Memories of San Francisco with Yehudi Menuhin (1983)
Last night at the Philadelphia Symphony Concert, Yehudi Menuhin played.
I determined at intermission I’d introduce myself. I stood on line among all the music lovers. In a truthful atmosphere, I stepped out to get water and in getting back in line I thought I stepped in front of the man I was behind.
I apologized . He said, “No matter. We are all lovers of music so we don’t mind.”
I got to Yehudi and said “I am the niece of Millie Oppenheimer and Max Rosenberg.”
His eyes lit up and he answered, “It’s like Moses come to visit! If your relatives hadn’t provided my parents with the money for Louis Persinger to teach me, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Thank you,” I said and then added “My contact with you was something else. I showed you how to mount a horse and hold the reins.”
He excitedly said “Do you remember my mother screamed ‘Get down! You’ll hurt your hands.”
I did remember. We laughed. I thanked him for his beautiful program and graciousness.
Tears- thinking of my riches in Tanse and Uncle Max.
More About “Tanse,” My Maiden Aunt
The Watch, Part 1
Aunt Millie remains a powerful influence in my life. I can still hear her say, “You can give more effort to the phrasing of your thought. Stop your lazy speech patterns.” It always brought laughter from me. In German, she would say, “If the fool wasn’t mine, I’d laugh too.” From her I learned grace and beauty in all forms. I hiked in the High Sierras. I dug fossils on the Pacific cliffs. I was exposed to art, music, ballet, flower arranging, and entertaining. I learned from her and taught her what I thought I learned at college. Her life experience proved deeper than a college education ever could.
She is my ‘precious possession!’ Because of my brass, I have a permanent possession to admire, wear, hold, and cherish.
In my life, and certainly at Berkeley, I lived by schedule. At school, my watch went out of order and while it was being repaired, I asked Aunt Millie if I could borrow hers.
She answered, “I can’t lend you my watch. It’s the only one I have.”
“Not true, Aunt Millie,” I answered. “You have your diamond watch.”
“I don’t wear a diamond watch during the day. It’s ostentatious,” replied Tanse.
“Please Tanse! Use it, wear it. I need the other,” said I.
“Take it,” she told me. “You can always bend me to your will.”
“I know,” I said coyly grinning.
I loved wearing it- so much so, in fact, that when mine was repaired, I didn’t like it anymore.
When I got back to San Francisco for the weekend, I confronted Tanse with my dilemma.
“Aunt Millie,” I begged. “Please give me your watch. I like it so much more than mine.”
“You may not have,” Tanse answered angrily.
“Please, yours is prettier and you do have your lovely diamond watch. You should use it to keep it running. Otherwise, it will stop forever in the drawer,” I said.
“I tell you what I’ll do,” said Tanse. “In my will, I will leave it to you.”
“Never! Do you want me to wish you dead,” I screamed.
“No, positively no. Keep the watch,” Tanse excitedly replied.
“What possessed me to utter such a thought, I don’t know. I love you so deeply for not wanting to die. In your immediate positive response, you showed you wanted to stay on earth as long as possible, to enrich me and everyone else you touched.”
Sequel
During the second World War, the watch needed a new part. I searched everywhere and to no avail. I finally asked George to bring it to the Movado factory in New York to have it repaired.
To my dismay, he returned home to tell me, “No parts will be imported for the duration.” He then presented me with a reasonable facsimile of the original.
I promptly flooded the room with tears, crying, “I don’t want a new watch. I want Tanse’s watch.”
“I know—, It’s just temporary, a substitute until Movado gets the part,” George replied gently.
Correspondence with Ansel Adams (1979)
The following are from some postcards exchanged between Ruth and Ansel Adams in 1979. Ruth and Ansel got to now each other during her time in San Francisco in the late 1920s. Though the letters are from much later, they reference their friendship and adventures together during this period….
8/4/1979
Ansel Adams
Ansel Adams
Ansel Adams
The name rings loud and clear back to the late 20s when I was a student at Cal in Berkeley and living with my Aunt Millie Oppenheimer and Uncle Max Rosenberg in San Francisco. Somehwat hazily, I associate brother Maurice Oppenheimer and Dad O’Rourke with you too. Could you have joined us on the trails thru the Muir Woods? Up to Mt. Tamalpais?
