Across the bay from San Francisco, rumor has it that there are small towns hiding shady pasts and other-worldly encounters beneath squeaky clean exteriors. Bandits, liquor production during prohibition and ghosts out of the graveyard are countered by Norman Rockwell-esque, picture-perfect main streets and family-run flower farms. Which is the real character of the place?

Traipsing through the backdrop for the original "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm", a short 35 miles inland from the sea, I began by searching for Pleasanton's hidden tunnels. Early in Pleasanton's history, Chinese workers, not permitted to be on the street after dark, built underground passages beneath the street from house to house, business to business.

Strolling Main Street, past scenes of uninhibited American wholesomeness, there was not a tunnel entrance to be found. None at the former Wells Fargo stage stop/bar/brothel turned pizza parlor. Past 1920-era terra-cotta brick buildings and mercantiles turned antique stores -- not a passageway to be found. Apparently the archaic excavations were filled in during installation of the city sewer system in the 1950's. There is no tangible proof of the tunnel's existence... score one Rebecca.

Even the bars have transformed their image. The original Hap's Bar, established circa 1897, was close enough to the owner's house for patrons to drop off kids for a little shut-eye while parents partook of their favourite brew. In the 1950's, as Hap's began serving food, the bar moved into the house and children no longer snoozed on sofas. Today's Hap's is an upscale steakhouse (only the original neon horsehead sign remains). Rebecca would be proud.

But what about the accounts of Kottinger's Barn? Built in 1852 of brick and adobe, the horse stable became Alameda County's first jail when J.W. Kottinger was elected justice of the peace five years later. From his home/courthouse on Pleasanton's Main Street, Kottinger had a tunnel dug to the barn. Prisoners were moved back and forth without worry of rescue attempts from fellow gang members.

Walking into the shop now housed in the barn, there was no sign of a tunnel entrance... but I what I heard was entrancing. "That's the cold corner," said Terri Carlson, owner of the floral shop. "When I was painting the wall, I felt something brush the back of my head. I brushed it off and then felt it again; definitely the touch of a hand." Talk of ghostly apparitions, clanking chains and the undeniable coolness in one corner of the thick-walled building made this one a no contest -- score one shady side.

Joaquin Murrieta, bandito extraordinaire, spent time imprisoned in the cool corner. Murrieta and his cohorts roamed the California Valley, drinking clear waters from the Livermore Valley. Joaquin's namesake, Murrieta's Well, now a thriving vineyard, is all that remains. In fact, spirits of the liquid nature abound in the rocky soils of this unique east/west appellation, with more than a dozen wineries to explore.

Wente Vineyards began in 1883, when first-generation German immigrant C.H. Wente began producing wine on 48 acres in the Livermore Valley. From 1918 until the early 1930's, the vineyards produced sacramental wine -- the only legitimate path for selling liquor during prohibition.

Today, fifth-generation Wente's are entering the business -- making Wente the oldest, continuously owned and operated vineyards in California -- and the spirit is strong on family. Add in complimentary tastings of award-winning wines in ivy-covered tasting rooms, an appreciable lack of crowds and the Livermore Valley vintners have my good side vote.

Burning into the annals of time, Livermore is perhaps only slightly more renowned as the home of the world's oldest, working lightbulb. Hanging from the ceiling of Fire Station #6 is a modest hand-blown bulb with a carbon filament -- ablaze since 1901 (with the exception of power outages and being moved to a different station three times). I took the good-natured ribbing from firefighters in stride, by the looks of the guest book I wasn't the first to stare at a lightbulb. Bizarre, but definitely not dark, score another one Rebecca.

The Orchid Ranch is yet another of Livermore's rarities. Frank Fordyce knows his trade; after more than 50 years in the business, he should. The Fordyce's run one of three greenhouses at the Orchid Ranch -- a co-operative flower farm. Pruning as he talked with me, bandaids hiding nicks and a pocketful of twist-ties, Frank admits that he doesn't have a favorite Cattleya (better known as the "corsage" orchid). "I'm known for my bright colors," he says with a smile.

And he's known for his advice. Most of the people who visit the ranch are not avid hobbyists, Frank fills me in, they don't know how to care for their orchids properly. "I've got this very expensive tool," he says with a smile, pulling a pencil out of a pocket. "Stick it half-way down the container, if it comes out dark, the plant is moist enough." He's passed on his love and knowledge of orchids to daughter Susan (check out the picture at the cash register of a very young Susan watering an orchid, dressed in her Sunday best).

Who'd have thought this valley would be so prone to family-run businesses? Yet again, good gets the nod. Looks like those Hollywood location scouts knew what they were doing when they picked this area after all. The spirit of Pleasanton and the Livermore Valley is definitely... Rebecca-like.

About the photos:
Top: Once, during the war when the town's welcome sign was covered during blackout periods,
the covering slipped revealing only the "P"… giving the town a new name …"P-Town."
Next: The bars on Kottinger's jail-in-the-barn are still visible today.
Next: 150-year old adobe brick, peeks out from behind the surface plaster at the back of
Kottinger's barn.
Bottom: Livermore Valley vineyards are rural and uncrowded.

If You Go
For more information about Pleasanton or the Livermore Valley, contact the Tri-Valley Convention & Visitors Bureau (260 Main Street, Pleasanton, CA 94566) toll free at 888-874-9253 or online at www.trivalleycvb.com.

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