JAMES "JIMMY" HALL
June 14, 1966 to May 9, 2007

By Katharine Blossom Lowrie and Gwen Fannin

Adventure burned in his soul

This is a love story. About sharks, the sea, a Bavarian girl named Stefanie-and a whole bunch of big tough guys who broke down in tears after Jimmy Hall fell to his death on May 9 when a base-jump off a 3,000 ft. sea cliff in the Canadian Arctic went terribly wrong. He was 41. An insatiable daredevil who was in between shoots for his debut stint as host of Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, Jimmy Hall died the way he lived-testing the limits of the universe. Adventure burned in his soul, one friend said, ignited that "goofy, fearless smile." A passionate environmentalist, Hall worked to protect the aquatic depths and renovate the always-maligned reputation of sharks. A celebrity in his adopted Hawaii where he orchestrated popular dives for tourists via his Hawaii Shark Encounters, he gained international fame when he videotaped and swam with a 20 ft. Great White off the coast of Oahu in 2005. Later, when telling Matt Lauer of the Today show how it felt to reach out and touch the predator, Hall described the experience as "humbling...one of the greatest gifts of my whole life."

"It just takes my breath away"

But swimming with any shark was a privilege. "When I jump in out there and see how clear it is, how blue the water is, and all the sharks, " Hall told Dan Moore of Outereef Productions, "it just takes my breath away."

"Fearless, absolutely fearless," Moore later said of Hall. "I think perhaps he was born without an adrenal gland."

The day before the tragedy, Hall called his girlfriend of ten years, Stefanie Brendl. "Jimmy was talking a mile a minute about how much fun they were having," Brendl said from their home in Hawaii. "There was something about a polar bear and awesome ice and unbelievable cold. I hung up really, really happy for him because he was doing exactly what he wanted to do with the people he wanted to do it with."

"I'd rather blow up than rust"

Hall summed up his perilous lifestyle in a 2004 interview on CNN by saying, "You're not going to be lying on your deathbed going, 'Gee, I wish I'd worked more.' I'd rather blow up than rust." In that sense, base-jumping-a dangerous and controversial sport that involves parachuting off mountain peaks, highrise buildings or bridges-perfectly suited Jimmy Hall. It took eight hours by dogsled just to get to the Sam Ford Fjord on the north coast of Baffin Island in the Canadian Arctic. Then, on May 9, after several days of successful leaps off the most spectacular rock walls on the planet, Hall and two teammates planned a riskier, more technical jump. Attired in skydiving "wingsuits" that allow jumpers to fly horizontally while freefalling, the trio intended to leap from the summit, glide through the narrow confines of a nearby canyon and land in an open fjord. Hall, his helmet equipped with a camera so he could videotape his compatriots for a documentary, was the third jumper off the cliff. Where the other two made it, Hall ended up too low to fully deploy his parachute, slammed into the rocks and slid 1,500 ft. down to the sea ice.

"I dove down and watched the ashes drift deeper"

Ten days later, when it came to a "celebration" of Hall's life, a devastated Stefanie Brendl made sure the tribute included skydiving, swimming with sharks and the kind of "Grand Entrance" Jimmy Hall was famous for. Following a moving, private ceremony at Alii Beach Park in Haleiwa, a hundred mourners set out to sea. Brendl and Hall's mother, Linda Tatreau, his father, Stanley Hall, and his sister, Ann Hall, watched from the bridge of the Kainani, Hall's 31-foot Radon power boat, as 35 crafts streamed around them in a glorious regatta. "I could almost hear Jimmy saying, 'This is so awesome!'" Brendl said.

As the boats circled, a Cessna 182 swooped out of the blue and Hall's best friend, Jake Kilfoyle, jumped out, Brendl said, "smoke bombs drawing a trail behind him as he carved down from the sky carrying Jimmy's ashes." With thousands of plumeria petals raining down from the sky, Brendl and Hall's family spread the ashes on the sea. Then, amidst hoops and hollers, everyone began diving into the water. "For me hitting the water was the best moment of the whole day," Brendl said. "I dove down and watched the ashes drift deeper and spread in the ocean. And for that moment everything seemed perfect and right."

He wanted his ashes mixed with chum

A smaller group of family and friends traveled three miles off shore to the Shark Encounter buoy to feed the rest of Hall's ashes to the sharks. "Jimmy wanted his ashes mixed into a bucket of chum," Brendl said. "We had talked about it a lot. For most people this would be a shocker. But if you knew Jimmy it is no surprise." There were only a few small sharks in the water, she said, so most swam with them. "I took off into the blue to be alone. Barry the Barracuda (an old acquaintance) accompanied me most of the time. But no sharks came my way. It was calm and strange and very lonely."

