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Friday December 14, 2007

Ain’t no mountain high enough

Pleasanton retiree challenges himself on and off a bicycle

by steven friedman
correspondent

Leon Malmed never walks — or cycles — away from a challenge.

Whether he’s finishing the Death Ride, a grueling 125-mile cycling marathon over five mountain passes with more than 15,000 feet of climbing through Lake Tahoe, or cycling 8,000 miles annually across the globe, Malmed is all about persevering and celebrating life. It’s not a bad prescription for health and happiness, especially from someone who survived the Holocaust without his parents.

Malmed recently drew upon his recipe for successful living when he cycled 72 miles, including an arduous 11-mile climb up Mount Diablo in 80 minutes, with a group of friends and family, in honor of turning 70 in October.

“The ride was fantastic. There must have been 25 of my family and friends from all over the place,” said the Pleasanton resident and father of three who became a bike addict when he retired seven years ago as the senior vice president for marketing and sales at SanDisk.

“When I got to the top, I was shocked. The sweat was running down my eyes, and I saw a bunch of people and heard trumpets. Some of my friends were waving French flags. It was like a stage in the Tour de France.”

His latest group feat was organizing a 3,400-mile cross-country trek, in three annual stages, which will wind up in Savannah, Ga., in May 2009. He missed the first stage, from San Francisco to Albuquerque, N.M., this past summer when his sciatica flared up. But he intends to make up the stage and complete the next two: Jackson Hole, Wyo., to Kansas in 2008 and Kansas to his daughter’s home in Georgia in 2009.

“Every time I see a mountain, I say, ‘I’ve got to climb it,’” said Malmed, who has always been active but gravitated toward cycling because it gives him a potent sense of accomplishment. “When I started biking, I kept making progress. I found a sport I’m pretty good at and can do on my own or with people. And you see things at 15 to 20 mph on a bike that you don’t see in a car. I might as well enjoy life while I’m in good health.”

Life didn’t start out too easy for Malmed and his older sister, Rachel, in Compiegne, France, a town of 20,000 people 40 miles north of Paris. Their parents were whisked away by the French police under the Gestapo’s orders early in the morning of July 19, 1942. He never saw them again. Both died in Auschwitz. Ironically, they’d migrated to France from Poland to escape pogroms and the bleak life for Jews there.

“I can’t imagine having one’s parents taken away at such a young age,” Malmed recalled. “And not knowing why.”

Malmed and his sister were hidden at first by Suzanne and Henri Ribouleau and their two sons, a Christian family who lived in their apartment building. “My sister and I were not supposed to exist or go to school. The Ribouleaus took the risk and we survived.

“People asked them, ‘Monsieur et Madame Ribouleau, why are you risking your and your sons’ lives?’ They always answered, ‘How can we not protect the Malmed children? We promised their parents that we would take care of them until they returned.’”

When WWII ended in 1945 and Malmed was 7, he hated being Jewish and associated it with the trauma of losing his parents. Fate turned cruel again when a judge ordered Malmed and his sister to live with surviving relatives in St. Quentin, an hour from Compiegne.

“I wanted nothing to do with these people and cried myself to sleep every night,” Malmed said.

Two years later his sister was sent to America. They didn’t see each other for 14 years even though they wrote letters every day. “How many times could I be torn away from familiarity? How many times could I be expected to adapt to new circumstances?”

Leon and Rachel reunited in France in 1963, and she and her husband helped Malmed and his wife, Patricia, immigrate to America a year later. His wife requested a divorce in 1978, but he has been remarried to her for nearly 25 years.

Malmed and his sister helped award the Ribouleaus medals for being Righteous Gentiles at Yad Vashem in Jerusalem in 1979.

“As long as we live we will never forget all four Ribouleaus,” Malmed said. “They saved us from certain death.”

While Malmed lost all faith in religion after the Holocaust, he remains connected to Jewish culture. “I am very proud of being Jewish. I participate at events at Congregation Beth Emek, give money to a variety of Jewish organizations, and am very interested in enhancing Jewish life outside the religion.”

Malmed’s well-honed sense of surviving and conquering challenges without hesitation pops up at peculiar but vital moments. Last summer he and his wife were enjoying dinner on the balcony of their Lake Tahoe home when they heard their dog barking and squealing.

“I looked and saw the dog in the jaws of a coyote,” Malmed remembered. “I jumped off the spiral staircase and started chasing them. I was running barefoot and was 20 to 30 yards behind them but was gaining. I did the fastest 150-yard dash of my life.”

But his perseverance paid off when he rescued the dog after confronting the coyote with a large piece of wood. The coyote dropped the dog and ran away.

Malmed said he hopes enduring the Nazi onslaught or cycling up grueling ascents on several continents will inspire people to meet everyday challenges. He has proven himself to be quite a worthy role model.

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