Gertrude Stein Mania in San Francisco

Gertrude Stein has hit San Francisco like a storm, and the same mania will probably soon affect Paris, New York and Washington D.C. as well.

Why all the fuss? Well, first because of the blockbuster exhibit, “The Steins Collect: Matisse, Picasso and the Parisian Avant-Garde” at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art which is due to close September 6 and travel to the Grand Palais in Paris (Oct 3, 2011 to Jan 16, 2012) and then the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York (Feb 21–Jun 3, 2012). Reuniting the amazing collections of Gertrude,  her brothers Leo and Michael, and Michael’s wife, the exhibit displays some 200 paintings, sculptures, drawings, prints and illustrated books,  including approximately 40 works by Picasso and 60 by Matisse, as well as works by Bonnard, Cézanne, Gris, Laurencin, Picabia, Toulouse-Lautrec, and Vallotton. In addition to the exhibit, the SFMOMA and, indeed, the whole Yerba Buena neighborhood have also been hosting a whole slew of film screenings, lectures, panel discussions, cultural programs and performances related to Gertrude and her entourage.

Just a few blocks away from the SFMOMA, at the San Francisco Contemporary Jewish Museum, the exhibit “Seeing Gertrude Stein: Five Stories”, also closing September 6, concentrates more on Gertrude’s life and legacy, exploring her identities as a literary pioneer, a modernist, an expatriate in Paris and the partner of Alice B. Toklas, a celebrity and a muse to artists. Jointly organized with the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery, to which it will travel after San Francisco (October 14, 2011 – January 22, 2012),the exhibition features some 100 artifacts and artworks, as well as manuscripts, letters, journals and personal belongings. Also included are film footage from Gertrude’s operas and ballets and a documentary film about Alice’s and her life during wartime. Like the SFMOMA, the Contemporary Jewish Museum has also been hosting numerous discussions, events and programs, some of them related to Gertrude’s Jewish and lesbian identities and associations.

In addition to visiting both of these exhibits, I have attended several of the San Francisco events related to Gertrude Stein. One I particularly enjoyed was at the Contemporary Jewish Museum. Entitled “Paris Portraits: Stories of Picasso, Matisse, Gertrude Stein, and their Circle”, it was a one-woman show with Laura Sheppard, who read from the manuscript of Harriet L. Levy, a San Francisco writer and theater critic who moved to Paris in 1907 with her friend Alice B. Toklas. The show was followed by a lively panel discussion about Gertrude’s Jewishness and her puzzling relationship with Bernard Fay, a gay, anti-Semitic, French academic with ties to the Vichy government who ensured Alice’s and Gertrude’s protection in France during World War II and who was later imprisoned for having persecuted French Freemasons.

During this discussion, much to my amaze, I learned that Gertrude translated a book of Petain’s speeches into English, wrote the Nobel Committee recommending Hitler for the Peace Prize, supported Franco, and hated FDR. And I later read that Alice B. Toklas, following Gertrude’s death, helped finance Fay escape from Fresnes prison outside Paris by selling one or more works on paper by Picasso.

Of course, I loved the art exhibits and seeing all the artifacts, but as a history buff and an author of two books dealing with World War II, Gertrude and Alice’s “murky” past during the war and their association with GI’s following the liberation of France fascinates me. Consequently, I have started doing some research on these subjects, both by searching the Internet and by buying books or taking them out of the Berkeley Public Library whenever they are available—this being rare these days, given the Gertrude Stein mania existing in the area!

I have even written a playlet, a sort of one-woman show (which I performed in my storytelling class at Stagebridge last week) based on a 1945 Life article I quoted in my book French War Brides in America when it was published in 2004.  The story features an elderly, but still feisty,  Gertrude admonishing an audience of GI’s at the American Red Cross Center in Paris in the spring of 1945—just a year before her death from cancer at the American Hospital. Watch for it soon on my website:

I love the fact that Gertrude shared my love of Paris and also hailed from the San Francisco Bay Area (she grew up in Oakland), where she is the topic these days of  a lot of lively conversation at dinner parties, owing to these exhibits and to  “Midnight in Paris.¨  But she is certainly a much more complex and puzzling character than the funny and lovable American expatriate that Woody Allen portrayed in his film!

