HIGH SCHOOL DAYS
I met Jeff 51 years ago, as freshmen at Prospect High School, in Saratoga, California. Jeff walked up to me at the end of our sixth period German class to introduce himself. “You are in every single one of my classes, so I suppose we ought to get to know each other.” Jeff was pretty soft-spoken then, though he could regularly have an entire class in stitches with his uncommonly intelligent one-liners. Jeff became my first actual friend, and remained so right up until his untimely passing last month.
Because we both were taking German, and advanced English classes, we ended up in many of the same classes together throughout high school. We both loved our German teacher, Susan Thom, and our freshman English teacher, Claudia Schultz, who was a first year teacher but as creative and wonderful as any teacher could be. Jeff was well-liked in high school and also considered one of the “cool” kids. He had always attributed part of that to his brother, Tom, who had taught him how to throw and catch a ball, and to walk and carry his books like a confident, experienced upperclassman, even though he was just a freshman. Tom also exposed Jeff to the music revolution that was going on at the time, so that Jeff was listening to the best of the new music while most of the rest of us were a decade or so behind.
However, Jeff had no interest in being Mr. Popular, though he could get along with most anybody. Jeff was far more self-possessed than most ninth graders, and unlike the typical teenager, and really throughout his life, he didn’t worry so much about being liked, so that, of course, he most always was. We would often eat lunch out on a little plot of grass in the main quad, in front of Ms Thom's classroom. Cheryl Barbick and Kristy (I forget her last name) were two of Jeff’s good friends during high school with whom he’d read and write poetry, and sneak off to smoke cigarettes!
I learned early on that if I couldn’t find Jeff in our usual place in the quad, I wouldn’t even try looking elsewhere to find him. That’s because, unlike most freshmen, Jeff did not have just one or two cliques where he could be found socializing. On the contrary, Jeff always was one to have a wide circle of diverse acquaintances, many of whom didn’t even know each other. And also unlike most teenagers, Jeff was very comfortable and prefered interacting one on one or with just a few folks, as opposed to hanging out in a big group. Jeff knew younger and older classmen, but also students who might have been considered a bit unconventional or not part of the “in crowd.” I’d sometimes wonder what exactly he saw in a certain person, until I’d get to know her or him and realize they were inevitably kind, gentle souls, like Jeff. This was true throughout his life.
Jeff also had an uncanny quality of being accepted and a part of a group, yet not really entirely of the group. It was true on cruise ships when we were in our 60’s but also back in high school as teenagers. Jeff could easily pass from one group to another. I remember in high school comparing Jeff to one of the foreign exchange students we had one year. The student was beloved by pretty much everyone, and like Jeff, could go easily from one group to another. Yet the exchange student, like Jeff, always seemed to have a somewhat broader perspective than everybody else, as though he was just a good deal more worldly and less provincial than the rest of us, not at all in an arrogant way, but more like someone in whom one could just tell still waters ran deep.
Each year Jeff and I became a bit closer. I felt right at home visiting Jeff's family right from the start. They seemed to be right out of "Leave it to Beaver." My family pretended to be, but could never pull it off. At Jeff's home Tom had already graduated and Judy would be moving out soon, too. Unlike myself, Jeff had his own room with his own stereo and his own TV.
Jeff’s parents were always very kind to me. They were very loving parents who gave him a good deal of freedom, because Jeff was always a good kid. He and his little sister, Cheri, adored one another. Jeff's dad was a decorated naval pilot and very smart, successful and dashing. Jeff's Mom was prettier and more fashionably attired than June Cleaver ever was. She ran the home with graceful efficiency and never seemed to get angry or flustered. Jeff's home always seemed peaceful and pleasant, except during dinner, when I’d be confused because everyone seemed all to be talking at the same time. Jeff would joke that it was no wonder he tended to be on the quieter side.
It was always gratifying to see the devotion Jeff showered upon both his parents in their later years. Especially after he retired he was able to get very personally involved in the wonderful care Jeff and his family provided for Adele in the final years of her life. He became close friends with her caregivers, including Theresa and Dottie. Seeing Adele and Dottie together, I asked Dottie if she would consider adopting me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better example of love in action than watching Dottie looking after Adele.
