Dead Presidents
By Anthony Bergen
E-Mail: bergen.anthony@gmail.com
A Tale of Two Cities.
wwoo Asks:
deadpresidents Said:
Sacramento has two out of the five longest sellout streaks in NBA history — the Kings have sold out all 41 home games in Sacramento for 19 out of their 28 seasons in California. And many of those seasons were when the Kings were absolutely dreadful — the Mitch Richmond, Lionel Simmons, Wayman Tisdale, Olden Polynice era.
Since 2008, the attendance has dropped mostly because the Maloofs turned into the worst owners in the NBA and actively seemed to be destroying basketball in Sacramento. Plus, Sacramento was in the midst of an economic crisis that was even worsw than the national crisis. The unemployment average and home foreclosure rates in Sacramento were significantly higher than the average throughout the nation. And during that time, not only did the Kings have really bad teams and no star player to market, but the Maloofs continued raising ticket prices. When ticket prices were lowered, the fans started filling ARCO Arena again.
And I hate to pick on Seattle because I truly do believe they deserve an NBA team, but during the 23 seasons that there were NBA teams in Sacramento and Seattle (1985-2008), the Kings averaged better attendance than the Sonics in 20 of the seasons, even though the Sonics usually had far better teams. During that time, the Kings sold out every game for 19 seasons; the Sonics sold out every game in just 6 seasons. It’s also worth pointing out that throughout the 3-year-long saga that has seen the Maloofs doing everything they can to get the Kings out of Sacramento, fans continued coming to games and showing their love for the team. During the Sonics last two seasons in Key Arena (basketball capacity: 17,072) fans in Seattle didn’t exactly show up in droves to express their support. In 2006-2007, the Sonics averaged 15,955 each home game. In their final season in Seattle, 2007-2008, the Sonics averaged 13,355 fans per game — leaving nearly 4,000 empty seats every single night. I know that Seattle fans were pissed about having a lame-duck team that was packed for Oklahoma City, but I’m just saying: that wouldn’t have happened in Sacramento. Hell, it didn’t happen in Sacramento — and the Kings looked like a lame-duck team in 2011 AND 2013.
Also: Kevin Johnson for President.
H-Wood: Proud To Be From The S.A.C.
33.
A Birthday Ramble.
I’m a long way away from Sacramento. I left nearly three years ago and haven’t been back, and there have always been days where I hated it as much as I loved it, but Sacramento is and will always be my home. And, 33 years ago today, January 20, 1980, I was born right downtown, at Sutter Memorial Hospital.
For the first three decades of my life, for better or worse, Sacramento raised me and made me who I am. The scars on my body and the creases on my face bear the names of the streets that I prowled — El Camino Avenue, Fulton Avenue, Arden Way, Watt Avenue, Marconi Avenue, Edison Avenue, Howe Avenue, Bell Street, Northgate Boulevard, Grand Avenue, Norwood, Auburn Boulevard, Lerwick, Larchwood, Ball Way, Kent Drive.
The light in my eyes reflect my favorite haunts: Capitol Park ringed by its barrier of palm trees, Old Sacramento, Tower Bridge, the Esquire Grill, the lobby of the Sheraton Grand, an empty Light Rail train in mid-morning, the view from the multi-story parking garage directly across L Street from the State Capitol building, the seismograph a few steps away from the door to the Governor’s office, the orange trees on the grounds of the Capitol where, if you know where to stand, you can peek directly into the window of the Governor’s office, the cigar shop on Front Street, the stretch of 160 between Arden Fair Mall and the wild licorice bushes near the Radisson and American River levee where you could smell the Wonder Bread factory cooking early in the morning.
The shadows on my face and the perpetual bags under my eyes are reminders of long days and never-ending nights. Some of them were fun, some of them were not, but all of them were experiences. Friendships established, relationships demolished, life always being lived. Everything shaded by the sheer number of trees — practically anything can grow in Sacramento’s climate — not merely dotting the city, but populating it. Trees all over the city like my memories — wild, diverse, growing, dying, happy, sad, overcrowded at times, but sometimes lonely.
