Dale was a long time friend and neighbor (literally next door to each other on Ben Lomond Dr in Greenmeadow). He had a great personality, smile and laugh. He will be missed - God Speed Dale
I’ve been thinking a lot about Dale since we lost him two weeks ago. I’ve been reminded of something I read decades back in a science book. The author made the seemingly impossible claim that a butterfly flapping its wings could effect the weather halfway around the world. It occurs to me that friends can have a similar effect, that certain people we grow up with as kids and teenagers shape us for the rest of our lives in ways that are hard, or even impossible, to fathom. If we hadn’t had these people in our lives decades ago, we wouldn’t be who we are today. Dale was one of those people for me.
I first met him in kindergarten at Ohlone Elementary, and we knew each other through our Wilbur and Cubberley years. He wasn’t my best friend, or even among my closest friends, but he was always present, someone energetic and fun, rowdy and irreverent—kind of fearless. Looking back on it, I think Dale was one of those people who helped show me at a young age that you could be a good guy and a troublemaker at the same time, that you could be a decent person and disruptive now and then. In fact, being a decent person might require being disruptive now and then.
I lost touch with Dale after high school. I heard bits about him from others but didn’t have any contact with him for over forty years. Then six or seven years ago, we met up again at a gathering at Mike Fox’s house. It was as if no time had past. We immediately became friends. We didn’t see much each other (I live in Oregon, he lived in Santa Cruz) but we talked regularly on the phone. He was entertaining and interesting, a sweet, caring, complicated (aren’t we all) person, with a big heart. During our last call, a week before he died, he told me how optimistic he was about the future. And as we were hanging up he said: I love you, brother. Damn! I miss him already.
My heart goes out to his two kids, Lila and Hunter; his wife, Terry; and his brother, Mike.
I think Blake has said it all. I was not in Dale's life but for the Wilbur and Cubberley years (and then the occaisional reunion), until we met up again via Zoom during Covid and then at Mike's. He was both fun and caring, creative and silly. All great qualities for a human. Miss you, Dale.
Here is a tribute from Craig Marshall, who attended the Celebration of Life for Dale on Sunday March 29th:
Our parents met while taking dancing lessons at the Greenmeadow Community Center in Palo Alto. My family were occasional guests of the Bermans at the pool there. It’s where I met Dale and discovered a lifelong friend. We became buddies by comparing and sharing cannonball techniques and seeing who could hold out longer under water.
We were 9-year olds and in 4th grade at different neighborhood schools. Little League was boring and listening to 45s was so much better. Dale wasn’t big for his age but he somehow assumed the role of a guy you didn’t want to mess with. I secretly considered him my bodyguard even though I outweighed him by 20 pounds. Looking back on it now, it’s quite possible he thought of me as his bodyguard and I’m sure that I would’ve stepped in between if he needed me to.
When the Bermans moved from Ben Lomond Drive to Gailen Avenue, a backyard pool with a diving board was included. So, it was back to the cannonballs.
We eventually lost touch with each other as we made our way through elementary, junior, and senior high schools. We reconnected in the summer before our senior year when I returned from a vacation in Mexico sporting longer hair and the beginnings of a “Captain Ahab” beard. I had quit the football team and was focusing more on my art. Dale had become a true hippie, attending Be-Ins and going to concerts at the Fillmore in San Francisco. He christened me as the official beer buyer with a borrowed draft card for I.D., and I became some guy named “Pete Mackie”. I had a lot more to learn besides school in that last year.
In the nine months that made up our senior year, I had a lifetime of experiences hanging with Dale. We listened to amazing music, painted wild-looking slides for our light shows, drank beer, smoked pot, experimented with pschedelics. He showed me how to roll the perfect joint and how to elevate tuna salad by adding chopped apple to it. Through his guitar, piano and drumming abilities, he gave me a deeper appreciation for the current trend in music. We hiked and camped in national parks with friends, and on one particular trip we nearly started a forest fire. My thanks goes to Adam Lawrence, one of those friends, whose faithful journal-keeping kept those memories from fading. I will now recount an event Adam recorded that happened on one of our outings in the Sierra Nevada, not far from Kings Canyon, just steps from Hell For Sure Pass and Disappointment Lake.