Nostalgia: Paris, New Haven, Millbrook

This past month has been a time of nostalgia for me.

Watching Woody Allen’s charming new film, “Midnight in Paris”, a few weeks ago while in Berkeley, I was reminded of my own reactions to Paris when I first moved there as a teenager back in 1962. Like Woody, I was imbued with the readings of Hemingway and Fitzgerald; I knew that Gertrude Stein had called them and others “a Lost Generation” and was a friend of Picasso, Braque and Matisse; and  I became enchanted with the many monuments and beauties of the city. At 15, book in hand, I did “the Memorable Feast tour” of Hemingway’s haunts on my own long before such walking tours became popular. And after reading Fitzgerald’s biography, it was easy for me to visit the Etoile and imagine inebriated Scott and Zelda riding atop taxi cabs there at night in the 20s.

In 1962, the Orsay was a train station, and French impressionist paintings were still housed in the Jeu de Paume in the Tuilleries Gardens. There were no McDonalds or Pizza Huts in France back then, so after school my fellow classmates from “ASP” (American School of Paris) and I would congregate and play baby foot in cafés on the Champs Elysées or do our homework at the American Library, then located on the famous boulevard.

Other memories of living in Paris in the early 60s fill my mind. The Algerian war was still going on, and a plastic bomb went off in our apartment building, apparently placed by someone from the OAS, an underground movement of French generals who want Algeria to remain French, because a pro-independence politician lives in our building.. At ASP, which, at the time, was located in Madame du Barry’s hunting pavilion in Louveciennes, we listened to talks by personnel from the Embassy on the reasons for France’s anti-American sentiment and were cautioned on what to do in case of emergency. In Paris in the 60s, it could take months to get a telephone line installed; the W.C. was often on the landing instead of inside apartments; and heating was poor. There were no supermarkets and little “self-service.” My mother, who didn’t speak French, once got her hands slapped by a greengrocer when she touched the tomatoes at a fruit stand to see if they were ripe!

I also remember that since France hadn’t yet pulled out of NATO, numerous U.S. army bases dotted the French countryside. Because my father worked at the U.S.Embassy, we had “PX privileges” at did our shopping at the PX in St. Cloud or went to see American movies on the Camp des Loges base in St. Germain-en-Laye.


Another continent, another place and time…Two weeks ago, I went “back east” with my friend Tom to attend his 50th class reunion from Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut. At Yale, too, a film evoked memories, both for him and his 400 or so classmates, but also for the 350+ of us accompanying them.

“1000 Voices”, a documentary produced by Legacy Documentaries especially for the reunion, contains not only interviews with 82 alums, who were chosen to represent the 1000 members of the class, but also evocative footage and clips about the turbulent Sixties. Most of us cried watching it. The poignant stories of college camaraderie, the first-person narratives about classmates’ successes and failures, as well as the iconic images of JFK, Bobby Kennedy, MLK, Motown musicians, and Vietnam all brought back our own memories of those years.

During the weekend, we were reminded of what Yale was like in the 60s and how it has changed. An all-male university when Tom was there, Yale went “co-ed” in 1971. Today, women make up 50% of the student body, and in addition to the famous Whiffenpoofs, there is now a female singing group called the Whim ‘n Rhythms. Once practically all-white, at a time when “diversity” meant enrolling students from western or southern states, the university’s white population is  now only 45.8%,  and 10% are foreign born. There is an active LGBT community, whereas in Tom’s day at Yale, one’s sexual orientation was kept in the closet. Indeed, in a poignant scene in the film, a gay classmate tells how much pressure there was back then to be “normal.” Like most of his classmates, he went on to marry after graduation, but the consequence was that he had to go through decades of therapy trying to figure things out. It was only when he was in his mid fifties that he found the courage to divorce his wife and acknowledge his homosexuality.

Some 175 of the Class of 1961 have passed away. During a moving service one afternoon, a Jewish rabbi, a Protestant minister and a Catholic priest celebrated their memory, their widows and families, and the friendships they made while at Yale.  In break-out sessions, in private conversations, and in the photo “yearbook” given to the alums, classmates reminisced about their college days and brought each other up to date on their past and present activities. Spouses and “significant others” were also invited to share during the break-out sessions. The ambience was warm, inclusive and honest. Looking back over the years with reflexive mellowness, most of the classmates, who are now in their seventies, painted their lives and experiences in realistic terms. Illnesses, addictions, dysfunctional relationships with spouses and children, regrets, and other concerns were mentioned. But, so, too, were life’s blessings, as well as memories of professors, courses, antics, and activities while in New Haven.

