Ken Lake

It’s 4 AM and a Bear Is Standing on Top of Me… A Sierra Trek Tale

/ Curt Mekemson / 47 Comments
Oregon Black Bear

Black Bears are much smaller than either brown or grizzly bears, but this doesn’t mean they aren’t scary. This one was cruising our neighborhood in Oregon and  tipped over the heavy Webber Grill on our porch. Our daughter, Tasha, was sleeping in the bedroom next to the grill. “Curtis!” she screamed. Later, our neighbor captured the bear’s photo on a surveillance camera.

 

I’ve been re-blogging older posts while my laptop is at the doctors with memory problems. Today it’s time for another Sierra Trek Tale. Next week, I’ll get back to the first Sierra Trek but today we are jumping ahead five years to the first trek I led into the back country of Yosemite where bears rule.

 

Bears like me, or at least they haven’t eaten me. They’ve had numerous opportunities over the years. It goes with the territory of backpacking throughout North America for over four decades. My scariest encounters, as it turns out, were also my first.

By the fifth year of the Sierra Trek, I had worked my way southward from Lake Tahoe into Yosemite National Park. Since we were utilizing a new route from Yosemite to Kennedy Meadows, I had to preview it. (Plus it was another excuse to head out into the wilderness and be paid for it.)

My friends Ken Lake and Tom Lovering joined me on the first three days from the Yosemite Valley floor to Tuolumne Meadows. Day one found us climbing several thousand feet out of the Valley and camping above the Little Yosemite Valley. The bears dropped by for a visit on our first night in the Park.

Half Dome, Yosemite. Little Yosemite Valley is on the other side.

Half Dome, Yosemite. Little Yosemite Valley is on the other side.

After carefully hanging our food bags from a cable provided by the park service and burying the left over fake freeze-dried raspberry cobbler (it was made from apples), we trundled ourselves off to our sleeping bags. The problem was we buried the food a little too close to Lake. I think Tom may have been up to his usual mischief.

The next morning, a very excited Ken asked if we had seen the bears in our camp the previous night. Neither of us had and we attributed his sighting to an overactive imagination. Believe me, if a bear had been digging up food next to my head, my two companions would have known about it, immediately.

Day two was tough. What I hadn’t counted on was the amount of snow still left on the ground. We spent most of out time slipping, sliding and slogging through it. By three in the afternoon, Tom was ready to set up camp right in the middle of a snowfield. Ken and I threatened to leave him with the bears and he committed to another hour. Fortunately, that night was bear free. They would have found little resistance from the three of us.

Eventually, we made it into Tuolumne Meadows where I was faced with another challenge: hiking over 70 miles of snow-covered trails by myself while Ken and Tom returned to Sacramento and work. The journey was fraught with opportunities for breaking a leg, or losing the trail, or being washed away when crossing streams raging with water from melting snow. None of the above was a desirable outcome for someone hiking alone.

Tuolumne Meadows in the summer.

Tuolumne Meadows in the summer.

My other option was to return to Sacramento with Ken and Tom, which was not acceptable. I had a week off to wander in the woods and I was going to wander in the woods for a week. I compromised by heading back over the mountains toward Yosemite Valley. My fractured logic concluded that it was better to break a leg and get lost where I had been than where I was going. I also promised myself to be really careful. This included keeping my food from bears.

Hiking out of Tuolumne Meadows took me back around Cathedral Peaks shown here.

Hiking out of Tuolumne Meadows took me back around Cathedral Peaks shown here.

The first day was non eventful and the second idyllic. I was exploring new country, doing what I most love to do. As evening approached, I found a delightful campsite on the Cathedral Fork of Echo Creek. Amenities included a babbling brook to put me to sleep, a flat space for my sleeping bag and a great food-hanging tree with the perfectly placed limb. A hot dinner topped off by tea spiced up with a shot of 151-proof rum and I was ready for sleep.

I carefully hung my food bags at the recommended 12 feet off the ground and 9 feet away from the tree trunk and then snuggled down in my sleeping bag. As was my habit at the time, I slept out in the open, only using my tent when rain threatened.

It was somewhere around 4 am and very dark when I awoke with a pressure on my chest. I couldn’t see very far but I didn’t have to. Approximately five inches away from my face was a long black snout sniffing at me. It was filled with grinning teeth and topped off by a pair of beady eyes that were staring at me with a hungry look.

I let out a blood-curdling scream and vacated the premises.

