Tag Archives: Hayward

More Beautiful People: Wheels of Change Road Trip Comes to Benicia

Some of the world’s most beautiful, intelligent, and well-read people came to Bookshop Benicia in Benicia yesterday to celebrate the publication of my new book, Wheels of Change. What, you think I’m exaggerating? No way. Just scroll down these pictures to see some of the attendees, and I know you will agree.

JaclClaudia Albano, Leyna Bernstein, Jennifer Kaiser, Alison Barnsley

Marti & Joe FuccyMarti and Joe Fuccy

Max and DanMax Lateiner, Dan Crouch

LeongsEric and Colleen Leong with their sons Evan and Riley

Annette & LeynaAnnette Kaiser, Leyna Bernstein

KaseyKasey Kath

Elizabeth JacksElizabeth Jack

Darrell, Devon, HankDarrell Haber, his son Devin Jack-Haber, Hank Nelson

Gabe NelsonGabe Nelson

KatieKatie Lynn

Lance and VickyLance and Vicky Barnett

Brian and ClaudiaBrian Parker and Claudia Albano

Dale & ClaudiaClaudia and Dale Hagen

Sue HutchSue Hutchinson

Tom DalrympleTom Dalrymple

Mike and BeckyMike and Becky Maggart

TrybullsThree of the Trybull family: Jeff, Leslie and daughter Jennifer

Bob BurmanBob Berman

Barnsley-LeeAlison Barnsley, Vernon Lee and their children Aero and Cielo

Christine & JenniferChristine Mayall, the host of this fabulous soiree and the owner of Bookshop Benicia, and the most beautiful person of all, Jennifer Kaiser

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Filed under Adventures in Writing, Books, Cars, Wheels of Change

Where the Beautiful People Meet: Wheels of Change Launch Party

Wednesday night in San Francisco the California Historical Society hosted a launch party for Wheels of Change, attended by forty to fifty connoisseurs of cars, history, and fine literature. I gave a talk, and nobody in the audience threw anything at me so I guess I did okay. Afterward I signed books and chatted with people, which is always the best part of these book gatherings.

Below are photographs from the evening, picturing some of the people at the California Historical Society and Heyday Books who have worked behind the scenes to make this book happen. Please, allow me to introduce them to you:

McNeely and KN

That’s Bob McNeely and me. Bob, the executive vice president of Union Bank in San Diego, is a trustee and former president of the board of the California Historical Society. It was Bob’s idea to do a book about cars because he wanted the historical society to tackle a subject that everyone could relate to. Bob changed my life, and yet I had never met him until Wednesday night. As one might expect, he is a connoisseur of fine automobiles, particularly ones that are low, red, and fast.

Chet at CHS party

What, you think only guys in suits came to the party? Chet hails from a Hayward car club, and the ink on his arms depicts two of his deepest passions: cars and women. He’s not affiliated with CHS or Heyday, but he was out there representin’, and I appreciate it.

Malcolm and Kevin

This is Malcolm Margolin, making a point. Malcolm is the publisher and founder of Heyday Books, which has now published two of my books, Wheels of Change and The Golden Game. He is a friend and supporter of mine, as he is for countless other writers, editors, publishers, and booksellers. Every writer should be so lucky as to have Malcolm Margolin as his publisher.

David C. and Stephen B

Two executive directors of the California Historical Society, past and present: Stephen Becker, left, and David Crosson. Stephen was the head of CHS when Bob McNeely approached him with his idea to bring people together through cars. Stephen said, “Let’s do it.” After Stephen left the organization, David took over his spot, a position he currently holds, meanwhile taking over stewardship of Wheels of Change, which was then still a work in progress. Showing patience and faith, David helped steer the book to its completion. I owe them both a great deal.

