Chris Smith: Santa Rosa native Art Janssen, 109, one of oldest on the planet

Chewing is one of the things Art Janssen will admit he wishes he could do as well today as he did back before he became one of the oldest people on Earth.

Art, a Santa Rosa native and former mayor of Sebastopol, celebrated his 109th birthday on Tuesday. One hundred ninth. Homo sapiens, in particular the males of the species, almost never live that long.

Nearly all of the oldest people on this planet are women, and a good many of them are Japanese. The most senior person in the world has been here 115 years, 298 days, and she lives on Japan's Kyushu island.

At 109 years and two days, Art is only a little more than three years younger than the Austin, Texas, gentleman and fellow World War II veteran who, at 112 years and 169 days, is the oldest man in the U.S. and the second-oldest man in the world.

Chewing is important to Art.

As you might imagine, he's often asked what might be the secret to his longevity. His best guess, he's told me several times, is proper mastication.

Every since he was a kid in the South Park neighborhood, he'll say, he has endeavored to obey the instruction by his father, late Rosenberg's department store employee Ihno Janssen, to chew his food, every bite, really well.

Art regrets not having as many teeth as he once did. That dearth limits what he can eat.

But at his birthday dinner at La Gare in Railroad Square he had no trouble with the baked fresh wild salmon in a beurre blanc sauce and mashed potatoes, followed by vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce.

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HE DOESN'T COMPLAIN, but once in a while will say wistfully he wishes he hadn't lost most of his eyesight. The hearing aids he received from the Veterans Administration allow him to follow what you're saying as long as you speak up.

But Art's love of life is intact, his appetite is good and his memory is unbelievable.

He recounts being born - on Oct. 23, 1909 - on the corner of Rutledge and Ware avenues.

“I was 6 when I started to school,” he said between courses at the birthday dinner attended by more than 30 friends. That was the former South Park School.

He rattles off the names of his teachers from 1915, 1916 and several years beyond: Mrs. Dow, Mrs. Cooper, Mrs. Simmons, Mrs. Emory.

“My 4th grade teacher was Mrs. Jordan,” Art recalled. “She thought I was a good singer.”

He grimaced mildly as he told how, as a teenager who should have been headed to Santa Rosa High School, he ran away. “I wanted to work,” he said.

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HE AND A FRIEND made their way to Willits and then to Eureka, taking jobs as sawmill laborers for the Hammond Lumber Co. Art's sweetheart and future wife, Juanita Wilson, told him in a phone call that his folks found out where he was, so he moved down to Fresno and loaded blocks of ice into rail cars.

He tells of migrating from there to the Los Angeles area and helping his brother, Fred, deliver Arrowhead bottled water. One day he got a long-distance call from Santa Rosa.

“My Dad made me an offer: If I would come home he would pay my tuition to Sweet's Business College on Ross Street.”

So Art came home. He studied at Sweet's, graduated and got a job at the 1st National Bank of Santa Rosa.

He recalls moving on to the Bank of America, and to a job as assistant manager of the branch in Sebastopol. He was drafted into the U.S. Army during WWII, served three years, then returned to Sonoma County and to his wife and career.

Art switched from banking to selling insurance for Metropolitan Life because that work offered a pension.

In 1952, he was appointed to a vacancy on the Sebastopol City Council. He subsequently was elected to a full term and pretty soon was mayor.

He left Sonoma County when MetLife transferred him to Boise, Idaho.

“We were there about 20 years,” he said during dinner at La Gare. Boise was OK, he said, but “it was god-awful hot and god-awful cold.”

Juanita's health was failing when he retired in the early 1980s and they returned to Santa Rosa. Juanita died in 1986.

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ART NOW LIVES in a care home north of Santa Rosa. He can walk, but his balance isn't great and he has a trick knee, so he rides a wheelchair.

He loves to go to lunch with friends. He likes to say he intends to live to 132.

At his 109th birthday party, he kissed the cheek of everybody who hugged him, kissed the back of every hand that shook his.

How nice if his 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Jordan, could have been there when he spontaneously began to sing.

“Everything is beautiful, in its own way ...”

You can reach columnist Chris Smith at 707 521-5211 and chris.smith@pressdemocrat.com.