BARBWIRE by ANDREW BARBANO Pirate Laureate of the High Desert Outback of the American Dream The Barbwire Molly Ivins Memorial Columniator Hall of Flames

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Photo: Debra Reid, Sparks Tribune

 

Reach out your hand If your cup is empty.    If your cup is full, may it be again. Let it be known    There is a fountain That was not made by the hands of men. There is a road,    no simple highway Between the dawn and the dark of night.    And if you go, no one may follow. That path is for Yourself Alone — Robert Hunter & Jerry Garcia "Ripple" from the Grateful Dead's American Beauty © 1970 the publishers

I hope you understand I just had to go back to the island. — Leon Russell, 1942-2016

My brother died for his country. Twice.
Larry Barbano, 1947-2023
Barbwire by Andrew Quarantino Barbáno / Special Veterans Day Edition 11-11-2023

My brother Larry gave his life for his country. Twice.

His first life ended that day in 1968 when he boarded a transport to Vietnam. The jovial kid I grew up with never completely returned to central California.

Larry Barbano by Renate Neumann In a younger day, when he had more hair on his scalp and less on his face, he couldn't buy a beer in San Francisco because so many people mistook him for the Grateful Dead's Jerry Garcia.

Barbwire Man as Renate saw him

We lived west of the Fresno Street railway underpass.

Larry had been used to the pleasant chaos of an Italian household on "B" Street, the onetime Barbano enclave in an old "ItalianTown" which was already a fading memory by the time we were growing up in the 1950s.

The Westside was an ethnic melting pot worthy of old New York on its best day.

Old Fresno had been segregated by ethnicity: ItalianTown, ArmenianTown, PortugueseTown, ChinaTown, RussianTown, GermanTown.

There was even a uniquely named section for the black underclass, Jericho. I never heard of a "MexicanTown" but Latinos were very much part of the rich fabric of our neighborhood.

As with many immigrant communities, my family labored as farmworkers and eventually started small businesses.

My dad, Andrew Henry Barbano, owned the Barbano Motor Company garage. Mom started Mary's Regal Drive-In Cafe across "B" street.

The Fresno Bee erected a tin shed district house behind the diner for newsboys (there were no newsgirls) to fold their papers for delivery.

My enterprising younger brother became an all-star Bee "carrier salesman," winning trips to Disneyland and saving his earnings to buy the most boss 1960 Oldsmobile convertible ever to drag main down Fulton Street.

Mary's customers were a cross-section of America: priests, truckers, letter carriers, police officers, union men, accountants, teachers, TV anchors, salesmen, mechanics, farmers, morticians — and a bevy of world class boxers from the Merced Street Gym half a block away. We learned from all of them.

Mary's diner fed them all, with the help of two little boys who grew to manhood working there.

On March 24, 1962, Larry and I were home with dad next door to the cafe watching the Emile Griffith-Benny Paret welterweight title fight.

Suddenly, mom yelled across the parking lot, calling us back to work. The place had filled up at closing time. Ike and Tina Turner's entire entourage had stopped in on their way to a show at Fresno's Kearney Bowl.

We walked into the best dressed clientele that Mary's place ever had. They ordered a couple dozen jumbo burgers, fries and Cokes. Back then, "basketburgers" cost a princely 39 cents.

Such was the pleasantly chaotic world we grew up in, a world that ended by fire for my bro.

He never talked much about combat but carried war with him always. For the rest of his life, he needed an orderly environment because chaos was no longer his friend.

"You wouldn't believe how dirty I am now," he once wrote to mom.

The only story he ever told me involved his platoon being pinned down in a jungle firefight. His lieutenant screamed "they need a machine gun on the right flank!" The Barbano kid jumped up and ran into a hail of bullets with a machine gun on his shoulder.

The Americans survived and he was nominated for a Silver Star. Which the brass instead awarded to his lieutenant.

Chaos.

After he came home, there were years of healing, retail work and college. He earned bachelor's and master's degrees in social work from Fresno State. Larry went to work for the Veterans Administration, counseling fellow warriors suffering from PTSD (originally known as "shell shock") and other maladies.

He understood veterans because he shared their emotional and physical wounds.

He beat our family history of diabetes only to contract it by spending a year under the toxic jungle defoliant Agent Orange. Many of his army buddies died young from it, most without any family history of the malady.

My Bro also got malaria in the jungles of southeast Asia..

