A collection of words

Ever since I was a little boy with a bad haircut, I’d always loved writing and telling stories.

I started out telling stories visually, through cartooning, and, eventually, made up my own sports articles based on real games – using an old typewriter that my grandmother had given me.

By the time I was in high school, working on the school newspaper, I knew that my future would be in journalism.

I started my official career with Contra Costa Newspapers, in 1995, as a part-time prep sports writer for the Valley Times, in Pleasanton. I was raw. I had a voice and a style, but without the skills that come with experience to deliver the story in the clearest, sharpest way. I struggled, found things that worked, struggled some more … but always sought to get better, and did.

By the time I ended my career, eight years later, I was proud of what I’d become – a general assignment reporter who was capable of writing compelling stories on a wide variety of subjects, from Foot-and-Mouth disease and city growth to 9-11 security issues and the county’s last dairy farm.

What I enjoyed the most, though, was finding these stories -- or angles to existing ones -- on my own. A man who repaired typewriters in the year 2000. The county's last almond farm. Two boys who grew up dreaming of playing professional baseball together, their dream severed, and renewed again, after one nearly dies in an auto accident. Then going out there and telling these stories -- with detail.

This is my compilation of words and stories – in no order whatsoever, sort of like a newsroom on many days. I dedicate all of these words and experiences to my son, Caleb.

A parting thought, courtesy of the late Hemingway: “Will work again on the novel today. Writing is a hard business, Max, but nothing makes you feel better.”

Vallejo's Statue is Dry Rot's Captive

Note: This was a story that originated in a local Vallejo newspaper, but I saw lots of opportunities to improve on it. The paper didn't have a sense of humor with the piece, and didn't even get ahold of the artist here. So I dug into it and this is what I did with the story.

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Nov. 19, 2002

Gen. Mariano G. Vallejo, a towering historical figure and father of this southern Solano County city, has loomed over a stretch of Redwood Street for nearly two decades.

But the hulking sugar pine statue is now nine tons of rotting pride, a Dead Man Standing.

In short, the splintering giant is infested with termites and dry rot. It's not expected to survive winter, much less a particularly strong gale.

"I understand that Gen. Vallejo has termites," Jim Reikowsky, communications director of the Vallejo Convention & Visitors Bureau, said dryly. "I'd miss the statue if it's gone, but I'd live.

"It wouldn't kill me to see it gone," he added. "It's not historical. It's pretty neat, but not one of those things that you'd get in front of a bulldozer to save."

The unusual roadside figure has become a curious city landmark and an awkward advertising tool since it went up in front of an auto dealership in 1983.

It stands guard outside Team Chevrolet, poking the heavens with a long silver flag pole from atop a rotting stump that makes managers trying to sell $18,000 trucks nervous. Very nervous.

"It's going to hurt someone," said Duane Jang, Team Chevrolet's general manager, while surveying the timeworn effigy on a recent morning.

Jang pointed out the rusted bolts crumbling away from the stump on which the 18-foot-tall statue plants its mighty boots, which are as large as lawnmowers.

"It's sort of a sore subject," he said of murmurs of removal. "We don't want to remove it; it's such a historical thing. But there's no alternative. Someone will get hurt.

"To be honest," he added, fingering the loose bolts, "I think it's standing alone."

The statue of Gen. Vallejo, a Mexican soldier dispatched to the Northern California frontier in the 1830s, was created by Miles Tucker, an artist living in Arnold.

Tucker, 59, was not surprised when told that his statue was fading and falling.

"It was carved out of sugar pine and requires maintenance," said the artist, who added that he would be willing to restore it with wood from a 3,000-year-old giant sequoia -- for a price.

Ron Barber, a Solano County auto dealer, commissioned the piece and had it propped up in front of what is now Team Chevrolet.

Ever since, the expressionless soldier has kept a proud and defiant vigil over a gritty stretch of the city.

Nonetheless, some say it isn't taken too seriously as public art.

"It's unusual. You can call it a piece of folk art, sort of like the things you see in rural areas, like a guy using a chain saw to carve out a grizzly bear," said Jim Kern, executive director of the Vallejo Naval and Historical Museum.

"This is sort of like that, except 10 times bigger."

Without upkeep, weather and critters have chipped away at the craggy monument.

Some folks have suggested dragging the giant across town and displaying him at the museum.

