Manager Says City Business Justifies Tabs

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Feb. 15, 2004

PLEASANT HILL -- As the city started freezing positions and bracing for tight fiscal times, City Manager Mike Ramsey spent more than $1,000 a month on his city-issued credit card last year, traveling and eating at taxpayers' expense.

Ramsey, who was hired in June 2002, spent $12,214.47 on his credit card over a 12-month period, according to records reviewed by the Contra Costa Times.

Ramsey and others said the charges were justified and legitimate, a reflection of a tireless work ethic in representing the city. The bills included a $3,600 trip to a three-day conference in Sacramento with two council members, and a $160 meal with developers in downtown Pleasant Hill.

Ramsey spent more than the combined travel and dining expenses of the city managers in Concord, Danville, Martinez and San Ramon in 2003.

In Concord, a city with nearly four times the population of Pleasant Hill, City Manager Ed James does not have a credit card. He billed the city $1,000 last year to get reimbursed for his medical benefits. He eats at his desk.

"I'm a cheap date," James said.

Ramsey said he works 50 to 60 hours a week and that he incurred all the charges while conducting city business.

"Anything I am doing in pursuit of the city's business, whether it is working with a consultant or meeting with someone for lunch to promote the city's business, I will, on occasion, charge that expense to the city," he said.

Other city officials said Ramsey may spend money recognizing staff or wooing developers, but that he generates results.

"We can't hog-tie the CEO of the city, as long as he is producing," said Mayor Chuck Escover. "He knows that I have all the faith in the world in him. If I ever found out otherwise, it's a different story."

Ramsey charged the city more than $3,000 in meals last year, dining with developers, staffers or council members. He also spent more than $8,000 on travel-related expenditures, occasionally covering the costs of council members to attend conferences.

Richard Ricci the city's finance director, said he was not concerned about Ramsey's spending.

"This money is well-spent," Ricci said. "I appreciate that he is willing to put in the time, in his lunch hour, to continue meetings that he would otherwise not get in."

Credit card policies vary city to city. In Pleasant Hill, Ramsey signs off on his own expenses -- a policy left over from the previous city manager, Joe Tanner.

"This is an expenditure that we look at very critically," Ramsey said. "And if things continue in the direction we think they are, we will be paring back a huge number of categorical expenses."

The records show that taxpayers have paid for the city manager and or council members to attend conferences in Monterey, Sacramento, North Carolina and Washington, D.C., last year.

The most expensive credit card bill was for $3,653.71 to cover an event sponsored by the League of California Cities on Sept. 7-9 in Sacramento.

At that event, Ramsey was joined by council members David Durant and Michael Harris Taxpayers paid $1,335 to cover the registration fees for the three officials.

Ramsey stayed three nights at the $149-a-night Embassy Suites, and billed the city $18 a day in parking fees. Harris and Durant stayed in separate rooms at a $127-a-night Holiday Inn.

Danville Town Manager Joe Calabrigo attended the same conference, but drove each day.

Three weeks later, Ramsey billed the city $595 in registration fees to attend the International City-County Management Association, in Washington, D.C.

In July, Ramsey used his city-issued plastic to pay $1,100 in registration fees to send Harris, Durant and Escover to a three-day conference in Monterey.

The event, called the Mayors and Council Members Executive Forum and Academy Workshops, was held at the Monterey Convention Center.

Harris and Durant stayed two nights each at the $165-a-night Doubletree Hotel.

But Escover, who had booked a room at the same hotel, did not attend because of a work conflict. Taxpayers paid $370 for his registration fee and $165 for his canceled room.

Ramsey, previously the city manager in Antioch, said he typically attends two conferences a year. He said the functions help make cities more efficient and effective.

"It brings managers and elected officials together at one place to hear what is going on in Sacramento, what legislative bills are in the process or coming up, and how those impact cities," he said.

"The meetings and sessions," he added, "are always focused on very specific things. In addition, the training that occurs all day long is relative to specific areas, be it legal, public works, recycling."

The credit card use comes at a time when the city has left eight positions vacant, and amid growing concerns about vehicle license fee revenue.

Ramsey said that the vacant positions have forced everyone, including himself, to work harder, saving the city "hundreds of thousands of dollars" in the process.

Councilwoman Sue Angeli, who has been openly critical of Ramsey, said the manager has abused his credit card.

"I think this is a highly irresponsible use of public money," she said. "I was elected by the people to watch and to be their eyes, regardless of my personal feelings for Mr. Ramsey."

In addition to traveling expenses, the manager used his card to dine regularly at two restaurants in downtown Pleasant Hill: the Left Bank and Pasta Pomodoro.

The meal tabs ranged from about $29 for two to $240, when six city officials attended the third annual Small Business Awards Luncheon.

The receipts show that Ramsey and others ate at the Left Bank, a popular Parisian-style restaurant within walking distance of City Hall, nearly two dozen times last year, costing taxpayers more than $1,400.

Ramsey said the expenses are part of the "proactive" way he conducts business.

"I have a policy that, if I am meeting with someone who hopes to do business in this city, if we talk over lunch, I will not allow the developer to buy that lunch the first time we sit down.

"I don't want even the appearance of the city's support having been purchased at the price of lunch."

Harris, who was elected in November 2002, began dining with Ramsey regularly after he joined the council.

In a review of Ramsey's credit card records, the pair ate together at taxpayers' expense up to a dozen times, mostly on Fridays at Pasta Pomodoro.

Both Ramsey and Harris said they always discuss city business when they meet, and that other times each has paid on their own. Harris said he had personally paid for seven of the meals.

"There was not a single one of these meetings," Harris said, "where I did not learn something that did not make me a more effective council member."

Ramsey said scrutiny over his credit card expenses misses a larger point.

"I consider myself to be pretty tight with the dollar, both personally and with the public's dollar. I work hard with that, bringing budgets in under, not over, and more revenue, not less. And I have been very effective doing that."

Smokers Pushed Farther Back

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 5, 2004

The new buffer for puffers promises to make 2004 another tough year for cigarette smokers.

A new state law that went into effect Jan. 1 expands the no-smoking zone around public buildings from five feet to 20 feet.

The purpose is to clear the air around entry and exit points at city, county and state-owned buildings. Secondhand smoke is blamed for killing 4,700 Californians each year.

Smokers are really feeling the squeeze. They are an increasingly isolated population, forced to light up in designated areas.

"It's just terrible. It never ends," said Corinne Concannon, indulging in a cigarette-and-coffee break Saturday outside the Contra Costa Regional Medical Center in Martinez.

Concannon, 44, has worked at the hospital for six years and used to be able to smoke outdoors wherever she pleased. Now, she said, aiming a finger at a designated kiosk for smokers, "they got us in those little booths.

"In the winter," she went on, "the rain falls on you through the cracks. The sun beats on you in the summer. It's like a little torture chamber."

The sprawling hospital restricts smoking to five gazebos that consist of a small bench between plastic partitions.

Judy Strong, a 64-year-old psychiatric technician, puffed away inside one of them earlier in the morning. She was unaware of the new law but said the kiosks are 30 feet from entry and exit doors.

"We've already been there," she said. "I smoke a lot less since the laws started passing. We all need to be aware of how bad it is. The more restrictions are put in, the less I smoke."

California, long a pioneer in anti-smoking legislation, banned smoking in most public places in 1994.

A few years later, lawmakers expanded the ban to include bars, setting a new national standard. Smokers fumed.

Nonetheless, the new law, sponsored by Juan Vargas, D-San Diego, hasn't led smokers to unite and say, "Kiss our ashes."
This bunch is used to being targeted for toking and for spewing clouds of airborne contaminants.

"You can't legislate everything to death, but health is the No. 1 priority," said Dana Studer, 43, sitting outside the medical center in a wheelchair. A cigarette was pinched between her lips.

"I'll obey whatever rules they make," she said, adding that her grandfather had died of emphysema.

"It's pretty sad," she added, staring into the sun. She took a long drag. "So how stupid am I?"

Her friend, Gary White, 51, said he had not heard of the new law. "But it could be 100 feet. It doesn't matter to me. You've got to respect other people's rights.

"Besides, the nurse told us to come over here to smoke."

Keeping Up with the Jones

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
March 31, 1998

She always sits behind the Oakland A's dugout, near the runway to the clubhouse. Row 119, seat 11; she's the elderly woman wearing dark shades and a boating cap adorned with pins and buttons.

From this perch, an easy catcall from the field at the Coliseum, 71-year-old Louise Irvin-Jones lives her life, one pitch at a time.

A proud critic of the game with a voice that travels like a scud missile, Irvin-Jones perhaps the Athletics' most devoted fan has been sitting in the same orange plastic seat at the Oakland Coliseum for more than 20 years.

The veteran fan, who once had an A's pennant bitten in half by a crazed Yankees addict, has attended more than 1,750 ballgames since 1975. She's skipped just six home dates during that time.

"I guess there are fixtures in every stadium," said Irvin-Jones, who has a bedroom at her Danville home crammed wall-to-wall with A's memorabilia. "When you're in Oakland, you know I'll be there."

And oh, how you'll know. Irvin-Jones has made friends with nearly every A's player since 1972, winning over some of the game's most notorious personalities (she loved Dave Kingman, Jose Canseco and Billy Martin) with her charm and unwavering devotion.

The organization has taken notice; Irvin-Jones has tossed out the ceremonial first pitch on two occasions.

"The last time, I asked (Dave) Magadan to run up and catch the ball -- it still got a grass stain on it," she said.

Growing up on a 10,000-acre ranch in New Mexico's Santa Fe National Forest, Irvin-Jones was never that intrigued by baseball until she met Hugh Jones, her husband of 26 years.

Hugh, 78, lost a son in Vietnam and it seemed nothing would heal his loneliness. Things changed when he met Louise.

After they were married in 1972, the couple were lured to the ballpark. They lost themselves in long, idle afternoons. The diversion changed their lives: Louise had discovered a passion that restored her youth and Hugh, a successful yacht broker, wrestled free from depression.

"It was good for him to go out in the sun and enjoy himself again," Louise said. "And I love it. When spring training comes around, it's almost like being rejuvenated I made it through the winter."