I learned from Ingrid at the Modern Museum that John Szarkowski is mounting an exhibition of your photographs September 8th. I’ve always admired your art form. Would you do me the honor of coming to dinner ANY NIGHT YOU WISH so we may reminisce – and perhaps be friends? I am keeping a calendar FREE while I await your response. I will be in New York the whole month of September.
Warmly,
R.W.
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8/18/79
Dear Ruth Weiss
Dear Ruth Weiss
Dear Ruth Weiss
How good to hear from you! I remember you and, more hazily, the others you speak of. I probably did join you on the Muir woods trails, etc. It was quite a long time ago!!
I shall be in NY for the opening of my exhibit, and, on Sept. 11,for my lecture at the MOMA. In the mean time, I am travelling around with a LARGE schedule. I would love to be with you for a supper, but every night in NY is double filled and I do not know how to manage it all! I APPRECIATE YOUR INVITATION , but hope to see you at the Museum. Sorry it can’t be more of a meeting!
Warmest greetings and regards as ever,
Ansel Adams
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9/5/79
AA
AA
AA
I’m still flying after the exquisite show at the Modern. That name will reverberate throughout Yosemite- New Mexico, and the WORLD for eternity. What a heritage you provide us. Thank you.
I love your Bear Hugs and Bear Looks.
I love your lovely warm wife.
I love your love for all that touches you.
I hope your eastern visit inspired you to greater heights. Safe return.
Thank you for your warm embrace.
Love,
Ruth Weiss
p.s. Is it possible that you would still have the negative of “Moonrise Over Hernandez?” And if so, could I purchase 4 prints for my children – so they may share my experience of your greatness. I’d so appreciate having a positive answer.
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Sept 27, 1979
Dear Ruth,
Your letter of September 5th was awaiting my return from our trip last Friday. Sorry to be so long in replying! It was really good to see you, if only briefly, at the MOMA opening. What a celebration!
I stopped selling photographs in 1975 and can’t break my agreement, so I regretfully cannot sell you any copies of Moonrise. And as it is now going for $8,000 I frankly don’t know how ANYONE can afford it! Wish I could help out but I know you will understand. We send our love,
Ansel Adams
“Moonrise, Hernandez”, Ansel Adams’ photograph which Ruth wanted to get for her “children”. It was taken well after their friendship and remains one of his most famous works.
School Days at Cal
Ruth Oppenheimer in the 20s
I went to California University in mid-session. Uncle Max and Aunt Millie knew the president of the school intimately. Dean Deutsch became the head of California University shortly after I got there and he said that there was no reason why I shouldn’t enter the school.
“Our school is right for you, “ he said. “Your credentials prove that you belong here. Let’s try it.”
And Aunt Millie said, “When you grow up, you can have an Alex. At your age you don’t need an Alex.”
“But this is so practical,” I said. “Let me have Alex. He’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
I tortured her so much that she finally let me have Alex. And Alex used to take me down. And I used to pick up kids on the way. Alex didn’t tell anybody and I didn’t tell anybody but that’s what I used to do.
Then, Uncle Max decided that if I was going to go to college, I should be part of what went on on the college campus. “I know we’ll both be sad without Ruth being at the table,” he told Aunt Millie. “But it’s right for her to live among her own generation.”
So Uncle Max rented an apartment that was so luxurious that you had to be embarrassed about inviting anybody to it. I had a good friend, Claire Blum, whose family were also in the dried fruit and nut business and I asked Claire if she would ask her parents if she could share the apartment with me. Uncle Max was paying for it all but I didn’t want to be in this big mansion of an apartment on my own. Downstairs was a kitchen, a dining room, and a living room. We had to walk up a flight of stairs and the balcony overlooked all of this, which was our bedroom and our bathroom. So Claire and I had two beds and a bathroom, and we entertained like we were royalty- two snot-noses in the big city.
At Berkeley, I was as bad as I could be. There were probably about only 10-15% of the student body that were female at the time. I played tennis night and day. I was on the tennis team. I played with Helen Wills, a fine tennis player and a champion. There were frequently times when there were not enough women to play on the team. That’s why we had intramural matches with the men. I played with a lot of guys on the tennis team, because we used to play doubles, and I was in every game that was ever played.
