In the fall of 1963 I enrolled in Shasta College with four objectives: I was looking for an education. I was hoping to keep from getting drafted into the military. I was hoping to spend a majority of my time in the gym, playing pick-up basketball. Lastly, I was hoping to find a girl who might actually like me.
When I was in the seventh grade it was common to exchange a chain and heart shaped pendant engraved with your name with a member of the opposite sex signifying that you were “going steady.” Sadly, my heart shaped pendant never found a home around the neck of anyone, opposite sex or otherwise.
When I entered high school, I changed my approach by avoiding girls who were in my own grade level. They seemed to know me all too well. I turned my attention to younger girls who would undoubtedly be impressed not only by my looks, but my athletic accomplishments.
While I was able to convince a dozen or more (okay, make that one or two) that I was a pretty good catch, nothing stuck. It became obvious that if I were to find a mate, she would need to be from another town.
During my first full year at Shasta College, I suffered more of the same as woman after woman shunned my advances, even when I was freshly scrubbed and on my best behavior.
I had pretty much given up on finding my mate when one day early in my second year I actually attended my Hygiene class. Sitting across the room, there she was. As fate would have it, she was also in my volleyball physical education class and boy did she have a good looking…serve. Her name was Billie Jean Garcia and from that time on I was, as they say, smitten.
I would like to say that we have had a fairy tale relationship — but as you might imagine, being saddled with me can be more like a Nightmare on Elm Street than Peter Pan.
After finishing the year at Shasta, we moved to Chico where I attended Chico State and she obtained a well-paying job that allowed her to purchase a brand new ‘65 Mustang that we both enjoyed immensely. While we both lived in the same house, we occupied separate bedrooms.
Friend and classmate Gary Allwardt was our money-grubbing landlord. Billie had a private bathroom, and her rent was $40 a month. I shared a room without a bathroom with friend and chick magnet David Rodgers. My rent was $15 a month, which was much too high considering the state of my accommodations and with whom I shared them.
Billie and I married during Easter vacation of my senior year. Our honeymoon consisted of driving to Mazatlan, Mexico, in a 1958 Volkswagen Beetle along with good friends RB and Carol Wadlington. We stayed in a tent on the beach. On the very first day I got the worst sunburn of my entire life. On the second day I got the worst case of dysentery ever known to man.
I took the sunburn and dysentery with me all the way back to Disneyland, along with my bride, Carol, RB and numerous Mexican trinkets and souvenirs, all stuffed into that 58 VW bug. I can still tell you where every single bathroom is located in the Magic Kingdom today.
After graduating a few weeks later from Chico State, I found employment as a Tehama County Deputy Probation Officer, which to my surprise provided me another deferment from the military draft.
Within a couple of years we did as newly married couples do when we expanded our family with the birth of son Cable (don’t ask) followed by daughter Cori Ann.
For the first decade of our marriage I continued to be a kid myself as nearly all of my free time was spent playing baseball, softball, basketball, fishing and hunting. Mrs. Cleaver (I mean Billie) assumed the lion’s share of responsibility for raising not only her children but her less than perfect husband, as well.
At about the same time my body began to fail me on a softball field or basketball court I was appointed Chief Probation officer of Tehama County (1981). Though I may sometimes appear to be confident and composed, the truth is I am very insecure by nature, and dealing with stress has never been something I handled with ease.
For the last twenty years of my career I found myself holding it together at work as relating to being patient and professional, only to go home all too often in a foul mood or sullen state of mind. In other words, my wife and children far too often put up with a self-absorbed grouch. They were great, and I have always regretted the way I handled the stress attached to my job.
I retired from Tehama County in 1997 and almost immediately accepted a position in Sacramento that required me to rent an apartment, while Billie remained in our Red Bluff home. That arrangement lasted approximately five years. Not surprisingly, Billie was saddened when I finally retired for good and was underfoot on a full-time basis.
Amazingly, I have been fully retired now for almost 20 years, and over all my life is more than good. We have our children and our four perfectly perfect grandchildren who live nearby. Relatively speaking, we are in good health and we are able to pay our bills. Simply put, we are blessed.
Is our life perfect? Heck no. Whose is? How could our life be perfect when I am part of the equation? Can you imagine putting up with me on a full-time basis? I know I can’t, but there is one person who has done that for exactly 53 years today. She is my rock. She is my anchor. She is my wife.
Happy anniversary, Billie Jean. I love you a lot and think I will keep you around.
Bill Cornelius is a life long resident of Red Bluff, a retired Chief Probation Officer, a champion of the State Theatre and an exceptional athlete. He can be reached at bill.cornelius@sbcglobal.net.
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Can you imagine putting up with me on a full-time basis? - Red Bluff Daily News
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