Arthur encouraging Elena (Cohen) Holsman before her Bat Mitzvah and getting her to laugh by recounting his experience with his Bar Mitzvah
Arthur was our friend and neighbor for 41 years. Every day we would see him come out of his house and go out the gate on the way to his daily adventure. He would always be carrying a collection of notebooks and papers for writing his many books and syndicated columns and articles. He would stop to chat and then he would get into his little VW convertible and drive down Oxford Street to the University or to the Claremont pool where he would swim and read in the sun and add to the tan which he kept – remarkably – all year.
We counted on Arthur’s sharp mind and clear perspective on politics and politicians – always happy when he gave us something to read or handed us his latest list of novels that illuminated his own high standards and his progressive take on the state of the world. He lived the history of our times intellectually and emotionally. We were lucky to know him.
Arthur came to our family celebrations and embraced our children and grandchildren; we all loved him. And during these last years, he brought the bright sweet light of Rosemary into all our lives. We will always be grateful.
Deborah Robison and Dennis Cohen
Arthur was a dear, close friend and I will always remember him fondly. He wrote beautiful personal letters whenever I was on travel for work. Swimming was his passion. He preferred being called Pablo after famous writers and authors who were also swimmers: Pablo Casals, Pablo Picasso, and Pablo Neruda.
He was a man of routines and was frugal, one might even say downright cheap. He loved to make me laugh. He was terrified of nature and nervous whenever I dragged him into the hills for a walk. He was sure there was a mountain lion around every rock. A true city boy.
Author loved teaching about democracy and reading good literature. He was dedicated to a fair and open system of government. He would be horrified with the current Supreme Court justices and their decisions. He was a strong advocate for women’s rights and civil rights and often wrote supporting letters for the newspapers. He proudly handed out his book Democracy is not a Spectator Sport to all students at graduation. I truly think he Made a Difference. Arthur, you are sorely missed.
Donna Strahan
Left to right, front row: Arthur with cousins Elizabeth and Walter Gundy and his mother Esther Blaustein; back row: uncles and aunts Joe and Sylvia Landy; Morey and Evelyn Gundy; and Arthur’s father Morris Blaustein
Moey [Morris Blaustein, Arthur’s father] was my mother’s older brother, and she adored him. In a way, he was the love of her life. He introduced her to the things that mattered most to her, literature and music. When she was in high school she tried to fix him up with a teacher she admired, but she must have told Moey that the teacher was very fancy, because he asked the young woman if she would like to have a cup of “mocha Java.” Nowadays that might mean an actual blend of coffee, but in those days all there was was coffee, and his odd suggestion elicited bewilderment from the teacher.
And a very good thing that was, for instead he ended up with the down-to-earth Esther, and it was an excellent match. They were physically passionate right up until he got pancreatic cancer. And they were both funny. Moey, of course, was known for telling jokes better than anybody, but Esther had a quiet humor and an endearingly hoarse voice that aided her deadpan delivery.
Her looks and glamour sometimes made people miss this quality. She had been in the fashion business, and had impeccable fashion taste. When I was in my late teens, she gave me some of her outfits, most notably two fitted winter suits designed by Anthony Blotta, for whom she had worked, and a pale blue-and-white seersucker dress with matching jacket. She showed me how to casually open the jacket to reveal its red facing, saying such a gesture was very effective, and she suggested that brown shoes and a brown handbag were good accessories for red. Later in life when Moey was no longer around, she got a part-time job at the accessory counter at Alexander’s on E. 68th St. I visited her there, and before she noticed me, I watched her advising customers with just as much care as she used to advise me. My mother claimed that all Esther had in her refrigerator were angora sweaters, which wasn’t quite true, but she wasn’t much of a cook. She took her meals at Schrafft’s, and each year when I was at summer camp she sent me tins of Schrafft’s cookies. I once overheard a lady in a bus describing a remarkable woman she’d seen at Schrafft’s, and from the description I knew it could only be Esther.
The most memorable gift Moey gave me, aside from books by authors I still cherish, was a big stuffed bear for my tonsillectomy when I was six. Instead of the usual pink inner ears, Uncle Moey (the name of the bear) had yellow inner ears. Later, I got a yellow-shaded lamp from the real Uncle Moey when my pink-and-white childhood room was changed to something more mellow. I can still smell Moey’s cigars and see him presiding over his famous wood and glassed-in office in the garment district. It was said that Margie, his assistant who gave pedicures, earned more money than he did because she got tips.
Arthur was eight years my senior, and assigned to babysit for me when our parents attended some family event together. He made me a Swiss cheese sandwich, and after lunch he prepared me for a nap by placing me on a daybed on my stomach with my hands palm-down on either side of my head. Lying there like a fully clothed version of Gaughin’s Spirit of the Dead Watching, I proudly thought, this ishow big kids take their naps.
