NOTE FROM CHARLES CLARK, AUTHOR
I am doing something experimental with this blog. Some time ago, I wrote a short story, which has never been read except by one person for whom I wrote this story as a present. In casual conversation with that person, the name “Major Hamilton” came up and I was asked, “Who is Major Hamilton?” The story you will read below gives the life story of him, including his upbringing, his WWI experience as an aviator, his love of cars, WWII experience as an Army pilot, his romance, and his founding of a town in California.
It is a 30 page story and thus a long post. I was concerned that some readers may not be able to download a document, so I asked Kelly Johnson, my Virtual Assistant, to publish the whole story as a blog post, so you can read it without doing any downloads.
For those who feel they are more tech savvy, you can download this story to your computer by clicking here.
It should take you about thirty minutes and one cold beer to read it.
Hope you like it!
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You have asked about Major Hamilton (1898 – 1983) Well, here is the story of this man who few people remember but who had a very memorable life. You will discover how almost by accident he founded a small tourist town on the California coast.
He was born in 1898, the only son of Stuart Hamilton II, the owner of Manchester Mills in Manchester, New Hampshire. As the heir apparent to his father’s business, he was to have a life free of financial worry but not free of adversity. Manchester Mills had a long history as a supplier of uniforms to the military starting with the Civil War when it was contracted to supply uniforms for the Union Army. With the end of that disastrous war, it still had military contract business but shifted its clothing production to civilian clothes having won a contract from Sears and Roebuck in Chicago to supply clothing to its warehouses for sale by mail order catalog. The business was well managed by his father and the family acquired a fortune of more than one million dollars, fifty thousand of which was spent on the mansion in which he was raised.
The Hamilton family had its roots in Victorian England and young Stuart was raised in the Victorian manner by a nanny and special tutors. His contact with his father was of a rather formal nature—free of emotional sentiment. His mother was very much under his father’s influence and also did not spend much emotional capital on him. It was taken for granted that he would be prep-schooled at Mount Herman School for Boys in West Northfield, Massachusetts, and then attend Harvard College after which he would attend Harvard Law School. Upon graduation he would participate in the New Hampshire state government as a stepping stone to a US senate seat. His future was totally predetermined for him. All he had to do was follow the leader.
His father’s brother, Pete Hamilton, was not at all like the senior Stuart. Pete was a carefree soul full of laughter and mischief. His handlebar mustache danced on his laughing mouth when he told stories to young Stuart. Old man Stuart made him a foreman in the mill so he had a decent income but in his opinion, his brother was in no way suitable for higher management responsibility. in Stuart’s opinion. For one thing, he got too familiar with the workers, often sharing bawdy jokes with them. For another thing, he had a love of single malt Scotch whiskey that could often be detected on his breath. Young Stuart naturally gravitated to Pete because Uncle Pete offered him companionship, which he could get nowhere else.
On weekends the boy would find an excuse to visit Uncle Pete. He usually found him in his garage shop working on his Indian motorcycle that he bought direct from the factory in Springfield, Massachusetts. He had two bikes: one was a racing bike like the one that won the TT trophy on the Isle of Mann; the other was a regular street bike. Pete would let his nephew jump on the kick starter and bring the bike to life with a pop, pop of the two-cylinder engine. He twisted the throttle on the handle and watched it shoot out blue oil smoke as the castor oil warmed up in the crankcase.
He loved the motorcycle and teased Pete into giving him rides on the gas tank—not at all a safe thing to do. During the summer of his first year at Mount Herman he talked Uncle Pete into letting him ride the street bike on his own. The kid was a natural and quickly learned how to handle the bike. However, Pete would not let him ride the race bike; it was much too finicky for a new rider.
In 1914 Pete bought a yellow low-slung Stutz Bearcat, the hottest car on the planet. It would easily run 70 mph with its powerful engine bellowing as it passed the slower cars. Stuart loved to ride with Pete and even wrangled his way into driving it on some back roads. When old man Stuart bought a new Packard from a dealer in Boston, young Stuart rode with Pete in the Stutz to pick it up for his dad who was too busy to go himself.
Pete decided to have an extra adventure on the trip by going for an airplane ride with a rich friend of his who was the owner of a new Curtis Jenny biplane. Young Stuart was absolutely beside himself with excitement as he had only seen one other airplane in flight. When Pete landed after a short trip around the field, Stewart pleaded for a ride. The pilot was agreeable and young Mr. Hamilton had a life altering experience when he saw the ground fall beneath him and listened to the roar of the powerful OX engine and the raucous revolutions of the propeller. He heard the wind whistle through the struts as they flew over the maple trees at the edge of the field. On the way home to Manchester, Pete—with some reluctance—let the lad drive the Stutz while he drove the Packard. Stuart’s future was sealed. He needed to live a life full of adventure.
Graduation from Mount Herman was still two years away, but the young man was eager for adventure—not more education. Harvard and mind numbing courses in Latin and philosophy were not for him, not when there were motorcycles, race cars and airplanes to be explored. On a warm spring night before the start of the summer vacation, he talked his buddy, Don Sutherland, into riding their bicycles across the Schell Bridge spanning the Connecticut River to East Northfield and up the hill to the Northfield Seminary for Girls. It was in the tower of the auditorium that he learned how different girls were from boys.
WARTIME
The summer of his sophomore year at Mount Herman saw the start of the Great World War. Stuart’s father was a strong supporter of Woodrow Wilson and in no way wanted the country to get wound up in the bloody politics of Europe. Be that as it may, the mill started to get orders for the new khaki uniforms required by the army. There was much idealistic talk among his classmates about joining the war and some even went as volunteers to join the French air force and the newly formed Lafayette Escadrille fighter squadron.
It was not until April of his senior year in 1917 that the United States declared war on Germany. Young Stuart was caught up in the war fever and adventure that it portended. Without telling his father, he joined the Army Air Service and was shipped off to Cornell University for preflight training. This precipitated a rift with his father who saw all his carefully laid plans for his only son disappear in the fog of war.
He easily passed preflight training and was ordered to Hazelhurst Field on Long Island for primary training flying the Curtis JN-4 Jenny just like the one in which he and Uncle Pete had had a hop in. He was an outstanding student and a natural born pilot. This ability got him transferred to the bomber pilot school at Ellington Field in Houston, Texas.
Upon completion of that training something very unusual happened. Because of his aptitude for flying and his love of machines and understanding of how they were constructed, he was promoted to first lieutenant and given a special assignment to be an observer at the Handley Page Factory at Cricklewood in Hartfordshire, England. The Army knew that they would have to get involved in a bomber war but had very little idea what was truly involved and wanted a reliable observer to relay specific information on aircraft and tactics.