The decades finally took their toll.

Working with shell-shocked vets eventually overwhelmed him and he switched to counseling those with other needs like dialysis.

In many ways, his post-war life was a quest for order. His Bay Area northern California home always looked ready for a sparkling TV commercial.

He drove to veterans events in a perfectly maintained 1973 Chevrolet pickup infamous for its explosive side-saddle gas tanks.

After 'Nam, living a little dangerously just did not bother him.

He gave his second life to taking care of veterans, then the time came for veterans to take care of him.

He often spent six hours a day in a gym and lost a lot of weight. No more cigarettes or beer. His diabetes progressed to a point where attempting to walk was like stepping onto hot coals, he told me.

He was treated for that at the Palo Alto Veterans Medical Center while awaiting major surgery on his back. He was bedridden for his final four months.

Lawrence Vincent Barbano checked out of the Hotel California on October 18, 2023, exactly two months short of his 76th birthday. He lies in the Igo, California, veterans cemetery near Redding, the closest to his immediate family in Oregon.

He leaves his wife, Dr. Donna Horn, a son Mark (Molly), two grandchildren, Italian cousins from California to Brazil to Italy.

And me.

My bro did his best to manage the chaos foisted upon him by combat through calming the woes of those who suffered likewise.

With this world descending again into perpetual war, he left me asking just one question: When do we stop making more veterans?

Rest in peace, bro. You did good.

“I have no mother now. I have no father. I cannot bring another brother to the world.” — Antigone*

Greatest Hits Dept. WE WON: BIG NEWS FROM THE NEVADA PRESS ASSOCIATION CONFAB IN GOMORRAH SOUTH —> BARBWIRE NOMINEE GUY RICHARDSON INDUCTED INTO HALL OF FAME ON FIRST BALLOT Barbwire nominee Dennis Myers elected to NPA Hall of Fame Support Don Dondero and Jake Highton and David Toll and Foster Church and Norman Cardoza and Guy Louis Rocha next. Send endorsements Eee-yo-leven! Barbwire wins 11th Nevada Press Association award GOLD 2017-18 2018 First-Place Winners From the depths of despair to the den of iniquity & holy of holies "Excellent work. These are some of the most moving columns I've read." — NPA contest judge/9-29-2018 The Grasshopper and the Dragonfly 9-6-2017 Kicked off the Ledge 4-18-2017 NATIONAL NEWS FIRST-BREAK Back to the Future in Mississippi West Nevada 10-18-2017 Gold 2017 Don't ask Renown Med for marijuana to help your chemo 10-4-2016 We Don't Need No Education Toxic turf threat ignored 12-13-2016 Kate Smith & Lady Gaga 2-14-2017 Bronze 6-pack In the Uber-Nevada legislature, words can kill 4-28-2015 On artificial turf, don't breathe unless absolutely necessary (above) 11-24-2015 Leading questions, lead-headed leaders 1-19-2016 Hopelessly trying to win an earthquake 4-18-2013 2013 Loony Tunes Legislative Lexicon 5-30-2013 The politics of media ga-ga boosterism 3-20-2014 More statewide and national award winners We Don't Need No Education—> Neverending Barbwire Series 1997 Pulitzer Prize entries Barbwire.TV: 15-year overnight success Daily Sparks Tribune 2-10-2008 The Barbwire's Greatest Hits BEATING LUSH RAMBO AT HIS OWN GAME: Highlights from radio days mp3 file The Dean's List    The Dean of Reno Bloggers could very well be Andrew Barbano, self-described "fighter of public demons," who started putting his "Barbwire" columns online in 1996 and now runs 10 sites. RENO NEWS & REVIEW, 11-9-2006 Tomorrow's news today —> Subscribe to Barbwire Confidential TOP SECRET— HushHush!

You got him at last, Mars, Lord of War. My bro cheated your curses for 56 years but you finally took him last week, you devil's spawn of rabid dogs.

Larry as artist Renate saw him In a younger day, when he had more hair on his scalp and less on his face, he couldn't buy a beer in San Francisco because so many people mistook him for the Grateful Dead's Jerry Garcia.

Barbwire Man as Renate saw him

In his final days, you mocked him with your dandy little sport in Ukraine. Then, you shamed him with the beginnings of what is evolving into World War Three in the formerly holy land.

At least he missed the global expansion of the violence. He was on life support by then.

