Goodbye Aunt Loris and Uncle Claud

There were six of us cousins growing up. Three Padgett’s and three Mann’s. We spent every holiday together: Ripping open colorful packages and squealing with delight, playing hide-and-seek in those amazing Berkeley houses, and searching our enchanted gardens for elves at twilight. That’s how I remember it, because I was the youngest and was doted upon, looked after and spoiled. Mom, Dad, Aunt Loris and Uncle Claud pretty much left us alone to enjoy our childhoods. But somehow I knew they had woven a cocoon around us that kept us safe.

When I was my most troubled, around age 13, I would leave home at the drop of a hat, furious with life, running away. I smoke, drank, and wore too much make-up. We had moved to the suburbs after “The Divorce” and I did not fit in, so I often ran away to roam the streets of Berkeley. I remember turning up at the Domingo house where my Aunt and Uncle lived, and being given food and drink and comfort. I especially remember Uncle Claud focusing on me, just me. Praising my abilities, never a critical or harsh word. I could almost see myself through his eyes, and that was enough to keep me going. So different from my own father, whose comments left me fighting tears with slumped shoulders.

Uncle Claud was different. For one thing, he was a star—working for Channel 2 news, reporting all through the tumultuous 60’s and 70’s. There he was on TV, looking so handsome at 10 pm. He had the ability to make anyone feel good about what they were doing. I have never met anyone else who was as genuine, generous and caring. Not ever. What a remarkable gift.

My Aunt was a mystery to me as a child, smelling of exotic perfumes and wrapped in soft jersey, jewels sparkling at her ears and throat. Like Lauren Bacall, she had a dark, smoky beauty. (partially because all the rooms were hazy, since everyone smoked!) There were all sorts of subtle wonders that I absorbed as a child because of my Aunt. I recall lovely paisley shawls and big books on art, quotes from famous writers and wonderful parties where sherry was served in jewel-toned glasses.

Later, as a young married adult, the slightly twisted Padgett humor emerged from me (thanks for that, Dad) and linked up with my Aunt’s razon-sharp wit. I began to appreciate that we shared something very special and personal. From then on we always laughed when we were together, usually at someone else’s expense. Nothing was verboten—god, what a relief that was! I will miss that more than I can express.

I can still feel the warm glow of magic these two people wrought in my young life. They are part of who I am, and I am a better person because of them.

Uncle Claud's Obit:
http://www.legacy.com/SFGate/DeathNotices.asp?Page=Notice&PersonID=108304948