George and Jeannine

Here are George Young and Jeannine Gendar, both of Heyday Books. George is a consultant and marketing and publishing guru with decades of experience in the business, and a former hot shoe guy to boot. (Vintage car slang: “Hot shoe” equals hot car.) Jeannine Gendar represents a rapidly disappearing species in the book industry: an editor who actually edits. She worked with me on Wheels of Change, helping turn it into a sleek and sassy Corvette of a book. At the risk of repeating myself, the same sentiment applies equally here: Every writer should be so lucky as to have Jeannine Gendar as his editor.

Lillian and Malcolm

Here, Malcolm hugs Lillian Fleer, the talented and hard-working events and outreach coordinator for Heyday. If you’d like to hear a lively and entertaining speaker who knows cars the way Grey Goose knows vodka, call her at 510-549-3564. I talk at bookstores, libraries, garden and house parties, book clubs, and Rotary and other civic groups. I’m also available for bar mitzvahs, bat mitzvahs, christenings, baptisms, and bachelor parties. I’ll be there for you, and I’ll be representin’.

After rocking the house Thursday at the Oakland Rotary Club, I’m off to my next stops on the Wheels of Change Road Trip: Sunday, Nov. 8, 2 to 4 p.m. Signing. Bookshop Benicia, 856 Southampton Road, Benicia. 707-747-5155. And Tuesday, Nov. 10, 7 p.m. Talk and signing. Clayton Books, 5433 D Clayton Road, Clayton. 925-673-3325. Be there or be square!

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Filed under Adventures in Writing, Books, Hayward, California, Wheels of Change

Move over, Sarah Palin: Wheels of Change is Coming After You

Vallejo pic

Sarah Palin’s new book, Going Rogue, is coming out Nov. 17, nine days after the official publication date of Wheels of Change: From Zero to 600 M.P.H., The Amazing Story of California and the Automobile. Is the timing of the release of Palin’s instant bestseller a vast conspiracy to draw attention away from my book? How else can you explain the fact that I’ve been sitting patiently, and fruitlessly, by the phone all day waiting for Oprah to call but then I hear that she has booked Palin to be a guest on her show rather than me?

Oh well, Wheels of Change is not yet in bookstores but we’re starting to get a good buzz going, starting with a nice interview with me in the electronic newsletter of Heyday Books. Here is an excerpt from the interview:

Favorite place to eat?
Bob’s Big Boy in Burbank on Friday night hot rod nights. Cool customs and bikes pour in from all over, and the sounds of the engines make your ears hurt. It’s a slice of 1959 in 2009.

Proudest achievement?
Not killing myself when I was a stupid teen driver wheeling around the streets of Hayward and spinning donuts on the lawns of schools.

Scariest moment?
On a trip to Lake Tahoe two winters ago, we drove over Donner Summit on I-80 in the teeth of a howling snowstorm. It was a near-total white-out. We couldn’t see two feet in front of us. Thank God my wife was driving. I was a pathetic, sniveling wretch in the passenger seat.

First car you ever owned?
A British-made Austin America. It was possibly the worst car ever made. If I had to get somewhere fast or on time, it had a built-in electronic sensor that told the engine not to start.

An article about me and the book, entitled “Author Hopes Book Signings Are Standing Vrroom Only,” appeared in today’s Vallejo Times-Herald, promoting my upcoming appearances at Bookshop Benicia (Nov. 8) and the Vallejo Naval and Historical Museum (Nov. 14). The photo above accompanied the article, with me sitting in the front seat of a ’57 convertible Cadillac, which is owned by a local car collector who stores it in a warehouse.

Close observers of my interview in Heyday and Rich Freedman’s article in the Times-Herald will notice that I made a similar joke in both forums about that truly awful Austin America. This is what happens to all authors (including Sarah Palin, when she starts hitting the circuit). You find a line, it works for you, and you keep using it. Author talks are sort of performance art, albeit a very, very minor form of it.

I also did an interview Thursday with Eric Tomb, the host of “Booktown” on KVBR-FM in Nevada City, promoting an Oct. 28 appearance at The Book Seller in Grass Valley. The interview was taped at 7:30 a.m., and I believe I did not make the Austin America joke although I’m not really sure because I was half-asleep and unclear about what I was saying most of the time. Eric, who has been the radio host of “Booktown” for ten years, covered for me though, and I was fascinated to hear about the technology he uses.

