Crescent City is an oyster. Not the easygoing kind that lays around on a bed of crushed ice cracked wide open and ready to consume. No, this city is a working-class oyster wearing dirty boots and a shy smile. This oyster wants to stay protected by its cold grey shell and thick curtain of redwood trees. If you can respect its privacy, you’re more likely to see this oyster open its shy smile and share its tender truths.
Crescent City loves the sea, even though the sea tried to destroy it with a tsunami in 1964. A 20-foot wave rolled up the streets crashing cars into gingerbread victorian homes, slamming fishing vessels into downtown shops, and casting a dark shadow of death that would last for generations. This is one of the wettest and most depressed places in California. It’s always got a tear in its beer.
The day Joe Curren and David Wien met in Crescent City, the sun was out and there wasn’t a teary-eyed cloud in the bright blue sky. The oyster was smiling.