Modesto...what are we doing here?

What do George Lucas, Carol Channing, Timothy Oliphant, Harve Presnell, Scott Peterson, and me have in common? We’ve all lived in Modesto, California.

Technically, I don’t live in Modesto proper. I reside in a little town (not worth mentioning) butted up against the north side of this San Joaquin Valley whistle stop...but that’s close enough to lay claim. Yes, the creator of American Graffiti and Star Wars, the octogenarian broadway diva, the marshall from Deadwood, the unfortunate father character from the movie Fargo, and the world famous wife murderer are all former Modestans. And I hope, someday, I will be as well...a former resident that is.

Loretta and I continually joke to ourselves about living in what was once decreed to be the Worst City in America (according to a book written not so long ago). Modesto was also known as The Filth Capital of California until the 1930’s due to the abundance of saloons, brothels, opium houses, and a wild west atmosphere. It was indeed a Wild West town where traveling businessmen would stop on their way from Los Angeles to Sacramento for an overnight visit to “relieve stress”.

Modesto was founded in 1870 and was to be named for financier William C. Ralston. The story goes...at the naming ceremony, a Mexican railroad worker stated to Ralston, “muy modesto” (how modest of you)...thus the chosen name Modesto. How lucky for us!

Modesto is wrapped around Highway 99, the first main thoroughfare that connected Southern and Northern California. Highway 99 used to pass right through the middle of every town in the central part of this huge valley. Towns like Bakersfield, Tulare, Fresno, Merced, Turlock, Modesto, Stockton, Lodi, and Sacramento. Eventually, this main artery for travelers and commerce began bypassing the towns, and their stoplights, making 99 a freeway through the heart of California...and forever changing the character of the little towns it once dissected.

I manage a restaurant in a nearby town, just a mile or so off Highway 99. This pub-esque eatery also houses a very popular bar. The bar attracts regular drinkers. And most of these drinkers could be described as being far from modest. Hang on, I’ll tie it all together in a second!

The definition of modest is “showing humble estimate of one’s merits; unpretentiousness”. Regular “barflies” are anything but unpretentious...at least most of them are. More accurately put, the loudest talking pub denizens are also the most pretentious of them all...that figures. So, the people around these braggarts are always treated to some sort of boastful diatribe about their merits, accomplishments, and conquests...whether we want them or not. They blather on and on, day after day about things and places they know nothing about. They are quick to chime in and debate almost anyone about almost anything. From sports, to women, to sex, to cars, to politics, to vodka...nothing is sacred in their attempts to show anyone who’ll listen that they have insightful, omniscient knowledge of the world at large. In most cases, they also have their heads jammed completely up their fat asses!

The definition of braggadocio is “a person of empty boasting; of arrogance; of pretentiousness”. Arguably, the opposite of a truly modest person. Braggadocios have no idea they are what they are. They are simply always right and always righteous about everything of which they speak. Most of the time, they are wrong. But, they seem to enjoy the conflict, the challenge, the argument, the line in the sand, the opportunity to force someone to back down. The only prize afforded a braggadocio is when some hapless barstool neighbor gives up out of pure frustration, or an invitation to “take it outside”. The latter being the final straw in a braggadocio’s repertoi of pretentious prattle.

Maybe this why I have never really been someone who hangs out at bars, even when I was young, dumb, and full of...free time. Sure, I went out once in a while. Me and a couple of buddies would visit a local nightspot on occasion, usually to watch a live band or maybe Monday Night Football. I never just “hung out” like some people do...for hours and hours. Maybe I just had a “life”. Perhaps I couldn’t stand listening to braggadocios plying their “trade” at large than life volumes.

Modesto, and the surrounding smaller towns nearby, appear to harbor more than their share of these brazingly bullshitting braggarts. I figure there may be a nest hidden somewhere in the hills around here where these things are hatched from alien seed pods. They emerge from these pods fully grown, speaking, and already pre-loaded with a myriad of misinformation. They are born wearing a ball cap from some agricultural insecticide company, a T-shirt or tank top that says “Shit Happens” or Corona, and a tin of chaw in their back pocket. Somehow, they instinctively navigate themselves to the nearest bar...and begin their predestined journey on this earth. Some have jobs, some don’t. The ones without jobs stay much longer. But they are all annoying, bothersome blatherers of bilge-like “facts” Kiosks of crap. Purveyors of B.S.

With this in mind, I submit a new name for Modesto. I think it should be called the City of Braggadocio. And instead of the motto, “Water, Wealth, Contentment, Health” (yes, it is their motto, displayed on a large, metal arch over the entrance to downtown), it should be “Dust, Dirt, Stifling Heat, Trucks, an ass on every barstool, an asshole on every corner, and...we gots almonds!"

If we can’t voluntarily get out of here at some point in time, I’m quite sure that I may be asked to leave soon! The only saving grace: I’m not too sure the braggadocios know how to read.

And we used to live in Pismo Beach!