Steve Has Fun with In-laws

  Steven and I went on a 3-month "sabbatical" about 7 months after we were married, intending to go to China, Berma, Nepal and Thailand.  When we found out I was pregnant, we went to New Zealand instead.  Before Alicia's birth, Steve did not make much of an effort to endear himself to my mother.  (After Alicia arrived, they bonded over their total and absolute adoration of her.)   In truth, although my mother was warm and welcoming to Steven, he pretty much ignored her.  So my mother was thrilled when he sent this postcard to her from New Zealand.  Despite his obvious and gleeful attempt to tweak my proper mother, she chose to interpret it as an friendly overture.  She knew that she had at least made it onto Steven's radar screen once he started making fun of her.    

Dear Ursula,  These little boys are Maoris, the original aboriginal inhabitants of New Zealand.  They are practicing for a Maori rite that a small number of Maori boys undergo when reaching puberty - - they hang themselves.  In the meantime they are not permitted to go to the bathroom which is why their other hands are clutched at their groins.  It seems a strange practice to us, but we don't criticze, not wanting to be cutural chauvinists.  love, Steve

(By the way, what's printed on the postcard only adds to its total bizarreness:  "'Penny for Haka' was once the cry that greeted every tourist arriving in the thermal area.  To the children of a Maori village it was a constant source of income.  Today they are at school, and only rarely can a group be found to perform.")  

Speaking of making fun of people, Steve loved to tease my sister, Barbara, who was a great sport - - she laughed harder than anyone when he did this.  When Steven and I met, my sister, Ginni, and I depended on Barbara as a constant shoe source.  Ginni and I (who were taller than Barbara) had size 7 1/2 feet, but Barbara took a size 8.  She obviously didn't like being the shortest sister with the longest feet, insisting that her shoe size was 7 1/2.  So she kept buying shoes a half size too small for her which somehow always turned out to be inexplicably uncomfortable and which she then gave to Ginni or me.  Steven thought this was totally hilarious. Not that long after we started dating, he came to a family function at my parents' house with a tape he told Barbara she really needed to hear.  So my family gathered around, and Steve turned on the tape, a recording of Fats Waller singing "Your Feet's Too Big": 

Who's that walkin' round here? Mercy
Sounds like baby patter

baby elephant patter that’s what I calls it

Say up in Harlem at a table for two
There were four of us, me, your big feet and you
From your ankles up, I'd say you sure look sweet
From there down there's just too much feet

Yes, your feets too big
Don't want ya, cause you feets too big
Can't use ya, cause you feets too big
I really hate ya, ‘cause ya feets too big

The song ends with the line:   Your pedal extremities really are obnoxious

information to share

It's the first time I've been to Kenwood since his service, and he's still all over this place. Both so nice and very sad. My favorite thing, though, is this note he left about the emergency lanterns in the pantry. A great example of one of his favorite activities: giving instructions that are reasonable, followed by a level of detailed direction that is somewhere between endearingly and insultingly overprotective.

How Did This Happen?

For a secretive dude, this is a lot of public info...

I stole it out of a phone book

Johanna's Memorial Talk

March 17, 2012

 

Steve

 

In the almost beginning, there was Steve,

and it has been so ever since.

 

We met in Mrs. Kerahare’s seventh grade class in McLean, Virginia in 1959.

I was eleven. Steve was twelve.

 

We were simple and pure and open.

We were very young.

We were different as night from day.

We were best friends from the start.

 

He gave me courage.

I gave him vulnerability.

Together we grew a lifetime –

a friendship powerful enough to support and inform

the foundation of the life that was to come.

 

We were part of a remarkable gang of four.

There was Steve, Dave, Suzy and me.

We were military brats.

We were kindred spirits.

We supplied the ground for each other’s roots to grow –

the fertilizer for each other’s minds to blossom.

 

We were miners for a heart of gold,

heeding our generation’s clarion call

to love and truth and right action.

 

Bob Dylan seeded our thoughts and lit a fire in our bellies.
He said the answer was blowing in the wind,

and together, we went a searchin.

 

Steve was our audacious, dear leader.

For better and for worse, I can tell you:

He was born that way.

 

Oozing confidence in his steel-toed, black, motorcycle boots,
he fearlessly led us into territory where no man or women had ever gone,
or so we thought.

 

Somehow he just knew everything about everything.

In the halls of McLean High they whispered:

He could read as fast as JFK.

 

 

Steve held up my sky.

In my darkest hours –

which were embarrassingly numerous in those days -

he believed in me.

 

He was one of the first positive voices in the soundtrack of my inner dialog.

He unapologetically poked holes in my sad story while cheering me on.

He counseled me to kick the shit out of my fear and grab life by the horns.

 

I think it’s fair to say, he taught me how to think.

Without him, I never could have dared to dream so big,

or question authority,

or think outside the lines.

 

I would never have thrown my head back

and laughed out loud at paradox.

 

His brilliant, hilariously irreverent mind was always on duty.

I can hear him now, bragging about how he aced his college boards and won a national merit scholarship.

 

I’m gonna apply to all them ivy-league schools just to make em let me in! he growled.

He did, and they did.

Bad Bob was well on his way to infamy. 

 

When I heard the unbearable news that Steve had left the building,

I madly started searching thru my old letters.

 

And there I found him in big bold handwriting that took up the whole page.

Even in his letters from Harvard, he said it like it was.

I think he’d like it if I read you some of what he wrote in response to my discontent with college. 

 

I’m telling you Jo – if you’ve got the urge for going, then go. Be careful about where you move to, but go, get out of Maryland. Somebody or other said that the value of a life was measured by the intensity with which it was lived. Don’t be a burnt out case somewhere in the wilds of Maryland. It’s the only life you have, don’t run it out someplace you don’t want to be. Put on your traveling shoes and go.

