Go Bears!

(Above: Oski and the Cal rally committee after a recent victory in the Big Game. The axe will soon be painted blue and gold.)

Today, Berkeley will be flooded by football fans in blue & gold and cardinal & white, making their way to the newly renovated Memorial Stadium for the 114th Big Game.
This year is the 30^th anniversary of The Play, the last-second kickoff return in 1982 that featured five laterals and an upside-down trombone player and turned a 25-19 Stanford win into a 25-20 Cal victory, knocking Stanford out of a bowl game.

But this weekend is not the actual anniversary of The Play because the athletic directors of the Pac 12 decided to move this year's Big Game from its traditional date, the third Saturday in November, back to mid-October.

To their credit, both Cal athletic director Sandy Barbour and her counterpart down on The Farm, Bob Bowlsby, fought this abomination tooth and nail. But they were outvoted by the other athletic directors, who were seduced by the lure of television money.

One of the casualties of this switch is the traditional Friday night Big Game bonfire rally in the Greek Theater, which always comes to an emotional climax with the recitation of the Andy Smith Eulogy, written in honor of the coach who led Cal to five straight undefeated seasons before dying of pneumonia in 1925.

All you can see is the flickering of candlelights, and the Greek is so hushed you can hear a pin drop. I get chills up and down my spine just thinking about it.

But this year, due to the switch, they can't have a bonfire rally because Bob Dylan already reserved the Greek for concerts this weekend.

But these are Cal students we're talking about, and they don't give up easily.

"We're going to have a rally at Edwards Field instead, and it's open to the public," says rally chair Kalina Kwong. "Because of fire regulations we can't have a bonfire, so we'll have pyrotechnics in its place."

But wait! There's more!

"We did some research, and we found that bonfire rallies weren't always limited to the Big Game. Back in the Andy Smith era they had bonfires before almost every game. So we're going to have a bonfire rally on November 9, the night before the Oregon game."

But bonfires don't come cheap. Kalina estimates it will take about $15,000, what with the insurance and fire safety and security measures, as well as the cost of renting the Greek Theater itself.

To date, the kids have raised $11,000, which still leaves them four grand short. If you'd like to help, you can do it online at givetocal.berkeley.edu (search for "rally committee") or by sending a tax-deductible check to Bonfire Fund, ASUC/rally committee, 400 Eshelman Hall, Berkeley CA 94720.

Please write "bonfire" on the memo line and include your return mailing address so they can send you a receipt for your donation and a certificate of appreciation.

BTW, The Axe, which goes each year to the winner of the Big Game, is mounted on a plaque that lists the scores of all previous Big Games.

Whenever Stanford wins, the Stanford axe committee changes the score of the 1982 game to 20-19, negating The Play and giving Stanford a "victory," however spurious. When Cal wins, the Cal rally committee changes it back to the proper 25-20 score again.

Hey, Cal fans: Ain't schadenfreude wonderful?

Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On

(Above: Richard Schwartz)

At 7:45 in the morning on Oct. 21, 1868, the entire East Bay was shaken by a powerful earthquake on the Hayward fault.

Many people were knocked down and couldn't stand again until the shaking stopped. Some grabbed onto trees to steady themselves, but the trees were swaying back and forth like giant pendulums. Those inside buildings were tossed around like beanbags.

Fissures in the ground opened and shut again, like a hungry mouth. Some people assumed it was the end of the world and sat down to await their doom.

The quake – which the U.S. Geological Survey estimates was between 6.8 and 7.0 on the Richter scale – opened a giant fissure running from somewhere south of Hayward all the way north to what is now Berkeley, ranging in width from six inches to six feet.

Not many people were killed, which is not surprising since not many people lived around here at the time – only 2,400 along the whole length of the fault, compared to more than 2.5 million today.

The most notable fatality was Joseph "JW" Josselyn, a promising young clerk in the Alameda County Courthouse in San Leandro – the county seat at the time - who was killed when he rushed outside and was struck by a falling cornice.

Luckier was the workman who was 140 feet in the air,  putting the final touches on the main spire at the California School for the Deaf – now known as the Clark Kerr Campus – in Berkeley when the quake struck.

"He held on for dear life while it rocked back and forth four feet in either direction," says Richard Schwartz, my favorite amateur historian, who uncovered all the stuff I've just told you.