Admittedly, nostalgia imbued the blue-and-white Yale reunion, just as it does “Midnight in Paris”, and, to a certain extent, both the Yale alums and Woody Allen romanticize their memories. Still, it cannot be denied that Paris of the 20s and the writers and artists of the Lost Generation had a lasting effect on Woody Allen. Similarly, it would seem that their college years at Yale greatly affected the lives of the members of the Class of 1961.

I have my own somewhat romanticized memory of Yale as well. In the mid 60s, I was invited to spend several weekends there by a classmate at Bennett College who just so happened to be the daughter of the then Yale President, Kingman Brewster. Those visits were brought back to me when we drove by the President’s House two weeks ago and then drove on to Millbrook, New York, where the buildings that used to house Bennett still stand.

I say “used to” because Bennett, a small two-year college for women founded in 1890, no longer exists. It went into bankruptcy in the 1970s and closed down completely in 1978, following attempts to survive by going four-year and amalgamating with Briarcliff College.

What a sad sight it was to see Bennett today! Whereas Yale’s Gothic-style buildings are still vibrant and alive, Halcyon Hall, Bennett’s main wooden structure, which was originally built as a 200-room luxury hotel, has been left abandoned for the past 33 years. (See for a pictorial history of the place.)

Unlike the Yale alums’, my memories of Bennett are not romanticized. I was not happy there and always felt out of place, especially as most of my classmates came from prominent families and were more interested in riding horses and dating men from Ivy League colleges than studying. I’d have preferred attending a much larger, more urban, university for my first two years of college. In fact, I only went there because they awarded me a very generous creative writing scholarship and because I wanted to be on the east coast.

Still, looking back, as often happens, I realize now that spending two years of my life at Bennett wasn’t all bad. I made three or four good friends, whom I’m still in touch with today. I remember meeting Edward Albee, Robert Graves and Betty Friedan. This is because Bennett was known for the arts and attracted visiting writers, artists and performers. I also remember that my first year there the whole college went down to New York City for a week to attend plays and concerts and visit museums. While at Bennett, I also got a chance to visit some famous universities. In addition to Connie Brewster’s invitations to Yale, I was also invited several times to Radcliffe to visit a close friend; and I went on some “blind dates” at Harvard, Princeton, West Point and “U.Va”.

Paris, New Haven, Millbrook…I’m grateful for these nostalgic memories—be they romanticized or realistic–from the past.

Smiling in Berkeley, Paris and Shanghai

Phyllis Diller once said, « A smile is a curve that sets everything straight. » I think one of the reasons I feel so comfortable here in Berkeley is because people, particularly in my neighborhood, smile in the street. Whether they’re jogging, walking their dog on a leash or their baby in a stroller, or just going from one place to another, they invariably make eye contact with me, grin and say hello. And I do the same. What a difference a smile makes! There’s a human connection.  It’s good for my moral. It brightens my day.

Unfortunately, it isn’t the same when I walk down a street in my neighborhood in Paris. In France, smiling at strangers in the streets isn’t usually done, so most Parisians go around town with a neutral expression on their faces. They avoid your gaze and continue down the street without acknowledging you. Over the years, I, too, have acquired that neutral expression, that mask of non-recognition of the other when I’m living there. And it’s hard for me because I’m basically a friendly person with a broad, toothy smile that rarely leaves my face, even when I’m crying inside. But, as I tell American expatriates with whom I do cross-cultural training, you have to be careful in Paris. Parisians don’t smile at you because you’re a foreigner; they don’t smile at strangers; they don’t smile at each other.

It’s not only because Paris is a big metropolis and therefore, like New York or London, not so “friendly” as smaller places.  It’s also because not smiling is, in my opinion, part of French culture.  For many Americans, smiling is a polite gesture. Not so for the French. For many French people, smiling at a stranger in the street is a type of “come on” with sexual innuendos. Or it’s an invasion of privacy, since if you’re smiled at, you have to respond. Or it’s ‘hypocritical’: Why wear a smile when you don’t want to? they ask.