 

And a few months later, after I’d taken his advice and found a better place for myself at the American College in Paris, he wrote the following vintage Dantzker:

 

Sept 27, 1966

 

Jo,

 

It’s fall and school has me again. I trust you’ve also found someplace suitable to alight for the winter. Somehow a year in Paris seems better than a year in Cambridge, though there seems to be no good reason.

 

…Your travels sound great. People say it’s nice to go home, but I’d rather wander forever.

 

…My summer was profitable but tedious. My job was very interesting but it took so long – up at 7 in order to catch a ride and not home and done with dinner until 7. The only thing it taught me was not to do it again. I’m supposed to be an economics major here, but what I’m really interested in is social agitation. I’m up for riots and fires and explosions. I find it difficult to write about but: I’m violent. That’s probably the most succinct explanation of the way I am these days. All my solutions to social problems or any situation is simply to shoot the people. I think violence is a perfectly usable way to achieve social change.

 

He then blithely changed the subject to his plans to hook up with Dave at Haverford and Suzy at Antioch. He wanted to buy a car to go with his motorcycle and things like that. And then at the end he threw in some more wise advice for me to ponder.

 

…As for your parents, ignore them. You’re almost 19 and there comes always the time of the big break. Sometime you’ll have to break with father and assert yourself as an adult.

 

I hope you reply sooner than I. Your beautiful letters warm a cold winter’s day.

 

Steve

 

We went on to share many fantastic adventures in those formative years.

We drove cross-country four times I think.

I got the full force of his many sides.

 

I will treasure more than ever my supply of vivid memories

that stretch across our lifetime.

 

Steve lives in my heart now.

I can still hear his voice and feel the power

of the fierce, sweet truth with which he lived.

Ten thousand thank yous my dear friend.

Ten thousand thank yous.

 

Johanna 

Any Chance for a History Lesson

When my dad finally got a cell phone around 2000 ("I'm never going to pick up and people are going to have leave me messages which I will answer IF I feel like it!"), his new number ended in 1844. He very gleefully announced to everyone that he now had the James K. Polk phone.

Steven Speak

As Steven got older, he did become a tad better at expressing his fond feelings in a conventional way.  I credit myself for that of course.  But particularly when he was younger, you needed to understand “Steven speak” to feel the love.

His secretary, Alma Gilligan, was a phenomenal secretary.  Steven would often come home singing her praises.  He was really grateful to have her as his secretary, but I was concerned that he might only be expressing that to me, not to her.  So one time I was on the phone with Alma, and said:  “I hope Steve tells you how great he thinks you are and how much he appreciates you.”  Alma reassured me that he did.   I was surprised and happy to hear that:  “Really, Alma?”  Alma:  “Oh yes, why just the other day he heard a rumor that I was going to go work for a different lawyer.  He came out of his office, walked up to my desk, said:  ‘Alma, you leave me for another attorney, I’m breaking your knee caps,’ and went back into his office."   

Fortune - by Peter

Then, in 1992, that frightening call from you, Jackie.  Something was terribly wrong with Steve.  He suddenly had a horrible headache.  He couldn't read.  Seeing Steve that evening at Alta Bates -- listening to his soft but perfectly cogent explanation to the neurologist about what had happened.  And then, the doctor reached into his shirt pocket, held up a pen and asked:  "Steve, what is this?"  Steve knew, he knew, just a minute . . . but he couldn't quite get it.  I'll never forget that. 

And here I pause and think back at what might have been in 1992.  That was 20 years ago. 

Another good friend who started at Morrison at the same time Steve and I began -- Darrell Sackl --  wrote the following in response to my note informing him of Steve's passing:

"Peter, thank you for the message about Steve.  I was away for a few days and was not checking my email.  As I have traveled this road and lost along the way a number of relatives and good friends who died too early in their lives, I've come to learn to focus on the blessings in their lives in order to make the pain more bearable.  When I first learned what had happened to Steve decades ago, I thought he would not live long and perhaps be bedridden.  I think I told you that my best friend and roommate during law school had a brother who was five years older.  The brother had graduated from the University of Illinois law school and was practicing at a firm in Chicago where they were raised.  During our first semester of law school, my friend's brother had occur to him what happened to Steve. He was rushed to the hospital, but lived only 12 hours.  He was already married, had one child, and his wife was pregnant with their second child.  The brother's wife and parents were told that, if he had lived, he would likely never have regained consciousness.  Peter, I am trying to focus on and remember today that Steve did get back on his feet, that Steve, as you often told me, seemed to enjoy life fully, and that he was able to enjoy for decades more Jackie and their children -- and see his children grow up.  I am sure this is not comforting today to Steve's family, but I do believe it will be comforting to them in the coming years."

That thought is comforting to me.  

Because I know just how lucky I was.  We all were.  We were able to share that wonderful period of our lives as growing young families.  It doesn't get more precious than that. 

Steve turned misfortune into all of our grace.  He had so much room in that vast mind and heart.  

Yes, now it is terribly sad.  Now the loss still feels unbearable.  Jackie, Alicia, Nick, Lizzie, Bruce, Lynn, Ursula -- he adored you.  He was so proud of all of you.  Our hearts go out to you.

But we are grateful to have had the blessing -- for so many wonderful years -- of Steve's uncommon intelligence, humor, wisdom and sweetness.

Sam's Memorial Speech

            Hi, my name is Sam Kafrissen. Although Steve and I have been 3000 miles apart for nearly forty years I have always considered him to be my best friend. Steve and I lived together for a few years when he was in law school in a group house in Somerville, Mass called Campbell Park. It wasn’t what you would call a commune mostly because Steve and I were never the communal types.

