Fans Getting a Piece of the Action

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Sept. 11, 2001

Once dismissed as a selfish brute with a violent swing, Barry Bonds is now an endeared national figure with the sweet stroke that saved baseball in 2001.

The San Francisco Giants slugger, whose statistics bulge like his biceps, is closing in on the single-season home run record with religious intensity.

But his homer barrage and humble post-game interviews have sparked another phenomenon: Barry Bonds memorabilia mania.

Fans and collectors coast-to-coast are going batty for all things Bonds, including authentic jerseys, signed baseballs and mint-condition rookie trading cards.

These days, a pair of his soiled stirrup socks could probably fetch three digits at auction.

"He's doing and saying everything right to help his image," said Carla Michener, owner of Diamond Sports Cards in Concord. "It's good for the Bay Area and the Giants."

Indeed, Bonds' personal stock is soaring like a line drive over the right-field wall at Pacific Bell Park.

His rookie baseball card has tripled in value since the beginning of the year.

And grown men waited in long lines to nab a Bonds bobble-head action figure that sold out in one day at selected Carl's Jr. restaurants.

"Some of our restaurants reported that people were willing to wait overnight to get them," said Narina Singh, a spokeswoman for Carl's Jr.

On Monday, frenzied junk Bonds collectors created an online traffic jam on eBay to price bats and cards of their left-handed icon.

Folks were hocking everything from an authentic Barry Bonds game jersey ($52) to a rare, high-graded 1987 Fleer rookie card of the slugger for $1,725.

Baseballs with Bonds' autograph have been selling for $140 at Talkin' Baseball, a card dealer in Danville. A year ago, the same balls would have fetched half that amount, said owner Kenneth Brison.

"It's not like I'm getting slammed," Brison said. "I mean, he's been hot for a good part of the year. But I'm getting a lot of calls today because he hit three dingers (Sunday)."

Indeed, the 10-time All-Star clubbed three home runs Nos. 61, 62 and 63 during a victory over the Colorado Rockies.

That effort put Bonds on pace to hit 71 homers, which would eclipse the record St. Louis Cardinals first baseman Mark McGwire set in 1998.

Of course, the fervor over the historic sphere would only add to Bonds' growing legend and improving reputation.

The fan who caught McGwire's 70th home run ball, Phil Ozersky of St. Louis, sold it to Spawn comic book creator Todd McFarlane for $3 million.

And that begs the question: How much would Bonds' record-breaking ball command on the open market?

"I'd say about $1 million or so," said Al Neimann, owner of Antioch Sports Collectibles.

"It's hard to put a price on that one," Brison said. "If you had asked me to buy McGwire's for $3 million I would have thought you were crazy. But somebody owns it."

Experts, however, seemed to agree that the price for No. 71 would likely be lower than No. 70's. McGwire's smash came after broke a the magical home run record of 61 that stood for nearly four decades.

In any case, officials from the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum in Cooperstown, N.Y., have been building key relationships at Pac Bell Park.

While they would love the ball, they will take what they can get.

"The great thing is that, for any one single event, more than one artifact can help tell the story," said Jeff Idelson, vice president of communications at the Hall of Fame. "If we had our druthers we have the bat and ball of Babe Ruth's 60th and Roger Maris' 61st Barry's bat and ball would be our top priority."

East County Is Ready for Dinner

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Sept. 30, 2001

PITTSBURG -- Krispy Kreme, purveyor of all things round and glazed, hardly fits the classic definition of a restaurant.

But in Pittsburg, the venerable doughnut maker from Winston-Salem, N.C., is being hailed as the first diner at a budding freeway center that city officials are calling "restaurant row." Krispy Kreme, scheduled to open Oct. 23, is a national phenomenon whose famed fryers dunk about 5 million doughnuts a day.

Nonetheless, its arrival in East Contra Costa underscores the struggle city leaders face in trying to attract good-quality sit-down restaurants in a region long known for its gritty reputation and blue-collar tastes.

Despite a decade of unprecedented growth, East County's rural landscape is dotted with neon-flickering fast-food joints and drive-through markets.

Many new residents of Antioch and Pittsburg, who paid $300,000 to $400,000 for their stucco shelters, clamor for a broader menu than beef tacos and double-bacon cheeseburgers.

Even some people who grew up in the area have grown tired of chewing the fat.

"I think there's a serious shortage out here," said longtime Bethel Island resident Louise Lincoln, tossing a sack of Foster's Freeze into the cab of her truck.

"Many times, we have to drive over the hill to Concord and Walnut Creek for something good."

Community leaders, however, have been unable to convince some developers that the region has grown up enough to improve its diet.

"Pittsburg, particularly in the past, has had issues regarding its image," said Brad Nail, the city's economic and redevelopment coordinator.

"Pittsburg has always struggled with that. But one thing that we're excited about is this: Pittsburg has arrived.

"Those old perceptions," he added, "are no longer valid."

Indeed, the growing city is trying to distance itself from its own checkered past.

Over the summer, while the economy sizzled like a bacon strip, Mayor Frank Quesada touted Pittsburg's boom in business and residential construction.

Then, he made a dramatic announcement: Krispy Kreme and In-N-Out were heading to town and would help create restaurant row off Highway 4.

Some folks gasped. Doughnuts for dinner? But officials think the new tenants at Delta Gateway Center would serve as crucial building blocks to a potentially vibrant plaza.

In-N-Out, a hamburger institution, and Del Taco, a popular Southern California chain, are expected to arrive in Pittsburg next year, Nail said.

Nearby, at Century Plaza, there are several sit-down restaurants, including Red Lobster and Olive Garden.

It is not clear, however, when restaurant row would include a gourmet bistro.

In any case, some local restaurateurs say there are plenty of dining places with menus that have been overlooked by the newcomers.

"Once people know that we're not a private club, they come in and come back again," said John A. Zandonella, owner of Zandonella's, which opened in Pittsburg eight years ago.

The popular diner, whose banquet rooms are being booked for 2003, serves filet mignon and a full lineup of pasta dishes. Zandonella also pointed to other good area eateries, including Kelly's in Antioch and the Liberty Hotel and Snooker Pete's Bar & Grille in Pittsburg.

Take-out tastes
But whether East County folks are ready to revamp their taste buds remains to be seen.

In 1999, Antioch residents shouted down a proposal that would have banned fast-food joints in the city in favor of more upscale fare.

Mayor Don Freitas originated the plan while he was a city councilman; he had no support.

If the community keeps rolling out the red carpet to makers of all things dipped in grease, he said, Antioch would not earn the quality-of-life of a true suburb.

"I know I'm going against decades of very negative thinking: That's my biggest challenge," said Freitas, who became mayor in November. "We need to break the mind-set and raise the bar."

During the 1990s, city leadership was so misguided that potential developers steered clear, he said.

"The City Council was in turmoil and chaos, worse than the Jerry Springer Show.' Fortunately, the chairs were bolted to the ground," Freitas said. "We're still paying the price for that.

"Antioch had developed a horrible reputation," he added, "particularly in the business community."

Starved for real food
Still, no one can ignore the city's immense growth for long. New census figures show a 46 percent population increase in Antioch over the past decade.

Previously, city leaders had been using outdated population and demographic figures, said Eli Naffah, economic development director in Antioch.

In August, the Economic Development Commission recommended to the City Council to conduct a survey of restaurant owners to better understand its food market.

And as part of the renewed effort to attract places with more waiters and fewer window clerks, Antioch is working closely with a San Francisco restaurant consultant.

Still, not everyone with a white tablecloth is shying away from East County.

Leonard Amodio, 29, and his 31-year-old brother, Vincent, opened Verdi Italian Restaurant on Sept. 12.

The restaurant is located on East 18th Street, in a building that KFC used to occupy.

It includes a full bar stocked with wine, as well as tortellini with white clam sauce, chicken parmigiana and other dishes hard to find in a city with 55 sit-down restaurants.

Leonard Amodio, wearing a silk tie and pressed olive-green trousers, sat on a bench in front of his business on a warm afternoon.

"If a person is a religious fast-food junkie, we probably can't help them much," he said, glancing across the street at his neighbor, Foster's Freeze.

"But people all know, intuitively, what good food is," he added. "You can't compare a boscaiola ravioli with a cheeseburger. You just can't."

Contra Costa Inmate a 'Thorn In Our Side'

Note: I wrote this story while working the night cops beat, after receiving several letters from a county jail inmate complaining about his incarceration. I decided to meet with him.

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
July 22, 2001

MARTINEZ -- Gary Dale Mosbarger, shackled and confined to a windowless cell, vows to expose corruption behind the razor-curled fences at County Jail.

The 42-year-old inmate has transformed his jail cell into a miniature law firm, from which he has filed an enormous number of protests and appeals.

Mosbarger, a convicted thief, is Contra Costa County's most active and vocal critic.

"If they want me to be a spineless little cricket in here," he says, staring through a smudge-streaked window, "it's not going to happen."

Law enforcement officials say he's a thorn in their side, a convict with a misguided agenda. "Mr. Mosbarger is probably the most litigious inmate with whom I have ever come into contact in my 25 years with the sheriff's office," said Lt. John Celestre, recent commander of County Jail in Martinez.

At first glance, it's a common feud pitting an inmate's right to protest against a jail's responsibility to keep order.

In the 1999-2000 fiscal year, the state inmate appeals office recorded 10,765 inmate appeals, or nearly 900 per month. But Mosbarger's is a rare case in the county jail system, where inmates, generally serving a year or less or awaiting trial, are less feisty.

Over the years, he has waged a considerable fight to shed light on what he perceives as "a pattern of brutality" inside the county lockup.

Mosbarger believes inmates are being improperly punished and beaten and that he is often singled out for criticizing the system. His wide range of detailed complaints and allegations has created a mountain of paperwork for sheriff's deputies and court clerks.

"They've taken a hard run at me, and I've taken a hard run at them," he said.

Still, Mosbarger's single-minded quest to uncover injustice often overshadows his own struggle to stay out of jail.

A former car salesman, he has practically used a turnstile to shuttle between freedom and detention over the past decade.

His criminal background involves mostly petty theft charges. He's been arrested for swiping a pack of cigarettes and trying to steal a case of beer from a convenience store.