He was given high priority boarding on a fast US navy cruiser that was heading for submarine patrol in the North Atlantic. He disembarked at Portsmouth where he was met by Flight Leftenent Harwood of the Royal Flying Corps. Throwing his duffle bag in the back seat of the Austin Vitesse 30-hp touring car they headed off through a soggy English countryside for a three hour trip to Cricklewood and the Handley Page aerodrome.
Once the English discovered how to make incendiary bullets, the Zeppelins that bombed London became self-cremating death traps for the crew. On the other hand, the German Gotha bomber was a menacing weapon of long range destruction. Strategic and tactical warfare in the air became the devil’s own contribution to warfare sparing neither man, woman nor child as the dreaded Gotha bombed England. The English needed a way to counter this menace. They needed a strategic bomber; Handley Page rose to the occasion.
The Handley Page was designed to be a “bloody paralyzer of an aeroplane.” With its two 360 horse power engines roaring in anger, it could carry eight 250-pound bombs at a maximum speed of 93 miles per hour on raids to the German airfields and other large military targets. Lieutenant Hamilton was assigned to an 0/400 version of the bomber and given intensive instruction on how to fly it on combat missions. It was on his fourth combat mission to bomb a munitions dump near the western border of Germany that he was intercepted by a squadron of German Fokker tridecker fighter planes. His rear gunner was able to destroy one before he became the victim of a Spandau machine gun bullet. Another bullet hit the left engine cowl with a glancing blow and ricocheted into the cockpit, smashing Stuart’s leg bone. Withstanding great pain and with tremendous courage, he flew the bomber safely back to England.
RECUPERATION
With his leg in a cast, he was sent to the Wales seaside village of Milford Haven for recuperation. It was a quiet little place so far removed from the noise and smell of the aerodrome that he could relax a little, and imagine what it might be like to be at peace again. He was assigned a room in a small hotel and for the first time in months was able to go to sleep without the roar of airplane engines as a lullaby. In the morning when he awoke and had a cup of tea in the small dining room, he noticed that his right hand had stopped shaking and his eyes no longer were burning holes in his head. His leg still was very painful but he could walk with the help of crutches.
The sight of frilly curtains seemed so strange. He had almost forgotten that there was such a thing as delicacy and refinement. There was no stomping of feet on hastily nailed barracks floors, but rather the soft feel of a rug under his shoe—and the smell of home cooking.
That afternoon he went out and found a beach chair and sank into it, then listened to the soft pounding of the waves against the little pebble beach. He just sat there all afternoon until the sun started to go down and the air became chilly. Soon some fog would roll in. He retired to the small pub next to the hotel and ordered a double Scotch whiskey. When flying it was forbidden to drink so this was a rare pleasure to feel the warmth of the whiskey as it flowed down his throat.
The bar maid was Mara Dolan, the widow of Corporal Dolan who was killed in the butchery that was the Battle of the Somme. Unimaginative generals used nineteenth century battle tactics in a twentieth century war. The German MG 08 Maxim machine guns mowed down the troops as they advanced across open fields of fire. Mara Dolan was too young to be a widow but she—like so many others—was left without a mate. What happened next was not love or romance but more of a celebration of life. They were alive and able to make love while so many others were dead long before their time. He did not know when his time might come so he just embraced the moment. In a month the cast was removed and a dispatch rider came roaring up on his motorcycle. He got in the side car to jounce his way back to the aerodrome.
GOING HOME
By the time he had recovered enough to be put back on flying status, the dreadful war had come to a merciful close. For his skill and bravery in returning the damaged bomber and the remaining crew safely to base, he was awarded a medal and a promotion to the rank of captain. He was assigned passage on a troop ship, and along with several thousand cheering soldiers, he disembarked in New York Harbor.
He was greeted with great joy by his father and mother and a special welcome home celebration was held in the mansion. Members of the New Hampshire congress including state senator Hopkins attended along with some prominent industrialists. The Manchester Mills had made some huge profits during the war and his father was ready for him to start his Harvard education leading to a career in politics. They all extolled how the war hero and heir to the family business had an unlimited future in state and national politics.
He paid respectful attention to the assemblage but felt totally out of place. They had no idea what war was really like. As soon as he could, he left the mansion and headed to Uncle Pete’s and the garage. Pete’s reception was quite different than the one he left at the mansion. Pete grabbed him by the shoulders gave him a big hug and handed him a bottle of Scotch whiskey. By the time they were halfway through the bottle, they were on the motorcycles and revving the engines to near destruction in a blue cloud of castor oil smoke. That was the celebration that he had longed for!
THE NEW ASSIGNMENT
The next morning when his head started to clear, he began to think about the future. In his heart he was sick knowing that bombs he had dropped killed many people. Were some of them future scientists or doctors or talented actors and musicians? How many other husbands did he kill, leaving them alone like Mara Dolan? He did not start the war and he did not end it. He was just a pawn in a disastrous act of human miscalculation and arrogance that killed millions and destroyed cities. What folly, he thought.
What he did realize, and what the population at home could not fathom, is that unsuppressed air power used by a ruthless tyrant was a surefire path to subjugation. No army or navy could withstand attacks in force by modern aircraft, which would surely become even more destructive in the future. He made the decision to remain in the Army Air Corps and hopefully contribute to a force that could counter any future aggression toward the country.
Because of his previous assignment to the Handley Page Factory, the Army Air Corps commanders knew that the best use of his talents would be as the Air Corps representative to industry for the testing and development of new aircraft, particularly a new bomber. He was assigned to the command of General Billy Mitchell and was stationed at Fairfield Air Depot in Dayton, Ohio. Funds were limited but an attempt was made for a technological breakthrough with the development of the Barling bomber.
Due to funding restrictions it was not possible to equip it with newly designed, more powerful engines, so it used old under powered Liberty engines. This doomed the design to failure but not before some successful new construction technologies that set the path for later designs, such as a round pressurized aluminum fuselage. He had a chance to observe and test the new concept and to get involved with the development of the new B10 bomber, which was soon to be followed by the vital Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress.
It was on his return from a test flight in the new B10 that he learned that his father, Stuart Hamilton II, was the victim of a heart attack and died very suddenly. It was obvious to him that there would be a great deal of activity regarding his father’s estate to which he had suddenly become heir. He really had no choice but to resign his commission and return to civilian life and become the administrator of his father’s estate. It was not six months later that his mother died of a stroke, leaving him in a big old mansion with a factory to run.
THE SHOWROOM
The thought of spending the rest of his life running a clothing factory was depressing. He needed a way out. He met with Uncle Pete and made him an offer. If Pete would manage the factory and supervise its sale, he would get a full salary plus a big commission upon the sale of the factory. He would have to deal with the business managers and lawyers to find a buyer and consummate the sale. While Pete really did not have the experience for such a task, he had the one most essential qualification: He could be trusted.