Schwartz himself is almost as interesting as the stories he tells. A building contractor by trade, he happened to be visiting the Berkeley Historical Society one day in 1996 when he spotted a two-foot stack of old Berkeley Daily Gazette newspapers from 1900 to 1909.

The Historical Society was about to throw them out because they were moldy, and they didn't want to run the risk of the mold spreading to other collections.

"Hey, I'll take them," he said. And these newspapers became the source material for three fascinating books:  "Berkeley 1900: Daily Life at the Turn of the Century," "Earthquake Exodus 1906: Berkeley Responds to the San Francisco Refugees," and "Eccentrics, Heroes and Cutthroats of Old Berkeley."

Befitting his daytime job as a contractor, they are sold not only in local bookstores, but also in hardware stores.

Now he's on a new mission: To warn us that what happened before will happen again.

"The USGS says major destructive earthquakes happen along the Hayward Fault on the average of once every 138 years," he says. "That means we've been overdue since 2006. And we are woefully unprepared."

You can find out more at Spenger's Fish Grotto in Berkeley on Oct. 27, when Schwartz will give a lecture, replete with photos, sponsored by Builders' Booksource. Cost: $30, all of which will go to Spenger's for dinner. (Schwartz and Builders' Booksource are donating their time.)

But you must make your reservation no later than Oct. 21 by calling Builders Booksource at 510-845-6874.

"The whole idea is to show people all these photos and scare them into preparing," he says.

All Creatures Great And Small

Ten years ago the people of Berkeley approved a bond measure to fund a new city animal shelter to replace the old, well-loved but well-worn facility that was state-of-the-art when it was built in the 1950s but is sadly out of date now.

It's taken another decade of jumping though bureaucratic hoops, but the new shelter will finally open next month.

Unfortunately, bond measures pay only for the bricks and mortar, not for what goes on inside the building. And this bond measure was no exception.

Which means Berkeley Animal Care Services, the agency that runs the shelter, still has to find the rest of the money on its own. The most glaring need is for an on-site clinic to treat the animals in the shelter, including basics like vaccinations, spay/neuter surgeries and emergency medial care. Currently, the shelter is forced to outsource these functions to local veterinarians.

It's hard to imagine a more expensive, less efficient way of doing things. The cats and dogs have to be transported to and from the vet's office, which not only eats up staff time, it's the four-footed equivalent of sending people to the emergency room for routine medical needs.

Not to mention the war and tear on the poor animals themselves, who ought to be getting total rest.

 Currently, one out of every five pets in the shelter needs such medical care. And some require much more, such as Daphne, a pit bull puppy who was brought in a few months ago with her ears cut off and 38 pellets from a pellet gun under her skin.

Or Godiva, another pit bull who was brought in with a chain around her neck that became tighter and tighter as she grew up, to the point where her skin had literally grown over it, requiring surgery to cut it out. Her suffering must have been unimaginable.

Their treatment didn't come cheap, but that's what an animal shelter is there for, and why an in-house clinic is so crucial.

Currently, Berkeley Animal Care Services – which is responsible for taking care of all the lost, abused, stray or unwanted animals in Berkeley, Albany, Piedmont and Emeryville – provides a safe haven for more than 1,500 dogs and cats every year.

But BACS is much more than just another city shelter. In addition to its caring, committed and knowledgeable staff, more than 600 volunteers give more than 400 hours of their time every week to support programs such as pit bull placement, feral cat management and community services.

Last year, some of these volunteers formed a non-profit group called Friends of Berkeley Animal Care Services to support the shelter and raise the money to equip that on-site clinic.

Their first big fund-raiser will be a gala at the Brower Center on Oct. 18 called Power to the Paws, featuring gourmet food and wine (this is Berkeley, after all), live entertainment and an auction including tickets to Berkeley Rep and your own private concert by a trio of musicians from the Berkeley Symphony Orchestra.

And if you can't attend but would still like to help, you can make a tax-deductible donation online at friendsofbacs.org or by sending a check to Friends of BACS, c/o DeAnna Dalton, 1244 Curtis Street, Berkeley CA 94706.

Tell 'em Daphne and Godiva sent you.

Know Thyself

(Above: me in college)

Last weekend I got a visit a friend of mine whom I hadn't seen for a while, and the first thing he said was "I hardly recognize you. You look happier than you've been in years."

