“Aunt” Vera

My godfather was Sam Babcock, Vera’s husband.  My godmother was Phyllis Reed.  Nevertheless, Vera was always known to me as “Aunt” Vera., and an informal godmother.

We used to go over to the Babcock’s for dinner occasionally when I was young.  They had a small two bedroom house across the street from Placer College (now Sierra College in Rockland, this campus is now part of Placer High School) as mentioned earlier concerning Pearl Harbor.

What I remember most about their home was that they had a coal fire setup in their fireplace.  They also had a coal furnace in their basement, so they just used some of the coal for an open fire rather than wood.  They also had a big RCA Victor counsel floor standing radio with one of those green electric “magic eyes” to help with tuning.

If you were born after the advent of television, you most likely have never seen one of these big cabinet sized radios.  They occupied the central location of the living room before TV, and had clusters of glowing glass vacuum tubes rather than transistors and printed circuits used in electronics, today.

Uncle Sam also worked at the PG&E office where my father worked.  That was the connection, I guess.  He actually worked in the crypt-like basement of the building doing some kind of engineering work.  I never knew exactly.

Uncle Sam also had a Boston terrier named Boots.  He was a little black and white pug faced dog that could shake hands and do a few other tricks to earn his supper.  I confess that I never had much karma with the Boston terrier, but I could tell that Uncle Sam and Boots were buddies.

On at least one occasion we were served pheasant,  ala Uncle Sam’s shooting skills.  I don’t remember how many stars I gave the meal, but I’ve never been big on gamey entrees.

Uncle Sam died when I was probably around ten.  We continued to see Vera.  Even though I wasn’t old enough to have much insight, I think my parent’s attraction to them was because they were almost like and aunt and uncle to them.  Uncle Sam and Aunt Vera were very affectionate people.

Aunt Vera was what you might call a portly woman.  She had a bosom with enough mass to pull the moon a little closer to Earth.  After Sam died, she bought a 1949 Dodge coupe with “Fluid Drive.”  This was something between a manual shift and an automatic transmission that only a company like Chrysler could be weird enough to come up with.  I confess that at age eleven, it was a mystery to me how it worked even though I was always interested in mechanical devices.  My mother and I went to Sacramento on several shopping trips with Aunt Vera flogging that car every mile of the way.

On one occasion, we stopped at a car wash in the Town and Country shopping area of north-eastern Sacramento.  Vera discovered that one of the hubcaps was dented after the car had been run through the wash.  She made a big stink about it with the manager, assuring him that the dent had occurred going through the wash.  The poor fellow was no match for this elderly, enormous-busted women who could have crushed him to death by simply leaning over on him.  The problem was resolved, and I had a new respect for the power of old ladies.

Aunt Vera was always talking about her ranch.  I forget where it was, Sonoma or perhaps Mendocino County, but it seemed to occupy a lot of her time.  She always made it sound like she was a cattle baron; maybe she was!  I never got to see it, but it sounded like the romantic wild west.

The last noteworthy thing I remember about Aunt Vera was that she got remarried to some old geezer that I never met.  I never had a chance.  The old bloke died on their wedding night.  I always wondered if the old boy just over excited his heart or whether Vera accidentally rolled over on him and smothered him with that big bust.