Monday, January 2, 2017


As the evening's temperature continues to drop and the moisture gathers, I find it most fitting in regards to today's depressing anniversary. Generally I enjoy this kind of weather. As I was born in Los Angeles and then proceeded to spend my life thus far in neighboring counties, I do appreciate this much needed rain. It is the cold and constant moisture which resolutely refuses to abate that surprises me. What surprises me more, is that this is precisely the very same weather conditions which enveloped Ross 80 years ago tonight. The open space of his San Fernando ranch invited the clinging fog and blanketed the usual star-smothered sky. No sparkle of reassurance, no friendly shining light to bring comfort. After slowly walking about his property for nearly an hour, he may have taken one last look around him, one last look at the sky.  Proceeding to the barn, he quietly pulled the awkward wooden doors together. Climbing up the ladder leaning against the hay loft, he lay down length wise and within a few moments, put the .22 caliber pistol to the side of his head and pulled the trigger.