Here Come The Maples

By John Updike

They had always been a lucky couple, and it was just their luck that, as they at last decided to part, the Puritan Commonwealth in which they lived passed a no-fault amendment to its creaking, overworked body of divorce law. By its provisions a joint affidavit had to be filed. It went, “Now come Richard F. and Joan R. Maple and swear under the penalties of perjury that an irretrievable breakdown of the marriage exists.” For Richard, reading a copy of the document in his Boston apartment, the wording conjured up a vision of himself and Joan breezing into a party hand in hand while a liveried doorman trumpeted their names and a snow of confetti and champagne bubbles exploded in the room. In the two decades of their marriage, they had gone together to a lot of parties, and always with a touch of excitement, a little hope, a little expectation of something lucky happening.

With the affidavit were enclosed various frightening financial forms and a request for a copy of their marriage license. Though they had lived in New York and London, on islands and farms and for one summer even in a log cabin, they had been married a few subway stops from where Richard now stood, reading his mail. He had not been in the Cambridge City Hall since the morning he had been granted the license, the morning of their wedding. His parents had driven him up from the Connecticut motel where they had all spent the night, on their way from West Virginia; they had risen at six, to get there on time, and for much of the journey he had had his coat over his head, hoping to get back to sleep. He seemed in memory now a sea creature, boneless beneath the jellyfish bell of his own coat, rising helplessly along the coast as the air grew hotter and hotter. It was June, and steamy. When, toward noon, they got to Cambridge, and dragged their bodies and boxes of wedding clothes up the four flights to Joan’s apartment, on Avon Street, the bride was taking a bath. Who else was in the apartment Richard could not remember; his recollection of the day was spotty—legible patches on a damp gray blotter. The day had no sky and no clouds, just a fog of shadowless sunlight enveloping the bricks on Brattle Street, and the white spires of Harvard, and the fat cars baking in the tarry streets. He was twenty-one, and Eisenhower was President, and the bride was behind the door, shouting that he mustn’t come in, it would be bad luck for him to see her. Someone was in there with her, giggling and splashing. Who? Her sister? Her mother? Richard leaned against the bathroom door, and heard his parents heaving themselves up the stairs behind him, panting but still chattering, and pictured Joan as she was when in the bath, her toes pink, her neck tendrils flattened, her breasts floating and soapy and slick. Then the memory dried up, and the next blot showed her and him side by side, driving together into the shimmering noontime traffic jam of Central Square. She wore a summer dress of sun-faded cotton; he kept his eyes on the traffic, to minimize the bad luck of seeing her before the ceremony. Other couples, he thought at the time, must have arranged to have their papers in order more than two hours before the wedding. But then, no doubt, other grooms didn’t travel to the ceremony with their coats over their heads like children hiding from a thunderstorm. Hand in hand, smaller than Hänsel and Gretel in his mind’s eye, they ran up the long flight of stairs into a gingerbread-brown archway and disappeared.

Cambridge City Hall, in a changed world, was unchanged. The rounded Richardsonian castle, red sandstone and pink granite, loomed as a gentle giant in its crass neighborhood. Its interior was varnished oak, pale and gleaming. Richard seemed to remember receiving the license at a grated window downstairs with a brass plate, but an arrow on cardboard directed him upward. His knees trembled and his stomach churned at the enormity of what he was doing. He turned a corner. A grandmotherly woman reigned within a spacious, idle territory of green-topped desks and great ledgers in steel racks. “Could I get a c-copy of a marriage license?” he asked her.

“Year?”

“What is the year of the marriage license, sir?”

“1953.” Enunciated, the year seemed distant as a star, yet here he was again, feeling not a minute older, and sweating in the same summer heat. Nevertheless, the lady, having taken down the names and the date, had to leave him and go to another chamber of the archives, so far away in truth was the event he wished to undo.

She returned with a limp he hadn’t noticed before. The ledger she carried was three feet wide when opened, a sorcerer’s tome. She turned the vast pages carefully, as if the chasm of lost life and forsaken time they represented might at a slip leap up and swallow them both. She must once have been a flaming redhead, but her hair had dulled to apricot and had stiffened to permanent curls, lifeless as dried paper. She smiled, a crimpy little smile. “Yes,” she said. “Here we are.”

And Richard could read, upside down, on a single long red line, Joan’s maiden name and his own. Her profession was listed as “Teacher” (she had been an apprentice art teacher; he had forgotten her spattered blue smock, the clayey smell of her fingers, the way she would bicycle to work on even the coldest days) and his own, inferiorly, as “Student.” And their given addresses surprised him, in being different—the foyer on Avon Street, the entryway in Lowell House, forgotten doors opening on the corridor of shared addresses that stretched from then to now. Their signatures— He could not bear to study their signatures, even upside down. At a glance, Joan’s seemed firmer, and bluer. “You want one or more copies?”

“What would that be?” she asked.

“I have an affidavit that should be notarized.”

“That wouldn’t he my department, sir. First floor, to the left when you get off the elevator, to the right if you use the stairs. The stairs are quicker, if you ask me.”

He followed her directions and found a young black woman at a steel desk bristling with gold-framed images of fidelity and solidarity and stability, of children and parents, of a sombre brown boy in a brown military uniform, of a family laughing by a lakeside; there was even a photograph of a house—an ordinary little ranch house somewhere, with a green lawn. She read Richard’s affidavit without comment. He suppressed his urge to beg her pardon. She asked to see his driver’s license and compared its face with his. She handed him a pen and set a seal of irrevocability beside his signature. The red ball still hung in the air, somewhere in a box of slides he would never see again, and the luminous hush of the cottage when they were left alone in it still travelled, a capsule of silence, outward to the stars; but what grieved Richard more, wincing as he stepped from the brown archway into the summer glare, was a suspended detail of the wedding. In his daze, his sleepiness, in his wonder at the white creature trembling beside him at the altar, on the edge of his awareness like a rainbow in a fog, he had forgotten to seal the vows with a kiss. Joan had glanced over at him, smiling, expectant; he had smiled back, not remembering. The moment passed, and they hurried down the aisle as now he hurried, ashamed, down the City Hall stairs to the street and the tunnel of the subway.

As the subway racketed through darkness, he read about the forces of nature. A scholarly extract had come in the mail, in the same mail as the affidavit. Before he lived alone, he would have thrown it away without a second look, but now, as he slowly took on the careful habits of a Boston codger, he read every scrap he was sent, and even stooped in the alleys to pick up a muddy fragment of newspaper and scan it for a message. Thus, he read, it was already known in 1935 that the natural world was governed by four kinds of force: in order of increasing strength, they are the gravitational, the weak, the electromagnetic, and the strong. Reading, he found himself rooting for the weak forces; he identified with them. Gravitation, though negligible at the microcosmic level, begins to predominate with objects on the order of magnitude of a hundred kilometres, like large asteroids; it holds together the moon, the earth, the solar system, the stars, clusters of stars within galaxies, and the galaxies themselves. To Richard it was as if a fainthearted team overpowered at the start of the game was surging to triumph in the last, macrocosmic quarter; he inwardly cheered. The subway lurched to a stop at Kendall, and he remembered how, a few days after their wedding, he and Joan took a train north through New Hampshire, to summer jobs they had contracted for, as a couple. The train, long since discontinued, had wound its way north along the busy rivers sullied by sawmills and into evergreen mountains where ski lifts stood rusting. The seats had been purple plush, and the train incessantly, gently swayed. Her arms, pale against the plush, showed a pink shadowing of sunburn. Uncertain of how to have a honeymoon, yet certain that they must create memories to last till death did them part, they had played croquet naked, in the little yard that, amid the trees, seemed an eye of grass gazing upward at the sky. She beat him, every game. The weak force, Richard read, does not appreciably affect the structure of the nucleus before the decay occurs; it is like a flaw in a bell of cast metal which has no effect on the ringing of the bell until it finally causes the bell to fall into pieces.

The subway car climbed into light, to cross the Charles. Sailboats tilted on the glitter below. Across the river, Boston’s smoke-colored skyscrapers hung like paralyzed fountains. The train had leaned around a bay of a lake and halted at The Weirs, a gritty summer place of ice cream dripped on asphalt, of a candy-apple scent wafted from the edge of childhood. After a wait of hours, they caught the mail boat to their island where they would work. The island was on the far side of Lake Winnipesaukee, with many other islands intervening, and many mail drops necessary. Before each docking, the boat blew its whistle—an immense noise. The Maples had sat on the prow, for the sun and scenery; once there, directly under the whistle, they felt they had to stay. The islands, the water, the mountains beyond the shore did an adagio of shifting perspectives around them and then—each time, astoundingly—the blast of the whistle would flatten their hearts and crush the landscape into a wad of noise; these blows assaulted their young marriage. He both blamed her and wished to beg her forgiveness for what neither of them could control. After each blast, the engine would be cut, the boat would sidle to a rickety dock, and from the dappled soft paths of this or that evergreen island tan children and counsellors in bathing trunks and moccasins would spill forth to receive their mail, their shouts ringing strangely in the deafened ears of the newlyweds. By the time they reached their own island, the Maples were exhausted.

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Quantum mechanics and relativity, taken together, are extraordinarily restrictive and they, therefore, provide us with a great logical engine. Richard returned the pamphlet to his pocket and got off at Charles. He walked across the overpass toward the hospital, to see his arthritis man. His bones ached at night. He had friends who were dying, who were dead; it no longer seemed incredible that he would follow them. The first time he had visited this hospital, it had been to court Joan. He had climbed this same ramp to the glass doors and inquired within, stammering, for the whereabouts, in this grand maze of unhealth, of the girl who had sat, with a rubber band around her ponytail, in the front row of English 162b: “The English Epic Tradition, Spenser to Tennyson.” He had admired the tilt of the back of her head for three hours a week all winter. He gathered up courage to talk in exam period as, together at a library table, they were mulling over murky photostats of Blake’s illustrations to “Paradise Lost.” They agreed to meet after the exam and have a beer. She didn’t show. In that amphitheatre of desperately thinking heads, hers was absent. And, having put “The Faerie Queene” and “The Idylls of the King” to rest together, he called her dorm and learned that Joan had been taken to the hospital. A force of nature drove him to brave the long corridors and the wrong turns and the crowd of aunts and other suitors at the foot of the bed; he found Joan in white, between white sheets, her hair loose about her shoulders and a plastic tube feeding something transparent into the underside of her arm. In later visits, he achieved the right to hold her hand, trussed though it was with splints and tapes. Platelet deficiency had been the diagnosis. The complaint had been she couldn’t stop bleeding. Blushing, she told him how the doctors and interns had asked her when she had last had intercourse, and how embarrassing it had been to confess, in the face of their polite disbelief, never.

The doctor removed the blood-pressure tourniquet from Richard’s arm and smiled. “Have you been under any stress lately? “

“I’ve been getting a divorce.”

“Arthritis, as you may know, belongs to a family of complaints with a psychosomatic component.”

“All I know is that I wake up at four in the morning and it’s very depressing to think I’ll never get over this, this pain’ll be inside my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

“You will. It won’t.”

“When?”

“When your brain stops sending out punishing signals.”

Her hand, in its little cradle of healing apparatus, its warmth unresisting and noncommittal as he held it at her bedside, rested high, nearly at the level of his eyes. On the island, the beds in the log cabin set aside for them were of different heights, and though Joan tried to make them into a double bed, there was a ledge where the mattresses met which either he or she had to cross, amid a discomfort of sheets pulling loose. But the cabin was in the woods and powerful moist scents of pine and fern swept through the screens with the morning chirrup of birds and the evening rustle of animals. There was a rumor there were deer on the island; they crossed the ice in the winter and were trapped when it melted in the spring. Though no one, neither camper nor counsellor, ever saw the deer, the rumor persisted that they were there.

Why then has no one ever seen a quark? Remembering this sentence as he walked along Charles Street toward his apartment, that no one has ever seen a quark, Richard fished in his pockets for the pamphlet on the forces of nature, and came up instead with a new prescription for painkiller, a copy of his marriage license, and the signed affidavit. Now come . . . The pamphlet had got folded into it. He couldn’t find the sentence, and instead read, The theory that the strong force becomes stronger as the quarks are pulled apart is somewhat speculative; but its complement, the idea that the force gets weaker as the quarks are pushed closer to each other, is better established. Yes, he thought, that had happened. In life there are four forces: love, habit, time, and boredom. Love and habit at short range are immensely powerful, but time, lacking a minus charge, accumulates inexorably, and with its brother boredom levels all. He was dying; that made him cruel. His heart flattened in horror at what he had just done. How could he tell Joan what he had done to their marriage license? The very quarks in the telephone circuits would rebel.