And keeping up with the Joneses requires some work. With baseball as their subject, sentences that started one story quickly dissolve into another.

When Rickey Henderson was traded to the New York Yankees in 1985, Louise and Hugh followed, booking a short trip back East to watch him play. Louise climbed to the third deck at Yankee Stadium -- nearly a parachute ride down to the field -- and roared at her favorite player.

"Her voice was so loud, he just gave a big wave to her from left field," said Hugh, whose 55-foot Tayana cruising sailboat has entertained several A's players during the off-season.

"He came up as just a kid and was always so great to the fans," Louise said of Henderson, currently enjoying his fourth stint with the A's. "He's so exciting to watch."

Former A's catcher Mike Heath was scolded by Louise after "dogging it" to first base on a fly ball one afternoon.

Heath whirled around on his way back to the dugout, approached the stands and began his first sentence with an expletive. Then his eyes settled on the proud woman sitting in row 119, seat 11, with a boating cap and large sunglasses. Heath recoiled.

"He didn't know who was yelling at him," Louise said, "and when he found out it was me, he said Oh, Louise I didn't know it was you!' "

Benicia Loses a Pink Place in History

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
March 10, 2004

BENICIA -- The old Anderson Hotel, long known for its elegant tea parties and pristine waterfront views, will collapse into a cloud of rubble today.

A demolition crew is expected to raze the large, two-story building, also known as the Pink Hotel or the Pink Palace.

The removal of the once-attractive structure signals the end of a 1920s-era hotel, one that had been the subject of a heated city debate over its historic value.

In the end, city officials said they did not consider the wood-shingled building historic and worth sparing, a blow to area preservationists.

A developer, Lenox Homes, plans to transform the prime piece of property at the foot of West F Street into a dozen homes. Even so, a large chunk has been set aside for use as a bed-and-breakfast inn.

Bill Thomason, who runs his own construction firm, owns property near where the hotel has sat since the turn of the last century. He fought to obtain the east wing of the Pink Palace, and dragged the roughly 4,000-square-foot piece about 100 feet away. There, he plans to restore the building using salvaged pieces of the old hotel. He wants to open a two-bed inn over the summer.

Over the past three weeks, Thomason has tirelessly sifted through the shell of the boarded-up hotel, fetching original bricks, marble tiles and double French doors.

"We wanted to redo this piece back to its original splendor," he said Tuesday, while snapping photos of the site.

Thomason, 43, spent part of the day in a backhoe, turning dirt and preparing a site for his building, which sat on blocks. He plans to live in the restored inn, which will offer outdoor seating with a sweeping view of the Carquinez Strait.

The hotel, meanwhile, looks nothing like it did only a few months ago when it was being used as a 16-unit apartment complex.

It's been ripped up inside and out, with punched-out or boarded-up windows.

In its heyday in the 1940s, the hotel was a wildly popular place known for its fine meals, tea parties and wedding receptions. The original structure went up in the 1880s; it was rebuilt in 1921 after a fire.

City preservationists had argued to spare the hotel as a historic building; city officials balked.

"It is nice that (Thomason) is going to keep part of it, but there is a concern that the town will start to define this as the way to handle its historic buildings," said Donnell Rubay, a Benicia writer and historic activist.

Colette Meunier, the city's community development director, said the building did not have any historic value.

"The council gave us direction to work with Mr. Thomason," she said, "and we are not calling this portion historic. We do allow people to move and recycle buildings."

Thomason, wearing a black T-shirt and a tape measure on his hip, was asked what he would call his slice of the old hotel. He paused.

"I kind of like the Pink Palace," he said.

Houses to Supplant Vallejo's Last Winery

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Feb. 2, 2004

VALLEJO -- The last sizable slice of developable land in the city will be transformed into a cluster of single-family homes, wiping away an old hillside ranch and a tiny winery.

A developer plans to build more than 450 large houses across the gently sloping hills of southeast Vallejo, a former hardscrabble Navy town under the magnetic tug of suburban sprawl.

Braddock & Logan Inc. of Danville, has filed an application to develop the 190-acre Bordoni property at Benicia Road and Columbus Parkway, just north of the Benicia city limits.

The two cities will be separated by a 500-foot setback for open space, part of an agreement reached more than two decades ago.

A draft environmental impact report is expected to be presented in March or April, and city planners will hold public meetings to review the findings.

With it, Jim Bordoni, whose father, Raymond, acquired this scenic slice of land in the 1940s, will put a cork in the last winery in Vallejo. While Bordoni's 2-acre vineyard dates only to the 1980s, the proposed subdivision represents the swift changes in this diverse city of 120,000.

Bordoni, who produces and sells chardonnay and cabernet grapes, declined to comment for this story.

"It's regarded as unique because it is the only winery in Vallejo," said Jim Kern, executive director of the Vallejo Naval & Historical Museum.

"We're sort of at the edge of the world renowned vineyards, part of that world," he added. "It's sort of interesting to have a piece of that, one that we could call our own."

Solano County, just over the hills from the celebrated Napa Valley wine country, has been stomping grapes since the 18th century.

Nonetheless, its 4,757 acres of grapes represent only a small fraction of the county's 344,000 acres devoted to agriculture. While grape acreage and annual tonnage has doubled in Solano County over the past decade -- creating a
$13 million crop -- no one is predicting a second Napa.

"We grow good grapes here; it's a rugged little crop," said Susan Cohen, county agricultural commissioner. "But I don't think the rate increase of planting we saw over the past five or 10 years will increase at the same rate.

"We'll probably see a leveling off."

For a limited time, Vallejo can show off its last few vines.

Bordoni, a former dentist, produces about 200 cases of wine a year, enlisting a team of friends to help with picking. His humble roadside ranch is dwarfed by the sloping hills above his mint-green, single-story house. A rundown former dairy barn is used to ferment the wine.

All of it will be razed to make room for hundreds of spiffy, two-story homes measuring up to 3,400 square feet. A cluster of eucalyptus trees along Columbus Parkway are also slated to be removed, and new roads will twist and fork through hills once used for dairy farming.

Mary Torres, a retired housekeeper whose house on Shea Terrace overlooks the Bordoni ranch, has mixed feelings about the project.

"I hate to see it all get ruined with houses," she said. "I think a lot of us paid to have this view. But, well, progress goes on."

Against Redevelopment, But Not the Press

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 31, 2004

A newspaper war is unfolding in this election-crazed city, just in time for the final weeks of a nasty fight over redevelopment.

Fed up with what it considers the heavily slanted coverage in the downtown Martinez paper, a group of residents opposed to redevelopment is launching a new publication.

The paper, called the Martinez Messenger, hits the streets at 8 a.m. today.

The new tabloid promises to add another mortar shell to the intense political firefight over redevelopment in Martinez. Measure M, which will appear on the March 2 ballot, asks whether the city should establish a redevelopment agency to revive the drowsy county seat.

In its inaugural "special election" edition, the Messenger hammers home the risks of redevelopment, saying it would transform the city into a "sterile, lowest-common-denominator suburb with high-density apartments."

The lead headline pulls no punches: "Measure M Threatens Martinez."

Bill Wainwright, the lone council member opposed to redevelopment, wrote the lead story, in which he talks about how such an agency would "tear out the soul of our town."

"This is about our frustrations over the local paper," he said, referring to the Martinez News-Gazette, "which has become a pamphlet for redevelopment."

In recent weeks, some residents have circulated fliers denouncing the Gazette and asking businesses to stop advertising in the paper.

Wainwright, who has clashed often with Gazette Editor John Foley, had a moment of "serendipity" earlier this month. "It sort of hit me," he said. "We shouldn't do a mailer, but our own paper!"

The effort, published by the Committee Against a Martinez Redevelopment Agency, or CAMRA, cost about $4,000.

In total, 15,000 copies were printed in San Francisco, 3,000 of which went out Friday to absentee voters in Martinez.

The staff consists of a retired English teacher, a cocktail waitress, a sales executive, a consultant, a health care administrator, a hairstylist and, of course, a councilman.

The paper includes a front-page photo by Slava Veder, a Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer who grew up in Martinez, and a question-and-answer session about redevelopment.

Although the tabloid mentions the Gazette only once, the paper spreads an anti-redevelopment message that its staff believes had been ignored deliberately by the Gazette.

Recent headlines in the Gazette, one of the oldest newspapers in California, include "CAMRA Continues Falsehoods" and "CAMRA in Violation of ABC Laws."

Foley, who took over the 146-year-old newspaper before the November 2002 election, could not be reached for comment.

"Our paper has never taken an official stand on redevelopment," Scott M. Bruner, a Gazette reporter, said Friday. "We've been shocked at some of the tactics that both sides have used in this, and we've tried to report things fairly.

"In the editorial section," he added, "Foley has taken a pro-redevelopment stance, but has never let that change coverage we do on the front page."

David L. Payne, president and publisher of the Gazette, did not return a call for comment Friday.

It remains to be seen how long the Messenger can continue, but staff members eventually want to write about other issues that have nothing to do with the R-word.

The first edition was hard work, Wainwright said, and includes "no misspellings or typos," though a reference to "statistics" unnecessarily included an uppercase "s."

He was unsure whether the Messenger would run once a month or less often, but promised that "this is not the last special election edition."

Martinez Buildings Vulnerable to Quakes

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 21, 2004

Less than half of the city's unreinforced masonry buildings have undergone some earthquake retrofit work, leaving dozens of shaky structures vulnerable to a serious tremor.

Martinez, which was established in 1876, has 58 unreinforced brick buildings, which are often the first kind of structure to collapse during sizable earthquakes.

Of those, 25 buildings, or 43 percent, have had at least minimum seismic-safety upgrades, according to city records. Only three of them have undergone full seismic facelifts, and another at-risk building has been demolished.

The slow pace of retrofitting the brick-and-mortar structures in the aging Contra Costa County seat raises questions about the effectiveness of a 14-year-old city seismic mitigation ordinance.

In 1989, the council passed a single-page resolution in which property owners of unreinforced brick buildings were encouraged to make minimum seismic improvements. Compliance was, and remains, voluntary.

"It is my intention to amend our unreinforced structure ordinance to make it mandatory, bringing all these buildings to at least our minimum standards," Mayor Rob Schroder said Friday.

