Dale Says

At the celebration of Ruth Asawa’s life, her friend, Peter Coyote, told us that she isn’t really gone; her presence will always be here. He said that whenever it rains, he will think of it as Ruth tap dancing on his roof.

That’s a pretty sweet thing to say, about a pretty sweet lady. Ruth set a wonderful example for the rest of us.

Born poor into a Japanese-American family in southern California, Ruth was raised in a produce-growing family, and as a girl she had to work hard to help her family. She did, and she worked hard in school, too, where her favorite subject was art.

As a teenage girl, she was separated from her father and placed in an internment camp during World War II; taken away from everything that was familiar to her and sent to live in a prison (with barbed wire fences) in Arkansas. Allowed to leave the camp after a year-and-a-half to attend teacher’s college, she was then denied a job as a teacher because she was Japanese-American. Instead, she attended art school in North Carolina, became infatuated with art, and fell in love with an architecture and design student named Albert Lanier. They moved to San Francisco’s Noe Valley neighborhood, where they believed they would be better received as an inter-racial couple, in a good neighborhood to raise their children.

Ruth and Albert spent the rest of their lives in San Francisco. He designed buildings and she raised six children and designed art. Her specialities were sculptures, fountains, paintings, and wire hangings, which she learned to make during time in Mexico.

Best known for her art, which is prolific around the San Francisco area, Ruth was also a community leader in art education. She served on several art and education committees, always featuring a calm and committed nature. She won the respect of everyone she met, and she later developed an art school that carries her name.

Ruth’s children remember her as a mother, a cook, an advisor, and as a happy and wise lady. So does everyone else who spoke at her celebration.

She suffered poverty, but she never spoke of it. She suffered discrimination, but she never complained about it. She did the best she could, became the best she could be, and told everyone who would listen that she was not a victim — she was a survivor.

Ruth was always positive.

When, in her later years, she became so ill that she could no longer effectively use her hands she was asked what she would like for Christmas. “More time,” she replied.

More time to do what she had already done so well.

“An artist is not special.
An artist is an ordinary person
who can take ordinary things
and make them special.”
– Ruth Asawa

Ruby Gim has worked at the Telegraph Hill Neighborhood Center (Tel-Hi) for nearly 40 years. For most of that time, she has run the senior program, and Ruby loves her seniors! Tel-Hi has a variety of programs for seniors, who come to Tel-Hi from all over the Bay Area. The core of the program is a hot meal, furnished by Project Open Hand and served by volunteers. For many of the seniors, it’s the only hot meal they eat each day, and the only time they get out of their homes or rooms. So Ruby has other things for them to do while there; including exercise programs, Tai Chi, educational programs, and time in the computer lab (where they can use the Center’s computers to send email, write, or play solitaire).

Ruby knows all of the seniors at Tel-Hi, and she gets involved in many of their lives. Most have health issues, financial issues, or other situations and sometimes they need real help, while other times they just need someone to listen. That’s what Ruby does: help and listen. And Ruby has a hug and an encouraging word for them.

Ruby herself has some health issues now, and we can see her getting weaker and thinner. But her enthusiasm for her seniors is just as strong, and each day she rushes around the lunchroom, welcoming them, encouraging them and hugging them.

There are some people in the world who know how to give to others. Ruby is one. She loves her seniors!

James Rolph was a self-made man. Born in San Francisco in 1869, he grew up in the rough-and-tumble Mission District and went to work as an office boy in a commision house. He entered the shipping business in 1900, in partnership with George Hind, and that’s where he made his money. In addition to co-running a huge shipping empire, he served as president of two banks. He married and had a son, James Rolph, III.

In 1911, James (whose nickname was “Sunny Jim,” and whose theme song was “There are Smiles That Make You Happy”) succssfully ran for mayor of San Francisco. He kept that office for 19 years, the longest stint ever.

