Bakersfield: Fire and Departure

By Cliff Potts
Bay Bay City, Leyte, Philippines — June 18, 2026

This is a serialized installment from the autobiography of Cliff Potts.

Halloween

My birthday is October 28th. Halloween has always been close to it.

One year, shortly after turning seven, my mother and sisters dressed me as a little girl for Halloween and took me through a neighborhood where adults commented on how cute I looked.

I did not appreciate it.

Bakersfield Inn

We eventually moved to a rental directly behind the Bakersfield Inn at the corner of 10th Street and Pershing Street.

I did not remember the address from childhood. I remembered it because my parents mentioned it later. Recently I confirmed the location on a map. The corner remains. The tree in the yard was still there the last time I checked, though part of the yard has since been converted into parking.

Before Interstate 5 rerouted traffic, Highway 99 ran through Bakersfield. The Inn sat along that route — a visible stop between Los Angeles and San Francisco.

We watched it burn from our yard.

November 1963

During that same season, John F. Kennedy was assassinated.

I do not remember hearing the announcement. I remember the funeral broadcast. My father sat in his chair, irritated that television coverage interrupted the Western movies he preferred.

“The man’s dead. Let’s move on.”

That is how I remember it.

Bakersfield in Context

Bakersfield sits at the southern edge of the San Joaquin Valley — oil fields, agriculture, and transport corridors. Before I-5, Highway 99 carried traffic directly through town. It was working-class California. Functional. Necessary.

For several years in the early 1960s, it was my world.

And as before, it would not be permanent.