That reminds me, this guy walks out of a bar in Graton
Sharon and Allan Hemphill and their private railcar.
Jeff Kan Lee / PD FilePublished: Saturday, June 18, 2011 at 3:00 a.m.
Last Modified: Saturday, June 18, 2011 at 9:50 p.m.
We are on the cusp of spring, pointing into summer when, as we all know, “the livin' is easy.” It's a good time for a “kick back and relax” column — no issues, no hard lessons, just a couple of old stories.
These fall into the “reminds me of ...” category. They come from the memory bank and are often accessed by the news of the day.
Take the Graton fire siren for example. The reportage on the controversy over whether Graton's Volunteer Fire Department still needs its siren in this age of instant communication took me back to my early days as a reporter.
As the rookie on The Press Democrat news staff, I did the “early morning checks” (it was an afternoon newspaper in those years, remember). This meant phone calls to all the police and fire agencies to learn what had happened overnight. One of my regular calls was to the Graton Fire Department, where one morning the chief told me that an inebriated gentleman had reeled out of Skip's Bar and, hoping to score a ride home, had pushed what he took to be a doorbell on the fire house.
It was the alarm that set off the siren and the befuddled fellow soon found himself surrounded by a swarm of firemen, racing in from all over Green Valley. It being 2 a.m., they were, shall we say, not amused.
I put this all down in a straight-forward manner — with my typewriter, on a piece of copy paper (two pieces, actually, with a sheet of carbon in between). Now there's a blast form the past — and put it in the editor's basket.
Then Editor Arthur J. Volkerts, who would be my boss for the next 30 years, handed it right back.
“Write it as a brightener for a box on one,” he said, which was journalese for a brief, light-hearted piece, which would run, framed with a border, on the front page.
I must have looked puzzled because he felt compelled to explain. “It's Graton,” he said. “Anything that happens in Graton is funny. Remember that.”
That was my story. This one is Sharon and Allan Hemphill's story. It was told to me about 20 years ago and I had not thought of it until I saw the photo last week of the once-iconic orange railcars that nobody seems to want, sitting on the siding at Asti.
Those were West County businessman Neil Ferguson's railcars, a fleet of old Southern Pacific rolling stock which, in the 1980s, constituted a short-lived excursion train from Willits to Eureka.
Once in awhile the Hemphills took part in those excursions with their elegantly restored railcars — a lounge/ diner and a sleeper — in which they traveled the United States marketing Chateau St. Jean wine. In those days Allan, a train buff who remains a persistent advocate for North Coast rail service, was president of that Kenwood winery.
It was a unique introduction to California wine for restaurateurs and wine merchants. The Hemphills would hook onto Amtrak and rent space on a siding in a big city — Seattle, New Orleans, Chicago and points east. They traveled with a chef and they would invite prospective customers to wine and dine on the train. They got a lot more attention than the wineries that rented hotel facilities for the same purpose.
In 1981 they were on their way to Chicago behind the Super Chief. In Albuquerque, a couple that was traveling with them noticed that they were scheduled for a 10-minute stop in Garden City, Kansas, in the middle of the night. They had relatives in Garden City and decided it would be fun to have them at the stop to meet the Hemphills.
They telephoned ahead and arranged the platform rendezvous.
Theirs was the last car, a distance away from the station, but the sister and brother-in-law were there when they hopped off the train. They shook hands all around. And that's all there was time for because, as it happened, the Super Chief was behind schedule and decided not to stay 10 minutes in Garden City.
As the train pulled out, the other couple ran for it and jumped aboard. The Hemphills ran, too, but Sharon was in her bedroom slippers. Allan bumped her, she tripped and the Super Chief rolled on into the night, leaving the Hemphills lying on the platform watching the Chateau St. Jean drum sign disappear down the tracks.
They sprinted to the depot where the station agent told them there was no way to stop the train and besides, he didn't have time to talk to them because “someone just fell off the train.”
The next stop was Dodge City, 70 miles away. Exhibiting remarkable Kansas hospitality, their new friends offered to drive them. But they had to stop for gas. And the Super Chief was making up time. It was a memorable ride. The highway paralleled the tracks and they caught glimpses of the Chief, chuffing in the station, as they hit two red lights. They made it — with no time to spare.
Their adventure apparently traveled along the tracks with them. After their appointments in Chicago, they went on to Washington D.C. where they hosted some Amtrak officials on the cars.
“Oh, yeah,” said one Amtrak bigwig, upon being introduced to Allan. “We know who YOU are.”
The last “reminds me of” came with the sad news last week of former Sonoma Valley Supervisor Ig Vella's passing.
I expect that every one who ever met this controversial and colorful gentleman would have a story about him to tell.
This is my favorite.
It's no secret that Vella, a scholar and an orator, liked to expound in his political days.
In a board of supervisor's meeting in the early 1970s, he was going on at length about an expenditure of county funds on an education program. The PD's reporter, Don Engdahl, was covering the meeting.
The session may have gone a little long. Or Don's attention may have wandered. These things happen.
So, when Ig concluded by saying that the program was “a cross I bear,” Engdahl heard it a little differently. But only a little.
In the next day's newspaper, Vella was quoted as saying that the education issue was “my cross-eyed bear.”
As I remember, Ig's wife, Sally, located a strip of bear hide somewhere and had the clipping framed for Ig's office.
I wonder if it's still in the family.
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