Yesterday Nancy and I played golf with a couple from the Bay Area. The names of the cities sparked memories of the Bay Area as it grew from a small series of towns into Silicon Valley. Pete’s Harbor, Sharon Heights, Half-Moon Bay and, of course, the trip on 280 from San Jose to South San Francisco were all part of a grand, magnificent puzzle.
I have always loved the view from 280 at the top of the hill overlooking San Mateo, the San Francisco International Airport, South San Francisco, the Dunbarton Bridge . . . and, set against the verdant mountains in the west, and suspended from the dark blue of the sky in summer, was a miles-long, crystal-clear reservoir.
Crystal Springs reservoir, and more precisely, the golf course adjacent to the reservoir was where I happened upon my first set of golf clubs in California . . but, only because I was fortunate to be between the reservoir and Terry Crowley when he decided to exorcise the hated clubs from his life. Terry was in full sprint, smoke pouring from his ears, golf bag overhead, preparing to throw the despised clubs into the springs when I offered him $5 for the set. It was my first set of clubs in California.
Rondi, Terry’s wife, was an exceptional golfer and athlete, and she loved being out on the course with him. . so she bought him a new set of clubs the following Christmas. I wasn’t there over the next few years or I might have updated my set.
Terry was a little taller than me. He had brown hair with a close-cropped beard, a smile that made me smile, and an ironic laugh which highlighted all the idiosyncrasies and foibles of the modern world. Brown glasses framed eyes which sparkled when he talked about his new BMW and, of course, Rondi. But, underneath was an intensity, an anxiety which I didn’t yet fully understand. He was there to make a difference, and, like the others from Berkeley in the 70’s, he was there to ensure that the forment and upheaval of the era was going to mean something.
Set against the shimmering springs and the lush countryside stood a generation that was going to make a difference.