My father was born and raised in Northern Ireland. He first immigrated to Canada, then returned to Ireland to complete his education, before ultimately settling in the Bay Area, where he lived until his passing in 1995.
He was a serious man with a deep love for two things (aside from me, I hope):
- Working out
- Oakland, CA
He often said to me, “Know your Oakland. It’s a fantastic city - just be aware, respect everyone, and know where you are. Always pay attention.” It made sense that he repeated this to me so often. Oakland, especially in the ’80s and ’90s, had a certain reputation. But my dad loved it, and I believe his upbringing in the turbulent environment of Northern Ireland fueled his desire to contribute to and invest in the city he adopted - and which, in turn, adopted him.
My father worked as a banker at Imperial Bank, which was located on Lake Merritt at the time. Without exaggeration, I can say I spent nearly every Saturday of my life, until around the age of 16, at the Oakland Athletic Club, and later in the afternoon at Imperial Bank.
Looking back, I loved those Saturdays. It was nothing but quality time with my dad in Oakland.
It’s a shame, but it’s almost impossible to find much information about the original Oakland Athletic Club online these days. There seems to be a sports bar that pays homage to the name, but beyond that, there’s not much - just the occasional obituary mentioning someone’s love for the gym.
In hindsight, the gym was pretty unusual by today’s standards - but as a kid, I absolutely loved it.
The Oakland Athletic Club
One of the first things I remember - something that didn’t seem odd to me as a kid but feels strange now - was that men and women were completely segregated, with separate areas to work out. I can’t think of any gym that does that today. The men’s area, as I remember it, was enormous. There was an indoor pool you had to walk around to reach the weights, machines, and heavy-bag area. Near the pool, there were steam rooms (though I don’t recall a dry sauna). I spent countless hours in that pool when I was younger, swimming and playing “Marco Polo” with other kids.
Then there was the common area, where you’d find the half-court basketball setup. The right side of the hoop had a brick wall for the out-of-bounds line - a detail that’s burned into my memory. There were also several racquetball courts, which were all the rage in the ’80s. My dad was ridiculously good at racquetball, which wasn’t surprising given his background. He’d been a ranked tennis player as a kid and brought that same intensity to the racquetball court. He once entered a tournament at the Blackhawk Country Club, demolishing the club pro in the championship game (21-6, if memory serves), just to prove he could. He proudly kept the trophy from that win for far too long. Before I was born, he even owned the Burlingame Racquetball Club - so ya, he loved the game.
My love for basketball was born there, too. It was at that half-court where I learned the game and how to play it. When the gym wasn’t too busy, or there wasn’t an intense pickup game happening, the older guys would let me shoot around and teach me the basics. Those moments, surrounded by the camaraderie and energy of the gym, are some of my fondest childhood memories.
The People
My favorite part of the Oakland Athletic Club was the people. There were so many eccentric, fascinating individuals who worked out there - or worked there - and they made it a place I looked forward to going to.
Ray Gallagher
The first person who comes to mind is Ray Gallagher, the owner and founder of Scott’s Seafood Restaurant in Oakland and later Walnut Creek, CA. Ray was my father’s best friend and very much an uncle figure to me. I can’t overstate how much time I spent with Ray growing up.
Ray treated me like he would his own son. Thanks to Ray, I got to experience things which most people don’t. I remember him taking me to Game 3 of the 1988 World Series - the only game the A’s won, in dramatic fashion, with Mark McGwire hitting a walk-off home run. Even though they lost the series, that night was magic. It was just me and Ray and I’ll never forget it. He also brought me to countless Warriors games through the years, including floor tickets to the 1989 playoffs against the Jazz. Floor tickets. Playoffs. I mean, come on. He was very much a second father to me.
Occasionally in the summer, I worked for Ray. One summer I had the honor of sanding and refinishing outdoor tables and chairs in ungodly heat alongside his daughter’s boyfriend, who talked a lot more than he worked. The kid was useless. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even get paid for that work (hundreds of chairs and tables for the Walnut Creek outdoor wedding and event venue) but that didn’t matter - I would have done anything for him because he constantly did things for me. I looked up to him and respected him so much.
Ray was a complicated man, though. After my father passed, we didn’t really have a relationship anymore.
During the year my dad was dying of terminal lung and liver cancer, diagnosed simultaneously, Ray was a constant presence. He would coach me on how to act, how to behave, and how to stay strong. He even dictated how I was to dress at the funeral: just like him with a blue blazer and tan pants. It makes me laugh today because he dressed my like a maitre ‘d. Ray had no patience for weakness or sadness. At the time, I took it as tough love, but looking back, I realize how hard and rigid he could be.
The last time I saw Ray was the summer after my father’s passing. I was 19 and excited to share some good news - I’d been accepted to Biola University, and I was heading off to college (a true miracle, honestly). When I told him, his reaction crushed me. He barely acknowledged it, he looked up from the table he was sitting at, staring at me with indifferent eyes which said, “Who cares?” and “Is there anything else?”. I was a little taken back but figured he was busy or something at work was pissing him off.
