Dale Says

It had already been quite a trip! Paul and I had flown across country from San Francisco to Washington, D.C. on our way to tour Civil War battlefields. Paul is a Civil War expert and he had done this trip many times, but not recently. His Parkinson’s was getting pretty bad, and he wanted to make one more journey to view the battlefields and re-live the history that was made there.
It was not an easy trip for Paul. The Parkinson’s was causing a fair amount of uncontrolled movement, and Paul was no longer steady on his feet. He now travelled with a cane, which he called that “Stupid Cane,” and he had to take a series of medicines every four hours to kept the involuntary movement to a minimum. Walking distances was a problem, and we used wheelchairs to get through the airports.
But Paul perked up once we hit the battlefields at Gettysburg, and he related the history of each area as though reading from a textbook. I was a student travelling with the professor, and I enjoyed the lessons.
We followed the three-day battles in sequence, and Paul pointed out where each division of Union and Confederate troops was positioned, told me who commanded each brigade, and pointed out the strategy each side used in positioning and moving artillery and troops. The scenes developed for me as he related what happened and when.
When we reached the third (and last) day of fighting, he got visually agitated; this was the climax of the battle, and as it turned out, the peak of the war. We drove through the fields and he had me pause next to the monuments of his favorite brigades. I could tell we were nearing the pinnacle. We rounded a corner and he pointed out that we could now see Little Round Top, the mid-sized hill where so much of the action took place, and where the battle was decided. We drove up the hill, paused near the top, and got out. He used his arms to show me where the Union and Confederate troops were positioned, and he explained the importance of taking the hill to eliminate the deadly cannon fire that was being rained down on the Confederate troops. He paused and I thought he was finished, so I headed to the car. He wasn’t with me, so I turned back to see what had happened to him. He was walking up the hill. I chased him down and asked where he was going.
“I didn’t come all the way here to not go to the top of Little Round Top,” was his answer.
So Paul used his stupid cane, his one good knee, and a whole lot of determination to walk the path to the top of Little Round Top. I followed.
Once he reached the peak a new look came over Paul’s face. It was a mix of pain, exhaustion, and joy. This was his nirvana; this was the ground he knew so well. He showed me where the troops from Texas had charged up the hill, and where they were met by round-after-round of deadly rifle fire by the northern troops. He pointed out where bodies had been found the next day, in piles, lying where they were shot. He pointed out where the Northern Iron Brigade defending the hill had run out of ammunition and been ordered to fix bayonets and charge down the hill, into the waves of approaching Confederate troops.
He made it all come alive.
It was a while before Paul could bring himself to leave. When he did, I looked at his face. He had a look that told me he was satisfied. He had come to the spot that meant so much to the U.S., and to him. He had one more look at it, and that was what he needed.
We will all face our end sometime; some sooner than others. Paul is facing his now. I hope when my turn comes I can follow his example – do what you love, do it with passion, and do it with courage.

Your generation thought it could fix the world,
And you had a right to think that way.
Yours was the smartest and richest lifespan ever.
You tried to work hard enough to end poverty, erase injustice, and stop wars.

Then the economy fell apart and the world tore apart,
And your time was spent putting things back together again.

My generation thought it could fix the world,
And we had a right to think that way.
Ours was the smartest and richest lifespan ever.
We tried to think clearly enough to end poverty, erase injustice, and stop wars.

Then life got in the way and distracted us from our goals,
And our time was spent getting through each day.

The next generation thinks it can fix the world,
And they have a right to think that way.
Theirs is the smartest and richest lifespan ever.
They think they can build technology fast enough to end poverty, erase injustice, and stop wars.

Will they develop concern for their fellow man?
And how will they spend their time?

We can usually tell whether we will like a hotel by the greeting we receive when we first arrive. If the staff is prepared for us and happy to see us, it usually means they are content, well-trained, and they will take good care of us.

The reception we received at Maison 557 in Siem Reap, Cambodia was cordial and welcoming. Jeff, the innkeeper, warmly greeted us when we walked through the hotel’s front gate, and he was there to help with our bags and offer us a welcome drink. He asked about our backgrounds and interests and then escorted us to our room. We felt like we had arrived at a friend’s house.

