Returning To California—And Saddened By What I Saw
By Joe Guzzardi

(See also: So Long California, Thanks For The Memories!)

In 2008, I formally gave up on California, of which I was a third-generation native, and left my Lodi home that I had owned for 25 years. As I drove toward Pittsburgh, I swore I would never go back.

Some things, I reasoned, are better left as part of one’s memory. California is one of them

Unfortunately, tenant problems in my worthless Mortgage Meltdown house forced me to return to Lodi last week. (A column on this disaster will be forthcoming within the next couple of weeks or when my blood stops boiling—whichever comes first.)

Too bad I had to go back. America’s unwritten Open Borders policy has made Lodi barely recognizable to me compared to the sleepy California agricultural capital it was in 1985!

As regular readers may recall, I was born and raised in Los Angeles in the 1950s when the city was more a small town than a metropolis. The Los Angeles of my youth was untainted by the immigration crisis that would engulf it only a decade later.

Californians predominantly spoke English, a short drive took our family through the nearby nearest orange groves or to the unspoiled public beaches where we could spend the day without worrying about a possible assault by one of the 1,400 local Mexican or Asian gangs that now have mapped out that turf for themselves.

By the 1960s, I was gone from California for more than two decades until I moved back to Lodi: first to Puerto Rico and Guatemala where my father was assigned, then to schools and universities on the East coast and finally New York to begin my career in investment banking.

Last week, only moments after I arrived in Lodi, I could see how badly conditions have deteriorated during the mere 18 months I had been gone.

I noticed the decline as soon as I landed in California.

First: my arrival at the Sacramento International Airport which serves Lodi, fifty miles due south, served as a reminder of California’s status as America’s multicultural hub.

All travelers have endured an increase in the numbers of diverse, fractured-English-speaking employees in America’s airports.

Among them are the Punjabi newsstand vendors, the Asian food servers, and the Hispanic Transportation Security Agency screeners.

But there’s a relationship between the foreign-born population in any given state and the numbers of airport immigrant employees. Fly into the Pittsburgh International Airport and you will find, despite its name, a different employee mix. See photos here.

Second: the Lodi Wal-Mart, where I stopped to pick up essentials I had forgotten to pack, provided a horrifying look at what California’s diversity really means.

Only a handful of shoppers spoke English. While California has always had an abundance of pregnant Hispanic women pushing strollers with toddlers, the recession appears to have encouraged even more child-bearing.

When immigrants can’t find a job, a newborn is an alternative choice to generate family income—thanks to California’s unnecessarily generous welfare programs.

Third: not even the local Lodi Library, where I dropped in to kill an hour before meeting my hosts, could provide shelter from the shifting demographics.

Young Hispanic “studentsâ€