Carolyn and Michael Mattios are shown in front of their New Orleans home

Michael and Carolyn Mattios and their teenage sons fought their way through streets clogged with cars and fear to escape the floodwaters filling New Orleans. They made their way to Baton Rouge, leaving behind their modest Deers Street home on the border of the Ninth Ward.

A room in a crime-infested motel became the family's "temporary" home. But the stay they hoped would be for only a few days stretched into months, as New Orleans' recovery efforts were overwhelmed by the devastation.

A dishwasher, whose job was washed away by Hurricane Katrina, Michael would sneak back into the barricaded city, camping out in the wreckage of his house to keep looters away.

Carolyn remained at the motel, struggling to keep her family together and her sons in school. The family's predicament grew desperate until one day she was interviewed by a reporter from "All Things Considered," a National Public Radio show .

Asked how she was doing, Carolyn didn't hold back. Insurance money was slow in coming and meager when it arrived. The contractors they hired to fix their house did shoddy work. She doubted they would ever be able to go home.

Thousands of miles away in Bakersfield  , Jack Hendrix, a retired East Bakersfield High School counselor and part-time home repairman, listened to Carolyn's sad story. He decided to help.

Hendrix tracked down the Mattios family through the NPR reporter. He recruited Chris Thomas, a young friend with construction skills, and headed to New Orleans. They camped out in a budget hotel, working for six weeks to repair the Mattios' house. And when they were done, Hendrix rented a truck, drove to Baton Rouge and moved the family back into their home.

"We were so surprised," said Carolyn during a recent interview in New Orleans. "After the show, people started sending money. It wasn't a lot of money -- $20 here and there. But it really helped."

"We got more help from people -- perfect strangers -- than we got from the government. We were touched by God. They didn't know us from the man on the moon, but they opened up their hearts and sent us their hard-earned money. They were the heroes," said Michael.

"But Jack was the only one that showed up to help. He pretty much finished fixing up our house," said Michael, 74, who now is retired. Carolyn just turned 62 and is receiving disability retirement. Their two sons are now attending college. The family keeps in touch with Jack, whom they call their friend.

"They are such sweet people," Hendrix said.

Pulling away from the Mattios' home, I waved to workers from Samaritan Purse Disaster Relief who were repairing a house. But mostly the neighborhood was quiet. The families that once made Deers Street a lively community were gone, likely not to come back. There were no children playing in the streets or behind the fences that lined yards.

On the top step of a porch of a nearby house sat Joan Lewis. Before Katrina, she worked for the telephone company. She's retired now. She returned to the wreckage of her home and fixed it up. It's freshly painted. The lawn that stretches to the street is manicured. But the buildings on both sides are abandoned, boarded up and marked with the all-too-common spray painted warnings of the Katrina rescue crews.

"Does that bother you?" I asked her, getting out of my car to chat.

"Yes, it's forever reminding me," she said. "It reminds me of the power of God. But he didn't do this to be hateful. It also reminds me of the goodness of people; all those people who came to help.

"Now it's time to move forward."

This July 10, 2010 article written by Dianne Hardisty is one in a series that was printed in The Bakersfield Californian about the results of Bakersfield volunteer projects to help rebuild the Gulf Coast after Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005. Dianne Hardisty and her husband, John Hardisty, traveled to New Orleans and the Gulf Coast in April 2010 to report on progress.

Dawn Lusich stands with her boss Ray Cox at Wal-Mart

Hurricane Katrina was bearing down on the Gulf Coast when Sandra Boswell in Bakersfield, Calif., received a telephone call from her family in Mississippi.

“It’s a 5,” she heard.

At first she thought they were talking about the time of day. Then it hit her. They were talking about the strength of the storm. Katrina was a category 5 hurricane.

“Oh, my God. You all have to leave,” she pleaded.

Boswell knew the power of a category 5 hurricane. She rode out category 5 Hurricane Camille in 1969 and vowed “never again. It was terrifying.”

Boswell, a registered nurse who oversees the intensive care units at Catholic Healthcare West’s Bakersfield hospitals, has many brothers and sisters still living along the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Her husband, Bill, also has family around Bay St. Louis.

The couple moved to Bakersfield in the 1980s so Bill could work in the oil industry. Bakersfield “grew on them” and they never moved “back home” to Mississippi.

When Katrina landed, Boswell’s brother and two of her sisters “lost everything.” Her sister Dawn Lusich, whose family had a catfish farm and oyster beds, stubbornly stayed to protect their business.

But as the churning ocean filled Lusich’s neighborhood with water, she and her two young children fled with neighbors into her home’s attic. Rain-filled winds ripped the roof from the house. Flood waters caused it to drift from its foundation.

