Sophie Webb, Age 9
Fannie's Great-granddaughter

I remember having to shout down the phone to get her to hear me. Back then she could only hear me a bit but now she’s completely deaf. But she was so happy to hear my voice even if she couldn’t hear what I was saying and she would say ‘ Oh darling it’s lovely to hear you. Even if I can’t exactly hear what you’re saying.’ She has an American accent and I have an English one so she couldn’t always understand what I was saying. She lives in San Francisco and I live in Cambridgeshire but we still celebrate her birthday on the 20th of January  and she was born in 1913. I haven’t ever seen her in person but I can imagine what her personality would be like. I think  she would be artistic, creative, passionate, courageous and determined and apparently I was right about her personality. And at my Grandparent’s house there is lots of her paintings.

Ella Walsh Biderman, Age 6
Fannie's Great-granddaughter

I remember when I was visiting Fannie when I was 5 months old. And I remember feeding the parrots with my Mum. It was fun. The other day I saw a film of me and Fannie. It was funny when she said I wanted to talk because I was a baby crying and interrupting her. Fannie and me are both artists. She’s very funny. I liked the stories about her that my Dad tells me. Like the one where she had a really loud voice and she was trying to whisper that a man was fat but the man heard. But Fannie always fights for people's rights. That is very nice. She is a feminist! It's also nice how she liked old and young people and wanted everyone to have healthcare. She wanted everyone to have enough money to live - that was very nice of her. Fannie does really nice pictures. I hope that she has a good 100th birthday - but I don’t know how many candles they’ll be able to fit on the cake. I wonder what it's like for her to live that long. She’s a very important person and I am glad that I am in her family. I wish everyone was nice like her.

Kerin Webb
Fannie's Granddaughter

What I was thinking about the other day was being in the car with Grandma.  I was maybe 12 or I might have come back to visit as a teenager. Anyway I was in the car with her and I remembered seeing the beautiful sights of SF - Lake Merced, North Beach, Castro. It was exciting. She helped me to be active with my eyes and see a beautiful city. I remember seeing the lights at night and her showing me the view from her apartment. You had an amazing view of SF from there. She always had me look at the skies - to see the way the sky looked. Cloudy skies, sunsets, she always said, ‘look at the sky’. I enjoyed thinking about this recently. I don’t normally think about this - which is a shame because those are great memories in my life.
I also liked baking cookies with Grandma Fannie. I did it with my brother Kevin. I liked licking the beater and bowl and the spoon. She often made either oatmeal or chocolate chip cookies with us. I probably liked the chocolate the best. I loved the taste of the warm cookies. Other cookies are just cookies, but these were special because of the whole ritual of making them. It was a calming and relaxing thing to do with her.

Kevin Biderman, Fannie's Grandson

It’s hard to order or express my memories of Fannie. Little forgotten fragments of her life seem to pop up as I try to write this. How she always cut her sandwiches diagonally (as a child I was convinced these made them taste better). Or how she never took a cab (even when she was given $200 worth of taxi vouchers).

But there’s an instant ‘idea Fannie’ that appears when I think of her. A distinctive vibrancy encased in the body of an elderly woman. She has a sort of wide-eyed grin that is ageless. And I always felt a sense in which she would try to relate to me at the different stages of my development. Whether it was playing Duplo, making cookies and going to see children’s films when I would visit her as a kid or greeting me with “Hey, its my drinking partner” when I was in my 20s.

When I moved to England, aged 6, she used to send me these airmail letters. The written page had flaps on the side and would fold into itself to make the envelope. It was the kind of ingenious little material item that Fannie would be drawn to. She loved little creative innovations. She used to have a small magnetic silver bricked building set on the coffee table in her apartment at Arballo Drive. I used to always make the same dog out of the bricks every time I came. Probably for around 20 years without fail I would do this. Every time, though, she seemed amazed at it. And I think it showed how proud she was of the creativity expressed by - what my cousin refers to as - the bider-herd in what ever form that artistry takes.

She used to spend hours watching the sun rise in the morning. Once I found her gazing out her bedroom window in a kind of child-like amazement. She pointed out each minute part of the sky like an art patron describing their favourite painting and little shivers would go up her spine when she got to talk about the bits she really liked. I think this made me realise she was truly the most instinctual creative artist I have ever known.