On one of his all too frequent trips to the New York City law firm of Cranston, Doyle and Weiss, Stuart decided to take advantage of the nice summer weather and walk down the avenue rather than take a taxi. He walked with a bit of a limping gait as his leg had not quite healed properly. Passing by the Lincoln automobile show room, he glanced inside then stopped and stared. There in the window was this black convertible, the most beautiful car he had ever seen. He just had to go in and check it out.
He was met at the door by John Wilhelm, the nattily dressed dealership salesman wearing a three- piece gabardine suit, who asked if he could be of assistance. With a big salesman’s smile on his clean shaven face, he followed Stuart over to the convertible.
“Tell me about this car.”
“Well, sir, this is a most unusual car. It is one of only a little more than three hundred hand built by the Ford Motor Company at the direction of Edsel Ford himself. The story is that he had a custom prototype built in 1939 to show off to his rich associates on his winter vacation. They insisted that he build some more for them to buy so he had the factory do a limited production run. We are fortunate to get this one car for our showroom. It has a V12 engine with aluminum heads to deliver outstanding performance. Do notice how the spare tire is so elegantly incorporated into the design of the rear body.”
“Yes, I see. It is a stunning automobile. May I ask the price?”
“Well Mr. … uh, I’m sorry, I do not know your name.” he said, bending closer to Stuart with an inquiring look on his face.
“I am Stuart Hamilton, the owner of Manchester Mills in Manchester, New Hampshire.”
“How nice to have you visit us, Mr. Hamilton. Well, the car is priced at $4,300, but I am afraid that is of rather academic interest. I have been told by the sales manager that a member of the Rockefeller family intends to inspect the car and will certainly purchase it. Perhaps I can show you a Zephyr convertible?”
“No, I am only interested in this car. So it has not been sold yet?”
“Well, no, technically it is still for sale.”
Stuart clamped his strong arm onto the salesman’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eye as if he were a member of his old air crew. “John, I have a deal for you; I will buy the car NOW. I will give you a check for the full amount plus an extra check for $100 made out to you for your special effort in making this sale happen.”
When the ink on the paperwork dried, Stuart owned a new black with maroon interior 1940 Lincoln Continental Cabriolet.
The next morning he checked out of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel and took a DeSoto taxi ride to the dealership to pick up the car. John Wilhelm once again greeted him and said that the car was ready. The lead mechanic, Russ Newnes, had tested the car and declared it ready for the highway. Russ went over the features of the car and showed Stuart how to operate the two speed rear axle and helped him put the top down and fasten the cover over it. With that out of the way, Stuart gunned the engine and sped out of the driveway headed for Westchester Parkway and to the Taconic Parkway with connection to Massachusetts and then home to Manchester. It was a perfect day for a fast top down cruise in a fabulous new car. How he wished that Uncle Pete could have been with him on the Taconic Parkway. He blew past a waiting cop at twenty miles per hour over the speed limit. The cop just flashed the red light on his 1939 Ford sedan as he knew there was no chance that he could catch the fast Lincoln.
THE ODDESSY
With Pete in charge of the factory and all legal work attended to, he decided that it was time for him to explore the world on his own—at his own pace. The Lincoln was a very comfortable car and great for long-distance driving. Laying out a road map of the major United States highways, he drew a route that just about circled the country. He would start out by going the northern route through Chicago, Iowa and Lincoln, Nebraska. Then dropping south he would go through Denver and take the mountain road to Salt Lake City. From there he would cross Donner Pass and stop in San Francisco.
Driving south out of San Francisco, he would travel the coast road to Los Angeles and then proceed all the way south to San Diego. From San Diego he would head back east and visit the mighty Grand Canyon followed by a drive on Route 66 thru Albuquerque to Oklahoma City. From there he would go to Atlanta and to the east coast. With stops in Philadelphia and Washington, he would once again visit New York City and get the Lincoln completely serviced at the dealership. Then it would be on to New Hampshire and an uncertain future. He figured he would drive close to ten thousand miles. The mechanic assured him that the V12 engine could easily go 10 times that distance. Just change the oil every three thousand miles and keep all the lubrication current.
By starting in the early summer, he should return by fall in time to see the New England foliage in all its brilliant colors. On day three of the trip he stopped in Dayton, Ohio, and got to meet with his old army commander, General Billy Mitchell. Also at the luncheon was Lt. Curtis LeMay who impressed Stuart as being a really smart and aggressive officer. It was just a friendly get together but General Mitchell took the opportunity to discuss how once again the Germans were on the march and that a much larger war was imminent. The Germans had some really advanced airplanes such as the Messerschmitt ME 109 fighter and the very fast Henkel HE-111 bomber. He was concerned that we could not match their air power which they were already using to bomb cities and helpless civilian populations. It was with considerable foreboding that he left that meeting.
The weather held nicely for top down driving. He just had to keep his arm and face covered to prevent serious sunburn. Going across Kansas just past Topeka, he dodged a bad storm producing tornadoes. Some hail bounced off the long hood but did not cause damage. In Denver he dropped the car off at Landmark Lincoln on South Broadway for an oil change and lubrication. This gave him a chance to stay at the Brown Palace Hotel and take in a movie at the Paramount Theater. The movie was Hell’s Angels and it brought back too many bad wartime memories. He hoped that at least it would let the people see how vicious an air war really could be.
Going out of Denver on US Route 40, he made the arduous climb over the eleven thousand foot Loveland Pass with its switchbacks and seven percent grades. The V12 fell way off on power due to the altitude but he really had no trouble with the climb, much of which had to be done in second gear. He passed several cars stranded on the side of the road with steam hissing out of the radiators. By leaving very early, he was able to make Salt Lake City by nightfall. He stayed for a day to tour the huge Mormon Tabernacle, then it was off along the Great Salt Lake to Wendover, Utah, and the vast salt flats.
He found the salt flats to be an utterly amazing place. He had never seen anything on earth like it. Totally white and totally flat, he could make out a slight curvature in the earth. He just had to drive out on the salt that he had read about so many times where speed and endurance records were set by daring engineers and drivers. On the outskirts of the salt, he encountered some young guys in a hopped up 1932 Ford roadster covered in salt brine. They had just made a practice run on the salt and had gotten the car up to one hundred thirty miles an hour. It was a test before the actual Speed Week runs that were to take place in August.
Against his better judgment, he decided to see what the top speed of the Lincoln would be. He headed out across the hard salt pan and put his foot to the floor and just left it there. He watched the speedometer climb to 110 miles per hour where it just stopped moving. That was as fast as he could go. Not bad, he thought, for a big heavy car with a stock engine. When he drove off the salt he had to hunt around to find a garden hose and pay a garage to wash the collected caked salt off the bottom of the car and clean the top paint and the inside upholstery before he could get underway again toward his final destination of San Francisco.
