JERRY HAUKE

by Barry Spitz

Jerry Hauke, the towering figure of the Dipsea Race over the past half-century who died last week at age 80, seemed cast from a Shakespearean tragedy. A  large man with a regal bearing and a prodigious zest for life, food and drink, he could have been any number of the Bard’s kings. He fought his foes—and there were many trying to diminish the Dipsea and even kill it—not with arrows but with the steadfast force of what he believed right. And certainly there was tragedy; he buried three of his six children, and his wife.

Jerome Hauke grew up in Milwaukee, and ran track at Pulaski High School there. At the University of Wisconsin, where he studied civil engineering and was on the boxing team, he met future wife Mary. In 1958, they moved to Mill Valley, where all the children attended local schools.

Jerry worked for CalTrans, and was its chief local engineer during the massive repairs and cleanup on the Bay Bridge and Eastshore Freeway following the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. He was active in Mill Valley’s civic affairs. Indeed, his work in turning a marsh into a grass field while on the town’s Parks and Recreation Commission was rewarded by the naming of Hauke Park.

After the 1962 Dipsea, which had just 61 finishers, the San Francisco-based South of Market Boys withdrew as organizer and the venerable race (founded in 1905) was in danger of demise. Jerry was a member of the Mill Valley Junior Chamber of Commerce, which decided to take over the race. Dick Sloan was chair the first year, then Hauke, in an era before a formal Dipsea Committee, ran it the next 33 years. (He was also on the board of the Mill Valley Fall Arts Festival and added the popular Dipsea Beer Booth to the event.)

“I am proud to have been a friend and colleague of Jerry’s through our work on the Dipsea Race,” says Jim Weil, one of Hauke’s first helpers from the 1960s. “Jerry did not nibble around the edges of life. He jumped right into the middle of his many civic and outdoor activities, and California is a better place for it.” 

Hauke’s tenure coincided with the national running boom and the Dipsea Race surged in popularity. This led to many, seemingly endless land use conflicts, but Hauke was always up to the task.

In 1966, a home was built at 315 Panoramic Highway directly on the Dipsea Race route. After years of battles—the homeowner erected fences and used dogs and guards to keep runners out, but they crossed anyhow—Hauke got a new section of trail built through adjacent State Park land, a stretch forever known as Hauke Hollow.

In 1976, more than 2,000 racers dangerously jammed the trail, also causing a monstrous backup in Stinson Beach that left hundred of finishers unrecorded and many locals, particular the town’s fire chief, fuming. In response, the County Board of Supervisors (which included Barbara Boxer) voted to kill the race by denying a permit for 1977.

Hauke, a master at gathering influential political allies and a fighter for his beloved Dipsea, responded. He moved the race from late August, the high fire season, to early June. He agreed to a cap on entries (1,500) and split the race into two sections (actually three, but the third group was never needed). And he had racers exit the Dipsea Trail onto Highway 1 (over the infamous stile) instead of Panoramic Highway, to keep the latter clear for emergency vehicles.

It was Hauke who saved, over land manager’s opposition, the shortcuts known as Suicide and the Swoop. He secured an easement from landowner George Leonard that forever preserved the shortcuts over the final mile. And it was Hauke who completed the job of making the entire Dipsea Race route permanently open to the public. Hauke also raced the Dipsea some 15 times—he was a strong downhiller--including in one hour, 15 minutes in 1969.

And there were financial woes, almost sinking the race in the 1980s. The Dipsea Foundation, which Hauke helped create, has now put the race on a solid footing.

In 2000, Jerry’s son Jeff Hauke, a runner and Dipsea Committee member, died of a heart attack. Heartbroken, Jerry immediately stepped down as head of the Dipsea, though he remained a director and its most trusted advisor and valuable resource. In 1994, he was elected as the sixth member of the Dipsea Race Hall of Fame. The race awards a Jerry Hauke “Red Tailed Hawk” trophy for “Leadership, Dedication and Sportsmanship.”

“Jerry was a legend, a champion for the race and a savior for it,” says Dipsea Committee member Dave Albee, who long covered the event for this newspaper. “His dedication and fighting spirit kept the race alive and his giving soul and generosity runs through all the race volunteers to this day.”

Hauke retired with his partner Jean Weese to a ranch in Douglas City (Trinity County), where he continued his love for the outdoors. In 2012, he was named the California Association of Resource Conservation Districts’ “Volunteer of the Year.”   

Jerry was a hero of mine, and a long-time friend. Perhaps my fondest Dipsea memory was a summer evening with him in 1993, when we trudged to the top of Cardiac Hill to determine whether it, or nearby Lone Tree, was actually the course’s highest point. Hauke, who knew surveying, measured while I was “rod man,” holding the pole. As the sun set, he pronounced that Cardiac was five inches higher than Lone Tree. I believe the Dipsea Race would no longer exist were it not for Jerry. He died on the same date, April 14, as his son Jeff.