As I flew in one direction, the equally surprised young bear that had been standing on me flew in the other. I don’t even remember getting out of the bag. The next thing I knew I was standing up, yelling and shining my flashlight into the woods where not one, but two pairs of orange eyes were staring back at me. I lost it. Never have so many rocks been hurled with so much vigor in such a short period of time. The bears wisely decided to head off over the mountain.

But the damage was already done. My camp was a disaster area. My carefully hung food was scattered all over the ground with literally every meal torn open and sampled. All I had left was a chunk of cheese and it had one large bear bite out of it. I hid the cheese under a heavy rock.

As a further insult, one of the bears had chomped down on my plastic rum bottle and all of the rum was gone. I couldn’t even drink. With that option eliminated, I policed the area, crawled back in my bag and went back to sleep. When I awoke in the morning it was obvious that the bears had come back into camp to clean up anything they had missed. Once again the previous night’s trash decorated my campsite. At least the bears let me sleep this time. And they had missed my cheese.

So I ate it for breakfast, cleaned the area again, packed up my gear and hiked 18 miles into the Yosemite Valley to resupply. But my week wasn’t over; neither were my bear experiences. And the summer had only begun. (I’ll get back to these stories in the future after I am finished with my series on the first Sierra Trek. You won’t want to miss the time a bear grabbed me by the head.)

NEXT BLOG: A return to my photo series on Burning Man.

 

The Bigger Sacramento Book Club (BSBC)… 26 Years and Counting

/ Curt Mekemson / 22 Comments

 

Books read by the BSBC of Sacramento

This bookshelf includes about half of the books the BSBC has read during its 26 years of existence.

Three things happened when I climbed off my bicycle in Sacramento during the second week of September in 1990. First, I met Peggy and promptly fell in love. (It took me five seconds; Peggy was more like five months. She liked the look of a guy in tight bicycle shorts who had just biked 10,000 miles but was a little concerned about the sanity of a guy who would do such a thing. Rightfully so.)

Two, I was seriously hassled for being one week late. Mind you, I had just travelled for six months on a solo journey around North America. An extra seven days didn’t seem like a big deal. To be fair, however, time is different for someone sitting in an air-conditioned office eight hours a day than it is for someone sitting on the back of a bicycle and peddling 50–100 miles a day through every type of terrain and weather North America has to offer.

Here I am biking up a mountain in Nova Scotia with 60 pounds of gear.

Here I am biking up a mountain in Nova Scotia with 60 pounds of gear. I had already biked 5000 miles. Time slows down in such circumstances.

The third thing that happened is the subject of today’s post. My friend Ken Lake informed me that a meeting of the Bigger Sacramento Book Club, more fondly known as the BS Book Club, or simply the BSBC was coming up. Ken had started the book club and recruited me as a member in the fall of 1988, a few months before I started my bike odyssey.

I love this photo of Ken because it makes him look like a Druid Elder, or someone out of Lord of the Rings. I think the look on his face reflected that the 49ers were losing.

I love this photo of Ken because it makes him look like a Druid Elder, or someone out of Lord of the Rings. I think the look on his face reflected his disapproval of a SF Giant’s play.

The BSBC reads a wide variety of books based solely on the tastes of whoever is selecting the book.

The BSBC reads a wide variety of books based solely on the tastes of whoever selects the book.

The rules, Ken had explained, were simple. Members of the BSBC would rotate having the book club meet at their homes. The host would pick the book, provide the main course, and supply whatever alcohol was to be consumed. Other members would provide hors d’oevres, salad, veggies, dessert and breads— plus any insights they had on the book.

BSBC is only partially about books. This particular meeting featured a beer tasting. Dinners are often planned around whatever food was featured in the book.

BSBC is only partially about books. This particular meeting featured a beer tasting. Dinners are often planned around whatever food is featured in the book.

So far it sounded like a standard dinner/book club. And then Ken mentioned the other rule: You didn’t have to read the book. Maybe you ran out of time or couldn’t struggle your way through the first chapter. Fine. It was after all, the BS Book Club. You didn’t even have to confess. I laughed and signed on the imaginary dotted line. I even remember the first meeting. The book was To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. One of our members hadn’t read the book but had brought Cliff Notes. We gave him an appropriately hard time. When he insisted on discussing the motif, things got even more raucous. It set the tone for future meetings.

Another shelf of our books. BTW, I highly recommend the book just to the left of Lake Woebegone Days. (grin)

Another shelf of our books. BTW, I highly recommend the book just to the left of Lake Wobegone Days. (grin)

So, even though I was still wearing my bike clothes, wasn’t sure where I was going to live, and didn’t own a car, I told Ken that of course I would be at BSBC. And could I please bring something that didn’t require cooking.

