners now living in California, in the last of the frontiers, very closely resemble their forebears.

Instead of running cattle, they're cashing in on

cotton, tomatoes, rice, and grapes.

And though there were

immigrants on the land to them, these landowners weren't fearful of losing their land, of having it parceled out.

They were more

worried about losing the one thing their crops needed to survive. They weren't riding the range looking for cattle rustlers. were riding point looking for "water rustlers."

They

More people on

the land meant the need for more water, a resource these men felt was as much their birthright, by custom and usage, as the open range was to the cattlemen before them.

The escalating

population of the West, especially in California and its Central Valley, and the wave upon wave of immigrants, whether from Mexico or Southeast Asia, Massachusetts or Wisconsin, was depleting a once abundant resource; a resource agribusiness needed to survive. These men could no more prosecute people for "water stealing" than the stock growers could, but they could use the same weapons, the same informal "common law," the same harassment

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and intimidation to subjugate, or run off, as many interlopers as they could.

The League was their Stock Growers' Association.

Their "territorial common law" was the true law.

And they

expected their governmental agents, the ones they put into power, to enforce it. Caught in the middle, now as then, between the old, established order and the coming new order, were the keepers of the law; those charged with enforcing the official law that represented everyone, newcomers and old alike, but who were expected to unofficially maintain the accepted common law that kept the existing order in power.

Those most often caught in

between were those in federal law enforcement, whether Marshals in the 1880s or FBI agents in the 1980s; those who had often gotten their jobs because they too were once part of the propertied class and had been appointed by their own people, whether Association or League; the ones they were now supposed to pursue and perhaps even prosecute. These men, and unlike the last century, women, witnessed first hand, from the moment they were born, the arrogance and abuse of power of their own kind.

Many grew up to perpetuate it, as they

went into the family business, or became the legal, or legislative arm, of the status quo.

A handful of others became

disillusioned, sickened by the disregard of people's rights and basic humanity.

These few chose to give up their birthright, to

exorcise what they were by becoming a part of the new order. These men and women included Patrick Michael Walsh and Laura Van deCamp.

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Perfection is a masculine desideratum, while woman inclines by nature to completeness. -- Carl Jung At 36, Laura Van deCamp is a successful career woman. Determined to make it on her own, she did. Drives a new Mazda RX-7 convertible.

She makes good money.

And lives with Chloe, her

7-year old cat. After graduating from Hastings Law School, she went to work as a staff lawyer for the Bay Area Rapid Transit system.

When

she and her husband decided to return to Ralston--finally in his case, reluctantly in hers--she took a job in the Public Defender's office.

She was appointed county Appellate Judge just

before the separation.

She stayed just long enough for the

divorce to become final then she exiled herself to Washington D.C. to work for a colleague of her father's in the Department of Agriculture.

She stayed for nearly two years before an election,

a change in administration and her own heart sent her home again. She went into private practice this time, joining the respected firm of Delancy & Reed.

Now, she's in line to be appointed a

member of the state Water Resources Control Board; recommended by the Governor, another old friend of her father's. Laura loves the process, the interaction, the challenge of lawyering, lobbying, and politics.

She hasn't become jaded yet,

though the game probably killed her father. Many women search for their father all their lives. husbands, friends, lovers.

That was Laura.

In

She spent her entire

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childhood trying to please her father, to earn his love and affection, to be the most important thing in his life. tomboy to be the son he never had. created another.

Became a

That solved one problem, but

It made an enemy of her mother.

Whether she

realized it or not, she entered politics to please her father. To finally get his approval.

She only earned her mother's wrath.

Laura stands a stripling slender five-ten of intimidation to most men her height.

For a woman who had been taller than

most her age, she shows no sign of the self-effacing stoop affected by so many of her peers out of deference to the boys. Her parents had urged her to stand straight and her own confidence made it easy. sophisticated.

Her grace is more athletic than

Whether walking, sitting, or standing in

conversation, she moves with easy authority.

Her intelligence

and self-assurance make her appear still taller, more athletic, almost man-boyish. Her eyes are brown, almost black, her skin dusky, like dark olive oil.

Her hair color is somewhere between blonde and brown,

with just enough red to make it glow.

She has always worn it to

contemporary taste, sometimes long and straight to her waist, other times up in a Gibson-girl, or short and perm-curly.

But

it frames her face best the way she wears it now, just to her shoulders and straight.

A bit of a natural curl and its own

thickness makes it maneful. She is sexy, not in a sensual or voluptual way, but in a leaner, more intelligent, harder-edged way.

This is a woman of

no-nonsense, who you meet halfway, as an equal, whether in the

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board room or the bed room.

If you were comfortable with who you

were and could handle the challenge, there was no more delightfully terrifying company to be had.

But few men had

bothered, libidinously exposed by her, shrinking in her shadow. And she's got legs.

That's what most men notice first.

Her

breasts are small, her butt tight and flat, creating the illusion that her legs stretch all the way to her neck.

And when she

strikes a pose, standing in front of a jury or at a cocktail party, one leg leading the other, hand on hip, slit skirt partly revealing more leg, she is hard to ignore. She is witty, with an absolutely perverted and off-the-wall sense of humor.

She has what many a generation older would have

termed "a dirty mind." mirthful.

But hers is refreshingly honest and

She likes her bedplay seriously fun.

She has a husky voice that sends shivers running when she takes it low into a languid whisper.

Yet it commands attention

when shouting full-throated in the courtroom.

Her smile is

slightly crooked, showing perfect teeth, courtesy of early years entrapped in a metal-mouth dental contraption.

Her face still

has a few freckles, sprouting more whenever she stays out in the sun too long.

With hair back and no make-up, she looks even more

like the boy pulling the pigtails rather than the girl who owns them. Laura is bright. are no men in her life. success.

She's aggressive.

And, she's alone.

There

Possibly frightened off by her

Nonetheless, she subscribes to "Cosmo's" philosophy for

surviving single life in the Eighties.

You may lose your lover,

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but never lose your job. Her life isn't complete and it isn't empty. there is a fear. family.

But sometimes

That she may never marry again.

And she wants a family.

Or have a

So she wants to be sure that

any man she sleeps with isn't wasting her time.

Often these

days, she thinks of Tillie, the lonely old lady next doesn't visit very often anymore. Overpowering.

door.

She

There's a smell in her house.

For Laura, that smell means slow death, suffered

alone. Her first marriage ended in divorce. she's been on the run ever since.

Very civilized.

And

From San Francisco to Ralston

to Sacramento to Washington, D.C., then back to Ralston. Laura's really a hometown homebody.

She always liked

Ralston, but as a single woman, it was a trap with no bait.

She

left because she wanted a family and there seemed to be no prospects in town.

Had she met someone during the years of her

return, she probably would have stayed.

And even during her

years in Washington, amid the state dinners and the junkets, and the power in the air, she still missed the sense of community she found in that small valley town light years in distance and attitudes from the political center of the free world.

During

her self-imposed exile, in a place of prominence on the refrigerator in her Georgetown condominium, she kept crayon drawings by her nieces and nephews. truly cherished.

That was the artwork she

That's probably why, when the administration

changed in her department, she returned to Ralston. Now, when she talks about the future, there's a little

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desperation and frustration in her eyes.

She sees friends and

their families who seem happily married, who are busy building a home and future for their children.

And here she is, attractive,

intelligent, financially independent, and there doesn't seem to be anyone out there for her.

So instead of putting additional

energy into her romantic future, she doubles her time at the office.

She figures if she can't find a lover, she'll more than

make up for it on the job.

Behind the oak-paneled doors, it's meeting time.

The Board

of Directors of the Westlands Water and Power League are gathered in shrouded silence.

The heavy drapes and polished furniture

create the aura of authority.

There is power in this room.

Nobody knows much about the members of the board. tried to find out. obvious.

No one has succeeded.

Many have

But some things are

Most are white males, middle-aged or older, very

wealthy, and very conservative. by one passion:

And they are all bound together

their commitment to controlling the flow of

water in California. There is a problem.

The board has learned of Elliot

Lincoln's plan to make a "serious" film about water in California.

The details are sketchy, but apparently The League

and its members have been targeted for investigation as part of Lincoln's documentary. The president of the board, pressing the fingertips of both hands together in a gesture of nervous discomfort, addresses his comments directly and exclusively to one person.

"I think it

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134

goes without saying that we, and I feel I speak for everyone in this room, are concerned about the reports we are receiving regarding this proposed documentary." There is no response.

The recipient of this lecture

obviously plans to let them do most of the talking. "There is simply too much at stake here to be cavalier about the potential damage such an effort represents." The listener takes a drink of water, carefully puts the glass down, and folds his hands on the table. movement is watched by dozens of eyes.

Even his smallest And he knows it.

He's

playing to them. "Elliot Lincoln is a very popular and very influential man. If he says that something is true, most people will believe him. He has been a very successful entertainer. equally popular propagandist.

He threatens to be an

And he could severely compromise

everyone in this room." His sweeping gesture dies as he is distracted by movement at the back of the room.

He notices a solitary observer standing in

the shadows, listening intently to the lecture. "I certainly cannot presume to tell you your business, or what we expect you to do

...

"

He stops because this presumption has visibly stirred the listener. "

...

He hurries to make his point. in this matter.

But we suggest that steps be taken

immediately to neutralize this project and stem the tide of negative publicity we suspect it will generate. we neither want nor need."

It is exposure

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135

As the listener stands and turns to take his leave, the board president quickly tries to recover control. "Thank you all for attending today." Before he can ask for a motion to adjourn, the man is gone. On his way out, barely acknowledges the man holding the door for him.

The one who has been watching the entire time.

Another

member of the board, recently appointed by influential friends, the rancher Jon Henry Miller. Miller follows, a safe and respectful distance behind, driving down the country road away from League headquarters and onto highway 580. North of Mendota, on the outskirts of town, near where the old main highway used to run, he pulls up next to a white limousine, incongruously out of place in front of the last bungalow.

He enters, brushing by two burly columns that

obviously double as bodyguards.

Through the smoke stains, road

grease, and fly specks, we see him acknowledge another man before he sits at a wobbly, gray, Formica-topped table.

We cannot

clearly see who he is talking to, but he is obviously reporting what has just taken place at the board meeting. him long.

It doesn't take

Finishing, he leaves, pulling back onto 580 and

heading back south.

A moment later, the man also leaves.

Obscured by the bodyguards, he quickly ducks into the back of the limo.

Meet the unseen mover.

This is The Puppetmaster.

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136 CHAPTER 8

There are places I remember All my life though some have changed Some for ever not for better Some are gone and some remain All these places had their meanings With lovers and friends I still can recall Some are dead and some are living In my life, I've loved them all But of all these friends and lovers There is no one compares with you And these memories lose their meaning When I think of love as something new Though I know I'll never lose affection For people and things that went before I know I'll often stop and think about them In my life I love you more -- Lennon and McCartney, "In My Life" One of the first people to join Elliot--to embark on the journey--was another crusader now living in Ralston.

Throughout his

life, Robin Devereaux had written and lectured about his fascination with the challenges nature presents to man; the sort of physical confrontations that have always existed between humans and their environment.

These held a special mystery and

attraction for him.

And he had dedicated his life to fighting those who would kill the magic, like the Army Corps of Engineers and the Bureau of Reclamation, righteous in their attempts to dam and divert all the waters of the entire western United States.

He was almost singly

responsible for keeping many of California's rivers wild and scenic. Now, he was content to relax, to occasionally raft some white water, or climb an unassailable ascent.

The rest of the

time he spent on his latest "crusade"--designing and selling a

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line of "adventurewear" clothing. of the man:

The clothes were a reflection

rugged, practical, and durable.

He called the line

"White Water," after one of his favorite pastimes.

His passion

for outdoor adventure took shape in the clothes he designed. They were clothes he enjoyed wearing.

And now much of active

California was doing the same. Devereaux grew up in Chico and Stockton, California.

He

studied Human Ecology at Berkeley and created his own master's program in interdisciplinary studies on the future of American cities. Berkeley.

He was active in the peace movement in the sixties at He helped found "The Whole Earth Catalog" and was an

"Earth Day" leader.

He also formed a group called "EcoFuture,"

an organization dedicated to promoting the politics of ecology. It was a time of freedom and a time of action. propagandized.

He organized.

He

He catalyzed the individual, galvanized activists

to use the power of the group and the political process to get things done. Like many in that time, in that movement, he idolized Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., and the other pacifists who fought and won concessions without resorting to physical action or violence.

And

like them, his non-violent stance, his resolute inaction, was almost the cause of his own death once when he tried to keep a dam from rising and a river flowing.

The last stand he took nearly took his

life. One beautiful summer's morning, he kayaked into one of the lower canyon's of the Estanislao River and chained himself to a granite boulder.

Only one person knew exactly where he was.

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138

The Corps, the Bureau, and the national news media soon knew what he was doing.

That same morning, the head of the Army Corps

received his hand-written ultimatum.

If the waters of the

Estanislao rose above a certain height, as the river was stopped behind the Jamestown Dam they had just completed, he would drown.

One man and "the most rapacious federal agency in

the history of modern ecology," stood face-to-face and eyeball-to-eyeball.

The agency was the first to blink.

Devereaux quietly floated out of the river canyon and into temporary anonymity.

As the rebellion dispersed and the

enthusiasm dissolved, and the search for ideals was abandoned in favor of the chase for comfort, he settled in Ralston. married Sharon, a local girl. girl.

He

They had two children, a boy and

And a life. But, like so many before him, he couldn't completely let go

of his addiction to activism.

He organized the first

large-scale, commercially successful, alternative recycling center.

He also fought his first battles against the factory

farms of the Westlands and their political allies who, when they weren't stealing the valley's water, were damming its rivers for whatever use they chose. The Westlands Water and Power League had become the newest ally of the Bureau of Reclamation--the BuRec--and the Army Corps. The League needed water and the Bureau got it for them, with help from the Corps, whether it was taming wild rivers in the Sierras, draining wetlands, or re-channeling stream and creek flows. The BuRec was originally established to protect the small

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farmers of the west; to assure their survival by getting them sufficient irrigation water to raise their crops.

But their role

as guardian and protector did not last long, especially in California. The Bureau and the Corps were lashed together from the very beginning.

The Bureau wanted to farm the desert.

wanted to build dams.

The Corps

That meant controlling water.

Or, in the

self-serving euphemism of water-hungry westerners, that meant not wasting it.

"Conservation" traditionally meant protecting

waterways from development.

Out west, it meant building dams.

When westerners said you were wasting water, they really meant you weren't consuming it.

To realize their goals--and to

perpetuate their continued existence--both agencies quickly realized that the small farmer wouldn't be much use to them.

But

large farms and thirsty cities, wealthy and powerful, with the same goals, would be.

Combined, these agencies, with the support

of organizations like The League and cities like Los Angeles, had dammed and re-channeled more rivers and ruined more wetlands, in a shorter period of time, than anyone in the history of the planet.

And now they existed solely to quench the insatiable

thirst of the factory farmers, with little thought of the consequences to wildlife or the people exposed to agricultural runoff. Now 47, Robin's sandy hair is tinged with gray. trimmed beard has the same colors. his words carefully. again, politically.

His neatly

He is soft-spoken and chooses

He is trim and active.

Physically, and

He has emerged from his self-imposed exile

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140

because no one, in this new age of acquisition, seems remotely concerned about the future of the planet or the race of people who depend on it.

Those he once fought to keep from damming the

waters, he's about to begin fighting again to keep from poisoning them. Elliot's call simply anticipated his own.

MUSIC: UP FULL THEN UNDER NARRATION THEME #9: "Los Angelenos" 53

EXT. CANAL BANK - ESTABLISHING SHOT

Shot of empty irrigation canal from bank level. puddles of water and debris is MARC REISNER.

Standing amongst

MARC REISNER Call it water imperialism. This control and manipulation of water. Out here in the West, everything depends on it. On capturing it behind dams, storing it, and rerouting it in concrete rivers over distances of hundreds of miles. It's also the most blatant example of socialism for the rich. 54

MONTAGE

Shots of irrigated agriculture. Aqueducts, canals, ditches. entire "hydrologic ballet" under control. REISNER (v.o.) California agriculture does not like unpredictability, especially when it comes to water. So they have changed the natural order. They have captured water, stored it, and moved it around. 55

EXT. LOS ANGELES - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL SHOT of Los Angeles on a particularly smoggy day. With its meager and erratic rainfall, Los Angeles has always been haunted by drought. The mere thought of more water always sets off a Pavlovian response.

The

Tyranny of the Downbeat 56

EXT. AQUEDUCT - MEDIUM SHOT

Water being pushed up over the Tehachapis to Southern California. Southern California's demands for more Northern California water will never end so long as water planners continue to be afflicted with the 19th-century assumption that we have infinite resources to support unlimited growth. 57

EXT. OWENS RIVER - WIDE SHOT

Shot of Owens River flowing down toward Los Angeles. The Owens River created Los Angeles, letting a great city grow where common sense dictated that one should never be. But it could also be said that it ruined Los Angeles. 58

MONTAGE

Scenes of Los Angeles. The Owens River made LA large enough and wealthy enough to go out and capture any river within six hundred miles. And that made it larger, wealthier, and a good deal more awful. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Shots emphasizing negative side. It's the only megalopolis in North America mentioned in the same breath as Mexico City or Djakarta. Places whose insoluble excesses raise the specter of some majestic, stately kind of collapse. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY

141

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142 CHAPTER 9

Through the chill of winter, Running across a frozen lake. Bloodhounds are on his trail, All odds are against him. With a family to provide for, The one thing he must keep alive, Will the wolf survive? Standing in the pouring rain, All alone and the world has changed. Running scared, now forced to hide, In a land where he once stood with pride. But he'll find his way, By the morning light. Sounded 'cross the nation, Coming from your hearts and minds. Battered tubs and old guitars, Singing songs of passion. It's the truth that they all look for, Something they must keep alive, Will the wolf survive? Will the wolf survive? -- David Hidalgo & Louie Perez, "Will the Wolf Survive?" I have come to San Juan Bautista to see him.

Traveling the

coast highway southward, I cut over at Watsonville, crossing Steinbeck country, through the Salinas and Pajaro Valleys. and vegetable stands beckon along the way.

Fruit

Picked daily by the

workers wearing nylon Dodgers hats, long wool work shirts, and Levi's bandannas to cover their faces and the backs of their necks.

Ragged rows of irrigation pipes lie in low trailers,

awaiting the workers who will hand-carry them across the neat furrows. This valley, like all the others in this state, needs water. The rolling hills are brown now, in the summertime, like the old wooden barns and new stucco homes that line the ridge above and

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143

facing the old town built around the mission founded in 1797. It's a good town to begin again in.

He lives here with his wife,

Socorro, their two sons, and much of the rest of his extended "familia." Because I'm early, I stop for lunch at the "Jardines de San Juan."

I enjoy the succulents and flowers edging the brick

flagstone patio almost as much as the relleno.

Finishing, I

still have some time, so I head out along The Alameda and cross over to Second Street to stop at the mission because my sister says we have relatives buried there. to walk the few blocks to his office.

Satisfied for now, I decide Left on Muckelemi to

Fourth Street and left again to the white, side-board building that houses "La Drama del Coyote." Daniel Valle is barrel-chested stocky, looking not unlike Pancho Villa.

A resemblance he perpetuates with drooping

handlebar mustache and the campaign hat of the Mexican Revolution he sometimes wears. blood of two races oceans apart.

His voice resonates with the He is both civilized

"conquistador" and savage Yaqui. His eyes are a deep, hollow brown, eternally concerned. hair, a dark dark, is longish, slick and pomaded. likes to wear it in a short ponytail.

His

He sometimes

It glistens with health.

Below the widow's peak, he carries a small scar, courtesy of a broken bottle and a street fight during high school.

He is

handsome; not slickly and seductively like Valentino, but innocently and open-faced like a young Anthony Quinn. We talk of the journey his parents made from the deserts of

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144

Mexico to the fields of California.

Following the crops, they

moved up the valley through towns like Fresno, Firebaugh, Selma, Los Banos, Livingston, Ralston, and Stockton.

His family finally

settled in Gilroy, hoping to make it the end of the migration, where he was born, forty-six years ago. His father prayed for guidance, for a sign to help his son find a way out.

And he worked extra jobs to pay for the prayer.

He would say of Danny, too often to anyone who would listen, "My son, he can be anything he wants to be. the fields."

As long as it is not in

School became his ticket to ride.

Education showed

him the possibilities and he never looked back.

Pajaro Community

College led to San Francisco City College led to the Haight-Ashbury and "The Diggers" in 1965.

He was performing in

street theater and taunting the Tactical Squad at SF State when the grape worker's strike began.

He had to go.

His people, now

calling themselves Chicanos, were taking a stand in Delano. was a time of reckoning.

It

For all that he and his family had

suffered all those years in the fields. Arriving there and finding no easy entry into the Chavez power structure, he turned to what he knew.

He organized a

troupe of street players, borrowed a flatbed truck, and began performing guerrilla theater at the picket lines. Coyote" was born.

"La Drama del

And Daniel Valle became a powerful voice in La

Raza. Then the Sixties were suddenly gone.

The apathy and

self-centered introspection of the Seventies and Eighties descended. It was no longer cool to care.

The movement

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faltered.

145

Chavez retreated to the Tehachapi Mountains.

remained behind, writing. wrote a few screenplays. film.

Valle

Poetry, plays, short stories.

He even

One he made into a hugely successful

Enough to give him the freedom to continue studying this

state of mind called California. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the cycle came full circle. began asking questions again. returned.

They began protesting.

People

Chavez

Pesticides would be to the new movement what lettuce

and table grapes were to the old.

But there was no place for

Daniel at his side because he had been too critical of the retreat.

In his impatience to perpetuate and maintain the

changes they had achieved, he had alienated himself from the leaders and conservative philosophy of La Causa.

Also, many

Hispanics had accused him of selling out; of whoring after the Anglo entertainment dollar.

He knew in his heart he hadn't.

It is here, in San Juan, that Daniel and "La Drama" have come to re-group; to re-establish their influence.

To re-capture

the credibility and the power they lost when they crucified Chavez.

He sees a new activism, or rather, one that has been

dormant and is about to rise again.

The Hispanics are the people

of the future and they need a new voice, someone to dramatize their life in this new age.

He intends to prove to his people

that he is still the best one to chronicle "la causa". still believes in the right and good things. opportunity, a forum.

That is why I am here.

That he

He simply needs an Daniel Valle will

write "The Water Project". He appears relaxed, content.

His style is that of old

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146

California, of the Mission days.

The days of the Don.

A

cultivated style somewhat at odds with his younger days. become very much a man of his people. deliberately.

He weighs his words.

before speaking.

He has

He speaks slowly, Considers them closely

But what he says betrays a driven man.

On the wall behind his desk is a poster from one of his early plays.

It reads:

"La tierra pertenece al que la trabaja.

The land belongs to those who work it."

We talk of that and some

of his other concerns. "Pesticide safety.

Chavez has made it his number one issue.

According to the National Farmworkers Health Group, last year alone, California reported over 2500 accidental pesticide poisonings." "The numbers are low." "There were more than that?" "Many more. "Why not?

We do not really know how many have died." Aren't there agencies that are supposed to do

nothing but monitor that sort of thing?" "They did not count the illegals.

Those who went home.

Those who were deported, and died there." "Why couldn't they be counted?" "They were afraid.

If they spoke up, they would be fired.

If they said anything, they would be deported.

So they remained

silent." "And they died quietly?" "Yes.

They are the guinea pigs.

The factory farms

experiment every day with our people, with the field hands.

It

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147

is they who work with the poisons each day.

They who wear it on

their backs." "A Federal task force said that about half of the nation's five million agricultural laborers face the danger of dying. That nearly two-thirds have been sprayed directly, or have been hit by drifting spray." "Do not forget those that go into the field directly after spraying." "I thought the EPA monitored exposure and enforced the limits?

I thought it was law that no one, including farm workers,

should absorb more than the minute amount allowed in food." "They pretend to believe.

The farm lobby and the chemical

industry pressured the politicians to pass a law with no teeth. There is an important part you have overlooked. balances regulations against cost.

The EPA

The cost to growers or anyone

else in agriculture." "That puts a price on the heads of all the field hands." "Yes.

Their health is weighed against economic disruption.

Instead of regulating the cause, they modify the effect. recommend that workers wear protective clothing. careful when they spray.

They

That they be

That they read and follow directions."

"That doesn't help those who can't read English." He smiles sadly. We speak of his most recent accomplishments; his attempts to transition from the limited audiences and impact of street theater to the mass appeal of television and motion pictures. "They say I have sold out.

My own people."

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148

"Because you make television commercials.

Because you made

a successful movie financed by Hollywood?" "It is just like my people.

It is so like the minorities.

It is an attitude that is self-defeating. now.

And I did not as a 'Campesino.'

I do not believe it

I believe in triumph.

I

believe in success." "Isn't that just as dangerous?

Won't that be viewed as a

sellout also?" "I am only saying, 'What is wrong with success?' you have me do? better?

Remain on the flatbed trucks?

Does that make me more pure?

What would

Does that make me

It hurts deeply to make a

statement about something I believe in and then to have my own people ignore it." "Will their rejection stop you?" "It is temporary.

They will understand.

But my future is in the 'glass arena'. media.

I will do more mass

I can reach more people that way.

greatest good for the most people. "And what of the stereotype?

I will do plays.

I want to do the

That is my mission." Will you remain an Hispanic

director?" "I do not want that. is what I wish to know. Chicanos.

California is what I know.

There was a time when I spoke only to

Hispanic is what I am.

I am an American.

The world

But it is not all that I am.

I am also a magician.

The magic I weave is

human magic.

It is the wonder of the human mind.

to everyone.

I have something to give.

of the American landscape."

And it belongs

I can unlock the secrets

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149

"You talk of magicians.

Do you consider yourself a shaman?

Someone who can show people the way?" "I think our children are searching. missing. mythology.

There is something

Much of what is wrong with today's youth is the lack of There are no models, no rite of passage, to show them

where they belong in society.

They become confused.

to drugs and gangs and guns to fill the void. help them find the way."

They look

Yes, perhaps I can

He coughs, as if apologizing for this

naked emotion, or to cover what only he knows are the beginnings of cancer.

The sun isn't quite up yet. The Ranch.

There are still lights on at

As usual, there's a late shift going.

like the rock & roll lifestyle.

The ones who

Elliot has come down from the

main house to see some of the footage he missed while at the reunion.

He enters the edit suite.

Already there, as if he'd

never left since Elliot left, hunched over the KEM table, is the almost human form of The Mole. "Hey Cam." A grunt.

The best he can offer.

"Good to see you, too."

Waits.

"Fine.

So, let's do it."

There's a ton I want to get through tonight.

Gotta get back on

track." As Cam starts to thread up the mag track and work print, Elliot wanders over to the kitchen of the employee lunch room for a shot of caffeine.

Opening the can of Diet Pepsi, he's thinking

of many things, but hearing only one.

It keeps chipping away,

Tyranny of the Downbeat

until he acknowledges it.

150

It's something he hears; something he

now suddenly and urgently wants to hear again. lunch room.

He walks into the

The late crew is just finishing their lunch break.

And like every night, they're watching a rented movie. suddenly sit up as he enters, snapping to attention. They relax and go back to the movie.

He watches.

They He nods.

He startles

them when he speaks. "Could you play that back?

Just the last few minutes?"

They all scramble for the machine.

"Sure.

Somethin'

wrong?" "No.

Just thought I heard something."

The tape is rewound and starts to play.

5

INT. GITTES'S OFFICE--GITTES & CURLY

Gittes and Curly stand in front of the desk, Gittes staring contemptuously at the heavy breathing hulk towering over him. Gittes takes a handkerchief and wipes away the plunk of perspiration on his desk. CURLY (crying) They don't kill a guy for that. GITTES Oh they don't? CURLY Not for your wife. That's the unwritten law. 6

Gittes pounds the photos on the desk, shouting: GITTES I'll tell you the unwritten law, you dumb son of a bitch, you gotta be rich to kill somebody, anybody, and get away with it. You think you got that kind of dough, you think you got that kind of class?

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151

Quietly, like the entire room now, "Stop there. Turns to The Mole, who's slipped in beside him.

That line."

"That's it.

Can

I borrow that tape?" They can't give it to him fast enough.

"No problem.

Sure.

Here it is." They walk to an adjoining screening room. time since I've seen this movie. it.

"It's been a long

I'd forgotten just about all of

There may be a lesson or two still in it." The credits finish.

moment.

The screen glows dark.

Elliot's stretched out full, thinking.

Silence for a The Mole's

burrowed in. "It's the same thing." "What?" "The same old water grab.

Just a lot bigger.

And what they

can't get or keep, they're poisoning." The Mole mumbles, following in his wake. "Just like Owens Valley.

The local politicians and public

officials are helping the rich get richer. themselves to the water.

All they can use.

Helping them help And when someone

gets in their way, they remove them." "Mulwray.

The water commissioner."

"Then they use their power to cover it up. But not this time.

Or buy immunity.

This time we're going to stop them.

going to expose THIS water grab.

We're

And we're going to expose every

politico, official, and money man that gets in our way." The Mole shakes his head. time.

Rich get rich.

"No different.

Same as last

Rich get away with murder."

Tyranny of the Downbeat

"Don't bet on it. And they can't stop us.

152

I've got the weapons this time around. We're 'media guerrillas'.

We'll appear

out of nowhere, fire off our message, then disappear back into the jungle before they know what hit them." Elliot's eyes flashed in the darkened room. felt completely, abjectly alone. transit.

He suddenly

The dangerous, solitary

He smiled quietly to himself.

He felt like a character

in one of his own movies; on a voyage of discovery and redemption.

The journey had begun.

He couldn't let go of it.

All day long it rode with him.

The next victim of his musings was Janet.

Elliot's hunched

attitude warned her that something was working away inside him. "The more I think about it, the more angry I get." She looked up from her notes, unprepared for the extra notch of intensity. "Their righteous arrogance.

Their moral immunity."

"Did the studio call again today?" "No.

I mean, that's not what I was talking about, but

that's part of it." "Care to put me on the same page?" He shrugs, trying to loosen up the knots.

"'Chinatown'

didn't tell the entire story.

Sure, it talked about the land

grabs and stealing the water.

But the real crooks, not the

'Noah Crosses', but the other rich and powerful men of Los Angeles, even the city itself, were left pretty much untouched. The fact that the city and the people who ran it, went out and

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153

ruined the entire Owens Valley, ruined the people's lives who lived there, so they could have an unlimited source of water, was never really discussed in the film. look absolutely glowing gorgeous.

I mean they made the city And John Huston got away with

it." "Wasn't that the point of the movie?" "Maybe.

Part of it.

But it wasn't accurate.

It didn't go

far enough." "You expect that from the movies?

Where have you been?

Besides, maybe there just wasn't enough time to tell the whole story.

Weren't they supposed to make a sequel?"

"They were. reasons.

And it never got done.

Probably for the same

Because the same people who control Los Angeles,

control the movie studios. whole truth out.

And they weren't about to let the

Water is the source of all power down there.

And those with the power, run the studios.

You want a permit to

shoot in the streets?

You want access?

You want a license?

Then you'd better be willing to play by their rules.

You only

get one chance." "So are you worried that's going to happen to your project?" "No way!

That's why I moved north.

under their control. stories.

I didn't want to be

I wanted freedom and immunity to tell my

I didn't want to have to depend on their system.

won't this time." He's gone before she can ask why he called the meeting.

And I

Tyranny of the Downbeat

154 CHAPTER 10

The eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them: there ought to be as many for love. -- Margaret Atwood Lend yourself to others, but give yourself to yourself. -- Michel Montaigne "I've thought about that." We sat, sorta-watching "Giants Vision," and trying to talk above the noise at the "Brew Pub."

I was working through

some more guilt and Jorge was sounding the board. "I think losing the kids and her loneliness definitely contributed to her state of mind.

But I've also wondered if

there wasn't something else." "Which was?" "Low self-image.

I don't think she was particularly happy

with who she was." "Except when she was drinking and the alcohol gave her strength to do and say what she felt." "I think her weight, the fact we had no money, that she thought Dad didn't find her attractive anymore, that they had little in common after we kids had left. her image of herself pretty low.

I think all that kept

And if anyone said anything to

her, or didn't provide any reinforcement, or any reason to live, it was easy to become depressed and desperate." "And from there it was very easy to just give up.

What was

the point." "What's really scary is that Sandy's got the same problem. I mean it's amazing how much she and my Mom were alike."

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155

"Don't they say we're always looking for our mother in the women we marry?" "They do and I guess I did. either of them. problem.

And I didn't make it easy for

I sure don't help Sandy deal with her esteem

I say things or do things that cut her down, even when I

don't mean to do it.

It's just unconscious."

"Always?" "No, not always. but I do.

I ask her what's wrong.

And it's true.

and I'll answer for her.

I do.

Someone will ask her a question

I do it all the time."

There's more to it.

She caught me.

Then she tells

She says she's tired of me speaking

"Maybe you were just being you. "No.

I

She says I talk

I say I'm just making conversation.

me what she really means. for her.

I shouldn't,

It's like, sometimes she suddenly gets real angry.

can't figure out why. too much.

But sometimes I get pissed.

The facilitator."

And I know it.

And I don't like being wrong.

She was right. So I get pissed.

I continue to speak for her, but I'm putting her down as I do. I'm laughing and making it look like I'm just poking fun at her. That she's so cute because she acts like she does. really just cutting her because she hurt me.

But what I'm

And it can get

malicious if I've had too much to drink or I'm really pissed." "Sounds like something your mom would have done." "Probably where I got it.

I tell myself I'm doing it to

keep Sandy involved in the situation.

She's obviously not having

any fun and, God knows, we've got to fun.

But then I make her

the object of the conversation, sometimes the butt of the jokes I

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make.

156

They're not nasty, but she becomes the focus.

And I'm

doing it to ingratiate myself with the people we're talking to." "Why, you don't need their approval." "Sure I do.

Because it's usually with people we both

consider better than us.

Either they've got more money, or they

were born to a better class.

Whatever.

I'm cutting her down to impress them.

We're both envious.

And

And I don't even like

them." "Sounds like schoolyard survival. elementary school? as high school.

Remember when we were in

Actually I think it probably went back as far

Anyway, we'd always find someone to pick on.

Usually a dumb okie, or a kid with some kind of handicap." "Yea, and we, in our infinite compassion called them MRs or cripples." "Exactly. them.

And what did we do?

Harassed

Made their life miserable just to impress our friends.

Just to make them laugh.

So we could be a part of the group.

We were cruel so we could be cool. school. do.

We picked on them.

And we do it now as adults.

Poke fun at people.

And we did it all through I mean, it's what comedians

Hold them up to scrutiny.

what you're doing with Sandy.

And that's

You're trying to get the approval

of these people, people who don't really give a fuck about you, by picking on the only person who really does care about you." "Pretty fucking stupid." "Well, a little short-sighted, maybe." "All I know is that I don't give her enough support, enough reinforcement."

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157

"But you've always said that you protect her too much. Isn't that the same thing?" "I don't know.

All I know is that if she got real

depressed, got down far enough, desperate enough, it wouldn't be too difficult for her to transition into suicide." "You think she'd be capable of that?" "I don't want to find out." "Don't be so arrogant." "What do you mean?" "Don't be so sure of the position you play in her life.

You

may think you're center stage, but you may be barely in the wings." There are just some things no one can do alone: a mob, or a choir, or a regiment.

conspire, be

Or elope.

-- Ranata Adler

Just remember, we're all in this alone. -- Lily Tomlin It's her birthday. would have phoned.

I would have sent a card by now.

I

By then, she would have had too many glasses

of wine, but she would still have been happy to hear from her number one son.

We would have made small talk.

She would have

repeated herself a number of times, told me things she had just told me last week or last minute. these calls.

Timing was everything with

If I caught her too late, it would not be a good

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conversation.

158

I would get angry, trying to browbeat her long

distance into taking better care of herself. and the call would be over.

She would get upset

And I could avoid the reality of

what was happening for another week. Then she was dead.

And I could make the comment I had just

made to Jorge; a statement that was true, that I really didn't mean, but had said anyway.

"I'm glad I don't have a Mother to

have to worry about shopping for, or sending a card to."

I

realized that it didn't come out the way it was supposed to. "That's not how you feel and you know it." "I meant I wish she was still here, but I'm glad we didn't make a big deal out of buying gifts." "But she always expected one." "And I always sent her a card.

I think I was the only one

in the whole family who never bought a gift on Father's Day, Mother's Day, or their birthdays.

Just one more example of how I

wasn't as much a part of the family as I thought. never there for them.

Especially at the end."

"Why do you keep beating yourself up? bad?

Why should you feel

She lived her life the way she wanted.

change that.

I was just

Nobody was going to

Not even you."

"She was pretty stubborn." "And none of us would have ever changed that. You couldn't stop that. moving.

You can't stop time.

There are a lot more days ahead.

She died.

You've got to keep

So put your energy

into making those good instead of worrying about what you didn't do and couldn't help."

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159

For them both--my Mom and Sandy--I had become what the therapists call a "coalcoholic":

the caretaker, the giver of

hope, the ignorer of oppressive reality. deadly as their addiction. need to be needed.

I gave them a fix as

I satisfied their dependency; their

I shot them up with blind faith and

unquestioning support. I wasn't there when she died.

Typical.

I hadn't spent much

time with her or the rest of the family since Sandy and I got married and moved away.

We went down for Thanksgiving and

Christmas, then once every month or so.

It was hard, but it was

one of the compromises you make to sustain a marriage. really didn't know what was going on. I realize now it was a defense.

So I

I blamed it on Sandy, but

If I ignored the problems--my

Mother's drinking, her health, her behavior--it would go away. It did.

About a week after she visited us.

I told her she was

drinking too much and refused to make her any more drinks.

It

was easy to be righteous when you didn't have to deal with it everyday like my Dad and the rest of the family.

I remember my

sisters telling me stories about Dad passing out because he tried to drink all the booze in the house so she wouldn't have any.

It

was the only way he could tell her no.

He knew she was killing

herself but he just couldn't stop her.

It wasn't in him.

begin to realize how much like him I really am. in and ignore it than confront it. stayed away.

I

Easier to give

And that's why I really

When I just talked to them over the phone, I didn't

have to see what was going on, and didn't have to admit it. wasn't there when her heart stopped.

So I

I wasn't there sitting in

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160

the dining room with the rest of the family while she lay on the couch, waiting for the ambulance to take her away. later, after she was already gone.

I arrived

I had avoided it again.

And

I probably would have ducked out of the next few days of mourning if I could have. I never cried for her. I heard him.

Jorge did.

The night of the wake.

And I, the practical, non-nonsense,

always-in-control eldest son, thought he'd had too much beer and was just throwing up. It wasn't until months later that I began to deal with some of the guilt and hurt.

I did, as we usually do, in dreams.

I

was in the living room, sitting on the coffee table by the couch; the old, broken-down couch with the maple coffee and end-tables. At her feet was the black and white television.

On one end-table

was her Kleenex, her plastic glass of water, and all her medicine.

It was here that she went each night to pass out.

After she'd doused the emptiness with alcohol. have been the night she died. her.

I had no answer.

believe there was none. sit there.

I guess it might

She asked me what was happening to

She looked at me as if she couldn't "Am I dying?" she asked.

I couldn't tell her.

hair was stuck to her forehead.

I could only

She was perspiring.

Her thin

Her eyes were frightened, near

tears. I couldn't stand it when she cried.

It tore my heart out

every time she and Dad would fight and she'd start. do it very often. money.

Kept it bottled up.

She didn't

And it was usually over

She'd want to buy us something, maybe new Easter clothes.

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161

He'd say we didn't have any.

She'd threaten to order it anyway.

He'd say he would take her cards away.

She'd come running into

the family room, crying and blowing her nose with the Kleenex she always kept handy in the waist-band of her pants. was only doing it for us kids.

She'd say she

We were too young to know what

was going on, so Dad was always the bad guy.

He'd come into the

dining room and our hard stares would chase him away. As I sat there, she began to cry. started to leave.

She touched my arm.

I couldn't handle it.

I

She never did that.

"It's for the best, you know?" "No, you'll get better. "No, it won't. friends.

It'll be okay."

You don't understand.

Your job.

A wife.

You have your

Your whole life.

I don't have

anything." "You've got Dad.

The cats."

"But I don't have you kids. moved out, that was it.

It sounded pretty empty. When your brother finally

You were all gone.

Do you know how

lonely that was?" "But we were always around.

We came to visit.

We had

Christmas and Easter." "But you weren't here for me everyday anymore. take care of you.

Couldn't watch out for you.

lived for, you know.

I couldn't

That's what I

Now it's gone and I'm alone.

I just don't

want to live anymore." "Come on, Mom. to live.

You can't just give up.

I know you do."

could offer.

You've got reasons

It was weak, but it was the best I

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162

"You just don't know how lonely it can be. been independent, a loner.

You can handle it.

You've always I can't.

And I

don't want to anymore." There was nothing more I could say. Just closed her eyes.

And I left her, alone again.

I never had the dream again. Passed out, alone.

convinced myself.

Inside herself, alone.

She had a full life, I thought.

I

Or

There were always people around, even after

she'd pissed them off. her.

But I would see her alone.

Waking up, alone.

couldn't understand it.

And then she died.

They loved her and cared deeply about

Yet she was completely alone.

And she died that way.

I guess it's really a lonely world.

Someone once said you

can die from loneliness as surely as you can die from heart disease.

I remember a writer commenting that it was not possible

for two people to truly know each other.

No matter how close the

husband and wife, the father and son, the lover and beloved, we are all locked inside ourselves, which says something horrible about our lack of knowledge, about our hopeless and terrible, and sadly permanent loneliness.

And something about the loneliness

of the individual trying to find meaning in their isolation. I guess when all us kids had moved away, she just gave up. She had no reason to live anymore. heart failure.

The coroner's report listed

But my Mom really died from the absoluteness of

loneliness. The Giants went on to lose in the ninth. the bar bathroom.

And I lost it in

Tyranny of the Downbeat

The news is over.

163

She stands and begins turning off lights.

He says, "I think I'll have another beer and watch Letterman." She lets out a sigh with his name, disappointment edged with anger. "Hey, I'm not tired yet, okay!

What?

Oh, I see," he grins

but doesn't move any closer to the bedroom. "It's been weeks," she says. He turns off the television and slowly follows her into the bedroom as she slips on the nightgown he bought at "Victoria's Secret" last Christmas.

But he'll never see how sexy it makes

her look because he's snoring when she returns. Angrily, Sandy snaps on the bedside light and begins to read, but she can't see anything through the frustration. is it?

What's wrong with me?" she screams silently.

"What

"I can't

take it much longer," she vows. Sex would be more fun if you forty-year-olds weren't so seriously scared and boringly concerned about length-toperformance and orgasm-to-enjoyment ratios, the baggage of past lives like ex-lovers and wives, fathers and mothers, priests and sisters, repressed instead of uninhibited, oblivious to the fact that when the flaps are down and stay down it reflects on me, and you can't understand the anger and frustration I feel even though you pleaded to sleep with me and I can't shout my irritation in your face because I'm supposed to be supportive and understanding of your precious ego so you won't have a sexual breakdown in my bed that might leave you permanently impotent and leave me alone

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164

when the biologic clock is winding down and I want to be sure that you're not wasting my time. I dream of a man mutually interested in the joy of pillowing and not the dreaming pillow before the late night news even begins, but if I exercise the option to trade I may not get someone as nice and easy and accommodating, especially at this point in my life when there's a greater likelihood that I will be killed by a terrorist than I will remarry, so it's easier to fake it, hoping things will at last work out, and have someone around for the summer, because it looks so bad at the beach when you're alone. On Friday nights in high school your ears would burn because we were judging you as we giggled and cried and worried and whined at slumber parties that now are afternoon lunches of the "Annie Hall Club" for twice-divorced, newly-divorced, or in-process divorced women complaining again about you men, and second-guessing your actions, interpreting your words, manipulating your feelings, and making you more paranoid about us than you already are.

Stephan Harrington was a frustrated Hemingway.

He worked as

a journalist to pay for the time he spent writing a novel. Several of them, actually.

And none of them done.

Because he

talked more about doing it than actually doing it, he was probably less of a writer than he realized. him angry.

His frustration made

And that made him a hungry reporter.

gave him clarity.

That hunger

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165

He resembled a refugee from a rock 'n roll carnival.

His

unshaven chin receded into his neck, shrinking as if embarrassed by its size.

That's why he wore a beard most of the time.

His

hair was thick, but when slicked back, as he usually wore it, it looked greasy, stringy.

He used to smoke and drink heavily.

He

finally gave them both up so he wouldn't die, but they left their mark on his voice, which had a whiskey-soaked raspiness.

His

face had a few sandpaper scars from a pimply pubescence.

His

ears were large, so he wore his hair long along the sides and in back. All the elements together created an energy, a magnetic attraction that sucked people into his web. eyes.

They were small and very black.

you stood and wouldn't let go.

Maybe it was the

But they held you where

And then there was the crooked,

mocking smile, as if only he heard the last laugh in the cosmic scheme of things. We first met in college while taking communication classes. It came easy to him.

I had to work at it.

other and made a good team.

But we liked each

We became friends.

He still lived

in Davis, choosing to drive the few miles to Sacramento instead of living in a town that was beginning to get out of control. Steph had started as the night police reporter for the "Sacramento Record" when he turned 20.

He liked the beat because

it reminded him of his days as a "carny". street.

A walk down sleazy

Eventually, his nightly rounds burned him out.

But his

time there gave him a healthy cynicism, a spare style, and his own by-line.

"Alta California" examined anything to do with

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166

Northern California, its people, and lifestyles.

One of his

favorite topics, one that occasioned at least one article a week, was the "politics of water" in California. He wrote about "water grabs."

He wrote about dams.

He

wrote about "the big ditch," otherwise known as the Peripheral Canal.

He wrote about subsidized water and "the hydrologic

ballet".

He also wrote about The League.

So it was no surprise

when a series of articles on the pollution at Masterson, and its connection to The League, began running under his by-line.

And

it was no less surprising when he started receiving prank calls and anonymous threats.

He figured most of them were probably

coming from local farmers who were afraid of losing their cheap water.

He knew because he'd written about them.

And, like a

cornered animal, they'd go to any length to protect their own. In one of his articles, an interview with a valley farmer made the situation quite clear.

"Any regulation of groundwater

or surface water, from rivers or dams, means me, and most other farmers, would have to cut back on production or turn to different crops.

Some of us would definitely go out of business.

Out here in the desert, when you lose your water, you lose your farm.

You lose your farm, you lose your livelihood.

your family and, eventually, you lose your life.

You lose

It's simply a

matter of our survival." Harrington had closed the article with an analogy to the "Dust Bowlers" of the 1920s and 1930s. farms had turned to dust and blown away. least had some place to go.

Without water, those But those farmers at

They could head West.

The farmers

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167

in the West had no place to go. the Coast and the ocean.

The only thing West of them was

Full of water, yes.

But also full of

salt. The day after the article ran, he received a small token of appreciation from a nameless benefactor.

A strangled duck, its

neck snapped in a hangman's noose, dangled from his front porch. A scrap of paper was pinned to its wing.

It read, "Must be the

water." In another article, Harrington interviewed a leader of the "stop-the-canal" campaign; a businessman who talked off the record about how dirty a war over water in California can get. "The business community in southern California has made the business community in northern California extremely paranoid. One company, a large manufacturer based in San Francisco, was told, 'If you want to sell any more product south of San Jose, you'd better not take an anti-canal position.'

Because

contributions are identifiable and trackable, everyone in the business community up north is afraid they're going to be found out and blacklisted down south." Another businessman drew the following analogy, "It's like a Banana Republic election, where the houses of the opposition candidates miraculously and unexplainably catch fire." Harrington had a source that, in a gesture of unjustifiable self-importance, he dubbed "Deep Water," intending to link himself to those other, well-known investigative journalists. loved running up the Watergate flag any chance he could. He and I had been talking since Elliot had first signed me

He

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on.

I knew he had stories he couldn't run.

168

Either because his

editors felt they were too explosive to publish or because there wasn't sufficient confirmation to run them. file full.

He said he had a

In a strange and ironic twist, we both realized he

would be my "Deep Throat." DISSOLVE: MUSIC CHANGE:

UP FULL THEN UNDER

THEME #10: "California Here I Come"/"California Blues" 59 MONTAGE AERIAL SHOTS of California places and people. NARRATOR (v.o.) This is California. It has more people than the entire population of Canada. An economy richer than all but seven nations in the world. It grows one-third of all the table food in the United States. Sales of California farm products reached $15.6 billion last year. California farmers have led the nation in agriculture for twenty-five years. And none of it remotely conceivable within the pre-existing natural order. 60

EXT. VALLEY FIELDS - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL SHOT of Central Valley factory fields. of cultivated acreage.

Miles upon miles

This is the valley. The business that makes it so unique and so powerful is industrial agriculture. Modern chemical farming. The billboards of the Production Credit Association don't call agriculture "farming." They call it California's "number one industry." 61

MONTAGE

Shots of agricultural activity. The three top-producing farming counties in

Tyranny of the Downbeat the nation are in the San Joaquin Valley. Agriculture uses 85 percent of all the water used in California and it's as dependent on irrigation as ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Technology--irrigation, fertilizers, pesticides, and sophisticated machinery--is the invisible warp that holds the natural weave in place. And it is a lucrative weave. A single county, producing tomatoes, peaches, apricots, almonds, walnuts, peppers, grapes, melons, and cherries, yields up to $5,000 profit an acre compared to $10 or $20 an acre for Kansas wheat. 62

CONTINUE MONTAGE.

Shots of fields and workers at The Marriposa Combine. The Valley supports thousands of family farms and a handful of mammoth agribusinesses. The largest 15 percent of these farms soak up 83 percent of irrigation benefits from public projects. 63

CONTINUE MONTAGE.

Shots of large factory farms. Farmers using State Water Project and Central Valley Project water include some of America's biggest corporations. Chevron has 50,000 acres, Tenneco 53,000, Getty Oil 41,000, the Southern Pacific Land Co. 38,000, J.G. Boswell 95,000 acres, and the Tejon Ranch Co. 41,000 acres. 64

MONTAGE

Shots of farming activity. Today, the farmland in California, and much of the rest of the nation, belongs to the corporations. To the oil companies and railroads and their stockholders, who never see it and certainly never work it. It

169

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doesn't belong to the farmer's children or their children after that. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Central Valley agriculture may be the most energy-intensive agriculture the world has ever known. It is pumps, using more power than dams can generate, carrying water 400 miles from its source. CONTINUE MONTAGE. It is bulldozers. Trucks and trains carrying produce 3,000 miles. Rice being shipped to Japan. It is fossil fuelbased fertilizer, the staple of Valley crops. Automated picking equipment, gasoline-powered drying equipment. Pesticides and herbicides. 65

EXT. FIELD - ESTABLISHING SHOT

GROUND LEVEL SHOT of aerial spraying. follow shot from second plane.

INTERCUT pilot's POV and

California agriculture is also chemicaldependent. Of all the pesticides produced in the United States, California uses about 30 percent. Over 500 million tons of pesticides are applied to the fields of California each year. More than any other state. That's one billion dollars a year in chemicals. 66

MONTAGE

Shots of pesticides being applied to fields in variety of locations. Although many new pesticides are less persistent and more specific, some are also more mobile, more water soluble, and more acutely toxic. CONTINUE MONTAGE. They leach into groundwater, endanger those who work in sprayed fields, and leave residues on fruits, vegetables, and grain, despite washing and processing. The dangers are considered so grave that the EPA has catapulted pesticides to the top of its

Tyranny of the Downbeat list of problem pollutants. wastes. 67

171 Above toxic

MONTAGE

Shots of industrial agriculture. In the eyes of those who are critical about agribusiness and corporate farming, the new American farmer is fast forgetting the old rule about putting more back into the soil than he takes out of it. Of being a good steward of the land. CONTINUE MONTAGE. It's a bit of the devil's bargain. In exchange for using $3 billion worth of pesticides yearly, American farmers reap $12 billion worth of crops that might otherwise be lost to weeds and insects. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Without the chemicals, millions of people might face food shortages. On the other hand, less than one percent of the poisons reach their target. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Worldwide, the compounds fatally poison an estimated 10,000 people a year and injure 400,000 more. Uncounted millions more may be at increased risk for cancer, reproductive problems, and birth defects due to low-level, chronic exposure. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY

Tyranny of the Downbeat

172 CHAPTER 11

Breathes there a man with a soul so dead who never to himself has said: "Someday I'm going to show them."? -- Richard Reeves It's late Sunday night, actually Monday morning.

You turn

on the TV and start playing Russian roulette with the remote control.

You drift through the channels.

You stop.

You see a

handsome man, casually dressed in loose tropical clothes, with the blue ocean and white waves crashing behind him. smiling.

He's

He seems comfortable, in control, satisfied.

He's

talking with a young man who sits in a chair next to him. They're talking about foreclosures. The scene changes to a series of interviews, each praising someone named James. simple.

Any ordinary man can do it."

packed auditorium. shouts:

"If you follow what James says, it's real The program shifts to a

A giant banner stretching across one wall

"FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS WITH JAMES DAVID DELGADO."

audience chants:

"WE CAN DO IT!

WE CAN DO IT!

The

WE CAN DO IT!"

As the noise builds, the public address system booms:

"The

National Foundation for Independent Living presents America's number one cash flow expert. wealth and better living!

Television's consumer advocate of

The deacon of no money down!

James

David Delgado!" The camera swivels to catch a man as he runs through the packed room and up on stage. he's still smiling. suit.

It's the man from the tropics and

This time he's dressed in a double-breasted

Riding on the back of their expectant cheers, he launches

Tyranny of the Downbeat

173

into his sermon on success.

He is the best of a new breed known

as real estate evangelists. At 38, he's set for life. Most of the other gurus didn't.

He survived the roller coaster. Now he's consolidating his power

by buying as much air time as he can get and by looking into new arenas. Delgado didn't always like himself or the way he looked. does now. weight. frame.

And he works hard to maintain it.

He

Especially his

It comes easily to his solidly-built, thick-waisted He wears a small, neatly trimmed mustache, and hair

fashionably long, just beginning to bald. seen often as he flashes a ready smile.

His teeth are even and At work, or during his

seminars, he wears hand-made silk suits.

At home, he wears

casual, but expensive, resort clothing.

Home is the Kahala

district of Honolulu.

He likes gold and wears lots of it:

watch, rings, and necklaces. He has a smooth, somewhat high-pitched voice.

He speaks

with a light valley accent, which means it has a little midwest, a little Texas, and a little south of the border.

His sing-song

delivery is his attempt at sincerity, courtesy of bad direction and little practice. When Delgado talks, he uses his hands, like any good Italian.

He punches the air like Stallone.

But, like his

message, the gestures seem a little too practiced, a little too contrived.

It's often been said that if something seems too good

to be true, it probably is. Delgado and his teachings.

Many think that's especially true of

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174

Although wealthy, he's not worldly.

He still exhibits many

of the simple habits and traits of his childhood. the insularity, the trusting naivetÕ. seem so friendly.

But that's what makes him

He makes you feel comfortable.

you don't mind being around.

Particularly

He's someone

For someone so successful, he

doesn't seem to be the least bit intimidating. The only boy in a family of three children, Delgado's two sisters led uneventful lives, marrying right out of high school. One is still married and teaching.

The other, divorced twice

already, manages a record store in Ralston.

He, his parents, and

his sisters all get along well enough now that they've come to terms.

He used some of his first million to atone; to make up

for his early rebellion, to take care of his guilt by buying his parents a ranch near Ralston. Delgado doesn't talk too much about his Father or his childhood.

Reading between the lines, you see a strict father

with a volatile, sometimes violent, temper.

His parents fought a

lot and would sometimes take it out on him.

He rebelled, fell in

with wrong crowd, and became a "hood" in high school. through most of his adolescence. interest was athletics. baseball.

He partied

The only thing that kept his

He was good at most, but excelled at

A scholarship to the University of Texas gave him his

exit visa. Texas was another world. distance, time, and emotion. to personify the redneck.

It was light years away in This was an era when Texans seemed

Though Delgado wasn't a "goat-roper,"

as the panhandle cowboys loved to call hippies, he was definitely

Tyranny of the Downbeat

175

not a native son of the Lone Star State. was fine.

When he played ball, he

Everything else sucked, including his studies.

Midway

through his second year, he dropped out and returned to Ralston. He became a student at Ralston Community College.

Having

lost baseball, and now totally alienated from his family and disappointed in himself, he started partying again. drugs for a while, mostly to himself.

He sold

His business was growing,

getting pretty big, until he bumped heads with the Mafia. gave him two choices.

Get out of the business or die.

decided it was time for something completely different.

They

He He spent

the next two years studying the Bible to become a minister for the Jehovah's Witnesses.

Delgado married a woman he met there.

They had two children, one boy and one girl.

Now, she helps run

the business. During those years, many of his friends got out of school and began making a life for themselves.

Delgado noticed that

some, especially those who became real estate agents, were doing extremely well.

He decided to get his license.

He opened a real

estate office in the resort area of Pine Crest, above the old gold rush town of Sonora, 56 miles east of his Ralston home.

The

more he sold, the more he realized he could do better buying property and becoming a landlord.

Within three years, he had

purchased several houses, apartment units, and office buildings in, or near, Pine Crest and Ralston. He got hooked. was money and power.

This time it wasn't alcohol or drugs.

It

To earn a little extra, he became a part

of a growing trend just starting in real estate:

the

Tyranny of the Downbeat

176

"no-money-down" circuit.

He worked first as an adviser and then

as a seminar instructor.

As he studied, he found that a lot of

property was being foreclosed on and sold at minimum price.

He

started attending sales and auctions of foreclosed property and re-possessed merchandise.

His personal wealth exploded and the

tentacles of his empire reached beyond Ralston. Early in his indentured career, Delgado was first introduced to the device that would put him over the top; that would take his message to a much larger audience:

Television.

He began

producing a series of "infomercials," or long-form commercials. They aired late at night and early in the morning on cable television.

It was a new form of communication and distribution.

The cable companies got much-needed advertising revenue and the suppliers of the programming were able to air what were basically half-hour, or hour-long, commercials promoting them and their products. Quickly realizing the potential for additional wealth and independence, Delgado kicked off a series of seminars using his own name and his own information.

With the exposure he got from

TV, it wasn't long before he was reaching a larger audience.

The

money began to seriously roll in as he sold books and videotapes promoting the potential profit of cash flow and no money down. There were obviously a lot of insomniacs out there interested in becoming entrepreneurs. During the time between his return to Ralston and his arrival at the top, two emotions drove Delgado: revenge.

Two sides of the same coin.

envy and

He was born and raised on

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177

the "wrong side of the tracks."

All those cliches.

were cliches because they were true.

But they

He had tried to get out, to

break through, but too many doors were closed to him. blocked by the "better people" in town. bitches".

The "golf and racquet club" set.

through with sports.

But that didn't work.

drugs, eventually to Jesus. his upbringing. estate.

The "RBs."

Doors The "rich

He almost broke He tried alcohol and

And still he couldn't break free of

He finally found a new god:

And it took him all the way.

the cult of real

To wealth, power, and

influence. Now he's among Ralston's number one sons.

Adopted, perhaps,

in the way that city fathers have of recognizing their mistakes and welcoming wayward children back in the face of generous largess. own.

Now he's proudly boasted of and claimed as one of their

And it was time for the big pay-back. "Don't get mad, get even" is a well-worn rallying cry in

this society of rampant status and unchecked ambition.

In an

interview once, Delgado spoke of another phrase that worked better for him.

"Don't get popular, get even," he said.

"I

remember reading this book about high school a few years back. In it, they talked with a man much like me who said, 'I can't deny that I spent a certain amount of my adult life trying to show the people I went to high school with that I was more than what they perceived me to be during those four years.

No, I

didn't have the money or the status some of them had.

But I did

have the brains and the Machiavellian mind to survive them all. And I used those gifts to achieve a certain amount of success.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

178

I wasn't totally unhappy in high school, but I knew that I wanted to be better when I grew up.

I wanted to achieve the wealth,

power, and status I wasn't born with. myself to do that.'

And I could only rely on

I could definitely relate to that."

In the same interview, he talked about how he had been looked down upon by some of his classmates.

When asked if it

bothered him, he answered,, and the anger was visible behind the words, "They really hurt me.

And I swore I would never, ever be

stepped on by those people again.

If they didn't like me then,

they sure as hell were going to hate me now.

But I'd have their

attention." He had spent a lot of time coldly thinking and patiently plotting his revenge; to pay back the class of people that had rejected him.

And through the years, he had methodically and

anonymously ruined a number of them and their families.

Now that

he had the money--more than he or his children could ever spend--the success, the power, and the influence, he just wanted legitimacy and respectability. his final revenge, all at once. influence.

He would have those things, and Against the people born to

Ralston's ruling class.

Vanderwalls, the DiGiulios.

The Delancys, the

All of them.

They were listening now and he was preparing for the big pay-back.

He had the motive.

He just needed the opportunity.

Something was desperately wrong. iced down.

The entire system had been

Each time they brought it up, as soon as they started

to log on, it went down.

The director of information services

Tyranny of the Downbeat

179

was shaking; his eyes straining with panic. spite of the frigidly cold room. but nothing like this. thought.

He was sweating in

He had seen logic bombs before,

"Must be covering his tracks," he

"Slipped a parasite in, sucked us dry of the

information he needed, and disappeared somewhere in the system." The implosion was surreal.

They all scattered.

The screen

of the status display monitor had suddenly turned supple; the hard surface rippled inward like a wave then shattered into the room.

That was it.

"Shut it down!

Now!"

Outside, in the blistering heat of a summer's day, the company trucks of the Westlands Water and Power League continued to hum in and out of the driveway.

Elliot was stunned by the amount of the check.

The masthead

read, "The National Foundation for Independent Living." address was Ralston.

The

The cover letter stated that the foundation

believed in the work Elliot was doing and would like to help contribute to its success.

The letter and the check were both

signed by the controller of the corporation. who or what the foundation was or did.

Elliot had no idea

He assumed the "work" it

referred to was the documentary. Recognizing the confused look, Janet explained. obviously don't watch much insomniac television.

"You

If you did,

you'd know the foundation is part of James David Delgado's real estate empire." "I remember reading something about him in 'Money' or 'Inc.' Pretty wealthy guy."

Tyranny of the Downbeat

180

"Very." "What do you think?

I mean, how legitimate can a guy like

this be?" "Depends on what he's got to gain." "I'm not sure.

This is a lot of money.

I don't know him

well enough to trust him or trust where this money came from. Besides, I understand he's got major political ambitions." "Maybe that's why he's throwing around that kind of money. Trying to find a launch pad.

There have been plenty of

opportunists before him." "Well, let's at least give him a chance to tell us about it."

Neither one was intimidated by the other. of two men who had succeeded on their own terms.

It was a meeting Elliot was

finding it hard to dislike the personable man sitting across from him. "Had you known who it was, would you have taken my money?" "I'd have thought about it." "Right.

Do you need the money?"

"It helps buy independence." "You want to tell the story, don't you?" "Of course." "Well, so do I.

I've seen what's happening to our planet.

