Sweet Sounds

It's 6:30 a.m. The alarm clock won't ring for another hour and a half, but 27-year-old mezzo-soprano Jennifer Panara is already awake, thinking about all the things she has to do that day.
At 9 a.m. she's at The Musical Offering, a delightful café/music store in Berkeley where she works as assistant manager. (Hint: Don't miss the Caesar salad. Best in town.)
But that's just her day job. By mid-afternoon she's rushing down to Mountain View, where she'll rehearse with pianist Elena Lavina for a recital of songs by Faure, Debussy, Barber and Schumann that they'll present this Sunday in Palo Alto.
Then it's over to San Francisco for a round of auditions that last until 10 p.m., when her husband, Sascha Gerhards, a PhD student at UC-Davis who shares her love of heavy metal - He took her to a Metallica concert on their first date - picks her up at BART.
The next day she works the 8-to-4 shift at the café, then she races to Livermore for a rehearsal of Gounod's "Romeo et Juliette," which she'll perform with the Livermore Valley Opera next September.
And the days after that are just as hectic. Such is the life of a rising young singer who the music critics say someday will be on a par with her heroes Fredericka Von Stade, Marilyn Horne and Anne Sofie von Otter.
After a recent performance of Mahler's Symphonies No. 3 and 4 with the Philharmonischer Chor Bonn in Germany, one critic called her "a mezzo-soprano of immense brilliance and versatility," while another praised her "virtually ideal tone, flawless interpretation and tender voice."
But what the audience never suspects is that each time she performs, she has to conquer a terrible case of stage fright that has tormented her ever since she was a little girl.
"I'd get anxiety attacks and red in the face," she says. "I was always so nervous that people would ridicule me."
So what gets her over it? The music itself.
Before singing a new piece, she studies obsessively to find out everything she can about it, including watching videos of other singers performing it, looking up the historical context of the plot, and filling notebook after notebook with notes.
Then, when she finally steps out on stage, she tries her best to forget it all.
"You do your best with the musical skills you've honed, and what the composer has given you, and what you've learned working with your colleagues. But when it comes down to it, my best moments have been when I really let go and become a slave to the music," she says.
"I'm not the kind of person who throws caution to the winds in other areas of my life, but doing so when I'm performing has given me confidence and abated my stage freight. But it's necessary to perform organically in the moment. And that's easier said than done."
Some singers just walk on stage, ignore the other musicians and belt out their aria - known in the trade as "park and bark" - but Jennifer thinks they're missing half the fun.
"Music is most enjoyable when it's a collaboration, and that brings me to our recital. Elena is a great collaborator. She doesn't just play, she listens. And that's easier said than done, too."
The recital will take place at 3 p.m. Sunday at the Oshman Family Jewish Community Center, 3921 Fabian Way in Palo Alto.

New Year's Eve? Bah, humbug!

