Regional Oral History Office University of California
The Bancroft Library Berkeley, California
Shirley Staschen Triest
A LIFE ON THE FIRST WAVES OF
RADICAL BOHEMIANISM IN SAN FRANCISCO
With an Introduction by
Yvonne Rainer
Includes Interviews with
Ivan Rainer and Belle Zabin
Audrey Goodfriend
Sara Triest
Radha Stern
Gerd Stern
Interviews Conducted by
Victoria Morris Byerly
in 1995 and 1996
Copyright 1997 by the Regents of the University of California
Since 1954 the Regional Oral History Office has been interviewing leading
participants in or well-placed witnesses to major events in the development of
Northern California, the West, and the Nation. Oral history is a method of
collecting historical information through tape-recorded interviews between a
narrator with firsthand knowledge of historically significant events and a well-
informed interviewer, with the goal of preserving substantive additions to the
historical record. The tape recording is transcribed, lightly edited for
continuity and clarity, and reviewed by the interviewee. The corrected
manuscript is indexed, bound with photographs and illustrative materials, and
placed in The Bancroft Library at the University of California, Berkeley, and in
other research collections for scholarly use. Because it is primary material,
oral history is not intended to present the final, verified, or complete
narrative of events. It is a spoken account, offered by the interviewee in
response to questioning, and as such it is reflective, partisan, deeply involved,
and irreplaceable.
************************************
All uses of this manuscript are covered by a legal agreement
between The Regents of the University of California and Shirley
Staschen Triest dated November 12, 1995. The manuscript is thereby
made available for research purposes. All literary rights in the
manuscript, including the right to publish, are reserved to The
Bancroft Library of the University of California, Berkeley. No part
of the manuscript may be quoted for publication without the written
permission of the Director of The Bancroft Library of the University
of California, Berkeley.
Requests for permission to quote for publication should be
addressed to the Regional Oral History Office, 486 Library,
University of California, Berkeley 94720, and should include
identification of the specific passages to be quoted, anticipated
use of the passages, and identification of the user. The legal
agreement with Shirley Staschen Triest requires that she be notified
of the request and allowed thirty days in which to respond.
It is recommended that this oral history be cited as follows:
Shirley Staschen Triest, "A Life on the
First Waves of Radical Bohemianism in San
Francisco," an oral history conducted in
1995 and 1996 by Victoria Morris Byerly,
Regional Oral History Office, The Bancroft
Library, University of California,
Berkeley, 1997.
Copy no.
Marin Independent Journal
December?, 1995
Shirley A. Triest
San Rafael artist
Until the last years of her life, Shir
ley A. Staschen Triest's art was insep
arable from her politics.
Mrs. Triest died in San Rafael on
Nov. 26 after an illness. She was 81.
As a young artist she embraced
both Marxism and the social realist
movement in art, with its idealized
depiction of laborers. During that pe
riod, Mrs. Triest was befriended by
Mexican muralist Diego Rivera,
whose work heavily influenced her
own.
Her mural work in that style graces
the interior of Coit Tower. She was
one of the crew of artists who com
pleted the mural, funded by the De
pression-era Work Projects Adminis
tration.
She was bom in Oakland, and grad
uated from Lowell High School in
San Francisco. Mrs. Triest then stud
ied art at what is now the San Fran
cisco Art Institute.
Before World War H, she became
part of the pacifist anarchist move
ment, said Victoria Byerly, an oral
historian with the University of Cali
fornia, Berkeley. Through her con
nection with West Coast anarchists
and the Beat Generation literary
movement they inspired, Mrs. Triest
became a lifelong friend to poet and
critic Kenneth Rexroth.
Toward the end of her life, Mrs.
Triest worked almost exclusively in
sumi-e, a highly disciplined style of
Japanese ink painting. She also wrote
poetry in the Japanese haiku tradi
tion.
The life of this 20-year San Rafael
resident made for fascinating inter
views, Ms. Byerry said. "She was
gutsy, graceful, very creative."
"Her art and her children were the
main pleasures of her life," said Mrs.
Triest's daughter, Sara Triest Mon-
rad of Berkeley.
Mrs. Triest is also survived by her
sister, Bernice Thomas of San Fran
cisco; and three sons, Laurence Triest
ofBerkeley, Karl Triest of Orinda and
Michael Podesta of Suffolk, Va
Shirley Staschen Triest
Cataloguing information
TRIEST, Shirley Staschen (1914-1995) Pacifist anarchist artist
A Life on the First Waves of Radical Bohemianism in San Francisco, 1997,
ix, 335 pp.
Early years in Burlingame, California, 1914-1933; marriage to Valentine
Julien and early bohemian life in San Francisco, 1930s; the WPA, Diego
Rivera, and the Coit Tower murals, 1933-1935; Montgomery Street (Monkey
Block), 1930s; San Francisco pacifist anarchists, 1935-1939; marriage to
Alfred Podesta and birth of son Michael Podesta, 1939-1944; Kenneth
Rexroth, Frank Triest, and Lawrentian women; marriage to Frank Triest and
birth of son Carl and twins Sara and Lawrence, 1948- 1950s; Bodega Head
anti-nuclear campaign, 1960s; the Gurdjieff Society, 1970s; California
College of Arts and Crafts, San Francisco Art Institute, social realism,
Sumi-e, 1920s-1980s; Jane Hamner Buck, 1940-1975. Includes interviews with
San Francisco anarchists Ivan Rainer and Belle Zabin, and Audrey
Goodfriend; Triest 's daughter Sara Triest; Hamner Buck's daughter Radha
Stern; and Hamner Buck's second husband Gerd Stern.
Introduction by Yvonne Rainer, filmmaker, choreographer.
Interviewed 1995 and 1996 by Victoria Morris Byerly, Regional Oral
History Office, The Bancroft Library, University of California,
Berkeley.
TABLE OF CONTENTS- -Shirley Triest
INTRODUCTION by Yvonne Rainer i
INTERVIEW HISTORY ill
I FAMILY BACKGROUND 1
The Meads and Staschens 1
Carl Barker Mead: A Civil War Veteran 4
Eleanor Mead Staschen 6
Frederick Staschen 8
Staschen Family Dynamics 11
Mother's Vision of Her Daughter, Shirley 13
Bernice Staschen 14
Girlhood 15
Burlingame: "The Right Side of the Tracks" 16
Family Affections 16
Divorce and Economic Crisis During the Great Depression 19
Leaving Home 27
How Eleanor Staschen Became Radicalized and Her Influence 28
Religious Training 31
Guns and War 34
Eleanor Staschen Takes Over What's Left of the Family Business 36
II VALENTINE JULIEN AND EARLY BOHEMIAN LIFE IN SAN FRANCISCO 48
Marriage 48
Telegraph Hill and Bohemian Life 49
III THE WPA, DIEGO RIVERA, AND THE COIT TOWER MURALS 52
The San Francisco General Strike 52
Coit Tower 53
Kenneth Rexroth and the Artists and Writers Union 55
Diego Rivera and the Coit Tower Murals 58
The Black Cat Cafe 61
Controversy Over Coit Tower Murals 63
Daily Routine at Work on the Coit Tower Murals 66
San Francisco Artist Bernard Zakheim 67
The Communist Party in San Francisco 71
Personal Contribution to the Coit Tower Murals 73
After Coit Tower 76
IV MONTGOMERY STREET (MONKEY BLOCK) 81
The Cafe Scene: The Black Cat, Jacapetti's, Izzy's 81
"Proletarian" Artists 84
WPA Lithography 87
Potrero Hill Neighborhood House 88
Commentary on Her Lithography 89
The San Francisco Pacifist Anarchists 96
Spanish Civil War 97
Tom Parkinson, Kenneth Patchen, Lew Hill, Henry Miller 98
Kenneth Rexroth's Scott Street Soirees 99
Pacifist Views 102
V ALFRED PODESTA: A WARTIME MARRIAGE 107
A State Street Pseudo-Castle 108
The Art World During World War II 109
Pacifism and the Japanese During World War II 110
Conscientious Objectors 111
Frank Triest 112
Photography 116
Emotional Uproar at War's End 117
VI FRANK TRIEST: ROMANTIC IDEAS ABOUT LOVE AND MISSION IN LIFE 118
On Parole from McNeil Federal Penitentiary 119
A Difficult Transition 122
Life in Duncans Mills 122
D. H. Lawrence Mystique and "Lawrentian Women" 126
Life in Sebastopol 130
Kenneth Rexroth 131
Dylan Thomas and The Randolph Bourne Society 133
The Beat Poets 134
KPFA 135
Vine Hill School 136
Bodega Head Anti-Nuclear Campaign 139
VII THOUGHTS ON ART 141
Early Childhood Experience 141
California College of Arts and Crafts 144
San Francisco Institute of Art 144
Livingston School of Art 145
The Bohemian Art World of San Francisco 146
Social Realism 149
Hilare Hiler 150
Dick Ayer and the Murals at Aquatic Park 151
Pastels 153
Marriage As a Spiritual Sacramental Journey 155
Dick Moore: KPFA & KQED 157
Mysticism 160
Gurdjieff Society 163
Commentary on Portfolio 167
Sumi-e: Japanese Brushwork 168
Haiku 170
VIII JANE HAMNER BUCK: SOULMATE 172
A Life-long Friend 172
Leaving Frank 173
IX WOODACRE: AN INDEPENDENT LIFE, AT LAST 176
Roger and Keiko Keyes 176
Frank Finds Himself As Actor 177
Frank's Death 177
Jane's Death 178
X FINAL THOUGHTS 179
XI AN INTERVIEW WITH IVAN RAINER AND BELLE ZABIN 181
The Workmans Circle 181
Shirley and Frank in Duncans Mills 182
San Francisco Anarchists 183
Paul Goodman 185
Marie and Kenneth Rexroth 185
Shirley Triest's Personality 186
Lawrentian Women 187
San Francisco Anarchist Ideals 189
The Communist Party 189
Early Italian Anarchists; Voting, Marriage, Free Love, Religion 190
Shirley Triest as Astrologer 192
Fritz Gerstacher 194
Frank Triest's Reaction to His Separation with Shirley 196
Fritz Gerstacher as Great San Francisco Host 197
Shirley Triest's Aesthetics 198
Marie and Kenneth and Shirley and Frank 200
Shirley Triest's Feminism 202
Frank Triest as Conscientious Objector 203
San Francisco Anarchists, Pacifists, and Poets 204
Lawrence Ferlinghetti 206
"The New Cult of Sex and Anarchy" 207
The Gurdjieff Society 208
Frank Triest as Actor 209
Shirley Triest as Artist 210
Frank Triest's Wealthy Background 211
Shirley Triest's "Realistic Trust" 211
XII AN INTERVIEW WITH AUDREY GOODFRIEND 213
A New York Anarchist Comes West 213
An Anarchist Childhood 216
Meeting Emma Goldman 218
Becoming a Pacifist 220
Free Love 223
The Workmen's Circle 225
KPFA 230
The Walden School 232
Shirley and Frank Triest 237
The Woman Question According to San Francisco Anarchists 240
The Sixties 242
XIII AN INTERVIEW WITH SARA TRIEST 245
Shirley and Frank Triest's Relationship and Family 245
Shirley Triest's Artful Life 247
Kenneth Rexroth 247
Ferlinghetti and Odetta 248
The Rainers 248
Shirley Triest as a Mother 249
Money Issues 250
Shirley Triest's Spiritual Work 251
Shirley Triest as the Sonoma Hostess 252
Shirley Triest and Death 253
XIV AN INTERVIEW WITH RADHA STERN 254
Best Friends: Shirley Staschen Triest and Jane Hamner Buck 254
Jane: Beautiful Woman, Unusual Mother 256
Jane Buck and Shirley Triest as Part of the San Francisco
Bohemian Scene 259
Jane's Marriages and Intimate Relationships 260
Jane's Marriage to Gerd Stern 261
Life on the Sausalito Houseboats 264
Jane's Marriage to William Buck 267
San Francisco Bohemian Life 269
Eastern Mysticism 271
Jane's Early Death 272
Story of Radha's Name 273
XV AN INTERVIEW WITH GERD STERN 274
Meeting Shirley and Frank Triest in Duncans Mills 274
Shirley and Jane Hamner Buck's Friendship 275
Coming to California 275
Marriage to Jane 276
The Houseboat in Sausalito 277
The Boobam Bamboo Drum Company 278
William Buck Happens on the Scene 279
Jane Hamner Buck's Early Death 281
Kenneth Rexroth 282
TAPE GUIDE 284
APPENDIX
A "The New Cult of Sex and Anarchy," Harper's Magazine,
April 1947 286
B "On Receiving the Personal History of My Pacifist-
Anarchist-Artist Friend Shirley Triest," a poem by
Victoria Byerly 298
C "Notes on Lithographs and Pastels," by Shirley Triest 299
D 1057 Steiner Street, the Jackson-Kreling House (site
of the Workmen's Circle Center, 1940s) 300
E Staschen Family Tree 302
INDEX 327
INTRODUCTION by Yvonne Rainer
Shirley Staschen Triest had an elegant equanimity that many people
came to mythologize. In her later years pilgrims beat a path to her
door. I myself came to revere her as a great beauty and a brilliant
artist. She was six feet tall with cheekbones to match. Her husband
Frank once showed me a photograph of Shirley in her late twenties,
sitting on a rock, wearing hiking boots and pants. I was bowled over.
Dietrich had nothing on her. Almost as far back as I can remember,
Shirley had a presence in my life. I must have first met her at some
anarchist shindig on the late forties. My parents had been going to the
Italian anarchist festas and dances since before my brother, Ivan, and I
were born. Later, as a teenager, I started attending the Friday night
lectures and poetry readings at the San Francisco Workmen's Circle. I
may have run into her there. Ivan and Belle Zabin set up housekeeping
around 1952 and at some point thereafter bought some of Shirley's black-
and-white lithographs. I became very familiar with them on the walls of
Belle and Ivan's house in Berkeley. These pieces owed a lot to
surrealism- -Max Ernst, Magritte. . .--and were hauntingly evocative,
meticulously drawn.
Two in particular came to haunt me. A lithography piece, made in
1938 and entitled "Death by Water," depicting a naked man at the bottom
of the sea, eyes open, hair floating upward, inspired the title "Three
Seascapes" and imagery of a solo dance I choreographed in 1961. The odd
thing was that I remembered the work as a man in an overcoat at the
bottom of the sea; so in the first section of the dance I wore a black
overcoat as I ran around the perimeter of the performing area,
occasionally falling down and taking the pose of Shirley's "Death by
Water." All the while washed by the swollen strains of the last
movement of Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto. In Shirley's "1967
A.D.," a naked woman half reclines as flames shoot up from her body.
Not knowing the title, I always thought it was about orgasm until Ivan
recently corrected that impression. Shirley made the print as a
statement about the Vietnam War.
During the summer of 1950 when I was seventeen, I bicycled the
eight miles from my parents' house in Camp Meeker to Duncans Mills to
visit Shirley and Frank and their kids. The twins were less than a year
old. I remember how she put them to bed, throwing the blankets loosely
over them rather than tucking them in. "This way," she said, "if they
roll over, they're more likely to stay covered." Why does that stick in
my mind? Loose, accepting. I think of the way she accepted dying.
"People Just don't understand this dying business," she said toward the
end.
ii
In 1989, on one of my visits to Berkeley, I videotaped an
interview with Shirley for "Privilege," a film I was about to direct
which would include documentary and fictional material. Shirley's wry
humor pervades the informal conversation about aging and menopause. She
had never had hot flashes. "No, there's no story here," she said. "The
parts of me that work work very well." In this same interview she
talked about the necessity during her years of child-rearing of always
keeping a part of herself for art-making. And she talked about being
able to live on tiny bits of income. I knew from a conversation about
job skills that I had with her many years previous to this that she had
never learned to type because she knew that if she did she would earn
her living doing that . This had been in response to my account of all
the office jobs I had held in my late teens and early twenties. I now
regret that the concerns of my film restricted the conversation to the
subject of aging. It was characteristic of Shirley to downplay her
accomplishments and gifts. I would have had to pursue a very different
agenda to get her to talk about her richly colorful life as an artist,
bohemian, and political activist. Fortunately for this volume, she has
been forthcoming to others on these matters .
At the end of the "Privilege" shoot, I flew Shirley to New York
for the filming of the wrap party, parts of which were edited into the
last ten minutes of the film. I was amazed to learn that this was the
first time she had ever been out of California. She told me that
sometime in her twenties she had been about to travel with two others
across the country by car, but could not raise the requisite $50.
Shirley came to many of my screenings in Berkeley and San
Francisco during the seventies and eighties. I remember one at the Roxy
in 1990. Belle and Ivan and Shirley and Frank and I went out for coffee
afterwards. It would be the last time I saw Frank. Shirley said to me,
"If I had my life to live over, I would be a filmmaker." I replied,
"But Shirley, what about all those wonderful marks?"
At the end of her life she took up Japanese ink drawing. Every
day, I look at two of her drawings with their wonderful marks. I'm glad
she did not become a filmmaker.
Yvonne Rainer
March 1996
New York
ill
INTERVIEW HISTORY
Shirley Staschen Triest was a charismatic talented woman on the
first waves of radical bohemianism in twentieth-century San Francisco.
Beginning in the 1930s she moved in a circle of communists, anarchists,
pacifists, writers, artists, poets, mystics, lesbians, and gay men.
This vanguard of this modern creative world of the emerging "new Paris"
on the Pacific would give rise to the intellectual literati of the Beat
Generation of the 1950s and the succeeding counterculture and radical
politics of the flower children, hippies, and war resisters of the
1960s. As advocates of free love and as a part of the "new cult of sex
and anarchy," as one journalist referred to this West Coast bohemian
culture in a 1947 Harper's Magazine expose, both Triest and her best
friend Jane Hamner Buck were open about their personal lives . Between
them they had six marriages, ten children, and many lovers all of whom
they delighted in talking about without reservation. Their story is the
story of bohemian women merging into Beats.
What follows is an oral history with Shirley Triest made possible
by the generosity of the children of Jane Hamner Buck. The value of
this oral history lies in Shirley Staschen Triest 's recollections of a
lifestyle referred to here as bohemianism within which women rarely
appear as historical figures. The omission of women in the history of
San Francisco bohemianism is not because they did not participate in
meaningful ways, but because bohemianism heretofore has been defined in
masculinist ways. The image evoked may be the disheveled artist in a
loft of nudes, the jazz musician with his shades and weed, or perhaps a
beat poet in black beret with bongo drums, but always men. The notion
of a bohemian woman, without simplistically superimposing these
stereotypes, is one that is hard for many to conjure up. Only recently
have attempts been made to rewrite the history of San Francisco
bohemianism through the eyes of the women who were engaged in it. This
oral history offers insight into a particular historical era of
bohemianism in San Francisco, specifically the period of 1934-1959 in
which Shirley Staschen Triest was both participant and well-placed
witness. In a more general way, this work lends itself to the study of
women in the arts and radical politics of the early twentieth-century
California Bay Area.
The transcripts here were prepared during the last three months of
Shirley Triest 's life and almost twenty years after Jane Hamner Buck's
early death in 1975. When we started the project, Triest was already
very ill and, while everyone expected her to die before we finished the
recordings, she wrestled herself from the grip of her own imminent death
to talk about her life for eight interview sessions, that included some
twenty taped hours, and thus finished the oral history. When she decided
it was completed, she resumed her very conscious process of dying and
stopped breathing within hours of the last interview. Such was her
iv
courage and strength of character. What she left us is a look at one of
the mostif not the mostinteresting circles of artists, poets, and
political activists to have lived in twentieth-century San Francisco.
Triest was able to read the first set of transcribed interviews
and believed we were on the right track. Because she died within hours
of the last interview, she was unable to review the latter part with an
eye for elaboration or correction. As a result, I felt it appropriate
to supplement her story with interviews conducted with family and some
of her inner circle of friends. I believe these help further document
this era and I have included them here.
As the editor, I made minor changes only when I felt it absolutely
necessary. These usually include false starts and awkward sentence
structures that do not translate well from the spoken to the written
word. The effect that the process of oral history has on the
interviewee is worth mentioning here. I have conducted other deathbed
oral histories and have found that they tend to encourage life. The
process has a way of rolling back time to invigorate the interviewee
with youthful memories. Also, questioning brings up unresolved issues
and people, places, and events that the interviewee has not thought
about in a long time. This encourages a remembering and a rethinking
that generally takes place following an interview, so that at the
beginning of the next interview the subject will want to refer back to
flesh out points that then seem they were recalled in superficial ways.
Articulating these thoughts might further stimulate recall and bring
about additional resolution and at a still later interview this same
topic might come up again. As a result, this oral history, like many
others, has the propensity to be a circular dialectic rather than a
linear discourse.
To facilitate the use of the text by researchers, I have divided
the oral history into chapters and subtopics which can be located from
the table of contents. Interviews with Shirley's daughter Sara Triest,
Jane's daughter Radha Stern, Jane's second husband Gerd Stern, and
Shirley's longtime anarchist friends Audrey Goodfriend, Belle Zabin, and
Ivan Rainer provide additional documentation of this historical era and
are included here at the end of the text.
When I first met Shirley Staschen Triest, I knew very little about
her except that she had helped paint the murals in Coit Tower. Other
than this and the fact that she was eighty-one and very ill with lung
cancer, I did not know what to expect when I rode out to her studio
apartment in a Marin County nursing home. I was surprised to see that
she was able to answer the door herself and serve me coffee. She did
not look like a woman who had terminal cancer and who had already
outlived her doctor's prognosis. But this was exactly the kind of
defiance, I would learn, that was so characteristic of Shirley.
Even then, at that late stage in her life, Shirley had a grace and
sophistication that was especially engaging. She was six feet tall and
dressed in flowing sky-blue silk, and, while we talked, her long legs
and arms draped elegantly over a rosewood emperor's chair with cushions
of gold and jade brocade. Around her was a room of utter order with a
minimum of understated objects placed meticulouslya mahogany bowl of
persimmons, a saffron Japanese mantra, a sculpture and two paintings-
conveying a refined minimalist dignity that bordered on the ascetic.
During our first interview, I learned that her father was a
working-class German immigrant who was identified, based solely on his
national heritage, as an enemy of the State during World War I, and to
an upper-middle-class staunch suffragist mother. Her maternal
grandfather, who had served in the Civil War for the Union, adored his
granddaughter, and Shirley found him "cozy" compared to her other rather
stiff Victorian relatives, despite the fact that she never forgot the
horrific stories of war that he told her. These stories, she believed,
inspired her life-long commitment to pacifism and war resistance.
Shirley's artistic talent was recognized early on by her family and they
delighted in cultivating it, so that from her very first memories
Shirley always knew she was an artist.
When the Great Depression hit the Staschen home, Shirley's father
lost almost everything he had acquired in his new country, which was a
considerable amount of San Francisco real estate, and Shirley believed
it was this loss that precipitated his early death. Her mother tried to
hang on as best she could with their last piece of property, a parking
garage. Shirley's last memory of living at home was of herself, an
angry teenager, pumping gas in a proper corduroy suit.
Soon after that she left home and moved in with her boyfriend
Valentine Julien, who introduced her to the world of artists in San
Francisco. Through these contacts, in 1933 at the age of nineteen,
Shirley applied for a job with the pioneer Federal Arts Project at the
Coit Tower. There, she was assigned to assist San Francisco artist
Bernard Zakheim in painting what became politically controversial
frescoes inspired by the Mexican Marxist artist Diego Rivera. Shirley
and Val Julian, who became her first husband, moved into the famous
bohemian Monkey Block (the current site ol the TransAmerica building)
where other starving artists made their hoir.es in unrented offices
sharing what food and wine they all could scrounge up.
The San Francisco artists' scene of which they were a part was
overwhelmingly a cafe scene and one of the favorite watering holes was
the Black Cat Cafe. There, almost every night, in the smoke-filled bar
of the Black Cat, one could find the Coit Tower artists and others
including musicians and poets, all with whiskey in one hand and
cigarette in the other, talking politics and art while seducing each
other from across the room. Eventually, a mural was painted of the
vi
crowd which included Triest on the wall of the Black Cat. Although
Shirley never cared for the social realist style of the murals of that
eraimpressed more by abstract art and cubismshe was immensely shaped
by this early experience at Coit Tower. Many of the artists used each
other for models and Zakheim painted a portrait of Shirley Triest in his
Coit Tower mural on the wall that one first faces upon entering the
Tower, and he credits her with a book on Bigamy (implying her views on
free love) in his controversial library mural which included such other
controversial books as Karl Marx's Das Kapital.
But it was artist Clifford Wight, a former assistant to Diego
Rivera, who drew public attention to the Coit Tower murals. Wight
painted militant workers and the hammer and sickle emblem of the Soviet
Union on his Coit Tower fresco. The Park Commission, in reaction to the
San Francisco Examiner's claim of the "unAmericanism" of the murals,
locked the doors of Coit Tower. Ironically the newspaper article
occurred on the same day as the 1934 General Strike which was spurred by
the "Bloody Thursday" shooting of two union members at the waterfront.
The newly formed Artists and Writers Union, led by poet Kenneth Rexroth,
immediately formed a picket line outside the Coit Tower to protest its
closing and the censure of the murals inside. Shirley Triest and her
friend Julia H. Rogers, also a Coit Tower artist assistant, were
photographed protesting the Park Commission's closing of the Coit Tower
and the picture appeared in the Examiner the next day.
In 1939, after her Coit Tower adventure, Shirley participated in
the San Francisco World's Fair demonstrating lithography techniques and
tile mosaics. Her studio was opposite Diego Rivera who demonstrated
mural painting. By then, Shirley had divorced her first husband, Val
Julian, and married Alfred Podesta, a longshoreman active in organizing
deep sea divers. They had one son, Michael, born in 1942.
Shirley had been at the first meeting of the Artists and Writers
Union organized by Kenneth Rexroth, then a member of the Communist Party
USA, later a pacifist anarchist, and soon to become the "godfather" of
the San Francisco Beat Poets. Triest and Rexroth would become life-long
friends, political comrades and occasional lovers.
By the time World War II was imminent in Europe, Shirley had
pulled away from the communist-led Left in San Francisco, along with
Kenneth Rexroth who was vehemently anti-Stalinist, and became a
pacifist-anarchist. She, Rexroth, and a growing circle of San Francisco
anarchists, many of them foreign-born Italian Americans, attended weekly
meetings at the Workmen's Circle Center on the corner of Steiner and
Golden Gate in what is now one of San Francisco's finest bed and
breakfasts. At that time it was the Jewish Cultural Center. The
Victorian house had been the site of the Tivoli Opera House at the
beginning of the century. There they rented a hall once a week to give
lectures and have discussions on anarchism, based largely on the
vii
theoretical work of Emma Goldman. By the forties, poet Kenneth Rexroth
had taken charge of leading these meetings of pacifist-anarchists. With
the entry of the U.S. into World War II, the San Francisco anarchists
assisted Japanese Americans, when possible, to escape internment,
arranged for the storage of personal belongings left behind, and saw
that libraries made books available in the internment camps .
Rexroth also held pacifist meetings in his home at 250 Scott
Street which Shirley and Al attended. This group called itself the
Randolph Bourne Council, after the literary critic and essayist who
wrote Untimely Papers (1919) and the History of a Literary Radical
(1920), and who was also a hero for young conscientious objectors during
World War I. These Scott Street soirees continued throughout the war,
afterwards becoming legendary because of the exciting mix of poets,
artists, and political activists in attendance and because of the
eccentric nature of their host Kenneth Rexroth. At these soirees
Shirley became friends with Rexroth 's closest friend Frank Triest, who
was a World War II conscientious objector and had spent time in solitary
confinement in a federal prison for his pacifist beliefs.
Shirley recalled that she had already met Frank Triest at the
Black Cat the day she returned from her honeymoon with Al Podesta. She
immediately fell in love with him. Here was a man who represented all
that she admired: a pacifist-anarchist, a principled C.O., an organizer
in the Sailor's Union, and Rexroth 's best friend. He also had "to-die-
for good looks" and was from an extremely wealthy San Francisco family.
Shirley and Frank eventually moved in together in his cabin in
Duncans Mills but continued to attend the Workmen's Circle Center and to
visit their friends including Kenneth Rexroth in San Francisco. In 1947
a journalist for Harper's magazine wrote and published an article about
the San Francisco anarchist group entitled "The New Cult of Sex and
Anarchy" (see appendix). Audrey Goodfriend and other New York
anarchists read the article and, based on that article and a connection
with Kenneth Rexroth, a group of New York anarchists decided to move to
San Francisco to join the Workmen's Circle group. By the late forties,
with the addition of the New York crew, the San Francisco pacifist-
anarchist-artist group was growing strong and many of them frequented
the Triests' new Sebastopol home. By then Frank's parents had died and
he and Shirley came into a substantial fortune. Shirley was a gracious
and elegant hostess, spending much of her time in the kitchen of their
huge country home preparing food for guests.
However, this emerging group of California Bay Area bohemians--
anarchists, poets, artists, philosophers- -had come under the spell of
D. H. Lawrence and Wilheim Reich (most notably Reich's Function of the
Orgasm, which claimed that all spiritual life stemmed from the orgasm).
While the men profoundly shocked their agnostic predecessors of the
twenties with their sentimental mysticism, and terrified any good
viii
Methodist with their religious creeds, Lawrentian women were supposed to
be demure, passive, a mere vehicle through which their men achieved
spiritual enlightenment. Shirley Triest reminisces here how she
confronted the boundaries within which women of this era were defined and
explains how she and her best friend Jane Hamner Buck pushed against
those boundaries even while at times they seemed compliant with them.
Shirley lived with Frank Triest for about thirty- five years
despite his heavy drinking and abusive treatment. They had three
children: a son Carl and later a set of twins Sara and Lawrence. She
was desperately in love with Frank Triest and could not leave him even
after he became a member of the Gurdjieff Society to whom he turned over
his fortune. Shirley joined the Gurdjieff Society as a last-ditch
effort to save their marriage. When the marriage became more abusive
and even violent, it was Jane who finally told Shirley that she had to
get out. Jane drove her car into the Triest driveway and told Shirley
she would help her get her things out. Shirley, sick and emaciated from
her ordeal, leaned heavily on Jane throughout this very difficult period
of her life. Once out, however, Shirley moved into a backyard cottage
of friends in Woodacre and grew to cherish her independence. Shortly
after the move, in 1975, Jane Hamner Buck discovered she had breast
cancer; Shirley was with her when Jane died at the age of fifty- five.
Shirley lived the next fifteen years alone practicing the rigorous
discipline of Japanese Sumi-e painting and writing Haiku poems, with
only occasional fights with Frank who would show up at Shirley's house
and demand that she return home to take care of him. But Shirley
refused to give up her newfound freedom, and Frank Triest died alone in
1991 in an unkempt apartment.
Both Shirley and Jane developed a Zen Buddhist spirituality as
mature women. Jane's youngest daughter Radha (named after the mortal
consort of Krishna) remembers that her mother frequently sat in the
lotus position to meditate and chant. In 1976, the University of
California Press published William Buck's, Jane's last husband,
translation of the Indian epic Rama/ana and it was illustrated with
mystical drawings which constitute some of Shirley Triest 's finest
drawings . Jane never thought of herself as an artist even though she
made wood and driftwood sculptures and wrote poetry in the radical
tradition of the Beat Generation.
Triest always believed she was an artist no matter how distracted
she became with her four children and a difficult husband. She wondered
what she might have done if she had ever made it to New York where, she
believed, she could have focused solely on her art. She worked in oils,
acrylics, pastels, and iron when and wherever she could. Her early art
recalls the social realism of the 1930s despite her claim that she did
not care for it. Later, she developed a surrealist style that
culminated in a Dali-esque interpretation. Throughout eight decades as
an artist, Shirley's work maintained a political and /or spiritual
ix
commitment to subject and theme.
Especially impressive was Shirley Triest's degree of consciousness
with which she faced her own death. There was no denial on her part
about what was happening to her. Once, 1 asked her during an interview
if she felt sick to which she quipped, "I'm not sick, I'm dying!" As I
was allowed to sort through lithographs and paintings in her closets, I
saw that she had prepared an exact place for everything. She would
insist that I put everything back in order. This external order freed
her to invent her death, she explained. I was honored to be at her
bedside as scribe recording this final version of her story. Much of
the historical and cultural events at the center of her lifethe
political activism, the literary scene, the mysticism, her struggle with
her own liberation- -were trends that eventually influenced the whole
nation. It was Jane, as she lay on her own deathbed, who said to her
best friend after contemplating their lives as San Francisco bohemians,
"Shirley, we were the first wave." Actually, Jane and Shirley were in
the second wave of San Francisco bohemians, preceded by the Jack London
crowd and succeeded by the Beat movement.
Most of Shirley Staschen Triest's art work is in the possession of
her eldest son, Michael Podesta of Virginia. Her personal papers, for
the most part, were left to her daughter, Sara Triest of Berkeley,
California.
There are many people to thank for their support of this project,
beginning with the children of Jane Hamner Buck for the financial support
that made this oral history project possible. Sara Triest was crucial in
introducing me to her mother's circle of friends, helping me to
understand her father, and providing photographs for the project. Belle
Zabin and Ivan Rainer were excellent sources for this project as well as
excellent people. Audrey Goodfriend was also a fine source of reference
for the San Francisco Anarchist movement. Yvonne Rainer took time from
her demanding schedule as filmmaker to write the introduction. In my
opinion, Shirley Triest chose her friends well. Finally, I want to thank
Willa Baum for matching me up with the Triest project and for her and Ann
Lage's continued direction and support throughout the project.
The Regional Oral History Office was established in 1954 to augment
through tape-recorded memoirs the Library's materials on the history of
California and the West. Copies of all interviews are available for
research use in The Bancroft Library and in the UCLA Department of
Special Collections. The office is under the direction of Willa K. Baum,
and is an administrative division of The Bancroft Library of the
University of California, Berkeley.
Victoria Morris Byerly
Interviewer /Editor
March 14, 1996
San Francisco
I FAMILY BACKGROUND
[Interview 1: September 16, 1995 Jll
1
The Meads and Staschens
Byerly: So let's begin.
Triest: I was born July 29, 1914, in Oakland, California, just within a
few hours of the beginning of the First World War, of which I was
reminded frequently. My mother was the worst cook and housekeeper
in the whole world, but that had nothing to do with her
consideration of where she stood in the community.
Byerly: So where did she stand in the community?
Triest: Oh, very well indeed. She worked her way out of the scars of the
War. She volunteered for everything. Anything that looked like
she was doing good. I'd get hauled along because, I remember, we
were still packing boxes for the boys from the War. I guess there
were a lot of them lying around in hospitals. As a small child, I
remember those little boxes, and we'd put in an apple and a pair
of socks and some other junk. I don't know what it was. I don't
remember, but it was a way to keep the kiddies busy, too. This
was after the war, so I imagine this was for those that had been
pretty well shot up or something. But it was another one of these
do-good projects. And then there were Americanization things
where you improved the language of those who weren't speaking
English correctly. And a little later on, she became very
involved in the Women's Christian Temperance Union, so that
eventually she was the state secretary. I know my father would
'This symbol (II) indicates that a tape or a segment of a tape has
begun or ended. A guide to the tapes follows the transcript.
have to sneak next door in Burlingame to have a beer with a
friend .
Byerly: He was German, after all.
Triest: When my father would sneak a drink with the people next door,
well, my mother just wouldn't speak to him, say, for two or three
days after that, as punishment for his infraction.
Byerly: So she believed alcohol was sinful.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So how did she get involved with women's rights? You said that
she had been a suffragist.
Triest: Well, there was a great deal on the vote then, and that was a very
big item, getting the vote. She worked energetically on that.
Byerly: Can you remember what the organization was?
Triest: No, I can't remember, except I know it had everything to do with
suffrage, because she liked that word and used it a lot. From the
sound of it, I remember, I had a hard time figuring that into what
they were doing. It just sounded awful to me, like more Christian
suffering.
Byerly: How old were you at the time that she was active in the suffrage
movement?
Triest: Five, six, seven, around in there.
Byerly: So do you remember 1920 when women got the vote?
Triest: No, I don't, but I knew that we had triumphed somehow. But I
don't remember the details of it.
Byerly: You remember your mother being very happy about it?
Triest: Yes. Big deal.
Byerly: And did she impart a sense of civic and political responsibility
to you?
Triest: Oh, yes. Yes, the importance of the vote. I can remember my
mother and father discussing the ballotit was a big thing-
later, I had a mother-in-law, and my husband would have to go and
make out the ballot for her, because her husband had always done
it. And I thought, how strange. Not my mother. She'd be going
over every single item and making up her own mind as to how she
was casting her vote.
Byerly: So she took it very seriously.
Triest: Oh, very, very seriously.
Byerly: And your father too?
Triest: Oh, yes. Oh, yes. They were very patriotic and very public-
spirited. I was the first child of two. I have a sister, and
that's that for that family, it didn't get any bigger.
Byerly: Well, tell me about your mother.
Triest: I think she was thirty- four when I was born, and for that period,
that was very, very late indeed. She had fussed around with
somebody, kept company with somebody for ten years, and I don't
know if it was because it was just a nice idea, but she certainly
didn't get around to marrying the fellow. Meeting my father--!
think they had a kind of a mutually impressive sense of collision
when they met--was a big deal. So she retired right then from
work, which had been, essentially, secretarial. She had worked,
up to that point, as a private secretary and, I think, was quite
happy with it.
Byerly: What was her name?
Triest: Her name was Eleanor Mead. She was born in 1880 and died in 1976,
so she covered quite a span of history herself.
Byerly: And where was she born?
Triest: She was born in what she called Gospel Swamp, around Compton in
the Los Angeles area. Her father, who never quite got hold of
what it was he wanted to do, found himself down there in
connection with sheep ranching. Somebody thought that was going
to be a wonderful idea, and I don't think it lasted very long for
anybody. I don't think they were there for more than a year or so
at the most. Then, they came back to Healdsburg, because that's
where they had been pretty much. That's where my grandfather and
grandmother met, and that's where the cemeteries are for these
people still.
Byerly: Is the family Celtic?
Triest: It's essentially an English and Scottish family. That is, as far
as my mother's part goes. She was a great joiner-upper and I
guess she certainly would have been a feminist if we had her with
us today. She had to leave high school after the second year,
because her family needed the income from her going to work. She
had cousins who actually got to go to the University of California
and be graduated from there, but not her, and she regretted that
very much. She would have given anything to have had a very big
education. I'm sure she would have used it well, too.
Byerly: She was a private secretary which, at the beginning of the century
was a new profession that had opened up to women. How did she get
the training for that?
Triest: I believe that she did some kind of business school training,
because she knew shorthand and typing and so on. But that's all I
know about that.
Byerly: Did she continue that work after you were born?
Triest: In one way and another. She joined everything that was there to
join, and then to rise like cream to the top, so she'd be the
secretary or the president or the lady's aide or whatever she had
gotten herself into. She wrote for the Burlingame papers, I think
it was the Burlingame Star.
Byerly: Journalistic articles?
Triest: Yes.
Carl Barker Mead; A Civil War Veteran
Byerly: What kind of economic background did she come from?
Triest: They were on the poor side. Her father had been in the Civil War
in no dramatic way, but he was very proud of that. It was as
though he never really felt called to do anything else because
that was sensational enough. He had lied about his age and run
off and joined because his older brother had gone into the War, my
grandfather to be in on the act too.
Byerly: This was before the family moved to California?
Triest: Yes. I'm trying to remember where they were when he Joined up. I
have a note of that somewhere. But as soon as his favorite older
brother went in, he just simply had to do that too.
Byerly: I imagine on the Union side?
Triest: Yes, he was on the Union side.
Byerly: And you knew him?
Triest: Yes, I knew him. He didn't die until I was around six or
something like that. He was just a darling little old man, I was
crazy about him.
Byerly: What was darling about him?
Triest: He was Just very kind and cozy. For a lot of grown-ups back then,
it was as though they had swallowed too much starch, they were so
proper and remote. They would sort of pat you on the head, but
not be very cozy. He was cozy. 1 liked to lean up against him.
[ laughs J
Byerly: And he talked about the Civil War?
Triest: Oh, a great deal. It just meant everything to him. After the
war, he tried different little businesses and, generally, they
failed, and it would be the fault of the economy or something.
So, they weren't well off.
Byerly: What was his name?
Triest: His name was Carl Barker Mead. Grandpa Mead.
Byerly: And what kinds of stories did he tell you about the Civil War?
What was the essence of that experience that you remember?
Triest: I can't remember very much except for the sadness of it. The
melodramatics of the war were apparent in most of the songs of
that era, which were sung a great deal in my childhood. Then,
Grandpa would talk often about how sad this was and how young that
one was and how terrible for the union things were and so on.
Byerly: Can you remember any of the songs, the names of any of them?
Triest: Oh, let's see. There's "Tenting Tonight on the Old Campground,"
and what are some of the others? If I sat here long enough they'd
come to me. The war was enormously sadness, because it was
perfectly true that it was brother against brother, and it caused
alienations that were never put back together again.
Byerly: This was your mother' father. Let's get back to her.
Eleanor Mead Staschen
Triest: Oh, my mother was a very handsome woman. She was very good-
looking, and since the big beauty mark then wasn't the nature of
the bust or the leg but to have abundant hair, that was the first
thing, and she did have that. Then, she also had a tiny waist,
which was very desirable. She felt she was very tall for her
time. She was only about five-six, but I think that put her up
around her father and she towered over her mother and sister. So
she felt as though she was quite tall.
Byerly: When did she start working as a private secretary?
Triest: She left high school after her second year, so she was probably
sixteen. 1 believe all her jobs were in San Francisco, and her
family was living in Oakland.
Byerly: What was Oakland like at the time? Was it still a rural setting?
Triest: It was pretty well built up by then, because the house is still
standing where they lived in Oakland.
Byerly: What kind of house was it?
Triest: It was a two-story shingled house. I can almostno. I was going
to say I could remember the floor plan, but I can remember only
part of it. That's when I was three, which was around 1917.
Byerly: Did your mother consider herself middle-class or working-class, or
did she have a sense of class at all?
Triest: Oh, she certainly did. She was very family proud and thought of
herself as part of a long line of teachers and preachers, I think
she tended to put it that way, and thinking of herself as one of a
professional group, and very well-bred.
Byerly: Was she proper?
Triest: She was to a point, but she also had aspects to her that were, I
don't know, I suppose kind of wild. Because, actually, I don't
know how she came to it but she spent some time in Carmel with a
group of painters and poets there, so that she could look in the
twenties at Carmel and say "entirely ruined, it's entirely
ruined." [laughs] Which, of course, is what I say now, "entirely
ruined .
"
So she had some quality about her that got her mixed up
in things that her sister wouldn't have dreamed of getting mixed
up in.
Byerly: An openness?
Triest: Yes. And a lot of curiosity, wanting to get into it, whatever it
was.
Byerly: Do you have any more information about her experience in Carmel?
Was she a young woman, or married, or--
Triest: It was before she was married. And what she was doing down there
I have no idea.
Byerly: Was she an artist at all?
Triest: Well, she painted, as young ladies did then, but I want to tell
you, her paintings were bad. [laughter] They were just terrible
paintings !
Byerly: What were they like?
Triest: Very realistic landscapes, and one awful little thing of a child
with a rabbit, which is still, I think, in my sister's basement.
Byerly: So, did she ever think of herself as an artist?
Triest: No.
Byerly: It was just something young girls did at that time?
Triest: Well, you were supposed to acquire the arts, you were supposed to
be able to write a little poem and--
Byerly: Play the piano--
Triest: --play the piano, and painting was part of it.
Byerly: Right. So she sounds like she was a middle-class, well-bred,
proper young woman, but with this openness and curious side.
Triest: Yes, and then she didn't marry correctly and that was another sign
of her erratic behavior.
Byerly: But she courted this man for ten years?
Triest: Yes, but that's not the one she married.
Byerly: Do you know anything about him?
Triest: The one she didn't marry? No, I don't. I don't know what he did
even. What was his name? He had the same first name as my
father. Fred Ilson, I think. I never tried to find him.
Byerly: So why did she marry incorrectly?
Triest: Well, she married a foreign-born man, for one thing, and she
succeeded in looking down on him throughout their marriage, once
that first period, the honeymoon period, was over. He was from
Germany. His name was Fred Staschen.
Frederick Staschen
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
So tell me about him.
Well, there were seven children in my father's family, and he was
the best of the bunch. Because the rest of the family did crafts-
type things. One of the women was a milliner, and 1 had an uncle
who was a glazier, things of that sort. Whereas my father was in
business and had gotten himself up to management of such places as
Stanford Court in San Francisco, a string of fine apartment
houses, which is still there. He was the major manager for the
owner.
I remember how you could tell the difference between who the
worker was and who the boss was, because he was very much of a
boss. He had a very marvelous home in Santa Cruz and we'd be
guests there, which 1 enjoyed to no end. I had a great appetite
for fancy things. I still do. [laughs]
Yet you live a very simple life,
beautiful things around, but
1 mean, you have absolutely
It's got to be good. And 1 could see that in myself very early.
I knew that my father's boss certainly had a much more attractive
home than we did.
But your father sounds like he did well for himself to have been
an immigrant.
He did extremely well, yes.
So why did your mother feel that she needed to condescend to him?
Triest: She Just felt he was crude, and it never came up so clearly as
when one of his relatives would be around, and it would become
obvious that these people were nothing but immigrants.
Byerly: You remember this?
Triest: Sure.
Byerly: How did you feel about that?
Triest: It was unpleasant. That's as far as I got with it when I was a
child. It was disagreeable, because there would be that
atmosphere of disapproval.
Byerly: And what did you consider the source of it, of the unpleasantness?
Triest: My mom. [laughs] Yes. Just being so well pleased with her own
vision of who she was and where she was placed. It didn't last
very long, though. She did get over it, because World War I came
along right in there very quickly, and my father was publicly
declared in Burlingame an "enemy alien." For my mother, this was
an absolute disaster, to be shamed, because 1 remember the public
shunning. There was some encounter in the post office, I think
somebody spat at her or something like that, and in church people
would move away.
Byerly: And this was a woman whose social standing was extremely important
to her.
Triest: Social standing meant everything, yes. So that didn't put my
father's stock up any higher. What had happened was that, when
his father came here, he had applied for citizenship but just
never bothered to complete the process for becoming naturalized.
I believe it was very common then. People just thought applying
for citizenship was good enoughand he held office as a tax
assessor or something like that. His family had come in through
Philadelphia and went to Indianapolis or Michigan City, that's the
area where the family first lived, and in a German community, so
it wasn't necessary for my grandmother to learn English if she
didn't want to. I remember that she didn't speak English very
fluently.
Byerly: So your father's first language was German?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So he had a German accent.
Triest: No, he didn't.
10
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
He didn't?
I don't know why not.
He must have worked very hard.
I think so, because Germans have a tendency to cling onto that
more than some people. No, he didn't have a trace of an accent.
Well, maybe it was this experience around World War I that made
him want to lose it.
Yes, to get rid of it.
You were already born, or you were just being born, at the
beginning of the War. Was that when your father was shunned as an
"enemy alien?"
These experiences of my father being made to feel like an enemy
alien didn't occur until around 1917 and '18.
So, all this happened during the first years of their marriage.
I'm just wondering if your mother considered leaving your father
at this time? I guess people didn't do that so much then. How
did they handle the situation?
Well, I believe his picture posted in the post office as enemy
alien came as a bit of a shock to them both. I think the
situation just descended on them suddenly. He was notified that
this was his position. I don't know if it limited his movement or
not, I have no idea about that. My father was, as a good many
people then, an ardent American. Everything American, he was all
for it. Americanization then was a very big item because in the
first place, you had to get the language, and then you had to do
all kinds of thingsgo to classes and very assiduously acquire
all this Americanization.
Right. Yes, most people were completely willing to assimilate.
Yes.
Well, how did your mother reconcile this situation?
was, it must have been especially hard for her.
Given who she
I think she just went ahead and lived through it, but I don't
think she ever forgave him. [laughs] I could put it that way.
In the end, she probably thought the whole war was his fault. But
I remember the end of the war, because they woke us up in the
middle of the night. The way the news came was by newsboys
11
Byerly:
Triest:
running through the streets and shouting, and I remember it was
the middle of the night because it was all dark. We were picked
up out of beds and given a dish pan and a wooden spoon. Then they
threw open the windows, and we banged on the dish pan so it could
be heard- -well, you could hear it all over the place, everybody
was doing this .
And I imagine your parents were especially happy.
Extra bangs, yes. [laughs]
Staschen Family Dynamics
Byerly: So after all that what were your mother and father like as
parents?
Triest: I think they were terrible. They meant well, but they came to
parenting very late, and I think children's ways were very
irritating to them. They worked on a crime-and-punishment
principle, and punishment was severe. I don't know whether we
shaped up or not, except that I can remember that punishment was
always being inflicted. Terribly severe kinds of treatment, and
requirements of penitence and being made to feel as dreadful as
possible about oneself for whatever the infraction had been.
Byerly: So how old was your sister, how much younger than you?
Triest: She's a little less than two years younger.
Byerly: And her name is?
Triest: Her name is Bernice.
Byerly: Was their childrearing practices any different than those of the
parents of your friends?
Triest: Yes, I think they were more severe.
Byerly: So can you tell me a little bit more about what would happen?
Triest: Well, I just got an awful lot of spankings with the shaving
strops, or with rulers, or whatever was handiest. My mother would
save up all the infractions during the day, and then report them
to my father, who would then administer this punishment. And
there was a lot of punishment during the day, because you could
buy whips for your children at the grocery store. Yes.
12
Byerly: What did they look like?
Triest: They were right toward the front of the store, and I remember it
very vividly. In a basket, and they were probably about maybe
thirty inches long, black, braided thread, cotton thread, I
believe, that was painted black, and then it had these- -at the
end--it had these little teasers of threads left over that would
sting like mad when you got swatted.
Byerly: Incredible!
Triest: Persuaders, they were called.
Byerly: So they operated on the basis of corporeal punishment and shame.
Were they religious?
Triest: My mother was quite religious, and I think my father went along
with it because it seemed like a good idea. When he came to this
country, he had been a Lutheran, but my mother went to a Methodist
church in Burlingame because there was no Presbyterian church
available at that time. When we moved to the city, we forthwith
joined the Presbyterian church. Yes, she was very insistent on
that, and on Sundays we were not to see any funny papers, read any
funny papers, and if we were compelled to sing out of our spirit,
they should be only religious songs. I was in my mid-teens before
I could dare go to a movie on Sunday, because I felt as though I
would probably be struck from above dead where I stood. And then
going to church, it meant you had to go to church Sunday morning
to children's church, and then go to the morning services, and go
to the night services, and go to Wednesday night prayer meeting,
and in the summer we got to go to daily vacation Bible school, and
we read the Bible every night, and when we got through, we'd go
back to the beginning and start over. So I'd say, yes they were
religious--
Byerly: The whole family read the Bible?
Triest: No. I got to read the Bible. [laughs] I don't know what my
sister was doing, but my mother would sit there to be sure I was
reading the Bible. And I was doing that when I was still twelve
years old, or more, but that strikes me as about the time that I
would probably fake it a little bit.
Byerly: Did you become religious?
Triest: I was very religious when I was a little child.
Byerly: So you felt all this shame and
13
Triest: I bought it.
Byerly: --punishment--
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Very deeply.
Triest: Yes.
Mother's Vision of Her Daughter. Shirley
Byerly: So how did your mother envision her daughter and her daughter's
life?
Triest: She had great hopes for me. I think I looked quite good to both
my mother and father. They believed I could be a comer if they
handled me right.
Byerly: What vision did they have for a successful daughter?
Triest: Oh, well, my mother pushed my painting something awful. They got
me a teacher when I was around five and a half to teach me oil
painting, and since I had showed some talent, they wanted to be
sure to develop it. I liked it. I stayed with it, but I don't
think it was because I had the oil painting teacher when I was
five, or because of my parents' expectation. I think that 1 came
into the world feeling that way about art.
Byerly: Do you think your parents envisioned you as an artist, or as a
painter like your mother had been?
Triest: As an artist, and 1 think they also had the idea somewhere along
the line, that they would find a way for me to make money at it.
At one point they were doing everything they could- -this is later
--to encourage my art but trying to get me into commercial art,
which I was very opposed to. So we had little points of conflict
on that matter.
Byerly: They saw you as a potential commercial artist.
Triest: Yes. Make money.
Bernice Staschen
Byerly: And how about your sister? Were the two of you treated equally,
and was she also encouraged like this?
Triest: Well, she just wasn't very cooperative and didn't learn very
quickly. They got mighty irritated with her.
Byerly: So you were the smart one?
Triest: Probably the quick one. I think I was quicker, although by most
standards, I'm exceedingly slow. But around there, I was quick.
[ laughs ]
Byerly: And how did you get along with Bernice?
Triest: Not at all well. I think usually those things are a reflection of
the general atmosphere of the home. If children get along badly,
I always imagine the parents have been getting along badly before
them. There was a great deal of conflict between us, and she was
my responsibility from the beginning. That was made clear before
she could walk, that the first thing in my life was to be sure
that she was fine. That operates to this day. That was very
successful.
Byerly: Did you look alike, the two of you?
Triest: More or less, yes.
Byerly: You're not looking like your mother to me, the way you described
your mother.
Triest: No, I don't think so. I think I look more like my father.
Byerly: And what did he look like?
Triest: He was very tall for those days, or any days. He's around six-
four, and slim and trim, and had very bright blue eyes. These
days, I'm so accustomed to the comfort and warmth of brown eyes
that when I see blue eyes I sort of Jump a little bit. I have one
son who has those eyes. My father was very competent in lots of
different ways. I was a great admirer of what he could do.
Byerly: Like?
Triest: Well, he was a good all-purpose carpenter. He always seemed able
to make things. I regretted being born a girl so much because
then I thought I could do all those things, because he could, but
15
I would never have a chance. That was usually reinforced by the
culture, that since I was a girl, I was never going to be able to
make anything out of anything anyway.
Girlhood
Byerly: At what age did you start feeling this gender difference?
fact that you were going to be limited as a girl?
The
Triest: I felt it when I was like around six or seven years old, because
the boys could do all these crazy things, climb telephone poles
and crash around the streets on their skates and things of this
sort that just was not okay for me to do.
Byerly: What were you doing while they were doing that?
Triest: Watching them. [laughs] I wasn't doing it. I was supposed to be
doing some peaceful thing, like embroidering or sewing, and so
that worked out, because I became a very good seamstress.
Byerly: And you always had dresses on?
Triest: Yes, unless we went to the country. We had a place in the Santa
Cruz mountains, and when we got there, which was just wonderful,
we could wear these denim coveralls and actually have a little bit
of dirt on us tolerated.
Byerly: Once a year?
Triest: Oh, no, we went down there quite often. It's a beautiful place.
If I was happy in my childhood, it was there. Just beautiful!
Byerly: What did you like about it?
Triest: The freedom, the general feeling that I wasn't going to get in
trouble immediately for having gotten a grass stain on my dress or
something. And just much more freedom. And to be ablealthough
Burlingame wasn't bad, but it was suburbia, all built up, but
there in the Santa Cruz Mountains, you could just run full bore
without running into anything. It felt wonderful. It was a
beautiful place. Maybe it was standing on three acres, something
like that, and had a good lively creek for one boundary.
Beautiful house. Sort of a rambling shingled bungalow.
Byerly: And your family owned that house?
16
Triest: Yes.
Burlingame: "The Right Side of the Tracks"
Byerly: What was your neighborhood like in Burlingame?
Triest: Very nice middle-class, on the right side of the tracks.
Byerly: Did you consider yourself a proper, well-bred young woman?
Triest: Yes. And then there was them.
Byerly: What was your reaction to that kind of stratification? Do you
remember having one, or was it something at that point you
accepted without too much questioning?
Triest: When things were pointed out, it would bother me. I wouldn't
quite understand why, but I would nevertheless recognize that this
was the way it was, like an act of God. Some people are inferior
and some people are just fine.
Byerly: Good old Calvinistic Presbyterianism.
II
Family Affections
Byerly: Was that typical- -that men and women did not show any kind of
outward affection?
Triest: Well, there were a few couples who were publicly affectionate. I
can remember my uncle touching my aunt, and I remember a couple
who were friends of my parents who were affectionate.
Byerly: But not your parents ever?
Triest: I can't come up with it. And I used to just being a terribly
affectionate creature --would run to my mother and throw myself
upon her, and she'd say, "Oh, you're such a kissing bug." And
she'd shove me away. And my heart would break into very fine
little pieces as she did that. But 1 never got anywhere near as
much affection as I wanted.
17
Byerly: It sounds like you got some from your grandfather.
Triest: Yes, but he didn't last very long.
Byerly: And what about your father? Was he affectionate at all towards
you?
Triest: In a way, yes. Yes.
Byerly: More so than your mom?
Triest: Yes. I can remember his picking me up and carrying me on his
shoulder, you know all that stuff, or when I was caught in a
riptide in Santa Cruz and rolled in the surf, I remember his
picking me up. It was so wonderful, all this huge strength saving
my life! I was very impressed with that. And I took that as a
token of affection.
Byerly: So you really loved your father?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: How about your mom?
Triest: Well, yes. She was hard. She was really hard for me, and the
further it went along, the more I was at cross purposes with her.
And you know, nasty little teenagers, what they can do, they can
drive parents crazy, once they discover exactly where all their
buttons are.
My sister got along much better with my mother than I did.
She told me not too long ago that she was afraid of our father.
Byerly: Your sister?
Triest: Yes. And although I got twice the beatings she ever did, I was
never afraid of him. I'd get awful mad at him, but I certainly
wasn't afraid of him.
Byerly: Did she have his physical characteristics like you?
Triest: No, she looked a little more, it was thought throughout the
family, that she looked more like my mother's side of the family.
Byerly: So you were closer to your dad, she was closer to your mom.
Triest: Yes.
18
Byerly: So what about issues around sexuality and dating and that sort of
thing? How were your parents, as you started to come of age, I'm
envisioning that they were fairly strict about all that.
Triest: Well, they had fairly well separated by then.
Byerly: Oh?
Triest: Because it was just too awful. He took to spending a great deal
of time in our Ben Lomond place [summer home], and by then we had
moved to San Francisco to an apartment house he owned. I had the
feeling from him, although I didn't see very much of him, that he
took it for granted that I would have boyfriends and grow up and
all that, so that it didn't get him in an uproar.
My mother's life, as I look back on it now, was extremely
unhappy in those days, because of the separation. My sister was
ill for a couple of years with rheumatic fever, so my mother was
mad at me most of that time. It was hard for me to tell whether
it was because I had a boyfriend or because she was mad at my
father or what. But she was put out with me all the time. Also
she was never home so I always had this big long list of things to
do.
Byerly: Where was she?
Triest: She was working for the Women's Christian Temperance Union. I
guess that took up most of her time. She went right on. She was
retired out of job after job. She lived to ninety-six.
So yes, my father was nice to my high school boyfriend. He
really was. I think my mother sort of looked to what use she
could put George to. [laughs] Looked at him more as a, How can I
use this good strong male frame now that I don't have one around?
Byerly: So she always had little chores for him to do when he came over?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: She kind of did that for you too, right?
Triest: Sure.
Byerly: Was that the general attitude towards children, that children were
there to help their parents out.
Triest: Delegate authority. That's how you achieve greatness and you get
out of the home.
19
Byerly: So you were in charge of the house while she was away at the
Women's Christian Temperance Union?
Triest: Yes. I'd come home and do all the housework.
Byerly: She never liked housework anyway, right?
Triest: She never liked anything about it. She just hated it. I can
remember her looking out the window, and it could be a perfectly
foul day in San Francisco, and she'd say, "Look at all that fresh
air! I've got to go out!" As though it was written somewhere.
She just didn't want to sit around the house because it was a
mess. Why would she want to sit in it?
Byerly: And she didn't cook, she didn't like to cook? I mean, she did
cook, but she didn't like to do it? She was not a housekeeper and
she was not a cook?
Triest: Awful cook, Just awful. Terrible. And my father's mother had
been a professional cook, and he'd been reared on nothing but the
very best cooking, and good housewifery and so on. So that this
caused him constant pain.
Divorce and Economic Crisis During the Great Depression
Byerly: How old were you when your parents separated?
Triest: Well, there was this period when he was in Ben Lomond this long
time, and that must have been- -I think she had quit sleeping with
him around in there, and her "poor little sick daughter"- -she
slept with my sister for this long period of time, which also
caused issues. So that would have been when I was around
fourteen, somewhere in there. And then it went on so that
eventually she got a divorce when I was seventeen.
Byerly: That was unusual, wasn't it?
Triest: God, what an uppity woman, huh? Yes I Then he died just shortly
before the divorce would have been final, which was a year period.
So he died when I was eighteen.
Byerly: How old was he?
Triest: Fifty-six.
Byerly: So he was about ten years older than your mother.
20
Triest: No. No, my mother was born in 1880 and he was born in '74 or '75,
it's in the papers there, because he was born at the end of the
year, and I think it was more like a four- or a five-year
difference in their ages.
Byerly: Oh, so he died before the divorce was final.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Do you attribute the divorce to his death at all?
Triest: I think people--oh, not consistently, but very often--! think
people just get through with living. They've lived out the
pattern to the extent that they can understand it, and they
succeed in dying somehow.
Byerly: It wasn't a terribly young time to die at that point, fifty-five.
Triest: No, but he retired when he was fifty. It had been the dream of
his life.
Byerly: To retire?
Triest: To retire.
Byerly: And he was financially able to do that?
Triest: Yes. He felt he was, you see, because when would that be? Around
1926 or '27, around in there, so that he did that before the
crash, but they were still married in that period. And I think
the Depression was too much for him. That period was just
incredibly awful for men, because for him it meant that he saw all
of his lifetime of effort being lost, and that happened to a lot
of men. Either they never recovered or they just went ahead and
died.
Byerly: So he lost money during the Depression?
Triest: It wasn't money; he lost everything he had. Yes. It wasn't all
gone by the time he died, because he died in August of '32, and
there was a lot more Depression still to go at that point. There
was still property to be lost, so my mother got to do that all by
herself.
Byerly: How was it lost?
Triest: Foreclosures. Because he had a very elaborate financial
structure--! don't know whose economic theory he was following at
the time, but he would carry loans and mortgages on one piece of
21
property to buy another. He had it all figured out so that this
one supported that one, and so on. And then he had a wonderful
brand-new garage right in the heart of the Tenderloin that he
bought and leased to people, and when the Depression hit they just
walked out on their lease, because they couldn't make it. It
wasn't that the garage wasn't full of cars, because there weren't
many garages, and those who had cars, by and large, left them in
public garages.
Byerly: He couldn't hold onto it without tenants?
Triest: My mother lost the garage, actually. She tried to run it, but I
don't know if the tenants had actually run out on the leases
before my father died or not. But the garage was in a condition
of being very threatened then. I knew other men at that time, of
course, who lost everything. It was like you could just see their
spirits being crushed. And women, I know women were having a
terrible time, but women are built to be survivors, I firmly
believe that. [laughs] Somehow or other, they get on through
where men- -that's where their fragility lies, in areas like that.
Byerly: Their ego?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So your father left home when you were fourteen and went and lived
at the summer home in Ben Lomond?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And then died before you turned eighteen?
Triest: Yes. He wouldn't have died now. He had always hadgives you an
idea of his character just quicklyof ulcers. I can remember his
hemorrhaging and having this awful time when I was a little kid,
and being on this disgusting diet. We all ate the diet, because
my mother was not about to cook double. But he would have these
recurring problems with the hemorrhaging ulcers.
Byerly: He died of a hemorrhaging ulcer?
Triest: He didn't recover from an operation. They said how did they put
it?--that the peristaltic action just never did recover. So he
went ahead and died, and I felt almost like it was an act of will.
Byerly: He was finished.
22
Triest: Like, "The hell with this. No show at all here, let's get out."
He had a girlfriend by then, so at the deathbed, lo and behold, 1
was there with my mom, and my sister, because of her fragile
condition, was at home with a friend. My mother's best friend I
guess was taking care of her. We were at the hospital. And so
was my father's brother and my father's girlfriend. So we had
quite a scene, almost worth painting in one of those turn-of-the-
century paintings they used to do.
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
But it had a tremendous effect on my life.
His death?
To see him die, and to have this happen, and then my mother was in
this condition, because things were incredibly hard for her. And
I had no sympathy at all toward her, I remember. But when I look
back on it now, I think I sure didn't help much.
What was his girlfriend like? I just want to back up a minute.
Looked a lot like my mother. [laughs] Really did. I never spoke
a word with her, and at the funeral, I remember the mortician
explaining, "We have situations like this all the time, so we have
separate rooms, and we just draw the curtain in between." So
here's this bunch of family sitting there, and a bunch of family
sitting here. And it was the style still at that time to wear
weeds, you know, widow's weeds. No? Well, it's a bunch of veils.
I think Jackie Kennedy wore them.
Oh, veils, yes.
Yes. Those are widow's weeds. You wear your weeds, and my sister
wore the weeds, and my mother wore the weeds, but I didn't wear
the weeds.
Because?
I didn't want to. I thought it looked kind of silly. But I
couldn't sympathize with my mother's sorrow. At this point in my
life, 1 understand it very well. At that time, I didn't see how
she could berate and tear at this man day and night so
enthusiastically, and then be sad about his death? Now, I can
understand her ambivalence toward my father. I didn't understand
it then.
So you were angry at your mom.
Yes, pretty much.
23
Byerly: For the way she treated your dad?
Triest: Yes. I didn't like that, and I like people whenever possible to
match what they say with what they do, and my mother tended to
fall short in that department, so here I was coming in with big
judgment on her.
Byerly: So she was very moralistic, but she didn't always live up to her
own statements?
Triest: No. And if she didn't like my father and had been railing against
him for so long, why did she put on this big weeds program? So
everybody could see the poor widow. And I think, Nah, that's not
a poor widow. But I can understand a lot better at this point
that she was indeed deprived of him, even as a role-carrier, she
didn't want him to just get out of it so easily, somehow. Even if
he didn't live with the family, if he didn't do this and didn't do
that, and even with the divorce, she certainly didn't want to
yield him up to another woman.
Byerly: And now she was left alone in the middle of an economic
depression.
Triest: She was left alone, and the properties were Just dissolving and
being lost in every direction.
Byerly: Her world must have seemed like it was crumbling all around her.
Triest: Yes, really, certainly. Whereas I was just ascending like crazy
and getting ready to march up Market Street on a May Day protest.
Within a year of that time or less, that's what I was doing.
Byerly: I want to get into that, but first, your sister Bernice had
rheumatic fever, and she was sick for a long time?
Triest: Yes. And she was sick a lot longer than she needed to be, so that
it changed her life, because she gave my mother a focus for her
attention and a demonstration of the usefulness of her life.
Byerly: When you say she was sick longer than she needed to be, do you
think she got used to being sick and she used that to get your
mother's attention, or
Triest: Still does. Yes, she has Alzheimer's now, and she has her husband
doing all kinds of things that she could do. If she's here, I
say, "You can pick the book up! Ralph does not have to get it for
you." But she will tend to have more things done for her than she
needs to have done. That was very, very prominent in that period
of time, because she had this incredible convalescence, which sort
24
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
of lasted forever. I feel that my mother made my sister weaker so
that she could maintain a role for herself. She could lose my
father, but she would have my sister there.
So did life change dramatically for you and the family after your
father's death?
Pretty much, because--! 'm trying to think, within the year, 1
think it was within the year, I'd left home and acquired a new and
different boyfriend, and so on.
Had you graduated school?
I was graduated from high school in 1931, but it didn't make any
difference. There was nothing to do and no place to go and no
jobs to get. My mother did offer to send me to the state
teacher's college, and, anyway, the last thing in the world I
wanted was to continue the family's line of preachers and
teachers. It just sounded like the most awful fate to me, to
become a teacher. I still wanted to be an artist, and I wanted to
go to New York.
So you knew what you wanted to do.
Yes. I was drawing all the time when I was little. It's a
wonderful way, if you don't have television, it's a wonderful way
to keep the kiddies quiet.
It also sounds like your parents did affirm you for that,
one place you got attention.
That '
s
They did. What I owe them is confidence of a certain quality and
to a certain degree, however small, that has lasted me all my
life. My sister doesn't have it. I can see in children who don't
get it from their parents that it's an incredible task to make for
oneself. But they really thought I was pretty talented and smart.
I learned to read readily--! read before I went to school and I
could do my numbers and all the clever little kid things. I
really did want to read. I remember avidly approaching the idea
of reading. But then I had all this backup and confirmation for a
few years. It was pretty well destroyed by the time I was six or
seven, and they were getting along worse and worse. But what I
got was invaluable. Sort of like the idea of the Catholic church:
"Just give me the child the first three years, and "
"We'll have him for the rest of our lives."
Yes. And I felt really good about myself as an artist. So that
meant that wherever I went, I would make art. When I started in
25
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
high school, I immediately started drawing pictures for the
journalsso I went right ahead like that.
So you knew what you were, what you were going to be, from the
beginning?
Yes.
How nice.
It's a great comfort, [laughs] And then I liked the idea of
being an artist where what I would say would go, "It's this way
because I made it this way," kind of a thing. It's a lot of
control.
Yes, I'll bet.
teenager?
So were you painting by the time you were a
Yes, but I didn't paint much around the house. The house was just
a terrible place to be, for one thing. By the time we moved up to
the city, we came up in '26, I believe, or '25, and that was such
a miserable business. My sister and I both really hated being in
the city.
Where did you live in the city?
We lived on Clay Street between Fillmore and Steiner.
Why did you hate it?
It was dirty. I mean, just regular city dirt, but to us it was
dirty, because with just a little window open, right on the window
sill, there was all this black grit. And it was foggy, as far as
I was concerned, 300 days a year.
Why had you moved to the city?
Now, why did we do that? My father might have gotten a good offer
on the house down there and decided we could live in an apartment
here. Then he could probably buy another chunk of something,
because he loved to buy real estate. He loved his little system
of selling this one to get that one, or mortgage one to get two
more. That must have been why we moved to San Francisco; he
probably got a very good price for the place in Burlingame.
Did your life change when you moved to San Francisco?
exposed to more culture?
Were you
26
Triest: Quite a lot, and then the relationship between my mother and
father got increasingly worse. That went on, for a couple of
years. He left before I got to high school just after my mother
cut her hair; that was a tragedy.
Byerly: Why did she cut her hair?
Triest: Because it was the thing to do. 1 remember her doing it.
Byerly: It was a radical thing, for women to cut their hair, wasn't it?
Triest: Well, it was pretty radical, especially if you happened to know it
was the one thing that your husband married you for. [laughs]
Byerly: Oh, I see, he was really unhappy that she cut her hair.
Triest: Oh. [sighs] I guess my sister and I both went with her when she
had it cut, and I remember the day in the greatest detail, because
it was the style to wear these little helmet-shaped hats. When
the haircut ting had been achieved, she put on the hat, and I think
she must have had one of those baked-in curls those are
terrifying things. But we met him and we wentit could have been
a Friday- -to the movies, because we always went to the movies on
Friday. We got back in the car, and my mother finally took her
hat off. It was just so sensational. He turned around and looked
at her, and he said, "Oh, my God." And he got out of the car and
walked away. We didn't see him for days.
We sat in the car for quite a while that night
Byerly: Waiting for him to come back?
Triest: Waiting for him to come back, and then my mother said, "Well,
girls, we can walk home." It was only five blocks. So we walked
home.
Byerly: And you didn't see him for days?
Triest: No.
Byerly: Hmm. So he really took it hard that she cut her hair.
Triest: Well, it was just like everything that meant anything to him was
just going out the window then. It was just getting messed up and
spoiled. So life at home was a very wretched business there,
until he went down to Ben Lomond and so on.
27
Byerly: So when you were a teenager, it sounds like you were pretty
rebellious.
Triest: Yes. I was.
Byerly: And you saw your father die.
Triest: Yes.
Leaving Home
Byerly: So how were you disciplined then? Was your mother able to keep
control of you?
Triest: No. [laughter] 1 was bigger, I was stronger, and I was at least
as pig-headed. Yes. I had promised myself for so long that with
my first paycheck, I was going to be out of there. And when I got
my check, I left home.
Byerly: So you graduated from high school, and then you got a job?
Triest: No, I didn't get the job until after my father died, because it
was a PWA job.
Let's see, he died in August, and I think I got the job in
maybe December or January or something like that. Say January of
'33. It was very high Depression-type times.
Byerly: How did you get the job?
Triest: I just heard about it from hanging around with my boyfriend in the
Bohemian section of San Francisco, down Montgomery Street.
Byerly: Why Montgomery? What was there?
Triest: What was there? Well that's the so-called Monkey block where all
kinds of famous people had lived.
Byerly: Like?
Triest: Oh, I think Robert Louis Stevenson had lived there once, and by
the early thirties there were businesses on the street floor, and
quite a lot of empty offices on the second floor, which had
fourteen- foot ceilings. It was supposed to be for office use, but
people just lived all over the place there. The only bathroom
you weren't supposed to cook- -were just open showers and they were
28
way down the hall. All the plumbing was down at the end of the
building. The building was supposed to be offices, but we lived
in them, and they rented them to us because it filled the space up
and made the owners money.
Byerly: That's where you moved to with your boyfriend?
Triest: Yes. That wasn't supposed to be known. My mother didn't know of
that.
Byerly: This might be a good place for us to stop. We've covered your
childhood and your family. So if we could just pick up on
Montgomery Street about how you met this boyfriend who was to
become your first husband and other artists on Montgomery Street--
in our next interview.
Triest: Yes, because that's a very big transition.
How Eleanor Staschen Became Radicalized and Her Influence
[Interview 2: September 17, 1995] II
Byerly: As I was saying earlier, one of the things I was wondering about
that I didn't think we covered as well as we could have is how
your mother became radicalized, went from being a very proper
young woman to somebody who was part of Prohibition with the
Temperance Union, right, a part of the suffragist movement, and a
woman who "bobbed" her hair.
Triest: I don't know how that came about. I think it must have been her
nature as an adventurous and restless creature.
Byerly: What was her mother like?
Triest: Her mother was quite proper. She died when I was quite small. I
remember her, but not in any particularly friendly way. She was
pretty cool, in the sense of being stand-offish, or maybe she
didn't want to be mobbed by a two-, three-year-old, whatever I
was. I don't think so, except that her father's patriotism always
appealed to her, and he and his whole family were very strong on
politics. Whatever their position was, their interest was acute.
