Memories of Gregors Kemanis, (1956 - 2011)

Share a special moment from Gregors's life.

In memorium for Greg

February 17, 2019

First I extend my deepest condolences to his beautiful family; I was saddened by the news of his passing. Greg and I attended Orinda Union School in 1964-65 while in the 5 grade. Looking for friends on Facebook I came upon the news and it hit me like a punch; I wished time hadn't gone by in such a way.++

To You Gregors

December 25, 2013

It's Christmass 2013 and New Year 2014, I will leave California in the Near future to the Island of Puerto Rico. I just want to remember you today cause it is Christmass and in New Years and all the days and years in between now and always best to your girls and family.

Sonya

Youthful Follie

December 1, 2013

I decided to type in Greg's name today it's 2013, here in Berkeley, CA it's funny how life just slaps you in the face with your past relationships. I recall his smile and the last words I heard come out of his mouth as he passed by... I do not recall the day or time.

We split up due to my emotional upset about Yoshies daughter who had come between us while I was pregnant by Greg. I did not want to have the child alone, I was dancing ballet at the time for a very long time after. Cafe Joli was a very nice place I recall how we had met at Norman's he got soup and salad my favorate, later we would hang out at Sheldon's real nice place.

I was angry once because I got up early and saw Yoshies daughter there at Sheldon's I was pregnant and very emotional about this, after years now I realized our son would have been 35 at his 55 year, wow, how I regret this because I did not want to make his life or mine complicated, it was nice in the end he turned out to be a great father. I had a beautiful girl later on. I always thought of what could have been.

I currently feel sad and sick to find this out in 2013. I wonder why he died so soon? what went wrong?? was he ill? what happened?

Orange Juice

August 30, 2011

In 1981 or 1982, on my first day of work at Joli, during an extremely busy Saturday rush, I was assigned the task of squeezing orange juice with an old-fashioned hand juice squeezer. As rapidly as I could, I made my way through a large box of oranges, sliced in half, and squeezed the sweet juice into a small metal pitcher. Though it was extremely busy, Greg took the time to chat with me, asking me all kinds of questions about where I came from, how long I planned to say in the Bay Area, what kind of books I liked, etc. I was new in town and only too happy to have found such a friendly boss. I happily chatted away, filling Greg in on my plans to take a year off from college in Arizona, my life's dream to study martial arts in SF, and my dreams of being a writer. Greg nodded and smiled as I went on and on. After a few minutes, Greg said to me, "By the way, Adam, you filled up that pitcher about five minutes ago." I looked down for the first time at the squeezer and pitcher. The table, my apron, my feet, and the floor were drenched in orange juice. Rather than getting angry, Greg had just let this go on just to see how long I would go without realizing I was squeezing gallons of orange juice onto the floor. We both had a good laugh. From then on, he called me "Orbit," and that became my name in the restaurant. From someone else, I might have been hurt. From Greg, it was an act of love and friendship. It's one of my fondest memories of Greg and of that time of my life.

Greg and Stu – The Restaurant Years

August 9, 2011

Soon after returning to the Bay Area in August 1975 I got a job at Moishe’s, a Jewish deli in Berkeley on Shattuck Ave. near Haste. I worked there for about a year before Greg came back from Europe. Of course he got a job there also, and we had a great time working together at Moishe’s for the next couple years. Greg had a soft spot for the down and outers that were a constant presence in Berkeley and showed his big heart by going out of his way to save usable but unsellable food to give to the street people. The key significance of Moishe’s is that it was owned by 4 lawyers, one of which was named Sheldon Otis. Sheldon had been the defense lawyer for Huey Newton and was in regular contact with Huey. Sheldon took a special liking to me and Greg and offered to rent us the downstairs of his house for a very reasonable price. Greg took him up on the offer and lived there for a little less than a year. During that time he got to know Huey, and they became good friends.

In about 1978 Greg left Moishe’s for a job as a busboy at Norman’s Restaurant in Berkeley on College Ave at the corner of Alcatraz. This was a very lucrative job. After 6 months or so he convinced Norman’s to give him a shot at waiter, and he arranged for me to take his busboy job. Greg was an absolute natural as a waiter. He loved socializing with the clientele and showing them a good time. He was also very efficient and in control, so he provided excellent service. He was totally in his element and really felt at home in the restaurant business.