He called me (he was at his home in Nevada City) on Skype, and recorded the interview into his Mac with Audiohijack software. Using an audio-editing software program called Amadeus, he takes my ramblings and through the miracle of modern technology, turns them into brilliant and insightful analysis of the history of automobiles in California. As of this writing, the program had not yet aired, but when it does, you will be the first to know. Count on it!

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Filed under Adventures in Writing, Books, Hayward, California, Personal, Wheels of Change

Bob Berndt: Counselor, Teacher, Friend

Bob Berndt

Bob Berndt, who had a generous nature, would not have approved of this piece. A private man, he did not like a fuss to be made about him, even in death. As far as I know, there was no memorial service after his death this past July. There may not have been even an obituary in the paper. These were likely according to his wishes.

Mr. Berndt was my high school counselor, teacher and friend, as he was for the many hundreds of other students he taught over the years. He was a social studies teacher at Hayward High. Throughout his life he loved and believed in education and after he retired, he volunteered as a docent at the Oakland Museum, among other activities. I believe he was in his early eighties when he died. A friend and former colleague of his at Hayward, Jeanne Lycett, sent me this note after I asked her about a service:

Yes, it really is too bad about Bob [she writes]. I had him over on the 4th of July for the past few years and it was great to reconnect with him.  Every Tuesday, Bob would meet for lunch with some of the other “Old Guys” (Dick Schultz, Georger Enderlin – 90 and still driving!, and Bob Giester.)  About twice a year, I was invited to join them and it was great fun. When Bob (Berndt) didn’t show up at last Tuesday’s lunch, Giester called and found that he had passed away that very day. As for an obit or a service of any kind, I haven’t heard anything. Bob was from Southern Illinois, and, I think, may have had a niece still in that area.  He also had absolutely NO religious beliefs, so I’m not sure if there will be anything.

As I recall Mr. Berndt and I never talked religion, but we certainly did talk about lots of other things. In my senior year at Hayward he arranged a special independent study class for me in which I was the sole student and he was the teacher, at least in name. He didn’t do much teaching in that class, and that was the point of it. The purpose of the class was for me to write, on my own, with only occasional guidance from him. The class was third period. When the bell rang and the rest of the students at Hayward gloomily trudged off to their teacher-led classes, I skipped off happily wherever I wished.

Sometimes I went to the library. More often I headed off to the parking lot to find Dave Costa or someone else who didn’t have class that period and who wanted to grab a bite at Quarter Pounder or create some other mischief off campus. Needless to say, I screwed around a lot in my independent study class. This would come as no shock to Mr. Berndt, who surely would have expected it. But I also read a lot during that time. And I wrote. I wrote about a writing hero of mine, George Orwell, and his book, Homage to Catalonia, about the Spanish Civil War. I wrote about my adventures as a pearl diver at Banchero’s Restaurant (memories of which can be found in this post and that one), and I wrote another longer piece about a forty-mile, late winter snowshoe trip I took to Ten Lakes in the Yosemite wilderness with Gordy Kulis, Tom Coopman and Allan Plougher. A few days after I turned in the Yosemite piece Mr. Berndt approached me and said, “I enjoyed my trip to Ten Lakes.”

The class in an inadvertent way-inadvertent to me, though not to Mr. Berndt, I’m sure-taught me a little about managing my time and a little about responsibility, and I’ve never forgotten the trust he placed in me.

Steve Bragonier, a successful Silicon Valley financial executive who has worked at Hewlett-Packard, Silicon Graphics, and other firms, was also a student of Mr. Berndt’s. “He was my teacher and my counselor,” Steve wrote me after hearing about his death. “I felt lucky to be in his class. He guided me to junior college and then on to Stanford rather than going straight to a state college. I’m not sure why he did that (probably my maturity level) but it was good advice in retrospect. I remember he had us keep a journal when we were freshmen. We also kept a journal when we were seniors. Sometime during our senior year he gave us both journals so we could see how much we had changed and matured in four years. I wish I had that journal to read today.”