And he's right. This has been the best summer I've had in decades.

It started with my college reunion in New Haven, followed by a memorable trip to the Gettysburg battlefield. Next, I adopted two new healthy, happy little kittens who, after years of my taking care of a very old, very sick and very fearful cat, have brought joy back into my life 24/7.

But the capper came a couple of weeks ago, when I discovered something about myself I never guessed before.

I was watching historian David McCullough on C-SPAN, and he praised a professor he had at Yale named Vincent Scully – no relation to Dodgers announcer Vin Scully - who taught history of architecture.

He said some of the things Scully said were so memorable, he can quote them word-for-word to this day.

I went to Yale, too, 12 years after McCullough. And I, too, took Scully's course. But I can't remember anything he said because I never heard it. I slept through every class.

I also took an American history course from an equally celebrated professor named John Morton Blum. But I slept through all his classes, too.

Ditto for the great philosopher Paul Weiss, who taught a course on ethics.

In short, I sleepwalked all the way through college. I never cracked a book, never attended a class, and never went out for extra-curricular activities. (You'd think I would have gone out for the college newspaper, but no. Not even that.)

And I kept sleepwalking long after college. I've spent my whole life squandering great opportunities, including relationships with two wonderful women whom I should have married when I had the chance. And I've been kicking myself for blowing my chances, both personal and professional, ever since. Mine has been a lifetime filled with regrets.

Watching McCullough talk about Scully brought all those feelings back, so I decided to share them with my therapist.

I was stunned by her response: "Why are you blaming yourself? You were depressed when you were in college."

"Really?" I said.

"Of course," she replied. "Seeping through classes, disengaging – these are classic symptoms."

"Really?" I said again. "You mean I'm not a bad guy after all?"

"Of course not," she said." "How could anyone go through the horrible childhood you had without being depressed? What's more, I think you've been depressed all your life."

It was like the time when I was a little kid, when somebody told me the real story about Santa Claus. The moment she said it, I knew in my heart it was true.

And I can't tell you how liberating that self-knowledge has been. For one thing, I'm off the hook. I can stop blaming myself for blowing my opportunities.

Even more important, I can now start living the way I should have been doing all along. Whenever I'm tempted to close myself off from life, I can say to myself, "Martin, that's just your depression talking. Go do it anyway."

I tell you, I've never been so happy ever since I found out I was depressed.

 

Good News And Happy Endings

(Above: Casey sees her new ornament for the first time as grandma looks on)

OK, folks. Nothing but good news and happy endings today.

First, remember when somebody swiped the Ugly Duckling statue from atop Aesop's Playhouse at Children's Fairyland last June? It's been returned – just as mysteriously as it disappeared in the first place!

"Our baby bird was found yesterday morning, returned to our front gate," Fairyland's executive director, C.J. Hirschfield, emailed me last week. "He/she needs to be touched up and re-installed. The money we received in donations, which wouldn't have been enough for a replacement, will be used for this purpose."

Hirschfield credits media coverage of the ducknapping for the statue's return.

"I truly believe that the perp was shamed into doing the right thing," she says.

Next, we have the Christmas ornaments, which had been lovingly collected over three generations - that were stolen from Brad and Nenelle Bunnin's home in Berkeley.

The police never caught the perpetrator, so the Bunnins' 8-year-old granddaughter, Casey, appealed to a higher authority – Santa Claus.

Sure enough, one of Santa's helpers came to the rescue.

She's Sarah Kidder, proprietress of Sarah Kidder Designs in Oakland. Kidder is an event planner and etiquette instructor who is writing an etiquette book for the 21st Century using examples from James Bond movies.

"When I read what happened to the Bunnins I knew I had to do something," she says.

So she handmade customized ornaments for Brad, Nenelle, and all four of their grandchildren, each one with the recipient's name on it.

I was there when she handed the new ornaments over last month. The Bunnins couldn't have been more thrilled.

Brad joked, "This is going to be the most memorable Christmas since the year I bought a 12-foot tree for an 8-foot room," but I could tell he was moved.

Casey said the ornaments are "awesome," and when you're eight years old there's no higher praise than that.

But I think the person who was happiest of all was Kidder. Doing something nice for somebody else will do that to you.

