Dale Says

I began writing a daily column for The San Francisco Chronicle on July 5, 1938. It was a magic time in a faraway city that has largely disappeared and may have existed only in foggy myth.

June 6, 1991

The other midnight, in a Chinatown bar, I met a real San Franciscan. He was a middle-aged longshoreman from the Mission, and he wore a zipper jacket and open shirt. While he quietly sipped a Scotch, he talked of Harry Bridges, Bill Saroyan and Shanty Malone. He was curious about Leontyne Price and Herbert Gold. He wondered if the Duke of Bedford’s paintings were any good, he missed Brubeck, and he discussed Willie Mays down to his last spike. He seemed to know everybody in town, by first names – and it was only after he’d left that we discovered he’s bought a round of drinks for the house. For want of a better phrase, he had that touch of class – the touch of a San Franciscan.

March 12, 1961

Scene: On Monday afternoon the portly figure of Mr. Alfred Hitchcock was to be seen emerging, with a definite “thwuck,” from a large black limousine on Powell. He waddled over to a bench in Union Square and spread himself out like a roly-poly pudding. Some nut with a paper bag sprinkled grain at his feet, attracting pigeons by the hundreds. Kicking at them good-naturedly, the director of “The Birds” admonished: “Get thee to Ernie’s – I’ll see you under glass at 7.”

April 3, 1963

I wouldn’t want you to think I became a columnist just like that. Before achieving this pinochle, I had made a name for myself – no matter what kind – as a sportswriter, police reporter and radio columnist. Actually, I didn’t make my name at all. Steve George, then sports director of the Sacramento Union, made it for me in 1932. After I had written a long and intolerable piece about high school football, he said: “Put your by-line on it. I wouldn’t want anybody to think I wrote it.” I scribbled “By Herbert Caen” at the top of the copy and handed it to him. “Good God,” he said irritably, crossing out the last three letters of the first name. “Who ever heard of a sportswriter named Herbert?”

July 5, 1963

And so you cried. You cried for the young man and his wife and his family. You cried because you hadn’t realized how much the young man meant to you. You cried for the famous faces of the people who had told them. You cried for the Nation, and the despoilers of it, for the haters and the witch-hunters, the violent, the misbegotten, the deluded. You cried because all the people around you were crying, in their impotence, their frustration, their blind grief.

November 24, 1963

Frankly, I never thought it would get here so soon, but today is my 50th birthday. If that makes YOU feel older, think what it does to me. As for my doctor, he’s a little disconsolate, too, since he once bet me 100 to 1 I’d never make it. Knowing him, I won’t get the money, but the important thing is that I won – and it all evens out, anyway. If he’d won, he’d have had a hell of a time collecting.

April 3, 1966

I park at the Pickwick and start walking. A good day: a stranger smiles at you for no particular reason, a car stops to let you by and you feel warm about the driver. A drunk finds a dollar bill on the sidewalk – terrific. You drop a quarter into a can held by a Black Panther who says “Free breakfasts for kids.” How can you be against free breakfasts for kids?

October 8, 1972

The tourists. They used to beat a path from the Ferry Building to the Cliff House. Now they roam around Vaillancourt Fountain, making funnies, and stay in Hyatts and Holiday Inns, eat at whatever place is handy and ask plaintively: “Where do the real San Franciscans go?” There is no satisfactory answer, for the San Franciscan is forever a tourist in his own hometown, mingling with the tourists from elsewhere and usually having just as good, or rotten, a time as they … Come let us play and pay together.

August 4, 1974

Beautiful Baghdad-by-the-Bay, aglow. On the streets, strangers actually smiling at one another, and isn’t that what Christmas is all about? It makes us feel a little kinder. A fiver for the kid who throws your Chronicle into the bushes – a good kid, a splendid little chap. A tenner for the garage man who dented your favorite fender last July, and a bottle for the postman, who always rings twice to announce the junk mail has arrived.