To the wildlife and the environment.

Especially to our water."

Elliot cocked an eyebrow because his tone didn't ring true.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

181

"And if you happen to benefit politically from what I reveal?" "It wouldn't hurt.

I intend to run for office.

of the worst kept secrets around. an event.

That's one

But I need an issue.

I need

I need something to put me in front of the public.

And this could be it." "IF I decide to cooperate?" "Of course.

I would like to think that we could work

together toward something that was mutually beneficial." "I'll be honest with you. your politics.

I don't trust you.

And I don't know your motives.

what I've read and heard.

I don't know

All I know is

And that's not real flattering or

convincing." "My closets are open. decision.

Do your digging.

But I'll tell you one thing.

people my entire life.

Then make your

I've watched these

They stepped on my parents.

And on me.

I wasn't good enough to associate with their daughters. screwed me.

They

All my life they told me one thing and did another.

You can understand that.

It's sort of like what Hollywood did to

you, isn't it?" "Maybe." "Look, it's a reason as old as time. it any less real o powerful for me. will have it.

But that doesn't make

I want my revenge.

And I

With or without you."

Elliot leans back and crosses his arms to fully appreciate the rest of the sermon. "The way I see it, it's do unto others time. things.

Besides, it's my home town.

For a lot of

And it's your town, too.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

It's what I know.

182

What we both know.

It's shaped us both.

are what we are because of that town and its people. tired of what's happening to it and the entire valley. become a company town.

DiGiulio's town.

Their town.

We

And, I'm It's And that

bothers me." "I can go along with all of that. this project, I'm not sure of right now. it.

No promises."

What your money means to So let me think about

Elliot starts to push the check back across

the desk. Delgado holds up his hand. check until you're satisfied.

"None expected.

You'll find that I have never

promoted anything illegal, unethical, or immoral. will.

Just check it out.

Just keep the

And I never

I have a feeling we'll be working

together on this one." "If I decide to take your money, what role do you plan to play?" "Consider me a resource. information.

I'll provide money, contacts, and

How you handle it once you get it from me is

entirely up to you." "No strings?" "None." "No interference?" "Would you have it any other way?" "There is no other way." "Fine.

Then let's spend our energy on selling the truth."

"I can live with that." Janet.

Elliot passed the check over to

Tyranny of the Downbeat

DISSOLVE: MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #11: Minor Key Synthesizer Piece 68

INT. LAB - MEDIUM

Shot of EPA lab testing hazardous pesticides. NARRATOR (v.o.) The EPA's program to regulate hazardous pesticides falls under the Federal Insecticide, Fungicide, and Rodenticide Act--FIFRA. But it has been manacled by internal resistance, lack of funding, pressure from agricultural interests in Congress, and lack of committed, trained staff. As a result, it has dealt with less than one percent of the five hundred pesticide ingredients suspected of causing cancer. CONTINUE SEQUENCE. A controversial 1972 amendment to the Federal Insecticide, Fungicide, and Rodenticide Act required the government to reimburse the maker of any pesticide that was taken off the market as a health hazard. The cost of the reimbursement was often prohibitive, usually running into the millions of dollars. As a result, the EPA has been reluctant to take such action. CONTINUE SEQUENCE. And even when the EPA declares a chemical safe, can its decision be trusted? One reason for the uncertainty is that many of the products were approved 20 or 30 years ago, when toxicology was less sophisticated than it is today. Another is that some 200 pesticide ingredients were approved based on data from one testing lab that were later found to be fraudulent. 69

EXT. FIELD - WIDE SHOT

Tractor sprays field.

183

Tyranny of the Downbeat Still other hazardous pesticides are protected today because they have been in use for decades. They were allowed to stay on the market by "grandfather" rights. Even though many do not meet current safety standards. 70

ECU OF SPRAYING Of the six most dangerous chemicals identified in California's 1985 Little Hoover Commission, review of pesticide use, two--toxaphane and EDB--are no longer sold in this state. However, four other chemicals--C-3 compounds, arsenicals, and rice herbicides--are used extensively in California and elsewhere.

71

MONTAGE

Different application of pesticides. The frightening thing is we cannot see or taste or feel the poisons. We have only begun to learn how to design tests to determine whether they are present and in what concentrations, let alone the effects of those concentrations on human life. CONTINUE MONTAGE. We know that no one, in or out of government, seems to have the slightest idea what to do. We know that public disclosure and outrage hasn't stopped anything. And we have no idea when we will start paying the physical and emotional prices for the damage that has been done. 72

EXT. FIELD - ESTABLISHING SHOT

Shot of tomato harvest. Typically, the concentration of pesticides in groundwater and on produce is a few parts per billion. Some scientists scoff that this is too little to worry about. These experts claim people are getting way too scared about very tiny amounts of chemicals. The counter argument is that no amount of a

184

Tyranny of the Downbeat carcinogen is "safe." Especially since most fungicides now on the market are known to cause cancer or birth defects or both. 73

MONTAGE

Shots of handling and applying pesticides. We are an integral element of the environment. Current ways of handling pesticides are spectacular examples of ignoring this reality. The EPA's pesticide regulations and the practices of farmers assume that complex, persistent organic molecules can be carefully deposited on one part of a farmer's acreage at a particular point in a growing cycle without becoming incorporated into human food chains. CONTINUE MONTAGE. This attitude overlooks such things as windinduced drift, soil residues, runoff into streams, mistimed applications, deliberate violations of regulations, and mislabeling errors. All of these ensure that a significant fraction of the total volume of pesticides applied in this country ends up being ingested by human beings. 74

MONTAGE

Stock shots, file footage, and newspaper articles on asbestos and other occupational cancers. We are only forty years into the petrochemical age and the warning signs are everywhere. The relationship between exposure to a wide range of petrochemical carcinogens and an extensive array of occupational cancers are well documented. And such studies are still in their infancy. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Recent reports suggest that the concentrations of dibenzofurans, a breakdown product of PCBs, have had a significant effect in reducing the sterility of American males. Other studies indicate that the average urban child carries much

185

Tyranny of the Downbeat

186

higher levels of body lead than was previously thought. And these levels are often associated with measurable declines in IQ and other intelligence measures. 75

MONTAGE

Shots of fishermen and duck hunters. Many of the chemicals released into the environment by modern technology possess the property of concentrating in body tissues. Of bioaccumulating. So predators higher up the food chain, including humans, may end up with millions of times as much of a given halogenated hydrocarbon as the environment at large. CONTINUE MONTAGE. What is much less well known are the ways in which these different pollutants interact within the body and the external environment. And what new and untested breakdown products they may generate. 76

EXT. CAVE - MEDIUM SHOT

Shots of fresh water in underground caves and grottos. Human exposure to cancer-causing substances sometimes does not manifest itself in observable symptoms for decades. These "time bombs" may go on in our reservoirs and wells and inside our bodies long after we have discovered them. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

MUSIC: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #12: Ominous Synthesizer Piece DISSOLVE 77

EXT. CHEMICAL COMPANY- ESTABLISHING SHOT

WIDE SHOT of CARL POPE in front of OxyGene's corporate headquarters. CARL POPE

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All of the chemicals we depend upon to survive in this modern, chemically-dependent world are controlled by a small but powerful segment of society. A network of industrial corporations. 78

MONTAGE

Shots of exteriors and interiors of chemical companies. shots, manufacturing, disposal.

Lab

POPE (v.o.) Companies characterized by extremely short time-horizons. Companies with a very limited sense of responsibility. The result. Inefficiency, malfeasance, and recklessness. An attitude where all consequences of what they do are measured by the immediate impact on shareholder profits. CONTINUE MONTAGE. Corporate America has shown laxity, to the point of criminal negligence, in soiling the land and adulterating the water with its toxins. 79

MONTAGE

News footage showing late-night toxic dumpers, canisters of toxic waste, leaking storage facilities. Industry's treatment of water has been scandalous and frequently immoral. Those corporations that have abused this essential substance of human life have willingly and knowingly taken the most dangerous concoctions that their chemists have perfected and used them in one or another process. CONTINUE MONTAGE. They have then taken the leftovers and routinely dumped them into rivers and aquifers. And thus into humans' drinking water supplies and their bodies. And, it is quite likely, into the lives of their unborn children. Some of these industries and their hired hands--lawyers, lobbyists, local, state, and federal officials--have then

Tyranny of the Downbeat conspired to keep the public from knowing what they have done. 80

MONTAGE.

Continue shots of interior and exteriors shots of chemical companies. It's hard to imagine a more dangerous guardian for this "Pandora's Box". In ancient mythology, "Pandora's Box" was filled with the seeds of all the troubles and blessings of existence. It also offered lasting virtue and hope. CONTINUE MONTAGE. This conjures up frightening images. Images of the "wrong people" in control of something that is absolutely essential to human life. Water. And its quality. CONTINUE MONTAGE The "wrong people" are members of the petroleum cartel. The leaders of the agrichemical industry. And the other stalwarts of this great American free enterprise system that have shown such contempt for the environment. CONTINUE MONTAGE. The opportunities for corruption, abuse, political and economic gain are limitless. 81

EXT. OXYGENE - MEDIUM SHOT

CARL POPE stands in front of OxyGene's corporate headquarters. CARL POPE We know that economics will be the determining factor in the future. The best we can do is try to keep that control out of the hands of the "wrong people." But, even an extraordinary effort, started immediately, cannot achieve protection for the American public for years to come. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

AS NARRATOR EXITS, CAMERA ZOOMS INTO CLOSE UP OF OXYGENE LOGO.

188

Tyranny of the Downbeat

189

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY OxyGene's Carver Labs is housed in an old brick building. It sits on a dusty country road outside Ralston.

The head

researcher is a man named James Ulysses Daedalus.

For years,

the lab had been responsible for developing a line of several new products for agribusiness. pesticides.

Some were fertilizers, most were

All were very effective.

One of the labs most

generous benefactors was the DiGiulio Winery.

It had funded a

number of projects over the years and was currently underwriting the development of a powerful pesticide; a nematocide designed to eradicate the worms that fed on young grape stalks. There had been rumors in recent years, unconfirmed, that this lab had been testing the toxicity of pesticides, not on laboratory animals, but on real people. used were being paid to participate. But it was extra income.

The illegal aliens they

For what, they didn't know.

And, if they suspected anything, they

wouldn't report it because they'd be deported. Pat Walsh and I thought the unconfirmed reports needed some checking. In talking with Daedalus, I recognized the type of man who has been a part of our culture since ancient times. artist-scientist.

The

That curiously disinterested, almost diabolic

human phenomenon, working beyond the normal bounds of social judgment, dedicated to the morals not of his time, but of his art.

The hero of a way of thought, he is single hearted and full

of faith that the truth as he finds it outweighs all else and

Tyranny of the Downbeat

190

shall make us free. I reached back for my mythology.

"Daidalos."

The Greek

adjective for "cunningly wrought" and "skillfully made". Daedalus was a cunning, clever artificer who was taught by Athena to be skilled in handicrafts.

He was later condemned because he

treacherously murdered his talented assistant because he was envious of the youth and realized that his fame would soon surpass that of his teacher.

In exile, he turned his mind to

unknown skills and changed nature.

It was he who built the

labyrinth to trap the minotaur; it was he who fashioned wings to escape the labyrinth, only to have his son fly too close to the sun and plummet into the sea. The more we talked, the more obvious it became that Daedalus was a firm believer in the phrase:

"Better living through

chemistry." The woman standing next to him is his assistant. is Barbra Sue Darwin.

Her name

To anyone seduced by her looks, it's a

wonderful surprise to find that she's also intelligent--a degree in bio-chemistry from Berkeley--and charming.

She reminded me

of all those women of the Sixties; the ones we lustfully called "bra-less, Berkeley, hippie-chicks".

The perfect woman, except

for her devotion to Daedalus. Beyond the cursory standard tour, which revealed nothing, Daedalus nor Darwin offered much in the way of time or information.

Pat, ever the conspirator, had spent most of his

time sizing up the security.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

191 CHAPTER 12

History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake. -- James Joyce Mirrors would do well to think before they cast their reflections back at us. -- Jean Cocteau Flying low along highway 99, one of the few things that makes a mark on the endlessly flat valley landscape are the hundred or so white, cylindrical tanks running alongside a dry creekbed.

They are part of a huge complex that looks like it

should be in Houston or Bahrain. with crude or unleaded fuel.

But the tanks aren't filled

They're filled with Chardonnay,

Cabernet, and ghetto white lightning.

One of the largest

wineries in the world is headquartered here.

It runs this town.

And much of the valley running north and south.

The man in

charge doesn't like having his winery compared to a refinery. But then he doesn't like much of anything, except manipulating people and making money.

His name is Robert DiGiulio, founder

and owner of DiGiulio Winery.

He is The Padrone.

The most

influential winemaker in the United States, perhaps the world. Next to Baron Philippe de Rothschild or Robert Mondavi, he has probably influenced more people's decisions about wine than anyone.

He relishes the power, the control.

He's worked hard

to get it and maintain it. At first glance, The Padrone looks much like a teddy bear Godfather.

He's a large man, but not fat.

six feet, and straight.

He stands tall, over

Most of his hair is gone, except at the

sides, which is brown with streaks of gray.

He wears a moustache

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192

which is now entirely gray.

His eyes are dark-brown, almost

black, but unlike dark-eyed people, his shine brightly.

What you

notice immediately is that his head and hands seem larger than normal.

Not too large for his body, not deformed, just big.

For a 77-year-old, he's in remarkably good shape and still very strong physically.

Just shake hands with him.

Probably

because he takes in moderation the pasta of his inheritance and the wine of his legacy. in the fields.

And because he spends most of his days

He has a slight limp, courtesy of a cheap hit

taken by a smaller linebacker during one of the first high school football games held in the valley. existence by carrying a cane.

He refuses to acknowledge its

Only in the last few years has he

finally accepted the inevitable and begun wearing glasses to read.

He dresses well, in conservative and traditional

double-breasted pin stripes at the office and work boots, Levi's, work shirt, and straw hat in the fields. DiGiulio lives in a splendid home he erected along the creek east of town.

Far enough out that a growing population wouldn't

reach him for decades, yet close enough to the winery to have lunch at home.

When he designed and built his estate along the

banks of John Muir Creek, The Padrone had hoped to capture and transport a piece of his heritage.

He and his wife had spent

several weeks touring the Piedmont region of Italy, searching for a villa they could purchase.

When they found it, they had it

painstakingly taken apart, each piece numbered, then shipped to California where it was re-assembled.

Where once there was an

empty grape field, surrounded by walnut and eucalyptus trees,

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there soon stood a magnificent Mediterranean villa. In the garden, in homage to his heritage and the source of his wealth, to his humble beginnings, he planted two grape vines from the original family vineyard, one each for his father and mother.

No one was allowed to touch these vines.

He

personally saw to their care; fertilizing them, pruning them, harvesting their fruit.

He often talked to them, as if each had

absorbed the spirit of the person they were dedicated to. Sometimes, when he was especially troubled, he would simply sit and stare at them.

During those moments of introspective

reverie, the only person allowed near, and this was at a some distance, was his personal bodyguard.

A precaution for a man who

had become paranoid and jealous of his mortality.

It was here he

often made the decisions that would affect his winery and his valley. Robert DiGiulio was born in the California Mother Lode town of Sutter Creek, the son of Italian immigrants.

They had come to

California early in this century, like many others, seeking opportunities they could not find in their native land. father, Julio, prospered.

His

He soon had enough money to buy some

land in the San Joaquin Valley, near Ralston, where Robert and his brother David grew up. wine grapes on his new land.

He planted vineyards of table and The business started slowly, but

his hard work soon showed a small profit.

The elder DiGiulio

kept the original ranch and bought more land closer in to Ralston. vineyards.

There, he built a house and planted still more

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194

The same ambition that had driven his father to this country inspired Robert, while still in high school, to learn more about the family business; how to tend the vines and get the grapes to market.

By then, the feeble attempt to legislate public morality

known as Prohibition had begun.

In the beginning, the small

grape growers, like the DiGiulios, were hit hard.

The family

business, like so many others at the time, nearly failed. Robert's father, an idealist and optimist, had trouble dealing with the reality.

A short time later, he and his wife died in an

auto accident while driving through thick tule fog on their way home from a wedding celebration in Vernalis. Neither Robert nor David ever discussed the death of their parents.

When pressed for an explanation, they would lash out at

the interrogator, shouting it was none of their, or anyone's, business.

It was a personal matter; a closed door.

The reason

for their overreaction was that some suspected that it may have been suicide.

That Julio DiGiulio had veered off the foggy road

and into the river running alongside the road to escape the failure he faced. dealt with.

It was a deep wound the brothers had never

Or investigated.

Following the briefest period of mourning, without seeming uncaring, Robert got on with his life.

He took over the family

business, with some assistance from his brother.

Because

Prohibition did allow the crushing and fermenting of grapes for medicinal and religious purposes, there was still a demand for grapes for home winemaking.

Noting this, Robert made the first

of many instinctual marketing decisions.

He switched from

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growing both table and wine grapes to exclusively supplying wine grapes to this market.

Good timing, a little luck, and burning

ambition guaranteed his success.

DiGiulio did well.

Early in 1933, as Repeal approached, The Padrone, as someone had half-jokingly, semi-enviously dubbed him, began his own winery.

He applied for, and was granted, a government permit to

make wine before Repeal was officially enacted.

In a small

corrugated tin and wood building, alongside the Southern Pacific railroad tracks that split Ralston in half, he made his first wine. He was a competent winemaker, having watched it made in his own home and the homes of relatives and friends.

But he knew

there was more to the science of winemaking than he had seen there.

So he began spending time at the Ralston Public Library,

researching, reading, and studying the only thing available--pamphlets published by the University of California before Prohibition began. His need to know inspired him to learn more of the science and refine his craft.

His need to control drove him to be shrewd

and ruthless when dealing with suppliers and distributors. cut no slack and expected none.

He

As with most successful

enterprises, timing and luck, combined with intelligence and ambition, assured continued growth.

And the winery, named now

after the family, grew steadily into the nation's first major wine-making organization. World headquarters for the DiGiulio Winery sits but a few miles from its trackside birthplace.

But it is light years away

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196

in the science and technology of viticulture, enology, packaging, marketing, and distribution.

DiGiulio continued to pioneer in

all aspects of winemaking and did more than any other man to promote and to educate the palate of the world to appreciate the wines of California.

And he was never afraid to remind people of

that fact. The DiGiulio Winery is one of the nation's largest privately held firms, and one of its most secretive. tasting room.

DiGiulio has no

It officially discourages visitors.

all-business tone is set by The Padrone.

This covert,

Nobody knows just how

big or rich the winery is because it is still family-owned and operated.

But it is powerful and it is ruthless.

The Padrone runs the winery and the winery runs Ralston. The company picnic is the largest community function of the year, with the exception of the "Annual Water Festival".

His

philanthropy is legend in Ralston and the surrounding communities. The catholic church has received land and money, as has Valley Catholic High School.

Many other charities have

received generous, and often anonymous, gifts.

The DiGiulio

Foundation was created to identify and manage all contributions to charity. support.

It's a relatively inexpensive way to buy community

And it does.

His money and his favors determine who is

mayor, who sits on the city council and the county board of supervisors.

Not even the "Ralston Record" dares cross swords

with the winery over issues significant.

The people and

community leaders will not admit it, but Ralston is a company town, not unlike the steel and oil towns run by Carnegie and

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197

Rockefeller a century earlier.

And from the heart of the Central

Valley, he sits, making decisions that manipulate and influence people and events throughout the state and across the country. The unseen mover, he enjoys running, and sometimes ruining, people's lives from there.

And he has those who owe him, in

positions of power, who can mask his every move. DiGiulio is a focused man.

His entire life, every decision

he's ever made, has been based on the single premise of making money. say.

And keeping it.

It's his way, or the highway, as they

He leaves nothing to chance.

imagination.

And very little to

He has no patience, no tolerance, for weak people,

especially people he counts on who fail to deliver.

Employees

who can stand the heat, who like the paternalistic style, stay with the winery forever.

Those who can't, are gone in a breath.

The end result is a company run by tough, like-minded businessmen.

Not businesspeople, in the new language of sexual

equality, because there are no women in management positions at DiGiulio.

The old world traditionalist never trusted their

emotional mood swings. The Padrone is a meticulous and careful man. to detail is legendary in the business world. his attention.

His attention

Nothing escapes

He insists that every conversation, every

transaction, anything where information is given or taken, be written down, reviewed and counter-signed by a supervisor, and filed.

Everything and anything that's ever been done by, and to,

the winery has been recorded somewhere.

The result is a tangled

bureaucracy and, until recently, warehouses filled with

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198

Recently meant the arrival of the computer age.

Always an innovator, which on the surface seems to run contrary to his old world ways, DiGiulio was the first in the industry to computerize his entire operation.

Now, instead of racks and

racks of manila folders, his MIS and Records Departments are housed in an entire building, temperature-controlled and electrically isolated, filled with hard disks, floppy disks, and disk packs.

From there, the electronic web reaches out to every

desk at corporate headquarters and to an entire sales, marketing, and distribution army nationally and around the world.

It's a

wired winery. DiGiulio takes great effort to cultivate an image of legitimacy in a business blemished by memories of bootleggers, excess, violence, and the influence of organized crime.

And as

clean as his business appears, DiGiulio hasn't been above stretching the law to his own advantage. determination to never be poor again.

Perhaps it's his

Or maybe it's his Sicilian

heritage; something in his emotional make-up that allows him to lightly tamper with common morality and ethics without remorse. He simply looks at things a little differently than most. a different set of values.

He has

And he doesn't seem to be upset by

things that might bother others.

Just as long as he doesn't get

blood on his own hands; just so long as they can't point the finger at him. His tyranny, born of paranoia and a fear of losing control, inflated by ego and power, has grown worse as he's grown older. In studying the man more closely, it becomes obvious that he

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designed his life to be as different as possible from his father; a man whom he loved for his spirit, gentleness, and generosity, but whom he despised for exhibiting those same weaknesses. Padrone knew his parents death wasn't an accident. had killed himself and his wife because he was weak. had lost control of the situation and his emotions. would never allow that to happen.

The

His father Because he DiGiulio

He was stronger than his

father and the world would know that.

He would never show the

scars. This obsession with success was symptomatic of his greatest fear.

He was determined not to fail in the eyes of others as his

father had.

And, on those rare occasions when something slipped

through, he did everything he could to conceal it.

He stopped at

nothing to maintain the facade of a perfect game. His terrors are self-inflicted; his demons of his own design.

His delusions of aggression and ruthless threats implied

by others are simply a

mirror of his own impulses.

He judges

others by himself; he sees motives in them that are really his own.

Perhaps that is why he avoids mirrors, dodges his

reflection.

He refuses to see himself as others see him.

DiGiulio is a man who is used to having his own way.

Things

have gone his way for too long, by design, for him to think any other way.

It seems that he will stop at nothing to see his own

vision of success realized.

Here is a man who profits annually

from a $500 million "misery market" and feels no remorse.

Here

is a man who defames and discredits his own brother in order to secure the sanctity of the family name and the product that bears

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200

it. They've got back-street names and a little extra kick of alcohol, this poison the street people call "cheap" or "jug" or "grape".

Made with inexpensive, mostly chemical, ingredients,

these "wines" have twice the alcohol of--and 10% higher profits than--table wines.

That's one half of the slimy equation.

The

other half is the tipsy elderly couple who drink it because they don't like the taste of the harder stuff; or the bottle gangs, sporting wine sores, who drink it because it's cheap and it gets them there.

Witnessing this, you suddenly realize that these

"fortified wines" are deadly and, as the sociologists would say, have no "socially redeeming values". And the man who has built a business on this foundation of pain realizes it, too. to talk about it. bottles.

It's an embarrassment.

He doesn't like

He doesn't even put the family name on the

One industry expert was unforgiving in his assessment,

charging that the "makers of skid-row wines are the dope pushers of the wine industry". And then, there's the legal battle with his brother. The family squabble had begun innocently enough. packaging of olive oil.

Over the

A few years before, the younger DiGiulio

had begun marketing a bottled olive oil using the family name. Robert had already licensed General Foods to sell olive oil under the DiGiulio logo.

Hoping for a quick and amicable compromise,

Robert offered David a licensing agreement that prohibited him from selling olive oil outside California or advertising on television.

David refused and Robert sued him for trademark

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201

A few days later, David filed a countersuit in

federal court in Fresno.

He charged his older brother with

breach of fiduciary duty, constructive fraud, and deceit.

He

claimed that his brother had cheated him out of his patrimony and had commingled assets from their parents' estate with his own when he started the winery.

David was suing for half of the

multi-billion-dollar empire. Preparing to defend his suit, David sent his attorney to dig through the DiGiulio-family records.

The lawyer discovered

documents indicating that their father had used the family name in the wine-grape business before Robert took it for the winery. That made the name the property of both brothers.

More

importantly, the will said that the estate was to be divided evenly among the two boys.

David was astonished.

He had always

assumed that what he had been willed was what his parents had wanted.

He was sure that if he had had some interest in the

winery, his brother would have told him. Once, they had been very close.

Robert had raised David

from the age of 13 following the death of their parents.

As

brother and legal guardian, Robert offered advice and guidance. David spent twenty years managing the family vineyards before leaving to operate his own dairy and grape ranches near his home south of Ralston.

Until the suit, Robert continued to buy grapes

each harvest from his brother. Robert had some of the best legal talent in the state already working for the winery.

David hired the rest.

promised to be a long, well-publicized battle.

It

Accusations and

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202

allegations, threats and implications were reported each day in the local and national press.

It cut deeper and deeper.

People

wondered how two brothers could become so different, so hateful, so casual about the other. so far away.

The answer was not so difficult, or

Again, they were Sicilian.

Brothers of that blood

had killed brothers before, for more or less. His younger brother had become a nuisance; a distraction he didn't need.

Brother or no.

His enemies didn't need any more

allies, or any information he might willingly provide. him would be difficult, but not impossible.

Silencing

Attack his

credibility first.

Make them doubt his word.

If that failed,

simply attack him.

The youngest had left the oldest brother no

choice. His brother was a someday problem. urgent business to attend to.

Today, he had more

That's what was bothering him as

he sat there in his garden, staring at the budding greenery of the grape vines.

He was re-playing the entire board meeting,

noting those who had backed him and those who had broken ranks. The sting of his embarrassment was still warm on his face.

The

anger glowed hotter as he thought about it, fanned by what he knew people were thinking and saying and by his disappointment in himself for allowing it to happen. They, the board, half of whom he had gotten appointed, had the brass to blame him for what had happened.

And then, had told

him--not asked him--but told him to take care of it.

Because

that goddamned Asian farmworker had worked on one of his ranches and because Elliot Lincoln--the famous Elliot Lincoln--was born

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203

and raised in the same town.

His town they said.

A town they

thought he controlled. The incident with the farmworker could be dealt with. few medical bills. family.

Pay a

Take some food and clothes over to the

Help him pull out of it and then get the relief agency

to relocate him. Mr. Lincoln was another matter entirely. some thought.

And some counsel.

That would take

It was time for a meeting.

He

needed to talk with his two most trusted, and dedicated, advisors.

His lawyer and his congressman:

The Mouthpiece and

The Iceman. Returning to the winery, DiGiulio asked his secretary to call Thomas Franklin Delancy and John Anthony Borba. Immediately.

Before this day was done, he expected to know what

to do about this slight nuisance.

The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers. --William Shakespeare, "Henry IV" Prior appropriation.

"First in time, first in right."

That's how water rights were determined in the early pioneer days of California and the Western United States.

The first settlers

to get to a stream, creek, or river had a superior right--a prior right--to the water. them.

Those who came later had to get water from

It's a courtesy still practiced today by river rafters.

The first to arrive gets the best campsites. In more modern times, entire law firms had been founded trying to explain prior appropriation.

Unscrambling and

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204

protecting water rights for the Westlands Water and Power League, the Marriposa Combine, and the DiGiulio Winery is the job of Thomas Franklin Delancy and his colleagues at Delancy & Reed, a legal corporation.

Delancy is The Padrone's personal mouthpiece.

Delancy's firm was the primary lobbyist in Sacramento and Washington for most of the water contractors, factory farms, and agrichemical companies in the Central Valley.

He had lobbied

long and hard for water rights, more water projects, and fewer restrictions on pesticides.

His ally is John Borba.

They had

fought side-by-side to raise the acreage limit on water subsidies.

They had also lobbied to keep Masterson open, despite

the pollution and deformities the farmers of The League had caused.

And they had worked to stall EPA bans on certain

pesticides; especially those depended upon by their wealthy and influential grape- and cotton-growing clients and constituents. It was not an even match.

The lawyers for the EPA and

government departments were not extremely talented.

They had

landed in public service because they couldn't hook on with anyone in private practice.

What skills they had were often

rusty from lack of use and any serious challenges.

And now they

were going up against some of the best legal talent in the state. And they were getting hosed.

Any lawyer worth his salt could

drag water use, water rights or water pollution cases out in court for years, while his client continued to receive subsidized water; while his client continued to pollute the state's drinking water. Thomas Franklin Delancy's record against the government was

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205

He had been around for a while and had been

succeeding just about as long.

He was old Ralston.

had lived near, or in, town since it was founded.

His family He went to

school there, married someone from there, and returned to practice law there after graduating from the University of Santa Clara. Like many before him, his Irish ancestors had fled the potatoe famines of the mid-1800s to find a new beginning in the promised land of America. the same careers.

And his family had fallen into many of

Some became priests, some became police.

became savers of souls, others abusers of power. the capacity to be either saint or sinner.

Some

In him, he had

He could serve and

protect the underprivileged class he had been born to, or turn his back to serve and protect the privileged class he had scratched and clawed to become a part of. In the early years of his legal practice, he seemed prepared to fight the good fight, much like his fellow Irish-Catholic, John Kennedy, a man he idolized. else he shared with Borba.

This affection was something

Influenced deeply by the youthful and

idealistic Kennedy, he dedicated his fledging career to representing the disenfranchised and downtrodden:

first, the

freedom-riders in Alabama and counter-culturists busted for speaking their minds and smoking pot, then the street people of the Haight, draft card burners, People's Park street casualties, a young Farmworkers movement, and other unpopular causes. Then something changed. assassinated.

And King.

The music died.

Kennedy was

And a son died in Vietnam.

Delancy

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206

became bitter, impatient, manipulative, and vengeful. Kennedy, more Nixon. reality changed.

Less

His priorities and his perception of

The more he looked at the world through legal

eyes, the more cynical be became.

What began as conscious

efficiency and ethical conscientiousness, somehow turned into a relentless drive to serve any cause that paid well.

And what

some were now calling the agricultural trilateral commission--the triumverate of The League, The Combine, and The Padrone--paid well; especially well. Delancy slowly became distanced from, and immune to, the normal moral accountability shared by ordinary people.

And he

callously and impatiently defended his right to do so; to be above the law.

As necessary, he trampled on the rights of the

public to satisfy his powerful clients. moneys.

A killer equation.

were simply negligent.

Lawyers, guns, and

Add to that politicians.

Sometimes just dishonest.

Often they

They just

didn't seem to mind turning their backs on people's rights just so they wouldn't annoy the influential.

They were legal

terrorists, invoking the veil of client privilege to mask their abuse of people's rights.

Many wondered how that relationship

could be more important than people's lives. to answer the question.

Colleagues sadly shook their heads and

said he was not immoral, simply amoral. simply expedient.

Delancy chose not

It was his job.

He was not malicious,

And he did it.

And the

victims left standing on the scaffolding of his legal reign of terror were the people and the legal system. Through the years, Delancy had become very well connected

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financially and politically.

His lobbying and PAC contributions

had endeared him to the Democratic hierarchy.

Senators,

governors, and presidents had been guests at his magnificent Arabian horse ranch outside Ralston. The family compound was designed as a west coast clone of the Hyannis Port home of The Kennedys. though, is considerably larger.

Delancy's domain,

Casa del Rio Estanislao, named

after the river named for the renegade Indian chief who had been baptized by Father Serra, sprawls over several hundred acres along the bluffs overlooking the river, northeast of Ralston, on the way to the Sierra foothills.

It is a working horse ranch,

breeding and selling prize Arabians.

During winter and spring,

the hills are rolling in green, summer brown when not irrigated. White board fences remind one of Kentucky or Tennessee, while the eucalyptus groves conjure the Big Sur coastside, and the bougainvillaea, Monterey or the pueblos of Taos.

The southwestern

design and decor of the ranch house is strictly Santa Fe. Each Sunday, all members of the family gather for church services, held at their own chapel by a visiting church dignitary, and Sunday dinner.

Weather permitting, they even play

a little touch football. Corpulant is a kind, but accurate, assessment of the man who reigns here.

And sloppy, and untidy.

to fit him quite right.

His clothes never appear

They're always loosely moving, pulling

and peeking out, as if looking around for their real owner.

He

always seems to have a thin veil of cigar ashes all over his favorite green and red plaid, heraldic-colored bowtie; the one he

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208

It is an unflattering combination of

Thomas Mitchell and Orson Welles.

He likes to think of himself

as Pat O'Brien doing Knute Rockne.

But the smile tips him off.

It, not his eyes, are the window to this man's soul.

It can be

frozen thin-lipped in deadly seriousness, or broken and crooked when he's seriously deadly.

Read my lips takes on whole new

realms of meaning when dealing with Thomas Franklin Delancy. He is usually an uncaring asshole, especially to adversaries and those he dislikes.

Unfortunately, he doesn't know how, or

when, to turn it off when dealing with colleagues, friends, and family.

To the wife he ignores when it's convenient, to the

daughters who live to please him and are rewarded with his nonchalance, or to those around the office and the family compound, it is life as he sees it.

And there are no dissenters.

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209 CHAPTER 13

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be. -- Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. Truth is a lie. -- Pablo Picasso Stephan and I were on our third Beefeaters.

The six o'clock

CalTrain had just rumbled past as we sat on the deck at "Blake's."

The blistering Davis day was simmering down to a

comfortable warm breeze.

There were smells of tomatoes cooking

far off in the Hunt's cannery, of dry grass, warm wood, summer roses, and sounds of the approaching night.

Here we sat, both

trying desperately to conjure up and recapture a time that had passed.

And like most memories, it was probably better in the

remembering than it was in the living. less responsibility.

Although it was a time of

A time of last refuge and isolation before

career and commitment. We were talking about writers.

Stephan, and most of his

friends, considered him one, as did he, although he hadn't really ever finished anything.

He remained satisfied laboring over the

news and postponed finishing the great work until tomorrow.

Like

the letters he always threatened to write, Stephan's were all works in progress, whereas I was near completion. worried over words.

I worried about finishing.

Stephan We had never

really discussed the subject at length because I had always been intimidated; had felt I wasn't sufficiently qualified to discuss writing with someone who wrote.

But now that I had my own

writing working, and after so many years of observing Stephan

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210

making endless notes in trackless volumes of journals and encouraging him to finish something, I had become less than sympathetic when he began to complain, as he often did, about some of the crap he had been reading.

Especially when he would

move on to talking about a mutual friend of ours who also considered himself a writer.

And Stephan would muse about how

this man had never finished the adventure novel he'd been working on for years. Maybe it was the gin.

Maybe it was the fact that I finally

felt superior to Stephan, simply because I had almost accomplished what he had only dreamed about.

Whatever prompted

me, I decided mi amigo was long overdue for a little reality check. "I don't think Marlow will ever finish it."

He took a long

drag off the unfiltered Pall Malls, took another sip, and stared out over the railroad tracks toward the trailer houses where he once lived. "I don't know. beat us."

He'll probably finish it someday.

Probably

I twirled the small glass sitting on the black

wire-mesh tabletop, picking at the thin, round napkin. "How close are you to finishing?"

He dusted the ashes down

to a glow. "I'm pretty much there. re-work some situations."

Just need to tweak some words and

I stir.

"You know, it's funny."

"What's that?" "What they say about life imitating art." "How's that?"

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211

"I'm starting to look at this book like it's some kind of voodoo doll.

It's like, by writing it, I'm foretelling it."

"A chronicle of the immediate future?" "All the things I write about in the book, all the possibilities, seem to come true." "Maybe they're just coincidences." "Or maybe things happen because we let them happen." "Beware of what you wish for, you may just get it?" "Possibly.

What about you?

Are you wishing for a finished

work?" "Just a little more work and it'll be ready." "You know, not that I'm an expert, but when I first started, I made two notes to myself and stuck them on the computer. Little reminders.

One said, 'When in doubt, write.'

And the

other said, "A writer writes.'" Stephan looked over, the cigarette poised in his fingertips, that crooked smile on his face. "Are you saying I'm not a writer? for the paper.

Hell, I write every day

I crank out more words in a week than most

'serious writers' do in a month." "Quantity, not quality. write.

Besides, it's not what you want to

It's just a living."

"And a helluva good living. think I'm doing some good. "So did Hemingway.

And I don't mind saying that I

Making a difference."

But he knew when to cut himself loose.

Look, I'm just saying you're not a novelist until you finish a novel.

And I'm not even talking about being published.

I mean

Tyranny of the Downbeat

finishing something.

212

You talk a good story about writing the

great American novel.

And you make a lot of notes.

never seen anything finished.

But I've

I don't think you've ever shown me

anything in progress." "That's because none of it's ready." "Bullshit, man!" you can or you can't. in-between. for?

The gloves were definitely off. You do or you don't.

"Either

There's no

We both know you're good, but what are you waiting

You've certainly had the time to finish something." "Maybe I'm afraid to." "Why?" "Because maybe it won't be as good as it should be.

I've

set myself up all these years to be a great writer, a quality writer, with something to say.

I savored that role,

..."

"And played it to the max." "

...

while we were in college, thinking I had years to

complete something.

That there were years for me to gather

experiences and observations that would speak to the common consciousness of people.

Then, suddenly, I was no longer a

student, I was no longer young, and I had nothing to show for all those years of being the starving young artist." "Except stories and photographs of you living out the fantasy." "My aren't we harsh and judgmental tonight?

Been saving

this up, compadre?" "I think it's part envy and part frustration. of your talent.

Envy because

Frustration because I hate to see talent wasted.

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213

It's like your painting. and you squandered it.

Or your music.

You had talent in both

I would have given a left nut to have

either of those abilities." "Well, I think you're short-changing yourself." "Maybe. literature.

But I do know one thing. But it will get done.

Mine may not be great

And it will be a good story.

And if I can communicate any of my vision of the world, unique or not, I will be satisfied.

And I don't think you can say that."

Stephan took another drag and thought about Paris.

In a modern information world, smart governments don't care as much about what you say as they care about what you know. -- Richard Reeves/Commentary "Information a Vital Freedom" Born under a bad sign, Been down since I began to crawl If it wasn't for bad luck I wouldn't have no luck at all Bad luck and trouble's been my only friend I've been down ever since I was ten Born under a bad sign I feel like a ballgame on a rainy day. If it wasn't for bad luck I wouldn't have no luck at all. -- John Lee Hooker, "Born Under a Bad Sign" Congressman John Anthony "Tony" Borba, democrat from Mendota.

His home district, the Westlands, stretches from the

agricultural lands on the west side of the San Joaquin Valley to the dairy lands and vineyards of Ralston to the Fresno suburbs. Most of the big factory farms and corporate combines are in his corridor of influence, including DiGiulio.

He was hand-picked

and groomed for this job personally by The Padrone.

Now he's the

key player on two powerful committees with critical influence in

Tyranny of the Downbeat

the state.

214

Those controlling water and agriculture.

power got him where he is.

Bundles of both.

Money and

And lots of favors

have been re-paid to keep him there. Borba was part of a California congressional delegation that had become invincible in its faceless obscurity. analyst jokingly commented: money.

One political

"Howard Hughes wasted a lot of

If all he wanted was anonymity, he should have joined the

delegation from California."

The congressmen liked it that way.

With little or no press coverage, they could fashion their own image.

Not through electronic media or the press, but through

newsletters, which they wrote and mailed and the government--meaning the taxpayers receiving the mailers--paid for.

In recent years, so few incumbents had been defeated that

no one even bothered to challenge them anymore. continuity in the delegation.

This created

But it also caused insularity.

Each member had their own agenda and they were free to pursue it, regardless of how reflective it was, or wasn't, of their constituency. Of this trend, Borba gloated. Westerners.

"We're the power now.

We

The political dynasties, or should I call them

dinosaurs, of the industrial northeast have had their day. they're getting pretty nervous about it.

And

Especially when I told

them I wouldn't treat them any differently than they've treated us.

Nervous?

They should be scared to death."

Just another

example of a cultivated arrogance that exhibited itself often in his annoying habit of calling everyone by their last name. Tony has been quoted as saying, "My business is politics.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

It's what I do.

215

It's not a hobby.

intricacies, the dealing. system.

And I'm successful because I work the

I don't try to beat it.

Communication and marketing. product.

I like the way it works, its

And I know what makes it work.

The mass merchandising of a

Whether it's a philosophy or a President.

It's all

product to me." He understands the power of presentation and the media. Walk into his office and you're confronted by a bank of television monitors.

Six TV sets against one wall, tuned to

C-SPAN, NBC, CBS, ABC, CNN, and PBS. He doesn't avoid the media. issues.

Sound and fury.

Constant electronic input.

He courts it.

"It's image, not

Control the image and you control how

your message is presented by the media."

To make sure he

controls it completely, he has built and equipped his own television studio.

A complete state-of-the-art facility.

produce his own video press releases.

To

To show his colleagues and

constituents how to manipulate the electronic eye and mediate the message. Sharply dressed in his expensive tailored suits, he leaves no aspect of his own presentation to chance.

Preoccupied with

appearance, it's all very carefully contrived and executed.

Not

only how he looks physically, but how others see him--colleagues and peers, superiors and inferiors.

Substance is acceptable, but

appearance is everything. Short and compact, he's about five-seven or eight.

His dark

brown, pinched ferret's eyes shift and dart below black eyebrows that come to a point at the top of his sharp Mediterranean nose.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

216

His wiry black hair is cropped close, resembling something between a military cut and a John Kennedy wave. He doesn't drink or smoke because they cheapen the package. Running, lifting weights, and playing racquetball keeps him active and lucid. another war.

He plays hard and with a vengeance.

It's just

And those who have taken a slammed racquetball off

the forehead can vouch for his battlefield aggressiveness.

His

drive toward fitness is a slap in the face of the disease he inherited; the one his body can't shake no matter how hard it's worked. When his wife speaks of her husband, she mentions his compulsion to organize and his attention to detail. a fanatic in that way. lined up.

Everything has to be in its place.

So he always knows right where it is.

likes predictability.

"He's almost All

Because he

He really hates surprises."

Nancy Borba is bright and attractive, just this side of bubbly.

She was born in the Valley, in Ralston.

Her father

worked in the bottling plant at DiGiulio, while her mother stayed home to raise a family. school.

Nancy was well-liked and did well in

She could have been a cheerleader, but chose to pursue

more important things.

Her older brother went away to college

and she, being part of the baby-boom, was not about to be outdone by her brother.

But she stayed closer to home.

She attended San

Jose State College, got a teaching credential, and returned to Ralston to teach.

She was in her second year when she met Tony

at the annual DiGiulio company picnic.

They were married the

next summer and attended that picnic as newlyweds.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

217

She no longer teaches. her husband's climb.

Her time is fully occupied helping

She's good at it and enjoys it.

She takes

good care of herself, possibly out of a deep fear she may someday look like her mother; overweight and looking the typical Portuguese wife.

She's still very attractive, though 40 looms.

She's lively, genuine, and generous. a severe competitiveness.

If she has one fault, it's

Again because of her older brother.

In school, she competed equally in sports and academics with the boys.

Now she competes in terms of money, stature, and position

in society.

She doesn't like anyone, especially her male

acquaintances from Ralston, to do better than she does.

She and

Tony make a good match. John Anthony was born in the Central Valley near Mendota. His Portuguese parents were dairy-farmers and good Catholics. Tony is proud to be Portuguese.

Although he was born in the

United States to American parents, he promotes himself as very ethnic, almost Third World. and Asian colleagues.

That bothers some of his Hispanic

But he doesn't really care.

As long as it

opens some doors. Rising before the sun every day of his youth, he would do his chores then walk to school. his classmates liked him. usually won.

He was a successful student and

He ran for class office often and

And he liked it.

His parents wanted him to work the farm. chose law school as his parachute.

He wanted out.

He

He was about to bail out when

his father lost the dairy, to a combination of bad management, a depressed market, and inflation.

That was November 1962, just

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218

before John Kennedy was gunned down.

Kennedy was a god to Borba,

as he was to many young people, especially other Roman Catholics. Tony was attracted to his youthfulness, his dynamism, his "can do" attitude. really was.

His death made him realize how insulated his life Kennedy's death, and the disillusionment that

followed, affected Tony deeply. decided to re-dedicate his life. priest.

Just before graduating, he He planned to become a Jesuit

Tony was about to realize that his devastation was just

beginning. As a teenager, he had been in a motorcycle accident.

He

wasn't seriously injured, but for years afterwards he complained of headaches. black-outs.

Occasionally, he suffered convulsions.

Then

Just prior to beginning the ministry, the symptoms

had become so severe he went to the family doctor.

He was

diagnosed as an epileptic. He was crushed. reaction.

Not by the diagnosis, but his family's

His parents were both Old World Portuguese and very

superstitious.

They believed that epilepsy was a divine

punishment for an ancestor's sin.

Their reaction was immediate:

"No son of ours is an epileptic," and it cut Tony deeper than a knife. His parents only pierced the skin above his heart. Jesuits plunged the knife to the hilt. longer join the priesthood.

The

They told him he could no

Citing a canon from the Middle Ages,

they said epileptics were "possessed of the devil" and could not become ordained priests.

His world was shattered.

His family

and his church had turned their backs on him, basically telling

Tyranny of the Downbeat

219

him he wasn't worth saving. I even thought about suicide. I'd do it.

"I hit absolute bottom.

The gutter.

Seriously enough to plot out how

I learned what it was like to be abandoned.

totally, absolutely alone."

Despair became anger.

To be

He cloaked

himself in his own isolation as he cut himself off more and more from his prior life. Although the ordeal was far from over, it was about to take an unexpected turn.

His fellow Catholics had hurt him deeply.

Two more stepped in to save him.

Mrs. Robert DiGiulio, hearing

of the young man's problem from a Catholic relief agency, invited Tony to tutor her children.

Liking the ambitious young man, The

Padrone introduced him to Thomas Delancy.

Delancy, in turn,

introduced him to lawyering and politics.

Following his

graduation from the University of Santa Clara, Tony went to work for liberal Republican congressman Loren Van deCamp.

When Van

deCamp was called to Washington to work for Nelson Rockefeller, Tony ran for, and although a Democrat, easily won Van deCamp's seat. Coincidentally, or perhaps by design, Loren Van deCamp's daughter Laura is an associate in the firm of Delancy and Reed. Tony rose to prominence and power quickly.

He learned very

early the impact and influence of Political Action Committees--PACs.

It didn't take long before his "Valley

Education Fund" became one of the most influential in the state and then the country.

He used it to fashion a political alliance

that depended on the farm vote and wielded power with money from the water lobby, agrichemical corporations, and agribusiness.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

220

Money gladly supplied by The Padrone, The League, and The Combine. In his four terms since then, Borba has accumulated twice the clout of--and twice as many enemies as--lawmakers with three times the tenure.

He's done it because he's ambitious, creative,

fearless, and self-assured. he's fearless.

He's known as The "Iceman," because

After all, he had nearly died as a teenager and

he had certainly died in the eyes of his family when his epilepsy had been diagnosed.

He feels he's got nothing to lose because

he'll never be as devastated as he was then. nothing would ever touch him again. be vulnerable again.

Tony vowed that

He would never let himself

Never let anybody see him weak again.

He had been to the threshold and it held no secrets, no dangers.

And that made him especially powerful, almost

invincible, because he was not motivated by the most basic fear driving temporal man.

His own mortality.

He savored the extra

edge that gave him and used it when that kind of brinkmanship was the only thing that could control an adversary.

He truly

believed in the essence of the "no-guts-no-glory" philosophy. He sought success, but was neutral about its rewards. pursuit excited him as much as the victory.

The

"Besides," he said

with a dark pride of thinly veiled anger, "I'm not worried about the roll of the dice."

And that frightened people.

Some say having nothing to lose makes it easier to sell your soul.

Nothing can touch you because you're already marked.

Tony's epilepsy made him uniquely qualified to be DiGiulio's Dr. Faustus.

So when The Padrone is worried about something, he

Tyranny of the Downbeat

calls Tony and The Iceman starts calling in cards.

221

Tyranny of the Downbeat

222 CHAPTER 14

You wake up every morning still got the sleep in your eyes Working for the boss, you never stop to wonder why So join the rank, this is the rank, we are th rank, rank and file and there is no denial They preach the truth and they don't know what it means From left to right--oh it makes me want to scream Shift to shift, in and out, I give and they take I punch that clock and punch it hard enough to break So join the rank, this is the rank, we are the rank, rank and file and there is no denial -- Escovedo-Kinman-Session-Miller, "Rank and File" Death is patiently making my mask as I sleep. Each morning I awake to discover in the corners of my eyes the small tears of his wax. -- Phillip Dow The Padrone stood with his back to the door, gaze fixed out the large window overlooking the rolling lawns and the creek farther below.

It was a hazy day.

Farmers had been burning the

fruit trees they'd just cleared from their lands to make room for more houses for people working in the Bay Area.

People who had

to work in San Francisco, but didn't want to raise their kids there.

Ralston was growing.

It was changing very rapidly.

that was just one more thing for The Padrone to worry about. two men he probably trusted as much as any--Borba and Delancy--sat across the room. "It's getting too big to control now."

And The

Tyranny of the Downbeat

223

"What's that?" "This town.

This Valley."

"You'll find a way, Padrone.

You'll find a way.

It's yours

to rule." "It was once." annoyed.

The Padrone continued staring.

Things were not in order.

They were getting messy.

was time for a little housekeeping. to get his hands dirty.

He was It

But DiGiulio did not intend

He knew his history and his politics.

He remembered Watergate and a weapon from the Nixon arsenal. "Deniability."

A way of insulating and isolating himself from

charges of conspiracy.

It worked very simply.

He would suggest

to someone else--someone like Borba or Delancy--that certain actions be taken.

That someone might then translate those

suggestions into orders that could be given to still another person who might then carry them out. later say he was never involved.

That way The Padrone could

That he had never directly

given the order. When he spoke, his anguish was genuine. actor.

"I do not know what to do.

He was a very good

They have no right to say

what they are saying or do what they are doing." The two men glance over at each other then back to nothing in particular. "I have worked hard to build this. it.

Fought many to maintain

Now these baseless accusations from faceless enemies.

would destroy it for sport.

To see the powerful humbled."

They He

runs his hand along the curtain, moving it so he see a little more of his land.

"Those who stand against agriculture, against

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224

my right to my water, are obstacles. my ambitions."

To progress, to growth, to

He didn't say it, but he thought about the iron

archway that spanned the main road into town.

"Where the Land

Owns the Water," it read. Borba bore into his back for a moment, then looked over at the collection of ceramic roosters caged in glass.

It was a

remarkable collection, gathered from around the world, sent as presents, proffered in peace.

Gifts to a man who had everything.

Actually, DiGiulio was quite proud of his ceramic coop.

In the

few pictures ever taken of him for publication, when he grudgingly granted an interview, he was always standing near his roosters, or holding one that he especially treasured. roosters.

They were very much like him.

He liked

Especially the

fighters, the killer cocks. "I trust you understand the problem?

The board expects us

to deal with this program of Mr. Lincoln's.

As well as the small

problem of this Asian farmworker." Delancy thought a quick thought of the near past and of Watergate also.

"Engineering the response."

were expected to do. President.

That's what they

Just like the Committee to Re-elect the

He hoped they would do a better job.

They had to.

It was pretty obvious the future of each one of them was at stake. "They are very powerful people. behind them.

They've got the media

They've got the sympathy of public opinion."

"We'll have to change that, won't we?" Tony shifts in the chair, his stomach churning.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

225

"Well?" "Well what?" The Padrone swivels to face them, hearing a hint of rebellion.

"Something wrong, Anthony?"

"Time for me to arrange something? truth?

Again?

Something to hide the

Is that it?"

Quietly, pressingly.

"No.

Time simply to see the truth.

To make it painfully clear, as only you can." convincing.

The man could be

He could work you over.

"And just how am I supposed to do it this time? Blackmail?

Bribery?

Or simple violence?"

The Padrone limps slowly to where Tony sits and places his hand firmly on the congressman's shoulder. benediction.

Not a blessing, nor a

Just to let him know there's no mistaking the

seriousness of their situation. "Anthony, my son." Father Confessor.

The Padrone as Pope.

As

Smiling.

"We

As the one you cannot deny.

just cannot let this continue. Head bowed.

As priest.

I think you both understand."

An altar boy, back in the loving arms of the

Church, he slumps in his chair. "You speak of violence. truth.

Our own truth.

There need be none.

Only the

Placed in the hands of those who can

spread it quickly and widely." "You have the facilities.

He moves over to the glass cage.

You have people who owe you.

And,

need I remind you, owe you because you owe me." Borba sits upright.

Ruler to the knuckles.

Confessor has become Reverend Mother.

The Father

The choir boy caught

Tyranny of the Downbeat

226

transgressing, forgetting the boons bestowed upon him. "Fine.

I'll arrange it.

"I do not want promises.

No promises, though." Just results.

You can go now."

The Padrone opens the glass door and rearranges his collection. He sees the wooden door close in its reflection.

He smiles.

I do not mind lying, but I hate inaccuracy. -- Samuel Butler Borba arranged to meet consultant Blaise Santiago in the V.I.P. lounge at SFO.

On the red-eye back to D.C., they began

devising their plan to stop, or discredit, Elliot's documentary. They would match weapon with weapon, expert with expert.

They

started with a list of those in the fields of ground water contamination and pesticide toxicology.

They ended with

congressmen who could ably and credibly defend current water subsidies to California's agribusiness community.

They needed to

act quickly and with deadly, uncompromising force.

The truth, as

presented by those in power.

Their first video press release

would air in major markets at week's end. Novelist turned media manipulator, Blaise Santiago is one of Borba's best hired guns. American Indian.

He once wrote about the plight of the

Now he comes down from his mountain in Santa

Barbara just long enough to go "mano-a-mano" in the canyons of Manhattan and Washington.

He's a media gunsel; the man Borba

calls when he needs extra help fixing whatever got broke. During a television interview once at the University of California at Davis, Santiago entitled his talk:

"Hijacking the

Tyranny of the Downbeat

American Novel."

227

After a few meetings with the author and a trip

to his Spanish mansion to finish the remote, the crew re-dubbed the talk:

"Butt-fucking the American Indian."

Santiago resents being called a hired gun.

He doesn't mind

the use of the word "gun" so much as the word "hired." reaction:

His

"It implies that I'm not the one doing the choosing.

I pick who I want to work for.

They don't pick me."

He's demanding and never satisfied; a tough man to work for. He pushes people to reach down for whatever it takes to win.

He

insists on complete personal control, applying the "auteur" theory to his work.

He approaches campaigns like a method actor

preparing for a role, identifying with the campaign to such an extent that he sometimes gets lost in it; so much so that you can't tell between the promoter and the promoted. Santiago likes to use early polling to identify the strengths and weaknesses of any campaign.

The registrar of

voters, the tax assessor, the Department of Motor Vehicles, and the U.S. Census are some of the sources he uses to uncover "reduced universes," based on factors like race, sex, homeowner/renter status, and sexual preference.

He has perfected

the technique of "micro-targeting" direct mail.

From this data,

he creates a campaign theme, usually simple, direct, and catchy. He wants something that fits into a phrase, or a couple of sentences; something basic and memorable that will penetrate the average American's overstimulated consciousness.

Finally, using

computer analyses of voter lists, he designs brochures, targeting each one for a specific audience.

He's been quoted as saying,

Tyranny of the Downbeat

228

"We play with what's already in people's minds.

We're not really

interested in putting any new information in there." He works out of a refurbished, Mission-style triplex in the heart of old town Santa Barbara. reach.

Everything he needs is within

Film and electronic teleproduction gear, including remote

photography and editing, graphic design and layout, typography and printing, a sound studio for narration and music, film and videotape screening facilities, and computer links to any data base around the world.

It's a miniature media center; a cross

between Elliot's studio in Marin and Borba's facility in D.C. He had surrounded himself with a collection of intelligent and aggressive young wizards from the worlds of corporate marketing and advertising.

Many were Stanford MBAs, so they

were dubbed "The Cardinal Kids."

They were zealously loyal and

righteously arrogant because they were too young and naive to know any better. Santiago will be responsible for countering any publicity before, during, and after the making and airing of Elliot's documentary.

It's up to him to question the validity of the

project; its accusations and experts.

He might even be forced to

question the integrity and motives of the filmmaker himself and his old compadre Daniel Valle. street fight.

After all, this was going to be a

And there were no rules when your back was against

the back-alley wall.

Santiago would also handle media relations

during the trial that was sure to follow. Unlike Valle and the days of their dressed-down rebel

Tyranny of the Downbeat

229

poverty, Santiago dresses for success; pin-striped, double-breasted Wall Street fashionable.

He sports suspenders

and longish hair cresting the collar of his silk shirts.

His

hair is dark brown, lightly moussed and combed straight back, parted in the middle.

He has a clean-shaven, Kirk

Douglas-clefted chin.

His face is square and weary worn.

is no softness to its edges.

There are no wrinkles at the

corners of his eyes from too much smiling. often.

There

He doesn't do that

His skin is adobe light, belying his birth in--and early

exodus from--Los Mochis.

He claimed his heritage when

beneficial, like getting a college scholarship or swelling the ranks of La Raza.

But when it became a burden, an obstacle, he

shed his skin and became a chameleon of convenience. his life, the masquerade fooled most. Establishment he once despised.

For much of

He became part of The

But there was one who would not

let him forget. Santiago had once been a very close friend and ally of Daniel Valle.

They had marched in Delano together.

performed on the back of trucks with 'La Drama'.

They had

Their heads had

been busted by jack-booted "Tac Squaders" in front of the Student Union at San Francisco State.

They had once between

fellow-traveling, counter-culture revolutionaries. staring across the line at each other.

Now they were

Once brothers, now

enemies. When asked once why he owned a swimming pool, Santiago, in an effort to mask his new wealth from old revolutionary colleagues; in an attempt to show he hadn't sold out, replied:

Tyranny of the Downbeat

230

"There's lots of fires up here along Coyote Ridge. fight fires."

Most saw through the smoke screen.

I need it to It was just

another trapping of the new life he'd forged, along with the clothes, the house, and the cars. A swimming pool in California is a sign of wealth and an object of scorn, especially for Easterners. wrote:

Joan Didion once

"When it became generally known a year or so ago that

California was suffering severe drought, many people in water-rich parts of the country seemed obscurely gratified, and made frequent reference to Californians having to brick up their swimming pools." The fact is, a swimming pool, once it's filled and pumping, really doesn't need any water. is what the pool represents.

That's the reality.

The fantasy

Again, Joan Didion, in defense of

our excesses and preoccupations:

"

...

a pool is

misapprehended as a trapping of influence, real or pretended, and a kind of hedonistic attention to the body.

Actually a pool is,

for many of us in the West, a symbol not of affluence but of order, of control over the uncontrollable.

A pool is water, made

available and useful, and is, as such, infinitely soothing to the western eye." And that's why Santiago had the swimming pool.

Not simply

because of the overt status it represented, but because of the subliminal message it carried.

He lived south of the Tehachapis.

He was a Southern Californian now.

Water was a way of life.

He,

like the rest of the southland, had a compulsion to control it. A mission to mine it, because there was never enough to supply

Tyranny of the Downbeat

231

this thirsty region we call California. The "politics of water" was of more than a passing interest to Santiago.

The logic bomb detonated just after 9AM.

Investigators from

LAPD's computer crime unit explained it had been inserted at some point earlier and programmed to go off at a preassigned time. All the internal files of the giant IBM had been frozen.

For

some reason, it didn't touch the intricate machine and system control software that affected service to their customers.

The

chief investigator didn't know yet what to make of what the department head was telling him. "I think someone is giving us a warning.

They were too good

to just ignore that software or be locked out of only that.

They

could have trashed it all." "You're implying premeditation?

Some kind of conspiracy?"

"A prelude to that, perhaps." "What a nightmare.

I can't even begin to imagine the chaos

that would have caused." "Think about it.

The entire system that controls the flow

of water and electricity for all of Los Angeles and most of southern California gone suddenly mad.

Out of control.

Whatever

it was, whoever planted it, was pretty specific about their target." "Who'd they hit?" "They basically went after one water contractor only. it was the largest."

But

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232

"Who's that?" "The Westlands League.

The intruder messed with a few

others, but I think they were just dusting their tracks.

It

looked like they were trying to permanently reduce the allotments due to the Westlands' clients." "And if you hadn't stumbled on it, those people wouldn't have known about it?

How long would it have been before they

suspected?" "Hard to say.

Probably not long.

But long enough."

"Because it would have meant no water for a lot of central valley farmers." "And, in this heat, that would have resulted in a lot of dead crops." "And a lot of very angry, very powerful people." "I don't think I'd like to be the guy when they catch him." Outside, the ceaseless fountain continued flowing around the offices of the Metropolitan Water District, thumbing its nose at the desert city surrounding it.

Public awareness was beginning to stir as the controversy and coverage surrounding the project widened.

With the consent

of his editor, Stephan Harrington dedicated his entire column exclusively to the water wars.

EACH COLUMN WILL APPEAR IN THE FORMAT OF A NEWSPAPER ARTICLE. THERE WILL BE A GRAPHIC DESIGNED SPECIFICALLY TO IDENTIFY THE BY-LINE "ALTA CALIFORNIA".

Tyranny of the Downbeat ALTA CALIFORNIA --------------------------------------------------------------THE WATER WARS By Stephan Harrington OF THE RECORD STAFF A California congressman once said it would be the beginning of "World War III." Others have referred to it as "a holy war." Are they speaking of politics? Of religion? Or economics? No, none of the above. They are talking about the control of water. It will now be my job in this column to report from the front; to detail the battles and the casualties. This is the first of my communiques. It is short, but, in it, I would like to repeat the most critical question; one posed by Karen E. Claus: "How, in a water-short state, can we justify using precious water to grow subsidized surplus crops in an area that generates an effluent so huge, toxic, and unpredictable that it is killing farming, land, and wildlife on a grand scale?" It will be my duty to answer.

233

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234 CHAPTER 15

The crops are all in And the peaches are rotting. The oranges are packed You're flying em back To the Mexican border To wade back again. Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita. Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria. You won't have a name, When you ride the big airplane. And all they will call you Will be deportee. Some of us are illegal And others not wanted. Our work contract's out And we've got to move on. 600 miles to that Mexican border They chase us like outlaws, Like rustlers, like thieves. You won't have a name, When you ride the big airplane. And all they will call you Will be deportee. -- W. Guthrie & M. Hoffman, "Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos") Author James Houston describes himself as a "California journalist."

He is a Native Son of the Golden West; an observer

of the Golden State.

He was born here and still lives here.

He

has made it the goal of his life to know as much as he can about this place called California.

What he has written is why he's

here; a celebrity with something to say. He's comfortable in front of the camera. before.

