BETWEEN THE LINES -- Byron de Arakal

There is a kind of underground society in these parts that fascinates

itself with the intrigue that occasionally swirls around that great

opaque citadel of real estate otherwise recognized as the Irvine Co.

Cracking the mystery that cloaks Donald Bren’s machinery has a certain

lure to it. If you need a picture, it’s sort of like milling outside of

Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory hoping for a glimpse of the confection

wizard himself, or standing in St. Peter’s Square waiting for that plume

of white smoke to billow forth ahead of the next pope.

Most days, the Irvine Co. monolith hums along with no sign or glimpse

of “God” or “The Flame” as some in the Irvine Co. Observers Society want

to call Bren. But every now and then, the curtain parts and necks strain

to take a peek inside, to perhaps catch some hint of what “the company”

has cooking, or to briefly set a gaze upon the Ouija board where much of

Orange County’s future is plotted.

The most recent of these episodes has been the rather curious spate of

what look like midlife crises that have run through the stratosphere of

the Irvine Co.’s management in recent months. And the question whispered

among the ranks of the Irvine Co. Observers Society is this: What’s

behind it?

In February of last year, Irvine Co. mouthpiece Larry Thomas -- one of

the few folks who has figured out how to transform a career in journalism

into a small fortune -- shed his corporate blue suit and wing tips for a

pair of sandals and a 14-month odyssey of self-renewal and discovery.

Thomas recently chronicled his Chopraesque pilgrimage in a lengthy

treatise published in a Newport Beach business weekly. In it, Thomas

treats the reader to a rather personal reflection of why he left the

employ of “my very generous but demanding employer” (a clue?) to pursue

the esoteric truths and pleasures of Jungian psychology, Hellerwork and

the art of sinking a curling downhill putt.

And what does he find? That having a “structured plan for daily and

long-term play” is wise. That friends should be “an integral part of

every day.” That it is best to “overcome worry about things big and

small.” That it is healthy to “disregard the guilt of having and enjoying

freedom.” That we should all “celebrate each day with the opportunity to

pursue and realize your dreams.’

Which makes me wonder: Just what is it the Irvine Co. does to these

folks? Strip them of their souls? Who knows. But apparently the answers

that Thomas found while wandering in the wilderness were sufficient to

lure him back to “The Flame” like a moth on a hot August night. He’s back

at the Irvine Co.

I thought maybe there would be additional clues in yet another

business publication this week, which is carrying the fourth installment

in the travel diary of one Franz Wisner. Wisner is another former Irvine

Co. flack (he replaced Thomas) and was once a spokesman for former Gov.

Pete Wilson. Wisner, like Thomas, climbed down from the right hand of

“The Flame” for an extended poke around South America with his brother,

Kurt.

In this particular episode of Franz Wisner’s Excellent Adventure, the

reader is regaled with a first-person narrative of how a tall brunet

hooker with “exaggerated makeup and heels smiled” as she passed Wisner in

a Lima, Peru, hotel lobby. And we learn that counterfeiting is a

political issue du jour in Peru, thanks to his admission that he is

carrying around a phony Peruvian bill.

Then the reader learns that it was necessary for Wisner to travel all

the way back to Rio just to track down the “perfect caipirinha (the

high-octane Brazilian equivalent to the margarita).”

What did the company do to this poor man that he is catching the gaze

of prostitutes, packing rubber currency and swilling exotic margaritas? I

don’t know.

Having consumed the halftime diaries of these two gentlemen, I’m

wondering if a third isn’t far behind with the recent departure of one of

Bren’s biggest fish, Gary Hunt.

Hunt -- long the right-hand man to “The Other Donald” (indeed, some

would say a tattoo on Bren’s right hand) -- earlier this year turned in

his prized lieutenant bars and his key to the top floor. The spin was he

wanted to spend more time with his kids, referee some more American Youth

Soccer Organization soccer games, and explore some new and different

opportunities.

It would be nice were these to be true. After all, I’ve long admired

Hunt as a dapper and efficient deputy who, I wish to believe, knows that

his work for Bren wasn’t so important as brain surgery and that middle

age is not cause for meltdown.

Nevertheless, if the published accounts from Thomas and Wisner are any

indication, I’m not holding out hope. We may soon be reading remote

entries from Hunt recounting his adventures while harvesting beans in a

Sumatran coffee grove, or hang gliding in the Himalayas with the Dalai

Lama, or working a produce cart in Mogadishu.

One thing’s for sure. If midlife crises aren’t your thing, don’t leave

your resume with the Irvine Co.

* BYRON DE ARAKAL is a writer and communications consultant. He

resides in Costa Mesa. Readers can reach him with news tips and comments

via e-mail at byronwriter@msn.com.