People like to say that they’ve made mistakes in their lives and then add that they regret nothing. I’ve made mistakes in my life and I regret many of them. I even regret some of the things that weren’t mistaken. We don’t learn from mistakes. We learn from the consequences of our mistakes — and those are usually called “regrets”. For many years, I lived too slowly, and then I lived too fast. With many people, I loved too quickly, and then I loved too harsh. When somebody hurt me — especially somebody that I cared about — I often tried to destroy them and who they were to me and what we shared. Up until recently, I still did that — annihilate attachments, eliminate emotions, crush connections, liquidate love, ravage relationships…eradicate, exterminate, desolate, shatter, sabotage, vaporize, ruin, ruin, ruin. Today, at 33 years old, I now actively seek to preserve rather than obliterate. Seems odd that I should have to work so hard at preservation when, professionally, my life’s work — the study and promotion of history — is, at its core, an act of preservation.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not all darkness and shadows, debris fields and wastelands. Like everyone, I’m simply visited by the cloud of depression that Winston Churchill would call “the black dog”. But I am in a better place than I have been in close to ten years. I have somehow found a way to actually make a living with my writing. It’s so surreal and such a long time coming that I still feel like I tricked somebody. The idea of advertising revenue and royalty checks backed by real money, legitimate legal tender, coming my way because of words that I wrote continues to blow me away. For years, I wondered what it would be like to be a professional writer and, in many ways, it’s inexplicable. For some reason, I always figured that I would realize that I had reached that point when some editor sat me down and said “You’re hired.” But, really, I didn’t recognize that I had reached that level until it suddenly hit me that I was somehow getting paid for the things that I was writing. By no means have I “made it”, but I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do, and, at 33, that makes me happy. It still doesn’t feel quite real, but it feels right. It feels like I deserve it because, despite those mistakes and regrets, this is the one thing that I’ve always worked hard at and taken completely, utterly, 100% seriously.
I like the fact that my birthday is close to the beginning of the year. It allows me to feel like the new year is genuinely a new year for me. The past few years have been difficult — personally, professionally, emotionally, and even physically. Of course, 33 isn’t 63, but I feel every day of every month of my life when I wake up in the morning. I feel it in my bones. I see it in my eyes. But I’m still here. I have all of limbs and all of my hair, and I know my brain is still working hard because I can’t slow it down when I try to sleep. That race never ends.
It’s 2013 and I am 33. I like the number “3”. All of my life, whenever I set an alarm or set the microwave or have a target number of sets for a workout, the target number I use always either has a “3” in it or is divisible by 3. I don’t have many superstitions, but that is one of them. So, both 2013 and the age of 33 give me an optimistic feeling. I haven’t had a great year since 2002 or 2003. Some of them have been downright horrible, particularly 2005, 2009, 2010, and 2011. Last year was a bit better, but I feel like the year 2013 and the age of 33 will prove that I have turned the page. I don’t exactly know why or how, but I’m now old enough to realize that hope and optimism should never be dismissed. For the past decade, I have been so thirsty for reason and hungry for logic that I’ve needed to know the explanation for everything. That hasn’t necessarily resulted in happiness, so I’m going to let hope and optimism stick around this year.
I didn’t really mean to ramble on like this or get all philosophical just because it’s my birthday. It just happened. And, let’s be honest, I just wrote a whole bunch of words without really saying anything. But, I rarely get personal here. However, hearing this song brings back a lot of memories and a blank computer screen, blinking icon, and welcoming keyboard was an invitation to open up for once.