"He's not even a very good crook," one deputy said.

Once locked up, however, Mosbarger gets active. He feels a responsibility to report complaints on behalf of other inmates and himself, he said.

"You have to witness what I've witnessed, to see the beatings," he said, wearing a mustard jumpsuit and his brown hair combed back. "When I see these guys, they're black and blue, on crutches. And their complaints are sent back.

"I assist them in order to get the proper review of their complaints."

Celestre said jail policy requires that every grievance be properly investigated.

"This is some of my correspondence with Mr. Mosbarger," he said, pulling out a thick vanilla folder crammed with letters.

Celestre said the veteran inmate has taken full advantage of the jail's liberal appeals process, which allows serious complaints to reach Sheriff Warren E. Rupf's desk.

"He is a thorn in our side," Celestre said. "He eats up a tremendous amount of our time with his paperwork.

"But again -- and Mr. Mosbarger will probably disagree with me on this -- his protests, appeals and grievances are responded to at every level."

Mosbarger and his older brother, Wayne Mosbarger, grew up at an orphanage in Great Falls, Mont.

As they grew older, the brothers stuck together, moving across the Western United States in search of work.

Gary was a gifted salesman. While working for Toyota dealers, cars practically rolled off the lot. But unlike his brother, Gary was born without the caution gene. Soon, he developed a serious drug problem.

In the early 1980s, Gary moved to California to settle down and be closer to his biological mother.

The hectic pace of life on the coast, however, changed his course.

"He lost his way while trying to support a drug habit with his girlfriend," said Wayne Mosbarger, an art gallery framer in Tennessee. "Finally, her family cut him off. He's drifted ever since. That's when he became, well, a criminal."

Gary Mosbarger has complained bitterly and regularly since being logged into the county jail system in 1991.

To date, he has filed nearly 30 writs of habeas corpus, most of which are rejected without much consideration. Habeas corpus allows people to seek release from unconstitutional detention.

Lt. Dale Varady of internal affairs declined to discuss Mosbarger's growing file of grievances, citing pending litigation.

"They need to let him go," said Wayne Mosbarger, 43. "He'll leave the state. You think they'd roll out the red carpet for Gary at the Nevada line and say, Don't come back.'"

"It would save taxpayers a bundle on all this litigation and court stuff," he continued over the phone. "But they won't do that."

Sheriff's officials said the inmate can clean up his act and get out.

His latest troubles stem from a March 5 incident in which authorities say he became unruly and attempted to stab a deputy with a pencil.

A felony charge of obstructing and resisting officers' executive orders was added. He faces additional jail time.

Mosbarger protested the many inmates crammed into a holding cell that morning, saying it violated the fire code and posed a severe safety hazard.

He denies ever using a pencil and accuses authorities of lying and separating him from potential witnesses.

"That new charge is solely because I spoke out against those conditions," he said. "It's all part of my speaking up and exercising my First Amendment rights."

Now, his hands and ankles are shackled when he is outside of his cell because jail officials consider him potentially violent.

Mosbarger, who points to his nonviolent past, accuses the jail of using chains as punishment, not for safety.

Recently, he stood before Contra Costa Superior Court Judge Laurel Brady while his attorney protested the latest charges. She agreed that deputies had placed too many people in the cell, but rejected his petition.

"No credible evidence supports petitioner's claim that he is being tortured; that his First Amendment rights are being suppressed; that he is subject to brutality, oppression or harassment," she wrote.

Pleasant Hill Sues Brothers to Have House Razed

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Dec. 11, 2002

Jerry Magganas and his brother, Athan, call their rickety and crumbling house "Anastasia," a Greek word for reincarnation.

It is certainly going to take one to revive 1680 Oak Park Boulevard. Pleasant Hill has sued the Greek brothers over the dilapidated and hazardous condition of their vacant digs, calling on the owners to hire a licensed contractor to tear it down.

It is the final word in a city tangle over the increasingly shabby look of the 53-year-old house, last occupied by a transient caught snoozing in a rear bedroom.

"Nine times out of 10, property owners comply over a period of time," said City Attorney Debra Margolis. "But this is the first time in my eight years here that we've had to file a lawsuit to do it."

Indeed, the four-bedroom house already looks like a wrecking ball has passed through its grungy hallways once or twice. Holes gape in the ceiling. Cracks in the stucco. Smashed-out or boarded up windows. Rodent droppings. Piles of rubble in each room and in the sprawling backyard lot. Code enforcement officers posted a notice to abate the debris-strewn property in April.

In August, a fire inspector declared the dwelling a fire threat.

"The structure was open and accessible to children and other persons and had large accumulations of combustible debris therein," wrote Robert Davis, a county fire inspector.

Davis expressed concerns about winds blowing flames next door to the Aegis Assisted Living Facility, home to some Alzheimer's patients. a city code enforcement team last month declared the place unsafe and unsanitary.

Police on Nov. 20 chased off a homeless man living inside who had apparently kept warm by building fires in a sink.

The lawsuit, filed Dec. 4, orders the owners to immediately remove all junk and debris, secure the building and arrange to demolish it.

Jerry Magganas, a 51-year-old father of three, was loading garbage from the house into a truck Tuesday. He said he would comply with the order, which he said was spurred by bureaucratic wrangling.

"We don't want the eyesore here. We don't want to live with such a stigma," Magganas said.

Property records show that the Magganas brothers bought the house in September 2000 for $250,000. Even after the house falls to the ground, the deal remains spectacular: The 19,760 square foot lot has nearly enough legal space for two houses.

A Wet and Wild Day

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 26, 2001

A powerful winter storm, aided by strong gusts of wind, raked the Bay Area on Thursday, knocking down power lines, making highways slick and crowning Mount Diablo with 2 inches of snow.

The steady afternoon deluge, which included hail and lightning, swept through the Bay Area starting about 2 p.m. before heading south to pound the coastline.

It led to scattered power outages, scores of freeway spinouts, partially flooded highways, uprooted trees and lengthy flight delays at San Francisco International Airport.

"It rained hard for a while, but the saving grace was that the cold front started to move out by the late afternoon," said meteorologist Shane Snyder of the National Weather Service.

Forecasters predict more rain today, with a possible thunderstorm. Clouds are expected to decrease tonight.

The weekend will bring clear and sunny skies throughout the East Bay, according to the National Weather Service.

About 3 p.m. Thursday, snow began to fall at Mount Diablo, forcing park rangers to close the park above the ranger station.

A short time later, fierce winds reaching 96 mph swirled over the mountain, said Dave Matthews, a supervising ranger with the East Bay Regional Park District.

"Oddly enough, we had some people eating lunch up in the summit parking lot, even though you couldn't see your feet in front of your face," he said.

The storm, fueled by 50 mph winds in many areas, rocked coastal communities the hardest, dumping about an inch of rain in San Rafael in only a few hours.

It also prompted a heavy surf advisory, with swells expected to reach 21 feet, which will remain in effect today.

About 10,000 Pacific Gas & Electric Co. customers were without power at one point Thursday, said spokeswoman Staci Homrig.

"The North Bay was hit the hardest today," said Homrig, who attributed most of the outages to felled trees and power lines. "It was just all the little things that Mother Nature could throw at us."

Travel plans were spoiled at San Francisco's airport, where some flights were delayed by as much as four hours, said spokesman Ron Wilson.

Meanwhile, spinouts and fender-benders littered rain-slicked Bay Area freeways. But the California Highway Patrol reported no major accidents.

"There were a lot of injury accidents and solo spinouts, but nothing too serious," said CHP officer Virgil Aguilar. Between 1 and 4 p.m., 250 vehicle accidents were reported in the Bay Area. Traffic slowed for a while on Highway 4 on Thursday afternoon as startled motorists battled a hailstorm.

And commuter-heavy eastbound Highway 4 in Pittsburg flooded just west of the Railroad Avenue exit, slowing traffic about 4:30 p.m.

Blizzard-like conditions by the evening also closed Interstate 80 from the Sierra Nevada foothills to the Nevada state line. Cars heading toward Reno and Lake Tahoe on I-80 were stopped in Auburn. State police said they closed the highway in both directions from Auburn to the Nevada state line Thursday evening because of whiteouts and accidents.

The force of the wind and rain caught many people by surprise.

In North Richmond, a lightning strike temporarily knocked out power in the 500 block of Gertrude Avenue.

The 1:30 p.m. thunderbolt startled those gathered for the community's beautification committee meeting at the Shields-Reid Community Center, causing one woman to fall out of her chair.

"It sounded almost like a bomb," said Contra Costa County Supervisor John Gioia, who was at the meeting. "We heard the thunder and saw a big flash. We had the rest of our meeting in darkness."

In neighboring Richmond, the area surrounding the railroad tracks at Carson and Cutting boulevards flooded mildly.

Some streets in San Pablo also had minor flooding from clogged storm drains.

Lightning, thunder and bursts of hail punctuated the afternoon, along with rain showers that were so strong one San Pablo woman said she had never seen anything like it in the 23 years she has lived in the city.

"It was just pouring," said Flannery Road resident Diana Pitcher, who got out the video camera to capture the image of heavy garbage cans being pushed down her street by a torrent of water. "We heard rumbling and saw our garbage can disappear down the street and then the other garbage cans followed it," Pitcher said. "My children were belly-rolling as they watched the garbage cans going down the street."

In downtown Walnut Creek, rain flooded a piano store when a drain pipe collapsed. Rainwater squirted through an opening in the ceiling at Music Exchange, 1501 N. Main St., and soaked the floor near the cash register.

Grim employees watched as fire officials used high-powered vacuums to remove the water. "We're going to have to move the pianos if the moisture stays too long, it can do a lot of damage," store manager Theresa Miller said.

Some of the pianos affected by the water were electrical players, which fetch as much as $60,000, she said.

Few weather-related problems were reported in the Tri-Valley on Thursday, though flooding created headaches for motorists trying to merge onto westbound I-580 from southbound I-680. The San Ramon Fire Protection District had to shore up a leaking roof at its offices in the 1500 block of Bollinger Canyon Road.