It was a while before I was ready to choose a book and host the book club, however. Living with a former girlfriend while pursuing Peggy made things a little, um, awkward. Finally, I obtained my own apartment in downtown Sacramento and hosted my first ever BSBC, on a couch and folding chairs. People ate off their laps. The book was an old favorite of mine: A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. If you haven’t read it and enjoy offbeat humor, add it to your list.

The first book I selected for the BSBC to read.

The first book I selected for the BSBC to read.

By 1992 membership had settled down to five couples, the same five couples who are members today. It’s an interesting mix of people including two teachers, a physician, two prevention specialists, a principal, a judge, an office manager, a pilot/man of many trades, and me— a person of even more trades. (Most of us are semi-retired now.) Our politics range from sort of out there to moderate. It’s amazing we have hung out together as a book club, not to mention as couples for a quarter of a century. I once mentioned the odds against all of us still being married to the same person. “We could never get divorced,” one of the couples responded. “We don’t know who would get book club.”

They were semi-serious.

The five couples of the BSBC on the steps of John Muir's home, now a museum, in the Bay Area.

The five couples of the BSBC on the steps of John Muir’s home (now a National Historic site) located in the Bay Area.

To date, BSBC has read 217 books and two magazine collections. We have also watched five movies and been on three side trips that didn’t involve reading or watching anything. That’s a total of 227 meetings.

These days it is more difficult to get together. One couple lives in France six months out of the year, another has moved to the Bay Area, and Peggy and I are living in Oregon. But we still manage. BSBC has priority.

I asked Ken and his wife Leslie why they thought the book club has survived for so long. The essence of their reply was that BSBC’s long continuity reflects the depth of the friendships that have evolved over time and the informality of our approach to books. The club is as much, or possibly more, of a social gathering than it is a discussion of books. Ken described our meetings as “free flowing within a structure of friendship.” And free flow they do. A full hour’s discussion on the book out of a four-hour evening means people really liked the book.

A final shelf.

A final shelf.

For fun today, I’ve posted photos of Peggy and my BSBC bookshelves that contain about half of the books we have read over the years. If you look at these shelves closely, you will see the breadth of books we read. They reflect the very different tastes in books of ten different people. We all end up reading in genres that we normally wouldn’t. We are constantly being introduced to new authors and new ideas. And that, along with the friendships, is what our book club is about.

Strong friendships have developed over the years in BSBC. The photo features LaReene Sweeney and I.

Strong friendships have developed over the years in BSBC. This photo features LaReene Sweeney and me.

Once a year, the BSBC comes to our house in Oregon for 2-3 days. A couple of years ago we took them kayaking on Squaw Lakes. In this photo Ken Lake hides his paddle so it looks like his wife, Leslie, is doing all the work.

Once a year, the BSBC comes to our house in Oregon for 2-3 days. A couple of years ago we took them kayaking on Squaw Lakes. In this photo Ken Lake hides his paddle so it looks like his wife, Leslie, is doing all the work.

On Becoming Outlaw… Burning Man Costumes

/ Curt Mekemson / 12 Comments

The best dressed member of the Horse Bone Camp is Ken Lake, AKA Scottie. 

I am a minimalist when it comes to costumes. In fact I am a shorts and T-shirt kind of guy. For Burning Man, I add a black hat and a neckerchief and consider myself dressed up. I become Outlaw.

Here I am in my Outlaw persona sans neckerchief. The Great Ape was part of a sculpture on evolution. Playa dust decorates my T-shirt and hat.

Everyone is allowed his or her little fantasies at Burning Man. In fact wearing a costume is highly encouraged. It is a key element in the principle of involvement and an expression of personal art. In theory, and to a degree in practice, people go to Black Rock City to participate, not observe.

Costumes have a liberating influence. They allow us to escape whoever we happen to be in everyday life and become, for a brief time, someone else. There’s a bit of the outlaw, or vamp, or siren, or shaman in all of us. One year at Burning Man, fairies and angels were in and it seemed like every other female Burner had spouted a pair of wings.

This is the most graceful pair of wings I have seen at Burning Man. Note the shadows.

Some guys like to get in touch with their feminine side. Or at least I think that’s what it is.  Dozens of men don dresses. If nothing else, their costumes come ready-made.

A manly man dons a dress.