The 6.5-magnitude quake that struck the Central Coast Dec. 22, killing two people and toppling old brick buildings in Paso Robles, rekindled the concern about seismic safety.

In California, 25,500 unreinforced masonry structures affected by a 1986 state law remain standing. Slightly more than half of them have been upgraded.

The state Seismic Safety Commission, which advises the Legislature, recommends that hundreds of cities in the most seismically active areas develop mandatory programs.

So far, 52 percent of these governments have followed this advice, compared with 16 percent that use a voluntary program. According to state records, cities and counties with mandatory retrofit programs are three times more likely to get their at-risk buildings upgraded compared with those with voluntary laws.

In Martinez, the majority of the city's unreinforced brick buildings sit along Main Street, where antiques dealers, bail bond shops and restaurants are located.

The city's voluntary program requires the "correction of structural inadequacies in the support of roof-ceiling and parapets and walls adjacent to areas open to the public."

Most property owners have declined to fork over the money to do it. About two-thirds of the retrofit work occurred during the first three years after the ordinance passed, said Dave Scola, the city's chief building inspector.

"Whenever a building becomes vacant," he said, "a new person comes in and we encourage them to retrofit."

Scola, who grew up in Martinez, said many buildings downtown have all sorts of code issues to address, including old electrical wiring, a lack of emergency exits and doors and bathrooms that are not suitable for handicap use.

While the city plans to revisit its earthquake-retrofit ordinance, he said, "we also need to address the whole package of problems."

The 1989 Loma Prieta temblor damaged a parapet and caused some bricks to crumble in downtown Martinez, though no one was hurt.

Councilman Mark Ross said redevelopment could provide a financial tool to help property owners deal with the staggering cost of retrofitting buildings.

Martinez, which does not have a redevelopment agency, will go to the polls March 2 to decide if it wants one.

Opponents of redevelopment, including resident Harlan Strickland, said many property owners are wealthy enough to upgrade their own buildings.

"I don't see why the government should bail them out," he said. "There may be a handful of people who could not do it. But the city can be hard-nosed: fix it or sell it. It would sell instantly."

Martinez on Shaky Ground When it Comes to Quakes

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 8, 2004

Albert Turnbaugh, an attorney in Martinez, works out of a second-floor office in a recently renovated building with views of historic downtown.

In 2001, he and his business partner completed a major retrofit project to help their attractive, 90-year-old building survive the body blows of a serious earthquake. The tab, he said, was in the "hundreds of thousands."

"This is a very significant issue in terms of public safety," he said, glancing out the window. "There are inhabitants in every one of those buildings."

Martinez, one of the oldest cities in California, features dozens of unreinforced masonry buildings downtown, which often are the first to buckle in large earthquakes.

The city has identified 58 of these vulnerable structures, some of which date to the turn of the 20th century. In fact, Paso Robles had the same number of unreinforced masonry buildings when the magnitude-6.5 temblor struck the central coast area Dec. 22, causing an estimated $100 million in damages.

Two women died in the quake after being crushed by a cascade of bricks that fell from an unreinforced 111-year-old building.

"Someday we will have the big one," Martinez Mayor Rob Schroder said. "If we don't take the steps to retrofit these buildings, we will have a pile of bricks on Main Street."

In the aftermath of the devastation in Paso Robles, the state Seismic Safety Commission called for a legislative review of a 1986 law that required hundreds of cities to upgrade or demolish their at-risk buildings.

Thousands of unreinforced masonry buildings remain statewide, including in cities across Contra Costa and Alameda counties, despite a ban on such construction following the Long Beach earthquake in 1933.

Cities and counties need to improve their "loss reduction" programs in dealing with about 12,000 unstable buildings in California, commissioners said.

"Unfortunately, we are, in essence, competing against time," said Fred Turner, a staff structural engineer with the Seismic Safety Commission, which advises lawmakers.

In 1986, the state passed a law requiring more than 360 cities in the most seismically active areas to inventory their unreinforced masonry buildings and to create programs to secure them.

So far, slightly more than half of the 25,500 buildings affected by the law have been upgraded.

The law also called for local governments to adopt "mandatory strengthening" programs to mitigate the risks posed by these buildings, but allowed for flexibility because of the estimated $4 billion cost to retrofit all of them.

Commissioners tout the progress of many cities, but also say most loss reduction programs are not effective.

In Martinez, the city notifies property owners that their buildings are at-risk and should be retrofitted. Compliance is voluntary. "They have what we consider a relatively ineffective loss reduction program," Turner said.

Dave Scola, the city's chief building inspector, said he did not know precisely how many of the 58 unreinforced masonry buildings had been seismically improved.

Some of those buildings are occupied by small-business owners and county workers. City officials now want to review their program, and Scola said he will prepare a report for the council later this month.

Other cities, including Emeryville, Livermore, Pleasanton and Berkeley, have mandatory policies to handle their shaky structures.

Livermore, which is revitalizing its old downtown, passed an ordinance in 1998 to reduce its inventory of potentially hazardous buildings. At the time, an independent structural engineer had identified 47 such structures. To date, 36 of them have been retrofitted and five are currently vacant, said Andy Vanderheiden, the city's building inspector manager.

In Berkeley, the city had counted 587 unreinforced masonry buildings, and enacted a mandatory retrofit program more than a decade ago to tackle the problem.

Fewer than 100 buildings remain on the list in Berkeley, which recently has started issuing citations to property owners who fail to comply.

"Up until 2001, it was essentially a mandatory program without any enforcement," said Dan Lambert, who coordinates the city retrofit program.

A recent earthquake has a way of reminding people about the possibilities of pancaking floors and piles of rubble.

Danna Bell, a co-owner of Leah's Closet Boutique in Martinez, works on the ground floor of an unreinforced masonry building on Main Street.

"After that last earthquake," she said, "my husband said to just run outside. Otherwise, what do you do? This building is old."

Call for Help!

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Dec. 4, 1998

"I'm Diane Ladd, from Hollywood, and I want an ambulance immediately." an actual 911 telephone call.

Diane Ladd. From Hollywood. Somewhere, a stunned 911 operator shuddered at such an improbable request. Or removed his headset, and quit.

It was a startling announcement from an artist who has worked on such classic films as "Judge Dredd" and "Rock Hudson."

The gory details: Diane Ladd -- Laura Dern's mother, for those of you unfamiliar with the name -- was working on a new picture called "Daddy and Them," in Memphis, Tenn., recently when a vehicle accident occurred nearby.

The intrepid star wasted little time. She snapped open a cell phone, and arrogantly declared to a befuddled telephone operator that she was "from Hollywood," meaning prompt service was required.

Other than watching Marlon Brando eat a super burrito, few things are more frightening than an aspiring diva. And even fewer things are more frightening than an aspiring diva with a cell phone.

Diane Ladd, in a sudden and perplexing discovery of self, looked down upon the common souls and announced her ascent to superstardom. I twitched.

Hollywood, which has grossed approximately $496.50 from Diane Ladd-attached films to date, was the bolt with which she struck.

If Diane Ladd is a star, so is your neighborhood gas pumper.

It would be like walking inside a crowded Santa Monica restaurant and proclaiming: "I'm Sheldon, from Crockett, and I want a window seat!"

Alas, I have in my possession a special transcript from that disconcerting 911 conversation. Here is a sample:

Diane: I'm Diane Ladd from Hollywood call an ambulance immediately!
Operator: I'm Leroy from Lodi. What's up?
Diane: Hurry up! I'm Diane Ladd from Hollywood!
Operator: Can you please be more specific?
Diane: I'm an actress! You don't know who I am?
Operator: That's pointless. Where are you?

Cell phone static.

Diane: Who am I? Don't insult me. I'm huge!
Operator: I asked where you were. And how large are you?
Diane: I'm not physically large, you annoying little man! I've starred in a lot of movies. I'm a famous actress! Now call an ambulance!
Operator: Chill, baby. Where in Hollywood is the accident?
Diane: I'm in Memphis, you fool! There was a car accident here while I was shooting "Daddy and Them," a new film by ...
Operator: Save the promotional blather. I thought you said the accident was in Hollywood?
Diane: I'm from Hollywood, dork! And if you knew who you were talking to, there'd be an ambulance here already!

Diane Ladd. How many of us out there have their bedroom walls adorned with posters of this engaging star? If you have no idea who she is, or where Hollywood is those of you living in Fresno, perhaps -- do not be ashamed.

Diane Ladd had a bit part in "Judge Dredd," a futuristic action film starring Sylvester Stallone and a motorcycle. The film lasted 118 minutes before heading to video.

Other films to which Ladd is linked include: "Ghosts of Mississippi" (1996), "A Kiss Before Dying" (1991) and "Plain Clothes" (1988). She did earn two Oscar nominations for "Rambling Rose" (1991) and "Wild at Heart" (1990). But Melanie Griffith was nominated once, too. (Contrary to previous reports, Ladd did not star in "Meet the Deedles.")

Her criteria for superstardom appears to be having starred in a random compilation of commercial and artistic disasters. So the next time an officer asks for your driver's license and insurance after you wrap your red Jaguar around a sycamore tree, reply this way:

"I'm (use the name Charlie Sheen or Diane Ladd) from Hollywood."

It may sound odd. But there is a chance that the officer thinks actors are beyond common-man laws. He or she will then ask if he/she can a) get a quick autograph; and b) call AAA for you.

An Industry Survivor

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 17, 1998

In his black leather jacket and tinted glasses, Randy Quaid is doing a fine job of hiding the odd soul that lurks somewhere inside.

His ability to emulate the quirky and the disturbed has become a trademark of his resume, which now includes more than 40 feature films.

These roles, from Cousin Eddie, Clark Griswold's unruly relative in the "National Lampoon Vacation" series, to Ishmael, the dimwit Amish bowling whiz in "Kingpin," keep Quaid's feet anywhere but firmly planted on earth.

And these strange characterizations are the blood that runs through the body of this 47-year-old actor, who made his film debut in 1971.

But on this day, his maniacal inner self does not emerge.

"You do something well and people tend to want to see you as that character," said Quaid, sipping coffee from a paper cup at Planet Hollywood in San Francisco.