In the forest, there had been a green clearing, an eye of grass, a meadow starred with microcosmic white flowers, and here one dusk the deer had come, the female slightly in advance, the male larger and darker, his rump still in shadow as his mate nosed out the day’s last sun, the silhouettes of both haloed by the same light that gilded the meadow grass. A fleet of blank-faced motorcyclists roared by, a rummy waved to Richard from a laundromat doorway, a girl in a seductive halter gave him a cold eye, the light changed from red to green, and he could not remember if he needed orange juice or bread, doubly annoyed because he could not remember if they had ever really seen the deer, or if he had imagined the memory, conjured it from the longing that it be so.

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“I don’t remember,” Joan said over the phone. “I don’t think we did, we just talked about it.

“Wasn’t there a kind of clearing beyond the cabin, if you followed the path?”

“We never went that way, it was too buggy.”

“A stag and a doe, just as it was getting dark. Don’t you remember anything?”

“No. I honestly don’t, Richard. How guilty do you want me to feel?”

“Not at all, if it didn’t happen. Speaking of nostalgia—”

“Yes?’’

“I went up to Cambridge City Hall this afternoon and got a copy of our marriage license.”

“Oh dear. How was it?”

“It wasn’t bad. The place is remarkably the same. Did we get the license upstairs or downstairs?”

“Downstairs, to the left of the elevator as you go in.”

“That’s where I got our affidavit notarized. You’ll be getting a copy soon; it’s a shocking document.”

“I did get it, yesterday. What was shocking about it? I thought it was funny, the way it was worded. Here we come, there we go.”

“Darley, you’re so tough and brave.”

“I assume I must be. No?”

Not for the first time in these two years did he feel an eggshell thinness behind which he crouched and which Joan needed only to raise her voice to break. But she declined to break it, either out of ignorance of how thin the shell was, or because she was hatching on its other side, just as, on the other side of that bathroom door, she had been drawing near to marriage at the same rate as he, and with the same regressive impulses. “What I don’t understand,” she was saying, “are we both supposed to sign the same statement, or do we each sign one, or what? And which one? My lawyer keeps sending me three of everything, and some of them are in blue covers. Are these the important ones or the unimportant ones that I can keep?”

In truth, the lawyers, so adroit in their accustomed adversary world of blame, of suit and countersuit, did seem confused by the no-fault provision. On the very morning of the divorce, Richard’s greeted him on the courthouse steps with the possibility that he as plaintiff might be asked to specify what in the marriage had persuaded him of its irretrievable breakdown. “But that’s the whole point of no-fault,” Joan interposed, “that you don’t have to say anything.” She had climbed the courthouse steps beside Richard; indeed, they had come in the same car, because one of their children had taken hers.

The proceeding was scheduled for early in the day. Picking her up at a quarter after seven, he had found her standing barefoot on the lawn in the circle of their driveway, up to her ankles in mist and dew. She was holding her high-heeled shoes in her hand. The sight made him laugh. Opening the car door, he said, “So there are deer on the island!”

She was too preoccupied to make sense of his allusion. She asked him, “Do you think the judge will mind if I don’t wear stockings?”

“Keep your legs behind his bench,” he said. He was feeling fluttery, lightheaded. He had scarcely slept, though his shoulder had not hurt, for a change. She got into the car, bringing with her her shoes and the moist smell of dawn. She had always been an early riser, and he a late one. “Thanks for doing this,” she said, of the ride, adding, “I guess.”

“My pleasure,” Richard said. As they drove to court, discussing their ears and their children, he marvelled at how light Joan had become; she sat on the side of his vision as light as a feather, her voice tickling his ear, her familiar intonations and emphases thoroughly musical and half unheard, like the patterns of a concerto that sets us to daydreaming. He no longer blamed her: that was the reason for the lightness. All those years, he had blamed her for everything—for the traffic jam in Central Square, for the blasts of noise on the mail boat, for the difference in the levels of their beds. No longer: he had set her adrift from omnipotence. He had set her free, free from fault. She was to him as Gretel to Hänsel, a kindred creature moving beside him down a path while birds behind them ate the bread crumbs.

Richard’s lawyer eyed Joan lugubriously. “I understand that, Mrs. Maple,” he said. “But perhaps I should have a word in private with my client.”

The lawyers they had chosen were oddly different. Richard’s was a big rumpled Irishman, his beige summer suit baggy and his belly straining his shirt, a melancholic and comforting father-type. Joan’s was small, natty, and flip; he dressed in checks and talked from the side of his mouth, like a racing tout. Twinkling, chipper even at this sleepy hour, he emerged from behind a pillar in the marble temple of justice and led Joan away. Her head, slightly higher than his, tilted to give him her ear; she dimpled, docile. Richard wondered in amazement, Could this sort of man have been, all these years, the secret type of her desire? His own lawyer, breathing heavily, asked him, “If the judge does ask for a specific cause of the breakdown—and I don’t say he will, we’re all sailing uncharted waters here—what will you say?”

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“I don’t know,” Richard said. He studied the swirl of marble, like a tiny wave breaking, between his shoe tips. “We had political differences. She used to make me go on peace marches.”

“Any physical violence?”

“Not much. Not enough, maybe. You really think he’ll ask this sort of thing? Is this no-fault or not?”

“No-fault is a tabula rasa in this state. At this point, Dick, it’s what we make of it. I don’t know what he’ll do. We should he prepared.”

“Well—aside from the politics, we didn’t get along that well sexually.”

The air between them thickened; with his own father, too, sex had been a painful topic. His lawyer’s breathing became grievously audible. “So you’d be prepared to say there was personal and emotional incompatibility?”

It seemed profoundly untrue, but Richard nodded. “If I have to.”

“Good enough.” The lawyer put his big hand on Richard’s arm and squeezed. His closeness, his breathiness, his air of restless urgency and forced cheer, his old-fashioned suit and the folder of papers tucked under his arm like roster sheets all came into focus: he was a coach, and Richard was about to kick the winning field goal, do the high-difficulty dive, strike out the heart of the batting order with the bases already loaded. Go.

They entered the courtroom two by two. The chamber was chaste and empty; the carved trim was painted forest green. The windows gave on an ancient river blackened by industry. Dead judges gazed alertly down. The two lawyers conferred, leaving Richard and Joan to stand awkwardly apart.

He made his “What now?” face at her. She made her “Beats me” face back. “Oyez, oyez,” a disembodied voice chanted, and the judge hurried in, smiling, his robes swinging. He was a little sharp-featured man with a polished pink face; his face declared that he was altogether good, and would never die. He stood and nodded at them. He seated himself. The lawyers went forward to confer in whispers. Richard inertly gravitated toward Joan, the only animate object in the room that did not repel him. “It’s a Daumier,” she whispered, of the tableau being enacted before them. The lawyers parted. The judge beckoned. He was so clean his smile squeaked. He showed Richard a piece of paper; it was the affidavit. “Is this your signature?” he asked him.

“It is,” Richard said.

“And do you believe, as this paper states, that your marriage has suffered an irretrievable breakdown?”

“I do.”

The judge turned his face toward Joan. His voice softened a notch. “Is this your signature?”

“It is.” Her voice was a healing spray, full of tiny rainbows, in the corner of his eye.

“And do you believe that your marriage has suffered an irretrievable breakdown?”

A pause. She did not believe that, Richard knew. She said, “I do.”

The judge smiled and wished them both good luck. The lawyers sagged with relief, and a torrent of merry legal chitchat—speculations about the future of no-fault, reminiscences of the old days of Alabama quickies —excluded Joan and Richard. Obsolete at their own ceremony, Joan and Richard stepped back from the bench in unison and stood side by side, uncertain of how to turn, until Richard at last remembered what to do; he kissed her. ♦

