June 2022
How hard is it to move from an international city to a backwater Oregon city of 50,000 that is often referred to as “So-lame”? Did I say backwater? I meant “thriving metropolis” AND state capitol. It was actually quite easy, knowing every night I was going to turn off the light next to Concetta.
In San Francisco proper, there were over 4500 restaurants. In Salem, there was a Dunkin’ Donuts. In San Francisco, there were cable cars. In Salem, there were cable bills. In San Francisco, I lived in a two-flight walk-up flat. In Salem, the apartment parking lot was flat. In San Francisco, there were the North Beach (Italian) and China Town neighborhoods. In Salem, there was Dr. Munchies’ Pizza and Ton King Garden. But in Salem there was Concetta.
I had been living in San Francisco for two years while attending the Academy of Art College [See “Life Essay: Sojourn to San Francisco”]. While the school was clearly a for-profit enterprise, its faculty were good influences. I learned a lot about graphic and advertising design, and a lot more about living on my own in a big international city. My second year living with David and Lisa was a LOT of fun.
I didn’t need an additional bachelor’s degree, which would have meant more time and liberal arts coursework at the University of San Francisco. I had already worked in a thriving advertising department at Fred Meyer the previous summer and could negotiate a return. So why would I stay?
Distance from Concetta was becoming harder. She had one more year of graduate school. And as of July 3rd the previous summer, she had a ring on her finger that I put there on the beach at Road’s End when I asked her to marry me.
At some point we were going to be married. It turned out that Concetta’s graduate school friends would likely return home to study for the bar immediately after graduation, so we planned — incredibly — for a wedding date the day after finals, but a week before graduation. Man, were we poor, but somehow we not only were married, but spent a week in Hawaii, leaving the day after her graduation.
All of these events and developments made staying in San Francisco less appealing.
After giving my notice to my roommates in the spring of 1987, David actually wanted to help me move north so he could visit with Russ and Margaret; she had been not only a dear friend in college, but was David and Lisa’s roommate before me. Margaret too had left Page Street to get married. Russ was in law school with Concetta at Willamette University Law School. After their wedding, they had moved into the Forest Ridge Apartments in South Salem near the sprawling Minto Brown Park along the Willamette River.
Concetta had been living in West Salem, but the one-bedroom apartment would not work for the two of us, so she secured a 2-bedroom, 2-story apartment also in the Forest Ridge Apartments, conveniently across the parking lot from Russ and Margaret.
My brother Chris has almost always owned a pickup of some kind, some better running than others. I don’t remember what make or model it was, but he lent me the current flavor, which was big enough for me to haul my paired-down, but mobile possessions: desk, drafting table, futon, trunk, desk, and assorted boxes for the 10-hour drive north.
I traveled north to collect the truck and drove it back to load one early morning a few days later. David and I sailed across the “Emperor Norton” AKA the Bay Bridge and up Interstate 80 to Vacaville where we would take a bypass route and catch Interstate 5 further north.
Fortunately the 505 bypass was pretty empty that early morning. Driving along, I heard a loud “whooop.” Looking behind, I saw my futon lying in the roadway. We hustled back to retrieve it, then folded it and jammed it between stuff and the tailgate, which held it until we got to Salem; however the dusty road made that an unusable bed. The rest of the way was uneventful. By some coincidence, a fellow law student who had helped Concetta move into the new apartment using his van was eager to take the futon off my hands to use in the van for his kids to bounce around on.
We settled in.
We had Concetta’s bed, dresser, night stands (which we would still have when we moved into the house on Sierra Court.) She had been using a table that had been my dining table growing up. I moved in my desk and drafting table. She also had a couch that had been given to her by my next door neighbor Cheryl in Portland. Later, it would be replaced by an orange hide-a-bed when Concetta’s mother moved out of her house in Bellevue (we would bring to Salem a washer-dryer pair that was stored along with some other stuff in a nearby storage facility.)
