Pearl Laura Baker, my grandmother, was born on March 2nd, 1895 to Nellie Olivia (Burkhart) Baker, a widow with one living son and a native Oregonian, and William Thomas Baker, who was originally from Louisville, Kentucky. Nellie's 1st husband, George Scott Royce, had died in May, 1890, from Consumption (TB). Two children had been born from their marriage, Winfield Scott Royce, b. 1885, and George F. Royce, b. 1889, however, little George died in Nov. 1890. Nellie had been devastated but did find love again with William Baker and they had married in July, 1891 in Linn County. Nellie [my great grandmother] was a daughter of Oregon Pioneers Leander Columbus Burkhart and Melissa Ann Davidson and had inherited land that yielded good crops due to the fine soil of the Willamette Valley. She also was a wise businesswoman in that she purchased one or more homes [most likely during or after her 1st marriage] which she rented out. The combined incomes had supported her and Winfield following the death of her beloved husband, George Scott Royce. Both her 1st and 2nd husbands were carriage makers, although William Baker was leaning towards the newly invented automobiles. On March 2nd, 1895, 4 years after they had married, Nellie gave birth to little Pearl Laura Baker, my grandmother. Winfield, fondly known as "Winnie", now had a little (half) sister and Nellie had a daughter, along with her 10 year old son. The family was very happy until William began to experience the same symptoms that her 1st husband, George, had shown when he became ill. Nellie was fearful, with good reason, as TB had also taken the life of her younger sister, Fannie, in 1879, along with her 1st husband, and there was no cure. Sadly, dear William had also contracted the dreaded disease and, no matter what they did, he grew weaker and weaker until he passed from this life just 12 days after his daughter's 5th birthday on March 14, 1900. Nellie was again distraught by the death of her mate and was even more so when he had gone back to his family's home in Louisville, Kentucky to die. He was then buried at the family crypt at Cave Hill Cemetery in Louisville, Kentucky, following his funeral***.
I seriously doubt that my grandmother understood much of what was happening, and especially why her Daddy was going away. [In all of the years I knew her, she never spoke of her father or his death.] Nellie vowed to never marry again. Many of the people of Albany referred to her as the "Rich Widow Baker" as she was able to support herself and her children, but this was due to good financial planning on her part. Winnie was a telegraph operator at Western Union at the Albany train station, living at home until he married. On Apr 18, 1906, Pearl came to see Winnie as she always did and he told her about the terrible earthquake in San Francisco, CA. He told her to run and tell the people in town what had happened. She was just 11 years old, however, and no one would listen to a little girl. It was only later, when Winnie was able to confirm the disaster to men who went to the train station, that everyone realized that my grandmother had been telling the truth, but she never forgot how she'd been treated. A few years later, Nellie bought a car and was the 1st woman in Albany to learn to drive. She had Winnie teach my grandmother how to drive so she would also be independent. By this time, Pearl had met and developed a deep friendship with Harry Taylor, a schoolmate. He was quite handsome with dark brown hair and intense dark eyes and he told her that he cared for her very much. Their friendship grew as time passed and then there were other boys asking her if they could come by to see her after school but she only wanted to see Harry. One boy was going to be a jeweler and he cared very much, but she loved Harry with all of her heart, especially when he began writing her love letters that were so sweet and tender she would keep them the rest of her days, always in a special place. She graduated in 1913 at the top of her class and was awarded a 4 year scholarship to Albany College (which moved to Portland in 1942 and became Lewis & Clark College). [**Her future granddaughter, Nancy Susan Webb, would earn a scholarship to Lewis & Clark College and attend, earning a 4.0 GPA when she graduated with her Bachelor's Degree. She then went on to graduate at the top of her class, Magna Cum Laude, from Portland State University with a 4.0 GPA with a double major in Psychology and Sociology, with her Masters Degree in Social Work in 1985. I went to her graduation! Grandmother would have been proud!