All posts by Chris

Zach's Dad

Dad the list maker

I only have one photo to support my thesis, but I’m going ahead anyway. Here’s the photo:

This is a view of the interior of the furnace closet. All the notations are in Dad’s writing documenting the dates on which he had changed the furnace filter.

He had installed a water softener not long after we moved to the Santa Clara house. The water softener uses salt pellets which periodically have to be added to a barrel in the garage. That system has been replaced at least once in the 60+ years and the one now in use is 15 or 20 years old. The lid of the salt barrel is filled with similar notations of when he had added salt pellets. It’s even more dramatic looking than the furnace closet.

In Mom’s car at this very moment, I am sure – without looking, I’m at home as I write this – there is a little book with notations showing every gasoline purchase since the car was new. She has faithfully carried on this tradition of Dad’s for years now. I’m not as sure that she is keeping the service records there as Dad did.

For many years, I carried on this tradition in my own vehicles as well. I finally realized that there was no benefit to me so I stopped. I can look at credit card records if I have to although I can’t use them to calculate mileage, as he did. I am guilty of occasionally putting dates on things that I use: ibuprofen, laundry detergent, potato chips, toothpaste, for example, so that I can gauge how long they actually last. Perhaps that was Dad’s motivation. I prefer to think that he was a scientist to the bone and always wanted to work from a position of factual knowledge.

To be fair, I never saw dates written on any perishables at our house growing up. Perhaps, with 6 kids, things got used up so fast it didn’t matter.

San Francisco streets

Since moving into the City, I’ve made it a habit to rehearse the order of the names of the streets as I go places. Despite them being literally next door, I still get Greenwich and Filbert mixed up. They both have stairs up Telegraph Hill. Filbert is more famous, probably because it is a bit nicer. Greenwich is closer to our place on Lombard.

After Filbert, heading into (what we still call) the Financial District, there is Union, Green, Vallejo and Broadway.

Today Sepi and I walked to our dentist, who is at 450 Sutter. Once on the downtown grid, every corner can be a choice as the distances all come out the same. Some blocks go up hills, though, so generally we go down Sansome for a while to get around the shoulder of Telegraph Hill. Whether the day is warm or cool often determines which side of the street we walk on. Today, before the low clouds burned off, we turned up Washington to skirt (what is still called) the Transamerica Building then going down Montgomery to Sacramento then Grant then Sutter.

What is really interesting to me now are the alleys.

Maiden Lane by Union Square is (or was) famous. Hotaling Place is lesser known but has a cool 1906 story. Leidesdorff Street has a nice mural.

Today, walking towards home on Grant, we saw an alley with no sign. Down at the end was a sign for a restaurant: The Irish Bank. Around the corner, I spied the other end of the alley – it takes a turn at the restaurant – which was named Mark Lane. Is it Mark Lane all the way through? No, according to Google Maps, the other part is Harlan Place. We asked at the restaurant but they didn’t know.

Another block farther on, we walked down Belden Place, which sported at least a half dozen restaurants in its single block. Pretty busy, too, at lunch hour. I’ve never even heard of Belden Place before today.

Many of the streets we walked on today I have driven on but we really enjoy going slow and looking at everything: the buildings entrances and decorations, the store windows, the people. I got a book once from the library that talked about all the San Francisco street names and how they got that way but it works better for me to do it organically. If I stand in a place and know the history, I can remember it better. It’s not as much fun to just jam facts into my brain to be spewed forth later.

Our (try to be) daily walks are often out on the Embarcadero. Certain places on the Embarcadero have brass plaques in the sidewalk with stories about the intersecting streets.

Francisco, Chestnut, Lombard, Greenwich, Filbert, Union . . .

Going the other way: Battery, Sansome, Montgomery, Kearney, Grant, Stockton, Powell, Mason, Taylor . . .

I’ve got to keep at it!

**************

Addendum: We went out onto the Embarcadero today and I got a picture of one of the plaques I was talking about. It was for Green Street. There are actually six plaques set into the sidewalk. The top two show the name of the street and the direction to it from where we are standing.

The middle two show an image of Mr Green and tell Mr Green’s story. It basically says Mr Green was actually someone else with another name.

At the bottom is a final word. The seagull shit is such a San Francisco touch!

early guitar

I started playing the guitar ‘seriously’ the summer I was 15. The family drove across country to visit relatives and I took Dad’s (it wasn’t officially mine at that point) guitar with us in the van.

I didn’t really have a plan. I was just bashing away at it at odd times. It was what Bruce and I had been doing for the previous few months but taking on a trip was a new level of seriousness.