His name was Larry Barbano, make sure you get it right. Lawrence Vincent Barbano, 75, would have made 76 in December.

He came home despite everything you threw at him in Vietnam. He beat our family inheritance of diabetes, then you forced him to live a year under Agent Orange, so he contracted it anyway, not the only residual he carried home.

Lord Mars, your cruel jokes, like your legions, are legion.

My brother was nominated for a Silver Star for charging into heavy fire when his second lieutenant screamed "we need a machine gun on the right flank."

He didn't hesitate, running directly into a hail of bullets, saving his pinned-down platoon. Somebody in the brass gave that lieutenant the medal instead.

My bro always outworked me. He used his Fresno Bee paper boy earnings to buy the coolest metallic blue 1960 Olds convertible, complete with chrome reverse rims and baby moons.

My bro worked his way through Fresno State, earning bachelor's and master's degrees and spending the rest of his life caring for veterans — before he needed them to care for him.

He counseled old soldiers in both southern and northern California and attended many gatherings across the country.

He lived a stone's throw from a Mountain View, Calif., Bay Area Rapid Transit station so he and family members could quickly ride to San Francisco Giants games. He also spent a few summers in these parts, working alongside me to elect Democrats.

He was a humble man. When his unit at the Loma Linda VA medical center received national attention, he pointedly avoided the cameras of NBC's Today Show. Keep the focus on the patients.

Life support was removed at 12:45 p.m. PDT on Wednesday, Oct. 18, at the Palo Alto VA Medical Center in Menlo Park. His wife, Dr. Donna Horn, was by his side. My nephew Mark and his wife, Molly, looked on from Oregon.

He was going to move there but since he didn't make it, he will be interred at the Igo, Calif., vets cemetery near Redding. He wanted to stay in his home state. Igo is the closest facility to Oregon so his family can visit more easily.

He leaves two grandchildren, numerous Barbanos and countless Italian cousins worldwide, and me.

A full obituary will be posted at Barbano.org/

UPDATE: FAMILY OBITUARY + MEMORIAL SERVICE NOV. 2.

LADIES OF THE GREENING VALLEY. This Saturday Oct. 28 marks the anniversary of the passing of noted Nevada educator Beth Elise Jacobs, 91.

She taught mostly at the high school level in Ely, Fallon and Gerlach. Among her stellar students, she counted recently retired Nevada System of Higher Education Chancellor Dale Erquiaga and U.S. Army Brigadier and Nevada Army Guard Assistant Adjutant General Mike Hanifan, Ret. Full obituary at BethNVedu.org/

Nevada education lost another star with the passing of Roy Gomm Elementary's Sue White Broderdorf Oddo, 84. Her memorial service will be held at St. Paul's Episcopal in Sparks, 11:00 a.m. this Saturday, Oct. 28 — exactly a year after her colleague's adios.

Beth and Sue were my longtime neighbors and left our 'hood permanent mementoes, a glorious Rose of Sharon and a mini-forest including two evergreens, now more than 25 feet high.

Mrs. Vegetable completes this classroom hat trick. Jane Klump, who died April 28 at 87, taught for 30 years at Sparks' Greenbrae Elementary.

I worked on talk radio with her late husband Gene, famous on all media as Nevada's Mr. Vegetable. (Barbwire 2-14-2010)

The union musician was an ingenious horticulturist, master gardener and credentialed climatologist.

Gene and Jane were mainstays in a campaign that planted now-mature trees and shrubs along much of the southeast McCarran loop c. 1990.

Adios, mi familia.

Vade cum Deo, frater meus.

Stay safe, get vaxxed and pray for those cruelly afflicted by the cruelly small minds on this small planet, especially victims of our perpetual wars.

Happy Hallowe'en / All Hallows Eve
All Souls Day/All Saints Day
Dia de los Muertos
Nevada Day

¡Sí se puede!

Be well. Raise hell. / Esté bien. Haga infierno. (Pardon my Spanglish.)
être bien, élever l'enfer (Pardon my French.) Stammi bene. Scatenare l'inferno. (And Italian.)
___________________
Andrew Quarantino Barbano is a 54-year Nevadan and editor of NevadaLabor.com, SenJoeNeal.org, DoctorLawyerWatch.com, BallotBoxing.US, ConsumerCoalitionv.org, ChantalCoalition.org, Rentvolution.org, MIssissippiWestNV.org and CesarChavezNevada.com among others. He is a longtime member of the Reno-Sparks NAACP and Sparks-based Communications Workers of America Local 9413/AFL-CIO. As always, his comments are entirely his own. Barbwire by Barbano has originated in the Sparks Tribune since August 12, 1988.