We were in Siem Reap to explore the nearby temples and ruins at the Angkor complex. This former capital city of the Khmer empire is vast – extending over 75 square miles – and to do it justice requires at least 2-3 days of scrambling over stones and through temple ruins. Fortunately, the magnificent Temples of Angkor are just a few minutes from Maison 557’s front door.

After each day exploring the temples in the heat and dust we needed a clean, quiet place to escape. Maison 557 is the place! It’s small (just seven rooms), calm, and comfortable. The rooms are well appointed, spotlessly clean, and welcoming. The beds are comfortable and include plush sheets, supportive pillows, and an air conditioner and ceiling fan (to adjust the temperature just the way you like it). Small luxuries add to the comfort; like aromatic soap, clean wash cloths, lots of fluffy towels, a make-up mirror, and plenty of bottled water. Our room even had a private outdoor shower (just outside the bathroom) that was luxurious and refreshing. And, at slightly over US$100 per night, our room was moderately-priced.

Maison 557 is staffed by people who know how to treat guests.

Jeff is the innkeeper, and he greets each guest with friendship, warmth, and an excitement that comes from enjoying life in this part of the world. He’s Scottish, a true professional innkeeper, and he somehow manages to accommodate every guest’s needs. Want breakfast late, for example? No problem, have it when you want; even after a sunrise photo session at Angkor Wat. And, while we’re on the subject, the breakfasts are wonderful, full meals with fresh fruit, honey, yoghurt, optional eggs, and yummy baked goods — served on a gorgeous terrace. Want to ride bicycles to the Angkor sites? No problem — Jeff will get them, fix them the way you want, and have them available when you are ready to go. Want to see the local sights or shop in the local markets? Jeff will arrange it for you, and he will get on the phone and make a few calls if you need further help.

Borin (with the largest smile in Siem Reap), serves a wonderful, full breakfast each morning. He also helps with luggage, and will show you around Siem Reap (if you want). He might also tell you stories about his twin babies, who he calls “the Monkeys.”

Ree, the housekeeper, floats quietly around the complex followed by Wallace, the inn’s little pug. Ree keeps the rooms refreshed and welcoming, and she does it quietly and efficiently. Don’t be surprised to find fresh flowers and a bowl of fresh fruit in your room after Ree has been there.

Mr. T., the sparkplug of the place, arranges transportation for guests. Want an air conditioned car and driver to tour the temples? He will line up a trustworthy driver. Need a tuk-tuk to go to shopping or to a restaurant? Talk to Mr. T and it will be arranged.

Your stay at Maison 557 will give you the opportunity to relax and enjoy a comfortable bed and breakfast environment set in lush gardens. After a day of touring the Angkor temples, you can soak in the pool, chill out on the patio, or enjoy a scrumptious meal at a local restaurant. The inn is only a few minutes from Siem Reap’s restaurants, cafés and boutiques located around the Old Market area of Siem Reap.

To contact Maison 557, visit their website at maison557.com, email them at info@maison557.com, call them at Tel: +855.89.280.830, or write them at #557, Wat Bo Street, Group 12, Siem Reap Cambodia. PO Box: 93136

It was one of those special moments you remember forever! It was the reason we travel. It happened at the Angkor complex of temples and ruins in Cambodia.

We had bicycled from our hotel in nearby Siam Reap to the Angkor sites. It started as a mild, cloudy day, but by the time we arrived it was hot and humid, and we fought to stay hydrated the rest of the day.

It was our second day of exploring the complex at Angkor. We had saved three special temples for today. First up was the most popular temple in the complex — Angkor Wat. It was very crowded and spectacular — with five gigantic spires, and very sacred. It’s the largest and holiest of the temples and we sat outside and talked to a guide who explained a little about Buddhist beliefs and customs. There are 37 steps to the top of Angkor Wat, for example, because Buddhists believe there are 37 steps to get to heaven. The more he explained, the more we realized that if everyone followed the teachings the world would be a peaceful place to live.

Next up was Angkor Thom, a sprawling and intricate place. Angkor Thom was the last capital city of the Khmer empire, established in the late twelfth century. It is a massive site, covering more than five square miles. At the center is the former king’s state temple, the Bayon, with other major sites clustered around the Victory Square immediately to the north. We explored much of it, getting a good workout in the process. We ran across a local parade, with music, colorful headdresses, and much excitement, and we braved a coconut smoothie from a street vendor, which was made from coconut milk, coconut water, milk, and meat taken directly from a coconut. It was refreshing and delicious!

