The last time I was in the Phoenix area was to see friends and a spring training baseball game. The game was on March 5, 2020. A lot happened in the world soon after that.
I hadn’t been back to Arizona, or taken a road trip longer than 90 minutes, until last week. That’s when I again saddled up my Fiat — steady there, girl — and headed east on the 10 Freeway, bound for the Grand Canyon State.
It was a short visit with three notable occurrences: 1) a reunion with my friends, 2) a baseball game and 3), well, a shocking third thing. All in good time.
I entered Riverside County around Calimesa, where an electronic road sign was flashing the first part of a message: “Use Sandalwood or.” I have no idea what the next part was. Maybe “Patchouli.”
Leisurely breaks were taken in Indio and Blythe. I was in no rush. Seven hours after leaving, I was checking into my budget motel in Tempe, the city where my journalist friends Christia and Tom live, and meeting them for dinner.
It was great to see them, to begin to catch up on six years of changes and to chat about Riverside. The last time I’d seen them, the city didn’t mean anything to me.
This time, with Riverside a major part of my beat, I was curious where they’d lived (the Wood Streets neighborhood), what years (1991-2000) and what they missed (old homes, flowers, the tree canopy, the weather).
They were glad to hear that downtown, which was pretty dull when they left 25 years ago, has turned around.
Squeezed by time, I almost hadn’t made the drive, wondering if a three-night stay was long enough to repay the effort. But of course it was. There are no friends like old friends.
Two days later, Tom and I saw a spring training game at Tempe Diablo Stadium between the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim and the San Diego Padres of San Diego.
Fans have elbow room and a scenic view at Tempe Diablo Stadium for a game March 10 between the Angels and the Padres. The stadium has a capacity of 9,558 in the bleacher-like stands and on the lawn. (Photo by David Allen, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG)
As with minor league games, spring training is low-key. In his pregame patter, the announcer said: “Please relax responsibly.”
The stadium has no screens and, thus, no video ads and no replays. A pitcher balked and almost none of us saw it.
Walker Buehler started on the mound for the Padres. Coincidentally enough, in the lone 2020 game I saw, which was between the Dodgers and the A’s, Buehler started for the Dodgers.
One of his former teammates is on the Angels. When Chris Taylor came up to bat, a fan in front of me exclaimed: “Go, Dodgers.”
The Padres had almost no recognizable names on the roster, just bench players and minor leaguers. The Angels had what was probably their entire starting lineup.
And they still got clobbered, 10-2. Not a good sign, Angel fans.
The Automated Ball-Strike System was in use. The Angels successfully challenged two calls and lost two, the maximum, for all the good it did them. On the last one, the announcer declared: “Call is confirmed. Anaheim, er, Los Angeles is out of challenges.” Many of us laughed.
So, reunion with friends, check, and baseball, check. Now for the third thing.
The second night, in my motel bathroom, I saw a cockroach and squished it. Ugh. I wished I hadn’t gone quite so low-budget with my motel. Can things get any worse?
A couple of hours went by. Near 11 p.m., a sound could be heard outside.
A single bang.
Was that a gunshot? I have no real-life experience with gunshots, but it sounded like I imagine gunshots sound. The bang wasn’t repeated. No other noise was heard.
Cautiously, I peeked out my second-story window, which gave a view of the parking lot and the gas station next door. Nothing seemed amiss. But I wasn’t inclined to venture outside.
Five minutes passed. A woman’s voice could be heard outside, shouting something. Within two minutes, a siren was loud and getting louder. I looked out the window again.
One police car was already in the parking lot. A second was arriving. Soon an ambulance was pulling in.
There really had been a gunshot.
Police cars in the parking lot of your motel are rarely a good sign. (Photo by David Allen, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG)
An hour later, police came knocking at every door on the second floor, including mine. I told the two officers, one young and one middle-aged, the limited amount that I knew, and asked them what had happened.
A man had been shot at the bottom of the exterior stairway. The top of the stairway was near my door. But the bottom couldn’t be seen from my window.
The middle-aged cop asked me wryly, “Did you shoot anyone tonight?” I told him I hadn’t. He said he hadn’t either.
As they left, I said, “Next time I should probably pick a classier hotel.”
The older cop said, “Well, it is a (motel chain redacted).”
I slept fitfully. The next morning, I debated whether to tell Tom and Christia, not wanting them to worry. Then Christia texted: “Was there a shooting at your motel last night?!?”
It was in the news. “1 person in critical condition after shooting at Tempe motel” was the headline I saw online. “Police confirm one person was rushed to the hospital with life-threatening injuries,” the account went.
I left my room for breakfast. The stairs and some of the parking lot had been bleached and hosed down. I walked gingerly.
When he picked me up for our baseball game, Tom assured me the motel isn’t in a bad part of Tempe. The shooting, he said, may have been a random event that happened to take place in the parking lot.
My last night passed uneventfully. The next morning, I checked out and hit the road.
Two hours later, my phone rang. It was a representative of the motel. He said cheerfully: “We wanted to do a quick survey to see how your stay was.”
Was this for real?
“Well, a man was shot, possibly to death, in the parking lot a few yards from my room,” I said. “That’s not necessarily (motel chain redacted’s) fault, but I can’t say it was a very good stay.”
He thanked me and got off the phone.
I checked the news again this week. The victim died in the hospital. The shooting came during an argument in the parking lot. Two suspects were in custody.
This experience didn’t ruin my visit. I will return to Tempe, and I won’t wait six years. If nothing else, I have to see what team Walker Buehler will pitch for next time.
While I don’t blame the motel chain, and won’t name it, you can understand why I’m not eager to stay there again.
That said, let me suggest a change to its folksy old slogan. Updated promise: “We’ll leave the sirens on for ya.”
David Allen writes Wednesday, Friday and Sunday, folks. Email dallen@scng.com, phone 909-483-9339, and follow davidallencolumnist on Facebook or Instagram, @davidallen909 on X or @davidallen909.bsky.social on Bluesky.