* Opening quote by the title character of "Antigone" by Sophocles (c.496-c.406 BC).

Breaking News —> Masks work!

 

"The most dangerous animal in world" was probably the title of one of the greatest speeches I ever heard, a work of ironic perfection: It was never given.

I witnessed that jungle-worthy admonition as a 16 yeard-old kid almost seven decades ago.

They came as part of a ridiculous competition to see who would be named valedictorian of the boys' side of my segregated Catholic high school graduating class.

Fresno's San Joaquin Memorial was segregated. Boys and girls never dared matriculate together (or did anything else together, if the nuns had their way).

The writer of that speech was a young man named John Chakmak, the top student among all us guys in the Class of 1963.

Those damning words haunted me over the past few days as "this monster mannunkind" edged closer to World War III. (Props to poet e.e. cummings.)

SJM was a heavily academic school run the Christian Brothers and the Sisters of the Holy Cross.

If you lasted for years, you left with the equivalent of your first or second year of college.

Us kids were taught the officially sanctioned dogma of the word of God. Fortunately, some of the brothers did so with a mischievous wink in their eyes.

Grains of salt, anyone? How about a salt shaker?

The selection of the valedictorian in my senior year provided one of my earliest lessons in politics.

The ladies side valedictorian was rightfully chosen by grade point average, as usual.

However, a new boys principal changed the rules of the game at the last minute.

The top five guys, including me, would compete in a speech contest.

WTF?

I have never been known for my shyness, but I couldn't get into it and didn't write anything. As a contestant, I was able to witness the closed-door competition.

The judges included the male student body president, who was also the school's starting quarterback, and two other dudes I don't remember.

All appointed by His Highness, Righteous Principal Brother Mel.

Four of the five finalists went on to distinguished careers: two lawyers, a renowned pediatrician, a university philosophy professor. And me.

The first three contestants gave addresses ranging from mediocre to pretty good.

Then came Mr. Chakmak's memorable advice to teenagers entering a world bristling with nuclear weapons which had just barely survived the 1962 Cuban missile crisis.

The assassination of a president and the first foray by the boys from Liverpool were just one summer away. Vietnam already festered.

If a valedictory address ever lived up to its purpose as a look back and a look forward, John Chakmak's was it.

I carry his closing lines to this very day.

He informed us that New York's Bronx Zoo had launched an exhibit entitled "The Most Dangerous Animal in the World." It consisted of a mirror, caged behind bars, and reflecting the image of the viewer.

"You are looking at the most dangerous animal in the world," read a title atop the enclosure, adding "It alone of all the animals that ever lived can exterminate (and has) entire species of animals. Now it has the power to wipe out all life on earth."

Zounds. The truth hurt.

Chakmak's opus was thought provoking, profound and a graduation challenge to all supposedly smart kids to jump in and do something before it was too late.

Here I am almost 70 years later and I keep hearing John's words over and over as the flames rise high into a dark night.

John never gave that speech. The judging jocks went for the most pedestrian address exactly because it was mediocre.

"It didn't go over our heads, we felt it was for us," the quarterback told me later. The winner was his backup QB.

So here we stand, as close or closer to WW3 as we have ever been since 1962.

And nobody seems to have solutions about anything.

I offer only two.

First, an old line from the Sixties: The only way to stop killing is to stop killing.

And my oft-stated admonition which may one day come true: Moms. Women. Let females rule. Men, their egos and their greed cause wars and privation.

Some woman "leaders" get into office feeling compelled to prove they have as much warrior macho as any hairy guy.

So they go to war, too. Witness the first female British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, back in the fantasyland of her BFF Ronald Reagan.

Much more enlightened female leaders have emerged since, most of whom are not rock stars. But some are.

Consider recently retired New Zealand Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern. Shortly after she got to the top came COVID-19.

She had to shut her country down to keep the plague out. And succeeded admirably.

She set a standard almost unmatched in the world.

For an encore, she became the first head of state to give birth while in office in more than a century.

Women are just plain wired differently than wannabe warriors.

Us dudes have failed. Miserably.

Wise men like John Chakmak get silenced. Or worse.

