Modesto is my home town. You wanna make something of it? Smack dab in the middle of the Central Valley, the Nation's Breadbasket. A site of grisly crimes, strange disappearances, teased 1987 'dos frozen under nets of hairspray, giant 4x4 trucks wobbling atop overinflated tires. Sweltering summer heat, and bone-numbing winter chills. A couple of hours' drve from Lake Tahoe and the excesses of Reno, Nevada, and a brief (but hectic) drive from my adopted home in the City of Perpetual Mist (San Francisco). Used to be I'd have to explain where it was to people ("isn't that in the San Fernando Valley,?"), since it was further off the beaten path than most folks traveled. No longer. Thanks to a series of hot-item news stories and the successes of folks like George Lucas, Ernest & Julio Gallo, portly indie-rockers Grandaddy and James "TV's Spike" Marsters, everybody's heard of the burg and might be able to find it on an atlas. Some even want to pay it a visit, but probably know what they're driving into.

Before I commence: my reasons (how, what, where, why and when) for bothering with this particular project. What's the point? Back in the late 1990s I took an overdue jaunt to the City of Lights, Gay Paree, the Paris of...Europe. In France! My brain was brimming with thoughts of Baudelaire, Rimbaud, the Paris Maquis, Jacques Brel, Metal Urbain's Le Hommes Morts sont Dangereux LP and effete black berets worn with mock turtlenecks. Not knowing my left bank from my right, I got in touch with an aqcuaintance who a) lived in the city and knew her way around it, b) spoke both French and English more fluently than I do, and c) had access to e-mail at a time when nobody else did. She had drafted up a four- or five-page guide that listed off all the happenin' night spots, record shops, diners, and flea markets--and would send it around to friends when they were planning a visit. A sort of fill-in-the-blanks guide to a big confusing place with lots of twisty little streets and murky avenues where tourists are forcibly separated from their money. I got it, read it, printed it, and followed its suggestions when I made the Parisian scene. I thought I might be able to produce something similar for Modesto visitors. Fair enough.

Second, I used to work at a company that published big, hefty travel guides for backpackers on their gap years (if you know British English, you'll get it) and had to live, breathe, drink and piss guidebooks for at least 40 hours per week. You've probably heard of the company, and maybe even bought their Guide to Southern Antarctica on a Shoestring. At that level of committment, it's only natural that I'd try my hand at writing a Let's Get Lost guide to the town that I know best aside from San Francisco (or maybe Las Vegas). Besides, I really did want to have a handy reference to send my friends when they were planning a brief layover in the most Modest town in all the San Joaquin Valley. Hence, the article you're reading.

Like I say, I grew up in Modesto. Probably stayed there a little longer than was healthy, but I was only making $4.25 an hour when I moved (and that doesn't pay for a lot of packing tape or styrofoam peanuts). I spent all my formative years there, and am old enough (barely) to remember when there were still almond orchards in the middle of the city proper, little kids could walk unattended to grade school, and George Lucas was known more for his senior-year car-crash than Revenge of the Sith.

Bonanza Books & Comics, 2308 McHenry Ave. Comic books, romance novels, the complete run of whatever Star Trek novel series is running, and a selection of new magazines. This store was once owned by my 4th grade teacher, who sold it to his adult sons but still works behind the counter on weekends. Nice enough guy, he would always rail against A) the evils of communism; B) the changes wrought on his native Berkeley once the communists took over, and C) how it was America's duty to take Iran by storm and serve some good old-fashioned justice on the Ayatollah Khomeni. It's the kind of store that wouldn't touch anything that would cause offense to a man with the aforementioned views. You're not going to find Eightball or Yummy Fur in stock, but you will find more Spider-Man titles than you'd ever want.

Buy-Rite Thrift Store, 2003 Tully Rd. Dollar for dollar, pound for pound, this is my favorite thrift store in Modesto, and I'm willing to stand by that pronouncement. It's got a great location--the middle of a depressed, vintage strip-mall, mostly comprised of empty storefronts; it's easy to get to and get away from, and there's a swell donut shop only a short walk away. Though it's affiliated with some charitable organization, Buy-Rite is run all the world like the grubbiest Walgreen's you've ever been to in your life: constant announcements over the PA, irritable lines at the changing rooms, bags of broken toys hanging from pegboard hooks, and a surly clietele of Modesto moms angling for that perfect deal. Prices are reasonable, and they tend to get a lot of high-quality kitchen items (the last great untapped thrift store staple). Check out their "electronics" isle, which is like taking a self-guided tour of the Home Computer Graveyard.