In addition to being mayor of San Francisco, Sunny Jim was head of the Ship Owners and Merchants Tugboat Company, the San Francisco Chamber of Commerce, the Merchants’ Exchange, and VP of the Panama-Pacific International Exposition. Sunny Jim was a busy man. But he also had time to build a mansion atop Sanchez Hill, in what is now the Noe Valley neighborhood of San Francisco, for his mistress. That house still stands and has been recently renovated, including adding a kitchen, which Rolph did not deem necessary for the first tenant.

Rolph also successfully ran for governor of California in 1931. He died of a heart attack in 1934, three years into his term.

Sunny Jim was a leader. He was controversal. He was a colorful character!

Dr. Fong is retiring this month, after more than 40 years as a general practitioner in San Francisco. I will miss him terribly, as will his other patients. Dr. Fong is wise, patient, and very kind. He has served his patients well.

I went to see Dr. Fong recently, to ask his advice on a couple of minor heath issues, and to bid him best wishes in his retirement. He patiently answered my questions (while looking over the top of his reading glasses) and then asked if there was anything else. I replied that I had heard that he used to make house calls to elderly patients in San Francisco. “I still do,” he replied, “For my patients who cannot safely come into my office. And I don’t charge them for house calls.”

That speaks volumes about Dr. Fong. For him, medical practice is about caring for his patients. It’s not about the money, and it’s not about the prestige.

I wish Dr. Fong a long and happy retirement. And I thank him for his help over the years. He just may be the last of his kind, and I’m glad I got to know him.

It feels strange sitting in this quiet little house at 87 Denslowe Drive. I sense spirits here and I can feel them moving about — going from room to room, putting things away, cleaning. A sense of orderliness remains, and I get the feeling that everything is exactly where it is supposed to be.

There’s also a sense of permanence in this two-bedroom, one-bath, stucco house in the western part of San Francisco. It has had only two occupants since it was built in the early 1940s as part of the Lakeside residential neighborhood, between 19th Avenue and Junipero Serra Boulevard. The Harlows were the second family to live in it when they moved here in 1951; Walt senior, his wife, Alice, and their only child, 28-year-old Walt junior. It was the Harlow’s home for the next 60 years.

Except for the exterior paint, the houses look alike on Denslowe Drive; a long row of narrow two-story brick homes; each with a postage-stamp-size front yard, one-car attached garage, and shingle roof. Inside, the floor plans are nearly identical; a narrow living room, dining room, and kitchen on the first floor, and two bedrooms and a bathroom on the second floor. Slender walkways lead to the side door and back yard, which overlook the houses the next street over. The “M” Muni line is a couple of blocks away, and shopping on Ocean Avenue and Stonestown is within walking distance. This wasn’t luxury living, but the yards and garages must have seemed deluxe to people who moved here from downtown apartments or boarding houses.

During their six decades in the house, the Harlows tended it with loving care; painting it white with turquoise shutters, building a white picket fence around the front yard, and adding a decorative hedge in the back. They became acquainted with the neighbors and visited with them while walking and working in the yard. They hosted dinner parties and played cards with friends from work and Masonic Lodge families, and built shelves in the garage and filled a workshop with tools, ladders, and paint cans.

Walt senior died in 1978, and his things were stored in the crawl space under the house.

Walt junior remained in the home to take care of his mother, who developed Alzheimer’s and behaved erratically toward the end. Walt hired people to stay with her while he was at work, and he cared for his domineering mother at night and on the weekends. There’s a rumor she used to wander the streets in various stages of undress, and Walt built a metal cage over the stove to keep his mother from turning it on and burning herself or the house.

Alice died in 1983, and her things were added to the crawl space under the house.

Shortly after Alice’s death Walt asked Elsa, his fiancé of 17 years, to marry him, and she moved her things into the little house. Walt was 65 and Elsa was 72. Their wedding day was undoubtedly the happiest of their lives, and I’m sure the little house was pleased to host the newly-married couple.

Walt and Elsa were very happy, and the atmosphere in the little stucco house must have been cheerful. Elsa cooked and painted still-life’s, and Walt maintained their home. They invited friends over, went for long walks, and asked neighbors to watch their house when they traveled. Walt and Elsa travelled all over the world, and Walt took thousands of photos during their trips and hung some of the best on the walls of the house, along with Elsa’s paintings. They are still there, and they help tell the story of that happy era.

