Life in the slow lane

This article written a couple of years ago by a great freelance reporter captures some of the nostalgia of our town.

The locals believe Crockett exists in a time warp. In fact, Crockett Museum Historian Keith Olsen likes to call the town Brigadoon after the fictional Scottish village that only emerges from its misty moor once every 100 years.
Perhaps locals like this because of Crockett's geographical isolation. The town is flanked on one side by the Carquinez Strait and on the other by the steep coastal hills of the Carquinez Regional Shoreline Park, creating a sense of detachment from the outside world.

Perhaps it's because of the slow, congenial tempo Crockett is known for. There is only one traffic light in town and it hardly seems necessary. The homes and storefronts are older and lend the character of age to the town overall. In addition, there are no corporate chain stores among the small shops, galleries and restaurants in the hilly commercial center.

The Crockett Museum

The town's most charming attraction is the Crockett Museum. It fills three large rooms in the old train station and is arranged in a kind of controlled chaos that's more reminiscent of Grandma's attic than a conventional museum.
"We could have more glass-case collections and dioramas, but everybody has that," historian Keith Olsen said. "People who come to visit the museum really enjoy the lack of organization. You never know what you're going to find."
Among the biggest draws is the High School Yearbook Room, in which Curator Leo Cid Jr., 87, has displayed the pictures of every graduating class at Crockett's John Swett High School from 1928 to 2003. Cid is a World War II vet and a C&H retiree. Another favorite is the mounted 468-pound sturgeon. Caught by local Joey Palotta, it's the largest recorded sturgeon caught on hook and line.
As a monument to Crockett's resistance to change, a section of an old, manually operated telephone switchboard is on display. Crockett was the last town on mainland California to switch to rotary dial. Until 1969, whenever a Crockett resident made a telephone call, a "hello girl" came on the line and cheerfully chirped "number, please." (To this day the town has only one prefix -- 787 -- so when you ask a Crockett resident for a local phone number, they typically respond with a four-digit number.)
Exhibits are devoted to two of Crockett's favorite sons, Aldo Ray, the gravelly voiced, 1950s movie star who lived in town until his death in 1991, and Dr. Sam Eldridge, who died in a car accident in 1969. His frayed leather medicine bag and archaic-looking surgical instruments are reverently displayed in a prominent glass case.
"Dr. Sam was one of the last great country doctors," Olsen said. "If there was a bad flu going around and your kid was sick, he would make a house call even if it was 3 a.m. Sometimes, during a bad outbreak, he would take a quick nap on the family's couch before heading to his next call."
The museum's most valuable historical resource is the group of five or six locals -- mostly retirees and some third- and fourth-generation Crockett residents -- who gather in the museum's front room. They sit in a semicircle on mismatched chairs and talk about all things Crockett. They are always eager to share stories with visitors about the town's past and take them on tours of the museum.
"They keep tabs on everything that's going on in town," Olsen said. "They talk about which houses recently sold, who has been born, who has been ill and who has died. They cover the whole waterfront."