They certainly were Republicans . I believe somewhere along in one
of the thirties elections, that my mother voted for Roosevelt
once. One deviation from being Republican.
29
So I don't see how we can call this very radical, except that her
need to be out there and join up with whatever was going on seemed
to be very much Just her own nature ventilating.
Byerly: In the family tradition.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So do you remember her being a part of the Temperance Union? Do
you know how she got involved with that?
Triest: I think it was there to join. She'd join almost anything.
Byerly: Like her charities?
Triest: Yes. And it was something to do. She could get in and duke it
out with people. I think that's what she usually wanted to do.
Byerly: Duke it out? What do you mean?
Triest: Well, get into issues that were confrontational and discussable
and irritating to some and not to others.
Byerly: So she was a confrontational person?
Triest: Definitely.
Byerly: Was your father?
Triest: He could be, but he didn't pick up every little crumb to be
contentious about.
Byerly: Was she contentious with him?
Triest: Definitely, and with his whole family, and with all the other
people in the apartment house in San Francisco.
Byerly: So she was always arguing with people?
Triest: She was into it, yes. And that had something to do with her
wanting to Join up, broaden the field.
Byerly: Was she liked or disliked by the people around her?
Triest: Both. Definitely. There were people who thought she was
absolutely wonderful because of all this forthrightness. And
others who despised her.
30
Byerly: So she was the kind of person that you either loved or hated? She
was that kind of person?
Triest: I think so. I think you could say that, because there were people
who just were very irritated by her.
Byerly: Did you feel you picked up any of that from her?
Triest: No. No, I'd go way out of my way not to irritate people. I'd
rather not. I always think there's some other way to get it done.
Byerly: So what was the first thing on your list?
Triest: Oh, that was just her membership in the DAR.
Byerly: Yes, let's hear about that.
Triest: Well, she very carefully would try to get our attention and say,
"This is my number, so that you can claim membership in the DAR
whenever you want to."
Byerly: The Daughters of the American Revolution?
Triest: Yes, "Because it's all proved out here and it's all taken care of
for you." She felt it was important that we should know that, but
she also didn't care for their company.
Byerly: Because?
Triest: Perhaps she thought they were too superior, or her ancestors
hadn't been involved in the right revolutionary sortie or
something like that. I think it was the snob question that
concerned her.
Byerly: She wasn't a snob?
Triest: She wasn't especially snobbish, and she certainly wouldn't
appreciate any putdown from anybody. So that took care of the
DAR.
Byerly: Well, did she maintain her membership in the DAR throughout?
Triest: Well, she put it on ice, I don't know, whatever it is you do.
Byerly: She- -okay, so she was a member but not an active member.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: But she passed that on to you as an option.
31
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: It was a prestige thing to be a member of the DAR.
Triest: Well, it was a bit of a nuisance to prove it out, to become a
member.
Byerly: But she had already done that.
Triest: She'd already done it.
Byerly: So if she gave you the option if you wanted to go that route.
Triest: Yes. It was tempting, I'll tell you.
Byerly: Because?
Triest: For me?
Byerly: Yes.
Triest: Just to be trying the patience of people of that general attitude.
When Marion Anderson was not allowed to sing in Carnegie Hall, I
thought at that time, that's what I'll do, I'll become active in
the DAR. I thought their general attitude was worth challenging.
But I was shocked at that point by that. I don't know what
year that was , but I thought it was way too far along for them to
maintain that kind of racist attitude. I really didn't like that.
And my mother didn't care who I played with when I was a child,
whether they were Jewish or whether they were black, yellow,
brown, red, any of these tones. She was indifferent unless they
were Catholic, and then that was not okay.
Byerly: What about poor, really poor?
Triest: We didn't have much occasion to bump into them when I was a child,
and then later on, where we lived and so on, I didn't see an awful
lot of the very poor.
Religioua Training
Triest: Then, I was a member of the Calvary Presbyterian Church in San
Francisco. I was fourteen; I could have been thirteen. It's
right around in there. I know I wasn't fifteen or twelve, so
we'll leave it there. And I had come across Darwinian theories,
32
and I was trying to make them fit, as I said to my mother, with
the Garden of Eden and other pictures with which I was so
familiar. She wanted me to wait until this famous person from
Scotland came, and he was a doctor of the faith, a Dr. Campbell.
Eventually, he showed up, and my mother had nothing more to
say to me directly on the issue. She wanted me to present it to
Dr. Campbell. We waited, me with wild excitement, waited for the
service to be over, and then we went up and spoke to him. He
patted me on the head and said, "Don't worry your little head
about that." And that was his full response to my full statement.
I think most of my very strong religious feeling tottered
around very badly at that point. It made a very big difference to
me.
Byerly: In what way?
Triest: Because I had been quite religious and tried to buy all this
stuff. And to run into something like that from somebody who was
presented as being a really major authority on spiritual matters
and such, I found it just impossible to accept his treatment, and
I didn't care for the patronizing effect either. So that took
care of that, but it certainly turned me very much away from
formal religion. Which was important to me, because I care for
things of that sort very much, and my children, some of them, do
too, to kind of marked degrees. So it was all very serious to me
that this had happened. And it just in one stroke removed me from
mainstream religion.
Byerly: And what did you replace it with?
Triest: I took a long time. I went around thinking that I must be an
atheist, and that didn't fit me quite right. It's like a hair
shirt, it's itchy. I moved around an awful lot, so that at this
point, in lots of ways I favor a lot of the Buddhist attitudes
more than any of the rest. My husband Frank was Jewish, which I
think is a wonderful thing to be. I think the tradition is
perfectly marvelous, but I haven't gone into it very deeply.
Although I love their literature and I love their mysticism and so
on, when it is presented in black and white, the "This is the way
we do things," well, that's not for me. I can't do that. I have
a kind of Zen attitude.
Byerly: So you had an internal struggle for a number of years around
spirituality?
Triest: Definitely, yes. I remember just turning the whole mainstream
religion thing down and- -well, of course, anarchists don't believe
33
in any of this pie -in- the -sky talk at all. But that was not good
enough for me; I have to have something, but it has to be exactly
the right shape, size, color, and so on, to suit me.
Byerly: Do you think at some point when you got acquainted with anarchism
that your politics replaced the kind of dedication you had to the
church?
Triest: Pretty much.
Byerly: So anarchy- -or the goal of anarchy- -was more of a Darwinian
heaven-on-the-earth religion.
Triest: Yes. Well, nobody ever brought Darwin down for me.
Byerly: So- -yes, I don't want to talk too much here, but I know that a lot
of the Communists that I talked to were very deeply religious as
children, brought up very religious, many of them Jewish. And
their politics became a practical, scientific religion.
Triest: Yes, so it was with the anarchists.
Byerly: So you think your association with the anarchist may have put you
on that path?
Triest: 1 think so. It's probably a need for a belief system and a thread
to follow and a justification for being alive.
Byerly: It also had a spiritual aspect, being politically left. In terms
of not religion, but in terms of a mission to help the poor.
Triest: Well, you can come out of Christianity just carrying the one
little card that says, "Do unto others," et cetera, and settle for
that. That will fit you into a good many political slots fairly
comfortably.
Byerly: So you think your Christian religious training prepared you for
politics?
Triest: I think so. Rind of an attitude or a desire for deeper things
than just what turns up on the front page of the paper. I think
by nature that's important for me, to find things and then make
them work, and try not to find too many flaws in them, and then
settle with it, until I find something better.
Guns and War
Triest: What else have I got for you? [looking at her list] I remember
all the people carrying guns, which I consider fairly quaint now
that everybody
'
s carrying guns .
Byerly: But you were out here in the West.
Triest: Yes. And I realized that there was something about it, when 1
related a gun to its function, that made me stop, because whenever
we went on camping trips, which my father loved to do, the gun was
always packed for these trips. He wasn't bringing down a rabbit
for dinner. And then I realized that my uncle also shared in this
conviction that a proper man had a gun. You never know. But in
the light of the number of guns loose now, I was astonished at it,
I couldn't figure out who he wanted to shoot. It was just beyond
me, but there it was. And I can still look at it and think what
was that for, except that it seemed to be part of the concept of
what men did and had. Had a gold watch in your vest pocket, and
also had a gun.
Byerly: What kind of gun did he have?
Triest: A revolver.
Byerly: A revolver?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And the guns that people wore, were they revolvers in holsters?
Triest: He just carried it around, he didn't wear it. I never saw him
wear it.
Byerly: But others? You say you remember seeing other people- -everybody
had a gun.
Triest: I never saw anybody wearing a gun.
Byerly: But everyone had one?
Triest: The everyone as far as my view at that time included everyone
having a gun, yes.
Byerly: And that always mystified you?
Triest: Yes, I didn't know who they were hunting for.
35
Byerly: Was there ever violence that involved guns that you witnessed?
Triest: Among any people I knew? Only for suicides, but occasionally
those cropped up. Really very seldom.
Byerly: Did you ask your parents about the gun?
Triest: No.
Byerly: Why not?
Triest: Well, it seemed pretty much like mush for breakfast, and we also
had a gun. It didn't seem discussable.
Byerly: Just something that everybody took for granted.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: But your reaction to it was strong?
Triest: Well, it did give me pause, because 1 couldn't help but to look at
it and think about it, and think what the things were usually used
for, and there I was, anti-war as usual. Even as a little kid I'd
think, What is this for? Who do we hate so much?
Byerly: Well, your family was anti-war, weren't they?
Triest: I never saw a sign that they were anti-war.
Byerly: Well, how did you get it?
Triest: Out of myself, I believe. I really think so, because there wasn't
a sign of it. It's like my mother absolutely worshipped Great
Britain, and the Prince of Wales, and everything those folks did.
So that separation from a mother country was not yet complete in
her time. And eventually, that seemed very odd to me, but I took
it very much for granted when I was little.
Byerly: So how did she feel about the war?
Triest: Well, that's what you had to go and do. I mean, those people are
out of line, and you just get them to shape up. If it means you
shoot them, you shoot them.
Byerly: So do you think it could have been the fact that your birth
occurred within days of the war, and then your first formative
years were heavy with this tragic war that made you a pacifist?
36
Triest: I think that I listened to only the part of war that was very
terrible and very sad, and people were coming home without limbs,
and there was a great deal of this in the newspaper and so on, and
I think that's kind of awful--if you're eighteen and come home
with no legs. So that was my point of view.
Byerly: So as a young child, you were already a pacifist?
Triest: I would look at it and I would think, That's not very nice, you
know. It just wasn't. And we had this great big war book put out
by some outfit like Collier's or something, and it had a picture
of the Kaiser, a full page in full color, looking like an absolute
dragon. He had everything but smoke coming out of his ears. And
I used to look at that and think, Now, that's a very, very, very
bad man, to cause all this ruckus.
And then I had to accommodate the fact that it was my
father's country, and certainly wasn't occasion for him to be very
happy about things .
Byerly: Did you ask him about it?
Triest: No.
Byerly: It wasn't something you felt you could ask?
Triest: I don't think that was allowed.
Byerly: It was too touchy a subject?
Triest: Well, you have to have more respect for people that big. What
else?
Let's see, [looking at list] I think it's historically
interesting that my mother had to take over this garage that was
destined for foreclosure.
Eleanor Staschen Takes Over What's Left of the Family Business
Byerly: Okay, this was after your father died.
Triest: This was right after my father died.
Byerly: Did he die in '29, or--
37
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
He died in '32. It was on Ellis Street between Leavenworth and
Hyde, which was the Tenderloin. It was quite a hot spot for
running liquor in and out and so on, and my mother was absolutely
unaware of where she was, I think. She knew this "nice" lady who
walked her dog up and down the street, and my mother wondered why
the woman didn't ever nod at her or smile or something. Well, it
was the streetwalker, so-called then, who had that block as her
own territory, so she didn't waste time talking to my mother.
She had a dog? The streetwalker had a dog?
Yes.
To protect her?
It was a nasty little thingwhat do you call them? Like a little
English bull? It was one of those toy bulldogsBoston bull,
that's what it was. And she walked that dog as an excuse for
walking up and down the street and when the cops stopped her for
questioning.
So your mother, was she involved in business before your father
died? Was she ever involved in the business?
No.
Aha. So it was a big financial loss when your father died?
Well, he was never involved in it either,
money off of it.
But he managed it?
He was just collecting
He didn't do any management of the business at all, because it was
an absolute lease to a couple of men who expected to do really
well, and if things had remained even, they might very well have
done well. So no, he didn't have any papers or books or anything
on it until this foreclosure came around. Then the people walked
out on the lease. They just walked out. And people who owed rent
on their stalls and people who owed rent on their apartment, in my
father's apartment house, and so on, they simply couldn't pay the
rent. So it piled up so that after a while, my mother couldn't
make the payments on the properties to the banks. And all in good
time, one by one, they were foreclosed. So I think all the
foreclosure of all the properties was probably complete around
1935, somewhere in there.
38
But it was happening to a great many other people, too,
although there were a lot of people to whom it was not happening.
That astonished me, because then 1 tended to be in contact only
with people who were in the same fix 1 was in.
Byerly: So did it look like you were going to lose everything?
Triest: We did. 1 mean, every last thing, so far as properties go. And
then things would happen like this, that if you had a grand piano,
you couldn't afford to have the movers move it, and if forced to
move you had to abandon your piano. And some of those things were
sad.
Byerly: Did that happen to you?
Triest: We never moved the piano. Couldn't do it. We didn't have a grand
piano; we had an upright, but we couldn't move it, so there it was
left behind.
Byerly: Did you lose the home that you were living in?
Triest: Yes. Everything. Everything we had. He had a restaurant and a
couple of garages, and I don't know whether he had the apartment
house we were living in plus our place in Ben Lomond, which was
quite a little holding, and yes, he lost all of them.
Byerly: It was all built on one property paying for another property
paying for another property?
Triest: Yes. Which didn't make any allowance for anybody not paying their
rent.
Byerly: So when one property went bad, the others- -
Triest: In time they all came down, yes.
Byerly: Including the house.
Triest: I think he sold the place in Ben Lomond because he couldn't hold
it any longer. It wasn't foreclosed, he sold it. Needed the
money .
Byerly: So what happened when you lost the house you were living in?
Triest: I had left home by then, and it meant nothing to me. It didn't
mean as much to me as it should have. I don't think I was ever
more callous than I was at that age.
Byerly: Was that the house in San Francisco?
39
Triest: The apartment house on Clay Street. It's still there, looks
pretty good.
Byerly: And where did your mother go?
Triest: I'm trying to remember. She lived in a series of places trying to
get jobs as apartment house manager and different things like
that, but she moved, like lots of people, often. I think she
moved down to someplace around Union and Webster in a flat that
was over a store. It wasn't bad, but it certainly wasn't up to
our standards, by a long shot. She was there for a while with my
sister, '34, maybe '35, and then she lived with different people,
combined with a cousin here and an old friend there and so on.
And with her singular confrontational talents, these things had a
tendency to be short-lived. I know she moved around a lot because
I always helped her move. That was part of my duties. My mother
would show up, and I learned how to knock down a bed in no time at
all, do it really quickly.
Byerly: Where did she end up?
Triest: She ended up in the Protestant Episcopal Old Ladies Home, which
was at Lombard and Presidio, right at the entrance to the Presidio
in San Francisco, anyway. How she got in there I don't know,
because her fortunes never rose again after the Depression. She
succeeded in clinging on most marvelously well, but it never rose
up again at all, really.
Byerly: She had to work the whole time.
Triest: She worked.
Byerly: Was there any insurance or anything?
Triest: No, there was nothing. My father didn't believe in life
insurance, he thought it was a waste of money.
Byerly: So she had to work as an apartment manager?
Triest: She did things like that. She also, I think she was on direct
relief for a very short period, and then she worked as secretary
to some person who was running the WPA Theater Project in San
Francisco. She did that for quite a while. She liked that man so
much, and she was a very good secretary. That apparently was the
spot for her where she was happiest, and when she didn't tear down
the person directly over her. She always thought he was just
wonderful. So the relationships of that sort flourished. They
were the right ones for her.
AO
But she had a series of Jobs. She worked for the Red Cross
until she was retired. She worked for the Board of Education of
San Francisco until--! think their retirement ages were something
like sixty and sixty-five then. So she retired on those pensions,
and then she began writing for some dreadful little rag, one of
these things that you sell to tourists that tell you Coit Tower is
named after Lilly Coit. But she did that for quite a long time,
and then got a job working for a Stanford University with a doctor
on rheumatic fever research, and she did that for quite a while.
And she remained in astonishing good health, considering that she
had innumerable, it seemed to me, major surgeries. Just made her
proud of herself, that she'd survived another one of those.
Byerly: What was the health problem?
Triest: Oh, she had a mastectomy, which I thought was kind of awful at
that time because she was in her eighties. 1 thought, This is
frivolous. Well, eventually I realized that's not true, that it
was appropriate. She had had a kidney removed before she had any
children, so that was kind of an iffy thing to be carrying
children at her age on one kidney. She had a hysterectomy. What
else did she do? Whole bunches of things.
Byerly: But she lived to be--
Triest: Ninety-six. So she made it.
Byerly: Well, she sounds like she was a pretty tough woman.
Triest: Well, I attribute my own drayhorse qualities to her constitution.
Byerly: And your father. Now, would you consider him a conservative, old-
world type of husband that had a hard time with your mother living
in this modern world? I know it was a common thing for women to
be involved in charities, to be active that way, but to be
politically active like she was, how did your father take to that?
Triest: He was very, very divided on it, because his instinctive behavior
was extremely conservative. He had a tendency to walk ahead of
her on the street as she draggled along with her children, which
really put her out no end, because she felt equal to anybody. He
wouldn't even know he was doing it.
Byerly: She would point it out to him?
Triest: Constantly.
Byerly: But he would constantly continue doing it?
Triest;
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
He wouldn't know he was doing it. Just be walking along, and here
she'd be, behind him.
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
She didn't like that.
No. She thought it was a democracy,
equal on the sidewalk.
She thought that she was
And he didn't. At home, did he think she was an equal? I mean, I
would be astonished if he did, because of the historical era.
He was very proud of her, he really was, because I think he wanted
to be 100 percent American, and whatever was going on, he wanted
to be that. 1 remember collecting Japanese flags at the Japanese
Tea Garden, because people, they came with the little cookie
package and so on, and people would, messy as they are, throw them
aside, and I'd be picking them up. I remember his taking them one
day, just grabbing them and breaking them and throwing them aside.
He was very put out, that his child was carrying the flag of
another country. And it was a time when the "Yellow Peril," so-
called, was considered if not a reality at least a strong
potential.
But he was very proud of her, because she'd go to different
places and be giving speeches for whatever she was selling then.
She wasn't selling anything but ideas, but there she'd be.
So she gave a lot of speeches .
Not a lot, but enough. I remember my father would be puffed up
with pride for her. So I think he was very divided, really very
divided, on such issues of woman's place and so on.
And it was also a historical era in which ideas about women were
starting to change dramatically.
Definitely, yes.
Did she ever go to any marches?
No. She was not a soap-box or on-the-street person.
She would attend meetings, though.
Yes. When my father was finally in the hospital and dying, she
was off at a convention in Seattle. Had to get in touch with her
and say, "If you want to see him again, you better hurry up."
Byerly: What kind of convention was it?
Triest: WCTU convention.
Byerly: Which was?
Triest: Must have been a national convention of some sort, Women
Christian's Temperance Union. And let's see, if he died in '32,
when was Prohibition repealed? It was right in there someplace.
I think it was under Roosevelt, I believe, which would mean- -maybe
it was '33, but it was a very hot issue then anyway for her.
Byerly: And she was still involved with her activities.
Triest: Yes. Well, of course, a lot of her contemporaries, women, thought
that she was most remarkable and brave and so on for all the
things she did. Got lots of approval and applause from a lot of
them.
Byerly: And she's the one that initiated the divorce?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Which was also kind of a radicalextremely radical thing, wasn't
it?
Triest: Yes, people did, but it was certainly wasn'ta woman was
supposed just to go right on through no matter what. Yes, one was
never proud of having been divorced. It was something that wasn't
mentioned or talked about or
Byerly: Did she ever consider remarrying? Did she have a male friend
Triest: No, no.
Byerly: How come? She was still an attractive woman, wasn't she?
Triest: Yes, and I think she was quite a flirt, but I think that's as big
a commitment that she wanted to make.
Byerly: She didn't want to marry again.
Triest: No.
Byerly: But she didn't have any male friends?
Triest: No.
Byerly: They were all women?
Triest: Yes. She even had a woman doctor, which I considered absurd, and
I thought the woman was just a really lousy doctor. My mother
stuck with her. I don't know how come shethe doctor who
delivered me was a male, but maybe she just hadn't settled down to
finding a woman doctormaybe there weren't very many women
doctors to find.
Byerly: Yes. Why do you think that she was so turned off to men, it
sounds like? Or was she?
Triest: I don't think so. I think they were more trouble than they were
worth. She probably would have thought it was not sinful but
something like it wasn't an okay thing to do, to be married again.
Byerly: Oh, I see.
Triest: Because divorce and second marriages were spoken of, wherever they
occurred, in sort of whispery tones in the family. I had an uncle
who was married more than once, and my mother really--! don't know
why she did it, as a matter of fact had to tell me that my father
had been married previously. She might as well have been
confessing a murder, she felt so badly about it.
Byerly: What happened to his first wife?
Triest: I don't know. How can you ask people like that anything about
their personal lives?
Byerly: So your father was married once before?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So was he divorced or did she die?
Triest: She didn't die.
Byerly: Oh, so he was divorced before.
Triest: I reckon. This is all because I construct it that way, but I
certainly wouldn't have dared to ask him. And that was all back
there where they first landed, the Michigan City-Indianapolis
area. And 1 think that was the reason he came west, was a new
life. I don't believe they were married for very long, but then I
don't know that really.
Byerly: Could have even been an arranged marriage?
Triest: Yes, it could have been. But 1 don't know- -not a theory, nothing
about it. It wasn't discussable.
44
Byerly: Is there anything else that you can think of that we need to flesh
out a little bit before we move on?
Triest: Well, there was the wry humor of the Prohibition agents coming in
with their axes it was quite a sightbreaking up the beer that
was stored in the garage without my mother's knowledge, and the
contents of the barrels poured down the drain.
Byerly: So when she took over this garage, she was trying to run it
herself?
Triest: She had to collect the rents, she had to hire and fire. There
were two people, the twelve-hour shift was in operation then. And
then when the eight-hour day came in, in '33, I think, I was put
to work there as the third party.
Byerly: So what did you do?
Triest: I pumped gas, and I didn't have a driver's license, so if I wanted
to clean the stalls of the cars, I'd have to manually, as it were,
shove them out of the way and clean up the stalls, and then shove
them back. Just generally cleaning them out and dusting them down
and keeping them up, being nice about the car. Plus the gasoline.
I felt sorry for myself right then, because I smelled like
gasoline all the time.
Byerly: Was it unusual for a girl to be pumping gas?
Triest: Oh, yes, I made the papers. [laughs]
Byerly: You made the papers?
Triest: Yes, I did. Picture of me and all, with my head under the hood of
a car, whatever looked good in the paper.
Byerly: Did you have a dress on?
Triest: For that picture, I don't remember whether I did or not.
Byerly: Well, when you worked there, did you usually have to wear a dress.
Triest: No.
Byerly: You got to wear pants?
Triest: There really weren't such things. They reallypants just weren't
around. I can't remember, they had to be really funny- looking
half-pajamas for them to be all right in public.
45
II
Byerly: I don't understand what you mean. Pajamas?
Triest: Well, it sort of had no sleeves, and it was a bright-colored job
with buttons down the front--
Byerly: Oh, it was a jumpsuit!
Triest: Sort of a jumpsuit, but no collar, you know. It was very casually
cut.
Byerly: And pants at the bottom?
Triest: It was a one-piece job and it went down to my ankles.
Byerly: So you got to wear that.
Triest: But not at work. What I was wearing there was a corduroy suit.
Byerly: Corduroy suit?
Triest: A maroon--
Byerly: With pants or a skirt?
Triest: With a skirt.
Byerly: This is what you wore to the garage?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: A corduroy skirt and jacket.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: You pumped gas with that on.
Triest: Yes, it Just reeked of gasoline. And everywhere I went people
would say they smelled gasoline.
Byerly: So did you feel like a pioneer when you were posing for that
picture with your head under the hood?
Triest: No, I felt sorry for myself.
Byerly: Because?
46
Triest: Because I smelled like that, and my friends were doing all these
wonderful things, and my daytime hours were in the garage. My
friends were running around loose, having a good time.
Byerly: How old were you?
Triest: That would have had to be in a comparatively short time there, it
was before '34 and it was after '32, so we'd have to put it in
'33, had to be in there and maybe into '34 a little bit.
Byerly: So you were nineteen. You had already left home?
Triest: Where was I living? I think that was just before I left home.
Byerly: Oh. That's what did it maybe?
Triest: A little nudge, yes.
Byerly: While your mother had the garage and while you were pumping gas in
this corduroy suit, the Prohibition agents showed up and
discovered that the garage was full of illegal alcohol?
Triest: Yes. They had to put the beer someplace.
Byerly: Who put it there?
Triest: It's all them gangsters it's all the people who were dealing in
alcohol products.
Byerly: But your mother certainly wouldn't have?
Triest: Well, no. I mean, here she is, state secretary of the National
Women's Temperance Union, and she didn't know. I mean, in lots of
ways, she was unbelievably innocent and naive about lots of
things .
Byerly: She must have been humiliated, though.
Triest: Well, she was shocked, and 1 guess the shock sort of covered it.
It wasn't her fault, she didn't put it there.
Byerly: Did anybody think she did?
Triest: No. Oh, they just showed up and made their statement, and Mother
goes on down and unlocks the door, and they go in, and they roll
the barrels out. There was a drain in the concrete and they
dumped it all down the drain.
Byerly: They didn't try to arrest her or anything?
47
Triest: No. [laughs] Must have looked at the poor woman and thought, She
didn't know.
Byerly: That's just before you left home?
Triest: Just before I left, yes. And got letters from relatives saying,
"You can't leave your mother at this point," and I pointed out to
them it was one less mouth to feed. I guess we were both right; I
was right, they were right.
Byerly: What about your sister? Did she pump gas in the garage?
Triest: No, no, no. She was still supposed to be not all that well. She
hadn't gone to school there for at least a couple of years, with
her rheumatic fever effect.
Byerly: So she got to stay home?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Did she have special chores at home?
Triest: No.
Byerly: She didn't have to do anything?
Triest: Not really. Not really, no.
Byerly: Well, you had finished school by then, right?
Triest: Yes, I had managed to get this job for myself, the sketching in a
Sutro Forest WPA project.
At left: Frederick Staschen with
daughters Shirley (standing) and
Bernice, circa 1917.
Right: Eleanor Mead Staschen on her
96th birthday, March 10, 1976.
Shirley Staschen in front of her childhood home in Burlingame,
California, circa 1919.
Shirley Staschen Julien In 1934 at the Colt Tower.
Frank Triest as he looked when Shirley first met him in 1935.
c o
Colt Tower mural by Bernard Zackhelm. Shirley Triest, front, in boy's
clothes.
48
II VALENTINE JULIEN AND EARLY BOHEMIAN LIFE IN SAN FRANCISCO
Triest: The gentleman I was seeing then was somebody who had been into
this for a long time, and knew all the words to "The
International" and so on, so I was keeping different company by
then. My high school boyfriend had gone off to college, so I
didn't see him very much.
Byerly: Where did you meet this new guy?
Triest: He was taking tickets at the theater around the corner, and I
thought he was just about it.
Byerly: Because?
Triest: He looked right to me. I decided I wanted him.
Byerly: So how did you get to know him?
Triest: By being pushy.
Byerly: Like going up to him and--
Triest: No, I had a friend do a little interceding first, you know, lay a
little ground work.
Byerly: What was his name?
Triest: His name was Valentine White Julien.
Marriage
Byerly: Did you marry him?
49
Triest: Yes, I did. A little later.
Byerly: So he knew the words to "The International."
Triest: [laughs] And he'd been going back and forth to New York riding
the rods, and he knew people who were artists, he thought of
himself as an artist.
Byerly: What was his medium? What did he do in art?
Triest: His mother kept trying to get him jobs, and it wouldn't quite
work. I guess it was a kind of a watercolor--he was using a lot
of watercolor for those things.
Byerly: So he painted.
Triest: Yes. And his contacts just opened all kinds of doors for me.
Telegraph Hill and Bohemian Life
Triest: Val knew people who were actually doing art, and some of them had
already arrived, and they were clustered on Telegraph Hill. Some
of them were scattered around in the city, but there was a very
high concentration of people who either had studios or they lived
there in the Montgomery block and in the 700 block, and the 800
block, going on up Montgomery to the hill, all kinds of little
places that weren't occupied by Italians were occupied by artists
who tried to get places to live there. And you could do really
well, if you bought a beer, you could live on the free lunch at
Jacopetti's, which was right there at number one Columbus. Do you
know the streets, where they intersect there?
Byerly: You could do well if you what, if you bought a beer?
Triest: You buy a beer, and then they had a free lunch that was the deal.
Byerly: The food went with the beer?
Triest: Yes. It was just lying there on a table for people to eat with
their beer.
Byerly: So that's how they lived?
Triest: Well, it was one way, and then you could get your rice in
Chinatown, and any order in Chinatown then, you'd get a free bowl
of soup. There were days when Val and I would go in and buy one
50
bowl of rice and have the bowl of soup between us. There were
also days when we didn't eat at all. That is really true.
Byerly: So you started seeing Val, started going out with him, and you
were pumping gas at the time, and then?
Triest: Yes, those events overlapped, and then I quit the gas and I quit
my mother's house on Clay Street, and I heard about the Public
Works Project, and all you had to do was to go out and see Walter
Heil. I think they wanted to see something you had done, so I
whipped up something that I kept for years, and I can't believe
how bad it was. It was just staggeringly bad.
Byerly: It was a painting or a sketch?
Triest: It was a watercolor. [laughs] Yes, painting.
Byerly: So you took that with you and you got the job with the Public
Works Associati--?
Triest: Yes, I did, but I didn't get the job until it changed over from
PWA to WPA, I think then Val got the job. I didn't have a job.
Byerly: You mean he got one then and you--
Triest: We got married. He got the job. [laughs]
Byerly: So how old were you when you got married to Val?
Triest: Twenty.
Byerly: So before we get into that marriage, though, for two years after
you got the job with the PWA, you moved out of Clay Street, you
quit the job at the garage, you left home, and you went to
Montgomery Street. Where did you live?
Triest: Which floor did I live on?
Byerly: No, where? Where did you go when you left Clay Street, where did
you sleep at night?
Triest: Well, I think for a while, Val had friends who lived out in what
we called Butchertown and out by the shrimp beds in San Francisco,
which is roughly where Candlestick Park is. She was working at
Coit Tower. This is early in '34.
Byerly: As an artist?
51
Triest: She was, yes. He was a color chemist and had a job with a paint
company. He was one of the few substantial fellows around.
Byerly: This person is a person who was living in Butchertown.
Triest: They had a house out there.
Byerly: So you went to live there.
Triest: So I stayed there you can't even call it living, because it was
such an iffy kind of a business. Val and I would be there and so
on, and talk of getting to New York was very strong then. Somehow
or other, we were going to get there.
Byerly: For what reason?
Triest: Because we were artists, and all artists want only to go to New
York. Don't stand a chance anywhere else. So we were doing all
of that, and then the people we were living with, Fred and Julie
moved back into the city. It was a long car ride, trying to get
down there. But anyway, she quit the job at Coit Tower because
they were going to New York. In order to go with them in Fred's
car--Fred had a car--we would have had to have--I think it was
$100, and I think we'd already borrowed all the money we were good
for from any relative. I don't think we ever got a bit higher
than $85, so we couldn't go, because nickels and dimes amounted to
a very great deal.
So Fred and Julie took off for New York. She's still there.
I got her job at Coit Tower, which was primarily a gofer's job,
preparing palettes and doing the lettering, or doing whatever
somebody else didn't want to do. I met a whole bunch of the
people who were working on that, and I worked particularly for
Bernard Zakheim. I still know his daughter, who was a darling
little teeny weeny maybe three-year-old at that point. And all
the other people there, got to know them and their helpers and so
on.
52
III THE WPA, DIEGO RIVERA, AND THE COIT TOWER MURALS
Byerly: How long did you work at the Colt Tower?
Triest: Not long at all. All of these things came and went at the same
speed that they're doing now. It seems to me everything's going a
little too fast. I don't think that the work at Coit Tower took
four months, five months, something like that, because a great
deal of preparation work had been done in the artists' studios, so
that the project was already assigned, completed, and so on. It
was a matter of just coming in and painting a piece of wet plaster
every day, which most of them did do. I think that was all over,
I really think it was complete in June or earlier.
The San Francisco General Strike
Triest: Then, do you happen to know the dates of the general strike?
Byerly: There was a general strike in "34.
Triest: That's it, yes. And that was a very impressive period too, just
seeing the city completely shut down was absolutely amazing. And
these things happened, the end of Coit Tower and the general
strike and so on, they just came all in one piece almost. [tape
interruption]
Byerly: On the day of the strike, you were still working at Coit Tower?
Triest: No, it was finished by then. I got the call that I should go and
picket the Tower. So I took off my heels--! 'm trying to account
for this costume that I had on [refers to photograph], half
dressed for downtown and half for picketing.
Byerly: I see. So why were you picketing Coit Tower?
53
Triest: Because it had been closed, there was ayou'll see in there a
hammer and sickle and so on, where there was a struggle about
whether it should be removed or not, and an occasion for
protesting.
Byerly: I see. So you took off your white gloves and your high heels- -
Triest: [laughs] Yes.
Byerly: And posed for this picture at Coit Tower in the Fiftieth
Anniversary edition of this book on Colt Tower, Its Art and
History, by Masha Zakheim Jewett.
Coit Tower
Triest: Yes. Have you been to Coit Tower?
Byerly: Oh, yes, I love Coit Tower.
Triest: Yes. Well, if you go sometime and you take the tour, and Masha
Jewett, Masha Zakheim is leading it, tell her that I said you
should go up the stairs. They don't let the public go up the
stairs, and it's Lucien Labaudt's frescoes on the stairway are
just lovely. Have you seen them?
Byerly: No. Not on the stairs.
Triest: I don't think they've been available to the public for a very long
time.
Byerly: I've never taken a tour. I've always just wandered around by
myself. I love the paintings there.
Now, I have this person on my list of contacts, and I have a
phone call in to her. She works at the Coit Tower?
Triest: No, she was a professor at City College, and the daughter of
Bernard Zackheim. When I was living in Sonoma County, her father
had a place up there too, and so we had lots of occasion to
collide, and we were in- -you want a Communist? Go get Bernard,
[laughs] He's passed on, but that was one person who'd have fits
where he wouldn't speak to me, pass me on the street in Sebastopol
or in San Francisco and wouldn't speak.
Byerly: Because?
Triest: Because I wasn't a Communist, and therefore I was a traitor to my
kind. Well, he was entitled. He lost his entire family in
Poland.
Byerly: Diego Rivera doesn't have any paintings at Coit Tower, does he?
Triest: No, but it was his influence that put them there, because he'd
come to the fine arts school there on Chestnut Street. He'd been
teaching there, and he had painted oh, that was later that he
painted at the fair, but a lot of people had come under his
influence, so that the idea of fresco- -there are lots of other
ways of getting things on the walls besides doing fresco, but
everybody decided, great idea, whether they'd ever done it before
or not. So they did that. I don't know what he was doing, where
he was right then. He could have been on some other job, because
it was just that brief period.
Byerly: Well, the Coit Tower murals are certainly art that reminds me of
Diego Rivera--
Triest: Oh, you see the influence, there were few people that deviated
from his general influence there.
Byerly: So this is 1934.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And you were twenty. Were you living on Montgomery Street yet?
Triest: Well, the places I lived after that were unbelievably numerous.
All kinds of places.
Byerly: Sharing apartments, flats, or--
Triest: I don't think we shared any places, but we lived in a lot of funny
places, and then would move.
Byerly: You were already married?
Triest: I was married in July of '34.
Byerly: Now, were you working at the Coit Tower when you were married, or
when you were still single?
Triest: It was over then. I was single when I was working at Coit Tower.
Byerly: And where did you live during that time?
55
Triest: I lived on Vallejo Street and Taylor or Jones, something like
that, climbing up Russian Hill there, with Fred and Julie just
before they took off for New York.
Byerly: So you were already living with Val before you were married?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So your mother must have loved that.
Triest: Well, I don't think she knew that. There was pain I thought I
should spare her.
Byerly: Was that unusual in your group?
Triest: To be living with somebody? No. But it certainly was in my
mother's group.
Byerly: But what about in your generation?
Triest: It wasn't common at all in people I had gone to high school with.
I think that's what you mean. But then I wasn't seeing much of
them any more anyway.
Kenneth Rexroth and the Artists and Writers Union
Byerly: So when you were hanging out with these artists and in that group,
it was not unusual.
Triest: Right. And at the time of the Coit Tower project, Rexroth
organized the Artists and Writers Union. He was primarily the one
getting it going.
Byerly: Who was this?
Triest: Kenneth Rexroth. This is during Coit Tower period and afterwards
that the union persisted.
Byerly: Did you know him then?
Triest: Yes, 1 did.
Byerly: How did you meet him?
56
Triest: I met him by going to a meeting of the Artists and Writers Union.
I think it was an organizing meeting; I don't think it had been
formed .
Byerly: This is in 1934 or thereabouts?
Triest: Could have been even a piece of '33 for the beginning of it. But
we heard about it because we were around where those things were
talked about. So I went with Val to the meeting, and Kenneth was
there. That was early '34 that I met him, I'm sure, unless it
could have actually been a piece of '33.
Byerly: What was the meeting like?
Triest: Chaotic. The idea of trying to organize artists, and how do you
charge for art, and should we do it by the square foot? Those
things get very funny because lots of artists, it seems to me,
have tended to be inarticulate, and a great many writers strike me
as being overly articulate, so you'd have meetings of that sort.
But when push came to shove, then the artists would say something:
"No, we don't want to work by the square foot." But a lot of talk
of that sort. The union became fairly operative, but I don't
think because of the historical times and so on that it ever
achieved very much power. But it functioned for quite a while.
Byerly: How long?
Triest: Oh, I don't know, because I moved along, and then there were
political breaks in it as to whether you were a Trotskyite or
whether you were a Communist, and you'd get yourself in trouble
there too.
Byerly: Were you either at the time?
Triest: No. Fellow traveler to everybody.
Byerly: What about Val?
Triest: He was still sort of Communist-minded, I think. He was not what
I'd call a profound person, so he would be more interested in who
was going to the meeting and what we thought would happen than in
the final ideology of the different factions.
Byerly: How many in your group were Communists?
Triest: I have no idea. I don't know even how to determine the group,
because we'd pop in and out of these various bars, and you never
had anybody home. You just met your friends in the bars, because
they'd be there, and they'd be sitting there in the afternoon, and
57
they weren't necessarily drinking and playing chess. There were
also an awful lot of drunks and an awful lot of people who died of
it, just simply never got through that period, they just died.
Byerly: But these were people who were not necessarily working outside of
their art work? They were not trying to hold jobs somewhere and
do their art work?
Triest: Well, it was a little difficult to get a day Job.
Byerly: Oh, everybody was unemployed anyway.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Might as well be an artist. [laughs]
Triest: Might as well. Might just as well go ahead, write a novel. But
you were saying in my group how many were Communists, and I can't
define the group. See, I can't say what was the group. But there
were lots of Communists. Somewhere along the line, Val and I
moved to this place on Buchanan Street, Buchanan and not Hayes,
one of those- -a couple of blocks north of Haight and it was a
four-story Victorian that had been chopped into teeny weeny little
things, and everybody shared a bathroom, and make a date if you
wanted to have a bath, and like that. That place had two devout
Communists and us, and it had somebody who was doggedly pursuing
the law and eventually became a successful lawyer, but he'd never
do anything, he'd just say, "Yeah," because he had radical
friends. He'd look up and we'd say, "Come on, let's go to--"
He'd say, "No, can't go." He just stayed with his books. But all
of his friends were Communists.
And then I knew several- -we lived on Montgomery Street up a
little bit there for a while. All these people knew one another,
and at the same time, they didn't really make what you could call
a homogenized group.
Byerly: Were there many famous people that we need to mention, or any
people who became famous later on?
Triest: I don't think so. I don't think they're big enough names. They
wore out or drank themselves out or something before they achieved
it.
Byerly: Okay.
Triest: I'll think on it. If I come up with somebody, I'll put it down.
58
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
All right. So you were saying you moved out of there to another
place on Montgomery Street.
Yes, lived at 800 Montgomery, and then moved up in the 1000 block,
had a place on the hill for a little while, but somehow if you had
a place for two or three months, it was like a long time.
Why?
Couldn't pay the rent or something.
So you would get evicted or have to leave
Yes. 1 think one of the most permanent places was this place on
Buchanan, where the landlady had a way of getting the rent out of
you whether you wanted to give it or not. But she knew who she
was dealing with, all these people in her building. She did it
well.
What did she do?
She endeared herself to you so that it would be like stabbing your
own mother not to pay the rent.
So you were able to pay the rent there.
Found a way, yes, because Val got a job on--gee, I don't know--I
don't remember the letters. It was some section, 1 believe it was
a combination of--I think it was state government that had some
kind of a thing going. But anyway, he was working on that, sort
of. Very hard to keep it straight, because it moves so fast in so
many different places and so many different jobs.
Diego Rivera and the Coit Tower Murals
Byerly: Well, let's get back to Coit Tower. I want to hear about that
experience, since that's clearly an important historical event and
a very interesting one. When you got the Job, what was it like?
When you showed up the first day--
Triest: Oh, it was wild, because Zackheim was a very, very excitable,
exciting, noisy personality and extremely hard to please, and he
would fire me about every fourth day, which he had no power to do.
So I'd just go home or go and help somebody else until he came to,
and I'd be back preparing his palette and doing the lettering and
59
so on. So he was pretty exciting to work around. And he was an
absolute devoted Communist. His life history is just incredible.
But there were all kinds of other people there that were
successful in varying degrees. John Langley Howard has a wall
there, and he's still alive, I hear. He did absolutely wonderful
drawings for Scientific American for a long time. Whether he's
still working, I wouldn't be surprised, and he must be ninety.
I'm trying to think of the different people working in that
place. They're all there. Ralph Stackpole was a sculptor who had
his yard down in the 700 block of Montgomery, and he was just a
lovely man. He did a lot of big sculptures around San Francisco.
I think there are still things in front of the--oh, I don't know
which building down in the business district. His son was just a
kid then, and went around taking pictures, and then you could buy
pictures from him, and that would make it possible for him to buy
more film. Then he eventually became celebrated as a Life
photographer, still works at it, still lives in the Bay Area.
And I could go over them one by one. I don't think- -
Byerly: Lucien Labaudt?
Triest: Yes, he was killed in an airplane accident. He had a dress design
school on Powell Street between Sutter and Bush, and his wife had
a gallery out on, I think, Franklin Street. [telephone
interruption)
Byerly: Was Diego Rivera ever there? Did you ever meet him?
Triest: I never saw him there. I saw him at the fair in '39. I was
working on a balcony there, and he was on scaffolds right across
this huge area, so I could watch him work. But I never- -everybody
I knew had some kind of contact with him.
Byerly: He was the going thing at the time?
Triest: Pretty much, yes. And he was around a lot, but he'd come and go.
He'd be here and do a job, and then he would go away and not be
back for months because he'd be doing a job someplace else.
Byerly: And what about his wife, Frida Kahlo?
Triest: I never saw her.
Byerly: Was your work influenced by Diego?
Triest: Not much. I don't think so. I don't like his work.
60
Byerly: You don't like his work?
Triest: No.
Byerly: Because?
Triest: It's Just personal. I just don't like it. It was like I don't
like Picasso. I love Picasso's drawings, things like that, but a
lot of his paintings, I just don't like them. But that's a
definite personal taste. I like some of the other muralists in
Mexico better.
Byerly: At the time you worked in the Coit Tower, had your opinion of that
style of art formed? Were you enchanted with the work, or were
you put off by it, or--
Triest: The kind of work that's seen in Coit Tower?
Byerly: Yes.
Triest: I didn't much care for it. Some of the pieces there, I think
there's a tremendous difference from one style to another in that
place, and then if you go upstairs, it's even morethe
differences are even more radical. Different styles. I don't
feel that all the people had a really good feeling for fresco, and
what one can and one cannot do with it. The idea that all the
action and the form should not go back into the wall, as it were,
that you shouldn't have a railroad train going back in the
distance, things like that. But that's being picky, because it
was a wonderful business getting that many artists, of all things,
together in one place.
And then, of course, the Lunettes are really delightful.
Byerly: The what?
Triest: Lunettes, the little oil paintings, where you go in these little
arches. Do you remember those in the foyer there, there's a
little thing there and a little thing there? Those were fine, and
there were very good, traditional painters in San Francisco who
worked on those. Even at that time, I didn't have any rabid
aversion to some of the more classic forms. It was all right.
Byerly: Did you feel it was an honor to be there? Or was it just a job?
Triest: Not so much an honor, I was Just glad to be there.
Byerly: Because?
61
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Because I was functioning in this field that my chosen field, and
just luck put me there. So I was very happy about that.
Did you ever mix with the artists who worked there?
lot younger, right?
You were a
There were some who were in my general category. Oh, yes. Ray
Bertrand. Do you know the one who did the butcher shop? He was
an absolutely wonderful printer, so later he printed my
lithographs, WPA lithographs, which I really loved doing
lithographs. I have a press of my own that is loaned to Stanford
right now. It's just very hard to keep a press going for one
person. And the work is way too heavy for me now, of course. But
I spent time around him, and around Fred Vidar and George Harris,
and who else? Different ones. I saw them. We didn't spend time
in the sense of entertaining one another, just didn't happen. Our
intimacy would grow in bars, the ones that everybody went to.
Which bars were they?
The Black Cat was the main one.
The Black Cat Cafe
Byerly: Where was the Black Cat?
Triest: It's on Montgomery Street.
Byerly: Of course.
Triest: Something is still in that slot there, I think.
Byerly: So you would go to the bars to mingle and
Triest: Yes. You'd know pretty well who was there, and if they weren't
there, you could go across the street to Jacopetti's and maybe
they were there. Or go down a little bit to another one. What
was the name of that one? Green Lantern was on Kearney, I guess.
Byerly: And is that what you did in the evenings?
Triest: Yes. You could workI'd work at home on whatever I was doing. I
had a period where I was doing a certain amount of WPA art work at
home, and I'd work, say, until ten or eleven o'clock, and then pop
on down there and see what was happening. I think they closed at
two. And then if you had friends, there was always one out of
62
every twenty people, who might have a then and the Musicians Union
was open all night, and if you had a connection that would get you
in there, it was wonderful. Because they had a full bar and they
had- -people would just come in and play there, all professionals
from around. It was great fun.
Byerly: And in these other bars where there were artists, what was
happening there? Can you describe the scene?
Triest: I think I have a picture, somebody did a mural of all of us there.
Of course, it's not all of us. Just people coming in and going
out, and drinking, and getting fall-down drunk, and you know.
Life.
Byerly: Sitting around and talking, smoking and drinking and talking about
art?
Triest: Could be.
Byerly: Or politics, or the Depression?
Triest: Sure. Not much point in talking about the Depression then. One
didn't have much of an overview. But yes, I have a tablecloth
piece cut out, Ruben Radish had drawn a picture on it, and I liked
his work so much and there he cut up the tablecloth and said,
"Here, if you like my work."
Byerly: Who was this?
Triest: Ruben Radish. He's one of the people, the second time I made a
really big effort to get to New York, I was going to be able to
stay with him and his wife and family and so on. Second one that
never came off.
Byerly: So he did a drawing on a tablecloth, cut it out, and gave it to
you.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Do you still have it?
Triest: I think so. It would have been rather dreadful of me to throw it
out. I've thrown out an awful lot of stuff, but .
Byerly: Are you ready to end?
Triest: I think so.
63
Controversy Over Colt Tower Murals
[Interview 3: September 19, 1995)11
Byerly: There was tremendous controversy around the Colt Tower paintings.
When I read about the controversy, it seems to me there was an
awful lot of radical politics going on among the artists. Did you
have any experience with that?
Triest: Well, it was certainly there, and it wasn't so much artist to
artist as it was opportunistic journalism trying to get something
interesting to write about for the newspapers. Somebody had
painted a hammer and sickle as part of the decoration in a beam
going across the ceiling. It was a minor little thing, but it
certainly seemed to be an appropriate contemporary expression,
because there was a great deal of radicalism evident in the city.
It was ballooned up from there as something that couldn't be
tolerated, and resulted in the closing of the Tower. While it was
closed the hammer and sickle painting was removed. I wasn't
terribly interested in it. It seemed like an awful lot of fuss to
me about not very much, except the principle of the thing free
speech- -and how that was handled was not satisfying to me. I
mean, it shouldn't have been removed.
Byerly: For his article, the journalist superimposed the hammer and sickle
over the top of another painting. They were originally two
different paintings altogether, and then the Hearst papers made a
big deal out of it.
Triest: It seems to me there was more than one symbol, and the hammer and
sickle was one of them. And it was sort of an afterthought,
somebody thought it would be a- -that it would look nice. [laughs]
Byerly: Well, there must have been some political motivation behind it. I
mean, they also had the Daily Worker in the newsstand--
Triest: Oh, it's there. I mean, Arnautoff and Zakheim and some of the
others saw to it that they got a few bits of lettering in there to
reflect the times, which were hot enough.
Byerly: And socialism was an attractive alternative to capitalism during
the Depression. I mean, communism was working then; capitalism
was not?
Triest: Right. And then there were people who would, because of the fact
that this would reflect the current condition, use symbols or
notes of that sort, and not themselves be politically involved at
all. 1 mean, it didn't necessarily mean that this was an
individual expression of a political attitude so much as the
artist's idea. In some cases, it's a reflection of the time.
Byerly: So it was a reflection of how they saw Americans.
Triest: For some, and for others it would be just an ongoing protest.
Byerly: Of?
Triest: Of their own radicalism.
Byerly: So it was in some cases an expression of radical politics?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Of the particular artist, and the other times it was an expression
of radical politics of the American people.
Triest: As seen by that particular artist.
Byerly: If someone is taking a book of Karl Marx off the shelf, and the
hammer and sickle, and The Masses, and Dally World among the
newspapersthis was representative of the American people in
1934?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Those were some of the symbols.
Triest: I'm trying to think, some of the books in George Harris's fresco
reflect it, but you have to read all the titles if you want to get
any of his own little in- jokes. And I think that John Howard
intentionally, although he doesn't write anything down, was very
much intent on showing conditions of workers in the country at
that time. And then there are other things there that Just don't
have anything like that at all. You have Haxine Albro's on the
east side. There all you can see is, I think, symbols on the
orange boxes, the crates.
Byerly: Oh, of the National Recovery eagle?
Triest: Yes, that's right.
Byerly: And it has since been adapted by the migrant workers union formed
by Cesar Chavez.
Triest: Yes.
65
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Okay. So she had that symbol in her mural?
Yes.
Was that particularly radical?
That's the only symbol you can see in that whole fresco. And then
I don't think you can see any symbols in Ray Bert rand's
butchershop effect or in Gordon Langdon's work on the north side
there. A number of them 1 can't say anything about them except
that they are nice paintings.
Were artists that were chosen for the Coit Tower Mural project the
most famous or considered the best artists in the Bay Area?
I don't know how they were chosen, but they certainly had some of
the best known easel artists involved, especially with the
Lunettes, the little installed oil paintings. They worked
primarily in their studios. We didn't see very much of those
artists, because this was a matter of studio work to be installed.
They'd turn up once in a while to see how the other murals were
coming along, but they weren't working on the plaster. Those are
canvas, 1 believe.
Yes. So now, the assistants were artists, too?
Yes.
Of a high caliber? These were competitive jobs?
For myself getting the position as assistant to Bernard Zakheim
was luck. 1 don't know how the rest of the people got their jobs.
I have no idea how they were chosen or when they applied for the
jobs.
Why do you think for you it was luck?
It's one of those things when you're standing in the right place
at the right time. Because my friend got to go to New York, and I
didn't. So she just brought me up one day to meet Zakheim and
left me there with a job.
But you were an artist,
their own right?
And the other assistants were artists in
Triest: Yes.
66
Daily Routine at Work on the Colt Tower Murals
Byerly: Can you give me kind of a daily routine of what it was like to go
to work there?
Triest: It was fairly erratic, considering that it was getting together
artists. It's not the way of artists generally to work together.
To bring them all together under the same roof was extraordinary.
It struck me as the most extraordinary part of the whole thing,
that you had them all there working together at the same time,
although everybody wouldn't come in every day. That was pretty
much their option, how they got it done. The routine would be
that the plasterers, who were very skilled plasterers indeed,
would be there early and plaster the area on the wall indicated by
the artist on the previous day, let's say. It would be painted on
the rough plaster an outline of what they intended to do.
Byerly: Who would do that?
Triest: The artist would do it, decide which part of his sketch would go
on which part of the wall, and then just outline it crudely in
color.
Byerly: Who did the plastering?
Triest: People from the Plasterers Union, I think. They were not artists,
they were craftsmen.
Byerly: Okay. Because fresco requires a special plaster, is that right?
Triest: It's marble dust material, it's a very, very fine surface.
Byerly: And that's how they get the crystallized effect?
Triest: As it dries, it combines with the pigment, and it's sealed into
the wall itself then.
Byerly: Does that happen as it dries?
Triest: Yes, because if you don't finish your painting while it's wet,
then you can see where the paint has been pushed a little too far
on dry plaster, where they just wanted to keep going but it had
already dried a bit too much, which was within a few hours,
actually.
Byerly: I see, yes. So was it a nine-to-five shift?
67
Triest: No. [laughs] No, the hours were pretty casual. I know when I
was supposed to be there, because, for my position, I wasn't that
free to drop in and out. But the artists would come and go at
will, pretty much, although I don't know exactly what determined
it, but there was a deadline of trying to get all of it finished
at the same time, which was amazing, that it was done, that that
happened at all.
San Francisco Artist Bernard Zakheim
Byerly: What was a typical day like, do you remember?
Triest: Well, I remember days of getting fired, because of the marvelously
dynamic disposition of the artist for whom I worked most of the
time, Bernard Zakheim.
Byerly: So what would happen? You would show up for work in some kind of
coverall?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And what time would you show up? How would you know when to show
up?
Triest: We were supposed to be there around nine or ten, and work along as
long as there was work to do, which had to do with the drying of
the plaster.
Byerly: Would he be there when you got there?
Triest: No.
Byerly: So what would you do?
Triest: I'd lay out the palette, the colors that he in particular used and
the order in which he wanted them.
Byerly: He had left notes?
Triest: No, I knew that. I mean, in the first place, he must have told
me, "This is the way I want it and this is the way it should be
every day." And the pigment is ground in distilled water. We had
a person there who sat at a table and with the marble rock and
ground the colors to the right consistency every day, and they
were there in jars so that you could fetch up whatever was needed.
68
Byerly: Then Zakheim would come in eventually?
Triest: Yes. Sooner or later, but he wasn't really erratic in showing up.
He did want to get the work done.
Byerly: And how long did he work?
Triest: It would vary a good deal, but it would probably run around five
hours, six hours or more on the wall itself, and there were other
things to do, detailed sketches that he would want to do for the
next figure coming up, because the style in fresco just
traditionally was to make portraits of all your people. That's
one of the big enjoyments at Coit Tower, is that there are so many
portraits on the walls. There was a good deal of that, where
you'd decide you wanted this person or that and do a sketch. The
artist would paint one another and so on.
Byerly: So once Zakheim was there and he was painting, what was the
relationship between the two of you?
Triest: It was very friendly, and he was a very exciting man. He would
tell stories of his life. He was very verbal, and loved to be
listened to. He could paint and talk at the same time.
Byerly: So he talked to you a lot.
Triest: Yes, more than some of the people did in the way of talking. I
knew him over a period of many years. I met him then, and I knew
him the rest of his life, I guess, off and on. When I was moving
to Sonoma County later, he had a place there and I'd see him. My
children and his would be in the same swimming class and such
things as that, so the connection lasted for a long time.
Byerly: So tell us about getting fired.
Triest: Well, he would just get excited. He didn't like the way the
painting was going or the way the damn plaster was or something--
Byerly: And he would get very upset?
Triest: He'd get very upset about it and decide that probably it was my
fault. That was all right with me, it didn't bother me much.
Byerly: How could it have been your fault?
Triest: Well, fault-placing doesn't have much connection with reality at
all, in my experience.
Byerly: He was afraid he was going to fail?
69
Triest: I think he just wanted to exercise his mood.
Byerly: So what would he say to you? How would he express this mood?
Triest: He would say there was no use trying to go on working together, it
was useless. This was a total mess, it was ruining his day or the
whole fresco or that it was just that 1 was just a disturbance to
him.
Byerly: It wasn't logical?
Triest: No, not at all. I mean no, no specific thing had happened. It
was just mood expression, which was true for as long as I knew
him.
Byerly: Even when you weren't working in Coit Tower?
Triest: Oh, absolutely. And then we had political differences and long
periods where I would pass him or meet him in a store and he
wouldn't speak to me, because I wasn't being politically correct.
Byerly: Which was?
Triest: He was very consistently a Communist.
Byerly: He was in the CPUSA?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And so he didn't care for anarchists?
Triest: No, no, not at all! Anyone who was such a fool as to deviate
obviously was against the working man. What else could it be?
Byerly: Well, did you have any political discussions with him when you
worked with him in Coit Tower?
Triest: No. Well, I was considerably younger than he, and I would have
felt that I was very much out of line if I had taken a different
position. But later on when he found me in the wrong picket line,
that was a disaster.
Byerly: What do you mean?
Triest: Well, there were picket lines that were favored by one group, and
another would have nothing to do with them, a matter of politics.
Byerly: Okay. And did you go to a lot of picket lines at that time?
70
Triest: Whatever was there, I'd be there, if it was consistent with my
belief system of the time.
Byerly: And what was your belief system at the time?
Triest: Well, it was moving from a communist attitude and, along with
that, a very pro-union kind of a thing, because of the general
strike, unionism was very strong in the air at that time. I moved
from being a communist to being a Trotskyite for a while. That
really didn't please Bernard at all. He thought that was probably
the worst thing I could have done. Then, worse was moving from
being a Trotskyite, at least in sympathy to an anarchist position
later on. [tape interruption]
Byerly: So you must have had some kind of conversation with Bernard
Zakheim for him to know that you were flirting with Trotskyites
and that sort of thing.
Triest: One could be identified by the groups one was seen with also. If
you were seen talking to a specific person, that obviously meant
that you were compatible with that political point of view. It
was that defined.
Byerly: And did Zakheim live in San Francisco at the time?
Triest: He had an apple ranch in Sebastopol at the time. He was very much
of a man for barter, and he used to show up in the various
watering holes and the bars of the community, which is where you
found everybody, and try to produce a ride for himself back. He
didn't have a car. Not very many people did have, and he'd be
looking for a ride back to Sebastopol, in exchange for which he
would give them apples. I don't think that he was terribly
successful with that, but it certainly didn't prevent his trying.
He also ran an upholstery business in San Francisco, which
was not terribly successful, I don't believe. No business was
very successful then.
Byerly: So he hitched a ride every day that he came down to the Coit
Tower?
Triest: No, more like tried to go home for the weekends.
Byerly: Oh, so he came down and stayed during the week.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So he might see who you were hanging out with at these cafes?
71
Triest: Oh, sure.
Byerly: And he could ascertain your politics from that.
Triest: Pretty much. I think his going back to Sebastopol wasn't Coit
Tower period, now that I think of it, because a little earlier I
know that he had a house at 17th and Cole, I think it was, and I
visited there. There were some really wild organizers who came
out from New York, and we were supposed to have a really core
group there, but it misfired terribly.
Byerly: Who was involved?
Triest: Well, Rexroth, for one, Bernard, and these organizers. Somebody
was supposed to have produced other people. Well, "other people"
turned out to be me, and it really wasn't a great success. So
essentially, it didn't happen, but it did mean that 1 saw
Bernard's house and met his wife and so on at that time.
Byerly: Did you already know Kenneth Rexroth at the time?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: How had you met him?
Triest: 1 met him at a meeting that was established toward the founding of
an Artists and Writers Union.
Byerly: Right, you talked about that earlier. And what was the meeting at
Bernard Zakheim's house like that day?
Triest: Well, there was supposed to be a stimulating input from New York
to get a little more action, because signing up people for party
work hadn't been flourishing in the Bay area.
The Communist Partv in San Francisco
Byerly: So it was a Communist Party meeting.
Triest: Oh, yes. The CP hadn't flourished enough in San Francisco.
Byerly: Why do you say it failed because you were the only one that showed
up?
72
Triest: Well, this particular gathering, it just wasn't big enough for
their ideas, even though these organizers were an extraordinary
pair.
Byerly: Who were they, do you remember who they were--
Triest: Yes, Royce and Weatherwax. Their names were Royce and Weatherwax.
And I hadn't seen a real New York organizer in all my life, and
they were almost scary with the amount of energy and the lack of
humor. Well, they were so disgusted that the whole thing didn't
last very long, and I think they were saying things like, "Well,
try to do better next time if you want us to show up."
Byerly: Who were they saying that to?
Triest: Primarily Kenneth and Bernard.
Byerly: Oh, I see. So Kenneth was in the party?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Of course, the party was not the kind of threat that it turned out
to be after the McCarthy era, is that right? Or was there still a
lot of anti-Communist sentiment in San Francisco?
Triest: I think there was a lot. It was different in quality from the
McCarthy era. That was very scary. It drove people out of San
Francisco by the hundreds, I guess. I don't know how many people
decided they'd rather raise chickens than stick around in San
Francisco.
Byerly: Right. So you didn't go to any other meetings at Bernard
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Zakheim's house?
No, that was a singular event,
again either.
I never saw Royce and Weatherwax
So back to Coit Tower: the whole period of your working there
lasted how long?
It was actually only a few months.
From January to--?
I think they were in there from January, but I don't think that I
Joined them until late March or early April, so that it was a very
short period of time for it to end sometime in June. So it could
have been at the very most two months plus something. And to make
73
such a big event out of itself, it was very impressive for a lot
of people.
Byerly: The final product, you mean?
Triest: Just the event, the astonishing thing of having that many artists
working in the same place at the same time. I don't know if all
artists are supposed to have uneven dispositions, but 1 think the
feeling generally was that it's very hard to keep them in the same
spot for very long. I think this proved that that was untrue.
Byerly: Of course, they were desperate for the money, too, at that point.
Triest: They got along very well, actually. There was a very conservative
easel-painting group that didn't participate in much of anything--
they didn't come to any union meetings. They didn't have anything
to do with this political rabble that was cluttering their
landscape, when they'd come in. They were marvelously competent
people. They'd come in, check it out, and go away quickly. They
weren't there working during the day, and you'd have very little
to do with them.
Byerly: But the Artists and Writers Union formed while Coit Tower was
happening .
Triest: Pretty much, yes.
Byerly: Afterwards did you maintain membership in it?
Triest: Oh, yes. For quite a long time, and I can't remember how it
disappeared, but it was there for quite a long time. Then, later
on, I think when I moved away from the Bay area and got more
housewifely duties attached to me, I couldn't get to the meetings,
and the whole environment was different enough. Although I
believe the union went on for quite a good long time, and then it
became distinctly identified with the Communist Party itself.
That was the dominant attitude of the group, and I was becoming
more alienated from that attitude.
Personal Contribution to the Coit Tower Murals
Byerly: At Coit Tower when you weren't fixing palettes, what were you
doing?
Triest: Oh, I could be doing the stuff he didn't want to do, like he had
lots and lots and lots of books in his fresco, and they all had
74
titles, and he didn't want to do the lettering. So I spent my
time primarily working with black pigment on the lettering.
Byerly: So you lettered the books.
Triest: Yes. 1 did get to paint. And here and there, I'd do sketches for
other people, where they'd just say they'd like me to come back
the next day with a drawing of a cat, because they hadn't been
able to come up with a convincing cat.
Byerly: So you were one of the painters.
Triest: Oh, I didn't paint it, I did the prior sketch for it. And then I
did some lettering for Lucien Labaudt.
Byerly: On his books?
Triest: He didn't have books, he had a basket. His fresco is one going up
the staircase not so easily seen, and it's on a basket, and it
says, "Happy Easter, 1934." I got to do that.
Byerly: How did that feel, to be painting with these guys?
Triest: Wonderful. It was just absolutely wonderful.
Byerly: It must have been incredible.
Triest: Yes. I thought it could just go on forever, it would suit me Just
fine.
Byerly: You'd still be up there painting in the Coit Tower.
Triest: I would, I would, yes. But there were lots of other things
connected later with the WPA that I always felt had a place in the
work of the country and should go on constantly, and it's a shame
that it isn't and that so many murals have been destroyed. I
think there's a book by somebody around the San Francisco area
having to do with frescoes, where they note and have pictures, or
at least they make a notation of lost frescoes. Not frescoes, I
mean murals . Because these have cropped up here and there for
lots of different reasons, and then the buildings are torn down or
the murals are painted over or something of that sort. But I feel
that there's room in a country this size for a lot more art than
is evident.
Byerly: I agree. Now, Diego Rivera had Just painted this very radical
mural for the Rockefellers. That was destroyed around 1934. Did
that happen to occur while you were involved in the Coit Tower.
75
Triest: No, I think it was right after that. Somehow I have a feeling
that it was after that. Because my recollection, and I have no
idea if this is exact, was that he was in New York at the time we
were working on the Tower.
Byerly: Diego was working on the Rockefeller mural?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: You mean the one in which he included Lenin? [laughs]
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: At the Coit Tower, around the afternoon, three or four, you and
the other artists would knock off and go home, or what?
Triest: Pretty much go home, yes.
Byerly: And you were living with Val at the time, or married by then, or
thereabouts.
Triest: That was before I was married, because this iswell, very close
to it.
Byerly: And then you were living out where your friend had lived by the
shrimp beds, did you say, or had you moved?
Triest: They had moved because they had gone to New York, and we had to
get out of their place on Russian Hill, and I can't remember where
we were there for a couple of minutes. One more place. We did
move a lot. When we were married, we rented a place at 800
Montgomery, and then the rent was so staggeringly high, which I
don't know, it could have been something awful like $50 a month,
we had to move and we got--I don't know where we went from there.
Byerly: Well, when you were working in the Coit Tower, when you went home
in the afternoon, what did you do? What was Val doing at the
time?
Triest: Nothing. Sit around and talk about the strike, primarily, or the
potential of the strike--! know where we were living, we were
living in the 1000 block of Montgomery. The rent there was
something like $6 a month, and it wasn't worth $6. [laughs]
Byerly: What kind of a place was it?
Triest: It was a chopped-up little one-time flat, but it actually had a
gas plate in it, so you could actually eat out of there, and
sleep. And there were other people in that building, just friends
76
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
that I knew forever. Then there was a great deal of --most of the
excitement was about the strike.
Whatthe general strike?
Yes, at that time and that place, connected very tightly to the
finishing of Coit Tower.
So the picket lines that you were participating in were part of
that strike?
There was, as you know, a lot of violence connected with that
strike. Within the building there was a young couple, to this day
I can think of how square they looked, compared to the rest of us.
This square-looking young man decided that he would go down and
work on the waterfront and go through the picket lines, because he
wanted the money. He couldn't see the point of not crossing a
picket line. He just literally couldn't see it. And people would
talk to him literally day and night, like, "Don't do it, just
don't do it." And he got beat up.
one,
Another person living in the building, who was a radical
got thoroughly beaten up while we were living there.
For trying to cross a picket line?
No, not the second one, he was on the picket line. [laughs]
He got beat up by people trying to cross it?
Yes.
After Coit Tower
Byerly: So you were in Coit Tower then?
Triest: No, this was immediately after. I can't remember the date of the-
-not the date, but the exact period of this activity on the
waterfront. But I know that I wasn't at the tower then, but I
know that it was very close in calendar time.
Byerly: Now, this picture of you in Masha Zakheim Jewett's book is you and
your friend, the one that went to New York, I believe.
Triest: Yes.
77
Byerly: The doors to the tower have a big sign that says, "Closed." Can
you explain that picture?
Triest: I remember it as having been over the hammer and sickle deal, that
the Tower was closed.
Byerly: Oh. But wasn't your friend in New York, or had she come back?
Triest: No, she never came back. 1 guess maybe the fuss about the hammer
and sickle was before the work was finished at the tower.
Byerly: I see, yes, okay.
Triest: But it could have been within weeks. The timing was very close.
Considering the importance that this material has, it astonishes
me in recollection to think of what a brief time was covered.
Byerly: How quickly it was done?
Triest: Because let's say she was packed that day to go, but it was very
close. And therefore, it must have been before it was finished.
Byerly: They closed it up?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: As a result of the hammer and sickle fiasco?
Triest: Yes. I'd have to research it to get all these dates and events to
fit.
Byerly: Yes. But there was no other time when the Coit Tower was closed?
Triest: I'm not sure about that, I'm really not. You'd have to ask Masha
about that. I bet she'd know.
Byerly: I will, okay. So did you tell us about the day that you went out
to picket that you got your picture taken for that
Triest: Oh, yes, well, they wanted somebody to go up and picket, and Julia
and I were the only ones who showed up. The active newspaper
photographer took advantage of finding anybody around. That was
all there was to that one.
Byerly: So they must have opened it right away, then.
Triest: I think so.
Byerly: So I'm surprised that there were only two of you to picket.
78
Triest: Well, it just wasn't well enough organized.
Byerly: It wasn't organized?
Triest: [laughs] It's like the meeting at Zakheim's, send out the call
and see what happens, and then two people show up, and you really
don't have much action.
Byerly: Yes, from what I read about the Depression, there were just so
many things going on that people did show up for that--
Triest: Couldn't cover the whole thing.
Byerly: You couldn't go do everything. Yes. So how had you heard about
it?
Triest: I have no recollection at all, except that I felt duty bound to
go.
Byerly: And did the picture show up in the paper?
Triest: Oh, yes.
Byerly: And did your mother see it?
Triest: I don't know, I wasn't terribly concerned.
Byerly: Hmm. So a certain amount of notoriety that was happening to you
at this point, is that right? I mean, this picture--
Triest: I think it's karmic. I've gotten my picture taken on purpose or
by accident more than should come to me, and I really think that
it's just the way it happened. There wasn't any particular thing.
I guess they wanted to fill up some spot in the paper.
Byerly: Well, they were also trying to get the artists to stop painting
all this Communist stuff.
Triest: Oh, sure.
Byerly: So when you went home after work and you sat around and talked to
Val, and then the two of you went out to the bars to hang out with
other artists?
Triest: Maybe, orwell, the eating then was a very difficult kind of
business, because the stopping of that paycheck meant that we were
down to the bottom, and eating was quite a problem and took a good
deal of attention.
Byerly:
79
How much were you making? How much did they pay you to work at
Coit Tower?
Triest: I can't remember.
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
--small, but it sounds irrational now.
I think Zakheim made $661 for the whole thing,
think the book says.
That's what I
Ah. I think they were supposed to be getting, let's say then,
around $25 a week? I was going to just say a month, but I guess
not. And us humbler people were getting something like $18, I
think. And then once that was gone, then there wasn't anything.
Then you'd do all kinds of running around, trying to find where
the food is. We used to pick on Val's family a good deal, and
we'd walk from therethey lived out toward the west end of Union
Street, and you didn't throw your money around, if you had any, on
such things as streetcar fare, which was a nickel. But we'd walk
out there, and you'd know what you were going to have, because it
would be one can of tuna that was creamed to accommodate up to six
people, and that went on a lot of mashed potatoes. Maybe you'd
get Jello and maybe you'd get some kind of like canned peas, maybe
not, but it was food.
And it was during that period that there really were days
where we had no money and no food, either one. The way to take
care of that, I discovered, was to sleep. Then you don't notice
it so much.
So you did a lot of sleeping.
Yes, because we were hungry. But then a little bit of money, and
all our friends in the same building would chip in, and we would
get a gallon of red wine for fifty cents, and see what we could
make out of that. And then there was the thing of supporting our
smoking habit, which was also expensive, because you could buy a
pack of cigarettes for ten cents, I think, but you could buy a
sack of Bull Durham and have it go a lot further. So the thing
was to smoke Bull Durham or Golden Grain or Five Brothers or
something all week--
You mean you rolled your own?
Yes. And then we'd treat ourselves to a ten-cent pack of
cigarettes for the weekend.
80
Byerly: And a jug of wine?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: When you went to the bars, did you spend any money there?
Triest: Well, yes, but if you didn't have it, you could go. Of course,
you could golots of people went and they didn't have any money
at all, and they'd certainly hope somebody would buy them a drink.
Byerly: And what were these bar scenes like? I know you were talking
about some people getting really drunk.
Triest: Well, there was just a tremendous amount of political discussion,
and a tremendous amount of artistic discussion, that could get
pretty hot, differences of attitudes and so on, artistic
attitudes.
Byerly: And you also went to try to meet people, or try to network the
group, or not?
Triest: It was taken for granted. It was just like a part of the way of
life, that this was what you did with your time. There was a time
very early on when some of these places served food- -then the
Black Cat did and then it stopped doing that, but one could get a
five-course dinner for twenty-five cents. Twenty-five cents, you
really couldn't afford to spend that often on just one meal, but
it was quite a spread, to get a whole dinner for two bits.
81
IV MONTGOMERY STREET (MONKEY BLOCK)
The Cafe Scene; The Black Cat. Jacapetti's. Izzy's
Byerly: The Black Cat? Where was it?
Triest: It was on Montgomery between Washington and Jackson.
Byerly: Where were the others?
Triest: Well, Jacapetti's was across the street from there, and that was
supported also by the police force, which was across the street.
The Hall of Justice was at Kearny and Washington. Then there was
another just down the street a little. There were just lots of
them, but that junction with three bars meant that you could see
pretty much who you thought you might see there.
Byerly: So you could hop one to the other?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: To see everybody?
Triest: Yes, or spend the whole evening at the first one if you were happy
where you were. And then people would get inspired and decide we
should go to Izzy's, which would mean you'd have to walk four or
five blocks, but that was an extraordinary place and run by an
extraordinary person.
Byerly: What was it?