December 29, 1975

Robby Thompson was one of the best Giants second basemen of all times. When he retired from major league baseball in 1996, he was the Giants all-time second-base leader in games played, at bats, runs, hits, doubles, triples, home runs, RBIs, stolen bases, fielding percentage, and double plays. That’s pretty amazing, especially considering what Robby had to overcome to do it.

Robby played college baseball at the University of Florida and was drafted by the San Francisco Giants in the first round in 1983. He debuted with the Giants in April 1986, at the age of 24. That year, he won The Sporting News Rookie of the Year. He had surgery at the end of his first season to have cartilage removed from his right knee.

The next year, his second in the big leagues, Thompson teamed with Jose Uribe to form one of the best double play combinations in baseball, and together they turned 183 double plays. The Giants clinched the NL West that year by six games over the Cincinnati Reds. For most of the year, Robby played in pain with a bulging disc.

His third year should have been Robby’s best, as he was now comfortable as the Giant’s leadoff man and second baseman, but he had a pinched nerve in his leg, and he struggled to hit. That year he struck out 111 times and ended the year with an anemic .264 batting average.

His best year was in 1993, when Robby was hitting .325 at mid-season and was selected as an All-Star. A leg injury forced him to miss the game, however, and late in the season he suffered a broken cheek bone when he was hit by a pitch. He returned for the final game of the season and played with a bloodshot eye and wearing a plastic mask. He won a Gold Glove Award that year for fielding excellence and the Silver Slugger Award as the best offensive second baseman.

The following year, Thompson was hit on the left ear, went on the disabled list in May, and underwent surgery on his right shoulder. He missed most of that season. In 1995, he had surgery on his other shoulder. He played after recovery, but only in 63 games. He played his last game on September 22, 1996, at the age of 34. He has remained in baseball; coaching for the Giants, Indians, and Mariners. All three of his sons are in baseball, too, working their way through the minor leagues.

Robby won a lot of awards during his playing career; including being named to two All-Star teams, a Gold Glove Award, and a Silver Slugger Award. The award he was most proud of, though, was the Willie Mac Award, which he won in 1991. That award, named for and presented by Willie MacCovey, is given to the most inspirational player on the team, as voted upon by Giants players, coaches, training staff, and fans. The winner receives a plaque engraved with the words “Competitive Spirit, Ability and Leadership.”

That meant a lot to Robby. It took guts to keep playing through pain and surgery. It also took and gritty determination.

I have a baseball in my small collection of memorabilia signed by Will Clark. It’s one of my favorite Giants souvenirs, because it brings back one special memory.

“Will the Thrill” was one of the all-time fan favorites of the San Francisco Giants. He played the game the way it should be played — with a fiery intensity and passion. He was also an excellent clutch hitter, which is always popular with fans. With those two characteristics, whenever Will came to bat everyone in the stadium paid attention.

Will was drafted in the first round (second overall pick) by the Giants in 1985, out of Mississippi State. He joined the Giants big-league team in 1986 and played his first eight years in a San Francisco uniform, compiling a .289 batting average. He later played five years for the Texas Rangers, two years for the Baltimore Orioles, and one year for the St. Louis Cardinals — with an excellent 16-season batting average of .303, in 1,976 games.

Will (the Thrill) got his nickname from San Francisco Giant’s catcher Bob Brenly, who pinned it on him after Clark reportedly stated, “I’m just thrilled to be here,” when asked about his recent call-up to the big leagues.

Will had many highlights during his long tenure in Major League Baseball, including All-Star games, Most Valuable Player awards, and earning Gold Gloves for his fine defensive work. But the highlight that stands out most for me was his hit that sent the Giants to the World Series in 1989.

I had just gotten married a couple of days before the Giants made the World Series that year, and Patty and I were driving to the airport to fly to our honeymoon when the deciding game started. The traffic was badly backed up on the way to the airport (the Giants still played at Candlestick Park in those days), and we arrived late to the the airport and missed our flight. I remember standing in the airport, watching our plane take off, and feeling very sad. But United Airlines found a later flight for us, and we went into an airport lounge to get something to eat and watch the end of the playoff game.