I was there in the end of the 1920s and there was much unrest in Berkeley at the time. There were people who were in the I Won’t Work Society parading and doing things of that sort all around Berkeley. I was not involved in any of that but I was certainly aware of what was going on. They were very frightening times. There were curfews and we had to get off campus at certain hours. The students had to be in dorms at certain hours and we were checked on it.
I loved everything I did at Berkeley. I studied with some remarkable professors, and I could do these things only because Dean Deutsch knew my family. I was in the Psychology department, that was my major. In the psychology department, they were starting a workup of the children who were attending high school and going through to get a diploma. And one of the professors in Stanford University said he needed people to do some research on high school children- to determine how many of them are inspired to go to college, how many of them are capable of going to college, and what we can do to improve the enrollment in college in California. And Dean Deutsch said “I have just the person that you can use for that purpose. And I will see that you can come up and interview her or she can go down and be seen by your staff.”
Aunt Millie
Aunt Millie’s name recalls the structure, the formality, the seriousness, and the effort she gave to everyone she touched in her life.
Structure was a characteristic built into her fiber. This remarkable lady came from Germany to San Francisco in her late teens with little education and an indomitable will. She moved into the home of her infirm Aunt Lena to take charge of the household. Aunt Lena’s sons Abe, Max, and Adolf were the same age as Aunt Millie. At that time, they were learning the dried fruit business. It became the largest dried fruit company in the world. After Aunt Lena’s death, Abe married and Aunt Millie lived with Adolf and Max, who remained bachelors.
Precision was Aunt Millie’s style. She planned her menus, marketed daily, fixed her flowers, invited guests, originated party ideas, and had all the jobs squared away by noon. This, she insisted, gave her the freedom to indulge her personal needs. She learned English. She communed with nature on her daily walks. Fortunately, she had help to relieve her of her household drudgery- but she trained them to her ways. In her feminine way, she ruled like Hitler. Her broad toothy smile smoothed the pedantic methods she employed.
Her formality bespoke the era in which she lived. In the 30s, dinner was family time. It was served by a waitress in the style of the period. Hot plates were served on the left and removed on the right. Meat and vegetable were passed to each individual. Soup, salad, and dessert were separate courses. Aunt Millie learned it all and orchestrated it like a professional. She performed with joy and drama.
She was stern, severe, and dour in her seriousness. She was determined to know music, not only to enjoy it. She attended opera and symphony regularly. She was prepared with libretto and score, studied prior to every performance. Her pleasure derived from knowledge in everything she tackled.
She had the good fortune to travel extensively with her two cousins. The research she did before every trip could fill an encyclopedia. She made close friends of Gertrude Stein, Matisse, students of El Greco in Toledo and Gumps, the specialist in Oriental art. She shared her experiences with anyone interested when she returned from the Orient, Europe, Egypt, and Africa.
Her love of nature was boundless. Friends needing loving care received 70 varieties of wild flowers picked and arranged and identified for their enjoyment. She found these on Twin Peaks in San Francisco, with a breathtaking view, high above the bay. Muir Woods in Marin County was her home away from home. She hiked there regularly with the “Old Man of The Mountain” who close friends called Dad O’ Rourke. She knew every rock and rill. She attempted climbing the High Sierras. It was rugged for her, as she got on in years, but she persevered. She backpacked with the best climbers. Beauty was life-giving for Aunt Millie.
With growing affluence, she and her two cousins felt a need to share their success with the world. The Rosenberg Foundation was established to dispense largesse to the community in which they grew. Aunt Millie became the chairman of the Foundation. She appointed a board of outstanding people from Stanford University, California University, and the hierarchy of San Francisco. Essentially focus was on the poor, old, and indigent. The foundation continues to operate today, though Aunt Millie, the last survivor, died in 1941.
I had the rare privilege of being touched by “Tanse,” my personal name for Aunt Millie. During my life, most specifically my college years, I lived with her and Uncle Max. I became an integral part of the family. I was made responsible for the routine Tanse formerly had. I did it with rage, resentment, acceptance, and laughter. We developed a rare relationship. We stayed up till the wee hours of the morning expressing feelings. I dared to say, “You may criticize my flower arrangements but don’t destroy them before you ask me to redo them. “ I even got the breath to rebel against attending the symphony every other Friday afternoon. Tanse said “Do it to keep me company, you won’t regret it. You don’t have to understand it. Think of it as a sun shower cooling you on a hot day.”