For centuries, artists and philosophers have put mirrors up to our faces.

And we look away to go to the concession stand for popcorn to feed the monkeys.

The most dangerous animals in the world are running out of time.

¡Sí se puede!

Stay safe, get vaxxed and pray for those cruelly afflicted by the cruelly small minds on this small planet, especially victims of our perpetual wars.

Be well. Raise hell. / Esté bien. Haga infierno. (Pardon my Spanglish.)
être bien, élever l'enfer (Pardon my French.) Stammi bene. Scatenare l'inferno. (And Italian.)
___________________
Andrew Quarantino Barbano is a 54-year Nevadan and editor of NevadaLabor.com, SenJoeNeal.org, DoctorLawyerWatch.com, BallotBoxing.US, ConsumerCoalitionv.org, ChantalCoalition.org, Rentvolution.org, MIssissippiWestNV.org and CesarChavezNevada.com among others. He is a longtime member of the Reno-Sparks NAACP and Sparks-based Communications Workers of America Local 9413/AFL-CIO. As always, his comments are entirely his own. Barbwire by Barbano has originated in the Sparks Tribune since August 12, 1988.

*Opening lyrics from "Life in a Northern Town" by Gilbert Gabriel and Nick Laird-Lowes, Dream Academy, 1985.

**BLASTS FROM THE PAST: 1963 UPDATE —> The May 20, 1963 edition of Memorial High's student newspaper, the Red & Blue, carried a long feature of "last wills and testaments" of the senior class. On page 3, Mr. Chakmak wrote "I, John Chakmak, bestow on all future debaters my firecrackers and my half-used cans of shaving cream."

Gotta hunch I know what debate he was talking about.

I was less diplomatic: "I, Andy Barbano, Esq., will my title Esq., my hat, my disk jockey job, my trumpet and my position on the football team to Brother Mel."

Either way, it appears we shared the same opinion of Brother Mel's valedictory "competition." John went on to become a top gun attorney and I defeated Lush Rambo on the radio. So I guess we both learned how to talk real good.

FYI, I still have my trumpet and I was third-string center. So perhaps I was telling Brother Mel to get bent over.

MEMORIES OF MEmorial

Breaking News —> Masks work!

 

This Saturday, my unforgettable friend Renate Neumann will be the guest of honor at a "celebration of her interesting, artistic and productive life," according to her family.

Larry Barbano as Renate saw him In a younger day, when he had more hair on his scalp and less on his face, he couldn't buy a beer in San Francisco because so many people mistook him for the Grateful Dead's Jerry Garcia.

Barbwire Man as Renate saw him

I count Renate and her husband of 54 years, Peter, among my BFFs. We met just after I moved here from Las Vegas in 1971.

Suffering from complications of Parkinson's Disease, Renate died last August 12 at 84. (Barbwire 8-16-2023)

Many words have been and will be spoken about her and I will add just one: lovely.

Renate spread flowers along every path she walked, bringing beauty by her very presence, her lilting grace, her exotic voice and prodigious talent. The flowers left seeds to bloom forever in the lives of many.

I only recently learned that she worked in the 1960s at the legendary New York advertising agency Doyle Dane Bernbach, the progenitor of modern marketing media, the Mount Olympus of the profession.

They produced what was roundly considered the ad of the decade, a full page photo of the NASA lunar lander on the moon with only a small "V W" logo under the shot.

The venerable Volkswagen Beetle was neither needed nor depicted. The legendary headline resonates to this day: "It's ugly, but it gets you there."

Renate's considerable talents were also utilized by J.C. Penney in Manhattan.

The young German lady became a U.S. citizen on the nation's 200th birthday, July 4, 1976.

Renate married Peter in Reno in 1969 and soon became an integral part of Doyle McKenna, the prestigious advertising agency for John Ascuaga's Sparks Nugget.

He reportedly cherished her renderings of the storied Nugget elephants, Bertha and Tina.

A true Renaissance woman, Renate became a licensed glider and light aircraft pilot. The Nevada Soaring Assn. named her "Hummingbird," fitting for a flower flitter.

Photos of Renate and the portraits she painted of my brother Larry and myself will be posted with the expanded Internet edition of this column at NevadaLabor.com/

Renate's memorial service will be held at Reno's Mountain View Mortuary, 425 Stoker, at 11:00 a.m. this Saturday, Oct. 7.

