Cousin Al Remembers, Al05

Hi Bauers! This is your Cousin Al. Ellen and I have been talking about starting a "Bauer Saga" compendium of the funny, sad, weird, unusual, ecstatic stories that define us as a pretty special clan. The more I have shared precious bits of days and decades with you, the more I appreciate all of us, the memories of our fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, and especially those new "little critters".

I'll do my best to neither compliment nor criticize excessively, unless, of course, I feel like spicing up the plot.

So, starting this work in process, I'll just write my memories as they relate to Al and Judy Bauer, along with some history of my family, August ("Gus") and Rosamond ("Rosie") Bauer.

I don't know too much about the Chicago Bauer Family. As I understand, there were 10 kids, and they arrived 3 boys, 3 girls, 3 boys, and 1 girl. No twins. There may have been miscarriages but that would not have been spoken of. In any case, our grandparents were "busy". The oldest was my Dad, August, and the youngest was Marie. Because the custom was to name the first boy after the father, I had long assumed that our grandfather was "August". Actually, he was "Andrew". (Shucks, oh, well. I would have preferred a common name for myself, like "Bob", or "John". But, anytime I think of complaining, I remember the song "A Boy Named Sue".)

I'll also mention common relatives from the Chicago tree, like Andy, Marge, Catherine, Marie. Then the "kids': Jud, Caroline, Andy, Tom, Pat, Joe, John, Katie, Ellen, Mary, Annie. I never met one brother (Jack?) who I recall died of pneumonia just when I was at Vandenberg studying missiles. Then there was that exotic Bauer specimen, Mary Gleason, who darted in and out of our sphere.

The Saga Begins

My dad, August Alban Bauer (Gus), was born in Chicago on August 13, 1896, and mom, Rosamond Huff Bauer (Rosie), in Berne, Indiana, September 25, 1910. They were married (I was told) at least 9 months before I arrived, in 1943, in Chicago.

Dad was a radiologist in private practice, and I think he must have been influenced in this direction by his Uncle Dan (our grandfather Andrew's brother). I always remember him as living in Streator, Illinois. Story was that Dan was a self educated pioneer in radiology and suffered major burns from it. Nobody in those days knew it was dangerous. I can even remember the machines in the shoe stores. You put your foot in the hole in the bottom and push a button. Presto! A screen shows an x-ray of your foot in the shoe.

Anyway, in the early 1940's dad had an X-ray lab in South Chicago, and his "Girl Friday" was (yup) Aunt Marge. Is there nothing she couldn't do? Marge ran the business, developed the film, and when dad was out and docs called in she would pronounce her own diagnoses!

The Kankakee Years 1945 - 1961

By 1945, I was a year old and we had moved to Kankakee. My hunch is that my mom couldn't handle the Bauer family dynamism. Particularly, I suspect that there was a power struggle between her and Marge. Knowing both of them, she was smart to insist. Marge would have trampled mom.

So there I was growing up in rural idyllic Kankakee, 60 miles due south of Chicago. Population 35,000; surrounded by corn, flat as a board. A tree on the horizon was cause for excitement.

There were only a handful of Chicago Bauer contacts I remember, but I might as well get my most shameful one out of the way first. I must have been only about 5; that would make the year 1949. Al and Judy came down to visit us. I had no advance warning, the first I recall was dad presenting me to this couple and playfully teasing me about who it might be. Of course, I was clueless, so he gave me a hint, saying that the lady was a "Real Indian".

Well, now my young mind raced through the movies I had seen (no TV yet), and retrieved the brilliant rejoinder:

"Only Good Injun is a DEAD Injun!"

Fade to blush! Actually, I think everybody laughed like crazy. You can get away with some pretty remarkable stuff at that age.

There was a rumor from Bauer Archaeology (late 1920's), when Marge got involved in helping a seriously goofy friend of dad's, Cliff White. Cliff was in Med School with dad and Cliff was flunking. Marge and Cliff snuck into the registrar and changed Cliff's grades.

Another Cliff favorite were his periodic visits to Kankakee. (Cliff had a wife Jessie and daughter Florence.) This guy was seriously weird. Dad thought he was great and mom absolutely HATED him. We had this enormous birdhouse on a 20 foot pole. The pole had a pivot with counterweight, block and tackle, etc, so that the birdhouse could be lowered for maintenance and cleaning.

Well, dad and Cliff must have had a couple drinks, and Cliff convinced dad that it would be cool to lower the birdhouse and mess around with it. Mom caught wind of this and went totally hysterical. (I privately think that Cliff really loved to see mom flip out.)