Finally, we cycled on to Ta Prohm, the former monastery. At its peak, Ta Prohm was very powerful, with 18 high priests, 600 temple dancers, and 80,000 attendants.
Ta Prohm was originally a monastery, and it must have been a peaceful place, ideal for training and prayer. Some of the carvings on the stones are of praying monks, and there are small, isolated stone buildings that could have served as meditation or prayer rooms. Today, it’s largely in ruin, although it’s now being restored, a little at a time. It’s known for the giant banyan trees that have grown into the ruined temples, with vast networks of trunks running hither and yon like huge snakes.

Standing under a very tall banyan tree, whose roots had spread to nearly cover the temple ruins below it, as the sun was beginning to set, a flock of yellow-breasted parrots landed in the upper branches of the tree and began to roost for the night, squawking and pecking at the branches. Leaves began to softly fall, floating in the air and landing around our feet. It was a magical moment that brought tears to our eyes, and it reminded us of the simplicity and beauty of nature. A nearby guide told us the parrots had been missing the past two years, but they had come back this year, and he was glad to see them. We were too! The sight and sound of the parrots, the gently-falling leaves, and the knowledge that this very special place had been a very special place for more than a thousand years made for a magical ending to an incredible day.

It was a heart-warming, emotional moment late in the last game of a mostly-disappointing season. It was September 29, 2013 and the San Francisco Giants, who had won the World Series the previous year, were battling the San Diego Padres for third place. The Giants were behind 6-2 with two outs and no one on base in the eighth inning.

In an act of thoughtfulness, Manager Bruce Bochy brought in Barry Zito to get the final out of the inning against Zito’s friend and former Oakland A’s teammate, Mark Kotsay. This would be Barry Zito’s last game as a Giant, and it would be Mark Kotsay’s last game as a Padre.

Zito started his career with seven terrific years with the A’s, winning the 2002 American League Cy Young Award and making the All-Star team three times. He was the A’s most durable pitcher and he didn’t miss a scheduled start during his time in Oakland.

After seven years with the A’s, Zito signed a seven-year contract for $126 million with the San Francisco Giants. That put him under a magnifying glass when he arrived in San Francisco. He was applauded when he did well and criticized when he did poorly, often by the same people. Over the seven years with the Giants, Zito had a record of 63-80.

Throughout his time in San Francisco, Zito remained positive and enthusiastic and he always did his best to help win games for the Giants. No matter how good things got for Barry, he was always calm. No matter how bad things went for him, he never complained. He gladly filled any role the coaches wanted.

Barry’s teammates loved him, and so did the media, who could always get a good interview from him. The 2012 season was a highlight, when he finished 15-8 and won two big postseason games.

Off the field, Zito was known for his idiosyncrasies and offbeat personality. Early in his career, he dyed his hair blue, and received the nicknames “Planet Zito” and “Captain Quirk.” He played guitar, surfed, followed Zen, did yoga poses in the outfield, and meditated before games.

Zito is also a philanthropist. He founded the charity “Strikeouts for Troops,” which provides services to help injured US Troops and offers support to military families.

Mark Kotsay, who retired after 17 major league seasons, had been an All-American at Cal State Fullerton and played baseball for the U.S. Olympics team. He was picked by the Florida Marlins in the first round of the 1996 baseball draft, became a starter for the Marlins in 1998, and established a reputation for a strong arm in the outfield. He was traded several times during his career, and wound up playing for seven major league teams. Some of his best years were with the Oakland A’s, including 2004, when he hit .314 and led American League center fielders with 11 assists. Overall, Kotsay appeared in 1,914 games, and collected 1,784 hits.

Kotsay and Zito had been roommates in Oakland and they were friends. So it was appropriate that they should face each other in their final baseball game — friend versus friend.

Zito started Kotsay by slipping two breaking pitches past him for called strikes. Kotsay then fouled off a curveball. On the fourth pitch, Zito threw a fastball past a swinging Kotsay for strike three.

The AT&T Park crowd went crazy, which continued while Zito made his way to the dugout. His teammates refused to let him go down the dugout steps until he came out and tipped his cap to the crowd.

For his part, Kotsay didn’t mind the way his last at-bat turned out. Striking out against a friend was bearable.

