Papa Hiler

Meyer Hiler, about 75, is proud of his son Hilaire. So is all San Francisco. Hilaire Hiler's murals in Aquatic Park are now one of the sights of the town. Papa Hiler has a quiet reputation of his own, as a theatrical agent. A hobby-rider, he also likes to paint pictures--brightly colored, engagingly irresponsible pictures of beach scenes, toylike Venetian canals, imaginary Oriental landscapes, houses like patchwork quilts. Last week Sutter Street's Raymond & Raymond Gallery was exhibiting some of Papa Hiler's paintings. The critics were pleasantly taken aback. Said the San Francisco Chronicle's Alfred Frankenstein: "He sets up quite regular rhythmic patterns and then answers them in a kind of sudden, surprising syncopation. It is the nearest visual approach to hot jazz."

Anxious not to capitalize on his son's reputation, Papa Hiler treated his late entrance into the art world with good-natured deprecation. Said he: "There is no message in my pictures. . . . No one ever taught me anything about painting. I never had any intention of becoming an artist." But Son Hilaire was bursting with filial pride. "I know enough about painting," said he, "to know he doesn't know a damn thing about it. If I gave him a single lesson he would be terrible. He's one of the few real primitives. I know he's no fake, as some so-called primitives are. He's to painting what Saroyan is to writing: neither knows a thing about his craft; each does a damn good job."

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