Triest: It was a bar, and the person who ran it was very impressive
looking. Huge mound of a man. He was gruff, but he was
exceedingly kind to people, and put food on the cuff for a lot of
people for a long time. I'm sure he never saw the money for it.
And then a lot of newspaper people went there. They also went to
82
the Black Cat and some of these other places, so we saw the
newspaper folk too. All the heavy-drinking people in the city
turned up. And you'd see union people, union organizers.
Byerly: So there were artists, and there were political people, and there
were newspaper people.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And there were the town's drunks.
Triest: Well, a lot of people qualified for being town drunks. I mean,
there was nothing very exclusive about that. And I knew several
people who literally died of it, who were sound, as we used to
say, as a dollar when they showed up down there, and literally
before my eyes destroyed themselves.
Byerly: From the drinking?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: This was right after Prohibition, right?
Triest: Yes. Close enough to it. It's about a two-year difference,
because for a long time, there were still lots of speakeasies that
kept right on going, despite the Prohibition, because I think they
started the repeal with beer--I don't know why people went to
speakeasies. They liked them, I think. But I remember the
speakeasies like Finocchio's [?] that turned into a nightclub
featuring gay performers, was a very big thing for tourists from
the valley.
Byerly: Was that a speakeasy, or a speakeasy turned legal bar?
Triest: Turned into this legal nightclub. But they had in an apartment
house, Stockton and Sutter, tiny little bit of an apartment turned
into a speakeasy. But you could call ahead and order a pint of
red gin or green gin, and when you got there it would be in the--
sort of enmeshed in this plant, which was at the entrance, and you
left the money and went away with your choice of color. It was
just alcohol.
Byerly: Why was it red or green?
Triest: I don't know, it seemed to attract people a little bit more than
just the clear rubbing alcohol.
Byerly: So you could buy alcohol and take it away from the bars.
83
Triest: Well, you'd get it downstairs right off the street. Very trusting
organization.
Byerly: But this was illegal, right?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: But it had come out of a speakeasy tradition, so--
Triest: It still was functioning as a speakeasy, and it was after repeal,
but there were a number that continued to function, because it's
the livelihood. They were very clubby, so people would keep
showing up, so they'd keep making money. Very hard liquor to
drink.
Byerly: Gin?
Triest: Well, the so-called bourbon was--I don't know what that was made
out of. I have no idea.
Byerly: What were you drinking at the time? Did you do a lot of drinking?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: What did you drink?
Triest: Well, at a place like the Black Cat, I'd drink wine, I think. I
don't like beer all that much. Ten cents a glass. Going to a
speakeasy, I guess you'd have your choice of beer or bourbon or
gin in a lot of them.
Byerly: Did you go to speakeasies?
Triest: Sure.
Byerly: And you had mentioned that Val had been a heavy drinker.
Triest: Yes. Yes, he became pretty inoperative.
Byerly: From the drinking?
Triest: From the drinking, yes.
Byerly: And in fact, that was the demise of the marriage.
Triest: Yes. I mean, the whole thing, the kind of a life that that
provided or required me to live was something that I was just not
willing to do.
84
Byerly: What kind of life was that? I mean, you were completely happy
going to the bars and socializing and
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And supporting the two of you.
Triest: Yes, but he was a roughhe gotnot always, but he got very nasty
when he was drinking. He would take a few pokes at me, which I
just simply didn't like enough to stay with him. I couldn't see
that I knew him for many years after that, and when I moved from
a choice little house I had on Telegraph Hill, I gave it to his
mother, when finding good places was hard. And then when I moved
from another placeoh, way later--! let him and his wife have it.
So we remained on friendly terms .
Byerly: Did he continue to drink all his life?
Triest: Yes, he did, but he really didn't last very long either. I can't
remember the year he died, but it was certainly premature.
"Proletarian" Artists
Byerly: Well, what about your art during this period? I know that during
the 1930s, there was a big cultural movement going on, proletarian
cultural movement.
Triest: Well, if you didn't do proletarian art, you were just considered
beneath contempt. And of course, there were a bunch of regular
artists in San Francisco at whom a bunch of us sneered very
noisily
Byerly: Because?
Triest: Because they just went ahead and painted landscapes, portraits,
and things like that.
Byerly: Well, how did you come in contact with this proletarian art
movement ?
Triest: It was just there. All these conversations at the Black Cat, or
living with the people on the 1000 block of Montgomery Street,
or
Byerly: Everybody in your circle wanted to do proletarian art?
85
Triest: Sure.
Byerly: And what was the source, do you know? Where did it come from?
Triest: Well, it could have come from things like radical art magazines,
or--
Byerly: What were they?
Triest: I don't know. I'm trying to think where it could have come from.
Just the attitudes that everything should be given to-- [Pause]
Byerly: The workers?
Triest: To the worker, to the revolution, we should push forward.
Byerly: I know the CPUSA very much pushed this proletarian movement. I
know about it in literature, but I also know that art was a part
of that, as well as theater.
Triest: Oh, definitely, yes.
Byerly: The Daily Worker would publish serialized articles on how to write
a proletarian novel.
Triest: Right.
Byerly: And publish poetry about the working class. The man whose
biography I'm working on, Don West, was a poet during that era.
He wrote about workers in the South. And there were also John
Reed Clubs.
Triest: Well, we had a John Reed Club.
Byerly: Did you?
Triest: Yes, Kenneth made one.
Byerly: Kenneth Rexroth made a John Reed Club.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And did you attend it?
Triest: I think that was just before I met him, because Frank went to his
John Reed Club meetings.
Byerly: Your third husband, Frank Triest.
86
Triest: Yes. But Kenneth always had some organization going, if one
collapsed he'd make another one. He was good at it.
Byerly: So do you think that this influence on artists came from that
movement?
Triest: Oh, definitely. But then, talking about the Black Cat and what
did people do, they could sit and talk forever about this, and was
there any justification for ever doing a landscape?
Byerly: The art for art's sake argument?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: What was the justification for proletarian art as you remember it?
Triest: Voice of the people.
Byerly: It should be the voice of the people?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And the Trotskyists, were they a part of this movement? I mean,
you were hanging out with them at the time.
Triest: I don't know when I came in contact with my first Trotskyists.
Byerly: I guess Diego Rivera may have been the major influence promoting
proletarian art at this time. Would you say?
Triest: Well, he and his compatriots from Mexico, attitudinally.
Byerly: Because of the murals movement?
Triest: And then the art we would see being done in New York, because
after all, San Francisco was still pretty much a village, and in
some ways still is.
Byerly: Yes. That's what I like about it. Well, this is the dawning of
the modern era, and Picasso, and Cubism, and that sort of thing
was on the scene.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: None of that shows up in Coit Tower. So how did that fit in? I
mean, what did people- -did people have anything to say about
modernism, or was it completely taboo?
87
Triest: Oh, sure, there was a lot, but it was I think the force of it
didn't occur for me for a couple of years later. And let's say
that once mural ism quieted down, I felt that all the lithographs I
did, that I was obliged to have them as social commentary, that it
was in ways although 1 did some that weren't, I felt I had to
Justify them somehow, to explain how come these aren't statements.
Byerly: So the politics of the era had a very strong cultural influence?
Triest: It was very strong, and it continued tremendously for years.
WPA Lithography
Triest: I'm trying to think--. Due to his drinking, Val Julien had an
accident. He thought it was terribly funny to climb up on roofs
and appear to people peeking down from the eaves , and he did it
once too often and fell, and sort of wrecked himself up for a
while, and I was not pleased. He couldn't work, so I went to work
on- -what was it? I don't think it was WPA yet, but whatever the
letters were, I took his place. He'd been doing matting and
framing, and I took his place in that job.
So when we separated, I kept the job and he didn't
appreciate it much. I figured he could go out and get his own.
Because I had made this nice little job nest for myself while he
was recovering. So I worked on somebody else's lithographs, hand-
coloring lithographs for a long time.
Byerly: Hand-coloring?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: What did you color it with?
Triest: With a watercolor pencil, but dry, so that it blended in with the
pencil effect of the lithograph pencil.
Byerly: Hmm.
Triest: And one woman was doing this series that had big favor with the
executives of the time. Then finally they gave me a chance to do
a lithograph of my own, and then I was able to do more lithographs
of my own and so on.
Byerly: Who was this? Who gave you the chance to do your own lithograph?
Was it a company--
88
Triest: The administration, no, the government administrationthis is
WPA, I think it was that set of letters, I'm pretty sure. Because
I did the watercolor pencil business, that was the most marvelous
it was all right, but it was like slave labor, where you just
worked all day long with these pencils on somebody else's work,
which I didn't like very much. There was a long period- -not a
long period, just seemed long- -where I was teaching. Somebody had
organized a system of working with children in the hospitals in
San Francisco to bring art to bed-ridden children. So they put me
on that for quite a while- -
Potrero Hill Neighborhood House
Triest: So I taught Russian Children at the Potrero Hill Neighborhood
House and then I taught Sicilian children in North Beach. It was
interesting, too, the extent to which they were very well divided
ethnically. It was like moving to Italy or moving to Russia. And
there was the Booker T. Washington Center and a couple of the
hospitals that lasted for a long time, so I had a lot of variety
doing that.
Byerly: And what did you teach?
Triest: Art. The person under whom I worked, who devised the idea, felt
it was important for children to work with true material and true
colors. Except for in the hospital where it was a little too
slimy, we worked with oil paint, with oil as a medium, a vehicle,
rather. That went on in the centers where they worked on very
sturdy paper and did some really wonderful things. The cultures
from which they came, as reflected in their work, was astonishing,
because these were quite isolated communities in San Francisco.
So we did that. And then I got enough of a fingerhold or a
toehold so that I got to do more lithographs .
Byerly: Do you have any of those?
Triest: Yes, I do.
Byerly: Can I see them?
Triest: Yes, you may.
Byerly: Okay.
89
Triest: When?
Byerly: Right now? I'll turn this off.
Triest: All right. [tape interruption] [long silence]
Commentary on Her Lithography
Triest: [faint voices] These were my first attempts on the lithographic
stone, so they have kind of a funny quality about them.
Byerly: Okay, so this looks like a homeless woman in the park?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And this is a woman who is
Triest: That's a part of a ballerina.
Byerly: Oh, yes. And here's a kitty-cat.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So how did you politically justify this kitty-cat?
Triest: [laughs]
Byerly: Did you have to? Because you were saying earlier that if you
didn't you would be criticized by your comrades.
Triest: Oh, right. Well, I like cats, and so I just did cats pretty much
any old time. That was just one more little experiment.
Byerly: Okay. These are very nice.
Triest: I'll show you this because I don't believe 1 have a print of it.
I don't know if that's right-side up or upside down.
Byerly: This is a--?
Triest: That's the tracing for the lithograph, with the title "Momento,"
which is just a kind of a nostalgic little bit of stuff. This I
did for my mother.
Byerly: This is representative of your family?
90
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: You and your sister are here in front?
Triest: In Burlingame when I was a child, that was what the family looked
like.
Byerly: Okay, this looks like it was done in the Diego Rivera style of the
painters at Coit Tower.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So your art was obviously influenced by Rivera and the Coit Tower
artists at the time?
Triest: I think so.
Byerly: I mean, you made an effort to mold yourself in that way?
Triest: I don't know if I wanted to mold myself into anyone. Probably I
wanted to look exactly like myself.
Byerly: This is quite lovely.
Triest: There are a number of those around. That's supposed to be some
kind of a protest or a complaint or something.
Byerly: Of what?
Triest: Supposed to be the ruin of the bourgeoisie.
Byerly: This is 499 27th Avenue, and it's a grand piano with a wall that
has collapsed.
Triest: Yes. That's supposed to be just destroyed, bombed out of sight.
Byerly: This is very nice. I'm wondering why you don't have these out.
Triest: On the wall?
Byerly: Yes.
Triest: Because I can't stand clutter.
Byerly: Oh, okay.
Triest: I have a tremendous number of things done by my son, Michael. A
third of that closet is filled with his things. The poor devil,
when he comes to see me, he has never yet seen one of his things
91
on the wall. But I can't stand it. It's just my nature, I really
can't look at that much. It has nothing to do with the quality,
it's just that I need an awful lot of empty space to look at. A
friend brought me a photographic work that was extremely nice, and
that was up in this space, [points to wall] After about a month
or so, I asked her to take it away, because I need the blank
space. There's lots of room here for pictures. I could do it
like a European gallery if I wanted to. I could get several
hundred in here.
That's a fragment--! illustrated lithography at the world
fair. [points to lithography]
Byerly: You illustrated lithography at the world fair?
Triest: Yes, with this.
Byerly: Where was the world's fair that year?
Triest: Out there in the bay.
Byerly: Oh, here in San Francisco?
Triest: Yes. This is a bad print, but I don't think too much of it. This
is very much later, I don't think I have a date on it. But it was
still protesting.
Byerly: Oh, that's wonderful. All these people, all these crowds.
Triest: That's Reagan's comment on Vietnam, "Pave it over."
Byerly: Oh, I see. So this was done later, in the seventies.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So these are all the Vietnamese people pushed off the land.
Triest: Pretty much anybody.
Byerly: And Vietnam has been paved over with one traffic light. That's
interesting.
Triest: And this you, no doubt, will recognize the influences.
Byerly: Oh, Salvador Dali.
Triest: Yes. That was a surrealistic period there.
Byerly: So do you want to tell me about this one?
92
Triest: The title of that is "The Difficulty of Thought."
Byerly: "The Difficulty of Thought."
Triest: Yes. To get over superstition, and this, and that.
Byerly: We're still chained to the sea.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: How did you make all these little squares?
Triest: Very carefully. [laughs]
Byerly: Incredible perspective.
Triest: Yes. Well, this seemed like a good particular kind of vehicle for
statements, and this is a statement on the late sixties or
seventies or something. It's another complaint, I guess you'd
say. The title of that is "The Last Balloon."
Byerly: This is lovely. All these peoplewhat was the last balloon?
Triest: What was the last balloon? Well, the last little fun thing, I
could just see a bomb coming along and taking care of it. We have
nothing more to worry about.
Byerly: Okay. So was it a statement about nuclear war?
Triest: Yes. And this is Vietnam.
Byerly: Ooh.
Triest: And that carcass there is a dove.
Byerly: Now, this is a slightly different style.
Triest: Yes. That was further along. Let's see, it would be in the
sixties, late sixties.
Byerly: Yes, I'm seeing the influence of some of the more abstract
drawings and paintings of the sixties.
Triest: Yes. This is Vietnam again. That's Napalm.
Byerly: Wow! This is very powerful.
Triest: Yes, that one, a lot of people liked that one. And that's this
layered thing, the sixties.
93
Byerly: A woman being burned.
Triest: This is probably around 1950, I did it mostly for my mom, because
it's a device that's used in her heraldic stuff, family stuff, the
sacrifice of the pelican for its young. But it's also a Christian
device, I understand.
Byerly: When you say it's a device, what are you talking about? The
symbolism?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So this is a statement about motherhood?
Triest: Yes. Self-sacrifice.
Byerly: Self-sacrifice. So it seems that the thirties proletarian art had
a tremendous impact on your art.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: I mean, it really kind of put you on a path that you continued on.
Triest: Yes, I continued to have a message in my art.
Byerly: Have a message, and usually have a social and political message.
Triest: Yes. To say something. This is a drawing for a lithograph that
came out of something like that. I can't remember the title of
it, but it had to do with searching for the ever-elusive.
Byerly: And you have "Friday, 8:30, anti-Hitler party" scribbled on the
margin.
Triest: Sure I do. [laughs] Yes, I have all kinds of funny marginal
things. I did some illustrations for Rexroth, and he loved
trying, anyway, to put me to work doing things like that, without
any consideration in the sense that illustrations are usually
handled by the publisher.
Byerly: To illustrate a poem, you mean?
Triest: Yes. I did a series for him on the Greek epigrams, those Greek
epigrams, which I enjoyed doing very much. If I hadn't recently
given them to my son Michael, you could see them, but you can't, I
don't have them. And I've done other illustrations.
Byerly: Where is most of your art now?
94
Triest: Heavens knows.
Byerly: Are they in storage?
Triest: No, they're not, but that's what happens to artists. It gets
parked, you know. We were living in Kansas for a while, and you
have thirty oils there.
Byerly: They get left in somebody's attic because you can't afford to ship
them out, and where would you put them anyway?
Triest: Yes, well, there are people who own a lot of my things.
Byerly: Because they bought them?
Triest: Yes. Pile of pastels and so on, people in Berkeley and then
people--! did some and the friend moved to Germany, so they're in
Germany. So this is all I have that I can show you. I have a lot
of life drawings, but if you've seen one life drawing, you've seen
them all.
Byerly: Well, I would, if it's not too inconvenient, I would love to see
the illustrations for Rexroth.
Triest: I'll call Virginia and say, "Send me those things."
Byerly: Oh, he's not nearby.
Triest: No, they never got published, and so I have nothing but the
originals. I wonder if I have copies in this manuscript. Rexroth
did things like that... just decided that he would give his book to
somebody where he got a quick fix, and it was such an awful
edition, it's a shame.
Byerly: Oh, rather than have it illustrated.
Triest: It was illustrated by someone else, that was the burn, as far as I
was concerned. I felt very badly about it anyway. Yes, they're
in here. These are photographs of them.
Triest: Greek epigrams. Just delightful reading really.
Byerly: And what is this? 100 poems from the Greek anthology?
Triest: Yes. Rexroth did a lot of translations from the Japanese, from
the Chinese, from the Greek. His things always had a slant to
them that was political. I know I could spot it. I don't know if
everybody could or not.
95
Byerly: These are very, very nice. I'm sorry they didn't get used.
Triest: Yes. But that's the hazardous business, this illustration stuff.
Sometime in the last four years I did something like that. It
wasn't a huge job, but it was a cover design, and it never saw the
light of day, and I just promised myself it wouldn't happen again.
Byerly: So you have to do them, and then you have to just trust that
they're going to be used.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Knowing that they might not. Did you do any other illustration of
his stuff? You probably didn't feel like it, right?
Triest: Of Kenneth's? He tried to get me to do an awful lot, but no, I
didn't. I did start to. I can't remember what it was for. It
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest;
Byerly:
Triest:
was from one of the really early books,
of pencil sketches for it.
and I did quite a number
Did you illustrate any of the more political poems?
No. Unless you'd call the illustrations for William Buck's books
political. UC Press did them, and they've been very well
received. They're still selling like mad, which is very
gratifying to finally do illustrations that live.
And when was that?
I think those were around
you'd like to see them.
'68. I could find you some of those if
Sure. You don't have to do it now, but I would like to see them.
And what was the book about? Was it poetry?
That was Buck's own special translation of these enormously
important Indian books, which, I understand one cannot go to India
without understanding the symbols and these myths. He published
one volume only for each myth, and yet he tells the story
marvelously well. They are just marvelous ly well done and still
being used as textbooks, which is pretty nice. I think Gary
Snyder uses those books as textbook for his courses at UC Davis.
It's twelve o'clock. Want to wrap up?
Yes.
96
The San Francisco Pacifist Anarchists
[Interview A: November 4, 1995] it
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
I've been looking over some of my literature on the social and
political era of the 1930s, and I came across this kind of debate
that we've been talking about on working-class culture of the
1930s. I know that Mike Gold of the CP [Communist Party] believed
that the working class would develop their own culture, and there
was another contingent that was based on Trotsky's work on
literature and revolution, that believed that we the left would
build on the culture of the bourgeoisie, so to speak, which
evolved into more of a political working-class culture. Do you
remember any of this debate? Was it relevant to the radical
left's influence on your art?
Oh, I remember those attitudes. But there also was an anarchist
point of view that was offered, and it would manifest a little
more clearly a few years later. The feeling was extremely strong
between Trotskyists and Communists; there was a lot of bad
feeling.
How did the anarchists fit into those groups?
Well, they showed up a bit further along, and with yet again a
different point of view because the anarchists didn't have the
same dictatorial bureaucracy as the CP did. In the CP if you got
your assignment, you had better go out and do it. You didn't just
say, "Well, maybe I'll get around to it next week." Their program
was very disciplined, and their people worked hard or they weren't
considered as a functioning cadre.
Do you remember any censorship of art on the left?
I don't think there was anything that divisive in the party itself
in regard to art; it was just so long as you weren't trying to get
away with anything.
When did you first know you were an anarchist?
that?
How did you know
I think it was just from talking to people, and changing my own
attitude to fit more closely my own essential feelings about how
society ought to be. And such beliefs as not having a central
government. It appealed to me very strongly; I never felt I
needed somebody to tell me what to do or what not to do. So I
moved along away from what was uncomfortable to a comfort zone. I
97
found a place where I felt most comfortable with the attitudes
expressed.
Byerly: When you say move along, does that mean from group to group?
Triest: Yes, that made a difference, because there would be a lot of
hostile feelings about talking to certain groups, so you were
forced to choose one and then you wouldn't have the others
cluttering up your landscape any more. It did make a difference.
Byerly: Did you meet the anarchists from the art world, or at CF meetings,
or both?
Triest: At meetings, and then they accumulated--! think I'm losing a
little time in here, but it was later on; it was toward the late
forties that the anarchist aspect began to manifest, and a lot of
it coming from New York, and certainly substantiated by Rexroth,
who Just organized all kinds of groupsif he organized a group
and it didn't flourish, he'd organize another. Mostly they were
very successful and tended toward an anarchist point of view.
Spanish Civil War
Triest: Rexroth was far more favorable to communist causes earlier, and he
changed very radically as European war-time developed and of
course there was the Spanish Civil War, which split up groups and
changed attitudes. After the Spanish Civil War, a lot of people
who had been communists weren't communists anymore.
Byerly: Because they didn't support the Spanish Civil War?
Triest: They just couldn't do it, especially if they happened to be among
the unfortunate who went to Spain. Those peopled were really
damaged. Those who came back. Really damaged! I can't think of
anyone offhand who was able to pull their lives together after
they went to Spain. They lived, but that war took a tremendous
toll on them. Whether they wrote books about it or not, it just
had an extremely corrosive effect.
Byerly: So after the Spanish Civil War, in particular, the anarchists
started becoming more visible?
Triest: I think so, and the anarchists here were influenced by New York
attitudes from a group of anarchists who moved here.
98
Tom Parkinson. Kenneth Patchen. Lew Hill. Henry Miller
Byerly: You mentioned Tom Parkinson.
Triest: He was a poet and a person who held to these general ideas. A
pretty good poet and a professor at the University of California.
Byerly: Was he one of these New York people?
Triest: No. Far as 1 knew, he was a local person.
Byerly: Was he an anarchist?
Triest: I don't know if he would have called himself that or not, but I
tend to call him that.
Byerly: And did you meet him at this time?
Triest: Well, when I was living in Duncans Mills, he was coming up there
because there was a fair gathering of radical thinking people in
that area at that time. Lew Hill had his family there, and he was
the person who was in the process of creating public television
and public broadcasting. He was quite effective. Very powerful
energy that he put into that, to have the result of KPFA. So he
would be in Berkeley working on his station along with a lot of
other people at that time, and Dick Moore was in Duncans Mills.
He would be general manager later or some fine thing for KQED. So
that's the direction these people's lives took, they created
vision of public television and its potential.
Byerly: These are people who hung out in this anarchist group?
Triest: Yes, they came to meetings and when Kenneth Patchen was going to
read, we would go to hear him. Do you know his poetry? You
should try to hear him read-- just an absolutely wonderful voice.
Some people can read their own poetry and some people can't. Or
at least the way he did it, he was terrific.
Byerly: So out of this group that you came to identify with, you became an
anarchist. Is that right?
Triest: Yes. There was a lot of traffic between Big Sur and all the way
up to Sonoma County. I went back and forth, had exchanges of
ideas, and that went on for a while, and then we came back up here
in Berkeley and lived for a while.
Byerly: What was happening in Big Sur?
99
Triest: Oh, a collection of people, mostly around Henry Miller. So,
everybody got a little bit more respectable. It was at that time
around Big Sur that a lot of anarchist poets and writers gathered.
Byerly: What was happening in Sonoma County when you were living there?
Triest: I was living there starting '48. In Sonoma County there was all
of this absolutely bedrock communist foundation that--! think
there were two that ended up escaping from San Francisco, from
varieties of persecutions and went to Sonoma County to find ways
to raise better chickens, which they did do?
Byerly: The communists raised chickens?
Triest: Yes, they became very successful businessmen. [laughter] Then
there were all the varieties in there, too, but a lot of them who
were communists remained communists no matter what. I have
friends to this day who claim to be communists; it astonishes me,
but they do.
Kenneth Rexroth' s Scott Street Soirees
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
You mentioned Kenneth Rexroth having soirees,
something about that?
Do you want to say
I'm trying to think on that- -when he became a householder and he
had a couple of children, his lifestyle changed dramatically. But
there weren't very many children around at all. Frank and I had
one who was older than a lot of these others--! guess Rexroth
looked and said, "Oh! Way to go!" [laughterj Another lifestyle.
He ran a thing where people would come over on whatever it was--a
Thursday night or Saturday night--and he or his wife would see to
it that there were interesting people there, and try to not have
people who were not interesting. Which meant that some people got
eased out, and other people got invited in, but there was a lot of
quality. And then that had a lot to do with the beat poets, a lot
of them were there.
Where did he live in the City? Did he live on Scott Street?
This is Scott Street, but he lived on Potrero Hill for a long
time, on Wisconsin Street.
But the soirees were on Scott Street?
Yes.
100
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly;
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
You said that interesting people were invited. How was
"interesting" defined?
Interesting was, in a way, achievement. If you had actually
gotten somewhere, or gotten yourself published and read--
Were they all poets?
Not necessarily, no. There were people who were not.
So writers and artists? Because you were an artist, right, and
you were invited?
Yes.
And what happened at these events?
Well, good conversation. People who had a lot going and had a lot
of vitality to their ideas were certainly worth listening to, and
others who weren't so interesting as well. Oh, there would turn
up what could occasionally be considered reactionary ideas and
somebody would decide that you weren't really the radical you
claimed to be, based upon some statement or other.
Did he have a big house?
Yes, it was one of these
even on the third floor,
to it. But it was big;
flat it could have been
fourteen-foot ceilings-
ceiling in every room, I
huge Victorian flats. I think he was
You had to do a lot of climbing to get
I think it had, ohespecially for a
like an eight-room flat. But his
and the books really went from floor to
guess except the kitchen. Personally, I
can't live in canyons of books like that; I find it very
oppressive. But it was an environment that he liked.
What did you do at these soirees? Was there a meal or dr inking- -
Oh, yes, sure. There was wine and food. And good company.
How many?
Oh, a dozen to twenty, maybe. Somewhere around there.
Can you remember any names of people that showed up there?
I'm sure I could; at the moment I'm thinking of Jim Laughlin
because he was a lifetime friend of Kenneth's, and he had the
advantage of being a rich man's child. He was connected with
Laughlin Steel, and so he was connected with capitalism in that
101
way. That's what Jim did with a lot of his money, I mean, he ran
New Directions very successfully. And that was always nice to
have a publisher around.
Frank and Jim and Kenneth used to go skiing a lot. They
would go skiing in the middle of the winter and dye their tents
red so they could be found, and other great adventures and things
of that sort.
Byerly: Frank? This is your husband?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So Frank knew Kenneth Rexroth?
Triest: Yes, he had known him from the very early thirties.
Byerly: How did he know him?
Triest: He probably met up with him at some radical meeting in Los
Angeles. That would be logical. I'm pretty sure they met in Los
Angeles.
Byerly: Both Kenneth and Frank were from Los Angeles?
Triest: No, Kenneth was from the Midwest and all over the place, because
he covered the whole country.
Byerly: And how did you meet Frank?
Triest: I met him through Kenneth at our favorite watering hole on the way
to an artists' and writers' union meeting.
Byerly: This is the Black Cat Cafe?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And what attracted you to him?
Triest: Just the way he looked and the way he was. He looked absolutely
perfect to me. As my mother would have said, I was smitten.
Byerly: Was he good-looking, was he educated, political?
Triest: Very, and he was a rich man's son. Kenneth liked [laughter] rich
men '
s sons .
102
Pacifist Views
Byerly: So Frank must have been political.
Triest: Yes, he was an organizer then. He was going to sea--and I don't
know which one of the assorted letters had blended [as an
anacronym for the union] at that pointbut he was an organizer
going to sea. I think they made some South American [ports?] but
they also went to Europe. He organized the seamen to fight for
unionization.
Byerly: What was the union? The Seamen's Union?
Triest: That's what I'm trying to remember. It could have been Sailors'
Union of the Pacific, but I'm trying to think what they blended in
with and I can't remember, but I'm sure you'll find it. It's
there. He did that for quite a while, then he went from that --and
this was before the war to being involved with conscientious
objections to the Second War. That took a good slice of existence
out of a lot of peoples' lives just to get into that. Took a
great deal of gumption. [inaudible]
Byerly: Was Frank a conscientious objector?
Triest: Yes, and of course, the war lasted for four years. People got
into it, pacifism before the war--attitudinally, anywayand then
moving from there, it didn't take them long to get from there to
being CDs to the war with Hitler's Germany.
Byerly: What were the politics of pacifism around World War II and the
Spanish Civil War? I mean, these were Nazis.
Triest: Oh, yes. Well, you had a tremendous amount of Jewish people that
didn't appreciate any of the Hitlerian activities and the drift of
the war and the way it was running. They were out there
combatting it wholeheartedly, so there was a tremendous amount of
opposition to being a conscientious objector. I think that was
pretty uniform among the left. Of course, whether or not Russia
went into the war at these points of decision made a difference
also in where people put their time and money. And one big
difference was that people who were COs couldn't hang out with
communists anymore, so the war really tore apart a lot of people
on the left.
Byerly: And how did you justify being a pacifist in the face of what
Hitler was doing?
103
Triest: My nature. I have never seen shooting holes in people as a
solution. And I've never been able to get myself to any other
place, no matter how military a lot of people around me could
become. I just couldn't do it. And I felt that way all my life.
Byerly: Do you think it was the influence of your grandfather?
Triest: I really don't know; Grandfather Mead was such a doll. I meant
Grandfather Mead's attitude toward life and how he dealt with it
just suited me.
Byerly: I know you told me that when you were very small, you heard
stories about the Civil War.
Triest: Oh, absolutely.
Byerly: Maybe that's where your pacifism started?
Triest: 1 think so; you have to start somewhere. And that was certainly
an influence, although he was a very patriotic man, he personally
didn't have anything against war. But as his father before him,
never carried a gun, but a pocketful of small pebbles that he
would flip at people who weren't pleasing him in the way they were
behaving socially. And I thought, "Yeah, way to go! Good idea!"
Well, you obviously had other people around you that were
pacifists also.
I don't think so. I really don't, because my father was German by
birth and he was no pacifist and my DAR mother, she was no
pacifist.
The labeling of your German father as an enemy of the state during
WWI must have affected you too, though.
Oh, it did. Because the public made this big judgment on us. You
know, we would be standing somewhere--! was little girl, and I
remember people getting up and moving away from us. So 1 knew
there was obvious public disapproval being expressed.
Byerly: What was the link between your birth and World War I?
Triest: I think it was within minutes, days, or hours of the beginning of
World War I in 1914. I don't remember the historical date, but
the shooting of the Archduke was the incident that was concurrent
with my birth.
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
104
Byerly: Right. You were an infant when the war was happening, but you
have a lot of memories around World War I that you couldn't
possibly have remembered.
Triest: Yes, my memories around the war are very strong. I remember the
atmosphere of World War I, packing packages for the boys, and just
all the things "for the boys" that we did.
H
Byerly: Was Kenneth Rexroth a pacifist?
Triest: Kenneth was a pacifist.
Byerly: And people at the soirees at Kenneth's house?
Triest: Pretty much. They were pacifists, but a lot of them did wriggle
around a lot trying to find better [spots?] for themselves in
connection with the draft. If they got personally inconvenienced,
it had some effect on their pacifist attitudenot everybody's a
hero.
Byerly: Say more about that. Explain that more.
Triest: Well, there were people who could see that there were
opportunities in war, where they could go out and get themselves a
wonderful education, just go out and practice with a gun a little
bit, and the next thing you know you had your medical school
education paid for. Yeah, I saw more opportunists than what I
liked. Then, there were a lot of people who were really
radicals staunch, avid pacifists.
Byerly: So before we go into the pacifism that happened around World War
II, let's back up a little bit and fill up the space between '34
and the 1940s. You divorced Val Julien and married Alfred
Podesta, but you had already been attending the union of writers
and artists?
Triest: Oh, yes. Well, Mr. Julien was quite a little radical all by
himself. He did engage in that awful sort of teenage frivolity
where he would ride the train to New York City, and do this and
that for radical parades. Just generally behaved like a brat. He
was an alcoholic, so that put a certain patina to his behavior.
Byerly: But he had introduced you to the political world, isn't that
right? And the artist's world?
Triest: Yes, he did. Before that it was mostly football. [laughter]
105
Byerly: So after you left him, can you recreate for us what you did?
Triest: I met Al Podesta up on Telegraph Hill where we were, you know,
living with people like an ant hill. People living all over the
place. He was just up there visiting somebody.
Byerly: He was not political, right?
Triest: He was not political then, but quickly became political after we
met.
Byerly: How long were you married to him?
Triest: From '39 to '47?
Byerly: Then you married Frank.
Triest: Later on.
Byerly: So were you going to the soirees at Kenneth Rexroth's with Al?
Triest: No, I did it more with Frank, although they all knew Kenneth very
well, and we spent lots of time together. Rexroth, his wife
Marie, and Al and I spent lots of time doing thingsgoing to the
beach together, going rock climbing, doing different things.
Byerly: Did Al meet Kenneth through you?
Triest: Yes. Of course that was from my lifeI mean, he had been trying
to grow up to be a doctor, and he had thought of going into the
military as a way of supporting his medical school education.
It's a shame because he would have made just an absolutely
marvelous doctor. But he was just strictly placed against it; it
couldn't have been a worse placement for trying to do that. But
he was certainly intending to take the path of getting a medical
education and trying to weigh the greater good and all this kind
of thing very carefully. Although it never came about. But then,
on the other hand, Frank did it, and did the conscientious
objection thing, and carried it to the degree that he was in
solitary in a government penitentiary. Because anything less than
that he would go step by step, and he would see each step as,
nevertheless, continued cooperation. So if you want to carry that
to its ultimate, you end up in solitary at McNeil.
Byerly: But Al was also a pacifist.
Triest: He was, but he didn't get himself quite caught in the draft to
make it happen.
106
Byerly: What did he do?
Triest: Well, when I met him, like everybody else he was washing windows
or digging ditches. But during the Second War he got into the
Pile Drivers Union. He had gone into carpentry, because they had
that section of it, and then out of the Pile Drivers Union, part
of that union is to deal with the deep-sea divers, and so he did
some of that and did quite a lot of divers' tender. And then he
developed the business by himself, which he still has.
Byerly: And you had a child by him?
Triest: I did have, in 1942.
Byerly: Your first child?
Triest: Yes.
107
V ALFRED PODESTA: A WARTIME MARRIAGE
Byerly: So you had a child around the beginning of World War II?
Triest: Yes, I did.
Byerly: Can you say something about that?
Triest: Well, it was open to question what I was doinghow close that
conception was to Pearl Harbor, because the child was born in
September 1942, and it's a pretty tight squeeze there. But I
don't recall personally having gone forth to procreate. It did
have an effect, but not much of an effect on the way things went
for me.
Byerly: How did it have an effect?
Triest: I think it delayed my husband's going into the service and being
challenged on his position about war. I think probably it saved
him from having to make that decision. It didn't clear him, but
it delayed it to a degree.
Byerly: It's interesting that your firstborn's birthday is around the time
of the Second World War, when yours was so close to the First.
Did you make that connection?
Triest: I Just think that I was born into a war cycle, because if there
was going to be a war, it was going to have a lot to do with me
one way or another. I assume that I could have avoided all that
by not being interested. I certainly know people who were
affected very little in dealing with all of this.
Byerly: How was the marriage going with Al at the time?
Triest: Fine. Very good.
Byerly: So you had a role as wife, mother, and were you doing art?
108
Triest: Not very much, but some.
Byerly: What were you doing?
Triest: What was I doing? I was writing letters. Just the activism and
being a new little mother; that sort of thing managed to fill in
the spaces very well.
Byerly: What was Al doing?
Triest: He could have been working on the approach to the bridges. I
think it was, you know, ditch digging. Digging dirt by hand. No,
he did that previously; that would have been a little earlier. I
don't know what he was doing. Some crummy job, whatever it was
one of these things like do windows for fifty cents an hour or
something like that. It wasn't improving his career directions or
hopes and dreams at all. There were very few opportunities--!
think around in there he must have joined a union to work as a
carpenter. I don't know what the lowest rank thing for a union
member is, but if you were not German then you had to start at the
bottom. He started there, and I don't know whether he went into
the carpenter part of the Pile Drivers Union at that time or
whether he had just been in the Carpenters Union.
A State Street Pseudo-Castle
Byerly: Okay. Where were you living?
Triest: We were living on State Street in San Francisco.
Byerly: What kind of a place?
Triest: A three-story pseudo-castle, which was a very impractical thing to
handle with a newborn. But it was fine. We lived there for a
couple years or so. We received directions on how to deliver
yourself in a bathtub during a blackout. Everyone that was
expecting had this list of things to do because blackout meant
that you would find yourself entirely in the dark, and then there
you were, this isolated little dot and so we learned how to take
care of the delivery in case of a blackout.
Byerly: Which was in the bathtub?
Triest: Yes, you just got into the bathtub and took it from there,
the water, you know the routine.
Boil
109
Byerly: Boiled water--
Triest: Boiled water, piles of clean laundries--
Byerly: And then you get in the bathtub, with no water in it, to deliver.
Triest: With no water in it.
Byerly: So you can lay back and position yourself?
Triest: Yes. And the tub was theoretically clean.
Byerly: So you were prepared to deliver your own child if necessary.
Triest: Presumably we were.
Byerly: Didn't happen, though.
Triest: No. Missed that.
The Art World During World War II
Byerly: So were you in touch with the art world at all during this time?
Did it go on the back burner or was there room for your art?
Triest: Only to the extent that artists would turn up who had a
commonality of interests in attitudes toward the war effort or
lack of it.
Byerly: Can you think of what those attitudes were about art? Did it
change the way art was done at all?
Triest: I think so. I think it had a great deal of changes in art
attitudes and forms and commercial art.
Byerly: But for this group of revolutionary artists, did it impact their
art?
Triest: I believe it did because a great deal of reactionary art forms
appeared and a great deal of expression of one's art attitudes
would be in direct response to the historical events at the time.
The war fever was being built for one thing. It was being
carefully built and highly nourished. Once the machinery was in
place to nurture it, there it was. War fever developed rapidly
110
from '39 to '40. At the World's Fair in '39, you could feel it in
the crowd literallyattitudes toward nationalism.
Byerly: Did the World's Fair end early as a result of this feeling?
Triest: Not really. I think that it certainly had an influence on it, but
it was dubious whether the Fair was good for another year anyway.
A lot of people didn't think they'd make it the second year
financially. But when they decided it was worth the gamble, they
went ahead with it, but I don't think it had the vitality of the
first year.
Pacifism and the Japanese During World War II
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
And you mentioned in response to the feeling of nationalism during
World War II that your group of anarchist friends became more
militantly pacifist?
I don't feel that I was that much in contact with an identifiable
anarchist group because I knew people of all different shades at
that point. And my own attitude was such that it hadn't moved
over to the totally anarchistic; it was just knowing that there
was us and them, and us was a variety of different tints and
tones .
What about pacifism?
that time?
Did you know that you were a pacifist at
That was very strong for me at that time. And working for groups
like the Fellowship for Reconciliation, which I'm happy to see is
still alive and well at this point. Things of that sort and there
was plenty to be done there, particularly just protesting the
treatment of the "Japs" so-called.
Do you remember the mistreatment of the Japanese?
The mistreatment of the Japanese? Oh, absolutely. Because the
eviction of the Japanese affected me tremendously, just
tremendously, because I had gone down to the YMCA in Japantown to
see if I could be useful on what was supposed to be the day of the
evacuation. It was one of the greatest shocks of my life,
literally, to watch these people being allowed to take only what
they could carry, and everything else was--I was going to say
repossessedbut taken over one way or another so that the losses
to these people, besides being moved about in this way, was really
brutal. I was very offended. We had a Japanese woman by the name
Ill
of Hazel Takeshita staying with us then in Lombard Street. She
was recovering from an emergency appendectomy. Kenneth discovered
that she was interested in art and, in a flash of inspiration, he
wrote to a correspondence school- -the kind that advertised in the
paper "Learn to Paint a Portrait in Ten Easy Lessons" to provide
Japanese Americans with educational passes from internment camps.
The schools agreed to forward registration papers for the cost of
processing them. At the Whitcomb Hotel, headquarters for the
education, he discovered that the people in charge, overwhelmed by
their responsibility agreed to accept registration at any of these
correspondence schools as a legitimate exit to the outside world.
We told the authorities that she had to finish convalescing and
then go to New York for her education and this was found to be
acceptable for heaven knows what reason. We were working with the
Fellowship of Reconciliation in projects of this sort, one person
after another trying to get these Japanese loose of the system
and move them, if possible to the Midwest and South on educational
passes .
Byerly: Linda Hamalian in A Life of Kenneth Rexroth says that Rexroth
directed a lot of the Japanese to these correspondence schools
across the country as a way of avoiding evacuation.
Triest: Yes, it was just part of the general effort that we were making as
pacifists during the war. I had a lot to do with the letter
writing part, and maintained a relationship with Hazel Takeshita
for a quite a number of years after that. She was full of
gratitude, you know, for having been enabled to miss that whole
mess, because there were a lot of people who certainly did not
miss it and were indeed incarcerated, which was a very difficult
part of their lives.
Byerly: What was your general feeling about the evacuation?
Triest: I was horrified. It was not okay. It still isn't okay. And then
they wait to make the reparations to the people until very lately
when most of them, obviously, had died. That saves money. I
think it was all about peace for me. I didn't care for war then,
don't care for it now. I've never been able to believe it should
be otherwise.
Conscientious Objectors
Byerly: And it's during this time you were meeting with your friends and
some of them were, as the draft neared, conscientious objectors?
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Triest: That became a very big issue with people wishing to avoid the
draft, and just the personal decision of trying to decide whether
or not they could take a step so drastic and alienating in certain
ways for them in their lives. It's a very serious step.
Byerly: Was conscientious objection discussed at your meetings?
Triest: Oh, yes, how to do it and what to do, and the ways to do it and
approaches to take and how to prepare one's statement; it all
became very important.
Byerly: Who applied for conscientious objection at that time that you
knew?
Triest: I can't exactly provide a list, but a lot of people I knew, just
quite a number of people and then people very close to me were
certainly closely involved in making these decisions.
Byerly: And how did you feel about the men who were making these
decisions? I mean, eventually some of them went to jail for this
decision, right?
Triest: Oh, definitely. And a lot of them did alternative service of
different kinds .
Byerly: Like?
Triest: I think Kenneth worked at the city and county hospital.
Byerly: In the psychiatric ward?
Triest: Yes. Things of that sort. And one of my sons worked for the
Board of Health at U.C. Berkeley during the Vietnam War. That's
another example of alternative service.
Frank Triest
Byerly: But Frank Triest, who had become your future husband, chose to
just completely fight the draft, didn't he?
Triest: He pursued it as far as it could be taken, and then he was very
much at the forefront of that particular effort and he plowed the
pathway for a lot of other people in terms of where to go, how to
go, and where you can get in, and when you quit according to the
nature of your own conscience. And he carried it as near as I can
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tell, outside of setting himself on fire or somethingtook it as
far as he could.
Byerly: Can you say a little about how far he went in his efforts as a
conscientious objector?
Triest: Oh, the first thing was to have your conscientious objection
denied, and then refuse the alternative service. When that's
refused, then you quit resistance work, yourself, and make the
decision of being apprehended and jailed for it. Then you would
be moved from jail and eventually- -well, for instance, if you were
sent to a conscientious objectors' camp, you would continue your
resistance by walking out of camp so that you were in defiance of
the law again. Then the authorities would come and pick you up
and put you in jail until you got another hearing and another
decision would be made as to what the punishment should be for
this latest infraction.
Byerly: What were the camps like? Where were they incarcerated?
Triest: The camps were military style. Frank was in Owens Valley; I don't
know, they did everything from tidy up creek beds to cleaning
bricks. Everything was for the war effort. If it could be
deduced that it was for the war effort in any way, this was
obviously another opportunity to move further on the path of
objection. There was a good deal of dealing with the ACLU
[American Civil Liberties Union] because they had a great deal of
interest in how all of these matters worked out, along with the
Fellowship for Reconciliation.
Byerly: And the Quakers were involved also.
Triest: And the Quakers.
Byerly: So it was that kind of support--
Triest: Right. There was lots to do, I mean, you could keep pretty busy
just letter writing.
Byerly: Where would the letters go?
Triest: They would go all the way from making contacts with the
correspondence schools and places where people could go to escape
incarceration for the Japanese, to writing to Washington to
protest various issues concerning the war.
Byerly: To support the people who were filing conscientious objection?
Triest: Right.
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Byerly: So what happened after Frank left the C.O. camp?
Triest: He walked out of the C.O. camp and was picked up and I think he
was scheduled to be retried on all counts. The process ground on
and on very slowly. I think he lived in L.A. after walking out of
camp for a year or more, just on the loose there. But with
frequent hearings and showing up and being tried he'd get another
hearing and get another step out of it.
Byerly: And eventually he went to prison?
Triest: Eventually he went to McNeil, which is a federal penitentiary at
Puget Sound.
Byerly: How long was he there?
Triest: I don't remember, but I think that it was in the vicinity of a
year. It was a number of months, and we got a pardon because
there were a lot of people working vigorously on the outside for
his release.
Byerly: Were you a part of that effort?
Triest: Oh, sure.
Byerly: But he was in solitary confinement.
Triest: Right, he worked his way up until he was jailed all by himself.
He said it was great.
Byerly: And how long did that last?
Triest: In solitary? I don't remember. Months, I suppose, but I don't
remember .
Byerly: How did he get pardoned?
Triest: I don't remember the mechanics of it. It was the kind of thing
where we wrote to senators and congresspeople and any other
influential bodies that we could think of to ask for his release
and pardon.
Byerly: So you got some Washington influentials to get him out.
Triest: Right.
Byerly: This was a result of the letter writing from the anarchists in the
San Francisco area?
115
Triest: Yes. Which meant that then he was paroled for a period of time
where he would have a parole officer come check on what kind of a
life he was living. And he had to be accepted by a place; whoever
was going to be his parole overseer and these of course were
friendly people in Sonoma County of like mind provided the place
to stay and work on a ranch.
Byerly: And did you admire Frank's conscientious objection?
Triest: Yes, because he did have the tenacity and the persistence and
there were others along the way who would falter, as it were, or
they wouldn't get so far and turn back. And a lot of people, of
course, did alternate service, too. But Frank went all the way.
Byerly: What about Al? How did he respond to the war?
Triest: He was very divided as to whether he would be doing a good by
pursuing his life dream of becoming a doctorand it really was an
open question how big a good, as compared to the evil of his war
participation. So there was a lot of people, very seriously, who
had difficulty going back and forth on these issues.
Byerly: So his dilemma was whether to go in and use the G.I. Bill to go to
medical school, whether that would be a larger good than the evil
of going to war?
Triest: Right.
Byerly: But he was married and had a child, so he wasn't as eligible for
the draft, was he?
Triest: No, he wasn't as at risk. Well, Frank, I think he was the second
number out of the fishbowl or something, and he was right at the
very edge of age at the time, too. I think he was thirty- five,
let's say. Another couple of minutes and he wouldn't have been
eligible anymore.
Byerly: During all this time you continued to meet once a month with
friends who were primarily pacifists and anarchists?
Triest: No, there wasn't that much of formal meeting then; it had more to
do with just grapevining: what was happening and what to do next.
It was very easy to find out where the action was and what was
happening next. We hadn't come to the Wednesday night meeting
programs yet .
Byerly: But there was a lot of socializing, and that socializing went on
among friends who kept each other informed?
116
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And your art?
Triest: I didn't get around to very much at that time. For a couple of
years there, I just didn't. I've always managed to pick up on it
again somehow because it just wouldn't curl up and roll away.
Byerly: When did you pick it back up?
Triest: I simply don't remember. I would have to do more shuffling
through my work than I think I could do right now. Of course, it
took all kinds of different forms --courses that would become
available where I would want to work for a specific person and
take courses. And then I went to work at Schenley's Liquor
Company. I didn't want to work a war job.
Photography
Byerly: So what did you do for Schenley?
Triest: I was the assistant in the darkroom that the company ran.
Byerly: So you developed pictures?
Triest: Developed pictures, and then, after a while, people moved around,
took other jobs, and I got the job where I did the camera work and
so on. That was happening.
Byerly: What did that involve?
Triest: Well, just taking pictures of retirees and the bowling team and
the Christmas parties. Also photographs of product changes for
the company. A little bit of everythingmaterial having to do
with architectural changes that would be made and those would be
reproduced in copies for whatever the purposes were.
Byerly: How long were you there?
Triest: I was there from, I think it was around maybe '44 to "47.
Byerly: So you remember the end of the war, of course. Can you say
something about that?
117
Emotional Uproar at War's End
Triest: Well, it was wild excitement, of course. And I made radical
adjustments in my own personal life very close to that time so the
uproar was a little confusing to me. At the time there seemed to
be an uproar everywhere. Although a good deal of it was my own
doing.
Byerly: What do you mean when you say uproar?
Triest: Oh, uproar- -changing with whom I was living and where I was going
to live which was in very primitive circumstances in the country.
Changes of that sort.
Byerly: What precipitated such drastic change?
Triest: Just changing who I wanted to live with.
Byerly: That was the foundation for all the change?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And who did you go and live with?
Triest: I wanted to live with Frank Triest.
Byerly: Was that a good idea?
Triest: Well, frankly, no.
Byerly: What happened with you and Frank? How did that happen?
Triest: It was a terribly exciting, remarkable time for me, and
emotionally upsetting, as well.
118
VI FRANK TRIES! : ROMANTIC IDEAS ABOUT LOVE AND MISSION IN LIFE**
Triest: Life was very exciting. I had all kinds of romantic ideas about
love and mission in life and attitudes towards the universe. I
went through all kinds of changes. And then the people whom I
knew then changed, and there continued to be a lot of the people
whom I had known anyway in connection with my interests in anti
war activity, but I came to know primarily poets and writers.
Byerly: Do you think the end of World War II created a different phase, a
different stage that you wanted to rearrange your lifeI'm just
guessing, is that a part of it or do you think it was all
personal?
Triest: I think it was just generally developmental. I can't imagine how
it would have gone had I chosen to continue in San Francisco.
I've never spent very much time concerning myself with roads not
taken. I've been too busy.
Byerly: But I'm wondering if there was some kind of --usually when this
kind of drastic rearrangement in your life occurs, it's not just
about meeting someone but it's something that's internal that's
been really traumatic.
Triest: Well, I think so. I wanted more out of life than what my marriage
was providing, and this new lifestyle seemed to me, especially
with this heroic figure, Frank Triest, this conscientious objector
who had spent time in solitary confinement in a federal prison for
his beliefs, to be the answer.
Byerly: So you had been a wife and mother and you had a career as a
corporate photographer; how would you describe that era?
Triest: Well, it was all of a piece and it made sense at the time, and it
had a continuum to it. But it wasn't, obviously, fully
satisfactory. It wasn't good enough somehow.
119
Byerly: And how did this thing happen with you and Frank Triest? I know
you said when you first met him you were very attracted to him.
Triest: Right. Yes, I had known him for a long time by then, and was
still attracted to him. So the opportunity was there, and I took
it.
Byerly: How was it the two of you got together after so many years as
friends?
Triest: Well, I got more response out of him than I guess I had prior to
that time, and that had a lot to do with the way his own life was
running .
On Parole from McNeil Federal Penitentiary
Triest: Frank was on parole then from McNeil federal penitentiary, and a
whole grand gesture of conscientious objection had come and gone
and the tune was still there, but the action didn't have the
intensity that it had had in wartime. So he was at a peculiar
place in his own life, What now? Where am I? What's happening?
He was a married man at the time and was having some difficulty in
the relationship, and his wife had left ostensibly to study with
Kumiris Swami in Boston. It left him alone way out in Duncan
Hills and I think that allowed him a good many trips down to the
city which he wouldn't otherwise have made. It brought about
enough of an interaction between us to create the circumstances
where we made this move.
Byerly: So he was coming down to the city to see you?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Where?
Triest: The Black Cat Cafe.
Byerly: The good old Black Cat. Did you go out to the Black Cat together?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And a group was there.
Triest: Yes, Black Cat always had a group.
120
Byerly: And can you say a little more about that?
Tries t: About the group at the Black Cat at that time? I would be going
in there primarily as a social thing to meet people I knew. And
it still wasn't very big to entertain at home. Money was getting
looser, which had a lot to do whether you wanted to share a can of
horsemeat with somebody or not; we tended not to do it. But if we
had enough saved we could upgrade on that, then we began doing
more things that had people come to the home. Otherwise you'd
still see them at the bar.
Byerly: It was a cafe scene. Can you say a little bit about it?
Triest: It was fun, very exciting, when we would see who was there, who
would come in and go out.
Byerly: Who would be there?
Triest: Everybody. All the interesting people from the newspapers,
especially if they were good strong drinkers, and everybody was a
good strong drinker in those days compared to now, it seems to me.
I know very few people who drink much of anything at all anymore
and the fact that until very recently I couldn't imagine even
preparing my dinner without a couple of martinis. But no, I
belonged, and still belong, to the hard drinking group. That was
very evident, because everybody was a hard drinker.
Byerly: Ken Rexroth was there?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And his wife, I guess Marie?
Triest: Probably.
Byerly: When you say people from the newspapers, you mean--
Triest: Newspaper reporters. They would hang around.
Byerly: So it was a writers scene?
Triest: There were a lot of writers.
Byerly: And artists?
Triest: And artists. Just lots of them. I wish I could come up with that
picture of the mural at the Black Cat. One of the people did a
painting of what was supposed to be everybody in our group, a lot
121
of the characters on the wall in the Black Cat, and I had a
photograph of it for a long time.
Byerly: It was a mural.
Triest: I think it was on canvas; I don't think it was on the wall itself.
A lot of the cafes took to having things on the walls where you
would paint on the wall for meals and things like that. But this
one, I have an idea that it was an easel job.
Byerly: So it was mostly writers and artists who were there to see
everybody else and to find out who was with whom. . .
Triest: And what was happening. And it was also where you'd hear about
jobs, if there were any, like for artists and writers.
Byerly: Was Al around anywhere?
Triest: Yes, he was there.
Byerly: What was he doing these days?
Triest: Drinking.
Byerly: Oh, yeah, that's right. [laughter].
Triest: Oh, he was serious.
Byerly: He was a very serious drinker?
Triest: Right. And that takes a good deal of concentration.
Byerly: So that's what Frank would do when he came into town- -head out to
Montgomery Street to the Black Cat, and that's where you would see
him.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So how did you two get together?
Triest: I don't think I follow that; I had already known him for years and
years and years and I--
Byerly: But how did you decide to leave Al to be with Frank?
Triest: I don't know. I mean, it took a course where there would be
something that I would likeit just would happen. During a
vacation I went up and stayed there a couple of days.
122
Byerly: At Frank's house?
Triest: Yes.
A Difficult Transition
Byerly: And realized you were in love with him. Is that right?
Triest: Yes. We went on for a few months like that, and then finally I
went up to Duncans Mills to stay with Frank and didn't come back.
Byerly: So how did that go over?
Triest: Not very well--I don't know, it was a very hard transition for all
of us. I mean, there was a good deal of pain connected with it
anyway. I had left my child behind; it was that decision that
made it so hard. I was convinced that it was the best possible,
least disruptive thing that could happen to him. And
circumstances changed so that I was not correct. I don't think.
But again, it was an undoable decision; it had happened. So there
was always that factor, which was a long way from being a happy
event. It persisted through the years as a very high price, that
decision. And then the life in Duncans Mills, although it was
very, very difficult physically for me, it was very idyllic in
lots of ways.
Byerly: Duncans Mills is where you and Frank lived?
Triest: Yes.
Life in Duncans Mills
Byerly: And it was hard on you?
Triest: Yes, life in Duncans Mills was physically extremely hard because
we had no telephonewe had a radio, I'll say that. We did have
lights most of the time; we had a very sometime water supply; no
refrigerationit was a difficult life. It Just really was. The
only phone contact would be for the people to call the general
store, and then when someone at the general store had the
opportunity they would walk over to our house and tell us we had
received this call. Then we would go back and call that person,
which is not what's commonly called modern communication.
123
Byerly: How old were you at this time?
Triest: Thirty-three?
Byerly: Frank was the son of a wealthy man. Why was he living this way?
Triest: He believed in it.
Byerly: In what?
Triest: In that way of life. He spurned richness, although he really
enjoyed the lobster his mother would always order for him when he
was home. He had lots of divisions on attitudes toward money,
which would later reflect in attitudes that he had toward his
children's education. He finally decided on a positively
militaristic-type school whereas all the other people we knew had
found a school of their own that was closer to our way of
thinking. But he had that kind of schizy thing in him. So that
would be very much evident in his life like he would work in the
woods and work terribly hard at jobs.
Byerly: And there was a political connection with this way of life?
Triest: Yes, an attitude. That's the way he was determined to live, and
it wasn't going to be off his father, although essentially, if you
added up all his careers, that is the way he lived his life: off
of the inheritance or this or that. That's where the money came
from. And when I was quite ill and was in the hospital, his
family picked up the bill.
Byerly: So when you went out to live with him in Duncans Mills he was
living a very primitive life?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Very radical?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And you were drawn to that; he was a conscientious objector, and
you were drawn to his pacifist politics.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And he was tall and very handsome. Had a lot to offer?
Triest: Yes. And we saw very many people there; they would come by,
although--! think I mentioned this before all the way from Big
Sur, back and forth. People would come through the city from New
124
York and then up and see us, because the connections were there;
there were so many connections due to the general CO
[conscientious objector] activity anywayall those linkages, in
addition to those that were connected just with artists and
writers in the San Francisco area.
Byerly: Who were the people from New York? You've mentioned them before.
What was their connection? Was it a political connection?
Triest: A lot of political connections, yes. Although a lot of the
political people would also be writers, or they would be political
writers. So it's not easy to put one label on them.
Byerly: And they would come out to Duncans Mills and visit you and Frank?
Triest: They would come to the city, but they would come up to see him,
yes.
Byerly: And what were you doing up there? You made this change--
Triest: [laughter]
Byerly: You made this change in your lifewhy are you laughing?
Triest: Because you say, what was I doing? And I was doing so much work
and so tired and it was so hard that I could barely stay awake
through that twenty- four hours. I would just never get any rest,
any sleep, or any anything, because I was pregnant really the
whole time, and it was just incredibly hard physical labor. It
was about the hardest I've ever done. So that's what I was doing,
and it took absolutely everything I had to do it.
Byerly: So it got kind of oppressive?
Triest: Soon, yes, because the child was born in November '48.
Byerly: So, you were having to- -when you say work, you were carrying
water, or what?
Triest: Yes, well, the water would run out. As soon as you come into the
issue of hand laundry, you run out of water, and in winter of
course you don't have a dryer, so that the whole house becomes
very tropical with huge amounts of drying laundry everywhere. And
then, because sixteen months later, I had more children [twins],
and that's fairly close coupling. It's amazing how rewarding the
period was, considering the physical difficulties involved.
Byerly: How rewarding was it?
125
Triest: Tremendously.
Byerly: Because?
Triest: Because of the quality of the people, the quality of the life, the
visions of the time. And then I remember Rexroth went off on some
huge, enormous--! kept track of it, been trying to think lately
what brought it on mysticism phase, which also elevated attitudes
toward life tremendously. Just tremendous flights into space
there. But there was a great deal of mysticism in my thinking and
it influenced my art at that time.
Byerly: So you went back to doing art.
Triest: I was doing pastels because you can pick them up and put them down
really quickly. And we did a great deal of reading by sending
away to the state library. We knew the person who was the state
librarian so we got a nice service coming back and forth, and did
a tremendous amount of reading about the turn of the century
mysticism.
Byerly: So the group got into mysticism in a big way?
Triest: No, they did not- -not the whole group but some of the group did.
Attitudes and positions and some of the work being done by some of
the artists was influenced. One of the artists who had a big
influence on me was Morris Graves, and he had been at Walport,
which was a big CO community. Walport had more connection with
the McNeil CO community than with anyplace else, because--! guess
they were closer, I don't know exactly where Walport is, as a
matter of fact.
Byerly: It was a CO camp?
Triest: Yes, it was a CO camp.
Byerly: When you say camp, does that mean it was a place where they
incarcerated COs?
Triest: Yes, like when Frank was in prison, that was another camp--I don't
remember anymore how many there were, but they were so many CO
camps. A lot of people, especially the Walport group, maintained
contact with Frank, like Adrian Wilson- -he was there- -and Morris
Graves. I suppose everybody here had been there, but I think of
those two.
Byerly: Those were the people that were visiting you when you were in
Duncans Mills.
126
Triest: Yes, and we would see them. They were around enough where they
would come to us, and then we had other people living there too.
It wasn't just Frank; Lew Hill was there and Dick Moore.
Byerly: Was Kenneth Rexroth on the scene at all?
Triest: Oh, yes. He came too.
Byerly: And when you say the quality of life was high, although you were
working, washing your laundry out by hand and drawing water and
having babies--
D. H. Lawrence Mystique and "Lawrentian Women"
Triest: It was tremendous idealism. It was very idealistic.
Byerly: Can you say a little bit about what the idealism was like at the
time?
Triest: It was a combination of this mysticism and then of the whole D. H.
Lawrence mystique, and having a lot to do with the nature of
male/female relationship. Looking back on it--it was better in
the reading than in the living, in a lot of ways.
Byerly: Because life was so hard?
Triest: Well, I think it was very hard on women.
Byerly: Yes, say something about that.
Triest: I feel that it was essentially very hard on women but it was
nevertheless accepted by them as the expected way to be, however
square they look. It was therethe expectations of what women
could and would do.
Byerly: Which were?
Triest: Heavy-duty work.
Byerly: In terms of taking care of men and the home?
Triest: Yes. And under these various, you know, chosen difficult
circumstances, it was hard, but, I don't know, a lot of it was, as
I say, tremendously rewarding.
Byerly: What part was rewarding?
127
Triest: Just the spiritual vision of what I thought I was doing; I thought
I was working very hard on some spiritual way of life.
Byerly: And what brand of mysticism?
Triest: I wouldn't label it. Some of the English writers of the time were
writing books that were reflective of D. H. Lawrence.
Byerly: 1 know Rexroth was influenced by Buddhism. Was there an element
of Buddhism in this mysticism?
Triest: I think not at this time.
Byerly: And you were exposed to this way of thinking through Rexroth?
What influenced him at this time?
Triest: Oh, just tastes and development of his own work. I'm sure that he
was also influenced by the attitudes of others around him, and
their trends in thought.
Byerly: This was certainly different from a communist view.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: A real divergence.
Triest: Well, communism hadn't changed in quite a while, and it didn't
come around, didn't change the way a lot of other things did and
still hasn't. I still see people I think maybe they even now
only call themselves Marxistswho have the same mindset that they
had fifty years ago; as communist they really haven't developed
very much while, as we have noticed, a lot of other things have
changed.
Byerly: So, personally, what was the spiritual vision for you during this
period?
Triest: Well, the whole thing of it was that what we were doing- -with the
children and the family and the sacredness and the holiness of a
wonderful life that one was building, and how sensationally
marvelous it was.
Byerly: And this was in fact close to the end of World War II during the
period of the baby boom where a lot of people were very happy to
have peace and settle down and raise families.
Triest: Yes, babies began to pop up all over the place.
128
Byerly: So do you think it was a general attitude? Or how did your
spiritual vision differ from the general population's response to
the end of the war? I have a feeling that there was a difference.
Triest: We just got there first. Most of our baby boomers are older than
the other baby boomers by a few years
Byerly: And they're in suburbs, and you were in the woods.
Triest: In the sticks! Yes, almost in the septic tanks.
Byerly: It was like a back-to-nature kind of spiritual thing? This is
sounding like the counterculture attitudes of the sixties.
Triest: Some of it. There were a lot of people living up in there who
were real extremists who wouldn't allow any electricity and
wouldn't drive a car (but they'd ride in anybody else's car)
[laughter] .
Byerly: Was it political?
Triest: It was essentially political. They were very strong, and they
would be spotted up there in the hills here and there; you could
find them. We would have a little bit of contact, but we wouldn't
be close to them. But we would know they were there, and they
would know that we were there.
Byerly: So it was a rejection of the economic materialist world.
Triest: A good deal of it was.
Byerly: A return to nature and the simple life?
Triest: Yes, but there weren't very many people who were living this way.
I mean, Rexroth was not really living this way.
Byerly: But this was your personal spiritual experience at the time.
Triest: Yes. And the people who lived up there were no different, the
person to whom Frank was paroled, for instance, was a writer, a
veteran of the Spanish Civil War, so on and so forth, and he was
running a very delightful little dairy farm.
Byerly: He had a dairy farm?
Triest: He did. Hamilton Tyler, out of Guerneville--there were a
collection of people around him.
Byerly: He was a neighbor?
129
Triest: He was in Guerneville, it was a few miles from our Duncans Mills
cabin.
Byerly: And did Frank work on the dairy farm?
Triest: When he was first paroled he lived there, he had to live there.
Byerly: How did you get money during that time that you lived in Duncans
Mills?
Triest: Money, yes, money. Well, outside of cashing in my life
a
Byerly: Frank would get care packages from his parents?
Triest: From his parents and his nanny who stayed right on through until
both parents had died, and then some would come up and visit and
bring packages and sew for the children and knit little socks for
the children. Frank would work in the woods because Duncans Mills
meant that they had had a great mill there, and there still were
mills --
Byerly: Sawmills?
Triest: A sawmill, and he worked in the woods as a chokesetter, which is
just stupendously hard work.
Byerly: A chokesetter. So he made a salary.
Triest: So he made money. I think that they were undoubtedly making one
of these things like a dollar an hour or so, I don't remember what
it was. It wasn't much.
Byerly: So you were not rich?
Triest: Well, we didn't eat rich, either. We ate very simply, and we grew
a lot of veggies.
Byerly: That was beginning in "47. How long did that last in Duncans
Mills?
Triest: It lasted until about '53. Frank's parents died, and so we came
into some money, and we bought a house out of Sebastopol.
130
Life in Sebastopol
Byerly: You had three kids by then?
Triest: Yes. Then that's another whole kind of a life there. But the
same people came to see us that came to see us in Duncans Mills;
it didn't change that for quite a period.
Byerly: And how was your art going by then?
Triest: It came and went. I was still doing some pastels there and
showing them and so on, enough to make shows.
Byerly: That's commendable, with three children and living in the woods.
Triest: Well, by thenI'm talking about being in Sebastopol.
Byerly: I see, once you got to Sebastopol you could resume your art.
Triest: I could still do it.
I played house with all these people. It was the right
thing to do. And if you could carry on all the rest of this stuff
besides that, it was nice, but as far as I was concerned it was
still necessary for me to do that. And sometimes now I can look
back on the attitudes expressed by men I was living with, and I
thought they really treated us like crap, you know? They really
did. In retrospect, it was horrible, and I had no idea I was
being so mistreated, except I can think of little incidences where
I'd say, "Wait a minute! That doesn't wash." Although I never
claimed to be a feminist, because I think, "Gee, there are only
two little pieces to the human race, and if you are one and can't
even get along with the other, then what do you expect?" So I
didn't think being madly critical about men would get me anywhere,
although I must say, I received some fairly shabby treatment along
the way. And in retrospect sometimes, I think "What? Why did you
put up with that?" It's awfully small, but it certainly made an
impression.
When Frank and I were living in Sebastopol and we had huge
numbers of company, because it was a lovely, big place.
Beautiful, big, friendly place. And I'm a good enough cook. And
it was always there, so we had people morning, noon, and night.
So that when I finished getting breakfast for people from seven in
the morning until late-risers around eleven, it would be time that
the ones who got up at seven would be ready for lunch. And I was
preparing a salad which happened to be that day cole slaw, and
Frank and Kenneth had settled in the kitchen for their after
131
breakfast conversation, although there were a number of acres
where they could have been, and I was chopping cole slaw. And
Frank made some remark like, "Would you stop the goddamn noise?"
And I didn't take that well at all he wasn't getting lunch
[laughter]. And Kenneth said, "Let the bitch chop." And that
really tore it [laughter]. It really was lovely, and we really
had wonderful times and we had wonderful people there, but, still,
I did a huge amount of work.
Byerly: What did you do with your feelings, when Kenneth said that?
Triest: I didn't do a thing with it, but I did say to myself, "Hmm..."
[laughter]. And it was very hard in the sense that I have never
forgotten it; it just never got erased. It just sits there. And
I thought, "The two of them sitting there talking to me like that
while I was working so hard." But I realize in retrospect there
was an awful lot more of those attitudes especially since a lot of
people do like a lot of Kenneth's so-called love poetry. But
having been around for the bases of some of these events, I didn't
have exactly the same point of view because he was a pretty
abusive fellow and carried on very uproarious relationships with
people. So there was very little peace and quiet. And the closer
you were to him and whoever he was living with at the time, the
worse you could get trapped into it, which eventually got very
tiresome.
Byerly: What do you mean by uproarious relations?
Triest: Well, they would have their knock-down, drag-out battles in my
house, and I didn't consider it the perfect climate for the
children. And he had children of his own, and I didn't think it
was very good for them either. And there would be great
departures and returns and always very dramatic, very noisy.
Byerly: What was it about?
Triest: Who was screwing whom, I think, primarily.
Byerly: And who was?
Triest: I don't know.
Kenneth Rexroth
Byerly: Was Kenneth a womanizer?
132
Triest: He was a major womanizer, but he also had a feeling that he was
being betrayed by women, which in a good percentage of cases I
don't think he was. But it was good for issues, because the
issue, the uproar, was the point, not the truth of it. It keeps
things moving along.
Byerly: What was women's role in all this? I mean, the soirees at
Kenneth's housedid women come as artists and as writers, or did
they come with artists and writers?
Triest: No, they came on their own, some of them. There were quite a
number of women writers who--couldn' t give you any names.
Kenneth's first wife was a painter.
Byerly: Who was she?
Triest: Andree. She did a certain amount--! believe she exhibited in Los
Angeles and so on. They painted together. I'm trying to think if
he was married to somebody else who did something. He tended to
be around terribly bright womenbut I can't think of anybody else
who was careering- -because it was preferable for him to have a
breadwinner so that he could stay home and write poems while she
went to work. Marie was a public health nurse for years and
years, and supported Kenneth. And when he was married to Martha,
she worked, and he stayed home with the kids. So it was important
to him to have women who could function that way. Carol Tinker
went to work for him as his secretary and ended up married to him.
I have no idea why he married so many people, as a matter of fact
--why it seemed important to him to have to move through that
marital stuff --but, then, I don't know why I thought it was
important for me. I can tell why they didn't last, or why the
ones that lasted did last, if they had very good lasting
qualities .
Now I'm surprised the degree to which I can look back on
women's roles and feel that they came out very badly; overworked
and underpaid. But, look, Kenneth was extremely kind to a great
many women poets.
Byerly: Did you ever meet Tillie Olson?
Triest: No.
Byerly: She wasn't in that crowd?
Triest: No, not when I was there. There was a period when Kenneth moved
to Santa Barbara; somewhere in there, I think Kenneth decided he
didn't want the same role that Frank was playing in our marriage
situations. But he insisted on bringing his love quarrels into
133
our home, although most of the time when Kenneth took issue it
would have some very practical aspect to it. It would be somebody
that he really wanted out of the way for one excellent reason or
another. I could always just look a little further and say, "Oh,
wow! I see why he would want to do that." I never reached a
point where I got alienated from him, but Frank did.
Dylan Thomas and The Randolph Bourne Society
Byerly: But you continued going to the soirees?
Triest: Yes, because, what did Kenneth start up next? Oh yes, the
Randolph Bourne Society. Bourne was an earlier and short-lived
radical; I think of him more as of anarchist persuasion. But
Kenneth was running this next set of meetings after the artist and
writers union became so troubledunder that name. "Let them run
their thing, I'll make me another one."
Byerly: So did you attend meetings of the Randolph Bourne Society?
Triest: Oh, sure.
Byerly: Who else was there and what was the nature of these meetings?
Triest: Well, we were supposed to be anarchist artists and writers as they
focused on the contemporary world and general corruption and
promotion of pacifism. The usual goals. And we went to a lot of
those meetings, and then after quite a while they were being held
on Steiner Street. Some old labor union headquarters. It wasn't
Steiner and Fell, but somewhere around in there, one of those
wonderful four-story outfits. There were all kinds of people who
came there and talked to us like Dylan Thomas and other wonderful
people would come in in various conditions and speak to us or not
speak to us .
By then we were living in Sonoma County and either
Frank or I would come to attend a meeting just like we were
addicted to these meetings.
Byerly: Did you say Dylan Thomas was there?
Triest: Yes. Well, Kenneth attracted a lot of people to him.
Byerly: Did you say the Randolph Bourne Society is still going?
Triest: Oh, I don't think so, and I don't know when that came apart
either. It may have been when Kenneth went to Santa Barbara; it
could have been in that period.
134
Byerly: And when was that?
Triest: I would have to look it up.
Byerly: It was after the sixties, though. He died in the sixties, right?
Or seventies?
Triest: Kenneth Rexroth died in the seventies.
The Beat Poets
Byerly: But he was here for the Beat poets.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So that was in the fifties. And do you think they attended the
Randolph Bourne Society or the soirees?
Triest: Soirees yes, Randolph Bourne no. This was some time later, so the
Randolph Bourne Society doesn't overlap here.
Byerly: Well, I heard Ferlinghetti speak, and he mentioned the Scott
Street Soirees. He's seventy-five-years old, so he's not that
much younger than you. Did you ever meet him at these events?
Triest: Yes. I did. When I met him his name was Larry Ferlin.
Byerly: Where did you meet him?
Triest: You got to know an awful lot of people from the street. But there
was a period in there where there wasn't much home entertaining.
At that time, for me, having a bunch of people over for dinrer
would have been way too much. But you would see people on
Montgomery Street and in the cafes. It was taken for granted that
there would be a pre-meeting place.
