MARIN MEMORIES: A SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE

Tom Yarborough

I have thoroughly enjoyed reading everyone’s incredibly touching
recollections about growing up together in Mill Valley, Sausalito, Marin
City, and Belvedere---I truly envy all of you. Perhaps the fascination for
me is because it’s all so different from my experiences as a kid. My dad
was a career Army officer, so we moved around---a lot. In all, I attended
10 different elementary schools, 2 junior highs, and 4 high schools. But
the most unique and extraordinary place I ever lived was in a magical place
called Marin.

Kids with backgrounds similar to mine were not as uncommon as you might
think. We came to Tam from the southern-most tip of Marin, a military
reservation known collectively as Forts Baker, Barry, and Cronkite. Each
morning 20 or so of us would board a chartered bus, ultimately piling out in
Tam’s back parking lot. By way of historical backdrop, Fort Baker came into
existence in the 1880s as a coast artillery post with a mission to protect
San Francisco Bay. The Post records indicated that “Army brats” first
attended Tam beginning in 1915.

By the time I moved to Fort Baker, the old 8 and 14 inch coast artillery
guns had long since been removed, leaving only the huge concrete bunkers to
mark their passing. The Post’s new mission was as West Coast headquarters
for the “Nike” surface-to-air missiles ringing all major cities of that Cold
War era. One very visible remnant, however, was the military housing at
Fort Baker. Best described as Victorian architecture, these old homes were
built in 1891, and each sported three stories with a full basement. I
vividly recall the great old house we lived in: Quarters 607A. It had seven
bedrooms with a fireplace in each room. The foyer was set off by a huge,
curved mahogany staircase sweeping up to the second floor. But perhaps the
most unique features of all were the 12-foot high metal embossed ceilings in
each room. Why metal? The ceilings had originally been conventional, but
the concussion and report from the big guns kept breaking the plaster. My
brother and I lived on the third floor, accessed by a set of “servants’
stairs,” perfect for sneaking in from a late date with one of Tam’s
beautiful young ladies. My bedroom window was a large dormer looking out on
the Post parade ground. At night I would lean out the window for one of the
world’s most spectacular views. To the right and just above me only several
hundred yards away, shined all those lights bathing the Golden Gate Bridge
in the trademark yellow-white glow. Directly across the Bay was the night
skyline of the City, seemingly lit by thousands of sparkling jewels. With a
view like that, it’s a miracle I ever did any homework! The reverie peaked
at 10:30 pm each night when the Post bugler stepped up to a large megaphone
on the parade ground, the haunting notes of “Taps” wafting across the old
fort, signaling the end of another Army day in Marin. Unfortunately, that
same bugler felt some perverse compulsion to show up at 5:55 am to blast me
out of bed with “Reveille,” followed by the ear-shattering report from the
reveille gun (a 105mm cannon). On several occasions when the wind was just
right, Bobby Melbern and I even heard the 5 pm retreat gun fire as we
loitered around the streets of Sausalito.

A number of my Tam classmates visited Quarters 607A, and I distinctly
remember two visits by Sandy English and Linda Brown. Linda commented on
how manicured the lawn and flowerbeds seemed. Several weeks later she was
appalled to see a helmeted soldier with a shotgun standing guard over three
stockade prisoners who were busy mowing and edging the yard!

Several years ago I dragged Jane down to Fort Baker to show her where I
resided for part of my ill-spent youth. Now controlled by the National Park
Service, the old houses were sadly deserted and shabby looking, and with no
tender loving care from the prisoners, the yards were woefully overgrown. I
only wish some way could be found to restore and preserve these fine old
structures. Though the buildings may rot and crumble, for those of us who
were fortunate enough to live there, the memories will remain bright and
gleaming for the rest of our lives.

Tom