Speaking of Kidder, let me wish you a happy Return To Sender Day. It's a guilt-free day designated for the safe return of items to their rightful owners.

The idea came to Kidder last spring when she was re-organizing her office and came across a handful of items that she'd attempted to return to friends, but to no avail. Later, she realized she was looking for items that she'd loaned away but never got back.

Thus, RTS Day was born.

"It's a day to help people get up the nerve to have that awkward 'I-know-it's been-three-years-but-could-I-please-have-my-book-back?' conversation," she says. "Friendships can be injured over borrower/lender issues, and RTS Day can help, especially in touchy situations such as the end of a romance."

RTS Day is observed twice a year – March 21, the first day of Spring, and today, the last day of Summer. Kidder has set up a website (sarahkidderdesigns.com) and Facebook page (facebook.com/RTSDay) with downloadable templates of reminders to send your friends, such as "Missing: Deep Fryer. Last seen: Your house. For that BBQ you hosted. You said you'd bring it back Monday. That was nine months ago. I'd like it back on RTS Day."

Shakespeare's Polonius warned, "Neither a borrower nor a lender be." But if you must borrow, give it back!

 

Tumbling After

Seated in her office with signs on the door reading, "Warning: I have flying monkeys and I'm not afraid to use them!" and "What happens over the rainbow stays over the rainbow," C.J. Hirschfield, executive director of Children's Fairyland, beamed as she looked out the window last week and watched toddlers cavorting on the park's newest attraction, Jack & Jill Hill, a six-foot, gently sloped mound covered with high quality AstroTurf.

Some kids slid down the hill on squares of recycled cardboard and ran giggling into their parents' arms. Others raced back up the hill to do it all over again. Three little boys rolled down the hill. And one daring little girl slid down headfirst. All were having the time of their lives.

"There hasn't been a single moment since Jack & Jill Hill opened (on July 27) that it hasn't been in constant use," said Hirschfield, who cheerfully admits she stole the idea from the Santa Barbara Zoo.

"I was visiting there two years ago with my daughter, and I saw kids playing on an AstroTurf-covered mound called The Ant Hill, and I thought, 'Oh boy! It's simple and physical and low-tech and interactive! It would be perfect for Fairyland!'"

As usual, the main obstacle for Fairyland, which perpetually runs on a shoestring budget, was finding the money to pay for it.

"But that was no problem for C.J.," said Ron Zeno, a member of Fairyland's Board of Directors. "She knows everyone in town."

In this case, it was Councilwoman Jane Brunner, who came up with a grant to buy the AstroTurf, and Mike Hester, president of McGuire & Hester, who donated the labor.

"Oakland and Fairyland have been an important part of my life, both personally and professionally, so it seemed like the natural thing to do," said Hester, who spent many happy hours at Fairyland as a child.

Hirschfield is celebrating her 10^th anniversary as Fairyland's executive director, having assumed the reins in 2002 after an extremely successful 25-year career in the cable television industry. But she had to take a huge salary cut to make the move.

"I happened to be in New York on 9/11, and it had a profound effect on me," she explained. "I thought about the people who died, and I said, "I hope they were doing what they loved.' And then it hit me: I'm not doing what I love!

"So when I got back to the Bay Area I saw a job listing on Craigslist for Fairyland's executive director, and I thought, 'What greater challenge could there be than to go to work every day at a place I've loved since my daughter was a kid and make it better for the next generation?'"

But she had her work cut out for her.

"Things weren't going very well here," said Zeno. "In a word, they were bad. But she came in here and went right to work."

The first thing order of business was repairing the Pirate Ship, which had been blocked off with yellow police tape for years due to safety concerns.

"I happened to be talking to then-state Senator Don Perata, whom I'd known from my previous life in the cable industry," said Hirschfield. "And he said, 'I love Fairyland. Let me know if there's anything I can to do to help,' and I said, 'Well, since you asked, we need a sizable sum of money to install safety features on the Pirate Ship.'

"The next day he called me and said, 'I think I may have someone who wants to help you.' It was Diane and Ed DaSilva, whose son Doug had recently passed away. Doug had loved playing on the Pirate Ship when he was a little boy, so they donated the funds to fix it up in his memory."

Next up: building the long-delayed Old West Junction.

