By Larry Ullrich

Each May, the annual Bay to Breakers 5k race is run through the skyscrapers of downtown San Francisco. Traditionally, over 200 people run nude, intermingled with the other 10,000 runners who traverse the city east to west, hence its name. Only those who run nude call the race "Bare to Breakers" for obvious reasons.

I arrived the day before to get a good night's rest and an early start to the assembly point. As I saw the thousands of people gathering and warming up, the realization really of what I was about to do really hit me: Wow, I was going to be naked in front of thousands and thousands of spectators lining the streets, in front of the police, and the rest of the world. This was well beyond the experience of a first-time nudist. I held the fear of being arrested, despite the assurances from those around me.

My adrenaline was running at its peak just before Bay to Breakers was about to begin. Having properly pre-registered at the on-line web site, I received a yellow hat from the nudist organizers. The hat read “Bare to Breakers.” Others were distributing other souvenirs to the thousands assembled: bead necklaces for the women and some helium balloons for the kids were the most popular. Just before the whistle blew to begin the 12k walk, whispers of what we were about to do leaked out to the crowd nearby. Then, without a signal, the Bare to Breakers group removed their clothes within seconds, and began their walk/run/trot to the Pacific on the other side of the city.

I can only describe the moment of revelation as “shock and awe.” Mouths dropped, and wide smiles began, not just from the participants but from the spectators, now 6-deep lining both sides of the street. A group of college-age girls, walking alongside of us, wanted to take our picture. We did, standing as a group, arm-in-arm. Others continually pulled us aside as if we were celebrities. By now my girlfriend, Donna, had removed her top after seeing the response and energy of the crowd. Nobody objected to the nudity at all.

Race organizers said that there were over 70,000 registered for the event. The Bare to Breakers said they had about 225 participants. But, in truth, there were unregistered people in the race as bystanders got caught up in the moment and joined the march to the sea, if only for a few city blocks.

People from all over the world had come to see the event, and both sides of the street were packed for the full seven miles, people hanging out of windows, balconies, staircases and even trees. Many people wore costumes. Every few blocks a band was playing on the sidewalk, and their catchy tunes had us dancing our way along. We met a pair of young New Yorkers who requested to take their pictures with us, as they claimed nothing like this every went on back in their home town.

As the race continued, the nudist group began separating and spreading out as some began walking (and jogging) faster than the others. After awhile, Donna and I found ourselves to be the only unclothed participants among the vast crowd around us. This caused us to be the focus of much of the attention as we walked, as hundreds of cameras were trained now on us as we walked.

Donna was so charged up and appeared to be feeding off the crowd’s energy. I passed many people who looked shy when they first saw we were nude, but I distributed a lot of beads to the crowd as I walked, and as I did, these embarrassed people almost always relaxed and gave me a smile. We made a brief stop for pictures as we passed through Haight-Ashbury, and I was immediately transported back to 1967 and the Summer of Love. The area really had not changed since those legendary Hippie days, and I felt I was reliving history for a moment.

We finished the course in a couple of hours, but the euphoria, that Donna and I felt has yet to subside. What an experience! I have been on many an expensive vacations, yet for so little money I don’t think I could have had more fun in my entire life.

Frankly, a month later, Donna and I still cannot stop talking about the experience and we are already planning for next year.

By Gary M

My first nudist experience came by accident when I was 32 years old. Prior to that, I had been raised in a very modest family where my mother forbid my father to have Playboy Magazines in the house (I found out years later he did anyway.) Nevertheless, as a teen I was always curious about it and on those rare occasions when I found myself home for a few hours alone while my parents and younger brother and sisters were off on some family outing, I tried out being without clothes for an hour here or an hour there. It felt comfortable, but I never dreamed I would ever try it in front of others. Still, skinny-dipping was on my mental “Bucket List” to try sometime in my life when – or if – I ever could summon the courage.

That chance when I was married with a six year old daughter. My wife, like my mother, was extremely self-conscious about her body. What nudity there was in our home was limited to streaking from the bathroom to the bedroom after a shower. On this particular day, the three of us happened to be exploring tide pools near Paradise Cove on the shore of the Pacific just north of Los Angeles. My daughter was fascinated by the sea creatures trapped in the water at low tide, so we often visited different beaches along the 50 miles of county shoreline where these pools could be explored.

On this particular Sunday, we walked north from Paradise Cove, looking for the tide pool area a specific guidebook said was there. After a while we rounded a particular corner to discover a long beach perhaps a half-mile long, that was covered with naked bodies.

“Oh my God!” my wife cried out, “It’s a nude beach. We need to go – now!” At that instant, my daughter squealed with delight and took off running down the beach and into the crowd. She had totally forgotten about any tide pools.

My wife rolled her eyes, and we walked with purpose toward where she had shed her bathing suit and was now running even faster down the beach. “I always wanted to try this,” I confessed to my wife.

“Don’t you dare!” she quietly but firmly replied. From her tone I knew I couldn’t press the issue any farther. After we retrieved our daughter and got her dressed, we turned south and returned to our car and left.

As a family we never went back. However, I happened to mention our accidental discovery to a co-worker a few days later. He nonchalantly admitted he and his wife went there all the time. I was more than surprised to hear this. Nudists lived among us! Who knew?

A year passed, and the next summer my wife and daughter left to visit her sister in Washington State. I stayed behind for another week to complete an important project at work. A few days later, the same co-worker came into my office and closed the door. “Now’s your chance,” he said.

“What?”

“Remember last year you told me about the nude beach? Now’s your time to go without your wife finding out.” “No, I couldn’t do that. I would feel like I was cheating or something.” “Nah, how would she ever find out? Come on down Saturday with Gail and me.”

Well, I was nervous enough about the idea but going with people from work was totally out of the question. “Okay, but I want to go by myself the first time.” I think I said it as much to end the conversation and get him out of the office as to be serious about what I was saying. But as the days passed, I started thinking that perhaps this might be my only chance to try it, and I started making plans.

That Saturday morning I drove to Paradise Cove and retraced our steps from the previous year, up the coast, until I got to the same large, sandy beach just south of Pt. Dume. Only I got there early and there was hardly anyone else there. I walked about halfway down, spread my blanket, and sat there, alone, not wanting to be the only one on the beach who wasn’t wearing my swim suit. It took a couple of hours, but by the time the sun was overhead many others began to arrive. Some were families, some were couples, and some were obvious groups of friends who had done this many times before. They all dropped their suits like they had done it a thousand times before (they probably had) with not a hint of self-consciousness or shyness. They unpacked umbrellas and sand chairs and Frisbees and footballs, same as on any beach. Only these people had no tan lines.

I reached my first moment of truth when I knew it was time to either join in or leave. So I pulled off my suit and immediately rolled onto my stomach, thinking, “Oh wow, I really did it! I really did it!” About a half hour later came the second moment of truth. That is when I realized I was burning in places that had not been exposed to the sun before, and I was going to have to turn over. But I had a better idea: I would head for the cool ocean water and hide my privates there.

So I summoned all the courage I had, and stood up. I was certain everyone’s head would turn and I would be exposed for everyone to judge. I tried not to think about it as I took step after step toward the water. After a few moments I realized they weren’t looking at me. “Why weren’t they looking at me? I’m having a nervous breakdown here and the least they could do is look and acknowledge it!” But nobody did. Nobody cared about me at all. Later, I found that many others also go through these twin “moment of terror” their first time, only to look back and laugh at their conceit later. By now there were several hundred people in the water, splashing, diving, body surfing, doing what people everywhere do in the water. Only without clothes. I joined in the fun and experienced my first surprising moment when the ocean wraps itself around one’s body free of clothing.

That was my moment of epiphany. I didn’t expect to love the feeling so much. I thought this whole thing would be a few moments checking off an item on my Bucket List, and then I would go home and live the rest of my life. Nope, someday would have to come back. This was an amazing, unexpected experience, and I stayed all afternoon. I felt no sexual tension, in fact I saw no sexuality at all. I found out later that the beach had it unofficial mayor and a team to volunteers who made sure nothing inappropriate would happen there. So I found it really a very relaxing day. I even played a little beach volleyball. Modesty and shame would have been inappropriate in this setting. On Monday morning, first-thing, my co-worker came into my office and asked, simply, “Well?” I told him I really enjoyed the experience and I thanked him for talking me into going. No, I wasn’t going to go back some other day with him and Gail, but perhaps someday. Then something happened I didn’t expect.

A few hours later, another co-worker came into my office and closed the door. “My wife and I saw you Saturday,” he said quietly with a big grin on his face.

Oh, no! I couldn’t sink far enough into my chair! He then explained he and his family go to that beach often and they were going to say hello but felt I might upset me (damn right it would have!).

“Is this some big conspiracy?” I asked. “Do a lot of the people I know go down to this type of beach?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” he replied. “We just never talk about it.”

There is a postscript to this story. A few days later I boarded a plane and joined my wife, daughter, and her sister’s family in Washington. We had a lovely vacation except for one thing I had forgotten about. One night in getting undressed for bed, my wife asked, “What is that?”

“What?” I replied.

“It looks like your back is peeling. In fact your butt is peeling!” There was a nervous pause while her mind put together the puzzle. “Don’t tell me you went to that beach, did you?”

I sheepishly nodded. “I knew you’d never go there and I wanted to try it.”

“Oh my God! I don’t believe it..etc. etc.” She reminded me of it often during the next few years, especially when we had guests over for dinner so she could make an example of her “crazy” husband. Unfortunately for her, some of our guests confessed they went to that beach (or others like it) also! Social nudity, as it turns out, is hugely popular, but nobody ever wants to talk about it.

My wife (now my ex) thinks the world is nuts.

Two members record separately their experiences on a ship full of nudists and a land full of glaciers.

MY FIRST NUDE CRUISE”

By Jackie Roose

On July 19, 2007 I flew to Seattle in preparation to debark on my first nude cruise. We were directed to Holland American for check-In and less than five minutes later we found ourselves on the bus that would take us to our ship, named The Amsterdam. Excitement was mounting. At 11:30am I boarded the ship and was directed to the Lido Deck for lunch. As I snacked on tasty salmon, the boat raised anchor and we were off for Juneau. Friday evening after dinner I headed to the casino deck. Tickets for a prize drawing were given to all of us as we played the slots…and I won! I am now a proud owner of a WINNERS tee shirt. Our first night the ocean became a little rocky, but I got through it okay. Saturday's breakfast on the Lido Deck was quite a spread, as all the meals would prove to be. My only surprise was that most everyone was either in the robes Holland American provided us, or clothed. Where were the nudists? I guess I expected it to be like the nudist resort, where everyone wears just their skin. Alas, I realized this was Alaska not the Caribbean. As the days wore on and the temperature outside began to drop, there was far more clothing and robes than nudity on the ship. The only exception was on the night before we docked in Juneau when the Holland American staff presented us with a beautiful show. It turns out the staff were more than just staff--they were also professional entertainers! But on this occasion – perhaps it was the temperature in the theater? – the audience finally dropped their robes, and so sitting there it became a truly nudist experience. The only such moment on the entire voyage. I just found that curious.

Sunday morning we docked in Juneau. In the afternoon I met the first tour, called the Salmon Bake. Wow! Great food, and gift shops. Back on the ship for dinner I met a nice couple from a nudist park in Texas. That was a fun dinner. We soon departed Juneau and headed for Glacier Bay. For me, seeing this was the reason for the cruise. I was very curious if anyone would pose nude for a photo near the glaciers, since by now the nudity had practically disappeared from the ship. I looked for a particular glacier named Margie that I had seen on a trip I had made to the area seven years before, but I couldn't find it. A ranger pointed out the spot to me and I was very surprised to see how much it had shrunk in the intervening years. Global Warming indeed!

As we cruised Glacier Bay I decided to go up on deck. I wanted to have my picture taken while nude with a glacier in the background if just to prove I was in there. I saw a man ask a lady if she would take his picture so I asked her also. It was so funny. Down went the robe, click went the camera and oh so quickly the robe returned to our bodies because of the cold. But it was fun!. Actually, this experience was the highlight of my cruise. I observed there were less than a dozen of us brave nudists on deck doing the same thing, so I have no idea if how many experienced what I did.

Tuesday we arrived In Sitka for another tour, which had a troupe of Russian Dancers entertain us. We arrived In Ketchikan on Wednesday and there I enjoyed a historical trolley ride through town. That night was Costume night on the ship. I had brought a costume for myself, but at the last minute I decided I did not want to parade around the theater so I changed my mind and I was a "no-show" at the event. [Mary Ann Hughes, president of the Olympian club was on the cruise and won the “Best Costume contest – Ed.]

Thursday night we arrived in beautiful Victoria. SCNA member John O’Brien, who was on the cruise, and I rode the horse drawn carriage through town. That last night on the ship was spent saying goodbye to friends we had met and exchanging cards and promises to write. We docked it Seattle the next morning. Buses were waiting to whisk us off the airport to wait for our flights back to Los Angeles.

My first nude is now past. Would I go on a nude cruise again? Perhaps a Caribbean cruise, if I went on it with a group of friends. But going on a cruise alone is really hard, especially if one is a little shy as I am. Still I have my photos to prove I did it, especially the one of me nude in front of the glacier. Now that is a conversation starter!

