by joe eskenazi
staff writer
It feels inaccurate to write that Meyer Scher had an amazing life. Amazing lives would be more like it.
His eldest son, 61-year-old Les, remembers Scher plodding home in soiled brown workman�s clothes, coughing up thick, black soot after a long day spent welding at Moffett Field.
And his youngest son, 44-year-old Jerry, remembers Scher slipping into a snappy suit and tie and heading off to his law practice at a ridiculously early hour.
Scher, a man who, by any definition, lived the American dream � and then attempted to share it with as many people as possible � died on Nov. 18 with 22 friends and family members gathered by his hospital bedside. He was 86.
�When he would come back home, he�d always tell me that he met so-and-so and they said to say hello to Hannah,� recalled Hannah, his wife of 63 years.
�I�d say �Well, who was it?� And he�d admit he didn�t know. Everybody knew him and he did things for so many people that he just couldn�t keep track of everybody.�
Scher was born in the Lower East Side of Manhattan into a poor family made poorer when his father, an actor on the Yiddish stage, abandoned the family soon afterward. (When Scher was 17, he was shocked to find his father waiting on the stoop for him. They exchanged pleasantries and never saw each other again).
From a very early age, Scher was helping to support his family. His mother plucked chickens for a living, receiving a nickel for each bird she plucked and half a chicken to feed her family of four every Shabbat.
At one point, Scher sold �like-new� shirts from a pushcart he rented. He continued to work long hours while putting himself through Brooklyn College.
When the war rolled around, he dropped out of school to work in a Boston shipyard, later transferring to Pearl Harbor. There he married Hannah (the two met when they were 16 and 17 at a high school dance). Les Scher has the distinction of receiving the first bris in the history of Pearl Harbor�s hospital.
Through it all, Scher was working nearly around the clock. In Honolulu, he worked as a welder, put in time in the base�s dispensary and managed a restaurant � all while running a sewing machine import business on the side.
When the family moved to Palo Alto, Scher didn�t slow down. He worked in San Francisco shipyards, renting a phone booth-sized room where he stayed on weekdays for $5 a week. Ultimately, the lure of Stanford grew too great and he decided to finish his degree � while still working the shipyards, of course. He then went on to San Francisco Law School and another chapter of his life.
Scher was a highly successful lawyer, earning more money than a kid who used to work three jobs and headed off to night classes at Brooklyn College reeking of kosher dill pickles ever thought possible. He was also personally successful. Even in the last few weeks of his life, he still managed to meet with many of his longtime clients, who trusted him implicitly.
Through it all, he was helping to move the South Bay Jewish community out of the boondocks. He bought the land Congregation Kol Emeth stands on, sold it to the temple (at a loss) and then backed the synagogue�s loan. He was Rabbi Sheldon Lewis� close friend and personal attorney and also founded the area�s B�nai B�rith lodge. He took pride that all of his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren were connected to the Jewish community.
�One thing I know is, when Kol Emeth was built, some of the kitchen cabinets fell out and I was injured. I was 2 at the time,� recalled Jerry Scher. �I grew up at that synagogue. We were always there.�
Meyer Scher had six sons with Hannah. His son Arnold died earlier this year at 58, but Meyer is survived by Les of Garberville, Danny of Kensington, Robert of Los Altos, Jerry of Los Altos Hills and Eddie of Felton; 15 grandchildren and twin great-grandchildren.
Donations in Scher�s memory may be sent to Kol Emeth, 4175 Manuela Ave., Palo Alto CA 94306.
CopyrightJ, the Jewish news weekly of Northern California