He speaks deliberately, but enthusiastically.

authority and a little sparkle of humor. DISSOLVE:

He's done this With

Tyranny of the Downbeat

235

MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #13: "Deportee" 82

EXT. FIELD - MEDIUM SHOT - EARLY MORNING

JAMES HOUSTON walks toward CAMERA through a vast, flat panorama of cultivated fields. JAMES HOUSTON Economically and ecologically, the history of the West has been a saga of exploitation, land abuse, bloody struggle, and enormous thefts. Of gold, land, water. Like the Southern Pacific railroad, "The Octopus," swindling Central Valley wheat farmers out of their land. Like Los Angeles, stealing water from Owens Valley farmers. 83

EXT. FIELD - CLOSE UP

HOUSTON stops.

CAMERA holds. HOUSTON Like the factory farms, exploiting the migrant workers.

DISSOLVE: 84

EXT. STREET - EARLY MORNING - ESTABLISHING SHOT

Handheld POV walking through streets. HOUSTON (v.o.) It's 4AM. Shape-up time in Kettleman City. Mendota. Los Banos. Selma. Any number of cities up and down the Valley. 85

EXT. STREET - MEDIUM SHOT

Groups of migrant workers mill around, waiting. and talk and wait.

They smoke

They stand under sodium-vapor lights along the main street of these cities. Waiting. 86

EXT. STREET - CLOSE UP

Labor contractor walks into group and points to a half-dozen workers who follow him to a bus parked nearby.

Tyranny of the Downbeat Until they are selected by one of the dozens of labor contractors who park their buses in the gas stations and fast-food outlets that serve as pick-up points. 87

MONTAGE

Series of shots of faces. Some look unblinking into the camera. Others turn away. A few cover their faces. Those chosen wait in the buses, or stand around on the sidewalk for hours, holding their places, shielding their faces. They are Chicano, Black, White, Asian. 88

EXT. FIELDS - MORNING - MEDIUM SHOT

GROUND LEVEL SHOT of buses pulling up. Series of shots of workers exiting buses to work in fields. Finally, they are driven to the fields for a day's work. They return each afternoon between two and four. They eat, sleep, and get up the following morning to do it all over again. For starvation wages. Without medical or vacation benefits. 89

EXT. FIELDS - LATE AFTERNOON - MEDIUM CLOSE UP

Worker in field. WORKER "Solamente trabajo y duermo." HOUSTON (v.o.) "All I do is work and sleep," he says. 90

EXT. FIELDS - MEDIUM SHOT

CAMERA DOLLIES BACK to follow HOUSTON as he walks through a grape field. HOUSTON These are the migrant workers. The ones who have given their blood to the crops they harvest. Since the Gold Rush, they have been as much a part of California agriculture as the land, sun, and water. DISSOLVE:

236

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91

MONTAGE

Series of B&W stills of migrant workers from Gold Rush era until today. HOUSTON (v.o.) California agriculture has always needed large numbers of migrant workers for seasonal jobs. Such a lifestyle was most acceptable to nonwhite immigrants. And they came in waves. And they have been mistreated and abused for just as long. First the Chinese, then the Japanese, then the Filipinos. The Dust Bowl expatriates broke the pattern, but the Chicanos continued it. Now it's the Vietnamese. Driven from their home by a war they didn't start and didn't want. DISSOLVE: 92

INT. OFFICE - MEDIUM CLOSE UP

Interview with a Southeast Asian SOCIAL WORKER in Mendota. SOCIAL WORKER (v.o.) America is an adversary society. Asian culture is not that way. The part of our culture that is commendable, that does not want to complain, works against us. Because of that, generations have been taken advantage of, pushed around. DISSOLVE: 93

MONTAGE

Series of B&W stills of Manzanar and other Japanese internment camps during World War II. HOUSTON (v.o.) This reluctance to complain is just a part of the willingness to carry one's load. This stoic acceptance permitted the US government to intern an entire generation of Japanese Americans. To take their land and money. And return neither. To separate families. And never apologize. "Shi kata ganai," the elders would say. "It cannot be helped. It must be endured." DISSOLVE:

237

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94

EXT. STREET - WIDE SHOT

Series of shots of Southeast Asians living at poverty level in ramshackle huts at the outskirts of valley towns like Mendota. HOUSTON (v.o.) That is why Southeast Asian renters do not complain to their landlords. About high rents. About rats. Why they choose to toil in the fields for nearly nothing. They fear something worse. They too have spent time in camps. Refugee camps. Set up to handle those fleeing the aftermath of a war that America helped escalate. 95

INT. OFFICE - CLOSE UP

Continue interview with social worker. SOCIAL WORKER Their instinct to survive is strong. They adapt very quickly, despite the culture shock. They have gone through so much getting here that finding a job is easy. 96

EXT. STREET - MEDIUM SHOT

Shot of HOUSTON standing near housing in Mendota. HOUSTON For these Asian immigrants, California was not the end of a continent. It was a new land to the East. A land of limitless possibilities. A new beginning. But the possibilities were not without their price. DISSOLVE: 97

MONTAGE

Series of news stories on violence in cotton, grape, and tomatoe fields in the Central Valley, as well as violence in schools between whites and Southeast Asian students. HOUSTON (v.o.) As before, their story is the story of all migratory labor. One of violence and repression. Because they worked cheaply at anything, they took jobs from others.

238

Tyranny of the Downbeat Usually Anglos, sometimes Chicanos. The Anglos really didn't want the jobs, but they weren't about to admit it. In a time of mild recession and joblessness, it gave them an opportunity to vent their anger and frustration. DISSOLVE: 98

EXT. COTTON FIELDS - LATE AFTERNOON - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL SHOT of cotton fields near Fresno. HOUSTON (v.o.) Not much has changed in the factory fields of California, nearly 140 years after the Gold Rush. The farms have gotten bigger. 99

EXT. FIELD - WIDE SHOT

GROUND LEVEL shot of same fields. Series of shots of Asians and Chicanos working side-by-side in cotton fields near Fresno. In the BACKGROUND, can see a large pesticide spray rig. HOUSTON(v.o.) Agriculture here still relies on the sun. It still must have land and water. Massive amounts of both. It still needs large numbers of migratory workers. The abuse and misuse hasn't stopped either. It may be covered less by the media these days, but it still exists. And the vast majority of the workers here--the Southeast Asians and Hispanics--still do not complain. 100

EXT. FIELD - MONTAGE

Series of shots of Southeast Asians working in fields, eating lunch, using spray rigs. HOUSTON (v.o.) They accept what they can get with gratitude. Despite the fact they live in hovels, eat food that is often spoiled and water that is poisoned, and are exposed daily to levels of pesticides that are considered dangerous, even for lab animals. In fact, many consider these field hands to be the real guinea pigs. 101

EXT. FIELD - MEDIUM SHOT

239

Tyranny of the Downbeat

240

GROUND LEVEL shot of workers. They duck in fear as a helicopter, spraying in the next field, banks over them and heads back for another pass. HOUSTON (v.o.) They are the ones taking the direct hit, whether it's from a leaking spray cannister or from an aerial sprayer. And that's what is truly ironic. The helicopters doing the spraying are often the same ones that dropped napalm and Agent Orange on these villagers and their families decades ago in a jungle far, far away. And they're being flown now by many of the same men who flew missions then into America's heart of darkness. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY After a day in the grape fields near Rolinda A fine silt, washed by sweat, Has settled into the lines On my wrists and palms. Already I am becoming the valley, A soil that sprouts nothing For any of us. -- Gary Soto, "Field" You could see the flat-bed trucks coming through the haze on the highway. watching.

The farmworkers kept picking.

And waiting.

expecting the visit.

So were the Bulls.

But they were Like they had been

The field man headed for his truck.

He was

on the phone to the field office when the trucks pulled up, turned around, and pointed the flat-end toward the fields.

In a

moment, the scenery was up and the stage set. After almost twenty years, "La Drama del Coyote" was back in session.

The audience was different.

Southeast Asian as much as

Chicano.

Home was Hanoi as much as Nogales.

But the message

Tyranny of the Downbeat

hadn't changed.

Resistance.

241

Human dignity.

Individual rights.

Protection against inhuman and unsafe working conditions. times past, Daniel and Socorro played husband and wife.

As in His

brother and the rest of "la familia" were costumed as they had been nearly two decades ago, wearing masks and signs hanging from their necks. By the time the ranch manager and the rest of his crew arrived, the guerillas had begun. picking now.

They were listening.

Coyotes" were also watching.

The workers had stopped They were talking.

The crowd.

The first "acto" was innocent enough. It told of migrating birds.

"Los

Closely. It sang of cycles.

It cried for the killing of the

wetlands. The painted backdrop shows the rolling foothills rimming the Valley. In the foreground are rows of grape vines. At center stage, MUNDO and the field contractor HAGGARD stand together. At their feet is a pesticide spray rig. HAGGARD: (Gesturing to the tank.) Mundo? MUNDO: (Looks up, but doesn't respond.) HAGGARD: You listenin' to me, boy? MUNDO: (Head down, as if he's about to be hit.) Senor? HAGGARD: I want you to put on this rig and spray these last 40 rows? Comprendo? MUNDO: (Looking up, but not into the eyes of HAGGARD.) But, Senor Field Man, the helicopters only just sprayed, ayer. It is too soon to return to the fields. It will make me infiermo, si? HAGGARD: It don't make no difference. It ain't gonna hurt you. It's only water with a little chemical in it. Shit, you probably get more poison in that dog-meat burrito you get for lunch down at the canal bank. MUNDO: My wife makes my lunch. HAGGARD: (Moves closer, growing impatient with the Campesino's resistance.) Do what I say, Mundo, or I make a call to Immigration and ship you and all your family back to TJ. MUNDO: (Stepping back.) I was born here. HAGGARD: Still don't make no difference. They're just looking

Tyranny of the Downbeat for a head count. They'll take you anyway. And then how you gonna feed that lovely chiquita and all your ninos? (Silence. They look at each other.) MUNDO: I will manage. HAGGARD: (Suddenly grabs MUNDO and shoves him to his knees, face down against the nozzle of the sprayer.) Put it on amigo or I kick your ass and then I call the Border Patrol! MUNDO: (Frightened, but resolved.) Senor Field Man. The sprayer leaks. And there is no mask. No coat to cover me. HAGGARD: (Leans down and puts his face next to MUNDO'S.) Like I told you. It's mostly water. It ain't gonna hurt you. MUNDO: Senor, the water here is not good. I have seen the dogs die that drink it. I will die, too. HAGGARD: That sure as shit don't mean nothin' to me. I got plenty of you people comin' across the border every day. What's one more dead beaner to me? Might be better anyway. Keep you from breedin' like rabbits. (Suddenly kicks MUNDO in the ribs.) Put it on asshole! Now! MUNDO: (Still on his knees, slowly puts the sprayer on. He stands.) HAGGARD: Right. Now start on row 50. MUNDO: (Tests the sprayer. It works. The tank begins to leak down his back, which is only protected by a cotton shirt. He turns toward row 50. HAGGARD reaches for a cigarette. But his hand never gets there. MUNDO hits him hard across the face with the spray nozzle. HAGGARD falls to the ground and rolls over on his back. MUNDO straddles him and begins spraying into the field man's open face. MUNDO drenches HAGGARD before he hits him in the head with the tank. HAGGARD doesn't move. MUNDO throws the tank away and begins to shout.) This is los Estados Unidos. I was born here. I am un hombre libre. I will do ... Before Daniel can finish his last line, the Bulls, with help from a handful of county sheriffs, ring down the curtain. They jump on stage, Louisville sluggers in hand, and start swinging. Daniel takes a hit on the shoulder and goes down. The Bull who hit him raises his club and smiles. Then he's airborne. Someone finally got the truck rolling, barreling down and out of the fields. As it pulls onto the country road, through the dust, Daniel can see the field workers, Bulls, and officers hammering each other. He can only think, this war will not be won with words. Then he crawls forward to lay against the painted valley. He said we made a good couple because I had no expectations and he had too many." "I don't like talking about my past as much as you guys do." "I haven't met that many happy people in my life. How do they act?" -- Lawrence Kasdan, "The Big Chill"

242

Tyranny of the Downbeat

243

I dial through the channels. avoid her eyes. communication.

She stares out the window.

Anger without expression or explanation. There it is between us.

don't talk, don't lay it to rest. until one of us leaves.

Always happens.

I

No We

We simply get more angry,

How does it start?

Why?

This time,

like a lot of other times, it was over something stupid, something petty.

She had reached into the cupboard to get us

both coffee mugs.

She accidentally knocked one off the shelf.

Unfortunately, it was one of my favorites.

A large brown one.

With the name "RALSTON" across the front and a stylized version of the archway across the top.

I liked it because it

represented something of home to me.

A tie with the past.

place and a past she wanted to get away from. symbol to her.

Maybe it wasn't.

Maybe it was a

I don't know.

As we picked up the pieces, I joked, "Nice try. it, so you smash it."

A

Can't beat

I laughed, but it died pretty quickly when

I realized there was an edge to the joke.

She stood up and threw

the pieces in the sink.

As she left the kitchen, I said, "Come

on, I was only kidding.

It was a joke.

Lighten up."

I poured the hot coffee and knew I was in for a chilly day. Another one in a long line. fun.

It was getting worse.

It was no

I couldn't even kid her without pissing her off anymore.

So, why try?

So, now we're sitting on opposite sides of the

room, deep in our isolation. Her affair hurt.

I won't deny it.

I had been betrayed.

Our safe, comfortable life had been breached.

It felt like

Tyranny of the Downbeat

244

someone had just robbed the house, or broken into the trunk of my car and stolen everything inside. emotionally raped. it.

I felt violated,

I knew why she did it.

I couldn't accept it.

I could understand

Our sex life sucked.

It was

important to her, inconsequential to me.

We'd discussed it,

battled over it, but never resolved it.

We talked around it,

with couples over coffee, with friends over drinks. justified, righteous in our indignation. one at fault.

We each felt

I, she, we were not the

But we never told each other that.

It's been said, "We choose things by letting them happen." That certainly was what was happening between us.

Her affair

made it easier for me to justify my indifference.

If I ignored

this one, and the next, it would be simple to just separate. keep living independent lives. else.

To rationalize trying something

That's what we both wanted, I guess.

didn't want to lose the net.

To

Sometimes.

But we

We didn't want to give up fifteen

years of companionship, of memories, shared experiences, of friendship.

That's probably what we both feared the most.

We

realized, above everything else, we were still each other's closest friend.

We had known each other, blemishes and all, and

been together longer than we had with most of our closest friends.

It held us together now, although we just couldn't seem

to find the time, inclination, or words to tell the other. we, we might have stayed together.

We didn't and

...

Had

we

didn't. Call me naive. Perhaps too much.

Say I'm an innocent.

But I trust people.

I think that comes from growing up in Ralston,

Tyranny of the Downbeat

245

the insularity of a small town. "It's a Wonderful Life." part of their lives.

It's like Bedford Falls in

When you know everyone, you're really

You take care of each other.

the benefit of the doubt.

You give them

Of course, as a town grows, as Ralston

did, you lose that sense of community.

But, until you've been

screwed a few times, you never seem to lose that faith in people. I never have. I remember a surprise birthday party she gave me on my 35th birthday.

I was completely surprised.

Later, as I thought about

the events that led up to it, it made sense. clues.

I could see the

But when I walked through the back door, I had no idea.

I never knew, never suspected about the party. or suspected about the affair.

And yet, when I think back on it

now too, all the clues were there. nights.

And I never knew

The phone calls.

The late

I just didn't see them, or, maybe I chose not to.

wasn't aware.

I trusted her.

I

I gave her the benefit of the

doubt. That's where Jorge and I used to differ.

We're a lot closer

now than we were in college in our attitudes toward women. was a raging chauvinist, I made an effort not to be.

He

It would

have been easier, then and certainly now, to play the expected role.

But I wanted to be different.

treat women as an equal.

Liberated.

I wanted it to work.

I wanted to Now that he's

lived with a woman for almost fifteen years, his posture has changed.

But what's really funny is how we find ourselves

back-peddling, reverting, looking for shelter in a forgotten attitude.

Because we've had the fight kicked out of us.

And we

Tyranny of the Downbeat

246

keep on talking about it. seem to get it right.

All the time.

Because we just can't

We just can't seem to please them, no

matter what we do. As the oldest of friends, we'd had these talks many, many times over many, many late nights. serious.

Sometimes funny.

We'd been here before over the years.

Most times

Talking about

his first marriage, my mother's death, his planned re-marriage, my own marriage, and life in the big valley. "You fought back." "And you tried to adjust." "Then it was no fun.

The thrill was gone."

"Yea, and the big chill was on." "The movie?" "A magazine." "It's just so damned hard.

Sometimes I'd rather play

softball, get some pizza, and go home to the tube than deal with it." "And fondle your electronic penis." "That's what some deviants call it." "And they wonder why there's no men in their beds." "Have you ever thought about growing old alone?" "Sure." "Does it scare you?" "Yes.

But I don't know what's worse.

different for us, people our age. be more of us when we get older. "At least in numbers."

Besides, it's

There's more of us. We won't be alone."

There'll

Tyranny of the Downbeat

247

"Anyway, I've got my family. laugh at the standing joke. forget everything. time.

And the Mud Bowlers."

They

Fellow "Bowlers" always forgive and

Especially if it's fantasy.

But not this

Here I was in Ralston running away from the eyes of

reality and into the arms of illusion.

And he was calling me on

it. "You know, it's not quite working out the way it was supposed to." Jorge put "Traffic" on the tape deck, sat down, and popped open a fresh beer. "I thought I'd be a hero. it.

Show all these people I had made

That I had escaped the valley and returned unscarred.

I

mean, I feel I had something to prove." "Especially after going to our last reunion and seeing everyone twenty years later." "That's right. like an outcast.

But just the opposite's happening.

I feel

I've pissed off so many people, even some

friends, that I can't even live in the town where I grew up.

The

place I've wanted to live all my life." "You mean the myth you've made up all your life." "Maybe. going to die.

This is where I feel I belong.

This is where I was

I don't feel comfortable anyplace else.

And now I

can't stay." "You can't go home anymore." "Literary bullshit. before.

I could have come home.

But I was trying too hard this time.

I've done it

Pushing too hard.

I want desperately to be accepted, to be a part of this

Tyranny of the Downbeat

community.

248

To be a leader.

To be looked up to."

"The place you remember is history.

It doesn't exist.

It's

a state of mind.

We're not living in a town of 50,000 anymore.

Not even 90,000.

Shit, we're almost as big as Albany, New York.

It's a metropolis. it as it is.

With all the problems that go with it.

Take

You're living too much in the past."

"Yea, but you double your days that way." "You know, you're like the guy who gets so wrapped up in the past, he forgets the present.

So immersed in what he was, he

forgets what he is." "Likely won't be the last time." "Well, you know what they say?

Embracing the past is like

embracing death." "Literary again.

I never could keep up with your

allusions." "Metaphors and parables aside, it's nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy. to, not because you had to.

You came back here because you wanted You made up a reason to return.

Only the ending isn't the way you wrote it. live with it.

But you can still

You can still live here."

"I understand that intellectually.

Emotionally, I can't

accept it." "At least my references are literary.

Yours are getting

positively Freudian." "Fuck you." "No, fuck you." "How many people do you know that left the valley and

Tyranny of the Downbeat

249

came back?" "Just about everyone but you." "Okay.

They all came back.

People can't escape this place.

They try, but they always come back." "Remember Jimmie King?" "Sure.

Our senior class president.

"He thought the same way you do.

Berkeley burn-out."

Felt he had to come back.

Thought he'd lost something along the way. Tried a lot of things. they used to be. left off.

So, he came back.

Tried to fit back into things the way

Old times.

Figured he could pick up where he

Thought that people would relate to him like they used

to." "This is all sounding very familiar." "Despite what everyone said, in spite of all the warnings, he returned.

His wife wouldn't come with him, even though she'd

been raised in the valley, too. was driving him.

She just didn't understand what

What the attraction was."

"You sure this isn't another parable, for you know who?" "Anyway, he's back and it's fun. sours.

For a while.

But it

Because the town's changed, the people've changed, and

he's changed.

It doesn't meet his expectations.

really work out.

So he starts to drink more.

It doesn't

Does more drugs."

"I don't do drugs." "Then, one night, they find him floating in his own blood. A suicide.

He just couldn't cope.

The illusion was shattered. to return to.

Things had changed too much.

He had created this mythical place

And when it wasn't there, he was no where.

His

Tyranny of the Downbeat

250

expectations were too high.

Of himself, his friends, his family,

and this place he once called home." "So, what're you saying to me? "Relax. the past.

What're telling me?"

Don't try to make the present into a new version of

You keep trying to reconcile the past with the present

and you'll wind up alienating everyone you know.

Regress too

far, live in the past too much, and you'll stagnate. there.

It's like a time machine.

You'll die

If you don't hit that seam,

that crack in the mirror, you'll end up in limbo forever." "Does that mean I can't watch 'American Graffiti' anymore?" "Smart ass. I've said it. forever.

Look you've heard it before.

Even you've said it.

Sandy's said it.

You can't stay seventeen

You keep trying to go back to a place that exists only

in your mind and you're setting yourself up for a fall.

A real

disappointment." "I'm diein' to try." "Then you'll die tryin'." He got me.

The last word.

He was right.

And I toast him.

Wolfe was right.

You can never go home again

because you've changed and so has your home town. recognize it any more. different place.

You're a different person.

You don't It's a

You've moved on to become something else and it

holds no more lessons.

The places and names are the same and

look the same, but, for you, they've definitely changed. Ralston indeed had a new shape and was seeking a new image. The farmers were leaving and the commuters were coming. homelessness, mall sprawl, crime, illiteracy, and racism.

Poverty, The

Tyranny of the Downbeat

251

place most travelers remembered as somewhere they passed through on their way to someplace else was going urban. defined by the land.

Then water.

Once it was

And the railroads.

the endless freeway, lost hope, and shattered dreams. desperate bleakness. roads.

Now it's There is a

People are running each other off the

Women are being raped at the mall.

Kids are bringing

guns to school; murdering those who would befriend them. He remembered the story of a teacher at Dewey High School. He was a good teacher; a caring teacher. help his students. hard-luck cases. was a bachelor.

He genuinely wanted to

Occasionally, he would offer money to the Most of the students thought he was rich.

Some of the community thought he was gay.

He One

weekend the police found him sprawled face-first on his concrete driveway, his body slashed and riddled with bullets.

Turns out

that one of the students he had assisted, his brother and girlfriend, had forced their way into his home and tortured him trying to find his hidden fortune. easy.

They expected it.

somebody owed it to them. made.

They were looking for the big

Life had been hard and they felt They were angry at a world they never

Unfortunately, he had no money.

And they killed him.

It was indeed a town without pitney.

DISSOLVE: MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #14: Folk Song 102

EXT. RIVER JUNCTION - ESTABLISHING SHOT

WIDE SHOT of point where the Merced River meets the San Joaquin.

Tyranny of the Downbeat NARRATOR (v.o.) To see where the Merced River meets the San Joaquin is to see the drawing of the lines. The two sides of the story. The one is clear and clean, filled with icy snowmelt. The other is muddy and murky, gunky brown and filled with chemicals. During the summer, when it's hot and dry and the water is low, almost 70 percent of what flows is agricultural runoff. 103

EXT. RIVER - MEDIUM WIDE SHOT

Shot of San Joaquin River from its surface. Floating down the San Joaquin are all kinds of chemicals. All of them are on the EPA's list of priority pollutants. A brew that makes this one of the most heavily polluted rivers in the state. 104

EXT. FIELDS - WIDE SHOT

Agricultural runoff from fields drains into ditches which dump into the Delta. Most of this pollution comes from surface and subsurface agricultural drainage. The Delta itself adds more pesticides and herbicides from agriculture. 105

EXT. FIELDS - WIDE SHOT

Shots of farmers flood irrigating lands. Most of the contamination results from conventional application. And an increasingly common method of irrigation called chemigation, where water is mixed with pesticides and then applied. Large farmers flood irrigate because it's cheaper and easier. But it makes the drainage problem worse. 106

EXT. RIVER - MEDIUM SHOT

San Joaquin draining into the Delta. Every year, millions of pounds of chemicals that can cause cancer, birth defects or sterility, even in trace amounts, are

252

Tyranny of the Downbeat released directly or indirectly into our waterways. With the approval, sanction, and authority of state and federal agencies. 107

EXT. WILDLIFE REFUGE - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL SHOT of Tranquility Canal near Masterson. The total runoff could eventually reach nearly 400,000 acre-feet a year. A virtual ocean of sludge moving through the valley, filling up wildlife marshes and ultimately discharging into the Delta. 108

EXT. RIVER - MEDIUM SHOT

Shot of San Joaquin River flowing near homes. The problem is, the water from the Delta is the primary source of fresh water for the state. 55 percent comes from here. 16 million people rely on it for their drinking water. 109

EXT. CARQUINEZ STRAITS - ESTABLISHING SHOT And there's only one destination for the wastewater carried by the Delta. The end of the San Joaquin sewer line is destined to be ...

CAMERA PANS LEFT to frame San Francisco Bay. San Francisco Bay. The 5 million people who live here pollute the bay badly enough themselves, even if they don't admit it. But to have a bunch of farmers, grown wealthy on "their" water and subsidized by their taxes, sending it back to the bay full of crud-toxic wastes, selenium, boron, and salt--is just not acceptable. 110

EXT. SAN FRANCISCO - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL FLY-BY of San Francisco. The people of the Bay Area appear to have the political clout to prevent the drain water from ever reaching here. And they seem determined to use it. Because the San Joaquin Valley farmers asked for water and

253

Tyranny of the Downbeat got it. Asked for subsidies and got them. And now they want to use the bay as a toilet. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY

254

Tyranny of the Downbeat

255 CHAPTER 16

You men eat your dinner, Eat your pork and beans. I eat more chicken Any man ever seen. I'm a back door man. The men don't know, but The little girls understand. -- W. Dixon & C. Burnett, "Back Door Man" The Ice Plant backs onto what used to be the main highway, running parallel to the original pathfinder: the Southern Pacific railroad tracks.

the raised bed of

Businesses once lined both

sides, and thrived, until the six-lane expressway was built down the spine of the state. derelicts moved in.

Then the doors started closing and the

When the downtown renovation began, some of

the older buildings were razed. ice plant.

One that survived was the old

A developer with a sense of history turned it into

ultra-modern office space, while maintaining the original interior fixtures. cogs and wheels.

Now aluminum and plexiglass mixed with iron The production had rented space here for those

days it spent in town; which was rapidly becoming most of the time. Elliot was scrunched down in his chair, chin onhand, reviewing the papers in front of him. as I scanned my own.

I sipped a decaf tea

Greybeard Devereaux was pulling at it.

Walsh listened, distracted, but interested.

This woman came from

the same world.

--Elliot (preoccupied) deCamp?"

"What do you know about Laura Van

Tyranny of the Downbeat

--Devereaux Attractive.

256

"Lawyer.

Republican.

Intelligent.

Divorced."

--Western (quietly apologetic) little better."

Heads turn.

"I probably know her a

"She's an old friend of my wife's.

Roomed in the same boarding house in San Francisco.

Her ex- and

I see each other once in a while." --Walsh (surprised)

"So why didn't she come to you

directly?" --Western (visibly confused)

"I'm not sure.

Maybe she

doesn't trust me." --Elliot (interested)

"What else can you tell us?"

--Western (litanous) inherited his seat.

"Her Father was a congressman.

Died a few years ago.

Has a younger sister.

Borba

Mother's still alive.

Laura works for Delancy & Reed in Ralston.

Mostly lobbying in Sac for water and table grape interests." --Elliot (intrigued)

"Delancy & Reed.

That's DiGiulio's

law firm?" --Devereaux (righteous)

"Correct.

And the law firm that's

keeping Masterson open so the Westlanders can keep dumping shit into the Delta." --Elliot

"Well, seems she's having second thoughts about

whose side she's on." --Western (in turn surprised)

"What makes you say that?"

--Elliot (smiling, about to let the cat out of the bag) "Well, I can't imagine any other reason she'd be waiting out in reception right now." --Walsh (cautious)

"Any idea why?"

Tyranny of the Downbeat

--Elliot

257

"Ask her yourself."

Laura, as usual, was in total control of herself. in the offered seat, relaxed but attentive. quick hello, excused himself.

She sat

Devereaux, after a

Walsh and I stayed.

Laura didn't

seem too surprised to see me. --Elliot (slightly uncomfortable)

"Forgive me, but it

bothers me a little that someone from 'the other camp' would be visiting our side just now." --Laura (defensive)

"You're making this sound like a

battleground." --Devereaux (brusquely)

"We all know it is."

--Walsh (a little oily)

"Your side could certainly use a

'Trojan horse' and you'd certainly make an attractive one." --Laura (bristling at the sexist remark)

"The way I look

has nothing to do with how good I am at what I do. soon realize that this is my idea.

Nobody from 'the other camp',

as you so colorfully put it, knows I'm here. to let it become common knowledge.

And you'll

And I don't intend

And I suspect you wouldn't

want that either." --Elliot (continuing)

"Just how much do you know about

this project and our plans?" --Laura (relaxing)

"Only what I've heard around the office

and read in the papers, which isn't much.

My boss, Mr. Delancy,

and his clients, haven't exactly been spreading the word around." --Elliot "What's your sense of what we're trying to accomplish?"

Tyranny of the Downbeat

258

--Laura (conciliatory) then I'd like to help. give you both. that.

"I would like to know more.

And

You need legal and political help.

There will be a trial eventually.

I can

We all know

So it can't hurt to have someone like me on your side.

And I've been involved with agriculture most of my life. lobbied for most of these people.

I've

I know them well."

--Elliot (a little harder edge)

"Tell me why I should

accept your offer?" --Laura (defensive again)

"Partly because I don't like

what I'm seeing." --Walsh (pressing)

"Where?

And what?"

--Laura (trying to ignore the edge in his voice) valley.

In this town.

these people.

"In this

Things I'm aware of because I work for

Professional concerns, mainly."

--Elliot (working her very carefully)

"Mainly?

Sounds like

there may be personal ones, too?" --Laura (wrestling with something) with my mother and father.

"Some of it has to do

Some things I'd like to even up."

--Walsh (sensing familiar territory)

"Like?"

--Laura (curious why he's so interested) anything to do with this discussion.

"Nothing that has

Just things that happened

in the past." --Walsh (pushing)

"Anything to do with Delancy or Borba?

Maybe DiGiulio?" --Laura (retreating)

"No.

And perhaps."

--Elliot (a little impatient) have you decided to talk with us?"

"So why are you here?

Why

Tyranny of the Downbeat

259

--Laura (finished with the fencing, takes a deep breath) "There's this man I know. each other for years.

He's also from Ralston.

We've known

He and my ex-husband were part of a thing

called 'The Mud Bowl.'" (she looks over at me) --Western (breaking my silence)

"That's the 'once in a

while' I was talking about earlier." (Elliot's confusion prompts further explanation)

"It's a football game.

A bunch of guys,

people I've known most of my life, who went to high school together, get together every Thanksgiving morning and play a flag football game.

Revert to being seventeen again."

--Elliot (absently)

"I know something about that."

--Laura (smiles and continues, addressing me)

"One of the

participants, someone you used to know, is the real reason I'm here." --Western --Laura

"Your ex?" (protective)

"No.

Someone a little crazier.

Paul

Daniels." --Western (off-guard)

"You're kidding me?

was on the road doing Kerouac or something.

I thought he

He hasn't been to a

Bowl in years." --Laura (off-handed) on for a short while now. us.

We're not serious.

"We've been seeing each other off and And I'm a little worried.

Just good friends." (Walsh gives me a

wink that doesn't go unnoticed) about his past. Or let me. again)

Not about

He's been telling me some things

He's in real danger, but he won't ask for help.

Won't even tell his friends." (she looks over at me

"What he's told me, if I understand what you're doing,

Tyranny of the Downbeat

might help you.

And him.

260

He could use a little help from his

old friends right now." I used to call him by his poker-playing nickname: the Kid," this sometime friend of mine. rest of us, in Ralston.

"Billie

He grew up, like the

He, comfortably, in a perfect, upper

middle-class neighborhood in the All-American city. was a teacher, his father an architect.

His mother

He never went without.

Always wore the latest clothes, dated the most popular girls, got one of the first and fastest cars.

He did well in athletics and

passably well in school. He was a diver and swimmer on the first team Davidson High School ever had.

He won state titles off the

short board and in the individual medley.

Through hard work, he

carried the tone and grace of a swimmer into the approaching years of middle age. Growing up, life was not completely "Ozzie and Harriet."

He

lived in the shadow of an older brother he couldn't stand. Little Rickie and brother David this was not.

There was only

five years difference in their ages, but they were generations apart in their attitudes toward careers, women, the races, sex, politics, and, especially, the military and Vietnam.

They never

really got past the rift caused by the last one, particularly after his brother Dennis started calling him a coward and a queer for not wanting to serve his country. Billie reminded me a lot of Jim Morrison, the lead singer for the "The Doors," who died of a drug overdose in a Paris hotel.

Always living on the edge.

sexuality and sensuality.

Lighting fires with his

As Morrison sang, "The boys don't

Tyranny of the Downbeat

261

know, but the little girls understand."

Billie was a rebel

rocker, not in the style of a Fifties Dean or Brando, but more in the style of those who lived too intensely in the sixties and died from the heat. Stones."

Morrison.

The experimenters.

Hendrix.

Brian Jones of "The

The iconoclasts.

this new freedom as their ticket to ride. outrageous.

The ones who saw

The boy was simply too

And that kept the rest of his friends honest.

It

was surprising to find that the show, the craziness, masked a basic shyness, insecurity, and self-doubt he tried to embarrass out of existence. Billie survived the years of experiment, but not without a few burns on his fingertips and a few scars on his heart.

When

the revolution got quiet, he just kept blazing, kept his freak flag flying.

When it got too uncomfortable, too predictable, he

just disappeared.

Took some time off.

Went to Europe.

Traveled

to Japan, where he developed a taste for oriental art and women. He began collecting both. and lifestyles.

He didn't stay with them, but they affected his

attitude toward life. experience.

He dabbled in middle eastern religions

We thought it was all just one more life

Turns out he was actually running for his life.

Laura's request for a cup of coffee reeled me back to reality.

She began telling what she had been told by Paul over

many nights and cognacs. In 1967, Rosario Huerta died while striking for the UFW; struck down one night in a vineyard owned by The Marriposa Combine and sub-contracted to the DiGiulio Winery. never solved.

The death was

But it provided a much-needed martyr, a death for

Tyranny of the Downbeat

262

"La Causa," at a time when the movement was faltering. no case because there were no witnesses.

There was

No one came forward to

testify. But there was evidence.

There was an "eye-witness."

telephoto night lens of a Sony "Porta-Pak."

The

Its unblinking eye

videotaped the beating that led to the grapeworker's death. Behind the camera was a long-haired, burned-out, hippie drop-out from San Jose State.

His brother-in-law, who worked for DiGiulio

in Ralston, had gotten him a summer job to help straighten him out.

He was hired to videotape all the UFW demonstrations

against DiGiulio; instructed to get close-ups of the leaders. The tapes would be used later to build court cases against Chavez and the UFW.

The cameraman was Paul Daniels.

Earlier on that day, Billie decided a little recreational drug-taking might help him through the night.

When the murder went

down, he was so strung out on acid he could barely see straight.

The brutality snapped him out of it, but he still

couldn't believe his eyes, watching as the big guy kept hammering the farmworker with a baseball bat until he was motionless. playback made him sick to his stomach.

The

The sweating, wrenching

nightmares kept him awake most of the night.

And the next

several. He never told anyone. scared.

Never said anything.

Probably way too wired still.

He was too

He didn't give any reason

for quitting, which pissed off his brother-in-law, and left town for the family cabin in Strawberry, above Sonora. before he had safely vaulted the videotape.

But not

Tyranny of the Downbeat

263

It went on for a long while. most of it was a purple haze. He just kept moving. world.

The nightmares.

Too many drugs.

Too much alcohol.

He stayed lost for years.

Making music.

Hanging out.

For Billie,

Traveling the

Avoiding the responsibility

for another person's life and the guilt he always felt.

During

those years, he came back to Ralston a few times, usually around Thanksgiving.

Many times he thought he was being followed.

Maybe it was paranoia. They knew he knew.

But he was.

Paranoid and being followed.

The death and his departure were too

coincidental. It had taken a long time, but he had finally grown up. Finally faced up to the burden of what he'd seen. Now it was time to tell the story. had died.

And run from.

There were rumors that others

That the same people were getting away with the same

things all these years later.

It was way past time.

Now abuse-free, his self-worth had become as clear as his head.

He could finally face the demons that had chased him out

of town and around the world.

Now, twenty-plus years later, it

was time to share his secret.

Time to unload the guilt.

He

returned to California and settled under a new name in the urban anonymity of San Francisco.

He re-established contact with a few

of the friends from his previous life, including me and Laura Van deCamp. Like the song, Billie believed women were the only true works of art.

That woman is life and man the servant of life.

He worshipped them, feasted on a smile, the curve of a breast, a turn of the wrist, the slope of back to buttocks in silhouette

Tyranny of the Downbeat

against a full moon.

264

He loved them all.

appreciated his attention. seemed to care.

And they, in turn,

His tenderness.

His genuine concern.

Unusual for most men, even in the

post-feminist eighties. But he found Laura to be a true revelation.

She seemed to

be the mate, the match, that we know is in this world for us. Friend, lover, companion, confidant.

She was also gun-shy.

first marriage, and subsequent affairs, had seen to that.

Her She

asked Billie to take it slow; that she was ready to be a listener, not a lover.

And he accepted that.

For the time

being. Then he told her.

Comfortable he knew her and could trust

her, he shared his secret. it was.

About the murder, the tape, and where

And that he was worried about what they would do.

He

could feel the wolves closing in. And, suddenly, he was gone again.

On Friday, he had told

her he wanted to get gut of town for a while. things--about them and the future. cabin to do a little fly-fishing.

To think about

He said he was going to the He never made it.

He called

early Saturday to tell her he was fine, but it was necessary to become scarce again.

That was the last she had heard.

And now,

she was sitting here, with them on Monday, looking like a different person than the one who started the story. --Elliot (exhaling)

"I thought you said this guy was a

friend of yours?" --Western (defensive) --Elliot (incredulous)

"I didn't say we were close." "And you didn't know about this?"

He

Tyranny of the Downbeat

265

--Laura (in his defense) --Elliot

"It only just happened."

"No, I mean about everything.

--Western (a little angry at himself) once a year.

All of it." "Hell, I see the guy

How am I supposed to know every detail of his

life?" --Walsh (needling) --Western (angry)

"Some kind of friend." "Back off."

--Elliot (concerned) --Laura (resigned) --Western (anxious) --Laura

"So, where is he?" "I really don't know." "Have you heard any more from him?"

"Not since the call on Saturday.

Not at work or on

the machine at home." --Walsh

"What about the tape?

Did he take the tape?"

Laura pulled a black plastic box out of her briefcase. held an antique.

An old half-inch, reel-to-reel tape.

It

A relic

of the video revolution. --Elliot (almost laughing) --Western

"This may take a miracle."

"Probably hasn't been played in twenty years."

--Elliot (sensing her concern) protection copy.

"We'll make a clean

Then we'll vault it at the Ranch.

It'll be

safe there." The technician cleaned off most of the oxide that had accumulated over the years and threaded up the tape on an ancient Sony 3650 half-inch machine. times through.

It clogged the heads the first few

But, finally, the image tracked and became clear.

They began the transfer.

Twenty-some years and poor resolution

couldn't soften the brutality; or mask the identity of the

Tyranny of the Downbeat

murderer.

266

I leaned in closer.

--Western (blown away) --Walsh

"That's Jon Henry Miller."

"Who?"

--Western

"One of the valley farmers I interviewed."

There was no doubt about it. few less jowls and bellies. put Huerta down

...

"This is incredible."

"Let's hope it'll help Billie."

--Laura (serious) a secret.

It was his Louisville Slugger that

for good.

--Elliot (excited) --Western

A bit younger and carrying a

"I've done what I can to keep this visit

I'd like you to do the same.

I need to know what they know.

I need their confidence.

I can only do that if they don't

know I was here." --Western --Walsh

"I wonder why he never told me?" "Fear might have had something to do with it.

the fact that back then nothing would have been done." --Laura --Elliot

"I hope that's changed." "I guarantee it."

And

Tyranny of the Downbeat

267 CHAPTER 17

late November: a sixty-knot squall through Carquinez Strait breaks levees, backs salt water miles inland to preserve what it kills. ... ... only the doctor salt-stained like us in boots & overalls scares us. our daughter crawls through fever one week then her mother the week after dies. my wife, still my wife, what I have of you, this residue, this lovesalt, ... -- Dennis Schmitz, "Delta Farm" In Sausalito, there is a model of the Bay-Delta water system.

It is so large that it fills an entire warehouse along

the waterfront. ecosystem.

It is used to visually demonstrate the Bay-Delta

The man in charge, Felix Davenport, resembles a high

school history or geography teacher. and large nose.

He's big, with an open face

He has a large head, bald, with bushy, white

sideburns and eyebrows.

He talks in a flat, non-accented,

monotonic valley voice, like all the rest of the transplanted mid-westerners who live here.

He sounds like Hal Holbrook doing

Mark Twain. On camera, Davenport looks good. comfortable.

Looks believable, even

Felix Davenport had once been a very influential,

very powerful bureaucrat in California's Department of Fish and Wildlife Services.

The FWS.

He had worked twenty-nine years

Tyranny of the Downbeat

there.

268

He was a "lifer," well on his way to pensioning out when

they told him they were transferring him out of Sacramento, to the equivalent of Siberia in the Federal Bureaucracy.

Because he

knew a little too much and wasn't afraid to talk about it. In the spring of 1982, a series of memoranda from the Office of the Solicitor placed a gag order on FWS personnel, prohibiting them from speaking about Masterson to reporters, legislators, or environmental groups. re-assigned him.

Davenport hadn't stopped, so they

Instead, he chose early retirement.

He moved

to San Francisco, then went to work for the "Bay-Delta Institute," a satellite facility of San Francisco State University; the only teaching and research institute dedicated exclusively to San Francisco Bay and the delta. But Davenport wasn't done with them yet.

He had been a

company man all of his life, had given his life's blood to the government. screwed.

And for all his time and dedication, he'd been

For being honest.

Now he wants to tell what he knows

to someone who would get the word out and who could be trusted. We talk a while as the crew set up to shoot the interview in front of the model.

Elliot decided to come along because it

was close to home. "What happened?" "The whip came down." "How?" "Intimidation.

Threats.

keeping our mouths shut." "Who did?"

They tried to scare us into

Tyranny of the Downbeat

269

"Officials in the Interior Department." "Why?" "Because certain powerful people, very powerful people, told them to." "People in agribusiness?" "People with money and influence." "What'd you do?" "I sang." "About what?" "Contamination of the wetlands.

Poisoning of birds in our

wildlife refuges." "More specifically?" "Westland farmers dumping agricultural runoff into Masterson." "What else?" "People at the state and federal FWS covering it up." "What were they doing?" "Destroying documents. evidence.

Slowing the process.

Hiding

Threatening anyone who talked to the press."

"With what?" "Firing or transfers." "What else?" "They told us not to write our representatives.

They warned

us not to join any kind of environmental association or talk to anyone in those groups.

And we weren't allowed to join any

professional organizations." "Why not?"

Tyranny of the Downbeat

270

"Didn't want us sharing information with our peers.

Word

might get out." "You said hiding evidence?" "Any evidence we gathered that threatened the big farmers or their political allies was systematically deleted or changed." "What kind of evidence?" "Evidence that they were exceeding the legal acreage limit. Evidence that they were getting more subsidized water than they were legally allowed. their runoff.

That they were polluting the refuge with

That they were over-irrigating and creating a

selenium problem.

That they were not using pesticides correctly.

And that maybe some people had gotten sick, maybe even died, because of their misuse.

Or possibly what they knew."

"And what happened to the people who collected this evidence?" "They were threatened or muzzled." "You said documents were being destroyed or altered?" "Some of our staff biologists said their reports were being edited." "By who?" "Staff attorneys from the Regional Soliciter's Office." "What were they editing?" "Any facts that might be politically sensitive." "Facts that pointed to the League and the big growers?" He nods. The crew is ready and we start shooting.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

DISSOLVE: MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #15: "Magnetic Fields" 111

EXT. WEST SIDE - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL SHOT OF west side farms. NARRATOR (v.o.) More than a million acres of dry, alkali land have been made fertile in the western San Joaquin Valley this century. Yet, the government was told in 1928, 1941, and 1956 not to till the land because it was seleniferous. There are already twenty years of studies concerning inappropriate agricultural irrigation on the west side. Yet it continues. 112

EXT. WEST SIDE - MEDIUM SHOT

GROUND LEVEL shots of west side irrigation. Most of the land on the west side is owned by factory farms. Growing surplus crops on marginal land, they are over-irrigating and flushing selenium out of the earth. As the irrigation water moves between fields, it picks up still more pollutants. Insecticides, herbicides, and pesticides. 113

EXT. CANAL - WIDE SHOT

Shots of Tranquility Canal. Under pressure, the valley farmers built a drain to take the runoff away. The Tranquility Canal is an 85-mile long open sewer ditch. It carries a deadly witches' brew that, in addition to being toxic, could also be a hatchery for "Andromeda Strains" of biological agents capable of creating future nightmares. 114

EXT. CANAL - MEDIUM CLOSE UP Unfortunately, the canal was never finished. The end of this sewer line became the

271

Tyranny of the Downbeat Masterson Wildlife Refuge. It was supposed to be temporary. It wasn't. 115

EXT. REFUGE - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL SHOTS of Masterson. Marshes and wetlands are essential recharge areas for groundwater supplies. They are also stopping-off points for migrating wildlife. 116

EXT. REFUGE - MEDIUM SHOT

GROUND LEVEL shots of Masterson. That's why the poisoned pond at Masterson, which is not only a wetland but a wildlife refuge, is really a dual problem. It's not only killing the wildlife that stop there, but it's polluting the groundwater below it as well. 117

EXT. REFUGE - MEDIUM SHOT

HAND-HELD shots of Masterson. Wetlands like Masterson are being used as collection areas for agricultural runoff. Runoff carrying contaminants like selenium and boron. Thus, contamination of these surface waters directly affects the quality of local groundwater and the health of the wildlife living there. 118

EXT. REFUGE - WIDE SHOT Right now, at this moment in time, there appears to be no simple, quick-fix solution to the problems of salinity and runoff. Or the threat posed by selenium and other toxic contamination. It's a doublebarreled shotgun pointing right in the face of our future.

119

EXT. REFUGE - ESTABLISHING SHOT

FELIX DAVENPORT walks along the edge of Masterson. FELIX DAVENPORT Masterson was our canary in the cave.

272

Tyranny of the Downbeat

273

DAVENPORT stops walking. CAMERA begins a slow ZOOM in on this face of reason, of credibility. Now, the canary's dead. The question is, are we going to do something about it, or keep on with business as usual?" CAMERA ZOOMS in closer still, drawing us into the truth in this man's eyes. It's a symbol of all that's gone wrong in thirty years of aggressive exploitation of water in California. Agriculture in the San Joaquin Valley is at a turning point. And it may never recover. We may never recover. CAMERA holds on an ECU of his eyes.

They do not blink.

Was there a cover up? Yes, I believe there was. People aren't saying anything, inside or outside the FWS, because they're subject to political pressure from farmers and their politicians. Besides, as one of my colleagues once observed: 'Ducks don't vote.' MUSIC: 120

UP FULL THEN OUT WIDE SHOT

As DAVENPORT exits, CAMERA frames a duck settling down on the pond. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY The shot is done, the emotion captured.

The appeal made.

Elliot and Davenport talk a little while longer before they leave. In passing, Elliot mentions that the some of the same people responsible for poisoning Masterson had also polluted the well on his family's ranch.

"They will pay," he says.

MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #16: "Salt of the Earth"

Tyranny of the Downbeat

274

DISSOLVE: 121

EXT. FIELD STATION - ESTABLISHING SHOT

GROUND LEVEL SHOT of UC Extension Service Salinization Project at the Westlands Field Station near Fresno. Walking into frame and along the dusted white hedgerows is PROFESSOR ANDRE LAUCHLI, head of the Salinity/Drainage Task Force, Department of Land, Air and Water Resources, University of California, Davis. He kicks at the saltencrusted earth. PROFESSOR LAUCHLI Salinity. Many experts consider it to be the most neglected, long-term problem facing California. Already, there are thousands of acres near the southern end of the San Joaquin Valley that look as if they had been dusted with snow. Nothing grows in this snow. Not even weeds. 122

MONTAGE

Shots of causes of salinization and desertification. PROFESSOR LAUCHLI (v.o.) 'Salinization' is mostly the result of poor drainage. And it's threatening this Valley. The San Joaquin is suffering from all the forces that work to produce 'desertification'. Poor drainage of irrigated land, overgrazing, cultivation of highly erodable soils, overdraft of groundwater, and off-road vehicle damage. 123

EXT. FIELD - MEDIUM SHOT

Shot of salted field.

CAMERA slowly PANS LEFT.

'Desertification' is a broad, loosely-defined term. It encompasses a variety of ecological changes that make lands useless for agriculture or humans. 124

EXT. DESERT - MEDIUM SHOT Deserts rarely spread along well-defined frontiers. They spring up in patches where abuse destroys the thin cover of vegetation and fertile soil, leaving only sand or inert earth.

125

EXT. FIELD - WIDE SHOT

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Irrigation of water-intensive crops like cotton or rice. The source of the problem is agriculture's high consumption of water. Their waste of water. The relative cheapness and abundance of water, even in regions that otherwise would be deserts, has led to agricultural practices that would normally never be allowed. But these farmers are supported, even encouraged, by politicians and federal subsidies. 126

EXT. FIELD - MEDIUM SHOT

GROUND LEVEL SHOT of forage crops like alfalfa. Forage crops are being cultivated in California because the economics of Western water encourage the wanton use of this precious substance. Because the economics of the federal pork barrel favor, even demand, the continuous construction of dams and ditches to catch every possible drop of fresh water before it finds its way to the sea. 127

EXT. AQUEDUCT - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL SHOT of California Aqueduct at the Edmonston Pumps. Then to transport that water to southern portions of the state, be used to create cropland or enable Los Angelenos to wash top off their hot tubs, or fill swimming pools. 128

the drier, where it will their cars, their

EXT. FIELDS - ESTABLISHING SHOT

LOW ANGLE TRACKING SHOT as MARC REISNER enters frame and walks along hedgerows dusted with salt. MARC REISNER We really know surprisingly little about vanished civilizations whose majesty, and ultimate demise, were closely linked to the liberties they took with water. The same could be said about any number of desert civilizations throughout history. Assyria, Carthage, Mesopotamia; the Inca, the Aztec, the Hohokam. Before they collapsed.

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And it may not have been drought that caused their fall. 129

MEDIUM CLOSE UP

CAMERA frames shot of ground as he stoops down into frame and picks up a handful of salted earth. It may have been salt. He holds his hand up and lets the salted dirt cascade down, like sands in an hourglass. This is how it will end. Not with a bang, but a whimper. This is our fate if we don't do something. And do it soon. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY

Tyranny of the Downbeat

277 CHAPTER 18

Many adults feel adolescence is a mistake to be corrected or a sorrow to be alleviated rather than a wonderfully direct apprehension of the truth too soon poisoned. -- Norman Kiell I met my old lover On the street last night She seemed so glad to see me I just smiled And we talked about some old times And we drank ourselves some beers Still crazy after all these years Still crazy after all these years I'm not the kind of man Who tends to socialize I seem to lean on Old familiar ways ... Now I sit by my window And I watch the cars I fear I'll do some damage One fine day But I would not be convicted By a jury of my peers Still crazy Still crazy Still crazy after all these years -- Paul Simon, "Still Crazy After All These Years" Jorge and I were reeling from the beers and the years we'd covered.

The softball game was over.

It was just us and our

cooler sitting on the steep side of the hill, waiting for the timer to turn out the park lights. "You know what I think are the major burdens of our generation?"

The drink made me Irish eloquent and profound.

"Too much money and not enough time.

No, it's maybe too

rich and too thin?" "Butt-face.

You're never fucking serious about anything."

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278

"And you're too seriously fucked." "Listen.

I'm on a roll.

of expectations.

The absoluteness of loneliness.

inevitability of change'. these times.

It's three things.

And the

For me, those phrases define life in

Think about it."

"How can I not, shithead? "Cute.

'The unreality

You're shoving it up my ass."

Anyway, we were brought up to expect that good

things would come our way. Then there's loneliness.

Our parents set us up for disappointment. Again, most of us grew

up in the traditional nuclear family." "An endangered species." "Fine.

So we weren't prepared for the fact that the freedom

we had and the expectations, together, meant we were going to spend a lot of time alone." "Because we expected too much of ourselves, this world, and other people?" "Right.

We had the freedom to choose.

making the commitment.

To move on without

And we ended up alone.

We're both alone right now.

Look at us.

There's nobody in our life.

And

neither one of us is in the active pursuit mode." "Too much trouble." "There's a front end to expectation that's created its own problems." "Yes?" "Think Carly Simon." "Songs again.

Which one?"

"'Anticipation'."

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279

"So, let's finish this.

What about the last one?

The

inevitability of change?" "That's the key one. prepared for.

And the one we were probably least

We never grew up.

A lot of our generation stayed

in high school mentally and emotionally.

We resisted change.

We

wanted life to be as safe and secure as it was in high school. But it wasn't." "And probably more so during that era than any time before or since.

A lot of change went down while we grew up."

"And it changed the world." I stared across the park toward the parking lot lights at the winery.

I am obviously not alone in the way I feel.

seems to be the curse of everyone my age. self-indulgent.

It

Our generation is so

We've gazed so long at our collective navels

that we feel everyone else wants to know what we've found.

Our

baby boom bubble is moving through that phase of life when we control everything.

So we hold the mirror up to each other and

write or talk about ourselves and all the joys and sorrows that we seem to have suddenly discovered for the first time. Multi-media masturbation.

Baby boomers beating off.

It seems like every newspaper or magazine article, every TV program or movie we watch, talks about our generational malaise. We feel disconnected, our lives impersonal. for acquisition, not compassion.

We have time only

It's disconcerting when you see

your personal problems broadcast on "LA Law" or "thirtysomething". It's really only a mental circle jerk.

Do we

really have anything to say, or are we just jerking off?

Are

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280

there really no new ideas. to cut a new path.

The Sixties are history and it's time

Yet, here I am, perpetuating what I'm

thinking about. "Have you noticed how much stuff there's out now about Vietnam?" "Time to exorcise the demon, I guess. "Probably true. programs are our age.

I bet most of the people doing these Vietnam-era."

"Trying to deal with what happened. public.

Shed the guilt."

Cleansing the body

Our generation's way of saying we're sorry to those who

fought and died." "Yea, but most everything that's out is about the war. About the guys who fought.

What it was like over there."

"Or after they got back." "I mean, very little of it talks about the people who chose not to fight.

The home front.

The ones who stayed here to fight

the blind ignorance." "'Gardens of Stone' covered some of that territory." "But it was still from a military angle. conscientious objectors.

I'm talking about

I'm talking about the students.

I'm

talking about the people who didn't believe in the war, who didn't want to serve.

Who didn't burn their draft cards, didn't

flee to Canada, didn't demonstrate, didn't trash buildings." "You mean the people like you and me." "Yea.

The main-streamers.

stayed in school.

And there were a lot of us.

We tried to educate people.

parents and our friends.

We wrote letters.

Especially our

We tried to get

We

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281

people to understand that even though we didn't agree with the war, we still believed in our country and the democratic system. Still believed in the process." "'The Children's Crusade' of Clean Gene McCarthy." "That's right. and last time for me.

We both worked for his campaign.

The first

But what bothered me was that people

didn't see the difference.

Whether we were in the parks of

Chicago or in the streets of San Francisco protesting the war, people saw us no differently than the Weathermen, the SDS, or the Panthers.

They lumped us all together as radicals and

terrorists determined to bring the establishment down. certainly didn't see us as patriots. to change the status quo. down with it.

Sure, I definitely wanted

But I didn't want to tear everything else

The fact is, I was just as patriotic as the

guys who went there and died. as they did.

They

I just got lucky.

didn't want them to die.

I believed in this country as much I didn't have to go.

But I

I wasn't one of those assholes that

yelled at them when they came home, that called them 'baby-killers'.

They were just in the wrong place at the wrong

time and they had to go.

And by the time they got off that

plane, they probably believed in the war about as much as I did." "Until people started calling them murderers." "So when are they going to tell our story?

We put our time

in, too." "I guess nobody feels like they have to apologize to us." Memory is a fickle friend. not.

It's there for you and yet it's

My memory tends to flatten all events and memories to the

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same plane.

282

Things that happened long ago appear to have

occurred simultaneously with events much later in time.

I pride

myself on my memory, on my ability to recall minutiae.

But there

is no depth to it, no perspective. "You really think memories and trophies last longer than friendship and love?" "Well, considering that's all I have right now, I would say yes." "That's pretty cold." "And pretty true.

How many athletic trophies do you have in

storage?" "More than I've got dust to cover them." "And what about the memories?

Do you have enough to keep

you warm at night or to keep you company when you're old?" "Sure." "How many lovers or wives or girlfriends or close friends do you have?" "Not as many." "And which are more fun?

Or, should I say, less of a pain

in the ass?" "It's pretty obvious." "You see, I'm trying to be realistic not self-pitying, but the memories are really all I've got right now." "You wouldn't trade them in for a nice soft, heavy-breathing woman to keep you warm?" "Sure, until it got to be a problem. back where I am now, talking to you."

And then I'd be right

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283

We seem to have suffered through a prolonged adolescence. By choice or circumstance, I don't know.

The demographic bubble was

approaching middle age and we were letting everybody know about it.

Memory is incomplete experience. -- J. Krishnamurti Photographs and memories, Christmas cards you sent to me. All that I have are these, To remember you. Memories that run and hide, Take me to another time. Back to a happier day, When I called you mine. But we sure had a good time, When we started way back when. Morning walks and bedroom talks, Oh, how I loved you then. Summer skies and lullabies, Nights we couldn't say goodbye. And of all of the things that we knew, Not a dream survived. Photographs and memories, All the love that you gave to me. Somehow it just can't be true, That's all I've left of you. -- Jim Croce, "Photographs and Memories" "Is There Life After High School?" critical question for our generation. survived it.

The name of a book and a I think there is, but I

I learned to look at it from the right perspective,

with just enough humor, and not enough serious grimness. I find myself still dealing with people I grew up with in much the same way I dealt with them in high school.

In my mind,

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284

they're still jocks, cheerleaders, class presidents, nerds, dopers, hoods, or "hard women".

I still find myself tongue-tied

when confronted with one of the cheerleaders I never really knew, but lusted after for all those years.

Or scared shitless when I

run into one of my coaches or gym teachers. Did I succeed?

Could I be part of their clique now because I

certainly wasn't then? expectations?

Do I measure up?

Do we ever escape these adolescent

Of others?

Of ourselves?

all that's been written about reunions.

I think not.

Just look at

About the trauma and

fear paralyzing people contemplating attending their own. Most of the kids in high school shied away from our group. Not because we were so cool and unapproachable. might batter them with our fists. different way.

Or because we

We were dangerous in a

We lashed them with our tongues, with our humor.

They couldn't stand our ridicule, our sarcasm.

The fact is, most

of us were fairly bright, not unattractive, and even popular at times.

But we were the first to enter THAT era of rebellion.

When it was cool to not care; to distance ourselves from the traditional rites of passage and lampoon those who took any of it too seriously. We were the first, other than the rockers and the kids from "Highway Village," to experiment with drugs. especially dangerous and attractive.

That made us

We laughed at the jocks,

particularly the coaches, although most of us were decent athletes.

A few even lettered.

Not as a symbol of

accomplishment, but as yet another way to attack the system.

I

think deep down, our style was just another disguise, another way

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285

for us "outies" to attack the "innies."

If they wouldn't accept

us, we'd ridicule what they considered important and humiliate them in the process. I think many of us still see ourselves the way we saw ourselves in high school.

A lot of us stopped there, though.

Especially the ones that didn't leave.

It's amazing how some of

the more popular ones, the ones voted most likely to succeed, when they couldn't cope with the disappointment of real life, became alcoholics, heads, or born-again Christians. kept trading one crutch for another. And I probably shouldn't either. well-adjusted? answers?

No.

Am I any more successful or Do I have the

But I do have a power they don't.

shape things the way I see them.

real because it's on tape.

That's what I do with the "Mud

And those who participate in

the experience make it legitimate.

see ourselves.

I define it and it becomes

It's been recorded for posterity.

It's been formalized, canonized.

It's vicarious.

The power to

I can create my own reality and

Bowl" videotape I produce each year.

exorcism.

They wouldn't call it that.

Do I have any fewer vices?

then present it as the truth.

They just

It's a wonderful device for

It presents us as we would like to

It can be painful, especially seeing the before

and after shots, then and now.

But it sure feels good.

The videotape I made for our reunion was my perception of those years.

You could accept it or not.

change it.

It was my statement.

Outraged others. reaction.

But you couldn't

I'm sure it embarrassed some.

But it touched everyone.

Everyone had a

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286

It's been said that most of our tastes were set during high school.

The music, movies, dances, and drugs of preference were

shaped then. insecurities.

Even our sexual preferences and problems; all our I think that's why some of our friends, including

me, still prefer the oldies. times than we are now. of the Mud Bowl.

We were probably happier in those

Certainly that's part of the attraction

To be seventeen and carefree again.

Worried

more about copping a feel than getting a raise. Many wives and girlfriends, former wives and girlfriends, and parents may disagree, but I think the bowl is healthy. cheaper than analysis and probably just as effective.

It's

Most

psychotherapists say that re-living our teenage years helps us to become better adults. Thanksgiving.

And that's exactly what we do each

Over a two to four day period, depending on how

much we need it and decide to indulge it, each of the "Bowlers" consciously become what we were in high school, or act out what we would have liked to be.

We're often accused, by the

aforementioned significant others, of being juvenile and immature. it.

Instead of recoiling from the accusation, we revel in

It is shameless adolescent indulgence.

But it helps to keep

us sane the rest of the year. We all know there's a high schooler just under the surface. But we're supposed to be sober professionals.

We can't afford to

be compromised by that pimply-faced grinning visage of immaturity. wild.

So, one weekend each year, we let him loose to run

To wreak havoc on relationships new and old.

And, through

the years, we've learned to look objectively at him without

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287

shrinking in embarrassment.

After all, we've been regressing for

over twenty-five years now. Maybe the Bowl is a convenient way for many of us to remain teenagers most of the year.

Since most of us seem to like

who we were then, we don't mind spending more time with that person.

Of course we only do it when we're with another Bowler,

because only they can appreciate it and not hassle us about it. Some of us handle this return to adolescence better than others. Some, I think, are afraid of what might emerge from this "Pandora's Yearbook" of regression.

They might fear the reality

of what they really were and have become. an intense time.

