As an adult, Rob came to appreciate both points of view. Certainly there were more cultural, social, and business opportunities in other parts of the region, but to native Sausalitans or to those who adopted it as their home, its location and natural beauty were hard to resist. Plus, the influx of tourists during the summer and holiday weekends was a constant reminder that this was a special place to live.
Rob married Karin Klein, the daughter of a local family dentist. They settled into a rental on Easterby Street that they both called “the Love Nest.” Their son and daughter were born two years apart. By the time the children were enrolled in Sparrow Creek, Sausalito’s popular preschool, Rob’s parents had retired to a condominium in San Diego and handed Rob and Karin the keys to the family home on Filbert Street.
As far back as Rob could remember, Sausalito was a town filled with colorful characters. The most eccentric were the “houseboat people”—artists and bohemians mostly—who lived in abandoned boats and floating homes tethered along the public docks that once were part of the Marinship boatyards, which boomed in the period of World War II, during the building of the “Liberty Ships” that carried vital supplies for the war effort. Some of these individuals were decades-old fixtures, whereas others just drifted into town for a few months or a few years, and then, just as quietly, moved on.
The steady increase in property values eroded the base of Sausalito’s third and fourth generation residents; individuals who could not afford to live in the community they had grown up in. It was not uncommon inside of the two local-serving bars, Smitty’s and The No Name, to find one of the remaining children or grandchildren of Sausalito’s founding generation of merchants, fisherman, boat builders, and day laborers, assuaging their regrets over selling long-held family property. "Now I’ve got enough money to pay cash for a nice home out in the East Bay hills,” they would announce while buying drinks for friends to celebrate their newfound wealth.
Rob knew that he and Karin might make that same choice in twenty years after their kids were grown and living independent lives. But his real hope was to keep the home in the family, and if possible, live out their years there.
“A lot of people dream about ending up in a place like this,” he told Karin one mild star-dusted night after getting their children to sleep. “We’re already here. I’d like to travel one day, but after seeing the world, I think I’d be happy to return to Sausalito.”
The very first thing Warren did upon coming home from Alma’s was to open a fine Madeira. Sipping it, he wondered about his next column. Even he was growing tired of his oft-repeated complaints about careless tourists and inconsiderate teens.
How heroic would he appear if he used his column to make a direct assault on Grant Randolph? At that moment, his cell phone rang.
The caller ID flashed: "Alma S."
He hesitated to push the talk button but knew there was no hope of avoiding Alma. She would track him down within an hour or two.
Quickly, he cleared his throat, slapped a smile on his face, and hit the talk button.
“Yes, hello Alma.”
As she often did, Alma ignored pleasantries. “I want you to call Ethel Landau and discuss this situation with her,” she barked. “Ethel’s been on the arts commission for years and supported Randolph becoming chair of the commission.”
Warren’s palms dampened as he considered the obvious: This situation was now beyond his control.
Warren was aware that anything you said to either Ethel, or Alma, quickly got back to the other.
“I’ll call her right now,” Warren promised, hoping to sound positive and cheerful.
“I’ve been thinking about this since you left my house. This man Randolph could be a black eye to the integrity of every other member serving on the arts commission, including Ethel! You are well aware of my feelings—his continuing presence on the board is unacceptable! After you have filled Ethel in on the details, I’ll speak to her as well. Call me back,” she barked, and then clicked off.
Warren could not remember Alma this animated since she organized the effort to prevent outdoor café dining in the city’s downtown district.
In fact, when anything that was popular with the town's under-fifty set was voted down by the Sausalito City Council—a body dominated by Councilmember Robin Mitchell for more than a quarter of a century—the Ladies of Liberty were assumed to be the unseen hand behind the effort.
As to chairs and tables on city streets, their unified battle cry became, “Outdoor dining indeed!” In their view, it was just another tactic by realtors, merchants, and restaurateurs to lure tourists to stay and dine and deny locals the quiet enjoyment of their downtown during most spring, summer, and autumn evenings.
Perhaps it was time for Warren to take action on the matter of Randolph. He was, after all, the only one among Alma's inner circle who had a newspaper column delivered weekly into every Sausalito home.
When feeling pressed by unexpected events, Warren would go to his kitchen and make himself a treat. Food preparation gave him time to consider his next step.
To relieve his worries, Warren made himself a crepe, with eggs, milk, vanilla and a half-cup of brandy, topped with apricot jelly and sprinkled with powder sugar.
A half hour later, his outlook on life had brightened. Sipping a cappuccino, he felt empowered to do as Alma had instructed.
He had no concern about building a case against Randolph, but if the ladies were going to ask him to press for Randolph’s removal as commission chair, he’d need more than the idle chatter he
