In Memoriam
Charles Zimmer
1931-2023

I met Charlie Zimmer through my predecessor and dear friend in heaven — Gail Rink, longtime executive director at Hospice of Santa Barbara. Charlie and Gail would meet, usually for lunch, at his corner booth at the Crocodile Restaurant from about 2001 until 2008 during her tenure. You know the place — at the Lemon Tree Inn at Alamar and State Street. He and Gail met regularly at the corner booth, far end of the restaurant, to the left, past the bar. Charlie hired Gail decades before to be his frontline social worker when he was the Hospice executive director. It was a mentorship and a deep friendship they shared.

Through the years, Charlie met with each executive director and then later with me, starting nine years ago. It was always at the same corner booth at the Crocodile. Charlie was the longest-serving executive director at Hospice of S.B. from the beginning of 1979 to the end of 1990. He established key Hospice programs serving our community that continue to thrive today.

I remember thinking when I first met Charlie, and on every occasion since, that he made me feel as if I were the only person in the room. I’m sure others would say the same. He would ask me, “How are you doing, my lad?” in his gentle way and with that twinkle in his eye. All his focus would be on me and what I was saying.

Charlie Zimmer helped build a stable foundation for the second-oldest hospice in the country. His work was recognized by, among others, the 1990 Pierre Salmon Award by the California State Hospice Association. Charlie received numerous hospice service awards and honors from senators and state legislators, among others, which he was quite shy and humble about.

Upon retirement from Hospice of Santa Barbara, he served as a volunteer for six years on the S.B. Alzheimer’s Association’s Board of Directors, and later served on our Hospice Board of Directors until he hit his term limit. Charlie helped establish our endowment and foundation with Malcolm Peattie, the father of our current board chair — Dana VanderMey.

Just weeks before he died, Charlie, with his wonderful and devoted wife, Nina, attended our annual Heroes of Hospice Luncheon, where he was honored with a Lifetime Achievement Award presented to him by Dana VanderMey, his longtime friend and Hospice of S.B. colleague. Charlie was fully present and was deeply moved. You could sense the full ballroom of 300 guests “lean in” as he quietly spoke his thanks into the microphone.

When Charlie and I would sit at lunch, he always liked the Crocodile’s clam chowder — hot, not warm — and often a BLT sandwich and a glass of syrah. All the café staff knew him by name, and he knew them as well. He would ask me what my challenges were, my problems, how were things going, and was I dating yet? We would discuss politics, and we almost always agreed. If he thought someone was a potential “issue,” he would tell me. He was warm and genuine and kind.

During the last days of his life, Nina called and told me Charlie wanted me to visit, and I did, twice. He was clear and sharp when I sat with him the day before he died. It was around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. I sat with him at eye level, and he knew what was happening, with eyes wide open. He told me he was ready. But he also asked me how things were going. What problems or issues was I dealing with?

I paused and looked at him and said, “Charlie, no real problems or issues today. Everything is moving along just fine.”

Looking directly at me, he said, “Okay, I guess I’m done there now. You have things under control. You’re in charge.”

I thanked him for this assurance and for his friendship and guidance.

Charlie came into himself as a young man, and he evolved in the Army, serving as a Company Commander in Korea, where he met Nina. They lived there for two years, and then in Beirut, Lebanon, before Charlie entered UC Santa Barbara and local nonprofit human services leadership. Charlie knew the work, and world, that I came from — the LGBTQ equality movement and AIDS service and advocacy. He always respected who I was and never judged me in any way. This taught me something: Never assume what a seasoned military officer who achieved the rank of Colonel, as well as a husband, father, grandfather, and community leader from a different generation might think of me, or of anyone. He always embraced me and told me I was doing a good job!

Charlie’s greatest joy was in his children and grandchildren. He is survived by his wife, Nina; daughter, Jennifer; son, Christopher, and his wife, Kim; grandchildren Kaitlin, Connor, and Kyle; Kyle’s bride, Ashley; as well as his brother, James Zimmer of Dayton; and many nieces and nephews.Charlie, thank you for everything you’ve done for our community — particularly as it relates to hospice. On a personal note, I thank you for your friendship, your guidance, your listening, and your open heart.