Finally, some documented workers that can be added to California’s growing ranks of the chronically unemployed. The good news just never seems to stop lately in the once Golden State.
As a kid who spent his first five years in the Pacific Northwest, I knew we had hit the jackpot when at age five my father took a position in California’s thriving aerospace industry and he drug up and moved his new family south to Santa Barbara. My mother, ready to pursue a career of her own after spending half a decade seeing my sister and I to school age took a job as a design draftsman for a successful housing developer in the equally thriving building sector of the economy. She had no experience to speak of, only a couple of years of college, but good paying work was easy to come by in 1960’s California when businesses attracted by good weather and favorable tax rates could barely keep up with demand. We were middle class and lived in a house on the mesa with a view of the ocean. I went to school in a building that looked like an 18th century Spanish mission, and my backyard consisted of thousands of acres of avocado orchards. At the end of the week, home work finished, my buddies and I would ride our bikes down off of the mesa, through old town, and to the beach where we would build bonfires and dance in the white sand of the Pacific shore. It seemed like a dream. Turns out it was.
If government were trying deliberately to destroy what was once the fifth largest economy in the world, they could hardly be more successful. When living there as a kid I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Now when I visit it’s nice for a while, until reality starts to overwhelm memories, and I find myself wishing I were anywhere else. Hasta mañana California. Hasta mañana.