What distinguished Jeff’s household, or at least his parents, from most families I knew was that Jeff’s parents continued to read and learn and change with the times, so that I got to watch them move to the left on the political spectrum. I remember being so astonished when Adele began sharing her wonderfully tolerant political views with me. Jim would get so upset in heated discussions at the dinner table, over Bush and the Republicans, his former political party, that I used to envy Jeff for having such open minded parents, though eventually my folks became more liberal, too.
COLLEGE DAYS
After we graduated from Prospect, we both went to West Valley College, where our friendship deepened. We spent lots of time together on the lushly forested campus. We both loved it there. Just as we had been part of the first graduating class to spend all four years at our newly built high school, we began attending West Valley during the first year it opened its new Saratoga campus. It was an example of California's education system at its finest.
There was a beautiful stream that ran right through the middle of the campus. The olympic sized swimming pool had piped in underwater music. The library was expansive and luxurious. Jeff and I spent lots of time there. But most important, many of the professors who had been purged from Berkeley and Stanford, for being too radical, ended up teaching at California’s well-funded community colleges, particularly in the Bay Area, so that our instructors were top notch. We both excelled.
Jeff's friend Catherine Barakauskas (now Linka), whom he had known from elementary school, also went to West Valley and they would read and write lots of poetry and hang out together. West Valley College was an amazing place to be in 1973 and 1974, as was living in the Bay Area. We went to California schools back when they were among the best in the country, when one could still get accepted into a good university, before they became so ridiculously competitive and even more ridiculously priced.
We both always knew that we were blessed. Although we had to register for the draft, Viet Nam was finally winding down so that we were among the first high school seniors of our generation who were spared having to worry about getting drafted. That's one of many bullets we dodged during our lives.
Jeff had always been a bit more intellectual and certainly a good deal smarter than I ever was. He was taking AP classes or the equivalent long before that became the norm. And he was always reading. Anyone who has ever been to a beach with Jeff or shared a room, or seen him lying on his bed or couch at home is familiar with the extraordinary way he was physically able to completely recline, seemingly in great comfort, but with his head propped up, without the addition of any pillow or pad, to read for hours on end.
Jeff had a deep reverence for great literature and poetry and was writing poems all through high school and college. Jeff read lots of fiction, but lots of non-fiction and political essays and articles as well. On our many trips I never knew Jeff to be without a substantial library of real books (he refused to get a Kindle) that he was reading at the time.
He also loved all kinds of music. I remember we went to hear George Cleve performing Prokofiev's Classical Symphony. It was the first time I'd ever been to hear a professional symphonic orchestra. I know we both were enthralled and inspired.
We both were big TV buffs, too, and during college and up to this day we both loved and frequently still watched “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.” I would always agree to let Jeff be Mary and I'd be Rhoda even though neither of us was anything like either character, except that we were close friends who confided everything to one another. We both always really liked Sally Field, too.
It was during and after college we became dedicated film aficionados. Living in the Bay Area, and especially in San Francisco, we were able to see many of the greatest movies that ever came out of Hollywood, and we maintained our love for classic films, including sometimes trashy ones, right until the end. As always, Jeff's tastes were a bit more progressive and expansive than mine. He was going to see Woody Allen, Hitchcock, Kurosawa and Truffaut films before I knew they existed, though I was never too far behind him. He'd discover somebody like, say, Pedro Almodovar, and then a year or two later, I would too, but almost always, it was thanks to Jeff. This was even more the case with the big movie stars.
My mother used to let me stay up way past my bedtime, to watch the old Hollywood classics with her. So I tended to know quite a few of them before I got to high school. Jeff and I both adored Audrey Hepburn. And I'll never forget the morning in Rome when we were sipping our espressos at a little outdoor cafe when a big crowd started to gather in front of a nearby bookstore that had just put up a giant poster of someone obviously important. We both thought that it must have been a celebrity sighting associated with the poster, as the street began to fill up with all these excited tourists and gawkers. Well, there was no actual human being there at all. It was simply a giant poster photo of Paul Newman. Jeff and I smiled knowingly at one another, as though we were already well-acquainted, if not friends of Paul’s, which in a way, we were.
