Lunch With Huell (Revisited)

[Some names have been changed]

When I moved to California in the early 2000s, one of the first things I stumbled upon was the PBS program “California’s Gold” with Huell Howser. It didn’t take long for me and my friends to become obsessed. We’d get home from the club around 2 a.m… still buzzing and half-drunk, and flip on KCET. Without fail, there’s Huell! He was marveling at banana slugs, talking to some old timer in the desert, or losing his mind over a historic door hinge. We’d drink, laugh, and I’d break out my Huell impressions to keep the party going. At the time, it all felt like camp, like a public access fever dream.

But then something changed.

In 2008, I had the chance to interview Huell for Pasadena Weekly for a piece that became known as “Lunch with Huell.” Meeting him in person was a wake-up call. He wasn’t some hayseed joke. He was sincere, curious, and utterly passionate about California. The way he talked about the people and places of the state, there was a genuine love and deep appreciation there. After sitting down with him, I saw beyond the accent and aw-shucks demeanor. He was the real deal: a man who truly cared about where he lived and the stories that needed to be told.

That interview shifted everything for me. I came to seriously respect the man, the myth, the legend.

When Huell passed away in 2013, I was extremely saddened. It hit me harder than I expected. His shows had been part of my life for so long, not just as entertainment, but as these quirky, heartfelt love letters to California. Even now, living in Philadelphia, I still pull up clips of him on YouTube. Sometimes I’ll show my wife or my friends his segments, introducing them to this charming, wide-eyed guy who found magic in the mundane.

Huell was one of a kind. And I’m grateful I got to sit down and share a moment with him. It changed how I saw him, and in some ways, how I saw California itself.

***

August 18, 2008

(Courtesy, Pasadena Weekly)

I arrived at Pie ‘N Burger a little late for an interview with Huell Howser, the host of KCET’s “California Gold” whose exclamations of “That’s Amayyyzing!” are imitated by just about everyone who’s ever watched local TV over the past two decades.

But being slightly tardy was alright with the personable Howser, who by the time I arrived was already cheerily chatting up customers in his distinctive Southern drawl and stopping for anxious fans who didn’t hesitate to ask for autographs and impromptu photo sessions.

Wearing sunglasses and dressed in a gray-on-white bowling shirt and slacks, Howser seemed as much at home at the popular restaurant near Caltech as he would, well, anywhere. At a table near the rear, we talked for an hour about his career, which kicked off in 1981 — soon after growing up watching in awe as his “Atticus Finch-like” lawyer father Harold tried cases in the sweltering heat of Tennessee courtrooms — with a stint as a news reporter at KCBS, Channel 2.

During our time together, Howser also spoke about the importance of helping others, how each new story is just as important as the last and what it means to be a celebrity and “on” when venturing outside the confines of one’s own home. — Aaron Proctor

This isn’t lunch … this is like an event. How does that make you feel?

It’s very complimentary. It’s not like an actor who people see on TV who is playing a role. I’m the same here or on TV or whatever and people feel like they know me.

It must be very rewarding to know how happy you make people.

It’s nice to have feedback; it’s nice to know people are watching. It would be very hard to be this excited, this enthusiastic about what you’re presenting if you never knew that anybody watched and appreciated it. … Everybody needs a pat on the back or a ‘well done.’ You know, it’s so easy to do that but so few bosses take the time to do that. You know, just pass you in the hall and go, ‘Hey that’s a good article you wrote last week, well done.’ That takes, what, five seconds? It’s nice when you’re on the receiving end of that.

It’s hard to imagine you being angry.

That’s because I stay home when I’m angry or frustrated or tired or sick or whatever. You are rude to one person and people go, ‘You know, he seems so nice on TV, but in person he didn’t even say hello or anything.’ So when you step out of the house or the office, you have got to be prepared to give and give and give and give. They want you to stand up, have your picture taken with them, and you do it. What if I would have said no? No. 1, that’s not a good thing to do, under any circumstances. No. 2, if you said no, 500 people would have known that by this afternoon.

Did you ever see that episode of “The Simpsons” in which you were parodied by a character named Howell Heuser?

I didn’t even know I was on “The Simpsons.” I got home on a Sunday night and there were 50 different messages on my phone. … I got into the office the next morning and called Matt Groening and said, ‘This is Huell Howser,’ and there was this quiet on the other end of the phone because I knew he thought I was upset. I said, ‘If you’re going to do a parody of me, I could use the money and the exposure. If you’re gonna continue, just let me be my own voice next time.

You were honorary mayor of Sierra Madre last year. How many other cities have given you that honor?