“I’m happy for Barry.” he told a reporter after the game. “If I had to strike out in my final at-bat, I’m glad it was against a former teammate whom I respect and love. It’s a good way to go out.”

Zito was happy, too. He sent a text to Kotsay.

“I love you my brother,” he wrote. “I have so much respect for you. I love that it was us together out there. See you soon.”

It was early morning and Sam McClure, a curly-headed blond teenager from Menlo Park, California was sound asleep in his tent. He had done a lot of distance running and was in good shape, but he was worn out after the day’s 20-mile trek. This was Sam’s first attempt to complete the Tahoe Rim Trail and it hadn’t been easy, but he had persevered through severe foot blisters, insect bites, and sleepless nights. The 165-mile trail, which circles the mountain ridges of the Lake Tahoe Basin is difficult for anyone, but there are special challenges for a teenager hiking it by himself.
Suddenly, Sam felt a huge “thump!” HIs tent collapsed and something hit him in the face, nearly breaking his nose. Two heavy weights pressed on his torso, knocking the wind out of him. He woke up, unable to breathe, with the tent ceiling pressed against his face. At first, he thought it was a dream, but it continued, and he shook himself awake and looked around. The moon cast a silhouette against the tent and outlined in the shadow was a bear – a bear that was trying to get in Sam’s tent! It was swiping at the tent walls, and its front paws were on Sam’s stomach.
He gathered his wits and lay perfectly still, hoping the bear would go away. But it continued to paw at his tent. Sam had no food, because he had planned to meet his mother the next morning to re-supply, so the bear wasn’t after food. It must have just been curious.
Sam remembered reading that one way to discourage bears is to play dead, so he curled into a fetal position and lay perfectly still. The bear continued to swipe at the tent, and the claws of one paw tore through the tent wall and into Sam’s sleeping bag, leaving bloody scratch marks on his back. The bear opened its jaws and tried to get a grip on Sam’s neck.
At that point, Sam realized he was in serious trouble. He was in a vulnerable position, with his back and neck exposed to the bear. He had to do something. He gathered his courage and swung at the bear, punching it in the face. He screamed at the bear: “Go away!” he shouted, “Get out!”
The bear, caught unaware, was startled. It hadn’t expected a response, and it grunted, backed away from the tent, and prowled around the perimeter of Sam’s camp.
Sam crawled out of the ruins of his tent and got his first good look at the intruder. From the color and size, he estimated it was a medium-sized black bear, around 250 pounds, possibly a teenager.
After a little shuffling near the trees, the bear made another pass at Sam, running toward him on all fours. Sam considered trying to escape, but decided against it. He knew bears are fast, excellent at tracking their prey, and able to climb trees. There was nowhere to go! So he did the only thing left to him – he shouted at the bear at the top of his lungs. “Go away!” he screamed. “Get out of here!” Over and over he shouted at the bear, as loud as he could.
The bear, startled, retreated into the trees.
Sam took inventory of his condition. He was bleeding from his nose and back, but in the dark he couldn’t tell how badly he was injured. Neither the scratches nor his nearly-broken nose were severe, but he was shocked that the bear’s claws were able to scratch him – they had to go through a rain-fly, a tent wall, a sleeping bag, and a thick shirt. His tent was torn and partially down, his sleeping bag was ripped where the bear had clawed through to get at him, and he was alone in the dark.
Sam was amazed at how quick the bear had been. He had always thought of bears as lumbering bozos, but he now knew they were more like enormous cats: quick, strong, and absolutely terrifying in close quarters. He realized that if the bear had been more than just idly curious, or if Sam hadn’t been protected by several layers, the scratches would have been huge gashes, and he could have bled out by now.
He looked at his watch. It was 4:15 a.m., which meant the sun wouldn’t be up for another hour, and he knew it wasn’t safe to hike in the dark. So, he reluctantly sat down, took out his tape recorder, switched it on, and began talking. He described the attack and said goodbye to his mother and friends – just in case. He was concerned that the bear (or its mother) might come back and finish him off.
Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, daylight broke, and Sam gathered his things and headed down the trail, toward the spot where he was to meet his mother. He walked as fast as his legs would safely carry him, covering ten miles in about two hours. He needed to put as much distance as possible between him and the bear, and he needed to do it quickly. As he saw his mother’s car come into view, he finally relaxed, for the first time in hours. He was going to make it!
His mother gave Sam a hug when he arrived at her car and asked him how his hike had gone.
“Great!” he replied, “Except I was attacked by a bear!”
“Yeah, right,” his mother said.
“No, really!” Sam told her, and he showed her his torn shirt and the scratch marks on his back.
Sam and his mother found a Park Ranger and told him about the bear. The ranger told Sam he had done everything exactly right, and that he had been lucky. He would let everyone know there was a bear in the area coming into camps, and he put out an alert.
When Sam told us this story several weeks after the attack, we were mesmerized, and we hung on every word. He was calm as he rolled the story out – until he got to the part about recording his “goodbye” message for his mother. At that point, he must have been reminded of his mortality and his love for his mother, because I heard his voice crack.
As I heard Sam’s story, I was impressed by his poise and his courage. It had been a close call, and Sam had handled it well.