Remember when I was talking last week about how much I love Christmas?
That's how much I hate New Year's Eve. When the clock strikes midnight, I plan to be fast asleep.
Spare me the sight of those drunken revelers at Times Square screaming their heads off for what is basically a non-event.
VE Day I can understand. VJ Day I can understand. Ditto for election night 2008 and the death of Osama Bin Laden. All of them were real events, and well worth celebrating.
But New Year's Eve is just turning a page in the calendar. What's the big deal?
Besides, until 400 years ago there was no consensus that January 1 should be the beginning of the year. During the Middle Ages, New Year's Day was all over the place: March 25 in England, Easter Sunday in France, and Christmas Day - celebrated on December 15 - in Italy.
When you think about it, January 1 doesn't make much sense. The logical time is spring, when the flowers are blooming, the animals are bearing their young and the farmers are planting their crops. New year, get it?
And that's the way it was for centuries, since the dawn of recorded history. It never occurred to anybody that January 1 might be a good day to begin the year.
So what changed it? Politics.
Back in ancient Rome, the politicians kept fiddling with the calendar, adding several days to each month to extend their terms in office. By Julius Caesar's time, calendar dates were so out of whack with their astronomical benchmarks, he had to let the year 46 B.C. drag on for 445 days to reset the calendar. He began the next year with January 1. (And while he was at it, he named a month - July - after himself.)
Unfortunately, coming so soon after Christmas, New Year's is a huge anticlimax.
Christmas is warm and fuzzy. New Year's Eve is cold and glitzy. Christmas is giving gifts and making children happy. New Year's Eve is drinking and forced bonhomie.
Christmas is about being with the people you love. New Year's Eve is about the haunting fear of being alone. So we distract ourselves by making noise and embracing total strangers.
And who says the next year will necessarily be any better than the last one? It rarely is, and next year doesn't show any signs of being an exception.
We're going into a presidential election year, and I truly fear where the bitterness of the last three years is going to take us.
But there are a few hopeful omens. The retailers had a better Christmas than expected, and charitable giving was also up.
And I'm encouraged by the emergence of the Millennial generation as a political force, although I hope they'll learn from the mistake my generation made in the 1960s and not allow their movement to be hijacked by violent thugs like the Weathermen and the Simbionese Liberation Army in my day or the black-masked anarchists of today.
So, against my better judgment, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed and trust that we can still rise above our recent history and come together for the sake of our country.
Then it really will be a happy new year.
I hope your 2012 is a healthy, happy and prosperous one. And as Mark Twain observed, "Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual."

Merry Christmas

(Above: A scene from El Cerrito's annual Christmas display, created by the late Sundar Shadi - another non Christian who loved Christmas)

What do "White Christmas," "Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer, "Silver Bells," "I'll Be Home For Christmas," "Sleigh Ride," "Winter Wonderland," "A Holly Jolly Christmas," "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree," "It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year," "Let It Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!" and "You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch" have in common, aside from the fact that they're Christmas songs?
Answer: They all were written by Jews.
Now, that might seem anomalous to some, but not to me. Christmas has been my favorite holiday since I was a little kid, and I'm a Jew through and through.
And it's not because of the presents. We get them at Hanukkah, which usually occurs around the same time, as it does this year, so that's a wash.
No, the real attraction is the Christmas story itself. Think about it: How many other holidays feature a child as the hero? That's something any kid can identify with.
And even when I was little, I could still appreciate the delicious irony: If only those smug innkeepers knew whom they were turning away!
Now, that story can cut both ways. Cynics might take the moral to be: Before you slam the door in someone's face, make sure they aren't well-connected.
But I prefer to look at it the other way: God is in everyone, so showing kindness to anyone is showing kindness to God him/herself.
I saw a little girl being interviewed on television the other night as she was delivering Christmas cookies to some homebound old people. The reporter asked her what Christmas is all about, and she said, "Being nice to somebody."
Exactly. And that's why Christmas is my favorite holiday.
Mind you, it hasn't always been easy. When I was young, I looked forward to the annual Christmas pageants at school, especially singing those gorgeous Christmas carols like "The Holly And The Ivy," "O Holy Night," and my favorite, "Once In Royal David's City."
But I dreaded the ethical dilemma I would confront whenever we got to the words "Christ the Lord."
What to do? I was sure lightning would strike me dead on the spot if those words passed my lips. On the other hand, no little kid wants to stick out from the crowd.
So I finessed the problem the only way I could think of: I lip-synched.
But otherwise, I embraced all the symbols and trappings of the holiday.
I loved those merry gentlemen, who come to us from England; good King Wenceslas, who comes from the Czech Republic; the Christmas tree, which comes from Germany; and, of course, Santa Claus, who comes from Turkey by way of the Netherlands, then was re-invented in the 19th Century by two Americans - poet Clement Clark Moore, who wrote "A Visit From St. Nicholas" (which begins, "T'was the night before Christmas…"), and cartoonist Thomas Nast, who also came up with the Republican elephant and the Democratic donkey.
And the more recent additions to Christmas lore, like Rudolph and Frosty? Meh. They couldn't carry Santa's sack.
But whatever your religion - or even no religion at all - let me wish you joy this holiday season.
"And so I'm offering this simple phrase/To kids from one to ninety-two/Although it's been said many times, many ways/A very Merry Christmas to you."
Those words from "The Christmas Song" (aka "Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire") were written by Mel Torme and Bob Wells.
Two Jewish guys, of course.

