Stories of Paola

One Sunday, when I was in my mid-20’s, my mother and I decided to take a drive to look for a statue of a peeing cherub to put in front of the house as a joke. When we found the statue stores closed, I decided to show her nearby Candlestick Park. The stadium (now demolished) was formerly home of the San Francisco 49ers football team and Giants baseball team. It was located in the Bayview Hunters-Point District, generally known as rough part of town that was once home to Naval shipyards. It was a non-game day, so the huge lot was mostly deserted except for a strip of parked cars along the edge near the water. We decided to park alongside them and go for a walk along a beautiful nature trail that ran along the shimmering waterfront. A few minutes into the walk, I began to notice that there were illicit activities happening in several of the cars. I started to think this might have been a bad idea. My mom, however, was oblivious to all that. She was just struck by the natural beauty around her.

At one point, we began approaching a van that had its sliding door open, with a group of young black men standing around drinking, smoking and playing loud music. As my implicit and racial bias instantly kicked in, I ducked my head down, avoided eye contact and prayed we wouldn’t get mugged.

My mother on the otherhand, stopped dead in her tracks, turns to the group of men and exclaims, “Do you know I have lived in San Francisco for 35 years and I have NEVER been down here! It is SO beautiful here! Look at this view!” I looked up to see the men stunned at this white-haired, old white lady with a distinctive accent talking to them. The next instant, they break out into smiles, and start asking her questions about where she was from originally and sharing their life stories of growing up in the neighborhood. She of course shares more about herself and me (declaring I’m a native as well), and we were suddenly having a grand ol’ time. I told one guy that I had taken her there to see the stadium, since she had never seen it. He told me his cousin worked security and offered to call him so he could get us in and give us a private tour.

I was completely blown away by my mother that day. I remember thinking that I wanted to be more like her. She always saw the good in people, assumed the best intentions (but God help you if you pissed her off), and brought out the best in everyone. She valued human connection, and loved meeting new people. She didn’t judge you by your looks, or your style, but by your character and how you treated others. She walked the earth with unabashed authenticity and in doing so, invited others to do the same.

Paola to me was a true Aunt, friend and wonderfully honest person. 

I am still having issues with not ever seeing her again. I take great comfort in knowing, she went on her terms and doing what she loved. I will miss her special New Years Day invitation to a feast, like no other. I was just thinking of a time, she showed me how to make pie dough, hers was perfect, mine, looked like soldiers went through it.
She was truly a rare beautiful gem!

My friend Paola

It was the Summer of 1967. Guillermo Boza, a university classmate of mine in my native Cuba, introduced me to Paola and Giuliana, the Morettoni sisters, who had recently arrived in SF from Venezuela. Soon thereafter Paola became the one friend with whom I would share a somewhat cynical vision of the world, a passionate defense of ideas, a humorous take on human nature and a strong opinion about everything under the sun.

It was the time of CORE, war protests and burning bras and, as both of us had banking jobs downtown, we used to have lunch together in the cafes of the San Francisco Financial District to watch the parade of excentric characters go by. As time went by and we started to know each other’s families, I could appreciate Paola’s noble sentiments and moral character. She treated my elderly parents with the most respectful and tender affection, and they adored her. Her love and admiration for her parents and the pride she felt for their achievements were patent in her conversations and actions.

Both of us went back to college part time to San Francisco State to finish the careers we hadstarted back home and in the Summer of 1973, just after Giuliana and Sandy’s wedding, we enrolled at the Universidad de Barcelona to take Spanish History and Culture. Because of our early education in Latin America, the courses were fairly easy for us so we dedicated our time to go to the beach, join field trips along the Costa Brava and to fool around. After Summer School was over in Barcelona, we moved the fool around to Paris for a couple of weeks.

Back in SF things became serious. Paola and Alberto started their courtship and the wedding was set for February 2, 1975. Paola always wanted a child, and when she got pregnant, her contagious enthusiasm didn’t have limits. Everybody was anxiously waiting for that baby but she lost it at the last moment. We feared Paola’s reaction to this tragedy would overwhelm her but, thanks to the support and rapid decisions of Alberto and to her indomitable spirit, she could control her feelings and regained her hopes for a child. Finally a new pregnancy brought back a guarded joy to her heart and on April 26, 1977 a beautiful and healthy baby boy arrived, Eduardo, her pride and joy, who has given his love and dedication to his mother until her last breath.

A new career change happened when Paola quit her bank job to work with her father in his pasta factory. There she tackled every factory job, from managerial duties to driving the delivery truck and carrying big boxes of pasta, with equal efficiency. Thanks to her people skills, her old customers used to greet her affectionately many years after her retirement. Paola was a first rate professional.

In 2002 we went to Brazil, Argentina and Chile with a group of friends. As usual, Paola, was the soul of the party for her contagious enthusiasm and funny observations. Those happy moments, captured in dozens of pictures are a treasure to me.

During our retirement years our friendship matured into a mutual acknowledgement of love,understanding and support. Now she lives in the laughs and tears we shared, in the songs we sang, in the fights we fought and in the bottom of my heart.

–Isabel Heredia