Long Beach loses a unifying voice and community member known for her commitment to service and love of people.
NEWS Yesterday morning I lost a dear friend. And if you’re a Long Beach resident who frequented any number of service organizations in the City, you probably did too. I can write that confidently because her life touched so many.
Her name is Candace Yamagawa. Most of us just called her Candy.
A longtime fixture on local political campaigns in Long Beach, Signal Hill as well as Carson, Candy was a rare talent with a penchant for empathy. She could run a phone bank, organize your life or show a freshman candidate how to work a room.
Candy knew the room because she knew the players. But Candy didn’t play chess. She left that to the politicians.
She loved people. Whether you were liberal, conservative or somewhere in the middle she connected because at her core she cared. As sharp as she was adorable, I was always amazed when she would, in two short sentences, rattle off who an influencer was while always managing to humanize them instead of generalize them.
She was the type of affable spirit that came over your house, sat in the kitchen and talked to your mom as if they hadn’t just met. And I know because she did this very thing at our family home.
I’ll never forget the day we boarded the Queen Mary for Rotary. A friend was running for office and Candy was helping out.
In her light footed way she navigated me through the ballroom. I was nervous. She was nurturing. It was only after she pointed out dignitary after dignitary that I realized I was aboard a ship with the “who’s who” of Long Beach.
For me, Candy represented where Long Beach is headed. A City that is as politically engaged as it is accepting of everyone regardless of their tribe or camp.
Though she lived on the East Side not far from Eldorado Park, she was as comfortable in the heart of Cambodia Town as she was in the old Dairy and Creamery house in the 9th District, where we first met.
I’ll miss her sensitivity and her loyalty. The way she would tell you the truth about someone, or even yourself, while never speaking a cross word or betraying their humanity. She was all class while at the same time down home.
But by far her finest quality was that she genuinely cared about people and was honest.
The last time we spoke we ended the call in stitches. But she had called to tell me the bad news. That they’d caught it too late. That she was afraid to die.
I told her how much I loved and cared for her. Reminded her that I wouldn’t forget how she was there for me when my mom passed. She joked about how terrified she was of losing her hair and that her black girlfriends said “girl I’mma take you to get a wig. I know somebody!”
And that was Candy, connecting across cultures and navigating one of life’s hardest moments with levity and grace.
We will miss you, Candy. You were good. And I’ll always remember.
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