[ MEMORIES ]
Couldn’t lose him,
and now we’ve lost him
When I first met Dave in 1964, we were young mainland imports, fairly full of ourselves and quite ready to let the world know how things should be. There were a lot of mutual adventures ahead of us, and we certainly had them over the years. Thus, it's tough to nail one in particular.
Dave chronicled much of the Sweeney family from my wedding to Adrienne, the arrival of our daughters and granddaughter, the girls' theatrical accomplishments and funny family stuff in which I humbly accepted the role of the bumbling husband and father. When taking the stage with one daughter, Erin, he couldn't stop talking of how proud he was to be on the boards with her.
In recent times, Adrienne bumped into Dave at the airport en route to San Francisco. They were to be on the same plane, and sat next to each other in the waiting area prior to boarding. Our friend Capt. Dave Lyman was also headed for San Francisco and found the two chatting and did a double take. Very quickly she sternly said, "Not a word of this to anyone, Lyman."
Capt. Dave, embarrassed that he may have discovered one of Hawaii's best-kept secrets, muttered a "sure," and they never saw him again. She called me about it just before takeoff; I ran into Lyman a few days later on his return and asked him how his trip was. He looked embarrassed, and I asked him if he had something he wanted to tell me but started laughing before he got any more uncomfortable. Of course, it became a Donnelly item, as did so many moments he enjoyed sharing with readers.
But for the best all-time adventure, Super Bowl XIX tops the list.
Adrienne managed to get two tickets to the game (yes, the bumbling husband couldn't). I had an aloha drink with Dave at O'Toole's and listened to him moan that he wasn't going to be there, San Francisco being his second favorite place. Next day at lunch time, we were in North Beach and checked out a very crowded Washington Square Bar & Grill with the thought that we probably wouldn't know a soul. I said as much to Adrienne, and she responded, "Nobody except Donnelly and John Wilbur in the corner."
Sure enough, after I had left Dave at O'Toole's the day before, the former NFL/WFL lineman had called Dave with the offer of a couple of extra tickets. Donnelly caught a San Francisco red-eye and pretty much looked as though he'd had no sleep at all. From there it was a rollicking three days that included a ton of partying and a snap decision by our friend Tom Horton to pay a scalper for a fairly poor seat ("Can't have Donnelly and the Sweeneys going to a Super Bowl without me!").
By the end of the game, we'd had about enough of each other and parted company in San Francisco.
Our borrowed car stalled in the Marina district, so the bride and I decided to wait out a rescue in one of the many San Francisco "Joe's" restaurants, near where the car had petered out. A loud "Aaaarrrgh! Thought we were rid of you two!" greeted us. It was Dave and his date having a snack, and the giggling started all over again.
Only now has it ended.
Ray Sweeney is the president of Sweeney Communications and 40-year friend of Dave Donnelly.
BACK TO TOP |
Dave loved bars, whether
here or in San Francisco
Donnelly loved San Francisco's Marina District -- especially the bars. He even loved the Marina watering holes after he quit the hooch -- maybe even more. One of his essays -- from "Dave Donnelly's Hawaii" -- still hangs in the Bus Stop bar on Union Street. The Bus Stop was one of his must-stops on his trips to San Francisco over the years. When he'd roll into town, he held court at Perry's, at the long-dead Monroe's, at MoMo's, and at the Washington Square Bar & Grill, where he loved to banter with Michael McCourt, our best raconteur. ... Between Honolulu and here, Dave's was a tale of two cities. ...
ELISSA JOSEPHSOHN PHOTO
Dave Donnelly, pictured with 2002 Mrs. Hawaii Helen Berger, was always fond of women.
Dave loved for bars for the same reason I do -- they are the Serengeti for local characters, where the beasts come to the community pool and slake their thirst for brackish water (or whatever Michael English at Perry's or the Bus Stop's Paul McManus might be pouring) and gossip. It would not be too astonishing to encounter Donnelly and hear him shamelessly bellow, "What news on the Rialto?" or some other grand, theatrical, anachronistic greeting. He was a terrific ad libber and a hopeless punster. He loved the stage, as an actor and as a director. Dave's eyes would sparkle when recounting his disc jockey days. "Radio was so much fun then," he used to say. ...
Dave probably loved the theater more than anything else -- except for women. Then again, it might be a tie. In any case, his women friends had to be fond of the theater, as well. He was an unlikely Lothario -- shambling, hunched, a shaggy, white beard, and gray hair gone recklessly astray. But women adored him. They sensed his unrepentant fascination and deference for them. He never stopped thanking me for taking him to dinner with Soledad O'Brien, the CNN news anchor, for whom he had an endless affection.
Dave never stopped believing in me as a writer. He always encouraged perversity in prose. He loved wit and traveled as much as possible in the company of the adroitly droll -- such as his good friend, Sheridan Morley, son of the great actor, Robert Morley, Sherry, as Dave called him, is the Times of London theater critic and the biographer of Noel Coward. Dave spent his London vacations in Sherry's home. In London's West End, Dave could gorge himself on the best theater in the world. He was truly happy there.
Dave Donnelly loved irony. But sometimes, unfortunately, he lived it. Sherry Morley was named for the character in "The Man Who Came to Dinner," Sheridan Whiteside. It was Whiteside, the columnist, who broke his hip and was forced to rusticate in the hinterlands. This past December, on one of his many sojourns to San Francisco, Dave fell on Sutter Street outside the Cartwright Hotel and broke his hip. His dry sense of humor intact, he muttered, "Whiteside aside, this is a lousy way to spend my vacation." ...
Dave had the unusual pleasure of possessing a copy of his obituary. When he was not expected to survive a liver operation, the Star-Bulletin worked up his obit. Dave pulled through. Though unconscious, he probably sensed the obit wasn't funny enough. Dave switched to non-alcoholic beer but never lost his affection for saloons and the characters they provide. He really was the Damon Runyon of Hawaii -- an icon of the islands. ...
Over the past decade, not only did he have the opportunity to rewrite his obit, he got a chance to rewrite his life. And he did. "I've been unbelievably lucky," he told me. "I've had a second chapter and I have loved every minute of it. That's a good story." ... A second chapter: that's what a writer really wants. Thanks Dave, for including me in yours.
Bruce Bellingham, a daily columnist for the San Francisco Examiner, is the author of "Bellingham by the Bay." E-mail: bellsf@mac.com
Click for online
calendars and events.
