Freedom of speech has been in the news lately, and I’ve had my own brush with someone who, wanted to be free to spread fear, hatred, and ugliness on my Facebook page. It made stop and consider the idea of free speech.
I absolutely believe in the ideal of freedom of expression, even to the point of provocation. But I also believe that this ideal is naturally balanced by the concept of consequences. I am (and should be) free to express myself, even if what I say is abhorrent to you, but I should not be free of the consequences of that expression. If I express hatred, I should be prepared for the backlash from those who are the targets by my speech. If I speak provocatively, I can’t be surprised by the response of those whom I provoke. To be free of consequences is not a right, it’s privilege.
This gets at the heart of the necessary tension in the ideal of free speech. And it is where those who are offended by political correctness expose their lack of intellectual rigor. To suggest that political correctness (by which those who use the term with derision refer to moderated speech designed to create common ground that does not harm nor offend) is flawed or wrong is sophomoric. Politically correct speech is intellectually superior to the kind of hate speech that hides behind the idea of free speech because political correctness aims to acknowledge the speaker’s rights and yet refuses to assume privilege. When Milo whines about the reaction to his hate speech, he’s exposing his intellectual limitations. He’s wrong to think that the vehement public response to his hate is a constraint on his speech. The reaction is a consequence of his speech, and his privilege to be protected from that consequence is neither guaranteed, nor is it a right.
The interloper on my Facebook stream seemed to make the same intellectual mistake as Milo. He felt it was his right to spew his hatred, and that my decision to cut him off was an infringement of that right. He is right that he has the freedom to speak. He doesn’t have the right, though to choose the consequences of his speech. Freedom of speech is not the same as the right to be heard. There is no such right. That the interloper doesn’t have the intellectual capacity to express his fear of others with self moderating political correctness is not my problem. Until he learns to exercise his brain, his freely-spewn hate speech will not be heard by me and those I care about. He does not deserve that privilege.
22 February 2017, 08:15 — Mark
I un-friended someone on Facebook today. I’m not normally inclined to cut someone off simply because we disagree. But this person was offensive in a way that made me wonder why we would consider one another “friends” in the first place. He’s someone I knew when I was a kid. He went to the church where my dad was a pastor in Oakland back in the late 60s, 70s and early 80s. I don’t consider him a close friend in real life, but his mom hired me to babysit for him a couple of times when he was little, so when he sent a friend request a while back I clicked to make the connection.
Admittedly, the photo I posted on Facebook was provocative. It was a picture of two presidents, the very first Republican president and the current president. Adjacent to the pictures were a quote from Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address and a quote from the current Republican president, bragging about being a sexual predator. And this man’s response was fairly predictable for someone who supports our current president. After this “friend’s” first response I suggested that I didn’t understand his fear and anger, and wished him peace. He persisted in posting a couple more offensive items, I assume to tempt me to engage. Fortunately an actual friend, intervened and reminded me that I needn’t argue with someone like him. It was then that I realized that the “un-friend” option on Facebook has a perfectly valid use case. Thanks, Facebook!
Update, Tuesday, Feb, 21
Apparently unfriending someone is not the only step you need to take on Facebook to prevent other users from invading and polluting your timeline. This man kept adding to his sophomoric diatribe, eventually drawing the ire of my actual friends and relatives. What was especially odd about the guy’s comments was the total irrelevance of anything he had to say to the original point of the post.
For future reference, if you want to keep a troll out of your face you need to change the visibility of your post so that only friends can see it. When I did that it stopped the flow of hatred.
20 February 2017, 16:29 — Mark
On my BART ride to work this morning I encountered an interesting juxtaposition. On a big black duffel in the central aisle, reading a paperback copy of Jack Kerouac’s The Dharma Bums, sat a young guy with matted dirty blond hair and a scruffy beard. As he read, he tugged absently at a strand of hair and seemed totally at ease, and unaware of the attention he was attracting.
Standing next to him was another young bearded man, logging in to his Wells Fargo account on his iPhone.
The 8:17 AM train to SFO from 19th Street in Oakland is usually pretty crowded, but this morning there was a graceful respect shown to the man reading Kerouac. And as I watched him read and play with his hair I felt a longing for his life, and sadness that my own life is really more similar to the man checking his bank balance.
19 January 2017, 06:33 — Mark
On the 19th of November, 1863 Abraham Lincoln, our greatest Republican president delivered this address at the dedication of the Soldiers’ National Cemetery in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. These words seem timely today.