Now you must visualize the birdhouse on the pole. To me, it looked like the Claremont Hotel on about five stacked grain silos. It was HUGE. There were Dad and Cliff playing Laurel and Hardy with block and tackle, lowering the birdhouse, each move portending doom. I don't remember anything disastrous happening that day, but the drama was exquisite.

Well, the social scene was noteworthy at the Bauer house. I think my Dad most enjoyed getting a bunch of doctor friends over for a yard party, and getting them all drunk as skunks. I would see this going on; these 50 year olds cavorting and bumping into trees. I'm sure some of the wives didn't approve (including mom), but others got into the spirit. Once I remember Dad had just built a really beautiful workbench in his basement workshop. His buddies thought the workbench needed to be broken in, so bored 3 inch holes in it all over. Dad never complained, never fixed it. It always stayed just like that. Scarey thought though, drunken doctors with power tools.

Mom enjoyed nothing more than playing bridge. She and her bridge ladies played at least two afternoons a week, then got the husbands involved on weekends. I guess she and most of the others were quite good. Mom attached major importance on playing skillfully, and gaining the respect of the other ladies. They were always bragging about who had the most "master points", and who was truest to the Gospel of Goren. I couldn't stand those witches; they were such snobs. But, well, bridge was a fact of social life in the 1950's. If you could do it well, you were "somebody".

Then one of the Chicago Uncles died. His wife and two sons came down to Kankakee. I was warned that the uncle had died and that I should be quiet and, just don't act silly. We had lunch at the Country Club. I didn't know any of them from before. No idea how the uncle had died. I don't think I said anything at all. This must have been in the late 1940s.

Then there was when Marie ran off and joined the Daughters of Charity. The phone rang, serious talk, Dad and Mom in urgent conference after the call. I was bundled along into the car and we were heading... somewhere. I must have been still only 4 or 5. We finally stopped and entered a building, up the elevator, down a hall and into something that looked like a Catholic Museum. Madonna's, Crucifixes, Byzantine paintings, Oriental rugs. Everything was ornate and value-laden. Lots of grown-ups milling around sounding serious. Nobody looked very happy about the reason for the impromptu meeting, nor happy to even be there. The place must have been Marge's apartment. All the people must have been my uncles and aunts, although I didn't know or recognize a single one. There was a picture of a nun being passed around; I guess that was Marie. All I knew at the time about nuns was that they were not like anybody else. I wasn't even sure if they were human.

Then, some years later when Marge helped Marie escape from the Daughters of Charity(with the "Flying Nun" hats). Marie worked in the hospital office, and was so overburdened that she repeatedly became seriously ill. The Daughters would let her rest just enough to be able to return to work, then worked her to collapse again. Finally, Marge showed up with a car; Marie jumped in, and Marge put pedal to metal. Marie with Marge's help managed to stay free. Yet, Marie always remained the devoutest of Catholics.

The Nightmare of 1957

In the summer of 1957, we had just bought a fancy new car, a Lincoln Premier, with *** Air Conditioning ***!! This was to be a very important summer. We would vacation in California, and accomplish several major goals, like visiting Marge and Otto, Catherine in L.A. (Maybe Marie was still in the Convent, I'm not sure.) Dad would check into getting his Doctor's License in California so he could work and/or teach here. Then we'd go up north to the Bay Area and visit Andy and Jane, Al and Judy, and "all the kids". Oh, yeah, and get me registered at Stanford; I was 13 then. It looked like dad and mom planned on us moving to L.A. in a year or so.

Right. That was what was SUPPOSED to happen. I wasn't really aware of all that, and was mainly looking forward to Disneyland. (Now play some really spooky doomsday music, because what comes next could never have been imagined...)

Mom drove with me out to L.A. on the old Route 66, hitting all the roadside museums exhibiting genuine U.F.O. wreckage, dinosaur teeth and live scorpions. Had to have a motel with pool every day. Boy, was I ever spoiled. Dad hopped a plane (Super Constellation) and met us in L.A.

So far so good. We checked in to the Ambassador Hotel (with Pool) and looked forward to some great times. We had a few: Lunch at the Brown Derby, the La Brea Tar Pits, Disneyland, Knots Berry Farm, getting to know the L.A. Bauer's.

Marge was now married to Otto Fisher. He was much older than Marge, but I think a less mature guy would have been fish bait for her. With his seniority and business savvy, Marge respected, and even doted on him. I liked Otto, and he must have liked me too. He gave me his Ray Ban Sunglasses, which I still have, and wear frequently.

Catherine was her taciturn self. She used to be a hairdresser as a young woman in Chicago. She must have come of age during the "Roaring Twenties", so must have experienced some Prohibition Fun. She was engaged, but Marge "vetoed" that. From then, Catherine stayed single and lived with Marge.

