By Dave Donnelly
Monday, February 3, 1997
Herb Caen, Del Courtney
Herb Caen, Del Courtney
THE routine check of "The Gate," the Internet site that brings both the San Francisco Chronicle and S.F. Examiner into the home, revealed long expected, but still shocking news, "... Herb Caen Dies at 80 ..." The news, nestled between the dots he used to separate items since 1936 in San Francisco, hit to the quick. I'd known since my last visit to "The City" as it's known there, that he was closer to death than he let on in his final columns, down from his former six-a-week to about one every three weeks. His longtime assistant, Carol Vernier, told me over lunch that she'd take his mail to the home he shared with his companion of 10 years and wife of a few months, Ann Moller, and leave it on the porch. Without the proper preparation, Herb didn't want to be seen by anyone ... A light went out
in San FranciscoTO see how Herb Caen stood alone, put it in perspective. When I pecked out my first three dots 29 years ago, he'd already been writing in and about San Francisco for 32 years! He was very kind to me in my formative years in this business and was gratified I shared his love of his City. He gave the usual sage advice to me that he did to new columnists who paid him a call. He knew he could never make everyone happy so he'd stopped trying. And love him or hate him, you had to read him ...
WHILE Herb and I weren't extremely close friends, we shared numerous lunches and the occasional dinner together. And the fact we were on a first name basis raised my own status in S.F. When he'd drop by my table and say hello, people would look at me with a new respect. More often than I care to think about, I've been introduced around the City as "The Herb Caen of Honolulu." My mantra of shucking off such an impossible mantle became a rote process ... Sharing
DURING dinner at La Mer one night when he was staying at the Halekulani, he was agonizing over what to order for dessert, and I got the ultimate compliment from the venerable three-dotter - a groan - when I suggest to feel at home he opt for the fresh fruit ... A traveling companion in the pre-Ann days told him she wanted to spend five days at the Volcano House before visiting Waikiki. He called from S.F. and said, "Whaddya think?" The pause on my end of line brought forth, "Too long at the volcano, right?" He ended up with one night there and three at the Mauna Lani where he could show off his prowess on the tennis court ... While in Waikiki one night I mentioned Del Courtney was performing at the Royal, and Herb, who remembered Del from the old Mark Hopkins tea dance days, immediately suggested we stop by. Courtney was very pleased, needless to say, to learn he was the object of Caen's affection - at least on that night ...
WHEN I returned from a life-threatening liver operation two years ago and wrote about it, Herb dropped a kind note: "The piece on your ordeal is truly moving and I salute your courage and indomitable spirit. There aren't so many good columnists around that we can afford to lose one, you know, so take it easy, use a lot of dots, and hoard your energy for another trip to the mainland soon ... Cheers for a great guy making a great comeback." Alas, we can ill afford to lose Herb ... His last column, on Jan. 10, bore the headline, "Words Without Music," and that's what we're hearing out of S.F. these days. The Music has died ...
THE L.A. Times got it right in its obit when it called Herb "a professional nostalgist." Caen didn't pen his own obit, as some writers do, but did say of the Pulitzer he got last year, "It'll definitely add a touch of class to the obituary ..." And years ago he got in the line about when he gets to heaven he'll look around and say, "It ain't bad, but it ain't San Francisco." Many obits ended with that line, but hats off to his own S.F. Chronicle. Before "Funeral services are pending," the obit read, "Herb Caen is survived by his wife, Ann, his son Christopher Caen, and by his beloved San Francisco." ... So long, Ess Eff