I’ve been trying to remember the order I did things. I had taken trumpet lessons in 5th grade so I knew how to read music but I didn’t know how to translate that to the guitar.

At some point, I went down to Moyer Music, which was within walking distance at the Food Villa chopping Center, and took some lessons from a guy named Terry. He had me buy the Mickey Baker book and showed me how to play ‘Corcovado’ and ‘The Shadow Of Your Smile’ in chord melody style. It meant very little to me then but it stood me in good stead later. I still have the Mickey Baker books. Two of them!

Despite all that, I never felt that being able to play anything that we heard on our records was attainable. Jimi Hendrix especially, but also Jerry, Jorma, Eric and the rest seemed other worldly. I remember being at a battle of bands and I heard a local guy play some great riff and I was gobsmacked. What mere mortal can do that??

I bought a book on blues guitar and worked up the Eric Clapton version of Freddie King’s ‘Hideaway’. I still can’t play the turnaround right though. I could get the first three notes of ‘Crosscut Saw’ but that was about it.

Nowadays, everybody talks incessantly about tone. For us, there was no idea that you could put some kind of tone modifying device between your guitar and your amp. Well, Hendrix had the wah-wah pedal. We all thought he just had his Marshall stack dimed for that great distorted sound.

It turned out he did anyway but he also had a distortion pedal. PAs were little in those days so the amp had to do a lot of work.

When I finally got a little money, I bought a Fender Twin Reverb because that was what Jerry Garcia used. I never had the courage to turn it up enough to get serious distortion out of it. (Of course, that’s what I wanted!) Nobody told me there were smaller amps that could do what I wanted. Pretty much all of our sources of information were word of mouth, which for me meant Bruce. No Internet, kids!

I had a Gibson ES-335 because Bob Weir and Boz Scaggs had one. It had a crack in the neck so I had it worked on by a shop in San Francisco. I think they ripped me off and didn’t really do anything except add a little bit of lacquer. I’m sure there were people who knew what they were doing, but I couldn’t find them. The guitar wasn’t great but it was nicer than I deserved.

Well, we had fun and made a little money. That stuff is all gone now and no regrets. I’ve got decent gear that does what I need. I can play a lot better now. I’ve taken a few lessons over the years and actually learned some things. Tone is still kind of mysterious though.

Tim K

I’m never quite sure about using people’s names on this blog. Generally I do it like this.

I got the news today that Tim K died last week. Tim was Tom’s younger brother and in my high school class. In other words, the same age as me.

Thinking back, Tim was really my entree to Tom. Tom, who was so important to me in my early rock band days. Tim and I were in some of the same classes together our Senior year of high school. Perhaps the most important to me was the Period 0 PE class. Because we had a full load of academic classes, we were allowed to take PE – because god forbid you don’t get PE – before the regular classes started. During PE basketball games we could talk to each other and became friends.

Tom was two years older and already off to college by this time but I had been envious of him and his band ‘Native Son’ from a couple of years before. When I wanted to put together a band for a church event, Tom graciously agreed to participate. Without knowing Tim I would have been too scared to talk to him.

The church band became April, which was a real thing for a couple of years. It was real enough for me to quit UCSC the next year because of it.

During those two or three years after high school, Tim and I palled around quite a bit. He often came along when my band was playing. We experimented with our bodies’ tolerance for alcohol. Really gross stuff in hindsight: Mickey’s Big Mouth, Schlitz Malt Liquor, Sloe Gin fizzes, Ouzo.

I don’t remember any incident that split us. Eventually, we just went our separate ways. Tim became an elementary school teacher in Fresno and while my relationship with Tom deepened, it did not carry over to staying in touch with Tim.

Tim never married nor had any long term relationships, as far as I know. Tom is going to Fresno to go through his apartment. I can’t help but think of the surprise we got when we went through Zach’s papers.

I always felt that Tim had so much going for him in high school. He was so gregarious then, it was always a surprise that he was so guarded about his life later. Teaching is an honorable profession but I thought he could have done a lot more. I suppose you could say the same about me. I never heard that alcohol played any part of him being so reticent. I always felt that he got over it as I did.

There is a backlog for the coroner’s autopsy. Maybe we’ll know more next week. In the meanwhile, Rest In Peace Tim. We had some good times together. I learned a lot from you. You deserved better than to die alone.

Getting older

What is it like getting older? How about this?

I was talking to a medical person this morning about a procedure that I had had. I could remember the procedure perfectly. I thought it was maybe about ten years ago. Then I started running the numbers.

It was before I moved to Pacifica in 2010. In fact, it was right around the time I moved to Suisun. Hmmm, 2007? How many years ago was that? Almost 20! Sheesh!