When Katrina moved on and calm returned to the devastated city, Lusich, her children and neighbors were rescued from the attic rooftop.

“She thought she was going to die,” Sandra said.

Nearly 2,000 miles away, Sandra and Bill Boswell began collecting clothing and supplies for their families and friends in Mississippi. With the help of a Bakersfield television station, a collection point was set up. When the first tractor-trailer rig was filled, it headed east. Just a few days later, a second 18-wheeler was stuffed with supplies and sent to the Gulf.

“Sandra called and said Billie was on his way,” recalled Lusich. “When he arrived, I could not believe the outpouring of help from Bakersfield.”

A few weeks later, Sandra traveled to Mississippi. “We had no Gulf. It was all gone. It was horrible. All I did was cry,” she said.

The Wal-Mart in nearby Waveland, where Lusich worked in the customer service department, also was gone. Manager Ray Cox told his bosses at corporate headquarters in Arkansas that the place “looked like Hiroshima after the bomb was dropped.”

Company trucks began arriving with water, non-perishable food and supplies. For the next 30 days, Wal-Mart gave away — free of charge — life-sustaining medications. Tents housed a temporary Wal-Mart.

Meanwhile, Cox, who also lost his home, dispatched staff to check on employees. Using payroll records, they fanned out to account for everyone. Sadly, Edgar Bane, a worker on the loading dock, and his family of four had died in the storm.

Every employee received a $1,000 check to get them through the early days of the crisis. And when they were able to return to work, jobs were waiting for them. Eleven months after the storm, Waveland’s new Wal-Mart opened for business.

“Like everyone else around here, we pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps,” Cox said. “It’s made us stronger.”

Lusich credits Cox and Wal-Mart for getting her through the hard times.

She and most of her neighbors have rebuilt their homes. Lusich’s house is not as grand as her old one.

“Katrina took a lot from me, but it also gave me a lot,” Lusich said, explaining she is closer to her family and friends today.

I called Cox a few days ago to see how his community was fairing after the BP platform explosion. Many of his customers and neighbors are fishermen. They now work for BP. Instead of pulling shrimp and fish from the nearby waters, they are laying boom and sucking out oil.

“We’re persevering and just waiting to see what happens,” he said.

This July 10, 2010 article written by Dianne Hardisty is one in a series that was printed in The Bakersfield Californian about the results of Bakersfield volunteer projects to help rebuild the Gulf Coast after Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005. Dianne Hardisty and her husband, John Hardisty, traveled to New Orleans and the Gulf Coast in April 2010 to report on progress.

 David Brand, left, stands with David Davis

Biloxi , Miss., insurance man David Brand was wading through water and rubble when he heard a "goofy" idea coming out of Bakersfield, Calif.

About the same time, Pastor Steve Truitt, contractor Jim Childress and a handful of Calvary Bible Church members were looking across an Arvin farm field cooking up the "goofy" idea.

The field Childress had recently purchased was littered with 50 weather-beaten, dilapidated trailer homes left over from the Bracero farm worker program of the 1940s and 1950s.

Childress' idea was to donate the trailers to his church, have volunteers fix them up, then haul the trailers back to the Gulf Coast to provide temporary housing for people left homeless by Hurricane Katrina.

Truitt recalled thinking: "This is something much bigger than my church."

And the project became just that -- much bigger. Other churches joined in, as did businesses. Rotary Clubs opened their wallets and provided manpower.

A loose-knit chain of church, charity and Rotary connections spread word of the project to Biloxi, where Katrina had ground away historic antebellum mansions, modest cottages, restaurants, businesses and resorts. First Presbyterian Church, where Brand was an elder, was the only church facing the water that was left standing.

"This place was decimated," Brand recalled recently. While the media attention was focused on New Orleans, which was flooded when the city's levees broke, the center of hurricane damage was the Mississippi, Louisiana and Alabama coast.

"Ninety percent of my friends lost everything," said Ellie Vasilopoulos, a retired Kessler Air Force Base civilian employee. "You would ask someone, 'How did you do?'" She choked back tears when she recalled a friend told her, "Not even a teacup was left."

The damage was so widespread along the Gulf Coast that Brand, Vasilopoulos and their neighbors figured they were pretty much on their own.

"We didn't feel abandoned. We just never expected anyone to help," said Brand. "Why in the world would they come?"

But they did come. And "they" who came quickest were not from the government.

"I don't know what we would have done without all the help from all the communities," said Vasilopoulos, praising church and civic groups for their fast response.

Clothing and supplies arrived by the truckload. Quick-witted Brand became the "go-to guy" in Biloxi in the early days. So it's not surprising that he received the idea -- which he admits sounded pretty goofy -- to fix up and haul 50 aging trailer homes from Bakersfield to Biloxi.

