‘Pissing into the wind’
I read, with interest, the letter from my dear friend, John Cross, about his travails on the streets of Mill Valley [“Sorry, not sorry,” Letters, May 13-19, 2015.] As a relative latecomer to Marin (1972), I had less investment and therefore less tolerance for the impatient and perpetually entitled, not to mention put-upon (see “Entitlement Wars,” same section) denizens of beautiful Mill Valley, than John does, as he was born and raised in southern Marin. I lived in Sausalito until 1989 when, for lack of affordable housing, I joined the exodus of blue collar tradesmen to Sonoma County. It became a familiar story—I lived in Sonoma and worked in Marin. The short version of the rest of the story is that I no longer work in Mill Valley (I’m a residential contractor) because my experience with the public in that beautiful town has been so painful.
The fallacious notion that living in a particular zip code gives you the right to behave like a spoiled teenager is one I choose not to engage. In closing, I fully accept I am pissing into the wind, but I need to share my spleen in support of good ol’ JC (John Cross).
With fond remembrances of The Old Mill and Brother’s Taverns, Mike Frost
