New Times - San Luis Obispo

Molly Johnson

Granny with gumption

As Americans rallied to war whoops from the nation’s Capitol soon after Sept. 11, Molly Johnson calmly marshaled the forces of a different coalition gathering in front of the San Luis Obispo County Government Center. She stood before a crowd of peace marchers and described the route that would take participants through the downtown area, warned against protracted engagements with counter-protesters, and then led the way.

It was one of those things that had to be done, says the Templeton native, who is a member of the Central Coast Peace and Environmental Council, which organized the peace march in September. "I’m used to being out there like that," says Johnson, who also heads the San Luis Obispo chapter of Grandmothers for Peace, and has been an activist since the civil rights movements of the 1960s.

"I was raised on a farm where I got my basic love for the earth," she adds. Through this love she developed a respect for nature that corporations and government agencies often lack. She’s not afraid to openly confront plundering corporate executives and nonsensical bureaucrats about the damage they’re causing by dumping nuclear wastes, dropping bombs and pouring cancer-producing carcinogens into the environment.

Johnson, who is best known for her strong stance against nuclear energy and weapons, spent nearly four years with her husband in Ward Valley to stop the development of a radioactive waste dump there. She ran an office for the Ward Valley Coalition representing the Five River Tribes and a number of activist organizations that occupied the proposed dump site for 113 days, which ended with the scrapping of the plan.

That successful battle, she says, has inspired her to continue the struggle against the suicidal tendencies of the proponents of nuclear power. Her focus now is Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant. "We have to deal with the waste there," she says. "We need to shut Diablo down."

–Stacey Warde

Angel with dirty hands

When it comes to volunteerism, Jim Hofman, 51, doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. A Catholic parishioner at the SLO Mission, Hofman serves on the Social Justice Committee, an organization that promotes healthy families through a number of programs including an insurance program for low-income families.

"It’s sort of the equivalent of MediCal," says Hofman. "The families pay a little, maybe $20 a month, and the rest is subsidized by the federal and state governments."

Hofman is also a life-long member of Bread for the World, an advocacy group and grassroots lobby for hunger issues. But in recent years Hofman’s volunteerism has turned much more to the hands-on variety. At least once a year, he leads a group of local folks to Tijuana, Mexico, where they all work with a Mexican organization called Esperanza, which builds homes for low-income families.

Hofman describes Esperanza as akin to our own Habitat for Humanity. "They’ve been in business about 20 years, and the families involved in the program have to generate sweat equity by helping other families build houses," he says. "The organization also shows them how to start a savings plan, basic accounting and life skills."

After the passage of NAFTA, Mexican workers streamed toward the border to work in assembly plants constructed in Tijuana. Thousands found themselves living in deplorable conditions, in shacks without running water or electricity.

Hofman has worked for eight years with Esperanza to help mitigate these conditions, and over the years he’s helped build several houses. "I enjoy doing it," he says. "It’s not only fun, it’s a growing experience because it lets you see how the rest of the world lives."

Hofman is currently organizing another trip for this summer, and anyone who’d like to join him is welcome. You just need to sign up by the end of January. Call 541-0185 and join in the fun.

–Glen Starkey

For 20 years, Richard Smith has lived on or near his boat in Morro Bay, where he often peers into the distance, observing the estuary and its wildlife with the wonder and passion of a youngster. "That’s Junior and Broke Wing," he says proudly from his boat, pointing at two ducks finishing their morning scraps of leaves and bread on the dock. He breaks more bread from a crusty loaf. "Here," he says, "take some over there and they’ll eat right out your hand."

Threats to life in the estuary, however, put Smith on the warrior’s path. Beneath a gray sky, Smith stands tall on the bow of his boat and looks across the bay. "See those bastards?" he says. Along the sand spit, a motorboat tears through the water. "I hope they hit ground."

The joyriders are disrupting an already stressed flock of geese trying to feed in a depleted food system, Smith explains. Senseless toying with the estuary such as this ultimately threatens the survival of everyone in the food chain, including humans.

"I learned early on that I was a participant in the health of Mother Earth," says Smith, who grew up with Native American ideals "on a little farm in Michigan."

If Smith gets his way, Duke Energy will also run aground with its plan to expand the Morro Bay Power Plant, which, Smith says, will have a much more devastating impact on an extremely sensitive ecosystem.

Smith, a retired professor of animal science, has spent the last two years with the Coastal Alliance on Plant Expansion developing opposition to Duke. Every day, he writes letters to regulatory agencies, challenging "bogus" scientific studies and warning the public about the dangers inherent in using the estuary to cool the power plant.

"The bay is just sick," he says. "The life in it is terribly depleted. Just go ask any of the old farts who’ve been here for awhile and they’ll tell you what’s really going on."