My grandfather Earl experienced tragedy early in his life. Born in 1899 in rural Mendocino County, Calif., he was a grandson of pioneers who had traveled across the country from the Midwest via covered wagon in the 1850s.
It was less than a year after his birth that his parents divorced. Earl was told that his father was “a no-good bum” and that his mother’s family “ran him out of town.”
Shortly thereafter, his mother decided to seek a new life in San Francisco. So she, too, departed, leaving her very young son behind to be raised by her parents. All was not lost, however, as his grandmother’s large brood included a son and two daughters who were all within three years of Earl’s age. Earl’s two aunts and uncle were much like sisters and a brother to him. His grandfather was a highly successful farmer, so one more mouth to feed was no trouble at all. Despite essentially being an orphan, my grandfather’s memories of those early years were happy and secure.
Earl’s mother was living in San Francisco in April 1906 when the great earthquake struck. She survived that terrible event, but shortly afterward she contracted tuberculosis. When the illness progressed to the point where it was clear it was going to take her life, she returned north to Mendocino County to die among her kinfolk. She was placed in an open-air tent to avoid spreading the deadly disease.
Only 7 years old, Earl was allowed to stand a good distance away from her bedside and wave to the mother he barely knew. She was too weak to speak, but he remembered she was able to give him a final smile before she passed.
About three years after his mother’s death, when he was around 10 years old, Earl had an unusual experience that, like his mother’s death, he would remember for rest of his life. He was playing one day in the country road near the family farmhouse with his aunts and uncle. A tall man came by, driving a herd of pigs. As he passed the children, the herdsman suddenly stopped and asked, “Which one of you boys is Earl?”
Much surprised at this stranger’s question, Earl replied, “I am.”
The man said nothing more, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, which he handed to Earl. Without another word, he returned to his pigs and continued down the road.
When Earl looked at the coin in his hand, he discovered it was a $10 gold piece! Stunned, he ran into the house with the coin and presented it to his grandmother. She sternly demanded that Earl take the coin back to the man right away. So Earl, ever obedient, ran after the man until he caught up with him and attempted to give the coin back.
The stranger said, “If you won’t keep it, you might as well leave it in the dust there, because I won’t take it back from you.”
Earl, being a sensible lad, did not leave the coin in the dust but took it again to his grandmother. She would not let him have it; instead, she used it to help purchase a Victrola for the family’s enjoyment.
My grandfather told me he never learned the name of the man who handed him the valuable coin, but as he grew older and pondered the experience (especially the reactions of his grandmother and the stranger), he became convinced the man was his father. Who else, in rural Mendocino County in the year 1909, would want to pass along a $10 gold piece to this particular 10-year-old farm boy?
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