Public Affairs Executive finds balance in life

By day, Pleasanton’s David Stark is the Public Affairs Director for the Bay East Association of REALTORS®. Spend even a few minutes with him, and his passion is evident as he describes the work he does in connecting with community leaders and the public around housing and real estate issues.

“I’ve always had an interest in social issues,” said Stark, 44. “When I was younger I worked in municipal government and managed housing and community development programs for cities in both southern and northern California.”

Stark said he has learned over the years that finding solutions to fundamental issues such as how to provide housing for a diverse range of families requires partnerships with the private sector. “We can’t expect government alone to solve our challenges,” he said. 

  

Stark grew up in southern California where his parents worked as community college instructors. He earned his Bachelor of Arts degree in Political Science and English from the U.C. Riverside, as well as a Masters Degree in City and Regional Planning from Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo.

"My father loved his job and said going to work was like spending time with his hobby,” he said. “That’s how I feel about my job.”

Another lesson Stark learned from his parents is the importance of maintaining a balance between work and recreation. So after hours and on weekends he and his wife Anne, who is the Public Information Officer at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, make time for several pursuits.

“We build and race vintage motorcycles,” said Stark. “Our garage is a fully functioning workshop.” Stark said that building bikes is as satisfying as racing them. The couple both race late 1960s Hondas at such venues as Laguna Seca and Infineon Raceway. Stark is also restoring a 1965 Ducati.

Another common interest is swimming. Several times a week the couple can be found swimming laps with the Tri-Valley Masters Swim team at Pleasanton’s Aquatic Center. The exercise keeps both Stark and Anne physically fit, a priority they have always had in life.

“One of our first dates was a mountain bike ride,” he said. “Anne beat me on the trail that day.”

Along with motorcycles and swimming, Stark is also a member of a three-piece alternative rock band called Pilgrim. An accomplished musician who used to play throughout the Bay Area, Stark met fellow band members Charles McKeag and Chris Zaballos through their mutual work in the real estate industry. “Some people network on the golf course; we network in our band,” Stark said.

The band performs original music described as a blend of high-energy rock and layered vocal melodies. Stark said their music is influenced by bands they heard on college radio stations during the late 1970s and early 1980s.

Although Stark plays guitar, saxophone, and mandolin, his current favorite is evident when he smiles and says, “Playing bass guitar is so much fun it should be illegal.”

Though Stark said he and his wife have different personalities, he credits Anne with everything that is right about his life: “She’s my partner in everything we do. She’s the love of my live and absolutely my best friend.”

Local teacher brings life experiences to special education

As a special education teacher at Pleasanton Middle School, Christopher Lee, 40, brings the street smarts earned from fights and a near-death experience to working with youngsters who face special challenges.

“I came to the United States from South Korea when I was 9 years old,” said Lee, who remembers the stark contrast between Korea and southern California. The violent neighborhood where his parents lived offered a number of challenges.

Growing up around gangs, Lee navigated his way through daily life. He knew getting an education was important, but he also needed to survive. Getting in fights was inevitable, he said. 

But despite the violence, Lee was a curious boy and loved to learn. In middle school he decided to learn to play the cello.

“The school allowed me to borrow a cello,” Lee said. “But one day on a bus several boys made fun of me, and one grabbed my cello case and threw it out the window.”

Lee saw the case bounce along the street as he got the driver to stop the bus.

“The cello was in pieces,” he said. “After that, I decided being an athlete was safer.”

The incident that prompted Lee to leave Los Angeles occurred one evening after he was accepted at USC and yet found himself in another fight: “A fellow walked up and put a loaded revolver to my head,” Lee said. “As he started pulling the trigger, I knew I was dead. But for some reason the gun didn’t go off.”

That was the night Lee, then 19, decided to drive north with no destination in mind. 

In time, he worked in the hospitality industry, joined the military, worked as a financial advisor, earned both bachelors and masters degrees, and eventually heard a calling to work with troubled and special education youth where he uses his life experiences to connect with students and make a difference.

Today Lee has worked in Pleasanton for eight years has two children, an eight-year-old daughter and a ten-year-old son.

Along with coaching youth sports and working as a teacher, Lee is an artist and maintains a studio in downtown Livermore. His paintings exude the same passion Lee has about life: “I wake up every day with a positive outlook and a focus on goals,” he said. “I have a bucket list and try to cross off one item each month.”

One item he recently checked off the list was parachuting from an airplane. His next goal is to climb Mount Shasta.

While a favorite quotation is Socrates’ observation that “the unexamined life is not worth living,” Lee credits the birth of his children with his own true awakening: “It is with absolute certainty that I did not take my first true breath on this earth until my children were born,” he said. “Through their birth, I have been reborn.”

To watch Lee skydive, click here.

 

Iraq veteran writes about how war changed his life

A shorter version of this column appeared in the Tri-Valley Times and related newspapers on August 9, 2012. The photo in this posting is not the veteran.