Promoting his latest venture, "Hard Rain," an action thriller starring Morgan Freeman and Christian Slater, Quaid is surprisingly undisturbed. Sane. Calm. Quiet.

"I'm an actor first," Quaid said. "I don't really see myself as a comedian. I'm more of a character actor; I like mixing it up."

In "Hard Rain," Quaid plays the overwhelmed sheriff of Huntingburg, Ind., a small Midwestern town facing rising flood waters and gun-toting criminals in pursuit of an armored car carrying $3 million.

The role is a far cry from Quaid's history of playing goofballs and oddballs.

"I'm just drawn to characters and the story," Quaid said. "A dramatic part allows you to delve into the inner workings of a personality."

As the sheriff, Quaid tackles an edgier, more dramatic assignment: a proud man who eventually succumbs to the dark side of his personality, a side he didn't know he had. The intrigue of the $3 million is ultimately a temptation to all, including the sheriff.
"I haven't played this type of character for a film," Quaid said, "the heavy parts, the bad-guy parts.

"I liked going from a good person to more of the darker side of him exploring the greed and how it affected him. He keeps the dark side hidden until it needed to be presented."

As did Quaid, who found himself immediately drawn to the script, written by Graham Yost ("Speed," "Broken Arrow"). "I brought a lot of the character to the part," Quaid said of his sinister sheriff. "It's a lot easier to act when you have the elements to work against."

Those elements were part of an ambitious set that involved a replica of downtown Huntingburg, constructed inside a giant airplane hangar in Palmdale, just north of Los Angeles.

Fifty wooden buildings were placed in a tank two football fields long, 100 yards wide and five-feet deep. Five million gallons of water were dumped inside to emulate a ravaging flood.

"It was a very impressive set," Quaid recalls. "They put the buildings on these risers to give the illusion that the water was rising."

For his new role, Quaid spent time with several sheriffs who patrol the rural areas north of Los Angeles, including Palmdale.

"I asked if they'd ever come across a large sum of money," Quaid said. "This one sheriff said he'd taken $750,000 from a crime scene and was driving back with it in his truck and he started thinking about the money and what he could do.

"I guess he figured it wasn't quite enough."

That's the way Quaid feels the about his comedic background: entertaining, but not quite enough.

"I love comedy," he said. "I love sitting in a theater and hearing people laugh. I loved doing Cousin Eddie, but I've tried to avoid being pigeonholed or typecast."

Still, Quaid may forever be linked to his inner buffoonery, despite a more serious early career in which he earned an Academy Award nomination as best supporting actor for the 1973 film "The Last Detail."

A component of Cousin Eddie may always exist in Quaid, who has an innate ability to hide it altogether -- and lean on it for survival.

"I'm an industry survivor," he explains.

It's a skill -- a trick, really that has kept him working in an business that is forever discarding old faces and replacing them with new ones. And Cousin Eddie may be called on again. He's still there, somewhere inside:

"I got laid off when they closed the asbestos factory. And wouldn't you know it -- the Army cuts my disability pension 'cause they said the plate in my head wasn't big enough."

The man in black leather lets out a deep sigh.

Vallejo Fireboat Answers Call to Anti-Terrorism Duty

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 5, 2004

VALLEJO -- The 34-foot fireboat slashes a frothy wake through the blue-green waters of the Carquinez Strait, its engine reduced to a gurgling drone.

The three-person crew, wearing puffy orange jackets, stares out over the bow, scouring the horizon for anything suspicious.

Or anything at all.

Bill Tweedy, a spokesman for the Vallejo Fire Department, looks past the choppy waters through reflective sunglasses. He aims a finger at an Amtrak train hugging the shoreline just past the new Carquinez bridge.

"Think about it," he said. "Someone sends a package on a container boat, and it ends up on a freight train. The train goes under the bridge and kaboom. It could happen.

"There are a lot of different threats out there."

This is the war on terrorism's homefront -- a nameless boat bobbing in the Bay, its crew assessing risks through squinting eyes.

In the homeland security jigsaw puzzle, this unarmed craft from Vallejo is a tiny piece, pushed into an extended role since the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks.

This is how America defends herself now -- with patience, vigilance and a whole lot of overtime.

Since the Sept. 11 attacks, the Vallejo Fire Department has assisted the Coast Guard by prowling the North Bay waters. Its role involves scrutinizing sensitive infrastructure that could attract terrorists, including bridges, power lines, railways, refineries and other places that officials decline to discuss.

The vessel, which fights fires and responds to medical emergencies, scours the waterways between Antioch and Napa.

"They're mostly an extra set of eyes," said Aaron Fjestad, a Coast Guard petty officer in Vallejo.

So far, the fire department has not reported any credible threats. But the added security efforts have cost Vallejo about $1 million, said city spokesman Mark Mazzaferro.

"Certainly, after 9/11, we all went on high alert," he said. "Since then, there are times when we go on increased alert again, which trigger more security and more overtime."

The city feels the fiscal strain. It pruned $2.2 million from its current budget over concerns about lost car-tax revenue. The city has also left two dozen city vacancies unfilled.

"But this is now the cost of doing business," Mazzaferro said. "What's your choice? Don't do it?"

Vallejo's fireboat, the only one in Solano County, was acquired from Los Angeles for $1. It replaces the Neptune, a 24-foot fireboat that had been used since 2001.

On a recent day, the craft churned through the Mare Island Strait under cloudy skies and a breeze, passing a lineup of time-worn military buildings and giant cranes looming over the waterfront.

The craft, which can blast up to 1,000 gallons of water a minute, is called into duty by the Coast Guard about once a week.

Engineer James Brunson steered the boat while firefighter Bruce Phillips sat shotgun.

The boat checks out sites the Coast Guard selects, and calls in anything that looks suspicious -- a tiny boat tethered to a bridge, abandoned equipment, suspicious people.

"We base our information on what it looked like yesterday, and what it looked like today," said Tweedy, the spokesman.

On this day, the boat passed under several bridges and a major transmission line, and near several refineries, their smokestacks puffing into the dark skies. Nothing stood out as unusual.

The boat turned around in San Pablo Bay, and headed back to Vallejo.

With so many routine patrols like this one, crew members travel with a sense of ease.

"It'll really kick in if there is an attack in the U.S. again, post-9/11," Phillips said, gazing out at the water.

"We hear about a lot of threats. But it's sort of like crying wolf."

Consultant Advocates Revival in Martinez

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Feb. 3, 2004

Capping months of speculation, a city-hired consultant has concluded that the commercial core of downtown Martinez, including its aging marina, is ripe for redevelopment.

The $36,000 study has drawn considerable interest in Martinez, which is divided over whether the city should establish a redevelopment agency.

Critics say redevelopment would ruin the city's small-town charm, while proponents argue that it would provide a financial tool to revive the drowsy county seat.

Keyser Marston Associates Inc., of Los Angeles, conducted a sweep of the city to analyze whether Martinez had sufficient "blight," a legal finding required to create a redevelopment area.

The firm, wrapping up a highly anticipated study Friday, identified downtown as a feasible redevelopment project, giving supporters a boost. In its preliminary report, the consultant, criticized by redevelopment opponents for taking too long, identified several issues that could be addressed by setting up a district:

*Dilapidated ferry pier and docks at the marina, which is dragged down by a costly silt buildup;
*More than two dozen unreinforced masonry buildings that have not had seismic upgrades;
*Abnormally low lease rates downtown;
*Inadequate building sizes, stagnant property values and severe parking shortages;
*A pattern of sliding retail sales during the past 10 years.

Keyser Marston narrowed its focus to the city's aging commercial core, saying it was the most logical place to establish a redevelopment boundary.

"This assessment," the report said, "was based on the apparent limited amount of business activity and a tenant composition that had a preponderance of second-hand stores, suggesting a decline in economic conditions."

Even so, the consultant said a more comprehensive blight and financial analysis would be necessary to begin the steps of forming rigid redevelopment areas. In that case, "the boundary could expand or contract from that studied."

The issue of redevelopment has long been a testy one in Martinez. Measure M, which asks voters whether the city should establish a redevelopment agency, appears on the March 2 ballot.

Redevelopment allows cities and counties to designate blighted areas and collect a larger share of property taxes within those districts. The added revenue, or tax increment, is used to pay for new construction, street and sewer repairs and other projects.

In September, the city hired Keyser Marston to carry out a 90-day feasibility study in which it would identify areas considered blighted.

The study, which took nearly 120 days, zeroed in on the city's 44-year-old marina, dogged by a costly silt buildup problem that has left nearly half of its slips empty. The old pier is a piece of twisted wreckage ringed by a chain-link fence.

Dock fees and other marina revenues at competitive market rates do not support an estimated $16.5 million to renovate the marina, Keyser Marston said.

In addition, the firm indicated that downtown sales tax has slid 13 percent between 1992 and 2002, despite a slight population growth.

The problems include buildings that are too small to accommodate anchor retailers, a huge off-street parking deficit and extremely low lease rates that "cannot support a major rehabilitation" project.

"I think what we are looking for here," Mayor Rob Schroder said, "is if there is enough evidence of blight in Martinez, in general, to take the next step."

Schroder, who supports redevelopment, said Monday that he had not fully analyzed the study results.

The Sky's the Limit

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Feb. 6, 1998

LIVERMORE -- The immense shoes -- yachts with laces, really -- temporarily steal the attention from their owner, D.J. Burton.

The soft-spoken Livermore High School freshman, whose Nikes practically need their own port, realizes this. What can he do?

So Burton sits quietly on a bench inside the boys locker room and allows his size 15 shoes to be scrutinized like museum pieces.

"When I was 11 or 12, it was pitiful. Every two weeks I'd change sizes," said Burton, now 15. "I skipped size 10 and went straight to 11. It's stopped now, thank goodness."

His 6-foot-4 frame, however, has not surrendered. As a result, Livermore coach Mike Tripp is grooming this gentle giant whom a family doctor once predicted might reach 7 feet tall for eventual prep stardom.

Whether he gets there is quite another issue. But Burton finds himself in an awkward position the buzz already has started.

"I know, deep down in his mind, he's waiting," said Tripp, whose team hosts San Ramon Valley tonight at 7. "He's eventually going to have this team. I think, by far, he will be the best player to ever come out of Livermore."