The gathering can be

Like any reunion, any re-evaluation, emotions

and expectations run high. For years we've been told by people what a great idea the Bowl is.

How unique it is.

And these same people lament the

fact that they hadn't, and now couldn't, do the same thing. Because they weren't from a close-knit community. they were too mature.

Or because

The latter ones we had to worry about.

They were the ones that would someday end up on top of a building in Texas shooting innocent bystanders. would never be accused of.

One thing the Mud Bowlers

We weren't tight-asses.

There is a saying of Goethe's.

Beware of what you wish for

in youth because you will get it in middle life.

And so many of

us have spent our entire lives trying to achieve that. Reeling from the beers and the years we covered, I still decide to have another beer before going to bed. flip on a music television station.

I get one and

It's "Sweet Baby" James

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288

Taylor, a cadaverous Henry Fonda. no vitality in that song. reflection? in time.

There's no life in that smile,

Is it another arm-chair casual

Why am I sorry for him, for me, for us, for a moment

The boom is bust.

We're dancing in our wheelchairs.

Old friends, Old friends Sat on their park bench Like bookends. A newspaper blown through the grass Falls on the round shoes On the high shoes Of the old friends. Old friends, Winter companions, The old men Lost in their overcoats, Waiting for the sunset. The sounds of the city, Sifting through trees, Settle like dust On the shoulders Of the old friends. Can you imagine us Years from today, Sharing a park bench quietly? How terribly strange To be seventy. Old friends, Memory brushes the same years. Silently sharing the same fear. ... -- Paul Simon, "Old Friends" Time it was, And what a time it was, It was ... A time of innocence, A time of confidences. Long ago ... it must be.... I have a photograph. Preserve your memories; They're all that's left me. -- Paul Simon, "Bookends Theme"

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289

It was time to test-drive his latest design. headed for the back door.

He cut in and

Had you seen him then, you would have

thought him dead, or frozen in cryogenic journey. the system; the soul of the machine.

He was part of

The jock was running the

silicon strip, shooting straight for enemy territory. Destination:

D.C. and the secured d data vault of the Valley

Education Fund; Borba's own PAC. bitch.

This run was going to be a

He hoped he wouldn't fry his brains getting in and

wouldn't get his butt busted heading back out the door. He was riding a hot-rodded piece of parasitic software. was pretty nasty.

It could the usual stuff.

Destroy disc files,

interfere with memory, reproduce itself ceaselessly. generally be a pain in the ass.

It

Just

But he'd modded this shit so it

could slice through any security system and do a little spying. Very selective spying.

From the inside.

On all the

interconnects linked up to the PAC, including, he hoped, The League, OxyGene, DiGiulio, and most of the other corporate combines.

He had a feeling they were all wired.

was everybody's safety net. They were all linked.

Because that

They all knew it. The pathways were there.

He just had

to fly them.

It would take a little time, but he'd find the

combination.

Then it would be showtime.

The parasite would copy

itself onto the main system and all the subsystems; attaching itself to ancillary devices and storage media.

Then the file protection

override would kick in, as well as the cloaking device. place, he' drain them dry.

Once in

Accessing an autodial modem and a

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290

modified internal FAX machine, the parasite would start transmitting files to a network of safe storage devices around the state.

The

Mole didn't want them coming down the lines after him, so all the data went out into this make-shift network, where it could be retrieved later.

Some of the

data would travel down phone lines, some over satellite, fiber optic, and microwave links. Everything was in place already, courtesy of innocuous and innocent user's groups, bulletin boards, and professional organizations.

You just had to know where it was and how to get to

it. Next thing he knew, he was downtown; knocking at heaven's door. The holographic projection above Icarus displayed a 3D grid of the entire building, complete with communication, security, power, and computer systems.

It was like playing three-level chess with Spock.

Now he just had to run it undetected. easing in and along. highschooler. there. inside.

He took it slow at first,

Didn't want to push too hard, like some horny

Gently, he slid deeper and down farther.

He hovered at the brink.

She opened like a flower and he was

He shuddered with relief.

Pretty sloppy security, he thought.

Pretty careless.

it under a file entitled, "Special Projects Fund." historical homage; Nixonian humor. alone. fund.

He found

A little

They just couldn't let the man

It was a record of all the cash disbursements made by the Probably the only copy around.

were smart. bonus:

Then he was

Shredded the hard copy if they

In an adjoining file, he stumbled on a little unexpected

transcripts of conversations between Borba and a host of

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other players.

291

The Mole's fingers were burning the stuff was so hot.

He hit the transmit command.

Satisfied the code was flowing, he

punched the eject button and headed for the surface.

ALTA CALIFORNIA ----------------------------------------------------------------COASTAL BATTLE The coming conflict between the two coasts. By Stephan Harrington OF THE RECORD STAFF The next decade is going to see the beginnings of a major battle between the two coasts. Not the snobbery of the east coast literati and cultural dowagers versus the crude and brash upstart westerners. It'll be over what we've got and they want. Over water. We want more and they want better. The infrastructure they built to carry water to their homes and businesses is rotting away. And when they're not losing the water through the cracks, the ancient pipes are polluting it with lead. Or, the wastes of hundreds of years of industry, dumped into the ground or pumped into the sky, are poisoning what good water they've got left in rivers and lakes and underground. So, where are they looking to get more? Out west. And who are they looking to to help them get it? The same people who corralled the water and gave it to the westerners. The federal government. The Bureau of Reclamation. The Army Corps. They've given the west cheap subsidized water for years, so why can't they do the same for the east? It's only a matter of time before they begin reversing the flow. There's a smaller battle being waged within this larger war. A civil war between the north and the south. Not between states, not interstate, but intrastate. And the numbers tell it all. 72 percent of the state's runoff water is north of Sacramento. 77 percent of the demands for water are south of it. There are twenty-four California congressmen representing California south of the Tehachapi Mountains. There are nineteen representing everything else. You tell me who has a better chance of taking home the water?

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292 CHAPTER 19

I am a lie that always tells the truth. -- Jean Cocteau White Fang was a Siberian Husky.

Named after one of Soupy

Sales' co-stars, he had been a wedding present. of the family.

Now he was part

Since they couldn't have children, they had been

satisfied just raising Fang.

Whenever Maryanne went to the store

or drove into town, Fang would always sit next to her, riding shotgun. Fang looked a little unhappy as they drove away, headed for a concert in the city that night. without him navigating.

He knew they'd get lost

How could they leave him behind?

Disappointed, he trotted around the back of the house, looking for a stray cat or jackrabbit to chase. No amusement.

Nothing.

No diversions.

Just an empty brown bag with a few white granules

in it, billowing open and shut in the early evening breeze. Curious, he nosed it open, snorting. They returned around midnight, exhausted from a little too much wine and an unusual amount of culture.

They were too tired

to realize that their usual welcoming committee was not there barking his greeting.

When they finally did, they got out of the

car and started calling for him. Nothing.

No answer.

They looked at each other.

No movement.

They pulled into the garage

and got out. "Guess he chased a rabbit over to Arnold's place.

There's

probably a message on the machine that he's there and spending the night."

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"Sure.

293

It's not like he hasn't done it before."

"Right.

I'll take a quick look around back before I come

in." "I'll start some tea." "Make mine a brandy." Elliot shut the garage and went out the door into the side yard and around the corner of the house.

He saw Fang lying

there, quietly, next to his water bowl.

His nose was in the

water, his tongue hanging out, over the side. open.

His eyes were

Elliot stopped. "Hey boy!

Hey Fang!"

"Maryanne!" to the dog.

Nothing.

The back porch light came on.

Maryanne came up behind him.

He had been for a while.

"He was poisoned. nervous system.

He was stiff.

Elliot ran over

White Fang was dead. Maryanne started crying.

Died of convulsions.

Overloaded the

Someone mixed the granules you found in that bag

with his dog food.

He ate it.

Got a very high fever.

drink water to quench his thirst and stop the heat. worse.

Tried to

That made it

The death would have been very painful."

"What was it?" "Temik.

Generic name Aldicarb.

He looked at the bag. nematocide.

"

...

Made by,

OxyGene.

..."

I think it's a

Used by grape farmers to kill worms.

if it's eaten or inhaled." "Someone killed our dog with a pesticide." "I'm afraid so."

Pretty deadly

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294

"I didn't know they were that lethal." "In the right dose, anything is lethal."

I had been experiencing mild nausea, a slight dizziness, and some balance problems for a few months.

I attributed it to too

much caffeine, alcohol, and stress; to a ragged lifestyle. let it ride.

So I

When it got worse, I went to the doctor and then

the specialists.

A physical, blood tests, ear, nose, and throat,

and opthamology all drew fluids or poked instruments into me. Nothing showed up.

Nothing "leapt out at them," as they put it,

so they sent me to a neurologist. During his exam, Doctor Albert Horshak asked me what I did, all the while thumping reflexive parts of my anatomy with a hard rubber hammer. "I'm a writer and a television producer so I spend a lot of time using my eyes, looking at televisions, staring at CRTs, or doing research." "Does the balance get worse?" "Sometimes.

And sometimes when my sinuses flare up.

It's

funny because the symptoms are a lot like a project I'm working on.

Nausea, dizziness, pinpoint pupils." "What's the project about?" "The central valley of California and the 'politics of

water'.

And pollution."

He stopped thumping.

I thought, Christ, I've tipped it now.

This guy could be friends with any number of people. shouldn't know.

People who

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295

"What kind of pollution?" I figured I'd gone too far not to finish now. "Interesting."

He started thumping again.

"Pesticides."

"I have a bit of

an interest in that." "What?" "Pesticides.

And the neurological damage they cause.

In

fact, I've often been called as an expert witness in cases involving pesticide contamination." I had to ask because I had to know.

"By whom and against

whom?" "Environmental Defense Fund and Pesticide Action Network. Against OxyGene and some rather large farmers." smiled as I exhaled a sigh of relief.

He looked up and

"Does that make me okay?"

We had our medical expert.

A story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end ... but not necessarily in that order. -- Jean Luc Godard He had one last run to make. his lips in nervous anticipation. they had accumulated there.

Down Thunder Road.

He licked

They were proud of the toys

They had always been innovators; had

always stretched the limits of the possible in their own business.

So it wouldn't be too surprising to expect some pretty

hot code at the end of this road. He kicked in and fast-forwarded down the line.

The security

code started detonating as he neared the target, like land mines or anti-aircraft.

Nothing serious or damaging, just a warning to

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the faint of heart.

296

Fuck your envelope, Chuck, he silently

shrieked as he throttled up and screamed toward oblivion. When he flattened out, he didn't think he had made it there. He started scanning.

He was a little disappointed.

They made

some good wine, but this code tasted like Red Mountain. easy pickins.

He got to it all, including DiGiulio's

confidential personal files.

Then something started picking at

his neck, scratching at his attention. watchdog.

It was

It was some kind of

It smelled new and dangerous.

knew that the smell was Icarus burning.

Then he instinctively Time to bail.

He

somersaulted. The Mole felt like Von Richtoven. remains of the "Flying Circus."

Icarus resembled the

Both pilot and ship had survived

the binary dogfight, but they had returned battered and bruised. The Mole hadn't slept in over a week; Icarus hadn't been powered down for almost as long.

He was wired the entire ride,

mainstreaming data lines.

Now it was come-down time.

The

back-side of the flight was about to begin; the real drudgery. Collating.

Synthesizing.

Analyzing.

Reviewing all the

confidential corporate files, public and private legal records, scientific data bases, doctor's reports, FBI Form 302s, top-secret government files, and confidential congressional hearings. He finished at five the next morning, showered, downed a Tab and took one for the road, then drove across the Golden Gate. Elliot had called in Western, Walsh, and Devereaux. quietly in one of the edit suites.

They all sat

It was cool and dark, just

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the way The Mole liked it.

297

A little too cool for Elliot.

The

laptop, already lashed to the mainframe, sat between them, the scan lines moving up and up, slowly, inexorably.

Each of them

quickly scanned their own hard copy, turning pages in nervous anticipation, as he called up the first file and began walking Elliot through the maze. It was a labyrinth of conspiracy and cover-up.

Corporate

farmers had illegally irrigated thousands of acres with super-subsidized water supplied by the larger water contractors. They had invented complicated lease-out, lease back arrangements to control excess land through dummy corporations.

Aided by the

agrichemical conglomerates, they had illegally, or at least incorrectly, used chemical insecticides and herbicides.

They had

pumped out of existence, or contaminated, vast amounts of the state's ground water supply.

There were records of migrant

worker abuse, purposely inadequate housing and medical care, collusion to keep wages low and deport any dissidents.

There

were records of bribes, or at least "contributions", to keep the Tranquility Canal open and to keep certain pesticides on the market and the acceptable residues on food and in water at a level acceptable to the growers. It wasn't clear yet how much the BuRec, the Army Corps, DWR, or FWS knew and how much they had helped.

Reading the reports

and between the lines, it was obvious most of the people at each agency were simply too afraid to not help, or at least look the other way.

They didn't want to tangle with the giant farming

corporations and the politicians they helped elect.

One thing

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was clear.

298

They had done little or nothing to stop it.

And it

looked like some had even gone so far as to conspire to cover it up. The tangled web included chemical companies, agribusiness, politicians, private citizens, city, county, state, and federal officials.

They had all been responsible for the contamination.

They had all been part of the cover up.

They had conspired to

keep the public in the dark, and to keep officials and law enforcement quiet.

All for their own benefit.

their own pockets.

To secure their own positions.

the way, they may have even killed some people.

To put money in And, along

And they had

denied Elliot the family he wanted. During his raid on The League's files, The Mole discovered, like Walsh had before him, a number of violations of the excess-lands provision and several violations of the Clean Water Act and Proposition 65.

The transgressors included DiGiulio and

The Combine, as well as numerous members of The League.

Most of

the big west side farmers had been granted exemptions from the solicitor's office of the Interior Department.

That meant no

acreage limit on the amount of subsidized water they were getting.

There was evidence that those exemptions were the

result of political pay-offs. thousands of dollars.

Pay-offs in the hundreds of

Some of the growers had contributed up to

$100,000 to the Valley Education Fund.

And Borba had used that

money to buy them exemptions. While browsing a data base from the Toxicology Information Center at Purdue, he had run across a reference to OxyGene's

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Waterston plant. already seen.

299

Sterility caused by DBCP.

Nothing he hadn't

But it triggered another connection.

He

remembered something about DiGiulio; something in an FBI file he'd cracked.

A confidential file about an investigation into

the dumping of contaminated grapeskins and possible ground water contamination.

There was a Mafia connection and charges of

illegal dumping.

That triggered another reference.

In March of

the previous year, the state water board had fined DiGiulio for not meeting the deadline for cleaning up some contaminated ground water.

The fine came as part of a civil liability complaint.

The complaint alleged "negligent or intentional" violations of a cleanup order.

The water board had given the winery thirty days

to find out how far ground water contamination had spread, and six months to devise a cleanup plan. Simply forgotten.

The order was ignored.

By both parties.

Walsh knew something of that and another pair of files on DiGiulio.

The first was innocuous enough.

but only locally and not for long. serious.

It was in the papers,

The second was far more

No one knew about it because it was still under

investigation.

The bureau file was still open.

The FBI's Form 302 was the interview report filed by agents immediately after talking with a witness. them wasn't always reliable. a data dump.

The information in

It was simply a storage device for

Anything that was said was recorded.

When he left the Bureau, Pat had taken copies of all the 302s, and as much of the case files, as he needed and could manage.

He wasn't about to waste all the time and energy he had

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spent. day.

300

He figured he could probably use the information some It was a federal offense--copying and removing documents.

He, and everyone in the room, could be jailed, especially now, following The Mole's joyride. The first incident had to do with a bunch of contaminated bricks.

The bricks had lined a kiln the winery used to fire the

glass for their bottles.

When they built the new plant, they had

to get rid of the bricks, so they figured they'd make a little extra money by selling them.

What they couldn't sell, they

dumped into the local landfill. contaminated.

Turns out the bricks were

If company officials knew it, they didn't let on.

So here are all these people, building fireplaces and patios with "dirty" bricks.

Not to mention the landfill, where a bunch of

other people worked, and more people came in each day to dump their own garbage.

Even though it wasn't that serious, it just

showed their attitude toward their own liability and concern for the public's safety. The second one had turned up during The Mole's cruise; evidence that they had been dumping wine skins tainted with pesticides and herbicides into open pits.

Without permits and

without notifying the proper authorities. As they dug deeper into the data, following the information trail, the picture of the valley began to resemble medieval rural feudalism, complete with absentee landlords and serf labor.

Many

owners lived in Los Angeles, Houston, London, Tokyo, or Bahrein. Most of them didn't give a damn about the land or the people working it.

They were only interested in profit.

And some

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301

people suspected a few of these landlords wouldn't even mind undermining the economy and depleting the resources on purpose, in preparation for the last battle. --Elliot

"Followed the money.

That's all The Mole did.

And he dug us up an agribusiness Trilateral Commission." --Walsh --Elliot

"Try what?" "Trilateral Commission.

Like "The Star Chamber."

The world's most powerful businessmen and politicians.

All

working together to control world politics through economics." --Western --Elliot

"Sounding a little conspiratorial, aren't we?" "We've got our own version right here.

Agribusiness uses the banks, the politicians, food processors, the university extension system, cheap imported labor, and subsidized water to generate wealth so they can control this state and assure that the flow continues." --Walsh

"It's a conspiracy.

We're talking about foreign

ownership, hidden partnerships, holding companies, interlocking directorates, vertical integration." --Devereaux

"Using our water, our universities, and our

elected officials to put Americans out of work and put money into their Swiss bank accounts." --Elliot

"You know what their philosophy is?

Use it, then

lose it." --Walsh

"That's like castrating your stud bull, or letting

your prize heifer run dry." --Elliot

"They don't care.

There's plenty more land

available around the world, even here in this state.

I think

Tyranny of the Downbeat

it's part of a master plan.

302

If they can't conquer us militarily,

they'll start destroying us from within. economically.

With drugs.

Or

By buying and then developing, or destroying, the

best of our farm and ranch lands." Elliot knew he had the ammunition he needed.

This

information, plus everything they'd gathered so far through interviews and their own research, there was enough circumstantial evidence to build a pretty convincing case. gun was leveled. fired.

Right at their heart.

Now it just had to be

But the information was still circumstantial.

had been pirated.

in court.

to

But it was inadmissable as evidence

And it was unprofessional; even unethical.

investigative journalists knew that. evidence.

Some of it

He could use it in the documentary:

allege, to hint, to suggest.

The

The best

He needed the hard

Beyond a reasonable doubt.

He was encouraged, but a

little exasperated. --Devereaux on.

"I think it's pretty clear what's been going

What's been happening." --Western --Walsh

cover-up.

"There is a pattern.

It's money."

"But it's more than that.

It's conspiracy.

It's

And maybe murder."

--Devereaux

"And that's what we're going to prove.

It's

Borba and Delancy and DiGiulio and The League." --Western --Elliot

"And for them, it's over." "Not until we get the smoking gun.

Look, we

can't afford to be charged with making baseless accusations. refuse to have this branded as just another one of my naive

I

Tyranny of the Downbeat

303

crusades." --Devereaux

"Naive or not.

Pirated or not.

a right to know what we've found.

The public has

That's guaranteed under the

First Amendment and common law practices.

Even if we don't point

any fingers, if all we do is say, 'Here it is, judge for yourself,' we've got to do something about it.

Right now.

It's

a destiny we can't deny." --Elliot

"Fine.

Agreed.

But I still say we need their

fingerprints on the gun so there's no doubt who fired it. got to get those fingerprints. --Devereaux

We've

Get me those fingerprints."

"The principle of it.

We're doing this for the

principle of it." --Western

"You know, you can get away with anything for the

principle of it." --Walsh

"Yes.

And in the right dose, anything is lethal.

Even water." --Elliot

"Even principles."

Tyranny of the Downbeat

304 CHAPTER 20

... I saw the sun take Its first step Above the water tower at Sun Maid Raisins And things separate from the dark And lean on their new shadows ... -- Gary Soto There were no songs when scorpions did their dance to a whirlwind tune and a desert promise. No water wells then. A dry-farming stake was the way before canal hopes grew in the caterpillar dust. -- Art Cuelho, "Those Cook Shack Days" Marc Reisner, author of "Cadillac Desert," suggested we meet near where the Delta-Mendota Canal crosses the Highway 580/132 cutoff when I called to get some background information prior to shooting his segment for the program.

I asked Robin

Devereaux to join us. We stood now on rolling hills near the Altamont Raceway; a vantage that delivers views of both the Delta-Mendota, the California Aqueduct, and the freeway. the automobile.

Irrigated agriculture and

The two things, Reisner tells us, that have done

more than anything else to shape California.

He reminds us of a

forgotten fact. --Reisner

"California is a desert.

It needs water.

An

entire culture, an entire value system, has been born and raised on the desperate need for water. it, also rule California.

Those who control it, who rule

That means power.

That means

Tyranny of the Downbeat

influence.

305

And that means money."

--Western --Reisner

"Water is everything." "It's a big issue.

you can't live without water. you'll live.

Maybe the biggest.

Because

You can have a gas shortage and

A food shortage, you'll still survive.

But run out

of water and you're dead in a few days." --Devereaux

"They say that in California, water flows

uphill toward money." --Reisner

"And you can bet that when it comes to something

as important as water, the rules of accepted behavior are going to go out the window.

Honesty and legality will be ground into

the dust." --Devereaux

"You get the water, you get the money.

It's

that simple." --Reisner

"Water delivers wealth.

And that wealth goes

back into the political machine that delivers the water.

The

farm lobby and agribusiness spend almost a million dollars a month fighting water reform and the environmentalists." --Western his cohorts.

"They're the people who keep electing Borba and And those are the guys we're fighting.

the front men.

They're

The guys trying to block us at every turn,

legally and otherwise." --Reisner politics.

"The issue is not a poisoned pond.

It's

The old-fashioned expedients of politics and

economics." --Western --Devereaux

"And this time, they're the same thing." "Masterson is what you see.

Money is what you

Tyranny of the Downbeat

306

get." --Western

"Let's talk a little about federal water

subsidies." --Reisner

"The federal government began subsidizing water

projects in 1982.

On the grounds that growth in the West

depended on cheap water." --Devereaux --Reisner

"To make the desert bloom?" "Since then, hundreds of thousands of acres of

marginal farmland in the arid West and Southwest have been cultivated." --Western

"Only because the water was cheap?"

--Reisner

"It was sold by the government to the farmers for

much less than its true cost." --Devereaux

"With all the subsidies they had, it was

cheaper to use it and get more than to conserve it." --Reisner

"It was also cheaper to irrigate the hell out of

drainage-poor land and let it run into swamps like Masterson than it was to install drainage systems, or simply not cultivate the land." --Devereaux

"And the resulting water shortage each year

created pressure to find more cheap water." --Western

"Political pressure to dam more rivers?

A roll

on the old pork barrel?" --Reisner

"The ultimate.

unions like that.

The

So do engineering and construction companies

like Fluor and Bechtel. machinery."

Water projects create jobs.

Water projects grease the political

Tyranny of the Downbeat

--Devereaux

307

"And because of all this growth and wealth, the

politicians get re-elected and keep the cycle going." --Western

"So enormous amounts of taxpayers' money have

been spent for the benefit of a few?

On land of marginal value

and for crops that aren't essential?" --Reisner

"The rice, cotton, barley, canning tomatoes,

pistachio nuts, almonds, and melons they produce aren't feeding the world.

Much of what's being grown is in surplus supply.

there have been repercussions reaching beyond the state.

And

The

feds used taxpayer's money to provide illegal subsidies so rich farmers could grow richer planting rice in California.

In the

process, they produced more for less." --Devereaux

"And put the other rice growers living in Texas

or Louisiana out of business." --Reisner rice here.

"And what's ironic is they didn't even sell the

They shipped it to fill the rice bowls of Japan."

--Western

"You mentioned earlier that there was another way

to use water better, beyond conservation, reduced use, and recycling.

What were you referring to?"

--Reisner

"Selling it.

Farmers could sell their

entitlements at market the same way they sell their produce." --Western

"Who would buy it?"

--Reisner

"Cities, who would pay a premium for it.

Industry.

Even other farmers.

That would give these farmers

another market and another source of income." --Devereaux

"Which couldn't hurt them at a time when more

and more farms are failing because of default."

Tyranny of the Downbeat

--Reisner

308

"And, if they were efficient, they'd still have

enough left over to irrigate their own crops." --Western

"Couldn't they decrease their consumption still

more by planting different crops?" --Reisner

"Definitely.

Instead of cotton, tomatoes, rice,

and alfalfa, which use a lot of water, they could switch to beans and wheat or barley, which use a lot less." --Western not.

"Let me ask a question that's sort of related and

Do you own any water stocks?" --Reisner

"No, I don't.

To be honest, I hadn't even

thought about it, but I imagine as water gets more scarce, owning stock in companies that own, or control, the sources of water would make sense. --Western

I didn't even know there were water stocks."

"There are.

And once the quality and quantity of

water combines with more people and industry, the companies that control the water are going to do quite well." --Devereaux

"So everyone's happy."

--Western

"And no one loses."

--Reisner

"Except everyone living in California.

Because

they're running out of water." --Devereaux --Reisner

"Good water." "Any kind of water.

still droughts ahead.

And, remember, there are

After all, this is a desert."

--Western

"Is there really enough water in California?"

--Reisner

"There's enough.

much incentive to use it wisely."

What there isn't enough of is

Tyranny of the Downbeat DISSOLVE: MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #17: "Equinoxe" 130

EXT. FIELD - ESTABLISHING SHOT

Shot of MARC REISNER standing near irrigation shut-off valve in a west side tomatoe field. He reaches down and turns on the valve. Water begins rushing into the irrigation ditch. MARC REISNER Over the course of 50 years, a few thousand farmers will receive a billion and half dollars' worth of taxpayer generosity that was never supposed to be theirs. They were supposed to get the water cheap. Instead, they're getting it for almost nothing. And the biggest subsidies are going to the members of the Westlands Water and Power League. 131

EXT. IRRIGATED FIELDS - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL SHOT of irrigated fields in Westlands district. The federal water subsidy to the farmers of the Westlands amounts to almost $217 per acre per year. The average annual revenue produced by an acre of Westlands land is only $290. 132

EXT. FIELD - MEDIUM SHOT

GROUND LEVEL SHOT of west side cotton fields owned by The Marriposa Combine. CAMERA slowly PANS RIGHT TO LEFT. This means that 70 percent of the profit on what is supposed to be some of the richest farmland in the world, comes solely through taxpayer subsidization, not crop production. Not only that, but the main west side crop is cotton, which has become a surplus crop. 133

EXT. FIELD - WIDE SHOT

HIGH ANGLE SHOT of field worker tending ditches in Westlands tomatoe field.

309

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310

Why the League should receive subsidized water in the first place is a good question. It's hardly worth mentioning that their irrigation runoff is the main source of the valley's high levels of selenium. 134

EXT. FIELD - MEDIUM SHOT

Shot of REISNER standing near shut-off valve. So here's the situation. Illegal subsidies enrich big farmers. Their excess production of surplus crops depresses crop prices nationwide. Their contamination and waste of cheap water creates an environmental calamity that could cost billions to solve. And the American public knows little, or nothing, about it. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY It was Sunday evening.

The network news had ended.

Elliot

was too busy reviewing his week's worth of ignored correspondence to see that a television special on animation had begun. Reflecting off his glasses, behind which his eyes intently scanned words and numbers, were images ranging from traditional animation to contemporary computer imaging. A voice, or a piece of music, must have roused him.

He

pushed his glasses up, rubbed his eyes, then looked over at the TV.

He smiled.

It was his favorite cartoon of all time.

Not

because of the style of animation, but because of the content. He remembered it well.

The grasshopper, relaxed, not worrying,

while the ant scurried around, preparing for the coming winter. "I'll never be the grasshopper," he thought, "but am I scurrying around for the right reasons?"

The phone rang.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

311 CHAPTER 21

Just like the sun over the mountaintops, You know I'll always come again. You know I love to spend my morning times, Like sunlight dancing on your skin. I've never gone so wrong as for telling lies to you. What you've seen is what I've been. There is nothing I could hide from you. You've seen me better than I've been. Out on the road that lies before me now, There are some turns where I will spin. I only hope that you can hold me now, Till I can gain control again. Like a lighthouse you must stand alone, And mark a sailor's journey in. No matter what seas I have been sailing on, I'll always roll this way again. Out on the road that lies before me now, There are some turns where I will spin. I only hope that you can hold me now, Till I can gain control again. -- Rodney Crowell, "Till I Gain Control Again" As I listen, I realize it could be my theme song.

I have

this compulsive need to control everything and everyone around me.

I became a manipulator.

I became selfish.

I knew what I

needed to do to run things and I used people and situations to do that.

One of the reasons I finally gave up drugs was because I

always felt out of control.

And that scared me.

to blow it, to look like a fool, to fuck up. to me.

And drugs did that

If I was with a group of close friends and we stayed

inside, I was fine.

But if there were strangers, and we decided

to go somewhere, I became absolutely paranoid. stopped.

I didn't want

So I finally just

Tyranny of the Downbeat

312

This compulsion to be in charge made my sex life a little sporadic.

If I couldn't determine when, where, and how, I wasn't

comfortable.

And that affected my attitude, which had a string

tied directly to my dick.

If it wasn't right, neither was I.

And that didn't help the marriage.

Because Sandy liked being in

control, too. I liked making love with the lights out and my eyes closed. I don't think I ever kissed a woman, or made love to her, and looked her straight in the eyes.

I never wanted to see her

reaction, to share that moment of complete vulnerability.

And I

certainly didn't want her to see me at my weakest, when I was least in control.

Unfortunately, doing that is like driving with

your eyes closed.

You'll miss a lot.

You could tell by looking at my home.

The magazines neatly

stacked on the coffee table, perfectly arranged. lined up in the closet. rows.

The canned food in alike-minded aligned

Everything anally clean and in order.

place.

The shoes all

Nothing out of

It was hard to tell if this was someone's home or one of

the houses on "The Tour of Homes."

But I lived there and I was

proud of the order I had established and meticulously maintained. But there was no passion, only organization. cubbyholing my life.

I had died

Instead of allowing the chaos of feelings

into my living room, I had dust-busted them out of existence. I plead guilty to it. catalyst.

I am an organizer.

That's not to say I'm a workaholic.

A facilitator.

A

Unlike many of my

peers, and certainly our parents, I know there are more important things in life than work; like love, health, family, friends, and

Tyranny of the Downbeat

sanity.

313

That's also not to say I hate to work.

I actually enjoy

what I do because I get a chance to move people.

I realized long

ago that my role in life was to get people together and keep them together.

And that is what people look to me for.

I've always

been the one to stay in touch; to make contact and to keep friends from drifting too far away.

It was up to me to make us

all a little crazy so we wouldn't go insane. I guess that's why John Mayall's "Broken Wing" is playing now.

For no reason other than conjuring old memories and putting

them in flight. I sit drinking a gin and tonic and start thinking of a girl I once knew. made love to.

A high school sweetheart.

The first girl I ever

We used to share a different vice back then.

We'd

get really stoned and make love outside somewhere, in the open. Someplace we shouldn't be; somewhere we weren't expected to be if someone were out walking.

It was childish, even reckless, but it

was another form of freedom, sort of like "nothin' left to lose," like all the others we, and the rest of our friends kept seeking and experimenting with.

Unfortunately, she dug deeper into the

counter-culture and I booted myself out of Ralston. was time to move on or I'd never get out.

I figured it

Like she didn't.

We'd

see each other once in a while, usually during college breaks. Then I heard from a friend of mine and hers--a policeman--who told me she'd killed herself. He found her.

Blew her face away with a shotgun.

She was married then and had a baby.

in the next room when she did it. week.

The baby was

He quit the force the next

Tyranny of the Downbeat

314

She was just another victim of circumstance. of self-inflicted loneliness.

A casualty

Maybe it was the casual neglect,

or implied disinterest, she felt from her parents; the same that many of us felt.

All our parents had raised most of us to be

independent, free-thinking individuals. us to use our best judgment. nest.

They had always advised

Then they kicked us out of the

Maybe not physically, but certainly emotionally.

It made

it easier for them if their kids grew up sooner, went solo faster.

Then they wouldn't have to be parents anymore; wouldn't

have to be responsible.

They could raise the rest of the kids,

then get on with their own lives.

Sadly, some of us were more

ready than others to take wing.

It was twenty years ago today, That Sergeant Pepper taught the band to play. They been goin' in and out of style, But they're guaranteed to raise a smile. So let me introduce to you, The band you've known for all these years, -- The Beatles, "Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" There's a saying.

Our mortality is measured by the

celebrities we grow old with. lives.

That movies help mark out our

Do you remember who you were when you first saw

"Casablanca," "Citizen Kane," or "2001?"

In the Forties and

Fifties, perhaps even today, that was true. it's been with Elliot. reference is movies.

That's always how

All he knows is movies.

His only

He carves his reality from the movies he's

seen or the ones he's made.

Sometimes it seems the only way he

can communicate an idea is by referring to a similar one from a

Tyranny of the Downbeat

315

film. For me, it wasn't the movies.

It was the music.

I

remember exactly who I was and what I was doing by certain songs. And every time I hear that song, I'm back to what I was then, at that moment.

In the Sixties, when I was growing up, especially

twenty years ago during "The Summer of Love," in San Francisco, at the height of the Haight, music really did mark the time of our lives.

All the events, all the experiences, all the memories

from that time are linked forever to a mesmerizing melody or smashing power chord, a mobilizing lyric or communal chorus. There's another saying. change is eternal.

Everything is changeable.

It is inevitable.

predictable as time.

Only

It is persistent.

As tyrannical as the downbeat.

were a time for change and a time of change.

As

The Sixties

And rock & roll

provided our anthems. Because I lived in the Central Valley, I wasn't always a part of what was happening in San Francisco, The City.

So I

participated, vicariously, on my time machine--the radio. It seems we always begin and end these travels with the same band.

A group that keeps the decade alive for thousands.

The

Grateful Dead started us down the golden road and they're still truckin' today. But The Herald who signaled the real beginning of our trip was, appropriately enough, a music critic:

Ralph J. Gleason,

with a little back-up from Ben Fong-Torres and local disc jockeys.

Some on AM, but most on the first underground,

free-form, FM stations, like KMPX, then KSAN.

It was "Big Daddy"

Tyranny of the Downbeat

316

Tom Donahue, or Creedence playing the long version of "Suzy Q" at a street dance.

The official journal of the journey was not

Gleason's "Chronicle," but a "rock tabloid."

A new publication

that commented on the counter-culture by writing about the music it made.

A rag dedicated to printing "All the News That Fits."

Why fate chose The City as the location for this flowering of music and gathering of tribes will never be known. did.

But it

And it gave us an incredible amount of music and musicians.

The Charlatans. Brummels. Brother.

Moby Grape.

It's A Beautiful Day.

The Jefferson Airplane. The Youngbloods.

The Beau

The Steve Miller Band.

Big

I hear Quicksilver's "Pride of Man"

and I think of Chet Helms and "The Family Dog." I remember "Live For Today" and The Grass Roots playing at my high school.

I went back once following graduation, for old

time's sake, wearing my first pair of wire-rimmed glasses; my first visible attempt at rebellion.

When confronted with my

classes and facial hair, a senior football player I'd known for years couldn't handle it. glasses.

Almost got in a fight over a pair of

It wouldn't be the last time.

The new children will live, For the elders have died. I wave goodbye to America, And smile hello to the world. -- Tim Buckley, "Hello/Goodbye" I remember the first "official" outdoor rock concert. "Magic Mountain" at Mt. Tamalpais in Marin. by Carter C.C. Collins.

Tim Buckley backed

I wondered if I should wear flowers in

Tyranny of the Downbeat

317

my hair. "Pushin' Too Hard." time I smoked dope.

Sky Saxon and the Seeds.

The first

I was a little less than enthusiastic about

the initiation, but it was time to experiment; to join my peers. All I remember was staring at an aquarium for hours watching a fish spitting rocks. "The Loner."

Neil Young's first solo album and my first

experience with psychedelics.

We were all counter-culture

cowboys, denim Indians like him.

Fringed, buckskinned, and alone

in our melancholy. "Feel-Like-I'm-Fixin'-to-Die-Rag" will always be Vietnam and a long bus ride to Fresno for my induction physical. terminally healthy.

I was

Then, there was a longer trip to the Oakland

Draft Resistance Center, knowing that if I didn't do something I was going to die.

After all, when the numbers were called the

night of the lottery, I was number twenty-four. "Light My Fire."

The flip side of the awakening.

Doors at a roller skating rink. smoking and sultry.

The

On the inside, Jim Morrison was

On the outside, two gangs were beating the

hell out of each other.

The old and the new; one living, one

dying, in 4/4 time. "Long Time Gone."

The Polo Grounds.

The Moratorium.

first taste of revolution, of defiance, of togetherness. wearing those furry coats.

The CS&N

I remember walking by them and

thinking how short they were. There was a point when music and movies did come together. "Easy Rider" broke new ground in many ways.

But I remember it

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318

especially as one of the first movies to really use rock & roll to help tell the story.

"Born To Be Wild," "Ballad of Easy

Rider," and "Don't Bogart that Joint".

Reality at twenty-four

frames per second. Watching "Top Gun" the other night--the latest rock & roll movie--I hear Tom Cruise say his Mom's favorite song was Otis Redding's "Dock of the Bay."

It's a little unsettling.

now the parents we warned ourselves about. surprise.

It's predictable.

Just like change.

But it's really no

Just like time.

It's inevitable.

We are

It's persistent.

Like the downbeat.

Lately it occurs to me, What a long, strange trip it's been. -- The Grateful Dead, "Truckin'" A roundward curving cobblestone driveway runs up to the gabled white Victorian that houses the library.

There are

casement windows along the front and a wide staircase stepping up to a small porch.

An expansive green lawn fronts the building.

In the middle is a small stand of birch trees.

More lawns spread

away in all directions from the house. Rolling up behind the library and the other buildings are rounded hills, brown from the summer's heat.

A few deep-rooted

madrone trees are the only patches of green.

Peeking over the

edge of the foothill's rim is bright azure blue sky. breezy afternoon.

It's a warm

Welcome to summer in Marin County.

Inside, it's Victorian gaslight cozy.

Intricate stained

glass windows of amber and ocher Art-Nouveau lilies cast

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319

dusky-colored shafts of light on the polished hardwood floors. Redwood panels cover the walls and surround the fireplace.

The

vaulted ceilings peak at various points throughout the building, dangling crystal chandeliers.

Each ceiling is painted white,

with a trace of magenta or blue to give it a slightly tinted glow.

Stained redwood book shelves, filled with multi-hued,

leather-bound books, climb several walls.

A few high-backed

wooden chairs stand idly around Persian rugs. Sitting at the large oak conference table, littered with coffee mugs, 3X5 cards, scraps of paper, videocassettes, and lined yellow note pads, the production team was assembled.

A map

of California's water system lay at one end of the table. More and more, as the production moved along, Elliot began to see the commonplace as reflections of his past readings; his research into the mythology of the hero.

Looking at the people

in this room, gathered each day, he perceived them as a host of familiars, armed with amulets and talismans, to help him achieve this quest. They were discussing style, content, and structure.

Elliot

was explaining that he wanted the show to be designed as a "docu-drama".

Interviews and voice-over narration would supply

most of the content while computer-generated images and live action sequences would visually illustrate the information.

To

avoid charges of libel and slander, he suggested that they present the most damning evidence and controversial accusations as futuristic scenarios. --Elliot

"I would like to open with a couple of scenarios.

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320

The way things might be if we don't do something." --Western --Elliot --Janet

"Live action?

Just content."

"What if they mistake the illusion for the reality?" "The shadows for the substance?" "Fine.

them guessing. in our lives.

Or CGI?"

"Technique doesn't matter right now.

--Western --Elliot

Miniatures?

What's wrong with a little tension?

Fool them a little.

Keep

I think we need more tension

After all, the existentialists say man's condition

on earth is one of being caught between insoluble tensions. on the edge. --Janet

Keeps our skin tingling. "It's a meta-metaphor.

--Western --Elliot --Janet

Keeps us

Keeps us alive." A metaphor of a metaphor."

"A reflection of a reflection." "Now you've got it." "How about this one?

Clean water is in short supply.

People are hoarding it." --Elliot --Janet

"Sort of like 'Mad Max?'" "Right.

Nuclear desperadoes.

Instead of hauling

gasoline, they're hauling water." --Devereaux

"Others could be stealing it.

The good water has been rationed.

Killing for it.

As usual, the powerful have

most of it." --Janet

"Those who don't have it start killing those who

do, so they can get water for themselves and their families." --Elliot --Walsh

"Like the immigrants in 'Heaven's Gate?'" "Butchering the ranchers' cattle to feed their

starving children." --Western

"Like any have-not.

If they want it, they have

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to take it.

321

Start a revolution."

--Valle

"And sides are taken."

--Devereaux

"Agribusiness and the water lobby against the

small farmer, environmentalists, and us." --Valle

"Many have died fighting those people."

--Elliot

"I suspect a few more will this time."

The conversation continued into the night. --Elliot

"I want to close with something chilling.

Like

something from the movie 'On the Beach.'" --Janet

"They're playing 'Waltzing Mathilda.'

The captain

of the submarine is looking through the periscope." --Western

"At downtown San Francisco."

Everyone feels a chill, looking around to see if a door or window is open, remembering the scene. --Elliot

"And it's empty.

Too close to home.

Completely, deathly empty and

silent." --Valle

"Because everyone's dead."

--Elliot

"They dropped the bomb."

--Janet

"They let the one guy leave."

--Western --Elliot

"Because they know they're all going to die."

--Valle

"It's inevitable."

--Western --Elliot

"The one who was born there."

"So he might as well die at home." "That's the kind of numbing reality I want.

People have got to realize they're going to die." moment.

Let's it sink in.

them angry.

Stops for a

"I want people to panic.

Then I want them committed."

Then I want

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322

GRAPHIC DESIGN AND LAYOUT WILL CLEARLY IDENTIFY THIS SECTION AS A CONTINUATION OF THE SCENARIO DESIGNED BY THE INSTITUTE. IT MAY BE DESIGNED AS STORYBOARD OR COMIC BOOK PANELS. SCENARIO OUTLINE: CHAPTER 1: CHAPTER TITLE:

"AND SO BEGINS THE TASK"

SCENE 1: The Flatlander watches a Havenot stealing water from one of The League's secure wells. SCENE 2: We follow The Flatlander across the dusty, barren Flatlands as he travels home to Watertown. His stream-of-consciousness interior monologue sets the physical context and historical background of his journey. It introduces his life, his background, and his world. SCENE 3: In town, he goes to see The Mole, who tells him that The League has drawn up a hit list of water rustlers and is hiring The Barnestormers to carry out the executions. SCENE 4: Members of the John Muir Brigade carry out a nocturnal, amphibious assault on The Operations Control Center of one of the nine Water Districts. CHAPTER 2: CHAPTER TITLE:

"THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON"

SCENE 1: The Flatlander visits The Commodore at League headquarters. They discuss the hit list and The Brigade raid. SCENE 2: Colonel.

In the street outside, The Flatlander confronts The The Colonel almost taunts him into a gunfight.

SCENE 3: The Commodore and The Colonel visit the lab of Daedalus. The Commodore orders the scientist to add a new weapon to his bestiary. He wants an aquatic creature to battle the frogmen of The Brigade. SCENE 4: The Flatlander spends the night in the arms of Creole Tattoo. They talk of The Commodore, the hit list, and how The Colonel has been abusing some of her hostesses. SCENE 5: In The Deacon's know why The They hatch a

his AgriChem office, The Commodore and The Colonel watch 24-hour electronic ministry. The Commodore wants to Colonel hasn't done anything to rid him of The Rounders. plan to infiltrate and discredit The Rounders, who The

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323

Commodore suspects is collaborating with The Brigade. SCENE 6: Following the unpleasant meeting with The Commodore, The Colonel visits Creole's place. He gets wired on drugs and alcohol and goes looking for a hostess to keep him company. SCENE 7: Creole secretly meets with The Flatlander. She gives him a copy of the surveillance videotape of The Colonel shot earlier that night. CHAPTER 3: CHAPTER TITLE:

"IN THE REALM OF THE POSSIBLE"

SCENE 1: We watch as The Colonel nonchalantly dresses following his night with one of the hostesses. SCENE 2: In his office, The Flatlander reviews the videotape given to him by Creole. He watches as The Colonel murders the hostess. SCENE 3: The Flatlander finds The Colonel in a saloon and tries to arrest him. In the ensuing battle, The Flatlander is shot in the back by a Barnestormer and killed. SCENE 4: The Mole watches the previous scene on a monitor. Another person watches from over his shoulder. We discover it's The Flatlander. The previous scene was a computer-generated "scenario" created by The Mole. SCENE 5: The Puppetmaster and members of The Calafia Institute watch The Flatlander watch The Colonel. CHAPTER 4: CHAPTER TITLE:

"DREAM TIGERS"

SCENE 1: The Flatlander visits Creole's Parlor for a surreptitious attitude adjustment. SCENE 2: The Institute sends out a "dream weaver" to initiate and monitor his dreams. The Flatlander begins dreaming. He dreams of caves, of shadows, of The Commodore, of wide rivers. When he awakens, he decides to visit Serious Moonlight and have his dreams interpreted. SCENE 3: The Flatlander arrives in Boomtown on his way to the Shaman. The town is tense because of the confrontation between The Holy Modal Rounders, who are trying to save the souls of The Ratz, and the security force of AgriChem, who are trying to stop them. SCENE 4: The local sheriff tells The Flatlander that an important member of AgriChem's upper management team has been murdered by The

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324

Rounders in Watertown. It is the same man who framed The Deacon and ousted him from AgriChem. SCENE 5: The Flatlander insists on finishing his journey before returning. He finds The Shaman, who interprets his dreams. He is told that The Commodore is his brother and that they will share the same destiny. CHAPTER 5: CHAPTER TITLE:

"#1 WITH A BULLET"

SCENE 1: Upon his return, The Flatlander learns from The Mole that The Colonel and his Barnestormers have begun murdering the people on the hit list, with the sanction of The League and The Territorial Chairman. SCENE 2: The Flatlander begins investigating the murder of the AgriChem manager. He discovers that although Barnestormers were ordered by The Colonel to do the killing, The League infiltrators planted evidence that points directly at The Deacon. The Flatlander chooses to ignore this and to use this knowledge instead to keep The Deacon in line. SCENE 3: Realizing that The Flatlander is stretching the law and doesn't intend to prosecute The Deacon, The Commodore adds his name to the hit list. SCENE 4: The Flatlander travels to River Junction to visit The Chairman at The Territorial Seat to discuss the vigilante action of The League. The Chairman tells him not to worry and assures him that all will be well. CHAPTER 6: CHAPTER TITLE:

"GUNFIGHT AT THE GATE"

SCENE 1: During his absence, The Muirs kidnap and hang several Barnestormers for the murder of the Havenot families and a handful of AgriChem managers for their misuse of natural resources and the abuse of Mother Earth. SCENE 2: Seeking revenge, The Colonel challenges them and their leader to a mob duel. The Muirs accept and agree to meet at mid-span of the Golden Gate Bridge to do battle to the death. The Muirs lose. SCENE 3: In the ensuing battle, The Muirs lose. Muirs is wounded in a duel with The Colonel.

The leader of the

SCENE 4: The leader of The Muirs escapes. Returning to water, we discover that Creole Tattoo is the leader of The Muirs.

Tyranny of the Downbeat CHAPTER 7: CHAPTER TITLE:

325

"IN THE NAME OF LOVE"

SCENE 1: In dire need of an attitude fix, The Colonel goes to Creole's. Following a monster hit from the "Dial-A-Mood" machine, he begins making rounds of the house looking for Creole. Finding her, he notices that she's wearing a sling and bandage that looks very new and very much like something that would be covering a wound similar to that inflicted on the leader of The Muirs. SCENE 2: He forces her into revealing her true identity. Enraged, he drags her to her room where he rapes her then beats her senseless. He leaves her unconscious and, he thinks, dead. SCENE 3: The Flatlander, just back from River Junction, finds her bleeding and dying. Before she dies in his arms, she admits to being leader of The Muirs and whispers the name of her murderer: The Colonel. CHAPTER 8: CHAPTER TITLE: SCENE 1:

"PROMISES IN THE DARK"

Seeking revenge, The Flatlander begins his return journey.

SCENE 2: Enlisting the aid of The Mole People, The Rounders, and some Havenots, he begins preparations for the final battle. He plans to storm The Center and take it away from The League. If necessary, he will destroy it. CHAPTER 9: CHAPTER TITLE: SCENE 1:

"THE FINAL COUNTDOWN"

The Flatlander and his motley crew storm The Center.

SCENE 2: The Flatlander and The Colonel engage in a duel to the death. The Flatlander wins. SCENE 3: The Flatlander storms the barricaded office of The Commodore. Face-to-face, he tells him they are brothers. CHAPTER 10: CHAPTER TITLE:

"CRISTO REDENTOR"

SCENE 1: Resolution, triumph, and reward. The Commodore, unable to face failure and the fact that he nearly murdered his brother, commits suicide by drowning himself. SCENE 2:

Daedalus escapes underground.

Tyranny of the Downbeat SCENE 3:

326

The Barnestormers are jailed or dispersed.

SCENE 4: The Mole People, The Rounders, The Havenots, and The Barons, with the assistance of The Mole and The Flatlander, begin to establish a new order. SCENE 5: wonder.

The Puppetmaster and The Institute look on in bemused

BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO Inside the office, the monitors are flickering, casting silver-blue shadows on the walls.

An electronic fireplace.

Playing on one is the "CBS Evening News."

On another is CNN.

The third is almost too dark to see anything. "Where was this shot?," Borba asks. "Near Mendota." "Night scope?" "Yes." As we get closer, we can vaguely make out a shape. silhouette.

It raises its arm and strikes.

A human

A second figure,

carrying a gun, falls. "Any idea who it is?" "We think it's one of the Vietnamese migrant workers living near Masterson." "Why's he stealing water?" "The well on his land is poisoned with selenium." "So he's stealing it?" "He's not the first." "He won't be the last." turns off the reality. then slowly fades out.

Borba reaches for the remote and

The image collapses into a white hole

Tyranny of the Downbeat

327 CHAPTER 22

We're not afraid to run. We're not afraid to die. So, come on wheels, take me home today. Come on wheels, take this boy away. Come on wheels, take this boy away. -- Chris Hillman & Gram Parsons, "Wheels" The request was more than a surprise.

It was a shock.

An

aide to Congressman John Anthony Borba had just phoned to make an appointment to meet with Elliot.

They had agreed to breakfast at

the Mark Hopkins. Entering the suite, both men had to smile at the amount of back-up each carried.

Santiago and an aide backed Borba, Western

and Walsh flanked Elliot.

Forever entrapped in his analogies,

Elliot must have felt like Burt Lancaster playing Wyatt Earp at the OK Corral. Following coffee and cordialities, Borba wasted little time getting to his agenda.

It was obvious he was here to assess his

adversary. "I know about your project.

Probably more than you

realize." Unprepared for, then angered by, the presumption of the question, Elliot, tensing for the fight, tried to casually mask it.

"Seems you're aware of everything that happens in this

state." "I try to be.

It's part of my job."

Elliot surveyed the room and smelled the tension.

"Is part

of your job trying to intimidate me?" "You realize that I represent a very large and influential

Tyranny of the Downbeat

constituency?

328

One that is very concerned about what you've

uncovered doing your so-called 'investigative reporting,' as well as what you intend to say and how you intend to say it." "I don't really think it's any of your business.

Or

theirs." "It affects their business, so I guess it is.

Besides, they

think maybe you don't know what you're talking about.

That you

don't really know what's going on." "And what's really going on is what you say is going on." "They feel, and so do I, that by looking at the situation from the outside, without an understanding of the internal dynamics--the way things really work--that you may go for the largest common denominator.

As anyone in your business would do.

To reach the most people with the simplest message." "You underestimate my skills and you insult my audience." "The bottom line here, Lincoln, is we're afraid you might draw some conclusions that are unfounded, misleading, and damaging." "And I suppose you intend to help me understand the situation better and draw the right conclusions?" "Let's just say we can help you with your perspective." Elliot had reached the end of the line. throwing your power in my face. you're capable of.

"Look, don't be

I know who you are and what

The same for your constituency."

"We have nothing to hide." "They say a clear conscience is nothing more than bad memory."

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329

"And what if your program doesn't reach your audience?

What

if the word doesn't get out?" The veiled implication was very obvious. room sensed it.

Everyone in the

The color disappeared from Elliot's face, as if

someone had turned the hourglass over and all the sand had drained away.

He grasped the arms of the chair with his shaking

hands as he leaned toward the congressman's face. going to stop me.

I believe in what I'm doing.

intelligence of my audience. integrity and my own.

"You're not I believe in the

I believe in my films.

Their

This program will have an impact or I

wouldn't be doing it." "Should I consider this a threat?" "Consider it anything you want.

I won't let anything, or

anyone, get in my way once I get started.

I finish what I start,

no matter what." Borba leaned in, going face-to-face, and snarled.

"No

matter what?" "Now who's threatening?"

After seeing Elliot to his car, Pat and I stopped off at the Eagle Cafe after the meeting. adrenalin.

We needed something to slow the

The showdown had frayed my nerves a little.

"That was amazing." "Why?" "He's usually no good at that kind of thing." "What?" "Confrontation.

He really hates it.

It's like having to

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330

fire someone." "'Can't hit a moving target?'

Seems like he handled it

pretty well to me." Nods agreement.

"He's lousy at that stuff for a reason.

He's shy and insecure and just a bit of a coward." "He does the walkin' and his movies do the talkin'?" Nods again.

"I think we've reached a turning point.

It

could get real strange and ugly from here on out." "I guess he doesn't like being challenged?" "No, and especially not by people like that." "Like that, what?" "Men in charge.

Men in power.

Men in control.

ever seen that button behind his desk?

Have you

The blue one with the

white letters?" "I think so.

But I don't really remember what it says.

Guess I never looked at it that closely." "He's had as long as I've known him.

Jane says he's

probably had it since high school." "So what does it say?" "Two words.

Just two simple words."

"Well?" "'Question Authority'. naive.

Elliot may be easy.

Even a little

But he has a strength he's never really drawn upon.

has his own code that he lives by. he can be ruthless in their defense. right with the world. corrupted or denied.

His own set of values.

He And

It's his vision of what's

It can't be changed.

He won't let it be

That's why he's been so successful."

Tyranny of the Downbeat

"Like a pit bull.

331

Locks its jaws so tight you have to kill

it before it'll let go?" "Something like that." "Sounds a little like frontier justice." "That's his code.

It's in every one of his movies.

He's

real easy until you cross him, or piss him off." "Holds a grudge, does he?" "To the grave."

Driving home across the Golden Gate, Elliot, calmed by the bay, thought about Borba; how they were so different, yet so alike.

Elliot, like the rest of the young men born in the early

forties, had been prepared to defend his country.

Vietnam was

still a brush fire, and no one was yet questioning our presence there when he went in for his induction physical.

He figured, if

he had to go, he'd serve in the Signal Corps as a communications man, shooting training films, or recon, for the army. they told him he had diabetes.

He was 4F.

Then

The temporary

interruption, the mental plans, the preparations to do battle, were over and he got back to his life. He had that in common with Borba.

Probably the only thing.

Borba's epilepsy had kept him out of the service and would probably keep him from becoming governor or President; ambitions he certainly had.

That was the bond; of men whose lives had been

changed because a genetic code had gone awry.

And there wasn't

anything they could do but try to control it and live their lives around it.

It would never be cured.

It would never go away.

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332

What their diseases did for both of them was constantly, daily, remind them of their mortality.

For Borba, it became an edge.

For Elliot, a destiny. There was another connection; the two joined at the hip by adolescent misfortune.

Elliot, too, had died in a previous life.

He survived the wreck on that summer's afternoon, but the old Elliot died in the debris.

Unlike Borba, Elliot's brush with

death had made him more compassionate, more introspective.

He

had chosen to dedicate his life to the positive aspects of humanity, not their dark side.

The lines had been drawn, the gauntlet thrown. had a much clearer idea of who he was up against. pretty powerful alliance.

Elliot now And it was a

Water contractors like Westlands,

agrichemical companies like OxyGene, factory farms like DiGiulio and the Marriposa Combine, legal corporations like Delancy & Reed, and politicians like John Anthony Borba.

They were

influential enough to keep the water cheap and flowing.

Their

lobbying, litigating, and contributions to campaign and PAC war chests kept loopholes open and official eyes closed.

State

government, the governor, and the legislature--the entire bureaucracy--just couldn't say no to the money. got dirtier and more deadly. stink.

The water just

And it was all beginning to really

It was money and power against ethics and environment.

It was life and death. sabotage and espionage.

And everything was fair, even acts of They were going to fight dirty and they

were going to take it all the way to the end, no matter who got

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333

hurt in the process.

Beware of what you wish for in youth for you will surely achieve it in middle age. -- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Why And Why Why

do birds sing so gay, lovers await the break of day? do they fall in love? does the rain fall from above?

Why do fools fall in love? Why do they fall in love? Love is a losing game, Love can be a shame; I know of a fool you see, For that fool is me. Tell me why? Tell me why? Why do fools fall in love? Why do they fall in love? --Frankie Lymon & Morris Levy, "Why Do Fools Fall in Love?" It had been a killer day. sweating through my shirt. about it anymore.

The uneasiness clung; the stress

And I was too exhausted to think

Pat had sense enough to go home.

So I stayed at the Eagle for another drink. avoidance time.

Or two.

I didn't. It was

Of all forms of reality.

It was at times like these--and during those all-night edit sessions--when I realized that Sandy had become a video widow. It was like being the wife of a rock-n-roller.

The hours were

always too long, you were never in control of your own destiny, and she could never go out on the road with you. was always pulling the strings. plans.

Someone else

So you could never really make

Because somebody, usually the one with the money, would

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334

invariably change things. it.

She accepted it, but didn't understand

And no amount of explaining ever seemed to satisfy her.

was one of the reasons she finally started looking around.

It For

something, or someone, that might be a little more dependable, a little more available.

Someone who would just be there.

And it was at times like these, as I ordered the fourth drink beyond the two I figured I'd have, that I realize I have a drinking problem. Hank's.

It's part of our family tradition.

My Mother died because of it.

brothers died alcoholics. hopelessly addicted.

Just like

A few of her sisters and

My Dad likes his cocktails.

And I'm

I know that now because it's easier to have

a drink and deny there's a problem.

It's more enjoyable to be a

little addled than it is to face the world stone sober. realize now what a drug alcohol really is. difficult it is to quit.

I

And I realize how

Especially since there's so much

pressure, from colleagues and friends, to have a few drinks. There are simply too few social situations anymore where you aren't expected, or given the opportunity, to drink.

So I ignore

the problem and have another. When I confessed to it one weekend at Gover's, he and Walsh laughed.

It became the theme for the weekend, like the "Rock

Hudson Memorial Weekend" and the "Pick Ax in the Door Weekend." Every time the conversation would stall, or the fun would stop, everyone would toast my drinking problem.

Needless to say, the

rest of my friends had a problem, too. I'm not sure how I got home that evening. open, but I was driving blind.

My eyes were

The day and the drinks had

Tyranny of the Downbeat

exacted their tribute.

335

She was waiting.

should have known better.

It was time to talk.

I

Alcohol made me more honest--and

belligerent--than either of us really liked.

We couldn't stand

the heat and light it could sometimes generate. We both went through the preparation ritual, fixing drinks, lighting a cigarette, going to the bathroom, turning on the answering machine.

We didn't want any interruptions.

The alcohol kicked me into gear. because people stop communicating.

"Marriages break up

So, let's communicate.

Let's

have a conversation." She's defensive but she knows it's past time. "Where do you want to start?" No response so I'll have to initiate. "What about what's right with our marriage, our relationship?" She picks up an edge of the magazine lying between us. "I guess I'll start, then.

I think one of the best things

we've got going is that we're friends. enjoy each other's company.

We get along.

We seem to

We like the same things."

She looks out at the pine trees. "Besides, we've built a good life together. of good memories here, things to cherish.

There's a lot

But memories can't

sustain a relationship." Her eyes shift to the floor. "You know, we don't know how to tell each other when we're dissatisfied.

Have you ever thought about that?

afraid to express negative feelings.

We're both

We're both

Tyranny of the Downbeat

non-confrontational.

336

It's easier to create this monster in our

own mind and then react to it than it is to deal with it.

It's

easier to justify having an affair or leaving because, in our minds, we believe the other person no longer cares for us, or has already given up on the marriage." She takes a short sip from her drink. "Instead of wasting energy on these mind games, we should be talking.

I think there's real truth to the statement that we

choose things by letting them happen.

It's much easier to be a

fatalist, to say it's meant to be, instead of looking at why's it's happening and trying to stop it.

Or at least looking

closely at whether we want to stop it or not." She lights yet another cigarette and begins toying with her lighter. "What else? harangue me.

When I don't want to do something, don't

Talk me into it.

Don't stop talking.

I mean, you

talk about me getting my way, but whenever I don't jump at something you want to do, you put on 'that face' and you stop talking.

You know what face.

The stone face.

The angry face."

She's wearing it now. "I think we bicker too much.

Like your parents.

just like your Mom when you get angry. 'smart-ass' comments.

You shut down.

You act You make

And then you say you don't know what I'm

talking about when I call you on it." She's doing it now. "I think we view people differently. differently.

I trust them, you don't.

We act on things

I give them the benefit

Tyranny of the Downbeat

of the doubt.

337

You're too negative sometimes.

Too critical.

No,

that doesn't mean I don't care for you and respect your opinion. I have to deal with my friends my way, like I have to do with all the others you've grown to dislike or distrust.

Yes, I know

that when we got married, you inherited all my friends, whether you wanted them or not.

And I made the mistake of assuming,

because I got along so well with you and that these people were close friends,

other people I really liked, I thought you'd get

to know them, too.

Problem is they're my friends, not yours.

And I can't expect you to like them or even want to see them. It's taken me a long time to realize that, but I do now." She turns on a light because it's getting dark. "I guess I want to live my own life.

I want to be able to

do what I want to do without reporting to someone. sounds selfish. I do.

And I know you think I always get my way.

But that's because I go after it.

want and can make a decision. than you are. sustenance.

I know that Maybe

Because I know what I

Maybe I'm just more independent

I don't rely on you totally for support and I know you're getting better at it.

But I can't

always be stopping to think if what I'm doing is better for you or someone else. out for myself.

I'm just not wired that way.

I'm going to look

Maybe that comes from being raised in a family

of five with no money.

You get what you can for yourself and you

hoard it, because there may not be anymore for a while." Now I take a long drink from my beer. on a roll.

Because I'm dry and

"You complain too much about things you can't

control, like eating and drinking too much, your weight, how old

Tyranny of the Downbeat

338

you're getting, how many wrinkles you've got. were born old. wrinkles.

It's an attitude.

People who are old

It's got nothing to do with

All you're doing is stressing yourself out.

yourself too hard.

You can't seem to relax anymore.

that's why we went to Hawaii.

