By Rich Kane
By Joel Beers
By LP Hastings
By Dave Barton
By Patrice Wirth Marsters
By Erin DeWitt
By Taylor Hamby
By LP Hastings
How's this for a conversation starter? Orange County is a microcosm and hothouse for Southern California and the West, and as we close the 20th century, it's an ideal setting for considering the betrayal of the dreams that the West once fostered.
Thus Martin Smith, moderator of a panel discussion at the LA Times Festival of Books a few weeks back. The discussion featured three writers who live in, have lived in, write about, or have written about Orange County:T. Jefferson Parker; Robert Ferrigno; Todd McEwan; and Smith, former Orange County Register columnist, former editor of Orange Coast magazine and current mystery novelist. His panel was inauspiciously titled "Behind the Orange Curtain"; the name and the thesis were condescendingly LA, for which you should blame the festival organizers, not Smith.
Los Angeles has been betraying the "dream of the West" for so long it's hardly worth bringing up anymore: it has been 60 years since Nathanael West gave us his grand, perverse dream-betrayal novel, The Day of the Locust, and any stroll down Hollywood Boulevard, the Venice boardwalk or Melrose reminds you of just how few people took heed of that book; many of them are living it instead, acting out the act West said they'd be acting. In fact, Los Angeles has gone way beyond physically symbolizing the dream of the West. Now it's literally projecting—via movies, TV, video games and whatever new technology the cyberelite have planned for us—a new one, a dream so vivid that it makes no bones about its unreality, its virtualness. Hollywood hardly bothers with representing the American Dream as a real possibility anymore, which is why it's beyond betrayal. The movies themselves have become the experience of the dream. It has taken the dream out of our heads, out of the deep and mysterious wells of history and our desire, and made them as synthetic and flat as the screens at the local Edwards megaplex.
Orange County, which is a great consumer of movies but not a producer of them, thus gets handed the more prosaic task of symbolizing the betrayal of the American Dream. How did the panel respond to the idea?
"That pretty much nails it," said Smith, cheerily enough.
Parker agreed. "OC is a good place to look at as a place of betrayal of the American Dream," he said, adding that the hustle of selling that dream "won't stop until the last bit of dirt has been used up to build a condominium."
Ferrigno noted how the "rugged individualism" that typifies the American Dream gets trampled here by reactionaries who don't want diversity—racial, ethnic or ideological. Smith pointed out that there's a "schism" between image and reality in Orange County that doesn't seem to bother anybody, and that the Disneyfication of the county—by which he meant the clean, orderly, happy appearances that belie the county's need to conceal its darker impulses—is proceeding without much resistance. And everybody mentioned, at one point or another, that the powers that be are pointing the county toward a dire environmental future.
What was remarkable was how sanguine they were about all this. Ferrigno, though generally agreeing about the fucked-up state of things, said he nonetheless loved Orange County. "I was struck when I moved here how ambitious and energetic and intense people were," he said. "Everybody has two jobs."
Parker, smiling, nodded in assent. "What I love about Orange County is the sheer wattage of the people," he enthused. "There's no end to the ambition. You can see it in the size of their yachts around 'Newport Isle.' There's no end to this underdog mentality that says, 'We're going to get the best because we deserve the best and we are the best.' That's the heritage—the idea is that we can get and be whatever we want because we deserve it and we're going to get it—right here. The heritage is that of the West and that of leaving Europe and saying, 'Look at the land!' The energy is ferocious, but it's also productive."
Put aside for a moment the fact that many people have two jobs not because they're ambitious but because they need two jobs to pay the rent. Put aside that yacht size probably isn't a reliable indicator of the ambition of most of this county's residents. Put aside that these encomiums about ambition came from four white guys who either live in affluent South County 'burbs or have gotten the hell out of the county altogether. (Ferrigno, cracking wry, said, "Let me speak as someone who loves Orange County as only someone who has left it can.")
What most needs pointing out is that this kind of blather is the old Manifest Destiny routine as innocent and corrupt as it gets, and Parker, with this "deserving the best" and "being the best" rhetoric, seemed to have bought Manifest Destiny more than he had any idea of betrayal. He was clearly more impressed by OC's productivity than its ferociousness. Only he and the other panelists never made a moral connection—between OC's "ferocious energy" and the malled-in, Disneyfied, reactionary culture it has created.