For some reason, things that happened longer ago, like when I worked at the Opera, or moved to Grass Valley, are easier to rationalize in memory. 30 years ago? 40 years ago? Whatever. When something that at first blush seems recent and it turns out to be 20 years ago . . . Man, I’m old!

MTT is 80

The Symphony is having a celebration of Michael Tilson Thomas’ 80th birthday this weekend. It is bittersweet because he has brain cancer and is in bad shape. There was a rehearsal yesterday that was opened to certain people. I was invited but I chose to not attend. My little group of retirees had discussed this a few months ago and the consensus was that we preferred to remember Michael as he was and not how he is.

I found a post (linked here) that I had written in October 2023 in which I said he would never return to the podium. In fact, he did return to the SFS podium the following March and he appeared again yesterday (and presumably will for the concert tonight). Amazingly, he’s also continued to conduct other orchestras around the world as well.

In general, he does ok while actually conducting, but rehearsing specific passages is highly problematic as he can’t navigate the pages very well. There are assistant conductors to help him. Off the podium, he’s very spaced out. Even a year ago, when I last saw him, he seemed only dimly aware of his surroundings. His husband Joshua, along with other helpers, was with him constantly.

Michael was the Music Director when I was hired as Stage Manager so I had an interview with him. For complicated reasons, it was over the phone. I spent most of the time trying to establish my bona fides as someone who had long standing ties to the orchestra and understood the art form. He was cordial but nothing I said animated him. As we worked together over the next 9 months, it was more of the same. He was nice enough, but distant. He already knew it was his last year as Music Director. In truth, I already felt that he had been phoning it in for a few years.

All the plans to celebrate his last year at the Symphony were blown up by Covid-19. Our massive European tour was cancelled and the final Mahler 6 that everyone was looking forward to in June 2020 never happened.

So, Happy Birthday Michael! I do not wish him many happy returns because I don’t think there will be any. Spaced out does not mean unhappy, though. Even a year ago, with his mind failing, he seemed happy. So, I wish him what happiness he can find until his days are over. When that happens, the many people who love him will be sad. No doubt the Symphony will put on a big memorial to celebrate his life.

I will go to that.

Practicing

I’ve always found it interesting that making music is referred to as ‘playing’. I think, we ‘play’ music; we ‘play’ in the sandbox. It really isn’t the same thing!

Playing music – mostly in the context of along with other people – has given me a lot of pleasure in my life. But in order to get to the level of competency required to make good music, one has to practice. Practice can mean noodling on a guitar along with rock records, as I did in my teen years, or it can mean focused playing of all manner of excruciatingly boring stuff for hours at a time. As the Stage Manager for the Symphony, I never lost sight of the fact that every single player in that orchestra had put in unfathomable hours in the second type of practicing. While most, if not all, of those players have what most people would call talent, I would argue that the most important thing that got them to the big time was the ability to practice long hours in a focused way.

This all has come to my mind this week as I prepare for the Skyline Band spring concert in about ten days. As a result of some issues with the previous bass player, I found myself two weeks ago suddenly back in the bass chair. I had been playing guitar for a change of pace. Guitar in a big band is about 90% superfluous so I could mess around and no one would care. Bass is just the opposite.

So, I’ve had to knuckle down and really practice. I was talking to Sarah a couple of weeks ago and telling her I was practicing more. She asked me how many hours a day I was practicing. I had to laugh, knowing how much she practices. 30 minutes on a good day, I said. She let it go. It’s more than I was doing on the guitar!

Of course, the standards of the SF Symphony, a top-notch professional orchestra, are different from a Community College jazz band. Nevertheless, the goal is the same: to play it right.

I’ve moved beyond thirty minutes a couple of times in the last week, but I’ve missed entire days too.

I guess I better get back to it . . .

Termination Shock

I really love Neal Stephenson’s writing. I love his ideas too, which makes reading his novels such a joy.

I can’t remember if Termination Shock is his latest novel or if he’s gotten another one out since, but it is fairly recent. What brought it to mind was a story on the Bloomberg TV news channel that Sepi was watching this morning. It was about some people who are making efforts to mitigate the global warming disaster that is happening to our world.

In the current reality described in the news show, it is some guys with balloons filled with sulfur dioxide they are launching into the (hopefully) stratosphere and another team of people in Australia working on establishing blooms of phytoplankton in the central oceans. The phytoplankton sequesters the carbon dioxide and sinks it to the ocean floor.