I was flattered when she invited me to join the Rosenberg Foundation Board as a Junior Member. When I expressed my opinion that too many grants went to institutions for the aged and not enough for the youth, I thought I would be relieved of my post. Of course, she censured me privately but I won my point: Within a year, an abandoned church was purchased in San Francisco’s ghetto. It was in the Hayes Valley District, south of Market Street, where crime was rampant. The church was transformed into a community center. I was appointed Assistant Director. The children planned activities. We provided space, equipment, and support. Crime decreased drastically shortly after we opened the doors.
My last vision of Tanse was memorable. She returned from holiday in Lake Tahoe to the luxury of her summer house in Ross, Marin County, across the bay from San Francisco. My family were privileged guests. I made the most elaborate flower arrangements in her bathtub, sink, and toilet. She howled with laughter and said in her native German tongue, “If the fool wasn’t mine, I would be ashamed to laugh.”
Meeting My George
Before he was even born, a role was assigned to my George. His mother determined in Russia that if she got to America and had a boy, he’d be named George Washington. He was the first male child in his family, a blessing in the Jewish tradition, and so a pedestal was given to him. His sisters and brother were in awe of him. I’d better include myself.
We met on the high school steps the year of his graduation. Phil Goldberg introduced us. He later changed his name to Phil Dormant. In that first moment, I was his. He looked like Abraham Lincoln to me. Lucky for me, something in me caught his fancy too. It must have been love at first sight.
I was in love with this guy and Mama was very dead against it. I remember Papa’s disappointment with me for seeing such a person, but he never stated it. I was about fourteen. George was not German, first and foremost, so my parents were absolutely against the relationship. He was a Russian Jew, and I remember hearing stories from my father about the Russian Jews that made your hair stand on end. This was largely because of Papa’s childhood experience.
When he lived in Germany, during the difficult Russian years, Papa found that on Friday night, when they had the big family dinner, the children were not allowed to eat until the visiting Russian people were fed. And frequently after these Russian people were fed, there was little left for the children in their German household. So Papa had a very strong feeling against Russian Jews.
Pasteurization & The End Of An Era
Life on the farm was serene. It was almost virgin forest and field then. The cows went out to pasture and came into the barn for milking. Neighbors were our extended family. We counted on help from each other. We were close-knit, helpmates. We sold milk, eggs, butter, and cream. For healing cuts and bruises, we gave away a lot of manure. It was an old fashioned remedy that a lot of our customers practiced.
We lived on the farm until 1918 or 1919. When pasteurization became law my father could not accept it. He felt children were deprived if they didn’t get pure unadulterated milk. He thought the boiling process damaged the quality. I knew perfectly well that his philosophy would make him leave the farm. He never could or would disobey the law. He sold the farm. We moved to a private house and he retired.
Loss of An Illusion
Camp provided the missing ingredient of my childhood. Vilma Horvay, my school chum from P.S. 11 in High Bridge, gave me the opportunity to experience it. On the farm I could never have known this existed. I’ll be in her debt forever.
By gentle persuasion she helped me get Mama and Papa to let me go to camp with her. It wasn’t easy! Papa remained adamant until he saw me on the verge of tears knotting my skirt in my sweaty hands. It was my first chance to relate to peers away from home. What a challenge! In the deep Maine woods, I found that perfect vitamin. Nature in all its glory opened her arms and let me in.
Athletics were routine for me. Papa taught us riding, baseball, running before we could skip. What Camp Somerset offered me was a knowledge of the fundamentals of each sport. That learning opened up a world of amateur competition that today continues to keep me fit and physical and energetic. Golf still nourishes me to this day.
The greatest discovery camp produced was my aptitiude for the dance. “Ummie,” my bunk counselor, awakened the talent in me. She addressed herself with complete abandon to that art form. Her dancing to the sun and moon convulsed us. But to our amazement, we were infected. We heartily joined in her worship of the sun, moon, stars, and water.
To my delight, I was selected to be the Prima Ballerina in our annual Greek Pageant. I learned that boys and girls from camps miles around would be invited to our program of pageant, supper, and social dance.