No Almond Joy

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 25, 2003

OAKLEY -- The gnarled trees, standing in neat rows like defeated soldiers, crowd a farm near a rural intersection between nowhere and somewhere.

Out here, in a growing city of 27,000 slowly losing its agricultural grip, it's going to end soon.

The last commercial almond orchard in Contra Costa County will collapse under a flurry of hatchet blows.

"Almond firewood is very good," said farmer Paul Lamborn, gazing out at his raw-boned trees under a morning sky.

What a finish. Lamborn, 83, will soon transform his 7-acre orchard into a "U-pick and cut 'em" firewood outlet.

Trees will fall for about $15 apiece, an eventual pileup that spells the pitiful demise of a once-mighty county crop.

The number of "bearing" almond acres countywide has plunged from 7,445 in 1950 to about a dozen today.

Suburban sprawl, fears over a bacterial disease called "almond leaf scorch" and intense competition in the Central Valley led to the collapse.

Lamborn, a retired county farm adviser for the University of California, said he has few choices.

He simply cannot afford to meet the industry's unyielding demands and rising expenses, such as hauling, labor, water and fertilizer materials.

What's more, a "hand operation" like his (no mechanics) is too physically straining for a hobbyist with waning health. Lamborn uses a homemade, 3-foot mallet to whack the nuts from their limbs and an almond fork to scoop them up.

"The trees are just coming into good production -- they're about 15 years old," he said. "It's very difficult for me to say I'll abandon them. But I can't make enough to pay the bills. It's kind of dumb to keep doing it."

Lamborn's exit -- the county's official almond retreat -- is an ironic farewell.

California growers are swept up in an unparalleled almond joy, a spectacular harvest that has yielded a record heap.

Handlers received more than 1 billion pounds of the crunchy nuts last year, up from 821 million pounds in 2001, according to the Almond Board of California.

About 6,000 growers are shaking loaded trees mostly along an agricultural belt that stretches between Red Bluff and Bakersfield.

Almonds are the No. 1 nut tree crop in California, which produces more than 75 percent of the world's supply.

Ideal weather, innovative and efficient growing practices and strong publicity about the health benefits triggered the boom.

"At the same time, five years back we saw a sharp increase in planting -- and those trees are coming into production," said Colleen Aguiar of the state board.

Statewide, about 525,000 almond acres are "bearing," or producing nuts, with an additional 70,000 maturing and waiting in the wings.

But a much different story unfolds in the rolling hills of Contra Costa. The rapidly growing region lost more than half of its farmland to development between 1940 and 1970.

Nearly 300,000 residents have poured into the county since 1980, with new suburbs springing up and pushing out farms.

Nut farmers, faced with an almond market that shifted to the Central Valley, started packing or re-thinking their crops.

"I was happy to get out. When you can't survive, you're happy to get out," said retired almond farmer Gene Stonebarger, who watches over a grape vineyard at his Oakley ranch.

Lamborn, a graying man with hands the size of dinner plates, is the last one standing.

It hasn't been easy. His 15-acre ranch off Laurel Road, studded with walnut, peach and almond trees, is down from 40 acres in the early 1970s.

The Contra Costa Water District bought 17 acres in 1991 for its water treatment plant.

Nearby road widening projects and a future interchange at Laurel Road for the state Route 4 bypass is also cutting into his farm, his life.

Outside the windows of his 2,200-square-foot ranch home, Lamborn sees a city slowly shedding its rural image.

"Almonds, particularly, do well in sandy soils. And this is a particularly good area for almonds and grapes," he said, in a deep baritone, while leaning into a recliner.

"But after a while, it becomes pretty attractive for a landowner to decide to quit and get into houses."

Oakley, located six miles east of Antioch, incorporated in 1999 and is grappling with its identity and economic possibilities.

Its largest annual community event, the Almond Festival, clings to its agricultural heritage, drawing about 30,000 people over a weekend.

Organizers buy about 800 to 900 pounds of the tasty nuts, occasionally making an emergency run to a supermarket when the supply runs low.

Ben Toasted, the chamber of commerce's almond-shaped mascot, could be out of work soon.

"I have mixed feelings. With everything that ends, something begins," said Councilwoman Pat Anderson. "It's so sad to see something go away, that aesthetic part of a community that will not be seen by generations to come.

"Progress is moving forward. I'm happy for (Lamborn) that this part of his life is moving over to something else."

Lamborn, who was born in Utah and owns a 2,000-acre cattle ranch there, decided to call it quits last year.

After harvesting 10,000 pounds of almonds in 2001, he did not haul any of the nuts to his handler near Modesto last year.

In fact, he sounds excited about devoting more time to his 2-acre peach orchard, which yield his popular sun-dried "early Elbertas."

"Some folks come out here each year just for this one variety," he said, smiling. "They're sweeter. Excellent peach flavor."

Lamborn has been a featured act on the Central County farmers market circuit for the past two decades.

Locals call him "The Peach Man." His ripe fruit, Red Havens, Red Tops and Suncrests, sell out before 10 a.m.

For variety, or perhaps nostalgia, he wants to save 300 to 400 pounds of almonds for his market trips.

Alas, his orchard -- 700 prickly trees, some of which reach 20 feet tall -- will be open to the public once he returns from a vacation in April.

Bring an ax.

"U-pick and cut 'em," he said. "That's my program starting in '03."

Bradford Island Mariner Hunkers Down on Delta Island

Note: I wrote the following article after paying a visit to a squatter on a hard-to-reach island out in the Sacramento Delta. No previous reporter had visited him before, and I wanted to be able to share his side of the story, too, despite rumors of his being dangerous. So I made the trip and, because of it, generated a front-page story.

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Sept. 4, 2001

Claus Von Wendel is the bearded ruler of his own ramshackle kingdom on a forgotten, windswept island in the western Delta.

He lives on a rusted fleet of hulking barges, which includes a 20-ton crane that juts, perhaps arrogantly, into the sky above Fisherman's Cut.

Outside his bedroom window, he plucks fresh black bass from the milky-green waters. Sparrows are allowed to set up nests inside his house.

The 60-year-old East Prussia native enjoys the natural serenity of Bradford Island and its "potential for self-sufficiency."

But local and state officials see things differently. They view the 2,100-acre island north of Oakley as a floating eyesore, a secluded enclave littered with abandoned vessels and loaded with hazards.

And they see Von Wendel as a free-spirited mariner whose illegal practices and unsightly barge have helped contribute to the island's reputation as the "junkyard of the Delta."

Von Wendel, who moved to Bradford Island in 1991, thinks he has been unfairly singled out as the prime target of a new multiagency task force. He vows to stand his ground.

"I've lived on the waters for 30 years," he said, gazing out at the sun-splashed surface of the Delta. "But it's unlike what it used to be.

"This area was initially settled by mariners, ship builders, barge operators, levee builders All of a sudden, in 2001, life on the water is no longer acceptable."

The rift underscores the immense challenge authorities face in trying to revive and clean an island that has been neglected for years.

But authorities have become determined. The Contra Costa County Sheriff's Office, with pressure from legislators, tagged and hauled away 136 junked cars last year. Dilapidated mobile homes and derelict vessels followed.

And in February, the Bradford Island Task Force, composed of about 20 members and 10 government agencies, was created. It zeroed in on the crumbling lineup of debris that clutter Fisherman's Cut, a narrow channel of water on the eastern part of the island.

"There are a lot of problems in that channel," said state Department of Fish and Game patrol Lt. Dennis DeAnda. "The people responsible for some of the trouble there do not appear to have the financial means to remedy, correct or remove the problems. It's a common theme in the Delta."

Especially on Bradford Island, reached only by ferry. For years, the remote island was a lush, agricultural area on which farmers raised cattle and planted crops under a blazing sun.

But then came a crushing blow: Fierce, storm-fueled waves ripped a gaping hole in the levee on Dec. 3, 1983. The raging flood killed cattle, wiped out homes and caused millions of dollars in damage.

In the aftermath, distraught residents sorted through the rubble and decided to leave the island; squatters, strong-willed independents and other folks in search of privacy and tranquillity began setting up camp along the shorelines.

The junk followed. Soon, the island was strewn with abandoned vehicles, derelict vessels, rusted appliances and other nuisances that forced property values to plunge.

Earlier this year, Von Wendel made news when he drove five pilings into a chunk of the Fisherman's Cut without permission.

A bitter dispute with a property owner, he said, forced him to move about a quarter-mile south along Fisherman's Cut. A friend allowed him to set up camp along the shoreline.

To secure his new dwelling, he used his massive crane to drill the 35-foot-long pilings into the levee.

Two broke off during a February storm, and Von Wendel didn't have the proper permit to do the work.

Concerned authorities scurried to the island to investigate.

Permits are required, he was told, because government agencies want to make sure the pilings do not damage the levee and disrupt endangered fish and wildlife.

Von Wendel, a burly man with a thorny, silver-streaked beard, said he didn't know at the time that a permit was required, but state officials reject that excuse.

Now, Von Wendel finds himself in the middle of a fierce tug of war against local and state authorities.

The owner of the property where he lives, Kenneth Headley, recently filed a permit application on behalf of Von Wendel asking that he be allowed to drive 12 new pilings to further secure his home with winter approaching.

Meanwhile, in an Aug. 22 letter sent to the island's property owners, Bradford Island Reclamation District 2059 solicited comments about Von Wendel's application. The district opposes the work.

The Bradford Island Task Force is preparing to file a complaint against Von Wendel with the Contra Costa District Attorney's Office.

"Our main concern is that he's messing with the levee," said Bill Heyenbruch, an associate engineer with the state Department of Water Resources. "Being a vagabond of the sea is fine. But you can't just tie yourself up and do whatever you want."

On a recent day, Von Wendel sat at a wood table inside his 30-by-140-foot barge, which included plants, a wood-burning stove and an assortment of metal sculptures that he had made.

He cracked open a beer and peered out the window at Fisherman's Cut. The water could be heard slapping the shoreline.

"I'll never move off the water," he said. "Ever. That's my life. I like the serenity and, for that matter, the challenges of it."

Cody's Law Boosts Criminal Cases

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
June 24, 2001

Cody Fox took a wrong turn one afternoon while walking on a rural road in Tehama County and found himself surrounded by a pack of snarling dogs.

