Happy Hanukkah Merry Christmas Happy Kwanzaa Blessed Ramadan

Mountain Views News, Combined edition

Combined Edition

Inside this Week:

Happy Holidays:

SM Community Calendar:
SM Calendar of Events

Sierra Madre:
Walking SM … The Social Side
… This and That

Pasadena – Altadena:

Local City News:

Around The San Gabriel Valley:
Family Matters

Education & Youth:
Christopher Nyerges

Best Friends:
Pet of the Week
Katnip News!
SGV Humane Society

The Good Life:
Out to Pastor
Senior Happenings

Opinion … Left/Right:
Peter Funt
Tom Purcell
Stuart Tolchin On …
The Funnies

Legal Notices (1):

Legal Notices (2):

Legal Notices (3):

Legal Notices (4):

Legal Notices (5):

Happy Holidays:

F. Y. I. :

Deanne Davis
Marc Garlett
Katie Hopkins
Christopher Nyerges
Rev. James Snyder
Stuart Tolchin

Recent Issues:
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Issue 41
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Happy Hanukkah Merry Christmas Happy Kwanzaa Blessed Ramadan

VOLUME 13 NO. 51



Artist Sonny Salsbury created this painting depicting snow in Sierra Madre at Christmas. His caption, “Wouldn’t It Be Nice?” 
reflects the sentiments of many a child and adult alike. Salsbury is also a Grammy nominated musician who was born in 
Pasadena. He is the brother of local businesswoman Judith Brandley, owner of Leonora Moss in Sierra Madre.

Jan Greteman 626.975.4033jan@jangreteman.com 
jangreteman.com #01943630Judy Webb-Martin 626.688.2273jwmartin@dppre.com #00541631 
Katie Orth 626.688.0418korth@dppre.com #00942500Who We Are:
Residents & business owners 
of Sierra Madre selling real estate 
since 1975 & proudly giving back 
to the community.
Contact Us For a FREEProperty Assessment.
The gift of love,
the gift of good healthThe gift of happiness...
May these be yoursthis Holiday SeasonYour Story. 
Your Home. 
Your Team.
Together Stronger.

Mr. Boulder stepped out of the elevator in his office 
building and went out the door to the parking lot 
shuttle. There, he was met by an ominous sign 
that read, “Out of service for the evening. Our 

“It just figures. It is freezing outside, and the 
shuttle is not running,” he said to himself. “I have 
to work in the one building in the city where they 
have no parking, and now I am forced to trample 
about the night and traverse those battlefields of 
urban blight to enter my own vehicle.”

Mr. Boulder was not the type of man who 
thought about the neighborhood surrounding 
his workplace. All it had ever been to him was 
a disgusting encampment of tents filled with 
transients. The people of this place had destroyed 
themselves and brought the city down with their 
deeds, he indignantly thought. Every one of them 
had been wrecked by a lifetime of ill-advised 
decisions. What could he possibly do? If an 
ignorant man entered the desert of life without a 
canteen, then why should he offer this fool a drink 
from his own precious water? It might be said 
that Mr. Boulder existed in a world of the utterly 
rationale man. His intuitions of logic made his 
mind sensitive to one set of arguments, but he 
was willfully ignorant to the greater importance of 

With the reluctant stubbornness of a mule, he 
stepped out into a cold winter’s night. The sharp 
sting of the wind caused him to tighten his jacket 
around his neck, as he pulled his hat down over 
his eyebrows. He waited at the corner of the street, 
growing in anger, that the light was dreadfully long 
on a night such as this. “Why would they make a 
person such as me stand here for a minute or more 
in these scandalous temperatures?” he thought. He 
hunched low, and drew his elbows tight to his body, 
as the light went green and he shuffled over to the 
next block. The sidewalk beneath his feet mirrored 
the neighborhood around him, having not a 
single safe place to settle a shoe. His eyes carried 
outward toward the end of the street, and all that 
he saw was a choppy sea of broken concrete. In the 
vacant lot beside where Mr. Boulder was walking, 
the weeds of the world ravenously rose from the 
deadened earth beneath these monuments. Mr. 
Boulder turned to inspect this mysterious world 
of torment, slowing his step to stare at a lone fire, 
that weaved and danced within the dimensions 
of a discarded trashcan. His sight held upon that 
dissent flame that occasionally leapt upward 
toward the sky, painting the people who circled 
around it for warmth in a wonderful shade of gold 
and amber that suggested the moments before a 
sunrise. “Even these bums are warmer than I am 
on this night,” he angrily suggested in the mind of 
a martyr. 