A Painful Case

By James Joyce
MR. JAMES DUFFY lived in Chapelizod because he wished to live as far as possible from the city of
which he was a citizen and because he found all the other suburbs of Dublin mean, modern and
pretentious. He lived in an old sombre house and from his windows he could look into the disused
distillery or upwards along the shallow river on which Dublin is built. The lofty walls of his uncarpeted
room were free from pictures. He had himself bought every article of furniture in the room: a black iron
bedstead, an iron washstand, four cane chairs, a clothes-rack, a coal-scuttle, a fender and irons and a
square table on which lay a double desk. A bookcase had been made in an alcove by means of shelves
of white wood. The bed was clothed with white bedclothes and a black and scarlet rug covered the foot.
A little hand-mirror hung above the washstand and during the day a white-shaded lamp stood as the
sole ornament of the mantelpiece. The books on the white wooden shelves were arranged from below
upwards according to bulk. A complete Wordsworth stood at one end of the lowest shelf and a copy of
the Maynooth Catechism, sewn into the cloth cover of a notebook, stood at one end of the top shelf.
Writing materials were always on the desk. In the desk lay a manuscript translation of Hauptmann’s
Michael Kramer, the stage directions of which were written in purple ink, and a little sheaf of papers
held together by a brass pin. In these sheets a sentence was inscribed from time to time and, in an
ironical moment, the headline of an advertisement for Bile Beans had been pasted on to the first sheet.
On lifting the lid of the desk a faint fragrance escaped—the fragrance of new cedarwood pencils or of a
bottle of gum or of an overripe apple which might have been left there and forgotten.
Mr. Duffy abhorred anything which betokened physical or mental disorder. A mediaeval doctor would
have called him saturnine. His face, which carried the entire tale of his years, was of the brown tint of
Dublin streets. On his long and rather large head grew dry black hair and a tawny moustache did not
quite cover an unamiable mouth. His cheekbones also gave his face a harsh character; but there was no
harshness in the eyes which, looking at the world from under their tawny eyebrows, gave the
impression of a man ever alert to greet a redeeming instinct in others but often disappointed. He lived
at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances. He had an odd
autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about
himself containing a subject in the third person and a predicate in the past tense. He never gave alms to
beggars and walked firmly, carrying a stout hazel.
He had been for many years cashier of a private bank in Baggot Street. Every morning he came in from
Chapelizod by tram. At midday he went to Dan Burke’s and took his lunch—a bottle of lager beer and a
small trayful of arrowroot biscuits. At four o’clock he was set free. He dined in an eating-house in
George’s Street where he felt himself safe from the society of Dublin’s gilded youth and where there
was a certain plain honesty in the bill of fare. His evenings were spent either before his landlady’s piano
or roaming about the outskirts of the city. His liking for Mozart’s music brought him sometimes to an
opera or a concert: these were the only dissipations of his life.
He had neither companions nor friends, church nor creed. He lived his spiritual life without any
communion with others, visiting his relatives at Christmas and escorting them to the cemetery when
they died. He performed these two social duties for old dignity’s sake but conceded nothing further to
the conventions which regulate the civic life. He allowed himself to think that in certain circumstances
he would rob his hank but, as these circumstances never arose, his life rolled out evenly—an
adventureless tale.
One evening he found himself sitting beside two ladies in the Rotunda. The house, thinly peopled and
silent, gave distressing prophecy of failure. The lady who sat next him looked round at the deserted
house once or twice and then said:
“What a pity there is such a poor house tonight! It’s so hard on people to have to sing to empty
benches.”
He took the remark as an invitation to talk. He was surprised that she seemed so little awkward. While
they talked he tried to fix her permanently in his memory. When he learned that the young girl beside
her was her daughter he judged her to be a year or so younger than himself. Her face, which must have
been handsome, had remained intelligent. It was an oval face with strongly marked features. The eyes
were very dark blue and steady. Their gaze began with a defiant note but was confused by what seemed
a deliberate swoon of the pupil into the iris, revealing for an instant a temperament of great sensibility.
The pupil reasserted itself quickly, this half-disclosed nature fell again under the reign of prudence, and
her astrakhan jacket, moulding a bosom of a certain fullness, struck the note of defiance more
definitely.
He met her again a few weeks afterwards at a concert in Earlsfort Terrace and seized the moments
when her daughter’s attention was diverted to become intimate. She alluded once or twice to her
husband but her tone was not such as to make the allusion a warning. Her name was Mrs. Sinico. Her
husband’s great-great-grandfather had come from Leghorn. Her husband was captain of a mercantile
boat plying between Dublin and Holland; and they had one child.
Meeting her a third time by accident he found courage to make an appointment. She came. This was the
first of many meetings; they met always in the evening and chose the most quiet quarters for their
walks together. Mr. Duffy, however, had a distaste for underhand ways and, finding that they were
compelled to meet stealthily, he forced her to ask him to her house. Captain Sinico encouraged his
visits, thinking that his daughter’s hand was in question. He had dismissed his wife so sincerely from
his gallery of pleasures that he did not suspect that anyone else would take an interest in her. As the
husband was often away and the daughter out giving music lessons Mr. Duffy had many opportunities
of enjoying the lady’s society. Neither he nor she had had any such adventure before and neither was
conscious of any incongruity. Little by little he entangled his thoughts with hers. He lent her books,
provided her with ideas, shared his intellectual life with her. She listened to all.
Sometimes in return for his theories she gave out some fact of her own life. With almost maternal
solicitude she urged him to let his nature open to the full: she became his confessor. He told her that for
some time he had assisted at the meetings of an Irish Socialist Party where he had felt himself a unique
figure amidst a score of sober workmen in a garret lit by an inefficient oil-lamp. When the party had
divided into three sections, each under its own leader and in its own garret, he had discontinued his
attendances. The workmen’s discussions, he said, were too timorous; the interest they took in the
question of wages was inordinate. He felt that they were hard-featured realists and that they resented an
exactitude which was the produce of a leisure not within their reach. No social revolution, he told her,
would be likely to strike Dublin for some centuries.
She asked him why did he not write out his thoughts. For what, he asked her, with careful scorn. To
compete with phrasemongers, incapable of thinking consecutively for sixty seconds? To submit himself
to the criticisms of an obtuse middle class which entrusted its morality to policemen and its fine arts to
impresarios?
He went often to her little cottage outside Dublin; often they spent their evenings alone. Little by little,
as their thoughts entangled, they spoke of subjects less remote. Her companionship was like a warm
soil about an exotic. Many times she allowed the dark to fall upon them, refraining from lighting the
lamp. The dark discreet room, their isolation, the music that still vibrated in their ears united them. This
union exalted him, wore away the rough edges of his character, emotionalised his mental life.
Sometimes he caught himself listening to the sound of his own voice. He thought that in her eyes he
would ascend to an angelical stature; and, as he attached the fervent nature of his companion more and
more closely to him, he heard the strange impersonal voice which he recognised as his own, insisting
on the soul’s incurable loneliness. We cannot give ourselves, it said: we are our own. The end of these
discourses was that one night during which she had shown every sign of unusual excitement, Mrs.
Sinico caught up his hand passionately and pressed it to her cheek.
Mr. Duffy was very much surprised. Her interpretation of his words disillusioned him. He did not visit
her for a week, then he wrote to her asking her to meet him. As he did not wish their last interview to
be troubled by the influence of their ruined confessional they met in a little cakeshop near the Parkgate.
It was cold autumn weather but in spite of the cold they wandered up and down the roads of the Park
for nearly three hours. They agreed to break off their intercourse: every bond, he said, is a bond to
sorrow. When they came out of the Park they walked in silence towards the tram; but here she began to
tremble so violently that, fearing another collapse on her part, he bade her good-bye quickly and left
her. A few days later he received a parcel containing his books and music.
Four years passed. Mr. Duffy returned to his even way of life. His room still bore witness of the
orderliness of his mind. Some new pieces of music encumbered the music-stand in the lower room and
on his shelves stood two volumes by Nietzsche: Thus Spake Zarathustra and The Gay Science. He
wrote seldom in the sheaf of papers which lay in his desk. One of his sentences, written two months
after his last interview with Mrs. Sinico, read: Love between man and man is impossible because there
must not be sexual intercourse and friendship between man and woman is impossible because there
must be sexual intercourse. He kept away from concerts lest he should meet her. His father died; the
junior partner of the bank retired. And still every morning he went into the city by tram and every
evening walked home from the city after having dined moderately in George’s Street and read the
evening paper for dessert.
One evening as he was about to put a morsel of corned beef and cabbage into his mouth his hand
stopped. His eyes fixed themselves on a paragraph in the evening paper which he had propped against
the water-carafe. He replaced the morsel of food on his plate and read the paragraph attentively. Then
he drank a glass of water, pushed his plate to one side, doubled the paper down before him between his
elbows and read the paragraph over and over again. The cabbage began to deposit a cold white grease
on his plate. The girl came over to him to ask was his dinner not properly cooked. He said it was very
good and ate a few mouthfuls of it with difficulty. Then he paid his bill and went out.
He walked along quickly through the November twilight, his stout hazel stick striking the ground
regularly, the fringe of the buff Mail peeping out of a side-pocket of his tight reefer overcoat. On the
lonely road which leads from the Parkgate to Chapelizod he slackened his pace. His stick struck the
ground less emphatically and his breath, issuing irregularly, almost with a sighing sound, condensed in
the wintry air. When he reached his house he went up at once to his bedroom and, taking the paper
from his pocket, read the paragraph again by the failing light of the window. He read it not aloud, but
moving his lips as a priest does when he reads the prayers Secreto. This was the paragraph:
DEATH OF A LADY AT SYDNEY PARADE
A PAINFUL CASE
Today at the City of Dublin Hospital the Deputy Coroner (in the absence of Mr. Leverett) held an
inquest on the body of Mrs. Emily Sinico, aged forty-three years, who was killed at Sydney Parade
Station yesterday evening. The evidence showed that the deceased lady, while attempting to cross the
line, was knocked down by the engine of the ten o’clock slow train from Kingstown, thereby sustaining
injuries of the head and right side which led to her death.
James Lennon, driver of the engine, stated that he had been in the employment of the railway company
for fifteen years. On hearing the guard’s whistle he set the train in motion and a second or two
afterwards brought it to rest in response to loud cries. The train was going slowly.
P. Dunne, railway porter, stated that as the train was about to start he observed a woman attempting to
cross the lines. He ran towards her and shouted, but, before he could reach her, she was caught by the
buffer of the engine and fell to the ground.
A juror. “You saw the lady fall?”
Witness. “Yes.”
Police Sergeant Croly deposed that when he arrived he found the deceased lying on the platform
apparently dead. He had the body taken to the waiting-room pending the arrival of the ambulance.
Constable 57E corroborated.
Dr. Halpin, assistant house surgeon of the City of Dublin Hospital, stated that the deceased had two
lower ribs fractured and had sustained severe contusions of the right shoulder. The right side of the
head had been injured in the fall. The injuries were not sufficient to have caused death in a normal
person. Death, in his opinion, had been probably due to shock and sudden failure of the heart’s action.
Mr. H. B. Patterson Finlay, on behalf of the railway company, expressed his deep regret at the accident.
The company had always taken every precaution to prevent people crossing the lines except by the
bridges, both by placing notices in every station and by the use of patent spring gates at level crossings.
The deceased had been in the habit of crossing the lines late at night from platform to platform and, in
view of certain other circumstances of the case, he did not think the railway officials were to blame.
Captain Sinico, of Leoville, Sydney Parade, husband of the deceased, also gave evidence. He stated
that the deceased was his wife. He was not in Dublin at the time of the accident as he had arrived only
that morning from Rotterdam. They had been married for twenty-two years and had lived happily until
about two years ago when his wife began to be rather intemperate in her habits.
Miss Mary Sinico said that of late her mother had been in the habit of going out at night to buy spirits.
She, witness, had often tried to reason with her mother and had induced her to join a league. She was
not at home until an hour after the accident. The jury returned a verdict in accordance with the medical
evidence and exonerated Lennon from all blame.
The Deputy Coroner said it was a most painful case, and expressed great sympathy with Captain Sinico
and his daughter. He urged on the railway company to take strong measures to prevent the possibility of
similar accidents in the future. No blame attached to anyone.
Mr. Duffy raised his eyes from the paper and gazed out of his window on the cheerless evening
landscape. The river lay quiet beside the empty distillery and from time to time a light appeared in
some house on the Lucan road. What an end! The whole narrative of her death revolted him and it
revolted him to think that he had ever spoken to her of what he held sacred. The threadbare phrases, the
inane expressions of sympathy, the cautious words of a reporter won over to conceal the details of a
commonplace vulgar death attacked his stomach. Not merely had she degraded herself; she had
degraded him. He saw the squalid tract of her vice, miserable and malodorous. His soul’s companion!
He thought of the hobbling wretches whom he had seen carrying cans and bottles to be filled by the
barman. Just God, what an end! Evidently she had been unfit to live, without any strength of purpose,
an easy prey to habits, one of the wrecks on which civilisation has been reared. But that she could have
sunk so low! Was it possible he had deceived himself so utterly about her? He remembered her outburst
of that night and interpreted it in a harsher sense than he had ever done. He had no difficulty now in
approving of the course he had taken.
As the light failed and his memory began to wander he thought her hand touched his. The shock which
had first attacked his stomach was now attacking his nerves. He put on his overcoat and hat quickly and
went out. The cold air met him on the threshold; it crept into the sleeves of his coat. When he came to
the public-house at Chapelizod Bridge he went in and ordered a hot punch.
The proprietor served him obsequiously but did not venture to talk. There were five or six workingmen
in the shop discussing the value of a gentleman’s estate in County Kildare They drank at intervals from
their huge pint tumblers and smoked, spitting often on the floor and sometimes dragging the sawdust
over their spits with their heavy boots. Mr. Duffy sat on his stool and gazed at them, without seeing or
hearing them. After a while they went out and he called for another punch. He sat a long time over it.
The shop was very quiet. The proprietor sprawled on the counter reading the Herald and yawning. Now
and again a tram was heard swishing along the lonely road outside.
As he sat there, living over his life with her and evoking alternately the two images in which he now
conceived her, he realised that she was dead, that she had ceased to exist, that she had become a
memory. He began to feel ill at ease. He asked himself what else could he have done. He could not
have carried on a comedy of deception with her; he could not have lived with her openly. He had done
what seemed to him best. How was he to blame? Now that she was gone he understood how lonely her
life must have been, sitting night after night alone in that room. His life would be lonely too until he,
too, died, ceased to exist, became a memory—if anyone remembered him.
It was after nine o’clock when he left the shop. The night was cold and gloomy. He entered the Park by
the first gate and walked along under the gaunt trees. He walked through the bleak alleys where they
had walked four years before. She seemed to be near him in the darkness. At moments he seemed to
feel her voice touch his ear, her hand touch his. He stood still to listen. Why had he withheld life from
her? Why had he sentenced her to death? He felt his moral nature falling to pieces.
When he gained the crest of the Magazine Hill he halted and looked along the river towards Dublin, the
lights of which burned redly and hospitably in the cold night. He looked down the slope and, at the
base, in the shadow of the wall of the Park, he saw some human figures lying. Those venal and furtive
loves filled him with despair. He gnawed the rectitude of his life; he felt that he had been outcast from
life’s feast. One human being had seemed to love him and he had denied her life and happiness: he had
sentenced her to ignominy, a death of shame. He knew that the prostrate creatures down by the wall
were watching him and wished him gone. No one wanted him; he was outcast from life’s feast. He
turned his eyes to the grey gleaming river, winding along towards Dublin. Beyond the river he saw a
goods train winding out of Kingsbridge Station, like a worm with a fiery head winding through the
darkness, obstinately and laboriously. It passed slowly out of sight; but still he heard in his ears the
laborious drone of the engine reiterating the syllables of her name.
He turned back the way he had come, the rhythm of the engine pounding in his ears. He began to doubt
the reality of what memory told him. He halted under a tree and allowed the rhythm to die away. He
could not feel her near him in the darkness nor her voice touch his ear. He waited for some minutes
listening. He could hear nothing: the night was perfectly silent. He listened again: perfectly silent. He
felt that he was alone.

