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2 1 2 W A L 3 4 ( 2 ) SUMMER 1 9 9 9 T h e U n g r a s p a b l e p h a n t o m o f C a l if o r n ia F o r r e s t G . R o b in s o n There can be no quarrel with Gerry and Janice Haslams decla­ ration that California, the nation’s 3rd largest, most geographically varied, and most heterogeneously populated state, is “so big and so diverse that no one can understand it without considerable study.” Indeed, if by “understand” we mean to arrive at a compellingly broad and satisfying objective description of California, then I think no amount of study will suffice. The Haslams’ commentary is instructive in this regard, for while they have obviously given the matter “con­ siderable study,” their understanding of California is expressed almost entirely in terms of what it is not. They approach California as the scholastics approached God, by the via negativa. It may be that such compellingly broad and satisfying knowledge of California as we can achieve will perforce be subjective in nature: California can only be what we feel and think it is. It follows that the best definition or definitions of the place will be those that most fairly represent the thoughts and feelings of the broadest and most representative group. Alas, I have not had the time to prepare and administer a “W hat-do-you-think-and-feel-about-Califomia?” questionnaire. Doubtless, that’s just as well; such research is best left to those trained in the relevant branches of sociology. As a modest, interim step in the direction of proper scientific “coverage,” let me offer an initial sample of 2 sets of thoughts and feelings about California: mine and Robert Louis Stevenson’s. My family has lived in California— more precisely, I suppose, in Northern California— for several generations. My Dad lives here; both of my brothers and their families live here. Most of my life has been passed in California. I went to school here; I have pursued my career here; all of my children have been born here; I want to be buried here— all of which is to say that I think and feel that California is my home. This is not for a moment to suggest that I understand California in any objective sense. I can tell you what it was like the day the war ended, when the sirens wailed for what seemed like hours in Cam p­ bell. I remember going to a baseball game in old Seals Stadium. I learned to swim at Sutro’s Baths. I was at the international Boy Scout C a l i f o r n i a D r e a m i n g 2 1 3 Jamboree, which was held on the Irvine Ranch (before it was a branch of the University of California) in 1951; I saw Bob Hope and Roy Rogers (and Trigger) there, when they came on stage before 50,000 earnest young troopers from all over the world. My brother and I once helped fix a flat for Earl Warren when the governor’s lim­ ousine blew a tire in front of our house on Capitol Avenue in Sacra­ mento. I was in on the Mickey Mouse Club and Disneyland right from the start; I was a founding fellow of Porter College (then College V) at U C SC ; I was just a few miles from the epicenter of the big quake that struck in 1989. These scattered memories help to bind me to California— more candidly, perhaps, they give a local habita­ tion and a name to the phantasm I call home. But, again, they con­ tribute little to an understanding of California. Indeed, the more I draw on memories of my home state, the more I feel attached to the place, and the less I seem to know about it. When I reflect in a more general way on what California means to me, I almost immediately feel gratitude and pride. California is an opulent gift, to be enjoyed and...

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