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A Day in the Life: Abandoned by the sea
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Posted by tomasi Tue Jun 20, 2006 11:18:33 PDT
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We should have known better. We should have listened to our friends and families. We should have thought twice before moving to Oregon –– but we didn’t. I

f we had realized we were about to cross more than a state line, we might have reconsidered. After all, we were moving to the land of aging hippies, a soggy paradise where my wife’s cleanly shaved legs branded her as an outcast. But, sadly, we were totally ignorant of the fact that we were soon to become not residents of Oregon but expatriate Californians.

At the time, moving seemed like such a good idea. After all, we were young, with no children, and except for family we had no other entanglements. And since it was the 70s, we were mesmerized by the folk songs promising eternal peace if one could only get back to nature. So, with another like-minded couple, we set out that spring day on a voyage of discovery. Regardless of our California roots, we were determined modern pioneers. Oregon or bust!

It seemed so right as we piled into the car with our friends, their shiny red Honda gassed up and loaded for the 900-mile journey. We’d been so clever. Having written ahead to several Chambers of Commerce, we set out with a list of possible towns. I must emphasize the word “town” because we were determined to live in a small coastal village, no more than 3,000 souls or so, and as far away from freeways and convenience stores as possible. We were to pay dearly for this flawed thinking!

As we pulled onto Interstate 5, my wife remarked, “How hard can this be? If those thousands of pioneers who came by covered wagon, facing hardship after hardship for six months, could make it to Oregon, surely we could handle a 15-hour trip in the backseat of a two-door Honda Civic.”

Oh, but we were young, and as the odometer continued to add miles, the trip became less and less exciting. The womb-like interior of the rear seat was so small we nearly had to stick our heads outside the window just to change our minds. Face it, there is simply NO WAY to get comfortable in the back seat of a Civic.          

The first time we saw the Oregon Coast , we were gonners. It was cool and windy, but not a cloud in the sky. A flawless day. And, what was that rumor about rain? Surely it had been over-exaggerated. Besides, we rationalized, what’s wrong with a little rain? And, in spite of the fact that we were in a region known as the Pacific Rain Forest, we were blinded by cheap real estate. We just couldn’t see beyond the dollar signs.

That fateful morning, the last day of our Oregon trip, it started to rain. This should have been immediately recognized as an omen, but we were young and foolish. As we were pounded by the rain, we quickly found a sporting goods store, purchased four matching yellow slickers, and began our trek down the coast, the final leg of our journey.

Since we were on the road headed for home, we were dressed like typical tourists: tennis shoes, Levis and hooded sweatshirts under our rain gear. We had just crossed the Coquelle River when we saw that fateful sign beside the road. It read,  “Bandon-By-The-Sea.” How romantic. How poetic. And yes, how deceiving. We took the turnoff to the picturesque seaside village. We were still singing the praises of Oregon when my wife noticed the Bandon School District Office. She tapped our friend on the shoulder who brought the muddy red Honda to a screeching halt.

Almost immediately, they began to goad me into just stepping into the office and asking for employment information. Unsure of my attire, especially when seeking employment, I hung back. Why, then, I didn’t follow my instincts and stick to my guns, I will never know, but egged on by the others, I crawled out of the Honda, right into an ankle high puddle. Another omen?

The district office was no larger than a single-wide mobile home. The dull green interior was devoid of any decoration. In fact, the feeling of impermanence hung like the coastal fog; foreboding. Well, my plan had been to dash in, ask for information and a salary scale, then head back to my wife and friends. However, fate had other plans. I approached the wide counter, waiting to be acknowledged by the lone receptionist. When she finally noticed me, I quietly asked if she had any information on their district.

My interest? Well, I admitted, I was considering relocating and held a California teaching credential. No sooner had I uttered my last word then a deep voice called from an open door, asking if indeed there was a credentialed teacher at the desk. The receptionist affirmed that I was, and almost immediately I was ushered into the superintendent’s office.

Mr. Irving Ellis was his name. Superintendent of the Bandon-By-The-Sea Unified School District , #54. I was overwhelmed by his sales pitch. It sounded too good to be true, but when I saw the salary scale I was blown away. This tiny district, in a rural coastal town of under 2,000 was willing to pay me over $3,000 more than California. Well, hooded sweatshirt, soggy shoes and all, I was offered a contract, only contingent upon receiving a copy of my credential — no tall order. So, without flinching or consulting my wife, I signed. Mr. Ellis sm iled a toothy smile, shook my hand, and welcomed me to Bandon-By-The-Sea.

 Now, a more rational, less impulsive person would have been skeptical. What superintendent in his right mind would offer a complete stranger, an out of state, “just came back from beachcombing stranger,” a job? The answer should have been apparent, but I didn’t see it at the time. It was simply this: the district was desperate to fill the diminished ranks of professionals who had learned their lessons and fled before this tiny burg had sucked the life out of them. Did I see any of the drawbacks? Absolutely not! My eyes were filled with dollar signs. There was no way I could process rational thoughts.

Ah, step one in our Oregon venture had been achieved. I had actually obtained employment in this northern Eden! Life was looking good. Looking back I wish we’d only known what was to come, but then, of course, that knowledge would have ruined my story and I’d nothing to say about the year we were abandoned by the sea!

 

 

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