When I saw what the guys were doing, I immediately said, ‘That’s what Stephenson’s novel is about!’ to Sepi. In the novel, it is a rich oilman in Texas who has built a system for launching giant pellets of pure sulfur into the upper atmosphere. The rationale is the same, though. The story is that while the giant pellet guns help the North American climate, it causes the monsoon to fail in India (among other side effects). Despite efforts – by governments and others – to build other, similar guns, around the world, India takes action to destroy the original launcher in Texas.

Towards the end of the TV news story, they used the words ‘Termination Shock’. Wow! Not in relation to the book – they didn’t mention that at all – but in the original sense of once you start doing these things, you don’t know what will happen when you stop. I would say this is also known as the Law Of Unintended Consequences.

Stephenson’s book is filled with interesting characters woven together beautifully in a gripping story. It is the best that Science Fiction can be. Read it!

MTT’s 70th birthday celebration

Joyce W was a guest at our bi-monthly retiree lunch yesterday. She has recently retired after 40 years at the Symphony. She was telling us about clearing out her computer files and emails. One thing that came up was MTT’s 70th birthday celebration which we were all stunned to realize was over ten years ago. (MTT is continuing to fail and although scheduled to conduct one last time at SFS in about three weeks, the thinking is that he will not be able to actually conduct. Most of those at the table who have known and worked with Michael for many years – basically all of us – said that they would not be attending the last concert, preferring to remember Michael in better times.)

Joyce’s question relative to the celebration was about a photo she had of the rock and roll participants. And therein lies my story.

In those days I was mostly working in the sound department as a part of Hal’s crew. For this show I was the monitor mixer. Who needed monitor? The rock stars, that’s who. The story is that Boz Scaggs, then a member of the Symphony board, wanted to perform a version of the Beatles’ Birthday for the celebration. I suppose he talked to someone upstairs to get it added to the program. We just had to make it happen. It was supposed to be a surprise and there were other, orchestral, things on the program so there was not much room to set it all up.

I think Boz had a relatively simple idea at first. Elvis Costello was in town doing narration for another Symphony program so he was added. Then Phil Lesh heard about it and wanted to be included. Luckily for us, Phil wasn’t going to be playing bass, only singing. Then Lars Ulrich heard about it and wanted in. I can’t imagine Birthday without drums, but when Lars came in, he brought his (large) Metallica drum set with him. Not to mention a drum tech who spent hours – literally! – getting it set up just right. Boz hired a bass player from the Union hall but also brought another guitar player whose name no one remembers.

The guitar players all needed their special processors and amps. Since there wasn’t room on stage, we had to set them up in soundproof boxes offstage with wireless links. So, wireless (radio) from the guitar to the processor and amp, which was mic’d, and wireless back to their in-ear monitors. Elvis was cool and worked off the wedges but in the end there were still about a dozen wireless links. Denise W did her usual outstanding job coordinating frequencies. All the on stage mics were wireless too.

Here’s a look at part of the off stage set up:

The rehearsal was hurried. Even though we only had one song to do, the setup was complicated and we had to wait until the orchestra was finished with their rehearsal.

At one point, Phil came over to me and said the drums were too loud in his monitor and could I turn them down. I told him the drum mics were all turned off. He’s technically savvy so I was able to show him on the mixer. He grumbled a bit but went away. Later, when I told Hal about it, he said, ‘What does he expect? He’s standing ten feet from the loudest drummer on the planet!’ Indeed.

The picture is from the rehearsal and shows the unknown guitar player, Lars on drums, Phil with the Local Union bass player (name also unknown) behind him, Boz and Elvis.

 

At the concert, everything went fine. I think Michael must have gotten wind of it at some point but a good time was had by all.

There is one other story from that evening, though. After the rehearsal, we cleared off what we could for the start of the program and went to dinner. I was with Hal when we came back in the stage door and we saw Boz Scaggs with his wife arguing with the stage door guard. Evidently, Boz was not on the guest list and Byron (the guard) wasn’t letting him in. Hal and I got through and immediately went down the hall to the artistic people gathered around MTT’s office and told them to get over to the stage door. They got it sorted. We went on with our business.

 

some Zach thoughts

It’s not every day, or even every week. Sometimes a month may go by without thinking of Zach. But when it comes, it comes hard.

The three friends, laughing, then the yells of warning, then the sudden screen of skidding tires, the thump, followed by more yelling. ‘You’re not going to pin this on me, man!’ The sirens and the lights. And the realization that their friend was gone.

This reimagining comes without warning, at odd times. Most often in the wee hours but sometimes, like today, in the bright afternoon.

All I can do is grieve some more. And sometimes write about it.

There are other times, when I think of Zach and the insights he might have. Some profound and some just funny. That’s when ‘I miss you’ really has meaning.