MY “NUDE CRUISE” TO ALASKA

By John J. O'Brien

I’ve been on clothing optional cruises before to the Caribbean and to Mexico, but never to Alaska. I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but I did expect it to be cold. The passengers consisted of about 1,400 adventure seeking nudists, which included three SCNA members.

The weather cooperated; the seas were calm and the skies were fair with no rain or high wind for the entire voyage. The temperatures were cool but not unbearably cold, so most travelers milled about the ship nude or partially nude, but seldom ventured to the outside decks as the wind generated by the ship’s forward velocity rendered it too cold to be nude there. Juneau was interesting and it was probably my favorite stop. I rode the tram about 1500 feet above the city and then hiked another 1000 ft or so up the mountain. Beautiful scenery. Bald Eagles abound everywhere! After that, I visited the Mendenhall Glacier and visited the infamous Red Dog Saloon before we were on our way to glacier bay. The décor is very colorful, and they pour a stiff drink!

The visit to Glacier Bay was almost a sacred and revered visit. The ship was rigged for silent running, low speed, no announcements on the loud speakers, the casino was shut down and other noise generating activities were minimized. On our way to the glaciers, a U.S. Park Ranger and a native from the local Tlingit tribe joined us to give talks and provide information and/or just answer questions. An interesting comment from the native Tlingit speaker was that Alaska does not have Eskimos! That was an expression created by visitors in olden times! We visited three Glaciers, and it was here that Bare Necessities had a nude group photo taken on the bow of the ship with the Glaciers and floating ice in the water as a backdrop.

Sitka was our next stop, and the history here informed us of the U.S. Marines occupation of this Island during WW II which began the growth and development of this area. It was here that I went to a Russian dance show only to find out that the dancers were all female, half of which were made up to look like men – and they were not Russian or even from Russian decent. They were all housewives or working mothers who wanted to supplement their income. It was at this point that the ship turned around and headed back to our origin stopping at Victoria, British Colombia. The British influence is evident in the city's buildings and architecture. Before we knew it we were back in Seattle and our fabulous journey was complete.

An important point to remember is that if you are taking a "Nude Cruise" primarily to enjoy the freedom of nudity, then by all means do consider your destination and season in your cruise selection.

For nearly thirteen years I have been hiking the same trail here in Los Angeles County above my rented Altadena home. I never tire of it. It is always changing with the days and seasons and years. I have seen mountain lions, a bear, bobcats, rattle snakes, rabbits, coyotes, bucks, does, and fawns, and a rich variety of birds. I have watched the plant life live out its seasonal cycles.

For twelve years I hiked this trail without incident though I hiked it as often as possible with as little clothing as possible. In the early years I made great effort to avoid running into other people. I would wait until I was high in the mountains before hiking naturally. Other times I would hike before sun up or after sun down. Occasionally, I would still run into someone, but usually could quickly hold my jogging shorts in front of me and give the appearance of wearing them. The light was dim and the occasional fellow hiker seemingly oblivious to what I was doing.

Over the years, I befriended the many foresters who worked up at a ranger station in the hills. They came to know that I hiked the trail nude. Occasionally, they might suggest that I be careful, but never expressed any real concern. One said with a laugh, “My mother always told me if you’re not half-crazy you’re not living.” Another told me lightheartedly that the one female ranger was looking forward to running into me. I got to know all their names and would often walk with them on the trail when they were hiking up or down from the station. I would wear clothes in their presence.

During the last two years, the trail has become less used. A landslide at its entrance discouraged most hikers from using it. More ardent hikers began using an alternate entrance, more difficult to get to and steeper.

On Monday, October 23, 2006, I wrote the following:

“I went hiking at 4:30 in the afternoon. About twenty minutes into my hike, I came across a man coming down the trail. I held my jogging shorts in front of me, expecting him to pass me by. He asked me why I was hiking nude. He said he would call the sheriff if he ever sees me there again without clothes. I asked him his name. He said that he is a forest technician. I asked him if he had authority over the Deputy Forester with whom I had a friendship. He said the Deputy Forester was his boss. I said, “Well then I suppose you should do whatever he tells you to do.” I was confident that the Deputy Forester did not have problems with my hiking naturally. I did not tell him that the other forestry employees were friendly with me.

He repeated that if he ever saw me again without clothes he would call the sheriff. I explained that I had discussed this with a sheriff already and he assured me that what I was doing did not deserve a citation and that he would not cite me. He had obviously discussed me with other forestry personnel. He claimed that they said they had “warned me” already. It became apparent that my friends working at the forestry station might not be so confident of their tolerance of my nudity when one among them was willing to make an issue of it and be quite vocal about it.

He asked me if I was a teacher to which I responded yes. “Well then, you should know better.” I bit my lip as this mid-twenty year old told this mid-forty year old that I should know better. “What if you run into children?” he asked. I could appreciate his anxiety and respect his feelings. I explained that I had never run into children without my clothes in twelve years of hiking. I assured him that I would always cover up in his presence. He repeated that he would call the sheriff should I ever be seen without clothes on this trail again. I responded respectfully, “I suppose you just have to do what you have to do,” and I continued up the mountain without putting my shorts on.”

When I got home, I contacted AANR who referred me to an attorney for the Naturist Action Committee named Allen Baylis. Though I was trying to be brave, I felt frightened that my hiking freedom might be threatened. I not only enjoy hiking without clothes. I feel a need to hike without clothes. My daily hike during the last two hours before sundown is a time of refreshment, inspiration, prayer, quietude, and renewal of my place in this universe. This young, bold forest technician was not only threatening my right to hike naturally, but my very source of daily centering.

My conversation with attorney Allen Baylis was tremendously encouraging. He assured me that everything was going to be okay, that I was operating within the law, and he would email me detailed information I could share with the Deputy Forester. I received the information within a short time, studied every detail of it excitedly, and printed it out to present to the Deputy Forester on Wednesday morning.

Following what turned out to be a disappointing meeting with the Deputy Forester, I wrote the following letter to Allen:

October 25, 2006

Allen,

I just got home from meeting with the Deputy Forester, Jose Martinez, stationed at Henniger Flats here in Altadena. We talked for about an hour, but he was not interested in looking at any of the information I brought.

He said that in anticipation of my meeting with him today, he had called Altadena Sheriff's Department to ask for advice from them. They stated that simply being nude up there was cause enough for arrest and if he or any of the other forest technicians called them, they would immediately dispatch sheriffs to arrest me. The sheriff assured him that if necessary even a helicopter would be employed to pick me up mid-trail.

When I tried to explain the meaning of anti-nudity laws, ordinances, etc., he said simply that interpreting or enforcing the law was out of his jurisdiction and that his role if someone complained would be simply to call the sheriff. He made it clear that he was telling all of his forestry technicians the same thing. In other words, if this new technician, Juan Cueva, is bothered (as he has so clearly stated to me) he will definitely call the sheriffs' department and they have assured the boss that they definitely will arrest me.

The Altadena Sheriff also said that Deputy Forester, Jose Martinez (the boss with whom I met) should encourage me to go down to the Altadena Sheriff's office and talk with them. Jose said that as a friend he would encourage me not to do that. I can only imagine what might happen if I did. Some "kind" officer would invite me into a "private" room, offer me something to drink, and have a nice little man to man talk, all of which would be videotaped and audiotaped. He would then arrest me on the spot, thinking himself to be quite brilliant and thinking he "had one in the bag" with full confession and everything.

Please advise me as to what to do. As I said, I am not going to stop hiking nude on this trail. However, I need to be prepared with what to say should sheriffs arrive to arrest me. My guess is that I should only give them my name, address, telephone number, any identification information they might ask, but not answer any questions regarding whether I was hiking nude or not or "what exactly happened." They may come across as if they want to clear my name or solve everything simply by getting me to tell my side of the story, or who knows what, but the fact is, I don't trust the majority of officers.

May I call you again or will you call me? Thanks, Allen.

Sincerely,
Brian

Allen again assured me that everything would be fine, that we would do some research and he would write a letter to the captain of the local sheriff’s department and explain the laws particular to this area. During the next few days, Allen and I worked together to gather the information needed for Allen to compose the following letter:

October 31, 2006
Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Dept.
Altadena Station
780 Altadena Drive
Altadena, CA 91001
Attn: Capt. JoeGutierrez

Dear Captain Gutierrez

A client who wishes to remain unknown to you at this time has retained my services to assist him or her in protecting the rights of individuals engaged in lawful conduct. This client fears unlawful arrest due to an apparent misinterpretation of the law on the part of Sheriffs at the Altadena Sheriff’s station.

My client enjoys hiking on trails in the San Gabriel Mountains. Some of the trails used are in unincorporated Los Angeles County, while other areas are within the Angeles National Forest. The issue is that this client, and other hikers as well, enjoy hiking these trails dressed only in the clothes that God gave them, that is to say, in the nude. For several years, my client did so with no problems. The NFS [National Forest Service] Rangers, forestry technicians and fire authorities have encountered these nude hikers, and realizing that there is no general federal statute or regulation prohibiting nudity on federal lands, have done nothing to discourage the natural hikers.

However, a recently hired forestry technician, assuming that simple nudity is illegal, approached my client and threatened to call the County Sheriffs and have him arrested if he saw my client nude in the area again. My client has attempted to clarify with the Rangers the state of the law in California. However, Deputy Forester Jose Martinez elected to call the Altadena Sheriff’s station to inquire as to the legality of nude hiking. Unfortunately, it appears that a member of the staff at the station misinformed Deputy Martinez.

Deputy Martinez informed my client that the Sheriff’s Department told him that simply being nude on the trails would be cause for arrest and that the Sheriff’s Department would send a helicopter in to assist in the apprehension of any nude persons if necessary.

Since the Sheriff’s Department did not specify which crime the nude person would be charged with, I will assume that any such arrest would be made for alleged violation of California Penal Code section 314.1, indecent exposure, which reads in pertinent part:

314. Every person who willfully and lewdly, either: 1. Exposes his person, or the private parts thereof, in any public place, or in any place where there are present other persons to be offended or annoyed thereby….

It is settled law in the State of California, that simple nudity does not constitute indecent exposure in violation of P.C. 314.1. The California Supreme Court ruled in In re Smith that; “Absent additional conduct intentionally directing attention to his genitals for sexual purposes, a person, … does not "lewdly" expose his private parts within the meaning of section 314.” (In re Smith (1972), 7 Cal3d. 362, 366) Additionally, The California Appellate Courts have interpreted the terms “offended or annoyed” in cases such as, In re Dallas W. (2001) 86 Cal.App.4th 937, and People v. Archer (2002) 98 Cal.App4th 402. These and other cases make it clear that the intended offence or annoyance must be sexual in nature. Therefore, the California Jury Instruction for indecent exposure includes the following:

1160. Indecent Exposure

 

The defendant is charged [in Count] with indecent exposure. To prove that the defendant is guilty of this crime, the People must prove that:

The defendant willfully exposed (his/her) genitals in the presence of another person or persons who might be offended or annoyed by the defendant’s actions;

AND

When the defendant exposed (himself/herself), (he/she) acted lewdly by Intending to direct public attention to (his/ her) genitals for the purpose of sexually arousing or gratifying (himself/herself) or another person, or sexually offending another person.

As to Los Angeles County ordinances, section 17.04.480 prohibits nudity in any County Park, as defined in 17.04.130. This offense is merely an infraction per section 17.04.300. Therefore, my client, wishing to obey the law, intends to avoid being nude in any County Park. Outside of any Los Angeles County Park, in unincorporated sections of the Los Angeles County and on federal land such as the Angeles National Forest, there is no law prohibiting simple nudity. I will suggest that spending valuable law enforcement resources to apprehend unclothed hikers in such areas would not be a prudent use of county assets.

I hope that this letter clarifies the situation and works to avoid any misunderstanding or un-due conflict. I would appreciate a response to this letter at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,
R. Allen Baylis
Attorney at Law

After several days, I spoke with the Deputy Forester about the contents of this letter. He assured me that none of the forestry personnel would be calling the sheriff. He asked me to be respectful. I was glad to assure him that just as I had always been respectful in the past, I would continue to be. Allen and I waited and waited hoping for a response from the captain of the Altadena Sheriff’s Department. Just when Allen was considering sending a second copy, he received a response from the Los Angeles County Sheriff, Leroy D. Baca, and the Altadena captain, Joe Gutierrez. Leroy D. Baca oversees nearly two hundred sheriff’s stations in Los Angeles County. He writes:

County of Los Angeles
Sheriff’s Department Headquarters
4700 Ramona Boulevard
Monterey Park, California 91754-2169

Leroy D. Baca, Sheriff

November 8, 2006

Mr. Allen Baylis Attorney at Law 4050 Katella Avenue Los Alamitos, California 91001

Dear Mr. Baylis:

I have received your letter that states your concerns that some of our deputies may be misinterpreting the law as it pertains to section 314.1 of the California Penal Code.

I asked my staff to research the applicable laws and ordinances to determine if simple nudity in the unincorporated county area of the Angeles National Forest was prohibited. Their research revealed that simply being nude in the Angeles National Forest is not prohibited by law.