With a 13-point, 25-rebound effort against California on Jan. 23, Burton's impact was felt immediately.

"He comes into the gym carrying his tennis shoes and I'm like Whoa, look at the size of those things!' " Cal coach Hans deLannoy said. "He's amazingly mature for a freshman. He plays real smart."

It's the hype -- he already gets the loudest ovation from the Livermore crowd during pregame introductions -- that has attached itself like a leech to this athlete, fair or not.

"Basketball is just a game," said Burton's father, Claude. "Maybe by default he'll be known by basketball, but we want him to be known as a quality individual."

After finishing his three-year middle school career at East Avenue, where he compiled a school-record 1,980 points, Burton was already a conversation piece around town.

Burton had a high of 42 points and "a lot of 40s" and averaged around 30. His teammates were in awe.

"It was fun when I started getting popular," Burton said with a grin. "Kids would come up and say, I've seen you play. Can I get your (autograph)? 'Cause I know you're going to the pros.' "

It was flattering and inspirational stuff for Burton, whose size (he was 5-11 at age 12) was always an attraction.

His growing pains are legendary -- and torturous. Osgood-Schlatter disease seemed to arrive as often as the morning paper when Burton was between the ages of 11 and 14. "I couldn't even run or play. I'd walk with a limp," he said.

But at 13, while playing pickup basketball with his uncles, Burton fractured the femur bone in his right leg.

After spending a week in a Las Vegas hospital, where he had a small plate and four screws inserted into his leg, Burton finally climbed out of bed to a startling conclusion.

"I guess I stood up to my dad and I was about two inches taller than he was," Burton said. "I was still growing in the hospital."

If the gift of size eluded Claude Burton, who is 5-11, it certainly has a presence in the family. Claude has a 6-4 younger brother and two cousins taller than 6-5, including Johnny High, who played for the Phoenix Suns in the mid 1970s.

"I guess D.J. just skipped my genes," Claude said.

How big Burton eventually will become is the subject of some debate. A family pediatrician from Las Vegas, where Burton was born, predicted that he would stretch to nearly 7 feet. He was only 13 then.

Others, including his physician in Livermore, believe Burton will finish at 6-7, tops.

"Some people keep growing and growing and growing, even when the stats say they should stop," said Dr. Jonathan Flanzbaum, a local pediatrician who has treated Burton. "Though that's not where I'd put my money."

But a better question is this: Does it really matter?

"Because he's a freshman, people don't expect him to play the way he does," said Matt Andrade, the team's junior shooting guard and leading scorer. "But he's good. We use him as a weapon."

Over the summer, Burton played for the Tracy Flight, a traveling all-star squad. The team participated in a prestigious tournament in Las Vegas, where Burton's eyes settled on a tall, awkward boy soaking up all the attention at center court. He was 14, already 6-10, and his future was being dissected in more ways than Burton's. Somebody said something about interest from "60 Minutes."

Burton could live with people staring at his feet.

Clash Over Team Builder's Value During Fiscal Crisis

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Feb. 6, 2004

With eight frozen positions and dismal budget forecasts, the city has spent more than $55,000 on a consultant with a doctorate in psychology who specializes in team-building skills.

Bill Mathis Associates, of Napa, was retained Nov. 1, 2002, a few months after the arrival of City Manager Mike Ramsey. Mathis, 60, is a writer and speaker whose articles include "When Council is Unhappy with City Manager" and "The Seven Symptoms of a Manager in Trouble."

The city has relied on his services for 15 months, racking up a $55,168 tab that continues to swell.

As cities brace for more economic uncertainties in a state soaking in red ink, the continued use of the consultant raises questions about fiscal prudence.

"I will not approve any more expenditures," Councilwoman Sue Angeli said Thursday. "I have made it clear that I don't think we should have to bring someone in to, No. 1, teach people how to get along and, No. 2, I don't believe in these touchy-feely sessions."

Other city officials praised Mathis, a $250-an-hour consultant, saying he has helped improve communication and efficiency at City Hall.

They say he has helped initiate the city's first organized major projects list, addressed a management clash between the planning and public works departments and facilitated the city manager's evaluation process.

Later this month, Mathis will prepare for and facilitate a daylong public workshop to help council members identify and prioritize their goals. The cost to taxpayers will be $4,000.

Then, in late March, an "executive team" of city department heads will meet with him for a three-day retreat to Napa to talk about the goals and discuss project timetables.

The cost to taxpayers will be about $9,500.

"The reason we use him is the same reason folks go to other professionals for help: to maintain and improve their own health," Ramsey said. "An organization is sort of like a body, and it needs to be taken care of."

Richard Ricci, the city's finance director, said that he was initially skeptical of an outside facilitator.

"But I am now a proponent of Mathis," he said. "He's had a very positive effect on the organization, and has sped up the process to get to know Mike Ramsey."

Mathis, who said his firm services 50 cities a year in California, said his work is not "touchy-feely," but effective and practical.
"One of my major activities has been working with the council," he said, "helping them focus in a laser-like way how to stay within their budgets and within capacity of staff.

"Ninety percent of all the councils I deal with over-estimate what staff can do, particularly in tight times."

By the end of the March 29 retreat, the city will have paid Mathis about $70,000 — or more than 10 percent of the roughly $650,000 the city has spared by not filling vacancies.

A $35,000 contract with Mathis was approved in November 2002, five months after Ramsey was hired.

Then, in February 2003, the council voted 4-1 to approve an extension of the contract, as requested by city staff. Councilwoman Terri Williamson voted no.

In the meantime, a team of nine city officials is planning to meet with Mathis for a two-night stay at the Christian Brothers Retreat and Conference Center in Napa, beginning March 29. The center, wrapped in 500 acres of vineyards and wooded hills, includes 14 rooms and two suites that range from $115 to $175 a night.

The purpose of the trip will be to allow top management to hash out how to implement the goals set by council members during the workshop Feb. 28.

Ramsey, who will attend, said the trip is well worth its costs and allows the team to get away from distractions and focus on developing a "yearlong strategic plan."

"When you get into a real serious conversation and come up with a strategy," he said, "you can't just call a timeout after two hours and expect to pick it up again at that point in time."

Ramsey said he and Mathis had talked about a working relationship at City Hall that would last three to five years.

Opponents Can't Rattle This Pitcher

Note: This story originated while working as a prep sports writer and covering a softball tournament in Concord. I ended up hanging out with the fans, and learned that a dazzling pitcher on the mound happened to be deaf. I wouldn't have known if I hadn't wandered over there.

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
March 14, 1998

Liberty High School's softball players stood in their dugout Thursday, gripping the chain-link fence in front of them.

The defending North Coast Section 3A champions were down to their final at-bat. They shouted. They screamed. And there was nothing they could do.

Because out on the mound, Natalie Carrillo didn't hear their cries. Instead, the Concord High pitcher promptly went about her business, retiring the final batter on a sharp grounder back to the mound to complete a 5-1 victory in the opening round of the Queen of the Mountain Tournament.

Carrillo was born deaf, but as she showed in the upset victory, few things get inside her head. She sidesteps the handicap label. A three-year varsity starter, Carrillo is a hard-throwing right-hander who would rather be recognized as an unrelenting brave spirit.

"Sometimes being deaf is an advantage," Carrillo said without the aid of a translator. "You don't hear the bad comments on the other team. I just rely on my mental game."

The 5-foot-7 junior scattered three hits over seven innings, with one strikeout and two walks. She had six assists off the mound. And, as if that wasn't enough, Carrillo clouted the game-clinching, three-run homer in the top of the seventh, turning a 2-1 lead into a 5-1 cushion.

"She did a nice job," Liberty coach Rich Barrios said. "She kept the ball down and we really didn't have many opportunities. And when we did, it didn't seem to faze her."

It is that confidence that Carrillo leans on in pressure situations, forcing the outside elements to dissolve into echoes and distant murmurs.

"I think I've worked on my mental game more," said Carrillo, who joined the Minutemen as a freshman shortstop. "I've concentrated more on blocking everything out."

As a freshman, playing in this same tournament, Carrillo broke her ankle after colliding with her center fielder while in pursuit of a pop fly. She said she'd never let that happen again -- a severe communication breakdown, a lapse.

Last year, she was named to the Queen of the Mountain's all-tournament squad. On Thursday, with two outs and two runners on in the seventh inning, Carrillo smashed a fastball deep over the head of Mamie Daniels, Liberty's left fielder.

Carrillo, Concord's cleanup hitter and only pitcher, is expected to shoulder a heavy load for the Minutemen.

"She's probably one of the strongest players who has played for me in a lot of years," said George Wheable, in his 13th season at Concord.

Wheable also can relate to Carrillo's handicap; his daughter, Kellie, is deaf. He coached his daughter at Concord 15 seasons ago.

"You have to make some very minor concessions," Wheable said. "She has to look at you when you talk. She can't hear. It's easy for me. I've lived with it my whole life."

Puff Daddy's New Year's Resolutions

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Dec. 31, 1999

Puff Daddy's New Year's resolutions:
* Launch a new brand of cereal called Honey Puff Combs.
* Attend at least 419 important fashion and awards gatherings, eclipsing my 1999 record of 418.
* Host at least one party a night at my kickin' pad following aforementioned celebrity social functions.
* Remix "Puff the Magic Dragon" and release on Bad Boy Entertainment.
* Study the enduring charm of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. (May hold this one until next year.)
* Consider the idea of writing my own song. On second thought, scratch that one.
* Consider a new name for Puff Daddy. P. Daddy? Dirty Ol' Dad? Puffmeister? (Or at least come up with a good explanation for Puff Daddy when people inquire about it at a party.)
* Marry Jennifer Lopez.
* Have an assistant call all media outlets to inform them that Puff Daddy is "secretly" getting married. This will assuredly cause a media firestorm and summon helicopters to the site, which makes it a paramount event.
* Wear a gold frost mink parka to the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles for the Academy Awards and have the Bodyguard Squad beat up anybody who makes fun of the fur.
* Pose for at least 12 pictures with social pal Donald Trump, especially if his presidential run is going well.
* Have a little fun try to wear tinted glasses all 365 days, regardless of tough obstacles like weather and nightfall.
* If I fall out of the media spotlight for two straight months, be sure to get arrested for toting a gun to the airport. Note to self: John F. Kennedy International Airport?
* Call Mariah Carey on her birthday and politely ask if she'd like to have an affair.
* Start sales pitch for a new bumper sticker: "Puff This."
* Find a way to wipe out my early biography, which includes a stint at an all-boys Catholic school in a New York suburb. Note to self: bad background for a rap star.
* Divorce Jennifer Lopez.
* Move out of my $2.15 million 18-room Mediterranean-styled penthouse and into a $2.37 million 20-room Mediterranean-styled penthouse.
* Send record executive Steve Stoute -- whom my bodyguards and I were accused in April of physically assaulting with a champagne jug -- a Christmas card and a nice gift. Note to self: Would Steve be offended if I sent him a bottle of Korbel?