Byerly: In bookstores?
Triest: In the bookstores, yes, there's Ferlinghetti 's place, which is
right nestled down in the middle. Of course there were other
characters who came through, Rexroth wasn't the only thing on
earth. Hilare Hiler came to town in great style, and somebody had
contacted him, so that he got the Job at Aquatic Park which was a
good-sized WPA project. And that was happening.
135
But it was quite a fancy thing, and it still has quite a lot
of junk in it. Do you know that they were putting up murals?
Yeah, I had a beautiful tile work and heaven knows what may be
left of it. But I worked there on murals with my friend Dick
Wight on the second floor.
[Interview 5: November 12, 1995]##
KPFA
Byerly: Did Frank change jobs when he went to Sebastopol?
Triest: Well, his work was pretty spotty. He got a lot of jobs in
Berkeley even when we were in Duncans Mills , and then there was
the beginning of KPFA and they were building the station. He did
work there, because of the connection with Lew Hill, Duncans
Mills, and through Frank's brother, too. So he was going back and
forth, and that was always a lot of carpentry that he would go
down for.
Byerly: You were involved with the group that founded KPFA?
Triest: Yes. I think that his work then was the random carpentry until he
decided that he was getting old and he couldn't crawl around like
that anymore. He saw an ad in the paper: real estate salesman
wanted, no experience necessary. And so he decided he would do
that. But he made very little money there, but then by that time
he had access to money from the family resulting from the deaths,
which didn't come in any especially large blob so much as from
incomes from properties and things of that sort.
Byerly: You were able to live on that?
Triest: Yes, the combination of what he made working and what came in from
his inheritance, we lived on that.
Byerly: And you didn't work outside of the home while you were married to
Frank.
Triest: No, because Frank thought it was a disgrace. That's the
squareness of it all. He really did. To put your wife to work,
as it were, forget about how it is at home! To put your wife to
work was not okay.
Byerly: How was it at home?
136
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
It was hard, it got harder,
get harder in another way.
If it wasn't hard one way, it would
Byerly:
Triest:
Can you say a little about that?
Well, Frank was an alcoholic, and it came and went but it was
during that period that it was being fairly dominant again. That
became quite an issue.
How did you avoid alcoholism?
I'm not built for it, I'm not an alcoholic, otherwise I would have
been- -if I had a chance I would have been one. I had all the
makings. Just not built for it.
What about your role as a woman, and as a wife and mother?
Oh, I did all the things he wanted done to interfere with my
children's school as much as possible. Especially since I would
do it, Frank would think of objections to what they were doing at
the school, and then he had me take care of it.
What school was this?
Little teeny three-room school out of Sebastopol: Vine Hill
School. It was in the midst of what was once grape territory and
then it went over to apples and has now, as we all know, gone back
to grapes.
Vine Hill School
Byerly: And what was Vine Hill School?
Triest: It was a public school, just a regular public school. Except that
the chances of manipulating school boards at a little one like
that are much better when they're little. And I think Frank
wanted to manipulate the school board through me. Attitudes and
what they should do, and what they should teach, and how much of
it
Byerly: So you were there a lot.
Triest: I was there a lot.
Byerly: Like on the PTA [Parent-Teachers Association] or--
137
Triest: Oh, yes. I don't think they called it that, but that's what it
was. And then I volunteered to teach the refinements of art to
the children to relieve the teachers of that responsibility. I
would do that after school, for anybody who wanted to be there,
did that for a while.
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
You got very involved in your children's education.
Yes. Very actively. Well, my anarchist friends in San Francisco
were building their own school in Berkeley; it's still there and
flourishing. The Walden School in Berkeley founded by Audrey
Goodfriend and others .
That's the school your friends founded?
Yes, and I really wanted to have one there in Sebastopol, because
on the property we could easily have had our own school.
So you had a large property.
It wasn't huge, but it was about five acres. And I had enough
water and so on to support it; we could have done it, except that
Frank wanted the children to go to the 3R school. And so it never
happened, and it really--it was just a wonderful dream. It
would 've been so great.
Say a little bit about what the dream was.
Well, I wanted the Walden School to be there on the place where we
were living. Away from the city, because it was very beautiful
for one thing, especially for younger children. It was just a
lovely place to be. It could 've been just fine.
And how would this be different from public school?
You mean the way the school developed?
And your vision of it at the time.
I think while I was fooling around with the parent group at the
school, I came across some sort of primary statement on education.
I copied it, I knew it. It had to do with the making of a
citizen, that the goal of the school was to make good citizens and
I don't feel that that's necessarily the first purpose of
educationto make a good citizen. So that I would be at some
difference with them right there. That's the reason we seriously
considered trying to teach at home and investigating all those--
and I remember people did do that during that period--
138
Byerly: How did you differ from that kind of philosophy?
Triest: With which one?
Byerly: Having citizenship as a primary goal
Triest: I think that acquisition of knowledge and so on is more important
than becoming a good citizen. I think a good citizen is a by
product of a good education, not a goal. So that was my
difference. But at any rate, I didn't get my school. I think
that Walden's been very successful because I think they only go K-
6, but I know that people now who are in their mid-forties who
were educated there are good-looking products. 1 really do.
Byerly: As an alternative school, did it have progressive elements?
Triest: Yes, they had attitudes and interrelationships and a more
democratic approach to a lot of things it wasn't as dictatorial
as public education. Just a lot simpler kind of approach to
educating children.
Byerly: Did they teach pacifism?
Triest: No, I don't think one of the courses was called pacifism.
Byerly: I mean, was that an ideal of the Walden School?
Triest: I don't know that. They know that; I've never read what they
propose to believe in. I doubt that they would have put down what
they believed in, and then I think that pacifism would be--of
course, I like to think that it would be a natural outcome of a
good education. But it would at least suggest that there are
other solutions to differenceskilling people off is not
necessarily the answer to as many things as it seems.
Byerly: Did the house have all the amenities, in Sebastopol?
Triest: Not really, but it was a beautiful house. It was a New England
style of architecture. It had five bedrooms and it had a couple
of old workrooms, like an office-type room for Frank and a tiny
little corner that I got to use for art. It had outdoor plumbing.
They say it looks funny now; they painted it funny colors or
something. But it really was and especially for the children of
that age- -we actually had an outhouse but we had a phone. Imagine
that, a phone. And running water that ran pretty much all the
time unless something went wrong with the well.
Byerly: So were you able to get back to your art?
139
Triest: I did quite a lot.
Byerly: This was the mid-fifties then, right?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: The kids were old enough to
Triest: I think I was doing those things for Rexroth thenthe
illustrations for the epigrams. So, as you can see, I kept
hacking away at doing art.
Byerly: What about your political activism?
Triest: It was a lot paler in those days, but it came aroundthere was
always an issue.
Bodega Head Anti-Nuclear Campaign
Triest: I spent a lot of time on the Bodega Head project. PG&E [Pacific
Gas and Electric Company] wanted to build an atomic power plant on
Bodega Head, and Bodega Head happens to be directly across the
San Andreas fault. Those things are very time consuming; you get
back to the letters and the meetings and the protest
demonstrations and the court hearings and so on. And we won,
which was kind of wonderful. They had actually dug the foundation
there for the plant, and I guess the hole is there to this very
day.
But we were very concerned then with contaminated milk and
things having to do with children and what they were consuming in
this increasingly poisoned atmosphere.
Byerly: Who is "we"?
Triest: Whoever I came across. Actually very few people up there in
Sonoma County were like us, they tended toward other directions.
But there were enough people like us there. Bernard Zakheim moved
up there, and he was and I think he still is a well-known
artist. He had moved to England a number of years before, but he
was there at that time, and he had a child the same age as some of
mine. And his wife was very active in the school. She was a
friend, and so on. A number of people avoided Zakheim though.
You see, he could never quite get in the front door with the
Sonoma community because he still was profoundly the communist
140
Byerly: He had a chicken farm?
Triest: No, he had apples. We knew a lot of the chicken people who would
come from New York and then move their way up. So we had plenty
of protests going.
Kenneth Rexroth
MOVIES ABOUT WORKERS
RADICAL
AMERICA
Vol.14. No.l $2.00
Frank Triest on the cover of the 1970s left-wing Journal Radical America.
Frank Triest as actor during his membership in the Gurdjieff Society.
Shirley Staschen Triest during a 1995 interview.
141
VII THOUGHTS ON ART
[Interview 6: November 19, 1995] I*
Early Childhood Experience
Byerly:
Triest:
Let's start with your childhood experience of art. Do you
remember some of those first experiences?
I remember a feeling for it somehow, that it was giving me a kind
of a voice that I wouldn't otherwise have. Because I had lots of
little balloons coming out of my drawings that were s?ying
something.
Byerly: Lots of little balloons?
Triest: You know, the cartoony balloons--it might say, "Ah, there you are,
mother." But I had to get the message out. So I feel that that
attitude toward what I thought I was doing with it has been there
the whole time. And then I was caught up in my parents' plans for
me to the point where sometimes I thought: Are my parents doing
this or am I? Do I really want to do this, or is this their
pushing me? So, yeah, I really did. And I did it, and I was good
enough so that I would just be up among the top or wherever I was
in grammar school and in high school. Then my mother moved me
from Girls' High in San Francisco, where they had a fairly stable
art course, over to Polytechnic High School which had the
reputation of having a much fuller program, and it was true. I
did everything; I ended up taking a lot of classes over time in
which I was the only female, because it was just funny stuff I
would take a jewelry course and I would be doing all kinds of
little drilling and hammering and so on. I loved it. So there
were lots of things like that, and learning tie dye and painting.
They did have very good teachers, and they did encourage reading,
and of course I got in touch with those students in the classes
who were interested in abstract art.
142
Byerly: What about as a young child? In what ways did your parents
encourage and recognize your art ability early on in any way?
Triest: In every way possible. They were good at that.
Byerly: How old were you when they first started encouraging you?
Triest: Oh, with my first breath, no doubt. They were just ambitious for
me, but I think it had a lot to do with them; they thought maybe
they had a moneymaker.
Byerly: How did they know that you had any artistic talent?
Triest: Because I did it all the time; they couldn't stop me from doing
it. And when I wasn't drawing or painting; I was sewing for
dolls, and I can remember--! didn't play with the dolls--! made
wardrobes for them. And to this day I can remember some of them
and they were really nice. All these wonderful scraps of things
that I made into just absolutely wonderful clothes for those
dolls. Well, I certainly was creative because I would create
plays in the backyard, and I would get it set up with boxes, and I
would go out and even sell tickets to the performance.
Byerly: You said you had an art tutor? At what age was that?
Triest: Thac was when I was around five and a half, somewhere in there. I
don't know why she took me; I doubt that she had ever worked with
a child before, and she did little lady paintings at the time, and
it Just wasn't enough for me: it didn't move fast enough, it
didn't have enough verve and so on. I did learn some things from
her, it's true, but it didn't last very long. I think she got
sicker of me than I did of her, actually.
Byerly: What do you mean by little old lady paintings?
Triest: Well, little bitty landscapes, and pretty little things, and
pretty little houses with pretty little flowers. I don't think
that I ever saw life exactly that way; it certainly isn't what I
was looking for. Pretty little gardens, indeed.
Byerly: Was there someone in your childhood that did impact your art in a
positive way?
Triest: Well, the various relatives were encouraging, and they all had had
a certain amount of art training the generation prior to my
mother's and their houses would have paintings of bowls of fruit
and things like that. And they were always very kind and helpful
and so on to me. I remember the difficulty I had with the three-
dimensional faces where the nose sticks out from the face, and how
143
do you deal with this once you get tired of putting in a couple of
dots. So, I love to watch my grandchildren have the collision
with the nose as a problem. [laughter] To see it happening all
over again.
Byerly: You mentioned a man in a wheelchair?
Triest: Yes, that's when we were still in Burlingame, and I was probably
around five, six, or seven, and my mother very early on developed
some kind of a impression that there was something wrong with this
relationship, because the man was so nice, and he didn't come
around regularly, but there was just this chance thing that with
any two weeks' period he probably would have come by to visit me
and I would drop anything I was doing to go out and see him and
just talk to him.
Byerly: Because?
Triest: Because he was a painter, and he did those things that I was
interested in. He did strictly oil painting on heavy paper board
paper. And he was quite good; he was a lot better than my
painting teacher. I think that he really actually enjoyed my
mother's company a lot. But then my mother Just didn't like me
seeing him and I don't know where her little mind was, but our
friendship could have gone on a lot longer because it just was one
of those rare friendships that one picks up in life that has
nothing to do with ages at all.
Byerly: What kind of art did he do?
Triest: He did landscapes.
Byerly: But not miniatures of garden parties?
Triest: No, his work just didn't have the same flavor as hers. There was
a different kind of dynamic to them so that they made more sense
to me. It's probably because one way or another they had
imaginative content and things of this sort, whereas hers were
not.
Byerly: What kind of support in the public schools did you get for your
art?
Triest: It was always good because I was always someplace where there was
funding for art. That was always appreciated by my teachers.
Byerly: And in Ben Lomond?
Triest: Oh, I was such a hot thing there when we got stuck one year in Ben
Lomond because of the winter there. I didn't have to do anything
else, being in hog heaven, just sit around and draw things. I
always liked birds, so I remember at that time I was way into bird
drawings and things of that sort.
Byerly: When you say you didn't have to do anything else, in school they
let you just do a lot of art at Ben Lomond?
Triest: The whole time. That's all I did. I couldn't be happier.
Byerly: So when you came of age, your parents sent you to the Chestnut
Street Fine Arts--
Triest: The Art Institute is what it's called now.
California College of Arts and Crafts
Triest: Yes. There aren't very many art schools of repute--! certainly
took classes at the one in Oakland, which is Arts and Crafts.
That was just such a marvel of a place. When 1 was a little kid
we could play there and there were four stories of the most absurd
Victorian you would ever want to see. On the landing of one of
the stairways there was a vase with a painting of a pansy on it
and a lot of gold. And then on another landing there was some
statute-like thing, a Spanish cavalier drawing his sword, so we
had him on the landing, and he was probably about five feet tall.
Then there was just gas for illumination, and that was--I went
back there years and years and years later because I wanted to do
a little more lithography, and to put my hand on a very ornate
doorknob which was still there. That was such a thrill, to be
there when I was a little kid.
Byerly: How old were you when you were there?
Triest: When I took classes? Oh, that's when I was first in Berkeley, so
that's way along.
San Francisco Institute of Art
Byerly: How about your experience at the Art Institute on Chestnut Street?
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Triest: When I was there I was around eleven or twelve.
Byerly: Was that pretty young to be going to art school?
Triest: In a way. There were a few kids around in there yes, it was.
Well, my mother just made a bad choice. They must have talked her
into it; they probably didn't have a well-developed course for
children. And so they thought it would be a good thing to put me
in a design class which was very rigid and very structured. I
loved to do painting better than anything. And there's not the
slightest chance for that kind of expression in a design course,
which is pretty geometric by and large. So I didn't flourish
there at all; it was Just the wrong course. And I didn't like the
commercial art school because I didn't want to be a commercial
artist. I knew that vividly enough.
Byerly: You wanted to be an artist?
Triest: I wanted to do what I wanted to do [laughter].
Livingston School of Art
Byerly: Did you go to any other art school at this time? Like the
Livingston School of Art?
Triest: Art Institute, but at Livingston I was probably seventeen. I was
just dragging my feet, being a brat.
Byerly: So this was your parents' idea?
Triest: Yes. My parents had separated already, and they still had money
although they were getting into heavy financial times then, and I
was there in school when the economy crashed. So they kept taking
money to send me to school, and I didn't want to do it. I just
wanted to paint.
Byerly: Why?
Triest: I didn't want to make money making these goofy drawings.
Byerly: Oh, this is still the design idea of commercial art.
Triest: No, it was figures or highly reflective surfaces. Do you know how
much fun it is to do an aluminum picture reflecting an apple?
Well, not for me.
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Byerly: So did you drop out of the Livingston
Triest: Yes, I did.
The Bohemian Art World of San Francisco
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
You met Val around this time, right?
A little bit later. I was eighteen, I guess. They scooted along
at quite a rate then. The change of scene was very frequent. But
yes, 1 met him when I was eighteen.
And how did he influence you?
politics have on your art?
What impact did his ideas about
Oh, he had a tremendous influence generally, because of his
mother's background in fine arts she would say Wagner [with a
German pronunciation] and not Wagner [with an American
pronunciation] .
So he was from an educated family?
They were more cultured than my own; they had different ways --my
mother certainly always thought of herself as a very classy lady,
butnot those goalsthe value of the higher cultures of reading,
of going to galleries, although my family did take us to
galleries. But it just wasn't there, the interest and the
knowledge and the taste for it Mrs. Julien in particular.
Can you say something about her art?
She was very good. She worked for a paint company in an advisory
capacity, and her paintings were, considering that she was another
version of a lady painter, were quite good. She did the furniture
painting, which was very hard stuff then. And she would make
money any old way, and she had friends who still hadn't been as
crushed by the crash, and they would give her jobs outfitting a
room in slip covers. She had me helping her with that, so we
could sew together. It was a very nice relationship.
And what about Val's art?
He wasn't that good. His mother was always trying to get him to
submit an application as an artist for her paint books so he could
reproduce a lot of illustrations of painted interiors, but he
wasn't that good.
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Byerly: He did not paint well?
Triest: Not very well. And they were heavy and overworked, and that goes
back to the original great saying that if you can't paint it good,
paint it red, you know? Because he would just be very labored
with things that looked like well, wasn't there anyone to stop
him? And an overworked watercolor is an abomination in the eyes
of the Lord, I'm sure [laughter].
Byerly: But he also had art connections
Triest: Oh, yes, and he was super-bohemian; he was living as wild as
possible, and he had unbelievably crazy, wild friends, and huge
amounts of drinking. And tremendous pride in the mishaps involved
in that, and so he liked to try to find out where the edge was,
which he did frequently.
Byerly: He introduced you to this world of the bohemian artist and the
communists, et cetera.
Triest: Yes. He used to ride the rod back to New York state and come back
again a couple of weeks later. And the whole business later I
got to know a number of people who did it quite a lot, but the
whole information around how to ride the rods without losing your
life was a big thing.
Byerly: Ride the rods?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: What's that?
Triest: It's where they would hop the railroad cars and whether it's good
to get into this kind of a car or that and cities that you should
never jump off in they'll kill you. How to get around on the
rods and survive, literally--
Byerly: And you did this--
Triest: I didn't do it, no. A lot of people did. I had a friend for
quite a while- -a friend of Al Podesta's, and he was on a regular
commute to San Jose from San Francisco. We would take him down to
the railroad yard and he would, you know, he knew exactly what
train he wanted to catch. He was good at it.
Byerly: And how did this fit in with the bohemian world of art and
politics?
Triest: It just did.
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Byerly: People were going back and forth to New York.
Triest: Oh, yes. And then, this last guy, the one that did the commute to
San Jose--why he was going there I don't remember but he had
worked in the defense of Sacco and Vanzetti before, too, so you
turn up all of those people. If you were interested in radicalism
and the working stiff and so on, you could find a lot of them, and
Val was always very fond of them, kept bringing them home.
Byerly: And Val introduced you to his world.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And you were interested in being radical and doing bohemian art
Triest: Yes, it looked right to me. There's a lot of it that isn't, and
there was a lot of violence in there, too, that I didn't like a
bit because I don't much care for it. It was nevertheless in the
more peaceful direction. All of it. At least the parts that I
wanted to be involved in.
Byerly: So eventually you and Val moved down to Montgomery block.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Can you say anything about what Montgomery block was like at that
time in 1933?
Triest: Sure. When I was there it was early "34. It was a four-story
building. It's a shame you can't see pictures of it; it was quite
nice. He had a big fishpacking outfit in the back of the first
floor, and this was a building that had been through the fire and
the quake and in very good shape. It was quite a handsome
building. And the downstairs had fourteen-foot ceilings, these
offices it was an office building. It was just because of the
Great Depression that people crawled in like varmints and occupied
it. Because there wasn't supposed to be any cooking and people
would use hot plates and like that when they could. The only
bathrooms were along the eastern side of the building, which had
all the plumbing. There were showers and toilets, and that was as
close as you could get to plumbing. And there had been many
people there along before us. It just was a really historical
place to live, although a lot of the other buildings had the same
general background. It was hard but if you hadn't lived on
Montgomery block, where had you been anyway? [laughter]
Byerly: Why was it called the Monkey block?
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Triest: Because the building's name was the Montgomery block, and the
transition to Monkey block apparently was automatic, I don't know
why. And this is because of Montgomery Street, on which it lay.
Byerly: So in 1934, you were living with Val in this office building on
Montgomery Street?
Triest: Well, I was living with our friends Fred and Julie in the
Slaughterhouse district, and then when they moved onto Russian
Hill, and we went with them. And then when they took off for New
York we went over to someplace we thought we could afford. At
that time I had the job at Coit Tower.
Social Realism
Byerly: Social realism was the type of art that was painted at Coit Tower
at that time, ... of your artwork that you showed me seems to have
had some impact on your work. Can you say a little bit about
social realism and how it fit in to that particular period of
history?
Triest: Well, it was the only way to work because it was reallythe
people in whom I was interested in the Artists' and Writers' Union
and so on, people really scoffed if you were still doing seascapes
and it was like, What's the matter with you? Wake up! Where do
you think you are? Look what's happening! The world's on fire
and you're doing seascapes!
So it was very much the thing to do. For some, not for
everybody. There were a lot of very good traditional artists
working in San Francisco at that time; it's one of the things that
makes Coit Tower so unique, because the people felt brave enough
so that it has this quality of the working stiff. People really
needn't have done that, and it wasn't necessarily the kind of
expression they had used before. But there was the influence of
the Depression and people's reaction to that, and we had the world
outside the door; we couldn't miss it. But it's easily seen on
the walls there; there were people who were definitely not so
moved. Look at the one at the butcher shop, or you can look at
the one at the dairy, or the orange orchard. A whole bunch of
those things --there's very, very little in there to suggest social
realism. Very little. And then upstairs there's not a hint of
it. So it was just a few of us that looked outside their door.
Byerly: How did this feel to you as a young artist, this mixture of art
and politics? If you had been brought up on seascapes and
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Triest;
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
landscapes, to suddenly be giving voice to the revolution, so to
speak, through your art? How did you receive that?
Just fine. It sat very well with me, and it was the direction of
thinking that all the people with whom I spent all my time,
although I was perfectly aware that there were other certainly my
family never had the slightest hope in that direction ever. But
that '
s the way I saw it .
So it really spoke to you.
Yes.
But you didn't stay with it. I mean, you didn't stay with social
realism.
Well, my social realism style lasted pretty well on up into the
mystical period, which is to me in a lot of ways an internalizing
of the same thing. I don't separate those things that much.
Hilare Hiler
Byerly: Tell me about Hilare Hiler because he happened to be working
around this time with you, right?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Let's stay with the WPA projects for a while.
Triest: Yes, because Hiler was at Rose and Jacapetti's one night, which
was the bohemian bar right across the street from the Black Cat at
II Montgomery Street. I'm sitting there drinking my whatever, and
this dude comes in, sits down beside me and said, "I'm Hilare
Hiler," and I said, "Oh." It didn't mean a thing to me; I had
never heard of him.
II
Triest: Oh, he must have been at least 6 '2", and people were always saying
he's wonderful and jovial, which was true. And he was very funny.
He had a tremendous stutter which he never attempted to control at
all; he would Just sit it out. He was a fantastic "dirty story"
teller, and he played marvelous honky-tonk piano. There were a
lot of people who said, Oh, yeah, we knew him in Paris and he
always had a monkey on his shoulder while he played the piano in
the bars. So he was a fun guy, and he did turn out to be, Hilare
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Hiler, sure enough. I was the first person who laid eyes on him
in the city. I don't know what contact he hadprobably in New
York or somethingto get the Job, but it was a big one and a good
one. He did well with his jobs, and he always produced.
Byerly: What was the job he had here?
Triest: He had the first mural to be painted at Aquatic Park and the
overall control of the decoration of the building. I don't think
he decided exactly on the tilework but there was a theme, and
they're still there, the fishes. You should go see. Lovely
fishes, with gold leaf and silver leaf, and very strong not
really primary colors, but it was all a submarine motif. And it
was just absolutely marvelous.
He didn't like women around because of his vulgarity; they
usually blew up and couldn't stand it. But there was another
woman and myself and I think two- -three of us who had no feeling
about it at all. So he didn't mind our being close at hand.
Byerly: So you worked on that project.
Dick Ayer and the Murals at Aquatic Park
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
I worked under Dick Ayer, who had the second floor to decorate at
Aquatic Park.
And what did you do there? Which pieces did you work on?
It would be hard to say, because Dick's thing was not what you
would call a collage, but it was like wood cutouts to imitate the
insides and outsides of ships. It was really lovely; very
controlled gray tones throughout. And to look out of there and
then right out on the bay and look at Alcatraz was just beautiful.
Very subtle changes in grays and blue-greens. That was supposed
to be a terrazzo floor, that one of the wonderful Europeans had
charge of, and it was supposed to have become a restaurant since
it was a public building. Then it had a third-floor little thing
that was like the map house or the wheel house of the ship. That
was abstracted too.
What part did you work on?
I did work just on Dick's floor, the second floor,
can of paint and go paint, he'd say.
Get yourself a
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Byerly: That was in '37--oh, there was this Turkish or Arabian artist--
Triest: I don't remember his name. I remember the church painter's name.
Byerly: When you say church painter ?
Triest: He was a European church painter, where they did sacred paintings
all over Europe. It was his specialty, and it still is. But
their stuff is so precise and so marvelous that they were
tottering awfully close to Dali.
Byerly: Who was Gregory?
Triest: The church painter.
Byerly: What other work was done at Aquatic Park?
Triest: And then there was sculpture outside the front of the building
and, at the back of the building he had the tile, and there's lots
of terrazzo. Those old world guys who knew exactly what they were
doing.
Byerly: And then in '39 was the World's Fair. How did you get involved
with that?
Triest: I was working for Dick Ayer again because he had some walls to do
there. He was a very longtime friend, and I still know his wife.
Byerly: And did you get these Jobs from the cafe scene at the Black Cat?
Triest: He always knew what everybody was doing; he would say, Gee, I have
this job coming up. If I get the job, I'll try to get you on,
like that.
Byerly: So showing up at the cafe scene- -
Triest: It was everything, because you didn't take people home. You did,
but not the way people did later. I guess it was like the three-
martini lunch or something. It was where you'd go because that's
where everything was happening.
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Pastels
[Interview 7: November 20, 1995] it
Byerly: So, 1947 to 1967. Let's start there with the pastels. Frank gave
you a set of pastels?
Triest: Just a magnificent bunch of pastels. They were irresistible. I
had been enjoying working with a smaller set, but it was so
convenient for picking up and putting down compared to any other
techniques that were available.
Byerly: What was the subject of your art at this time?
Triest: Let me see, 1947.
Byerly: Yes, '47 to '67.
Triest: In '47, I didn't start the pastels for a couple of years yet.
Byerly: Because you were busy having babies?
Triest: Pretty busy.
Byerly: And carrying water in Duncan Mills
Triest: Actually, carrying water was not a big part of it.
Byerly: That's right. You didn't carry water
Triest: The water table either was not there, or it was flooding, you
know. There was very little time in between, and the conveniences
were very few indeed. Actually, I don't know anybody- -including
my mother- -who lived in circumstances of that sort. So one didn't
get an awful lot of progress within a twenty-four hours.
Everything took a little bit more effort. But even so, the
pastels came in there around 1950. But I had something cooking
there pretty much all the time. And then I took courses at Santa
Rosa Junior College just because it was there, but I was literally
too tired- -I took the course but I was too tired even though I was
taking it.
Byerly: What was the course in?
Triest: Painting, design. Very nice teacher, and I liked his own work- -of
what I can remember, that wasn't much. But I tried. That went
along for- -including the pastels--right on into '56 or '57 or a
bit further. I was still doing that same kind of work, and the
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nature of the work, by and large, had been on this mystical bent
that the whole household had taken up.
Byerly: Is this Gurdjieff at this point?
Triest: No.
Byerly: Before that where was the mysticism coming from?
Triest: A general interest in the kind of material of that sort that was
manifest particularly in England around 1900. And I had friends
who, previous to that, had been interested in the different
-ologies and had made careers out of it, so I hooked into it there
too, from that point of view. That led to the type of expression
in my artwork. Some of these were a little abstract, but not very
many.
Byerly: What were the subjects?
Triest: Mystical. Foggy. [laughter]
Byerly: But were they human figures, or--
Triest: Occasionally.
Byerly: Or geometric?
Triest: Yes, but it was more, let's say, a lack of definition, soft focus
types of rendering material. Not the cutting edge type thing that
I took up later.
Byerly: So it was kind of an inner journey you were doing in the woods--
Triest: Pretty much, I mean it wasn't just myself, but the people who were
living around us, too. They were of the same frame of mind, which
I take in retrospect to have been a sigh of relief from the time
of the war, because that whole nation had settled down. Attitudes
toward relationship expressed by D. H. Lawrence was influential
with a number of people in one group.
Byerly: What specifically about D. H. Lawrence?
Triest: Well, the nature of male- female relationships and what they were
ideally supposed to consist of.
Byerly: You mean like in Lady Chatterley's Lover?
Triest: Well, yes, but more of the kind of the lives that Lawrence lived
when he was in the Southwest in this country, and I think that
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that was abstracted spiritually a lot in his life at that time, so
it was from that direction that we began to evolve.
Byerly: Was this the kind of relationship you and Frank were modeling your
own relationship after?
Triest: Well, not quite that, precisely. But I think I'm trying to talk
about the climate
Byerly: So, it impacted your relationship.
Triest: Yes, because some of the people around us, when we talk about it,
we'd talk a good conversation, and get interested, he and I.
Although pretty soon in there, Martin Buber's Zion /fount came in,
and that worked right into it, too. And we favored Jung. And we
would get pretty mystical with Jung, if you want to go as far as
he wants to go
Byerly: With the dreams interpretations and stuff?
Triest: Yes.
Marriage As a Spiritual Sacramental Journey
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Well, getting back to Lawrence, what kind of relationships did he
have that were so influential? What was it about his
relationships or his lifestyle that was influential?
I don't know. I don't have adequate access to the language to
have it come out the way I want it to. But it would be the higher
level of spiritual relationship.
Between male and female?
Between male and female. And there was a great deal of that, but
it was in the wind anywhere we went, so it was a matter of great
interest to people, and there were so many things that fed into
it. A lot of psychology, and women's psychology at that time
Now you use this term "sacramental marriage."
here? Can you say something about that?
Does that fit in
I could if I could pull it together for you. Actually, it was
mostly the raising of consciousness within a relationship. People
were Just a little bit kinder and better and more sensitive and
more aware of one another and one another's needs and all the
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differences between male and female. I can't remember the name of
the English author where the woman's role was extremely
subservient which seemed to suit a lot of the men who were
reading it then. And it didn't suit me at all, I just couldn't
see it, like you were an ultimate ideal transcendental slave and
I'm thinking, Well, why? I couldn't quite see that in myself.
Byerly: So you didn't model your relationship with Frank after that
particular author.
Triest: No.
Byerly: So was it a commitment to individual self -development as a part of
the marriage commitment?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: It was like a spiritual journey. Marriage as spiritual journey.
Triest: Yes, and then in the sense that Buber offered the aspect of the
third factor; I felt that that was extremely important. It wasn't
the man and it wasn't the woman; it was the thing that happened,
the third factor, the thing that happened between them. Because
that's where the structure and the building came in, and there's
the area in which a good many relationships were. Where it's got
to be my way, it's not going to be your way, and the realization
of the power of the third factor is tremendous .
Byerly: It sounds beautiful.
Triest: Yes. I thought so.
Byerly: And how successful were you at it in your relationship with Frank?
Triest: Well, when push comes to shove, I think we succeeded to an
astonishing degree because of our differences and because of our
pigheaded natures. I think it was extraordinary that we, with all
kinds of convolutions, managed to maintain a relationship that had
consciousness and meaning to it all the way through. And I'm
satisfied that it was that way. It made everything that went with
it worth it.
Byerly: It doesn't sound like an easy path. Not the well-worn, busy road
[chuckle].
Triest: No, not at all, it was almost like inventing every step of the
way.
Byerly: But how exciting.
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Triest: All the material connected with Gurdjieff and how one managed
oneself, which is a point some distance from this, had aspects of
self-development that were akin to this era for me.
Byerly: Where does the community fit into this philosophy?
Triest: Well, I think I mentioned our neighbors in other places, like Dick
Moore and Eleanor McKinney-Moore were living in Duncans Mills. And
Lew Hill and his wife Joy were living across the meadow.
Byerly: These were artists?
Dick Moore; KPFA & KQED
Triest: Oh, Dick was the father of KPFA and he had a great deal to do with
the development of public broadcasting. He was there to be a
poet, and he had a lot of friends who were poets around Berkeley
and came up to see him, so we saw a lot of them. And of course he
grew up to become a fantastic executive, very successful--
Byerly: Executive of?
Triest: At KQED and elsewhere. He went there and then other places.
Byerly: So you had your own little cultural group in Duncans Mills.
Triest: And that continued all the way through; there was nothing special
about that because we saw the same people further along- -with some
changes in personnelbut the same connections generally when we
were in Sebastopol. And then back to Berkeley meant that we were
just closer to where they were.
Byerly: Were Dick Moore and Lew Hill down in Berkeley? Or San Francisco?
Triest: Lew Hill lived part of the time in Berkeley, and then he had his
wife and children in Duncans Mills because he liked the atmosphere
there.
Byerly: So were they into this sacramental marriage kind of thing?
Triest: Not so much, no. Dick Moore was, Lew Hill wasn't.
Byerly: But there was a following, a general community
Triest: But there was a common connection; he had heard of it, knew what
it was about, except by nature it was this organizational man that
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was trying to do the KQED thing, the whole thing, which, as far as
he was concerned, he he wasn't thinking local; he was thinking
country-wide and doing an awful lot of transcontinental stuff, so
that his mind functioned a little differently.
Byerly: But there was a community of people who were on a spiritual
journey in relationships that honored that.
Triest: Yes, pretty much. And then the Moores went to Berkeley because of
the development of the station, and Wilfred Lang and his family
moved in there. They were attuned to these different attitudes.
He was an active painter and continued to be so even when
eventually some fragments of his family ended up in the Southwest,
and 1 think he is still there.
Byerly: What piece of art, of your creation, would best exemplify this
period?
Triest: Which period?
Byerly: Oh, the sacramental marriage, '57ish, early sixties period.
Triest: It's a pastel that someone in Berkeley has that I Just like. I
liked it, and I continued to like it. Some of the things I just
lose interest in; they look funny to me. I don't like everything
I've done; I get very critical. Once you get in the critic's seat
you come up and say [makes grumbling noises], I could have done it
differently. But that one I still like.
Byerly: What's the name of it?
Triest: I don't remember.
Byerly: Who has it?
Triest: My friends Belle and Ivan Ranier.
Byerly: And can you describe it?
Triest: Oh, it has some floating figures and a lot of obscure stuff that
pastel lends itself to so well. It's quite dark.
Byerly: So you consider this period to have a certain obscurity with
darkness and floating figures?
Triest: Not really. I considered it to be illuminating.
Byerly: Illuminating. So, out of the dark.
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Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly :
That's right.
Light in the dark. And the floating, maybe, is transcendence?
Yeah, not drowning.
"Two-Fold I." What does that mean?
I had a tremendous resistance to explaining what I do, because I
figure I've done it, and there is both.
It's not about words?
If you want me to break it down and try to get verbal about
something that was never intended to be verbal, I'll take a whack
at it, but it's against my general policy.
No, I think it's appropriate not to do that,
itself.
It should speak for
Oh, it's certainly expected. "What's that supposed to mean?" I
say, "Whatever it looks like to you is fine with me."
And that's in pastels.
Yes.
This is kind of a deviation from the Marxist /anarchist politics
that you and Frank had been doing. Did it feel like a break?
No, it felt like a natural progress, because the whole communist
movement of the early thirties wasn't in the same shape by the
time we got through with another war. There just wasn't very much
left. And the attitudes politically, or the political climate,
changed regularly. You could set your watch by it. This was a
period where feelings toward communism were very poor, because in
connection with the war and everything that had come down, it just
didn't do it for me. I didn't like many things that had happened,
and it had moved me along and right on through the socialist,
Trotskyite period until I came across people that had what I
considered a superior view. Although I don't think it's a perfect
solution.
Which?
The anarchism approach to things.
So you saw what you're doing out in Duncans Mills and in
Sebastopol as a continuation, a sacramental marriage, and the
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community in which KQED, in fact, and RPFA came out of was a
continuation of political activism?
Triest: I think you could say that about KPFA, but if you look at all the
early programming on KPFA, you can see what the whole intention
was and why it was called the Pacifica Foundation. Because of the
ideals of the people setting it up.
Byerly: Which were what?
Triest: They were very strong on pacifism and made beautiful, wonderful,
creative, original programming. They had some extraordinary
people talking. Absolutely wonderful.
Byerly: What types of programming did they have?
Triest: Well, they had live music, and they had programs for children that
were superb being given by an American Indian person who lived in
Big Sur. Very exciting. And an Irish woman who told tales for
children, and then a long series on types of mysticism. Rexroth
gave a long talk on book reviews. He did that for them. They
really picked well; they had a very good eye for the person that
had something to say. So that was pretty influential and
reflective of a general attitude of a larger group. I think they
unhappily junked an awful lot of their material; it Just got worn
out or thrown away, but it's worth anybody's while to take a look
at what they did do.
Byerly: How would you describe this as a continuation of political
activism?
Triest: As pacifists, when we had a focus, we would put whatever political
energy we might have into a direction that was compatible with
these ideals.
Mysticism
Byerly: Well, I know that left politics in my day was very anti-religious,
anti-mystical. How do you see that fitting in politically?
Triest: Towards which?
Byerly: The mysticism, fitting into progressive politics.
Triest: Oh, I don't think it fit in anywhere much, but it wasn't so alien,
at least for me--I mean, a lot of poets were around RPFA, too, and
161
what they would be learning about, they could be very political
and at the same time very mystical. I don't think that those
things were such a bad mix. I haven't been able to put the
Catholic Church in the same vein with some of the ideas.
Byerly: Do you see the mysticism a part of politics or more of a personal
kind of journey?
Triest: No, I thought it was very evident in the work of the writers and
painters and so on in this group. I think this whole
developmental trend, the trend that we were pursuing here, I don't
see that it contradicted anything. It looks to me like a very
easy kind of developmental direction.
Byerly: The mysticism and the politics?
Triest: Yes. I don't think they made bad bedpartners at all.
Byerly: But I'm just curious if the mysticism was more of an inner
personal journey, and the politics was more of a community-
oriented, or not?
Triest: Definitely. But we just happened to embrace them both.
Byerly: Because they were so compatible.
II
Triest: Some people seem to go from cradle to grave without any trouble.
And if people aren't interested in their insides, that's all
right. It's all right with me. But some of us are.
Byerly: So the mysticism was about figuring out one's psyche.
Triest: Not in the 19 10- 1930s approach to psychology. Because I found an
awful lot of that was indigestible for me.
Byerly: The psychology?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Freud and Jung and so on?
Triest: Then absolutely everybody had their psychiatrist, which wasn't
true when I was a child, of course. It came around so that
everybody did, and some people have simply had their shrinks, I
think, for the whole time that I've known them over many decades.
They're still at it.
162
Byerly: How does that fit in with the politics and mysticism?
Triest: Well, it doesn't fit well for me, but that's down to the personal.
Byerly: You did not have a psychiatrist?
Triest: I've dropped in a couple of times, but it was restricted to a
matter of, I think probably the max was something like a couple
months
Byerly: But, are you saying that you were against that you were not
interested in psychology?
Triest: I'm saying I don't think psychology was enough. I don't think
that it is, let's say, spiritual enough for me. But I have a lot
of trouble with the word "spiritual", because it seems to me that
it is in connection often with religion, which isn't for me.
Byerly: The word "spiritual?"
Triest: Yes, like spiritual means you are a Christian Scientist or
something.
Byerly: And you're not talking about religion here.
Triest: No.
Byerly: But the political, the psychological, and the spiritual journeys- -
now, you did all three, even though you weren't seeing a
psychiatrist, you were interested in the works of Jung and Freud.
So you saw all that as complementary?
Triest: I thought they were compatible fields of interest.
Byerly: This particular journey, this triad of psychology, politics, and
spirituality, was that the main thrust of what was going on for
you?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And Frank?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And in a kind of general sense, the community that you associated
with?
Triest: I have a lot of differences with a lot of my friends, and they
have to do usually with the mysticism because they're much more
163
political. And then they'll say, Well, and sort of roll their
eyes or sort of like, "There she goes again" kind of thing. But
that's all right.
Gurdiieff Society
Byerly: So when did you and Frank come across Gurdjieff?
Triest: I think my friend Jane, who helped me move out of the house on
Russell Street in Berkeleywho saved my life she was reading a
couple of his books, and she said, "Here, read this." She had
always been my "Here, read this" person, so I didn't have to go
and read everything, I just let her read everything. And then she
would feed me what was appropriate. But she gave me a couple of
his books, and I gave them to Frank, and Frank read then and said,
"Aha! Wow!" [laughter]. He just couldn't wait to run off and try
to get into it and join it and so on and so forth. So that must
have been '67.
Byerly: So this was 1967 through '73, which was quite the time in
Berkeley. It was the Free Speech Movement and the Vietnam War
Triest: Yes, it was busy.
Byerly: And were you and Frank followers of Gurdjieff during this period?
Were you doing that discipline?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: So let's talk about Gurdjieff then, a little bit. From my
reading, he seems to have a method for self -development.
Triest: It was very severe and very strenuous and very physically
demanding. Things where you tax yourself physically to the point
where you think you're dead, and then you pick yourself up and
start over.
Byerly: I can kind of relate to that [laughter]. What do you mean?
Triest: Well, the individual who was doing this work here well, there
were several, actually several Gurdjieff groups working in the
Bay Area at the same time, and they didn't intermix much at all.
And then the attitudes of people from New York were at
considerable variance with some of the California people. So some
of this I have to define who I'm talking about.
164
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
How did it impact your life personally?
Very strongly, because Frank went into it just whole hog. It was
very physical, and it offended me from the beginning because of
that. Part of that had more to do with the local notions of it,
which varied a lot from group to group than it had to do with
Gurdjieff himself, although his idea about taxing people,
physically straining or pushing to the edge, was evident pretty
much everywhere. I think that that part of it was very appealing
to Frank; I think the challenge was very strong.
How did it manifest itself?
physically straining?
What did you do that was so
People would be thrown out of a meeting and they would be not
asked to leave, they would be thrown out.
Physically thrown out? For what?
For some infractions somebody didn't like, or something.
That sounds violent.
Yeah, violence, violence. So that part I didn't like very much.
Then they had a project where they bought a sailing ship that was
an absolute raving beauty, and a thing that, like most seagoing
craft, needed a tremendous amount of work so that really it wasn't
any wonderful find. 1 think it was bought in Hawaii, and then
people were organized to give money and work and go to Hawaii and
sail it back. It was quite a beautiful boat needing a tremendous
amount of work. So a whole bunch of these people--! can't
remember how many, I don't know how they were chosen even, let's
say twenty to thirty people went to Hawaii, and I think there was
one other person beside Frank who had any seagoing experience. He
had worked as a water tender for a long time when he was doing his
union organizing. So he was not at all foreign to the sea. And
they brought this thing back, and lost a man overboard, and it was
considered a miracle that they scooped him up, because the people
didn't even know who could swim.
You didn't go.
No, not that I wasn't invited, either [chuckle]. And they brought
it back. They did a lot of work on it. But things of this sort,
and then they built places in Sonoma County that were absolutely
beautiful, just beautiful. And this was all money from the group
and tremendous beyond human endurance physical effort. And if
it meant going three days without sleep, fine, we don't sleep for
three days. That kind of physical expenditure.
165
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
They built a theater in San Francisco. Got hold of an old
building and totally remodeled it, and put on several productions.
And very few of the people had any experience at all in theater,
but they would do it. The concept being that you can do anything,
you really can do anything if you don't have all these notions
about your own limitations. Although they do have a lot of
material in there about different levels of achievement, very
complex material. And then I have a very good friend who is very
deep into it in New York, which was just extremely different from
the experience of the group here plus my connections with somebody
who was connected with another group in the Bay Area, so that the
emphases were different. But if you read the material, you still
could boil it down to the same essence, I think.
And then, somewhere along the line, I decided to Join it
with the idea that it might help my relationship with Frank. So
that put me in the women's group; they were working with a men's
group, which was unusual. I held up remarkably well, except that
choosing to throw people out had lots of inside political turns to
it, and I could see the expediency of my being evicted. It hadn't
helped the marriage much, either. And so that happened for me, I
got thrown out, but it never happened for Frank; he continued to
be connected with it. The whole vision of the thing meant
everything to him. And this was what led him into theater, and he
said it's what he had been looking for all his life; it just meant
a great deal to him.
Did he stay with it for the rest of his life?
No, he got thrown out. Everybody got thrown out sooner or later.
That part of the group isn't in the area, as far I as know, but
there are other Gurdjieff groups with which I am not familiar. I
just know they exist.
Before we leave Gurdjieff, I just wanted to ask what--I see
Gurdjieff as a kind of a spiritual leader in self -discipline and
self -development, but how does the politics fit in? What about
community? What, as a community, were people trying to do? Were
people trying to build a community out of this?
Oh, absolutely,
structures.
And they did. They built some really remarkable
And community.
And community. Community was very important.
What were the principles of that community? What were they trying
to do together?
166
Triest: Do more. Transcend themselves in every direction.
Byerly: And produce a transformative effect on society?
Triest: I don't think they were concerned with society much at all.
Byerly: It was more of an individualistic thing?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And they each gave each other support
Triest: Definitely. It was very strong. There would be a day when it was
decided we would all go and clean somebody's house because they
were having a baby. She went away, and everybody went in, fixed
and papered and painted. So by the end of the day when she came
home, everything was just apple pie.
Byerly: Well, that sounds like community.
Triest: Oh, absolutely. There would be huge sewing projects, whatever you
thought couldn't possibly be done within a very contracted period
of time, so that you could see that you might be tired, but it was
done. And I feel that it was realizinga lot of it that was felt
to be important was to realize, to make real, ideas and concepts.
Well, this would be a really nice thing to do. Fine, we'll do it.
But we will do it in the next three hours. The interaction was
tremendous because the strains were so much, that if you could
break, you would.
Byerly: And then you would get thrown out [chuckle],
Triest: And then you would get thrown out. Or you would get thrown out
because you didn't break.
Byerly: So it had some failings? There were some niches that needed to be
worked out?
Triest: I don't know. I had no objection to that. Some people felt it
was a good discipline, or the right thing for them. I didn't feel
that it did very much for me; I actually was not out on a search
for discipline.
167
Commentary on Portfolio
Byerly: And was this a different period for your art? Was this the "Two-
Fold I" period?
Triest: No, this was after that.
Byerly: So what piece of art would best exemplify this period?
Triest: I have quite a few acrylic paintings that I did at that period,
and I was also doing a number of lithographs, and 1 was doing
protest compositions.
Byerly: Because of the Free Speech Movement, anti-Vietnam War movement
that was happening- -
Triest: No, this was pretty well beyond that, but it was still that type
of thing.
Byerly: Well, it was '67 to '73.
Triest: '67 to '73, yes.
Byerly: Well, you seem to be into zeroes here. Does that have any
significance? [pointing to painting)
Triest: Yes, yes, sure. I'm crazy about circles, for one thing.
Byerly: Because?
Triest: Because I just like the shape of them.
Byerly: Anything else?
Triest: They don't look empty to me; they just are very full to me.
Byerly: Yes, these do look full.
Triest: It doesn't come up zero to me.
Byerly: But these look like zeroes.
Triest: They are zeroes. But they don't look empty to me. It's because
of the way I look at things, I think. The whole idea of negative
space is more important than what you're looking at, or what you
think you're looking at.
Byerly: How did this come out of that era? What's the connection?
168
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
I don't know, I guess it's the way my own head was running,
because I was getting a certain amount of distance at that point
from Frank. I wasn't working that hard at all on trying to make
the marriage work at all costs.
You were working on it, or you were not?
I was working on it, but it was much more abstracted and a good
deal more distant, and then when 1 moved away from Berkeley, then
that was the way it went. When I got through with that, I went
quite readily over to the Japanese Sumi-e, and with that there's a
great deal to do with just interest and the nature of empty space,
and things of that sort.
This was also done during the
napalmed mother and child?
Yes.
'67 to '73 this sculpture of
This is, from what I can see, a comment on the war, right?
Yes.
But right after you left Frank, you got into the Sumi-e?
Sumi-e was my own discipline in art; that's a little different.
Sumi-e; Japanese Brushwork
Byerly: Let's move on to that then. The period starting with 1973. You
move out, you have your own place, and at last: solitude. Your
time is your own.
Triest: But I was still working on the illustrations at that time.
Byerly: For?
Triest: For the William Buck book. So I worked on that until that was
cleaned up and that must have taken quite a long time in there,
toward the late seventies. Yes, I think I was doing the Japanese
brushwork by '80.
Byerly: How did you get introduced to the Japanese brushwork?
Triest: Courses, courses. I saw the course, then I jumped for it. It
suited me just beautifully.
169
Byerly: Well, what does the discipline involved?
Triest: I think for me it was that it was so absolute. Because from the
preparation, the ritual, the exactness of it and then just the
motion of how to get the ink into the brush and then to the paper.
It was pretty well predetermined if you could do it. And then
once you were there and you get the paper, there's this absolute
choice you've made. Every other medium I know, you could paint
over or turn something upside down or change it in some way as it
evolved. And with this, that's it, you've done it. There's no
place to hide. The best thing I can say about it, I felt it made
a much more honest woman out of me.
Byerly: Because?
Triest: Because 1 would make the act, and then there was no way to hide or
pretend that I hadn't done it; I had done it.
Byerly: So you would get up in the mornings and you would start preparing
to do this brushwork?
Triest: No, I'm not that well-disciplined.
Byerly: But I mean that's the idea? The idea is to spend a great deal of
time preparing--
Triest: I don't know that there's a dictated time.
Byerly: Okay, then what is the discipline? I'm just trying to get at--I
knov? you're talking about sharpening the pencil with a razor
blade--
Triest: Well, this was just simply trying to get just the touch of the ink
to the paper so that one had a beautiful dot. Or, a beautiful
bamboo leaf. And that's it, folks. That's all you have to do,
except that 999 times out of a thousand you wouldn't make
anything. And you could see it because it would be right there in
front of you in black and white.
Byerly: [Looking through pieces of art] Are there examples of it here?
Triest: I don't see any, do you?
Byerly: So you would draw the bamboo leaf--
Triest: No, you paint it [chuckle].
170
Byerly: I mean, you would paint it with the brush and the ink, and then
that's it. And then the next day would you do the same leaf
again?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And you would keep doing that leaf until you got it perfect?
Triest: Or maybe you wouldn't. Maybe I'd do a leaf in a circle or I'd do
it five hundred times.
Byerly: But eventually
Triest: Then you would see something come about in that period of time.
But just the circle, it was difficult in a sense also that I had
been working on very small type things with my hand on the paper,
doing the illustrations, which is, you know, this is your surface
and you're down here doing this. Well, the brush is, however
small, an entire arm movement so that physically it's different.
You do this up here [makes gesture], you know, so that the brush
touches the paper and the rest of you doesn't.
Byerly: Right. I've done some Chinese calligraphy.
Triest: And I enjoyed it tremendously; just loved it.
Byerly: And did you take up haiku at this time?
Triest: I took a course in haiku just because it was there.
Byerly: What is haiku?
Triest: It's little poems that require a certain number of syllables
arranged in a certain way, and it also has to have the
implication you're not told how many words, but there are very,
very few, and it needs to imply the season of the year and the
action and the effect within the very few words without it getting
all sort of jumbled up.
Byerly: And do you have an example of that?
Triest: I do.
Byerly: Will you show it to me?
171
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
Byerly:
Triest:
I will. When?
Whenever you feel like it.
If you want to find them, you can dig them out.
Little Voice of Haikul
Have you read The
I haven't. So they come out as poems, they have to have a certain
number of syllables, and there's kind of a blueprint for how to
construct one, such as seasons and what else?
It's the season normally, and the point you're making. Haiku is
one of the shortest poetical forms known, for instance.
[Looking at a description of a haiku] Oh, it's a one-line poem
having three parts of five, seven, and five syllables. [Reading]
"Must bring to the conception that each emotion is a single,
indivisible, perfect thing, the momentary essence of which can
only be expressed by a few significant words... the
interrelationship between the decorative and emotional value of
brushstroke in a poem..." It's a written picture. A picture
poem. It's an interesting concept. So do you have a one-line
poem?
Sure. Shall I read them to you?
If you would like.
Well, I can read you one and you'll get the idea.
The magic mountain
Bluer still through golden clouds
Of floating pollen.
Burlingame 1919 .
lithograph. Belle Zabin and Ivan Rainer collection.
"This was drawn for my mother. She didn't particularly enjoy the work I was
doing and I felt she was entitled to something pleasant after all the nuisance
of rearing me. Happily, she did like it."
Untitled, lithograph.
The Last Balloon. 1930s, lithograplu
Sara Triest collection.
499-27th Ave. . 1930s, lithograph. Belle Zabin and Ivan Rainer collection.
"This revolutionary person found the Podesta home and manners to be
bourgeois. The judgment is expressed here by grease pencil demolition, but
saving some of the Legion of Honor, the piano (which was never actually
there) and Playland."
Death By Water. 1930s, lithograph. Belle Zabin and Ivan Rainer
collection.
"Death By Water was suggested by the T. S. Eliot poem. Podesta
posed for it."
Untitled, 1940s, lithograph. Sara Triest collection.
The Difficulty of Thought f 1950s, lithograph, Sara Triest collection,
Birds in Rocks. 1950s, lithograph (premonition of
twins). Sara Triest collection.
"Birds in Rocks just is."
Mother + Child. 1960s, iron sculpture.
Sara Triest collection.
\ IS
1967 A.D. , lithograph. Belle Zabin and Ivan Rainer collection.
"This is, of course, napalm and Viet Nam."
Pave It Over . 1960s, lithograph. Sara Triest collection.
Japanese Street Vendor. Svuni-e brushwork.
Byerly collection.
Victoria
172
VIII JANE HAMNER BUCK: SOULMATE
[Interview 8: November 25, 1995] II
A Life-long Friend
Byerly: Can you say a little bit about Jane?
Triest: Jane was just my soulmate, best friend. And although we never
traveled political roads together, we had that best friend quality
that I've never been able to replace. Never found another one,
never found one before. And I'd be hard put to say what it was
that made our relationship so special. She had such daring and
such courage; it was waylaid by a woman's life of adapting to the
historical moment in which she found herself, and tripped her up
over and over and over. But it was in there, though, the
creativity, the drive, but then she never made a go of her art,
really. Jane was just very dear to me, all her children also, and
she had a good little bunch.
Byerly: Where did you meet her?
Triest: I met her through another friend in San Francisco when I was
living on Telegraph Hill.
Byerly: This was in the thirties? Forties?
Triest: Oh, I think it must have been the thirties.
Byerly: Oh, so she was a longtime friend. Was she an artist?
Triest: No. She had artistic and creative ability going on, but she never
could commit to her art.
Byerly: What was she doing?
173
Triest: Well, that's what I'm trying to describe. Like being mother and
housewife very active person in connection with cultural
interests and things of that sort.
Byerly: So was she in your circle of friends?
Triest: No, but I really don't know why. I mean, she was tangential; it's
not that they never passed tracks, but it never had any substance
for some reason. My path led me off in other directions than Jane
so we didn't share any of the political meetings or activities
connected with art. We were never doing those things together,
but it didn't make any difference; the nature of our relationship
was close. And I don't know what it was made up of; it just was.
We had a lot of attitudes that were different, but at the same
time, we were best friends. We were really there for each other
in the sense of companionship.
Byerly: So you shared what was in your heart with her, and the dismays and
the disappointments and the joys?
Triest: Yes, that's it. She had cancer, and she died in 1974, I think.
Or maybe it was later than that.
Byerly: Did you stay in touch with her your whole life?
Triest: No. She was a couple of years younger than I. From the time we
met, we were in touch until she died. And since then it's like
she left me all alone, because I've not had that kind of closeness
again. Her children were marvelously good to me. Quite
wonderful, really. As though I didn't have enough children at
home. [laughter] But I loved them very dearly, and it's Jane
that keeps going still.
Leaving Frank
Byerly: So Jane was the one that helped you make the decision to leave
Frank when you needed to do that.
Triest: The decision was there, but the capacity
Byerly: You had already made up your mind to leave. Can you tell me that
story?
Triest: I don't think it's a story. Whatever energy I had to go into it,
you know, through the attempts to realize that his relationship
with Gurdjieff meant a great deal to him. And then when this went
174
so far afield for me and just what was going on then, it was
flattening me out tremendously so that I was physically losing it.
And it was true that I couldn't leave him myself. Just physically
couldn't do it. And I wanted to do. I mean, by then I thought
this is foolishness.
Byerly: You had lost a lot of weight?
Triest: Oh, yeah, it was really a downhill business where I lost a
tremendous amount of weight and a great deal of energy too. And
then one of our sons, he was a professional motorcycle rider, and
he had run into a race track wall while racing and was not
expected to live for a number of days. It was more than an
emergency; it was a very big event for him, and it certainly was
for me, because that piece was in that area too. So we had to
come home, we had to move all the house around so that he could be
quartered there, which was, I think a minimum of eight months.
That was a very severe period.
Byerly: So you kind of had to stay there to take care of him.
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: Until he got well enough?
Triest: Well, hardly well enough, because he had a series of operations
and a further accident compounding the difficulty.
Byerly: You mean he got back on the motorcycle and had another accident on
the motorcycle?
Triest: No, he was going to see the doctor in Gardena, and there was a
gross automobile accident on the road. Wheelchair and all all
over the road. The other person was just barely scratched, and
Carl was redamaged. So it was serious.
Byerly: You mentioned in a conversation when the tape recorder was turned
off that Jane had a medium?
Triest: Yes, she liked all those things, and he was pretty good. I always
felt I could tell if he didn't have it, he'd keep on talking
anyway. But I really felt that I could know if he was softshoeing
it and when he was really on. When he was on, I thought he was
very, very good. Told me things and I'd say, "How do you know
that?!"
Byerly: He would know things about yourself?
Triest: Yes. She had quite a long contact with him.
175
Byerly: She brought you there because
Triest: Because she didn't like the way I lived. She would say that if I
didn't get out I would just dissolve into nothing.
Top: Jane Hamner Buck with her children on the Barge in
Sausalito, 1950s. Bottom: Driftwood Sculpture by Jane
Hamner Buck, circa late 1960s.
Above: Still Life by Jane Hamner Buck.
At right: Driftwood sculpture by Jane
Hamner Buck.
176
IX WOODACRE: AM INDEPENDENT LIFE, AT LAST
Roger and Keiko Keyes
Byerly: You were in your late fifties.
Triest: I think so. And then I was with her in Fairfax for a number of
months and then moved to Roger and Keiko Keyes', where I had the
room built in the garage, and that brings me almost up to here.
Keiko had been born in Japan and met Roger who was in school
there when they were really high-school age, and had a long life
together. She didn't die until 1989. They were marvelous career
people who did what they did with a tremendous amount of
expertise, in conservation of paper and restoration. Just a whole
great big world in there. But separately they worked hard. And
they saw a great deal of their daughter because she was eight when
I moved there. And she's thirty-one now. So I knew her well over
a long period of time.
Byerly: What were those years like?
Triest: They were marvelous in the sense that I was alone at last, whereas
all the rest of my life I had been living with someone else where
I was never first banana. So the luxury of this was tremendous.
And there was also a tremendous amount of anxiety financially, and
things of that sort. But 1 was satisfied enough and then I was
always finding something I've wanted to do artistically. Then I
came across this Sumi-e, which was very satisfying; it lasted me
for several years so far as taking care of my heart goes . And
Frank's period in the city was excellent; I don't think he was
everwell, happier would be a funny term, but I don't think he
ever came quite so close in all that time to satisfying his
restless inner desires. He never would have done any of that if
we had remained together; I think we just he wanted to dominate
me. Maybe I was too rebellious, although I kind of doubt it.
177
Instead of doing this, we maintained our relationship that
incorporated regular time with the children and seeing one another
and spending weekends together. However difficult, I came out of
it feeling very much as though, however torturous, that something
of very permanent value had come of the relationship for each of
us. I don't know how it could possibly have been visible from the
outside, but I know that he knew it and I knew it. And I consider
it a tremendous achievement, actually.
Frank Finds Himself As Actor
Byerly: You say Frank got into acting?
Triest: Yes, it was a consequence of the period in the Gurdjieff Society
where they had a time where everyone, I think pretty much anyone,
who still belonged to the groupthe groups had comings-in and
goings -out, and then they would have these projects where
everybody would be involved. And one of them turned out to be
theater, and then when that stopped for Frank, he nevertheless
went on with little theater, and whatever he could get out of
voiceovers and so on, but it just became that life for him.
Byerly: Did he stay in the Gurdjieff group the rest of his life, or--
Triest: No, somewhere along the line he got thrown out, which was a very
big thing; practically everybody got thrown out somewhere along
the line. And he was one of them, and he always was a kind of a
Don Quixote who would go out and attack very large windmills. He
loved to be second banana to someone he thought was good for him,
or someone whom he admired- -like his relationship to Kenneth that
lasted a long time. But then he would always attack this person
as a kind of necessity for him to round out his way of seeing
things .
Frank's Death
Byerly: So when did Frank die?
Triest: In 1987.
Byerly: Up until that time you two maintained a distant, but consistent
relationship?
178
Triest: It wasn't very distant; it was always underfoot somehow.
Byerly: Just lived separately?
Triest: Yes.
Byerly: And you think that freed you up.
Triest: Oh, definitely. He would 've been glad to have me come back
because he got really tired of keeping house for himself, which I
understood.
Byerly: Yes, I understand that. I get tired of keeping house for myself
[laughter] .
Triest: Yes, I'd like to have a Japanese wife, too [chuckle].
Byerly: I was just thinking that today--! need a wife. Everybody needs a
wife.
Triest: Yes, right, exactly. All the way from the telephone bill to
getting gas in the car. Some get them.
Byerly: Yeah. Not many women get wives, though. After you left Frank,
your relationship with Jane continued, right?
Triest: Yes.
Jane's Death
Byerly: And when did Jane die?
Triest: I don't want to say now until I get enough silence to get it
right. It would have to have been '74. My mother died in '76,
and it was a couple of years before that. It couldn't have been
in the early eighties.
Byerly: So it was right after you left Frank?
Triest: Sort of. I mean, close enough. She was ill then; she had a lot
of the comings and goings that cancer provides.
179
X FINAL THOUGHTS
Byerly: Well, is there anything else you want to say?
Triest: Not so much. I think it was just an absolutely fantastic life,
and I wouldn't swap it with anyone. Through all the miseries and
tragedies and inconveniences and really desperate situations, I
thought it was marvelous. I wouldn't swap it with anyone. And I
think that's my feeling about it, and even in this last period it
somehow has led to a tremendous amount of contentment, which is a
state of mind that I find comfortable. I'm not in an uproar, and
heaven knows I've spent a great deal of time, regrettably, in an
uproar. So I'm very glad to have children and have them close
enough by, or to be in close enough contact so that it's a vital
part of my life. And I know many people, later on, where they get
into very funny relationships with their children. They become
alienated and lose contact or have one of these cement contracts
where you keep your posture and I'll keep mine, and I'm very happy
not to have myself in that spot.
Byerly: You seem to have been a good mom.
Triest: I don't know if--I can think of many, many ways that I could have
been a better mom, sure. But it's just that I love them very
much, and want to be able- -without interfering, which I really
never want to do with their lives to see how they come along
through it, and through all of their varied difficulties.
Byerly: What about your art?
Triest: If I want, I can be very, very, very regretful that I spent all
kinds of time in my life on one kind of emotional uproar or
another that could have been spent on art. I really never take
time on roads not taken. I can think how the times I set out for
New York and never made it, and I know there would have been many
other choices and directions, but really, not in any way, do I
regret the choicesthey're fine.
180
Byerly: It's a trade-off sometimes, you know? You have wonderful
children, you have a wonderful family, you've maintained a healthy
relationship with them, and you didn't get to go to New York. If
you had gone to New York, something would have had to give
somewhere.
Triest: Of course.
Byerly: In your next life you can go to New York [laughter].
Triest: Maybe. Might go to Tibet.
Byerly: Tibet [laughter). That's where you're going in your next life,
huh? Tibet?
Triest: I don't know, I'm not terribly concerned about that right now
[laughter]. I think you've done very well with this sort of
disorderly existence; it's up to you to put it in some kind of
shape [inaudible].
Byerly: Yes, I'm ready to do that. And I don't think it's been that
disorderly. I mean, you lived a really exciting life.
Triest: It was the historical period.
Byerly: And it was on the cutting edge a lot of the time, and it was full
of art, poetry, romance, and an engagement in history. You had
three husbands, and children, and art, and- -it was great.
Triest: A pretty full life.
Byerly: It was very, very full. And so much of what you experienced has
been influential in my lifeso influential in my life that it's
hard to realize that you're forty years older than me.
Triest: Why?
Byerly: Because when the poetry of the beats influenced my life it was a
new thing. It was a fresh breath of air in the middle of the
stuffy horribly repressed fifties. And your life and its history
with Kenneth Rexroth and others precipitated all that.
Triest: Yes. Jane used to say, "Shirley, we were the first wave."
Transcribers: Shannon Page, Gary Varney
Final Typist: Shana Chen
Regional Oral History Office University of California
The Bancroft Library Berkeley, California
AN INTERVIEW WITH IVAN RAINER AND BELLE ZABIN
Interview Conducted by
Victoria Morris Byerly
in 1995
INTERVIEW HI STORY --Be lie Zabin and Ivan Rainer
Belle Zabin and Ivan Rainer knew Shirley Staschen and Frank Triest
since they were young adults in the 1940s, and it is clear from this
interview that they looked to Frank and Shirley as role models within their
circle of San Francisco anarchist friends. And, they remained close to
Frank and Shirley throughout their lives. Their daughters became and
remain best friends. As a result, this interview offers an intimate view
of Shirley Triest over several decadesfrom the forties to the nineties.
Special emphasis here is on her associations with San Francisco anarchists,
her art, and her personal life with Frank Triest.
Belle Zabin is an engaging person possessing an enviable combination
of a gentle nature, a strong feminist sensibility, and a sensitivity to the
needs of others. Ivan is intense and candid. Our interview took place
around their dining room table shortly after the memorial service for
Shirley Triest in December, 1995. Three Triest oil paintings graced the
walls in the dining room and four Triest lithographs led the eye up the
staircase in the adjoining foyer. In their living room there was a
collection of paintings by other friends, a baby grand piano, an assortment
of interesting furniture including a particularly unusual overstuffed
velvet chaise lounge, and photos of Ivan's famous sister, dancer,
choreographer, and filmmaker Yvonne Rainer. Before the interview Ivan
served an impressive brunch of crumpets, espresso, and omelettes with
portobello mushrooms served on fine china and a linen tablecloth.
When we settled down to the interview, Belle and Ivan modeled both
the deep personal connection and that fragile balance between irritation
and tolerance that comes from living together for half a century. As
recorded here in the transcript, they frequently anticipated each other's
thoughts by finishing sentences the other one started, and Belle often
cautioned Ivan, "No, don't tell that story," before he had even started it.
This transcript is very close to the tape-recorded version, with very
little editing.
Victoria Byerly
Interviewer /Editor
August 1997
San Francisco
Regional Oral History Office
Room 486 The Bancroft Library
University of California
Berkeley, California 94720
BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION
(Please write clearly. Use black ink.)
Your full name
Date of birth Birthplace /SrOO/</V*1 . Af
Father's full name
Occupation
*Z.3 Pt
Birthplace A_U.5S><
Mother's full name
Occupation
Your spouse {
Birthplace
Occupation C QV~QJ2jv\,\~ Birthplace [.
Your children K,(jjH^\
Where did you grow up? QK~GO/<C / V
Present community_l_J^-A/~~ r-&J('G-JU
Education
Occupation(s) ^ ! \JJ
Areas of expertise /
/
Other interests or activities
Organizations In which you are active
Regional Oral History Office University of California
Room 486 The Bancroft Library Berkeley, California 94720
BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION
(Please write clearly. Use black ink.)
Your full name l^AM E"' fc/U KJ E R.
Date of birth |
/( 1
/3l Birthplace
Father's full name JftSEPK
Occupation PcU nTfe/T Birthplace J-Ta4 U
Mother's full name J Er A.K) &Ei TTr
Occupation UjQ U.f> g^V^J L-f .
_Birthplace ^t^O (cf <J \s\
Your spouse BELLE
Occupation ^t?^ 3 \^QrCO^ ^ Birthplace
Your children
Where did you grow up?
Present community S-g^T (CeJ y
/
Education j
Occupation(s)
Areas of expertise
Other interests or activities U
Organizations in which you are active V
/
LD(A.
181
XI AN INTERVIEW WITH IVAN RAINER AND BELLE ZABIN
[Date of Interview: December 16, 1995] ti
The Workmen's Circle
Zabin: I remember meeting Frank and Shirley, and I think it was 1948 but
it could have been a little earlier. This was in the Workmen's
Circle on Steiner and Golden Gate Avenue. It's a large building,
a socialist, educational, whatever, groupthat rented out halls
to people to have meetings there. I came there with a friend who
knew that I was interested in meeting other radicals and artists.
The meetings I went to were held every Friday night, and they were
held by an anarchist circle, a group led by Kenneth Rexroth. But
there was no real leader; it was Rexroth 's charisma, perhaps, that
brought poets, artists, like-minded people together. At that
time, it was still close to the end of the war and the group of
people who were coming to the meetings were people who had been in
prison and in campsthese were conscientious objectors. Many of
them were terribly talented people: writers, poets, and artists
who had continued to do political work. This was San Francisco
and so the people who came were from Walport and other CO prisons
on the West Coast .
Although the name of Kenneth Rexroth was
prominent, there were also Robert Duncan and Ronnie Bladen--a
wonderful painter who went to New York and became a sculptor- -
gosh, I have to remember who else was there. And then there were
the anarchists who were mostly Italian anarchists in the Bay Area,
and these were older people. So the mix was wonderful.
And at one of these early Friday nights, I noticed this
terribly interesting couple, I must say probably the most
beautiful people I have ever seen, even now. And Shirley was
sitting with Frank. Shirley was dressed in a tweed coat--I can't
remember the name of the people who designed it in San Francisco,
but it's a very important labelvery simple but very elegant, and
Frank was wearing a black tee shirt and black pants. They looked
182
Byerly:
Zabin:
not only dramatic but they looked as if they were very important
people. This was just an introduction; I can't remember speaking
to them in great detail, but we ended up all going to a jazz club
on Third Street and listening to George Lewis. We used to go
there frequently. People partied a lot, and we partied at the
hall as well. I have to say that all the people there were
beautiful, but Shirley and Frank stood out.
At this point, Shirley was pregnant with Carl though her
pregnancy was not quite noticeable, so this has to be--
'47?
Yes. I continued to see them and didn't really know them that
well until, I think, Ivan, you and I got together, so there's that
whole period that you need to talk about.
Shirley and Frank in Duncans Mills
Rainer: My recollection of Frank and Shirley starts a few years later than
that. I was somewhat younger, and my first meetings with them
were not at the Workmen's Circle group.
When I was about nineteen, my parents had a country home in
Camp Meeker, which was just up the Bohemian Highway from Duncans
Mills, where they had settled in. I'm not sure where they lived
before that.
Zabin: They didn't. Frank lived in Duncans Mills when he and Shirley got
together.
Rainer: Then Shirley moved in with Frank. They had a kind of cabin.
Zabin: It's a beautiful house, Ivan.
Rainer: Today Duncans Mills is quite developed; there are framing shops
and coffeehouses, and it's a lovely tourist place but not too
touristy. But then, it was a wonderful place to visit; you could
just go up and stay for a day and then you go back. You didn't go
up in the wintertime because the winters were absolutely dreary.
I can't imagine why anybody would want to live there. And that's
where Carl was born, in Duncans Mills. And so were Lawrence and
Sara.
Zabin: They went to L.A. for a weekend or they went someplace and they
needed someone to stay in their house, and I volunteered to stay
183
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer:
Byerly:
there. I stayed there with a friend. And I found the house
absolutely beautiful. It was simple, it had no amenities, but the
rooms were very well-proportioned. The light came in at important
times and the quiet was wonderful. It was surrounded by the most
beautiful meadow I have ever seen and there were sheep grazing
there. And Frank and Shirley went for a walk every New Year's Day
because the sheep were
Being sheared.
No! They were just being born. So, I was there then.
Carl. Carl was such a beautiful baby.
I remember
My first visit, by bicycle, from the Bay Area was like a
pilgrimage. I was a young man and I had never met adults before
who would talk to me on my own level and were utterly accepting,
unchallenging, kind. I can truthfully say they were a little like
foster parents to me. I spent some of the important years of my
life in a foster home, though my parents were very kind-
Foster home? It wasn'tit was a boarding school.
Boarding school. I always say that but, you know, it was a little
like a foster home.
Ivan. It was nothing like it.
I think that there was a pattern in my life at that time, in my
late teensalso with other people in the anarchist movement-- in
which I had a strong attachment to people who were ten to fifteen
years older than I was. When I came to Duncans Mills, the first
thing I remember doing and I think this was after the twins were
born was staying in the house so Frank and Shirley could take a
walk. That's the only way they could get out and just go for a
walk together. I think there were hardly even any neighbors.
There was the post office, the grocery store, and Lewis Hill. Lew
Hill had an adjoining house.
So Ivan, you were a part of this anarchist's circle also before
you met Shirley and Frank?