Catherine was supposed to be a little feeble minded but I saw wisdom in her. She seemed very old in my young eyes. Alone for a moment with her, she told me how quickly time passes, and how fortunate I was in my family. In hindsight, it seemed that she knew the unknowable.

I was really into Science, so, was very intent on visiting the Mt. Palomar Observatory. Dad, who had inspired me, could hardly turn me down! So we negotiated the countless curves up the mountain. (Coming from flat Illinois, this was a challenge.) A car descending the road swings over the center and bashes our left rear fender. Dad hops out and chases the car down the road on foot!

They stop and the usual insurance ceremony ensues. Our shiny new car is hemorrhaging cooling fluid from the air conditioning and looks terrible. Finally the tow truck comes and we return to Los Angeles and the hotel.

A day or so later, I'm hanging around the hotel swimming pool, and meet a boy named Mike. Mom and Dad are in the room. After awhile, Mike and I leave the pool area for the adjacent putting green. We both take putters, and I start putting a ball. Mike is acting crazy. He swings his putter like a driver. Then, as I watch from ten feet away the putter leaves his hands, and flies...

I'm on the ground in shock and pain, can't see. I'm holding my hands on my face and screaming. I'm not sure why this is happening. Now I can see a crowd around me. I had blood in my eyes, but now I can see. Now Dad is here and we are in the ambulance, and the siren is wailing. Funny, you normally hear a siren with the Doppler shifted frequency, but, in the ambulance the siren is constant.

I'm on a gurney rolling down corridors with Dad next to me. He is holding me and commanding the situation. Taking X-rays, and other necessary stuff. I guess I got a shot to put me to sleep.

I wake up in a bed. Nobody there right now. Sleep again. Sometime later, Mom is there. She is nice; doesn't say much. I guess she tells me that I was hit on the right eyebrow by the putter. The skin was broken and peeled back. I needed quite a few stitches. My eye is OK and no skull fracture. I'll be fine, but will be here for a few more days.

Time passes while I'm on painkillers; one day, two? Mom has visited and left. Now I seem more awake. I don't feel pain anymore, actually the right side of my head, albeit bandaged, feels numb, as happens after a trauma. So I guess I'm coming off the painkillers. Now, it occurs to me to ask Mom; "Where is Dad?".

In retrospect, she must have dreaded this inevitable question. Her words: "Cerebral Hemorrhage", "keeled over". Mom, as was common with doctor's wives, was accustomed to parrot medical jargon, with a certain swagger, connoting her privileged station. The swagger was gone.

My Dad died the next day. An anticlimax after seeing my Mother's eyes the day before. I had learned the Truth, as so often happened, by connotation. I stayed in the hospital, couldn't go to the funeral. I don't remember even going to his grave after I got out of the hospital. I think I lacked "closure" on his death. For a decade, I had dreams that he wasn't really dead, that Marge helped him get away. I never blamed him in the dream; his exile was somehow forced on him.

Even though Mom cried for the rest of our time in L.A., our return car trip, and long after; nothing of these events were ever again mentioned. I must have been the only one of the family near my father when he lost consciousness. It might have been said that my accident "caused" his stroke; that I was "responsible". Nothing I did could stop Mom's crying; did she blame me? Good question; I'll never know.

I learned that Dad had an aneurism, a weak artery, that was destined to break. What better place for it to happen than a hospital? It could have happened when he chased the car on Mt. Palomar. He would have been dead before help arrived. We would have been forced to watch, helpless.

Dad was a beautiful Bauer, in the best sense and tradition. He was a master optimist, and always saw the good. He enjoyed, as we do, a good laugh. He had the lighthearted benevolence that I see in all of us Bauer's. To all my cousins, cousins-in-law, and second cousins, even though I don't think you met my Dad, you would have Loved him and he you. I know that his last heroic moment was spent looking after me. I am so grateful for him.

Fate had a bad turn for Marge too. She drove a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud. The doors on that thing must have weighed 100 lbs, and fit like an airlock. Right in the middle of everything else, Marge slams her hand in the door. I never knew what that must have been like, but with everything else, Murphy's Law was no longer in contention.

Marge was to convince my mother to let her "invest" some of Mom's money to "help her out". Mom conceded, never able to stand up to Marge. She really didn't want to. She never had the guts to ask Marge to cash her out either, until there was nothing left. There was never an accounting.

College Years 1961 -1965

I went to college at IIT (Illinois Institute of Technology) in Chicago from 1961 to 1965. The three Bauer girls, Marge, Catherine, and Marie, were all living in the penthouse of the Allerton Hotel. Well, there were two adjacent penthouse suites.

