I’ve written a lot about Hazel as a talented, independent woman who made her mark on the world.
She was strong-willed and determined to push the limits of whatever rules and societal norms were put in place to keep her “where she belonged.” But Hazel still managed to use her own name to perform after she was married, have a career, fight for women’s rights, and be a wife and mother at the same time, until it all became overwhelming. It was ultimately the combination of a tragic illness and a betrayal that ended her career for good (you’ll know the details when you read Saints & Deceivers) but Charlie always encouraged her to keep trying, and to find ways to feel fulfilled.
Charlie was a remarkable man. Hazel married him after knowing him for a very short time and never having been courted seriously by anyone else. He was nearly twice her age and twice her height, and not nearly as sophisticated, but they were obviously compatible. They lived apart for months after their marriage, never having a honeymoon, pursuing their own lives. When they finally moved in together, he allowed her to pursue her own career and her own interests, which was an unusual arrangement for 1908.
He worked hard as a trolley man most of his life and was a man of few words. He dearly loved his wife, and he loved children. It took him a while (spoiler alert), but he eventually admitted to Hazel that he always pined for his lost first love and lost son. Despite that, he was a devoted father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. He loved to sit children on his lap and tell stories, and especially to share his favorite pastime, baseball.
He followed the Dodgers from the time they were on the east coast until they ended up in Los Angeles, and he was a die-hard fan. My brother still remembers attending games with him at Chavez Ravine (Dodger Stadium) and having Grandpa Charlie argue with the people next to them because they were rooting for the other team. He always had his little transistor radio with him to listen to the play-by-play from Vin Scully, and a bright blue Dodger hat on his head. Of course, he blocked the view of everyone behind him because he was so tall, and he didn’t care.
The picture I’ve included is a portrait painted by Bill Marler, a family friend who was supported by our grandfather, Malcolm, because he knew he was very talented. This hangs in our home, and is the way I remember my Grandpa Charlie, just before he passed away at the age of 89. Hazel was nearly 18 years younger, so we had her for many more years after his death, still pounding away at her piano.
Inherited Treasures Series 