During this time one of Greg’s favorite activities was to go to one of the local restaurants for weekend brunch. His favorite was Mama’s Royal Café on Broadway in Oakland. It certainly did not escape Greg’s attention that all of his favorite places were packed for brunch with waits of 45 minutes not uncommon. He gradually began hatching a plan to open his own restaurant to compete with his favorite places. He was fully convinced that he could improve on their offering and be just as successful or more so.

Greg’s enthusiasm was always infectious, and he was really evangelizing his restaurant concept and got me and others thoroughly caught up in the excitement. Sometime around April 1980, Greg found what he was hoping for – an affordable opportunity to hatch his dream. In Oakland on College Ave at the corner of Broadway was a failed restaurant that was on sale for $15,000 – about the value of the equipment and furnishings.

Greg and I had done a firewood business previously with a high school classmate named Gordon Smith. Gordon also had a significant amount of restaurant experience, particularly in the kitchen of a large restaurant, an area where Greg and I were somewhat lacking in experience. Gordon was also keen to be part of the business. Greg and I used every bit of our persuasive abilities to convince Kate and John to put up $15,000 and my Mom to put up $15,000 for a 1/5th ownership in the new venture. Greg, Gordon, and I had some money saved which we committed to using to support ourselves until the restaurant could support us.

On July 3, 1980 we signed the papers. In the next 8 weeks the 3 of us got more work done than could possibly be imagined. We completely transformed the eating area and kitchen. Greg and Gordon focused on the kitchen, getting the necessary equipment and supplies and developing the menu. I focused on the dining room and the accounting. We were working about 18 hours a day, 7 days a week. During that 8 weeks, I built the solid mahogany front doors, installed wainscoting throughout the restaurant, built 3 large tile tables and roughly a dozen oak tables, refurbished an old bread slicing machine that we got for a hundred dollars, read a college accounting book and set up the restaurant books, and on and on. Greg and Gordon were equally busy. We managed to do just about everything on the cheap. Greg’s friend Paulette Traverso had done graphics work for us previously for Worm Woods Worm Farm and agreed to be our graphics artist at a reduced fee. This was really a key element, because her spectacular logo and other designs were instrumental in giving the restaurant its identity.

Greg wanted to name the restaurant Aardvark’s figuring that it would be the first listing in the restaurant section of the yellow pages, but he admitted that other than that it was not much of a catchy name. We bandied a number of names around but Vija’s suggestion of The Joli Café or Café Joli (French for Pretty Café) was a winner. Paulette’s beautiful logo with its leaf motif was painted in our front window and the leaf motif was also etched in glass ovals and set in the double front doors. On August 28, 1980, Café Joli opened its doors.

Do you know the number one reason that new businesses fail? Under capitalization. We had $15,000 to refurbish and stock the restaurant, buy many new supplies and equipment, and begin paying employee salaries. Yipes! All I can say is that it was a good thing that we started off busy or we would have been in trouble. It was nerve wracking but exciting! We were off to a good start. Greg’s instincts were paying off. Good coffee, homemade bread and muffins, and delicious breakfast entrées were turning out to be an irresistible draw. Aina helped out as one of our best waitresses. It really came together as a group effort of family and friends and couldn’t have been done without so much help and support (and our parent’s blind faith in providing the financing).

Greg and I saw eye to eye on most things. Gordon on the other hand thought we were spending too much money on our food supplies and had different ideas about the menu. He wanted to cook with oil instead of butter to save money, that kind of thing. I don’t think Greg and I were completely uncompromising, but our philosophical differences in how to run the restaurant began to cause quite a bit of friction and after 6 months Gordon left the partnership. It was a really sad day, but perhaps inevitable.

Nearing the end of our first year, one of us had always been at the restaurant. By this time we had some really good kitchen employees and we finally felt comfortable taking a day off together. So we decided we would take a vacation to San Francisco! We planned to dress like out of town tourists and go to the standard tourist destinations, most of which neither of us had ever been to. We headed to Good Will and bought some great ties and dress shirts. I wore a sheep skin hat. We looked so fresh off the boat that all day long people stopped to ask us where we were from; to which we gave a variety of answers, such as answering in Dutch, looking completely confused, or simply “Oakland!” which certainly got the most puzzled looks! Most of the time Greg spoke to me in Dutch and I spoke to him in Dutch gibberish. In many cases we asked young ladies in halting English if we could take a picture with them and Greg. We went to the entrance to Chinatown, Coit Tower, Fisherman’s Wharf, and rode on cable cars. There are pictures of us hamming it up at just about every location. It was one of our “funnest” and funniest days in a long time.