But Kern said he had no room. Nor was he excited about inheriting termites and dry rot.

What about sparing Vallejo's head?

"We could decapitate and maybe put his head in here," he said. "But his head alone is as large as a Volkswagen, which could be a problem."

Carlito Abadi, who owns Sign-A-Rama, works directly across the street from the massive statue.

He finds the decaying general a comforting neighbor.

"It'd be good to refurbish it," he said, gazing at the statue. "It'd make it more appealing. It looks very neglected. But I like the statue."

In any case, no one has emerged to rescue the piece.

Which raises the question: What becomes of the city's infested father?

Alas, no easy answers.

Jang, Team Chevrolet's manager, is waiting to determine what to do, since he leases the dealer site from Barber.

And it'll take a few thousand bucks and a few stiff backs to haul the statue off, when and if that happens.

"We're sort of waiting, to see if someone will step forward," Jang said, sounding hopeless. "But as it rains and moisture gets in there, it'll get worse, I'm sure."

Mare Island LNG Plan Fuels Opposition

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Nov. 24, 2002

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Faced with growing concern, the City Council voted in August to suspend talks with Bechtel and Shell while the city conducts a three-month health and safety study.

Bechtel and Shell agreed to fund the $250,000 study, with critics skeptical about whether the probe would remain independent.

The five-member committee, organized by Fire Chief Don Parker, is expected to release its findings in a 20- to 25-page report Dec. 17.

"This isn't unlike other very large proposals for development," said Tom Tobin, a consultant hired by the city who serves as the project's study manager.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rift keeps gaining momentum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We think this could be a great tourist destination, a gateway to the Napa Valley," said Elena Haskins Ducharme, a job developer at Hastings College of the Law, who rides the ferry to work in San Francisco.

Ducharme and others warn that the complex would add "smog-producing" gases and tanker emissions to a county already suffering from the highest rate of respiratory diseases in the Bay Area.

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

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

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

LNG, a colorless, odorless liquid, is a natural gas kept at ultra-cold temperatures. When it cools, it reduces to 1/600th of its original size, making it easier and cheaper to transport over long distances.

The product is hauled in 900-foot ocean carriers, which would pass under the Golden Gate and San Rafael bridges to reach Mare Island.

Fears of huge fireballs and terrorist attacks are overblown, officials for Bechtel and Shell say.

"We all have a heightened sense about terrorism. But Shell, in particular, operates facilities like these all over the world, safely, without being targets of terrorists," said Alison Abbott, community relations manager for the two firms.

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

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

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

Keeping the Old Games Playing

Note: This was one of those "evergreen" stories that journalists often dread: finding a filler story for the paper during the slow holiday period. I loved finding random stories, including this one while I drove through Martinez one day.

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Dec. 8, 2002

Bryan Mao is a true pinball wizard, a man whose trusty hands have pried open the antiquated bellies of thousands of feeble machines and made them hum again.

Mao, 45, operates the largest video game repair business in Contra Costa County.

His office is a 4,000-square-foot warehouse in a business park off Arnold Drive, a place where old arcade units such as Space Invaders go for extended play.

Every month, the boyish engineer revives hundreds of sputtering relics from 1950s-era pinball machines to pool tables and jukeboxes.

A humble fix-it business that started in his Pinole garage in the 1980s, Mao's shop has evolved into a full-service practice for nostalgic-minded East Bay customers.

One married couple wanted a Ms. Pac-Man repaired because they had met playing the game.

"Most people in the yellow pages under 'Amusement' fix some things, but they eventually end up here if they can't," said Mao, also an electronics engineer for Surgical Dynamics in Alameda.

The growing $7.4 billion video game market has turned a generation of youngsters and adults into at-home joystick enthusiasts.

Microsoft's Xbox and Sony's PlayStation 2 game consoles have created digital living rooms, leaving once-popular public arcades fighting for quarters.

It also has turned folks such as Mao into a dying breed who cater to a shrinking but loyal group of pinball arcade fans.

Despite calls for help, he doesn't touch the new-generation consoles.

"They use very simple technology. And any time they lower the prices, I think they're using cheaper materials," said Mao, sitting in his windowless office.

"I believe they only want the machines to run a year," he added, "so you'll have to buy new ones."

Mao, though, has plenty of faulty flippers or failing power driver boards to keep his mind and hands operating.