It was really Jeff who discovered Paul, Bette Davis, Katherine Hepburn, Jane Fonda, Burt Lancaster, Dakota Fanning and so many other film stars long before I did. It was also Jeff who discovered the great Pauline Kael for us. We both would read her reviews in the New Yorker, but it was Jeff who was purchasing her books and going to hear her speak long before I realized what a miracle her profoundly insightful writing was and what a brilliant treasure she was. Kael used movies to help readers like Jeff and me think more critically and to see the world with far greater perspective.
Although I was able to eventually keep up with Jeff on foreign films in terms of music he was always miles ahead. He'd tease me for having a serious case of arrested development when it came to music. "You're stuck in the 70's, Ed," he claimed back in the 80's. Unfortunately, it was still the case in 2020. "Is it too rock and rollie?” Jeff would ask, poking a little fun at me because that was often how I’d describe almost any music that wasn't either Streisand or a show tune. Jeff listened and loved all types of music.
It was always Jeff who guided my tastes more than the other way around. He introduced me to Carly Simon, Laura Nyro, Linda Ronstadt, and of course, Joni Mitchell. I feel sorry for kids today who will never know the delight of going to Tower Records on the day new albums were released. We’d both go to our separate homes and listen to a new album ten or twenty times then call to inform the other how high a rating we’d give the artist. For a couple decades those four ladies really churned out some classics, and I never listen to them now without thinking of Jeff.
However, there was one big voice that Jeff always gave me credit for finally winning him over to, big-time. I had been listening to Barbra Streisand since she released her first album. Unlike Jeff, I loved musicals and my Mom would take me to see all the musicals that had been made into movies. It wasn’t until after college that I got Jeff to see the light and convert to becoming a fandor Bab’s. He also grew to love all the classic American movie musicals and broadway show soundtracks and owned several recorded versions of pretty much every one.
As he was with TV, movies, literature and art (we both had the same INCREDIBLE art history professor at West Valley, named Ann Walsh), Jeff was the consummate collector and curator. “Jeff owns everything” was my reply when it came to DVD’s, CD’s, streaming services, and all the rest. He had thousands of titles of movies, great TV series, and CD’s. All his life he collected the greatest movie and TV titles, art books, novels, and CD's. In many ways he used these same culling talents, to create beautiful networks of friends and colleagues, some of whom might not have gotten along so well together without Jeff, as he so excelled at making people feel special and moving easily between diverse types of people.
After high school I went to Europe for the first time, using the money I'd saved working at J.C. Penney's. It was supposed to be used for college, but my restless urge to see the world could not be suppressed, and I befriended an Austrian family on my first train ride after arriving in Europe. The matriarch of the family, Lorle, became a second mother to me and it was with great joy that I was able to introduce Jeff to Lorle several years ago, and reunite them again more recently, in Vienna. The two always reminded me of one another - their loving natures, their exceptional intelligence, and their pragmatic, almost spiritual capacity to accept whatever came their way. I am so grateful they finally got to meet after hearing about each other from me for so many decades. Sadly, they both died this year, though Lorle at age 102 compared to Jeff at 65.
Jeff was the best gift giver in the world. For decades I figured he just had a knack for finding the perfect gift for everyone, especially with his encyclopedic knowledge of movies, books and music. It was clear he took far more joy in giving than receiving. But it really wasn't until our European trips that I started learning Jeff's skill at finding the right gift was far from simply having a knack.