Fannie’s artistic, political and rebellious nature has had a profound effect on the rest of her immediate family. Of course there are a number of - often contradictory - sides of Fannie as there are with most brilliant people. But I take pride in her unique and extraordinary spirit.

Bob Biderman, Fannie's son

There is a particular moment I recall, though it's hard to remember exactly when or where it took place.  It happened after one of those times my mother was off on a tirade that had nothing to do with anything except anxiety over the future and lingering ghosts of the past.  It was small things that set her off - the big things in life she could handle.  (I came to think of these periodic outbursts as similar to the minor volcanic eruptions that release just enough pressure to keep a mountain from really blowing its top.)   Anyway, it was after one of these incidents that over the years I had learned to ignore as just another mysterious part of life a growing child must contend with, that I happened to pass my mother's studio where she had taken refuge. And peeking in I saw, not the woman who minutes before was so enraged, but rather an image of calmness and serenity.  There she stood before her canvass, brush in hand, poised over a half-completed picture. Her eyes were focused on something that only she could see and as she touched her brush to the palette of paints below, there was a special look on her face that later I would see again and again when she was engrossed in a painting.  And it was then - watching her that moment - I understood the amazing transformative power of art and how much my mother had integrated herself within the process. She was her art and art was her. She taught me what that meant

Joy Magezis, Fannie's Daughter-in-law

Celebrating Fannie
feeling part of nature
Resonating with beauty
depicted in your art

Creative life
Transformation
Interwoven with Ed
still inside you

Together within us
Your kindness, care
showered on grandchildren
Such generous sharing

Allowing us growing time
Encouraging inner muse
Inspirational example
Holding high justice torch

That light has been passed
to your children and theirs
You shine in all you touched
your energies glow on

Helena Walsh, Kevin's partner

I only had the pleasure of meeting Fannie once, in 2006, when I travelled with my partner Kevin, her grandson, to San Francisco, with our then 6-month-old daughter, Ella. Before I met Fannie, her family in England had provided me with a wealth of stories detailing her colourful character. I was told of the hardships she endured, her adventures and many memorable antics. However, at 93-years of age Fannie still retained the ability to surpass the long trail of representations, that precede her introduction. Warm, witty and vivacious, politically astute, outspoken and sharp as a tick, Fannie amazed me.

Of course, witnessing Fannie’s joy at meeting her great-daughter was very special but so too was experiencing her continuous intrigue with the world. I was so impressed by this elderly lady who was still full of the curiosity, wonder and enchantment with the world that many leave behind in childhood. From her gasps of awe and joy at seeing an exhibition of Monet paintings to her loud interrogation of a gallery owner in the arts district, Fannie had fine-tuned the ability to take pleasure in life’s beauty, relish its joys, yet at the same time she continued to question, with all her might, life’s more dubious elements. Indeed, the latter is a task she undertook in her many stands against social injustice. ‘Is this art? You calling this art now?’ she shouted at the gallerist, rolling her eyes as she cheekily tapped a sculpture with her walking stick as if to test the durability of the latest art trends. Fannie, at 100, can teach us all a thing or two about durability, but she also teaches us much more about life and how to live it. And so, I pay tribute to Fannie, a true wonder woman, a warrior woman who refused to let life’s battles get her down. Happy Birthday!!!!

Sherry Gendelman, Fannie's dear friend

I met Fannie and Ed through my work, and theirs, with the Grey Panthers, in 1979 or thereabouts. An organization of old and young and middle aged people fighting for a better, more equitable and just life in this country. I became friends with both Fannie and Ed. They came out of a generation that suffered war, poverty, hunger and which created its own American tradition of passionate engagement in their community, which included the entire country, the world and their immediate family. They invited friends into that family. I was lucky enough to be one of those friends. I had dinner at their various homes in San Francisco, met them at the barricades, and enjoyed thousands of hours, hundreds of days and not enough decades of love, laughter, politics, culture, food and  friendship. After Ed died, Fannie continues to be a vibrant, relentless, and alive person.