Note: In July of 2008, 16-year-old Sam McClure became the youngest person to solo thru-hike the Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT), completing the 165-mile journey around Lake Tahoe in ten days.

He looks the part, and we could tell who he was from a block away. Today was the day he was going to guide us around the parts of San Francisco where Dashiell Hammett lived, worked, and wrote. And there he was, standing on Market Street, in front of the historic Flood Building, on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

Don Herron looks to be around 60. The years and the San Francisco fog have drained some of the color from him, and his hair and beard are turning gray. His face and hands have also taken on a gray tint. His attire is subdued – a well-worn tan fedora and open tan trench coat, which partially covers his black shirt, tan slacks, and brown shoes. He could easily fit in on the foggy streets of San Francisco in the 1920’s.

Don came to San Francisco from Tennessee in 1974. In 1977, he recognized the value of the tour, trademarked it, and began operating it for a living. Since then, he has led it hundreds of times, and it is now the longest-running literary tour in the nation.

In his book (The Dashiell Hammett Tour), Don figures he reached the peak of his fame when his tour turned up on the TV quiz show Jeopardy!:

Category: American Cities.

Answer: “The city in which Don Herron leads the Dashiell Hammett Tour.”

Question: “What is San Francisco?”

Don is a wealth of knowledge about Dashiell Hammett, San Francisco, and 20th-century American literature. He talks nearly non-stop throughout the four-hour tour, relating stories about San Francisco, Dashiell Hammett, and Sam Spade.

The tour begins at the Samuels clock in front of the Flood Building, on San Francisco’s Market Street.

“Hammett came to San Francisco in July 1921 to get married and stayed eight years,” Don says as the tour begins. “He went in to this building and hired in with the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

Around the corner at John’s Grill, Don dispels a myth.

“Hammett did not write The Maltese Falcon at John’s Grill,” he states. “But he probably ate there.”

Don strides on, pointing out the Geary Theater, the Palace Hotel, the Stockton Tunnel, the Hunter-Doolin Building, and Burritt Street, where (in The Maltese Falcon) Brigid O’Shaughnessy shot Miles Archer. He shows us where Hammett slept, where he wrote, and where his characters lived and died. The final stop is 891 Post Street, Hammett’s residence while writing The Maltese Falcon.

“There,” Don says, “In the top-floor corner apartment, is where Hammett wrote The Maltese Falcon.” Don has been in the apartment, and he re-read Hammett’s most famous book there.

That means a lot to Don and to us.

Today, Don lives in two distinct worlds: the high-tech, instant communication world of the 21st century, and the hard-boiled, shadowy world of Dashiell Hammett’s roaring ’20s. He seems to enjoy both. When he isn’t giving the tour or lecturing to clubs, Don manages a website and blog on Dashiell Hammett and other mystery writers. He has found something he loves, and he has figured out how to make a living doing it.

At this point, Don would probably agree with his man, Dashiell Hammett, who wrote, “I don’t know anything else, don’t enjoy anything else, don’t want to know or enjoy anything else. You can’t weigh that against any sum of money.”

Ruby Gim worked at the Telegraph Hill Neighborhood Center (Tel-Hi) for 36 years, and everyone at Tel-Hi knew and loved Ruby. She held several positions at Tel-Hi, and she worked with all ages of people, but for most of the time she ran the senior program – starting and running a variety of programs for senior citizens. The core of the program is a hot meal, which for some of the seniors is the only full meal they eat each day. For many, it’s the only time they get out of their homes. Ruby developed activities for her seniors to do while at the Center; including exercise classes, Tai Chi, line dancing, educational programs, and time in the computer lab. Ruby also put together special events for her seniors; such as a Lunar New Year luncheon, Christmas meal, and a Mother’s Day lunch.

