Palm Trees
1998 Eulogy by Dana’s Twin Brother, Frank

For me, it will be palm trees. I can't say what it will be for you, but for me it will be palm trees. Mexican Fans, Royal Hawaiians, California Palms, Windmill Palms—whenever I see them, and my mind instinctively goes through the classification process—smooth trunk, long drooping fronds, medium heighth—has to be a Royal Hawaiian— then I will think of Dana, and I will see his face in the softly blowing palm fronds.

I will remember that summer in the early 70's when I was home from Law School and Dana was a student at UCLA, involved in the seemingly endless process of getting his degree in Painting, Sculpture, and Graphic Arts. I didn't know palm trees then. To paraphrase one former president: they all looked the same to me.

I don't even know how the conversation got started. But as we drove from his apartment at the back of a Beverly Hills mansion where Dana did groundskeeping to pay the rent (he liked the fact that his next door neighbor was Carol Burnett) through the streets of West Los Angeles, he began to explain the differences between the types of palm trees lining the boulevard. He knew the scientific names, and their preferred climate zones, their most common landscaping usages, a lot of stuff I surely can't remember. But the basics of how to classify them, how to tell one type from another has stuck with me. So even today, when I see a palm tree, my mind begins to tick through that classification process, and I think of Dana. I told him that last week. He was pleased. I hope it made him think of all the teaching he has done, of all the knowledge he has imparted, and of all the love of plants, and people, and art, that he spread throughout his life.

John, Dana, Victor, and I were all born within about a few blocks from here nearly five decades ago. John in '48, Dana and I in '50, and Vic in '52. You could throw a baseball from here and hit the house we lived in for the first half of that decade. If my Mom were up here telling it, I'm sure she would probably be able to point out the houses on Abbeyfield Street that we actually hit with baseballs or other objects in those early years. In the early years, we four always ran together. We all shared the same room until 1955. We got to know each other well in those cramped quarters. We four, and our parents, in that two bedroom house. And then we moved to San Anseline Ave. and added an extra bedroom. John and Victor bunked together. I shared space with Dana throughout our school days.

We were a rough and tumble lot. I recall one time when all four of us were kicked out of the Bible study class, held in the hall of this church. Mom and Dad came out from services and were chagrined to find us romping in the playground. But more often than not, we were good enough to remain and learn with the other kids, and we were all given bibles by Reverend McNeil and earned our passports to the bible lands.

Dana was unique. Even at an early age, he avoided some of the whirlwind play that naturally came to 4 boys born within 4 years of each other. Dana would often be out in the yard, looking at plants and getting to know the garden creatures; while John, Victor and I were attempting to reconstruct the landscape in an effort to build fortifications for our toy soldiers and their weaponry. The 405 freeway, and the Target shopping area
were vacant lots where we built forts and spent our summer days.

Dana always saw what was natural, what existed as a matter of course, and appreciated it far beyond our abilities. That depth of insight, that acknowledgment and appreciation of what existed in the natural world, was a gift that Dana carried through his life. He became the consummate gardener. Whether it was at his Venice art shack, the 9th street home, or next door to mom, he created near jungles. He could always be found shirtless in the yard, planting, or pruning, or picking, or tilling, or grafting, or engaged in some other horticultural endeavor. He transformed barren soil to dense vegetation in every place he lived. His backyard produced more fruit, citrus, and vegetables annually than many small-farming operations. And I'm sure he was the only urban farmer on 9th street in downtown Long Beach who had a turkey coop in his backyard where, every year, he raised the family's Thanksgiving feast.

He was a walking, talking Sunset Western Garden Book. On several occasions I would be at some nursery with him, and he would engage the nurseryman in conversation about some shrub, or flower, or cactus. It would soon become clear that, between the two, Dana knew much more about the given topic of conversation. I could see the fellow mentally taking notes as Dana catalogued the proper soil and watering conditions and the preferred amount of light for that bit of greenery he held.

Which leads to another of Dana's qualities I know most of you are familiar with. He was a teacher. He knew a great deal about a number of topics, and wasn't shy about letting it be known. Whether it was gardening, or Latin American art, or Mayan Civilization, or Occupied Japan collectibles, or desert creatures; if you got into a discussion with Dana about a subject that interested him, you might as well take a seat. You'd have to be in it for the long haul, because Dana loved to share his knowledge.

He carried on with that penchant for teaching throughout his life. Teaching was a quality for which he had several admirable models. Our father was a consummate educator. He taught the Spanish language with unparalleled expertise, to kids who came to revere him for his teaching abilities. When Dana and I attended our 30th high school reunion this past August, we were both astonished by the number of people who remembered Dad, and who related that he had made a difference in their lives.

Our grandfather, Jess Sorenson, was another of life's great teachers. He was a poet and painter, an inventor and artist, and he greatly affected Dana. My brother learned his love of and respect for nature and his appreciation for the natural form from our grandfather.

Those teaching models affected him throughout his life. When we were in Junior High School, he involved me in the Project Tutor program. We took the bus to downtown Long Beach, and tutored younger kids in reading. Dana wanted to make a difference in the lives of those kids. He worked his way through college as a janitor in the local school district. He tried to relate to the kids and give them messages about life, and was proud when they began to refer to him as “Mr. Cool.”

