Mendocino County
Biographies
Gertrude “Trudy” (Shannon) Crook
Written sometime after Pop’s death in 1979
In the 1950s, Dad had a logging operation that crossed the main highway in
northern California. Debris would fall off the timber and mud from the woods
packed into the tires and dropped onto the road. A few days of rain left the
highway less than desirable.
A family was driving on such a day, lost control and went down an embankment. A
large lawsuit for damages was filed against my dad’s business. It entailed more
money than we had ever earned or hoped to.
On the opening day of the trail, dad and his lawyer met at a coffee shop in the
county seat, Ukiah. Unknown to them, the people in the next booth were the
claimants. A comment was made that the driver hoped his license wouldn’t be
checked as he was restricted from driving at night and without glasses. He had
violated both.
A look of complete shock came over their faces when my dad and his lawyer took
their place in the courtoom.
Being in the right place at the right time couldn’t have more meaning. Dad said
it was the luck of the Irish.
Das was a big robust man with such a love of family, animals and even the sky.
When a story was told, even if you didn’t think it was funny; when he laughed,
everyone laughed. Not out of courtesy but because his laugh was infectious. When
we would be out in the woods or on a rocky ledge; when he got ready for a nap he
could sleep any where. He would find a spot, lie down and with hus
body—re-arrange the setting until he was comfortable.
Always said his land provided for the wildlife so whenever he wanted venison, he
would go kill a deer. The ranch was so remote we weren’t bothered with traffic.
When a fish and game officer would come to our area: he always ate at dad’s. My
step-mother Dollie was a marvelous cook. She sometimes would use the leftovers
out of the refrigerator, add a few items and come up with a marvelous casserole.
At some point during the meal; the officer would always state “Best beef I ever
ate.” Even as children, we knew better than to correct an adult plus the fact
that he knew…
The ranch was never the same after my dad died in 1979. Whenever you entered
within sight of the ranch, you knew his big frame would be on the back entry:
awaiting the arrival of his guests.
The ranch and surrounding ranches are so far from “civilization” that each
property has their own electrical power source. No bills except when the unit
might need repair. No telephones; neighbors stay in touch with CB radios. There
are some paved roads but many aren’t. Makes for a long dusty ride. My brother
Bill had an airplane for many years so he designed the “Shannon” airport (1). If
you own a small jet plane, you can land safely plus the regular planes use it
frequently.
Property is both old fashioned and modern. A great place to totally relax.
The folks bought a home in Westport with a half acre of land. Blackberries grew
wild and would overtake everything if not cut back. We had rabbits, ducks,
geese, and of course a garden. The fowl population did an excellent job of
keeping pesky ear-wigs under control. We had one rabbit that was so buck toothed
and how it ate and survived was a mystery. Within a few years, a large workshop
and a duplex was built; also a large master bedroom and a sunroom. Large windows
provided a magnificent view of the ocean.
We lived in Westport for a few years before electricity was provided to the
area. Lamps had to be filled daily with kerosene. There was a pay phone at Van
Horn’s grocery store but my parents were the first to have a phone in the home.
We had never heard of television. We listened to favorite programs on the radio,
played games and played musical instruments. Mother was an accomplished pianist,
dad played the violin and we sang. I recall the family sitting so silently as
the broadcast was made about the dropping of the atomic bomb. Then the surrender
of the Japanese and the sounds of a jubilant nation that World War II had ended.
The small town of Westport joined the noisy celebration. My uncle Bob (Shannon)
and Belle and family lived about seven miles north at Union Landing and I spent
a lot of week-ends there. We played Yahtzee and other card games. Aunt Belle
usually had a blackberry cobbler or pie: my favorite.
The ride to Fort Bragg to attend Junior High seemed so long and many of us
napped both ways. During the winter months: It was also very dangerous. Our bus
drivers had to have a guardian angel at times. The fog would be so thick; could
only see a few feet in distance or a rock slide would happen right before or
after our bus had approached or passed.
…
The third grade was theh only one I spent in Trinity County, attending the same
school as my father. He was one of its first students and after completing the
eight grade, he went to work. The one room school house is still being used
today but as ranch quarters for the owener’s foreman.
The roads were not maintained as they are today and we had horses instead of
bicycles. If our house and barn locations had been reversed; our parents would
have been paid for the distance to school, even though we were not taken by car.
Our school year ran from April to November. Seven students were required to fund
a public school so our teacher, Florence Stevens, brought her daughter to meet
the quota. Making up the group were the two Lampley girls and four of us
Shannon’s. We tried to time it right at the half-way point so we could climb
into her pick-up. During the hot summer afternoons, she was very creative in
“outings” and we could collect floral specimens or bugs. We would book-press
them and later put them in scrapbooks. Spared us the misery of the hot room.
My brother Ted was such a slow eater that he usually took the entire lunch hour
to finish his food.
During the winter months, we moved to Eureka. The truant officers came calling
frequently and finally realized our situation wasn’t on the books. We spent many
summers at the ranch while my father would harvest portions of timber off his
land. I was my father’s shadow and went with him whenever possible. We would
walk the fences, ride horses checking on the cattle, or climbing on board the
big “Caterpillar” which he used for building roads or pulling logs onto a
landing so they could be loaded on trucks and hauled to the mill.
Dean Witter: a name known throughout the nation: had thousands of acres of land.
Hired only my dad for construction or repair of all the roads on his propertites.
Besides the main ranch which was his get-away, were the Lone Pine and Armstrong.