In the aftermath, Paulette Hilliard had to follow her son's blood-streaked path to find the mangled boy hiding in an abandoned trailer.

The grisly attack in September 1998 left the 11-year-old boy without his left arm and ear.

But it also prompted horrified residents to call for stronger penalties against the owners of dogs that seriously hurt or kill people.

The result is Cody's Law, which allows prosecutors to file felony charges against some dog owners whose animals kill or cause severe physical injuries.

The law, proposed by state Sen. Maurice Johannessen, R-Redding, went into effect in January 2000. Specifically, it applies to some owners who fail to exercise ordinary care in controlling dogs trained to attack, fight or kill.

The case comes into sharp focus while authorities investigate the mauling of 10-year-old Shawn Jones by three pit bulls June 18 in Richmond.

Prosecutors had sought felony charges against the dog's owner, Benjamin Moore, of mayhem and failing to exercise care with dogs trained to fight, attack or kill.

But Moore has pleaded not guilty to two misdemeanor counts. , He has denied that his canines had been trained to attack and said he did not witness the encounter.

Similarly, although the Cody Fox case inspired changes in state law, it frustrated Tehama County investigators and prosecutors trying to hold the dog's owner responsible.

"We weren't able to use the new law. We didn't have a felony to go on," said Tehama County assistant district attorney Jonathan Skillman.

The assault occurred Sept. 6, 1998, while Cody, walking along a rural stretch of road, passed Jim Wick's mobile home.

The youngster quickly found himself in the company of about 20 angry dogs, which began gnawing at the boy's flesh.

Cody, who played dead to induce the animals to leave him alone, lost his left arm and ear in the mauling. His scalp was nearly torn from his head.

Initially, authorities searched in vain for laws that would allow them to arrest Wick and prosecute him on felony charges. But there was no relief.

Under state law at the time, Wick faced misdemeanor charges because he was not present when the mauling happened. He faced a maximum penalty of six months in jail and a $1,000 fine. Prosecutors ended up sending Wick to prison on drug charges, Skillman said.

"We went through a lot to show factual proof that his dogs did the crime and we kept looking for a crime that would fit," he said.

Investigators built what appeared to be a strong case against the dog owner. A stuffed, human-shaped dummy, riddled with bite marks, was discovered in the man's yard.

"If you had a case today, that would be a great piece of evidence," Skillman said. "But there was no real law to cover it at the time."

Johannessen said Cody's Law is not bulletproof, but it's effective. "Some law had to be put into place because of the irresponsibility of these owners," he said. "It's a tool by which prosecutors can force the owners to take criminal as well as financial responsibility. And to that end, it works."

Java Is Hotter in East County

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Aug. 5, 2001

Out among the sun-scorched foothills of East Contra Costa, bitter-tasting coffee has been an early morning hallmark since the first farmhouse was built.

Now, the highbrow coffee culture that helped define the suburban landscape is starting to percolate into the agricultural heartland.

Mochas now swirl here like the fierce winds that whip the surface of the Delta.

Farmers are being spotted with soy milk mustaches. Construction workers in Pittsburg have been overheard ordering -- gasp -- sprinkles over their steaming lattes.

While some East County residents may have grown up spooning instant java from a jar, they now wander the streets with Starbucks in their eyes.

The coffee renaissance is part of the region's explosive growth and mutating demographic, with the new a stark contrast to the old.

In short, it's led to an unquenchable thirst for a quality cup of joe.

"I'm a serious coffee drinker 'bout four cups a day," said a sunburned and tattooed Len Weaver, pouring himself a mug at Lone Tree Cafe in Antioch. "I started coming in here once they started serving this," he said, pointing to the Tully's Coffee promotional display.

Indeed, many East County residents are no longer satisfied with a watery cup of diner brew. In Antioch, the drive-through Starbucks on Lone Tree Way is already the company's No. 1 seller in Northern California, said East Bay regional director Gerry Argue.

The store, which opened in 1997, holds a cult-like following among the scores of at-home mothers who drop by for an afternoon buzz.

"We've been coming here for two years, every Wednesday," said Heather Schmidt, sitting under a green canopy with her friends, Laura Lescure and Desiree Chong. "I always order the same thing an iced vanilla nonfat grande latte. You got it, girl!"

Nearly 600 Frappuccinos are blended daily at the shop, Argue said, by far the highest volume of its kind in the Bay Area.

Nonetheless, there are still not enough coffeehouses in the area to fuel the tens of thousands of caffeine-starved commuters.

Starbucks is eyeing several other potential locations along the Highway 4 corridor between Pittsburg and Discovery Bay.

Meanwhile, other gourmet coffee companies and fledgling independents are brewing up strategies to hook part of this growing market.

Panama Bay Coffee Co., an independent chain that opened its first shop in Livermore in 1998, will make its Antioch debut later this month at Hillcrest Crossroads center.

Rivertown Coffee & Tea is expected to open Aug. 10 on Second Street, behind City Hall, in a building that used to house a seedy blues tavern.

Owners Amy Werntz and her husband, Scott, hope to lure city employees and police officers, many of whom fetch their drinks from Starbucks.

"People at City Hall are asking us all the time when we're going to open," said Werntz, who moved to Antioch from Concord about 18 months ago. "I told them we'd be doing deliveries."

Around the corner at the Nifty As Is thrift store, manager Donna White is excited about espresso machines moving into the neglected neighborhood.

"My helper's son brought us mochas today I don't even know where he got them," she said.

Not long ago, many people would buy those same beverages in Walnut Creek or Concord, watching them cool during the 20-minute journey back over the mountain.

Now, they don't have to venture into latte-land for their morning fixes.

Caffino, a drive-through Bay Area coffee chain, opened along Highway 4 in Oakley several years ago.

It has become a wildly popular roadside beacon for scores of bleary-eyed motorists crawling along Highway 4.

More than 400 customers pass through the booth each weekday, demanding white chocolate mochas and Caffino frescos. A few miles down Highway 4, past a steady lineup of scrap metal shops and used car dealers, images from the latte revolution mysteriously appear in strip malls.

Even Giant Donuts in Oakley wants a piece of the coffee movement. Its storefront windows are littered with java-related blather: "Espresso, Mocha, Cappuccino!"

Inside, they serve Irish cream, hazelnut and vanilla cream coffees from polished pumps.

"But people still like the regular stuff," a store manager said, pointing to a stained urn near the front counter.

In Pittsburg, Josefa Smith opened Railroad Expresso five years ago to a barren coffee landscape. Learning the extensive java menu has been, well, challenging for some customers.

"People come in here and have no idea what they want," said Smith, chuckling. "They order double espressos, and I ask, Do you know what you're ordering?'"

"They come in next time and tell me they couldn't sleep or couldn't stop working."

So the owner politely offers to help them. And she leans over the counter to offer a bit of key advice: "This isn't McDonald's coffee."

Father Knows Best

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Feb. 18, 2004

I AM KEEPING a secret from my wife. No, it has nothing to do with the word "parolee" or the shameful fact that I have actually watched "Father of the Bride 2."

It's a secret about our child, who, if the medical oddsmakers call it correctly, will arrive, squinting and screaming, Feb. 29. I know its sex. My wife, Julie, does not. Nor did she want to.

This has led to a lot of internal sweating on my part over the past 18 weeks, during which I had a single order: Don't blow it.

Ours is an admittedly odd arrangement, one that generally elicits widened eyes of disbelief, followed by, "Come on, man. Just tell me."

I have told no one. Not even my mother.

Let me explain.

It all started months ago, when Julie told me that she was, indeed, pregnant, and I, indeed, nearly chewed the handle off my coffee mug. It was jarring and exciting news.

We had a clear understanding from the start. Julie preferred to unmask this ultimate mystery at birth, at the summit of pain, during which she could do a terrific vocal rendition of "The Exorcist."

And I respected this wish, especially since I have no concept of this whole "labor" thing, unless it involves trying to get the string off a bakery box.

But I just had to know. I needed something to analyze, a tangible thought to chew on while Julie bulked up.

I have since filed this secret in a spare room somewhere in my head, referring to our rotating fetus as "The Babe," "It" or "The Thing That Moves."It's been a long wait.

I found out its sex during an ultrasound appointment Sept. 30. The technician scribbled something down on a card and handed it to me. I took the note and, desperate for a moment of privacy, headed into, well, the bathroom.

There, I peeled it open. It read, "Congratulations! It's a -- ."

What followed was a jolt of adrenaline-tinged reality, a rush of excitement (a real live baby!) -- then, absolutely no one with whom to share the news.

As the weeks churned by, I have been imprisoned by my own thoughts. I cannot say a word, even when Julie holds up a little boy's bomber jacket, or a sheer curtain with little flowers on it and asks what I think.

In those moments, sweat beads start doing laps on my forehead. I can sense her snooping for clues, reading my face like an FBI profiler, searching for any weird tick or roll of the eyeball.

But I stand my ground, which basically amounts to looking disinterested. This, of course, is not the desired reaction from an impatient pregnant person who hasn't eaten in 46 minutes.

Anyhow, in preserving this secret, I have had a lot of time to contemplate the differences and perceptions of the sexes, unless, of course, it conflicted with football season.

I am often left with my thoughts, which, on occasion, have tried to address perhaps the most vexing question that has foiled the great minds of science since mastodons roamed our lands:Why do men have nipples? (Alas, no easy answers.)

I also ponder the excitement that lies ahead, no matter the sex. If "The Babe" is a boy, I will be around 50 when he starts college, meaning that I may feel compelled to become the "hip dad," by wearing ghastly Hawaiian shirts and calling his best friend "chief."This is a bad thing.

If it is a girl, in her teen years, I may be asked to drop her off approximately 6 blocks in front of any public place, with orders to return around, oh, midnight. (And, for what it's worth, I would be outnumbered, 2-1, in the critical battle of the sexes.)

Of course, none of this will matter once we catch a first glimpse of its tiny anguished face and freshly unfolded hands.

While we wait, life has become a kaleidoscope of diaper bags, changing tables, high chairs, orthodontic pacifiers and books with titles like "Ten Little Ladybugs," which clashes badly with my New Yorker subscription.

