Thanks for the Memories, Simi Valley, but It’s Time to Be Moving On

Leaving Simi Valley.

I admit that doesn’t quite have the same ring as, say, “Leaving Las Vegas,” or “Leaving L.A.”--a song my ex-wife wrote shortly before she left me--but nevertheless I’m out of here.

After six years of living in this suburban outpost, I’m headed west to Ventura to be closer to my job. My daily 35-mile one-way commute has finally taken its toll on me and my clunky Tercel, which I recently retired.

Besides, it’s time for a change.

But before I leave I’d like to take a few moments to reflect on my time in Simi Valley.

My wife and I first came here in 1991 for the same reasons as many other people: to escape rising crime and overcrowding in the San Fernando Valley.

The breaking point came when our truck was stolen from the “secured parking” area of our Northridge apartment complex. It was the first new vehicle I had ever owned.

It wasn’t long before we started looking for another place to live. I had recently begun working in Simi Valley, so the move over the hill to Ventura County seemed to make sense.

Right away we found a lovely apartment in Wood Ranch overlooking the rolling Simi Hills. And there was a grocery store within walking distance.

The neighborhood was peaceful, even boring. But that was OK with me. After long days at work, that’s exactly what I wanted.

As for my new job assignment, things couldn’t have been busier. There was the opening of the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and, of course, the first Rodney King beating trial.

I was stationed at the county courthouse in Simi Valley the night the four Los Angeles police officers accused of beating King were acquitted. Compared to the burning and looting taking place in Los Angeles, things were rather calm in Simi that April night in 1992.

There were no acts of violence or mayhem to speak of, although a group of skinheads showed up at the courthouse with a large Confederate flag to announce their support for the verdicts.

The next day, my mother--terrified at the television images she had seen of the riots in Los Angeles--called from Houston to ask if we were OK.

At that moment, I remember looking out my bedroom window and seeing several people playing golf across the street at the Wood Ranch Country Club. It was an odd sight, considering that I could also see plumes of black smoke off in the distance--evidence of the madness unfolding in Los Angeles.

“Don’t worry, mom,” I assured her. “Everything’s going to be all right.” Protest demonstrations were held in the city and threats that “Simi’s next” followed, but the clamor soon died down.

What hasn’t died and probably never will is the stigma Simi Valley was left with after the verdicts. The largely white and conservative community didn’t realize it at the time, but it too was on trial.

The city was condemned by many as racist. But officials said it was unfair to blame the city for the verdicts or the riots they ignited.

They pointed out that only two of the jurors were actually from Simi Valley.

“I hope people understand this was not a Simi Valley jury, or a Simi Valley trial,” Mayor Greg Stratton said at the time. “This was a Los Angeles County trial. All we did was simply host the trial. We looked at it as a duty. It certainly was not an honor.”

One of Simi’s biggest sources of pride is the Reagan library, which sits atop a hill at the city’s west end overlooking the valley.

It was here--in suburbia of all places--that I got to see up close at different times Reagan, Colin Powell, Margaret Thatcher and Mikhail Gorbachev. Yes, Virginia, even Gorbachev has spent time in Simi.

My most cherished memory, though, was meeting the late Jimmy Stewart at a black-tie dinner one night in the library’s courtyard. The star of “It’s a Wonderful Life” asked me if I could show him to the men’s room.

Doesn’t matter. That famous voice was talking to me. Here I was in the presence of a true Hollywood icon who needed my help. (This was even better than the time I met Roy Rogers and Willie Nelson on the same night!)

So as I begin to pack my bags and memories of Simi, I know there are some things I’m going to miss--and, of course, some I won’t.

I won’t miss July in Simi Valley, for instance. Or the smog. Or Rocketdyne’s earth-moving rocket engine tests.

I will miss my view of the Simi Hills. I will miss my neighbors, Carl and Bernice. And I will miss my late night run-ins with City Manager Mike Sedell--whom I also consider a friend--in the cereal aisle at Ralphs.

Looking back, I have no regrets about moving to Simi. In fact, it turned out to be a smart move. My old apartment building in Northridge was destroyed in the 1994 earthquake.