“MorningDay3(around 1980):
Last night was a re-enactment of "A Hunting We Shall Go", by The Three Stooges. Almost impossible to believe if you weren't there. The act opened with a typical camping scene: three young men sitting around a large picnic table preparing dinner. It's still light and warm when "tada!" the slapstick begins. The Sevea stove ran out of fuel in the middle of dinner preparation. The back-up stove was promptly produced and a canister of white gas opened. Yes, it certainly seemed innocent enough but this was when the action started. Craig complained, "I really don't like priming these stoves this way", as he spilled white gas onto the stove with some of it dribbling onto the table top. "Watch out for the gas on the table!,” Craig warned while reaching for the cap to close the quart-sized canister. "Don't worry about the table", Adam said casually as he struck the match that would bring wide-eyed terror to them all. Adam touched the lit match to the stove and the spilled gas ignited in a burst. The entire stove was now a flaming inferno, and immediately the some of the flames jumped down to the table top and, like a line of hissing gun powder traveling to a cartoon powder keg, the flames zipped along the table top and up the side of and into the canister that was still uncapped and held in Craig's hand. Craig's jaw dropped as he realized he was holding an entire quart of flaming white gas. Being no fool, Craig immediately threw the uncapped canister backwards, over his shoulder, not realizing that Dale's backpack and newly-made custom sleeping bag were in the canister’s direct line of fire. Dale’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He got us all to refocus on the situation at hand by vaulting over the picnic table to save his backpack and prized sleeping bag. Adam was closest to the disaster, but Craig managed to charge ahead to separate Dale’s possessions from the inferno. As the panic escalated, Craig quickly took charge by delivering a swift kick to the flaming ensemble sending it end over end between two trees. It was a perfect three-point field goal but failed to put out the fire that was ready to consume the outside of Dale's cherished custom-made sleeping bag. In a flash, Dale and Adam pounced on the burning mass by snuffing it out using their hands to scoop dust and dirt onto it. Now that the sleeping bag and backpack were out of danger, the forest floor and the nearby trees were demanding some attention. A few more moments of quick thinking had the situation under control and the three of them sat down allowing the adrenaline to slowly drain from their bloodstreams.”
We kept in touch while I was in art school in San Francisco and while he was honing his surfing and carpentry skills in Santa Cruz. I recall how Dale fell for Terry when she cared for him after he broke his neck while at a carpentry job. Remember that amazing halo he wore to keep his head and neck from twisting? I remember meeting their kids, Hunter and Lila, at Carson Lane with my family. We enjoyed eating S’mores at the outdoor fireplace on the back patio of the home Dale was so proud to have built for his family. We now rely on memories of Dale to keep him in our hearts. He was my best friend who could build just about anything, who loved his family, and is still loved by us all. He will be sorely missed and fondly remembered. Rest in peace, my good friend.
Hope today is a wonderful celebration of Dale, and that you all enjoy seeing one another. Please give my best to Dale’s family and say hello to anyone from Cubb we know.
Thanx.
Your homie bro, dw
Doug Warnock:
Was it sad? Did anyone else speak besides Craig? Was Anyone else from Cubb there?
Doug Garrett:
Short summary: it was wonderful, touching but not sad. Hunter and Laila were amazing kids. Craig spoke for the group. Mike B played a couple of songs. Larry Brugera, Billy Menchine and more there. Chime in anyone!
Dave Goetz:
Well put Doug G!
Other take-aways: Dale was a great dad who loved his kids and his kids are beautiful , poised peeps who loved their dad.
Dale was also a generous and exemplary citizen greatly appreciated by the neighbors and colleagues who spoke about him.