Our dream for Café Joli was that we would run it for a year or so and then turn it over to a trusted manager and sit back and collect the profit checks. Wow, were we naïve! Probably the worst decision we made was in signing our original lease. We negotiated a one year lease with a five year extension. The rent the first year was reasonable, but the rents in the 5 year lease were outrageous, but that didn’t matter – by then we would creaming it anyway – at least that was our thinking.

There were many aspects of the business that we loved, but it was also very tough to be responsible for absolutely everything that could and did go wrong. Near the end of the first year we were now very busy on weekends, but we still weren’t making much money (maybe Gordon had a point!). Now we were facing the prospect of $600 per month more in rent. Ouch! By this time we had realized that we were not going to be on easy street sitting back collecting the profits. We were burned out and started to consider walking away from the business, but there was no way to do this without our parents losing their investment. That was unthinkable.

We raised our prices and tried to make other sensible improvements in our operations. Greg kept improving our menu and our weekend specials. Our food was really amazing. Weekends were unbelievably demanding. We generally had a waiting line from about 10 until about 2:30. Preparing the food quickly but with quality and consistency was always a challenge. The kitchen was small with one six burner stove and a 42” wide griddle. There was only room for three in the kitchen; 1) The main cook was responsible for all the main dishes; specials, omelets, crepes, blintzes, eggs, pancakes, etc. 2) The assistant cook was responsible for the home fries, toast, and helping the main cook with bacon and sausage. 3) The helper was responsible for garnishing the plates, making sure all the cook’s supplies were stocked, and everything else. Café Joli had seating for 65. All three positions were pushed to their limit to keep the food coming to the hungry hordes. No one that ever worked in the kitchen was as good as Greg as the main cook. He was the fastest, the best at timing it so all the dishes on one ticket were done at the same time, and he had the most consistent quality. As chef, he developed the recipes. As cook, he efficiently pumped dish after dish out of the kitchen. He was phenomenal at both jobs.

Greg loved to “goof on” people; with a straight face he would act in unexpected ways or tell them crazy stuff. As an example of this, somewhere around 2 years into our Café Joli adventure, a young man named Pat Fanning came into the restaurant. He was from Colorado visiting a friend of his that was a Café Joli regular. Pat thought it had a great feel and might be a good place to work so he asked for a job application. We didn’t have any applications. It had slowed down, so Greg just came out of the kitchen and went and sat down at Pat’s table like they were old friends. They talked for maybe a half hour and Greg never asked anything about his work experience. Finally, Greg asked if he would like to start the next day washing dishes. Pat was elated. The next day, Greg had set up a small dirt patch in the Joli back yard with pineapple tops alternating with half buried beer bottles. When Pat came to work, Greg showed him his regular duties washing dishes and then took him into the back yard and showed him the “garden” and with ultimate seriousness said that he was very proud of the garden and that keeping it tended and watered was Pat’s most important duty. Then Greg went back to work. Pat thought Greg was crazy! I think sometime after Pat’s first time watering the “garden”, Greg laughed and laughed, Pat finally knew he had been “punked”.

In our first couple years owning Joli, we had a very reasonable health inspector that would make reasonable requests and suggestions. Unfortunately, somewhere in about the third year she was replaced by a “by the book” health inspector. He told us that according to regulations we needed separate sinks for washing dishes, washing mops, washing vegetables, and one other that I can’t even remember. He wanted us to have 4 different sinks! He gave us these awful stickers that said “DIRTY HANDS SPREAD DISEASE! EMPLOYEES MUST WASH HANDS!” and said we had to post them in our bathrooms. He had a dozen inane things that we were required to do. He was kind of a pansy, but we were worried that eventually he could force us to do some of these things. We were looking into selling Joli and knew that this guy could be an obstacle by demanding his 4 sinks and other requirements before approving the transfer. He had been coming about every 6 months. We hatched a plan that if nothing else would be amazingly funny. The next time he came in we were ready. We had the waitresses stall him at the front. On the light fixtures that he said must be covered, we completely covered the bulbs with aluminum foil. We positioned Gary by the bathroom door. Greg grabbed a glass of red wine and dabbed some on his neck so he fairly reeked. It was 11 in the morning. He went out to greet the inspector with clearly slurred speech, put his arm around his shoulder and proceeded to show him our improvements:
1) Our automatic bathroom door closer (Gary standing at the ready to close the door).
2) The wash hands sticker (which was on the back of the paper towel dispenser – you had to pull the dispenser off the wall to see it)
3) The light protecting covers (aluminum foil which blocked 100% of the light)
4) Some crazy plan for sinks which I think involved a large pot, our outside hose, and our neighbor’s facilities.
5) Several additional hare brained schemes to address his requirements.
The funniest thing was that guy never got it. He was just really uncomfortable and made comments like “Well no one will really be able to see it on the back of the dispenser” or “that is not a very effective light cover because it doesn’t let out any light”. The guy was a total stiff! After he left, we laughed long and hard. But the best part is that it worked! That guy never came back to Joli! When we were finally able to negotiate a new lease, a new and reasonable health inspector allowed us to transfer with just common sense improvements.