No doubt many other students of Mr. Berndt’s could tell similar stories of how he had influenced them. That’s the way it is with teachers; they change lives. I am sure that if a service had been held to mark his passing, and all the students he had helped in his years of teaching had shown up, every seat in the place would have been filled and there would have been lines of people stretching for blocks outside. This is probably true of every teacher, the good ones anyhow.

Donations may be made in his memory to the Hayward Public Library, Stanford School of Education, Oakland Museum of California, and the Nature Conservancy, all causes and institutions Mr. Berndt believed in.

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The Bully of Bret Harte Junior High

On Thursday night I went to “Back to School Night” at my son’s middle school here in Benicia, and I was extremely disappointed because the hallways and classes were clean and neat, the teachers were bright, young and motivated, and all in all it seemed a wonderful place of learning. What the heck has happened to the American educational system anyhow?

I went to Bret Harte Junior High in Hayward. It wasn’t called “middle school;” it was junior high, and it consisted not of the sixth, seventh and eighth grades as Hank’s is, but of seventh and eighth only. A few of my fellow students at Bret Harte were old enough to have mustaches and serious whiskers, and some of the cars they drove were stolen.

Many students at Bret Harte went on to high school, college, and flourishing careers. Others now have their pictures displayed in the “Most Wanted” books at the post office. Bret Harte was so tough that even the rats in the hallways carried guns. In shop class they taught students how to make toy guns out of soap, a potential job skill for those who went to prison and needed to break out.

By far the baddest dude at Bret Harte in my day was Robert Jones, the school bully. He intimidated even the teachers and principal to such a degree that they gave him his own office. The sign outside of it said, “Head Bully.” If you acted up in class, the teachers didn’t threaten to tell your parents, they threatened to send you to Robert Jones and let him deal with you. That straightened you up fast.

Jones was as big as Danny DeVito but he could lick any man twice his size, including cops. He was an equal opportunity bully, picking on both seventh and eighth graders. But seventh graders like myself were his main victims. We used to post lookouts around campus to warn us when he was walking down the hall. One lookout would pass the word to the next, “Jones is coming! Jones is coming!” like Paul Revere warning the colonists about the redcoats.

Jones traveled with a posse of fellow bullies, but he really didn’t need to. He was an army of one. If for some reason our early warning system failed and he happened to appear, unannounced, in the hallway in which you were standing, God help you! Every kid in the hallway froze on the spot, praying to himself, “Please don’t pick on me, please don’t pick on me.”

When he passed by students pancaked themselves against the wall, trying to become one with the lockers in the hopes that he would not see them and harm them. Being a little guy, Jones had an instinctive grudge against big guys. He seemed to always target the biggest guys, lifting them up bodily and depositing them in the nearest trashcan.

When we were talking with Hank about what he had heard about Benicia Middle School (this was before he started, about two weeks ago), one of the things he mentioned was “canning.” This was what he called the practice of dumping kids in trashcans, which he had heard can happen in middle school and high school. We reassured him that that was unacceptable behavior, and that if he ever saw or heard of anything like that to let us know or his teachers.

I did not share with Hank (or his younger brother) my memories of Robert Jones who, now that years have passed and I am safely away from his clutches, I view with some fondness. After all, he showed great restraint for a bully. After throwing a seventh grader in the trash, he did not then set the can on fire. For this he deserves praise.