            I first met Steve on Labor Day weekend in 1970. The two of us spent that weekend watching the entire Jerry Lewis Telethon for Muscular Dystrophy from beginning to end. We were, of course, aided by a few substances and were convinced at the time that we were the only two people in America to watch it all. Or at least the only two who did so without making a donation.

            Nine months later my girlfriend Jeanne, now my wife, moved into Campbell Park and Steve and Jeanne and I became a threesome. Unfortunately, it was not the kind of threesome people refer to nowadays. We were just pals. The joke among us for years until Steve met Jackie was that if Jeanne hadn’t married me she would have married Steve. But in truth it was really just a joke. However, a couple of years ago the four of us were together and an incident occurred in which I stepped up. Steve immediately turned to Jeanne and said, “See, you married the right one of us after all.”

            I owe a great deal to Steve for the important things I learned from him over the years. As most of you know Steve was always an inveterate moviegoer. And his tastes in films ran to the eclectic. From Steve I learned how to recognize what a good-bad movie was. I learned that “The Wild Bunch” was the best western ever made – a film incidentally that Steve and I watched together at least five times. I learned who such important movie characters as “Pete, the bad guy,” “Polansky, the Polish guy,” and “Sean, the Irish Guy” were. I also learned never to talk during movies, because Steve always did.

            Steve also introduced me to Zap Comics and through him I became familiar with such important literary figures as “Mr. Natural, Freewheeling Franklin, the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, Fritz the Cat, and Angel Food McSpade, among others.

            Steve showed me that it was necessary to stop and read every historical marker along the roadside or the sidewalk. He taught me how to TiVo a baseball game and then watch it 45 minutes after it started, thereby eliminating all the commercials and pitching changes. That way you could watch a ball game in 1½ hours, or 1¾ if you were a Red Sox fan like myself, because they scored more runs but also gave up more than the Giants did.

            Steve taught me that you could move beyond being a two-car family, and that once you got beyond three it didn’t matter how many vehicles you acquired after that. He also taught me that putting up with the foibles of one’s spouse was the key to a successful marriage.

            Many of you probably don’t know this but for a brief time back in the early seventies before moving to California Steve fancied himself as a fashion plate. He had just returned from Europe and he went through a period in which he was, shall we say, “styling.” Unfortunately, he had to leave that all behind when he moved out here because he couldn’t take my clothes with him. After that Steve fashion sense turned more toward what we would generously call the “utilitarian.” A few years ago Steve came to visit Jeanne and me and stayed with us for about ten days. Steve was always an early riser so each morning when we would come downstairs Steve would already be sitting on our living room couch usually listening to a book on tape. And each morning he would be wearing the same clothes: a pair of non-descript grayish brown cargo pants and a blue, three-button knit shirt. After four or five days when Steve appeared in the same outfit each day, Jeanne and I began to look at one another and wonder. Around the seventh day Steve asked if he could put some clothes in the wash and we readily agreed. He then dropped four pairs of the identical non-descript grayish brown cargo pants into the laundry basket along with four identical blue three button knit shirts. And this did not count the identical outfit that he was already wearing.

            I would like to close with one final anecdote about Steve. When Steve and Jeanne and I lived together Steve had a habit of leaving a half swallow of Coke or milk or juice in the fridge. He would likewise leave very small bites of some leftover food on a regular basis. Long after Steve moved out here whenever Jeanne and I found such a small amount of something in our refrigerator we would say “I guess Steve Dantzker must be here.” So when we heard the sad news about Steve we began to purposely leave small amounts of food and drink in our fridge so we could say to “I guess Steve Dantzker is here.” –and Steve you always will be.             So, Steve, I thank you for your generosity and hospitality whenever we came out here to visit you and Jackie. But most of all I thank you for your long-term friendship. I will miss our many rambling conversations: the serious ones, the absurd ones and above all others, the ones on subjects that were important only to you and me. And as the boys said to each other near the end of The Wild Bunch, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

On/Off Switch

As many people have already pointed out, Steve talked when he was in the mood and stopped (or never started) when he wasn’t.  It seemed like the internal tape in his brain would start up with something he found more interesting or compelling, which would simultaneously push the mute button for the rest of the world.  Before his stroke, this was frequently accompanied by starting to read; after his stroke, turning on his headphones.   Some examples:

About 10 years ago, Steven came with me to a dinner party given by a man I worked with and his wife at their home in the City.  It wasn’t a large party, about 20 guests.   I reminded him as we crossed the bridge from Berkeley that this was a function with people I worked with, so could he please be socialable.  He said he would.

 The house was a pretty Victorian, with a hallway from the front door straight to the kitchen at the back of the house.  First the living room and then the dining room were off to the side as you walked back. It was a rare balmy night in SF, so the entire party was taking place in the kitchen and back deck.  We got to the party, and Steve was chatting away in the kitchen with people he liked.  Oh, good.  I relaxed my vigilance.  About 45 minutes after we had arrived and dinner was about to be served, I looked around.  No Steve.  I went out to the deck where the rest of the partygoers were.  No Steve.  I figured he had gone to the bathroom.  But after a while, I got concerned and starting searching him out.   I saw that the living and dining rooms had no lights on, so I knew he wasn’t there.   No one was in the bathrooms either.  I started down the hall to the front door to look outside.  As I passed the living room, I saw a shadowy figure just sitting in the dark in a big arm chair.  I rushed over, “Steven, what’s the matter?  Are you OK?”  He said, “Oh, I’m fine.   I’m just all talked out.”  And that was it for sociabililty for that night.  