Greg and I were 24 when Café Joli opened. Although we were the owners, all of the employees were our peers. We were not only co-workers, but friends. We worked together, partied together, and not infrequently were dating each other. Several employees worked at Joli virtually the entire 6 years. It really felt like a family. The Joli family included John Christenson, Dan Pearson, Gary Taylor, Milton Johnson, Eric Fanning, Jeff Williams, Pat Fanning, Adam Frank, Pat Rock, Raymond Dixon, T Michael, Aina Kemanis, Rita Savelis, Andrea, Mary Barbera, Darcy Hagin, Jaime Fox, Carissa, Julie, Danielle, Nadia, Paula, Eva Swackhamer, and many others (I can picture their faces, but after 25 years some of the names just won’t bubble to the surface). I wanted to mention as many as I could remember, (apologies for those I could not) because they were integral to a key period in Greg’s life.

Of course, by far the most important Café Joli legacies are 1) Greg meeting Camilla and having his two precious baby girls, Aina and Tenisha. He was such a doting father! And 2) Me meeting Karen, my wife to be, introduced by none other than Pat Fanning.

I believe that Café Joli was an exceptional experience for Greg; one in which he could really showcase his talents and for which he could feel great pride. I believe that it is also a testament to the strength of our friendship that it was able to not only withstand, but grow and expand, during all of the trials and tribulations and stress of running a business together. Thank you, Greg, for your friendship and partnership during our “restaurant years”.

Greg and Stu’s Trip to Europe

July 29, 2011

Greg and I planned our trip to Europe for more than a year. When I say “planned” I mean we booked one way tickets on a charter plane from Oakland to Paris and then planned on working to earn money for the trip. As far as what we would actually do when we were IN Europe, we would figure that out when we got there. We had a wild and crazy summer before flying to Paris in early Sept 1974, but we did manage to save some money for our trip.

We landed in Paris after dark and just started hiking away from the airport to find somewhere to sleep. We managed to find what seemed to be an abandoned field and bedded down for the night. At daybreak we figured out that we had slept in a construction dump! Off to a great start!!

After my 5 years of high school French, I was supposed to be the one to get us around in France, but my conversation skills were pathetic. The first couple nights we stayed in what we thought was an International Youth Hostel – the sign said Auberge de Jeune Hommes. Later we realized that there was a significant difference between Auberge de Jeune Hommes and the IYH Auberge de Jeunesse!

We went to the Eiffel Tower and to the Louvre and a few other sites, which were really amazing, but we just didn’t feel comfortable in the big city. After just two or three days we felt we had had enough of Paris. I had an address of a family that a high school friend had stayed with, so we decided to look them up before giving up on Paris. This was a brilliant choice. We just showed up at their door, and they welcomed us with open arms. They invited us to stay with them and proceeded to show us Paris. It was a very different experience with local guides. They really gave us the royal treatment. We ended up staying with them for a week! We had experienced some of the snippiness the Parisians are famous for, but this Parisian family was all heart.

Our plan after Paris was to head south and maybe work at a vineyard during France’s vendange, or grape harvest; we had heard that it was a great way to meet girls from all over the world and make a little bit of cash. The French family drove us to good hitch hiking spot and wished us luck. We hitch hiked for two or three hours during which at least 3 or 4 different young women hitch hiked for less than 10 minutes before being picked up. Finally Greg suggested that we just start walking, so that we did. That first day we didn’t even make it out of Paris and there was nowhere to camp so we slept in the southern Paris airport. The next day hiking we started to get out into some really nice French countryside. We hiked the entire day and slept in a small wooded area that night. The next day hiking was much the same, enchanting French countryside, except at some point someone had a bright idea (neither of us would admit to it later), “Hey, why don’t we hike from Paris to the Mediterranean!” It sounded like a brilliant idea, and we were both sure it was a great plan.