“Mr. Boulder,” came the startling call from a man 
on the street; but Thomas refused to answer, for the 
first commandment of his beliefs was never look 
at these people directly in the eye, so he mostly 
complied by half sneaking a peek from the eye 
closest to the street. This was enough for him to 
quickly discard the value of the voice and deemed 
it best to continue past this wanderer of the world.

“Mr. Thomas Boulder, do not be afraid of me.”

These words caused him to halt in defiance, and he 
turned toward the man to confront the items of a 
round face and a collection of shabby clothes that 
appeared more ancient than the artifacts of Egypt. 

“I demand to know; how do you know my name?”

“I know everyone’s name, Thomas, but it is 
unfortunate that you have forgotten the many 
names that should be of importance to you. It 
is my duty to bless you with a reminder of their 
value. We are given, on Christmas night, a certain 
power to persuade, and the opportunity to restore 
a memory. It has been decided that you shall meet 
God before the morning’s light.”

“Look, Buddy, I do not know how you know my 
name, but I assure you of this, I just saw the doc 
the other day, and I am in complete perfect health, 
and if you are planning on poisoning me, or 
kidnapping me, I shall call the police on this phone 
in my hand before you are able to lay a single finger 
upon me.”

“My dear Thomas, you are not going die on this 
night, and I should hope that you might live a 
very long life. You do not understand — death is 
not the dreadful gift 
I desire to give, but 
you would be wise 
to harken unto these 
words. Mr. Boulder, 
you have already 
been poisoned by an 
indifferent heart that 
does not weigh the importance of your own deeds. 
When your canteen is amply supplied, why do you 
not spare a single cup of kindness to that fool in 
the desert? Have you devised a philosophy where 
the world is better when human beings perish 
because of their petty mistakes? All the mistakes 
you have made are of a different nature. It is easy 
for us to argue, but the blunders these people now 
suffer are mostly due to an injury to themselves. 
How should we judge a person who has the power 
to bend down and lift another up, but mercilessly 
is unwilling to do so?”

“How do you know what I was thinking tonight?” 

“I am given certain items of assistance to help you 
understand, Mr. Boulder. Heaven has entrusted 
you with an immense responsibility over this 
world, Thomas. Your ignorance of this gift, and 
the treasured measurements of time that you are 
abusing, has reckoned my presence on this night. 
A kind word, or a cruel one, Mr. Boulder, can 
make or break a person’s day. Will those abundant 
dollars you so tightly clutch in the narrow-minded 
thought of your own existence have any meaning 
beyond this world? Or will you choose to honor 
an idea greater than yourself and purchase a

piece of hope for the broken people of this world, 
Mr. Boulder? The awesome power to build or 
destroy squarely rests upon your decisions. I am 
not speaking about the structures of steel and 
concrete; much greater do I come to you on this 
night. I present myself on behalf of the broken-
hearted of your race. I want you to consider the 
path you now walk, being woefully blind to the 
suffering of others. Which makes you welcome or 
wise in the world that is to come?”

An explosive bang echoed out from a solid steel 
pipe that was violently struck upon the chainlink 
fence beside Mr. Boulder. 

“Get out of my neighborhood,” the woman cried in 
rebellion, unaware she had frightened the people 
around the fire, or the man standing on sidewalk 
next to her. The wheels began to squeak as she 
nudged the shopping cart with all her belongings 
toward the next block.

“And you want me to help these people?” Mr. 
Boulder defiantly questioned as he twirled back in 
the direction of the man to meet an empty area of 

“It is impossible — he could not have gone 
anywhere, and there is no place for him to run 
or hide. It is unreasonable to believe that I could 
have imagined this man, but I did.” He spoke these 
sentiments into 



Christmas and New Year's Holiday parking exemptions are as 

Beginning at 2:00AM on Saturday, 12-14-2019, there will be a city 
wide exemption for parking viola-tions relating to Permit Parking 
and Overnight Parking. This exemption will extend until 5:00AM 
on Thursday, 01-02-2020 in observance of the holidays. Please 
note, there will be officers staffing the SMPD, 24/7 to handle enforceable 
parking issues and safety violations during these times.

Mountain Views News 80 W Sierra Madre Blvd. No. 327 Sierra Madre, Ca. 91024 Office: 626.355.2737 Fax: 626.609.3285 Email: editor@mtnviewsnews.com Website: www.mtnviewsnews.com

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Mountain Views News 80 W. Sierra Madre Blvd. #327 Sierra Madre, Ca. 91024 Office: 626.355.2737 Fax: 626.604.4548 www.mtnviewsnews.com