Fire Station 3 is positioned on a corner in the center of town. I always liked responding from this station as we covered both ends of the city and didn’t have those infernal ambulances. Built in 1923, it has two single apparatus rooms: one faces Pacific and the other faces Grand. A long path cuts through the grass to a brick porch with two steps up, under a metal awning to the heavy oak door. Read more >> about Growing Up in Alameda: More like a sepulcher than a place of laughter
On Sunday mornings when both of us are in town, my friend Larry, his three legged dog Maggie and I go for a walk. We walk at Maggie's pace - which, oddly enough, is not affected by her loss of a leg but by the number of spots visited and marked by other dogs.
The pace falls into a clear rhythm: 10 or 12 steps, stop and sniff, squeeze out a few drops of urine to mark her presence and then on for another dozen steps. Twice along the way Maggie blithely drops several mounds of poop, which Larry obligingly picks up poop in a plastic bag and carries it to the next drop off spot. Read more >> about Amblin' Alameda: Walking and talking