Soon the weather turned sour and our feet started killing us. Using only a compass to find the way south seemed more and more like a poor idea. At this point we were hiking from sunrise to sunset and covering an average of about 15 miles a day. After 5 or 6 days we both had several very painful silver dollar size blisters, but we just kept going. After stopping and resting, it was hard to get going again because our feet hurt so bad, but after walking a while we got numb to the pain. Somewhere around the 10th day our blisters had turned to calluses and our bodies had adjusted to the daily grind. Greg and I had already been very fit, but at this point we began to feel like iron men. Often when we stopped to “rest” we would do pushups for an upper body workout!

While the French, and Parisians in particular, have a reputation for snubbing Americans, hiking through the French countryside we had a completely different experience. The places we hiked through NEVER saw tourists, so we were a novelty. Those over 50 welcomed us like it had only been a few weeks since the US had liberated France in the Second World War. We often had our lunch in small local café’s which offered just one meal, the Plat du Jour, or Plate of the Day. They treated us like royalty and were always amazed at how much we could eat!

Greg and I had been big milk drinkers, and while hiking through France we just couldn’t find any fresh milk in any of the stores; I guess everyone got theirs directly from the dairies. The cartons were labeled in different ways but generally something like “Lait Stérilisé”, which is not too hard to figure out. The sterilized milk was terrible, but if the packaging was ambiguous we would give it a try always to be disappointed. Finally, we found one that was refrigerated – an excellent sign – and no trace of stérilisé on the package. Greg watched with great anticipation as I took the first swig, “WooHoo!” I exclaimed in ecstasy as I handed the carton to Greg. He took several large gulps before realizing it was the same crap we had been gagging on all the time. He chased me around swearing to get even and then we laughed and laughed about it. For years and years afterwards he chastised me about this incident.

The weather was supposed to be nice in France in September, but it was rainy almost every day. Later we learned that Sept 1974 had been the rainiest September in France for 100 years! One particularly miserable day we hiked in the rain until well after dark because we couldn’t face setting up camp again in the rain. We stopped at an Inn and downed copious quantities of hot chocolate. We ending up staying until closing time at 10 or 11 pm; this just seemed so much more appealing than heading back out into the rain. After they told us they were closing we went a little ways away to an overhang and waited until it seemed everyone had left and the place was dark, then we went back and laid out our sleeping bags on the cement of a covered porch. It seemed no sooner had I shut my eyes than Greg woke me up and told me it was 5:00 and we had better get moving. We packed up our bags and started hiking although it was still pitch black. After hiking for ages I couldn’t believe that it wasn’t even getting light. Finally we heard a church bell in the distance toll its bell at the hour; bong, bong, bong, bong, bong… Hey there were only 5 bongs, you got me up at freakin’ 4 am! Finally when it was light enough we stopped to make some soup which was the only food we had left. It was still freezing cold, and while heating the soup on our little camp stove I knocked it over and spilled about 2/3 of it – now it was Greg’s turn to groan! We didn’t get into a town, Bourges, until about 10am, after 6 hours of hiking! Hungry does not describe how we felt! We bought a 5 kilo bag of potatoes (11 lbs) and a ½ kilo of butter (1.1 lbs). It took us almost another hour to make it to the hostel. The next day was the only day in 31 days that we did not hike at all. We stayed in the hostel and ate our potatoes. Along with large quantities of other food, in a day and a half we consumed our entire supply of potatoes and butter. During our idle day, we got serious about the rest of our hike and bought a map to plan the rest of our route.

The south of France became more mountainous, but by now nothing could stop us. The last 12 days of our trek we covered 265 miles averaging 22 miles a day. 31 days and 550 miles after leaving Paris we kissed the beach in the Mediterranean coastal town of Sête.

