AT THE CORNER OF A DIVIDED CALIFORNIA
If the state does end up splitting, one desolate town would become caught in the middle, possibly becoming a political battleground
FRESNO-SAN BENITO-MERCED COUNTY JUNCTION >> If California splits into three states, maybe it’s fitting that the corners would converge here: among a clothing-optional hot springs resort, a tin-roofed fruit stand and an old roadhouse saloon where ranchers drink beer and talk Trump.
To meet some of the people in this particularly remote spot where Fresno, San Benito and Merced counties meet, it almost feels like three Californias in one already.
But breaking up the Golden State into three autonomous states? The idea seems so outlandish that most Californians are still scratching their heads after the secretary of state announced last week that Silicon Valley billionaire Tim Draper had marshaled more than 400,000 valid signatures to land the proposition on the state’s November ballot. He’s already ponied up $1 million for his once-writtenoff-as-cockamamie quest, and a counter campaign of irked political anti disestablishment arianists has formed to defend One California.
If Interstate 5 is the spine of the Golden State, the spot where Draper wants voters to split us up is a birthmark just west of a lower vertebrae.
And if the bizarre scheme actually comes to pass — it would need Congressional approval, even if voters went for it — this desolate, quirky place south of Los Banos and about 13 miles west of I-5 could become a new political frontier. And, who knows, maybe even a battleground.
Like so much of today’s political dialogue, the measure to split us up promises to be divisive — literally.
Just ask Kim Lippert. She owns the Panoche Inn,
the saloon with a hitching post out front and TVs inside that play Fox News on one and a hunting show on the other.
The boundaries of the proposed three-state plan would cleave the Panoche Inn from Lippert’s kindred conservatives in the Central Valley of what would be called “Southern California” — a configuration that would include Disneyland and Death Valley. Instead, she’d be saddled with the liberal coastal types from Carmel to Hollywood in a new, shrunken “California.”
“I need a carve-out or I’m a no,” Lippert said. The way she sees it, she ought to at least swap places with Mercey Hot Springs six miles to the northeast, a funky oasis with the trappings of an old hippie compound that would land on the conservative side of a new state border.
“They should be on this side,” Lippert said, “and we should be on the other.”
Draper — the venture capitalist who once failed to gain enough momentum to break California into six states — barely has five months to sell his so-called “Cal-3” initiative. And so far, only one thing seems clear: Three Californias would mean six U.S. senators instead of two. Draper — offering few details — insists California is too big to govern and that dividing the state will mean better schools, cleaner water and lower taxes.
But so many questions are swirling: What would happen to state universities? Would students have to pay out-of-state tuition if they cross a border? Would Northern California get to keep all its water? Would a much more Republicanfriendly new “Southern California” loosen its gun laws? Would its deep blue sibling states make them even stricter? Could taxes be raised in one state and lowered in another?
Would the state’s controversial high-speed rail project abruptly stop at one border? Marijuana legal in the north but not the south? Death row inmates converted to life in prison in one state and executed in another?
And really, could Draper possibly have come up with any less imaginative names than “Southern California,” “Northern California” and “California?”
From San Diego to Redding, voters are trying to get a grip — and find their place on the proposed map.
“It’s kind of stupid. What’s the real benefit?” asked Abraham Herrera, a 28-year-old barber at Headliners Barber Shop in Menifee, a growing town south of Riverside that would land in “Southern California.” “It’s just a way to increase taxes.”
His fellow barber a few chairs over hates the idea. “I don’t want to drive up north and have different laws,” said Jerry Villa, 25.
In Pasadena, which would be part of the coastal strip of a new California, Inger and Andre Dressler are astonished the measure made it onto the ballot. Who are these 400,000 petition signers anyway?
“What do they see that I don’t see?” asked Inger, 76. She and her husband consider themselves progressive Democrats, and while they would find themselves in a newly configured, likeminded coastal state, they still don’t get it.
“This would be tripling bureaucracy on the state level,” she said. “The taxpayers will end up paying for it.”
