From the desk of the Mayor:
When mayor Christian and I were young, we used to spend a lot of time with our grandparents. I remember my grandmother being an eccentric collector of mugs and a cooker of the worlds worst stove top stuffing (seriously that crap tasted like a mouth full of ocean water). She was a woman of her era, reading Cold War science fiction the lakes of how Clement and. Isaac Asminov. Her love for SciFi lent itself easily to serial comic books such as The Phantom and Flash Gordon.
Comic books and stuffing aside, by the time I was ten it was clear to me that my grandmother had two loves in her life Antonio Banderas and Harrison Ford (luckily for my grandfather they were both far to young for her... and she frankly wasn't all that attractive).
In the early 80’s my aging grandmother’s love for those swashbuckling, adventure serials was born again and the test results show that Harrison Ford is the father.
I loved Indiana Jones growing up because I was born in the 80's… And do I really need to explain this? If you can’t watch Raiders of the lost Ark and have the time of your life, you we’re probably born in the era of transformers movies and Jurassic World, and I feel sorry for you.
In 1995 something happened that connected my grandmother and I under a shared love of Indiana Jones forever. That was the opening of the Indiana Jones Adventure ride at Disneyland. I remember it being the first pop-culture related event that had me marking off days on the calendar. My parents promised to take us to Disneyland that summer and I couldn’t wait. I talked about it with everybody I ran into, even my grandmother.
The morning of our Disneyland trip I was sitting at my grandparents' octagonal dining room table eating a bowl of Grape Nuts sweetened with Sweet-n-low (thanks to my grandads type two diabetes). My grandmother came and sat next to me with a black binder. I had never seen it before. She opened it up to reveal sleeves and sleeves of Indiana Jones comic books that she had been collecting since the summer of 81’. I was blown away. I had no idea that my grandmother loved Dr. Henry Walton Jones Jr as much - no, even more - than I do. I had never even known that Jones lived a life full of adventures outside of what we got to see in the original trilogy. It was May maybe the happiest I ever remember seeing my grandmother. And that joy was soaking into me like a sponge.
“Michael,” she said, “if you promise to take care of these, I will leave them to you when I pass away.” I had never read a comic book before that, but I gladly accepted not realizing at the time how morbid the offer really was.
The next few times I visited, she would bring out her Indiana Jones comic book collection and let me look through them. If she loved me as much as I love my kids, I imagine that she cherished the connection we had made over this silly little thing.
A year and a half later, on January 1st 1997 my grandmother, Bernice Elaine Robison, passed away. I still have her comic books. I’ve never told anybody this, but think of her every time I watch an Indiana Jones movie... or eat stove top stuffing. I'm not kidding when I say that her's was truly god-awful.