Disavowing Specific Plan & Previous Commitments, RC Planning Commission Welcomes Multifamily Residential Development To Etiwanda Heights

Over the protests of more than 190 residents on hand for the December 10 Rancho Cucamonga Planning Commission meeting, that advisory panel recommended that the City Council early next year alter the land use allowances in Etiwanda Heights to to permit multi-family housing to be built on that never-before-developed land.
The planning commission’s action raised hackles for multiple reasons.
The specific plan for that area which provides the legal land use standards for the 4,085-acre area in the northeast quadrant of the city, known as the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan, was derived over a more than 20 month public vetting process throughout the last few months of 2017, all of 2018 and most of the following year in which the city painstakingly sought and gathered the input of city residents with regard to how the property should be zoned and ultimately developed prior to the plan’s official adoption on November 6, 2019. The Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan was then relied upon by municipal officials in making an application to the San Bernardino County Local Agency Formation Commission [LAFCO] to annex the 4,085 acres or 6.38 square miles, which at that time were outside the city limits, into Rancho Cucamonga. City officials, who in city documents and in multiple verbal statements during the derivation of the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan offered assurances that the city would abide by the land use and development standards contained in the plan, reiterated those commitments repeatedly while LAFCO was evaluating the annexation proposal. Throughout that process, city residents, most particularly those living at the periphery of the acreage proposed for being brought into the city raised no objections to the annexation, at least in part because of their faith in the city’s avowals.
The land use standards specified for Etiwanda Heights remained in place for more than five years after the passage of the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan.
Unbeknownst to the public, in 2024, county officials entered into confidential and exclusive negotiations with developer James “Jimmy” Previti and representatives of his company, Frontier Enterprises with regard to 1,252.21 acres – slightly less than 1.96 square miles – of county flood control district property which was contained within the 4,085 acres annexed by the city in 2020. That property was subject to the land use restrictions articulated in the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan.
On the day prior to Thanksgiving 2024, November 27, 2024, in a closed-door session from which the public was excluded, the San Bernardino County Board of Supervisors worked out the final details and then ratified the sale of the 1,252.21 acres for the agreed-upon price of $93 million, or $74,275.21 per acre.
Just as secretively as the county had carried out its negotiations for the sale of the flood control property to Frontier Enterprises, also referred to as the Previti Group, Rancho Cucamonga City officials began a dialogue with the Priveti Group in January 2025. Those discussions pertained to the company’s intention to initiate construction on the property it had acquired from the county.
Hidden from the public was that the exchanges between city officials and the landowner were taking place with regard to the 1,252.21 acres or that the Previti Group was pressing city officials to deviate from the standards contained in the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan. More than ten months elapsed without city residents having an inkling that a move to radically alter the character of the northeast corner of the city stretching up to the boundary of the Angeles National forest at the base of the San Gabriel Mountains directly below Cucamonga Peak was ongoing. The general public, ignorant such discussions were taking place, were excluded from them. More than ten months elapsed before the city’s residents were given a glimmer of what was coming their way. On November 18, the city posted a notice on its website that at the December 10 Rancho Cucamonga Planning Commission meeting the planning commission would discuss and consider an alteration of the city’s planning standards as pertains to Etiwanda Heights in the form of a specific plan amendment – meaning most apparently the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan.
Simultaneously, the city posted four 8-foot by 4-foot dimension signs which announced, simply, that the Previti Group, as the applicant, was seeking had made “A request to amend the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan and subdivide Planning Areas 1 and 2 for single family lots.”
On the same day, a few eagle-eyed residents began inquiring at City Hall as to what the proposed subdivisions were to consist of. There inquires were followed over the next few days by a handful of others. While most were put off by city officials who said the details would be forthcoming with the December 4 posting of the agenda for the December 10 meeting, one of the more persistent residents learned that what the Previti Group was proposing was to add nine new building types to the previously used generic description of single-family residential, including duplexes, quadplexes, 12-plexes, walkups, so-called cottage courts, motor courts, several higher-density small-lot product types and new block configurations. In addition, a single talkative city employee who spoke without authorization of higher-ups at City Hall, disclosed, the Previti Group was asking for the creation of a density transfer mechanism and objective standard changes along expanded regulating zones within the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan specific plan area which would permit those housing products to be constructed. At that point, it was immediately apparent that the proposed amendment was intended to allow the introduction of multi-family housing types into Etiwanda Heights that were excluded in the adopted 2019 Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan and referenced in the city’s 2020 public commitment during the annexation process.
Word spread like wildfire among the residents of Etiwanda and the neighborhoods of eastern Alta Loma proximate to Etiwanda Heights. This provoked further and far more efforts to ascertain, precisely, what was happening, why it was happening, who was driving the proposed land use and policy change, whether this had been triggered by a proposal at odds with the previous development standards that originated with a landowner/developer or whether the change was being pushed by either elected city officials or city staff. According to several of those city residents who made those inquiries, city officials – from those at the level of the planning division up to that of city administration and the city council – stonewalled them. According to one city staff member, an order emanating from the office of the city manager, where Elisa Cox was at that point in the process of succeeding John Gillison as the city’s top administrator, had gone out that no information pertaining to the action that the planning commission was to take on December 10 was to be provided to the public.
As the calendar progressed from November to December, confusion reigned over how extensive the redrafting of the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan was, with city officials refusing to budge off the position that the revamped version of the blueprint for the developmental future of Etiwanda Heights legitimately remained a confidential document until it was to be officially unveiled. Social media exploded, with posts on the @EtiwandaHeights Instagram account and the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood New & Updates Facebook page stating that the city was in the process of “reintroducing multi-family housting deppite [a] public promise of single family [residential untis] only. The City of Rancho Cucamonga, City Council & Mayor are proposing major changes to the approved Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood & Conservation Plan, changes that contradict its 2020 commitment of 2,700-3,000 single-family homes and zero mulit-family units.”
The posting on the @EtiwandaHeights Instagram noted that the city was in the process of including “new proposed building type to include duplexes, quadplexes, 12-plex apartment buildings and walk-up multi-story apartment buildings.” According to the @EtiwandaHeights Instagram posting, “Increased density affects evacuation, will increase traffic, school congestion, wildlife corridors and overall community character.”
Among the postings on the @EtiwandaHeights Instagram site was a map which showed the proposed location of the duplexes, four-plexes and 12-plexes, showing that roughly 97 percent of the property to be slated for multi-family development was north of Banyan Street and predominantly east of Milliken Avenue, as well as along a strip north of Banyan immediately west of Milliken Avenue with. Scores of residents posted relatively short statements decrying the action the city was proposing.
Among those were”
“This will create more traffic, more congested living, take away our views, destroy the beautiful natural surroundis we live in, endanger the wildlife in the area, create noise pollution create all other types of pollution , use up already scare resources, overcrowd and strain schools, strain the power grid.”
“We do not want high density housing in this area.”
“Seems to me that the leaders in our city are most interested in the revenue they will gain as compared to honoring the plan that the city and committee members worked on together to maintain the family community that we all moved here for.”
“[T]he city agreed to preserve the area and promised not to build multi-unit homes. Now, we find that, despite that commitment, plans are moving forward to build duplexes and even 12-plexes in the same area. This is a clear breach of trust, a betrayal of the promises made to the community. This kind of dishonesty is exactly what we don’t want from our city officials. [Our leaders cannot be trusted to honor their word.”
“Given the destruction of the fire in the foothills of Alta Dena, I don’t know why we would place more people, more congestion on the few roads out. This proposal puts our citizens at unnecessary risk.”
“No to high density apartment style housing and yes to single family homes.”
“Multi-family housing units are a horrible idea. The traffic is already ridiculous and the schools are so crowded.”
“Rancho already has a high population density. The elementary school is overloaded, and the roads to the middle school are severely congested every day after school. Please stop building high-density housing and destroying our community. This project will fundamentally change the Rancho Cucamonga we love. It would bring heavier traffic, parking spillover, blocked mountain views, and a level of high-rise development our community has never asked for. Approving it opens the door to even more tall buildings, added strain on local services, and years of construction disruption. This isn’t just a policy decision — it shapes the future of our hometown. It will change Rancho for our children and generations to come.”
“Don’t concrete the foothills!”
“We built our home in an area zoned for equestrian parcels. We were required to spend thousands of dollars to build a horse trail and now I see a sign going up for condos and shops at the end pf our street. Where will the people in condos put their horses?”
“Don’t build there.”
This development will increase traffic and congestion, diminish our scenic views, and destroy the beautiful natural surroundings that make this area unique. It will endanger local wildlife, create noise and other forms of pollution, and strain already limited resources. Our schools, power grid, and infrastructure are not equipped for this level of growth. We already pay high taxes to maintain the quality of life here, and that should be enough to preserve what we value—not to fund overdevelopment.”
“Unfortunately, the city is ruining what was once a very peaceful, beautiful place by overbuilding. The whole city is overburdened by high density housing. We are not Los Angeles. The city has no respect for its citizens.”
“Rancho Cucamonga is already congested. High density housing will not help fix that.”
“This is excessive and will cause the area to become lower quality and not desirable.”
“Enough is enough!!! We have watched corrupt politicians and developers put condos and apartments on most empty lots in Rancho. It strains our resources from our roads, to our school, even out water and electric grid.”
“Literally no one around here wants this. Not a single person.”
“We simply do not need additional high density buildings along with more traffic, overcrowded schools, graffiti, and crime within our city.”
Under California law, public meetings or hearings at which official governmental action is to be taken – meaning voted upon by an elected or appointed governmental board – must be agendized at least 72 hours – three full business days – in advance of the meeting.
By early December it was being widely circulated that the city was going to hold off until the last minute in providing the city’s residents and the public in general with a preview of what action pertaining to the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan the planning commission was to consider and vote upon on December 10. Furthermore, word was that the matter was a done deal, such that the planning commission was geared up to give passage to the item pertaining to the future development within Etiwanda Heights as laid out by the city’s planning staff. According to this informed [speculation, chatter], city officials were intent on effectuating the change to the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation plan to permit the construction of high density housing within the planning area and did not want to give those who might be opposed to the plan’s alteration specific information in time to rally an effective opposition to amending the specific plan.
As it would turn out, those reports proved prescient.
A petition to the city council was circulated which state that those signing it “oppose the proposed amendment to the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood & Conservation Plan that would reintroduce high-density and multi-family housing north of Banyan Avenue, specifically the introduction of duplexes, quad-plexes and 12-plexes apartment style buildings.”
The petition further stated, “The city made a clear commitment during the 2018–2019 planning process that this area would be protected from high-density development. Residents participated in good faith and supported the adopted plan based on that promise. Revisiting this issue now—without transparent explanation or community involvement—undermines trust and threatens the character, traffic safety, infrastructure stability, and open space our neighborhood depends on.”
The language of the petition stated, “We urge the City Council to:
Reject the proposed amendment.
Honor the commitments made in the adopted Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conversation Plan.
Engage residents transparently in all future planning decisions.”
Protect our neighborhoods. Protect our voice. Protect the original Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan.”
As was widely anticipated and predicted, the city’s planning division did not post the agenda for the December 10 planning commission meeting until 5:59 p.m. on December 4. What was revealed was a confirmation of what two of the city’s employees had risked their jobs to reveal in November when they spoke out of school to some of the city’s residents in previewing what was on the drawing boards in the backrooms at City Hall. Laid out was that the Previti group was requesting to “amend the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan to amend the neighborhood area density consistent with the existing general plan and use designation of traditional neighborhood; add nine new building types and amend development standards for existing building types; amend the regulating zones to permit new building types and expand existing building types in the Camino Overlay, neighborhood estates, neighborhood general 1 and neighborhood general 2 regulating zones; add new open space types and standards and add “shared yard” as a frontage type; add new new block configurations; and establish a formal mechanism for transferring development rights (density) within the neighborhood area to enable less density near existing neighborhoods and facilitate appropriate clustering of residential uses elsewhere within the neighborhood area.”
Revealed was that the city was indeed on a course to go back on the assurances city officials had made in formulating the original Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan and that phraseology such as “new building types… new block configurations… transferring development rights [to achieve] clustering…” and “add[ing] new building types” was a code for allowing apartments, walk-ups, 12-plexes, four-plexes and duplexes to supplant the single-family residences those who were already living, or who had in the last five years moved, nearby were told they could count on being built when the property was developed.
