In Memoriam: Bill Blau

My friend and most avid supporter of this blog, Bill Blau, passed away last month at the age of 99. I flew to San Francisco for the memorial, held on the day that would have been his 100th.  On the plane, my emotions welled up and I wrote some notes about him, which I turned into eulogy.

At memorials, people offer their cherished memories of the departed. The 100 or so guests all had such memories.  I didn’t know Bill as long as many of the others. But my respect for him didn’t need decades to develop.

Bill was a huge personality. He had vitality and strength of character; someone who had intense passions and beliefs; a force of nature.

His memory will not fade. His strength of character will not let it. More than a memory, he will be an indelible presence in the lives of his family and friends. That was the powerful mark he left on his loved ones and the world.

Bill came to my blog not only because he hated war, but because Israel’s wars against the Palestinians and its neighbors deeply offended him.  He saw in me and my politics a kindred spirit.  Someone who saw the Middle East as he did.  As a journalist and blogger you rarely have the opportunity to interact personally and become friends with readers. Bill was a delightful and welcome exception.

Bill would call me periodically.  In the course of conversation I told him I’d just given a talk at UC Berkeley. He became angry saying: you came to the Bay Area and didn’t stay with us?! Though we only knew each other virtually, Bill treated me as a good friend.

I told him I would be delighted to stay with him on my next trip. And the next talk I gave at the University ended with a stay with Bill and Meredith, where I enjoyed their hospitality and a wonderful meal prepared by Meredith.

Bill, B. Traven and me

I first met Bill virtually. He was an early reader of my blog and published comments under the pseudonym, b. traven (Bill’s spelling). I thought: how unusuall for someone to use the name of a 1940s Hollywood screenwriter who wrote the screenplay for the classic film, The Treasure of Sierra Madre, which won two Academy Awards.

b. traven was, of course a pseudonym. His biographers cannot determine much about his past or even his real name. They can trace it back to a Ret Merut, and an itinerant German radical who published a 1920s anarchist newspaper. That wasn’t his real name either. He may have been Otto Feige, son of a poor Polish-German worker.

During the chaos and political violence of 1920s Germany, and after he became a wanted man and went into hiding for four years, he applied for a US passport. He wrote (falsely) that he had been born in San Francisco.  Undoubtedly the attempts to conceal his identity were an effort for self protection.

He became a stateless refugee without a passport. Nevertheless, he was able to escape to Mexico, which had just experienced its own revolution.

Merut frequented radical anarchist circles and published this credo in his newspaper. Bill would have heartily endorsed:

“…Freedom is secured only when all other people around me are free. I can only be happy when all other people around me are happy. I can only be joyful when all the people I see and meet look at the world with joy-filled eyes. And only then can I eat my fill with pure enjoyment when I have the secure knowledge that other people, too, can eat their fill as I do. And for that reason it is a question of my own contentment, only of my own self, when I rebel against every danger which threatens my freedom and my happiness.”

In his most famous novel, The Death Ship, the hero was an American seaman who also was stateless and penniless because he had lost his passport. Like Traven himself, he sailed to ports around the world.

The moral in all of his work is that capitalism pits human against human in the lust for wealth. Instead of solidarity, the characters plot against each other and compete for survival.  Traven’s message is there are values far more important than wealth. Joining together in class solidarity is the true path to survival and happiness.

A life forged in suffering, ending in triumph

The echoes of Bill’s own life resonate in the lone American seaman.

Bill lost his father at age 12. The latter was a Hungarian military officer, who was severely wounded while serving in the German army during World War I. His family emigrated to Gary, Indiana in the 1920s, where his father became a butcher. In those days, Gary was a major industrial city. That enabled them to led a happy middle-class life.

Then the Depression struck. Workers lost their jobs and could no longer afford meat. Bill’s father lost his business.

He was a proud man with a soldier’s sense of order and rectitude. He undoubtedly felt shame that he, as the family breadwinner, had failed them. He committed suicide.

This threw Bill’s mother into dire financial straits. As a result, she sent one of her sons to live with
relatives. Bill and his other brother were sent to an orphanage. The younger two were soon returned to
relatives, but Bill, as the oldest, stayed at his insistence until he was 18 years old.  It was a bitter blow for all the young boys and left an indelible mark on them for the rest of their lives. It also impacted their relationship with each other in profound ways, driving a wedge between one brother and creating a strong bond with the other.

Like Traven’s sailor-hero, Bill felt he had lost his family and identity, and spent his entire life rebuilding a new one. Like the sailor, that life would reject the worst excesses of the capitalist system and embrace solidarity with workers and the downtrodden. Like Paul, Bill was an avid sailor or who had  adventures around the world.  He chronciled his life in an autobiography, An Orphan’s Chronicle.

Like his father, Bill served in World War II. When I first met   him and Meredith, his wife of 50 years, at his San Francisco home, he regaled me with war stories. By sheer luck, he was assigned to Army Air Force intelligence. That meant he did not serve in the bombers, many.of whose crews perished in air combat. This, he cheated death on numerous occasions.

Bill served as Indiana state chair for Henry Wallace’s 1948 presidential race, who was the last socialist to mount a serious national run.

One of the reasons Bill and Meredith were able to do so much good in the world was his successful career in advertising and marketing. Though he sold the goods produced by the capitalist system, he used his stature as a successful businessman to organize business executives against the Vietnam War.

All of Bill’s sons also were successful in their respective fields. Undoubtedly a lesson he imparted to them.

I met Bill when he was in his 90s. He had begun to develop macular degeneration, which gradually robbed of his sight. That prevented him from reading, which was another one of his passions. As a man vitally interested in world affairs, he was bitterly disappointed that he lost this crucial contact. He also couldn’t read my blog, though his son, Scott, regularly read to him. Scott also wrote an obituary for his dad.

Bill and I never saw eye to eye on one subject: religion. He might grumble for what I’m about to say. But I hope he can forgive me. I can’t help but invoke Jewish tradition in portraying my feelings for him. Judaism reserves great respect for the wisdom of elders. He was an elder in best sense of the word–setting an example through his wisdom, generosity and good deeds.

His life was long and rich. He made the world a better place for living in it. He set an example for others to emulate and fought for a better world to pass on to next generation.

Not only was he wise, he possessed a tenacity of will: all marks of his remarkable character.

All of us are trying in our own ways to follow the example he set. At times, we may wonder if all our efforts really matter, considering how little we may contribute, versus how much pain and suffering is in the world. I’m sure Bill would say: you bet it matters. How could you even think that? Never give up.

What a life he lived. One filled with hardship and triumph. Oh the stories he would tell. Full of drama, war and fate, death cheated. Not to mention his great successes in business and his beloved winery. He kept my family in champagne for years!

Bill was one of my biggest fans. He encouraged me. He supported me. This meant the world to me.

The life of a journalist and political blogger/activist can be a lonely one. You send your ideas out into the world and hope they will have an impact. Half the time you doubt they do.

But Bill made me feel he was a kindred soul. That we shared a radical vision of a better world.

He too published his own blog, A Contrary Perspective. Bill was, of course, a contrarian in the best sense of the word.

He disagreed with me only on one major subject: religion. He didn’t have much use for it and let me know in no uncertain terms.

Of course he was right. But he was also wrong. Religion has caused much suffering in the world. That is what rankled Bill so much. But it has also brought goodness, kindness and moral strength as well.

Nevertheless, our differences never detracted from our friendship.

Though he might object, I’m going to close with a traditional Jewish blessing for the departed: may his memory be for a blessing.

יהי זכרונו לברכה