All the big papers lead this evening with news of the death of the great Walter Cronkite, whom I often saw but never met...well, not as famous, but just as wonderful a man was Otto Heino, one of the many great potters who have come out of Ojai, who died today.
Otto was ninety-four, but we saw him just a month or so ago. Whenever visitors came to our little town, we would take them over to the Pottery, to marvel at Otto's astonishing pottery, and often as not they would meet the potter himself. He would talk about how he learned to glaze at very high temperatures in the aerospace industry; at how the Japanese wanted to buy his formula for the famous yellow glaze, but he wouldn't sell it, not even for a million dollars, partly because he knew he would do better selling individual pots for $20,000 yach. He boasted, frankly, that he was the world's oldest and richest potter, and added that 6000 collectors around the world expected a piece from him every year, Ask him about Beatrice Wood, from whom he bought his studio, and he would mention that he taught her how to glaze -- he had a thousand stories, and loved to tell them all. He loved visitors, loved talking, and wouldn't let you go until you heard him out.
From someone else these brags might sound off-putting, but from Otto they were somehow disarming. Of course he told these stories in his charming little display room, surrounded by his marvelously rich, warm work, with his gardens all around, his modest but charming house, the open doors, his bright blue eyes, his grin -- you couldn't help but like the man.
Miss you, Otto.
Last December we bought from Otto an elegant decorative vase, speckled with bits of ash, made (he told us) of applewood recovered from a New England orchard that once belonged to his late brother.
I'll keep this pot of Otto's on the mantle, because it's beautiful and I love it, probably forever.
Otto Heino