By the time of the December 10 meeting, the petition had been signed by more than 760 residents.
On the evening of December 10, 191 members of the public were present in the Rancho Cucamonga City Hall meeting chamber to attend the planning commission meeting. The overwhelming majority of them were opposed to the proposal to alter the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conversation Plan. Of those 191, 27 addressed the commission during the course of the hearing. Twenty-six of the 27 voiced opposition to amending the specific plan or in any fashion increasing the density of the residential development that is to take place there.
Before they did so, Rancho Cucamonga Planning Director Jennifer Nakmura told the planning commissioners and the crowd that Previti had requested the zoning changes in January and that the city was in the position of not being able to resist them because of state mandates imposed by the California Department of Housing and Community Development intended to prevent local land use restrictions and controls from getting in the way of the imperative to overcome the shortage of housing. The Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan, Nakumura in essence staid, because the state had determined that when there is a discrepancy between a specific plan, such as the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan, and a city’s general plan, the general plan takes precedence. Since the Rancho Cucamonga General Plan, revamped in 2021, allows the “traditional neighborhood” standard of eight units to an acre to be built within residential districts, Nakamura said, the Previti Group now has the option, which the city cannot preclude, to virtually double the density on the residentially-zoned property in Etiwanda Heights, such that the limitation of residential units specified in the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan to 2,700-to-3,000 single-family homes was no longer operative. In fact, if Previti chooses to do, he can construct in excess of 6,000 homes across the 790 acres designated for residential development in Etiwanda Heights, Nakamura said. It was for that reason, she said that the planning division had worked with the Previti Group to derive the proposed specific plan amendment.
Matthew Fogt, representing the Previti Group insisted that the action the company was requestion was to entail “not changing the specific plan but rather adding to it.”
Fogt, while referencing directly or alluding to the California legislature’s passage of bills to encourage housing development and the California Department of Housing and Community Development’s authority to enforce those laws and rules which put developers in general and the Previti Group in this case in a position, essentially, to dictate what type of housing units they could construct and at what density, indicated that the Previti group was nonetheless willing to and was working with city officials to meet officials’ expectations.
When asked why the Previti Group was unwilling to develop the 790 acres it owns in Etiwanda Heights in accordance with the standards specified in the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan, Fogt, starkly though urbanely, revealed that the company never intended to abide by the limitation of construction on the property to exclusively single-family homes and that it had conveyed as much to city officials long ago, either before purchasing the 1,252.21 acres from the county or shortly thereafter.
“The answer is it [exclusively building single-family homes] just doesn’t pencil,” Fogt said, using a phrase which in the parlance of real estate developers means an assessment of whether a project will work financially. In essence, Fogt told the planning commission that the Previti group would not stand to realize a substantial enough profit on developing single family homes in Etiwanda Heights to proceed with building there. Fogt credited Jimmy Previti, in contemplating the 2024 purchase of the property “knowing about both” the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Community Plan and the general plan before moving forward to make the purchase. Fogt indicated Previti, while aware of the single-family home construction requirement on the residentially zoned property in Etiwanda Heights, never intended to meet that expectation and never promised or committed to abide by it, planning instead to use the less restrictive standard in the city’s general plan, which would permit up to eight units per acre to be built on all land developed for residential purposes.
“He knew there was a 2021 general plan and [with] the density [that it allowed] would make it work,” Fogt said.
Jimmy Previti, Fogt said, is being a good guy by “not using state law levers” – i.e., bringing to bear state law such as State Housing Crisis Act of 2019 and other mandates originating with the governor or state legislature and enforced by the California Department of Housing and Community Development – to force the city into allowing the Previti Group to construct wall to wall residential subdivisions with six to eight units to an acre in Etiwanda Heights. Instead, Fogt sought to explain, Previti was seeking through the specific plan amendment to obtain the ability to engage in density transfers whereby the company would be able to cluster 12-plexes, quadplexes, duplexes, auto courts with garages facing the street that would embody a high density residential district in the middle of the land to be developed in return for constructing houses on larger parcels at the periphery of the property bordering existing homes which are likewise of low density. In this way there would be a leavening of the density to prevent unseemly contrasts between adjoining residential properties, Fogt said.
Virtually all of the 26 Rancho Cucamonga residents who addressed the commissioners that night – Dachao Li, David Horwitz, Fred Sanchez, Cynthia Campos, Ryan Paglinawan, Jack Warshaw, Mailan Pham, Phil Hakopian, Edward Aldaz, Henry Liu, Jennifer Pacheco, Robert Gallardo, Dr. William J. Smith, Des Alvarez, Robert Abbruzzese, Hazel Wilkinson, Richard Santucci, Justin Nottingham, Starr Bose, Michael Miramontes, Alicia Mosley William Marror, Chris Little, Mike Vogel, Ron Fakhoory andChristy Dicesare – live in Etiwanda or that part of Alta Loma on the outskirts of Etiwanda Heights and had less charitable views of what Previti was requesting of the city and its officials.
By merely considering what Previti was requesting, it was asserted, the community was being given second shrift and city officials were in the throes of giving approval to an approach toward development that “prioritized profits over promises made. High density was never part of that promise,” one said.
A recurrent theme was what one of those speaking referred to as city officials’ “broken promises.”
What the city was doing by going along with Previti was to put “more people in high density [living arrangements] in a higher fire danger zone. This is the wrong neighborhood for high density,” one said.
Accommodating Previti in his demands to be allowed to construct high density residential subdivisions on the chaparral-covered land near the base of the foothills was, the planning commission was told, “a direct contradiction” of the assurances city officials had given Rancho Cucamonga’s residents.
The city documents relating to the alteration of the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan and the specific plan amendment and the language in Nakamura’s presentation were loaded with “eupemisms” employed to mask the city’s betray of its residents, one person said.
Another used the phrase “broken promises” in characterizing the city’s action, while another called what city officials are engaged in “a breach of trust.”
One resident noted that with the erasure of the land use standards contained in the original Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood Community Plan and the substitution of liberalized zoning regulations at Previti’s request, the city’s regulations become meaningless since they are subject to unlimited modifications at the whim of the next developer who makes a request.
“What’s going to happen with future revisions?” he asked.
In particular reference to the auto courts that the Previti is proposing, consisting of houses, duplexes, quadplexes or 12-plexes clustered around a small parking lot for the vehicles of those who live in them, residents expressed doubt as to whether that form of multi-family housing would be compatible with the existing surrounding residential area, would resist aesthetic deterioration over time or provide sufficient space for the residents to park their cars, let alone for their guests who might visit them to park.
“To put this many people in that small of an area, we are fooling ourselves,” one resident said. “Each of these homes will end up with excessive car parking.”
Another resident dwelled on the outright misrepresentations the city’s planning staff had engaged in.
“We were told there was not going to be anything [i.e. residential lots] above Wilson less than a half acre,” one said.
Nakamura and the rest of the city’s planning staff are without integrity, one resident said, exclaiming, “I don’t understand our staff anymore. We should never even consider that kind of housing up there.”
The city and Previti were engaging in, one resident said, “classic bait and switch,” with past and current city officials ofer “false, vague and empty promises.”
There was a major disconnect between the attitude evinced by the members of the public who were present in the meeting chamber and the planning commissioners themselves, all of whom evinced a belief that Previti’s rights with regard to developing the property he had purchased from the county trumped the limitations on the intensity of the development of that property that city officials during the last decade had assured residents would be maintained.
Planning Commission Chairman Tony Morales, in particular, evinced little patience or sympathy toward and showed rather disapproval of the widespread resident opposition to the proposed alteration of the specific plan, at one point expressing the view that the opposition was the product of misinformation spread with regard to the alteration of the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan and that those opposed to Previti’s development proposal had employed “algorithms” in the use of social media to whip up the intensity of opposition into a frenzy. Morales went so far as to assert, indeed to seek from his colleagues on the commission a declaration that the only information to be relied upon in the commission’s decision-making process would be that provided by staff and the input from the public relating to the alteration of the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan be disregarded because of its reliability. This provoked a virulent immediate reaction from the crowd present, members of which hastened to remind the chairman with shouts from the floor, which he did not officially recognize or acknowledge, to the effect that the city, city management and the city planning department had purposefully withheld from the public relevant information pertaining to the proposed amendments to the specific plan for more than two weeks in the face of repeated public requests for that information.
At one point, Nakamura disclosed that planning staff had requested, while the confidential dialogue between those staff members and the Previti group was ongoing with regard to the requested changes in the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan, that Jimmy Previti meet with community members to acquaint them with what he was asking the city to do and provide them with an explanation of why making the change was necessary and desirable. Previti, she said, had respectfully declined to do so.
This galvanized Commissioner Melissa Diaz, who was vexed by the Previti’s seeming insensitivity to the community members in whose midst he was proposing to construct as many as 6,320 dwelling units. After reconfirming that the city staff was pressing forward with undertaking the alteration of the specific plan at Previti’s request, Diaz gave indication she was moving toward voting to deny the request, saying Previti was seeking the trust and permission to engage in the shaping of a significant section of the city and it was her impression that “The developer does not know the community well enough to be given the type of leeway they are asking for.”
This changed the tempo and complexion of the discussion considerably and for a time, the momentum in the room appeared to have shifted and was moving with considerable force against the Previti Group. Commissioner James Daniels had at the outset of the planning commission’s consideration of the item recused himself because he lives in the Etiwanda Heights district or its immediately surrounding area. This left Morales, Diaz and commissioners Al Boling and Bryan Dopp as the four lone decision-makers to consider the relevant issues and render a nonbinding but influential recommendation to the city council as to whether the city should stick by the commitment its officials collectively made to both the Local Agency Formation Commission when it sought clearance to bring the 6.38 square miles into the city in 2020 and the city’s residents when the city council adopted the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Community Plan the prior year, while pledging to permit only single-family homes to be built in a quantity of no more than 3,000.
Dopp took particular issue with the auto court component of what the Previti Group is proposing, asserting that such a residential product was out of place in that neck of the woods of Rancho Cucamonga. Echoing in his statements was what came across as an identification with the concerns being expressed by those who had spoken out that evening, garnering at one point the spontaneous applause of the crowd when he registered frustration with the prospective deviation from the land use standards contained in the specific plan. Boling, too, came across as courting crowd when he noted that land zoned for residential development north of Wilson Avenue, which lies near the southern end of the relevant property, lies within a high fire danger zone and had been slated for low density development. Many present were of the impression that a 3-to-1 majority was forming, with only Morales in opposition, to recommend that the city council remain steadfast in maintaining the land use mandates contained in the Etiwanda Heights Neighborhood and Conservation Plan.
The discussion drew itself out, however, and once again, while an extended and unexpectedly profuse palaver focusing on multifamily units and specific types of multifamily units raised first by Dopp and which involved primarily Dopp and Boling ensued, the gravitational pull on the dais vis-a-vis the Previti Group and the city’s residents began to veer back, relatively speaking, in favor of amending the specific plan. The focus moved to moderating, rather than limiting, the land use flexibility contained in the proposed amendment. The crowd witnessed the four-fifths strength commission, with roughly three-fourths of the dialogue emanating from Dopp, focus on making a show of taking something contained in amendment away from the Previti Group to arrive at what might be represented by the city as some order of a “fair” compromise. That discussion penultimately landed on the allowances of 12-plexes and walkups, i.e., apartments. Ultimately what followed was a decision to remove from the permitted land uses not both 12-plexes and walkups but walkups alone.
This ostensible compromise gave the planning commission, along with the entire planning department and the city, cover to adopt making the recommendation that the city council at a future date give passage to a slightly modified specific plan amendment and the first two phases of development to take place under that modified specific plan, which is to consist of a total of 410 dwelling units, one being 177 homes and nine undeveloped lots on 27.73 acres and the other being 233 homes and eleven undeveloped lots on 39.22 acres. Under that development plan, the Previti Group will be allotted roughly 6.42 lots per acre.
In giving a rationale for the commission’s support of the specific plan amendment, Boling, noting that in this instance he and his colleagues were acting as “an advisory body,” remarked that even though, “we make the recommendation, we don’t make the decision.”
Dopp said the city amending its specific plan in Etiwanda Heights would bring about financial relief for homebuyers. “The only way to create affordability is to increase supply,” he said. “That is an unfortunate reality that we can’t ignore.”
Diaz said that although “I don’t know if I can trust the developer will respond to the needs of the community, I do think this land needs to be developed.”
Presaging that the city council at its only meeting in January or one of its two meetings in February will follow the planning commission’s recommendation, the city said granting the amendment would “expand housing options.”

