California Crazy

 "My gawd, they look old," said my brother's widow, Diane.

I recognized few people; one espied me and delightedly greeted me--"Welcome, Jim," she wheezed."

"Jim?" I thought,  Am I that unrecognizable?

My wife Jenny declined to attend my 60th high school reunion in a town she'd never known.  Diane, though, was born and raised here, so she knew more of the folk in my class, three years ahead of her, than I ever had, since I only arrived in agricultural La Habra in my sophomore high school year.

The thirty alumni of the La Habra class of 1958 gathered for dinner Sept 28, 2018.  Why am I only reporting this now?   Because I just found the notes, as we prepare to move back to California from Oregon to be nearer to family in our dotage.

That night, canes were prominent, walkers evident, health issues topped the conversation.  But laughter abounded, hugs were ubiquitous, old animosities forgotten, and wonder of wonders--great ideas for today's students flowed freely.  The best IMHO was "never confuse Preparation H with toothpaste."

Americans are joiners, members of clubs and associaitons of every kind and description.  Some clubs thrive for years, while others arise and ebb over faddish goals.   Much of America's greatness and magnanimity derives from generosity and charity that flows from religious and secular groups, clubs, societies, organizations and associations in every corner of America.

Some clubs are constantly, inevitably, shrinking.  Think for example about the DeSoto owners club.  A high school class, once graduated, can never grow.  Our club members numbered 225 all told, with 198 'graduating on time.'   Nearly one third have died (7 years ago), not so bad if you think that all the rest of us are beating America's average lifespans for both men and women handily.

 You don't choose to join some clubs--if you graduated with a high school class, you are a member of that group whether or not you ever choose to attend any events.   It is possible to be a member of a group that never convenes, whose members may not realized that they share membership.  Ditto for companies.  Hewlett-Packard started in 1939--the date is irrevocable, so that company by definition is in a group whose origins will always predate World War II.  

For some reason, I got enthused later that night about this group in which I was eating dinner--I thought of them as Ornery Bastards--they've seen it all, they've lived it all, and they can scarcely believe the results of California's growth over eight decades of evolution, innovation, and social change.

I knew a fellow once who actually titled his small group of friends, Yrenro Dratsabs, pronounced Y-Reen-Ro Drat-Sabs, which is Ornery Bastards spelt backwards.   

Of the thirty attendees that night, 5 were born elsewhere than California.   I started musing about how many Californians today were actually born in California before WW II.  The group, however large it was at some point (say, 1940), is clearly been shrinking ever since.   

The next day, I did some noodling on the subject.  California population in 1940 was 6.9 million folk, up from 5.7 million in 1930.   Given the lure of Hollywood, plus migrations described in Grapes of Wrath, my conclusion is that only about 40% of the 6.9 million were actually born in California.  And of those, only a third were under 15 years old in 1940.  So the cohort we are trying to describe here starts with roughly 900,000 to one million folk who would have had a chance to be in our current group.

Using the demographic for our own high school graduating class, roughly 40% have moved away--a statistic seldom mentioned about Americans is that Westerners are much more mobile than Easterners or Midwestern folk.  28% of our class had passed away, but this is the 'last year' of that 15 year cohort, for which on average more than 65% have departed the world of the living.

Taking these two factors together, the 900,000 cohort has shrunk by this point to about 180,000 living native Californians born before World War II.  This computes to about 4 people in 1,000 in California who belong to this group which is now shrinking faster than at any earlier time.  I posed this once to an octogenarian in Woodlake, CA (a rural agricultural town of about 8,000 folk), Coach Frank Ainley   https://www.woodlakefoundation.org/hof-past-inductees/blog-post-title-one-6nx32-cljdn

Ainley, youngest of three boys, stayed in town after WW II service, ranching on his father's homestead.  An older brother went to Alaska and stayed; I never learned about the eldest son's pathway.  By Frank and I agreed, that we were in a small club, one getting smaller by the year.

Years as the Woodlake football coach didn't dim Ainley's love of the ranching world.   As patriarch, he still heads up one of Califronia's dwindling 'large' cattle ranche.   705 head in 2004, vs. 93% of CA's cattle ranches less than 100 head, accordin to one interview when Frank was 71 (born in 1933).    https://www.facebook.com/groups/605982946133424/posts/25035594522745593/

So, think about it--a tiny few of those in this club started with the flappers and the chnchilla coats and the speak-easies of the late 1920;s, to build the land "of fruits and nuts" and the high-tech leadership of aircraft and war tools in Southern California, long before California spawned the personal computer, WorldWideWeb, and iPhone from Silicon Valley, not to metntion an avant garde approach to societal issues of every stripe.  How to capture these changes and emotions?  An impossible task at one level, but one wonders if vignettes centered around specific ideas, individuals, careers, and towns could provide an anchor for each of us to appreciate more deeply the past eight decades of California in the American pantheon.

Jenny's cousin Joan Didion tried, god knows, to capture some of this.  Dare I try?

Such an effort would indeed be California Crazy.