‘Captains Courageous’

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Seafaring author Jonathan Raban on the harshness of the sea, the ‘melting pot’ of America, and Captains Courageous

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This is not a film review; rather, it’s a freewheeling, tangential discussion of life, alternative ideas, and popular culture.

“I’ve picked up this cold-flu thing from my first-grader, and it’s made my head a bit buzzy,” announces a husky-voiced, visibly beleaguered Jonathan Raban, peering into the massive lobby of the hyper-nautical San Francisco Maritime Museum.

As if on cue, Raban sneezes, a rafter-rattling explosion that turns heads and echoes down the cavernous hallways that were to be the picturesque location for our post-film discussion of Victor Fleming’s 1937 high-seas epic Captains Courageous.

“You know, rather than meandering through a drafty museum,” Raban hoarsely remarks, “perhaps I’d be better off going to find a tonic of some kind.”

With that, we turn about and set our course for a nearby bar.

Born in England and now a devoted resident of Seattle, Raban is considered one of the world’s leading writers on the subject of the sea. The critically acclaimed author of the best-selling Passage to Juneau (Knopf, 1999)–a one-of-a-kind adventure tale, in which a solo boat journey from Washington State to Alaska becomes a gripping and lyrical, time-traveling, historical detective story–Raban is currently touring the Northwest on a national book tour.

With its rich nautical history, San Francisco seemed the logical spot to drop anchor and chat about Captains Courageous. Based on Rudyard Kipling’s classic novel, the film follows a bratty rich boy (Freddie Bartholomew) over the side of a cruise ship.

Plucked from the sea by a kindly Portuguese fisherman (the great Spencer Tracy), the boy is forced to earn his passage home by working among the multi-ethnic crew of a Gloucester-bound fishing schooner.

Tamed by the hard labor, the paternal kindliness of Tracy, and the harshness of the sea itself, the once-spoiled boy ultimately becomes, ahem, a man.

“So at its core,” I suggest, “Captains Courageous is a story of fathers and sons, isn’t it?”

“Nonsense. It’s about America,” Raban replies, carefully sipping his drink. “The fishing schooner was a symbol of the melting-pot view of America. The crew, in many ways, looks like America. We’re all here–black, white, natives, immigrants, rich, poor.

“The hierarchy of the ship, in this movie, is seen as a sort of idealized industrial corporation,” he continues, “in which all workers have profit-shares and stock-options–everybody on the crew gets a share of the fish–and their options will vest when they get back to Gloucester.

“But at the same time they are in fierce competition with this rival fishing vessel, a hard radical corporation-under-a-sail, just off the starboard bough, shouting the company slogan, ‘We will break our backs to get our fish there first,'” he continues.

“Come to think of it,” he adds with a deep, death-defying chuckle, “you could re-write Captains Courageous for Silicon Valley, and the story wouldn’t have to change much.”

Aside from its inherent similarities to Silicon Valley corporate culture, one can’t watch Captains Courageous without also soaking up the offbeat notion that death at sea–especially the death of kindly Portuguese fishermen–is somehow nobler and more exalted a death than merely expiring on land.

“It wasn’t until the middle of the 18th century that we began to look at the sea in this kind of ridiculous, romantic way, when the idea of drowning at sea came to be seen as a better way to die,” Raban explains. “You were submitting yourself to the primal forces, you were going back to the sea. ‘We will die alone, and nobly, instead of lying slumped in a stinking bed in some stinking slum in Chicago or New York.’

“The nicest thing about Captains Courageous is that it gives us a kind of frozen view of the sea, a view that demonstrates what we once believed to be true about the sea and man’s relationship to it. It’s a Late Romantic version of the sea, a testing ground for manhood, a theater of democracy and capitalism and competition, an arena of danger to be survived–if you can. And it’s still the invulnerable sea, the bottomless larder of fish.”

A sea in which Tracy can land a boatload of fish in less than an hour just by tossing a line and a hook over the side.

“That was probably not totally untrue, even in 1937 when the film was made,” says Raban, “though it’s quite unlikely today. Of course, the whole character of the sea is changing so fast right now that nobody has a handle on it. It used to be that the ocean’s depths were infinite, unreachable, unravageable by man, but now you can put these submersible robot things down on the sea bottom to crawl around and look at whatever you want. You can salvage ancient pirate ships. You can raise the Titanic. You can catch all the fish and decimate whole species. You can do all kinds of interesting and terrible things to the sea.”

“And yet,” I remark, “we still seem unable to retrieve the bodies of deep-sea airplane crashes. Or is that the old noble ‘burial at sea’ thing?”

“Well, we’re perfectly capable of bringing back any bodies that have the misfortune of being claimed by the sea,” Raban notes, “and with the sons of assassinated politicians we certainly don’t let a little thing like a plane crash in the Atlantic stop us from bringing the body home. But when it suits us, like with the poor EgyptAir plane crash, the ocean is suddenly the ‘deathless, eternal, impossibly fathomless sea’ again. And yet the next moment some techie will be launching a machine to drop 600 fathoms and parade along the sea floor shopping for collectibles.

“You see,” Raban concludes, managing a final full-throated sneeze, “the sea is often talked of as a universal symbol–but it’s not. It’s the most protean of symbols. From the beginning of time, the sea means whatever we need it to mean at any particular minute.”

From the March 9-15, 2000 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Heirloom

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Photograph by Michael Amsler

Home on the Range

Heirloom chef Michael Dotson is country at heart

By Marina Wolf

MICHAEL DOTSON does his share of moving around. Like many chefs his age, Dotson has been looking for maximum exposure to maximum experiences, which before his arrival last year at Heirloom in Sonoma included PlumpJack at Lake Tahoe and the Slow Club in San Francisco.

In that light, Dotson’s arrival at the restaurant at the base of the Sonoma Hotel seems the next logical step. The food scene here is, as they say, happening, the kind he dreamed of during 18 isolated months in Squaw Valley. But it’s the horses and mellow countryside that really sealed the deal, says this 31-year-old native of rural San Diego County. “It reminds me so much of home,” says Dotson.

Heirloom has a turn-of-the-century European feel, and the food is French inspired, but Dotson’s attitude–a freewheeling adaptability and egalitarianism–clearly comes from his Western roots. “I believe in simplifying elegant, refined cuisine into something more homey. Part of this is just the kitchens I’ve been in, and part is wanting to charge [only] $16 for a dish, where someplace else with a big kitchen and staff would charge $33,” says Dotson. “The guy who charges $33, who does 10 ingredients and melds them so well on the plate, he inspires me. His food is certainly part of my passion. But I’m comfortable foregoing some of that for accessibility.”

Accessible food is part of Dotson’s inheritance. His family’s grocery store in San Marcos served as the central supply point for farmers and ranchers for miles around, offering everything, even a full-service butcher shop, in one independently owned and family-operated establishment. Though the store went the way of most good family markets–oblivion, with a brief incarnation as a liquor store–his grandfather worked in it until it closed, and Dotson remembers that time fondly. “I grew up around a market that people nowadays would love,” he says with a rueful grin. “I probably appreciate it more now than I ever did then.”