In Madrid, for instance, Jeff would start scoping out the shops and stores where the types of gifts he was planning to invest in could be found, from the moment he hit the ground. Mostly, he'd be searching for just the right presents for his nieces and nephews, whom he so delighted in. I wondered if any of us, including myself, appreciated how much effort Jeff put into finding us just the right presents. In Madrid I'd wait for him as he'd talk with the shop owners, take photos of potential gifts, and check out other shops to compare. It was rarely prices that Jeff would compare. He looked for quality. I learned that Jeff's great gift-giving was a painstakingly acquired skill if not a science that he was constantly perfecting.
In college Jeff met Eric Schei and they became very close friends. They bought a house and had many adventures together. Jeff also became very close to Kate Dowling, who was a talented baker and was such a beautiful, kind soul. Kate and Jeff had a wonderful friendship, and Kate treated me like family because of Jeff. Her premature passing was a great loss to Jeff. But Jeff made many good friends during the two periods of his life when he lived in Berkeley.
WORKING LIVES
After college Jeff and I both moved to nearby flats in the City and started temping. We worked through an agency called Romano’s. They sent me to KCBS and Jeff to Matson. We both were quickly hired as permanent employees at our respective temp assignments, and enjoyed living in San Francisco at a time when it was magical.
Jeff continued at Matson for what seemed like forever (though he had a brief gig as public relations director at a law firm, returning soon back to Matson) whereas I managed employment agencies and worked at Stanford, until I finally got my teaching credential and taught public high school social studies for 25 years. I’d have never made it, though, without Jeff. For the first few years as a new teacher I was always on the brink of quitting and it would be Jeff who could always convince me to stick it out for at least one more day.
It was also Jeff who would keep me from sending the angry email reply or calling back a complaining parent until after I’d calmed down. There were hundreds of emails that Jeff kept me from sending out over the years, usually related to school but also involving disputes with family members, neighbors or others. By the time I retired Jeff had trained me well enough that I would usually just send him a copy of the offending email plus my long, ridiculous reply, followed by, “I know. Don’t send. I won’t. Thanks Jeff.”
Jeff saw me through every single crisis of my life, be it medical, emotional, professional and even spiritual. Jeff was the one who would rent a car to come visit me in the hospital, and who would see me through one catastrophe after another. Jeff was at the funeral of both my wonderful mom and step-dad, and also knew my birth-father.
I was not able to be there with my mother when she passed away and I always felt much guilt over that. But whenever my feelings of guilt and remorse would surface Jeff would remind me how much my mother loved me and he’d recount the story of the Oakland fire when she was calling him constantly to find out if he’d heard from me, because I wasn’t home to answer the phone and she was frightened to death that I might have been in it. He would tell me that if I could have heard the loving kindness expressed in her conversations with him I would never, ever have any doubts or concerns regarding my relationship with my mother and how much she and I loved one another. Because Jeff had such a much better memory than I had he was amazingly good at helping me feel better, because he could think of examples from my life that would help to soothe my agitated mind.
Every argument I had with my mom, my sister or other friends, every disagreement at work, every problem real and imagined, Jeff would hear about on the phone from me ad-infinitum, yet he never hung up or discouraged me from expressing myself. He was the consummate listener, and he always, and I mean always, gave the most prudent, helpful, non-judgemental, supportive advice there could be. Jeff could be brutally honest, but because the honesty always rang out so true it far overtook what little brutality might have accompanied it.
One of the several times I lived in Vienna, I had discovered how to make phone calls from Austrian public phones back to the U.S. for free. This was long before cell phones, when international calls were exorbitantly expensive. At first other friends and family were delighted to hear from me. But despite my homesickness, people back home had their lives to live and soon grew a bit tired of my calls. It was only Jeff whom I could call almost every single day, and share all the amazing new experiences I was having living in a different culture. In fact, for many, many years we used to talk almost every day.
For decades Jeff would have Rick Andrews, and his very dear friend Keith Beatty, and me over to his Dolores Street apartment for holiday dinners. Jeff was Rick’s first roommate when he first moved to San Francisco from the South Bay, back at Jeff’s Judah Street apartment and they too remained friends from then on. Jeff would never allow us to contribute a dime to the expenses. He’d order incredible feasts from the Fairmont and other great kitchens that we’d pick up and take back to Jeff’s beautifully holiday-decorated apartment. Jeff would have elaborate nut and cheese platters with fancy, delicious artisan breads and crackers all waiting for us as we arrived at his apartment. He’d have the music playlists all prepared in advance, plus just the right feature film selected for the evening, though we might not have time to finish it.