Tel-Hi was home away from home for many of Ruby’s seniors, and they counted on Ruby for a friendly face, positive advice, and a hug. And Ruby was a great hugger! She would get down on one knee to hug the pre-school kids, and she would stand on her tip-toes to reach up and hug the teenagers, who all respected and loved Ruby. She greeted her co-workers each day with a warm hug, and she would lean down to hug and give a comforting word to her seniors. She knew and loved everyone at Tel-Hi.

“Ruby was the soul of Tel-Hi,” is how Nestor Fernandez, Tel-Hi’s Executive Director described her. “Many of the staff members considered her a mentor and even a second mother.”

Ruby got involved in many of her seniors’ lives. Whether they had health issues, financial problems, or other difficult situations Ruby was always there to listen and help — always accompanied by a hug and an encouraging word.

Each of Ruby’s seniors had a “special” relationship with her, and Ruby went out of her way for them. She took food to Bea’s apartment when Bea was sick; walking several blocks from Tel-Hi to deliver a hot meal, bread, and other supplies. When Ina was feeling blue, Ruby wrapped a white scarf around her neck to cheer her up. And Ruby gave a pink sweater to another senior to keep her warm.

No one knows for sure where Ruby got her compassion and caring. Maybe it came from taking care of her father. When her mother died, Ruby moved in with her father and took care of him until he died, many years later, at age 103. She doted on her dad; cooking for him, cleaning, and taking him for walks. When he died, she turned some of that love toward her seniors, and she treated them like family members.

Recently, Ruby developed health issues; including an irregular heartbeat and a lump in her breast. The health issues, the life she led, and the care she gave to others took a toll on her, and she became thinner and weaker. Yet she continued to give, and as she did there became less and less of her.

Everyone older than ten knows that life isn’t always fair. But someone as good and as caring as Ruby deserves a better fate than hers.

A while back, Ruby allowed her ex-husband back into her house, on a temporary basis. She loved him, but something had gone wrong between them, and he abused her. Eventually, Ruby had to file a restraining order against him. They stayed away from each other for a while, but the ex-husband had heart surgery and had nowhere to go after the surgery, so our dear Ruby took him into her house and cared for him. She wasn’t happy about it, but she did what Ruby always did — take care of those who needed help. But this time it back-fired on Ruby when the ex-husband beat her to death. There are no words to explain why such a horrible thing could happen to such a wonderful person.

Ruby was taken from us way too soon. She had more love to give and more seniors to take care of.

Now, Ruby is taking care of her seniors in heaven.

Thirty-two years ago Bob Damir faced a dilemma when his friend, William Saroyan, died. An unusual request was included in Saroyan’s will, which Bob had been asked to fulfill. Bob wanted to do this favor for his friend, but it would be quite an imposition.

William Saroyan (or “Bill” as Bob knew him) was a popular author in the 1930’s and 1940’s; at the time one of the best-known writers in the world, on par with Hemmingway, Steinbeck, and Faulkner. He wrote fiction, mostly about life in California during the Depression and World War II, and he won a Pulitzer Prize for his play, The Time of Your Life, and an Academy Award for his screenplay for the movie, The Human Comedy.

Bob and Bill were friends for more than 40 years. Their families were from the same town in Armenia, and both families escaped the Turkish massacres, emigrated to the U.S., and settled in Fresno, California. Bill was quite a bit older than Bob, and their lives took very different courses, but luck (or maybe fate) put them together several times over the years, often purely by chance. Bob helped Bill put his will together, which included a foundation to help young writers. Bill’s will also stipulated that after his death half of his ashes should be buried in Fresno, and the other half taken to and buried in Armenia.

Soon after Bill’s death, Bob started getting requests for the ashes from Russian officials and Armenian groups, but he told them all that the Foundation would decide what to do and when to do it. In May of 1982, a year after Bill died, the Foundation asked Bob to head a delegation* to take Bill’s ashes to Armenia. Bob knew this was important to his friend, and he wanted to honor Bill’s wishes.
But Bob had a family and a thriving law practice in San Francisco, and a trip to Armenia (which was then part of the U.S.S.R.) meant he would have to leave everything he cherished and travel to the Soviet Union. He would be unable to contact his family for nearly two weeks.

