The Silent Rider

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Toker Villain

Big Wall climber
Toquerville, Utah
Topic Author's Original Post - Apr 24, 2014 - 06:42pm PT
Inge was born in Germany in 1915, but as a young girl she and her twin sister moved to Amsterdam along with her older cousin when the German economy collapsed. Her cousin Edith was a beautiful and engaging young woman who spoke English and French in addition to her Dutch and German.

Edith was half jewish and soon fell in love with a prosperous jewish diamond merchant named Sydney Lamon who had made a fortune by hiring an open cockpit biplane to take him to the diamond market in London a day ahead of his competition. He was a risk taker of other sorts as well, a gambler and a constant flirt. He would sometimes slyly get a woman's attention at another table in a restaurant with a perfectly timed tiny wad of bread flicked into her cleavage.

Inge was jealous of her older cousin who soon became Edith Lamon, living large with Sydney, first class all the way.
Sydney was an art lover and in a time when europeans were looking to emigrate they would often trade valuable works of art for more portable forms of wealth.
His collection became remarkable, and when Inge visited she was inspired and longed, herself, to become a respected artist.

Inge came of age in the mid 1930s, a tempestuous time. She became enamored of a young Romanian businessman whom she married just before WWII broke out.

Not a good thing.

Although she spoke English, French and Dutch, she was German born and married to a subject of a Axis power. They were separated and she was interned for a year and a half before she was approved to emigrate to El Salvador.
The marriage didn't survive the war, but Inge had begun to paint.

In 1939 her cousin and Sydney had left Holland with their 13 year old daughter just in time, first England, but New York City by December.
Hitler rolled through next spring and three of Sydney's seven siblings had failed to heed his warnings to flee. They and their families died in the camps.

But he was able to help his wife's cousin, and soon Inge had a studio in New York and besides a career in business Inge started selling paintings.





Inge had become very close with Edith as well as her daughter Yvonne, and in a few years Yvonne had married a german musician who had grown up in Argentina. The marriage produced three children, though the first was stillborn.

I was the third child.

Growing up I was taught largely with negative re-enforcement.
But Inge was always the opposite. She would always encourage me, tell me how well I did things.

Her second marriage, to Steve Price would likewise produce no children, and as her only "nephew" she doted on me.

It was well to have her attention as my father had quickly divorced my mom and he was rarely around.
At 12 I was packed off to boarding school but came home on the weekends and Fridays were always dinner at grandma's with mom, Edith, Inge, and often a friend of Sydney's, Luce Burstein.
I would be interrogated about the previous five days and then given my one allowed Heineken.

On one such occasion Inge had given Edith one of her paintings. In retrospect it would become her all time favorite piece.
It was called the Silent Rider.



end part one
Mtnmun

Trad climber
Top of the Mountain Mun
Apr 24, 2014 - 06:51pm PT
This is an interesting story, I can't wait for part two TV. Wish I could see these paintings in person, they seem very cutting edge for their time.
klk

Trad climber
cali
Apr 24, 2014 - 07:06pm PT
my one allowed Heineken


my uncles were less strict
LilaBiene

Trad climber
Technically...the spawning grounds of Yosemite
Apr 24, 2014 - 08:32pm PT
Your writing is powerful and beautiful, Ron.

Thank you for sharing the interwoven stories...and the paintings, which have a lovely, ethereal quality to them.

How is Inge doing?
Toker Villain

Big Wall climber
Toquerville, Utah
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 24, 2014 - 08:47pm PT
On one of these earliest trips I brought a classmate from Texas named Bill. When we went to take the train back on Sunday afternoon we were killing time running up the stairs at Grand Central Terminal knowing we were 25 minutes from scheduled departure when I was set upon by an elderly security guard.
He manhandled me out the door into Vanderbilt Place despite my protests that we were there to take the train.

He thought otherwise, and hauled me into a corner and began to punch me in the stomach.

Bill was no help, just yelling at me to do whatever he wanted.
Suddenly an adult male voice sounded out, "Is there a problem here?"
A man that looked a bit like Luce Burstein in a business suit was standing by the entrance, and immediately the guard let go of me.

Bill and I ran to our train as the two sort of glowered at each other.




Edith had tired of Sydney's philandering and divorced him long since. His second wife was a mystery to us. What he saw in this witch I'll never understand, but their lives were quite separate. She was a hack novelist who, amazingly, had her pen name included in a list of "climbing" novels in an article in Climbing magazine once!

Needless to say, she got the bulk of the estate including most of the art when Sydney died in 1973.
Luce helped my mom get a small portion.

In the mean time Inge had become very productive. She was churning out work and it was selling at galleries in New York for good money.


I moved to Colorado and then Utah and though we would occasionally see each other at holidays my good friend Inge and I grew distant, though as my mom's best friend we were always just a word away.

Like Sydney, his first wife Edith would die at 74 due to tobacco use.
Somehow my sister would get from Massachusetts to her apartment before our mother took the elevator four floors!
She locked out mom and pillaged the place.

Needless to say this became a notorious incident. lol

But my mom kept the Silent Rider and lived another 16 years.
When she died, as executor, Luce took measures to secure the place.
When the divide was finalized I took some of my items over to Inge's to store them.

I should have taken more. My sister pulled a familiar routine. (sigh) Relatives can be like that.