I am a long way away from Sacramento — in more ways than just the mileage distance. I am a better person than I was three years ago, two years ago, even five months ago. Goals that I have set — goals which seemed to never get any closer for many years — have been met and more have been established. I feel like I learn something new every day. When I don’t, I feel like that day has been a failure and, although 33 doesn’t seem old, who knows how many days I actually have left to learn, create, teach, share? I’m a long way from Sacramento and I don’t have family here. I don’t have many friends here. But I have a huge personal library of books that I rarely have had to pay for. I published my own first book and people actually bought it (and continue to buy it). I’m in the process of finishing my second book. The book reviews that I write have received attention from publishers and big-name authors who I have revered. I’ve become a person who college kids will e-mail with questions about their studies and a historian that mainstream news outlets like Bloomberg have reached out to for commentary. I’m in a good place.
I am a long way from those street signs that I mentioned. I now live in a tiny town of about 2,000 people — a town the size of my junior high school. I’m not kept awake by police helicopters or hours of sirens. I’m not worried when I take a walk to the grocery store or the park. I live in peace, as we all should. As H-Wood’s song says, I’m proud to be from Sacramento, but I’m also proud to be in New Haven. I’m proud to have made it to where I am. I’m proud to know that, at 33, I have made improvements, made my life better, made people who know me proud of what I have become.
I am a long way away from Sacramento, but in many ways, I am still home. I’m proud to be from the S.A.C., but I’m also proud to be me. Yes, I feel every day of my 33 years and, while I used to look young for my age, I now look every day of 33, too. But what I feel is 33 years of memories and experiences that continue to shape me and, hopefully, make an impact on others. Maybe I don’t love enough or put enough trust in others, but I will. It’s taken me all this time to finally love and trust myself, so I think I’m ready to try it out on others. I’d like to think that this is an example of that because in this new year of my life, I’m going to try to lift the curtain and share my history, as well as our country’s history. Don’t worry — you’re not going to get rambling dissertations like this all the time — but I wanted to share this today so that I can make sure that I’m accountable for the improvements I strive to continue. Of course, it’s far easier sharing myself with 10,000 readers who I don’t know than on person that I do (yes, you read that correctly, I’d rather stand and talk in front of a crowd of 80,000 than sit in a small group of three).
Alright, alright, enough out of me. Thanks to everybody who is sending birthday wishes today and to anyone bored brave enough to make it to the end of this post. It’s 2013, I’m 33, I’m proud to be from the S.A.C., I’m proud to be where I am right now, and I look forward to my next year of sunshine and shadows and, of course, plenty of history.
I haven’t bought a sports jersey since Mitch Richmond’s 1996 United States Olympic basketball team jersey, and I would never wear one now since, you know, I’m not 16, but I’d really like to have one of Donté’s jerseys since we grew up at the same time and in the same neighborhood back in Sacramento. Unfortunately, this is a Cleveland Browns jersey and that just makes it sad (sorry, Cleveland, it’s not really your fault). Too bad one of the other 18 NFL teams that Donté’s played for in the past few years don’t have his jersey on sale.
Several years ago, I wanted to get the jersey of another NFL wide receiver from Sacramento — Rae Carruth of the Carolina Panthers. Then he hired a couple of people to murder his pregnant girlfriend and led the FBI on a manhunt until they found him hiding in the trunk of a car and I figured that rocking his jersey might be in bad taste.
(And, yes, Donté killed someone, too, but that was totally an accident.)
Anonymous Asks:
deadpresidents Said:
Yes, I did. The first time was when I was leaving one of my favorite restaurants in Sacramento, the Esquire Grill, which is about a block away from the State Capitol and very close to the Hyatt Regency, which is where Governor Schwarzenegger stayed whenever he didn’t go home to Los Angeles.
I was walking out of the Esquire and held the door for a small group of obvious politicians — not an unusual sight in Downtown Sacramento on a weekday. I didn’t notice who it was immediately, but I heard him say, “Thank you,” and when I heard that unmistakable accent, I quickly said, “Uh, you’re welcome, Governor.” It wasn’t my smoothest moment. He shook my hand and was very pleasant.