Goodwill Industries, 2500 McHenry Ave. Nothing special, but then again, Goodwill stores seldom are these days. The building used to house an auto supply place (Kragen, I think) that my pop used to drag me to on Saturday afternoons, so it's rather odd for me to walk the aisles browsing through stacks of unopened Batman valentines, broken tennis equipment, and ugly pastel china. I did, however, find a used (and very playable) copy of the Saints' Eternally Yours LP there, and didn't have to drop more than a quarter for it. You won't have that kind of luck, the store's there if you want to pay it a visit. Personal aside: there's a YMCA right across the street, which is the venue of the first punk show I ever attended, way back in the halcyon days of 1984. Problem Fish, the Tin Shadows, and the miserable Short Wave Mystery were the bands, and those were truly Thee Days. Stop for a moment and listen quietly for reverberating soundwaves, and breathe deep for the fragrance of clove cigarettes.

Hope Chest, 1604 Yosemite Ave. Used to be a Safeway, and is now more of an Unsafeway. Smack dab in the heart of what could be deemed the closest thing to Skid Row you'll find in the town known for its Water, Wealth, Contentment & Health, the Yosemite location of the Hope Chest is a hit-and-miss thrift store that is real good when it's good and real bad when it's bad. Country music plays in a constant loop, as it should, so prepare yourself for Toby Keith and act like nothing's wrong.

Hope Chest, 1241 McHenry Ave. Run by same charity as the location above, though this store's way cleaner and off the sketchy ass-end of Yosemite Ave. One of the type of thrift stores operated exclusively by church-going women in their later 60s to earlier 70s, few of whom have probably been on the business end of a cash register before. I like it 'cause it's close to the central McHenry/Orangeburg axis, and they don't seem to price things according to the actual value a potential customer might place on them...in other words, a rusty cheese grater may be tagged at ten bucks, while the collected works of Charles Fort could be going for a cool nickel. Other thoughts: prices written directly on items with permanent marker. Non-stop inspirational music over the PA. Did I mention that the staff are old?

Salty's Record Attic, 1326 9th St. Sort of overpriced when it comes to records (LPs, anyway), but you might want to pay it a visit just for the principle of the matter. They also stock books, magazines, and 50s memorabilia. I used to spend hours there during my highschool years, digging through the stacks, desperate to find a Sham 69 or Vibrators LP that I'd somehow overlooked during my previous 50 visits.

Yesterday's Books, 3457 McHenry Ave. Run by Christians, patronized by moms in sweatsuits, dads in baseball caps, and kids on sugar. It offers a vast selection of science fiction paperbacks, which is why I mention it here...as well as a solid stack of mystery/detective novels, westerns (!), self-help books, artists' monographs, and books pertaining to area history. Parking is a bitch, and the staff are all well-scrubbed God-loving teens that don't count your change back to you properly. It's the kind of place that devotes an entire cieling-high bookshelf to Peter Straub, if that suggests anything to you.

Brave Bull, 701 S. 9th St. One of two gay bars in Modesto (the other being the Mustang Club on 7th St.). This place has been around forever, it seems, to the point where it was referenced in schoolyard insults during my grade-school years ("you oughtta hang out at the Brave Bull!").

Glo Worm, 117 Phoenix Ave. I always loved the sign (neon) and the name, but never set foot in the place. It's a real blue-collar "workin' man" bar, so you may want to enter with caution. Their logo is a little drunk cartoon worm, perhaps emerged from the bottom of a tequila bottle. You may wind up in worse condition if you venture through its doors.

Minnie's Restaurant, 107 McHenry Ave. I remember my folks driving past this place hundreds of times during my childhood years, but never set foot into the space until I was out of my teens and eager to find my own fun.

Running Iron, 516 McHenry Ave. Once a neighborhood cowboy/western bar, now a neighborhood pick-up joint for hardbodied youngsters with wallet chains and goatees (both male and female). I have a certain fondness for the Running Iron--my first apartment was right down the street and around the corner, but I never set foot inside the joint for fear of the clientele (what, cowboys?). I paid it a visit not long after I moved out of the Valley, and it was far less intimidating than I thought it'd be...just a few lumpy guys in ill-fitting Wranglers, sipping their Bud Lights from cans and listlessly playing shuffleboard. The old patrons are long gone or dead from what recent visits suggest, but the jukebox hasn't changed from its all-country-all-the-time format and the bartenders are still raucous, rowdy, and decked out in gaudy "western" attire. I'm sure it's pure hell on a Friday night, but at least they don't water the drinks.

