Skip to main content

Beth Marie Eaton

Los Angeles, CA. - Beth Eaton, 83, of  El Camino Village passed away at 9:20 p.m. Tuesday, March 19, 2019, at Kaiser Permanate Medicial Center in Harbor City. 

Beth was born July 9, 1935 in San Bernardino, California. She was adopted at birth by Ernest and Marie Carver of Pomona, California.

Raised in the farming tradition on the Carvers’ Hatchrite Turkey Ranch, Beth graduated from Pomona High School in June 1953. She attended Mount San Jacinto College. She studied business and later worked at Security Pacific Bank in Claremont, CA.

Beth met and married Gerald Davies from Marlette, Michigan. They married in Pomona and lived in Claremont, where their daughter Lori Jo was born in 1959. The family moved to Santa Barbara and in 1962 had a son, Kenneth Andrew. Shortly after they moved to Michigan to start a business and raise the children closer to the Davies family. In 1978 the family moved back to California so Beth could be near her widowed father, settling in her favorite town of Carpinteria.

In 1989 Gerald Davies passed. Beth met and married James Robert Eaton adding four new kids to the family; Sheri, Susan, James Jr., and Bill. Beth loved her blended family. She was devoted to all her children, and all the friends they brought home. Everyone who walked through the door called her Mom.

Jim Eaton passed away suddenly in 2003. Beth then moved to Los Angeles to live with her son Ken and his wife Aitho.

She is survived by her children, Lori (Patrick) Ball of Vista, CA, and Kenneth (Aitho) Davies of El Camino Village, CA.

A Celebration of Life Service will be held April 13, 2019 at - 14521 South Normandie Ave., Gardena, CA. 90247.

In lieu of flowers Memorial tributes can be made to St. Jude Children's Research Hospital.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

The Gopher Problem and the High Powered Solution

Vacationing in Maine this week, just a short drive down the coast from Freeport, it is hard not to think about the outsized impact one frustrated outdoorsman had on the gear we all use today. Bad equipment can ruin a perfectly good day on the water or the trail, but it takes a special kind of vision to turn cold feet into a century-old empire. This is the story of the company we now know as L.L.Bean, but more importantly, it is a masterclass in integrity, learning from failure, and standing behind your work. In 1912, Leon Leonwood Bean faced a persistent problem: returning from expeditions in the Maine woods with cold, wet feet. Instead of complaining, he got creative. He had a local shoemaker stitch waterproof rubber soles onto the flexible leather uppers of a hunting boot. He called it the Maine Hunting Shoe and mailed a flyer promising perfect satisfaction. Then reality arrived. Ninety of his first 100 pairs failed when the rubber separated from the leather. Not an effective product...

On Becoming Real

Some things get better with wear: old shoes, old friendships, and old books. Especially old books. A new volume arrives with crisp corners and a spine that hasn’t yet learned to bend. An old one has been somewhere. It has traveled through time in the hands of people who may no longer be around to tell us what they found inside. The copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (first published in 1922) on my desk is one of those books. My friend Don Hanley gave it to me. This late-1950s Doubleday edition features William Nicholson’s original illustrations and cream paper boards softened by age. Worn corners, a split spine, and colored tabs mark passages worth revisiting. Don didn’t hand me a keepsake. He gave me homework. When we talked about the book recently, he pointed me straight to the nursery conversation between a young rabbit and an old Skin Horse. The rabbit had noticed the mechanical toys around him—the ones with internal gears, bright paint, and stick-out handles that seem terribly impressiv...

Engineering Beef Stew

On July 2nd—Day Two of what I call The Great Un-Working —I sat down with my morning notebook to map out this new chapter of my life. One goal made the list in bold ink: Learn to Cook. At seventy, I was adding a skill most people master before they’re old enough to drive. Before you judge me, understand our household ecosystem. Lori is a phenomenal cook. For decades, she’s made meals so effortless and delicious that restaurants seem unsatisfying . My contribution to the culinary arts during my bachelor years–tuna mixed into Kraft Mac & Cheese. Let’s just say I wasn’t threatening her spot on the Food Network. But retirement changed the equation. I’m officially off the clock while Lori is still working. And I had a lovely thought: Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she came home after a long day to find dinner waiting? She loved the idea. Then came the question that haunted me for weeks: “What do you want to make?” I had no idea. Apparently, the first step in learning to cook is deciding wh...

When the Universe Calls in Sick

Take Thoreau’s Advice . . .  Four weeks ago, we stood on the shore of Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, trying to channel Henry David Thoreau. Before leaving, I bought a pocket-sized copy of his essay, Walking . It’s slim because nineteenth-century transcendentalists didn’t have notifications interrupting their urge to wander. Thoreau’s counsel is disarmingly simple: step away from modern life's machinery and let the landscape recalibrate your perspective. Back home in Vista, I took that philosophy straight into the backyard. Thursday morning, ink-black, pristine skies arrived. I aimed my refractor at Jupiter, whose light has bathed Earth since mastodons roamed the plains. It felt cosmic. Profound . I left the telescope mounted overnight, convinced the heavens were on retainer for an encore at daybreak. Naturally, the universe called in sick. By sunrise, a wall of coastal fog had rolled in off the Pacific, sealing the valleys beneath a damp, gray Tupperware lid. After about th...