Many readers know that I teach English at Las Positas College, and from time to time I share stories of my students. Today’s column is one of those stories, told through edited excerpts from a powerful and disturbing essay written by a 24-year-old veteran who returned from Iraq in April 2010.

While some veterans are hesitant to write about their experiences, this young man, two years after coming home, was willing to write his story and allow me to share it in this newspaper. He asked me not to use his name:

“Operation Dog Wood was a three day operation to search the desert for weapon caches hidden in or around manmade wells," he writes.  "The mission began like any other. We patrolled the villages like we always did. On the second morning things changed. We came across a large well half-filled with water. In the water were three bodies floating and bloated as if they had been there for a while. I was ordered to jump in and retrieve the bodies.

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“As I got near the first body, I saw that it was a little girl around the age of eight. She had long flowing brown hair that waved at me with every step I took. When I grabbed her arm, her skin tore off the bone like tender meat. The other two bodies looked to be her parents; all three were shot in the back of the head, execution style.

“The next afternoon was a long ride to the base. All I could think about was the little girl and her parents, how their skin melted in my hands as I fished them out of the pungent, rancid water.

“The next thing I knew I was blinded by an intense light that seemed to be radiating from all around us, instantly followed by a deafening blast that hurt every fiber of my being. My body was bathed in an intense fire that lasted seconds. My nose was filled with dust and the scent of burning rubber. As my truck was lifted in the air, my body was thrown around like a doll in a dryer. The initial blast lasted seconds but felt like a lifetime.

“Before the dust could settle, explosions began to erupt all around my vehicle; I had to get out of the truck. My truck was flipped on its side with the driver door to the ground. I had to use every ounce of my strength to push the three hundred pound door open to get out. When my head lifted above the open door, I could see rockets flying in every direction. The nearby trucks had their machine guns sending walls of lead in every direction. I could not believe my eyes; we were under heavy attack. I spotted my gunner fifteen feet away either dead or unconscious. As I left my truck and ran to drag him to cover, I was hit by bullets in the vest three times, bruising a rib and cracking three more. Once I got my gunner to safety, I returned fire, engaging every target in front of me. It seemed like the fighting lasted for hours, but it only lasted for a few minutes.”

         

The veteran then writes that “I have been told I have developed post traumatic stress disorder.” He is often jumpy, fears sudden noises, and finds it difficult to trust others.

Fortunately, this young man, who is married and has a three-year-old son, attends a college that cares about him. He concludes his essay by writing, “This event and others like it have altered my life and have made me into the man I am today. For better or worse, I am changed.”

Going for 50 at 55

Earlier this month on April 7, I stood in the predawn chill to begin a 50-mile, all-day race called the American River 50-mile Endurance Run.

This marked my third time entering the race, having finished it in both 2008 and 2009.

Now, at age 55, I wondered whether I could really finish this beast of a run that includes trails and almost 3,500 feet of climbing. Shuffling off into the Sacramento dawn with 850 other runners, I felt at peace as I began the arduous journey toward the finish line in Auburn.

 After all, I had nothing to prove. I’ve run many marathons and cycled long distances that have tested my physical and mental resolve.

But here I was again, pushing the limits of my body because I’d made the mistake of suggesting to my friends Bryan Gillette and Steve Sherman that their bucket list should include one day running a 50-mile race—like I had.

What was I thinking? Of course they took up the challenge. Gillette has cycled 300 consecutive miles in 24 hours, and Sherman has competed in two Ironman triathlons. Not to mention these guys are almost a decade younger than I am.

And heaven forbid they sign up for the 50-miler without me. It was my idea, after all.

So, along with my friends and my wife, Pam, who in 2008 also finished the race, I signed up despite my better judgment and a hamstring injury that had been plaguing me for several months.

We began to train in earnest in January. We’re all in good shape anyway, but now we increased our distance, and by March we were running as far as 31 miles on Saturdays.

As we trained, my hamstring improved, but my left knee started to bother me. My wife, unfortunately, had to stop training due to a leg injury as she finished a 27-mile run one weekend. But injuries come with the territory, not unlike challenges in a Hero’s Journey.

Anyway, after beginning the race with my friends, I settled into my own pace and soon found myself alone with my thoughts, doing what I’ve loved since childhood: running. 

Yet about 28 miles into the race, as inevitable pain began to take its toll, I started to strategize about gracefully dropping out. This is another given of ultra running, another setback along the Hero’s Journey: the illusion that your negative thoughts are actually you speaking to yourself. In fact, they’re almost never you. Rather, they are hard-wired defense mechanisms designed to return you to safety and the sofa.

The key is to just keep going, and by mile 41, I knew I’d finish. With reports about my friends from my wife at aid stations along the way, I knew we would all finish.

And we did. We finished a run and a day we will never forget.

And now none of us have anything to prove.

Until the next challenge. 

                                          Crossing the finish line!  

After the finish: Steve Sherman, Bryan Gillette, and Jim Ott

Special thanks to Jan Sherman, Audrey Gillette, Pam Ott and our good friend Jerry Pentin who made the trek with us to provide encouragement and support along the way, and who helped us in our months of training leading up to race day.