We have also inherited a fresh bundle of yellow clothing, which, in human society, is considered "gender-neutral." Our child will be swathed in yellow until it turns 8.

In the meantime, I pass the time by being encouraged by my wife to visit Babies 'R' Us, an entire industry built around burp cloths and strollers, and choosing my words very carefully.

And here's a terrible thought: Maybe I have blown it already. At times, I deliberately refer to it as a girl. Other times, a boy. It has kept Julie pretty scrambled.

If you are wondering why I referred to "girl" before "boy" in the previous paragraph, perhaps it was an intentional and sordid little exercise to throw you off my tracks.

Or maybe I slipped because it really is a girl. Or not.Soon, "The Thing That Moves," or as Julie calls it, Kiddo, will have a sex and a name.

Then, I can exhale.

Note: Caleb Thomas Lyons was born at 1:21 p.m. Monday, Feb. 16, 2004. He weighs 7 pounds, 10 ounces and is reported to have "serious pipes."

Transition Likely to Confuse Boy, 6

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Dec. 15, 2002

VALLEJO -- Little Shea Brown is just beginning to peel back the layers of his fabricated life, to retrace the footprints of an invisible boy.

He will learn to unmask himself as a recovering kidnap victim. He will learn that his name is Le-Zhan Williams.

He will learn about his teenage mother, who was shot and her corpse and Vallejo bungalow set ablaze -- a homicide that puzzled police for years. He will learn about his father, a 1990s rap artist serving hard time for armed robbery in a state prison 236 miles away.

He will learn that he was whisked away from his biological family when he was only 25 days old.

Finally, Le-Zhan, 6, will learn to sort through his own tangled emotional knots and start a new life from scratch in a city he never left.

It's the beginning of a particularly tough healing process that could last a lifetime, therapists and specialists on traumatized children said. "You can't just find a kid, go through a complete identity change and not expect some issues to manifest over some time," said Georgia Hilgeman-Hammond, founder of the Vanished Children's Alliance in San Jose.

Le-Zhan disappeared in May 1996, an 8-pound infant swept up by a young woman he grew to regard as his mother.

But Latasha Brown, 22, now stands accused of conceiving a plot to kill the boy's biological mother, Daphne Boyden, and swipe her child. The boy grew up only a few miles from where his mother was slain.

He is now in protective custody while authorities try to figure out how to reintroduce him to unfamiliar faces: his own family. Riva Lee Boyden, the boy's great-grandmother, is delighted to have Le-Zhan resurface after so many frustrating years but is guarded about what lies ahead. "I haven't seen him.

"I don't want to comment about where we're going into all of this," she said. "Right now it's all speculation. And I don't like to speculate."

Strict confidentiality rules prohibit Child Protective Services from discussing specific cases, said Laura Fowler, deputy director of the agency in Fairfield. "We're concerned with a child's best interests," she said. "Any child we take in we want to place with family members who have the first priority for placement. The closer the relationship, the higher the priority."

It's certainly going to be complicated for Le-Zhan. His father, Lathan "Young Lay" Williams, once a promising rapper, is serving a 12-year sentence for robbery. Williams, 27, narrowly avoided death before his son was born when he was shot in the head in August 1995.

Adding to Le-Zhan's troubles, the women who reared him are behind bars. Experts say abducted children often forge tight bonds with their captors, even in abuse cases.

"I think his bigger issue is abandonment, losing the only family he's ever known," said Cecilia Mullaney, program coordinator for the Solano Parent Network in Fairfield.

Recovery will require cooperation from the whole family, allowing the boy room to ask questions and build trust.

"A lot of his (recovery) has to do with his upbringing," said Dr. Kiran Koka, medical director of adolescent services at Mt. Diablo Medical Pavilion in Concord. "He grew up not knowing his real mother. If he were really nurtured and raised like normal kids, he may go through a lot of depression, anxiety and confusion."

At 6, he may also exhibit more infantile behavioral problems, experts said, or act out when he gets upset. Nonetheless, most experts say the youngster can recuperate strongly with good therapy and a family that doesn't overwhelm him.

"People can heal," said Hilgeman-Hammond, who was reunited with her missing daughter in 1981 after a four-year ordeal. "Are they damaged forever? I always say to people, 'Don't underestimate the resiliency of the human spirit.'"

Mailman Runs Awry in Isleton

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Aug. 28, 2001

ISLETON -- In a sleepy Delta hamlet widely known for its annual crawdad festival, the mail often arrives like a daily jolt of excitement.

So it turned Isleton upside down when a rural letter carrier went on a bizarre joy ride and failed to deliver the goods one day.

Earlier this month, a clamor of concern swept through the sun-baked community off Highway 160 while authorities tried to retrace the steps of the wayward postman.

In the aftermath, the mailman was fired and arrested on an outstanding warrant while the postmaster of the Isleton Post Office made the 55-mile round-trip deliveries himself.

While authorities think all of the mail has been recovered, nerves are still jangled along the affected route.

"A lot of people out here care about two things: What the weather will be, and when the mail will come," said Kandace Korth, one of the owners of Korth's Pirates' Lair Marina. "When the mail doesn't come, people are crushed."

The incident underscores the fragile nature of small-town postal delivery, in which tiny mail teams are often forced to tackle sizable problems.

In Isleton, two carriers handle thousands of pieces of mail that arrive daily.

"You can spin this story any way you want to," said town postmaster Richard Webberson. "It's either about bureaucracy screwing up again or about a small town coming together, which is what I see."

The story began July 30 when Laurence Lyttle, a relief carrier for the Isleton Post Office, set off with a truckload of mail.

Called Rural Route 1, the delivery path is a series of twisted levee roads that wrap around the Delta. Locals call it the Delta Loop.

A carrier makes 420 stops along the way, delivering 3,000 to 5,000 pieces of mail. With darkness approaching, Webberson said he told Lyttle to return in about an hour and finish the following morning.

"We don't like to have anyone out after dark," said Webberson, Isleton's postmaster since 1994. But three hours passed. Webberson already had called police by the time Lyttle walked through the back door. It was 10:45 p.m.

The postmaster was steamed. "I came close to letting him go," he said, "but I prefer not to do anything in an emotional state, for the carrier and myself." So Webberson, an affable man in his early 50s, decided to wait until the facts poured in.

It didn't take long. Witnesses told authorities that a man driving a truck with a US MAIL emblem on the door had been involved in two hit-and-run incidents that night.

While no one was injured, Lyttle allegedly had crashed into a fence near Pirates' Lair Marina and rolled over a water main at a trailer park on Brannan Island Road. None of the mail had been delivered.

"He had a lot of training. We had high hopes for him," Webberson said of Lyttle, whom he had hired in May.

The next morning, a resident flagged down Sacramento County sheriff's Deputy Patricia Kelley at San Andreas Landing RV Park.

Kelley was told that a black Chevrolet truck with US MAIL across the door had backed over a water valve. The driver also had tried, unsuccessfully, to climb the side of a hill toward the main road.

"The water valve that he ran over had just been replaced a month ago," said Donna Warner, who owns the trailer park. "It was something that you couldn't miss if you were wide awake."

Lyttle, meanwhile, was arrested and fired when he returned for work Aug. 4. He was charged with an outstanding warrant from San Mateo County for failure to appear. Postal inspectors are investigating the case, but have not charged Lyttle with any crime.

Lyttle could not be reached for comment.

Acting on a tip, police confiscated the mail from Lyttle's truck Aug. 6.

Apologies were sent to each of the folks on the affected route. The mail was finally delivered.

While searching for a new relief carrier, Webberson had loaded the daily crush of mail into his Saturn and set out along the winding, pockmarked roads of Rural Route 1.

"Our major concern is the security of the mail, or the sanctity of the mail, as we refer to it," he said in his office. "It was a situation that existed, and we took care of it as soon as possible."

Meanwhile, most Isleton residents are not bitter about the recent disruption. Life moves on.

On a recent day, some townsfolk were seen hooking minnows to the end of their fishing lines or watching the cars roll by while sipping coffee at Hawg's Cafe.

"Everyone, in the course of their lifetime, has a lapse in judgment," said Warner, the trailer park owner. "That's my philosophy in life. But it becomes more of a problem when you're in a position of public trust."

Brentwood Shop Offers 'Cuban Cigars'

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Aug. 8, 2001

BRENTWOOD -- It's a small but powerful roadside ad that forces scores of motorists to crane their necks in disbelief: "Cuban Hand Made Cigars."

Apparently, drivers may think, the federal trade embargo against Cuba has been lifted in Brentwood. Not quite.

Anthony Hemenes, who calls himself the CEO of Brentwood Fine Cigars, says his shop has never sold a Cuban cigar, which would be illegal.

Then is the sign that faces Brentwood Boulevard deceptive advertising or a clever marketing strategy?

The latter, with a nifty play on words, Hemenes answers.

"Most people come in thinking I sell real Cuban cigars, but I don't," says the 42-year-old Discovery Bay entrepreneur, sitting in a crushed velvet chair inside his shop. "I sell those that are handmade by Cubans but not in Cuba."

The Cubans to which Hemenes refers are a group of Cuban men who roll the tobacco in Sacramento.

The red-and-white sign itself has been in place since the shop opened in February 1999. And people are not reading it carefully, he says.

"If you read the sign, it says hand made.' If it had said Cuban cigars for sale,' that would be a problem," he explains. "It's just a play on words."

In any case, it's hardly a Cuban stogie crisis. No one in the area has asked to have the sign removed.

"I don't have a problem with it," Brentwood Mayor Mike McPoland says. "I don't think he's trying to fool anyone."

The display is being used to steer more customers into Brentwood Fine Cigars, which is hidden in a corner of Liberty Link Center, a strip mall off Highway 4.

City officials, however, considered removing the sign after passing an ordinance that bans tobacco advertising near schools. Liberty High School is across the street.

But Hemenes persuaded city staffers that his business would go up in smoke if the ad were removed. So it stayed.

Nevertheless, it continues to command attention.

The enduring appeal of Cuban cigars is widely known. The words alone evoke images of sophistication and wealth.