Therefore your client appears to be within his legal rights to hike in the forest in the nude. Altadena Station Deputies will be briefed that simply hiking in the forest, in the nude, is not a violation of the law. They will also be briefed about section 314.1 of the California Penal Code to ensure that law is being properly enforced.

If you have questions regarding this matter, please contact me at [number withheld]. Sincerely,

LEROY D. BACA, SHERIFF

cc: Joe L. Gutierrez, Captain
Altadena Station

So that’s where we were as of the beginning of 2007.

I am grateful to my attorney, Allen Baylis. Allen is a Board Member of the Naturist Action Committee, the political arm of The Naturist Society. I am grateful for his friendship and professional services. I am grateful to Leroy D. Baca for his professional and supportive letter. I am grateful to God for putting within me a desire for living life authentically and naturally, the courage to do it, and surrounding me with like-minded and supportive people.

Sincerely,
Brian K.
Altadena, CA

But that is not the end of the story. Read on...

Sunday, June 10, 2007, 9:14 PM

I just spent the last hour sitting in the back of a sheriff’s vehicle. This evening I was hiking my usual trail when I came upon an African American man and his daughter. Before I got close to them he shouted that he had a little girl with him and that I should cover up. I held my shorts in front of me as I approached him. He had instructed his little girl, perhaps seven or eight, to close her eyes and stand behind him. I said, “I’ll cover up because of your little girl, but it’s legal to hike up here nude.” He asked me how it could be legal. I explained about the letter from Sheriff Leroy Baca. He said a bit incredulously, “You’re telling me Leroy Baca wrote you a letter telling you it was legal to hike nude? I said, “Actually, he wrote the letter to my attorney.” He said, “I have friends who know Leroy Baca. What’s your name?” I said, “Brian.” He said, “What’s your last name?” I said, “Brian’s good enough.” He said, “What’s the attorney’s name?” I said, “Baylis.” “Is that his last name?” “Yes.”

We then went our separate ways. He was determined to check out this legality issue with Baca. I was determined to continue on my way living life as I enjoy living it. Observing this entire interaction was an older Caucasian man, perhaps in his fifties or early sixties. He had a camera in his hands, but it didn’t appear that he was taking any pictures. I passed him by and continued up the mountain to Henniger Flats.

On my way down the trail, I came across this same Caucasian man. He asked me at what point on the trail do I put my clothes back on. I explained about the borders of the unincorporated areas of Los Angeles County and the Eaton Canyon State Park. He actually seemed interested in a friendly sort of way. Then he commented, “That man back there didn’t want his daughter to see a naked man.” I said, “No, I guess not.” That was all we said and I continued on my hike. He seemed like a nice guy.

As I continued down the trail I could see that a couple sheriff’s cars were parked at the base of the trail where I was parked. I knew that it was likely that the day that I have anticipated for years had arrived. I only hoped that the sheriffs would get the information that it was legal for me to hike nude and convey it to the man and leave, but I also realized that they may want to confront me and find out more about what I’m doing and why.

As I neared the dirt parking lot, I prayed and asked God multiple times to surround me and give me calmness and peace. I could see the sheriffs standing ahead of me anticipating my arrival. I thought there might be two to four sheriffs. There were six. When I walked up to the cars, one of the sheriffs ordered me gruffly to put my hands on the top of the sheriff car. I was rather surprised since all I had on was a pair of running shorts and shoes and socks. I didn’t think I looked very dangerous. Still, I put my hands on the front of the car just like criminals do and I thought I would be frisked. Instead I was asked if I had any weapons on me. I said, “I don’t have anything but a key on my shoestring.”

The officers began firing questions at me, “Were you hiking nude in the mountains?” I paused to think of the accurate and specific answer, “I was hiking nude in the unincorporated Los Angeles County area and Angeles National Forest where it’s legal. I was not hiking nude in the Eaton Canyon State Park where it is an infraction to be nude.” An officer retorted, “It’s an automatic misdemeanor, not an infraction.” I didn’t argue with him, but was silent. Another officer asked gruffly, “What kind of work do you do?” Although I knew that I didn’t have to answer these questions I also knew I was innocent and therefore didn’t need to fear answering questions. “I play piano and sing at retirement homes and I’m a private tutor/teacher.” He lit up at that point and said, “You have a credential?” I said, “Yes.” He happily responded, “Good. We’re going to have a [some code number that refers to the charge] here real soon.” He said it with such glee. He was obviously confident that I was on my way to being considered a sex offender and lose my teaching credential and he enjoyed the idea. I felt as if I were surrounded by a bunch of little boys, each trying to outdo the other in indignation and a show of power. They behaved as if I were a prize catch, a buck about to be shot with their arrows. Obviously, some of the older, more powerful sheriffs were taking extra glee in the opportunity to impress these younger sheriffs with their knowledge of the law. In their mind I was a done deal.

Then I mentioned the letter. Yes, the letter. I told them that I had a letter from Sheriff Leroy Baca stating that I was legal hiking in the forest in the nude in the unincorporated areas of Los Angeles County and the National Forest. At first, they kind of scoffed at the idea. Then one of them asked me, “Do you have a copy of it with you?” I said, “Yes, it’s in my car in the glove compartment. May I give you a key to get it for yourself?” “Yes,” he said. I carefully removed my key from my shoestring and handed it to him. I told him, “There’s two letters there, one from my attorney to the captain of the Altadena Sheriff’s Department and the other from Sheriff Leroy Baca and the Altadena Captain to my attorney.”

He went over to my car and opened my passenger door and glove compartment. I explained to the officer standing next to me the exact sequence of events of one of the foresters trying to get me arrested, my attorney writing a letter to Captain Gutierrez of the Altadena Sheriff’s Department, Captain Gutierrez forwarding the letter to Sheriff Leroy Baca, and then both of them responding to my attorney. For a while he listened, but then decided he didn’t want me to hear what the sheriffs were saying as they looked over my two letters. He ordered me to get into the sheriff vehicle in the back seat. I was shocked that I was being put into the sheriff car as if I were going to be taken to jail. I thought, “Maybe they’re just trying to frighten me, intimidate me. Maybe they’re going to try to press charges in spite of the letter just to harass me. I could see the men all crowded around reading the two letters.

Inside the sheriff’s car I thought about whether anyone I know might be driving by on Altadena Drive and see me sitting there. I hoped that the windows were tinted sufficiently to block their view of me, but just in case I kept my gaze toward the mountains, the back of my head to the passing cars. For at least twenty-five to thirty minutes I sat in the back of that sheriff car while one or two officers interviewed the African American father and the rest tried to figure out what to do with this letter from Sheriff Baca.

Although I couldn’t hear them because of being detained inside the car, I’m sure they were trying to think of every possibility for charging me with something that would hold while debating the value and accuracy of Leroy Baca’s letter. It was a very uncomfortable thirty minutes. My heart was skipping beats although I didn’t feel overly frightened. My heart revealed a significant amount of anxiety in spite of my seeming calmness. I thought about how others have been put into the backs of police cars both rightly and wrongly, that even Jesus was crucified by a mob of unjust people and rulers. I thought about whether these men might actually feel compassion for me or empathize with my desire to hike nude, but had to go along with their buddies, each trying to outdo the other in indignance. Certainly they couldn’t all be as hard and brutish as they attempted to appear.

An officer asked me if they could search my car. Though I know they have no right to search my car, I also know that if they are like normal men they respect people who don’t appear to have anything to hide. I knew I had nothing to hide so I said, “Yes.” This also meant to me that they were feeling a bit desperate to find something with which to charge me. If not nudity, then perhaps possession of drugs, or who knows what.

When they asked me what kind of job I do, I also knew that they had no right to ask, but again, I answered their questions. I have to believe that being cooperative and showing no fear, but confidence and kindness will ultimately have a greater impact on these men than being argumentative or trying to impress them with my knowledge of the law.

An officer slid into the front passenger seat and did a search on their computer for my name. He asked me if I was still at the Mar Vista address. He actually sounded fairly kind at this point as if he trusted anything I would say. He could have asked, “What’s your address?” and seen if it matched his information. Instead, he spoke more casually to me. Another officer asked him after a few minutes, “Anything come up?” “No, everything’s clear,” he responded. I believe the other officer said something like, “Well, that’s good,” but I’m not sure. It just seemed like their attitudes were changing as they investigated the situation.

After what seemed like an extremely long time for these officers to come to a decision, one of the officers opened the door and said, “You must be getting cold in there.” I said, “No, actually it’s colder when the door is open.” He said, “You’re not being charged with anything, but we’re going to write up a complete report and submit it to the District Attorney for review.” I said okay and he closed the door again. I sat there for another five minutes when another officer opened the door. “I want to apologize for the way I treated you out there. We don’t often get people with letters from the Sheriff. Do you accept my apology?” “For what?” I asked. He didn’t say anything. I’m fairly confident that he was being sincere, but also a bit frightened because of the fact that I had a letter from the top sheriff of Los Angeles County and perhaps his treatment of me might come back to cause problems if I had some kind of tight relationship with Baca. Because he seemed sincere, and because I respect the terrible responsibility that officers carry, and also because I wanted to impress him with my kindness and confidence in this situation, I said, “You didn’t know me from Adam. You didn’t know what I would or wouldn’t do.” I felt a respect for him that I think he understood and I think he respected me as well and if he didn’t, well, that’s okay because I was beyond courteous to him and I hope he remembers that one naturist that he was determined to get into major trouble was still showing him kindness in the midst of unjust treatment. He closed the door and walked away.

After awhile, another officer came over and offered to let me out of the car. I said, “I would prefer to sit in here. The fewer people that see me standing out here with you officers the better.” He said, “Okay,” and we closed the door again. An officer asked me to switch cars as he and his buddy had to leave on another call. So I got out of the one car and into another. The police officer in that car asked me again for my home address and phone numbers. Then, seemingly quite sincerely, asked me, “So what is it about hiking nude that you like?” I said that I had been a naturist pretty much since I was a child and I just felt comfortable without clothes and that there are many people like me. He didn’t pursue his questioning any further.

The African American father was still being interviewed by an officer. I was hoping that he would leave before I got out of the sheriff car. I didn’t want to face him directly after all this. Fortunately, he finished up his interview before they finished with me. I had been sitting in sheriff’s cars for about an hour and fifteen minutes to an hour and a half by this time. At least it was warm inside the vehicles, warmer than the chilly night air outside. Finally, they said I could go. They returned my key and my driver’s license. I left and came home and called Allen Baylis, my attorney.

Allen Baylis is a private attorney, but he also works for the Naturist Action Committee, http://www.nac.oshkosh.net/ , the legal and political arm of The Naturist Society, http://www.naturistsociety.com/ . Allen assured me that everything would be fine, that there is no basis for a charge and that is why no charges were made. He said that an overly zealous district attorney might write me a letter saying that I’m being cited for something, but even if he did, again there would be no basis for such a charge, especially in light of the letter from both Sheriff Baca and Captain Gutierrez of the Altadena Sheriff’s department. He also said that it’s possible that the sheriffs may never submit the report to the district attorney. He is going to try to get a copy of the report if they do. He also intends to write a letter to Captain Gutierrez and complain that his client, me, is being harassed by these officers. Evidently, it was illegal for them to detain me in the back of the police vehicle if I wasn’t being charged with anything.

I’m sure this isn’t the end of the story, but it’s enough of an end for now. I will keep you informed as things progress. Everything that’s ever happened to me has always worked out in such a way that still better things came because of it. Quoting from Max Ehrmann’s famous Desiderata written in 1927, “You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.”

One final word: If you are looking to be supportive of an organization that works hard to secure your rights when it comes to social nudity issues, this is the one to support. They have been incredibly helpful in all of this and they intend to continue to be so. I strongly recommend you support them financially as well as join their organization to support their work. They produce a magazine called “Nude and NAtural" (called "N Magazine" for short). The Magazine of Naturist Living” that is a high quality glossy quarterly publication that comes with membership. An article in their summer 2007 edition includes a detailed reference to my hiking adventures on page 82. Several months ago I was asked if I would like to be a Naturist Action Committee representative for this area. I said yes and was subsequently approved. I look forward to keeping you up on how things develop.

Brian

Attention all nudists! When you go hiking, always bring a compass…and a towel! I learned this lesson the hard way.

It was late spring in 2001 and I decided to explore the hills above the new Elysium property in Malibu, California. Elysium had relocated just a few months earlier from its 30-year home in Topanga after the daughters of its late founder, Ed Lange, decided to sell. Betty and Sandy Meltzer, longtime Elysium Board members, had purchased 27 acres of mostly undeveloped land about 20 miles to the west and relocated the nudist resort there.

The Malibu property was adjacent to what hikers know as “The Backbone Trail”, a 100-mile footpath that snakes through the Santa Monica Mountains and rings the Los Angeles basin. The popular trail provides hikers and nature lovers a magnificent way to enjoy the area's flora and fauna in its natural state. This particular day was overcast, yet warm, a perfect day to go hiking, or so I thought. I had hiked the Malibu property and parts of the Backbone Trail many times before and never ran into anybody. Usually I would wear tennis shoes and a baseball cap and carry a bottle of water and a towel (just in case I ran into someone). Today, however, I wanted to be adventurous. I wanted to hike without wearing or carrying anything, to be totally nude! No tennis shoes, no towel, no baseball cap, no water bottle. Nothing but the trail and me.