His grandmother gave Dotson another food memory to treasure: Sunday dinner. “Every Sunday, no matter how hard I tried, I ended up there with a big ol’ stomachache at the end of the meal because I ate too much,” says Dotson. “I remember lying there with a coloring book, stomachache after stomachache.” The leg of lamb was the best, Dotson remembers, but everything his grandmother made was good. What’s more, she really understood the young chef’s path.

“The newspaper clippings that she would send me showed that she was more in tune with what I was doing than anyone else in my family,” says Dotson. “Eventually the rest of my family started to get into that, but she was way ahead of the game.”

Later experience would prove to be just as formative as the Sunday leg of lamb. Dotson’s six-week tour of France and Italy in 1996 left an indelible impression about the importance of fresh ingredients and family farms, not to mention cleaning quantities of foie gras in Strasbourg. But his love for good, down-home food, wherever home may be, even shines through when he talks about a recent road trip through the Midwest to visit a chef friend in Kansas City.

“As rich as France and Italy are in their food traditions, so is this country,” he says fervently. “There’s food being created everywhere. And there’s definitely food tradition and history in this country to learn from.”

WHICH BEGS the question: What did he learn in Kansas City? “I learned jazz and barbecue,” he says, his eyes softening. “It’s the most amazing barbecue I’ve ever had. I’ve had barbecue in Texas and a little in Georgia, but the barbecue in Kansas City . . . ,” and Dotson is off and running about L.C.’s, a barbecue joint on the outskirts of town. Oh, the flavors, he raves, and the sauce, and it being the only place out of all he visited that baked its beans in the roasting pit, below the roasting meats.

“All the stuff would drip down into the beans, and they would chop up some of the meat and put it in with the beans, and it was just like . . .”–here Dotson gestures, helpless for speech. “I actually went back and got some to go before hitting the road.”

That road took him back out through America’s breadbasket, the fields of wheat and feed corn, massive acreage of flat blowing fields, but even that prosaic landscape figures into Dotson’s view of food culture and tradition. “Food history may not be necessarily a dish, it may just be the farm that’s been there 100 years.”

As respectful as Dotson is of Americana and long-standing tradition, he frequently displays flashes of the free spirit of his ancestors. “There’s nothing I can’t do here,” he says. “Maybe I won’t do it now, but eventually I will. Like, we had a conversation yesterday about octopus. I love octopus.”

Dotson’s sous-chef, Hillary Onstadt, has been sitting silently by for half of the interview, but here she cannot restrain herself. “It won’t sell. I grew up in Sonoma. It’s not going to sell.”

Dotson persists. “I’d just like to try grilled octopus salad. I’ll try it here, I’ll wait till the summer . . .”

“And I’ll get out the big ‘I told you’ sign,” says Hillary, rolling her eyes.

“Maybe five people will order it,” admits Michael. “But you can’t live every day for the customer. Every once in a while you have to do something for yourself.”

From the March 9-15, 2000 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Oregon Shakespeare Festival

The King and I: Dan Donohue (center) stars in Henry V at the OSF in Ashland.

Bard and Beyond

Oregon Shakespeare Festival offers much more than the Swan of Avon

By Daedalus Howell

“O! FOR A MUSE OF FIRE!” isn’t just the opening line of Henry V, the flagship production of this year’s Oregon Shakespeare Festival. It’s also the battle cry for a whole season of inspired productions that not only step outside the Bard but also are well worth a trip north of the border.

This year’s opening bill features Tennessee Williams’ seriocomic Night of the Iguana (a defrocked minister-gone-tour guide finds salvation in Mexico), Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman’s screwball comedy The Man Who Came to Dinner, and Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Margaret Edson’s cancer drama Wit.

Conducted annually in Ashland (a quaint Oregon burg, just above the California border), the festival was founded in 1935 and annually presents on three stages an eight-month season comprised of four plays by Shakespeare and seven by classic and contemporary playwrights.

Last year, the company’s outdoor Elizabethan stage (modeled after that of the Renaissance era’s Old Globe), along with the intimate Black Swan and the capacious Angus Bowmer Theatre, housed over 374, 000 theatergoers, for a total of 762 performances.

With 74 professional actors in the festival’s stable, OSF’s artistic director, Libby Appel, has dubbed this 65th year an “actor-oriented season.”

“The core of this company live here, have children here, and are part of the community,” Appel says. “Many of our actors have lived here for some 20 years. We really do keep a strong group together and are very proud of that. We think of them as an investment. When we think about bringing someone in, it’s not just for a season but on a long-term basis.”

To wit, critically acclaimed stage actor Dan Donohue (who recently did a cameo on The Drew Carey Show) returns as the title character in Shakespeare’s famed historical drama Henry V. In OSF’s past two seasons, Donohue played the character’s pre-king incarnation as Prince Hal in Henry IV, Part I, and Henry IV, Part II.

“That’s only the second time in the history of our festival that one actor has played both Prince Hal and King Henry,” says Appel, who calls the carrot-topped Donohue “one of the major up-and-coming actors of our time.”

Indeed, Donohue is superb as the reformed monarch–his Henry is such a galvanizing presence that audiences will find it difficult to resist grabbing a longbow and joining the fray. Throughout, Donohue dispatches epic asides and speeches with a panache that would leave a lesser actor panting in the wings.

“My feeling is that somebody like Donohue gets you to understand the vulnerability of this king and truly what it’s like for a new king to learn how to govern,” Appel says. “His heart is in the fabric of this production and his performance is rather profound.”

Another stand-out production at OSF this season is Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman’s The Man Who Came to Dinner–a rousing riff on the playwright’s acerbic Algonquin Round Table crony Alexander Woollcott penned in 1939.

In it, real-life media darling Woollcott, famed for his eviscerating wit, is transformed into Sheridan Whiteside, a garrulous radio celebrity who rains terror down upon his hopelessly middle-brow hosts, the Stanleys, while convalescing in their Ohio home after slipping on their doorstep.

Brimming with comic nods to the playwright’s numerous confreres (Noel Coward and Harpo Marx among them), The Man Who Came to Dinner is a well-wound Swiss watch crafted from the efforts of 24 players, who each enjoy a scene-stealing moment before the play’s fast-paced three acts time out.

As director Warner Shook explains, “It’s not about what’s going to happen next, but who’s going to happen next.”

Ken Albers is exquisite as the dictatorial Whiteside, who is as lovable as he is contemptible. Likewise, Judith Marie-Bergan dazzles as the aging cigarette-voiced ingenue Loraine Sheldon, who unwittingly participates in one of Whiteside’s ruses to keep his indispensable assistant, Maggie (a pitch-perfect Robynn Rodriguez), from marrying and leaving him bereft of an aide. Likewise, Michael J. Hume and Richard Elmore do hilarious turns as the Harpo facsimile Banjo and Noel Coward redux Beverly Carlton, respectively.