After ten very happy years together, Elsa developed a heart condition and she grew increasingly weaker and died. Her things went in the crawl space beneath the house, next to those of Walt senior and Alice.

The little house must have mourned her death and the next few years must have been gloomy, but Walt stayed and continued to care for his house. He began to follow a strict routine of household chores; scrubbing the kitchen on Monday, spiffing up the living and dining rooms on Tuesday, cleaning the upstairs on Wednesday, doing laundry on Thursday, and shopping and paying bills on Friday. The weekends were spent outside (weather permitting) mowing, trimming, painting, and whatever else needed doing. The quiet little house was meticulously cared for.

Walt died in his beloved home at 87 Denslowe Drive this February. We’ll probably never know what caused his death. He was 87 years old, so it was likely old age that killed him, but three months before he died he was knocked to the ground when the doors of a Muni train closed on him while he was trying to get off after going downtown to see the Christmas lights. He broke two ribs in the fall and bruised his throat. He had trouble swallowing from then on, and he would occasionally choke while trying to eat. But he stayed in his little house and continued to care for it as best he could. He died in the upstairs bedroom of the little house that was such an important part of his life.

Except for Walt’s things and the spirits, the little house at 87 Denslowe Drive now seems hollow. There’s a lot of history here, embedded in the threadbare furniture, bits and pieces of china, and yellowing photo albums. Unfortunately, much of the history will be lost when the little house is emptied of the Harlow belongings.

I’m sure the house is curious about who will move in next. Whoever it is, they will find a cozy little house with a lot of wonderful memories.

Walter J. “Walt” Harlow passed away at his home Wednesday, February 9, 2011 after a brief illness. Walt was a third-generation San Franciscan, a fact of which he was very proud, a long-time and dedicated Mason, avid world traveler, and ardent fan of the San Francisco 49ers. At his passing, he joins his parents, Walter and Alice (Priest) Harlow, and his beloved wife, Elsa.

Walt was born in San Francisco on July 27, 1923 and spent his early days in San Francisco’s Noe Valley neighborhood, where he attended Sanchez Grade School, Everett Middle School, and Mission High School. He often related stories of tromping around the neighborhood with his school buddies and enjoying 25-cent thick chocolate milkshakes from the ice cream fountain at 16th and Sanchez.

After graduating from Mission High School, Walt joined the U.S. Army, where he served in the Pacific Theater during World War II. Following the war, he returned to San Francisco and worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad for 42 years. When Walt’s parents relocated to San Francisco’s Lakeside neighborhood in 1951 Walt moved with them. Following the death of his parents, Walt remained in the family home and his bride, the former Elsa Baldus, joined him. Together, Walt and Elsa explored San Francisco, Northern California, and much of the world. During their extensive travels, Walt took thousands of photographs, and he framed and hung some of the best in their home.

Walt was a member of the Temple United Methodist Church for many years where he served as usher and helped monitor the length of Sunday sermons.

He was an active Mason (San Francisco Lodge 120) for 59 years in the same lodge as his father, and he held every major office including Master and Chaplin (for the past 37 years). Walt also edited the lodge’s newsletter for 35 years and wrote a column called “Walt’s Corner” for many years.

Walt’s many friends, lodge brothers, and acquaintances will miss him greatly. A memorial service will be held at the Masonic Lodge (855 Brotherhood Way, San Francisco 94132) at 3:00 PM on Sunday, March 13, 2011. Everyone who knew Walt is invited to attend.

Almighty Father: Into thy hands we commend the soul of our departed brother.

We all have hobbies. Some are more mainstream than others, and there are those (like belly dancing and noodling) that are less conventional. I read somewhere that hobbies can be divided into four classes: doing things, making things, collecting things, and learning things. Recently, I met a man with a hobby that combines all four.