As I had done many times before, I walked beyond the property line and onto the Backbone Trail. As I progressed on my hike, I began to notice the fog rolling in from the coast. It was not long before I decided to turn around and head back. Perhaps half an hour or so later, the fog had rolled in so that the visibility I had was no more than ten feet. After another hour or so, I realized I had been walking around in circles. I did not know which way was West (the ocean) and I could not find the Elysium Property. I also started to worry because the temperature often drops dramatically in the evenings in the hills of Malibu.

“What if I can’t find my way back during daylight?”

I continued on the trail, now going in a direction I just knew was wrong. After another hour or so, I heard what sounded like farm equipment, a tractor perhaps. Then a house appeared out of the fog. I thought to myself, “I have two choices. If I go down the hill to the house, the people there may call the police. If I stay up on the trail, I may still be walking after the sun goes down and freeze”. I made the choice to go down the hill toward the house.

As I continued down the hill, I saw a man and a woman. I stopped and I yelled “you-who!” As the man and woman looked up and saw me I said, “I’m lost and I need a towel”. I went on to say “I am not crazy. My friends let me hike nude on their property”.

Then I smiled. The woman said that she would get me a towel and walked to the house. The man just looked up at me and did not say a thing.

When the woman came back with a towel and a t-shirt, I continued my walk down the hill and toward their property. I thanked the woman as I wrapped the towel around my waist and put on the t-shirt. I then asked which way was the road. The woman pointed and said, “It’s that way.”

I have often wondered what went through the mind of that woman. I suppose she could have just as easily called the police as help me. On the other hand, living up in a remote part of the Santa Monica Mountains, I’ll bet she has seen a lot of strange things and met a lot of interesting people that have wandered off the Backbone Trail. I can only speculate what her version of the encounter is when she tells her friends about the day a nude man came down the hill toward their home and asked for a towel and directions. On the other hand, maybe she did not think it was unusual at all. I’ll never know.

So if you ever find yourself nude and lost in the mountains, just stay calm, and remember, sometimes a big smile will cover a lot!

Edited from an article by Jeff Booth

A beautiful little canyon in Los Angeles has had a significant influence on two alternative lifestyles. Bordered at one end by the San Fernando Valley, the porn capital of the world, and the Pacific Ocean at the other, Topanga Canyon was home to both Sandstone and Elysium during the New Age Movement of the late 20th Century.

The Swingers of Sandstone

Sandstone was the model for modern swinging and the many commercial clubs that are now across the country. Founded by John and Barbara Williamson in 1969, it was situated on 15 acres, with a large house, pool and other amenities. It was a unique and safe environment for people to experiment sexually.

Swinging was first reported by the media in the 1950's as "wife-swapping". Swinging quietly evolved primarily in the Hollywood area and in Berkley, but there was also early activity in Chicago and New York. By the spring of 1972 there were eighteen party houses and social swing clubs in Southern California, primarily in Hollywood, Los Angeles and Orange County.

Unlike the other clubs, Sandstone had not just a sense of community, but a feeling amongst attendees that they were participating in something important. Lectures and seminars were held, and there was an air of intellectuality. It was about more than just sex, and people became friends. Also unlike at other venues of the time, people used their real names and became close friends with their fellow members.

Art Kunkin, founder of the Los Angeles Free Press, was a frequenter of Sandstone, where he says it was like a second home. He told me often it had been one of the peak experiences of his life.

Sandstone was originally planned as an intentional community and a showplace for alternative living. John Williamson had hoped that it would act as a model for other groups, something that never really happened. Sandstone lasted just 4 years. Perhaps it was the natural evolution of swinging that doomed it to failure, but other groups like Family Synergy and Live the Dream sprang from its roots and still exist today, two decades later.

The Nudists of Elysium

A longer lasting Topanga Canyon icon was the Elysium Institute, founded by Ed Lange in the mid-1960's. It was the only nudist resort in Los Angeles County. After fighting the County for a quarter of a century to stay open, and finally getting a conditional use permit, it was problems with the landlords (the late Lange’s daughters) that finally caused them to lose the lush and tranquil property that had been their home for 33 years.

There was an aborted attempt to recreate Elysium in a remote Malibu canyon, but it was too far, too undeveloped, and too undercapitalized to have much of a chance.

Ed Lange used money from the sales of his nudist publications to finance Elysium, and it was his involvement with the courts in getting the old Comstock laws repealed that made it possible for him to publish in the first place. Those court decisions made it legal to send nudist magazines through the mails, and also opened the doors for magazines such as Playboy.

Nudist clubs began at the turn of the century and arrived in the U.S. in 1929. Up through the 1950’s, they were regularly raided by authorities. By adopting an almost puritanical attitude about sexuality, they were able to deflect much of the criticism and keep their doors open.

These attitudes are still prevalent today, which is why Kris and I are not welcome at many nudist clubs. Kris has a clit piercing, which is forbidden by two clubs that we know of in Southern California. They also forbid singles, gays, belly chains, and many types of bodily contact, including full contact hugging. They have rules that require everyone to be nude all of the time.

According to June Lange in an interview when Elysium first opened, “The taboos were enormous. They squeezed the humanity out of people in order to prove that nudism was innocent”. At the time, many nudist clubs had “no touching” rules, and you were not allowed to look at another person lower then their neck.

Elysium wanted to be something different. They had a policy of being clothing optional, and at the time, this was a very controversial thing to do in the nudist community. Traditional nudists thought that wearing clothes was more sexual in a nude environment. Elysium also offered nude massage on the lawn, another aspect that shocked traditional nudists. They were ahead of their time, and what they created in the 60's was the precursor to modern clothing optional resorts.

In those early days I must admit there was some swinging going on at Elysium, although it was not as out in the open as at Sandstone. (It also was going on at other nudist clubs at the time, but they never had the courage to admit it because that was one of the "taboos.") By the time we joined Elysium in the mid-1980's, however, the "meditation rooms", the last vestiges of their wilder days, were closed and the "crazy" permissiveness of the 60's and 70's had been replaced by the fear of herpes and AIDS. Interestingly, even to this day a quarter century later after they closed, the "Meditation Rooms" is what Elysium is best remembered for among the nudist establishment instead of the other pioneering innovations Lange brought to the naturist movement.

We found Elysium to be a much more relaxed environment than other clubs. People could hug and touch, and while overt sexuality and genital touching was forbidden, there was not the paranoia about simple touching found at so many nudist places. It was a wonderful, loving, and sensual environment.

Up the steps on a little hill above the lawn was a very large hydropool that could hold about 50 people when full (often it was.) We spent many hours there visiting with people, the air scented by the eucalyptus trees that provided afternoon shade. You could spend a lazy afternoon sitting on blankets on the lawn, chatting with friends, and appreciating the many nude forms that dotted the lawn. It was a very social place.

I wound up having long term sexual relationships with two of the women I met at Elysium. The two times I had sex there was very late at night in the hydropool when there was no one else around except Kris. Of course, open sex could get you kicked out if you got caught, but we never did.

Before Ed Lange died, I posed naked in the background of a photo of Ed that appeared in the Los Angeles Times, my first appearance naked in print. I also did my naked magic show there, which was aired on Extra on NBC and mentioned on radio stations across the country, including the Paul Harvey News. They all made mention of how difficult it would be for me to hide things, which was certainly true. The 4-minute clip used on the TV show "A Current Affair" used a top hat to cover my privates. I was glad they used a large hat.

One night a month -for five years!- we created a gourmet meal at Elysium for from 20 to 40 people. From an authentic 15th century wedding feast to a meal based on aphrodisiacal foods, we had great fun preparing elaborate meals. Like sex, sharing food is a wonderful and sensual experience that brings you closer together, and it is also better enjoyed in various stages of undress (although cooking naked can be very dangerous).

It was also at Elysium, during a class Kris was teaching on Tarot card reading, that she read my cards and told me that my life would change dramatically and that I would find new intimacies in my life. Shortly thereafter we got married.

We will certainly miss Elysium. It was a special, magical place, and with its passing, an era passed with it.

Reprinted with permission from the Dr. Susan Block Institute
http://www.drsusanblock.com/sexinreview/places/canyon.htm

By Jade Lane, Age 21

Ah, nudists! Over the years I've grown to really enjoy nudists and nudist hangouts in general.

Now, as a young child, closer to infancy, I remember we always made like Tommy from the Rugrats and constantly stripped our clothes off. Our parents ran around the house trying to pick up the articles of clothing as we ran by them, tossing off something else.

As a slightly older child of 7, I had to go through my parents’ divorce, then the awkward decision of trying to figure out who to live with. At first, I lived with my mom for a couple years. I still remember all the different roommates we had living with us – gay, straight, male or female, people from all walks of life. For that I thank her because I grew up being socially well-rounded with many different belief systems and lifestyles around me. One roommate, whom I still have as a good friend in my life, was a gentleman (whom we’ll call George) who practiced nudism. Well, not that you have to "practice being naked" since we all are under our clothes anyway, but those who prefer that lifestyle do tend to shed those outer garments a lot! To his credit, instead of just being naked all the time, he always made sure that it would be okay with all the other roommates including my mom, my sister and I, before he appeared undressed, so that everyone in the house wouldn’t be too bothered when he was "practicing his lifestyle." Of course as a young girl, the sight of a naked man running around the house can be something of a giggle, but because of how I had been brought up, I wasn’t bothered by it. When I wanted to have non-nudist friends over, I would make sure to tell him so in advance and he would immediately go throw on a pair of shorts without a complaint. So the system we had in the household worked just fine.

My mom was very openly enthusiastic about nudity also, as well as all those other taboo subjects that come up awkwardly when you’re a teen when talking with your parents. To her credit, instead of waiting until my sister and I reached our teenager years, she made sure that we knew about different things that go on in other people’s houses, behind closed doors, and even in our home – not that being naked was a huge thing. Mom was a "not everywhere, not all the time" nudist, meaning she liked to hang out at home naked, run around the backyard naked, but not run around a nudist park. Social nudity outdoors with several hundred other people just wasn’t her thing.

It was, however, George’s thing, and he belonged to a local nudist resort and spent most weekends there. I remember asking him about the place and he always answered enthusiastically about it as being nice and a fun place, but I wasn’t quite ready yet. He made a standing invitation for my mom, my sister and I to go whenever we decided it was time, but he would not do so without my mom’s written permission and with everyone's complete knowledge of what the behavior rules were there. Perhaps a year later, my mom and older sister did go with him and enjoyed the experience very much. Unfortunately for me, by then I had moved out and was living with my dad and stepmom and was being raised in a rather sheltered, religious sort of way. This whole nudist thing didn’t seem sinful, but modesty was drilled into my head, so I was less open to the idea of being naked around other people until a few years later when I moved back with my mom.

Then came the "Great Rebellion of Age Fourteen," and one day while hanging out at my mom’s house I finally got the courage to ask George if I could go with him to this nudist resort and see what all the fuss was about. We both made sure it was fine with my mother, and it was, so off we went to the nudist park!

Being the shy, awkward kid I was, I didn't run around tossing my clothes right away. Instead, I think the first few times I secured myself in the pool and rarely left it, except maybe to play a game of backgammon. It wasn’t that I was uncomfortable in the place, because everyone was really nice and supportive. I suppose I played backgammon to avoid staring at people. It's hard not to stare at fifty or so people lounging about like lizards in the sun without a shred of clothing on. Especially when you're fourteen. Of course, when you're fourteen, you also thank the gods for your youth and taut skin.

One thing I know I can thank the nudists for were their parties.

It's uncanny how many parties they throw. I think they sit in front of a calendar saying 'Ok, so Halloween is coming up at the end of the month, then there's Thanksgiving, but damnit! There has to be something in between!" Then they realize there's Election Day (which isn't really something to celebrate these days), Veteran's Day, and Eid Al-Fitr (for all you fasting nudists out there…though they're hard to find). Those days are celebratory enough, so they throw a party and have a lot of food and sit around drinking their cocktails, eating everything in sight (at least I did), and celebrating their nakedness, er, I mean the holiday at hand.

On one such holiday, I can't remember which, they had one very talented member of the resort staff doing body painting on anyone who was interested. Now, if you've never had a paintbrush dragged across your bum, well let me tell you, it tickles! I decided to get up enough courage to have the gentleman paint a dragon from my shoulder to just under my rear. It looked lovely, indeed! Everyone was telling me how awesome it looked on me. I think even a German television crew was there filming the festivities. Those Germans, they'll put anything on television - even a bunch of ol' naked people. But so I pranced around all day, showing off my backside to each adoring onlooker. Subsequently, much of my body shyness dissipated after that day.

After that I made many return visits and then I began looking forward to it practically every weekend, as I had made many friends there of all ages, and enjoyed being able to just lounge about in the sun. I enjoyed it so much, after a few years I quietly started telling some of my friends about it. To my surprise many were interested themselves, and eventually I brought to the resort a girl friend from high school. Later the same year I brought there my boyfriend at the time (even though he proved to be much more religiously repressed than I ever was.) And still later that summer, I brought an Internet friend from Ohio while he visited to share his first day of social nudity with our club members. Over the next few years, I invited quite a few friends to join me at the resort, and all of them wound up having a great experience!