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Filed under Hayward, California, Parenting, Personal

My Michael Jackson Memory: Dave Falkowski and the Hayward High Trapping Defense

HHS Basketball 1971_Team

When the Jackson Five first released “I’ll Be There,” a tender pop ballad with the teenaged Michael Jackson singing lead in that distinctive falsetto of his, I was playing basketball for Hayward High School. Our team mascot was the Farmers but we weren’t farm boys; we could play. We had big guys who could muscle and jump and quick little guys who could harass the man with the ball and one of the best schoolboy drivers I’ve ever seen and outside shooters who could sink shots when the other team started collapsing on our big guys. League champions and ranked tenth in the state at the end of the 1971 season, we finished with 23 wins against only three losses. Our final loss came in the finals of the Tournament of Champions, then the biggest prep basketball tournament in Northern California, and we were beaten by a Berkeley High team that featured two future professional athletes (6-11 center John Lambert of the Cleveland Cavaliers) and guard Rupert Jones, who played outfield for the Oakland Athletics and other major league baseball teams.

We didn’t have any future pros in our lineup (although current Giants broadcaster Jon Miller graduated from Hayward two years before me), but when you played us, you knew you’d been in a game. We got after people, using a trapping defense similar to a full court press in which we picked up the other team’s guards as soon as they got the ball inbounds after one of our frequent scores. I played guard for the Farmers along with Dave Falkowski, who grew up on Minnie Street in Hayward up the block from me. The Falkowskis were a popular neighborhood hang-out because they had a ping-pong table in their garage. It was a one-car garage but instead of a car they had the table set up for us kids. Mr. Falkowski was an electrician, and crowded along both walls were his tools, sports gear of all kinds, and lots of other stuff. As I recall there may have even been things hanging from the ceiling.

If the ball went off the table to one side or the other, it’d likely hit the wall or something attached to the wall. And if the ball bounced too high, it might hit one of the things on the ceiling. We played with the garage door open, and sometimes during our games the ball would fly outside, down the driveway and roll into the street as if it were trying to make a getaway from the crowded confines of the garage.

Anyhow Dave was a small, quick guy and a terrific athlete (I think he’s a psychiatric nurse now, though I could be wrong) who teamed with me in our trapping half court defense. We played man to man, and it was my job to pick up the other team’s playmaker, the man who handled the ball, and drive him toward the sideline either just before or just after the half court line. You do this by overplaying his dribbling hand, forcing him to go left when he’d really rather go right, or subtly shading his body so that when he goes right, the way he wants to, he thinks he’s in control of his destiny but really he’s running into a trap.

The trap comes when he hits “the corner,” the point where the half court line meets the sideline, and this is when my ping-pong buddy Dave joins me in our mutual harassment society. Dave leaves the man he is guarding so we can double-team the ball. And we’re all over this poor guy, waving our arms, slapping at the ball, trying to get him to do something panicky like throw the ball out of bounds or pull his pivot foot and be whistled for a travel. Many a time we would strip the ball from his hands and take it back to our basket for an easy lay-up (well, supposedly easy. I blew plenty of breakaway lay-ups in my day.)

This was the way it had to happen: me driving the guy into the corner and Dave coming up fast behind us to work the trap. So in the locker room at halftime during a game we’re sitting next to each other talking over this strategy and I’m saying, “Look, I’ll do it. I’ll get him into the corner where he’s supposed to go but you’ve got to be there.”

And Dave looks at me and in the words of Michael, sings: “I’ll be there, I’ll be there. Just call my name, and I’ll be there.”

We walked onto the floor for the second half humming and singing Michael. It was our theme song for the game and as far as I’m concerned it was the theme song for the vaunted Hayward High trapping defense that struck terror in the hearts of every team we faced during that mostly glorious season. And, for the record, Dave Falkowski always was there.

KN 1971 basketball Dave F

Here is Dave Falkowski in the middle of some defenders, passing to me on the right. Pictured at top,  the 1971 Hayward High Farmers Varsity Basketball Team: From left standing, Jay Hughes, Kevin Nelson, Joe Rucker, Jim Langenstein, Frank Volasqis, Mark Cooley, Mark Jackson. Kneeling from left: Calvin Goward, Dave Falkowski, team star Donnie Schroer, Craig Frye, John Forbes. Missing from this picture is the captain of our ship and the architect of the trap, Coach Joe Fuccy.

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Filed under 185797, Hayward, California, Personal