A bittersweet ending for Hamilton

Greg Risling

CANNERY VILLAGE -- Bill Hamilton knows there is a beginning and an

end to almost everything. Endings are always sad, he figures, whether it

is a funeral, the final chapter of a good book or leaving a job.

He didn’t think this was going to end.

When the great wooden doors shut for the last time at the Cannery

Restaurant on Sunday, so closes a memorable and good chunk of Hamilton’s

career. The 75-year-old operator of the waterfront restaurant has been

trying to let go, but the sentimental feelings continually wash over him.

“I’m trying to prepare myself for the end of a career,” he said. “For

the first time in my life I won’t have a heavy responsibility.”

It’s a bittersweet moment for Hamilton, who has become an icon in the

business and civic communities. He stands to earn a windfall of money

from the sale of the property to private investors who plan to build

single-family homes on the site.

Hamilton said the closing has nothing to do with money. He would

rather keep the restaurant open and serve plates of seafood and steak to

his loyal patrons. Come Sunday, Hamilton will retire for a second time,

and he doesn’t know how he will react.

It won’t be pretty, he thinks, but he’ll manage.

He will kick up his feet and have a good, stiff drink with some of his

employees.

“The Cannery is like a home to me,” he remarked as he sits in the

restaurant’s upstairs lounge. “I’ve spent more time here than I did at

home. It’s like losing a part of my family. It’s not going to be easy.”

If Hamilton’s ties to Newport Beach have been considered strong, his

relationship with the cannery is iron-clad. As a child he used to run

through the streets and marvel at the tin-roof building. He’d watch

workers package seafood while he played with his friends. He never

imagine one day he could own that very property.

Fast forward to 1973 when the cannery’s owners decided to sell the

building. Hamilton, retired from an engineering job in Chicago, steps

forward with some friends and buys the property.

Hamilton converted the building into a restaurant and kept its charm.

The customers came calling, and the building’s rebirth was a success.

In these last days of the restaurant, Hamilton’s level of perception

has sharpened. He notices more and finds little treasures. Last week, he

saw a few handwritten notes tucked away in a crevice, obviously left on a

slow night.

He still rises early sliding into work at 7:30 a.m., hours before the

restaurant opens. These days he leaves earlier, around 7 to 8 p.m. He

used to leave at midnight.

Although many of his customers are longtime, loyal patrons, there are

those who don’t know why Hamilton is closing. An undercurrent of

discontent still stings while he politely explains a myriad of reasons.

But Hamilton still maintains if the City Council had approved his request

for a live entertainment permit two years ago, this ending might be

different.

The council denied Hamilton’s permit, even though the proposal was

backed by the Planning Commission and the Police Department. Residents

complained about noise and some council members figured more problems

could be created by the permit.

The council had the last decision, 4 to 2, with one abstention, that

it was in the city’s best interest to keep the village quiet.

“We were on the horns of a dilemma,” said Councilman John Noyes. “We

were trying to tone down what went on down there. I think it’s unfair to

say the council’s decision prompted the restaurant’s closing. I’m sorry

Bill feels that way.”

Looking back on the debate, Hamilton wishes he did more to pacify the

situation and maybe save the restaurant from its demise.

“I fault myself for not sitting down with the council,” he said.

“There wasn’t any malice on the council’s part. They didn’t purposefully

want to put me out of business. But I feel sorry for the city because

they are losing an important landmark.”

Ask any of the major players in Newport and one word is repeatedly

uttered from their mouths: respect.

“Bill put more time into two careers than most people do into one,”

said Richard Luehrs, president of the Newport Beach Chamber of Commerce.

“Very few people have been committed to a business and a community like

Bill Hamilton.”

Police Chief Bob McDonell said the Cannery was a good “corporate

neighbor,” primarily due to Hamilton’s work ethic. McDonell admits he,

too, will miss the restaurant.

“When I was hired for this job six years ago, the first place we ate

with the mayor and city manager was the Cannery,” he said. “If there was

a problem, you could count on Bill to take care of it. That restaurant

was a well-run organization.”

Hamilton doesn’t like taking all the credit. He has 100 employees who

have worked hard for him. A reunion party of past and present employees

was held last week. He took time and thanked each one of them.

Hamilton hopes the restaurant’s legacy isn’t forgotten. He remembers

the days as a dapperly dressed young man when he would go to the

Rendezvous Ballroom and dance to the sounds of big bands. The dance hall

burned down in 1966. The only memento of the ballroom is a plaque where

the building once stood.

“You get a special feeling when you walk through these doors,”

Hamilton said, pausing as each word resonated with him. “I hate to see it

disappear. I guess all there will be is a plaque on a sidewalk.”