Later everyone gathered in the field in front of Hall and Brendl's home to watch slideshows and videos of Hall's travels, his shark swims and his Baffin Island trip. "Everyone had a Jimmy story," Brendl said. For the small group that stayed until midnight, "I don't apologize for starting a most awesome, messy, out of control cake fight. It's amazing how a group of adults can revert to a screaming bunch of mud-slinging kindergarteners in a split second. Jimmy would have loved it."

"For Jimmy it was always full speed ahead"

Born June 14, 1966 in San Diego, Hall grew up in and around the sea, his love of all things aquatic influenced by his mom, Linda Tatreau, a marine biology teacher, and his dad, Stan Hall, operator of a kelp-harvesting company. His daredevil nature first surfaced at 14 months, when he executed his first "jump" off the back of a couch and broke his foot, his mother said. Not long after, Tatreau walked into the room to see her son preparing to leap off a teetering ironing board. As the board collapsed, the toddler jumped for the curtains. "The fabric was sun damaged and ripped slowly, delivering him gently to the floor," Tatreau said. By age 4, given a small surfboard by his dad, "Jimmy was soon shredding the waves," his mother said. Whatever his activity-skateboarding, horses, surfing, windsurfing, spear fishing, scuba diving-he did it all with the same intensity. "For Jimmy it was always full speed ahead."

Hall spent much of his adult life on the North Shore of Oahu or sailing the high seas. Working on tugboats to finance trips all over the world, he climbed active volcanoes in Bali and Peru, paraglided from a 22-thousand foot summit in the Andes and-in 1994-set sail from Hawaii in his 30-foot Ericson sloop, traveling for the next six years and 14,000 miles through the Pacific and Southeast Asia.

They used to joke about Jimmy's "nine live"

Hall met Stefanie Brendl in Guam in 1997, during his attempt to sail around the world. From the outset, Brendl said, "He was like the grand spark and motivator to everybody." Not only was he "incredibly fun to be with," she said, "but we shared the same goals: to travel and experience the world to the fullest. All of us used to joke about Jimmy's nine lives and the fact that he would use them up. But deep down, all of us thought he would be around forever."

Base-jumping-first made popular by the opening sequences of the 1976 James Bond film The Spy Who Loved Me-was Hall's newest challenge, said his agent, Micah Johnson, who tried to dissuade his client from going to Canada. "I told him it was too dangerous. He was just starting a new career with Discovery, and I wanted him to wait." But Jimmy wasn't the type of person you could discourage, Johnson said. Hall, who is featured along with Stefanie Brendl in the "Perfect Predators" segment of the current Shark Week series, was scheduled to leave for the Great Barrier Reef off Australia to swim with Great Whites the week after his Canadian trip.

Jimmy Hall is survived by his girlfriend, Stefanie Brendl of Hawaii; his mother, Linda Tatreau and father, Stanley Hall, of Guam; his sister, Ann Hall, grandmother, Beulah "Slugger" Tatreau, and his uncle, aunts and cousins, many of whom reside in San Diego.

ELIZABETH "BETSY" BURKE SCHOTTKE
September 7, 1916 to August 22, 1993

By Katharine Blossom Lowrie

The Art Spirit

Elizabeth "Betsy" Burke Schottke, a popular Rancho Santa Fe artist who struggled to preserve her ability to paint despite the onset of Alzheimer's, died on August 22, 1993. She was 75. To the end, said all three of her daughters, Betsy reflected the grace and discipline described in one of her favorite books, The Art Spirit by Robert Henri, a book about painting, yes, but also about striving for harmony, elegance and simplicity in life. "Greatness," Henri wrote, "can only come by the art spirit entering into the very life of the people. It is to make every life productive of light-a spiritual influence." In one of only two self-portraits, Betsy stands at her easel, readers low on her nose, brush poised, the determination to translate the unseen into art alive in her startling blue eyes.

Lady Godiva figures in her family tree

Born September 7, 1916 in Baltimore, Maryland to Katharine Morrow and William "Billy" Burke, Betsy descended from Ohio River Valley pioneers, a Supreme Court Justice, and John Howard, an officer who fought alongside George Washington in the American Revolution and later became the first governor of the state of Maryland. Writer Anne Morrow Lindbergh, wife of aviator Charles Lindbergh, figures in her family tree, as does the infamous Lady Godiva who rode naked through the city of Coventry (now the UK) in 1057 to protest a tax burden levied on the poor by her husband, the Earl of Mercia.