I suppose if you asked Paul Meuse about his hobbies he would start with baseball and golf. He grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area and is a loyal fan of the San Francisco Giants. He loves baseball and says he would have been a professional baseball player if he had more talent. Instead he became a stone mason in New Hampshire and operated his own business for more than 20 years. Today his shoulders are worn-out from decades of carrying heavy stones.

He’s on a hiatus from golf, too. He is battling health issues including Parkinson’s, an arthritic knee, and an infection in his big toe that won’t heal, but he shrugs those off and says he hopes to get back on the golf course someday.

But the hobby I wanted to talk to Paul about is creating military miniatures, or replicas of soldiers in battle. He’s been crafting life-like reproductions of soldiers for years, and for Paul it’s more of an obsession than a hobby. He’s knowledgeable and passionate about wars and the men who fought in them.

A friend once accused Paul of being a charter member of the warmonger’s book club, and standing in the middle of his study it’s easy to see why. Shelves surround the room crammed with books about wars. The Civil War is his favorite, and he has hundreds of books about it and is familiar with every major campaign. Name a Civil War battle and Paul has probably created a miniature of a soldier who fought in it.

He’s also familiar with the major battles of World War I and II, and is conversant about the Korean and Vietnam wars. He served in the Vietnam War, and nearly died in a foxhole the day after Christmas in 1966 when his unit was overrun by three battalions of North Vietnamese soldiers. He remembers the sounds of the incoming mortar rounds, the rat-tat-tat of machine guns, and the shouts of the Vietnamese soldiers. When the battle grew silent, he crept out of his hole with a feeling of apprehension; and then heard the welcome sound of helicopters – U.S. troops coming to the rescue. His relief was quickly followed by anguish as he realized that eight of his unit had died.

After Vietnam, Paul met Ellen, a single mom with three sons, and he fell in love with her. They married and he helped Ellen raise the boys, which at times wasn’t easy, but together they worked hard at it and got it done.  Now, the boys are grown and Paul and Ellen enjoy their lives on the California coast with their golden retriever, Sophie.

But back to Paul’s hobby. Creating miniature replicas of military soldiers is a three-step process that often takes months.

A project begins when Paul receives a request to do a miniature, often from a museum or a descendent of the subject.

Next, Paul researches the soldier’s history, finding out as much as possible from his own books, libraries, and the extensive network he has built over the years. He finds photographs or engravings of the soldier, and determines how the soldier looked and dressed, the weapons he carried, and the landscape of the battles in which he fought.

Finally, Paul creates the model, in either four- or eight- inch versions, of the soldier as he appeared in battle. Each replica begins as strands of electrical wire (the “bones” of the arms and legs) that are plugged into a triangular piece of resin casting (which becomes the torso). Paul then pinches dabs of epoxy putty onto the electrical wires and uses his fingers, a little spit, and small hand tools to carefully add layers of putty and gradually shape arms, legs, and the head. Other details are painstakingly created from putty or bits of plastic, metal, or wood to develop the uniform, weapon, and surrounding landscape.

After the figure is formed, Paul applies several layers of paint to match the face, hair, and clothing of the soldier’s battle appearance. The detail is amazing — the colors are vivid, and the facial expressions are life-like.

When completed, the miniature is turned over to the requestor.

Paul once created a replica of Teddy Roosevelt for actor Tom Berenger, and he put together a scene of Custer saying goodbye to his wife before riding off to Little Bighorn. A few years ago, Paul surprised a friend for Christmas with a miniature of the friend’s father fighting in World War II. These, he says, were labors of love, and I got the feeling that all of Paul’s miniatures are labors of love.

Today, Paul continues to pursue his hobby of creating military miniatures. It’s something he loves and something his health allows him to do. His neurologist was amazed to see what he does and told Paul if he showed his other patients what Paul is doing they wouldn’t believe it.
Paul is a warrior; strong in a way that heroes are strong. He has fought for his country, struggled to support a family, and scrapped to make a living. Now, he fights to preserve his way of life – and his favorite moments in time.

About the author:
Dale Fehringer is a freelance writer who lives in San Francisco. He is a regular columnist for Competitive Intelligence Magazine and a frequent contributor to InTravel Magazine, Writer’s Showcase, and other publications. He can be reached at 415.602.6116 or by email at dalefehringer@hotmail.com.

