ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1997, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, February 3, 1997 TAG: 9702030078
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C-2 EDITION: METRO
DATELINE: SAN FRANCISCO
SOURCE: Knight-Ridder Newspapers
Herb Caen, the San Francisco Chronicle's Pulitzer prize-winner whose puns, paeans and gossip distilled ``Baghdad-by-the-Bay'' to its quirkiest essence for 58 years, died Saturday at age 80 at California Pacific Medical Center from inoperable lung cancer.
By force of personality and endurance, Caen ensconced himself into San Francisco's character, shaping it as he went. Known as ``Mr. San Francisco,'' he was identified as closely with his city as any local columnist in the country.
``Herb has been the daily historian of this city,'' said San Francisco Mayor Willie Brown, a close friend for 30 years. ``His writings have made this place more interesting and exciting than I think it really is.''
In his six-decade run, Caen rarely missed a day's work until he was diagnosed with cancer last spring. As his condition worsened, his column appeared sporadically. His last one was published Jan. 10.
``I saw him two days ago, and he wasn't able to speak,'' Chronicle Editor William German said at a news conference in that paper's newsroom Saturday.
``But he just smiled and made a typing motion with his hands, like he was hoping against hope that there would be a last column to write,'' he added. German also said Caen did not write a farewell column in anticipation of his death.
There were no immediate plans to replace him, said Chronicle Executive Editor Matthew Wilson.
Caen is survived by his wife, Ann, and son, Christopher Caen. Chronicle Managing Editor Jerry Roberts said a memorial service is tentatively set for Wednesday.
Caen's rapid-fire style evoked a city of perpetual action and intrigue and reflected exhaustive ``reporting'' in the trenches of San Francisco's nightlife. In his heyday, Caen made six to eight stops on the city's social circuit each night.
The regimen earned him a pipeline of good material. He received 150 to 200 phone calls, faxes, letters and e-mails every day, said Carole Vernier, the columnist's assistant for 16 years.
From these, Caen would cull the day's best morsels and spice them with personal musings and jokes overheard. He would punctuate the items with his trademark three dots and weave a daily tapestry that was, to many San Franciscans, as reliable a morning presence as the fog.
``I think writing three-dot columns is the hardest work there is,'' Caen said in a 1994 interview. ``It's the stoop labor of journalism, assembly line writing.... You can't get kids to do it: 15 to 20 items a day, 1,000 words. It's a backbreaker.''
Before he became sick, Caen would arrive at work each morning at 9:30 and collect material well into each night, said Jesse Hamlin, a Chronicle music critic and former assistant to Caen. He subsisted on four to five hours of sleep.
In his career, Caen churned out an estimated 4.5 million words from the Royal typewriter he preferred over higher-tech alternatives. He cultivated a Caen-ian lexicon that became part of Bay Area lore: In the 1950s, he coined the term ``beatniks'' for the eclectic writers and poets who had descended on the city. In the 1960s, he christened the East Bay countercultural hotbed ``Berserkeley.'' San Francisco was ``Ess Eff'' or ``Baghdad-by-the-Bay.'' And pity the poser who dared call the city ``Frisco.''
Belying his penchant for exclusive company and expensive suits, Caen's touch was unmistakably common. In a diverse city, his appeal transcended class, cultural and generational divides.
``He was from the World War II generation, but he spoke to every generation,'' said singer Country Joe McDonald, one of about 30 Caen friends who toasted the columnist Saturday at the M&M bar, a longtime hangout for Chronicle and Examiner reporters.
LENGTH: Medium: 75 lines KEYWORDS: NEWS OBITby CNB