In 2006 I was standing outside of Camp Center with my camera when the annual costume contest was going on. It’s where Burning Man’s best dressed strut their stuff. Somebody assumed I was ‘paparazzi’ and ushered me over to where participants were having their photos taken, a sort of Burning Man Red Carpet. I dutifully snapped away.

Many of the following photos are from that 2006 experience. Others are more random. I have also included photos by Don Green, a fellow Horse-Bone Camp member who is handy with cameras.

This is one of my favorite photos by Don Green. I can’t help but wonder if this is a costume, or whether it is who the woman truly is. For me, she defines exotic.

Another favorite of mine because the man absolutely bursts with personality.

This shaman represents how elaborate costumes can get at Burning Man. Think of the hours and imagination that went into producing it.

Another costume that caught Don Green’s eye. The pink tint to the glasses and the pink lip stick add a nice touch.

Henna Tattoos and body painting often become part of costumes. This woman was quite striking with her stripes.

I usually don’t post nude or partially nude photos out of respect for Burners and my readers. I couldn’t resist this cute pair of umm… kitties, however.

Purple Man.

 

Green man.

Yellow lady.

Age is no limit. This woman is in her 70s.

Frequently costumes are coordinated. This pair makes for an interesting fantasy.

I’ll conclude with this young woman because I like her hairdo and her smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Man at Burning Man

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Since the beginning of Burning Man, the Man has dominated the event, providing a convenient meeting place, landmark, and viewing platform for six days and burning on the six night.

The Man goes to his fiery death in 11 days.  Drummers will drum, fire dancers twirl, mutant vehicles gather, fireworks go off, and some 60,000 people witness the event. It is the highlight of the week, the one must-do event… and almost everyone participates.

But the Man is more than one final, fire-filled happening. For six days he will tower over the Playa and Black Rock City serving as a meeting place for friends and as a guide for misplaced Burners. Major events will start and end at his feet. He is the dominating figure at Burning Man both during the day and during the night.

With thousands of people wandering around in the dark, mutant vehicles lit up like Christmas trees roaming the playa, and dozens of events happening simultaneously, it is easy to become disoriented at Burning Man. Unless there is a whiteout and zero visibility, the Man is always there to provide a landmark. (Photo by Don Green)

Each year the Man is given a new base that reflects the annual theme. Burners are invited to explore the structure, check out the art, and climb up to high platforms that look out over Black Rock City. The following pictures are taken from five of the six years I have visited Burning Man.

The Man viewed through a metallic flower sculpture in 2009.

A close up and side view of the above photo at Burning Man.

The structure for the Man is always designed to burn. The site is closed down on Saturday while preparations are made. Art is removed and fireworks are inserted.

The 2006 Man provides a good example of how dramatically different each year’s structure is at Burning Man.

The Burning Man structure in 2010 provided great platforms for viewing the surrounding mountains and Black Rock City. Finishing touches are being put on the structure here.

A telephoto view looking into  Black Rock City from the Burning Man tower in 2010.

Another view from the Burning Man tower. In this one I emphasized the surrounding mountains of the Black Rock Desert. Note the bank of porta-potties on the left: not scenic but essential.

In 2007 the unimaginable happened and a misguided prankster lit the Man on fire Thursday night. By Saturday, Burning Man had replaced the structure. In this photo by Horse-Bone Tribe member Ken Lake, the Man (without his head) is being placed on the replacement structure.

A final view of the MAN in Burning Man.

 

 

The Whimsical Art of Burning Man

/ Curt Mekemson / 3 Comments

What’s not to like about this lovely face? Burning Man art often comes with a sense of humor attached. See what’s attached to this face below.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that many of the artists who display their art at Burning Man have a sense of humor. I mean anyone who is willing to brave hundred degree plus weather, unending noise, towering dust storms, minimal bathing and a week of well-used porta potties must have a sense of humor. Right?

I like the word whimsical. It means to be playfully fanciful in an appealing or amusing way. It also means acting in a capricious manner. Both seem to fit Burning Man. Each year I wander around Burning Man with my camera in a totally capricious ramble looking for amusing art. I am never disappointed.

Here’s the body attached to the face above… a suave sphinx.

Art doesn’t get much more whimsical than these sculptures created by Pepe Ozan.

This dog by Pepe Ozan was particularly amusing. My friend Ken Lake, a noted contrarian, immediately climbed on the dog and rode him backward. Imagine trying that at a museum.

I keep coming back to this rabbit in my blogs because he makes me laugh. Isn’t that a OMG expression on his face? There is an annual bunny parade at Burning Man where a thousand or so people put on rabbit costumes and hop around Black Rock City.

