MY BERKELEY EDUCATION

During my last years in Berkeley my studies lapsed. I was no longer convinced that I was either a great artist OR a great historian, and after my grandmother passed away I probably needed a change of mental scenery.


My grandmother was a very strong individual – though just seeing her you might not suspect it. Too femine, too composed.

A tiny delicate woman, she must have been an absolute stunner when she caught my grandfather’s eye after World War One. I’m not exactly sure how their paths crossed, but I’m pretty certain that dancing was involved. Cocktails too.
Banker’s daughter, wealthy ex-officer.
He was over twice her age, and a Yank, but they did come from similar class backgrounds.
It was a happy marriage.
My grandfather died of cancer when his sons were still in the first years of school.

As a young widow she had brought her two children back to the country where their father came from, so that in that way at least they would continue his heritage. Between the stock market crash, medical bills from my grandfather’s illness, and inheritance duty there was nothing left of the fortune, and I am certain that she did not wish to be a financial burden to anyone.

By herself she went to work and raised the boys, and when war came in 1942 all three of them ended up in uniform.

After being with the American occupation forces in Germany for a number of years, she was stationed in the Bay Area, and bought a house in Berkeley.


By the time I came to live with her she was well-past retirement age, still spry, still active, still as clearheaded as she had always been.
She still had the educated delivery and diction of the upper-crustian background of her youth. Precise, clear, and modulated.
It was almost like being around an imposing P. G. Wodehouse character.
Albeit one who was less than five foot nothing.
With a kindly wit.

When she found out that she had no more than a year left to live, she resolved to do two things: go back to Europe one last time to see everyone she knew there who was still around – say farewell to the people and places – and celebrate her eightieth birthday.
Illness had weakened her and made her very frail by the time of the trip. She really wasn't fit to travel. I worried about her, and made sure that my father in Holland was completely aware of her condition, and that everyone knew her itinerary. She was stubborn, and insisted on journeying by herself.

A few weeks after she returned, and less than a week after her birthday, she passed away at Kaiser hospital in Oakland.
My father and his wife, and my uncle and aunt from Canada, had come to help her celebrate her eightieth; we were there with her when she died.


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Living with my grandmother showed me where my father and my uncle got their profound sense of decency from.
Even if life doesn't go as planned, and circumstances are dire, you must maintain your honesty, your ethical compass, and your composure.
Do what is right, don't whine, and be a good person.
Be considerate of others, and judge people kindly.
Keep your chin up.

Not a surprise that people loved and respected her.

I have not always met the same high standards, but I've tried.
At the very least, I know what to aim for.



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