The first year that Sweetie and I moved to Ojai we attended the Music Festival. We had no idea what to expect, including the Libbey Bowl wooden benches imported from Spain after Torquemada had finished with them.
We sat close to the front, not wanting to miss a dulcet tone, a memorable phrase, a catchy tune. Warmly placed between what turned out to be veteran Festival goers, we patiently waited for the program to begin. A middle-aged man emerged to polite applause, plunked himself before the impressive Steinway and began to play. It’s been years since we experienced his performance and perhaps my memory is a bit clouded, but I swear he was playing with his elbows.

Sweetie and I looked at each other, screwed up our faces and wondered if this was a joke. When the artist concluded his performance, those around us rose as one and amid thunderous calls of bravo, bravo proceeded to acknowledge what, in their opinion, had been an extraordinary performance. We agreed, but not in the same sense they did.
Since that time we have attended other Music Festivals. Being quick learners, we have moved to the lawn. A place where you can snooze and, if necessary, make a relatively secret exit. Try as I can, I find it nearly impossible to appreciate the avant-garde music that is the staple of the Festival. Sure, there are moments when I’m able to minimize my search for good-looking women, ignore the high-backed chairs that screen my view of the distant performance, and enjoy the clandestine imbibing of the fruit of the vine. At those infrequent times, the music can almost be, well, OK.
So why do we park three blocks away, shlep heavy lawn chairs, and race for a decent piece of grass year after year? I have yet to figure it out. The closest I can get is that it’s an Ojai thing.
Last year we heard that the old bowl was falling apart and that a mere $3,000,000 was needed to save it. My first reaction was akin to let ‘em eat cake. Here we were mired in the midst of an awful recession, folks were losing their jobs and contributions to feed the hungry had fallen to bargain basement levels. Why in the world would anyone think that saving the old bowl merited a prime position among other deserving community activities? I argued with Don about the merits of the venture. I vowed to keep my checkbook in my pocket. I felt mildly self-righteous.
And then a funny thing happened. I looked around and saw signs. Not just one sign in the Ojai Ice Cream store window surrounded by a gaggle of other signs. No, everywhere I looked I saw Save the Bowl signs, plaques, and banners. The only thing missing was sky writing. Bottles and cans appeared at the check-out counters of the local merchants…with dollars and dimes floating in them. Wherever I went, the talk was about the bowl. The Ojai social calendar was filled with events that could save the old lady from destruction. Events that could raise thousands or, bless them, events that might, on a good day, raise maybe a hundred.
People were engaged. They were on a quest. Smiles appeared where only glum faces had once been. Sweetie and I made an obligatory appearance at a neighborhood meeting to discuss the bowl, its importance and the need for bucks. Guests included folks from all economic levels. Esther Wachtell made a compelling argument. Jeff Hayden was at his usual likeable, knowledgeable, down-to-earth best. Esther laid out the numbers. The annual revenue generated for the local economy, especially from those who come from far away. The other events that once used the bowl. Events that have gone away but could be lured back.
I was converted from a nay-sayer to a yay-sayer. Sure, the economy is on life support. Unemployment is tenacious. Lots of worthy causes compete for our dollars. At the same time, there are some special things that bring us together as a community. That lift our spirits. That make us smile. That make us say it’s an Ojai thing.

Tagged as: libbey bowl, music festival