Of course, not all French people are non-smilers; some do smile, although usually not in the street. There are also regional differences. In the south of France, for example, people tend to be more “Mediterranean”, more outgoing and friendly, and they smile more. I’ve also noticed that French people who’ve traveled abroad often come back impressed by the smiling friendliness of other cultures; they may then attempt to smile more or at least to be less cynical about those who smile or about the meaning of a smile.

Personally speaking, I have often found that, in addition to establishing human contact, smiling is also a very efficient means of communication.  When you don’t speak the language, for example, as I didn’t in Shanghai when I was living and working there last year, smiling replaced words.  Chinese shopkeepers, cashiers, concierges, and I often smiled at each other, used gestures, and made ourselves understood. And I think the fact that we could share smiles helped me make ready friends with the little girls in the Chinese orphanage where I volunteered. Even with non-smiling Parisians, smiling to French policemen and bureaucrats has helped me obtain directions, information and help.

Smiling can assure,  inspire, embrace, open doors, resolve, and spread. Smiling is infectious.

Published in: on March 26, 2010 at 4:14 pm  Comments (2)  
Tags: , , , , , ,

Cities on Water

At fifteen, I moved away from San Francisco to Paris, a very beautiful, but land-locked city. For years, while living in the French capital, I carried in my mind’s eye images from my childhood: the blue water of San Francisco Bay, the cat’s paws of fog rolling through the Golden Gate, and the rock-island of Alcatraz. I could not forget the breath-taking view from the windows of my school library on the hills of Pacific Heights and the sound of distant fog horns when I walked home in the afternoon. To my mind, the Seine could never make up for what Paris lacks, a large expanse of water.
Now I’m back in California, living in a place where I have another panoramic view, but this time from Berkeley, on the other side of the Bay. From my window, I can see the skyline of San Francisco, the Golden Gate, Angel Island, and Mount Tamalpais. Sometimes I go down to the Berkeley Marina, sniff the sea air from the dock, watch the sail boats and admire the antics of wet-suited windsurfers. I’ve also been to Ocean Beach and Baker Beach in San Francisco and to nearby spots like Muir Beach and Stinson Beach, where nobody swims—the water being much too cold – but where the breakers and the tides remind you that San Francisco is a city not only on a bay but also on the ocean.
The more I travel, the more I appreciate cities on water. I must qualify this a bit. Some cities I’ve visited, Shanghai and Tokyo, for example, are vibrant and exciting places, but their ports are out-of-the-way and industrial. I like cities giving onto water that are proud and boastful of their harbors. Indeed, every time I discover a new one, I feel a flutter in my heart and imagine myself settling down to live.
In addition to my native San Francisco, I’ve fallen in love with other cities on water throughout the world. All of these cities hold a special place in my heart and in my mind’s eye. In addition to their natural beauty, they evoke memories of experiences, adventures and people, all of them related to their location on water, and I cherish them for this.
When I discovered Sydney, “the Harbor City”, I was reminded of San Francisco. My first day there, I took a ferry ride across the bay, passing under Harbour Bridge and wondering–just as I used to do as a child when under the Golden Gate– how many people had jumped to their deaths from its height. Admiring the Opera House, I couldn’t help thinking how much it resembled a winged bird skimming over the water’s surface. And before I left Sydney, I took a bus out to Bondi Beach and watched the surfers, little knowing then that five years later my own son Marc would be there among them.

While in Hong Kong, I didn’t stay in the city proper, on Hong Kong Island or on the Kowloon Peninsula. Rather, I stayed on the southern tip of Lantau Island and traveled to the city by ferry across the water into Victoria Harbour. What a different view I had of the city’s skyscrapers and harbor when approaching them from the water than the one I later had from the top of Victoria Peak! And I’m sure one reason I have very fond memories of HK is because I was able to get away from the hustle and bustle of the big city and return to my haven on Lantau, where I could swim, sun-bathe and go biking.

