Huell Howser, the man who brought Californians intimate looks at everything from kelp to Krispy Kreme Doughnuts to drafty old ghost towns, is wandering onhis property, poking at the odd bits of rusting iron he's rescued from the junkyard.

"What in the world is this?" he exclaims, picking up something vaguely resembling an old radiator. "And look at this big ol' thing! Aren't they beautiful? I don't know what I'm going to use them for."

Howser, host of public television's highly rated "California's Gold," has struck iron. Sturdy, dependable, rusty iron. It colors his home, adorns his walls, lies in his cactus-filled yard and surrounds his Twentynine Palms house. Iron, he says, is the color of the desert and, more importantly, it is a metaphor for his popular television show.

"All of this was made to function, not made for art," says Howser, slipping off his sandals and sinking his toes into his pool. "It's all in the way you present things. You go to a Hollywood party and the guest of honor is the `star,' but the real story might be the cook in the kitchen from El Salvador putting her kids through school on her salary."

For a decade, Howser's homespun, enthusiastic portraits of ordinary Californians and peculiar places have made him a statewide celebrity. And while commercial television struggles to hold the attention of viewers, Howser can still spend an entire show interviewing patrons of a doughnut shop and be confident most fans haven't reached for the remote.

"The greatest compliment I get is when people come up to me and say, `I can't believe my wife and me watched a whole show on kelp,' " said the 49-year-old Howser, a tall, muscular man in a blue shirt and khaki shorts.

But of all the places he's visited, of all the spectacular sights he's seen, Howser has chosen an isolated stretch of desert to make his home.

Why?

The question annoys Howser, a self-described populist who eschews the tonier desert resorts of Palm Springs and Rancho Mirage for more rugged Twentynine Palms.

"The High Desert is more in touch with itself than other places. It has an edge," he says, looking toward the stark Sheephole Mountains surrounding his airy home. "It is what it is -- creosote, road runners, lizards and scorpions."

Howser came here five years ago for a story on a school being moved across town. After that, he returned on occasion, meeting local officials and eventually deciding to buy a home.

He lists Indio, Mecca, the North Shore of the Salton Sea, El Centro and Brawley as a few of his other favorite haunts that lie far off the beaten tourist track.

"The people are real there," he says.

Howser bought the single-story, 40-year-old home two years ago but has spent the last year renovating it. He stays there about 15 days a month but hopes to spend more time as the residence takes shape.

When evening falls, he sits by the pool and stares into the sky.

"At night it's like a planetarium," says Howser, who also keeps an apartment in Los Angeles. "In Los Angeles, you can't see the stars. You can think you are the center of the universe. Come out here and you look at mountains that have been here for millions of years and all the stars and it puts a different perspective on your whole life. You get a feel for the scheme of things."

Twentynine Palms Mayor Liz Meyer sees Howser as a living, breathing advertisement for the subtle charms of a dusty town where the mountains seem to change color with each passing hour.

"The average person wouldn't want to live in the middle of the desert in a small town," she says. "It takes a special person who values sunrises and sunsets over shopping malls, and he's that kind of person."

It's hard to miss Howser's home here -- it's surrounded by 15 half-ton iron slabs specially made by an Ontario metal company. The rusty wall looks remarkably like the iron-rich mountains around it.

"In this town people ask me what color I'm going to paint the plates," Howser laughs. "Look at the color. It's the color of the desert; that's as natural as it gets."

The wall caused a minor stir when it was finished six months ago, but people seem to have accepted it. Mayor Meyer lives down the street and describes the wall as "different" but an "art form."

Chris Shury, the painter working on the home, says that Howser likes the rusty look.

"He's the visionary and I'm the technician," he says.

As Howser talks, CHP Officer Carl Schindler pulls into the driveway.

"I met Huell at the Twentynine Palms Weed Show," says Schindler, who dropped by to offer Howser three saguaro cacti. "I had a suggestion for him for a show on the Patton Army camps out here."

Schindler admits that it is "a little odd" to find Howser here but noted, "He's not your typical celebrity."

"I come by to make sure everything's OK and to check on his house when he's not here," Schindler says. "It's a real compliment to the area, having him here."

Howser banters a bit with the officer, then walks over to a bush where a rabbit has chewed up the leaves.

"He's gnawed off all the pieces just with his teeth!" he says indignantly. "Just stripped them bare!"

Unscripted

Howser hails from the small town of Gallatin, Tenn. His unique first name, Huell, comes from a mixture of his father's name -- Harold -- with his mother's name -- Jewell.

Although Gallatin was small, Harold Howser was the town lawyer, and the family took periodic theater excursions to New York City. Howser got into television while in college. It was the height of the Vietnam War and Howser, a member of the Marine Corps Reserves, was a student leader opposed to the war.