**] My great grandmother chided her about her need to continue her education as the Burkharts felt very strongly that all of their children should attend college, if at all possible. I know my grandmother was torn, especially after her mother conceded that she would give her an engagement party on July 12th, 1914, before she started college. Nellie placed an announcement in the paper but that Friday, July 12th, arrived and Pearl and Harry were nowhere to be found. They had eloped to Newport, where they were wed. Since they were both of age, nothing could be done besides giving them a wedding shower, a harsh talking to and, finally, her blessing. My grandfather was employed full time by Southern Pacific railroad, repairing the trains; he was a quick learner, self taught who was also an avid reader. Soon, he had been promoted and the happy couple moved to Marshfield (what is now Coos Bay), Coos County, where he was foreman at the roundhouse for Southern Pacific. They rented a house while he built his bride a new home, for both his grandfather and father were carpenters and had taught him their trade. They were blessed with a lovely, blue eyed daughter on Aug 27, 1918, my aunt, who they named Helen Louise. They were thrilled to be parents and were terrified of the Flu Epidemic of 1918 & 1919 that took so many lives. My grandfather again was promoted, this time to a supervisory position in Portland, which was a good thing as my grandmother was again with child and it is believed that she may have lost a baby between the birth of my aunt and this pregnancy; also, there may have been complications. Luckily, my mother, Patricia Jean, was born April 19th, 1924 at Good Samaritan Hospital in Portland while they lived in a rental at 4007 SE Kelly St., Portland, until they had sufficient funds to buy their own home. They purchased a home at 2612 SE Lincoln in Portland, which was valued at $5,500 and paid for by 1930 when the census was taken on Apr 8th. They had 3 bedrooms, their own radio and a sawdust furnace in the basement. My mother remembered that even though it was the Depression, they always had clothing and enough to eat. They would give any outgrown clothing and "extra" canned food to those who were in trouble, even asking my aunt and mother to give up toys they no longer played with. My grandparents had been married for nearly 20 years on that date. Helen was in school and my mother was 5 yrs. old, almost 6. My grandmother made their clothes and kept a notebook listing every cent she spent; she even determined whether it was more economical to ride the street car (for a nickel) or to walk (and wear out shoe leather). My grandfather told her to ride the street car, since she had the 2 children, it didn't matter, but he truly always appreciated his dear wife's sincerity. He loved his wife and daughters dearly and though he could be a stern father he let his girls know how much he felt blessed that he was their father. Helen graduated from high school in 1936. She had been dating a young man and they married in a fairly lavish ceremony for those days, then moved to Washington. At this time, Hitler was in power in Germany and the world was uneasy. My grandfather was appointed to a new position, one that required a Secret Security Clearance from the government. It was issued and Pearl, Harry and Patricia relocated to Columbia, South Carolina. He would travel throughout the South, investigating train accidents and determining whether they were indeed accidental or whether they were sabotage. He was gone for days at a time, although he was home most weekends. My grandmother hated it when he was away, concerned for his safety and he also hoped his wife and daughter would also be safe. They drove across our Nation in late Spring, 1940, via California, and my mother told me they stopped to buy a box of oranges to eat during their journey and that they were delicious. But they hadn't counted on a checkpoint, however, at the state's border and hid the remaining oranges behind the back seat of the car. That Fall, they were cleaning the car and found that same box of shriveled up oranges where they wouldn't be found by the agricultural inspectors! [My mom used to laugh when she'd tell me that story] So my grandparents and mother drove thru California, across Arizona, taking a side trip to see the Grand Canyon, then across New Mexico, following Route 66 across northern Texas and Oklahoma, but then down into Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia to see New Orleans, different places where infamous Civil War battles had been fought and then into the different areas where the Spanish Moss grew on the downed logs and living trees. Once, my mom got out of the car at a nice location and my grandfather told her to sit on a log that was covered with the moss so he could take a picture. She sat down and started to put her right hand down onto the log when he suddenly said, "Freeze!!" He told her not to move her arm, but to get up and move away from the log. There, laying in the sun and having a nice warm sunbath, was a Copperhead snake, a venomous snake that most certainly would have struck her if she'd put her hand on it. Needless to say, they