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After living for more than 16 months in legal limbo, Ernest Shih, former IT manager of the City of Auburn, has been liberated for the second time in his life.
The first time was in 1982, when Shih savored the sweet taste of freedom after immigrating to the United States from Vietnam when he was 18 years old and living under the new communist regime in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). He landed in Sacramento with his entire family sponsored by an aunt who had married an American soldier during the war in Asia.
This is a follow-up to the first of two Internet columns condemning the Auburn Journal for failing to fulfill its basic responsibilities to its readers in this community. I was spurred to write these reports after the Auburn Journal was named “Business of the Year” for 2007 by the Auburn Chamber of Commerce. The title of my first piece, “A Winner in Business; a Loser in Journalism,” says it all, and you can read the lead-off story at www.onlyinauburn.com. A second and final installment of a “Crisis in Content” is in development.
Welcome to my little self-indulgence called
“Only in Auburn, Tales of Coping in a Small Town.” This
web site is an archive of Internet columns I have written about
my experiences living in and running a small business in Auburn,
one of California’s earliest gold mining towns. I’ll
be adding many other pieces I’ve written over the past couple
of years, mostly work that has appeared in print elsewhere.
Auburn is just 7.4 square miles in area with 12,500 residents located
at an elevation of about 1,300 feet in the foothills of the Sierra.
First settled by the vanguard of Gold Rush miners in 1848, this
place has languished in time on the edge of civilization between
Sacramento and Truckee on I-80. With the exception of harboring
some truly notorious bandits and ne’er-do-wells during the
last half of the 19th century, little of consequence has been recorded
here... ever. Auburn has appeared as a dateline in national news
stories, but only when heinous crimes have been committed here or
nearby in Placer County.
It was big news in 1904, for example, when Adolph Julius Weber committed
the first mass murders in America. In November of that year, he
executed his father, mother, brother and sister, after the senior
Weber discovered a lode of stolen cash in the family barn. It had
been buried there by his eldest son who successfully robbed Placer
County Bank on Commercial Street earlier in the year. With reporters
covering the trial from all over the world—as far away as
Japan—Auburn was on the map, but not for a reason anyone cared
to publicize. In fact, I pitched the Auburn Journal on doing a 100-year
remembrance piece in 2004, but was rebuffed. Shame dies hard here.
My personal story in Auburn dates back to
late 1999 when I accepted a new assignment with a publishing company
and moved here from Chicago. I traveled all over the west, but most
of my business was in the Bay Area, and I chose to live in Auburn
because of the easy lifestyle, affordability, access to Sacramento
International Airport and because of the infrequency of seismic
activity. I was in San Francisco on October 17, 1989 and survived
the Loma Prieta 7.1 earthquake and vowed never to risk such an experience
again.
Newly remarried with an instant family, I relocated to Auburn and
lived a routine and anonymous life in an upscale subdivision on
the south end of town. But then I had the inspiration to open a
wine shop in Auburn, and everything changed. My wife, son and I
launched Carpe Vino in Old Town in August of 2002, and in a relatively
short time, I found myself becoming more and more of a public personality
in this small community in ways that would have been improbable
in a major market like Chicago.
What helped distinguish our little start-up business from the very
beginning was I applied every bit of marketing know-how I picked
up during a career in communications and publishing to rapidly advance
our cause. I launched an email newsletter that today has almost
2,700 subscribers, and I pitched the Auburn Journal on writing a
weekly column about foothill wine. After writing more than 100 pieces,
I killed the column in November, 2005.
The reason was simple. In both Window on Old Town and my wine columns,
I segued into writing about the quirkiness of a living in a small
town. At first my transgressions were warm and fuzzy. . .pieces
about the uniqueness of Old Town and the colorful people who habituate
the place. When I started writing about issues, however, things
that irritated me or just seemed stupid, I got in trouble. Don’t
get me wrong—most people loved what I was writing about and
how I said things. But, at the same time, I really pissed off the
fifth-generation people whose ancestors built the community, and
that’s a no-no.
When I wrote a “good riddance”
column about the demise of the Shanghai Restaurant and Bar, a nearly
100-year old institution that had deteriorated mightily, I found
myself in the middle of a sustained maelstrom of controversy, and
I decided enough was enough. In a short time, I wrote a wrap-up
column and pulled the pin.
