Fate – On a frosty November evening in 1968 I was planning to stay home by the fire, but at the last minute decided to brave the crowds and go see “Yellow Submarine,” the Beatles new film.
Funny how a seemingly inconsequential decision can change the course of a lifetime.
The line into the Village Theatre in Westwood was much longer than feared, but I was committed. Good thing!
Standing just up from me was my old banjo picking buddy Lawrence Wallin. He introduced me to his new bride, the lovely Bettine. Right away I sensed caring, intelligence and incredible depth in her eyes.
They invited me to visit their home.
What a place, you had to drive up a dirt road and climb the longest set of steps I’ve ever seen to enter their magical, mystical artists’ dwelling. Lawrence’s sculptures and oil paintings were everywhere, Bettine’s crafts, plants and style in full evidence.
This Laurel Canyon hideaway was a world apart from Los Angeles. Lawrence’s art was bold, fresh and exciting. Bettine was a master chef (with seemingly infinite recipes for delectable nutritious goodies), a botanic genius, a talented pianist, and a wizard of white magic and good solid common sense.
For those of you who didn’t live through it, other than some great music, the 60s were a tough time. America lost its innocence: Viet Nam, The Kennedys, Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Malcolm X assassinations, Nixon, the Kent State massacre (where Ohio National Guardsmen shot and killed unarmed student protesters), the credibility and generation gaps.
Through those difficult years Lawrence and Bettine were my safe harbor, my port in the storm. They were my best friends, always ready to listen, always caring, always ready to help.
On countless evenings we’d play music (Bettine was a terrific piano player, who introduced me to Scott Joplin’s ragtime before Scott Joplin was cool), Lawrence and I would bang out guitar and banjo duets and they would patiently listen to and counsel me with my many many troubles.
Eventually they moved to another more accessible address in Laurel Canyon, where Lawrence set up his artist studio, their hospitality grew and flourished. They were always there for me, always caring, always emotionally supportive of my endeavors.
I remember one evening in the early 70s when I “got it.” Lawrence and I were in the living room playing a duet, when Bettine came bustling in from the market. As we helped unpack the groceries I saw how a good woman was the heart of a happy home.
It might not sound like much, but for me it was as if I’d discovered a secret doorway into a hidden realm. Theirs was a home happy beyond even my wildest fantasies.
Bettine had two kids:
Devin, the youngest, was remarkably musical even at a tender age. I had the rare pleasure of watching his talents blossom. He became an incredibly gifted woodwind player, lightning fast music reader with the sweetest tone you ever heard. His primary ax was flute, but he was proficient on piccolo and many other exotic reed instruments. His tragic loss two years ago left a deep scar.
I first met Alizon, Devin’s older sister, when she was nine. Even then she had a special twinkle in her eye. She was the most beautiful child I’d ever met. When she was in her teens her beauty was astonishing. By the time she was seventeen I would get heart palpitations, short of breath and cold and clammy in her presence.
Not to worry, Alizon and I will celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary in August. Lawrence and Bettine threw us a terrific wedding at their Ridpath home.
It was bitter sweet when Bettine and Lawrence moved to Santa Barbara. We were overjoyed that they got to live out their dream and sad at the milage between us, but we saw them very frequently – they were always willing to put themselves out for us.
I’ll never be able to repay Lawrence and Bettine for the love and support they’ve given me, but we were able to give them four very rambunctious, gifted and independent minded grandchildren.
Bettine’s passion for Lawrence and her family, dance, music, botany, teaching piano and teaching special needs students, justice and fair play are truly legendary – deservedly so.
The loss of Bettine leaves a hole in my heart. We can only celebrate the gift she was to so many, a blessing to all who knew her and whose hearts were touched by her special and unique soul. The world is a better place for her having graced us with her remarkable presence.
Anthony Richard Harris