San Francisco Anarchists
Rainer: I was a part in this sense: when people from the resistance group
in New York, which included Audrey Goodfriend and Dave Koven,
finally emigrated to the West Coast and started discussion groups
184
with the aim of sharing their views and also contributing to
periodicals, they became very strongly connected with an existing
anarchist group which was composed entirely of native Italians,
one of whom was my father. And these people got along well. In
fact, if you could use the term without too much imputation of
racialism, there was a good deal of intermarriage between the
Italians and the Jews. I had this kind of double bond through my
father and his Italian friends, and then these wonderful people
from New York who all treated me with more respect than I think
any callow teenager has a right to expect. So in spite of all the
subsequent events nothing I suffered from, but what I witnessed
in terms of broken marriages and things like that- -all these
people treated me with the utmost kindness.
Zabin: And there is a thread that I want to bring back, and bring it back
because Frank and Shirley were part of this. The anarchist group
were the most directly humane people and respectful individuals of
any people I met as part of a group. There was a real respect for
the individual and what seemed to me a harmony, of course, it was
not harmonious, but there seemed to me to be a harmony and an
acceptance, so that even though there was some friction between
the artists and the anarchists, it was just really hardly anything
until the people from New York came. In some crazy way this
threatened Kenneth who was, I think, a wonderful poet, but they
were in disagreement. Kenneth's wife, Marie, was there, part of
the group, and this is a person who was very close also to Frank
and Shirley.
Byerly: So what nature did that disagreement take?
Zabin: I think it had to do with--God knows. How did the conflict
emerge? Frank and Shirley stayed above it.
Rainer: I was really on the periphery of that. I was blissfully unaware
of the original nature of the discussion groups at Golden Gate and
Steiner, which were primarily literary under the guidance of
Rexroth. And then when the radicals from the East came--
Zabin: And they also continued in Rexroth' s home. A bountiful host. An
absolutely welcoming person.
Rainer: But it didn't become entirely political, because there was an
effort to--
Zabin; You really want to know about this period, huh?
Byerly: Yes.
Zabin: Yes.
185
Rainer: There was a strong effort each week to enlist speakers from not
merely doctrinaire political points of view, but literary as well,
Robert Duncan spoke there and other poets, and--
Zabin: Paul Goodman.
Rainer: Yes, Paul Goodman, although--
Zabin: Don't tell that story!
Paul Goodman
Zabin: About Paul Goodman? There's nothing wrong with that; Paul
wouldn't mind. This is entirely a peripheral thing
Rainer: Paul came out one time and talked with the group and told all the
Italian anarchists that they were mentally ill, or something like
that [laughter]. But, on the other hand, that was part of Paul's
careernot to favor anybody. But that's by-the-by.
Zabin: Oh, I thought you were going to tell the Robert Duncan/Paul
Goodman story. That one's all right.
Rainer: I don't remember that one.
Zabin: Oh, it was just about a lover. One we don't need to discuss.
Rainer: That is nothing that would offend Shirley, though.
Marie and Kenneth Rexroth
Zabin: Frank and Shirley were very close to Marie and Kenneth. The
closest friends. And Shirley could always see Kenneth separately,
be highly critical of him, and this constructive critical quality
ran throughout Shirley's life: she could be absolutely critical;
she could see problems that people have, while there was that
other side of her which was completely accepting. To me, she
provided a model that was an example of excellent mentorship.
Byerly: A mentorship for you?
Zabin: Yes.
186
Shirley Triest's Personality
Rainer: This leads us into what I'm most interested in, which is Shirley
and the kind of person Shirley was. Shirley could be quite acid
in describing people. Maybe acid is too strong a word
plainspoken, very plainspoken. But underneath, though- -
Zabin: There was no animosity. Absolutely none.
Rainer: No, no bitterness. She never outright rejected people, and the
thing to remember is Shirley was a lady. Shirley was a lady in
the old-fashioned sense, and that meant that to people's faces, it
wasn't that she was two-faced, but she did what a lady does, which
is to be hospitable and to be decent. Not polite, because polite
suggests artifice but to behave herself.
Zabin: Yes, very decent. And I could give you a story- -it has nothing to
do with Shirley- -which will illustrate what I was talking about,
and being a lady, manners, whatever.
Rainer: That's in Bunuel's little autobiography, where he says at one
point, "It doesn't matter whether you have the Oedipus complex
running around in your head, it's no excuse not to behave yourself
at the dinner table." And that's what Shirley was like. From
today's feminist point of view, she possibly could be considered
an Uncle Tom, but in a very deep way, though, she always stood up
for herself and for her own needs.
Zabin: Oh, Ivan, don't say that.
Rainer: She was one of these legions and legions of women- -first of all, I
must acknowledge my own incompetence at judging women or even
describing thembut I still feel she was among these legions of
women who were feminists long before feminism began. She had
tremendous self-respect; you could even see it in her physically.
That's the most wonderful thing about her, which we have all seen.
Dignity is a good word for it.
Zabin: I would say, Ivan, that she worked on that, she became that.
Rainer: Did you see her before?
Zabin: Of course. Ivan, you've forgotten a piece of history.
Rainer: Well, now's the time to re-discover it.
Zabin: Just now I remembered, and I think it's terribly important.
Around the period of the late forties or fifties, there is a piece
187
of history that involved the whole Lawrentian thing. Do you know
Lawrence's attitude to women? You must know. That's what was
happening .
Byerly: Can you say something about it?
Zabin: Yes, well, what can I say?
Lawrentian Women
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer:
People did describe themselves as Lawrentians, which was funny,
reminded me of geology.
The men were at the dinner table waiting to be served, because
serving was women's role, and passions were everything. Sexual
passions.
And women were put on a pedestal and trod on at the same time.
That's exactly right.
Quite an athletic feat, but Shirley managed it.
And Shirley was part of that, absolutely part of it, and got
herself out by her own two feet, and 1 hadn't had a chance to talk
to her in regards to that but that's what she did.
So now is the time to tell you a little story which I heard from
Shirley the next to last time I visited her. I don't think I will
have any reason to excise but maybe someone else may feel that
it's a little too sensitive. 1 think it's a good story, though.
Go ahead.
Frank and Kenneth were talking- -Kenneth was visiting him when they
were living in Sebastopol, where they moved to a wonderful large
farmhouse. There were always people there- -they had a large
family and there were always guests. Some people ate breakfast at
seven o'clock, some ten, then there was lunch, and Shirley was in
the kitchen all day long.
She wasn't in the morning,
made the scrambled eggs.
She slept in the morning, and Frank
Oh, well, Shirley told me that breakfast would be all morning
long. Anyway, Kenneth was visiting, and he and Frank were sitting
188
Zabin:
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer :
Zabin:
Rainer:
Zabin:
Byerly:
Rainer:
at the kitchen table. I think they were having "man talk."
Shirley was at the counter. She was chopping cabbage for cole
slaw for lunch. Frank turned and said, "Can't you stop that
noise?" Kenneth said, "Let the bitch chop."
Couldn't believe it.
Everyone I told that story to reacted with shock,
kind of casual way that women were treated.
But this is the
And they were also treated with great poetry and put on pedestals.
The pedestal and the doormat way of treating women.
When I think that this was my model of womanhood, I am glad I was
too young to really integrate it.
What I would like to do in my own account, though I think this is
the last time that I will want to talk about Shirley in relation
to Frank because it really isn't fair. For the purposes of this
interview, I don't want to be bring Frank up--as I say, that's the
last time I'll do it--as a bad example of the old-fashioned man.
This is not about Frank.
Well, Kenneth was that way and Kenneth was Frank's model.
Was this philosophy of womanhood prevalent just in the Rexroth
circle or the anarchist circle? I mean, was this a political
thing or was it more a literary thing?
Literary. Well, the anarchists had the example of Emma Goldman
who didn't take any shit from anybody [laughter].
Zabin: Right, right, and Emma Goldman's very important to the anarchists.
But what happened was what always happens in a family: children
are brought up the way their parents were brought up. And these
anarchists had very indifferent, cruel childhoods. So they
brought up their children in a more authoritarian way. Some did
more, of course. When they were older, they were more laissez-
faire, but for the most part children were brought up just the way
other children were brought up.
Rainer: The anarchists were quite normal people.
Zabin: These were people who lived with ideals and by ideals.
189
San Francisco Anarchist Ideals
Byerly: Can we talk a little bit about ideals of the anarchists? I know
Shirley describes herself as a pacifist-anarchist and artist. And
I know it was a very important part of who she was, and I think
people are confused about anarchism in this country. So what were
the anarchists about?
Zabin: Yes, well, 1 think you need to say there are two types of
anarchists. Now, I'm not an authority- -when you speak to Audrey
Goodfriend, she is. So you'll get a lot more from her.
Byerly: I will. We were talking about the ideals of the San Francisco
pacifist-anarchists and how they differed with syndicalists and
other left groups.
Zabin: Well, Ivan, I'll let you talk; you know more about anarchism than
I do.
Rainer: Now, I have to try to keep Shirley in mind, because this is about
Shirley.
The Communist Party
Byerly: Yes, but what was the entry of the anarchist movement here in San
Francisco? I mean, Kenneth Rexroth at one point, I believe, was
in the Communist party.
Rainer: Yes.
Zabin: He must have been, the way people were in the early thirties.
Back then everyone involved with radical politics was in the
Communist party.
Byerly: Yes, I think Frank was.
Zabin: Yes, in the early thirties; it didn't mean anything by the time we
got to know him in the late forties, because they had abandoned
all that.
Rainer: Well, the important thing about who was in the Communist party and
who wasn't was not even so much whether you were in or not, but
when you had the sense to get out. If you hung on through the
thirties and through the Stalinist atrocities and so forth, it
would mean that you were pretty much a goner as far as any realism
190
went. I think that Kenneth and Frank probably got disillusioned
pretty early with the CP as an agency of social change.
Byerly: Did they initiate the anarchist movement in San Francisco?
Zabin: No.
Early Italian Anarchists; Voting. Marriage. Free Love. Religion
Rainer: The Italians were holding gatherings which they called festas to
support Italian language anarchist newspapers. I think their
activities were mainly social; I don't think they published a
newspaper themselves.
Zabin: They were only social, and they've never had any activities except
to support political newspapers. They were really anti-political;
they really did not believe in the political process.
Rainer: My parents didn't believe in voting because that was just another
way of legitimizing and supporting the state. And I think the
first and only time my parents voted was when Franklin Roosevelt
was running for a fourth term. They finally voted to try to deny
him the fourth term.
Zabin: His parents weren't married until Ivan and Yvonne were--how old
were you?
Rainer: Yvonne, my baby sister, was one year, I think, and I was five.
Byerly: Why did they delay marriage?
Zabin: All the anarchists did that.
Rainer: They didn't feel that they needed their union to be legitimatized
by, again, the state or by laws.
Zabin: That was the crucial thing.
Byerly: So they felt that they had a covenant with one another, so to
speak, but they didn't feel a need to have it legitimized by the
state? It wasn't that they were with this one and that one; they
weren't "free lovers"?
Zabin: Oh, no.
Rainer: "Free love" was something else.
191
Byerly: Free love was a strain in the San Francisco anarchist group,
wasn't it?
Zabin: In Emma Goldman's time. But these people were terribly straight.
Or, maybe they weren't and I didn't know it.
Byerly: They weren't terribly straight if they were anarchists, were they?
Rainer: That's a different thing.
Zabin: So they never took jobs in government. They never took what was
called "pie card" jobs, you know, where you'd work for union and
business.
Rainer: A "pie card" is a sinecure primarily in the union. Like being a
shop steward or a business agent or something like that.
Zabin: They did things like landscaping, they were hod carriers.
Rainer: But then a few of them were insurance brokers also.
Zabin: That's true.
Rainer: My father was a painter and when he had children he realized he
would have to do better. So, he started contracting, which in
those days was very easy. You didn't even need a license or
anything. This is a digression, but at one time I said to him,
"How can you be an anarchist and own property and exploit labor?"
and he scared the hell out of me. It was the angriest I've ever
seen him. He said, "You punk! You've made indigestion of
anarchism!" He was a decent man; he treated people humanely
without the assistance of religion or other exteriorly imposed
moralities, but he did what he felt was required to help us out.
Byerly: Were the anarchists anti-religion?
Zabin: Completely. That's how they started.
Rainer: My father- -and I think most of the other Italian anarchists was
what I would call a devout atheist.
Byerly: Do you feel that his anarchism was kind of a secular religion for
him?
Rainer: It was in this way: it was an ideal. I think he realized that it
was unattainable in this world or in this life. And in that
sense, it did have a connection with religion. The big difference
192
was, of course, the absence of the essential character in any
religion, which is, you know, that guy up there.
But getting back to Shirley, I think she was uninterested in
religion. I heard her mention it only once on one of my visits
during her last weeks. Her mother sent her to Sunday school when
she was a little girl and one day after church they had a visit
with the minister. Shirley asked him to explain a passage in the
Bible. He answered, "Little girl, you're too young to understand
that." Shirley said to me, "I never went back!"
One thing we should come to before we run out of tape is
Shirley and astrology.
Zabin: Well, we're not going to talk about that.
Shirley Triest as Astrologer
Rainer: Oh, I would like to because for me personally it's very important.
Being what I think of as a rationalist, I tend to ridicule
astrology. I don't waste any energy on it. I never even eat a
fortune cookie in Chinatown- -for one thing they're indigestible
and for another they're very bad writers. It's not even so much
that I feel constrained to deny the possibility of the planets
determining character--! 'm really not interested in it. Two
things have made my attitude toward this subject very, very
tentative. Number one, I looked into a handbook of astrology that
Shirley had; it was very scientific, all of the planetary
positions-- it was like astronomy, like a science. I read the
introduction which said that the association of human character
and personality with the planets, all that knowledge, is
empirical. It is not theoretical. It's not because Mars is red
and therefore you have a warlike character; it's the result of
accumulation over centuries and millennia of knowledge about when
a person is born and what kind of person he or she turns out to
be. Now, I'm sure that scientists would say that these records
could not have been consistent or reliable, but it made me more
tentative in my judgments.
The other big thing was knowing Shirley. Now, when you know
someone you love and respect highly, you're likely to be more
tolerant of that person's attitudes than if you had encountered
her in the street --somebody you don't know. How can I say
astrology is a lot of hogwash when this wonderful person took it
very seriously; and not only did she take it seriously, she worked
at it modestly. She never regarded herself as a professional and
193
she was embarrassed to charge a fee for drawing up a horoscope
chart. She would charge a very modest fee, if any at all. She
did charge something- -did you ever hear her describe herself as an
astrologer? Never. She didn't give herself any titleno sense
of professionalismbut she deeply believed in it. And when you
would say a child was like this or like that, Shirley would say,
"Oh, yes!" because she knew just when that child was born and had
it all keyed in. She knew the horoscope of every child that was
born. Well, what am I going to say to all that? I'm stumped. I
can't make a judgment.
Zabin: What's most important about astrology and Shirley is she used it
as the hook for her and this is just impressionistic the hook
for her to say what she understood about a person, and she
understood deeply, intuitively; she's had a lot of years of
experience with all kinds of people and she learned from all of
them. She learned from everybody. She learned from every
accident of communication or direct communication- -learned from
everything. And she believed that the heavens did have a place,
and I'm the type who will just say I don't know. I feel there's
an enormous amount of things we don't know that affect us, and I
really accept that. I never had my chart drawn up; I never did
with Shirley and she never asked me why. It was something we
didn't discuss that much. I did have Ivan's chart drawn up, so
she knew Ivan astrologically.
Rainer: Well, that's the big point here, that for Shirley, whatever our
attitudes about astrology were, she was deeply interested in our
characters, in our personalities. I don't think we knew anyone
who had a deeper interest in people and how they worked.
Zabin: Very profound. Not one to enlarge her own ego, not for one
moment. And that's why I think Shirley was a special person.
Rainer: Yes, we had never known anybody like that. We've never known
anyone who approached everyone on this basic level of this deep,
I'll say really profound, interest in how they worked.
Zabin: All kinds of people.
Rainer: I don't even have to put it terms of what sign they were. You
know, you meet somebody and say, What's your sign?
Zabin: No, she never did that.
Rainer: But to say that she was interested in people the word interest
just isn't strong enough. She saw them; she wanted to see them.
Zabin: Now, Shirley's talked to you about Fritz, hasn't she?
194
Byerly: Who was Fritz?
Zabin: She didn't talk to you about Fritz?
Byerly: I don't think so.
Fritz Gerstacher
Zabin:
Rainer:
Yes, she must have,
the thirties.
He's the man that was Shirley's friend since
Zabin:
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer :
Zabin:
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer :
He was her closest friend. Fritz Gerstacher was born at the turn
of the century in Munich, in Germany. He was in Germany through
the First World War, escaped military service by some wonderful
stroke of chance, and was a homosexual from birth. Fritz believed
that he was born that way. Fritz was a homosexual who was never
in the closet and so he never had to come out. Throughout his
life he had not the slightest fear of being himself. It wasn't
that he was ostentatious about it; he was just himself. Just as
much as we are.
Wonderful man, for me, in the same category as Shirley.
Fritz and Shirley are a part of our pantheon of sainted friends
who are now gone, because Fritz was Shirley's dearest friend and
greatest ally.
This is one of the threads we had between us, that we could talk
about .
It was a common thing.
And we talked about him throughout the years, and he died in '64.
Yes, in '64 he was murdered in Golden Gate Park. Never solved.
But here's an interesting thing: we all surmised that it was some
kind of sexual tryst, you know? Some violent homosexual
encounter. Shirley was the only one who said it wasn't
necessarily that way; it could have been just someone that he
picked up as a hitchhiker, who forced him to go there, and killed
him.
No, she said something more important.
What?
195
Zabin: She said Fritz didn't want to give him the money he asked for.
Fritz was going to give him the money they had decided on before
they had sex [laughter].
Rainer: So Shirley's explanation to you didn't deny a sexual basis to the
thing. Oh.
Zabin: Oh, no. And she did say that, too.
Rainer: She did say that to me.
Zabin: Right. No, I remember that, you're right. But I wanted to say
this, because this is, again, the practical. Even of someone she
loved deeply, Shirley could say, "That could happen to him."
There was always a very large homosexual community in San
Francisco. Very large. Who knows? Maybe I knew them all, you
know? [ laughter ]
Fritz was a restaurateur. At the City College, he led the
very first course on the West Coast on hotel and restaurant
management. Wonderfulthe best host I have ever, ever known.
And I've been in great houses and parties, but there was nobody
who could rival Fritz. He was head of the--
Rainer: The Hotel and Restaurant School at City College. He wasn't the
head of the school, but he was a teacher there.
Zabin: Head of the school.
Rainer: No, he wasn't the head of the school. But, that's minor.
Zabin: He also had restaurants.
Rainer: The thing that we want to concentrate on is Shirley and her
relationship to Fritz.
Zabin: Right. We really can't talk a great deal about it except that
they loved one another, really, and we loved Fritz too.
Byerly: Was he an anarchist?
Rainer: Oh, Fritz was possibly an anarchist. He was more a mystic.
Zabin: Benevolent.
Rainer: He was very deeply religious, but he didn't go to any church.
Zabin: He didn't scorn religion either.
196
Rainer: I would say that he had very strong leanings toward Christian
mysticism. Saint Teresa.
Zabin: But not someone--! want to emphasize who used words lightly. He
really was a very learned man, and read- -what were the important
things he read? I'm so sorry, I can't tell you now. It was a
mysticism of a certain kind; it was not Christian.
Byerly: So he was in the Rexroth circle?
Zabin: Oh, yes, a very dear friend of Rexroth' s.
Rainer: I met Fritz at the Workmen's Circle. The interesting thing-
getting back to Lawrentian womenis that Shirley and Marie
Rexroth, who became estranged from Kenneth but remained loyal to
him throughout the rest of his life, were both very loyal people.
Marie hung on a lot longer than Shirley.
Frank Triest's Reaction to His Separation with Shirley
Rainer:
Zabin:
Byerly:
Rainer:
Zabin:
Rainer:
When Shirley moved out of the Woolsey Street house, which was
their first and only house in Berkeley together, and moved to a
little apartment on Bonita right near here, Frank wanted her to
come back. Frank's way of getting her to come back was to go to
the house, which I suppose was unlocked at that time, grab all of
That '
s what a
her art work and take it back to Woolsey Street,
real man does .
You won't print this.
Shirley told me most of it.
Anyway, I was so shocked that I went over to Woolsey Street to
talk with Frank about it. I said, "Frank, what are you doing?"
And being somewhat timid, I didn't really attack him directly and
say, "That's an awful thing you've done." I went roundabout.
You're not that timid.
And Frank said, "Here we are talking about this like a couple of
cunts." I said, "But how can you force this?" And he said
something like, "That's what a man does." But it didn't work.
Shirley, from that point on, lived her own life. She visited
Frank in San Francisco, helped him, but wouldn't become part of
his life again. And he died alone.
197
Zabin: No, no. The children were very close, they Just weren't there.
Rainer: He died alone.
Zabin: The children were with him every day.
Rainer: Not when he died.
Zabin: Not when he died. Well, that's the way most people remember it.
Rainer: And I think now- -I never talked with Shirley about it, but I think
she didn't suffer guilt about it. I think she didn't have any
anguish. She wasn't sorry.
Zabin: I don't think Shirley had any guilt, Ivan.
Rainer: That's the interesting thing. I think she was free of it.
Fritz Gerstacher as Great San Francisco Host
Zabin: Fritz was an old friend, I guess from the thirties--! don't know
how they got to know one another.
Rainer: He used to call Shirley "Staschi."
Zabin: Well, that was her name, Staschen.
Rainer: Well, the interesting thing, and the reason I started talking
about Marie Rexroth, is that the most loyal friend, to my
knowledge, that both Shirley and Marie had was Fritz. Fritz was
absolutely loyal and supportive of both of them.
Zabin: And Fritz stood by her when she left Podesta, and that's the
important thing.
They were closest friends. So when Fritz died, I remember
Shirley crying so bitterly at the funeral. It was at the
Unitarian church. She had lost her best friend, her biggest
supporter.
Byerly: Shirley and Marie both?
Zabin: Yes. Are you sure that he wasn't mentioned in Shirley's
interview?
198
Byerly: She might have mentioned him, but she didn't detail her
relationship with him. This is the first I've heard of it. I
mean, this is why we do support interviews. Shirley may not have
included him because he was dead thirty years by the time we
talked.
Zabin: We always spoke about him; we kept him alive.
Rainer: I have a collection of letters from Fritz, and Shirley has her
collection.
Zabin: She gave you Fritz's ring, Ivan.
Rainer: That's right. This was something very dear that both of us had in
common, and we exchanged them once. She read my letters, and I
read hers. Fritz was a good writer.
Zabin: Excellent writer.
Rainer: His German always came through, so there were horrendous
misspellings.
Zabin: He was very well-known in San Francisco.
Byerly: Because of being a restaurateur?
Zabin: Yes. He knew people from his restaurants, but there were dinner
parties, and they wereeven by today's standardsthey were
wonderful.
Byerly: Was it like the soirees that Rexroth hosted?
Zabin: No, Rexroth was very simple; he was very poor. So you would get
spaghetti and you would get wine.
Byerly: Out of pots and pans.
Shirley Triest's Aesthetics
Zabin: Yes. But it was wonderful. Fritz, however, would have a grand
table set with linen and silver and gilt and the most beautiful
plates. I haven't said the important thing: I haven't said that
Shirley--! did tell you before how important Shirley's aesthetics
had been to me.
Byerly: No, you haven't.
199
Zabin: I don't think I ever told her how much I loved the little simple
house in Duncans Mills which was to me beautiful.
Byerly: She certainly had a eye. You could see that from everything in
the one room that she lived in in San Rafael.
Zabin: She kept clutter out of the way.
Byerly: Very ordered. In my poem to Shirley I say "a room of utter order"
because I went to her closet to get her lithographs and everything
was remarkably in its place. When I put them back, she wanted to
make sure that I had put them back exactly as I had found them.
Zabin: So maybe she was compulsive but it didn't get in the way.
Byerly: I don't really feel it was compulsive. She was getting things in
order at that time.
Zabin: She always lived that way.
Rainer: Before I forget, Victoria, I want to say that despite your
disclaimer as to being a poet, when you read at the memorial
gathering, I thought it was a beautiful poem. Poet or no poet.
Byerly: Thank you. I appreciate that.
Zabin: She's a writer, I've discovered.
Byerly: I'm excited that people like my poem.
Zabin: And not just because it was just rightit was a good poem.
Byerly: Thanks. It was inspired by Shirley.
Zabin: Also, Shirley's children are just that much older than ours, so
how Shirley and Frank brought up their children was my model. And
that may not be so interesting, but very important to me. A model
for childrearing--for infancy, I should say; after that we all
didn't have any models. I remember, this was Frank's idea, Carl
was given everything he could possibly need in terms of nurturing
and love, and then he was left in his room. This was a theory of
childrearing. Audrey Goodfriend also did that with her children.
And I did that with my daughter, but by the time my son was born,
I decided that wasn't right.
Byerly: What was the rationale?
Zabin: To learn to do things on their own, and it really is true for my
daughter. Her focusing and following through is very good. Carl
200
may be that way. But I think it's also a deprivation but I didn't
see that then. That didn't mean that they were left for hours.
No more than one hour.
Byerly: And where did this notion come from?
Zabin: I can't remember.
Rainer: And we don't know whether it had any definite literary or
philosophical antecedents. But going back a little bit to your
mention of Shirley and this order that she had, here's a funny
contrast: a phrase that Frank used to repeat, a favorite motto, "A
place for everything and everything in its place." When Frank
died, he left an apartment that was a dump. There were papers,
unassorted, stacked from here to there. I went over with Shirley,
her first visit after he died, and it was just piled with stacks
of newspapers and clutter.
Marie and Kenneth and Shirley and Frank it
Zabin: Shirley's memory was very good, although I'm sure she would demur.
There was never any of this hesitation that we have, Ivan, right?
[laughter] I'm just joking around. Yes, marvelous memory; sharp
as a tack. Didn't ramble.
Byerly: You had mentioned that Marie Rexroth was friends with her and that
there was some tension there.
Zabin: It was a complicated relationship, but I never inquired. I had my
ideas but I don't think that's relevant.
Byerly: I know Shirley had a brief affair with Kenneth.
Zabin: Oh, I didn't know that.
Byerly: I didn't even ask; she volunteered it.
Zabin: And I thought Marie had a brief affair with Frank.
Byerly: Well, that might have happened too.
Rainer: She did, yes.
Zabin: She did, didn't she? That's what did it. I don't think that
Shirley's having an affair with Kenneth would- -Marie was much more
201
generous to the Triests than they were to her. She was a
wonderful lady.
Rainer: Generousloyal is the term for it. You could do a whole
documentary on Marie. In her own way, just an extraordinary
person.
Byerly: Yes, I think someone said that at the Kenneth Rexroth memorial.
Zabin: Really? Who said that?
Byerly: It was the civil liberties lawyer, the civil liberties union
lawyer who defended a lot of the Beat poets. Or maybe it was
Lawrence Ferlinghetti who said it.
Zabin: It could have been Lawrence.
Rainer: Now why they made funny little remarks about Marie, I don't know,
and I'm interested- -yes, Marie could be a butt for Frank and
Shirley. I'm not sure why now- -Frank and Shirley were in two
completely different categories when it came to that. Frank would
tell stories showing Marie to be naive or ridiculous or something.
Shirley wouldn't do that; it was just part of Shirley's general,
rather realistic way of looking at people. Not malicious, not
gossipy, but matter-of-fact.
Byerly: She was not a literary person, Marie?
Zabin: Marie? Very literary, indeed she was. She wasn't just a simple
nurse.
Byerly: She was? I didn't get that in the biography of Rexroth, that she
was a literary person. I got that she was a nurse and very good
at it, she taught, and she supported Rexroth. And when she left
Rexroth, he had a terrible time.
Rainer: She supported him financially and morally and emotionally.
Zabin: She was the woman who said to me, "Well, now that I have all the
hosiery I need, I'd rather walk around with runs in my stockings
and live with Kenneth."
Oh, indeed she was literary, indeed she was. Read all the
time and wrote poetry--! don't know if it was good poetry but she
read all the time and read some heavy stuff. But I think the word
"feminist" would not be acceptable.
Byerly: Because she did so much taking care of Kenneth?
202
Zabin: Marie and many people around the circle have strong feelings about
putting things in boxes too, you know? This is the way one should
be. They were Lawrentian women- -what can I tell you? [laughter]
Yes, D. H. Lawrence was really more for Marie, wouldn't you say,
than for Shirley?
Rainer: I remember a phrase that Fritz used to use, but not because he
felt that this is the way it should be. I'm not sure what
philosopher- -maybe it was Goethe; yes, I think Fritz quoted Goethe
now and then
Zabin: Yes.
Rainer: And it is: "He for God, she for God in him." The lady does not
have a direct pipeline: it goes through the man. Saint Teresa
notwithstanding .
Shirley Triest's Feminism
Zabin: Oh, Victoria, you're so lucky not to have known this. God, the
women's movement did so much.
Rainer: The Lawrentian woman idea was garbage. It was one of the things
that I disliked most about the literary crowd.
Zabin: Victoria, are you getting tired?
Byerly: No, no, not at all.
Rainer: This is her job; she can't afford to get tired.
Zabin: And if you asked them, they'll say, "It didn't affect my life."
But what it did is it opened up possibilities or options.
Rainer: You know, in regard to this whole business of feminism and how
Marie and Shirley were- -all right, maybe you can say they were in
an era where the ideal of womanhood was so-called Lawrentian,
which is, the woman should be a combination of a pedestal-sitter
and a doormat. But I believe, and it certainly won't come in my
lifetime--! '11 try to be a seer nowthe time will come when there
won't have to be any more feminists. Either male or female; there
will simply be equality. And I believe that, in that time, the
women will be women like Marie and Shirley, who are just the way
they are and who don't have to be revolutionaries. They don't
have to go out to the barricades and will be accepted the way they
are. And who are sure in themselves of how they are, which Marie
203
and Shirley were. That's what made them so admirable for us, that
they had this sense of themselves and didn't have to prove it.
And so they were taken advantage of; yes, they were, all right.
Byerly: So what you're saying is there's nothing wrong with being loving,
nurturing, loyal, and strong, if you're not being taken advantage
of?
Rainer: Oh sure.
Byerly: What is the San Francisco Renaissance? We haven't actually named
that so let's talk about that.
Rainer: Well, you knew the poets involved in that much more than I do.
And the connection with Shirley, I'm not sure what they were.
Zabin: Frank and Shirley would come down from Duncans Mills for those
meetings.
Well, the Renaissance was the outgrowth of the artists
coming out of the CO camps and federal prison and coming here
where Kenneth Rexroth had a literary and political circle. I
think that the background of this circle, Ivan, now I remember, is
FOR: Fellowship of Reconciliation.
Frank Triest as Conscientious Objector
Rainer: Yes, Fellowship of Reconciliation. And a great many, like Frank,
had spent time in jail as pacifists and conscientious objectors.
Byerly: That was his claim to fame, wasn't it? I mean, was Frank known
for that?
Zabin: You saw all the pictures. And he was basically a nice man, you
know, really. He was also a bastard. But his children will tell
you he's a nice man.
Rainer: Well, I must say that in the talks that I had with Frank, he
talked much more nostalgically about his time as a seaman than as
a conscientious objector. He didn't make any big thing about his
being a CO.
Zabin: No, I never heard that. He didn't regard it as anything heroic.
Byerly: But he did go to prison for it?
204
Rainer: Oh, yes. I think he walked out of the CO camp.
Zabin: People that I've known who were conscientious objectors have never
used it as a ticket to something else.
Rainer: Most of the CO's we knew wound up in jail as a result of first
going to the government organized CO camps, where they were
accepted under the classification of 4E. But then they would
realize that staying quietly in camp and doing government work was
a betrayal of their ideals. So they simply walked out, told the
FBI [Federal Bureau of Investigation] where they were, got picked
up and wound up in federal prison.
Zabin: Yes. And they were felons and thus couldn't vote.
Rainer: Yes, it was a felony. Refusal to serve in the armed forces in
time of war.
Zabin: That would make a wonderful story--! think somebody needs to put
that together; they're all dying fast now.
Oh, so that when people came out of prison, they heard about
the Workmen's Circle--! don't know the connection, but Kenneth was
involved and he was very welcoming and could get people to come to
meetings. And there would be more and more young people in
attendance.
Byerly: Meetings of the Workmen's Circle?
Zabin: The Friday night meetings which then the anarchists came to.
Byerly: What were they called?
Zabin: "Come to the Hall."
Rainer: They had no name; it was just the Workmen's Circle meetings.
Zabin: There was never any fussiness about that.
San Francisco Anarchists, Pacifists, and Poets
Rainer: There were these three threads, see, that was the thing: there
were the anarchists, mostly from the East Coast--
Zabin: What [do you mean] East Coast? You're mixing two things up; the
Italian anarchists were first.
205
Rainer: But I'm coming to the other, too. All right, the anarchists
comprised of the East Coast, and the Italians. Then, there were
the poets, the other part, and pacifists. There was literary,
there was political--
Zabin: This is the piece that you were interested in--maybe you were
coming to that, I don't know. Somebody had- -these meetings had
been going on for a couple of years before I came, maybe one year
or two years.
Byerly: When was this?
Zabin: In '48, maybe '47, somehow the wind of this got to Harper's
Magazine who sent a representative out to the Hall.
Rainer: It was a woman who came out.
Zabin: It was a woman? I didn't know that.
Rainer: Now, it may not be prejudice to say it was a woman but I can't
remember her name. [Mildred Edie Brady]
Byerly: What did she come to?
Zabin: Came to the Hall.
Byerly: For?
Zabin: To see what was going on; she heard about this event.
Byerly: Which was called?
Zabin: The Hall. [laughter]
Byerly: Just the Hall? Okay.
Rainer: Anyway, she wrote an article for Harper's Magazine. It probably
made a stir, mostly just among the group against whom it was
directed.
Zabin: I read Harper's Magazine, I never heard about it.
Rainer: You can research it, dear; you can look it up in Harper's
Magazinewhat year would you guess it was?
Zabin: '48 or '47, I think.
206
Rainer: Yes, late forties. And the title of the article was "The New Cult
of Sex and Anarchy." I guess Harper's has been guilty of yellow
journalism now and then, but that's a good example of it.
Zabin: Maybe there were girls sleeping with boys, and boys sleeping with
boys, and girls sleeping with girls? Who knows? But I never saw
that, you know. But there was certainly high living. No drugs--!
think there was some pot around, but no hard drugs.
Byerly: There did seem to be a lot of sleeping around.
Zabin: Well, they were young people.
Rainer: Emma Goldman did a fair amount of sleeping around. And some of
this, I imagine that maybe it was fifty-fifty: they felt like it
and it was good ideology.
Byerly: In terms of?
Rainer: It was feminism, really. After all, what do feminists do today?
They don't believe in being a slave to sexual taboos.
Zabin: You could not say that the women there were of that mind, you
couldn't say that. There was never a bacchanal of any kind.
You've got to remember that this led right into the Beats. The
same people around there got into the Beats. But before the Beats
was the San Francisco Renaissance.
Byerly: I know Rexroth was the first to read poetry to music.
Zabin: Oh, yes.
Rainer: Rexroth and Ferlinghetti, both of them.
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Zabin: I was in Rexroth' s house when Larry Ferlin [Ferlinghetti] and
Kirby first came on the scene. I was there for dinner with them
when they first came. And this was way before the readings at
North Beach. Kenneth started it.
Rainer: What? Poetry and jazz? I thought that they started at the
Cellar, the poetry and jazz.
207
Zabin: Yes, poetry and jazz started at the Cellar, but it was before
Ferlinghetti. Kenneth had a salon in his house, too, for poets,
and that's where the San Francisco Renaissance started.
Rainer: But he didn't read poetry to jazz at that time. He had to have a
band to have poetry and jazz.
Zabin: Yes, well, okay, Ivan.
Rainer: All right. Lawrence was a better reader than Rexroth.
Zabin: Yes, he read Prevert wonderfully.
Rainer: Oh, Jacques Prevert. Wonderful.
Zabin: He was a nice, modest man.
Byerly: Is he? Ferlinghetti is a modest man?
Zabin: Yes, I would say.
Byerly: Yes, he seemed to be when I met him.
Zabin: But he was not part of the Hall; he came after.
Byerly: Right. He was at the 250 Scott Street soirees.
Zabin: Yes, but that was a bit later.
"The New Cult of Sex and Anarchy"
Byerly: Yes, it was. Quite a bit. But the journalist from Harper's
Magazine wrote about the Hall.
Zabin: Oh, yes, it was about the Hall.
Rainer: That was a result, I believe, of a very limited acquaintance.
Maybe she sat in on one meeting.
Zabin: Yes, it was something nobody even knew.
Rainer: The article was a piece of sensationalism.
Zabin: Yes, I mean, this is why people don't trust journalists.
Rainer: Today it would never make print.
208
Byerly: What was sensational about it? She made it all about--
Zabin: Sex and anarchy.
Rainer: A cult. First of all, calling it a cult.
Zabin: I mean, it was the loosest group of people you've ever known,
really. You could see that--
The Gurdjieff Society
Rainer: And they were all individualists. Nothing cultlike about it. But
speaking of cult: we should get into the business of Frank and
Shirley's involvement in the Gurdjieff--
Zabin: Oh, well, I don't know about that. I wouldn't.
Rainer: Well, I think it's interesting because just of this business of
women and dependency and the point at which they want to break off
the dependency- -
Zabin: And Shirley would not be part of it.
Rainer: She was for a while.
Zabin: She did it just to please Frank.
Rainer: There was physical abuse there. It was an extreme form of an
encounter group.
Zabin: Had to bring you back to your childhood. Did Shirley tell you
about this?
Byerly: She said she only joined the Gurdjieff Society to save the
marriage.
Zabin: Yes, that's exactly what she did.
Byerly: The marriage was falling apart; it was a loss. It was the last
thing she could do to try to save it.
Rainer: But after a point, out she went. She wasn't going to kill
herself. And also she saw through the character of the people who
were running this thing.
Byerly: Were they an affluent group?
209
Zabin: Oh, it must have been mixed.
Rainer: I think that the top dogs profited handsomely out of it as in any
cult. You get a bunch of people who will work for nothing and you
can amass a fortune.
Byerly: I think it's ongoing still.
Zabin: Well, Gurdjieff groups today are different. This was an acting
group. And Frank was a wonderful actor. A wonderful actor.
Frank Triest as Actor
Byerly: Did he discover himself as an actor with the Gurdjieff group?
Zabin: Yes, so it did a very positive thing.
Rainer: And then he went on to do a number of things in acting and he
finally found his metier at the end of his life. And it's so sad
because we have those early photos of him you saw in Shirley's
apartment, those glamorous photos--they 're movie-idol quality.
And there, from the beginning, he had this talent and only at the
end he discovered himself.
Zabin: And from Los Angeles, no less. [laughter]
Rainer: Each time we saw him on the stage, he was easily the focus and the
most arresting figure there.
Byerly: I saw a picture on the cover of Radical America of Frank.
Zabin: What's Radical America?
Byerly: It's a socialist journal.
Zabin: Oh, really?
Byerly: Yes, I saw it at the memorial service at Sara's house, but I had
actually seen that copy of Radical America before with a picture
of Frank in one of his plays on the cover.
Zabin: Does it have that picture where he has a cap on?
Byerly: Yes.
210
Shirley Triest as Artist
Rainer: Speaking of a career as an artist, that's another thing which has
always interested both of us, Belle and me, and somewhat sadly,
that Shirley never pushed. I'm not sure she even knew how to push
her career as an artist.
Zabin: And she's an important person in art history, I think.
Rainer: She rarely had a show. During the time we knew Shirley, how many
art shows had she had?
Zabin: Two.
Rainer: The one at Mike Grieg's.
Zabin: And the one in Oakland.
Rainer: The one in Oakland, yes. Two shows.
Zabin: She may have had one before.
Byerly: I think her work is quite good.
Zabin: I think she's very good. But she did things that weren't in
vogue, you know. Did pastels at a time of abstract impressionism.
Rainer: Another interesting aspect, though, to Shirley and Frank's complex
relationship was that Frank was a great advocate, a great
champion, of Shirley's art. He believed in Shirley's art
wholeheartedly. And he was always doing things to help. He got a
lithograph press for her. And he was so proud; he learned all
about how a lithograph press works. I mean, he took a proprietary
interest.
Zabin: He really wanted her to work more than she did but she was taking
care of children.
Rainer: And she needed the press with facilities and so forth. It may be
mean to say so, but sometimes you feel he might have been proud of
her as a man might be of an ornament. Because, after all, what
did he do when she moved out? He tried to acquire her again. So
this is a mean way of speaking, but
Zabin: Yes, it is.
Byerly: Yes, she pointed out that she thought he wanted her to come back
and keep house for him.
211
Rainer: That's what Frank said to me, I'll go back to that conversation we
had over the kitchen table, that's just what he said. "A woman's
place is to be with a man." Something like that. And I said,
"Frank, you can make all the laws you want but it doesn't mean you
can enforce them." And he growled, "Well, that's the way it is.
Don't buck tradition."
Zabin: Frank's ego must have been damaged in some way, because he had to
learn about what he had to do from others later in life, rather
than putting it together as he went along.
Frank Tr Jest's Wealthy Background
Byerly: Frank came from a very wealthy family, didn't he?
Zabin: Oh, yes. The Triests were cousins to the Haases and cousins to
the Levi-Strauss--
Rainer: Oh, were they? I forgot that. Related to the Haases?
Zabin: Remember at Frank's memorial they were there?
Byerly: So he must have grown up with a less-than-real perspective on
life.
Zabin; I don't know. He had a tough life.
Byerly: Well, is there anything else? We've covered the categories we set
out to cover here.
Shirley Triest's "Realistic Trust"
Rainer: Well, going way back, I remember very strongly one of Shirley's
stories about her childhood. Her father took her swimming when
she was a little girl, before she knew how to swim. He held her
up in the water and said, "Now don't worry, I'll hold you up."
And then he let her go, and she got a dunking. And she said to
me, "I've trusted people ever since." That's exactly what she
said. And I never asked her to explicate. But all I can figure
is that it has something to do with a certain liking for paradox.
Almost as if to say, in life if you're realistic you don't blindly
place your trust in anyone, but if you're wise about trusting you
really can trust. Now I can make sense of it: Shirley always
212
refused, even proudly, to let that letdown by her father stop her
from trusting people, or herself. But she could trust us to be
ourselves, because she knew us.
Byerly: That's quite beautiful, Ivan.
Well, let's end there, then.
Transcribed by Gary Varney
Final Typed by Shannon Page
Regional Oral History Office University of California
The Bancroft Library Berkeley, California
AN INTERVIEW WITH AUDREY GOODFRIEND
Interview Conducted by
Victoria Morris Byerly
in 1996
INTERVIEW HISTORY- -Audrey Goodfriend
Audrey Goodfriend was born in 1920 and grew up in New York City, the
daughter of Jewish anarchists. As a child, she lived her family in the
intentional community of Sholem Alelchim which was started by American
Leftists to perpetuate Yiddish culture. The execution of anarchists Sacco
and Vanzetti loomed large in her childhood. She learned to argue politics
at the age of eleven and joined the Junior Vanguards, a group of youth
organized around the anarchist journal Vanguard. At Hunter College, she
became a pacifist taking the Oxford Pledge not to support the United States
in a war of any kind. This was the same year of the Stalin-Nazi Pact and
her staunch pacifist stand on the war caused a schism between her and her
parents .
In the summer of 1939, Audrey left home despite her parents' warning
that she was not allowed to go, and she and a friend traveled to Canada
where Emma Goldman was living. In Canada, Goldman received the two young
women, and Goodfriend recounts that visit here.
In 1947, Goodfriend read an article published in Harper's Magazine
entitled "The New Cult of Sex and Anarchy" by Mildred Brady about the
growing group of San Francisco anarchists. The Vanguard group of which
Goodfriend was a part had already been in touch with Kenneth Rexroth, so
she and some of her comrades decided to come out to California and to meet
the West Coast anarchist group. In 1948 she and David Koven returned and
have been here ever since.
Audrey Goodfriend is a founder of the alternative Walden School and
remains on its board today. The school was founded based on the ideals of
the San Francisco anarchists.
This interview provides a close look at the anarchist circle that
Shirley and Frank Triest were a part of for fifty years. It took place in
Goodfriend 's Berkeley home on January 3, 1996. It was edited for clarity
only.
Victoria Byerly
Interviewer /Editor
August 1997
San Francisco
Regional Oral History Office
Room 486 The Bancroft Library
*
University of California
Berkeley, California 9A720
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213
XII AN INTERVIEW WITH AUDREY GOODFRIEND
[Date of Interview: January 3, 1996] II
A New York Anarchist Comes West
Byerly: Audrey, do you want to start with moving here from New York?
Is that a good starting point?
Goodfriend: Yes. That's a good story. I was part of an anarchist group
in New York that published a paper called Why and then later
changed the name to Resistance. We had weekly discussion
meetings and all kinds of people in all walks of life came.
Most of us had been conscientious objectors during World War
II. As women, we didn't have to register or go to the war but
we were, nevertheless, opposed to the war, even though some of
our backgrounds were Jewish.
We were in correspondence with various people on the West
Coast by that time. There was a newspaper called the Germ
Fast newspaper from one of the CO camps. We were in
correspondence with Kenneth Rexroth. Then, Harper's Magazine,
I think it was April '47, had a long article on the culture
and art in San Francisco called "The New Cult of Sex and
Anarchy" in it. So, San Francisco sounded like a very, very
exciting place to come to at that time. There was a theater
group, old CD's and poets--! mean, San Francisco sounded like
just a very exciting place.
So, my spouse, David Roven, and I decided that we would
try to come out to the West Coast. Along the way we looked up
readers of our periodical. The nation had just started the
permanent draft, and we decided we would see if we could start
an anti-draft movement going amongst the people that we were
in contact with.
214
So we had a Greyhound bus ticket from New York to San
Francisco, and it took us from September until New Year's Day
to get here. All along the way, we talked to groups and
organized meetings and finally got to San Francisco. We got
to San Francisco and loved the city, really loved the city!
It had a very, very active Italian anarchist movement that had
affairs and raised money for periodicals and political
prisoners in Europe. We met people like Kenneth Rexroth and
his circle of friends at the time.
At this time, 1947, there was not an actual anarchist
group functioning yet. But, there were all these people
walking around meeting each other in various other ways. We
had not moved out here, we had Just come for a trip, and by
the time we got to San Francisco, we had run out of money. So
we had to go to work and save enough money to get back to New
York. We decided the thing to do was to go back to New York
and convince all our friends that San Francisco was the place
to live. Because, hell, New York City was really stifling at
the time.
We were reading people like Emma Goldman, and we decided
that the thing to do was to uncouple and see if we could find
some land to live on. Well, to make a long story short,
several of our friends came out and didn't like it and went
back. Ultimately, only two people decided they would move out
here. So we came out with Michael Grieg and Sally Grieg,
David Koven, and myself. We pooled all our funds and we
bought a great big truck. We put all our belongings on the
truck and we just drove out to California. And actually we
came to stay though we had no place to live. We stayed for a
few days with Walter and Edith Hoffman. This was November
1948. The Hoffmans had a huge party and Shirley and Frank
were there and a lot of other mutual friends. And that's when
I met Shirley. Shirley was very pregnant. It had to have
been a week or two weeks before Lawrence and Sara Triest were
born.
At that time, Kenneth and Shirley and Frank and all those
people started getting the Workmen's Circle Center together.
They got this room, painted it, and they started up a meeting
there. So when our little troop came out--David, myself, Mel,
and Sallythat group was already functioning as a group that
had poets and anarchists come to speak, like when Paul Goodman
came out here, he spoke at the Workmen's Circle Center.
I would say the meetings lasted there for about two
years. Also, there was this whole PBS periphery of people,
because Shirley and Frank were close friends of Lew Hill. Lew
215
Hill was involved in starting KPFA, so we met the early people
who were part of the plans for KPFA. Frank and Shirley, of
course, lived up in Duncans Mills at the time, and they had a
little kid by then. They weren't coming into the city.
Shirley wasn't anyway; Frank was.
Byerly: What had your organization back in New York City been like?
Goodfriend: It hadn't been an organization. It was just a loose group of
friends. Organization means membership cards, and you know,
anarchists are not big on rigid organizational forms.
Byerly: Was it purposely not an organization?
Goodfriend: Yes. A lot of anarchist groups are that way. There are a lot
who are purposely organizational, like the Spanish Anarchists
in Spain, but our group was purposely not an organization.
Byerly: But you had a publication called Why.
Goodfriend: Yes.
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Why was a little thing; Resistance was a national
periodical. And, actually, by the time Resistance got going,
David and I were here in California. We only wrote from here,
we were not part of the group that was putting the paper out
any more. David Wieck did most of the editorial work. David
Wieck wrote, along with Lowell Nave, A Field of Broken Stones,
which is about their jail experiences in Danbury. Shirley had
a copy of it in the very end, and she sent it to Caleb Foote
who wanted it very much because he was writing a history of
the CO [conscientious objector] movement. He had been a CO
himself. Although, he was not an anarchist, he had been a CO
in World War II and went to jail a few times. He served on
the National Committee for Conscientious Objection during
World War II. And he taught law at Cal at the end of his
career.
So how old were you when you left New York?
I was twenty-six the first time, and then twenty-eight when I
came back to stay.
216
An Anarchist Childhood
Byerly: And how did you get involved in the anarchist movement in New
York City?
Goodfriend: My father and mother were both anarchists and they both were
around a Jewish anarchist periodical called Freie Arbelter
Shtlme. It was the oldest Yiddish publication in the United
States. It was started in the 1880s. My parents were
involved in this group in many ways, and it was part of my
childhood it was Just part of me. And in 1912, I remember so
vividly the execution of Sacco and Vanzetti. My parents read
me--I can cry when I think about it nowthe letters that
Sacco had written to his son just before he was killed. Oh,
they were beautiful. Vanzetti was a beautiful writer, but he
didn't have any children. Sacco did. I just happen to have a
copy which I recently found in Moe's used bookstore. My
mother read this to me, and I remember how unjust their deaths
were and, of course, all anarchists were very involved. The
Sacco and Vanzetti case was an international cause all over
Europe, all over the world, people were protesting their
deaths. And my folks were involved too, so I remember that.
Then, when I was eleven years old, I read Alexander
Berkman, ABC, A Communist Anarchism, and I was a very
precocious kid. I finished that book and 1 knew I was an
anarchist. Another group that I belong to published a paper
called The Vanguard and had a group of junior Vanguards in the
area where I lived.
I lived in a co-op not a cooperative, it was a house
that was built as a cooperative apartment house called the
Sholem Aleichim, and that's a history that needs to be
written. I keep thinking one day 1 should get myself together
and do it. But it was started to perpetuate Yiddish culture,
not religion but Yiddish culture. The people who started it
represented the whole gamut of the left, from Social Democrats
to socialists to communists to Trotskyites to anarchists, the
whole left was involved and started these houses.
[laughs] I mean, we kids didn't play cops and robbers,
we played capitalists and workers. It's true! That's how I
grew up. Red diaper babies, although I was not a red diaper
baby because my parents weren't communists. And we had a
Yiddish school which was taught by a person who had taught in
the Frerrer schools, named after Francisco Frerrer, a Spanish
educator who had been executed in Spain for his ideas in 1905 .
We went every day after school to Yiddish school the way kids
217
go to Chinese school here. It was wonderful. We had shop and
we had singing and we had drama and everything- -history,
reading, and writing. And the person who taught was a person
who had been imbued with anarchist ideas, Hava Goldman, I
still can see him. But that was when I was quite young.
We already argued politics at eleven, twelve, and
thirteen, because some people were for Soviet Russia. My
parents were very anti-Soviet Russia, not from a right point
of view but from the point of view of suppression of freedom.
The Soviets had killed all the anarchists earlier on. So I
started discussing these things when I was quite young.
So then- -oh, I know why I was talking about this --because
in this environment were young anarchists, I mean children of
anarchists like me. They started a group called the Junior
Vanguard group. They published the Vanguard on 14th Street
and had an office with II Wartello, which was Carlo Tresca's
paper. And we were part of that group of Junior Vanguard
people.
Oh. [laughs] My parents at this point thought I should
put my head to my studies, and not be involved in politics,
but in 1936 I was sixteen, and the Spanish Civil War started.
So I was very involved in fundraising for that. Also, at that
time, I thought that political change could be done on the
battlefronts, but I think that the experience of Spain really
turned me into a pacifist. My anarchism took another step.
We read books called In the Innerstate and Conquest of
Violence by Bartellomeo Deligt, who was a Dutch anarchist-
pacifist. Eventually, our whole group became pacifist
anarchists. We became antiwar. I was antiwar in college and
I was part of the antiwar NSL, National Students League, at
Hunter College. But then when Stalin got involved in the
Hitler-Stalin pact, well, then at that time, the National
Student League was like a United Front of all kinds of radical
students of all political persuasions who were opposed to war,
and we all took the Oxford Pledge in which we all pledged not
to support our country in any war. It's called the Oxford
Pledge, it was well known in pacifist circles. Anyway,
eventually, the communists left. They became all for the
United States supporting the war.
But by 1948, when the Harper's Magazine article "The New
Cult of Sex and Anarchy" on San Francisco was published, my
anarchist leanings at that time were along pacifist lines.
Then, those anarchists we were in touch with out here in San
Francisco were all pacifists. They had all been conscientious
objectors and had been to jail. San Francisco was a really
218
good place for us because New York at that time was becoming
harder to live in.
Meeting Emma Goldman
Byerly: You said you met Emma Goldman when you were a child?
Goodfriend: Oh, yes. I met Emma before I came to San Francisco. That was
the summer of '39, I was eighteen and a half. Emma Goldman
had just come back from Europe and was living in Toronto and
our group had been in correspondence with her, because, at
this time, I was still part of the Vanguard Group. We decided
we wanted to see her. So Clara Freedman and I decided we
wanted to go to Toronto. So we went to Toronto, and we spent
the week with Emma Goldman.
[The next two paragraphs are from the film "If I Can't
Dance ..." interview with Audrey Goodfriend May 30 and
September 19, 1987, Scene A, Take I.]
In 1939, the Spanish Civil War had failed, Emma Goldman
had spent the last three years working very hard for the
Spanish Anarchist movement. And I was a youngster, very
enthusiastic about the potential for change. Emma Goldman had
been my heroine for years. I had gone to see her and to hear
her talk when they allowed her in for a few lectures in the
United States in 1934. My friend Clara and I decided we
wanted to visit with Emma. Not having any money this being
the depth of the Depressionwe went hitchhiking. My father
said, "Audrey, you go to Toronto, don't come back." So I
said, "If I want to go to Toronto, I'll go to Toronto, you'll
let me [come] back."
It was an interesting trip. We got to Toronto. We had
Emma's address. She was living with Dutch comrades in a
little house. I was very nervous because Emma was really my
heroine as I was growing up. I had wanted to be just like
her to be part of a big revolutionary change, not have
children, have many lovers, never darn any man's socks, oh,
all that kind of stuff. And, I was really worried about
meeting her. We got to the house, knocked on the door, rang
the bell, and a woman came to the door and opened it. I was
really stunned because I was expecting to hear and see this
firebrand revolutionary woman, and instead here was this
little old lady with a shawl around her shoulders and her hair
up. She asked who we were and we told her who we were. Then
219
she welcomed us in and we came upstairs. And when she started
talking, her age just fell away. I had different visions of
what old age meant then anyway than I do now. She just came
through as a vibrant, interesting, effervescent person.
Then from there, Clara and I went on to see all the
groups of the Vanguard. So we were on an organizational,
quote unquote, tour. Actually, the Vanguard group was more of
an organization than the Why group was later on. We didn't
have membership but we had a federation of anarchist groups,
and had meetings once in a while at different centers. I was
just a teenager then, and Clara was about six, seven years
older than I, so she was in her mid-twenties.
And so in Toronto, Penguin Press had just published a
paperback edition of Mutual Aid. They were so cheap and we
thought, oh, what a find for our group because we had a
library back in New York that sold anarchist literature. So
we bought as many copies as we could afford to bring back to
the United States. Mutual Aid was a book by Peter Kaputkin, a
Russian Anarchist, and is one of the basic anarchist texts.
Byerly: So you brought these copies of Mutual Aid from Canada to the
United States?
Goodfriend: Yes, and we were a little worried about bringing them back to
the United States. We had hitched up through New York State
to Toronto and had crossed at Windsor. We would be going back
through Detroit and then Ohio. So we were really worried that
we would be stopped at the border.
Byerly: You and Clara did this?
Goodfriend: Yes. But nobody even knew anything about it, so we smuggled
the books in without any trouble. They asked us where we were
going and we had an address, so they warned us to be careful.
We had to go through Hamtramic or someplace that was rough.
This was 1939. Emma at that time was very busy. She was
involved in trying to free Italian anarchists who had escaped
from Spain. They had been in Spain fighting in the anarchist
movement and then, after Franco won, they escaped and
illegally got to Toronto. Then they were caught and the U.S.
was trying to send them back to fascist Italy. So Goldman was
busy, busy, busy trying to save these people. They were
trying to get to Mexico, and she was involved in all kinds of
causes at that time for these two men, whose names I don't
remember.
220
She was very imperious. There was an Italian anarchist
in Canada, Arthur Bortolloti, who had a car, and drove Emma
wherever she had to go. One day we all went for a picnic and
she Just sat there like a queen telling Arthur everything, "Go
here, go there, blah blah blah." She was quite a strong
person.
She was my heroine when I was young, and I had read her
autobiography. I guess I was twelve or thirteen when I
decided that I wanted to be Just like her, but I don't think I
was ever.
I guess what happened to me along the way is that there
weren't any more heroes or heroines after Emma Goldman. I
didn't hold anybody up as a special person. I mean, people
had good ideas and had done marvelous things, but nobody was
ever that special again.
Becoming a Pacifist
Goodfriend: So, I had become a pacifist when the U.S. entered the war in
'41. I was part of the Vanguard Group at this time. Then
Dorothy Rogers, who had been Emma Goldman's secretary in
Toronto, came to New York, and she and I decided we would live
together. So I left my parents, who were very upset. I had
already Just finished college. I had finished as a math
major, a statistics minor, and no way was it possible at that
time for a Jewish woman to get a Job in that field. I mean,
insurance companies, anybody who would hire anybody was not
going to hire me. I could have gotten work in Washington
because in 1940 they had Just taken the big census and they
were hiring people, but I wasn't going to go work for the
government. I was antiwar. I didn't want to work for the
government so I had no work as a math major.
So 1 had to find a Job. I was good at numbers, so I went
to the employment office of Hunter University, and they sent
me out on a bookkeeping job. I didn't know anything about
bookkeeping. So I called a friend up who had graduated from
school and whose parents could afford to send her to a
business school she was a French and history major, another
great money-making vocation. She couldn't get a job, but her
parents had money and they sent her to business school, so she
had a job as a French secretary at the time.
221
So I called, 1 said, "Shana, what's the difference
between a debit and a credit?" [laughing] She said, "A debit
is what you have and a credit is what you don't have." I went
for this interview, and the woman a Hunter graduate, that's
why she called the Hunter off ice- -was working for her man
friend in a little electrical company, and she didn't want to
work any more at this job. She knew I didn't know anything
but she wanted to hire a Hunter graduate. So she said, "Oh,
I'll teach you the books. You'll learn pretty fast." So I
did. I got the Job and I became a bookkeeper.
This is 1941. I'm still part of the Vanguard group. I
have just gotten my first job. I'm still living at home and
then Emma Goldman dies. Early that year, Dorothy comes to New
York, and I decide I want to leave home--I mean, I had wanted
to leave home since I was twelve years old, I think, but could
never afford to. But I had a job at fifteen dollars a week so
I could leave home.
Dorothy and I found an apartment and she was in touch
with the Italian anarchist movement in New Yorka different
form of Italian anarchist group in New York who were anti-
organizational. There were two factions and two newspapers.
There was II Wartello, which was paper edited by Carlo Tresca,
who was very organizational and had been a Wobbly. Then there
were the L'Adunata group. L'Adunata was an anarchist party
that had a paper that came out weekly. They represented the
Sacco and Vanzetti-type anarchists.
Dorothy was in touch with them through Arthur Bortolloti,
the man who was driving Emma around. So she was in touch with
the other anarchists in New York who had been in
correspondence with Emma. So she took me to visit a friend,
John Vattunoe, one of her friends, who was in New York. That
whole group was antiwar. I met some of the young people--!
guess by now I'm already living with David. I met some young
people from their group, the Italian young people who were
American-born but Italian.
A lot of the people in the Vanguard group were being
drafted or going to war, whereas the people on the other side
were not going to war. They were either going to jail like
David Wieck or draft-dodging or going to Toronto like people
did in the Vietnam War. It soon became apparent that my
sympathies were with these people. As the Vanguard group
folded and people dispersed, the Why group took form, and Why
was to question everything.
222
Byerly: So what was the ideology and who were the great thinkers of
Whyl
Goodfriend: The great thinkers of Whyl Well, Bakunin, Kaputkin--we dealt
with all those people. The history of the anarchist movement
has lots of theoreticians.
II
Goodfriend: We had this printing press in the basement apartment across
the street from where we lived. We printed leaflets and some
pamphlets.
So basically we were busy putting out this periodical,
and we all had jobs. We had to support ourselves. And while
we were doing this we were in touch witharound '43, '44--the
people out here in California who were anarchist.
Sometimes the study groups, the meetings, had like fifty
people. That would be a lot. We also worked closely with the
War Resistance League in all of their activities. We were
involved in picketing Danbury to allow for them to release
CD's when the war was over in '45. We picketed the post
office. So we were involved in all these things.
Right after the war stopped they made it so hard to send
packages to people in Europe. The bureaucracy and the
paperwork to send food to needy people in Europe was
unbelievable plus very expensive. We were at that time
sending packages to people we knew and so we started a
campaign to make it easier to support needy people in Europe
by sending packages to them.
Byerly: Were there a lot of Jewish people involved in the Why?
Goodfriend: No.
Byerly: So, being Jewish, how did you personally feel about World War
11 with the Fascists and Nazis?
Goodfriend: Well, I had this terrible battle with my father which I
regretted later on in life. I mean, the Jewish anarchists
thought Hitler should be defeated and they supported Roosevelt
and the War. I didn't because I thought that Hitler had been
put in power by capitalist forces around the world. I mean,
everything that happened in Germany was condoned by the
Western world, and 1 felt that war wouldn't solve it; that
there were other ways to fight Hitler than on the battlefront.
There were other ways of fighting injustice.
223
So at that time, my father said to me- -his mother was
still in Europe, and his sister and cousins, and my mother's
brother--! mean, there were a whole bunch of family that we
still had in Poland, because both my parents were born in
Poland. I said, "Well, I don't know." He said, "How can you
be antiwar when my mother is in Poland?" and in my youthful
bravado, I said, "Look, I feel worse about all the anarchists
who are in concentration camps in Spain after Franco won than
I do about your family." He was so mad. He was so mad at me.
And later on I realized what a cruel thing I said to him. But
I felt that way then.
Well, David was Jewish, he was antiwar, David Koven, and
he was Jewish.
Free Love
Byerly: This was your spouse?
Goodfriend: We lived together for thirty-five years, by the way, and I
still see him occasionally.
Byerly: But you never got married?
Goodfriend: No. My parents never were married.
Byerly: On principle?
Goodfriend: Yes. But they told me we should get married because times
were different when they were young. [laughs]
Byerly: Well, that was one of the things I wanted to ask you about,
the issue of free love. Was that the anarchists' position on
marriage?
Goodfriend: There was no position. Nobody had a formal position on these
things. Bill Hamreifco[?] , came out with this idea that
monogamy could only last for three years, and he may be right,
actually, in terms of real passionate love. So there was a
lot of changing of partners. There has always been in
anarchist circles, even in my mother's time.
Byerly: Didn't that cause a lot of tension?
Goodfriend: It did. Yes. Most of the people in my circle I mean, I
don't even know whether they got married or didn't get
224
married. In the Vanguard group they got married, and a lot of
people were getting married then because of the draft.
Byerly: People could avoid the draft by being married?
Goodfriend: Yes, for a while. For me personally, it was never an issue.
It was just the way I grew up, the way I was going to be. I
was not going to marry anybody. When David and I separated, I
called my daughter in Peru because we don't celebrate
Christmas or Hanukkah or anything but we do celebrate spring.
We have our own personal thing, and we started that actually
within our anarchist group in New York. We would all of us
have a big spring festival when, instead of going to work,
we'd go out and play baseball and have a picnic.
So Nora called me from Peru on the First Day of Spring.
This was seventeen, eighteen years ago. She was living in
Peru then as part of her studies at Santa Cruz. And she said
that she and Edwin were going to be coming to the United
States to live because times were so bad in Cuzco, Peru.
Prices had gotten very high during that time. She didn't want
to leave South America. She really liked living in South
America so she tried getting jobs in other countries in South
America but wasn't able to. So she said, "We're thinking of
coming back to the United States."
Now, Edwin had come to the U.S. to see her in between
these years, and it was so hard for him to enter the U.S.
They gave him only a short-term visaI mean, it was a very
complicated thing. So I said to Nora, "Well, Nora, if you and
Edwin are going to come back together, you're going to have to
get married probably. Even Emma Goldman got married to get
citizenship in Britain. Get married so you won't have all
this hassle." So this was March, Spring Day.
So she said, "Mom, we have been married. We were married
last August." But she was ashamed to tell me that she was
married. [laughter] Knowing how I feel about marriage. So I
always like to tell that story in reverse. Most kids those
days are afraid to tell their parents they were living with
anybody. She was afraid to tell me she was married,
[laughter]
So, anyway our group was corresponding with all these
folks. Rexroth was writing to us, and through him we were in
touch with California anarchists. We were in touch, so we
knew what was going on in California. And we also knew about
the Italian groups out here, because the people who were part
of the Why group, many of them were of Italian origin, and
225
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
their parents had contact with the Italian anarchists out
here.
Anyway, the first time we came out to San Francisco, we
loved it so much. It was so beautiful, it was so gorgeous and
it was so exciting living here that we went back to New York
and tried to get all our other friends who were part of this
group to come out.
Okay, now we can go on. Yes, that's good. I wanted to get
the New York background.
So you ended up coming out here.
Finally, the four of us, Sally and Mel and David and I, in our
truck with our belongings arrived in San Francisco.
The Workmen's Circle
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
In 1948?
1948, the end of '48 was when we moved out.
Workmen's Circle had already started.
The group the
So can you just say a little bit about the Workmen's Circle?
Well, the Workmen's Circle was an organization which started
in the United States to build mutual aid organizations for
immigrants, Jewish immigrants primarily. They had educational
alliances, they had medical services, they had funeral
services, and all kinds of cultural events. There were, I
don't know how--but there must have been hundreds of branches
in the United States at that time. I happened to know the
one that I'm most familiar with was the Frerrer-Rocker branch,
which my father was secretary of in New York. At first, it
was named for Francisco Frerrer, who was a Spanish
anarchist /educator murdered by the authorities in Spain
because he started anti-Catholic, rationalist schools. They
were called the La Escuela Novena , the modern school movement,
and very well known. Francisco Frerrer 's case in Europe was
almost like the Sacco and Vanzetti later on, the execution of
an absolutely innocent man. So the branch my father belonged
to was the Frerrer Center Branch, and later on when Rudolph
Rocker, who was a German anarchist syndicalist, died, they
called the branch the Frerrer-Rocker Branch.
226
Byerly:
So I knew all about the Workmen's Circle for many, many
years, and out here the Workmen's Circle had their own
building on the corner of Steiner and Golden Gate. They had
their activities the same way I guess that all the other
Workmen's Circle centers had their activities, and they rented
a room out to the anarchists. I don't even know if the group
had a formal name.
So the other person who was involved in the very first
days of the center was a young Italian anarchist, Laura, and
she just died. She's younger than I am and she just died
about two months ago. But she was around and, you see, my
friend Diva and David Wieck were out here, and they were all
part the first days of the Workmen's Circle Center, along with
Kenneth Rexroth and Dick Moore. Then Dave and Diva left.
They went back to New York, because they hated San Francisco.
They said their clothes never got dry and that they would
never move out here again. Then later, David and I and Mel
and Sally came out and were part of the Workmen's Circle
Center.
Then, what happened was that Kenneth got very pissed at
us. He called us the New York Jews and for some reason,
Kenneth had shit lists, and periodically we would appear on
his shit list. He dropped out at that point shortly after we
arrived. So we were the ones, David and I and Mel and Sally,
who continued the meetings there for maybe another year,
actually until 1950, and then the Circle just fell apart.
What happened is our personal commune fell apart, because
Sally was having a baby, and David and I thought, Great, we'll
all help raise this child. But they wanted a nuclear family
nest for themselves and so they left. Our living arrangement
just ended at that point. She had her baby and then I had a
baby the next year.
Frank would come down and stay with us. We'd see Frank a
lot more than Shirley. We would go up to Duncans Mills and
see Shirley, but we'd see Frank a lot more. He'd come to
meetings and he'd stay over at our house.
Let's talk about the meetings. What were they like?
Goodfriend: Well, there was usually someone giving a speech on something
or other. And then there were question and answers and
discussions.
Byerly: What kind of speakers?
227
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Well, the person I can remember right now is Paul Goodman. I
remember once he said, "It's not the lines, it's what's in
between the lines." Some of our older Italian people were
actually outraged. At that time, they were old ones, we were
the young ones. They were my age now, maybe even younger than
I am now, and they could not understand this kind of thinking.
It was not what you read, it's what you don't read that's
important .
The lectures at the Workmen's Circle was about anarchism?
Sometimes. Sometimes about politics, sometimes about art. We
had various people, and I really don't remember the subjects.
But those are the general categories.
Yes.
So how did the group feel about art and culture?
related to anarchist ideology?
How was it
It just seemed to be so intrinsic. I guess the way all of us
felt is that we had read Herbert Reed, I think he was an
artist from--god--always involved with education and education
in art. Artists had always beennot all artistsbut there
had always been an anarchist influence amongst artists.
Pizarro was a very active anarchist in France. People like
Man Ray were involved in the early days. As a result of the
Francisco Frerrer execution, there was a school started in New
York called the Modern School, and actually Emma Goldman and
Berkman were involved in it. There was an entourage of people
who were artists, poets, and theatre people. They came to
meetings and talked to kids on the block. So anarchism has
always been very closely associated with poetry, art, and
music. John Cage was an anarchist.
The art reflected the ideology?
No.
No?
Not necessarily. No. I mean, that's Stalinist art.
Social realism?
That's social realism.
So how was it connected?
228
Goodfriend: Well, anarchism understands the individual and individual
expression as very important.
Byerly: But there was also some emphasis on the community among
anarchists?
Goodfriend: Yes, communitarian ideas yes, very much, communitarian ideas,
free choice. You get together because you want to get
together, or you get together for a very specific purpose, and
then if you don't want to be together, well, then you each go
your way, or the group goes its way. So yes, communitarian
ideals are also very important amongst many anarchists.
Again, there are some anarchists, anarchist individualists,
who represent a school of thought, who say, "No, no, you need
not have anything to do with community, just everybody for
himself for herself." So there are a lot of anarchist
"schools of thought."
Byerly: And do they range from radical to conservative?
Goodfriend: Well, no, no, no. The Libertarian party is conservative, but
they're not anarchists. I think the anarchist has to be
humanitarian.
Byerly: And what do you mean by that?
Goodfriend: Well, involved in hopes for an egalitarian society.
Byerly: So, at the Workmen's Circle, people were communitarians who
believed in nurturing individual expression such as poetry
readings --
Goodfriend: Yes. Oh, yes, we had poetry readings.
Byerly: Lectures on art?
Goodfriend: Yes.
Byerly: And also on politics?
Goodfriend: And politics.
Byerly: And those were the three main categories?
Goodfriend: Yes. I think they may have started once a week and then
gradually changed. Because Shirley probably came to all the
meetings before we moved back from New York and before her son
Carl was born. After that, I don't actually remember Shirley
229
at a meeting when we came back, because Carl was born
November, 1948.
Byerly: So then you had a falling out with Rexroth, or he had a
falling out with you--
Goodfriend: Yes.
Byerly: Was it a power issue?
Goodfriend: I'm not sure what it was.
Byerly: Oh, you never figured it out?
Goodfriend: I never figured it out. He always accepted me; he never got
mad at me for some reason.
Byerly: So he was mad at David, or--?
Goodfriend: He was mad at David, he was mad at --yes, he was mad at the
men. I don't think it was political.
Byerly: But Rexroth, from what Shirley was telling me, he was like
this sometimes.
Goodfriend: Yes, he was like that all the time.
Byerly: So the meetings stopped happening at the Workmen's Center in
1950--
Goodfriend: Workmen's Circle Center, Workingmen's Circle Center. Yes,
1950.
Byerly: Did they ever start up again?
Goodfriend: No.
Byerly: Why did they stop?
Goodfriend: Because we ran out of steam for organizing them and getting
speakers and sending out the cards, and said if nobody else is
interested in doing it, stuff it all. [laughter] No really,
that's how it happened. Nobody else wanted to do the work of
organizing it at that point, so we dropped it.
Byerly: That's an anarchist approach?
230
KPFA
Goodfriend: Yes, I think so. It was for me. I don't know if it's a
general anarchist approach, but it was for us at the time.
And this is the time also when we got involved with KPFA, and
Denny Wilsher at that time was the coordinator of the current
events, and any time they wanted an anarchist point of view on
any political issue, they would call David or myself to come
and be the fourth viewpoint they then got our points of view
on anything.
Denny Wilsher and Lew Hill were good friends. They were
in jail together, I think. And Denny was actually part of the
Germfask newsletter that we used to get and write to back and
forth when we were in New York during the war.
We were not involved in the starting of KPFA, but then
when the program got started frequently one or the other of us
and mostly David would be invited to speak. By now, '51, I
had my first child and I was busy being a mom.
Byerly: So these kinds of public anarchist lectures were carried on
through radio.
Goodfriend: Yes. Muriel Rukeyser was on that KPFA board. We had met
Denny Wilsher at this point, and he said that part of the KPFA
charter, part of their Pacific Foundation charter was to have
a school. That was part of their original plan. And so, at
this point, I had become very much interested in education. I
had two kids and we were part of a nursery school. I just
thought the only way to have a better world was to raise
children in a better way, teach them to be independent and to
think for themselves. So I decided I'd go back to school and
get a teaching credential.
I went to San Francisco State and had to take oodles and
oodles of crappy courses to get a credential. At which point
I thought, Oh, god, is it any wonder that our schools are so
terrible. Because the people I was going to school with were
idiots! I mean, these young people were idiots, they knew
nothing. The whole educational system became very, very
apparent to me.