Seeking To Overcome Pay-To-Play Perceptions, Yucaipa Solons Impose Political Donation Limits On Themselves

In a reversal of action taken by a somewhat differently-composed version of itself nearly 22 months ago, the Yucaipa City Council has elected to now impose limits on the amount of donations its members can take from individual donors.
Nearly three years ago, three members of the Yucaipa City Council brought unwanted attention upon themselves and their city when they constructively terminated their town’s city manager, Ray Casey, and outright fired the city attorney, David Snow, replacing them with a city manager, Chris Mann, whose company specialized in representing developers and promoting development projects, and Steven Graham, whose career as a municipal attorney included serving as city attorney when Mann was employed as the city manager of the City of Canyon Lake.
There was widespread suspicion that the move to replace Casey as city manager by then-Mayor Justin Beaver and then-council members Bobbie Duncan and Matt Garner was part of an effort to remove barriers to aggressive growth in Yucaipa.
Prior to his 2008-to-2023 tenure as city manager, Casey had been Yucaipa’s city engineer, which informed the city’s policy of requiring those developers and construction companies undertaking industrial, commercial and/or residential projects in the city to either pay for or themselves provide accompanying infrastructure or augmentations to existing infrastructure to ensure the newly-created neighborhoods, residential or commercial subdivisions, factories or warehouses did not overburden existing roads, traffic circulation, storm drains or facilities such as wastewater treatment plants. Casey had insisted that the landowners, developers and builders who were to profit from the improvements to property or the transition of fallow or undeveloped land into developed land covered the expense of constructing the infrastructure that went with it rather than foregoing the creation of that infrastructure or having the city and its taxpayers defray its cost. As a consequence of Casey’s conservative approach, there had been only moderate growth in Yucaipa during a time when other San Bernardino County cities such as Fontana, Rancho Cucamonga and Hesperia were experiencing explosive expansion, a circumstance in which landowners, developers and elements of the construction and real estate industries were generating for themselves substantial wealth. Continue reading

Barrios’s SB Council Comeback Effort Complicated By Democratic Party Opposition

Former San Bernardino Second Ward Counclman Benito Barrios’s quest for a political comeback hit a snag this week as Democrats in the county seat are militating toward throwing the entire weight of their party countywide into an effort to oppose his bid to recapture the post he lost seven years ago.
Barrios, a Marine Corps veteran who had parlayed the support he received from conservative backers in the city and hi association with then-up-and-coming San Bernardino political figure John Valdivia to obtain a berth on the council, for a time appeared to have a bright future in elective office, being able to time a run for county or state posts from the relatively strong position of an incumbent council member in the county’s most populous city. A host of calculated moves that turned out to be miscalculations and an a series of what otherwise would have been micro-scandals that would have had no appreciable impact on his continuing viability as a candidate if they had occurred separately rather than as an accumulation doomed him during the 2018 election cycle.
Now, he and his handlers and advisors consider the 2026 election season to be propitious for his re-entrance into local politics, as the woman who replaced him on the council must stand for reelection once more, having barely overcome a challenge in 2022. Though Barrios this time hopes to have one of the more powerful and influential entities in the San Bernardino community backing him, there remains a cohesive coalition of supporters preparing to go to work in the upcoming campaign for the incumbent.
Moreover, San Bernardino is a solid Democratic city and the Second Ward has the second highest concentration of Democratic Party members of the city’s seven wards. Even though municipal elections are not supposed to be partisan in nature, the overwhelming ratio of Democrats to Republicans in the Second Ward makes it highly unlikely that a candidate actively opposed by the Democratic Party can win in an electoral contest there. Continue reading

Triplex Of Suits Vs Montclair Councilman Opens Path To Government Officials Facing Personal Liability

