Lumberyard Lullaby

She came, she sawed, she conquered.

Caroline McCaskey of San Pablo brought down the house at the San Francisco Symphony in three concerts from May 10-12 with her deft performance of the violin solo from Offenbach's "Orpheus in the Underworld."

The San Jose Mercury raved, "Caroline McCaskey practically stole the show by playing Offenbach with the soaring lyric perfection of a great diva."

But she didn't play it on the violin, even though she's an accomplished fiddler. She played it on the musical saw!

She was nervous before the first rehearsal, but when she reached the highest note in the cadenza, members of the orchestra signaled their approval by clapping, whistling and stomping their feet.

Conductor Michael Tilson Thomas also got a big kick out of it - laughing, applauding and slapping the side of the piano. After the first concert he gave her a big hug.

"I took that as a good sign," she says.

MTT was even more effusive after the final concert on Saturday, kissing her on both cheeks and exclaiming, "You ripped us up!" (Old lumber mill pun.)

He also autographed her saw – a 28-inch Charlie Blacklock CB Special, writing, "For Caroline, the prima donna assoluta of the saw. Brava!" on the blade.

That saw will never be used again.

"I have retired it," she says. "MTT has been a hero of mine at least since high school, if not before."

Not to worry. She still has another Charlie Blacklock CB Special, autographed by Blacklock himself, as well as an ordinary carpenter's saw she bought at Home Depot. Blacklock signed his saw on the handle, not the blade, so she can still play it without worrying about erasing his autograph.

Blacklock, who lived in Alameda, died in 2008. He was one of the greatest sawyers – that's the technical term - who ever lived.

In 2007 Caroline won the annual International Musical Saw Competition – aka "The Saw-Off" – in Roaring Camp, defeating many old timers who have been playing the saw for longer than she's been alive.

"The competition is just an excuse to get together," she says. "There are so few sawyers in the world, it's hard to find someone to play with. The real fun happens beforehand and afterwards, at the jam sessions."

Curiously, the musical saw is actually a sidelight for Caroline, who splits her time between teaching in the San Francisco Bay Area and at Swallow Hill Music in Denver, where she teaches fiddle, cello and, of course, musical saw.

But her first love is the fiddle, which she plays solo as well as in musical groups, including the San Francisco Scottish Fiddlers.

As I said, Charlie Blacklock was one of the greatest musical saw players ever. But he was not the most famous.

That distinction belongs to – believe it or not – Marlene Dietrich! (You can see videos of her playing the saw on YouTube or Google video. You can see Caroline, too.)

Incidentally, this was not Caroline's first time in the limelight. A few years ago, she and her saw were featured on "I've Got A Secret," along with a strongman who bends nails in half, a woman with the world's smallest waist (15 inches, and she's had three kids!) and the man who invented the pink flamingo lawn ornament.

Trailer Trash

Now it can be told! Together again for the first time! It's the film event of the year!

On June 8 the Pacific Film Archives in Berkeley will present "Trailer Trash: A Mini-Movie Extravaganza," a compilation of 40 - count 'em, 40! – movie trailers from some of the cheesiest B-movies of the 1950s, '60s and early '70s.

Among them: "I Was A Teenage Frankenstein," "Queen Of Outer Space," "Blood Of The Vampire," "The Naked Kiss," "Tammy Tell Me True," and "Burn, Witch, Burn!"

Return with us now to the thrilling days of yesteryear, when movie trailers were tiny, two-minute spectacles filed with thunderous scores, thrills and spills galore, and stentorian voices booming with blustery conviction, "A love that knows no bounds!" "In a land where passion reigns!" and "All the emotions of a LIFETIME!"

"Why wade through an entire feature film when a crisply condensed version can compress ninety minutes into a pithy two or three?" says Steve Seid, the PFA's film curator.

This event stems from Seid's lifelong fascination with cinema's historical roots.