As you can see, this lifestyle is something that now I really enjoy sharing with people I know. As a young woman, I have finally moved out on my own, and I enjoy running around my own house naked whenever I get the chance (and at my mom’s house whenever I return to visit.) I am now proud to say I am a Nudist (with a capital "N"), and I have my mom and her roommate George to thank for it, those many years ago.

That all being said, I think I have some sunning to do. It's a rather lovely day and I've a great balcony that is calling to me.

July 9 -- It occurs the second Saturday in July each year in Laguna Niguel, an otherwise quiet commuter town of 56,000, located just north of San Juan Capistrano in suburban Orange County, California.

But on this special day, and lasting for but a brief few seconds each hour, about a hundred people gather along the chain link fence in the parking lot behind the Mugs Away Saloon to give Amtrak passengers a special salute from those gathered: they get “mooned.” The crowds start to gather before dawn and the faces seem to turnover every few hours, to be replaced by a new group who can’t wait to bare their butts to the passing trains. It is most crowded between 10am and 4pm. There is a definite carnival atmosphere among the crowds of people too, with cars, camper trucks, motor homes and motorcycles parked all along the street. Some people brought their pets along: I saw dogs, cats, a snake, a parrot, and even an iguana. There was even a guy in a wheelchair, who carefully stood up for a few seconds and dropped his pants as the train rolled by.

Interestingly, in the 26 years this has been going on, no one has ever taken credit for organizing the annual event. There is even a web site that gives directions and train schedules, but the web master there says it is for “information only” and he is not in charge either.

We asked one of the “non-organizers” how the tradition got started, and he told us that one night in 1979, a man named K.T.Smith told his buddies at the bar that he'd buy a drink for all who would run outside to the rail road tracks and "moon" the next train, which many did. Word spread, and the local newspaper, The Orange Country Register, ran a story about it. The story attracted more people to the bar, and the tradition began. In order to keep the mooning under control the Orange County Sheriff’s Department made a verbal agreement with the bar not to arrest anyone as long as it only happened one day each year and certain rules of decorum were maintained. “The deputy people have been very considerate and liberal in the past,” said one non-organizer. “We warn people not to expose anything except their butts to the train. As long as we follow those guidelines, we never get hassled.” Those may be the unofficial rules, but at least once each hour you can count on a pair of female breasts being revealed as well.

Locals claim that in 26 years they have never made an arrest or ticketed any of the participants.

For passengers on the train, this also seems to be an anticipated event. The Amtrak line parallels Interstate highway 5, and trains carry passengers between Los Angeles and San Diego. Unlike most Saturdays, the Amtrak cars are filled to near-capacity with passengers to see the "moon show." Most trains actually slow down to half speed as they approach “Ground Zero” so that people with cameras and camcorders can record the view through the large glass windows.

Inside Mugs Away is a wall of photos commemorating the rears of hundreds of people who have participated over the years. The bar also sells souvenir T-shirts and even a DVD movie. Adding to the festivities, a band named the “Moonies” (what else?) plays inside from noon until the last train passes around midnight. During the day the bar serves cold beverages and an outdoor vendor grills hamburgers.

After dark, “Night Mooning” has become popular also. Participants bring flashlights or Coleman propane or gasoline fuel camping lanterns and hang them on the chain link fence with wire coat hangers.

Said one mooner, “I like night mooning better because it is less crowded, the air temperature is a little cooler, and we can do more creative things with our lights.”

The Mugs Away Saloon is located at 27324 Camino Capistrano, Laguna Niguel, CA, 92677.

Directions:

1. Take the I-5 [Santa Ana Fwy] south.
2. Exit at Crown Valley Pkwy, Turn Right
3. A short block later, turn RIGHT (North-West) onto Forbes Rd.
4. Next street, turn RIGHT (East) onto Getty Dr
5. Bear RIGHT (South-East) onto Camino Capistrano.

05/12/2006 - Last week Sonya and I decided to take a drive up the coast from Ventura to Carpinteria. We enjoyed lunch in Carp and while eating decided to do a little fact finding about the local nude beaches. We formulated a quick plan and before Sonya could finish her coke were off to see the authorities.

We first went to the Carpinteria State Beach and Campground, pulled up to the entrance booth and asked the park rangers for help in deciphering exactly what jurisdictions existed along the coast. We told them we were nudists and had been going to Bates and Summerland beaches for many years and noticed they were now without nudists! They responded by giving us some pamphlets. We knew only that they worked at a state beach and didn’t have any of the answers we were looking for.

We asked to speak to their supervisor and were directed toward the park headquarters building where we met John Futoran. His card stated he was Lifeguard Supervisor / Peace Officer #1164, California State Beach / Ventura Sector of the State of California Department of Parks and Recreation. After taking a moment to read his card I figured two things; 1. This is the guy who can give us some answers, and 2. He needed a bigger card. We talked for awhile about jurisdictions, boundaries and his role in all of this and found that out he works in conjunction with the Santa Barbara Sheriffs Dept. They back each other up, so to speak, as needed. Alas, he was not able to give us the answers we were looking for but was trying to be helpful and did give us the phone number for the main office of Santa Barbara County Parks and Recreation. It was too late in the day to drive on up to Santa Barbara so we decided to save that for another trip, however we weren’t finished yet.

We decided we would pay the Sheriff’s Office a visit, (after all they had paid us a few visits at Bates Beach over the years). The Sheriffs Dept. formerly Police dept. building is located next to the City Hall in Carpenteria and about 10 years ago, the Police and Sheriffs decided to integrate. Sonya and I first met with Sheriff Deputy J.D.Greene who was 6 months new to this office but a veteran of the Dept. I explained who we were and what we wanted, and he suggested we talk to the County Board Supervisor for Dist 1 Salud Carbajal and /or JD Greene’s Lieutenant.

This is where the story takes a little twist.

His Lieutenant was none other than Darin Fotheringham, currently in charge of the Carpenteria office and part of the Coastal Operations Bureau. What is the twist you ask? Sonya and I knew him as Officer Fotheringham from 14 years ago when he gave us and three others tickets for public nudity at Bates Beach! As Sonya and I looked at each other in the waiting room half amazed and half apprehensive, in walked the deputy with his Lieutenant and introduced us. We were then invited back to his office and reminisced about the old days.

Darin commented that we looked familiar and I explained that we had met before. After a few questions he searched his computer for a date and promptly opened his bottom drawer and pulled out an old stack of tickets and sure enough all 5 of ours were in the stack! He offered ours to us as a souvenir, but we said “No thanks, we already have a copy”! He asked if we had gone to court and what had happened. I told him that one of the group mailed in the $110.00 for the ticket, 3 of us went and talked to the District Attorney and had the ticket cut down to $55.00 which is what the statute called for, and the last one showed up in court and got off without paying a fine.

He said he remembered our case and was planning on being in court but had marked the wrong date on his calendar. He had gone to court the next day only to find out his mistake. We talked about the old days of "live and let live," and I told him I thought he owed Sonya and I $110.00 for cleaning up the beach. (The day of the tickets we had been cleaning the beach of overgrowth and trash and burning it. The sheriffs had watched us from atop for several hours and waited till we started burning the trash before coming down and citing us for nudity, not the fire.) We all had a good laugh and then we got some of the info we were looking for.

Darin said the sheriffs have to investigate any complaint, and that over the past few years he has had multiple complaints coming in to his office about nudity. He said the way the community is changing, with more families moving to the area and using the beaches, it would be hard to regain them for our purposes.

“You weren’t the problem,” he said. “The problem was the people you attracted.” (The sheriffs had received numerous calls about sexual acts, drug use and nudity on the cliffs above the nude beach and in the parking lot at Bates). The Lieutenant also spoke about the development above the beach planned for the future and the climate of thinking in the community making it harder to go back to the way it was. This also holds true for the former nude beach at Summerland and to a lesser extent More Mesa. The sheriffs still patrol More Mesa but on a less regular basis. Tickets will be given out when nudity is encountered. Under the changing political climate, he said he has no choice, he has to enforce the laws on the books. However, Darin stated he had empathy for our situation.

Due to a derogatory local newspaper article, Darin said he was getting ready to address his men on the nudity issue once again and to step up policing of the beaches. We wondered if our meeting might have also prompted him to a higher level of alertness.

As our meeting ended, he thanked us for coming in, admired our approach and suggested we contact the County Board to either to change or amend the existing law. Until the DA stops prosecuting, he concluded, the deputies will keep issuing tickets. So our next stop will be to the DA's office.

Several years ago a couple who had met at Elysium Fields decided to host a Luau there to celebrate their engagement. Along with the traditional Hawaiian decorations, costumes and drinks, the couple decided it would be really great if they could also include a roasted pig, prepared in the traditional Hawaiian way, over a spit of hot coals.

One of the other members of Elysium was a person we called “Dan the Meat Man” because he owned a food processing plant in LA and often supplied the resort with fresh cuts of beef, chicken and pork for our parties and weekend pot-luck dinners. He volunteered to provide a pig.

On the day of the luau, everything was decorated beautifully, and the guests started to arrive as planned, but Dan was running late. Very late.

Elysium was in about the middle of the 15-mile Topanga Canyon, a few miles north of Los Angeles, and the canyon was accessed by a rather winding 2-lane road. Dan admits he was exceeding the speed limit on his way up the canyon. The motorcycle policeman pulled him over about 4 miles from his destination. “I clocked you at 50 miles an hour in a 35 zone,” said the officer. “Why were you speeding?” Dan replied, “I’m a nudist and I’m late for a luau. I have a dead pig in my truck I need to get there right away.”

The officer said he had never in his life heard that excuse before. After a few moment’s reflection, he told Dan that if he could prove such a wild story was true he’d let him go with a warning, otherwise Dan was going to be arrested for reckless driving and have his car towed.

Dan got out of the car, pulled his Elysium and AANR membership cards out of his wallet, and opened the trunk. Inside, the officer saw the dead pig laid out in a box of ice. Dan arrived at Elysium a few minutes later with the pig, smiling broadly. He recounted the story and said the officer only shook his head, handed back the membership cards, and said “Get out of here!”

We often wonder what that motorcycle officer said back at the station to his buddies that night.

P.S. The luau was a great success, the couple got married and now have a lovely baby girl.

Sometime during the summer of 2000, on an otherwise normal Saturday afternoon at Elysium Fields in Topanga, CA, the groundskeeper was driving back to the resort from the San Fernando Valley when he spotted the person we later always referred to as Thong Man.

The fellow as about 80 years old, very thin and gray, incredibly tan, and wearing only the smallest thong on his body. The thong covered his privates but left nothing else to the imagination. The groundskeeper saw the man hiking alongside the winding highway, headed up the grade from the Valley, and the sudden sight of the man almost caused the groundskeeper, as well as other drivers on the road, to swerve into oncoming traffic as their heads turned to get a good look at the site. Elysium is located about 8 miles into the canyon, about half way to the Pacific beaches, and it took the groundskeeper only a few minutes to arrive back at the resort and to relate the story to the office staff in the drive-up registration office.

“You’ll never guess what I saw…”

About two hours later, who should walk in the Elysium front gate but Thong Man! He walked right up to the registration desk and asked if he could come in and stay the night. Norma, the registrar on duty, who had heard the groundskeeper’s story earlier burst out laughing. “Did you walk all the way from the Valley like that?”

“This is what I always wear,” said Thong Man matter-of-factly. “Comfortable and practical.” At this point, other staffers in the adjoining office started to wander into the room, if just to watch what was going to happen. Norma calmly explained that it was now mid-afternoon, so the time for introductory tours of the grounds was over, and that all the overnight rooms were already booked for the night. “But you can come back tomorrow,” she said with a smile. Thong Man stood there for a several moments pondering his options, finally saying “All I need is a place to spend the night and I’ll be gone in the morning.”

At this point Norma wasn’t sure if the man was harmless or a serial killer on the lam, although he certainly wasn’t hiding a gun or knife, but she decided that he had to be turned away. “I’m really sorry but we have no place for you tonight. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Thong Man looked very disappointed at the news. “I won’t be any trouble…I’ll sleep on the floor somewhere.” Norma then asked for his name. “Can’t say,” same the reply.

Norma was becoming more confident in her decision. “No, I’m sorry. Is there someone I can call who will come and pick you up?”

At this point Thong Man grew very nervous. “No, no, nobody to call. Is there somewhere else nearby where I can stay the night?”

Norma suggested he continue down the canyon another mile to the town of Topanga, where there might be a few places he could try. “But you’re not going to get very far dressed like that – you’ll scare the locals, not to mention the wildlife.” Norma got up and went to the lost and found closet and found the man a shirt and shorts that had been abandoned for awhile. Thong Man quietly put them on, said thanks, and turned to leave.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said as he headed back down the road. After he left, Norma alerted the staff that the unknown visitor might be back the same day, so that plans could be made to either accommodate him or else to call the police if that proved necessary. But Sunday came and went, and Thong Man never returned to Elysium. Norma made a trip into Topanga Village to see if he had been there, but nobody had any news. The man had simply vanished.

