Just heard that elderly and ailing Virginia Weston Blewett passed last night in Stockton. A classy lady, she represents all that is best in that part of the world. She leaves behind a legacy of love and generosity not only in her family, but in her church and her city of birth and life.Being a native of that California city, I remember well the home she was born into on a street which - though a mere ten blocks from the historic downtown area on the far southern edge of the city - was formerly named 'North Street' as a nod to its pre-1900, four-square mile 'Mudville' boundary-keeping. (Before that, it was the North Street Canal -- sounds romantic enough, but actually it's purpose was not idyllic floating on Sunday afternoons but rather flood control.)
Wikipedia describes the 1906 Hurrle-Weston home as the 'White Queen of Stockton'. When this magical and marvelous mansion came on the market more than a decade ago, my niece wanted to purchase it and we accompanied her on a tour. I fell into love...and in lust. It embodied magical old space and artistically seductive opportunities in every way. I mostly remember marveling at the rows of marble in the basement -- Various sizes and shapes from washbasins to roof tiles stored there provided ample resources for any conceivable repair.
With a Walgreens across the street to its right, a Taco Bell on its left, busy and noisy traffic flowing by, it had a good view of some of the decline of 'North Street'. Its saving grace was in becoming a bridal shop. I like to think that Virginia was pleased with the gentility of that fate.
Rest well, Virginia. You are still loved and already missed.
5 comments:
thanks to your wonderful descriptive powers...I know just the "grand dame" you mean... even though "she" sits in the midst of urban "clutter", she is still "regal" in every way... and will, hopefully, never suffer the cruel "re-muddling" fate of many of her formerly grand sisters along that same once proud thoroughfare...I also was "inside" once, [ eons ago]...for some reception...as a working musician ...and she was still breathtaking... I remember a large staircase... unless my mind is totally gone... sigh
Oh, yes, Catsinger: THE Staircase. Magnificent!!!
When we first moved into the 'historic' district, I heard stories of 'what used to be in that empty lot'. One that had bordered the hospital parking lot, as ours did, had stood empty for a long time and eventually burned down when homeless people had lit fires in it to stay warm.
Of course, we contributed to the loss of one ourselves. I rather liked living in that spot where residential and medical met...
...the funeral is Tuesday at 11 at St Johns... I will be cantoring.... I knew the family from Cth. Ann. days... I started the grand daughter on the flute in 4 th grade...our brass quintet played for her wedding...
I'm singing at another memorial service this Saturday...I guess they come in 3's...
Wow, Catsinger. You started The Flautist! One of your great gifts to this world...
I remember being up in a verrrrrry hot balcony at the piano...with your brass group...at her wedding. I hope Fr C is never an hour late for a wedding, but, unfortunately, at my age I can see how that might happen.
...as I remember...the expected priest NEVER did arrive...and someone else stepped in...after we had played our entire prelude 2 times and started "switching off" with the obliging keyboardist...[of course...at MY age...I could have just "dreamt" that part...]
and yes...it was BLOODY HOT... especially up there in that little choir loft...
the "war stories" we working musicians have to tell...
only matched by the "grace" of forgetting how miserable the conditions were...
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