"It comes out of vaudeville and the old tent shows. Back in the day, people would travel around the country with prints, like a carney, and the pitch was as important as the picture. The less a film had to offer, the harder it had to sell itself."

No stone will be left unturned in an attempt to recreate the atmosphere of the original experience, including strategically located misters that will periodically spray the aroma of popcorn. (Food isn't allowed in the PFA theater.)

Two years ago PFA hosted a similar event called "Exploit-O-Vision," featuring films that had gimmicks attached to them, recreating the original gimmicks.

"During 'The Maniacs Are Loose,' about an ax murder in a movie theater, another person and I ran through up and down the aisles swinging axes," says Seid. "When we showed 'Polyester,' John Waters gave me a whole bunch of scratch-and-sniff cards to go with it."

And for a screening of "Earthquake," featuring a gimmicky format called Sensaround, Seid borrowed humongous sub-woofers from Meyer Sound, the premier sound equipment company in West Berkeley that supplies speakers to everyone from the Grateful Dead to the Dalai Lama.

"They were so enormous, they literally made the room shake like a roller coaster," he says.

One thing you'll notice is that the trailers sound like they were all narrated by the same guy.

"That's because only three or four people do voice-overs for trailers in L.A.," Seid explains. "They're so successful, they are chauffeured from studio to studio several times a day. They get out, do the voice-over, then get back in the limo and drive on to their next gig.

"Most of these guys have been doing it for two or three decades. So it's always the same set of voices, same vocabulary, and same emotive thrust."

But despite this continuity, Seid says trailers ain't what they used to be.

"Lots of trailers nowadays are nothing but fast cuts, and they end up summarizing the entire film. That's a dangerous strategy. You end up thinking, 'Why should I bother watching the movie?'"

The management requests that for the greater entertainment of your friends who have not yet read this column, you do not reveal the ending.

Baa Baa Black Sheep

                                        (Above: one of the new lambs)
Ever since Twinkle the sheep died last September, everyone at Children's Fairyland in Oakland, from Juan the alpaca to Puddles the duck, has missed her terribly.

But today there are nothing but smiles because this weekend Fairyland will welcome Twinkle's successors: a pair of 4-month-old lambs.

The lambs – both males – are Olde English Babydoll Southdown Sheep, and that's important because Baybdolls are resistant to megaesophogus, the congenital defect that killed Twinkle.

They're called Babydolls for good reason: They're only 18 inches high. And that's as tall as they're ever going to get, so they'll look like lambs for the rest of their lives.

And they'll always act like lambs, too, because sheep born in the wintertime are especially gentle, loving and sweet. They like to snuggle more and get more hands-on treatment from their keepers than sheep born in the summer, who roam outdoors from an early age.

"They've been hand-held and coddled and adored and smothered with love," says Deborah Ramirez, the animal caregiver at Fairyland. "And they've been raised with alpacas, llamas and goats, so they should fit right in with the other animals in our corral."

The little guys, who were donated by Dr. Jamie Peyton of Elysian Oaks Farm in Winters, are chocolate colored with black faces and stockings. And their wool is the same grade as cashmere - Class C.

They haven't been named yet, and that's where you come in. Fairyland is celebrating their arrival with a naming contest. Submit your suggestions in special boxes located throughout the park or at www.facebook.com/childrensfairyland.

The winner will get lunch for four people, plus a behind-the-scenes V.I.P. tour of Fairyland's animal area.

Speaking of animals, you've probably heard of therapy dogs and therapy cats who visit hospitals and nursing homes. But would you believe a therapy camel?

Get ready to meet Hump-Free, an honest-to-goodness dromedary - that's a camel with only one hump – who does animal-assisted therapy at a ranch for troubled kids.

He and his buddies – Quill-Amina the hedgehog, Interrogator the alligator, Scooter the Macaw, Scarlett the cockatoo, and Galindo the jungle cat – will visit Fairyland next Saturday, June 2, for a special guest appearance.