This production produces enough kinetic energy to power a small city–and actually does, in a way. The Man Who Came to Dinner will undoubtedly prove to be Ashland’s major draw this year, and last year’s festival generated more than $93 million for the region. What’s more, in a rare bout of fairness in the trade, the city’s actors actually benefit from that influx of cash.

“This is an awfully good place to work. Our actors get to do good work in good roles,” says Appel. “They’re supported. They get 10 months under contract. There aren’t that many actors in Hollywood who are that well supported. Of course, our actors are ultimately doing this for the artistic satisfaction–and they like Ashland.”

Theater lovers will too.

From the March 9-15, 2000 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

David Grisman

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David Grisman just keeps on pickin’

By Greg Cahill

IT WAS A VACANT LOT tucked deep in the seedy heart of New York City, debris-strewn and choked with weeds, and it seemed like a perfect resting place for David Grisman’s collection of rock-‘n’-roll records. The year was 1960 and Grisman, a 16-year-old high school student, dumped several cardboard boxes filled with once-treasured 78s by Elvis, Little Richard, and Jerry Lee Lewis–platters that had lost their luster in the eye of the budding bluegrass fan.

Back in Passaic, N.J., Grisman and two classmates, charter members of their high school folk-music club, whiled away the hours huddled around an old FM radio, listening intently to the “Oscar Brand Show” and marveling at the speedy three-fingered picking style of banjo player Roger Sprung.

“One of my friends kept telling me about something he’d heard called bluegrass,” says Grisman, recalling the events that led to the transformation of a middle-class white boy from the ‘burbs into a born-again hillbilly. “One day, he returned from a trip to New York with a record on the Folkways label called Mountain Music: Bluegrass Style. I remember the first cut that he played. It was “White House Blues,” by Earl Taylor with a guy named Walt Hensley playing the banjo. It was the fastest thing I’d ever heard.

“I was just floored.”

Call it an epiphany with a mandolin accompaniment. A few days later, Grisman–who picked up a Grammy nomination this year for 1999’s star-studded Bluegrass Mandolin Extravaganza, on Grisman’s San Rafael-based Acoustic Disc label–informed his music teacher that he was switching from classical piano to mandolin. The instructor said the mandolin wasn’t a “real” instrument. “I called him back that same day and resigned,” says Grisman with a wry smile.

The change paid off.

Two years later, Grisman was performing at Carnegie Hall, appearing on the Hootenanny network-TV show and recording with the Even Dozen Jug Band, featuring guitarist John Sebastian (of the Loving Spoonful) and singer Maria D’Amato (Muldaur). In 1973, Grisman teamed up with Jerry Garcia (banjo), Peter Rowan (guitar), Vassar Clements (fiddle), and John Kahn (bass), recording Old and in the Way at the now-defunct Boarding House nightclub in San Francisco.

The album is the all-time bestselling bluegrass album.

THESE DAYS, the 55-year-old Grisman–once dubbed by the New York Times as the Paganini of the mandolin–has come full circle. It’s been three decades since his mongrel mix of bluegrass, jazz, Latin, classical, and other musical influences–also known affectionately as dawg music–first struck a chord with audiences.

Now Grisman–a musical maverick whose innovative work has brought him critical and popular acclaim while putting him at odds with the mainstream entertainment industry–is fostering straight-ahead bluegrass and classic South American swing guitarists as an influential recording industry force in his own right. His Acoustic Disc label has just celebrated 10 years in the business, releasing its fifth CD sampler–Acoustic Disc: 100% Handmade Music–featuring such bluegrass heavyweights as mandolinist Sam Bush (a regular sideman of Emmylou Harris), guitarist Martin Taylor, and banjoman John Hartford, as well as fusion pioneer Bela Fleck and Indian classical percussionist Zakir Hussain.

A bonus track on the CD features 12-year-old Santa Rosa jazz guitar prodigy Julian Lage, who recently received a standing ovation from music-industry luminaries after a showcase performance last month at the nationally televised Grammy Awards.

You might say Grisman is godfather to a new breed of instrumentalists. Mandolinists Fleck, Mike Marshall, Ricky Skaggs, and Mark O’Connor are among those blurring the borders of country jazz, classical, and bluegrass. All owe a debt of gratitude to Grisman’s adventurous stylings and are, to paraphrase music writer Larry King, the vanguard of rugged individualists marching into the vicissitudes of mass culture with their heads and mandolins held high.

Commenting on that assessment, Grisman says facetiously, “Right, they’ve got an identity crisis, and I’m sure they don’t want to be cast in my mold.”

He smiles, contemplating his unlikely role as father figure to a group of musical renegades. “But it’s fine, you know–as long as these guys show me the proper respect.”

The mandolinist, who once found himself at odds with major labels because he couldn’t produce enough “tonnage” (a music industry term for the kind of sales that pop acts like the Backstreet Boys generate), now is content to release quality product.

It hasn’t been hard attracting talent.

“Actually, if you’re me and you just hang out a shingle and let people know you have a record company,” he says with a smile, “people start sending demo tapes.”

The David Grisman Quintet, plus special guest Julian Lage, perform Saturday, March 18, at 8 p.m. Luther Burbank Center for the Arts, 50 Mark West Springs Road, Santa Rosa. Tickets are $22.50. 546-3600.

From the March 9-15, 2000 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Don Green

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The Key of Life

Telecom Valley tycoon and philanthropist Don Green reflects on music, money, and manipulation

By Paula Harris

DON GREEN RARELY SMILES. Telecom Valley’s founding father is a study in gray as he walks through his stunning gated-community home in the northern outskirts of Santa Rosa. Gray slacks and sweater, charcoal socks, and gray moccasins. His hair is pearl, and his eyes are steely blue behind silver-framed spectacles. Like the cool, clear gaze of a seasoned poker player, these eyes give away nothing.

“I’m not terribly outgoing and have been described as reserved, but I’m not,” says Green, watching to see what kind of first impression he’s made. “Because I don’t smile and slap them on the back, people assume that I’m more reserved than I am.”

Yet somehow, even with all the gray, the aloof demeanor, and the detached expression, the British-born Green, 68, still succeeds in exuding a certain charm. His handshake is firm, his humor dry, and his keen observation and interest in others genuine.

“The grandkids have no respect for the upholstery,” Green mutters suddenly but with an unexpected flash of fondness as he stoops to retrieve a couple of oversized cushions from the floor and put them back on a sofa in the casual TV room.

Today, though, Green’s four grown children, his five grandchildren, his wife, Maureen, and her four dogs are nowhere to be seen. All is quiet in this impressive hilltop mansion, except the babble of the small waterfall as it splashes into the koi pond in the inner courtyard, and the dreamy Celtic music piped throughout the house.