Sête was not a particularly interesting town, and as I remember we left the very next day on a train to Barcelona. We spent about 10 days in Barcelona seeing some sights, but mostly not knowing what to do with ourselves without hiking all day. Greg was in great anticipation of the “Rumble in the Jungle” Ali/Foreman fight coming up on Oct 30, 1974. We spent a good portion of our time reading about and discussing the upcoming fight. We also played a lot of cards; primarily a game called Pitch. I think we didn’t take very good advantage of being in one of the most beautiful and interesting cities in Spain! Greg was a huge Ali fan and was in ecstasy over Ali’s brilliant win. A day or two after the fight we hopped on a bus to Amsterdam.

We first stayed at the house of an old Swackhamer friend, Dirk Franzen, who had had a crush on John’s grandmother as I remember when they were children. Dirk was in his 80’s, but still a gracious host that loved to reminisce about the old days. We also visited some friends in Utrecht. The Browers were another family that the Swacks had connected with during their stay in the Netherlands in 1968/1969. A year or so before we went to Europe, Martyn and Sonja Brower made a trip to the US and stayed for a time with the Swacks. Sonja had an apartment in Amsterdam and we had an open invitation to stay with her – and stay we did!

We settled easily into life in Amsterdam. We did a lot of walking around the city, ate “patet met” (delicious French fries with a mayonnaise mustard sauce), enjoyed real Dutch chocolate, listened to tons and tons of music (we were completely captivated by the European music stores where you could listen to the music before buying it; a concept the US record industry had not embraced!), and just generally bummed around. In mid December I left for a 3 week trip around Europe on my own. By the time I came back in early January, Greg and Sonja were a couple.

In February of 1975 I flew back to New York. Jason unselfishly offered to share his palatial 200sq ft Lower East Side apt, and we roomed together for 5 months in the Big Apple. Greg stayed on in Amsterdam for about another year as I remember. While in the Netherlands Greg worked a couple jobs but the one that he enjoyed the most was managing a “Sleep Inn” which was something like a hostel where young travelers came to crash for cheap and to meet other travelers. He loved socializing with the visitors from all over the world.

Greg had an amazing affinity for the Dutch language. He said he was told that he spoke without any trace of an accent, and he got puzzled or disapproving looks at times when he used incorrect grammar because they thought he was an ignorant Dutch “bumpkin” rather than a foreigner with Dutch as his second language.

After Greg came back from Amsterdam, we rented an apt together across the street from Lake Merritt BART Station in Oakland for several months until Sonja came to join him. They rented an apt down the hall from mine.

Although Greg and I agreed we were crazy to have spent so much of our time in Europe walking across France, it was always something that we shared pride in accomplishing. It always sounded cool to say, “We hiked from Paris to the Mediterranean!” The experiences we shared in Europe were some of the best times we had together. The trip cemented our already strong friendship and was always a source of fond memories for us.

Missing you

July 7, 2011

I Miss You So Much Daddy! I just listened to your Voice mail about 5 times, And i feel like I see your face every time I look at Tenisha. I cherished every moment i was with you, and talked about you all the time. I miss your stories, your cooking, just your overall presence, I have never felt more love then when I was around you. We all were suppose to come visit this month, I'm sorry I waited too long.

I love My Daddy more then anyone could ever imagine. I have no doubts that he knows how much i love him, i just wish i could hug him and tell him One more time.

Thank you for the stories and pictures on here. I love them all..

Greg and his daughters

June 15, 2011

Sometime in the 80's, when the twins were perhaps 18 months old, I visited California. Not sure where we were, but Greg brought his babies. He adored his girls. Hugging, cuddling, feeding, diapering, playing, pampering, commiserating with every whimper. Loved every molecule of their being. You can see that love in the photos on this webpage. I felt very proud of my brother to see this.

Love to you Greg

Tell Me Again About the Rabbits Greg...

June 10, 2011

In 1983 after I graduated high school, my folks, John and Kate, prepared the house at 3 South Trail, and themselves, for a year sabbatical in London, UK. Greg was going to live at the house and be the caretaker in their absence as he was working full time at Café Joli. I had already moved out of the house, and lived a couple towns away with a roommate. The folks had a great big life and only a few months to take care of all the details. As happens sometimes in these situations, a few items get left for the loved ones to resolve. That was the case with our rabbits.

My father, for all his peaceful ways, wanted his children to understand where meat comes from. He felt a growing distance in society between what people were buying packaged in stores, and their knowledge and appreciation of where, and what, it actually came from. We raised chickens and rabbits for eggs and meat. The dispatching of these animals was something we all took part in as was the animals daily feeding, watering, cleaning, breeding and overall welfare. I was also involved in 4-H at the time, and had a couple of show breeding rabbits. The breeders were our pets. They had names like Nosey and Bucky.