SAN FRANCISCO
It was late in the afternoon when he crossed the magnificent double decked Oakland Bay Bridge and entered San Francisco. He was immediately captured by the unique beauty of the city. Upon finding a comfortable hotel, he parked the Lincoln in the hotel garage while he explored the city on foot and by cable car. He had no tourist schedule of sights to visit; he merely roamed around the city somewhat randomly.
While walking down a side street in what he guessed was a Japanese enclave, he heard a strange sound coming out the open door of a small tea shop. Out of curiosity he stepped inside and saw this beautiful Japanese girl playing this funny looking instrument with only three strings. He sat down at a table, ordered some tea, and just listened to this unusual sound. When the girl had finished playing, she got up and started to leave. As she passed by his table, he got up.
“Excuse me, may I ask you a question?”
She looked a little surprised but said, “I guess so. What is your question?”
“The instrument that you were playing, what is it called?”
“Oh, it is a Japanese samisen; you might think of it as a Japanese banjo.” She delicately laughed as she spoke.
“I am very curious to learn more. Would you consider having some tea with me?”
“Well, it is still early. I guess I have time for tea.”
“Let me introduce myself. My name is Stuart Hamilton and I am from the East Coast, just a tourist in this lovely city.”
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Hamilton. My name is Emiko Oda and I live in the city.”
Thus the conversation continued with Emiko explaining that what she was playing is a “chuzao” or middle form of the instrument. The body is covered, would you believe, in cat skin and the strings are made of silk. The shari koma bridge is made out of ox bone. It is a simple instrument but can be very challenging to play skillfully.
“I am a little surprised on two counts,” Stuart remarked with a smile.
“What might these two counts be? I am curious now,” Emiko said.
“Well, your spoken English is perfect and you seem to play with great skill. How did you learn this instrument?”
Stuart tried not to embarrass her by staring, but she was so lovely to look at. She was a beautiful young woman with dark almond eyes, smooth skin, long black hair, and a slender body.
“Oh I guess I do arouse curiosity on those scores. My father is an official at the Japanese Embassy. I was born here and went to college at Berkeley where I studied fine arts and music. A professor gave me lessons on the samisen and encouraged me to learn to play a koto—a kind of Japanese harp. It is a way of passing on a cultural heritage through music. Maybe someday when I have the courage and the ambition, I will attempt to play the koto.”
She finished her tea and left. Stuart knew that she had not seen the last of him. He wanted to get to know her more; she had grabbed his imagination.
SAUSALITO
Something was brewing inside him, something strange. Something he had never felt before. His thoughts kept returning to Emiko and the tea room, and wondering about just staying here for a while. In his exploration of the city, he drove across the Golden Gate Bridge and discovered the seaside village of Sausalito. Wandering around the docks looking at the fishing boats, he noticed a rather nice looking yellow houseboat with a FOR SALE sign on it. Now there is an adventure, he thought. Why not try living on a houseboat? So he bought it and moved in. It was relaxing yet certainly different from anything he had ever done before. And Emiko was very much in his thoughts. He would regularly drive back to the city to listen to her play and to talk with her. They were developing a friendship. He felt bold enough to ask her if she would let him take her out to dinner in Sausalito.
“Oh, I love Sausalito. Do you know a restaurant by the bay?”
“Yes, I regularly eat at the Seaside Restaurant. It’s not fancy but has great food. Sally, the cook, is really great.”
“Would you take me there?”
Emiko was a little surprised when he picked her up in the big Lincoln. She thought that he was just a shoe salesman or something, but shoe salesmen did not drive big Lincolns. That night was the first of several dates with her. Each time he got to know her a little better and each time he wanted to see her again.
It was a cold foggy night when they went back for dinner again in Sausalito. The damp cold of San Francisco can cut right through your body to its core. After dinner as they were leaving, Emiko asked if she could see his houseboat. She had seen it before because they walked past it on their way to the restaurant. This time he sensed something different. She somehow seemed to be so much more intimate during dinner. As they stood at the entry to the gangplank, she looked up at him with her enticing almond eyes.
“I want you to take me aboard.” she murmured softly.
That was the night he felt the true meaning of the word “love.”
THE FATEFUL DAY
They were in the midst of making plans for a wedding come spring. Stuart had met her parents—Mr. And Mrs. Oda. Since they were embassy people, they were not as hide bound traditional as he expected they might be. The actual wedding would be a California civil ceremony so that it would have legal standing. However, Stuart did not object to a companion Shinto ceremony as a way to make her parents feel involved. Inside he could not help but be amused thinking about the impact this marriage would have on his staid New England acquaintances. No telling what they would think and he could care less what that might be. He had the love of his life to live with forever.
It was a beautiful warm sunny morning, quite unusual for the first Sunday in December 1941, so they decided to have a picnic on a bluff off Bunker Road overlooking San Francisco. Emiko had packed a nice lunch and he had picked out a bottle of sweet white wine that he knew she would like. They had just turned off the highway onto Bunker Road and were listening to the New York Philharmonic on the car radio when the news flash came over the radio. Pearl Harbor had been bombed!
There could be no thought of a picnic now. Stuart immediately turned the car around and they headed for her parents’ apartment. They found Mr. Oda beside himself with grief. He had fears that war was imminent and now that it had started in such a terrible way, he knew that he must resign immediately from the embassy and try to seek asylum in the United States. He would now be seen as an enemy. It would not be long before he was arrested by the FBI and he and his wife and daughter, a U.S. citizen, were all placed in internment camps.
As bitter as he felt about the way they were being treated, Stuart also felt that he could not sit idly by while the country declared war on Japan, Germany and Italy. While technically a civilian, he still had reserve status in the Army Air Corps. He did not have to wait long to receive a recall notice to report for active duty. Looking at his service record, the Army decided that the best place for him was at the Boeing Aircraft Company in Seattle, Washington, as an Air Corps liaison officer.
With a final visit to Emiko and her parents, he put the Lincoln Continental in storage in a San Francisco garage and caught a hop on an Army C-47 “Gooney bird” transport plane to Seattle and reported to the Boeing factory. It was then, after being sworn to total secrecy, that he learned about the existence of a new and radically different bomber to be called the B-29 Superfortress.
The huge plane was in the late design phase with prototypes under construction. He flew in one of the early prototypes and helped find and solve problems with the Wright R-3350 Duplex-Cyclone radial engine that was prone to overheat and catch fire. He determined that if after takeoff you went for maximum speed rather than climb to altitude, you could keep the engines cool enough to prevent failure.