Lopez Hit With Unpayable $2.824M Legal Judgment

The court proceedings involving Montclair City Councilman Ben Lopez, two of the city’s employees and the city itself wound down today, closing out with what ostensibly is a judgment leaving Lopez on the hook for $2,823,942.32 in damages there is virtually no prospect he will ever be in a position to pay.
The cases against Lopez were chock full of contradictions and a confusing mash of details that defied any simple or cogent description. The two underlying cases filed in 2021 by the city’s director of economic development, Michael Fuentes, and Edmund Garcia, one of the city’s information technology specialists, originally named the city as a defendant along with Lopez. Ostensibly, then, the litigation pitted Fuentes, on one side, against, on the other side, Lopez and the entire weight and substance of the city and its taxpayers and also set up 15 rounds of legal fisticuffs between Garcia, in one corner, against Lopez and the power and authority of the city and its residents in the other corner. As the cases progressed, however, both inside and outside of court, the relationship between Lopez and his city council colleagues and the remainder of City Hall deteriorated, descending into enmity which resulted in the city suing Lopez. Ultimately, it was as much the case that the city made against Lopez that led to the legal victories ultimately scored by Fuentes and Garcia earlier this month than the prosecution of the matter by the common legal team that represented them.
From the outset and even the circumstances leading up to it, the matter involving Lopez and both Fuentes and Garcia consisted of highly contradictory and inconsistent elements.
Lopez, a lifelong resident of Montclair was the son of Tony Lopez, a member of the local establishment as a board member of the Monte Vista Water Agency. Ben Lopez had political aspirations from an early age, studying political science, with an emphasis on political campaigns and strategy, when he was attending Cal Poly Pomona after graduating from high school in 1994. Thereafter, he ran, unsuccessfully, for a position on the Montclair City Council in 1998, 2000, 2002, 2004, 2014. 2016 and 2018. He gravitated, by his late twenties, toward conservative politics, affiliating and aligning himself with Republicans.
To establish his bona fides as a rock-ribbed Republican, he signed on in 2003 as an advocate for the conservative Christian lobbying group, the Anaheim-based Traditional Values Coalition. That organization, headed by the Reverend Louis Sheldon, adhered to a philosophy that society was being harmed by permissiveness and a deviation from Christian fundamentals. From shortly after his first affiliation with the Traditional Values Coalition and over the next 13 years Lopez functioned first in the capacity of a policy
analyst, then its legislative advocate and what was essentially its official spokesman and then as its director of California operations. On dozens of occasions over that time Lopez uttered statements in keeping with Sheldon’s views, asserting the illegitimacy of homosexual marriage, questioning the wisdom of allowing homosexuals, bisexuals, lesbians or transsexuals to teach in public schools and spoke in opposition to permitting the display of so-called pride flags or banners in classroom settings or on public school campuses as well as school-based counseling services which, in his phraseology, “encouraged” homosexuality. He also articulated the Traditional Values Coalition’s position that there should be no public funding of medical procedures, surgeries or the provision of medication or hormones to facilitate gender transitions.
Despite the consideration that Montclair was a solidly Democratic-leaning town in which the ratio of Democrats to Republicans was approximately two-to one, as 46 percent of its registered voters were Democrats and 23 percent of its voters identified as members of the GOP, Lopez pursued fitting into the Republican fold.
This included supporting two of the higher profile Republicans on the west end of San Bernardino County over the last two decades, those being one-time Chino Hills may, former Assemblyman and current Fourth District San Bernardino County Supervisor Curt Hagman and one-time Fontana Councilwoman and former Second District San Bernardino County Supervisor Janice Rutherford. He aspired for and made multiple applications for appointments to positions with or committees/boards tied in with the local government, obtaining berths on the Montclair Youth Accountability Board, the Montclair Fire Department Citizens Advisory Commission and San Bernardino County’s West End Mosquito and Vector Control Board. He ran successfully for a position on the San Bernardino County Republican Central Committee.
By 2020, Lopez had come to embody a noteworthy illustration of an individual with the determination to construct oneself into a politically relevant entity among the county’s officeholders. He had by that point over a period of 22 years vied for a position on the Montclair City Council six times, losing in each attempt. That year, in his seventh run, he achieved victory.
In 2021, Lopez would reach his high water mark. That January, Phil Cothran Sr was elected chairman of the San Bernardino County Republican Central Committee. Ultimately, Cothran chose Lopez to serve in the prestigious position of the central committee’s parliamentarian. For the last several years, Lopez has orchestrated the county Republican Central Committee’s monthly meetings.
Ironically, it was just as Lopez was coming into his own as a political force to be reckoned with, having at last established himself as a holder of public office, and was able to, at least potentially, vie for higher public office, that events would unfold which have now devolved not only into a state in which his future as a politician appears to have been foreclosed to him but he is being pushed into a state of personal financial impoverishment from which it will take the remainder of his life to recover.
Even worse is that the most noteworthy achievement of his career in politics and public life is that his negative example is about to set a precedent that will disempower and hamstring elected officials going forward.
Before the entirety of the calendar had run in 2021, both Garcia and Fuentes sued both Lopez and the City of Montclair in San Bernardino County Superior Court. Garcia, represented by Brian Hannemann and his Upland-based law firm, filed his complaint on December 7, 2021, naming Lopez, the city and 50 so-called “Does,” or potential defendants who were at that point unidentified. Seven days later, on December 14, 2021, Fuentes, who was also represented by Hannemann, lodged his suit, also naming Lopez, the city and the 50 unidentified potential defendants.
There were remarkable similarities to the Garcia’s and Fuentes’s suits. In their complaints, both declare that they are openly homosexual and that they each found themselves the target of sexual harassment by Lopez, they were discriminated against because of their sexual orientation and gender, they were retaliated against by both Lopez and the city and that the city failed to protect them from Lopez’s retaliation.
Contained in the complaints were allegations that were both contradictory and shocking. Garcia’s suit makes reference to Lopez’s role as the director, lobbyist and spokesman for the Traditional Values Coalition, which Hannemann and Doherty characterize as an “anti-LGBTQ hate group.” In that capacity, according to Garcia’s lawsuit, Lopez “publicly advocated against and attacked same-sex marriage,
LGBTQ history curriculums, and the legal recognition and protections of transgender people” and “made highly exclusionary and rejectionist anti-LGBTQ remarks.”
Nevertheless, according to both suits, Lopez was himself engaged in queering off.
According to Garcia’s suit, “Lopez, who presents and acts as a heterosexual male holding staunch anti-LGBTQ [lesbian gay bisexual transsexual queer] views, said to plaintiff [Garcia], who is openly homosexual, all of the following sexual comments inviting plaintiff to engage in homosexual acts with defendant Lopez:
• ‘I’m definitely interested in playing.’
• ‘I love eating ass.’
• ‘I prefer to top, but I don’t have to top to have fun. Love getting my dick sucked all the time.’
• ‘Definitely into oral, love rimming. Jerking is always a given. Lol. Love sucking nips. More top than bottom here. Masc guy.’”
According to Garcia’s lawsuit, “Lopez pressured and cajoled plaintiff to accompany Lopez out for dinner” and “subjected plaintiff to unwanted verbal harassing conduct in the form of impermissible non-job related questions, in particular, questions regarding plaintiff’s sexual preferences and sexuality.”
Fuentes’s suit maintains that in the course of his employment in Montclair, “Lopez engaged in continuous, unwanted harassing conducted directed at plaintiff, that was visual, verbal, physical and included unwanted sexual advances, and occurred without plaintiff’s consent and was at all times unwanted. The unwanted harassing conduct was severe and pervasive, occurring regularly and directed at plaintiff.”
Fuentes’s lawsuit spelled out that Lopez made sexual advances toward him that consisted of “come-ons in the form of unwanted email messages of a sexual nature” and that Lopez bedeviled him with “unwanted verbal harassing conduct in the form of impermissible non-job related questions, in particular, questions regarding plaintiff’s sexual preferences and sexuality. Lopez pressured and cajoled plaintiff to accompany Lopez out for lunch, which was a thinly veiled attempt to get plaintiff alone so that Lopez could further engage in unwanted harassing conduct towards plaintiff.”
According to both lawsuits, when the plaintiffs brought Lopez’s conduct toward them to the attention of their higher-ups on city staff, i.e., within city administration, no action was taken and both remained exposed to Lopez’s depredations.
“Plaintiff opposed and complained about Lopez’s unwanted harassing conduct directly to Lopez as well as to employer’s [City of Montclair’s] city manager, Edward Starr,” Garcia’s lawsuit states. “Despite plaintiff’s complaints, employer failed to take an immediate and appropriate corrective action. Instead, employer required plaintiff to continue to work alongside Lopez.”
According to Fuentes’s lawsuit, Lopez turned vindictive when he rejected the councilman’s sexual advances. In addition, according to Fuentes’s suit, after Fuentes requested that he not be forced to interact with Lopez and the councilman learned about his complaints, Lopez “glared at plaintiff in an intimidating manner” and “otherwise treated plaintiff in an unfair manner so as to punish plaintiff form complaining against Lopez.”
Furthermore, according to the lawsuit, in June 2021, when Fuentes was being considered for advancement to department head status at City Hall, “Lopez actively opposed plaintiff’s appointment to the position of director of economic development, stating as much in a public meeting.” Fuentes was given the promotion on a 4-to-1 vote of the council, with Lopez dissenting.
Despite both Garcia and Fuentes remaining as employees in good standing with the City of Montclair, they filed their separate but very similar suits in in December 2021. The primary reason for naming the city, according to Hannemann and Doherty, was that the city had been indifferent in the face of Garcia’s and Fuentes’s reports of the way they were being treated by Lopez. This led to what Hanneman and Doherty maintain was a hostile work environment for both of their clients.
An identically worded passage in both lawsuits states, “Employer by and through the acts of Lopez and others, created the hostile work environment, and knowingly allowed it to persist, over plaintiff’s objections and complaints that the unwanted harassing conduct was offensive to him and was causing him emotional distress and anxiety.”
As is virtually universally the case whenever a governmental entity and one or more of its officials or employees is sued, the agency or governmental entity reflexively indemnifies the employee[s] or official[s] involved and employs legal counsel to answer the suit with court filings and the formulation of a legal defense.
The reasons for this are manifold. Under long established law and case law, an entity has or shares liability for the actions of its principals, employees and agents. It is thus in the institution’s interest to prevent a plaintiff from establishing liability on the part of one of its employees, agents or principals, as culpability on the part of individual will lead to a legal conclusion of liability on the part of institution. In addition, the principals of an institution, as in this case the mayor and city council members, have control over the institution and its decision-making processes. Out of base self-interest, such principals have long moved to make certain that they themselves bear no financial liability for the harm visited upon others as a consequence of their decisions or actions on behalf of the institution or while acting in their official capacity. Another rationale for indemnifying the principals of an institution is the argument routinely made that if those who head an institution or governmental agency are made personally liable for their actions on behalf of that entity, people in general will be unwilling to take on the role of a decision-maker. In the case of employees or agents employed by an institution or governmental entity, they are represented by powerful public employee unions, the leadership of which insists upon their members being protected from personal liability if action they engage in during the performance of their duties while in the employ of a public agency goes awry.
This virtual blanket indemnification has traditionally been given, even in cases where the offense in question was one made entirely at the personal discretion of the official, employee or agent and outside the knowledge and consent nor at the behest of the agency or governmental entity, its leadership, chain of command or supervisorial personnel. The rationale for the granting of this indemnification stems from the theory that if an entity affiliated with it or acting on its behalf wreaks damage, the entity was in some fashion, at the very least, negligent if not deliberately destructive.
Initially, in late 2021 and into 2022, Ben Lopez was a beneficiary of the presumption that as a principal with the City of Montclair, he merited indemnification and legal representation in the face of the two lawsuits. As part of the city’s legal defense strategy it hired a third-party investigator to look into Garcia’s and Fuentes’s allegations. After examining the findings in the investigator’s report, however, Mayor John Dutrey and council members Bill Ruh, Tenice Johnson and Corysa Martinez reached the conclusion that there was substance to the accusations. As a consequence, the council in April 2022 voted to censure Lopez.
In the face of that setback, Lopez was not contrite, stating both privately and publicly that Garcia and Fuentes were on a politically- and ideologically-motivated mission to discredit him and destroy his electoral viability while earning themselves a fat paycheck at the expense of Montclair’s taxpayers.
As early as April 11, 2022, Lopez was being represented by separate counsel from the city. While the city’s legal defense was being handled by Dana McCune and Steven Taylor of the law firm McCune & Harber, Lopez was represented by Steven Baric.
He remained defiant in the face of the lawsuits, but ultimately had a falling out with the attorney, Steven Baric, who was representing him independently from the city. Baric was relieved as his counsel on August 4, 2022. Subsequently, Lopez acted as his own counsel and was for a time represented by Jonathan Ziprick.
On December 28, 2022, the city filed a cross complaint against Lopez.
On February 9, 2023, Doherty informed Judge John Pacheco, who was overseeing the case brought by Garcia, that the city had settled the matter. On March 13, 2023, Hannemann informed Judge Thomas Garza, who was overseeing the case brought by Fuentes, that the city had settled the matter. Information available to the Sentinel is that city made a combined $550,000 payout to both defendants.
On February 21, 2024, the two cases, in which Lopez remained as a defendant and the city had joined in as a cross-complainant, were consolidated and assigned to Judge Pacheco.
On March 27, 2024 the case was reassigned from Judge Pacheco, whose courtroom is located within the 11-story courthouse in San Bernardino, to Judge Kory Mathewson at the Rancho Cucamonga Courthouse.
Difficulties in the progression of the suit toward trial ensued. Lopez, who was representing himself, was not present for some scheduled hearings on the matter, including ones where arguments on motions before the court were heard. He also failed to respond in a timely manner or at all to some of the plaintiffs’ requests or demands for the production of exhibits and evidence as part of the discovery process, resulting in monetary sanctions being imposed on him by the court.
Despite both Garcia and Fuentes having demanded a jury trial in their original lawsuits, they and their attorneys, as did Lopez, consented to the matter being conducted as a bench trial before Judge Mathewson, with him serving as the judge and jury. After a minor delay, the trial was held on December 2, 3, 4 and 5, 2025. At trial, Doherty represented both Garcia and Fuentes, Taylor represented the city and Lopez served as his own attorney. Among the witnesses called to testify were Montclair City Manager Ed Starr, Montclair Mayor John “Havier” Dutrey, Montclair Administrative Services Director Jon Hamilton and Xavier Mendez, a 29-year employee with the City of Montclair, whose final seven years ending in 2020 were in the capacity of supervisor in the public works division, ran unsuccessfully for city council 2022, served as a member of the Montclair Planning Commission and was elected to the city council in 2024. Also testifying were Garcia, Fuentes and Lopez. Lopez handled the cross-examination of the witnesses and, after being examined by Doherty and Taylor as a witness for the plaintiffs and the cross-complainant, offered testimony as a defense witness.
Following that testimony on December 2, 3 and 4, late in the afternoon of December 4, between 3:50 p.m. and 4:11 p,m, Doherty made a 21 minute closing argument on behalf of Garcia and Fuentes. On the morning of December 5, Taylor, representing the city, gave an eight-minute closing argument. Lopez followed that with a 15 minute closing argument. Doherty then made her rebuttal to Lopez’s argument, taking ten minutes to do so.
After less than hour, during which he conferred with Doherty, Taylor and Lopez, Judge Mathewson rendered his tentative decision in which he awarded Garcia and Fuentes each $350,000 in past damages and $50,000 in future damages for a total of $800,000 in total damages plus punitive damages to be determined in the punitive phase. He then awarded the City of Montclair, as the cross-complainant an indemnity to be paid by Lopez in the amount of 100 percent of the $550,000 settlement paid to Garcia and Fuentes in 2023, plus attorneys fees and costs. He scheduled a hearing at which he was to make a determination as to punitive damages and finalize his tentative ruling for December 12.
On December 12, Judge Mathewson assessed Lopez to be responsible for paying punitive damages in the amount of $176,000, which is to be split evenly between the two plaintiffs.
The city has no up-to-date tally of the lawyer’s fees and legal costs it has sustained throughout the 48 months during which the Garcia and Fuentes suits were active. Extrapolating on legal billing documentation more than three weeks into January 2024, the city was paying the lawyers working on the case an average of roughly $27,040.46 per month. It thus appears that the city has thus expended somewhere in the neighborhood of $1,297,942.32 in legal fees on the cases.
Thus, Lopez is looking at a financial burden of, it would appear at least $2,823,942.32 [$1,297,942.32 + $176,000 + $800,000 + $550,000].
At present, Lopez’s yearly income consists of the $22,200 he makes in his stipend and pay add-ons as a councilman and the less than $60,000 generated by his notary business. It would therefore take him a third of a century, at his present rate of yearly compensation, to pay off the debt he has accumulated as a consequence of the Garcia and Fuentes lawsuits.
From a gross monetary perspective, the victory the City of Montclair achieved with the resolution of its cross-complaint against Lopez on December 5 was a Pyrrhic one, as there is little prospect that the city will recover from Lopez the $1,297,942.32 in legal fees he owes it or be recompensed by him for the $550,000 settlement conferred upon Garcia and Fuentes in 2023. At the same time, the city did avoid having to put up the $800,000 assessed against Lopez as his share of the real damages sustained by the plaintiffs and the $176,000 in punitive damages that have been assigned to Lopez.
Still, the way in which Montclair gradually evolved toward parting legal company with Lopez, refusing to indemnify over his own personal actions despite his status as a city councilman and then, in essence, filing suit against him in the form of a cross-complaint represents a departure, indeed a radical departure, from the way in which city’s automatically accept on their part and on the part of their taxpaying citizens financial responsibility for the actions of their elected officials.
Whether the way Montclair handled this particular case, with its idiosyncrasies and somewhat atypical circumstances, will serve as a precedent for itself or other cities to distance themselves from politicians who utilize their authority in ways that outsiders find objectionable to the point that they take the official and the agency or governmental entity the official represents into court to seek redress is, of course, unknown at this point. Montclair did explore that option and probably was no worse for the wear than it would have been had it stood by Lopez right down the line.
What the city’s approach in this case did do was to alert officeholders not just in Montclair but in San Bernardino County, Southern California and perhaps the entire State of California that there exists a chance, however slim, that they cannot arrogantly comport themselves in ways that presume governmental authority relieves them of personal responsibility and potential liability.
For Lopez, who spent more than two decades longing and striving to be accepted into the governmental inner sanctum before succeeding in 2020 and then parlayed that into a vaunted position among the county’s brotherhood and sisterhood of politicians in the Republican Central Committee as that institution’s parliamentarian, he not only faces the bleak prospect of not being able to accrue any personal wealth for a very long time but now being considered a pariah among the class of officeholders he was privileged to join with his election to the Montclair City Council in 2020 and his reelection to that panel as the top vote-getter in 2024. Those politicians with whom he as been hobnobbing and rubbing elbows as an equal for the last five years now see him as that member of their legion who managed to destroy the presumption of indemnification they all enjoyed as public officials elevated to their positions of authority by those who had voted them into office. While the honor of being elected a civic leader will remain for those officials, the ability to comport themselves boldly with no fear of any financial consequence if a legal challenge arises may very well not. For that, the taxpayers have Lopez to thank and the solons have Lopez to blame.

Chino Gets $25M State Grant To Help Redress H2O Contamination

The City of Chino will apply $25 million in state grant money it has obtained to cover roughly 43 percent of the $58 million cost of a water treatment plant to be located outside its city limits to remove trichloropropane.
The City of Chino has its own water utility division which manages the city’s water, sewer and storm drain system. While most of the Chino municipal water systems wells and other water related facilities are located in the 29.7-square mile city, some of those are on city-owned property outside the city limits such as in neighboring Ontario, Montclair, Chino Hills and on unincorporated county land along Chino’s periphery.
One such facility is the so-called “State Street Water Treatment Facility” located at 10762 Benson Avenue just south of State Street in Ontario, not too distant from Ontario’s border with Montclair.
Water drawn from wells in proximity to that treatment facility contain varying levels of different contaminants. One such contaminant that represents a serious issue for the city’s water division is the chemical 1,2,3-trichloropropane, also known as 1,2,3-TCP.
1,2,3-trichloropropane is a colorless, man-made liquid chemical that does not occur in nature and was previously used as a solvent and in paint and varnish removers as well as a chemical intermediate.
1,2,3-TCP has shown up in two of the Chino Water Utility Division’s wells, Well 12, on the southwest corner of Central Avenue and Phillips Boulevard, and Well 14 on the 10762 Benson Avenue property at the southwest corner of State Street and Benson Avenue, proximate to the treatment plant site.
That 1,2,3-TCP is present in the water drawn from Well 14 is not surprising. State Street, which lies between Holt Boulevard to the north and Mission Boulevard to the south and immediately south of the railroad tracks, runs from Ontario near Ontario Airport in the east, through Montclair and into Pomona. Along much of its length are the industrial areas of Ontario, Montclair and Pomona. Continue reading