Tiki Cocktail Lounge, 932 McHenry Ave. I'll say this now: don't set foot in the Tiki unless you're a serious student of pop cultural history, obsessed with "tiki" in all its permutations and perversions, or want to have your toes ground into the sawdust by a troupe of weight-lifting Korn enthusiasts. Despite it's history as one of the few surviving Tropics Motels' bars that stuck to the tiki theme and name, this place isn't for the faint-hearted or easily-jostled after about 5:45 in the evening. Weekend nights, it's like a cattle car on its way to the State Fair. Crowded, smelly, cigaretty and populated by the buffedest post-high school jocks that a town of 250,000 can muster.  Shame, since there's some real prime vintage mugs and Leeteg-styled paintings on display. Check it out in the off hours, and admire the tikis from a safe distance in the parking lot (they're huge!). You can also pay a visit to their official site.

White Elephant Lounge, 1703 Standiford Ave. Isn't a "white elephant" a gift that's been passed from hand to hand and friend to friend, never really finding a proper home? Most of 'em wind up at the White Elephant Lounge, a strip-mall bar at a particularly bleak intersection (Standiford and Carver), next door to a dog-eared video rental shop, a nail parlor, and an easy-to-rob liquor store illuminated by blinding fluorescent lights. It's the kind of place where you're likely to hear Styx's "Mr. Roboto" bust out of the sound system four times in rapid succession, and see tough locals stalk around the pool tables punching the air to display their enthusiasm. One freezing Christmas Eve I visited the place with a couple of friends (all of us in town for the holiday, and eager to break away from our parents for a friendly drink), and the scene sapped us of any mirth or jollity we may have posessed. Since it's the White Elephant, we ordered white russians and prayed for a better tomorrow.

A & W Family Restaurant, 1404 G. St. Back in the Good Old Days, see, you used to be able to pull your car into what folks called a "drive-in," shut off the ignition, place an order for dinner, and eat your meal once it had been delivered by some pretty little filly on rollerskates. Call it another casualty of the Modern Age, like 3D movies or the Musical Variety hour--still, there are a small number still open for business, and one of 'ems on G St. in Modesto. A&W are indeed the same company behind the root beer that you can't stand if you're from Europe or Australia. I remember that their hamburgers were available in three sizes--the Papa Burger, the Mama Burger, and the Baby Burger, but they may have updated and revised their menu to include "Teenager" and "Gran'pa" options. Notice the lovingly-restored Packard sedan emblazoned with the company logo, used for special deliveries and drive-by gangland killings.

Conrad's Family Restaurant, 2057 Tully Rd. Use to be a diner that specialized in pies (and was named "The Upper Crust" accordingly). I have a feeling that, though the name is different, little has changed inside. The first thing you'll notice is the bold orange-and-brown color scheme--obviously the establishment was decorated during the peak of early-70s style, and the owners either could afford an upgrade or didn't see the need. More power to 'em, too: the place has a comforting, foody atmosphere that only the best Family Restaurants achieve (though many try). Food-wise it's standard artery-clogging fare. I can personally stand behind the breakfast platter, and have nothing but praises to speak of its host and wait staff, who constantly circle the dining area in search of half-empty coffee cups. To make the good even better, it's just across the parking lot from Buy-Rite Thrift (see above). Want to impress you friends, family and business associates? Hold your next formal gathering in Conrad's banquet room.

Deva Café, 1202 J St. Probably the closest Modesto will ever  come to producing a "Mission Grounds"-styled cafe, boasting  a selection of microbrews on tap along with burnt coffee. Probably a gathering place for area hipsters by this point, so you can check out what the Kool Kids are wearing in Cowville. White belts have made it as far as J St., believe me.

Miki Japanese Restaurant, 180 Leveland Ln. #D. Once I used to drink sake and Long Island Ice Teas here, while watching karaoke "performed" badly by solitary rednecks in baseball caps and mirrored Oakley Blades. Now, it's little more than a memory. A perfect setting for getting sauced and pretending you're in a far bleaker future than any dreamt of by Anthony Burgess, Wiliam Gibson or Philip K. Dick. The Miki's anonymous strip-mall location only adds to the overall effect.

