Audacious!

 One hundred years ago today, my father Walter Benson was born into a family of English and German/Danish rootstock. They lived in the upper middle class suburbs just north of Chicago and made their mark selling men's clothing in a department store on the Loop, specifically offering an unconventional suit that came with two sets of trousers, if family legend is accurate. Seeing WWII coming, my grandmother sent her youngest son, my dad, to a military high school so that if Roosevelt were to call young Wally up for service, at least he might be an officer. Fortunately, a persistent stammer kept him in administrative assignments on this side of the ocean and as he liked to boast, "I typed my own discharge papers!" and that was that. Likely following family directives - my grandmother was known as "The General"- he went on to study at Amherst and even admits to working as a stockbroker for a very brief time, but that was not the road for "Spike" as he was nicknamed.

The white carpets, summers in Wisconsin, winters in Florida life he'd grown up in wasn't a well fitting suit for him. With his first wife, daughter of a renowned artist and later mother of three of my siblings, they turned their backs on the East Coast and headed for northern California. It was the mid-1950s and they settled in the San Francisco Bay Area where, perhaps relieved of family expectations, my father's creative vision came into focus. The first incarnation, unhindered by boundaries of what had been, should or could be done came in collaboration with an equally unorthodox architect in the round house on the top of Wolf Back Ridge where photos illustrated a very mod life for the Bensons. But having wasn't the goal, it was the creating, doing, moving that kept him alive. So by the early '60s, he'd moved further north near Santa Rosa. With his aptly-named Views Land Company, he created Bennett Ridge in the rolling hills, and finally The Ranch in Sonoma - both unprecedented developments where land conservation and view preservation were his core values. "You will never see a tree line broken by a roof or power pole" he told me once, gesturing towards what looked like an uninhabited range of hills where dozens of redwood houses were tucked into huge lots.  

He didn't stop there, however, as other projects included a self-made vineyard and subterranean winery, a glass house in the eastern Oregon desert (his "occupiable sculpture"), Calderesque welded sculptures including in the heart of Sonoma State University, and with his third wife, my stepmother, his final house at the top of the hill in Sonoma, naturally, with a 180 degree view of the northern San Francisco Bay. He told me he'd grow anxious sitting still, so to relieve this he made long road trips in his rattly, banged-up trucks, and raced cars at speedways all along the west coast. Sometimes he even won, but not often. A good crash in front of the grandstands for the crowd made him equally happy. 

This is by no means the complete story of my father; this is barely the highlight reel. I've titled this post "Audacious" as it is truly the most fitting adjective for my father. It describes the spark that fueled this huge man with the booming voice in that small frame. The man who never let himself get in the way of his visions. He didn't let the fact that he wasn't an engineer or architect or trained artist or vintner stop him; if he wanted to do it, he figured it out. His theory on carpentry and car repair echoed his philosophy on life: "All you need kid is a hammer and a bigger hammer!" he'd tell me. 

He was always that bigger hammer.  

To my dad today.  You made it to 92, not 100, but you're alive as ever to me. 

Somewhere there's music

How faint the tune

Somewhere there's heaven

How high the moon!

That look wouldn't last too long.

As a boy and as a man, always a kindness for animals.

At Sears Point International Raceway.

Always in painter pants and gorilla boots, and always sitting on the ground.

First he raced Porsches, later Camaros because "they break just as often but cost half as much to fix!"

Visiting me and my sister, Greenwich Village in the 1980s

Chairs were for chumps. Perhaps the originator of the stand-up desk. His pastel art work and family photos in the background. 

With one of his grandsons.

"Working the vine rows!" At least this time he's wearing clothes. 

"The Lizard" at Plush, OR

My wedding. First time I'd seen him in a tie. 

Let's hit the road, C-King!