After college, Dana became a substitute teacher. He taught in the Long Beach Unified and the ABC School Districts. He taught at the high school and junior high levels in a variety of subject areas. He, like our father, was strict, but well liked by the students, because he cared about them and he taught well.

He was considering getting his teaching credential when I first talked to him about the field of court  administration. He shifted ground and took a course in the Master's Program on Judicial Administration at USC. That led to a job in the Los Angeles Superior Court, where he became a courtroom clerk. He worked in courts in Long Beach, Norwalk, Compton, and the Downtown Criminal Courts building.

Once again, he became a teacher. Shortly before the onset of his illness, he was assigned to the training unit in the downtown court. He was given the role of training new courtroom clerks. He was as happy then as ever I can recall. He loved teaching and was dedicated to the court and his co-workers. If he had been given the time, he would surely have risen through the ranks and made even greater contributions to the Los Angeles County court system.

Dana was well liked by the judges he worked with. Several, whom I had not known before, have approached me at judicial conferences over the past two years to inquire about him, and to express their concern and regard. And he was well thought of by his fellow clerks. He was most appreciative of the fact that, as he struggled with his illness, over 50 clerks from the Los Angeles Superior Court, all members of AFSCME Local 575, donated over a thousand hours of their sick time to him.

Dana was, at his core, a person who loved people. He was intensely interested in other people's lives, and he relished the interest of others in him. His important friendships lasted over time. Many of you here have known Dana since his early school days. You are a testament to the depth of meaning individual relationships held for Dana.

I was struck by how many folks came up to Dana at the 30th reunion in acknowledgment of long-standing friendship. And many others rekindled memories of their relationship with Dana even though the gulf of time had created much distance between them. One strikingly beautiful woman named Barbara Blevins even laughed with Dana about how he called her "Blabbermouth Blevins" in elementary school. She also thanked him for teasing her about her hairy legs during our sixth grade. She'd used that to convince her mother to finally allow her to start shaving her legs. It was clear that she had fond memories of him, in spite of the teasings he had given her, and even after 3 decades.

Of primary importance to Dana was his family. He knew the family's history on both sides and he traveled to the places where family history was made. To a much greater degree than the rest of us, he strove to maintain connections with the extended parts of our family tree. Although he had no children of his own, he maintained overriding interest in his nieces and nephews. He was greatly looking forward to the birth of his twin nieces, and was overcome when he felt them moving inside their mother a few short weeks ago.

Dana was a loving, caring, and yes, sometimes overbearing person. The give and take in relating to Dana could be draining, due to the sheer depth, complexity, and fullness that he insisted upon in relationships. And it was also extremely rewarding because of his tremendous capacity for sharing life. In addition, he was a humanist, who loved mankind, cherished the oppressed, and envisioned a better world for all God's creations.

My brother was an intensely physically active person. He loved to hike up in the hills when he would visit in Santa Barbara, and he would speed walk the many miles from the Long Beach court to his home. He took dancing lessons because dance was another way to relate to people. He certainly was no Fred Astaire, but he knew the steps to many dances with precision, and he relished the opportunity to teach a partner that new step. When he first faced the prospect of losing his leg, he complained bitterly that he would not be able to ride his bike or roller blade. As things got worse, he would strain with his typical gritty determination to get around on his own, using crutches. It is a blessing that those hard working hands are now at rest.

He was also a person of extremely strong opinions and beliefs. His system of beliefs was rooted in a strong sense of right and wrong with a premium placed on the principles of equality and fairness. Dana had an opinion about most everything. He could have the most strongly held conviction about a seemingly innocuous topic, and you had better not try to change his mind on the subject. It would be easier to move the Rock of Gibraltar. This quality of Dana's led to many lengthy and involved discussions with family and friends, which could be a lot of fun if you approached the fray with a bit of levity. But in a world where there are many rootless, meandering souls, a bit light in the conviction quotient; it was refreshing to know someone who swung the pendulum the other way.

Dana was an artist and a lover of the arts. We have brought a chalk drawing he did in the 8th grade. It is his depiction of “Orestes Pursued by the Furies.” Here also is a painting he did of the cactus garden at UCLA. I love them both.

He created many works of art and sculpture. His artwork was both revered and reviled. His professors might give him extraordinary marks for one piece, and suggest he throw the next in the trash. He was truly broad and eclectic in his artistic tastes. He would have liked to have had the opportunity to have created more art in his life, but he could never get that talent to pay the bills. So he chose to create in other ways.

And finally, Dana was a collector. He had an astonishing array of antiques and other collectibles. Some called him a pack rat, but there was always method to his gathering. He had collections of unique glassware, old citrus box labels, coins, figurines from different eras, shaving mugs, woodcarvings, and occupied Japan ceramic pieces, among many others. The monetary value of his collections has increased dramatically over time, but he cared only about their artistic and historical importance. He related those pieces to the people and events which produced them. It made him feel a part of that history.