Sportsman of the Year

(Above: Bob with his daughter-in-law, Sarah)

Former Oakland Tribune sports editor Bob Valli, a grizzled vet who mentored generations of scribes, died on Nov. 2 at the age of 80. He started his career on the pigskin beat, later inking stories about hoopsters, keglers, horsehiders and thinclads.
But he would have hated those last two sentences. He despised clichés, especially sports clichés. Woe betide the sportswriter who called a football a "pigskin," a football field a "gridiron," an umpire an "arbiter" or a basketball player a "cager."
"If it's a basketball, call it a basketball!" he would roar. "Not a casaba!"
He was in love with the English language, and he liked it straight, without adornments or affectations. He was a great editor to work for, with an uncanny eye for young talent.
Award-winning sportswriters like Monte Poole and Henry Schulman got their first big break when Bob plucked them out of obscurity and handed them plum assignments. And they have never ceased acknowledging their debt to him.
With his gravely voice and authoritative manner, Bob was the picture of an old school, Oscar Madison-type sportswriter. But he departed from that cliché, too, in one important respect: Unlike many newspapermen of his generation, he was color-blind and gender-blind.
For instance, it wasn't easy being a woman in the newspaper business back in the 1980s, when I first met him. A lot of female reporters and editors felt the sting of resentment daily from the old boy network.
But never from Bob. He treated women with respect because he treated everyone with respect. He didn't know any other way. One female editor who worked with him said, "He was the sweetest man I ever met."
Bob's first assignment as a young reporter was covering a brand-new team called the Oakland Raiders, and he quickly earned every player's affection.
During practices, he would always sit on one particular spot on the sidelines. Once, when he was on vacation, his substitute sat down on that same spot.
The poor guy was immediately surrounded by angry Raiders, led by defensive back Dave Grayson, indignantly demanding to know what he was doing on "Bob's spot."
And could he write! Take his classic description of "The Play," the multi-lateral kickoff return that broke Stanford's heart in the 1982 Big Game: "Kevin Moen has silenced all arguments over which was the greatest Big Game ever played. The California senior started and finished one of the most bizarre last plays in college football history to make the 85th Big Game the undisputed thriller of all time." (And remember, he wrote this on tight deadline.)
Or this: "Steve Martin was acting when he played his role in 'The Jerk.' Billy Martin lived the part."
For many years, Bob was on the committee that selected members to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. It was he, more than anyone else, who was responsible for Al Davis' induction.
Bob was a loving husband, a devoted father and a loyal friend. And he knew more about football than anyone I ever met.
A few years ago, he and I were at Memorial Stadium watching a Cal game.
The Cal quarterback threw four interceptions that day, and each time - before he even let go of the ball! - Bob would say, "Uh oh, that’s gonna be an interception."
Same with penalties. Before the flag was out of the official's pocket, Bob would say, "Number 44 is holding."
Aside from the fact that it was fun to watch a game with one of the world’s nicest guys, it was a rare privilege to get an education from The Maestro.

No Room At The Inn?

(Above: Father Crespin greeting parishioners after Mass)

