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A Cross to Bear: I spent some time exploring the Georgetown Pioneer Cemetery last week doing some research for a writing project, and amidst all of the sturdy stone monuments and neat family plots—most designed with the modest goal of lasting for eternity—I came upon a simple wooden cross. It was constructed from a stick of pine two-by-four, two pieces neatly lap-jointed and held tight with a pair of screws. It was new and painted white, but the pigment was already beginning to leach from the surface of the soft wood. The name of the deceased was printed neatly by hand across the horizontal member in Magic Marker; the word “Uncle” descended the vertical. It was as crude a memorial as I have ever witnessed, but nonetheless, it struck me with its simplicity, honesty and the pure expression of familial love it represented. No telling how long this fragile remembrance will survive. Perhaps a few years at best and it will be gone, and along with it, the last trace of this once-living soul. That’s okay, though, and nothing to fret about. A quick look around the graveyard proves that. Grand monuments, constructed from fine granite and installed more than 150 years ago, had long ago surrendered their chiseled inscriptions to the ravages of Sierra storms and wind. The occupants are now as anonymous as the hundred or more pioneers at rest under markers that read “Unknown.” In the end, we’re all finally equal, aren’t we?
When You Gotta Go, You Gotta Go: My short visit to Georgetown proved to be rich in column fodder. I
stopped at Frog Pond Antiques & Gifts to check out the used books
before heading back to Auburn. I’m always on the prowl for anything
related to local history, and I found a couple of interesting titles.
I settled my bill and then realized that the 16-ounce cup of coffee I
had consumed on the way up the hill was screaming to be evacuated from
my bladder. The easiest way to clean a shotgun is to push another shell through the
barrel, so I thought I’d stop at the Main Street Café, order an
espresso drink and qualify to use the restroom. The young woman at the
barista was a sweetheart and took my order for a 16-ounce latte—no
foam, non-fat, 180 degrees. “No one has ever asked for one that hot,” she said, almost in admiration. “Well, that’s how I like it,” I said, adding, “Ah, could you point me to the restroom?” Steaming the milk for my latte with her back to me, she said, “I’m
sorry, the toilet is out of order right now ... but the sink works ...” I will readily acknowledge having relieved myself in some very odd
places when struck by nature’s unrelenting call, but never in a sink in
the public restroom of a restaurant. I forced myself to stifle an
immediate reaction to laugh aloud. But after pausing for just long enough to execute a rim shot on an
invisible snare drum, she looked over her shoulder and added: “... in
case you have to wash your hands.” Now I Get It: Early last year, I launched a personal mini-crusade to tell the story
of Ernest Shih, the former IT director for the City of Auburn who in
2006 was arrested for allegedly concealing a handgun in his office and
for embezzlement. It took 11 months, but the Placer County District
Attorney declined to prosecute on the flimsiest of evidence and charges
were dropped. Though Ernest was absolved, his life has essentially been ruined and
his career prospects decimated—as I reported in two lengthy pieces I
wrote for my Internet enewsletter, “Only in Auburn,” and for this
column. A computer and networking wizard, Ernest has not been able to
land a new job because his tainted past is a millstone around his neck.
Every time a prospective employer does a Google search of his name, his
unfortunate story is illuminated on the screen. For reasons I have been unable to articulate, I was personally offended
by the way Shih was treated by the City and by local media. The
unfairness of it all made me angry and I let it all hang out in my
reports, though I did my best to write as dispassionately as I know how. It was a perilous road to take when virtually no one else would
publicly support this solid family man who had an unblemished personal
and professional record and who overcame huge odds by immigrating to
America from Vietnam. Many, many friends warned me that I was risking
much with my outspokenness when there was virtually nothing to gain. I didn’t really care and succeeded in planting doubt in the minds of
many people who originally were convinced of Shih’s guilt. And now
more than ever before, locals are concerned about the veracity of what
they read in their community newspapers. Ernest and I have stayed in touch, and over Christmas he asked me to
schedule a time to meet his family. I was happy to agree, and a couple
of weeks ago we met at the Barnes & Noble store in Rocklin, the
place where I sat with Ernest to conduct my interviews. He brought his
wife Christine and his young boy and girl, two darling children. We stood in the coffee shop as Ernest introduced his clan. Christine
let go the tiny hands of her children and approached me. With tears in
her eyes, and with both arms held tightly around me, she whispered in
my ear, “Gary, thank you so much for defending my husband.” In that moment, any personal reservations I may have had about getting involved vanished for all time. Gary Moffat is a journalist and he owns Carpe Vino in Old Town Auburn. He can be reached at
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