Back in Bakersfield, church member Steve Ogden allowed a field behind his company, Concrete Cutting Unlimited on Well Tech Way in Rosedale, to be used as a staging area, where trailers would be repaired by teams of volunteers. It costs about $4,000 to repair and outfit each trailer. Many of the building supplies and furnishings were donated.

"The first month or two, we didn't know how we were going to pay the bills," Truitt recalled. But then money and donated supplies started pouring in. Area Rotary clubs did a lot of the fundraising. In Biloxi, Brand hustled money to transport the trailers.

Over the next eight months, as a handful of trailers would be fixed up, Bakersfield volunteers would hitch them to trucks and caravan them to Biloxi. They were given to families that had fallen through "FEMA's cracks" -- they did not qualify for federal housing or were on long waiting lists.

Families were handed the keys and told to pass the trailers along to another family when they no longer needed them. Today you can still find some of these trailers scattered about Biloxi's modest neighborhoods.

David Davis invited me into his trailer. The unit now rests on a permanent foundation and sports a front porch. It has been passed along by several owners. Like earlier residents, Davis is mighty grateful to folks in Bakersfield for their efforts.

"God gave us wisdom beyond all measure," said Truitt, adding that a lasting benefit of the trailer project was to bring area churches, groups and individuals together. Some of the same people who helped restore the trailers now work on similar missionary projects together.

As Biloxi rounded the corner into its fifth year since Katrina, Vasilopoulos boasted of the community's comeback. Storm wreckage had been cleared away. Homes and businesses were being rebuilt. Work on a museum, which Biloxi leaders hope will become a tourist attraction, neared completion. Things were definitely looking up.

But that was before British Petroleum's Horizon drilling rig exploded. While the oil has not yet hit the city's beaches, residents can smell it. Gloomy media reports and fishing restrictions keep tourists away.

"It's impacting everyone," Vasilopoulos said. "We are all very concerned. That's all we seem to talk about. And we are scared to death that a hurricane is going to come along and push the oil towards us."

This July 10, 2010 article written by Dianne Hardisty is one in a series that was printed in The Bakersfield Californian about the results of Bakersfield volunteer projects to help rebuild the Gulf Coast after Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005. Dianne Hardisty and her husband, John Hardisty, traveled to New Orleans and the Gulf Coast in April 2010 to report on progress.

Cmdr. Bill Crump, left, and Lt. Kendra Kaufman are shown in the cockpit of their Navy C-40A on the way back to the U.S. from Bahrain.

Just hours after a 7.0 magnitude earthquake devastated Haiti in January, Bill Crump and his San Diego-based fleet logistics support squadron were in the air, flying non-stop airlifts of lifesaving supplies and personnel into the region.

It wasn’t the first international emergency Crump, the squadron’s commanding officer, has responded to. But it dramatically demonstrated the readiness and capabilities of his Navy reserve squadron, which has repeatedly won military commendations.

Crump, 44, who grew up in Cleveland, Tenn., said he was “extremely proud of the men and women of VR-57, who stepped up at a moment’s notice to make [the Haiti] mission happen.”

The long list of humanitarian missions the squadron has flown also includes airlifting New Orleans refugees from the flood waters of Hurricane Katrina in 2005, and hauling rescue supplies and crews to the stricken Gulf Coast in its C-40A, which is a variation of a Boeing 737 that can be quickly reconfigured to carry cargo, passengers, or both.

While Crump describes his squadron’s primary mission as “bringing the fighter to the fight,” the crews’ readiness, the long-range reach of its aircraft and the unit’s flexibility provide frequent and unique challenges.

“You call, we’ll be there,” Crump recently told a reporter.

“There” may be airlifting warriors and weapons to hot spots in the Middle East, or “there” may be delivering the Harlem Globetrotters to a show on a military base. Legislators, diplomats and foreign officers have sat in the jump seat behind Crump in the cockpit as he has flown around the world.

But as he prepares to hand over command of VR-57 next month, Crump said one of his most unusual and gratifying missions was airlifting 15,000 pounds of fresh steak and the 58 volunteer cooks, mostly from the Bakersfield,Calif., to barbecues for troops in the Middle East on July 4.

The loosely-knit group that calls itself the “Cooks from the Valley” was airlifted with top-of-the-line Harris Ranch steaks to Bahrain, where teams of “cooks” were dispatched to four locations -- the Naval Support Activity (Bahrain), Shaikh Isa Air Base ( Bahrain), aboard the amphibious assault ship USS Nassau in the Persian Gulf and Camp Lemonier , a remote base in Djibouti, Africa, where troops stand watch over Somali pirates.