Preparation had begun soon after our arrival at camp. We tie-dyed scarves for costumes. We selected appropriate music for our dance steps. We studied Ummie’s free choreography. We designed, built, and painted our wooded landscape scenery. We even cleared a flat meadow for our stage and seating area. The excitement was sustained and high.
A roll of drums, amusing heralded THE DAY of our performance. We sucked raspberry lollipops all day so our lips would be a lush appealing red. We folded our black silk ties with the precision of a sailor. We pressed our white middies and navy bloomer tops within a centimeter of scorching them. All was readied for the social evening.
Ummie and I unfortunately had a fight before the show. She insisted I go bra-less because Greeks displayed total freedom of body movement. To my dismay, she won. Now the drama was presented. The audience cheered our arrival. I tried hard not to be self-conscious and honestly, I believe I succeeded. At the end of the dance I was sure I did, because the applause was deafening. The boys from all the camps rushed over to congratulate me and take my picture. I was the star and wallowed in my triumph.
When I returned to the bunk, to change for the remaining festivities, the mood turned indigo. My dear friends told me the truth of my success and popularity. To my utter surprise and disappointment, my breasts were the main event, not my grace and agility. I was mortified and hysterical.
I never showed at supper. I never showed at the dance. I was far too embarrassed. I cringe today at the thought. Like a precious jewel in the limelight, the flaw marred the perfection.
Ignorance
My early teens were filed with surprises- some happy, some sad, and some frightening. I so vividly remember an icy cold winter day. It was the first snowfall in the Bronx. The children on the block greeted the thick powdery snow with delight. The sky was lit up by the moon and stars. It was clear and biting cold. The hill that ran from the Concourse down past Walton and River Avenue to Jerome Avenue was steep and slick from sleigh riders going down and walking up in regular cadence.
I felt particularly good because I had Charlie Heitman as my partner. He was blond and handsome and humorous and tall and athletic and he liked me. Together we honed his big “Flexible Flyer” to a sharp edge with sandpaper. We rubbed and rubbed the blades until they gleamed. Then we climbed to the hilltop, Charlie pulling the sleigh.
You could get the best run out of the sleigh if there were two people on it because the weight made it speedier. Charlie would lay on his belly, hands ready to steer, while I gave us the push to get a fast start. After running a few steps, I jumped on the back of the sleigh between Charlie’s legs. Downhill we went, me snuggled close to his back to get the least resistance from the wind and to allow us the greatest speed. Ecstasy- the biting cold wind in my face, the warmth of Charlie’s body, the speed, the moon to add romance and the long run. My eyes teared, my nose was wet, and my teeth clattered. When our sleigh came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, we got off and kissed and hugged unselfconsciously from sheer delight.
Together we pulled the “Flyer” back uphill. We held hands, running, walking, talking, our breath steaming in the air. Down again, whizz, swoosh, going over bumps made by the crowds. It was such fun flying on Charlie’s back and feeling the bumps, the warmth, and the closeness. But good things must end and after our last ride and last hug and kiss, we had to go home in time for curfew.
Papa would surely be at the door. Mama would be upstairs waiting. She had more trust and empathy. Papa, in short order, greeted me and dismissed Charlie.
Upstairs, Mama shouted, “Get into your tub so you’ll be fresh for school tomorrow morning.” I always followed instruction. In the bathroom, terror struck. When I undressed I found my panties red. Instinctively, I knew to run to the linen closet to get the necessary equipment.
Back in the bathroom, I couldn’t stop crying. What had Charlie done? Were we too close on the sleigh? Did our kissing and hugging make this happen? In my room I continued crying. I kicked the wall. I banged my fist against the back of my bed. I lay in bed crying.
Mama walked in to say goodnight. I blurted out, “I’m bleeding.”
She slapped me on both my cheeks. Then, for sure, I knew I had done wrong. When I cried harder, she said “Welcome to my club! I slapped you to keep your cheeks pink during the menstrual period. It occurs every month at the same time. “
In spite of Mama’s logic, I continued crying and running to the bathroom all night. I thought if I kept washing, it would go away.
I had seen Mama, Clara, and Elsie prepare for their menstrual period. I did it in a sneaky way, hiding behind the bathroom door. But the women in my family had never told me anything. Luckily, on an earlier birthday, my brother had provided a book for me. The book provided the only information I had then.
I continue to feel guilty every time I think of my first period. Ignorance is truly painful.
ruthweissremembered 