Ein Mench Mit Namen Ziegler

Von Hermann Hesse
Einst wohnte in der Brauergasse ein junger Herr mit Namen Ziegler. Er gehörte zu denen, die uns jeden Tag und immer wieder auf der Straße begegnen und deren Gesichter wir uns nie recht merken können, weil sie alle miteinander dasselbe Gesicht haben: ein Kollektivgesicht.
Ziegler war alles und tat alles, was solche Leute immer sind und tun. Er war nicht unbegabt, aber auch nicht begabt, er liebte Geld und Vergnügen, zog sich gern hübsch an und war ebenso feige wie die meisten Menschen: sein Leben und Tun wurde weniger durch Triebe und Bestrebungen regiert als durch Verbote, durch die Furcht vor Strafen. Dabei hatte er manche honette Züge und war überhaupt alles in allem ein erfreulich normaler Mensch, dem seine eigene Person sehr lieb und wichtig war. Er hielt sich, wie jeder Mensch, für eine Persönlichkeit, während er nur ein Exemplar war, und sah in sich, in seinem Schicksal den Mittelpunkt der Welt, wie jeder Mensch es tut. Zweifel lagen ihm fern, und wenn Tatsachen seiner Weltanschauung widersprachen, schloss er missbilligend die Augen.
Als moderner Mensch hatte er außer vor dem Geld noch vor einer zweiten Macht unbegrenzte Hochachtung: vor der Wissenschaft. Er hätte nicht zu sagen gewusst, was eigentlich Wissenschaft sei, er dachte dabei an etwas wie Statistik und auch ein wenig an Bakteriologie, und es war ihm wohl bekannt, wieviel Geld und Ehre der Staat für die Wissenschaft übrig habe. Besonders respektierte er die Krebsforschung, denn sein Vater war an Krebs gestorben, und Ziegler nahm an, die inzwischen so hoch entwickelte Wissenschaft werde nicht zulassen, dass ihm einst dasselbe geschähe.
Äußerlich zeichnete sich Ziegler durch das Bestreben aus, sich etwas über seine Mittel zu kleiden, stets im Einklang mit der Mode des Jahres. Denn die Moden des Quartals und des Monats, welche seine Mittel allzu sehr überstiegen hätten, verachtete er als dumme Afferei. Er hielt viel auf Charakter und trug keine Scheu, unter seinesgleichen und an sichern Orten über Vorgesetzte und Regierungen zu schimpfen. Ich verweile wohl zu lange bei dieser Schilderung. Aber Ziegler war wirklich ein reizender junger Mensch, und wir haben viel an ihm verloren. Denn er fand ein frühes und seltsames Ende, allen seinen Plänen und berechtigten Hoffnungen zuwider.
Bald nachdem er in unsere Stadt gekommen war, beschloss er einst, sich einen vergnügten Sonntag zu machen. Er hatte noch keinen rechten Anschluss gefunden und war aus Unentschiedenheit noch keinem Verein beigetreten. Vielleicht war dies sein Unglück. Es ist nicht gut, dass der Mensch allein sei.
So war er darauf angewiesen, sich um die Sehenswürdigkeiten der Stadt zu kümmern, die er denn gewissenhaft erfragte. Und nach reiflicher Überlegung entschied er sich für das historische Museum und den zoologischen Garten. Das Museum war an Sonntagvormittagen unentgeltlich, der Zoologische nachmittags zu ermäßigten Preisen zu besichtigen.
In seinem neuen Straßenanzug mit Tuchknöpfen, den er sehr liebte, ging Ziegler am Sonntag ins historische Museum. Er nahm so seinen dünnen, eleganten Spazierstock mit, einen vierkantigen, rotlackierten Stock, der ihm Haltung und Glanz verlieh, der ihm aber zu seinem tiefsten Missvergnügen vor dem Eintritt in die Säle vom Türsteher abgenommen wurde.
In den hohen Räumen war vielerlei zu sehen, und der fromme Besucher pries im Herzen die allmächtige Wissenschaft, die auch hier ihre verdienstvolle Zuverlässigkeit erwies, wie Ziegler aus den sorgfältigen Aufschriften an den Schaukästen schloss. Alter Kram, wie rostige Torschlüssel, zerbrochene grünspanige Halsketten und dergleichen, gewann durch diese Aufschriften ein erstaunliches Interesse. Es war wunderbar, um was alles diese Wissenschaft sich kümmerte, wie sie alles beherrschte, alles zu bezeichnen wusste oh nein, gewiss würde sie schon bald den Krebs abschaffen und vielleicht das Sterben überhaupt.
Im zweiten Saal fand er einen Glasschrank, dessen Scheibe so vorzüglich spiegelte, dass er in einer stillen Minute seinen Anzug, Frisur und Kragen, Hosenfalte und Krawattensitz kontrollieren konnte. Froh aufatmend schritt er weiter und würdigte einige Erzeugnisse alter Holzschnitzer seiner Aufmerksamkeit. Tüchtige Kerle, wenn auch reichlich naiv, dachte er wohlwollend. Und auch eine alte Standuhr mit elfenbeinernen, beim Stundenschlag Menuett tanzenden Figürchen betrachtete und billigte er geduldig. Dann begann die Sache ihn etwas zu langweilen, er gähnte und zog häufig seine Taschenuhr, die er wohl zeigen dürfte, sie war schwer golden und ein Erbstück von seinem Vater.
Es blieb ihm, wie er bedauernd sah, noch viel Zeit bis zum Mittagessen übrig, und so trat er in einen anderen Raum, der seine Neugierde wieder zu fesseln vermochte. Er enthielt Gegenstände des mittelalterlichen Aberglaubens, Zauberbücher, Amulette, Hexenstaat und in einer Ecke eine ganze alchimistische Werkstatt mit Esse, Mörsern, bauchigen Gläsern, dürren Schweinsblasen, Blasbälgen und so weiter. Diese Ecke war durch ein wollenes Seil abgetrennt, eine Tafel verbot das Berühren der Gegenstände. Man liest ja aber solche Tafeln nie sehr genau, und Ziegler war ganz allein im Raum.
So streckte er unbedenklich den Arm über das Seil hinweg und betastete einige der komischen Sachen. Von diesem Mittelalter und seinem drolligen Aberglauben hatte er schon gehört und gelesen; es war ihm unbegreiflich, wie Leute sich damals mit so kindischem Zeug befassen konnten, und dass man den ganzen Hexenschwindel und all das Zeug nicht einfach verbot. Hingegen die Alchemie mochte immerhin entschuldigt werden können, da aus ihr die so nützliche Chemie hervorgegangen war. Mein Gott, wenn man so daran dachte, dass diese Goldmachertiegel und all der dumme Zauberkram vielleicht doch notwendig gewesen waren, weil es sonst heute kein Aspirin und keine Gasbomben gäbe!
Achtlos nahm er ein kleines dunkles Kügelchen, etwas wie eine Arzneipille, in die Hand, ein vertrocknetes Ding ohne Gewicht, drehte es zwischen den Fingern und wollte es eben wieder hinlegen, als er Schritte hinter sich hörte. Er wandte sich um, ein Besucher war eingetreten. Es genierte Ziegler, dass er das Kügelchen in der Hand hatte, denn er hatte die Verbotstafel natürlich doch gelesen. Darum schloss er die Hand, steckte sie in die Tasche und ging hinaus.
Erst auf der Straße fiel ihm die Pille wieder ein. Er zog sie heraus und dachte sie wegzuwerfen, vorher aber führte er sie an die Nase und roch daran. Das Ding hatte einen schwachen, harzartigen Geruch, der ihm Spaß machte, so dass er das Kügelchen wieder einsteckte.
Er ging nun ins Restaurant, bestellte sich Essen, schnüffelte in einigen Zeitungen, fingerte an seiner Krawatte und warf den Gästen teils hochmütige Blicke zu, je nachdem wie sie gekleidet waren. Als aber das Essen eine Weile auf sich warten ließ, zog Herr Ziegler seine aus Versehen gestohlene Alchimistenpille hervor und roch wieder an ihr. Dann kratzte er sie mit dem Zeigefingernagel, und endlich folgte er naiv einem kindlichen Gelüst und führte das Ding zum Mund; es löste sich im Mund rasch auf, ohne unangenehm zu schmecken, so dass er es mit einem Schluck Bier hinabspülte. Gleich darauf kam auch sein Essen.
Um zwei Uhr sprang der junge Mann vom Straßenbahnwagen, betrat den Vorhof des zoologischen Gartens und nahm eine Sonntagskarte.
Freundlich lächelnd ging er ins Affenhaus und fasste vor dem großen Käfig der Schimpansen Stand. Der große Affe blinzelte ihn an, nickte ihm gutmütig zu und sprach mit tiefer Stimme die Worte: “Wie geht’s, Bruderherz?”
Angewidert und wunderlich erschrocken wandte sich der Besucher schnell hinweg und hörte im Fortgehen den Affen hinter sich her schimpfen: “Auch noch stolz ist der Kerl! Plattfuß, dummer!”
Rasch trat Ziegler zu den Meerkatzen hinüber. Die tanzten ausgelassen und schrien: “Gib Zucker her, Kamerad!” und als er keinen Zucker hatte, wurden sie bös, ahmten ihn nach, nannten ihn Hungerleider und bleckten die Zähne gegen ihn. Das ertrug er nicht; bestürzt und verwirrt floh er hinaus und lenkte seine Schritte zu den Hirschen und Rehen, von denen er ein hübscheres Betragen erwartete.
Ein großer herrlicher Elch stand nahe beim Gitter und blickte den Besucher an. Da erschrak Ziegler bis ins Herz. Denn seit er die alte Zauberpille geschluckt hatte, verstand er die Sprache der Tiere. Und der Elch sprach mit seinen Augen, zwei großen braunen Augen. Sein stiller Blick redete Hoheit, Ergebung und Trauer, und gegen den Besucher drückte er eine überlegen ernste Verachtung aus, eine furchtbare Verachtung. Für diesen stillen, majestätischen Blick, so las Ziegler, war er samt Hut und Stock, Uhr und Sonntagsanzug nichts als ein Geschmeiß, ein lächerliches und widerliches Vieh.
Vom Elch entfloh Ziegler zum Steinbock, von da zu den Gemsen, zum Lama, zum Gnu, zu den Wildsäuen und Bären. Insultiert wurde er von diesen allen nicht, aber er wurde von allen verachtet. Er hörte ihnen zu und erfuhr aus ihren Gesprächen, wie sie über die Menschen dachten. Es war schrecklich, wie sie über sie dachten. Namentlich wunderten sie sich darüber, dass ausgerechnet diese hässlichen, stinkenden, würdelosen Zweibeiner in ihren geckenhaften Verkleidungen frei umherlaufen durften.
Er hörte einen Puma mit seinem Jungen reden, ein Gespräch voll Würde und sachlicher Weisheit, wie man es unter Menschen selten hört. Er hörte einen schönen Panther sich kurz und gemessen in aristokratischen Ausdrücken über das Pack der Sonntagsbesucher äußern. Er sah dem blonden Löwen ins Auge und erfuhr, wie weit und wunderbar die wilde Welt ist, wo es keine Käfige und keine Menschen gibt. Er sah einen Turmfalken trüb und stolz in erstarrter Schwermut auf dem toten Ast sitzen und sah die Könige der Lüfte ihre Gefangenschaft mit Anstand, Achselzucken und Humor ertragen.
Benommen und aus allen seinen Denkgewohnheiten gerissen, wandte sich Ziegler in seiner Verzweiflung den Menschen wieder zu. Er suchte ein Auge, das seine Not und Angst verstünde, er lauschte auf Gespräche, um irgend etwas Tröstliches, Verständliches, Wohltuendes zu hören, er beachtete die Gebärden der vielen Gäste, um auch bei ihnen irgendwo Würde, Natur, Adel, stille Überlegenheit zu finden.
Aber er wurde enttäuscht. Er hörte die Stimmen und Worte, sah die Bewegungen, Gebärden und Blicke, und da er jetzt alles wie durch ein Tierauge sah, fand er nichts als eine entartete, sich verstellende, lügende, unschöne Gesellschaft tierähnlicher Wesen, die von allen Tierarten ein geckenhaftes Gemisch zu sein schienen.
Verzweifelt irrte Ziegler umher, sich seiner selbst unbündig schämend. Das vierkantige Stöcklein hatte er längst ins Gebüsch geworfen, die Handschuhe hinterdrein. Aber als er jetzt seinen Hut von sich warf, die Stiefel auszog, die Krawatte abriss, und schluchzend sich an das Gitter des Elchgeheges drückte, wurde er unter großem Aufsehen festgenommen und in ein Irrenhaus gebracht.