Calling All Milk Cows: A Roundup

California is a volatile land, constructed on shifting plates, subject to alternating assaults by flood and drought, populated by assorted drifters and dreamers and their press agents. Things happen. Hillsides erupt. Trends emerge. New stars are born, as old ones are escorted to the quiz shows.

Change is the one constant of California life, or so sing the gilded poets. And yet at times it seems nothing ever changes at all. Like the poppies, certain plot lines keep coming back again and again, the perennials of the public scene. Like the smog, some never go away at all. Water is one obvious example.

The generals of hydraulics are at it again, warring this time over Colorado River water. The stakes, as always, are huge and the details, as always, are complex. The fundamental issue, though, is the same as always: Water, water, who gets the water? There never has been, and never will be, enough water for California--except when it floods.

Similarly, the politics of the place adhere to familiar patterns. From the earliest days, California vote-seekers have campaigned against the Other. In the mid-1800s, it was “John,” code name for the Chinese laborers. There were the Pikes, followed by the Okies, and the Hollywood Reds, and the welfare queens, and Mexican field workers, and the beneficiaries of affirmative action. Does anyone doubt that, given the mounting political ruckus over the Asian connection, the next election will be a contest to determine which candidates know the fewest Chinese?

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This sense of repetition can be annoying to journalists. News is supposed to be a self-defining term, but after the 10th dog is bitten by a boy, the headlines can feel a little too familiar. Cynicism begins to invade the journalistic immune system, a dangerous development in that the truly cynical journalist is but one bad day away from a second career as press agent.

All that said, it still seems not at all difficult to imagine what headlines await Californians beyond that bridge to the New Millennium. Five years from now--or 10, 15, 25, even 50 years from now--the news will be full of water wars and wedge issues and O.J. Simpson’s new quarters at the rest home. B-1 Bob Dornan, or his lawful heirs, will be demanding a recount. Jerry Brown will be rumored to be contemplating a run for something, anything. Peter Ueberroth will be rumored to be a candidate for a job he doesn’t want.

A seismic engineer will be expressing concern about the L.A. Coliseum press box. Tunneling for the Metro Red Line will be stalled somewhere under the city. A California councilman will be shown amid the scorched rubble of a canyon, declaring the time has come to crack down on roof shingles. A county supervisor will visit a submerged subdivision, declaring the time has come to crack down on flood plain development. Los Angeles will be fighting over its police chief.

The Dodgers will need a third baseman. Al Davis will be threatening to move his Fort Worth Raiders to Frankfurt. Food critics will be predicting that Los Angeles cuisine finally is about to come of age. Sylvester Stallone will announce he is now seeking serious roles. And Liz Taylor will be home from Cedars, weakened by the operation, but holding up well for a 145-year-old. Her fiance will stand at the gate, shooing away paparazzi.

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Perennials can provide a sense of security. That every spring the feature writers return on schedule to San Juan Capistrano is somehow reassuring. It was comforting to read the other day in the Fresno Bee that San Joaquin Valley raisin growers are about to embark on yet another promotional campaign. Their conviction that the world is but one catchy advertisement away from succumbing to raisin mania has been a staple of reportage in raisinland since William Saroyan was a boy.

Some never-ending stories, however, grow tedious, as unwelcome as weeds. Tales of the latest gang to terrorize the streets, or the latest crackpot to invade the family planning clinic, or the latest measurement of public school decline--any novelty wore off sad old chestnuts such as these long ago.

Of course, new crops do keep pushing up. Politicians in particular are adept at developing the fresh controversies that news requires. Currently in the state Capitol, debate rages over gambling and how to control card rooms and reservation casinos. This story line holds tremendous evergreen potential, as all sides seem willing to throw huge amounts of cash at the legislators.

As long as combatants are willing to donate, politicians will be willing to debate their issue, on and on, but without conclusion. “We don’t kill milk cows up here,” is how one Sacramento consultant has described this phenomenon. Some cynics, I suppose, would say the same of newspapers.