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THE SPONTANEOUS SPECTATOR @ PARADISE COVE
This Call Is For Sierra Sue...
By Ed Stollery II
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Paradise Cove, Malibu. Jan. 17, 2004. Special to The Sunday Malibu Newspaper.
Sierra Sue was quite a character. She had a short life, 20 years against Mr. Hope's 100 -- and her 20 years were caged at Lake Tahoe. She was the product of a creative mind of the owner of the Tahoe City World. That was a paper published weekly in Tahoe City, at the north end of Lake Tahoe, where the lake was (usually) at a level of 6,000 and some feet. I think.
I last saw Tahoe in 1975, as I drove my old car from Carson City in Nevada to Santa Cruz on California's coastline. Santa Cruz: the Malibu of the north, because it's a colder beach. But that's another story, some day.
Sierra Sue was great for misquotes. She was the type who'd watch, for example, the moon landing, "one step for man," and then she'd toss in her own ending; one time, it came out "which I missed because it wasn't in my direction." I guess you had to be there, perhaps to know that Stub (creator of Sue) had paid his dues at the San Jose Mercury sports department, had moved forward to join Henry J. Kaiser's public relations department - and even sold a car! - (My dad bought one from Stub, but that's another story too) - Stub gave me a paperweight, a small ignot of aluminum with the raised letters PERMANENTE on the top.
I later did some film work for the Kaiser Aluminum firm at its reduction works outside of Spokane, Washington. Still later, I did some work for the security department of Kaiser out of their Oakland offices - again, more stories in the bag. But today I chose Sue because while I don't remember her wise cracks, I remember her.
"She" would heckle Tahoe "historian" Dave, who wrote some mighty wild "TALES OF TAHOE (in two volumes yet)," about early sports in the mountains, football with boulders insead of pig skins, and so forth. And why is this interesting? Well, it probably isn't. If you didn't live around Tahoe in the 70s, you'd not remember how clear the water was at the northern end of the lake. South Tahoe septic tanks hadn't overloaded the ground quite yet; but the south Tahoe waters were not safe to drink, and you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.
It may not have REALLY been that bad, but on the other hand I've walked in San Francisco fog where you couldn't see your hand -- and I've tried looking down from the docks of south and north Tahoe. Up north, you can see old boat mooring anchors 60 feet down. South, that day, I don't think I could see 60 INCHES into the water.
Sue fought obscurity of the water, as she fought other developments of Lake Tahoe: losingly. She had a lot of fun, and finally Stub retired for his third? time. He moved his wife to Grass Valley, and passed away to rest in those green foothills of the Rockies.
Dave, the historian, has also passed from the scene. I was reminded of Dave, and Stub, when Dave's wife Mitzi passed away as well. I've avoided adding their last names, to avoid peppering this column with repeat after repeat of the name we all shared: STOLLERY. Dave, David John Junior, has a son -- but that's another story as well. And instead of Malibu sand transplanted to the Rockies, young Davey is around here somewhere. But - well, yes, "that's another story."
"THE SPONTANEOUS SPECTATOR"
© 1972, 1992, 2002, 2003, 2004 Edward W. Stollery II
Reprint rights please contact the author
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