Confessions

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Sept. 18, 1998

INTERIOR OFFICE DAY
A GUY walks sheepishly through the front door. He sees a DOCTOR slumped in a large leather chair.

Doc: Go ahead and have a seat, Mr. --
Guy: Peabody.

Doc: Peabody.

Reaching into his briefcase, Doc pulls out several papers. He adjusts his glasses and grabs a steaming mug of coffee.

Doc: Now tell me your problem.

Guy (draws a deep breath): I like chick flicks.

Doc spits up his coffee, which spatters his white Polo.

Doc: Oh boy. Uh, don't worry, Mr. Peacock. I've dealt with worse one guy couldn't stop watching "Cabin Boy." He viewed it 26 times during one obviously prosaic weekend. Anyhow, I've got the perfect remedy for you.

Guy raises his eyebrows.

Doc: But first, let me ask you this: What film, uh did you in?

Guy: "Beaches."

Doc: Perfect. Now, I'd like you to take a quick test. Have you seen "How Stella Got Her Groin Back"?

Guy (paralyzed): It's groove, not groin. And yes, loved it.

Doc: Interesting. Hold on a minute.

Doc grabs a nearby folder and begins leafing through it. He pulls out a single page.

Doc: I've got a list of films here. And I'd like a brief reaction to each. OK?

Guy: Shoot.

Doc: "Steel Magnolias"?

Guy: Wept like an infant.

Doc: "Dying Young"?

Guy: Cried for three days, off and on.

Doc: Wow. Uh, "The Horse Whisperer"?

Guy: Two boxes of Kleenex. And a bowl of fudge.

Doc: "Hope Floats"?

Guy: So did I.

Doc: "Terms of Endearment"?

Guy: Emotional stuff. Missed two days of work.
Doc: Uh, "Pulp Fiction"?

Guy recoils.

Doc: Just kidding, friend.

Guy draws a deep breath.

Doc: "Fried Green Squash"?

Guy (agitated): It's "Fried Green Tomatoes." And of course I've seen it. Who hasn't?

Doc: Well, I haven't, Mr. Peacan, but that's precisely my point.

Guy throws his head in his arms.

Doc: OK. I've heard enough. Here's the gig: I'm going to propose a prescription called CAB. It's essentially a dose of macho, which seems to be lacking here. And I want you to try it tonight.

Guy: CAB?

Doc reaches into his briefcase and pulls out two videocassettes. He hands them to Guy.

Guy (reading the titles): "Con Air" and "Bloodsport"?

Doc: Yes. CAB. It's sure to get your testosterone cruising like a Patriot missile. Here's the deal: When you get home tonight, take your shirt off, crack open a beer and enjoy the double feature. Settle into that couch like you're part of it. And get a good bag of pretzels.

Guy: That's it?

Doc: One more thing: Never tell your buddies that you've seen "Sleepless in Salem" without your girlfriend around.

Guy: It's not Salem.

Doc: Whatever. Listen: We've got to get your testosterone soaring north again. And until we do, you're a closet chick flick fan. Don't advertise it. The consequences could be fatal.

Doc leans forward.

Doc: The evolution of man is riding on your shoulders, friend.

Guy: Hmmm. Let me ask you something, Doc. Have you seen "Waiting to Exhale"?
Squirming in his chair, Doc finally throws up his arms.

Doc: Five times. Cried like a river.

Keeping it Safe in Rossmoor

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
July 11, 2000

ROSSMOOR -- Capt. Bill Lynn rolls his Chevy Malibu up Terra Granada Drive and approaches a stop sign. He looks puzzled.

"Sometimes I ask myself Well, should I turn left or right?' Sometimes, it just doesn't seem to make a difference," he says, finally clutching the wheel and veering left.

In Rossmoor, an upscale retirement community where the average age is 76 and the posted speed is 25 mph, policing is often a perfunctory task.

Few crimes are reported in this picturesque enclave, where golf carts and automobiles co-exist. But about 9,600 people live here and many ask for help.

Which is where the Public Safety Department, featuring a 27-person security squad outfitted with oxygen tanks and wheelchair-lifting devices, steps into action.

The tiny 24-hour agency, managed by the Rossmoor-based Golden Rain Foundation, fields about 1,300 calls for service each month -- or about twice as many calls as police log each month in Clayton, a city with a slightly larger population.

In Rossmoor, calls for service might be anything from a lost pooch to a backed-up sink.

The safety team's work is embraced by the Walnut Creek Police Department, which handles the crimes that occur in Rossmoor, including burglary, assault and serious vehicle accidents. That leaves the brunt of the calls in Rossmoor -- wheelchair assistance, CPR responses, rattler spottings, you name it -- under the authority of the public safety team.

Officers are not armed, unless you consider the 25-liter air tanks used to aid people short of breath. They do not have the authority to make arrests and issue traffic "warnings" rather than citations.

On occasion, the unit succumbs to boredom.

"Sometimes I'll just turn on the police scanner, fire scanner and the radio all at once," says Pat Pond, one of two dispatchers who fields calls from the security booth of the gated community.

The call volume goes up most during heat waves, when air conditioners fail or people suffer from shortness of breath, and in the winter, when leaking roofs and fallen tree limbs create havoc. During days when cable TV falters, the security switchboard lights up like a pinball machine.

Pond, whose 10-hour shifts include more than 500 phone calls, says the excitement level is minimal, save for an occasional jolt.
On a recent morning, she says, she took a report from a 79-year-old woman who had been in a fist fight with a 76-year-old woman after being cut off in traffic.

"They were rolling on the ground, fighting. It was a mutual combat," Pond says. "I hope I'm still that feisty at that age."

For a kick, Lynn says he will often park his car near a radar trailer and watch brake lights activate as drivers slow to the posted speed limit.

The security staff, headed by Chief Ralph Schillinger, a 30-year veteran of the Berkeley Police Department, responds to about 40 "incidents" a day.

The incidents are filed under one of 44 different categories, including one called "miscellaneous," which could be anything from a burning coffee pot to a screaming smoke alarm.
***
On a recent afternoon, Lynn, 57, steered his white patrol car down Tice Valley Boulevard and approached a three-way stop.

"The biggest problem here is people running stop signs," says the former Berkeley patrol officer, eyeing an Oldsmobile to his right. "Look at this guy! See, he's not waiting."

Nearly 90 minutes into his eight-hour shift, Lynn gets his first call. A scratchy voice sounds over his transmitter: "Code 2 Code 3, fire and ambulance responding Manor Avenue, difficulty breathing."

"C-3, copy," says Lynn, flicking a switch that activates a flashing orange bulb on the car's roof. He steps on the gas. Once he reaches the four-story complex, Lynn grabs a nylon duffel bag, which holds an oxygen tank and a variety of heavy-breathing masks, wrapped in plastic, and hustles toward the building.

When he reaches the fourth floor and finds the room number, he pushes the door open.

"Public safety," he shouts, pulling on a pair of latex gloves as he enters the apartment. "Just hold on there, honey. We'll get you some air."

About 15 minutes later, after Lynn has stabilized the woman, fire officials and paramedics arrive. The woman is carried away on a stretcher.

Medical calls are the most significant tasks performed by the Public Safety Department. From any point in Rossmoor, they can reach the scene in about four minutes.

During the next two hours, Lynn receives two more calls: one for a resident complaining that her gray-and-white Shih Tzu had escaped into a neighbor's yard and another for a faulty smoke detector. An officer tackles the latter assignment.

"Generally, the job will keep you going," says Lynn, a Concord resident who has patrolled Rossmoor for 14 years. "There's always something to report. It's one of those jobs where you just don't know what you'll be doing."

After drinking a warm cup of coffee back at the security gate booth, Lynn climbs into his Malibu and ventures slowly down the road.

Just then, a dispatcher's voice crackles: "We found the dog, the Shih Tzu. He's OK."

Benicia Landmark Slated for Makeover

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 12, 2004

BENICIA -- In a 157-year-old city, this fixer-upper is a real humdinger.

The windows are boarded up. The floors and stairways groan. The roof leaks. Walls are unstable. The white paint has lost its once opulent gloss.

Hardly anyone bothers to stop by.

The historic Commanding Officers Quarters, a spectacular building that predates the Civil War, has masked its notability by its own dour appearance.

But the 20-room mansion, which rests on a grassy knoll at the Benicia Arsenal, is poised for a serious upgrade. The first step of an $800,000 rehabilitation project is under way, one that aims to stabilize and secure a mighty city landmark ravaged by age.

The job is being funded by a $400,000 grant from the state Office of Historic Preservation, which the city matched. Carey & Co. Inc. of San Francisco, an architectural firm with a flair for historic preservation, is sketching out restoration plans and identifying weak spots.

Construction could start by March 2005, a job that will involve seismically retrofitting the building, repairing the roof, sealing windows, fixing floors and adding fresh paint and new lights.

"At this stage, primarily, we want to protect the building from further deterioration," said Michael Alvarez, director of parks and community services.

City officials say it will cost about $2 million to return the 144-year-old building to near its old glory, which could pave the way for public use.

For Benicians, the structure represents the early days of a city that rolled out the welcome mat to the first Army post west of the Mississippi.

"I think it's the second most historic building in the city, next to the (former) state Capitol," said Jerry Hayes, a former mayor and past president of the Benicia Historical Society.