I didn't want to send my kids to the public schools in
San Francisco. I had taken Diva to our neighborhood public
school, and she was so unhappy that she had been in preschool
because she already knew how to use scissors, and she knew how
231
to use all these things. So she had nothing to do in
kindergarten.
I don't know, when I heard all this stuff, it just drove
me up the wall because I was not going to send my children
into this kind of educational experience. And so we were
buying a house then, and we said, "Well, let's get our little
investment out of it and send these kids to Presidio Hills
School," which at that time was an alternative school. And we
did. The only way we could afford it was to get our money out
of our house and pay for schooling. So Diva was going to
Presidio Hills School and I was getting my credential at San
Francisco State.
Then after I did my student teaching in the San Francisco
schools-- [laughs] I mean, if I were dying and I had to earn a
living, really had to earn a living, I would teach here, but
since David was an electrician and earning enough money to
keep us , I was not going to teach in those schools .
By then
we had gotten very disgusted with Presidio Hills School,
because it was a parent co-op and actually was communist-
controlled. Whenever the parents didn't like what was going
on, they'd change everything. It was a so-called parents' co
op but actually there was a clique running the school, and so
they would always fire the teachers and get new teachers if
they didn't like the teachers. So there was no ongoing
educational policy.
it
Goodfriend: The folks at KPFA talked to us about their interest in
starting a school, and ask us if we would we be Interested.
Wow, we said, "Yes, very much so." And so we talked for a
year. Denny, who had been in jail, and Lee and Allen and--
well, Denny and Ida, Ida was a dancer, Lee was a musician,
Allen had been to jail, Denny had been to jail, Stan Wood had
been to jail--they were all conscientious objectors. We had
this wonderful combination of people- -David who was a working-
class intellectual and me. I had just gotten a credential,
and I knew all about teaching.
And so we met for a whole year and talked about what kind
of school we wanted to have, and then decided, yes, we would
teach our own kids--we had twelve kids amongst us and we
would start a school. So we did. [noise, laughter, tape
interruption]
Byerly: Yes. I know Shirley was very impressed with the school and I
think she longed to be a part of that so much.
232
Goodfriend: I know. By the time she moved to the Bay Area, her children
were in high school.
The Walden School
Goodfriend: Well, we had a dancer, a musician, and a mountaineer as part
of the staff. We were all unpaid. Our children were there.
We rented the Humanist Center for the first year of school
over on 28th Street, and it was a nice place to be because it
had a stage where the kids performed plays, and so on. It had
one room like an auditorium with a stage. We had a few
kindergarten-aged children, we had a few kids who were seven
years old, we had a few who were like nine years old, and two
seventh-graders. So we divided the room up between all these
kids.
I just came across the school's log books from the
beginning of school in 1958, and, in it, we said we wanted a
school where kids would get an education and have freedom. We
all felt that education in the arts was as important as
education in the three R's, and that the arts should be taught
by people who were artists, I mean, for example, I got my
credential, I was taught how to teach dance, I was taught how
to teach music, I was taught how to teach art, I took all
these classes. But I could not be an inspiration in any of
these things because these are not my field. My field was
mathematics, and I taught mathematics artistically. [laughs]
No, it's true. I loved teaching mathematics to kids. I had a
good time teaching it.
But I would never have been able to teach the graphic
arts or musical arts in any way. And so we always felt that
having people in the fields was very, very important. We felt
that the outside world was very important, that natural
history was very important, and we also knew that we did not
want a school where we were going to proselytize to kids, but
just make these things available to them. We weren't going to
celebrate anybody as heroes. No one. Not even Gandhi or
Martin Luther Ring, Jr. No way were we going to celebrate
these people as heroes.
Byerly: Because?
Goodfriend: Because we didn't believe in heroes. That was part of our
thinking in starting the school, that everybody would get
equal time. We had discussion of current events for the older
233
kids. Denny was very good at that; he talked with the older
kids. Any interesting person that came by that we knew, we'd
bring in to school to talk with the kids. Not to. but with.
And we would teach the skills, we would teach reading,
writing, arithmetic too, so the school got started. That's
how the school was started.
Then we were in touch with Paul Williams, who actually
was part of the Resistance group in New York after David and I
left. We didn't know him in New York, but he was also a CO;
Denny knew him from the War Resistance League. Paul Williams
had inherited a lot of money from his father and he believed
in only using it for good causes and lending people the money
interest-free, and he put a lot of money into Black Mountain
College. Paul gave the Living Theater a lot of money to build
their theater in New York--! don't know if you know about the
Living Theater. I mean, they're very important in theatrical
circles. Julian Beck and Julie Molina had an anarchist
theater, and Paul had loaned them money.
Then he loaned us money to build Walden School and he
came out and planned the buildings for us. He was an
architect. He was never a formal architect but had studied
architecture, so he came out and designed the first buildings.
So the next year, we bought up the land and were able to
start building with the money Paul had loaned us. The second
year, we were able to start building. And then we had Arden
who was a carpenter, David who was an electrician- -we had
skilled people amongst us. Up to this point, Belle and Ivan
and David and I were living cooperatively in San Francisco.
When we started Walden, I was driving back and forth with the
kids. My daughter Ruth wasn't old enough to come to Walden
that first year, but I was driving back and forth with the
Harris kids and my own. The Harrises were another couple who
sent their kids to school even though they weren't part of the
founding group. They were people who had gone to Presidio
Hills School with us and we had become friends, so they sent
their two kids to Walden. They lived close by, so I was
driving a whole bunch of kids to school every day.
One day, I was in the end of a rear-end rainy-day bridge
accident, nobody was hurt, but I was the fourth car and it was
a mess.
Byerly: Scary?
Goodfriend: It was scary. We decided that we would move to Berkeley,
David and I, and so we broke up our cooperative arrangement.
234
Now, see, we had a co-op, we didn't have a communal
arrangement the way we had with Mel and Sally earlier on,
because when we first moved out we had pooled our funds and we
each got a personal allowance and that's how we lived. At
that time, our friends were all poor. But we ate together, we
cooked together. We didn't sleep together, but--because we
were anarchists [laughter) we could have. But now with Belle
and Ivan, we had separate kitchens. We lived upstairs and
they lived downstairs, and the kids went back and forth. We
had a big circular staircase in between, and our children are
still very good friends, they're like sisters.
We had a cooperative arrangement. Then when we wanted to
move to Berkeley, we sold our house and got enough money for
the down payment for this building. 1 didn't want to drive
any more back and forth with the kids. Too risky. I liked
San Francisco; I didn't want to leave it. I really liked the
city, but I am not at all regretful for living in Berkeley. I
like Berkeley and feel very comfortable here.
Byerly: But you didn't do a cooperative house here?
Goodfriend: No.
Byerly: Chose not to?
Goodfriend: Belle had very, very elegant tastes about where she wanted to
live, and we looked for a house together for a long, long
time, and nothing suited her. So we said, "Well, we have to
move," so we did. And then later on, after we started the
school, someone else actually drove her for a whole year to
school here, and then after that, they decided they would move
here. They found a house and moved here. Also, David and
Belle really didn't get on very well. So our cooperative
living arrangement ended. But I'm still very good friends
with them.
Byerly: Was KPFA funding the school?
Goodfriend: No. Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
Byerly: So who was funding the school? Where were the salaries coming
from?
Goodfriend: Nowhere. We didn't get any salaries when we started. We just
worked .
Byerly: But how did you feed yourself?
235
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Well, David Koven worked as an electrician. Denny had his
publishing work.
So you all had two jobs?
The men workedDenny and Stan Gould were publishers'
representatives. They could come and go as they pleased,
because they were their own bosses in a way. So they were
available. Allen at that time also had a job. I forgot what
Allen was doing then. Oh, I know, Allen was recovering from
back injuries and he couldn't work at that time.
But he could teach?
But he could work with wood. He didn't actually teach. The
two teachers were Ida and me. Denny and Stan and Allen did
other things with the kids, and, Lee taught the younger kids.
She worked with the kindergarten kids and taught music. So,
basically, the men provided the incomes for the families and
the women taught the kids. So our salaries were always
considered our kids' tuition. It was a form of home
schooling.
And then later on, the next year there were twenty-eight
kids in the school, and I think tuition was fifty dollars a
month or something. And then we started getting more
teachers, and had to pay teachers salaries. I taught for
thirteen years. Ida taught for more, and Lee taught for more.
And what about today?
Today it's a school that has about eighty-five kids. There
are a lot of teachers, there's an art teacher and a music
teacher, who are artist and musician, and a movement teacher,
who does movement and drama. Nat's not really a dancer, not
the way Ida was a dancer. She's a Doris Humphrey-trained
dancer. Now the kids dance Salsa. They move and they dance,
and Russell is very good with the kids.
But-- [pause] Tuition is high, tuition is over $5,000 a
year.
Are there scholarships?
Yes. There are no full scholarships, and there are some work
scholarships, but I don't think anybody- -my family couldn't go
to school if I didn't help pay the tuition. That's one of the
reasons I'm still continuing to work, because Walden is the
cheapest of the alternative schools in the Bay Area. But it's
236
very expensive if you have only one person in the family with
an income. A lot of people work in exchange. Out of the
eighty-five kids in the school there are twelve scholarships,
and that's a lot.
And teachers are not badly paid, comparatively. I think
they're up to about $30,000 a year now. I'm still on the
foundation's board but I don't pay much attention to the facts
and figures any more.
Byerly: So it was a big success.
Goodfriend: The school was a success, yes. I would say it's a very nice
school, and anybody who goes there loves it. The teachers are
good. I would say that it lacks a little bit of the kind of
idealism that we had about education, about the kind of people
we wanted to see our student grow up and become.
Byerly: What was that?
Goodfriend: Well, we really thought we would raise free spirits. I don't
think the kids coming out of Walden are necessarily free
spirits. Some are.
Byerly: What do you mean by free spirits?
Goodfriend: A free spirit? A person who doesn't have to buy into the
mercenary qualities of our society. What I consider a free
spirit.
Byerly: Who creates alternatives?
Goodfriend: Yes. See, the kind of homes kids come from are also
important, so that, not only is education important, but the
home values are important. Like I think the values of the
people who started Walden are different from the values of a
lot of the people who send their kids to Walden now, because
they look at it as a wonderful school and a great place for
their kids, but I think they are as concerned and maybe I'm
exaggerating- -but let me exaggerate: they're concerned with
their kids getting into Harvard.
Byerly: And do they?
Goodfriend: I don't know. [laughs]
Byerly: You don't care?
Goodfriend: I don't care.
237
Byerly: Okay.
Goodfriend: You know, all the kids that I know of who graduated and wanted
to go to college, went. But I don't know. I haven't followed
up on the kids recently, but I'm sure that they go to wherever
they want to go to.
Byerly: So it's still a good school?
Goodfriend: Oh, yes. It's a great school. I was at a party the other day
and Ualden's art teacher was at the same party just
coincidentally, and she was telling two young women about
Walden. They were so excited about this place, they said,
"Oh, when we have children we're going to send them to this
school!" I mean, it still has that quality, it still does.
You ought to walk in some day.
Byerly: I will.
Goodfriend: It's really a nice place to just walk around, because the
physical plant is indicative of what goes on with the rest of
the educational process. It has a relaxed quality about it,
very nice. I like it.
Shirley and Frank Triest
Byerly: Let's get back to Shirley.
Goodfriend: Yes, good. I really wanted to talk about Shirley.
In Duncans Mills. We would spend the day.
When I was pregnant the first time, Shirley's twins had
been born and Shirley had a kidney infection. She was as sick
as could be, really sick. Frank was going crazy. Frank drank
a lot- -she must have told you about his drinking.
Byerly: Yes.
Goodfriend: Frank was going out of his mind, she said, "I'm making thirty-
two meals a day, thirty-two meals a day." Three kids,
infants, Shirley, himself. I had stopped working, and he
said, "Could you come up and help?" I said, "Sure." So I
came up and I helped. It was September of that year. The
kids had been born in March, they were just little ones, they
238
were six, seven months old.
January .
My baby wasn't due until the next
Byerly:
So I was up there, and I stayed up there for I don't know
how long, a couple of weeks. For me, Shirley was my guide on
how to take care of children, because she was so calm, she was
so calm always. She had this inner calm that was like you
don't find often, anywhere. And she already had had Michael
and Carl, and she knew all about babies when she had the
twins. So I just learned from her. One of the things she
always said was, "You don't disturb infants. You just don't
bother them. Just leave them be, leave them be, leave them
be. If they cry, find out what's wrong and then leave them
be."
Anyway, I came back from there and, when my child was
born, I had no problem being a first- time mother. Everybody
else got so upset with their baby's crying, you know. My time
with Shirley up there had just been so rewarding, because I
just knew what to do. It was no problem, no problem. So
anyway, I was eternally grateful to Shirley, because life with
an infant was just marvelous, and Diva happened to have been
just a wonderful baby, too. She never did cry. [laughs]
Maybe it's because of my inner calmness I had learned from
Shirley.
Shirley said, "You don't have to always change them when
they're wet. You cover them with nice woolen clothes, and
it's okay. You don't have to disturb them always." Her idea
is, you don't disturb them all the time. And that's what I
did, I didn't disturb them all the time. I had calm. She
said, "Cover them with wool, have a lot of wool over them at
night when it's cold, have woolen blankets." I had a big
nightgown that was soft woolen cloth that I would put Diva to
bed in, and she was warm. If she peed, I guess it didn't
bother her, because they're used to being in moist atmosphere
when they're in the womb. So it's warm and moist. So that
was something that, again, I learned from Shirley. Eating or
feeding them I just learned everything about how to take care
of infants from Shirley.
So you think she was a good mother?
Goodfriend: Yes. Oh, yes. She was a very good mother. Yes. Yes. Yes.
She was a good mother to the very end with her grown-up kids.
Byerly: Yes. Her kids really loved her.
Goodfriend: Yes. Oh, yes.
239
So after my daughter was born, we'd be up there in
Duncans Mills to visit Shirley for all kinds of things. We'd
take trips up there. And I was up there later on when Diva
was an infant. I was up there again to help, and I remember
when Diva was about ten months old, I must have been there for
about a week at that time.
The reason I remember it is because it was so cold. 1
remember I got up to nurse and had to expose my breast to this
cold, cold atmosphere. It was so cold at night there because
they didn't have central heating.
Byerly: Very rustic, right?
Goodfriend: Yes. It was a very pleasant place there. Anyway, so I was up
there several times, and then we would travel up there a lot.
Then when they moved down here, when they moved to Berkeley,
they stayed with me before they could move in to their place
on Woolsey Street, so we lived together for a couple of weeks.
Byerly: Did you know them when they lived in Sonoma County?
Goodfriend: Yes, near Sebastopol.
Byerly: Right, yes. So you went up there ?
Goodfriend: Oh, yes, then we'd go up there. Just a lot of visiting.
Byerly: Who else would go?
Goodfriend: Well, it depends. If it were like Christmas time, they'd
sometimes do big partieslots of people there. Easter time
there would be lots of people there. And then, actually, our
friend, my anarchist friend John Vattunoe, whom I talked about
earlier, later moved out to California and was a chicken
rancher in that part of the world, in Petaluma, and then he
moved to Sebastopol, and Frank and Shirley and John would see
each other frequently. And then we'd go up to see Frank and
Shirley or we'd go up to see John- -we frequently had social
interchanges.
Byerly: And was Rexroth at any of the events?
Goodfriend: Every once in a while. Not often when I was there. I have a
picture of Mariana Rexroth when she was about six years old at
one of the Christmastime parties, so he was up there at times
when others of us were there.
240
Byerly: Was it the anarchist group, the group that had met once at the
Workmen's Circle Center?
Goodfriend: Some, yes, a mix of Shirley and Frank's old artist friends
from North Beach and- -yes, a mixture of people. And some from
the old set, yes. Like Dick Moore would be up there. Not
regularly or not every time I was there, but, yes, the
remnants of all those people would be up there.
Byerly: And what did you do?
Goodfriend: Ate, sang, drank, talked, watched our kids.
Byerly: Sang?
Goodfriend: Yes, we sang once in a while. Walk, go for walks. And Frank
was usually being very nasty to Shirley. A lot of that, a lot
of that.
The Woman Question According to San Francisco Anarchists if
Byerly: As anarchists, was there strong feelings around women's
emancipation? Having Emma Goldman as a theoretician, I would
think that there would be.
Goodfriend: Well, yes, you know, the thing is that the women I knew always
felt pretty independent.
Byerly: Yes, they seem that they were. You're certainly independent,
Shirley was independent. But what about the men?
Goodfriend: Oh, yes, D. H. Lawrencesee, a lot of D. H. Lawrence got
spilled into that circle at that time, a lot of it, a lot of
it.
Byerly: And what was that about?
Goodfriend: Also, Helen Deutch, a woman psychoanalyst at that time, said a
woman wasn't complete unless she had children? I personally
was influenced by her, because I didn't want to have kids.
For many, many years, 1 didn't want to have kids, and then
when all my friends around me were having kids, I wound up
having a child too, even though I had had an abortion before
that, which was very, very hard to come by in the forties,
very hard to get an abortion.
2A1
Byerly: Well, what about D. H. Lawrence? What was his view of women?
Goodfriend: [laughs] Well, the people around here Just thought that women
were there for men. People like the poet Bob Stock was one
who thought that way. He was a poet, and he published in the
Ark, I think, the Ark came out around then. That was around
the circle of the anarchist poetry around there.
Byerly: Okay. Well, what about in your group?
Goodfriend: Well, when I came out here, I never really was part of any
group .
Byerly: Right, I know, I'm sorry. Wrong use of words.
Goodfriend: I can remember in our discussion groups, there were more men
always than women. We were a few women. Carmella, Diva,
myself, Dorothy who was much older, Yedda, Sally. The rest
were all men. The young men that would come to our discussion
group went over to the Trotskyites because there weren't any
young women around for them to meet at our discussion groups.
But we never hadthere was never really a philosophy about
women. There are some things that we didn't discuss. We
didn't discuss feminism- -it was not an issue of discussion in
those years, anyway. I wound up actually being much more the
traditional woman than I thought I would be when I became a
mother and had kids and cleaned house and stuff like that. I
never liked being a so-called housewife, but I stayed home for
five years when the kids were little and felt that it was
important to be home for little children.
I found nonmonogamy very difficult for me, for example.
My spouse had a lot of affairs going on; I didn't. It was
very hard, it was very hard. Eventually, that's why I decided
I was not going to live with him any more. That had nothing
to do with philosophy, it just had to do with me, how I was
raised and my own self-image.
I also felt, for many years, that one didn't have to have
children. Later on, when feminism became a big issue and a
lot of women decided you didn't have to have children to be a
woman, I certainly believed that. I still do. I'm not sorry
I had my kids; it's very nice to have them, it really is. And
I know that a lot of my friends who didn't have children, and
when they talk to me they say it's one of the things they
regret. Three friends have said that to me.
David Roven did treat me as an equal. I was the one who
introduced him to this whole world of anarchist politics . So
242
Byerly:
anyway, we were living together, and we were part of this
group, and putting out Why, and my motherthe tradition was
to contribute money to the grandchild she would contribute
money to the paper.
They thought the paper was as close to a grandchild that they
were ever going to get?
The Sixties
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
Byerly:
So how were the sixties for you?
For me? Well, I was involved in teaching in the sixties. I
was at Walden. We were part of the anti- Vietnam War movement
and busy picketing Atomic Energy Commissions and protesting.
Oh, the school did that?
The school was involved too.
involved in that.
Everybody in the school was
Everyone was a political activist?
Yes. At that time, all the parents were.
That's why people sent their children to the school, to be in
that culture of political activism?
Goodfriend: Yes. We put on this wonderful, wonderful, wonderful
children's drama called "Tiska with the Green Thumbs." It was
a French story. Tiska was a little boy whose father was a
munition maker, and his gardener, the gardener who works for
the family, had a magic touch for growing plants. So Tiska
winds up growing things that take over the ammunition
factories and the tanks and the cannons and everything else.
Well, Ida did it, Ida Wiltshire. She was a dancer and
she did a dance drama based on the story. It was really very
lovely. So every year, the kids produced a big dance drama
that Ida or Lee helped them with.
Byerly: With a political theme?
Goodfriend: Yes, it had a political theme. Mild, but yes.
Byerly: Clearly a Left perspective?
243
Goodfriend: Yes. Well, humane, let me put it that way, humane. And then
Lee put on "Let's Build a City," which was a musical
production by an East Coast musician.
So in the sixties, when Shirley and Frank moved to
Berkeley, it was very hard for Shirley. Frank at times was
really totally obnoxious. I mean, it was just before he quit
drinking and joined AA. There was one period around this time
when she was very, very, very suicidal, and the only person
who'd come and talk to her and bring some food at the time was
me. I would come and sit with her. She didn't want to see
anybody else. And then she moved out, and he moved her back
in, and you know. I'm sure she told you all that.
By the time Frank Joined the Gurdieff Soceity, he had
quit drinking and was involved in drama. He was very good.
Then Shirley moved to Woodacre. And again, she would come
down to visit me and I would go up there. She would
frequently come down and spend the nights here, especially
after Sara was living around here. I didn't see Shirley that
much but we always had fun when we got together.
And then she'd go to New York with me. The only time she
ever would go anyplace. She wanted to see Michael and
Virginia, and she said, "Yes, Audie, I'll go fly with you to
New York." We stayed at my daughter's house and we just
talked constantly about everything and anything, we just
talked for days, it seemed, on end. We always remembered that
experience.
And my daughter, like everybody, found Shirley to be just
wonderful. She served as this maternal guru figure for many
young people. All the young people loved her. They'd call
her up for astrological advice, that kind of stuff. She knew
more about Diva than I did the last year.
Byerly: Did you ever get back in with Rexroth?
Goodfriend: No.
Byerly: Well, did you ever meet any of the Beat poets?
Goodfriend: Yes. In fact, we were at the Six Gallery where they had that
first thing with Kerouac and Ginsburg with Kenneth as the
master of ceremonies. Everybody we knew was there. This was
all the people we knew. Several poets read. Ginsburg dropped
his pants, I remember that very clearly. There was a lot of
wine. Our friends- -just about everybody that we knew- -was
there. Everybody in the audience, I guess, we knew.
244
Byerly: What was the Cellar like? Was it a cellar?
Goodfriend: Yes, you went down, it was a bar, that you went down steps to.
It was a place something like, if you go down to La Val's, it
had that kind of feeling to it, going into it.
Byerly: Small, dark?
Goodfriend: It was not too dark, not too dark. The jazz band was behind
the poets. I remember Dickie playing, I remember this other
person who I went to school with was one of the Jazz
musicians.
Shirley was crazy about modern jazz. Actually, we went
together to hear this one fellow play in Berkeley someplace.
I can't think of the names. I can see the person that we went
to see, I can see him- -he was black, wore a strange headdress.
Byerly: So those were the Berkeley years?
Goodfriend: Yes, those were the Berkeley years when she started doing
lithography again.
Byerly: And iron sculptures.
Goodfriend: Yes, and the sculptures, yes. Which she hadn't done for a
while .
Byerly:
Goodfriend:
And I thought her art was beautiful. Everything she did
was beautiful. Belle and Ivan have a lot of her watercolors
washes and pastels. Shirley was quite perfect. Everything
she did was just right. And she did everything with such easy
elegance. Yes. And she was accepting of different styles and
different ways. She was also political. Did she talk about
her time when they were fighting the atomic energy plants when
she lived in Sebastopol?
Yes.
Okay, because that was a very active time for her, and we
would always talk about it.
Transcribed and Final Typed by Shannon Page
Regional Oral History Office
The Bancroft Library
University of California
Berkeley, California
AN INTERVIEW WITH SARA TRIEST
Interview Conducted by
Victoria Morris Byerly
in 1995
INTERVIEW HISTORY- -Sara Triest
Sara Triest is the only daughter of Shirley Triest. Our interview
took place at Sara's two-story house in Berkeley on a chilly day in
February 1996. With the fireplace ablaze, Sara sat in a rocking chair in
front of it, her two dogs spread out on the floor at her feet warming
themselves. Her young daughters had just come home from school and their
tiny violin cases lay open on a bookcase against a wall covered with the
girls' artwork.
Sara Triest grew up in the middle of the Bohemian culture that
gathered around her mother and father and their good friend Kenneth
Rexroth. Her parents' spacious house in Sonoma County was a favorite
gathering place for this crowd which, besides Kenneth Rexroth, included
guests like publisher Lawrence Ferlinghetti, the singer Odetta, and others.
She remembers her mother as the gracious hostess who maintained her
composure around guests who vacillated between out of hand and outrageous.
Sara grew up in an extended family of politically active pacifist-
anarchists that included Belle Zabin, Ivan Rainer, and Audrey Goodfriend.
Her playmates were Jane Buck's daughter Radha Stern and Audrey Goodfriend 's
daughter Diva Goodfriend. She also grew up in an atmosphere of art and
high culture.
She is a very caring person, a character trait that she explains
comes from serving as mediator between Shirley and Frank, both of whom she
adored, during their tempestuous marriage. It is clear in talking to her
and others that Shirley Triest was an exceptionally loving mother, as Sara
seems to be.
Sara gives an intimate view of her mother here, documenting Shirley's
very private world including her marriage and her spirituality. This
interview was edited for clarity only.
Victoria Byerly
Interviewer /Editor
August 1997
San Francisco
Regional Oral History Office
Room 486 The Bancroft Library
University of California
Berkeley, California 94720
BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION
(Please write clearly. Use black ink. )
Your full name
Date of birth
Np\S
>Birthplace
~j*~*^ v
's full nameVJK\yC\l \
"
Father's full name
Occupation C\
Mother
Occupation
Your spouse
Occupation
Areas
M'OVNyV^
'
xpertiseC QvV^AaO.
V
Where did you grow up?
Present community
Education
\
Other interests or activities
v v
^-J
Organizations in which you are active
245
XIII AN INTERVIEW WITH SARA TRIEST
[Date of Interview: December 29, 1995] ##
Shirley and Frank Triest's Relationship and Family
Sara T: I was born in 1950 in San Francisco and spent my first six years
in Duncans Mills , then my family moved to Sebastopol which is near
Duncans Mills . I have a twin brother and I have a brother who is
a year older approximately. I remember growing up in Duncans
Mills as a child who spent a lot of time running around in the
country, kind of a free life. At that time 1 wasn't quite the age
where I could remember specifically the relationship between my
parents, but I became aware of it when we moved to Sebastopol. My
childhood was fascinating. It was a rich childhood, but not a
happy one. My parents had a very chaotic, intense relationship.
My father was very demanding, verbally abusive, and sometimes
physically abusive. So for me as a child, I spent a lot of time
feeling intimidated and protective of my mother. I was very close
to my brothers . I often spent many hours trying to figure out how
to make things better for my parents and brothers. I remember as
a child spending every night, maybe two hours, involved in a very
intricate ritual hoping things would somehow be better if only I
could figure out how to fix them. So as a young child I was
parent to both my parents. I played that role from childhood all
the way to the day both of them died. And I was very aware of
what I was doing. And it was okay. It was okay. It still is
okay, but that experience helped shape me.
Also, as a child, I was exposed to many artists; I mean
artists in the sense of some very interesting people. People were
always in our house. There was always people there; it was rich.
Byerly: Even in Duncans Mills?
246
Sara T: Yes. We lived in an old funky house there. Very rustic. I used
to spend all my time barefoot . The deer would come down to the
backyard. It was comfortable and rustic. We didn't have a lot in
the sense of material goods but I never felt a need for that. My
father had come from an extremely wealthy family in which he was
the black sheep. He played that role for his entire life. Still,
he got a large inheritance. So, even though he worked at various
things, he spent a lot time drinking and didn't really find
himself until the age of sixty- five when he discovered he was an
actor.
Byerly: What was your relationship with your father?
Sara T: It was one of curiosity. I mean, I think I found him to be an
interesting person. As a child, I don't think I understood why he
was so hard on his children. He was exceedingly hard on us!
There was nothing we could do that was good enough for him. I
think intuitively, as a child, I knew it was his own pain, his own
anguish, his own insecurities that he had no control over, that
just leaped out all over his family. I don't know if intimidation
is the word, but I couldn't really develop a relationship with him
because he didn't let people get close to him.
That was as a child. It wasn't until maybe eight years
before he died that my father and I became close. Then I spent a
lot of time with him. And I learned to adore him and love him
and, if you want to use that word, forgive him. He was a
wonderful manbright, wise, very psychic but he never learned to
put a leash on his anger and to redirect it. He wasn't able to
find peace with himself and that's too bad. But as adults we
became very close. So even though he had an influence on me that
was pretty drastic, I don't spend time thinking of him in a
negative way. It was just that he was very difficult and I never
really appreciated how he treated my mother.
Byerly: How did he treat your mother?
Sara T: Horrendously, I'd say. I mean, extremely not all right. You
know, but it takes two to play the game.
Byerly: I know she was very much in love with him.
Sara T: They were very much in love. That's another thing: I never
doubted as a child or as an adult that they loved each other, and
that he, in fact, loved his children. That makes a difference.
My father adored his children. Sometimes that makes things okay.
Not fine, but it makes it okay. He didn't know how to treat
people well. It became a chronic thing for him to be the way he
was. Later on he tried to turn himself around, but he had a knack
247
at alienating himself from others. But then if you could see him
for who he really was, he was okay.
Byerly: Well, he was handsome, very well off financially, and connected to
important people, right?
Sara T: Yes. He was spoiled. Maybe that's part of it. But I think the
relationship he had with my mother definitely had a lot of
passion, a lot of love, and they had a lot of issues to work out
with each other. I think they loved each other a lot. It wasn't
always obvious. But I spoke to my mother in detail about their
relationship after he died, and I know she would never have had it
any other way except to be with him and that she didn't regret her
marriage to him. She really didn't. Even though he put her
through a lot. As a child I remember they would stay up every
night to like four in the morning. Just talking- -or, that is, he
talking at her. And she would try to get him to come to bed. He
would order her to sit down. I resented that.
Byerly: He just liked to talk?
Sara T: Lecture. I don't know what her memories of that are, but that
memory distinctly sticks out in my mind. So that's how it felt as
a child.
Shirley Triest's Artful Life
Byerly: When did you realize your mother was an artist?
Sara T: Always. It wasn't a matter of realization; art was always around.
It's almost impossible to remember her any other way. Her art was
just always a part of her. And my father in his own right was a
very artistic, creative man. So life at our house was an
atmosphere of art. As a child, I was exposed to art shows,
museums, and the opera.
Kenneth Rexroth
Byerly: What about her friends? Did you know Kenneth Rexroth? Do you
want to talk a little about him?
Sara T: About Kenneth Rexroth? As I perceived him as a child? I just
remember he was loud and obnoxious. As a childhe wasn't very
248
nice. He was okay. I remember him spending a lot of time at our
house and I would play with his children, and we would go to his
house in San Francisco. And later on I went to his poetry
readings with my parents and I enjoyed his poetry, and that's how
I remember him. I didn't have a relationship with him as an
adult. I didn't develop one; I was too young and he was too old.
Ferlinghetti and Odetta
Sara T: But I remember people like Ferlinghetti and Odetta, the singer.
She was a friend of our family. Malvino. A lot of people like
that, or [Harry Kirch?] --he was a friend. I just knew that they
were people who had--I mean, they were just interesting people.
As an adult, I appreciate that whole environment I grew up in
because 1 realize now how rare it was. Maybe it's given me the
option of a life other than one centered around a typical
marriage. I'm grateful. And you can see the way I live. I
caravan along, and I've married a man who's very similar. He
didn't grow up in the same atmosphere I did, but I would say my
children are growing up as close as I did to that kind of
atmosphere.
Byerly: What would be a typical evening? I know your parents talked about
coming down to the city and having people from the city visit them
both in Duncans Mills and also in Sonoma County, and then later
they moved down here to Berkeley. What was an evening that was
shared with people like Kenneth Rexroth and Odetta like?
Sara T: My mother would work hard in the kitchen and make a fantastic
dinner. We would sit around and have dinner and talk. I would be
sent to bed and they would carry on. We had lots of people; I
think basically four nights out of the week we had people over for
dinner. A lot of people from the city would come to our house in
the country. It became their summer house.
The Rainers
Byerly: When did you first meet the Rainers?
Sara T: They knew my parents before I was born. So Ivan and Belle and
Audrey [Goodfriend] , I remember them as being an extended family.
I didn't really live in the same house but the contact was strong
249
enough. I'm very, very good friends with Audrey's daughter. Best
friends. And although I didn't have active relationships with the
other kids, I consider them family. If they ever needed
something, I would be there for them without a shadow of a doubt.
Byerly: What about your mother as artist? Did you resent the time she
spent on her art?
Sara T: No. I don't think she spent a lot of time on her art. As I
recall in Duncans Mills, I didn't see her actively doing art but I
know she did. In Sebastopol, I know she spent time doing her art
but not at my expense at all- -even further on I think she somehow
actively did it despite what was going on in her marriage. No, I
didn't feel deprived at all. I think my mother's art was part of
her, it was her passion. I don't think anything could have
stopped her from doing her art, and therefore nothing stopped her
from doing it. I know that a relationship to her was important,
the dynamics of the relationship and what was to be learned from
her relationships. That is probably why she spent so much time
with her children. She would do anything to stand by her
children; she would not leave them. So she had her children and
her relationship and her art. I think she did a good job with all
of them.
Byerly: I just have a hard time imagining someone dealing with the
emotional turmoil of this marriage and three children and art.
Sara T: Yes. Well, she was a remarkable woman.
Shirley Triest as a Mother
Byerly: So you think she was a good mother?
Sara T: Oh, yes. I think she was a wonderful, loving, nurturing woman. I
know that she grieved the fact that her children were exposed to
what went on in the marriage and that her children were
psychologically damaged by their father. I think if she had
raised us alone, it would have been different, but who knows? She
was regretful that her children lived in that type of family. But
she was very caring and she spent a lot of time with us.
I know during high school my parents were separating and
coming back together, and there were days where it was crazy.
That was hard but I never felt she was abandoning me. When she
left my father and stayed in a hotel, I had to become the mother
at the age of sixteen. That was hard. But I did it; I had
250
already been primed, in a way, by being the parents for my
parents .
Byerly: It also sounds like you and your mother just liked each other. Is
that right?
Sara T: Yeah, we had fun, and we could talk about anything.
Byerly: Well, you're quite different, right?
Sara T: We're very different.
Byerly: And she accepted that difference?
Sara T: She didn't pressure me to be anything, but I don't know if that's
good or bad. I don't think she thought of herself as an artist.
I mean, she never spoke of herself as an artist. Other people
have seen her as such. But she never walked around saying I'm
this, I'm that. Never. So I knew she did art, but I didn't think
of her as an artist.
Money Issues
Byerly: Was money ever an issue?
Sara T: Probably, in a screwy kind of way. I mean, my father had
inherited lots of money; we lived off of it. He had jobs. He was
a real estate agent for a while; that didn't really work out. I
mean, we never went without, but in terms of following in the
footsteps of your parents, it was a hard act to follow. My father
gave all his money away when he was sixty-five. I felt that that
was an incredibly selfish and stupid move on his part.
Byerly: Was this to the Gurdjieff society?
Sara T: Yes. I think if I had inherited some money in my life, I think it
would have maybe helped me develop areas of my personal life and
my career. Instead I've had to work and work. Personally in
terms of finances--! have had to work very hard and figure out by
myself how to get from A to B. I'm still determined to accomplish
those things I truly would like to do.
ft
Sara T: If you look at me, you would see a respiratory therapist working
in a hospital for fifteen years. But there's a whole other side
251
of me. I would like to take what I have to offer as an intuitive
person and get into alternative medicine for children. That's
really what my dream is; that's really where I need to go, on a
spiritual level, with my struggle.
Shirley Triest's Spiritual Work
Byerly: How about the spiritual relationship you had with your mother?
You said that she encouraged your spiritual growth.
Sara T: I guess it's hard for me to verbalize that particular relationship
with my mother because sometimes spiritual exchanges aren't
something that can always be put in plain words. But my mother
was very powerful, I believe. She was incredibly psychic. She
could talk about people and know what was going on.
Byerly: You mean a strong intuitive sense?
Sara T: Yes. I have that also, so we could talk about people and what we
thought was going on with them and what could be done for them--
many people would seek my mother out for advice. So I would come
to her and either ask her questions about people I knew, things
about their personality or things they were doing, and we would
discuss it. We would spend time talking about just the way one
looks at life or the way one handles situations. When I was
presented with a dilemma, I would spend a lot of time talking with
her. She was very wise.
Byerly: Was she grounded in any kind of religion?
Sara T: No.
Byerly: She was anti-religion?
Sara T: No. It just was not relevant to her.
Byerly: I knew she was into some mysticism. What impact do you think that
had on her--
Sara T: I don't know to what degree she was into it, so I can't answer it
[laughter]. But she was very, very much into astrology. My
mother also had more of an intellect than I do; I don't mean she
was real intellectual but her intellect was her comfort zone. My
comfort zone is more my intuition.
Byerly: Did you ever rebel?
252
Sara T: No, I really don't think I did. She didn't give me anything to
rebel against. I know from the age of maybe nineteen to twenty-
six, there was turmoil. But I don't remember it as being a
reflection on my mother.
Byerly: That's very unusual these days, to not have any strong argument
with your mother.
Sara T: No, we didn't argue. I guess, the most I could say about that is
that there was moments where she had the ability to be very
critical. And sometimes she was critical of me, and I didn't like
that. It hurt because I'm the kind of personality where I'll run
around, I'll do anything to make anybody happy anytime because I
just want people to love me. Don't hurt my feelings. I'll bend
over backwards but I can't stand criticism. When I felt criticism
from her I would retreat and then I would go away and think about
it and figure out by myself if I thought that was an appropriate
criticism. Many times what she was trying to say to me was right
on the money. It was like she was trying to tell me something and
sort out these feelings for me and she would be right. I would
follow her advice and then, in retrospect, I realized she knew
what she was talking about. In a way, she went through a lot more
in her life than I have in mine. If my life was crazy as a young
person, her life was crazier. One thing about my mother was that
she was a hellraiser, a bad girl, a wild woman. And she loved it.
She was incredibly open with me about all sorts of things in her
past which I won't go into on tape. So she lived her life. If
she was watching her daughter do something wild, there wasn't much
she could say because she had already done it herself. And she
knew that. Her way of dealing with me was with love and with hope
that I could see it from the beginning to the end and get out in
one piece. So there was nothing to rebel against.
Shirley Triest as the Sonoma Hostess
Byerly: How do you remember your mother at her soirees in Sonoma?
Sara T: As a gracious lady. Very gracious. She wasn't wild and
flamboyant or off-the-wall or drunk or screaming like her guests
frequently were.
Byerly: Like some other people?
Sara T: Yes. Like Kenneth. There were people who drank in those days.
There were a lot of drinkers, people yelling, carrying on. But
she didn't carry on. She was very controlled and graceful even to
253
her dying breath. And she kept her composure. No one could take
that from her.
Byerly: That's one thing I found so admirable about her.
Shirley Triest and Death
Sara T: And she had worked at it; it didn't just come to her. There's one
thing that impressed me about my mother. Right after she had been
diagnosed with cancer, about a year before she died, we were
sitting having a meal together and she was talking about the end
of her life. She said, "Sara, this is the end of the chess game."
And it really impressed me because she said, "I only have a short
time left. How am I going to do it?" She gave it a lot of
thought. She had courage, wisdom, and she died a conscious,
graceful death. She wanted it that way. She wanted her life to
be a sentient journey.
Byerly: What do you think you'll remember most about your mom?
Sara T: What will I remember most about my mother? 1 feel her around me a
lot these days. I think I'll remember her most as a spiritual
companion. She was very clear that her power would be transferred
to me after she died, that it was time for me to carry the torch,
so to speak. So I feel I have many roads to travel yet.
Transcribed by Gary Varney
Final Typed by Shannon Page
Regional Oral History Office University of California
The Bancroft Library Berkeley, California
AN INTERVIEW WITH RADHA STERN
Interview Conducted by
Victoria Morris Byerly
in 1996
INTERVIEW HISTORY- -Radha Stern
Radha Stern is the only daughter of Gerd Stern and Jane Hamner Buck.
She grew up on the houseboats in Sausalito where, she remembers, her mother
and father liked to talk, smoke, and drink wine into the wee hours of the
morning with such characters as Dylan Thomas, Allen Ginsburg, and others.
Later, with her dad, Radha experienced the psychedelic sixties in the
company of Timothy Leary and, at a very tender age, was a part of the
culture of LSD, light shows, and hippies. During this era, Radha spent a
lot of time with her dad, who was achieving a high profile nationally for
his mobile art.
She is responsible for understanding the important role both her
mother, Jane Buck, and Shirley Triest played in the second wave of
Bohemianism in San Francisco. Her interview here offers a view of Jane
Buck's personal life and the relationship she had for nearly a lifetime
with the subject of this oral history. Together, the lives of both Triest
and Buck illuminate what it was like for women on the crest of the Rexroth
Scott Street Soiree crowd and the emerging Beat generation. Although both
Triest and Buck were artists, neither were aggressive enough about their
work to be publicly identified as artists, but are perhaps best understood
as well-placed witnesses of West Coast Bohemian life in the early to mid-
twentieth century.
Finally, Radha Stern herself had an important relationship with
Shirley Triest, which developed after her mother's early death. Her
documentation of that relationship provides further evidence of Triest 's
ability to use her intuitive powers to both sustain and inspire the young
women around her.
This interview took place at Radha 's home in Mill Valley on January
9, 1996. It has been edited for clarity only.
Victoria Byerly
Interviewer /Editor
August 1997
San Francisco
Regional Oral History Office
Room 486 The Bancroft Library
University of California
Berkeley, California 94720
BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION
(Please write clearly. Use black ink.)
Your full name
Date of birth Ci-
-
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Birthplace
Father's full name \SO JflCl&
Occupation Birthplace
Mother's full name
Occupation
Your spouse C
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Birthplace
^ t /7lA.y
Occupation
Your children
Where did you grow up?
Present community P1 ' 1
Educat ion
A-
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Occupation(s) ftfJC bo
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Areas of expertise Qrqt-ri/-2J r\*J C&O fr
Other interests or activities
Organizations in which you are active
254
XIV AN INTERVIEW WITH RADHA STERN
[Date of Interview: January 9, 1996] ##
Best Friends ; Shirley Staschen Triest and Jane Hamner Buck
Byerly: So let's begin with your relationship, and your mother Jane's
relationship with Shirley Triest.
Radha S: Well, Shirley and my mother Jane were buddies. They were just, I
think, inseparable during their lives. My mother was a writer,
so they corresponded wherever they were all the time.
To my knowledge, they met when Jane was probably around
twenty, so Shirley was older, so twenty-six? Something like
that. There was an age difference. I understood their
relationship to be like some of my relationships with my
girlfriends. They talked about everything ... guys , kids, et
cetera.
I can remember going and visiting Shirley in different
places with my mother. Theirs was a wonderful relationship.
They had a lot in common. They were both artists. They found
similarities in their spiritual beliefs and investigations. My
mother investigated all spiritual things. Whether she actually
ended up believing in them or not. Shirley did a lot of the
same. Shirley would keep my mom on track astrologically, because
she was really into astrology. And we kids too, occasionally,
she would say, "Okay, guys, here, blah blah blah," and do a
reality check with us.
Byerly: You mean an astrological reality check?
Radha S: Right. I always felt that astrology for Shirley was really her
ability to know what was going on with people, and she used
astrology to tell them. It was a cover for her psychicness. I
always felt that way about Shirley. She was very pointed with
her opinions. All my sisters would go have their boyfriends'
255
charts done by Shirley to see if this was "the guy," you know,
[laughter] They sometimes were disappointed, but that's okay.
I think Shirley went through all my mother's marriages and
boyfriends with her. Her first husband was Wallace Hill, with
whom she had three children, Sheridan, Michelle, and Kristen.
With my father, Gerd Stern, she had two children, Adam and
myself. My brother passed away from muscular dystrophy. That
wasn't the actual cause of death, but it was the catalyst for it.
Shirley helped my mom go through that. At the time, Jane
committed her whole life to making sure that Adam passed on in a
good way, and she believed that he was going to come back strong
and healthy. My mother really believed in reincarnation.
Shirley was also there for my mother's death. My mother
died very young, and Shirley was there. She helped my mom see
the path.
Jane's third marriage was to Bill Buck. Paul Buck was from
that marriage. Then there was another significant relationship,
but not a marriage, Dave Dinsmore, who was a house builder. So
both Shirley and Jane had many relationships and knew a lot of
people. They were tight. They meant a lot to each other.
Shirley told me many times that she missed Jane every day.
Jane pushed Shirley a lot. Shirley was shy about who she
was. She wasn't as out-front as Jane, so Jane pushed Shirley to
do more art, to be involved in things. The Ramayana and
Mahabharata projects happened because Jane wanted Shirley to do
them. Jane pushed Shirley to get out of the relationship with
Frank, because she couldn't stand to see her friend so miserable.
And Shirley said Jane made that decision for her. She just
showed up one day with a station wagon and said, "Put all your
stuff in here, you're leaving." And that's what Shirley needed
to get herself out of that abusive relationship.
And then Shirley would calm my mother down. I know that
Shirley didn't agree with a lot of the decisions my mother made
about us kids, not that she could do a whole lot about it, but
I'm sure she put her opinion in.
I felt fortunate to have a relationship with Shirley after
my mother passed away, and I made a consistent effort to stay in
contact with her. She's a really special person. With Shirley I
got a big dose of my mother plus a really great, encouraging
friend. Shirley had a wonderful way of inspiring me. She'd say,
"You'll just fix it, won't you?" Or, "You'll just get it
together, won't you?" She could sum me up quickly. She just
knew. . And it wasn't just me I think she had that talent with
256
everybody. She could just kind of see right into your soul and
know what you were capable of. She was really on it. [tape
interruption]
Jane; Beautiful Woman, Unusual Mother
Byerly: What was Jane like?
Radha S: Jane was--I hate to say she was a nineties woman in the sixties
but she was. She was just herself, very much an individual,
didn't care what other people thought about her. That was not
important to her at all. She was also very vain. She was a
gorgeous woman, and when she was younger she was a swimsuit model
and a telephone model. In those days, you had telephone models.
And a hand model for a while. When she got older, I think it was
hard for her, because she didn't feel as pretty, even though she
was always major gorgeous.
Jane was artsy, she was spiritual, she was a great cook, she
loved to entertain. She wouldn't go to the PTA for the life of
her. I think we were some of the last people on our two- or
three-mile stretch to have a telephone or a TV. She read and
read and read and read, and she investigated everything. She
puttered in the yard for hours at a time. She just found great
solace in growing things, and she was very good at it. She was a
green thumb, something 1 did not inherit.
She was very much an encourager of people. She had people
around her all the time because of who she was. When people had
problems, she'd help them, not necessarily solve their problems,
but give them ideas to solve them. She encouraged artists all
over the place. There were artists all around her. I mean, I
grew up with phenomenal artists all around me. And people! She
made them feel that it was okay to be themselves. She hung
around a lot of gay men, and she really encouraged them to be
themselves, that it was okay. So people felt comfortable around
her.
She wasn't like warm and cuddly to us as kids. She wasn't
the kind of person that if you were boo-hooing she'd come over
and hug you and say, "Everything's going to be okay." She'd say,
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get it together." And she did
a lot of stuff to expand our minds. We grew up with very, very
little money, but she would pack a lunch in the car, and we'd go
to the museum or the zoo or the aquarium or something, because at
those times, all those things were free. You didn't have to pay
257
Byerly:
Radha S:
admission charges. When we went to visit friends, she'd always
feed us in the car first, because she said grouchy, hungry
children were the worst. She made do with very little, and I
admire her for that, because we never really felt like we were
poor. We never minded eating pancakes for dinner. She just made
it feel okay.
I can remember begging her to go to watch me sing in fifth
grade, and she finally succumbed, but it was a huge deal to get
her to come. She just didn't like being in situations like that
with people she didn't feel comfortable with. But she was
incredibly social in her own life.
The PTA.
The PTA and the school scene, and being "a real mother" would
never cross her mind.
She didn't dress like everybody else. She wore bright
colors and flowing artful clothes. Polyester never crossed her
closet. She was just really an individual herself.
Byerly: What kind of a background did she come from?
Radha S: Well, she was born in Eureka. Her father was a dentist and
Swedish. He was a dentist on a Swedish military ship or
something like that, and moved to Eureka. I remember her father
and I had the same birthday, so we used to call him on his
birthday. I never actually remember meeting him.
And her mother, Esther, was also kind of a wild woman. I
think one of the famous stories about her is that she used to
make fruitcakes for the holidays, and they were pretty special
fruitcakes. She would shampoo them, which means you dose them
with alcohol, and then she would shampoo herself, [laughs] I
think she had alcohol problems in those days and died quite
young. Jane was crazy about her.
Then Keith Hamner, Jane's father, remarried. Jane never
really encouraged that relationship. I think she had a hard time
with her dad, so I don't really have any memories of him except
that we had the same birthday. And I remember when he passed
away, but I can't even say the year, I have no idea.
She came down to San Francisco to go to school when she left
Eureka, and I think her whole life opened up at that point in
time. She was ready to get out of Eureka and take Eureka out of
Jane . She was ready to expand her horizons . I think it was not
long after that that she met Shirley. Couldn't have been too
258
long, actually. We'll have to hook up with one of my sisters to
see if we can get how, when, and why.
Byerly: What school did she go to here?
Radha S: She went to San Francisco State, and then she went to UC Berkeley
many years afterwards, where she graduated.
Byerly: What did she study?
Radha S: Well, she went back and finished in anthropology, so maybe she
did some anthropology at that time, because she finished her
degree in anthropology many years later, somewhere between '40
and '50 I think she went back to Berkeley. So I want to say
anthropology, but I'm not really positive. And she had a lot of
friends from that time. 1 know that her first love affair was
with her stepfather. That was kind of bizarre, but it's true.
Byerly: Her mother's second husband?
Radha S: Second husband, yes.
Byerly: How did that happen?
Radha S: I guess he came down to visit her at school, and she just--I
mean, she wanted it to happen. It wasn't like an abuse
situation.
Byerly: But he was no longer with her mother?
Radha S: I think he was.
Byerly: Oh.
Radha S: I don't think what happened was his intention. The impression I
get from the stories is that it just kind of happened.
Byerly: Did she maintain a relationship with him?
Radha S: I don't think for too long. I think that just kind of launched
her into adulthood.
Byerly: But I mean, later in life, did she continue a relationship with
him?
Radha S: Not to my knowledge, because I don't remember anything about him.
And I don't know if he survived Esther that much longer. Because
Esther I know Esther was around when Sheridan was born. I don't
know if she was around when Michelle was born. But certainly, by
259
the time I came on the scene, she had been passed away for quite
a while.
Byerly: And you never heard of the husband?
Radha S: No. Never heard much about him afterwards. I actually never
heard anything about him; the only reason I know that story is
because my sister told me.
Jane Buck and Shirley Triest as Part of the San Francisco
Bohemian Scene
Byerly: Was your mother a bohemian?
Radha S: Yes. She was just really out front and bold about her opinions.
She didn't care if she ruffled feathers or people's morals. She
was always herself. So in that way, she was a bohemian. She
wasn't shy about her opinion about anything, whether political or
nonpolitical, moral or immoral. All her daughters are that way
too, because we all feel very strongly about who we are. And I
don't want to say we don't care what other people think, but we
don't compromise what we believe because somebody else might not
like it.
So as for Shirley? Bohemian? No. Opinionated, educated,
somebody to be in awe of, somebody to listen to, somebody to be
encouraged by, all those things, yes. Yes, maybe Shirley and
Jane would have stood in the line way back then for women to
vote. Yes, both of them would have been there. Planned
Parenthood, yes, they would have been there. So in that way,
they were bohemians .
Byerly: Okay. Well, I know Shirley frequented the Black Cat Cafe.
Radha S: Yes.
Byerly: She was very much a part of the San Francisco cafe scene. She
had several husbands and several lovers, and didn't necessarily
marry before she had her children, so from that sense, she was
outside the norm.
Radha S: Right.
Byerly: She was clearly outside the norm--
Radha S;
260
Right, and Jane was very much like that also. But yes, basically
bohemian, very true, both of them. I don't really know about
Jane and the cafe scene, but I know there was a real social part
of her. Her friends always got together and made dinner
together. She used to tell me about parties where they would all
go sell their blood and then come back home and eat liver and
onions for dinner with the money. Things like that.
I remember a friend of hers got married, and they were
trying to figure out how to get double sheets for her. Jane had
all these old single sheets, so they just sewed them all
together.
Well, was your mother poor?
The whole family was poor. Yes. It wasn't until much later in
life because of her third marriage that any money came in.
But it sounds like a privileged life to me.
Oh, yes, there were the basics, though sometimes the basics were
in jeopardy. I can remember writing my dad to help with the
thirty-five dollars for me to get a tooth pulled. We just didn't
have extra money, no extras at all.
Byerly: Did Jane work?
Radha S: She didn't work during my childhood because of my brother Adam,
who had muscular dystrophy. She felt committed to being there
for him. He really needed it. He didn't go into a home until
very close to his death. And then after that, she went to UC
Berkeley and got her degree in anthropology, and then she became
a librarian.
Byerly: How did she live before that?
Radha S: Well, I think she had some money from when she divorced Bill
Buck, and she invested it well in property. She'd have somebody
build a house, and then get a little more money from it and build
another.
Jane's Marriages and Intimate Relationships
Byerly:
Radha S;
Byerly:
I
Hadha S:
Byerly: But this was the third marriage, Bill Buck?
261
Radha S: Yes. Before that I think she just struggled along. I think her
first husband Wallace Hill had a good job, and they probably had
a reasonable income coming in because he was a union steelworker.
But my dad was a starving poet. I don't know how he made much
money. He started the Boobam Company. Boobams are musical
instruments.
Then Jane met Bill Buck, who kind of waltzed into her life,
and she waltzed out of my dad's life. I know that it was real
rough money-wise with my dad. With my dad, they lived with
friends to make it work. My dad hung out with Allen Ginsburg and
Dylan Thomas and those kinds of people, and it was just, whoever
had money, kind of spread it around. That's just the way it
worked, I think. That's how we lived when I was young.
Jane's Marriage to Gerd Stern
Byerly:
Radha S:
Byerly:
Radha S:
Well, let's talk a little bit about your dad.
interesting story.
He has an
Well, my dad came over here in about 1936 from Germany, a German
Jew. He didn't have to stay on Ellis Island, but came out to the
West when he was a young man and met my mother. I think that was
either in Sausalito or San Francisco somewhere. My mother ran
off with him, leaving her husband, Wallace Hill, and the three
girls, Kristen, Michelle, and Sheridan. They went back to New
York, and I know my mom was a dance hall girl for a while, and
charged a nickel a dance or something. Gerd told me that her
dresses used to wear out in the middle from sailors rubbing
against her. He said she was one of the women who did not bring
men home. There were some women in there who brought men home,
but not her. And I think she modeled a little bit in New York.
And then she got pregnant with my brother Adam, and she said
she didn't want to have a kid in New York, that she wanted to
have the baby in California. Also because Dr. Marion Wagner had
been her friend of many years, I think she wanted her to deliver
the baby. So, she and my father hitchhiked across country.
She was pregnant?
She was pregnant with my brother. They had all these rules about
hitchhiking. She always wore a skirt. I remember one time she
said that this truck driver picked them up and said as long as my
dad stayed awake, he'd take them all the way across country, but
if my dad fell asleep, he was going to kick them out of the car.
262
Byerly:
Radha S:
Byerly:
Radha S:
Byerly:
Radha S:
Byerly:
Radha S:
Byerly:
Radha S:
Byerly:
Radha S:
And my dad fell asleep, so he kicked them out. [laughter] You
know, hitchhiking in those days was just like kind of a method of
transportation. It was not the scary thing it is these days.
And there was no way Jane was staying in New York to have her
baby, so she came back to California. Then she could be around
her mother too, I think that had a lot to do with it.
So she was a beautiful woman?
She was a beautiful woman, yes. And I think it was hard for her
to grow older. She didn't do that very graciously. She had
trouble with the lines. As wild and updated as she was way back
then, she probably would have been the kind of person who today
would have a facelift. It would have made her feel a lot better.
She didn't like the wrinkles and the getting older. That
bothered her. She always complained about her hair greying. She
was very vain, but she was gorgeous, and she had a very full,
very w-o-m-a-n-l-y body, the large breasts and hips. She wasn't
22-22-22, she was definitely shapely.
So anyway, my dad was pretty far out for his time too.
much in the Beat generation. He still does poetry.
What's his name?
Very
Gerd Stern. There was a little in the article in the Chronicle
not that long ago by Herb Caen talking about the Beat generation,
and my dad '
s in there .
So did he hang out with Kenneth Rexroth?
Oh, yes.
Where did your mom meet your dad?
I'm not really sure. They lived in Sausalito on a houseboat in
Gate Five, which is where I was born too. I was born in San
Francisco, but it was only because it was the closest hospital.
And Adam was born there too, so Marion must have practiced there.
And Marion was your mom's college roommate?
College friend. I don't know if they were actually roommates.
Possibly lovers in the later years.
What was her name again?
[slowly] Marion Wagner. [spells] And she was a consistent
friend throughout Jane's life. She and Jane were pals.
263
Actually, she's the one that showed my mom a lump in her breast,
.and Marion said, "Go get it biopsied," and my mom didn't do it.
And consequently, she lost her life because she didn't take care
of it in time. This angers me when I think about it. I think
how our lives would have changed if she was still around. We
lost her way too young.
Byerly: So she and Gerd were living on this boat house, and they had two
kids--
Radha S: Right.
Byerly: And he was--
Radha S: A poet.
Byerly: He was a poet, and--
Radha S: Had the Boobam Company. And then I think when they broke up, he
went back to New York. It was hard for him, his beautiful wife
had run off with this wealthy younger man. My mom said she
didn't know it, but I have a hard time believing that she didn't
know Bill Buck was a young wealthy man. Much younger than her; I
think he was eleven years younger. Actually, it must have been
more, because Gerd is eleven years younger than my mom.
Byerly: Your father is eleven years younger than your mother?
Radha S: Or nine. No, he's nine years, and Bill is more, 1 think. It was
a lot. He was young. He was twenty-one- -he had just turned
twenty-one when he ran off with my mom.
II
Radha S: It was real hard on my father. His mother says that Gerd would
have never married another woman, he was so in love with my
mother. And I see him stare at my sisters, who look more like my
mother. She really had a hypnotic effect on certain people.
He was really devastated when she left. And it was probably
frustrating for him, because he thought his inability to provide
Jane with creature comforts had a lot to do with it. Bill Buck
subsequently bought the Boobam Company. My dad felt like this
guy Bill Buck was buying up his life and taking his wife along
with it, so he wasn't too happy about it.
Byerly: Goodness. So let's hear some about your father's poetry.
Radha S: Gerd's.
264
Byerly: Gerd's. When did he start out as a poet?
Radha S: He always has been a poet. His poetry is very intricate and
bizarre. I never understood it as a child. I sort of understand
it now, but he'syou know how Herb Caen always says word-freak-
ism? He uses very long, complicated words, sometimes German and
English together, still very hard for me to understand. He's a
poet in his own world. He was very good friends with Michael
McClure for many years .
Byerly: So he's younger than your mother, and she was younger than
Shirley, so he was of the generation of Ginsburg and the younger
Michael McClure.
Life on the Sausalito Houseboats
Radha S: They all had houseboats along Gate Five in those days, and they
just went from one place to the other.
Byerly: In Sausalito.
|
Radha S: Yes.
Byerly: Who was "they"?
Radha S: Well, my mother and Gerd, and Ginsburg lived down the road--you
know, down the gate. It was walking distance, I think. They all
used to hang out. I was itsy-bitsy, so I don't really remember a
lot of it, but I remember the stories. Jacques Mian, who was an
artist, Perot, who I think was a poet, I don't know his last
name. Actually, my dad's going to be here for like five days if
you wanted to talk to him. I think that would be good. Hum,
names. Dylan Thomas--. And then later in life, my dad was real
involved in the Timothy Leary experiments. He's a very far-out,
individual with a pretty amazing life. Hmm, other names. I'm
sure Ken was around during those times too, Ken Rexroth, but I
don't remember him very much.
Byerly: What do you remember of this group?
Radha S: Bill Lufboro was one of them. They used to come to visit after
the fact, some of them. Bill Lufboro and Jane were very good
friends. Perot she always maintained contact with. Allen went
his own way. I always knew who he was --he actually looks a lot
like my dad--
265
Byerly: Allen--?
Radha S: Ginsburg. But they were never big buddies. Michael McClure, I
used to hang out with him and his daughter and wife when I was
young, and then I don't think he and my dad communicate much now.
Who else? Well, Tim was kind of a New York friend, Tim Leary.
Byerly: What are the stories that have been handed down about this group?
What did they do?
Radha S: They wrote poetry together, and would get together to
"headthink." I can always remember thinking of my dad when I was
young, How can they talk for so many hours? What do they find to
talk about? Just hours and hours of rapping. I'd think- -because
I'd always be waiting for them to get done so we could do
something, and they would just go on and on and on. I just
couldn't imagine that people could talk so long about anything.
Byerly: Just anything that came up?
Radha S: Yes. They would just sit around and rap, and eat, and think, you
know. I'm sure they all smoked pot; I don't know what the drug
scene was in those days . But my mother smoked pot her whole
life, so I would imagine that they did then. I don't know if
Shirley did, actually, to tell you the truth, but I know my mom
did. I know my dad does, has, still does. It's just part of
their being somehow. I know he did LSD experiments with Timothy
Leary.
Byerly: Was your mother involved with LSD, or did that come later?
Radha S: That came later. I think my mother did her own experimenting.
It wasn't around Tim or my dad, but I know for a fact she tried
it. She was never a person who got out of control with drugs.
It was an event, and then it was over, and then you did something
else. It wasn't an abusive situation. It was a conscious-
expanding experience or something, I don't know. [laughter] So
as a teenager, I can remember her saying to me, "Don't take any
of my joints! If you want to smoke pot, get your own." [laughs]
So I respected that after a while, but you know, it was a much
friendlier scene than the drug scene these days somehow. It
wasn't as scary and out of control, and people didn't go
overboard. It seemed to be kind of like going out to dinner or
something. It was just a real treat.
Byerly: Do you think Jane left her first husband to be part of this
scene?
266
Radha S: I'm sure it was a major attraction. She probably married Wally
because she felt like it was the smart thing to do. Leaving with
my dad got her out of Eureka where she was popping babies out
pretty fast.
Byerly: Wally was working-class?
Radha S: Yes. And I'm sure that when the reality hit her that this was
going to be her life, she probably had a freak attack and said,
"No way. I need my personality, I need my impetus, I need some
something." So when Gerd came along with his poetry and wild
friends, I'm sure she was just intrigued, and it was the thing to
do.
Byerly: What year do you think they met?
Radha S: Well, I would say probably '48, '49. They were married about
seven years, and Adam and I were two years apart. I was born
right at the tail end of '54, December 29, can't get much closer.
And Adam was born in November '52. I was only two or one and a
half when we ran off with Bill Buck. So I'd say there was more
marriage on the pre-kids side than on the after-kids side.
*
Byerly: So just as the Beat scene was happening Jane met your dad.
Radha S: Right. He married Ann London after my mother, and Ann London's
father owned the St. Francis Hotel, Dan London. That was a
pretty wild part of his life too, and he still had the Sausalito
houseboat during that time. Because it was when he was living
with her he got busted. He got set up and busted for pot, which
in those days was like horrible. I think she divorced him over
it.
Not Jane?
No, no, not Jane, Ann London. They had one child, and I think
when he was three, all this happened. He's thirty I guess he's
the same age as Paul, so he's thirty. My dad said in those days,
you just got married. If you were having a scene with somebody,
you just got married. That's what people did. Not like Shirley,
who resisted getting married. I think my mother was kind of more
that mentality: you got married. I asked him once why he had so
many wives, and he said, "Hey, if you had a heavy scene going on
with somebody, you just got married. That was the thing to do."
Byerly: How many wives did he have?
Radha S: He had three. Four major significant relationships, and one I
don't think he was married to.
Byerly:
Radha S;
267
Byerly: And your mother had four.
Radha S: And my mother had four, yes. So major complicated sister-brother
interrelationships .
Jane's Marriage to William Buck
Radha S: They bought a big huge house in Bolinas, my mother and Bill Buck.
And he bought her a Mercedes. She had a fancy car, she had nice
clothes, and she had pretty things. She was happy. He was a
wild character. I don't really know much about him. I was still
too young to remember much of him.
Byerly: How long were they together?
Radha S: Not that long.
Byerly: Like one year, two years?
Radha S: Oh, more than that. Probably around the seven-year range. So we
lived in the Bolinas house. I would have gone to kindergarten
there, but there was no kindergarten. Then we moved to Novato by
the time I went to first grade. And that was one of the first
things that my mother did which really helped her financially:
she bought a place, an old chicken coop in Novato. She had it
remodeled and it was on a large piece of acreage. Later a
developer bought the property and built fourteen houses on it, so
I think that put her in a secure financial position.
Byerly: So the money that she got from the marriage with Bill Buck, she
used to invest in this property?
Radha S: Right.
Byerly: And then she was okay financially?
Radha S: I think so, yes. I think that helped. And then Bill gave her
child support for years. And he died very young; he died at
thirty-six. Very young, and under mysterious circumstances.
They say he hit his head and never became conscious again, but it
was all very mysterious.
Byerly: Did she leave him?
Radha S: He left. I think she committed him, actually. I'm not really
sure about this, because she told us he went and had a back
268
operation, and then he never came home from the hospital. But he
was being pretty far-out. I don't know why and I don't know what
caused it, but I think he probably went for some psychiatric care
and then never quite came home, something like that. But I'm not
really sure what the story is. Wild, but I'm not sure what the
story is, to be perfectly honest.
You know, we were kids. We were just like told whatever
version was appropriate, you know? But I remember he used to
play the kettle drums, and he used to play them late at night,
and the neighbors would complain, even in Bolinas, which is
pretty cool. Things like that, play music real loud. I just
have these faint little glimpses of him in the house. It wasn't
that much. It's hard to say, hard to say. But they traveled a
lot, they went to Thailand.
Byerly: So he was a very wealthy man.
Radha S: Yes.
Byerly: And the money came from ?
'Radha S : The Buck family was the first family to export fruit from
California in refrigerated containers. So it was old money, and
I'm sure when he turned twenty-one, he probably got a lump of it.
I have no clue how much. He didn't have a lot of contact with
his son, but he was a good dad, he always made sure Paul had what
he needed. It was kind of a contrast for me growing up with
Paul, who had wealthy relatives, and me who had no relatives. I
got the Goodwill bike and he got the brand-new Schwinn racer,
[laughs]
Byerly: What's the difference?
Radha S: What's the difference? Oh, the Schwinn racer is like a real
fancy red bike that you go buy at the store and costs probably in
those days a hundred bucks, which was tons, and mine cost ten
dollars from the Goodwill.
Byerly: I mean what was the difference in your age?
Radha S: Three years. And he went around the world when he was twelve.
Oh, it just killed me. His grandmother took him around the
world. It wasn't all it was cracked up to be, now that we talk
later, but it was a bit of a contrast. He'd come back from
Grandma's with tons of new clothes, and if I got one new dress a
year, I was really jazzed. So you know. But I think I handled
it pretty well for a young kid. And his grandmother actually
used to be really nice to me. She'd buy me dresses occasionally
269
and things. But then when I became a hippie, because I was in
the hippie era, she disowned me. That was just too much for her
to handle.
Byerly: Paul didn't become a hippie?
Radha S: No, he was kind of a little bit young. Three years younger was
enough to not be in that scene. I wasn't really a hippie--! was
more a flower child than a hippie.
Byerly: How could you not be? [laughing]
Radha S: Right. It was what was happening.
San Francisco Bohemian Life
Byerly: Your dad knew Shirley?
Radha S: Oh, yes. Actually, he saw Shirley during his last visits here.
Byerly: Did he know her before Jane did?
Radha S: Oh, no. He knew her because Shirley knew Jane. Shirley went
through all that I've told you about with Jane, leaving Wallace,
my dad, et cetera. So Shirley went through the Bill Buck
marriage, she went through all the relationships with Jane.
Byerly: And you remember Ken Rexroth at all?
Radha S: I don't remember him much. I remember my dad talking about him
more than I do my mom ever talking about him. I know the name,
it's like in my brain, but I can't even put a face on it.
Byerly: And what about Allen Ginsburg?
Radha S: I remember him, and I've seen his face, and of course, obviously
through the years read his work, but he wasn't somebody I
remember sitting on his lap as a child.
Byerly: And when did your dad go back to New York to stay?
Radha S: Good question. Probably around let's see, Paul is thirty-seven,
and this is '96, so probably about thirty-seven, thirty-eight
years ago.
Byerly: So '60.
270
Radha S: Yes. And he was in the light show business for a lot of years,
and now he's in the cheese business, which is the family
traditional business on his side.
Byerly: Cheese?
Radha S: Yes. And he still writes poetry and has articles published
occasionally, and he did write a few books.
Byerly: Okay. Let's talk about Jane's art.
Radha S: Jane--her art was pretty much experimental. She did fun little
projects, like the houses. Those were two-by-fours, I think.
She used to take like old Altoid boxesthey weren't Altoids in
those days, they were something elseand then she'd paint them
and scratch little things in them. She hated labels on things,
so if she couldn't get the label off, she'd paint over it. She
did some reproductions of seed pods on things.
She wasn't an everyday artist who strived at one kind of
thing, she was just very creative, and occasionally she would do
something. She took art classes, and she tried to expand her
art, but I think the biggest art part of Jane was that she
encouraged other people to do their art. She had a lot of
friends around her who were really fabulous artists , and she
encouraged them. She loved museums and she loved art shows. She
loved theater.
Byerly: She never thought of herself as an artist?
Radha S: No, I don't think so.
Byerly: Well, these are wonderful, though.
Radha S: Yes. [inaudible] And she would encourage the artists in us.
She would make driftwood- -we'd make driftwood mobiles, and paint
little paintings on driftwood, and we used to work in plaster of
Paris when we were kids. I don't think she ever considered
herself an artist, just an appreciator of art.
Byerly: What did she consider herself?
Radha S: I don't know. A very eclectic, erotic [laughs] woman. A little
bit of everything, I think. I think she really understood her
role as a person who encouraged others.
Byerly: Do you think they were attracted to her because of her beauty,
and because she encouraged them?
271
Radha S: Oh, yes, yes, and just the way she was. She was refreshing
because she was so much herself, and she didn't worry about
saying the politically correct thing. She would just say
whatever she felt. People either totally loved that or they were
turned off by it, and if they were turned off by it, they just
disappeared. But the people that were around her loved that part
of her. She was very well read, and she was smart, and she was
intelligent, and you could sit and talk to her for hours and have
a great conversation.
I used to wish my parents would be like everybody else '
s ,
normal, but then I came to appreciate them, that they were so
wild and far-out and themselves. So I'm much happier that I have
wild, unusual parents than straight, American, go to the PTA
meeting and that's the biggest thing of your week parents.
Eastern Mysticism
Byerly: What about Jane's spirituality?
Radha S: Well, she studied everything. She read everything alternative- -
Hinduism, Buddhism, Indian mythology. She read us the Ramayana
and the Mahabharata, and she would read us epic stories. She
investigated everything, and then she took a little bit of all of
that and made it her own. She had her own mantra and she would
meditate. And actually Shirley made her a painting that she
focused on in meditation. I can remember her mantra, it was Om
Mani Padme Om, and what that means I'm not sure. But she used to
have it in her car.
So she wasn't really religious, but she studied everything
and made her own path. Spiritual advancement, soul development,
and psyche care was important to her. It was a big deal to her.
You just didn't take care of the outside of your body, you took
care of the inside of your body. And knowledge, I think, was a
big part of her spirituality. It was very important to her to
know a lot of things and always constantly be challenging her
knowledge and learning more and growing consistently, bombarding
herself with information, because it was good for her soul.
And she got involved with the Universal Life Church. She
had a psychic reader, Richard Goodman, and he had a spirit on the
other side. Jane took us all, and of course, went on a regular
basis, and really, really, really believed. Reincarnation was
very important to her, she really believed in it. She prepared
my brother Adam for going to the other side and coming back as a
272
strong soul with a full body this time. She told us, "When I
die, don't cry, don't mourn, because it will keep me back." When
Shirley died, I thought, Well, Jane and Shirley are going to be
together again. They're going to be sitting around having coffee
or tea and talking about all of us. Jane will get an update. It
just seems right that they would be talking.
Byerly: You said that Jane had a lot of gay friends?
Radha S: A lot of gay men friends.
Byerly: What period in her life was this?
Radha S: Well, her whole young life with me. She would go on vacations
and leave us with people, and I didn't know they were gay at the
time, but found out many years later that most of the men that I
admired growing up were gay. Bob Harvey, who's an artist, and
his lover Londas Everson [?] were two of my favorite men. Brian
Hale, who is no longer with us, he died of AIDS, and his lover
Michael, who owns the nursery out in Bolinas, were two of my
favorites. Robert Kermeen and his lover were two of my other
favorites. And I found out many years later they were all gay.
And she loved them all dearly. They were like children. They'd
sit around for hours and talk and visit. Jane had the kind of
house where people would drop by and visit. It wasn't like you
had to call and say, "Are you home?" Because for many years, she
didn't have a phone, so I think people just got used to it. But
all her friends would just drop by, and she loved it. She always
had coffee and whatever. She always made really great, good,
strong coffee before it was trendy, so people would come for
miles just for a cup of Jane's coffee.
Byerly: And you think your mother had a woman lover?
Radha S: You know, I've talked to the family, and I think so. I think
Marion Wagner and Jane in their later years were lovers, or at
least had sexual adventures together which probably made them
both feel better. If it went beyond that, I really don't know.
Jane '
s Early Death
Byerly: And you said Shirley was there for Jane's death?
Radha S: Shirley was around during that time, and I'm sure she made it
easier for Jane somehow. I'm sure they kind of studied through
it together to make it easier for Jane to let go. I think Jane
273
waited for me to have Christopher, which was my second child.