I mean

Remember?"

I'm sure she's thinking about Hawaii. along then.

You push

About how well we got

For a while.

"And yet you fell back into the old routine. worry too much about money.

You still

I know we wouldn't be in the

good financial shape we're in today if you didn't. appreciate it.

No, I do

But you can share your concerns with me.

You

really can't do anything about money or getting older, so just lighten up a bit.

I mean, you don't even laugh anymore.

I think

you've lost your sense of humor and your sense of perspective. Don't forget, those were part of our marriage vows.

Right.

I

never let you forget." She shifts in her chair, getting defensive. "Damn it, I am being supportive. don't do anything together any more. food, so I go alone. alone.

You don't like Mexican

You don't like my friends, so I visit them

You don't like Ralston, my parents or the rest of the

family, so I go alone. alone.

I'm being so supportive we

You don't like going to movies, so I go

We even have sex alone."

That one catches her off-guard. "You remember when we had the big blow-out with my Father? They gave us a list of your so-called 'crimes.' pretty petty.

Every one was

I know it hurt you worse than anything.

But I'm

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339

just trying to tell you that the crimes you accuse me of are just as petty.

No, there isn't a difference because you're hurting

me, too." She adjusts her hair before bringing up the main issue. "Yes, our sex life sucks. drive than you do.

But I just have a different sex

And I'm not gay.

hate it when you say that.

I'm offended by it.

have the same interest as you do. America's marriages are sexless? for us then.

I'm not abnormal.

I just don't

Did you know that over 60% of No, that doesn't make it okay

I'm just pointing out a fact.

may think, I'm comfortable with my sexuality.

Contrary to what you And I know this'll

hurt, but I really enjoyed sex before we got married. a point in our own relationship. no fun since.

I really

Even up to

Then it got bad and it's been

I think you should have fun when you make love.

It should be enjoyable because you're sharing something special with someone special. long while.

But it hasn't been that way for us for a

No, it's not because you're getting old.

not because you're not attractive. desirable.

And it's

I still find you very

Until I start to think of how every time we make love

it becomes a marathon and a bed of nails, a mine field.

Then I

panic and can't get it up." I can see the lines of panic spreading around her eyes. "And you're no help, because no matter how hard we both try, you just get angry.

I don't want to have to perform in the

bedroom when I perform all day at work. nice, too.

You know, 'quickies' are

Maybe they just seem that way because the longer we

wait, the more time that passes between our lovemaking, the

Tyranny of the Downbeat

340

harder it is to make it casual. significance than it deserves.

It takes on a greater Sure it hurts.

If I can't get

excited and stay excited, it's not something about you that's causing it.

It's not something you're doing or not doing.

That's your low self-image talking again.

You need to have

confidence in yourself and your attractiveness. to come from you.

And that's got

Not because you think I don't find you

desirable enough to make love to?" She keeps shaking her head. "I also need reinforcement of my attractiveness. fantasize.

I

I'd like to see if I could attract someone.

something new.

Fall in love and be loved.

any more than you are. drunk or stoned.

No, I'm not looking

Maybe I can't make love without being

Sure, that's the way it started.

too nervous, so I got fucked up.

I was always

That made it easier.

course, it also made me associate the two. without the other.

Try

Of

I couldn't do one

In fact, if you remember, on our first date I

was so drunk I couldn't get it up at all.

Maybe that was a

sign." She laughs sharply. "Maybe my problem is that I like making love to strangers. Something new, unusual, exciting.

I can't seem to make love to

friends, to someone I respect and care about. as an act of violation. don't like that.

I still look at it

It's like hurting the one you love.

And I'll tell you something else.

As sexually

liberated as I may be, I do like to play the dominant role. like to control the lovemaking.

I

I

That's probably why I don't like

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you on top.

341

I'm not in control.

This may sound contradictory,

but I shouldn't always have to initiate. in a while.

Entice me into bed.

You could start it once

That would be nice."

An embarrassed shrug. "One of the biggest problems, and it's the one that'll never go away and will probably break us up, is the fact you hate Ralston, while I seem to still have a fascination for it. probably never resolve that one.

We'll

I think it's like my friends.

Even though you were raised there, it's like you inherited it all over again when you married me.

So, like my friends, I accept

your attitude, like you must accept mine, and I will get my Ralston fix when and how I can without you. want to move back.

Have you ever thought that moving to Ralston

might get rid of a big problem? attached to it? worth it?

I'm not saying I

The disagreements and resentment

Why can't you try it?

Isn't the relationship

Haven't we tried every place in between?"

She just rolls her eyes and shakes her head, hearing the same arguments yet again. "I think you're jealous of my family and friends.

That I

have as many as I do and that I get along with them as well as I do.

You really don't have either.

parents.

You tolerate your sister.

really close friends. anything about it.

You really don't like your And you've got about three

I'm sorry if that's true, but I can't do

I miss my friends.

I miss that sense of

community, that sense of 'connectedness' to a place I know and people I care about.

I have friends and a family I like, some as

much as you, and they like me.

But I can share my affection.

It

Tyranny of the Downbeat

342

doesn't mean there's not a place for you in my life. me to choose one over the other. that position before.

Don't make

You certainly have put me in

What you're forcing me to do is choose

between a place and a person.

No, it's NOT a state of mind.

It's a very real place with very real people.

But as far as

you're concerned, it's gotta be either or, one or the other.

And

that's not fair at all." She leans back into the couch, staring into the fireplace. "I think there's a 'sleaze' factor creeping into your life. And I'm not sure it wasn't there before we met.

I'm sorry, but

you wanted to hear what was wrong so I'm telling you. like it when you stay out late. the Miramar.

I don't

I really hate it when you go to

I realize you just want to have some fun.

And I

know you're looking for reinforcement of your attractiveness. But I think you're hanging out with those losers to feel needed. Because you think I don't need you. own.

Well I can't.

things we share.

That I can survive on my

I want you here, at home, with me, with the

You shouldn't have to hit the bars.

something is wrong.

If you do,

And if we can't change it, it's gone.

it's boring sitting at home watching TV.

You'd rather be out.

But what's so wrong with spending some time with me? know I don't like hanging out in bars.

Sure,

And you

I like my home.

Sure, we

may be watching TV, but at least we're in the same room for a change." She takes a furious drag, exhaling very, very slowly. "Part of what I don't like about it is that you're drinking too much.

I think it's avoidance.

You're not alone there.

We

Tyranny of the Downbeat

343

both drink too much and for all the wrong reasons.

It's easier

to have a few and go into neutral instead of worrying about the fact that life's slipping by, that you're not doing what you want to do, or any number of other things. problem, too.

That's part of the

I think there's more emphasis in our life on

quantity not quality, on doing not being.

We spend more time

doing some things than being some things." She agrees. "What do I want to do? angry and disappointed.

I don't know.

Look, I get hurt,

But I'm not ready to chuck it.

about you and I'd like to think we could make it work. make mistakes.

People admit mistakes.

I care People

People forgive mistakes.

Sure I should have thought of that before.

I just want to make

sure when, and if, I do leave, it's for the right reasons.

That

we've done everything we could and that I'm not making a mistake, something I'll regret.

Maybe I have already made my decision.

I

don't think you should stay with me because I'm safe and convenient.

That doesn't do either one of us any good.

Stay

because you want to, because you care about me and respect who I am.

You have to decide if you want to be a part of my life, of

this life, or not.

If you do, you have to fight for it."

Her body flinches as it continues to take the body blows. "You know, sometimes I wonder why you seem to dislike and disrespect me so much. don't cheat on you. nice? me?

I don't drink.

I don't beat you up.

I don't steal money.

You've called me 'The Saint' before? That I can do no wrong?

You said it.

I

Am I just too fucking Is that how you see I've gotta live it.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

No, I'd like to know.

344

Do you really respect me?

I think that's

important, especially as a marriage gets older, more settled into routine. no sex.

Without respect, there's no love. It's just fucking.

right now.

Without love there's

I'm sure you'd be glad to have that

Maybe you have already."

That get's a response.

These are the jibes that try our

patience. "I trusted you and how did you repay me? fucking around.

What I am supposed to think and do?

you figure I'll just sit and wait. it.

With abuse.

I'm sure

That I'll just keep taking

And when I get fed up, I'll leave.

But that's fine, because

you think I want to leave anyway and go back to Ralston. you can't blame yourself.

With

Then

It won't have been your fault."

She drains the last of her drink. "Once I thought I knew you.

But I guess you really don't

know someone, because the more we talk, the more you tell me, the more I think I know you better now than when we got married, the more I realize I really don't know who you are or what you want." Her lower lip starts to tremble. "Look, if you're really my friend, you'd know where the boundaries are. can't give it.

Don't expect any more or less of me because I It's inconsiderate of you to expect it.

You'll

find that just about everyone else in this world is a lot less forgiving and a lot harder than I am.

And I really hope you

don't discover that too late." The tears are beginning. "All I'm trying to do is live my life the best way I know

Tyranny of the Downbeat

how.

I can't live yours.

not uncaring.

345

I'm not selfish.

There are no secret plans.

I'm not evil.

I'm

I'm just a kid trying

to get through this life without too many scars on his knees." Suddenly, it's done.

We're staring at strangers.

truth has very few friends and those few are suicides.

They say We are

obstinate in our silence, unbending in our ridiculous refusal to embrace the other; to hold them and tell them that we care. decides she can't stand the sound of the silence any more. leaves the room. refuge.

I know she's gone to bed.

put it to my temple and commit electronic seppuku.

She didn't recognize the face at first But then her eyes flew open wide She went to hug me and she spilled her purse And we laughed until we cried We took her groceries to the checkout stand The food was totaled up and bagged We stood there lost in our embarrassment As the conversation dragged We went to have ourselves a drink or two But couldn't find an open bar We bought a six-pack at

She

To her emotional

I pick up the remote and turn on the television.

Met my old lover in the grocery store The snow was falling Christmas Eve I stole behind her in the frozen foods And I touched her on the sleeve

She

Then I

Tyranny of the Downbeat the liquor store And we drank it in her car We drank a toast to innocence We drank a toast to now And tried to reach beyond the emptiness But neither one knew how She said she'd married herself an architect Who kept her warm and safe and dry She would have liked to say she loved the man But she didn't like to lie I said the years had been a friend to her And that her eyes were still as blue But in those eyes I wasn't sure if I saw Doubt or gratitude She said she saw me in the record stores And that I must be doing well I said the audience was heavenly But the traveling was hell We drank a toast to innocence We drank a toast to now And tried to reach beyond the emptiness But neither one knew how We drank a toast to innocence We drank a toast to time Reliving in our eloquence Another 'auld lang syne' ... The beer was empty and our tongues were tired And running out of things to say She gave a kiss to me as I got out And I watched her drive away

346

Tyranny of the Downbeat

Just for a moment I was back in school And felt that old familiar pain And as I turned to make my way back home The snow turned into rain. -- Dan Fogelberg, "Same Old Lang Syne" ALTA CALIFORNIA --------------------------------------------------------------WATER HEARINGS BEGIN The fate of fresh water to be determined. By Stephan Harrington OF THE RECORD STAFF "Riparian rights" became the phrase of the week as hearings opened today on the issue of water in California. The state began its investigation into its use, distribution, management, and quality. "Riparian rights": Anyone who owns the land running along a stream has a right to use the water from that stream any way they want. They can fish it, divert it for irrigation, or do nothing with it. As long as what they do doesn't conflict with the rights of others downstream. The subject is critical because the state is reviewing the sources that supply water for drinking and agriculture. The list of participants includes officials from local, state, and federal agencies; associations representing water suppliers and users; reporters, experts, consultants, and, of course, a league of lawyers. The hearings are expected to continue over a three-year period. It is anticipated that the findings will then form the basis for new salinity, pollution and water rights policies. It is very obvious from their opening remarks that the opposing groups do not agree with the findings and evidence presented by the other. There are many points--some critical--that are simply conflicting or downright contradictory. Which only proves, once again, that when searching for, and compiling facts and evidence--especially in science--one can invariably find what one is looking for. The opposing sides are well-defined and have been since the first rivers and creeks were claimed and diverted to irrigate fields back in the late 19th Century. On one side are the water suppliers, like the state agencies and associations of water contractors, and the water-users, the factory farms, and municipalities, like Los Angeles, who have something to gain, like water and more water.

347

Tyranny of the Downbeat On the other side are the scientists, the environmentalists, and the municipalities, like San Francisco, who have something to lose, like good water and unpolluted bays. And in between are the local, state, and federal agencies who get their money and power from one side, but whose charter and stated goals predispose them toward supporting the other, like the Department of Water Resources and the Fish and Wildlife Services, both state and federal. And each side sees the issues very differently, sometimes even among themselves. One key issue moved to the forefront immediately and it became obvious that it would likely be critical throughout the hearings. Not since the very first water rights were originally determined has there been such a definite threat to water rights holders, even those with riparian rights and appropriations granted before 1914. They face nothing less than radical changes and, possibly, loss of their rights to divert and use water. So it will not take long for them to muster the political and monetary forces necessary to avoid, or minimize, potential losses. The looming battle reminds me of the book "The Octopus": a novel by Frank Norris about the war between farmers and ranchers in early California. Instead of wheat, the two sides today are line up over water. "The Octopus" was originally intended to be written as a trilogy. Drought. Water. Flood. It did drought. We were living water. Who would do the flood? This anecdote says much to me about the attitude of those now controlling the water out here. In Reno, gambling and prostitution are legal. For years, one thing wasn't. Water metering.

348

Tyranny of the Downbeat

349 CHAPTER 23

Night and morning are making promises to each other which neither will be able to keep. -- Richard Shelton We were all grateful for the well-insulted walls of The Ice Plant, and at least the illusion of coolness, while the sun fried anything that moved outside.

Elliot had made the run down

the valley to see his parents and to update the rest of the production team about the meeting with Borba. Everyone was there who wasn't on the road.

He gave us

all a quick report before cautioning us that it was time to take a few precautions; at work and at home.

He said he had strong

reservations about reaching into our personal lives, but explained that these were unusual times.

He didn't want the

project jeopardized because one of his people--especially any of the key staffers--were partying on the wrong side of the law during their off-hours.

He didn't want anybody rung up on

charges of possession, DUI, or anything.

After the meeting he'd

just had, he was sure these people were not above crippling the project any way they could.

So he asked that we all keep our

personal lives clean and just be careful out there. Devereaux, Walsh, and I wanted to talk with Elliot so we waited until the room had cleared. --Western action groups.

"We've been talking with some of the direct 'The Sea Shepherds,' 'Earth First,' and 'The John

Muir Brigade.' --Elliot "I don't think I know them.

Are they

Tyranny of the Downbeat

350

monkey-wrenchers?" --Walsh

"Some of the first.

They are deep ecology's

army." --Devereaux

"Their goal is, and these are their words, 'to

subvert the dominant paradigm' through direct confrontation, passive resistance, and vandalism." --Western

"They started by tearing down billboards, pulling

up survey markers, clipping fences, lying down in front of bulldozers, and spiking trees so they can't be harvested for lumber." --Elliot

"Hasn't that been happening a lot lately to

Georgia-Pacific?" --Devereaux

"Yes.

The Sea Shepherds are their navy.

They

sank part of Iceland's whaling fleet." --Walsh

"Now that they've had some degree of success and

media attention, they'll probably become more visible and more confrontational." --Elliot

"And more influential?"

--Western

"The John Muir Brigade is the most militant of

these Eco-Revolutionnaires.

It's likely they'll be the first to

really escalate this scattered ecological terrorism into a full-scale environmental guerilla war." --Elliot

"That means attracting more media."

--Devereaux --Elliot --Western

"And that means more supporters."

"Can they help us?" "If we want to showcase romantic revolutionaries.

They're the closest thing this generation's got to the Yippies

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351

and Weathermen of the Sixties. another dimension.

It just might give our show

Idealists fighting insurmountable odds.

Jeeps and bows and arrows against helicopters and semi-automatic weapons." --Walsh

"David and Goliath."

--Elliot effective.

"It would be emotional and it could be very

Would they cooperate?"

--Devereaux --Elliot

"Hard to say."

"Can they hurt us?"

--Western

"Even harder to tell."

--Elliot

"Can you meet with them?

I'd like to see if there's

any common ground."

Well, she's fashionably lean And she's fashionably late She'll never rake a scene She'll never break a date But she's no drag Just watch the way she walks She's a Twentieth Century Fox She's a Twentieth Century Fox She's the queen of cool And she's the lady who waits Since her mind left school She never hesitates She won't waste time on elementary talk She's a Twentieth Century Fox -- The Doors, "Twentieth Century Fox" I wasn't prepared for what I encountered.

I don't mean the

location, which was in an old Wells Fargo way station in San Andreas, but their leader.

As we talked, I found it difficult to

separate her reality from my fantasy.

I kept phasing in and out.

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352

Faysoux Starling is Duchamp-angular descending a staircase. Her eyes are hypnotic.

(Bewitching, violet cat's eyes.

Hooded,

heavy-lidded arrogant angry eyes.) Her mouth is large.

(A gaping bloody wound of vermilion

lips and lizard tongue held in a sneer.) without blemish or break or crack. comic-book perfect denture. Her hair is jet black. because it is more lethal.

They look like one continuous

She never smiles, only sneers. Maybe blue-black.

Dyed I'm sure

It is razor short, running parallel

with the straight edge of her jaw. the brows and into her eyes.

Her teeth are seamless,

The bangs hang long, below

(She could tease you from behind

them, peeking out seductively sideways or parting them and boring straight into your eyes, smoldering with anger or passionate heat.)

If you didn't look away you could be caught in her

widow's web, hypnotized by the unwavering steady stare. She is not tall.

(She doesn't walk, she prowls, slinking

along walls, feeling the walls with her hands and shoulders.) Her arms and legs are slender, faultless, pleasant.

(She

can stride, she can strut, she can slit you in two.) Her skin is translucent alabaster opalescence. goes out in the sun.

She never

And when she does, she wears long black

gloves and carries an umbrella.

(She has razor edges to her body

you want to be cut by, to lie bleeding there, to die.

Her

breasts are small; the breasts of a Catholic schoolgirl, enticing in their innocence.

Excited, her nipples will slowly rise in

anticipation, upward turning, stretching, and straining their pointed urgency piercing your bare chest.)

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353

Her finger-nails are scarlet claws she loves to slowly draw against her forehead, drawing long, straight bangs out of her eyes.

(Or slice along the inside of your thigh, tickling with

pain, in anticipation. How does the song go?

She is dangerous.

And her men like that.

"If you like it now, you'll learn to love

it later.") She wears black; a clinging second-skin mini-skirts over leotards, black nylons, and patent leather shoes with ankle wraps.

(An apache dancer.

A leotardess leaning forward on

elbows enticing with ass stuck high in the air.

A black siamese

cat in heat.

A cat, I mean.

A panther.

Perhaps she becomes one at night.

Stalking the streets at midnight murdering

unsuspecting sweat-scented sailors, then slipping back into your bed without a sound.) Did I say she is French? Cajun, I think.

Deliciously, tantalizingly so.

(The accent, the way she tongues the words could

melt the silver on a rodeo rider's buckle.) here.

There is no humor

Only business. "We named The Brigade for John Muir.

leader.

He is the father of our movement.

environmental activism. left us.

He is our spiritual The father of

We do not all agree on the legacy he

We do agree on what he began."

"Who are we?" "Our movement ranges from conservative groups like the Sierra Club to radicals like 'Earth First!'." "'No compromise in the defense of Mother Earth!'" "You know of them."

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354

"I've done some reading.

Where do you fit in?"

"It will be hard to believe, perhaps.

We are more militant

than 'Earth First!'." "Why can't you let the Sierra Club and some of the other mainstream groups lead the battle?

You realize that violence is

going to compromise your effort?" "They became soft.

They became what they beheld.

became what they once fought. react.

They fight brush fires.

They They

They no longer act."

"How are you and 'Earth First!' different from the Sierra Club or the Environmental Defense Fund?" "We have rejected science and technology. rationalism for a love of nature. the material.

We have abandoned

We accept the aesthetic, not

We allow Nature to exist for its own sake."

"Sounds semi-religious." "Perhaps it is.

We are all connected.

Nature, you must be a part of it.

To understand

It can only be found in the

wilderness, not in science books." "Where do you find your people? "Many are college students.

Where do they come from?"

Disillusioned with the system.

Many more were recruited from the ranks of the California Conservation Corps.

For them, the damage was personal.

lived it every day as they worked in the national parks. have members of the Peace Corps.

They We also

They have also witnessed the

crimes of corporate America across our borders." "Who else?" "Our compadres from 'La Raza.'

Those who tired of peaceful

Tyranny of the Downbeat

non-violence. system.

355

The ones who grew weary of working within the

The ones whose heads were bloodied.

the pesticides.

The ones who breath

The ones whose children may one day have

cancer." "Do you consider us an ally or an obstacle." "We have little use for your slow-moving, ineffectual, pedestrian techniques. way.

We will pursue our own plans in our own

If we benefit each other, so be it.

But don't count on

it." "So I guess dinner is out of the question?" She smiles and the light glints. It was her business not to compromise the movement. she hadn't.

But she didn't mind compromising me.

And

I was real

easy, especially then.

We had Chinese, then I followed her back to her small house. I waited while she parked her car.

As she walked toward me, I

could see her inside thigh muscles rippling. mini-skirt just covered the minimum.

Nutcrackers.

Her

The streetlight shined

brightly between her legs. It was her ass that moved me.

It sashayed, working against

the second skin of her skirt, sending off sparks of static sexual electricity.

It might have been oversized for her body if it

weren't so perfectly shaped and tight.

Any man who saw it could

only dream of her before him, down on all fours, that lush and luscious butt moving in circles, her face turned back and staring with those eyes glazed over, like a cat's membrane eyes.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

356

Taunting, tempting, teasing, inviting, daring you to enter. It was hot inside. was oppressive.

Very hot.

Her skin was sizzling.

We couldn't breathe through the heat.

It

Her

nakedness wrapped within the loose garment, brushing lightly against stiffening nipples.

Her kimono swayed open slightly, a

glimpse round and soft; the smooth line of a long leg ending in dark curls.

She touched herself where my eyes rested, seductive

and beckoning.

Her eyes, heavy-lidded, seeing and not seeing;

her attitude influenced by emotion no longer rational. sweating teeth were bared in orgasmic grin.

Her

Dusky, musk-scented,

dangling breasts and swaying hips, moved moistly with the music. She lay on her back, face turned to the window hoping for a breeze.

I stood over her, legs apart.

the drop plopped on her nipple. an erotic water torture.

She shivery-flinched as

I held the ice high above her;

Tired, I stooped to lick salted sweat

from behind her knee, inside her elbow, at the back of her neck. Sweet breath blew warm against my neck and the tide began to rise. She sensed pale fruit, scimitar-shaped and slender, peeled back.

She cradled the cactus, watching the smooth purple

crown dilate and stretch and strain.

Uncontrolled spittle-speck

at the corners of her mouth, her tongue too stuck to bared teeth to care.

My fingers slid in and out, along and around.

pressure continued to build.

She took a sip of ice water,

filling her mouth with crushed ice. She filled her mouth with more water. off mine.

The

She began slowly sucking. She never took her eyes

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357

All I could think of was "psychogenic polydipsia." Compulsive water drinking.

You drank until you died.

I hope she

suffered from it. She was gone the next morning. I took her message with me.

Reality is bad enough. -- Patrick Sky

I was left with the fantasy.

But I don't remember what she said.

Why should I tell the truth?

Frank Cunha is a Portuguese rancher. sweat-stained, beat-up Stetson hat.

He wears an old brown,

The creases in his

weather-beaten face, across his forehead and around his eyes, are as deep as the cracked earth. have lived on this land.

Four generations of his family

Now he has to leave.

of the reasons in the background. and whistling explosions. the San Joaquin River.

You can hear one

The crack of shotgun shells

His ranch lies between Masterson and

Bookended between toxic flows.

When the

wind blows his way, the stench is overwhelming. Ambling in his sagging-butt Levi's and brown, rough-out Acme cowboy boots, he points to where some of the water has percolated onto his property and into his well.

After months of headaches,

upset stomachs, and nausea, he and his wife moved into town. Most of his horses and cattle died. anything for his property now.

He doubts he can get

And the local and state officials

laughed in his face when he asked them about compensation.

He

couldn't believe that they would turn their backs on him--a veteran and a patriot. There is a family living in a small central valley town who

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had eight girls.

Not unusual for a good Italian family

scratching out a living. contracted cancer.

358

What is unusual is that seven

Six died.

One is in remission from leukemia.

Their father claims there is a cluster of cancer in his town.

A

chemical spokesperson said there was no hard scientific data to support that there are cancer clusters in the valley.

The father

suggested that she should go to the hospital and hold the young girl down when she screams out in pain from the leukemia treatment.

He wants to know what makes her think there's no

reason to suspect cancer when the best scientific minds still don't know what causes cancer. County health officials traced them to their home--a collection of holes dug into the side of a low, rolling hill. Their youngest, a sixteen-month-old girl was dead. cried.

For a long time.

They couldn't stop her.

know why she cried so much.

They had no money.

She had They didn't

They were

migrant workers, once homeless street people, chased from the city by violence and drugs. they let her cry.

They couldn't pay for the doctor, so

Then she was dead.

The autopsy later revealed

it was leukemia. When county public health officials interviewed the family, they complained of headaches, nausea, and stomach problems. Asked when the problems started, they thought, looked at one another, and replied it was pretty soon after they arrived. they eaten any tainted food or water?

Had

No, they'd eaten a few

ducks they'd snared from the wildlife refuge downslope.

And the

water they drank was from a well on the ranch where he worked

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part-time.

359

The foreman allowed him to take home a canvas

bag-full each day. These three cases are but a few of the many similar cases in the files of Dr. Donald Lazarus, a physician in Merced County. He believes without a doubt that the last priority of public health officials and the government is defining what the public health consequences are, and will be, of what these agrichemical companies and corporate combines are doing.

He feels there's a

public health problem here that's not being properly defined and addressed.

And compounding the problem is the fact that public

health records are a "Bermuda Triangle"; a black hole of non-information.

Records were never kept on the number and types

of cancers, or their possible causes. There's a cover-up, he claims, because counties like his want to attract new and more diversified industry.

They can't do

that if word gets out that the water is tainted and children are dying of cancer.

Lazarus tells me how the health officer for the

county recently suggested that he use a little "creativity" in interpreting his test results so the county could get a clean bill of health.

Lazarus wanted to conduct more tests.

health official said no, finish the report.

The

Lazarus resigned.

As evidence, he points to a recently published study of cancer rates in nine central valley counties. no surprises and no answers.

Their findings:

Though it's considered "the most

accurate and comprehensive report ever produced on San Joaquin Valley cancer," the study's director compared it to a "snapshot" of cancer rates in one year.

He mutters that government

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360

officials are using statistics again to camouflage what is really happening in the valley. He points out that people are being exposed to toxins in their food and water, or they're being hit by drifting pesticides as they play or work.

The synergistic, or combined,

effect of all those exposures could very well be deadly.

The

problem is, we aren't testing for these kinds of combined effects, nor do we know even where to begin. "Pesticides were designed to have an adverse effect on living, metabolizing organisms." "In straight talk, they were designed to kill living things, including humans?" "Quite right.

There are both acute lethal doses and chronic

lethal doses for all chemicals. body fat.

DDT kills by accumulating in

Organophosphates--pesticides--can kill almost

immediately, in the proper concentrations, by overloading the nervous system.

Other pesticides, called fumigants, specifically

EDB=Ethylene Dibromide, causes testicular cancer in almost 100% of all cases exposed to it." "Sterility?" "Yes." "How do these chemicals enter the body?" "Chlorinated hydrocarbons can be absorbed into the body through the lungs, the gastro-intestinal tract, or the skin." "So you could even be contaminated while showering?" "Very definitely.

Chlorinated solvents and pesticides can

be absorbed readily through the skin, yet bathing is rarely, if

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361

ever, taken into consideration when levels are set.

Since

volatiles evaporate quickly, one fifteen-minute shower can provide as much chemical to the body as drinking eight glasses of water.

Infants are especially vulnerable."

"Why's that?" "Fetuses and children are at greatest risk because their systems are working at full pace while growing and the chemicals interfere with that process." "What happens following exposure?" "Like I said before, when absorbed into the body, some of the chlorinated hydrocarbons are not metabolized rapidly, but are stored in the fat." "What are the symptoms of poisoning?" "Regardless of type or route of exposure, the symptoms are similar, but vary in severity.

Mild cases are characterized by

headache, dizziness, gastro-intestinal disturbances, numbness, and weakness of the extremities, apprehension, and hyperirritability." "What about more severe cases?" "Muscular fasciculations spreading from the head to the extremities, followed eventually by spasms involving whole muscle groups, leading finally to convulsions and death from cardiac or respiratory arrest.

The severity really depends on the

concentration of toxins in the nervous system, especially the brain." "We've learned from asbestos that exposure may not show up right away."

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"That's correct.

362

Short-term effects include dizziness,

nausea, a condition called 'pin-point pupils,' and severe skin rashes.

Long-term might include sterility, cancer, and birth

defects." "You were speaking of cancer clusters.

I'm sure you're

familiar with the cases of Matt Hazeltine and Bob Waters? men who played football for the San Francisco 49ers? died of ALS and Waters is suffering from the same. Disease.

Two

Hazeltine Lou Gehrig's

Both men practiced on a football field sprayed with a

fertilizer/pesticide containing cadmium, a heavy metal.

One is

dead and one is dying, some thirty years after exposure." "That's how long it sometimes takes." "But the symptoms could appear in a much shorter period of time?" "Yes.

In fact, another case again involves football.

Three

players for the New York Giants were diagnosed as having cancer. One died.

The other two are receiving treatment."

"And the source of the problem?" "The stadium in New Jersey where they practice and play was built on the site of a former landfill." "A landfill that was probably used for illegal dumping of toxic waste?" "Probably." "I understand that a lot of cities are now adding chlorine to their municipal water supplies to make the water safe to drink.

Does it work?"

"Yes and no.

It purifies the water, yes.

But if there are

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363

any agriculturally produced materials in the water,

...

"

"Agriculturally produced materials?" "Pesticides, herbicides, selenium, boron. captured in the runoff from irrigation.

Any chemicals

They can combine with

the chlorine to produce potentially harmful substances like trihalo methane." "In one of my interviews, a spokesperson for the Western Agricultural Chemicals Association assured me that the newer pesticides break down rapidly and completely in water." "They once said that about the earth, too." "That person also said that people have absolutely nothing to fear from the levels of pesticides in their food and water. While one corporation's vice-president for engineering and environmental affairs said there was no scientific evidence that chemicals caused childhood cancer." "So why is the Valley Children's Hospital's cancer ward filled with children dying of leukemia?" They don't know because they really don't know.

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364 CHAPTER 24

Years grow shorter not longer More you've been on your own Feelin's for moving grow stronger So you wonder why you ever go home Wonder why you ever go home You wonder why you ever go home People are moving so quickly Humor's in need of repair Same occupations and same obligations They've really got nothin' to share Like drivin' around with no spare Years grow shorter not longer More you've been on your own Feelin's for moving grow stronger So you wonder why you ever go home Wonder why you ever go home You wonder why you ever go home -- Jimmy Buffett, "Wonder Why We Ever Go Home" The corporate headquarters of the DiGiulio Winery straddles a small, rolling knoll overlooking John Muir Creek.

The creek is

dry most of the year, but it still creates a very serene, pastoral scene.

The building itself has been referred to, in jest and praise,

as "Parthenon West."

It is stately, if not overwhelming.

definitely out of place.

It is

But it satisfies the conqueror in its

owner. The executive dining room is not overwhelming. elegant and comfortable.

It is

It is here that heads of state and

multi-nationals, celebrities and Popes are dined and wined with the latest vintage.

It is here that guests are lulled, by the

setting and the grape, into confessing or volunteering information, under the gracious, but probing interrogation of DiGiulio, or one of his lieutenants.

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365

When Laura received the invitation to lunch, she assumed it was to discuss the international trade conference she had just attended in Canada.

Much of what was discussed there would have

an impact on the DiGiulio operation.

She was sure all the

division heads would be there to charm the information from her. She smiled at her own subliminal thought.

They were all men.

Not one woman executive in the entire company. history.

Ever in its

I guess I've got them outnumbered.

Phil Seidemann, VP of Public Relations, met her at the reception desk, situated near the entrance to the vaulted inner court and the lush and lavish koi pond, and escorted her to the dining room.

Everyone else had arrived and were enjoying a new-

release Pinot Noir.

She nodded hello to those she knew as she

was guided to the center table. and motioned for her to sit.

Phil pulled out the center chair

Arrayed down both sides were

executives of varying title and importance. head table was filled except one.

Every seat at the

The one directly across from

her. She recognized the scene. a few times before. "passing lunch."

She had survived this gauntlet

It was an ordeal affectionately known as

Many would-be and current executives, as well

as consultants and heads of ad agencies, had been in this seat. Some had passed.

Many had not.

This was where "the velvet fist"

of Robert DiGiulio could make your career or break you. She really didn't expect a personal appearance from The Padrone.

Oftentimes, the seat remained empty.

Part of the mind

game he played to soften up whoever sat sweating in that chair.

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366

A person might suffer through several unappetizing lunches, not because the food was bad, but because their stomach was boiling, in fear and dread anticipation of "the appearance." Laura had sat through a handful of chaired lunches, because she often had information he needed.

And apparently she had

something he wanted this time, as well.

Robert DiGiulio quietly

settled into his chair before the salad was served. thought hit her.

A panicked

Perhaps he knew she had visited Elliot.

He poured her some wine.

Asked her how she liked it.

His

old world charm and grace releasing the tension; his Italianesque English soothing. Penetrating.

Then he began his questioning.

His eyes never wandered from hers.

about the conference.

Very precise. They talked

Discussed tariffs and embargoes.

Reviewed

what it would mean to the wine grape industry.

It didn't take

long.

He tasted his

He knew exactly what he needed to know.

salad.

Took a sip of wine.

She relaxed.

That was the usual

signal that the session was over. He caught her off guard.

"Laura, I understand you might be

involved in a project of some interest to me." Her hand trembled slightly as she placed the wine glass on the table.

Her voice was steady.

things now, as you know.

Some affect you.

He changed the subject. and I were very close.

"I'm involved in a variety of Some don't."

Never a good sign.

"Your Father

Did you know that, Laura?"

She nodded, but couldn't speak. "Very close.

On more than one occasion, he was very helpful

to me and all that I have built here.

Just as you have been

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helpful.

367

I would like to keep it that way, wouldn't you?"

Her lips tightened.

She put her hands together in her lap

so he couldn't see them shake. "I would also like to keep the memory of your Father and the kind of man he was intact. She leaned forward.

Without blemish, wouldn't you?" Her anger at this man's words about her

Father overpowering her fear. about my Father.

Maybe he did some things for you he shouldn't

have, I can't say. man.

"Don't you ever talk that way

But he will always be known as a good, honest

You will never change that." "Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

I hope we never have to find out.

It might embarrass your Mother. sometime.

You might even ask her about it

She and I were once very close."

reaction he knew that would make.

Responding to the

"I guess you don't know

everything, do you?" This time the conversation was over.

He picked up his wine,

swirled the glass, sniffed the aroma, smiled, put it down, and quietly left the table.

Elliot, Walsh, and I were talking politics.

Generally

dangerous ground for people who were colleagues rather than close friends.

But even friends can disagree on this turf, as I had

learned a number of times talking with Pat. "Borba's an anomaly.

But he's also a weather-vane."

"Would you mind explaining that?" "The Democrats are working class reformers.

They want to

create a better world for the most people, but they insist on

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368

doing it without the assistance of the elite and the wealthy. And yet, they can't achieve the kind of radical change they'd like without money.

So they've changed their tactics.

Now the

picture you get is this Democrat standing at the podium, bad-mouthing special interests, while behind his back he's holding out his hand to take money from the same PACs he's condemning." "Might make you a little schizophrenic." "The dichotomy doesn't seem to bother them. legitimized it by devising a new phrase for it. it in a wonderfully confusing term.

They've even They've clothed

They call it 'interest group

neoliberalism'." "What the hell does that mean?" "It means they've abandoned their tradition of liberal constituencies and values, not for a better way to serve the general good, but just to get close to the special interests and get at their money." We were talking politics because one of Borba's biggest opponents had just offered his support to the project. Stewart Grossman, congressman from Beverly Hills, represented the interests of the well-intentioned and idealistic rich of Southern California and the philanthropists of Long Island; those with a tradition based in history, culture, and religion of caring for the less fortunate.

The two things he

cared the most about were the environment and health care.

He

was especially vocal when it came to the care and confidentiality of AIDS patients.

He was also a supporter of family planning and

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369

migrant health care. A graduate of Stanford and Harvard, he did a short stint in the Peace Corps before turning his legal skills to such unpopular causes as the environment, the farmworkers strike, illegal dumping of toxics, wild and scenic rivers, against the Peripheral Canal and for Planned Parenthood's pro-choice position.

He was a

leader of the attempts to save the Estanislao, Lake Tahoe, and Mono Lake.

Now, he's the current chairman of the House

subcommittee on water and power resources. He, and a handful of like-minded liberals, controlled one of the most powerful Democratic machines in the country, located in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel at the foot of Rodeo Drive.

Their

machine ran on three things:

a power base in west LA, liberal

politics, and lots of money.

He was entrenched.

Like many of

the rest of the California delegation, there had been no serious challengers to his seat for years.

And thanks to a little

incumbent gerrymandering and an unblemished electoral track record, they had created a number of safe districts whose power was also unassailable. Their liberal politics were closer to New Deal Roosevelt than New Frontier Johnson.

Grossman's machine existed to promote

liberal causes, whether it was supporting Israel ,or raising money for the poor and for protection of the environment. And then there was the money.

Plenty of it, courtesy of

their wealthy Jewish constituency and the entertainment industry. Enough for themselves and enough to spread around to other candidates to assure additional support and power.

He liked the

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370

political power his machine, or "coalition" as he preferred to call it, gave him. He and Borba had both called up to the big leagues at the same time, representing the two valleys that ruled California: the San Fernando and the San Joaquin.

And they had been going

head-to-head ever since. The two men were very similar.

Neither liked to lose.

Nor

did they mind making a few enemies if it meant protecting the right issues.

They were both ruthless in their impatience.

They

really didn't like each other and they certainly didn't trust the other.

That's why there were bitter political enemies.

Plus the

fact that they were on a collision course to see one of them--and only one--the future Speaker of the House.

One had built a

powerful PAC, the other an influential Machine, with this ultimate goal in mind. years.

They had danced around each other for

Now they would be locked in a battle that only one would

survive. Elliot knew of him; had met him at various industry parties and fund-raisers in L.A. causes.

He had even contributed to some of his

They really didn't know each other.

never really discussed politics.

They certainly had

Now they were.

realized they felt the same about a lot of things.

And they Farmworkers

and pesticide poisoning were issues that cut as close to home for Grossman as any.

Especially when Borba was standing on the other

side of the line.

He was ready to back his commitment with time

and money.

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371

Not since those late nights in the apartment house on Fulton Street, when Laura was still married and Sandy was about to be, had they taken the time to just sit and talk.

They had been

friends now for a number of years, having first met through Laura's sister while they both were still in college. had spent a lot of summers and holidays together.

They

Then, when

they both moved to San Francisco--Laura to law school and Sandy to work--they both moved into the Fulton building. Francisco years lasted a few.

The San

Sandy married me, Laura separated.

Sandy stayed in the city, Laura returned to Ralston. Maybe Sandy was feeling something in the air and she needed reassurance; someone to listen.

But Laura was doing all the

talking. "We had problems. marriages do.

I'm not going to hide that fact.

But why he just left, I'll never know."

"There wasn't any warning? "None.

Most

No clues?"

And if there were any, I ignored them.

believe we weren't having any troubles.

This isn't the first

time I've talked, or thought about it, either.

I've played it

over and over again in my mind, looking for reasons. Sunday afternoon.

It was a

I was reading the Chronicle and he was

wandering around the house. something was wrong. even look at me.

I wanted to

Finally, he sat down.

He played with his coffee cup.

I could tell He wouldn't

Then he mumbled this torrent of words, like

he'd been holding it back for years. There's nothing to talk about.

'We've got problems.

Nothing you can do.

want to be married to you anymore.

I just don't

I'm leaving today, this

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372

afternoon.'" "That was it?" "I felt like I'd just been kicked in the stomach.

He got up

and I couldn't move." "And he was gone?" "I blamed myself.

I tried to find all the things I might

have done that would have forced him to leave. myself up.

I felt like dirt.

I really beat

Then, once I felt strong enough to

start dating again, I punished myself by going out with real losers.

It was very ugly."

"That really scares me because I don't have a fraction of the confidence you have." "I've perfected that cover. The rejection really hurt. His indifference. shared anything.

But you know what cut the deepest?

It was like we never lived together, never He was so coldly indifferent."

"Did you see someone? "Certainly.

But it didn't help me much.

Did they have any ideas?"

One counselor attributed it to panic.

His

father had married young and had a large family right away.

He

had planned to go to college, but had to give it up to support his family.

He always regretted that decision and probably held

it against his wife all those years. He could have done well.

He was an intelligent man.

He could have been something more than

an insurance salesman, which is what he became. to be something had been taken away. life frustrated and unfulfilled.

His one chance

He lived the rest of his

He never said anything, but his

wife sensed it and so did the kids, especially my John, who was

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373

the oldest." "So, what did that have to do with his leaving?" "The counselor said that one day John probably realized that what was happening to him was the same thing that had happened to his dad.

That he was living a life of compromise; a life he

didn't want to live.

So he panicked and ran.

For himself and

his father." "Did the two of you ever talk about it?

Try to change

things?" "Not really. feelings.

Men aren't too good about discussing their

Despite what we women have done to liberate them."

They smile at what they both realize is part of the problem and part of the solution. "So, by the time he decided to leave, he had convinced himself that communicating his desperation wouldn't help, wouldn't change anything." "Maybe he just didn't want to look that closely at himself and how he felt?" "I really think that was part of it.

Being the oldest, the

burden was on him to take care of the others; to be the one in control.

Feelings only got in the way.

distractions.

They were unnecessary

It was easier to ignore them and get on with life.

But, again, I blamed myself because he didn't feel comfortable enough to talk with me about what he was going through." "Did he ever talk to a counselor before or after? ever understand why he left?" "Not that I know of."

Did he

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374

"So it's possible he could do the same thing again?

That he

could make the same mistakes again?" "And blame it on the woman again." "I think we've taken the 'disposable society' a little too far, don't you?

It's becoming as easy to dispose of a mate as it

is to discard a can." "I don't think people can be recycled as easily." "There are a lot of damaged people out there right now. They look fine on the outside, but once you try to get close, they act like you've pulled a knife on them.

They can't back up

fast enough." "Why so curious about my ex?

Do you think that's what

Travis is feeling?" "I don't know.

He's certainly capable of it.

You know how

much he hates confrontation." "Are you at least talking about it?" "We're trying.

But there's a lot of anger."

"That's a defense." "I know that.

But I guess it's just easier to break loose

if you convince yourself you really don't care." "But you seem to have the perfect marriage. you still care about each other. you down.

He touches you.

You look like He doesn't put

He even cooks and does the housework."

"That shows how little people really know. the surface. bedroom door."

All you see is

You see the smiles, but you can't see behind the

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As part of his ritualistic, month's-end file purge, Stephan Harrington ran this series of observations; his attempt at "three dot journalism". ALTA CALIFORNIA ----------------------------------------------------------------WHAT'S NEW IN THE WAR? A grab-bag of water politics By Stephan Harrington OF THE RECORD STAFF Where's the Dirt? Everyone's got a little dirt under their fingernails, even our eldest senator, the leading liberal in the Senate. Here's a man who has battled vested interests, fought for the rights of the disenfranchised, staked his reputation on unpopular causes, and what has he done? He has teamed up with the rest of the ag and water lobby to get more water for the biggest factory farmers in the state; the ones that have made no attempt to hide the fact that they are way over the acreage limit. Basically, he has used his power and influence to legalize the illegal: to sell more subsidized water to the factory farms. The sad thing is that it is water that should be going to the small farmer who was supposed to get it in the first place and who has the legal right to it. By taking the water, he's denying the people he supposedly champions, their right to make a living. Did You Say What I Thought You Said? A couple near Masterson presented data to federal officials long before they filed a complaint with the State Water Resources Control Board. They were sure a terrible mistake had been made on the potential effects of the agricultural runoff draining into the refuge. When they were told to keep quiet, or it would cost them more than their ranch was worth, they had their first inkling that this problem may have been what one California congressman called a planned accident. The Real Bottom Line Here's the real bottom line on ground water contamination.

375

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376

Most of you "experts" just don't know what is going on. They say the selenium problem at Masterson is a dead issue. That there is no contamination in the ground water below the refuge. Certainly there isn't. That's because it has moved on and into the aquifer. Water flows you know. We can see it in your eyes and hear it in your words. You're scared. You fear the worst. Many of you believe, but will not go on record to say that in the next decade we will begin to see the first of the real catastrophes. Compared to what's coming, "Love Canal" and "Bhopal" will look like walks in the park. Some dance to remember, some dance to forget. So I called up the captain: "Please bring me my wine." He said, "We haven't had that spirit here since 1969." And still the voices are calling from far away; Wake you up in the middle of the night just to hear them say: "Welcome to the Hotel California. Such a lovely place, (such a lovely place) such a lovely face. They livin' it up at the Hotel California. What a nice surprise, (what a nice surprise) bring your alibis." -- Don Felder, Don Henley, & Glenn Frey, "Hotel California" Canadian-born forty-two years ago, but now stars and bars through and through, Dewey Palmer was in search of the latest cause.

He had been a part of the "No Nukes" MUSE (Musicians

Against Nuclear War) concert.

He had performed for Amnesty

International and helped organize "Farm Aid." He had always been active, always been involved, always been aware.

At least one song on every album he'd done since going

solo had a message, whether it was against drugs or against musicians selling their art to the highest bidder.

And when he

decided to become part of a group again, with his old band-mate Stephen Young, their band became the political, activist voice of the Woodstock generation.

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377

As with everything, especially in the music business, timing was everything.

And, coincidentally, Elliot needed another

highly visible, highly influential supporter. audience might listen to. different angle.

Someone a younger

Someone who could attack from a

Through the radio and on record.

It was a

natural alliance, especially since Dewey was now living and recording down the San Francisco Peninsula, near La Honda. Whenever an interviewer catches up with him to do a session, it's usually rolling down the road in one of his restored hearses, which is where I found myself at the moment, doing a little front-end for Elliot.

We were talking about monkeys and

selling out. "Would you sing for a product?" "No fucking way.

I mean, that's the line I will not cross.

It's nothing more than singing for money." "Why have you become so active lately?

Other than Woodstock, I

don't remember you being particularly political." "I never stopped doing stuff.

Most people never saw it.

But, recently it's because of the excess. traded ideals for bucks.

And that bugs me.

If you ask me, we've Whether it's drugs

or dollars, any monkey that's bigger than you are, I'm ready to take to the floor." "What does your audience think about this outspoken attitude?" "I don't know.

I've got a lot of audiences now.

me as an old hippie still trying to play folk music." "Like your record company."

Some see

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"Like my past record company.

378

My newer audiences, I think,

or at least hope, see me as someone who cares about where we're going. future.

I think it's important that we take charge of our own I'm not talking communes.

community.

I'm talking family and

We've got to stop relying on the feds and the state

to keep an eye out for us because it ain't gonna happen." "Why you?

There are plenty of other political musicians and

bands out there?" "I've always felt that I was singled out to make things happen.

That I was in the right place at the right time.

And I

feel that way about what I understand Elliot Lincoln's trying to do." "We're taking on some pretty heavy hitters.

Do you think

we've got a chance?" "I think you've got to be aggressive. the high ground.

You've got to take

If you don't, then you're trying to bargain and

persuade from a position of weakness.

And that's never worked."

"What do you think of collaborating with Elliot?" "I've always been fascinated by his films. pure storytelling.

The creation of new myths.

By his return to I even stole an

idea for a character or two from one of his movies for one of my road shows." "How much do you think you have in common?" "He and I cross paths in a lot of ways, but especially one. We're both intrigued and repelled by machines and computers and the thought that they may take over our lives.

It bothers me

that people think they can live their life by pressing buttons.

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That they can talk to people using computer voices.

379

We both need

machines to do our work, but we won't let them run our lives."

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380 CHAPTER 25

I am a child I last a while You can't conceive Of the pleasure In my smile You hold my hand Rough up my hair It's lots of fun To have you there I gave to you Now you give to me I'd like to know What you've learned The sky is blue And so is the sea What is the color When black is brown? What is the color Of the rain? You are a man You understand You pick me And you lay me Down again You make the rules You say what's fair It's lots of fun To have you there I am a child I last a while You can't conceive Of the pleasure In my smile -- Neil Young, "I Am A Child" When Elliot and Dewey finally met, they liked each other immediately.

For two people who had become very successful in

two separate branches of the entertainment business, they were understandably wary of anyone, and of one another.

They had both

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been taken advantage of, had been lied to, had seen their visions compromised by the deal-makers and marketing mavens.

But now

that they were both hugely successful and independent, they could follow their muse and tell the rest of the parasites to kiss their asses.

They were both artists with a vision that had

weathered the lashings of commercialism. each other and appreciated it.

They recognized it in

The bonding created by this

common experience was immediate and soon ran very deep. As they talked, they found yet another chord that struck responsive and profound.

Unlike Elliot, Dewey was a father.

had two children, both boys.

And both had cerebral palsy.

He Of

course, Dewey and his wife had been devastated each time and had spent a lot of time and money working with their sons and working with specialists and private schools to seek a cure. It was difficult, but they never gave up trying to bring some joy and enthusiasm into the lives of children who spent most of their days frustrated when their active and healthy minds were thwarted by the dead shell they inhabited.

Dewey was always

available to perform at benefits, even to cook pancakes at an art fair held annually by a local volunteer fire department. Anything to raise funds and lighten the guilt and anger he felt. Something Elliot knew about. Dewey blamed himself because he was the common denominator. Each son was the child of different mothers.

So the lives of

quiet desperation his sons were living had to be his fault and his alone.

He had seen the specialists, been probed and

punctured, but they had found nothing.

The doctors told him

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there was no explanation, no rational reason. what caused it.

No way to tell

That it really had nothing to do with anything.

Which was hard to accept considering there was so much, and yet so little, in this world that couldn't be explained scientifically. For a long time following the birth of his second son, Dewey performed less.

He didn't totally abandon his music, but he

chose to spend more time with the family.

During that time, he

began to recognize the inter-connectedness of it all, the entire planet, and its people.

He felt the need to believe, to care, to

promote our common humanity.

That's when he hooked up with

Amnesty International and "Farm Aid".

He realized then that it

was up to the individual, the family, and the community to come together and take care of themselves at the local level. As he spent more time with Elliot, he knew it was the absolute truth. phrase:

Because the attitude that once hatched the

"What's good for General Motors is good for the

country!" had re-surfaced and seemed stronger than ever, though it probably had never really disappeared. And now that he's discussed Elliot's sterility and what caused it, Dewey began to wonder if maybe there wasn't some kind of connection.

Perhaps he too had been exposed to something

during his childhood in Canada, in the streets of Los Angeles, or in the hills of Northern California; something that had grown inside him over the years and had spawned a bad seed that deprived his children of an active, productive life.

Here were

two men, one who couldn't have children and one who could and

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did, who were linked forever by the real possibility that someone they didn't know had knowingly and without remorse polluted the water they drank and the environment they lived in simply for profit. Dewey and Elliot were linked in yet another way; one that would affect their lives immediately and likely for years to come.

They were both fatalists.

They both had commented many

times since meeting that their paths were meant to cross.

And

they both felt they had been singled out, that all of their life experiences to this point, were orchestrated and building to an unknown cataclysm, an unforeseen climax.

They both spoke of

overcoming obstacles, of believing, of turning the negative into the positive, of experiencing a sense of destiny.

They both

sensed that they were now on that path, embarked on that journey, that would reveal their fate. Dewey was no novice when it came to film and video, or propaganda and the manipulation of media.

Early in his solo

career, he had experimented with visual montages and anthologies for his songs.

He had even affectionately lampooned some

characters from Elliot's first really successful movie.

He had

already produced two of his own films when he became fascinated with the new electronic technologies assaulting both music and the motion media.

He produced an entire album of electronically

manipulated songs and themes, and then produced his own road picture; a rough-edged chronicle of video verite. Dewey Palmer would write and perform the soundtrack for the documentary.

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Stephan Harrington had first met Len Maddox when Maddox won the congressional seat in Fresno.

He had campaigned for all the

"right" issues; all the issues supported by the local power structure:

more water subsidies, agriculture subsidies, tariffs

against foreign imports, and relaxed environmental standards for pesticides and water pollution.

He had served for two years,

expanding his own power base and consolidating control for the Westlands Water and Power League. Then, one day, he suddenly changed his views.

He softened.

He stopped backing most of the issues he had previously supported. meet.

That was the second time he'd invited Harrington to

Maddox had just had a heart attack.

his age.

Too early for a man

While he was in the hospital, he began evaluating his

life and his accomplishments.

He started questioning his

priorities.

He found he didn't really like himself as a

politician.

So he decided to change things in the two years he

had left in his term.

The man who had once been John Borba's

strongest ally--who had handled Borba's bid for majority whip--had now turned on everything he and Borba had fought to achieve. That was over a year ago.

In the time since, he'd angered

and alienated almost all the members of the League.

He had

pushed hard to reduce the acreage limit for subsidized water. He had succeeded in stopping bills to authorize more unnecessary dams; dams that would destroy the few remaining wild rivers and would create holding ponds for water only the rich farmers would

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385

But he'd been toughest on the polluters.

He seemed

determined to single-handedly clean up the drinking water in his district.

No matter who it implicated.

No matter who suffered.

And, invariably, it was the League and the big farmers that took the

heat.

And they, in turn, spent money and time trying to

undermine his power.

They even tried to get him recalled.

But

his constituency had rallied behind him. Then the threats began. family.

He had been threatened and so had his

He'd even been run off the road one day.

When he had the

DMV trace the plate, he found out it belonged to a small rancher who sold his cotton to the League.

That's when he called

Harrington again, to give him an exclusive interview. asked that it be kept confidential. himself and his family.

He had begun to worry for

More for his family.

had resigned him to his own mortality.

His heart attack

But his family was young.

He wanted people to pay if anything happened to them. named names in the interview.

Maddox

So he

And he asked Harrington to vault

the tape until it was time to let the other shoe drop. Now he was dead.

Harrington had to admit the bastards had

an ironic sense of humor.

Maddox had drowned, or been drowned,

in his own swimming pool.

The coroner explained to

Harrington--and to me, since Stephan had called, thinking I might be mildly interested--that it looked like an accident. "A lot of alcohol in his body. Literally falling down drunk. pool." "Sure it was an accident?"

Way past tolerance.

Hit his head and rolled into the

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"Very professional murder if not.

Very well orchestrated."

"But possible?" "Sure.

Anything's possible."

Maddox was an obstacle that had to be removed. stopped the flow of water.

He had blown their cover.

farmers were like addicts, he said. and didn't even know it. robbery.

He had The

They were self-destructing

They had been getting away with

The biggest growers in the state; with the help of the

BuRec and the Army Corps. almost nothing.

They were getting all the water for

There was too much money involved to even think

about regulation.

And anyone who mentioned it, even if he was a

highly visible and outspoken politician, was a threat. Now, he was the first casualty of the war for water. Harrington's confidential interviews were mine.

And, had Elliot

been there, he would have related it to his own reality; to something in the movies, like he always did.

He'd say it was

like something out of 'Chinatown.'

96

OUTSIDE MORGUE

Gittes stops by a body on the table, the toe tagged with Mulwray's name. MORTY is standing near it in a doorway to an adjoining room. A RADIO is on, and with it the announcement that they're about to have another chapter in the life of Lorenzo Jones and his devoted wife, Belle. Another Coroner's assistant sits at the table, listening to the radio and eating a sandwich. 97

Gittes ambles into the room. MORTY (a cigarette dangling out of his mouth) Jake, what're you doin' here?

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GITTES Nothin', Morty, it's my lunch hour, I thought I'd drop by and see who died lately. Gittes picks up the sheet and pulls it back. CAMERA GETS ITS FIRST GLIMPSE of Mulwray's body -- eyes open, the face badly cut and bruised. MORTY Yeah? Ain't that something? Middle of a drought, the water commissioner drowns -only in L.A. Politics everywhere, but especially in a continental and wired nation, is part theater, an art of communication with gestures. -- George Will/Commentary, "Television and the Image Tuners"

GRAPHIC DESIGN AND LAYOUT WILL CLEARLY IDENTIFY THIS SECTION AS A SCENARIO DESIGNED BY THE INSTITUTE. IT MAY BE DESIGNED AS STORYBOARD OR COMIC BOOK PANELS. The Fractus screens dance with disparate images.

The

engineer is umbilicalled to the engine through Sony headphones.

He

watches perfect leaders marketed to the masses, consumers wired to electronic fireplaces, newscasters emoting entertainment as news, and men in shadows, men in flames.

He videolas through the encyclopedia

of images, re-editing, and refining a potential future scenario. SCENARIO: CLIENT: ENGINEER: STATUS: CLASSIFICATION: DATE: TRT: WORKING TITLE:

#880808 INTERNAL D. DOLAN IN-PROGRESS PRIORITY 08/08/88 TBD "THE ENGINE OF CHANGE"

SCENARIO OUTLINE: It is the Fall of 1991. The world is in a state of flux. The power elite of all nations is beginning to sense that real social change is

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388

about to take place. A group of visionary terrorists determines to use the power of the electronic media to alert the American public to dangers posed by the existing economic/political power structure. They choose the 1992 Presidential election as their electronic platform. During that event, they plan to take control of the nation's airwaves. For some time now, there has been paranoid speculations about the possibility--ever since business and government began dealing with each other. The connection between economic and political elites. The military-industrial complex. The influence of the corporate-military matrix. People have long speculated about the notion of a select group of privileged men orchestrating events around the world to benefit and consolidate their own power and wealth. Writers, reporters, philosophers, scientists, and academicians had all seen interconnections and intimacies that led to coups and revolutions. Combined with this specter of the power elite is another Twentieth Century phenomenon that has become very real. The Global Village. With every home wired to a telecommunication grid, many have begun waving the Orwellian flag anew, claiming that it is now far easier, and more effective, to control opinions and populations. For these people--and their numbers are growing--manipulating the media means controlling the public. With more avenues of access to information available through mass media, especially electronic media, and with the advent of narrow-casting, there is a trend toward demassification and media specialization. The result is sometimes confusing, oftentimes conflicting views, and a fracturing of public opinion; a strict segmentation of philosophies. Into this void steps what one commentator terms "the most important institutional innovation in recent American politics". The Political Action Committee, or PAC. The PACs, with the aid of the electronic media, have assumed the responsibility once played by the political parties, that of informing and motivating the voting public. In these last years of the Twentieth Century, the primary means of communication, whether used for commerce or politics, is controlled by a wealthy and powerful interconnection of corporations and government officials. And their conspiracy is being masked by, and controlled through, equally influential PACs. In this world, in this time, the established civic, social, political, and economic elite is the recognized Order of Things.

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Electronic media, especially television, has made markets and money for people in business and government. It has given these same people unprecedented power and influence. And they use this control and wealth to manipulate the system and perpetuate their own predominance. Because they realize that this network of teleconnections is vulnerable and could be used against them, they take steps to prepare the tools and resources to short-circuit any attempt to broadcast something other than the party line, or to topple them from their position of control. In this society, the integration of television and telecommunication technologies has created a consumer society without precedent and without parallel. Entertainment and commerce are interchangeable and are the primary focus in the lives of the majority of the nation's citizens. In this time, television has created markets and unimaginable fortunes for the elite of government and commerce. It has given The Order the influence and access to assure its position no matter who holds official power. The Order owns the hardware of telecommunication, defines its uses, and reaps great wealth from the avenues of influence it offers the corporate/political matrix of the nation. The Order has grown accustomed to the luxury of buying technological access to the nation and using it as a one-way conduit of impressions, images, and pseudo-information. To The Order, telecommunications, in all its forms, is their prize and their means of self-preservation. That is why the window on the world presented by television provides such a limited vision of the world. A significant, and potentially dangerous, aspect of the rise of electronic media is the power of The Order to present citizens with their own picture of the world. To create perceptions that sometimes go counter to firsthand experience, yet supersede it in people's minds. The Order has designed and perpetuated this. Far better, they think, that the public confuse images with truth. Though the world is on the brink of transformation, the representations of reality by the political and marketing elites become even more rigidly and narrowly defined. The Order perceives change as a mechanism of marketing to stimulate profits, not as a process of social evolution. In reality, electronic media is a secondhand form of communication. That is both its appeal and its danger.

