senior-spectrum.com - Stan Gilliam

‘Necessary’ Rooms Aren’t Necessarily Easy to Find

Presumably it’s a matter of increasing age, this concern over the availability — make that immediate availability — of “necessary” rooms. You know, those small, private enclosures which, when one really needs one, are so absolutely necessary.

This was brought home most forcefully when a group noteworthy for the seniority of its collective citizenship took a Sacramento Food Bank-sponsored trip to San Francisco. The destination was a concert by a group of young people from both the northern and southern embattled parts of Ireland playing competently and cooperatively in the Bay city’s St. Ignatius Church.

Right at the outset the bus driver, a women of consummate skill, fielded the vital question: Yes, she assured her passengers, there was a restroom on the bus and it was working properly. Actually, I think that was the only question. Once assured, all settled back to enjoy the ride.

The dinner stop before the entertainment was, appropriately, at O’Reilly’s, a definitely Irish pub. But the décor was of little interest or consequence until the group was assured that the plumbing was definitely American. It was, however, limited, and the sexes mingled uncomfortably in a very constricted space while waiting for a chance to pass through the appropriate door. Fortunately, all made it through the correct portal.

At the church, the music really was a delight — as delightful as the young musicians of both Catholic and Protestant, northern and southern persuasions who produced it. It was not until intermission that any problem presented itself.

Apparently, when the Jesuit fathers built St. Ignatius Church back in the 1800s, they felt that immersion in spiritual atmosphere would preclude physical needs requiring a generous amount of plumbing. Thus, in an edifice which probably could seat a couple thousand, there was one — that’s right, one — unisex restroom, and that with but one — again, only one — important plumbing fixture, located near the entrance.

For once, members of both sexes fidgeted in the same line, which may have been of some consolation to the ladies while adding to the men’s discomfort. Finally, someone did learn that by going outdoors, down a flight of stairs and into the church basement, those in need could find other facilities. Specifically, two, both unisex, with a single fixture in each.

Once back on the bus, headed for the Bay Bridge and homeward bound, everyone heaved a sigh of relief until notified that the restroom had become inoperable. Nor was that all.

Halfway through San Francisco, we came to a halt. A transmission leak stopped our bus and we had to wait a predicted two hours for a relief vehicle to make it from Sacramento. By that time all the passengers would have been desperate for relief too, and we were stuck in the middle of an apartment house area with nothing but a corner liquor store — and try to find one of them willing to let 40-odd people line up outside the restroom door.

Fortunately, the driver got the go-ahead for our bus to proceed with caution, and everyone hummed a parody of that old advertising slogan — you know, “relief is just a hundred miles away” — as we made it home without mishap.

That’s both vehicular and personal.

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I wish some civic commission could be appointed to determine the correct geographical designations for certain areas of the city. Just recently I read that Mayor Heather Fargo celebrated her re-election with a party at Sammy Chu’s 14th and R streets restaurant “in midtown.” A day or so earlier I saw a description, in the same newspaper, locating the Blue Lamp, at 28th and N streets, as “downtown.”

The way it used to be — or so I thought — was that “downtown” extended from the Sacramento River to 16th Street; “midtown” was from 16th Street to Alhambra Boulevard, and East Sacramento took over there and ended at the H Street Bridge and, on Folsom Boulevard, at the railroad underpass east of 65th Street. Anything past that was “eastern Sacramento.”

But then, The Bee’s Mike Dunne, with whom I discussed this, asked, “What about the area between Front and 21st and south of Capitol Avenue?” I’d tend to call that “the Southside,” but I think there is no name for the part of town south of Capitol Avenue and east of 21st (although Poverty Ridge is a part of it).

Come to think of it, I’m not sure that “central city” still applies to the area encompassed by Front Street, C Street, Alhambra Boulevard and Broadway. But if not, then what?

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Elk Grove historian Elizabeth Pinkerton, with two volumes of her trilogy between covers and virtually sold out, is busily putting the finishing touches on the third with an eye set on a November publication date.

Elizabeth recently entertained Sacramento County Historical Society members with a slide show during a meeting. As the presentation began to wind down, my attention wandered a bit but my eyes popped wide open when one photographic image appeared on the screen.

It was my granddad’s saloon in Franklin. Although his letterhead advertised the place as “soft drinks and pool room with barber shop in connection,” that was only out front during Prohibition. In the back he purveyed the home brew of which he was so proud.

I suppose he had a right. He always claimed the government agents sampled more of his — before they poured the rest down the drain — than they did of any of his business rivals’ product.

Meanwhile, we’re waiting to sample — but to keep, not discard — the next volume from Elizabeth Pinkerton.

After retiring from a long and respected career with The Sacramento Bee, Stan Gilliam found that he just couldn't stop writing. So he brought his "Stan's Sacramento" column to the Spectrum, where it has been a favorite of readers for 15 years ... and counting.

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