Being There

Bulbman

An Illuminating Experience on Miles Avenue

    It was in the mid-’90s when my very plugged-in friend Alberto first hipped me to the coming of the compact fluorescent lamp, or CFL. The wonder bulb promised to save two-thirds the energy used by incandescents and last 10 times longer. The conversation took place one night while driving in the sodium vapor-glow of downtown Washington, D.C., and the streetlights above seemed instantly archaic. It would be years before I laid eyes on a CFL, though, and I remember that moment too. While stuck in an endless Ikea loop, my bleary eyes fell upon a small army of “Sparsam,” in battle formation, ready to take on the dirty incandescent hordes. The bulbs were cheap and environmentally correct, and it was a no-brainer to fill up my cart with the friendly white packages.
    Later on, the concept “no-brainer” resonated as I struggled to find places where I could actually use the elongated Sparsam. They didn’t fit in certain ceiling fixtures, and the fine print on the box warned against using the bulb in a dimmer. And then there was the light’s color, a sickly green. A favorite reading spot now felt like an office cubicle. Still, there was no denying the sanity of using CFLs, so I screwed them in wherever they would fit.
    A new generation of CFLs has emerged, with a variety of practical shapes and warmer hues, and U.S. customers have responded by purchasing more than 120 million bulbs in 2007 alone. An Inconvenient Truth pushed the bulbs to superstardom, and for many people, screwing in a CFL has become the simplest means of joining the fight against global warming. Still a few questions linger. Don’t they contain mercury? And what to do about those dimmers?
    Returning home from the Temescal Farmers Market one day, I noticed what looked like either a yard sale or the encampment of a sidewalk preacher. As I got nearer, it became clear that it was a little of both. On Sundays, Richard Anderson sets up a display in his front yard on Miles Avenue, across the street from the market. His yard sale features only one product: dimmable CFLs. For people like myself who thought dimmables were expensive and hard to find, Anderson’s stand is a revelation. There they were, burning coolly atop a smiling 10-foot-tall Robbie the Robot, just blocks from my home. At $5 for a two-pack, they practically jumped off the table and into my arms.
    For Anderson, who worked as an electrical engineer and theatrical director, electro-geekiness began at an early age. “When I was 4 years old, I got a transformer, a light, a buzzer and a button as a Christmas present,” he says. He was the kind of kid who wired his tree house for sound, stringing the cable from his bedroom window. Today, a computer system called X-10 controls all the lights in his house. X-10 requires dimmables, and it was his search for a cheap source that sparked the idea for the yard sale.
    “I have an addictive personality,” Anderson explains. “Once I get on something, then I kinda chase it as far as I can go.” He has extended the reach of his front-yard display by including his three old cars (he lives alone but has three just to be sure one is running when he needs it); one is parked across the street, covered with CFL info, and the others are covered with bulbs. Anderson is anxious to show me the latest addition, introduced as “Twisty and the Spirelles.” Four CFL bulbs mounted in a ’70s-era “light organ” atop Anderson’s Dodge wagon are pulsing in response to a radio signal—the broadcast of a football game. We arrive just as an R&B singer belts out “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Twisty and the gang glow dutifully. The bulbs have already made their YouTube debut, performing “Just My Imagination” and a Pink Floyd tune.
    Though his signs are crammed with verbiage like a Dr. Bronner’s label, Anderson has a pleasant, low-key approach with curious customers. He thinks he may be “preaching to the choir” with many Bay Area folks. But earlier in the day there was a twentysomething guy walking by with his wife and kids. “I asked him, ‘Do you use these lightbulbs?’ and he said, ‘No, what are they?’ He’d never seen a CFL.”
    As part of his marketing, Anderson even gives nightlights away for free, along with the dime he says it will cost to operate it for a whole year. And about that mercury: Anderson has printed handouts on proper bulb disposal, and what to do if one breaks. Also on display are some bulbs that he hand-painted, demonstrating that with a little spray paint you can have the designer hue you crave.
    On a good day he’ll sell 20 packs of bulbs. He’s not getting rich, but that’s not the point. Anderson’s engineer-brain has made him aware of a few important gaps in the CFL information circuit that need patching, and in doing so he is moving the green revolution a few steps ahead.
    “If I sell someone 10 light bulbs, that’s going to save them $1,600 over the life of the bulbs. How often do you get to save someone $1,600?” he says with glee.