It was in 1945 that, with the rank of major, he was ordered to Tinian Island to take command of a squadron of B-29s. He met up with former Lt. Curtis LeMay who by now had been promoted to general and placed in charge of the Japanese homeland bombing missions. He flew many missions under his command including the horrible incendiary bombing of Tokyo that totally destroyed the core of the city and killed more than one hundred thousand people. The atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki finally ended the slaughter.
He had been receiving regular letters from Emiko and learned that while quite uncomfortable, they were surviving okay in the internment camp. As fortune would have it, she made the acquaintance of a Japanese musician who was teaching her how to play the koto. She loved to play and she said that she would think of their love as she gently plucked the strings. It was her dream to someday own her own koto.
THE OCCUPATION
The war may have been over but there were still military tasks to be accomplished. The primary one was to completely disarm the Japanese war machine. Stuart was placed in command of a squad of men to go to the captured airfields to supervise Japanese mechanics employed to remove and destroy the propellers of the warplanes to make them non-operational.
It was at Atsugi Field that he found a Betty twin-engine bomber that was completely intact and in perfect condition. During interrogation he learned of a senior Japanese pilot that was an instructor pilot for the Betty. It did not take much encouragement from Stuart to convince the Japanese pilot to take him on a test flight in the captured plane. But Stuart had a US insignia painted on it just to be safe. He found that the plane had excellent flight characteristics but did not have the protection features of American planes thus making them easier to shoot down.
THE KOTO
He finished the task of decommissioning the warplanes and was assigned administrative duties at the Tokyo headquarters. This gave him an opportunity to explore Tokyo on his time off. While the war had ended, there was still concern for fanatical ex-Japanese soldiers. He would go out on these excursions into the city with his old flight crew plus an interpreter. They kept their sidearms fully loaded “just in case.”
While walking through the Akihabara district, he passed what appeared to be a music shop that had not been destroyed in the fire-bombing. Curious, he looked inside and saw an array of classical Japanese musical instruments. The old owner approached him with much ceremonial bowing. Stuart waited for him to straighten up and said slowly: “koto … koto … koto?”
“Ah so, ah so,” the owner replied. “Hai, hai,” he exclaimed as he pointed to the corner of the room.
Stuart motioned to his interpreter to step outside. “Do you know anything about a koto?”
“Yes, some. I have a friend who plays one.”
“Well, quickly tell me about it.”
“It is a Japanese version of a zither and is about six feet long with a body made out of paulownia wood. The strings are made out of silk and you play it by plucking the strings with your thumb and first two fingers of your right hand using the left hand to alter the pitch. That is about all I know except that it is very popular in Japan, but I don’t think it is well known in other countries.” The interpreter who is Australian then shrugs his shoulders.
“Okay, the old guy does not know that you understand Japanese. You just keep quiet and listen for me. Got it?”
“Yep.”
They go back inside and Stuart motions to the old man by holding his hands out and says: “koto, koto, mimasu.” Not sure he got it right but the old man seemed to understand and motioned for him to come into a back room. There on the floor sits the koto.
It looks to be a beautiful handmade instrument which he is sure Emiko would be glad to have. He motions to the Aussie to step outside again.
“What do you think?” Stuart asks.
“It looks like a real beauty to me.”
“Okay, now let’s see how much he is willing to sell it for. Do you think he will high ball me on the price?”
“He probably will.”
Stuart goes back in and addresses the owner: “Ikura desuka?”
“Juu man (100,000 yen),” the owner replies
“Takai (expensive),” Stuart declares and turns to walk out the door.
The owner’s wife who has been listening starts talking a blue streak to her husband. This is what Stuart has been waiting for. He once again motions to the Aussie to step outside.
“What did she say?”
“She is raising hell with him. She’s telling him that they do not even have enough money to buy rice and to lower the price and sell it.”
“Good, now you talk to him. Tell him I will pay him 75,000 yen ($210). They settle on a price of 80,000 yen (about $220). Stuart pays him in MPC script (Military Payment Certificate) that can be easily converted to yen on the black market.
Now he has a new problem. How on earth is he going to transport it? It is not heavy but it is bulky and probably quite delicate. It is Sgt. Williams, his flight engineer, who comes up with an idea.
“It should fit right into a coffin,” he says.
“Not a bad idea except that it will cause all kinds of questions to be asked and may even be illegal,” Stuart replies.
“Well what about the box that the coffin ships in?”
“That will work just fine.” He turns to Corporal James, the gunner: “Now go find a bedding store and buy a couple of cheap futons.”
In less than an hour they have all they need to pack the koto. They hail a couple of 80 yen cabs and go back to the Tachikawa base.
HOMEWARD BOUND
It is clear to Major Stuart that with the war over and pacification well under way, he has done his duty and he needs to return to the States. He puts in for a discharge from the army and a transfer to stateside. It is accepted and his service to his country is acknowledged with gratitude and another medal. But there is one more mission for him to accomplish before he can be discharged. The now useless B-29s on Tinian Island need to be flown to the States. He is ordered to use his current flight crew and catch a hop to Tinian and fly a B-29 back to the Spokane Air Depot where it will be refueled and flown by another crew to Arizona to be mothballed.
At Tachi there were regular flights to Tinian so he and the crew get manifested on one and prepare to say good-bye to mount Fujisan and The Land of the Rising Sun. He dons his now well-worn flight suit and puts his uniforms in a B4 bag where they will remain forever along with a sock filled with his medals. He takes a bottle of Jim Beam bourbon for the Gooney bird crew to get the coffin crate loaded.
The B-29 they are assigned to fly is a well-worn bird. It is on its third engine change. The Wright R-3350 engine still had not achieved long-term reliability. He just hoped that these would keep going till the ocean was behind them. They loaded the koto coffin into the bomb bay using the shackles for five hundred pound bombs and a cargo net to secure it. Sgt. Williams knew how to baby the engines and they made it into Wake Island for refueling and then on to Hickam in Hawaii. At Hickam they had to replace the top cylinder plugs on number one and three engines. With that done they flew safely into Spokane.
Stuart got a lift into town where he bought a 1940 Ford pickup in which to load the coffin box with the koto safely inside. He took one long last look at the B-29 realizing that it probably will be the last plane he will ever fly. His log book was closed at 8,453 flying hours.
BACK HOME
It was going to be an 850 mile drive to San Francisco so he was fortunate to find an airframe and engine mechanic who wanted to go to Yuba City. Not a bad idea to have a mechanic to share the driving and perhaps make a repair if the old flathead engine wanted to kick up a fuss. With an overnight stop in Redmond, they pushed on through to Red Bluff where he dropped the mechanic off to catch a bus to Yuba City. The old truck was stubborn and plowed along at fifty mph so he made it okay to Sausalito where he gratefully reopened the houseboat, unloaded the koto, and made himself once again at home.