Of course, they also stir images of smuggling rings being cracked by customs officials.

An estimated 8 million to 10 million Cuban cigars are smuggled into the United States each year, according to the Cigar Association of America. The U.S. economic embargo against Cuba began in 1962, a few years after Fidel Castro came to power.

But because Cuban cigars are so difficult to obtain and illegal to sell -- Americans pine for a whiff of the world-renowned stogies.

Hemenes, whose family runs two additional cigar stores in the Bay Area, says he would never attempt to sell one. If so, his business could be reduced to ashes by state or federal authorities.

"If you were caught, you'd have your license taken away and face a $250,000 fine," he says. "It's not worth the risk."

His cigars, which fetch between $2.50 and $25 apiece, were procured from places like the Dominican Republic, Honduras and the Canary Islands.

Still, the mystique of the Cuban cigar lingers like a smoke ring. And a few curious motorists will ultimately find themselves steering into the shopping center for a sniff.

But the funny part of the story, Hemenes says, is that most folks couldn't handle the throat-stinging sensation of a true Cuban stogie. "They'd take three or four puffs and go Oh my God,'" he says, chuckling. "You're probably better off with a Dominican."

Doug Hansen's Legacy Recalled

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Dec. 29, 2002

EL SOBRANTE -- More than 250 people crowded a hillside church Saturday to celebrate the life of a wildly popular youth baseball coach, Doug Hansen, whose life was cut short by cancer.

Dozens of former players joined friends and family members inside El Sobrante United Methodist Church, as rain pelted the roof and stained-glass windows.

Hansen, a married father of three, was described as a "neighborhood dad" whose passion for baseball was surpassed only by his fervor for teaching others how to play it.

Even as he lay dying of melanoma at 47, he told friends that he felt blessed to have a chance to reflect on his life and confide in those he loved. He died at his El Sobrante home Christmas Day and had a chance to bid farewell to his wife, Kari, and their children.

"This is a man, who, in the process of dying, taught us how to live," said the Rev. Gaye Benson.

His supporters filled the pew in damp jackets, expressing their love through prayers, tears and personal thoughts.

Kyle Toy, who played baseball for Hansen at De Anza High School, shared a college essay he wrote about his influential mentor. He described how Hansen taught him how to hit the ball to the right side to move a runner over from first base, how to appreciate life.

"He said, 'Don't die lying on a bed with tubes and drugs, die doing what you truly love,'" Toy said, his voice quavering.

Hansen was portrayed as patient and compassionate, but fiercely competitive. He taught his beloved sport through the Tara Hills youth baseball league, and, last season, served as an assistant coach for De Anza's varsity team.

When he bought a new house for his family in El Sobrante, he added a backyard batting cage that fast became a community attraction.

"Pretty much any kid who went through Tara Hills baseball spent time in that cage," said Vickie Bell, a close family friend who worked with Hansen at Pac Bell.

The Rev. P. David Schlager, a longtime friend, asked that De Anza's baseball diamond be renamed "Hansen Field" because of his dedication to the park.

Besides his wife, Hansen is survived by two daughters, Jessica Gamble and Erica Winfrey; a son, Brian Hansen; his father, Palmer Hansen; and a grandson, Austin Winfrey.

Foot-and-Mouth Alert at SFO

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
March 15, 2001

SAN FRANCISCO -- Fearing a potentially devastating virus, a squad of blue-gloved U.S. government inspectors greeted air travelers from Great Britain on Wednesday to scour their belongings for any traces of foot-and-mouth disease.

"They checked all my bags and I think that is perfectly reasonable," said Ireland professor Roy Crawford, making his way through San Francisco International Airport after his non-stop flight from London.

Foot-and-mouth, which poses little danger to humans, is an extremely contagious virus that strikes cloven-hoofed animals such as sheep, pigs and cows.

Federal officials believe the epidemic, which broke out in Britain last month and has recently spread to France, could cause billions of dollars in losses to the U.S. livestock industry if unchecked.

Tuesday, the United States banned imports of animals and animal products from the 15-country European Union as part of an aggressive crackdown to ensure that the disease does not reach this country.

With the new ban, inspectors will expand their checks on flights from the European Union, questioning more travelers who declare they are bringing in ruminate or swine products, or who check a box declaring they have spent time on a farm.

"It means don't bring that sausage home with you," Jim Rogers, a USDA spokesman, said. "It essentially covers all hard cheeses. Any cheese in liquid form is no good. Milk no good. Fresh or frozen meat is no good." As part of that defensive stance, the U.S. Agriculture Department began setting up disinfection stations at international airports to scrutinize luggage.

At San Francisco International, Customs inspectors are conducting detailed searches of about 10 percent of all travelers coming from Britain.

The task will be laborious. Six non-stop flights originating in the United Kingdom arrive in San Francisco each day, or nearly 2,500 passengers.

"If you start inspecting 2,500 people, we'll be in a serious logjam," said airport spokesman Ron Wilson. "This has not happened yet, but we're beginning to staff up for that potential."

Oakland International Airport, thus far, has been spared the extra scrutiny. The airport has only one flight from Europe, a Corsair flight from Paris, spokeswoman Cyndy Johnson said.

Wednesday, scores of passengers arriving in San Francisco from London watched as federal agents rummaged through their bulging suitcases and inquired about their whereabouts.

While fatigued travelers stood in a long line inside the new international terminal, officials placed their items on a short conveyor belt, routinely opening bags that piqued their interest. One inspector sliced open a bag of coffee to peek at its contents.

Some travelers, including one man from Saigon, had his shoes scrubbed with a brush dipped in a bath of bleach and water.

Any travelers who acknowledge that they have recently been on a farm, as the Saigon man had, were pulled aside for further questioning or in this case, cleaning. It was not known how the airplanes originating from the United Kingdom are cleaned to combat the virus.

"If you were running around in a cow pasture, they might want to inspect your shoes and spray you with a water-bleach solution," Rogers of the USDA said. "If you say, I got some bay leaf,' they probably let you pass.' If you say I got some raw cattle brain,' OK, you step over here.'"

Few travelers in San Francisco were upset by the intense inspections, crediting the widespread publicity about the dangerous virus.

"They didn't check our bags, but were very concerned about fruits and meats and asked very specific questions," said Van Hansen, arriving from London with his wife, Shauna. "The menu on the plane had filet mignon but in tiny letters it specified that the meat had been imported from Brazil and Argentina."

Foot-and-mouth disease has been eradicated from the United States since 1929. Still, officials are increasingly concerned about their ability to fight a virus that can easily latch onto a shoe or a piece of clothing and make a long journey across the Atlantic Ocean.

Phil Larussa, with the USDA's Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service in Sacramento, said the threat of a spread from Europe is greater than other countries. "We think the risk of the spread is more so, just due to the nature of transportation and product moving back and forth," Larussa said.

"There are small possibilities that this virus could be harbored within the respiratory tract of a human being for a short time. We suggest they avoid for five days going out to livestock operations in the United States."

Mare Island Plan Fuels Grass-Roots Opposition

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Nov. 24, 2002

VALLEJO -- The city is swept up in an escalating clash over a proposal to build a liquefied natural gas terminal and power plant on Mare Island, a former naval shipyard that closed six years ago.

A grass-roots organization is mounting an aggressive campaign to stop the first-of-its-kind project on the West Coast, saying it poses far too many potential health and safety hazards.

The expanding group is going toe to toe with a pair of corporate titans that laud their joint energy complex as an economic windfall for a city poised for change.

Residents are sorting through competing fact sheets and doorstep mailers, directing them to Web sites that either promote the project or highlight its dangers.

Next month, a city subcommittee exploring health and safety issues will release its findings after a 90-day investigation.

The battle over the $1.5 billion plan comes as the growing city of 116,000 talks about a renaissance in which Vallejo would shed its gritty industrial reputation and cater to tourism and young families.

Community leaders are excited about the untapped potential of a former Navy town tucked between the San Pablo and San Francisco bays, with high-speed ferry service and affordable homes.

The city already plans to extend historic Georgia Street to the waterfront and revitalize a downtown long identified by its abandoned storefronts and rampant crime.

But the focus abruptly shifted May 3, when Mayor Anthony Intintoli made a startling public disclosure. He said the city had been in private negotiations with Royal Dutch/Shell Group and Bechtel Corp. to build a liquefied natural gas (LNG) port and 1,500-megawatt power plant on Mare Island.

Four days later, the City Council voted unanimously to negotiate with the two firms exclusively, a meeting that drew about 200 people and kicked off an intense opposition movement.

Faced with growing concern, the City Council voted in August to suspend talks with Bechtel and Shell while the city conducts a three-month health and safety study. Bechtel and Shell agreed to fund the $250,000 study, with critics skeptical about whether the probe would remain independent.

The five-member committee, organized by Fire Chief Don Parker, is expected to release its findings in a 20- to 25-page report Dec. 17. "This isn't unlike other very large proposals for development," said Tom Tobin, a consultant hired by the city who serves as the project's study manager.

"It represents a substantial change for the community, with an increase in maritime activities and some increase of risks -- . On the other hand, it offers economic benefits.

"And what's difficult," he added, "is that it will never be a black-and-white issue. There's no line in the sand that says it has to be one way or the other."

The Vallejo waterfront faces Mare Island, a 3«-mile-long peninsula with sweeping views of the Carquinez Strait and San Pablo Bay.

The 5,200-acre island, known as the first naval station in the country when it was established in 1853, is a jewel of future mixed-use development plans. In March, Vallejo took possession of 2,000 acres.

Bechtel and Shell are proposing an "energy center" on the southeastern portion of the island, which would include an LNG port and a scaled-down 600- to 900-megawatt, gas-fired power plant.

The large companies say Mare Island is a perfect fit for such a project because of its protective harbor, deep waters, proximity to the state's main gas line and former industrial use.

Critics say the deep-pocketed firms are taking advantage of the city's poor history of social activism and perceived ignorance, trying to sway residents with slick cards and 60-second TV spots.

The rift keeps gaining momentum.

Supporters say the project would create up to 1,000 living-wage union construction jobs and 100 permanent jobs, while giving Vallejo its single largest investment ever.