Many individuals have followed with keen interest Green’s 40-year success story–he is credited with single-handedly creating the now burgeoning local telecom industry.

That industry, a nonentity in Sonoma County before 1985, has become a booming business that has attracted big-company buyouts, generated impressive revenues, helped fuel the local economy, and spawned a new generation of local millionaires.

“Right now Petaluma is the major seat of the telecom industry in the country, if not the world,” Green-watcher and Sonoma investment executive Chris Irvin observes. “Don Green is like the grandfather of the entire industry.”

Indeed, telecom executives around the county refer to themselves as Green’s “children” because so many of them are his former employees and protégés who since have gone on to form their own telecom start-up companies. Many also have become rich making equipment and software that allows customers access to an array of services over their telephone lines, including high-speed Internet access.

GREEN, who founded Digital Telephone Systems, Optilink, and Advanced Fibre Communications, has retired three times. He now mentors new entrepreneurs and sometimes sits quietly on an easy chair by the window of his home.

It’s the sunniest place in this entertainment den, which is filled not only with a large flat-screen television embedded in the wall, but also with shelves crammed with books on music and tightly packed rows of vinyl record albums–a testament to the entrepreneur’s longtime passion for choral music.

He is eager to talk about the ambitious $42 million concert hall that is being constructed at Sonoma State University and of which he and his wife, an SSU alumna, are the chief benefactors.

In 1997, after Green’s successful company Advanced Fibre Communications went public, the Greens donated $10 million of their personal fortune as seed money toward the planned 1,400-seat facility.

The Center for the Musical Arts is to be modeled after the Seiji Ozawa Hall in the Boston Symphony’s summer home, Tanglewood, nestled in the rolling hills in western Massachusetts.

The SSU concert hall will be the chief venue for SSU music programs, summer festivals, and year-round arts events, and it will become the new home of the Santa Rosa Symphony, which will be leaving its longtime digs at the Luther Burbank Center.

The idea is to capitalize on the allure of arts and grapes. At one end of the versatile hall, large doors will open up to an outdoor seating area and a sloping lawn that can host an additional 10,000 patrons.

“I’m told the 7 percent slope of the grass will allow a wine glass to stand up without tipping over,” comments Green.

His expression remains serious.

The Greens’ reasons for supporting the new concert hall are threefold. The first reflects the couple’s longtime involvement with choral music. Until recently, they sang with the SSU Bach Choir, and their vision is to bring top-quality music into the area.

“There’s an opportunity to have a music festival in the summertime, and that would benefit all the people who live in Sonoma County,” says Green.

The second reason for supporting the concert hall is not quite so altruistic: it’s a blatant attempt to lure skilled high-tech workers into relocating here.

“As an employer of hard-to-get hardware and software engineers, having a music festival and a concert hall would improve the cultural environment and make Sonoma County an even more attractive place,” Green says. “[Sonoma County] is geographically very attractive, and this concert hall, which will be a world-class facility, will attract the best performances available.”

The third reason is Green’s desire to leave behind a cultural legacy.

“There are few opportunities in life to do something that is lasting,” he muses. “We take for granted what our forefathers have done building museums, libraries, and concert halls. And we have the opportunity here in Sonoma County to build something that our children and grandchildren can appreciate after we’re long gone.”

THE PROJECT NEEDS to raise another $16 million or so, but is still slated to open in two years. Meanwhile, the Greens have been actively campaigning to raise funding for the project by sponsoring and attending weekend receptions.

According to Jim Meyer, SSU’s vice president of development, individuals from North Bay high-tech companies have contributed another $5 million, mostly because of Green’s influence.

“Many people are willing to invest, primarily because of Don Green,” says Meyer. “He hired them, brought them here, and helped them become successful.”

It’s a far cry from the dubious charitable example set by Microsoft magnate Bill Gates and Silicon Valley’s young techno-elite, with its reputation for stinginess. A 1998 study showed that only 43 percent of families with more than $150,000 in annual income donated more than $2,000 a year to charity.

Green explains away this tight-fisted phenomenon as a result of insecurity about possessing new wealth. “Generally speaking, if you make money when you’re young, you tend to think about spending it on yourself and you’re worried it will melt away. When you’re a bit older, you tend to take a different outlook on life and like to see something done that has lasting value,” he says.

“I’d like to think I can be an example to those who’ve made a lot of money. Not to people who are having trouble making mortgage payments, but to the many multimillionaires that have been created in Sonoma County in the last five years.”

Indeed, Green’s philanthropy already is rubbing off on others who have reaped rewards from the local telecom boom that Green helped create. Last fall, two employees of the Petaluma optical fiber firm Cerent Corp., purchased recently by Cisco Systems, used their newfound millions to join two friends in saving the beleaguered Phoenix Theatre, the popular punk emporium that was slated for imminent office conversion. One of those guardian angels, Paul Elliot, a Cerent systems architect who worked for Green at Optilink, says his mentor’s charitable efforts are a big influence. “Absolutely,” Elliot says, “Don certainly provided a great example and one that was on my mind when I was looking at the Phoenix Theatre.”

Meanwhile, Elliot and fellow Cerent workers are following Green’s example in the business and education worlds–they will be giving seed money for a new hardware and software masters program at SSU with a focus on telecommunications and related engineering.

WHAT MANY PEOPLE don’t know is that Green came from a working-class background and spent his childhood living with his “unskilled but honest” parents near the Liverpool docks–an extremely poor area.

He later worked as an apprentice technician at the British Post Office, which paid for him to go to school. After a four-year stint in Canada, Green moved to the United States in 1960, living in San Francisco and Tiburon before finally settling in Santa Rosa 13 years ago. “People assume that I don’t come from a poor background,” he says.

“There’s a tendency to think I come from an affluent family, especially because I don’t have a Liverpool accent.”

At the time, Green was interested in amateur dramatics. A speech coach helped him erase any traces of regional dialect. “People might be surprised to learn that I once wanted to be onstage, that I wanted to be an actor,” says Green. “But I concluded I didn’t really like the profession because of the egos and the lifestyle, and I concluded I’d prefer to be an engineer.”

Still, he adds, drama training helped reduce his shyness.

“It’s strange you can be onstage and performing and still be a reserved person, but you put on another persona,” Green recalls. “And that helped me later in life. I never have trouble talking to 50 people or 1,000 people.”

Green has a reputation of being mistrustful of bureaucracy and admits that he likes to “think outside of the box.”

“I believe a certain level of bureaucracy is necessary to keep order, but if you have too much bureaucracy it slows down the rate of change and becomes inefficient, so you have to have enough to communicate with people,” he explains.

THE ART of communication has been a cornerstone of Green’s business success, particularly when coupled with his image as a stereotypical stiff- upper-lipped Brit.

“I’ve never shown people where my ego is,” he explains. “It’s been an advantage because it allows you to be more in control of the situation; when you meet someone and it’s obvious they have a huge ego, particularly about one aspect of their life, knowing that helps you deal with them, manage them, or manipulate them–or whatever you want to call it.