And there's still more animal news! On June 12 Fairyland will re-open its Little Red Henhouse, which has been closed for decades.

The new residents will be three heirloom chickens, so called because they look like chickens used to look before the food industry started producing freaks that can barely walk because of their enormous breasts and thighs.

One is a blond Silkie – think of Snoopy's pal, Woodstock – one is a reddish-colored Orpington, and the third is a black Cochin.

They are being donated by Allison Lindquist, executive director of the Oakland-East Bay SPCA, who raises heirloom chickens as a hobby.

"They're crazy beautiful," says Fairyland's executive director, C.J. Hirschfield. "And she hand-raised them, so they're very docile and friendly."

If you'd like to help support this precious local treasure, the most enjoyable way I can think of is to attend Fairyland's major fundraiser of the year, the annual gala dinner on June 7. Fairytale attire is optional.

If you don't have children, it's a rare chance to see Fairyland in person because at other times the park has a safety rule: No child admitted without an adult, and no adult admitted without a child.

Visit www.facebook.com/childrensfairyland for details.

Remembering Phoebe

When my first cat, Eliza, died 16 years ago, I wrote that I would never love anyone or anything as much again.

And I didn't get another cat for many months, until my veterinarian's office called and said they had a kitten I might like.

She was a little gray fluffball. I named her Nelly and took her home. But after about a month I realized she needed a playmate.

As luck would have it, the next day one of my co-workers brought in a little feral kitten she had humanely trapped in Moss Beach.

I named her Phoebe and took her home. She and Nelly got along great.

But five months later Nelly got outside and was killed.

Phoebe mourned bitterly for about 15 or 20 seconds. Then I saw the proverbial light bulb over her head go "click!"

And ever since that day she made it clear, as only a very stubborn former feral can: NO MORE CATS!

Also, no dogs, rabbits, hamsters or, especially, people. Just her and me.

That was Rule Number One. She trusted me not to eat her, but she wasn't so sure about anyone else.

Rule Number Two was: I'm supposed to be home 24/7, paying attention to her.

The penalty for violating Rule Number One was her hiding under the bed for hours after the visitor had gone.

The penalty for violating Rule Number Two was The Glare.

All cat owners know The Glare. It means "Stop paying attention to that %*&#@^&! book (or telephone or computer) and pay attention to ME!"

She also had different meows for "Feed me," "Play with me," "I am ready to go outside," "I am ready to come inside,"  "I am about to vomit" and "Are you a moron?"

Having said all that, she was the best-behaved cat I ever had. She ate only dry food, and she never trashed the furniture - not even once.

I had something to do with that. When she was little, I'd give her a kitty treat every time she used the scratching post.

Being no fool, she quickly figured out that the way to get kitty treats was to use the post. Which she did – many, many times a day. And God help me if I was late with the kitty treat. I'd get The Glare.

I was proud of myself for having trained her so well. Then one day I finally realized: She had trained me!

But my favorite time was bedtime. She would climb up on the bed, curl up beside me, lay her little head in the palm of my hand and, using it as a pillow, fall asleep. And we'd stay that way all night. It warms my heart just to think about it.

Two years ago Phoebe's health started to fail. It was one ailment right after another. Her doctors, Alan Shriro and Rick Benjamin of Berkeley Dog & Cat Hospital, performed miracle after miracle, but they finally ran out of rabbits to pull out of the hat.

I had her put down on May 1. She went quickly and peacefully. The last thing she saw, the last touch she felt, and the last voice she heard was me.

Did I say I'd never love anyone or anything as much as I loved Eliza? I was wrong.

Go For Broke!

As I mentioned last week, I've been writing this column for 27 years, and in that time I've had the pleasure of meeting more wonderful people than I can count and the honor of telling their stories. 

But if you were to ask me which story is my favorite, it's easy: the men of the 442^nd Regimental Combat team, the Japanese American World War II unit that was awarded more medals, man for man, than any other military unit in American history.