About $1 billion would be subject to property taxes, company officials say, stuffing millions of dollars into city coffers to improve schools, parks and roads.

In addition, by 2010 the plant would supply about 17 percent of the natural gas supply expected in California, a state with an increasing thirst for the clean-burning fuel.

"What some people want is someone to come forward and say, 'If we do this, it's a bad idea.' Well, no one is telling us that," said city spokesman Mark Mazzaferro.

But critics, like the fledgling Vallejo Citizens for Planned Renewal, maintain that it's a terrible idea that threatens to shackle the city to a "dirty, unhealthy and blighted future."

In other words, they say, it's a squandered chance to set a new economic path for a city ripe for rebirth.

"We think this could be a great tourist destination, a gateway to the Napa Valley," said Elena Haskins Ducharme, a job developer at Hastings College of the Law, who rides the ferry to work in San Francisco. Ducharme and others warn that the complex would add "smog-producing" gases and tanker emissions to a county already suffering from the highest rate of respiratory diseases in the Bay Area.

Even worse, they argue, LNG has the potential to vaporize and ignite into a huge fire capable of burning people or buildings thousands of yards away.

Stephanie Gomes, who works for the forestry service on Mare Island, said the giant tankers used to transport LNG offer an attractive target for terrorists.

"They talk about their state-of-the-art engineering, with double-hulled ships. Well, you can't engineer for terrorism," said Gomes, a city newcomer who has actively opposed the project.

LNG, a colorless, odorless liquid, is a natural gas kept at ultra-cold temperatures. When it cools, it reduces to 1/600th of its original size, making it easier and cheaper to transport over long distances. The product is hauled in 900-foot ocean carriers, which would pass under the Golden Gate and San Rafael bridges to reach Mare Island.

Fears of huge fireballs and terrorist attacks are overblown, officials for Bechtel and Shell say.
"We all have a heightened sense about terrorism. But Shell, in particular, operates facilities like these all over the world, safely, without being targets of terrorists," said Alison Abbott, community relations manager for the two firms.

Abbott, who works out of a restored building on Georgia Street, said LNG carriers have an impeccable safety record with 40,000 ocean voyages and no loss of life.

In any case, the City Council ultimately will decide whether to proceed after hearing from the subcommittee.

If the project gets the green light, it would not begin operating until 2007 or 2008.

Courts, Sports Judge Grounds Record Ball

By Corey Lyons Times
Contra Costa Newspapers
Nov. 28, 2001

SAN FRANCISCO -- A legal scuffle over a scuff-marked baseball could result in an unprecedented trial next year. A San Francisco Superior Court judge ruled Tuesday that Barry Bonds' record 73rd home run ball be kept in a court-controlled safe deposit box until the ownership dispute is resolved.

No trial date has been set in the unusual custody battle between Alex Popov and Patrick Hayashi. The Bay Area men are jousting over possession of a bonanza ball that experts have said could be worth $2 million.

The case has attracted national attention and sheds light both on bleacher etiquette and on the increasing value of historic sports memorabilia.

A video shows that Popov caught the ball in his glove Oct. 7 at Pacific Bell Park, but lost it during the ensuing scramble in the stands.

Hayashi, a Silicon Valley engineer, plucked the sacred sphere from among the scrum. He was then whisked away by stadium security. Popov claims that he was assaulted and robbed; Hayashi maintains that the ball is rightfully his own.

"Alex caught the ball. Then he got mugged," said Popov's attorney, Martin Triano. "His dream of catching baseball history turned into a nightmare."

Don Tamaki, Hayashi's lawyer, said that he took a declaration from a 25-year major league umpire, Rich Garcia, to indicate what constitutes possession. "He explained that if a player momentarily has the ball, then collides with another player or hits the ground -- and the ball comes out -- that is not a catch," Tamaki said.

Triano, however, dismissed the umpire's opinion and said he has 14 witnesses who will bolster his contention that the ball belongs to Popov.

In any case, the ruling Tuesday by Judge David A. Garcia paves the way for the nation's first trial in which fans argue for custody of a ball hit into the stands at a major league stadium.

In October, Garcia blocked Hayashi from selling the ball until he decided whether the case could proceed.

Tamaki said he did not consider Tuesday's ruling as significant. "Does the judge feel that Popov has a case? Well, that's why you have a trial," he said. "So far, not a single witness has testified and no evidence has been submitted."

Bonds Streak Threatens Souvenir

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Sept. 20, 2001

Todd McFarlane has every reason to wince each time San Francisco Giants slugger Barry Bonds crowds his bulky frame into the batter's box.

Each home run could be a slap in the face. ?The 40-year-old creator of the wildly popular Spawn comic book, after all, forked over $3.05 million for Mark McGwire's record 70th home run ball in 1998.

Soon, the scuff-marked sphere may not even fetch a double-take.

With 63 homers this year, Bonds could match McGwire's mark and break McFarlane's heart.

If a new single-season home run figure is scrawled into the baseball archives, McFarlane's gem would likely drop in value.

Still, there is no buyer's remorse for the man whose winning bid landed one of the greatest relics in the annals of sports memorabilia.

The catastrophic Sept. 11 attacks, he said, changed his perception of the ball and Bonds' pursuit of the record.

"All of a sudden, it doesn't seem like that big a deal anymore," he said via phone from Tempe, Ariz. "Now, it's about getting your priorities in order.

"I'm sort of trying to have fun with it. Losing the value of the ball, or not, doesn't seem to be a big personal problem as it once was."

McFarlane said he finds himself, in a strange way, cheering for Bonds as a symbol of American heroism.

"I feel myself encouraging him to go for broke on this record," he said. "Maybe it will show what a solo American can do, what he can accomplish, if he puts his mind to it."

In 1998, St. Louis first baseman McGwire and Chicago outfielder Sammy Sosa were locked in an intense home run race that resurrected America's pastime. McGwire outlasted Sosa by clearing the fence 70 times.

Phil Ozersky of St. Louis retrieved the record ball and put it up for auction.

In February 1999, McFarlane announced that he had bought the prized ball and nine other home run balls hit by McGwire and Sosa.

The ball is on display in a national traveling exhibit called the McFarlane Collection. McGwire eclipsed the home run mark held by Roger Maris that lasted 37 years.

Because of its historical significance, the item is an integral part of baseball history whether or not the record falls this year, according to memorabilia experts.

"It's a very special ball," said Rich Klein, a price guide analyst for Beckett.com in Dallas. "That was a magical summer in baseball . I wouldn't panic and say the ball would be worthless. It's a one-of-a-kind item, and how do we value one-of-a-kind items?"

Nonetheless, McFarlane does not view his $3 million purchase as a solid investment.

"What do you do, hold on to it and wait for someone to pay more? The guy I bid against was willing to stop at $1.5 million," said McFarlane, whose exhibit raises money for charity.

"I guess I could have stopped at $2 million and saved a million. I'm not sure if someone would pay more down the road as you get farther from the event and the sex appeal."

In any case, McFarlane said the exorbitant price he paid for No. 70 would likely not be topped anytime soon.

"If Bonds gets to 71," he said, "somebody has to factor in that, three years ago, someone paid far more than they should have. I think the studious investor has to factor in that if Todd's baseball can get neutered, mine can, too."

Would McFarlane be interested in No. 71?

"I'd be very curious about it," he said. "I'm no different than anyone else. I'd need to deal with how I wanted to focus my time and money." ?He paused. ?"I'd be sniffing around. I'd be not far from the action, if you will."

Autopsies Unveil Gruesome Details

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Nov. 14, 2000

SACRAMENTO -- Three months after gym bags surfaced in the Delta loaded with human remains, an autopsy report Monday revealed for the first time the details that led to the three deaths.

A report by the Sacramento County Coroner's Office confirmed that the daughter of blues guitarist Elvin Bishop and a retired Concord couple were beaten and stabbed before they were dismembered.

There was no indication that the victims had been tortured or drugged before being killed, according to the report. The nearly 150-page report showed that each victim had been stabbed scores of times in the upper torso, arms and head.

"The files are now complete and document the circumstances, manner and cause of death for each of the victims in this complicated and horrific case," said Sacramento County Coroner Paul Smith.

The report detailed how the body parts of Ivan Stineman, 85, Annette Stineman, 78, and Selina Bishop, 22, were intermingled and arranged among nine duffel bags that floated to the surface of the Mokelumne River on Aug. 7-12.

It also revealed the manner in which the accused killers had attacked and how methodically they had prepared to dismember the bodies.

Three people are accused of conspiring to kill the Stinemans and Bishop, the 22-year-old daughter of electric blues guitarist Elvin Bishop.

Glenn Helzer, 30, his brother Justin Helzer, 28, and their housemate Dawn Godman, 26, all of Concord, are the suspects. They are being held at County Jail in Martinez and will return to court Dec. 1 for an update conference.

The autopsy described what the coroner's officials found in each bag and their painstaking effort to link the pieces to the appropriate bodies.

The killers appeared to have taken their time in securing the body parts in plastic garbage bags, fastened by yellow-coated wire ties, before zipping them shut in nylon duffel bags.

Bishop had suffered from skull fractures and deep stab wounds, some of which penetrated her heart, lungs and liver. After she was killed, her lower jaw was removed and her head, arms and legs were severed, the report said.

Ivan Stineman was also beaten and stabbed, including 26 "sharp-force injuries" near his lower abdominal and pelvic regions. The report concludes that he may have suffered a heart problem during the assault.

The report showed that coroner's officials found trace amounts of methamphetamine on the body of Annette Stineman. But the coroner theorized that it may have been accidentally transferred there by one of the killers.

Prosecutors have also charged the Helzers and Godman with the Aug. 3 fatal shooting of a Marin couple, James Gamble, 54, and 45-year-old Jennifer Villarin, Selina's mother.

The preliminary hearing, where a judge will decide whether enough evidence exists to take the case to trial, is scheduled for Jan. 22.

The Contra Costa District Attorney's Office, which will prosecute all five homicides, has received the autopsy reports, said deputy district attorney Harold Jewett.

Concord police Lt. Paul Crain referred all questions to the District Attorney's Office.

"We're pretty close to the point where we will turn everything over to the D.A.'s office," he said. "We will continue to investigate as things come up, but we are turning most of it over in the next couple weeks."

