sky obscured by billboards. I kept the windows
closed, the air conditioning on, and Flora Purina on
the tape deck.
At Irvine the terrain shifted, suddenly to endless
expanses of green–fields of rich, dark soil stitched
precisely with emerald rows of tomatoes, peppers,
strawberries, and Corn, spasmodically bathed by
Whirligig sprinklers. I opened the window and let
in the good stench of manure. A while later the
highway edged closer to the ocean and the fields
gave way to the affluent suburbs of OrangeCounty,
then thinned to miles of empty scrub enclosed by
barbed chain-link fence–government land, rumored
to harbor secret nuclear testing plants
187
188 Joahan ltlerman
Just past Oceanside, traffic going the other way
slowed to a crawl: the Border patrol had set up a
spot check for illegal aliens. Gray-uniformed officers
in Smoky the Bear hats peered into each vehi
cie, waving on the majority, pulling a few over for
closer scrutiny. The process had a ceremonial’ look
to it, which was appropriate, for stemming the tide
of those yearning for the good life was as feasible as
capturing the rain in a thimble.
I exited a few miles later, heading east on a state
highway that slogged through blocks of fast-food
joints and self-serve gas stations before turning into
two-lane blacktop.
The road rose, climbing toward mountains veiled
by lavender mist. Twenty minutes out of the junction
and there wasn’t another vehicle in sight. I
passed a granite quarry where mantislike machines
dipped into the earth and brought up piles of rocks
and dirt, a horse ranch, a field of grazing Holsteins,
then nothing. Dusty signs heralded the construction
of “luxury planned communities” and “town-homes,”
but apart from one abandoned projectmthe
– roofless remains of a warren of small houses cranmd
into a sun-baked gully–it was empty, silent land.
As the altitude increased the scenery grew lush.
Acres of eucalyptus-shaded citrus groves and a mile
of avocado preceded the appearance of La Vista.
The town sat in a valley at the foot of the mountains,
surrounded by forest, vaguely alpine. A wayward
glance and I would havemissed it.
The main drag was Orange Avenue and a good
part’of it was given over to a sprawling gravel yard
filled with somnolent threshers, tillers, bulldozers,
and tractors. A long, low, glass-fronted structure
occupied one end of the yard and a worn wooden
sign above the
and repair of farm equipment and
The street was quiet and ribbed
parking lines. Few of the s
those that were housed half-ton pickups and old
sedans. The posted speed limit was 15 m.p,h. I
decelerated and coasted past a dry-goods store, a
market, an eight-dollar-a-visit chiropractor (“no apo
pointment necessary”), a barbershop complete with
spinning pole, and a windowless tavern named
Erna’s,
City Hall was a two-story square of pink cinder
block midway through the town. A concrete walkway
ran down the center of a well-tended lawn,
flanked by towering date palms, and leading to
brass double doors, propped open. Weathered brass
rods bearing Old Glory and the flag of California
jutted out above the entrance.
I parked in front of the building, stepped out into
the dry heat, and walked to the door. A plaque
commemorating La Vista’s World War II dead and
dated 1947 was inlaid in the block at eye level, just
left of the doorpost. I stepped into an entry hall
containing a pair of slat-backed oak benches and
nothing else. I looked for a directory, saw none,
heard the sound of typing and walked toward it,
footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.
There was a woman pecking at a Royal manual in
a stuffy room full of oak file cabinets. Both she and
her machine were of antique vintage. An electric
fan perched atop one of the files spun and blew,
causing the ends of the woman’s hair to dance.
I cleared my throat. She looked up with alarm,
then smiled, and I asked her where the sherift%
190 ]o,zdum. Kellerman
office could be found. ‘She directed me to a rear
stairwell leading to the second floor.
At the top of the stairs was a’ tiny courtroom that
looked as if R hadn’t been used in a long time. The