My twin brother loved life. It was extremely difficult for him to develop the desire to leave it. He is on to another garden, where I am sure he will be just as productive. The other gardeners will have to move over
and make room up there; I'm sure they haven't had the likes of Dana in their midst for some time.

In considering a poem for this occasion, I found one which fits the circumstance well. It is called

"God's Garden".

God looked around his garden, And found an empty place.
He then looked down upon the earth, And saw your tired face.

He put his arms around you, and lifted you to rest.
God's garden must be beautiful. He always takes the best.

He knew that you were suffering. He knew you were in pain.
He knew that you would never, get well on earth again.

He saw the road was getting rough, and the hills were hard to climb.
So he closed your weary eyelids, and whispered “Peace be thine.”

It broke our hearts to lose you, but you didn't go alone.
For part of us went with you, the day God called you home.

Webster's defines a Renaissance Man as “...a present-day man with many broad interests who has the opportunity to indulge himself in them so as to acquire a knowledge of each that is more than superficial.” We are here today to remember and bid farewell to such a man. Dana absorbed much about his chosen areas of interest in the broad landscape of human knowledge, and he shared that learning with those around him. He also lived life in an emotive, connecting way that couldn't help but impact the lives of others. If you knew Dana, you experienced a singular relationship, for he was a source of so many different types of energy. And there will be something emblazoned in you memory that will always remind you of his days here on earth.

I can't say what it will be for you, but for me—among the many—it will be palm trees. I know that there will be something for each of you: a cactus garden, a dance step, a piece of art, a bird in flight, a flower petal; something will always remind you of Dana, and he will be there, close by, and he will live on.

Chilnualna

The ashes of Dana E. Ochoa (1950 - 1998) were spread into a waterfall at Chilnualna Falls, Yosemite National Park, on March 28, 1999.

Chilnualna is an Indian word meaning “Echoes of the Water.”

Present were Dana's mother, Ecco; brothers John, Frank, and Victor; Frank’s wife Paula and children Diego, Alana, and Olivia; Victor's wife Rosario and children Marisol and Camilo.

The following words were spoken by Victor:

Beloved Brother, Son, Uncle, Loved One. In our Final Goodbye to you, we commemorate your bodily rermains to the wondrous beauty of Yosemite, a place we know you loved very much. Your life ended too soon, before it had run its full course, Your great talents, your artist’s eyes and hands will always be remembered and appreciated by us.

It is fitting to place your remains into a river that runs into the ocean, that is the final resting place of your father’s remains. In this symbolic way you rejoin him, as you said you wanted to do in your Final Days.

May your spirits mingle in that peaceful place, that we call Death, free of trouble and knowing only joy. Remember though that you continue to live with us In our hearts and in our minds. The love we have for you will never end, until the last of us no longer walks upon this earth. Rest in Peace, Dana. We will love you forever.

Press-Telegram Obituary

Cancer claims court clerk
Obituary: Services scheduled for today for Dana Ochoa, 48.
By Kim Phillips, Staff Writer

Dana Edward Ochoa, a Superior Court clerk who was well liked by judges and peers, died Salurday at his Long Deach home after a:valiant wo-year battle wilh cancer. He was 48.

"Dana was liked by everybody," family friend, Stu Cahn, said. ;"He was just a great guy, just an "incredible person."

More than 50 clerks from the Los Angeles Superior Court had donated more than a thousand hours of their sick time to Ochoa as he struggled wilh his illness. “It was a tribute to the friendship and respect he had with fellow clerks,” his brother, Victor, said.

“It was unbelievable," said Viclor. “Having thot burden lilted off of him was a tremendous thing.”

Born .in Long Deach on April 10, 1950, Ochoa altended local schools: Prisk Elementary, Stanford Junior High and Millikan Hligh. His father, Frank Ochoa, who predeceased him, was a teacher at Millikan and Wilson High,heading the foreign language department at both schools.

Ochoa went on to Long Beach Cily College and then transferred to UCLA, where he earned a Bachelelor’s Degree in painting,sculpture and graphic arls.After graduation, he worked as a substitute teacher for 11 years at the high school and junior high levels. He taught in lhe Long Beach Uuified and ABC Unified School Districtsm and worked as a job research assistant at Cal State Long Beach.

In 1986, Ochoatook a course in the judicial administration master’s program at USC. He was then hired as a Superior Court clerk in Los Angeles, where he worked for the past 12 years. In addition to his regular duties, Ochoa trained· new clerks at the downlown court.

“He really enjoyed his job,” Ochoa's mother, Ecco, said. He also served as a oourtroom clerk in the Long Beach, Norwalk, Compton, and downtown Los Angeles Criminal Court Divisions.

Throughout his life, Ochoa maintained a keen interest in the arts and history. He was an ardent gardener, growing unusual and exotic plants wherever he lived.

“His first love was his garden,” Ecco said. He also had a passion for antiques, collectibles and his cat, who went everywhere with him. He had many friends and could talk to anybody for hours.

Ochoa is survived by his mother, Ecco, of Long Beach;. brothers John, of Los Galos, twin Frank, of Santa Barbara and Victor of Oakland, and eight nieces and nephews.