The Company of Men

The men and women of the Doon help us clear the land post wildfire.

Shortly after our first parent meeting at the Santa Cruz Waldorf School, another father in the third grade class, Chris, invited Walt to play ping pong with some other men from Bonny Doon. I’d never noticed Walt play the game before, it wasn’t a thing with his friends in the Midwest, but I was glad he said yes. In general, women make friends quickly. We’d recently moved from Chicago, and I was already building my network through the school, both as a teacher and a mother. Walt needed a life that wasn’t dependent on work or me. Little did I know then that the men of the Bonny Doon Gentlemen’s Leisure Club, BDGLC for short, would be the reason I would consider returning to this mountain even after it had burned to the ground.

The BDGLC has been meeting most Thursdays for fifteen years. They gather in various venues to play ping pong, usually beginning around 9pm, after the family’s needs have been met, and lasting until the wee hours of the morning. Yes, they are often tired the next day, but for most of these men, playing pong on Thursdays is as sacred as church or Grandma’s birthday—something you would miss only because circumstances beyond your control, like a birth, death, or your appendix rupturing, kept you from attending.

The group has only one “official” position, that of the czar, who is in charge of finding a venue each week. This is harder than it might seem, most of us gals want the men to go away one night a week, allowing a ladies night to binge Netflix, take a hot bath, or bake all evening in the silence of our own homes, but we don’t want the party itself anywhere nearby. The men are loud; between their random cheers inspired by a particularly intense match, their music, and their laughter around the fire, this is something best held outside, and very few of us actually have venues to support this without keeping the neighbors and the kids up all night.

Thus, the czar is necessary to ensure the games continued by sending out email each week to the group in an attempt to encourage their wives to allow the men to gather in one another’s company. Sam was czar at the time Walt joined up and within the year, for some reason, passed the title on to my husband. Walt was excited, as if this was some great honor. I wasn’t as much, for I knew this meant that in those weeks when no one else could come through with a venue, it would fall to us to host. At that point, I knew some of the men, and had already agreed to let Walt share in the venue burden a few times. His garage was actually perfect for it. Detached and up the hill from the main house, it wasn’t too close to the children and I. Once our tenant, Mary, had left, there wasn’t a neighbor close enough to bother, and besides, he shut the big door, closing them inside his mancave, at a decent hour. The kids and I had school on Fridays. So it would be that I would become one of the core group of women who supported this endeavor.

With time, I came to look forward to hosting. If it wasn’t raining, I’d grab wine and go out to visit them. I met so many wonderful men—Charlie, Jeffrey and Jeff, Sam and Sam, Thom, Chris, Mark, Mark, and Mark (there are quite a few of them), Johan, Greg, Robbie, Phil, Anthony, Buel, Michael, Miguel, Tim, the list goes on and on. Lots of new faces arrived in the past few years that my post-fire brain can’t keep track. Eventually, many of the non-Dooner men from the Waldorf school joined, calling themselves the Lower Bonny Doon or Westside contingency. Thursdays has become the cornerstone of our lives in many ways and my husband thrives under the companionship of these fine men. I enjoyed falling asleep to the sound of their low voices around the firepit, it reminded me of days past when people gathered around a fire to tell evening stories. Moreover, I have been blessed by the women that live with these men. The friendship of these mountain ladies has grown over the years and through their love and attention, we have helped each other raise our families and created this community we call home.

During the fires, many of the BDGLC would remain behind on the mountain, working with others to save houses as CalFire let them burn. There are other viewpoints of what happened during those terrifying weeks while the wildfire blazed out of control through our community, ones that don’t grant them the hero status they deserve, but essentially the men and women of the mountain banded together to create what would be known as the “Renegades,” a group of folks who dug firebreaks, hosed down neighbor’s rooftops, stayed behind the lines for weeks putting out ground fires that threatened homes, and eventually fed the livestock left behind, including our chickens, while those of us in town weren’t allowed to return home. The Renegades are still working together to this day, hardening their homes and yards and figuring out communications systems that will continue to work even after PG&E shuts off the power, knowing full well as another hot summer approaches, they alone will have to save their homes, because the state itself has proven to be lacking in the services they provide. This reality brings me pause, for I love these men and women, and I don’t want to see them in harm’s way.

A few weeks ago, Walt asked the men of the BDGLC to help him with the property. We have so many standing dead, too many for him to handle alone. He needs help and while asking for that is hard for him, I was so grateful he did. Immediately, the men replied yes. Buel’s wife, Trish, often called St. Tricia of the Redwoods for good reason, came over that morning to set up an Easy-up for shade, since we no longer have that on our once forested property, as well as tables, coolers, and other things one needs to host a party, but I no longer own. I brought in food and we filled up the water as well as a cooler of beer. Jeremy showed up with his chipper, Sam with his backhoe, and Robbie with an excavator. The rest brought chainsaws, a standard household tool in these parts. The mountain folk have the best toys. The day was successful; the men cleaned at least a third of our yard, all while laughing and working side-by-side. Due to covid, for many of them this was the first time they’d seen each other in almost a year. The trees fell, Sam fed branches into the chipper with his Tonka toy, and the land began to hum with purpose.

Afterwards, Jess, Shawn, Michelle, and Trish joined us and the workday turned into an evening of music as Charlie, Steve, and Sam brought out their guitars. This was especially dear to me, as the next week, D’ougal was coming down, his dead form no longer safe to remain standing. It seemed appropriate that the night before he caught fire, I’d played music for him. Now, on the night before his removal, the men gave him a similar farewell. D’ougal always liked the music, and I think he relished standing over the men while they played ping pong all those years beneath his branches. Like many things in life, we’d come full circle.

As the sun set, Tricia gathered us together for a toast. She reminded us fire survivors that we’re not alone. The work ahead of us was too much to do without the community and to feel free to call on them when we need it. The relief I felt in that moment was profound. It is too much for us to do alone. We’re still here in California because we love these people and knowing that they have our backs grants us the power to go forward. I miss hosting pong, our landlords don’t approve, but with the help of the BDGLC, we hope to build another pong venue in the future.

It’s this company of men that led me to the women of the mountain and some of the best friends I will ever know. This wasn’t the first time they’ve helped us, and it won’t be the last. For their love, and their skills with the chainsaw, I will forever be grateful.