And then there were the presents. As I’ve already described, Jeff was such a great listener and he knew people and their tastes so well that his presents were always the best. He’d spend a fortune on presents and holiday dinners for Rick, Keith and me. Jeff was better than Santa Claus ever could be.
Jeff’s friend Keith was a perfect example of Jeff’s wonderful ability to find the best books, the best songs, the best movies, and the best people. At first I wasn’t able to see what Jeff saw in his friend Keith, who seemed so different than Jeff. However, it became clear over the years just what a loving, gentle, beautiful soul Keith was. And when Keith started becoming seriously ill, Jeff was always there for him, offering lots of love and support right up until Keith’s final breath.
In the last few decades of both Jeff’s and my careers, we had grown into our jobs and excelled. Jeff’s life was Matson, in many ways, though he could usually do a good job separating his personal life from his corporate life. Jeff truly loved and cared deeply for many of the people with whom he worked. Marge, Jeff’s boss whom he revered, Frankie, JoAnn, Viola, and Patricia, were names I heard all the time and I got to meet, with whom Jeff remained friends right up to the end. Jeff also cared very much for Matt Cox and his wife Dianne, as well as Kat Simi and her husband David, with whom Jeff and I spent quite a few fun times hanging out at the Royal. And there were always many others, like Joan, Donna, Paula, Micki, Sloan, Kappy, Laurie, Dale, Ron, Marilyn and so many who Jeff talked about and cared for deeply. (I’m sorry to the many whose names I can’t think of right now.)
Back when Matson was at 333 Market and Jeff and I both worked in the City we’d have lunch together at the Shaklee’s cafeteria several times a week. I would go to visit Jeff and loved seeing Frankie, Marge, JoAnn and Viola and he’d take me around the office introducing me to many others of his colleagues. Everyone loved Jeff. Even after he retired there were dozens of people he cared deeply about and with whom he stayed in regular contact at Matson. I loved hearing Jeff talk about Matson and the family he clearly was an important part of.
Jeff would never let anyone take anything too seriously. He always had an uncommonly sound, even-keeled perspective. Of the thousands of times I would become all upset and bothered by every little thing, Jeff never was. The great Matson molasses crisis was really one of the few times I worried that Jeff was getting too stressed. He was always calm.
Jeff was my Rock of Gibraltar. Just thinking, "I'll call Jeff" always lowered by blood pressure. And regardless of the crisis, Jeff would remind me, "Ed, even though you are such a dog person, you seem to have more than the nine lives of a cat, as you always seem to end up back on your feet." I would hear those words, especially if I was feeling particularly vulnerable or scared, and they’d always cheer me up and make me feel more confident.
Jeff made me feel better about myself always, and about the world. With his well-informed pragmatism and intelligent humor Jeff even helped me, and others, make it through the horrors of watching the unfolding Covid crisis as well as most of the Orange Idiot’s traitorous presidency, often with a smile.
RETIREMENT
Unlike myself, Jeff adapted beautifully to retirement. He was the model of a perfectly content retiree. He had his daily routine that he loved, and nowhere was Jeff happier than in his apartment on Dolores filled to the brim with all his books, movies, and CD’s.
However, Jeff also loved to travel. He and I took three wonderful trips to Europe, as well as a trip to New Orleans and fairly regular trips to Lake Tahoe, staying often with his folks at their gorgeous home on the Lake, but after they moved to Granite Bay we had a few Tahoe places where we’d stay, including the old Cal Neva Lodge that became something of a tradition for us until it was permanently closed. Just as we’d later do on cruises and at the Royal Hawaiian, we’d swim and read in the sun all day, have delicious dinners in the evening, then enjoy a good movie followed by one of Jeff’s exquisite play-lists before calling it a day.