In temperatures pushed beyond the recorded 120 degrees by the humidity and heat from barbecue  grills, the valley cooks served up a dinner that included a 12-ounce gourmet steak and all the traditional July 4 side dishes to homesick sailors, soldiers and marines. Volunteers paid for the steaks and their expenses out of their own pockets.

The idea behind the barbecues began two decades ago. Bakersfield attorney Tom Anton began boxing up prime grade steaks, hauling them to ships and barbecuing them for sailors as expressions of his appreciation for the military.

But after the terrorists’ attacks on the United States on Sept. 11, 2001, Anton’s barbecues grew into “Cooks from the Valley,” who travel like an invading army, barbecuing steaks by the thousands to weary troops, some deployed to the most dangerous and isolated regions of the world.

 “We buy the steak, cook them and clean up,” explained Anton. “Anyone can give money. This is something we can do for the military that is allowing us to live today like it was Sept. 10, 2001. They are keeping us safe.”

Since Sept. 11, 2001, the valley cooks have barbecued more than 130,000 steaks for troops in military hospitals and on bases in combat areas, as well as stateside. On Christmas Day 2007, four cooks, including Anton, traveled to a medical outpost in Iraq to barbecue steaks.

“The need continues,” said Anton. “We are asking enormous sacrifices from these kids. We are creating ‘old young people.’ We have exposed these kids to things no one has seen, as these wars have dragged on and the U.S. has become the 911 responder for the world.”

Lt. Kendra Kaufman, a VR-57 pilot who flew legs of the valley cooks’ airlift, called the mission unique because of the “diplomatic and logistics requirements of bringing civilians into multiple combat zones, as well as the challenge of transporting perishable cargo” into an area in which the temperatures are well above 100 degrees.

Crump said he was honored to participate in the mission because he was “inspired by these ‘patriots’ not only giving of their time and money, but more importantly their genuine sincerity and appreciation of our forward deployed troops.”

The son of Olivia Crump of Cleveland and William Crump Jr. of Huntsville, Ala., the squadron’s commander is a graduate of Cleveland High School and Auburn University. He has been in the Navy for 22 years.

After several years of active duty, Crump transitioned to “reserve” status and began flying as a commercial airline pilot. He became a full-time reserve last year to serve as VR-57’s commanding officer.

Crump will remain in the reserves and resume flying for United Airlines after next month’s change of command. He and his wife, Carol, live in San Diego.

Dianne Hardisty is a freelance writer in Bakersfield, Calif. She and her husband, John Hardisty, traveled with the Cooks from the Valley to Bahrain on July 4. She wrote about the cooks' airlift for the Cleveland Daily Banner in Cleveland, Tenn., the home town of the squadron's commanding officer, Bill Crump.

Tom Anton, left, and Vice Adm. William Gortney, commander of U.S. Naval Forces Central Command, in Bahrain.

Tom Anton’s barbecues began simply:  A guy from Bakersfield , with a genuine fondness for the military, boxed up a bunch of prime cut steaks, hauled them to a ship and barbecued them for a bunch of sailors.

Anton’s first barbecue about two decades ago was followed by several more – just one man’s personal expressions of appreciation for the military’s sacrifices.

But after the terrorists’ attacks on the United States on Sept. 11, 2001, Anton’s barbecues evolved into a loosely-knit group of about 60 people, called the Cooks From The Valley, traveling like an invading army, barbecuing steaks by the thousands to weary sailors, soldiers and marines, some deployed to the most dangerous and isolated regions of the world.

To understand how a simple barbecue could become such a big deal, you have to go back to their beginnings, which make Anton laugh when he talks about them.

Anton says the closest he came to having a military experience was spending some time in a military school as a kid. The 65-year-old attorney was born and raised in landlocked Bakersfield. But he developed a fondness for the ocean, an interest in boats and a respect for the U.S. Navy. That led to Anton’s involvement in the local Navy League chapter, as its legal advisor.

“The most complicated issue I dealt with was whether or not we could have beer at an event,” recalled Anton during a recent interview. He admitted he was a bit bored by the assignment and pestered to go out on a ship. His pestering landed him with a ride on a ship bound for Seattle.

A Navy officer he met on that ship later became the executive officer of the USS Chandler , a guided missile destroyer. He invited Anton to ride the Chandler home to California from Hawaii. An avid barbecue chef, Anton decided to arrange a taste of valley cooking for the ship’s crew.

Before he flew to Hawaii to board the Chandler, he called a prestigious restaurant on the island and ordered 400 of its best raw steaks. But he hadn’t quite figured out how to get the steaks from the restaurant to the ship at Pearl Harbor.