“You, in effect, control the situation to your advantage. I know it sounds a little Machiavellian, but it’s very useful. The art of communication is helped if there’s a degree of reservedness on one side.”

Green is now on the board of directors of AFC, but is not involved in any of the day-to-day activities. He keeps busy playing tennis, walking, bird watching, and dabbling in new start-up companies, where he feels his extensive experience has more value.

But he’s not entirely comfortable being cast in the role of saintly mentor.

“I do it for two reasons: because it’s intellectually stimulating and because I can make a lot of money if these companies do very well,” he explains. “It allows me to invest money in situations where I can influence and benefit.”

Green says a lot of potential entrepreneurs send him business plans asking for advice, figuring he has the magic recipe, the golden touch. Sometimes, he says, he, too, stands back and sees himself as a kid from the Liverpool docks who made a huge amount of money and can afford houses in Hawaii, San Francisco, and the wine country, and he finds it somewhat amazing.

“It is like magic. You have to be lucky, but you also have to recognize luck when it’s there,” he observes. “I’ve had good success in business, and it’s come along without any real sacrifice.

“I’ve taken risk, but the risks have always paid off.”

GREEN SITS BACK in his easy chair, unblinking in the afternoon sunlight, and recalls one of the first times he was interviewed. It was for the Institute of Electrical and Electronic Engineers magazine, and he says it made a very favorable impression on certain of his relatives who weren’t quite sure just what he did for a living.

“The IEEE cover said ‘Don Green is a winner!’ In hindsight, I see myself as a winner because I don’t ever expect to lose, and that helps in doing lots of things,” he explains. “I got involved in this music facility, and I assume it’s going to be successful. I communicate that to people, and then other people pick up on that and it becomes successful. So it’s not a bad aura to have about yourself.”

And, with that, Don Green finally smiles.

From the March 9-15, 2000 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Usual Suspects

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New sex scandal rocks beleaguered Diocese of Santa Rosa

Edited by Greg Cahill

THE LATEST BLOW to the Diocese of Santa Rosa comes from an Oakmont priest arrested and charged this weekend with using the Internet to send pornography to children. The Rev. Carl Anthony Schipper, academic dean at St. Patrick’s Seminary, the Bay Area training ground for many Northern California Catholic priests, was arrested at his home and booked into Santa Clara County Jail.

The San Jose Police Department’s high-tech crime unit had been watching Schipper since being alerted to possible abuse of the Internet in September, and issued an arrest warrant after the investigation revealed that Schipper allegedly sent pornographic material to several juveniles over the Internet.

Schipper has posted bail, and was ordered to appear for arraignment on Thursday, March 16.

His arrest comes eight months after the diocese was rocked with a massive sex and financial misconduct scandal that resulted in the downfall of Bishop Patrick Ziemann and former diocese finance manager Monsignor Thomas Keys. In recent years, at least five diocese priests have been accused of sexual misconduct, including the Rev. Gary Timmons, who is serving a prison sentence for molesting boys.

The Santa Rosa diocese admits to paying out $5 million in claims since 1995 against priests charged with misconduct. Those settlements were part of the reason the diocese exhausted an estimated $16 million in parish funds.

“This is, again, a classic scenario of how endemic the problem is. Here you have someone who is the leader, an instructor training the next generation of priests,” says Santa Rosa accountant Don Hoard Jr., referring to Schipper. Hoard was one of several local youths molested by Timmons, leading to large undisclosed settlements.

“People who have their sons being altar boys,” he says, “they’re nuts.”

His father, Don Hoard Sr., adds: “I don’t understand how Catholics can sit back and let these guys lie to them. This kind of behavior by a staff member at a seminary here does not surprise me at all. It’s an ongoing problem in the Catholic Church.

“The sexual, the financial [abuses], the men’s club power thing are so entrenched, it’s never going to stop. If you look at what they do, they go along to get along.

“Either they are players themselves, as Ziemann was, or they go along for the power trip.”

Sutter Woes

THE 1999 ABDUCTION of a newborn placed under police hold by Child Protective Services as sparked the second report in two years critical of security at the publicly owned Sutter Medical Center in Santa Rosa.

A state Department of Health Services investigation conducted immediately after the November abduction of Jordan Dunn by her parents Julie Ann Bard and Jason Dunn concluded late last month that the hospital had failed to develop a plan to ensure the safety of newborns removed from their parents.

Bard, who apparently had two other children permanently removed from her care because of negligence and heroin use, and Dunn were sentenced in January to a year in jail for removing the electronic security band from their baby’s leg and taking her past an electronic monitoring system.

The state report, released last week in published reports, concluded that Sutter’s lax security contributed to the couple’s success in maneuvering the baby out of the hospital.

In response to the report, Sutter officials outlined several policy changes to address the needs of infants and children placed under protective custody, including providing constant supervision, securely attached electronic transmitters, a night-time check-in process for visitors, and an alarm system with camera surveillance, and locking the main door to the pediatrics ward.

Yet this is not the first time Sutter has come under fire for security issues. In January of 1998, the Department of Health Services extensively investigated the care of mothers and newborns at Sutter and found that newborn babies were left unattended at a nurses station accessible to the public.

The ensuing report charged that Sutter was guilty of numerous violations of state health regulations. It confirmed findings first reported in the Sonoma County Independent several weeks earlier after complaints from patients and staff about diminished perinatal services, particularly the closure of Sutter’s well-baby nursery.

At the time, Sutter CEO Cliff Coates denied reports that babies were being taken care of at the nurses’ station or that the well-baby nursery was closed.

But according to that 1998 report: “The facility failed to provide care to newborn infants with appropriately licensed and trained nurses in an area approved for patient care (newborn nursery) and failed to implement policies to ensure the security of infants.”

In 1996, the county Board of Supervisors awarded Sutter the contract to manage the ailing Community Hospital, claiming it was going bankrupt.

Voters approved the contract that same year and administrators assured the public and county officials there would be no reduction in services for patients.

Paula Harris contributed to this report.

Jailhouse Rock

DÉJÀ VU: Tanya Brannan of the Purple Berets, Dr. Terry Kuypers, author of Prison Madness, and Dr. Cory Weinstein, prison medical consultant, will be getting together Sunday, March 12, at 12:30 p.m., to discuss allegedly poor health conditions at the Sonoma County Jail.

An event scheduled with the same three folks, sponsored by the Santa Rosa Democratic Club, was canceled in October after organizers said they couldn’t find a panelist to represent the county’s view.

At the time, Brannan charged that Judge Pat Gray, an influential Democratic Party member, had put the kibosh on Brannan’s appearance.

Gray denied any involvement.

Still, Brannan cried censorship, charging that county health and law enforcement officials refused to be on the panel with her because of her zealous campaign for better conditions at the jail–a facility that has been tainted by inmate suicides and deaths, pornography-peeking guards, a botched hostage-training episode, and more grand jury probes than any other agency or issue in the county.

