Kathleen Goddard Jones —
an appreciation

by Virginia Cornell , October, 2001

A great woman walked among us. And I do mean walked. Kathleen Goddard Jones left behind an incredible legacy when she died October 2, at the age of 94. Her grand vision was to save the complex of sand dunes, variously called the Nipomo, Pismo, Oceano or Guadalupe Dunes — which run 18 miles along the coast through San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara Counties in California. Although her formidable foes ranged from the Pacific Gas and Electric Company to supervisors of two counties to Union Oil to dune buggy enthusiasts — she finally triumphed.

I first learned of Kathleen’s heroic efforts through Henry Brown, well known in Santa Barbara and Kern Counties as an environmentalist. One day we were talking about writing. He admired my first book: Doc Susie: The True Story of a Country Physician in the Colorado Rockies. I told him I was looking for another woman to write about. Somebody who did something.

Without hesitation he replied: “That would be Kathleen Goddard Jones who saved the Nipomo Dunes.”

I’d never heard of her — or the dunes.

But she intrigued me so Henry took me to Arroyo Grande to meet the tiny, energetic, passionate Kathleen. I knew immediately that she would be the subject of a book which I eventually called: Defender of the Dunes — The Kathleen Goddard Jones Story.

At first she was more interested in hearing about me than she was to tell her story. She had a knack for treating everyone she met as though they were most fascinating person in the world. Sometimes the public thinks environmentalists are less interested in people than they are in redwoods or snail darters. Not Kathleen. She wanted to get to know the people she hoped to help.

Kathleen led me onto the dunes on many occasions. She was 88 then, her walk was slow but steady; most days she wore me out. She pointed out plants, insect tracks, Chumash kitchen middens. I fell in love with the dunes, too.

Although she was born in Sacramento July 2, 1907, her family moved to Santa Barbara the next year. Her father, William Russell Goddard, was given the task of founding our first YMCA. With him she hiked the hills, enjoyed the wonders of nature. She attended Santa Barbara High School — graduating just before the earthquake in 1925.

Most of her education was received at Mills College where she agreed to an impulsive marriage to a Persian named Ali Shiraz, largely because he enticed her with the promise of exotic travel. They flew kites from rooftops in Rangoon, did business in Delhi, made international friends in Teheran before their marriage crumbled. Accused by Ali of infidelity, she was fortunate to get out of Iran alive. Back in New York she worked her way up through the NBC radio stenographic pool.

After the network transferred her to Los Angeles she met her second husband, Duncan Jackson. His father, Fred Jackson, was a wealthy Santa Barbara developer and investment banker. The couple adopted five children and raised a sixth. For relaxation she joined a group of hikers, then suggested they form a Group under the sponsorship of the Los Angeles Chapter of the Sierra Club. She became the second chairman of what would eventually became the Los Padres Chapter. She moved up rapidly in the national organization, becoming the first chairman of the national council in 1956.

That same year the Jackson family moved to Paso Robles to manage the family’s almond orchards. She got busy forming yet another Sierra Club Group, eventually to become the Santa Lucia Chapter. Soon she discovered the dunes and was awestruck with their beauty. When she read that PG&E had purchased 1200 acres in their midst with the avowed purpose of building an atomic power plant, she got busy. PG&E’s location would split her scenic dunes right down the middle. It wasn’t that she objected to atomic energy at that time. In those days it was viewed as a viable alternative to fossil fuels.

Taxpayers in San Luis Obispo County rubbed their hands in glee at the prospect of new tax revenues. School boards saw new gymnasiums, more teachers in their future. Kathleen may have been the only person in the County who didn’t think an atomic power plant at that location would be wonderful. From my conversations with her and others, from contemporary newspapers, from Sierra Club archives, I reconstructed the story of how that generating plant came to be at Diablo Canyon, and not in the dunes.

Chambers of Commerce thundered against Sierra Club protest. They were terrified that PG&E would choose to build the plant in wealthy Santa Barbara County. She got no help at home, either. Duncan Jackson’s idea of a good out-of-doors excursion was checking into an expensive resort so he could sip whiskey on the verandah. Even the Sierra Club had to be convinced of the worth of the dunes which were zoned for heavy industry.

Methodically, dogmatically, she built coalitions, charmed PG&E executives (such Ken Diercks who predeceased her by a few weeks) and politicians, led countless hikes into the dunes, addressed civic groups, cajoled, educated and bullied the media into carrying her message. Sometimes her opinions put her into physical danger. But her story was one of cooperation, not confrontation.

Several things about Kathleen impressed me greatly. First, she was in her sixth decade when her crusade began. For those of us who regret having accomplished less than we had hoped — there is still plenty of time. She used the next 30 years in the service of posterity.

Second, she was not an “in-your-face” activist. Instead, she used the charm and good manners that she acquired as a child in Santa Barbara to work with the opposition, to build consensus. When she testified at supervisors’ meetings she was dressed fashionably, often wore a hat, and behaved like a lady. She knew that in order to work with important people she had to present herself as a peer.

Most impressive was her overwhelming obsession. Many other people helped through all of those years. But she was the one who remained engaged, who kept going to all of the meetings, who led the hikes. In her later years she was quite deaf. She utilized her handicap to shut out all distractions that might interfere — including TV. I remember one day when we were walking she said, “Who is this O.J. Simpson?” I had a lot of explaining to do.

Her quest cost her dearly: her marriage to Jackson, many friendships, closeness to her adopted brood, several jobs. In 1970 she was temporarily discouraged; accompanied only by a burro named Sambo she trekked into the Sierras in the area now known as the Golden Trout Wilderness. Refreshed, she emerged not only to fight — but also to love.

The next year she married her third husband, photographer Gaylord Jones. Finally she found someone who shared her passions. At that time dune buggies roamed everywhere; plants and even the contours of tall dunes were endangered by their murderous wheels. On weekends the elderly pair would trek out onto the dunes and erect a sign pleading with drivers to stay off of places like Coreopsis Hill. Often they would literally stand in the path of oncoming vehicles. Aggressive, profane and often inebriated drivers learned that bullying bluster is no match up against polite older people. The Jonses used age as a tactical advantage.

It seemed the fight was won when PG&E announced it would build its plant at Diablo Canyon. Kathleen received a terrible blow in 1974 when PG&E sold the land to the California State Park system. The Superintendent announced that the land was not to be preserved. Instead it was to become the state’s first motor vehicle park. She fought alongside others until the vehicles were finally confined to the relatively small area they use today.

Kathleen had always wanted to produce a guide to the unique flora growing on the dunes. Several of her friends and fellow enthusiasts worked with her. Early this summer saw the completion of: Dune Mother’s Wildflower Guide of Coastal San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara Counties, California. Fortunately, my book was finished in time for her to sign copies at a reception at the Dune Center in Guadalupe last June.

What can one person do for the eternal good of others? Late in life? Against formidable foes?

Plenty.