Put yourself in their position on Dec. 7, 1941. You're a typical 18-year-old American boy, focused on baseball, cars and girls (not necessarily in that order).

You hear the news about Pearl Harbor and immediately march down to the recruiting office to volunteer.

But they turn you down. Suddenly, you're not an American citizen anymore, even though you were born right here. Overnight, you've been reclassified as 4-C – "enemy alien."

The next thing you know, you and your family have been arrested and shipped off to a Godforsaken hellhole, euphemistically called a "relocation camp," leaving your home, your business and all your possessions behind, never to see them again.

But you still want to defend your country, even though it has treated you so shabbily. You keep volunteering, and you keep getting turned down.

Finally, by 1943, the Army is so desperate for manpower it creates a segregated all-Japanese American unit called the 442^nd Regimental Team. All the officers are white, of course.

A few of them are decent human beings. But most, especially the general in charge, think of you as nothing better than cannon fodder. So they throw you into the most dangerous battles rather than risk white soldiers' lives.

That's partly how you and your buddies got so many medals. A lot of them were purple hearts.

After the war, you come back, get your parents and your little brothers and sisters out of the camps, and begin the process of rebuilding your life. And for the rest of that life, you live in a way that brings honor to the memory of your dead comrades.

Twenty-five years ago, the veterans of E Company of the 442^nd RCT planted a redwood sapling in Oakland's Roberts Park and placed a memorial plaque next to it to honor their buddies who never came back.

And every year on the third Saturday in May – Armed Forces Day - they come back to Roberts Park for a memorial service. Over the years, that service has been broadened to include all the heroes of World War II.

This year's service will be held May 19. And, as they do every year, the men of Easy Company invite you to join them.

Roberts Park is easy to find. Take Skyline Boulevard and follow the signs for the Chabot Space & Science Center. About a mile before you get to the Center, you'll see a turnoff to Roberts Park on your right.

Go though the first parking lot to the second lot beyond it, and you'll spot me and a bunch of other people. We'll gather there at 11:45 a.m., then walk about a hundred yards  into the park to the memorial sapling, which by now has grown into a towering tree.

The service begins at Noon. I'm looking forward to seeing you there.

You Go, Girl!

I've been writing this column for 27 years, and in all this time I have never endorsed a candidate.

Until now, that is. Today I'm breaking my streak and asking you to vote for the candidate of my choice.

Who is it? Sheena Monnin, Miss Pennsylvania USA, who will be competing for the Miss USA title in Las Vegas on June 3.

I know some people take a dim view of beauty pageants, but once you get to know Sheena, she'll blow all your preconceptions out of the water.

She's smart, funny and focused; and she has a huge, huge heart. She isn't pushing a political agenda, she doesn't hate anyone, and she doesn't want to be a movie star.

Her ideal isn't Kim Kardashian; it's Elizabeth Bennett, the heroine of Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice."

Sheena has a B.A. in human services and a Master's in psychology, and her next step is a PhD in theology. She's also a certified etiquette instructor, with certification in corporate etiquette and international protocol.

For years, her goal has been to found a school for at-risk girls called Pemberly (which Austen fans will recognize as Mr. Darcy's estate in "Pride and Prejudice").

Now she has another one: To counsel people of all ages, ethnicities and religions on a deeper, more sensitive and comprehensive level – especially children.

For the last ten years she's been teaching little kids etiquette, and I don't mean which fork to use.

"Etiquette is learning about respect," she says. "Showing respect to others through our actions is empowering and increases our own level of self-respect."

I could go on and tell you about the hours she spends with a charity called Christmas Child, stuffing shoeboxes with pencils, notebooks, toys and other goodies for kids who otherwise wouldn't have a Christmas.

Or how she uses her celebrity to raise funds for Bethlehem Haven, a shelter for homeless women in Pittsburgh.