And then, because she died three days after Christopher was born,
so I think it was real deliberate of her. I thought she waited
and took a little more morphine that day, because she was really
in a lot of pain. Shirley said, "No way, Jane wouldn't have done
that. It just worked out that way." She was ready, and she just
went. But it was --you know that song, for every child that's
born, someone else passes on.
Yes, and I think that probably that experience made it
easier for Shirley to die, too. Somehow, going through that
experience together made Shirley not be afraid of death at all.
She handled it like a real champ. And my mother did too. I
think that the whole reincarnation-afterlife thing was a big part
of that for both of them.
Byerly: I'd like to hear the story about your name.
Story of Radha's Name
Radha S: Radha. Well, I was actually born Lisa Stern, because that's a
Jewish tradition, that you name your first daughter after the
maternal grandmother, I want to say, and her name was Lily.
Well, there was no way my mother was naming me Lily, so Lisa was
the compromise. But when my mom and dad separated, the first
thing she did was change my name to Radha, because she never
liked Lisa in the first place. Radha was the mortal consort of
Krishna. Krishna was a Hindu god, and he went off to the war of
the gods, which is in the Maharama or the Ramayana, I'm not sure,
and she remained faithful to him. And the Indian people were so
duly impressed, they named her the goddess of love. So I was
named Radha, and interestingly enough, she has dark hair and big
hips, and so do I. [laughter] I tell people, "I don't think
I'll live up to the name," but I guess it depends on what your
interpretation is.
Transcribed and Final Typed by Shannon Page
Regional Oral History Office
The Bancroft Library
University of California
Berkeley, California
AN INTERVIEW WITH GERD STERN
Interview Conducted by
Victoria Morris Byerly
in 1996
INTERVIEW HISTORY- -Gerd Stern
Gerd Stern deserves an oral history of his own. Although tangential,
his relationship to Shirley Triest- -maintained primarily through his
connection with Jack Buckprovides the reader with a better understanding
of the evolving interrelationship of the forties Bohemians, the fifties
Beats, and the sixties psychedelic Hippies.
Gerd, a native of Germany, can call both the East and West Coasts
home, although, he explains, life for him is very different on the East
Coast than on the West. Back East, he is a fairly straight businessman in
his family's cheese business, while his personal history on the West Coast
is one that clearly qualifies him as an authentic Bohemian. Additionally,
because of his early relationship with Jane and friendship with Shirley,
his participation in his own generation, the Beats, and his involvement in
the psychedelic art of the Hippies, the reader here is presented with a
personal history that transgresses the second, third, and fourth waves of
San Francisco Bohemianism.
A personal acquaintance of Rexroth, Ginsburg, and McClure, Gerd was
once a lover of author Maya Angelou with whom he lived on the houseboats in
Sausalito. At the time, he worked as a reporter for Playboy magazine and
she was a young singer in San Francisco nightclubs. Gerd was also a
production artist for the famous Timothy Leary lectures on the expanding of
consciousness qualities of the drug LSD. At the very least, Gerd is a
well-placed historical witness. At best, his nationally acclaimed artwork
with its absurdities of the late sixties and early seventies provides us
with one example of the distinctive spirit of his times. As artist, Gerd
was invited to teach at both the University of California and at Harvard
University.
This interview took place on January 19, 1996, at his daughter
Radha's home in Mill Valley. Because of the poor quality of the tape
recording, some parts of this interview were heavily edited. A full oral
history project on the personal history of Gerd Stern followed this
project .
Victoria Byerly
Interviewer /Editor
August 1997
San Francisco
Regional Oral History Office University of California
Room 486 The Bancroft Library Berkeley, California 9A720
BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION
(Please write clearly. Use black ink.)
Your full name Gerd Jakob Stern
n 1-1 imo SaarBrucken, Germany
Date of birth Oct. 12, 1928 Birthplace [__
Father's full name OTTO STERN
Occupation Cheese Monger Birthplace Ziegenheim, Germany
Mother's full name Lilly Levinson Stern
Occupation Homemaker, Mother Birthplace Saarbrucken, Germany
Your spouse Sara Judith Stern
Occupation Executive Birthplace New
Hampshire^
Your children Abram Stern , Zalman Stern, Jared Stern, Radha Stern,
Adam Stern (deceased)
Where did you grow up?
In Germany till 1935 Arrived in New York City 1936
Present community Cresskill, New Jersey
Education Hi 9n School
Occupation(s) Profession Poet, Present Occupation Cheese and Specialty
food importer. Previous, Media Producer, Public Relations, Carpenter,
Miner, Gal ley boy etcetera
Areas of expertise
Todero - who knows, cheese, art, poetry, et al
Other interests or activities many nonspecific
Organizations in which you are active American Cheese Society, Shamash
(Jewish Internet) America the Beautiful Fund,
274
XV AN INTERVIEW WITH GERD STERN
[Date of Interview: January 19, 1996] If
Meeting Shirley and Frank Triest in Duncans Mills
Gerd S: I met Shirley because Jane, my first wifethis was before we were
married- -and I went up to Duncans Mills where Shirley and Frank
were living at the time, and we stayed with them. I was fairly
young and impressionable; I was very impressed by the ambience of
these people. They were well-educated and extremely verbal. They
lived a life with which I was totally unfamiliar, coming from the
East Coast. It was rural and healthy. The food was nourishing
and very well-prepared; it was an environment I had never
experienced before. There were casseroles of many different kinds
of beans and grains. It was redwoodish. You know, the sort of
American simplicity accentuated by sophistication. Everything had
a place. I come from a German- Jewish background where everything
is very orderly, and this was not your messy bohemianism; this was
a very orderly alternative lifestyle. [tape interruption]
Frank Triest and I walked around a lot and talked about- -
well, with Frank it wasn't really a conversation, it was a bit of
a monologue. But it was totally fascinating, because he was very
charming and extremely intelligent. Unfortunately, he had a
really bad temper, which could be raised with very little effort.
He was a curmudgeon, I would say, a very different personality
from his wife's type of personality. At the time I met them, they
were getting along very well, but that was at the beginning of
their relationship. I was really overwhelmed by Shirley's work at
maintaining their lifestyle. At that time I was naive about art;
I was, you might even say, hopeless. So I wasn't in the position
to critique anything, but I do remember one piece that Shirley did
around that time, I think it was a lithograph. It was a large
bird. It's a little embarrassing: I can't remember whether it was
a pelican or a phoenix [laughter] eating its own egg. I believe
275
it still exists somewhere, I asked her a few years ago about it.
It was an awe-inspiring piece. Shirley was a very well- schooled
type of person with great emotional intensity, and her work had a
definite political significance attached to it. The symbolism
came out of the artist's political ideology. It was great-
looking, though; I immediately considered that one piece my
favorite.
Shirley and Jane Hamper Buck's Friendship
Gerd S: Shirley and Jane were very close; sometimes she didn't see Jane
for years, but they managed to maintain their relationship. I'm
not sure how long we were on the East Coast but we spent quite a
few years there. After Jane and I parted, Radha was not quite
two, I didn't see Shirley very much after that, although in the
last few years I saw her. She had changed, but she retained her
original persona; strong, courageous, with all her principles
intact, which is not true for a lot of people that came out of
that movement.
I also knew Bill Triest, Frank's brother, fairly well,
because I worked at KPFA as public relations director, and Bill
was involved in broadcasting. And that was a different circle,
but they also knew Shirley. Lew Hill and his wife had a house
fairly close to Shirley and Frank in Duncans Mills. It wasn't
that far from here.
Byerly: Sonoma County?
Gerd S: It was Sebastopol in Sonoma County, yes.
Shirley was a significant inspiration for a lot of people.
She had a list of relationships with people she influenced. I
have from her the sketch of the mural she did of the Black
Panthers. Huey Newton was a close friend of mine.
Coming to California
Byerly: When did you first come to California?
Gerd S: I think it was '47 or '48. I'm a little loose about time, in
general.
276
Byerly: How old were you?
Gerd S: Well, I was born in '28, so I was twenty. I really felt that
California was a paradisiacal experience. I just felt like this
was the life. Jane and her husband Wally and their three kids
lived right across the street from where I stayed with a friend
that first visit and I met them just before I left. I told a lot
of stories--a lot of them were liesabout my involvement with
East Coast Jewish radical movement. 1 was somewhat peripherally
involved with the Jewish radical movement but I completely
exaggerated my role in the Sternist Organization, as it was known.
We raised money for a ship to go over to Europe and bring Jewish
refugees to the States. Well, I made believe that 1 was much more
involved in it than I was. Anyway, Jane was very taken with me,
although she was much older than I was .
Byerly: How much older was she?
Gerd S: I think about thirteen years.
Byerly: So how did you finally get together with Jane?
Gerd S: Well, Jane started writing me after I was back on the East Coast.
What happened was that I spent some months working at the Virginia
City mine; it was a very cold winter--! think it was the winter of
'48. That was the blizzard year. I was marooned and living in
the old courthouse in Virginia City. It was great but it got to
be a little too much. So, anyway, I ended up back in New York.
I*
Gerd S: My friend Mac couldn't stand New York, so he left me with his car,
and I don't remember whether he went back to Charlotte or
California.
Marriage to Jane
Gerd S: Eventually, I came back to California too. Well, 1 was staying at
Jane and Wally 's house, and while he was workinghe was a sheet
metal craftsmanJane and I started having an affair. We were
there alone talking, having a good time, getting high and going to
bed together. It started out as nothing more than that, but she
was ready to leave Wally when I arrived.
So we ran off together, hitchhiked back to New York. Jane
was very adaptive; she could manage. When we got to New York, she
277
had a friend there named Violet. Violet was working as a taxi
dancer. So Jane went to work as a taxi dancer also. She was
lovely when we got married; we lived together for some time going
back and forth to California.
Byerly: Were you in love? What kind of marriage was it?
Gerd S: It was good, but it was tumultuous. Things were difficult. When
she was with me, she was with me, but when she was with somebody
else, she was with that person. She was not very I don't mean
that she was indiscriminate about people that she related to,
because she wasn't. She related to some very nice, interesting
people. But she was ready to get into any kind of relationship
with anybody that she related to. And she was beautiful. She was
very sensuous. She was intelligent, she was a good cook. She had
studied anthropology at U.C. Berkeley. People were really drawn
to her.
The Houseboat in Sausalito
Byerly: So when you came back here to California, was that when you got
the boat and lived in the boathouse in Sausalito?
Gerd S: No, not exactly. Okay, I'll explain that to you. We were living
in Mill Valley. We being Jane and I, our friends Bill and Pam and
"Buckwheat," David Wheat. I was managing Harry [Partsch's?]
ensemble. Harry [Partsch] is an American composer who built
ensemble instruments.
Partch has his instruments at Gate Five. Yes, Gate Five is
the northern [end?], right before you get down to the end of the
hill. As you come down off the bridge, you go up through the
tunnel and then down. Right at the bottom that is where Gate Five
is. There's where an English painter married to a California
heiress Ons low Ford and Jacqueline lived. Going on down there was
the Vallejo, which was a ferryboat on which the Allen Watts were
in residence. A surrealist painter. He offered me a berth for a
barge on his land. Damned if the week afterwards, I was at the
Tin Angel, and Peggy Watkins came in. She was a Black Mountain
graduate, so we had something in common. She was a flaming dyke,
and a really great lady. One of her lovers was Blanche Sherwood,
a sculptress. We were talking, and among other things, she said,
"Blanche has this fucking barge!" She had the foulest mouth in
the West, but a great heart. "She has this fucking barge, and she
can't get it out; it's costing her a fortune every month with Don
[Arques?] down at the shipyard in Sausalito. "It's goddamn sunk
278
Byerly :
Gerd S:
Byerly:
Gerd S;
Byerly:
in the mud, and I don't know what we're going to do." I said to
her, "Give it to me." She said, "What the hell are you going to
do with it?!" And I said, "Don't worry about it. Just give it to
me as a white elephant." So they gave it to me. I went to Don
[Arques?] and I said, "Don, what can I do to get this thing out of
your yard and take it up to Mill Valley." He said, he's a good
guy, "Listen, if you can get it off the mud, and I think you can,
you just pay me for my tugboat." Well, it was disgusting. There
were all these weird worms under the boat. Anyway, by this time
in the bars and the restaurants everybody would pay one way or the
other betting on whether it could be done. Finally we were able
to move the barge. What had happened was the barge popped up and
floated, but it left the bottom layer of planking on the mud; it
had been there so long that the mud just held onto the bottom
layer, but the nails came right out. We saw it the next day when
the tide was low.
That's amazing.
We moved it up to where we lived with Bill and Pam, "Buckwheat",
Jane and I, and Adam--our son who died--I don't think Radha was
born yet. Radha was born after we moved to the barge, out to the
barge. It was there on the barge that Jane and I broke up.
Not right away?
Not right away.
So what was life like on the barge?
The Boobam Bamboo Drum Company
Gerd S: Oh, it was, you know, skippy-dippy. We had a great fireplace and
there was a lot of wood, and Pam was pregnantshe had lost one
baby. "Buckwheat" was working on a ship as a bass player going
back and forth, and we had this business called the Boobam Bamboo
Drum Company.
Byerly: And what was that?
Gerd S: Well, it came out of Harry [Partsch?]. Harry had these wild
instruments, some of which were marimbas. What we would do is we
would take a piece of Chinese bamboo, we would make an H-cut in
it, and then you could tune the two little forks, so you could
play on it. We had little stands that they were mounted on. And
then the other parts of them where there were no ends, we would
279
put little drum caps on them; we had, like, six of them in a half-
step circle. Six little drums with different tones.
William Buck Happens on the Scene ii
Gerd S: Then one day Bill Buck took over my life.
Byerly: What happened?
Gerd S: Well, most of our musicians came from the Presidio Band. One day
one of the musicians brought Bill along. He was in the army and
had on a uniform. And Bill was dying to be involved with our
group. Harry was kind of a closet homosexual. I finally
persuaded him to let Bill turn the pages on stage for the
musicians, which made Bill very happy, and he started hanging
around the barge. He was driving this ancient Ford, and when he
wasn't in uniform, he wore really crappy clothes. And after a
while he hung around so much that Bill and Buckwheat thought that
he was the FBI agent. [laughter] All of a sudden one dayand
I'm cutting short all of this--
Byerly: Well, wait. Before you do that, talk a little a bit about that.
I think that scene is very interesting. Were you writing poetry
then?
Gerd S: Oh, yes, absolutely. I've never stopped. Sometimes I have, you
know, fallow periods.
Byerly: Was this a fallow period?
Gerd S: Not particularly. I was writing, and I had published my first
book by then. It was published before we came back.
Byerly: And what was it called?
Gerd S: First Poems And Others. It was a great sceneyou know, there
were a lot of jazz musicians, a lot of poets, everybody came to
the barge. There was a huge space that, you know, we would have
big parties, and we were involved in smoking a lot of grass.
Byerly: A lot of what?
Gerd S: Grass. Pot. We had a water pipe in the bathtub where people
would smoke, and the whole bathtub full of water, so you could
smoke a half an ounce at a time and it was not hot or harsh.
280
Byerly: So was there another part of the scene? I mean, did you go to
jazz clubs? Was there a cafe scene, was there a bar scene?
Gerd S: Sure, the Black Hawk for jazz and several places on Grant Avenue:
City Lights, the Vesuvio, before that the Black Cat. That's where
a lot of the anarchists hung out.
Anyway, Bill Buck was a nebbish. A nebbish is somebody who
for some reason just can't quite make it. He was all right, but
he just couldn't understand himself. He was obviously smart and
able, but he was very unhappy. He was very appreciative of
anything you did for him, but he hung around like a weight around
your neck; he was always there, wanted to know what's that and
that. Anyway, one day, not only is Jane goneshe would take off
once in a whilebut the two kids are gone. I didn't know where
they were, and this went on for several days. Finally we found
out that she was supposedly living with Wallace [Look?], the
former librarian who at the time was living on the hill in
Sausalito. Wallace was really her best friend; he later on went
into a monastery in New York State. Anyway, Jane and Bill moved
up to Nevada. Meanwhile, I'm incredulous. All of a sudden I'm
alone on the barge. Bill, Pam, and "Buckwheat" had moved out
around the same time, lock, stock and barrel. Also Bill bought
the Boobam Bamboo Drum business, and I'm out. Next thing, he
tries to buy the barge, unsuccessfully. My mistake, by the way I
should have sold it to him [laughter]. A lot of mistakes in my
life. Next thing, he puts out a book of poetry by Jane and
himself and Wally. I'm beginning to feel paranoid about what they
might do next. In the meantime, I'm getting involved with Maya
Angelou.
During this time, all of a sudden, we find out, or I find out
that Bill is from probably one of the richest families in
California, the Buck family. When I realized he was a multi
millionaire, I began to understand why Jane left; she was tired of
living a life of poverty. Then Bill Buck bought the Anchor Steam
Brewery. Anchor Steam beer was one of Jane's favorite things in
the world. She introduced me to it at the Crystal Palace in San
Francisco. People I remember were saying he had bought her a new
Mercedes, which in those days was not ordinary at all. Eventually
they moved to Bolinas. Bought a huge house in Bolinas. They went
to Thailand, in the Far East, leaving the kids in the charge of
some very sweet but not necessarily very reliable friends of ours,
the Simpsons. During that time, our children, Radha, and Adam
Adam much worse than Radha, got polio. Later on, they found out
that he had muscular dystrophy as well. Radha had a very light
case of polio. When they notified Bill and Jane, they didn't come
back from Asia immediately. That left the Simpsons on the spot,
they were not supposed to contact me. I was very upset though.
281
Byerly:
Gerd S:
Then, when they returned, eventually Bill Buck went mad. He was
in a wheelchair and was translating Hindu books. I mean, the man
didn't know any Sanskrit, I don't know how it was done, but
through the influence of his family somehow, or maybe through
subsidy, anyway, the University of California published it. While
he was doing this work, he would lock himself up in the top floor
of the house and he wouldn't come down for long periods of time.
He finally became psychotic, and his grandmother and Jane had him
institutionalized. By this time they had had a son, Paul. And
after he got out of the institution, he didn't go back to Jane.
They had gotten rid of the house in Bolinas, and Jane had another
house in Nevada, and now she needed me. So we became friendly
again. We remained friendly until the end of her life. By this
time she had moved three times more. Anyway, Adam eventually
died.
When did he die?
When he was about fourteen, in a hospital.
Jane Hamner Buck's Early Death
Byerly: How old was Jane when she died?
Gerd S: I don't know.
Byerly: I think she was about fifty-five.
Gerd S: At least, yes, fifty- five. She smoked like a chimney.
Byerly: She and Shirley both did that.
Gerd S: Yes. And that is what killed them both.
Byerly: How about you? Did you smoke?
Gerd S: No. I mean aside from pot which I still smoke, and three or four
puffs is enough for me. I used to smoke cigars until the
prejudice about them got to be too much. I never smoked
cigarettes.
Byerly: How was Jane when she died?
Gerd S: I don't know. I saw her before her death, and she was obviously
pretty wasted. She wasn't discussing it.
282
Byerly: But I mean how do you think she was emotionally? I mean, with her
life.
Gerd S: I think she was all right.
Byerly: She was happy with the bohemian life she had chosen?
Gerd S: I don't think she viewed it as that.
Byerly: How do you think she viewed it?
Gerd S: She had a very comfortable, upper middle-class life at the end.
Beautiful house, beautiful garden. Apparently enough money to
live on.
Byerly: Okay. Is there anything else that you want to add?
Kenneth Rexroth
Gerd S: You wanted to talk about Kenneth Rexroth.
Byerly: Yes.
Gerd S: Kenneth was a strong inf luence--not his poetry, but his being.
Byerly: In what way?
Gerd S: Well, I spent a lot of time and met a lot of people through him.
I got a lot of ideas from the people at his house. Kenneth was
egotistical, impossible, extremely lovable, generous, you couldn't
get a word in edgewiselike so many people from that period.
Totally unsuccessful in forging relationships but he was
impressive.
ft
Gerd S: He was really deep, I mean, his knowledge of Chinese and Japanese
wasn't very deep, but he had that ability to get at the poem's
essence. And his Chicago background there's something about
people from Chicago- -some kind of tough melting-pot personality.
It's a very different melting pot than you find in New York.
Certainly different than if you're on the West Coast. I think
what happens here, and I've seen it with a lot of people, you come
out to California with New York energy or Chicago energy, and all
of a sudden you're a big deal. I mean, I wasn't the big deal in
New York, but to Jane I was a big deal when I came out here. It
283
made me feel like I was important. It's important to feel
important. And I still feel much more important in California
than I do in New York- -well, it's true. People take me seriously
here. Not as a businessman, but as an artist and that's who I am.
People don't in New York. I'm not part of that scene, and I don't
want to be.
Transcribed by Gary Varney
Final Typed by Shannon Page
284
TAPE GUIDE- -Shirley Triest
Interview 1: September 16, 1995
Tape 1, Side A 1
Tape 1, Side B 16
Interview 2: September 17, 1995
Tape 2, Side A 28
Tape 2, Side B 45
Interview 3: September 19, 1995
Tape 3, Side A 63
Tape 3, Side B 79
Interview 4: November 4, 1995
Tape 4, Side A 96
Tape 4, Side B 104
Insert from Tape 5, Side B [11/12/95] 118
Tape 6, Side A 129
Tape 6, Side B not recorded
Interview 5: November 12, 1995
Tape 5, Side A 135
Interview 6: November 19, 1995
Tape 7, Side A 141
Tape 7, Side B 150
Interview 7: November 20, 1995
Tape 8, Side A 153
Tape 8, Side B 161
Interview 8: November 25, 1995
Tape 9, Side A 172
Tape 9, Side B not recorded
Interview with Ivan Rainer and Belle Zabin
Date of Interview: December 16, 1995
Tape 1, Side A 181
Tape 1, Side B 191
Tape 2, Side A not recorded
Tape 2, Side B 200
285
Interview with Audrey Goodfriend
Date of Interview: January 3, 1996
Tape 1, Side A 213
Tape 1, Side B 222
Tape 2, Side A 231
Tape 2, Side B 240
Interview with Sara Triest
Date of Interview: December 29, 1995
Tape 1, Side A 245
Tape 1, Side B 250
Interview with Radha Stern
Date of Interview: January 9, 1996
Tape 1, Side A 254
Tape 1, Side B 263
Tape 2, Side A 271
Tape 2, Side B not recorded
Interview with Gerd Stern
Date of Interview: January 19, 1996
Tape 1, Side A 274
Tape 1, Side B 276
Tape 2, Side A 279
Tape 2, Side B 282
APPENDIX
A "The New Cult of Sex and Anarchy," Harper's Magazine,
April 1947 286
B "On Receiving the Personal History of My Pacifist-
Anarchist-Artist Friend Shirley Triest," a poem by
Victoria Byerly 298
C "Notes on Lithographs and Pastels," by Shirley Triest 299
D 1057 Steiner Street, the Jackson-Kreling House (site
of the Workmen's Circle Center, 1940s) 300
E Staschen Family Tree 302
286
APPENDIX A
Harper's
M A G A Z I N E
CONTENTS APRIL 1947
Personal and Otherwise ................ Ammg FT** p*f
Letters ........................ Amitf /** P*ja
Encounters Between Civilizations . . . ARNOLD j. TOYNBEE . . . 289
The Eagle Screams With Gestures (William T. Adams) ..... 294
Housekeeping for the Family of Nations EDITH IGLAUER . . . . ; 295
Pictorial Comment by Steinberg
The White Circle. A Story ...... JOHN BELL CLAYTON . . : 307
Mr. and Mrs. Marvin Court Tackle the Housing Shortage .... 311
The New Cult of Sex and Anarchy . . MILDRED EDIE BRADY ... 312
The Planted Poet. A Poem ...... PETER VIERECK . . . . . 322
Flying Blind ............ WOLFGANG LANGEWIESCHE . 324
The Easy Chair ........... BERNARD DEVOTO .... 332
The Uncomfortable Paradise of Full Employment
ROBERT L. HEILBRONER . . 336
Sonnet . . ..... ........ EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY . 340
In Defense of the Army Mind ..... JOHN j. MCCLOY ..... 341
A Sign for Selina. A Story ...... JOHN D. WEAVER . . . a : 345
Complete Circle. A Poem ....... ALBERTA TURNER . . . : 352
If We Really Want International Trade c. HARTLEY GRATTAN . . 353
How Big Is a Big Budget? ................... 359
Western Half-Acre ......... THOMAS HORNSBY FERRIL . 360
Planning to Visit England? ...... CYRIL RAY ....... 364
The Swami and Dr. Schultz. A Story . . SEYMOUR FREEDGOOD . . . 369
After Hours ............ MR. HARPER ...... 381
New Books ... ...... JACQUES BARZUN ...... Ammg * Ptgu
Books in Brief ...... KATHERINE GAUSS JACKSON . .
Am** ** ft**
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THE NEW CULT
OF SEX AND ANARCHY
MILDRED EDIE BRADY
CALIFORNIANS
are telling each other
confidently that the bulk of our
young people is sound and that the
new bohemia in our midst is simply an
other manifestation of the fringe that has
always seemed to cut a little deeper into
West Coast communities than elsewhere.
Quite naturally, since the ways of bohemia
furnish lively dinner table talk, there is
a good deal of anecdotal conversation
about them; but the talk is light, for the
most part, and the socially accepted atti
tude toward the phenomenon is summed
up in some such generalization as: "After
all, it's only a small minority and this is
the postwar. You've got to expect some
thing like this after a war. It always hap
pens. Remember the twenties."
For their part, the young intellectuals
and literati who are the beneficiaries of
such an admirable tolerance agree heart
ily on their minority status. In fact, they
insist on it. How could it be otherwise?
Whenever was the vanguard of the artistic
and intellectual world a majority? Here in
northern California they are shaping up
the cultural mecca of the twentieth ccn-
Thk is "the new Paris." No longer
i the young writer head for New York
tbe Left Bank. This time the modern,
mew, the truly creative, will ride out
t
coming depteBon in the coastal hills
And as you drive along the coast, up
state highway number one, you can see, if
you look for them, the shacks, even tents,
where literary immigrants have already
set up typewriters. They are scattered
over a wide area extending some twenty
miles or more below Carmel which is,
in turn, two to three hours below San
Francisco. Their jerry-built cabins are
not yet an obvious rash on the country
side, hidden as they are in shrubbery and
scattered along such a long stretch of road.
It is dramatically beautiful country they
have settled in. The highway winds in and
out along cliffs that drop sheer to the
Pacific where deep arroyos, dark with
evergreen, sweep down between the hills.
Here and there the road straightens in
ward to cut under towering redwood for
ests. This is the Big Sur country, the
Continent's End of Robinson Jeffers. It has
long been one of California's many prides
and the town of Carmel, just above it, has
been host to the nation's retired, or vaca
tioning, artists for years the ones with
money.
But these newcomers are a different
crowd. They don't have money and most
of them are young, with no clamoring
public to hide from nor any agent to
drum up a demand for their stuff. When
you first come upon them in their coun
tryside shacks they are a surprise.
You
MiUrtd Edit Brady of Berkeley, California,
tcoaa*ui a*djr*4anct writer, has observed
atcjvtraKgt rtf groups of whom she writes.
THE NEW CULT OF SEX AND ANARCHY
recognize them instantly, for even here in
this forest by the ocean the stamp of young
bohemia is as unmistakable as a trade
mark. But it is their apparent isolation
that bothers you. Their beards and san
daled feet, their corduroys and dark shirts;
the barren clutter in the one or two uncar-
peted rooms: abstract paintings against
rude board walls, canned milk and pum
pernickel on a rough table, ceramic ash
trays and opened books on a packing box
all this is familiar. Except for the bright
daylight and the absence of city soot and
noise, you'd think you were in a Green
wich Village apartment of twenty years
ago. But it is decidedly unlike young
bohemia to turn hermit or to take upon it
self the disciplined demands of rural self-
sufficiency. It doesn't fit.
The key to this puzzle is
simple, almost
too obvious to grasp. It lies in that greatest
of California boasts the mild coastal cli
mate. These new settlers, it turns out. are
as gregarious and dependent on urban
services as their ancestors in Paris or New
York. It is simply that they, with an envi
able instinct that has characterized bo
hemia the svorld over, have been able to
find the spot where, during a nation-wide
housing shortage, a mild climate makes an
amateur shack adequate year-round shel
ter, and where highways free of snow in an
automobile-owning age offer year-round
transportation via the thumb. Along the
California coast a sweater and a fireplace
will keep you warm in a cabin minus
foundations, or even a floor, and the high
way by your door is never stilled by snow
or ice. Thus a rural, hitchhiking bohemia
enjoys the beauty of a vacation country-
plus the services of the city and not so
much as a nickel for subway fare is re
quired to get to the center of town.
It does take time to get to San Francisco,
but the few hours on the highway, once
a week or so, arc no hardship, and the
generosity of the highway can usually
be counted on. The town of Carmel is close
by and in the city, either in San Francisco
or Berkeley, there are concerts, bookstores,
icstaurants. and galleries to collect around.
There are also kindred spirits there who
haven't yet found a hut in the hills and
whose apartments afford meeting places
for
poetry-reading sessions and parties.
Also in the city are the girU, the
who have come west this time from
consin or Illinois to read proof or take
dictation by day; but to spend their eve
nings, and not infrequently their earnings,
in earnest nurturing of new genius.
The parties are not plush affair*, as a
rule. Neither food nor drink is lavishly
plentiful. And the poetry-reading sessions
are serious and solemn occasions. They
are held weekly in both San Francisco and
Berkeley, where thirty or forty at a time
can be found crowded together listening
gravely to language patterns that are all
but incomprehensible to the uninitiated.
Poetry is far and away the most popular
medium of these young writers, and their
poems make no compromise with old
standards of communication. Poetry, they
hold, "transcending logic, invades the
realm where unreason reigns and where
the relations between ideas are sympa
thetic and mysterious affective rather
than causal."
Remember that word "affective." It,
along with a few others like "fecund,"
"orgastic" (ittt), "magical," "fluid," and
"natural," reveal the distinguishing mark
which binds them, ardent individualists
though they are. into a group as definite as
the bobby-soxers. For, while not all of
them wear beards and some of them live
in the city and still others live in the Rus
sian River country (another vacation land
about as far north of San Francisco as
Carmel is south) and some of them write
and others paint, and some just talk or
listen, and others simply hang-on, and
some pay the bills and others panhandle,
and all are split into tiny, ingrown cliques
there is a substratum view of man and
art and the nature of the world we live in
that binds them into a fraternity.
You
could describe it, in brief, as a
combination of anarchism and cer
tain concepts related to psychoanaly
sis which together yield a philosophy
holding on the one hand that you must
abandon the church, the state, and the
family (even if
you do it, as James Joyce
preached, ''by treachery, cunning, and ex
ile"); and on the other offering sex as the
source of individual salvation in a collec
tive world that's going to hell.
HARPER'S MAGAZINE
Your first reaction to all this is almost
sure to be: "Anarchism! I
suppose we'll
all be playing mah jongg next," or, "Sex
ual salvation, heaven help us, this is where
I came in a quarter of a century ago."
But to dismiss it simply as nothing more
than a stale replica of the twenties, a kind
of intellectual measles that every genera
tion has to go through, is to overlook some
differences. If it is indeed true, as some are
inclined to believe, that what we are wit
nessing out here on the coast is the charac
teristic pattern of the postwar bohemia of
World War II then it is also true that
bohemia has changed its party line to
produce a somewhat different spirit from
that which sent cultural pioneers after
World War I to the grimy walkups in
New York's Greenwich Village.
II
FOR
one thing, these builders of the
new Paris in the ninctecn-fortics
would profoundly shock their ag
nostic predecessors of the twenties with
their sentimental mysticism; for bohemia
today is proudly religious. Its creeds, how
ever, would certainly terrify any good
Methodist. It is not their frank and fre
quent verbal testimonials of faith in a su
preme being that would disturb the more
orthodox, although such free and easy
references to a religious faith fall strangely
on the car today. Nor would their use of
such phrases as "the outer reality," "the
great oneness," "the life source," or "the
vital core" bother you unduly. For if
you
have ever been a part of any religious
group, if only a Middle Western Sunday
School, you can usually follow the deity
through their synonyms without too much
difficulty. But when they turn on the
word "love" your Sunday School back
ground falls down on you no matter how
many times you may have sung "Love
Lifted Me" in a Billy Sunday revival.
Even lets would a sojourn, in the Green
wich Village of the twenties prepare you
Car love aa "the ecstasy of the cosmos" or
far**d>e aocual sacrament" as the acme of
Back in the portwar of World War I,
was stoutly defended
jtod practically farthered by the younger
generation, to whom bourgeois morality
was unquestionably a shameful stigma
but it never got mixed up with the deity.
Sex in those days was a strictly worldly af
fair and nobody's business but your own.
"The great oneness," however, is an inti
mate participant in the sexual emotions of
his worshippers. In fact, he reveals him
self fully only in the self-effacing ecstasy of
the sexual climax. This, they hold, is the
moment of deepest spiritual comprehen
sion of "the outer reality," the one moment
when there is living communication be-
'
tween "the vital life source'' and the indi
vidual.
And it is quite a different flavor from
the revolt of the twenties this lofty inner
objective which turns every sexual en
counter into a religious rite and gives
us, in this day of scientific agriculture and
contraceptives, a modern version of an
cient fertility cults. It is not on behalf of
the oranges and avocados, however, that
''the source of all creation" is offered such
intense pantomimes of worship. The fer
tility sought is an inward one and the
fruits desired arc those of personality the
achievement on tlic part of the worshipper
of intellectual and emotional vitality, the
status of a "fecund being."
HERE
is where psychoanalysis comes
in supporting faith \viih argument
The ultimate authority is no longer
Freud, nor Jung (who stands high, never
theless), but one who in his own words
now wears the mantle of Freud: Wilhclrr.
Reich, \vhosc Functiuti f>J
the Orgasm is prob
ably the most widely read and frequcntlv
quoted contemporary writing in this
group. Even at the poetry-reading sessions
you arc likely to find someone carrying .'
volume of his turgid and pretentious prosr.
Reich's thesis, briefly, is that all physic.i!
and spiritual ills, from cancer to fascism.
stem from "orgastic (stet) impotence"; and
he is the creator of that phrase, which
means inability to realize sufficient pleas
ure in the sexual orgasm. The pleasure-
paralyzing inhibitions which are responsi
ble for this general sub-standard sexual
gratification have their source, it seems, in
"the patriarchal family" and its "compul
sive morality." And the social and political
institutions of the modern world are noth-
THE NEW CULT OF SEX AND ANARCHY
ing more than a projection of this mass
sex starvation.
Thus civilization itself civilization as
we know it today turns out to be a kind
of elaborate dog-in-the-manger device
through which sexual starvation is foisted
upon the young by the bitter old. Born
into this self-perpetuating stricture, a
man's chances of achieving organic po
tency (and that means the ability to ex
perience the full measure, biologically
possible, of sexual pleasure at high quality)
are, of course, slim indeed. But unless he
dow achieve it, an individual's creative
energy goes down the sink of unavoidable
neurosis, and he becomes prey to all the
perverse evil that his own, and everybody
else's, unconscious can generate.
And make no mistake about it, the dark
forces generated in the pleasure-starved
unconscious of the orgastically impotent
are as powerfully evil as any demon of an
cient times. In this modern swamp of
"sexual misery" only a few orgastically
potent ones do survive, but from their be
nign, pleasure-fed, subconscious there
flows a stream of psychic energy as pliant
and good as the obverse is
demanding and
diabolical. Quite obviously, then, a crea
tive artist minus organic potency is in a
bad way and also, quite as obviously, if he
has it he will be a misfit in a society fash
ioned by, and for, orgastic cripples.
Av
matter of fact, for all its devotion to
a supreme mystical force in the
universe, the core of the philosophy
of this new bohcmia rests in the sexual
thesis, from which their anarchism stems,
not vice versa; and the emphasis on reli
gion derives, in turn, from the anarchism.
It goes something like this: if by strange
and splendid chance you happen to be one
of the fc\v orgastic potent, you arc (it fol
lows) one of the few "normal, natural,
healthy human beings" left in a world
peopled by terrified and frustrated neu
rotics pitifully matching mass masochism
to dominant sadism. How you determine
your membership in this biological elite is,
unhappily, not easy to demonstrate objec
tively. It is
necessarily a subjective realiza
tion for the most part. It's something you
know about yourself. But there arc some
guiding indications. First of all is
your
ability to surrender to love. Then yw
note your unusual alivenes*' tort ;
well being your high cofcr,
and elastic akin tone, cad the (
heatthinesi of your genitals.
'
be aware of your exception*^
creative work, your capacity to \
late your sexual behavior without depend
ence on "unnatural social or legal com
pulsions."
What's more; you'll find that you don't
want to force these unnatural compulsions
on anybody else; you instinctively grant
the right to love to others without requir
ing that they follow any rules that inter
fere with a free expression. And finally,
your healthy subconscious will automati
cally reject such neurotic activities as
holding down a bookkeeper's job, or work
ing like a dead cog in a machine on an
assembly line or anywhere else, for that
matter, where your living body and soul
would be whitded down to the sick de
mands of a dying world.
In other words, you are very much all
right if
you are orgastically potent. Your
desires are good; your acts, beneficent;
and your life is in tune with the great,
cosmic, vital force that is the natural law
of the universe.
The sad thing is the rest of the world.
If everybody else were only as healthy
as you, instead of suffering from the
psychic plague as most of them are, there
would be no need for artificial compul
sions, legal prohibitions, or for any of the
oppressive machinery of the state. Every
body would be wholesomely self-regula
tory. All would respond to "the natural
biological law" freely and spontaneously.
In other words, through widespread or
gastic potency, through a gonadal revolu
tion, we would achieve the philosophical
anarchist's ideal world.
THE
place of religion in this view of
mankind follows easily. Once in
tune with the vital force of the uni
verse, who could help but recognize it
and then worship? Then too, this young
bohemia is a learned crowd or, at least,
a wide-ranging bunch of readers. Religion,
like sex, they find at they read history or
philosophy is a natural, ever-present, hu
man striving. And religion seems to them
316 HARPER'S MAGAZINE
e
t.
i
I
a logical counterpart of political anarch
ism. They often quote Herbert Read on
the point. He is much admired not that
he holds to the sexual analysis above, but
rather that he is a leading spokesman for
the intellectual anarchists in England and
the California literati are free borrowers.
Read expresses the relationship between
anarchism and religion as follows:
"I call religion a natural authority . . .
the only force which can hold a people
together which can supply a natural au
thority to appeal to when personal inter
ests clash. . . . For religion is never a
synthetic creation. ... A prophet like a
poet is born."
The fact that Wilhelm Reich spurns
religion while Read preaches it matters no
whit to these philosophical improvisers,
who also toss into their pot, along with
these two, D. H. Lawrence, Emma Gold
man, Madame Blavatsky, Henri Bergson,
William Blake, and even Ouspenski of
Terttum Organum, to name just a few.
HI
THERE
is, of course, nothing especially
new in all this except orgastic po
tency, and even that is just another
term for an idea that centuries ago the
mystics of India expressed in more poetic
symbols. But out of this mixture, various
combinations and emphases allow room
for individual embroidery and on this
score some imaginative patterns have been
worked out. There is, for example, one
small group of Gnostic anarchists weaving
together the elaborate mysticisms of the
Gnostic heretics of the second century
AJ>. and the philosophies of both Kro-
potkin and Wilhelm Reich. The devils of
the Manicheans and the devils of the
ubconatious race together in dream sym
bols through their writings; for this group,
o, is
largely made up of poets. They are
onrcntly preparing a magazine to em
body their views which has been named
jirk, and which they are slowly printing by
on an old press housed in a San
*r*ciico buemrnt There are other
ine vegetarianism, ballet
live haadorafis, anarch-
myflddsm. Still others
[
together by a co-operative search
for orgastic potency in the closest approxi
mation to a primitive tribal group they
can contrive, in which all social, economic,
and physical attributes, assets, and liabili
ties, are shared in common, and the ulti
mate objective is self-improvement.
It might be presumed, logically, that
while orgastic potency is eminently desira
ble from one point of view, its possession
in this sick world would confront the
healthy ones with a problem. How can
they fit in, what are they to do with their
lives? It turns out, however, that it's no
problem at all, for another benefit that
flows from a relaxed subconscious is sure-
ness of purpose and relief from tearing
doubts. It is
inescapably clear to the potent
what their role in the present civilization
is. In a doom-struck world, rotting in
chain-reactive decay, it is their solemn
mission to preserve the essence of man
through the descending holocaust. And
since it is the mysterious quintessence of
humankind, the very seed itself, that must
be sporcd through the deluge art, and
only art, is the business of those pioneers
for the New Israel.
So they write poetry. They paint. They
write philosophy. They go to galleries
and concerts. Only in art, today, can the
fettered, mechanically burdened soul of
man speak out his revolt against the dead
hand of rationalism. Only through art is it
any longer possible to reach that all but
buried spark of natural life dying under
the intolerable weight of modern man's
sadistic super-ego. And only through art
will man find a path back to his spon
taneous, natural creativeness. Here again
you are apt to hear Herbert Read quoted,
though sometimes not credited, for he has
put this part of their view most clearly.
"Poetry," he writes, "in its intensest and
most creative moments penetrates to the
same level as mysticism. . . .
For this reason it
may well happen that the
origins of a new religion will be found in
art rather than in any form of moralistic
revivalism. It may not be without signifi
cance that the most authentic types
of
modern art the paintings of Picasso or the
sculpture of Henry Moore succeed in
creating symbols whose nearest parallels
are to be found in the magical accessories
of primitive religions."
THE NEW CULT OF SEX AND ANARCHY
An artist, of course, creates even his vi
sion of the future out of the materials at
hand; hence the writings of these young
poets are studded with phosphorent phrases
reflecting the putrescence they see around
them, as well as with mystical symbols
translating individual ecstatic and erotic
experiences. Lines about drinking "our
father's blood or strangling our mother
with her hair," or "chopping up the blood
like the dice of onions," or "quietly the
mothers are killing their sons; quietly the
fathers are raping their daughters" are far
more frequent, however, than references
to "trees flowing within me" or "this act
of vision is an act of love" lines, that is,
promising green growth out of decay. But
it is difficult for the ordinary reader to tell,
with any precision, just what most of the
poems are striving toward. Some few of
them are written with enough lucidity for
ordinary mortals to understand them, but
most of them are incomprehensible.
For one thing, their figures and symbols
are drawn deliberately from psychoana
lytical dream symbols, so that if you
haven't been psychoanalyzed, or at least
haven't read a mountain of case histories,
you are as much removed from their lan
guage as you would be if they wrote in the
mathematical jargon of econometrics. And
for another, their avowed intent is to speak
to the living unconscious of their readers
and by evocative word-moods to slip under
the rational, super-ego fences that hold the
subconscious in jealous jail. In any case,
they seem to understand each other quite
well enough to engage in hours of con
troversy over the value of a line and even
the most obscure among them are held in
high repute by their fellow writers- -and
their works are published in their local
literary press, the magazine Circle.
IV
CIRCLE
is local, however, only in that
it is published in Berkeley, and it is
theirs only because it is so easily
available to them. Circle's editor, pub
lisher, and total staff is one of the young
poets (twenty-four years old) whose writ
ings are no more lucid than the next one's,
but who refuses to be catalogued within
any ism anarchism, surrealism, or sex-
ualism. Circle, uyt it* publisher,
Leite, hews to no line but die
vital in modern art. "GnU it >
T.ifc the- new tvA^ttii* it f
a postwar phenomenon. It wa
about two yean ago and Leite, who iti
of energy, drove taxis, tended ban, aad
begged continually to buy the press aad
paper to produce his magazine. Nie
issues have been published and in the col
umn identifying contributors the following
item could sometimes be found: "010*0*
LEITE in need of financial aid." But the
baby the magazine was not allowed to
reflect the parent's poverty. Almost from
the start Circle boasted heavy white paper,
expensive reproductions, and even luxuri
ant covers in color.
Although the local literati furnish a
major part of its contributions, aoant
garde writers from all over the nation have
appeared on its pages and not infrequently
there are pieces from England, Australia,
and France. And Circle's circulation, says
Leite, is international. The timing of each
issue is, like the material each contains,
also strictly eclectic. Circle appears when
ever Leite is ready for it to appear, but
one part of the ceremony attending each
new publication is tying up bundles of the
magazine to be shipped to Paris, London,
Mexico City, Glasgow, and Cairo as well
as Chicago. New York, New Orleans, and
Los Angeles. Today, says Leite, "Circle has
the largest circulation of any art-literary
review in America." What's more, begin
ning with the first issue in 1947, Circle
proposes to pay for the material it
pub
lishes, and that is certainly a milestone in
aiant garde publication history.
On its home ground Circle's reception
has been mixed. The young literati hailed
it, naturally, and not a few of the oldsters
interested in encouraging literary experi-
mentalism gave it a hand. Joseph Henry
Jackson of the San Francisco Chronicle, for
example, has granted it generous mention
in his book column and men like Douglas
Mac Agy, director of the San Francisco
School of Fine Arts, have contributed arti
cles for its pages. And recendy, no less an
institution than the San Francisco Mu
seum of Modern Art, together with the
San Francisco School of Fine Arts, joined
Circle in sponsoring a showing of auant
318 HARPER'S MAGAZINE
it
\
garde
films in San Francisco. For, what
ever may be the philosophy by which its
contributors understand the world of to
day, the young writers in Circle write with
a non-commercial dedication to modern
art as they see it and among them are
youngsters whose industry, if nothing else,
gives some promise. The most widespread
local reaction to the magazine, however,
is one of tolerant mystification, and is
probably best characterized by the com
ment of a reader who, on hearing of Cir
cle's international circulation, remarked:
"Well, I hope that the people in Cairo
understand it better than I do."
And apparently they do, at least some
of them. The English poet Lawrence Dur-
rell, for example, who until recently pub
lished an avant garde poetry review in
Cairo, called Personal Landscape, not only
understood Circle but published in it and
still does now and then. And from other
little magazines like The Jazz Forum in
London or Angry Penguins in Sydney,
Australia, have come such compliments as:
"Cirelt a the best thing yet to come out of
America." In Sydney, as a matter of fact,
Circle was the beneficiary of no little pub
licity a year or so ago when the Australian
Post Office officials banned it as inde
cent" and stirred the intellectuals in the
country down under to quite a flurry of
defense.
r-r\uz international reception of Circle,
small though it probably is, is nonc-
P theless something of an indication
that our new bohemia is not simply a local
manifestation. Even more convincing that
there is here something more than a Cali
fornia deviation is the similarity in tone
and outlook between Circle and the many,
many little magazines now springing up
all over the English-speaking world. Not
only are Circle's contributors found in
them, but the drift toward anarchism and
the rmphflf*f on salvation through sex is
abo obvious in their pages. For example,
yaw can find the theories of Wilhelm Reich
'
i jjeriouf and approving discussion in
of journal* lv Jfaui of Eng-
Australia,
of the new bo-
fapwever, never we the counter-
f Ctrpb which appear in the rest of
the world and hence are inclined to ac
count far the new phenomenon on the
basis of local events. And they have, it is
true, a sequence out of which a persuasive
and logical story can be built.
THAT
story starts with the arrival of
Henry Miller in the Big Sur some
time late in 1943. Miller unpacked
the canned goods, wool scarfs, pants, and
lies that he had successfully panhandled
through the .\ew Republic's letter column
and settled down in a cabin belonging to
George Leite some twenty miles or so
below Carmcl. Although Time magazine
could describe a book about Henry Miller,
published a year or so ago (The Happy
Rock), as a book about a man most people
had never read, written by a group of
thirty intellectuals of whom most people
had never heard (Lcitc was one of them).
Miller created quite a stir when he settled
among us. The little magazines of the
West, and there are more of them than
you might imagine, hailed his coming in
extravagant terms. He was welcomed in
Motiie (then published in Waco, Texas,
believe it or not) not only as the greatest
living American writer, but as a great
mystic, philosopher, and human being.
Not long after his appearance on the
coast, his books turned up in local book
shops with whole windows given over to
them and the young surrealist-anarchist
writers and hangers-on were called, for a
time, Millcritcs.
There was considerable justification for
the term. Miller's shack down in the Big
Sur was the goal of many a cultural pil
grim. For one thing, there existed here,
as in most other cities in the country, a
select group among whom pirated edi
tions of his Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of
Capricorn had been handed around as
something select and special. Many of
these readers were curious to have a look
at the writer who could crowd more four-
letter words on a page than any of his
predecessors in pornography. Something
more serious than a rakish curiosity, how
ever, sent scores of earnest young con
scientious objectors to sit at his knee and
listen to his stories of personal sacrifice in
294
THE NEW CULT OF SEX AND ANARCHY
the name of freedom, of how he rational
ized begging in order to avoid the slavery
of participation in a rotten society.
These disciples came to see him because
he had written and published a booklet,
through a local publisher, called Murder
t/u Murderers. It was outspokenly pacifistic
and he puoiished it during the war. He
thus became for the conscientious objectors
a symbol of literary courage and the only
writer of any standing at all who dared to
write what they felt. The coast had more
than its share of the nation's CO's, for the
Army had seen fit to settle three-quarters
of the 5,500 "men against the state" west
of the Mississippi: and because the coast
offered isolated, forest-ranger work, better
than half of these landed in coastal camps.
They had lots of time to read and Henry
Miller was one of the most popular con
temporary writers among them. And these
readers of Miller rend, not for the titilla-
tion of the four-letter words, but for the
philosophy.
They read his imccnsorcd books pub
lished in the L'nitcd States (Cosmolngical
Eye. Colossus nf Maraussi. Sitndnv After the
H'ar. Air Conditioned .\'ightmarr, etc.) and
from them imbibed an engaging potpourri
of mysticism, egoism. scxuali-m. surreal
ism, and anarchism. By the very nature of
the act which made thorn conscientious
objectors, the CO's were conditioned to
find an acceptable rationalization of their
position in anarchism and to seek for a
path of personal salvation in defiance of
the organized world they had opposed.
Thus there developed among them a core
of loyalty, at one and the same time, both
to Henry Miller and to certain churches
like the Quakers and Mcnnonites which
had stood by them throughout the war.
They were youn? enough and bitter
enough to find nothing disconcerting in so
strange a mixture as Quaker pacifism and
Miller scxualism. So. when they were
given leave from the camps, and after the
war was over, not a few of them made for
the California coastal hills and a life of
freedom devoted to the arts a la Henry
Miller.
The Miller devotees arc generally reli
gious, or at least mystical, and Miller's
friends today usually describe him, first,
"as a deeply religious man." For the CO's
who had no religious tie*, or feelinp, I
was established in San Francisco a. I
weekly journal called Pacifica Ktor, Mc
became a force of considerable infloeao. .
Pacifica Views was openly anarchist and l&
'
*
influence was enhanced by the *ymp-
the tic representation of the CO's position
in the community. Its editor, George R
Reeves, successfully accomplished this not
only through the magazine itself but also
in the Human Events pamphlet Mm
Against the State. Even in Pacifica Vuws,
however, the anarchism-sexualism tie was
aired by several weeks' discussion of Wit-
helm Reich's thesis and the magazine's
political position was embellished with a
sure come-on for the young sexual free
dom for the adolescent and the deep
political significance that lies in develop
ing a healthy sexuality "among the masses
of the people who are endemically neu
rotic and sexually sick."
AIRCHISM
is, of course, nothing new to
the West. There have been in both
Seattle and San Francisco small
anarchist groups ever since the first World
War and before, and remnants of them
have persisted. Some are hangovers from
the days of the Wobblies. Others are made
up of first and second generation Euro
pean immigrants like the San Francisco
group, the Libertarians, which is
largely
Italian. All during the thirties these small
groups existed without benefit of attention
from young intellectuals who in those days
were most apt to be thumping their type
writers on behalf of the United Front. Not
long after December 7, 1941, however, the
poet Kenneth Rcxroth left the ranks of the
Communists in San Francisco and turned
both anarchist and pacificst. Around him,
as around Miller, there collected a group
of young intellectuals and writers who
met weekly in self-education sessions, read
ing the journals of the English anarchists,
studying the old-line anarchist philoso
phers like Kropotkin, and leavening the
politics liberally with psychoanalytic in
terpretations from Reich. It was and is,
however, a decidedly literary group in
which politics is all but submerged by art;
where poems, not polemics, are written;
and where D. H. Lawrence outshines
Bakunin Lawrence the philosopher of
320 HARPER'S MAGAZINE
Fantasia and the Unconscious rather than
Lawrence the novelist.
Nevertheless, the anarchism of this
group is taken seriously enough to call
forth tokens to the political as well as the
sexual; and at meetings of the Libertari
ans, today, you will be apt to find young
intellectuals sprinkled among the mus
tachioed papas and bosomed mamas who,
until recently, had no such high-toned
co-operation. In this particular group
around Rexroth, the Henry Miller kind
of anarchism is held to be irresponsible,
for Miller goes so far on the lonely, indi
vidualistic trail as to sneer at even an
archist organization. To the outside ob
server, however, the differences between
the Miller adherents and the Rexroth
followers are more than outweighed by
their similarities. They both reject ration
alism, espouse mysticism, and belong to
the select few who are orgastically potent.
And they both share in another attitude
that sets them sharply apart from the bo-
hemians of the twenties. They prefer their
women subdued verbally and intellec
tually. No budding Edna St. Vincent
Millay or caustic Dorothy Parker appears
at their parties. If the girls want to get
along they learn, pretty generally, to keep
their mouths shut, to play the role of the
quiet and yielding vessel through which
man finds the cosmos. Although there are
a few women writers found now and then
in Circle Anais Nin is a favorite and
Maude Phelps Hutchins (wife of Robert
Hutchins, chancellor of the University of
Chicago) has appeared the accepted view
of both the women and the men seems to
be that woman steps out of her cosmic des
tiny when the goal of her endeavor shifts
beyond bed and board. This doesn't mean
that the women are economically depend
ent, however. Most of the girls hold down
job*. But the job is significant only in that
it contributes to a more satisfactory board.
VI
OWN in Carmel, where the new
bohemia is a more noticeable addi
tion to the community than it is in
Berkeley or San Fraacuco (became
nailer and more closely knit
), the parties and functions
attended by Miller and his followers are
the subject of considerable discussion and
sometimes a less relaxed note is discernible
in the reaction to them. Although a live-
and-let-live attitude toward human foibles
is characteristic of that long established
center for deviants, there is some murmur
ing about the threat to the beauty of the
countryside implicit in a colony of shacks
and tents; and among learned liberals
there arc some who view with alarm the
lure of this mysticism. Needless to say, the
young writer searching for a vision in the
cosmos doesn't pay much heed to local
elections, nor feel great concern over the
price of milk.
Furthermore, the mood and outlook of
these mystics is
hardly compatible with
democratic tenets of equality. It is, in fact,
uncomfortably reminiscent of the glorifica
tion of instincts and urges, the subjective
absolutism of the famed Stephan George
circle in prc-Hitlcr Germany, where a
number of Nazi Icaders-to-bc drank in
that poet's songs of the divine power
which manifests itself "not in the persons
of the many, the all-too-many, but only in
the creative personality. . . ." This is not
to pin a tattered and over-used label on
the California group; but rather to explain
why. now and then, an unfriendly term
like "neo-fascist" is sometimes applied to
them. Certainly, anybody looking for simi
larities between these local poets and the
German group can find a number of them.
It was George, for example, who held the
doctrine that, "the true standards and
boundaries now disregarded by man shall
be reinstated, for a select few at first; in
stincts must be reborn, a new spirit must
arise out of the blood, and in time the
healing of the few shall be extended to the
many."
The mystics in the Big Sur are unques
tionably confident of their membership in
the select few and no less confident of the
low estate of the many. Henry Miller is not
so delicate but quite as positive as the
German in the way he puts it: "A real
man has no need of governments, of moral
or ethical codes, to say nothing of batde-
ships, police clubs, high powered bombs
and such things. Of course, a real man i*
hard to ind, but that's the only kind worth
talking about. Why talk about trash? It is
THE NEW CULT OF SEX AND ANARCHY
the great mass of mankind, the mob, the
people,
who create permanently bad
times."
It is difficult at the present time, how
ever, to project anything significantly sinis
ter from the posturings of the real men in
the Big Sur, or to carry the similarity to
the George circle very far. There is no
design or German orderliness in the mysti
cism of the California anarchists. Any
thing goes. Since Miller's sojourn on the
coast, the bag of wonders he brought with
him has even been stuffed with a number
of local additions; for besides the CO's,
the salacious curious, and the young liter
ati, there were still other visitors to Miller's
shack.
His appetite for the mysterious was
soon widely known and a host of dealers in
occult lore came to sec him: astrologers,
faith healers, sexologists, and spiritualists
laid their experiences in the wonderful at
his feet and marveled with him over the
grandeurs of the Lost Continent of Mu.
the astrologers was Dane Rudh-
yer, an astrological philosopher
who has lived near Los Angeles for
many years. He and Millrr now share the
f knowledge that the world today is
passing
*"
through the watery a?c of Pisces, nnd in
Miller's current writings in Circle you can
run across such phrases as "Balsac is a
born Neptunian, indeed, one ol the most
perfect examples known to astrology."
Rudhycr himself is also a contributor to
Circle, and in the contributors' column he
is identified as "well known for his lectur
ing, painting and composing: is the fore
most astrologer in the LJ. S. His book The
Astrology oj Personality is a must for the
student of symbolism.''
The fact that Rudhycr paints, as well
as drawing up horoscopes and writing,
brings up another facet of the life of these
new literati the widespread interest in
painting among writers. Nearly all of them
dabble in either water color or oils. In
fact, painting has become the dominant
hobby among them. Miller himself has
done water colors for years. Their can
vases are generally classed as "primi
tives" and while most of tketn make no
attempt to exhibit, the Raymond and
Raymond Galleries of San Francisco re
cently featured a show by EmH Whjic> a*
intimate of Miller's and a recent settle* in
the Big Sur. White never held brot fc
his hand until a couple of yean .190 wfacn
he took one up because Miller had said,
"why don't you?" and became the Cali
fornia outdoors inspired him. In spite of
his limned background his show received
quite friendly reviews in the local press
the San Francisco ChromeU, not Cirdt.
THE
interest that a good many pro
fessional painters in California have
evidenced in both Miller and Circle
is
probably due, in part, to this interest
that the writers have in their work. Not a
little of Circle's publishing costs can be laid
to its reproductions of the works of painters
like Knud Merrild, Jean Varda, and Ell-
wood Graham, and the compositions of
the photographer. Man Ray. And at any
exhibition of modern painting hereabouts
the new boherma turns out in full force.
Since the war. two new galleries have
sprung up largely as a result of this inter
est. One of them is in Monterey (a town
adjoining Carmel) and the other is in
Berkeley. The Berkeley gallery is a second
venture of Circle's energetic publisher. It
adjoins his new bookstore, daliel's (always
spelled with a little d and meaning, in
Hebrew according to Leite "poor in
the sicjht of God").
daliel's is described by its entrepreneur
in the University of California's literary
magazine. The Occident, as "the West's
most modern bookstore and gallery"
which "invites the discerning student and
professor's perusal of the most extensive
stock of foreign importations and hard-to-
gct modern writing in this area, as well as
a complete stock of new and used books
in the fields of art. poetry, psychoanalysis,
and experimental writing.'
1
daliel's is, of
course, no vast undertaking but it has
made, in the short time since it has opened,
a considerable impression. It is, for one
thing, such a tangible, physical evidence
of this new group among us. jutting out as
it does a good foot and a half beyond every
other workaday store front along Tele
graph Avenue, sporting its ultra-modern
architecture rigkt across the street from a
big Lucky super-market and next door to
a Shell gasoline station.
1I
i.
fl
332 HARPER'S MAGAZINE
i ,
r
ITS
length of life as a going venture may
be one indication of just how true it is
that we are destined to succor the
nation's atant garde here on the West
Coast. The idea that this really is the new
Paris would come as no great surprise to
many a Californian. Even the San Fran
cisco Chamber of Commerce would prob
ably agree that here above the beautiful
bay there rests the most cosmopolitan,
tolerantly sophisticated city in the United
States ripe and ready to play generous
host to the creators of modern art and
literature; while New York City, which
copped the United Nations away from us,
coldly neglects the world's diplomats and
stuffed shirts. And don't forget that, after
all, it was San Francisco which found Ed
mund Wilson's Memoirs of Hecate County a
work of art, not pornography, when both
New York City and Los Angeles had
banned the book.
Anyway, the burgeoning young bo-
hemians have already become acclimated
to the extent that they share our booster
spirit. They are full of stories of the intel
lectual migration westward and they will
tell you confidently that "we are witness
ing here a cultural revival like that around
Yeats in Dublin."
The Planted Poet
PETER VIERECK
"Thai corpse you planted . . . has it
begun to sprout?" (ELIOT, The Waste Land)
THE
night he died, earth's images all came
To gloat in liberation round his tomb.
Now vengeful colors, stones, and faces dare
To argue with his metaphor;
And stars his fancy painted on the skies
Drop down like swords
to pierce his too wide eyes.
II
Words that begged favor at his court in vain
Lush adverbs, senile rhymes in tattered gowns
Send notes to certain exiled nouns
And mutter openly against his reign.
While rouged cliches hang out red lights again,
Hoarse refugees report from far-flung towns
That exclamation marks are running wild
And prowling half-truths carried off a child.
298 APPENDIX B
On Receiving the Personal History of
My Pacifist-Anarchist-Artist Friend
Shirley Triest
by victoria byerly
Approaching Death's bed,
To capture whispery words
In a room of utter order
Hurried now, she says
"We were the First Wave."
Handsome woman.
Emblazoned on Marxist murals
And Coit Tower Fresco
Among Rexroth and Zakheim
At the Black Cat Cafe
Seduced from across the room
At Scott Street Soirees
Of poetry and wine
Of love and revolution
From Bohemian to the Beats
From Berkeley
To the world,
Entrusts me with her story
Told now
For the last time.
Elegant artist's hand
Of a long slender arm
Defies the tyranny of Death's descent
Graces an Emperor's chair
Of rosewood and jade brocade
Shows me
Sketched images of mystical transcendence
While
Her napalmed mother and child warrior
Incinerated Vietnamese
Endure on the wall
Find peace,
Finally,
In the ancient realm of Sumi-e and Haiku
Good mother, beautiful lover, wise friend
From flesh to memory
Etched deep now
Whorls
Slowly
Away.
Good, she sighs, all of it.
Now gone.
299 APPENDIX C
Notes on Lithographs & Pastels
1 ''^99-27th Ave."- This revolutionary person found the Podesta home
and manners to be bourgeois. The judgment is ex
pressed here by grese pencil demolition, but sav
ing some of the Legion of Honor, the piano (which
was never actually there) and Play land*
2. "Death 3y Water" UKLS suggested by the T.S. Eliot poem. Podesta pos
ed for it.
3. ""nd of Clue"-"Bud" Painter, a man who had Just lost his Job as art
promoter on 'S.P.A., gathered a few of the litho. peo
ple together and proposed a profit-sharing plan where
by we would do the stones, .-toy Bertrand would provide
paper and printing and Bud would arrange publicity in
the big Vest coast papers. There actually was a lot of
front page exposure and orders poured in. At some point
it was discovered that Painter had absconded, './e, the
artists, were out our work, but it was Ray who was real
ly stuck. Because the series was carried in the Seattle
"Post Intelligencer" one of my prints uxxs purchased by
Mrs. 3oettinger. She was co-owner of the paper, along
with her husband, and was also the daughter of F.D.A*
4. "Burlingame 1919"- This was drawn for my mother, she didn't particu
larly enjoy the work I was doing and I felt she was
entitled to something pleasant after all the nusiance
of rearing me. Happily, sne did like it,
5. "19&7 A.D."- This is, of course, napalm and Viet Ham.
6. "Birds in Rocks" just is.
7. "Bodega Bay"- I think I called it "Bodega Head" at some time, tie had
spent a day, a very over-cast one, at Bodega Head and I
was utterly fascinated by the oyster catchers. I'd never
seen the bird before- nor have I seen it since. They are
so big and so black and their beaks are so incredibly red.
for the whole time we were there they just pounded away-
feathered jack -hammers, breaking the rhythm from time to
time in order to swallow their catch.
300
fi
*5
APPENDIX D
Site of the Workmen's
Circle Center, 1940s
V*
The large Victorian townhouse located at 1057
:iner Street was designed and built in 1892 for
regon lumber baron Daniel B. Jackson by the
chitect William H. Armitage. Mr. Jackson and his
ife Marie lived in the 22 room house from 1892 to
198. The home was built as a unit together with
e three adjacent apartment buildings to the west
i Golden Gate Avenue. The entire development
as called the "Seattle Block" and those words
>pear at the top of the building located at 1409-19
Dlden Gate Avenue. It was owned as a unit from
!92 until 1922.
William Armitage was born and trained in Eng
land and in 1883 made his way to San Francisco
after working in New York City, Chicago, and
Denver. Armitage was regarded as one of San
Francisco's leading architects, primarily of massive
stone and brick structures such as banks, churches,
schools, and libraries.
The second owner of the house was Mrs.
Ernestine Kreling who lived there from 1898 to
1917. Mrs. Kreling was the owner and operator of
the famous Tivoli Opera House. She was the
widow of two Kreling brothers, first Joseph and
then William, both sons of F.W. Kreling. The
Kreling family developed a successful business
301
manufacturing high quality furniture.
Mrs. Kreling later married William "Doc"
Leahy who had started as an upholsterer in
the Kreling business. Mr. Leahy went on to
become a successful manager and operator
of the Tivoli and was the discoverer of such
world famous opera stars as Luisa Tettrazini
who sang at the Tivoli and was undoubtedly
a guest in the home at 1057 Steiner Street
In 1917 the home became the location for
various Jewish organizations beginning with
the Emanu-El Sisterhood Dormitory which
housed 30 young orphaned girls. The
Yiddish Literary and Dramatic Society
opened a Yiddish Cultural Center, Yiddish
School, and Restaurant in December of
1929. This organization was composed of
Yiddish intelligentsia who had fled Russia
after the revolution in 1917 and were at
tempting to maintain Yiddish Culture in
America. The house at 1057 Steiner Street
served as the center for Yiddish culture in
the Bay Area from 1929 until 1961. Con
certs, plays, art exhibits, lectures, poetry
readings, and celebrations were held on the
first floor of the building. Bernard Zakheim,
painter of the Coil Tower murals taught art
in the Yiddish School. The building was
filled with music, an and life for 31 years
continuing Ernestine Kreling's operatic
model. The building was operated as a
rooming house between 1961 and 1975.
In 1975 the building was purchased by
Jack Painter, Ph.D., and became a world
renown center for the New Age Movement
in Psychology. It was called the Center for
Release and Integration. WorkshSpsand
trainings were conducted in such disciplines
as Postural Integration, Reichian Release,
Rebirthing, and Pelvic Release. New Age
Murals of lotus flowers, jungles, arid uni
corns covered the walls. Tibetan bells,
drumming, dancing and chanting filled the
ears. A multitude of nude people enjoyed
communion in the hot tub in the basement
A live birth into water was filmed for na
tional educational T.V. The New Age paper
Common Ground was bom at this site.
The current owners purchased the build
ing in 1985 and have embarked on an
extensive process of restoring die building
to its original splendor as a Victorian
townhouse. The hardwood floors on the
first and second floor have been reflnished
and in some cases replaced with new hard
wood floors. Many coats of paint have been
painstakingly removed from the grand oak
staircase leading to the second floor. The
columns between the foyer and the double
parlors and between the foyer and the
dining room have been added as part of the
restoration work. The plaster work in the
second floor hallway area has been recre
ated by the current owners. The roof of the
house has undergone an extensive restora
tion that has involved taking off the previ
ous roof and installing a three tone roof of
composite slate material in stripes and
diamond patterns.
The building was re-dedicated to the
promotion of art, music and celebration by a
gathering of poets, opera singers and musi
cians at the time of the Harmonic Conver
gence in August of 1987.
302 APPENDIX E
Staschen Family Tree
"Aa I now think of my younger relatives, particularly my children and
my grandchildren, it is with great humility on my part. Can they find
anything in my example to emulate? './hat have I accomplished to better
the society in which I Hot? It is a sorry confused world through which
they must make their way.
3ut, it took courage to cross the ocean in l6}5 and to establish homes
on these strange shores. And who can say that the days of 1776 were
easy? Th* Civil Var in 186$ was almost a mortal blow to our Republic.
Crossing the Plains in 1857, by ox team, required stamina and courage.
My ancestors surmounted all these obstacles. Their blood courses in
the veins of my descendants. I hold high the torch and pass it to stout
hearts and willing hands f confident that they will find a better way
of life."
from an essay, "Relative Reveries"
written about 19&5 by
Elleanore Mead Staschen.
aad-1
303
M~AD FAMILY
Ref. .-"Co I onto I Families of the United States of America" , edited by Teorve
Norbury HacKenzie,LL.3.., vol. 5, O.JS5 to p. 39- (191 "J-outro Branch, Calif.
otate Library, San Francisco, California.
"arliest traces o/ the Mead family are to be found in "A History of the
Norman People and Their Existing Descendants in the British Dominions and
the United States of America", pub. King and Co., London, 1574. from that
volume it appears that the name Kead is the English form of the jVornan de
Prato, and to say that a family is Norman is nearly equivalent to saying
that it is among the oldest of the old and the noblest of the noble.
In 118O-1195 the name of William dePrato is found in the ancient Hornan
records* "dePrato" was translated into the English Mead, tfeade. Heads.
The coat of arms is thus described: The color is sable. A chevron repre
sented as two rafters of a house joined together and descending in the form
of a pair of compasses, to the extremities of the sheild. The orange sig
nified gold* Three pelicans wounding themselves, according to the old tra
dition that the pelican picked its own breast to nourish its young. Crest
and eagle displayed. Motto: "Semper Parat us". (always ready)
Villiam Mead and his brothr, Goodman (called Gabriel) Mead arrived in
Mass* in 1635 on the ship "Elizabeth" (Captain Stagg), having sailed from
Lydd, County Kent, England in April, reaching the colony in the summer. They
are supposed to have been members of a family of Saxon origin which had
been settled since early times in Somersetshire, but removed to Essex ir.
the reign of Henry VI, early in the 15th century. Goodman Mead remained in
Mass* and is the ancestor of the Massachusetts Meads. Villiam, however,
followed the tide of emigration, removing first to Hempstead, Long Island
and thence to the Connecticut Valley. The first English settlement of Conn.
was made at Windsor in October, 16}}, and another settlement was made at
*ethersfield soon after where Villiam probably first settled and in 164-1
he removed to Stamford with several others from Vethersfield. Among the
first forty-two land proprietors of Stamford, Conn, we find the name of
Villiam Mead. The following is a copy from the Stamford Town Records :"Dec.
7f l64l. Villiam Mayd(Mead) received from the town of Stamford a homelot
and Five acres of land"
1. jiilltax Mead.b. l6OO, England, d.l66} f Stamford,Conn.m. , name unknown, d. Sept.
i*' 16*7'
Issue
2.2 Joseph, b. l6}0, England, d. May J,l690,m.Dec.4,l654 to Mary Brown of
Stemford. Vas the ancestor of the Norwalk, Ridgefield, -Vorth Fairfield
- _ Cowty Heads.
2\2 H*r*t*eb ^1632, England,*. John Richardson
2-3 Jeiuit b.l634,Bngland,d.f'*b.5,l699. Vas a member of the Assembly of
General Court from Qre*n*ich,.Conn. ,,1679, 1680, 1688. m.l657 to Hannah
Potter, Daughter of Vllltam Potter.
Issue;
J.I John,b.ca 1658, d. Hay, 12,.l693,m.l681 to Ruth Hardy, dau.xi chard .arc
3.2 Joseph, b.May 2, 1 660, d. 1725, m.Mary, surname unknown.
5.3 Hannah, b.ca l6l,m.July 12,1677 to John Scofield of Stamford.
3.4 Ebenezer,b. l66j, d.l?28 t m. 1691 to Sarah Knapp of Hartford. 1en.
John Mead was a descendant of theirs.
3*5 Jonat hand)probably twin, b. 1665 (see below)
3.6 David, probably twin,b. 1665, d. 1726
304
K2.\D FAMILY (cont.)
j.7 3enjamin,b. May, 16*7, d.Peb. 22, 1746, m.Kay !C t l700 to Jarah '.'aterbur-.-.
j.fi Nathaniel, b. 1669, d. 170}, m..Rachel, surname unknown.
j.9 Samuel, b.l67J,d. 1711.
}.10 Abigail, no record.
J.J1 Mary, no record,
j.Jonathan
Xead (l)of Nine Partners, Dutchess Co. , ,'V.Y.,b.l665,d.l727,
n.ca 1688 to Martha, surname unknown.
Issue
4.1 Jonathan(2) ,b.l689, m.ca 1726, fife's name unknown
4.2 Sarah, b. Oct. 11, 1691, m,Jan.21, 1714 to Jonathan Vaterbury,
4.} Martha, b. Dec. 11, 1$9J, m. Stephen Holmes. ,' ', .
4.4 James, b.,'"ar. 11, 1696, d.Mar.}, 1727, m.Jan.25, 1720 to Susannah Husted.
4.5 Isaac, b. Nov. 8, l698 f no record,
4.6 Timothy, b. Apr. 22, 1701.
4.7 Mary, b. May 22,1704,m.Jan.l727.
4.8 He2ekiah,b.Aug.30,l705, no further record,
4.9 Rachel.b.;;ov.22,1708,
" " "
4. Jonathan Mead (2),b.l689,Horseneck (Greenwich) , removed to Dutchess Co.
N. Y. and settled at -Vine Partners. His children settled in Chenago Co.,
N.Y., Wyoming, Northumberland and Crawford Co., Pa, m.ca 1726, w. name unkn.
Issue
5.1 Jonathan, b. 1727, d.Feb. 10, 1804, m.1758 to Sarah Guernsey, b. 17J6,
d.May 11,180O. Jonathan (3) went with his father to Nine Partners
and from there to Chenango Co.,N.Y,
Issue
6.1 Amos, b.Aug.4, 1760, d. Mar. 24, 1327, m.Aug. 1787 to Anna Harrison.
b.Jan.9, 1761, d. Apr. 25, 1847. (see supp, Harrison)
Issue
7.1 Sally, b.f!ayl7, 1788, d.May 20, 1858, m. Jonathan Hitchcock.
Issue
8.1 Mary A.,b.Nov,l4,i8l5,d,Jan.25,1884 f m,Rev,tllard
It. Hoy t
8.2 Lav inia,b. March 22,1820, f/orwich,ff.Y.
8.} Sarah, b. Aug. 6, 1822.