Inside his 7-year-old Martinez shop, dozens of pinball and arcade machines crowd the floors like dead dinosaurs -- Star Trek, Attack from Mars, Bionic Commando and Pool Sharks, to name a few.

Nearby, an entire wall is devoted to hundreds of pieces that he uses to reassemble these 300-pound behemoths: screws, washers, changers, coils, darts, bumper caps and pop bumpers.

"I have 3,000 parts just for a pinball machine," said Mao, who was born in Taiwan and moved to the United States with his family in 1978. "It's a matter of learning how many things can go wrong."

It was his close friend Stan Van, a retired video arcade operator, who encouraged him to start his own electronics repair business in 1984.

"He's a good, honest kid," said Van, 64, who ran a popular shop in Concord for two decades. "I like him. If I were younger, I would have been partners with him."

In the early days, Mao would load his tools into the back of his Chevy and drive to affluent houses in Danville or Lafayette to keep flippers flapping or Pac-Man munching.

He still does "house calls," charging $60 for a service call and $60 for the first hour, during which he usually finishes the job.
Asked about the appeal of these outdated machines, Mao said, "I guess some people want to keep a piece of memory in their minds."

City Sues Brothers to Raze House

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Dec. 11, 2002

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

It is certainly going to take one to revive 1680 Oak Park Boulevard.

Pleasant Hill has sued the Greek brothers over the dilapidated and hazardous condition of their vacant digs, calling on the owners to hire a licensed contractor to tear it down.

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

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

Indeed, the four-bedroom house already looks like a wrecking ball has passed through its grungy hallways once or twice.

Holes gape in the ceiling. Cracks in the stucco. Smashed-out or boarded up windows. Rodent droppings. Piles of rubble in each room and in the sprawling backyard lot.

Code enforcement officers posted a notice to abate the debris-strewn property in April. In August, a fire inspector declared the dwelling a fire threat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Property records show that the Magganas brothers bought the house in September 2000 for $250,000.

Even after the house falls to the ground, the deal remains spectacular: The 19,760 square foot lot has nearly enough legal space for two houses.

Transition Likely to Confuse Vallejo Boy

By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Dec. 15, 2002

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

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

He will learn about his teenage mother, who was shot and her corpse and Vallejo bungalow set ablaze -- a homicide that puzzled police for years.

He will learn about his father, a 1990s rap artist serving hard time for armed robbery in a state prison 236 miles away. He will learn that he was whisked away from his biological family when he was only 25 days old.

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

It's the beginning of a particularly tough healing process that could last a lifetime, therapists and specialists on traumatized children said.

"You can't just find a kid, go through a complete identity change and not expect some issues to manifest over some time," said Georgia Hilgeman-Hammond, founder of the Vanished Children's Alliance in San Jose.

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

But Latasha Brown, 22, now stands accused of conceiving a plot to kill the boy's biological mother, Daphne Boyden, and swipe her child.

The boy grew up only a few miles from where his mother was slain.

He is now in protective custody while authorities try to figure out how to reintroduce him to unfamiliar faces: his own family. Riva Lee Boyden, the boy's great-grandmother, is delighted to have Le-Zhan resurface after so many frustrating years but is guarded about what lies ahead.

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

Strict confidentiality rules prohibit Child Protective Services from discussing specific cases, said Laura Fowler, deputy director of the agency in Fairfield.

"We're concerned with a child's best interests," she said. "Any child we take in we want to place with family members who have the first priority for placement. The closer the relationship, the higher the priority."

It's certainly going to be complicated for Le-Zhan. His father, Lathan "Young Lay" Williams, once a promising rapper, is serving a 12-year sentence for robbery.

Williams, 27, narrowly avoided death before his son was born when he was shot in the head in August 1995.

Adding to Le-Zhan's troubles, the women who reared him are behind bars.

Experts say abducted children often forge tight bonds with their captors, even in abuse cases.

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

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

"A lot of his (recovery) has to do with his upbringing," said Dr. Kiran Koka, medical director of adolescent services at Mt. Diablo Medical Pavilion in Concord.

"He grew up not knowing his real mother. If he were really nurtured and raised like normal kids, he may go through a lot of depression, anxiety and confusion."

At 6, he may also exhibit more infantile behavioral problems, experts said, or act out when he gets upset.

Nonetheless, most experts say the youngster can recuperate strongly with good therapy and a family that doesn't overwhelm him.

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