First thing the next morning he drove over to the storage garage and picked up the Lincoln. The garage owner took the Ford truck as payment for storage. How nice that Lincoln felt after two days in that old truck.
Emiko and her parents were released from the internment camp and—with the help of money from Uncle Pete—were able to find a nice apartment in San Francisco. It was such a joyous reunion to be with Emiko again. They wasted no time and got married right away. He was forty-six and she was only thirty-two but that age difference was not important to them. They had each other and that was all that mattered.
Mr. Oda was dependent on Stuart and the checks that he had Uncle Pete send them. It occurred to Stuart that Mr. Oda might be able to have success in the import business if only he could get established. His post-war reputation in Japan was impeccable and he had many important industrial contacts. Stuart was able to lease a vacant warehouse for him and Mr. Oda began to import high quality Japanese art objects. Emiko was now free to go her own way with Stuart.
It was a big surprise for her when she once again entered the houseboat and saw the koto just sitting on the floor. She burst into tears of happiness and immediately sat down and started to tune it and then to play it. This was the first time that he had heard the sound that it makes and he just shut his eyes and relaxed as she played. The sound of airplane engines disappeared from his head. He was once again at peace with the world and hopelessly in love with his beautiful wife.
PISMO BEACH
It was eight a.m. Sunday and the fog that rolled over the houseboat from under the bay bridge had not yet started to lift, but it would be gone by ten a.m. The mournful wail of the fog horns from ships trying to get out to sea woke him from a sound sleep. Emiko was quietly breathing beside him. To him it sounded like a kitten’s purr. Emiko was such a beautiful and delicate oriental flower. Oh, how he loved her. She would waken soon so he decided to surprise her with a nice breakfast. He was not much of a cook but he could make “lazy eggs” and she liked them a lot. First he would fry the bacon. The smell would permeate the entire boat and awaken her so he had some fresh hot tea ready to give her. She deserved to be treated like a princess. Maybe today they could do something special.
He finished frying the bacon and pulled it out of the pan and cut it into small pieces. Then he put it back in the pan after pouring out the hot sizzling grease, just leaving enough for a taste. Now he cracked four eggs into the pan and poured in some milk. With the addition of some pepper and a little salt the “lazy eggs” were scrambled and ready to serve. As he figured, Emiko smelled the bacon cooking and awakened. She wandered into the small kitchen still half asleep with her favorite house kimono loosely covering her body. He could just make out the small breasts hiding underneath. Saturday night had been their special time for love.
As usual, the fog started to lift and soon the sky would reveal the blue that it was hiding from them. It was going to be a perfect day to go for a drive. A good day to fire up the Lincoln and put the top down and go for a cruise to nowhere in particular. Emiko was really excited and wanted to go to Pismo Beach and dig for clams. Stuart had gone clamming in New England with Uncle Pete after which they would put a bushel of them in one big pot and then boil a couple dozen lobsters in another pot along with a bushel of fresh corn. Pete invited a bunch of his motorcycle buddies who would tap a keg of Schlitz beer and proceed to gorge themselves while getting roaring drunk. It was said that you did not drink whiskey when you ate clams as it would turn them to stone and you would die of indigestion. If that were the case, Pete would have died ten times over. Stuart wondered what California clams would taste like?
With Emiko’s help, he took the cloth tarp off the 1940 Lincoln Continental and started the engine. When the engine was even a little warm it would start on the first push of the starter button but when it was cold after sitting all night, it required some finesse with the choke and gas pedal to get it started without flooding and spewing blue smoke. It reminded him of the old Handley Page bomber engines which filled the ramp with smoke when started.
With the 12-cylinder engine idling smoothly while warming up, they unlatched the top and he pushed the button for the valve that controlled the vacuum cylinders that lowered the top. They always needed a little helping nudge to bring the top all the way down into the well before they snapped the black cloth cover over it. The maroon leather interior was a little clammy from the night mist and had a nice pungent smell, but it would quickly dry off now that the top was open to the emerging sunshine. He could not help but step back a little and cast some admiring glances at this beautiful machine. He would never grow tired of looking at it.
Emiko had many talents, but map reading was not one of them. When he asked her for directions to Pismo Beach, all she knew that it was “south.” What the hell, he thought, let’s just head “south” and see what there is to see. With Emiko nestled at his side with her long raven-black hair blowing in the wind, he could drive around the world and get lost forever.
Even when smooth cruising with the Columbia rear end in overdrive, the Lincoln drank a lot of gas as it was a very heavy car, so it was not long before they needed gas. Stuart pulled into a Gulf station for gas and directions to Pismo Beach from the attendant who also carefully checked the air pressure in the tires after checking the oil float level and radiator water. Emiko had no interest in the free glasses promotion the station was giving to gas customers, but Stuart did get a California highway map from the rack at the door.
In half an hour they arrived at Pismo Beach and parked in a secluded spot. They lifted out a small pitch fork and bucket from the trunk and started searching for clams now that the beach was at low tide. Stuart showed Emiko how to look for the little bubbles that betrayed the presence of a hiding clam. She quickly became very good at spotting them, and it was not long before they had a bucket full as the Pismo Beach clams are very large with most four inches wide or more. All that digging made them hungry so they ambled toward a lunch shack farther up the beach and ate some big hamburgers.
It was mid-afternoon when they started back to San Francisco. He took the coast road so they could see the ocean. They might make it back before dark, but they were in no hurry. While the Lincoln with its smooth 12-cylinder engine could be a very fast car, that is not what they wanted. They just wanted to silently cruise and let the sky, the ocean and the land float by them. Along a straight stretch of the road he noticed a side road leading to the ocean. He asked Emiko if she would like to go exploring; she was all for the adventure.
The side road was not paved so he had to drive slowly to keep from kicking up small stones that could chip the paint. It was about two miles before the road came to an end in a meadow overlooking the ocean. The native flowers were in bloom and the eucalyptus contributed a heady fragrance when they got out of the car and walked toward the ocean. Looking over the edge of a cliff, they could see a small hidden cove with a sandy beach that was being gently massaged by the ocean waves. By now it was starting to get late and the sun was well on its way toward diving into the ocean. Finding a soft spot in the grass, Stuart spread the car blanket on the ground. As Emiko lay down beside him, they consummated their passion and then let it die out just like the fireball of the sun gets extinguished by the ocean.
Soon fog might form and it was chilly now; it was time to put the top up and head back to the houseboat. On the way out to the highway, he saw a sign that he had not noticed before. It read: “Cattle Ranch for SALE by the Garza Cattle Company. Contact Jim Hatfield.” He made note of the phone number. What a wonderful day. It made up for some of the pain and suffering that he experienced during the wars. He never wanted to go through that again. He just wanted peace and quiet and Emiko.