What

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people see and hear has already been perceived, interpreted, translated, packaged, and re-transmitted by someone else, as objectively as they can manage, with as few of their own biases and prejudices as possible. But it is, nonetheless, someone else's view of the world. And the majority of the public takes it as reality. Because reality is what we perceive. It has been rumored by some experts and analysts that the existence of certain political movements, or martyrs, continents away may be nothing more than electronic fabrications, like the shadows on Plato's cave walls. For all the media participant knows, because he is not experiencing their existence directly, these philosophies and people are a reality because that is what they believe they are perceiving as they passively participate in world events comfortably encased in their armchair. There exists a group of men and women who work hard at blurring the line between real and perceived. They are the professional image manipulators. They sell canned foods as well as they sell predictable Presidents. They clearly understand the capabilities and powers of the electronic arts, including video and computers, telecommunications, and marketing. Their imagination and skill create the images of the marketplace, the political arena, and the social-civic orders. Utilizing leading edge technologies, they process, edit and link together fragmented ideas, places, and things into common perception. They sift through the daily avalanche of "information" in search of any facts that might link disparate events into continuity. They represent a spectrum of experience, talent, imagination, and command of their respective crafts at the leading edge. The power elite pays them well to target the public's perception of reality and create images to cater to that perception. Their first-hand knowledge of creating and projecting images and ideas in a technologically complex society gives them a special vision of The Order and the powers used to shape the opinions and emotions of a people. They recognize that The Order has long abused the privileges of their wealth and has used these electronic tools and images to achieve narrow and selfish motives. In a world in dire need of leaders capable of perceiving the motives and emotions below the surface and outline of events, it is a tragic paradox that the two-dimensional vision of The Order commands the equipment, finances, and implementation of such a powerful tool. In spite of the short-comings inherent in the "packaging" of news and information, certain telejournalists begin to enjoy a credibility that the populace has rarely granted to other spheres

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of influence within the society. Though this network of continental teleconnections is a selfishly manipulated giant of social and economic influence, it is vulnerable. The Order understands, and fears, the power of the electronic media and its popular personae. In an information-rich and -addicted society, the news and its telecommentary might be used against The Order, should the attitudes of these popular telejournalists come to resonate, or reflect, the aspirations of the populace. In anticipation, The Order has readied avenues to by-pass the interpretive processes of the fourth estate should the need arise. They have special knowledge of the tools they will need to keep their image of the nation in place. They will be ready with any means to short-circuit the channels of information access to their advantage. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO. It gradually becomes clear to this group of common conscience, that only through their own imagination and special knowledge of these tools, and their ability to recognize new purposes for them, can there be any hope of deflecting the momentum and dethroning the power of The Order. These individuals also share a perception of the possibilities and dangers the telecommunications matrix might offer to a specific message at a critical juncture. This committed group of diverse, yet commonly inspired individuals, join purposes to become "The Info-Visionaries". They band together to weld the technologies of communication, computers, and video into a new tool; one capable of piercing the veil of shallow perception that controls, in many subtle ways, the scale of imagination for a people. Many special pieces of information and equipment are gradually combined into the working schematic of a revolution in perception. As the pen proved mightier than the sword for generations previous, an event of real time images and imagination will rise above the existing Babel of Telecommunications. The Info-Visionists will create a resonance between the power of ideas and images and use that synergy to trigger the imagination and vision of a nation. The Info-Visionaries realize, despite the intimations and accusations of a shadowy puppetmaster organization, that in a democracy, public opinion is still the most powerful force. To

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mobilize the power of the people and bring it to bear on one issue, they have to use their own skills, and those of people like the image-makers. In the end, victory for the Info-Visionists and the power of human imagination will be measured by a people's ability to recognize, and step back from, the "electronic hall of mirrors" they have come to look upon as truth. In a time of change, in a time of confusion, it will take one voice to pierce the veil of shadows. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO. As is the case with many of the technologies which have changed the workings of this world over the last quarter century, the application of scientific research to war and defense strategies has opened unimagined avenues for the development of new processes and innovations. Defense researchers become aware of a nuclear blast effect called the "Electromagnetic Pulse," or EMP. EMP soon becomes the ultimate threat to effectively waging technologically intense warfare because a single nuclear burst could neutralize much of the computer and telecommunication matrix our defense system and economic order depends upon. In the process of developing a technique to shield this delicate electronic dependence, researchers discover an effect which becomes known as the "Pulsed/Polarity Inversion Threshold," or PULPIT. The power of this unique discovery resides in the fact that at a certain signal threshold, a waveform could be propagated which could dampen and neutralize all radio, television, and radar signals within an effective radius of one thousand miles. If located properly, it could affect three quarters of the continental United States. At the same time that it suppresses any and all signals within its sphere of influence, the PULPIT waveform could also act as a universal open channel to all receivers for any transmission coupled to it. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

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393 CHAPTER 26

I used to see you on every T.V. Your smiling face looked back at me. Then they caught you with the girl next door, People's money piled on the floor, Accusations that you try to deny, Revelations and rumors begin to fly. You wake up in the middle of the night. Your sheets are wet and your face is white. You tried to make a good thing last, How could something so good, go bad, so fast? American dream, American dream. American dream, American dream. -- Neil Young, "American Dream" John Anthony Borba shared an affliction with many of his fellow Democrats.

Unlike the Republicans, who always seemed to

get into trouble over money or abuse of power, the Democrats always became ensnared because of women.

Like many of his

compatriots on Capitol Hill, Borba was a hopeless womanizer. was obsessed with their pursuit.

He

This preoccupation had often

been attributed to men with immense egos; men who enjoyed living on the edge and boys who were frustrated race-car drivers. Perhaps it was the search for adventure; a way out of boredom or an escape from routine that drew them to the flame.

Or maybe

they simply enjoyed the attentive applause of women. Whatever the initial attraction, it was perpetuated by ego, power, pride, and discretion.

At first, such men were protected

from embarrassing exposure by their staff.

The more they were

able to succeed without detection, the more daring they became. The transition from tentative experimentation with the unknown to blatant disregard of conventional behavior was very swift and

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394

Before long, emboldened by their success and

sheltered from the whispers, they began to consider themselves invincible, sexual supermen, above the law.

Their hubris, their

sense of self, became overwhelming and, eventually, became their downfall. In Borba's case, the applause was flattering, but the conquest was the name of the game. arrogant and full of himself. him.

When it came to women, he was

He felt they were there to serve

He tolerated little independence, except in his wife who

had painfully carved it out for herself. dangle; to twist in the wind emotionally. them, to lead them on, then leave.

He loved to let them He liked to play with

This disdain, coupled with

his power and influence, made him irresistible.

Even to his

wife, who loved him still--and who, rumor suggested, had been subjected to more than emotional abuse--silently suffered and helplessly hoped he might soon stop, or at least wouldn't irreparably scandalize himself before he did. The number of notches on Borba's bed was known only to his closest aides.

There was one he preferred to forget, not because

it was unpleasant, but because it was one that had started as a result of business and now couldn't go away because of business. Affairs were one thing.

Affairs with co-workers another.

Affairs with clients, something to be completely avoided.

But

the timing had all been in Tony's favor and against Laura. was willing, rebounding from divorce, ragged and ready. able.

She

He was

It had begun following a week of hearings in Sacramento.

They had worked closely for the month prior, then spent almost

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fourteen hours per day together for a solid week. exhausted.

She was lonely.

They were

He was horny.

The night the hearings ended, they had a quiet dinner at the Sutter Club.

They laughed in relief of the pressure and the fact

they actually enjoyed each other's company outside the office. For a while, they seemed to have gotten beyond the masks each presented the other.

And they liked what they saw.

When they

returned to her room, she invited him in for a brandy. gratefully accepted.

He

The grueling week and the wine were

beginning to take effect.

They slumped down at opposite ends of

the couch and began talking about future plans.

Each time one or

the other got up to get another glass or open a window, they sat down nearer to the other. looser.

As they got closer, their clothes got

He touched her arm, she touched his face.

The next morning, as they gathered up the debris of the night and prepared to carry on with their routine, there were no apologies, no remorse. see one another.

They still liked each other and wanted to

And so they did.

Sacramento, D.C., and New York. calling.

For six months.

In Ralston,

Until he suddenly stopped

When she finally confronted him, he just told her he

couldn't see her anymore. of story.

No explanations.

It wasn't that hard for her.

No apologies.

End

She was already

beginning to dislike a lot of what she saw.

They ended it with

no regrets and some additional knowledge of the other. Women.

Mysterious, exotic, deadly.

You could live a

lifetime in their eyes, or die broken, still anxiously trying to please them.

In the mythologies of civilizations, they

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396

represented the totality of could be known. himself the hero who would come to know.

Each man fancied

Seductive, exotic

sirens, they beckoned, urging you to break the bonds of the day-to-day, the expected, in anticipation of the unknown; to undergo another trial along the trackless journey. Musing on this, John Anthony rationally knew the risks-realized the threats--but remained furiously attracted nonetheless to the forbidden. assistant to Daedalus.

She worked at Carver Labs;

He was there because DiGiulio wanted him

to be; he needed some background for one of his press releases. She was happy to give him what he needed. business.

Their meeting was all

The single drink afterwards was justifiably a way to

get to know the other better.

But to leave together would be

stepping over the line, crossing the threshold. risk?

Was it worth the

Was it ever? Barbra Sue Darwin was a woman of syrupy beauty; languid

golden honey. wake.

She moved slowly and sweetly; a sticky odor in her

Lounging, languorous, she was a Renoir crossed with a

Helmut Newton model. sensual.

Her body was smooth, voluptual, earthy,

And her liquid was made sweeter by the melodic South

Carolina accent that oozed out of her rounded lips. with it and had made it more affected over the years.

She was born It matched

well with her lethargic sensuality. She was neither short nor tall and certainly not dumpy. Ample, but not wasteful. but solid.

Solid.

An Amazon.

She was full-bodied

Her breasts were large, full, heavy, brimming with

unselfish love and waiting to suckle.

Beneath a nylon bathing

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397

suit, stretching her arms to the sky, they didn't sag, but stood proudly, firmly at attention.

The areola were large and round

and very sensitive to touch.

Unlike many large-breasted women,

she liked being touched there most of all. amazingly small; her butt full, but firm.

Her waist was She was someone you

wanted to fall into, to be swallowed up by, never to come out. The ultimate earth-mother. Her skin was lightly tanned, as if she spent just enough time in the sun to keep it healthy-looking.

There was a fine

fuzz of golden-brown hair on her arms and legs, and in her armpits when she chose not to shave.

Her hair was also

golden-brown and cascaded to her waist, but she usually wore it in a long pony-tail, caught half-way down her back in a casual bow, or piled luxuriously on top of her head. She was the most patient and forgiving of lovers, almost mothering her men to death. little in return.

She gave and gave and expected

Because she was so honest in her selflessness,

men were disarmed and never took advantage of her.

They could

perceive no other motive in her generosity but the desire to give pleasure.

And she gave it gladly and often.

The air was barely moving.

And after the summer's rain,

unusual for that time of year, it was humid. moist fertility of the earth. surprise summer's storm. earth is the valley. Sultry, yet dangerous.

You could smell the

There was something about a

That moist, decomposing scent of wet

In it is the smell of water and life. Something was going to happen this night.

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398

He had a tequila, straight with a lime. this night.

It felt like Mexico,

She chose champagne, fluted tulip glass, and a short

snort of snow.

Deliberately, she slipped on some music.

passionate rhythms of reggae.

Dark,

No matter where she was in the

room, she stared into his eyes.

She began to dance.

He could

see every bulge and curve and cutting line beneath the white silk dress she wore.

He was staring at her waist, working his way

down her legs, when the dress dropped away. As she danced, she watched him watching her.

She reached

up, rubbing her stomach and then her breasts and then began tugging at her nipples. eager.

They responded as he did, stiff and

She danced closer, gazed more deeply.

on his shoulders, his on her breasts.

She put her hands

She tasted of wine.

opened his eyes and she was still watching.

He

She took off his

coat, his shirt, and his belt, still moving to the music, still licking the back of his throat, still digging into his eyes. Her body felt warm as she slowly straddled the chair and him.

One hand rubbed his nipples, while the other rubbed him

against her, in and out, up and down and around. hand to touch her ass.

They moved back and forth.

He reached one She

shuddered, then smiled a wide smile, as she pushed him back on the chair.

He flinched as she scraped her claws along the inside

of his thigh, nicking the flesh.

Then there was no air blowing,

only her, only a feeling of lips, tongue, and mouth moving warm and tight.

He wanted to see her, watch what she was doing.

he saw were wide-open eyes. He told her he couldn't wait.

She said he should.

She

All

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399

tipped a spoonful onto the top of his straining cock. the eye of the rooster.

His back almost snapped as it arched

forward, spraying the silk.

Then he doubled back, eyes slammed

shut, just trying to catch his breath. said.

Cocaine in

Now, it's my turn she

She placed the powder between her open legs and pushed it

toward him.

Rub some on me.

Right here.

She reclined on her

elbows and lifted her legs, never once letting go of his gaze. He touched her, kissed her lips and breasts, teasing before the finish.

His fingers, honeydrippers, adhering with white

fingertips, gently grabbed her clit, rubbing and squeezing, but not long, before she yowled and screeched, closing her legs and turning her body away from him.

But not those heavy-lidded eyes.

When the sun hit his eyes, she was already gone. dressed, satisfied with his night's work.

He

As he pulled onto the

frontage road leading to the freeway and passed the Holiday Inn, he didn't see the white limousine parked near the pool.

Or her

car standing next to it.

Each moment is a place you've never been. -- Mark Strand A seed of dissension was seeking light.

A rebel that would

shatter the facade of unity and control that DiGiulio, Delancy, and Borba had carefully cultivated.

He was a transplanted local

boy, born in Wisconsin and raised in Ralston.

He went to law

school back East, specializing in environmental law, and practiced there for several years before returning home and going to work for Delancy & Reed.

He had been the point man on most of

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400

Delancy's cases dealing with the environment, including Masterson. going on.

His name was Michael Olbrantz.

He knew what was

He didn't like what he was seeing.

disillusioned.

He had become

And he wanted to do something about it.

Michael Olbrantz and I had known each other since third grade, when he moved out from Wisconsin.

His Father had been

transferred by Marathon paper company, a subsidiary of American Can, to their plant in Ralston.

Western could still remember

Michael's lunch sandwiches wrapped in the Rainbow bread paper his Dad had gotten from the plant.

I still remember riding home

after school, going over to Mike's to watch American Bandstand) and plan our future.

It was only fourth grade, but we'd already

decided we were going to be friends forever. up, we'd raise thoroughbred racing horses.

And when we grew We'd own a huge ranch

with weeping willow trees and white board fences. We had competed against each since the day we'd first met. It was friendly, but it was fierce.

Whether it was doing the

most book reports, getting the lead in the school play, or being the best baseball player, we always seemed to be going head-to-head; through elementary school, junior high, and high school.

Even when we went our separate ways to college, we still

used the other as an absent antagonist.

It was never malicious,

never vindictive, because we were bound together by who we were and where we came from; what our family background was and the schools we attended.

Although we both succeeded, and well, at

everything we attempted, we could never become part of the elite; equals with the kids who got there because of their parents'

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money and position. people.

401

Our parents were lower middle class working

Our fathers were laborers, our mothers stayed home

and raised a house-full of kids.

There was always just enough

money for food, but not enough for extravagances. hand-me-downs.

Clothes were

Luckily for both of us, we were the oldest.

The competition we both remember well was the competition for our little league coach's approval and affection.

Though

we both had loving, caring fathers, the coach was our hero. only was he our teacher, but he was an athlete. like him.

Not

We wanted to be

We went out to all his games and cheered for him.

We

jostled for the right to ride home in the back of his sports car We laughed now at the memory as we finished our drinks.

I

was really enjoying the memories. "Remember when we played the last game of the 'A League' playoffs?" "And he called a balk against their pitcher?" "And all the parents and kids threw rocks at his car." "They did not know what a balk was.

Nobody had ever called

a balk in Little League." "He did." "He certainly was competitive, wasn't he?" "And we're not? other night.

You know, I played softball with him the

I was scared to death.

I'd been wanting to play

ball with him ever since he coached me on the Babe Ruth All-Star team." "Did you pass the test?" "I think so.

It's funny.

I was telling some other people

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402

about the game and my Dad was there.

I was goin' on about how

it was my dream to play with the coach. me everything I knew about baseball. not listening anymore.

How this guy had taught

And I notice that my Dad's

That's he's talking to someone else.

And

I suddenly realized that during all those years I'd been saying how the coach had been my hero, I was cutting my Dad to the bone. I was really hurting him.

He had spent as much time, maybe even

more, not only teaching me the game, but teaching me how to deal with winning and losing. combative.

How to be competitive without being

It had never dawned on me."

"That's because we both took our parents for granted. expected them to be there.

To help us.

To teach us.

We

And then

we left them." "Well, at least I can make it up to my Dad." "I can't.

At least not that way."

I realized the conversation had changed direction and his face said it had changed emotion. "I am extremely concerned." "About?" "What is taking place at the office. hasn't slept in weeks. tense.

She's very jumpy.

Laura looks like she Things seem very

And it becomes especially so every time John Borba comes

by to see Thomas.

Now they meet behind closed doors.

That never

happened before." Mike was an old friend, but I wasn't about to help him through his concern right now and maybe compromise Laura's ability to help us.

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403

"Maybe I'm overreacting. isn't there.

Perhaps I'm seeing something that

But I do not like what I am sensing.

I went to

work for Thomas Delancy because of his reputation and his commitment to certain issues.

I'm not sure his priorities are in

order any longer." "I wish I could help you Mike. don't.

I wish I knew more.

But I

I see Laura very seldom and I really don't talk to anyone

else in the office but you." "But we both know that the project you're working on has something to do with Delancy and Borba.

So you must know more

than you're telling me." "Sorry.

If you're concerned, you've got to decide for

yourself what you need to do.

I can't decide for you."

"And you won't have to."

Robin Devereaux had invited me to breakfast at "The Vintage" restaurant.

The coffee had arrived and we had ordered before

Robin got to what was bothering him. "They never give up.

Don't you see what they're doing?"

"Who and what?" "The League and the rest of the big farmers.

They're

undermining our position, compromising our allies, dividing and conquering." "Wait.

Can you back up a bit?

It's still early and you're

way ahead of me." Leaning back, taking a breath, he starts again. Slowly.

From the top.

"All right.

You've heard they're thinking about

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404

closing Hetch Hetchy?" "Yes.

Something about draining it."

"And adding it to the National Park Service." "Not a bad idea.

I'm sure most people in the state will

love it." "That's right.

So when we, and the other environmentalists,

start bitching, we won't have any support at all.

How can

we, who fought to save the Yosemite Valley from development and pollution, complain when the government's going to set aside more of it.

To preserve and protect it so more people can enjoy it?"

"You can't." "But it's only a diversion.

A red herring."

"I'm lost." "What happens when they drain Hetch Hetchy." "You already told me." "Not that.

What about the people of San Francisco?"

stops as the waitress brings our food.

He

"The people who get most

of their power and drinking water from Hetch Hetchy?" "I guess they'll it get from somewhere else?" "Where?" "I don't know.

You're the expert."

"That's right.

And I know it's not going to come from

anywhere because they've got no place to get it.

All the water

that's stored behind existing dams is already claimed.

It's

already being used by cities for drinking, industry for production, and agriculture for irrigation. yelling for more."

And everyone's

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405

"But there's enough water, isn't there?

Between rainfall,

snowmelt, river runoff, and the ground water?" "Sure there is.

But it's not controlled.

It's wild.

people want more water, they've got to have more dams.

If

With

Hetch Hetchy closing and all the others maxed out, some new ones have to be built." "But no new dams are even under construction.

Are there

even any on the boards?" "There are plenty on the boards, including the Auburn Dam.

But each time they've come up for funding, or been placed

on a ballot in recent years, they've been defeated.

Narrowly,

but stopped nonetheless." "Because of lobbying and pressure from environmentalists and public opinion?" "And because there wasn't an overwhelming need." "Except Los Angeles.

They keep trying to get the Big Ditch

built, or some variation of it." "Right.

But they've never had enough allies, especially in

Northern California.

And they've never really had sufficient

public support to pass any of their water grab attempts." "So, if all of a sudden there's one less dam and a lot less water for San Francisco,

...

"

"And you combine that with a drought." "Which we've had a few of in the last couple of years. Los Angeles runs up the flag to build the peripheral canal,

And ..."

"Or they graciously offer to compromise and settle for a dam or two."

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406

"Then they've got all the allies they need and you can't stop them.

San Francisco gets the water.

park land.

Jobs are created.

to build.

The public gets more

The BuRec and Army Corps get a dam

And Los Angeles gets even more water."

"Most of which will go to the big farms in the San Fernando and San Joaquin Valleys. thing to begin with. politicians.

To the people who started the whole

They lobbied for it.

They pressured the

And they paid for everything."

"One dam goes away and several others take its place." "We trade Hetch Hetchy for a few more rivers." "You're right.

They've got us."

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407 CHAPTER 27

It's a man's world It's a man's world But it wouldn't be nothing, nothing Without a woman or a girl Man made the car That take us over the road Man made the train To carry the heavy load Man made the electric light To take us out of the dark Man made the boat for the water Like Noah made the ark Man can make everything he can But a woman makes a better man -- James Brown, "It's A Man's World" Walsh and I had spent most of the morning meeting with ground water experts from the Water Resources Center at UC Davis. We had both volunteered to do the interview just so we could spend a day hanging out together in our old college haunts. Some were still around. small.

Many were not.

Most seemed awfully

Following the interview, we cruised the campus, checking

out the co-eds, then headed over to "The Graduate," shot some pool and some beers, then went downtown.

As we passed the site

of what used to be "The Lantern," a student, or someone at the right age to qualify, walked between us, resplendent in his tie-dyed shirt, lost and listening to his headphones. I sniffed the air, then sniffed again.

"Holy shit!

Patchouli Oil!" Walsh turned, then looked back at me and broke out in his hyena laugh.

"Fuckin' pop into the Twentieth Century, dude!"

We both laughed at this mutual exorcism of our communal

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408

past. "Probably listening to the Grateful Dead." "No, I'd say it's some of that 'New Age' shit.

Fucking hot

tub muzak for Yuppies." "Give me a break." music.

"I like it.

We didn't always agree on our tastes in

It's cinematic."

"Take some more drugs, dude." "Better'n Dwight Yoakum, cowboy.

How's it so different from

Respighi's 'Pines of Rome,' or Vaughan Williams' 'The Lark Ascending?'

Or Rodrigo or Stravinsky?"

"Who are they? who they were.

Harpists?"

He knew

He was just busting my balls.

"It's backlash. boom monopoly.

He laughed that laugh.

Those who can't participate in the baby

They're envious of what we supposedly were.

we supposedly accomplished. figure, then trash it.

What

If you can't be a part of it, they

Trivialize it.

"I'll help it get on the bus.

Maybe it'll go away."

Just give me Merle any old

time." I sucker-punched him in the ribs as we swung into "The Club"--the last bar on our last tour--and heard "Silver Wings" on the juke box. We settled into a couple of seats at the bar, ordered two long necks, and turned to watch the pool players.

Being back a

the site of much of our "coming of age" pranks had us both thinking back on how it was we got here and what had happened along the way. Sometimes I think I think too much.

I over-analyze.

I'm

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409

always thinking about my life and what I'm doing that's good or bad.

I should probably just leave it alone.

keep picking at it.

But I don't.

I

It's like having a chipped tooth, or a piece

of food stuck in your teeth and your tongue keeps playing with it, touching it, exploring it, aggravating it. leave it alone.

I can't seem to

And here I was again, picking at it, Wilson.

"Are you lonely, Wally?" "In what way?" "Alone.

On your own."

"That's pretty difficult.

I've got a family.

I can't even

take a shit without an audience." "Well, when I look at Jorge, Billie, me, and others our age, I see a lot of lonely men and women.

Disillusioned."

"Shit, you shouldn't be lonely. buyer's market. mature.

You're a seller in a

You're in your prime.

Just forty.

A successful professional with money.

Attractively

And you're only

semi-ugly." I flip him off.

"So why aren't I selling?"

"Too much of a hassle, I guess.

Too much of an emotional

drain." "Anticipation and expectation. They expect too much.

That's what I told Jorge.

They want something I'm not.

So, if I

like someone and want to stay with them, I've got to accommodate. And, right now, I kind of like not having to tell anyone about anything I'm doing." "It's easier just to have a few beers with the boys." salutes me with his Bud.

He

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410

"While she sits at home wondering why I haven't asked her out." "You don't mind being alone?" "No.

And why should I?

The only one it should bother is me

and I really don't give a flying fuck. there, men and women, living alone.

There's a bunch of us out

The one's who would be doing

the judging are the ones who are doing it alone. problem any more.

It isn't a

The days of the spinster aunt and kindly uncle

are long gone." "You were talking about expectations.

That's part of it.

The problem is that when you expect things to be a certain way, you're not as likely to compromise.

And that's got men and women

sleeping alone at nights." "I think that's why I like being around my family, and friends like you so much.

And that's probably why Sandy resents

all of you." "Because we accept you the way you are?" "That's right.

It's non-threatening.

I have too few

expectations and she has too many." "But your family's pretty unique.

You all seem to really

like each other and really care about the others. it with the extended family.

And you share

People like me and Jorge and Gover.

Even assholes like Stevie." "That was my Mom." "Don't discount your Dad.

I'm sure he had a lot to do with

it, too." "Didn't it use to be simpler?"

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411

"Hey, when it comes to men and women, it's never been simple." "Maybe I just don't want to understand them. easier to not explain the unexplainable. A way to maintain the mysterious. an effort.

Maybe it's

That gives us an edge.

That way I don't have to make

I can just sigh and say it's impossible to know them,

or know what they really want." "Sure.

Besides, a lifetime commitment was easy when you

married at eighteen and died at forty." "The myth of Helen Gurley Brown and the "Cosmo woman". It's emotional masturbation. themselves. women's lib.

They did it to themselves and for

You know, I really had no problem with the spirit of I believed it.

Guess I still do."

"Then they changed the rules." "Right.

They wanted room to be themselves.

To be

independent." "We said fine. "Great.

Then they wanted to get close, intimate."

They wanted freedom, then got pissed when we

wouldn't get close and wouldn't commit." "And when we finally did, they freaked out when it went sour." "And they say we're confused." "It's their own damn fault.

They're sending out the

smokescreen." "I sometimes think they forget that everything they're saying, we're hearing and believing." "And when we talk to them about it, they're only seeing our

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lips move. "Yea.

412

They're not hearing a word we're saying." They never talk with us, only at us.

Maybe if they

started talking, we might finally get a better idea about what they really wanted.

Then we could get close and they'd stop

getting angry." "You know what they say?

The trouble with men is men and

the trouble with women is men." "That's good.

You know, I really don't feel believe they

feel deep down that we like them or want to be with them. what's so frustrating about their anger. with them.

That's

Because I do like being

I don't know about you, but it's a broader landscape

seeing the world through a woman's eyes. games, it's time to go home to mama.

I mean, after the poker

Living only with men, in a

man's world, in spite of what James Brown says, is pretty boring." "And smelly." "You know what I still like in a woman? That's number one.

Intelligence.

Clever, with a good sense of humor, is a

close second." "Danger zone." "Why?" "Now you've got a competitor who doesn't feel or smell like one.

Better pocket your self-image.

It may not be where you

left it when you get done." "Sure, it takes a little more work to live with a strong person.

But that's part of what attracted me to Sandy."

"And me to Jane."

That one caught me off guard, but wasn't

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413

a total surprise. "Right.

Their independence."

"But that's part of the problem isn't it?" "Sure.

She doesn't want to be barefoot and pregnant.

don't want her to be.

And I

She's got the freedom, money-wise and

mind-wise, to leave when she wants." "That's a double-edged sword. but you also want them dependent.

You want them self-reliant, You want to be able to take

care of them so they can tell you to go to hell." "I want a co-conspirator, not a concubine.

We can both

contribute friends and money to the relationship without cashing out our individuality. me.

Besides, Sandy's not totally dependent on

But I don't think she's independent enough yet to live on

her own." "Jane is."

He obviously is looking for a conspirator and a

confidante on this issue. "Sometimes I wish I'd married someone without any brains or ambition.

Someone whose entire life revolved around me.

wanted to eat, she'd fix it.

When I

When I wanted to screw, she'd ask

how." "Oriental women." "It can get suffocating, though.

There's no place to go and

they're always there." "What a fantasy, though.

I'd at least like to try it."

"Here am I worrying about my own sexuality, my own adequacy, my own ability to please them and yet they're the ones that fucked everything up."

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414

"They get angry and they want us to deal with that, but we have to do it with tenderness and sensitivity." "They want to kick our ass in racquetball, then they expect us to open the car door for them." "Why do they get so angry? because we're men?

What do they want?

Is it

Because we supposedly have it made and

they've been denied admission to the club?" "It's their own conflict. distance.

It helps them keep their

It keeps them from becoming too dependent on us.

it's also part of their own conflict and frustration. society.

By us and by themselves.

But

Created by

We want 'em smart and

pretty." "Tough career women by day.

Doting mothers and gentle

lovers by night." "Do they want kids or a career?

Commitment or freedom?

I

feel I've really tried to understand her needs and do what I can to make it work.

But then so does she."

"And you keep defending her just like that. please her and she kicks you in the nuts.

You try to

Do you think she, and

the rest of them, appreciate what you're doing? to please them and they think you're a pussy.

No way.

You try

It's a no-win

situation, cowboy." "What am I supposed to do?

Take my marbles and go home?"

"I'd take my nuts, instead." "Okay, so I leave her. singles scene.

There's no way I'm going to hit the

I'm too old for that.

Everyone in the bars is

twenty-one, with a full head of hair, a flat stomach, and

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pectorals.

415

All I've got is a brain and a sense of humor."

"So get friendly with your recliner again." "But I could get stuck in that rut. living alone.

I know that.

I could get used to

But it could get real lonely.

And,

then, one day, one of the little neighborhood girls would point at me, this old, bald-headed, single guy, and say I molested her." "You know what we're both facing? our age are facing?

What all men and women

Being alone the rest of our lives or making

a commitment." "Because of our expectations." "Because we were set up." "And if I don't learn to deal with it, I'm going to end up an old man sharing a frozen turkey TV dinner with one of my 'Mud Bowl' buddies." "That's a frightening image." "You think that's bad.

Think about being the last man,

sitting there for the newspaper, toasting all my dead comrades, drinking alone." "How come you and Sandy never had any kids?" "We both decided we liked our lifestyle the way it was. didn't want to be tied down.

We

I mean we don't even have a dog or

a bird." "Nice comparison.

You really think having a kid's like

having a pet?" "No.

It's easier to take a dog to the kennel when you go on

vacation than it is to get a babysitter."

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416

"Ugly asshole you are." "You know what I mean. go.

We just liked being free to come and

And besides, if the marriage ever went bad, I didn't want to

have to deal with custody.

Or, worse yet, I didn't want to be

in a position of keeping the marriage together just for the kids. My parents did that and I admired them for it. made emotional cripples of us.

I don't think it

But I know there were times they

both wished they weren't married.

But they kept it together for

the kids." "So what was their outlet? "Dad's outlet was work. later, more pills and alcohol.

Did they have any affairs?"

Mom's was us kids, pills, and, As far as affairs, I really don't

know, but I have a hunch that something happened between them and some close friends of theirs once." "Why?" "Because one day they were big buddies, did everything together, then, the next day, they were bitter enemies. seeing each other.

Didn't talk to each other.

husband died, my Mom didn't go to the funeral.

Stopped

Then, when the She said it

was because she hated funerals, especially ones with an open casket.

She always said she wanted to remember people the way

they were when they were alive, not dead in a casket.

But

his wife never forgave her." "So something definitely happened?" "Yeah, and I never asked my Dad. either.

Never talked to my Mom,

But the fact is they kept their together for us kids.

No matter how badly they wanted out.

And we're better for it.

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417

We know what it means to make a commitment and stay with it.

But

I'd hate to have kids and then try to keep it together like my parents did, only to see the kids get fucked up. norm.

And that's the

That's happened to a lot of people I know.

And I never

wanted to deal with that so we never had any kids." "But isn't that really a lack of commitment?

I mean, if

you're saying you don't want kids because you don't want to screw them up if you get divorced, you're saying from the start that you don't have much hope for the marriage." "Can't hit a moving target."

Always the joke to dodge the

reality.

My child arrived just the other day. He came to the world in the usual way. But there were planes to catch and bills to pay. He learned to walk while I was away. And he was talkin' 'fore I knew it, and as he grew He'd say "I'm gonna be like you, dad, You know I'm gonna be like you." And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon Little boy blue and the man in the moon. "When you comin' home son?" "I don't know when, but we'll get together then, You know we'll have a good time then." My son turned ten just the other day He said "Thanks for the ball, dad, come on let's play. Can you teach me to throw?" I said "Not today I got a lot to do." He said "That's ok." And he walked away, but his smile never dimmed. And said "I'm gonna be like him, yeah. You know I'm gonna be like him." Well he came from college just the other day So much like a man I just had to say "Son, I'm proud of you can you sit for awhile?" He shook his head and said with a smile "What I'd really like dad is to borrow the car keys.

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418

Can I have them please?"

I've long since retired. My son's moved away. I called him up just the other day. I said "I'd like to see you if you don't mind." He said "I'd love to dad if I can find the time. You see my new job's a hassle and the kids have the flu But it's sure nice talking to you, dad, It's been sure nice talking to you." And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me-He'd grown up just like me, My boy was just like me. And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon Little boy blue and the man in the moon. "When you comin' home son?" "I don't know when, but we'll get together then. You know we'll have a good time then." -- Harry Chapin, "Cat's in the Cradle" I thought about my Dad.

He didn't talk much.

We had never really sat down and talked. after Mom died.

But it was uncomfortable.

Like something we had to do.

Never did.

We did a little right Awkward.

Mandatory.

Here was two people who weren't

that good at showing their emotions or opening up, trying to let the other one know how they felt. started was after a few beers. that.

Again, after a few beers.

The only way we could even get

We talked a couple of times after During one of the later talks,

after he'd started seeing the woman he later married, he made a comment that threw me.

We never really discussed it.

said it in passing and we moved on to other silences.

He just He said he

hoped his kids didn't stay married because he and my Mother had. He didn't elaborate. Later, I started thinking.

Obviously, he hadn't been happy

the last few years with my Mom.

And he had kept it together for

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us kids.

419

And he was feeling like maybe he'd set a precedent for

us that he wasn't too comfortable with.

Because he knew, even

though we--or at least I--never said anything, that we loved and respected them both for basically sacrificing their lives for us. He could see there were cracks in each of his kids' marriages. And I think he really didn't want to be responsible for our staying together, just because he had. As I looked back on it, I was glad to finally hear him be honest.

We all knew they had both felt that way during the

marriage, but they had never said anything where we could hear it.

But his life had changed and he had become much more honest.

And I guess he was feeling he didn't want us to make any of the same mistakes he had.

I understood his concern, but was still

surprised by the honesty. little credit.

But I think he was giving us far too

They had both raised their kids to be independent

people with good sense and sound judgment.

And, although we

probably patterned some parts of our lives after them, we were as influenced by what they said as what they did. So, yes, we loved them for not divorcing while we grew up. But each of our own decisions to remain married were independent choices.

We each stayed for our own reasons.

same, others were not. commitment.

Some were the

But, for all of us, the key one was

And we had learned that from our parents.

They had

made a commitment to each other, to the kids, and to the family. They felt the need to honor that. the same.

And each of us kids had done

We had made the commitment and were determined to stay

with it, short of major infidelity, abuse, or some crime.

And

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420

even then, it probably would have taken some time for us to make the decision to clear out. marriage vows lightly.

We had not, and did not, take our

And we were not about to throw something

so significant away unless, and until, we'd looked at it very closely and made sure we weren't making a mistake. Of course, there was always the flip side.

It may have been

that the decision to stay was probably due as much to inertia as anything else.

Like our Father, none of us were confrontational.

We didn't like exposing our feelings.

So it was often easier

just to let it ride, to let the wound fester inside, instead of opening it up and airing it out. I don't know which side of the coin was keeping us together. But we were.

And we were examining the marriage.

it the benefit of the doubt.

We were giving

We both had problems to deal with.

Problems we had brought to the marriage and problems that had undermined it.

Now we were dealing with each other alone.

And

here we were, living alone together. I think Sandy and I were different from most couples.

I was

the one who kept jumping through mental and emotional hoops trying to figure her out and make some sense of our marriage. It's usually the woman who spends all the time talking the relationship to death. me.

With friends and analysts.

But it was

I wanted the commitment, the intimacy, the definition.

She

seemed to just keep cruising along. I think she thinks I'm a wimp because I don't stand up to her.

I'm inconsistent.

Only drinking gives me backbone.

just don't feel like fighting her.

But I

I don't know if it's worth

Tyranny of the Downbeat

the effort anymore.

421

Besides, what does she want?

Probably for one long night maybe.

Rambo?

I haven't found it yet, but

there must be a happy medium between these two extremes of manhoodity. I've said it before and I'll say it again. take life less seriously.

She needs to

She needs to laugh with me, not at me.

I mean we are the ultimate source of folly.

And if she hasn't

got the sense of proportion to see that, then I guess I don't have the good sense to keep it going. The most effective prescription for curing stress was published over 250 years ago by Jonathon Swift, who wrote:

"The

best doctors in the world are Doctor Diet, Doctor Quiet and Doctor Merryman." I mean, does anybody remember laughter?

It seems we're

taking ourselves much too seriously these days. lot more of it when I was younger.

I used to hear a

Now everyone's face seems

frozen in a mortis of mock-seriousness, not mock-turtleness. Their asses are so tight that their faces are constipated with righteous indignities.

Ooh, you're so severe.

So pinched.

Doctors and jesters tell us it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile. Lighten up, people.

Is it perplexity or nuclear holocaust? Let the jester out.

Let him tell the king

he has no sense of humor. Someone once said we can never love anyone with whom we've never laughed. thing.

Sharing good times, sharing bad times is one

But sharing a laugh keeps everything in perspective.

says you and your co-conspiratorial chuckler share the same

It

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422

vision of life, absurd or whimsical. that you don't take it too seriously. somehow.

And most important of all, I must have known this

I certainly felt that way about life, because I did put

it in our marriage vows.

My contribution to the solemn occasion

were the playful admonitions to never lose our sense of humor and to always maintain our sense of perspective.

Two faces of the

same Olympian laugh as far as I was concerned. So, what was I doing wrong? ever been in failed?

Why had I always been the one left behind?

Was I thinking about it too much? enough emotional?

Why had every relationship I'd

Too much cerebral and not

Someone said I should challenge her.

Maybe I

should challenge her.

I shouldn't roll over so easily.

I should

stop protecting her.

Maybe I should stop sheltering her.

Maybe

I lack compassion.

I'm too selfish to see what she needs.

I should be less selfish. about it.

Fuck it.

Maybe

Maybe I should just stop thinking

Maybe I should stop worrying about things I

can't control. I lit my purest candle close to my, Window hoping it would catch the eye, Of any vagabond who passed it by, And I waited in my fleeting house. Before he came I felt him drawing near, And as he neared I felt the ancient fear, That he had come to wound my door and jeer, And I waited in my fleeting house. Tell me stories I called to the hobo, Stories of cold I smiled at the hobo, Stories of old I knelt to the hobo, And he stood before my fleeting house. "No," said the hobo,"No more tales of time."

Tyranny of the Downbeat "Don't ask me now to wash away the grime," "I can't come in 'cause it's too high a climb." And he walked away from my fleeting house. "Then you be damned!" I screamed to the hobo, "Leave me alone," I wept to the hobo, "Turn into stone," I knelt to the hobo, He walked away from my fleeting house. -- Tim Buckley, "The Hobo"

423

Tyranny of the Downbeat

424 CHAPTER 28

Happiness is being able to speak the truth without hurting anyone. -- Federico Fellini Laura's secretary buzzed her. see you right away, Laura."

"Mr. Delancy would like to

Though there was no obvious reason

to be concerned, her own guilt and paranoia kicked in.

She had

been very careful in her clandestine dealings with Elliot, but she was sure many more now knew and she wasn't sure about them. She picked up her legal pad and crossed the expanse of expensive gray carpet to his corner office.

She was surprised to see

Michael Olbrantz sitting upright in one of the chairs. He offered her a cup of coffee.

She sat.

She declined and looked over at

Michael, who was looking extremely uncomfortable. "How's Chloe?" She knew this conversation was not going to be good.

It

never was when Thomas asked her about the everyday events in her life.

Those were things he just really didn't care a thing

about.

"Fine.

A little slow because of the heat.

But it's

getting to me, too." "Yes.

Another 100-degree-plus day might start making

everyone a wee bit crazy."

He knocked the ashes off the cigar

butt he was dangling over the ashtray.

He shoved a few papers

around, straightening them out on his desk. Here it comes.

He's so predictable.

So readable.

"Laura, we've decided to make a change in the caseload." She crossed her arms and leaned back.

The defensive body

Tyranny of the Downbeat

425

language didn't go unnoticed. "I'm taking you off the Masterson case and assigning it to Michael." That's why he was here.

She shot him a hard glance.

eyes asked him why he had sold out to the other side. staring out the window.

He kept

"Care to tell me why?"

"That's why we hired him. law.

Her

He's stronger on environmental

And he's handled most of the hearings in Mendota." She decided to make him twist a little.

"But why now?

Has

something changed?" "Yes, it has.

His case load has gotten lighter and he's

available." "Is that all, or is there another problem?"

She wants to

know what he knows. He pauses, takes a puff, and plunges forward. that Robert DiGiulio is our biggest account. his business."

A significant pause.

He feels we're not

...

"You realize

I'd rather not lose

"He called me yesterday.

"

"Meaning I'm not?" "He feels that we're not representing his best interests on the Masterson issue.

And he'd like a change of attorneys and a

slightly different approach." "More like a cover-up?" He doesn't like the direction this conversation is taking.

"No, more like a change in emphasis."

"Because I've uncovered a smoking gun?" "Knock off the Watergate crap.

It's not funny."

Tyranny of the Downbeat

426

"You and your Democratic cronies once thought it was." "Your father didn't."

Again, the veiled threat.

She

bristles, surprised and curious about what else he knows. taking the firm, my firm, onto shaky ground. client doesn't like it.

"You're

And our number one

And, quite frankly, I don't like it."

"And I don't suppose the recent visits by our esteemed congressman has anything to do with this?" "Let's just say they don't know where your allegiances lie. Nor do I." "It's getting a little warm in here, isn't it Thomas? beginning to feel some real heat. How about OxyGene? people?

Who else is pressuring you?

How about the water lobby?

Or the Westlands

That's a lot of powerful people to disappoint."

His eyes are beginning to smolder. right.

I'm

Partly because she's

Mostly because he can't, or won't, do anything about it.

Because he will buckle, as he has so many other times. "It's beginning to look like a lot of people don't want the word out. that?

I think they've got a word for it.

What do they call

Conspiracy, I think." Time to try the reasoned approach.

over your head.

"Laura.

You're in way

You don't know who you're dealing with, or

what." "And if I refuse?" Steely.

"I would like your cooperation.

to remain part of this family."

She laughs.

me to, I'll ask for your resignation."

I would like you "But, if you force

That brings Michael back.

He glances over to see the color going from her face.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

427

Realizing this kind of baiting brinksmanship won't help her, or the truth, she decides to change course.

"I see.

Would you

like me to give Michael all my files?" Relieved, profoundly, he smiles his broad, winning, best old country smile.

"Yes.

"Yes," she smiles. files are in my office.

Then we can get things back on track." "Back the way they used to be.

The

I'll have them organized and on his desk

this afternoon." "That'll be fine.

And thanks for being so level-headed,

Laura." "That's always been one of my finer traits, hasn't it?" It didn't take long for her to organize the files and clean out her office.

She had them in a box and in her car before

anyone knew that she was gone.

She took one last look at the

office before pulling onto "I" Street and leaving this part of her life behind. She didn't want to, but she felt she owed her mother an explanation.

It would have been easier to leave without a word.

"Laura, do you have any idea what you're throwing away? idea what's involved here?

Any idea!"

Any

Bordering on hysteria.

"Only the most successful career you'll ever have." "And the most advantageous, socially acceptable affiliation?" "Don't be smart with me, young lady.

You know I care about

you." "I'd say you care more about what your friends at the club will say."

The slap rings sharply against her cheek.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

"No!

428

I'm sorry Laura!

I didn't mean it.

I couldn't help

myself." "How many years have you waited for that, Mother?

How long

have you kept it inside?" Her mother quickly lights yet another cigarette and draws it deep, looking for shelter, a break. "I'm doing this because it's what I believe. consider acceptable. let him down.

Not what you

I didn't want to hurt Thomas.

He's done too much for me.

I didn't want to

But the man who took me

off that case today was a man I don't know anymore. think I know you now."

Any more than I

Her mother's back is all she has to speak to.

Then, very slowly and deliberately, Laura continues. me.

"I'm doing this for me.

For once, I'm doing it for

For what I think is right." Her Mother, back still turned, isn't satisfied.

you associate with those people? Environmentalists.

"How can

Media people.

Revolutionary riff-raff.

They're no better

than terrorists." "Then I guess I'm a terrorist, too. what was involved?

You asked me if I know

Do you have any idea what's involved?"

Her mother takes another drag and tightens her shoulders. "I really don't think you do. cover-up. money."

It's conspiracy.

My God, Mother, it may even be murder. There's almost a reaction, imperceptible.

It's

And all for "Some people

may have died because of what these people have done. Thomas, DiGiulio.

Maybe even Billie."

"Why do you defend him?

He was good for nothing."

Borba,

Tyranny of the Downbeat

429

"At least he tried to tell the truth.

Very few of your

better class of friends would have done that." "He's gone.

Let it be."

"No, not ever again." "I can't help you then." "You won't help me." "If that's the way you see it." "It is." the unspoken.

Thinking out loud, she crosses over the line into "And I just have to wonder whose side you're on.

I have heard some things in the past few weeks that make me wonder about your relationship with Robert DiGiulio." grasps the window ledge as she turns.

Her mother

Laura can't tell whether

shock or anger is winning the war of her emotions.

Her need to

know has pushed her to the abyss and she needs to look inside. "What happened between you and him and my Father?" beginning to see the scenario. compromised him?

She's

"Did you do something that

That forced him to sell out to DiGiulio?"

Her

Mother's reaction is beginning to say more than she wants to hear.

"I can't believe this.

I don't want to believe this."

She steps toward her Mother, grabs her, and begins shaking her. "You couldn't have." "It's none of your business.

You'll never understand.

was between your father and myself.

It

I never wanted to hurt him."

With some of the story at least out in the open, Laura reeled between shock and vindication.

She was right in her

decision and it was time to play it out. Father would have backed me.

"I am disappointed.

He would have seen the justice in

Tyranny of the Downbeat

it.

430

He always did." Her mother's shock finally streaked into anger.

battle was out in the open again.

The old

Through clenched teeth, "Do

not, I repeat, do not use your Father to justify your actions. You can't hide behind him. now, I loved him. the good fight. with

...

He was an honorable man. For what was right!

(sputtering)

"You forget.

Despite what you may thinking of me

...

He would have fought

He would not have sided

with anarchists!"

He was a rebel once.

fought the established order of things.

One of the turks.

He

And he would have stood

right here, beside me." "I think you should leave now." "I think you're right." The door shut slowly behind Laura, closing off yet another part of her life.

She glanced back, one last time, only to see

her Mother pick up the phone.

Sounding the alarm.

We stood along the long wall of the field office, reviewing the storyboard sequence--Devereaux, Pat, and I--when Laura came in loaded down with boxes and files. she said, "The rest are in the car.

To no one in particular, There's been a slight

change."

In Mendota, tensions between local officials, west side farm families, the environmentalists, and the production crew were getting uncomfortably tense.

One afternoon, about twenty local

roughnecks, mostly teenagers, blocked the main street and kept the production vans from leaving town.

One waved a pistol in the

Tyranny of the Downbeat

air.

431

A pickup truck peeled out in front of another van as it

tried to leave and then crept at five miles per hour in front of it.

The sheriff's department, finally and reluctantly, dispersed

the locals. Late one night, a free-lance grip pulled into town. been sent to Sacramento to purchase some expendables. gave him away.

He'd

His van

As he passed the local honky tonk, five or six of

the young locals partying there, yelled at the truck, calling him a fag, and flipping him off as he drove by.

He pulled into a

convenience store to buy a pack of cigarettes.

When he came out,

the insults, fueled by alcohol, had turned into dares that became threats.

The grip was part of that other world that didn't suit

these flatland cowboys.

This drunken gang of kids couldn't

change much, but they could make someone pay.

And they did.

They jumped the grip, pinning his arms, and pulled him behind the truck and out of the store's lights.

He was punched several

times, then dropped to the ground, where he was kicked in the sides and in the head. He woke up bleeding from the ears, nose, and mouth.

When he

was released from intensive care, bandaged but coherent, he didn't waste any time before heading straight back to San Francisco. The sheriff's department told me they would look into the incident.

They figured it was just some kids blowing off a

little steam on a hot summer's night.

I had to accept their

explanation because I still had miles of stuff to shoot. was Kevin Tyler, a toxicologist from the Stanford Research

Next up

Tyranny of the Downbeat

Institute--SRI.

432

We shot the interview standing in a field near

the offices of the Marriposa Combine. It's very hot and dry and flat around here.

Much of the

ground is covered with dried clods of parched dirt. above the furrows are salt-encrusted.

The rows

The ground at the bottom

of is parched, like huge cracked lips, jagged in their thirst. Kick it with your feet and it breaks into chunks of dried clay, suitable for throwing.

And that's what some of the crew was

doing to beat the heat and the boredom as we nailed down the details of the interview.

While a thin veil of dusty silt

settled on the dark blue production van, I could easily see how people could get crazy from the heat.

DISSOLVE: MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #18: Koto/Single Flute Theme 135

EXT. FIELD - ESTABLISHING SHOT

WILLIAM TYLER stands in a flat, dry, open field. The cotton plants are just beginning to come up. In the background, we can see farmworker hand-spraying. WILLIAM TYLER The incident involving Jimmie Quon is not an isolated one. There was a case last summer. About 100 or so farmworkers suffered chemical burns while working in a field that had just been sprayed with miticide. Then, last July, a 32-year-old man with a heart condition. He collapsed and died after he was ordered to return to a field that had been sprayed with a highly toxic pesticide. 136

MEDIUM SHOT

Tyranny of the Downbeat

433

The EPA has set specific time periods after which workers can go back into the field to work. Time needed to reduce the risk of exposure. Unfortunately, the times are not always followed. Many times the farmer will convince the EPA to shorten the return period so workers can go back into the field sooner. 137

EXT. FIELD - MEDIUM SHOT

Shot of farmworkers in same field spraying crops. NARRATOR (v.o.) It's obvious that by shortening the return period, the farmer can get more work done and get the crops to market faster. So the farmers, with the consent of the EPA, are really putting a price on the heads of these workers. All in the name of profit. If the grower hadn't needed his crops sprayed so he could make money, the workers wouldn't have been in the fields. Victims of pesticide misuse and a regulatory system unable to prevent it because of bureaucracy, money, and influence. 138

EXT. FARM - ESTABLISHING SHOT

Shots of chemicals in garage and being loaded on trucks for delivery to the fields. Who's to blame? Partly the EPA. Because it hasn't got around to checking up on Dinoseb and the dozens of other products that pose similar risks. And they still do not require the manufacturer to put a warning on the label. And the owner. For not protecting his employees. For not maintaining his equipment in good working order. And for not requiring that his workers wear protective clothing. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY Everybody in town knew what the crew was shooting. around very quickly.

They also knew it could mean their

Word got

Tyranny of the Downbeat

434

livelihood if the wrong things were said or implied. watched "60 Minutes."

They knew that truth was relative.

could be told any way the camera wanted. life.

Liked their isolation.

And they were afraid.

They had It

They liked their quiet

They didn't trust these outsiders.

And with enough alcohol and bold talk, the

fear became anger, the anger action. There was only one restaurant in the small town outside Mendota where the crew was staying. tavern.

It doubled as the local

It's where the boys went after working from six to six

to knock back a few cool ones and talk rodeo, baseball, women, and cars.

Anything but their day-to-day drudgery.

a new topic of conversation.

Now they had

"All them 'Frisco fags."

One group of young Cat drivers, employees of Marriposa, seemed to be drinking more heavily than usual.

Another man,

someone not part of their group--a large man--sat in the shadows. He was buying the beers with Tequila backs.

And talking.

He'd

say something and one of the boys would turn to look at whoever he was talking about.

At one point, all three turned to look at

Tyler, who sat alone drinking his coffee.

They turned back to

the man in silhouette, who gestured for another round before he went out the back door.

The drivers finished their drinks and

followed him. When Tyler left the cafe, he left alone. like staying to have a few with the crew. was leaving the next day for Palo Alto.

He didn't feel

He was tired and he He couldn't understand

how these people could maintain the pace they did. amounts of carbohydrates all day.

Massive

Standing or sitting for hours.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

435

A big dinner, too much to drink, then to bed at midnight and up at six.

Young, he thought.

Lots of energy.

More than I've got.

Passing an electronics store, he lingered for a while, watching a "Monday Night Baseball" game. the same teams, he thought. media.

Mets and Cubs.

Always

The arrogance of the East Coast

Both could be last place teams and it would still be the

national telecast.

In the glass, he saw someone light a

cigarette across the street, in the alley beside the hotel.

He

had heard about the incident with the grip, so he was a little jumpy.

He felt a cold sweat start.

around, he thought.

As he moved off down the wooden walkway, he

tried to appear nonchalant. in the alley.

Guess I'll take the long way

But he kept glancing over at the man

As he started to cross the same alley, directly

across the street, his eyes were on the lone figure when someone's calloused hand covered his mouth and a pair of thick arms wrapped his.

He was much too old to fight this.

The two men in black Cat hats drug Tyler behind the buildings.

They hit him once.

They stuffed him into a feed bag

and tossed him in the back of the truck.

By then the third man

had joined them. "This canary won't be singin' for a while," he laughed. They drove out to the river, parked the truck, and dumped Tyler at the foot of a cottonwood tree. "Time to teach this egg-head fag some lessons about local hospitality." They didn't even bother to take the sack off.

They just

kept kicking him and hitting him with their shiny new baseball

Tyranny of the Downbeat

436

bats as he rolled along the ground, closer to the river. "Look at me," one slurred.

"I'm Jose Canseco."

He took a

stride and grand-slammed into the sack. They were too drunk to tell how hard, or how many times, they hit him.

When they were too tired to continue, they kicked

the bundle one last time.

It rolled to the edge of the river and

stopped. The flashing red of the emergency light whipped across the faces of the crew as they watched Tyler being lifted into the ambulance.

His shirt was off, his sides tightly bandaged.

blood had dried where it had dripped from his nose. bits of twig and brush in this dirty hair. barely.

The

He still had

He was aware, but

He weakly gave the thumbs up as they slid the door shut.

At the edge of the crowd, no longer hidden in the shadows and smoke of the bar, stood Jon Henry Miller. the drivers.

He looked around for

Not seeing them, he quietly left town.

"They almost killed the old man.

They weren't supposed to

be so enthusiastic." "They never are." "They were just supposed to scare the shit out of him." "I guess they beat it out of him, instead."

He smiled that

dirty smile through crooked teeth. "Anybody see you?" "No.

I left before Western or any of the others who know me

got there." "The boys know who you are?"

Tyranny of the Downbeat

"No.

437

They thought I was part of the crew.

Just someone who

didn't like fags anymore than they did." "Can they identify you?" "No.

I sat in the dark.

Kept my face covered.

They were

too fucked up to remember anyway." "This could be embarrassing?" "Embarrassing my ass!

It could be my butt!"

"And it will be if they find out.

I guarantee it."

Jon Henry looked a little cut down to size as he stepped out the back door of the white limousine and pulled away in his truck.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

438 CHAPTER 29

In my little town I grew up believing God keeps His eye on us all And He used to lean upon me As I pledged allegiance to the wall Lord I recall My little town In my little town I never meant nothin' I was just my father's son Saving my money Dreaming of glory Twitching like a finger On the trigger of a gun Leaving nothing but the dead and dying Back in my little town -- Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel, "My Little Town" We were all still a little shaken by the beating. was beginning to hurt.

The truth

I was telling Laura what I knew, as she

was settling into the office.

Though she and I had been friends

now for a number of years, and though I had come to her before for legal advice, we had never worked together as colleagues on any kind of project. situation.

So this was a first and an entirely new

We respected each other enough, and trusted each

other enough, to know we could work well together.

But now that

she'd come over, something was bothering her; something she needed cleared up right away, before we moved ahead. "Travis, what we're doing is important.

As important as

anything I've ever done." "Same here." "So we probably both agree that we don't want anything to jeopardize its success.

Anything that might compromise its

Tyranny of the Downbeat

439

credibility." He starts to smile. Geraldo Rivera? the glory.

"You want to know if I plan to pull a

If I'm doing this only for the story, only for

Regardless of who gets hurt, or who gets

compromised?" "Can you blame me?" "No. thinking.

Not if we're going to work together." "So?

I pause,

Is it a team effort, or a solo shot?"

"Honest?" "Always." "When Elliot first called me and I started doing background on it, I did initially think about myself. personally.

How I could benefit

How I could even the score for a lot of things

people did to me and my family over the years.

Things your

'people' did to my 'people.'" "Please.

Not the 'class' struggle."

"How would you know? all there.

It was never an issue for you.

It was

Spread out like a banquet."

"Oh, the cliches. "Yes, now I do.

You know me better than that.

I hope."

But you are definitely different.

Just

like your Father." "I thank you for that.

But what did you hope to do?

What

did you expect to accomplish?" "I figured if I could bring down just one of the 'big boys,' one of the ruling class, the score would be even." "So, revenge with a little envy and disappointment thrown in for seasoning."

Tyranny of the Downbeat

"Why not?

440

Besides, I honestly wanted to make an impact.

wanted to make a difference.

I even wanted a little notoriety

among the people I grew up with. "The conquering hero. She smiles.

I

What's wrong with that?"

Returning home in a blaze of glory."

He does too because the truth can be humorous.

"And

now?" "Now, it's just to make a difference. There is still some revenge involved. now it's not for the past. gone, perhaps dead." to forget him.

To right a wrong.

I won't lie to you.

But

It's because a friend of mine is

That blind-sides her because she was trying

"Because people I know have been hurt.

And more

will be until the truth gets out and they're stopped." "That's ambitious." "And optimistic." "So, let's start by telling the story first."

DISSOLVE: MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #19: "Cool, Clear Water" DISSOLVE: 139

EXT. RIVER - ESTABLISHING SHOT

TIM PALMER wades knee-deep in the middle of a shallow rapids. TIM PALMER There's this thing about flowing water. People love it. Maybe it's because we're 75 percent water ourselves. Maybe it stems from a heritage of gills and webbed feet. 140

CLOSE UP

PALMER dips his hand into the rushing water.

CAMERA follows as he

Tyranny of the Downbeat lifts it into the air. streams from his hand.

441 Silhouetted against the sun, the water

The naturalist Loren Eiseley once said, "If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water." 141

EXT. RIVER - MEDIUM SHOT

GROUND LEVEL SHOT of CARL POPE on levee bank of Sacramento River. CARL POPE No longer will we be able to count on a guaranteed supply of water. Of unlimited quantity and high quality, at a price that is very close to scot-free. CAMERA PANS left to reveal housing development under construction. No longer can we build wherever we want, confident that if the water isn't immediately available, we can just pipe it in from somewhere else. 142

EXT. DAM - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL FLY-BY of Folsom Dam and Folsom Lake. POPE (v.o.) And no longer can we continue to 'solve' our water problems by merely finding new sources to exploit, new streams to dam. Helicopter swoops down to water level almost dipping CAMERA into the water. "The Global 2000 Report" paints a fairly bleak picture of the world that is just around the corner. It predicts that water shortages will become more frequent. And their effects will be more widespread and more severe. Helicopter skims along top of water. The notion of water as a free good, available in essentially limitless quantities, will have disappeared throughout much of the world. DEFOCUS CAMERA.

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442

DISSOLVE 143

EXT. WATER - CLOSE UP

DEFOCUSED ECU of water. REFOCUS and ZOOM back to frame water fountain in front of Metropolitan Water Department in Los Angeles. It's a terrifying prospect. Those who promote technology as a magical solution for all our problems may someday successfully convince the policy makers that every facet of human life and the environment can be conveniently figured into a cost-benefit ratio. 144

EXT. WASHINGTON - ESTABLISHING SHOT

Shots of homeless against backdrop of reflecting pool beneath Washington Monument in D.C. In such a scenario, clean water for the poor and minorities will somehow not be as important as clean water for the well-to-do and white. 145

EXT. FIELD - MEDIUM SHOT

GROUND LEVEL SHOT of field being irrigated. Agriculture's need for water will somehow outweigh the right of a stream to run free. 146

INT. LAB - MEDIUM SHOT

Table-top DOLLY of scientists testing water in lab. Scientists and bureaucrats will suddenly discover that a certain predictable amount of cancer in the water supply is cost-efficient and tolerable in our growing, vibrant society. 147

EXT. CITY STREET - ESTABLISHING SHOT

CARL POPE walks along sidewalk in a nice suburban area. Behind him we see rows of nicely manicured lawns being watered. CAMERA DOLLIES with him as he walks. CARL POPE

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443

We know, or should know, that the era of cheap water, like the era of cheap energy, is over. CAMERA ends DOLLY and ZOOMS to follow as POPE crosses a lawn and kneels beside a water faucet. It was nice while it lasted. This assumption that a turn of the faucet handle would produce pure water in boundless quantity. But that time is gone. Economics will control the future of water. And those with money will have it. He turns the faucet handle and there is no water, just a few drops. CAMERA ZOOMS into an ECU of the dripping water. MUSIC:

UP FULL THEN OUT

BREAK POINT IN DOCUMENTARY John Anthony Borba flew into Santa Barbara on his way to a fund-raiser in Los Angeles.

It was time to stoke the fires; to

crank it up a notch to counter the publicity that the beating in Mendota had caused.

Both John Anthony and Santiago were

beginning to show signs of battle fatigue.

Tony's anger was just

a sign of his frustration. "You know what's so hilarious about this project? collaboration of a bunch of goddamned 'do-gooders'. sixties-type revolutionaries.

It's a

Naive,

They think they can change the

world with a song and a few heartfelt images." "A classic case of a little knowledge being a dangerous thing.

Long on fiction and short on facts."

"They really don't know who they're going after. they've got to get them." "The establishment, they say.

Just like before."

Just that

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444

"The problem is they have no idea what they're talking about.

They're taking a little surface knowledge, adding some

transitions, linking unfounded accusations and innuendos, and using the power of the media to present it as truth." "They have good intentions." "And those good intentions are getting people damaged. irresponsible journalism.

It's

It's misinformed, prejudicial."

"Is it any different than what we're doing, and have been doing?" "At least we've got politicians and public officials behind us." "They say they've got public opinion.

And if they can get

the people to take time to look a little more closely at us and our affairs, they will have succeeded. the scrutiny.

We certainly don't need

That always means money."

"But we know the masses better than he does." "I'd say he's done pretty well predicting what they like." "For entertainment.

For fantasy, not reality.

think they'll listen to him. he does very seriously." "Let's make sure."

I don't

I don't think they'll take anything

Tyranny of the Downbeat

445 CHAPTER 30

We do what only lovers can -- Leonard Cohen

...

make a gift out of necessity.

You have to wake up a virgin every morning. -- Jean-Louis Barrault The Ralston Water Festival began in 1910 in celebration of the founding of the Ralston Irrigation District. over the July 4th weekend every year since.

It's been held

It was a great

party, combining the best of Independence Day, county fairs, and a company picnic.

There was a parade, a carnival, floral

displays, crafts, food booths, music, a softball game, and other contests for "children of all ages" as the carny barker liked to remind us.

I looked forward to it each year, hoping I could

finally win the over-35 three-legged race or the horse with a clock in its belly; the one I had spent five years and nearly a hundred dollars trying to win at the carnival concession that combined pinball and horse-racing. The production had shut down for the week-end and most everyone had dispersed for the three-day weekend.

I stayed, and

so did Pat, although the long weekend would have allowed him a quick trip home.

Sandy decided to stay away, not surprisingly,

so I invited Laura to join us. I picked her up and we met Pat at the parade, which started at City Hall, on the eastern edge of town, and wound its way up Dewey Avenue and then down John Muir Boulevard to the river and Legion Park.

The parade included local merchants advertising

their business, Laotian and Cambodian societies, Hispanic

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446

equestrians, Shriners, and car clubs.

Local notables included

the queens of fruit and flower, as well as councilmen and local mayors.

This year's marshal was John Anthony Borba.

The day was so hot the black asphalt was molten.

Car seats

were too hot to sit on and the air didn't move at all.

But there

was to much fun to be had to let old sol slow you down.

It was a

day of too much chicken and too many beers.

Having failed at

winning the race or the horse, I hit the bricks. boy.

I was one tired

Pat and Laura decided to stick around for the fireworks.

I

said adios and cast my best sidelong glance at Pat, then said to Laura, "I suppose you'll find a ride home?" crooked "What the fuck?" smile.

He just gave me that

I packed up my sun-fried brain

and headed for the parking lot. As the sun began to drop, they spread out a blanket on a rise near the road.

