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So this guy has a job sweeping up after the elephants in the circus. It’s dirty and smelly, and he hates it. His friend asks, “Why don’t you quit?” The guy says, “What—and get out of show business?”

Okay, it’s an old joke. But it does capture the dual reality of the Big Top—glitter and sweat rolled into one arduous enterprise. In our cover story this month, Dan Brown discovers the same connection in his thoughtful and often-humorous exploration of the nearly 180-year-old Zoppé Italian Family Circus, currently playing in downtown Redwood City. The show is delightful, and so is Dan’s feature.

Another family that’s attracted notice for more than a century is the Kopfs, who have worked in the automotive business since 1917. Various members own Boardwalk Auto Mall in Redwood City and other local dealerships. But they’re more than middle-of-the-road car dealers. Four generations ago, Argentinian native Benjamin Kopf Sr. helped build Ford Motor Company into a dynamo in South America and Asia before being held in Japan during World War II.

Many of the Kopf family’s doings are preserved in letters, including a few between Benjamin Kopf Sr. and his ultimate boss, Henry Ford. But with email and social media, does honest-to-goodness, sit-down-at-your-desk letter-writing have a future? Our reporter Janet McGovern picks up her pen and composes a few answers (including which retired state senator may have the worst handwriting among Peninsula politicians).

Something always to write home about is Thanksgiving. It’s coming none too soon, because the cartoon turkey banners in the stores have started to sag since they first went up in August. My advice: Skip the turkey and head straight to dessert. Food columnist Susan Jenkins insists there’s life after pumpkin pie—namely, her ultra-tempting Baked Pumpkin Cheesecake. Try it while it’s still legal.

So far, Jim Clifford hasn’t grumbled that his intriguing history column comes last in the magazine. Maybe that’s because he realizes it, too, is a bit like dessert—an item everyone looks forward to. This month, Jim revisits Pacific City, a popular but short-lived 1920s amusement park on Coyote Point that came to an odiferous end. Guess they could have used that guy from the circus.

By Dan Brown

It’s a day off for the circus, so Giovanni Zoppé and his partner, Jeanette Prince, perform a juggling act more relatable to the rest of us� There is laundry to be done, kids to be tended to and tea to be made, all from the confines of a home that feels a few sizes too small� They are here, inside a trailer planted on a Redwood City parking lot, for a month of performances at a stop they deem their favorite of their whole tour�

A weird and wonderful life in the circus�

Such profuse praise for the lo cal crowd risks inspiring a more cynical bit of theater—acrobatic eye-rolling. But as Giovanni and Jeanette talk, it’s clear how much they mean it. This Zoppé Ital ian Family Circus began in Venice nearly 180 years ago and has somehow connected almost cosmically with the audiences who fill the tents placed incongruously next door to the Redwood City Library.

This is the Zoppé family’s 14th year of performing in Redwood City, long enough to establish genuine roots. It was the first stop of Giovanni’s son, Benetto, who was born at Sequoia Hospital. And it was the last stop of Giovanni’s father, Alberto, the famed clown whose last show was here be fore his death in 2009 at age 87.

So, when the performers talk about the Zoppé “family,” they often mean the people in and around Redwood City.

“The audience here is attached to the show. They’ve formed this connection,’’ says Jeanette, who handles marketing. “And, so, when they come, they come with that energy, because they have been waiting for it. They're excited for it. They remember it. They're connected to it.

“We have obviously positive feed back everywhere we go,” Jeanette contin ues. “But it's a different kind of connec tivity that they have here because of the longevity. It's a different, more personal, intense feel.”

Keeping a Tradition Alive

The massive circus tent in downtown Red wood City on this mid-October day is set up largely because a young French street performer met a beautiful equestrian bal lerina in Hungary in 1842. Those two love birds created an old-world circus heavy on acrobatic feats and horse-riding escapades. Giovanni is their great-great-grandson, and he keeps the family presenting a show that Napoline and Ermenegilda would

There are no laser lights swirling, no high-tech sizzle� The emphasis is on elegant showmanship, with jugglers and high-wire acts and aerial gymnastics and dancing dogs� Even the props are as old as the circus itself: Balloons, canes, trombones and accordions�

recognize as their own. There are no la ser lights swirling, no high-tech sizzle. The emphasis is on elegant showmanship, with jugglers and high-wire acts and aeri al gymnastics and dancing dogs. Even the props are as old as the circus itself: Bal loons, canes, trombones and accordions.

The stated goal of the Zoppé family members is to do the show the same way their ancestors did the show for the audi ence’s ancestors.

Asked about the highlight of each night, Jeanette considers the question only long enough to realize there is no right answer.

“The very essence of the show is the highlight: It’s the ability to step back in time, to remove yourself not just from the current world and society, but your cur rent way of thinking,’’ she says. “It’s just to be transported into another world. And that's an experience that’s not quantifiable. You can't list that as ‘A-B-C-D, come see this and that.’’’

Their dedication to authenticity even extends to setting up the circus grounds. The circular, peak-roofed tent is the real deal, held down by steel cables and stakes. But no automated stake drivers are al lowed. Performers put up the tent by hand and drive in the stakes with hammers.

What else remains the same now as in 1842?

“As much as possible,’’ Giovanni says. “We don't use candles, but that’s about it.” Which leads Jeanette to crack, “Well, only because the fire marshal won’t allow it!”

The Greatest of Ease

The tradition remains in place, right down to the love story. Giovanni and Jea nette met in 2016. “Or maybe it was 2017,’’ she says. “Time in the circus is a very strange thing.”

She had just seen the Zoppé Family Circus, and not for the first time, as an audience member in her hometown of Oklahoma City. After the performance, she ventured down with other fans to chat with the magnetic and emotionally vul nerable clown who served as the heart of the show.

“I think it's funny because it’s the same way that Giovanni meets anybody, which is at the show,’’ Jeanette says. “After the show, the artists come out, and as every body's exiting, they say goodbye.

“And the people who feel connected, they want to talk to the performers and take pictures. But the one that does that for the longest and with the most intensity is Giovanni. For he is the character most people resonate with. He often lingers to

connect with people. And that's how we met—in one of his lingering sessions.”

Giovanni remembers the moment, too. He’d spotted Jeanette in the crowd enough times to feel a connection even before they spoke. And when they finally did get to chat, he swears they talked forever.

“Yeah, he always says that!” Jeanette laughs. “‘We were there for hours!’ Like, there's no way I stood there for hours in the September Oklahoma sun!”

Now they live in a trailer that’s 34 feet long and 7-½ feet wide as the couple raises six children and oversees the roughly two dozen performers that roam with them from stop to stop. (For this tour, they add ed four performers from Kenya.)

How many days a year do they live in this confined space? Giovanni answers by peering over his shoulder and sweeping his left arm wide as if giving a grand tour. “Our home is always our home,’’ he says. “Only our backyard changes.”

