From the mountains...

by Kent Fillmore

`January 1, 1996`

Actually, this is from the "foothills" of the San Gabriel Mountains. Monrovia is a small town located (they say "nestled" around here) in the foothills of the San Gabriels (parts actually ARE mountains!), just off the northern-most Los Angeles County freeway, Interstate 210. As one of Monrovia's newest citizens, I am creating this journal through observations of this small town environment. OK, that's what this "is"; it is not a search for identity by the author. I know (pretty well) who "I" am, warts, receding hairline, and all. Besides, who I am is peripheral to the focus of this journal. The environment of a small town is what I find to be the most intriguing. The population of the town is in excess of 37,000. I don't have that figure right on hand but it was 36,539 in 1992. The town actually has a "main" street, Myrtle Avenue, running north/south, and a major through street, Foothill Boulevard, running east/west, so the busiest intersection in town is Myrtle and Foothill. Foothill begins a gradual but deceptive slope around Ivy Avenue, a few blocks east of Myrtle. When all the lights are green, you can get up quite a head of steam, much in excess of the speed limit, and the police just love to catch you gliding by at 40 or 50 mph at the bottom, so I'm told. I'm driving a lot more cautiously down here. Drivers down here really ARE a lot crazier than in the San Francisco Bay area! For me, it's nice but strange, that most of what I'd want or need is just a few minutes away, actually within walking distance (if I would ever get out to walk). My current excuse for not doing so is that it's just too cold outside. Yeah, "from the mountains." But when I do walk out my front door, I can see the mountain tops just a few miles away:

and a couple of days ago, they were covered with snow. To the valleys. Well, to Silicon Valley. To our website up in Sunnyvale. To my cohorts, George, Steph, Oli; communiques about what a great lifestyle you're missing... (stop laughing, Steph!) That there actually IS a "there" there. That, despite the fact I said I would never live down here, Lo, here I be (and I even have a sense of humor about my current situation). I can't promise how often these missives will be updated. I won't promise that they'll always be upbeat. After all, I still deeply love San Francisco and the Bay Area. Same roads, different people; good, bad, modern, and old fashioned. I hope to encounter all of it here in Monrovia. Intellectually, geographically, I know where I am...but Monrovia, California, is not a big city. There are more than demographic differences between where I came from and where I am, and my perceptions are still skewed towards a larger, more metropolitan outlook on the world. In San Francisco, a concert in the park (pick any Grateful Dead concert) could draw 20,000 to 30,000 people. Here, the concerts are attended by parents on picnic blankets with their children. In Library Park, if 1,500 people show up at the bandshell, the place is packed! Heck, I don't even consider Pasadena a big city, but when you consider the homogeneity of urban/suburban development versus the raw nature of undeveloped land in immediate proximity, and I'm talking a nice backyard with a garden and a six-foot fence with miles of wilderness behind it, the term "city" or "town" is only an exercise in group identity. Mind you, this is not a bad thing. I actually find it reassuring that there still can be small towns in America. But to find one just a few miles from the heart of Los Angeles is really astounding. Recently, I moved here with my wife, Cynthia. We arrived here in the middle of the night, and parked one of our cars on the street in front of our townhouse. Neither of us noticed a "No parking on Wed." sign 30 yards back up the street. So my first official welcome by the City of Monrovia was a parking ticket discovered Wednesday morning. I went down the police station and obtained an Application For Review form to appeal the ticket. I returned an explanation of my circumstances but after preparing my best "F. Lee Bailey" defense for a court appearance, I received a notice from them dismissing the ticket....sounds fair to me. I don't think I would have received the same decision in San Francisco or in Los Angeles. There is a coffee house and bakery on Myrtle Avenue called "Beantown".

It's a small storefront with a couple of sidewalk tables. The decor is utilitarian and definitely second-hand, but so eclectic and comfortable, you feel immediately at home. There are sofas with coffee tables (well it is a coffee house) and shelves of used books. Their baked goods are always fresh (likethat morning), and you can grab a game of backgammon or checkers to enjoy over a cinnamon roll and some Sumatran decaf. Since I love coffee so much, I think this is going to be a favorite "hangout".

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