CALIFORNIA ALBUM : Clintons Are Talk of the Town : Citizens of Summerland, a quiet seaside enclave south of Santa Barbara, gear up for the hoopla when the President-elect and his family drop by the new coastal digs.

The Clintons are coming, and this seaside town is all atwitter:

Will the First Family bring a casserole to the community potlucks at Lookout Park?

Is Hillary likely to hunt for headbands at rummage sales down at the Presbyterian church?

And what about Bill? Might he make the scene at the Nugget bar and grill, where owner Doug Taylor already has anointed a presidential booth and shelled out $195 for a tenor saxophone?

The buzz began Friday, when Summerlanders learned that longtime pals of the President-elect--TV producers Harry Thomason and Linda Bloodworth-Thomason--had found a vacation home in their town, a picturesque enclave six miles down the coast from Santa Barbara. Odds are the Clintons will become favorite house guests.

Compared to the stuff that normally makes news around here, this development was a doozy--a topic debated with equal passion at the Bikini Factory and amid the expensive treasures at Serendipity Antiques.

“It’s a very exciting thing for us,” said waitress Danielle Norton, who works lunch hours at the Summerland Beach Cafe. “You’ve got to remember, we’re a kicked-back, relaxed, tiny community where nothing ever happens.”

Kicked-back, relaxed and tiny just about sum up this wisp of a town. A mere 1,800 people live in the jumble of homes that cling to hills rising steeply from Summerland’s stretch of the Pacific, and the lineup of businesses is small.

Cats appear to be dozing on every front porch, kids sell lemonade on street corners and neighbors keep in touch through leisurely chats at the post office, where all residents must pick up their mail. The town’s tempo seems best defined by the college students who pedal about slowly on their creaky beach-cruiser bicycles.

Indeed, the pace here is probably not much quicker than that of Hope, Ark., Clinton’s now-famous birthplace. Summerland’s real estate prices, however, would keep most Arkansans out: Even the scruffiest cottage on the skimpiest lot can fetch $300,000; estates on the water go for $4 million or more.

Still, Summerland is an unpretentious place, one that has fought hard to remain distinct from ritzy Montecito, its neighbor, as well as Santa Barbara, where most residents work. Rejecting the tile-roofed Spanish influence dominant elsewhere in the region, Summerland has cultivated a New England clapboard look, which was judged more suitable for a seacoast town.

“Summerland has unique charm and personality,” resident Diane Pearson said as she combed her golden retriever. “Nobody wants it to become just an annex of Santa Barbara.”

Although its name suggests an origin as a vacation community, Summerland began as a colony of spiritualists who tried to contact the dead. Founder H.L. Williams divided his large chunk of land into small lots and sold them for $25 to followers, who were invited to come pitch a tent.

The spiritualists’ endeavors earned the town a nickname--Spooksville--and a reputation.

“Summerland is known for having a bunch of ghosts running around it,” said Fred Kahl, 79, a jovial, white-bearded man. Kahl believes that ghosts are a small price to pay for Summerland’s assets, which he lists as “great views, wonderful climate and no flying bugs.”

Around the turn of the century, Summerland’s religious beginnings succumbed to the almighty dollar as it became the site of an oil and natural gas boom. California’s first offshore oil well was drilled here in 1896, and derricks once cluttered its sandy beach.

The derricks are gone, but a few old wells were poorly capped and continue to leak, cursing Summerland’s beach with bits of tar and the faint aroma of oil.

In the 1960s and early ‘70s, the community got a new identity, becoming a favorite haunt of the counterculture. They had a saying for the town back then, recalled Richard Stackhouse, who owns three businesses in town: “Summerland, where the debris meets the sea and the hippies run free.”

For a while, it seemed its funky character would remain forever. But in 1983, landowners pressured the water board to lift a decade-long building moratorium.

The subsequent construction spurt plopped luxurious new dwellings down amid ramshackle homes. Summerland has the look of a patchwork pillow that has been recently mended, with spotless pieces of new fabric bordering frayed and faded relics.

The building boom also has exaggerated the contrasts in Summerland society. Wealthy attorneys and celebrities such as Jonathan Winters represent one end of the spectrum, while fishermen, retirees and student renters are on the other. Summerlanders on both sides of the gulf say they live in relative harmony.

“Look outside there and you’ll see a Mercedes, a battered pickup and a motorcycle,” said Taylor, pointing at the parking lot in front of The Nugget, which he has owned for 14 years. “That’s what’s special about this place--the mix.”

Like other businesses, the Nugget courts all elements of the diverse populace. It has burgers and beer and posters of scantily clad women--and a cappuccino machine.

As they mull the prospect of having the Clintons as occasional neighbors, Summerlanders are a divided lot. Some are clearly dismayed, fearing that the media swarms, security precautions and looky-loos that accompany a chief executive’s presence will ruin the serenity they cherish.

“What if I want to take a walk on the beach or go scuba diving?” said Kevin Murphy, 25, an architect who is a lifelong resident of Summerland. “Is some Secret Service guy gonna assume I’m mining the coast and pull me in for questioning? I’m afraid the days of seclusion are over.”

On Friday, he had evidence to stoke such worries. Armed with satellite trucks and cameras, more than a dozen journalists invaded the town. At one point, a sheriff’s deputy chased off a group of reporters gathered outside the walls of the wooded estate believed to be the property the Clintons will use for retreats.

“We’re getting a lot of complaints from neighbors,” Deputy Darrin Stern said. “They are quite upset.”

Merchants, meanwhile, greeted the Clinton news with unrestrained glee, betting that the First Family and its entourage will be a boost for the town’s tepid business climate. Taylor not only went out and bought the saxophone--which he has displayed in a blue velvet case behind the bar--but also may add ribs to his menu.

And John Sullivan, who owns Sandpiper Liquor, has ordered a red, white and blue banner he plans to stretch across Summerland’s main street Tuesday.

“It will read ‘Summerland Welcomes President Clinton and Family,’ ” Sullivan said. “I’m excited about this. He promised to help the economy. Well, he’s gonna’ help it here, that’s for sure.”