Born to Be a Clown

During the show, Giovanni, who is in his early 50s, plays Nino, the clown who propels the action as a hapless and childlike bumbler. And it is something he was born to do. That should have been obvious from the way he arrived: His mother, Sandra, went into labor while in the parking lot of the WGN television studios in Chicago. It seems Giovanni’s father was still inside ap pearing on the “Bozo the Clown” show.

Giovanni grew up with only one ca reer path. He dabbled in construction (it lasted about two weeks) and in delivery (one week) but his real profession was so obvious that there was never a need for a LinkedIn page.

As a circus clown, he says the goal each time is to “touch on every emotion during the show.” Nino’s comic and charismatic persona always pulls the narrative thread. The Daily Beast, in a 2017 rave over Giovanni’s performance, put it this way:

“Even the most unobservant spec tator can’t help but realize that in Nino’s performance, you’re witnessing a master class in clowning. … The trick, of course, is to make it new, and somehow that is what Nino does. A peerless performer, he is the epitome of the traditional Auguste clown—the circus term for the trouble making buffoon with the big nose and a genius for getting into trouble—he is a peerless performer.

“At least one aspect of the magic he weaves is explicable. Whether he is insin uating himself into a juggling routine or flubbing a trapeze act, he clearly has those skills in his toolkit. He’s not only a good juggler and wire walker but good enough to fool you into thinking he’s a klutz.”

On this day, sitting on the couch and occasionally looking antsy, Giovanni ex plains that he’s not really acting when he’s out there as Nino. No, he’s acting now,

The stated goal of the Zoppé family members is to do the show the same way their ancestors did the show for the audience’s ancestors�

while dressed in street clothes and pro viding quotes for a rolling tape recorder. Giovanni is truly himself only while under a big-top tent, as the master and command er of the lithe bodies who swing perilously from a trapeze as rapt audiences gasp with a mix of awe and merriment from below.

“Nino is me,’’ Giovanni says. “It's not anybody else. I'm not playing a different character out there. I'm actually playing a character right now.

“So, it's a reverse role, kind of. I'm definitely not playing a different person. I'm playing myself. It’s just that the bad parts may get a little bigger, the good parts bigger. I empha size parts of me in a different way.”

“Opa! Opa! Opa!”

The circus is demanding physi cally, but there’s a spiritual toll as well. The Zoppé “family” is loosely de fined, because the two-dozen performers come from all over the world. (Notably, a globe has a featured window spot in the Zoppé family’s trailer.)

In the anxious minutes before each show, performers gather as one: The jug glers and acrobats and clowns and eques trians and dog trainers assemble into a circle and embrace both silence and one another. They call it the “prayer circle.”

“The prayer circle is not about a re ligion or about a certain faith or about a certain culture, even,” Giovanni says. “It's whoever wants to say whatever they want to say. All artists in the circle, and we ba sically look at each other until somebody starts to speak.”

A night earlier, a shy 7-year-old Greek girl in the troupe had taken the lead sim ply by sticking a foot out toward the center of the circle. All the other artists did the same. Then she put her other foot out. Again, everyone followed.

“And she danced a little bit. And she picked her knee up. We all did that,’’ Giovanni says.

After that version of a prayer, every one said, “Amen.” And for good measure, they shouted, “Opa! Opa! Opa!” (the Greek interjection of excitement and joy).

“One of the reasons we do that is to connect us with our audience,” Giovanni says. “To get our audience to know who we are, that we're actually human beings. We're not just a character on stage. We're not just somebody making bread for them.

“We are actually like they are. We're the same people. We're not higher, low er, better or worse. We're there with them.

“And I'm trying to get the audience (and the artists) to be in the same rhythm. So when we enter our home, our tent, we're all in the same rhythm. … We can understand them as much as they can understand us.”

The community vibe is so vi tal to the success of the show that when Giovanni and Jeanette con sider new performers, talent is only part of the equation. They evaluate character, too.

Giovanni: “It’s difficult.”

Jeanette: “And you don’t always get it right.”

Giovanni: "No.”

Jeanette (laughing): "We find that out real quick.”

The key is to find selfless performers who aim not for the spotlight but for the common good. Complainers don’t fare well.

“It's about a connection between us artists,’’ Giovanni said. “We all try and ‘in tune’ ourselves.”

The audience, too, gets a little pregame hype. Before stepping inside the tent for the one-ring show, the performers ori ent attendees about what to expect—and what it means.

“As the evaluator of a person's temper ament and personality, you’re looking for somebody that believes in this not just as an art form, but as lifestyle,” Jeanette says. “Because it's not easy. We don't always have water or power or, you know, a toilet. And the manual labor is hard and long. In any way of life, to get through those real ly difficult things, you have to care about what you're doing.”

A Circus for Peace

Every year, the Zoppé Circus picks a theme. Previous incarnations have in cluded “La Nonna” (the grandmother),

“The prayer circle is not about a religion or about a certain faith or about a certain culture, even,” Giovanni says� “It's whoever wants to say whatever they want to say� All artists in the circle, and we basically look at each other until somebody starts to speak�”

dedicated to “the strong women in Zop pé’s history” and featuring an interna tional cast of female performers.

This year, it’s “Libertà,’’ a theme cho sen, as the circus’s website says, “in pursuit and celebration of liberty for people in all nations.” Whereas the show itself savors the old-world style circus, the message looks forward to a better future.

Giovanni says the direct translation of Libertà into English is “freedom,’’ but the nuances in Italian are harder to capture.

“In Italy, we use it for many, many dif ferent sentences, which includes ‘inclusion,’ which includes ‘family,’ which includes ‘all for one and one for all,’’’ he says. “So the reason we chose that word is partially be cause of the turmoil that's going on in our world today. And in Ukraine, of course, the terrible things that are happening there and now. There are just so many people, so many families that are suffering.”

The Zoppé Circus originally aimed to have five male performers from Ukraine this year, and Jeanette worked diligently to arrange visas. But international develop ments presented obvious hurdles. “They're all, they're all fighting-age men,’’ Giovanni says. “So they’re not al lowed out.”

So Zoppé turned instead to a group of acrobats from Kenya, a talented quartet that Giovanni’s mother, Sandra, discovered on Facebook before her death. She reached out to the rising artists and told them that some day Giovanni would bring them onto their grand stage. Troupe leader Renson Kaingu, now 27, remembers her telling them, “Come to the U.S. I’ll be your mom.”

Sandra died before she could see that invitation fulfilled, but she would be proud now to see her friend from Africa standing before the audience each night and giving a speech about peace and love.

“I stand there and talk about how we have to embrace each other,” Kaingu says. “How we have to stay together and how

we have to have love for each other be cause all of us, we are human beings.”