What do you do when the most popular family on the block looks like it's headed toward divorce?
It's really none of your business, so the best you can do is say a prayer that they somehow can work it out.
That's the situation my neighbors and I find ourselves in. But in our case, the "family" isn't a nuclear family. It's a church: St. Joseph the Worker in downtown Berkeley. It's the anchor of our neighborhood, even for non-Catholics like me.
The church has been at the center of whatever has been going on ever since its founding in 1877, from housing and feeding refugees fleeing the 1906 San Francisco earthquake to providing meeting space for labor organizers, peace advocates and civil rights workers including Cesar Chavez, who used St. Joseph's as a safe house whenever his life was threatened.
And I can't tell you how much I look forward every Sunday to walking by St. Joseph's just as Mass is letting out and watching all those happy people spilling out onto its front steps. It makes my day every time.
In recent years, St. Joseph's was run by Rev. George Crespin and the late Rev. Bill O'Donnell, known to one and all as Father Bill. They were a perfect tag team.
Father Bill did the social justice work, from lobbying for improvements in the public schools to getting arrested more than 200 times at anti-war and pro-civil rights demonstrations.
Meanwhile, Crespin did the pastoral work. He was the guy you could always count on for help when your mother was sick, or your sister was pregnant, or your nephew was in trouble with the cops.
In recent years, the ethnic makeup of the parish has become more and more Latino, as immigrants from Latin America settled in the area. And Crespin, who speaks flawless Spanish, was especially dear to them.
But time moves on. Father Bill died in 2004, and Crespin went into semi-retirement two years later, although still living in the rectory and performing priestly functions.
Two years ago, a new priest named John Direen was appointed to take over St. Joseph's. From the start, tension began simmering between him and some parishioners.
Among their complaints: firing the members of the pastoral council, suspending the council's Latino counterpart, the Consejo Latino, and withdrawing meeting space for the parish's long-standing social justice committee.
The final straw came last July, when he evicted Crespin from the rectory.
Since then, a sizable group of parishioners has been holding a silent vigil outside the church every Sunday morning.
Direen responded by announcing that the protestors would be barred from serving as ushers, lectors or Eucharistic ministers, as well as from serving on any parish committees.
And who knows where it will end? All I know is that St. Joseph's is a sad and lonely place to walk past these days.
There are no villains in this story. Both sides truly love the Church, even if they have different visions of what it can be. It's a clash of cultures made worse by mutual misunderstanding.
As I said, it's not my business to meddle in a family quarrel. But I can wish them peace and reconciliation this Christmas season.
There's an old Mexican tradition called La Posada that takes place at this time of year. People go from door to door, impersonating Joseph and Mary, and ask to be let in from the cold.
The first seven or eight houses always turn them away. But at the final house they are welcomed inside and given hot chocolate and Mexican bread.
And that's what I hope for St. Joseph's this Christmas. I hope everyone finds room at the inn.

Dear Santa

"Dear Santa, It's 7:37 on November 27th, 2011. I know it's early, but I don't think anyone will give me a Radica Password Journal. Please send me one in your jolly ol' ho-ho-ho spirit. Merry Christmas, Tai-Ge. P.S. Be jolly!" (Oakland)

"Dear Santa, I am sorry for the times I was bad, and that was a few times. I am sorry about my bad grades in science and history. Can I please have some presents anyway? Love, Heenapreet." (Fairfield)

"Dear Santa, My wish for Christmas still has not come. I demand an explanation! Please send my gift with four AAA batteries this week or I start taking out elfs! Sincerely, Disappointed." (San Jose)

Once upon a time, letters like these ended up in the post office's equivalent of Siberia instead of the North Pole.
But 25 years ago, Elma Ramiriez, Manager of Consumer Affairs for the Bay Valley Postal District, which stretches from Carmel to Napa, happened upon a pile of letters that were about to be thrown out, and they broke her heart.
"They were so touching, we just couldn't bring ourselves to throw them in the dead letter file," she said. "We thought, 'Somebody ought to answer them!'"
That first year, she and her co-workers answered as many as they could. But as word got around, other postmasters throughout Northern California started sending her their Santa letters, and it was clear she was going to need help.
So she turned to us, the public. And it's been a beloved Bay Area holiday tradition ever since
Ramirez retired last spring. But her successor, MaryGrace Cruz, is keeping up the good work.
Currently, she and and her fellow elves - Janet Ezell, Toni Harmon, David Thompson, Brenda Presley, Timothy Wong, Ferdinand Sutanto, Margarita Cristobal and Carmen Boueche and Nina Bopharat Tan - are sorting through piles of incoming letters and putting them in two huge boxes: one labeled "Needy," the other labeled "Greedy."
Every year, the public is invited to read as many as they like and answer them. (See the sidebar for details on how to participate.) And every year, we print the Neediest and Greediest.
So what are our children thinking? Let's ask them:

