About Us
Charles Patrick Foster
My Father was not old school or older school; he was a Classic. He died in 1997 at the age of 79 years old. He was an avid domino player, golfer, father, businessman, a seeker of knowledge, and a man who shared his “Life Lessons” openly and honestly.
His “Going Home” celebration was held at The Church by the Side of the Road, in Berkeley, California. The church was filled to capacity. Reverend Hall Kelly from New Orleans, Louisiana, whom my father had treated like a son, delivered the eulogy. Bishop Roy Nichols officiated the entire service.
My father had directives about his life, and his funeral was no different. He purchased an insurance policy with specific instructions for his funeral, and he picked out his final resting place.
I also knew my father’s opinion regarding his funeral: "Don’t go crazy on the service," and "If you have to work the day of my funeral, no problem, I won’t be going anywhere."
These were not last minute, verbal or written requests. I had heard my father's views about pastors, religion and funerals for years. “When I lived with your Aunt Arqunia, every Sunday a pastor would show up for dinner and eat his fill, and I had to eat the leftovers.” And “If my family was as religious as they claimed, my childhood would have been better.”
Charles Patrick Foster was born in 1918 from two prominent families, the Kings and Fosters. His mother Sallie King was a single teenage mother and daughter of Charles King. His father was Albert Foster. Albert Foster and Charles King were ex-slaves, founders of Kendleton, Texas, and both were highly respected men.
Kendleton, Texas was once a plantation belonging to William E. Kendall. In the 1860s, Kendall divided the plantation into small farms which he sold to former slaves.
“The Foster and King families were the big shots in Kendleton; they each saw your father as a DISGRACE to both families”- Vera Foster Burris
When my father was still a baby, his mother gave him to her older sister Aqunia King and left for Houston, Texas to find work. My father's aunt and her younger brother believed he should pay for the sins of his parents, even though he was only a child. His days were filled with hard labor, torment, and pain, and until his death his sleep was filled with the same images and emotions.
As a child he was informed his father was deceased, but in reality, his father lived only a short distance away. He played with children who came from a family of independence and success, and forty years later he learned they were his stepbrothers and sisters.
My mother told me this story: One day when we lived in Oakland, California, a strange woman rang our front doorbell. My mother answered, and the woman at the door asked “Do a Pat Foster live here?” “Yes” my mother answered, and called my father to the door. The woman showed my father a picture of him as a child. “Are you Pat Foster, son of Sallie King from Kendleton?” “Yes” was my father’s reply. The woman smiled and said, “Pat, I am your stepsister.” Before she could say another word my father shouted, “You weren’t here when I needed you, and I don’t need you now,” and he slammed the door in her face.
My father would often credit his childhood, and America, as the keys to his success. As a child, he was told that he wouldn’t be worth anything when he grew up, and “You ain’t worth the clothes on your back.” Everyday, while he worked his family’s land he would say, “I will survive… They won’t break me… I will have a better life.” And in his later years, he often said, “Where in the world could I be successful other than here?”
My father did not want to be the product of his environment; he wanted his environment to be a product of him. He learned early in life, “No one will give you anything,” and “If they can, they will take what you have.” He believed he had to take what he wanted and it was up to him alone to keep it. At seventeen, he left home for the CC Camp and later worked at the Houston Club, where he saw the life he wanted.
In 1942 he married my mother, Cora Ann Isadore, and shortly after joined the Navy. In 1945 he was discharged and he and my mother moved to San Francisco, California. He secured a job with the Southern Pacific Railroad as a Red Cap, she went to work for the Federal Government, and they started working on their future.
In 1948 I was born, and from my earliest recollection my father would never pass up an opportunity to teach me a “Life Lesson.” We would have conversations—“If you can’t talk to your child at two, it’s too late at twelve,”—while we were riding, walking, sitting or watching TV. He felt the need to talk more than I felt the need to listen. He would tell me “Boy, that’s a personal problem.”
In 1964, he created Foster & Son Janitorial Service. My father said, “If you can control who enters and exits your world and your income, you will be better off than 98% of the world.”
Through Foster & Son, he employed many young men and women and influenced their lives with his wisdom and experience.
In 1999, I created the Charles P. Foster Foundation to continue his legacy.
He shared saying that ideology did not make any sense to me at the time, but today I use almost daily.
Sincerely,
Vernon Foster, Founder