It will be her final art show with over 150 paintings and landscapes by the hummingbird and her Reno Portrait Society colleagues.

Adios.

UNFORGIVABLE. Kudos to Sparks City Hall for refusing to cave in to the seven-figure court case filed by ex-cop George Forbush. [1]

The sensitive guy was disciplined for posting flamingly violent and racist comments on Twitter. I refuse to sully the Tribune by repeating them.

Forbush apparently didn't enjoy the foreplay. He got a slap on the wrist, first placed on administrative leave followed by four days without pay.

All this hurt his feelings so badly that he decided to cash in and sued for a million dollars.

Who cares, it's just taxpayer money, right?

I knew a cop like Forbush back in Fresno. Good ole boy Irish Murphy really believed that the solution to them annoying long-haired Vietnam War protestors was simple: Machine gun a few hundred hippies. Shades of Tiananmen Square.

Unlike others, Sparks is showing some chops. Rather than fight, the Reno City Council, with only its conscience, Jenny Brekhus in dissent, recently rolled over for some Verdi developer and handed him a few million for his tribulations.

In 2006, the Washoe County Commission, intimidated by threats from a nasty lawyer, paid $15 million plus attorneys fees to Minnesota speculators who acquired the southwest Reno Ballardini Ranch — the last major open space in the Truckee Meadows.

Fortunately for the birds and bunnies, the 2007-08 recession stopped that subdivision but the bad joke continues at our expense. Former Reno Mayor Pete Sferrazza, the only Democratic commissioner, voted against the deal.

The majority added insult to injury by borrowing money to pay for the settlement.

Only the Barbwire has reported that the cost has since ballooned to over $35 million and counting. (Websearch "NevadaLabor.com Ballardini" for more than you'll want to know about that disaster. I suggest keeping a jug of Tums handy.)

Stand your ground, Sparks. Kick butt.

WHERE THE SUN NEVER SHINES. The Grand Sierra Reno Hotel-Casino just announced a major expansion which will include a new basketball palace for the University of Nevada-Reno Wolf Pack.

The girls can stay at Lawlor Events Center, which seats a thousand more than the GSR project.

So why the hell is this needed?

University president and former Nevada governor Brian Sandoval (R), appeared at last week's love fest with GSR boss Alex Meruelo.

They touted that no taxpayer money would be needed, at least in the building phase.

Of course. Meruelo knows that any public construction funding would trigger the prevailing wage law based on local area standard pay.

Better to import underskilled carpetbaggers from Mississippi and such.

Meruelo's GSR policy is prevent any additional unions above what he inherited when he bought the place.

Back on Sandoval's watch as governor, Tesla committed to hire local workers but organized labor had to fight to get any work after Count Elon's billion-plus corporate welfare tax giveaway was approved.

Mr. Sandoval said this latest love child will "put us on the stage that gives us equality to any program in the United States of America. [2]

Huh? Cosmetics don't guarantee that hoop dreams will come true.

UNR is never going to be major league. Despite limited state funding because our casinos and mines pay pittances in taxes, we still occasionally show signs of brilliance.

However, we will never be in the class of major university professional sports juggernauts.

Meruelo and Sandoval shamelessly trolled famous names, including Beyoncé and Taylor Swift. (Expand the seating to 200,000, then we'll talk, guys.)

They even teased National Hockey League exhibitions by Meruelo's Arizona Coyotes against the Las Vegas Golden Knights.

Hmmm...where have I heard that before?

Oh, yeah. To muster northern support for the Las Vegas Raiders corporate welfare palace, no less than future Gov. Steve Sisolak (D), hinted that the Raiders training camp just might be located here.

It went to Gomorrah South.

Nevada taxpayers will have to pay for the privilege of playing in Meruelo's wet dream.

So Sandoval wants taxpayers to rent a mansion when we already own a good house.

Not very conservative, guv.

¡Sí se puede!

Stay safe, get vaxxed and pray for those cruelly afflicted by the cruelly small minds on this small planet, especially victims of our perpetual wars.

Be well. Raise hell. / Esté bien. Haga infierno. (Pardon my Spanglish.)
être bien, élever l'enfer (Pardon my French.) Stammi bene. Scatenare l'inferno. (And Italian.)