took their photo in another place. They walked on the beach at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and stood on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean before turning back to go to Columbia, S. C. where they would live for the next four yrs. They moved into a house at 3133 Lakewood in Columbia, South Carolina. By this time, both my grandparents were in their 50's and my grandmother started having problems with water retention in her ankles partly due to the humidity, partly due to heredity. She started wearing support stockings and elevating her feet at night. My grandfather hired a woman named Winnie to help my grandmother around the house. My mother graduated from High School in 1942 and began attending Duke University in the Fall. Aunt Helen had gotten a divorce and joined them in Columbia. She went to college and became a certified x-ray technician. In the 1940's, she worked at the Tuscaloosa Army Hospital with the servicemen returning, severely injured, from the War. She had to frequently hold down the patients while the x-rays were being taken and it was there that she met her future husband, Dr. Allen Hussar. She later developed Cancer in various forms; it was so hard on her but when they'd come to visit when I was growing up, she'd never mention it. My grandfather was very worried that the Germans were going to invade America (for good reason, as, in 1942 a German submarine was sunk in the Gulf of Mexico!) He had my mother stop going to college, so she went to work at the Army Air Base in Columbia as a secretary. While she was there her boss, Col. Robert Leon Webb, arranged a blind date for her with his son, Robert Jr. They began dating and it became serious just as my grandfather was promoted again, this time as the Head of the Western Region of the Interstate Commerce Commission which was located in San Francisco, California. This was what they had been hoping for as the climate in Columbia was so hard on my grandmother and my grandfather hated all of the traveling. However, there would be a lot of traveling involved with his new position as well, but mostly in the states of California, Oregon and Washington. They arrived in Oakland in the Fall of 1944 when housing was at a premium and stayed at a temporary address until they could find a house to buy. My mother was with them, of course, but she and Robert Webb decided to marry before he was sent overseas. They married on Nov 9th, 1944 in Oakland, California, just a few days before he was to be shipped out to the Pacific Theater. There were no motel or hotel rooms to be had so my grandparents put sheets up to separate their bedroom and give the newlyweds some privacy. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. My mother found an apartment near Lake Merritt at 4701 Manila Avenue in Oakland, and my grandparents found a lovely house near the top of 82nd Avenue in Oakland with a great view of the south San Francisco Bay, especially at sunset. It had 3 bedrooms and there was a little "door" that opened in the wall that connected with the master bedroom's closet. You could move the telephone from the kitchen, thru the closet and into the master bedroom this way. The middle bedroom was made of knotty pine. There were stairs that led down to the garage and my grandfather dug out a room that they made into a library with built in bookshelves, a bathroom with a sink and toilet, a cement room with built in shelves for my grandmother's canned peaches, pears and the best applesauce in the world, among other things. I also think he meant the cement room to be a sort of "bomb shelter", since it was the beginning of the "Atomic Age" and there was so much fear about "The Bomb" following the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He also had a Secret Security Clearance so would have been privy to information not necessarily available to the general public; he also read a lot and always watched the news. He also had a large wonderful workshop near the furnace. It was cool. They planted a lovely backyard, making it 3 tiers with stone steps making pathways thru out. They brought Nellie to live with them in Oakland until she passed away in 1948. After her mother died, my grandmother worked at Kahn's, a store in Oakland, as a seamstress. Her work was wonderful. In 1950, my grandmother became a grandmother for the 1st time as my older sister was born on Jan 10th of that year. My mom named her Wendy Louise (my aunt's middle name), Wendy for the main girl character in Peter Pan. She was the joy of their lives and my grandparents adored her. My parents were living at 3314 66th Avenue in Oakland, just about 10 minutes away from my grandparents, so my grandmother would come and cook meals to help out any time she was asked. A year and a half later, I was born, on Sept 29th, 1951. My mother named me Kathie Lynn and, again, my grandparents