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
There are echoes of the conflict of the Civil War that continue to reverberate through our contemporary struggle to unify a nation divided. I remain hopeful, taking comfort in Martin Luther King, Jr.‘s words that “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” And yet I mourn for and with those who are casualties of the hatred and violence in the near term.
18 November 2016, 21:00 — Mark
I was listening to music on shuffle this morning. As I was walking up California Street to work Paul Simon’s “American Tune” started playing. There is something reassuring in the moody lyrics of this song that recall an earlier period of contemplation about what it means to be an American. I’ve found myself frequently in this state of contemplation lately as I try to come to terms with the recent election — I feel so far away from home.
Many’s the time I’ve been mistaken
And many times confused
Yes, and I’ve often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
Oh, but I’m all right, I’m all right
I’m just weary to my bones
Still, you don’t expect to be
Bright and bon vivant
So far away from home, so far away from home
I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered
I don’t have a friend who feels at ease
I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered
Or driven to its knees
Oh, but it’s all right, it’s all right
For lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the road
We’re traveling on
I wonder what went wrong
I can’t help it, I wonder what’s gone wrong
And I dreamed I was dying
And I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly
And looking back down at me
And I dreamed I was flying
And high above my eyes could clearly see
The Statue of Liberty
Sailing away to sea
And I dreamed I was flying
Oh, we come on the ship they call the Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the age’s most uncertain hour
And sing an American tune
Oh, it’s all right, it’s all right
It’s all right, it’s all right
You can’t be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest
That’s all I’m trying to get some rest
© 1973 Words and Music by Paul Simon
18 November 2016, 07:23 — Mark
I am grieving.
But I have hope. I hope that Donald Trump is as dishonest about his campaign promises as he seems to be about other things he has said in the past year. I hope he was lying about building the wall. I hope he was lying about deporting muslims. I hope he was lying about prosecuting his election opponent. I hope he was lying about restricting the free press. I hope he was lying about his proposed changes to our tax system. I hope he was lying about kicking millions of Americans off their health plan and returning to a time when it was impossible for some people who needed healthcare the most to access our market driven system.
Trump has empowered and excited a previously underground minority of bigoted white supremacists with his reckless rhetoric. But I have hope because they are still a minority. Though she is inexplicably unpopular, Hillary Clinton won more popular votes than Trump. I have to believe that some Trump voters were swayed by other factors than his support for white nationalism. So it’s likely that a majority of Americans are still more open minded and welcoming than the bigoted voters who came out strong for Trump.
Clearly, there are people who felt that they have been harmed by the changing global economy. And I empathize with them. But it surprises me that voters are so willing to support someone who is demonstrably uninterested actually solving in their problems in a meaningful and long-term way.
I heard one small spark of hope in Trump’s victory speech last night. He promised to embark on a renewal of our infrastructure, promising to put working class Americans back to work. It will be interesting to see if he can get Congress to enact the legislation to do this — a program like Roosevelt’s Works Progress Administration is antithetical to the principles of the Republican party.
I am already looking to 2018 and the midterm election where Americans have an opportunity to right the ship and restore some order to government by electing a Democratic Senate and House. Those of us who believe in good government, a strong civil society, and the values of justice and equity have a responsibility to work together to make a change.
Today I mourn. Tomorrow I fight.
9 November 2016, 06:05 — Mark
I was a strong supporter of Bernie Sanders. If I had to label myself, I’d say I’m a far left socialist democrat. I believe in tax policies that redistribute wealth. (See Picketty.) I favor a liberal social agenda, including: support for same sex marriage; a woman’s right to choose; and strong citizen oversight of police. I believe in single payer, nationalized healthcare. I favor the development of sustainable, low carbon emitting energy systems. I think big oil companies are responsible for a significant part of the damage to our environment. I favor major public (tax supported) investment in public transportation systems. I think public school facilities should be revitalized and redesigned to be so appealing that we have to force kids to leave at the end of the day. This would require significant investment of government funds. I am proud to be called a tax and spend liberal. I believe those policies are the recipe for making a country great.
I do not favor an incremental approach to creating a country that has the best schools, the best public transportation, the best national healthcare system. I believe the pathway to making America great again is to vote every Republican out of office and elect a president and congress who have the wisdom and political will to use the vast wealth that has accumulated in this country to build a civic system that benefits all Americans.