[1] Reno Gazette-Journal page 3-A, 9-27-2023

[2] Reno Gazette-Journal page 1-A, 9-29-2023
___________________
Andrew Quarantino Barbano is a 54-year Nevadan and editor of NevadaLabor.com, SenJoeNeal.org, DoctorLawyerWatch.com, BallotBoxing.US, ConsumerCoalitionv.org, ChantalCoalition.org, Rentvolution.org, MIssissippiWestNV.org and CesarChavezNevada.com among others. He is a longtime member of the Reno-Sparks NAACP and Sparks-based Communications Workers of America Local 9413/AFL-CIO. As always, his comments are entirely his own. Barbwire by Barbano has originated in the Sparks Tribune since August 12, 1988.

Breaking News —> Masks work!

 

All remembrances welcome.

Renate Neumann: Once upon a time
Barbwire by Andrew Quarantino Barbáno / Expanded from the Sparks Tribune 8-16-2023 / Updated 8-21, 9-1 & 10-4-2023/ Expansions in blue
Celebration of life announced

The Perseid Meteor Shower arrived last weekend to carry my dear friend Renate Neumann across the universe.

Larry Barbano as Renate saw him In a younger day, when he had more hair on his scalp and less on his face, he couldn't buy a beer in San Francisco because so many people mistook him for the Grateful Dead's Jerry Garcia.

Barbwire Man as Renate saw him

THE LAST PICTURE SHOW: Renate's memorial service will be held at Reno's Mountain View Mortuary, 425 Stoker, at 11:00 a.m. on Saturday, Oct. 7. It will include her final art show with over 150 paintings by Renate and other Reno Portrait Society artists.

She left this form on Saturday, August 12, suffering from complications brought on by Parkinson's Disease.

The great artist's hands could paint no more and we stand much diminished for it.

Renate and her husband Peter were among the first to welcome me to northern Nevada when I moved here from Las Vegas in 1971.

I had worked on Supreme Court Justice Al Gunderson's campaign and he invited me to dinner at the Pagni Family's Jubilee Italian Restaurant in Pleasant Valley between Reno and Carson City.

Renate and Peter were the judge's other dinner guests that memorable evening.

It marked the beginning of a 53-year friendship.

Pete and Renate married on January 23, 1969 at the Reno home of hall of fame photographer Don Dondero and his wife, Liz.

Peter Chase Neumann was in the early stages of building a top gun law practice and Renate was a commercial artist at Doyle McKenna, the longtime advertising agency for John Ascuaga's Sparks Nugget.

She freelanced a little work for my fledgling media enterprise after I opened my own store awhile later.

I learned only recently that she worked in the 1960s at the legendary New York City advertising agency Doyle Dane Bernbach, the progenitor of modern marketing media, the Mount Olympus of the profession.

They produced what was roundly considered the ad of the decade, a full page photo of the NASA lunar lander on the moon with only a small V W (Volkswagen) logo under the shot.

The venerable VW Beetle was not needed and not depicted.

The legendary headline resonates to this day: "It's ugly, but it gets you there."

Renate's considerable talents were also utiliized by J.C. Penney in Manhattan.

She worked and walked with giants all her life.

Renate was an excellent graphic designer but her genius truly shone thru on canvas.

My brother Larry was visiting one summer and by chance, we ran into Renate.

She knew a good subject when she saw one and asked my big little brother to sit for her portraiture group.

The fee structure was rather curious. Twenty bucks for posing clothed, but only $15 for sitting nude.

I never asked why.

I could only guess that the rights fee was pro-rated on the weight of clothing.

Sometime later, I also sat for her group. Fully dressed.

Renate later included the Barbano boys' portraits at a weekend showing at the downtown Reno First United Methodist Church.

I had never seen the finished work before that day.

Our dear sainted Italian mother Mary would have said her sons never looked better.

Somewhere, I have a photo of Renate holding those portraits.

If I can unearth it, I will include it in the Barbwire expanded web edition at NevadaLabor.com/

Renate brought beauty wherever she went. She had a radiant kindness about her.

The moment you met her, you knew you had a friend in the petite lady with the movie star presence.

She was the real deal, complete with an elegant German accent somewhere betwixt supermodel Heidi Klum and actresses Elke Sommer and Marlene Dietrich.

When she talked, people listened. The closest I ever saw Renate get to losing her cool came once when I mentioned something with canola oil in it.

"Throw it away!" she interjected and lectured me on all its detriments.

Renate and Peter founded the Angel Kiss Foundation, a non-profit dedicated to helping families of cancer-stricken children.