"I saw a sign saying, 'Old West Junction coming soon,' and, being new on the job, I said, 'Wonderful!' The staff started cracking up, and someone said 'C.J., that sign has been there for 20 years!'"

Next came the transformation of the Thumbelina Tunnel, which had been boarded up and unused for more than two decades, into the Fairy Music Farm, featuring one-of-a-kind  interactive musical instruments that kids make sounds on as they go through the tunnel.

Then came restoration of the Puppet Theater and the Chapel of Peace, followed by construction the Little Red Hen House for Fairyland's newest residents, three "heirloom" chickens named Woodstock, Violet and Polyanna.

But Hirschfield's pride and joy, which she labored seven  long years to bring about, is Aesop's Playhouse, the region's only children's performing arts theater, a popular venue for groups like the Oakland-East Bay Symphony's Music in the Schools Program as well as home base for Fairyland's own children's theater program.

She's the first to admit she couldn't have done any of this without her loyal staff who, like her, are working for a fraction of what they could be earning elsewhere.

"She doesn't micro-manage," said Zeno. "When she first came here, her attitude toward the staff was 'You know what you're doing, so go do it. I'm going to do what I need to do as executive director to make this park improve.' And that's what she did."

Hirschfield's goal is to remain faithful to the original vision of Fairyland's founders, horticulturalist Arthur Navlet and William Penn Mott, director of the East Bay Regional Parks district, whose motto was "no straight lines and a surprise around every corner."

"They had a very clear concept of what they wanted the park to be, and we're trying hard to channel that intent. We think they'd approve of what we're doing to make Fairyland a sweet, safe place for families."

 

Pizza Girls 2.0

                                                 (Above: Sterling)

First, let me thank all who sent condolences when my cat Phoebe died May 1 and congratulations when I adopted my two new little kittens, Pepe and Sally, three weeks ago.

Many of you, however, asked why I gave Pepe a boy's name, since they're both girls.

It's even worse than you think. Sally is a boy's name, too.

Let me explain. New Haven, Connecticut, where I spent my college years, has the largest Neapolitan population in the country.

Which means it has the best pizza in the country. After all, Naples is where pizza was invented, right?

And the two iconic pizzerias in New Haven are Pepe's, which was founded by Frank Pepe in 1925, and Sally's, which was founded just down the street by his nephew, Salvatore "Sally" Consiglio, nine years later.

Both places have fanatical customer bases. Pepe's fans never set foot inside Sally's, and Sally's fans wouldn't be caught dead inside Pepe's.

Frank Sinatra, for example, was a huge Sally's fan. Whenever he played a gig in Manhattan, he's send his chauffeur up to New Haven before the show to buy a couple of Sally's  "apizzas" and rush them back so they'd be waiting for Frank when he stepped offstage.

Bill and Hillary, on the other hand, were big Pepe's fans when they were at Yale Law School.

But to answer your question: The reason I gave my kittens boys' names is that pizza transcends gender.

So who makes the best pizza - Sally's or Pepe's?

To tell the truth, I have a hard time telling any difference. But I do know that they're better pizzas than any other I've ever encountered.

And that's pretty much the same way I feel about my new kittens.

Every day is a quantum leap over the day before. They love their new home and me, and I love them back. And to see how much they love each other just makes my heart sing. I feel happy in a way I haven't felt since my first cat, Eliza, died 16 years ago.

Don't get me wrong; I loved Phoebe very much. But she was a deeply traumatized, even paranoid, cat. It was my pleasure to take care of her, but there was little joy in it. Most of it consisted of my doing my best to make sure each day wasn't as terrifying for her as it might have been.

But my two Pizza Girls' joie de vivre is giving me a new lease on life. I am once again available for dancing in the streets.

But I'm still looking for a home for their brother Sterling, who in many ways is the most remarkable of all. He's absolutely gorgeous - a pure silver tabby – sweet, friendly and full of fun.

 I would have loved to adopt him, too, but my apartment is barely big enough for two cats, let alone three.

If you're interested, Sterling can be visited and is up for adoption at Berkeley Dog & Cat Hospital, 2126 Haste Street. He's already been neutered and had all his shots, and he would fit right in a home with dogs, other cats or kids.

If you adopt him, please let me know. It would make me feel better to know he found a good home.