The river swirled below.

Most of the

festivities had moved to the main hall--where the dance would be--and the grandstands--where the kids waited for the pyrotechnics.

Pat lay on his back, staring up through the trees

at the deep purple sky and the scatter of stars. her knees tightly held under her chin.

They both felt good,

actually relaxed for the first time in weeks. had helped. as much.

Laura sat with

The wine and beer

But it was probably the easiness and security just

Whatever it was, Pat reached over suddenly and touched

her back.

She flinched, then shivered, before looking over.

They were both running on impulse now. kissed him.

She leaned down and

He pulled her on top of him and they kissed until

they couldn't breath.

She pushed him away and rolled off onto

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her back.

447

He reached for her again, she stood and began brushing

the dead grass off her back. "I think we'd better go."

The fear was back.

She just

didn't trust herself. Pat pulled out of the lot as the fireworks erupted behind them.

He could see them reflecting on her face. He walked her to the front door to say goodnight and make

sure she was safe. anymore.

Like most of us, he wasn't too good at this

And especially now, since he'd been married and out of

the game for so long.

We were always afraid we'd blow it, so we

were never aggressive at that critical moment. light was on, we'd never see it. red.

If the green

And we certainly never ran a

And yet, he wanted her to know he was interested.

wanted to be more than a colleague.

He

It was enough that it was a

bad idea, but the high schooler was also toying with his resolve. They stood in the doorway We stood in the doorway, like kids, waiting for the other to make a move so they wouldn't be embarrassed if it was the wrong one.

He took her hand and

stepped forward to kiss her on the cheek. friends. care.

Innocent, chaste, good

They hugged, but he didn't let go.

She didn't seem to

Impulsively, he put both hands on her soft butt and pulled

her towards him.

He flashed on proms and dances with chaperones

and dancing so close you could feel her crack below the layers of skirt and little girl panty-hose.

As you'd dance, providing the

teacher didn't come by with a ruler to separate you, you'd dance closer, working tighter, until you could feel yourself wedged into that crack.

It was called "dry fucking" and he was doing it

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448

now, standing still. They still hadn't kissed.

Then she pulled him just inside

the door, closing it, and lifted one leg up and pressed against him.

He lifted her skirt, reaching inside her panties, down her

butt, and into her cunt from behind. finally kissed.

Tooth to tooth, tongue to tongue.

her inside and into the bedroom. undressing.

Back-door man.

They He followed

There was no time for slow

He wanted to look just for a moment, as she stood

there, street light on her hair, flat stomach, ripe breasts. She lay down on her back and he lay on top of her. Desperately naked, he slipped off to one side and held her back and butt against him, kissing her neck and ears and hair.

He

cupped her breast, then brushed back and forth lightly over the nipples until they became taut.

He lifted her top leg, and with

her still backed up to me, he began rubbing his prick against her ass and cunt.

She was warm and softly furry.

To break the

rhythm, he slipped inside of her, deep, and then out again. Playing.

Taunting.

her back again.

He slid down her side, as she lay flat on

He began kissing her breasts and nipples.

Biting and sucking, twirling his tongue slowly around and around the nipple.

He started finger-fucking her with one hand, while

the other worked up and down between the back of her cunt and her asshole. Celibate for too long, they were both too far gone to continue foreplay.

He asked her to turn over on her stomach and

raised her up on her hands and knees, while his fingers continued massaging.

On his knees behind her, he started rubbing her butt

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and teasing her. her breath.

449

Slowly, he slid inside.

She moaned and caught

He pushed easily until it felt like he was touching

the back of her stomach. began moving with him.

He began sliding in and out and she He reached for one of her breasts as it

dangled free and reached under and along her belly, rubbing her as they moved. her.

She reached back with one hand and felt him inside

The faster they moved, the higher her butt lifted into the air,

until they were banging hard against each other and pounding inside. She fell forward, face-down, biting the cotton sheets as he collapsed on top of her, heavy breath against her neck and hair. There is a character, the gypsy's daughter, in Tennessee Williams' play "Camino Real."

She is a whore.

But she feels, in

her heart, that with each moonrise, she is a virgin. morning, the summer sun is an optimist. bright and innocent, safe and right.

And, in the

It makes all the world

As it poured through the

breakfast room window, it was very warm and comforting.

Patrick

felt like a lizard on a rock, sunning himself and waiting. kissed his upturned face, warm from the light. across from him and smiled. even the paper.

Laura

She sat down

The sun, her face, the breakfast,

It was all very domestic.

And he loved it.

that moment in time, reality was on vacation.

At

There was no

death, no threats, no wife, no nothing. "You know how easy this is?," Laura asked over the top of her coffee cup. "I can guess."

He looked back, then away.

"I'm sure I'm getting way ahead of myself, but do you know how impossible this would have been if you'd been someone else?

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450

If you weren't involved with what I'm doing?" "You know it usually works the other way?" "No kidding.

It still might.

peeked in through the back door. I'm crazy.

Just ask my ex." "Or my mother.

Reality

She'll think

Again."

"Aren't parents wonderful? think of all this?

I wonder what my father would

If I was talking to him."

"How long's it been?" "Thirteen years.

Ever since I married Diane."

reel the words back in, but they're gone.

He tries to

They're on the table.

"Sorry." Laura looks down at them and then out the window. hits her full in the face and she squints. "Ask your mother.

"Why?"

Is she so different?"

She reaches across and touches his hand. just you and me. reality later.

The sun

"Right now, it's

Let's get through this battle and face the We're going to need all the energy and support we

can get." He nods and drinks his coffee, she looks hard at her reflection in the window. compromises.

Too many expectations.

And not enough

That's why marriages don't last anymore.

People

are too ready to bail out and blame it on irreconcilable differences.

That's what Laura was thinking as she wondered if

it would last, or turn bad like the rest.

She and Pat really

seemed to have something going; a real strong beginning. then

...

But

Maybe she was overreacting.

Laura's first and only husband was handsome, selfish and

Tyranny of the Downbeat

uncaring.

451

The type of man all women seem to alternately idolize

and despise.

They had dated in high school, married in college.

The couple voted most likely to marry.

Once out of college, and

after a few years working in San Francisco, he convinced her to return to Ralston.

With comfortable jobs and a cozy house, too

few friends and too much family, the marriage started to show the cracks that had been transparent in San Francisco. on a number of affairs and, eventually, left her. house. friends.

He got his freedom.

She got the cat.

Thankfully, there were no children.

He embarked She got the

He got the It made the

divorce much less complicated, though no less painful.

They

still saw each other around town and attended the same professional and social functions.

But they'd cut each other

pretty deep, so their interaction remained pretty business-like. Ralston was a romantic desert; a vast wasteland for a single woman seeking eligible men.

If they were the least bit

intelligent or attractive, they were probably married. they were too young, other times too arrogant. she didn't want to be around them.

Sometimes

Most of the time

Sure there would never be

anyone for her, and not really caring anyway, she became an emotional desperado.

She was determined to get over it and to

have a damn good time in the process. Started smoking again.

She drank too much.

Stayed out too late.

Slept with anyone

who smiled and offered a kind word because, as the song says, "The boys all get sexier at closing time." Before she strayed too far into the sexual DMZ, her sister and a few close friends convinced her to take the job in

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Washington.

452

It was good for her career, but no better for her

emotional life.

When she returned to Ralston, she finally went

into therapy and tried to work through her feelings of rejection and worthlessness.

The sessions were going well.

be regaining control.

Then she met Billie.

"Typical," she thought, cruel as it was.

She seemed to

And then,

...

"I finally find someone

and he disappears." And now there was this man sitting at her breakfast table. And what's worse, he was a colleague.

Love and careers don't

seem to mix any better than money and family.

In both cases, it

was always better to keep business business and friends friends. She knew that, but she was attracted to Pat anyway, despite her own cynical misgivings. really felt possible.

Maybe she was kidding herself, but it Maybe she was just seeing things; reading

intentions into his actions.

After all, she was still on the

rebound, probably too shattered and damaged to know any better. Besides, like so many other times, he was married. working together.

And they were

And it doesn't get much worse than that.

She thought back to that first meeting, when she came to offer her help to Elliot. office in Ralston.

And the second time, at the field

There was a disinterest the first time.

The second was more of a fencing match. was there.

The physical attraction

But the distrust, the territoriality, and the fear

was stronger.

He was courteous, even chivalrous.

actually held the chair for her. the one next to it. She got angry.

And he

Which she refused, sitting in

She was flattered, but cautious.

Then confused.

He smiled.

Then the meeting started.

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453

After that, she spent some time reviewing her reaction and the emotions that had caused her to withdraw.

She had always

been self-sufficient, free-thinking, independent.

All her life.

Most people considered that one of her strengths.

It had been a

struggle to maintain her self-worth with her first husband, but they had both survived, with a few nicks and bruises. honestly felt relationships should be equal. people striding through life arm-in-arm. hadn't been real successful. friends.

Partners.

Two

But that attitude

Not for her; not for most of her

So maybe it was time to try something else.

the pages.

She

Turn back

Consider trying it the way it was before she'd taken

up arms in the "sexual revolution." Of course her mother wouldn't be anywhere near supportive on this one. family.

Especially not now.

At least he was from a good

That was important to her mother.

Hell, the man could

be a felon, but if he had the right lineage any indiscretion could be excused. Laura could rationalize everything away except for the fact that he was married. No pain, no gain. was running out.

And happily, so it seemed.

What the hell.

The biological clock was ticking away.

Time

There was a certain desperation in the air.

She wanted a family and she refused to be a single parent. was looking for a man.

She

And this one had all the qualifications.

The assault force began working its way into the building as people started arriving for work.

They looked and acted like

everyone else driving in from the outskirts of Sacramento:

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454

lifers working in the service of the Golden State.

Instead of

memos and apples, their briefcases and lunch bags were carrying plastic gloves, walkie-talkies, tranquilizer guns, and assault tools.

Security wasn't too tight because there really wasn't

anything of real value in the building. they took up their positions. to prepare for the assault.

As the morning faded,

Some to protect the rear, others Their target continued to hum

mindlessly and efficiently one floor below. The Operations Control Center is closed to the public, but it's easy to get to because there's no reason to suspect anyone would want to.

But it had become a symbol to these trespassers.

A symbol of the power elite who controlled this vital resource. And the ones who didn't.

The ones denied this resource.

ones now preparing to make this symbolic strike.

The

They wanted the

public and their elected officials to know they were angry, frustrated, and serious. The first tear gas canister filled the entryway, allowing the twenty men of the primary assault force to easily overcome the few employees on duty during the lunch hour.

It was obvious

the men heading for the control room knew where they were going. They began punching up codes to change the flow of water throughout the entire state.

They weren't going to waste any.

Just going to move it around a little. the members of The League get the water.

Let someone other than By holding back just

enough, they could destroy many of the crops sitting in the fields, thirsting.

If reason wouldn't work, maybe economic and

ecologic terrorism would.

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455

They were gone before the alarm was even sounded.

They

melted back into the faceless phalanx of civil servants.

By the

time order was restored, millions of dollars of this precious natural resource had been siphoned off and untold millions of crops had been destroyed.

The Combine would not be shipping its

surplus cotton right away, nor would DiGiulio harvest the expected tonnages of grapes.

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456 CHAPTER 31

The basis of optimism is sheer terror. -- Oscar Wilde Sleep faster. We need the pillows. -- Yiddish Proverb Elliot heard the news on KCBS on his way home. "This bulletin just in from Sacramento.

Our state capitol

bureau chief has the details." "We have just been informed that an unidentified group of men stormed the Operations Control Center of the State Water Project near the capitol building this afternoon.

The intruders

gagged and bound the employees and re-routed the flow of water throughout the state.

In a pre-recorded videotape communique, a

group calling itself "the John Muir Brigade" has claimed responsibility." It felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach. He pulled off the road and turned up the volume. "To our knowledge, this is the first recorded incident of 'environmental terrorism' to occur in the United States.

We

should have more details later in the hour." He wasn't sure what to do next. anything.

Or even if he wanted to do

Maryanne had told him many times.

to believe her.

He just didn't want

He was too naive, too trusting.

He always gave

people the benefit of the doubt until it was too late.

People

were always taking advantage of him, manipulating him, controlling him.

And they had just done it again.

him to get media exposure.

They had used

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457

He took refuge in what he knew. Redford in "The Candidate."

He thought of Robert

Redford had played an idealist

manipulated by the reality of politics.

Someone whose ideals

were very slowly compromised, until they were no longer recognizable.

He had lost his way.

Lost the truth.

Lost the

focus of his vision. Elliot wasn't about to let that happen to him.

Would he be

compromised, or would he maintain his vision, disassociate himself, and continue the quest? beheld.

Ironic.

He had become what he

He had become one of the mythological heroes he had made

so many movies about. journey.

He was at the crisis point of his own

The supreme ordeal was at hand, staring him straight in

the face.

While Elliot felt betrayed, the rest of us were shocked and concerned.

Especially me.

I had given them the opening.

It was

this kind of maverick behavior we had tried hard to discourage, because people might think we were behind it.

And that could

irreparably damage our progress and credibility. The other side obviously thought the same because it didn't take them long to let their opinion be known.

In a video press

release, they linked the terrorists directly to us, claiming that, as fellow-travelers and "card-carrying" members of the counter-culture, we had the money and the motive to promote this kind of behavior. Elliot was subdued as we put the finishing touches to our response statement.

He startled me.

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458

"Looks like someone's trying to turn the tables." "The John Muir Brigade?" "It's a 1988 version of the original Vigilance Committees. With a twist.

Back in 1850 and 1856, the first Vigilantes were

organized to stop crime and anarchy.

You know why?"

"Because people were getting killed." "Partly.

But it was really because it was bad for business.

The Vigilance Committees were made up of merchants and land owners." "Crime in the streets didn't help cash in the coffers." "Some of the time, the merchants used the vigilantes as their own weapon against organized labor. they were the law.

For a period of time,

They took over the duties of government,

defied the Governor, held trials, and had their own army.

The

vigilante tradition is an important part of the California businessman's heritage." "And it probably wouldn't take them long to resurrect the committee if anarchy threatened." "Not long at all.

Except someone beat them to the punch.

In reverse." "Guess we'll have to start running twice as hard now just to stay in the game." "The other side certainly won't let the media or public forget it right away.

They'll keep hammering away."

"Who's to say they didn't set it up just to pin it on us?" "I think it's time to turn up the heat.

I was willing to

settle for showing the public what was happening without naming

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any names.

459

But that's changed now.

Time to go for the throat."

That night, excerpts from the terrorist communique led into every national and local news broadcast, as everyone began exploring and explaining the newest pop culture buzz-word: "environmental terrorism".

It was becoming a familiar scene.

The old, iron, ice-making

apparatus framing the hi-tech conference table. around the table had grown considerably.

But the numbers

Laura was official.

So

was Michael Olbrantz, who had followed her lead shortly after the encounter with Delancy.

They sat there, discussing past cases

and reviewing precedents, looking for the hook they needed. Laura and Michael had done most of the digging, but they had asked Carl Pope, Marc Reisner, and Tim Palmer--those who knew and might soon be on the stand--to contribute their accumulated hours of research and experience.

They all knew there would be a suit

brought and a court battle, or at least an injunction to keep the program from airing.

Walsh, Devereaux, and I were there to make

sense of the legalese first-hand. --Western

"Why is it that none of the major chemical

companies, or farming corporations, have ever been prosecuted for polluting our drinking water?" --Laura and experts.

"Successful prosecution requires expensive lawyers Volumes of scientific research and information.

And it always ends up in court.

In protracted, burdensome, and

expensive litigation." --Walsh

"So, justice is only for the few who can pay the

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460

high costs of pursuing a case to the end?" --Michael

"Or at least presenting a credible threat of

doing so." --Devereaux

"So it's an endless cycle.

To get the rich,

you have to be as wealthy as they are?" --Laura

"The problem is, even if you have the money, you

might not win.

For many kinds of medical and economic damage,

current legal doctrine makes it virtually impossible for those injured by toxic waste or chemical contamination to collect for their damages." --Devereaux

"Haven't some independent farmers and some of

the farming combines been taken to court?

Sued for negligence?

for willfully destroying a natural resource?

I mean, it's not

any different than cutting down redwoods or spilling oil off our coasts." --Pope

"Yes, people have been taken to court.

But the

results haven't been encouraging." --Walsh

"High-paid corporate lawyers outgunning

bureaucrats?" --Laura

"Partly that.

But mostly, it's that environmental

law is still uncharted territory.

And groundwater protection is

a relatively new environmental issue." --Michael

"There is no developed body of law, established

institutions, or formal administrative policies and procedures. Laws, institutions, and policies are developing at the federal level and in many states. --Laura

But at varying rates and degrees."

"What about the superfund?

Any grounds for

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461

recovery there?" --Carl Pope

"Well, the superfund law of liability is

pretty weak when it comes to the chances for financial recovery for those who suffered." --Marc Reisner

"Especially in those cases where no private

party can be found to bear the liability." --Carl Pope

"That's right.

The final version of the

superfund prohibits most victims from recovering damages from the fund." --Marc Reisner

"Except maybe for costs of relocation and

water-supply replacement." --Michael

"So, out-of-pocket medical expenses, any wages

lost because of related illnesses, reduced property values, or pain and suffering can only be redressed by private litigation?" --Carl Pope

"And that kind of prosecution, even against a

defendant who could be found and held legally liable, is pretty unrealistic." --Michael

"And, as we all know, successful prosecution

requires expensive attorneys and experts, compilation of tomes of scientific information." --Western

"Is it really necessary to have a lawyer, or can

a private citizen represent him or herself?" --Michael

"Although an attorney isn't essential for citizens to

bring a lawsuit, it's usually advisable to have one. Historically, unrepresented citizens have rarely been successful in litigation.

Environmental lawsuits are complex.

Even an

experienced attorney frequently resorts to legal references for

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462

substantive, procedural, or strategic advice." --Devereaux apprehended. --Michael

"Now I know some companies have been

What's happened in the past?" "Most of these companies' defense has been that,

however bad their practices were, they were established and standard at the time." --Laura

"And a lot of the others that were found

responsible for contamination frequently escaped through bankruptcy courts." --Western

"If you were able to build a case against a

corporation, what are the realistic chances you could successfully prosecute them for criminal negligence?" --Laura

"If there was sufficient evidence that could prove

negligence beyond a reasonable doubt, I think there would be a very good possibility for successful prosecution." --Walsh --Michael

"What type of penalties might be assessed?" "In one landmark case in Massachusetts in 1986,

several families filed a personal-injury suit in the U.S. district court in Massachusetts.

They were hoping to prove that

several deaths and illnesses in their families had been caused by pollution of the local drinking water contaminated by local factories owned by two major corporations.

It was the first

personal-injury case to come before a jury." --Walsh --Michael

"Was there a favorable verdict?" "The jury awarded huge damages to the plaintiffs.

At the same time, a federal grand jury was also investigating criminal charges that some company officials had lied to the

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463

EPA about the quantities of toxics they had dumped." --Walsh

"Anything come of that investigation?"

--Michael

"It is still in court.

another case that was tried in Spain.

I would like to mention A class action suit

brought by the citizens of an entire town against a corporation. The corporation had manufactured and sold a product that was supposed to be cooking oil but was actually kerosene.

Several

people died and many others are still suffering the after-effects.

If convicted, the officers of the corporation

could spend up to twenty-five years in jail and could be fined up to $100,000.00 each." --Walsh

"The penalties can be severe, then?"

--Western

"Can we actually prosecute the officers of a

corporation, or the board of directors?" --Devereaux

"They are the decision makers.

The rest are

just employees." --Laura

"And because they take the lion's share of the

profits, because they write the bylaws, because they make the decisions that affect the company, they should also have the burden of the liability." --Devereaux

"They're making the ultimate decision, not the

manager at the plant.

Sure, they're listening to

recommendations, but they're making the call. --Laura

No one else is."

"But there must be sufficient hard evidence that

proves negligence beyond a reasonable doubt. case has to be absolutely air-tight.

And that means the

Any holes and the lawyers

for these corporations, some of whom are the best in the world,

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464

would cut the plaintiff to pieces." --Devereaux

"What about reckless endangerment?

How is

this any different than the drunk who plows his pick-up into a school bus and kills twenty kids?" --Laura

"Maybe no different."

--Devereaux

"I mean the drunk knowingly puts himself, and

anybody else on the highway, at risk, endangered by his drinking and driving." --Western

"And the chemical companies knowingly produce

toxins." --Devereaux

"And the farmers knowingly apply them.

And the

politicians and officials knowingly let them get away with it. Even cover it up if necessary." --Walsh

"The drunk gets twenty life sentences with no

possibility for parole, maybe even the death sentence.

Why

shouldn't the others?" --Western

"What about Bhopal?

--Devereaux --Walsh

Think it might help us?"

"If it ever gets settled."

"Wasn't the chairman just arrested on criminal

charges?" --Devereaux

"And released on bail shortly after that?"

--Western

"Have we got anything there we can use?"

--Michael

"Let's see.

$3.3 billion in civil damages.

civil liability trial in India.

Criminal homicide charges field

in India." --Laura

A

"There's a laundry list of charges.

Fraud,

misrepresentation, suppression of facts, interference with

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465

business relations, failure to provide warnings, strict liability, breach of warranty, breach of implied warranty of merchantability, breach of implied warranty of fitness, and bad faith." I exhaled for everyone. --Michael --Laura

"The liability case hinges on defective design." "There was a 1986 Supreme Court of India decision

that declared corporations running hazardous operations automatically liable when any injuries occurred as a result of accidents." --Michael

"Most people expect that once a cash settlement

is reached, the criminal charges will be dropped." --Laura

"Public interest groups want the cash settlement

and a criminal trial leading to punitive damages." --Michael

"When we mention punitive damages we're accepting

a five- to ten-year trial.

That is why some people are lobbying

to settle the civil case then move to criminal proceedings." --Devereaux --Laura symbol.

"Justice delayed is justice denied."

"A lot of opposition groups see this trial as a

As a way to end the humanly and environmentally

degrading practices of multinationals in third world countries. A way to stop their callous attitude toward industrial safety and environmental pollution." --Western --Devereaux --Michael worried.

"Industrial genocide." "Death by oversight." "The U.S. attorney for Carbide doesn't seem too

It is predicted the trial will take place in India.

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466

However, all evidence of a willful act is in documents in the United States." --Laura

"He's also said repeatedly that the company has the

patience and due process devices to prolong the trial indefinitely." --Devereaux however.

"The Indian people may have the last laugh,

In their traditional criminal law, they have sanctions

where you atone publicly. karma.

It comes from the Hindu belief in

If you do not atone, you return to life in an inferior

form." --Western

"A cockroach."

--Walsh

"A flea."

--Laura

"A rat."

--Michael

"A politician."

--Devereaux

"A lawyer."

Laughter came easily when things

got too serious. --Western

"So what you're telling me is that unless we

can find the weapon with their fingerprints on it, we're in for a long trial with no sure outcome?" --Walsh

"Part of living in a free society, cowboy."

--Laura

"We may have a precedent we haven't explored yet."

--Western --Laura

"And that is?" "The one time the Bureau of Reclamation used its

power against the rich farmers it helped to make." --Devereaux

"You mean they actually got off their fat

bureaucratic BuRec asses and busted one of the big farmers?" --Laura

"It was The DiGiorgio Corporation of Southern

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California.

467

At one time, they were growing more tomatoes on

their lands than any other state, with the exception of Florida. They were among the first 'farmers,' and I use that term loosely, to receive water from the Central Valley Project." --Devereaux

"The rest of the 'farmers,' and I use the term

laughingly, included Southern Pacific, the largest private landowner in California, Standard Oil, Richfield Oil Company, ANDCO, and the J.G. Boswell Ranch Company." --Western

"Those are some of the biggest farming combines

in the valley." --Laura

"As I was saying, the Bureau proved that DiGiorgio

had been falsifying records about the number of acres they had under cultivation and that they were receiving subsidized water for." --Western --Laura holdings.

"So they were receiving illegal subsidies?" "Exactly.

And the Bureau simply broke up their

Made them divest some of the land if they wanted to

keep getting subsidized water." --Devereaux

"Which they couldn't do and still survive.

Especially a water-intensive crop like tomatoes." --Western

"So the Bureau made an example of them, probably

to take the heat off their own backs?" --Laura

"What that means is we might be able to use this

case as a precedent to go after DiGiulio's lands and the rest of the factory farms?" --Devereaux

"Anything that would cause any kind of

financial harm is worth checking out."

Tyranny of the Downbeat

--Carl Pope --Western --Laura

468

"What about the Birth Prevention Act of 1984?" "What's that?"

"A California law that requires testing of all

pesticides in California for possible links to birth defects, cancer, sterility, or other health problems." --Western

"That certainly hits home for Elliot."

--Marc Reisner --Laura

"What about Proposition 65?"

"Ah, yes.

Enforcement Act of 1986.'

The 'Safe Drinking Water and Toxics It prohibits the discharge of certain

chemicals into actual, or potential, sources of drinking water." --Devereaux

"Prop 65 was passed by a California public

worried about the future.

A state frightened by the findings of

Love Canal and other toxic disasters.

Worried about the purity

of the air they were breathing and the water they were drinking." --Michael know.

"Its power is based on the public's right to

It stipulated explicit, precedent-setting enforcement

procedures.

It put the burden of proof on the person, or

company, charged.

It provided two ways to charge violations.

Through official channels, litigated by government officials, or through a citizen's lawsuit." --Walsh

"A bounty system."

--Laura

"Some call it that.

If a government prosecutor

fails to act within 60 days, the citizen stands to collect 25% of any penalty." --Western

"Sounds exactly like something we could use."

--Michael

"Except that it's a bureaucratic and regulatory

nightmare.

Any kind of precise definition is nearly impossible."

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469

--Walsh

"So where does that leave us?"

--Laura

"Well, let's step back a moment and look at a

broader issue.

One that's maybe a little political.

federal or states' rights issue? recognize any state lines. --Carl Pope

Is this a

The groundwater doesn't

Who has responsibility here?"

"According to Marion Mlay, director of the

EPA's Office of Groundwater Protection, it's a states' rights issue.

She says the states are responsible because they have the

laws that directly protect groundwater." --Marc Reisner

"Pretty much all land-use policies and

resources are considered state-controlled." --Michael

"There is a precedent.

At least in California.

In 1983, the State Supreme Court ruled that the 'public trust' values of Mono Lake's unique ecosystem must be balanced against Los Angeles' need for Mono water. --Devereaux

Los Angeles is appealing."

"What are the chances this issue could get lost

between federal and state jurisdictions?" --Laura

"We would have to be very careful about that.

If

we bring a civil case, it would be prosecuted at the state level because the states control their water." --Western

"What does a civil case buy us?"

--Michael

"In a civil case, we can sue for damages and an

injunction.

A 'cease and desist' order."

--Devereaux --Walsh

"To stop spraying certain chemicals?"

"That would create all kinds of problems and

uncertainty for the growers." --Devereaux

"Just what they love best."

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--Western --Laura

470

"What about a criminal case?" "That is more difficult.

We need someone at the

state prosecutor's office who would be willing to prosecute." --Michael

"What about a more basic issue.

concept of water rights." to read:

The whole

He flips through some pages and begins

"A water right is permission to use water for one or

more reasonable and beneficial purpose.

The standard of

'reasonable and beneficial' use requires that water be put to beneficial uses without waste or unreasonable method of use." He stops reading.

"The 'reasonable and beneficial' standard is

not rigidly defined or fixed in law." --Laura

"So might be able to use it to fix liability based

on misuse?" --Devereaux --Laura

"It's a starting point."

"Along with riparian rights.

You can use the water

on your land any way you like as long as it doesn't infringe on someone's downstream rights." --Devereaux

"That's how they got it in the first place and

that's how they'll lose it." --Michael doctrine?

"What if we combine both of those with another

The old English law doctrine of 'Public Trust.'

The

idea that a state is required to hold in trust for future generations the values associated with certain resources, including the purity of its groundwater?" The entire group looked around the room from one to the other and began to smile. they could work with.

They seemed to have found something

Tyranny of the Downbeat

471 CHAPTER 32

I took off for a weekend last month Just to try and recall the whole year All of the faces and all of the places Wonderin' where they all disappeared I didn't ponder the question too long I was hungry and went out for a bite Ran into a chum with a bottle of rum And we wound up drinkin' all night It's those changes in latitudes Changes in attitudes Nothin' remains quite the same With all of our running And all of our cunning If we couldn't laugh We would all go insane Reading departure signs in some big airport Reminds me of the places I've been Visions of good times that brought so much pleasure Make me want to go back again If it suddenly ended tomorrow I could somehow adjust to the fall Good times and riches and son of a bitches I've seen more than I can recall I think about Paris when I'm high on red wine I wish I could jump on a plane So many nights I just dream of the ocean God I wish I was sailing again Oh, yesterday's are over my shoulder So I can't look backward too long There's too much to see waiting in front of me And I know I just can't go on With these changes in latitudes Changes in attitudes Nothin' remains quite the same With all of my running And all of my cunning If I couldn't laugh I just would go insane If we couldn't laugh We just would go insane If we weren't all crazy We would just go insane

Tyranny of the Downbeat

472

-- J. Buffet, "Changes in Attitudes, Changes in Latitudes" I'm not sure why women find me easy to talk to.

Perhaps

it's because I really care about them, about what they have to say.

Or because I'm usually attracted to them at first because

of who they are, not how they look.

Maybe I'm not a threat.

Whatever the reason, they've always confided in me, always been able to open up.

So over the years I've generally been the

sounding board for failing marriages and shaky relationships. Why my own wife never felt that way I'll never know.

But then I

probably brought some barriers to most of those conversations. Though I was definitely considered part of "the other sex", I remember having many "I hate men" conversations with my women friends.

To some, we were insensitive.

We didn't respect them. ambitions and success.

All we wanted was sex.

We felt threatened by their own We couldn't be faithful.

We were selfish,

which to some I was, and juvenile, which I also plead guilty to.

We were fags or animals.

Given a choice they felt,

we would choose doing something else instead of doing something with them.

Certainly, all of us were guilty of one or many of

these crimes.

But the vehemence, the depth of their anger,

sometimes startled me.

Yes, to be upset and frustrated because

we exhibited these attitudes was one thing, but to hate us for them I felt was a little extreme. Often we talked about the unending and unsatisfying search for our "soul mate," the perfect match.

But such an attitude

begins with expectation, shades into anticipation, and inevitably

Tyranny of the Downbeat

473

ends in disappointment and frustration.

There is no ideal man,

or woman, because none of us can offer that.

So we would end

most of these conversations with me offering my standard philosophy of life.

Don't have expectations.

a sense of perspective.

Be flexible.

Keep

And, above all, have a sense of humor.

Don't take it too seriously.

We really aren't that bad on either

side and, in most cases, given an opportunity to show it instead of being forced to fall back on our traditional roles, we, the male baby boomers infected by feminism, could be quite caring, generous, and loving.

Of course, I couldn't speak for the large

number of total assholes lying in wait out there. And they were assholes.

They existed.

Not even I liked them.

Then it occurs to me that I, too, am looking for something in Sandy I can't find.

What I think are problems with her may be

my own expectations; my own way of dealing with women sexually and emotionally, which means it won't change unless, and until, I do.

So I choose to ignore that voice, that possibility, and

decide to take the path of least resistance, plunging ahead without looking back at what I may be so casually discarding. I wonder what it means. don't like going out anymore.

Maybe it's connected somehow. I don't like dancing.

I

I like

sitting here, where it's comfortable and the territory is known. I can have a drink and watch TV.

I don't have to talk to anyone.

I don't have to ask them if the program I'm watching is okay with them.

It's even better late at night when it's quiet and it's

only me.

And now I find that I don't even like going out for a

walk or a drive in the car.

I avoid it.

I've even begun to shop

Tyranny of the Downbeat

without leaving the house.

474

I use the telephone, the shopping

network, or mail order catalogues. 'Agoraphobia'--morbid fear of (crossing) squares or open places.

'Agora'--Greek for marketplace.

like Howard Hughes.

'Phobos'--fear.

Just like my mother.

Just

The only way she could

leave the house, or leave her chair towards the end was by having enough drinks to get up the courage to venture out.

Does it just

creep up on you until you've got it and you don't know you do? Maybe you never do.

You finally just stop going out.

It seems the things I like to do most now are things I do alone.

We are really living separate lives; literally when she's

there and I'm here and realistically when we're together.

But we

don't seem to want to acknowledge it so we can cut the other other loose and set them free to start over again. resort to my usual defense mechanism.

Instead, I

I try to exorcise the

guilt I'm feeling--for possibly causing all this--by not siding with her, by not letting her know how I really feel, by pushing her to this position--by having forced conversations that will trap her into assuming the blame.

Then I can get pissed off and

hate her so I can somehow deal with it all.

Baby used to stay out All night long She made me cry You know she done me wrong She hurt my eyes open And that's no lie Table's turned and now It's her turn to cry But then I used to love her

Tyranny of the Downbeat

475

But it's all over now But then I used to love her But it's all over now -- B. Womack & S. Womack, "It's All Over Now" I begin this round with a solitary monologue because she's not ready to talk yet. it is.) did.

"Isn't that Michael Bolton?"

"Didn't you say you liked that song?"

(Of course

(Of course she

I know that, but we're trying to communicate here any way

we can.) In her silent stubbornness, she won't begin, so I do. you find me attractive?

"Do

Sexually exciting?"

No answer. "Am I boring?

Predictable?"

Still none. "Do you respect me? me anymore?

Who I am?

What I am?

Do you even like

I mean as a friend?"

Without a response, there are no guidelines. trying to run in quicksand.

It's like

So I shift into gear.

"Are we ever gonna make love again?" "It'd be nice." "Should I wear a condom?" "Excuse me?"

That made contact.

"Look, I'm gone back and forth on the project for a few months.

I come back and find men's shaving cream in the bathroom.

When was the last time I needed shaving cream? the nightstand and you're back on the pill.

There are condoms in

Husbands and wives don't

need condoms." "Why are you always snooping around my stuff?

It's none of

Tyranny of the Downbeat

476

your business." "Oh, really?

The possibility that my wife's screwing around

isn't any of my business? looking for something. found this." these."

Besides, I wasn't snooping.

I was

I was also looking for something when I

He pushes the Christmas card toward her.

He sets the photos next to the card.

Angry, cornered.

"And

"So, who's Scott?"

"What are you doing going through my

things?" "They were in my dresser. some of my stuff away. "No.

I found them when I was putting

Did you sleep with him?"

He's just one of my bar friends."

"Shit, the guy's in his underwear in our living room.

You

telling me he's dressed like that just for the picture?" "Look, you told me before that I could go out and find someone to have sex with since you obviously weren't interested. So I did." "I didn't mean it and you know it." "So why'd you say it?" "Because I had no other answer.

No alternative.

Neither of

us wanted to see a counselor and I've told you before, it just isn't that important to me." "Sex, me, or the marriage?" "What about Gene?

You ever gonna tell me about him?"

"Gene was just someone I met at the Miramar." "Was he here at Thanksgiving?" "No." "You invited him didn't you?"

Tyranny of the Downbeat

477

"How'd you know?" "I saw the letters.

All of them."

Lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. letters.

"Those are private

They are none of your goddamn business."

"God. business.

We're talking about our marriage and it's none of my Look, I'm not condemning you.

I just want to know."

"Why?" "Part of it's justification. a mistake by forcing the issue. you to do this.

I need to know I'm not making I sometimes feel like I drove

That if I'd payed more attention to you and your

needs, this wouldn't have happened." "That's definitely part of it." "On the other hand, I feel like I gave you everything I could. bad.

That I wasn't totally to blame for our sex life being so You were partly to blame also."

You see, there was this red flag early in our relationship. It bothered me a little.

I told her about it, but it slept in

our beds the next fifteen years.

She talked a lot about a former

lover and how good he was in bed.

She'd go on and on about what

they did and how all they had between them was good sex. else.

Nothing

And she'd talk about how they made love, where they made

love, as if this was supposed to get me more excited so I could fill this void. and pull back.

No pun intended or allowed. She would get confused.

I would get angry

I couldn't get it up

because I figured the yardstick of sexual performance was being used each time we crawled into bed. never got better after that.

Then she got pissed.

It

The ghost of this guy was always

Tyranny of the Downbeat

there.

478

And I kept thinking, I can't wait until she tells her

next lover how her last relationship was. emotional, not sexual.

Purely cerebral,

For his sake, I hoped he only uses the

brains below his belt. "So, what do you want to do?" "I want to know what your expectations of this marriage are. Where do we go from here?

Do we keep it together?

Or try

something new?" "I don't know.

What do you want?

It's obviously bothering

you, too." "It is. it's not.

Some of the time it's good and some of the time

It's getting to be less and less fun.

I mean, we

don't even do things together anymore." "You don't give me any time to be alone.

To be by myself."

"How about the rest of your life?" "You're such a bastard!" "I'm sorry.

I really didn't mean to say that."

"I just don't want to depend on you for anything right now. I need to take care of some things.

And I can only do that by

myself." "I don't buy that.

What do you think marriages are for?

What do you think friends are for? questions.

They're there to help.

No

I mean, you're about to self-destruct and I can't let

you do that." "Why?

Couldn't stand the guilt?

What would people think?

Your wife kills herself and you're nowhere to be found." "No, I want to be there.

If it comes down to a choice

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479

between the depression and the dependency, please take the dependency." "Where do we go from here?" "I don't know. time together.

But I don't want to give up fifteen years of

You don't just throw that out the window.

need something else.

And I think you do, too.

romance in my life, not routine. me for granted.

But I

I want some

I want someone who doesn't take

Who likes being around me.

Who respects me and

doesn't run me down when they're in a bad mood." "I don't run you down. "That's just it.

And, besides, all I do is work."

Stop stressing yourself out.

You're

trying to do too much." "I need to make the money." "We'll take it out of savings if we have to. be making some soon enough.

Besides, I'll

Just stop worrying about the goddamn

money." "And who'll make it if I don't?

Where's it going to come

from?" "You know, I was telling Laura that you were stressed out. You know what she said?" "What?" "'Are you surprised? find stress.'

That's the way she is.

She'll always

That's what she said."

She doesn't answer, but I've just taken another nick out of her.

And I know it.

I realize that now as we sit not talking.

I told her what Laura had said knowing it would have this effect. She doesn't want to hear her best friend running her down.

But I

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480

know by doing it that I isolate her just a little more.

I'm

making her more dependent on me by cutting away all her allies. But that's not what I want. to have her friends.

I want her independent.

Because if I ever do pack it in, I don't

want her so dependent she can't survive. cruelly and knowingly doing just that. more remote.

I want her

I pull away.

wonder she's confused.

And yet, here I am, And then, I make myself

Make myself more distant.

It's no

No wonder she doesn't trust my motives or

emotions. "I'm just tired most of the time.

I don't always think

about what I say or do." "But that's always been the problem.

When you're tired,

when you just react, you're doing what you really feel, deep down.

The fact is, I think you just see me as a security

blanket.

A convenience.

I think if you could stay married

and have your flings, that's what you'd do." "And you wouldn't?" "No, I can't do that.

I'm not wired that way.

It's one or

the other." "So you're saying it's over." "I think we're both looking for a fresh start with someone who doesn't know us, but would like to.

A way to get rid of all

the excess baggage we carry when we're together." "Is that it? "No.

Is that what this has become?

I'm just saying the next time I leave, we should both

think about being without the other. a change.

Baggage?"

To see if it isn't time for

And if it is, then we make it.

If it isn't, we stay

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481

together and work it out." "What if one of us finds someone and the other doesn't?" "That's a risk we're gonna have to take. happen.

Let's not fool ourselves.

And it could

If we're looking, we're going

to find what we're looking for." "Then I guess that's the way it's meant to be." "I guess so.

Maybe it's fated."

"And you're willing to give up everything we've built together, everything we've done together for the past several years." "Not easily. is I'm not happy. grow old alone. possibility.

But I don't know what else to do. Something's missing.

All I know

Hey, I don't want to

And I know if we break up, that's a real

And I don't want to leave this place.

It's

comfortable." "Maybe that's the problem. comfortable.

It's comfortable.

We've become

There's no challenge, no excitement."

That was one thing about living in the tropics, whether it was Los Angeles, Key West, or Honolulu. atrophy.

It was an invitation to

Too much sun and too little tension made it easy to put

your mind in neutral and coast on the waves. the drive to survive, relaxed.

The animal instinct,

It became too easy, then it became

expected. "If it did happen, if we did go our separate ways, could we stay friends?

Could you do that?

She starts to cry. this.

I mean others have, could we?"

I think, here it comes.

How can I hate her when she cries.

I can't handle

Tyranny of the Downbeat

482

"Sounds like you've already made a decision. if I could stay friends.

At least not right away.

I don't know I think it

would take some time." Softening, weakening as I always do about this point in our talks, I reach for her hand.

"Let's at least think about it,

all right?" She nods.

Once I was a soldier And I fought on foreign lands for you Once I was a hunter And I brought home fresh meat for you Once I was a lover And I searched behind your eyes for you And soon there'll be another To tell you I was just a lie And sometimes I wonder Just for a while Will you ever remember me Though you have forgotten All of our rubbish dreams I find myself searching Through the ashes of our rooms For the days when we smiled And the hours that ran wild With a magic of our eyes And the silence of our words And sometimes I wonder Just for a while Will you ever remember me Ever remember me -- T. Buckley, "The Hunter" Had I seen something? something?

Heard something?

Smelled or touched

Whatever it was, that something had triggered a

remembrance of things past.

Deja vu.

Because I was doing it

Tyranny of the Downbeat

again.

483

I couldn't help myself.

Reconstructing reality.

Thinking too much.

Phasing in and out; a waking dream.

We approach a nice looking guy. dark-skinned.

Probably a local.

He might be black.

He looks up as he passes a

building and smiles, then looks back at us. by us, he smiles again.

Just before he walks

Then she looks up to see what he was

looking at, if he was smiling at a lady. looks like.

He's

And, if so, what she

Just measuring up the competition.

Always checking

the competition. We watched as the old couple bickered, embarrassed for them. I didn't want to end my life that way.

I had hoped we would be a

romantic couple; a complete team respecting and dedicated to the other.

Not two people tied together out of necessity, frustration,

and fear of dieing alone; fighting an empty battle the other doesn't hear. She walked ahead of me, not waiting, angry about something I'll never understand. to act like this.

Now I'm angry because there's no reason

I treat her well.

anything to be treated this way.

I've obviously not done

She just got up on the wrong

side of the bed and I was the first available target. let her do it. to my father.

I won't let it happen.

I won't

Just like my mother did

I won't be castrated with guilt.

They thought I was asleep.

Or maybe she hoped I wasn't.

It

didn't matter, even though they attempted the illusion of secret confidences by whispering. sat up in bed and conversation.

But I heard it all.

I should have

startled them into letting me join the

But I'm too much of a chickenshit to do that.

So

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484

I just lay there listening to her share, in desperation, the last of her frustration before this new-found friend would be a long-gone friend of letters and phone calls without the eye contact that showed genuine concern. It wasn't a new issue, but it angered me that she would tell it so soon to this person, her friend not mine, while I lay there just a few feet away. her independence.

She wanted her freedom.

She wanted

She liked coming and going as she pleased,

without having to tell me, or anyone else, where she was going or why.

But in a marriage, that kind of freedom often meant the end

of security, especially if a third person, another friend, a man, became involved.

And that's what she was worried about.

She

didn't want to lose her golden parachute; the life of comfort and ease we had built together. future of freedom.

But she was terribly attracted to a

How could she have both?

Her friend didn't

know, but she did say to hang onto both for as long as she could. I didn't know either, but I did know she didn't have a monopoly on the feeling. There is a metaphor here, I think; an acknowledgement of the inevitable.

I am standing in the middle of the copy shop,

xeroxing my marriage license, copying the original. purpose?

She has asked for it.

card, she says.

For what

So she can get a social security

She needs her own copy.

Again, married but not.

Our life together had been reduced to a xerographic copy. As we left the extended care home and walked to the car, I asked my nephew if he'd ever done any time-traveling.

He was

young enough to want to, but getting old enough to realize the

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485

difference between fact and science fiction. a hesitant, questioning no. face of confusion. rocking chair.

So he replied with

Well, you just did, I replied to a

Your great grandfather sitting in that

When he tells you stories of his life, talks of

things he once knew, he's transporting you into the past. light was beginning to flicker behind his eyes.

The

I know he's

taken you to the Civil War, marching by his father's side at the Battle of Bull Run.

I even think you rode in the back of a

conestoga wagon, sleeping next to him and the rest of the family, as they crossed the plains to California.

Fighting Indians,

watching people die from small pox and animals from lack of water and food.

You worked the gold mines of Sonora.

You saw

3-Fingered Jack and Joaquin Murrieta as your grandmother served them lunch in her cafe. men.

She remembered them as generous, kind

Robin Hoods of the Sierra, not the murderous thieves as

painted by Wells Fargo.

You rode with Black Jack Pershing in

Mexico and again in World War I. Depression and three more wars. Vietnam Conflict.

You survived the Great World War II, Korea, and the

So, you see, you are a time traveler, just

like Orwell predicted.

Just like Michael J. Fox.

Only your time

machine isn't a modified Delorean or a Rube Goldberg contraption. Yours is made of flesh and blood. of all, it has a memory.

It has eyes and a voice.

And he's passing it on to you.

can pass it on to your children.

Most

So you

That's how storytelling began

and how it will continue. Continuity and tradition and generations. words for friends and family.

Just different

It's an important part of our

Tyranny of the Downbeat

lives.

486

To be able to look into the eyes of a grandmother or gaze

at the fading photo of a great grandfather and see yourself is to realize the thread that connects us all.

It's sons of fathers

who are brothers and friends, who once were grandsons and will soon be grandfathers.

It's seeing a nephew or your best friend's

son brought home from the hospital then suddenly finding him playing third base for your softball team.

It's watching the son

of a drug-overdosed drummer playing drums with his dad's old band at a record label's forty-year anniversary celebration jam session.

To avoid it, deny it, to run and hide from it is to

reject who you are, what you are, where you came from.

To turn

your back on it is to cut yourself loose from your moorings, your stabilizers. lonely.

It'll make you crazy.

And it'll make you alone and

Tyranny of the Downbeat

487 CHAPTER 33

Truly nothing is to be expected but the unexpected! -- Alice James It gets late early here. -- Yogi Berra The Padrone did not like this. ropes.

In the spotlight.

On the

He had managed his life too carefully to have it blown

away by this misguided idealist and his irresponsible slanders. And yet, here he was, facing a room filled with panic--propelled by the self-generating fear only a stampeding herd or trampling crowd could create--and people speculating wildly about what the program would say and who it would accuse. And frightened people overreact.

They were scared.

And that's why he was here

again, in the board room, facing this inquisition.

They wanted

to know if he had any knowledge of The Brigade or any of the other incidents that had taken place since last they met; incidents that had damaged and nearly destroyed a number of the members in this room, and threatened to take more down if an immediate response wasn't initiated. He refused to betray his own concerns. him sweat.

He brushed his nose.

Beyond the dust and mildew that

hung in the air, there was something else. Desperate fear.

They would not see

Pungent, like gun metal.

A metallic odor. He wondered how many

more times he would have to tell them that everything was under control, taken care of, before they would believe him. about to wait. He stood.

They didn't determine his destiny. The meeting was over.

He wasn't

He did.

Slowly, the board members

Tyranny of the Downbeat

488

nodded to one another and murmured weakness.

As he limped to

leave, he flashed back to his father and the burning wreckage of failure.

He was too lost in the past to thank the man, again,

for opening the door.

The same man.

The messenger delivered his message, waiting only moments before following DiGiulio and driving to the appointed rendezvous. The white limousine again waited outside the motel door.

And so

did the bodyguards. "Are they worried?" "Spineless fuckers are scared to death." "That will make them stupid." "Stupid people make real stupid mistakes." "And overlook the obvious.

Playing right into my hands."

"Time to make them dance some more?" "To even the score."

Distracted, tugging at the gold

watchband, he felt a slight rush as he realized it would soon be over.

He would taste his revenge.

appreciate your loyalty.

"Thank you, Jon Henry.

I

Make sure no one sees you leave here,

or on the road back to Ralston." The big man smiled and left, trailing a hot, hideous odor of tobacco, alcohol, and a bad lunch.

The man was such a lout.

Unfortunate that this neanderthal was his only ally. Rolling down the highway encased in the secure anonymity of the limousine, he gazed upon the ceaseless flatness and he remembered his sister.

A casualty of her own innocence and

someone else's arrogance.

His heart beat a little faster as his

Tyranny of the Downbeat

anger and grief pulsed.

489

Silly, stupid, impulsive high-schooler.

Not sense enough to be cautious. Because he said he loved her.

Just attracted to the flame.

She believed him.

got into the car and drove down by the river. scoring. pushed.

She had notions of money. She tried to leave.

That's why she

He had visions of

He tried.

She resisted.

He

He raped her then kicked her out

into the dirt. She accused him. condemned her.

He denied it.

Everyone believed him and

Because his father used his connections to keep

it quiet and get the boy off.

In court, and in the papers, their

lawyers made it look like she had seduced him.

They painted a

steamy picture of a depraved, repressed girl from south of town, driven to better her situation by compromising a trusting young man who happened to be wealthy. the jurors acquitted the boy.

She cried in court.

And after

Then she killed herself.

her brother had vowed to make the father and son suffer.

And The

Padrone--Robert DiGiulio--would pay for murdering the girl, the sister of the man in the white limousine parking behind the building in Ralston that housed The National Foundation for Independent Living; the building owned by James David Delgado.

The Padrone was sitting at his desk, the grounds and vineyards of the winery visible behind him.

There was irritation

and impatience around his eyes. "I am growing tired of these people. They did not settle this valley. from me.

From me!"

They don't live here.

And yet they want to save it

His open hand slammed down on the desk.

"I

Tyranny of the Downbeat

made this town.

I made this valley."

490

Softening.

"It amuses me.

They are more concerned about butterflies and flowers than they are people.

They would deny the farmer the water he needs to

grow crops and feed people just to save a few insignificant creatures." Delancy rested his double chin against his chest as he looked down, brushing the cigar droppings off his vest. an ashen smudge.

It left

He was comfortable and smug, leaning back,

imbedded in the leather chair facing DiGiulio. too much, me boy."

"I wouldn't worry

He always slipped into his best Barry

Fitzgerald, old-country Irish when he was feeling particularly confident. "And why is that?" Leaning forward and pointing his cigar, "You know as well as I, that we can keep this thing tied up in the courts forever. We'll keep appealing until they run out of time and money, or both." "Besides, Padrone," Borba too tried to clear the fear, "they'll never get an objective jury.

There's just too many

people in this town, this valley, and this state that depend on agriculture." The clenched fist scattered everything as it crashed down on the desk again.

The vehemence caught Delancy and Borba both

under the chin and stood them straight up.

DiGiulio leveled his

finger at Delancy's heart and stared so hard at the man that he could feel the pressure boring into his chest. acceptable."

"That is just not

Ground out, hissed out, word by word, through

Tyranny of the Downbeat

491

clenched teeth. The two lieutenants looked quickly sidelong at each other. Delancy offered.

"We're doing as much as we can as fast as we

can." Steely, wanting to hear results not possibilities.

"And?"

"And, we'll do better," John Anthony offered in his meekest transgressor's voice. The Padrone lifted himself out of his chair and limped out from behind the oaken barricade.

It seemed to take forever for

him to work his way over to them.

He stopped and rested his

hands lightly on their shoulders.

Now he was pleading.

me.

What will I do?

What can I do to stop them?"

questions meant to be answered with action.

"Tell

Rhetorical

He moved off,

circling ever so deliberately to the window where he, the anguished and victimized lord, surveyed a domain threatened by saintly crusaders.

"Will no one rid me of these meddlesome

martyrs?" The two men quietly took their leave. reflection, he saw their backs.

In the window's

He too remembered his motion

pictures.

I arranged another meeting with William Davenport for that afternoon at the Bay Model. facts.

Elliot wanted him to verify a few

What he needed probably wouldn't affect the shape of the

final show, but Elliot, ever precise and ethical, wanted confirmation.

Davenport was surprised by the request and

reluctant, until I employed my reporter's power of persuasion.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

492

Actually, I was a little surprised by his surprise. I had barely got inside and said hello, before he explained. He wasted little time telling me exactly how he felt and what had been happening in his life since last we met.

I didn't have a

chance to even think about what I was planning to talk about. said there had been threats; some fairly recently. frankly, he was frightened.

He

Quite

He said that he, as much as anyone,

realized how important this program was and what it could mean to the state and its people, but he felt he could no longer be a resource.

He asked that we not bother him anymore and that he be

allowed to get back to his own work and his own way of doing things.

He didn't want anyone to see me there.

I pressured him

for the verification, got it, and left a little confused.

I

looked back at his face in the doorway thinking how cold-blooded I could be in pursuit of the truth. the story.

Nothing mattered, except for

Not even this man's fear.

blind arrogance was rubbing off on me.

I guess some of Elliot's No hostages in the

pursuit of truth. The next day he was in the hospital. Just like all the others. to drown him.

Someone had beat him.

They had knocked him out and had tried

That's where they found him, semi-conscious, lying

inside the model, washed up on the shores of the eco-system he had worked so hard to save.

I saw the red light of the answering machine winking as I entered the dark production office. Three messages.

It blinked three times.

The first was a hang-up.

The second was Barbra

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Sue Darwin.

She asked for me or Walsh to return her call

immediately. shaken.

493

The last message was her again, sounding very

She said it was nearly eleven and she had to talk to

somebody right away.

Her voice trembled and broke as she

explained she had some information she needed to tell someone. "I know who's pulling the strings," was the last cryptic comment before the line started buzzing. I dialed her home number. make sure I hadn't misdialed.

No answer. Still none.

asked him to meet me in front of her house. he pulled up. answer.

I was already waiting.

He knocked again.

gun and tried the door. He held up a hand. house.

Then I called Pat and A half-hour later,

He knocked.

Still none.

Locked.

I dialed again to

There was no

Slowly, he pulled his

He looked over his shoulder.

I stayed behind.

He began moving around the

The back door was just ajar.

He looked both ways before

he lightly pushed it open.

He quickly went in.

toward the front, room-by-room.

She was already gone.

Suitcases packed and ready, but no Barbra. she'd fought whoever was there. known them.

He worked

It didn't look like

Nothing out of place.

Wouldn't have gone so easily.

Must have

Walsh let me in

through the front door before he put the word out to the city police and some friends at the Bureau. The CHP found her body floating face down in the California Aqueduct.

An early morning fisherman spotted her.

She wouldn't

have been discovered if her clothes hadn't snagged on a drainage grate.

She should have been half-way to Los Angeles.

knocked unconscious and drowned.

A familiar pattern.

She'd been Walsh

Tyranny of the Downbeat

looked away.

494

He couldn't breath.

He was getting angry.

sensing the circle getting tighter. the kiss of death.

I was

I was starting to feel like

The other side was definitely playing

hardball now and it didn't seem to matter if they took a few people out with them.

And I was beginning to look over my

shoulder a lot more.

The two men sat gagged and tied to the seats in back of the van.

They knew each other.

times before.

At harvest time.

They had worked together many During the dormant season.

They

had stood in fields together in summer, winter, spring, and fall. The older of the two was an auditor for OxyGene.

The other was

Manager of Field Operations for the wine grape division of DiGiulio Winery.

One had been run off the road on his way home

after having a few beers.

The other was knocked unconscious at

the air field as he checked the equipment for the next day's spraying.

They had no idea where they were, why they were there,

or who the men were that had taken them.

They only knew that the

van was no longer moving. Three men opened the back of the van.

As their eyes

adjusted to the light, the captives could begin to clearly see the men in front of them.

And behind, standing at parade rest

formation, was another twenty or so men dressed the same.

The

masks they wore were similar to those worn by the heroes of Saturday afternoon serials. and tied in back.

Green silk, long in front, shorter

Slitted eyeholes.

Just above the eyes, in the

middle of the forehead, where eyebrows would normally arch, was

Tyranny of the Downbeat

495

silk-screened the symbol for the ecology movement.

The rounded

lower case "e", dark green, in an oval of the same color.

In the

sixties, this symbol, and the peace sign, had been called the tracks of the American chicken by every conservative asshole and redneck from Atlanta to Anaheim.

Their hats were the same dark

green and were fashioned after the French Legionnaire cap, rounded crown with leather visor and flaps at the back to protect their necks from the sun.

The rest of the uniform was

standard-issue military gear, available through any mercenary mail-order magazine.

Khaki and green camouflage fatigues and

dark green combat boots.

Instead of dog tags, they wore a

hand-carved Earth on a leather thong. The kidnappers pulled the two men out and dumped them into the dust.

They started to struggle.

When they were kicked

repeatedly and told to stop, they did, but only for a moment. Because to their right they saw the oak tree.

And the two nooses

swinging silently.

Their eyes began to plead.

croaked for mercy.

But their cries only got them kicked and

punched again and again.

Their voices

Their hands were tied behind them

before they were pulled to their feet and marched away from the van. The tree was large and old. out, struck by lightning.

Its insides had been burned

But it still stood.

the tree in "The Ox-Bow Incident."

It looked like

You kept waiting for Henry

Fonda to walk into frame and begin pleading for these men's lives.

But he didn't.

And no one else did either.

The van

pulled up under the nooses and the two men were hoisted up on

Tyranny of the Downbeat

top.

496

Their legs were gone.

They couldn't stand, only slump.

Through their slitted eyes, they could see a bank of lights and what looked like a camera mounted on a tripod.

Behind the

camera, hidden from their view by the men, was a portable microwave unit on a small trailer. charge, the lights went on.

At a signal from the man in

They were bright.

Much like

the lights used by highway crews repairing roads at night.

As

the nooses went around their necks, the leader unrolled a document.

As the cameraman framed his shot and started a slow

zoom, he began reading. "We are the harbingers of a new order.

We are

environmental storm troopers, members of the New Committee of Vigilance.

We are known by the name, the John Muir Brigade.

message is simple and clear. this planet. terrorism.

Our

Cease ravaging the environment of

If you do not, we will continue our acts of As the vigilantes did before us, we will take the law

into our own hands.

We will initiate an ecologic guerrilla war

that you cannot stop and that you cannot possibly win. message is a brutal one.

Our first

And we want it transmitted directly

into the living rooms of America.

We want you to have it for

dinner, in much the same way you feasted on the carnage of Vietnam." He turned to address the two kneeling men, held up by the nooses around their necks. "As pawns of the agrichemical conglomerates and farming combines, we do hereby sentence you to death for crimes against nature and crimes against man.

On many

occasions, you have knowingly and willingly polluted waters and

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poisoned animal life. these activities.

497

You have exhibited no willingness to cease

You are unrepentant and you shall die."

One

of the men tried to stand, to protest, but was knocked down again.

"We sentence you to death by hanging.

May God have mercy

on your soul." The troopers guarding each man jumped to the ground. leader dropped his hand and the van pulled away. long for the dance to end.

The

It didn't take

He placed the statement and the

videotape below the dangling feet of the now dead men and walked away.

Life had begun imitating art, in an ugly way.

ALTA CALIFORNIA ---------------------------------------------------------------ENVIRONMENTAL TERRORISM The new vigilantes By Stephan Harrington OF THE RECORD STAFF Terror in the Fields Two unique and unsettling events took place yesterday, witnessed almost simultaneously by the entire nation. A band of environmental terrorists, known to us now as the John Muir Brigade, successfully broke into the networks and broadcast their grisly message. We watched as two men were murdered for polluting the local water supply. Both were part of the local farming community and both were involved in the use of pesticides and irrigation water on the west side of the San Joaquin Valley. How this band accessed the broadcast airwaves is not the issue. Anything is possible in our wired world. The key issue here is this new phenomenon of frustration; this attempt to take direct action now being referred to as "environmental terrorism". It is possible that these men died, or were executed, because their vigilante judge and jury condemned them for destroying a precious natural resource and sentenced them to death for their crime. Historically, most societies have treated the poisoning of

Tyranny of the Downbeat

498

water sources as a crime. In dry climates, not unlike ours here in California, it is said that such criminals were often executed. Some officials at the State level feel that Proposition 65 is responsible for this new type of violence. The initiative includes a provision for direct citizen enforcement if law enforcement officials do not act against a violator within 60 days of being informed. So angry and fearful citizens, frustrated by what they see as the government's failure to protect them from pollution, take the law into their own hands. Becoming, in effect, environmental bounty hunters. In many ways, these two unfortunate men were really only innocent pieces in a much larger game. They were simply following orders; doing their jobs. The true guilt may reach much higher. Into the board rooms of the water contractors and the agrichemical conglomerates that control California. Daniel Valle had phoned first thing in the morning.

Early.

The strain in his voice, the lack of humor in its tone, convinced Elliot that he should meet him at the office in Ralston. ground," he had said.

That really threw Elliot.

"Neutral

Knowing that Danny

was as much a perfectionist as himself, Elliot assumed he was having some problems with polishing the script--or the show--or both. Danny took the offered cup of coffee. put the unlit cigar back in his mouth.

He took a sip, then

A courtesy to the

non-smokers and acknowledgement of what the coughing meant. Elliot could sense the confusion.

He could taste it in the air

between them. Danny cut through it first.

"Are you satisfied with your

work, my friend?" "So far, yes.

And you?"

"Tell me honestly, please. That we can cripple them?"

Do you feel that we can win?

Tyranny of the Downbeat

499

"Right now, I can't say. direction.

I think we're moving in the right

The program is coming together.

The pieces seem to

be falling into place." "Will there be no doubt?

Or will they escape the trap, like

the coyote who chews off its leg so it can still run free?" "We're still building the trap.

It's not ready yet.

But it

will be done soon." "Soon enough? be justice.

Will there be an end this year?

Will there

Or will it go on into the next and the next?"

"I just don't know." "We have so much to do.

I drive these valleys and I see

myself, my family, generations before me and generations to follow, still working the fields." "It's changing.

People are changing."

"Perhaps." "You don't think we can make a difference?" "I am not a cynic.

I believe in the basic good of people.

Yes, once I was militant.

I walked at the front in Delano.

we marched within the system. work.

But

We marched to make the system

We believed in non-violence." "So, what's so different now?" "Too many people have suffered.

Too little has been done.

I see the gains we once made--are making--slipping away.

Perhaps

it is time to be militant again." "I don't really see any alternative.

Anything faster.

There's no other way I can see it being done." "I have another way."

He opens his briefcase, reaches in,

Tyranny of the Downbeat

500

and pulls out a piece of green silk cloth. table.

Elliot carefully spreads it out.

He tosses it on the Above the slitted

eyeholes is the evergreen rounded "e" inside an oval. stares at the mask, then up at Danny.

Danny left the mask behind.

Elliot

"I lead them, my friend."

Elliot locked it away.

I was

surprised to see him there, but glad, because we needed to talk. I was angry because he was being stubborn and stupid.

Pat

decided to stick around to see how two pacifists would handle confrontation. "They're just coincidences." "Pretty dangerous coincidences." "Still just coincidences.

Nothing in common."

"Dream on!" "Maybe, but I believe it.

I grew up that way."

"Hopelessly romantic asshole." "Exactly.