“I tried to rent a car, but that wasn’t big enough. I tried to get a van, and that didn’t work out either,” he recalled. The solution was to hire a limousine.

Anton crammed boxes of steaks into every inch of the limousine, as Rocky, the driver, fretted that the steaks would bleed out of the boxes and onto the plush upholstery.  “I told them they wouldn’t leak. Hell, I had no idea what would happen.”

The ship’s commander, Robert Natter, cleared Anton through the base gate. When the limousine pulled up next to the ship, a senior chief came down to inspect the meat. He ripped into a box, pulled out a slab of meat, and slammed it back into the box, declaring: “It’s not good Navy steaks; it’s too thick.”

A stunned Anton held back his anger. When he looked up at the ship’s bridge, he saw his friend, the executive officer, and Natter laughing at their joke.

Anton and his steaks set sail in a calm sea and beautiful weather. The barbecue was scheduled for the third day of the journey. By then “the weather had turned snotty,” Anton recalled, describing the strong winds and high waves that rocked the ship.

He thought the crew was kidding when they told him he would have to cook the steaks on steel plates in the galley. Instead, he went onto the deck and began preparing the barbecue coals. It was only after he asked to have the ship turned away from the wind that he was ordered to the galley. Anton’s first attempt at barbecuing at sea turned out to be a disappointing steak fry.

That was in 1980. The amicable, fast-talking Anton would not be discouraged. He finagled his way into staging more barbecues – one-man events, 400 to 500 steaks, on ships and bases, every year or two.

Then the terrorists attacked New York and the Pentagon in 2001.

The Chandler’s young commander had moved up the ranks. He was now an admiral, overseeing Atlantic Fleet operations.

Anton called his old friend and asked to do a really big barbecue on board a Navy aircraft carrier.

The admiral’s initial response: “What the [expletive].”

“I told him that he had no idea about the need for private citizens to do something for the military,” Anton recalled.  But the admiral was doubtful about the logistics of hauling more than 5,000 steaks out to a ship and barbecuing them.

After some convincing, Natter and other reluctant Navy brass cleared the way for Anton’s barbecue aboard the USS John C. Stennis , as it sailed from Pearl Harbor to San Diego, just eight months after 9/11.

The 12-ounce steaks served to the Stennis crew came from Fresno County’s Harris Ranch . Most of the 50-plus cooks that Anton recruited to help came from Bakersfield. This eclectic group of lawyers, judges and business people paid for the steaks themselves and sweat over barbecue coals to bring a taste of home to the kids fighting the “war on terror.”

“We buy the steak, cook them and clean up,” explained Anton. “Anyone can give money. This is something we can do for the military that is allowing us to live today like it was Sept. 10, 2001. They are keeping us safe.”

Anton recalled that a young woman on the Stennis came up to the cooks, with tears in her eyes. She asked why they had done such a generous thing.

Anton admits that his response to the woman was a bit lame. But he gets emotional when he recalls what a Bakersfield businessman told her.

Ron Surgener was serving in Vietnam, when he was suddenly given orders to return home. Still in his military uniform, he arrived at the airport in San Francisco to jeers. He was stunned and hurt by the reception.

Surgener told the young woman that he made up his mind that he would never let that happen to any other soldier. Surgener and his son, Lester, have participated in many of the Cooks From The Valley barbecues.

Since Sept. 11, 2001, the Cooks have barbecued more than 70,000 thick, juicy Harris Ranch steaks for soldiers, sailors and marines. The barbecues have been held aboard ships, in military hospitals and on bases in high profile areas, such as the Persian Gulf and Guantanamo Bay Naval Station, as well as stateside. On Christmas Day 2007, four cooks, including Anton, traveled to a medical outpost in Iraq to barbecue steaks.

This month, Anton's cooks traveled with 16,000 pounds of steak to the Persian Gulf, where they barbecued for troops on July 4 at four locations -- at the Naval Support Activity and at Shaikh Isa Air Base, both in Bahrain; aboard the amphibious assault ship USS Nassau in the Persian Gulf, and at Camp Lemonier , a base in Djibouti, in the Horn of Africa, where troops stand watch over Somali pirates.

“The need continues,” said Anton. “We are asking enormous sacrifices from these kids. We are creating  ‘old young people.’ We have exposed these kids to things no one has seen, as these wars have dragged on and the U.S. has become the 911 responder for the world.”

Anton explained the barbecues are able to come together because “I just happen to know a lot of guys who won’t hang up on me when I call them and ask for help.”