By then, Concetta was out of school for the summer, but had been working at the Oregon Public Utilities Commission overseeing telephone and gas company licensing arrangements. I think that first Monday I traveled to Portland to meet with the Fred Meyer ad department leader to ask for a job. A number of advertising team members were technically independent contractors until Freddies made room for you; that is how I worked the previous summer. I was hired on without hesitation as a contractor and was assigned to the Home Improvement team, later becoming a full time Teamster.
Prior to leaving for San Francisco two years earlier, I had been driving “Tillie,” a baby blue 1963 Plymouth Valiant. The car had been purchased new by the aunt of Chris’ friend Norman — I had thought her name was Tillie. Aunt Esther blew up the engine while parked on the side of I-205 in east Portland, and gave it to Norman. He and Chris hauled it to Norman’s driveway where they replaced the trusty rusty 170 “slant six” engine with a used but equally bulletproof 225 slant six. Chris drove it for a while, then when I needed wheels, he sold it to me for $200. I parked it back at his house while I was in SFO.
Chris has often opined, “you don’t get much for a dollar ninety eight.” Tillie the car was in that category. I fortified the rusted floor board in front of the driver seat with a stainless steal cookie sheet. I had discovered before San Francisco that Chrysler’s “three on the tree” (column shift) three-speed transmission was not as reliable as the engine: the tranny would develop a condition in which it wouldn’t stay in first gear much longer than going from a stop to about half-way into an intersection, requiring a sooner than necessary gear change into second.
Encouraged by Chris, I did much of the weird mechanical needs on Tillie myself, having once removed the engine in my Karmann Ghia to replace its transaxle — while in high school. I exchanged the transmission with one I bought in a wrecking yard for $50. During an afternoon I could disconnect the four tranny bolts, the driveline and shift linkage, pull the 100-pound tranny out and onto my raised knees, then roll that tranny off and pull the new one onto my knees, lift and slide it into place. I had lots of practice: I would do this maneuver five different times over the 120,000 miles I drove Tillie. The year in Salem I would also replace the rear axle due to an aging differential as well as an alternator.
Driving back and forth between Salem and Portland would last for about 14 months and be a preview to driving the other direction later. In the late 1980s, there was no internet, email or cell phone. Concetta and I talked using a long distance calling card account, usually just before I got on the road. And, more often than I cared, Concetta asked me to stop at Dr. Munchies for a dinner pizza.
It wasn’t long after we moved in that the two of us became the three of us with the addition of a stray black cat we named Mao, or just M. Before moving, Concetta had often gone to study with Russ at his apartment, which is where a mama cat and several kittens would come to the patio door for a handout. Later, some of the kittens would be bold enough to come into the apartment; Mao was the most bold.
By the time we moved in, the mother and the rest of the litter was gone, but M had survived, probably going door to door. We had a picture of him as a kitten at Russ and Margret’s apartment; M had a distinct bump on his nose and so did the cat who came to our patio door.
Concetta decided (ok, so did I) that we wanted M to be our cat, not just a stray, so we found a vet to give him an examination and his shots. We decided he could be out all day, but at night he stayed inside with us. That’s the way it would be for the rest of his life, including a number of Sunday night fights and emergency vet visits, while living in two apartments and three houses over his 17-plus years.
M would not be our only visitor. Concetta’s mom Fran came to stay with us for a couple of nights. I don’t remember much about her visit, but both of us remember hearing in the middle of the night a loud thud! as M jumped onto the hide-a-bed, followed by Fran screaming.
Many nights and weekends were spent on wedding planning. Fortunately, Concetta’s Aunt Eileen was a former fashion designer who offered to design and assemble the wedding dress; Concetta’s grandmother assisted with beautiful beadwork on the bodice. Other family member offered help and donated time: Concetta’s Aunt Meredith bought flowers, my dad and Carol hosted the rehearsal dinner at their house, unfortunately in the rain. My grandmother wrote us a significant check that paid for our honeymoon. We were otherwise poor as church mice, but we made it happen.