I had another minor interaction with him just a few months after Obama announced he was running for President. We were putting together some sort of event in Sacramento and I had some invitations that I was supposed to drop off to potential surrogates and supporters at the Capitol. I delivered the invitations to a few State Senators and members of the State Assembly and had one to deliver to Lieutenant Governor John Garamendi. The Lieutenant Governor’s office is on the first floor, directly across the hall from the Governor’s office. When I came out of Lieutenant Governor Garamendi’s office, I saw Governor Schwarzenegger and two of his staffers walking into his office. No one else was in the hallway except one CHP officer who was standing nearby. I wanted to joke around and invite him to the Obama event, but once again, I came across like a complete nerd and just said, “Hi, Governor.” He waved as he headed into his office and I walked down the hallway thinking to myself, “Hi, Governor?! Who the hell do I think I am? Way to connect with the big wigs, Anthony.”
I saw Governor Schwarzenegger give a couple of speeches, too. One thing I noticed is that there is no way in hell that he is 6’2” as his bio says and how he was always listed as a bodybuilder. On a good day, I am a little over 5’8” and I would say that there’s no way that Schwarzenegger is more than 5’10”. Also, he must have the best tailor in the world because on each occasion that I saw him I quickly noticed how nice his business suits looked, and if you’ve ever seen my wardrobe, you’d know that I’m no expert on fashion.
More on Arnold will be coming soon because I am working on my review of his recently-released autobiography, Total Recall: My Unbelievably True Life Story (BOOK•KINDLE), which I really enjoyed and which gave me an appreciation and respect for the former Governor that I hadn’t expected.
C-Bo (feat. Daz Dillinger): Crippin’
In honor of my fellow Del Paso Heights native, Donté Stallworth, who was re-signed by the New England Patriots last week and who caught a beautiful touchdown pass from Tom Brady last night, we show some love to our boys on the other side of Sacramento: C-Bo, the Garden Blocc, and any friendly faces on the Southside — even though Donté’s in Boston, I’m in St. Louis, and Cowboy is locked up in Federal prison in Arizona until May 2013, I’m sure 24th-through-29th Streets are still as strong as ever.
For any C-Bo or West Coast hip-hop fans, I’m sure Cowboy would be happy for the words of support or to hear what you think of his latest album, Orca. He’s got nothing but time right now, so you can drop him a line:
Shawn Thomas
#46116-048
FCI Safford
P.O. Box 9000
Safford, Arizona 85548
Okay, we’ll now return to our regularly-scheduled programming.
Anonymous Asks:
deadpresidents Said:
The last time I was in Sacramento was when I moved, so it’s been since June 2010.
There are definitely some things that I miss. I love living where I am now where it’s rural and quiet and calm. I don’t ever miss hearing helicopters and sirens like I did every night for the first 30 years of my life. That was the most surprising thing that I noticed when I moved to Austin. I thought those were just the noises that you hear in every large city, but then I moved to Austin and it was quiet and I realized that what I was used to in Sacramento was not normal. (Other than the LBJ Library, I don’t miss a single thing from my one miserable year in Austin, by the way)
Maybe I should just answer your question and get back to what I do miss about Sacramento.
Of course, I miss the weather. The weather here in Missouri is exponentially better than it was in Austin, but there’s nothing better than those summer nights in Sacramento where the temperature drops down to 65 degrees even though it was 105 during the day and that beautiful Delta breeze comes off of the river. Once I moved out of Sacramento (and California overall, really), I realized that I took the great weather for granted since I had lived there all my life.
I miss Capitol Park. I loved taking a book and just chilling somewhere in Capitol Park under one of the scores of various species of trees planted in the park because so many trees from around the world can thrive in Sacramento’s climate. Or just walked around Capitol Park after catching dinner somewhere downtown. I really miss getting a nice cigar from Rodney’s or the tobacco shop on Front Street in Old Sac, and enjoying it while walking and talking with a friend along the palm-lined sidewalks surrounding the Capitol. Or strolling through Capitol Park with a girl, looking at the monuments and the orange trees, and showing her where, if you stand just right, you can peek into the Governor’s first-floor corner office and sometimes see the Governor sitting at his desk.