Love for Redwood City

Because of the theatrical silliness of politics, it’s a common trope to mock what goes on in Washington, D.C., as “cir cus-like.” Americans should be so lucky. The spirit of cooperation among the per formers, the blending of people from all backgrounds and the fierce dedication to supporters would be a welcome respite.

That’s part of the reason the Zoppé Circus loves Redwood City so much. It’s the rare place where Jeanette finds local officials—in the best sense—circus-like.

Jeanette deals with much of the logis tics, and says city officials and other com munity leaders here work with a spirit of cooperation all too uncommon in the rest of the universe.

In other cities, she says, she has to tip toe through municipal procedures because the political dynamics are so fraught with tension that cozying up to one side might anger someone else.

It leads her to wonder why people can’t get along for the sake of the local

population.

“That's what you have here,” she says. “Because everybody works together and everybody's community-minded and the community and the city and the events can all flourish for the best.”

She reserves particular praise for Lucas Wilder, assistant director of the city’s de partment of parks, recreation and commu nity services. But he’s hardly alone. Jeanette says the Zoppés been around long enough to meet with a slew of Redwood City may ors, council members and other city staffers.

“When we talk with them, they are al ways thinking about what is good for their community, and who they can serve and how they can serve the most amount of people,” Jeanette says. “So it's that mindset that makes us able to work here.

“That’s just very rare in our industry. It's really remarkable. And it's really unique to this town.”

During the pandemic, the Zoppés say, their organization was the only circus in the world that found a way to keep per forming. And it did so here, at the Port of Redwood City, where cars lined up to watch the action drive-in style. The trapeze artists and vaulting horses and other antics appeared on a 23-foot LED screen as the sound flowed though car radios.

The audience for that show had to keep the windows up and park safely apart, but at a time when family entertainment was hard to come by, the Zoppé Circus was like an oasis in the locked-down desert.

“We have people at every show now coming and just telling us how they sat in the backseat of their car and cried,” Giovanni says.

The Show Must Go On

After a break in November, the circus will hit the road again in December. Next up is a warm-weather winter with stops in Palm Desert and Arizona.

But you can bet your

cot

the Zoppé Italian Fami ly

It’s as close to a

cus

Redwood City

the

“This is the best place we’ve ever vis ited,” Kaingu says. “Here, the audience and the response is great to compared to other cities we’ve been to. Here, whatev er you do, they appreciate it. That’s the great thing.

“If you go wrong, they keep on en couraging you. That is the best thing for any entertainer. It keeps motivating you: I can do more!” C

DYNASTY A 105-Year-Old Family

Benjamin Kopf Sr. (center) poses with the Japanese royal family at the Ford Motor manufacturing plant in Yokohama, Japan.

How the Kopfs of Redwood City created an automotive powerhouse�

By Jim Kirkland

The Kopf family, owners of Towne Ford, an Acura dealership and Boardwalk Auto Mall in Redwood City, come by their passion for cars honestly. It all started in 1917, when Benjamin Kopf Sr. joined the staff of Ford Motor Company’s recently opened factory in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Kopf, who was born in the city, eventually established and ran five Ford plants throughout South America. His reputation spread, and company founder Henry Ford himself asked his rising Latin star to build a fresh franchise abroad. Had either Kopf or Ford possessed a crystal ball, they might have reconsidered the new market: Japan. There, Kopf would achieve great success before finding himself under house arrest during World War II.

Like many during the wave of Eu ropean immigration to the West ern Hemisphere, Kopf’s father had come to Buenos Aires from France in the late 1800s. A brewer by trade, he died in 1892, when Benjamin was two years old. His wife remarried a farmer named Al fredo Johanessen, but young Ben didn’t take to farm life. His brilliant mind har bored dreams of bigger things than feed ing chickens and milking cows. Still, what education he received was by way of a tu tor. Even that limited book-learning held contrary to his stepfather’s belief that the simple pleasures of hard work in the fields were all one needed in life.

It was far from surprising, then, that Kopf left home at 13, returning to the big city of Buenos Aires. He worked at odd jobs while satiating his desire for knowl edge with help from the book collection at the YMCA. Along the way, he discovered a knack for languages, eventually speak ing seven: German, Portuguese, Spanish, English, French, Italian and Japanese.

Disciplined and driven, Kopf joined Ford four years after his re-arrival in the city. It didn’t take long before the new hire’s talents were recognized, and he was elevated to assistant manager of the com pany’s local manufacturing plant. Cars were quickly catching on in Argentina, with Ford pushing out more than 1,000 vehicles a month in a country that didn’t have paved roads. By 1921, Kopf was head of a new Brazilian facility before moving to open another in Uruguay a year later—all while managing Ford dealerships in Brazil, Chile, Bolivia and Peru.

A New Assignment

A year later, Kopf was a father of two chil dren, Margarita and Benjamin Jr. With his wife, Margo, the young executive was ready for new challenges. While in Uru guay, he wrote to Ford, “The satisfaction of work well done, and hope of getting bigger and bigger jobs, are constant inspi ration to me and a spur to exert more and better efforts.”

Kopf was angling to open a factory in Mexico.

Ford had other ideas.

He had decided his go-getting Argen tine was just the man to crack the market in Japan, which had been shut off to Western ers. Undaunted by his then-lack of knowl edge about Japanese culture and language, Kopf dutifully gathered up his family and in 1925 sailed for Yokohama, where the new plant would be constructed.

It took years to grasp the Japanese world, but gaining a foothold in the coun try’s auto market was a different matter. In short order, Kopf had Ford number-one in vehicle sales and oversaw 1,150 employees while setting up dealerships in China, the Philippines and French Indochina. In 1929 alone, Ford sold more than 10,000 units built in Japan.

According to a generational history written by grandson Rick, the visionary Kopf believed in modern technology and at one point sought unsuccessfully to in troduce commercial aviation to Japan through the Ford tri-motor airplane. Nev er one to leave money on the table, Kopf was said to have sold the prototype to a Chinese warlord.

For 15 years, Ford boomed in Japan. Its cars be came so popular that the royal family visited the Yokohama plant. Benjamin Kopf Sr. was on top of his game, the dar ling of Ford Motor Company and a respected, influential businessman.

Then came December 7, 1941.

Increasingly alarmed at the unsettling signs of war, Margo and Ben in 1934 had sent Ben Jr. to the U.S. and Margarita to Canada to be educated. Margo followed in 1940, taking residence in Palo Alto, adjacent to where the children had reunited at Stanford.

Soon after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Kopf found himself locked out of his facto ry, held under house arrest and searching for a way out of Japan. Even though he was an Argentinean citizen, he was a foreigner who ran an American manufacturing fa cility that had been seized and converted to military production.

