Some Tustin Residents Recoop Their Old Lifestyle

This story is several years old now, but it bears repeating what with the recent stink over the roosters in Old Town Tustin who have just won a hard-earned eviction reprieve from the city bureaucrat types, on a trial basis, provided that they keep quiet.

The roosters, that is. Cock-a-doodle-doo and all that. More later.

Anyway, in the words of the eyewitness to this apocalyptic event--not to be over - dramatic or anything, but it is sort of a defining tale about roosters--what happened was this:

“Well, we had this big red rooster, trained and everything, that we raised from an egg,” says one Mr. Wade Cargile, retired master chef, who has lived in the neighborhood for 25 years.

“Mr. Red, that was his name,” says Jean Cargile, Wade’s wife.

Jean, who like her husband is in her 80s, is a retired medical secretary, in case you are wondering. You might also want to know that it was Jean’s grandfather who built the house next door in 1921, which is where the Ezells live now, after buying the property at an estate sale when Jean’s aunt passed away last year at the age of 100.

But back to the big red rooster, and while we’re at it, neighborhood roosters in general, who have been around here for more than 100 years and who certainly represent much more than the sum of their frying parts.

Here neighbors give roosters and hens as housewarming gifts. Coops are kept out back. More conventional suburbia types have been known to develop severe cases of lot envy once they get a look at the size of these back yards. Not that I’m naming names.

So what I’m saying is that folks around here figure roosters kind of say something about them, not that they actually agree about what that something might be, but a unifying cock-a-doodle-doo seems to sum up the feeling just fine.

Although, come to think of it, during the height of the battle to save the roosters, the May 3 issue of the Cock-a-Doodle News, born of the crisis, tried putting it another way.

“Although the rooster issue may seem small compared to other issues, it carries extreme social values,” the newsletter said.

Right. And the City Council, by a vote of 5 to 0 last week, apparently concurred, finally , seeing as how this whole rooster thing started last year when Bill Collins agreed to give up his rooster, Tony Bantam, in a noble but ultimately futile ploy to save the roosters of his friends and neighbors.

See, the city was not satisfied with a single rooster martyr. They wanted them all , which is when Bill and his neighbor, Jim Thompson, rooster owner and proud of it, organized the Save Our Roosters movement. Old Town residents stuck S.O.R. signs on their front yards and 57 neighbors--everyone but the alleged complainer and two others who said that they liked the roosters but were not the movement type--signed a pro-rooster petition.

So in the dramatic ruling last week, the City Council overrode the objections of its Planning Commission, which is where the crowing complaint originated, and said the handful of roosters could stay in Old Town as long as they keep quiet until a reasonable hour.

This, incidentally, the rooster owners will attempt by keeping the birds in a dark coop until after sunrise. What is not in dispute around here is that light gives roosters the crowing urge.

What is open to interpretation, apparently, is the actual annoyance factor accompanying said crowing, whereas the sound of “La Cucaracha” blaring from the catering truck that arrives on 6th Street at about 6:30 a.m. is more universally scorned.

Anyway, it looks like it was the five-minute home video that Jim Thompson made--including riveting footage comparing the crowing of the family roosters with the noise of jets flying overhead--that finally convinced the City Council to side with the birds.

Oh, yes. About Mr. Red . . .

“He was a beautiful animal,” Wade says. “He used to roost atop the big orange tree.”

So on this particular morning, Mr. Red, described by Wade as “huge, about the size of a medium-sized turkey,” was up in his orange tree, keeping an eye on his hens below as roosters are wont to do.

“Oh, we had other roosters,” Wade says in an aside. “But he was the king, the head man. He would make the neighbors very happy because he would crow two or three times a night (see above) and the neighbors would know that he was taking care of them.”

Anyway, just as Wade was about to go for the chicken feed, an opossum leaped over the fence in an extremely predatory fashion and headed straight for the hens.

“This was the biggest opossum that I have ever seen in my life,” Wade says with the authority of one who has trapped many an opossum to later set free in even wilder neighborhoods than Old Town Tustin.

“The opossums kill the chickens and then they eat them and eat their eggs,” Jean interjects.

But not while Mr. Red, may he rest in peace, was around.

“He dropped down from that tree, with both his spurs sticking out, just like a fighting cock and threw himself right at that opossum,” Wade says, gesturing to round out the picture. “I just stood there and watched the whole thing. I couldn’t believe it.

“That opossum was three or four times bigger than the rooster, and let me tell you, that opossum ran. It was all over before it even started. And, you know, we have never had another opossum in the area since.”

So there you have it. Just another reason to save the roosters. I mean, if you’re asking me.