I always told Steven that he was like a walking Rorschach ink blot test.  When we worked in the same firm, associates would regularly come into my office, worried that Steve was mad at them or didn’t like them because he'd ignored them when they said hi, or he had passed them in the hall without even acknowledging them, or he'd walked off when they were mid-conversation.   They would offer up why that might be:  Steve didn’t think they had gone to a good enough law school; he thought they were a bad writer; Steve thought they were dull, and so on.  Whatever their insecurity, they just projected it right onto Steve.   I had to explain the mind tape on/external world off phenomenon to them, which usually only partly calmed them down, because who actually does that?

Here’s how Jim McCabe (luckily, a secure guy), later told me he handled working with Steve when he was an associate.  He’d walk into Steve’s office, and start in on what he needed to talk to Steven about.  At some point in the middle of the discussion, Steven would start reading something he saw on his desk.  Conference over.   Mike would walk out and wait a half hour or so which would, as he put it, push the reset button.  He’d go back in.  Depending on the day, this might repeat several times before Jim had covered everything he needed to.

One time I ran into Peter Pfister on the bus or BART home.  Peter told me that that day, Steven had walked into Peter’s office wanting his advice on something.  Peter politely pushed the papers he was working on away from him, and turned his attention to Steve.  In the middle of their conversation, the papers that Peter had shoved away caught Steven’s eye.  He turned them around, and started reading them.    As Peter (mock indignantly) said , “I’ve come to expect Steve to do this when I seek  him out, but, I’m sorry, HE walked into MY office asking for help, and then not only tunes me out, but commandeers the document I was working on too?”     

  

Need 3 Eggs - by Larry

With a Safeway less than 10 blocks away and a small neighborhood market 2 blocks away, it would seem a rare occurrence that a call would be made -- one house to the other - to borrow something. For the Staring-Hobel household, borrowing gave us the excuse to come over, say hello and watch the Moore-Dantzker household at its best. Front door unlocked, television on in one part of the family area with kids watching (some Dantzers, some not), computer terminal on in another part of the kitchen, sometimes Jackie playing a computer game while cooking, sometimes Lizzie, hardly ever Steve. Megan or Christina around, Bruce quietly smiling, Emily and Alicia upstairs, Nick (early on with his bag of candies, later with his friends watching TV), Mitts for years, then Mitts and Hudson and then Hudson lying on the couch. Steve having recently walked in with groceries from the store (having cornered the market on Danon coffee yogurts), still listening to his book on tape, and having bought Moore quantities (food enough for 20 to eat for 2 weeks). A quick trip to the refrigerator for the ingredient I needed, and a few minutes for talk and to watch the hustle, bustle. Great fun. I often came with something made in our house (I would like it to be clear that Diana made it and I simply carried it over). Coals to Newcastle (dinner to Chez Panisse), if Jackie was cooking. And, there appeared to be some special norm of reciprocity that required that I carry back more than I delivered.

Of course, the borrowing was not one sided. The telephone would ring. It was Jackie. “Do you have any extra [you name it and she seemed to need it for one of those complex recipes she would try]. We’d say yes and soon the doorbell would ring. Steve would pull off his ear buds and come in.

Now, Steve has long noted the Moore Interval, which we understand to represent the time between the first goodbye and the time the Moore family (principally Jackie, her sisters and her parents) actually get in the car and leave. Steve didn’t really have a Moore Interval, which begins when the person gets up to leave. Rather, he practiced The Dantzker Delay. This was the time between the first moment when he arrived to get what he was supposed to get and the time when he actually got it. Whether he came for a child (when Nick and Alex were young and played together, or when Hilary and Liz were young and played together) or a food ingredient or a chair for a party, he would often arrive and before picking up the child, food or furniture, the talk would begin -- something he heard, something we heard or read, some funny situation, a question to him about the Civil War or WW 1, discussions about cars, about travel, about his adventures when young traveling around the world, about politics, about backpacking, about Mitts’ latest cat food stealing adventure or just about anything.

Imagine the tension we faced. Loving Jackie, we imagined her standing in front of the stove awaiting the egg she needed, setting the table for 16 and wondering whether her guests arriving soon would need to sit on the floor, or wondering if her child and husband had been kidnapped. Should we push him out of our house and stop a delightful conversation or should we let the moment continue? Sometimes we were strong and nudged him out the door. Other times, we simply gave in to the pleasure of his company. As the guilt began to build, the telephone would ring. We wouldn’t even have to answer. It was time for Steve to leave. The child called from upstairs, the food put in his hands, the furniture pulled out of the closet. We always anticipated the next time we would talk, laugh and engage.

Steve wasn’t always so in the moment. Steve learned -- somehow - that he could make time move more slowly. As we all know, he was incredibly smart and his mind was incredibly quick. Yet, he seemed to live a fuller life not by moving nonstop to catch every moment, but to allow the moments to come to him; he seemed, (excuse the rewrite of the cliché) to take the time to stop and think about the flowers. We miss Steve in so many ways. He will always stay with us, especially in those moments when we take the time to reflect on the day, to laugh at the absurd world we live in and when we - in our own way - try to execute The Dantzker Delay.

Getting to the Heart of the Issue - from Diana and Larry

Diana sent this article to Steven:


and his response was: 

Best quote from the article: “There were dwarves there, yes, but that was just the night the bar was having. We didn’t bring them with us or anything.”.

I mean, if dwarves are going to show up, what choice do you have except to throw them?