Eventually, in 1943, Kopf was released under a prisoner exchange and boarded a series of ships that took him to Shang hai, the Philippines, India, South Africa and Rio de Janeiro before arriving in New York, where Margo met him. After three months of recuperation in Palo Alto, Ford sent the restless Benjamin Kopf Sr. to the assignment he had originally sought: Mex ico City. There, he became president, trea surer and general manager of Ford South America and Mexico, where he spent the rest of his career before returning to the Peninsula and retiring in Menlo Park during the late 1970s.

The Next Generation

At Stanford, it was customary for those with wheels to give rides to the less-fortunate

hoofing it along Palm Drive between down town Palo Alto and the center of the cam pus. That courtesy extended especially from young men to young women. One morning, Benjamin Jr. was driving a shiny new 1940 black Mercury convertible with a red leather interior—a gift from his parents—when he pulled over and offered a lift to a student named Marian Malquist.

“She fell in love with my car,” said Ben Jr., with apparent chagrin, on a video his sons taped, “and the romance started from there.” He added with a smile, “If I hadn’t married Marian, I would have probably become a beach bum.”

Ben Jr. sought to join up at the out break of World War II, but as a domicile of Japan and non-American citizen of Ger man ancestry, he attracted natural scruti ny. As his son, Ben Kopf III, relates, “The story told to me was that Dad went into the recruiting office and said, ‘I want to volun teer.’ To which his recruitment officer re plied, ‘Let’s see your I.D.’

“The sergeant looked at Dad’s birth cer tificate and passport and said, ‘Are you kidding me?’ But then Dad informed the sergeant that he spoke fluent Japanese,

German and Tagalog (the basis of standard Filipi no). The recruiter’s next request was, ‘Raise your right hand.’”

Ben Jr. was attached to the Army Intelligence Corps and sent to the Philippines to lead the division there. Before he departed, however, came some unfinished business: He and Marian eloped. Coming home in 1946, Ben Jr. found he had to compete with swarms of other returning G.I.s for a job. He and Marian decid ed they would fare better in Mexico City working for Ford under Ben Sr. But after two years in Mexico, Marian had had enough and the couple returned to California to give birth to their first two sons, Richard (Rick) and Robert (Bob) in Menlo Park.

It should have come as little surprise that Ben Jr. found his next job at a Ford dealership.

The Mercury drop-top that had cap tured Marian’s heart was serviced at Towne Ford in Redwood City. While waiting for his car one day, Ben Jr. struck up a conver sation with one of the partners, Ame Ca hors, who oversaw the service department. Cahors asked what he was up to, and Ben Jr. admitted he was looking for work. Cahors offered him a position as a salesman. Thus began Benjamin Kopf Jr.’s entry into an auto store he would ultimately own.

Ben Jr. lived by a simple philosophy. “It’s important that you be lucky,” he said, “and to be lucky you have to work hard. And the harder you work, the luckier you get.”

As time went by, Kopf began buying out the other partners, coming to full own ership by 1970. Then he began to expand. Over the next 20 years, he purchased Stanford Lincoln-Mercury in Menlo Park,

“It’s important that you be lucky, and to be lucky you have to work hard; and the harder you work the luckier you get.”

—Ben Kopf Jr.

The Kopf boys, from left to right: Ben III, Jamie, Ben Jr., Rick, Bob

along with Towne Ford, Towne Mitsubishi and Hopkins Acura with co-owner Steve Hopkins in Redwood City. For a while, he also held franchises to sell Studebakers and the Ford Edsel, and was even a DeLo rean dealer.

Win some, lose some.

Ben Jr.’s eldest son, Rick, says his fa ther “could be tough when fighting the unions.” On the other hand, Rick adds that he “was known to be a gentleman car dealer.” An example: One night, under yellow lights, a customer bought a truck he thought was white. The next morning, he discovered it was pink. Ben Jr. gave him a refund.

And the Next Generation Ben Jr. and Marian had four sons: Rick, Bob, Jamie and Ben III. Only Rick pursued a career outside the automobile business that stuck; he became a lawyer, notably chief counsel for Sprint Communications and then chief counsel for the investment arm of the Bechtel family.

Bob rose through the business to own Stanford Lincoln-Mercury in Menlo Park for 33 years while buying another Lincoln dealership in Fresno. Jamie—son num ber three—is an aviator at heart, having earned a commercial pilot’s license by his early 20s. But on the Peninsula, especial ly, the acorn often falls close to the oak. After college and a stint in the Army as a

combat engineer, Jamie, too, entered the automobile business.

“I grew up in a car family,” he says. “But my dad said, ‘You’re not going to work at Towne. Go out and make your own life.”

Jamie worked for numerous other dealerships, learning the business with an eye on establishing his own shop. He found that opportunity in 1980 through Bob Kesek, who owned a Volkswagen store in Redwood City. The timing was good from one perspective; Kesek’s part ner wanted to sell his stake. But the coun try was in a dramatic recession, with inter est rates hitting 20 percent that December. Car sales were sinking fast. Undaunted, Kopf jumped in, believing the economy would turn around.

He was right.

Jamie joined Kesek in a new venture— Boardwalk Group on Convention Way, a street where many envisioned a Redwood City auto row. The young dealership flour ished, and the two partners were set to ex pand in the neighborhood.

Then the cops showed up. The Califor nia Highway Patrol took over a large sec tion of the area for its local headquarters, effectively nixing the auto row plan. Still aspiring to grow, Kopf and Kesek began searching for other land. They found it across the freeway, at the site of the former E.H. Bean Trucking and Rigging business on Bair Island Road.

Kesek, a Volkswagen man since the 1950s, wanted to remain one exclusively. But Jamie sought to broaden the firm’s offerings.

“I didn’t want all our eggs in one bas ket,” he says. “Volkswagen was fine, but I felt the future was in a multi-line.” The dealership added the Lotus, Chevrolet and AMC Jeep brands, among others. (Ameri can Motors Corp. produced the Jeep from 1970 to 1987, when Chrysler Corp. bought AMC.) Eventually Jamie would expand on his own, creating an auto mall in Reno, where he combined two Honda dealer ships and another Acura franchise.

By 1995, with four successful sons, Ben Kopf Jr. was ready to retire. Jamie was building his own auto empire, Rick was lawyering and Bob had his hands full with Stanford Lincoln-Mercury in Menlo Park and other ventures. So, Ben Jr. made an offer to his youngest son, Ben III.

“My dad said, ‘I can sell the business or bring a general manager from the out side—which means it will be broke in three years—or do you want it?’” recalls Ben III.

The 50-year-old owner of a successful electronics manufacturing company, Ben III had never imagined he would enter the car business. But after consideration, he agreed to buy Towne Ford. The wrinkle was that his family lived in Great Falls, Virginia. Ben III tried commuting for a year, but quickly discovered the dealer

ship required far more than part-time on-site management. Packing up the family, Ben III returned home to the Bay Area and never looked back. “I enjoy every day I come in,” he says.