About a week later, the groundskeeper again was in the Valley and happened to spot about a half dozen police cars in a supermarket’s parking lot alongside the road. Slowing down for a closer look, she saw the police crouched behind their cars, with guns drawn, all pointing at this old man, very thin and gray, incredibly tan, and wearing only the smallest thong on his body. With his hands in the air.

The groundskeeper turned into the parking lot and asked the police what was going on. “This is a very dangerous escaped mental patient,” the officer said. “He has been eluding us for weeks. We caught him trying to bum food from shoppers as they were leaving the market.”

It occurred to the groundskeeper that the man looked absolutely helpless and unable to hurt a fly. One can only wonder how everyone’s life would have changed had Norma only allowed the man in the gate.

Remembering a special night 27 years ago.......

Submitted by Vivian Weston

After going up to my special place, the place called Elysium, paradise in every form, came an evening that stood out. I had been going to Elysium now for about a year. I had "graduated" from a normal visitor to the place, and had immediately ingratiated myself to the owner, the staff and anyone else that seemed to help run the place, letting them know that I was available to help. I got a part-time job helping with membership signups. In the heat of the summers of the '70's in Los Angeles, there was more than enough people interested in the nudist lifestyle and more than enough people to keep a membership person busy all day.

One evening, on a weekend, I had come up and spent another heavenly day. I had made more friends, many of us now, sharing space by putting blankets close together and hanging out as in one big tarmac. Jim, the man who had originally introduced me to Elysium, came and went from my life, as he decided to move to eastern California in order to work for Loma Linda University. I became a member, not beholden to him or anyone else. I was my own person at Elysium now.

The sun was slowly sliding itself behind the mountains and just a bit of coolness was settling in. The bunch of us pooled our dinner supplies and ate a luxurious meal of all kinds of goodies, barbecued steak, salads, fruits, melons, wine and cheeses, right there on blankets on the grass. As darkness fell, the outside lights flickered on and we gathered our supplies up. The lights led the way so one didn't fall on our faces while walking across the grass, but neither was it bright enough to gather our stuff together with any proficiency, if we didn't do it before the sun made its complete set.

Hand in hand, arm in arm, hug in hug, or singly, we ambled up to the Jacuzzi for a night-time soak. The eucalyptus smell permeated the Jacuzzi area, and we all melted into the 103 degree water most people emitting some kind of contented "oooooh" or "ahhhhhh" or "whhhoooaaa" as the bubbles and the heat hit our bodies, some of us also reacting when the hot water hit the parts of our bodies that got a bit too much sun from the day.

Vince, the boyfriend of a dear friend of mine, joined us, and sat down at the edge of the Jacuzzi. What we didn't know at the time is that he had a surprise for us. 30 of us sat in the Jacuzzi, gazing at the stars and the moon, while the infinitesimal but definitely present breeze played with us. We all, without anyone telling us to, fell silent. Vince picked up his flute and, into that quiet, still, peaceful night, began to play. There wasn't anything familiar about his tunes, they were just lilting and light, sometimes a little eerie and sometimes fun, but more just as smooth and gentle as the breeze.

Nobody had anything to say, nobody wanted to say anything, we all sat there in the warm water, listening to the music, watching the sky and being with ourselves and each other and it was truly a time when nothing existed but this place and ourselves. Vince played for almost 45 minutes and at the end of his "concert", he slowly put his flute down and walked down the slope to the main building, not saying a word. We never talked to each other much after that, we just stayed in the water a little longer, and then climbed the steps to reality, toweled ourselves dry and wondered if we'd ever be this peaceful again.

Roy Benowitz (1924-2003) was a long time member of Elysium Fields. He was also one of the original Charter members of SCNA and was best known for his irreverent humor and love of puns.

Probably less known was that he was an accomplished pianist and played professionally everywhere from resort clubs in the Catskills to concert orchestras. He played all over North America and in the Caribbean. He composed scores for television, movies and the theatre for over four decades, and several of his songs, Café Frisco, At the Stroke of Midnight, and American Tradition, were modest hits in the 1950’s.

His piano and organ playing for the Mr. and Ms. Nude USA pageants were a fixture at Treehouse (now Deer Park Nudist Resort) for many years.

A lifelong nudist, Roy dedicated one of his favorite compositions, Fig Leaves Belong on the Trees, to SCNA last year before he died. We reproduce it here in his memory.

The Lyrics:

Adam and Eve they Started it all
Living a life of ease
Till the fruit of knowledge it caused their fall
And Fig Leaves belong on the trees.

First we started to go camping secretly, and
In Nineteen thirty-two we organized.
Fig leaves belong on the trees!

We organized from coast-to-coast
from Altantic to Pacific
Though this is no idel boast
Everything is terrific
public acceptance is our role, if you please,
Help us achieve our goal
as Fig Leaves belong on the trees.
Fig Leaves belong on the trees!

For Acrobat (PDF) version of entire song (all 3 pages), click here (3 pages=550k).

© Copyright 2002 Music and Lyrics by Roy Benowitz Los Angeles CA All Rights Reserved

By Ricc Bieber

The fun SCNA members had experiencing Al’s new bidet at the January poker party reminded me of the first time I ever saw one of those peculiar devices.

In 1967, my parents decided that we needed to move to a bigger place. I think it was more my mom, actually. We lived in South-Central Los Angeles, on the western edge near Western Ave., in the Watts riot zone and just north of Gardena.

Our parents dragged the four of us (I was fifteen at the time and the oldest) around looking at houses in Beverly Hills, West LA, Pacific Palisades, and generally the west side of town. On one occasion, we were going to see a house in Beverly Hills that was owned by Gig Young, the actor. It was quite a place. The entire house was done in white, the marble floors, carpets, walls, ceilings, the entry colonnade —you name it— it was very, very white. In other words, it looked fairly intimidating, at least to us kids.

In the course of our investigation of the house, unfettered by the real estate agent or our parents, we got to poke around and check things out. When we got to the master bathroom, we were amazed! It was huge, with a lot of space and, of course, done in white marble. It had a sunken oversized tub and a large glassed-in shower, but most interesting, the toilet, and the funny toilet without the seat next to it.

We all went over to this unknown porcelain convenience to check it out. I noticed a chrome button on the floor, and, with little trepidation, tapped it with my foot. A stream of water shot up to the ceiling! We all looked at each other, and decided no one would mention a thing until we were out of the house and probably some distance away, as well. When we left, the water was still dripping off of the ceiling, just a light rain.

We asked, later on, what the thing was in the master bath, that toilet without the seat, and our parents started to laugh. Mom explained what it was, and then we told her what happened. My parents were laughing so hard that they had to pull over, and it was apparently funny enough that there were no repercussions.

We didn't buy that house.

11/3/2004 - A Canadian man, angry that he was refused a plane ticket to Australia at Los Angeles International Airport, stripped naked, sprinted across the tarmac and climbed into the wheel well of a moving jumbo jet, officials said on Wednesday.

Pilots of the Qantas Airways flight stopped the plane. The man was coaxed out of the wheel well and arrested for trespassing, said airport spokeswoman Nancy Castles.

"This was an extremely dangerous thing for him to do. If he had continued to cling in there with the aircraft taking off at over 200 miles (320 kph) per hour, he might have fallen out and could have been sucked up by an engine," she said.

"If he had survived that and was in the wheel well when the landing gear was retracted, he could have been crushed by the mechanism. And if not he very likely would have frozen to death during the 15 1/2 hour flight at 30,000 feet (9,150 metres) while wearing no clothes."

The man, Neil Melly, 31, tried to buy a one-way ticket on the Qantas flight on Monday evening, but was turned down because he could not supply a valid credit card, Castles said.

Later, he managed to climb over an airport fence, topped by three strands of barbed wire, without injury and was spotted by a ramp worker "running, naked, full-speed" toward the plane.

Castles said a check by authorities found that Melly had been reported missing to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and was suffering from bi-polar disorder, a manic-depressive illness.

9/16/05, Union Springs, NY – Some may have called it monkeying around, but school officials didn't find the stunt amusing. A 17-year-old student was arrested Monday after streaking through his high school wearing only a gorilla mask and outrunning the school principal. The student said he had been dared by friends to streak through the school, according to police. Union Springs High School Principal Kimberle Ward — who said she runs three to five miles a day — couldn't catch the fleeing student, but she was able to help police identify the teen after watching a hallway surveillance camera video and interviewing students.

[What did she identify? This sounds like a scene from "Porky's!" – Ed.]

"There's no way anyone in the district would consider this a prank," said District Superintendent Linda Rice. "We're here to teach children, and we do have high standards." The student, whose name was withheld by police and school officials, was charged with exposure, a violation punishable by up to 15 days in jail and a $250 fine.

This story first appeared in the Syracuse Post Standard

BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE…

“HORRORS! OUR SCHOOLS ARE VULNERABLE TO NUDE ATTACK!”

9/19/05 - Why does it always take a teenage streaker in a gorilla mask to snap people out of their complacency? Many of you scoffed when I warned last month that public nudity was a national emergency in the making. Well, who's the big dumb ape now? Barely a month after four topless middle-aged women were arrested outside a coffee shop in Moravia, public nudity has returned to Cayuga County.

A Union Springs High School student was arrested last week for allegedly running through the school covered by only a gorilla mask. No one who was there will soon recover from the graphic sight of a panicked, naked ape-boy fleeing a professional educator through New York state wine country.

The frightening part is it can happen again. In a three-hour investigation last week, I discovered that Union Springs isn't the only area high school vulnerable to an attack of student nudity. Of the half-dozen or so schools I contacted, none conduct anti-streaker preparedness training or awareness programs.

In some instances, student dress codes fail to address the problem of not wearing any clothes at all. It's tempting, of course, to dismiss the latest wave of indecency as a Cayuga County problem, but history reveals public nudity knows no borders. About five years ago, two students wearing only ski masks and tennis shoes disrupted a pep assembly at Paul V. Moore High School in Central Square. They were nabbed - in a law enforcement sense - after their getaway driver abandoned them, and suspended for a year.

"We have high standards for our kids," said Dr. Walter Doherty, the principal at Central Square High School. "We don't tolerate that."

But are high standards any substitute for a massive binder of FEMA-style readiness procedures? For example, most districts fail to spell out whether administrators, many of whom suffer from astronomically high blood pressure and gout, should run after youthful student streakers.

Westhill Principal Greg Avellino said his first instinct would be to investigate. "I had knee surgery last year.” Corcoran High Principal Brian Nolan said he'd be laughing too hard to give chase, and would instead identify a masked nudist by consulting other kids. "Kids are the biggest rats in the world," he said approvingly. Perhaps the best argument against a high-speed pursuit is that many students want nothing more than to see their principal try to chase a naked gorilla person.

"They're not laughing at the kid with the gorilla mask on," Chupalia said. "They're laughing at the principal chasing the kid with the gorilla mask on."

Wise words for a troubling new era.

By Marc W. and Gary M.

Marc, Sonya, Gary and Patty decided to caravan from Ventura county down to DeAnza Springs for the 4-day Western Gathering last summer. We met at Gary’s house at the appointed time and discussed the route we would take, we planned rest stops and we exchanged walkie-talkies to ensure communication along the way. Gary, to his credit, even brought extra batteries for the radios. We finished the loading process and decided Gary would take the lead and Marc would follow. (BAAAAAD MISTAKE)! Our plan lasted about 100 yards. Here, the story changes, depending on who is telling the tale.

Gary’s Version:

I drove out first and Marc fell behind me out of sight as I entered the freeway. Not to worry, I slowed down and waited for him to catch up.

About a minute later a van passed me very quickly. The couple in the front looked like Marc and Sonya, so I sped up to follow. Soon he was going about 75 and it was difficult to stay with him as he changed from lane to lane. “Why is he going so fast? I can hardly keep up!” I cried out loud. “What’s wrong with him?” Patty got onto the walkie-talkie yelling “Marc! Marc! Slow down! Hello? Hello?” but we got no answer.

We stayed right behind him, risking a speeding ticket, for about 20 miles through Simi Valley and across the northern San Fernando Valley.

As we approached the 118 and 405/San Diego interchange he suddenly veered across three lanes of traffic and took the turnoff to go south, which was not the direction we had discussed. I stayed with him and yelled into the walkie-talkie, “Marc, you moron! That’s the wrong way! Where are you going? Marc? Marc!” No answer. Heading south on the 405, he cut across all lanes of traffic, got into the diamond (high-occupancy) lane and sped off.

I couldn’t keep up so I watched him drive out of sight. Periodically I would try the walkie-talkie to see if I could raise him, but to no avail. We drove the next four hours to De Anza alone, stopping for lunch and for gas along the way, and we got there about 4:30 in the afternoon.

Marc’s Version:

Let me preface this part of the story by saying don’t ever let Gary lead your caravan. For all the things he can do with greatness, leading a caravan AIN’T one of them. If he slowed down it was from 80 to 75 and I was not driving a van, I had my pickup.

When Sonya and I pulled out of Gary’s driveway, Gary was turning right at the stop sign. When we reached the stop sign he was turning left at the second stop sign. By the time we reached the second stop sign, he was approaching the on-ramp to the 118 freeway. My only hope was for him to catch a red light but alas it was not to be. We hit the freeway just in time to catch our last glimpse of Mr. Mussell heading off into the sunset. I looked at Sonya and said, “No problem, we’ve got radios. Try and call them”. No answer. So I thought maybe they didn’t turn them on yet, we’ll try again later. Meanwhile I am just getting up to my usual 72 mph cruising speed figuring I will catch up to Gary. We tried the radio again after a few miles to know avail. (The radios have a range of about ½ mile.)