THE GARZA RANCH
On Monday morning Emiko went to see her koto master and practice a new piece for a recital that they had planned. Stuart used the time to call Jim Hatfield, the realtor listed on the sign beside the highway that marked the entrance to the beach road. He learned from Jim that the ranch belonged to the Garza family who obtained the land before California even became a state. They were of Spanish descent and for generations had raised Arabian horses. Mr. Garza was in ill health and their only daughter had neither the interest nor the skill to run such a large property so they had put it up for sale two months ago. Jim explained that the ranch consisted of ten sections about evenly divided by the north-south state highway.
Stuart knew that a section of land was one mile square but did not know how many acres that encompassed. Since land was sold by the acre, he needed to know. Jim explained that a section contained 640 acres. That meant that the ranch consisted of 6,400 acres and was basically two miles wide by five miles long—a huge spread of land. He learned that the land on the ocean side consisted mostly of scrub brush with some meadows and forest trees. It was no good for farming and marginal for ranching. The business of the ranch was done on the more fertile eastern side of the highway. That is where the Garza hacienda and horse barns were situated. He learned that Senior Garza expected to receive five hundred dollars an acre for the ranch. Learning these facts, Stuart had a kernel of an idea. He needed to meet and talk with Senior Garza.
He left a note for Emiko stating that he had some business to attend to and should be back by evening. He left the top up on the Lincoln but unzipped the rear window so he had a clear view out the rear. This drive would be different as he wanted to waste no time getting to the ranch, so with a full tank of gas he put the accelerator to the floor and sailed down the highway at about seventy miles an hour. In a little more than an hour, he met Jim and they drove together to the ranch to meet Senior Garza. While quite old, he had a neatly trimmed white beard that made him look very distinguished. His handshake told the story of a lifetime of manual hard work. His wife, Tabby, was introduced and excused herself to go to check on the chili and fresh tortillas they’d all be enjoying for lunch.
Senior Garza showed them a map of the ranch and its boundary lines. Stuart immediately saw that the ocean side property with its jagged coastline and empty beaches were not good commercial property. He did not want to go into serious ranching so had little interest in the more valuable east side property. Over lunch, lubricated with some homemade sangria, he made a proposition to Senior Garza. Would he consider dividing the property? He would buy the whole ocean side for three hundred dollars an acre which would surely allow the east side to be sold at a higher price per acre.
Back of the envelope calculation indicated that would be about three thousand acres for a total price of nine hundred thousand dollars. Stuart stated there would be no financing involved. He would pay the full amount in cash at the time of closing. As part of the deal, Stuart wanted two gentle Arabian horses with western saddles. That brought a big smile to Senior Garza’s face as he loved his horses and took great pains to see that they were properly trained. Senior Garza said he would consider the offer and let Jim know within the week. With that the three shook hands and he and Jim left the ranch. On the way back to San Francisco, he went down the dirt road again and looked down at the small beach. He knew he had to buy this land!
Just three days later, Jim called to say that Senior Garza had considered the offer but he wants three hundred and fifty dollars an acre to divide the ranch into two parcels. Stuart’s reply was immediate. “Tell him it is a deal. Draw up the sales documents and give me the exact purchase price. I will have the money wired directly from my Boston bank.” It was time now to do some major selling of stocks that he had acquired with the sale of his father’s home and business. The Xerox and IBM stock had skyrocketed in value so it was no problem to sell them and put more than one million in cash into his bank account. It took one month to close the deal, but when the ink had dried on the papers, Major Stuart Hamilton III was the owner of 3,056 acres of California oceanfront property. Now for the surprise.
VALENTINE’S DAY
It was a cold February day in Sausalito when he asked Emiko if she would like to go to the “Top of the Mark” for a Valentine’s Day dinner. The “Mark” is the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco. It was THE place to splurge on a romantic dinner while overlooking downtown San Francisco. He asked Emiko to wear her blue kimono that made her look so exotic and beautiful. She was a little self-conscious about wearing it but wanted to make him happy even though she knew it might look out of place at the Mark. How could a beautiful woman in an elegant ensemble look out of place anywhere, he thought?
After the sumptuous meal and enjoying a glass of brandy, he handed her a large envelope tied with a red ribbon and a small heart emblem that he had hidden under the table. “A little Valentine’s gift for the love of my life,” he said. Her face was flushed red with a combination of excitement and sips of brandy. Like most Japanese, she reacted very quickly to alcohol.
With a puzzled look on her face, Emiko withdrew a large document. “What is this?” she asked, not understanding the legalistic words that she was reading. “That, my love, is the deed to a large parcel of land that we now own. It is the land around the beach where we parked on the way back from our clam digging trip.” She was taken by total surprise and was at a loss for words.
“You mean we now own that beautiful place where we made love that afternoon?”
“Yes, we do. I hope that you approve.”
“Approve? I am totally thrilled! Can we build a cabin on it and have it as our secret love nest?” She smiled as her face became even more flushed.
“Oh, by the way, we have two Arabian horses as part of the purchase so we can ride around the property. We will have to learn how to ride them, but they are real beauties just like you.”
They both burst out laughing as he had just compared his lovely wife to a horse. He never was very good with sweet talk but she knew what he meant and reveled in his devotion to her.
THE CABIN
It now became their urgent happy project to design the cabin. She was thinking of a little two room cabin with a fireplace and a kitchen stove. He had other ideas. He engaged a young San Francisco architect and had him draw up some plans that were unusual to say the least. The “modest cabin” was about four thousand square feet and was a blend of oriental and occidental design. The music room would be a traditional Japanese zashiki room with sliding shoji screens and tatami mats in an auspicious layout. In consideration of coastal weather, the shoji screens would be placed within substantial western style sliding doors.
The room would overlook a traditional Japanese garden that would be in the center of a quadrangle in the Spanish style. Emiko was totally thrilled by the design and called upon her parents for design details for the music room and the garden. The section away from the ocean would be the home of a very modern kitchen. The bedrooms would be in the Victorian style much like his father’s old mansion. However, the master bedroom would have an adjacent Japanese hot tub.
Stuart was only adamant on one detail of the design. He wanted an eastern style front porch overlooking the beach and the ocean. On it he would place Boston rockers and a two person swinging chair. He would sling a hammock for two placed catty corner between the pillars of the porch. He insisted on redwood flooring and framing for the entire structure as he knew it would stand up to the coastal salt air. For the roof he specified Mexican tiles; they would last in any climate or storm. It would be an architectural mishmash but it was what they both wanted and who gives a damn what others might think.