Our transatlantic cruise from Florida to Barcelona was one of the best trips of my life. I got to show Jeff Lisbon, Valencia and Madrid and we were fortunate enough to be seated with a beautiful, multi-generational, liberal (not easy when most of the passengers are from Florida) family whom we grew to love over the 14 day crossing. It was a wonderful time to sit back and see Jeff at his best. He became so close to our dining partners that it seemed like they'd been friends forever. I was reminded how his humor, wit, intelligence and charm served Matson so well for the many decades he worked there.
When I moved to Honolulu, almost three years ago, Jeff started coming to visit me regularly - as in every three or four months. He’d stay at the Royal, which was his home away from home. I’d meet him on the beach in the late morning, under the pink umbrellas of the Royal where he’d have reserved the ideally located chaise lounges, with Kat’s wonderful assistance, many weeks in advance. He’d also make the restaurant reservations for each night of his stay, sometimes months in advance.
Out below the pink umbrellas we’d read, and talk and swim and text or even have conversations with other people on our phones, (though not too much) then read and talk and swim some more. Then I’d go back to my place and he’d go back to his room to shower and dress. Then we’d meet at whichever fine restaurant here in Waikiki Jeff had chosen where we’d spend hours savoring the most luxurious and delicious dinners money could buy.
After one Maker’s Mark Manhattan cocktail, an exquisit dinner and desert we’d then return to Jeff’s hotel room lanai. Jeff always got a room looking right out upon the sea, so we’d spend hours each night on his lanai listening to music and indulging in whatever treats hotel management, or Kat, or Jeff had purchased for us. Jeff would have already bought me a beer and he had his wine and he would press play on his phone and on his wonderful Bose speakers and we’d listen to music, talk, and look out at the beautiful sea, often under the moonlight. Jeff would create playlists sometimes days or even weeks in advance just for the two of us and his playlists would always bring back so many memories of our long history growing up together. I would often become quite “verklempt” listening to the music of my life, that absolutely no one else in the world knew better than Jeff.
Now that Jeff has left us I suppose it will eventually sink in that I've lost my best friend in all the world. It has already been almost a month but I still cry all the time, and just when I think I must finally be completely dried of tears, another wave hits. Then, when I think, okay, enough tears, I’ll be reminded how I’m just one of many other people whose lives are going to be significantly less joyful because Jeff has left us, and then I cry some more.
I'm hoping the old adage about happy marriages resulting in happier widows rings true for friendships, also. I know that my grandmother adjusted mysteriously well to the loss of my grandfather, when like Jeff, the silent killer of heart disease struck them both down in an instant. I somehow think it might be true, and that I will not feel the emptiness and heartache I've felt at the loss of other significant people or relationships in my life.
For the fact is there was nothing very complicated about my relationship with Jeff. Our friendship was never made baffling or disappointed by romantic intrigues, jealousy or bickering of any kind. We were just very good friends for 51 years - 15 years short of our entire lives.
I have been a Buddhist since college, and I see reincarnation as more of a metaphor to help elucidate those things of the soul that we aren't able to grasp, as opposed to a literal explanation regarding what happens when we die. But regardless of how things actually work in the universe, Jeff was the funniest, smartest, most constant, reliable, loving, kind, generous human being I will ever encounter, no matter how many lives I may be destined to live. And this life will alway have been the best, simply because it was the life I got to share so much of with Jeff.
When Covid struck and I was back in Spain, Jeff was instrumental in helping me get back home to Hawaii before everything closed down. Jeff and I would talk all the time. As infection rates began to rise in California I would end our conversations by saying, “Just in case, Jeff, I want you to know how much I love you. You have been the greatest friend in the world. I mean it.” Jeff was the least sentimental, least syrupy person there could be, but he would always acknowledge my expressions of affection very sweetly.
The last time we talked I said that same thing to him, and meant it, in part because by that point Honolulu had a faster growing Covid rate than San Francisco. The last words Jeff ever said to me were, “I love you, too, Ed.”