I had never seen a home so elegant. He made trips to Africa gone of Safari’s,
and brought home his trophies which were proudly displayed on his walls. This
trophy room was as large as our home or bigger. It had servants quarters, a
separate room which was refrigerated where meat was cut up. The house was
patterened after a villa you might see in Scandinavia and it seemed surreal to
believe it was in Trinity County. The large patio had an Olympic size swimming
pool.
We had chores as children. I can remember standing on an orange crate to reach
the dishes to dry. After I grew up more: My sister and I would switch chores.
One week; wash—next week; dry. Majority of places we lived, there was always a
garden spot. Once the plants were at a certain size and we were able to
distinguish vegetable from weed; we were responsible for keeping the weeds out.
At the ranch, we always had such a large garden, it appeared to be five acres in
my mind. Seems we lived in it and I realize it wasn’t as time consuming as we
growled (to the other siblings, of course). Swimming hole at Salt Creek was so
inviting and the dumb weeds stood in our way. After the garden was processed,
the goods always tasted so good in the winter. It also was a beautiful sight to
see all the products sitting on shelves. I think a bit of pride and a pat on the
back said—job well done.
In Trinity; our school included first through eights. To continue education:
either you found a family to take care of your children or the mother moved. At
this time, my father had an opportunity to contract with Rockport Lumber
Company. There weren’t any homes available for rent so my parents went shopping
at Westport which was twenty miles south. We found only one rental and it was a
hotel. A lot of my father’s crew was single so rooms were rented to them. It was
so spacious. Mom also did the cooking for them and she worked endless hours.
In the once busy bar-room was a player piano and the several rolls of music
provided variety. I would pretend that I was really talented as the music rolled
out. Mom eventually enrolled us in paino lessons but I didn’t practice or become
determined. Playing baseball with the neighborhood kids was more fund and it’s a
decision I regret to this day; not being able to play. My mom was an
accomplished pianist plus being a seamstress. She had always made matching
outfits for Laura and I with panties to match. With all the work of the hotel:
she no longer had the time for sewing. Laura and I growled about still having
the dish chore with all the added people but it didn’t hurt us. Once again, the
school was one room and went through the sixth grade. Older kids were
transported to Fort Bragg; thirty miles away on very winding roads. The school
was located on a hill overlooking the town and the view of the ocean was
breathtaking. Walking up the hill during rainy weather was a muddy chore. Mrs.
Ruth Roberts was our teacher and she was creative. We’d barely present one
program to our community and she would us working on the next one. I remember
our “May Pole,” decorated with streamers and one girl was chosen as Queen.
Baskets were filled with fresh flowers and we would put it on the door step of a
favorite neighbor or another lady in the community. She played the piano and her
husband, Irving played the violin. The team provided the music for dances in the
area.
We joined and became active in the Grange. I went through all the ‘chairs’ and
then was juvenil master for a few years. I memorized the installation of
officers and the initiation of new members plus knowing the regular meeting
regulations.
The closest shopping center was Fort Bragg and it was fifteen miles from our
home. We were treated to a hamburger, fries and a milkshake and then went to the
Saturday matinee. My parents then would take care of their errands. We also were
allowed to buy one comic book and were careful not to buy the same as our
siblings.
We all helped in bringing in the supplies. I sat down to enjoy my comic book and
became totally involved. My dad asked me to cut kindling. This always was my
older brothers job so without even looking up: I said no. I still do not know
why I responded with that comment as children had respect for older people and
did not say no or question a request. I was up and over his knee so fast. I
believe this was the first and last time my father spanked me and I was
heartbroken. Through the tears I attempted the job and ended up slicing fingers.
A nurse also lived in our camp and she applied a ‘butterfly’ bandage and I don’t
even have scars.
…
Vacations were normally to the San Joaquin Valley to see relatives on my dads
side. Was usually Xmas so we opened presents and then had to leave them. Tears
were spilled on these occasions. My mother always seemed to have gifts for the
niecs and nephews but rarely were there gifts to us from our “hosts.” The
cousins had all their new toys and of course: did not share in play. Took an
Aunts convincing to let us play with older toys. After this experience, I vowed
not to take my children away from their home at this “festive” time of year.
Freeways were few so we had to drive through many towns. Dad was color blind so
one of us had to be on guard to tell him which color the light was. Only once
upon our return did we find our house had been burglarized and the gifts
missing. It seems most of them were recovered.
Before my father returned from the woods one night, I vividly remember my mother
being aware of a prowler. She moved furniture to cover windows and the adrenalin
must have really kicked in as she moved the paino to block the front door. The
person was scared away by the lights of my dad’s vehicle as he came down the
driveway. Several men searched the area and then helped move the piano back to
its spot. ½ mile down, he got into 14 yr. Old girl’s bedroom.
Canning was done in every household to preserve fruits and vegetables when the
fresh products were not in season. I recall the family sitting in the front room
listening to the radio when there was a ka-boom. A large presssure cooker hadn’t
performed properly and every inch of the large kitchen showed evidence of the
peas. Poor mom and the mess. We were not wealthy so it also meant the cost of
the peas and the pressure cooker.
In my mind: I can still see the fields of wild poppies surrounding our place and
how gorgeous it was.
My dad’s favorite story about me was when he came home and I had been playing in
the dirt. He would ask how I got so clean and I would grin and say my mama
washed me.
…
My father was a rancher but at this time: mainly a gypo (independent) logger. We
lived wherever his work was. First and second grade were attended at Camp 2:
even though we lived at Camp 3. It was a one room school house and we walked the
one mile to school. Each Friday we were allowed to board and ride the train as
it was the only day their schedule met ours. Such fun.
(1)On modern maps today it is named “Heller Highwater Airport,” a cutesy name
assigned it by its current owner.
Contributed by BClayShannon@aol.com, © January, 2006.