To make things more difficult, relationships between the U.S. and the Soviet Union were strained. It was the height of the Cold War, and two years earlier, the U.S. boycotted the 1980 Summer Olympics in Moscow because the Soviets invaded Afghanistan. Since then, relations had further deteriorated, and the U.S. instigated trade sanctions and travel restrictions against the Soviet Union. So Bob would have to travel through Canada, to Moscow, and then to Armenia. Who knew what sort of treatment he would receive when he got to Moscow?

That made the favor a very special one, and Bob had to consider it carefully. He talked it over with his wife and family, discussed it with his friends and colleagues, and decided he would go. He admired Bill and wanted to do this for him. So Bob reluctantly told his family, arranged time away from his office, and had a travel agent organize the trip. He would travel from San Francisco to Toronto, and then to Montreal. After a night in Montreal, he would fly a trans-Atlantic flight (on a Russian airline) to Moscow.

So, in late May of 1982, Bob packed a suitcase, kissed his family good-bye and headed to the airport, uncertain what awaited him.

The flight to Canada was crowded and long, but the overnight stay in Montreal was pleasant. Bob had a nice stroll and dinner, and made a last call to his family. The next morning he boarded a Russian Aeroflot plane for the flight to Moscow. It was crowded, uncomfortable, and Bob had an edgy, raw feeling during the flight. The seats were small, made even more so because Bob had Bill’s ashes (in an urn) with him, and it was nearly impossible to sleep on the plane. Most of the passengers were unfriendly Russians who spoke little or no English and the flight attendants were brusque. It was a long and awkward flight, and he was pretty dazed when he arrived at Moscow.

Bob didn’t know what to expect from the Russians. He reminded himself that they wanted this to happen, and he felt safe as long as he had the ashes. But he was tense as he made his way down the steps from the plane. The customs process was stiff and bureaucratic, and Bob could feel the distain the Russian officials had for Americans, but once through customs it was a different experience. There to greet him (along with the Red Army, reporters, and photographers) were two vans full of representatives from the Armenian Writers’ Union who warmly greeted Bob and his companions, and embraced the urn. Bob and his group were escorted to their hotel, and that night, they were treated to celebrations and toasting.

The next day, the delegation flew to Armenia, where they were greeted by enthusiastic crowds of locals. They had arrived in an ancient land that has suffered suppression and massacres, and its people take great satisfaction when their offspring are successful. Saroyan had told the world about Armenia, and Armenia’s people treated him as a hero.

From the time he arrived in Armenia, Bob was involved in nearly non-stop observances and formalities. He was taken on sightseeing tours of Armenia’s points of interest, including the ancient Garni Temple and Echmiadzin Cathedral, the mother church of the Armenian Apostolic Church. At the Martyr’s Monument, he was moved to tears by thoughts of his ancestors’ ravaged land and slaughtered people. He was honored at banquets and gatherings and attended an opera, a play, and many late night parties, where speeches and toasting went on late into the night.

The highpoint took place Saturday, May 29, when the urn that contained Saroyan’s ashes was buried. It was a warm, sunny day and Gomidas Park in downtown Yerevan (the capital of Armenia) was packed. Bob estimated the crowd of people at around 5,000. The urn and an enormous photo of Bill were on display, and dozens of floral bouquets surrounded the burial site. The dignitary’s platform was filled with high-ranking government officials who made elaborate speeches, lavishing praise and admiration on “Our Beloved William.” Bob was amazed by the intensity and sincerity of it all, and he was sure his friend Bill would have been surprised by the accolades, but pleased to be so well known in the land of his ancestors.

On his last day in Armenia, Bob returned to Gomidas Park to take one last look at Saroyan’s tomb. When he got there, four days after the burial, there was a crowd of people admiring Saroyan, praising him and crying over his grave! Bob met one elderly man who had travelled over 200 miles from his mountain village to pay respects to Saroyan.

Today, when Bob thinks back to his trip to Armenia his face breaks into a smile. He has happy memories, a terrific sense of accomplishment, and a warm feeling that comes from helping a friend. And, when asked about doing that very special favor, Bob says he has no regrets.