Schnitzered again

Okay, it’s time to clear your brain for a name association.

I’m going to say a word and you are going to tell me what you associate with it.

The word is …

“Director.”

And the right answer is … “your grandparents’ generation.”

Missed that one, did you?

You may need to check in with Jordan Schnitzer, who recently dedicated the “Simon and Helen Director Park” in downtown Portland.

Turns out that Simon and Helen were Jordan’s maternal grandparents.

According to a Jewish Review article about the park’s dedication, Schnitzer told the crowd “I hope that when you come here you’ll think of your grandparents and how you came to be in this park.”

Got that? “Director” = “your grandparents.”

Schnitzer’s family name resounds throughout the city and state on everything the pioneer family helped build, which is a lot. The Schnitzers have money. And they spend a lot of it on the arts and civic good works.

Oregonians are grateful to them many times over.

But the Schnitzers have this thing about names. They can’t get beyond their own.

Okay, I’ll admit it, I can’t get beyond their name.

I go to concerts at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall.

I drive by the Mittleman Jewish Community Center in Hillsdale nearly every day, and it is now on the “Schnitzer Family Campus.”

I go to Eugene and am told by the big green freeway exit sign that the off ramp will take me to the Jordan Schnitzer Art Gallery.

Twice a week after Scrabble, I take my mother-in-law home to her apartment at the Rose Schnitzer manor.

I go to have my eyes checked once every three months at the Thelma & Gilbert Schnitzer Comprehensive Glaucoma Center.

I find this odd. You’d think some Schnitzer might step forward and say, “Enough already! Name the glaucoma center after Ray Charles or Stevie Wonder.”

On the day of the park dedication, I walked through the park as workers prepared it for the ceremony. I was fully expecting the Schnitzer name to be somewhere on it. After all, Jordan forked over nearly $2 million to help pay for it.

The Jewish Review story, headlined “Jordan Schnitzer leads dedication of Simon and Helen Director Park,” revealed Schnitzer-Director connection — and Jordan Schnitzer’s hope that his family name will trigger reminders of our own families.

For all that, the story did reveal some evolution in Jordan’s thinking about names. Turns out it was his idea to name park’s central fountain “Teachers Fountain,” and here I quote from the story, “in gratitude to his mentors in the Portland Schools.”

“His mentors”? When we visit the fountain are we to think of Jordan Schnitzer’s teachers?

Here I think reporter Amy Kaufman muddled things because the very next sentence is a quote from Schnitzer. “We are so indebted to teachers and they get so little recognition…. As we unveil this fountain, think of those who made such a difference to you.”

Right on, Jordan!

And, just a reminder, when you visit Director Park, remember your grandparents — forget Hitchcock, Kubrick and Fellini.

Naming wrongs

I’ve wondered about the mental stability — yes, that’s the phrase that comes to mind — of the super-rich who feel compelled to splash their names on edifices they have paid for. Right here in Oregon the names of Robert Pamplin, Jr., Jordan Schnitzer, Phil Knight, Harry Merlo come to mind)

Of course these men (they always seem to be men) owe their fortunes to others (people called employees and customers and, in some cases, relatives. Teachers probably deserve some credit too).

But never mind. Inevitably their own names go on the museums, soccer fields, gymnasiums, academic lecture halls and the like.

In the mental health community, they call this “narcissism.”

Why must they do this?

If you drive I-5, as you approach Eugene, a taxpayer-paid-for exit sign tells you that if you take the next exit you can visit the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art.

I imagine Mr. Schnitzer, who is very much alive, driving the interstate and basking in the glory of it all. He can exit at his very own exit.

As for the rest of us, we might well wonder, “Who the hell is Jordan Schnitzer and why is his name being thrust in my face on this public by-way?”

Why indeed? I have no answer except for my reference to certain mental abnormalities.

Mr. Schnitzer happens to be a neighbor, of sorts. When I climb to higher elevations, I walk by his very large house with its sweeping view of the metropolis. I’m sure he is an honorable man, but why couldn’t he have insisted, nay, demanded, that the University of Oregon museum be named after a muse, a vision, a great cause, a virtue or a humble worker in his family’s steel plant?

Likewise, Messers Pamplin, Knight and Merlo. All of these men are, like Mr. Schnitzer, alive and answerable. It remains to be seen whether they are aware. Perhaps they will tell us. We eagerly await their response.