Into the San Fernando Valley we went, still no Gary. By now we’re using Gary’s terminology speaking into the radio,”Gary..Patty…Moron!” as well as other choice phrases come to mind. “Where are those guys?” Needless to say we followed our intended path to DeAnza checking pull-off areas, (we knew he would stop to stretch and rest) and trying to raise him on the radio at different intervals. Then I had the idea to call his cell phone. (I didn’t know he was doing 90 down the wrong freeway, scaring the bejesus out of some poor citizen he was following who was also doing 90 to get away from him! We could not get him on the cell phone which we found out later was in the back of his SUV, turned off. (Good place for it! Glad the hatch didn’t fly open, but I digress.) WE stopped about an hour for lunch and gas in Alpine 25 miles or so out of San Diego and continued on to De Anza. Upon arrival we checked in and found that Gary and Patty hadn’t arrived yet. We took a tour, found a camp area and went back into the clubhouse where there stood “Parnelli” Gary and his accomplice.

Gary replies:

As we were registering at the DeAnza office, Marc and Sonya walked in. All four of us said practically in unison, “What happened to you!!!??”

It seems that they had gotten to DeAnza an hour earlier. We each related our version of the trip down including thought patterns and admonishments when I realized I HAD BEEN FOLLOWING THE WRONG CAR! We had a good laugh and we wondered what must have been going through that other driver’s mind as he saw a stranger (me) following him closely at high speed for 20 miles, unable to shake me. He must have felt a great relief having lost me after that freeway chase, and may wonder still who that maniac was that was following him down the road.

Ah, but the story isn’t over yet….

Marc continues:

When we left DeAnza four days later, Gary and I decided to stop at the Swallows Park on the way back to Los Angeles. I told Gary there was no way he was leading caravan this time! Tony decided to come along, following in his car. So the three cars drove the 25 miles back toward San Diego, watching speeds, rearview mirrors, and staying within view of each other. Tony and I reached the off-ramp without incident; Gary however wasn’t as fortunate.

Gary continues:

As I turned left from the freeway offramp onto the main street below, I felt the load shift in the back of my van, and then there was a sudden “thump.” I looked in my rear view mirror and to my horror I saw all our luggage, card table and chairs, and club papers on the road behind me. Somehow the rear hatch door had come open and everything had spilled out! We quickly stopped and ran back to retrieve what we could before traffic could run over and destroy our stuff. Tony, who was driving behind me, stopped also and joined Patty and me in a mad scramble to pick things up. Marc, who was driving ahead, continued around a curve unaware of the crisis we were having. It took about 10 minutes but we got almost everything off the road with minimal damage. Another couple stopped to help us, and when they looked at the nudist literature that we were picking up they laughed. Tony, ever the Marketer, offered them some of it to read.

Marc interjects:

Once I had gotten around the curve I slowed and pulled over waiting for them to catch up. After 5 minutes I figured something was wrong and turned back to find them. As I made another U turn and pulled off the road behind them I saw them just finishing the cleanup and carefully checking the hatch on Gary’s SUV.

Gary replies:

I figured he was just getting his revenge for the previous adventure. Anyway, we got to Swallows and had a reasonably uneventful trip the rest of the way home. But Marc has resolved not to let me lead a car caravan (EVER!) And he also said he’d check my rear hatch door himself if we ever try this again.

In summary, here are Marc’s rules for car-caravaning:

1. Discuss routes and speeds...and stick to them!
2. Plan stops along the way...and stop there!
3. Be able to communicate (cell phone, radios, lights, horn, ------rocks!)
4. If you are in the lead, start out slow, check rear view mirrors, make sure everyone is with you.
5. If you are following, keep the one in front and behind you in sight.
6. Check Gary's rear hatch yourself (and lock it) before you let him join your car caravan.
7. Most important of all: Don’t ever let Gary lead!


“HOW NOT TO GO CAMPING AT A NUDIST RESORT”

By Art M.

I attended the Western Gathering of The Naturist Society at DeAnza Springs in Jacumba, CA. The trip represented a personal challenge because I cannot drive at night, nor did I have any tent or camping experience. But I am not known for taking tiny steps.

So I purchased an SUV tent that could be assembled by one person (that’s what they told me, anyway), plus a cot and an air mattress. I must have known it would take two people to pitch the tent because I warned our fairless leader that I would need help. He assured me that all I had to do was say the word. So, I packed a few towels and lots of sunscreen and I was off. The 4-hour trip from the San Fernando Valley to Jacumba was rather unremarkable and I got there mid-afternoon, with plenty of sunlight left to make camp. I should have left earlier.

Once at De Anza I was directed to my assigned camping site. I then unpacked my new tent and laid it out. And then it hit me! Instruction book in one hand and a tent pole in the other – how am I going to pitch this tent by myself? I called for my pre-arranged back-up. But were they around? Yes around someplace, but not where I could find them. [In our defense, we were in the clubhouse, waiting for Art to come get us to help him but he never came! – Ed.]

So, I started to pitch the tent by myself. I tried balancing poles and ropes and canvas for well over an hour looking to the entire world like a one-man comedy routine. I made next to no progress at all and I was making myself exhausted in the hot desert air. And by now the sun was going behind the mountains.

As I sat there pondering my dilemma, I heard a voice coming from the next site – “Need any help?” The guy next door had just returned to his tent and seen my comical dilemma. Between the two of us, we got my tent up in just a few minutes, just as we lost the sun.

After the tent was pitched, I opened the cot and filled the air mattress. Unfortunately, the mattress was a little wider than the cot, and so every time I tried to roll over, I found myself on the ground. Four nearly sleepless nights later, having lost my fight with the cot, the mattress, and gravity, it was time to UN-pitch the tent, pack up and go home. Fortunately it was easier to take the tent down – just pull out the poles!

Sunday night, when I laid down in my own bed, I fell asleep instantly and slept sounder than I had ever slept before. So, I learned that living a naturist life-style suits me just fine – but, maybe not in a tent.

HOW I SURVIVED THE JUCUMBA SPRINGS SPA

By Gary M.

Let me start out by saying this time it wasn’t entirely my fault. As everyone knows, my camping days are long over, so when I decided to attend the AANR national convention at De Anza Springs in August, 2006, my only option was to stay at an outside motel and commute daily to the event. The closest such accommodations were at the Jacumba Springs Spa.

Our SCNA friend Tony had stayed there a year before when the club made a previous trip to De Anza, and he raved about it (that should have been my first warning), so I reserved a room six months in advance based upon his recommendation. In July, when I called the Spa to re-confirm the room, I found out the previous owner I had spoken to had been arrested for hiding illegals crossing from the Mexican border (only 1000 yards to the south), and the interim manager had trashed the place after having been fired by the Chicago investment firm who owned the Spa. He literally destroyed the contents in a half dozen of the rooms and took all the office equipment so there was no record on my reservation (that should have been my second warning). I reconfirmed my reservation and thought I was all set.

I arrived late in the day Sunday, Augut 6, the night before the AANR convention began. The new office manager, Miss Kelly, greeted me with perky smile. Most days (when her boss isn't around) Miss Kelly was dressed in a mini-halter top and printed wrap skirt, which exposed her thigh all the way up to the knot. If this was the dress standards, I was definitely going to enjoy the stay!

The rooms that had been trashed had all been refurnished; but, no, I was getting one of the older rooms (third warning). Actually the room was nice enough, except that the drapes had shrunk over the years and no longer adequately covered the front windows. And the TV only got one channel, TNT, so I could only watch reruns of Law & Order if I wanted. The room had no clock and no telephone, and there is no cell phone reception at all. (In Jucumba, I learned cell phones work only in a single 10-ft square zone two miles away in the Shell station parking lot – but only for Verizon subscribers. Throughout the week I would pass the station on the way to DeAnza and observe a half dozen people or so all crowded together in this tiny area trying to talk to the world.) On the plus side the water was clean, and there was air conditioning and a refrigerator. And, hey, I was only going to sleep there, right? Okay, I could adapt.

While gushing his praises about the Spa, Tony had also failed to mention it was adjacent to a 100-acre organic farm. Fertilized the “natural way” the farm also attracted every fly for 100 miles. Not large houseflies, but tiny ones, who for some reason find your ears and nose attractive places to land. Swatting at the buzzing insects became a method for constantly exercising one’s arms.

My room was at the far end of the Spa. The single-story facility surrounded a huge Olympic-size swimming pool fed by natural mineral waters. So, besides the flies, to get to my room I had to endure the fragrance of wet sulfer. An acquired taste to be sure. Kelly told me to be sure and try the healing waters of the pool during my stay, but I told her I had no bathing suit. “No problem late at night,” she said. “Almost all the guests here are overflow from De Anza, and I skinny-dip in the pool myself sometimes.” Suddenly I didn’t mind the flies as much.

“We do close up the Spa at 10PM sharp,” she warned me. You can only get in through the main door, which we lock. Otherwise you have to walk all the way around the back.” So, okay, I’ll make sure I am back by 10PM. No problem. With that, I headed over to DeAnza to see who was there early and to register for the convention. After spending a few hours in the pool and Jacuzzi, I headed back to the Jacumba Spa. My watch showed it was a quarter to ten.

When I got there the main doors were locked and all was quiet. Kelly had lied; they locked up early! In the pitch dark I fumbled my way around the building only to encounter the sound of a large dog barking nearby. Nope, not going that way. I went around the building the other way. Another (or the same?) dog blocked my path. Damn! Now what? I could sleep in my car, but with the Spa’s proximity to the border I didn’t feel safe, not knowing who would pass by during the night. I couldn’t go back to DeAnza because their gate was locked and I didn’t know the pass code.

The only solution: find another motel. So I drove 45 minutes to the east to the next town, El Centro, and stayed in a Ramada Inn that I spotted from the road as I drive by. Great room, Soft bed. Curtains that covered the widows. No toothpaste or toothbrush (or clean underwear) however. The next morning I drove back to Jacumba to raise holy hell. (Yes, they gave me credit for the night not spent there.)

A few days later I told the tale to our SCNA buddy Tony W., who by now was also staying at the spa (in one of the nicer renovated rooms I must add). He sheepishly confessed he had left home late on that Sunday and called the Spa from the road to say he wouldn’t make it there before they closed, so it was “okay for them to not wait up” for him. So the night manager had said okay, and he closed up at 9:30 and went home! Gee, thanks Tony, I owe you one! (not!)

The rest of the week I made sure I was at the Spa no later than 9PM (Yes, they gave me credit for the night not spent there.) As a result of my misadventure they posted a map on the window directing the guests to the path how to enter the grounds after hours (so the front door is locked but people can see how to get inside anyway? Somehow I didn’t feel safer.) The Spa’s main attraction to the town (besides the sulfur water and flies) is its bar and restaurant. When he was recommending the place, Tony said this was “the hot spot” in town where the locals met for an after hours drink, to play pool, and to listen to country-western music on the juke box. Well, the manager who trashed the place also took away the establishment’s liquor license so the Spa was no longer able to serve alcohol. So no bar crowd and no music, although the pool table was still there – its cue sticks and balls silently waiting for someone to use them. That Monday morning the restaurant was open for business so I thought I would sample the local cuisine.

I must admit, the food was not bad at all. Your typical eggs and something-on-the-side menu for about $6. Not up to Denney’s standards, but hey, what is these days? Gina was my waitress for most of the week. When I told her I was here for the AANR convention at De Anza, she volunteered she had been there with her boyfriend once and found social nudity much nicer an experience than she had imagined. She said she had a teenage daughter who didn’t mind being nude at home but was at the age where being naked in front of strangers was unthinkable. However, Gina said she might drop there by for a visit on Saturday, her next day off. (She didn’t.)

The restaurant was divided between an indoor room and an outdoor patio. I never saw anyone eat outside, probably because of the fly population. However it didn’t make any difference as the connecting doorway had no screen so the flies came and went at will. One soon learned how to hold an eating utensil in one hand and wave flies away with the other.

By the time I sat down to eat, there was only one other patrons there (my fourth clue), and we soon struck up a conversation. Seems she retired to Jacumba a few years ago to pursue her dream of raising horses and writing and publishing a sci-fi comic book. Her sketch pad was her constant companion that week as I caught her sketching people as they ate. “Downtown” Jacumba was just down the street, she told me, and consisted of a general store, post office, and chiropractor’s office. But, she said, if I wanted hay for my horse I should avoid this fella about ten miles down the road because, “he is selling bales for twice the cost of what she could get at some feed store in El Cajon.” Guess she didn’t notice my horse wasn’t tethered outside.

That night, to be extra-sure I would not be locked out again, I returned to the Spa at about 8:30PM. Since there was nothing on by one-channel television except a snowy-screened Law and Order rerun, I decided to return to the restaurant to try out the dinner menu. That’s when I met Alfred the Austrian.