We were occasionally distracted by other life events. Concetta’s supervisor at the PUC was getting married. Concetta agreed to host a “tea” or some such gathering at which a lot of older women would be coming to our apartment for a “lite” lunch. The details escape me except for the dish Concetta decided to serve: chicken lasagna. It might as well have been squirrel meat. This event has become infamous family lore as the one dish she screwed up. About an hour before the guests were to arrive, she pulled out the stinky hulk and we both determined it was unfit to serve. I offered and then whipped up my infamous “Quiche and Tell” recipe – quiche with bacon and swiss cheese, baked in my mother’s flaky crust. I got it into the oven and departed. Later, Concetta served it and then was besieged for the recipe, which she didn’t know, trying to deflect with “it’s a family secret.” Finally she had to admit I made it! Over the years we have both become foodies, but she is really the most creative in the kitchen.
The wedding was held May 7th at First United Methodist Church, officiated by Chet Earls, who had been the associate pastor there while I ws growing up. We put the bridesmaids up in the classic Mallory Hotel, where David and I also shared a room, much Fran’s fear that he and I would have a “fling.” Many parts of the wedding itself are a blur, but I do still hold the memory of seeing Concetta turn the corner to walk up the aisle — her beauty took my breath away!
We partied afterward across town at the White House bed and breakfast; I remember another newly married couple walking through our reception to their room! Our first night as newlyweds was at the downtown Heathman Hotel, where we invited a number friends, her brother Greg and dad, ordering cheap pizza and poured leftover bubbly and ate leftover cake. Not long after midnight, Fran and Concetta talked and I was sent to fetch Fran to our room for a 1:00 AM visit, then drive her back. Needless to say, we were not in great shape at the brunch Fran hosted for the family the next day.
Graduation followed the next weekend. Held at the Willamette stadium in Bush Pasture Park, the undergraduates commenced first, followed by other graduate student, then the law school, THEN the <20 joint degree students, of which “Schwesinger” was the last, therefore THE LAST GRADUATE!
We were off to Maui the next day, staying in Sugar Beach, getting sunburned and having a good time. The rental car was a manual transmission that Concetta learned to drive, practicing for several hours to and from Hana along the famed curvey road — she did great! Driving back into Salem on our return, we were amused by a large sign for the downtown Black Angus restaurant; the “g” was burned out!
The whirlwind two weeks of wedding, graduation and honeymoon were followed by the summer of intensive bar study, leading up to the two-day test in Portland at the Memorial Coliseum. We rented a motel room across the street, as did many of the Willamette contingent. Following the first day, Concetta and study partner Gordon beat each other and themselves up with how they answered the day’s questions. As stress reliever, we watched the Dan Akroyd/Ton Hanks version of “Dragnet,” which Concetta found especially hilarious that night.
The wait for the results was nerve-wracking to say the least. While it was not unusual for law students to retake the test, I think there was an unspoken and negative attribute on those retake individuals. The results were ultimately posted in the state capitol building outside the Senate chambers. Russ was the first to see the results, rushing home to phone Concetta; Gordon thought he had failed, but later got the message he had passed. He and his housemate Pat, Concetta and I went out to dinner at a favorite cafe in NW Portland to celebrate.
It had been an intense year, but our future would not be in Salem. Dad’s wife Carol had been studying music therapy at Willamette. Her certificate required a practicum; she found an opportunity in Napa, California, at a veteran’s retirement center (conveniently located next door to Chandon winery, we would discover later). They were moving to Napa and made their house available for us to house sit until late December. It was conveniently located minutes from Fred Meyer and it gave Concetta an easier commute to job interviews.
We thought we had left Salem for good, but ironically I would join Air BP in Salem in early 2002, commuting again for two years. Six months before leaving Air BP, Concetta began commuting to Salem as well, working as the Oregon District Attorney Association Support Enforcement Liaison. She would transition to the Marion County District Attorney’s office as the Trial Team Leader for Support Enforcement in the fall of 2011 and has been commuting ever since.
POST NOTE: Concetta retired from Marion County in March 1, 2025, and became a Multnomah County judicial referee for the Child Support Enforcement program