KQED finally won. I made a donation to the PBS TV station. Its many mendicants simply wore me down with their nonstop barrage of requests for cash.
My resistance collapsed under the sheer weight of the onslaught of solicitations, whether by mail or via the tube. I couldn’t take any more of Ed Slott, Suzie Orman, Rick Steves, various brain/health experts, rock and roll re-runs and other fodder designed to make viewers open up their wallets.
I half-expected Bert and Ernie to show up at my front door demanding money. Big Bird might have followed close behind.
KQED’s pledge people are adept at making all of us feel guilty about watching their channel without paying for it. Of course, we do pay for it with our taxes. A portion of the outfit’s funding comes from people who pay the federal Piper. But most of it does not.
That’s where the interminable pledge drives and constant pressure come into play. They have the blatant aim of shaming us into whipping out our credit cards for the benefit of the San Francisco station and its viewers.
I had resisted these tin-cup cries for financial help for years. They were akin to acts of begging. They were somehow unseemly.
Besides, the TV folks with their hands out were well-dressed, well-spoken and in no obvious need of fiscal assistance. But they succeeded anyway. They have their ways.
Now, it’s back to Ed Slott and his advice on how to keep more of what you make — with one exception: A desired donation to KQED.
It’s called selective suggestion. And the PBS entity is a master of it.
Similar behavior
The recent arrest of nine suspected drug smugglers on the San Mateo County Coastside at Año Nuevo State Beach was really nothing new for local history buffs. They have studied similar behavior before.
During Prohibition, coastal coves, beaches and other relatively hidden access points, were regular destinations for rum runners using boats to transport illegal booze to this area. In fact, the Coastside became rather notorious for this practice.
The sheer number of landing areas were tough to monitor and, in truth, not all law enforcement officers were eager to combat the problem in the first place, according to historical accounts.
After all, illicit hooch brought a pretty penny on the black market in those days. This time, however, the contraband wasn’t of the liquid variety; it was vegetable matter, marijuana to be precise, more than 5,000 pounds of it.
Five Points
A reader has asked a good question about Redwood City: Where, exactly, is Five Points? That’s not altogether simple to answer.
Five Points is (was) an area in the southern part of that town where five streets came roughly together: Main Street, Woodside Road, Redwood Avenue, Spruce Street and El Camino Real.
Five Points was a distinct reality until the mid-1960s when an overpass at Woodside Road and El Camino Real was finished. That construction has blurred the old Five Points particulars.
But you can still make a reasonable case for it. A number of businesses in that neighborhood continue to use the Five Points designation in their names.
You can get a sense of what an older Five Points looked like by visiting the archival resources at the Main Library in downtown Redwood City. Check first for available days and times of operation.
Sequoia High
Speaking of Redwood City, as that community’s downtown business district continues to change (for good or ill, depending on your personal Peninsula perspective) with a succession of multi-story buildings and other major projects, one beacon of architectural excellence persists nearby.
Sequoia High School, which will turn 120-years-old in 2015), has been rebuilt and modernized over the last several years, yet the traditional look of the spacious campus has been maintained, along with its splendid landscaping.
For visitors who don’t realize Sequoia is actually a high school, it’s understandable that the venerable secondary institution, the oldest in San Mateo County, can easily be mistaken for a college.
John Horgan’s column appears on Thursday. He can be contacted by email at johnhorganmedia@gmail.com and by regular mail at P.O. Box 117083, Burlingame, CA 94011.