Panel organizer Dr. Richard Redalia found a new venue for the discussion–the Unitarian Fellowship Hall in Santa Rosa–and gave up on attracting a county official to participate. Instead, Redalia will be the fourth panelist.

From the March 9-15, 2000 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Foo Fighters

Foo-ey!

Foo Fighters push controversial notion that there is no HIV/AIDS link

By Silja J. A. Talvi

SOME ROCK STARS want to free Tibet. Others want to save Mumia. The Foo Fighters, on the other hand, want their fans to ignore accepted medical wisdom about AIDS. The multimillion-album-selling alternative rock outfit has thrown its weight behind Alive and Well, an “alternative AIDS information group” that denies any link between HIV and AIDS.

In January, Foo Fighters bassist Nate Mendel helped organize a sold-out concert in Hollywood to benefit the group. Foo fans were treated to a speech by Alive and Well founder Christine Maggiore, who believes AIDS may be caused by HIV-related medications, anal sex, stress, and drug use, and implies that people should not get tested for HIV nor take medications to counter the virus. Free copies of Maggiore’s self-published book, What If Everything You Thought You Knew About AIDS Was Wrong?, in which she declares “there is no proof that HIV causes AIDS,” were also passed out to the concertgoers.

HIV experts are alarmed by the possible impact of the Foo Fighters’ embrace of Maggiore’s theories on their potentially gullible young fans.

“Clearly, more research is needed on the factors that contribute to HIV infection and the development of AIDS,” says Dorcus Crumbley of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s National Center for HIV, STD, and TB Prevention. “However, the conclusions of more than two decades of epidemiologic, virologic, and medical research are that HIV infection is transmissible through sexual contact, intravenous drug use, perinatally, and from receiving blood or blood products . . .[and] the scientific evidence is overwhelming that HIV is the cause of AIDS.”

Adds Crumbley: “The myth that HIV is not the primary cause of AIDS . . . could cause [HIV-positive people] to reject treatment critical for their own health and for preventing transmission to others.”

“When it comes to such a complex health topic, it behooves the band to have really researched what they are endorsing,” says Diane Tanaka, an attending physician at the Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles, where she works with a large population of high-risk and HIV-infected low-income youth. “[The Foo Fighters] have a big responsibility in terms of [their] public role and the impact that they can have on young people. Is this band willing to take responsibility for a young person engaging in risky, unprotected sex because of information they’ve gotten from the [Foo Fighters] or from Alive and Well?”

ALIVE AND WELL is one of several fringe groups that deny a link between HIV and AIDS. Similar theories have been put forth over the years by various far-right groups, anti-Semitic conspiracy theorists, and other so-called HIV-refuseniks.

“Your risk of being hit by lightning is greater than that of contracting HIV through a one-time random sexual contact with someone you don’t know here in America,” says Maggiore, an HIV-positive Southern California resident with no formal training in medicine or the sciences. “And if [a young person] were to get a positive diagnosis, that does not mean they’ve been infected with HIV.” The HIV-AIDS connection, maintains Maggiore, has been promoted by greedy drug companies.

Mendel says he was won over by Maggiore’s book, and passed it around to the rest of the band, which includes former Nirvana drummer Dave Grohl. Mendel says that he would steer anyone considering an HIV-antibody test toward Maggiore’s group. “If you test positive, you are pretty much given a bleak outlook and told to take toxic drugs to possibly ward off new infections,” says Mendel.

Mendel aims to use the Foo Fighters’ celebrity to get the message out to a broad audience. The Foo Fighters plan additional benefit shows, and have placed a banner ad on their website linking to Alive and Well. Mendel says that he does not have HIV, nor does he have any friends with HIV besides Maggiore, who has remained asymptomatic.

The most recent numbers from the Joint United Nations’ HIV/AIDS Program estimate that 16.3 million people worldwide have died of AIDS-related causes since 1981. Medical research in the United States indicates that as many as 25 percent of the nation’s estimated 40,000 annual HIV infections occur among 13- to 21-year-olds. Maggiore, however, maintains that worldwide HIV infections and AIDS deaths are exaggerated by the CDC and the World Health Organization, even in regions like sub-Saharan Africa, where two-thirds of the world’s HIV-infected people live.

Maggiore’s message has apparently penetrated the minds of at least some Foo aficionados. She says she has heard from many Foo fans since the show–one of whom, she says, now works at the Alive and Well office. Other fans are less impressed. Damian Purdy, a 21-year-old Winnipeg, Canada, resident and devoted Foo Fighters fan, is outraged by the band’s position. “By supporting this, the Foo Fighters have entered an arena that they have no business being in.

“The truth is that a rock concert is not the appropriate platform for these views to be expressed. I think the Foo Fighters have more influence than they realize,” he says.

For his part, Mendel remains convinced that the media and the medical establishment are keeping the truth about HIV and AIDS from the public. The Foo Fighters, he insists, will continue to use their celebrity to bring “light to the issue.”

Is he worried that the group might be endangering the lives of some of its listeners? “I’m absolutely confident that I’m doing the right thing,” Mendel answers. “No, I wouldn’t feel responsible for possibly harming somebody. I [feel] I’m doing the opposite.”

From the March 9-15, 2000 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘The Emperor and the Assassin’

The Emperor and the Assassin.

Killer Epic

A ruler’s plot turns against him in ‘The Emperor and the Assassin’

By Richard von Busack

DIRECTOR Chen Kaige’s overstuffed opus The Emperor and the Assassin proposes that a Freudian trauma drove the king of Qin, Ying Zheng (Li Xuejian), to unite the six warring kingdoms of ancient China into one empire. This version of the story suggests that the future emperor is at heart an innocent. He doesn’t reckon what an enormous goblet of blood he’ll have to drain to unify the nation.

Set 2,200 years ago, the film takes place centuries before the institutionalized hauteur one associates with the Chinese court. Thus Li Xuejian plays the emperor-to-be as a swaggerer, rudely chomping down on his food. He’s a bowler, too.

Ying Zheng figures that if one of the nations he plans to absorb were to send an assassin after him, it would be a pretext for a declaration of war. His lifelong lover, the Lady Zhao (Gong Li), offers to go to this nation as his agent provocateur.

She’s so dedicated to his cause that she has her face branded, to mark her as a traitor and to make the story of her betrayal plausible. Gong, one of the prettiest faces in the movies, wears her traitor’s scar like a beauty mark. It’s a becoming, quarter-sized little blemish that looks like a daisy with a few petals missing.

When she arrives at the hostile country, she recruits a hired killer, Jing Ke (Zhang Fengyi), who lost his nerve after a job went wrong. Delay ensues. Soon, Ying Zheng’s atrocities turn the Lady Zhao against him–and toward the killer she’s hired.

