Obituaries for Parkey

September 1969

Jon Kinyon

Jan 02, 2020

Drink to his memory

Parkey Sharkey Dies

REDWOOD CITY TRIBUNE

By Keith Walker

Sept. 20, 1969

Parkey Sharkey is dead. The former pugilist, movie actor, cab owner, author, sailor and beer drinker who met with little success at any of the pursuits except the latter succumbed at 7:35 a.m. today at San Mateo County General Hospital.

It was an apparent heart attack which finally caught up with Sharkey, who numbered such personalities as Ty Cobb, Greer Garson, Don Sherwood, Paul Coates and Groucho Marx among his acquaintances in one way or another during his colorful 57-year, often befuddled career.

Sharkey had been a patient at Crystal Springs Rehabilitation Center, recovering from the latest in a long series of maladies, when he experienced severe chest pains. He was rushed to General Hospital at 6:30 a.m. and died an hour later in the emergency room.

Only yesterday he made one of his almost-daily calls to the Tribune news room, telling Staff Writer Bill Shilstone he was seeking someone to take care of him for $100 per month, because of the special diet he required for diabetes. Sharkey, lately residing at 784 Partridge Ave., Menlo Park, had been in and out of hospitals for the past year with a series of heart attacks and diabetes problems. One of his first strokes was suffered in 1962. Sharkey died only a few short months after his second book written in his own non-literary, down-to-earth style - came off the press.

It was originally called, “I Seen California Destroyed by Progress,” but later was changed to a more sexy title, something like: “The Rape of California - Destroyed by Progress.”

His first book, “Whiskey Road,” published in 1961, contains his memoirs of the Peninsula of the past. The book, like his own life, had its ups and downs, including confiscation of 3,000 out of the 5,000 copies by his landlord in a dispute over royalties.

He finally rescued the locked-up copies following his landlord’s death.

The ex-cabbie, born Arnold P. Sharkey, early ran afoul of the law when he “borrowed” a car which happened to belong to the mayor of Palo Alto. He spent six months in Preston Reform School as a result. His attempts at higher education bogged down, too. A career as a promising end for the Palo Alto High School team came to an abrupt conclusion when the coach caught him smoking.

He had greater success in the boxing ring when, at a Civilian Conservation Corps camp near King City during the 1930’s, he took up pugilism. He went on to become amateur middleweight champion of Central California. Turning pro as a heavy weight, he didn’t fare so well.

A try to crash Hollywood also failed, but he devised a comedy boxing act, featuring a nightgown as wearing apparel, that lasted for awhile. Returning to the San Francisco Peninsula, he bought the first of an estimated 75 cars of ancient vintage that sometimes helped, sometimes hindered his most famous occupation - that of cab driver.

None provided Parkey with a steady income, and all seemed to stop frequently at bars. The first vehicle was an elderly laundry truck that served a unique purpose - his customers could lie down on the way home from local pubs. Sharkey also entered the parking lot business and in this way had his famous run-in with Ty Cobb, the great baseball player.

Cobb refused to pay a 15-cent parking fee, denying that Sharkey was the lot owner, and Parkey sued. He collected, too - the fee plus $1.50 court costs.

Parkey’s brief splash on television and the movies came when he was picked to appear on Groucho Marx’ quiz show in 1953. He matched wits with the famed emcee while winning - thanks to his pretty young partner from India - a total of $319.88.

Then Greer Garson, who saw Parkey on the show, tapped him for a foreman role in her movie, “Strange Lady in Town.” Parkey was riding high, with a $250-per-week contract, but blew it the first day when he couldn’t remember his lines.

NO ADVERSARY TOO BIG

Parkey Sharkey, Who Spoke for Poor, Dies

LOS ANGELES TIMES

By William Drummond

Sept. 21, 1969

Parkey Sharkey was what might be called a barroom philosopher. In the foggy light of a Palo Alto saloon, Sharkey used to write rambling letters on the state of the world to the late columnist Paul Coates. It was through these letters that the public came to know him.

The one-time prizefighter, taxi driver, actor, frustrated writer and poor man’s social critic, who once sued Ty Cobb, died Saturday of an apparent heart attack in San Mateo. He was 57.

Determined to prove that he could write, he bummed enough money to print a limited pamphlet edition of his autobiography, “Whiskey Road,” in 1961. His latest book, “The Rape and Destruction of California by Progress,” was published this year. It was most on his mind when he wrote his last letter to the Times in July, 1966. “I’ve got $7 to my name only. It will be out someday.”

Don Sherwood, a San Francisco radio broadcaster, advanced Sharkey $20 for the film rights for the book.

Sharkey leaves his wife, Helen. Funeral arrangements are pending.

Drink to his memory

Friends salute Parkey Sharkey

PALO ALTO TIMES

By Keith Walker

Sept. 23, 1969

A hearse carried away Parkey Sharkey’s casket-encased body for cremation Wednesday but his indomitable spirit descended upon his favorite hangout, the Portola Club in Portola Valley.

About 20 friends and acquaintances gathered in his memory, to reminisce about his life and to drink a toast to him - lifting the glass as Parkey would have done if he had been there in person.

