He sold it the next day, and my father was back in business.
He continued his travels to Mexico looking for authentic documents, but when he couldn’t find anything of value, he became adept at forgery. Bookstore owners trusted him; his finds had always been good before, so they didn’t check what he brought them as carefully as they might have otherwise.
By the fall of 1961 things were looking up for Van. He had taken a job as an IBM clerk but was still selling legitimate antiquities and some forgeries on the side. He met up with William at Schroeder’s Restaurant, on Front Street, in late September for lunch. Established in 1893, the restaurant had a menu that included staples of traditional Bavarian cuisine, such as Wiener schnitzel, bratwurst, sauerbraten, and potato pancakes, and it appealed to William’s German side. Van liked it because no women were allowed inside during the lunch hour. It was a gentlemen’s restaurant, where men were free to laugh and talk without the restrictive presence of ladies. Businessmen, dressed in business suits, would sit at the rosewood bar and smoke big cigars. Van felt important when he walked into Schroeder’s, like he belonged at the bar with these fine gentlemen. He often stared over the lip of his tall beer stein at the Hermann Richter murals that dominated the walls, admiring Richter’s use of color. In one, a tasty blond wench with an overflowing bosom playfully sat on the lap of an eager young man clad in shorts, a white-collared shirt, and a red vest. In another, a group of gentlemen sat around a table, gesturing grandly as they argued the politics of the day.
Van ordered an exotic German beer on tap and watched as the bartender tried to stem the head. He handed William a cigar. Unwrapping it carefully, William noted its Cuban insignia. “I’m going to enjoy this one,” he said. Van often brought him cigars and other gifts from Mexico.
Van smiled, lighting his own. “This is the life, huh?” he said in German. Usually he and William were the only two in the bar who could speak German, and they liked the feeling of superiority they experienced from speaking the language there.
“Yes, it is,” William said. “Did you find anything of value on your last trip?”
“A few things. Some seventeenth-century letters that might be of interest,” Van replied, omitting the fact that he had created them in his bedroom. William was a private investigator, a moral man. He wouldn’t understand.
“When are you going back?” William asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe next month. I’m getting bored around here. I need some excitement,” Van said.
And then my father met Judy Chandler.
Van waited impatiently behind a tree at the edge of Golden Gate Park, his eyes trained on Hugo Street. Judy lived about six houses down on Seventh Avenue, where the road dead-ended, and from his vantage point at the top of the hill, Van could see when she came outside. He hoped her mother wouldn’t follow her. Judy had told Verda about their relationship, and her mother had been doing everything she could to keep her daughter from seeing him. Judy liked the excitement of sneaking around and met Van whenever she could, mostly for hamburgers after school or an occasional movie.
He watched as the front door opened and his girlfriend walked outside. Judy liked it when he called her his girlfriend. It made her feel grown up. When he saw the suitcase in her hand, he let out the breath he had been holding. He hadn’t been sure she would go through with it. He wanted to run down and help her carry it up the hill, but he couldn’t risk Verda spotting him, so he waited until she reached him.
“Come on. We’ve got to hurry,” he said, kissing her quickly before grabbing the suitcase from her hand.
Skirting the edge of the park, the couple half-ran to a nearby street where William had parked his car, waiting to drive them to the airport.
“Get in,” Van said, throwing her suitcase on the backseat.
“She looks kind of young, Van. She’s not like the other one, is she?” William asked, referring to Van’s former wife.
“Oh. No. She’s nineteen,” Van said, lying.
“I’m so excited,” Judy said, bouncing up and down in her seat, unaware that William was looking at her suspiciously. “I can’t believe we’re really going to do it.”
They had planned it a few days before. Van had been walking her home when he pulled her behind a tree. “I don’t want you to go home,” he said. “I hate every minute you’re not with me.”
“Me, too,” said Judy, “but I don’t want to get in trouble.”
Van wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “Kiss me,” he commanded.
Judy snuggled closer and did as she was told.
“Run away with me,” Van said. “Let’s get married.”
Judy pulled away, stunned.
“Are you serious?” she said.
“Dead serious. I love you. We should be together, and once we’re married no one can stop us. Will you marry me, Judy?”
“But when? How?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. Meet me Friday morning about seven. I’ll be waiting in the park. Pack a suitcase with a pretty dress and as many clothes as you can fit into it. We’re going on an adventure. Are you in?”
Judy thought about it for a moment and then threw her arms around his neck. “I’m in. I’m in,” she said, laughing. “Oh, my mother is going to be so mad. She doesn’t like you.”
“Don’t worry about her,” Van said. “I’ll see you Friday?”
“Yes,” Judy nodded.
Van had kissed her soundly one more time and then watched as Judy skipped down the hill.
Early on the morning of January 5, 1962, nervous but even more excited, Judy tucked her favorite dress into a suitcase and headed off for her adventure. She had known Van for only three months, but she was sure he loved her. She wasn’t sure if she loved him, but she enjoyed the feeling of being in his strong arms, of being protected. He was nicer to her than any man had ever been, and the young girl had no doubt she was leaving her family for a better life.
At the airport, excitement and anticipation fluttered in Judy’s stomach as Van guided her up the steps to the plane. After takeoff, Judy stared in amazement at the fluffy clouds, first above her, then below. She had not flown before and could barely sit still, because she did not want to miss a thing. Van laughed at her antics, enjoying her excitement.
When they landed in Reno, Nevada, he whisked her off to the church, eager to be joined in holy matrimony to this delightful girl who had brought such beauty and light into his life. When they arrived, Judy excused herself and went into the bathroom to change into her bright pink dress and brush her hair, while Van filled out the marriage certificate and other necessary documents, lying about Judy’s age, as they had planned.
From left: Anna Jordan Best and her husband, Earl Van Dorn Best, with their children in 1905. Earl Van Best Sr. is sitting on his father’s lap.
From left: A business card showing my grandfather Earl Van Best Sr.; my father, Earl Van Best Jr. (known as “Van”); and my grandmother Gertrude Best when they were missionaries in Japan.