"Dear Santa, You are awesome! Hooray for Santa! I'm thankful for you because you make Christmas speshul! Happy Christmas, Santa! From Maya." (Oakland)

"Dear Santa, I want you to know that I am going to leave you a treasure in my room in return for the Christmas gifts. Shhhhhhhhhhh! You can't know what it is, and I promise you're going to love it! Bye! Jaeden." (Antioch)

"Dear Santa, I hope you and your family are OK. I hope you will bring something for my two sisters this Christmas because my mom does not have a job. My dad works part time only. I'm 9 years old and I need warm clothes. Shoes size 2. My 14-year-old sister, she's size L. My 18-months-old baby sister needs warm clothes and baby toys. Sincerely, Cristian." (Oakland)

"Dear Santa, I would like a glass angel because they are pretty and sparkly. I will be respectful and responsible. I promise. P.S. I'll have real good cookies for you. Love, Colm (written by mom)." (Berkeley)

"Dear Santa, My favorite holiday is Christmas! I mostly enjoy having my cousins over, I don't care if I do not get the presents I asked for. Just do your best. Thank you, Xavier." (Moraga)

"Dear Santa, Why do you have help from the elves? I hope I can see you on a sled. Do you like cookies and milk? I hope you bring me something to enjoy. Love, Emma." (San Jose)

"Dear Santa, I'm so happy I am saying a hello to you. I'm also happy that you exist because that's how you can help us. This year our mom can't give us nothing because she lost her job and you're the only hope I have. I would love some boots because the ones I have are ripped and I can't keep them together with glue any more. If you can I will be so grateful. And if not, I'll still be happy for just saying a hello to you. Sincerely, Ingrid." (Oakland)

"Dear Santa, I really like Harry Potter and Twilight. So could you get me lots of Twilight and HP stuff please? I believe in you! From Madison." (Pleasanton)

"Dear Santa, I wish for my mother's and father's healthyness. I also wish for clothes and shoes. If my wishes come true, I would be so happy. Sincerely, Sokhun." (Hayward)

"Dear Santa, Hello. I get good grades, not the best but I get Bs. I have always wanted an iPod Touch, but I couldn't get one because of the immigration status my parents are in. I hope to get this because I have always wanted one. Please and thank you, Sincerely, Diego." (Oakland)

"Dear Santa, I want a dog for Christmas. I will tell you the other things later. Love, Julius." (El Cerrito)

"Dear Santa, I am 5 years old. I haven't learned to write yet so I'm having someone help me write this letter. I am a very good girl. I love all my family. There's not much for me to say because I am only 5. Merry Christmas, Aytza." (Oakland)

"Dear Santa, Me and Esher are SO into vampires! And I have a question for you. Am I a real vampire? What am I missing? Please send a letter back. Your BEST friend, Amelia." (Albany)

"Dear Santa, I have been really good! I've been doing all my homework! Hope you are good, too. Until next time, Mila." (San Jose)


"Dear Santa, Will you bring me an airplane toy please? Because I like planes. I'd like you to sit in a chair and my house and eat cookies. Thank you, Santa. Love, Mickey." (Berkeley)

"Dear Santa, I'm 8 years old. I love you, Santa. Love, Jatijah." (Castro Valley)

"Gavin's and Bryan's Gift List: 1. Pure Fun 14-foot enclosure for trampoline. 2. Power wheels Fischer-Price Cadillac Hybrid Escalade-grey. Please! Please! Please!" (Oakland)

"Dear Santa, I want a jump rope and a Rapunzel doll and I love you, Santa. Love, Maegan." (Union City)

"Dear Santa Claus, Hi! My name is Maija. (Yeah, I know it's a whimsical and unique name, LOL.) I would like a Visa gift card. That way, I can buy things on the Internet without asking my parents. Thank you, Maija." (Richmond)

"Warning: Please do not read if not Santa!" (So, of course, we didn't read it.)