were overjoyed. They had 2 granddaughters to spoil, now, and my grandmother, a wonderful seamstress, made us many of our clothes. A year and a half later, my younger sister was born on Feb 19th, 1953. My mother named her Nancy Susan. My grandparents were happy to care for us whenever my parents asked and loved to visit with us whenever possible. My grandmother made us matching red coats so my mom would never "loose" any of us in a crowd. She sewed thru out her life, making many garments by hand when they could have afforded to buy ready made, but, remembering the Depression, they always saved money whenever they could. They were disappointed when my father became a fireman in San Jose and we moved there, a few hours drive away, but they would still visit whenever possible. My grandfather was commuting to San Francisco every day, to work, unless he was on a business trip thruout California. He drove and my grandmother was afraid he would be in an accident, but he never was, even though he must have driven thousands of miles over the years. They purchased a farm near Oroville in Northern California with an old building with a metal roof and no air conditioning that was hot in the summer. They planted apple, pear and other trees and my grandfather had a tractor he drove and, when I was about 7 yrs. old, they took me to spend a week with them during the summer. My grandfather let me sit with him on the tractor and steer it so I could tell my parents I'd learned to drive the tractor. My grandmother had a whistle she would blow when lunch and dinner were ready. I just wore a bathing suit due to the heat but my grandmother, who had been raised a lady, wore her long dress and support stockings (because of her swollen ankles). There were times that my grandfather would go up to the farm alone to work, but it almost proved to be fatal to him in @1961 when the tractor tipped over on him and he was trapped underneath. A small fire started that he put out with his hands and he started calling for help, but he was on a farm where the road was almost a 1/2 mile or so away and the next farm was also far away. He lay under that tractor for hours, calling for help before their neighbors, the Ewings (?), who were driving by (and, Thank God, didn't have their radio on) in their truck heard him calling faintly and pulled over to listen, then rushed over to find him. They went to the house and called the police and an ambulance, I guess. After he was in the hospital in Oroville they called my grandmother and she called my mom. Then she drove to Oroville faster than she had ever driven in her life, I guess, to be by his side. He had burns on his hands and arms and his back was badly injured. When he was finally discharged and came back home, he had to have complete bed rest for a long time. Mom let us visit with him but we weren't even allowed to touch him, at first, except to kiss him on his hand. Later, we were allowed to lie next to him on their bed, but we couldn't move, which was quite a feat for a little girl, but I'd lie there for as long as they'd let me just to be next to my granddaddy. We would go up to my grandparents for Thanksgiving and Christmas. My grandmother was a wonderful cook and made everything from scratch. When we were growing up, we tried to help her in the kitchen, by putting the criss cross tops onto the tarts, mashing the potatoes and setting the table. We also used to put olives on our fingers, something our grandfather showed us. We spent 10 months with them in 1958, attending Burbank school at the bottom of the hill, and doing our homework on the kitchen table every night. I'd take a bath each night then run down the hall to get toweled dry by my grandfather and put my pajamas on. He'd tell us stories, then tell us good night, then grandmother would tuck us in. But I was scared because the I slept in the middle bedroom where my grandmother did her sewing. During the day it was fun sitting on the floor, putting all of the buttons she had on different threads, according to color, but, after dark, the knotty pine reminded me of eyeballs and it scared me at night. If I had to go to the bathroom at night, I'd run down the hall to the bathroom, then run back again. [I had lots of monsters that haunted me growing up] My parents got divorced and, for a while, my grandmother had to come with us when we visited with our father. It was hard on my grandmother because of her ankles and feet. No matter what she did, they would swell up and I know they hurt her because I now have the same problem and it's very painful. My grandfather would let me "help" him when he was in his workshop downstairs, sometimes. I would sort the nuts, bolts, screws, etc. into separate old baby food jars that he had at his workbench. The lids were nailed to pegboards, so they were secure. I'd also pound nails with his hammer and help polish shoes. They had an old