The building, also called the commandant's residence, shares a hillside property near a sandstone clock tower built in 1859. The site is on the National Register of Historic Places.

But the two-story mansion slipped into fast decay during the past two decades. A restaurant had operated in the building for several years until shutting down in the early 1980s.

No one knew what to do. Renovations were too costly. Plans fell apart, with the scope of the project always just out of reach. The house, which features attractive pillars and 14-foot ceilings, was built in 1860 by Julian McAllister, the arsenal's commanding officer at the time.

With wood in short supply, McAllister had the materials shipped around Cape Horn. He crafted a beautiful home of classic Georgian architecture. Soon, the large residence became a popular gathering place for the region's elite, who cruised by steamship from San Francisco.

The building began to erode when the Army pulled out of the Arsenal in the early 1960s.

Today, the commandant's residence is an empty shell. Inside, it is dank and dark. Wallpaper curls and sags in every room.
A 24-step staircase creaks all the way to the second floor, whose large bedrooms have fireplaces and attractive bay windows.

In the basement, which is solidified by 24-inch-thick brick walls, the sandstone foundation is crumbling to dust.

In its proposal, Carey & Co. outlined a plan to repair floors, balustrade and columns, a portion of the roof, doors and wood porches and to reinforce the brick columns in the basement. The plan includes strengthening unreinforced brick chimneys and reinforcing the connections between roofs and floors.

Representatives from Carey & Co. did not return a phone call for comment.

Councilman Dan Smith said the rehabilitation will go a long way toward sparing one of the city's cherished landmarks.

"I think it could be used for some kind of conference center, or a museum use may be interesting," he said. "I hope it becomes a bit of a tourist attraction."

Concord Man Revives Jukeboxes

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Dec. 31, 2000

CONCORD -- At the dawn of a new millennium, the jukebox refuses to die.

"It's the purest form of American art -- it's uniquely American in its design," said Bill Krueger, founder of Concord-based Jukebox Restorations.

Indeed, though the gaudy machine will forever be linked to an era of soda fountains and spinning 45s, the jukebox remains an enduring cultural phenomenon.

Why it continues to sing its often scratchy tune is a testament to a passionate group of jukebox purists like Krueger, who refuse to let the chrome-and-wood relics vanish.

"I see the jukebox as a throwback to another time that, in a lot of respects, was a lot purer," said Krueger, 44, who began restoring the machines as a hobby in 1980.

"It came from a much simpler time, when things were maybe not quite as abrasive as they are now."

Plenty of others agree. Hundreds of thousands of the bulky music boxes are still being built today all over the world. Several years ago, Torrance-based Rock-Ola Manufacturing Co. began producing a line of authentic jukeboxes under the famed Rock-Ola name, using CDs instead of LPs.

And more than 6,000 people regularly attend the annual Jukebox Madness Show in England.

Not bad for a trendy unit that enjoyed its first public demonstration in San Francisco more than 100 years ago.

The jukebox -- or in its early corporate lingo, the "automatic phonograph" -- had its heyday in the 1940s, when millions of Americans sought to escape from a national depression and World War II.

"Most of this business is dead," said Krueger, a former manager at a retail plastics company. "The golden age of the jukebox was back in the '40s. And in the 1950s, they called that the silver age. After that, it was no age."

Still, the Concord man is able to support a family by selling and fixing the antique machines, several of which decorate his home.

A specialist in a rare trade, the jukebox repairman knows of no other direct competitors in the Bay Area. His clients are scattered from Marin County to Redding.

Most of the work is accomplished in his Concord garage, where he is sprucing up a 1954 Seeburg for a friend in Clayton. A long-term restoration project, he said, could take two months to complete.

But Krueger, whose father was a cabinet maker, is also a distributor for Rock-Ola Manufacturing, through which he sells $6,000 jukeboxes to private collectors, wealthy musicians and CEOs.

"Typically, people buy them and keep them," he said. "And they become family heirlooms."

He specializes in 1940s Wurlitzers and '50s-era Seeburgs, once among the nation's most wildly popular names. But mostly, he enjoys the nostalgia of selling and repairing an apparatus that produced so many memories for generations of Americans.

After 20 years in the business, the work itself -- "lots of elbow grease and Windex," he said -- is fairly routine.

"The thrill comes from interacting with my customers," he said. "When I bring these machines back to life for them, it gets their memories going again. They start thinking of their first girlfriend or their first kiss ..."

Seniors, Autistic Teen in Loving Bond

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
June 13, 1997

Trevor Gilmore slumps over a dining room chair in his Livermore home and stares at a spot on the floor that's probably never received such unwavering attention.

A moment later he is startled by a siren -- faint to everyone else in the room -- that wails somewhere in the city. Trevor promptly stuffs a finger in each ear to help muffle the sound.

But each morning at 7:10 sharp, the 17-year-old autistic boy is enthusiastic about the beginning of a long day, one that begins with a lengthy journey he could only make with the help of several Tri-Valley senior citizens.

For the past nine years, Trevor has been chauffeured to The Morgan Center in Palo Alto about 40 miles each way, 220 times a year by elderly men and women.

It has been an unlikely union but a surprisingly efficient one.

His parents, Ray and Sandy, were forced to seek travel accommodations for Trevor since both parents work full-time. They just wanted their son to get the best instruction possible, regardless of its distance from their Livermore home.

"We prefer an individual driver because it's usually someone who gets involved with Trevor, who gets close to him," said Ray, 51.

***
Don Pemberton, a 64-year-old San Ramon resident, served as Trevor's personal escort to and from school from 1992 to 1996. He logged more than 400 trips.

"I kind of got attached to him, really," Pemberton said. "I always made sure there would be someone who could drive him if I couldn't."

Pemberton is a well-known Good Samaritan. That is why despite being paid $7.50 an hour and 26 cents a mile by the Livermore school district to joust with traffic. Pemberton provided his services to a mute, autistic boy he had never met.

Somehow, it worked.

"Unfortunately, I'm kind of a softy," he said. "But when I saw a lot of other kids like him, or even worse, at the school, I got a very different perspective on those kids in general.

"It didn't make much of an impact on me until I started driving."

Some of Pemberton's experiences with the boy were humorous, but mostly pleasant. There was one incident, however, that left Pemberton shivering.

"I was told he'd have some spells," Pemberton said. "He always carried a couple cookies and a cup of water. We got on the Sunol grade, heading north, and he started making loud, unusual noises. I knew something was wrong.

"So I handed him his water and he hollered, then he hit the roof of the car and threw the cup of water. I had hair raise on my arms. So I pulled over, started talking to him, telling him what a good boy he was and he calmed down."

The escorts understand they are subject to Trevor's occasionally erratic behavior. Ray and Sandy carefully screen each driver prior to the first day on the job and educate them on the symptoms of autism.

"Trevor is mildly to moderately autistic with various places in his development," said Dr. Bruce Gach, a physician at a Tri-Valley pediatric office. "He can understand commands and respond to them if he wishes."

He can also decide not to cooperate.

"He has boundaries that he has set for himself," Gach said. "They're unpredictable. But their unpredictability is predictable."

If a distant siren inhibits the boy, how does he endure the chaotic mess of heavy traffic, blaring horns, screeching vehicles and unusual faces?

"We feel there's a lot of pain, but he just can't tell us," Ray said.

***
Trevor is mute. He has never uttered an audible word. Being autistic, he is impervious to his emotions and his reactions are immediate, for good or for bad.

Liam, an 18-year-old senior at Livermore High, is Trevor's older brother.

"I shared a room with him until I was about 12," Liam said. "I never really had any problems."

Liam is extremely close to Trevor. He can tell you Trevor's distinguished list of quirky passions: country music, his flannel jacket, plastic spatulas and serving spoons all of which helps potential drivers.

The Morgan Center a 50-student, nonprofit school is the lone institution for autistic students in the Bay Area that offers one-on-one instruction.

For the Gilmores, the commute was worth the hardship.

Since Trevor began attending The Morgan Center, 15 different drivers have taken him to school. Why does it work?

"I think he understands that these people like him," said Sandy, 52. "He understands that they become his friends."

That's because Trevor, despite never saying a word, wins one over with charisma. It, like most of his emotions, comes without a warning.

"He's got this really sweet, sly smile and he wins people over," Ray said. "He's got a lot of charm."

Trevor, like most autistic people, is high-strung. He has worn out the springs of several beds and barstool cushions by jumping on them.

But on each day of his commute, Trevor will curl up in the back seat, wrap himself in a blanket and fall into a tranquil state bordering on sleep. He will chomp on Kit Kat bars or graham crackers and drink cups of water to stay cool. He loves riding in automobiles and is an ideal passenger, quiet and well-composed.

But because of his autism -- a lifelong condition found in about 15 of every 10,000 births -- anything can happen at any moment.

"I just tell people to be prepared for anything," Sandy said.

Pete Andersen, 74, helped relieve Pemberton several times since July 1993. During one stretch, he drove Trevor to school for two straight weeks.

"He's very calm. He knows my vehicle very well. He'd go right up to it when I pulled up (after school) and he'd climb in and snap his belt on."

Said Sandy: "It would be very difficult for us to survive without these wonderful people helping out. There's no incentive for them to do it."

Benicia Band in Big Parade

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Nov. 29, 2004

It's a tuba player's big moment, a drummer's dream gig.

The Tournament of Roses, the venerable parade in Pasadena with a history that reaches back to the 1890s, is the pinnacle for many marching bands.

In Benicia, it is becoming a tradition of sorts.

Next year, the decorated Benicia High School band will participate in the prestigious celebration for the second time.

The 110-member crew, crisp and talented, will blare its wares in front of some 800,000 spectators at the 116th-annual Rose Parade on Jan. 1, 2005.

Benicia High, the lone band selected from Northern California, will make its second trip to the big show since 2001.

"I feel more excited this time," said Roxanna Macheel, the high school's veteran band director. "It seems like a miracle to be selected a second time for such a little town and a little school."

Macheel, who led the band to the ritzy event three years ago, received the big call Wednesday night. Benicia, she was told, was invited to join 24 other bands to march in the 5«-mile parade.

The tournament's 35-member music committee had reviewed 100 applications across America, then settled on 25.