The Emperor and the Assassin is a huge epic, and this may be enough for the spectacle-hounds. Chen packs the film with overpowering scenes of the courtyards of the city of Yan, thundering with taiko drums; the opening chariot battle; and the massacre within the gates of the Qin palace.

Woody Allen was already shrewd enough to acquire the talents of Zhao Fei, who gave Sweet and Lowdown its fresh, humid look. The outstanding cinematographer manages to make the dust and wastelands of north China look creamy and radiant.

As for Chen, it would take a greater master than he is to keep this sprawling tale under control. The Emperor and the Assassin contains five episodes in three hours, and you feel that length, especially during the soap-operatic third episode, when the king confronts the truth of his parentage.

The episode seems like filler compared to the final part. Here we see the confrontation between a hired killer, who knows how exhausted he is by bloodshed, and the emperor-to-be, who doesn’t understand he’s poisoned everyone around him.

Their confrontation is the marrow of the story, and Chen cuts tellingly between the assassin’s frightful clowning on the point of the attack and the hurt in the ruler’s eyes as he faces his would-be murderer. Here, the director points out his thesis: an emperor and an assassin have a lot in common.

The Emperor and the Assassin opens Friday, March 10, at Rialto Cinemas Lakeside, 551 Summerfield Road, Santa Rosa. For more information, see Movie Times, page 45, or call 525-4840.

From the March 9-15, 2000 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Ginger Dunphy

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Photograph by Rory McNamara

Model Citizen

New exhibit highlights Ginger Dunphy’s naked talent for inspiring artists

By David Templeton

GINGER DUNPHY is trying not to smile. Semi-reclining on a bench under a low-hanging, moss-encrusted tree, Dunphy is leaning back on one arm as she holds the other tight against her side.

As she gazes serenely into space, her lined face is a study in serenity. Her 52-year-old body, short in stature and bountiful in size, might be in a state of profound meditation. For what seems like ages–but is only a few minutes–Dunphy doesn’t move a muscle.

Suddenly, a pencil-wielding artist–and she’s literally surrounded by them at the moment–cracks a joke: “All that grass sticking up around you doesn’t look quite right,” he says. “So I’m turning the grass into flames.”

In response, Dunphy’s face breaks out of its trancelike state as she erupts in a musical burst of laughter.

“As in the flames of hell? Oh, thanks!” Dunphy affectionately snaps back at the playful offender. “Well, why not? My mother figures that’s where I’m going anyway.”

Then Dunphy–who was once a Catholic nun–swiftly returns to her former pose and holds it for another 22 minutes. As she works, a grand total of eight artists skillfully turn Dunphy’s form and face into eight different works of art.

Eventually, Dunphy will move back inside the warm barnyard studio where Santa Rosa artist Donna DeLaBriandais has for 10 years hosted a weekly get-together of local artists interested in drawing and painting the human figure. It’s a three-hour session, during which various models, one each week, pose several times, indoors and out, clothed and otherwise.

Dunphy’s easy rapport, quick-witted sense of humor, and nonexistent modesty in regard to her body have made her a favorite at DeLaBriandais drawing group, where she poses about once a month.

Black Hat.

KNOWN SIMPLY as Ginger to scores of artists from New York to Oregon, Dunphy was let loose from a semi-cloistered convent in Southern California in the mid-1960s.

She has been an artist’s model for over 25 years, ever since the day local artist Drew Upton asked her to model nude for a life drawing class at Sonoma State University.

“I took to it instantly,” Dunphy says. “I’m very at ease with nakedness. Being nude in front of people feels no different to me than wearing clothes in front of people. And it turned out that I was good at being a model.”

Before long, Dunphy was working up and down the state, modeling for student artists and established professionals alike.

“At first I thought I’d been asked to model because I was fat,” Dunphy admits. “Because there are very few fat models around, people willing to take off their clothes in front of a roomful of artists, and from an artist’s point of view, fat is interesting.

“But let’s face it,” she continues. “It’s hard enough to be fat in this world with your clothes on.”

In other words, Dunphy filled a niche. But that’s not all.

“I realized that my popularity with artists wasn’t all about my size,” she says. “I think I understand what artists need, and I’m very willing to give that.'”

In short, Dunphy’s talent lies in her knowledge of how to be interesting.

“Ginger is amazing,” praises DeLaBriandais. “She’s very generous, very intelligent. And she’s lots of fun to be around, naked or not. This is not easy work for any model, but Ginger makes it look easy.”

As a celebration of the vital role such models play in the lives of artists, DeLaBriandais, in association with the Cultural Arts Council of Sonoma County, has coordinated a new show: “The Spirit of Ginger–Artists and the Model.”

Opening March 17 at the SoFo2 Gallery in Santa Rosa, the show will feature the works of 14 artists from around the Bay Area. The subject of each work: Ginger.

“We’re letting Ginger stand in as the icon of all models,” says DeLaBriandais, “And we’re using the show to honor every model’s unsung contribution to the art world.”

ON THE WALL INSIDE the barn hangs a small poster with the words “When you surround yourself with loving and supportive people, your creative energy will flourish.”

At the moment, there is creative energy to spare, as the amazingly spry Dunphy–who stays in shape by swimming, stretching, and dancing–now poses afresh on the studio’s tiny stage, illuminated by a row of overhead track lights.

At the foot of the stage are bags full of Dunphy’s many props: hats, feather boas, and costumes, including a nun’s habit and a red riding hood. Earlier in the session, she performed the famous fairy tale, wearing the hood and cape and nothing else.

The space is cozy but comfortable. The day’s assembly of artists–all of whom will have works on display in the “Spirit of Ginger” show–are crouched or standing in every corner of the room. Meanwhile, Dunphy sits half-straddling a chair, wearing a tight-fitting red and white striped dress, her legs apart, one arm coyly draped over the chair’s back.

When an onlooker compares Dunphy’s pose to Sharon Stone’s famous interrogation scene in Basic Instinct, the model laughs gleefully.

“No, no, no,” Dunphy responds, without moving. “Sharon Stone did that for a roomful of policemen. That’s not my crowd. I much prefer artists.”

After the session, Dunphy makes a quick trip through the studio to see what her clients have come up with. Oohing and ahhing, she beams and guffaws at a series of sketches drawn from her “Red Riding Hood” bit.

“This is one of the things I love about this job,” she says. “There’s immediate gratification. Like an opera singer who finishes an aria and is rewarded with applause, I do my work and then, voila! There’s a piece of art. And it’s all me! I love that.”

“The Spirit of Ginger” opens Friday, March 17, and continues through May 5 at the SoFo2 Gallery. Viewing hours are Mondays through Saturdays, 12 to 5 p.m. A reception takes place Friday, March 24, from 5 to 8 p.m. 602 Wilson, Santa Rosa. 579-2787.