Picture post cards and photos don’t do Rio de Janeiro justice. It is much more beautiful than what a camera can capture. Even from the top of Rocinha, the poorest favela in South America, which I visited, local residents have a view of the blue Atlantic on the horizon. From atop the Sugar Loaf, I saw Guanabara Bay and the city below, but I must admit that when our cable car reached the peak of the Corcovado, another of Rio’s famous landmarks, I couldn’t see anything because, as often happens, the statue of Christ the Redeemer, as well as the city beneath us, were covered in a thick carpet of fog! I was luckier the next day when taking a round-trip ferry ride to Niteroi: from the water, the views of the skyline of Rio were almost as impressive as from on high. Other water memories of Rio include my swimming alone at Cocacabana and Ipanema and leaving nothing but a towel and a pair of dime-store flip-flops on the beach in case of robbery.

The first time I went to Lisbon I was with my ex-husband when we were still in love. It reminded me very much of San Francisco, with its hills and little cable cars, and its suspension bridge across the bay. I read recently that the bridge, the 25 de Abril, was actually built by the same company that constructed the Golden Gate! I remember discovering fado with my husband at one of the city’s famous taverns and visiting the Belem Tower and the tile museum while he –poor man—spent the day in Portuguese automobile factories. The second time I went to Lisbon, I was on my own attending an American Studies conference at the university, whose windows provided lovely views of the Tagus River estuary. By this time, a second bridge, the Vasco da Gama, had been built, and we conference attendees were treated to a lovely cruise during which our boat actually passed under it.

Much further north, beautiful Stockholm is made up of 14 islands and is situated at a point where Lake Malaren meets the Baltic Sea. I’ve also been there twice—once alone and once with my ex-husband. When I went there alone, I was only 19 and visiting a Swedish exchange student from my college in New York. Ulla was beautiful and sophisticated. Her father was a doctor, and I remember she put on white gloves to take me to visit a Claes Oldenburg exhibit at the Moderna Museet on the island of Skeppsholmen on the bay of central Stockholm. About 20 years later, my husband and I stayed with Swedish friends on another island, Lindigo, and took a day excursion out to the archipelago, where many of the 24,000 islands and islets only have a few, small, colorfully-painted wooden houses on them.

Helsinki and St. Petersburg are two other northern European cities on the Baltic Sea I have visited. Because of their climate, I wouldn’t want to live in either one, but I was struck by the constant activity of their harbors. Like Stockholm, Helsinki is spread out over different islands and bays, and its port is one of the largest in Scandinavia. I actually went down to the docks to find out about taking a ferry to Tallin, Estonia, but because of the choppy November waters  decided to take a train to St. Petersburg instead. Of course, what I remember most about this beautiful Russian city is the Hermitage Museum. However, in my mind’s eye, I also recall visiting an island on the Neva River and young Russian newlyweds having their pictures taken at a point where it juts out into the Bay of Finland.
Because of its position on the Bosphorus and its deep natural harbor, the Golden Horn, Istanbul struck me as a very proud, very commercial city on water—a city striding two continents with a definite mixture of east and west. During both of my stays there, I went down to the city’s busy docks, where I heard deck-hands shouting to each other in Turkish and observed the coming and going of ferries, boats and ships on the Bosphorus. Taking a two-hour cruise, I was able to admire, from the water, the turrets and colors of the Topkapi Palace, the Aya Sofya and the Blue Mosque. The stunning views of these monuments, set against the blue of the sea, still remain in my memory many years later.
Returning to the North American continent, in addition to San Francisco, four other cities have impressed me because of their location on water. New York is one of them. No matter how many times I have done it, and even if the Twin Towers are now gone, I still get a thrill whenever I take the Staten Island ferry and observe the skyline of Lower Manhattan. And when I see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, I can’t help buy think of all the immigrants who arrived there by ship. On the opposite coast, San Diego, Seattle and Vancouver are all “water cities” where I could imagine living.
The fact that all these cities have left such an impression on me makes me wonder: What is it about cities on water? Why are they so attractive to people like me? Is it the natural beauty of their harbors and setting? The vistas they provide? The activity of the boats, ferries and ships gliding across their waters? The people and memories they provoke? Is it their appeal to our senses, what we see, hear, smell, feel? Or is it something more primal and universal, related to the womb-like relationship we have with the sea? Do cities on water, like water itself, bring us inner peace– a feeling of continuity in space and time? Or do they impress because of their power, of their opening out and going forth in the world?
Probably a combination of all of these, I imagine.

Published in: on February 18, 2010 at 1:16 am  Comments (1)  
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,