I’ve gotten lots of keys to cities. … I don’t think these keys carry any particular clout. I think if you’re stopped for speeding, that doesn’t help.

But if you’re stopped for speeding, you’re Huell Howser …

I was stopped once for speeding going 75, 85 miles an hour on the Grapevine toward Bakersfield. The guy pulls me over, I give him my license and he goes, ‘Oh, my gosh, my wife isn’t going to believe that I got to give you a ticket.’ Everybody else would have said, ‘Huell, my wife and I watch you on TV all the time … slow down next time, and get on your way.’ No. He wrote out the ticket and the whole time he was writing it he was relaying his favorite stories that he and his wife had watched over the years.

What kind of name is Huell, anyway?

I remember being a child, asking my parents at the dinner table why they gave me such a horrible name. I still have the image in my mind of my mother’s jaw dropping. I learned it is a combination of my father’s name, Harold, and my mother’s name, Jewell.

Did you ever think you’d get the celebrity reaction you receive when you go somewhere?

What is so bizarre is that I walked in here as somebody who is known from television and everyone knew who I was. A heart surgeon who had just left Huntington Hospital and successfully operated on a child and saved her life could walk in here and not a single person would know who that heart surgeon is. That puts it all in perspective.

It’s pretty safe to say, then, that you would not be able to name the most amazing thing you’ve seen because everything is equally amazing in its own way.

You’re one of the few people who ever figured that out. Spending the day in South Pasadena with a woman who grows roses and takes them to the local Post Office to share with everybody … How do you compare that day with a day going to the top of the Golden Gate Bridge? No two experiences are the same. They’re all part of life.

I heard somewhere that you want to die on the air …

I want it to happen at the end of a show. I’m saying my goodbyes to everyone and then suddenly I clutch my heart and fall over. The credits roll as the dust covers me and everyone at home says, ‘Well, Huell had a good run but I think that’s his last episode.’ … I want to be cremated. I’ve made a list of my favorite 20 places in California, and it’s going to be a two-week vacation where [my sister and her husband] come to California and get my urn full of ashes and go to these 20 places, staying in the best hotels, eating at the finest restaurants, and at each place they leave a piece of Huell. I’ve got it exactly mapped out.

Sounds like it would be a good 14-, 15-part PBS special.

Yeah. I could see that. I could live beyond the grave, at least for a miniseries.

***

The interview was over, but Huell Howser wasn’t done being Huell Howser.

We’d just finished a spirited lunch at the café, a meal The Pasadena Weekly had offered to cover. But Huell, ever the generous gentleman, brushed it off with a laugh and said, “No way, sir! This one’s on me.”

As we stood from the table, he looked at me with those unmistakably animated eyes and asked, “So, you headin’ back to the paper now?”

I nodded. “Yeah, gotta file this story before deadline.”

“Well then,” he beamed, “Let me give you a ride!”

A moment later, we were gliding down Colorado Boulevard in his hybrid Highlander. He was still marveling at how the car made no sound when he turned it on.

“I swear to you, I thought it was broken!” he said, laughing that booming Huell laugh that somehow made the whole vehicle feel brighter. “You know, I kept turning the key over and over thinking, ‘Well, something’s gotta happen!’”

When we pulled up to the Weekly office, I half-jokingly offered, “Wanna come in and meet everyone?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Well sure I do!”

And just like that, I was flanking a California legend, strolling into our scrappy newsroom like we were walking onto a soundstage.

First to see us was Jack Beaumont at the front desk (a 99-cent store version of my best friend Jason if there ever was one). The moment he saw Huell, his eyes widened and he let out an audible, “Oh shit.”

It was perfect.

I took Huell around the office, introducing him to Kevin Uhrich, my editor, who shook his hand like he’d just met royalty. Then there was André Coleman, who normally had the most composed poker face in the building, grinning like a kid at Disneyland. Chris Kowalski peeked his head out from behind his monitor with stunned disbelief, and even Mark Nakano from ad sales abandoned his spreadsheets to bask in the moment.

Huell stayed for a full hour or two. He posed for every photo, signed every scrap of paper handed to him, and smiled like it was all brand new like he hadn’t done this a thousand times before.

It was magic.

For everyone else, it was a surprise celebrity visit. For me, it was the greatest workday of my life.

Even now, I think about it more often than I admit. That hour was a snapshot of joy, kindness, and unfiltered humanity… the kind of moment Huell Howser had a way of making feel eternal.

And every time I hear about the silent hum of a hybrid engine, I can still hear his voice. I wish I could be as happy about the little things in life as he was.

“Well that’s amAYzing!”