Victrola record player that my grandfather would let us wind up, sometimes, and play the old records. He would pick us up and dance with us, singing in his great, rich voice until his back hurt. In 1962, they moved to a one story house, which they made their home. It was at 141 Lombardy Lane in Orinda and had a white carpet in the living room. At first, we weren't supposed to be in there unless we took off our shoes (which I can understand, now). It had a nice, large backyard that they planted many fruit trees in and grandmother continued to can fruit every year. They had a washing machine but there was no room for a dryer so she hung the wash out back where it would air dry. [They had had an old wringer washing machine while in Oakland that she'd gotten her arm caught in once, so having a nice "new" washer was nice. He bought it for her right after her accident with the wringer.] She would iron his shirts and slacks, pillow cases, her dresses and the table cloth while standing, but their new house came with a dishwasher, which helped her a lot. Grandmother had worked many years for Capwell's (a nice department store, originally named Kahn's) in Oakland as a seamstress. They put every penny they could into the bank. My grandfather also had invested in properties and mortgages, even though he made good money. They also helped my mother out financially, whenever she asked for help. They owned the house that my parents lived in on 66th Ave., and, after my parents got divorced my mother and sisters and I returned to that house to live until she remarried in May, 1962. My grandparents had given her the house, which she sold when she remarried to help her new husband pay off debts. It hurt my grandparents, a lot. July 12, 1964 was their 50th wedding anniversary and my parents, aunt and uncle arranged for their celebration at the Clairmont Hotel in Berkeley, California. We went down to Capitola (southeast of Santa Cruz) for the yellow begonias that would decorate the tables. An ice sculpture with a big number "50" sat in the middle of one of the tables and friends, relatives and work associates came from all over the country to help them celebrate. I was 12 and had had a camera for about a year. My mother gave me film and the guest book. My "job" was to behave like a grown up girl and have each person sign the guest book, then to take pictures of as many people as possible. I had so much fun and all of the pictures came out! Afterwards, my grandfather took my grandmother to Hawaii, something she'd dreamed of for years and they had a wonderful time, their only real vacation in decades. Then, in 1966, our family moved to Albany, Oregon, where our grandparents had been born and raised, fallen in love and decided to marry some 52 years before. My grandparents drove the 600 miles to visit us in the summer of 1967 and I came back with them to stay. By this time, my grandmother had started forgetting things, but she was now 72 years of age, as was my grandfather, but he remembered everything. Their relationship was very sweet. Whenever he went to the garage or outside, he would kiss her and tell her he loved her. He would do the same when he came back inside. In the evening, he would sit on the sofa and she would lie down with her feet in his lap. He would massage her ankles and feet while they watched TV. It was so touching to watch the endearing ways they interacted each and every day. They often did yard work together and I would help with the more difficult things (like picking up old Camilla flowers that were way behind the plant). She hated snails and slugs, had a personal vendetta against them. There was a neighborhood cat, Irving, a shorthair tabby, that liked to come over whenever my grandmother would sit out in the back yard on the patio swing to eat her melon. She'd finish it, then put it down on the ground and Irving would eat every last bite he could find down to the rind. His owner was a teacher at my high school, Mrs. Gravelle. Sometimes she'd give me a ride home from school so I didn't have to ride the bus. My grandmother forgot when I had gone with my girlfriend to visit some friends one weekend afternoon and called the police. When we got back, the police and my grandfather (who was trying to become a realtor, having retired from the ICC) were there with my grandmother who was very upset. After all was said and done it was decided that every time I left the house I would write down where I was going and when I'd be back on a notepad by the phone in the kitchen. My grandfather knew she was loosing her memory. He'd go around the house, making sure that the stove was off and the doors were locked before we went to bed. One of my jobs was to make sure the dishes had been washed before I put them away so they wouldn't be put away dirty. It was so hard for both of them to realize that they were not doing well as both had health