At the bright yellow USA Produce fruit stand at the Nees Avenue off ramp on Highway 5, the closest business to the Merced-Fresno County line, travelers from up and down the state — with a panoply of political views — last week stopped in for dried apricots and sugared almonds.
Tammie Thompson, 60, of the Sierra town of Truckee, said news of the “Cal-3” plan came so suddenly, misinformation seems rampant. She was initially told she would be in a new “red state and that wouldn’t match our politics.” But looking at the proposed map’s fine lines, she would be in the “Northern California” state dominated by the Bay Area’s dense Democratic population.
California’s Target Book, a nonpartisan bible of politics, found that while both coastal and Northern California would remain decidedly Democrat, the proposed “Southern California” would become the real battleground and grow unmistakably purple: 36.5 percent Democrat; 33.1 percent Republican and the rest No Party Preference. The south actually backed Gov. Jerry Brown’s Republican opponents in each of the last two elections and supported measures in the last decade to restrict abortion and gay marriage and rejected ones to raise taxes and abolish the death penalty.
The proposed “three corners” of the tri-state area may be in the middle of nowhere, but you can easily find them on the Mercey Hot Springs tourist brochure. Along with photos of hot tubs, massage tables and Airstream trailers is a map with an arrow and big red dot marking the resort on the southern edge of the three county lines.
To the southwest is Panoche Inn, to the East Highway 5 and to the north is “nothing, nothing and more nothing,” said Larry Ronneberg, who owns the hot springs that first opened in the late 1800s.
The resort — a campy mix of tiny cabins, RVs and tents with signs admonishing people to “whisper only” — is off the grid. The place is powered by solar, and he set up a microwave system for phones and internet. There is so little water out here — a good year sees five inches of rain — that grass barely grows and the rolling hills of the Diablo range look as closely shorn as spring sheep.
For the most part, Ronneberg gets along with his neighbors. After all, he said, despite appearances, the resort draws people of all political persuasions, and he often sends his guests to the Panoche Inn for a beer and a turkey sandwich.
Indeed, on a hot 104-degree day last week, Susie Hardy of Scottsdale, Arizona, just got out of the pool. “I love hot springs and I’m a conservative,” the 67-year-old said.
Lounging poolside was Sofia Webster, a 24-yearold college student from Sacramento who calls herself a progressive and voted for Democratic state Treasurer John Chiang for governor. As far as dividing up the state? “I’m against it. I like California the way it is.”
It’s not that folks out here can’t handle change. When a motorcycle-riding lesbian couple bought the local paper in the early 2000s and grew grapes off Panoche Road just west of here, most people came around to accepting it. And while the plan for a 900-acre solar farm out here didn’t go over well at first, the project’s workers are bringing in a lot of lunchtime business. And if you squint your eyes from the front porch of the Panoche Inn, the silver panels almost look like row crops. During the daytime, like flowers, they move their faces toward the sun.
But as rancher Mark Cirelli, who runs cattle in San Benito County and often stops at the Panoche Inn for a beer with his Rottweiler mix Nitro, puts it: “We’d much rather be left alone, pretty much.” Being so remote certainly has its drawbacks. Ronneberg has to drive 13 miles to a roadside mailbox, and if a package is too big he has to drive 35 miles to Firebaugh. He’s looked into forming his own city around the resort, with a ZIP code and post office, for just that reason. That prospect is complicated and cumbersome enough — but forming three states, in just five months?
Good luck.
Still, he said, the idea “has its advantages. I could see this going, if not this election, then next.”
Ronneberg, 65, who has lived on the property for two decades, won’t talk about his own political convictions. In fact, instead of being chopped into a smaller state, he likes to think of the resort in the middle of something even, metaphorically, bigger: “Call this the Switzerland of California.”
After all, he said, as divided politically as the state is already, people come to the hot springs to “get away from all that.” Maybe what Californians really need, he said, is what Mercey Springs has been providing all along: a hot soak and a cool swim.