Musician loved milkshakes and a good beat

Deepa Bharath

Wherever Gloria Mathews went, she was this pleasant burst of positive

energy.

When people saw her at Woody’s Wharf, 21 Oceanfront or at Blue

Beat, they knew who she was. The woman, with her gray hair held

together in a bun with chopsticks, wore an expression of sheer mirth

when she shook her maracas and tambourines with whichever band was

playing at the clubs or restaurants.

Band members would call out to her: “Gloria, come play with us!”

Robbie Armstrong, who regularly performed with his band at the Blue

Beat, played the song “Gloria” in her honor, and she absolutely loved

it. Her sense of rhythm was flawless, and the joy, with which she

performed her labor of love, was pristine.

Gloria was born in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. She grew up there and

lived there until she met Jim Mathews, a U.S. Navy officer. Jim met

her at the Alexandria Ballroom in Vancouver. He spotted her across

the dance floor, walked up to her and asked if she wanted to dance.

And Gloria said with a smile: “Yes, but I can’t dance.”

She was 20 then. The couple would date every other weekend or

whenever Jim came to Vancouver from Washington State where he was

stationed. They got married five months later. Gloria followed her

husband to Kansas, Hawaii and wherever his job took him. Together

they raised a son and daughter. In 1959, they moved to Newport Beach.

In 1964, Woody’s Wharf opened and Gloria became good friends with

owners Ruth and Woody. That’s when she started playing with the bands

that performed there. No one exactly knows where she got her

instruments from, but her husband says she got them from bands and

carried them in a little tote bag to the bars and restaurants.

When she played the maracas or castanets, she didn’t dance or do

any elaborate physical movements. She just moved to the music and

swayed gently to the beat. People who watched her didn’t know who she

was or why she was there. But they couldn’t stop watching her.

Gloria never did it to get the attention. To her, the music and

the beat seemed to provide a certain kind of spiritual sustenance.

She spent many evenings at 21 Oceanfront and the Blue Beat. But no

one remembers seeing her smoke or drink alcohol. At Woody’s Wharf,

she’d walk up to the bar and ask for a milkshake. They never had

those on the menu, but they made one from scratch just for Gloria.

And since then, everyday she’d stop by at the bar and have her

banana-vanilla milkshake.

She’d occasionally have a Bailey’s at 21 Oceanfront, but normally

she’d either ask for a cappuccino or a virgin Strawberry Daiquiri.

Gloria was spiritual, but not religious. She considered herself a

healer. She had an amazing memory. She’d talk to someone in the bar,

ask them their zodiac sign or date of birth. And sure enough, when

she saw them a year or two later, she would remember their sun sign

and birthday.

Gloria was always well dressed, as far as the bartenders can

remember. She wore old clothes she shopped for mostly at thrift

stores, but she was always kempt. The chopsticks she wore in her hair

were her trademark. She had a collection of 50 to 60 pairs of

chopsticks, some quite ornate.

Gloria was no homebody. In fact, she was never home. She lived

outside. That could’ve made some husbands grumpy but not Jim. He knew

that that’s who she was. It’s what made her happy.

Gloria’s unassuming manner won her many friends, from normal

people to members of sports teams who partied in Newport. She had

many friends on the Rams team, and she hobnobbed with them in the

hippest clubs, still dressed in her street clothes and chopsticks.

Not many asked her why she did what she did. They just accepted

and missed her when she wouldn’t show up, especially in the last few

months when she was ill. She was like a comfortable blanket, a

friendly, familiar face people seemed to miss.

Gloria was also part of the colorful history of this beach

community. In a survey conducted by a local publication, Gloria was

voted the second most recognizable face in Orange County, second only

to the woman known as “the Laguna Beach greeter.”

Her family had a private funeral for their dear Gloria but

scattered her ashes in the ocean that could be viewed from some of

her favorite spots, from where she watched the sunset or where she

ate a quiet dinner with her family.

Gloria may be physically gone from Newport, but her spirit will

live on in the hearts of those who loved watching her just be

herself.

Or as Blue Beat bartender Erik Meister puts it: “She went up to

play with the bands in the sky.”