Pat Hanlon – The Summer of the Domes
My 1st steps into serendipity were passing conversations with Mike Kluk and Jim Chiles about some student project they were involved in and goading from Jim to the effect, “Come on Hanlon, we could use a big strapping guy. Just go to this meeting today at Mrak Hall on the top floor at 1:00 PM”. I guess showing up to embarrass Ed Spafford was good enough to get me on the alternate waiting list. I had no plans for the summer other than to find work in the area. I forgot about it until just as Spring quarter ended the phone rang. . . ”Are you still interested in the Domes?….”
In a time of hopeful youth and unlimited beginnings, I have the most poignant memory of the morning light, the early morning summer smells before others came alive, and, when it came, the wrapping wisps of morning delta breeze cool air. The experience was always a feeling of release from the unconditioned Tercerro Coop and the hot stuffy air of an upper floor that brought fitful sleep. The chance to step into the dawning morning always felt like a step into the future. And so it would be for more years than I could know then.
The bicycle ride from the Coop to the Dome site was always this corporeal symphony of sight, smell, and sound. Delivery truck to cafeterias, the sound of rumbling tomato trucks on 113 as they hit their air brakes before stopping for the Russel Blvd stop light, the delta breeze delivering waves of hints of dry grass, Dixon Hay dryer, Cafeteria frying grease, dry earth all as a back drop to the sometimes-crystal view of Berryessa Gap. It was the light off the flat ground against the distant Berryessa GAP just after dawn when the air was scrubbed clean by the delta breeze that just made art come to life in pedal by pedal making a way to the Dome site. The symphony ended at 10:00 AM when the cool on the air gave way to heat radiating from the earth and catalyzing fiberglass resin.
In 1972, there was next to nothing west of LaRue drive but planted field of something being studied. Often there was time for a climb to the top of the shade scaffolding over the mold to soak in a view before the sweat began, before old Rich from Central Coating Company would lumber out of his Dodge truck bellowing that daylight is burning and there is glass to spray. He’s got to get back to Madera cause John Nolan’s got wine tanks to finish….. The whine and the whirl of the chopper gun would start over the thumper rumble of the Ingersoll Rand air compressor belching diesel fumes curdling together with polyester resin bringing industry into the marriage of fiber and resin to make a dome, to make hippie housing. Chris Gerry and I didn’t smell this because we already had a sweat going inside our respirators as we rolled the resin and chopped glass toge
ther. The sweat creating the seal to keep the fumes out and last night’s hangover in. But even with the din and the smell, there was Rich, spraying away, always singing to himself, always taking pride in the work he did, always wanting to have a laugh, always giving instruction, always appreciative of what he had. He would be the 1st of such people I would know in 42 years as a constructor that started with the Summer of Not Knowing What to Do.
End of day would bring a quieter pause still punctuated by air brakes and tire rumble on 113, Russel Blvd traffic background noise. The sky had a filter of dust in it by 3:00 PM muting the Berryessa Gap view making it look worn like most of us felt. I hung around the site because going back to the unconditioned COOP meant more sweat and stuffy air but the early evening breeze would evaporate the day’s wetness into a crust, and sometimes, there would be beer. Sometimes that Dome Site beer led to a trip to El Charro’s Mexican Resturant in Dixon. Pedal quick to the stuffy COOP for a shower because riding with six others in the back of Mike Kluk’s Chevy van required some social graces. Although the Hay Dryer and the burning weed in the back of the van could give chase to any evil armpit spirits. Walking into El Charro’s after our days’ work always felt like walking into Heaven’s gold mine. My memory of memory says a 32 oz pitcher of beer and a dinner could be had for $5.00. Eight people and eight 32 oz pitchers of beer could make work harder the next day but none the less joyous. That is what youth tendered: testing and surviving unknow and unplanned limits, learning how to make something no one had made before.
Patrick Hanlon – Dropout Class of 1974