Steve and Jackie - by Peter

But far more important for Bonnie and me, Steve had become "Steve and Jackie."   Our long-time friends.  A few more fragments over the years.  We recall:

Emandal farm in Mendocino with friends and growing families; 4th of July firecrackers on Parkside; driving the girls to soccer -- "disappearing" as drivers and hearing frighteningly honest and hilarious conversations in the back seat among various mixes of Alicia, Emily, Katy, Julia and others.  More naturally than most of us, Steve was always accepted by the kids -- was always able to be there and yet not intrude.  As more than a few have noted, he was one of them.  He was not judgmental.  He was fascinated by them and fascinating for them.  Steve somehow "customized" his relationships with his own wonderful children -- and all of ours, too.   He was liked and trusted by all. 

New Year's Eves with Steve, Jackie and other friends, talking and eating -- as one can only eat at Steve and Jackie's.  Settling in to a movie to get us to midnight.  Finding it increasingly difficult to get to midnight.  Decades of going together with Steve and Jackie to the Berkeley Repertory Theater.  Sometimes -- well -- I'd say, many times, not making it past "half-time."  Walks around that wonderful house in Kenwood.  Talking about how things were going with our families, ourselves, the world.  Interesting, warm, comfortable friendships.

Megan's Post

photo from a party in December

I was 21 when I first started working for the Dantzkers. Over the next several years I would live with, travel and eventually become an honorary Dantzker. Steve was the first adult male I had ever spent any time around, and I can recall when I first started nannying for them wondering if he was typical of most fathers and husbands. 15 years later I know the answer is a simple no.

I had a little concern about Steve at first. Steve didn’t exactly ignore me; it was more that he was in his own world. What were all those papers he was shuffling about constantly? What in the world was he listening to on those headphones? And most importantly why the hell did he only dress in pastel shirts? After a couple of days my trepidation was gone, I understood the meaning of all of it.

The papers were half of my job. Jackie wanted them out of the dining room and in Steve’s office, so ring-around-the-papers was my daily task. I would bring them upstairs, Steve would bring them down, the second he left the house I would bring them up again, when he returned home, down they would come again. He was incredibly good natured about it all.

As far as his earphones, what wasn’t he listening to? From what I could tell he had “read” every book known to man.

The shirts- ok, this is still a mystery to me- color blindness perhaps?

 But the real essence of Steve happened on the first day when out of nowhere he pulled off his earphones, opened the fridge and offered me some of what he was snacking on. “Megan, have you had this cheese before? It’s wonderful.”

This turned out to be the essence of Steve- incredibly generous. Need a ride to the SF airport on Friday during rush hour? Steve wouldn’t bat an eye before saying yes. Want to borrow his brand new Audi for a spin, no problem. Steve and Jackie’s generosity both emotional and financial changed my life. In Steve’s case I’ve never met someone who gave so easily without expecting anything in return. Everyone around Steve benefited from his giving nature.

One of the true joys of working for the Dantzkers in those early years was learning how functional a truly abnormal family could be. Jackie stayed up all night playing scrabble or crossword puzzles and slept in til unreasonable hours. Steve got up early, packed the kids lunches and then started on his daily paper shuffle routine. Both insisted the mess in the house was due to the other (I know the truth, they were both very messy!) The house was cluttered and chaotic, filled with a ton of the friend’s kids at all times. Yet ironically it was always peaceful, a place that everyone, including myself, felt comfortable being themselves.

Over the years I watched Steve go through many phases. One of my favorites was the Simpsons stage where he meticulously recorded and labeled on VHS every episode made. I think at exactly the date in time he finished, the full set came out on DVD!

 He loved watching these shows with his kids and quickly the Dantzker home became the popular hang out. I don’t care how many parenting books tell you to limit your children’s television. Steve spent more quality time, time he and his children truly enjoyed, watching television and movies. It was the common language that bridged the generation gap. He was the coolest dad in town. Not only would he let you watch TV, he would watch it with you! And nobody can say it was a detriment to his children, we all know the Dantzker children’s success rate is at an all time high.

To see a father love to spend time with his family is a beautiful thing. And Steve enjoyed every moment he spent with them. He was endlessly proud of his children, and lived through each of them. Whenever they could everyone sat down together at diner and volleyed ideas back and forth at each other. He was delighted by Alicia’s intelligence and playfulness, so proud of Nicky going to medical school and in awe that he turned out to be the clean Dantzker, and when Lizzy was little he adored at how sweet she was and as she got older, basked in her dry humor. His love for Jackie was obvious, every morning he dutifully delivered her gruel and paper, and he never stopped noticing how beautiful she looked decked out for work. He was proud of his family and accepted each of them for who they were.

Regrettably, death is often a clarifying moment, when one realizes how much of an impact someone has had on our lives, and just how important their presence has been to us. This is certainly true of Steve.

I miss Steve a lot. I loved him for all his weird and gentle ways, for the mischievous sparkle in his eye when he was telling you a funny anecdote. For how generously he gave anything he could. For how much he impacted my life, and for how much I didn’t realize it until he was gone.

Reading all these wonderful stories of how many people’s lives Steve touched; it breaks my heart that he won’t be around any more to fill his family and friends life with his intelligence and unusual antics. I will always remember and be grateful for his impact on my life.

From Cambridge to the Tetons

By Bob Deutsch  

           I met Steve at law school around 1970.  He was a resident of the famous lodging known as Campbell Park in gritty Somerville, Massachusetts.  Handsome and very articulate, to me, he was the consummate ladies man, 60’s-in-Cambridge style with a Citroen.  My wife Carol and I joined the Campbell Park gang: Sam, Jeannie, Julie, and a revolving door of other roommates.  We were the only married couple, and drove an Oldsmobile.  We cooked exotic meals like calamari in the 1950’s kitchen of Campbell Park, and always found a reason not to go to Passim’s Coffee House.  They were our cool friends, and together we enjoyed numerous adventures and outings. 