issues that plagued them. Because of them, I was able to shed extra weight and I went to the Senior Prom. My dear grandmother helped me sew my dress and it was beautiful. She made most of my dresses and would take them in as I got smaller. Because of them, I looked normal and had friends and dated, had fun, especially in my Senior year, except that they were so much older than me and we would argue about things (like me shaving my legs). They were from a different generation, a different time and it was hard, sometimes, but I really loved them. I graduated on June 12th, 1969 and was taken back to live in Albany, Oregon. I'd missed my mom and sisters, but I also missed my grandparents. Following my marriage and divorce, I returned to California in 1972, living in San Jose. I had a little boy I named Anthony. He was the 1st boy in three generations and my grandparents were thrilled. My grandmother loved his curly light brown hair and took him over to her neighbor's house to show him off because her neighbor's granddaughter had very little hair. She loved it and it just made me laugh. We went to visit whenever we could, and my son loved his great grandparents as much as any little boy can. Then, in March, 1974, my grandfather had a heart attack that almost killed him. He was in a coma, then in a nursing home. My aunt came out from New York and my mother came down from Oregon. We were all very worried. He got out of the nursing home just a little while before their 60th Anniversary in July, 1974. We took them out to dinner and there was a cake and corsages, but it was very low key, as Grandfather tired easily. They got a housekeeper who helped out with chores, medications and taking them shopping or to the doctor as my grandparents could no longer drive. Almost exactly a year later, they went to Kaiser so he could have blood work done. He gave my grandmother his watch and wallet but had his Kaiser card. Then he went inside, sat down in the lab and died from a stroke. There was nothing anyone could do, although they were working on him when the attendant and my grandmother arrived. It was March 25th, 1975. My grandmother was in shock, and just kept asking for her beloved Harry. There was a Memorial Service the day before Easter on March 29th, 1975. He was cremated and buried next to his parents at Multnomah Park Pioneer Cemetery in Portland, Oregon. My grandmother never stopped grieving. The house was sold and my grandmother was brought up to Oregon where my mother had to place her in a nursing home due to her failing health. As time progressed, all of her organs began to fail. I was in California, sick at heart and mourning the loss of my grandfather (and grandmother). My dear sister, Nancy, went to visit my grandmother as often as she could, to hold her and tell her she loved her. Each night, my grandmother told Nancy she just wanted to be with Harry. Nancy said, "Please stay.", but our grandmother just repeated herself. Nancy told her she loved her but, if she wanted to go she could and our grandmother passed away that night, on Sept 3rd, 1975. She couldn't stand to live in a world without her beloved husband, our grandfather. She was cremated and I flew up for her Memorial service. It hurt so much. The minister even mentioned how she hated snails and her love of gardening, which just made me cry all the more. She had died from a broken heart. She was buried next to her beloved husband at Multnomah Park Pioneer Cemetery in Portland, but I know they are in Heaven, together, walking along the beach, hand in hand, young again. [I've been told that, after a Loved One dies, the 1st 6 months are crucial. Often, the surviving spouse dies from a "broken heart" within that 6 month period because they just can't live without them.] Nancy and I miss them both so very much. It's been hard to write this, but nearly 39 years since they've both been gone and I wanted to let people know about my wonderful grandmother (and grandfather!).
**I miss you, Grandmother, very much. I know you are in Paradise with Grandfather. See you again, some day.
Written by Kathie Lynn Webb Blair (with assistance from Nancy Susan Webb) granddaughters, 25 Feb 2014.
***I had believed until this very day that my great grandfather had died in Albany, Oregon until going thru my mother's genealogy paperwork today looking for Davidson information and coming upon a document from the State of Kentucky which verified that William Thomas Baker had actually died in Louisville, Kentucky rather than in Albany, Oregon. The document was dated from 1968 and I have absolutely no idea why my mother never told me the actual story of his demise. But, until this month and year, I never knew that he had had another child or what had happened to him, Samuel N. Baker, either.
Revised by Kathie L. Webb Blair, Portland, Oregon, March 20, 2017.
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