The other penthouse was P.K. Wrigley, the chewing gum millionaire, who owned the Chicago Cubs. I met him once at the elevator with Marge. This typifies the Marge mystique; Marge was so much bigger than life that it was hard to believe that it wasn't a con. I often started believing that she was a total fake, a brilliant facade. Then a "Wrigley Event" would occur, and I would feel like Carlos Castaneda, or Yuri Geller with the spoons.

Those four years, Marge took me under her wing; we went to Mass every Sunday; she artfully imparted good advice. We had quiet, good times together. She may have taken satisfaction in pre-empting my mother's role. For me, she was more a replacement father figure. She was there and would listen, consider, and respond. She granted me the dignity of an equal. (My mother never descended from her pedestal.) Marge could be stern in her convictions, adamant in her personal dogma, but her advice was only given when solicited, and she never issued orders.

Marge appeared many times subsequently. Was it fate or design? I believe that Marge was devilishly clever, and may have "stalked" me down the years. (More episodes later.) Nevertheless, her predator instincts were, in my case, on the side of good. While I was still a Catholic and believed in Guardian Angels, I should have checked her shoulder blades for pinfeathers.

Air Force 1965-1970

My dream of becoming an astronaut and exploring the universe landed me in an underground bunker in Montana for 5 years. On the plus side, washing out of pilot school kept me out of the worse fate met by others in Viet Nam.

On the way from Flight School to Minuteman Missiles, I was in school for a couple months in Spring 1966, at Vandenberg Air Force Base. Ah California, better enjoy it now before being sent to Montana. I did get up the Bay Area. The Navy Base Treasure Island had VOQ (visiting officers quarters) where a night's lodging cost $5. Not sure if Marge & Co. were there yet. I gave Al and Judy a call in San Jose, hoping to visit them on a weekend.

Sadly, it was at this time that they had just lost son, Bill, to pneumonia. It was not an opportune time for me to visit.

I managed to learn lots of computers, got an Aerospace Engineering M.S. and M.B.A., and owned two planes and an 80 cc motorcycle. I did lots of skiing, hiking and camping. As much as I grew disillusioned about the heroism of military life, I appreciated the camaraderie of our young group of optimistic and adventure-seeking junior officers. Great Falls, Montana had lots of young school marms from Minnesota; a delightful infusion of Scandinavia.

As soon as I discovered the computer room at AFIT (Air Force Institute of Technology), I found that the standard cardboard box for IBM punch-cards was "useful". Packed just right, I could fit 4 cartons of cigarettes in it. They fit so perfectly, that the weight and "thump" was just like books when all taped up. By this time Marie was firmly ensconced with Marge and Catherine on Knob Hill, San Francisco. (First 1001 California, then 850 Powell) All three aunts smoked like chimneys.

I could buy cigarettes at the Base Exchange for a third of the outside price and no taxes, mail it at the book rate, and voila! Cheap smokes for the "girls".

Soon, I was a proud airplane owner and flying all over. Little cow pastures in the mountains were always fun, but also, longer flights to Seattle and the Bay Area beckoned. By now the Aunts were in S.F., and I looked forward to guided tours of this exotic place.

I would fly right into SFO in my little two-seater and catch the shuttle up to Marge's. She had a gorgeous place with picture window overlooking Alcatraz and Angel Island. Chinatown was just down the hill. Marge was over 60 and left me behind on the hills. She had ditched the Rolls Royce, and took buses and cable car everywhere. All the drivers got Christmas presents from her and she never paid fares.

The ladies who sorted clothes at the Salvation Army (Army and Valencia) were also on Marge's gift list. Marge's phone would ring whenever a Pacific Heights dowager donated a mink in Marge's size. Marge was always dressed to the 9's and her apartment continued to look like the Vatican Museum. Catherine would spend hours combing the tassels of the oriental rug.

One trip to S.F., I only got as far as Reno in my plane. I was a pretty safe and prudent pilot. A solid blanket of fog, cloud and storm covered from the coast to the Sierras. Sitting in Reno, I called Marge and waited for the weather. Finally, I turned around for Montana. Did it hop a commercial plane or a Greyhound? NO! Duh.

Anyway, these trips convinced me that the Bay Area would be my haven when I got out of the Air Force. I knew about Andy and Al's families, but only knew the Aunts so far.

California at last 1970-1977

On September 1, 1970, I was legally free to leave the U.S. Air Force. Approaching that date was surreal. I couldn't believe I would arrive. I had been admitted to Arizona State University (A.S.U.) for a Ph.D. in Math, which got me out of the Air Force 6 months early. (What the hell, Viet Nam was winding down.) By now, I was 27 years old, just got two Master's Degrees, and had never seen the outside of a school since I entered kindergarten at age 4. Screw the Ph.D., I'm out and heading for Warm Winters and Hippy Chicks!!