Dragons are common at Burning Man… no surprise there. But this guy struck me as more whimsical than ferocious. After dark, his fire-breathing personality takes over, however.

Here’s another sculpture with scary potential that I found humorous. His creator, Diarmaid Harkan, named him Metaluselah but I dubbed him Pitchfork Man.

Certainly a see-through goat with trash in his stomach qualifies as being fanciful. Check out the shadow.

This violin fiddling hare was found in Center Camp, which is always a great place for art. (Photo by Don Green)

This amply endowed Statue of Liberty welcomed visitors to Silicon Village. Apparently her baby default mode was off and she and an ear piece for translating guy speak. Silicon Camp has over 200 members, most of whom come from Silicon Valley.

One day I was wandering around Black Rock City, I found a camp that specialized in photo montages. There must have been a dozen works and each captured a unique slice of Burning Man. Check out this photo carefully. What you see reflects the fun of Burning Man.

And finally, the Peripatetic Bone insisted on being included in this section on whimsical art. He jumped on the nose of my noble steed, Horse with No Name, and declared the horse was a Unicorn. “Art,” he claimed, “is the process of changing the usual into the unique.” I told Bone he looked more Rhino-like that unicorn-like. He said, “Whatever.”

Road Trip to Campbell River BC… The Vancouver Island Adventure

/ Curt Mekemson / 8 Comments

Once again, we were impressed with the First Nation art of British Columbia. I photographed this carved face of a First Nation man in Campbell River BC on Vancouver Island.

We stopped the car and dashed for the restroom. Our day had started with a 16-ounce cup of Serious Coffee and we had serious business to attend to. (Serious Coffee is Vancouver Island’s Starbuck equivalent, plus. We were impressed.)

16 ounces of serious coffee called for a serious stop on the road to Campbell River, Vancouver Island BC.

It was only after we reemerged into the world that we noticed the gorgeous view our much-needed stop provided. We were on a road trip following Highway 19 A from Parksville on our way north to Campbell River along the East Coast of Vancouver Island BC. Our eyes (and cameras) were drawn to the towering coastal mountains of mainland British Columbia, which were set off by the dazzling blue of the Georgia Strait.

One glacier carved mountain was particularly dramatic. Its side had been sheered off by ice and reminded me of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in California where I have roamed for 40 years. Possibly one of my Canadian readers can provide a name for the mountain.

The dramatic coastal mountains of British Columbia as see from Vancouver Island across the Georgia Strait on Highway 19 A. The sheer face of the glacially carved mountain captured our interest.

Campbell River has adopted the name ‘Salmon Capital of the World.’ Sports fishermen, including Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, have been making pilgrimages to the area for decades.

We didn’t see any salmon but we did enjoy more First Nation art and visit the very impressive Museum at Campbell River (http://www.crmuseum.ca/).

This First Nation totem pole gazes out toward the water in Campbell River BC.

 

I found this carving amusing. Not sure the First Nation folks would agree but Ringling Brothers came to my mind.

 

Ken Lake poses on an old logging truck in the Museum at Campbell River. The museum features native masks and local history including logging and sports fishing. It is well worth a visit.

 

The Beaches of PQB (Parksville and Qualicum Beach)… The Vancouver Island Adventure

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The beaches around Parksville and Qualicum Beach BC on Vancouver Island are crowded with tourists in the summer. In March they are just beautiful.

PQB, for short, is an ocean side resort located on the east coast of Vancouver Island two hours north of Victoria. The Parksville and Qualicum Beach website depicts it as Canada’s Riviera. Apparently the beaches are filled with frolicking visitors in the summer.

With temperatures ranging in the 40s and 50s during our stay, however, even the heartiest of sunbathers had found an excuse to be elsewhere. We were left with people-free pristine beaches that combined with the ocean and mountains to show off the areas natural beauty.

Another view of Qualicum Beach British Columbia.

We hooked up with our friends Ken and Leslie Lake at the Pacific Shores Resort just south of Parksville. The Lakes live near Sacramento, California and we have been sharing adventures for decades. Ken and I started out together leading 500-mile bike treks and 100-mile backpack treks in the 70s.

Pacific Shores is perched on the edge of Craig’s Bay. Our suite came with a balcony overlooking the Bay and a large Madrone overlooking the balcony. Except for the maid’s vacuum cleaner that insisted on eating the power cord for my MacBook Pro, we had a very pleasant stay.