I did not initially support Hillary Clinton. I don’t believe it’s good for our country that we have only two families living in the White House for 28 out of 36 years. Hillary’s stated positions on many issues are to the right of my position. I believe she favors a more incremental approach to reaching the goal of a great society. I felt that Bernie’s approach was much more assertive, and there were lots of young voters who were energized by his campaign. I was as excited about the prospect of electing Bernie as I had been about electing Barack Obama.
Then came the primaries. Hillary (due to her strong relationship with the DNC) had a powerful structural advantage in the primary system. And despite a strong showing (better than I expected, frankly) Bernie did not prevail. Of course I mourned the defeat. And for several weeks I held off making a commitment to supporting Hillary.
The train wreck on the GOP side was entertaining at first. Was it really possible that they would choose a puerile, narcissistic buffoon as their nominee for President? And if they didn’t, the alternatives didn’t look so good for them either. The GOP debates had turned into a parody of political conversation. (Underscoring the fact that intelligent conservatives have lost control of the party.) As entertaining as it was, it was also frightening.
After the first “debate” between Hillary and Donald I finally found myself willing to openly support the Democratic nominee. The contrast was so stark, and the stakes so high that there is no real argument in my mind. I may be a far left liberal, but I am also pragmatic enough to realize that choosing the best option available to block a despot from becoming president means choosing Hillary.
So today, to my family and friends who were supporting Hillary all along, I say, “I’m with you, and I’m with her.” And I hope you’re with me and willing to push her to be the kind of president who will set us on a path towards a better America.
Vote, please, and when you vote, vote Democratic!
5 November 2016, 09:06 — Mark
On my walk to BART I enjoy the little interactions that help to brighten my day. Today I was successful in engaging with a couple of guys who I’ve been working on for a while. There are usually three guys sitting at the end of Lake Merritt across from the Veterans Memorial building. Dressed for jogging, they are always chatting amiably amongst themselves but my attempts to make eye contact and offer a greeting have been unsuccessful. As I get within greeting distance the member of the group who sits facing me as I walk by usually flicks his eyes away. Today, though, I caught his eyes and offered, “good morning!” He smiled and gave that, “good morning,” back to me.
That was enough to make my morning, but as I turned into the driveway of the building next to the Cathedral Of Light, I startled the security guard who had his back turned to me. He turned and snapped a quick smile and, “Good Morning!”
“Good morning! How are you,” I asked?
“Fantasic. And Getting Better,” he replied!
These two interactions would have been enough to carry me through the week. But after I got off BART, as I was approaching the intersection of California and Davis, I ran into my son Nate, who was walking with a co-worker to grab a cup of coffee. The trifecta!
22 August 2016, 05:58 — Mark
Our son Justin is driving to Arkansas to catch up with his wife and children who flew to Little Rock this morning. They are artists with a small family, and making ends meet in the Bay Area became a significant challenge. Seeking an alternative, they’re moving to a house in a forest near Roland, AK.
I followed Justin’s solo road trip on Find Friends and was enjoying an occasional text exchange whenever he stopped for gas or to get out and stretch his legs. He pulled off at a rest stop on I-40 near Edwards Air Force Base and we caught up on his plans to try and make it as far as Flagstaff. He was making pretty good time, but I had suggested that he might want to think about stopping in Kingman. He would be there around 9:00 and it would be getting dark. He wanted to push on because he is really eager to reach his family. So around 9:00 I saw him arrive then continue on past Kingman. Then, about 9:30 his phone stopped updating in Find Friends. About 10 miles east of Kingman the app just started reporting he was last found 5 minutes ago. 10 minutes ago. 45 minutes ago. An hour ago.
Resisting the urge to panic, I first persuaded myself that the battery had probably died on his phone. Still not panicking, I figured I could at least check for traffic incidents on that stretch of highway on the Arizona Department of Transportation website. My eyes hit on a yellow incident icon was placed on I-40 between Kingman and Flagstaff. The description of the incident was maddeningly vague, which of course made me start to feel some pangs of anxiety. I copied the incident ID from the ADOT website and pinged their Twitter account, asking if they could provide more details:
@ArizonaDOT — any details about event ID 641554 on I-40 west of Seligman? I’m trying to find my son who was driving there 30-45 mins ago.
Within minutes they replied:
@mdh There’s a disabled vehicle on the shoulder that reportedly hit a pothole. No injuries are reported. A tow truck’s en route.
Even as I relaxed I wondered if it was Justin who hit the pothole. Then, a moment later, his iPhone updated it’s location.
Feeling a little foolish over having worried, I started to shut down for the night with a final tweet…
@ArizonaDOT Thanks. Moments after I tweeted you my son’s iPhone showed up in Flagstaff. He made it to his destination.