Some years later, Moey and Esther took Arthur and me to dinner at Lindy’s, and a friend of Esther’s came over to flash her new diamond ring. “Is that the kind of ring you’re going to give your girlfriend?” she asked Arthur. He replied, “That’s the kind of ring she’s going to give me.” They all laughed, but being the kind of kid who takes everything literally, I didn’t realize it was a joke, and from then on I pictured Arthur as a major heartbreaker, strewing lovely ladies in his dashing path.
One of those lovely ladies, whom he brought to dinner at our Aunt Sylvia’s, said she was studying sociology, and for a few days after that I imagined myself studying sociology when I got to be her age, though I had no idea what sociology was.
When Arthur opened the Right Bank, his café on the Upper Eastside, he became even more of a glamorous figure to me. I didn’t see him clearly until I met him in Berkeley decades later. Though he was just as handsome, he was also warm and generous and funny, which of course he had been all along.
Throughout the intervening years, I had kept up with him through Aunt Sylvia, and I’m sure she also kept him up to date on my brother Walter and me. Sylvia was the youngest of the Blaustein children, and had been unable to have children of her own. She had been head nurse at a Catholic foundling hospital, and children meant everything to her, so she became our fairy godmother, giving us the unconditional love we didn’t receive from our mothers. We received other admirable things from our mothers, but not that.
In a charming letter Arthur sent me, he enclosed a not-so-charming note to him from my mother, telling him what a mistake he’d made switching from Brown University to Bard. There he was, a middle-aged man of distinction, being accosted by an aunt he hadn’t seen in decades, to be informed he was a disappointment, if not a failure. My mother definitely topped Esther that time. Esther may have been hard on Arthur, but she was too chic to criticize a nephew or a niece.
But Aunt Sylvia was always there to believe in us. At Moey’s viewing, Sylvia’s husband Joe held up his hand, counted his fingers, and said, “Now I’m promoted to Number Four in Sylvia’s affections,” meaning he was still trailing Arthur, Walter, and me, but no longer had to vie with Moey. In fact, Sylvia was devoted to Joe, and sadly lost without him.
I am very happy that Rosemary isn’t lost without Arthur, and grateful that they found each other, even though she never gave him a flashy diamond ring.
— Elizabeth Gundy, Arthur’s cousin
Arthur was an unmistakably bright light in my life. We saw each other mainly at the Claremont Hotel’s swimming pool or, in the locker room before or after a swim. (I hardly recognized him with his clothes on) I used to look for his car, with his distinctive license plate, as I walked up. Somehow, he almost always scored a spot up right by the hotel, much closer to the pool than the larger parking lot down below.
The trip for the swim was always twice as long and more than double the fun when he was there. He and I shared a lot of history, being early recruits to the Office of Economic Opportunity. Then he became co-director of the Center for Economic Development and Law, and I started the Youth Law Center. We also shared deep interests in progressive politics and what these days would be called social justice.
And literature — Arthur’s writing and reading seemed never to stop, and he was not shy about telling me what he thought about both the events of the day and his favorite American authors. How I depended on him for my next read, and I don’t remember ever disagreeing with his judgments. Arthur’s reading lists were published widely, but even more cherished were the recommendations of whatever he happened to be reading at the time – enthusiasm for new discoveries and also an amazing loyalty to (and familiarity with) what might be called the classics of American literature.
Amazing how long it could take to get dressed and out of the locker room.
My last email to Arthur started: “I miss you.” And his reply, a few days later, started “I miss you, too.” I will treasure that for a long time.
— Kenneth Hecht
I can transport myself back into Arthur Blaustein’s classroom in the early 1990s faster than a pitcher can throw a ball. It was a long, narrow, grey-white room with a large white table crammed in the middle. About thirty chairs encircled the table and another forty or so lined the surrounding walls making two tight-fitting concentric rectangles.
The room’s windows faced West which made for hot, stuffy afternoons. But despite the heat, the room felt cold, devoid of color, made of concrete and metal. It was a microcosm of the building that housed it: UC Berkeley’s Wurster Hall, a towering cement block that was infamous for being either loved or hated by the architect and city planning students who called it homebase.
I was a Conservation and Resource Studies major in the College of Natural Resources located far across campus where the grass was green and soft, the trees towered above the buildings, and a noisy little creek ran out back. I was far from home up there in Wurster Hall, but I felt at ease the minute I walked into Professor Blaustein’s Community and Economic Development class.
He sat in the middle of the inner rectangle, in a chair like everyone else’s, nestled down comfortably among the students a third his age. He seemed to almost purposefully not sit up straight so as to physically eschew hierarchy and communicate a sense of equality and collaboration. He greeted everyone with a friendly, almost mischievous, smile and he made us all feel welcome and valued. In fact, he acted as if he was grateful we took his class, as opposed to vice versa. His classes were always very popular and therefore impacted. You were lucky to get in the room, but you would never know it by his demeanor.
