Opinion
One day as we were sitting in the dirt eating our bagged lunches (like animals, I thought, even then) the old man who ran the show began one of his regular informal employment reviews. This had become a thing over the past few weeks, him scowling at me and muttering about how I wasn’t cut out for hard work, didn’t dig my ditches to his specifications, or fast enough, etc. He wasn’t wrong. I was a skinny kid with a questionable work ethic, and truth be told, had no interest in a life of blocks, bricks, and ditches. This time though, his critique included an extra dose of nasty old man, concluding with, and I quote: “I guess it’s because you didn’t grow up with a dad around.” Though I instantly despised the guy for being so cruel, he did have one thing right: dad wasn’t around. But mom sure was.
Local, free, and famous, that’s James Turrell’s “Dividing the Light,” one of over 80 “skyspaces” worldwide that demand the participant-observer look overhead to a naked, unadorned sky and allow their eyes to be tricked by light changing on the surrounding structure.
Owner/visionary Erica Dubreuil opened Crème Bakery on September 19, 2018, intent on complementing Claremont’s already lively coffee and pastry scene, with Some Crust the next block over, Last Drop Café across the street, and two chain coffee spots also steps away. I was skeptical, wondering how another Village bakery was going to fare. But then I made my first trip to Crème and wondered no longer. I was immediately hooked on Dubreuil’s fantastic baguette sandwiches, particularly the Saucisson Sec, a deceptively simple little bomb of happiness with its dry Italian salami, fontina cheese, Dijon mustard, and cornichons. Oh. My. God. Later I got my hands on the pastries. Game over. I was and remain a devotee.
It is time to get your annual flu shot. But what else? What about these other vaccines? Is the “triple threat” really coming this fall? Yes, it is. To what degree it will affect us is yet to be seen, but public health experts warn that we should be prepared.
“It’d been several years since I’d seen Jen when I ran into her at a Jon Spencer Blues Explosion show at the El Rey Theatre in LA in March 1997. We spoke only briefly, but it was sure nice to see my old friend. Months later I got the shocking news that she had been diagnosed with brain cancer. She was 33. What followed that diagnosis dramatically reshaped the rest of her life. Though she’s never pursued legal action, a local surgeon botched her first brain surgery, removing some malignant mass but leaving behind more, which necessitated a second procedure at UCLA. The accompanying radiation treatments from both surgeries was severe and left her deeply fatigued. The combined trauma is with her to this day.”
A group was making its way through the crowd seated on the lawn in the darkening, warm summer evening. The guys had glow sticks around their necks, and the young woman had one crowning her head, like a string of daisies. Others walked past with hamburgers, ice cream and other treats from the concession stand as the band played into the night.
Though smog remains and LA still consistently tops the list for worst air quality in the nation, the region has seendramatic improvements since California began leading the way in the 1970s, to the point where being “smogged out” is a thing of the past in my old neighborhood. The pathway to cleaner air began when politicians of all stripes looked out their windows, saw the evidence, and followed the science. In 1970 this was just common sense. In 2023, not so much.
By Mark von Wodtke | Special to the Courier Tree legacy Homes, campuses, and Claremont’s public streets and parks should all have the benefit of heritage trees, which provide a […]
The signs are up, though they are low to the ground so you will have to bend down to read them. But make a point of doing so the next time you stroll along the north side of Marston Quad on the Pomona College campus, coffee in hand, dog on leash.
It was difficult to comprehend what I was seeing in that Lake Tahoe hotel room back in 1993. We’d had a few beers and shared a joint, and things were a little fuzzy. “This is a hold-up,” read the note, handwritten on neatly folded yellow legal paper. “You will not be harmed … Put the money in the envelop … Keep smiling – be quick … There is two of us.” He would hand that note to a bank teller and stand there calmly while she — it was always a woman, he said — crammed stacks of bills into a manila envelope. That kind of risk — and cruelty — was as foreign to me as I could imagine. I’d never been so close to a criminal before, and this one was my father.
Ayn Rand’s philosophy, known as objectivism, has gained a significant following over the years, advocating for individualism, rational self-interest, and laissez faire capitalism. While some praise her ideas as a means to personal freedom and achievement, it is essential to recognize their negative impact on a healthy, sustainable society, and why they fall short in promoting the common good, social cohesion, and environmental sustainability.
Last Friday John and I decided to make a quick trip up to Lake Arrowhead as a last hurrah before tropical storm Hilary battered the southland and our precarious perch here in town. Two of my favorite shops are up in Cedar Glen, hugging the southeastern edge of Lake Arrowhead.
I’ve considered myself quite fortunate to live in Claremont, with two loving parents who supported me. Growing up as the only son of Martin and Janis Weinberger exposed me to life as a member of the press at a very young age. I was able to see firsthand the impact of the printed word, a compelling photograph, and the power and responsibility of publishing local news. This experience defined who I am today. Here are some of those stories.
Do you remember when the newspaper was delivered to your doorstep each morning? Maybe you felt lucky if you still smelled the newsprint and picked it up before it was yellowed by the sun. Maybe you had time to read it before you started your day, or at least tucked it under your arm to read before work or on a break.
My earliest memories of Claremont are from the mid-1970s, when my mother and I would make the trek from Glendora to eat at Griswold’s Smorgasbord and I would devour every Swedish meatball in the 91711.
I see parents in films and on television basking in the loving warmth of a close-knit but quirky family, experiencing lovable hijinks, facing obstacles, overcoming them through some sort of life- and love-affirming process, and in the third act laughing and dancing in slow motion at a beachside barbeque while wearing matching white clothes. When is my third act coming? Is the ugly truth that it’s all just heartbreaking, all the time, then you die? I’m beginning to wonder.