And the Generation After

The family business has continued for yet another generation. Neither Rick nor Bob’s children opted for the auto industry. But Jamie’s two sons, Jamie Jr. and Doug, are now the owners and general managers of Boardwalk Auto Mall. Jamie Sr. acts as the director, loosely overseeing operations. Daughter Lindsay heads another Kopf enterprise, a nonprofit that removes trash from Lake Tahoe (see the August issue of Climate).

Ben III has two sons of his own, Ben IV and Taylor. After years overseas in the advertising business, Ben IV joined Towne Ford, acting as the inter net guru for the company website before becoming general manager of both Towne and Hopkins Acura.

But five years ago, the entrepreneurial bug bit him, as well. Ben IV opened a brewery on Maui, and now lives at the base of the dormant Hale akala volcano, which dominates much of the island’s eastern side. Ben III’s other son, Taylor, stayed in transportation but with a differ ent twist. A bicycling enthusiast, he opened and operated two bike shops, one in Mountain View and the other San Mateo, called Cognition Cyclery. The stores were so successful that cycling-industry giant Specialized bought Taylor out. Now, Taylor is the latest member of the Kopf family working at Towne, learning the business from the ground up.

The auto pedigree may run deep in the Kopfs’ history, but it hardly defines them. Too many other passions have found their way into their internal-combustion engines: Flying, tech, bicycles, beer, law and their be loved Lake Tahoe.

Perhaps Benjamin Kopf Jr. summed it up best when he said, “For any body to be happy, they need three things: Someone to love, something to do and something to want.”

Argentinian patriarch Benjamin Kopf Sr. would likely agree.

Oh, Yeah! San Carlos Art & Wine Faire Returns

An estimated 50,000 visitors crowded the 30th annual San Carlos Art & Wine Faire on October 8 and 9, enjoy ing warm weather, cold beverages, barbecue and live music that ranged from country to jazz. Patrons from across the Bay Area strolled through the northern end of the city’s shopping district, admiring vendors’ wares amid a convivial atmosphere created in part by more than 200 community volunteers. The event raised more than $75,000 for the Parks and Recreation Foundation of San Carlos.

The strong turnout gratified the orga nizers from San Carlos City Hall and es pecially the artists and other vendors, who for two years had gone without community festivals to promote their creations. Asked on Saturday if her first day had been profit able, artist Mary Lawrence of Oakland just laughed. The questioner persisted: “Was that a good laugh?” Lawrence laughed again. “Oh, yeah,” she replied, nodding. “Oh, yeah.”

Church of the Nativity Commemorates 150th Anniversary

Parishioners from the Church of the Na tivity in Menlo Park on September 24 cel ebrated 150 years of spiritual service to the community with a crowded mass followed by a cocktail reception and dinner that in cluded Archbishop Salvatore Cordileone, who heads the San Francisco Archdiocese, covering Marin, San Francisco and San Mateo counties.

Church spokesperson Wendy Ames said the mass attracted a bigger turnout than she had seen in the past two-and-ahalf years. Ames added the celebration lasted a full year, with dinners, an auction, a golf tournament, a carnival and other events leading up to the official observance of the church’s 150 years in Menlo Park.

Archbishop Salvatore Cordileone

Devil's Canyon Comes of Age

Twenty-one years ago, Chris Garrett acted on his long-held dream of building a brew ery. Brought up never to waste anything, Garrett became a master of using recycled equipment and parts, saving the environ ment from tons of trash and saving his business lots of money along the way.

On October 15, Devil's Canyon cele brated as only the popular San Carlos beerbash venue could. Scores of friends and customers enjoyed barrels of great beer, live music and a Brazilian fire dancer as the brewery marked its ascension to legal drinking age.

“This was a huge accomplishment thanks to a community that has held us together, especially through two years of a pandemic,” says Garrett. "We're looking forward to many more years of innovative brewing and community participation.”

George Borg Remembered

Friends, family and many who were in debted to George Borg's incredible heart for those bound by drug addiction celebrated his life at a memorial on October 7 at Red Morton Park. As attendees would attest, Borg was one of a kind. A recovered drug addict and alcoholic, he set aside his auto shop business, mortgaged his house and founded El Centro de Libertad (The Free dom Center). It was there that he devoted his life to help others burdened with addic tion. Today, El Centro Libertad is a thriv ing nonprofit that collaborates with other drug-rehabilitation agencies throughout San Mateo County.

Left to right: Daughter Millie, wife Kristiann and Chris Garrett toast to 21 years of beer bliss.

Photos by Jose Luis Aguirre

Kristin Chenoweth Sings and Signs

Three-time Tony Award-winner Kristin Chenoweth thrilled listeners with an ar ray of Broadway classics at the 75th gala of the Peninsula Volunteers, held at the Rosewood Sand Hill Hotel in Menlo Park on October 1. Chenoweth, who co-starred with Idina Menzel in the original Broad way production of “Wicked,” also ap peared at The Reading Bug, a children’s bookstore in San Carlos, where 360 fans lined up so she could sign copies of her new children’s book, “What Will I Do with My Love Today?”

Asked why she wrote a children’s book, Chenoweth said, “As a child of adop tion, I wanted to write a book about what it was like for me to rescue a dog.” The story tells of a young girl named Kristi Dawn, who discovers ways throughout her day to show generosity to people around her. Che noweth said she planned to release a song to accompany the book.

History Makers Honor 49ers’ Legendary Secondary

The San Mateo County Historical Associ ation on September 29 saluted the Niners’ sensational Super Bowl defensive backfield of Dwight Hicks, Ronnie Lott, Carlton Williamson and Eric Wright, often called “Dwight Hicks and His Hot Licks” for their tough tackling (and based on a simi larly named country-music group). Former 49ers running back Bill Ring emceed the event, and longtime Bay Area sportscast er Joe Fonzi reminisced with the quartet about the 49ers’ 1980s dynasty days, when the team captured three NFL titles and earned the nickname, “Team of the Decade.”

Kainos USA in Redwood City enables adults with developmen tal and intellectual disabilities to maximize their potential while becoming active, contributing and integrated members of the community. On September 29, Dianne and Brian Morton of Ath erton hosted a fundraising fash ion show that raised more than $100,000 for the organization. Decked out in the latest sartorial styles, Kainos’s clients strutted their stuff down the run way while the many guests cheered them on.

Kainos Fashion Show Returns

Life is Still Left inOld-Fashioned Letters

LAMY fountain pen courtesy of University Art Center

Email and social media have made them rare, but ardent fans aren’t ready to write them off.

By Janet McGovern

Every year, retired newspaperman Bill Shilstone tells himself the same thing.

“I always say I’m never going to do this again,” he says of the holiday letters he drops off at the Palo Alto post office. The trouble is he’s managed to make the droll updates focusing on the doings of his eight grandchildren entertaining enough that he has amassed an array of non-social-media likes and followers.