But what impresses me most is not what she does, it's the way she does it. She's one of those rare people who, when they're talking with someone, are totally in the moment.

Especially when she's talking with children. She tunes out of the rest of the world and does nothing but listen to them with every fiber of her being.

Now, put yourself in the place of one of those little girls. Here's this beautiful older woman – she's only 27, but to a little kid that must seem ancient - wearing a crown and a big sash reading, "Miss Pennsylvania USA," and she's listening to you as if you're the most important person in the world.

She looks like a princess, but what she's really saying to you is "No, YOU are the princess. And you can be anything and do anything you want."

And the look on their little faces is just priceless. Talk about empowerment!

Check them out on Sheena's Facebook page, "Miss Pennsylvania USA." You'll find yourself being charmed in spite of yourself.

Then please vote for her at either www.missusa.com or www.nbc.com.

And if, after all this, you still take a dim view of beauty pageants, she won't mind.

"When I meet someone who doesn't like pageants, that's OK," she says. "There are lots of other areas where we can find common ground and make a genuine connection."
Online balloting starts May 1.

Investing In The Future

In the 16^th Century the Protestant Reformation, led by John Knox, swept through Scotland.

Knox wanted every person to be able to read the Bible, so he instituted a broad program of public education.

Two hundred years later, three out of four Scotsmen could read and write, making Scotland the most literate nation in Europe.

The result was a flowering of art, science, technology, economics and literature known as the Scottish Enlightenment, with philosopher David Hume, poet Robert Burns, economist Adam Smith and inventor James Watt all living in Edinburgh at the same time.

And that intellectual flowering triggered the industrial revolution that made Britain the greatest empire the world had ever known.

Something similar happened here in the United States in the mid-19^th Century, when reformers passed new public education laws making school compulsory through the age of 16.

The result was a highly educated workforce that built the world's biggest economic powerhouse and became the great arsenal of democracy during two world wars.

After World War II we did it again, passing the G.I. Bill of Rights that sent millions of returning vets to college, forming the basis of the Eisenhower '50s, the greatest period of prosperity our country has ever known.

The lesson is clear: Education equals prosperity.

But it's a lesson we have forgotten over the last 50 years. We have allowed our public schools, from kindergarten to college, to whither from lack of funds.

Nowhere is that more apparent than the West Contra Costa Unified School District, where teachers have to pay out of their own pockets for such basics as paper and pencils for their students.

Some people say you can't solve problems by throwing money at them, but public education has been starved for so long, a massive infusion of funds would be a life-saver.

In this political climate, that's not going to happen anytime soon. Until then, private individuals are trying to give the schools emergency transfusions to keep them alive until the public wakes up and forces the politicians to do the right thing.

One such effort is the West Contra Costa Public Education Fund – The Ed. Fund, for short – which bestows small monetary awards on outstanding teachers, staff and volunteers to continue their good work. This year alone it has awarded 77 grants to schools and 75 college scholarships to graduating high school seniors.

This year's awardees are Joshua Hastings, a history teacher at Richmond High; Maria Saxton, a dual immersion teacher at Washington Elementary; Abigail Sims-Evelyn, a history and leadership teacher at LoVonya DeJean Middle School; Tracy Singh-Poole, a special education teacher at DeAnza High; and Todd Groves, volunteer par excellence at El Cerrito High and Portola Middle School.

The awards will be presented May 18 at the Ed. Fund's annual Excellent In Education gala at the Craneway Pavilion in Richmond. It's the Ed. Fund's major fundraiser of the year.

Tickets are $100 for adults, $75 for WCCUSD teachers and $30 for students. To purchase tickets – or to donate if you can't attend - visit www.edfundwest.org or send a check to The Ed. Fund, 217C W. Richmond Ave., Richmond 94801.

Granted, this is tantamount to slapping a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. But a Band-Aid is better than nothing until we can get the patient to surgery.