The Chron’s doing a retrospective on Herb Caen. Co-incidentally, the
Chron is going out of business. They blame it on the internet and
unions. Desperate, they’ve turned to “Chart-icles.” Spiffy, short paragraphs accompanied by pictures and charts. USA Today they’re not.

Those of us who grew up with the Chron know what made it a success. It
wasn’t world news. It was local columnists who connected to us. They
“opined.” Others reported. Who will ever forget Stanton Deleplane,
Count Marco" Terence O'Flaherty, Lucius Beebe, Art Hoppe, or Pat Steger?

They added color and texture to our lives. There was the
Pink Section and the Sporting Green-- featuring Ron Fimrite, Art
Rosenbaum, and Bob Stevens. Sorry Glenn. You didn’t make the cut.
(Caen was an inveterate name dropper and could get bitchie—so today, I
can too).

My favorite was the Fearless Spectator, Charles McCabe. His was the job I always wanted to have.

Of course the Sine Quo Non of columnists was Caen.

He loved the Valley. We were not close friends, but every time we met,
he made me feel like one. When I told him I'd written stuff for Earl
Wilson, he sent me a note: "I'm insatiable. Feed me Feed20me.”


Occasionally, I'd send him jokes and one-liners. I was somewhere
between true friends like Mathew Kelly on one hand and regular
contributor, Strange de Jim (who met him only once) on the other. In
short, I was like thousands anonymous folk who were just happy to be in
his orbit. How thrilled The Goobs was when he'd about called
something, and they chatted for some 20 minutes.


I was unimportant, but he liked our family.


It started with Maggie in Sacramento. They were the same vintage.
In 1938 she won the National 18 and unders in tennis. To the
Sackremmena kid such heroics from a small town girl were irresistible.

How he chuckled 40 years later to find she finally had a tennis court
of her own out on the Lazy J: Christened the Warren Court, of course.

The first time he mentioned Jim Pop was in the 60's. Herb wrote
about the cowboy hat logo. Jim Pop wrote back, "Thanks for the plug.
Signed His horse".

The first time I heard Herb Caen's name was in 1958 (he’d just
rejoined the Chron). He was staying at our neighbor, Nell McVeagh's
legendary ranch, during one of her famous weekend soirees. Her
foreman, Mr. Kelly, said that he caught "that Caen feller" sharing a
bedroom with a woman. I threw 'em both right off the ranch. I don't
care who he is. He's just white trash to me". True story.


I used to remind him of it. He’d laugh and remark about Mr. Kelly
being an astute judge of character.


He loved angles. It wasn't that 5 month old Casey and I
were the winners of the Bay to Breakers "stroller division"--what he
liked was that she "paid" her $65 entry fee with money she'd earned as
a Jimmy Grimme baby model.


Long before Peter Magowan built Pac Bell Park the late Peter
Stocker (who owned Meadowood with Harlan and Montgomery) wanted to meet
Mr. Caen to get support for his Giants' stadium plan at Rincon Point.
Herb was then dating Donna Ewald who was doing some PR work for me in
the City. She set up a lunch at Bobby Mulhern's, and (like all of us)
Herb fell in love with Peter. Herb got behind the plan. Mayor Lady Di
Fi killed it along with the National League who didn't like Peter's
idea of "lifetime seats.”


Herb liked the wine train. I wrote letters asking how he would
like it if a monorail filled with tourists encircled the City he
loved?. "Nice try. But I'm not convinced.”


Herb knew how to play the game. He'd give our office a plug now
and then and the phone would ring off the hook.


At one Napa Valley party the color red was the theme. Goobs and I
went in 49er jersey's, with shoulder pads and helmets. "Best costume
of the night", he whispered. No doubt he said that to all the girls,
but we concurred with his sagacity. We weren't a part of his crowd,
yet he made us feel as though we were.


He connected with strangers. It was a gift.


It’s what today’s Chron doesn’t get. It’s not about “news.” It’s
about connecting. Good newspapers, like good people are friends, first.
It’s why they’re called community papers.