A Former Resident’s Love Letter to Pasadena & Altadena (Revisited)

Six months ago, the Eaton Fire swept through the foothills of Pasadena and a majority of Altadena, California, leaving a trail of devastation that uprooted lives, destroyed homes, and forever altered the landscape of two communities rich in history, beauty, and resilience. In the aftermath of the tragedy, I found myself reflecting on my own deep and personal connection to these places I once called home. Those reflections became the foundation for a guest opinion piece of mine published in Pasadena Now in April, a heartfelt tribute to the cities that shaped so much of who I am.

Pasadena, with its tree-lined streets, turn-of-the-century architecture, and the quiet grandeur of the Colorado Street Bridge, has always held a special place in my heart. I still recall Saturday afternoons spent strolling through the aisles of Vroman’s Bookstore, late nights lingering in the shadow of City Hall’s dome, and the peaceful calm of a morning walk through the Huntington Gardens. The community, the culture, the small-town warmth nestled within a metropolitan sprawl—these are the elements that make Pasadena unforgettable.

Just to the north, Altadena boasts its own unique charm, from the serenity of its hiking trails in the San Gabriel Mountains to its hidden historic gems that reflect the eccentric and eclectic spirit of the area. One place I’ll never forget is The Bunny Museum—a delightfully odd and whimsical landmark that I first learned about thanks to the ever-curious Huell Howser, whose television adventures introduced me to so many offbeat California treasures. Visiting the museum felt like stepping into a parallel world, one that mirrored the creative soul of Altadena itself.

I also helped run pro wrestling shows at the Eagles Hall on Woodbury. The people at that building are amazing. They turned their parking lot into a food bank during the fire. I can’t help but mention the Rancho Bar, now burned to the ground, where I’d have a few drinks after work and participate in some karaoke.

This week, I feel compelled to revisit that ode, not only because the memory of the fire still burns fresh in our collective consciousness, but because my thoughts remain with all those affected. As the communities rebuild and heal, I hope these words serve as both a remembrance and a renewed expression of love for two cities that gave me so much—and continue to inspire those who know them.

A Former Resident’s Love Letter to Pasadena & Altadena

Although I no longer live in Pasadena, my time there deeply shaped me. I wanted to take a moment to express my appreciation for Pasadena and Altadena and how they unknowingly helped me navigate some of the darkest moments of my life.

When I lived there, I was struggling with undiagnosed mental health issues that I couldn’t understand at the time. I now know that I was dealing with bipolar disorder, but it wasn’t until 2020, when I reached an incredibly low point and attempted suicide twice, that I was finally diagnosed. I spent years feeling lost, isolated, and out of place—especially as I navigated my time and very public adventures in Pasadena. Looking back, I can see that, even then, I was living with invisible battles that no one could see. But the people of Pasadena and Altadena, with their kindness and sense of community, were a quiet yet constant source of support, even if I couldn’t recognize it at the time.

I think about the 2007 mayoral campaign I ran and how, despite my intense, sometimes combative rhetoric, I was never treated with anything other than respect by the people I encountered in Pasadena. I was outspoken and, at times, antagonistic, even lambasting figures like Bill Bogaard, who I later came to realize was a person just trying to do his best for the city. Despite my oddities—my love for strange music, my fondness for wearing makeup, my tendency to come across as a bit of an outsider—the people of Pasadena and Altadena were always welcoming. They had a way of embracing everyone, even those like me who didn’t quite fit in.

It was in those cities, in the midst of my personal struggles, that I learned what real community meant. I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but now I realize that the warmth I felt from the residents there was exactly what I needed. It was a kindness that I took for granted then, but it has stayed with me since, especially as I’ve navigated recovery.

As I now live in Philadelphia, I can’t help but reflect on those years and the way Pasadena and Altadena shaped me, even when I wasn’t fully aware of the support I was receiving. The kindness of the people there was an unspoken lifeline that helped me begin to heal, even if I didn’t realize it until years later.

I think about the recent Eaton Fire and my heart goes out to those who have been affected. I have no doubt that the same spirit that helped me through my struggles will guide the recovery process, as the people of these communities are resilient. I hope that the recovery is swift and thorough for all those who have been impacted.

Finally, as I reflect on Pasadena and Altadena, I can’t help but worry about the increasing pressures of development. These cities have a unique flavor, a character that sets them apart from anywhere else in the world. I hope that the forces pushing for unchecked growth won’t erase the very things that make Pasadena and Altadena so special—their history, their people, and their unwavering spirit of inclusivity.

Even though I may no longer live there, Pasadena and Altadena will always be a part of me. I will forever be grateful for the kindness of their people and the lessons I learned in the places that taught me how to love myself again.