He assembled a group of students and traveled all over Tennessee appearing on television to talk about the war and politics.

"I loved my country but I thought we had no business in Vietnam," says Howser, who majored in history and political science at the University of Tennessee. He caught the attention of a local television producer who hired him to do man-in-the-street interviews.

The segment took off and soon Howser was doing nightly feature stories for WSM-TV in Nashville. He later took television jobs in New York City and at KCBS in Los Angeles, where one colleague suggested he take voice lessons to "lose" his Southern accent. He refused, saying it's "who I am."

"After three years, I got frustrated with doing stories in two minutes," he says.

So he volunteered his time at KCET, the Los Angeles PBS station. His first show was called "Videolog," which evolved into "California's Gold" 10 years ago.

The show features Howser and the always unseen cameraman, Luis Fuerte, exploring some nook or cranny of California. Howser is unfailingly good-humored, wildly enthusiastic about what he's seeing, and never shy about approaching strangers to ask questions. All of it is done in his strong Tennessee accent and an approachable style that seems to put people at ease.

"That's one of the mysteries to me, how I escaped the cynicism," Howser says.

The show, which is shot 12 times a year and owned by Howser, is unscripted and unrehearsed.

"We go there and let it happen. We don't know what's coming," Howser said.

Fuerte, who Howser often calls "Louie" on camera, has done 120 "California's Gold" episodes and keeps a low profile despite being mobbed occasionally by people curious to get a look at him.

"I prefer not to be seen," says the 58-year-old Fuerte, who was born in San Bernardino and raised in Colton. "I see what happens to him when we go into a restaurant. I am the type of person who likes to make things happen behind the scenes."

But the program has also affected the host. As he's traveled the state and met people from all walks of life, he's become a populist.

"There is a whole class of people disenfranchised in this country. That's when I get cynical, embittered and angry. If anyone tells you that everyone in this country starts out on an even footing or are at the same starting line, that's a lie," he says, leaning in closely.

The talk turns to illegal immigration.

Now Howser is fired up. He is no longer the genial television host. He is a rabble-rouser with a cause. His face is red, his hair is white and he takes off his sunglasses to stare you straight in the eye so you don't miss his point.

"What does illegal mean anyway?" he asks. "Many of the people working here illegally believe more in the American Dream than some Americans."

Howser was a congressional page when he was in the eighth grade and worked briefly as a staffer in former Tennessee Sen. Howard Baker's office. These days he is a member of neither the Republican nor the Democratic parties.

"I've had it with both parties," he says, shaking his head. "I have changed drastically since this series started."

He gets up and walks to the pool. He knocks a brass pan in the water. The sun glints on the wet metal, making blinding, gold circles inside as it slowly sinks to the deep blue bottom.

"Wow! Look at that color!" he says brightly. "That's so cool!"

The `uncelebrity'

The sun is high over the desert and Howser is hungry.

He jumps into his green Ford Explorer -- bearing the bumper sticker "Life's Sure Fine in Twentynine!" -- and speeds off toward his favorite lunch spot.

Within seconds of entering the dark, cool 29 Palms Inn, Howser is greeted by local officials having lunch. He gamely trades quips while the other diners size him up.

An elderly woman nibbling a salad makes the first move.

"I have a recommendation for you," she says. "Do a story on this place and its history and owners."

Before Howser can answer, the floodgates open.

"Did you know that San Bernardino County has a zoo?" asks Richard Merle of Twentynine Palms. "It's the only zoo with a grizzly bear around here."

Others want photos taken with Howser.

"I've watched your show many times," says Tom Hughes of Highland.

"Obviously an educated man," quips the unflappable Howser.

Before he lifts the first spoon of spinach soup to his lips, he has signed autographs, been photographed, accepted advice and talked to local politicians about how excess light can spoil one's view of the Milky Way out here.

He even interviews the waitress, discovering that she had been a housekeeper before and that her husband had helped install his iron wall.

"See, that's a story right there," he says with a wide grin.

So how does he put up with the constant intrusions?

"If I'm in a bad mood I just don't go out," he explains as his club sandwich appears.

Howser has never been married, though he says that lots of young women tell him their mother finds him attractive.

He seems tireless. Locally, Howser is a member of the 29 Palms Historical Society and the Joshua Tree Park Association. When the town holds a fund-raiser, stages a parade or a picnic, Howser is there.

The television host sees himself as the uncelebrity, a sort of "Everyman" explorer.

"I'm just running around having adventures," he says. "People see me and say, `If Huell can do it, I can do it! Huell is us!' "

David Kelly can be reached by e-mail at dkelly@pe.com or by phone at 890-4464.

Published 10/31/1999