With her husband, John Hardisty , freelance writer Dianne Hardisty traveled with the Cooks from the Valley to Bahrain. She wrote about Tom Anton's barbecue quest in the Bakersfield Californian on July 4, 2010.

'Cooks from the Valley' steaks are unloaded in Bahrain.

An army of 60 volunteers, mostly from Bakersfield, Calif., flew to the Persian Gulf and Africa to celebrate July 4 with U.S. soldiers, sailors and marines.

Cooks From The Valley were dispatched in teams to barbecue 12-ounce Harris Ranch steaks for U.S. troops at Bahrain Naval Air Station, Shaikh Isa  Air Base in Bahrain, aboard the amphibious assault ship USS Nassau in the Persian Gulf and at Camp Lemonier , a former French Foreign Legion base in Djibouti, in the Horn of Africa, where troops stand watch over Somali pirates.

It was the first time this loosely-knit group of volunteers had barbecued in four different locations, more than 1,000 miles apart, simultaneously on the same day.

The barbecues were staged to show America’s appreciation for the military’s sacrifices, particularly after the terrorists’ attacks on Sept. 11, 2001. They were intended to bring a taste of home to the troops. Volunteer cooks paid for the steaks and their own expenses.

Airlifting thousands of steaks and cooks to often remote locations, or aboard ships is a logistical challenge. But after barbecuing more than 70,000 steaks since the 9/11 attacks, these events are beginning to resemble the maneuvers of a well-trained army.

But even Bakersfield attorney Tom Anton, who organizes the barbecues, admits this latest far-flung trip was more complex than earlier ones.

The cooks left Bakersfield by bus on June 28, traveling to Lemoore Naval Air Station in Kings County, where they boarded a military cargo plane. Their days-long trip to Bahrain required several fueling and crew-change stops in Europe.  They return to Bakersfield on July 7.

Many of those traveling to Bahrain had volunteered for several past trips.

Catherine Gay, who led the team in Isa, first became a cook in 2005 for a barbecue aboard the USS Ronald Reagan. She has since traveled to Dubai, Guantanamo Bay Naval Station, and to several stateside bases and ships.

“Those kids – and yes they are kids – are over there fighting for us. They deserve the best,” she said during interviews with several of the cooks before they left for Bahrain. “It makes you feel good. A lot of times, they don’t even know we are there until they come through the [food] line. They are so grateful. They are so polite.”

Gay found the experience so rewarding that her husband, David, joined her on later trips.

Like many of the cooks, David Gay is a Vietnam War veteran. He recalls that he “crawled home,” after his discharge from the military in 1970. He and the other cooks are committed to treating those fighting today’s wars differently.

“You meet some great kids out there,” said David Gay, who helped lead the team barbecuing in Bahrain. “They are amazing. You come back feeling very good.”

David Gay, Tom Anton, Rocky Spencer and Jeff Peters are so committed to the cooks project that they gave up their Christmas in 2007 to fly to Iraq to barbecue 600 steaks for an expeditionary medical group.

“I do it because I have a passion for it,” said Spencer, an avid cook, who also barbecues at many Bakersfield area fund raising events.  But he said it is the appreciation of the troops and camaraderie of the cooks that keep his suitcase packed and him ready to say “yes” when Anton arranges another trip.

“You get such satisfaction from this. It is a privilege, an honor to serve our finest men and women in uniform,” Spencer said.

“It’s a small thing we can do to help bring a little bit of home to the people who are keeping us safe,” said Peters, who is on the team cooking at Camp Lemonier.

 J.J. Gianquinto, a Navy veteran, whose son is a Navy reservist, led the team barbecuing on the USS Nassau.

“Tom [Anton] has taken on a project of immense proportion,” noted Gianquinto. “To have four teams at four locations, all preparing steaks to be served at approximately the same time is, in itself, daunting. To have those locations spread as far apart as they are, with requirements as varied as they are is an amazing feat. 

“We will be cooking on the flight deck of a carrier under way. Isa is a remote location that is in a very strict Muslim area. Bahrain base is a U.S. Navy installation. Camp Lemonier i right next to Somalia … near one of the pirate bases.

“It is clear that the military is at war, but the rest of the nation is not. Those kids must be recognized and made to know they are appreciated.”

Dianne Hardisty and her husband, Jack, traveled with the Cooks From The Valley. This story written by Dianne Hardisty appeared first in The Bakersfield Californian on July 4, 2010.

The state shortchanging California counties that have been participating for decades in an agricultural land conservation program is riling folks in the Central Valley, the nation’s food basket.

“Talk is cheap. And so, it seems, are California’s governor and Legislature,” wrote John Hardisty in a Bakersfield Californian opinion article published June 24, 2010. Hardisty headed the Bakersfield  Development Services Department until his retirement in 2004. He is now a planning consultant.