It seems to me, thirty years later, that this classroom perfectly embodied Arthur Blaustein, the person, not just the professor. Institutions are what you make of them. Governments are made up of people. So, if you want to see beauty, opportunity, community, get in there. Make it happen. But do it with humility, compassion, and dedication.
He taught us that the building blocks of change are right in front of you. They aren’t glamorous and hard to reach but are very “everyday”, almost mundane. That you have to take these ingredients and do the work it takes to make the change you want to see. You have to go, get out on the field. Don’t stay seated in the stands. Democracy is not a spectator sport!
He also taught us that just as important as speaking out was listening to others with humility and understanding. I especially loved a book he assigned called The Dogs of March. It taught, through a work of fiction, that poverty is not a crime and that people get by, make do, cope in many different ways. And that building community and opportunity isn’t one-size-fits all.
Years later, when I was working for a nonprofit that offered jobs for college graduates interested in protecting the environment and working in the public interest, I reached out to Professor Blaustein to see if he’d forward my job announcement to his students. I was excited not only because I figured he could connect me with the kind of student who might be interested in such work, but also because I was thrilled to have an excuse to get to interact with him again. After all those years, he was one of the few professors whose teachings really stuck with me.
He said he would share the announcement, and he offered something even better. He asked me to come be a guest speaker in his class. It was the exact same classroom, the exact same class. It could have been the exact same kids. He sat in his chair, slouched down, giving me the floor, smiling as I spoke. And, once again he made me feel like I was someone important with something to offer.
And, you know what? I was somebody. We are all somebodies. The life work of Arthur Blaustein is to inspire everyone to have a voice and also to listen. To engage in peaceful, thoughtful, respectful, but committed and fully engaged change making. From Civil Rights to Clean Air, from Culture in all its different shapes and sizes to Citizenry with all its obligations, this was the currency of change that Arthur peddled decade after decade, tirelessly but never in a tired manner. Always fresh and energetic, witty, friendly, inclusive, and fun, and always with that mischievous smile. He taught that there is no one right answer. There is no one at the front of the room with instructions. The syllabus of democracy is life.
I returned as a guest speaker to his class several more times and even had the opportunity to join Arthur and Rosemary for dinner with my husband, Steve, at their home in Davis. Rosemary knew Steve through their joint consumer protection work in Sacramento and I, of course, knew Arthur. It was a lovely dinner with two people whose life’s work is far greater than the sum of its parts. I am sad that Arthur is no longer roaming this Earth, making change and inspiring others to make change. But I know there are literally thousands of us former students whose lives were touched by his teachings, and through each of us, his teachings live on.
— Bernadette Del Chiaro
Arthur Blaustein was his own man. I knew him at The Claremont Fitness Club where he came for his daily swim and gentle exercise program. Sometimes we would talk arts and politics and occasionally I could help him ease a tight muscle. He could see into people with a keen sense for what was truly going on with them. He is one of the dearest people to me over the years that I have worked there. Arthur is deeply missed and I will remember him and his mischievous smile always.
— Janet Welsh
Arthur was the model of the active citizen about whom he wrote– a community leader, teacher, and mentor. He was also a bon vivant and lover of food, wine, and culture.
We crossed paths earlier in life but I was lucky enough to become his friend after moving to California in the 2000s. Both through what he did and how he did it he taught me about becoming a better communicator, a better listener, and a better person.
In his classes, and in his daily conversation, he took everyone, and everything, seriously without diminishing the authority that he brought to the dialogue through his great knowledge and curiosity.
He was always “present,” in all senses of that word. I continue to feel his presence every day, even though I deeply miss our conversations and his excitement at the unexpected turns those conversations took.
— Leif Wellington Haase
I was lucky enough to meet Arthur when I was transitioning into my teens. Through his charismatic personality and his remarkable ability to relate to young people, he introduced me to public service and giving back. It became my life. I miss him and will always remember him.
With Love, Sara Hobel
I met Arthur when I was 8 and we moved in next door. And I cannot think of one instance of him ever being anything but kind and good humored with me. That is remarkable! As I grew, Arthur was a terrific kind of role model. Yes, I sure thought he was cool. He was handsome, witty, playful, drove a convertible, dressed well, and what a tan. With an air of East Coast glamour, he breezed liked a warm beach day even on a foggy grey day in the Bay. And he was serious and passionate about work, about literature, about engaged citizens being an essential, driving force and well spring of progressive changes on societal, communal, and personal levels. For good in this world, just as Arthur himself was a good man. This came through, always. I loved going to his house, to sit in the sunny living room with actual floor to chest height piles of books I wanted to read, to talk ideas, to talk baseball, to talk politics and literature. He helped guide me, always with a sophisticated and deft light touch. I felt taken seriously, respected, cared for, inspired, and all with a playful joie de vivre. One more monumental shared experience: watching together as the Giants won it all in 2010!!!