Webb's Drive-In, 1524 Yosemite Blvd. Spittin' distance from both the Yosemite Ave. Hope Chest and the Salvation Army "family store," Webb's Drive In is a linoleum-lined hamburger stand that really deliver (figuratively). Their cartoon mascot is a scurrying chef with freckles and white apron, holding a platter of hamburgers proudly...in fact, he's probably running from a gun-totin' mob rifling through the cash register. Once, when paying the ol' greasetrap a visit, I was nearly shocked back out the front door when a skinny, gap-toothed cashier on crank sprang up from behind the counter like some demented Jack-in-the-Box. I ordered the fish & chips anyway, and didn't regret the decision. One of the teachers at my high school went on a weekly visit to Webb's with his wife of (then) 25 years, and they'd been at it since their days of courting. You could probably do better.

McHenry Mansion, 906 15th St. One of about four surviving Victorians in the area, and a pretty grand specimen at that. The library is directly across the street, and the McHenry Museum is quite nearby, just a few blocks down I St. Being the age that I am, I can remember the place as it looked before its restoration in the 1970s--all three of its stories were barely supporting themselves, and the period olive-and-gold paint job was peeling and falling off in sheets. It always made me think of the Addam's Family mansion, an impression that was ruined when it was eventually scrubbed, sandblasted, and painted a pristine white with dignified gray trim. There are guided tours at set times during the week, but you'd be happier spending your money on beer and cigarettes.

McHenry Museum, 1402 I St. Admission is free, though the prunified dowager at the front desk is gonna put the soft touch on you for a donation (once you've signed the guest register, sweetie). Once the county library, the building sports many snazzy architectural features: marbled columns, rich wooden fireplaces, and assorted late-Victorian decorative flourishes. I took many a field trip there during my grade school years, and was always impressed by the carefully-reconstruced Old West environments (doctor's office, general store, blacksmith's shop, schoolhouse, kitchen and parlor) that they populated with mannequins in period dress. Check out the old-timey telephone switchboard, the scary Mourning Wreaths made from human hair, and the barbaric dental equipment that must have caused many an injury. The gift shop, also manned (womanned) by volunteers,  features a fine selection of Modesto memorabilia, including 50s-era postcards of various town attractions. Take note of the authentic Modesto gargoyle on display, just in the main foyer.

(The) Modesto Arch, intersection of 9th & I Sts. This is the infamous/laughable/beloved/ignored landmark that appears on most (all?) Modesto postcards and the cover of Hole's Celebrity Skin LP. It's the closest thing that Moville is ever going to come to a St. Louis Arch, Golden Gate Bridge, a Space Needle, or an Eiffel Tower. The arch is just what the name would imply: a bent steel girder, lit with Broadway-style lights and displaying the official town motto--Water, Wealth, Contentment, Health. The entire structure glows proudly once the sun's set over the foothills and the mosquitoes have emerged from hiding. Worth a drive-by and quick dismissal, the arch still stands as a symbol of regional pride, a downtown landmark, and a convenient butt of derisive, big-city jokes. To quote Maximum Rock 'n' Roll oi! columnist Bruce Roehrs, "Water, wealth, contentment, health, eh? Well, one outta four ain't bad!"

State Theatre, 1307 J St. I have very fond childhood memories of this place--after all, it was probably the first movie theater I was ever taken to as a kid, and I saw most of Disney Studio's late-60s/early-70s theatrical output there (Lady & the Tramp, The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes, etc.). I remember it for its long lines, shredded seats, and sickly Coke-stained carpet. It, along with the long-gone Strand and Covell theaters, once made for a hopping downtown cinema circuit in the days before the Vintage Faire mall strangled the old business district, and the axis of McHenry and Orangeburg became the default town center. In the 1980s the facade was painted tomato red and rechristened Ciné Mexicano (which showed all-Spanish-language features, natch) which it remained through its closure. In the early 1990s the theater was granted a second lease on life, reopening as a non-profit rep house/live entertainment venue.  I haven't set foot indoors since 1978 at the latest (to see Carolyn Munro. Marjoe Gorter and Christopher Plummer in the Italian space opera Starcrash), but it's nice to know its doors are open once more. I'm told that they run a vintage, violence-laden cartoon before each feature--check the papers to see which current Merchant Ivory release they're screening.

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© 2005 by Jeff A. Heermann. All rights reserved.