It was game five of the National League playoffs between the Giants and the Cubs. The Giants lead the series three games to one; one more win and they would be in the World Series. By the time we started watching the game it was in the sixth inning, and the Giants trailed the Cubs 1-0. (Big Daddy) Rick Reuschel had made amends for his poor start in Game 2 by giving up only one run over eight innings. Now the Giants were at bat, trailing by a run late in the game.

With two Giants out in the eight, the Cubs appeared ready to send the series back to Chicago. But Candy Maldonado pinch-hit for Reuschel and walked. Cub’s pitcher, Mike Bielcki, then loaded the bases by walking Brett Butler and Robbie Thompson. Cubs manager, Don Zimmer, sent to the bullpen for (Wild Thing) Mitch Williams to get the Cubs out of the mess. Will the Thrill was up next. He drove home the pennant willing runs with a single to center field that gave the Giants a 3-1 lead. Will had once again delivered in crucial spot, the Cubbies were finished, and the Giants were in the World Series.

We flew later that day on to our honeymoon. All was right with the world: we were happily married and Will The Thrill had put the Giants in the World Series.

Thanks, Will, for the Thrill.

When we book cycling tours in foreign countries, we usually pick a local tour company. That saves us a few dollars, and gives us a more “local” flavor. In Poland, we signed on with a tour company in Krakow who made hotel reservations and furnished us with bicycles, maps, and a guide.

Our guide (Tomas) was born, raised, and still lives in Krakow. He’s 38, married, and has a 10-year-old daughter who goes to elementary school in Krakow. Tomas is thinly-built and handsome, with dark, curly hair. He speaks Polish, English, German, and some Spanish and Russian. He makes a living by leading bicycle tour groups in the summer and teaching English and German the rest of the year.

Tomas has been leading bike tours since 2001. In addition to cycling with the group each day, Tomas runs marathons, and he went running each morning before he greeted us for the start of our daily rides. That’s probably why he is thinly-built.

Tomas has applied to be a weather forecaster on TV, and he had just found out that he made the cut and was part of a group of five semi-finalists for the job. He is quietly excited about it, because it would mean he could spend more time in Krakow with his family.

Tomas was very dedicated, friendly, and helpful. He was also very concerned that each of us was happy, and he became easily stressed. Everything had to be on time, and if we were running late, he would round us up and move us along.

On the tour he was very hard-working. He helped load and unload bikes, and he checked our bicycles each evening to make sure the tires were up and our gear was ready. He also went from hotel-to-hotel to make sure everything was in order and everyone was pleased.

On the tour, Tomas gave instructions and historic talks in German and English. He led the group as we cycled, but he often circled around and made sure everyone was alright. He took turns riding with each of us, and he asked about our background, our interests, and how we were doing. We felt he was genuinely concerned about us.

We learned a lot from Tomas. He told us about the history of the Tatra Mountains and the Gorale people. He told us what it was like to live in Poland when it was controlled by the Communists. He told us some of his hopes and fears growing up in a very different world than ours.

We learn something new from each country we travel to. There are so many different cultures, histories, and religions in our world, and those differences shape us into what we become. What we also realize each time we travel to a new country is that despite our many differences we have a lot in common. That’s how Tomas made us feel. We felt his great interest in us and his pride in his country. And we felt his love of his family and shared his hope for a better future for them.

Thanks, Tomas, for helping us experience your country. And thanks for helping us experience the common bonds we share.

Ina said she should have known it was time for new tennis balls on the feet of her walker. The dogs in her neighborhood were barking and running away when she walked the streets, because the metal legs of her walker were scraping on the sidewalks.

So I replaced the tennis balls, and her walker now glides along with barely a peep from the metal legs. Ina is happier and so are the neighborhood dogs.

That’s the kind of attitude Ina has. She has been given a lot to bear; she has a bad heart, a bad hip, bad eyes, and she has had to use a walker for 11 years.

But Ina doesn’t let it get her down. She carries on with her life, organizing and running the various errands and chores with a cheery attitude.