Authorities said the suspects began planning their crime spree months in advance.

Their alleged goal was to extort $100,000 from the Stinemans, for whom Glenn Helzer had served as a financial adviser.

But the case, which spanned three counties, started to unravel once the bags containing the body parts of the victims began surfacing in the Delta.

Authorities believe the remains, weighed down by colored stones, were deliberately intermingled to make identification more difficult.

On Aug. 31, Sacramento County coroner's officials -- nearly three weeks after the last duffel bag was found -- released what had been its most detailed account of the crimes, concluding that the victims had died from beatings and stabbings.

There was no indication that they had been shot. A forensic pathologist at the time said the victims' lowered jaws had been removed in an attempt to thwart identification.

But until the autopsy was released Monday, few details of the killing and dismembering had been released.

The Stinemans were last seen alive July 30. Bishop was last seen alive Aug. 2.

Man's Best Friend Gets Protection

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
April 29, 2001

CONCORD -- The naked nine, a group of shaggy-haired detectives, will no longer be working in the buff.

That's good news for any dog in the police business.

In an effort to screen man's best friend from the perils of patrol, Concord police are raising money to purchase bulletproof vests to cover each of the nine dogs in their K-9 unit.

The Kevlar jackets, which will protect the animals while they sniff out leads in the line of fire, promise to fend off both bullets and knives.

"Lives are being saved by these dogs?and they don't have any protection themselves," said Concord Sgt. Robin Heinemann, who heads the K-9 unit.

So far, Heinemann and city volunteers have raised $7,000 that ultimately will be used to outfit the toothy detectives: Aros, Arras, Brutus, Jake, Kazan, Mikey, Nero, Zarr and Zeus.

Protective gear for police dogs is the latest rage, part of a national movement among law enforcement agencies that began with a high-profile shooting three years ago.

In 1999, a popular New Jersey police dog, Solo, was shot and killed by a suspect during a 23-hour standoff. The widespread media coverage that followed led to aggressive fund-raising efforts nationwide to help suit up the canines.

International Armor, which designed the first safety jacket for dogs, has sold more than 1,000 canine vests over the past two years, said national sales manager Kathy Ryan in Oceanside.

Indeed, there is a need to shield these moist-nosed sleuths from America's most wanted.

According to the U.S. Police Canine Association, an average of two police dogs each year are shot and killed in the line of duty.

Russ Hess, the USPCA's national executive director, warned that dog vests are a relatively new venture that have not been fully tested. "I am aware of no actual incident that the vest has saved a life or prevented injury as of today's date," he said.

In Concord, police believe the jackets -- which cost between $600 and $1,000 apiece -- will be put to good use on certain assignments.

"The ballistic and stab-resistant vest is an excellent tool with a relatively narrow application," said K-9 Officer David Hughes, whose patrol partner is Arras, a Belgian Malinois.

Hughes said handlers should work closely and often with a dog wearing the potentially uncomfortable vest, which runs collar to tail and wraps under the animal's belly with Velcro straps.

The vest will be most effective, he said, when the dog feels comfortable enough to use it.

Since the department's K-9 unit began more than 35 years ago, no dog is believed to have been killed on the job.

Yet danger lurks with every sniff on the street. Several months ago, a K-9 unit was dispatched to track down a parolee, armed with a knife, who had fled from Concord police.

Officers cautiously approached the mouth of a dark drainage ditch in which the man was believed to be hiding. Jake, an 85-pound German shepherd, darted inside and latched onto the suspect's arm. The man dropped his knife. "That dog should have had a vest," Heinemann said.

Generally, police departments cannot rationalize spending money on canine vests when there is often a shortage of safety vests for humans. Which is why supporters like Heinemann are on their own to raise the necessary funds.

A dog walk fund-raiser, sponsored by Meadow Homes Association, will be held at 9 a.m. Saturday at Meadow Homes Park to support Concord's K-9 vests.

Hughes, enjoying his second year in the K-9 unit, has never been happier with a partner. And the vest may preserve that relationship. "As big and strong as these dogs are," he said, "they are remarkably fragile. It doesn't take much to sideline them."

Grounded And Frightened

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Sept. 26, 2001

ANTIOCH -- As the kaleidoscope of horrors unfolded on the East Coast, Galiena Gully feared for her life while scrambling through a Baltimore airport.

When word leaked that the second hijacked jetliner had plowed into the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, a clamor of fear swept through the terminal.

Passengers dropped their bags and fled, while security personnel shouted for people to evacuate.

During the surreal minutes that followed, Gully probably never felt so isolated.

A 33-year-old hairstylist with a kidney transplant, she had to track down her luggage to fetch the medicine that would keep her alive.

Gully was one of six hairstylists from Wild Orchid in Antioch who flew to Baltimore to attend a two-day business seminar.

They were scheduled to leave on the same day hijackers seized four jetliners and turned them into bombs. More than 6,000 people have been reported missing since the attacks.

The harrowing experience left the group feeling vulnerable, but lucky to be alive.

"I definitely felt that, being on the East Coast, the mood was very intense," Gully said. "I didn't feel distanced. We were right there, up close, and I felt that fear."

The drama began as the group checked in their luggage about 9:30 a.m. at Baltimore-Washington International Airport. They were trying to board an America West jetliner to return home.

When details surfaced that the first plane had crashed, airline personnel and passengers knew nothing about a hijacking and tried to resume their business.

"When we were standing in line, a clerk was telling us about the crash," said Tamara Lopez, 21, whose mother owns Wild Orchid. "We were like, Can you be quiet? We're about to board a plane.'"

That mood changed in a hurry, however, when they watched the second plane rip into the World Trade Center on grainy airport TV sets.

"It started a kind of stampede," said 19-year-old Negan Kolbach, one of the hairstylists.

As the airport was being evacuated, Gully pleaded with airline officials to fetch her luggage. She and her friends were told that no one was available.

Ultimately, she returned to a local hotel to begin a frantic round of phone calls to track down more medication. Finally, a local pharmacy mixed up a batch, and Gully had to borrow $800 to buy it.

Meanwhile, the group spent the next several days marooned in Baltimore, just 30 minutes from the Pentagon. The city was shut down.

They soaked up the horrific images that flickered across the TV, and checked with the airline daily to see when they could come home.

On Sept. 13, they were startled to hear a plane roaring overhead, ending two days of eerie silence in the skies.

"At first we were thinking that, possibly, more bombs were on the way," Gully said. "But 10 minutes later, when we heard more planes, we all cheered."

Kolbach said the experience of being stranded in a strange place left her cautious about future travel.

"My new rule is that, if I can't drive back in a day and a half, I'm not going anywhere," Kolbach said while combing a client's hair.

She said the hardest part was walking down the ramp toward the plane that would finally take her home.

She found herself scrutinizing the pilot and the passengers. She then realized that the experience of flying had changed forever.

Kolbach said she couldn't help but pay extra attention to the three Middle Eastern passengers on board, each of whom was interrogated by U.S. marshals.

After returning home, Gully said while she attended St. Paul's church in Walnut Creek, she broke down. "I mourned for everyone who was affected," she said. "I just let it all out."

Last of Fading Type Keeps Keys Clattering

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 15, 2001

CONCORD -- The digital revolution has barely affected Jim Labrecque, who toils cautiously in an outdated trade.

"If I had to survive on typewriter repairs alone, I'd starve," he said.

Labrecque, owner of Minute Man Office Systems & Electronics, makes emergency house calls for a dying breed of Americans who still rely on a 19th century machine to conduct their business affairs.

He has tinkered with countless typewriters for nearly three decades, repairing faulty platen knobs or sputtering feed rollers all over the Bay Area.

The world may be wired to the Internet, but a small segment of society still cannot get enough of a trusty unit that uses an inked tape instead of an ink jet printer. Which makes life interesting for Labrecque, 47, who fields seven to 10 calls a week from frustrated typewriter owners.

A typical call goes something like this:

"I'm calling because my typewriter doesn't work. I need it fixed."

"Is it plugged in?"

"Of course it is."

"Have you physically checked to see if the cord is plugged into the wall?"

"Of course I did."

When the repairman arrives, he simply shakes his head when he finds that the appropriate cord and socket have not been properly introduced. To which an embarrassed customer will say, "Are you going to charge me for that?"

Most of his typewriter service calls, which fetch about $125, are to lube and clean the machine, whose parts falter after long periods of inactivity.

Other times, the Pittsburg handyman has made a machine hum again after pulling out tiny things that get accidentally dropped inside -- jewelry, pens, paper pieces, staples, paper clips, engagement rings.

As computer sales in the early 1980s quickly pushed the typewriter to the brink of extinction, Labrecque began widening his vision after acquiring Concord-based Minute Man in 1987.

"People still laugh at me because I advertise for typewriter repairs," he said. "But if your typewriter breaks down, I come out and you'll see me again next time. And I also mention that I fix other things. In other words, I get a foot in the door on a new client."

Today, he repairs all sorts of office equipment, including copiers, fax machines, printers and telephone answering units.

He recalls an incident in Pittsburg in which a client had asked for help to repair a "squeaky copy machine." After taking a look, Labrecque said, "It sure is a squeaky machine -- there's a mouse inside." The small rodent, attracted to the warmth of the machine, apparently climbed inside and got fried.

Labrecque, who began his career in San Francisco in 1972 when his father-in-law hired him to clean typewriters for Lesher Office Systems, said the job has its perks.

"I still love service calls. Where else can you meet women all day, with 90 percent of them happy to see you?" said Labrecque, a single father of four.

Although the first practical typewriter was created by Christopher Latham Sholes in the 1870s, the device still has a function in today's technology-laden world.

Daily newspapers, mortgage firms, hospitals and gasoline companies still ask for Labrecque's services, though they no longer sign contracts as they did during the heyday of the typewriter.

The veteran repairman is cautious in predicting the demise of the typewriter -- he figured the machine was gone for good once the Internet grew wings.

"I don't know if it will ever go away," he said while leaning against the front desk at his Stanwell Circle business. "I thought it was gone five years ago.

"Who knows? I mean, the pencil and pen are still here."