They swapped stories about Parkey’s colorful adventures, which ranged from operating a Palo Alto parking lot to a flash in Hollywood as a movie actor and television bit player.

Parkey, 57, was born Arnold P. Sharkey and lived at 784 Partridge Ave., Menlo Park. His wit and personality won him friends among the great and the lowly.

His old friend Don Sherwood, the disc jockey, arranged the wake and paid expenses for the funeral, but was unable to be present for either because of a doctor’s appointment. he will sprinkle Parkey’s ashes at sea on Saturday.

“Flowers for Parkey” was a sign on the wall behind the bar during the festivities. It had been in use during recent days, since Parkey’s death Saturday morning, to collect funds for a floral tribute to Parkey.

As it turned out, his friends decided that an even more fitting tribute would be drinks for all customers. And so the residue of Sharkey’s “estate” helped finance his wake.

Among those present was Stu Mallon of Atherton, who recalled how he earned his first boxing money by knocking out Sharkey in the second round of a three-round match at a Redwood City carnival 30 years ago.

Another old friend present was Earl H. Spaulding of Mountain View, who was going to be Sharkey’s manager when he turned pro - but things never worked out.

Parkey’s attorney, William G. Kinder of San Jose, was there. Parkey once penned a succinct not to him: “Dear Bill: at the Portola Club. Beer, beer, beer.”

And Ralph Oswald, former operator of the Skywood Lodge, recalled how Sharkey gased up at the nearby hills and said: “I’m going to build a castle up there.” He hated progress and often talked of moving to La Honda or the Sierra or somewhere away from the teeming cities.

The closest Sharkey ever came to his castle was sleeping for a summer on a mattress in a grove of redwood trees behind the Skywood Lodge, Oswald said.

Bartender Joe Siri recalled the amphibious jeep Parkey once owned, inscribed, “Sharkey’s Taxi, San Francisco to Japan.” The jeep was entered in the Redwood City Fourth of July parade one year and Parkey drove it off the wharf at Pete’s Harbor. It sank.

The wake gave ample evidence that Parkey’s friends still remain loyal, in spite of a few financial reverses they suffered on his behalf over the years.

“He was a good guy, a lot of fun, a goodhearted fellow,” insisted Siri, who recalled some drinking bouts with Sharkey at Woodside’s Pioneer Hotel - “Sharkey never had any money on him.”

Kinder said he is still $2,000 short on money he advanced for publication of Sharkey’s second book. He’s stuck with 750 copies at $2 each.

The gathered friends talked of Sharkey’s last illness, not unlike several past spells, and expressed surprise at his sudden demise of an apparent heart attack.

Sharkey apparently was more aware of his condition. Kinder said Sharkey sent word recently to his attorney: “Bill, I’m dying on the vine. Get me out of here; I’m nothing more than a pill box.”

The day’s final salute to Parkey began with a simple funeral at Crippen and Flynn chapel in Redwood City. His wife, Helen, a Stanford graduate and former English teacher, was there, along with her son by a former marriage, and a crowd of small friends.

A Character Gone

SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER

By Dick Nolan

Sept. 24, 1969

Parkey Sharkey, the gabby cabbie, is dead, and I shall miss him, and so will Don Sherwood.

Sherwood and I for some years shared custody of Parkey, who was, in the best San Francisco tradition of Oofty Goofty and Emperor Norton, a capital-cee Character.

This is to say, Parkey’s profession was that of a character. A free spirit dedicated to the unending quest for free spirits, although on a hot day he would gladly settle for beer.

With Parkey’s departure, following as it does the death of Pegleg Frenchy The Pirate, this column is now utterly characterless. They were a pair, those two.

Parkey Sharkey operated differently. His was a literary bent. Parkey’s home base was Palo Alto, so his visits in person were not so regular as Pegleg’s.

When he was in top form, scarcely a day would go by without a communique from Parkey.

These were written on the backs of envelopes, on the insides of match covers, on old paper bags, parking tickets and sometimes on the margins of The Examiner.

Sometimes he would get sore at Sherwood, for no particular reason, and transfer his sole allegiance to me. at other times the process would be reversed. In each case a solemn communication from Parkey would announce the fact, consigning whichever of us to outer darkness.

Sherwood and I inherited Parkey from Paul Coates, the late L.A. columnist. There was a time, there, when Parkey dreamed of making it big in Hollywood as a second Sonny Tufts.

Details of the Sharkey film career vary, but all agree in one respect: Sharkey’s career was brief. he was given a walk-on in an oater, as I recall, and blew his one line repeatedly.

At one time Parkey was really a cabbie. He operated on ancient clunker after another. Many of his communiques were based on a pervasive theme: How to raise money to replace the current bucket of bolts for a real cab.

Parkey’s final literary effort reached print in pamphlet form this year. But it was many years in preparation. It appeared as, “The Rape and Destruction of California by Progress.”

Parkey’s style and lifestyle were illustrated in this paragraph about a drunk test he took:

“They had me walk a straight line, which I did, then I had to cross my legs and do it again, which a guy can hardly do sober. Then I had to do some stupid thing like holding my thumb under my nose and look up at the moon. I never fell over, and I say the only time a guy is drunk is when he is crawling and I was not crawling that night.”

Parkey was a good guy.