Travels with Shadow
California
In order to allow more liberal use of photos without causing long download times, I am mostly using black and white photos
I have been sitting in the Bay area for three weeks waiting for it
to warm up to the north. It was 972 miles from Gila Bend, Arizona to
Fairfield, CA through some of the prettiest country that I have seen.
To say that the mountains between Gila Bend and San Diego are
impressive is an understatement but the Ford pulled us and the trailer
with no complaint. Sadly there weren't many places to pull over and
shoot pictures.
After coughing up forty dollars for an overnight spot north of L.A.,
I headed for Travis Air Force Base where it was ninety one a week. High
for the rest of the country but a bargain in California. At least the
electricity was included, and the location allowed me access to
relatives to the north and south. I made a run down to Stanford
University to get a copy my father's WWI photographs I had danated a
few years earlier. Of course I couldn't leave without visiting my old
stomping grounds, San Francisco. Vallejo is about 15 miles from the
base and they run a high speed ferry to S.F. The round trip including
parking cost me $9.50 with my geezer discount. Bridge tolls alone to
the city and back runs to $12, and then you have parking, and fighting
your way back through rush hour.
San Francisco skyline from Vallejo ferry
Telegraph Hill and Coit Tower
San Francisco holds a special place in my heart.
After working a summer in Glacier Park, I took the train to San
Francisco instead of returning to the University at Duluth. Photography
was the driving force in my life and I was determined to study under
Ansel Adams at the San Francisco Art Institute even if I had to do it
at night school. Although at nineteen I looked like I was fifteen, I
managed to get a job in a photo lab and find a place to live.
Somehow my folks managed to scrape together enough to send me to the
art institute full time and send me some survival money, which I
augmented with selling my art in street galleries. I now realize that I
placed an unfair burden on my aging parents, and sent images into their
hearts of my following in the footsteps of their wilder sibelings,
which perhaps I did.
San Francisco Art Institute
After the rigidity of the the University, the Art Institute was a
breath of fresh air. There was an emphasis on individuality and a push
to expand your reach. Not only did I learn to make prints in the dark
room from Ansel Adams, I picked up the basics of graphic design which
became the core of my later work life. 
Vesusvios Bar
Vesuvios Bar sits across the alley from City Lights book store. These
two places were the heart of old North Beach. I spent a lot of time in
both places. At nineteen I was under age and so had to dissapear to the
bathroom while my friends ordered a round. It only took a beer or two
to get me sloshed in those days, in fact, that is all it takes nowdays.
Lawrence Ferlenghetti who ran the book store, was kind of the
unofficial mayor of the beach, allowing you to use his shop as a
reading room, and acting as a mail drop for those who drifted from
coast to coast.
There were rent parties that lasted for days with poets like Kenneth
Patchen drifting in and out, testing new material on the crowd.
City Lights book store.
Within a few blocks was the Fox and Hound where Hoyt Axton got me a job
playing raunchy folk songs to drive his crowd out and allow for crowd
turnover. Up the hill was the Old Spaghetti Factory where I could get a
meal for sitting around and sketching. The tourists wanted local color
and I would sell a few sketches as well. Later a bar opened on Broadway
where we would get paid to sketch live nudes while the tourists oogled
at the girls. The catch was that the girls couldn't move or we would
have all been arrested. A couple of galleries were selling my paintings
of the night life and with the stipand my parents sent me, I was
surviving ok.
This was the end of the beat era and just before the hippy era. The
difference was that with the beat was it was all about their art,
writing and music. They worked to support their endeavors in the arts,
if only part time. They didn't pan handle like the hippies, and drugs
were incidental to their live and for the most part frowned upon as it
as a inhibitor of their endeavors. Yes, there was peyote, grass and
heavier stuff around, but you had to really look for it, whereas drugs
became the center of the hippy lifestyle. After a tour in the military
I returned to San Francisco and was disappointed with the impact the
hippies had on the city, so I left again.
The best part of this visit to California was seeing relatives, some
for the first time in 45 years and others that I had not yet met.
After the age of five, I grew up without cousins when Howard moved west
with my little cousin Phillip. I did not know about my other cousins,
Ross, Chuck and Noel jr. in California until Ross's father Noel
contacted us 45 years ago. Mike, I only found recently.
Cousin Howard Jones and wife Jeannie live in Galt near Sacramento
Howard's children, Phil, Dianne and David Jones
Cousin Mike and wife Pat Jones who live in Boulder Creek
in the Red Wood forest south of San Francisco
Cousin Ross Jones who lives within view of mt. Shasta
Ross's father Noel had been collecting family information for most of
his life and left Ross with about 30 volumes of research. I parked in
his yard in Fall River Mills for two weeks and scanned most of it to
computer files. I have to give Ross credit, he has found one of the
nicest places to build his home which he shares with his wife pat and
four lucky dogs.
The deer picture below was taken out of my trailer window the day after
I pulled in.
Taken in Ross's front yard where I camped for two weeks