A Eulogy For My Grandma

As prepared for delivery at her funeral, March 23, 2010, St. Gabriel Church:

In 1916 the light switch was invented. The Chicago Cubs played their first game at a ballpark that would one day become known as Wrigley Field. At Easter the Irish made their bid for independence from the British Empire. The last emperor of China abdicated the throne. In the United States Congress passed legislation signed by President Wilson that created the National Park Service, and the Boy Scouts of America was established, though it would be another four years before the Constitution was amended to guarantee women the right to vote. In Europe the Great War raged on with no end in sight. The battles of Verdun and the Somme were fought. For the first time in the history of warfare, zeppelins were used to rain destruction down on cities from above, and the Summer Olympics in Berlin were cancelled.

The Emperor of Austria, and Rasputin, and Jack London died. Walter Cronkite, and Joe Alioto, and, on March 7, my grandma, were born. The next day Pancho Villa, one of the heroes of the ongoing Mexican Revolution, raided a town in New Mexico, killing 18 Americans and prompting the U.S. army to cross the border in an ultimately vain attempt to track down Villa. On July 22nd in San Francisco, citizens celebrated Preparedness Day, to demonstrate the United States’ readiness to enter the war in Europe. A parade was held on Market Street that Sunday, and someone (it was never determined whom), set off a suitcase bomb near the Ferry Building, killing 10 and wounding 40—making it the worst terrorist attack in the City’s history. Grandma, fortunately, survived.

San Francisco that spring was barely a decade removed from the 1906 earthquake, and only the previous summer had hosted a World’s Fair celebrating its recovery from that tragedy. Over the next 94 years my grandma would see her native City transform itself in ways that would have been unimaginable in 1916, from the general strike of the 1930s, the period she always referred to as “during unemployment, the construction of two bridges, a pivotal role in the American victory in World War II, the beatniks, the flower children, antiwar protests, gay rights, the tragedies in Jonestown and at City Hall, the AIDS epidemic, major earthquakes in ’57 and ’89, the death and rebirth of the waterfront. She was here in this City for all of that, except for a period of 8 months that she lived in Hawaii—years before Pearl Harbor became a national rallying cry. She saw the deaths of three U.S. presidents, the resignation of another, and the impeachment of another, the election of a female Speaker of the House and of a black president.

All of these things shaped the world that she lived in, and helped make her the person who she was. She then in turn helped make me the person who I am. Some of my favorite memories of my grandma were times when we would go places together in this great City that she had seen change so much, teaching me to appreciate all the wonderful things it has to offer: Pier 39, Fisherman’s Wharf, the Golden Gate Bridge, riding the ferry and the cable car. And, of course, Muni.

But she also taught me how to have a good time staying close to home, helping ensure that by the time I was about seven I knew how to play checkers, dominoes, blackjack, and poker—and soon after chess.

One particular trip that comes to mind was one when Cousin James and Auntie Jenny came along, Jenny and Grandma of course arguing endlessly about who could walk faster and farther. My grandma, it should be noted for the record, outlasted Auntie Jenny that day by a considerable margin.

Another time we were at Pier 39, and we walked by the KTVU For Kids booth (old news for kids segments that used to play in the afternoon), and sitting right there was the very kid who I used to see on TV all the time. For a nine year old this was a bit of a thrill, and an even bigger one when he seemed to be really interested in getting me—me!—to sign up. Grandma was a little less impressed. Without breaking stride, and with a simple wave of her hand, she assured me, “You don’t need that, you’re smart,” completely within earshot of anchor kid, who just sat there looking somewhat aghast as we walked on. To this day I’m not really sure what she meant by that, or what she thought KTVU stood for, or—most importantly—how much it would have cost. But it was such a quintessentially Grandma thing to say that I’ve never forgotten it.

Even as she started to slow down over the last few years, she never lost that spirit. I can remember one time having a barbeque at my parents’ house, and Grandma coming out to say hi to everyone, and kindly requesting simply that someone grab her a cold beer and bring her a hot dog when they were ready, and returning inside. Everybody loved that.

I’m not too sure what the point is with these stories, or even that I have one, but I do know that my grandma loved to tell stories, so I thought it only appropriate to tell a few about her. Take them, embellish them, change them, insert yourself in my place, do whatever you want with them—but keep telling them. Because by telling and retelling them, we keep her spirit alive and keep her in our hearts always.