Marge had dutifully found a great cheap hotel/apartment for me; all was waiting. (Oh, yeah, the "girls", Marge, Catherine, Marie were already there.)

I had my VW Bug prepped for the trip and still, on September 1, I couldn't help kicking back and gloating: I was OUT. Maybe I'll sleep a couple days. But, on September 1, at Noon, it SNOWED. Oh NO!!! The evil Air Force was replaced by the fatalistic Montana Ice Age. I leapt into my trusty VW Beetle and put pedal to metal!!!

I made it. A couple days later, I park the laden VW on Knob Hill, and enter the facade of Marge's building. I'm expected. Reggie, the doorman, announces my arrival, and Marge comes down to meet me.

The room Marge has reserved is in a great little Residence Hotel two blocks away on Sutter. She takes me there and I have my place to stay!! She leaves me to unpack and sleep off the long drive.

Andy and Jane Bauer

Marge took me the couple blocks down from her place at 850 Powell to meet Andy and Jane, who lived on Pine, near Powell. I lived on Sutter, in the residence hotel Marge got for me. Andy and Jane lived in an apartment looking South, and high enough to have a great view. We spent an hour or so talking and I learned that they had lived in St. Francis Wood while the kids (Andy, Carolyn and Jud) were growing up.

Andy was a career salesman, driving his Mercedes Diesel everywhere. He had quite a philosophy of salesmanship. Although a good and honest man, I came to feel I had to keep my wits about me with Andy. For him, conversation seemed to also be a contest. There were winners and losers. I suppose the winner would be the salesman who closed the sale. The loser was the customer who ran out of objections and was finessed into buying.

Andy was good at it. For years, I would feel manipulated but never be able to put my finger on it. Putting the best spin on it, I suspect Andy didn't turn off his "sales game" when off the field of sales combat.

Al and Judy Bauer

I must have made my first visits to Al and Judy's in the Fall of 1970. I was thrilled at the prospect of meeting more relatives. All I knew up till then was that Judy was an Indian, and they had lots of kids. Al sold paint or insurance and sometimes worked with Rich Guglielmino. I talked with Judy on the phone, and she gave me excellent directions; Take 101 down to Story Road, drive east, turn right on White and drive past the High School. Then left on Marten up the hill till you run into Mount Pleasant. Now turn right and look for us down to the right. I set off as if doing one of my plane flights, dutifully noting each checkpoint.

And piece of cake! Gulp! A very steep driveway into parking between the house and hill. Whew!! And there they were!! Migosh, how many? Well it was obvious who Al and Judy were, and not quite all eight kids were still there. I had sprained my brain, memorizing names and approximate ages. Tom, Pat and Joe were not longer there, Katie probably also not. So Annie, Mary, John and Ellen were there!

Well, that shouldn't have been so difficult after all. Of course don't forget Ringo and King, and random neighbors and friends dropping through. Still, trying to get to know even six people simultaneously was a challenge. For me, this wasn't just a party where one blabs a few catch phrases. Each of these six, was an individual whom I should be able to identify and know about on my next visit!!! Now if they would all just stand in the same place for the next hour while I memorize all of them.....

So much was always happening in those early visits. Everybody was doing something interesting, Al always had fun stories, Judy never stopped feeding us. John, Ellen, Annie, and Mary were always so friendly and so patient as I struggled to sort out their faces, names, and interests. There was the great view, pets to be played with, Frisbees to be thrown.

I guess I must have come with whatever stories and gimmicks to add to the mix. I never seemed to need it. I would show up and enter this vortex of family. I never saw the slightest hint of conflict. I never felt that I was an outsider, although I did have to conquer my mother's "don't impose" guilt conditioning.

What was happening to me at these visits was most amazing. I had grown up in a small family, detached from the Bauer clan. Now, at my age of 27, with family, school and military behind, alone, I am surrounded by these joyous, funny, unusual people. How can it be that we all talk, think, laugh the same? Their opinions were what I was just thinking! As I met Katie, Joe and Pat the "family thing" was confirmed.

I was in the best of all worlds with the Al-Judy Bauers. I felt completely at home and bonded to one and all. Yet, not having known them growing up, the only embarrassing memory was my "Dead Injun" comment. No "wet the bed", or "threw up in school" stories, that they KNEW about.

Rich and Caroline Guglielmino

Caroline was Andy and Jane's daughter. She was a real Bauer girl; laughing and happy. Rich sold insurance, flew a twin engine plane, and was a member of the Boulder Creek volunteer fire department. Their three kids were Richard, Jr. (Rick), Janet (Jan), and Andrea (Drea). I remember meeting Rich's mom, who went by the name "Nona", Grandmother in Italian.