A quiz. Funny quotes from the grandkids. A family score card that toted up weddings, engagements and new arrivals (one each) versus trips to Europe (zero). He’s used them all to elevate his annual communication about everything Shilstone into a dis tinctly amusing missive.

“People look forward to the letter,” he admits. “So, year after year, I’ve got to come up with some angle.” And as his wife, Judy, reminds him, he can’t disappoint his fans by stopping now.

Shilstone isn’t the only one who might be battling writer’s block this time of year. Across the country, zard of annual letters will go out in com ing weeks, many of them addressed to the Big Guy up north. Not just for Santa, but for many people, however, it will be the one time during the year when they receive an indi vidually addressed, stamped letter. It’s a bit ironic, in fact, when so many struggle to come up with a gift for that person who “has everything” that the lowly letter could be a master stroke of the pen, unrecognized.

Spreading Happiness

Only 11 years old, Emilia Priest, the daugh ter of Sequoia High School Principal Sean Priest, is wise to the value of letters and sends out five the practice because “when I read a letter, I feel happy and I want people to feel the same way. I like writing thank-you notes and birthday cards.”

Ideally, a mailed letter produces a re sponse in kind—a letter in return, a note or at least a call. Emilia recently sent letters to Starbucks and the makers of Cheez-Its and Oreos, and was eagerly waiting to hear back. She told Cheez-Its that “I was like their number one fan” and was eat ing Cheez-Its while she wrote. “I’m really waiting for those companies hopefully to send me back something,” she adds.

Letters of important people can live on in biographies or command huge sums at auction. Letters have inspired scores of song titles (“Love Letters Straight from Your Heart;” “I’m Gonna’ Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter;” Elvis Presley’s hit, “Return to Sender;” and Bob Dylan’s “Dear Landlord,” to name a few). Handed down as family heirlooms, letters can even

soming romance.

In the case of one couple, a larger audi ence might get to hear, as well.

Shilstone’s younger brother, Mark, and his wife, Adrienne Laurent, grew up in Redwood City a few blocks from each other and met in college. Mark went on to a career in theater and taught speech while Adrienne became a television news an chor. Now living in Salinas, the couple has Adrienne’s father’s World War II letters to his mother, and Mark’s father’s letters to his future wife. They are assessing wheth er to turn them into a theatrical production entitled “Letters from Our Fathers.”

If it were to be produced, Adrienne would read from her dad’s Navy-censored letters about shipboard life. Mark would be the voice of Burton Shilstone, a railroad sales rep who was courting the girl who in 1939 became Suzanne Shilstone. The chal lenge, Mark says, will be to contextualize the letters with music from the time and

maybe digital images to make them com pelling theater for the public instead of just interesting memorabilia for the family. Those letters, of course, rose from a pre-internet age, which lacked the in firing off an email or a text, plus the variety of meth media offers for easy communication. In the World War II era and for decades to come, long-distance calling was so expensive that peo ple wrote letters instead. Today, in contrast, who leaves the house without their phone?

Ken Perkins, a member of the Sequoia Stamp Club in Redwood City, draws an analogy between the factors that long ago made letter-writing—and later electronic communication—catch on.

“The advent of the Penny Post in Brit ain in the early 19th century, which coin cided with Britain’s issuing the world’s first postage stamp, resulted in an imme diate huge increase in letter-writing,” he says. “The pre-Penny Post rates, which were based on the distance the letter had to travel by mail coach, were terrifically complicated and very expensive. The Pen ny Post enabled ordinary Britons to write at least the occasional letter to friends and relatives every year.

“It strikes me that the development of email and its relatives, coupled with the ubiquity of smart phones, has caused a similar order-of-magnitude increase in person-to-person communications at the expense of the written version,” the Belmont resident continues. “I can now, for example, communicate with my son, who’s in Finland, in real time via either texting or phone call, at no charge [beyond the basic rate].”

For Jim Giacomazzi, 80, who grew up in the Salinas Valley, snail mail was worth

the wait. His thrifty mother had lived through the Depression, but just preferred writing and receiving letters to talking on the phone. “We lived in a rural area, so our mail was delivered twice a week,” the Redwood City resident recalls. “Tuesdays and Saturdays were anxiously awaited because those were the days that our Star Route mail was delivered.” (“Star routes,” now known as “highway contract routes,” cover often-remote areas and are serviced by contractors to the postal service.)

When he went to college and then the Peace Corps, Giacomazzi responded to his mother’s weekly letters (although less often), with ones he thought were “rath er mundane and uninteresting, but they must have meant a lot to her. While going through her things after she passed away, in a box along with a diary, I found that she had saved every letter that I had writ ten to her.”

Giacomazzi went on to a 30-year teaching career at San Carlos and Sequoia high schools. Like Perkins, he also became a stamp collector. He nevertheless has re luctantly concluded that letter-writing is a lost art. Last year he bought his grand daughters writing paper, envelopes and stamps for their Christmas stockings, “but they still prefer to phone or use email to communicate. It seems that people today cannot spare the time or effort that is re quired to write letters.”

A Death Greatly Exaggerated

Not so, insist Gwen Gasque, owner of the 40-year-old Letter Perfect store in Palo Alto, and her employee, Sylvia Gleason, who has been writing letters since she was 5. Gleason started at the store as a custom er and went on staff 14 years ago.

“Oh, letter-writing is thriving. Oh, yes,” she says. Customers buy not only specialty paper but also pens and ink so they can create calligraphy, combining beautiful paper and artistic writing. At the holiday season, Gleason says, the store

Hill says he “read every letter that came in … and some of the handwriting was not the easiest to read.” He’s not one to mourn the “death” of the old-fashioned letter and con siders electronic forms of com munication much better at let ting elected officials hear from larger numbers of constituents.

sells most of its stationery and all its bor dered papers. She adds, “We even have kids 10 to 12 who order their own person alized stationery.”

Marilyn Territo of Redwood City is naturally gifted with beautiful handwrit ing, and she takes letter- and note-writing to a high art. Always on the lookout for pretty, blank cards, she wields one of her three-dozen calligraphy pens to craft a personal note—even when she’s just pay ing a bill. A store clerk looking at one of her checks once told her she should create a new font for Microsoft.

She often hears from people who want to send a thank-you note for her own vir tuosic thank-you notes. The husband of one of her good friends keeps a box with all the cards he has received from Territo. So does a local attorney, who tells her that when he’s having a down day, he pulls out one of those cards ornamented with flow ery writing and “it makes him feel good. … It’s just what I do,” says Territo, whose sister, Paula Uccelli, is also a prodigious card-sender.

“I don’t care if people think it’s cum bersome even for them to get it,” Territo, 77, says. “I want to do it. Usually, I do get a good response from it.”

