His Garage Was a Laboratory for Henry Siegel

[Editor’s Note: The second of a two-part perspective on Adele and Henry Siegel than originally was published Sept. 27, 2006, shortly after Mr. Siegel’s death. Mrs. Siegel died last Wednesday, July 2.]

Adele Siegel, the longest running political activist in Culver City’s history, became a widow last week at the age of 90 when her husband Henry, 93, died on Sept. 18 at an Orange County hospital. Through their years of activism, Mr. Siegel, soft-spoken, spaced his statements widely and preferred to remain in the shadows. Mrs. Siegel, conversely, was comfortable at center stage. This arrangement seems to have established the tone and the rhythm for their long marriage. They celebrated their 69th wedding anniversary last month with the best wishes of their four children. “Our children said that Henry was the perfect father,” Mrs. Siegel said this week. “Actually, he was in many ways. He doted on them. He wanted them to have the things he didn’t have as a child when he was growing up in Baltimore.” At the rear of their property on Braddock Drive lies the surviving shell of what once was “Henry’s Magic Garage.” In the tender aloneness of his beloved garage, Mr. Siegel, noiseless of foot, nimble of mind, invested thousands of hours making his children and others happy with his sturdy, handsome creations. “Henry made all kinds of toys and gadgets, useful pieces, out there,” his widow said. The Siegels moved to Braddock Drive 7 years after their 1937 marriage. So much, uh, inventory was jammed into “Henry’s Magic Garage” that when a workman was directed to start emptying it the other day, he was stuck for a starting point. So much miscellany was shoehorned into the garage that there was hardly room for one more toothpick. Mrs. Siegel looked again out the window, toward the garage. “In all of the years we lived here,” she said, “it never has been cleaned out. Until now.” How would she describe the contents? “Junk.” The garage was Mr. Siegel’s all-encompassing laboratory. “That is where he really was happy,” Mrs. Siegel said.

The Siegels were a family in the most traditional sense. “We never went on a vacation by ourselves,” Mrs. Siegel said. “We always took our children, even when they went to college. We did it that way because we believed in being together. We never spoke about it. We just took it for granted that you should want to show them what you can when you have very little income. We did it because we both believed that our children came first. We never even thought of going on a vacation by ourselves. Mostly, we would go camping, in Yosemite. We went there because you could be free and learn about the outdoors.” Who among the two Siegel sons and the two Siegel daughters is most like Mr. Siegel? Mrs. Siegel smiled, puckishly. “I can’t say,” she said, “because they are all outgoing.”

A Marriage in Two Directions

Time for a new story. “Remember I told you,” she said, “that I couldn’t retire when Henry did? I couldn’t stand just the two of us in the house, alone. Because of our personalities, Henry was in the garage, and I was in here with my sewing. I had my political work. We both had our separate interests,” which seems to be a centerpiece of a recipe for an enduring marriage. “Henry was so handy, he almost could build a house,” she said. “If anything needed to be built, he made it, for the kids and for me. This is where I will miss him the most. As a matter of fact (for next month’s memorial service, see below), all of the children and the grandchildren are writing poems, limericks about Henry’s garage. Neither one of us sang very well. He was off-key, and he didn’t like to sing. I wasn’t much better. But I always tried. We liked the same music, from the 1950s, Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, folk music especially.”

No matter how many years Mrs. Siegel survives her husband, she will remain surrounded by rich, vivid memories of their intertwined lives. Thousands of pictures are on display throughout their home, from nearly the moment they met in East Los Angeles in July 1936 until this very summer when Mr. Siegel was nursed through numerous bouts of declining health. A favorite family treasure is a picture-filled “Grandpa” scrapbook resting on a coffee table in the living room. On numerous pages, Mr. Siegel is identified as Henry VIII, his family nickname, because he was the eighth child in his family. The scrapbook’s scores of pages sparkle with Mr. Siegel’s witticisms, insights and reflections — as much as he could leave of himself without actually being present.