The Benicia band, Macheel said, will later start working on "a medley of fun little songs," three or four of which will be repeated over and over during the march.

Karen Burmark's 17-year-old daughter, Katelynn, will play the flute for Benicia during the parade.

There has been a lot of "jumping up and down and screaming," her mother said, since word spread about the latest honor bestowed upon the local musicians.

"I used to say, well, it's just another parade," Burmark said. "Not now. It's very cool."

Grown Men, a Court Case and a Baseball

Note: This was my first story on what ultimately attracted national media attention for more than a year. In fact, I ended up following the story to its strange finale at an auction in New York.

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Oct. 29, 2001

SAN FRANCISCO -- In legal terms, it's Popov vs. Hayashi, 400545.

In reality, it's a pair of grown men fighting over a baseball, No. 73.

The unprecedented legal struggle between Alex Popov and Patrick Hayashi over Barry Bonds' record 73rd home run ball has attracted national attention.

But the president of a prominent New York auction house said Friday that he told the feuding fans to joust over something more worthwhile -- money.

"I'm not encouraging anyone to fight, but if there must be a fight, let it be over the money," said Arlan Ettinger, president of Guernsey's, one of the world's most respected auctioneers.

"A suggestion that we presented to both sides was that it might be more prudent for them to agree to let the ball be sold now," he added, "even if they hadn't resolved their differences."

One of the fans has made a verbal commitment to consign the item to Guernsey's, which could hold the auction in February or March, Ettinger said.

Experts have said that the bonanza ball could fetch $1 million to $2 million.

The large sum partly explains the frenzied scramble for the souvenir created Oct. 7 at Pacific Bell Park. Popov, a Berkeley health-food restaurateur, caught the home run ball in his mitt, but lost it when a crowd piled on top of him.

He sued Hayashi, the Silicon Valley engineer who ended up with the prize catch.

"It's difficult to accept that someone wants to sue someone else for this situation," Hayashi said Sunday, in his first public comments about the dispute. "It's difficult for myself and baseball fans to see this happen. It's very negative."

No one knows for sure how much the horsehide treasure will command at auction. But if Bonds' single-season home run record were in jeopardy next year, No. 73 could plunge in value.

In 1999, Guernsey's handled the record auction of Mark McGwire's 70th home run ball, which Spawn comic book creator Todd McFarlane bought for $3.05 million.

During this year's home run chase, McFarlane acknowledged that Bonds setting a new record could adversely affect the value of his own ball.

"I think the studious investor has to factor in that if Todd's baseball can get neutered, mine can, too," he told the Times.

Previously, the record price for a baseball sold at auction had been $126,000 for Babe Ruth's first home run at Yankee Stadium.

Ettinger said he recommended to both parties that they sell -- once a court order is lifted -- and find out who signs the check later.

"The money is timeless; the ball is not," Ettinger said. "If this case ends up in the courts, you don't need an attorney to realize that it could take years to resolve. Interest in the ball could wane."

In any case, the recent scuffle over the scuff-marked sphere ended up in court last week.

On Wednesday, San Francisco Superior Court Judge David Garcia ordered that the ownership dispute must be settled before the ball can be sold. He set a hearing for Nov. 13.

The lawsuit underscores the increasing value of sports memorabilia and their widespread interest on the open market.

"It's an important story," Popov said recently via cellphone while eating dinner in San Francisco. "Barry Bonds may end up passing Hank Aaron to become the greatest home run hitter ever.

"And these balls are very valuable -- How do you condone this kind of behavior?"

With record baseballs commanding seven figures, grown men are showing up at the ballpark with a glove and a dream. Now, the price for a unique piece of sports history is as impossible to predict as the fans who nab the souvenirs.

"It's a free country. Anyone can sue. But we should all use good judgment and common sense before charging off to a courtroom," said Donald Tamaki, Hayashi's attorney.

Popov's attorney, Martin Triano, said his client had been robbed of a ball that started in his mitt.

"How did Mr. Hayashi get the ball?" he asked. "We look forward to lots of light being shined on this. We think the truth will come out. I mean, there's no debate. Alex caught the ball."

The surreal scene unfolded Oct. 7 at Pac Bell Park during the San Francisco Giants' final game of the season.

Bonds' last home run, No. 73, landed on a concrete walkway above the right-field wall. While the slugger rounded the bases, a group of men went after the sacred orb that could turn one of them into an instant millionaire.

What followed was a bizarre pileup, a cartoonish knot of arms and legs, that local TV captured on videotape. Replays show that Popov indeed caught the ball with his mitt, but lost it at the bottom of a dog pile.

"Within seconds of catching the ball," the complaint reads, "Popov was attacked, assaulted and battered by no less than six and as many as 15 individuals, including Hayashi."

Popov said he landed hard on his left cheek, under a pile of bodies. "Get off" and "help" were among the words he shouted.

Meanwhile, the complaint alleges, the others were "desperately attempting to obtain control of the baseball, by any means necessary."

Tamaki rejected the suggestion that the ball had created a mob scene, and denied that his client forced the ball out of Popov's grasp.

"Patrick was at the bottom of the pile, and he sees the ball," he said. "Nobody had it. So he grabs it."

Whether the men will ever agree to sell the ball without knowing who owns it remains to be seen.

Nonetheless, Tamaki said Friday that his client had no immediate plans to sell the ball, but "what he does in the future, I don't know."

Coroner's Inquests a Mixed Bag

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
June 13, 2001

More than a few people were puzzled by a recent coroner's inquest ruling that it was accidental when a Walnut Creek police officer killed a Pittsburg man Feb. 13.

After all, Officer David Wright testified during the May 29 hearing that he fired four bullets that killed 23-year-old Jason Amen Watts.

Yet the nine-member panel ruled the shooting an accident rather than "at the hands of another."

The ruling sheds light on an enduring quarrel between civil rights attorneys and police and county officials over whether coroner's inquests are reputable and effective tools of the criminal justice system.

Unlike Alameda and Solano counties, Contra Costa holds inquests to rule on deaths involving a law enforcement officer. Jurors decide on one of four options: death by accident, natural causes, suicide or "at the hands of another."

Inquests do not rule on civil or criminal liability.

Some local attorneys, civil libertarians and community activists criticize the format of inquests. They allege the public hearings are flawed affairs designed to shield police from any wrongdoing.

Contra Costa deputy coroner Daryl England dismisses those allegations.

"It's a way to present, in a public forum, accurate information to everyone about an officer-involved fatal incident," he said.

Civil rights attorney Michael J. Haddad attended the May 29 inquest on behalf of Watts' widow, Alicia Akbar.

"If you're going to have a legal proceeding where the jury makes a decision," he said, "it needs to be more adversarial so that all the facts, from both points of view, are put forward."

The inquest looking into Watts' death narrowed its focus to the gunfire that erupted at a Good Guys store in downtown Walnut Creek on Feb. 13. Watts, also known as Kenyatta Akbar, had tried to buy gift certificates with a fraudulent driver's license and a stolen credit card.

Officers testified that Watts pulled a weapon on them as they began questioning him. Watts was shot four times.

The accidental ruling was justified, said Kelli Samson, a juror in the Watts case. "When police went into the Good Guys store, they did not have their guns drawn; they had notebooks and pens in their hands," she said. "They were not prepared to shoot. They were forced to shoot."

County officials say inquests provide an open forum in which to present information that, for months, had been sealed under police investigation.

Typically, three months or more pass between an officer-involved fatality and the inquest while police and the District Attorney's Office conduct a joint investigation. County officials say they believe inquests are a better alternative than allowing one person, the district attorney, to make the call.

"Typically, the D.A. will decide that nothing will be pursued," said Martinez attorney Stuart W. Willis, who presides over Contra Costa's jury inquests. "And nine times out of 10, there will not be a grand jury proceeding because the D.A. did not initiate it."

That leaves a jury to rule on a manner of death.

In some cases, those findings can raise more questions for attorneys and the victim's relatives. In a review of 19 county inquests since 1999, 13 officer-involved deaths were ruled accidents.

Accidental rulings included a man who crashed his car and died while being chased by police and a County Jail inmate who died after a scuffle with deputies.

According to the jury instructions, the term "accident" is an "unforeseen event, misfortune, loss, act or omission." Critics say the word is sometimes used to shield police from bearing the responsibility of a civilian death.

England, the coroner's deputy, rejects those claims.

"The whole inquest process is not to determine fault," he said. "It's a public inquiry into the circumstances of someone's death. We could only assume jurors are listening and hearing that."

A jury June 12, 2000, ruled the shooting death of 24-year-old Joseph Ross III by Antioch police an accident. The decision startled the man's friends and family members, who filed a wrongful-death suit against Antioch.

Three police officers shot Ross 26 times during an altercation at a Sycamore Drive apartment Oct. 27, 1999. The jury ruled 6-3 that although police killed Ross, it was not their intent to do so. Officers testified that Ross had ignored orders to lie down and that they fired only when the man charged them with a shiny object in his hands.

Lezly Crowell, a close friend of Ross' family, said she was insulted by the coroner's inquest format and the accidental ruling in Ross' death. She claimed police withheld factual information during the inquest.

"If the jurors knew some of the stuff that really happened," she said, "I don't think they would have gone the way they went."

For some frustrated lawyers and family members, the only recourse is through the filing of civil rights lawsuits, which often languish in Justice Department files. The rare cases get resolved in a few years.

In February 1998, parents of an Antioch man who died after police hogtied and pepper-sprayed him in 1995 agreed to settle their wrongful-death suit against the city for $362,500. Derek Wallace, 29, died in January 1995 after clashing with police.

A jury at a coroner's inquest ruled in May 1995 that Wallace's death was accidental; Wallace's parents were disappointed.

In many cases, however, an inquest can provide enough information for the victim's loved ones that they will decide to drop their lawsuit, said Willis, the inquest officer.

Inquests serve a purpose, said Alameda attorney Jim Chanin, who said he won wrongful-death suits against Richmond in the 1980s.

"It's better than nothing because at least they educate the public about what their police are doing," he said. "But it would be better if there was more participation, especially by attorneys or representatives of the family."

But if there were no inquests, Chanin said, "the family would tell me one thing and the police wouldn't tell me anything."