The Vacation Spectator/Dog Days at the Beach
Pleszczynski, Wladyslaw
Dog Days at the Beach by Wladyslaw Pleszczynski W hile the political world of the East Coast had its eyes on "Newtie Boy" (as the New York Post called him) in early August, mine were on the...
...Perhaps it's a good sign that in an age of instant gratification children still find some things worth waiting for...
...This endearingly friendly, shiftless, happy-go-lucky favorite of the hippie era hasapparently gone the way of Jerry Garcia...
...This vacation, I thought, I would try to think about something other than Washington and its who's-ups-andwho's-downs, on the off chance that the U.S...
...For all I know, this hunch was itself an unexpected product of the Washington culture, since later I would find the Washington Post's Howard Kurtz conceding in the August 20 Outlook section that despite his "strong professional interest in believing that what happens here is of great consequence . . . recent history has made it harder to sustain the illusion of the capital's self-importance...
...Truth be told, I couldn't wait to get back to Santa Barbara...
...I could only chuckle when, during the late-afternoon Lion King parade, a float carrying gyrating African natives and wild animals was being escorted by several blond youths dressed like German boy scouts...
...The problems of mass ingress and egress seem to have been solved here to a degree that would light admiration in the eye of an SS transport officer," he wrote in The Book of Daniel (1971...
...They celebrated then at a big garden party in their front yard, which is still bordered by potato bush, a jacaranda tree, a magnificent redwood, a diminutive date palm partially obscured by a wide swathe Wladyslaw Pleszczynski is executive editor of The American Spectator...
...Perhaps for my benefit, one dear friend of my parents and a longtime TAS subscriber did slip me a clipping by Ambrose Evans-Pritchard, and another sang the praises of this magazine, quickly adding that we're not quite conservative enough for his taste...
...Washington politics is easier to escape than world history or one's family—not that these should pose any burden...
...As might be expected, Disneyland did not mark the occasion, since at last check, Garcia and the Grateful Dead are not yet a Disney property...
...My boys didn't complain once—despite Anaheim's Washington Mall–like summer heat—nor did any of the hordes of our fellow Americanos spending the day at the Magic Kingdom...
...Good ol' Orange County...
...They arrived in America in 1946, in California in 1947, in Santa Barbara in 1948, and moved into the house they still occupy in time for their tenth anniversary in 1955...
...Not coincidentally, this final year of World War II–related fiftieth anniversaries coincided with my parents' golden wedding anniversary...
...The day of Garcia's death I drove my boys to Disneyland...
...Not a single one during my entire stay...
...He didn't let me down: "Santa Barbara is one of California's most paradisical cities, a collection of red tile roofs and leafy live oaks, sheltered by towering mountains just above the sea...
...Each summer I bring our boys to visit their grandparents in my fabled hometown...
...Conspicuously missing is a mainstay from the beach during the sixties—the Irish setter...
...A certain timelessness has set in, and midst the melancholy warmth of this year's event—the happy passage of a lifetime is to be celebrated if not necessarily embraced in its ultimate implications—politics was the last thing on anyone's mind...
...We spent eleven hours there, maybe five of them waiting in line for five minutes of thrills on the major rides...
...So all day, while my boys and nephews plow in the sand and ride their boogie boards, I observe a veritable dog show prance by: German shepherds and boxers, dachshunds, golden retrievers and Great Danes, Dobermans and rottweilers, a tall husky whose father, my boys inform me, is rumored to be a wolf, Labradors, dalmatians, sundry poodles and even greyhounds...
...M y father raised me to be a Santa Barbara chauvinist, and by that he meant I should spend as much time as I can at the beach...
...Dog Days at the Beach by Wladyslaw Pleszczynski W hile the political world of the East Coast had its eyes on "Newtie Boy" (as the New York Post called him) in early August, mine were on the opposite edge of the U.S., staring at "Nauti Gal...
...Hendry's remains the only spot...
...Did I mention how perfect the weather is...
...They met in a DP camp in British-occupied northwestern Germany shortly after VE-Day and were married on August 1, 1945...
...Five minutes from my parents' home, the narrow beach rests beneath sloping palisades, has a somewhat rocky shoreline that extends for miles, and most importantly is a libertarian haven for dog owners and dogs alike—it may be the only beach in America that doesn't enforce its leash laws...
...of pittosporrum, and a sprawling magnolia that would enhance the White House lawn...
...As I've since learned, there are millions like me who remember not where they were when they heard that Jerry Garcia had died—but that they heard about him for the first time when his death was reported...
...The county renamed it Arroyo Burro during my youth, but no one calls it that...
...And, of course, there's my parents' liberal friend who has yet to forgive me for the Troopergate story—and always brings presents for my children...
...86 The American Spectator October 1995...
...She happened to be a good-sized trimaran, securely docked inside Santa Barbara's cozy harbor yet no doubt restless to sling her way across to Catalina if not Hawaii...
...does not live by Beltway politics and journalism alone...
...Then I left myself a reminder to check how the political writer Michael Barone describes the city in the latest edition of his Almanac of American Politics...
...That spot's been the site of many such parties ever since...
...In need of some excitement I thought back to the days when Disneyland was the target of all the usual left-wing attacks...
...E. L. Doctorow devoted part of a novel to trashing the place and its efficient crowd-control...
Vol. 28 • October 1995 • No. 10