From the March 9-15, 2000 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Loung Ung

Red Death

Loung Ung’s memoir provides a searing account of childhood under the Khmer Rouge

By Patrick Sullivan

“IT’S ALWAYS BEEN with me, sometimes as a dream, sometimes a nightmare, sometimes a legend, sometimes as a myth,” says Loung Ung in her pleasant, lightly accented voice. “It’s always been there, hovering over me like some kind of thunderous cloud.”

The ghosts of childhood still haunt the 29-year-old author and human rights activist. And why wouldn’t they? It’s hard to imagine any exorcism potent enough to dispel the horrors that Ung experienced growing up in Cambodia under the murderous Khmer Rouge, one of the deadliest governments in the history of our blood-stained planet.

The horror began in 1975, when Ung was just 5 years old, the second-youngest daughter in a middle-class Cambodian family. Almost overnight, the comfortable, loving environment of her family home in Phnom Penh was shattered by the arrival of the Khmer Rouge, a fanatical guerrilla army that seized power in a country blasted and demoralized by the fateful decision of the United States to bomb Cambodia’s border with Vietnam.

To survive under the new government, Ung’s well-off family was forced to flee to the countryside and pretend to be poor peasants. It didn’t work. Over the next few years, Ung would lose her father, her mother, siblings, and friends to execution and hunger.

It’s a grim enough story summed up in a few simple sentences. But it’s the details that burn like a brand, as Ung–who speaks on March 14 at Sonoma State University–demonstrates in her new memoir, First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers (HarperCollins; $23).

Ung’s writing may be unpolished at times, but her powerful story quickly sears away preoccupations with style. For instance, the author’s account of helplessly watching Khmer Rouge soldiers lead her proud father away to his execution is like a stab in the heart.

Still, despite the book’s power, Ung figured few people would ever read it.

“I thought it was going to come out and disappear into a literary black hole,” she says, speaking by phone from her office at the Vietnam Veterans of America in Washington, D.C., where she works as an anti-landmine activist. “I would be able to say I’d done it and that’s about all. My goal was to sell 10 copies and have my friends read it.”

Instead, the book took off like a rocket, attracting praise from critics and landing Ung on TV talk shows and the front page of USA Today.

In part, Ung says, the popularity of First They Killed My Father can be chalked up to our concerns about contemporary war crimes in places like Rwanda and the former Yugoslavia.

“People are recognizing that this is not a unique story,” Ung says. “When the Holocaust happened, people said it would never happen again. Then came Cambodia, and Bosnia, and East Timor, and on and on. . . . Never again is turning out to be many, many times over.”

But the author says there’s another important reason her book has caught on. “I’m a fairly average person,” Ung says. “But I think that the fact that I came from adversity and survived to do the work I’m doing gets people’s interest.

“Underneath it all, it’s a story about life and family and love and loss,” she continues. “What kept me alive was my family. People understand that, no matter where they live. Everybody wants to feel their father’s arms around them.”

FROM 1975 TO 1979, the Khmer Rouge killed an estimated 2 million Cambodians. With numbers like that, it’s easy to lose sight of individual victims. But Ung’s memoir gives faces to the dead.

Her family’s struggle for survival was unimaginably grim. In their bizarre quest to return Cambodia to an agrarian country free of foreign contamination, the Khmer Rouge targeted a wide range of internal enemies.

If you were an urban dweller, a foreigner, or a servant of the previous government, you were often marked for death. In some measure, Ung’s family suffered from all of those taints–her mother was part Chinese, and her father had been a police officer. Concealment was their only hope.

Always on the verge of starvation, Ung’s family moved from village to village, only a step ahead of discovery and death. At last, the Khmer Rouge caught up with her father, though Ung doesn’t know exactly how he died. She only hopes it was merciful.

“What you don’t see, your mind makes up,” she says. “I just pray that he died the way I imagine he died. But the fact is that most Cambodians were not shot. Ammunition was too expensive and they couldn’t waste it.”

Soon after her father was killed, Ung’s mother decided that the family would survive only if she sent her young children off on their own. She turned out to be right: soon after, she too was executed. Ung ended up in a camp for orphaned kids, where she was trained as a soldier.

Against long odds, Ung was finally reunited with some of her siblings and fled the country, eventually finding a new home in Vermont. She went on to college, where she obtained a degree in political science. But the ghosts were always there, periodically surfacing to inflict crippling bouts of depression.

“When I was young, I used to play soccer and get hit on the head a lot because I wanted the images gone,” Ung says. “Amnesia is really hard to get. But I wanted them gone gone gone.”

It was partly to dispel those demons that Ung decided to write First They Killed My Father.

“I just got tired of giving the Khmer Rouge that much power over me,” she says. “They didn’t take my body, and I didn’t want them to take my mind.”

Still, writing the book proved harder than she had imagined.

“I’d written and talked about it before, so I thought I’d gone over it a little bit,” she says. “But it was very difficult.

“And yet also, it was very healing, very therapeutic,” she recalls. “For so long, I didn’t allow myself to remember my family and the good times, going to the movies with my father or shopping in the market with my mother. . . . Writing the book helped me reclaim some of those good memories.”

These days, Ung works as a national spokesperson for the Campaign for a Landmine Free World, a Nobel Prize-winning program of the Vietnam Veterans of America. Her obvious passion for the cause springs from the havoc caused by the millions of landmines that litter her homeland, something she witnessed when she went back home to visit her family in 1996.

“I’d read about [the landmine problem], but until I got there, I didn’t realize that there isn’t a place where you can go to escape it,” she says. “You run into landmine amputees all the time.”

As for her literary career, Ung isn’t sure when she’ll write another book.

“This was emotionally and physically draining,” she says. “I need to take a sabbatical. I’m going to go see movies and have coffee in cafes and write letters to friends. Now that’s something I haven’t done in a while.”

Loung Ung speaks on Tuesday, March 14, at 7 p.m. at Sonoma State University’s Warren Auditorium, 1801 E. Cotati Blvd., Rohnert Park. Admission is free. For details, call 664-2382.

From the March 9-15, 2000 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘Captains Courageous’

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The Emperor and the Assassin. Killer Epic A ruler's plot turns against him in 'The Emperor and the Assassin' By Richard von Busack DIRECTOR Chen Kaige's overstuffed opus The Emperor and the Assassin proposes that a Freudian trauma drove the king of Qin, Ying Zheng (Li Xuejian), to unite the...

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Photograph by Rory McNamara Model Citizen New exhibit highlights Ginger Dunphy's naked talent for inspiring artists By David Templeton GINGER DUNPHY is trying not to smile. Semi-reclining on a bench under a low-hanging, moss-encrusted tree, Dunphy is leaning back on one arm as she holds the other tight against...

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Red Death Loung Ung's memoir provides a searing account of childhood under the Khmer Rouge By Patrick Sullivan "IT'S ALWAYS BEEN with me, sometimes as a dream, sometimes a nightmare, sometimes a legend, sometimes as a myth," says Loung Ung in her pleasant, lightly accented voice. "It's always been there, hovering...
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