“Checks were sent this month to counties, including Kern, to reimburse local governments for the cost of participating in a long-time, highly successful agricultural land preservation program,” he wrote.

“Instead of the $4.7 million Kern County should be receiving under a long-established state Williamson Act formula, the county will be receiving only $133.22. … for its efforts to preserve about 1.6 million acres of agricultural land. Only Fresno County is getting more – a whopping $150.45. … Some counties, such as Orange County, received checks for only a penny,” wrote Hardisty, who as the deputy planning director of California’s rural Kings County in the 1970s administered the Williamson Act .

“This whole fiasco is a sorry result of state government’s fiscal meltdown and its years-long pattern of letting its ‘pain’ roll down to local governments. Governors and legislators pass laws and spend money in Sacramento, then roll the fiscal consequences downhill to cities and counties,” Hardisty wrote.

Last year, the Williamson Act was a casualty of state budget cutting. But rather than kill the program altogether, $1,000 was left in the budget to reimburse local governments for the cost of the program. The state checks that have gone out this month reflect the dividing up of that $1,000.

This contrasts to the $38 million that should have been distributed to help preserve 16.5 million acres of farmland and open space in California.

The Williamson Act, which was authored in 1965 by Kern County Assemblyman John Williamson, provides an economic incentive for farmers to keep farming their land, rather than selling it for residential or commercial development. Owners enter into 10- or 20-year contracts in exchange for a discount on their property tax. Rather than being taxed at the “market rate” – based on the land sprouting houses, rather than crops – it is charged a rate based on the less “valuable” agricultural use.

The state agreed to partially reimburse participating counties for the loss of property tax that resulted from this discount. And it is that agreement that the state reneged on last year.

The Williamson Act is one of California’s most successful agricultural land and open space conservation strategies. It has enabled farmers to keep farming, kept communities from sprawling into prime agricultural land, and helped California maintain its position as the nation’s number one agricultural state – all stated goals of Gov. Schwarzenegger’s and legislators’ attempts to curb “global warming.”

Photo by Dianne Hardisty
Paul Chavez, president of the Cesar E. Chavez Foundation, poses in front of the new conference center.

A dilapidated collection of buildings that once housed Kern County’s sick and fragile children has been transformed into a gracious retreat and conference center that likely would have warmed the heart of the late farm worker advocate Cesar Chavez.

Once known as the Preventorium, a county hospital and residential facility in Keene for under-weight children and children who had contracted tuberculosis, the horseshoe-shaped complex has been restored to its 1929 grandeur.

Nestled at the foot of Three Peaks, a rock outcropping on the northern border of the 187-acre National Chavez Center on Woodford-Tehachapi Road, the retreat and conference center is intended to advance  Chavez’s legacy of peaceful advocacy for civil rights and the empowerment of disenfranchised people.

“Dad believed ordinary people can do extraordinary things,” said Paul Chavez, president of the Cesar Chavez Foundation. But to do extraordinary things, Chavez recognized that people need to be trained and inspired.

Assuming a life of self-imposed poverty, Chavez created a labor union, the United Farm Workers, and a social movement, now continued by the Cesar E. Chavez Foundation.  The non-profit foundation operates the National Chavez Center in Keene, where Chavez, who died in 1993, is buried. It also oversees a national affordable housing program and a Spanish-language radio network.

“Here is a man who never made more than $6,000 a year. He died at 66 and left no money. But 40,000 people marched behind his casket,” recalled Marc Grossman, Chavez’s long-time spokesman and assistant.

“For 100 years before Cesar, people tried and failed to organize farm workers,” said Grossman, explaining Chavez succeeded by adopting new techniques and strategies, including boycotts and non-violence. Chavez created more than a union. He created a social movement “that has taken on a life of its own.”

In the 1960s, Chavez’s movement was headquartered in Delano, in the crossfire between powerful growers and union organizers. Searching for a more secure location for his family, union officials and volunteers, Chavez learned that Kern County was selling its shuttered tuberculosis sanitarium in Keene. He also suspected pro-agriculture county officials would not sell the property to him.

So instead, movie producer Edward Lewis, a wealthy union supporter, bought the property in 1971. He quickly turned it over to the non-profit National Farm Workers Service Center, which is now merged with the Cesar E. Chavez Foundation.

The compound, which was named Nuestra Senora Reina de La Paz, or more commonly La Paz, became Chavez’s refuge, as well as the hub of union organizing and training for more than two decades.

And that is what Chavez was doing – organizing farm workers in Arizona – when he died in his sleep in 1993.

