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Published on 09/08/1997 All articles from this issue

A friend's final journey

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By Charlotte K. Jarmy

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This past weekend, I spent time reflecting on time's sad habit of forcing me to delete familiar names from my address book. My friend since 1950, Leon Leventhal, succumbed to cancer after a courageous battle to maintain his life as he wished it to be.

What makes Leon's death important to me is the parallel course our lives took over the years. We both had ties to New York City and reminisced about our youth when we were new residents of the Bay Area, particularly of Berkeley. Our cultural background brought us both to Hillel at UC, the center for religious services and social contact for many young people looking for a place that provided so many positive experiences.

My husband and I liked Leon and enjoyed sharing ideas and companionship with him. Because Leon was young and "looking," we decided to introduce him to Gerda, a fascinating young German woman who, though Christian, came among Jews to uncover the mystery of her own history under the intolerable control of Hitler.

Gerda, like Leon, was an intensely curious person, who needed to try to understand the "why" of the Holocaust. To do so, she decided to leave her homeland and virtually hitchhiked from Northern Germany to a port of exit. Determined to come to America, she persuaded a professor from Cal to hire her as an au pair for his children. Shortly after, she discovered Hillel, decided to study under the young rabbi to learn answers to her troubling questions. Eventually, she planned to convert to Judaism and when we met her, she attended services every Friday at Hillel.

Sometimes fate or synchronicity steps in to move life along. We introduced Leon to Gerda, and they made a very quick connection. Interest turned into romance, and we realized we had changed the course of their lives.

They married, had four successful children and left Berkeley only to explore the far reaches of the world. Leon, the highly-thought of chemist and member of the team that had worked on the atom bomb in Los Alamos during the war, never lost his desire to see as much of the globe as he could. He and Gerda traveled extensively, he on business and she whenever she could leave her children and her burgeoning child-care business.

As long as I knew them, they added country after country to their experiences, often making friends wherever they went. Sadly, about 10 years ago, Gerda lost her battle with cancer, leaving behind a devastated Leon and four loving children.

Leon's love for Gerda grew with time. Loss can teach one lessons about relationships that are not always obvious during the nitty and gritty of daily life. After I had lost Jules, Leon and I often talked about our early friendship and the fun we had exploring San Francisco and the area around us.

At his memorial service, his children took us on a loving journey into their family lives. They smiled at some of their memories and wept when they commented on Leon's desire to serve his scientific community, long after his retirement.

Only a few of us spoke after the outpouring of grief and pride from his children. Very impressively, the eminent scientist, Glenn Seaborg stood up and shared his first impressions of the young and intelligent young chemist whom he chose to be part of his team.

It was a tiring afternoon, but the service helped me to accept this loss of an old friend. Leon had never relinquished our friendship, and I wish I had been better at my part of the relationship.

Every special friend carries a piece of ourselves that doesn't change as the years pass. It is this loss that hurts so much. It cannot be replicated.