What happened was amazing. People came out of the woodwork and told
me how much they enjoyed my stuff and urged me to continue writing
about life in Auburn. I had no interest at that point, naturally,
and after giving up my column, had no outlet. Nonetheless, I continued
inserting opinion pieces in my emailed newsletter, and I wrote an
occasional column for the Auburn Journal.
The fact is, however, I have this compelling and undeniable compulsion
to write, expressing myself in the only way I know how. So, after
my marriage collapsed in January of 2006, I started writing more
and more, mostly as a cathartic exercise. Finally, I settled on
the notion of pitching the Auburn Journal to write a regular column,
perhaps a couple of times a month at most. The idea was to write
about whatever I found interesting, but it would always have a local
hook. I developed a list of a half dozen column ideas and wrote
a sample piece called: “Old Town vs. Downtown. . .the Struggle
Continues,” which I emailed to the Deric Rothe, editor and
general manager of the newspaper.
After having been associated with Rothe for several years while
writing my wine column, I was truly annoyed when he came back with
a stern reply: “I wouldn’t pay for this, and we’ll
take a pass.” Basically, Rothe doesn’t like my politics
and my view that one of the weakest elements of the Auburn Journal
is its toothless commentary and the fact that his young writers
lack mature voices when they attempt opinion pieces.
My Old Town vs. Downtown column told it like it is—that the
age old rivalry between the two business districts not only continued
unabated, it had a reached a new low. With a successful business
in Old Town, I was intimately familiar with the points of obvious
conflict. But instead of dealing with truths, the newspaper was
more interested in selling advertising rather than publishing anything
that might be construed as controversial.
Previous experience with Rothe lead me to
expect rejection. He has always come across as terse, inflexible,
impatient, preoccupied and intolerant of creativity and fresh thinking.
Actually, though, I owe Mr. Rothe a debt of gratitude. By spurning
my ideas, he freed me to more fully explore the issues and stories
that intrigue me in Auburn. I can write at any length and I need
not fear my work will be hacked in the editing process of the newspaper.
No topic is out of bounds, and I can publish my work whenever I
choose. It is quite liberating, and I genuinely appreciate having
the shackles removed (though I readily acknowledge I could use a
proofreader to go over my stuff for mechanics).
I published my first piece on December 1, 2006—the Old Town
vs. Downtown column—distributing it to my Window on Old Town
list. The shit hit the fan instantly.
Man, I couldn’t believe the reaction around town. There were
two distinct camps—those who felt I was right on, and those
who had it confirmed once again that I am a flaming asshole. The
first couple of weeks after the column was emailed were tough, especially
when I encountered anyone in a civic leadership position. It didn’t
take long to be marginalized, if you know what I mean. You can read
the column if you chose and make up your own mind.
What is really interesting is that this column, as well as others
I have written, have served to stimulate debate on sensitive topics
many people have sought to avoid. Many community leaders, even those
who find me personally distasteful, have quietly acknowledged a
grain of truth in my columns and some very positive changes have
resulted.
In a very short time, I’ve become a
Howard Stern-like character around here: people either love me or
hate me, but they all want to hear what I’m going to say next.
The fact is, though, folks who seem to detest me the most have never
read anything I’ve written. I suspect they do know how to
read, but they prefer to protect their own prejudices and life-long
preconceptions rather than be tainted by a new or alternate idea.
I’m sure plenty of people are absolutely certain that I sit
out on Millertown Road and crank this stuff out to satisfy some
deep-seeded depravity. That’s simply not true, though I’m
confident I have other hang-ups that could benefit from professional
attention. The fact is, I really don’t think about the consequences
of what I am writing when I am in the act of doing it. And I know
if I gave more thought to the potential reaction of some people,
I’d quit this stuff and try my hand at poetry instead. (Gimme
some help here. . .what rhymes with shithead?)
Oh, that’s the other benefit of writing on the Internet. .
.profanity is encouraged. Can’t in my enewsletters, though;
any blue content gets the whole email hung by spam blockers. It’s
kind of like performing in a comedy club instead of on television,
there are no censors.
So, finally in one place here are all of my fun little columns—and
that’s how many people refer to them. “Gary, I love
your little newsletters. . .they are so much fun.” Well, there
is nothing little about them; I spend hours struggling with these
things, but I have to admit I do have fun sitting here by myself,
cranking away.
My hope is you enjoy reading my work, and if you care to let me
know what you think, I’d be pleased to hear from you.
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