Their White Water Race & Jazz Festival set the standard for every downtown Reno riverfront event which followed. (See the Barbwire of June 26, 2005, linked to the online edition.)

Even in her final days, Renate exercised regularly, as best she was able. She had just turned 84 on July 31.

I was notified when Peter Neumann copied me on an e-mail to her family in Germany.

I bowed my head, wept awhile, prayed, cried a little more, sang a few songs in breaking voice, then played Eva Cassidy blues followed by Beethoven's 7th Symphony.

The 7th is the most transcendent composition I know and always uplifts me from low and into a soaring soundscape that emulates flight.

I also emanated a meditation to my late wife Betty to embrace our friend Renate as she embarks on her next journey.

I put on a little music from Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter, then went outside to breathe a beautiful Saturday afternoon.

Reach out your hand
If your cup be empty
If your cup is full,
May it be again.

Let it be known
There is a fountain
That was not made
By the hands of men.

IN MEMORIAM. My father, Andrew Henry Barbano, died of Parkinson's as did Renate.

As fate would have it, a few days ago, I was informed that Dr. Mindy Lokshin had retired from the general practice of medicine. (She's married to longtime Sparks allergist Dr. Boris Lokshin.)

Dr. Mindy apparently un-retired rather quickly, helping start the Parkinson Support Center of Northern Nevada. Their purpose is "improvement of the quality of life for those living with Parkinson's disease, their families and care partners."

Their goal is "connecting people to the information, support services, programs and activities they need to enhance wellness and live an active, engaged life."

It's a completely local non-profit, not affiliated with any national organization.

From 1:00 to 4:00 p.m. this Saturday, August 19, they are hosting a showing of "STILL — A Michael J. Fox Movie." The film stars America's most famous Parkinson's victim. A question and answer session follows with Dr. Varga, a movement disorder specialist.

Admission is free and light refreshments will be provided.

The location is Five Star Senior Living, 3201 Plumas Street in Reno. Reservations are necessary. You may call (775) 525-0205 or e-mail <anne@pscnn.org>

They deserve your support. Tell them Renate Neumann referred you.

¡Sí se puede!

Stay safe, get vaxxed and pray for those cruelly afflicted by the cruelly small minds on this small planet, especially victims of our perpetual wars.

Be well. Raise hell. / Esté bien. Haga infierno. (Pardon my Spanglish.)
être bien, élever l'enfer (Pardon my French.) Stammi bene. Scatenare l'inferno. (And Italian.)
___________________
Andrew Quarantino Barbano is a 54-year Nevadan and editor of NevadaLabor.com, SenJoeNeal.org, DoctorLawyerWatch.com, BallotBoxing.US, ConsumerCoalitionv.org, ChantalCoalition.org, Rentvolution.org, MIssissippiWestNV.org and CesarChavezNevada.com among others. He is a longtime member of the Reno-Sparks NAACP and Sparks-based Communications Workers of America Local 9413/AFL-CIO. As always, his comments are entirely his own. Barbwire by Barbano has originated in the Sparks Tribune since August 12, 1988. Lyrics from the Grateful Dead's "Ripple," 1970.

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From the Emmy-winning opening slate of the blockbuster "Cheers" television series. Combined with its "Frasier" spinoff, it lasted 20 years.	The "shirtwaist kings" immigrated from Russia and made a fortune manufacturing "Gibson Girl"-style blouses. (Photo, "The American Experience"/PBS)	The Emmy-winning opening slate of the "Cheers" television series before the "slate" of creators is superimposed. Looks like Mr. Harris' dead ringer (at left) is having a bloody good time.

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Copyright © 1982-2023 Andrew Barbano

Andrew Barbano is a 54-year Nevadan, editor of NevadaLabor.com and SenJoeNeal.org; and former chair of the City of Reno's Citizens Cable Compliance Committee. He is the executive producer of Nevada's annual César Chávez Day celebration and a longtime member of the Reno-Sparks NAACP. As always, his opinions are strictly his own. E-mail barbano@frontpage.reno.nv.us.

Barbwire by Barbano moved to Nevada's Daily Sparks Tribune on Aug. 12, 1988, and has originated in them parts ever since.
Whom to blame: How a hall-of-famer's hunch birthed the Barbwire in August of 1987
Tempus fugit.

Betty J. Barbano 2-7-1941 / 12-27-2005

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