The orange-and-black butterfly is back in our garden, and it came to check on me last night. I was getting our biking bags down from our guest room and as I started down the stairs the butterfly landed on the railing less than two feet away. It sat in the sun, gently fluttering its wings, showing me its delicate beauty. Its back is a very dark brown, and there are scalloped orange stripes running down each wing. The end of each wing has eight white dots, which form its unique identifying pattern. At the bottom of each wing are orange bands with black pinpoint dots. Two delicate antenna protrude from each side of its head, giving it the look of a space creature. It was the epitome of beauty and comfort.

As I watched it my confidence grew that this was Ines making sure we are well. That she can still come back ten years after her death is further tribute to the type of life she lived.

After several minutes I began to make my way down the stairs, and the butterfly took flight, circling round and round in the garden. As I reached the last step it landed on my arm, with its head toward me, as if to say, “don’t worry about anything … I’ll always be here for you.” A warm feeling passed over me, and I was comforted.

The Giants have a good team this year. They do not have a great team, however, and in order to make the playoffs they will have to do all the “little things” well. One of those little things is discipline at the plate.

The Giants lacked any semblance of plate discipline yesterday, and it hurt them. Cardinal’s pitcher, Brad Penny, took advantage of the Giant’s free-swinging tendencies and dominated the Giants through seven and two-thirds innings.

After the game, Penny told the Associated Press he didn’t throw any pitches as hard as he could. San Francisco’s hitters were swinging so early in the count, he said, he never had to.

“They were really aggressive, which helped me out and worked in my favor,” Penny said. “If you look at the difference in the game our guys were patient and ran Matt’s pitch count up and they (the Giants) were swinging at the first or second pitch.”

There are at least three compelling reasons to take the first pitch:

1) Opposing pitchers will have to throw more pitches (and leave the game earlier)

2) Taking a pitch permits the hitter (and those on the bench) to see the pitcher’s stuff and get their timing on his pitches

3) Working the count in the batter’s favor increases the chances of getting a hit

As the following chart shows, batters tend to have more success when they work the count in their favor.

MLB Batting Averages by Pitch Count

                         2000 2007 2008 2009

First pitch     .336   .344  .337    .338
1-0                   .343   .341   .339    .340
0-1                   .324   .324   .339    .317
2-0                   .360   .350  .355    .368
2-1                    .340   .339  .339    .339
3-0                     n/a    .396  .370   .395
3-1                    .344    .368  .350   .352

Given the advantages that accrue when batters take a pitch – why wouldn’t the Giants want to develop better discipline at the plate, and why wouldn’t they be willing to take one for the team?

April 21 is the 100th anniversary of the death of Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens), who died in 1910 at age 74. He managed to pack a lot of adventure into those 74 years.

After his father died of pneumonia when he was 11, Twain went to work for his brother at a local newspaper. At age 18 he left Hannibal and worked as a printer in New York, Philadelphia, St. Louis, and Cincinnati — educating himself along the way in public libraries.

Twain became a steamboat pilot on the Mississippi River, and in 1860 he and his brother traveled by stagecoach to Nevada where he worked briefly as a gold miner. He hated mining and soon went to work at a Virginia City newspaper, where he first used his pen name. He moved to San Francisco in 1864 and achieved his first notoriety when his tall tale “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” was published. A year later, he traveled to the Sandwich Islands (Hawaii) as a reporter and in 1867 a local newspaper funded a trip to Europe, where he wrote a collection of travel letters which were later compiled as “The Innocents Abroad.” Twain married, had three daughters, and spent the rest of his life writing (including “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” and “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer”), speaking, and promoting his various and often controversial philosophies.

In 1909, Twain wrote, “I came in with Halley’s Comet in 1835. It is coming again next year, and I expect to go out with it.” His prediction was accurate, as he died on April 21, 1910 one day after the comet’s closest approach to Earth.

A few favorite Mark Twain quotes:

“Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.”

“Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.”

“It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.”