The Most Dangerous Animal of All

“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.

My father, Van, as a boy in Japan.

From left: Carolyn Best, Katherine Broadway, Geraldine “Bits” Best, Bob Best, and Van on summer vacation at Myrtle Beach in 1948.

Van and his friends William Lohmus and Bill Bixby in an ROTC photo in their high school yearbook.

The house at 514 Noe Street in San Francisco, where my father grew up.

Judy Chandler as a teenager, at about the time she met Van.

Van and Judy’s apartment in New Orleans when I was born.

The first in a series of articles by San Francisco Chronicle reporter Paul Avery, mocking my father.

Van holds up one of his swords in another Chronicle article by Paul Avery.

Paul Avery reports the end of the “Ice Cream Romance.”

My baby picture, taken at Southern Baptist Hospital, February 12, 1963.

The apartment building at 736 North Boulevard in Baton Rouge where my father abandoned me.

The stairwell on which I was found.

My baby picture, as it appeared in the Morning Advocate.

A report in the local newspaper of the wreck that took the life of Sheryl Lynn Stewart.

“How old are you, young lady?” the minister asked.

“Nineteen,” the fourteen-year-old informed him, just as Van had instructed her.

The Reverend Edward Fliger did not question her again. She looked old enough, and he had no reason to be suspicious.

In St. Paul’s United Methodist Church on January 5, 1962, my underage mother and my father said their vows.

“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” the reverend said.

“I do,” Van said, holding Judy’s hand tightly.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do,” Judy said, taking a deep breath and smiling up at Van.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Van pulled Judy into his arms.

With their arms still wrapped around each other, they left the church, anticipation growing as Van hailed a taxi.

Van and Judy spent that night consummating their marriage – the twenty-seven-year-old man initiating his innocent teen bride in the art of lovemaking.

They spent the next day in Reno – Judy enjoying her newfound freedom, and Van enjoying Judy – before flying back to San Francisco to face the music. Judy was very relieved when she called her mother to tell her she was married. Verda, for some reason, seemed unusually understanding.

The couple moved into an apartment on Clay Street, excited about the prospect of sharing their lives together, but on January 9, Judy awoke with severe stomach pains. Unsure what to do, Van called her mother.

“Call an ambulance,” Verda said furiously, hurriedly jotting down the address of the apartment. As soon as she hung up the phone, Verda dialed the number for the San Francisco Police Department, to file a complaint against the man who had married her underage daughter.

“You could get into a lot of trouble for being with a minor,” an officer warned Van after Judy was settled into the back of the ambulance. “Her mother has filed a complaint against you.”