Each day requires a good deal of effort for Ina to work through her pain and maneuver her walker through her small apartment to get dressed, fix breakfast, and get out of the house. She doesn’t sit and mope about her troubles; instead, she has a regular schedule of neighborhood centers she goes to, and at each one she plays the piano and visits with the other guests.

Ina is in her mid-80’s (‘though she claims to be 39) and she lost her husband several years ago. She almost gave up then. But she decided to carry on, and to continue to play the piano, which is her greatest love.

Ina started having heart troubles a decade or so ago, and it has caused her to slow down, take medicine that causes other symptoms, and gives her pain. She could have given up then, but she decided to carry on.

Ina’s apartment was flooded a few months ago when a plumbing pipe in the apartment above her burst and water poured into her apartment. The carpets, walls, and fixtures were all ruined, and Ina had to move out into a series of nearby motels for several weeks while repairs were made. She could have given up then and moved into a nursing home. Instead, she bravely carried on, taking control of the dealings with the repair people, the insurance company, the landlord, and the various employees at the motels where she stayed. She was amazingly organized and brave. She went out and bought new furniture, rugs, and fixtures for her apartment, and she is now back comfortably settled back in.

Ina is also back at her regular schedule of piano-playing and lunches at the neighborhood centers. I see her every Friday for lunch and she is always dressed up, with make-up and lipstick, and a sunny desposition. It’s very inspiring!

People like Ina come from a different generation. They have been through a lot: a depression, world war, struggling to re-settled across a continent, marriage and raising children, working for over 40 years, and losing a spouse and most of their friends. But somehow they carry on. It’s a wonderful example for the rest of us.

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

When the new section of the Bay Bridge opens this year, connecting the East Bay to Treasure Island, only a few people will know or care that it really should be called “The Emperor Norton Bay Bridge.”

Joshua Abraham Norton, the self-proclaimed Emperor of the United States, was a well-known and well-loved citizen of San Francisco in the mid-1800’s, and he once issued a decree calling for a bridge to built across the bay (along with a tunnel to be built under the Bay). These were not the only decrees Emperor Norton issued during his reign; he also call for the U.S. Congress to be dissolved.

As these things go, Norton was not always an Emperor. He started life in England, and his parents moved him to South Africa when he was a boy. He inherited $40,000 when his father died, and he used that money to come to the U.S. and start a business importing rice from Peru. He was a failure, lost all his money, and unsuccessfully sued for recovery of his money. That effort seemed to affect him, and after a lengthy absence he returned to San Francisco and lay claim to the position of Emperor of the United Sates.  He later declared he was also the “protector” of Mexico.

Given military uniforms by the army stationed at the Presidio and by local citizens, the “Emperor” would roam the streets of San Francisco, dressed like a crazy soldier and checking the cleanliness of the streets, and subjecting all passing policemen to inspections. He was beloved by most San Francisco locals, who gave him clothing and food, and by local restauranteurs, who loved having him dine at their establishments and often installed plaques proclaiming that the Emperor dined there. Local newspapers often reported his activities, usually with a positive slant. He was the genesis for characters in several books, including works by Mark Twain and Robert Louis Stevenson.

On January 8, 1880, Norton collapsed on a street corner, near Old St. Mary’s church in San Francisco. He died before medical treatment could reach him. The following day, nearly 30,000 people packed the streets to pay homage to him.

The San Francisco Chronicle wrote an obituary about Norton which declared “The King is Dead,” and said in part “On the reeking pavement, in the darkness of a moon-less night under the dripping rain…, Norton I, by the grace of God, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico, departed this life.”

Since his death, Emperor Norton has had a great deal of infamy in San Francisco.  He is well-known by most locals, and he is honored by street tours, plaques and signs, local cartoonists (including Phil Frank) have paid homage to him, and there is a website (www.emperornortonbaybridge) that tells his stories and declares the Bay Bridge should be named after him. 

Though some people over the years have considered him insane (or at least eccentric), he is beloved by the citizens of San Francisco.  We love him for protecting people of all races, and for his belief that all people have a right to freedom and happiness.  And maybe we love him because we are a little bit like him.

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.