 For a gadabout 'Waco Kid' now living in San Francisco life is an
open book
JOSHUA BRANDT
Bulletin Correspondent
A modern-day Marcel Proust with a Texas twang, platinum hair and
American flags flapping in the evening breeze, Helen Gelber Lewison
is driving down Ninth Avenue in San Francisco, offering her opinions
on everything from Buddhists to yuppies. Although the 78-year-old
Lewison favors a stream-of-consciousness discourse, with no topic
off limits or fully explored, she nonetheless ends each sentence
with an imaginary exclamation point to drive the point home.
"I call the corner of Ninth and Irving the home of the Lower
Yuppies!" said Lewison, who has lived in the area for nearly four
decades. "They can't afford to live in the Marina, so they slum it
here instead!
"I think it's important to defend Israel, but I really don't
understand all this crazy desire for war! I'm a World War II gal,
and I've lived through wars in my life, thank you very much!"
"Let me tell you something else. When you get to be my age, you
need a gimmick -- something that can hold people's attention. Well,
within the past five years, I've written three books, bought a
brand-new computer, and developed my own Web site!" Pictures, some
of her writings and information on ordering her books -- which are
available at www.amazon.com and
other dealers -- are posted at
www.helenlewison.com
At home, Lewison cackles and looks out her window, which offers a
sweeping vista of San Francisco. To the left, the twinkling lights
of Oakland glitter in the distance. There's Sutro Towers to the
right, the poetic silhouette of University of San Francisco next to
that, and beyond is San Francisco's downtown neon haze.
Lewison has stories about all these places. About living on the
fringes of the beatnik community in the late '50s. About being
(briefly) a "working girl" for big firms when the city's skyline was
expanding rapidly. About growing up as a Jewish honky-tonk lovin'
rebel in Waco, Texas, and falling in and out of love several times a
week.
She has put her stories onto paper during writing classes for
seniors at the Jewish Community Center of San Francisco, and she
frequently pens "In first person" pieces for the Jewish Bulletin.
She has documented her life in several self-published books that
recall both Proust and poet Charles Bukowski. No vignette is too
mundane to be left untold, and the sparse language hints at greater
truths beneath the surface. Her books contain mini-chapters -- often
just half a page -- with titles such as "My Feral Years" (detailing
all of her ardent admirers), "The Dump" (where Lewison discusses
moving to the "wrong side of the track"), "Hillybilly Band" and
"Commonsensical."
In her book "Waco Kid," Lewison talks about the kindness of her
local rabbi, who instilled in her a brief love of Hebrew. He tried
to steer her into a more "traditional" lifestyle, but as an
adolescent, Lewison was too intent on kicking up her heels in the
town's local dive bars. Waco was also where her immigrant father
gathered the family around the radio to listen to the rising storm
in Nazi Germany, and where Lewison vividly recalls the Jim Crow
laws, wondering aloud "how colored water tastes."
In the recently published "I Forgot to Get Old," Lewison spins
tales of whirlwind romances. One was with a Jewish veteran of World
War II, whom she married after a weeklong romance. The marriage
dissolved when he developed a "messianic complex," according to
Lewison.
There was also a short, torrid romance with a Beat artist. That
ended after she met Mel Lewison, her husband of more than 30 years.
"We fell in love after two weeks, and we were married for 33
years! That's how things worked in those days!"
The death of her husband in 1992 prompted Lewison to pen the
memoir "Seduction of Silence," which details the cycle of grief,
anger and forgiveness that Lewison experienced.
"It's all there!" she exclaims. "The good, the bad and the ugly!"
Looking out from her well-lit, hilltop home, which kept the cold
night at bay, Lewison said she hoped she "would be remembered as
someone who left a little bit of her light burning."
Musing, she said, "I want people to think of me and say to
themselves, 'Once upon a time, she wrote some books...'"
Lewison's vice trails off, and she thinks about her legacy for a
moment.
"Not only that, but she got to be really old, too!"
And I like to express myself to the news media
as well:
Letters To The Editor:
Muses you may not find online:
THE
CONSTANT IN MY LIFE
I read the paper; I watch the news
on television. I am distraught, I am upset – people are
killing each other; people are dying in wars everywhere – I
think the world is coming to the end. And then, and then I
look down at my cat, Maggie who is going about her life just as
she has done all of her life. I said, “Maggie, you are the
only constant in my life. You are always calm except when you
see a moth or some other bug flying around the house. You go
scampering after it, never catching it but making a half hearted
try.” She really doesn’t want to break into a sweat (if I am
using the term correctly when talking about a cat).
I call her name, “Maggie,
Maggie, you are the only constant in my life. You’re always
within call (well, unless you’re sleeping or eating) but hey,
nobody should be disturbed under these circumstances. “Maggie
you are one lucky cat. You don’t read the paper, you don’t
watch television but I should add that every now and then she
looks up when some flying object crosses the screen but her
attention span is very short.
How good it is to have a cat to
give your life constancy. I must quit reading the papers except
for short periods and only watch television when it gives me
pleasure. Looking at my beautiful Maine Coon Cat, a
raccoon-like brown tabby with a big bushy tail, I say again “You
are the only constant in my life”.
SHAKE, RATTLE AND MOAN
I can’t take it anymore.
Every day another soldier or soldiers dies in Iraq,
civilians included, another country building nuclear
bombs, drive by shootings, kids with guns in school,
random kidnappings, disturbed people driving cars wildly
and dangerously. No matter where I turn – television,
radio, newspapers (all the newspapers) all the time; the
news that bruises surrounds me.
My beautiful, wonderful
country seems to be deteriorating into one of those movies
I.e. War of the Worlds; Kill Bill, Mad Max and Mad Max
2. Drugs, drugs, drugs – for depression, oppression to
raise your spirits and the other drugs to remove you from
reality and just feel good. What can we do? There has
to be an answer.
PLANET PLUTO
It
is my understanding that the planet Pluto has been
downgraded to a dwarf planet. I'm not exactly sure
where I fit in the galaxy these days. On one of my
visits to earth I was amazed that the Republicans
and the Democrats seem to be at each other's
throats. To me the only thing that I can surmise is
that anyone with a brain in their head could figure
out what's going on in Washington. I thought you
folks here on earth were a lot smarter. I'll just
have to go back to Pluto and tell my people that
they're a lot better off staying put. I hope when
I come back someday that there will be some other
fellow in Washington that I can laugh with instead
of laughing at. Oh well, things do change. Look
what happened to Pluto.
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I think because of my prolific desire
to write The Chronicle actually
published an article about my views (pun intended) of The City. |