But I kept the Silent Rider and, better yet, Inge sort of became my surrogate mom.


That was 17 years ago, and in the intervening time she gave her last New York show in a Chelsea gallery at age 84.

She then gave me this, among other pieces.

In turn I gave her a laptop, her first computer. She was very resistant, said she didn't need it, but in four months she couldn't live without it. The same story for her Blu-Ray and hi-def big screen I got her.

As time passed she lost Steve and then her sister (also a notorious smoker).
She became a shut in with few friends left.
Then came the amazing news that after not hearing from him in near half a century her first husband, the Romanian, had died and left her an enormous fortune!

I would visit once or twice a year, and often brought a jacket and tie so that I could also visit Luce and have lunch at the Yale Club.
It wasn't until Luce died in in '2012 that I learned more about him than I ever learned at our lunches.

Few journeyed more than an hour for his memorial, but I booked a flight from Utah. It WOULD have to be on November 11, less than two weeks after Hurricane Sandy!
The flight circled the devastated city for two hours before we could land.
I raced to see Inge but she had gone ahead and eaten, somehow failing to grasp the situation.
When I showed she acted as if I stood her up and dismissed me after ten minutes.

She had gotten to a point where she was becoming senile and near deaf.

We could now communicate easier by email than in person.

The next day I walked from the Park Lane to the Yale Club for the memorial.
I met Luce's kids and they were grateful for my journey.

In his bio I was amazed to learn that in 1943 Luce was drafted and served as an aircraft mechanic on Guam.
He then attended law school.

After the service I walked outside and glanced a block and a half south on Vanderbilt to the entrance of Grand Central where the security guard had rousted me 36 years earlier.

Early this year I caught Inge on a good day. She could hear me well on the phone and was sharp, and we had a long talk.

Two weeks later she fell into decline.
The silent rider visits everyone eventually.
Six weeks later she passed on in her sleep at age 98.


An attorney from NYC called me this week.
No details yet, but I'm in the will.
Clint Cummins

Trad climber
SF Bay area, CA
Apr 24, 2014 - 09:53pm PT
Wow, what a survivor.
Thanks for sharing these cool stories.

Here are a few more (apparently) by Inge that I found on the web:
from
http://bid.mclemoreauction.com/cgi-bin/mnlist.cgi?mclemore224/8

donini

Trad climber
Ouray, Colorado
Apr 25, 2014 - 12:34am PT
The Silent Rider....a metaphor?
Reilly

Mountain climber
The Other Monrovia- CA
Apr 25, 2014 - 12:43am PT
Wow, thanks, Ron! Life definitely imitates art. Too bad you weren't Irish, one Heineken, indeed.
Flip Flop

Trad climber
Truckee, CA
Apr 25, 2014 - 02:08am PT
Great story.
The Lisa

Trad climber
Da Bronx, NY
Apr 25, 2014 - 07:59am PT
Ron, this is a fascinating account. The art is lovely.
clinker

Trad climber
Santa Cruz, California
Apr 25, 2014 - 08:55am PT
All the makings of a classic.
MisterE

climber
Apr 25, 2014 - 09:21am PT
Thanks, Ron - a great story.

Family can be hell, and the silent rider is never far away.
hossjulia

Trad climber
Carson City, NV
Apr 25, 2014 - 01:33pm PT
Interesting. No great art lover, but her work is the type I tend to really like.
tfpu and good luck!
NutAgain!

Trad climber
South Pasadena, CA
Apr 25, 2014 - 02:51pm PT
Thanks for sharing- a welcome point of interest and diversity on this forum.
Norwegian

Trad climber
dancin on the tip of god's middle finger
Apr 25, 2014 - 03:21pm PT
assigning silence his own entity,
if Silence sits in the saddle,
does he get a rash?

so what's the coefficient of static friction
between a hide saddle and crotch of Mr. no vibration?

are there Mu (greek letter) values
assigned to substances of different states?

Ed?

what about if my fart rubs up against wet laundry?
how does nasty (my adjective) gas slide across solid state matter?

or how about emotional friction?
like f*#kking sorrow heating up my dreams?

is reality a state of matter?
or is it in between states?
like the fine print of
the great contract between heaven and hell;

where am i?

i think i'm in the wrong thread.

i'm gonna just go climb over a 100,
that way i'm percent.
Michelle

Social climber
1187 Hunterwasser
Apr 25, 2014 - 03:24pm PT
Thank you Ron!
LilaBiene

Trad climber
Technically...the spawning grounds of Yosemite
Apr 25, 2014 - 04:27pm PT
Ron, I'm so sorry to hear about Inge. Glad you were able to have a good conversation. Thinking of you a lot lately, so much loss.

I hope that you continue to share your thoughts and stories, as there is great meaning in shared experiences for all.

Facelift this year? ")
Jim Clipper

climber
from: forests to tree farms
Apr 25, 2014 - 06:57pm PT
Thanks.. Help puts your work for others in context...
mark miller

Social climber
Reno
Apr 25, 2014 - 07:05pm PT
Great story, could make an exceptional book Ron.
Toker Villain

Big Wall climber
Toquerville, Utah
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 26, 2014 - 05:47pm PT
She considered writing one after Steve died.

Here is another. A cloudy day, I took it outside for the light.
She painted it in 1985.

It es called Ice Blue
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