           One night Steve organized a trip to the Orson Wells Theater for a midnight showing of “Night of the Living Dead”.  After the film, which was not totally a satire at that point, we walked home around 2AM to a friend’s apartment.  Carol sat near an open window, decompressing from the horror film.  Steve sneaked outside and grabbed her through the window, like one of the Zombies.  (Steve, is “Zombies” capitalized?)  Carol screamed her blood-curdling scream, usually reserved for close driving calls on Mass Ave.  Fortunately, the police were not called, but Carol has refused to see any other zombie movies.

           In 1972, Steve, Sam, Eric, Treb, and I travelled to Miami for the Democratic Party Convention, to express our opposition to President Nixon and the Vietnam War.   We invented our own form of Gonzo journalism a la Hunter Thompson.  Steve brought all the TV’s into the living room so we wouldn’t miss anything.  We accidentally left raw fish in the refrigerator of my parents’ house, which they discovered several weeks later, to my chagrin.

          Over the years, we kept in sporadic touch until Steve married the lovely Jackie.  Carol and I flew to California for the wedding, and were very happy that Steve had found such a charming companion.  In our house, there is only room for one lawyer, but Steve and Jackie found a way to make it work, through adversity and success.   I visited Oakland shortly after the fire which stopped at their doorstep.  We re-united at “Big Chill” weekends, including a “memorable” one we hosted in Asheville, NC, our home.

          To me, the fondest memory is the backpacking trip Steve organized for Sam, Mark, and me, in Jackson, Wyoming.  I was so impressed (and touched) with the way he sent emails to us for months before the trip about what gear to bring, how to get in shape for the strenuous trek through the Gros Ventre Wilderness, and informing us of the logistical details.  He really wanted us to have a great time, and to be safe and comfortable.  In the photograph, Steve looks so happy and relaxed.  I always want to remember him like that. 

          On the backpack trip, we all did have a great time.  Those of us who heeded Steve’s advice were indeed comfortable, but others, who shall go unnamed, lacked some of the comforts of the trail such as shoes and a tent.  The backpacking trip was a high point in my outdoor adventure experience: spectacular scenery, snow-covered mountains decorated with colorful wildflowers, non-stop banter and laughter interspersed with a little intellectual discussion.  The hike up to the snowy peak by Turqoise Lake was surreal in its beauty.  I will always remember Steve, a long-time, old-time friend, the best kind, leading the hike in the mountains of Wyoming. 

          As noted by many of the blog entries, Steve was larger than life in so many ways.  Carol and I pray that his close-knit family and numerous friends will be comforted by the warm and vivid memories of Steve’s life. 

Steve as a Litigator - by Peter

Steve spent a number of years as a litigator before becoming a transactional lawyer.  He was amused by many of the "customs" and posturings of the litigation trade.  For example, when he took depositions, he always began, as everyone did, with the ordinary "admonitions," including a reminder that the witness was under oath, as if testifying in court, and was obliged the tell the truth under penalty of perjury.  Steve believed that the witnesses always agreed; then went ahead and lied anyway.  After one frustrating deposition, Steve came into my office and told me that at his next deposition, he was going to go through the admonitions, as always, and ask whether the witness understood the penalty of perjury.  Then, he would pull a large revolver from his briefcase, put it on the table in front of him, and begin his examination.  

To my knowledge, Steve never did that, but instead went on to become a star in the more rational world of transactional lawyers.  He was well-known and highly respected -- within Morrison and nationally -- in the financial services and energy fields.

Book: Ari King

It wasn't until I graduated high school that I truly began to value parents.  Sure, I loved my mom more than anything, but I came to a certain realization when I was in college.

When describing my high school, my friends, and my home to college folks, The Dantzker house would always make its way into the conversation.  I would recount the parties, the food, the always unlocked front door, and Steve and Jackie.  I would say how great, welcoming, and nice they were.  I would talk about the meals, the movies, but most importantly, the conversation.  Talking to Steve was unlike anything in the world and something I wish I did more of.  I often talk about how much I love sitting down, in person, with someone and having a conversation, and felt Steve did too.

I could ask Steve anything, and the words "I don't know" were never mentioned.  "Steve, who do you think killed JFK?"

"Steve, will soccer ever take off in the US?"

"Steve, was the government in 16th century Portugal stable?"

There was no topic this wonderful man did not cover.  There should be an option to major in "Steve Dantzker" in college.  But, on second thought, it would be impossible for us common folk could not learn all he learned.  We can not know all he knew.  And it's for the best.  You only got as much of Steve as he was willing to give.  When it was time to head out to workout, go to a movie, or drive to Canada, he would.

My middle school and high school years were great and part of the reason is because of Steve.  I value my time spent with him and hope my kids' friends feel the way about me as I did about me as I did with Steve.

Here's to going to the movies, endless food in the fridge, amazing conversations, an understated smile, and a great man.

Treating Law Firm Partners with Respect - by Peter

Steve always liked to tell the story of one traumatic moment that occurred when we were young associates.  Frankly, I don't recall it clearly -- but Steve loved to remind me, Kathy Fisher and others who were there.  It involved a summer associate "wine party" at Robert Mondavi winery, I believe.  The function was over.  A lot of wine had been consumed.  We were standing on a lawn area.  Steve and I were in a group that began slowly heading to the bus that had been arranged for the evening.  As Steve told it, someone appeared with a football, and tossed it to me.  There was barely enough light to see.  Steve suddenly said, "Hey, Peter, look over there.  You've got someone open!"  I turned and saw a figure, running, yelling, "Hey, Pfister, over here!"  -- 10, 15 yards away, arms waiving, stumbling more than running.  Steve always said that at that moment, everything turned to slow motion.  According to Steve, I turned and let it loose.  The ball hit the person in the chest, like an explosion -- arms and legs flailing outward, the person landed on his back. 