A gift from Nona in the Guglielmino home was a ceramic dalmation poised in the posture of shitting!! The figure was a foot tall and exquisitly rendered. It would have seemed incongruous, I suppose, not to depict some product of the effort, so there was a crumpled wad of white paper where the poop would have fallen.

They had a gorgeous home in Boulder Creek, with swimming pool. All three kids were playful and happy. The funniest thing was when Jan bet me five bucks I wouldn't jump in the pool with all my clothes on. We were both crazy to do this, but I emptied my pockets and jumped in. That made an instant hit! Jan was about 13, and $5 was real money to her. She wasn't going to pay her bet!!! Some very stern finger wagging, and she coughed it up.

Oops, that wasn't the funniest, this is. Rita Kehoe was visiting at Rich and Caroline's with her daughter (name?) They all came up to my place near Golden Gate Park. While the parents relaxed at my place, I took the kids on a tour around the Park for an hour. Meanwhile, my girlfriend, Pat, called, and Caroline and Rita answered. Now Pat was this short, skinny Philippino girl, who was very smart, vivacious, and utterly charming!! (Even Marge had given her highest marks.) Only one problem; Pat had a "jealosy switch". Turned on, she became a tyranosaurus rex.

Caroline and Rita found the switch. They put on drunk voices, predended I was also drunk, bouncing around the apartment naked. When I got back, they were so proud to tell me how much fun they had with Pat. As I write this story, decades later, it seems funny. The funnyness took years to arrive, however. (The skin grafts had just fully healed, I think.)

Jud Bauer (short for Judson)

Early in my San Francisco years, I met Jud. We really seemed to hit it off very naturally. A similar kind of instant informality and comfort I felt with other Bauers, but here was a guy just a few years older who was also out there making a buck and living life. I think that in the early 70's, Jud was already divorced from his first wife, and not yet married to Carolyn. He had two kids, but I never knew much about them.

We didn't get together all that often, but it was always a treat when we did. I think I admired Jud for being independent and confident, but also lowkey and likeable.

At this time, I was in my late 20's, and had just left the military. Never had an "honest" job. At first, in San Francisco, I had a hard time getting a job that would use my education. There was an "Aerospace Depression" going just then, and I was not a very confident self marketer either.

Jud, just by his example, was an inspiration. He was always happy to see me, and never played shitty games.

Once we met for lunch in San Francisco at the Rathskellar Restaurant near the Civic Center. I had a part-time contract at the Small Business Administration in the Federal Building just kitty-corner from the restaurant. The contract means this must have been in about 1974.

We had a really fun and interesting lunch. Toward the end, Jud said we really should keep in touch and meet more often. (This makes me think that this could have been our first meeting.)

He pulls out a notebook as if to write down my contact information, and says; "Al Bauer - B-O-W-E-R, right?" He made the question sound so matter-of-fact, and so much like the question we Bauers have dealt with forever, that, naturally, I corrected the spelling.

Looking across the table at that knowing Bauer smile/smirk, I knew HE knew he had had me royally. Simple yet eloquent, Jud had just given me a "gotcha" full of friendship and empathy. I had been admitted to the fraternity of Bauers answering the spelling question.

It's funny, Jud and I met lots of times; his marriage to Caroline, my marriage to Danielle, a flying trip from Fresno to Concord, a few lunches, hikes, picnics, parties. The details never seemed to matter. Jud was always the same genuine, interesting, friendly guy. I have always just enjoyed hanging out with him.

Rita Kehoe

Rita is our cousin, but I can't remember just whose daughter she is. Must be one of the uncles because all the aunts are accounted for. She also has a daughter who got diabetes as a teen. I can't remember her name now, but I remember her as very cute and nice.

Rita would visit the Bay Area every few years. Often she would stay with Rich and Caroline, but I suspect she would stay with other family as well. I believe Rita was married all these years, but I don't think her husband ever came out with her. I don't even remember his name.

I really enjoyed Rita. Always very funny and full of energy, she would make everybody happy just to be around her.

Rita was having health problems a few years later, of which I know little. It did keep her from coming out as much as I would have liked to see her.

Cousin Mary Gleason

Mary was the only child of Dick Gleason and Claire Bauer. I think she grew up in Chicago, but it never seemed that she had had much contact with the Chicago Bauers. Mary was several years older than I, so I would guess she must have been born about 1935. I never knew Dick and Claire, but heard bits of rumors about Mary for years, and even met her once.