He now had an estate to maintain and he did not fancy doing maintenance and grounds keeping. Also Emiko did not really want to be a cook or housekeeper. To remedy these concerns, he built a small modern house where a well-regarded and loyal Mexican couple that had worked for the Garzas would live. If he did not hire them, they would be out of work with nowhere to go. Jose could take care of the garden and the horses, and Anita could do the cooking that would have to be toned down some in the chili pepper department. In addition there would be a horse stable for Mike and Milly, the two Arabian horses, and a garage for the Lincoln and International farm pickup truck that Jose drove.
It took almost a year to build the estate but on the next Valentine’s Day they were able to move into the “cabin.”
Sitting on the porch with Emiko, They watched the sunset and he sipped some of Uncle Pete’s single malt Scotch whiskey while Emiko drank some green tea. He brought up the subject of naming their new ranch estate. He looked down at the beach and told Emiko that it reminded him a little of the beach in England where he recuperated after his leg was shattered by a German bullet. The town was called Milford Haven. Why not call our place the Milford Haven Ranch? That should keep everyone guessing. They both chuckled and the gate over the entrance off the highway had the name “Milford Haven Ranch” spelled out in wrought iron on the arch over the entrance.
THE SACRAMENTO TRIP
They loved the peace and quiet of the magnificent home that they had built on the bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It was a good time now to sit down with Emiko and talk about the future. They liked San Francisco; it would always be a refined city. But it was also a busy city that could become quite stressful. Now that he had substantial wealth, he was considering what to do with it. You see, he had sold the mill and the mansion after his father died as he could see no future for him in the clothing business. His financial fortune was still building. Even with the purchase of the ranch and building their house, he still had more than five million dollars. Why let that just sit in a bank when he could do something creative and fun with it?
The idea occurred to him that they could secure their future if they built their own town. He had the means to do it but was not sure what it entailed. With a full tank of gas in the 1940 Lincoln Continental, he put the top down and headed out with the Eastern sun in his eyes for the state capitol in Sacramento. The V12 engine purring smoothly under the long hood and the wind whipping his hair made him feel a little like he did in the open cockpit of the Handley Page bomber. That seemed like another ghostly era to him now.
In Sacramento he made the rounds of the various state offices to see what was required to found a new town. He quickly learned that he would need a lot of professional help. The name of Dave Avery was given to him as someone who might be of help. After several long meetings, he was convinced that Dave was the man he needed and retained him to be project manager for the founding of the new town. Dave recommended the civil engineering firm of Stricker and Glen to do the plat and infrastructure of the new town and the firm of Maier and Clark for the legal work.
It was time to give the project a name. Thinking back on his time in England during the war and the encounter with Mara Dolan and the name they used for the ranch, he decided to name the town Milford Haven.
BUILDING THE TOWN
It was on a warm California night that he and Emiko sat in the swing and contemplated what they needed to do to make the town successful. If you look at what makes a town successful, it comes down to economics. Many western towns were the result of railroads which opened up the land to farming and manufacturing. Seaside towns either had a fishing fleet or cargo fleets or a combination of both.
None of this was a possibility for Milford Haven. The only thing it had to offer was tranquility, a beautiful view and fabulous sunsets, hardly an economic justification for its existence. It was Emiko who observed that there must be many people like them who would love to live in a place free of economic and political turmoil. Why not make it possible for artists and musicians to have a retreat where they could enjoy the fellowship of like-minded people?
Indeed! Emiko had hit on the right idea. Now they had to figure out how to build a town that would attract such people and make them residents. Again it was Emiko who had the right ideas. What they needed was a small concert hall for musical performances and perhaps a building that could be used as an art gallery. Stuart knew that they would also need a good infrastructure to support and lure people to get them to consider living in the town. Dave Avery had already started laying out streets and started paving the roads, specifically the road to the highway. He was planning to put a major gas station on the corner to attract the tourist business. They would also need a plan for schools and medical care. Dave could plan for those.
What Stuart seized on was the need for a really good restaurant and nice cabins that were inexpensive to build and affordable for underpaid artists to visit or to live in. In addition, he wanted a bank that would be accessible to those who lacked wealth but were honest sincere people who only needed a chance to succeed.
Thinking about the possibilities of a restaurant, he immediately remembered the diner near the waterfront in Sausalito where he had regularly eaten before he met and married Emiko. The food was good and the prices were reasonable. It was Sally Jankowski who ran the restaurant. He became friendly with her and liked her solid business sense and affable good humor. She knew how to attract customers, control costs and make a profit. If he built a nice restaurant, maybe he could convince Sally to run it. He would make a run up to San Francisco and talk with her. He would list the old houseboat for sale while he was there. They would no longer be using it. Such fond memories they had of that old tub.
Sally was her usual saucy self when he walked through the restaurant door, sat down, and ordered some of Sally’s famous bouillabaisse stew. It was how she made money—by selling yesterday’s leftover seafood, all tossed into an amazing stew. Sally knew all the tricks. The deal was this: He would build the restaurant for her to run and for the first year it would be rent free. If they could not make a go of it he would relocate her back to Sausalito. Sally liked the idea of having her own place and she knew that Stuart was dependable so she accepted the deal.
While he was at it, he decided to also build a wine store. Why have a wine cellar when you can have the entire store, he thought? He contacted a half dozen growers in the Napa Valley and signed them up to be suppliers. A piece at a time the little town was coming together. Emiko was able to assemble a group of musicians to put together a dedication concert for the new concert hall. Milford Haven, California, was going to be a success thanks to the vision and generosity of the Hamiltons.
THE FINAL SUNSET
It was late afternoon of August 21st that he sat on the porch in his favorite Boston rocking chair sipping the last of the single malt Scotch whiskey from the case that Uncle Pete had sent him before he died. He liked to use a coffee mug much to Emiko’s amusement. Not very elegant but practical and comfortable for his arthritic hands worn out from thousands of hours holding the control sticks and yokes of airplanes that now rested in scrap yards.
He could hear Emiko practicing on the koto for the recital that she was going to give on Sunday afternoon. She had enlisted the help of Julio, the young Mexican, who was a talented guitar player and Frank McIntosh, the retired San Francisco symphony violinist, to form a unique trio of string instruments. It would be exciting to hear how they could create a new sound. The sweet smell of shrimp tempura was wafting out of the kitchen. It was his favorite Japanese dish and Emiko had taught Anita how to make it in the proper way.
The heart that had endured forced breathing of oxygen through a mask at high altitude and the rush of hormones when making love was starting to fail. As the sun formed an orange ball and started to sink into the ocean, he slumped in his chair. As the sun expired with the last golden rays swallowed by the Pacific Ocean, Major Stuart Hamilton III expired with it.
Now you know the full story of Major Hamilton. I trust that you found him a worthy man.