Doug Ardley:
Even for me, who knew about Dale’s life in Santa Cruz, the number and variety of people there to share their love and respect was stunning.
Michael Morris
Dale was a long time friend and neighbor (literally next door to each other on Ben Lomond Dr in Greenmeadow). He had a great personality, smile and laugh. He will be missed - God Speed Dale
Jeff Littman
A few photos from Craig Marshall, early photos of Dale
.
Jeff Littman
A few more photos from Craig Marshall
Jeff Littman
And more photos from Craig Marshall, the last one from August 2023
Jeff Littman
A few photos from Blake Rodman, maybe kindergarten and third grade
Jeff Littman
Blake Rodman
I’ve been thinking a lot about Dale since we lost him two weeks ago. I’ve been reminded of something I read decades back in a science book. The author made the seemingly impossible claim that a butterfly flapping its wings could effect the weather halfway around the world. It occurs to me that friends can have a similar effect, that certain people we grow up with as kids and teenagers shape us for the rest of our lives in ways that are hard, or even impossible, to fathom. If we hadn’t had these people in our lives decades ago, we wouldn’t be who we are today. Dale was one of those people for me.
I first met him in kindergarten at Ohlone Elementary, and we knew each other through our Wilbur and Cubberley years. He wasn’t my best friend, or even among my closest friends, but he was always present, someone energetic and fun, rowdy and irreverent—kind of fearless. Looking back on it, I think Dale was one of those people who helped show me at a young age that you could be a good guy and a troublemaker at the same time, that you could be a decent person and disruptive now and then. In fact, being a decent person might require being disruptive now and then.
I lost touch with Dale after high school. I heard bits about him from others but didn’t have any contact with him for over forty years. Then six or seven years ago, we met up again at a gathering at Mike Fox’s house. It was as if no time had past. We immediately became friends. We didn’t see much each other (I live in Oregon, he lived in Santa Cruz) but we talked regularly on the phone. He was entertaining and interesting, a sweet, caring, complicated (aren’t we all) person, with a big heart. During our last call, a week before he died, he told me how optimistic he was about the future. And as we were hanging up he said: I love you, brother. Damn! I miss him already.
My heart goes out to his two kids, Lila and Hunter; his wife, Terry; and his brother, Mike.
Doug Garrett
I think Blake has said it all. I was not in Dale's life but for the Wilbur and Cubberley years (and then the occaisional reunion), until we met up again via Zoom during Covid and then at Mike's. He was both fun and caring, creative and silly. All great qualities for a human. Miss you, Dale.
Jeff Littman
Here is a tribute from Craig Marshall, who attended the Celebration of Life for Dale on Sunday March 29th:
Our parents met while taking dancing lessons at the Greenmeadow Community Center in Palo Alto. My family were occasional guests of the Bermans at the pool there. It’s where I met Dale and discovered a lifelong friend. We became buddies by comparing and sharing cannonball techniques and seeing who could hold out longer under water.
We were 9-year olds and in 4th grade at different neighborhood schools. Little League was boring and listening to 45s was so much better. Dale wasn’t big for his age but he somehow assumed the role of a guy you didn’t want to mess with. I secretly considered him my bodyguard even though I outweighed him by 20 pounds. Looking back on it now, it’s quite possible he thought of me as his bodyguard and I’m sure that I would’ve stepped in between if he needed me to.
We eventually lost touch with each other as we made our way through elementary, junior, and senior high schools. We reconnected in the summer before our senior year when I returned from a vacation in Mexico sporting longer hair and the beginnings of a “Captain Ahab” beard. I had quit the football team and was focusing more on my art. Dale had become a true hippie, attending Be-Ins and going to concerts at the Fillmore in San Francisco. He christened me as the official beer buyer with a borrowed draft card for I.D., and I became some guy named “Pete Mackie”. I had a lot more to learn besides school in that last year.