Alfred, I learned, was one of the Chicago partners who had fired the previous manager and caused the subsequent office rampage. He was sitting outside on the patio in the dark, waving away the flies and chain-smoking some awful brand of cigarette. He spoke with a thick Germanic accent and liked to talk about the good old days of the Hapsburg Dynasty and the Ottoman Empire during the Nineteenth Century. At one point he leaned forward and reminded me that if the American’s had not broken their word in 1940 and supported the British, the Germans would have never declared war on us. I guess he never heard of Pearl Harbor but I didn’t feel safe arguing with him since I had several more nights to survive at the Spa.

Unfortunately I told him that Kelly had told us it was all right to skinny dip in the pool and he said he also didn’t care, but that he always replaced the water in the pool at night, so we should use the smaller but more secluded pool off to the side of the main pool. The next morning a sign appeared on the gate outside the secluded pool saying it was closed for repair. It remained there all week. Kelly told me a few days later he had sent her a memo reminding her it was illegal to skinny dip. Kelly and several others staying at the Spa spoke a few times about jumping in the pool after hours anyway but we never did. We didn’t trust how Alfred the Austrian would have reacted.

Tuesday morning I got another surprise. I opened the refrigerator in my room only to find the three cans of soda I had placed there the night before had exploded and there was sticky icy syrup coating the box’s inside walls. It was only when I also found the three Evian water bottles frozen solid that I realized the refrigerator temperature had been set too low. I could not find any dial or lever to turn in order to adjust the temperature so, instead of facing Alfred again, I just contented myself with warm water and soda.

The next day at DeAnza I happened to mention to their office staff where I was staying and they all rolled their eyes and told me how sorry they were. One staffer told me one couple who was scheduled to stay there had actually looked around and refused to stay, choosing instead to go buy a tent and dry camp at DeAnza. On Wednesday, I returned to the Spa around nightfall only to find the restaurant closed. “We share our cook with The Chef’s Hat,” the night manager informed me. There isn’t enough business to keep both restaurants open full time so he goes back and forth between the two places.” Seeing an opportunity for a little adventure, I decided to drive the ten miles down the road to The Chef’s Hat to check it out.

There I met several other familiar faces from the AANR convention who were also testing the cuisine. Their names were Richard and Pam, and they were staying at the other nearby motel, the Lux, which was about fifteen miles away from De Anza. We traded stories about our respective motel experiences. They told me the Lux was much nicer than the Jacumba Spa except for one thing: “Don’t look under the bed as they found a nest of cockroaches there.” “Also we found a snake in the bathtub the first night.” Suddenly the Spa was looking much better (I never had any such visitor in my room – maybe the incessant sulfur smell kept them away!)

That night I was awakened about 2AM by low-flying helicopters and dogs barking. In the morning I was told matter-of-factly the Border Patrol was chasing some illegals through the town. Just another typical evening in a sleepy border town, it seemed. Driving back to De Anza the next morning at spotted several white Border Patrol trucks driving along the border fence. The fence could clearly be seen across a clearing south of the road. There was a large microwave antenna assembly nearby, I suppose acting as a motion-detector, and it was probably set off the helicopters the night before. Looking at the border I realized no fence was going to keep people out who really wanted to get in. I also realized that Jacumba would forever be a little town in the middle of nowhere that would keep its rustic charm – and rust – because that’s the way its small population wanted it to be.

Later in the week I had lunch with Tony and I told him about my adventures at the Spa. “How could you have stayed there before and not told me about all these crazy people and the smell?”

“It’s it just a great experience?” he smiled. I think he was serious. He was staying in one of the renovated rooms with the new color TVs.

“There only one television channel!” I replied.

“Oh, I never watch television anyway. And I don’t carry a cell phone so I had no idea there was no reception.” He seemed oblivious to my pain and suffering.

Sunday morning I checked out and headed home. Kelly said goodbye, dressed in her typical outfit. Yeah, I sure regret not trying out that pool but under the circumstances, I probably should feel lucky I escaped when I did.

Followup to this story: Two years later when Tony, Patty, and I were in the area again, my curiosity got too much for me and so I revisited the spa. Not to stay overnight, but just to have lunch. Gina was still there, waitressing to the couple in the corner table. She said she actually remembered me. I guess either I made a great impression or else the number of visitors there in two years since had been lower than expected.

Many things had changed during the two years, she said. Kelley was long gone but Alfred was still around managing the place. After lunch (they still make a great burger here) she allowed us to walk through the grounds to see the improvements.

I noticed the entire place has a new coat of paint, and all the internal porticos and sidewalks were rebuilt and smooth to walk on. From the outside I could see my old room had a new set of drapes that were not transparent. And the punget smell of sulfer I had remembered was still there but much more tolerable. Also I was told, the county had shut down the organic farm nearby because of complaints from the health department about the flies. Gia also told me that all the guests now get a key to the outside door, so what happened to me can't be repeated again. Nice to know I made a contribution to the place.

Tony said he was thrilled at the changes, as was eager to stay overnight. No longer trusting his judgment, if any reader out there wants to give them a try and write me back here, I'd appreciate knowing a second opinion.

2013 MIRACLE AT THE BORDER: THE JACUMBA INN RISES AGAIN!

By Gary Mussell,
Southern California Naturist Association (SCNA)

In August 2006, I published a review of the Jacumba Inn and Spa describing it as one of the most disgusting places to stay overnight in California.

Since then, much has happened to the property and so the purpose of this article is to rescind my previous remarks and proclaim that the new owners have done a magnificent job renovating the place. I can now recommend the Spa to anyone who visits the area and wants to know what things were like in the 1930s, when Jacumba was a getaway for Hollywood stars and industrial moguls.

This miracle at the border, 70 miles east of San Diego, was accomplished almost by accident by one man, Dave Landman, who had to buy practically the entire town to save it.

When I last visited the 24-room Inn, it was being run by an unnamed “firm out of Chicago” and managed by Alfred, a most disagreeable old Austrian whose thickly-accented fancy words never matched his deeds. The pools and course way sidewalks were cracked and uneven, the roof was missing tile, the rooms had little water pressure, and the central courtyard reeked a most unpleasant odor.

To top everything a mile from the Inn was an 8-acre organic farm which attracted every eye gnat and fly from Mexico to the town. The international border, by the way, is only a few hundred yards to the south and “The Fence” imposes its ominous presence on the entire landscape. While local residents tell me the barrier has stopped all but a few desperate souls from attempting to cross into the United States in the middle of the night, the eye gnats and flies had no such restriction and they flew to Jacumba (along with all their relatives) with impunity. If it weren’t for the two gas stations at the Jacumba off ramp, it is doubtful most Interstate 8 commuters travelling between San Diego and El Centro would even know the town existed.

In the 2000 census, Jacumba was down to just 561 residents, about 200 families, living in homes which when viewed from the street could politely be described as in need of an upgrade. Most of the remaining town folk are retired, or would be novelists, or artists, or jewelry-makers. The main drag – old California Highway 80 – has a post office, a county library, and a market but not much else. Most of the storefronts are closed. Driving through the town, the movie “The Last Picture Show” would flash through your mind, with perhaps the forlorn theme from “Fargo” playing in the background.

Those who do work scratch out a living from their government pensions or by working at an Indian casino 20 miles to the west, A few locals work at Landman’s nudist resort as cooks or housekeepers. Those I interviewed for this article told me they remain living in the town because they are attracted to the mineral waters of the Spa and the fact the place is definitely slow-paced and off the beaten track. One can also feel a deep sense of friendship and caring about each other, as many have lived here for well over a decade, some even for generations. But these locals also knew something had to be done to save the town, and so they turned to Landman, the one successful businessman still in the area.

What is Landman’s business? He runs a 220-acre nudist resort across Interstate 8 where it skirts along the north edge of the town. In 1977 he bought an abandoned RV Park there in 1997, renamed it De Anza Springs Nudist Resort, and turned it into one of the top ten nudist resorts in the country. He is the town’s biggest (practically its only) employer. While the locals had initially been wary of his enterprise, Landman’s success and professional good nature soon won over his skeptics.

CALLING IN THE PROMISSORY NOTE

The locals approached Landman about buying out the Jacumba Inn and restoring it so that the town would have a second source of income and employment, with the hope the rest of the town then might spring back to life. After doing a little research, Landman later found out Alfred’s firm had taken out a very large promissory note on the property from the son of the town’s original land owner, Henry Lazare. The note was now several years in arrears but Lazare, fearing his beloved town would totally disappear, was reluctant to call it in. Landman had no such qualms. He bought the note from Lazare and immediately notified the Chicago owners, who then defaulted.

Locals tell me that Alfred then went a little crazy when told he had to vacate, yelling and screaming, allegedly cutting the water pumps, and bringing in a couple of huge vans to gut the place: beds, televisions, water heaters, air conditioners, anything that wasn’t cemented down. Landman, in retrospect, thought Alfred did him a favor because he was going to have to hire company to toss it all away anyway.

But Dave also got another surprise. It seems the promissory note covered more than just the Jacumba Inn; it also covered 28 other properties nearby. Landman was now the owner of about 80% of the town! One of the first things he did was to get the county to change the name of the town from Jacumba to Jacumba Hot Springs, to make it more appealing to tourists. “I think the lifeblood of the community is the mineral water,” he told the San Diego Union Tribune in an April, 2013 story they did on the change in the town’s fortune.

Meanwhile, Landman discovered among his properties was the location of a drained 7-acre lake that had been used for years for community swimming, boating and fishing. It seems the previous owners had cut the line from the mineral hot springs that fed the lake. Dave had the lines repaired and Lake Jacumba is now scheduled for a grand-reopening before the end of 2013. It is hoped this will prompt the return of the migratory birds that used to use Jacumba as a rest stop on their spring and fall treks.

The new owner also began making plans to rebuild the Inn, but many of the locals told me they suspected Alfred continued to make things difficult with the County inspectors after he was gone, telling them the plumbing and roof were in terrible shape, and it seems that terrible odor in the courtyard was the result of a break in the sewage line that ran underneath. What started as a six-month renovation took almost two years and nearly a million dollars.

THE GRAND RE-OPENING

The new Jacumba Inn and Spa had its grand re-opening on June 28, 2013, on a day when the temperature was 114 degrees. Despite the heat, the grounds were packed with people

The dining room and bar have new floor tile and new décor distinctly American yet paying homage to the Mexican heritage of the region. A standard breakfast of bacon and eggs, pancakes, or an omelet will run you $5 to $7 depending on how fancy you want it. Dinners range from $10 to $20, and the specials depend on who the cook is that night. During the first month, Dave had to replace to head chefs who did not live up to their resumes. As a result, the menu remains in flux but Landman says “it’s getting there.” “I don’t want anyone buying food I wouldn’t eat myself,” he told me. I need to acknowledge the excellent service provided by our waitresses, Lacy (her husband is the main cook at the DeAnza resort), Amanda, and Jane, who alternated days during our visit. They knew the menu, were friendly, and enthusiastic about all the changes. In their matching Inn polo shirts, they present a new, professional image that wasn’t there before. Locals are once again starting to make breakfast at the Inn a daily routine. At night, the refurbished bar attracts a decent-sized crowd also, and they have started a popular Karaoke Night.

The courtyard patios that surround the central mineral pool is nicely lit at night for safety, with new fixtures and new paint. The walkways still a little uneven in a few spots but it is far better than my 2005 visit, when at night it was nearly impossible to not trip in the dark going to your room. The second pool in the secluded corner apparently just reopened the week before I got there, with new cement and new tile. The patio tables, chairs, and colorful umbrellas look straight out of the box (which they probably were.) The Jacuzzi is in an odd place, on the opposite side of the grounds behind the bar. Dave said he might move it in the future so that it is more convenient to the guests.

The rooms are literally rebuilt with new plumbing (great water pressure!), sinks, bedding and curtains. Each room has Direct TV service and a flat screen television mounted on the wall. The rooms have no telephones (“everyone carries cell phones these days”), but WiFi service is available for laptops and iPads. The only thing in the rooms that seemed a bit odd was there were no bathroom doors. “That was an oversight,” admits Landman. “We were so busy with the redesign and infrastructure nobody noticed we forgot to include the doors.” He says they are coming soon. The Inn remains a work in progress. While I was there they were replacing the main entrance doors. The dirt parking lot will get a coat of asphalt soon, and the exterior landscaping and tree stumps will also be transformed by spring.

THE FUTURE

Landman’s future plans include building an adjoining Day Spa and perhaps offering mineral mud treatments. A vacant lot near the lake looks like a perfect future RV park, he said. Landman hopes also to attract more businesses to the main street, with stores selling Indian jewelry, an art gallery, a variety store, a medical center, a 3-par golf course, plus another restaurant or two.

There is also some thought being given to opening a railroad museum, since there are so many abandoned cars nearby, left over from fifty years ago before the Interstate was built when there was Basalt mining in the area and a daily train carried San Diego passengers to Arizona and back. But he won’t be building those himself. “The Jacumba Inn was quite enough for me. If we did our job right, the others will come.”

In April 2013,The San Diego Tribune published a story about Landman’s purchase and the town’s renovation. In it, the reports writes that the people in town have started calling Landman the Duke of Jacumba,” a name he is uncomfortable with but understands.” He is getting used to all the waving from people as he drives his big Chevy Avalanche through this re-energized border town he has brought back from the brink.