Love is powerful. After nearly 34 years I can’t break the habit of needing to know he is safe.
11 August 2016, 20:07 — Mark
I often see the same faces each day as a walk to BART along Grand Avenue. This morning, though, I saw a new face. He was walking with a lilt. Three of those little red straws you get in a coffee shop to stir in the cream were hanging out of his mouth. He was grinning and from about 25 feet away we caught each other’s eyes. I smiled.
“How you doin’, big dog,” he called?
“I’m doin’ great, how about you?”
“I’m great, too. Thanks for asking!”
We bump fists.
“It’s good to see you,” I say.
He smiles and we walk on.
15 steps later I hear him call out, “It’s good to see you too!”
I turn and flash him a thumbs up.
It’s a good way to start the day.
10 August 2016, 05:47 — Mark
I’ve started commuting to San Francisco every day on BART. The last time this was a daily routine for me was in the early 90s when I was student at ACT. Back then it was unusual to be on a train with more people standing than sitting. In 2016, during the morning and evening commute hours, the trains are packed.
Today there was a young man on the train who looked different than most of the other commuters. His hair was unkempt. He was carrying a plastic Target bag. And he was moving around alot, so he had created a pocket of space around him that others on the train were trying to maintain. When we got to West Oakland station he made his way to the door and got off. But just as the doors were about to close he got back on. At this point there was no way to grant him the extra personal space he’d had before, so he reached over to grab onto the vertical bar next to the door to steady himself. This meant that he had to move very close to a woman who was also using that grab-bar. Their physical closeness at that moment appeared to make the woman a little uncomfortable, but she was facing away from him and seemed resolved to accept the circumstances.
This did not go over well with a short balding guy sitting several rows away. He stood up and stared intently at the situation, trying to get the attention of the other passengers standing around the young man and the woman who was cornered. He kept pointing as he tried to make eye contact, indicating that the passengers should do something to help the poor lady. Finally, just before the train pulled into the Embarcadero station, the woman closest to the pair realized what the bald guy was upset about and moved her body to make room for the trapped woman to work her way free of the young man.
The sad moment for me was making eye contact with the young, disheveled man. I couldn’t tell if the confusion in his gaze was his general state of being or if the interaction with the other passengers had triggered something. I tried to hold his gaze for a moment, but he looked away quickly.
9 August 2016, 05:34 — Mark
When Thomas Jefferson wrote his first draft of the Declaration of Independence he included this in the list of complaints against King George:
he has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating it’s most sacred rights of life & liberty in the persons of a distant people who never offended him, captivating & carrying them into slavery in another hemisphere, or to incur miserable death in their transportation thither. this piratical warfare, the opprobrium of infidel powers, is the warfare of the CHRISTIAN king of Great Britain. determined to keep open a market where MEN should be bought & sold, he has prostituted his negative for suppressing every legislative attempt to prohibit or to restrain this execrable commerce: and that this assemblage of horrors might want no fact of distinguished die, he is now exciting those very people to rise in arms among us, and to purchase that liberty of which he has deprived them, & murdering the people upon whom he also obtruded them; thus paying off former crimes committed against the liberties of one people, with crimes which he urges them to commit against the lives of another.
Obviously, this paragraph was problematic for the representatives of the states who were profiting from slavery (both for the southern states where slavery was the foundation of plantation culture, but also for northern states who profited from selling black humans to their southern neighbors). This paragraph could have set the stage for ending slavery in the creation of our new nation, but the delegates to the Continental Congress’ conflicting economic interests superseded Jefferson’s complaint against the king, and that paragraph was stricken from the declaration. The legally sanctioned, systematic degradation of black humans would continue for several generations before Abraham Lincoln finally signed the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863. Some of us will acknowledge that the system of white supremacy that was rooted in the foundation of this nation did not end in 1863, and that white supremacy must be extinguished before we can truly celebrate “Independence Day.” I look forward, with hope, that this day comes soon.
4 July 2015, 11:39 — Mark
One of the great challenges for a citizen of the United States is the intellectual gymnastics one must perform in reconciling our national ideals with our living reality. We are a nation committed to the ideals of freedom and equality, and the belief that justice and equity will prevail in all cases. We honor those individuals who have sacrificed their lives in the defense of these ideals, and Memorial Day is an occasion on which we redouble that honor. This, despite the fact that our nation often fails to live up to these ideals, and in some cases, those whom we honor have failed to live up to the ideals they claim to defend.