I miss Round Table Pizza and Pizza Guys. There’s a 40% chance that I’ll move back to Sacramento just because I can’t live much longer without having Round Table or, if I don’t want to spend as much money, Pizza Guys. I can’t believe Round Table isn’t a national chain. The rest of this country is missing out. If everyone had Round Table Pizza, we would all be happy and prosperous and there would be peace in the Middle East.
I miss having a nice, stiff drink and lounging around like a gentleman in the bar in the lobby of the Sheraton Grand. Or having a pricey, tasty margarita in the bar of the Delta King. Or having a lot of cheap, tasty margaritas at Chevy’s on the River.
I miss Time Tested Books on 21st Street in Midtown and the piles of used books at the Book Nook on Madison Avenue where I found some real treasures over the years.
I miss going to Sacramento Kings games and lunch at the Esquire Grill. I miss being so close to San Francisco and the coast as well as Reno, Tahoe, and the Sierra.
I miss living within walking distance of a Trader Joe’s. I miss Temple Coffee House on 9th Street, and I’m pissed because they waited until I moved and then opened a new location in my old neighborhood!
There are probably some more things, but those are what I think about from time-to-time. Except for both Round Table Pizza and Pizza Guys, which I usually think about for an average of no less than three hours each day. Despite the things that I miss, I’m still very happy to be where I am and doing what I am doing. The only time I consider moving back to Sacramento is when I want pizza, so I think that’s a good sign.
Shit, now I’m hungry.
Dahlak Brathwaite: Where You At (Oakland to Sactown)
A great song from my fellow Sacramentan, Dahlak of the always-awesome iLL-Literacy crew, as he represents our hometown. (916!)
Anonymous Asks:
deadpresidents Said:
When I was in 7th grade, I ran for student council President at my junior high school because it meant that I had a free period where I didn’t have to do anything. But I lost to a girl even though she had way less friends than I did and despite the fact that my friends and I did our best to stuff the ballot boxes, buy votes with cigarettes that some kids from the neighborhood stole from Circle K, and threaten kids who didn’t want to vote (or didn’t plan to vote for me). It was some gangsta, Boss Tweed/Tammany Hall shit (we were 13 years old), yet somehow, when the votes got counted, the teachers decided that this girl was a better representative as class President than innocent, hard-working, empathetic, smart, tough, puppy-loving, handsome, man of the people, Anthony Bergen. I mean, I had a Stussy backpack that I got at the legendary Surf & Skate on Arden Way for Christ’s sake! I was unbeatable!
In retrospect, I guess that I can’t say that it was a miscarriage of justice because, in all honesty, my supporters and I did make a concerted effort to steal the election (Did I mention we were 13?). I guess it was a miscarriage of injustice.
Anyway, she became class President and I had to settle for Vice President because, apparently, our election rules were modeled after U.S. Presidential elections prior to the passage of the Twelfth Amendment in 1804. I openly plotted her assassination, but she made it to 8th grade safely. Being Vice President at the student council sucked, though, and my job largely consisted of me glaring angrily at the President during student council meetings.
Why would I have changed the outcome of this election? I wanted the power. The influence. The girls that obviously would have come along with the job. I wanted to require everyone in my class to call me “Mr. President” and to allow me to cut into the front of the line at lunch so that I could get my order of Round Table Pizza before they ran out as they invariably did, EVERY SINGLE DAY, at my junior high school. I had big plans and a wide-ranging vision — not for my class or for the school, but for myself and my clique — and it was robbed from me after I took every shortcut and backdoor possible in order to make sure that I stole the election fair-and-square.
But, no, “the man” kept me down. And by “the man”, I mean our principal who looking like Mr. Belding from Saved By The Bell and had the shiniest bald head. I STOLE THAT ELECTION FAIRLY AND EFFICIENTLY, GODDAMMIT! IT WAS MY TIME!
I’m not bitter, though.
Chris Webber (feat. Kurupt): Gangsta! Gangsta!