During my first break from school, I decided to visit him again. I went to Scott’s in Walnut Creek, betting he’d be there. Walnut Creek was his baby and needed more attention than the Oakland restaurant. Plus, his wife, Mary, owned a flower shop inside.
I ended up being right. I saw him walking into the kitchen while my then-girlfriend and I waited for our table. Instead of greeting me, he had an employee lie and tell me he wasn’t around. It was clear he didn’t want to see me, and that realization broke something in me permanently. After that, I never reached out to him again.
What ended up bothering me most that night was that he paid my bill. The manager - someone I didn’t know - came over and told me it had been “taken care of.”
I don’t know what I did or didn’t do to make Ray drop me from his life. Maybe it had something to do with how he perceived the way I dealt with my father’s passing. I was very young, and very much alone during that time. My mom was living in Europe with my stepdad, and I didn’t have a sibling to lean on - I only had my friends.
I was incredibly lost, lonely, and hurting back then, and I’ll admit I didn’t handle everything as well as I wish I had. I think that’s why losing him as part of my life still hurts.
Wherever he is, I hope he’s well.
Judge White
I remember “Judge White.” I have no idea if he was actually a judge, but his presence was undeniable. He’d spend long stretches in the pool, and his booming voice could be heard anywhere when he wanted someone’s attention. His voice projection was unreal, like he could fill the entire gym without breaking a sweat. I remember him as larger than life. Fun fact about Judge White: he used to bring a young man my age to the gym - I think he might have been his adopted son, but I’m not sure. His name was Sam, and I loved hanging out with him. Sam boxed, and I did Tae Kwon Do. He’s the first kid to punch me square in the face - hard. That moment woke me up to the power of boxing, the effectiveness of a proper jab, and the reality that unless you’re Jet Li, throwing kicks in a fight is not a great idea.
Russ Giuntini
Another regular was Russ Giuntini, who was the District Attorney of Alameda County at the time. Later in his career, he became the Chief Assistant District Attorney in San Francisco, working under Kamala Harris. My father had immense respect for Russ and couldn’t praise him enough. I think he hoped I’d look up to men like Russ as role models. Whether it was Russ’s career accomplishments or his dedication to working out, my dad clearly admired him. Even back then, it was clear Russ was a man of character. Whatever he’s doing today, I hope he’s happy and healthy.
Billy Mutch
I also remember Billy Mutch (spelling might be off) and his son, who was a year younger than me. Billy, the dad, had this effortless cool about him. My dad told me he was a pole-vaulter at Cal, but I can’t recall what he did for a living. His son and I once had an intense one-on-one basketball game one Saturday, and I lost by a single point. My dad was so disappointed I’d lost to a younger kid 😂. I hope they’re both doing well.
Billy the Personal Trainer
There was another Billy, a personal trainer at the gym, who went on to work for Ray at Scott’s Restaurant. He started as a valet but, from what I heard, ended up in a leadership role. I said a lot about Ray but Ray was known for being loyal to those who were loyal to him - and Billy was a good human and hard worker. Billy had that cool, ‘80s Don Johnson vibe - rocking a mustache unironically and pulling it off - and was always kind to me. If he had a spare moment, he’d show me how to work the heavy bag as I clearly had no idea what I was doing.
Sheri the Bartender
But my absolute favorite person at the gym was Sheri, the bartender at the restaurant upstairs. I’d always order a hamburger, and she’d make me cherry cokes. Sheri was incredibly kind to me - she really took the time to talk, not just to my dad, but specifically to me. I have no idea what happened to her, but I imagine she would have been an amazing mom if she had kids of her own. I always looked forward to seeing her, and if she had a Saturday off, I’d be genuinely disappointed.
Ricky Henderson
All of these memories came rushing back to me because of Ricky Henderson’s passing this week at 65. It’s so unfortunate, and if I’m being honest, it’s really messing with me. Ricky was an Oakland legend. Every once in a while, he’d work out at the Oakland Athletic Club on a Saturday, and it felt like the entire place lit up when he was there.
Whenever Ricky showed up, my dad would grab me by the shoulders, look me straight in the eyes, and say, “Don’t talk to him. Don’t look at him. Just leave him alone.” Easier said than done. Ricky was larger than life, and as much as I tried, it was impossible not to be in awe of him.
Even as a Giants fan, Ricky was one of my absolute favorite baseball players. How could you not love Ricky? He was electric, a one-of-a-kind talent, and a true icon - not just in Oakland but in the entire world of sports. I feel fortunate to even have shared the same small space with the man.
I truly miss those days. When I was really young, getting up at 6:30 in the morning to go to the gym with my dad honestly felt like a chore. All my friends got to eat cereal and watch Saturday morning cartoons, and I felt like I was missing out on this quintessential childhood experience.
But as I got older, that didn’t matter anymore. And now, as an adult, I realize I didn’t miss out on anything. If anything, I gained so much more. I’m incredibly grateful my father shared that place with me. For him, it was his sanctuary - a place he went six days a week to work out. For me, it became something different. It was where I grew up in many ways, a space that helped shape me as I navigated childhood eventually becoming a young man.