The remarkable thing about Fannie is her spirit. She is a person who, at every age,   approached life without guile. She retained an ability to be surprised, awed, thrilled and heartbroken with everything she encountered. That includes art, movies, friendship, and misbehaving homo sapiens, particularly those in government and the “captains” of industry and finance.

At the Grey Panthers Fannie was relentless. She made signs for all the demonstrations, never missed a demonstration, manned the telephones, did as much office work as she could, made friends, lost friends, and stayed “angry” at all the injustice. Angry enough to never stop until her body stopped her. Even then, she’d take the newspaper every day...I’d get a call at about 8:00 a.m. ...”Honey, what are we going to do about...?” whatever rotten behavior the headlines had reported on that day.

A visit to her home started with a cocktail, a glass of wine, a seat in one of the enormous chairs or the sofa, and conversation, at the top of one’s lungs to accommodate her lousy hearing. There were snacks before dinner, dinner, dessert and conversation. Her house was filled with her creations, her ceramics, vases, little statues, her paintings hung on the walls, and Fannie was always fabulously attired. Well into her 90’s she selected her jewelry to adorn herself. No flashy diamonds or gems or gold, but the most fabulous silver necklaces, rings and earrings. She knew who made it and when and where she bought it and often how much each piece cost.

One of the greatest things she taught me was how to look when we would visit an art gallery or museum. Fannie didn’t just look at a painting, she walked right up to it, within inches she’d examined it and then marvel out loud at the artist’s use of paint, its application, how the artist used color and shading, how alive it was and how alive it made her feel.  ...and in turn, she taught me to experience art as living, breathing and essential... When she could still make her way out of her house, certainly into her upper 80’s, she’d go to lot’s of movies. Never stopped by her near deafness, she just went to foreign films.  More calls, “Honey, what’d you think of...?” and then she’d share her thoughts and reactions to the story, the lighting, the acting all of it.

When Fannie wasn’t able to safely navigate the world, I started to bring her flowers every week. I filled each room with its own bouquet. To watch her reaction to my creations, and then to the flowers, filled me with so much love its hard for me to think of it without choking up. “Honey, you don’t have to do this. Oh my   goodness, they are so beautiful. Honey, do you realize you’re an artist?”. The more she was stuck at home the more she reached out. She’d call every few days, and in her distinctive voice, “Honey, its Fannie, I haven’t heard from you in a few days and I was worried. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.” She always made me laugh. There is not another voice on the entire planet like hers. So identifying herself to me just added to her charm. As a friend, she was such a giver. She gave her pottery, she gave little treasures, she gave admiration, support, art, love, affection, food, her own form of outrage at injustice, her engagement in life and her wonder at all things alive and she gave me her love.

I visit her weekly at the Jewish home. I bring her flowers, touch her, kiss her, and wait for a hint of recognition. There hasn’t been one in a while, but I choose to believe that the flowers by her beside, her love of their life and beauty, seep into her consciousness and satisfying her hunger for beauty and life.

Kathleen Densmore, Fannie's dear friend

When conversation was still possible, Fannie and I discussed current events -- international, national, local.  She wasn’t dogmatic, instead, always raising questions, trying to understand what was going on and why. The same held true for family issues. 

At the end of one visit where we, like most times, discussed challenges I was facing in political work I was doing, Fannie talked about how these challenges were difficult but the more important point was to continue the work.  As I left she said, “Carry on.”

In subsequent visits, along with David, as we left she would say it again, “ Carry on.”

Once, when conversations were no longer possible but coherent sentences were still coming, Fannie looked at me and said, “You must.” And then, “I know you will.” I asked, “What?”  She replied:  “Carry on.”

Each time Fannie said those two words to me I left with tears not far from the surface and an admiration for her strength of commitment.  From my time with Fannie over the years, no decades, I knew what she meant by ‘carry on.’  Build a movement to resist injustices  and create a world where no one goes without enough to live a life with dignity, where no one has to go to war.  I am and have been lucky to know others like Fannie, in this respect. I couldn’t feel more fortunate. It makes me a part of a tradition of struggle for a better world.  Thank you, Fannie.