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You know the night’s magic……..

I love what’s happened to downtown San Mateo. The new shops, the cute restaurants, the sidewalk cafes, very nice.

But when you look down at the sidewalks, mostly on 4th Ave, all the delicious appeal of dining out is lost. The sidewalks are grimy–downright dirty–in some places, filthy is the word.

Certainly doesn’t do much for enjoying a meal, particularly near the sidewalk cafes.

Don’t know whose responsibility the sidewalks are–but I’m not that anxious about showing off downtown San Mateo to friends from out-of-town.

“Peppers” Photo by Jerry Koontz

The Frick

They have the original Vermeer “Mistress and Maid” [1665-70] –seen here. When you see this painting in person, you’ll see the maid she’s having a “conversation” with, and you’ll wonder what they could be talking about. It could be anything–you make it up.
They’ve got Rembrandts & Gainsboroughs & Turners & Whistlers & Titians & on & on, all in Mr. Frick’s historical home. Imagine how he lived while walking through his historical home.. Guaranteed to blow you awayPhoto: The Frick’s garden:

From the(1978) handbook: “The Frick Collection was founded by Henry Clay Frick (1849-1919), the Pittsburgh coke and steel industrialist. At his death, Mr. Frick bequeathed his New York residence and the most outstanding of his many art works to establish a public gallery for the purpose of “encouraging and developing the study of the fine arts.” Chief among his bequests, which also included sculpture, drawings, prints, furniture, porcelains, enamels, rugs, and silver, were one hundred thirty-one paintings. Thirty-eight additional have been purchased over the years by the Trustees from an endowment provided by the founder.

“Mr. Frick grew up in the vicinity of Pittsburg. From an early age he was interested in art, and his acquisitions recorded ov er a span of forty years show a continuing development of knowledge and discernment. After initially concentrating on Salon pictures and works by the Barbizon school, he purchased his first old masters around the turn of the century. In the next decade he acquired many of the distinguished paintings that established the character of the Collection as it is seen today. ….”

The collection will amaze you.

There were times the search for Coastside history led me to the county’s architecturally uninspiring offices in Redwood City —and one day in the 1970s I was searching for maps of the original ranchos. Of Guerrero, Vasquez and Miramontes.

In the language of acreage, the old ranchos seemed immense: I was anxious to see a map with the actual boundary lines.

An all- business lady wearing a dark suit directed me to an office, identical to the others, but this one was the home of the man I’ll call “the Keeper of the Mapsâ€?.

I got the feeling he’d inhabited this space forever. He knew every town’s outline and shape and what the ..….., ========== and { } meant. All the codes and symbols. He knew the name of every creek and hollow. He’d lived in San Mateo County all his life and felt a special affection for the Coastside.

He was gracious: “Maps of the original ranchos? Do you want copies?â€?

The encounter was brief but the “Keeper of the Maps” made a lasting impression. Someday, I thought, he might make a good story.

Decades later I was ready to write that story— it had been a long time—was he still tending his maps? was he alive?—And in the course of tracking him down, I sadly found his obituary.

Not the first time I had been too late.

But within the obit were the names of siblings. Aha! I thought, I’ll interview one of his relatives.

I’ve had stories take a sharp turn and go in an unexpected direction before–but never one so delightfully surprising.

One of the names was listed in the phone book. I called her, it was the map man’s sister, she was friendly and invited me to her home– one of those endless apartment complexes, hard to tell where it began and ended. I’d been there before on an interview: a lot of seniors lived quiet, eventless days and nights there.

I can still see her standing at the end of the long, barren hallway. Outside of her apartment, awaiting me.
She was a knockout. I couldn’t tell her age—but she had to be in her 70s. Her hair was brown, for cut and style, think Barbra Stanwyck. Her skin was smooth and wrinkle-less. I swear!

When she saw my notebook, she warned: “My daughter’s a lawyer. Watch what you write.â€?

She was gorgeous– “No, I’ve never dyed my hair. No, I’ve never had a facelift, or use botox.â€?

She was the sexiest old lady I’d ever seen. I was stunned. In all my years of interviewing seniors, I’d never see such a good looking old lady

I explained I was there to talk about her brother, the “Keeper of the Mapsâ€?—but when I asked questions about him, she gave one -word answers and then steered the conversation to herself, shocking me with tales of her active love life.

That night this widow of a prominent businessman was looking forward to a date with a new boyfriend. She couldn’t wait. Every time the phone rang, and it did ring several times, she tittered like a teenager hoping it would be him. And one time it actually was.

“I’m not going to tell him I’m 82,â€? she said conspiratorially. “He thinks I’m in my 70s. I kissed him on our first date.â€?

Then, yet another another phone call—this from a retired television executive whose name I recognized…he was calling to ask if he could stay the night. Wow!

She made it clear the interview was near an end and I left having made zero progress on my “Keeper of the Mapsâ€? story. Not only that but I struck out twice. What I learned about her I couldn’t really use; it would have been indiscreet.

Now enough time has passed that I feel I can tell a little about that gorgeous babe.

I didn’t learn very much about maps– but I sure learned that some seniors have a torrid love life.

Better at everything they do. The on flight toilets are immaculate (!!!)– as are the leather seats and aisles. The on board air feels fresh; there’s no fear of catching the flu… Plus they don’t serve the usual, stinky, horrible food–they don’t “do” food–instead they offer wrapped snacks– and everybody pitches in to make sure they leave the plane in the super-clean condition it was when they boarded.

As for boarding, no problem. No stress.

The ride to and from New York was great. and the landing perfect, no gripping the arm rests, no screechy sound of too much friction when the tires meet the runway. No white knuckles.

Neither Burt nor I enjoy flying–and would rather not–but they made a 6-hour flight as painless as possible.

Here’s the owner, Frank Long —–And, below cheerful clerk, Donna Bridgman in the store’s garden