Steve and I continued walking slowly to the bus.  Steve then leaned over to me.  He said quietly:  "Peter.  Do you know who that was?  That was Tom Lee (then a senior partner at Morrison)."  He paused and said:  "I think you killed him."  We didn't turn around.  We continued walking to the bus.  Careers over.

Next day, Steve was kind enough to go along with me to Tom Lee's office to explain the accident.  We began to apologize -- but we stopped when it became clear that he didn't remember any of it.

Jim Garrett was a young partner when Steve and I were associates.  We were working together on a brief to be filed that day, and we needed to work through lunch.  Garrett asked us to go out and get some sandwiches.  He barked at us that he didn't care what kind of sandwich -- just not white bread and no mayonnaise.  Steve and I walked to the sandwich place.  We ordered sandwiches for ourselves.  Then, Steve asked for one sandwich with white bread . . . and mayonnaise -- heavy on the mayonnaise, please.  That's what Steve brought to Jim Garrett.

Meeting Steve in 1974 (or 1971) - by Peter

I've known Steve for a long time.  I first met him in 1974.  It was in the offices of Morrison & Foerster.

I still remember the first words I said to Steve.  He had greeted me, and I responded:  "I'm sorry, but . . . I'm not Tom.  Who are you?" 

It turned out that Steve had gone to Harvard law school in the same class as my identical twin brother, Tom.  Steve had graduated and had just started at Morrison.  I was finishing a clerkship and interviewing for a job at Morrison.  So, although that encounter was in 1974, genetically I've known Steve since 1971.

After I introduced myself, Steve took me aside.  He had long dark hair.  Sundance Kid mustache.  Wonderful smile.  He wanted to tell me something.  It felt conspiratorial.  He whispered, "You know, all these joints are pretty much the same, but if you actually decide to spend a couple of years in a law firm to pay off your student loans, this isn't such a bad place to do it."  That was good enough for me.  We became colleagues for 15 years.

Being a new associate at a law firm can be intimidating.  But it was great to be in the same "associate class" with Steve.  Steve was brilliant -- but also approachable.  You could check in with him to ask the questions you were afraid to ask others.  He never made you feel foolish for asking.  He was also spectacularly irreverent.  He not only knew the answers, he always explained "what was really going on" -- always with the smile, sparkle in his eyes, and a delight in exposing the bombast and vanity that sometimes creeps into the law business.

World Wandering - By Zette

I met Steve in April 1972 in Delhi.  He was with Hilary Kitz, who I had met through Tony Dubovsky in Berkeley several years before.  I had reconnected with Hilary, on Facebook of course, and I asked her about their trip to India. By the time they got to India, where I had been for about 8 months at that point as  student on the UC Berkeley graduate program, they needed a break from each other - it was hot and they were tired!  I just remember Steve in a cheap hotel in the center of Delhi - with long hair, beard, and Indian shirt - we became friends. Hilary and Steve completely lost touch with each other after the trip - she got married, moved to Tulsa (she is Canadian, from Nova Scotia), had children, and now has grandchildren in Berkeley! Here is Hilary's account:

Steven and I went to the concert for Bangladesh at Madison Square gardens and left on the QE II the next day.  We traveled to England, picked up the green long wheel base landrover complete with small fridge and stove.  We drove to Florence where we pick up a friend who was going to a wedding and then drove to Istanbul, Tehran and Kabul. With war between India and Pakistan imminent the border between those two countries was soon to close. We left the car in customs in Kabul and caught the last flight into Delhi before service was curtailed on December 1.

We traveled to Agra, then down to Bangalore for Christmas, Kerala and Trichy, Ajanta and Ellora, all by train. Then we took the ferry to Sri Lanka where we rode on the elephant of the ex prime minister. Back up the east coast of India to Madras and then to north India to catch a plane to Nepal. We spent about a month there and then to Benares and back to Delhi.

At Delhi we were joined by Ann Woodruff who flew in from Toronto.   I do remember dressing in saris and dancing to the parade, it must have been wedding season. (ZE note:  they were staying with my roommate Chander Chopra and me, and somewhere I have photos of us dancing in the heat)

After a trip back to Agra and then Jaipur we flew back to Kabul and picked up the car and drove back to Europe landing in Paris in May.

Steven continued on with his third year of law school.

I didn't see of hear much about him after the trip, I think we were both exhausted.  I did move into a house with four of his classmates while I went to grad school.

That sounds more like an itinerary than a memoir.

I met Steven the new years of 1970 when I went to Cambridge with my brother. I was teaching school in Kingston Jamaica at the time and he came down the following March to visit me. We both wanted to go to India and dreamed up the trip that spring and summer.

 

ZE:  After I came back to California, I reconnected with Steve and went to visit him in Cambridge.  The following December (the memorably cold winter of 1972) he came to visit over the holidays.  I took him to a New Year's Eve party (or maybe one a few days earlier) at David Gancher's house on Harrison Street in Oakland.  He met Betty Lynn, Judy, and David, and the rest is history.  He moved to California shortly thereafter, and I moved to the East coast.  I miss him so much, even though I haven't seen him for several years and not in any depth for some time.   One very clear memory I have is of driving him to the airport at dawn, maybe even after staying up all night on December 31, and watching the sun come up - we both said "the crack of dawn" - it was a new world.  I'm glad he moved to California.    

