Main Street

Your right and duty
Monday night I was stuck, didn’t know what to write, so I asked my sweetie for inspiration. She’s been traveling on business and talked to me from the Marriot in Chico. “Write about voting and about how personal it is for everyone,” she suggested. Good idea.
I confess that I haven’t always voted. I come from a family of self-appointed outlaws. My brother still won’t vote. He thinks it’s for suckers who believe in the system. I was too young to vote for or against Nixon, but not too young to despise him. The first national election I voted in was 1976 and I voted for that peanut farmer. By the time Ronald Reagan ran for President I was thoroughly politicized and remain so, but I think I missed a couple of mid-term elections here and there.
When I moved to Healdsburg in 1988 to woo the aforementioned sweetie, I registered to vote and in November, walked across the street to Healdsburg Elementary School to do my duty. I was used to small polling places. Before Healdsburg, I lived most of my life in various rural residences. I always had a gravel driveway and a septic tank, and often voted in a church or schoolhouse.
After I cast my ballot for whichever Democrat lost to Bush the Elder and fell on his sword to set up the Clinton Years, I carried my envelope back to the sweet little ladies who were volunteering at HES. One sweet little lady took my envelope, pulled the secret ballot out a few inches, looked to see who I voted for, then frowned at me and pushed it into the lockbox.
I think that’s when I really understood that in Healdsburg, everybody is, as the saying goes, “up in your business.”
So yeah, voting is personal, even if you wear your heart on your sleeve or, in my case, your Obama magnet on your car. This year the ballot is filled with emotional decisions. Do we modify the “three strikes” law? There are stories of prisons filling up with guys who are in for life for petty crimes, but others say it keeps the real monsters off the streets. What about the death penalty? Surely it’s a cruel and costly anachronism, but I can easily imagine myself yelling for blood if one of my loved ones was murdered.
And taxes? Money issues ought to be easy to understand. We have enough or we don’t. We spend it this way or that. Not a chance. For me, it has come down to purely reactionary decisions. Prop 30? I’m for it, but it’s because of what I fear, not what I want. I know a few state legislators, and they seem like dedicated folks, but as a group they can’t seem to get the job done. Jerry Brown offered the hope of adult supervision, but now he’s just threatening us, telling us if we don’t approve his tax increase he’ll punish our children by cutting funding for schools. I don’t believe he’s done all he can to work things out, but I believe him when he threatens to cut funding, so I’m allowing myself to be intimidated into voting yes.
And so it goes, with most of the propositions. Don’t try to analyze them, just listen to the radio ads, scan the mailers and go with your gut. I’m not sure it won’t work out for the best.
Call him “Mister 101.” Maurice Wilcox turned 101 last week, and pointed out that his age matches hundreds of black and white signs up and down the freeway. Maurice is slowing down, but still alert and fairly spry. He’s considering retirement from his preaching assignments and is dating a younger woman. She’s in her 90s.
Dalton Baker, the Healdsburg High student who was badly hurt a few weeks ago, is improving. He’s home with family and even stopped by the Construction And Sustainability Academy last week to check the progress of the tiny house the advanced class is building. The CASA students had a special guest this week. Douglas Keane, the culinary giant behind Cyrus, HBG and other restaurant successes, visited the class to talk about what’s needed in a kitchen. “Start with the menu,” he advised. “What are you going to cook and eat in it?”
Ray Holley has a thing for HBG BLTs. He can be reached at

ra*******@gm***.com











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