And finally, a letter from a desperate mom:

"Dear Santa, I have a six year old daughter who has had a very hard year. She and I had to leave our house in May due to domestic violence. We only took a bag of clothes and had to leave everything else. My daughter lost everything - her home, her toys, her stuff, her friends. She told me she'd like to have a bike like the one she had to leave behind. She is a really good girl and deserves to have a good Christmas. If you can help her, I would appreciate it more than you know. Thank you, Melanie." (Oakland)


SIDEBAR
How You Can Help

You, too, can make the holidays a little brighter for a needy child. Just visit Santa's Mail Room at the downtown Oakland Post Office, 201 13th Street (corner of 13th & Alice), Room 222, between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. from now until Dec. 21, and the friendly elves will give you as many letters as you want.
"You don't necessarily have to send a present," says chief elf MaryGrace Cruz. "Often a kind word is enough. These kids are just glad to know that someone cares."
But, of course, if you're also moved to enclose a gift, nobody's going to stop you.
And if you'd like your own child to receive a letter from Santa, that can be arranged, too. Just write a letter to your child and put it in a stamped envelope addressed to your child.
Then stick the envelope inside another one addressed to North Pole Holiday Postmark, Postmaster, 4141 Postmark Dr, Anchorage, AK 99530-9998. (Yes, Santa has his own zip code.)
A special unit at the Anchorage Post Office will stamp your child's letter with a cancellation reading "North Pole" and mail it back.
Merry Christmas!

Christmas Comes To El Cerrito

Once upon a time there was a man named Sundar Shadi who came to this country from India in 1921 and settled in El Cerrito.
He got a master's degree in horticulture from Cal, but because of prejudice against immigrants the only job he could get was pumping gas.
Instead of complaining he worked hard, saved his money, made some smart investments, and retired a moderately wealthy man at age 50 in 1949.
That's when he began his true calling. That Christmas, his neighbors awoke to find a detailed recreation of the entire town of Bethlehem in his front yard - wise men, angels, doves, sheep, lambs, shepherds, cows, horses, donkeys, camels, the works. Each figure was lovingly created out of papier-mache and plaster of paris by Mr. Shadi himself.
He did it again every year after that, adding more figures each year, until failing eyesight forced him to call it quits in 1997.
The community quickly took the Christmas display to heart. Little kids grew up and brought their own kids, and then their grandkids, to see it.
Charter busses full of tourists came from as far away as San Jose and Sacramento - more than 70,000 every year.
For many people, Mr. Shadi WAS Christmas. He was a real-life Santa Claus who gave us something more precious than toys: the true spirit of the holiday.
The funny thing was that he wasn't a Christian himself. He was a Sikh. He chose a Christmas display because that was the way he could say "I love you" in a language we could understand.
Mr. Shadi died in 2002 at age 101. And then something wonderful happened. The people of El Cerrito refused to let his legacy die.
Under the leadership of former Mayor Jane Bartke, they restored the Shadi sculptures, which had deteriorated badly. That Holiday season the Christmas display made a triumphant return at the corner of Moeser and Seaview. And it's been there every Holiday season since.
But there's no guarantee it will be there next year. Bartke and her helpers - Gordon White, Richard Ritz, Jackson Lusk and Bartke's husband, Rich - are all in their 70s, and it's only a matter of time before they can't do it anymore.
Just as they stepped up 10 years ago, we need a new generation to step up and take over from them.
If you want to become part of this tradition, there's still time to learn the ropes this year because the Christmas display won't go up until Dec. 17. (It will remain there until Dec. 27.) Call Bartke at 510-235-1315, and she'll put you to work.
Financial help is always needed, too, because papier-mâché deteriorates quickly from the moisture, even though the sculptures are outdoors for only 10 days.
You can "adopt" the figure of your choice. A Wise Man (camel included) goes for $500, a shepherd for $350, and sheep are a real steal at only $25. Send a tax-deductible check to the El Cerrito Community Foundation, Inc., P. O. Box 324, El Cerrito CA 94530.
But more than money, what they really want is you.
This beloved Holiday tradition can go on for hundreds of years. Or it can go away tomorrow, and after a generation nobody will remember.
It's up to you, El Cerritans.