All us Bauers are special people, of course, but Mary was even more special than that. You know how there are people who haul out their flawless gradeschool attendance and penmanship records, just encrusted with those little gold stars? Whose Christmas newsletters overflow with "best", "superior", "excelled"... Well, there is wisdom in not waiting for somebody else to notice your virtues. So, bearing in mind that Mary wanted us all to have the advantage of knowing her strong suits, Here is what I have heard. Murphy's Law will dictate that some day (soon) Mary will read this, so I'd better take out insurance by blaming my snottyness on my envy of her. (Actually, I strongly suspect that much of the Mary story is true!)

Mary jumped several grades in primary and secondary school and so started college at about 15. It was some big name school like U of Chicago, Yale, Princeton, Harvard. She sailed right through with honors and very likely also got an advanced degree. I recall that Marge was impressed, so it must have been in Econ or Business. Not a pansy major like Philosophy or History.

Then she became the "executive assistant" to the media star, Fran Allison. Fran's big gig in those years was this TV show; "Kukla, Fran, and Ollie". This was classic Paleo-TV stuff. (1950-1960's) Kukla was a round-headed puppet with a tiny tuft of hair and a ping-pong ball nose. He was very excited in his actions and speech. Ollie was a Dragon puppet. Just the head and neck, with the puppeteers arm and hand inside. Ollie had a huge red lined mouth and a single big tooth at the very point of his upper jaw. He was a friendly dragon, never biting in anger, never any fire. Fran sat to the right, just in front of them, and they all talked about "stuff".

As "executive assistant", Mary was probably like Marge helping my Dad in his X-Ray practice. No job was too large or small. I suspect she was very good at that. Her hallmark was always efficiency and decisiveness.

At some point, Mary became an executive with Bluebeard's Castle Hotel in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands. She promoted the hotel with travel agencies everywhere. So, she travelled to the agencies, and sold, sold, sold! She must have very good at it, because she kept that job for many years.

I only met her once in about 1975. She was blazing through San Francisco on a hotel promo tour. I would have been 31 and she 40. She had seen the Aunts and Uncles many times, but this time, she decided it was my turn. This must have impressed Marge, that Mary would "use up" a whole night on me. Not that Marge didn't value my worth, certainly science and engineering were respectable. But dialog with Marge was high speed flow of business statistics and names of important people. If Marge was in her element, the flow would be bidirectional. I suspect when Marge and Mary were connected, that's what it would be like.

Dinner with Mary did leave me wondering why she had commanded my presence. Even though I was trained and worked in Science and Technology, this "high speed flow" stuff never appealed to me. I was surprisingly "people oriented". I enjoyed really listening to someone, then doing my best to address the topic of interest. So much of what passes for dialog between "Power People" is filling the bandwidth with personal resume' material.

The dinner was OK, it actually was nice of Mary to meet me, and I was glad for it. Mary had a full schedule the next day so had to prepare. I really think she must have been pretty successful, because she put in the work.

Travels: 1977-1981

During the San Francisco years, (1970-77), I had a work situation where I was usually free during the summer months and for the Christmas and New Year. In the summer of 1972, I took a one month group trip to Asia. Even in those less inflated times, the price of $1,500 was cheap for many flights, hotels, and tours. What the trip really did was to show me that it was perfectly easy and fun to travel to places more distant than the U.S. and Canada.

Mexico, 1974

Mexico wasn't so far away, but it had a "foreign language" and "strange people". Going to Tijuana, Juarez, and Nogales, I could dabble a little and find it was doable.

So, in the winter of 1974, I drove my blue VW Bug to El Paso, Texas, with the plan to drive around and explore Mexico! Across the border, Ciudad Juarez was much like any other Mexican border town. The usual stuff for the gringos, and pretty much the non-representative nature of border towns all over. But I didn't know that yet.

I drove in Juarez and headed through town, south on the road to Chihuahua. Just outside town was a checkpoint where I had to stop and produce documents. I really didn't know about this. Apparently, I would need other insurance, and who know what all. This was starting to look less easy than I expected.

I turned around and returned to El Paso. After hearing war stories of Mexican car travel from Texans, I parked the car in El Paso, and caught a bus in Juarez for Chihuahua. I was lucky to sit next to an old man who enjoyed teaching me Spanish. He or I would point to something out the window, and he'd tell me what it was!! This went on for the whole trip of a couple days! This impression has never left me; the Latin Americans are the most helpful, friendly and tolerant with people who are learning their language. Later, I would meet the French and Germans...

Chihuahua had snow, and "Feliz Navidad" was playing endlessly in the city square. Very festive! What a place! The snow was a surprise, but at least I had warm clothes.

A couple neat things then happened; I visited the home of Luz Coral de Villa, the last surviving widow (there were quite of few!) of the Bandito Pancho Villa. The home was a museum for Pancho, and there was Luz! Wow, just to meet her was history; I didn't know enough to say anything though.