Last week a judge in Cleveland acquitted a veteran-turned-police officer who inexplicably felt it was his duty to leap on the hood of a citizen’s car and empty not one, not two, but three magazines of bullets into the already bullet riddled bodies of the two men in the car. The officer had chosen a bench trial, possibly assuming that a jury of his “peers” would not afford him the same leniency as a judge. What this judge proved as he twisted his way through a pre-verdict presentation is that justice is not just blind. In the United States, justice may also be deaf and mute. The judge determined that there was not enough evidence to hold this veteran accountable to the ideals of justice that the soldier presumably fought to defend in our country’s wars in foreign lands.
If this were a single, isolated incident of injustice, we might overlook it as an aberration. But this story of the Cleveland police officers who acted without honor, who violated nearly all the ideals we profess to hold dear, and the judge who excused them from responsibility for their acts of violence, is just the latest in a string of similar stories of the kind of inhumanity that seems to have taken root in police departments across the country.
If we hope to live in a free, just, and equitable society we may need to reexamine our uncritical reverence of those who claim to protect us. I have met police officers and soldiers who are worthy of the honor we bestow, and a blanket pardon for crimes against other humans would likely offend them as much as it offends me. So, on this Memorial Day, as we reflect on the service of those who died serving this country, let’s also remember the victims of state sanctioned violence — those who died at the hands of police officers. And if we really believe in the American ideology, let’s take a stand and say we won’t ignore the brokenness of a system that fails to treat all its citizens with justice and equity.
25 May 2015, 06:21 — Mark
I went to bed Saturday night (August 2nd) thinking about getting up on Sunday morning and having an early brunch with my wife Anna, my brother Jon (visiting from Illinois) and my parents. Our plan was to eat at a nice place where our son, Justin, works. That plan changed when Anna woke me a little after midnight on Sunday morning. Her tone was urgent — “Steve is missing in the mountains.”
She was on the phone with her sister Carrie, and they were trying to figure out how to locate Steve’s iPhone with the Find My iPhone app. We tried several Apple ID and password combinations without success. Carrie had been in touch with the Trinity County sheriff, and they intended to start searching for Steve on Monday morning. The friends Steve had been camping with (near Stoddard Lake in the Trinity Alps) had already been back to the peak they had climbed earlier that day, looking for him. As we grew increasingly frustrated at being unable to find Steve’s phone (as it turns out, even if we knew the right Apple ID and password, there is no AT&T coverage anywhere near Billy’s Peak where Steve got separated from his friends) Anna and Carrie began to make their plans to drive up to the mountains.
Anna drove to Carrie and Steve’s house on Sunday morning, accompanied by our son Nate and his girlfriend Katherine. From there Anna and Carrie drove to Weaverville where they checked into a gloomy, dirty little motel that I had booked for them. (The motel had a 3.5 star rating on Tripadvisor. Apparently Tripadvisor isn’t a reliable rating service for little, off-the-beaten-path motels. When they first checked in they discovered that the sheets were dirty from the previous guests.) Fortunately, after a couple of nights they found a place to stay in Coffee Creek — a small house just up the road from the command center.
Initially we had been given a story about how Steve got separated from his friends that was both confusing and misleading. We were getting information that was passed to us third and fourth hand. By Tuesday, after talking with Steve’s friends, Anna was able to share a clearer narrative of the events. Steve and three friends had hiked to the top of Billy’s Peak on Saturday morning from their campsite at Stoddard Lake. It took a couple of hours to climb over the rocky path from the lake up to the summit at about 7,300 feet. They reached the summit in the early afternoon. The smoke from the nearby Coffee Fire is visible in some of the photos taken at the summit. The men who were with him reported that Steve was in his element on the top of this mountain.
The climb up had been challenging and Steve thought there might be an easier, safer way down. Two of the hikers felt that they would feel safest returning by the same route by which they came, so they started back to camp. Steve and the other hiker, Bob, began looking for an alternate route, and they began to circle the peak, moving gingerly and carefully to look for another way down. Each of the men looked in a different direction, but they were never more than a short distance apart. Because of the terrain and jagged rocks they could not see each other. After a few minutes Bob returned to where the men had separated, expecting to find Steve, but Steve had not returned. Bob called out, but the wind and noise from the helicopters fighting the fires just a short distance from the peak seemed to drown out his call, nor could he hear any response from Steve. He continued to look, and call, but never again saw or heard Steve. He returned to the camp by the original route arriving there a short time after the other two hikers. It was still early afternoon so the group returned to the peak, and for a couple of hours continued looking for Steve, returning to their camp as the night grew dark.