“Mom came to us and said Dad always wanted to be buried at La Paz,” recalled Paul Chavez. “That meant we would never leave. That weighed on us. The buildings were old and dilapidated.”

The future of La Paz, as well as the movement Chavez created, became the focus of intense evaluation by members of Chavez’s extended family and supporters. The result was the creation of a master plan for La Paz, which included the creation of the retreat and conference center that will open this month.

Paul Chavez recalled that his father’s goal was to provide a place for individuals and groups to gather to work for social justice and civil rights, to learn the skills to organize and do “extraordinary things.” He said creation of a retreat and conference center furthers his father’s goal.

Funding for the retreat and conference center was partially provided by a $2.5 million grant from the California Cultural and Heritage Endowment of the California State Library . Project coordinator Dennis Dahlin estimates the total cost of renovating the former county hospital was $6 million, with matching funds contributed by the foundation and supporters. Professional services and supplies also were donated.

A similar state grant and contributions helped pay for the construction in 204 of a visitors’ center at the entrance to the National Chavez Center. The visitors’ center features Chavez’s office, library and courtyard, as well as the memorial garden, where Chavez is buried.

Chavez’s birthday, March 31, is recognized as an official holiday in 11 states, including California, with observations focused on community service. Educational and social service groups visit and tour the National Chavez Center in Keene year round.

A third phase of the National Chavez Center’s master plan calls for the creation of a cultural center, said Paul Chavez.

Training sessions and programs sponsored by the Cesar E. Chavez Foundation will be held in the new retreat and conference center. In addition, use of the center by groups and individuals for conference and social events, including weddings, can be arranged by calling Manager Monica Parra at 661-823-6271.

The retreat and conference center will officially open on Saturday, June 26, during a celebration from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. at the National Chavez Center, 29700 Woodford-Tehachapi Road, Keene, Calif.

This article appeared first in the June edition of The Bakersfield Californian’s MAS magazine . A condensed story was posted on June 6, 2010 on Dianne Hardisty’s Examiner  page.

Phil Angelides, left, Bill Thomas, right.

Former California Treasurer Phil Angelides and retired Bakersfield, Calif., Congressman Bill Thomas aren’t exactly stand-up comedians. They are serious, brainy policy wonks.

And there’s nothing funny about the job Congress gave them to do.

 But the imagery that emerged during a hearing Wednesday of their congressionally-created commission , the Fiscal Crisis Inquiry Commission, was both funny and accurate. And it cut to the heart of the Wall Street excesses that brought the U.S. economy to the brink of collapse.

Democrat Angelides and Republican Thomas co-chair the bipartisan FCIC, which is supposed to explain to Congress by Dec. 15 who did what to whom that led to the financial mess, and create a road map for Congress to better protect investors and the nation’s economy.

The 10 FCIC members were grilling representatives of the investment rating agency giant Moody’s, as well as its major stockholder, investment giant Warren Buffett of Berkshire Hathaway , about the AAA ratings Moody’s gave to what turned out to be disastrous investment instruments, primarily involving subprime real estate loans.

When asked about the assurances Moody’s provided, a former company director told commissioners that Moody’s was focused on “market share,” meaning it was focused on making an increasing number of deals and bringing revenue into the company.

Traditionally, bankers would bring deals to the rating company a month or two before they closed, giving analysts time to evaluate risks and establish accurate ratings, which are used by investors in their buying decisions.

But as the market heated up, the deals came in just days before closing. Some even arrived after closing, according to FCIC testimony Wednesday.

To that, Angelides asked, “Did you ever see ‘I Love Lucy?’ That famous episode where she’s working in a chocolate factory and the conveyor belt just goes faster and faster? Did you ever feel like Lucy?”

Thomas went further with the chocolate analogy,  likening the deals the bankers were making to putting chocolates in a box, with the best being those with solid deals and performing loans, and the questionable ones with creamy soft centers.

Buffett acknowledged that rating agencies “made the wrong call,” but noted that the entire American public believed housing prices would not dramatically fall.

He acknowledged that he did not recognize the significance. He pointed out that during his company’s annual meeting, he called the situation at “bubblette.” But it turned out to be “a four star-bubble,” Buffett told commissioners.

After sorting through a series of excuses expressed during the hearing, Thomas observed: “If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas.” Thomas has long been critical of the role rating agencies have played in the nation’s financial crisis.

Angelides noted Wednesday that these rating agencies were the “referees in a game that got out of control.”

About the author: Dianne Hardisty is The Bakersfield Californian’s  retired editorial page editor. Now a freelance writer in Bakersfield, Hardisty interviewed former Bakersfield Congressman Bill Thomas in December on the eve of the first major Fiscal Crisis Inquiry Commission hearing.