I’ve lived in Laguna Beach a little over 75 years and, laugh if you like, but I still feel pretty spry, and I like to think that I’ve grown wiser as I‘ve grown older. Sadly, those 75 years have passed like a quick shadow over the lawn.
But I digress. I have had the pleasure of watching the city grow with me, and through many changes on both our parts. Together we’ve survived acts of God, acts of carelessness, and the seasonal onslaught of tourists. For those of you who know your history, together we’ve even survived fires and landslides. But those stories are for another time.
The reason I feel compelled to write here today is because I’m profoundly saddened at the way I’m now being treated. I have always loved this town because it accepted that I was different yet took the time to find out how similar I really was. But like many of us, I’m afraid I was never really welcomed. I tried, I really did, and for the most part I’ve always done what was expected of me, but I guess I sort of stood apart. I’m not a local, I’m not neat, and I’m told I can be overbearing. What’s worse is that I’m now being told that I should get out altogether. I’ve done nothing to cause this latest uproar but to stand my ground: and in a town full of eccentrics and artists and ne’er-do-wells I thought it was what one did.
I can only apologize for not being clean and small.
(aka Mace Morse, Laguna Beach)