Billy Don't. William OSB Baker
Gertrude's attitude toward the court and her husband. "I don't have time for anything," she would complain to Bill, who was now spending more time in Monterey with his successful business than the court. Gertrude's priorities gradually shifted away from the court, taking on an order of social events first, the baby second, the court third and her husband and family last.
Bill hired a day manager to run the court and to look after routine maintenance. Little by little, problems began to appear. Guests left without paying their bills. Drunken guests backed their cars over the flower beds and destroyed appurtenances in the cabins. Vacancies and double bookings occurred without any apparent reason. Bill tried to reverse the trend by replacing the day manager, but the problems continued and life at the court became difficult and strained.
As Bill's business continued to prosper, he began to consider selling the court and building a home closer to Monterey. He knew something had to be done if his marriage was to survive, and getting rid of the court seemed to be a step in the right direction. When he was awarded a major contract to build the first multilevel parking garage in Monterey, he announced his plan to Gertrude. "We'll put the court up for sale and break ground on a new house just as soon as the garage profits are in. We won't need the income from the court and they should bring a sizeable profit over our initial investment."
The parking garage was to be built on a spit of land adjacent to the Monterey Pier on what Bill and the planning engineers believed to be hard rock. The construction proceeded on schedule with each floor of the poured cement multilevel structure rising above the one below it. A seemingly endless line of wheel barrows were pushed and pulled up a set of ramps to the third level where their contribution of wet heavy cement was dumped into the corner forms to dry into an integral part of the four story structure. However, deep under the ground, the pilings rested on a subterranean coral shelf, which strained under the sheering weight of the corner piling as more and more cement was poured into the forms.
Bill ordered a ladder raised to the second level, below where the cement was being poured, to inspect an area where forms had been removed. He reached the top of the ladder when without warning the coral shelf crumbled under the tremendous weight, letting the pilings drive themselves deep into the unstable mud under the coral. Above ground, the corner collapsed, sending the entire structure into a crashing, death performing role. Bill jumped from the ladder only to become engulfed in the cascading tons of wet cement, concrete, steel and timbers.
Grandmother Monroe, upon being told of the accident, came to Carmel to be with her son, expecting the worse. For days she sat in the corner of his hospital room waiting, watching and praying for an improvement in his condition. The doctors did all they could, but the tons of falling materials had caused severe internal injuries, injuries beyond surgical repair.
The urgently needed surgery to rebuild the crushed pelvic bones and hip joint had to wait. Nothing could be done except to wait and pray. Five days after the accident it was announced that Bill Munroe would live, but doctors told him he would never walk again. As Bill regained his strength and the operations to mend his crushed body commenced, his outside world was falling apart.
Suits charging negligence and default were filed. His ex-friends and employees took what they wanted before the courts could seize the assets, and previous investors who had eagerly sought him out now demanded payment. Employees filed for damages, and his other contracts were scuttled by competitors. From his hospital bed Bill tried to bring some order to his troubles in hopes of salvaging something from the innocent catastrophe. It was no use. It was all over. The business was lost.
Then, came the final blow, a real coup d’état. He was served with divorce papers on the grounds of gross incompatibility, mental anguish and the inability to provide for his family. His world collapsed around him. Gertrude returned to Oakland taking Beth and Randolph with her, leaving Billy behind with his father and grandmother. Billy was six years old.
CHAPTER THREE
Six months passed before Billy's father was discharged from the hospital, well enough to go home, but still a long way from being well. "The doctors," Bill would later say, "were wrong on two counts. One, I didn't die, and two, I'm walking. Maybe not too good, but I'm walking, and I'll get rid of this cane before too long."
During those long six months, Billy's grandmother took on the multiple roles of grandmother, mother and manager of the Carmel Cottage Courts. She and Billy became great companions, sharing the activities of running the courts and waiting for the day when Billy's father would come home. Billy's love and affection for his grandmother moved through the salutations of "grandmother" to "mother" and then to what was to be his most affectionate expression, of "Mums". Mums became her name.
The months preceding the divorce required frequent trips to Oakland in Mum's Rickenbacker, a spacious automobile luxurious with its pecan wood dashboard and velvet seat coverings in which contrasting patterns would appear when Billy ran his fingers through the nap. On these trips to Oakland Billy stood on the floor between his Dad's legs or sat in his lap, looking out the windshield. It was his place for the long trips.
The road to Oakland wound through the hills and valleys and crossed many bridges. The trips became a game of naming the bridges for a member of the family, or a friend. As the frequency of the trips increased, Billy memorized the bridges and the name given to each bridge. When they approached a bridge Billy would announce it’s name. There was one bridge of great significance to Billy, and it was always a long wait until that particular bridge came into view. It was the longest of all the bridges and spanned a deep and scenic canyon. Seeing the bridge, Billy would proudly announce, "This is your bridge, Mums." Billy loved his Mums.
At the end of one of those happy trips came an event which would forever haunt Billy. He sat with his father and grandmother on the hard wooden bench seat of a courtroom watching his mother on the witness stand. He was too young to comprehend the proceedings, but not too young to know he was being separated from the love of his father and his Mums. The courts awarded all three children to the custody of their mother.
Although Billy chose to blot out the memory of that day, the hurt and anger would forever remain. The divorce had been savagely manipulated by Billy's mother stripping his father of his family, wealth and dignity. Mr. Munroe was powerless to respond and physically incapable of doing so. The ruthlessness of the divorce generated in his father's family a passionate hatred toward Billy's mother. It was a hatred which would outlive Billy.
The Carmel Cottage Courts was sold and the proceeds went toward settlement of the Monterey tragedy. Billy's father moved to seclusion in the Sierra Nevada Mountains and Grandmother Munroe, denied the right to visit with her grandchildren, returned to Oakland. Billy joined his siste,r and brother who were living with the Blair's in Oakland. Boarded out was the term Billy would come to understand.
When Gertrude had arrived in Oakland with Beth and Randolph she had been fortunate in two ways. She had found immediate employment and a friend, with whom she and her two children could live. It was only a short time, however, before the living arrangement demanded a change. Her daily absence from the two young children had placed too much of a burden on what was becoming a fragile relationship. Through a neighbor friend she had learned of the Blair family who lived close by in a large house and who had expressed an interest in boarding the children. Discussions with Mrs. Blair had resulted in an agreement to board the children with the Blair family.
The Blair's house sat atop the hill on Lyon Avenue between 38th Avenue and High Street. The wooden two-story structure, from the web-infested cellar to the attic dormer windows looking out onto the barren front yard and the chicken coops, barn and vegetable gardens in the back yard, showed signs of the times. Money was scarce, and what there was of it, went toward the basic necessities of life. The peeling paint, the cracked window panes, and other things of neglect were seen, but ignored in the knowledge that funds were not available for their repair or upkeep.
Anything costing money and not contributing to the sustenance of the Blair household was banished from their habits, with the exception of the precious donations made to their evangelistic church.
"Billy, don't.” Those were the words of Mrs. Blair, and the words Billy would often hear at the house on Lyon Avenue.