Knowing that he had some water and a Power Bars, they might have hoped he would hunker down for the night, and find his way to camp in the morning when the sun came up. Two of the men walked out on the trail to a location where they could use their cell phones to contact the sheriff and report Steve’s situation. They also contacted the pastor of Steve’s church. (The men who were camping together were all members of the congregation’s men’s fellowship.) The men continued their search on Sunday.
By Monday morning the sheriff had activated a full scale search. A California Highway Patrol helicopter made several flights and searched in the areas where the men thought it was likely they would find Steve. (Mostly along the Southwest side of the ridge.) As the Coffee Fire on the other side of the valley (further to the South and West) continued to grow, the Forest Service asked the men in Steve’s party to leave their camp and return to the search command center in the tiny community of Coffee Creek at the eastern base of the mountain where Carrie and Anna had stationed themselves. The Marin Search and Rescue team was onsite and they and other searchers deployed to the mountain with dogs in search of Steve. The Marin Search and Rescue team is one of the most experienced and respected high mountain rescue teams in the state and they were led by Michael St. John, a battalion chief with the Mill Valley Fire Department. Initially they were approaching the mountain on foot, but by Tuesday the California National Guard had deployed helicopters to airlift the search teams to the top of the mountain so they could search more effectively and for a longer period of time each day. Searching with the assistance of trained dogs, the team covered all the terrain between Billy’s Peak and Lake Stoddard to the South West side of the ridge and the Minnehaha Creek drainage to the North-east, on the opposite side of the ridge from Lake Stoddard.
The search continued on Wednesday and into Thursday morning, with Matt Shargel (a middle school science teacher and member of the Contra Costa County Sheriff’s Search and Rescue Team) taking over the leadership of the search team from Mike St. John. Mike had to return to work. Anna’s respect and admiration for these two men is boundless. She speaks of their intensity, clarity, and sensitivity. Of their drive and passion for the work they do, and of their deep, heartfelt compassion. Working alongside the Trinity County sheriff’s department, the search teams are comprised of volunteers who take time away from their families and other work to respond to the call for searches like these. They gave selflessly and bravely to scour the mountain, and despite the many hours spent looking and calling, the searchers (numbering around a 100 altogether) turned up no evidence of Steve. A blue UC Berkeley Nalgene bottle and a nylon cap were the only things the team found — items left behind by other hikers, not by Steve. The rocky terrain along the ridge at Billy’s Peak did not reveal any bootprints or other evidence, and by mid-day Thursday, having covered the areas around Billy’s peak that could have been safely reached on foot, Matt began to form a theory about where Steve might be.
While the Trinity Alps wilderness area is large (821 square miles) the search field for Steve was relatively small, and there were roads within a couple of miles of the peak and the Stoddard Lake campsite in any direction Steve could have walked from the peak. If he had found a way down the mountain, even if he had minor injuries (sprained ankle, broken arm, etc.), it was likely he could have reached a roadway within a couple of days.
Matt’s theory is that while Steve and Bob were looking for a path down from Billy’s Peak, Steve may have lost his footing and fallen from the mountain. The decaying granite is extremely unstable, making even careful movement around the peak very dangerous. Bob and Steve were separated for a relatively short period of time, and Steve’s disappearance seems to have been very sudden. Matt’s theory is consistent with Bob’s description of the timeline on the mountain. Based on the terrain where Matt believes Steve might have slipped, it is possible Steve would not have survived the fall, and if he fell, it is likely that his body is lost in a rocky crevice, lodged where he cannot be seen from the ground.
Mid-day Thursday, having found no clues and with little evidence to support any other explanation than what Matt put forward, the decision was made to suspend the search. If any new evidence or information about Steve’s whereabouts or movement should surface, the team assured Carrie they would resume, and search until Steve is found. Anna and Carrie spent one last night in Coffee Creek and on Friday morning they began their journey home.
It has been a week since we first learned that Steve was separated from his friends. The intervening days have been filled with emotion. Deep sadness has given way to a realization that the family has lost a husband, father, brother, and uncle. If Matt’s theory is true, Steve died doing what he loved to do. He was on a mountain top, pushing the limits of his hiking skill. The last photograph of him shows him with a huge smile, gazing into the distance, wind at his face. His body may remain forever on this mountain, and we can think of no more fitting place for his final rest.
10 August 2014, 15:06 — Mark