The arrival of electronic communica tion was a motivator for her. When tex ting and email came on the scene, “I was horrified to see that people were writing complete sentences in lowercase. I know a lot of people don’t put periods in their text messages. But I did not want to lose the art of proper writing in the Queen’s English. … I knew if I didn’t write the way I wanted to write that I would lose that.”

She recognizes, with a laugh, that “There’s a whole younger generation that probably can’t read my handwriting. I mean, let’s face it. They can’t read it.”

Problem Penmanship

By contrast, former State Senator Jerry Hill’s handwriting was never something to write home about.

“I’ve always been somewhat em barrassed by my handwriting,” he says, and that included his signature, which he didn’t think looked very professional. But after 30 years signing “Jerry Hill” to thousands and thousands of letters and documents, “My ‘Jerry Hill’ has a flair to it today that it didn’t have.” The signature, though, “is the only thing that got better.”

A former San Mateo mayor and a county supervisor, Hill says he “read ev ery letter that came in … and some of the

Jerry Hill

handwriting was not the easiest to read.” He’s not one to mourn the “death” of the old-fashioned letter and considers elec tronic forms of communication much better at letting elected officials hear from larger numbers of constituents.

“I don’t see that we have lost any thing other than we have lost the reflec tive nature of someone sitting down and writing a letter,” he says. “I believe it can be a more thoughtful process than doing a quick email.”

For historians, the switch to electronic communication has complicated their task. A letter is tangible—as opposed to a tweet or an Instagram that vanishes like a dan delion puff. A letter is also a valued prima ry source that documents what someone said, and is not filtered, commented on

or subject to massive re-tweeting, notes Mitch Postel, president of the San Mateo County Historical Association.

And there’s often not much wheat digital chaff.

“We know that there are emails tweets and that kind of stuff that do have consequences and do stand out,” he says. “I think the challenge for historians is that, maybe in the old days, you’d look at 100 letters and you’d be able to pick out 10 [that had significance]. But with emails you can go through a couple thousand and not find anything of consequence … because of communication that is so vo luminous now.”

Coming off a week’s va cation, Postel was plowing through his inbox. “And they even tell you what to say. You come to the end of an email, and they give you sug gestions how to answer it: ‘Okay!’ ‘That’s fabulous!’ … The response is there. All you have to do is hit the thing—‘Absolute ly!’—and then you’re finished with it.” By contrast, in the letters of old, long periods of time went by before people saw each other, so they labored over their compre hensive updates.

Good Therapy

Several people interviewed for this story remarked on the emotional power of letters they’d received. Redwood City Vice Mayor Diana Reddy says getting a note in the mail from a resident is “very personal and it rep resents the time that someone took to write that message and put a stamp on it and put it in the mail. It’s like a small gift.”

On the advice of a mentor when he started his teaching career, Sequoia High School’s Sean Priest started a file of letters from students, families and colleagues. “And am I glad I did,” he says. “It’s sort of a ‘break-glass-in-case of emergency’ re source when I need a shot of affirmation. Revisiting people’s kind words has lifted many a dark cloud over the years.”

Menlo Park resident Jane Molony had been a letter-writer for many years, but her motivation intensified after she and her husband lost their first child through a miscarriage. “Several people,” she says, “took the time to write a note and each note kind of made it better. … That got me going on [sending] not only letters but getwell and sympathy cards.” When friends are having a rough spell, she puts them “on card therapy.”

Molony loves going to the mailbox to see if there’s anything handwritten. “I call it ‘my good mail’—something besides the requests for money or junk mail or what ever.” The Molonys send a “spring letter,” when life isn’t as hectic as at the year-end holidays. Molony says the couple always gets positive feedback.

Perhaps with technological changes, it may be all over for the old-fashioned letter. But not for everyone. “It may be passé,” says Molony, “but it’s always nice and it’s always appreciated. … It still matters.”

Teenaged Rebel With a Cause

Every Thanksgiving, my family traveled to my grandparents’ small farm in Sonoma County. Even as a child, I found it ironic that my grandfather, a preacher in a strict sect that forbade drinking and dancing, lived sur rounded by wineries.

But that didn’t mean my grandparents objected to fun. After the huge Thanksgiving meal—at my grandfather’s command, the blessing commenced precisely at noon—my 21 cousins and I noisily raced through the four-acre spread, playing tag, hide-and-seek and red-light, green-light.

Then, at around four o’clock, came the pies: Pumpkin, naturally, but also apple, mincemeat, pecan, blueberry and lemon meringue. The pies weren’t just served; they were formally proffered in our official pie parade, which included marching and sing ing to accompaniment on my grandmother’s old upright piano.

In my teens, I decided to try something new and rebellious (at least for the daughter and granddaughter of Nazarene ministers). I named it Pumpkin Cheesecake. It was rich ly spiced with aromatic ginger and nutmeg, garnished with chopped pecans and topped with whipped cream and homemade cara mel sauce.

Pie time arrived, and I nervously ex tracted a slice for my mother. She lifted a forkful to her mouth. I waited. She chewed. Then she nodded and smiled. And I still bake Pumpkin Cheesecake every year.

Baked Pumpkin Cheesecake

Crust:

1 cup graham cracker crumbs

1 tablespoon sugar

1/4 cup melted butter

Filling:

16 oz. cream cheese (typically 2 packages)

3/4 cup sugar

2 large eggs at room temperature, lightly beaten

1 can (15 oz.) pumpkin

1-1/4 teaspoons ground ginger

1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg (as an alternative, I use grated whole nutmeg)

1/4 teaspoon salt

Topping:

2 cups sour cream

2 tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Salted Caramel Sauce: 1 cup sugar

1 cup heavy whipping cream

3 tablespoons butter, cubed

1-1/2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon almond extract

1. For the crust, combine graham cracker crumbs and sugar in a small bowl. Stir in melted butter. Press into the bottom of a 9-inch springform pan. Place in refrigerator to chill.

2. For the filling, beat cream cheese and sugar until the mixture is smooth. Add eggs, beating on low heat just until everything is blended. Stir in pumpkin, spices and salt.

3. Pour filling into crust. Place springform pan onto a baking sheet or roasting pan. Pour water onto the sheet or into the pan to create a bath. Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 50 minutes.

4. For the topping, combine sour cream, sugar and vanilla until they’re smooth. After the initial baking, spread the topping over the filling and return the dessert to the oven for 5 more minutes at 350 degrees. Cool the cheesecake on a rack for 10 minutes. Carefully run a knife around the edge of the cheesecake to loosen it, then cool it at room temperature for another hour. Refrigerate overnight.

