Two years after the death of his granddaughter Hazel, Thomas S.
Hawkins walked into the bank with a new purpose in his eyes.
Thomas S. Hawkins turned from the swimming windows and looked again toward the closed bedroom door. He glanced at his son Winfield, who cradled his wife Grace against his shoulder on the couch, then turned his gaze again toward the bedroom.
The window panes rattled as the wind gained intensity, then the bedroom door opened. As Hawkins took an involuntary step forward, the doctor stopped, shook his head once and dropped his eyes. Grace Hawkins buried her face in her hands and rocked back and forth in wild grief before her husband led her away sobbing.
Hawkins stood at the doorway for a moment, too stunned for the significance of it to sink in. He was the most powerful man in the county, the president of the Bank of Hollister and many other institutions he had founded, yet he had been powerless to save the person whom he loved most in the world, his 9-year-old granddaughter. Hazel, his “Little Sunshine,” had cried out in pain from the attack of appendicitis and he could not help her.
Many memories crowded through his mind as he stood by the window unseeing for the next few hours. As the weak sunlight finally filtered through the dying storm, it came to him with a dull shock that it was March 6, 1902, the morning of his 66th birthday.
His life had been one of great good and he had earned the respect of many people since his boyhood in Missouri. He had been a teacher and storekeeper when he, his wife Catherine and their 2-month-old son left in a wagon train for California to seek a better climate for her declining health. It took half a year to traverse the prairie, mountains and desert but his party did so without losing a single human life.
Hawkins became a farmer in the Gilroy area. Three-and a half years after his wife died he married again, this time to Emma Day, the daughter of a neighbor. They had three sons and a daughter.
Fate placed Hawkins at the right place and time to seize opportunities. He rented some farmland in the San Felipe region of what was shortly to become San Benito County.
People seemed to respect Hawkins on sight. He was among the shareholders of the San Justo Association that bought land from Col. William Welles Hollister and established a town. He also was an effective lobbyist to establish a county in whose affairs he had a strong voice.
But from the time she was born, his granddaughter Hazel became the focal point and greatest joy of his life. She and her parents lived in his house and Hawkins delighted in her smile that reflected his.
On March 5, 1902, she became ill and the doctor was summoned. She cried at the pain and Hawkins tried to assure her that it would pass. He went into her bedroom and she wished him good night when he left after a few minutes to allow the doctor to minister to her. Then she was gone.
The dreary weeks ran into months and only Hawkins’ sense of duty kept him at the routine he had established. But his employees noticed that occasionally while going over a ledger or reading a business report he would pause for a moment as though listening for a voice just beyond the range of audibility.
Hawkins went regularly to her plot at the cemetery and lingered over her grave remembering many of the incidents that had made up her brief life. Old acquaintances shook their heads as he passed, noticing the sadness in his eyes, and many friends talked among themselves of how he had aged.
Two years after Hazel’s death, Hawkins walked into the bank with a new purpose in his eyes. He asked his secretary to call a number of men he respected, and they came in at the appointed time.
Hawkins talked feelingly but to the point and then invited their comments. One summed it up for all the others when he commented, “It’s wonderful, Tom, just wonderful.”
His granddaughter had died because of a lack of a hospital and staff to attend to her. Very well, then; he would provide such a facility so that no one else would perish for that lack.
He summoned engineers, architects, doctors and suppliers of medical equipment and told them of his plan. Work began soon after.
The great earthquake of April 18, 1906 stopped construction and showed Hawkins new directions to take. “Build it to last,” he said, “to endure for generations.”
For weeks and months the activity at 910 Monterey St. continued. Hawkins came daily and often spent hours at a time regarding the scene. His one standing order was “Spare no expense, overlook no detail.” He held long interviews with doctors and nurses to select the staff and pored over medical supply catalogues with medical personnel to get the most modern equipment he could provide.
On an autumn day in 1907 it was completed, and on Saturday, Nov. 23, 1907, carriages and even a few automobiles lined the blocks around the site. Hundreds of people gathered for the dedication and some boys climbed trees for a good vantage point. Mothers lifted their toddlers up high that they might witness one of the great moments of Hollister history.
Called upon to speak, Hawkins took the stand and swept his gaze over hundreds of upturned faces, and began. He was able to say only a few sentences before emotion overcame him and he quietly resumed his seat. Many of the faces in the crowd were tear-streaked in sympathy, but his words had not been needed. His creation was quietly eloquent and spoke for him. His great dream had taken palpable form.
The name of the hospital was also that of a girl whose brief life had unfolded quietly and had ended within the city’s boundaries. Hazel’s memory was already growing dimmer but the love of her grandfather assured that it would continue. Her portrait was hung in the lobby and 55 years later was moved to the facility that replaces the original. It hangs there today, a century after her death.
There may be no one living who remembers Hazel Hawkins or the dedication ceremony. Even the building that was raised to perpetuate her memory is used now for other purposes.
But the love that inspired it has stood against pain and even death over all the years since. That compassion is as vital today as it was on a long ago storm-swept night that nearly prostrated T. S. Hawkins and changed the life of his community forever.