History, like art and literature, drew Betsy's aesthetic nature. She loved to read and treasured family heirlooms, especially antiques that had belonged to her mother. Betsy was only three when Katharine fell victim to the great flu epidemic in 1919. Too devastated by his wife's death to care for their little girl, Billy sent her to Colorado to live with Katharine's sister, Blossom, and her geologist husband, Harold Lowrie. The Lowries, childless, were ecstatic. When Billy Burke remarried, he reclaimed his daughter, but immediately shipped her off to Edgewood, a Connecticut boarding school. It seems Betsy's new stepmother resented the adorable child, who so reminded her father of his late wife.

Many compared her to a young Ingrid Bergman

Betsy remained at Edgewood from the 2nd through the 12th grade. Terrific at basketball, she wrote poetry, read until all hours and gave the valedictorian address for her senior class, an event her father and stepmother declined to attend at the last moment. Following graduation, aiming for a career in commercial art, she headed to New York, where her exceptional looks and natural poise (many compared her to a young Ingrid Bergman) earned her a job as a runway model at Saks Fifth Avenue.

"I was raised to play Bridge and golf"

Marriage and children interrupted Betsy's professional goals, hardly unusual for the times, although two divorces left their mark. Upon her second divorce, according to middle daughter, Patricia "Bonnie" Daybell, she complained to a friend that she was ill equipped to support three children. "I was raised to play Bridge and golf," Betsy moaned. "That's all I know how to do." The highly practical Virgo was not unemployed for long, however, and quickly landed a job as a receptionist for $125 a month. Later she sold perfume as a partner in Parfumes Fragonard at the famous Farmer's Market in Los Angeles.

She never bought anything unless it was on sale

Despite growing up minus a maternal role model, Betsy excelled as a mom, her daughters said-although not always in the traditional sense. "She did not sew, bake cookies or host Girl Scout meetings," said oldest daughter, Katharine Lowrie. "But, oh God, was she fun. She was shrewd in her advice, profoundly wise and blessed with a delicious sense of the absurd." According to Bonnie, she was also darn frugal. "Mom never bought anything unless it was on sale," Bonnie said. "Of course, it always had to come from Saks or Neiman Marcus." Avoiding discord was another trait, said youngest daughter, Julie Larson. "Mom liked to keep the peace. She didn't want anyone to argue."

Betsy did not return to serious painting until after she married her third husband, Lorry Schottke, a financial consultant and former Navy pilot who flew the Berlin Airlift after WWII. Despite her late start, she earned the admiration of her favorite teacher and mentor, the late Sergei Bongart, an acclaimed expressionist painter. Betsy's still lifes and portraits, although reflective of Bongart's style, bear her own trademarks: frugal brush strokes and glorious color. Many paintings feature her beloved heirlooms: a Sterling coffee server, grandfather's clock, leather bound volumes of Shakespeare, Robert Browning and Oscar Wilde. "She so loved Aunt Blossom's Minton china soup tureen, we laid her ashes to rest there," Katharine said, adding with a grin. "Before we illegally buried her on the Rancho Santa Fe golf course."

"We had to duck a lot"

A resident of Glendale and La Canada before moving to Rancho Santa Fe in 1980, Betsy adored life in the pristine Mediterranean village nestled high above the sea in Northern San Diego County. The Schottkes bought a condo just steps from the Rancho Santa Fe Golf Club and remodeled the garage into an art studio. "Mom was in heaven," said daughter Bonnie, who introduced her mother to "The Ranch", as it is called. An excellent golfer, she continued to play even after the Alzheimer's diagnosis. "She tended to forget which way to hit the ball," one friend said with a sad smile. "We had to duck a lot." As a tribute to those who risked life and limb to look after their mother on those perilous forays, her daughters presented the RSF Women's Golf Association with one of Betsy's paintings-a splashy oil of pink and yellow cabbage roses bubbling out of a chalk-white vase. It hangs in the women's locker room.

Betsy Schottke is survived by her husband of 42 years, Lorry; her three daughters, Katharine Blossom Lowrie of West Hollywood, California; Patricia "Bonnie" O'Brien Daybell of Gig Harbor, Washington; Julia Safford Larson of Sedona, Arizona, and six grandchildren: Jamie, Jennifer, Susan, Brian, Amber and Corey.