“Morning Day 3 (around 1980):
Last night was a re-enactment of "A Hunting We Shall Go", by The Three Stooges. Almost impossible to believe if you weren't there. The act opened with a typical camping scene: three young men sitting around a large picnic table preparing dinner. It's still light and warm when "tada!" the slapstick begins. The Sevea stove ran out of fuel in the middle of dinner preparation. The back-up stove was promptly produced and a canister of white gas opened. Yes, it certainly seemed innocent enough but this was when the action started. Craig complained, "I really don't like priming these stoves this way", as he spilled white gas onto the stove with some of it dribbling onto the table top. "Watch out for the gas on the table!,” Craig warned while reaching for the cap to close the quart-sized canister. "Don't worry about the table", Adam said casually as he struck the match that would bring wide-eyed terror to them all. Adam touched the lit match to the stove and the spilled gas ignited in a burst. The entire stove was now a flaming inferno, and immediately the some of the flames jumped down to the table top and, like a line of hissing gun powder traveling to a cartoon powder keg, the flames zipped along the table top and up the side of and into the canister that was still uncapped and held in Craig's hand. Craig's jaw dropped as he realized he was holding an entire quart of flaming white gas. Being no fool, Craig immediately threw the uncapped canister backwards, over his shoulder, not realizing that Dale's backpack and newly-made custom sleeping bag were in the canister’s direct line of fire. Dale’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He got us all to refocus on the situation at hand by vaulting over the picnic table to save his backpack and prized sleeping bag. Adam was closest to the disaster, but Craig managed to charge ahead to separate Dale’s possessions from the inferno. As the panic escalated, Craig quickly took charge by delivering a swift kick to the flaming ensemble sending it end over end between two trees. It was a perfect three-point field goal but failed to put out the fire that was ready to consume the outside of Dale's cherished custom-made sleeping bag. In a flash, Dale and Adam pounced on the burning mass by snuffing it out using their hands to scoop dust and dirt onto it. Now that the sleeping bag and backpack were out of danger, the forest floor and the nearby trees were demanding some attention. A few more moments of quick thinking had the situation under control and the three of them sat down allowing the adrenaline to slowly drain from their bloodstreams.”
We kept in touch while I was in art school in San Francisco and while he was honing his surfing and carpentry skills in Santa Cruz. I recall how Dale fell for Terry when she cared for him after he broke his neck while at a carpentry job. Remember that amazing halo he wore to keep his head and neck from twisting? I remember meeting their kids, Hunter and Lila, at Carson Lane with my family. We enjoyed eating S’mores at the outdoor fireplace on the back patio of the home Dale was so proud to have built for his family. We now rely on memories of Dale to keep him in our hearts. He was my best friend who could build just about anything, who loved his family, and is still loved by us all. He will be sorely missed and fondly remembered. Rest in peace, my good friend.
Jeff Littman
A few more from Dale's Celebration of Life:
From Craig Marshall:
Terry Berman’s reply to my query:
“ Yes, of course. How nice 🩷”. So, I will now send the observations:
Doug Warnock:
Hey fellas,
Hope today is a wonderful celebration of Dale, and that you all enjoy seeing one another. Please give my best to Dale’s family and say hello to anyone from Cubb we know.
Thanx.
Your homie bro, dw
Doug Warnock:
Was it sad? Did anyone else speak besides Craig? Was Anyone else from Cubb there?
Doug Garrett:
Short summary: it was wonderful, touching but not sad. Hunter and Laila were amazing kids. Craig spoke for the group. Mike B played a couple of songs. Larry Brugera, Billy Menchine and more there. Chime in anyone!
Dave Goetz:
Well put Doug G!
Other take-aways: Dale was a great dad who loved his kids and his kids are beautiful , poised peeps who loved their dad.
Dale was also a generous and exemplary citizen greatly appreciated by the neighbors and colleagues who spoke about him.
Doug Ardley:
Even for me, who knew about Dale’s life in Santa Cruz, the number and variety of people there to share their love and respect was stunning.