A Glimpse in their Lives
1997 Honorees
It might not be obvious, but it was probably the piano in her childhood home that made Doris Richmond who she is today. The piano, which was the only one in her mostly African-American Nashville neighborhood, set her family's house apart and turned it into a lively meeting place, where her parents welcomed and nurtured the local youth.
"I think that in growing up like that, with all that reaching out to people that I learned from my parents, that made me grateful," says Richmond, 75. A small, earnest and energetic woman, she has continued her parents' legacy in Palo Alto, as a home-away-from home for African-American students. Richmond, who exudes warmth and a ready sense of humor, figures that she and Cole, her husband of 50 years, have had several hundred young people from their church and Stanford over for dinner ever since moving to Palo Alto in 1947. A typical menu: Mashed potatoes, turkey, dressing, green beans and her plain butter cake topped with vanilla ice cream. "I'm also known for my potato salad," she says conspiratorily, declining to divulge the recipe. |
Upon entering Agnes Robinson's sophisticated home, one's eyes are immediately drawn to a pile of colorful paintings on a table by the living room window. Her own watercolors perhaps?
"Yes, they're mine, but I can't stand watercolor," says Robinson, an elegant woman with a ready smile. "I like tempura--great big bold colors that make a statement." An apt metaphor for her life, that won't surprise anyone who knows her. In the 44 years since she moved to Palo Alto, Robinson, 78, has been a bold, forceful and at times colorful advocate for the radical liberal positions she favors. From the PTA to the school board to the various health organizations and community college boards she's served, Robinson has been consistent in her battle for fairness, against discrimination and on behalf of those who have no voice. Born in New York and raised in Morristown, N.J., Robinson, who goes by "Aggie," had a formal upbringing, living in a |
Asked what he looks back upon as the thing in his life of which he is most proud, John Berwald doesn't hesitate for a instant. "I guess my greatest achievement was meeting my wife, Genevieve." She sits silently beside him on the living room couch in the South Palo Alto home they have shared for 43 years. John stretches out his right hand and softly touches his wife's knee. "It's Gen who should be getting this award, not me. Ask anyone," says John, beaming at his bride and companion for more than half a century.
"We met in Hollywood in '37 and got married during the war. It wasn't too long before we had our life plan all set out," he recalls. "Gen was a registered nurse, so she was to keep on with her nursing. And I was to be a doctor. I was to do my training as soon as I was discharged . . . but it wasn't to be." Yet, even without white coat and stethoscope, John Berwald has managed over the years to find ways of gravitating to his first avocation. "My first love is to heal, |
Before faxing his resume to a reporter, Leonard Ely's assistant calls to make sure there's enough paper in the receiving machine. "You wouldn't believe everything he's done," she says. And indeed, Ely's life of service to the community, reflected in page after page of his curriculum vitae, is impressive, even daunting. For more than 40 years, he has been connected to almost every noteworthy nonprofit institution in the Palo Alto area, as a board member or advisor.It's a life--and a list--worth boasting about. But that wouldn't be Ely's style. What's not reflected in the list is his humility, his warmth and the love for his hometown that drives his ceaseless commitment to local causes.
After succeeding early in life with several car dealerships, leasing companies and development partnerships, Ely, now 73, looked for new ways to use his skills. "It's no big deal selling a car. I would have gotten bored just running dealership," he says. "I got so involved because I saw opportunities to serve. I look at it kind of like a |
Louis Goldsmith, a Palo Alto-area resident for 30 years and founder of the Palo Alto Housing Corporation, died Thursday, April 17 of complications from liver cancer. He was 84. His Lifetime of Achievement award will bestowed posthumously at the June 1 ceremony. This interview was conducted shortly before his death.
Louis Goldsmith, who in the past 30 years had probably done more to create low-income housing in Palo Alto than anyone else, really started providing housing for others when he was a child. As his father's apprentice, he learned early on the practical and emotional value of having a roof over one's head. It meant, however, that he and his family were destined to have many different ones. "We moved around a lot because the way my dad supplemented his income was to buy some old clunker of a house and fix it up," said Goldsmith. "My stepmother's father was a carpenter, so he'd come along and we would take over this other house, almost always add another john and maybe enclose a porch or something and generally fix it up. |
"We're all here to help each other. That's my one philosophy," declares Ruth Beahrs Spangenberg. "There's no such thing as coincidence. If one door closes, be ready for another to open before you."
In her life Ruth Spangenberg has passed through many doors. The youngest of four children, she was born in Eufaula, a drowsy Alabama town perched within sight of Georgia on the western bank of the Chattahoochee River. Two years later her father, a newspaper editor, moved the family to Southern California in the hope that his rapidly failing health would improve. After his death, at the age of 36, the bond that the 6-year old "Ruthie" had already developed with her mother, Elsa, grew even stronger. Elsa Beahrs had taken the job of secretary at the local Methodist church in Pomona. She instilled in her young daughter the belief that there is nothing you can't do. Ruth credits her mother as being the person who also taught her that she had been given her abundant energy for a specific purpose: to help others. |
According to Webster's dictionary, a person is said to be dedicated if her or she is committed "to a particular course or action." To achieve this state requires a conscious decision by the committing person. In her view, Betty Wright never made such a conscious decision regarding the lifelong activities for which she has been honored many times, not only locally, but at national and international levels.To Betty, her "thing" has always been nothing more than a natural extension of who she is and as important to the integrity of her life as any of the basic human needs. Betty's "thing," however, has motivated, enriched and empowered the lives of more than three generations of disabled children and adults.
Today, Betty finds herself among the disabled as she experiences the debilitating effects of osteoporosis in her spine. Although this limits her mobility, it does not limit her active vocal support of the disabled. |