The other thing was that I got "picked up" by a very nice young lady! I saw her and a girlfriend watching me; they actually flipped a coin, and she must have "won" (I hope). She very demurely but purposefully made my acquaintance in a way that would leave you thinking I did it. (Couldn't have been me; I was far too clumsy!)

Her name was Patricia (Maria Patricia Arriola Chavez). Very charming and completely honorable. In short stead I was sitting in the family living room chatting with Mom and Dad. Just imagine! I had just arrived in the snow swept Capital of a foreign State, spoke only a few words of Spanish, learned a day ago. And here I am being wined and dined by an upscale family of the city. Whew!

I would find that this kind of thing would happen almost all the time when travelling if I let it. The only reason it doesn't happen in daily domestic life is that we don't expect it; and at home, we don't appear very "exotic" to our local neighbors.

Patricia and I would write each other for years afterward, and she came to visit in San Francisco in 1976. A few years after that she married a Texan. I still get Christmas cards.

There is a train that leaves Chihuahua to cross the Sierra Madre mountains on its was to Los Moches, on the Gulf of California. This was unknown at the time, but would later be discovered as a "great" trip. Each car had its own Fiat diesel engine. The grades were brutal; the bridges and tunnels were everywhere. It was cloudy, couldn't see much, but my imagination worked overtime filling in what brief glimpses I did get. Halfway, we stopped at an Indian village. Time to get off and look around. This was the overlook to Barranque de Cobre (Copper Canyon). It dwarfed the Grand Canyon, yet I had never heard of it.

...

Loves: Computers, Danielle, And? 1981-1994

Travel Again 1994-1997

By Fall 1993, I came to know that my six year programming contract at IBM would be drawing to a close. Our contract group had once been about 8 guys, run by an entrepreneur named Mark. IBM paid us to write manufactuing support programs for their disk factory at the Cottle Road plant. We could turn out working programs in a very short time compared to the IBM IT department, and they seemed to like what they got. Now, however, even IBM employees were falling like leaves. So, I was happy that I knew months in advance, and could make sure I had time to hand off my finished work to an employee who would be around, and could maintain it.

Coincidentally, other scarey stuff was happening. A small group of friends had lunch at Estrellita's Mexican Restaurant in Los Altos quite often. We were always glad to see the cheerful waitress. One noon she wasn't there, and I asked about her... She had died.

Then a friend from Air Force days (1966-1970), Frank Smoyer, after a perfect physical exam, died of a heart attack in his sleep. Frank lived with his wife, Anne, in Helena, Montana. I had recently been up there for his daughter, Larie's wedding. I drove my non-winterized Honda Civic through Montana blizzards and -40F temperatures to get to the funeral. I learned that Anne was soon to die of Cervical Cancer.

Fraternity brothers Jim Martin, Tom Weitzel, Steve Boesel and I would meet on short notice every year or so. Jim was a project planner at Lockheed in L.A. Tom was a T.W.A. MD-80 pilot, and Steve did Petroleum Engineering for Bechtel in Florida. The most brazenly cocky of us was Steve. He loved scuba diving, and relished its exotic side. He made the rest of us nervous with his tales of deep dives, with bizarre mixtures of helium and oxygen; fresh water cave dives in the labyrinths of Florida. Steve went cave diving, without a buddy, without a safety line, and got lost when his flippers kicked fine dust on the bottom. Recovery divers found him hours later sitting peacefully on the bottom. When a diver knows he is lost and out of air he will die tearing at his mask and face. Not Steve; his last gesture to his widow and the rest of us was serenety.

Aunt Judy died of Cancer. She had had it for a couple years, and finally moved out of the condo she shared with Annie and found a place in Marin County, where she stayed with Ellen, as I understand. I guess it was a kind of "hospice" situation, where she came to terms. Judy always seemed such a benevolent figure to me; I had a hard time knowing what I could do; I regret I didn't go up to see her during that time.

So there I was, 50 years old, and with three fresh deaths. I always loved travel, was in great health, and what better lesson not to put off the good stuff.

With a cheap one-way ticket from Tom (T.W.A., above) I was soon in the Austrian Alps, at the home of my friend Hannelore. She had vacation coming, so we took her VW Golf through Slovakia, Chech Republic, East Germany, Poland, and Hungary. All of the former Communist countries turned out to be excellent for camping. Unlike Western Europe, where the farmers live on their land, here, the people who worked the land would be housed in collective apartments in the nearest town and would commute to farm. That suited us well, because we could easily find a hidden place to camp with nobody to bother us..... continued....

Metamorphosis 1997-2007