5. Remove ring from pan. Drizzle the cheesecake with salted caramel sauce and add a dollop of whipped cream.

Salted Caramel Sauce

Spread the sugar in a large, heavy saucepan. Cook without stirring over medium-low heat until the sugar begins to melt. Gently drag the melted sugar to the center of the pan so that the sugar melts evenly. Cook without stirring for 5 to 10 minutes, until the melted sugar turns a medium-dark amber color. Immediately remove the sugar from the heat, then slowly stir in cream, butter, almond extract and salt.

by Jim Clifford

Unexpected History at Refurbished Coyote Point

Coyote Point is one of my favorite spots to stroll. Everywhere, there are stories to be told. Now, with the recent upgrading of the area’s promenade, there’s even more reason to visit the 670-acre county recreation area off Highway 101 on the border of San Mateo and Burlingame. More than 10,000 tons of sand have been added to the eastern section of the wide walkway, raising the beachfront about 12 feet. In addition, new restrooms have been built, along with sea walls that pro tect against high tides.

Coyote Point is known for big dreams. The biggest aimed to make the bayside site the “Coney Island of the West.” But it wasn’t long before the dream became a financial nightmare. A history marker in the beach area tells the tale of the 1920s amusement park venture dubbed Pacific City, which featured “The Comet,” a roller coaster whose promoters claimed was the “fastest, highest and longest.” (They didn’t say where; it might have been just greater Burlingame.)

There also was a 468-foot pier that pointed like a finger into the bay. The structure berthed vessels that cruised to San Francisco and other major cities. Adja cent to the pier and fronting the 3,200-foot boardwalk was a spacious dance floor that was host to some of the best bands of the Roaring ’20s.

According to the Burlingame His torical Society, the grand opening of the amusement park was a four-day affair that started on July 1, 1922, drawing 17,000 opening-day fans who each paid a dime to pass through the gates. Crowds increased by the thousands and the numbers hit their peak just three days later on July 4, 1922, when 100,000 people entered Pacific City. By November, cumulative attendance

reached a million at a time when the Bay Area’s population was just slightly higher.

Then something hit the fan. Burlin game’s city officials hadn’t anticipated the park’s huge popularity and rapid growth. Also, in the previous decade, the city’s population had swelled from 1,566 resi dents to 4,000. The city had neglected to provide adequate sewage disposal, allow ing raw sewage to flow into the bay. At the end of the 1923 season, the lights went out at a fairly foul-smelling Pacific City.

Long before the amusement park de buted, Coyote Point was a popular loca tion for recreation, especially picnicking and swimming. Nearly 100 years later— with clean water again—it still is.

Merchant Marine Training School

In addition to Pacific City, Coyote Point’s history includes a World War II merchant marine training academy, as well as the forerunner of the College of San Mateo.

The U.S. Merchant Marine Cadet Basic School trained officers for the ships that carried weapons and other supplies need ed to win the world conflict. The U.S. Mar itime Commission hastily built 11 struc tures among the point’s eucalyptus trees. Most things were done quickly because the merchant mariners were being killed at an alarming rate and needed to be replaced. Even the course time was cut back.

The academy site was dedicated on August 29, 1942. By November 1944, it was training 528 midshipmen. Accord ing to the U.S. Merchant Marine website, the school consisted of 14 barracks, along with classrooms, a gym and a machine shop, as well as a swimming pool and a tower where the cadets jumped feet first, a drill that taught them how to break de bris from a sinking ship. In addition, the pool was used to teach the trainees how to survive blazing oil fires, which many might soon experience.

College Days

The College of San Mateo had several lo cations during its history, which started in 1922 in a high school. Following the end of World War II, the college found a home at Coyote Point, a move that took advantage of the buildings emptied by the closure of the merchant marine acad emy. (For example, the academy chapel became the college library.)

Classes started in 1947 under a wel coming sign emblazoned with the words, “Maritime Commission Academy,” which stood until 1952 when it was replaced with one that read, “San Mateo Junior College,” a name that lasted for two years until the school became the College of San Mateo. The end of the Coyote Point campus came on September 6, 1963, when a Marine color guard lowered the flag in a farewell cere mony. The present CSM campus, in the hills of San Mateo, offers a jaw-dropping view of the bay and was dedicated on De cember 8, 1963, with an enrollment of 5,000 students (8,163 today).

C

places

people.

Beer Friday Craft Beer - Live Music- Food Every Friday

18 Poetry Slam Devil's Canyon Turns 21!

935 Washington St., San Carlos

For more info go to: devilscanyon.com

NOVEMBER

NORTH STAR ACADEMY

4-6 Peter Pan McKinley Auditorium, Redwood City For more info go to: nsapeterpan.com

SAN MATEO COUNTY HISTORY MUSEUM

1-27 New Exhibit: College of San Mateo: 100 Years of Making Dreams Come Through

4 Warren Miller's Daymaker

18 SB19 WYAT Tour San Francisco

2221 Broadway, Redwood City

For more info go to: foxrwc.com

4 COOL WATER CANYON MIDNIGHT ROUNDS

5 MIKO MARKS + EFFIE ZILCH

9 RAVENSWOOD EDUCATION FOUNDATION - BENEFIT NIGHT

10 SLEEP WHEN YOU'RE DEAD

11 MADS TOLLING & THE MADS MEN

12 LEE ROCKER OF THE STRAY CATS

2 The Club Fox Blues Jam ROCKIN’ JOHNNY BURGIN

4 BAY AREA ELLER HAVAYA!

5 AN EVENING WITH TORTILLA SOUP

8 TERRAPIN FLYER

9 The Club Fox Blues Jam EC SCOTT RETURNS!

10 JONATHAN SCALES FOURCHESTRA

11 DGIIN – THE FRENCH GYPSY MELTDOWN

12 PETTY THEFT – SF TRIBUTE TO TOM PETTY & THE HEARTBREAKERS

16 The Club Fox Blues Jam THE VOLKER STRIFLER BAND

18 BRITISH INVASION THE COLLECTIVE & THE MINKS

19 TAINTED LOVE

23 The Club Fox Blues Jam FEATPRINTS

All-star Tribute to Little Feat

26 THE HEADLINERS

30 The Club Fox Blues Jam MARINA CROUSE & GARTH WEBBER

17 AARON LEE TASJAN THE COFFIS BROTHERS

18-19 SOCIAL DISTORTION JULIAN JAMES

19-21 SOCIAL DISTORTION URETHANE

23 TERRAPIN FAMILY BAND FT ERIC KRASNO WITH SPECIAL GUEST PETER ROWAN

For more info go to: guildtheatre.com

First Wednesdays: Burlesque Second and Fourth Wednesdays: Standup Comedy

Every Thursday: Board Game Night

Every Saturday night: LIVE MUSIC

Special events

Fri 28/Sat 29/Sun 30: “Halloween at The Hub” with live music every night.

2650 Broadway, Redwood City

For more info go to: TheHubRWC.com

Pub Trivia NIght

Every Thursday @ 7:30pm

831 Main St., Redwood City

For more info go to: alhambra-irish-house.com

2209 Broadway, Redwood City

For more info go to: clubfoxrwc.com