Hope for the best in the rest of ’05

Geoff West

Several months ago, I wrote a commentary for these pages in which I

bemoaned the condition of our streets and commented on the fact that

we had been lucky to have had below-normal rainfall amounts, because

even normal rainfall would have exacerbated the problem.

Well, as you well know, the rain gods have been angry this year,

and now many of our streets resemble the roads in a bombed-out city.

Of course, for those of you who ski, this isn’t all bad news. You

can practice your slalom techniques and pretend you’re charging

downhill through moguls as you swerve your way around the

disintegrating pavement and potholes on East 17th Street, for example.

As I make my way around town these days over these miserable

streets, lots of words go through my alleged mind. Most of those

words cannot be printed here, but there are others that seem to be

appropriate and that we can actually say in mixed company.

For example, “perspective” is an interesting word, don’t you

think?

My trusty dictionary includes this definition: “The capacity to

view things in their true relation and relative importance.”

As some of you will recall, a little over a year ago, a man who

had been my best friend since we were 5 years old passed away after a

long hospitalization in Las Vegas as a result of a motorcycle

accident. The 45 days I spent at his bedside were very painful for

me, and this past year has been extremely difficult. I wouldn’t wish

that experience on anyone. I couldn’t imagine anything worse.

Then came Dec. 26, 2004, and the catastrophic tsunami that struck

many South Asian coastal areas. As the clock ticks, the number of

dead and presumed dead continues to rise -- at this time it’s

estimated that more than 250,000 people lost their lives in the

tragic event. The term “mind-boggling” was coined for just such

circumstances. I cannot imagine the scope of this kind of loss, no

matter how hard I try.

And then came La Conchita. The proximity to media outlets gave us

nonstop coverage of the drama as it unfolded. We’ve seen the stories

of heroism as neighbors pulled survivors from the mud. We’ve also

witnessed the helpless agony of the dreadlocked man, who lost his

wife and three young daughters in the slide. Once again, the scope of

this loss is hard to imagine.

And then, closer to home, we had the threat of the failure of

Prado Dam and the subsequent evacuation of thousands of people

downstream. I watched the news coverage of the cars lined up in the

threatened neighborhoods, trying to make their way to a safe

location, and I knew they wouldn’t stand a chance if the dam actually

let go. I also wondered about the damage further downstream, in

Anaheim, Tustin, Santa Ana, Fountain Valley and Huntington Beach if

there was a catastrophic failure.

And then the last set of storms, which raised our total rainfall

to levels unseen for more than a century, has brought us stories of

children crushed by boulders rolling through their homes, garage-size

boulders waiting to fall, sinkholes large enough to swallow a couple

of homes, and more than one hundred homes sliding down hills all over

the Southland. Even closer to home, our street is only a block long,

with seven houses lining it. Within these homes, four men recently

recovered simultaneously from major health issues. They included

severe head trauma from a car accident, serious back surgery,

reconstructive surgery of a shoulder, and a very prolonged recovery

from what was supposed to be a fairly minor surgical event.

All of these things have put the growing number of potholes in our

streets into perspective. Even though things are booming these days

for our friends in the wheel-alignment business, I find myself angry

at the delay in repairing our streets. Despite the fact that a call

to the Pothole Hotline usually generates a rapid response, in many

cases it’s like putting a Band-Aid on a compound fracture.

However, now when I drop into one of the craters that the

combination of tardy maintenance and heavy rains have left in our

streets and feel my suspension bottom-out, I think of the folks in

South Asia who have no streets about which to complain. I recall my

grief at the passing of my friend -- then try to mentally multiply

that by a quarter of a million.

I think of the folks in La Conchita, who lost everything they own

to a wall of mud that hit so quickly that even the fastest sprinters

couldn’t have escaped. I think of the man who lost his wife and three

daughters. Today, as I think of my recuperating neighbors and all the

storm-related tragedies, I realize just how lucky I am that some of

the biggest problems in my life are potholes.

As we slog through the first half of 2005, I hope potholes are the

biggest problems in your lives too.

* GEOFF WEST is a Costa Mesa resident and regular contributor to

Forum.