DOMINIC ALFRED LEONE
November 7 or 11, 1915 to September 16, 2003

By Katharine Blossom Lowrie

A "Mississippi River card shark"

Dominic Alfred Leone, a larger than life character who dressed like a high roller and went AWOL from the army in 1942 to marry the woman he loved, died of respiratory failure in Los Angeles on September 16, 2003. He was eighty-seven. Four years after his passing, Dominic, or "Ace" as everyone called him, still dominates the conversation in a sprawling Italian family that occupies two coasts. Taking credit for the nickname, Ace's nephew, Paul Picerni, said his uncle always reminded him of a "Mississippi River card shark." A "slick" dresser who identified with George Raft and Frank Sinatra, Ace could have passed for a Hollywood producer or the consigliore to the Gambino Family, his nephew said.

Short in stature (only 5'5"), he was huge in life and relished his Donnie Brasco image, said his oldest daughter, Nola Leone, who, along with her sister Mindy Kouirinis, cared for Ace during his last years, first in New York and later at Nola's home in Los Angeles. Witty and full of tall tales (he once tried to convince a very young Nola that he had written the Star Spangled Banner), Ace loved the ladies. "And they loved him," daughter Mindy said. He also liked to leave things to the imagination: his occupation, for example. Listing himself as a "fund raiser," Ace spent many years servicing bazaars and carnivals with his brother Mike. "Daddy had many talents and wasn't afraid to sweat," Nola said. "But he was always searching for that 'get rich quick' scheme." In the meantime, he drove a cab, co-owned a bowling alley, tended bar and did "God knows what else!"

He always insisted on cloth napkins

Enormous charm and plenty of street savvy substituted for Ace's higher education, Nola said. He read the newspaper every day, liked books about gangsters and horse racing (his favorite sport) and enjoyed golf and baseball. But his aristocratic tastes set him apart. Ace always insisted on cloth napkins, Nola said, drank Dewar's White Label scotch and-up until his heart attack in 1999-smoked Dunhill or Du Maurier cigarettes. In his tailored suits, perfectly ironed shirts, a pinky ring on his finger, he flashed expensive watches and a solid gold chain necklace that bore an Italian good luck charm in the shape of a horn.

Born to Armondo and Carmela Leone in Corona, New York on November 7 or 11, 1915, Ace was the youngest of many children. Tragically, his mother died when he was only 14 months old, and his father passed away when he was a teenager. Because all records and photos were lost in a fire, Ace remained uncertain of his exact birth date. "Rather than select one date," Mindy laughed, "he celebrated both!" Losing his parents at such a young age, however, gave him a lot to overcome, she said. "But he rarely talked of his childhood and never complained." Following his father's death, Ace lived for periods with his older sister, Lena Picerni, her husband Charles and their five children (nephew Paul among them). But he was eager to strike out on his own. Drafted into the army at twenty-six, he soon went AWOL to marry his beautiful, raven-haired girlfriend of ten years, Michelina (Lee or Lena) Nola. Daughters Nola and Mindy arrived thereafter. But Ace always considered his young sister-in-law, Rose Nola, his "other daughter," Nola said.

In the 1950s, Ace's nephew Paul, an actor, tried to encourage his uncle to move to Hollywood and become an agent. "With his gift of gab and BS," daughter Nola said, "he would have been a terrific agent." But Ace's wife Lee, then the matriarch and oldest of eight children, didn't want to leave her brothers and sisters behind in the East. The move West didn't occur until 1999, when-while visiting Nola in Los Angeles-Ace suffered a heart attack. Subsequent open-heart surgery and his daughters' urging convinced him to relocate to California. His beloved Lee had passed away 18 years earlier.

"We may not be rich, but we sure have fun!"

Although Ace had only limited use of his left leg due to a stroke in 1990, his declining health hardly made a dent in his personality, family members said. His trips to the racetrack and off-track-betting sites dwindled, but nothing kept him from playing bocce ball once a week at his nephew's home in Reseda. "He needed some assistance," Paul said, "but he was a great point man and always brought our favorite Italian cookies." Happy-go-lucky by nature, Ace could get testy at times. "We didn't call him Crank Sinatra for nothing," Mindy laughed. More often, she said, her father's life could be summed up in one of his favorite expressions: "We may not be rich, but we sure have fun!"

Ace is survived by two daughters, Nola of Los Angeles and Mindy of New York; his son-in-law, Bill Kouirinis, and too many nieces and nephews and grand nieces and nephews to list. In 2003, family and friends on two coasts jammed memorial services honoring Ace: first at Our Lady of Grace in Encino, California on September 19, and a week later at St. Andrew Avelino Church (the same church where Ace and Lee were married) in Flushing, New York. Both services were followed by raucous gatherings at two of Ace's favorite watering holes: Barone's (CA) and the Parkside (NY).

"Daddy always said that when his time came we should have a party and buy everyone a drink," Nola said. "So we did."