I believe in being fair and honest.

Trusting

people." "Snow White or what? and stuff them up your ass! the truth out of the way!

They're trying to take those virtues They want you and your version of Don't be so fucking blind!

This is

life and death shit!" Elliot shut down.

I started stomping my foot on the wooden

floor and strumming my acoustic air guitar in imitation of some old black delta bluesman. Walsh understood. confused.

"Chord with me, Teddy!"

He had been there before.

Elliot was

Tyranny of the Downbeat

501

"Get in sync with me, Elliot!" Walsh translated.

"He means you're not communicating, yet.

You're not in step." "So, you're saying anything goes now as long as it gets the job done?

Is that it?"

"That's precisely it." "Can't do it." "Won't do it!" "Both."

He left the room and drove back to the bay area.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

502 CHAPTER 34

An artist is a dreamer consenting to dream of the actual world. -- George Santayana Elliot is a creature of habit.

Routine comforts him.

He

likes doing the same thing on the same day, week after week.

So,

like every other Thursday evening, he and Maryanne are driving down the road from The Ranch on their way to dinner in San Anselmo.

In the darkness, they don't see the black car parked

behind the oak trees and manzanita bushes at the foot of the hill.

It isn't until Elliot's car is several hundred feet ahead

that the driver pulls out onto the dirt road to follow. Elliot and Maryanne are talking about their new puppy.

As

he glances into his rearview mirror, he can see a second cloud of dust behind his own. "There's someone else on the road." Maryanne turns to look. and turns back.

She can't see anything in the dusk

"They're driving without lights."

"Don't want us to see them. the BMW kicks up more dust. its lights.

Hold on."

He steps on it and

When he does, the second car hits

"Damn!"

Maryanne turns again and sees the lights. He hopes he knows the road better than they do. road and the freeway aren't that far away.

The main

But they're far

enough. The chase car has some power because it's gaining.

At

night, Elliot doesn't know the road as well as he thought.

And

Tyranny of the Downbeat

503

the second car doesn't seem to care.

The driver is reckless

enough, and his car fast enough, that he's soon inching alongside the driver's side.

As they draw parallel, Elliot glances over,

sees the driver and two passengers. riot shotguns. them.

They wear masks and hold

But it doesn't look like they're planning to use

Just yet.

But they are trying to get ahead.

going to cut us off, Elliot thinks.

Probably

Which they do.

The other

driver punches his car, surging ahead, trailing tail lights. Then he hits his brakes and Elliot does too.

But as he punches

it to get around, the second car swerves into him. loses control as he swerves to avoid impact.

Elliot nearly

Dead ahead are

several large oaks.

Elliot knows they're going to try and run

him into the grove.

The two cars continue to jockey.

speeding up, and dodging swerves. gap before they reach the trees.

Slowing,

Elliot thinks he can split the As the BMW jumps forward, the

reactions and speed of the second car surprises him.

Then he's

slammed into and flying off the road, heading for the trees.

His

mind reels back to a beat-up pick-up and a country road before he hits. He lifts his head and shakes it. nothing but dust.

The engine's dead.

Maryanne is slumped over.

Then again.

There's

The car isn't moving.

Both their seat belts held.

breathing, but isn't conscious.

She's

He reaches for her but stops

when he sees the headlights through the dusty haze.

"Goddammit."

He starts shaking Maryanne and pulling at her belt.

The lights

get brighter.

He yanks harder.

Maryanne starts to mutter and

shakes her head as the belt comes loose.

The lights stop a few

Tyranny of the Downbeat

feet away.

504

Then the spotlight hits him full in the face.

And

the red light starts spinning. "This is Officer Jameson of the Marin County Sheriff's Department.

Please don't move.

We have a helicopter on the

way." Elliot grimaces and turns to help Maryanne. he feels the sharp pain. he's clammy.

That's when

When he realizes he's sweating.

That he's going to

...

pass

...

out.

At the hospital, Maryanne is checked and released. few scrapes.

Nothing more.

And

A

She is assured that Elliot's

concussion won't keep him out of action for too long. Maryanne is there when he opens his eyes. "The sheriff never saw anyone.

He said they could have

dodged down any of the farm or fire roads and out of sight." Elliot heard what she was saying, but not really. and closed his eyes.

He smiled

Then forced them open again.

"Obviously, they knew our routine. we would be there and no one else would.

Knew our schedule.

Knew

The sheriff suggests we

start patrolling the road from the house to the main road." Elliot nods his head and closes his eyes. He was in the hospital for nearly a week. In his room.

In his dreams.

His eyes snap open, his shirt is drenched. home movie. projector.

Watching himself grow up.

It began as a

The film caught in the

The heat of the lamp burned a hole in the image of

him graduating from Dewey High School. Like napalm.

He had visitors.

The hole burned white.

Fire jelly sticking to everything.

He was burning

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the trash.

505

He tied a plastic bag from the dry cleaners around a

stick and lit it.

He watched the fireballs of molten plastic

whiz to the ground, like falling bombs, firing anything it touched. He stood helpless in his director's chair as the hooded man held up the black magnetic videotapes and lit them. He saw them twist and shrink and dance, shriveling into shreds of molten black powder, shrieking into a puddle on the floor. The forest smelled of Christmas. him dizzy with memory.

It surrounded him, making

He came upon a clearing.

The dance had

begun.

Inside the circle he saw himself, lying like a man in a

trance.

He was the point where all lines intersect; where the

center is everywhere and there is no circumference. The medicine man was speaking, interpreting the dream.

He

was telling a story of the son who found a bird of the most beautiful song.

He brought it home to his father.

His father

didn't want the bird, so he didn't feed it and it died. killed the bird of the most beautiful song. killed himself.

He

And, in so doing, he

For when the father killed the bird, he was

really killing nature and thus himself. Standing at the edge of the clearing, Elliot understood. Those who have lost respect for earth and animals have lost their center.

Those who live out of harmony with nature are doomed.

Those who participate with dignity in the way of nature will save the world. As he stepped closer, the medicine man looked into his eyes. Elliot knew this man.

He had followed his teachings and

interpretations of myths.

He spoke to Elliot.

"You have been

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marked. man.

506

Your brush with death has made you a magical, spiritual

You are the bearer of white magic.

artist.

The artist the mythmaker.

The shaman is the

Traveling beyond the

boundaries of reality, you will discover the mystery of life and bring the truth back.

You will fashion our future myth."

Moving into the circle, nearer the brightness of the flame, it grew hotter.

He closed his eyes against the light.

When he

opened them, he found himself staring into a bank of studio lights.

He was on a television talk show.

jester.

His face in greasepaint.

tunnel.

His own words were mocking him.

He was dressed like a

He could hear his voice down a Speaking seriously, "I

try to deal with ideas and people, the way we are, the way things operate, moods, society's likes and dislikes." The interviewer was a film critic who had mercilessly lampooned him many times during his career. The Grand Inquisitor.

He was dressed as

"Do they like watching people hang?"

Not listening, but absently juggling film canisters, "To me, film is historical document.

Therefore it has practical

value." "What's practical about glorifying terrorists and murderers?" Turning away and looking at the camera, still sincere, trying to convince them of the truth.

"Those who violate the

basic tenets of morality--of honesty, fairness, and generosity--are eventually undone." "Since you collaborated with these killers, then you too will be undone?"

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507

Advancing on the camera, "My methods are better because I teach the virtues of being fair, honest, and generous." "Your methods left two men hanging." As he reaches for the critic's throat, the scene shifts. There are strings attached to his hands and feet. the others.

Around him are

Western, Laura, Walsh, Devereaux, Valle, Dewey

Palmer, Stewart Grossman.

Slumped in wide-eyed vacancy.

He

stiffly turns as the light streams through the rising curtain. Beyond the footlights he can see the audience. demographic.

The perfect

Suddenly, he's yanked to his feet and danced to the

edge of the stage.

He tries to look up, to see who's pulling the

strings, but each time, his head is snapped forward. begins to laugh and point.

He continues to dance.

drops from the ceiling and lands in front of him. light saber.

A young man He carries a

He swings it toward Elliot, who ducks.

through the strings and Elliot collapses.

The crowd

It slices

He rolls over on his

back and looks up, only to see the hands of the Puppetmaster disappear into the darkness.

He closes his eyes and the scene

shifts again. A slow dissolve to another place, another time.

He's

standing outside a cave, wearing a suit of silver armor. battered.

He's bloody.

entrance.

But it isn't The Mole.

He beckons.

It's

The Mole stands to one side of the It looks like him, but isn't.

Elliot stumbles forward.

He isn't used to walking

in full-dress battle armor. The Mole holds a gleaming sword. awaits.

The keeper of the past.

He speaks, "The tyrant

He is proud, and therein lies

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his doom.

508

He is a mistaker of shadow for substance.

destiny to be tricked. will find his weakness."

It is his

You know the secret of his doom.

You

In slow motion, he offers the sword.

Elliot takes it and enters. He hears it.

Somehow he knows what he was about to face.

He has seen it in every one of his movies. stops.

The way is blocked.

changing.

He turns a corner and

The face of the Minotaur keeps

It is all the faces of his past, present, and future;

his friends and enemies. it is himself.

It is everyone and none.

And, finally,

He has become Dithyrambos; he of "the double

door," the second birth. The Minotaur roars and draws his own sword, charging, black cape billowing.

Elliot spins and dances away.

Elliot raises his sword to strike.

They clash.

It changes in his hand,

becoming an electronic remote control.

He presses the button.

The Minotaur is captured in the glass arena.

Elliot lowers the

remote and points it at the videotape machine and fires. over.

He has shattered the crystal moment and is free.

It is He

floats up, through the whirlpool, to the threshold of the dream, where he re-surfaces and re-emerges into everyday existence. Elliot awakes.

He is sweating.

Lying next to his hand is a

silver pin, in the shape of a sword.

The last of the all-nighters--editors and sound men--had left The Ranch.

Only the night security man remained.

After

checking all the conference rooms, sound and video post rooms, he sat down to dinner.

Like he did the same time every night.

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First it was rounds. until daybreak.

509

Then it was food.

Boring.

you focused and alert.

Not enough dope in the world to keep Didn't matter anyway.

there was nothing there to steal. it anyway.

Then the long hours

So, big deal.

Right?

I mean,

And the insurance would cover

A little toke or two wouldn't hurt.

Certainly would keep things interesting, if not entertaining. That's what he was thinking just before the gun-butt cracked his head open. The man in black was a blur of efficiency. television monitors and motion detection cameras. on the security door into the main hallway. hallway and, with certainty, into Edit I. sprinklers with wax.

Jam the Break the code

Quickly down the Disabling the

Spreading the gasoline, then lighting it.

Out the door, then back down the hallway, check the guard, and out the back door.

Down the hill, into the ravine, across the

drainage ditch, up the other side to the waiting car. Through the binoculars, it wasn't long before he could see the flames.

Then hear the alarm.

the main house. won't help.

And the people pouring out of

They may have their own fire company, but it

Not this time.

It'll be too late.

doesn't burn, the napalm will destroy. the symmetry.

He smiled at the irony,

Little would be left of anything it touched.

masters are history. the truth.

What the fire

The

And so is Mr. Elliot Lincoln's version of

The car moved off into the night.

The fire inspector believed the guard. the bandages and swollen eyes. to be suspicious.

He couldn't avoid

But it was the nature of his job

"I'll still need to do some lab work."

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"I know they did."

510

There was no question in Elliot's eyes.

"You need more evidence than just a feeling."

The inspector

wasn't convinced. "They burned that room for a reason." "Why?" Elliot was distracted.

"You wouldn't understand.

with a project we're working on.

Has to do

Everything we've shot so far,

all the masters, were in that room." Jane picked up on the past tense. "I vaulted them this morning.

"You say were?"

I had a feeling.

One of my

dreams." "So you moved the tapes?" "They wouldn't have known." "They seemed to know everything else. Exactly where to go.

The entire layout.

How to get in. So the masters are

safe?" "For now. kill me."

I can't believe this.

There are people trying to

Then he remembered a comment about 'Snow White.'

"They didn't try to kill you."

Elliot, looking down, looked

up and over, about to ask the question. "You're just the messenger.

They were trying to kill what

you're carrying." "Then I'll make sure it gets delivered."

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511 CHAPTER 35

All art is knowing when to stop. -- Toni Morrison A photograph is a secret about a secret. you the less you know. -- Diane Arbus

The more it tells

DISSOLVE: MUSIC CHANGE: UP FULL THEN UNDER THEME #20: Kitaro's "Full Moon Story" 148

EXT. REFUGE - LATE AFTERNOON - ESTABLISHING SHOT

AERIAL FLY-BY of Masterson. grasslands and the water.

Helicopter flies low over the

NARRATOR (v.o.) Some see what's happening at Masterson as an ingenious revenge. Nature's way. Her revenge on a valley that stopped at nothing to become the richest agricultural region in the world. At an awesome expense to her water and wildlife. 149

EXT. RIVER CANYON - WIDE SHOT

HIGH ANGLE SHOTS of river running through King's Canyon. We forget something we learned as children. The hydrologic cycle. It is a circle, a continuum. We can't do anything to our water without feeling the effects somehow, somewhere, sometime. 150

MONTAGE

Shots of rushing water. We have learned that when it comes to everything we do carries a reward and There are two sides to this issue, to degree matched by practically nothing the planet. 151

EXT. HIGHWAY - WIDE SHOT

Shot of highways in the midwest in winter.

water, a risk. a else on

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If we want highways free of ice in the winter, we put salt on them. And we get chloride contamination of our groundwater. 152

EXT. FIELD - WIDE SHOT

Shot of aerial spraying. If we want poisons to kill worms so they don't ruin our crops, we smother them with poisons. And we get aldicarb in our groundwater. 153

CLOSE UP

Spraying ground with pesticide. Think about it. When we poison the ground, we poison ourselves. Once exposed, the aftereffects may not show up for years. But they will. And they will kill us. 154

EXT. LAKE - WIDE SHOT

Family picnics near lake. With every breath we take, we exchange oxygen with the air. With every drink of water, we take streams and aquifers into our bodies. With every mouthful of food, we complete pathways that run from our bones, liver, and brains to rainwater and microorganisms in the soil that nurture the crops upon which we depend. 155

EXT. CITY - WIDE SHOT

New York City street scene. English poet John Donne once wrote: "No man is an Island, entire of it self." For him, it was a religious principle. For us, it must become the basis for our daily lives, for it is an unrelenting and unforgiving reality. 156

MONTAGE

Shots of people hiking and recreating in wilderness areas.

512

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513

We must recognize that we are a part of life and that we cannot destroy it for our immediate convenience and comfort without ultimately destroying ourselves. Just as we cannot endanger life without endangering ourselves, so we cannot save ourselves without preserving the entire biosphere. This interconnectedness with life will be our saving grace. 157

EXT. PLANT - ESTABLISHING SHOT

Exterior shot of OxyGene plant. children riding on their bikes.

CAMERA PANS LEFT to frame

If we don't send a message to those responsible right now, today, we are condemning our children, and our children's children to deaths more horrible than we can imagine. We must do it for ourselves. We must do it for our children. We must do it for our future. 158

MONTAGE

Shots of development. Strip mining, coastal oil drilling, nuclear plants, toxic dumps. A noted politician once spoke of "a conspiracy of the present to steal from the future." He pointed out that the future didn't have a chance because it had no legislators, no news reporters or lobbyists. CONTINUE MONTAGE. He wondered if we would have the wisdom and foresight to act as stewards for the future; or would we just consume away the present as so many collapsed civilizations have done before us. There is only one answer. It is a resounding, "We will not." MUSIC UP FULL DISSOLVE 159

EXT. WATER - ECU OF FLOWING WATER.

160

TITLE Roll Closing Credits

Tyranny of the Downbeat

514

FADE OUT: MUSIC:

DOWN AND OUT

The last of the credits rolled off the screen as the final chord faded away.

Elliot turned to The Mole, then looked back at me.

He

smiles, "I like it." "Yea, I think it works." As if trying to convince himself, "I think it goes just far enough." "Now we've got to get it on the air." "Shouldn't be a problem." "Don't be so naive." freeze you out?

There was that word again.

"What if they

Get an injunction, or something, so you can't buy

any air time?" "I guess we'd have to come up with something a little more creative." "Like The Brigade did?" The Mole shifts in his seat.

GRAPHIC DESIGN AND LAYOUT WILL CLEARLY INDICATE THIS SECTION AS A CONTINUATION OF THE SCENARIO DESIGNED BY THE INSTITUTE. BE DESIGNED AS STORYBOARD OR COMIC BOOK PANELS.

IT MAY

It is January 1, 1992. It is an election year and the ritual of choosing a Presidential image is about to begin. The sophisticated imaging technologies sit poised for action. Narrow vested interests with vast sums of money and the will to abuse its privileges, prepare to use the powers of the media to tamper with the fabric of a democracy. The Info-Visionists finally complete design of a plan of action as the campaign year dawns. The list of equipment needed and the means

Tyranny of the Downbeat

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of acquiring each is resolved. They have integrated the equipment and the common resolve of 11 individuals into a working system, a whole, a singularity of action. In time, this network of individuals, hardware and ideals comes to be called "The Engine of Change". Their efforts will spread across day and night for the remainder of the year. They have chosen their components wisely and well from within The Order and are now ready to knit them into a new pattern. From Goliath they have fashioned a David. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

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517

The welder's torch spit blue shadows against the walls. The Arrow sat in the middle of the shop, crawling with technicians and engineers. Portions of the cab had been cut away. The rest of the frame had been extended, shaped, and modified to take the racks of equipment that waited to the side. The aerodynamics had been redesigned to allow it to cruise at speeds in excess of 140 miles per hour. A team of millwrights cut through the superstructure, modifying and reinforcing it to receive the new power train. The original diesel drive undercarriage and generator lay abandoned, as a team labored to couple an all electric drive sled and fuel cell module to the reworked frame struts. Audio and video edit bays, microwave transmission, and other pre-existing electronics were being moved to clear a space for the high-speed computer and its storage devices. A narrow circulation shaft ran the length of The Arrow. Along this corridor, control stations were built for the computers, video processing and synthesis, audio, communication and microwave transmission, and The PULPIT. Low light level cameras had been installed throughout to capture images of the interior and the crew as they progressed through the event. The main studio and control console were located in the upper front quarter of The Arrow, just above the driver's cockpit. From there, the anchor and two associates, an engineer and field producer, would monitor The Arrow, its transmissions, and their pursuit. A lower rear portion of the superstructure had been removed so a second vehicle could be mated to it. It was a small, mobile camera platform with a built-in signal reflector. It would be operated by one driver and a cameraman. It was designed as a decoy, to make it appear as if the transmission was actually originating from The Mirror and not the control center aboard The Arrow. Valuable time would be wasted by the pursuit forces as they tracked The Mirror. The survival time and degree of success of the entire effort would depend on how long this deception worked. Its maneuverability, speed, and size would be used to draw pursuers ever farther from the real source of transmission. When, and if, it was discovered, it was designed so it could broadcast the pursuit back to The Arrow for re-transmission to the viewing audience. The Info-Visionists intended to broadcast their own capture and destruction in real-time. And the American public would witness the brutality of The Order first-hand. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

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Flynn James was unique among network telejournalists. Not even the fabled Walter Cronkite enjoyed the same freedom to express views on any subject while maintaining a credibility that rivaled many national figures. For someone not directly involved in the power politics of government or business, he had achieved an unparalleled position of influence, respect, and prestige. To millions, he was the truth. He had become their measure of the events of the day. They had gladly abandoned their need to know for the familiar manner and comforting order he could bring to the disorder of the every day. His image had become an event. And in his mind, it had become a burden of misplaced priorities. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

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521

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522

The crane slowly lowered the freshly-painted, charcoal-silver Jet/Ranger helicopter into its nest on the roof of The Arrow. Their night-running colors matched perfectly. The millwrights coupled the helicopter into place. The two remaining Jet/Rangers stood silently in an adjoining hangar, soon to be converted into the aerial antennae system for The Engine of Change. If necessary, the roof chopper would assume the tasks of The Mirror in one final attempt to sustain The Moment, to prolong the event. The copter was also mounted with cameras so it could beam the last breath of rebel life into the homes of America. The infra-red night vision systems were being installed in all the mobile equipment. The driver's cockpit of The Arrow was nearly complete, as were the master control facilities for audio and video. All remote cameras on The Mirror and the helicopter systems were in place and being hard-wired to the editing hardware. As the year slipped away, seemingly more quickly than before, The Info-Visionists neared completion of Phase One. They were confident they had acquired and integrated the necessary equipment to succeed in producing The Moment and prolonging its existence. As the mid-point of the year approached, they turned their attention to acquiring the special devices that would actually create and project the images of this event. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

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During his twenty years of broadcast journalism, Flynn had worked with the best and brightest practitioners of the broadcast journalism and video communication arts. And in confidential conversations, he had come to share with a handful of them, the fear that this vast network of continental teleconnections had become a selfishly manipulated giant of social and economic influence. And like them, he believed it was vulnerable. It had an Achilles heel. As he spent more time with these few men and women, and as they grew to trust the other, they confided in him their intention to assemble a machine and create an event unlike anything attempted before. But they needed someone like Flynn to capture the public, to gain their confidence and participation. They challenged his conscience. They asked him to join. Flynn knew these dedicated individuals, the Info-Visionists as they now called themselves, had the skills and drive to build their so-called Engine of Change. But did he have the commitment, the belief, the true emotions and honest words to trigger the images they would require? For the heart of The Engine of Change would be his heart, its soul his own. The Engine would be an extension of his feelings and words. It would be able to create a synthesis of image and sound based on the words he spoke and emotions he felt. The context, inflection, and definition of each word would trigger a flow of interpreted images that would be broadcast simultaneously, instantaneously. The Engine would reach into its pool of images to find a visualization of the idea. It would be able to read and interpret the great and small intentions, the nuances, the inflections of any phrase. And it would also paint the truth of any fears hidden behind his words. Every secret would be made visible. Flynn wasn't sure he had the strength and conviction it took to sustain The Event. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

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525

The second Cray X-MP/48 slid easily into place next to its identical companion unit. Only the upper rear quarter section of The Arrow remained vacant, waiting to receive The PULPIT. While the acquisition and assembly of the hardware moved ahead, others of the team were busily gathering, cataloguing, and storing images in the computers. These imagineers were responsible for writing the software that would encode and decode an image library of the entire century. The images and sounds of events, peoples, and places were digitized and stored, a chronicle of the Twentieth Century. Each was carefully mapped, categorized, and cross-indexed over a broad matrix of commonality. A voice recognition compiler would bring the appropriate image to the surface instantaneously. A logic leveraging algorythm had been designed and installed to couple the two Crays in parallel to achieve an exponential magnification of processing speed. A pattern recognition algorythm had also been designed to read and display the images. The Engine of Change had become a mobile image library of our nation and our world. From this pool, it was capable of synthesizing new visual relationships. It could process thousands of inputs from memory and real time simultaneously, and display a composite in a heartbeat. As the year wore on, and it became more and more obvious that the world was in a state of flux and turmoil, the representations of reality, as presented by the political and economic elites, was becoming more and more rigidly and narrowly defined. Flynn recognized more clearly that the window of television, for all of its variety, granted a limited field of vision. Flynn finally realized that The Order held fast all the cards that counted in this game. And it was now even more apparent that the Info-Visionists were the only ones with the vision to compete with The Order for a new image of The Future. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

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527

Tyranny of the Downbeat

The PULPIT suppressed all signals within its radius. The Info-Visionists monitored the damped signals from the outside and coupled them into their own transmissions. They monitored the networks and listened in on their correspondents in Washington and New York. Broadcast television would no longer be a one-way network. It would become a living, interactive medium. They now had the tools, expertise, voice, and familiar presence to breath life into their plans. They would spend the balance of the year gathering images. They waited for the election year to reach its climax. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

528

Tyranny of the Downbeat

It is Monday, November 4, 1992. Election eve. Unprecedented millions have been spent by both parties and their special interest supporters. The Order waits, exhausted, for the morning and the expected results. It has been a long year. The Info-Visionists are tired also, but they cannot rest. Their year of effort and sacrifice is about to culminate in The Moment they have prepared for. It is 5:56PM. The final four-minute sequence has been set in motion. Somewhere in the heartland of America, The Info-Visionists accelerate along a ribbon of highway. In a momentary burst, they will be before the people of the United States. Flynn James will once more, perhaps for the last time, speak to the nation about where we've been and where we're going. The Info-Visionists are about to capture the imagination of a nation. The Moment is at hand. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

529

Tyranny of the Downbeat

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"Good evening. This is Flynn James. We are The Info-Visionists. Together, we have just crossed the threshold of an event unlike any other. At this very moment, 190 million of you are simultaneously sharing the experience of these images. Our journey will be a short one. We raise our voices above the established Order, not with guns and violence, but with imagination." "We will confront and challenge you with the reality of how this screen limits your vision, masks the contradictions that exist. Confuses how images and words are used to make you doubt the realities that wait outside your door." "It is time for us to confront how we perceive, and tolerate, our nation's goals and methods. We have seized this moment on behalf of the future. We hope that in the morning, our images will be echoed by your united voices." Within a matter of minutes, The Order knew that their worst fears about the fire at the Rand facility had been realized. They had been silent about The PULPIT. Now they could no longer deny its existence. They could call this treason. But they'd have to wait for the right opportunity. At this moment, their access to the nation was blocked. The Order had prepared a number of scenarios and plans in case of terrorist action. But the nature and character of this event had caught them completely off-guard. The Info-Visionists could not be called terrorists. They had made that clear. They had used their minds, not their fists to seize The Moment. They had taken the high ground without a shot. And their audience was receptive, having been primed by years of dependence on the credibility of television. The Order knew it was not impossible to find the source of The PULPIT signal. But it would take time. And every wasted minute allowed the rebels to broadcast their message to more people. The risk to The Order and their carefully prepared perception of reality could be changed forever. The technologies of The Order were now on alert. There was little time to spare. They had the new tools, as well as the traditional weapons of brute force, to confront and terminate The Event. It would only be a matter of time. But with the right mix of images and words, and with sufficient time to project them, The Info-Visionists could create a lasting impression. A pebble cast into a still pond, the ripples could

531

Tyranny of the Downbeat reverberate for years. With each new input, The Order collected data and refined their assumptions about the nature of this event. They would find the rebels. But in the end, their justified means could destroy their image in the eyes of the nation. BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

532

Tyranny of the Downbeat

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"Tomorrow, across this nation, millions of you will exercise your collective will as a free people by participating in the Presidential election. In spite of the fact that unprecedented millions have been spent to influence your decision, voter apathy is expected to reach record levels." "Each candidate and special interest group has invested millions to decipher, predict, and stimulate your every mood. And yet, the depths of democratic participation have become even more shallow. We sense that in the hearts of many of you, you feel there is no real choice, no clear distinctions between the candidates and their purposes." BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

534

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"When you step into the voting booth tomorrow, be prepared to vote for yourself. To write in your name. You may see it as a futile gesture. But the result of this common action will force an evaluation of the values and motives that drive our democracy. ride to remind you of our national spirit and the paths of possibilities that lie before us." "As I speak to you now, The Order prowls the plains nearby. Back and forth, they roam the heartland of this nation, watching for us, their prey. We see them crest the hills behind us, swing round, and ready for the chase." BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

536

We

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537

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538

"Their dragons spit fire and flay the ground. Brutal force destroys a fragment of our plan. Yet the images survive. Two of us are dead. Our fate will surely be the same. This is how The Order will freeze the status quo in place." "We bring you the reaffirmation of a person's right to participate in the result of wealth, position, or purpose elites. It is the ability dispassionately see and understand behind the words and postures." BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

an ideal long forgotten. That the democratic process is not the influence of special to intelligently and the truth in a man's heart,

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540

"This is the message of the moment. To expose misuse and abuse of money, power, and influence is to embrace basic morality; to accept personal responsibility, and to master your fate." "In the morning, you will face yourself, your family, and your conscience. Each of you will have experienced the events of this evening through your own unique personal perspective. For a brief time, a channel of communication was opened, above the din of The Order, so that we could share a moment in parallel with each other." BREAK POINT IN SCENARIO.

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The mechanisms were nearly spent. The Point helicopter had met the same fate as The Mirror. And the viewers had ridden shotgun. They had seen and felt the sting of The Order. Perhaps some applauded. Many more listened to their hearts pounding hard against their throats. Would the images on this once familiar screen ever again seem real? The people were no longer a passive participant, but rather an active witness to the consequences of rebel ideals and imagination confronting the shallow face of The Order. The path of The Arrow was being calculated and verified by The Order at this very moment. Everyone realized that The Order was only minutes away from terminating the images of The Info-Visionists. The words were few. The images rich with suggestion that those who follow the paths of ideals and change will soon come to this crossroads. Many generations had forgotten the sacrifices that had created and maintained this democracy. They would not forget this night, as they rode shotgun with The Info-Visionists. "Outside, we feel the wolves draw near. We watch their fire and remember being held hostage by their 'truth,' their dreams, their past. Beyond this screen, the world waits. The Future does not pre-exist beyond tomorrow. May your vision and actions achieve the possibilities and promise of change." END OF SCENARIO.

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Tyranny of the Downbeat

545 CHAPTER 36

It is when the hidden decisions are made explicit that the arguments begin. -- Garrett Hardin, "The Tragedy of the Commons" The final showdown was at hand.

The "on-line" was finished.

It was time to prepare the video press releases. would air the next Monday. running the week before.

The documentary

The press releases would start But first, bowing to his undying sense

of fair play and justice--and in a final attempt to convince Borba and those he represented to take responsibility for their actions--Elliot offered to screen the documentary in advance for them.

The rest of the production team, including Delgado and

Valle, Reisner, Pope, and Palmer, would see it the next day. It is just another warm night in what seems like an endless string.

It is almost steamy.

It is so still you can

hear the Ralston Symphony tuning up for one of its outdoor performances in the band shell. In the murky room, wisps of smoke float past the flickering television monitor.

Faces are silhouetted against the blue light

of the reality they are witnessing. and Santiago are leaden dead.

The eyes of Borba, Delancy,

Occasionally, they turn to look at

each other, then to their "guides" and back to the monitor. Elliot, flanked by The Mole and Laura sitting, Western, Devereaux, and Walsh standing nearby. As the closing music begins, I bring up the lights.

Borba

speaks first, menacing but cornered. --Borba

"It's all bullshit, Lincoln.

You'll never get it

Tyranny of the Downbeat

546

to air." --Elliot

"Try and stop me."

--Borba

"Do you have any idea how much money the people I

represent pump into broadcast television?"

Feeling the corner

against his back. --Western

"Not enough."

--Santiago listen.

"Enough that the network decision-makers will

They always do."

--Borba

"Money talks."

--Walsh

"And bullshit walks."

--Santiago difference.

"Even if you do show it, it won't make any

We've been in politics and media long enough to know

that people just won't care." --Elliot

"Didn't you once say that the American public gets

90% of its news and information from the television? believe it.

And they'll care."

--Delancy --Laura

"Then we'll see you in court." "That's exactly where we want to be."

--Santiago expertise. business.

They'll

"Why'd you do it?

It's not what you know.

It's not your area of It's really none of your

What did you expect to gain?"

--Devereaux --Borba --Elliot

"Hope for the future."

"Sixties horseshit!"

He was panicking, manic.

"None of you probably read the industry trades,

or even the grocery store tabloids.

But if you did, and if

you'd taken the time to learn more about me, you'd know that I can't have children.

And I can't have them because I'm sterile.

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547

When I was growing up, I drank water from a well fed by groundwater.

Water that was contaminated by people like you and

the agrichemical conspiracy you represent!" --Western

"And whose tracks you covered with money."

--Delancy

"Conspiracy and cover-up?

charges.

I hope you can prove them?

Pretty serious

Slander and libel can be

very costly." --Elliot

"I think I just did."

He gestures to the

television, now blank. --Santiago --Elliot

"What do you plan to do with it?" "We've arranged separate screenings for local,

state, and federal officials, and the media.

Then it'll begin

airing on the networks in its present form.

We'll cut a three

minute version so it can run as a short subject in the theaters." --Western

"We'll also make copies available for schools and

public service organizations.

We may even give copies to the

larger video rental chains so they can loan it out." --Laura

"Parts of it will be introduced as evidence in

court." --Santiago

"You won't reconsider?

Maybe give us an

opportunity for atonement?" --Elliot

"Not possible.

I haven't any compromise left in

me." --Borba

"I see.

--Devereaux

Then we'll be going."

They stood.

"Be sure to tell Mr. DiGiulio what you've

seen." Borba is pulled up short, as if someone had just yanked his

Tyranny of the Downbeat

strings.

548

"Sure thing, Devereaux."

As he passes the monitor,

he stops, then turns to look at the group, then back to the TV. As he lashes out, knocking it off the table, Elliot watches it, floating in slow motion, until it shatters against the floor.

He asked for a glass of water. asked anyway.

He knew where it was, but

He stood, balanced himself on the back of the

chair, then walked over to the wet bar. trudging through mud.

He felt like he was

He drank one, then another glass.

the cool water run over his trembling hand. in the smoked mirror above the sink. bleeding they were so bloodshot. dregs.

He let

He looked at himself

His eyes appeared to be

Rock bottom again.

Down to the

Put your ass on the line for people and what do they do?

Kick you in the nuts.

Then wipe their feet on your ass as they

step over you on their way out. He remembered the priests. they looked with saddened faces. do, they told him.

There was nothing they could

It is out of our hands, they confessed.

is God's way, they murmured. of you, I say.

They were sorry they said, as

It

Then God damn His ways and the rest

When I needed you, none of you were there.

And

now, this man, the one I thought I could count on, has proved he's no different than the rest of you. and humanity holds?

Is this what compassion

Then I'll have none of it!

Like it's always been.

It's up to me.

Out there on my own.

He saw the heavy figure in the mirror's reflection. confess.

I have transgressed.

was not in church.

I must

He swung around and realized he

This was not a confessional.

That was not

Tyranny of the Downbeat

the holy father.

549

It was The Padrone, limping parallel to the

wall with the window overlooking the winery. "What will we do now, Padrone?" "I will continue with business as usual."

The singular

stung John Anthony's cheek. "Did you hear any of what I just told you? goes to air, we're all ruined."

Once this thing

He desperately clung to the

collective. "I believe you are the one who wasn't listening, my son." He stops pacing behind his desk and holds out his two large hands. find?

"Whose hands are bloodied? Certainly not mine.

Whose fingerprints will they

I do not recall giving any orders.

do not recall setting any of these events in motion.

It would

appear that all this was the result of a few over-zealous lieutenants. general.

Soldiers taking the initiative to protect their

Staffers intent on sheltering their superior.

I

ordered nothing." "They may see it differently, especially after they hear what I have to say." "I doubt they will believe you.

I don't even believe you.

How do I know what you did, or did not do, once you left this office.

I only know what you said and did while you sat here."

He slowly leans down and opens a drawer in his desk. out an audiocassette and points it at Borba. these.

He lifts

"I have hours of

Transcribed and in the computer system."

"And no doubt edited." "I am prepared to turn all of them over to the authorities.

I

Tyranny of the Downbeat

550

I intend to survive this tempest, as I have the others.

You,

however, will not." "The courts will have something to say about that." "Yes, the courts. anarchy.

And all the officials who protect us from

You seem to forget whose side they are really on."

Thrown to the wolves by the master manipulator.

Just

another player in his dirty little game of control. The Padrone crashes into the side of his desk, ducking as the glass of water sweeps past his face and through the window. A slash of water stretches from where Tony had stood, cutting across the carpet to the window, where The Padrone watches the large door swing slowly shut.

Elliot expected someone to call that night. surprised when Borba did. control.

He wanted to talk.

So he wasn't

He sounded out of

Elliot hesitated, but agreed to meet him at the Ice

Plant at ten. Borba looked bad.

DiGiulio must have cut him a new asshole.

"There's nothing I can do, nothing I can say or offer, that will change your mind?" "It's so easy for you people to turn your back on what you've done.

To find a way out.

Not this time.

You won't get

another chance to do it again if I have anything to say about it." He looked away from Elliot, then down at his feet. the gun came out, Elliot was not surprised. ask you for everything.

When

"Then I'll have to

The masters, the edited master, and all

Tyranny of the Downbeat

551

the copies." "Won't make any difference. well.

You know this business much too

I've already vaulted a number of copies and given several

release copies to stations and the papers. of you would try something.

I had a feeling one

You've done it often enough in the

past." "I knew that.

But I hoped you might be careless."

"Then don't you be." Borba looked exhausted, broken. and he knew it. everything.

He was no longer in control

It was a new sensation; not being on top of

The man who once had so many options now had none.

The cool of the Ice Man had been shattered. "Don't go down alone.

Take them all with you.

Everyone who

put you where you are now." Borba rubbed his eyes and shivered. "It just doesn't matter anymore. "Then think about it.

It was all unraveling.

None of it."

You can make it through this and do

some good at the same time." "Do you have any water around here?" desperation.

He looked wide-eyed in

"I really need a glass of water."

"Sure, over here." gun came out.

"Easy now.

Elliot started to move, but stopped as the This is getting really stupid.

Don't make

it worse than it already it." Borba looked down at the gun and cocked it.

"I think it's time

we finished this." "Don't be insane. Don't blow it!"

You've still got a chance to survive this!

Tyranny of the Downbeat

552

"That's what the priests said. all lied to me.

All of you!"

They lied to me, too.

You've

He leveled the gun at Elliot.

Elliot, pinned against the low shelf holding the monitor, spoke very carefully.

"There has been a camera on you the entire time.

Everything you have said has been recorded." "I knew that.

The electronic last confession."

"Then put the gun down and we'll both walk out of here." "Can't do that." "Why not?"

The smallest panic in his voice.

"It's gone too far." Borba straightened up abruptly, shakily, his legs unsteady. Elliot jumped, startled, raising his hands to block the bullets he expected.

Borba turned to the monitor and fired.

the television exploded.

Borba slowly and deliberately, again in

slow motion, turned back to Elliot. back the hammer.

He lifted the gun and pulled

Elliot stood frozen in fear of the inevitable.

Borba smiled, put the gun in his mouth, and fired. in super slo-mo.

In slow motion,

Pictures at eleven.

Elliot saw it all

Tyranny of the Downbeat

553 CHAPTER 37

There's What it There's Tellin'

something happening here, is ain't exactly clear. a man with a gun over there, me I've got to be-ware.

I think it's time we stop, children, what's that sound? Ev'rybody look what's goin' down. There's battle lines bein' drawn, Nobody's right if ev'rybody's wrong. Young people speakin' their minds, Gettin' so much resistance from behind. Paranoia strikes deep, Into your heart it will creep. It starts when you're always afraid, Step out of line the men come and take you away. I think it's time we stop, children, what's that sound? Ev'rybody look what's goin' down. You better stop, hey, what's that sound? Ev'rybody look what's goin' down. -- Stephen Stills, "For What It's Worth" The water project, now entitled "Tyranny of the Downbeat," aired the following week.

Slotted behind "Monday Night

Football," and before the premier of the new fall shows, it stood a good chance of being watched by a significant number of people. The circus atmosphere surrounding the premier--the video press releases, articles in the trades, and coverage on cable and network interview shows--guaranteed sufficient pre-broadcast interest to generate a solid response.

The grisly coverage of

Borba's suicide added just the right touch of macabre sensationalism to suck in the entire tabloid audience. Print journalists and the electronic media, stumbling and clawing over each other, fought like jackals over a carcass in

Tyranny of the Downbeat

554

their attempt to capture the moment with just the right cliche. Many were already referring to it as a "landmark event".

Hailed

as a return to the grassroots activism of the Sixties, most journalists characterized it as the first real attempt by private citizens to use the power of the media to effect wholesale change, instead of just selling a product or philosophy. Some were already speculating about the trial that would certainly follow; a case that was likely to set precedents regarding criminal negligence and corporate liability.

A few

even predicted that the companies and their top officers would be prosecuted for negligent homicide.

They hinted that

successful prosecution on those grounds would result in punishment that was not, as before, a matter of fines and community service, or a simple "slap on the wrist".

Instead, it

would mean some expensive fines and some serious prison time. The documentary itself would surely only be an appetizer to the banquet these reporters would surely feast at once the trial began. Most of California watched. did too.

A lot of the rest of America

The overnight numbers were good.

A broad spectrum of

the population listened to the narrator's introduction as he spoke of the agribusiness conspiracy to control California's water; of the innocence or guilt of the farming, agrichemical, and political community for their environmental insults. Now, it was up to the American public. If one could belief the reviews, news accounts, and follow-up stories the following day, it appeared as if Elliot

Tyranny of the Downbeat

555

Lincoln and company had succeeded. the persistence of his vision.

The media praised Elliot and

He was congratulated over and

over for his courageous stand. His morality tale had finally been told. his philosophy, might just have triumphed.

His way of living,

It was almost as if

life had taken a brief step backward, imitating the movies of the Fifties, when Elliot was growing up.

Movies with resolved

endings, where good really conquered evil.

Elliot may have

actually stirred the "vast wasteland". But Elliot wasn't feeling it. He wondered.

The shifting of the balance.

They may have listened, but had they really heard?

Did they recognize the inevitability of what would surely take place if they didn't do something. One sector of the viewing audience had heard everything loud and clear.

Every officer of every major corporation doing

business in the public sector knew the significance of this program.

They knew a change in public opinion could seriously

affect the future of American business, especially as it related to corporate responsibility and environmental liability.

For

them, there wasn't enough resources--people, time, and money--to be invested in the immediate response and the coming battle. The small stone that Elliot cast that day following his reunion in Ralston now sent ripples that rocked corporate and political America. There were demands for congressional hearings and a grand jury investigation.

There were demands for at least a civil, and

perhaps, a criminal trial, seeking a cash settlement and

Tyranny of the Downbeat

556

injunctions against the use of pesticides and continued subsidies of irrigation water for the west side.

Some officials were

preparing to prosecute OxyGene, The League--and hopefully the DiGiulio Winery--for misuse of the public trust, stemming from their willful and knowing conspiracy to contaminate groundwater, as well as the resulting cover-up. There were also charges of bribery, as well as obstruction and tampering with the investigation of federal officials.

Those

political representatives involved faced congressional censure for misconduct and ethics violations.

Their lawyers would be

brought before the legal ethics committee and faced possible disbarment.

A federal grand jury would begin conducting hearings

into the role played by government officials at all levels in the conspiracy and cover-up.

And there would be a full report from

the federal Office of the Inspector General.

In addition, there

would be a class-action suit filed on behalf of all the people living on the west side who had been exposed to selenium and contaminated groundwater. The authorities were especially interested in talking with Jon Henry Miller. Those who had been named--directly, by implication or association--immediately took steps to disassociate themselves from The League, The Combine, and DiGiulio; all the people once represented by Borba and Delancy.

As the panic spread, the cuts

began to run deep. The Padrone, clothed in absolute anonymity and confident isolation, simply went out and got the very best legal talent and

Tyranny of the Downbeat

557

let them prepare "engineer the response". That's what Stephan Harrington called it as he covered the story in the weeks following the broadcast.

He was struck by the

parallels between Nixon's "Watergate" and DiGiulio's "Groundwatergate".

ALTA CALIFORNIA ----------------------------------------------------------------GROUNDWATERGATE The unmaking of a conspiracy BY STEPHAN HARRINGTON OF THE RECORD STAFF As the noose began to tighten, the facade of unity among agrichemical companies, the corporate farming combines, and their political cronies started to unravel. The old loyalties had been shattered. There was fear and concern about who would be indicted. There was confusion about who ordered what and who ordered whom. No one knew would be sacrificed. The mood was, "It's every man for himself. Get a lawyer and blame everyone else." Sound familiar? It should. Just change the names. Instead of Nixon, try DiGiulio. Try the "Valley Education Fund" in place of the "Committee to Re-elect the President". It's all here. "Deniability and dirty tricks, plumbers and back-room boys." Shredded records, secret slush funds, and laundering. These men, like those before them, became arrogant. They lost their perspective working the corridors of power. They knew they had only one job to do. Keep the water flowing. Whatever it took. And whatever they did was justified in the name of the greater good for the larger cause. Their disdain was their downfall. They became careless and a little sloppy. Everyone denied it, but they had to know. About the money, the conspiracy, and the cover-up. Now it was time to "engineer the response". It didn't mean telling the truth then and it doesn't now. President Nixon was impeached by public opinion. As a public servant, he could be reached and punished. All the President's men were prosecuted on criminal charges, but the President was pardoned.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

558

Robert DiGiulio may not share the same fate as the President. He may not be prosecuted because there may not be sufficient evidence to bring criminal charges. And, as a private citizen running his own privately-owned corporation, the public cannot touch him. Except to boycott his products. DiGiulio is a patient man. He has all the time and money in the world. And the public has a short memory. He will survive. And return triumphant. Nixon had. Harrington's last article on the politics of water would prove prophetic.

The crack of shotgun and small arms fire was unusual. the flares.

The DWR didn't usually work at night.

migrating birds this time of year.

And

There were no

The sheriff's helicopter gave

it away. A spray of dust kicked up behind Miller's pick-up, as it careened on three tires south along the Santa Fe Grade.

The

fourth had been shot out at the roadblock by a CHP officer, just before Big Jon wounded him, firing through the broken-out windshield.

There was nothing like a valley night in the

summertime, as the night air starts to cool the day. good on his sweating face.

It felt

He wiped the salty perspiration out

of his eyes so he could see the dirt road in the dark. The flashing red light broke into his thoughts. shotgun pellets must have hit his radiator.

Some of the

He was out of water.

The truck started to lurch and jump as the engine vapor-locked. It died.

He put it in neutral and jumped.

It weaved crazily to

the side of the road and into the drainage ditch, rolling over several times before it stopped on its back. around.

Then headed east.

He looked up and

He wasn't sure where he was going.

Tyranny of the Downbeat

Maybe to the foothills.

559

If he could get there, he might hide

out in one of the caves he'd explored as a kid. He froze as the searchlight stabbed him. along the edge of the refuge.

Then he ran left,

He was almost there.

He could see

the bleached wooden gate of his gun club just ahead.

He was

through and inside the club, looking for guns and more ammunition, when he heard them. Asian.

The migrants.

Hispanic and

They stood in the half-light of the arc lamp spilling

through the broken window.

The man in the middle--the one

leading the others--was someone he knew.

He looked like him,

too.

In his hand he held a

He was the brother of Jimmie Quon.

baseball bat. Miller crashed through the back door and headed east again. He knew there were field trucks at the next ranch over. started that way, then stopped. silhouette stood straight ahead. someone hit him from behind.

His way was blocked.

He fell face forward in the dust.

stomach and they hit him again.

refuge.

He rolled on his

He kept rolling, they kept

Until he rolled to a dead stop at the edge of the Quon moved him with his foot.

hard in the ribs.

Still nothing.

edge and into the pond. toward the center. bitter.

A

Miller lifted the rifle, but

He rolled over on his back and they hit him.

hitting.

He

Nothing.

He poked him

Quon nudged the body over the

It turned and began floating, face up,

He wasn't happy, not even satisfied.

"How symmetrical," he thought.

die in something he killed."

Just

"That this man should

As Miller's body slipped beneath

the surface, he dropped the bat into the dirt with a soft, dusty

Tyranny of the Downbeat

560

thud, then silently disappeared into the sultry Valley night. Soft winds blowing the summertime Young lovers feel so free Walking hand-in-hand down a shady lane What happened to me? What happened to me? Did you ever love a girl, who Walked right out on you? You should know just how I feel, then Why I'm so blue Why I'm so blue Well I made up my mind I'll find a new girl Who'll love me tenderly Forget the past I left behind, now To sad memory To sad memory Soft winds blowing the summertime -- Richie Furay, "Sad Memory" They had been dismissing the obvious all morning long. didn't make it any less painful or frustrating. And Miller. players. DiGiulio.

It

Borba was dead.

Those who would stand trial were mostly minor

Apparently, there would be no criminal charges against It could not be proven, or verified, that he had

ordered, or been responsible in any way for, any of the crimes committed.

There might be a civil trial for environmental

crimes, but DiGiulio would have his day in court to answer those charges.

Providing it ever got to court and he was still alive

when it did. The ringing doorbell gave them an excuse to take a break. Pat poured another cup of coffee while Laura went to the door. When her heard her gasp, he rushed into the dining room.

He

Tyranny of the Downbeat

561

stopped when he saw her crying against his shoulder. met Billie's.

Billie smiled and Pat simply touched his forehead,

in silent salute to the obvious. back door.

Pat's eyes

He turned and left through the

As he walked down the driveway that ran beside the

house to his car, he heard the front door shut with a dull thump. Across town in the Delgado Building, James David was reading the same newspaper reports.

He was disappointed.

DiGiulio's

power and influence were obviously far greater and more deeply entrenched than his own.

The Padrone had covered himself well.

He would be allowed to continue, back to business. escaped the carefully crafted trap. law.

The tyrant had held fast.

revenge had been thwarted.

He had

He had remained above the

And The Puppetmaster's plan for

For now.

Delgado settled into the

back seat as the door of the white limousine slammed with a heavy thud. At the airport, I watched her back disappear down the ramp.

I hadn't planned it that way.

choose it by letting it happen.

Or had I?

I guess I did

She had become one of the

photographs; one of the memories sitting among the trophies and souvenirs.

Sad because she was special.

each other.

We were just better apart.

Hemingway: all."

We had been good for I remember reading

"They say the seeds of what we will do are in us

It just took fifteen years to realize it.

I pictured the

last of her turning the corner as they pulled the cabin door shut.

And I felt that part of my life close with a hollow thump.

Take me to the station

Tyranny of the Downbeat And put me on a train I've got no expectations To pass through here again Once I was a rich man Now I am so poor But never in my sweet short life Have I felt like this before Your heart is like a diamond You throw your pearls at swine And as I watch you leaving me You pack my piece of mind Our love was like a water That splashes on a stone Our love is like our music It's here and then it's gone So take me to the airport And put me on a plane I've got no expectations To pass through here again -- Keith Richards & Mick Jagger, "No Expectations"

562

Tyranny of the Downbeat

563 CHAPTER 38

When you get there, there isn't any there there. -- Gertrude Stein You say you want a revolution Well you know We all want to change the world You tell me that it's evolution Well you know We all want to change the world But when you talk about destruction Don't you know that you can count me out Don't you know it's gonna be alright You say you got a real solution Well you know We'd all love to see the plan You ask me for a contribution Well you know We are doing what we can But if you want money for people with minds that hate All I can tell you is brother you have to wait Don't you know it's gonna be alright -- John Lennon & Paul McCartney, "Revolution" I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert ... Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. -- Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Ozymandias" We sat enjoying the late evening breeze on the wide front porch of The Ranch library.

The low sun was dappling through the

oak trees, quilting our faces and the white-slatted railing. Walsh nursed a beer.

So did I.

Elliot twirled a half-full

Tyranny of the Downbeat

tumbler of iced tea. house.

564

Pachelbel's "Canon" played inside the

Time standing still induced reflection.

--Elliot

"When I think about Borba, I think about all those

men and women who blindly served Jim Jones at People's Temple." --Western

"Not possible.

He was Portuguese.

He considered

himself part of the Third World." Elliot stared without focus.

"I'm talking about the young

lieutenants surrounding Jones." --Walsh

"He still wasn't wonder-bread white like they

were." --Elliot

"I don't mean skin color.

all grew up in California in the Sixties. anti-intellectual, and sanctimonius.

I mean attitude.

They

The young,

Wasted on ideologies.

Unable to clearly see through their own self-righteousness." --Western

"Most of those kids grew up affluent.

permissive atmosphere. --Elliot

In a

Borba didn't."

"Let me get to my point, all right?"

They shrug their shoulders. --Elliot self-inquiry.

"As a group, these counter-culture rebels lacked None of them ever really examined their

assumptions about politics, groups, religions, or leaders." --Western

"Blind Faith, 1968."

I did like my musical

allusions. --Elliot

"What they, and People's Temple, showed us was the

lack of a central social mission. idealism of the Sixties. We set everyone up.

They just couldn't sustain the

That's what was wrong with the Sixties.

We gave them expectations.

We raised

Tyranny of the Downbeat

565

issues, looking for the truth." --Western

"And then we bailed out.

There was no follow

through." --Elliot

"We asked the questions but didn't take the time

to find the answers.

There was no closing act.

And those who

believed it, who got caught up in it, were left dangling." --Western --Walsh --Western Guayana.

"Sort of like Mike Prokes." "Who?" "The guy from Ralston who was with Jim Jones in

Escaped 'the kool-aid acid test'.

Then blew his brains

out in a Ralston motel bathroom just prior to telling all at a news conference." --Elliot

"That's what I mean.

We set him up.

Made him

think he could change the world." --Western

"So, you're saying when Prokes killed himself, he

did it because he had lost sight of his original goal?" --Elliot its scar.

"Partly.

He was a survivor.

It compromised him.

And Jonestown left

Corrupted his spirit.

couldn't live with himself and with the shame. claims it can help the victims.

He

This society

But what does it know about

healing those with great crimes on their conscience?" --Walsh --Elliot

"So, what's the point?" "People like Prokes--and Borba--traded one idol

for another.

One ideology for another.

One blind belief traded

for another.

One pursued the cult of personality, the other the

cult of power. --Elliot

"Both followed Messiahs.

Borba, a good Catholic

Tyranny of the Downbeat

worshiped Christ. Jones.

566

Prokes, an average white boy, worshiped Jim

Both were seeking better worlds."

--Walsh

"And they simply followed misplaced ideologies."

--Elliot

"They couldn't see through those ideologies.

When

they acted, they did things they couldn't live with." --Western

"And they killed themselves because of the

burdens they carried." --Elliot

"I guess I shouldn't be so surprised.

I remember

something I saw in a magazine, or maybe it was a book. doesn't matter.

It

Anyway, it was an interview with Michael Cimino,

the guy who directed 'The Deerhunter' and 'Heaven's Gate'." We look at each other, our eyebrows raised in recognition of what we know is about to come.

The reaction doesn't go

unnoticed. --Elliot

"I should have listened more carefully.

me how the government would act in this case.

It told

Whose side they

would really be on." We both lean back, preparing for the history lesson. --Elliot

"Cimino was discussing the historical

background that formed the basis for 'Heaven's Gate'.

About

the role played by the federal government when they were faced with the war that had started in Johnson County, Montana.

He

quoted a statement made at the time by then President Benjamin Harrison.

Harrison said:

state to prevent violence. authorities.'

'I can do nothing except act with the Everything else rests with the state

In other words, the highest source of law

enforcement in the land was abdicating his authority to the money

Tyranny of the Downbeat

567

and power of the ruling class.

He was telling the cattlemen that

he expected them to maintain law and order.

As they saw it.

And

if they had to kill a few filthy immigrants in the process, to keep anarchy from reigning, he was giving them the power to do that.

Don't you see? --Walsh

That's what happened here."

"They supported the people with influence."

--Elliot

"Sure, the people in government weren't about to

shoot themselves in the foot.

They knew who put them in power

and who was keeping them there." --Walsh

"The PACs."

--Western --Walsh

"Like Borba's Valley Education Fund." "Supported by money from DiGiulio and OxyGene."

--Elliot

"And that will keep the dams going up."

--Western --Walsh

"And the water flowing." "And the pesticides pumping."

--Western

"Despite the fact that they know, and we know,

it's harmful to the public." --Elliot

"That's okay.

They'll make the compromise.

They'll rationalize it as the greatest good for the greatest number." --Walsh

"Or the ones with the most money and the greatest

influence." --Western --Elliot little

...

"And that's not us." "I once thought differently.

" he hesitates, then finishes:

I guess I was a "

...

blind."

refused to say the word, but he knew I had been right. Elliot stared down the curving driveway.

He was thinking

He

Tyranny of the Downbeat

568

how life always did remind him of scenes from a movie.

This time

he thought of all those movies made in the Sixties with unresolved endings.

That reversed the expected order of things.

He remembered something he once read. things.

"Uncertainty is the way of

There isn't going to be any final truth.

trackless.

The path is

There is the illusion of the end point.

don't get THERE.

But you

What finally happens is you accept that you are

on a different journey." He thought, as well, of the movie that had been a fellow traveler throughout this journey.

Again, it was "Chinatown."

It was John Huston, symbol of the rich, powerful, and influential. he had.

Allowed to go free because of who he was and what

In dollars and dirt on those conducting the

investigation.

He truly was above the law.

Elliot recalled discussing "Chinatown" once with screenwriter Robert Towne, who had said:

"I approached the movie

from the point of view that some crimes are punished because they can be punished.

If you kill somebody, rob or rape somebody,

you'll be caught and thrown into jail.

But crimes against an

entire community you really can't punish, so you end up rewarding them.

You know, those people who get their names on streets and

plaques at City Hall." Life certainly did imitate art and history really did repeat itself.

The parallels were numbing.

He finally realized,

sitting there, the truth of the cliche that the more things change, the more they stay the same. impact.

He thought he could make an

That he could use his influence to change things.

But

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569

he had only become part of the unending cycle of greed and corruption.

He had been derailed, like so many before him, by

special interests, politics, money, and influence, as well as the apathy and disinterest of the public. --Elliot --Western --Elliot right.

"You know, there are no more happy endings." "Never were." "It's a misrepresentation.

'Easy Rider' got it

The world as we know it can yield only one ending.

Death

and disintegration." His disillusion was choking him.

People had died.

had been hurt so others would be more "aware."

People

He had put his

life on the line to tell people something they really didn't want to hear.

And nothing significant had happened.

there will always be a next time.

He thought,

And people will be no more

aware, no more organized, no more outraged than now.

He guessed

there would always be another someone foolish enough, naive enough to think they could make a world of difference. Elliot had given it his best shot.

He had done what he knew

best; using the storytelling skills he had refined his entire life, to move people toward enlightenment and action.

He had

fired a volley across the bow of public opinion and into the void of the vast wasteland.

He had stirred the beast.

Momentarily.

There was movement; some sign of life, a cry for change. got suddenly very quiet again.

The beast was insatiable.

Then it It had

moved on in search of new delights to titillate; new wonders to behold.

Those who would move us must shock us someone had once

written and Elliot now believed.

The attention span of this

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behemoth was too short to assimilate and sustain such a transformation in attitude. But, more importantly, Elliot was very concerned. future.

About the

The one-reeler inside his head had projected what the

future was going to look like.

And it didn't look good.

I went down to the cross roads Fell down on my knees Asked the Lord for mercy Save me if you please I was standin' at the cross roads Tried to flag a ride Ain't nobody seem to know me Everybody passed me by You can run, you can run Tell my friends before the sun goes down Lord, I'm standin' at the cross roads I believe I'm sinkin' low. -- R. Johnson, "Cross Roads" Walsh and I decided to take one last run out to the refuge. Have a few beers and take our parting shots.

The light was

getting low on the horizon. Summer was fading fast.

Soon it

would be fall and, then, a new year. We stood side-by-side, leaning against the front of the pick-up.

The summer's breeze was kicking up.

sun made everything golden, timeless. of a field bordering Masterson. tranquil, inviting. evening.

The late afternoon

We stood in the middle

The pond looked peaceful,

There were no DWR men firing shotguns this

The migrations would be starting soon.

might have no place to stop.

This time they

The refuge might be drained,

bulldozed into a pile and buried.

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571

I kicked at one of the hedgerows in the field. covered with a thick layer of salt.

It was

"Look at this shit.

believe these people were so stupid.

I can't

They killed the land that

fed them." "It's money, honey. money, they went for it.

If cultivating more land meant more Even if the land got poisoned."

I picked up a handful of salty earth and let it sift and drift slowly between my fingers.

"Salt is gonna kill this

planet." "Water to water.

Desert to desert.

"Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust."

Salt to salt."

The dirt fell with a thud on top of the casket.

The parish

priest gave a blessing as Borba's wife, family, and friends paid their last respects.

Because he had been so generous and good

to the church during his life, they gave him a special dispensation during death, allowing him a traditional Catholic burial, despite the fact that he had committed suicide. "Standing here sort of feels like the final scene from 'Monte Walsh.'" "God, we have been around Elliot too long." "No, come on.

The one where the two friends realize the

days of the open range are over. cowboys.

That they're the last of the

That they're going their separate ways

"Don't get sentimental on me. "Yea, right.

...

forever."

Shit, not now."

So, it's back to LA then off to DC for you?"

"And San Francisco for you?" "I'm not sure.

I've been thinking about sticking around for

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572

a while." "You mean going back to Ralston?" "Maybe." "You sure that's a good idea?" "No.

They probably won't even let me past the city limits."

"Well, you've heard it before. "But it is what I know.

You can't go home again."

It's shaped me.

I'm a valley boy.

I am what it made me." "Some of that's good, some bad." "Oh well, who knows."

I drained the last of my beer and

threw it into the back of Walsh's pick-up. "Any way, this is it for now, amigo.

Give my best to Di and

the boys." "Can do." "See you real soon." "Look for me when you see me comin'." We looked at each other, then embraced.

A few quick pats on

the back and we were apart, heading for our trucks. climbed in, and fired up the engines, we nod.

As we

Then, Walsh

shouted out, "Hey, asshole, gargle my balls!" "Yea, bite me!" We both hit it, just once more. dovetailed out of the field.

Going back in time, we

Pulling up side-by-side, we smiled

and were gone. From the coast range, rising gently up from the valley floor, you could see two trucks racing down the road. cross roads, one turned south.

The other turned north.

At the

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The native son was laid to rest in the earth of the San Joaquin Valley.

The land he loved, then almost killed.

There

were not as many people in attendance as might be expected for someone who was once so powerful.

Ozymandias ruled no more.

shovel-loads of dirt thumped against the wooden casket. drummer, playing the downbeat.

Well I was born in a small town And I live in a small town Oh, the small communities All my friends are so small town My parents live in the same small town My job is so small town Provides little opportunity Oh, I cannot forget from where it is I come from Cannot forget the people who really love me Well, I can be myself here in this small town And people let me be just what I wanna be Well I was born in a small town And I live in a small town Probably die in a small town Oh, and that's just where I wanna be Well, I was born in a small town And I can breathe in a small town Gonna die in a small town Oh, and that's probably where they'll bury me -- John Mellencamp, "Small Town"

The

Like a

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THE FINAL WORD: In a carefully wrought compromise among environmentalists, the state and federal governments, the Bureau of Reclamation agreed to carry out the state-ordered bulldozing of the Masterson Wildlife Refuge.

The DiGiulio Winery, OxyGene, the Marriposa Combine, and the Westlands Water and Power League were fined and ordered to pay damages to all who could prove pesticide-related health problems.

The EPA developed a new, more stringent set of standards for protecting groundwater.

Sandy Western's self-image problem died one October's night when he missed the on-ramp to San Francisco in the fog.

And Elliot Lincoln returned home to fantasy.

The only reminder you'll find of John Anthony Borba is a freeway.

In his honor.

Running straight as an arrow, right

through the heart of the Valley.

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575 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My heartfelt thanks to: David Dolan for contributing "The Engine of Change." George Rogers and Brenda Martinez for their diligent and patient research. Lillian Vallee for taking the time to take a look. Roman Loranc for his spectacular photography of the Central Valley. The poets, writers, and songwriters whose words inspired me. And Robin Johnson for being there.