8.4 =iizpah,b.July 26,1824, d. Sept. 26, 186l,m. John B.Hoyt.
8.5 Cornelia, b, Jan, 14, 1829.
7.2 Hannah, b, June 11, 1790,d. Mar, 20, 1870, m. Stephen Germain,
7.J Amos T.,b.June 2,l792,d.0ct,ll,1865,m. Anna Pwdy^b.fi'ou.
6,l794,d.J(pr27,l873 (see supp, Purdy)~
Issue
8.1 Stephen Purdy,b.Sept~26, 1819, d.Apr.ll, 1885, m.May 22,
1844 To Susan Barker, b. Mar. 3, 1824, d,Sept.3,1897. (see
supp. Barker family)
8.2 Amos T.,b.Sept~10, 182}, m, May 1,1848 to Achsah 3uel.
S..J George N,,b,fTay 22, 1826, d, July 22, 1911, m, Nov. 10, 1852
to Vealthy Persons, b, Apr, 24, 1826, d^July 17,1905.
Issue
9.1 Jennie N.,b.Aug*18,1856.
9.2 Kate Persons, b, May 28, i860,
9.J Villis P,,b,May 18,1862, m.1888 to Mary Volf.
9.4 Charles B,,b. Jan.6,.l865,m.Sept, 1*1897 to Ann Kott.
Issue
10.1 Gay lord P., b. Aug. 24, 1900
10.2 Kenneth P. ,b. Sept. 28, 1904
305
HEAD FAMILY (cont.)
8.4 Mary Ht ,b.May 6,1829,m.Aug.S,l851 to f.E.De'Solf
8.5 Allen, b. Sept. 9, 1831.
8.6 Lavinia S. ,b. Aug. 30, 1834, m. June 3,1856 to Rollin B.Allen.
(see supp. letters to Emma Mead Jordan)
7.4 Ann,b.May 20, 1796, d. June ll,182Of m.3ept.7,l817 to Fitch. Raymond.
7.5 Rebecca, b. Dec. 31, 1798, d.Mar. 9, 1881, m.Oct. 9, 1823 to Samuel Gail.
7.6 Lavinia, b. July 26, 1804, d. Mar. 31, 1820.
8, Stephen Purdy Mead,b.Sept.26, 1819, d. Apr. 11, l885,m.May 22,1844 to
Susan Barker, b. Mar. 3t 1324,d.Sept.3, 1897 (see Barker family supp,)
Issue s
f
.
~
9.1 Frank Doug las, b. June 28 t
l845,d^ct.l883^m.Ella Genung^ d.j<Oi_.ix -r;'
0.2 Carl Barker, b. July l4,1848{^1920^rJal^T^87^to
Sarah Margaret
Haxwe II , b . Jan. 1 6, 1852 , d. Apr. 51 19f^ (see Maxwell family).
Issue
10.1 Stephen Kennedy, b.Hou. 1874, d. May 10,1890.
10.2 Rollin Orlando, b. Mar, ll t l877,d.l923?,m.Florence Iken,m.Car-
rie Hatch.
10.3 Sarah Mary Elleanore,b.Mar.20, 1880 - ct.
Apr.i 23.1376
m. Oct. 191J To Ferdinand Gottlieb Staschen,b.Dec.ll,1875,d.
Aug. 23, 1932.
Issug
11.1 Shirley Adena,b.July 29,1914
m.Valentine Vhite Julian, n.Alfred L.Pode3ta,b.Feb.l3,1912,
m. Frank Sol Triest t b.May 9,1906.
Issue
12.1 Michael C.Podesta,b. Sept. 29, 1942, m.Bettie
Issue
13.1 Alfred Alexander^b^ar..71 197J
13.2: Johua~ David,b.Jan.^ t 1975
12.2 Karl Ian Frank Triest,b.Jlov~25,1948
12~3 Sara Hart Triest,.b.Mar.28,l95O
12JL Laurence Staschen Triest,J).Mar*28,1950
11.2 Sernice Mead,b~July 2,19l6
m. Marshall Moxom
m.Ralph Thomas, b. Oct. 20, 1923
Issue
12.1 Sheila Gail Moxom, b. Feb. 2, 1946
m.Ronald Vhipple,b. Feb. 12,19*7
Issue
13.1 Kelly Jean,b.Nov.24,l970
10.4 Dorothy, b. Jan. 2, 1885, d. Dec. 27, 1959, m. George B.Treadioell
Issue
11.1 Lois M ,b..June 6,1918
m^Fritz 3erens
Issue
12.1 Beverly
10.5 Carlton Maxiae 1 1, b. June 13, 1888, d. Aug. 28, 19 6&
9.3Louie Corre 1 1, b. June 18, 1851, d. 1920
9.4 Emma Rockioood, b. Oct. 11, 1854, d.!932,m. June 17,1875 to Leslie A.
Jordan, b. Oct. 30, 1847, d.1909
Issue
10.1 Arthur L. , b. 1876, d. 1974, m.Clara Eastman
306
KZAD FAMILY (co.it.)
(cont) Issue of nma Zockwood Head and Leslie Jordan.
(cont.)Arthur L.Jordan and Clara Zastr.an
Issue
11.1 Linda m.i'.akely
Issue
12.1 Clan
12.2 Scott
10.2 Susie, b. Feb. l4 t !880,d.
m.Charles Smith
Issue
11.1 Charles Homer,
m. Gladys
Issue
12.1 Gaynel f b. 19*0
11.2 Lucy t b.Nov~12,1911
m.Sert Rea
Issue
12.1 Terry II, 19*2
m.
Issue
13.-1
10.3 James Joshua, b. 1882
m. Margery
Issue
11.1 Slizabeth Emma,b. 1 92O,m. Charles Smith
11.2 Marian Lois t b.l922
ll^j^Helen Margery, b. 1935
11.4 iJames Frederick, b.1926, d. 19^5
10.4 Benjamin E.,b.l885,
m. Laura Ireland
Issue
11.1 Ruth,
m.Dwtght Vilbur
Issue
12.1 Diaight L.}edf b.l930
12.2 Jordan Rochwood,b.l932
12.} Gregory Fiske,b.l9}4
10.5 Robert, b. 1887t m. Margaret Orr
10.6 Fredt b.l889t m.Belle Ruperich
Issue
11.1 Mildred,m. John Vade(l2.1&12.2 t James, Jeanne)
11.2 Dorothy,m. Arthur Scott
10.7 Helen, b.!89} t m. Clyde Bruce Rollins (no Children)
9.5 Susie Evlynt b. Aug. 26, 186}, m. Albert barren Atherton (b.!862)onJan.
9 ' 1884
Issue
10.1 Har low, m. Lillian Bishop
Issue
11.1 Raymond, m. Virginia (12. 1/2/J .'Carolyn, Varner, Deborah)
11.2 Stewart r m.MaryAnn
11.3 Alfred
11.4 Stanley
11.5 Frances f m. Donald Smith (12.1 &12.2)
307 5.
KEAD FAKILY (cont.)
) Issue of Susie Zvlyn Mead and Altiert Barren Atherton:
'
10.2 Merrill Robert,m. Catherine Vest
Issue
ll.lVirginia,m. Robert Herron(l2.1&l2. 2, Christine, Catherine)
11.2 Dorothy, m.Ri chard Stern
11.3 Barbara t m. Bud Burbeeh (12. 1&12. 2, Stephen, Kenneth)
10.3 Ellyn Ruth,m. Merrill DeVitt
MEAD FAMILY -Further Notes
Richard I* llet}
M. Apr. 2, 1703
jfjfine Broon J.
John Felch J
flizabeth Johnson]J1. Oct. 18, 1714
John (son of Richard & Anne Pellet) ,b.Apr. ^ tl l', ..
Hephmibah Felch (daughter of John & Elizabeth FelchJ[ b+Feb.20,17l6
John Pellet ) .
Heptaibah Felch)
Vt lltam,b.Aug..7,4 7*2
Anna-rf>.0et.28f
'^' f
15,175}
ffaru.b.Jpr.5, 1 755
Abaga i l\b.Dec.l2t 1 757
-The above truly extracted from the Canterbury Record for John Felch.
Stephen Purdy,b.Har.}, 1 751 , d.Mar. 27, 1812, m.Mary Pe I let, b. Dec. 6, 1 79*
Ann*. Purdu,b.Dec.6,1794; Stephen Purdy,b. Jan. 14, 1797.
*****
Atooi T. Head, b. June 2,1792t m.Anna Purdy Nov. 9,1818
Stephen Purdy (l) ,b. Mar.3,1751, served all through the Revolutionary Var
althout pay. He went from Vyoming Co., Pa.
ffary Pellet, b. Apr. 5, 1755, with her family, were driven out by the Indians
ut the time of the massacre of Vyoming; buried their goods in the ground*
Vent back after seven years* ~Sas married in Vyoming Co. , but soon came back
to Chenango Co., this state (Neva York) where they both died.
(Kef. to burying of Pellet goods elsewhere in these notes)*
6.
308
KAX'JSLL FAMILY
2. Janes Maxwell, b. 1776, Virginia, d.1846 (Joel Jcisson, d.lSJO? Mary Perry
3cisson,b.l774,d.l842}
2. Kennedy Maxwell, b. May 12, 1808, Logan Co., Kentucky, d.April 10,1885
m. Martha. Lucinda Scisson,b.July 29,l8l4,.d.!
J
!ar.l908 (b. Logan Co.)
m.Xarch 1,1832
J>.~1 Amanda Jane, b. Jan. 24, 1833, Logan Co., d.July29,l845
3. -2 'Jill iam Audley,b.Aug. 5, 1835, Boonevil r,Ind. ,.d.D*c~23, 1921 , Ca I if.
Pec. 31, 1868 to Mary F. Vheeler
3. -3 James Joel r b. Nov. 10,1837, Booneville,Ind.,d.Jan.31,l884
3. -4 John Kennedy, b. Mar. 16, 1840, Logan Co. *d.0cj. 25, 1881, L*A., Calif.
m.June 6,1876 to Clemency A Vhaley
J.-5 Mary Elizabeth,b. Feb. 19,1843, Logan Co. ,d.0ct.9, 1929
m. Nov. 29, 186? to John O.Darrow
4.1 Nellie
4.2 Leila
4.3 John Valworth
4.4 Ben Orlando
3*-6 Thomas Proctor, b. Feb. 9, 1845, Logan Co. ,d.Mar.l6, 1878, L.A., Calif. i
m. Jan. 1,1870 to Mary Emma Rickman
4.1 Nora Maxwell Nonneman
4.2 Nellie Maxwell Ball 4
J.-7 Logan Granville,b. Nov. 16, 1847, Holt Co.,Ho.,d.l912
m. Jan. 1,1878 to Emma Jane Tedford
4.1 Oscar
4.2 Margaret M. Stafford s-
4.3 Roy
J.-5 Martha Lucinda, b. Nov. 24, 1849, Holt eo.,Mo.,d.July2O,1873r Calif.
3. -9 Sarah Margaret, b. Jan. 16,1852,
" " "
,d.Apr~5, 1916, Calif.
m. Jan. 1, 1874 to Carl Barker Mead </ rtiftsff
4.1 Stephen i.""- 'f** - **
*1 '** '*">*>
4.2 Rollin Orlando *#***'/*'&* -*'****
j
4.3 Sarah Elleanore, b. Mar. 20, 1880, L-A. , Calif.-* sr..^''' z*< >rr6 ty
m. Ferdinand Gottlieb Staschen Oct. 1913 -*.*>f.jui,'f?z j
5.1 Shirley Adtnet,b.July 29, 1914, Oakland, Calif.
m.Valentine Vhite Julian
m. Alfred L.Podesta
m. Frank S.Triest
6.1 Michael C. Podesta, b. Sept. 29, 1942
m.Bettie
7.1 Alfred Alexander, b. March 7,1973
7.2 Joshua David,b,Jan.-&?19757.3
6.2 Karl Ian Frank Triest f b.Nov.25,1948
6.3 Sara Hart Triest,b. March 28,195O
6.4 Laurence Staschen Tri est,b. March 28,1950
5.2 Bernice Mead, b. July 2,19l6,Oakland,Calif
m. Marshall Hoxom
m.Ralph Thomas
6.1 Sheila Gail Moxom,b.Feb.2,1946
m. Ronald 'Vhipple
7.1 Kelly Jean,b.Nov.24,1970
4.4 Dorothy, b.Jan.2, 1885, d.Dec. 27, 1959,m.Georae fl. Treadtoell
5.1 Lots M ,b. June 6,1918 d- **f9
m. Fritz Berens, t^fr.ac,i^y
6.1 Beverly
4.5 Carlton Maxwell, b. June , 1888, d. Aug. 28, 1960,
309
f-'AX-'SLL FAMILY (cont.)
3. -10 "arion Monroe, b. Oct. 1, 1854 T Atchison Co., Mo. , d. JimeJO,l57, e6.
J.-iJ George Vas/iington,ft.jfar.I7, 1857, Atchisbh Co., Wo. , d. Jan. 24, 1935.
m.Jan.2,1885 to SI la Byrne
3. -12 Henry Martin Mansfield, 6,/'ar.4, I860, Sonoma Co.,Cali/. , d. Jan. l6t
1912. n. Dae. 6, 1885 to Nellie Rand
4.1 Gladys M. Jackson
3-l} Perry Hugginst l).A'ou.J,1862 t Sonoma. Co. ,Cal if. , d.May22t .1933
m.July 7,1886 to Sthel Avery
4.1 Celestine M.Kirkpatrtck
r-
MflMMP*"
|^^^ notes
58irr<'
on
~
.
-t
wi^ from
'
W* 8C
!*r. Icbert L. Vard
806-8 th st. f
Laurel,Kd. 208 10
310
7"o: *'r. Charles ^mith (m. Betty Jordan
11 Nov. 1972
near Smith;
In response to your query in the current number o- the New England Histor
ical and Genealogical Register concerning the Harrison family of Branford,
I can offer the following information.
Richard (l) Harrison, freeman at Branford 5 Aug 1644. Among the proprietor*
Of Branford u>ho received meadow there on 7 Jul 1646, and again received
land on 4 Apr 1648. On 3 Jim 1645, before the New Haven Colony Court, he
aas fined 1 sh for coming late to watch. He signed an agreement for the diu-
iaton of lands 1 Jul 1646. He d. 25 Oet,l653,3ranford,Ct.(VR). An affadavit
Of 18 Jun 1668 certified that Hopestill Lyne, a child of six or seven years,
gas then living, and was the daughter of Henry Lyne of New Haven, son of
John Lyne of Badby, Northamptonshire, England, and of Henry Lyne's wife,
Elisabeth, daughter of Richard Harrison of Vest Kerby, Ch9ktr, England.
This establishes his English Home.
Thomas (2) Harrison, b. ca.l6}O, d. 1704, age ?4 t Branford, Ct. , m.(l)Feb 1655
Dorothy (----) Thompson, wtd. of John Thompson, farmer, of East Haven, Ct. She
d. ca. 1660 and he m.(2)Har.l666, New Haven, Ct. Elizabeth 3tent. He was el-
tcted a Deputy to the General Court, 10 Hayl677, took the oath of allegiance
at Hta Havenf 4 Aprl654,but settled at Branford. In a land record dated 14
Hovl688 he calls himself 58 years of age. His will was dated 250ctl70j and
his inventory dated 5 Janl704.
Thomas (7) Harrison, b.lffarl656-7,New Haven, Ct. r d. Uan 1725-6Branford,Ct.,
.. ecu 2659, Margaret Stent+Possibly his step-sister. Her estate was admin
istered 7 Janl 730-1. He served in King Phillip' f Var* was Snmign in l697,a
Lieutenant in 1709f in Queen Anne's Jar, and warn also in the expedition to
Canada.
Thomas (4} Harrison,b.l2 Ootl694, Bramford,Ct~,d.l6Junl758,Lttchfield,Ct.,
m.21 Apr 1721 f 8ramfordf.Ct., Hannah SutLiff,b.2696,Durhamr Ct. t d.27fprl790t
Litchfield,Ct.,Dmughter of John and Hannah Sutliff of Vaterbury. In 17)9 he
removed from Branford to Lttchfield and bought 1000 acre* of land at South
farms. He gave 10O acrem to each of his nine sons, and retained 100 acres
for himself. He was commissioned as captain of the North Company of the
Branford trainband l}Hayl7}l, served in the rirst Connecticut Regiment in
the war against franee and Spain in l739-40t was deputy to the General Court
from Litchfield 2Mayl747,and was made justice of the peace for Hartford
County }1 May175O.
Abel (5) Harrison, b. 2febl7)l -2, Branford,Ct.(VR) ,m.(l) Abigail Chrissey,m.(2)
Anna Garnsey.
Anna. (6) Harrison, daughter of Abel and Anna Harrison, b. 9Janl76l,m.Amos Head."
References,: l.New Haven Gen. Hag. ,v. J,p. 729. 2.1".oore and Allied Familits-
L. S. Deforest (1938) 292-4. 3. Five Generations of Connecticut Harrisons-
francos H.Corbin, passim. 4. Branford VR. 5. New Haven VR 6. Settlers of
;
the : Long GritfTrail^Hdrrison. 7. Harrison Genealogy- C.L.Harrison,pp4,6.
Sincerely,
Robert Leigh '<t*rd
311
IDDITIONAL iVOrrj
Amos T. Mead, born 17^0, m.Anna Harrison, a cousin of President Harrison
and a descendant of Benjamin Harrison, a signer of the Declaration of In
dependence.
Their third child, Amos f b. 1792, m. Anna Purdy. Their first child, -Stephen
Purdy Mead,m. Susan '. Barker. 3oth her parents were named Barker, but no
relation. Jusan and Stephen liued in La Port, Indiana, 1850-1870, then came
to Healdsburg, California. Children of Amos and Anna were all born in La
Prt f*^
Source :Susie Jordan Smith in 1951
"Father Mead's grandmother was a sister of Silliam Henry Harrison"
The above is written by Sarah Maxwell Mead and Father Mead referred to was
Stephen Purdy Mead.
Source:E I leanore Mead Staschen
"My ancestor's services in assisting in the establishment of American In
dependence during the Var of the Revolution were as follows: He was a mem
ber of Captain James Talmadge's Regiment of Militia from the State of New
York" (Ref. {"Manuscripts of the Colony and State of New York in the Revol
utionary .Var"- Vol. 22, Folio US). The foregoing is basis for membership
in the Daughters of the American Revolution of I leaner* Mend Staschen,
National Number 117190.
Note dated 7Janl951 : "There is in safe deposit a 6ft of flmx and cloth from
Revolutionary times. "This flax teas raised by John Pellett in the Vyoming
Valley, Pa. in 1778. The cloth oas manufactured in Sngland about 16*50 and has
been in the family for nine generations. It warn buried at the time of the
massacre at Wyoming, Pa. and lay in the ground for five years before it uxzs
dug up\It was used as a baptismal robe in a Presbyterian church during the
colony times". ~
Souraettll*anore: Head Staschen
MEAD REUNION- The 7th annual re-union of the Head Family will be held Fri
day, Aug.19fJ.898 at the home of Ira G. MeaaZ, 8usti,N.T. Tour family and
friends are respectfully invited, to be present.
A .T. Head, President, Port land, Jt.Y.
V. P.. Mead, Secretary, Busti,N.Y.
Music in the evening
The above was addressed to R..llen and family ,Silver City, New Mexico.
(Mrs. Allen was Lavinia Mead) Source : I leanore Mead Staschen
*. -
Versa on a sampler worked in her 12th year by Susan Barken
"Oft as the bell with solemn toll
*" Uoth speaA the departure of a soul
Lt each one ask himself, am I
to 'early hts't'oilf of Virginia, the forebears of Dr. Kennedy Max-jell
had area t wealth and owned ua*t territory in Virginia. Kit Carson uxis a fre
quent visitor in their hone. Perhaps that is one reason Dr. Kennedy and his
?/ and large family of children crossed the Plains in 1857 from Missouri
to Healdsburg, California.
.flarfon Monroe Maxwell (aged 2 years 9 months) died during the trip across
the Plains. He was burled somewhere in Nebraska.
John Lowrey Maxwell (brother of Kennedy Maxwell) b. Mar.l8t 1821,''/ayne Co.,
Kentucky, d. June 26,1895, Vatsonville, California. He crossed the Plains
mtth his family in 1857 in the same wagon train with Dr. Maxwell and family.
U-nots3 312
J-U.
't'OTES (cont.)
i oenciled memo has some bearing on the Maxwell family. It is dated Dec.
19}2 and has the words: "Copied by Mabel Curtis. Trinidad, Colorado, Cham
ber of Com. or Santa Fe."
The memo reads: "Lucien B. Maxwell (a son-in-law of 3eaubien) Zaubien and
Miranda secured a Spanish Grant in early days of many thousand acres. ,"ax-
uell lived the life of a lord, had many ranches of cattle and sheep; had
contract with Government to furnish the beeves for Indian reservation. 3r<?*
fine horses; owned large mercantile and supply stores. -<it Carson was inter
ested with htm at one time on sheep business, The old Maxwell ranch was a
stopping place for the stages."
KAX'SELL CLAX. Excerpts from. "Tartans of the Clans & Families of Scotland"
by Sir Thonas Janes of Learney t Lord Lyon of Arms, p. 246
Coat of Arms bears the words: "I 31DE YE FAIR"
Sir James Maxwell, Chamberlain of Scotland, died without issue, 12^1,
and was succeeded by his brother, Sir Aymer, who with other children, had
two sons, named Herbert and John. Sir Herbert's descendent in the seventh
degree, was created Lord Maxwell and dying, left two sons, Robert 2ed Lord,
and Sir Edward; from the latter come the Maxwells of Monretth, created bar
onets 1681, and now represented by Sir Herbert Eustace Maxwell, 7th Baronet
of Monreith. Robert, Zed Lord Maxwell, was succeeded by his son, John, Jed
Lord, who fell at Flodden 1513; and he by his son,, Robert ,4th Lord. This nob
leman had two sons, Robert, 5th Lord, and Sir John, who became Lord Merries
ofTerregles, in right of his wife, Agnes* Lady Merries. John, 6th Lord "ax-
welti obtained the Sarldom of Morton, on the execution of the Regent. John,
7th Lord Maxwell, killed Sir James Johnston, 16O8, and warn executed, l6l}.
Robert, 8th Lord, was created Bmrl of Nithsoale. This nobleman, CVtlliam 5th
Earll was out in 1715, was taken prisoner at Preston, found guilty of treat-
son, and sentenced to death. He escaped from the Tower by his wife, Lady Win
ifred Herbert, daughter of the 1st Marquis of Pouts, who dressed her hus
band in female attire, allowing htm to leave in her stead.
TARTAN: Red background with green stripes, plaid.
The above notes from the re
cords of Elleanore M. Staschen
313
^
"'
Copy of Letter
Portland, New York (family home)
'"'estfield, ;V. Y. (visiting address)
March 26, 1900.
Dear Cousin;(Emma Jordan, daughter of Stephen and Susan, gen.9,no.4)
Father received your letter sometime ago and, as it is against his princ
iples to write letters of late year*, it falls to me to do it.
There is no printed history of the Mead family that we know of. I have
copied all we have and hope you will think it better than none, father said
to asA you if you have any of the cloth that if so precious to all by the name
of Head. It came from. England JOO years ago.- If not, will send you a piece if
you care for it. It like rather, am very fond of all those old family relics.
Father has the brass kettle and log chain that our grandfather got for pay for
serving all through the Var of 1812. He was stationed at Sachett's Harbor.
Vill you send us the date of your father and mother's death, also Uncle
ALl*n's. Father never knew when they died. Father and Mother are in very good
health for people of their ago.. Father if 76 and Mother if 7J. Addle, my old
est sister, is married,, hat six children, -such a nice family, four boys and
two girls. Charlie and Sill are married. Charlie has two girls. I am the old
maid of the family. Bertha, the youngest,. died. She was blind.
Your loving cousin,.
. *
'
Jeanetta I. Head
*
*T
:
Extract* of Letter to Emma Jordan from Aunt Vin Allen
(LavtnteSf daughter e>f Amos T.& Anna P.,gen*8,no.6)
\
,
I will tell you as much of the Meads' history as I am capable of, and
that if not at much at I wish I Anew;*
The Heads came from France. There were just three brothers that came
over and from, them taring the Heads of America. My grandfather's father was
.* on* of the brothers, so toe are related to the General Mead of the late Rebell
ion (Civil Var). My grandfather settled at Sackett's Harbor, N.Y* State. My
father was the firtt white male child born in Onandaga County. Your father uxis
their oldest child. He was born at Versailles, N. Y^State. Your grandfather Mead
was born June 2, 1792. Vat married to Ann Purdy Nov. 9,1818. Stephen P. Mead was
? born September 16,1819. Amos Thompson Head wat their second son, was born May
'. ,- 22,1826. Mary AJteo.d was born Hay 6,1829. Allen Head, September 9,1831. Lavin
'.V-^'/
1 '
S. Head mat born August 50+1854. Your Grandfather Mead died at Versailles, N. Y.
,* Qet. 11, 1865* Your grandmmther at LaPort, Indiana Apr. 27, 18?}. Your Father was
v.'j" *rfucatd at Cambrtdge r Mass.. Vat a graduate of that College. Father educated
him. ffg mas the onIf ana of their children that received good advantages. Fath-
>.-
-;^'-v'r was in good circumstances at that tin* and could afford to help him but soon
*^. ,vt.c/tr met with reverses and the consequence wat he was the best educated of
"V"-'""-
*'M *^Jf
^
chtldnn. That oat all they ever had. Dave was the first taken. Your
father next
. notes '.
21A 12.
Concluding Extract from Letter to Emma Jordan
from Aunt Yin Allen
Thompson /Head Huts near Fredonia. His postoffice address is Port land, A'. Y.
George lives at Ansora, -Trie Co.,//. Y. Thompson has five children. Two are mar
ried* He is in very good circumstances. Has a fruit farm. George has four child-
renf two gtrl^fs and two boys. None are married. The eldest is 29 years old.
Your Aunt Mary DeVolf lives in Toledot Ohio. She has had but the two girls, Clara
and Ella. Both are married and have one child. Clara's husband's name is 3urdick
He is principal of a High School near Lockport^ N. K*
Your Uncle Thompson Mead has a wonderful memory and if he would only do so
he could write a very interesting history but I don't know how to make him do it.
He was an editor of the Marysvtlle Sentinet, N. Y*. for many years*
Emma, I think I will send you the dear little baby cap in this letter.
(Lace cap worn by Stephen P. Mead). I feel it belongs to you more than to me.
I am truly your loving
June 5, 1886. Aunt Yin
Miscellaneous Notes by Emma Jordan
Jan. 29, 1907
Mead History
Three brothers came to America from France. Mead 1, Head 2,, Head J (third gen
eration} who was my grandfather. My Great-grandfather Head 2 settled at 3ack-
atta Harbor, ff.Y.3tatm. My Grandfather was the first male child born in Onan-
dago Co. t Jf.Y^ June 2,1792, my Father being their oldest child. He was born at
Versailles,*. Y Sept. 26,1819.
>*
Lace Cap
Lace cap worn by my Father who was born Sept. 26,1819* My Grandmother saved it
as a memento of her first born. Her death occurred at LaPort, Indiana, Apr. 27,
187). Her daughter, my Aunt Yin, sent me the cap June 5 1886..
***
Ellaanore Head Staschen, speaking of her father, Carl Barker Mead, "He was
proud of the fact that his father (Stephen Purdy Mead) had been a member of
the Secret Service under President Lincoln. Both. Carl and his older brother,
frank, fought in the Civil Var on the Union side."
On a particular occassion, Carl Mead called his daughter, Elleanore's attent
ion to his signing a paper whereby the family interest in the Boston Common,
purchased by our ancestor* <n 1711, was to be re-deeded to the City of Boston
for another ninety-nine years. He also told her that his father had been made
an agent for the Seneca Indians in the State of Hevt York after his graduation
from Cambridge. Because he protected their interests instead of exploiting them
in appreciation they adopted htm into the tribe as a chief, and bestowed upon
htm the name "Hasanote", meaning "honest white man". He smoked the pipe of
peace and ate white dog in their tribal ceremonies.
lead - notes <
Extracts from Letter
July 1, 1900.
Dear Cousin Emma ( Jordan) ,-
Your latter dated April 1st has been taken various places to be
answered. I enclose you a picture of Kate Green, if you can have a copy made
and return the picture. It is not mint. I do not seem to have the picture you
sent of Mary Green with me. Cousin Everett Green is the only member of the
Gfreen family living.
I enclose you the record of the Barker family down to Grandfath
er Barker. His we can get from the family 3iblt If you have no record of your
Uncles and Aunts- that is, your Pother's immediate family. There is a book of
genealogy in the Barker Library. There records wara taken from it. The book
costs f25*00. I tail I get you the Tit It and publisher if you wish it.
Anything further you wish to know, asA me.
Very sincerely ,
Kary Q* Bristol
> *
Copy of Newspaper Clipping.
"At Eaton, Madison Co., on Sunday , Feb. 7,1869, Georgt H. Greene, Aged 37 years.
Geoj*ge H. was youngest of the seven sons of the late Nathaniel Greene,
arf Chautauqua. Thus, one by one,, in the print of lift and usefulness* have /al
ien by the wayside; till of a family of seven sons, but tmo remain. Among those
gone btfort vere the late Rose 11 a: Greene^ President of tht Fradonia Bank, and
Judga Benjamin F Greener
The deceased enlisted as a Sergeant in Company C, 112th Regiment, New
York Vol.,, in the autmn of 1862; was subsequently transferred and promoted to
1st Lieutenant, and served with credit and fidelity, in tht states of Virginia,
South Carolina, and Florida, for nearly four years, until tne close of the Var".
Note r In pencil on the back of this clipping is tne following:-
"He was my Aunt Eliza's brother-in-law. Mamma."
4
316
BARKER PAHILY
Signification of name: Tanner: from use of bark.
Barker Coal of Arms and Crest: rive escallop sheila in a cross on a blue
gheild, the escallop, green and blue,edged with gold. Crest: rock of sil
ver and Hawk of gold.
This coat of arms was conferred by Robert Cooke,Dec.,l7,1582, in the reign
of Queen Elizabeth, on Rowland Barker of ollerton in the county of o'alop.
Rowland Barker was heir of Edward Barker, the eldest son of John Barker and
Elizabeth, his wife, who was sister and co-heir to Sir Rowland Hill, the
first Protestant Lord Mayor of London, in 1549. Robert Cooke was one of the
King's appointed "Clarencteux" and this Coat of Arms was conferred on one
of his regular visitation*, was registered in an official book, as are the
Herald's visitations and is borne under authority of these records.
Vollertont alluded to as the home of Rowland Barker, is a. hamlet one mile
from Hoduet and quite near "Hawkstone Park".
1. John Barker
Date of birth and death unknown. H.Elizabeth, daughter of Thomas Hill and
sister of Sir Rowland Hill.
Had one son. 2, Edward Barker^date of birth, marriage & death unknown* Had
one son. J.-Sowland Barker**
w m
^
n Had
two children* 4.1Chri*tiana,m~ in England to (l}Thoma Cooper, (ZJThomas
3eecher,.(Jj#ieho las. fasten, tn Htddletown, R. I~nl6}8. She died
in Middleton,R^J~,, /**, 2O,l66$.
4'.JameSf,date of birth and marriage unknown, one sonf d.l6}4^
James Barker (4),called in family manuscripts "a legal descendant of Row
land Barker*,, died on ship "Mary and John" of London, Robert Sdyrvr, Mast
er, which left Southampton Mar.. 24,j34L, and before it reached New England.
His sister 'hristianoT, Had come to- Charlestown^Mass^ in 1630 with her sec
ond husband, Thomas Beecher, who was a freeman in l6}2t one of the first
Selectmen of Chariest own, Represent itiue to tha first General Court of
Massachusetts and for seven following sessions, Captain of the Castle in
1655* Died in 16}?.
Nicholas Easton also came in the "Mary and John" with his two sons*
James Barker (5) t b. England l623,m*Sarbara Dungan ca. 1 644, d. Newport, R.J.1702.
Had eight eht IdrenrEl izabeth, James, (),Hary, Vi I Horn, Joseph, Peter, Christ tana,
and Sarah* ~"~~~~
James 3ajrker(5) sailed in ship ''Mary and John" with hts father who died on
the passsage,. He lined with his aunt, Christiana, till he came of age, first
atCharleston,ftass.. and them at Newport ,R.I+ after her marriage to Nicholas
Easton in l6}8.
Notes on Nicholas Easton and the Removal to Rhode Island. From "Handbook
of Newport and Rhode Island"'t "Unjust and arbitrary decisions of the Gen
eral Court of Massachusetts had induced certain persons to depute Kr. John
Clarke and others to select a spe-t where they might, unmolested, worship
God according to their own consciences. They travelled through New Hamp
shire, and then went southward to Providence where they were kindly receiv
ed by Roger Vtlliamsr who had been previously banished from the Colony of
Massachusetts for hts peculiar views of civil and religious polity. Mr.
Viltiams recommended Clarke and hts companions to the waters of Harragan-
317
3.4RKSR FAMILY (cont.)
sett 3ay and advised them to take up their abode on her shores, and through
his influence with the two great Sachems, Canonicua and ffiantonomo, a deed
of Aquidneck and other islands of the Bay was procured in the name of "Kr.
Coddington and friends", in March l6}8. Thus these venerable men commenced
the settlement of Rhode Island.
The following is the original charter of the American Isle of Rhodes:
*'e whose names are underwritten do solemnly swear in the presence of the
Great Jehova to incorporate ourselves into a body polo tic, and as He shall
help us, will submit our persons,- lives and estates unto the Lord Jesus
Christ, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords; and to all those most perfect
laws of hit, given us in Him most Holy Vord of Truth, to be guided and'
judged thereby."
The first settlement was commenced at the northern exteremtty and a town
regularly laid out, called first Pocaxaet, subsequently Portsmouth. But the
Colony increased so rapidly that the next spring Hr.Clarke with several
others commenced a settlement to which they gave the name Newport. The first
dwelling house built in this town was erected by Nicholas: a*to/u. All prior
dwellings were tents and wigwam*. Both towns were united under the sane
simpTe patriarchal form of government of which Mir. Ullliam Coddtngton ixzs
chosen Magistrate or Judge*
John Clarke and John Pechham were Baptists*, the Eastonr and Coddintons
were Quakers. Boston's Pond and Easton's Beach perpetuate his none.
Manuscripts speak of Jamem> Barker (5) as a "teaching brother among the
Baptists many years". "He lived in a house with a stone chimney, about one
hundred rods south of the Spring, on the road leading to the beach."An
other writer says it was a mile northwest of Sachuest Beach a/id not far
from the spring of water, still used, that is situated close by the road
side and was part of the same homestead, doub 1 1 ess^.t hat another James Bar
ker sold in 1774 (on his removal to Laneborough,Me.ss.) to Samuel Bailey
whose descendants now own it.
Here follows what notes of him u>e have:
1644 "James Barker, Corporal I" appears in a list of officers for Newport.
Same date:- "Ordered that ye Island calted Aquethneck henceforth be called
Isle of Rhodes or Rhode Island."
1648: Member General Court of Elections, Newport.
1&53, May 18th, "Two men sent to demand of Mr. Coddington ye ststute books,
etc* the messengers, Mr. James Barker and Mr. Richard Knight."
1655: "The Roule of ye freemen of ye colonia of every towns", the name of
Mr. James Barker appears in the Newport list. (Newport had' 8}, Portsmouth 52,
Providence 42, Warwick }8).
I665rl66lrl665r Member Court of Commissioners*
l6l: on* / a committee to receive contribution* as free-will offerings
to the amount of two hundred pounds for the Agents to England. (These ag
ents aera Roger William* and John Clarke and their visit to England was in
relation to the Charter./
"Of the town of Newport are appointed and desired our honored President,
vtlltam Brenton, Benedict Arnold, Capt.John Cranston, Mr. James Barker,
Joeeph Torrey, Mr. Richard Tew."
l66i: James Barker and others petition regarding taking up a tract of
land in "furdest or remotest corner of the Colonte's jurisdiction" called
Assonteut (also Misquantcut) which is now Westerly. Forty proprietors di
vided it into eighteen shares, but not many actually made settlement there.
"Ordered that all the affairs of Misquahtcut be left to a committee of
Trustees"- one of them James Barker.
l66y^toyal Charter from King Charles.. Named in charter :Gov.Benedict Arnold,
Oep.Oov.Villiaat Brenton,. Assistantsf ten men,, among them Roger Vllltams,
James Barker and others*
318
BARKER FAMILY (cont.)
Votes on William Jefferay: Sarah Jefferay, wife of James Barker (6) was
born in 1656, the daughter of William Jefferay and Mary Gould, who were
married in 1640.
Villiam Jefferay, called "Gentleman", born 1591, at Chiddinhly Manor,
SussexCo., England, matriculated at Sizar of Caius College, Cambridge,
and 1003 graduated as 8. A* in l6Q and as M.A+ in llO. In Sept. 1&2},
he and Rev. 'Si I Ham Blackstone were probably of Robert Gorges party
who made settlement at Veymouth on that date. In 1628, he was among the
firtt settlers at Naumkeag (Salem). In 1628, he and Iff. Bursten gave two
pounds toward expense of banishing the notorious Morton of Merry-Mount,
tpho was at that time setting all laws at defiance and sadly scandalizing
the rigid virtue of the Puritans by his extravagances. A few words about
this man may be found interest tng.-
"Thomas Morton, Lawyer of Cliffords Inn, London, cane to Massachusetts
in 1622, and by the year 1628 had gathered to himself a party of turbu
lent spirits and made settlement at a place known as Braintree, but call
ed by him "Merry Mount". Here was erected a Kay-polo, around which, the
chroniclers tell us, he and his henchmen danced* and here they lived in a
drunken, riotous and licentious manner, if we- aocept the testimony of their
more staid neighbors, the latter further declaring that Morton and his men
sold guns and ammunition to the Indians and encouraged the servants of
the other sober settlers to leave their masters and J<rin them. Finally , as
they persisted in their loose behavior, and replied insultingly and threat-
entnbly to the admonitions of the Magistrates, a request was sent by the
settlements of Plsataqua^N.H.. and. Naumkeag, (Salem) ,Mass, to Plymouth, that
the latter colonjy would arrest the outrage* Accordingly, doughty Miles
Standish took a force of men and reduced Morton to submission^ disbanded
his party and sent him to England. Twice he returned and was twice sent
back, finally dying in poverty at "orA, England about 1646. In Gov. Brad
ford's- Letter Book is this reference to him, "One Morton who had gathered
a profane crew unto him and was himsef an example of all wickedness unto
them, who kept a house or a school rather of Atheism in the Massachusetts
Bay."
Villtam Jefferay's will was proved Jan.9,1^75. To daughter, Sarah, wife of
James Barker, 5 pounds in silver, 50 shillings whereof he (J.3.) hath al
ready, the other 50 shillings to be paid unto him after my death.*
His tomb, is still to be seen at Newport, the slab being placed in the horo-
zontal position oftej. used at that period. The> inscription is as follows:
"Here lyetH interred the body of Villtam Jefferay, Gent. who departed this
lift on tt9f 2ed day of Jan'y l6?5 in the 85th year of his age."
'
"Since every tomb an epitaph can have.
The Mutes owe their tribute; to this grave,
And to succeeding ages recommend
His worthy name who lived and died their friend.
Being full of days and virtue's love and peace,
God from his troubles gave htm a release,
And called him unto the celestial place,
Where happy souls view their Creator's face.
Vivtt post funera virtus.
319
3ARKER. FAMILY (cont.)
1
'
64, '65,
'
56, he was Assistant
l669t Deputy.
l67O, Juno 20th, a commission gave to Mr. James 3arker, Leift r Joseph Tor-
rey, Mr. Caleb Carr and Richard 3ailey to regard an entrance made into our
jurisdiction by "some Conecticot" and of their carrying away some of its
inhabitants prisoners. June 30th there is allowed to Mr James Barker for
his voyage to h'arragansett to the Coneeticot Commissioners four shillings.
l6?2: Feb,27th- He and John Saston, arbitrators, awarded as follows in a
controversy: "Stephen Sebeere shall acknowledge unto Henry Palmer that he
hath done ronge unto him and his wife in saying that hia wife is a witch
and would prove her so. Ve do award that Henry Palmer shall acknowledge
unto Stephen Sebeere that he hath done him ronge in calling htm, the said
Stephen,"ffrench dog, ffrench roug,"
1676*1677, Deputy.
l676,April 4th:"Voted that the troublous times and straits in the Colony
(King Phillip's Var) the Assembly desiringe the advice and concurrence of
the most juditious inhabitants of it, for the good of the whole, doe de
sire, at their next sittynge, the company and counsel of Hr. Benedict Arn
old, Mr. John Clarke, Kr. James Barker, (and thirteen others). Ind the Gen
eral Sergeant is to inform the several persons of the Assembly's desire
therein."
l678f l679f:
Deputy-Governor, after death of Gov, Coddington and he appears
to be Deputy to the end of his life.
Notes on Barbara Dungan: Barbara Dungan, wife of James Barker (5) was grand
daughter of Lewis Latham of Elstom, County Bedford, Ghent "who held a pos
ition as falconer in the reign of Charles I whsn the office was one of im
portance and distinction. His daughter, Frances, was sometime wife of Lord
Veaten and then to Villiam Dungan, by whom she had one son and three daught-
ars. lifter Mr. Dungan's death, she married Mr. Jeremiah Clarke and came
over to New England with her four children above mentioned. Hsr son, Thomas
Dungan, married and settled in Pennsylvania and was the first Baptist min
ister in "them parts". Her daughter, Barbara, married Hr. James Barker (5).
*
James Barker (6),b.l647, Newport, R+I+,m.Sarah Jefferay in l6?3. No record of
his death. Had eight children: James. (7) Villiam, Nicholas,Mo.ry, Abtgai I,
PrtcfHa, Jans and Jeremiah.
V James Bark*r(6) r Newport,R~I.
l6?f, enlisted in thr troop of horse formed to protect the island. Called
by his g+eat-grandson "a very bold man".
l6?6r Meeeber of thm Court-Martial at Newport for the trial of certain Ind
ians) charged with being engaged in King Phillip's design*-.
l7O9s So with others axs chosen and empowered "to proportion and affix
rates of grain and other specie" which were to be received as pay for a tax.
(The Committee appointed rates as follows^ 1 bushel corn to be accepted as
: two shillings; barley as one shilling, 8 pence; rye, tw+ shillings, 6pence;
J. oatg,4pence ;whaat,Jpence ; wool ,9pence.
;
His will, proved Jan.7,1723, Son James, exec.,, names among other bequests
"to son, Jeremiah, 20 acres in Newport, Negro man, Jack, and a third of live
stock. "Son James to provide well-beloved wife, Sarah, his mother, an hon-
erable, decent and comfortable maintenance." Inventory :Vear ing apparel uith
plate buttons thereon,22 pounds, plate 4 pounds, 12 shtllingf;books, spectacles
raaor, etc. Rooms named:"new room, out-room, lean-to+out-chamber,new chamber,
ce I lar, cheese-room. "
320
3ARKER FAMILY (cont.)
Jamas Barker (7),b.Dc.4,l675,d.f*ar.26,1758,m. to Mary Cook in 1699.
They had eleven children: James, Phoebe, Mary, Mary 2ed,Priscilla,
John, (8), Robert, Sarah, Pelag, Phoebe 2ed, and Deborah,
July 17,1702, Mr. James Barker (7) received 12 acres in "Barker Swamp"
being his two-thirds share in division of common lands*
for fifty years he was a member of the second Baptist Church of Newport.
1709,1717,1725,1726, Deputy.
1744, he was Moderator of the meetings of the Proprietors.
Vill proved 1758, executor, son James; witnesses? Peter Barker, Peter
BarkertJr., Edward East on.
Items: "To son John, great Bible, to sons John, Robert, and Peleg, silver
button* equally. To daughter Mary Greene 10O pounds in Bills of Public
Credit^ Old Tenor or equivalent in new; to each of three other daughters
same amount.. To wife Mary the best feather bed, silver tankard, silver
spoons and use of easterly half of house, with good merchantable firewood
sufficient for her natural life and 10 bushels Indian corn to be pro
vided and brought to her door by son Jam.es every year tohtle she lives.
She is also to have her own choice of one milch cow and a riding horse
or mare, the use of both of theme to be hers. Further provision of }0
pounds per year made for her support*
Inventory :-}42 7 pounds, 5 shillings, vis. -Old mare 4O pounds and one half
of following t 4 oxen 2OO pounds, 6 cow* 210 pounds, 4 young cattle 100
pounds, 59 sheep 2}6 pounds, 5 geese and 12 dunghill foals 8 pounds,
swine J6" pounds* Also silver tankard, 6 spoons and 16 dollar* }27 pounds
5 shillings, books 10 pounds, Bills of Credit 390 pounds, feather bed,
flock bed, wearing apparel, etc.
His son James wills to his wife Margaret, among many other items, "4 cords
of stood cut and brought to her door per year as also 6 bushels of corn,
50 pounds of pork, 50 pounds of beef, 8 bushels of apples unless the or
chard doth not bear JO bushels in all, in which case less in proportion,
but all she wants of summer apples*"
John Barker (8), sixth child of James Barker (7) and Mary Cook, b, Dec. 18,
1710 at Newport, d. Mar. 17, 1777, m. Sept. 25, 1755 to Rebecca Hoar (daughter
of HeMe+tah Hoar and Sarah Brightman),b.l7l}dHay 18,1800. They had nine
:
Hesekiah *,b.Aug. 24, 17}6, Newport,. d^ May 21,1755
b.Aug. 8,17*1,, d.Sept. 21,17*5
Kltsha, 6 June 27,1744, d. May 1775, m. at Middletown Nov*8,
1767 to Phoebe Peckham*
John 2ed,J>. Dec.2?t 17*6 at /ftddletown, d- May 5* 177}.
David, b.July 20, 17*9 ".
"
,m. Oct. 1,1772 to Eunice
Sherman, d.Sept.8, 1819,.
Gideon.. b.Dec.. 4*1751 at Aftddletown, d.l8}4,m. Oct.25,1781 to
Elisabeth Croade.
Samuel,, b.. April 7,175*. d. Jlpril 5^18}!, m.. Apr. 26,1781 to
Sarah Smith. ("Samuel b. Middletown)
Hesektah 2edr b.Apr. 14,1757 at ATiddletown, d. July 5,18}4 at
Fredonia,N.Y~,m.. Nov. 27, 178} at Little Compton to
Sarah Wood
3arkr-6
321
BARKER FAMILY (cont.)
(cont.) ISBUQ of John Barker (8) and Rebecca Hoar.
Notes: David, Gideon, Samuel, Hezekiah were all worthy members of the
Baptist Church. Samuel was forty-eight years a member of the Second
Baptist Chureh of Newport and twenty-nine years Deacon
Newport-Middletown,R.I..- the latter town was set off from Newport in
Hezekiah Barker (9),b. Middletown,R.I.,April 14, 1757, d.Fredonia,N. Y. July 5
1843. M. at Little Compton,R.I.Nov. 27,178} by Rev. Jonathan Ellis to 3arah,
b. Dec. 30,1764, d. Jan. JO, 1851. Sarah was the daughter of George Vood and
Desire Qrey,b. July 7,17$5 George Vood was b. Nov. 2, 1730. They had nine
children: Comfort, Phoebe, Sarah, Hannah, Lydia, Ruth, Grey, Deborah & John.
Hezekiah and Sarah Vood Barker had eight children:
Barzillai, b.Aug. 20, 1784 at Newport, R.I~
Villiam, b. Sept. 14, 1786 " " "
Zebia, b.Sept. 1, 1788 " " "
Desire, B.Aug. 16, 1791 "
Parie^X-Y^
Sarah, b.Feb. 1, 1795 " *''
Samuel, b.June 2, 1797 " " "
John, b.Aug. 20, 1800 " " "
Charles, b.Aug, 1, 1804 "
Hexekiah Barker (9} served ten months as private in Capt*. food's Company
of Col Richardson's Regiment, Rhode Island Troops. Ht received a pension
in March 18}4 and his widow Sarah, was granted a pension in 18J9*
(10) D*itj*# Barker, b. Aug. 16, 1791, d. Aug.l5,184l,Freedonia,N.Y.
m.Mar.J,1811 to Oen.Laverttt Barker, b. May 6,tpft,d.Nay 16,1848
(ll) Sutan Villia** Barker, b. Nor. }, 1824, d.Sept.J^ 1897,
ff. Hay 22,1844 to Stephen Purdy Head (999 Head Family}
(12) Carl Barker M9ad,b.July I4t l848*d.l920t m. Sarah
M. Maxwell (see Maxaell family), b.Jan. l6,.1852,
d. Apr. 5,1916.
Slleanore Sarah Mary Mead,, b. Mar. 20, 1880,
m Ferdinand Gottlieb Staschen, b. Dec. 11, 1875,
d.
(14}1. Shirley Adena Staschen, b. July 29,1914
m.Valentine Vhite Julian, b.feb.l4, 1908
,:.; . m.Alfred L.Pode*ter, b. Feb..1^^1912
KV> m~Frank Sol Trtest, b.May 9, 1906
(15) I.Michael C.Podesta, b.Sept. 29, 19^2
M. Settie
(16)1. Alfred Alexander, b. Mar. 7, 1973
2. Joshua David+b. Jan. 13,1975
Z.Karl Ian Frank Trtest, b. Nov. 25, 19^8
J.Sara Hart Triest,b.Mar.28,1950
4. Laurence Staschen Triest,b.Mar.28,
(l4)2.Berntce Mead Staschen, b.Jul., 2, 191^
m. Marshall Moxom, m. Ralph Thomas
(l5)Sheila Gail Moxom,b.reb.2,19^^
m.Ronald Vhipple,b.Feb.l2,1947
(l6)Kelly Jean Vhipple.b. Nov. 24,1971
,
r -no Us
322
/Votes on Isaac Barker of t1iddletou>nt R.I+,(l752-18}4), a grandson of
John Barker's (1710-1777) brother James.
"During 14 months from Aug. 1778, he performed most valuable service
for the Continental forces by apprizing the troops in Little Compton of the
movements of the British, who were then occupying the island. This service
was performed by depositing letters in a cleft of a rock on the east shore
of the island, near North Point, and then signaling from a hill near his house
by an ingenious arrangement planned by himself. This was by placing a staAe
and bars in such a manner that Lieutenant Chapin at Little Compton would un
derstand that letters should be called for at the "post-office" or rock. Un
der cover of darkness, this would be managed by sending a boat over. To carry
this extremely dangerous correspondence on, with a British officer stationed
in his house at the same time, was difficult indeed, though a pretense of
Toryism gained htm some confidence with the enemy. Mant times he was in im
minent danger of detection and Gen. Gates mentions the service as- of great im
portance^ A full and' graphic account may be found in Judge Cowell's "Spirit
of '?6 in Rhode Island."
Application for a pension made in 18}J was supported by affidavits of
Gideon Barker, aged 82 (our great grandfather Hezehiah's brother)' and Nicholas
Vdrd who were knowing of the facts.
The Liberty Tree
from "Reunion of Sons & Daughters of Newport*-'
by George C. Mason
'Tn 1765 Capt* Villiam Reed deeded his triangCe lot at junction of
Thames and Farewell Streets to trustees* a self-appointed body, and planted
a tree in the center to commemorate the spirited opposition to the Stamp Act
on the pqrt of the people of Newport. During the time the island was in the
possession of the British, this tree was cut down, but on the return of peace,
another was planted in its place, the remains of which are still standing (1859).
thirteen men, among them Noah Barker, brought this tree from Portsmouth on their
shoulders; In 1823 a public-spirited citizen nailed to this tree an oval plate
of copper, nearly two feet in its longest diameter and inscribed, -"Tree of Lib
erty, Planted April 25f 178J, (then follows the thirteen name*)."
Ref.:: MEAD, BARKER,, HARRISON, JORDAN RECORDS are maintained by
Ruth Jordan Vilbur (Mrs. Dwight L..) , 140 Sea Cliff Avenue, San Francisco,
California, 9*121
Elizabeth (Betty) Jordan Smith (Mrs. Charles C.), 4790 Venner Road, Martinez,
California, 9455}
' ' !
'/ .
Prepared- December 1975 Shirley Staschen Triest
ries t-1
323
The first settlers of the Jewish Congregation in Reckendorf
about the year 164-0 were recorded as follows:
The first was Isaac Wiener, who purchased "Schulhausen"
House for fl. 22, and married a woman from Kirchlauter.
The second settler came for Kitchlauter bj the name
of Samuel Stiefel, the late Rabbi Moses tslumeein if descended
from this family.
The third came for Zeckendorf. by the name of Berle
and thia is the ancestor of the family Haa. The young men
of this family are now on the Pacific Coast.*
The fourth uame from Reicheildorf bjf Merzbach, named
Abraham. This is the ancestor of the family of Baum, living
now in new York and Brooklyn.
Prom 1640 to 1646 no new settlement* were made and
it appears that the above n? med four familia* were the founders
of the Congregation. It appeals of record that they heEd Real
Estate Abraham Haa* preserves up to now (April 1858ja title
deed dated 1685 made to his great, great great grandfather of the
house he now live* in and fifteen parcels of land conveyed
to him for fifteen gulden.
In the year 1734 to 1739 many farmers of the
"Lautergrund" emigrated to Hungary; after a> lapse of six or
eight, year* some came back, and nobody having interfered with
their farms they took quiet possession.
The above items are a copy of a record written
by Bernhard Cohen on May llth, 1858, &e communicated to
him by his father.
324
ROSS113AUM FAK1LY
David Solomon Rosenbawn,b.July 14, m. Amelia Hart,b.July 12,
Issue
2.>f'.3es3,b.Jan.l7, M. df-nr^uit Frank
Their children: Jerome David, b. May 29 , 1911, m.
J children
John Alfred,b. Jan. 2},
d.
I. f*Clara,b.Jan.l6t .'?7-,d.Jan.}l,1952, m. Karl Trtest (see TRIES?)
3.Hedu>ig,b,Sept.l4, ,d. , m. Eugene Meyberg
Their child:Sdwtn,b.Sept.l4,1906, d,
4. Sol
HAAS & TRIEST FAHILISS
1. Abe
2. *'illian
3* Jo-Cob
4. Sarah, b, Apr. 16, m. Ferdinand Trieat t b.Feb.20t
Issue
I.Karl, b. Dec. 11, >87I ,d.Jan.:6,1950, m. Clara Roaenbaum Sept. 16,
(four children, see below}
2.Benno,
y. Joseph, b. Feb. 25, ,d. ,mJune 19, to Irma t b.ffay 5,
1. Jane, b. Sept. 27, m.Sumner Burrows
i. 2. 3.
4.Villie,b.Jan.20, , d.
5.FritM,b.Apr.S, m.Bdith,b.Feb.22t
I.Eleanor
2.FranM (Fred}
Karl and Clar* Triest Issue:
Joseph, b. Oct. 29, 19O4,d. Apr. t 19^5,n.May 2, ToFrances
l.ltary,b.0<3t.6,194},m. Charles Ross
"V. .
I.Robert
2.Vtlliam Harold, b.Sept. 15,19*5
K.9J+r
2. Frank Sol, b. Hay 9,1906, m.Helba *B4**t b.July22,1905;i*. Grace .
Clemens,b, June 8,1905; m. Shirley Staschen,b.July 29,1914
l.Toni (daughter of,
Frank and Melba)b.Apr.26,19}2,m.P9t9r
~-\ : . Auer, m. Donald Stanley
'
tfjldrienne
-
.^Laurence St^chen.b.Mar.28,1950
-5/7/79 \ L
s "
b.
rist-3
325
HAAS 4 TRIS3T FAMILIES (cont.)
(cont.) Karl and Clara 7'rtest Jsu
<. -.
J.,Htc*,b.-fan.,2,J90a,.Oct.4, o Herbert Prank Bins-
ioang9r,b.JOct~ll,190O,d.May 17,1973.
l.Harbrt
I
4.i/f(Zicni Karl, b.Mar.l t 1917, m.Roe* Douglas, b. Sept. 23, 1920,
xrd.p
d. Afar. 5, J 974
8,1957 w.RUV
,
^ """
chon-1 326
57ASCHSN FAMILY
/.John H. Staschen, b.Aug. 18,1849, Germany, m. Xao Xugo, b. April 20,1852
Issue: z.l. Ferdinand Gott lieb Jtaschen, b. Dec. 11, 1875, d. Aug. 22.1932
2 2. Lillian, n. Walter Kroll, no ehildren
^ }.Xate,m. Hedrick
~.4, Amanda, m. - '*?'>'
2.
^. John Henry, m. Del la
Jd.Jeanette
2.6Anna,m. Flowto
4/*erdfnand Gottlftfb w. Oct,1913 ara/i Elleanore Head
Issue ^Shirley Adena, b. Jul.29, 191^, m. Alfred L.Podesta,
M+rrt~Jl
t
IssuedMichael C. Podesta.b. Sept. 29,19*2, Settie
Issue fA Ifred Alexander, b.Mar. 7, 1975
SJoshua Dau i d, b* Jan. 5, 1975
Hart Triest, b.Mar. 28, 195O
Laurence Staschen Trieat, b.Mar. 28,1950
A grandfather of A'ao Rugo toas ,Van Hansen. The Rugos came from Konigsberg.
Her father was reputed to be seven feet tall and 1000 in the ting's Guard,
Kao had four brothers all of whom had died before she left Germany . One
brother had two sons in Bremen and another brother had one ton. She had a
sister, Bertha, who had two daughters*
John H. Staschen had two brothers and one sister, m. (l)Bechert (2) Karl Pranks.
Ferdinand Gottlieb Staschen was born in Vtlhelmshaven, Germany
John H.his wife and oldest son, Ferdinand, came from Germany to Michigan
City, Indians, ca. 1879- John H. applied for 1st papers to become a citi
zen of y.JG. m.nd also applied for Zed papers, but thought that ended the
ceremony. Therefof' he did not call for or collect the 2ed papers* Years
after his etvuth, Ferdinand Staschen and his mother mere declared "enemy
alien** at the time of Vorld Var I. The Mayor of Michigan City, Fred Mil-
ler t was also classified "enemy alien" for the same reason* All persons
in Michigan City voted after they received their first papers. John H*. had
held office in Michigan City as assessor, minus the 2ed papers*
. ., ^
' . > ^ -,
- "
* ^ .*
'
Records of Slleanore M. Staschen
327
INDEX--Shirley Triest volume
ABC: A Community Anarchist, 216
L'Adunata, 221
Albro, Maxine, 64
anarchists, 33, 69-70, 96
free love, 190-191
Goldman, Emma, 214, 218-220
Harper's Magazine article "New
Cult of Sex and Anarchy,"
204-208
ideals of, 190-192
"If I Can't Dance...", 218-219
Italian anarchists, 219, 221
religion, 191
Russian Anarchists, 219
San Francisco, 181-183
Spanish Anarchist movement,
218
New York, 97, 213, 215
voting, 190
women in, 187-188
Anchor Steam Brewery, San
Francisco, 280
Aquatic Park, San Francisco, 134,
151
Ark, 241
Artists and Writers Union, 55,
56, 58, 73, 149
astrology, 192-194
Ayer, Dick, 151-152
Bakunin, 222
Beat poets, 134-135, 243
Beck, Julian, 233
Ben Lomond, California, 18-19,
143-144
Berkman, Alexander, 227
Bertrand, Ray, 61, 65
Big Sur, California, 98
Black Cat Cafe, San Francisco,
61, 81-82
political and artistic
discussion, 80, 84, 119-
120, 152, 280
Black Hawk [bar], San Francisco,
280
Black Mountain College, 233
Bladen, Ronnie, 181
Bodega Head anti-nuclear campaign,
139-140
bohemianism, 27, 48, 49-51, 146-
149
San Francisco scene, 226, 259,
269, 271
Boobam Bamboo Company, 261, 263,
278, 280
Bortolloti, Arthur, 221
Buck, Jane Hamner, 172-175, 178
affair with stepfather, 258
death, 272-273
education at San Francisco
State University and
University of California,
Berkeley, 258
experimentation with drugs,
265
marriage to William Buck, 267-
269
as mother, 256-259
relationship with Shirley
Triest, 254-256, 259-261
with Gerd Stern, 262, 263,
266, 276
Buck, Paul, childhood, 268-269,
281
Buck, William, 95, 260, 263
family's money, 268, 280
marriage to Jane Hamner Buck,
267-269
psychiatric treatment and
death, 267-268
Buddhism, 32
Burlingame, California, 16, 90
Burlingame Star, 4
"Butchertown," San Francisco, 50-
51
328
Cage, John, 227
California College of Fine Arts
and Crafts, 144
Carmel, California, 6, 7
Cellar [bar] , San Francisco, 244
Chavez, Cesar, 64
Christianity, 33
City Lights bookstore, San
Francisco, 280
Civil War, 4-5
Coit Tower, San Francisco, 50-51
choosing artists for mural
projects, 65
controversy over murals, 63-65
daily routine at work on
murals, 66-67, 73-76
fresco process, 66
hammer and sickle, 63
lunettes, 60, 65
picketing, 52-53, 77
communism, 53, 63, 69
Communist party USA Proletarian
Movement and the John Reed
Clubs, 85
communists raising chickens in
Sonoma County, 99
Daily Worker, 63, 85
in San Francisco, 71-73
during World War II, 102
Compton, California, 3
Conquest of Violence, 217
conscientious objectors
guns, 34-36
pacifism within Rexroth group,
104, 112
World War II, 110, 213, 217,
222
Dali, Salvador, 91
Danbury, 222
Deutch, Helen, 240
"The Difficulty of Thought," 92
Dinsmore, David, 255
Duncan, Robert, 181, 185
Fellowship of Reconciliation,
110, 203
feminism, 186, 240-242
Ferlinghetti, Lawrence, as Larry
Ferlin, 134, 206-207, 248
Finocchio's [speakeasy], San
Francisco, 82
First Poems and Others, 279
"499 27th Avenue," 90
free love, 223-225
Freedman, Clara, 218
Freie Arbeiter Shtime, 216
Frerrer, Francisco, 216, 225, 227
Frerrer-Rocker, 225
Frerrer schools, 216
Foote, Caleb, 215
Ford, Jacqueline, 277
Ford, Onslow, 277
Gandhi, Mohandas K. , 232
Germ Fast, 213
Gerstacher, Fritz, 194-198
Ginsburg, Allen, 243, 264-265
Goldman, Emma, 214, 218-220
"If I Can't Dance...", 218-219
Goodfriend, Audrey, 183, 199,
Int. 213-244, 248
nonmonogamy, 241
Goodfriend, Diva, 230-231, 238
Goodfriend, Nora, 224
Goodfriend, Ruth, 233
Goodman, Paul, 185, 214, 227
Goodman, Richard, 271
"Gospel Swamp," [Compton,
California] , 3
Gould, Stan, 235
Graves, Morris, 125
Green Lantern [bar] , San
Francisco, 61
Grieg, Michael (Mel), 210, 214,
225, 234
Grieg, Sally, 214, 225, 234
Gurdjieff Society, 163-166, 208,
250
Escuela Novena, La, 225
Everson, Londas, 272
haiku, 170
Hamalian, Linda, 111
329
Hamner, Esther, 257-258
Hamner, Keith, 257
ffarper's Magazine, 205-206, 213,
Appendix A
Harris, George, 61, 64
Harvey, Bob, 272
Hiler, Hilare, 134, 150-151
Hill, Kristen, 255, 261
Hill, Lewis, 98, 135, 214-215,
230
Hill, Michele, 255, 258, 261
Hill, Sheridan, 258, 261
Hill, Wallace, 255, 261, 266
Hitler, Adolph, 102
Hitler-Stalin Pact, 217
Hoffman, Edith, 214
Hoffman, Walter, 214
Howard, John Langley, 59, 64
Humanist Center, San Francisco,
232
Humphrey, Doris, 235
Hunter University, 220
Ilson, Fred, 8
immigrants, 8-9
In the Innerstate, 217
Izzy's [bar], San Francisco, 81
Jacapetti's [bar], San Francisco,
61, 81
Japanese, internment during World
War II, 110-112
Jewett, Masha Zakheim, 76
Julien, Valentine White
drinking and premature death,
83-84, 104, 147
marriage to Shirley Triest,
48, 49
KPFA, 98, 135-136, 157, 160, 215,
230-232, 234
KQED, 98, 157-160
Radish, Rubin, 62
Kahlo, Frida, 59
Kaputkin, Peter, 219, 222
Kerouac, Jack, 243
Reyes, Reiko, 176-177
Reyes, Roger, 176-177
Ring, Martin Luther, Jr., 232
Roven, David, 183, 213-214, 223,
233, 235, 241
Labaudt, Lucien, 53, 59
Langdon, Gordon, 65
"The Last Balloon," 92
Laughlin, Jim, 100
Laughlin Steel, 100
Lawrence, D. H., 126-129
on women, 187-188, 202-203,
240-241
Lawrentian women, 187-188, 202
Leary, Timothy, 264, 265
Lewis, George, 182
Libertarian party, 228
lithography, for WPA, 61, 87-88
Livingston School of Art, 145-146
London, Ann, 266
London, Dan, 266
Look, Wallace, 280
Los Angeles, California, 3
Lufboro, Bill, 264
Mahabharata, 255, 271
Man Ray, 227
II Martello, 217, 221
Marx, Rarl, 64
McClure, Michael, 264-265
Mead, Carl Baker, 4-5
Civil War stories and songs,
5, 103
Mian, Jacques, 264
Miller, Henry, 99
Modern School, New York, 227
Molina, Julie, 233
"Momento," 89
"Monkey Block" (Montgomery Street,
San Francisco), 27, 148-149
Moore, Dick, 98, 157, 166, 226,
240
Musicians Union, 62
Mutual Aid, 219
mysticism, 125, 160-163, 271-272
330
National Committee for
Conscientious Objectors, 215
National Recovery eagle, 64
National Students League, 217
nationalism, 110
Nave, Lowell, 215
"New Cult of Sex and Anarchy,"
213, 217
New Directions, 101
North Beach, San Francisco, 240
New York, 51
Oakland, California, 6
Odetta [singer], 248
Oxford Pledge, 217
PG&E (Pacific Gas & Electric
Company) , 139
pacifism. See conscientious
objectors
Parkinson, Tom, 98
Partsch, Harry, 277, 278
pastels, 153-155
Patchen, Kenneth, 98
"Pave It Over," 91
Penguin Press, 219
Perot [artist], 264
Picasso, Pablo, 60
Pile Drivers Union, 106, 108
Pizarro, 227
Plasterers Union, 66
Podesta, Alfred, 105
marriage to Shirley Triest,
107-108, 115
military experience, 106
Pile Drivers Union, 106, 108
Podesta, Michael, 106-107
Potrero Hill [San Francisco]
Neighborhood House, 88-89
Presidio Hills School, San
Francisco, 231
Prevert, Jacques, 207
Public Works Project, San
Francisco, 50
Quakers, as part of conscientious
objectors movement, 113
Radha, mortal consert of Krishna,
273
Radical America, 209
Rainer, Ivan, Int. 181-212, 233-
234, 244, 248
Ramayana, 255, 271
Randolph Bourne Society, 111,
133-134
Reed, Herbert, 227
Resistance, 213, 215, 233
Rexroth, Kenneth, 55-58
the Beats, 206, 243, 262
Buddhism, 127
Communist party, 189
Greek epigrams, 93-94
John Reed Clubs, 85
as leader of San Francisco
anarchists, 184
as mental health worker, 112
mysticism, 125
relationship with Shirley
Triest, 185
Scott Street soirees, 99-101,
104
sexism, 131
Spanish Civil War, 97
treatment of women, 187
as womanizer, 131-133
Rexroth, Marie, 105, 184, 185,
197
affair with Frank Triest, 200
Rivera, Diego, 54, 58-61, 74, 90
Rockefellers, 74-75
Rocker, Rudolph, 225
Rogers, Dorothy, 220-221
Rogers, Fred, 51
Rogers, Julia H. , 51
Rukeyser, Muriel, 230
Sacco and Vanzetti, 216, 221, 225
Sailors Union of the Pacific, 102
St. Francis Hotel, San Francisco,
266
331
San Francisco Art Institute, 144-
145
San Francisco General Strike, 52-
53, 75-76
San Francisco Renaissance, 203
San Francisco State University,
230
Santa Cruz, California, 8, 15
Sausalito [California] houseboats,
262, 277
Scott Street [San Francisco]
Soirees, 104, 134
Sebastopol, California, 70, 130
Sherwood, Blanche, 277
Sholem Aleichim [co-op in New York
City], 216
Simpsons, 280
Six Gallery, San Francisco, 243
sixties, 242-244
Sonoma County, California, 98-99
social realism, 149-150, 227
Soviet Russia, 217
Snyder, Gary, 95
Spanish Civil War, 97, 217
Stackpole, Ralph, 59
Stanford Court Hotel, San
Francisco, 8
Staschen, Bernice, 14-15
rheumatic fever, 23
Shirley Triest's relationship
with, 11, 14-15
Staschen, Eleanor Mead, 1
confrontational personality,
29
c'--_s her hair, 26
as housewife, divorce, 19
after husband's death, 22
as journalist, 4
membership in Daughters of the
American Revolution, 30-31
as painter, 7
among poets and painters, 6, 7
as private secretary, 4, 6
Prohibition, 46-47
at Stanford University, 40
takes on family business, 36-
47
Tenderloin garage, 37
theatre project, 39
Staschen, Eleanor Mead (cont'd.)
Women's Christian Temperance
Union, 1, 18
Staschen, Frederick, 2, 8-11
affection, 17
death, 21, 36-39
description of, 14
effects of Great Depression,
19-27
as "enemy alien," 9, 10, 103
financial schemes, 20-21
previous marriage, 43
reaction to his wife's
political activism, 40-41
as real estate manager, 8
Stern, Adam, 255, 260, 271, 280-
281
Stern, Gerd, Int. 274-283
children with Jane Hamner, 255
marriage, 261-264, 266, 277
marriage to Ann London, 266
Stock, Bob, 241
Takeshita, Hazel, 111
Telegraph Hill, San Francisco,
49-51
Tin Angel [bar, San Francisco?],
277
Tresca, Carlo, 217
Triest, Carl, 182-183, 228-229
Triest, Frank, 85
as actor, 177, 209
as champion of Shirley Triest's
art, 210
Communist party member, 189-
190
as conscientious objector,
102, 203-204, 226
death, 177-178, 200
in a federal penitentiary, 119
Gurdjieff Society, 163-166,
208-209
political views of, 102
in Radical America, 209
relations with Kenneth Rexroth,
101
Sailors Union of the Pacific,
102
332
Triest, Frank (cont'd.)
separation from Shirley Triest,
196-197
wealthy family, 211-212, 246-
247
Triest, Lawrence, 182, 214
Triest, Sara, 182, 214, Int. 245-
253
on mother's art, 249
parents' intense relationship,
245
Triest, Shirley Staschen
aesthetics, 198-200
affair with Kenneth Rexroth,
200
art as a child, 24-25
as artist, 210-211
art work, 244
childhood, 15-16, 141-144
commentary on portfolio, 167-
168
death, 253
feminism, 202-203
haiku, 170-171
on how to take care of
children, 238
last days of marriage with
Frank Triest, 243
marriage as spiritual
sacramental journey, 155-
157
as mother, 199, 249-250
pacifist views, 103
personality, 186
photography, 116
relationships with Jane Buck
and Radha Stern, 255
religious training, 32
spirituality, 32, 251-252
Sumi-e, 168-170
"Two-Fold I," 159
World War II, 104-111
Trotskyite, 70, 96
Tyler, Hamilton, 128
Universal Life Church, 271
Vallejo, 277
Vanguard, 216, 219
junior Vanguard, 217
Vanguard group, 217, 218, 221,
224
Vattunoe, John, 221, 239
Vesuvio [Cafe in San Francisco],
280
Vidar, Fred, 61
Vietnam, 91-92
Vine Hill School, Sebastopol,
California, 136-137
WPA [Works Progress
Administration], 74, 87-88
Sutro Forest Project, 47
Wagner, Marion, Dr., 261-263, 272
Walden School, Berkeley,
California, 137-138, 232-237
"Let's Build a City," 243
"Tiska with the Green Thumbs ,
"
242
Walport Prison, 125, 181
War Resisters League, 222
Watkins, Peggy, 277-278
Watts, Allen, 277
Wheat, David, 277
Why, 213, 215, 221, 222
Wieck, David, 215, 221, 226
Wieck, Diva, 226
Wight, Dick, 135
Williams, Paul, 233
Wilshire, Denny, 230, 231, 235
Wiltshire, Ida, 242
Wilson, Adrian, 125
Wobbly, 221
Wood, Stan, 231
Woodacre, California, 176-178
Workmen's Circle Center, 181-182,
204, 214, 225-229, 240
World's Fair of 1939, 91, 110
World War I, 1, 10-11, 35-36
World War II, 102
baby boom, 128
Zabin, Belle, Int. 181-212, 233-
234, 244, 248
333
Zakheim, Bernard, 51, 53
artist at Colt Tower, 79
as communist, 70-71
personality as artist, 58, 67-
71
in Sebastopol, California, 70
Zakheim, Masha. See Jewett, Masha
Zakheim
Victoria Morris Byerly
Grew up in the rural industrial Southeast coming of
age during the late sixties and early seventies.
Immediately following graduation from Western
Carolina University in 1971 traveled to Europe and
Asia on a journey to Katmandu. Traveled twice to
China. Student of East Asian Studies, Harvard
University. Assistant Editor of Publications,
Radcliffe College. M.A. in philosophy and
psychology from the University of Massachusetts in
1988 and, in 1994, awarded the Ph.D. in U.S.
History from Boston College with special fields in
U.S. resistance movements, women's studies,
cultural history.
Lecturer at the University of Massachusetts, Boston
College, and at the University of California, Santa
Cruz. Full-time lecturer in Women's Studies and
Cultural Pluralism at San Jose State University
since 1996.
Author of Hard Times Cotton Mill Girls; Personal
Histories of Womanhood and Poverty in the South.
Cornell University Press, 1988.
Assistant Editor in the Regional Oral History
Office since 1995, interviewing in the fields of
social protest, women's studies, cultural and
countercultural histories.
166
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