An Accurate Assessment - From Hillary

One night at the Dantzker house, I went downstairs to chug some San Pelligrino and happened upon Steve busily throwing together some peanut butter masterpiece. Up until this point when I had stayed in with Lizzy, I had been overwhelmingly intimidated by the entire family of cerebral maniacs. The conversation moved at a dizzying speed, each well-educated and witty family member struggling to make their well-rationalized argument before some else would jump in with their own. Yet stoic Steve would sit tight until he decided to command the conversation. He didn’t talk too quickly or loudly and he kept his comments short and pointed, yet it was these impressively succinct and downright strange interjections and anecdotes that would put the cherry on the conversation, tying together the entire tsunami of familial comedic genius into a contained space.

I did my best to keep tight and not ramble on senselessly as I normally do, lest I cement my place as the household idiot. But that night Steve actually took out his headphones (which I somehow doubt were plugged into anything), throwing out what I believe was his version of a social cue. I had to say something. What should I talk about? Everyone loves dogs. The Dantzkers love dogs, preferably if they’re lacking a limb of some kind. Ok dogs it was. Somewhere in there I admitted I couldn’t imagine myself having any other dog beside a Jack Russell.

Steve looked as though I had just held a cup of urine underneath his nose. “So you like yappy, impertinent, obnoxious little dogs, do you?”

“Well I like your daughter don’t I?”

Steve calmly put down the peanut butter and leaned back in hearty laughter. Then the conversation was over. Apparently the way to the man’s heart was by throwing his spawn under the bus.

***

He was completely fascninating, the kind of unreasonably brilliant and truthful man who lived with such self-confidence that he said and did everything on his own time and at his own leisure. He seemed to never succumb to that pressure to fulfill to those base sorts of social expectation, just to make everyone else able to pretend they are comfortable with themselves. If he felt there was no need or desire to speak, he would refrain or just leave the room. Orthodox in his irreverence, he made the fig at decorum. He would bump into the elephants in the room and not say excuse me. Perhaps he didn’t notice if they were there or just didn’t care.

However inhospitable he was to social convention, the man was generous. The entire Dantzker family is like this; they open their home and give more than just a chance to anyone. They took me in for weeks at a time without a thought and shoved food down my throat at every dinner outing, applauding my “healthy” appetite. They allowed me to just exist, passively watching as their energy would explode, recoil, and break stuff in the room. I got to hitchhike along on their fantastic journey on and off over the course of two and a half years, and I am eternally grateful to Steve, Jackie, Lizzy and all the other Dantzkers for this. Rest in Peace, Steve. I am sure you are out there somewhere, making jokes and laughing to yourself while everyone else is still scratching their heads and digesting your bizarre spoonfuls of hilarity.

What Else Not to do With Steve - By Peter

Over time, you learned other things "not to do with Steve."   For example, you never play Trivial Pursuit with Steve.  It's not worth it.  You just don't come out of it feeling good about yourself. 

Too Much is not Enough - By Peter

I once owned a '65 Mustang.  It was one of the very first Mustangs to come out.  I bought it in 1974 from a high-school teacher friend -- just before I met Steve.

Several years later, Bonnie and I bought a 1980 Volvo sedan.  We kept both cars for a long time.  By the 90's, I was thinking about finally getting a new car, a station wagon.  I went to my friend, Steve, and asked for his advice:  Which should I keep as a second car?  Should I sell the old Volvo -- which looked awful but had a lot of advantages over the much older Mustang -- or should I hold onto the Mustang, which seemed on its way to being a classic? 

By that time, I had known Steve for 15 years -- and it was the first time I ever saw him perplexed.  Genuinely confused.  He listened.  He tilted his head -- like Hudson might do -- trying hard to understand.

Then he couldn't hold himself.  He blurted out:  "Peter!   Stop!  What are you doing?  Here's my advice:  You keep both.  You buy the new car.  He paused:  "And then you get MORE."  I couldn't help smiling when I heard a week after Steve died that the family still had not located Steve's old Chrysler.

You don't seek advice from Steve Dantzker on getting rid of cars. 

Book: Brandon Johnson

I am truly saddened with the passing of Steve Dantzker.  I have nothing but adoration and appreciation for Steve and his family.  He was someone I will always look up to and try to emulate. He was undeniably the coolest dad I've ever known.  He had a way with Nick, me, and our friends.  We could be ourselves around Steve.  He allowed us to find our own way, but always offered us guidance, advice, or help whenever we needed it.  He was likely one of the smartest people I will ever know.  The man was like an encyclopedia.  Whenever we had questions about ANYTHING, he would give us a thirty minute lesson on it, and we were captivated.  There were always fights to get into Steve's green suburban on basketball road trips :)

One of my fondest memories of Steve is when he took Nick and me to see Lord of the Rings.  Nick, Steve, UB, Lizzy, and I drove into San Francisco to see the second and third LOTR movies.  Steve made quite the day of these movie premieres.  He treated us to an endless Dim Sum lunch, and then we would walk over to the Metreon, which at the time was like heaven to us boys.  The movies always seemed to premiere right before Christmas, and in a testament to his boundless generosity and kindness, Steve would have a number of fifty dollar bills prepared, which he would hand out to unsuspecting homeless people.  He never made a scene of this, barely breaking stride and passing them money like it was pocket change.  He would look at me and Nick and say something like, "It's Christmas, I don't care what they spend it on."  He always insisted that we see movies in IMAX.  On the way home, he and UB would field our endless questions about Tolkien and the LOTR world.  As far as Nick and I were concerned, he may as fucking well have been to Middle Earth.  He had been everywhere.  He knew everything.

I was so fortunate enough to have known Steve and spend as much time with him as I did.  I find some solace in that his spirit lives on through his incredible family, who I will always love and hold dear to my heart.