When all their bags were packed, and we were getting ready to take them to the airport, my father told Greg, “Go ahead and slaughter all the rabbits, dress and freeze the meat. Eva, you help your brother.” Greg and I shot each other an astonished look. We told John we would take care of all, not to worry, etc. trying to placate them on their way. When we got back to the house and the rabbits, Greg looked at me and then the bunnies and said, “I can’t do it Eve.”

That was the day my brother Greg and I faced a moral and ethical decision regarding the lives of Nosey, Bucky and the rest of the gang. John was right. The most humane thing to do was to dispatch them ourselves. But these ones were our pets. They were also loyal worker bunnies who produced meat for our family for years. They had served us well, and it seemed a pretty unfair end for a lifetime of service. It would be like putting down your dog or cat because they were inconvenient, and doing the deed with your own hands. At least that is how Greg and I saw the situation. We called around to a few 4-H rabbit brethren, and a few animal friendly friends to see if anyone was interested in taking one or all of them. No takers.

Greg and I stood by the rabbit hutches silent and sad. “We should just set them free” Greg said. “Huh?!” said I incredulously. The thought was too foreign to my very young and also newly free mind. “Yes Eve. Think about it. They can have a moment, however long to be free on this earth.” We both knew that they would be easy prey for the predators on the hill, but would that end be any more gruesome than dying at the hand of the people who fed, pet and supposedly loved you? “They may not want to go. They may just stay by the hutches. It’s all they know” I pondered. “Let’s just let them out in the garden and see what they do. If they stay by the hutches and look traumatized we’ll put them back and follow John’s instructions” he said. I agreed. So one by one we took each rabbit out, and set them on the grass.

At first they all stayed in a big group, noses on overdrive, taking tentative hops back and forth. They were surveying carefully this astonishing new reality. Greg and I stood by in the distance to watch quietly. After about 10 minutes they slowly started disbursing throughout the garden. They were eating grass, sniffing the air on their haunches, and moving faster about the area. Not one of them came anywhere near us, or their old hutches. There was no evidence of fear or trauma. Greg and I sat together and watched them for about an hour until the last rabbit disappeared into the hills above 3 South Trail. I remember a great sense of peace while watching this event with my brother Greg. We never saw our rabbits again.

Big Brother Greg and The Pretenders

June 10, 2011

I was 15 years old when I had my first boyfriend. He was 20. The family was not happy about this. My father, John, who was a liberal pacifist, said that he would have to meet my young/older man before he would consent to us dating. I introduced them, awkwardly, and that was that. Dad wasn't happy, but he was a man of his word, and thus I embarked on my first journey into the dating world. My big brother Greg seemed more supportive and actually happy for me. He invited my boyfriend, Paul, and I to what would be my first rock concert, The Pretenders.

Paul and I drove to San Francisco and met Greg at the theatre. Greg was in full blown, cool big brother, "host with the most" mode. He embraced Paul like a brother and instantly made him feel at ease. We were all laughing and joking when we arrived at our seats. Greg bought us cocktails which made us feel very mini-adult and oh so cool. I excused myself to go to the restroom before the concert started, and when I got back something had changed. Paul was very quiet and looked almost sick. "Are you okay?" I asked. He said he was fine, but wouldn't really look at me, and the constant hand holding which defined our young relationship was not happening. Greg was in a great mood though, and we sang, cheered and laughed our way through a memorable concert. After the show, Greg walked us back to Paul's car and gave us each a hug and sent us on our way.

Not long after The Pretenders, Paul broke up with me. I was devastated. I couldn't figure out what went wrong. Paul wasn't saying. Greg came by the house and told me that he may have had something to do with the break-up. He went on to tell me that when I went to the restroom he leaned into Paul and said quietly and forcefully, "If you touch my sister, I will kill you"... plus a few carefully chosen adjectives. Paul thought Greg was just joking around, so Greg put his arm around him, looked him in the eye and reiterated his position on our relationship. That was right about when I got back to join them. Greg then took the opportunity to scare Paul again when he hugged him at the car.

I was mad at Greg for doing that at the time, but he assured me that someday I would understand... I did understand it, and not too long after the incident either. If my father was the pacifist, Greg embodied, for me at least, the notion of the best defense is a strong offense. Greg was my protector and defender in that moment of my life, and I will always love him for it.

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