An evening view from our balcony at Pacific Shores Resort looking out over Craig's Bay near Parksville, BC.

 

Having settled in we immediately began plotting our week. Peggy had met a very friendly couple from Qualicum Beach on our ferry ride from Port Angeles to Victoria who had outlined several must-do activities. We “absolutely” had to see the totem poles of Duncan, the murals of Chemainus and the goats of Coombs, who were apparently off making babies. There were also a couple of restaurants, Cathedral Grove, and Morning Star Farm. The farm is featured below.

Since Morning Star Farm in Qualicum Beach BC was close and known for its cheese and wines, we made it one of our first Visits.

 

The speed limit sign at Morning Star Farm was quite specific on punishment. We decided to obey.

 

Tooth picks poised, Ken, Leslie and Peggy prepare to sample Morning Star Farms excellent cheese. We bought enough to last for the week.

 

A tour of Morning Star Farm introduced us to several four-legged creatures including this horse and the llama featured below. There was also a cow having a calf which I chose not to photograph.

 

I simply can't resist photographing animals. This llama at Morning Star Farm was a natural.

 

Another view of the Llama at Morning Star Farm in Qualicum Beach, BC.

 

And a final view of the llama. My favorite. Note the large, soft dark eyes.

 

We added in trips to Campbell River and Port Alberni plus bought tickets for the musical “All Shook Up” playing at the Chemainus Theater Festival. We would not be bored. I have already blogged about Port Angeles, Duncan and Chemainus. My next blog will be on Coombs and its missing goats.

 

Our friends Ken and Leslie Lake. Ken had temporarily abandoned his SF Giants Baseball cap to "look more Canadian."

 

They say we gain character as we grow older. Or maybe we become characters. The jury is still out. I think this black and white photo of Ken Lake shows character.

One Million Lives and 86 Billion Dollars Saved… California’s Proposition 99

/ Curt Mekemson / Leave a comment

In the late 80s the tobacco industry mounted an "unprecedented campaign," to defeat California's Proposition 99, an initiative designed to increase the California tax on cigarettes by $.25 and devote a substantial portion of the funds to discouraging tobacco use. The Tobacco Institute recognized that the initiative posed one of the greatest threats to tobacco consumption it had ever encountered.

My friend Ken Lake sent me an article from the Sacramento Bee a few weeks ago. It reported on the latest results from California’s Proposition 99, a massive tobacco use prevention effort kicked off by a tobacco tax initiative passed by California voters in the late 80s.

According to the California Department of Health Services, an estimated one million lives and 86 billion dollars in health care costs have been saved because of prevention programs funded by the tax. California now has the second lowest incidence of tobacco use in the nation and the state is virtually smoke-free. It has the lowest incidence of cancer for 6 of the 9 cancers caused by tobacco use. Fewer teens smoke in California than any other state.

These figures are remarkable. How many times in history has a single act saved one million lives? How often do health care costs go down instead of up? And there is more, much more.

Tobacco use is the single most preventable cause of death and disease in America and a major factor in preventable death and disease worldwide. The revolution in disease prevention that took place in California is a revolution that has reverberated throughout the United States and around the world, a fact recognized by both the National Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the World Health Organization.

As a result, the million lives and billions of dollars saved in California can be multiplied several times over on a national and global basis. Prevention works.

Credit for the success of Proposition 99 in the quarter of century since its inception goes to a cast of hundreds, if not thousands. Certainly the Tobacco Control Section of the California Department of Health Services and its dedicated staff have been critical but dozens of organizations, hundreds of staff people and thousands of volunteers have also played key roles.

In the beginning, however, in the very, very beginning, it was a handful of people in Sacramento who put the effort together and made the critical decisions that would allow Proposition 99 to become the revolution in prevention it has become.

I was privileged to be one of those people.

Over the next two months I will do a series of blogs that provide an inside look at what happened during Prop 99’s first critical months starting in September of 1986. It’s a story of how and why a small group of friends decided to take on one of the worlds most powerful, amoral industries in the cause of preventing the death and crippling disease caused by tobacco use.

It’s a good story, worth telling on its own merits. Greed, power politics, human emotion and sacrifice are all included. There’s even some humor. But I also want to make the point that a few dedicated and knowledgeable individuals can make a significant difference. It’s an important message for today’s world where ideology, ambition and greed triumph over working together in the common interest.

In my next blog I will tell the story  of Prop 99’s beginning and how I became involved. Believe me, I did not start out to become an anti-tobacco warrior.